#the way they handled Betty showing him he had purpose and how she gave up everything for him always and forever was heart wrenching

[waterbearwasteland]

Man the ending of Fiona and Cake made me cry so much but I’m so happy with what they did

[mindctrlaltdel]

Random Reviews: Mulholland Drive

This movie is BASIC INSTINCT, written and directed by Salvador Dali.

***

Recently, I watched MULHOLLAND DRIVE for the first time for my friend Shawn Eastridge's podcast, MISSING FRAMES (www.thenerdparty.com/missingframes/episode-103-mulholland-drive).

As I watched this odd, funny, disturbing, interesting flick, I took the following notes. Is it, as some critics say, the BEST FILM OF THE 21ST CENTURY? Here's an inside look at my viewing experience as I mulled over MULHOLLAND DRIVE...

[PRESS PLAY]

I love how the first five minutes is basically a bad late 90's Gap commercial, all swing dancing, no point...

The Mulholland Drive sign is calling to us. The street, Mulholland Drive, is Bali Hai for perverts.

Justin Theroux gets top billing over Naomi Watts??

I gotta admit, I saw one of the movie's original posters and thought "Naomi Watts AND the lady from the first MEN IN BLACK is in this? It's the triumphant return of Linda Fiorentino." When I DIDN'T see her name in the opening credits, I was disappointed. She's NO Linda Fiorentino... for this role, she's even better. AND she's a countess (seriously, look it up). Oh, and Robert Forster shows up for 10 minutes.

Not-Linda Fiorentino has some hustle in her for someone who just survived a horrible head on collision.

I like how the street signs kind of tell us where we are and what kind of world we're in. It's like a surreal, dramatic version of that Californians SNL sketch.

You mean to tell me that the red-headed older woman didn't see not-Linda Fiorentino under her kitchen table? UnbeLIEVable.

Holy crap, the wide-eyed guy in Winky's - he plays Jimmy Barrett, the comedian in MAD MEN... and MAD MEN is an interesting connection here, because everyone talks in this measured, paced deliberate way throughout that series, kind of similar to how the characters usually speak in the David Lynch productions I've seen... When I started watching MAD MEN, I thought the actors were purposely directed to speak that way, so everything to seem more "real" as opposed to that fast-talking, old-Hollywood style that you'd expect to see from outspoken, big idea-types. I imagined that Matt Weiner wanted people to seem - at least to modern audiences - the way people actually were - particularly, the inhabitants of the intelligent and cerebral world of ad men, working behind the scenes, on the fringes of show business. But then Jimmy Barrett, an old-timey comedian ALSO spoke that way. And it just didn't seem authentic to me. Anyway, back to THIS movie...

OH and that dingy woman behind the dumpster! She's like if Captain Howdy moved out West and got all LA on us. Is that Cloris Leachman covered in mud? And the music... for some reason, there's nothing scarier than the sound of an HVAC vent on full blast. (According to this article, www.vulture.com/2014/10/mulholland-drives-evil-hobo-breaks-her-silencio.html,the actress who played Evil Hobo #1 said of her audition process: "I don’t mean to brag, but David Lynch said he was looking for the most incredible face he could find. I actually met him at a Twin Peaks party, and he was like, 'Look at that face!'")

I love the X-Files-style synth strings that play over Naomi Watts (Betty) and gram-gram (Irene) as they walk through the hotel, I mean the airport... Aw, these two old people love Betty. What a different life she's living than that countess who's not Linda Fiorentino who's squatting in that redhead's apartment that Betty's about to move into.

Even then, Naomi had a good American accent. (Although I learned she's technically British but split her time between England and Australia), those Australians are great at spitting out neutral American sounds. But once I learned that Betty is supposed to be Canadian, I was very disappointed. It's not THAT authentic. Where are her "Aboots"? And she didn't put maple syrup on anything in this whole movie.

Oh my God, are Irene and her husband, riding in this towncar, ALSO going to get held up, like not-Linda Fiorentino at the beginning of the movie? Oh okay, they're not. We just followed them for no reason other than to see that they look happier than an old couple in a Cialis commercial. I guess meeting Betty really improved their sex life or something.

Coco - of course she's a fading hollywood starlet... AHHH, Coco is played by Ann Miller - good for her. She's basically that kooky old landlady from SEINFELD, the one who worked with the Three Stooges that Kramer met when he went to LA. Look at all these connections!

"Prize-fighting kangaroo who shits all over the courtyard" - do you think Naomi Watts is going to come out and say, "as an Australian, I was actually offended by this line, but I was scared into silence by that power-hungry monster, David Lynch."

The countess - who now goes by "Rita" - does kind of look like Rita Hayworth. I like the connections to old Hollywood and to noirs and how it's all wrapped together. Rita Hayworth is also a redhead, like Betty's aunt. She's of Spanish descent as well... and the actress playing Rita in this movie is of Mexican descent... Connections, connections.

I love that this casting session is basically run by a deep state shadow organization with a weird waiter in a red blazer... This is how Disney cast WandaVision.

HAHAHAH "That is one of the finest espressos in the world sir!" - this is DEFINITELY how Disney casts their movies. And Justin Theroux is the only man with integrity in this room! Does anyone have any class in this town!? They don't even validate his parking.

This is my favorite movie about making movies since BOWFINGER. And I may not be lying. And somehow less weird than THE ARTIST.

Is everyone gonna start killing each other over Ed's famous black book? This is oddly funny.

"Something bit me bad!" This incredibly long fight scene between the blond guy and secretary... it reminds me of the Uma Thurman/Daryl Hannah trailer fight in KILL BILL VOL. 2 but with less snakes.

These closeups of lingering looks on Rita's cash-filled purse are great... She's pulling wads of cash out of that purse one at a time, like Leslie Nielsen pulling eggs out of that blond lady in AIRPLANE!

I want to know what direction David Lynch gave that braless woman who's following the blond assassin around. It's like she's doing an acting exercise... like you know, when you're told to fill the space... "walk around the room, and clear your head. And now you're walking really fast. And now you're slow. NOW, imagine what it would be like to walk with your nose as the furthest point in front of you. Lead with your nose..." And David Lynch did that and told the braless woman to lead with her chest.

Justin Theroux is basically Robert Downey Jr.'s character from BOWFINGER, except NOW, he's the protagonist.

Betty is loving Rita's amnesia a bit too much. If this were my life, Rita would be the most interesting thing to happen to me too. Hell, if I was from Ontario, getting off at LAX would rock my world.

When Justin Theroux enters his glass-walled home to find his wife with another man, well... Justin Theroux may never star in something like HOBO WITH A SHOTGUN, but I can definitely picture him in YUPPIE WITH A GOLF CLUB.

That slinky theme song playing in Justin Theroux's/Laraine's house is a song that I actually listen to in my tiki, lounge playlist - to give you a hint of my music tastes. What I listen to for fun, Billy Ray Cyrus puts on to drown out his love-making.

By the way, BILLY RAY CYRUS!!! WHAT? Is this how Miley was conceived??? I think yes.

Pink paint in a jewelry box! This is much better than the usual throwing-all-his-belongings-out-a-second-story-apartment-window-scene that happens in every other movie.

I wouldn't be THAT excited if I learned MY name was Diane Selwin. BUT the sexxxual tension with the waitress Diane at the diner is palpable!

So, not-Linda Fiorentino has amnesia. How does she know that answering machine is NOT her voice!?

Justin Theroux/Adam Kesher's wife is very aggressive with the large man who's so dedicated to finding Adam Kesher that he keeps calling Adam's name in vain like the secretary in my doctor's office.

I watched this movie in pieces, the first half late at night. The second half the next morning. In between, while sleeping, I had a dream where Betty and Rita were looking over a map and any time one of their hands brushed over another, their hands would turn gold. As if this was a stylistic choice made by the filmmaker directing my dream to show that there's some kind of deeper relationship between these two women. So I've started dreaming in Lynch.

I like how this film is so utterly connected to not only Lynch's subconscious, but the audience's as well. Lynch is TAPPED IN. I don't always love when a film goes all in with a surreal style, because sometimes that's just a cover for something lacking in the storytelling department. But I do feel there's more to it here, in MULHOLLAND DRIVE.

The hooded woman, Louise... I feel like I've run into her on the streets of New York. A Louise will ALWAYS find a way to give you a portent of doom that ruins your day. Friggin’ Louise.

This movie is so moody, you really have to be in the mood to watch it.

There's something magical and prophetic about the cowboy, like he's the seer that the old general sees on the eve of battle... Also, I love how the lead female role in Justin Theroux's movie is his sword of destiny. There's a glitz and gleam and nostalgia to Old Hollywood that naturally gives this movie, set in "modern" Hollywood," a total fantasy vibe.

Hahaha that "You're still here?" scene rehearsal between Betty and Rita is an excellent transition.

James Karen - the real estate guy from POLTERGEIST - is handling casting! "He moved the headshots but he didn't cast the bodies!!"

The casting direction: "Don't play it for real until it gets real." It's interesting how the characters, who work in the "business," seem to control their reality. Betty seems unsure of where the scene is going, then she gets into it. And it really speaks to her conversion from a bright-eyed new arrival to someone who surrenders to the darker impulses of the city.

HEAVY BREATHING.

Ugh friggin' Bob...

I love how Lynnie, the casting director, pulls the rug out from under that scene. There's always a jaded casting person who totally wrecks any good feelings about every audition. It's a thing.

David Lynch uses nostalgia and a latent love for Hollywood to draw the characters (and us) into his world and then subverts our expectations. A lot.

Why is the screen test just a lip-synching contest? ...I think it feeds into the nostalgia element for the movie at large but it seems like a waste of studio resources here. Early-aughties Hollywood spending, amirite?

Rita's reaction to finding the body is played very much like the reaction a character would have in an older film... The horror! The fear! The silent gaping terror while possessed with the inability to scream. I was watching the original KING KONG before this (which is may be a sign from the universe that I had to watch this Naomi Watts vehicle, as she starred in the remake), and specifically remember the scene where the director Carl Denham is coaching Ann Darrow/Fay Wray on how to act in a horror film - "now look up, and you see it, you see it in all its horror. And your jaw drops and you try to scream but you're so frozen in terror that you can't!" - I imagine that's what Lynch is doing to not-Linda Fiorentino off-camera as they filmed this scene.

Uh-oh, Rita is single-white femal'ing Betty now... She doesn't have a personality of her own, so she's going to take Betty's.... And now we're just getting NUDE with each other. This erotic thriller immediately turned from skintillating to Skinemax.

"I'm in love with you" - is Betty just saying that to convince herself? It feels more lusty than real. Betty's so bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Rita is gonna chew her up and spit her out!

I like the shot when they're sleeping together and, as they rest, their faces overlap thanks to the perspective of the framing. How much of the same person are they becoming? Where does one personality start and the other end?

The weird 2am theater. How'd Rita and Betty find this place? I love how this pop-up slam-poetry reading in this opera house is as terrifying to Rita and Betty as finding the dead body.

So Betty starts convulsing in her seat and then the poet disappears in a kind of old-style, cinematic I'm disappearing effect. I dig it.

Wait... is this a mysterious, magical show that just appears in LA, like Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead, that town in THE MUMMY that only shows up at sunrise on the third day or something like that? Or is this just a poorly attended Spanish-language talent show that could only afford to book this theater at 2am on a Thursday?

I love that Betty and Rita are tearing up over Rebekah Del Rio's performance (Rebekah Del Rio is a real person, by the way). Then, Rebekah faints as her voice keeps singing - is NOTHING real? Has Betty totally given into this weird world to the point that she doesn't really know what's authentic and what's fake anymore OR was Betty fake before she got to LA so it was easy for her to get acclimated.

This movie is like THE MATRIX, from the perspective of characters who only took the blue pill and didn't look back.

OOOH, Betty has the box and Rita has the key! But the box is empty except maybe its the Gom Jabbar pain-box from DUNE. Is David Lynch using MULHOLLAND DRIVE as an excuse to make good on his promise to produce a good version of DUNE.

WAIT A SECOND, the cowboy knows the dead girl? Does this even matter?

Now, wait ANOTHER second. Is Betty performing or DREAMING when she's Diane or is something else going one??

What's the BLUE KEY doing there?

"Two Detectives"??? Is she talking about Betty and Rita OR Robert Forster and the pudgy guy? OR someone else entirely - the two guy's from Winky's???

The movie became more interesting the moment the perspective shifted to "Diane" and "Camilla." When that happened, Naomi Watts really amped up her performance... reaching a level of intensity we hadn't seen since Betty's audition... it does take 2 hours to reach that point.... But then, when Betty and Rita are topless on the couch, I couldn't tell who they were supposed to be until Rita/Camilla called her "Diane."

Wait, now Rita's acting?? OH, so Rita was an actress? And Diane wasn't? Or Betty looks exactly like Diane?

The weird shifts in focus. The sad masturbating. This is the most depressing soft-core ever made!

Did Betty get killed and have amnesia too?

They take a shortcut to Eddie's house which looks EXACTLY like where Rita/Camilla was taken at the beginning of the movie by the hitmen in the towncar before that wild accident with those teenagers made her life weirder... OR less weird. You be the judge.

IS this a flashback or the future. Eddie and Camilla are having an affair?

MY MOTHER? COCO - what's real and what isn't????

The jitterbug competition.... Diane/Naomi wanted the lead so bad, Camilla got the part but in Mulholland Drive, Naomi is the star.

Then, Camilla is kissing that other blond actress who Betty watched screen test...

MULHOLLAND DRIVE is just David Lynch telling us that LA is a place for lust and jealousy and no matter what, purity gets ruined.

WHAT, the blond waitress is BETTY? And Diane hires the blond guy, who's officially labeled as a hitman.

Diane is also from Canada...

Are Diane and Betty just different versions of the same people in nearby parallel universes? I certainly HOPE so. This is too much insanity for ONE universe to handle.

The blue key will be found where the blond guy told Diane. Okay, that makes sense. But if this were to mirror real life, the key was in her hand the WHOLE time!

OH, and hobo-Cloris Leachman comes back... AND she's holding the blue box/Gom Jabbar... WHY the hell did those two old people wander out of that paper bag??? Do they represent longstanding guilt? Seems like it. Because they've just crept into Diane's apartment.

