#again not looking for morality in this sport but the excuse people pile up him is not it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

virtueangel · 4 years

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limitless.

chapter one.

wc: 2,034. original publish date: october 1, 2020.

Winter seems to drag on this year, pushing back Spring farther and farther until it steps off the chessboard of seasons completely. It's early April, but there is still snow piled up on the sidewalks, filling in the cracks of the concrete squares and melting into slush on the smooth surface. John F. Kennedy and Cleopatra walk down the sidewalk now, grasping hands dearly so as not to slip on the melted snow. Cleo is bundled up tightly in a black cardigan, John's varsity letterman jacket draped on top for extra warmth. She huddles close to the boy as she walks, trying to bask in some of the natural body heat wafting off of him. They like to walk in silence -- sometimes it's easier that way. Their questions don't have to be answered if they're never asked. But sometimes, the burden of carrying around the question is greater than the weight of hearing the answer.

"Why don't you ever take me on real dates, John?" Cleo asks in her shrill voice, almost whining.

"I don't know why you'd want me to, Cleo," he replies coolly, still grasping her hand. She wears elegant black gloves which hug her lean fingers fittingly. The cashmere is smooth and inviting against John's palm.

"Because some girls like romance, John."

"I thought you liked making out with me."

"I do!" She relaxes her hand, still holding onto John but not as violently. "But I don't feel like your girlfriend when I'm being shoved into a closet. I just feel like a pair of breasts and an open mouth."

John stares ahead nonchalantly. "That's because you're not my girlfriend, Cleo."

She lets go of his hand completely and scoffs. She shoves her own hands into her pockets -- John's pockets -- and watches her feet on the sidewalk. Her shiny black boots tick against the pavement, her movements slow and even steadier now that she doesn't have the boy's support. "Some girls like being girlfriends, too."

John sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. "We've been over this, Cleo. I don't date, but you like me and you're hot."

Cleo clenches her jaw. "That's a shitty thing to say, JFK. Don't you like me, too?"

JFK shrugs. "I like your ass."

The girl rolls her eyes, quickening her pace to walk in front of John. She slows down again, realising that the bottoms of her new boots are too slippery to risk a pace faster than normal. "Whatever. We're almost to my house anyway."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Cleo lets out a huff before grabbing onto JFK for support again. She wraps her gloved hands around the loop his arm makes as it sticks out of his pocket. "I'm not gonna argue with you when we're right on the verge of a make-out session," she says.

"I thought you didn't want to be used for your body."

She shrugs before giving the shameless answer, "I don't, but you give exceedingly good head."

John F. Kennedy smirks. "Oh, you bet I do."

Cleo blushes, and tries to hide her face from John.

"But I can't today."

“What?” She asks. “Why?”

"Because I've got a lot of homework," he says, knowing it's a half-assed excuse.

Cleopatra turns to him, her eyebrow raised. "You don't do homework, John."

"I have to help Van Gogh today," John explains.

"Van Gogh?" Cleo repeats. John nods. "He needs your help?"

John rolls his eyes impatiently, wondering why Cleo can't seem to get it. Wondering why everything about her is so superficial that she can't understand that he has a best friend; why she isn't the only one who matters. "No, he doesn't need my help, he just doesn't like being alone on Friday nights."

"Neither do I," Cleo protests, batting her eyes desperately. She means the action to come off as flirty, but she knows she's going to lose this fight.

"So call some of your other friends. Abe, Joan-"

"Abe Lincoln and Joan of Arc are both cool enough to have plans on a Friday night," she combats.

JFK smirks. "Surely you won't let them be cooler than you."

Before Cleo can protest, they are walking up her driveway, her hands still wrapped around his arm. John walks her up the three steps to her front stoop, whirling her around so her back is to the door and her face is to him. He holds her gloved hands delicately, pretending to feel bad about blowing off his hot not-girlfriend to go spend time with his emotionally deprived best friend. It does sound depressing and lame when he hears it in his own head, but there's no going back now.

"Call me tonight?" Cleo asks, the slightest hint of a beg in her voice. She tries to hide it again under a flirtatious lilt, but it falls flat for the second time this afternoon. Cleo already knows what JFK is going to say.

"I never call, Cleo. People who are dating call, and I-"

Cleo cuts him off with an exasperated eye roll. "-don't date. I know."

