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secretobsessionstuff · 3 years

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Traffic Jam: Madix Food Poisoning

Madix awoke with his head in Riley’s lap. It was awfully disorienting. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with his head against the car window while Dakota and Blair chatted quietly in the front. He also remembered that his stomach was quite full from dinner, and that it lulled him into a deep food coma. He definitely ate too much at the buffet, so he welcomed the drowsiness that came with the heavy meal.

Now he was completely horizontal with his legs curled up on the back seat. He could feel Riley playing with his hair which felt heavenly, but he did want to know how he ended up with his seatbelt off. He also registered the fact that his stomach didn’t feel any lighter. In fact, it was hurting and churning more than before.

With a groan, Madix sat up and looked around. It was dark out, like it had been before he fell asleep, but now the car’s interior was flooded with red from other people’s brake lights. Everywhere he looked, he only saw the lights from many stationary cars on the highway. He couldn’t have been out long if they were still on the highway.

Dakota looked back as he saw movement in the mirror. “Did you sleep off all that food, Mads?”

“Not really.” He squinted more from discomfort that anything else. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Close to two hours.”

“Two hours!” he exclaimed. They should have been back home by now. The four lanes of stopped cars answered some of his questions. “How long have we been in traffic?”

“Close to two hours.”

Madix huffed and fell back on Riley’s lap. He would have much preferred to be home rather than stuck in a sea of parked vehicles. He looked up at Riley with as much of a smile as he could manage with the ache in his belly. “Thanks for keeping me comfy.”

“I didn’t want your neck to hurt from sleeping against the window,” Riley said while leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. “When it seemed like we’d be stopped for a while, I took off your seatbelt.”

“What the hell is keeping us stopped for two hours?”

Blair looked back at the boys and chimed in saying, “the rumour is that some guy got hit trying to cross the lanes. People gave up a while ago and got out of their cars.”

“They have the right idea,” Madix mumbled. He really had to pee and now it seemed things were about to get worse with the nausea that was slowly growing in intensity.

The car was mostly quiet, the conversation having died an hour ago. Madix closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep again, and sleep off the stomach-ache this time. He still had the taste of the ocean in his mouth from the seafood portion of the buffet. It made him want to gag just thinking about it.

His belly was so full and swollen. He could feel it pressing against his jeans, so he undid the button to give him some room to breathe. As he did, his stomach let out long gurgle that he could feel beneath his hand. The air must have traveled up his throat because the next thing he knew he was burping wetly into his fist.

“Ugh, excuse me,” he moaned. Lying down was not the best position to be burping in. His throat was already burning from the reflux.

Riley’s hands went back to playing with Madix’s hair, but it felt more tense this time. “Your stomach was making a lot of noise while you slept.”

“Mmh, it’s kinda upset,” Madix said with his eyes closed. For a moment, he forgot who he was talking to. “I’m actually a little nauseous to be honest.” The gentle massage ended as Riley’s hands froze. Shit. Madix sat up and fixed his hair nervously. He wanted to tell Riley that it wasn’t that bad – that he could hold off until they got home. But he didn’t know when that would be and God his stomach was cramping. Whatever he’d put into his belly really didn’t like it in there.

Riley started to bounce his leg and bite the nail of his thumb. Madix could see the war on his face. Half of his brain told himself to run away while the other half told him that Madix was able to comfort him all the time. It was no big deal. But the louder half was the one telling him to escape. There was only one problem. “Madix, we’re in a car. I—I don’t like this…”

Before saying something that would help, Madix couldn’t help the belch that escaped past his lips. Sitting up straight made the air and food shift around in his stomach. There was another gurgle that made him push his hand into his abdomen. He hated the fear that came across his boyfriend’s face. “Ry, it’ll be fine. I can always get out of the car if I need to.”

That’s when Dakota piped up, perhaps sensing the change in atmosphere. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Madix says he’s nauseous and thinks he’s gonna puke,” Riley said quickly with a quiver in his voice.

“Well, I didn’t say the part about—” Another wet belch caught him off guard and forced him to put a hand over his mouth. Okay, yeah Riley was right, he did think he was gonna puke.

Dakota and Blair both looked back worriedly. It was weird to see Dakota so well from the back seat, but it wasn’t like he had to concentrate on driving. He gave his friend a sympathetic look which morphed into an alarmed one as he heard the burp that Madix let out. “Damn, that didn’t sound good. Are you—”

Madix suddenly opened the door and left before Dakota could finish his sentence. Dakota just stared at the place where Madix had been. He blinked a few times and then simply turned up the car’s music up much louder than normal. With his hand on the door, he looked back at Blair. “You should talk to Riley about something really awesome. I don’t know what, but just talk. Or sing!”

“I’ve got him. Go help Madix.”

Dakota didn’t need to be told twice. He left his passengers in the beautiful company of Freddie Mercury as Bohemian Rhapsody started to play. Good, that was a long song.

He went around to the back of the car where he found Madix hunched over and coughing. There was no puddle of vomit by his feet. Yet. The boy’s hair was a mess and sticking up from sweat. Dakota placed his large hand in the center of his back. “You know, you puke in my car a lot.”

Madix groaned and spat on the ground as his mouth filled with saliva. “I didn’t this time.”

“I know. It just got me thinking of all the lovely memories,” Dakota said with a grin. The grin turned into a grimace as Madix burped, the sound of it hitting the back of his throat. “Did you catch a bug? ‘Cause I can’t imagine you’d be carsick.” Looking around at the traffic jam, Dakota tried not to make eye contact with the car behind them. It was only then that he realized that they might be giving a few people a show that they didn’t want to see.

Madix shook his head. This was worse than motion sickness. This was something spoiled trying to crawl out of him. Or swim out of him. He was going to tell Dakota the reason, but a harsh retch put an end to that plan.

Dakota’s eyes went wide. “Oh boy, sounds like you’ll tell me later.”

Madix’s stomach heaved into his throat as a gush of partially digested food rushed out of his mouth. It splattered in between his feet, forming an impressive yet disgusting puddle of sushi and ice cream, and everything else that the buffet offered.

He felt big circles being rubbed on his back which made the pain of his next retch less terrible. Still not great. His throat burned from the second wave of sick. The burn invaded his nose, making him wish he had a tissue as the sniffles came on strong.

Dakota gave his back a firm pat in between the light circles. “There you go. Get that shit up and you’ll feel better.” He had no idea how true those words were. Madix just had to get it out of his system because it was wreaking havoc on his stomach.

There was a rare moment of quiet in between bouts that Madix used to contemplate if life was worth living. He leaned against the back of the car, trying to catch his breath before the next round started.

“Are you finished?” Dakota asked, “Because I have water in the car.”

He moaned. “No, but water would be great.”

Dakota came back to the car just in time to hear the last verse of the song. Riley and Blair were indeed singing, albeit shakily in Riley’s case.

“How’s he doing?” Riley asked with concern in his voice.

“Beautiful, very impressive boyfriend you’ve got,” Dakota said with the same energy that he gave to everything. “But seriously, he’s okay. We’re managing. Lovely voices by the way.” He gave a Blair a wink and left.

Madix was back to gagging over the puddle with sick hanging from his lips. Yep, so beautiful, Dakota mumbled to himself.

“Thanks,” Madix said as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth and took the water bottle from his friend. “It was something I ate by the way. Sorry about this.”

“Hey, I got nowhere to go,” Dakota raised his arms, gesturing to the traffic jam.

As if the universe wanted to prove Dakota wrong, the cars started rolling ever so slowly. It was more movement than they’d seen in the last two hours. “Finally. Do you think you’ll be okay for the rest of the drive?”

“I hope so.” Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “I hate doing this to Riley.”

“He’s singing his worries away with Blair.” Dakota waved his hand in the air.

“I thought I heard Queen.”

Dakota chuckled. “And I think I’m going to take the backroads home, so I’ll pull over whenever you need.”

Before Madix could thank his friend, the car behind them honked at them to get a move on. Dakota shouted unkind words to them and waved goodbye with only one finger.

#emeto #emetophilia #emetophile #emeto fic #emeto kink #sickfic #food poisoning #Madix #Riley #Dakota #Blair #my ocs #vomiting #puking #platonic

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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How did 9/11 affect the American psyche? I’ve heard people say that 9/11 is when America went insane, but I was born into the post-9/11 America, so it’s a bit hard for me to wrap my head around.

Oh man. You kids are asking the easy questions tonight, I see.

I’m not even sure I can adequately describe the effect that 9/11 had on the American psyche and the ways in which the entire world would be massively, almost unimaginably different if it had never happened, but here goes.

Basically, in the almost exactly ten-year period between the final collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the terror attacks in 2001, life for Americans was pretty damn good. They had won the Cold War, the economy was doing great, everybody was feeling rich and optimistic and like there was nothing but blue skies ahead. (Side note, I wonder if this resurgence of ‘90s nostalgia has to do with the fact that that’s the last time that we collectively felt safe.) The Columbine school shootings happened in 1999, back when that was completely still a shocking thing that nobody would expect, and not a semi-regular feature of the news every few months. I was 11 years old. Littleton was about an hour from where we lived at the time. I spent the whole morning crying about it and insisted on organizing a memorial service for the victims. The 2000 presidential election was bitterly contested between Bush and Gore, coming down to a handful of votes in Florida and the Supreme Court decision. Man, you also have to wonder how all of recent American history would have gone differently if Bush had lost.

Then…. 9/11. I was 13. It was an ordinary, sunny Tuesday, my dad came upstairs with a funny look on his face, and said that apparently the World Trade Center had been attacked. We didn’t have cable TV, so we didn’t watch any of it live, but I don’t remember that we discussed anything else for the whole day. We were at home, which was far away from the East Coast or where any of it was happening, so I don’t have any dramatic memories of seeing people freaking out or anything like that. At dinner that night, THAT NIGHT, my mom said that Osama bin Laden had probably done it. I repeat: everyone knew on the same night that it had happened that Osama was almost definitely responsible. You may note that Osama bin Laden was a Saudi national, all the hijackers were Saudi, and al-Qaeda was an organization with deep Saudi roots. (Remember the part where America attacked… Afghanistan? Yep. Seems legit. Then again, they weren’t the biggest oil producers in the region and a major US ally.)

It is impossible to overstate the shock that this caused. This had never happened. Even through both world wars and the long, dangerous 20th century and the turbulence and tension of the Cold War, there had never been an attack like this on mainland American soil. (And on that note, America got into World War II, despite all the heroic mythology about freeing the world from tyranny, because of the attack on Pearl Harbor, which in 1941 was an American territory. There were plenty of Nazi sympathizers among the establishment and government, and as soon as the war was over, America brought plenty of Nazis, including Wernher von Braun, to work in the space program. To say nothing of our problems with Nazis NOW. So yes.) The psychological effects were literally devastating for both Americans and many other people. Not to downplay the obvious horror of what happened on 9/11 and the people who were killed, but it turned America into a siege state. Everyone was terrified, and yet now we had a War on Terror, helpfully called a “crusade” by President Bush before European allies forced him to walk it back. His approval ratings hit 90%+ in the days after 9/11, and support to bomb Afghanistan – again, not in any way directly connected to this, aside from the fact that it was where Osama bin Laden had been active, and when the US government had armed him and fellow mujahadeen in the 1980s to fight against the Soviets, who had invaded in 1979, making it a Cold War proxy battlefield, and anyway – was MONUMENTAL. The whole public was behind this. International sympathy for America was incredible. Everyone was on our side and willing to say that we had been wronged. It didn’t really matter that Afghanistan was not really connected to this. Someone needed to suffer for this outrage. And boy, did they suffer.