MULHOLLAND DRIVE is almost silly to the point of pretentiousness at points - at least with the last word to be uttered on screen - "silencio." That said, it does evoke the HAMLET line: "And the rest is silence," so THAT's poetic.

Sadly, Robert Forster was barely in this movie...

Oh, and Lee Grant played Louise - the old-Hollywood connections keep coming!

I can't believe this movie was intended to be a pilot?

***

Now, some final notes:

On the swapping of characters and relationships in the last 30 minutes -- my first thought was that Betty/Diane and Rita/Camilla look similar and/or they're connected by a parallel universe, and the diner is like the central hub between worlds, and hobo-Cloris Leachman is the gatekeeper between the two worlds... I buy the "dream world" explanation that some critics espouse, that's something I considered myself as I watched. But I'm not sure I believed Betty is Diane's dream version of herself. Also, I think David Lynch has a feeling about how everything fits together, yet I don't know if he's even settled on an explanation for everything. He just trusted his subconscious and he's so confident in his latent abilities, that we trust him to show us everything we need to see and take us everywhere we need to go.

I enjoy how it's a surrealist answer to SUNSET BOULEVARD. I hope in 2050, someone makes "The 405" really tying all these movies and Los Angeles roads together.

MULHOLLAND DRIVE is weird but good. Still, I don't know if, to me, it's more weird than good. It's also funny. But is it funny because it's weird or because it's actually, genuinely funny? Are these questions David Lynch actually wants me to ask or does he make it weird on impulse to cover for the fact that the film is simply just weird and based entirely on impulse? MULHOLLAND DRIVE is almost like a parody of a film noir, made by an inter-dimensional alien life-form who studied a bunch of movies from the 40's through the 90's but doesn't have a full grasp on human behavior, and DESPITE THAT, it's more of an emotional experience than a logical one. It's somewhere in between. It's self-indulgent in a way but also very giving. It's a paradox wrapped in an oxymoron wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a coffee-stained napkin covered in cigarette ash locked in a small, blue box.

***

Summing it up: I don't think there's a world where this movie would get a perfect score from me. Because ultimately, for all it's interesting and exciting moments, it's more of a passion project for David Lynch than a piece of entertainment for the audience, no matter how entertaining it may be. To me, it's a vision board more than it is a complete film. And yet, it IS a complete EXPERIENCE. And there's nothing wrong with that.

All of that said, I know David Lynch doesn't really like to give viewers a clear cut, traditional narrative. So, I had a feeling the mystery was just that, a mystery. Or even moreso, the FEELING of a mystery. It's not about where we're going, it's about the journey to the destination. And while the general atmosphere is moody and evocative and often powerful, MULHOLLAND DRIVE plays more like a 2.5 hour piece of music than a cohesive narrative. Maybe that's the best thing about it.

In the distant future, when our way of speaking has become as archaic as the words of Shakespeare are to us, it's the feeling and emotions and images of movies like MULHOLLAND DRIVE that will still have a timeless impact on the future audiences who view them.

[sunriserose1023]

Starting Over

WARNINGS: Angst, memory flashbacks, lies, painful remembering WORD COUNT: 4987 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Part Five of the “When You Come Back to Me Again” series. Sorry it’s taken so long. This chapter is filled with (what I hope are) subtle nuances that are laying the groundwork to further this story. I can’t wait to hear the feedback on this one. (Also, I’m going to really try not to leave you guys hanging for too long until the next part.)

MASTERLIST

You didn’t understand how you could possibly be tired after being in a year-long coma, but you were. You couldn’t fall asleep at night without Betty nearby, and even though you knew she was terrified every time you closed your eyes and you hated doing it to her, you kept a tight hold of her hand until your body relaxed into sleep. 

You shocked the doctors during one of their many examinations. Your father had been in the room then, watching with wide eyes as you climbed out of bed and walked across the room to get a book Betty had left you. She usually made herself scarce when your father was around, something you planned to dig into at a later time. You stopped on the way back to your bed, book in your hand, raising an eyebrow at the gaping mouths around you. 

You shouldn’t be able to walk. You shouldn’t even be able to shift position in the bed. The physical therapists came and just watched you, fascinated with how your muscles hadn’t atrophied, how you were just as strong, if not more, as you were a year ago. 

That fact left Betty uneasy. 

You were released from the hospital a year and two days after you’d been brought in. The doctors had run every test they could think of, but when everything came back normal, you begged for them to let you go home. 

Despite your father’s many pleas for you to live with him so he could take care of you (which you knew really meant his staff could look after you), you moved into Betty’s apartment. It was a small but quaint space, just enough room for the two of you. She’d taken a sabbatical from her job, so she was able to help you settle in and get comfortable, while also doing her best to help you fill in the blanks. 

But you could tell she was holding something back. 

You didn’t know what, exactly. Your father was also acting weird, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it, but you were also trying to adjust to a life you had no memory of. 

Betty found you in the little breakfast nook, curled up on the bench seat, watching the rain fall through the window. 

“Hi, honey.”

You smiled over your shoulder at her, then turned your face back to the window. Betty walked over to stand behind you, gently massaging your shoulders. 

“You okay?”

You nodded, jumping the slightest bit at the lightning that flashed. Betty continued her gentle movements. 

“I didn’t know we were in for a storm today.” “I thought it would snow some more.” “The temperature’s supposed to drop later.”

You nodded again, leaning back against her. Betty didn’t say anything, and you were quiet when you spoke. 

“It’s so weird.” “What is?” “Being awake.”

Her hands faltered just a bit, and you shook your head before you went on. 

“I feel like Rip Van Winkle or something. Like I just went to sleep, and then woke up almost ten years later.”

Betty nodded. 

“It’s got to be jarring.” “It is.”

You licked your lips, then spoke softly. 

“Have we been close? In my missing years, I mean. Like we always were?”

Betty smiled, moving to sit beside you on the bench. 

“Yes. You’re my best friend, and you always have been.”

You smiled, turning towards her and leaning your head on your hand. 

“Was it just us?” “The Ross girls against the world, baby.”

You gave a soft laugh, then shook your head. 

“Did …”

You sighed and Betty gently squeezed your ankle. 

“What?”

You lifted your eyes to hers.

“Have I had a boyfriend or anything? I mean … no one’s come by since I woke up, so I assume I’m single now, but … have I been single for the past eight years?”

Betty swallowed, trying to keep her face from showing what her heart was screaming. She looked out the window again as she spoke. 

“You went on a few dates here and there.” “But nothing … steady?”

Betty smiled as she looked over her shoulder at you. 

“Steady? What are you, fourteen and in Grease?”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Seriously.”

Betty licked her lips, glancing away as she thought of the man who had sat beside her in the hospital, absently gripping her hand as he begged God for you. You deserved to know the truth. You deserved to remember Steve and how much you apparently loved him. She turned to you, taking in a breath.

“I don’t want to have to separate the two of you. But make no mistake—I will do whatever it takes to keep my daughter safe.”

As your father’s voice rang in her mind, Betty swallowed again, making herself smile, lifting a hand to smooth over your hair. 

“I don’t know, honey. You may have had a piece on the side you never told me about.”

You laughed. 

“Now we both know I could never keep anything from you.”

Betty smiled even as her heart was breaking. She stood up, turning away from you before she burst into tears, making her way to the refrigerator. 

“You hungry?” “I could eat.” “French toast?”

You smiled. 

“Sounds good. Can I help?” “Nah. Let me handle it.” “Well, I’ll fix lunch. Or dinner, if you want.”

Betty nodded. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

Betty had offered to take you by the shop you’d opened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go. The shop had been a dream of yours for as long as you could remember, but to think of it now … 

You couldn’t remember it. Not the inventory, the books, whether or not you had any other employees. It was a complete blank, and you had decided you’d be better off to leave it that way. You put Betty in charge of selling it, and you set your mind on finding a new purpose. 

You found it in the most surprising place. 

You walked into Betty’s apartment and put your purse on the kitchen counter. You rubbed your hands together and blew on them, rubbing your arms before you made your way to the coffee pot. 

“Do you drink coffee, Miss Ross?”

You whirled around, eyes darting around the room. You’d heard the voice as though it was right in your ear, but you were alone in the apartment. You stepped away from the coffee pot, rubbing your hands along your arms as you walked into the living room, coming to a hard stop when the door opened.

Betty set her bags down and reached a hand up to fluff her hair, stopping when she saw you. 

“Honey? Are you okay?”

Your eyes were wide when you looked to her. She hurriedly set the remainder of her stuff aside, walking over and taking your hands. 

“What is it?”

You shook your head, looking up at her. 

“I don’t … I don’t know.” “What happened?”

You shook your head again. 

“I was … going to get some coffee. But I … I heard this voice.” “A voice?”

You nodded, studying the room over Betty’s shoulder. 

“Like whoever had said it was standing right next to me, but there’s no one here.” “Do you think it was a memory or something?”

You nodded. 

“I think so. It had to be, right?”

You stared into your sister’s blue eyes, and Betty smiled as she moved a hand to brush some hair back from your face. 

“You’ve been through a traumatic event, Y/N. You’ve lost a big chunk of your life. It’s only natural that lost memories would start returning.” “And have no rhyme or reason with them?”

Betty nodded. You sighed, and she rubbed your shoulder before walking towards the kitchen. You followed her, taking a seat in the breakfast nook while Betty pulled out her tea kettle—an old one that whistled when it was ready—and put it on the stove. She turned back to you and nodded. 

“What was it?”

You smiled. 

“I was reaching for your coffee pot and I heard a guy asking me if I drank coffee.”

You shrugged your shoulders, then sighed. 

“So that leads me to believe that, if nothing else, I’ve probably been asked out for coffee at least once.”

You said the words with a laugh, shaking your head as you looked down at your hands. Betty closed her eyes and sighed, licking her lips before looking to you. After a quiet moment, you lifted your head and smiled. 

“Guess what I did today.” “What did you do?” “I got a job.”

Betty’s eyebrows raised and you made a face. 

“Well … sort of.” “Details.”

You glanced back at your hands and pressed your lips together, then met her eyes. 

“I’m going to be working with Dad.” “In his office?” “No, in his campaign.”

Betty’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Campaign for what?”

You couldn’t help the smile. 

“Dad’s going to run for President, Betty. And I’m going to help him.”

You watched the color drain from Betty’s face as she reached out a hand, fumbling for the back of one of the chairs, pulling it out and sitting down hard. You shook your head, getting up from your spot and walking over to her. 

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Betty shook her head, closing her eyes as she gave a shaky breath. She leaned forward and put her head in her hands and you swallowed before you sat in the chair beside her. 

“Betty, what’s going on between you and Dad?”

She didn’t move and you shook your head. 

“I know something’s up. Did something happen while I was out?”

She lifted her head and met your eyes. 

“You weren’t ‘out,’ Y/N. You weren’t asleep. You were in a coma. There was nothing they could do to wake you up, and Dad wasn’t there.”

You blinked and she went on. 

“I was there with you. I spent every day at your bedside. Dad was there once. Once, Y/N.” “I didn’t know that.” “Of course not, because who’s going to go against the General and tell you? He was so busy, trying to bring the people who hurt you to justice and—“ “Whoa, whoa, what?”

Betty looked to you, blue eyes blazing. You shook your head. 

“What do you mean ‘the people who hurt me?’ I was in an accident, wasn’t I?”

Betty swallowed, blinking before she nodded. 

“Right. Yes.”

You blinked, shaking your head once, speaking softly.

“Are you lying to me?”

Betty met your eyes, and you could almost see her mind churning. She licked her lips, then shook her head. 

“Dad was … he didn’t want to believe it was just an accident. He thought maybe someone ran you off the road, or did a hit-and-run or something. So he went on these … wild goose chases. No matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let it go. And I … I just felt really alone.”

She looked down at her hands, tears in her eyes. 

“I just haven’t forgiven him for … I guess I feel like he abandoned me when I needed him the most.”

You sighed. 

“Honey, I’m so sorry. I know it must not be easy with me running to him all the time. And now I’m going to be working with him.”

Betty smiled as she looked up at you. 

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll get over it. Won’t be the first time ol’ Thunderbolt has let me down.”

You smiled a sad smile and she shook her head. 

“So tell me about this campaign thing. What are you going to be doing?” “To be quite honest, I think I’m going to be the star attraction.”

Betty raised her eyebrow and you shrugged. 

“Sleeping Beauty, for lack of a better term? The princess in the tower who was in a coma but is now awake, her Daddy’s pride and joy.”

You sighed. 

“I guess I’ll garner sympathy votes if nothing else.”

Betty swallowed. 

“You don’t have to do that.” “Oh, I know. But he’s going to travel all over the place campaigning, plus do all his Secretary of State duties, and he asked me to go with him.”

You shrugged your shoulders, looking down at your hands. Betty’s hand reached over to take one of yours and you lifted your head to meet her eyes. She smiled at you, moving her other hand to pat yours. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” “Really?” “Really. You can travel with Dad, see the world. Win the hearts of everyone you come in contact with.”

You rolled your eyes, gently shoving her shoulder and she leaned backwards, a wide smile on her face. She nodded, patting your hand again. 

“It’ll be good.”

You nodded, giving her a smile as you lifted a shoulder. 

“And maybe putting my mind to work will bring back some memories.”

Betty smiled. 

“Maybe so, honey.”

She patted your hand one more time, then stood up, walking to the stove, pulling the whistling tea kettle off the burner. You nodded when she turned and raised an eyebrow at you, watching as she fixed two cups of tea. She walked back to sit beside you, setting one of the cups down in front of you, lifting her own to her lips and gently blowing on it. 

“What is that?” “Tea.” “Is it any good?”

You smiled, lifting the cup to eye-level.

“Try a sip.” “I don’t know about—“ “I don’t have cooties. You can drink after me.” “It’s not your cooties I’m worried about.”

You laughed, bringing the cup back down. 

“Such a baby.” “What did you just say?” “Nothing.” “Oh, those were fighting words. Give me that damn cup.”

You blinked as the laughter trailed off in your ears. You stared at the cup before lifting your eyes to Betty, who raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. 

“You okay?”

