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geminis-twisted-mind · 5 years

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Esme Blake stared at the screen, unable to process what she was reading. It was an email, with the subject line: Mandatory Self Defence Training: Kidnapping.

She read each line slowly, and then read the whole thing again. Finally, when no clarity seemed to be forthcoming, she drafted a message to Cheryl, the HR leader, who just happened to be an old friend from her graduating class.

Hi Cheryl,

This is a joke, right?! Ha ha, tease the new girl. No one actually does THIS?

Cheryl’s response arrived back with an aggressive ping.

Hi E,

No joke. Everyone on the international team does it. Company wants to be sure you know how to handle yourself if you get nicked while negotiating with one of our foreign buyers.

You wanted the promotion, this is part of it.

‘Get nicked’? Was that anyway for a senior team member to talk, even if they were friends? Esme typed back, still not convinced.

I never wanted to do anything dangerous! I just wanted some nice parties with diplomats, maybe some cute waiters with sexy accents. You don’t really think I'll get kidnapped?!

The response came back in seconds, suggesting Cheryl had been waiting.

Of course not. It’s never happened. But you should be prepared in cased it does. So stop complaining and book the course for this Friday.

That was it. The end of the discussion. Another ping told her that Cheryl wasn’t quite done.

And E, try not to enjoy it too much!

Bitch.

Esme held back her wounded pride and set about reading the 15-page disclaimer on the website. The word consent was used a lot, specifically regarding how the role-play was designed to simulate a real-life experience, and therefore would be run to completion no matter what, except for a medical emergency. By signing up, Esme was declaring that she knew what she was getting into and was OK with it.

Esme entered her details, including the billing which went straight to the company, and moved on to the permissions page. She was immediately alarmed when she saw what she was being asked to give permission for, starting with where she wanted to be abducted from.

Seriously, what the f*** kind of question is that? she thought as she read through the list.

Kidnapped from office would be far too embarrassing, with all her colleagues around to watch. Home-invasion was out, in case her wife tried to play the heroine and got herself hurt. That left the street, which made her very nervous but was the only acceptable answer.

Esme moved on to what they called the ‘core experience’. Her stomach did flips as she read through the list, a perverted menu of head-bagging, body-tying, car-boot-riding, handcuffs, blindfolds, and gags. The word ‘kinky’ wasn't used, but she sensed it was never far from the edges of the conversation.

At the bottom of the page was a section called ‘interrogation’. Esme felt her chest tighten just reading it. A warning in red marked it as recommended only for people with some prior experience. Esme realised with a sickening start that some people must do this more than once.

Half of the choices sounded like things she would expect to find in German dungeon porn, featuring blond, top-heavy maidens strapped helplessly to tables being horribly abused by leather-wearing sadists. Coming in at just under 5ft nothing, with a modest frame, short brown hair, and a cute face all but hidden behind a pair of glasses, Esme had a hard time picturing herself in the role of the helpless maiden.

Esme took a deep breath and carefully made her selections. in particular, she unchecked anything that sounded like it would hurt. She would let them take her and hold her until the ‘ransom’ was paid, a minimum of 2 hours. Otherwise she expected to be treated, if not nicely, then at least gently. Surreptitiously located next to the button for ‘confirm’ was another button that said ‘select all’, which she avoided.

“What’s that, Esme?” The voice came so suddenly that Esme had to grab the edge of her desk to keep from falling straight out of her chair.

It was Thomas. Stupidly-attractive Thomas. Always-flirting-but-only-in-that-nice-way Thomas. But worst of all, gossiped-like-an-American-hen-on-steroids Thomas. If he saw what she was looking at, it would be all over the office in nanoseconds.

She hit ‘confirm' in a blind panic and closed the browser.

.....

Friday came with all the speed and determination of a snail that had decided this was the week it was going to practice the art of moonwalking.

She left the office wearing her least-favourite skirt, her cheapest white Primark brand top, and a pair of comfortable shoes. After all, if she was going to be abducted, she was damned if she was going to do it in heels. She had deliberately not had anything to drink for two hours: the last thing she wanted was to have to ask her kidnappers for permission to use the loo.

She skipped the tube she normally took home and walked on as instructed, to a quieter place where there was less likely to be any witnesses. Then she activated the app that told them where she was, to make sure they got the right person.

The thought of someone watching her movements made her extremely nervous. Every dusk-born shadow seemed larger and scarier. If anyone had asked her for the time she might have punched them in the face on reflex.

She never even heard the silent electric vehicle drive up behind her. It wasn’t until two men leapt out and threw a black (and mercifully clean) bag over her head that she realised she was ‘nicked’.

.....

The memory of the journey was a blur. She had been in the boot, she knew that much. But it had been roomier than she had expected and, given that the max speed for inner-city London was about 5 miles per hour, it hadn’t been a bumpy ride. Her arms had been cuffed behind her back, so she had rested on her side to stop the metal cutting into her wrists.

She found she could breathe surprisingly well through the bag, even as they pulled up, opened the boot, and lifted her out. It was shocking having several pairs of hands grabbing her at the same time, but they were – polite – about where they touched her. She absently wondered if real kidnappers would be so considerate. Somehow she doubted it.

She was lowered into a solid metal chair, the kind of minimalist contraption used by chip shops with airs. The lower back portion was missing by design, which gave her cuffed hands somewhere to rest. She wondered if she was expected to participate, maybe get up and try to run away, but the addition of a cable tie holding her ankles together settled that debate.

There was darkness, and voices, but no one talked to her. The bag was pulled away just as a massive light burst to life and filled her field of vision, blinding her. She gasped and blinked, and then cried out as a cloth gag was forced roughly into her mouth.

“Hey! Be gentle!” she tried to say, but it came out as a frustrated “hmph! hmmph hmfmph”.

“We’ve got a live one,” said a man’s voice. It was perfectly intoned English, but with a light European accent. He could have been anywhere in the room – Esme couldn't see anything.

She was slightly surprised to hear a woman with a similar accent respond. “She should be, given this order. It says she’s down for the full package.”

But then, why couldn’t women be kidnappers? Was she a bad feminist for assuming her abductors would be male? Wait what?!

“No that’s not right! I don't want the full package, I don't even want the box! Just leave me here for two hours until my office ‘rescues’ me.” That's how it sounded in her head. The gagged version was a series of indecipherable grunts and hmphs.

Her mind looked around and did the equivalent of a teenager realising he actually can’t jump clean over that pointy fire hydrant.

Two words: ‘select all’.

Thomas, when I get out of this, I am going to MURDER you.

