#because vegas was always playing to some agenda or another when all he actually wants to be is a guy who cooks for his loved ones and

[snickerdoodlles]

Very Important Question about Vegas's Youtube era: how colorful is his cookware? Did Macau and Chay get him pink and green pineapple patterned mini-muffin trays?

Vegas's kitchen is so colorful. his kitchen looks like a cute kitchen pinterest board threw up all over it. nobody can tell if his aesthetic is retro or industrial or countryside or what, because it's this eclectic mishmash of individually cute instagram worthy things thrown together in a way that almost works but doesn't, because a proper pinterest board is always a hot fucking mess when taken in its entirety.

it first begins with items of whimsy. Macau shows Vegas a picture of a dinosaur ladle, Vegas says "what the fuck is that? father would never allow for those" and that alone manifests 12 of them in his shopping cart. feels very weird about it when they arrive and banishes the box of them to the forgotten corner of a cupboard. then Macau buys Pete his first pineapple jar. and like. it's a pineapple. that's all it is. Pete sticks it in Vegas's kitchen and Vegas is stuck staring at a ceramic pineapple that just looks like a pineapple, unable to figure out why it feels weird. Macau gets Pete a second pineapple jar, except this time it's also an owl face, and Vegas can't figure out why he wishes he was looking at that one instead of the regular pineapple one. he wants to hurl both of them at a wall so hard they leave a dent as they shatter. he wants to put them in a window where they'll be framed as the sun rises on them. he buys a spatula with a bee pattern on a whim all by himself and is so on edge about it for the next two weeks he whips welts onto (a very happy) Pete's back.

over the course of time, all of Vegas's kitchen supplies become items you'd expect to find on pinterest. bird salt and pepper shakers. cutely bland patterned jars labeled COFFEE and TEA. an industrial chic spice rack that sits under his cottagecore herb wall. highly specialized mini pans that make foods in special shapes. so many pastel pots and pans. at first Vegas is always saying stuff like "someone got that for me" or "my father would hate it." but it's not about that. later he's defiantly indifferent and daring about owning them at all. but it's not really about any of that either. it's really just...Vegas letting himself have cute things. things that would be called ~girly~ or ~ruin~ his image. there's actually several items he's just neutral about (like the soft pastel colors--not really his thing tbh! but a good pot is a good pot) or even sometimes dislikes (mini muffin trays = yay!, mini pans that only cook one(1) thing = frustration)-- but like. Vegas is allowed to have them. he's even fine to like them if he wants to. it doesn't matter that he has them. the image they paint of him doesn't matter. and that feeling of just owning cutesy, whimsical, or downright weird kitchen shit as he pleases without it being anything else is its own high for Vegas and his traumas ❤

[legionofpotatoes]

alright here’s ma thoughts on that flick I mentioned

we hatewatched a*my of the dead because we were CONVINCED “zombies in las vegas” would be an impossible concept to screw up, but in so assuming we obviously invoked a holy wager with the universe and got reminded, once again, that hoping for improvement from someone who’s dependably put out bad art is never a wise choice 😐

but we were honestly kinda roped in by the marketing??? and expected a goofy fast-paced flick with the odd traditional undead metaphor thrown in, framing some sort of relationship drama maybe or hell even nothing at all! we’d have taken pure indulgent storytelling, idk italian job with zombies in las vegas, I don’t know fucking anything but??? whatever this was???? spoilers below for it is time for One Of My Rants

I mean the main reason I really want to write all this and complain. this film here probably has the most unappealing cinematography I have ever experienced in my life and that is saying something. who the fuck signed off on that CONSTANT shallow-ass depth of field that imprisons your eyeline and turns every shot into bokeh paste???? and I mean every shot almost!!!! I promise if you think I am overreacting just throw a dart at the seek bar and watch twenty seconds from wherever it lands. it is horrifying to look at. at least it gave my girlfriend a good visual shorthand for what it’s like when I lose my glasses

why was sean spicer in this movie. did they pay him to be here. was sean spicer paid hollywood money for his scene in this film because fuck everyone who was involved in that decision

the legitimately baffling hints at the extraterrestrial origins of the infection that went absolutely nowhere and had no dramatic or plot-level bearing. we love to see the franchise sprouts fellas

yet another big budget waste of everything hiroyuki sanada has to offer. and bautista too I guess? I like him but man was this an odd career move

what was the crux of his conflict/resolution with his daughter btw. I understand it was rooted in miscommunication over their forms of grief irt mom but uhh… it was all rather clunky and didn’t land for me. I tried I really tried to buy in but something was wrong fundamentally with the groundwork there, it did not click and their catharsis felt unearned. I know there’s massive amounts of tragic baggage being projected there from the author so I’m not slapping any judgment down really;

but again it would be an easy thing to wave off if they just had a vibrant cast of lovable simpletons with good chemistry and the kinetic sense of plotting the trailers promised (and this premise never discounts good drama, either). but instead it was just two and a half (!) hours of meandering into situations the filmmaking instincts had no idea how to flow in and out of

to wit. I know talking about “bad pacing” is associated with armchair bullshit but consider the example of the scene were dieter does an out of nowhere little dance after childishly screaming but then still-killing a zombie, with the film framing this as a micro character triumph, and not a second later the bg soundtrack instantly fades into an orchestral score dramatizing a nearby mcguffin reveal, completely 180 degreeing the tone without a semblance of deft insert shot stitching or even I dont know a fucking jump cut maybe. now imagine this whiplash for 2.5 hrs uninterrupted

I will keep complaining about the length yeah because this was not a story requiring this much real estate to be told. Uhh in my humble and personal opinion, of course

[man sees zombie tiger] “this is crossing the line!” you can in fact write dialogue that is not utter nonsense that falls apart once you drill down its single fickle layer of referential meta winking. what line are you talking about. you have rules in this insane situation you’re in? total nitpick moment I know but it got burned in my brain for some reason. like a microcosm of the mismanaged dramatic instincts paired with weird writing that dots this movie. I am sure the director calls this either satire or genre deconstruction. I am SO sure

tumblr domino meme that goes from “dude getting sucked off while driving” to “entire las vegas literally nuked”

tig notaro is always great to see but once you know she’s been filmed as a separate greenscreen plate months after photography wrapped - cause she had to apparently replace some abusive asshole but that’s a whole other pig not worth fucking - it becomes impossible to unsee her odd detachment from everyone else in the movie lmao. it doesn’t really “ruin” anything on its lonesome but it is hard to unsee

why. was. sean. spicer. in. this. movie

a very simple key ingredient missing from fully turning lip service sympathy for main uruk hai dude into actual empathy that would generate meaningful conflict with hero family would be to spend a bit more time articulating what he internally wanted the most. because he was obviously trying to do something here with pointed agenda. a family, to have kids, build a caste system, save his wife’s head, return to his planet??? all of these could represent the bigger context in his psychology that spurred his vengeance but none of them are dramatically emphasized long enough for you to cheer him on. I’m not asking too much I promise. Articulating interiority of a mute character is pretty doable with deft cinema language, just gotta linger and hold a shot here and there for a few seconds, frame as his POV, donezo. I know this is also one of those like. “who cares” moments but the movie does, very evidently so, in making this guy an actual character. you can kinda piece it together and create a framework of sympathy for him, sure, but then again he ultimately becomes a foil to be killed and not defeated, so. Ehh whatever

quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was n

the rooftop helicopter fakout at the end was such an ass-backwards, manufactured moment of what could be a simple setup/payoff it just pissed me off??? you gain nothing by giving sad dad five seconds of pointless crisis that flips right back to previous status quo ANYWAY, except for a weaksauce waste of runtime, which could be used instead to get inside notaro’s head and actually SHOW the remorse form as she took off, literally maybe even a frown playing on her face as she’s headed for safety right before we cut back to drax and the kid. just a simple-ass, minimal, momentary setup for what is the most basic filmmaking trick of creating macro catharsis moments. Just???? g o d if you can’t even land that shit why are you even doing any of this

that lil run final pam did was very very charming and super choreographed in a way that was the tiiiniest bit overdone

the whole intro with the simul-backstories and posing with family photos was just… oddly motivated. what was the goal? “here’s what we’re fighting for” vignettes? why? it’s not a functional setup in that vein. what was all that

also I am sorry if this is insensitive but the reasons most characters end up articulating to justify going back into the hell that destroyed their lives makes them sound seriously insane

I dont like complaining about CGI (honestly) but so much of it in modern movies can achieve higher fidelity if the animation is simply subdued. Do not overengineer and over-apply 2D cell methodologies and kinematics to each tiny twitch and movement in a hyper 3D model and I promise you. it will look a thousand times more natural. look at thanos in those last two movies. your rendering and detail are absolutely perfect with the tiger you just have to let stuff sit instead of constantly simulating swaying hair strands and firing off all facial muscles at once. great moment at one point where makeup zombie horse and CG zombie tiger are both in one shot together and just by unnecessary amounts of movement alone you can tell who doesn’t belong. again; detail, rendering, compositing, lighting, all picture-perfect; but y’all just gotta let the animation breathe sometimes, and chill it out

plot holes don’t really matter to me but it was kinda funny how lilly decided not to mention the enormous wrinkle in intel pertaining to an actual territorial tribe of intelligent zombies that require human offerings to let you pass, just so that reveal could play out in real time through the joyous punishment of the cartoonishly misogynistic dude

total chad move for mister uruk hai and final pam to rule from a rusted swimming pool complex

the ending with vanderohe oh my god. with the. cash stacks at the airport register. and specifically them working in his favor. that is literally something you do to get arrested under suspicion of theft. it was almost played for laughs and I respect that. coulda been goofier. make these movies goofy ya dorks

anyway, weird, weird movie. bad marketing. message unclear (something something sins of the father???), baffling editing instincts, literal worst-looking cinematography I ever laid eyes upon. Confidently dying on that last hill

[nerdywrites]

The Summer Soldier (part 7)

Pairing: Eventual Peter Parker x Stark!reader, Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary: When the Secretary of State tells them about the Sokovia Accords, (Y/n) has to decide between family and beliefs. 

Warnings: Mild language

A/N: Sorry I don't have time to answer your messages or post as fast, I am on vacation right now!

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

Tony barely talked when he got home to the tower. He had been out giving a grant to college students at MIT, but (Y/n) suspected something else happened based on his attitude. 

He couldn’t get the conversation he had just had with the woman near the elevator about her son.

“His name was Charlie Spencer. You murdered him, in Sokovia. Not that that matters in the least to you. You think you fight for us? You just fight for yourself. Who’s going to avenge my son, Stark? He’s dead, and I blame you. You have a daughter, right? Imagine she died, and no one noticed, no one cared, but you.”

Tony continued to stay silent on the way over to the facility where they were meeting the rest of the team, and the Secretary of State, for reasons (Y/n) didn’t know. But it couldn’t be good.

--

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. Dropped right in the middle of my backswing.” he acted as though he was swinging a golf club “Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass, I found something 40 years in the army had never taught me. Perspective.”

The Avengers watched him intently, all wondering where he was going with his story.

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives. But while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

“And what word what you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha’s voice held annoyance, but it seemed no one else could tell.

“How about ‘dangerous’? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals, who routinely ignore sovereign borders, and inflict their will wherever they choose, and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Still, no one spoke. Their expressions gave away what they were thinking, but (Y/n) didn’t have time to figure it out before the Secretary pulled up a map with many little green dots scattered throughout.

Every time he said a city name, the dot became larger and showed footage of the avengers battles, always where the most wreckage was.

“New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia...”