Then came March 2003, and the infamous declaration that we were now going to invade Iraq, because Saddam Hussein (supported by the US in the 1980s Iran-Iraq War, in retaliation for Iran overthrowing their puppet shah in 1979, after CIA and MI6 staged a coup to remove Iran’s democratically elected prime minister in 1953 to protect their access to oil) apparently had weapons of mass destruction and was about to use them to kill more Americans. Everyone knew at the time that this was pretty much bullshit. But boy, did the Bush administration go hard to work selling it to us. The Department of Homeland Security was founded in 2002, after the attacks. The Patriot Act and other intrusive new surveillance methods and measures were quickly authorized. Americans became watched, spied on, mistrusted, and suspected of wrongdoing in ways never really tried on a large scale before. Any dissent was framed as taking the side of the terrorists; couldn’t you see that we needed all this to be safe? The state of national emergency that was declared after 9/11 was never actually revoked; we are all still living in it 19 years later. The culture of hyper-militarism, all these huge flags at sporting events and the visibility of these “Salute to Service” months and this aggressive fasciso-patriotism all grew up directly from the seeds of 9/11 and the sense of unforgivable affront to America, which could do what it wanted anywhere else in the world but could never forgive anyone for inflicting it in return.

It’s a mark of how badly all that public sympathy was mismanaged that by the time 2003 rolled around, the international community (except for Great Britain and Bush’s loyal compadre, Tony Blair) was… to say the least, skeptical of this Iraq adventure. It was pretty clearly a pretext to resume the Gulf War from Bush Senior’s tenure, unrelated to any actual justification or revenge for 9/11, and demonstrated the fact that far from resting on our laurels and feeling safe after winning the Cold War, America was now locked in mortal combat with an enemy that could be everywhere at any time. Nobody should feel safe, because the terrorists were out there. Despite the condemnation, Bush got re-elected in 2004, in part by painting his opponent, John Kerry, as someone who just couldn’t be trusted on national security. In short, Kerry, a Vietnam veteran, was “Swift Boated,” though he also did run a pretty wooden and uninspiring campaign. I just missed being old enough to vote in this election, though my parents and older sister all voted for Kerry, and Bush’s failings were a frequent subject of discussion in our house. He was getting more and more unpopular, was a figure of national ridicule, and yet this never actually discredited the whole War on Terror and the apparatus that sustained it. There were reports of war crimes, including Abu Ghraib, committed by the American forces. The indiscriminate torture and murder of detainees at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba was also an object of national concern, but allowed to keep happening. Less than 5 years after 9/11, and all this sympathy for America, America had… well, lost its mind.

So… yes. There’s an entire generation now that is too young to remember 9/11 and thinks that America has always been this way, but it is, again, completely impossible to overstate how 9/11 turned this sense of comfortable complacency and national prosperity upside down. Everything was now justified in the name of freedom, and any disloyalty was suspect. Our “The Greatest!!” state had to be repeated and reissued and emphasized at every point. Many innocent Americans died on 9/11, sure. But the way that it was turned into the worst violation that any country had suffered anywhere, led to the death of thousands of Afghans, Iraqis, American servicepeople, Muslims, and everyone else involved in the wars and the system that was built to sustain them, and turned America into this paranoid, brutal, out-of-control war-machine juggernaut is, it can be well argued, its worst and most lasting tragedy.

#politics for ts #anonymous #ask

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chiimmchiimm · 4 years

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❝ 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 ❞

CHAPTERS “ 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair). 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Genre: smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 4.3 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔: +18 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: dirty language, lies, mood swings, spectacular and close bodies, muscles, biceps, problems, very big problems, resolved threats, future friends, jealousy on her part, sad but spicy conversation in the end, rare metaphors ... 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: A long time, dear readers, I paused to finish the story completely. I will try to upload the chapters more often. Great things are coming !! Thank you very much for reading and enjoy the chapter !!

Did you have me for what?

Fucking shit because every time we talked, he left me with the word in his mouth and left, leaving the greatest suspense in history. It seemed like her favorite hobby, confusing me as she tried to make sense of everything she said. But all that was a dead end because every time I reached a conclusion he would come and make me think a thousand different times. I never understood men, much less this one. I did not like the feeling of uncertainty that settled in my chest every time I had the privilege of being the recipient of such ambiguous words.

My fist hit the leather material with enthusiasm. I did not know at what point I had arrived at the prison gym, I was only aware of my actions when I noticed the cold latex contrast with the heat of my knuckles. Maybe I had found my way to let off steam. When he hit the bag he didn't think, he just moved the muscles unconsciously. I needed that, let go of instinct and stop thinking about deep eyes and strong arms with wonderfully perfect tattoos.

I liked that inmates ignored me, it had been a long time since I had heard loud compliments and overly embarrassing sexist comments. In a way, they had learned to respect my space and they didn't bother me as much, of course, the presence of Thirteen had been a mitigating factor worthy of note. In these weeks my relationship with Thirteen (if the strange bond that unites us can be called that) had advanced to such a point that I did nothing without him at my side. I suppose that we had a common goal, to protect his sister, but in fact, I liked that he will also ensure my safety. Since the occurrence of the baths he had not detached himself from me, and in a way, his company did not bother me as surprisingly I thought he would. He was not as bad as he thought, his grumpy character had been lowered considerably in these weeks, he was no longer the same serious boy whose only facial gesture was manifested through a slight involuntary blink. Without going any further, he continued to maintain that firm and regal posture but there were times when he thought he saw a small smile appear.

A smile like now.

"If the sack had a mouth, it would be laughing at your blows." I hear his mockery between the roars of my fists hitting the leather material. His back was turned to him but I could imagine how his corners rose in a mischievous smile that only screamed the desire he had to make me rage. His longtime favorite hobby. Buffet exhausted and then stop hitting the stuff to turn me around. Thirteen received my frown with a small laugh.

"Yeah, but you have to understand that not everyone lives three meters away and has arms bigger than their head." I blurted out, she seemed to look annoyed but both he and I knew that my contemptuous tone was overactive. Cross your arms to calm the hectic movement of my chest. For him it had been nothing more than small blows but he had really left my breath. Long heavy breaths with her mouth ajar as she skeptically watched him. I felt how the beads of sweat gradually accumulated on my forehead and then bathed my neck with pride. Thirteen observed me sitting from an exercise table, with his dark eyebrow raised as he followed the path of a drop that went down the column of my neck towards my tank top. My breathing increased dramatically for reasons other than exercise when her tongue came out in a provocative dance to wet her two parted lips. I squeezed my arms to cover the view of my semi-transparent white sweatshirt. I felt very intimidated on my feet, as her eyes traveled everywhere she had exposed. Even more when her dramatic silence began to bore me and my mind began to produce thoughts about how good the white T-shirt she wore today looked, how well her tattoos stood out in the artificial light of the bar lamps and in the wide and fluffy that turned his thighs when crushed when sitting.

I swallowed hard to catch my breath as Thirteen scrambled to her feet to impose her height on me. I had to tilt my neck up to see the dark glow in his eyes.

"I'm not ten feet tall," I groan with a small pout as I wrinkle my nose and frown. Her gesture made me laugh a little. However, I stopped laughing when his eyes dropped to my wet little cleavage. My breath hitched and the mouth of my throat began to dry. I part my lips in a snap, causing her to soon admire his movement. "However, I have parts of my body that are quite large."

Snap your fingers in front of your face to catch their attention. Immediately his eyes stopped admiring the beginning of my breasts to settle on me as if nothing.

"My face is up here, Thirteen."

I pass a slanting self-sufficient smile as I stared at mine. A look too intense to hold for too long. For a fraction of a second I wished I had closed my mouth, because at least the other way I didn't notice how nervous I was when his pupils dominated mine too easily. Turn the sack around and hit it to camouflage the tension that had formed from the awkward silence.

Center the force of my punches at one point to increase damage to the bag, isolating myself from around me. Suddenly, my back hit the hard surface of his chest. I immediately froze by canceling any future moves I intended to make. I swallowed so that the dryness of my mouth was not so bothersome. My stomach clenched as the weight of his hands began to warmly embrace my hip. I tried to glance askance at his body but his hands held me in place. One of his legs came slowly down the side of my body, when his thigh brushed against mine I swore I heard a gasp escape from his lips that landed directly on the surface of my ear when he leaned enough so that I could feel the wetness of my skin from his lip.

"You are too weak to leave all the weight of the blow in your hands," he whispered in a graver tone than usual. I deduced from the movement of his chest that he looked more disturbed than the normal stability of his voice reflected. He raised his hands leaving a silky path too nice, I closed my eyes unconsciously when he left them on my waist. By then, my breathing was too strong to try to hide it. It was as if after his hot walk my joints would stop working, submitting to the sweet torture of his overly provocative caresses. In a movement that caught me completely off guard, he thrust his knee into the hollow of mine and dug his fingers into my waist to propel me forward so that my fist hit the material. Incredibly the bag moved for the first time since I started my workouts. I opened my eyes forgetting, or rather, trying to ignore how good my whole body felt when feeling the cozy warmth of his big hands.

“But how?” I asked, too surprised by the simple fact that I never thought I would ever be able to move the bag on my own. In a quick blink I managed to glance askance at her face, her sharp detailed jaw in front of my eyes giving me a perfect perspective of her wonderful profile. His well-formed cheekbones and the relief of his large nose. I even managed to discover amid the roughness of his broad neck a small mole that caused a sweetness to the eye. Thirteen realizing my devotion to new discoveries of her skin, I turn my head completely. His wild pupils dominated mine leaving me at his disposal. The moisture on my lips felt a sharp chill as it contrasted with his hot breath.

"You are small, you have almost no muscle and you hardly know how to defend yourself." All you can do is attack strong enough first to give yourself time to run away.

I felt ashamed for her lack of confidence in my physical state, more than hurt, however, deep down I knew she was right and that's why I kept quiet. I was never a physically strong girl before, I did not win a fight in my life and if I did it was not for me, but because someone interrupted. And maybe that was what bothered me so much that even knowing I was right I didn't want him to see me as a helpless animal that had no other way than to flee. I've been running away from an abuser all my life, and I think sometimes people get tired of running away. In my case, quite a long time ago.

"Well then, teach me how to defend myself," I whispered in a conciliatory tone. Thirteen I raise one leaves surprised by my interest, however, a short time later began to form a smile marked by pride. I felt good at the time, able to do anything.