Esme had never seen the confirmation. All the correspondence had gone to the billing address, the office, to Cheryl. And that two-timing wench never said a damn thing.

Esme’s eyes adjusted to the bright light, enough that she could make out the shadowy forms of her two captors standing behind it.

Please, she thought desperately, don't hurt me...

.....

Esme was lifted out of the chair by two pairs of strong hands, one on each arm. Her ankles were still bound together, giving her all the dignity of a fish flopping on a hook. There was the rattle of keys and the cuffs came loose, but as soon as her hands were free they were pulled abover her head and recuffed, this time in leather. At first she could stand comfortably on her own feet, but a loud noise and a horrible pulling sensation later and she found herself practically hanging from the ceiling!

Oh god, no, this can’t be happening! This isn’t me, I don’t do things like this! Please take off the gag and I can explain this is all a misunderstanding!

“Hmmmph” on repeat is all she managed to say.

The woman walked between Esme and the light. She was dressed in a black pantsuit and obligatory stilletto heels. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She had sharp, beautiful features and piercing eyes. The only thing missing was a riding crop in her hands.

“Now, Ms Blake. We are going to ask you some questions about the people you work for, and I understand you may not want to answer out of loyalty. That won’t last. We have six hours to make you talk, and I promise, you will talk.

Six hours?! I only agreed to two! I’ll talk, I’ll tell you everything, starting with where that bitch Cheryl lives!

The man moved up beside her. Like the woman, he was extremely handsome. In fact, he looked so much like her they could have been siblings. He was wearing a pair of army-issue kakis and a vest. In his hand was a knife as long as Esme’s arm from elbow to wrist. Esme’s eyes widened and she began to struggle against the cuffs, causing her body to shake in the air.

“Hold her still!” said the man, not loudly but with a clear authorative voice. It was so compelling that Esme nearly stopped moving to obey him herself. More hands grabbed her and she was stuck in position, with the strength of their arms taking some of the weight off her wrists. She followed the man with the knife as he walked around her, straining her neck until he was out of sight.

She screamed as he tore through her blouse, exposing her back but leaving her chest covered as the top hung from the sleeves. She hadn’t been ready to be treated this way in front of so many people. The woman came up and held Esme’s chin in her hand.

“There there,” she said, almost whispering. “It won’t be all bad. My brother is very good at what he does.”

A sudden weight landed against her back, with just a hint of sting, announcing the fact that she was being flogged! She gasped and tried to catch her breath even as another hit landed. The weight of the leather assulted her back again and again, never really stinging nor hard enough to be truely punishing, but making her skin raw with every slap. She didn’t know how long he hit her for, the rythmic pulsing of it pushing her against the bondage that held her. After the initial shock of it, she found it was almost relaxing.

Endorphines mixed with the adrenaline of fear in her brain, creating an unexpected cocktail that clouded her mind and muddled her thoughts. It took her by surprise when the woman took her by the chin again.

“Don’t think this is all you’re getting.” The woman was holding a whip now, a cruel looking thing that was twisted and folded from one thick end which served as a handle, to a thin tapered end that finished in a point. Esme looked at her pleadingly and shook her head.

The flogging had stopped. Now the man walked into Esme’s view and the woman disappeared behind her. His vest was gone and there was sweat across the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked for all the world like a professional body builder. He leaned close to her and for a moment Esme felt her heart beat a bit harder for a reason that had nothing to do with her predicament.

Then the whipping started.

The first crack was like pinch on her back being delivered at the speed of sound. Esme’s head arched backwards and she screamed into the gag. Another hit swiftly followed the first, but the shock of it wasn’t there, and she found she could handle the sharp, stinging pain a bit better.

The man was watching her, she realised. Even as the whip landed again and again, his eyes never left hers. She focused on those eyes and the pain of the whip was somehow dulled. He moved closer and held up a hand and she leaned her head towards it, brushing it with her cheek, then jumped back as the whip cracked even more painfully across her sensitive skin.

Her breathing was hard and fast, but under control. Her back was on fire from the whipping, but her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest anymore. And those eyes, watching her like she was the only thing that mattered, made her want to take more just so he could see her do it. Then maybe she would get to feel his hand again...

Oh my god... it’s not possible... I can’t be.... I’m not actually... enjoying this?

The chain was lowered until she was able to sit on the ground. The man disappeared as the woman circled in front of her. She had the same eyes, the ones that saw everything. She leaned in close, as though she meant to whisper to Esme as a lover might, as the man untied the gag from behind Esme’s head.

“Are you ready to talk?” as the woman. The hint of accent make the words sound delicious, like something out of a bad spy movie. “We have five hours left to change your mind if you refuse to cooperate.”

Esme looked up at her captor, at her fierce face, and felt her own determination rising. Maybe she hadn’t meant to get herself into this mess, but now that she was here, she was going to own it.

“I’m not telling you anything.”

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village-skeptic · 6 years

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on “having it both ways”: thinking about S2 and looking ahead to S3

So apparently once a year I end up latching on to Riverdale pre-season promo and having WAY TOO MUCH to say about it.

Image analysis, pop-culture riffing, S2 criticism, meditations on resistant reading, my own discomfort with “wrongfully accused” narratives in this particular historical moment, and some hopes on the literal eve of the S3 premiere, below the cut...

So, last week when this piece of promo dropped, the very first thing that I thought of was the visual reference to Chicago and the Cell-Block Tango.

(I didn’t do it! - but if I’d done it? - how could you tell me that I was wrong?)

HOW perfect is that homage? The red lighting, the raised arms? The promo still just FEELS like a snapshot from a Fosse dance routine. (A little more on legendary choreographer Bob Fosse here.)

It’s a defiant pose, right in the center of the frame, but a slightly vulnerable one at the same time. There’s nothing hidden here; everything’s on display. The pose draws the viewer’s eyes inescapably to the body - a muscled body, but one which here seems like a gymnast or dancer’s body: lithe figure, tapered waist, power that is channeled into performance.

youtube

(this is tasty; this is plenty; this is hungry work)

So, on a first pass, insofar as it puts this demonstrative male body on display, it’s a little bit of a subversive image, I think. And that’s well in line with the way that Riverdale so often courts the female (and/or gay male) gaze, and at its best does some really unusual stuff with masculinity.

I thought about all of this - and then, silly me, I saw that this piece of promo was NOT a still, but is, instead, a short clip.

Archie doing pull-ups on the prison bars, as another heavily muscled dude saunters behind him, reads to me like a completely different type of performance! To the degree that it invites the eye, it sends the message: don’t fuck with me. In motion, we have purely the pursuit of greater strength, the purging of weakness in favor of the means of self-protection.

