#daryn gives up way too easily

[jaysworlds]

You’ve been visited by the random oc questions tabby kitten!!💙

What happens when your character doesn’t get what they want? Are they generally understanding, or do they keep pushing? What lengths will they go to to get what they want?

i have Way too many characters to answer this for all of them, so lets go with daryn (the mc from hell above) and alexei (the secondary mc from 8 gold pieces)

daryn is ... john mulaney in the delta airlines sketch. life has a habit of kicking her in the teeth and going 'fuck you!' and she goes oookay and moves on. i think at this point she's more or less used to not getting what she wants, so she doesn't often push things. she'll be quietly upset and then move on.

alexei, on the other hand. he's willing to wait to get what he wants, but hes sure as hell not just giving up on it. he'll push and push and push until something cracks and he'll only stop when he's either got his way or seriously fucked up (which is. more often than he'd like to admit). usually this doesn't end well for him but alas he never learns from his mistakes. sometimes people get hurt. usually him, but sometimes he hurts the people he loves (or strangers) and then is consumed by guilt for a while

[loverunderwater]

Life in a Year (2019) dir. Mitja Okorn

summary:

The movie follows 17-year-old Daryn who finds out that his girlfriend is dying. He sets out to give her an entire life in the last year she has left.

1/5 stars

For a moment, I worried I was being too hard on this movie, but honestly it doesn’t really matter. Spoilers, duh, but just don’t bother watching.

This movie is like if you took all of John Green’s favorite tropes (manic pixie dream girl, guy with hidden passion who claims his life only starts to have meaning once he gets a girlfriend, and of course, someone who’s dying) and combined it with every indie startup movie’s director’s favorite tropes (pressure to attend a prestigious college— directors definitely projecting their own childhoods here— from unbelievably toxic parents who were forgiven too easily, the main character’s secret quirky side passion, and dates where the MPDG shows the protagonist what “life is really all about—the journey and love”) in order to create this monstrosity of a cliche.

The main character is a pretentious dork with a secret passion for rapping. His parents, particularly his father, have an ideal life planned out for him. A 10-year plan, if you will. This movie follows his path through his senior year of high school as he meets a girl who teaches him how to stand up to his dad and follow his passion. I genuinely thought I was going like him, but alas, nay. Already, I disliked the overused trope that a love interest had to come into his life in order for him to be inspired to stand up to his parents, since nothing remarkable changes after Isabelle comes into his life, except for the fact that she’s there and “she’s different than other girls.”

The idea of “living a whole lifetime in a year“ seemed so unrelated to the topic of parental pressure to do well in schools, the topics were tied together with threads that were as close to snapping as my patience throughout the movie, and neither were particularly well-developed or expanded on beyond anything we could find in a contemporary YA novel from 2011.

I was frustrated by the simultaneously extremely realistic depiction of Daryn’s friends as teenagers, and the terribly Disney-princess-happily-ever-after fact that Daryn believes (“knows”) that he is in love with Isabelle after knowing her for two scant months. We get scenes that are totally unrealistic and immature for a movie that follows two 17-18 year olds, like the MPDG throwing a rock at security to a supposedly famous musician twice and getting off scot-free.

I was extremely put off by how quickly paced the first third of the movie went by. Isabelle went from being pissed off at Daryn, to being impressed at his (frankly embarrassing) rapping, to agreeing on a “not-date” date where a Daryn insults the food they eat because it’s not Michelin 3-star A grade wagyu beef. After that, I could not shake the thought that Isabelle was a dumbass for not dumping him right there, because who calls a burrito a wrinkled ballsack at a place his date clearly enjoys and cherishes? Then again, seeing the folks Daryn was raised by, maybe it’s an inherited behavior.

Daryn’s father is one of those people who believes that just because he started from rock bottom and worked his way up to the top, he has the right to trust people like shit for not being just like him, including his own son. For fuck’s sake, he was more distraught when Daryn destroyed the wooden board containing his 10-year plan than he was after he almost punched Daryn. I’m not sure whether to call this a caricature of toxic parenting or a Frankenstein’s monster of abuse.

When Daryn trusts his father enough to bring Isabelle home to meet him, the dinner is wracked with passive aggressive comments like “Some people just aren’t meant for higher education.” It’s a wonder Daryn’s father wasn’t rejected from each promotion he applied to with his infuriating god complex and tendency to insult people he is merely supposed to be tolerating. When Isabelle (understandably) gets upset and leaves, Daryn’s dad mutters, “I hope you’re happy” under his breath to a Daryn. Failure to recognize that he’s fucked up and blaming others for his mistakes paints Daryn’s father as a manipulative narcissist.

Daryn’s father had such an undeserved redemption arc, and the fact that he came back to apologize to Daryn at his girlfriend Isabelle’s funeral was so aggravating that it could be nothing but expected from someone like him. Coming to apologize while Daryn was grieving manipulated Daryn’s trauma and made it so easy for his father to appear like a savior, a shoulder to cry on, and be forgiven. On Isabelle (MPDG if it wasn’t painfully obvious already)’s side of the story, her mother was also let off the hook way too easily. Isabel claims “she wanted to be a mother, just not my mother,” after she is told to leave by her mother and her new family. Isabelle’s mother comes back and apologizes only after she finds out that her daughter is dying. She clearly did not feel remorseful at shitting on her daughter’s emotions but was only feeling guilty that she was rude to a dying girl. She apologized because she was selfish and didn’t want her past actions to haunt her, not because she cared about her kid, which she clearly doesn’t.

This movie’s only redeeming feature was Cara Delevigne and Jaden Smith’s acting, and they both deserved better. When Isabelle died, I found myself appreciating Cara’s emotion and Jaden’s reactions, but a voice in the back of my mind kept listing off everything I found unsatisfactory. I most definitely was not crying along, and I barely registered what was going in, which is probably not the reaction you want your viewers to have.