Every time he switched to another city, someone on the team looked down at their lap, not wanting to see what he was showing. For (Y/n), it was Sokovia, the first time she had ever fought as an Avenger.

“Lagos”

(Y/n) put a reassuring hand on Wanda’s arm as the girl looked away, her eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. 

She desperately wanted to yell at the man to shut up and turn the stupid thing off, but she knew the consequences would most likely effect the whole team and not just herself.

“Okay, that’s enough” Steve said, also noticing Wanda’s reaction.

“For the past four years” he continued after turning off the screen “You’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution” 

He was handed a thick booklet that was passed around the table. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

The booklet was passed to (Y/n), and the only thing she knew as she was holding it in her hands, was that she would never under any circumstances agree or support what they were planning. 

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.” Steve spoke, and (Y/n) silently cheered him on.

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve only looked at him “If I misplaced a group of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

Rhodes put his hand on the book “So, there are contingencies.”

The Secretary nodded “Three days from now the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Steve turned to look at Tony, who had his head down, as the Secretary told them to “Talk it over.”

As he was leaving, Natasha asked him one final question “And if we come to a decision you don’t like?”

“Then you retire.”

--

Everyone was arguing over what they were going to do.

Rhodes was yelling at Sam about how Secretary Ross had a Congressional Medal of Honor, Steve was reading the Accords, and Tony was laying down with his hand over his face.

(Y/n) had a suspension he was going to sign it, she hoped she was wrong.

“So let’s say we agree to this thing.” Sam yelled “How long before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this” Rhodes pointed out “117, Sam, and you’re just like ‘No, that’s cool. We got it.’”

Sam responded by asking “How long are you going to play both sides?”

Before he could say anything else, Vision spoke “I have an equation.”

“Oh this will clear it up” Sam said, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

Vision ignored him “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. During the same period the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve was getting defensive.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe. Oversight...oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom” Rhodes looked at Sam.

“Tony” Natasha pointed the attention at him. “You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

(Y/n) hoped with every ounce of her being that he was about to say something against the Accords.

”That’s cause he’s already made up his mind” Steve concluded her worst fear.

“Boy, you know me so well.” he sat up “Actually I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache. That’s what’s going on, Cap, it’s just pain. It’s discomfort.” he was getting a cup of coffee “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

He got something out of his pocket, set it on the counter, and pressed the screen, causing a holographic picture of a teenage boy to show up. “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where. Sokovia.”

Everyone glanced down, knowing how the story ended, guilt covering each of their faces. 

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. We wouldn’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” he took a sip of his coffee. “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, (Y/n) and I are game.”

She looked up, guilt pooling in her eyes and an ‘I’m sorry’ look written on her face. “I’m not”

I was quiet, but everyone heard it. There was silence as they all turned to her.

“Not everyone can be saved. That’s what we all tell each other when we feel guilty over something that’s happened. Now you think you can somehow reverse that just because you take away our freedom to do what the Avengers were started to do? We’ve always done more good than harm, otherwise we wouldn’t do what we do. These Accords will ruin us. So I’m sorry, but no, I won’t be supporting it”

“If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.” he tried to convince her. Tony only cared what she thought. He knew Steve would go the other way, Sam and some others to, but he never imagined what it would feel like if his daughter followed them.

“Tony” Steve looked at him “If someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up.”

“Who said we’re giving up?”

“We are if we aren’t taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. That is dangerously arrogant.”

(Y/n) looked at Rhodes in surprise, Steve Rogers was anything but arrogant.

He continued “This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not HYDRA-”

Steve cut him off “No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good” Tony joined in “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.” 

He was standing dangerously close to where Cap was sitting, and he turned to face him, “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

Tony shook his head “If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty.”

Wanda was silent until this point “You’re saying they’ll come for me?”

“We would protect you” Vision promised.

“Maybe Tony’s right” Natasha shocked even the Stark himself “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam asked.

“I’m just reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Tony leaned on the couch “Focus up. I’m sorry. Did I just mishear you, or did you agree with me?”

“I want to take it back now” (Y/n) almost laughed.

“No, you can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed. I win.”

(Y/n) saw Steve look at his phone before excusing himself from the meeting and hurrying out quickly. She was worried, seeing the expression on his face just before he left.

She soon found out it was because Peggy had died, but she wasn’t quite sure who Peggy was.

--

It was at the end of the funeral that Steve got the chance to ask Natasha who else had signed the Accords.

“Tony, Rhodey, Vision.”

“Clint?”

“Says he’s retired.”

“(Y/n)?”

“Made the point that contracts signed by minors aren’t legally binding. I think she just wanted to lighten the blow for Tony. He’s hurting a lot more than he shows.”

Steve nodded “Wanda?”

“TBD. I’m off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords, there’s plenty of room on the jet.” Steve sighed “Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together.”

“What are we giving up to do it? I’m sorry, Nat. I can’t sign it.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone. Come here.”

The two hugged one last time before everything went wrong.

--

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[avengeher]

Brave Little One. (Rogers/Reader)

Summary: You couldn’t imagine believing in anyone more than you believed in Steve Rogers. You had followed him into the battle of New York; and you had followed him further into bringing down Hydra-Shield; furthermore, you had fought Ultron and won, and you knew whatever it was- he’d do the same for you. Along the way, you had fallen madly in love with him, and he with you. So when the accords were laid in front of you in black and white, videos of what you’d all done in defense of the people, you knew the decision would be an easy one. Til he looked up at you with bright blue eyes, defiance swimming in them and your heart broke.

Or, the one where Captain America refuses to sign the accords and the ink of your signature was practically already drying on the page.

Pairing: Steve/Reader (female pronouns)

A/N: Hi there, so this is going to be my attempt at a multi part story and I kind of liked the idea of lovers torn (the reader and Steve are already in a relationship from the start). The first few parts will be the whirlwind that was the first part of cap3, up til they get arrested and then from there you will start to get backstory on Steve and her, how she was found and joined the avengers, plus angst and swearing because I am apparently part sailor lol but thanks for reading and hope you enjoy lovelies

Disclaimer; i own nothing but the reader’s basic personality and Marvel if y'all want that, you can have it lol

“You have to take responsibility for your actions.” Ross had demanded, showing the havoc the lot of you had wreaked all over the world. “While some see you as heroes, a great many see you as vigilantes.”

You had felt smaller than an ant as he stared you down, eyes beaming directly into yours when he pulled up a video of what you’d done in Sokovia. You had the ability to manipulate the elements, and the gust of wind you’d used to take out a hoard of Iron Legion bots also leveled a whole - empty - block. You had sunk in your chair, eyes darting to Steve’s as he reached out to take your hand with a sorry gaze.

“That’s enough.” Steve had commanded, the clip of Wanda accidentally sending Rumlow through an office building playing behind him. “Cut it off, you made your point Ross.” Then the accords had been introduced, landing in front of you on the table with a resounding bang.

‘Approved by 117 countries’ is all you could hear. 117. 117 countries saw you all as a liability, as borderline a problem. 117 countries wanted you to take responsibility for what you’d done. Where did that leave all of you then? You didn’t want to be owned by government officials, with agendas and problems that didn’t fit your job description. That’s why you signed up for the Avengers in the first place, so you wouldn’t be some lab rat. Steve’s hand tightened in yours, your eyes meeting his as he gave you and encouraging smile before glancing over at Tony.

“The UN meets in Vienna three says from now, talk it over.”

-

You had read through the gist of the accords, double and triple checking for loopholes or any kind of mistreatment of you all as humans and so far you couldn’t find any. Sam and Rhodey had been getting into it all afternoon, something about medals and criminals but you weren't really paying attention as you switched between watching Steve read the accords and Tony sitting despondently - he seemed utterly concentrated.

“I have an equation.” Vision started, earning groans from Sam but you were willing to hear the android man out. And you were glad you did because he made far too much sense. Strength had always bred challenge, Steve’s immediate defensiveness sitting heavily on your chest. You had never felt so disconnected from him then in that moment. You couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, didn’t know what that stone cold expression on his face meant but you knew Steve, knew he’d make the right choice and you’d probably follow right along with it.

“Tony, you’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.” Natasha pointed out what you’d all already noticed. Tony shifted and it was like a cold breeze through the room.

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind.” Steve’s jaw tightened, hand crumpling the papers a bit as Tony stood. Your eyes went wide, mind catching up to your eyes and relaying the message of understanding. That wasn’t despondent posture you’d noticed. It wasn’t concentration, it was acceptance and the relaxation in his choice.

“Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache. That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain. It's discomfort. Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?” Tony deflected. He tapped his phone against the wireless photo display, letting a photo of a young boy none of you recognized pop up on the screen. “Oh, that's Charles Spencer by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul... before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.” You looked away from the photo with tears stuck in your throat. You had been the one to level most of Sokovia. “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass. There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up.” What was Steve doing? Did he just not hear what Stark said? Responsibility needed to be taken for what you’d all done.

“Who said we're giving up?”

“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blames.” You were this close to arguing him when Rhodey cut you off.

“I’m sorry. Steve. That... That is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council, it's not SHIELD, it's not HYDRA.”

“No, but it's run by people with agendas and agendas change.”

“That's good. That's why I'm here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stop manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” Why was Steve fighting this so much? He had a good point but was he fighting being under supervision or afraid of another Hydra-Shield situation?

“If we don’t so this now,” You finally broke in, “Do you think it’ll be done to us?” Tony nodded. They’d force your hand.

“You're saying they'll come for me, and you.” She placed her hand on your arm, accepting your pained smile with one of her own. She’d been your best friend through all this - minus Steve, of course. But she understood you in a way no one else could.

“We would protect you, both of you.” Vision explained. But they couldn’t dedicate their lives to protecting yours when there was a whole world out there.

You had never felt so confused in your life with both sides of the coin having equally valid opinions. You had to take responsibility, that was the agreed upon consensus but how? By letting others help decide so it was less likely for there to be so much collateral or was it truly just shifting blame around so it didn’t rest on all of you? Or was it arrogant like Rhodey said to think you could make decisions that involved innocent lives when aliens and sentient AI robots were involved?

“Perhaps Tony’s right.” All of your heads went on a swivel to Natasha. What? “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer but if we take it off, then nothing.” The way Sam’s neck elongated, hands folding over his chest as he leaned closer would have been comical in any other situation but you could feel an impending fight and for once, looking in Steve’s eyes didn’t calm you in the slightest because you still couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry, aren’t you the woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam exclaimed. “Then released all the Shield files?”

“I’m just reading the terrain.” She explained, rolling her eyes when Tony held up his hand. He was grinning like the cheshire cat.

“Focus up. I’m sorry. Did I mishear you or did you agree with me?”

“I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no. You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed - I win.” Steve’s phone chiming interrupted the small moment of comedy, the look on his face telling you that no one would be winning today.

“i have to go.” You stood with him, following him as he practically flew down the stairs. He stopped halfway, only to turn and drag you into his arms as tears welled in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Peggy.” he didn’t have to say more. You simply let the moment be, forgetting about the accords and how you didn’t know where you stood let alone where he would. You just held the man you loved, while he cried for the woman he never truly got to.

-

Sharon Carter was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes to match. She held herself with a poise you’d seen in old photos of Peggy, but more than that, she held herself with a confidence you wished you could possess. So much confidence that when she started to speak, for the first time that day, you truly listened.