Instead of Chicago, my mind jumps to 3x01′s title source: Fortune and Men’s Eyes. Dominate or be dominated.

Realistically, I’m willing to believe that the ambiguous interpretation here between “still” and clip is just a quirk of how it happened to be uploaded to Twitter by a social media intern.

Still - the interpretative gulf between the still image and the image in motion got me thinking how often Riverdale seems to want to “have it both ways,” and what that does to the audience’s experience and expectations of the show.

For instance:

Other people have written at length about how Riverdale’s pursuit of aesthetic homage or plot contrivance has created character inconsistencies that occasionally baffle. Cheryl is alternately a tragic Gothic heroine and a lacquered, ruthless Mean Girl; Jughead is both a sensitive loner writer and also a bad-boy gang leader; Betty is both Betty and Dark Betty. (GOD.)

Other folks have discussed how the show needs to really play out the consequences of conflicts between the characters. It’s not that the show shouldn’t drop bombshells like the Bughead breakup(s) or the conflict between Betty and Veronica/Jughead and Archie, but it seems all too willing to reset back to milkshakes in a booth at Pop’s without doing enough work to explain WHY things are okay again. (See also: resolving major conflicts between characters literally with a song.)

The desire to “have it both ways” also really shows up in the show’s tendency to engage complicated issues (racism, sexism, colonialism, the prison-industrial complex) on a shallow level - thus getting credit for mentioning them, without really taking the time to explore them meaningfully or to explain the characters’ investment in them.

The result of this, in terms of storytelling, is that you leave a lot of room for resistant (even combative) readings of the text to emerge. To name a few of my own:

frustration with Jughead’s acceptance of what feels like a suuuuper patriarchal role as “the Serpent Prince” (and later King)

the fact that it’s really hard to sympathize with Veronica throughout entire swathes of season 2

a profound opposition to a storyline that sexualizes Betty’s mental health issues in a really exploitative fashion

And then... there’s Archie.

In the “Cell Block Tango,” the murderesses of Chicago (bar one) get to justify their crimes. Conversely, as we open the third season of Riverdale, the audience knows that Archie’s being blamed for something he didn’t do. Despite bragging about it (!!) to a bunch of mobsters (!!!!), Archie is not guilty of the murder of Cassidy Bullock.

...but he IS guilty of so! many! other! things! across Season 2. I’m sure I’m forgetting some, but aiding and abetting a criminal, covering up a murder, blowing up a car, and forming an extralegal vigilante militia group - TWICE - all come to mind.

The last bits of S2 offer us a version of Archie’s amends-making that comes in the form of defending the Serpents, turning on Hiram, supporting his father, et cetera. And then the very last image of S2 - Archie being clapped in cuffs right at the moment that he’s supposed to be sworn into office - is meant to distress us.

But a season of watching Archie embrace fascism leaves some marks, y’all. And a not insignificant portion of the audience, still frustrated with the character’s choices, couldn’t help but say - well, he had it coming.

So, yeah. It’s been a few months between the close of S2 and the open of S3, and in most cases that would be enough time for me to sit with the story in and of itself, to consider more broadly where it had failed or succeeded, and to allow some of that “resistant reader” response to drain away.

But real talk, you guys: I’m finding it really hard right now, at this moment in American history, to connect emotionally with the story of a young man trying to fight the charges of which he has been wrongfully-yet-ever-so-plausibly accused.

[Please note, I am NOT trying to say that RAS is somehow trying to weigh in explicitly on the SCOTUS debacle. The S2 finale laying the groundwork for this plot aired this spring, and S3E1 has (presumably?) been in the can for a while now. And, to its credit, Riverdale has in both seasons explicitly criticized a sexual culture that objectifies young women and reduces them to “points” (the football team’s playbook) and to prey (Nick St. Clair).]

But, for me personally, I can’t help looking at this plot and hearing echoes of “It's a very scary time for young men in America when you can be guilty of something you may not be guilty of.”

Here’s the interesting thing: I think RAS knows this, and I think the promo around this plot is partially designed to try to dispel these connections.

(For me, at least, it’s having mixed results.)

(source)

For instance, I can’t look at this still (young man, formal suit intended to project good character and youthful vulnerability, sullen face, flanked by counsel) without thinking, “Wow, this feels....Brock Turner-y.”

I don’t know if anyone’s written about courtroom photos and sketches as a genre of visual composition, but I feel like I’ve seen variations of the Riverdale still a million times, often printed on the front page of the local university newspaper, discussing the controversy over the conviction (or NON-conviction) of a promising young athlete accused of something awful that no one who knows him EVER would have suspected he would do. (Nice boy, nice family, so many extracurriculars, such good grades!)

Of course, there’s a major difference between the photos above: Archie’s defense team is entirely female.

Obviously this makes sense because Mary Andrews and Sierra McCoy are both major supporting characters who are also lawyers - but it also makes sense in trying to dismantle some of the potential gut reactions to this visual framing. There’s some “innocence by association” going on here, I think. And after all, Archie IS innocent of this particular crime!

This still lands with mixed effect for me though, because any defense strategy that suggests the intentional composition of a visual tableau feels inherently cynical, even when the character is sympathetic or innocent.

For instance: I just watched The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, which features a scene where the main character shows up in the courtroom in full Upper West Side respectable regalia to try to get the obscenity charges against her dismissed - she fails and ends up having to plead guilty, because she mouths off at the judge. Anyone who’s familiar with Amy Sherman-Palladino’s work will recognize this bones of this plot point in the courtroom scene in Gilmore Girls: Rory’s grandparents’/lawyer’s attempt to portray her as a naive little angel backfires, and she ends up getting a ton of community service as penance for stealing a boat. It’s important to note that the characters are both guilty of their charges - although, as another favorite show of mine might note, “the situation’s a lot more nuanced than that.”)

(source | source)

Another way in which the pre-season promo is distancing Archie from both his actions last season, and the present context external to the show, is to emphasize his profound contrition. In this teaser from Riverdale 3x01, we get Archie declaring that “whatever happens to me in the courtroom on Tuesday - that is what I deserve.” This a statement of universal guilt and responsibility (one might say martyrdom?) that goes well beyond the scope of his actual infractions.

Now - I really, really appreciate that we’re getting a sad Archie rather than a mad Archie. And I want to acknowledge that he’s so definitely a kid here, trying hard to “man up” and to grapple with the fact that he screwed up big time and that there are consequences for his actions. After a season of doing the wrong thing over and over and OVER again, he’s trying to do the right thing.