The characters start off in exactly the same mental state as they begin. Not one character experiences a conscious, intentional shift to overcome the very things that caused their internal conflict, which is what is supposed to drive the entire story. You could argue that Daryn matures and becomes an independent being after fighting with his parents, but that’s not true. All he does is hide behind Harvard and scholarships, and when his dad embarrasses his girlfriend, he relies on the fact that he takes care of her deteriorating health to paint himself as a good boyfriend, instead of a coward who doesn’t stand up for anything he believes in, including a girl he supposedly loves (which let’s be real, sounds just like Daryn, doesn’t it?).

Overall, the entire story was cliché and every aspect that the producers believed made the story “unique” or even worthwhile to produce, in fact detracted from the entire appeal of the movie or lack thereof.

This movie, along with The Fault in Our Stars and Looking for Alaska, belongs in John Green’s personal closet of self-masturbatory material.

[harlothane]

Why do you love the Starks?

There are ghosts in Winterfell. And I am one of them. They walked on. Barbrey Dustin’s face seemed to harden with every step. She likes this place no more than I do. Theon heard himself say, “My lady, why do you hate the Starks?” She studied him. “For the same reason you love them.” Theon stumbled. “Love them? I never … I took this castle from them, my lady. I had … had Bran and Rickon put to death, mounted their heads on spikes, I …” “… rode south with Robb Stark, fought beside him at the Whispering Wood and Riverrun, returned to the Iron Islands as his envoy to treat with your own father. Barrowton sent men with the Young Wolf as well. I gave him as few men as I dared, but I knew that I must needs give him some or risk the wroth of Winterfell. So I had my own eyes and ears in that host. They kept me well informed. I know who you are. I know what you are. Now answer my question. Why do you love the Starks?” “I …” Theon put a gloved hand against a pillar. “… I wanted to be one of them …” “And never could. We have more in common than you know, my lord. But come.” ADWD. The Turncloak.

This part here is the core of Theon’s character and storyline - up until TWOW at least, as his story may take unexpected turns after ADWD.

It explains every strange move he did, misplaced thought he ever had. Take his devotion to House Stark in AGOT, or this enthusiasm at seeing the wolves distrust other people, strangers. 

Their eyes found Lannister, or perhaps they caught his scent. Summer began to growl first. Grey Wind picked it up. They padded toward the little man, one from the right and one from the left. “The wolves do not like your smell, Lannister,” Theon Greyioy commented.

Theon Greyjoy put a hand on the hilt of his blade and said, “My lady, if it comes to that, my House owes yours a great debt.”

If you take a step back, it is strange that a ward in name but a hostage in truth would demonstrate so much loyalty - why ? He could surely have been treated worse in Winterfell, but it was never the warm home any child dreams of. He had to wear the Greyjoy colours, reminding every single person of his precarious status. And he did live in fear. 

Lady Dustin’s serjeant raised the lantern. Shadows slid and shifted. A small light in a great darkness. Theon had never felt comfortable in the crypts. He could feel the stone kings staring down at him with their stone eyes, stone fingers curled around the hilts of rusted longswords. None had any love for ironborn. A familiar sense of dread filled him.

Still, he encourages Robb to call the banners and start a war for the honour of House Stark; he helps and supports the heir to Winterfell; he saves Bran Stark’s life; he is eager to fight - and risk his life for them; worse, he is proud of this, a fact he does not manage to hide before Balon Greyjoy or Dagmer Cleftjaw. “You take this business too hard, boy. It is only that your lord father does not know you. With your brothers dead and you taken by the wolves, your sister was his solace. He learned to rely on her, and she has never failed him.” “Nor have I. The Starks knew my worth. I was one of Brynden Blackfish’s picked scouts, and I charged with the first wave in the Whispering Wood. I was that close to crossing swords with the Kingslayer himself.” Theon held his hands two feet apart. “Daryn Hornwood came between us, and died for it.” “Why do you tell me this?” Dagmer asked. “It was me who put your first sword in your hand. I know you are no craven.”

Was it a defense mechanism ? Showing loyalty to your captors in the hopes that they will treat you well, always ? Perhaps. But that line - it brings love into the picture.

Also, “Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him”, says Theon. He is not one to submit easily, on the contrary. He even defies his father right after meeting him for the first time in years. His loyalty to House Stark wasn’t the product of fear, it came from a place of love, and the desire to be loved back. As he leaves Robb’s side, his status appear to him in all its fragility - he will never be a wolf. But he does regret this. (“I am no Stark.” Lord Eddard saw to that. “I am a Greyjoy, and I mean to be my father’s heir. How can I do that unless I prove myself with some great deed?”)

And the capture of Winterfell, in this light, is a tragedy. Theon in Winterfell reminds me of a terrible child, desperate for a toy he doesn’t know how to handle right. He wanted his toy, he dreamed of it for so long, knowing it could never be his. So he stole it, took it by force, and ended up breaking his precious castle. He desired the love only a true home can offer you. He doesn’t take him long to realise he will never find it with the Ironborn.

He tossed his bow back to Wex and strode off, remembering how elated he’d felt after the Whispering Wood, and wondering why this did not taste as sweet.

By his own actions, he wins the exact opposite. Searching for admiration and love, he lets himself become a despised tyran, rightfully hated by Winterfell, its people, its ghosts and its very stones. He cannot win Winterfell’s heart, and so all of this - the scheme, the capture, means nothing anymore. There is despair in the way he compares himself to Ramsay - of all people - to make himself look good. Worthy of protecting Winterfell.

“There will be no flaying in the north so long as I rule in Winterfell,” Theon said loudly. I am your only protection against the likes of him, he wanted to scream. He could not be that blatant, but perhaps some were clever enough to take the lesson.

The century old place rejects him. Still, he never leaves. He refuses Asha’s offer to come with him. Luwin’s proposal to join the Watch. If his core desire was to prove himself to his father, he would have accepted Asha’s suggestion at least, hoping for another opportunity to show his valor. 

He doesn’t. He prefers to die at Winterfell, that’s where his heart led him, after all. “To great folly”. 

[faejilly]

Inktober #24

Prompt: Breakable Adelaide/Sebastian, adorned chapter 5

They'd been careless.