“Do you see the black area of the bag?” He pointed his eyes forward, making him turn his head towards his directions. Take a close look at the black stripe that covered the top of the bag. He bit back an unsatisfied moan as he remembered that it was the hardest area. At first I had tried to soften her but had done nothing other than bruise my knuckles thoroughly. I nodded a little confused for not understanding what was the interest of her looking right there. His finger reached to the start of the sack just on the edge as the material slipped in to form a flattened circumference. Raise your head to facilitate my perspective. It was almost funny to see how his hand reached that height without any problem knowing that I would not even jump. I gave a little frightened gasp when I stick his lip to the cartilage of my ear and whisper softly as if he were telling me a story. "This area corresponds to the beginning of the forehead. and the small fissure that corresponds to the mouth, lower is the jaw and a little lower is the jugular and finally the neck. "I was amazed to be a spectator of so much strategy. It was true, if I could get a better look there were marked parts that corresponded to all the parts that he had named, it was only necessary to pay more attention to the details. His finger attached to the hand of his tattooed joint looked powerful, large, so mesmerizing from the dance of his marked veins. "You just have to look for the area that you think can fuck the most." But if I give you some advice, the first blow send it directly to the neck, you will leave it breathless for a few seconds long enough so that you can punch it and knock it to the ground.

"I will," I swore safely.

"Yes," he whispered, dragging me into a world full of chills. Her lip had settled on my skin like it was her second home. The contrast was so relaxing when enough time passed. Her lip was so soft as well as hot. In an instant I found myself casting a longing gaze at him. I did not know why I simply began to feel an exaggerated desire to see his black eyes again. He reciprocated in seconds. I regretted when I realized the very compromising position I was in. His face was too close to the point that his nose was caressing mine. The long arm I had as a support began to slide down until it was inches from my neck. Everything seemed to disappear around me when Thirteen began to bow her head with a desperate slowness.

“Am I interrupting?” A voice foreign to us interrupted the moment too abruptly. Thirteen stopped leaning quickly to look at the unknown person. Suddenly, I noticed how his jaw clenched and his nose widened. When I could feel the tension in his shoulders I couldn't help but turn around and understand why Thirteen had reacted that way. "I was looking for you, Thirteen."

I instantly recognized that wicked smile and that piercing look.

"I don't have time for your psycho shit, Hong Kong." Thirteen replied with a tired air in the reflection of his voice. The named broadening the smile further exposing his tongue pircing more than macabre. His yellowish, sharp teeth began to create small retches at the beginning of my stomach. I don't know if it was fear of everything I had heard from him or simply because I didn't like how tense everything was getting, I just knew that I wanted to leave urgently.

Suddenly, Thirteen's hand caught my wrist too hard to push me on its way. However, we could not take two steps as miraculously two men appeared in front of us just as creepy as the other one standing in our way. I heard a deep sound come from Thirteen's throat as a warning. The taller of the two, a blond with a beard, seemed unaffected, however the smaller one truly doubted his position.

"I said I was looking for you." He spoke again in the same neutral tone. I looked at Thirteen immediately but he didn't stop terrifyingly shooting the bearded blond. His fingers wrapped more and more tightly around my wrist, letting me understand that he was getting quite angry, but also that he was getting nervous.

"Take off," he growled at the blonde. I was quite surprised by the cold and terrifying tone I use. It had been a long time since I had seen that part of him. And I admit, I wasn't liking seeing her again, it was too scary.

"You should thank me that I have had the education to introduce myself here to ask you myself if the rumors I have heard from some prisoners are true."

Suddenly, the air became much heavier. I watched with some panic as he closed his left hand into a fist. I had never seen him lose control like that, it was as if his rational part had suddenly vanished and another good had appeared instead. There was a moment when his fingers were clenching too hard, he groaned silently but with enough plea for him to hear my complaint. As if it was a sign that she was being carried away by the impulse her hand loosened suddenly causing her to exhale in relief.

"Surprise me," he spelled slowly but very demanding.

"Well, it turns out that one of my trusted men was suspiciously sent to the hospital with a broken jaw. Rumors have it that it was because he messed with the wrong girl."

My mouth clenched impossibly to hold back a gasp. I had an urge to cover my lips to hide a scream but I held steady for the sake of both of us. You didn't have to be very smart to know what he was talking about. My good imagination played a trick on me, scenes of a guy lying on the floor drinking his own blood while Thirteen kept giving him more blows. I felt guilty because this was all for me. I knew I was that girl Hong Kong was talking about as I also knew that my problems were starting to affect Thirteen and I felt pretty bad.

"Yes, he messed with the wrong girl."

Hong Kong slowly shook his head to the side. His smile exuded amusement, an ironic glow that had rendered me speechless. Thirteen managed to move a little toward him to keep his gaze. He positioned himself with his back to me and when I was afraid to stay behind with the two Hong Kong men, suddenly, I felt a hand catch mine to calm me down. Ironically, this was the first time he had shaken my hand. I couldn't turn off the disappointment of my heart because I really waited for that moment for a long time without realizing it. Fears left me when the warmth of his hand took mine.

However, my eyes caught an abundant body moving from the corner of my periphery, I slightly turned my neck and it was when all the nerves returned ripping without mercy. The sweat suddenly turned cold as I froze as I saw something shiny and pointed mockingly peek out of the blonde's sleeve.

When he took a step forward, I knew in that instant his terrifying intentions. His eyes glued to a fixed point on Thirteen's back as his eyes sparkled with anticipation. I really didn't know what to do, not when I knew what was going to happen if I didn't do something. Thirteen was on his back, he was protecting me, he was ignoring two psychopaths so he didn't have to deal with Hong Kong's bloodshot eyes. My chest rose so high that my heart began hammering inside my ear. Taking a rather exaggerated exhalation of air I placed myself in front of him with open palms.

"Don't do it! Are you really planning to take that out here when you have a camera pointed directly at the nape of your neck and another in front of us?" I whispered quite upset. I controlled my tone with concentration but if I could analyze the nuances of my babble I could Successfully deducing that I was truly terrified. The blonde remained impassive at my little hysteria and just then laughed at me. I felt small under his wicked gaze, I opened my mouth to cover an overly revealing gasp.

It was at that moment that Thirteen turned suddenly to make sure with a quick glance that he was fine. Afterward, I watch the blonde glaring at him with so much fury permeated by every detail of his pupils that I cut his laughter abruptly. Thirteen wrinkled his nose and grunted in his direction as he took two steps causing the blonde to back off at the same time colliding with his partner.

"Don't go near her, motherfucker."

His roar was too aggressive. Her nostrils flared at the strong breaths. His brow furrowed together with his nose. But really, really it was the dilated vein in his neck that could really stand out from the whole scene.

“The wrong girl, huh?” Hong Kong cooed quietly. Thirteen seemed to lose track of the situation for a couple of seconds. He blinked nervously for a couple of seconds but knew how to compose himself skillfully. I didn't even need to look at him to know that he was controlling himself terribly. Her knuckles couldn't be whiter and I could swear her nails were digging deeper and deeper into her palms. When Hong Kong spoke again the air came back to me again. "Let's go, I already got the answer I wanted."

True to his word, Hong Kong and the other two left when the Asian signaled for them to follow him. The tension returned to me when the blond collided his shoulder with Thirteen's when it passed by him. Thirteen smirked as he moved his leg to sneakily hit his stomach. The blond whimpered weakly intending to turn but his friend dragged him out of his reach.

When I thought the scare was completely gone a loud scream made me jump in my place.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

I opened my eyes with regret as my mouth closed uneasily. Thirteen was furious. Killing me back. Leaving me more nervous than I already was.

"I don't know," I stuttered. I buffeted, closing my eyes before swallowing hard. "What did you want me to do when I saw I had a screwdriver under my sleeve?" I have acted on impulse, sorry.

But my attempts to get him to listen to me evaporated as fast as water in the summer. Thirteen remained royal. I knew that deep down it was nothing more than a reprimand for intervening in other people's conversations and also, that I really did not want to behave in this way but I assumed it was due to the constant accumulated tension.

"Damn it, Blair." Hong Kong really isn't a person you can screw with. ”I gasp, forcing myself to calm down before completely losing patience. He slid his palm across her face as he whispered a couple of curses.

"He didn't come to speak and both you and I knew perfectly well. Did you want me to stay on the sidelines when his friend wanted to stab you with that thing? ”I insisted with overwhelming urgency. The sharp point returned to my head causing a terrifying chill.

Thirteen clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes contemptuously.

"I don't need anyone to defend me," he clarify loudly, rejecting the idea of needing help from someone other than himself.

"Oh, believe me I know." I laughed wryly as I recreated inside my head the memory of him boxing.

"You are too impulsive."

"And you're too dependent." Furious, I let out an agitated sigh. Thirteen raised an eyebrow to declare how unimportant my view of him was. “I know you've probably always solved problems just because you've gotten used to not depending on anyone but this is different. You must tell your friends so that ...

"I'm not going to get you into this," he growled, completely opposing what he had said earlier, drawing out a weary sigh.

"Stop wanting to be alone! Because you don't think of all the people who love you, Lucy, Jimin, Taehyung even though I don't show it very often I think Suga does too. Accepting help from others does not make you a weak person, on the contrary, it only shows that you are strong enough to correct mistakes and find the right solutions”

"And you love me?"

I was blank for a few seconds when I cut myself off with that question. I blinked uneasily at his direction trying to understand if my ears hadn't really played a shovel at me. Inevitably I began to ask myself, an immediate answer came out, one that, despite being totally confusing, was still secret to me. I mean, yes. I mean, yes. Thirteen mattered to me. He was a good friend and besides, he was always there when he needed it. But...

Those were really the reasons?

"649 report in the direction immediately." When the metallic voice of the intercom broke into gym Thirteen and I turn our eyes to the device hanging on the corner of the wall. Taking advantage of his oversight, I ran away. And I must admit that I felt like a complete coward at the time. But he didn't really blame me, I wasn't ready for that conversation.

"Hello." I greeted Brian cheerfully as I approached the principal's door. He smiled warmly sending me feelings of security and tenderness. My heart skipped a beat. It had been a few days since I saw him and I must admit that I missed those striking green eyes.

"Hello, Blair," I reply back when I finally get in front of him. Despite his smile and his good demeanor I couldn't ignore the tension that was building up on his shoulders. He turned on his side and opened the door. "Come in, they're waiting for you."

Slightly tilt your head, getting lost in the situation.

"Who?"

Brian intended to reply, but his mouth was immediately closed when a tall, stout, and dressed man took up my entire field of vision. She frowned in confusion. I briefly looked at Brain who nodded at me nervously.

"Miss London, have a seat please." The director's sudden voice distracted me for a few seconds. Not knowing how to deal with this situation, I decided to sit down and wait for things to clear up.

"What is all this?" Despite the fact that it was the director who had been in front of me, the question was thrown into the air so that both the man from before and the other, who had just seen when I entered the room more, they will take the initiative to speak. There was a brief pause that further condensed the oxygen in the office. The man in the suit took enough authority to stand next to the principal. The sockets of my eyes almost shot out when I managed to visualize the gold plaque hooked on his belt. However, it was different from the regulation in my country. I was much more confused, and worse still, much more scared.

Did they come to tell me about my father's dirty business?

Did they come to threaten me so that I will plead guilty at trial?