You swallowed and nodded, lifting the cup and gently blowing on it. You’d heard that same male voice, playful and gentle this time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask your sister about it. Instead, you stared into your cup, waiting until the steam had settled before you took a sip.

Thaddeus announced his intent to run for President during a gala. He brought you up on stage with him and you smiled at the crowd, laughing at the appropriate points during his speech, keeping an eye on Betty as she stayed near the back of the room, deep in conversation with the man you recognized from the hospital, the one who’d been your nurse. 

After the success of the D.C. gala, Thaddeus put you in charge of planning another one in New York City. You and Betty took the train to Manhattan—she’d insisted on going with you, and you didn’t feel like arguing—and you stared out the window the entire time. 

You’d booked a hotel in the middle of Times Square because you loved it there, tourists be damned. You stood in front of the hotel, amidst the hustle and bustle, closing your eyes and breathing in the cool air. You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, setting off on your errands. 

You’d convinced Betty to go shopping, because you felt smothered by all her hovering. You were going to the venue where the gala would be held tomorrow night, just to make sure the decorations were coming along to your standards and to double-check the menu. 

You walked by the Brooklyn Bridge, coming to a stop and staring at it. You felt what you can only describe as a magnetic pull, and you started walking across it. You stopped and walked to the bridge’s side, staring out over Brooklyn. 

“See, there’s all these little sections that make up Brooklyn. DUMBO, Coney Island, Bensonhurst. But over there, down by the port? That’s Red Hook. That’s my neck of the woods.”

You stumbled to one of the benches that were spaced out along the bridge and you sat down. You put your head in your hands and winced at the ache throbbing behind your temples. 

That same voice had been echoing in your ear. Whoever it was, he was from here. And you’d apparently visited New York with him, so that he could show you where he was from. 

“Excuse me. Are you okay?”

You lifted your head, eyebrows raising when you noticed that the man in front of you was wearing sunglasses and holding a long white cane. You sniffled, unaware that you’d even been crying. You nodded, then spoke softly. 

“I’m fine.” “No offense, but it doesn’t sound that way.”

You smiled, sniffling again before looking up at the man. 

“Would you like to sit?” “Thank you.”

He sat beside you, folding up his cane. He sighed, shifting as far back as he could go. 

“I had a long night and slept through my stop on the subway. Decided I’d get some fresh air before I tried again.”

You smiled. 

“Coffee might help.” “You asking me out?”

You laughed. 

“No offense, but I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled as he shifted, holding out a hand. 

“Matt Murdock.” “Y/N Ross.”

His face faltered just a bit and you couldn’t stop the smile. 

“So you’ve heard of me.” “Guilty.”

You gave a quiet sigh, turning back and staring out over the city. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. It was … touch and go for a while, right?” “That’s what they tell me.”

The two of you were quiet, and Matt leaned closer to you. 

“You’re based in D.C., right? What brings you here?” “My father. He’s announcing his Presidential candidacy at a gala we’re throwing tomorrow night.” “Oh, I think we got an invite to that.” “Oh?”

He smiled when you looked back at him. 

“I’m a partner at Nelson and Murdock.” “Ugh, you’re a lawyer?”

He laughed, picking up on the playful tone of your voice.  

“Guilty again, I’m afraid.” “And here I thought we could be friends.”

You gave a dramatic sigh and he laughed again. Your phone chirped in your pocket and you brought it out, still unused to the sophisticated iPhone. You sighed as you read the alarm that you were needed at the venue in five minutes. You resigned yourself to being late and turned to your partner on the bench. 

“I hate to run out on good company, but …” “Oh no, it’s fine. Most people take off running when they find out I’m a lawyer.”

You laughed, moving to lay a hand on his arm. 

“To tell you the truth, I shouldn’t have even been out here. I got distracted and now I’ll be late.” “Where are you headed off to?”

You spouted off the name of the venue where the gala would be and Matt smiled. 

“That’s not too far from my office. Would you mind some company?”

You found yourself smiling. 

“I think I’d like that.”

Betty sipped her champagne as she looked over the room. She was glad you chose this venue in Hell’s Kitchen, instead of one in a different part of the city. Betty lowered her head as a pain stuck in her heart when she thought of Harlem and the last time she’d been there, after Bruce had destroyed it. She shook her head and finished the last of her champagne, eyes searching for you. 

You were wearing a pale pink gown, sequins sparkling in the light as you laughed and spoke with a small crowd. Betty smiled when she saw you, her smile widening when you spotted her, a wide smile coming over your face. You left the crowd that had gathered around you, making your way to Betty, hugging her. 

“Hi!” “Hey, sweetie. You look gorgeous.”

You waved a hand at her, looping your arm through hers as you turned and looked over the room. 

“Good turnout, huh?” “Great turnout.”

You nodded, a smile coming to your lips.

“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Do you see that guy over there?” “Narrow it down for me, babe. There’s a hundred guys over there.”

You smiled. 

“The one with the sunglasses on.” “Seriously? Who wears—“ “He’s blind, Betty.”

She winced, cheeks growing red, and you patted her arm. 

“It’s okay. We met earlier, just so happened to have this gala in common.” “Y/N.”

Betty blinked at you and you shrugged. 

“He’s a nice guy and we just talked. Had a good conversation, that’s all.” “But you … want to have another conversation?”

You pursed your lips, shrugging again. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t hate it.”

Betty blinked as she looked out over the crowd, eyes landing on the man in the dark suit. He had on a blood red tie, and a white cane that he kept close to himself. Another man was standing beside him, lips moving as he spoke, making Betty wonder if this man was relaying details about the room to the blind man. 

“His name is Matt. Matt Murdock.”

Betty’s eyes widened.

“Of Nelson and Murdock?”

You nodded and she gave a shaky sigh. Betty knew that while you were in the hospital, the General had been watching the Nelson and Murdock firm closely, once he’d found out about the masked vigilante who frequented Hell’s Kitchen. There was no way a blind man could be a vigilante, so the General eventually gave up. But Betty had come too far to lose you now. 

“Maybe you could have another conversation … if we weren’t headed to L.A. tomorrow.”

You groaned.

“I know. I just love New York. If I could live anywhere in the world, I think it would be right here.”

You took in a breath as your vision went fuzzy, that gentle male voice sounding in your ear. 

“You know … someday when I’m ready to retire, I want to come back here.” “To Brooklyn?” “Yeah. Think you could make it as a New Yorker?” “Long as you’re here, I think I can manage.”

You groaned, closing your eyes before opening them again. 

“Damn it, Y/N, talk to me before I make a scene.”

You groaned again, grabbing Betty’s hand and squeezing it. With her focus on you and your eyes closed, you and Betty both missed Foggy Nelson’s eyes on you, a few seconds before he murmured to the man at his side, who gripped his cane just a bit tighter. 

You blinked and loosened your hold on Betty, wincing when your eyes met hers. She shook her head and you gave a quiet whine. 

“Hurts.” “What does?” “My head.” “Do you want to go?”

You nodded, and Betty pulled you to her side, leading you out the back of the venue. You took in great gulps of air when you and Betty burst through the door, and you left her behind to walk a little, wrapping your arms around yourself in the cool night air. After a moment, Betty spoke. 

“What just happened?”

You shook your head, and she stepped closer to you. 

“No, you … you were in physical pain, Y/N. You kept making this quiet … wounded sound and I can’t … god, it hurt to hear it.”

You gave a shaky breath and turned to face her, and her eyes softened at the tears slipping down your cheeks. You shook your head when she walked to you, reaching shaking hands to take hold of her arms. 

“Sweetheart, talk to me.” “It hurts.” “What hurts?”

You let out a sob as you lifted your eyes to your sister’s. 

“Remembering.”

Betty shook her head, worried eyes locked onto you. You let out another sob, gripping her arms tighter. 

“I keep … hearing voices and … I might see something, but it … it hurts. It hurts so bad.”

Betty pulled you into her arms and you put your forehead on her shoulder as you cried. She gently rubbed your back, patting your hair as she whispered to you. 

“It’s okay, sweet girl. Just breathe. I’m here.”

You gave a slow, shuddered breath, and Betty swallowed hard as she closed her eyes before her own tears could fall. 

“Were you scared? When you had to take the plane down?”

He nodded, hand clasped with yours. You spoke again, just as softly. 

“What did you think?”

He sighed, leaning back as he shook his head. 

“It was weird. I knew what I had to do, and I knew the repercussions. I knew I wasn’t making it out of there. It was absolutely terrifying, but Peggy … she talked me through it. We talked like we were going to see each other later that day.” “That must have made it worse.” “In a way, yes. Because I never knew what my last word to her may be. But then again, the last thing I ever heard was the voice of the woman I loved, and that … it made it all seem worth it.”

You blinked your eyes open when your body jolted sideways. You turned your head to see your sister beside you, white-knuckling the armrest between you. 

“Betty?” “I’m fine. Just a little—“

She gasped as you were jolted again, and she squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling forcefully through her teeth. 

“Turbulence.” “Are we there yet?”

She nodded, and you realized the jolting was partially turbulence, partially descent. You shifted in your seat and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. 

“Were you dreaming?”

You kept your eyes closed as you nodded to answer Betty’s question. You didn’t offer up any details, so she spoke again. 

“Memory or dream?” “I honestly can’t tell. It seemed like a memory, but we were talking about … god, Betty, I don’t even know. I think it was a plane crash? A suicide mission? And then he said something about the woman he loved and he wasn’t talking about me, so …”

You made a frustrated noise. 

“I think I’m confusing reality with a movie or something.” 

Betty swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment before she opened them again. 

“‘He?’”

You nodded. 

“It’s a man’s voice. Sometimes I can see … like his hands, but I can never make out his face. I don’t know who he is, but I keep hearing him.” “Nice voice?”

You gave a quiet laugh. 

“It is. Kind of deep, very masculine. Slight accent.” “Hmm.”

You elbowed her and Betty laughed, sucking in a breath as the plane jolted one last time as it landed. When the plane came to a stop, you and Betty both gave long exhales of relief. The two of you stood and Betty took your bags out of the overhead compartment. You pulled your suitcase behind you, smiling and nodding to the flight attendants and the pilot as you and Betty made your way into the airport. The two of you made it out of the airport, where a car was waiting, and Betty pulled her sunglasses out of her purse. 

“Welcome to L.A., my dear.”

You sipped a glass of champagne, sighing as you set the glass on a small table. You picked your skirt up and made your way out of the ballroom, walking down a hall and stopping to look out a window. 

“Miss Ross?”

You turned at the sound of the feminine voice to find a tall, slender woman coming your way. Her hair was cut short, and she had a smile on her face, her golden gown sparkling in the low lights of the hallway. She held out a hand to you, shaking yours as she introduced herself. 

“Hope Van Dyne.” “Y/N Ross.”

Hope stepped around you and you gave a quiet laugh. 

“I enjoy parties like this, but it …” “Gets a little stuffy, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, smiling at the woman smiling back at you. Hope crossed her arms as she looked out the same window you’d been staring. 

“It’s hard to see the moon through all the smog, but it’s still a pretty night.” “It is.”

You felt an itch between your shoulder blades and you turned to look at the woman beside you. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

She smiled as she answered, keeping her blue eyes trained out the window. 

“Hope.” “Do I know you, Hope?”

She shook her head. 

“No, we’ve never met.”

You swallowed, glancing down the hallway, looking back when Hope gave a quiet chuckle. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Ross.” “You can understand my apprehension.” “More than you realize.”

Hope sighed as she turned to face you. 

“Trust me when I say, you are the safest woman on the planet right now.”

You tilted your head as you stared at her, and Hope shook her head. 

“I understand you’ve lost your memories?” “For the past eight years, yes.”

Hope slowly nodded. 

“Miss Ross, some very important events occurred in those eight years. Things you need to remember.”

You shook your head. 

“I can’t just make myself remember things. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Hope slowly nodded. 

“I need you to try harder.” “Why?” “Because you’re not the only one who’s lost something from those years.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned at the sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway. You blinked when you saw Betty and your father, narrowing your eyes when you saw the relief on his face. You jerked when you heard a quiet buzzing at your ear, lifting a hand to swat at the bug you couldn’t see. You turned back to face Hope, sucking in a breath when you found the hallway empty. 

“Y/N, you had us scared to death. No one could find you!”

You accepted Betty’s hug, staring over her shoulder, where the woman— Hope— had just been talking to you. 

She had ... right?

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[finalcreacher]

Something Not Quite Wrong, But Not Quite Right || Ch. 3

T/W: Panic Attack, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Homophobia (it’s like one or two comments made by Betty, and they’re a little iffy)...will add more triggers if asked!!

Reminder- Jones IS Jughead, it’s a little confusing right now, but will be explained soon.

Please make sure to read the previous chapters first before this one.

Word Count: Just Under 2k

Masterlist

Betty, admittedly, had spent more time thinking about Archie Andrews that summer than any times previous. It was something to do with finishing her first year of high school, mixed in with her summer internship- she was feeling, almost, grown up. Able to take on any world challenge that she happens upon- including her big crush on Archie. Kevin even spent the evening of the Pop’s meet up hyping her up about it in her bedroom.

Kevin was always good for that. He liked chatting about cute boys, and drama and the everydays of high school life...and what they’d do if they weren’t in Riverdale, and bound by parental expectation (the last part holding mainly true for Betty). It’s all stuff she couldn’t talk with Archie about (for obvious reasons), or Jones- who had always preferred artful movies and scary stories over anything Betty and Kevin enjoyed. Jones would always input his own playful quip to conversations- which she liked. She liked that he tried to connect in his own way, and sometimes what he said made her laugh- but it wasn’t the same with Kevin.

And as bad as it was for her to say- Kevin was always more of the girl friend, than Jones ever was.

But it was that night, with Kevin helping her get ready- that she told Archie. Told him she liked him. She was bound with so many nerves she could hardly notice how off-put he seemed. Not by her, in particular- but in a general sense. Caught in a haze. It didn’t really dawn on her till after they had left Pop’s, and she was laying in bed, grinning at the thought of how he likes her. And it hits her so suddenly, Betty almost feels sick.

She doesn’t mention any of this to Kevin. Who she’d previously tell everything to. And she certainly doesn’t tell her mom, who’s still so worked up over Polly running away with her red-headed boyfriend- that she thinks her mom might have a heart attack if she found out her and Archie were anything more than friends.