He’d been too proud.

They'd dealt with the Flints.

They'd helped the newly promoted Captain Vallen clear out the Guardsmen Pretenders.

They hadn't worried about a straight shot through Hightown, even if they were a few hours later than they'd been planning. Even though Daryn had stayed at the Estate with Hawke's mother. Even though it had been over a moon since the last serious gang-fight, long enough for someone else to start organizing.

Which of course meant the newest pack of criminals thought taking on the jumpstart nobles who'd helped take out their predecessors was the best way to prove their reputations.

Hawke was a dangerous woman, but two against more than a dozen were questionable odds, even for her.

A shift in the shadows caught his eye, and he raised his gaze just enough to see reinforcements traveling along the rooftops towards them. Make that two against almost three dozen. We're in very serious trouble.

Hawke had the current batch wary enough they were keeping their distance, so he focused on the newcomers. Perhaps he'd slow them down enough something would happen to change their luck.

That didn't seem to be very likely. Aveline had improved her Guard patrols considerably, and they were making an awful lot of noise, but no one had shown up. The new gang had either taken out the current Hightown guards already, or someone was going to get thrown in the brig on the 'morrow when Aveline discovered their failure to do their jobs. They'd quite possibly never see the light of day again.

Not that that helped him and Hawke now.

They were managing to stay ahead of the mob, so far, trying to find a place to cut them off, as neither of them were at their best in close quarters. Hawke was knocking them down, and he was picking them off, but they weren't going to last much longer.

We don't have to get much further either, though.

Almost up the last set of stairs, but then it would open out into one of Hightown's ubiquitous Courts, and they'd be easily surrounded and probably dead.

He didn't have any other ideas, however, as the back entrance to the Estate was accessible from the far side of that next Court. Hawke obviously didn't have any clever plots either, judging from the set of her shoulders.

It ached, how much he wished he could ease the faint line between her brows. How much he wished ... well. This was a singularly stupid way to die, after she survived her Expedition and won her mother's family home, and he outlasted a royal coup.

Common thugs.

That was just embarrassing.

He allowed himself a slight moment of pride as a particularly fine shot not only hit his target solidly, but knocked her body into the man behind her and sent them both sliding off a rooftop.

They'd made it to the stairs, and that was good. Narrow approach, no rooftops close enough for the gang to regroup on the higher ground. No way to secure either end, however, so they couldn't afford to stay and wait them out.

"Don't suppose you have a lyrium potion hiding in one of those pouches of yours, Sebastian?" Hawke's voice was steady, but her grip on her staff was a shade too tight to allow the illusion of calm.

"I must, most regretfully, admit myself unprepared for this eventuality."

She snorted softly at his formality, and he let himself smile at her for half a breath, before it was time to attempt the stretch of open space behind them.

They almost made it.

Almost wasn't good enough.

He had one brief moment, when they realized they'd been flanked, to wish, just once in his life, to have done better than almost.

He was much too busy fighting to worry about almosts a moment later.

He didn't have enough arrows. He didn't have enough space.

He swung his bow, heard it crack as it impacted a helmet, dropped it as the victim staggered back, giving him just enough time, enough room to pull out his knives.

He wasn't nearly as good with them as, say, Isabela.

He wasn't good enough to be Isabela's apprentice, really, if she was the sort to take one on, and now they were going to die.

Because he was an idiot, and hadn't paid attention to the time, and hadn't kept lyrium in his belt, and hadn't kept an eye out for a Guard patrol on their way home, or any of the other myriad stupid decisions he'd made today that had led them here.

If he'd just condemned himself it wouldn't be so bad, but Hawke.

He could not bear the thought of a world without her in it.

"I'm sorry," he spoke softly as he shifted his stance.

"I'm not," she whispered, and he caught her eyes, one shocked glance back, something dark and warm and almost soft, for just a breath, before she looked over his shoulder and narrowed her eyes and he felt something dark erupt behind him, a sick choke of a man caught in his worst nightmare before the thud of his body fell back amongst his comrades, sending them screaming and scrambling backwards, as his very touch spread the darkness amongst them.

Sebastian felt himself bare his teeth, a terrible fierce regret burning in his chest, so hot it was almost joy. He shifted his weight to abandon their small breath of calm, just so, and felt flesh give, saw the bright edge of his blade darken with blood.

For Hawke.

All of his decisions now were for Hawke.

He could only be sorry all he could give her was this, dark blood spilled on the cobbles around her, the scent thick enough to stick in the back of his throat.

But give it to her he would, blood and more blood, again, and again, almost there, one slipped past his guard, and his side burned and his dagger slipped, the angle off, his grip uncertain, and he let it fall, felt himself fall with it, a hard knock of his knee against the stone beneath him, a harder gasp of air as he tried to breathe, oh that's a bad one, not the worst he'd ever had, but close enough, close enough to slow me down.

He managed to block the next swing with his arm, a skitter of steel against his vambrace, that's a scratch I'm not going to get out, and all he could do was laugh, weak and ragged, as he waited for the next one, the one he couldn't block, couldn't dodge, laugh as he hoped that his blood would be enough to save Hawke, at least, at last.

Afraid it wouldn't, as it had never been enough before.

A flare of power behind him, around him, as close as dancing, different than any of the spells he'd grown accustomed to, how odd, accustomed to her magic, and the air shivered and his skin felt raw and the air was almost sweet for an instant, still and dark, and the last remnants of the gang flew back, away from him, Hawke's voice raised in something almost a snarl, almost a scream, and they staggered to their feet only to run, slipping away at last into the shadows on the far side of the Court.

"Well." Sebastian blinked at the ache in her voice, and tried to twist to look up at her as she spoke, but he hissed at the movement, and there was an unsteady step, two, a hand on his shoulder, fingers squeezing, breath too loud by his side. "Shit." She thumped down beside him, ungainly and loud, clearly not on purpose, a hiss of breath before her chin lifted and she laughed, much as he had, weak and ragged and not quite bitter. "Didn't think that would work."