"My name is Kim Hyulin, I'm an inspector for the Seoul Police Station Homicide Squad. We came here because we have to ask you some questions." His foreign accent took me by surprise. The alterations that navigated his pronunciation were very similar to those of Thirteen and his friends. Suddenly Hyulin put her hands on the table. Watch the gesture suspiciously. There was something in its tonality that told me that it had not been entirely clear and that there were things to say. His expression was harsh, he frowns enthusiastically trying to scare me but his attempt was in vain. The unnatural wrinkles on the length of his skin gave him the image of a mature man in his forties. However, the other man dressed in a much cheaper suit was young and it was obvious that he was a novice.

"What kind of questions?"

"Limit yourself to answer and you have not asked," the rookie roared with an air of superiority. The contemptuous tone that I use accompanied by a look full of pride bothers me. He was looking at me like I was some trash he had to deal with.

“Answer what?” I breathes out nervously at her planned circumlocutions.

Hyulin blew out a breath as her lips parted with a snap. I don't like his accusing look. Nor his ways of analyzing my gestures as if from them he will get the answer he so longed for. I glance quickly at his apprentice, who quickly straightened up. Then he spoke:

"Tell me Miss London, how much do you know about Jeon Jungkook?"

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note-katha · 5 years

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Evenfall Chapter One

Alright, according to my notes, it’s just about time for the story to begin. Now, before we get started, we should review some very important things.

What we discuss while this story unveils you might want to keep secret. You could tell people, but then I’d tell you to expect more than a few weird looks and questions about your mental stability. If that’s what you were aiming for, go ahead!

I personally find that keeping the ongoings of Everless a much more favorable (and easier!) solution.

Secondly, I hope you don’t find yourself at a loss with all the information the story requires, I understand that there’s quite a bit you don’t know, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn! Learning is very important and you can count on me to be a wonderful teacher!

So, without further ado, let’s begin!

The Melpomene dorm was the school’s oldest dorm, the first one built and the smallest to boot. It wasn’t used as often as the other dorms, only really being used if there were too many students. Or given to a very particular type of students, which was quite rare but not unwelcome. Usually.

For one reason or the other, Kalavathi, Juli, and Ardis found themselves assigned to the dorm, taking residence alongside six others.

Taking the other suite on the single floor of the dorm was a quartet of second-year students who seemed very...odd.

While we know that there is much more to the world than humans, these people seemed to barely pass as such.

Oh yes, and filling out the fourth slot in their room was a girl named, hm, really? One moment, let me check this.

Right, yes, yes, that’s actually her name? Wow.

Filling out the fourth slot in their room was a girl named “Mary Sue”. Yes, really. I can’t believe it either.

The final person in the dorm was their “RA”, resident advisor. A relatively charming demon-type who rarely fit the assumed archetype for demons. Don’t let the horns fool you, they’re very nice. You see, however, the problem with demon names is that they’re written and pronounced in a script which is also used in magic, usually demonic specific magic. It’s not hard to say words in that script normally, but those not trained to know the difference usually face some problems.

Their name will damn any normal human that attempts to say it to another realm in which no one has ever been able to return to, so when I tell you, don’t say it out loud.

It’s Tattvagyega. They usually go by Tatti or Cels. They visit me frequently and we talk about the people trapped there. Cels visits them to apologize and bring snacks. They make a mean sugar cookie, you should try them one day.

Apologies, that was off-track, let’s focus on our main trio, yes?

Kalavathi was the first, as usual, to arrive. “So, this is my new home,” she thought aloud, as she was prone to do. “Could be worse,” she shrugged, pulling the school-provided luggage cart behind her as she walked up. Kal pulled the keys to the dorm out, this building is so old they have keys instead of cards, scary, I know. She unlocked the door, entering the quaint and warm building. She walked in backwards, in order to properly pull the cart in.

“Hello!” A voice called out to her, “Welcome! I’m your RA, Cels Ev’rals. You are?” Kal didn’t answer for a moment as she yanked the cart into the building.

“My name’s Kala—” she cut herself off with a panicked scream when she finally turned around. Cels was a demon, a Southern Demon to be exact, which meant deep red skin and curly, ram-like, horns. I can see why that would be a bit scary, especially for someone like Kal who managed to make it this far without realizing that Evenfall wasn’t normal.

Cels frowned, cocking their head to the side before glancing down. “Aw man, I forgot my glamour, didn’t I?” They, in fact, had but with a quick rambling recitation of their glamour spell, the young demon appeared far more human. A deep tan and messy brown hair replaced their demonic visage. “Better?” they asked.

Kal stared blankly for a moment, running through what had just happened in her mind. As rational as she usually was, she had had a sneaking suspicion that Evenfall wasn’t normal, one that was just confirmed. Taking into account that information she groaned. Quite loudly as she crouched to the floor.

Cels took a step forward, unsure how they could help.

“Kalavathi Nayri, I prefer Kal and I’m a Computer Science and Graphic Design double major.” She took a moment to regain her composure and stand. “On my acceptance, it said W, Creation. I have no idea what that means.”

“Oh, Creation Witch?” Cels offered, glancing at his list, “That matches up. You’re our only second circle. Nice.”

Kal opened her mouth to ask questions.

“Wait till orientation, they’ll explain better than I can.”

“Alright,” Kal nodded. “Nice to meet you, by the way, Cels,” she said, offering a hand to shake. Cels beamed as they accepted the handshake.

It was now that our second and third main characters finally managed to make their first appearances in considerably less fanfare than Kalavathi.

Ardis pushed the door open, scanning the room with a hesitant expression. Or, rather, it seemed like a mostly blank one, but that’s because Ardis isn’t the best at facial emotions. I can relate, Ardis, so don’t feel bad.

“Hello?” He called out to the two. “Uh, I’m here to move in?”

Cels waved, “Hello, welcome!” They took a few steps back, giving room for Kal and Ardis to adjust their carts, along with a third person, whom as previously mentioned, is Juli. “Welcome to Evenfall, if I can get you two’s names, I can leave you alone to unpack before your orientations.”

“Ardis Akiya-Blair, freshman Astrobiology major.”

“The Nature Witch,” Cels said aloud as they checked it off, “And you?”

“Juli Cárdenas Rivera Silva Vicente,” she answered without hesitation, “Major is currently undecided.”

“The Voice Witch, nice to meet you guys. Let me know if you have any questions! This right here,” they pointed at the entrance right beside the group, “is actually your suite. Four rooms, a full kitchen, and a common area. We’ll deal with rooming agreements tomorrow, you guys relax tonight and have fun at orientation.” Cels gave them a charming smile, as they were prone to do, smile before heading off.

“Uh, they’re not human,” Kal said as she faced the group. “Are you human? You look human but I’m not sure what to trust anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m human,” Ardis nodded, “I found out about the magical thing, which might make me not human.” He shrugged, “My name’s Ardis, by the way.”

“Kalavathi, but you can call me Kal,” she answered on instinct, “Thinking about it now, I probably shouldn’t be that surprised that this school isn’t normal.”

“Yeah, I kind of just came because it was in-state for me. Magic was not expected,” Juli admitted, “Call me Jules, nice to meet you guys! We’re suitemates it seems, huh?” She grinned at them, “Then that means we gotta team up to figure out everything new we’re gonna experience.” Ah, fortunately, Jules was at the very very confident end of her confidence spectrum. Good, that’s going to help today.

There was a beat of silence and before anyone could speak, the door swung open.

“Of course, I get this kind of dorm,” someone groaned loudly as they entered.

Ah, yes, her. Mary Sue stepped into the building, her blonde hair tied up into a ponytail. A somewhat ridiculous expression of apparent irritation. Her scowl got worse as she looked around as if she had heard something.

She eyed the group, “Do you know where the RA is?”

The three pointed in the direction Cels had gone in. Without even any thanks, she walked off to find Cels.

Jules frowned lightly, but shrugged, “Hey, anyone have a preference about their rooms in the suite?”

“Let’s get into the suite first, then pick,” Kal offered, “We should head over for orientation afterward.” Aw, Kal’s trying to socialize. I’m so proud of her!

Orientation took place in the school’s amphitheater, the heart of Evenfall University’s campus and a typically beautiful place which students often used as a hangout spot.

However, now, as the sun was slowly beginning to set, students of all types that made up the freshman class were finding seats on the grass. Many whispering between each other, trying to figure out what was going on.

Not too long after our trio arrived, taking seats close to the stage, did they notice the two professor-looking adults milling about on the stage itself.

“What school does their orientation when it’s getting dark?” Kal murmured, “On top of that, what school makes their freshman wait until the day after orientation to sign up for classes?”

“It’s certainly weird,” Ardis nodded, “The school’s seemingly pretty well functioning, so I don’t think there’s much cause for worry.”

Before Kal could respond, there was a small commotion. The two professors scrambling off the main stage before an explosion of smoke erupted and spilled out of nowhere.

Lights were the first thing visible. Shapes on the grass, ones that began to light up everywhere.

A line within a triangle within a square within a pentagon, all starting from the very top of the pentagon with a small dot in the center. Ah, yes, the Five Circles of Magic! A lovely symbol.

Once the smoke dissipated, there stood a woman, brightly smiling and illuminated by the sigil beneath her feet.

“Welcome to Evenfall University!” The woman waved, “My name is Suvati Kair and I’m the Dean here at Evenfall.” Ah, yes, Suvati. Her flair for the dramatics will never end, it seems. “I’m sure many of you have questions, so allow me to explain.” With a flick of her wrist and a recitation of something that wasn’t exactly English, lights began to flicker to life around her, fifteen to be exact. “It might come as a surprise to some, though I imagine at least a few of you have figured it out, but Evenfall is home to one of many magical universities devoted to providing a place of education and safety to all students. We also work to find students with Nevermore heritage or magical background in order to educate them on their identity and abilities.” She pointed at one of the professors, “Dr. Avali here will take over to discuss the basics of what Nevermore and Everless are.”

Dr. Avali, an Angel, and not exactly the type you’ve read about, though I can see why you’d think that, with the fluffy white wings and all, took center stage.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Alex Avali, I’m a professor here, I teach a variety of mathematics classes along with the Angelic Educa class here at Evenfall University,” he began, his voice managing to ring throughout the amphitheater yet remain soft. He’s using a vocal enchantment charm, to explain. Alex loves those things, he doesn’t have to raise his voice for people to hear him. “We’ll start with what is Everless. The answer? This.” He waved his arms around, “Here is Everless. This town, this country, this continent, this world, this solar system, galaxy, universe.” Dr. Avali listed.

He glanced around, not seeing enough understanding in the students. I know I could explain it far better, but he continued. “We are the other side of the pond, but I don’t mean across the pond. Everless is the place when you jump into the pond and emerge on the other side. The other side to us is Nevermore, the birthplace of magic.”

Kal leaned forward, entranced. She didn’t need to spare a glance to her new roommates to know that they shared in her wonder.

Taglist, asked to be added or removed: @spacebrick3, @no-url-ideas-tho, @arynneva, @superwaywardangel, @likeicarusifall @aschenink, @writing-for-the-batfam, @ekrizdis, @wiccanchester

#notetalking #note writes #my writing #writing #project: evenfall

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allqueenspeople · 5 years

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Calling All The Girls!