And she doesn’t talk to Archie about it at first- and then, before it gets too much, she confronts him. Though, less confront (Betty was still working on that strong, confident attitude that other girls seemed to have), and more so confirmed what they’re feelings meant. With all the bubbly feelings that surged through her that night, she didn’t think that far past telling him. It was all confusing and odd and a new terrain past that. She supposes as Archie’s first...whatever they are...that they’d both be going into the unknown together. Which was still scary, but comforting to know.

She lets him know over text. It’s well read, with no spelling (or grammar) errors. She asks him if this means she’s his girlfriend. And Archie replies with an odd “of course!” followed by a smiley. Betty gets that over bubbly feeling again, and tries not to think about the smiley face too much. She tells him she wants to keep it on the down low- and Archie says he’s okay with that.

And while Betty, who said she wanted it on the DL, and knew it was safer this way- still felt strange when Archie said okay.

When they meet up the first day of school- Betty’s nervous. It’s the same nervousness that she had at Pop’s. But the way Archie smiled at her, and held her hand all the way to the school doors- it made her heart swell with joy. And maybe, the smiley face text isn’t something to fret over- it’s just the beginning of this after all. And she feels safe, and okay, and almost confident when she walks into class that day.

///

Betty meets Veronica that morning, having volunteered to show her around for a while before school starts. Except, when she meets Veronica- it’s not who she expects. The school counselor would give Betty a sheet with the kid’s name and classes- so she could be prepared for their arrival.

“Hey, you must be Jaime- I’m Betty.” She reaches out a hand to her.

Veronica tries hiding a grimace, and replies politely, “It’s Veronica, actually.”

“Oh, I’ll make a note of that,” she smiles, crossing off the name on the top of the sheet, and writing her real name in cute, cursive letters.

Betty tells her about the history of the school, and V jokes about the outdatedness of it- and it makes Betty laugh more than it should. And before they know it, other kids are filtering through the halls- including her best friend, Kevin. He tags along, excitedly clasping his books between his arms and introducing himself.

“Oh, you must be the gay best friend- sorry,” she lets out a forced, nervous laugh. “It’s nice to see I’m not alone here.”

Kevin arches a brow at her, not wanting to pry too much. But the gossip queen in him took over- “So, you’re gay, too?”

She laughs, “Something like that.”

The three of them stop by a cluster of lockers, and the hallways were crowding with students. Stuffing their lockers with books and sweatshirts and other miscellaneous objects- that definitely weren’t all school related, as they should be- before being shut forcefully shut. It was a loud and chaotic event, and yet Archie- who’s putting away his books almost noiselessly, and appears in his own world- who receives the full attention from the group.

“Oh, he’s really cute,” Veronica smirks, and eyes Archie, who’s putting books into his locker. “He’s not taken, is he?”

“He’s not but, Betty’s got eyes on him-” Kevin starts.

Betty cuts him off in a blushy, awkward way. “We’re actually dating.”

He looks at her with wide eyes, “Woah, when did that happen?”

She smiles, “I’ll tell you later, Kev.” She turns back to Veronica, who’s looking guiltily down at her hands.

“I’m sorry, really,” Veronica rushes out. “I never would have said anything- I wouldn’t if- I’m trying to be better than I was at my last school.” She admits.

Betty wasn’t expecting that, but smiles at her response. “It’s okay,” she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, giggling. “It’s still new, even Kevin didn’t know. Sorry about that, Kev.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, “Okay, Betty. But next time, you’ll have to tell me all the details!”

With that, Kevin scampers off to class, leaving Betty alone with Veronica again. “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fine, Veronica,” she smiles back at her- and Veronica seems to ease just at that. And really, it was fine. Betty had always noticed in chick flicks, how the girls would get insanely jealous when other girls made eyes at their boyfriends’. And Betty, truthfully, should have felt more jealous than she did. She wasn’t sure she’d tell Kevin about that though. “Let’s just get to class, right? You can meet him at lunch.”

The girls walk to class together, and afterwards head to the gym- where an all school assembly was being held.

///

Archie should have known the moment he walked into the gymnasium- with his sweaty, shaky, palms and knotted stomach. How the room buzzed with noise from people he’d known since he was just a kid, and how it should have felt comforting and familiar and it just made him nauseous. All of this should have been warning enough for him, but he still filed in with the rest of his classmates, and sat in the bleachers. What was worse- was he wasn’t by any one of his friends. All forced to sit near kids you’d come from class with. They were all people Archie knew but he didn’t know like Betty or Kevin. They didn’t feel safe.

There’s a small section with a podium and chairs. The principal and vice principal and a few other staff members are seated- and one of his classmates who he recognized (because of course he recognized her- who wouldn’t?) as Cheryl Blossom. As pretty, respectable, rich Cheryl Blossom. With a fiery attitude like her red hair. She’s bold and bright and a little viscous. And she’s always intimidated Archie, if he’s honest.

Archie wasn’t sure what the assembly was for, or why Cheryl was standing up there with the faculty. It wasn’t that people hadn’t told Archie on purpose- he could handle big news, whether people would like to think it or not. But rather it wasn’t good news- and no one was jumping at the opportunity to let him in on it. And Betty would have, really, if it hadn’t involved her sister. But telling someone that your sister and her boyfriend ran away over the summer? It wouldn’t be on the top of your list.

It was scary and hard for Betty to think about- and she was sure, even with all the working Archie had done, that he’d have at least heard about it. In any other circumstances he would have. But Archie had spent a vast majority of the summer stuck in his head. Cloudy and unsure.

To say that when the principal stood up to the podium, and gave way for the Blossom to speak- he was surprised was an understatement. He tries to listen to her closely, but loses track early on. He supposes he’ll just ask Betty or Kevin afterwards for clarification. He finds his eyes wandering around the crowds, nearly forgetting about the Not Good feeling he’d walked into the room with.

And there it was again.

It’s when he locks eyes with her. Long hair pulled in a professional ponytail.

His chest tightens and he can’t breathe. He tries to gulp down air but he has to be Good Archie. Good, Respectful, Obedient Archie. He can’t be disruptful, so he tries to do it quietly. They’re shallow breaths. He tries looking away, but the same uneasy- unsafe- feeling stays with him. He shakily gets up, and sneaks from the group of students. He’s not sure if anyone sees him- his head too cloudy. The one thing he’s sure of, is he can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he stumbles out of the gymnasium. He turns the corner, and hits his body all too hard against the wall- falling to the ground, knees curled by his chest.

He gasps for air, and it’s sharp when it hits his lungs. Even with the oxygen, he still feels as if he’s suffocating. He’s breathing feels labored, gasp and gasp and gasp- and then he hears a garbled voice, and he can just barely sense someone crouching down beside him.

“Hey, Arch- Archie.” It’s calm and firm. “Can you hear me, buddy?”

Archie instinctively freezes- and part of him thinks he should leave. He’s not sure he could, even if he wanted to though.

“It’s just me, Archie.” The voice sighs, and combs a hand through their hair- a beanie held in the other hand. They fix the hat back on. “It’s just Jones.”

“Can I touch you?” Archie doesn’t respond, but he’s not as shaky as before. Jones reaches a hand to his shoulder, and Archie freaks out.

“Woah, woah,” Jones takes his hand back. “Easy there, Arch. Do you know where you are?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re at school. Riverdale High- you know, the Bulldogs?” He tries joking.

He doesn’t laugh, and it’s that miserable ache that fills him up instead.

“Arch, c’mon, man.” It’s a desperate attempt- he can hear it in Jones' voice. How they try to stay strong and calm, yet it wavers as they comfort him. He hates to make his friends feel like this- not entirely sure what ‘this’ even was.

Archie falls into his arms, sniffling and crying, and Jones holds him tight- as if they hadn’t had a falling out that summer and they were still best friends.

[lavenderandsage]

Episode Five of Behind the Scenes: A Southside Story

The instructions given were straightforward.

Drop off the box at Pop's and be discreet. Under no circumstances, be seen, especially by the waitress.

Simple.

Sage waited until the last customer had left the restaurant. There always seemed to be a lull around this time. She cautiously peeked through one of the windows, as the waitress moved behind the counter. Sage found herself surprised that she recognized the woman as the one from a few nights ago at the Drive-In. She was the one who met FP behind the building.

Her curiosity peaked.

She secured the lid on the box, making sure it was on tight. "Sorry little guy," she whispered to the creature inside as she hugged the box close to her chest and slowly crept to the entrance.

Another careful peek through the window.

The waitress's back was still turned. Sage opened the door, careful not to jingle the bells and accidentally announce herself. Gently placing the box right in the walkway where the brunette would stumble on it, she slinked backward back out the front door. Once she was back outside of the diner, she broke out into a run until she was safely out of distance and smiled.

On a whim, she decided to take the long way back home passing through the old drive-in.

Curiosity seemed to be getting the best of her lately but she could afford the time. She purposely beelined to Jughead's booth, hoping maybe, just maybe he would be there.

She stopped when she saw the graffiti spray-painted on the vinyl side now.

Jughead Jones wuz here.

Complete with his signature crown hat.

He had moved on. Of course, he had. They were demolishing the place, there was no way he could stay. So where was he now?

She sighed loudly, louder than she needed to, raking her hands through her long hair, fighting the rush of disappointment that overwhelmed her.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, grateful for the distraction. It was a text from FP.

Sunnyside Trailer

She stared longingly at the booth one last time and then glanced back down at her phone. With a deep breath, she turned in the opposite direction to head to the trailer park.

What now? She wondered.

*** As she strolled, lost her in her own thoughts, a door slamming pulled her back to earth. Her attention shifted to the direction of the person that made the noise.

Her heart seized up in her chest. Her feet felt heavy as if they were superglued to the ground, keeping her from moving either forward or back.

Jughead now stood a few feet away, frozen in place as well.

Per usual, they seemed to be at a standstill.

She bit her lip hard, swallowing the lump in her throat as her arms crossed over her chest.

He didn't move, his jaw clenching and his grip tightening around the bag he was clutching.

“Jughead," she whispered, all she could muster.

He shook his head fervently. "I can't do this now, Sage. I just had to pick up a few things from the trailer and I'm meeting someone." He took a micro-step forward, shifting his gaze past her.

"If not now, then when? Another year from now?" she insisted, the words bubbling out and over her lips before she could stop them.

"Sage, I just asked you for one thing. Don't... don't go down this road. Don't become that!" He gestured to the trailer he once considered home, but she knew that he was referencing a who, not a what.

"Oh, Jughead, god! You know, someday, you'll be faced with an... impossible choice. There’s really no right and there is no wrong. There's just what you have to do."

His lips curled in a frown and his eyebrows knitted together.

She balled her fist, feeling her nails tear in the flesh of her palms, tears pricking her eyes as she gritted her teeth until her jaw protested. "I'm not like you, Jughead. I'm not brave or good at being alone. I always had you looking out for me, but that was it. And admit it, you couldn't take care of me with everything that was going on with you and your mom and dad. I was bringing you down too. I couldn’t be another thing that stressed you out. I didn't know where I was going to sleep, or where my next meal was coming from. I was always hungry and cold and just..." she inhaled shakily, lip trembling, “…so, so tired of lying about it to everyone."

He melted some, his posture becoming more lacked as his shoulders softened. He took a small step forward toward her, closing the gap between them.

She smiled waterily, blinking back tears that she willed not to fall. "And now, I have a room that's all mine. Nothing gets stolen or taken away, and I have food that's hot and sometimes, even good for me. It's not moldy or bland, or gross or out of a trash can. I have friends, real friends, good friends, who care about me. And god, I know, FP is not the father you wished he was. He has failed you again and again in ways I can't understand. He has been a shitty father to you, but he... oh, he is the closest thing I think I have ever had. And that's something, Jug."

She dropped her head down, a tiny sob escaping her as her shoulders slumped further. "Please, can't you understand? Even for a second? I'm okay. I'm more than okay. And I'm surviving finally. And the only thing it cost, was you."

He dropped his bag and rushed her, embracing her tightly. Her hands snaked around to his back, reciprocating the tight hug.

He exhaled long, his eyes falling shut. "You never told me how bad... I wish I could have... I didn't know...." he trailed off.

They broke apart. She swiped her fingers under her eyes to wipe away any evidence of tears and straightened up. His Adam’s apple dancing along his throat as he swallowed thickly.

"Okay, I'll try," he vowed, finally speaking. "I will."

It was enough.

He took a step back, picking up his forsaken backpack. He looked torn. "I'm sorry, I really have to go. I'm meeting Betty at school and I'm already really late. We'll talk soon."

She nodded softly, feeling better and worse simultaneously. "Okay."

He gave a tight smile and a small wave and hurried off. She waited till he was gone and made sure she composed herself before walking up to FP's trailer.

He was waiting for her.

Leaning casually against the door frame, his arms were folded over his chest, one leg crossed in front of the other.

"For a girl who rarely shows any type of emotion, that was quite the performance," he commented, with a tilt of his head.

She squared her shoulders up, walking up the steps. "It's fine. I'm fine,” she bristled.

"Hmm, come inside for a minute."

She shut the door behind her and waited as FP went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, cracking it open on the countertop. Her eyes wandered to the empty bottles that littered the countertops.

"I got a call almost immediately after you made the drop to my friend. She got the message loud and clear. So now, you’re gonna go to Pop's for a milkshake and she's going to give you a takeout bag."

"Okay," she acknowledged slowly, her attention drawn to an open closet. It wasn’t the closet itself but what was in the closet. A blue and yellow varsity jacket with the name embroidered on the sleeve 'Jason'.

He followed her gaze, then reached out and shut the closet door with a sharp click of the lock. "Tomorrow, 3:00 PM. Bring it right to Tall Boy, no stops," he said, firmly.

"Why do you have Jason's jacket?" she inquired, the words accidentally slipping out.

He was silent for a few moments. "Insurance," he finally said.

FP’s answer confused her. What did that mean? They both stared at each other. FP wasn't going to say anything more about it, and she knew better than to ask.

Sage broke the silence first. "Tomorrow, 3:00 PM. Got it." She turned and reached for the door handle.

"Also," he said, clearing his throat. "I heard what you said to Jughead about me. I don't deserve it, but I do appreciate it. God knows that boy has been through a lot.”