But here’s the thing: Fred responds to this confession of near-universal guilt with what (in this snippet) feels like a pair of universally-exculpatory statements: “You are a good kid. You got manipulated by a mobster.” (Mary is more nuanced: “You do not deserve to be framed for murder.”)

Archie does not deserve to be framed for murder, and he certainly did get manipulated by a mobster. In fact, I would like to formally start a petition to have Archie not fall under the control of an unscrupulous adult in S3!

However.

Instead of accepting guilt for anything and everything and being immediately absolved for non-specific sins because of his inherent “goodness,” I really want to know that Archie understands what he actually DID do last season. He climbed wholeheartedly on board with the plan to Make Riverdale Great Again, and in that process, he did things that were NOT AT ALL commensurate with being “a good kid.” I think both the character and the show would benefit from a more explicit meditation on exactly why Hiram’s manipulation was so effective, and why Archie moved so quickly past being merely Hiram’s pawn, and voluntarily embraced the role of Hiram’s very ambitious accomplice.

One of the specific preconditions of restorative justice is that the offender has to acknowledge their actions and the hurt that they caused. Reconciliation and vagueness are incompatible for so many reasons, but one of them is because a BIG part of learning from your mistakes is thinking precisely about what you did so that you can choose not to do it again.

I read a bunch of the new Archie comics over the break, and I think I now have a greater appreciation for the trope of Archie as a schlemiel. Despite his best intentions, the Archie archetype keeps making the same goofy, klutzy mistakes over and over again. This is fine, even funny, when it means that Archie just keeps accidentally ending up with a bucket on his head. Whoops!

It is super not okay if it means that Archie just keeps finding himself supporting fascists. ...whoops?

(At present, my entire country is being “manipulated by mobsters.” Clearly, I have some feelings about this.)

I don’t actually know how to wrap all the loose ends of this analysis up meaningfully and coherently at the finish here - but then again, that probably puts me into good company with our showrunners. Optimistically, I’m going to hope that that’s intentional - that I’m judging in media res, and that plotlines and character arcs in S3 will weave together in a way that will surprise and delight me!

But mostly, I’m going to reiterate my hope that S3 makes meaningful choices. That the people in charge don’t waste their actors’ time filming oodles and oodles of material that gets sliced and diced to ribbons. That they make choices EARLY about major plot points; that they stick to them; and that they let the rising action and falling action of your narrative reflect those choices, and the consequences that naturally accompany them.

I hope that the people in charge of S3 will resist the ever-present temptation to “have it both ways” - which ultimately works out to really no definitive way at all. Telling a sturdy story is risky in a totally different way than courting controversy - but it’s so, so worth it.

#riverdale #riverdale meta #riverdale spoilers #archie andrews #us politics #scotus #the urge to overanalyze this image feels like the tug of a Portkey behind my navel #was already a tag #spoiler: resistance was futile #chicago #marvelous mrs maisel #gilmore girls #village-skeptic: back on her bullshit #if you made it through this whole thing I love you to bits!

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klphotoawards · 5 years

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Join our judges as an observer

Just as in 2018, we are inviting ONE follower of KLPA, to sit-in on the judging process for KLPA2019 which will take place on the weekend of the 11/12 May 2019 at The KL Journal Hotel, Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur.

The lucky person will be selected by a draw on Saturday 4 May 2019.

Interested..?

Read on..!

CRITERIA

1. You must be available for both days, Saturday and Sunday, 11 and 12, May 2019 from 10:30 to 18:00.

2. You must make your own way to the venue, be on time and you will not be paid any travel expenses etc.

3. You will be provided with coffee, drinks, snacks and also join the team and judges for lunch.

4. You cannot participate in the judging process, but only be an observer.

5. You can blog, Instagram or tweet about your experience, please tag #klpa @klphotoawards

6. You cannot divulge the selections, finalists and winners until the official announcements are made in mid-June, 2019.

7. You must be a LOVER of photography, especially Portraiture.

SELECTION

1. Join our Facebook page at www.facebook.com/klphotoawards if you have not already done so.

2. Put your name down in this same post under the comments section, from today.

3. Message us with your mobile number and email, you must be contactable by phone and email, or email [email protected]

4. The posting of names will close at midnight Malaysian time, on 30 April 2019.

5. A Facebook Live broadcast will be made from the Facebook page by the KLPA media team, at 3.00pm, Saturday 4 May 2019 where they will draw a lucky winner from the list of names gathered then. Tune in to see if you will be the Fly on the Wall!

WHY?

We have often been asked about the judging process for KLPA and since many people are interested to know the decision-making process, perhaps this could be educational to them in evaluating their own photography. Logistically, we are unable to record the entire process, unfortunately.

At KLPA, we are selective of our judges and over the 10 years, we try to cast a fairly wide net, although, they are by and large in the arts industries, and mainly photographers, curators, educators, artists and editors.

[Read last year’s report by Raja Indra Putra - observer here ]

Many contests hold online judging, where jurors from across the world make their selections on their own, online, but for KLPA, we truly value the face-to-face live discussions and interactions, where ideas and thoughts are often exchanged, sometimes heated (but always for the sake of the art form, and calmed by gallons of coffee).

When judging photography contests, objectivity matters a lot, and the visual knowledge and depth of a juror is therefore important, in being able to defend one’s selection. However, it is also important to lend credence and value to a wide range of subjective emotive responses and broad audiences, so as not to be ‘industry blinkered’. Ultimately, a good portrait will always be valued and acknowledged.

This is a fantastic opportunity and an invaluable experience for one lucky person from the general public to participate as an observer in the selection process, and to listen in on the discussions and exchanges that the public isn’t so often privy to, since most if not all judgings events are closed sessions.