"So why did you ask?"

Cleo shrugs. "I don't know. But I'm going now."

Nonetheless, she steps toward John for her expected kiss. He leans down to give her one, as per their afternoonly routine, but it doesn't bury itself as deep as usual. John keeps his mouth closed, despite Cleo's best efforts to engage him in the endeavour. When she realises her plan isn't going to work, she pulls away and scrambles into her house, swiftly shutting the door behind her to close off her embarrassment from the rest of the world. She has enough to worry about it seeping through the cracks.

***

JFK knocks on his best friend's door nearly ten minutes later, his feet sopping wet in his tennis shoes. He'd made a mistake when dressing that morning. He could see the snow intruding the sidewalk from his bedroom window, but he'd still opted for his sneakers, full of breathable holes and heat-accommodating fabrics. His big toe feels like it could snap off at any moment. He thinks if he were to take off his cotton sock and look at it, his toe would be blackened with the final stages of frostbite.

Vincent Van Gogh answers the door himself, wrapped in a fleece blanket and feet smothered in three layers of sock. Kennedy can't help but feel a little bit jealous, sure his toes are nice and cozy in their thick woollen fortress.

"JFK," Van Gogh greets the boy, standing aside to let him through the door. Van Gogh wonders how Kennedy ever could've noticed him at school; he stands at 5'5” while the varsity cross country runner was 6'1" last time he measured. Van Gogh is often a traffic cone to be tripped over.

"Sorry I'm so late. Cleo was bitching at me," JFK apologises.

"That's okay. I'm used to being alone," Van Gogh shrugs.

"But I know you especially hate Friday nights. You hate when there are sports games because the town gets loud and the drunken yelling echoes through the neighbourhood, bouncing off of the shingles and spinning like tops in your ears -- ear."

Van Gogh scoffs. "Spare me the poetry, Kennedy. You don't need to romanticise my mental illness, okay? It's not fucking fun."

"I thought you liked all that flowery prose -- all that girly shit."

The shorter boy shakes his head, feeling even smaller under Kennedy's scrutiny. "Don't talk down to me. And just because literature is written like a painting doesn't mean it's 'girly'. You like my artwork, don't you?"

"I like the one you did for AP art last year... the self-portrait."

Van Gogh smiles internally, secretly pleased with his best friend's answer. "I never thought I'd get a real compliment out of you, Kennedy."

"I compliment you!" He protests.

Van Gogh shakes his head, still wearing his smile. His lips are like daisies soaked in blood -- full and dripping. "Not without coating it in some condescending insult."

"Whatever, Gogh. You didn't want to be alone, and I'm here. So what now?"

"Well, so long as I'm holding you hostage, you may as well do some homework."

"I don't do homework," JFK reminds him.

Van Gogh smirks. "I know that, Kennedy. I just had to remind you of your morals before you go off and give me an honest compliment again. Weirds me out when you go soft, even for me."

JFK follows Van Gogh to his bedroom. The hallway walls are oddly bare and would go without notice if they hadn't been painted a murky blue. No pictures are hung, which strikes Kennedy as uncomfortably odd every time he visits his best friend's house. JFK's dads have hundreds of pictures of him stuffed into each nook and cranny of their house -- it's striking to see a pair of parents who care so little about documenting their child's early years.

Gogh pushes open the door to his room tentatively, almost as if he's scared there'll be an apparition seated on his bed. He shudders at the thought, trying to shake it off by opening the door all the way. He sits on a chair instead of the bed, nervous to accidentally sit on top of the ghost and give it a perfect chance to tunnel its way up into his organs. JFK notices the boy's shuddering and raises an eyebrow, taking note of the closed window and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Who knew such a small boy could be so hopeless at keeping warm?

"Cold?" Kennedy asks, and Van Gogh looks up from the spot on his hand where he'd been anxiously picking at a scab. "And don't do that; the skin's almost healed," he adds.

Van Gogh narrows his eyes at the boy on his bed. "Since when do you care whether or not my scabs are healed?"

JFK shrugs, nervous to admit that he feels like he has to care since his friend's parents so obviously don't.

"Sorry I snapped," Van Gogh covers quickly. "Reflex."

Kennedy nods dismissively as if to show that he understands.