She didn’t respond.

“I’m going to try,” he echoed his son’s words from before. He looked uncharacteristically embarrassed and ashamed for a moment. “I’m going to clean up my act and get my family back, I promise.”

She bit her lip as she turned and opened the door, her back turned to him.

"Sage?"

"Yea?" her back was still turned.

"Thank you."

***

To read go/subscribe to the story, click on the link below! Also let me know if you have any advice on formatting here on Tumblr... I’m a n00b. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441756/chapters/47066869

[bvckysmanbun]

Isn’t It Lovely [2/7]

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: “So…what are we now?”

Written for the 2.5k Challenge by @wehaveabucky

A/N: Part Two!! I apologize for taking a bit to update. A lot of research into field hospitals and the Army Nurses Corps went into this, as well trying to figure out how Hydra turned Bucky into the Winter Soldier. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated! If I left out any warnings, don’t hesitate to tell me!

Warnings: angst, description of World War II injuries, torture, abuse

Word Count: 2.482

Masterlist - Series Masterlist - Part (2) - The Winter Soldiers

“Let’s go, ladies!” called out one of the head nurses. You looked up from your joined hands, watching the other nurses run past the tent. You adjusted your cover and slipped the folded piece of paper into the pocket of your cargo pants and rushed out of the tent to the join the other nurses.

“How many do we have incoming?” a smaller nurse called out. You pulled up the Red Cross band on your arm and watched as soldiers came rushing towards the tents. Men on makeshift gurneys, others that had their arms around their comrades’ shoulders for support; screams, cries, and groans of agony filled the air. What was once the smell of dirt now mixed with the smell of burned flesh and dried blood.

You watched as men were laid on cots, those who were in severe conditions were laid on tables further into the tents. You wanted to zone out, you wanted to just stand there, to take a moment and process all the that was happening around. You watched as more and more men came in, the cots filling, and air became thick with the agony and pain.

Nurses were building makeshift cots, prepping IV bags, grabbing blades to rip clothes and uniforms to access wounds. Those who brought in the wounded were rushing back out, either to bring in more wounded men or to escape the tents of the field hospital.

“Doesn’t matter how many more we’ve got in comin’, let’s get to work,” you called out as you came back to your senses. You rushed off to cots filled with recovering soldiers, checking vitals, analyzing who was strong enough to be moved to the next tent where those who weren’t under critical condition were located. You’d whistle the soldiers who carried in their wounded men moments ago over to assist you and other nurses in moving them.

When you weren’t hovering over them, you’d be immediately called over to help with procedures, holding down screaming men, comforting them as other nurses and the limited number of doctors made the decision of whether or not their limbs were viable or needed to be amputated.

There times where you were assigned to the psychiatry tents. Nurses were not for medical purposes, but for the soldiers’ morale. If soldiers saw that nurses could hold the weight of war on their shoulders and deal with the mental damage that it caused, then so could they.

Behind the curtains of the nurses’ personal quarters, tents, tears were shared. Silent tears and embraced hands. Sometimes the nurses that specialized in psychiatry would open the floor for everyone to say what they needed, whether it be words of comfort or just needing to discuss what they’ve seen.

But not all of the nurses choose this way to relieve some of the weight of the war and the wounded men from their shoulders. Others, including yourself, had their own way to distract themselves.

-

“Dear [Y/n],

I don’t know where to start this, but I can assure you that I’m okay. I still can’t feel as if I betrayed you and Buck by leaving you on your own. I know you can handle yourself, you’re more than capable, but I don’t know, doll, I can’t help this feeling. It’s the middle of a war and we’ve left you in Brooklyn.

[Y/n]…I don’t know anymore. I signed up to fight the frontlines and to fight for the cause and to serve my country, but not…like this. Not as a monkey. I wanted to be soldier, one that didn’t wear tights and brought ten percent discounts on bonds to every state I visited.

Two hundred men were captured in the place we’re at now. It’s…the 107th, from what Peggy’s told me (you remember the letter about Peggy I hope). Or rather what’s left of the of 107th. I went rushing to find him. But…[Y/n]…he was one of the two hundred men who were captured…

I swear to you, to our friendship that I’m going to make sure that jerk makes it back home. We’re both going to come back to you. I..I plan on going to the camp he and the other man are being held (at least where we think they’re being held). There’s really no easy – “

“[Y/n]! Doll! You comin’out to the east tent?” Mary’s voice called from the opening. You hummed out a confirmation as your fingers danced along the worn-out edges of the letter. It wasn’t the last letter you’d receive; you knew there were at least a couple more waiting in your mail slot, but it was the last one you received before leaving Brooklyn. The one that pushed into seeking out the Army Nurse Corps.

You folded the letter carefully, as if it would shatter to pieces with one rough touch. Gently you placed the letter in the front left breast pocket of your jacket as you grabbed your canteen from under the pillow.

As you looked over your shoulder to the opening, you noticed that Mary was not alone. Betty with the red curls was on her left and Nancy with the short black hair on right. You smiled softly at them as you pushed yourself up from the cot, your hand patted against the breast pocket of your jacket to reassure yourself of the letter.

“Whose providin’?” you laughed quietly as you walked over to them, pushing yourself out of the entrance. Nancy laughs as she and Mary held up canteens, Betty pointing at your canteen with a playful smile. You couldn’t help the large grin that crossed your face as you followed them towards the east tent.

Nurses sat around on the makeshift beds of the east tent, quiet chatter of the one large conversation. There were women who were still in uniform for the night shift, awaiting the emergencies or the cries of those who’d wake in pain, not knowing where they were nor what happened or why they were missing a limb or just in so much pain.

The other nurses sat in their night gowns, canteens lifted to their lips as they laughed at small thing was said. You sat yourself next to one of the nurses in uniform, Helen. She was small girl with a big heart. When it was time between just the nurses, Helen was the sweetest and most positive young girl you had ever met, but when she was in the field, she completely changed to a strong and fierce young woman. You couldn’t help but admire her as she reminded you of home.

“Alright ladies,” Ruth, a shit-eating grin on her face. You smiled at Helen as she rolled her eyes. Ruth, one of the head nurses that worked in the between the field hospital and a hospital that was a couple miles down in the nearest town, began the rundown of night’s tales. It was a bit hard to understand, but you just played along.

It was an hour and two swigs later that Helen looked at you with a soft face. “[Y/n], please don’t mind me intruding on your life back home, but what’s your life in New York like?”

You looked down at the canteen in your hand before your eyes roamed to spot Nancy, Mary and Betty. You shot soft smiles at them before you skimmed the rest of the tent. Your eyes landed back on a Helen, her green eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of excitement. You bit back a small laugh and shook your head as you looked back down at the canteen cradled in your hands.

“I’d be out every day with my best boys, Steve and Bucky,” you smiled widely. “Steve would always be out, squeezing himself into trouble while Buck and I would find him and get him out of said trouble. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. Bucky and I always, always, as kids, tried to play off that Stevie was my brother that been dropped so many times on the head,” you laughed.

Helen looked at you with an amused smile, her eyes gleaming. “You and this Bucky together?”

Heat flushed through your cheeks as you shook your head, a nervous smile played onto your lips. Your lips parted as you prepared to explain to Helen what happened the day that Bucky declared to Steve and you that he would leave for that next day, just when loud screams echoed through the dark night.

All sound in the tent stopped, seconds passed by as the nurses waited for any other sound. More screams, not just from one person as it sounded, echoed through the forest’s air. All women rushed out of the tent, lamps in hands as they ran to the tents that hosted the recovering. You were behind with Helen, a lamp in your hand. The both of you began followed the rest of the crowd until a shriek from the woods captured your attention.

“Help! Help me!” a brutal scream called out. Helen stared at you with wide eyes, her face showed that she was wondering if the two of you should go into the depth of the trees on your own. The same brutal scream echoed from the woods a few seconds later.

“Go get others, I’ll find the source,” you called out as you began running towards the line of the trees.

“[Y/n]! Don’t! Don’t be stupid!” Helen screamed.

“Just go!” you screamed back, pushing tree branches away from your body, your ears listening for the screams. Leaves crunched under your feet as the screams got closer. If Bucky was here, he’d say that now I’m acting like Steve, you thought to yourself.

You refused to call out to the victim. “I’m pulling a Steve,” you muttered to yourself as you no longer heard the screams. Carefully and slowly, you turned in a complete circle. You gave it a few seconds before walking back in the direction of the field hospital when a sharp pain went through your left leg. You gasped as you feel forward onto your hands and knees.

The lamp broke as it crashed into the ground. Dry leaves count on fire around you. The pain in your leg increased, which caused you to cry out and fall onto your stomach. Tears filled your eyes as you made yourself look through the fire.

Several figures were walking towards you slowly. They’re uniforms similar to the Germans, except for the black leather gloves, red lining, the masks and helmets, and red emblem on the shoulder. It appeared to be a red skull with tentacles. You looked up at the men’s faces, your eyes narrowed from both pain and trying to see through the heat.

“Hail Hydra,” were the last the words you heard as everything went black.

-

Loud beeping hazily echoed through the room along with screams. Pain ran up your left leg and into your chest.

A gasp escaped your mouth as your eyes shot open, your arms pushing against the restraints. The skin around your wrists were rubbed raw. Your eyes frantically scanned the room.

The metal room itself was rusty from what you could tell. Few feet away from where you were, there was a table. On it sat a folder and a book. There was no chair, no pens, no pencils, no other indication that someone has recently been present. Above the desk was a single light bulb, the only one shining brighter than the rest of the lights strung among the ceiling.

There was nothing within the room except the metal surgical table you were strapped to. An IV line with blue liquid was streaming into your left arm. You could the liquid pulsing through your veins, pants of short breaths left your mouth. You clenched your eyes shut as locks of the door whirred and sounded loudly.

“Good morning, soldier,” a thick Russian called out. You gulped as you opened your eyes, taking the sight of a man in uniform standing before the desk, two other soldiers behind him. The heart monitor beeped faster as you watched him open the folder. “Good morning, soldier,” he repeated, this time louder than before.

“I-I’m not a soldier,” you croaked. “I’m just a –“

“You were a nurse. Yes, forty-seven years ago.” Your eyes widen. Your jaw dropped as tears formed. Forty-seven years ago. You were out on the field 1944. How was it 1991? 1991. Steve. Bucky. Your eyes moved to the IV of blue fluid running into your arm, tears falling down your cheeks.

“What did you do me?” you asked quietly.  He did not speak, he only approached the table. Your eyes stayed on the IV line, the bag slowly emptying. You glanced at him when he shouted something to the soldiers in Russian, your eyes followed them as they rushed out of the door.

“What did you do to me?!” you screamed, your chest and back arching off the table. Your hands rubbed against the restraints, the raw and exposed skin aching and burning. “Why me?!” you cried, continuing to thrash against the restraints.

“Doesn’t matter, soldier.”

“Stop calling me that!” you screamed. A rough hand gripped your chin. Your mouth was squished into a small “o,” your eyes frantically searched the man’s face. His eyes narrowed as he scanned your face.

“You will no longer speak back, soldat.” He gave one last lingering squeeze before he released your chin. You glared at him, your fists clenched. Footsteps echoed through the room as a doctor came towards the bag of blue fluid. You watched as he toyed with the bag and noticed the bag was almost empty.

“What is that?” you asked as the room around you had begun to spin. The doctor took down notes before he headed towards the man. “What are you putting –“  your world went dark once you saw his fist come down.

-

“готовы соблюдать,” the man’s deep voice echoed through the room. Whirring filled the room and you stood up straight, the five others stepping up in your lead. You all lined up watched as the man stood from the chair, his hair draped over his face.

“Soldat,” the man called out. All six of you stood at the position of attention and kept your eyes on the man they called the Winter Soldier.

The soldier’s body posture straightened out, his hair pushed back and exposed his face. Your face remained the same, jaw clenched, and eyes trained on him. Your mind screamed his name, but you knew that to survive, you needed to play along. Maybe he’d recognize you. He had to.

The Winter Soldier’s body turned towards the six of you and you inhaled deeply at the sight of his steel blue eyes. They were lethal, they were stone cold with no emotion. They weren’t Bucky’s eyes.

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[aion-rsa]

Power Rangers Beast Morphers Season 2 Episode 17 Review: Goin’ Ape

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This POWER RANGERS BEAST MORPHERS review contains spoilers.

I’ve never been more conflicted about an episode of Power Rangers Beast Morphers. This show has never had more energy and a sense of purpose than this episode. The fights have weight, the choreography is ten steps above normal, the emotions are dialed to eleven, and the Rangers are even allowed to have conflict! Every scene builds on one another and the pacing is tight while still allowing the proper emotional beats to land.

The problem is that the inciting incident that drives the plot is deeply flawed and contrived. Misunderstanding conflicts take a lot of work to get right in TV. If the misunderstanding feels genuine then the audience can get behind it. More often than not though these types of plots involve characters taking a conversation out of context, which happens in this episode. I’m not saying I don’t believe a couple could have this issue, especially teenagers like Roxy and Ravi. It’s just that the setup didn’t make me buy into the misunderstanding.

Ravi’s word choice in telling Roxy why he didn’t have a gift for her was written to be as vague as possible. There’s no reason he couldn’t have just told her, “I accidentally left it at the bus stop and someone is bringing it to me.”  Again, I can believe someone might make up that lie but it needs to be based in more than a need to get a plot going. If Ravi was portrayed as always forgetful and desperate to seem like he was improving that would have been fine. Here though Ravi is as vague as possible because… why? I would say it feels out of character but sadly we haven’t seen much of Roxy and Ravi together, especially since Roxy was turned good again. When was the last time we even saw the not evil Roxy? So it’s not out of character, it’s just contrived.

The texts were also written to be as vague as possible so Roxy could get mad at him. That didn’t get me more engaged with the conflict; it just made me wonder why these two are even together. If they can’t even try to be honest with each other why are we rooting for them?

The show did provide a brief glimpse into why this conflict might have been taking place. Roxy did mention they haven’t been able to see much of each other lately, which could have been some great set up but it’s only mentioned once and never brought up again. To make that the reason this misunderstanding kicks off we’d need it built up more but instead the whole thing just feels like a reach and I didn’t buy it.