“Margaret Carter was known to most as a founder of SHIELD... but I just knew her as Aunt Peggy. She had a photograph in her office. Aunt Peggy standing next to JFK. As a kid, that was pretty cool. But it was a lot to live up to. Which is why I never told anyone we were related. I asked her once how she managed to master diplomacy and espionage in a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either. And she said, compromise where you can. But where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move... it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in they eye and say " No, you move.””

It was in that one minute long speech, that one paragraph of profound thinking and intense truth that you made your decision. You don’t know if it was the fact that Peggy Carter, the woman who stood up stronger then she fell, said it or if it was because you’d known all along and just needed a little shove in the right direction. Whatever it was, you finally felt settled for the first time since seeing the accords.

Then you looked over at Steve and it was like someone took your heart in their hands, crushing it with all their might. It was such a strong feeling, such deep emotion that you felt yourself tear up because bright blue was already looking back at you. The resilience in his eyes, the downright stubbornness of a man who was about to be the cause of an absolute shit show, made you question your own resolve enough that you don’t think he realized the truth yet. Not like you had, because you knew it’d break his heart.

He wasn’t going to sign those papers, but you had to.

[drunkatfenway-blog]

My Weekend in Las Vegas

Before I begin to write this I would just like to say this is a simple blog about a dark day in American history in which I happened to be in the same city enjoying the nightlife just the same as the nearly 43 million people who travel to Las Vegas annually. My sole purpose of this is so anybody can get a feeling of one person’s first hand experience in the city the Weekend of October 1, 2017. Weather it’s today tomorrow, or 650 years from now, for historical purposes I give everybody permission to use this work.

I departed from Boston to Las Vegas on early Thursday September 28, 2017. Like many other people I just wanted to travel to Vegas to see some shows gamble on some games drink some beers and go swimming. With autumn fast approaching in New England I was very excited to travel 5 and a half hours west to the middle of the Nevada desert in Las Vegas. My weekend went on like most people’s in Las Vegas. I spent time gambling on football, playing roulette, watching the Red Sox and enjoying the outdoors. The weather was beautiful anywhere from 85-95 degrees everyday. Nothing but sun and no clouds in the sky. One great part of Las Vegas is everything is fun. For those who have never been there or are looking back, you can walk around drinking open containers of alcohol. Marijuana is fully recreational & legal though, it must be consumed in a private area (very loosely enforced, nobody ever gets in trouble for smoking pot). Nightclubs and bar rooms are open 24 hours a day for the most part. Nothing really stops. Gambling, strip clubs, and call girls are around you no matter where you are in the city. It’s the city’s economy and it’s why people from all over the world travel to this amazing city.

October 1st started like many other Sundays in the city with everybody waking up after a long Friday and Saturday. The Las Vegas strip was covered with fans from all over wearing their favorite NFL jerseys and drinks in hand getting ready for the 10 a.m. games (there was actually a 6:30 a.m. game between the Saints and Dolphins, so the city was already alive for America’s newest pastime Football). As the day went on and the town enjoyed itself restaurants, bars, casinos, and sportsbooks, were filled to near capacity. The day progressed and before you know it all the games were ending. And their was only one left. The Seattle Seahawks were playing host to the Indianapolis Colts at 5:30 p.m. Vegas time. At this time after a long morning and afternoon of drinking and gambling I headed to my hotel room right in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip, The Flamingo. The Flamingo is pretty much in the middle of town. Dead smack in the middle of everything. It was the first popular resort casino Vegas had, starting the trend of building bright, beautiful buildings, and topping the previous. I relaxed in the comfort of my room and enjoyed the game for a little while in some peace & quiet. I took a quick shower and headed down to the bar right as the game was heading to the end. I went to a bar right in the casino outside of the sportsbook where I was getting a full recap of all the past days game via the many tvs that donned the neon pink walls. This is where things started to get strange. Being a late Sunday night I didn’t particularly find it odd that one of the televisions had the news on. Almost every television in Vegas has a sports game on or a replay of a past game on. But, it was late and the weekend was coming to an end. As the current tourists prepared to leave new ones would be coming in. It was breaking news on Fox 5 Las Vegas “Active shooter on the Las Vegas Strip” the screen read. Now my thinking at the time was that it was casual gang activity or a quarrel between 2 people and somebody got shot and took off. Being that it was the only live thing on it garnered the interest of a few fellow patrons at the same bar as I. About 10-15 minutes later I took a drink over to play some slot machines. That’s when I started to realize something was different. CNN took over a television screen reporting on the story. CNN is one of America’s largest national news networks. They began to report on it but nothing was really out yet. They were still just saying there was an active shooter in the area. No note of casualties, and not really any specifics from law enforcement or anybody of note. At this time pretty much everybody in the Flamingo Casino was aware of the situation but had no detail. As I enjoyed myself playing video poker and drinking complimentary alcoholic beverages the news began to develop. 2 People reportedly shot said Fox 5 Vegas and CNN. Still no word on shooter. Reminder: The Casino was very full. Every table was just about full. People were drinking and enjoying themselves as they became aware of this situation at the top of the Las Vegas Strip. But hotel security seemed very restless. These aren’t rent a cops either. Caesars Resorts security has handguns and are pretty much Police Officers. They were pacing and checking on people and were very noticeable. That’s when it came out next on the news. 20 people shot at a country music concert at Mandalay Bay. This was the first they said the exact location and event of where and what exactly was happening. 20 was a very crazy number. It also said at least 2 people were dead. Now the party I was with (1 other person) had plans to head in that direction and go into many casinos and bar rooms and have as much fun as possible. Drinking, good food, and enjoying Las Vegas were the only things on the agenda.

The time was about 12:15 a.m. Pacific Time. I first called my mother back home in Massachusetts to let her now that before the story got crazy and she woke up to crazy reports that we were alright. 3:15 a.m. Eastern time for you guys who don’t know. When I went to leave the Flamingo Casino we were told by a Las Vegas Police Officer that we were on lockdown. Nobody was to leave or enter no matter what the circumstances. He said that this was the procedure throughout all of the casinos in the city at this time.We felt grateful because we were planning to head next door, and being locked out of our casino would’ve been tough. As time went on the crowd grew more restless as well as security. The worst part was the numbers on the screen slowly began to rise. After about a half hour it was 100% viral on all forms of social media. Casino patrons were on the phone trying to reach people and security grew more and more uptight. A little after 1 a.m. Vegas time one of the bartenders told us his bar was closing per order of management. We quickly grabbed our drinks and headed to another bar in the casino. 2-3 minutes later that bartender told me he was no longer allowed to serve drinks. Next thing we know the tables begin to close and they’re kicking people off of the slot machines.The machines never close in Vegas. Still wanting to drink and still full of energy we retreated to a small general store to grab some cold 22 ounce beers in there. When looking outside at the always bright and beautiful Las Vegas Strip it was black, the first time I’ve ever seen it that dead, and I’ve visited here a handful of times. There were no cars other than police cruisers and ambulances. People from other hotels were mad they couldn’t leave and the scene was getting a bit loud. After not much changing inside and getting dozens of phone calls from back east we decided to retreat to the room for the night and watched the news in the hotel room. 20 people confirmed dead was the last number I remember hearing before falling asleep.

After only about 4-5 hours of sleep I restlessly woke up to hundreds of text messages and about 110 phone calls. I didn’t even know that many people knew I was out of town. I told basically nobody other than immediate family and a handful of friends. As I turned on the television and checked my phone I was STUNNED. 59 dead. Over 500 shot. A man perched on the 32nd floor of Mandalay Bay sprayed thousands of rounds onto concert goers. For no reason at all. I quickly got dressed and wanted to check out the scene. Walking down Las Vegas Boulevard was very eerie. Police were everywhere. The always energetic and lively Strip was as quiet as could be. The weather was beautiful. But the feeling was slow and sad.

Everybody knew what had happened. Casino signs were giving directions on where civilians could go and donate blood. 800 numbers were blasted all over the Strip to help family members locate lost or unaccounted for loved ones. As I walked up you couldn’t go more than 100 feet without Las Vegas Metro Police standing by assisting the people and visitors of Las Vegas. I was headed to Mandalay Bay because I wanted to see the terrible acts that wrecked havoc on a city I know and love dearly. From about a half a mile away you could see the window the perpetrator shot out of. It was solid black on the very beautiful gold structure of Mandalay Bay. Photographers and media members were everywhere. Spanish and English reporters. I approached Mandalay Bay from the neighboring Luxor hotel. Las Vegas Boulevard was shut down to traffic for about 4 city blocks, So I walked in the street. It was strange walking in the street because Las Vegas Blvd. is massive, 4-5 lanes in most parts. Jaywalking could actually get you killed when traffic is flowing. I took photos and saw the terrible scene that so many who perished just a few hours before had been at. The concert stage just on the other side of the street. A gas station that was clearly evacuated with cars still in the gas lanes, blocked off by police tape. Hundreds were down there observing just as I had and there wasn’t a word being said. No music playing, no street performers. As terrible as it was to be there I figured it needed to see the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history in person. I walked into Mandalay Bay through the connecting Luxor as this was the only way to enter. The Shops at Mandalay were all closed that dreary Monday morning. It felt empty. The city in the desert that never sleeps was well at rest inside of Mandalay Bay.

Hundreds of news reporters and what felt like thousands of police officers held the scene. The whole mood in the city just felt empty. And not in the good way. Vegas is the kind of city where even if you lose a boatload of money and are hungover for the majority of the week, when you come home your trip is always well worth it. Simply put: it’s Disney World for adults. And to say the feeling was sad is an understatement. I flew out at 11:59 Monday Night. The whole airport was silent 24 hours after the shooting. It didn’t feel like Vegas anymore. It felt dampened. And I can’t even begin to imagine what those who lost or have harmed loved ones are feeling.

My point in writing this wasn’t to be political or anything of that nature. I just wanted to leave a first hand account of my night in a casino not too far from Mandalay and walking to Mandalay the next day. As of Tuesday Night there’s 59 people dead (including the shooter). 500 People recovering from injuries, some life threatening. The largest mass shooting in American History, surpassing The Pulse Night Club shooting in Orlando just a mere 15 and a half months ago. The 2 behind that? Sandy Hook elementary school shooting in December of 2012 and Virginia Tech in April of ‘07. The fearful underlying feeling I take from this tragic event? That some day, somebody, somewhere, in the future is going to read what I’ve just written. And The Harvest Music Festival shooting in Las Vegas will no longer be the #1 deadliest shooting in United States history. It’s gotten to the point where as a culture these despicable, tragic events are all too common, and there seems to be nothing as a culture or a country we can do.

-Rob O’Shea

Tuesday October 3, 2017

[seriouslyhooked]

Wedded Bliss and Asterisks (A Modern CS AU) Part 20/?

Emma Swan is an enemy of love who just happens to be an up and coming wedding dress designer. She’s convinced that a fairytale kind of romance is nowhere in her future but when she meets Killian Jones, whose magazine is covering the opening of her new boutique, things change. Suddenly Emma finds herself drawing up new plans for her life, ones that seem to all be leading towards her own form of wedded bliss. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven.Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen,Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen. Also on FF Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! We are back with another chapter of Wedded Bliss and Asterisks, and though it is a shorter chapter than usual, I couldn’t pass up the chance to write it. It will be the last chapter before the wedding. It includes a glimpse into Emma’s bachelorette party festivities and then ends with a fluffy moment that has been in my head since I first started writing this fic.  I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!

“Emma are you sure you couldn’t wear it for just one minute?” Mary Margaret asked for what felt like the hundredth time. “I just want one single picture with you in the tiara. Just one, I promise.”