KLPA would like to thank all our past jurors for 10 years from 2009 :

Beverly Yong - arts consultant

Pang Khee Teik - arts program director

Majidah Hashim - travel writer, photographer, entrepreneur

Lim Chee Wah - writer, editor

Gwen Lee - SIPF festival director, gallerist

Soraya Yusof Talismail - photographer

Stephanie Fong - gallerist

Khairul Azrul Ismail - photographer, educator, researcher

Eva McGovern - curator, gallerist, arts consultant

Gilles Massot - lecturer, photographer

Nirmala Karrupiah - photographer

Yumi Goto - curator, photo editor and researcher

Kevin W Y Lee - photographer, curator

Poh Si Teng - video journalist, filmmaker

Halim Berbar - photojournalist

Bernice Chauly - writer, photographer, actor, filmmaker

Eiffel Chong - photographer, educator

Zarina Holmes - photographer, graphic designer, journalist

Salina Christmas - digital anthropologist

Syahrin Abdul Aziz - photojournalist

Zhuang Wubin - photographer, researcher, educator

Rachel Jena - arts editor, writer

Adeline Ooi - curator, arts writer

Snow Ng - gallerist, curator

She Fah Szetu - journalist, writer

Tay Kay Chin - photographer, educator

Ashraf Saharuddin - photographer, editor

Kong Wai Yeng - writer, editor

Takeki Sugiyama - festival director, educator

Suzanne Lee - photojournalist, filmmaker

Che Ahmad Azhar - photographer, lecturer

Azharr Rudin - filmmaker

Vignes Balasingam - festival director, photographer

Elin O’Hara Slavick - educator, photographer

Cheryl Hoffmann - photographer

Dr. Oh Soon Hwa - lecturer, photographer

Amber Terranova - photo editor, curator

J Redza - photographer, multi-disciplinary artist

Nadirah Zakariya - photographer

Nick Ng - photographer

Andreas Muller-Pohle - editor or European Photography, photographer

Lee Kuen - photography writer and researcher

Azrul Kevin Abdullah - photographer and educator

Laura Valenti - photographer, educator, OutReach director at Photo Lucida

Julia Durkin - Auckland Festival of Photography Public Participation director

Ihiro Hayami - T3 Photography Festival director

Fadhil Kamarudin - photographer and lecturer

Gwen Lee - Singapore International Photography Festival director

Silke Schmikl - National Gallery of Singapore curator

#klpa #klphotoawards #photocontest #portraiture

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michaelcreagh · 3 years

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Zephani Idoko @zephaniidoko for PhotoBook Magazine 💗💗She stars in the critically acclaimed horror film “Nanny,” which premiered at Sundance and won the festival’s U.S. grand Jury prize. Check out the whole story and interview at @photobookmagazine Art Director/Fashion Stylist: Mickey Freeman at The Only Agency @mickeyboooom @theonly.agency Editor-In-Chief: Alison Hernon @718blonde Creative Director: Mike Ruiz @mikeruizone Hair: Cheryl T. Bergamy at Exclusive Artists using Contents Hair Care @cheryltbergamyhair @exclusiveartists Makeup: Nick Barose at Exclusive Artists @nickbarose @exclusiveartists using @armanibeauty Photo Assistant: Julianna Hood @juliannahood Stylist Assistant: Lisa Stapleton @lisa.stapleton Tearsheets by Daniel López, Associate Art Director, PhotoBook Magazine @alarcn.daniel Interview by Flora Medina, Contributor, PhotoBook Magazine @floramedinaa Designers: Sunglasses by Balenciaga @balenciaga Jewelry by Erickson Beamon @ericksonbeamon Shirt by Judy Zhang @judyzhangofficial Suit by LK Bennett @lkbennettlondon Pink Blazer by LEFT FIG @leftfig Gloves + Boots by VICTOR dE SOUZA @victordesouzany * * * * #photobookmagazine #actress #fashion #feature #instagood #Starz #Sundance #movie #Nigeria #horror movie #ootd (at New York City, N.Y.) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ca-d1efueKS/?utm_medium=tumblr

#photobookmagazine #actress #fashion #feature #instagood #starz #sundance #movie #nigeria #horror #ootd

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runawaybill · 3 years

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Virginia Beach, Virginia - long time since I ate at “Nick’s” … “Run-A-Way Bill” FAVORITE smile-riffic “Cheryle” is the reason I returned … new owner’s really poor counter design requires sitting side-saddle and then lean in past the counter trim to eat … also, the new owner serves up LESS quantity on the chipped-beef portion, moving it down the list of the “Run-A-Way Bill” “Chipped-Beef Challenge” list #RunAwayBill #rabDUSA2022 #DUSA2022 #rabSelfies #rabFavoriteServer #rabFavoriteStickerWinner #rabChippedBeefChallenge #ChippedBeefChallenge #rabChallenges #rabKeepOnChuckin #KeepOnChuckin #ChuckTaylor #ChuckTaylors #VirginiaBeach #rabVirginiaBeach #rabVirginia #Virginia 03.03.22 (at Nick's Virginia Beach) https://www.instagram.com/p/CarXz1ZOdrM/?utm_medium=tumblr

#runawaybill #rabdusa2022 #dusa2022 #rabselfies #rabfavoriteserver #rabfavoritestickerwinner #rabchippedbeefchallenge #chippedbeefchallenge #rabchallenges #rabkeeponchuckin #keeponchuckin #chucktaylor #chucktaylors #virginiabeach #rabvirginiabeach #rabvirginia #virginia

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k00244461 · 3 years

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Research: Harry Lambert

Harry Lambert is a fashion stylist based in London. Lambert is represented by Bryant Artists, an independent creative agency that works with stylists and set designers. One of Lambert’s earliest gigs was an internship at Vogue where he worked on photoshoots with celebrities such as Nick Knight, Tim Walker, Lucinda Chambers and Cheryl. He has also worked with Topshop, Topman, Tommy Hilfiger, and Asos.

The Vogue cover is one of many mutual projects Lambert has had the opportunity to work with Harry Styles. He styled the singer for the March cover of Beauty Papers. The outfits included everything from a classic black suit to fishnet tights. As Harry’s main stylist, Lambert is behind every major fashion appearance of the singer – from annual music awards to red carpet looks.

Above: Styles at the Grammy’s, styled by Lambert.

Above: Styles and Lambert for the Vogue shoot.

Above: Lambert styling Styles for his ‘Golden’ music video.

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weirdnessandlove · 7 years

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Bughead post 2x05 fic

*Part 2* About 4.5k words, lots of angst. Part 1 here

Truth be told, Jughead was still sort of angry at Betty. He understood why she did what she did and really he couldn’t blame her for going through Archie. He knew no matter the circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to break her heart in person either. He was angry because she hadn’t trusted him with this. She hadn’t told him about the letter she got at the Blue and Gold either. Then she hadn’t trusted him with the calls. She was being tortured and he could do nothing to comfort her. Mostly Jug was angry that she hadn’t trusted his safety. She made a decision for him without even bothering to tell him and she knew he hated that.

He pushed the thoughts away as he tried to focus on the dealings going down with the Ghoulies. Essentially, if the Serpents won, the Ghoulies would stop distributing Jingle Jangle in Riverdale. If the Ghoulies won, the Serpents would have to forfeit some of their territory in the southside, making the Ghoulies the larger landowners, if still the smaller group . The Ghoulies were bargaining for something else to sweeten their pot when all eyes turned to Jug. Not hearing the last bit of the conversation in his distraction, he straightened a bit, looking around. “What?” he asked, not understanding why everyone’s attention was on him.