A/N: so so so sorry that this chapter took so long to be uploaded! I have been so busy with school that I had no time to write! Fortunately, I go on break for two weeks next Friday so Ill try to upload every other day. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Also, very sorry if there is weird grammar or misspelled words, and do you guys like the gif? Should I keep doing them?

Chapter

Ⅴ

Roger wasn't the type of guy to like a girl instantly. Sure, he hooked up with girls after gigs but, he never felt a strong attraction to them, but when he saw this beautiful girl at a gig last week he was enamored by her. He couldn't stop thinking how her hair swayed as she walked, and how her smile light up when she talked to her friend.

Roger also wasn't the type to get jealous; he was a chill guy, and did not have relationships long enough to see other people try flirt with his girls. But that night when Freddie kept giving this girl attention, it drove Roger crazy. He wanted her to look at him, watch him play, not Freddie.

Roger watched as Freddie bent down on the stage to talk to the girl and her friend; this brought a sudden pang of annoyance to Roger, and he couldn't figure out why. She was just some random girl at one of their gigs. Decided he's had enough Roger called out to Freddie.

“Oi Freddie! Stop flirting with girls and lets go!”

Freddie dismissed Roger with a wave and continued to chat with the girl. The just fueled Roger even more.

“Fred, I said lets go”

Roger watched as Freddie turned toward him with an intense glare, “Well, if you stopped being impatient I would have told you I was in the middle of a conversation, but see as you have just interrupted there's no point now is there?”

Roger felt somewhat bad about nagging at Freddie to leave; he stretched the back of his neck and groaned, “Fred come on dont be like that, I haven't had a good night.”

Roger really wasn't having the best night. He was filled with jealousy and announce and he couldn't figure out how to stop it, and that made him even more annoyed. Then as Roger was about to go cool off, he watched as the girls tried to sneak away, and he was hit with a pang of sadness. Roger leaned over to Freddie and pointed out that she was leaving, and that Freddie hasn't introduced them to each other yet.

Roger figured that this would be his in; he’d meet the girls, then forget about her by the next day. Roger didn't expect for her to mean anything to him, he just figured that she was only jealous because she wasn't showing him any attention.

“Blair there's someone I want you to meet.”

Freddie gestured towards Roger who had a small smile on his face, and was trying his best to look everywhere but at Blair.

“This is Roger, the bands drummer.”

Rogers heart began to slowly pound, as Roger held his hand out waiting for Blair to shake. Slowly she lifted her hand to his, and when she took a hold of his hand, Roger could only hear his heartbeat in his ears. Roger tried to get eye contact with her, but she tried her best to not look directly into his eyes, and Roger was about to go crazy because all he wanted to do was look at her.

Roger almosted missed when she told him her name, she said it so softly, almost a whisper and said her name- Blair.

Now he new mystery girls name, and Roger thought it was just as beautiful as her. Roger was never that cliche, ever, he only half-heartedly complemented girls, but when it came to her, Blair, he felt a whole new range of emotions.

Roger gave Blair a cheeky grin and introduced himself to her, and her friend, whose name was Brandi.

Roger never forgot that he and Blair were still shaking hands, he was amused even about Blair's nervousness. It was new, and he thought it was enderiang that someone would be nervous to talk to him. Roger suddenly saw the realization dwan on Blairs face and she ripped her and out of his grip; in doing this she hit Brandi in the face.

Roger watched as Blairs cheeks began to blush instantly. Roger felt bad for her; she was probably embarrassed, mortified even, that she just hit someone in front of strangers. I wanted to let her know that it wasn't a big deal, but Freddie distracted me before I could. By the time I looked back at Brandi after I could pull my attention away from Freddie, Blair was gone.

Roger began to quitely freak out; he didn't want anything bad to happen to her, and Roger knew that the streets were not the safest at night, especially for women. Roger locked around the bar each time he heard the door open, hoping it was Blair coming back; when Roger realized that she wasn't coming back and wanted to go after her.

“Roger, could you go look for Blair? Im very worried about her, she's been gone an awful long time,” Brandi nodded her head toward the door, and Roger nearly ran towards the door and onto the street in search of Blair

Roger finally noticed her sitting on the edge of the sidewalk slumped into a ball, “Blair?”

Roger watched Blair looked around for who just said her name, and when she looked behind her, her eyes landed upon Roger.

Roger was nervous for her response; he was almost positive it would be negative, and that thought made him uneasy, he didn't want her to think negative of him.

“Why are you here?”

Roger felt through her glare that Blair didn't want to see him, hich crushed him; he wanted to see her and get to know her but, the vibes Blair was shooting at Roger at that moment made it clear to him he was unwanted, but that didn't crush all his spirit. He was going to try to get Blair, try and get her to like him; he would only back off if she explicitly said so.

“You ran off pretty fast, and your friend Brandi started to worry.”

Roger gave Blair a small smile, and offered his hand to help her off the ground. Roger watched the contemplation on her face, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head trying to decide if she should take his hand or not. .

Blair smirked and cocked her eyebrow, “if I take your hand there's no promise that I won't hurt you.”

Rogers faced morphed into a grin, as he let out laugh; he was falling deeper and deeper into this hole of actually liking this girl; liking her for her personality, not just for what she looked like,(she was beautiful, so beautiful it astounded Roger).

“I think i'm willing to take that chance.”

Rogers pulle Blair up by the hand, and as he ded, he did it with ease bringing her to her feet; the years of playing drummers built up Rogers upper arm strength, so it was no problem at all to help Blair off the ground. Roger noticed Blair was slowly becoming less on edge on was becoming comfortable. He loved it; he loved joking around with her, and getting to know her, when she didn't care about the fact that she was embarrassed.

“You know Blair, I've been holding your hand since I helped you up, and no injuries have occured. I think it's safe to say that i'll be okay,” Roger gave a small chuckle. He loved the feeling he had in his chest as they held hands; it was as if someone had given him an internal hug.

“You caught me off guard the last time. This instance I knew that it was going to occur, so thus leading to no injuries.”

Roger was trying her best to keep her self calm as they continued to hold hands, he was known to be the smooth talking guy, but talking with Blair he was second guessing himself. Roger also saw the tension Bair held in her eyebrows as she was talking to him; they were both nervous. Roger began tracing small circles onto the back of Blair's hand to not only help calm her nerves, but his as well; the small act gave him something to concentrate on, and focus on her, and the moment they were sharing.

“Well look what we have here!” Freddie's voice boomed down the empty street, and while Roger loved Freddie, the sound of his voice made his heart drop. Roger knew that the monet between him and Blair would becoming to an end, and he didn't want that, he wanted to continue to talk to her, and be with her. Roger was sounding sapier and sapier as the minutes ticked away, but Roger didn't care; he never really

“Id say darlings, that the two of you hit it off pretty well,” Freddie gestured at Blair and Rogers hands clasped together, “I'm more than glad, because Roger would not shut up about you since you saw you at the London bar yesterday!”

Roger felt blush creep onto his cheeks at Freddie comment, “Fred, why don't you just be quite.”

Freddie smirked and turned his attention to Blair, “Blair I have to ask again, will you please come to the show next week? I would love to have you there, and i'm definitely not the only one.”

Roger had stopped breathing momentarily waiting for Blair to answer Freddie, and Roger couldn't look at Blair incase she said no, so he toward the ground.

“Yes.”

Rogers head snapped up and he couldn't have felt more thrilled, because the next time he would see her he was going to ask her out; he was going to do it, he was determined to do it.

***

Roger had done it. He asked Blair out, and she said yes.

Tonight was the night, and Roger had a game plan. He was going to learn as much about Blair as possible, because she was all he could think about, and if he had actual information it would be easier for him to bear, then just remembering her sweet smile, and nervous stance.

Roger was nervous. More nervous than his bands first gig, more nervous than getting into university. Blair was different to Roger, and it made his emotions go haywire. All these thoughts swirled around his mind as he raised he slightly shaky hand and rang Blairs door bell.

Instantly the door was thrown open, and it shocked Roger a small amount causing him jump a little, due to the nerves.

“Hello Roger.”

“Hello Blair.”

Roger had never seen someone look so beautiful and hot at the same time. She was everything he could want in someone; He couldn't quite describe how she looked, he only knew how she made him feel- like he was on top of the world.

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badacts · 6 years

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whither shall i follow

this is the complete piece i wrote for @thezinezone ‘s STRANGE CONSTELLATIONS, a trc zine all about the gangsey. i loved writing for it - keeping under the max word count was the hardest part! the final zine is beautiful so consider getting a copy and supporting a great cause

It’s Gansey’s yearning for ostensibly normal post-graduation rites of passage that’s to blame. Well, that, and Henry’s need to encourage every bad idea any of them have ever had.

“You’re already going on a road trip,” Ronan bitches, slinging an oddly malformed duffle bag into the trunk of his car. “This is a waste of time.”

“Your oh-so-valuable time,” Blue says, with slightly less bite than she might have used a year previous. So, no actual hate, but a decent seeming of it. She is wearing knee-length khaki shorts, like a spectacularly unsexy version of Indiana Jones, and an oversized ACDC t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Gansey is currently unloading a bargain box of twelve white candles into the Pig. Watching this, Adam says, “Isn’t the point of camping having a campfire?”

“The point of camping is pissing in the woods,” Henry chirps from the front seat of the BMW. He claimed it upon arrival, with a grand cry of ‘shotgun!’ despite that none of them cared to compete with him for it, and has been doing something with his phone ever since. Selfies, Adam suspects.

“These aren’t intended to replace a campfire,” Gansey explains. “They’re for the seance.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Even Henry looks up, expression shifting from ‘smize’.

“You lived with a dead guy once,” Ronan says eventually. He doesn’t continue, but he doesn’t really need to.

Gansey looks perturbed by their reactions, almost affronted. “It’s a thing.”

“Ineloquent,” Henry comments. Whether it’s a criticism is debatable, considering the growing delight on his face.

“Camping in the woods, marshmallows, figuring out which tent Henry is going to sleep in, amateurish communication with spirits - they’re all part of the experience.”

“Obviously, I’ll be sleeping in your tent,” Henry says. He’s not wrong - it is obvious. “Blue requires my body heat, and Ronan might dream a murderer or attempt to hold my hand in his sleep.”

“In your dreams,” Ronan replies from where he’s retreated to the driver’s seat of the BMW. There’s the distinct sound of someone being hit, and a squawk.

“Yes, it is a thing. From Cabin in the Woods,” Blue tells Gansey.

“Wrong Turn,” Ronan contributes.

“Blair Witch Project.”

“Cabin Fever.”

“Do all those movies contain seances?” Adam interjects.

“Don’t ask me,” Ronan replies. Adam can’t hear the shrug, but he knows it happens anyway. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

“My point is that you should not base your ideas of typical teenage experiences on films where most of the teenagers involved end up brutally murdered,” Blue continues. “Plus, you know. Our lives thus far.”

“This is not like that,” Gansey says. “That was magic. This is teenage incompetence, and the worst that will come of it is irresponsible fire management involving the candles.”