Emma couldn’t tell if she wanted to sigh or laugh in the face of her friend’s headstrong wish, but she sided with a simple smile and a shake of her head. Mary Margaret was a fantastic person and a wonderful friend, always there when the chips were down and Emma needed someone to lean on, but she had this knack for pushing when everyone else would let something go. It probably had to do with all that excess of hope her friend seemed to have, which had only compounded further since she’d found love again in her life.

“Mary Margaret, I love you and you know that, but I’ve already told you I don’t want to live in a world where there is photographic evidence out there of me in that tiara.”

In the face of Emma’s words her slightly intoxicated (and by slightly she meant very) friend huffed out some air in a barely controlled sense of frustration and Emma couldn’t help but laugh when she did. She muffled it of course, trying to keep her friend’s feelings in mind, but it was a pretty funny situation all things considered. In fact the whole day had been that way, as one would expect when the drinking had started with mimosas at ten and Emma’s friends had never slowed down anytime over the next twelve hours.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Emma. You would make a beautiful princess. You really really would.”

“No one is saying she wouldn’t,” Elsa said from her spot next to Emma in the booth, her icy blonde hair almost coming off as blue with the colored lights of the club around them. “But if Emma’s going to be a princess, maybe it shouldn’t be the princess of penis.”

“Who said anything about that?!” Mary Margaret asked completely astonished, and that was the moment when Emma had the confirmation she’d been wondering about for the last twenty minutes. Her friend had simply missed the fact that the whole gaudy crown was encrusted with bedazzled dicks, and that was just too classic. Now it was just a matter of waiting to see which of them would break it to Mary Margaret first.

“So you’re telling me you can’t see them?” Elsa asked, clearly as shocked and also amused as Emma was and Mary Margaret furrowed her brow, shaking her head as she looked at the plastic crown once again. Emma would at least give her friend the benefit of saying that they were somewhat subtle, but once you saw the clearly phallic shapes making up the whole plastic bobble, there was no going back.

“They are not…” Mary Margaret countered before her eyes grew wider and she went a little red, realization setting in. “Oh my God they are! Ruby! Why would you even buy this?”

Emma found it funny that Mary Margaret would even have to ask. After years and years of friendship, Emma had totally expected Ruby to pull stunts like this for any of their bachelorette parties because that was who she was. And Emma also couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t entertaining because it was. Even if it wasn’t exactly her cup of tea, Ruby’s hijinks had created a fair many memories for Emma to remember forever, and Emma was grateful for that even if she wasn’t about to play along in full.

“Oh please. Emma’s just lucky I didn’t have full reign on this party. I was serious about those strippers, honey, and if this was Vegas… well let’s just say there’s a reason they say sin stays in that city.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” Emma muttered, seriously glad that she’d gotten out of that whole fiasco since she vastly preferred the party she’d had instead.

After careful deliberation on the part of all of her friends, it was decided that the best way to celebrate Emma getting married was to merge two kinds of bachelorette parties. They’d started the day with something Emma had been more accepting of (but still slightly wary from) that she ended up needing desperately: a trip to the spa. To be blunt it had been a fantastic change of pace for her, and after the hectic nature of their summer season, it was lovely to take a step back from the frantic go-go-go of her life and just relax.

That being said, it wasn’t all quiet mood music and restful massages. There was also a substantial amount of drinking, a bevy of good food brought from every corner of the city (thanks to Ruby’s endless connections), and an almost never-ending swell of gossip and girl time. Because even if a typical spa day meant mostly silent solitude and individual pampering, that would never fly with Emma’s friends. Instead every item on the agenda had been undertaken together, and Emma had found herself laughing more than she could remember doing in a long time, never mind in a spa.

From there though, the easy going (if still heavily alcohol-sponsored) ‘treat yourself’ day turned into dinner at some hip new restaurant and then ambled to this, a throwback to their earlier years together in the city in the middle of a swanky new club with deafening music and tons of single people on the prowl. It was nice in some ways getting to dance the night away with her best friends and leave all her cares at the door, but it was also a slightly tired situation.

It hit Emma in the midst of all of this that she might very well be over the club scene (if she was ever actually a fan of it at all), and though none of her friends had admitted it, she thought she might not be alone in that. After all, the evening had been full of stolen glances from all of them at their phones (no doubt looking to touch base with their significant others) and funny, shared looks between the friends when they observed other people here. Maybe they’d all missed something, but it felt like a night out on the town wasn’t what it once was. Now everything was just a tiny bit sleazier, and a little less desirable as a result.

“Okay, can I just say thank God none of us are single anymore?” Elsa asked, perfectly mirroring Emma’s thoughts on the matter as she looked around the club. “I mean is it just me or have the pickings seriously dried up since we were last out like this?”

“Maybe,” Emma said noncommittally. “Or maybe you’re just so taken with your own fiancé no one else compares.”

The mention of her very recent engagement made Elsa flush a happy shade of pink, and inadvertently her gaze as well as everyone else’s went back to the ring that Liam had given her. It was a beautiful design, one that Elsa had sincerely loved and taken to immediately, but Emma also knew it wasn’t the first one Liam had considered. No, that monstrosity was ginormous, totally unrealistic for anyone never mind a baker, and had thankfully not been purchased thanks to some helpful interference from Killian.

“You might be on to something there,” Elsa admitted before breaking into a full on grin.

“You did make a good point though,” Mary Margaret stated cheerily, her eyes filled with the thoughts moving about in her head that Emma would just bet were romantic in nature and centered on one David Nolan (who Emma was entirely positive would be crafting a proposal of his own sometime very soon). “I would hate to go back to the way things were before. I mean obviously I loved having you guys…”

“But life’s just a little sweeter when you’ve got someone to love,” Ruby finished and the friends all agreed, largely ignoring that in their little bit of tipsiness they were all of them a touch sappier than they usually were.

For Emma especially though, the conversation with her friends just hit home something that she’d been grappling with all evening. She was truly and totally grateful to have such an amazing family and a bond with her friends that she would never let go of, but what she wanted more than a whole night wasted in a club she didn’t care about was to make the most of the time she was given. Emma had spent the whole day playing the role of bachelorette with the women she considered sisters. Couldn’t she maybe call it a night a little earlier than expected and salvage the rest of the evening into something more worth remembering? Emma thought so, and so she slipped her phone from her purse once more and shot a quick text to the man whose presence she was currently missing most.

E: How would you feel about cutting the night a bit shorter than our friends were thinking?

Emma honestly expected it to take a few minutes for Killian to respond at the very least since from what she’d heard Liam and the others had a pretty set plan of their own, but just as she was about to slip her phone back in her bag, she saw those tell tale dots pop up on her screen signaling he was responding already. The speed with which Killian was going to get back to her made Emma laugh to herself, but she checked to make sure none of her friends had noticed as she waited for Killian’s reply.

K: The sooner I have you back with me, the better in my book, Swan.

“Perfect,” Emma whispered to herself, but too late she realized the error of her ways.

“What was that, Ems?” Ruby asked from across the table and Emma looked back up, realizing she’d been caught and that all of her friends were looking at her with knowing smirks and a whole lot of amusement behind their eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” Emma said, trying to play it cool, but even if she knew her poker face was top notch, Emma was also aware that her friends were not buying it. She was caught, and now she had to find a way to spin her plan in a way that didn’t hurt any feelings or cause any problems.

“Okay fine you can go,” Ruby acquiesced, surprising Emma not just because she’d read Emma’s intentions so easily, but also because she was willingly letting Emma leave what her friend had once proclaimed would be ‘a never ending bonanza of single-womanhood.’

“Wait, what?” Emma asked and Mary Margaret jumped in, picking up for Ruby without missing a beat.

“We know you want to get back to Killian, Emma, and that’s good by us. To be honest we didn’t even think you’d make it this far.”

“I didn’t think any of us would,” Ruby admitted. “Hell I told Graham we’d meet up by ten, and look how that turned out. You outlasted that plan by hours.”

“So you guys have been waiting for me to make my escape this whole time?” Emma asked, biting back her laughter and luxuriating in the feeling that she wasn’t upsetting her friends in any way by calling it a night.

“Pretty much,” Elsa agreed with a smile.

“And no one’s going to feel like we didn’t do this whole bachelorette thing justice?” Emma clarified, casting her gaze primarily to Ruby who was the unspoken maestro of this whole thing to begin with.

“Nah. I figure there’s four of us, and with the way things are going we’ll be having a lot of these over the next year. Might as well save some of the dastardly deeds for the rest of us and not blow it all in one night.”

Emma totally agreed with the reasoning, and she also believed that Ruby was right and that there would be four weddings at the end of all of this. Emma was truly certain that all of her friends were with the men they were always meant to find, and marriage felt almost like a given in every single case. It was just nice to know that even if nothing had been explicitly said between Ruby and Graham, Ruby was still confident enough in her happy ending and in Mary Margaret’s as well to count them all as good as tied down.

“Well alright then,” Emma said, standing from the booth. “And I have to say this might just be the best bachelorette party I could have hoped for.”

Her friends all came to hug Emma, acknowledging that that had been their goal, and as the four of them stepped out into the night air Emma was filled with a heady rush of possibility and love. How she’d ever gotten this lucky in her life, she didn’t know, but as she hailed a cab and moved inside she thanked her lucky stars for her good fortune.

“Where to, miss?” The cabby asked her, and Emma was about to respond with her and Killian’s address when something on the TV screen in the chair before her caught her attention.

It was a flickering picture, nothing more than a passing ad that millions of people had likely seen and ignored before her in taxis across the city, but it inspired something in Emma, something she knew would grant her one of those lasting memories she’d been thinking of before. The next thing she knew she was telling the driver where to go and sending Killian a text of this new place for them to meet that she hoped he’d find as meaningful as she did. And in the meantime, she sat there, staring out at the city she called home as it passed by, smiling to herself and knowing that in this moment she was truly happy and that she was destined to remain so for a very long time.

………………..

From the second that Emma sent Killian that message about leaving the evening’s festivities, there was no doubt in his mind that he would find her. It didn’t matter that he and Liam and their friends were in the midst of a thoroughly planned out evening, or that he’d been having a surprisingly good time all things considered. At the end of the day, Killian would always prefer finding his Swan over anything else, and tonight was no different.

In fact, this evening’s element of secrecy was even more enticement for Killian to sneak away form everything to find Emma, for after proposing that they ditch their respective parties early, she’d sent him an address that Killian recognized but couldn’t quite place. Only when he’d hopped in the cab and told his driver where to go did he get confirmation about where Emma was hoping to meet him.

“You know, pal, you can just say the Empire State Building. No need to get fancy on me,” the cabby said with a typical New York attitude, but the gruffness went right over Killian’s head, and he found that he couldn’t help smiling the whole six block ride to their destination.

It was just too perfect an idea on Emma’s part, and the thought of meeting her there brought back a whole host of memories about their first date, which in some ways felt like it happened just yesterday and in others felt like a life time ago. It was strange to think that at one point things between Emma and Killian hadn’t been so certain, but recalling that night, Killian could still feel that flutter in his chest and that tingling of hope mixed with fear that Emma might not want this as much as he did. Now with the benefit of hindsight Killian knew that she had, but he’d purposefully pulled out all the stops that night to try and impress her, and in the end she had been the one to completely blow him away.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Emma had asked the moment that they approached the building on that fateful night so long ago, and for a second Killian had been a little taken aback. Here he was thinking this was a guaranteed success, but Emma looked so skeptical that for a moment he’d been worried. Somehow though he’d played it cool.

“I take it you’ve been before,” Killian acquiesced, but when he said that Emma ended up shaking her head before turning her gaze back to him and hitting him with a look that still had that edge of humor with a bit more depth and sincerity underneath.