A couple seconds tick by, filling the room like a hose in a swimming pool. The time collects in the bedroom, spilling into every corner and fault line crack of the walls. It begins to overflow, and that's when Van Gogh can't stand the silence anymore. He invited Kennedy over so he wouldn't have to drown in stillness. Why can't JFK talk, dammit? Why is he so self-absorbed that he can't carry on a conversation for longer than five minutes at a time?

"Do you wanna read a book?" Van Gogh suggests, but it comes out in an urgent blurt. Maybe that's for the best. It gets Kennedy's attention.

"I don't read books."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a violent fire from embarrassment. "That's because you don't have the attention span to," he spits. "I could read it to you."

JFK's head snaps up. Gogh's cheeks darken an even deeper shade of red and he can feel his heartbeat in his face. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay," Kennedy says at last. "Read me a bedtime story." His overconfident, annoyingly-flirty tone is back, and Van Gogh smiles in relief. The blood drains from his cheeks and his heartbeat follows, little by little.

He excuses himself from his chair to slide a book off of his shelf. Kennedy lies down on the bed, his head on the pillow and his too-long legs spilling over the edge. "Give me a blanket," he demands, clearly serious about the "bedtime" thing. Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but fishes a blanket out of his bottom dresser drawer and throws it over to Kennedy nonetheless. JFK has just finished unfolding the blanket and throwing it over himself when Van Gogh settles back into his chair, lifting the cover of the book with his long fingers gingerly. His nails grow out past his fingertips which is normally a girlish look, but Kennedy can't help but wash his eyes over the boy's hands anyway. It doesn't look girlish on Van Gogh. Nothing looks girlish on Van Gogh.

#jfgogh #jfk clone high #clone high #van gogh clone high #fanfiction #van gogh x jfk

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seriouslyhooked · 6 years

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Scoring Your Love (Part 14/?)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven,Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen. Story also on FF here and AO3 here. Banner by the wonderful @timetravelandfairytales

Modern AU where Killian is a world famous soccer star who has hit rock bottom and been sentenced to the place where ‘football’ legends go to die – America. While here he crosses paths with Emma, an up and coming musician and film scorer who challenges everything he thought he knew and makes him want more than the game he’s always loved. Will be filled with fluff for days. Rated M.

A/N: Okay friends I’m back, as I said I would be, and I can PROMISE that I am not leaving at such an unfortunate place with this chapter as I did last time. No, no, no. The time for cliffhangers and what-ifs is behind us. That being said I hope you will enjoy this installment and thank you for reading!

When he was a child, Killian had been told time and time again that staring at a clock wouldn’t make time move faster. He assumed the same logic worked for cell phones, and so it was arguably fruitless for him to keep staring at this blasted contraption. Surely Emma wouldn’t respond sooner because he wished it to be so. All the same, he was feeling restless and worried not having heard back from her all day.

It was very unlike Emma to leave him hanging. In all the time they’d been together Emma was nothing if not effective at communicating. Even in the depths of her most music-heavy moments, she was a creature of habit. Emma took breaks and checked in with the world in that time, and so the fact that he hadn’t heard from her since she left his place this morning was alarming. Couple that with the fact that they were supposed to see each other at eight and it was now well past ten and Killian was really starting to fear the worst. He knew in his heart something wasn’t right, but short of calling her friends or showing up at her place, what could he do? For the moment the answer did not present itself, so he found himself pacing around the kitchen, stopping every few minutes to check his phone again.

Last night Killian had faced a moment that brought real and tangible fear to the forefront of his life for the first time in a long time. The confrontation with Gold had angered him and terrified him too, but despite all Killian’s misgivings about coming clean, Emma had been accepting of the mess that stained his past. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done to fess up to her, and though there were moments of heartache where he watched her taking in some of the worse mistakes he’d made, he’d never met a person who was so rational in the face of emotion like Emma.

It turned out that Emma had this ability Killian never anticipated where she could reason through all of his bad choices and all of the happenings that had brought him to LA. She’d listened carefully, asking questions where they were needed and putting together the pieces of a puzzle Killian wished wasn’t so convoluted. Then, at the end of it all she’d not only accepted him, she’d shared her own demons too. If Killian were to wager on it, he’d say he now knew every part of Emma’s past that Regina’s little file had contained months ago, and having that exchange of past missteps between them had made it possible to overcome his fear. After everything, Emma still trusted him, and for Killian that was the single most important thing.