Roxy being portrayed as the one more in the wrong also harms it. While yes, her snooping on Ravi’s phone was wrong, Ravi was stupid not to be more clear about was happening with the gift and he let his anger get out of control and I’m not just talking about overheating. I don’t blame Roxy for being suspicious after that! Ravi should have had a bigger apology at the end. The episode as is makes it seem like Ravi is more in the right when I didn’t get that feeling at all.

I’m bummed that was my reaction because I’m usually all for conflict in Power Rangers, especially character conflict. I like that Ravi and Roxy got into an argument, I just wish it were about something else. If it were rooted in not getting to spend enough time together that would have been great! They use the misunderstanding as an excuse to not talk about what’s really going on with them. That’s when something as simple as a misunderstanding can work.

With all of that I’m sure it sounds like I’m ready to give this episode a very low score but besides that one deep flaw? The rest of the episode is amazing! The conflict, flawed as it is, is handled very well. Seeing Ravi get overheated outside of the suit worked as a great way to show off his anger. That anger fueled the intensity with which he battled Evil Roxy on the beach and in the forest. It gave an extra punch to fights that have been mostly pretty forgettable in Beast Morphers.

It also helped that, combined with some top notch Sentai footage, ‘Goin’ Ape’ had some of the most engaging and best looking fights we’ve had in awhile. That aerial shot when the four Rangers try and calm Ravi down and Devon is battling Roxy on the beach? God damn! It was all driven by Ravi’s emotions and they didn’t wrap it up half way through the episode. They let it build and build so when we got to that climatic battle in the forest if felt big and huge! Bigger than any of the fights in the big team-up, that’s for sure! Having an emotion driven backbone to fights is what makes them feel “epic,” not just lots of flash and bang on the screen.

The fight doesn’t stop once the bad guys are defeated either! The Rangers wrestling Ravi into the base was perfectly shot and I’ve never felt the full team’s bond more. You can feel how desperate they are to save their friend who they can barely restrain.

To top it all off, Ben and Betty get their best joke in the whole show! That little “oh no you didn’t” look from Betty when Ravi lies to Roxy was delightful! Ben simply scooping up the place mat, flower, and candle was also great. Even their gag at the end with the ice water was well timed and made sense. These two can work really well when their actions aren’t totally cartoonish and are integrated into the main plot instead of being a wacky aside.

A lot of the people involved in the making of this episode did a fantastic job, the action team for starters, director Oliver Driver, and especially Jazz Baduwalia as Ravi and Liana Ramirez as Roxy. I’ve praised Ramirez before and while she’s fun and scene chewing as the evil Roxy her performance in this episode made me wish we got to see more of her as the good Roxy. Baduwalia also turned in a solid performance, his overeating scenes especially going the extra mile to sell Ravi’s anger.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

This episode did a lot right; I just wish that all the hard work that had gone into it wasn’t for such a flawed story. Beast Morphers proved here that it can do conflict, action, pacing, emotions, and humor very well. It just needs the right story to deliver its A game.

The post Power Rangers Beast Morphers Season 2 Episode 17 Review: Goin’ Ape appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[forsythe-pendleton-jones-iv-blog]

Float -Part One- (Jughead Jones Fic)

A/N: Figured while all the depressing mess that is Ross leaving takes place, may as well put something out there for people to read while they recover.  Here’s Part two and Here’s Part three and Here’s Part four

Words: 1311

———-

   If you can only trust people as much as your ability to read them, how do you trust yourself?

How do you trust yourself when you hide behind sardonic humour, and a computer screen? That’s the question I always asked, while I watched the enigma that is Jughead Jones from my spot in the diner. From his grey beanie, to the fact that he hadn’t lived in a proper home for weeks (a fact which he was hiding from his friends, mind you) and that he had taken upon himself to write a cynical murder mystery about Jason’s death and the sallow half truth’s that surrounded it, he was an interesting figure in this town.

You could call it stalkerish, and you’d be inexplicably correct. Then again, what defines the line between people watching and stalking? Riverdale was never a town for clearly defined lines, which only doubled soon after Jason Blossom’s death. Funny how people only started to care about him once he was gone. Myself included. I’m not one to pretend I felt pity for the Blossom family, or Cheryl. She plays the broken, grieving sister very well. The one thing to remember about this town and the people who live in it is that while it appears serene. A calm river to float through during your summer vacation. Just around the corner, the rapids are waiting for you.

The bells chimed as the diner’s door opened, to reveal a trio of teenagers. Now, I could (and should anybody ask, I would) pretend that I don’t know who they are, or why they’re relevant at all, but, like many things in this town, that would be a lie.

Archie Andrews, the ‘it’ boy of Riverdale, musical genius and jock. How he manages to juggle those two things  yet remain functional I have no hope of grasping. It’s a good thing I don’t have to. Slowly trailing in behind him there was Betty Cooper and Kevin Keller, chatting idly. They slid into the booth, as Jughead Jones closes his laptop, and Pop comes by to take their orders.

Betty Cooper, the prodigal girl next door. Ever since her sister had been put in a halfway house, she had seemed to smile less. As she chatted with Kevin, her eyes fluttered back to Archie often. With a smirk, Kevin nudged her arm, in return gaining a light slap on his hand.

Yet while as nice as it is, sitting in the warm diner, comforted by the familiarity of Pop’s cooking, an undeniable truth remains. Far in the distance, or as far as someone can ever really get from Riverdale, there’s someone out there who murdered Jason Blossom. I’ve taken it upon myself to figure out who exactly it is, and I believe they’re still here.

And I don’t think they’re finished.

-

The streets of Riverdale are quiet, the street lights casting shadows like forgotten blemishes left by the sun around the parking lot. Slightly out of breath, I reach my car, open the door and quickly lock it afterwards. I wasn’t an idiot- there was a killer on the loose and I’m not going to be some victim that would be plastered all over the media while everyone pretends to miss me. 90% of this town couldn’t even tell me my own name. A fact that while, quite frankly, suits me, still remains to prove a point that I’m not sure I am willing to face yet.

It was a cool Tuesday night, not uncommon given the fact that it was almost autumn. Shrugging my jacket off, I grab a flannel to put on underneath, crank down my window and hook my phone up to the radio. My car might be older, but I saved enough to have a semi-decent stereo system put in place of the cassette tapes it originally had. Blasting whatever came first on my playlist, I sped down the quiet streets, through downtown, past the school. Taking a left slightly harder than I planned, I coasted along the road before coming to a stop at a place I often visit.

The Twilight drive in was my refuge as a child, I used to hop the fences and watch whatever movies were playing that night, until they all ended or I got caught. These days, I still prefer to hop the fence though it wasn’t necessary. The serpents had taken up residence in the back of the lot, and lately, there was a lack of people attending. Surely, the two have no correlation at all. No, not in the town of Riverdale.

I park my car just inside the gate, hopping out the door and making my way towards the small building that doubled as Jughead’s home. It had been a shock for me when I found out; I had been lounging against the fence, waiting for my mind to catch up to where my feet had taken me. Then he showed up, backpack in hand, sleeping bag in tow. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. That had been almost a month ago. I hadn’t said anything, what was I going to do? Offer to let him stay at my place? Unlikely. That would require me a) having a consistent place, and b) me wanting to help him out. Both of which, I did not have an inclination to do.

I was interested by the raven haired boy, that was undeniable, but I also knew who I was. I was the nobody, the person everyone saw, yet never spoke to. I didn’t mind it, I hadn’t needed the company of my peers then, and I certainly don’t need it now. Yet, I oftentimes find myself watching this boy. It seemed to be the insoluble fact that no matter what I may do, he did not stray far from my mind. Perhaps it was the simple brooding vibe he oftentimes gave off, stabbing through every object in the room like lightning making a direct beeline into your core, or perhaps it was simple fascination. Either way, one could arguably state I was handling the situation poorly.

It was late enough now that he should be inside the shed, or at the very least he should be arriving soon. Perhaps one night I would speak to him, but tonight was not that night. I don’t know what I would say;  "Hey Jughead, sorry that you’re living in a shed with no air conditioning, must be somewhat hard. Or really hard, all things considered. Do you happen to know who’s murdered Jason Blossom?“

Somehow I didn’t see that ending well.

A steely breeze whips through my bones, reminding me just where I was, and I start towards my car. As I near it, I hear the unmistakable rumble of the serpent’s motorcycles, earlier than expected. That was not the best news for me, they considered this their territory as of late and I doubted they appreciated me showing up out of the blue. As the motorcycles got closer, I sighed and just sat on the hood of my car, facing the entrance as the headlights flowed through the road, like a school of fish.

Slowly, they pass me, eyes unblinking as they drove towards the back corner of the lot. I stare back, hoping my unbothered facade could last as they worked their way through the lot. My eyes caught the familiar silvery pair I oftentimes looked up to as a child. He didn’t blink, choosing instead to drive slowly past me before slithering away into the shadows. Suppressing a smile, I waited until they eventually passed and in their usual fashion, played music obscenely loud for a Tuesday night. I sigh, hopping into the back seat of my car, pulling the ratty old quilt out from under the seat, and settling down for the night.

—–

Its kinda short but thats all for now :) Im keeping it vague on purpose haha, theres more parts to this that’ll be following fairly soon. 

Tags; @thatsadbreakfastclub @tinytephrite

[chillbooks]

SO YOU WANT TO DATE A HUNTER

A Supernatural “screenplay” by

Cynthia "Original Cyn" Hill

c 2017

INT. A CHEESY GAME SHOW SET. BRIGHT COLORS, 70S STYLE FLORAL DECALS. BEHIND THE HOST THE SET IS DIVIDED INTO TWO SECTIONS: ONE WITH A SINGLE STOOL, ONE WITH THREE STOOLS.

GABRIEL, our host for the evening, runs across to center stage from the wings, waving with one hand, holding a microphone in the other.

GABRIEL

(looking directly into the camera and using smarmy game show host voice)

Hello there, and welcome to "So You Want to Date a Hunter"! I'm your host, Gabriel, and I like long walks in the clouds, harp music, making home videos, and putting morons into ridiculous situations in a futile attempt to teach them lessons! The object of our game, obviously, is to match up our bachelorette with the hunter of her dreams. So without further ado, let's meet our bachelors, shall we?

Audience roars and claps its approval. Enter DEAN, CASTIEL, and SAM who go over and sit on the three stools.

GABRIEL

So, let's talk to you first, Bachelor #3. Tell us about yourself, why don't you?

SAM

(shifts uncomfortably in his seat)

Um, okay... well, my name is Sam Winchester, and I'm 33 years old. I'm from Lawrence, Kansas. And I'm a hunter...

GABRIEL (cutting him off)

Fascinating! So let's move on to Bachelor #1, shall we? Tell us about yourself.

DEAN

My name is Dean Winchester. I'm 38 years old, and I'm from Lawrence, Kansas. I enjoy killing vamps and saving pretty girls.

(gives the camera a wink and a grin)

GABRIEL

And last but not least, Bachelor #2, tell us something about yourself!

CASTIEL (looks over at DEAN)

Dean, I don't understand why I'm here...

DEAN (mutters to CASTIEL)

We needed a third hunter, and it was either you or Garth, but his wife wouldn't let him.

GABRIEL

All righty then! I think it's time we brought out our bachelorette. Now this young lady has been backstage this whole time in a soundproof booth, so she hasn't heard any of what we've just talked about. The only things she will know about our hunters before she chooses one for her mystery date is what answers they give to the questions she's about to ask them. Won't that be fun???

Audience cheers.

GABRIEL

So come on out here, Tiffany!

A tiny blonde girl in her early 20s comes out, waves at the audience and sits in her stool on the other side of the stage. GABRIEL walks over and stands at her side, with a fairly obvious glance down her low-cut top. She holds blue cue cards in her hands from which she reads her questions.

GABRIEL

How are you today, Tiffany?

TIFFANY

Great, thanks! I'm just SOOO excited to be here!

GABRIEL

Tell us something about yourself!

TIFFANY

Well, I'm 23, and I go to Stanford University. I like 70s classic rock music, and getting slushies from the Gas-n-Sip on a hot day.

SAM and DEAN look at each other as if daring each other to try and win. CASTIEL still looks confused.

GABRIEL

Interesting! Well, let's get started, shall we? Who is your first question for?

TIFFANY

My first question is for Bachelor #1. What is the longest relationship you've ever been in?

DEAN

I've been with Baby forever...

SAM

I don't think she means with your CAR.

DEAN

Shut up, Sam.

GABRIEL

Whoa now! No names, Bachelor #1. Let's move on, shall we?

TIFFANY

Okay, then Bachelor #2, when you were young what was your favorite cartoon to watch?

CASTIEL

There was no television when I was young. Or cartoons.

TIFFANY (looks confused)

Huh?

CASTIEL

But now I do enjoy an episode of Scooby Doo on Netflix once in a while. Shaggy and Scooby are very loyal to each other. They always have each other's backs. I appreciate that.

TIFFANY

Oh, I love Scooby Doo! I love how they always end every episode with "...if it wasn't for you meddling kids!" So corny! Anyway, Bachelor #3, what's one thing your mom cooks better than anyone else?

SAM

Um, well my mom was actually killed by a demon when I was six months old, so...

AUDIENCE

Awwwww...

SAM

No, but it's okay, because last year God's sister brought her back from the dead, but we found out that she can't cook, and then she joined up with an organization that tortured me, so... um, I guess I like when she brings burgers and beer back to the bunker?

GABRIEL

Mmm mmm mmm... gotta love those takeout burgers. Especially with extra cheese. Who gets the next question, Tiffany?

TIFFANY

My next question is for Bachelor #2. Where did you go on your last date, and what did you do? And don't leave out any of the... racy details...

CASTIEL

My last date? I guess that would be when I was human, and my boss at the Gas-n-Sip asked me out... well at least I thought she had asked me out, but as it turned out she just wanted me to babysit, and so she went out with this jerk, and then the baby got sick, so I basically spent the whole night trying to calm down a crying child, which would have been much easier if I'd had my grace and I could have just healed her...  But seriously, why do I have to answer these ridiculous questions? I can't mate with this woman, that could create a nephilim, and we all know how THAT would work out... so why would she want to go on a date with me?