“No actually I haven’t. It always seemed a little…”

“Romantic? Idyllic? Enshrined in the stuff of Hollywood dreams?”

Now that was of course meant to be a joke and his choice in phrasing was clearly hyperbolic, but he never imagined his jest would be rewarded the way it was. Emma genuinely laughed at Killian’s attempt at wit and when she did he felt his whole being flood with pride. In fact, the feeling was so sublime it couldn’t even be undercut by Emma’s responding jab, which likely would have taken down a less infatuated and already spell-bound man.

“I was going to say cheesy.” 

Ouch, that one had hurt, but even as she said that, Killian could see that Emma wasn’t retreating from his idea. She was giving him the chance to prove himself and the merits of such an outing, and he was all about making the most of those opportunities when it came to his Swan...

“Hey, buddy, you just going to sit there all night or you gonna pay up and get a move on?”

Killian was jolted by the words from his driver, but even if the man lacked politeness, he wasn’t wrong to get Killian’s attention. Truth was Killian had no idea how long they’d been stalled at the entrance of the iconic building, and though he might have liked a slightly less jarring return to reality, he valued the push to go inside. After all, his whole reason for being here was to see Emma and to make new memories that might turn out even better than the old.

After paying the cabby and heading inside, Killian noted that there were far fewer people here this time of night than there had been when he and Emma came months ago. The journey up to tiptop of the building was easy, but as the elevator climbed up floor-by-floor, Killian found himself anxious to be there already. The anticipation was killing him, even though he and Emma had seen each other just this morning, and so when the door opened and he finally managed to step out into the cool night air at what felt like the top of the world, Killian felt a strong sense of relief. Now the only thing to do was find Emma and see what exactly it was she had in mind.

Whether it was instinct that guided him or merely a happenstance of fate, the search for Emma didn’t go on very long, for as soon as he’d stepped up onto the roof Killian saw Emma’s golden hair shining underneath one of the lamps at the far edge of the tower. She was looking down on the city, cutting quite the figure in the clothes she’d worn for the evening out with her friends, but as if she sensed him, Emma turned and when she did Killian could see the smile lighting up her face. The next thing he knew he was moving towards her and she was heading his way too, until she was finally in his grasp and stepping into his arms.

“Hey there stranger. Took you long enough to get here,” Emma said cheekily, her head tilting to the side as she looked up at him, beaming in a way that spoke to her total comfort with him in every way.

“Don’t I know it, love,” Killian agreed causing Emma to laugh and shake her head. Her arms, meanwhile, came to wrap around his neck, with her fingertips grazing in a slow, but measuredly enticing way that sent a surging sense of need through Killian. This woman who he was blessed enough to call his own was a bloody siren through and through, and yet somehow she didn’t seem to realize it, at least not fully.

“You know in the movies there’s usually a far longer separation between the guy and the girl before they get the happy ending. A year, a decade, … meanwhile we just had one day.”

“Well I have to rebuff your logic on two counts, Swan,” Killian said, causing Emma’s eyebrow to raise in question, even as her smirk turned up to one side. “First of all, we were never truly separated. I left my heart with you the whole time, and you left yours with me. So even if we weren’t together, we weren’t truly apart.”

Emma’s eyes lit up at that and she hummed out her agreement, running her fingers through his hair and moving her body slightly closer to his so she was truly flush against him. Meanwhile Killian was temporarily distracted by the way Emma wet her lips and darted her gaze to his in turn. Suddenly his line of thinking diverted from whatever other love stories the world had told before. All that mattered was Emma and the rest was inconsequential.

“That’s one point. You said you had two,” Emma teased before looking up at him again and urging him with those green eyes of hers to continue on.

“Aye love I do, and the second’s more important. You see, we’re not standing at the precipice of a happy ending.”

“We’re not?” Emma asked surprised but not moving away from him in any way.

“No. We’re only at the start of this journey, Swan. It’s more of a happy beginning than anything else.”

A beat passed between them and in that instant Killian watched as understanding dawned on Emma and his words sunk in. In that moment Killian could see just how much she wanted that to be true, and he swore to himself he’d show her just how right he was. They had fifty or sixty years to be together still, and Killian was going to see every up and every down with Emma at his side no matter what. They’d have the life they dreamed of and more, and they would both look back on this time when they were old and gray as still the start of their beautiful life together. Killian knew even then they’d be just as happy, but he wasn’t willing to speed up time for the sake of a happily ever after. Instead he chose to cherish every moment and cherish the woman who was making such a happy life possible for him at all.

“God that’s cheesy,” Emma said in the face of his words, but Killian could tell that they were well received when she pressed up to kiss him in the way he’d been dying for since catching her gaze minutes before.

At the moment of impact when the two of them melted into each other, all other thoughts faded away, leaving just the two of them and this perfect moment. Neither Emma nor Killian were the wiser of the people around them or the sight they made for up there in one of the most quintessentially romantic spots in the city, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way, because love would always come first for both of them, and this kiss was nothing if not a living, breathing representation of the feelings they both had for each other.

“It might be cheesy, love,” Killian said finally as he broke the kiss for just a moment. “But I know in my heart that you love it regardless.”

Emma’s laughter filled the space between them and Killian could almost taste it as he stole another kiss before she could reply. She was simply too gorgeous an enticement to deny himself any more, but he was heartened by her response when she was the one to pull away and get another word in.

“I love your cheesy lines almost as much as I love you, Killian Jones,” Emma promised as her forehead rested against his and she closed her eyes. Killian did the same, savoring this moment and feeling that blissful symphony coursing inside him that only Emma could create, and when he opened them once more Emma was smiling at him in such an honest way it filled his heart enough to burst.

“Nothing comes close to you, Emma. Nothing.”

“Good,” Emma whispered as she stole a final kiss and stepped back, taking his hand in hers and leading him from their spot here in the sky back home where they both belonged.

Post-Note: So as the final chapter before the wedding, I felt it fitting to have some funny friend moments, but also tie back to the first date. I loved writing so many months ago about Emma and Killian up on the Empire State Building, and where they were both just a touch more cynical then, I thought it would be nice to have them caving to a reunion moment of sorts in such an iconic place. Of course I tried not to change their characters too much, and there’s still that sly nod to how cliché a moment like that could be, but in the end the fluff had to win for me, and I hope you guys enjoyed! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you’re all having a good day wherever you may be!

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part 16

By David Himmel

 Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

LATER THAT WEEK, LOU STARTED THERAPY. He’d gone to a psychologist before when he was in sixth grade. He was misbehaving in school, collecting an average of one detention a day from one teacher or another. He even managed to get a detention while in detention. His parents were convinced his behavioral problems stemmed from some sort of internal conflict. They had mistaken internal conflict as being a twelve-year-old class clown.

They sent him to Dr. Farber, a man who bore a striking resemblance to his junior high school’s assistant principal. Lou had four sessions with Dr. Farber and lied throughout every single one of them. He lied about his friends and girls and his grades and how good he was at basketball and anything else that came up. He didn’t want that man to know anything about him.

But this time was different. This time something was wrong, and Lou knew it. He was barely functioning, on the verge of a complete panic attack at all times. Even after his meltdown in Mexico, he felt volatile. He had no appetite. He craved alcohol. Several times a day he felt like tears were about to burst from his eyes. Thinking about Pop dying made him lightheaded. He was putting himself into therapy because Michelle told him to. But he wanted to get better.

Dr. Sharon Milner had an office in Edgewater, a neighborhood farther north than Lou had ever been in the city at that point. She was a gentle and quiet woman. She wore long dresses and colorful sweaters. Some sort of world music played softly from an iPod dock in the waiting room. Her office was in the basement of her home, and her three golden retrievers — Rosie, Daisy and Lily — put as many hours in at the office as did their master.

Lou liked being greeted by the dogs when he came for his appointments. It was relaxing enough that momentarily he didn’t feel the usual panicked sickness. It made him miss his own dog. It reminded him of sincere affection without an ulterior, selfish agenda. He didn’t even mind that Rosie, Daisy and Lily would share the big black couch with him while he prattled on about, well, everything. But mostly, he talked about Michelle.

“She’s saying that she needs to trust me. But how do I know that I can trust her?” he said as Rosie panted loudly.

“You don’t,” Dr. Milner said.

“Then what’s the point of any of it? How can you make a decision to do anything?”

“Those are the chances we take in relationships.”

“But Michelle needs a sure thing.”

“Well, that’s unrealistic.”

“But it’s not.”

“It is, Lou. She can’t bend life to her will. Things happen. Situations change. People panic and lose their temper.”

“But on her thirtieth birthday? I mean, of all the times—”

“It happened. What we need to do is understand what causes you to have those outbursts and find a way to manage them better. You can only control the way you react.”

“This teaching idea was all Michelle’s. Teachers are needed, she said. We’d be able to travel, she said. I could still write if I wanted to, she said. And I went along with it, because sure, it sounds nice. But I don’t want to go back to school for two years and become a teacher. And what if I do go through with it? What if she turns on me when I’m not making enough money for her to quit her job and be a housewife? Teachers aren’t exactly known for their large sums of personal wealth. Christ, what did she think? That I would land a teaching job, write a best-selling novel on our first summer vacation, get hired by a university to teach creative writing with tenure and a six-figure salary? She once accused me of having unrealistic dreams.”

“Perhaps she’s projecting her fears onto you. She’s putting a lot of pressure on you to provide a life that she wants that you can’t give her right now.”

“Let me ask you: Am I crazy?”

“That’s a broad term.”

“But I want to give her that life. I want to have a job and make money and not have to collect unemployment or pay for a shrink through COBRA or worry about my grandfather and what Grams will do when he dies or my dad or my idiot brother or my insane mom or my drunk friend who can’t pay me fucking rent. I just want things to be simple so she isn’t so upset all of the time. Because I can handle all of that shit. You know? On my own, I can manage it. But it’s being accountable to her that makes things so much worse.”

“You’re dealing with an iceberg here, Lou. Your financial issues are just the tip of it. That’s what she’s most upset about, right?”

“It’s what she usually starts fights over, yes.”

“But there is much more happening beneath the surface. We have to address that.”

“No. Those things are always going to be there. It’s almost like I’m not allowed to feel anything about them.”

“But you do.”

“Of course.”

“And that’s why you’re here.” She looked at the small silver clock on the table at the corner of the couch and said quietly, as if she didn’t want to startle him—or the dogs, “We have to stop.”

This is how it went every Wednesday at 9 p.m. for three months. Lou sat on the black leather couch with the dogs and talked.

“I still get dizzy spells,” he said.

“What do you think causes those?” said Dr. Milner.

“Vertigo. An inner ear problem. I don’t know. Stress maybe.”

“When did the dizziness begin?”

“Right about when I moved here. That first summer. I was at a Cubs game with Michelle and her parents. We were walking through the bleachers — her dad and I — and I nearly fell over. Just walking.”

“Could it have been a height issue? Maybe you did experience some vertigo.”

“I’ve never had a problem with that before. I would get them a lot at the sales job. Sitting at my desk, the room would do a quick spin.”

“Is there a time when you notice them occurring more frequently than other times?”

“Mornings. In the bathroom. While Michelle is getting dressed for work, and I’m getting dressed for my day of looking for work, schools and drinking.”

“You should consider cutting out the alcohol.”

“Oh, I’ve considered it. And I’ve decided against it. It’s when I feel the least dizzy and shaky and not so anxious and terrified.”

“What are you terrified of?”

“You know what I’m terrified of.”