"Are you?" He reached out, couldn't quite figure out how to work his hand, his words, and was stuck with a tilted head and an ache in his chest, a burn between his ribs.

She started to shake her head, stopped, flapped a hand at him instead. "Fine. Dizzy? Hand."

He gave her his hand to hold, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd followed that properly, until he saw the glint of her teeth as she smiled at him, and her fingers wrapped tight, and the sudden familiar terrible rush of green and heat and pain and relief that signified a healing.

Her smile widened, and then her eyes rolled back, too white in the gloaming, and everything hurt, sharp and sweet from his heart outward, but he managed to keep his grip and tug, and she fell forward against his shoulder rather than back onto the cobbles.

"Hawke!"

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't find his hand, her heart, not, no, but he felt the shift of her shoulders, heard the rough edge of her breath, and closed his eyes, wrapped his free arm around her.

Adelaide...

It took a few more moments for the metallic fizz of magic in his veins to settle, for the burn between his ribs to fade, for the sharp-edged grip of panic to ease.

She'd overtaxed, passed out. She'd told them all what to do with a mana-wiped mage, just in case, though he'd been convinced at the time she'd been planning for Anders, not herself.

It still hurt, sharp at the edge of each breath, each heart-beat, how close she'd come, saving him -- not for me Hawke, please Andraste, don't let her -- but however much he disagreed, she'd already done it, and once his heart recalled how to beat in something resembling a rhythm, it was time to go.

No reason to tempt fate again.

Though it took three tries to figure out how to get her and her staff situated and him onto his feet. The world cooperated by only spinning a little, enough to be ignored.

His bow was a lost cause; he left it half beneath a body without a thought, a gleam of white and multiple curves that would never grace a wall, never send an arrow flying, never protect anyone again. He concerned himself instead with steadying his stagger as much as he could until he made it to the cut that led to her Estate's garden gate.

Hopefully Bodahn would hear if he gave it a good kick, as he didn't have the slightest clue how he'd manage to open it.

Bodahn didn't.

Daryn did.

Such a good mabari.

Leandra's eyes widened as he finally made it inside, but she didn't say a thing, just followed along upstairs, the trip a blur of velvet and flickering firelight, Adelaide's weight slipping away from him to rest upon her bed, one clear memory of smoothing her hair back out of her face, spread across her pillow, everything else warm and hazy until he found himself sitting at last, a pillow behind his back and Hawke's boots neatly placed by the hearth, a lyrium potion and a covered class of juice on the bedside table for when she woke.

It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to listen to his heart beat in his ears.

It hurt more to stand, but if he didn't?

Leandra told him to stay, but he shook his head, and made himself walk out the door.

Made himself leave, because if he didn't now he never would, and he'd never forgive himself.

Hold to the letter, if never the spirit.

He'd broken all his vows so long ago, but there was always more to lose. If he broke too many more times, he'd never be able to stand by her side again.

But that didn't mean he could pretend to lie to himself any longer.

He sighed as he finally made it back to the guest quarters at the Chantry. Glanced around at the only place he had, even if it wasn't his, never his, never home, never without her, the space so cool and bare, white-washed stone and old dark wood. He turned his head, followed the glint of silver against brass, and lifted the locket from off of the candlestick on his dresser, the one bright splash of color in the room, soft red wax for those days he could not bear the weight of the chapel's walls around him and kept his morning prayers to himself rather than attend services.

Faith and family, that's what it had meant to him, when he'd worn it at his Grandmother's funeral, when he'd kept it hidden in his pocket when his parents sent him away so they couldn't take it back, when he'd carried it back to Starkhaven, gifted it to Corbin's daughter, passed back the one true present his family had ever given him, the one last tangible connection to who he'd wanted to be for them, who he'd wanted them to be for him.

Hope and promise.

He'd cleaned it after he'd gotten it back from the Flints, fixed the clasp, kept it close. It shone now, even as the shadows around it seemed darker every day, his Grandmother's accident, his niece's murder, blood and violence and tragedy.

He wanted to keep it buried in a drawer, safe and secure, he wanted to grind it under his heel, break the fragile graceful curve of it, all those promises of love and peace lost and shattered.

He wanted to see how it would look around Adelaide's neck, the soft shimmer of the chain against her skin, to see a symbol of his family, his life, passed on to the love he had found, the miracle of her standing before him, wearing his gift.

He closed his eyes, swallowed 'til he could ignore the burn of unshed tears, the weight of every heartbeat making it clear how long it took. He opened them at last, reached out, let his fingers brush against the chain, watched the light glint and reflect as the locket swayed back and forth.

He owed her his life, time and time again. He could not taint such a gift by making her responsible for his heart, asking her to bear the weight of all his failures, all his grief. And for what? So he'd feel better before he crept away to his lonely cell?

She did not deserve that.

But it was so very hard to resist, every time she smiled, or the sunlight caught in her eyes, or he heard her softly singing to herself. Every time she smiled and shared a Fereldan story with the children at Lirene's, every time...

Every time he breathed.

He breathed out now, soft and shaking, almost a laugh, even as his eyes still burned. No good way to stop breathing, was there?

If he knew a way, he'd take it, for her. Until then he'd be selfish, follow along behind her for as long as he could bear, for as long as she would let him. For as long as he was breathing.

[amaraspen-blog]

Fireworks

Part Two

I woke up feeling better than I had yesterday. I guess I needed the extra sleep.  It was time to get moving so I could have everything at Tammi’s by noon. I wasn’t ready to get up and moving. If it wasn’t for all the food I had to bring, and knowing Tammi would drag me out of my house; I would gladly stay in my house. Today would be a perfect day for getting cozy in my bed and watching movies, alone. The kids were coming with me, but if I didn’t go they would easily make other plans.