GABRIEL

Oka-aaay... moving on! Next question, Tiffany!

TIFFANY

Bachelor #1, if I was a dessert, what would I be in order to tempt you best?

DEAN

Pie. Next question!

TIFFANY

That's... succinct.  Bachelor #2, describe what do you prefer in a woman, angel or devil?

CASTIEL

Angels don't have a gender...

GABRIEL (sighs)

You are just no fun sometimes, you know that?

CASTIEL

I have been told that before. But what do you expect from me? Whoopee cushions and joy buzzers?

GABRIEL

Buzz kill.

DEAN

Hey! Can you two squabble later? I've got a date to win.

TIFFANY

Bachelor #3 where's the most naughty place you've ever done the deed?

SAM

I don't really like to kiss and tell, but there was this one time I was dating this girl... let's call her Ruby...

DEAN

Demon, Sam. She was a demon. Not a girl. You were bonking a demon.

SAM

Come on, Dean... she was in a human vessel! It's not like I was making love to a puff of black smoke!

DEAN

"Making love"? What kind of chick flick is this? Should I get out my hanky?

CASTIEL

I didn't know you carried a handkerchief, Dean...

GABRIEL

All right! Enough already! Tiffany, next question.

TIFFANY

Bachelor #1, describe your ideal date, and don't leave out any details if you really want to woo me!

DEAN

First, we'd go for a long drive in my car, listen to some Zeppelin. We'd drive to the vamp nest I'd just heard about, and together we'd machete those mothers until the sun went down. I've got to tell you: there's nothing that turns my crank more than a woman who knows how to handle a machete. Then, once the fangs were taken care of, we'd head to the local diner for some burgers, beer, and pie. Or maybe even a really fine whiskey. Then, back to my motel room, where my brother would NOT be hanging out because he was busy at the all-night library, re-reading his favorite Judy Blume books.

TIFFANY

Oh... wow... well, then...

GABRIEL

You really know how to woo 'em, don't you Bachelor #1?

TIFFANY

Bachelor #2, let's play "Marry, Kill or..." well, you know what...

CASTIEL

What is this? Who do I have to kill? How is this playful?

SAM

No Cas, it's a game. She lists three names, and you pick which one you want to marry, which one you would kill, and which one you... want to create a nephilim with...

CASTIEL

I just said that I...

DEAN

It's just a game, Cas. Pretend you're still human.

TIFFANY (alarmed)

He isn't human?

CASTIEL

I still don't understand the purpose of this, but all right: what are the names?

TIFFANY

Beyonce, Betty White, and Wilma Flintstone.

CASTIEL (protesting)

Wilma Flintstone isn't even real! She's a cartoon character...

GABRIEL (to TIFFANY)

Why don't we just move on?

TIFFANY

Sounds good to me... Bachelor #1, your turn:

Jessica Simpson, Taylor Swift, and Paris Hilton.

DEAN

Well, I already killed Paris Hilton. Sort of, I mean... it wasn't actually HER, she was an Eastern European forest god, but yeah, after that there's no way I'm going to dip my oar in THAT water, know what I mean?

SAM

Hey - I was the one who killed Paris Hilton!

DEAN

Whatever. Potayto potahto... the bitch is dead. So Paris - kill. And really, no question for the other two: I'd totally sleep with Simpson. Come on, Daisy Duke? So I guess it's marry Taylor... she's just got some catchy tunes at least. But let's face facts: if I marry anyone they're probably going to end up dead, so no amount of bubbly pop music is going to help her then...

GABRIEL

He has a point! Next question, Tiffany.

TIFFANY

I... do I have to?

GABRIEL

Why yes, yes you do! Them's the rules here on...

AUDIENCE

"So You Want to Date a Hunter!"

TIFFANY (reluctantly)

If I have to then... Bachelor #3, same question. Your names are...

GABRIEL whispers in her ear and hands her a card.

TIFFANY

Wait, why? Who are these... fine. Bachelor #3 your names are Jessica, Amelia, and Madison?

Audience gasps.

SAM

WHAT?

DEAN

Low blow there, lady...

TIFFANY

What? I didn't... those weren't my... he gave them to me! Who are those girls?

DEAN

My brother can't help it that he has a penis of death!

TIFFANY

Your brother? Penis of DEATH? What kind of show is this?!? Is this some kind of sick joke?

CASTIEL

I can assure you, Tiffany, that the tendency of Sam's lovers to die horrifically is no laughing matter.

TIFFANY

Look, I only agreed to come on here because I got rejected from "The Bachelor." I am so out of here. I should have gone with the offer from "Crowley the Millionaire."

TIFFANY storms off the stage in a huff.

CASTIEL

So wait? Which one of us won?

SAM

No one, Cas. She left.

CASTIEL

But I thought this was a game. Shouldn't someone win? This wasn't very enjoyable.

DEAN

Screw this. Let's go, Sammy. C'mon Cas. I hear there's a great diner down the street with an apple pie to die for.

SAM, DEAN and CASTIEL all get up and walk off the stage. GABRIEL looks over at the camera.

GABRIEL

Well, that's it for another - well, the only - episode of "So You Want to Date a Hunter". Up next, stay tuned for another exciting episode of "Casa Erotica: Cage Match"!

[justjessame]

Diamonds Are A Boy’s Best Friend Chapter 11

I swore, as I hung my new purchases in my closet and tucked away the new shoes, handbags, and unmentionables, that if I was given one more tiny shred of information or proof that everyone around me was plotting and spying, my head would crack right down the middle and all the expensive education my father was so proud of would leak out.  

My father, Lily, and even Ike seemed to have a playbook that I wasn’t privy to and it felt like I would forever be playing catch up.  Why would there be a one-way mirror on the ceiling of a bedroom?  I squeezed my eyes shut at the very dirty implications.  NOT an idea I would ever want to entertain about my father and his wife.  More important to my own part in the household, why would Lily use that room of the endless ones in this house to have our tete-a-tete?  Had my father put her up to it?  Or had she been certain that he was otherwise entertained?

I sat at my vanity and ran my brush through my hair, determined to not ruin my sleep by having these thoughts turn over and over in my head.  I’d found replacements for my ruined nightgown, and had to smile at the feel of the satin on my skin.  The matching dressing robe was spread out at the foot of my bed, and the color was like liquid night.  

Could I continue with Ike?  I wanted to.  Not for the purpose that Father wanted, but because he was completely captivating to me.  There was something about Isaac Evans that drew me in, but I couldn’t allow myself to fall in love with him.  Not when I was convinced that he saw me as a pretty distraction.  Or worse a conquest.  

I should go out with other men.  Men who might take me to places other than the Miramar Playa.  I should get to know my new city.  And if I could date men who would give me more information about the players in this game that I’d been forced to play, all the better for me.  Smiling to myself in the mirror, for the first time since I’d walked off the plane and my feet had touched Miami sand, I felt more in control of my own fate.

Morning dawned and I didn’t want to growl at the bright sun or the heat that I knew lay just outside the window.  Perhaps I was growing accustomed to Miami after all.

After pulling on the scandalous looking shorts that I’d picked out a day earlier, coupled with a top that showed a hint of my abdomen, I slid into a pair of leather sandals, fluffed my hair, and headed down to breakfast.  

“Morning,” I offered, making my way to the buffet at the side of the dining room to grab some toast and fruit.  Silence greeted me when I turned around with my glass of juice in hand.  “What?”  I asked, seeing Lily’s smirk and my father’s eyes wide.

“Liz,” Father seemed to have issues speaking.  “Where are the rest of your-” he gestured at my very bare legs.  

I couldn’t fight the chuckle and eye roll.  “I’m nearly thirty, Father, and I have it on good authority that what I’m wearing is highly fashionable.”  I caught the look he shot Lily.  “The saleswoman convinced me, not Lily.”  

“They are very eye catching,” Lily offered, seemingly very happy with her grapefruit this morning.  “You can’t deny that, Ben.”  

“I guess,” he grunted and returned to his own breakfast as Lily gave me a smirk across the table.  

We ate in silence for a while, me reading the paper that Father had finished before I came down.  Death, missing people, carnage, upheaval.  Definitely not uplifting.  I was just scrolling through the third page, when my father interrupted my perusal.

“What are our plans for today?”  It was said to the room, so I suspected that Lily could handle answering.  

She didn’t disappoint, but she did surprise me.  “I was thinking that Liz could use a day at the salon.”  My eyes snapped to hers.  “What?  You could use a manicure, pedicure, and definitely your hair could use-”

“I’m NOT cutting my hair.”  It was sharp, but I was feeling rather attacked.

Lily shook her head.  “No one said you had to cut it, Liz, but a new style would do wonders.”

I sat back and studied her, and then I shot a look at my father.  “How much more repackaging do I need to tempt Ike?”  Neither looked all that surprised or impressed by my question.  “Since he visited me in the dressing room yesterday, I’d assume that I’m tantalizing enough on my own.”  Still not shocked.  I shook my head.  “Is it really worth all the effort?  He’s NOT going to leave her.”  

My father put down his fork and sighed.  “You don’t know Ike like I do, Liz.”  His eyes were locked on mine as he started to explain, but I cut him off.

“I don’t know any of you the way you all know one another.”  I tossed the napkin from my lap on the table.  “And the way you plot and plan, I’m not sure I want to.”  I left the dining room and walked back to my room.  My relaxed and happy mood went away in a flash.

They let me sulk for around two hours.  I say ‘let me’ because Lily knocked on the door and announced that our appointments at the salon were set for noon.  Then she invited herself to stay and visit.  

“Having a tantrum won’t help, Liz.”  She sounded as though she knew this from personal experience.  “And going to the salon isn’t torture, you know.”  She’d taken a seat at the foot of my bed.  “He’s always watching never assume he doesn’t know.”

“Always?”  My eyes met hers and I knew she understood that I wanted to know if he knew about her fling with Ike’s son.

“Always.”  She looked sad at that thought, but then clarified.  “At least when you’re the focus and forefront of his plans.”  

“Oh.”   I’d taken the heat off of her, so she could play.  A two for one special, it seemed.  “What did you schedule for me?”  Safer territory, at least while we were home.  

That brought back her smile.  “Hair treatment.  I didn’t ask for a cut, but Liz, getting it styled and TRIMMED wouldn’t be a bad idea.  And a manicure and pedicure.  If you’re going to wear that kind of outfit with those shoes, then you need more color.”  

I shook my head.  “I feel like a strumpet.”  She laughed.  “What now?”

“Strumpet?”  She was looking at me like I’d  tickled her.  “I don’t think I’ve heard that outside of a movie theater.”  

I blushed.  “I couldn’t think of a word that didn’t sound indecent.”  

That really got her.  “Indecent?  Isn’t that what we’re trying for?”  I shook my head at her silliness.  “Liz, don’t take it personally.  Ben has a plan, and his plans work out.”

“I’m sure they do.”  I offered, doubt heavy.

I changed into a more suitable outfit for the salon.  Charcoal gray cigarette pants paired with a fitted cashmere short sleeved top in champagne, paired with flats seemed appropriate.  Lily smiled as I joined her downstairs.  

“Pants, Liz?”  I rolled my eyes, my clutch under my arm.  “It’s a different look, but I like it.”

We were in the car and I could feel her eyes on me.  “What is on your mind, Lily?”  

“What made you change your look?”  Ah, I supposed she was shocked I had the ability.  

I faced her and smirked.  “I went to finishing school.  The entire point is to find a suitable husband.”  She watched me, waiting.  “One of the best pieces of advice we were given was to adapt to your surroundings and the expectations of the men within them.  Miami isn’t Europe, it’s a tad more loose, and so, I changed my armor.”  I shrugged.  

“He really should have clued you in sooner.”  It was mostly to herself, and clearly about my father’s decision to not read me into his plan.  She shook her head and studied me.  “What else did you buy yesterday?”  

I smiled and gave her a few ideas.  “I had to replace a nightgown, one of mine got torn.”  Off, I added in my head.  Her eyes widened and her grin grew.  “I decided an upgrade all around was overdue.”  Another shrug.  “Not that anyone will be seeing my new delicates anytime soon.”  The thought depressed me.  Staying at the hotel made the likelihood that Ike would see my lingerie not just better, but far easier.  “Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”  

Her hand reached across the seat and gave mine a squeeze.  “I’m sure you won’t have any reason to feel sorry.”  And then we settled back into a companionable silence.  

I suppose I should have known that Lily would get us appointments at the beauty salon housed within the Miramar.  Where else?  Stepping out of the car with a helping hand from a young man waiting for the singular purpose of helping delicate women out of cars, I felt a sigh building up at the sight of the gleaming glass doors.  Head high, I walked beside Lily through the doors being held open for us.

“You walk like you’re already the queen of this place,” it was only loud enough for me to hear, but I still felt uneasy.  “Soon enough, Liz, soon enough.”  

The salon was very pink.  French Provencal touches only added to the overall femininity.  I was handed a pink smock, and after buttoning it over my blouse, I was handed off to the first of my trials of beauty.

It wasn’t that bad actually.  I took enormous pleasure in countering the stylist’s recommendation for bangs by asking if she meant like Bettie Page’s.  

“You know who Bettie Page is?”  The incredulous tone was a bit insulting to be honest.  

I shrugged.  “Of course, who doesn’t?”  Her eyes met mine in the mirror and I saw a new respect, one that had nothing to do with my last name.   More suggestions were offered, and I’d counter with a less over the top sexy option.  I was still ME, even if I was willing to do a few updates.  

“Less Marilyn, more Bacall.”  I’d say when she showed me a style she thought would work.  “No bangs, not even Page’s.”  

When I left, I had to admit that I looked far better than when I arrived.  My hair was trimmed, styled, and while I wouldn’t go full-on pinup since that was clearly Lily’s lane, I did look far more glamorous.  My nails were a dark burgundy, both fingers and toes, and Lily looked refreshed even if I hadn’t seen her get her treatment.  

I bumped, quite literally into one of Ike’s employees as he was walking through the lobby with Ike.  

“Pardon me,” I offered, kneeling to help him with the papers I’d scattered by knocking into him.  “I should really pay more attention to where I’m going.”  

“No,” he replied, his hand brushing mine as we both went for the same sheet of paper.  “I should have seen such a vision coming from a mile away.”