With the truth out there in full, Gold’s power was now seriously lacking in Killian’s estimations. Perhaps Gold had sway with the press and with teams in his old league, but since Killian only cared about his relationship with Emma, and since Emma had assured him that she was in this for the long haul, bad press or not, he felt like he had everything. No matter what may come professionally, Killian had more than enough to keep him blissfully happy as long as he had Emma by his side.

The only problem was that right now she wasn’t here, and the more time that passed, the more Killian began to worry that Emma had changed her mind. Maybe in the light of day this had all gotten to be too much for her. Perhaps some time between when she’d left for work this morning and now she’d seen the light and realized she was worth more than such a sorry state of affairs. He hoped that wasn’t the case, knowing he’d never move on from Emma Swan, but just as the wave of uneasiness around him began to crescendo to an all time high, his phone rang.

“Emma,” Killian murmured aloud as he went to grab it, but instead of seeing her name it was his brother’s. Again. Fuck!

Killian had been barely keeping in touch with Liam since the last spat they’d had, but today his brother had been calling and texting him more than usual. If it was an emergency, Killian would have known – but from what Liam had written he just ‘wanted to talk.’ Whatever Liam believed to be so important, now was not the time to be speaking about it. He had more pressing matters and no patience for whatever business happenings or sport politics Liam was no doubt intrigued by. Killian ignored the call and threw the phone back on the counter. Seconds later there was a knock at the door. Again hope swelled in Killian’s chest, but when he looked to see who was there, he was completely shocked.

“Liam? What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Liam said by way of answer as he let himself into the apartment.

Killian looked his brother over, finding Liam just the same as when Killian had left him back in London. If anything Liam was harder now, his suit starched to an almost painful crispness and his blue eyes looked cold and distant. He appeared ever the professional, but Killian could also sense that he would not like what his brother had come here to say. There was an edge to Liam’s presence, and where that edge came, a row was almost sure to follow.

“So you got on a plane and flew here?” Killian asked, incredulous that his lack of response would prompt such a bold move.

“I did what I had to do. Two minutes a day hardly cuts it, Killian.”

“I’ve been busy,” Killian replied, knowing that was true even if Liam had a point. If Killian hadn’t been angry still he would have given his brother more attention. Unfortunately for Liam, Killian hadn’t fully forgiven him for his reaction to learning about Emma.

“Oh trust me brother, I know,” Liam replied, dropping a stack of papers on the table. Killian looked down and saw that the pile contained dozens of photos and that the subjects of the shots were he and Emma.

“Are you spying on me?” Killian asked, the anger in his voice apparent as his arms folded over his chest. If Liam were spying it would be such a flagrant crossing of any line of decency that Killian didn’t know how they’d come back from it, but Liam scoffed at the query like it was utterly preposterous.

“Hardly. These were sent to me this morning, and while I’ll admit that most of these are rather dull, there are a few worth seeing.”

Liam pulled the photos in question out of the lineup and the sight of them made Killian’s heart drop. While the others were mundane shots of Emma and Killian on dates and about town together, the ones Liam fixated on were taken today. Killian could tell because Emma was wearing the same yellow dress and braided hair that she’d left with this morning, but she didn’t look anywhere near as happy as she’d been when they said goodbye. That no doubt had to do with the fact that she wasn’t alone in any of these photos. Gold was with her, and his presence immediately set off warning bells in Killian’s head.

“Where did you get these?” Killian asked, his fingers tracing them over as the ire in his heart grew stronger. He didn’t have any details but already he knew Gold had done something monstrous and it filled Killian with rage to think that man would have the audacity to approach Emma where she worked. At the same time a creeping sense of dread worked its way up through his system. The only reason Emma had to deal with such a lunatic was because of Killian. He was in some ways responsible for this, and it made him ill to think he had put Emma in the path of such a tyrant.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Liam replied too cavalierly for Killian’s liking. “What I do care about is finding out just how deep you’re in with this woman.”

“Excuse me?” Killian asked, not following.