I dragged myself from my bed before the thought had a chance to settle and entered the walk in closet. We were supposed to hit ninety six degrees. I needed something comfortable that would keep me as cool as possible. Shorts and a tee were appealing but I finally settled on a yellow floral sundress. The material was thin without being too see through. There were knee high slits on both sides to give me some movement from the form fitting garment. I opted for a quick shower. After lotioning my body with cocoa butter it was time to tackle my nest of hair. There were more than a few gray hairs but not more than that. I twisted the front crown back and pulled the rest into a low ponytail. I looked in the mirror and was pleased with the result. The yellow complimented my chocolate complexion. At almost fifty years old I looked good. I loved my size sixteen frame. A few extra pounds in the right places and little cushion where abs should be, but I earned it. Jordan loved my wide hips and thunder thighs. He spent many a night with his head resting on my lap while we watched TV. My facial features were accentuated by my ponytail. Large almond eyes and naturally curly lashes. Eyes the color of wet cinnamon. In this heat there was no need to put on any makeup other than lip gloss. I applied a wine gloss to my full lips. Satisfied with my appearance, I threw on sandals and was ready to go.  

“Are y’all almost ready?” I called out to my children. “Remember I need to have the food there before other guests arrive.”

“I’m almost ready, but Dany was hogging the bathroom this morning.”

“Hey perfection takes time.”

“Maybe you need more time then.” Brandon teased.

Malik strolled up looking like he walked out of an Old Navy ad. Button up linen shirt, khaki shorts and boat shoes. “Looks like you both need more time. I’m ready Mom.” My oldest baby wasn’t a baby anymore. His slim six foot four inch frame still towered mine at five nine. I could always count on him to be responsible. Sometimes to the point that I had to remind him to enjoy his youth. At twenty five he should be having fun. He had completed his bachelor’s degree, was working in IT earning a decent amount of money. He needed to be dating. It probably didn’t help that he lived at home. Don’t get me wrong, he could afford to have his own place but thought it was better to stay after Jordan passed.

“Malik, can you start loading the car for me?”

“No problem Mom.”

“Thanks honey.”

“No problem Mom.” Danyel mocked.

“Dany, worry more about being ready.” I cautioned.

“I’m just putting earrings on. I’m ready.” This girl had on cut off shorts, tank top, an oversized cardigan and gladiator flats. She was six feet and all legs. Not to mention a head full of wild shoulder length curls and a full face of makeup. Visually there was a lot going on. Looking at her you wouldn’t guess we were headed to a backyard barbeque.

Danyel was my free spirit. She was an art major in college. She was living the college experience and dating a lot more than I wanted her to. I had to remind myself to guide where I could and let her develop into the person she was meant to be. At one point she was talking about studying abroad next semester, but who knew if she was serious about it.

“Good, help your brother.”

“Brandon, are you ready?”

“Yes ma’am.” He shuffled his way out of the jungle he called a bedroom, almost tripping over a shoe. He wore his high school basketball jersey, black basketball shorts and slides.

“Do you ever wear anything that isn’t sports related?” Danyel judged, shaking her head is disgust.

“Hey, I like what I like.” Brandon shrugged and walked off. I truly hoped his sense of style would change in the future.

Thirty minutes later the car was packed and we were on the road. Tammi stayed about twenty minutes from me.

Tammi didn’t give us a chance to stop the car before she was walking outside.

“Bout time. I been waiting on you.”

“Malcolm, she been sippin already?”

“You know how she is.” We joked. Malcolm was the opposite of his wife. Tammi was the life of the party, and Malcolm a lot more mild mannered. They had been married almost as long as Jordan and I. Tammi and I met freshman year and had been inseparable ever since.  

We unloaded the car and started setting up the backyard. Spending the 4th of July had become tradition for us. We normally alternated locations, but I hadn’t really felt up to participating the last few years. I gazed at all the pictures hanging on Tammi’s walls. So many memories and good times. My thoughts drifted as I went down memory lane.

“Don’t think about it, Renee. This is supposed to be a party and you were happy when you got here.”

Sigh. “I know. It’s just…”

“It’s just nothing. It’s been 3 years, you deserve to live. He wouldn’t want to see you living like a hermit.”

I know it came from a place of love, but she didn’t understand. “You’re wrong Tam. Remember he used to joke about haunting me if I tried to move on.”  Oddly enough that memory brought a smile to my face.

Tammi laughed at the memory. “He sure did. Lucky for you I’m just trying to get you to be present and enjoy friends. It’s not like I’m setting up a booty call. Although I’m sure you could use someone to come dust off the cobwebs.”

“Don’t worry about my situation. I’m not hurting for anyone.”

“Not now, but one day. I’ll make sure I help you find the right duster.”

“What y’all over here cackling about?” Malcolm walked over, beer in hand beer in hand.

“Just talking about cleaning services baby.” Tammi leaned in to Malcolm and rested her head on his side when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“Oh, I know a good one. Their prices are decent and they’re Black owned.”

We looked at each other and laughed.

“What am I missing?”

“Nothing, you know what kind of equipment they use?” We laughed even harder.

“See now I know you playing.”

We couldn’t even deny it, and poked more fun at Malcolm’s expense.

“I’m gonna go back to my grill, since y’all minds in the gutter.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

“I wouldn’t say a gutter, but definitely in the street.” That was Tammi.

Other guests arrived. The smell of barbeque saturated the air. Music was bumping through portable speakers. They played a nice mixture of the music I loved: Keith Sweat, New Edition, and Anita along with some new school the kids could vibe to. The atmosphere was right. I sat in my lawn chair sipping one of Malcolm’s spiked lemonades and enjoying the scenery when I overheard Malcolm and Tammi arguing.

“Woman, you don’t wanna see me on this table.” Malcolm exclaimed.

“Come on Cleetus, let’s do it. You bout to get embarrassed today.” Tammi looked my way. “C’mon Nee, let’s give this man spanking he deserves and shut him up.”

I stood and stretched out. “Now I came to chill, but if folks asking for it, I’ll gladly come tap that ass one time.”

“That’s what I’m talking bout!” Tammi hi-fived me from across the table.

“Ain’t nobody scared of Nee!”

“You still talking Malcolm? You don’t even have a partner!”

“Now I don’t know you, but it sounds like we’re gonna have to skip formalities and go straight to spanking.” I turned my mouth up to reply and paused at the Ralph Angel looking King standing before me. I don’t even know where he came from. He was about six feet and dipped in chocolate.