Tall Boy turned to their leader, and said “No deal. That is personal, not clan business.” Jughead absolutely hated being confused but he knew he should feel relieved Tall Boy refused. The one who called himself Osiris straightened and turned back to Tall Boy. “These proceedings feel personal to me. We are willing to part with our major source of income but you insult us by only offering a small portion of land. That-” he pointed toward Jughead’s face “-is how you show me this isn’t personal. That you aren’t trying to screw us over…. Besides. The winner of the race needs a crown.” Oh no no no. He wasn’t parting with the beanie. He looked at Tall Boy, hoping he would stay his ground. Tall Boy gave Jughead a sad look before turning back to Osiris. “I guess we’ll just have to win, then.”

• • •

Betty paced in her room and waited for the next call. The Black Hood said he would give Betty the whereabouts of Nick St. Clair on one condition. Betty had to tell Sheriff Keller about Archie’s relationship with their late music teacher, Mrs. Grundy. Betty had went to the station and talked with the sheriff about it when he agreed that Archie was not at fault and sent Betty home.

When the phone rang she picked it up and the first thing the distorted voice said to her was “That is not what we agreed.” Betty answered exasperatedly “We agreed on nothing. You gave me a direction and I followed it to the letter. I held up my end. Where is Nick?” After a pause, he gave an address and hung up. Nick was at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy? Why? How would she get him out? The Sisters wouldn’t let him leave their custody without a significant reason. She would need Nick’s parents. Betty made the phone call and left for her office at the Blue and Gold. This had to end. The Black Hood couldn’t continue hurting people in Riverdale.

By the time she arrived and had gotten into the office, Betty had a plan. She took a picture of the murder board her and Jug had created after Jason Blossoms murder to be saved for later and then emptied the board, instead replacing it with a sign up top that said “Black Hood.” It felt wrong to be working on this without Jughead. They had solved Jason’s murder together. They had cleared his father together. “That’s it!” she thought. She locked the office back up and left for the prison. FP Jones would know what to do about Jughead and if investigative skills were at all hereditary, he could point Betty in the right direction. Plus it’s not as if the Black Hood could threaten him either. He’d been moved out of the county jail into a secure facility while the judge deliberated on his sentence for helping cover up Jason’s murder.

An hour later she was sitting waiting for Forsythe Pendleton Jones II and for the first time in a while she found herself smiling. Today felt like progress. When he sat down he seemed surprised to see her. Picking up the phone off the receiver he said, “Betty. Is Jughead okay? What is going on?” She wondered if Jughead had told him about the breakup yet. “Yes Mr. Jones. He’s doing fine. Healing well, I think. Truth be told I haven’t seen as much of him the past few days. He’s racing the Ghoulies tonight.”

FP didn’t seem to understand. “Healing? Was he in an accident? Why is he racing the Ghoulies?! Only official mem….” Betty saw his face change in comprehension and she realized Jug hadn’t told him about his initiation. “He joined up?” Betty nodded slowly. She noticed their similar mannerisms when FP turned his head, jaw ticking. He was trying not to cry. She felt terrible he found out this way. “He’s doing fine from what I understand. Archie talked to him and relayed to me that he’s doing it to keep the peace. He’s trying to stop bloodshed. He’s filling your shoes.” Betty hoped this would ease whatever he was feeling.

FP turned back to Betty, reading more into her words. “Why did Archie relay it to you? Why didn’t Jug tell you himself?” She took a deep breath. This was not going to be an easy conversation. “That’s sort of why I came down here Mr. Jones. The man who shot Archie’s dad told me he’d hurt Jughead. He’s been calling me and making me do all these things or he’ll hurt people. He calls himself-” “The Black Hood. Yeah I know. That Jughead did tell me about.” Betty put her head in her hand. “The Black Hood forced me to break up with him. I had to do it to keep him safe. I need to find out who he is so I can end this cat and mouse game and get my Juggie back.” FP sat back and waited for her to meet his eyes, giving her a proud look “Aren’t you Betty Cooper?”

• • •

The Serpents arrived early to the meet for the race, wanting to scope everything out ahead of time. When they finished up, they stood in a group as Tall Boy made an announcement. “Alright listen up! We’ve all been pretty clear about staying out of northsider business. They have no love lost for us. Except one. By now you all know Betty Cooper. She solved the murder of the Blossom kid and got FP off the hook for it. Girl has more balls than most of us I’m ashamed to admit.” Most in the crowd looked incredulous at the statement but there were a few that nodded shamefully.

“Well, Betty is Jughead’s old lady and this ‘Hood character is making her life a living hell. We can’t sit by and let this happen to her. So now she is officially under our protection.” Tall Boy paused for a second for murmuring to die down. “Now we know this Black Hood follows her every move. If he’s following her, we’re going to follow her. We’ll find this guy out and put an end to it. And maybe once the mayor realizes he isn’t one of us, she’ll lay off our backs. You’ll all be put on a shift of Betty Watch. Report anything you see to Jughead. He’ll be running point on this. And remember... don’t let her see you.”

Everyone talked amongst themselves and Jughead looked over at Sweet Pea, who nodded at him. Toni came over to Jug and leaned her head to the side. “So are you taking first shift then? Sweet Pea tells me the northsider is bringing her here tonight. I think you two should talk.” He was about to tell her he had decided to race tonight when he heard the first cars coming up the drive. He recognized Fred Andrew’s truck immediately. Archie was in the front seat with Veronica. Jug couldn’t help but frown. Archie was supposed to bring Betty. Cheryl’s car pulled in next, followed by Reggie’s. Everyone had started to get out, Archie and Veronica, Cheryl and Kevin, Reggie and Josie, when Jughead noticed movement from the back of the truck.

Then he heard her voice. “Will someone please let me out?!” Archie cursed as if he’d forgotten something and went over to the massive bag in the back and unzipped it. As if on cue, Betty sits up and out of it and he notices her hands are ziptied. Striding over, he pushes Archie out of the way and pulls out his pocket knife to cut her free. “Why the hell would you do this?!” Jughead climbs over the side into the bed and reaches over to grab Betty’s wrists, ignoring the alarmed look on her face. Veronica popped around to their side of the truck. “Actually that was my idea. Archie finally caved and told me what was going on. She didn’t want to come and put either you or myself in danger.” Veronica shrugged nonchalantly. “So we kidnapped her. Also I told everyone about the situation.” Cheryl leaned over from the hood of her car. “Strength in numbers and all that. I personally can’t believe Betty wouldn’t tell us we were all in danger. Seems so selfish.”