“Pop dying. Your friend Chuck’s situation in Las Vegas. Your relationship with Michelle. Your career.”

“Exactly. Let me ask you: Am I crazy?”

“That’s a broad term.”

“Am I clinically depressed? Do I have an anxiety disorder? Because I am always depressed. I am always anxious.”

“No, Lou, I don’t think you’re crazy. Your conditions are entirely circumstantial. You have a tendency to attempt to live your life as if it were scripted. You try to foresee situations and experiences and react to those rather than reacting to what’s actually happening. When you find a job, you won’t be depressed about work.”

“Unless I hate that job.”

“There you go. You’re creating a future event to explain your current response. Try to avoid doing that. Because then you’ll be able to cope appropriately to the present conditions. And that way, when you find a job, you won’t be depressed about work. When you make a better living, Michelle will not fault you for not earning.”

“I heard what you just said, but I have to apply historical behavior here and say that Michelle will probably always fault me for something related to finances. Unless, or until, I’m earning more than she is or ever did. It’s a cross between being a spoiled only child and being, well… frankly, she’s a sexist. A misogynist, really. She wants her man to be the primary earner so she can stay home and do …I don’t know what. Raise the kids? There’s not a motherly bone in her body. Jesus… Setting the bar pretty high when she was making 120 grand before she even finished law school. Then she decides to date me. What the fuck?”

“You may be right in your assumption there, Lou. But everything else, Pop, Chuck, the job… there will come a time when those things no longer affect you in the negative way.”

“Like when Pop dies, I won’t be terrified of Pop dying.”

“Correct. It’s circumstantial.”

“But then I worry about Grams and Dad. Then Mom… It doesn’t end.”

“You’re scripting feelings you don’t have yet. Stop it. Manage the circumstantial feelings when the circumstances present themselves, not before.”

“Okay. But I’m so whacked out on all of it… all of the circumstances all at once, that I am unable to manage anything at all. I’m unable to manage my freak-outs because I’m freaking out at the unmanageability of it all.”

“I’m going to refer you a psychologist.”

“So I am crazy.”

“Not at all, Lou, no. Perhaps there’s a medication that can help you focus so that you can manage your way out of the woods.”

“Are you prescribing something for me?”

“I cannot. Dr. Khorashi can, if he thinks medication would be beneficial at this time. He’s a colleague of mine. I’ll give you his information.”

“Quit the booze, switch to pills. Modern medicine.”

Dr. Milner looked at him with a barely amused grin, then said softly, as if not to wake the dogs, “We have to stop.”

[itsworn]

Take 5 with SEMA Chairman and Coker President Wade Kawasaki

Wade Kawasaki is a busy man, so nailing him down for a five-minute interview was a little tougher than we originally thought; he is constantly on the go, between his position as president and chief operating officer at Coker Group (parent company of Coker Tire) and his position as the SEMA chairman of the board. Technology allows him to keep up with the daily grind at his main office in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and we run into him on occasion at the SEMA Show, the MPMC Media Trade Conference, and other events all over the world. We wanted to catch up with him, because as far as we’re concerned, he eats, sleeps, and breathes the hot rod lifestyle. On second thought, we’re not convinced he actually sleeps.

Wade has made his mark in the automotive industry by constantly raising the bar at each company he’s been involved with, ranging from his long-term involvement with SEMA to the founding of his own company, and now his crucial role at the Coker Group. Although most of his time is taken up with work, he still gets to enjoy his personal hot rods in those precious spare moments. Let’s jump right in and see what makes this car guy and industry icon tick.

HRM] What got you started in the automotive industry?

WK] As far back as I can remember, I’ve always had a love for cars, especially fast cars. But what really kicked off my passion for the automotive world was working at my father’s filling station. He had a Shell station at the corner of Venice and Vermont in Los Angeles, and the cars that pulled in for service were the stuff of car-guy dreams. I was a 10-year-old kid, out there filling up muscle cars with gas, checking the oil, and washing windows. That experience taught me a lot and even at that early age, I knew I wanted a career that involved cars.

HRM] Tell us about your first car.

WK] My first car was a 1964 Chevy El Camino. It was just your basic work truck when I got it, but I always had big plans for it. In fact, I still have it. For some reason, other projects have always jumped in front of the El Camino, but I’m glad I still have it as a “one of these days” projects.

HRM] We’ve been seeing your GTO Judge all over the place. What’s the story with that car?

WK] It’s a Cardinal Red 1970 GTO Judge that I bought with intentions of it being a driver-quality project to work on with my son, Timothy. After we started researching part numbers and date codes, we realized that this car had matching numbers, down to the carburetor. We quickly realized that the car deserved a better restoration than what we originally planned, so I sent the car off to Bodie Stroud Industries for a complete build. The car was in such good shape that we were able to reuse the original interior. It’s a really nice piece, and it’s been featured on the cover of a couple magazines, used in our SEMA Show booth, and even appeared in an article in the Wall Street Journal. It has been one of my favorite projects.

HRM] What else is in your garage?

WK] I’ll start with the most usable car, a 1932 Ford roadster. This was actually the 2004 Street Rodder Road Tour car, so that means it was road-tested when I got my hands on it. The car has a Brookville steel body and a 427ci LS engine. I made a few changes to the car, and it’s a blast to drive. Another fun one is my 1961 Chevy Impala. It was a TV project car that we got during the finishing stages. It has a Lamar Walden W-motor in it, with dual FiTech EFI units, backed by a six-speed. Other vehicles include a 1968 Mercedes 250SL, a 1973 Mercedes 450SL, a 1978 Datsun 280Z, a 1971 Honda CB750K1 motorcycle, and a custom Harley built by 40Cal Customs.

HRM] What was your first big opportunity in the automotive industry?

WK] As a teenager, I was drag racing regularly at OCIR [Orange County International Raceway], and I was a regular customer at Service Center, which was the go-to speed shop at the time. I was in there so often that it was a natural progression for me to move to the other side of the counter as a parts salesman. This job connected me with car guys in the area, and it also opened an opportunity to talk with the parts suppliers. I eventually worked my way up to store manager. Those were some great years, and I soaked up every ounce of knowledge I could get and made the most of every industry contact.

HRM] How did you get involved with SEMA?

WK] In 1987, I started my own company, Exports International, with my wife, Rose. We were starting from the bottom, but I had lots of great connections from my previous job. In order to reach more customers, and get some advice on operating my business, I joined SEMA. I took advantage of every member benefit available, and I attended as many functions as possible to network with other business owners in the industry. It was SEMA Vice President Don Turney who encouraged me to become more active with the organization, which led to volunteering for several positions through the years and founding YEN [Young Executives Network], which is still going strong today.

HRM] Is it safe to say getting involved in SEMA helped your career?

WK] Absolutely. It played a huge role in the success of Exports International, and it led me to many valuable relationships within the industry as we founded and acquired manufacturing companies. The more active I became, the more I got out of it, both on a business and a social level. I encourage anyone in the industry to join SEMA and get involved.

HRM] Explain your current position with SEMA.

WK] I am currently serving as the SEMA chairman of the board. This is an elected position with a two-year term, and it gives me the opportunity to meet with our board of directors on a regular basis to discuss the state of our industry and develop new ideas to take our industry even further. It’s my chance to give back to the organization that has done so much for my career. It’s a true honor to have been elected to this position, even with the added travel and work hours required to make the most of it.

HRM] The SEMA Show is a big part of the SEMA organization, but give us some behind-the-scenes details of the organization.

WK] The SEMA Show is still one of our most valuable assets. It attracts buyers, manufacturers, and dealers of automotive parts from all over the world to Las Vegas every fall as one of the largest trade shows in the world. But the organization is more than just a trade show. We are a team of industry members who help each other succeed. One of our major agendas right now is keeping the EPA from impacting our hobby. SEMA has worked tirelessly to combat unnecessary regulations, which would prevent individuals from modifying the emissions system of a motor vehicle that is converted for racing use only. As a result, the Recognizing the Protection of Motorsports Act, RPM Act for short, was developed to protect Americans’ right to modify street vehicles into race cars. The RPM Act also protects the industry’s right to sell parts that enable racers to compete. It’s a battle that I’m personally passionate about, and I take every opportunity to shed light on the situation and garner support from individuals and elected officials.

HRM] It sounds like you have quite the task with your SEMA position, but that’s not even your main job, right?

WK] That’s right. The SEMA chairman of the board position is a priority to me, but it’s not my “day job,” per se. My position at Coker Group is the president and chief operating officer. When Corky Coker decided to retire in 2014, he entrusted me to step in and handle the operations of the six companies and 12 brands under the Coker Group umbrella. That consists of Coker Tire Company, Wheel Vintiques, Honest Charley Speed Shop, and more—it’s a lot to keep up with, that’s for sure. I have a great team of folks in the Chattanooga office, as well as our West Coast facility, to keep all of the companies running smoothly.

HRM] What is the key focus at Coker Group?

WK] Our biggest product line is wide whitewall tires. It’s really what our company is known for, but it’s been a goal of mine to spread awareness of all the other cool stuff that Coker produces. The tire company alone has thousands of products, ranging from early 1900s horseless carriages to the latest and greatest drag cars. The whitewalls will continue to be a big target for us, but our muscle-car tire offerings are growing steadily. We recently became the exclusive tire and wheel sponsor of Mecum Auctions in an effort to reach more muscle-car enthusiasts.

HRM] What’s the craziest thing that Coker produces?

WK] In the tire line, there are lots of weird products. Some of which, we might only manufacture and sell a few per year. I guess if I had to pick one weird product, it would be the Snow Bird Paddle Tire for the Ford Model A. The paddle tread is made to lock into a track system, which was manufactured by a conversion company in the 1930s. The niche products don’t make us a lot of money, but we are able to fill voids in the market, and that helps our company as a whole.

HRM] What’s new at Coker?

WK] Our latest product currently in production is the Firestone Wide Oval Radial, a tire with the timeless Wide Oval look, combined with modern radial construction. We built this product line using brand-new segmented molds and modern materials, and we did it all right here in the USA. This has been a hot seller, and we plan to make more of these tires that cross the boundaries between authentic bias-ply tires and modern radials. Next on our product list is a modern radial tire for the Ford Model A. Our newest wheel is the OE six-lug wheel, which will be huge for the classic-truck market.

HRM] Do you play a role in what new products make it to market?

WK] I do, and it’s one of my favorite parts of the job. We want car enthusiasts to continue enjoying their vehicles, so creating new products is the only way to fill some of those gaps in the market. The development process gives me a chance to get back into the gearhead mindset and think like a car guy instead of a businessman. Everyone at Coker Group has a passion for this industry and our customers, so being able to develop new and exciting products brings a smile to all of our faces.

HRM] How do you balance all your workflow, travel, and personal life on a daily basis?

WK] Let’s just say that I’m thankful for technology. My calendar is full of reminders, and I always have my phone, iPad, and laptop with me to stay up to speed, even if I’m out of the country on business. I’m also very fortunate to have an understanding wife and family. Rose has been my number-one supporter for all these years, and we’ve always included our two children, Timothy and Alyssa, in everything we do. The kids were there to see the growth of Exports International, and I feel like seeing their parents strive to succeed helped form their work ethic. I get a firsthand view of it daily, as Timothy has really stepped up to the plate as the national sales and marketing manager at Wheel Vintiques.

HRM] Where do you expect to see the industry in 10 years?