“You look a lil young for this table but I will gladly whoop you and send you crying back to your mama.”

“Boy I still see milk behind your ears.” Tammi snickered.

“Time to put up or shut up.” Malcolm announced while shuffling.

We talked shit and played spades until the men finally had to accept they weren’t ready for me and Tammi. We had been playing together for decades. Malcom and the newbie didn’t stand a chance.

“Y’all cheated, over there using secret gestures. I saw you.”

“Awwww, don’t be a sore loser. Take this spanking like a man.” Tammi laughed and slapped Malcolm on his butt.

I made my exit from the table to get a refill on my drink. Mid-pour Ralph Angel entered the kitchen.

“I guess I’ll have to brush up on my skills.”

“That would probably be the best thing for you.” I teased.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Daryn Thomas.” He extended his hand to mine.

“Renee Johnson.”

“Nice to meet you.” He smiled and I could see dimples just above his beard. Lord, this man couldn’t get any finer.

“How long have you know Malcolm and Tammi?”

“Probably longer than you’ve been alive.” I couldn’t help myself. Don’t get me wrong, Daryn was fine as hell but I meant it when I said he looked a little young. Definitely not as young as my children just younger than me. I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

“I highly doubt that. Did you too grow up together?”

“No we met in college.”

Daryn couldn’t hide his disbelief. “I’m sorry but I have to ask. How old are you?”

I chuckled “You know you aren’t supposed to ask a lady her age.”

“I know, but you don’t look that much older than me.”

“How old are you?” I asked to satisfy my curiosity.

“I’m thirty eight. I’ll be thirty nine in September.”

I just laughed. “I’m fifty.” I shook my head and started to walk away.

He placed his hand on mine, halting my progress.

“You don’t look it at all.” Daryn replied looking me up and down. I felt naked under his gaze.

“Thank you.” I stated pulling my hand back. I walked to the door to make my exit and end this conversation before anything else was said.

“Let me get that door for you.” I left and didn’t turn back. I could feel Daryn’s eyes still staring me down.

[shirtlesssammy]

The Memory Remains: Recap

Then:

Mary Winchester keeps flipping the script on what we all expected in season 12. 

Now:

Tomahawk, WI

(Hey! Boris spent many a summer camping on Lake Tomahawk in her youth. V. glad she didn’t know about the god of sacrifice lurking about.)

Speaking of youths not knowing what evil is lurking. Several beer-drinking, canoodling teens sit around a bonfire, enjoying the night. One friend is tired of the scene so he takes off. He walks down a dark road, oblivious of the masked mouth-breather stalking him. He comes across a backpack, and picks it up, instantly getting strapped to a tree, and coming face to face with a goat-monster. His buddy, barely hearing his cries above the music, investigates.

Not reaching his friend in time, he high-tails it out of there.

Meanwhile in the bunker, Dean has been worry pacing, worry calling, worry gun cleaning, and probably worry praying to Cas for DAYS. he leaves him ANOTHER VOICEMAIL. Sam tries to reassure his brother that Cas is fine --he always is. Dean bought into that crap last season, but it doesn’t seem like he’s biting now. Something’s up and Dean is extra upset. (So say we all.)

Sam gets an email from ghost Mick. There’s a case! It seems that the mysterious happenings in the cold open are a trend. People have gone missing every year since 1898. They stopped in 1997, but now they’re starting again. 

The boys make it to northern Wisconsin in record time, and stop in to interview the local law enforcement/taxidermist.

Sheriff Bishop gives them the lowdown on the missing person, Jarrod. He doesn’t seem too concerned with the whole situation though. There’s dead animals to stuff, people! And anyway, Jarrod probably just blew town --his home life isn’t the best.

Agents Stark and Martell then go to interview Daryn, the friend in the cold open. He’s “medicating” on his break at the meat packing plant, and is upset that Sheriff Bishop won’t believe him. The kid tells Sam and Dean about that night and “Black Bill”.

Later at the diner, Sam fills Dean in on the local urban legend that is “Black Bill”. Dean is busy overcompensating for his confused feelings about missing Cas, and starts flirting with the NAMELESS imdb says her name is Carmen, VOICELESS prop waitress. *rant commences* I mean, ok, this feels weird. We haven’t seen Dean act this way IN YEARS--like season 3? 4? My headcanon is that he’s just really messed up about Cas and so he turns to his favorite vices --beer, burgers, and sex. Not cool, but cool, y’know? My big issue with this whole thing is that this is the only woman in the episode and she doesn’t have a name and she doesn’t have a voice. Yuck. Even if we follow the crumbs to a deeper meaning for this, the surface reading just makes me feel like I, as a woman, am not a wanted audience member. They’re dudes being dudes doing dude things. The woman is an object of conquest and her agency means nada. *rant over*

Dean tasks Sammy on figuring out what the monster is, and subtextually spends the night with the waitress.

Daryn, meanwhile, is working away and is surprised by his boss, Pete. He hasn’t been giving it his all at work. Pete knows how upset he is about Jarrod, but he can’t keep using that as an excuse at work. Later, Daryn’s leaving work and the goat monster finds him and attacks! (Boris wonders if a lot of episodes this season take place in Wisconsin because Vancouver had a rather snowy winter? Wisconsin did not have a snowy winter ironically.)(Boris also doesn’t scare easily but appreciates the music this week. It’s trying!)

The next morning, season1!Dean wanders into the diner to talk shop with Sam. He steals his brother’s breakfast plate of egg whites and veg --but isn’t that impressed with it. Sam thinks they’re dealing with a satyr. Sam wants to interview Daryn, but it appears he never made it home the night before. They head to the meat packing plant instead. They interview Pete, who informs them that Sheriff Bishop owns the plant. He’s “heir to the Bishop meat empire”. Kinda like the Abe Froman of Tomahawk? The boys connect the dots and think it’s a mighty big coincidence that their only witness to the crime goes missing at the local sheriff’s meat packing factory. The sheriff just happens to be on site so they talk with him --about the missing boys, and about “Black Bill”.