Even Adam makes a disgusted sound at that. There’s rustling from the front of the BMW, and then Gansey is at once attacked with a still-laced sneaker and a hat last seen perched on Henry’s hair. The hat falls short, but the shoe bounces off Gansey’s left thigh when he moves into its path trying to evade it.

“When we get murdered in the woods, it’s your fault,” Blue intones, for a moment sounding just like Maura.

The fact of the matter is that most of the area within a few hours drive of Henrietta has felt the imprint of, at the very least, Gansey’s feet in his previous explorations. Instead of putting him off of his idea of camping, this has just imbued him with the impression that he knows of all the best camping areas, even if he has never personally stayed at one.

Adam sleeps most of the drive once he’s tuned out the sound of Henry and Ronan’s bickering, stretched awkwardly across the back seat of the BMW, and only wakes when the engine turns off.

“C’mon Parrish,” Ronan chides, twisted around so that he can shake Adam’s ankle. Like most things about him, it’s a study in contrasts - brisk voice, soft expression. “Wakey wakey.”

“I am awake,” Adam replies, which is at least seventy percent true. “We here?”

“No, we’re on the side of the road, I just had to make a quick stop to bury Cheng’s body. Yeah, we’re here.”

“You can’t kill him. Can you imagine how much Blue and Gansey would bitch about it?” Adam peels his face off of the interior of the car. He might have drooled on it, but if so it’s not the first time.

“It truly hurts me that that is your only concern,” Henry says from somewhere outside the car.

“Yeah, I bet your heart is breaking, you annoying fucker,” Ronan replies, which means that his irritation has crossed over from his normal levels to whichever Henry seems capable of inciting. Adam deals with this by pushing himself out of the car and into the great outdoors, ignoring it entirely.

Blue is allowing Gansey to help her into her backpack over by the Pig. The gracious nature of it is new, but when he watches it Adam can just about imagine Blue in her thirties acting just the same way. Occasionally, anyway. He doubts she’ll ever change that much.

“Cute,” Ronan commentates, seemingly oblivious to the fact he is putting Adam’s pack over one of his shoulders even as he says it. “We walking, or what?”

“It’s an hour hike,” Gansey says, shouldering his own pack, as though he hasn’t already told them it’s an hour hike multiple times. They’ve walked far further without half as much organisation, which Adam assumes is ‘part of the experience’ also. Gansey is, as ever, a gleaming example to hikers everywhere, down to his well-broken-in boots and his precise understanding of hike planning. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes mother,” Blue replies, elbowing him in the ribs and ignoring that Henry is still fighting with his own pack over by the BMW. “Lead the way.”

The area Gansey has selected for them to camp in is, admittedly, quite lovely. It’s not Cabeswater - nothing else is - but the grass is long and rich-smelling, and there’s a tiny stream curving around the edge of the clearing on three sides, murmuring sweetly to itself.

The tents are quickly raised side-by-side and then abandoned in favour of establishing a fire pit. By the time they’ve collectively gathered stones, wood and Ronan’s obviously-dreamed lighter, the shadows are stretching long. Blue is allowed the honour of lighting the fire, though Adam is the one who nurses it into something other than a pathetic smoke trail.

“Dinner,” Gansey announces with obvious relish once they’re seated, and produces five packages of freeze-dried meals. “Would you like beef stroganoff or beef stroganoff?”

“Were they having a sale?” Henry asks, accepting his gingerly.

“I thought it would be the one least likely to look edible,” Gansey replies. “I was curious.”

“Not curious enough to investigate the multitude of other options, I suppose.”

“Mostly I thought it would be easier to prepare them together,” Gansey admits. “Blue?”

Blue was apparently in charge of carrying the cooker, and Henry the metal pot. True to Gansey’s prediction, the resultant brown sludge they cook looks utterly disgusting, though the smell is surprisingly inviting. It’s only when they go to serve it that they find that, while Adam brought the tin bowls, Ronan didn’t bring the cutlery. They eat with their fingers instead, Adam’s turning pink with the heat of it and his mouth.

Gansey also has all the necessary ingredients for s’mores, which they blacken in the fire a few times before Adam gives up and uses the cooker instead. Gansey eschews that in favour of sugar-charcoal, even when Henry Googles and recites statistics of charcoal as a carcinogen. Blue puts him in a chocolate-smeared headlock to stop him, and his phone nearly falls into the fire.

It’s full dark when Gansey, his contacts exchanged for glasses glinting in the light, starts to drift a bit. There’s a quietude in him now that isn’t emptiness, but instead something bigger. Like Cabeswater is living inside of him, a complicated and immense kind of peace, and even as that calls to the like in each of them, the rest of them have to act as the anchors to hold Gansey here.

It’s not so bad, really. All it takes is Henry elbowing him and passing him a candle to bring him back.

“It’s time,” he says, all delight, as Henry gives the rest of them candles too. “Should I refer to the WikiHow page for seances, do you think?”

“Please do,” Henry replies, passing Adam his candle. It’s a chunky, inelegant thing with a crooked wick, and it smells like a caricature of vanilla.

Blue squints at Adam for a moment, and then snatches the candle from his hands. “Not you.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s right,” Gansey mutters after a moment, brow furrowing. “We don’t any of your actual magic involved in our pseudo-magical ritual. Scram.”

“By that logic, Ronan shouldn’t be involved either,” Adam points out, though he does scram.

“He’s awake, it’s fine,” Henry replies. “Lynch, no magic for the next ten minutes.”

“No problem,” Ronan says lazily, still lying beside the fire. “I’m not holding any candles.”

“They go at the cardinal points,” Gansey says, and then produces a compass so he can place them correctly. Then he extracts a large bag of salt from his bag, holding it aloft. “Henry, pour this in a circle around us, if you will. Be careful not to leave any gaps.”

“This is beginning to sound suspiciously like one of movies you mentioned earlier,” Henry says to Ronan, though he does as bid anyway.

Once the salt is poured in a vague oval shape, the candles are placed and lit, and the others sit in their Gansey-assigned places, the ceremony can apparently begin. Adam settles in the mouth of one of the tents, watching them thrown into relief by the campfire in the centre of the circle, Blue’s face painted gold and the line of Ronan’s spine a silhouette.

“Oh! We need an offering,” Gansey says. “I hope you all brought something suitable?”

Thus begins a ten minute debate on what can be classified as suitable. In the end, they have a handful of wildflowers (Gansey), a collection of pennies (Henry), a tin cup of water from the stream (Blue), and a stick of gum as well as an empty wrapper (Ronan, obviously). His assertion that Noah would have loved it is the only thing that stops Gansey from sending him out of the circle to hunt for something ghosts would like better.

They deposits the offerings in the stream-washed pot, and then resettle, reaching out to join hands. Gansey prompts, “Henry?”

Henry takes over without pause, all ringmaster-grandeur. “Welcome, kind spirits, inside our circle. We’ve gathered here to commune with you in the hope that you’ll show us a sign of your presence. Please, speak with us.”

In the following silence, there’s an unmistakable sense of actual expectancy from the four of them in their flesh-and-salt circle. Even when you’re performing a WikiHow seance, it’s hard to remove the idea that it really might work when you’ve seen real magic.

There’s nothing. Adam listens, hears nothing, and then looks into the fire to the things he can always see if he looks long enough.

“Is anyone with us?” Blue asks. The shapes in the flames brighten in response to her voice, but Adam blinks them away.

“That was boring,” Ronan says after approximately two minutes of absolutely nothing happening.

“That was perfect,” Gansey crows.

“We really should have brought an Ouija board,” Henry muses. “For maximum effect.”

“The maximum effect of nothing fucking happening?”

“Let’s end the ritual,” Blue says sternly. “In case.”

“Thank you for your presence,” Gansey says. “Go in peace.”

It’s probably Adam’s imagination that the fire ripples just a little bit with Gansey’s words, like someone has just moved past it. No one else notices it, anyway.

Adam jerks awake because Ronan does, because it’s impossible not to pressed this close and because by now it’s habit.

“It’s okay,” Adam is already mumbling, and then jerks again when Ronan, sounding much more alert than he does, demands, “Did you hear that?”

Adam listens. There’s a rustling outside of the suddenly-very-flimsy tent walls, and for a moment he enters the pleasant fantasy that it might just be the wind before he realises that there is no wind. Instead, it’s the sound of something moving nearby - something large.

“It’s probably just a bear,” he says, though quietly.

There’s not much light in the tent, but he can see that Ronan’s eyes are wide as he hisses, “I can’t believe you can say ‘just a bear’.”

Instead of continuing that...potential argument, Adam pushes himself up, rustling free of the sleeping back and groping for the flashlight by the tent door.

“Adam.”

It’s said in his ear, breathless and half-whispered. Literally breathless - there’s no warmth of exhaled air.

Also, it’s his deaf ear.

The strangeness of it is compounded when Gansey says from outside the tent, the kind of calm that just barely covers for alarm, “Ronan, Adam. Get up. Slowly.”

Adam unzips the tent door and slides free, feeling the intensity of Ronan’s movement behind him as he follows. It’s black outside besides the very faint glow of a few embers and the stars overhead, and Adam can only tell where Gansey is because of the sound of his quickened breath.

“Look,” Gansey whispers, and Adam nearly says at what when he sees what Gansey means.

It’s dark. There’s no explanation behind the two matching pinpricks of red-orange light at a edge of the clearing just beyond the edge of the trees. Eyes, set higher that they would be on any normal-height human.

Ronan mutters a curse, clearly seeing it too. Henry, despite having seen Cabeswater bleed to death, says, “Mothman?” in a voice that trembles but still has a tracery of humour in it, because that’s just who he is.

“What do we do?” Blue asks. Adam can’t tell where she is in the dark.

“Running water,” the voice in his ear whispers again. There’s a echo of command there, and also sudden and welcome familiarity.

“Across the stream,” Adam tells the others. “Backwards. No sudden movements.”

It’s only the star-shine that means they can find the stream at all, nevermind backwards and too frightened to look away from the eyes. There’s no doubting that’s what they are, despite the fact they don’t blink - behind them, there’s intent, alien and only barely readable as that at all. Adam’s bare feet slip in carefully, the water surprisingly deep but the bottom firm enough to hold his weight. The other four do the same, hissing at the cold of it.

“Now what?” Ronan asks, his hand finding Adam’s.

“Cross it. Get to the other side,” Adam says, with sudden surety. “I don’t think it can follow-”

It happens very quickly. Blue, off to Adam’s left, draws in a quick breath and stumbles over something on the streambed, falling backwards in the stream with a splash and a sharp, “Fuck!” There’s a soundless moment where nothing happens, and then there’s a long lowing noise like a big animal dying.

“Fuck,” Ronan echoes, and jerks in Blue’s direction to pull her free of the water even as he shoves Gansey up onto the bank.

Adam, torch in hand, flips the switch. The beam of it falls directly on the - thing as it bounds across the clearing, strides too long and shambling, like the body can’t quite keep up with the intent of whatever is inside of it. It’s all fur and stench, the awful smell of death. Henry makes a low, sick sound, dragging Adam back over the stones along with him. They fall back onto the bank together, scrabbling up onto the grass.