WK] That’s a tough one, because we know that in 10 years, most of the original “class” of hot rodders will no longer be our key demographic. That applies not only to the Coker Group but to the automotive aftermarket, in general. It’s up to us to encourage youth to get involved in the hobby and to make it more inviting. Whether that means making the hobby more affordable or just increasing the user experience at events, we have to recruit young guys and girls to be a part of the hobby. In the next 10 years, I would say that classic trucks will continue to be popular, and we’ll see a rise in 1980s cars, due to the affordability and the nostalgia factor.

The post Take 5 with SEMA Chairman and Coker President Wade Kawasaki appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/take-5-sema-chairman-coker-president-wade-kawasaki/ via IFTTT

[anautisticdragon-blog]

Conversing with the Unusual: Addendum

So, it turns out that the meme actually originated with EDGE magazine. This gave the denizens of RPS fuel for their ceaseless stream of hateful bile that I endured. It seems, apparently, that this review is as maligned as my perspective was. In unwittingly supporting the EDGE position, I became a target for everyone who was defensive about the obvious problems video games still have. With both the games and their audience.

It's not like I mistook the use of this meme as an attack on me, either. No, it was generally directed at me and some... nasty accompaniments were often slung in with it. Attacks on my character, my mind, my ability to think... All because I didn't care for hte mindless violence of video games. I didn't know at the time, but amongst Gamerz, that's a crime.

That's why I shy from the tag 'Gamer,' by the by.

See, this is Gamerz Town. And there's not going to be any talk of reason or intellect around these parts.

I'm always amazed by the propensity of neurotypical gamers to do this, though. The way they went after Anita Sarkeesian like rabid dogs. With the lies, the made-up scandals, the entirely engineered faux agendas... If you don't believe that, there's a lovely page on RationalWiki that can spell it out for you. It's all there. Gamerz tend to be liars, what can I tell you?

And they're so sensitive to how aware people are of this that the projection regarding their neverending lies can be quite fierce. Poor Molyneux. He didn't do anything but dream too much and too big. Gamerz, sadly, don't understand the difference between a man talking about his hopes, dreams, aspiratins, and such versus actual marketing. As I said, this is Gamerz Town, we don't need no reason here.

Just the bile, though. I can never get over it. I can't believe how much hate there is for a review from 1994! So much hate, in fact, that it's weaponised to attack someone with a similar viewpoint over a decade later. That's some hatin'!

Does this sound mentally healthy to you? Ah, neurotypicals, ever the baseline of mental health. Me? I'm just crazy. What do I know about sanity? I'm autistic, remember?

I'd say I have an axe to grind, but I don't. I have words. I use thse words of mine.

It's funny, at the moment I'm making an exhaustive pacification mod for New Vegas. For my partner and I. I'm editing every quest so that instead of actually just slaughtering the few rare instances in New Vegas where that's your only option, you can intimidate them a little or talk them down instead. You can encourage them to toe-the-line, and they live!

We both desire a zero kills run of New Vegas, so... I'm putting in quite a lot of work to allow that to happen. It's why I still prefer New Vegas over Fallout 4. Fallout 4 is just a shopping list of killing. And when did the Brotherhood become crazy Alt-Right fascists who want every non-human creature to die? Did I miss that memo? That's more lore-unfriendly than the pony mods!

Sigh.

I just have a lot to say about this, I guess. It's been haunting me for years. I can't imagine how bad it is for Anita, for the actual reviewer of Doom who's caught all this flack... I'm sorry to both of them. That's the thing with any kind of prejudice, though. You just can't imagine what it's like. You can't. You need to have experienced it, first, and then you know. And you'll know that very few people are immune to its siren call.

It's almost made me prejudiced against neurotypicals, which is funny. It's just that they're so obvious with it, it's almost like neurotypicals are proud of being prejudiced, hate-filled bags of bile and nastiness? I'll never understand that. I don't really get taking pride in the hatred of another person. I suppose that's why dehumanising is always such an element of it. Right?

So, yes. I'm a person who plays games. I'm not really a resident of Gamerz Town. I've too much reason to be there, I have other things I'd rather be doing than engaging in mindless slaughter and genocide. You know? I suppose the old axiom of one being a lover, not a fighter, is very relevant here. I'd rather talk and hug it out than draw swords/pistols.

That's just me.

And I don't feel self-righteous in saying that. That's another thing that neurotypicals don't get because they're always so busy trying to narcissistically outdo one another or one-up one another. There's always this competition to be the best and to grind someone else down into the dirt. No, there's no moral superiority or high ground here. I'm simply recognising the state of reality. And my tone? That's disappointment.

I'm disappointed. I don't want to be better. I don't want to be the glorious center of attention. That's actually painful to me. Fuck that noise. I just want humanity to be better than this.

And the cross-sections of humanity I encounter in the things I tend to enjoy? They... regularly aren't very good people.

From the treatment of Anita Sarkeesian right back to the reaction to the 1994 Doom review, it paints a very disquieting picture of Gamerz Town. One that they seek to never own and certainly never do anything about. It's certainly no place for a big, autistic baby like me. Being a shitlord is the Zeitgeist, I suppose. I just don't fit in at all.

[flauntpage]

Going Deep: Carson Wentz Could Become a Statistical Star Before Long, and Other Week 3 Fantasy Football Talk

The Eagles are 14th in the league in points per drive, revealing a middle-of-the-pack offense. Beyond this macro metric, we find the Birds set with some impressive advanced data. They are second in the league with a third-down conversion clip of 55.2%, well ahead of the league average rate of 40.4% through this small early-season sample. They are also sixth in first downs and have the second-lowest rate of three-and-outs in the league through two weeks.

There’s clearly some evidence of an ascendant offense, yet we must also recognize the sluggish portion of Philly’s portfolio; the Eagles have converted just half of their six red-zone trips into touchdowns (tied for 16th in the league)– they were 24th in the league last season with a red zone efficiency rate of 49.1% (percentage of touchdowns per red zone trip).

The Eagles scored a touchdown on 18% of their drives last season, good for 22nd in the NFL and just ahead of the Bears and Jaguars. They have scored a touchdown on 17.4% of their drives this season. That’s just not good enough to earn a meaningful, upper-echelon points-per-drive rate. I think of per-drive production as the on-base percentage for offensive football success; isolating offensive efficiency with a simple formula.

The sample is entirely tiny this season, but in order for the Eagles’ offense to prove potent, red zone efficiency needs to approach league average (was 55.6% last season). That, or they need to hit more home runs in the vertical passing game. I’m thinking verticality is where the ceiling—or best-case outcome—is with this offense.

The fantasy angle threaded into this discussion of Philly’s scoring efficiency comes from Carson Wentz’s right arm—he’s averaging 11.26 air yards per throw, second only to Jameis Winston.

Winston led the NFL with 10.04 air yards per attempt in 2016. Wentz was 26th (7.28). He is averaging, through two games, seven attempts that travel at least 10 yards past the sticks this season, which is the third most in the league. He was 23rd last year with just 4.31 “downfield” attempts per game. The newfound verticality of this offense is exciting, albeit still inefficient with Wentz converting on just 28.6% of these throws beyond the sticks (23rd in the league on such throws).

What inspires my interest in Carson Wentz as an emergent fantasy quarterback is the upside his unique downfield offensive freedom presents; even without league average rates in red-zone or vertical efficiency, Wentz is fourth in fantasy points per game among quarterbacks with 21.85 (using ESPN standard scoring).

It certainly helps that he is averaging 30.5 rushing yards (also fourth best at the position). Then again, including his full career sample, Wentz averages, well, 30.5 rushing yards per game. This rushing rate quietly ranks seventh in the NFL among quarterbacks, and fifth if we remove Colin Kaepernick and Robert Griffin III from the sample dating back to last season. For those who drafted Wentz at a reasonable price late in drafts, you could have a legitimate QB1 on your hands—thanks in large part to his legs.

All of this is to say that the Eagles have a middling offense when it comes to converting both scoring opportunities within 20 yards of the end zone and big-play shots downfield. These trends date back to last season. There are, however, these new trends to consider; particularly the downfield passing tactic and volume-driven passing agenda they’ve employed early this season. Only Aaron Rodgers (51.5) has dropped back more times than Wentz (49.5) through the first two weeks of the season. The Eagles are getting just 52 rushing yards per game from their backfield, ironically tied with Green Bay at 29th in the league. Takeaway: the Eagles are going to throw a ton of passes. Wentz will likely challenge for the league lead in attempts.

Even in the face of this small, eight-quarter sample in 2017, Wentz is throwing his average pass 54.6% further downfield than he did last season en route to 26% more yards per completion. There is still a real gap in opportunity and production for Wentz’s fantasy profile, especially if he can become league average in vertical success. If we ever wondered how Wentz would fare when afforded league-high opportunity rates, the answer is coming.

  Week 3

Whether the focus is the waiver wire in traditional redraft leagues or the daily fantasy market, let’s highlight some of the names and numbers that demand attention for Week 3.

Quarterback

This is an odd week rife with road favorites (10 of them!) and sluggish point totals. Home favorites in games with healthy point ingredients from Vegas tend to produce rewarding DFS plays. With that in mind, Kirk Cousins ($6,100 on DraftKings) is reasonably priced and is in the rare spot as a home dog, but the enticing metric from the desert is the game’s 55-point total, suggesting the Redskins’ team total is 26 points. For some context, the Eagles’ implied team total is 24.25 points, even though they are sizable favorites (the Giants game sits at a modest 42.5 total in most books).

Matthew Stafford ($6,200) is another home dog in a potential shootout, with the Falcons and Lions total sitting at 50.5 across the board. I don’t think we need to spend big to get some big numbers behind center this week.

Running Back

Not the Eagles (actually Darren Sproles at $3,900 is always a fine punt play on DraftKings). But really, Isaiah Crowell ($4,800) will finally eat. The Colts’ defense remains leaky and their current rush defense metrics are likely noisy given their opponents so far. Sticking in the value tier, Jonathan Stewart ($4,700) remains the premier red zone and short-yardage back for Carolina, and this offers a cheap path to the healthy point total in that division meeting.

We have to spend at some point, so I’ll want to face the Jets when seeking cost certainty. Even amid some knee issues, Jay Ajayi ($7,700) is a worthy RB1 asset. Leo Williams is banged up and the Jets are ceding the most rushing yards to backs in the league. I’m riding this Le’Veon Bell ($8,800) train; he’s killing me in some auction leagues I landed him, but the DFS promise is just amazing given he’s the rare player due 25 touches on a potentially special offense.

Receiver

The Devin Funchess ($4,200) hype might never materialize, but facing this generous Saints secondary is a great litmus test for his potential. If we save a ton at running back, maybe spend for Kelvin Benjamin ($6,700) instead, as he could go multi-TD on the Saints without needing any shift in his normal usage pattern.

Alshon Jeffery ($5,900) is just too cheap even in the fact of a tough matchup with Janoris Jenkins. With Wentz averaging over 36 yards on completions past 10 yards, it only takes one or two big plays for Jeffery to repay his cost. In this same price range, Demaryius Thomas ($5,900) can post his traditional high-floor outcome facing a patchwork Buffalo secondary.

Tight End

Jared Cook ($3,100) isn’t Daniel Snyder, but he has owned the Redskins at times over the past few seasons. With brilliant matchup rates and a 20% share of a Derek Carr offense, he’s a fine streamer in redraft leagues or a top target at tight end for DFS. Eric Ebron ($3,300) might be made of paper mache, but he’s similarly poised with a 20% slice of a competent passing attack.