Sheriff Bishop is just as blasé as ever, dismissing their concerns about “Black Bill” and the staggering levels of missing people. I mean Pennywise is getting jealous with how many people are missing in this town!

Cut to Daryn chillin’ in the plant’s freezer. (I’m so punny.) Daryn finds the very frozen corpse of his buddy, and hears growling. He runs for the door, but the horned monster attacks!

Back at the diner Dean continues to pour his frazzled worries into eating a burger. 

^^^ I love this culinary tribute to the SPN blood cannon ^^^

Sam is appalled. “Burger’s beef, bacon’s pig, Soylent Green’s people, but this...this is heaven.” (Pining Alert! Dean’s thinking about heaven!) Anyway, Dean’s research revealed that all the vics were employees at the plant. It seems that this local legend is connected to the plant --or the Styne family that runs it. Sam’s research revealed that this whole town was founded by the Bishops and the sheriff has been selling off their property over the years --everything but the plant and the family estate.

Ketch and the gang break into the bunker. (Ok, so they have a key, but that doesn’t count!) “Remember your orders. By the time we leave, Dr. Hess wants to know everything about our ‘friends’ the Winchesters.” The music is jaunty but I just felt dread watching this.

The boys head to the family estate to check it out.

The interior of the house is full of sheet draped furniture and the rooms are still, quiet. Sam finds a door with several door locks on the exterior which leads to a dark basement. They head downstairs and - oh joy - it's decorated in high torture chamber chic with weapons, carving knives, and chains all around. An angled metal table stands in the middle of the room. Sheriff Bishop arrives at the house, creeps his own way down the basement steps, and Dean surprises him with the Colt leveled at his head. Dean asks him about the “straight up murder room” they found.

Black Bill isn't real, Bishop admits. It's been his family kidnapping and murdering people all along. His father told him the story of Moloch, the god of sacrifice, who lived below his house and exchanged the prosperity of their family for human blood. (Query: isn’t every god in this show technically the “god of sacrifice”? That’s like saying “I’m Dean Winchester, human.”) Every year the man of the house would don a goat mask, kidnap someone, and kill them. When his father died in 1997 Bishop put an end to the chain of killings and kept Moloch, starving, in his little cage in the floor ever since. Sam peers into the cage, bars covered with blood and matted hair, and reports that it is empty. Ruh roh. Upstairs, something clatters. Dean heads upstairs alone, armed with the Colt.

Dean stalks through the house quietly and tracks the sounds to the second story. The camera cuts to Goat-mask cam and Dean finds Sir Goatsalot standing alone in the middle of a room. He slowly approaches the unmoving goat suit when he's attacked and knocked out by another, non-masked man. It's Pete, the besieged plant manager! After knocking out Dean he runs downstairs and Sam and Bishop get dead-bolted into the basement. Bishop hands Sam a butcher's knife to chop his way out of the locked basement. (Hey kids, remember: when bolted behind a door, always take out the hinges first.)

Back at the Men of Letters bunker the crew investigates the boys, taking photos of everything, rifling through drawers, downloading data. In Dean's room Ketch finds an old photo of Mary holding wee Dean and stares at it for a while.

Dean wakes up in the meat plant, plastic-wrapped to a chair, and greets Pete who reveals that the Sheriff is his half brother. Their father was a notorious philanderer who let his illegitimate child grow up poor while his other family thrived on the other side of town. (Boris interjects: Anybody else getting an Adam vibe with all this talk of brothers and family business? I guess this is all a parallel to the Winchesters --and possibly Mary selling her family’s legacy to the YED?) Now Pete’s in control of the god. You know. “Hunting people. Killing them. The family business.” 

Pete's gonna save the town with his awesome pet god and pad his own pockets to boot.

Back at the bunker the MoL goon squad has turned up nothing useful – including nada on the Colt. (Yeah, dudes, it's because Dean brought it with and then promptly had it confiscated by some tool in Wisconsin.) Ketch plants a giant-ass bug under the table with a little antenna on it. DUDES. Stick that thing somewhere less obtrusive, OMG. All the Winchesters have to do is drop a pen and they’ll find it.

Now locked in the cold locker with Moloch, Dean wheels himself around in his chair, scoping out the hunting grounds. He sees the creature snatch one of the bodies and unwraps himself from the chair. Then he grabs a meathook to defend himself against the approaching beast. Outside the locker, Sam has tracked Dean's cell phone to the plant and is in turn stalked by Mr. Goaty McGoatface (aka Pete).

Outside the meat plant Bishop tackles the Goatinator, who accuses him of dumping the crappy, failing plant on him and bailing. (Moloch approaches Dean, stalking him through what must be the largest cold locker in the history of mankind.) Pete aims the Colt at Bishop but Sam shoots him dead and grabs the Colt. It's a good thing he does because Dean has just buried his meat hook in Moloch’s side. (Moloch: hee hee that tickles.)

It’s looking grim for our Dean Bean, but Sam shoots off the lock, opens the door, and blasts Moloch with the Colt. Moloch liquefies. Gross.

Bishop tells the Winchesters that he doesn’t need help with the grim cleanup. He'll take care of his family's dark legacy.

The boys arrive back at the bunker. “Next time you hear me say that our family is messed up remind me that we could be psycho goat people,” Dean mutters and heads straight for the mini fridge in the library to grab a beer. The boys then proceed to have AN INFURIATING CONVERSATION.

Dean: What do you think our legacy will be? You think folks will remember us?

Sam: No. I mean. Guys like us, we're not exactly the type of people they write about in the history books.

Me (fake coughing): The Winchester Gospels.

Me (more fake coughing): Probably a ton of hunter journals.

Fandom: GAAAARG.

Chuck: GAAAARG.