For a moment, Adam doubts. The thing is so tall it looks like it could simply step across the water. There’s no explanation for the way it halts at the far edge of the stream and looks down at the water, close enough they can see every falling-apart inch of its hide. It looks like it crawled from a grave. Maybe it did.

It makes that noise again, a gentle and carrying threat. Adam’s heart is beating so hard he thinks he could drop dead, half-tangled in Henry and aware there’s no outrunning the thing if the voice is wrong.

His flashlight goes out. Blue shrieks, and there’s a flash of bright white like lightning from their side of the stream to the other, illuminating the thing for a split second before it makes impact. There’s a rush of noise and movement, retreating, and then the flashlight comes back to life. There’s nothing there.

“...is it gone?” Henry hisses, pushing himself up from his elbows. “What did you do, Parrish?”

“Nothing,” Adam replies, distracted by covering each inch of darkness with the beam of his flashlight looking for movement. There’s nothing, besides what looks like a few gobbets of meat on the ground and impressions of distorted footprints. “It wasn’t me.”

“Christ fucking alive,” Ronan says. “Was that…?”

“Noah?” Blue whispers.

There’s no wind, no voice murmuring in either of Adam’s ears. But on the other side of the stream, the fire, just embers, flickers back to life.

#trc #gangsey #whither shall i follow #strange constellations #my fic #horror themes #the raven cycle

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goddess-of-trash · 4 years

Text

Technology Improvements on Efficiency of Solar Panels Today

Solar Power is gaining in popularity nowadays. This is due largely to the fact that the planet's fossil fuels have become increasingly depleted and air pollution is an important concern. Performance of solar power panels technology has made our harnessing of the sun's energy far more efficient and energy conserving.

Since sun is readily available without cost almost annually through energy bills can be greatly reduced particularly if the solar panels used are of the highest quality. Another bonus is that the panels require a minimum of maintenance compared to other kinds of home energy.

It's odd, but true that few individuals seem to know about the various benefits of going solar and it's used quite sparingly on the entire world. This may be attributed to the fact that frequently the solar panels used haven't been as effective as they ought to be. This situation was dealt with by using larger panels. The issue with this though is the aesthetics of the house and also the higher costs involved aren't especially appealing to the average householder.

There's also the intrinsic problem of the panels being rather useless at night and of low use in dull overcast days. The great news though is that present solar panel technology has progressed radically to the point at which the use of cells known as photovoltaic have already been developed.

This technology has completely transformed the power, efficiency and costs of using the sun's energy for home use. The size of panels has been reduced, but the efficacy of these panels has been magnified greatly.These photovoltaic cells are aligned on a bed of steel. The various cells have the ability to trap the numerous spectrum of sun.

These latest cells aren't large and can be put together with ease on the roof of dwellings rather fast. This newest technology makes for a far greater efficacy enhancement compared to the older and less effective panels.The appearance also is far nicer than regular solar panels and doesn't stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Another new innovation in solar technology is the use of shingles which are actually nothing more than accommodated photovoltaic cells made into shingles. They are typically black in color and blend in beautifully.

This shingles technology is just one of the exciting and innovative things about today's science, and extensive research is continuing into the efficacy of solar panels nicely into the future.

The Technological Improvement

"Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind." Albert Einstein.

way beyond our capacity to control and regulate them"....Blair Brown.

Evolution as we perceive it is part of the larger truth only as a consequence of spiritual growth. Evolution is meaningfully as life itself,"The basis of the Universe is substance but the essence of life is spirit". Our bodies are products of thousand of incremental changes, from one cell to a multi-cellular organisms, yet we're still on the journey of evolving. All living species fight and long for perfection, but time can always be against us.

Many hands have interfered on our evolutionary path causing some mistakes and confusion about our spiritual growth. This involves why there are so many unanswered mysteries. One of the major aim of development is to refine our thoughts circuitry and ideas pattern, occasionally we find out thoughts being scattered all over and everywhere which leads us with our plans. There are various technological innovations that helps us to better ourselves through meditations, and also how we perceive and comprehend the facts. Nothing can withstand the power of change we ought to become alter itself and cultivate the potential of technological accomplishment.

The trick to spiritual enlightenment is conscious living, when you live consciously you may see what every moment is because it pass by and be able to find the error. Considering our evolutionary path was altered, we must use technology as a tool to progress in our spiritual development. Everything has a circle of life human customs are seasonal. An individual must become aware of these. Take note of your entire life"routine", observe how you act daily, weekly, monthly, seasonal as well as annual, you can begin by taking a look at your bank statements and the way you spend money, for example where do you invest money mostly, what sort of purchases you mostly earn summer, how much money do you spend on charity see just how much attention you've got on your household (the more cash on household activities more attention)

On daily basis: You can look on your telephone, internet, tv etc. attempt to find out that which you call or call you the most on your phone log, on the Internet history attempt to find out what sites do you usually visit frequently and the exact same on TV Facebook and Twitter is great to always return and check on your status updates.

Conclusion: After performing self-analysis what do you gain or get out of all of these things that you do daily? Where do you feel you may be in next five years doing the same thing repeatedly? Twitter and Facebook updates what do they signify about you.

#technology #technology improvements #solar panels #panels technology

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focalwriterworks · 12 years

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CHRONICLE

Here’s one of those rare moments where if you go into Chronicle blindly or lower your expectations you’ll come out probably shocked at how well the whole damn thing comes off. From the trailers I expected low budget, P.O.V. camcorder coverage like we get in the Paranormal Activity films. Which my thinking there instantly is been there, done that. And like Paranormal Activity there are no stars, outside of Michael Kelley, from The Adjustment Bureau (2011), who plays father to one of our main characters here, and Michael B. Jordan who was a kid star in the Keanu Reeves baseball film Hard Ball (2001), also playing a prominent role as one of the Tuskegee pilots in the WWII film Red Tails. In Chronicle, the story revolves around teen boys, so right there upon seeing the trailer I know I’m not the demographic the filmmakers are aiming for (that’s not to say I didn’t secretly enjoy The New Guy (2002)). Not a problem since I’m looking at Chronicle critically, from a broader perspective, not just for my personal entertainment. But how wrong I was, on all assumptions, solely based on the trailers and yearly timing of its release, and how right Chronicle gets it.

The Story: Chronicle is a blend of movies that use found-footage filmmaking traits, and it’s also a superhero origins film the likes of X-Men (think Magneto and Xavier). The missing tapes or missing film can movie is now better in and of itself as a genre, after films like The Blair Witch Project (1999) sort of started it, and Paranormal Activity (2007) perfected it, and Chronicle uses it as a way to make the story more realistic, more personal. That’s the kicker. Three teenage guys, Steve (Michael B. Jordan), Andrew (Dane DeHaan) and Matt (Alex Russell) discover a crater with a giant parasite-like, tentacle covered crystal that upon seeing it (it looks like it has worms crawling on it), getting near to it, the boys develop superhuman abilities of telekinesis and levitation, which slowly but surely escalates to flying and being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But it also causes nose bleeds with every “growth” spurt, every advancement in superhuman ability, and questions arise as to what limitations, successes or horrors these boys will incur, if any.

The Goods: The found-film phenomenon submerses us into a false perspective. In Chronicle, no one is necessarily finding the film. We’re already looking at film that was supposedly left behind from our main characters or has been accumulated from well-documenting, cell phone carrying bystanders or from devices like security cameras that are perpetually capturing images. We are never looking at events unfolding in real time. That’s a little bit of make-believe that goes a long way in suggesting these events are real. Like finding a diary from a person who suffered immeasurable horrors during a specific time in history. The minute the first shot comes up we’re looking at Andrew in a mirror. He’s recording with a consumer grade camcorder while his father demands to enter his room. Andrew accuses his father of drinking and tells his father he’s recording it all and the drunk father walks away.

It’s Andrew’s way of empowering himself against such conflict in his life, and thus upon seeing it’s successful results arms himself with camera everywhere he goes and films everything within his so called teenage life.

This is how the audience becomes a part of the film, how that plane between audience and actors is broken and our world synthesizes with theirs, especially Andrew’s as characters good and bad look into his camera, talking to him, bullying him, making fun of him, telling him how “creepy” his filming is…they too are looking and talking to us.

Their world is soon not unlike our own, no matter what age we are we acknowledge all of that teen angst and anxiety and interpret it as our own. This is the greatest part of what makes Chronicle different from any other teen film, or film of what slowly also becomes science fiction.

Blended genres are probably the closest we’ll get to anything resembling originality or freshness in Hollywood. And what makes it even better is the almost seamless way Andrew’s fascination with filming all events, and his newfound Jedi ways of the Force (more dark side than light), lends itself to a style of handheld, jib and crane, steadicam and Andrewcam, cell phone, pad and securitycam style of omnipresent camera coverage that reality TV can only dream of.

The Flaws: We get to know everything about Andrew and the other teens in the film by way of exposition which tells us more than shows us. Not always the most interesting of ways to develop characters or story. Matt, Andrew’s cousin and best friend, and Steve, the popular kid running for class president, talk like regular teens and their dialogue parts are strong. Stronger than the average movie, and so much so we get a greater sense of character development with Matt and Steve.

Andrew, in contrast, is made to seem weaker, his voice lacking confidence, his character not as developed which is really not a flaw it’s actually pretty well done since for long spurts of the film he’s heard from behind camera more than seen even though his voice is annoying. Andrew, with his mother dying and his father a drunk who blames Andrew for his wife’s misery, cracks from this type of pressure and the kind of chastising other teens throw his way.

And Andrew’s voice cracks too about as much as his character with the kind of serious, humorless approach he has toward life. You can see his unraveling coming from a mile away as he goes Carrie (1976) on our ass, which is fine if it’s just Carrie but it’s also pouty Anakin Skywalker, or really Hayden Christianson from Star Wars: Episode II (2002) and III (2005), Fairuza Balk from the Craft (1996), Peter Sarsgaard from the Green Lantern (2011) and it’s so heavy handed it feels massaged by student hands.

Essentially Andrew is a teen movie cliché, then a superhero teen cliché. And suddenly the feelings of insecurity I feel for the casting of DeHaan as Andrew is confirmed in what I feel is an immature and poorly casted role. Especially when compared to the other actors in Chronicle. Or when compared to someone like Vincent D’Onofrio’s Private Leonard ‘Gomer Pyle’ Lawrence in Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket (1987), or John Travolta’s George Malley in Phenomenon (1996). Even Sean Patrick Flannery in Powder (1995).

The Call: Before you know it Andrew unravels into an antagonist while his cousin Matt is thrust into the protagonist part. It’s as good as Greek tragedy at this point, cousin pitted against cousin, for the safety of humans and to stop Andrew from destroying everyone and everything around him due to this anger he has toward life. Their battle on the streets of Seattle (really it’s Cape Town, South Africa, which also brings to mind the sci-fi P.O.V. of District 9 (2009)…) is better than Star Wars: Episode III’s Anakin and Obi Wan showdown. While Chronicle moves a little slow and rests too often on the redundancy of these teens playing with continuously newfound powers, the film eventually starts to rise in climactic moment after climactic moment better than most films do today into a crescendo that will leave you quite satisfied.