D/ST

There isn’t much reason to avoid the Patriots ($3,800); even though they are slow up front, facing a raw rookie as 13-point favorites supports a strong outcome spectrum on defense. The Eagles ($3,000) have pressured opponents on 33% of dropbacks this season, sixth highest in the league. The Giants have yielded pressure on 27% of Eli Manning’s dropbacks last week. I’m skeptical the Eagles can cover by a touchdown, because, well I’ve been here before, but I do think there is potential for this to get out of hand if the Giants can’t keep Eli clean.

Going Deep: Carson Wentz Could Become a Statistical Star Before Long, and Other Week 3 Fantasy Football Talk published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[sarahburness]

Why I Drank, How It Destroyed Me, and How I’m Healing My Self-Hatred

TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of sexual assault and self-harm and may be triggering to some people.

Hi, I’m Adriana and I’m an alcoholic.

When I look back at my life, I realize it was inevitable that I’d end up here.

By the time I was nineteen, I’d already had a history of self-harm through cutting, a bi-product of my depression and anxiety. I was anorexic. I’d had a near cervical-cancer scare not once, but twice within a six-month period, leaving my gynecologist back in Sydney speechless. “I have never had a case like yours.”

I’d survived an abusive relationship that, I believed, left me with no other choice but to end my own life. If I were going to die, I’d rather die by my own accord, not his. So, I swallowed forty panadol pills, two at a time, within thirty minutes. I felt my body slowly shut down as each minute passed by, and ironically, it was the first time in a long time that I felt alive.

I’m not writing about the sugarcoated life many have engaged with on my social media feeds over the years. I am here to introduce you to my self-hatred, which you don’t see each time I post a filtered photo on my Instagram page.

I fell in love with the wrong person when I was seventeen. The first six months together were filled with happiness. I was convinced he was the one I’d spend the rest of my life with, and at seventeen my hunt for a husband was over. Hashtag winning.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Over the course of the ten months that followed, he routinely beat me, and I covered up the evidence to protect him. He psychologically raped me, repeatedly telling me, “Who’s gonna love you when I’m done with you?” He even sodomized me.

He threatened my life if I didn’t listen to him or if I dared to tell anyone the truth. I had two friends who begged me to walk away, but no matter how powerless I felt, their concerns meant nothing to me. So over time, they gave up trying.

He told me when to speak—“Don’t be too funny, Adriana. I don’t want people liking you more than me.” He also told what to wear and I had to ask permission if I wanted to go out. Worst of all, he stripped me of my right to feel human, true to the nature of how insidious an abusive relationship can be. In this case, love really was blind.

I internalized the trauma to such an extent that I carried the shame, guilt, and pain with me throughout my twenties. I forgave him long before I forgave myself, which led me to a path of unconscious self-destruction.

It was my fault for holding onto those first six months and hoping the real him would return. It was my fault that I let him treat me the way that he did. It was my fault for not leaving, particularly after the first time he hit me. It was my fault because surely I was doing something wrong that would trigger him to hit me. It was my fault because by staying, I was asking for it.

So I did what most young people do when they’re nineteen and single: I started my clubbing career and my relationship with Jack Daniels. A year before, alcohol repelled me; now it was my savior. This also led to the introduction to a string of dysfunctional people I’d come to call my friends.

You know, you should never judge a party girl. Every party girl has a backstory, but in my case, no one cared enough to find out. They just bought me more drinks.

People would say they envied my life—how I had zero Fs for the world around me—but what most people failed to see was that, in reality, I had zero Fs for myself.

Then I entered the permanent hangover I now call my twenties.

I started going to festivals and was introduced to ecstasy. I still remember the first time an e hit my bloodstream. Like most users, I tried to relive that feeling every time I popped a pill. Eventually, ecstasy became boring and I started experimenting with pure MDMA. It was a little bit riskier and more dangerous, but it didn’t matter because I didn’t matter.

I was then introduced to cocaine when I was twenty and that became my favorite drug of them all. Cocaine meant that I could drink more. It also meant that I had something in common with people who I usually wouldn’t associate with.

Cocaine turned me into a version of myself that was confident and unstoppable. When I was high I used to think to myself, “Imagine you were this confident and unstoppable but didn’t need cocaine to get you there.” Just imagine!

I often found it funny how the drug commonly referred to as “the rich man’s drug,” yet it left me feeling emotionally bankrupt.

At twenty-one, I was partying in Las Vegas with some friends when I got busted with an eight ball of cocaine—and got away with it. Fortunately, I was given a slap on the wrist and banned from entering half the hotels in Vegas, for life. Personally, I was more devastated because that meant that I could never be a Playboy bunny

I remember the undercover policewoman taking me down to the public toilets, handing me over the bag of coke, and asking me to flush it down. I took this as an opportunity to bribe her into letting me keep the bag.

You’d think that an incident like that would encourage me to hang my party dress and clean up my ways. But it didn’t. I continued down this path, playing roulette with my life.

Not all was tragic. I did find myself in a loving relationship a year later, and for three years lived a ‘normal’ life. He loved me and I loved him as much as I could. But what is love when you don’t love yourself? This voice inside my head constantly whispered, “You’re not good enough for him.”

Once that relationship ended, I was straight back to my self-destructive ways, drinking heavily on most nights.

On one occasion, I decided it would be “cool” to bring a guy home and skull cafe patron out of the bottle. Mind you, I was already intoxicated. The next morning I woke up peacefully in my bed. A few hours later, I received a message that read, “I need you to take the morning after pill asap.”

I thought, hmm, it’s not my ideal situation; sh*t happens I suppose. It’s $30 in Australia, and you can buy it over the counter, fortunately, but the problem was, I couldn’t remember having sex.

To this moment, I don’t. I had blacked out.

I felt so exposed, vulnerable, and disgusted with myself. Then the shame kicked in. Who the hell did I think I was? What was I becoming?

I decided I needed to stop drinking and I was successfully sober for three months. I survived parties, lonely nights, and even the ultimate test, a big fat Croatian wedding.

I never considered that I had a problem with alcohol. I thought that alcoholism was a condition you could learn to control.

In my late twenties I decided to move myself from Sydney to London to “find myself.” We all know the saying that you must “lose yourself” in order to “find yourself,” and I did just that.

London is a fascinating city to lose yourself in. There was always an occasion to drink. I wasn’t one of those wake up and drink right away type people. I was more self-respecting than that; I waited till lunchtime and continued until I blacked out! But as a high-functioning alcoholic, I still made my work deadlines.

I was always around people who didn’t just use drugs; they abused them. And no matter how much I knew the difference between right and wrong, I was perpetually on a quest to distract myself from myself.

There was no one more delighted to meet another person who was more messed up than me. “Great,” I thought. “Let’s talk about your problems; I’m not ready to talk about mine.”

I slept my way around, seeking someone who would understand and rescue me. I was bed hopping, using sex as a way to validate myself and feel worthy. It was nothing less than a cheap thrill.

I attracted males who were misogynistic and dominant, and resembled the character of my first love. Everyone had an agenda to take a piece of me. I was aware of this; I just didn’t care.

I had one who would eventually tell me that that maybe I shouldn’t be so upfront and honest about my past with the next guy because “it may turn him off.” But it was okay for him to turn me over in my sleep, get on top, and insert himself inside of me because he was in the mood. This was the many occasions that I was raped.

Then there was the one who slapped my face as I told him to get out of me, but he kept going, smiling as he watched the tears roll down my face.

Before I forget, there was another who was more than willing to buy me cocktails all night while telling me he couldn’t wait to take advantage of me later on, but made me call my own cab when I threw up all over his bedroom. Apparently we had sex too.

We can sit here and go on about my clouded judgment when in actual fact, this dialogue and connection was just my comfort zone.

A year ago, completely fed up with myself and my chemically addictive ways, I decided it was time to kill myself. I was emotionally exhausted and starved. My body no longer felt pain and I could longer taste alcohol. I was so deep in depression I could feel it in my blood.

I planned my suicide, step by step, over several days and kept reminding myself that the world was better off without me helplessly roaming within it, without a purpose, doing more harm than good.

I was a bad person because I was a broken person, as many boys had told me. I may not have intentionally hurt those around me, but I had a decade-long struggle during which I perpetually hurt the one person I never knew how to love, myself.

I started writing my suicide letter and decided I needed some background noise. On the front page of YouTube was a video titled “How to overcome procrastination by leaping afraid,” by Lisa Nichols. This video would end up saving my life and distracting me from my open wounds that were so desperately trying to dry up.

There is nothing that scares an addict more than sobriety and having nothing to turn to when that darkness from your past begins to appear and say, “Hey, remember me?” But I knew my problem with alcohol was fuelling my depression and, therefore, contributing to my self-hatred. I had to break this cycle of hate.

I sat in my silence and said, “Adriana, you have two choices right now: You can continue down this path, knowing you’re going to keep doing the same thing, getting the same results; and I’m pretty sure that’s what Einstein defined as insanity. Down this path your addictions will kill you or you may do it yourself—whatever comes first. Or, you can do something you haven’t done in the last ten years: give sobriety a chance and see if things are different on the other side.”

I was twenty-nine when I said enough. My grandfather was sixty. Some people never have an age. Some people simply drown and instead of living to their full potential. They just exist.

Every year on my birthday, I would blow out my candles and wish for love. Last year, my wish came true and I started the tumultuous road to recovery, healing, and self-love. It may be a cliché but it’s true: Who’s going to love you if you don’t love yourself first?

I knew that the life I dreamed of was on the other side of my fears and getting sober was a stepping-stone. I just celebrated eight months of sobriety, and although this may not seem like long, it’s the longest I haven’t poisoned my blood in ten years.

It hasn’t been easy. I have cried alone in my room. I had cried walking down the street. I have cried at parties and events. I’ve had breakdowns in several AA meetings. I have cried during a yoga class when the tears were triggered by the damage I had done to my body. I felt it all.

I heard voices telling me I’d fail and I should just stick to my old ways, the ways I knew best. I almost relapsed twice in the first three months because I was tempted to show my new friends who my old friends knew me to be.

But I am healing and getting stronger.

I’ve learned that we find our greatest strengths in our darkest shadows, and there is no way you can know what happiness is until you figure out what it isn’t.

The relationship we have with ourselves is the longest relationship we’ll ever have. Yet, we spend prolonged periods of time neglecting ourselves to suit the world around us.

We chase happiness in momentary triumphs instead of simply choosing it by putting in the work to keep ourselves self-aware and on our own paths of personal enlightenment.

We avoid taboo topics like addictions because they make people uncomfortable, but are more than willing to engage in these addictions because they make us more comfortable with ourselves.

We are united by owning our struggles and sharing our stories, and divided by our quest for perfection and appearing perfect to the world around us. Perfection is an illusion, and God, did I learn this the hard way.

I don’t deny my demons because instead of feeling ashamed of them, I’m now proud of how I’ve overcome them. And I know my greatest strengths have surfaced from my deepest struggles. Because of what I’ve been through, I’m more compassionate with others in similar situations and I’ve also developed a strong sense of determination to do the inner self work required to get past my trauma.

How many of you can look yourself in the eye and say I love you without knowing deep down that you just lied? I’m still learning, but courtesy of sobriety, I’m getting there.

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About Adriana Kupresak

Adriana Kupresak is a travel and lifestyle Blogger based in Zagreb, Croatia. As a recovering alcoholic, revealing her personal wounds have given her the most praise and strength in sobriety. She regularly contributes to The Huffington Post, Elite Daily, Jetset Times, and Rebelle Society.

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[athleticsinvest]

Sports Betting Method - Consider best investment plan BLOG it an Investment

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It is necessary to gamble responsibly if you are dropping too-much money, and realize .