Betty leaned away from Jughead a little bit and whispered softly “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” She looked at the gloves on his hands and added, “You said you weren’t going to race, Jug.” Jughead sighed and cut her loose before leaning back in to her and whispering, “Can we have this conversation later?” before jumping back to the ground. “The race is for my beanie,” he said for everyone. “I’ll be the one who decides it’s fate.” Before anyone had time to respond, more cars and bikes came racing up the road and banked hard, barely missing the closest Serpent bike to them. Most of them stopped in a row but one red car sped a couple laps around the meet site before skidding in next to the others Ghoulies.

Osiris got out of the 1940s Tudor and walked to the center where everyone was gathering. Raising his voice and throwing his arms wide, he yelled, “Let’s race!” and then he pointed at Jughead “For the prodigal son’s crown.” Reggie threw Jughead his keys and then walked over to wrap his arm around Josie. He pulled up to the designated track and got back out, leaning on the hood of the black Chevy while he waited for the customary opponents handshake. Betty wandered over and leaned on the car next to him. She bumped his shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“Don’t die okay? I’ve been actively avoiding burying the people I love lately. Don’t break my streak.” He gave her a small smile back. “I love you too. But we still aren’t okay, yet.” His smile turned a little playful. “Now stop distracting me before my potentially life threatening engagement. We’ll talk later.” Betty walked back to where her team was, throwing a “Get over there” thumb to tell Archie it was his turn. Archie nodded at her, smiling, before going to stand over behind Jughead as the makeshift ceremony started.

• • •

Betty went and stood in the spot Archie had just vacated, where Veronica proceeded to throw her arms around her and rest her head on Betty’s shoulder. Betty put a hand on V’s arm. Their men were going off to battle together. She crossed her fingers that they would come back unscathed. The four men got in the two cars and Toni stood on the line in front of them. Right as it was about to start, Cheryl leaned over and whispered in Betty’s ear, making her jump. “Don’t worry, Bride of Hobo. He’ll come back to you. I have a plan.” Betty turned and was saying, “Cheryl, No!” when the cars fired down the road. Betty could only watch in horrified anticipation of whatever was going to happen.

The race started off well but soon Reggie’s car started lagging behind. It all happened faster than she was expecting. The end of the line was coming up and she could barely see the cars anymore let alone the figures on the side of the road. What? She blinked and moved a little closer, hoping to clear her vision enough to make out what was happening. Instead she saw a lot of what looked like flesh and the unmistakeable sound of squealing brakes before the figures ran off. What the hell?

She turned on Cheryl. “What did you do?!” Cheryl put on her best innocent smiles and said in the sweetest voice, “Well nothing, of course. I just asked the Rivervixens if they wanted to help get revenge for Moose and Midge.” Things were getting louder now and the Ghoulies left behind with them were trying to start a fight with the Serpents. The Serpents obviously denied any knowledge of what happened. Still, with the red classic braking right before the end of the race, it was pretty clear who had won.

The cars were on their way back, not too far out now, when the Ford turned hard, colliding right into the driver’s side of the Chevelle SS, pushing it off the road. Just like that the world was suddenly quiet and Betty wasn’t really aware of what was happening as she broke into a full sprint down the way. She wasn’t the first to make it but she wasn’t too far behind. She arrived in time to see a bleeding Archie pulling an incoherent Jughead through the passenger side door. She knelt beside him and screamed for someone to get help while she frantically tried to find any major bleeding.

• • •

Betty sat in the hospital room, the pain in her chest overwhelming her. It’d been hours since the race and Jug was still in and out of consciousness. The doctors told her a bunch of stuff about needing time to heal and how she should go home and get some rest. Truly though all she could focus on was when they said if he came out of this state, he’d be okay. Betty needed to be here when Jughead woke up. She felt stuck to this spot like concrete until he opened his eyes. She ran through the events after the accident over in her head again.

She had felt the pocket knife in Jughead’s leather when searching for wounds so she grabbed it and started stalking her way over to Osiris, snapping it open right before Sweet Pea caught her. Toni carefully took the knife and they dragged her away. Dark Betty grinned in evil satisfaction when she saw the rest of the Serpents close in on him. The rest of the Ghoulies had fled. Free of Sweet Pea, Betty shoved Cheryl hard. Tall Boy had commandeered one of the Serpent’s trucks and they carefully lifted Jughead inside, Betty holding him upright while Archie and some of the other Serpents rode in the back.

They’d arrived at Riverdale Hospital and gave the staff a story about Jughead driving his motorcycle into a tree to avoid police involvement. Eventually everyone else showed up. Alice arrived and tried to take Betty home but she had yanked free and sat back down, before being surrounded by Serpents. Alice gave her daughter a horrified look, alarmed at her increasing involvement with the gang Alice had left.

Since then, no one has bothered her. The Serpents stay close but give enough space for her to have privacy. Her friends were in the waiting room, desperate for news. Betty held Jughead’s hand, his continued heartbeat keeping her sane. When his hand twitched she didn’t notice from inside her own thoughts. But when she felt a squeeze she jolted back into reality and looked up, seeing his dark blue eyes looking at hers.

• • •

Jughead knew before he even opened his eyes he wasn’t hallucinating this time. He hurt all over. He regretted his decision to even open them at all under the harsh hospital lights. But he saw Betty there with him and he couldn’t help the swell in his heart. Of course she was there. He watched her for a minute as she stared down at their intertwined hands, her eyes unfocused and her face set into this permanent look of dread. Even like this she looked absolutely beautiful.

He hated that she was in pain though so he squeezed her hand to get her attention. She jumped a little but when she looked at him and her face lit up. What he wouldn’t give for her to look at him like that forever. “Hey there, Juliet” he managed to say, if painfully. “Hey,” she said softly. “I’ll go get a nurse.” he tightened his grip on hers for a second. “How about not just yet? I’d like this quiet moment to last a little longer.” Betty smiled softly but it didn’t touch her eyes this time. He was truly grateful for her concern but the sooner he had to see someone else but her the sooner they were back to reality. The reality where he had kissed someone else and she was tortured by the Black Hood.