Chronicle isn’t as polished or filmed to perfection like say a Scorsese or Spielberg film, or better yet a Michael Bay film. Nor is it anything remotely similar in appearance to the high production value of the Marvel films. But after seeing Chronicle I’m reminded that it doesn’t matter, and that who gives a crap if it’s not perfect so long as it’s entertaining which also means it must be somewhat refreshing. If not for content then for form, or vice versa meaning that if we take a premise, plot device or cinematic trait that is familiar and then do something with it that exceeds expectations while still retaining familiarity it’s enough to engross an audience without alienating us or making it too foreign. What’s important is that there are still filmmakers out there that can surprise us.

Spend the ten. Chronicle is shockingly worthy of your time, and your dough. Rated PG-13 for intense action and violence, thematic material, some language, sexual content and teen drinking. Running time is 1 hour and 24 minutes. Written and directed by Josh Trank. This is his first feature film.

By Jon Lamoreaux

#chronical #josh trank

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towingomahane-blog · 5 years

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You need to return license plates and cancel your insurance. The single most important thing you need in order to transfer ownership of your vehicle to the junkyard is a valid title to the car. You can sell your car without a title but it’s much harder.

3. Look for Valuable Components to Sell

If you’ve agreed on a price for your car with a junkyard, you should turn it over to them in the condition that you described when you made the deal. However, if the price you’re able to get for your car doesn’t reflect much more than its scrap value, you may be able to remove a few valuable components from the car to make a few extra bucks. If you have expensive tires with a lot of tread left on them, you can purchase four balding tires on cheap rims and swap them for the more valuable tires on the car. Your car’s battery has resale value if it’s almost new, and recyclers will pay for the lead inside it even if it’s old. If you’re handy, you can remove electronic gear like GPS or stereo systems if they’re valuable.

4. Remove the License Plates

Unlike when you sell a car on Craigslist, when you sell a car to a junkyard, the arrangements for pickup are often made in a hurry. If your car is disabled and parked at a location like a service station or tow yard, you might have trouble scheduling everyone to show up at the same time to complete your transaction. Time is money for the tow truck driver that’s sent to get your car, so it’s easy to overlook important details because everyone will be in a hurry. Make sure you remember to remove the license plates from the car before it’s towed away. In many states, you must return the license plates to the department of motor vehicles before your registration can be cancelled, and you might not be able to cancel your car insurance policy until the plates and registration have been turned in, either.

5. Use Up Your Gasoline

If your car is still running before you sell it to the junkyard, you might want to use up the gasoline in the tank before you have it towed away. Depending on the size of the tank in your car or truck, the value of the gasoline in the tank can represent a substantial portion of the total value of the price you’re getting from the junkyard. If your car isn’t running, be careful if you attempt to siphon gasoline from the tank. Use only approved containers to carry the gasoline, and never start a siphon using your mouth. Don’t worry about the value of the gas to the junkyard. They’ll have to drain all the fluids out of your car before recycling or scrapping the parts, and gasoline in the tank is a nuisance for them.

Frequently Asked Questions

What happens to my junker when it's sold?

Your junk car will have one of many paths in its near future. Depending on its condition, it will be salvaged, sold to a wholesale buyer, or placed into an auction. Our buyer network consists of people looking to buy all kinds of cars: dealerships, junk yards, auto recyclers, wrecking yards, scrap yards, you name it....

My car is a piece of junk, will you still buy it?

Absolutely, there's a place in our heart for all cars out there, even the scrappiest ones...

Can I sell multiple junk cars?

Please do! If your buddies have a junk car to sell, you can send them our way as well....

Do you offer junk car removal everywhere in Glenwood?

Yup. Our service is available all around Glenwood....

How do you value my junk car?

We work with various buyers across the nation to get you the best offer on your junk car. We consider the condition, title status, location, and other tidbits when valuing your car....

How much does it cost to sell my junk car?

Not a single penny; our service is completely free of charge. We're happy to get that clunker out of your driveway....

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mattmalpeli · 7 years

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Revenge of the Besieged Clickservative

When The Soviet Union collapsed a day after Christmas 1991, America’s conservatives felt utterly vindicated. Reagan’s posturing had secured “freedom” for eastern Europeans and the left’s big project had disintegrated in a puff of people power. The time of the market fundamentalists had come at last.

Nevermind that Gorbachev’s reforms and commitment to openness had done all the work. Nevermind that Karl Marx’s political economic framework demanded the disintegration of the state and not the imposition of totalitarian bureaucratic hierarchy. Reagan’s speech at the wall had done the heavy lifting, or so they evangelised. Saint Reagan was soon canonized and, despite his obvious descent into Alzheimer’s and senility in his second term, they committed to milking the legend from that day on. Let freedom ring out in the form of low taxes and diminishing regulatory oversight. Except for the plebs. They’re going to pay for everything, and when the inevitable crises occur, they’ll pay for the missteps of the rich too. Socialism for Donald Trump, Dickensian capitalism for the rest of us. Smelling the writing on the wall, the right wing of traditional workers parties took the initiative and joined the neoliberal sing-a-long. Abandoning their base, Bill Clinton, Tony Blair, Paul Keating, Jean Chrétien et al set off on the path to establishing the interest rate lever as the undisputed brake and accelerator of the globalising economy, banishing Keynes to the economic wilderness. Corporate privilege treaties were sold as “free trade agreements” and slowly but surely the working class was consigned to irrelevance. Seeing no way of differentiating itself on economics, the right set about turning the political discourse to culture. Without the communist menace to frighten suburbanites with and with growing disquiet amongst social conservatives at the noisy LGBT liberation movement, they found new boogeymen to shriek against. Political correctness was false flagged as an attack on free speech (when it was just a social understanding that to be a dick towards vulnerable minorities was no longer polite conversation), while the specter of a “Cultural Marxist” conspiracy lurking in liberal arts departments, complete with anti-Semitic foreign invader alarmism, formed the bedrock of the new opposition rhetoric. They managed to concoct a framework that used the language of enlightenment and conscience to deceive the electorate that they were in fact protecting them. From non-existent terrors. Now, this framework has spiralled completely out of control of the conservative establishment. It has evolved into a full on paranoid political insanity that casts all threats to US capital interests as a function of a hidden elite, a socialist globalist paedophile racket of pure evil. I assure you, this is what they really believe. The delusion festering at the heart of Western right wing discourse can be summed up thusly;

“Scientists around the world have joined with environmentalists, cultural Marxist college professors, and Islamic militants in a vast conspiracy to bring down righteous Western capitalism through nonsense notions of equality, while scooping up Christian children for elite financial pederasts and fooling idiot liberals with elementary school science mistakes that a handful of contrarians have discovered and exposed, putting their careers on the line to heroically protect our freedoms.”

As conspiracy theories go, it’s right up there with the secret invasion of Earth by alien lizard people. The conservative safe space social media platform Gab.ai is packed full of clickbait for clickservatives. Every objection to its legitimacy is met with hostility, accusations of conspiring with evil doers, of being a cuck, of being in the headlights of Hollywood stardom, of Al Gorism. Capitalism just needs to be freed from regulation, with taxes on the mighty extinguished and everything will be perfect again. Like during the robber baron era. Ummm... The problem of course is that after three and a half decades of neoliberalism, on just about every metric, the system is now working against everyone except the super wealthy and a miniscule number of their professional enablers. The GFC, as pointed out by political economist Mark Blyth, was capitalism’s comeuppance, but a disease where the symptoms have been insufficiently treated and the cause is left to produce new, more toxic symptoms. As the malaise of corporate capitalism has manifested, the right has dug into its market fundamentalism with a new indignation that is hateful and bigoted. There will be no justice for anyone who can’t afford it! "Shut your mouth social justice warrior, the bullies are back in charge!” Meanwhile the poor people of the Islamic world, long suppressed under despotic military dictators and absolute monarchies, which have spread a vile Wahhabist militancy to even the gentler, confrontation averse people of the Indonesian and southern Philippine archipelagos, are now facing the full brunt of two far right demagogues, Putin and Trump. This, after having only recently shown there’s a revolutionary Arab, mostly left secular, spirit ready to stand up to tyrants. But they’re all baby rapists with an agenda to enact Sharia law from Birmingham to Brussels, didn’t you know? “Regressive leftie!” The commodities that most Muslims can derive an income and future from are powering the greatest threats to the long term survivability of civilisation too. Climate change through the burning of fossil fuels, and biodiversity loss from palm oil plantations. But when you throw your hands up and say “it’s Allah’s will”, concentrating only on getting into the afterlife, you play right into Western capitalist hands. ”IT’S NOT HAPPENING! Climate change is a lie to raise taxes!!!” Now Trump’s support base is wondering wtf happened to Trump’s promises? He filled his cabinet with Wall St insiders, backed a hideous healthcare plan, and his anti-immigration directives have been met with unmoving judicial resistance. His agenda is fragmented and failing. His inexperience telling. Now, his posturing with North Korea, Syria, Russia, and China could easily lead to World War 3. If conservatives had made a Saint out of Major General Smedley Butler of “War is a Racket” fame, all of this would be unthinkable. But hey, at least he got the pipelines up and running and the climate change restrictions lifted, right? Hooray! No more generating your own power from a source that can’t be commodified! The democratisation of energy has been suppressed a long time, but now it’s being rubbed out. The madness of market fundamentalism that unravelled in 2008 is doing to 2017 what laissez faire capitalism did to 1929 and 1939. Our future looks bleak and it is entirely the right wing’s fault. This can no longer be disputed with a straight face. Meanwhile the left is being castrated under the deadend of identity politics. We’ve been mustered into a “market society”, one where the behaviour of an idealised economic rational man and his egotism represents the only way of getting ahead and staying there. Selfishness and cold calculation are rewarded and if you speak out against it you’re labeled a heretic, or in the nomenclature of the new conservative “revolutionaries” the alt-right, a cuck. Cooperation, collectivism, empathy, these have been banished from the negotiating table. Ecology be damned. Classical economics WILL be vindicated, by force if necessary. The cognitive dissonance on the right is deafening now. Check out the comments section of any YouTube video concerning climate change, if you dare. The vitriol is spine tingling. Cultural Marxists! Cultural Marxists everywhere! But into this caustic and fragile environment has come a very welcome economic theory of everything. Called “Doughnut economics”, Kate Raworth (obviously a secret Marxist lesbian with ties to Al Gore and Hillary Clinton), has poured cold water on a couple of centuries of economic rationalism, providing us with a new Keynesianesque vision of economics that lives within the planet’s means. I know, frightening huh? What will happen to straight white men’s milk and cookies? The right will no doubt explode in indignation as it climbs its way up the Amazon book charts (7th with a bullet at the time of this writing). “FREEDOM!” is the cry they will attempt to deceive us with. Don’t believe them. They want tyranny. Orders from above and lemmings down below. They will drive us towards chaos and civilisation’s collapse. Of this I am certain.

#conservatism #trump north korea #doughnut economics climate change

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fxmobilemechanicservicesoma-blog · 5 years

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