Our eyes met and I bit my lip.  “Are you flirting with me, Mister-”

“Sol Drucker, Miss Diamond.”  My reputation precedes me.  He looked far too anxious to answer my playful question. “Here, let me take those from you.”  I handed him the papers I’d gathered.  He offered me his hand and helped me back to my feet.  

“If you’re finished,” Ike sounded irritated.  But I didn’t let my eyes move from Sol’s.  

“I should make amends.” I offered, Sol’s hand still in mine.  “Dinner?”  

He wasn’t as handsome as Ike, but who was?  He seemed decent.  He was dressed well. And he looked like I’d just offered him a million dollars.  

“Dinner?”  He repeated and I nodded, all doe-eyed and sincerity, and hopefully looking like I was waiting with bated breath for him to say ‘yes’.  “Sure.  I mean, I’d love to.”

“Call my father’s house, I’m sure you can find the number.”  I released his hand and glanced around us.  An audience, perfect.  “We’ll make plans then. Privately.” Winking at him as though we were sharing a private joke, I smiled at the people watching us.  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.  I think our car’s ready, Lily.”  I spotted the driver by the door waiting.  

Before we were too far away, I looked over my shoulder to see they were watching us go.  “Oh and Sol?”  His eyes lit up and his smile grew at being singled out.  “Do wear those glasses to dinner, they’re very-” I didn’t finish, just bit my lip and turned around, knowing that Ike was fuming.

Lily could barely contain her glee and held out only long enough for us to pull away from the entrance before giving a giggle.  “Did you SEE Ike’s face?”  No, I hadn’t actually. If I had, I might have lost my nerve.  “If looks could kill, poor Sol would be dead and buried.”  

[slapmeagain-blog]

Remembering Betty

I don’t remember having ever met Betty.  She was just always in my life.  Like a sister, a slightly older sister.  Friend, guide, teacher, social advisor.  We grew up two doors away from each other, on Sundale Avenue, the south end of a one-block street-let  running into the football field at Hawthorne High, a wonderful space to hang out away from parents, and a walk to school that made little kids long for the days we’d be old enough to just roll out of bed at 8:20 a.m. and be on time for an 8:30 class.  We all got very good at climbing chain link and barbed wire fences barefoot when we were kids.  At least the boys.   The five of us, Cindi (my older sister), Mary, Lynn (my older brother), Betty and I (youngest of the 5), were all born within 6 years of each other.   The fact that we lived in separate houses, of separate parents, never got in the way of our going in and out of each other’s lives and houses pretty much like they were our own, only occasionally being told off by a parent for not knocking.  We were all, kids and parents, on a first name basis on Sundale.  Only Alice Tinkham, next to the Kean’s on the other side, insisted on being called “Mrs.” even though her own three kids called her Alice.  The downside of this casual freedom to come and go for me was the ever present risk of being told by Jean to sit down and watch the evening news with Baxter Ward on channel 5, or worse, be forced to listen to a Stravinsky symphony on an LP (“Wasn’t that just wonderful, Donnie?”), two things that would never, sadly,  have happened to me at my house.  I still tell everyone that Jean and Kirby were the two people in my world that could be counted on to try to force a little culture into our otherwise empty heads. When I graduated from Hawthorne High, Jean gave me a copy of Homer’s Odyssey and the Iliad, guessing that I’d only just begun a life of long journeys (I’d spent my junior and senior summers in Spain, Italy and Greece).   It’s the only gift I ever received that has meaning 57 years after the fact (She gets me.) I still have both books.

When we were younger, I was often Betty’s companion when there was nobody else more interesting her own age to hang out with… my brother, Lynn, busy, working, her sister or my sister too cool to bother with us.  She made sure I didn’t do anything to embarrass her (like wear white socks to school with wing tips – “Go home right now and change your socks!”)  Over time, friendship emerged as the primary driver, though it was understood she was always in charge of our activities.  She was a doer.  We didn’t just ‘hang’.  There was always a purpose, an event, an objective.  She took me to see Ike and Tina Turner at the Cinnamon Cinder in Long Beach (I was 13/14, she 14/15 so she did all the driving), to a dance at Disneyland, or to a concert somewhere.  I never complained, except the time we had dinner at a restaurant called Blue Bayou at Disneyland and something in the Bayou was bad.  I ended up wrapped around a toilet at 3 a.m. at home, my mom accusing me of having been out drinking (maybe the one time I was actually innocent as charged).  

But the thing I always remember when thinking of Betty is that Betty was there at every important moment in my life.  When I was hospitalized at 14, in a coma for several days, from an intentional overdose of some medication of my mother’s, Betty was the person in the room when I opened my eyes.  “There you are,” she said, in a soft voice.  And though I had no idea who she was at that moment, I felt safe and was comforted.   Betty was there again for me when I went with a group of friends to Disneyland, and one of the group tragically died when he, I and one other friend decided to jump in and out of the ride cars while it was moving through a dark chamber.   The next day, as word spread, and I was wandering around the neighborhood dazed and alone, Betty pulled up next to me in her Merc.  One look told her what she’d heard was true.  All she said was, “Get in the car….” .  Neither of my own parents was around or aware during those dark days for me when I blamed myself for Rick’s death.  Then, when  I was 16, Lynn, my brother died in a Tokyo hospital as a result of injuries suffered in Vietnam a week earlier.  Betty was as devastated as anyone, but I remember her being my personal guardian angel then, too.   These three incidents took place over just a 3 year stretch.  We were tragically busy teens.  We partied, we studied, we experimented with drugs – at least I did – and Betty made sure I didn’t do anything stupid.  One night, we had fun posing Mary like a Raggedy Ann doll when she was passed out in a chair in their living room.   I still have photographic proof if anyone’s interested.   It’s funny how we used to get into trouble whenever our parents were out of town, but I can never remember where they were!  Hippy days of pot, body paint, Jimmy Hendrix,  beer hidden in buckets at the bottom of our pool, Santana, the Beach Boys, (Hawthorne born and bred), Griffith Park love-ins, the Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl (Livy Arias married George), Jim Morrison and the Doors at the Whiskey a-Go-Go (tried to get in at 16).  We had no idea what we were living through or what we were doing.  

Betty was active and engaged at school.  I was actively disengaged except when I liked a subject, which wasn’t often. Betty was a budding journalist, and wrote me letters her entire life.  I tried to keep up with her.  My mom told me I was going to be a doctor.  Nobody told me I had to study.

We often hung out with Jean and Kirby when we had nothing to do.  We had fun with words on ‘martini night’ (for them, not for us!).  Parody book titles, “Under the Bleachers,” by Seymour Butts, or “Life in the Streets,” by Ima Mary Hoar.  We all knew that Kirby was close to his limit when he would flip his eyeglasses and wear them upside down, Jean giving him a look of feigned disapproval from her corner of the red leather sofa across the room, long thin legs crossed, cold beer on the table, unfiltered Pall Mall hanging from a lip.  I loved Jean’s stories about being a Navy Wave in Hawaii during the attack on Pearl Harbor, or her tales of the San Francisco earthquake (some relative was there).  It was, for us, like watching the history channel and a well-loved sitcom rolled into one.  I loved the driftwood coffee table with handles carved into it used as ashtrays (just vacuum), and the antique secretary with the champagne glasses that had rainbows in the light, a black dial phone on the workspace (Osborne 6- 2618), the oriental rug that smelled bad and the old Underwood typewriter on the table in Kirby’s room where I occasionally would type up some homework.  Everyone else in the neighborhood wanted new, modern things but the Kean’s were relentlessly traditional.  In fact, one of the few ‘modern’ things I remember seeing in their house was the blue princess telephone in May and Betty’s room.  And I remember their phone number from calling so often.   Jean smoked in bed but the house never burned down.  I’m pretty sure Jean came to visit me in my sleep the night she died.  I was at work the next morning remembering my dream of her when Betty called to tell me she had passed away that night.  I was in graduate school in Hawaii at the time so had been away from Sundale for at least ten years.

And there was the Kean lemon tree.  One morning before school, when I was sneaking into their backyard to steal a lemon (I have no idea why), I was witness to Jean literally kicking Kirby out of the house via the back door, Kirby trying to keep his footing as he hurtled down the steps, holding his lunch bag and muttering, “Jesus Christ!”. I never even saw Jean, just Kirby sort of flying out the back door and the door slamming behind him.  Unseen by Kirby,  I turned and hurried back down the driveway.    

Jean was the only mom that I knew of who could cook, really cook!  Not that it was appreciated by all.  Lamb (never in our house – too many army food memories for my dad.), wilted spinach salad (spinach made me gag), spinach soufflé, soft scrambled eggs (Kirby to Jean: The goddamned things look like snot!)  Once I was invited to stay for dinner (meatloaf) and when I started to go for a third helping, Kirby jumped up from his seat, grabbed the platter from the table, and rushing into the kitchen yelled, “He’s going to eat the whole goddamned thing!”  My dad never took lunch to work so I didn’t think about leftovers.  But then my mom’s cooking wasn’t something you wanted to have to face again the next day.

Mary was not there with us very often in the evenings at the Kean’s and I assumed she was out with my sister and Charles, Billy Cusac or the Arias’s, the Hares or Kluxdal’s, the older kids.  Maybe she was even a little embarrassed by her parents.  But Betty positively embraced them!  One afternoon, she ushered me into their bathroom to show me a particularly large bowel movement Kirby had left in the bowl for everyone to admire.  

You could often find me at their house without Mary or Betty around.  It was less depressing than my house.  I remember thinking that I wished my parents were just slightly crazy like Jean and Kirby.  Life was so much more interesting with a little crazy in it.  Our house had too much drama.  Kirby even once asked me to get him a joint because he wanted to try pot. Just like that.  I was maybe 17?  Jean was not amused.  I don’t even remember if he smoked it when I was there, meaning nothing must have gone amiss.  I just know that I loved Kirby for his bohemian outlook on life.  Betty, I think, was proud of her dad’s career as a photographer.  I once saw some beautiful photos he took of Vivien Leigh (Scarlett O’Hara) from “Gone With The Wind,” in costume for press packs.  

I loved that in winter, you always knew when the Kean’s had a fire going because the entire neighborhood smelled like a cat box since the fireplace is where Nefertiti (Nefi) used to crap.  I swear that cat was 100 when she finally died.  Kirby was a twin!  And they both, Kirby and David, sported white beards.  Kirby’s David married his daughter-in-law’s widowed mother, or vis versa. Whatever, it was cool.  Everybody loved David.  It was like a clone come to visit before we knew what clones were. They lived in Glendale (30 miles away), which might as well have been Tibet in those days for as much as people would drive from Hawthorne to Glendale.  But Clara – grandmother on Jean’s side? – maybe an aunt,  was my favorite.  She looked like somebody out of a 40s movie, frozen in time.  Car, cloth overcoat, hair.   But that was the whole family, except for the Princess Phone and Betty and Mary’s hair.  As far as I was concerned Clara was from Bel Air.

I think I remember Mary and Betty’s Blue Princess  phone because it was their lifeline to the outside world when they were holed up in their bedroom closet.  I’d get the call: Hysterical voices: “Help!!!!” then rushing to their place thinking there was an intruder in the house, to find the two of them in their closet, only to discover the intruder was a moth.  Jeff Campbell, or Gilbert Arias and I would have to go find it and kill it before they would come out of the closet.  Or at least pretend we found and killed it.  I think once Betty, though it could have been Mary, jumped out of her car (yes, she was driving her dad’s old Mercury) because there was a bee in it.  This is the same woman who (I only heard this from Betty, I didn’t actually witness it), went after her sister with cast iron skillet in the kitchen and, another time stabbed her at the dinner table with a fork.   I would have thought a bee or a moth wouldn’t have posed much of a problem at all.  Betty was almost never at a loss for words, well, except maybe the one time she was in the car with Mary and some girlfriends driving down the street when she suddenly saw what must have been a very hot guy, and all she could do was point in his direction, and say, “Boy! Boy!”

Speaking of romance, there was a signer named John from somewhere southeast of us, Orange County (Cerritos?  Tustin?), I think.  Betty had a huge crush on him and used to make me go with her to his shows whenever/wherever he was singing.  I didn’t mind.  He was beautiful.  

But then life changed.  Betty graduated.  Got a job or went to school.  My mom remarried and moved to Hawaii and I spent my senior year of HS living in our house alone.  Well, part of the time Teri Kluxdal was there with her African American boyfriend – probably the only black man in Hawthorne at the time.  But  I had refused to not finish HS in Hawthorne.  My mom couldn’t believe I’d pass on Hawaii to stay in “…this shithole of a town.”   One day, when I was playing Led Zeppelin (could have been The Doors) very loudly on my stereo, the phone rang.  It was Jean, telling me to turn down the music.  I turned it down.  Two minutes later, there was a knock on my door.  It was Kirby.  He was angry and told me to turn the  goddamned  music back up, that my house was my castle and that I could do whatever I wanted!   I was fine, he insisted.  I turned it back up.

So then I graduated and moved to Hawaii.  We wrote to each other, Betty and I.  She’s one of the reasons I’ve always been a letter writer.  She wrote more than I did.  I loved her letters.  I don’t remember if she ever came to see me while I was living in Hawaii.  If she did, it would have been after I had moved back, married, from Hong Kong to Honolulu for grad school.  While I was an undergrad, I would always come back to LA and work for the summers and see Betty regularly then.  I remember hanging out at her apartment in Redondo Beach. Carroll King’s Tapestry album was playing constantly (1971?).  One of her neighbors  - a college student in the building – had just been circumcised and his roommates had put a hotdog skin and some tomato juice in a jar and gave it to him.  Told him the doctor said he could keep it.  It was a fun summer.    

But we were all headed out on our separate roads.  Mary found John.  Betty married Tom.  I moved even further away.  Thank goodness for Betty reaching out to me and to everyone who moved away.  She kept us up-to-date on who was where, what they were doing and who was married, had a baby, passed away.  So much I would never have known about had it not been for her. She will always be with me, and no doubt, with others who, like me loved her and kept our shared memories dusted off for regular replay.    Never thought of it till now, but we were friends for 67 years.  Holy crap I’m old.

 Don Matteson

28 August 2019