Sam concludes that the people they saved are the Winchester's legacy. Dean wonders about the fate of the bunker once they die. He pulls out his knife and carves his initials into the library table as the scene flashes back to their childhood and carving their initials in the Impala. It’s a pretty scene and blatantly hammers home the point that they consider the bunker to be their home now. Boris speculates that this means they’ll lose access to the bunker soon and, I mean, it seems pretty possible. (Boris: On a completely practical level, I don’t think they’ll really lose the bunker because that must have been one expensive set piece, and how many years does this show have left? 2? Would they really scrap something so useful and expensive in the waning days of the show? My heart says they want to hurt us; my head says $$$. Also, I love this meta by @mittenmorgul)

They call Mick to debrief. (I’m annoyed that they call him when they get back to the bunker. Not, like, while they're still in Wisconsin. I realize that’s for narrative effect and so they can use the newly planted bug. But still.) Ketch answers and informs them that Mick's gone back to London and they are to report to Ketch instead.

Natasha: Sighs. Hasn't it been strongly implied that Ketch is just some high class hunter? I thought the MoL liked to keep the firewall between hunters and the Men of Letters rigid? Or are all their hunters goons in suits? (Makes handwavy argument that Ketch is just running a long hunt on the American hunters so he’s allowed by the MoL to call the shots.)

Anyway, at that news Dean rolls his eyes. “I would much rather be with your mother,” Ketch says.

After they hang up Ketch stares at the photo of Mary he purloined as Dean bitches to Sam about Ketch through the bugged connection.

You Goat any Quotes?

Work smarter, Sammy. Not harder.

Oh c'mon. This guy's adorable. Plays a friggin' flute.

Maybe they just run an evil petting zoo inside.

Croquet's alright but you know what would be great? Murder.

“How you feeling?” “Like I just went twelve rounds with a god. So, you know, normal.”

[thehikingviking]

Fairview Peak and Sand Springs Range High Point, Hiking Within the Fallon Range Naval Expansion Area

The US Department of the Navy is proposing to withdraw BLM lands for Naval Aviation purposes. If done, this will have outdoor recreation impacts for civilians in the future. The Fallon Range Expansion proposal will prohibit public access to parts of 5 of Nevada’s Mountain Ranges starting in 2020. Included in those plans are Fairview Peak (P2K) and Sand Springs Range High Point (near P2K).

We planned to climb these two peaks while access was still legal. It was the beginning of February and due to a dry winter, most of the Great Basin peaks were snow free. With Daryn having social commitments that morning, we planned to meet at the starting point for Sand Springs Range High Point around noon. This gave me, Asaka and Dean a whole morning to climb something else. The perfect objective was Fairview Peak, as this is a drive up peak, meaning little time and energy required. We consolidated into Dean’s Range Rover in Fallon then followed Google Maps directions to the summit. The main road was easily managed with Dean’s 4WD vehicle, and probably could have been done with 2WD and high clearance. To give us a small challenge, we parked the car 500 feet short of the peak and hiked up a dirt road to the radio tower on the frigid summit.

To the west was the US Naval Reservation within Fairview Valley.

To the northeast were Mt Augusta and Desatoya Peak.

To the east were the Great Basin ranges of the Humboldt Toiyabe National Forest.

To the south were Peak 8144 and Peak 8064, two p300s which we planned to drive up on our way back.

It was too chilly to enjoy the views, so we jogged back down to the warmth and comfort of the Range Rover. We drove back down the dirt road and eventually hairpin turned up the south side of Peak 8144.  Dean and I at least got out, but Asaka was content to claim the peak from within the vehicle.

To the southwest was San Springs Range High Point.

To the north was Fairview Peak.

We hopped back in the car and continued down the road. Before descending the eastern slopes, we left the main road and drove straight up the steep northern slopes of Peak 8064. Dean shared the specifications of his vehicle, confident that we could climb the steep angle presented in front of us. The steepest section was touch and go, but the vehicle met the specification and got us to the top of the peak. To the east was barren desert ranges.

To the south was Slate Mountain, Big Kasock Mountain and Sand Springs Range High Point.

To the west was Fairview Valley.

Back to the north were Peak 8144 and Fairview Peak.

Just like that, we climbed three p300s with minimal effort. We carefully descended the north side of the peak and within minutes we were back on the main dirt road. Asaka was upset that she had no cell phone service, so she called AT&T with my phone as we drove to the starting point of our next hike. Dean and I both had service, AT&T and Verizon respectively. We found it weird that Dean had service while Asaka didn’t considering they share carriers. What we learned was since Asaka had a monthly plan, her coverage was limited when compared to Dean who had a long term contract. As we approached the starting point of Sand Springs Range High Point, we still had some time to kill. We found Peak 6203 to be nearby, so we continued down Ryan Canyon Rd to 39.04285, -118.30523. Here we followed a dirt road to within 500 feet of the peak. After a short walk, we made it to our fourth p300 of the day. To the west was Big Kasock Mountain. 

To the north was Sand Springs Range High Point.

We were now satisfied. We drove back north up Ryan Canyon Road, turned off on a dirt road and parked at 39.09862, -118.32188. Even after all our early adventures, we were still early. Daryn’s jeep appeared down below, and we watched it slowly trickle up the dirt road before us. As they parked, I noticed an excited expression on Kathy’s face. We greeted each other then started off by following a canyon in the northwestern direction.

There was no trail, so we just followed the canyon, taking a left and continuing due west at about 5900 ft. Others had followed the eastern ridgelines to the summit, however we stayed down in the canyon to avoid the increasingly strong winds. The going was a bit tedious with some loose rock and brush, but we’ve all encountered worse.

We followed the canyon to about 6,800 ft, then followed a game trail due south until reaching a small saddle.

From the saddle, we climbed cross country up the final slopes.The talus was flaky and the brush was sparse. A dust storm started to blow in on us, obstructing the views.

After 2,400 ft of climbing we made it to the summit. The Sand Spring Range continued to the north.

Fariview Peak was no longer visible due to the dust storm.

To the south was Big Kasock Mountain.

We signed two registers then retraced our steps back down the mountain.

The descent felt more tedious than the ascent. The hike was just under 5 miles round trip, and took us just over 4 hours, but this peak can be done must faster with a sense of urgency.