They sat there in silence for a couple minutes before he gently released her hand. She looked at him apologetically and left the room. Two minutes later a nurse and the doctor were in the room and ten minutes later it was flooded with Serpents and his few friends from the northside. Eventually everyone drifted off to go home except Betty. She was sitting close enough that he rubbed her back gently as she fought to keep her eyes open. “Betts go home. I’m fine. I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.” she started to protest but he interrupted her. “Betty, no. You’ve been sitting in that chair all day agonizing over me. Go get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

• • •

Betty held the door to the trailer open with her foot while she propped up Jughead enough to hobble through. After two days the hospital sent him home and Betty naturally, had volunteered herself to be his nurse. She got him sitting at the dining table before she leaned back against the counter, asking if he would like some food. Jughead shook his head, dreading the conversation coming. He stared down at his hands, not wanting to look at her as he pushed her away.

“Maybe you should just go, Betty.” She brushed it off, not realizing what he meant. “What? Jug no you need help with-” He sighed, wishing she wasn’t so good for once. “Betty, I need space. You hurt me and I’m not over it yet.” She leaned back against the counter, sinking to the floor until she was sitting with her knees to her chest. As she opened her mouth to respond, her phone started ringing. The volume was low but it was that god-awful jingle he wanted nothing but to forget. She reached in her pocket and silenced it, which caused Jughead to really look at her, stunned.

He knew what he had to do though. The events of the last week proved they spiral out of control for each other. Tall Boy told him (impressed, of course) that she’d gone after a gang leader with just a pocket knife. Betty would end up getting herself killed to keep him safe. He couldn’t let her go down that path. Jughead steeled his voice and said, “Betty, you should go. He’ll be angry you’re here.” Jughead couldn’t help the sourness in his tone. “And we wouldn’t want to make him angry.” She looked at him, hurt by his words. He would give anything for her not to make that face at him but if he didn’t do this now he wouldn’t ever.

“You just don’t get it, Jughead. I couldn’t lose you. You are the only person that keeps me sane in our crazy town. I hoped once I explained everything that we could go back to normal.” He fought to hide his smile. So she’s fighting for him, then? His frown returned. It just meant he’d have to hurt her. He raised his voice a little, intentionally sounding harsh. “Is that why you sent Archie to do your dirty work?” She gave him an irritated and hurt look. “I didn’t have a choice.” His derisive snort in response wasn’t completely faked. “Just like you didn’t give me one.”

Now he could see fire in her eyes as she got defensive. Good. “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?!” The hurt he felt toward her when she wasn’t around to wash it away came bubbling to the surface. “You know me Betty! You made a decision for my own safety without speaking to me about it. I had no choice or even knowledge of what was happening.” He couldn’t help the contempt rising in his voice. “Did you really think I could just let that go?” Jughead swallowed a bit. “And then you hurt me in the only way possible. Do you have any idea what it feels like to go through that kind of beating thinking the only person you’ve ever told you love hates you?!”

She paused back for a second before she said quietly but with anger, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the lives of an entire town on your shoulders?” she took a deep breath and sounded calmer. “Why are you pushing me away?” Jughead couldn’t help the loss of steam at her question. “Because every time you walk out the door, I can’t help the resentment I feel towards you over breaking up with me even though I know rationally why you did it. When you’re here I can’t be angry at you, but in the end I am still hurting.”

Betty lowered her head and he barely heard her whisper. “Does Toni help?” What? Jughead slid down on the floor next to her, ignoring the screaming pain is his side. “What?” he repeated out loud. Betty lifted her head and looked at him. “I see the way she looks at you, Juggie.” Betty looked down at her knees again. “You stopped taking my calls when you transferred and…. And…” Jughead put a hand on her knee, hearing her sniffle. “Toni and I kissed. She spent the night to keep an eye on me after the Gauntlet.”

He saw the tear fall before she managed to wipe it away. “That’s fine. I hurt you. I understand.” She sniffled and then like a switch being flipped, her entire demeanor changed into bright and Sunny. Perfect Betty smiled at him and stood to get up. “You’re right. I hurt you. I should go. I’ll call… someone to come help you.” Betty took a step over and reached for the space right above his elbows, lifting him enough to get him into the seat as she stepped for the door. Jughead couldn’t let her go like this.

“Betty. You don’t have to pretend with me. Don’t do that.” She gave him a small smile. “Yes I do Jughead.” Her smile dropped completely. “That’s the only way I can do this.” and with that she opened the door and stepped through. He could hear her crying faintly as she took the steps.

There was something else he needed to know before she left though. With all the strength he could gather, he stood up and stepped over to the door, leaning on the wall for support. He pulled the door open and stood on the landing, calling her name. After the third time she stopped. He saw her try to discreetly try to wipe her face before turning back around with the forced smile. “Yes, Jughead?” He hated that this was the way she chose to have her last interaction with him. “Why didn’t you pick up? When he just called?” The smile didn’t falter even a little. “Because. He got what he wanted. Now I’m going to catch him for it.”

Jughead took a step closer “What do you mean?” Betty cocked her head at him a little and gave him a “You can’t figure it out?” look. “This” she said aloud before turning back around and starting to walk again. “Damnit Betty. Leave him alone!” He called to her. He needed her safe. That’s why he was putting up this ridiculous charade in the first place. She kept walking though and he forced himself to take the steps of the trailer and follow after her, ignoring how it made him feel like he was going to pass out. “Betty, don’t do anything stupid!” her voice drifted back to him even though she kept moving. Her voice sounded sarcastic. “Like investigate a murderer? I’ve done it before.” She turned her head a bit. “Go back inside Jughead. You need rest.”

He was focusing on one foot in front of the other, feeling more sick with each step. “You had a partner in crime last time!” There was a faint crack in her response. “Doesn’t mean I need one!” He was mentally cursing her for being stubborn. “Maybe I do!” Her steps faltered a bit. He didn’t hear whatever she said back since his left leg picked that second to give out on him and he collapsed to the ground. She must have expected him to say something because she turned around and saw him on the ground a couple hundred feet from the trailer.

Betty rushed over and knelt to the ground looking him over for more injuries. “What’s your problem, Jughead?!” she said angrily. “First you push me away and then you risk more injuries when I go?!” His Betty was back. He couldn’t help but smile up at her. “What can I say? You make me crazy. I was trying to protect you, you big dummy. But no. You can’t keep yourself out of danger.” She smiled a real smile back down at him. “That’s because you make me crazy too.” She lifted him by his hands and put his arm over her shoulder as she walked him back to the trailer. “Hey Betts?” Jug managed to get out as they were nearing the steps again. “Mhm?” He stopped so she would look him in the eyes. “Please, don’t ever do that to me again.” Betty looked at him with a promise that made his heart melt and gave him a soft kiss. “I won’t.”

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