From what he could see in these shots, Emma was repulsed by Gold and she wasn’t trying to hide it. She looked angry, and in one photo she actually look hurt. It was clear as day that this was an ambush and a set up, but Killian supposed that to others who didn’t know her Emma’s poker face might come across as convincingly unaffected. Knowing her as well as he did, Killian could read every emotion without doubt, but Liam went on to pitch a completely different story of events Killian would never consider.

“Oh come off it brother. I just chartered a bloody plane to make you see what’s so clearly there. She’s playing you, Killian. It’s the only explanation.” Killian wanted to interrupt but Liam raised his hand to silence him and pressed on. “I looked into it. Gold’s a secret partner on the show she works on and he’s planning on funneling millions more into the project, enough to guarantee a multi-season arc. He’s essentially paying her salary for the next three years, and what’s more these pictures go back to the very day the two of you met.”

Killian’s gaze moved to an image of him and Emma on the street together that first morning. It was insane that this had been documented, and in a different situation he might be grateful. How many people got the chance to see photographic proof of the moment they fell in love at first sight? But the person behind these photos was a sick and twisted man. A man with no moral fiber who would clearly stop at nothing to try and ruin Killian, including dragging a perfectly innocent woman into the darkness with him.

“Gold has known of Emma since the start, brother,” Liam continued, clearly not seeing that Killian found all his analysis to be complete and utter rubbish. “What are the chances that one of his paps just happened to be there when you two first met? No, I wouldn’t put it past him to have set all of this up. It’s a con, Killian, and I believe Emma is in on it.”

Words failed Killian in this moment. He was so unspeakably angry at the accusation he was sure steam must be physically spewing out his ears. How dare his brother insinuate that Emma was some kind of prop or con woman! Liam didn’t know her. He didn’t know a damn thing about her, but here he was passing judgment, again! Killian had no interest in even responding to such drivel and instead he left the kitchen, moving to the door to grab his jacket and his keys. Now he had a better idea of what was happening even if he was still mostly in the dark. Gold had ambushed Emma today, and if he were to guess he’d threatened her with something. Whatever he’d said had actually scared Emma, and Killian couldn’t have that. She had to know that he would protect her and he wouldn’t waste another moment waiting to assure her of that.

“Where are you going?” Liam asked, alarmed at Killian’s ignoring him, but Killian didn’t give a damn. Instead he slammed the door behind him and headed out.

The usually quick drive over to Emma’s place felt like it took a small eternity, and by the time he’d arrived Killian was shaking from the excess adrenaline in his system. He didn’t know what lay in store for him behind Emma’s front door, but he knew he had to fix it. He marched up to her apartment and knocked loudly. He prayed that Emma was here and that she would open up and let him in, and a few moments later the door opened and a noticeably irate Ruby appeared.

“Where is she?” Killian asked, not bothering with any kind of polite greeting as he tried to move inside. Ruby kept her body in front of the entry, denying him access.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said defensively before dipping her voice low with even more fury sewn in. “I don’t know what you did, Killian Jones, but I have a mind to kick your ass. You said you wouldn’t hurt her. You promised me.”

“I know,” Killian said, feeling defeated. “But you have to understand -,”

“I don’t have to do anything, asshole! You fucked with the wrong girl. You think you can just break my best friend’s heart and get away with it? Not gonna -,”

“Ruby, don’t,” a small voice said from behind them. Killian knew that it was Emma though he couldn’t see her given Ruby’s command of the doorway. “It’s not what you think.”

“Hold on a minute,” Ruby said to Killian, and before he could argue the door shut in his face again and the locks were put back in place. Behind the door Killian could hear muffled whispering, and though he couldn’t make out words he knew Emma must have said something to appease Ruby’s protective instincts. A few more seconds passed and she opened the door again. “You have five minutes.”

“Ruby,” Emma said, chastising her friend and Ruby sighed.

“Fine. You have until Emma decides to kick you out. Satisfied?” Ruby asked Emma and Emma gave a tiny smile. Ruby took that as enough sign that Emma was doing okay and then she slipped through the front door and down the hall, leaving Killian and Emma alone.

Taking in her appearance, Killian felt a tremendous sense of guilt and heartache. His Swan’s beautiful green eyes were rimmed with red like she’d been crying for a while, and her expression was both exhausted and forlorn. It tore Killian apart to see Emma that way, for even if he hadn’t been the direct cause of those tears he was the one who burdened her with Gold in the first place. Whatever that demon of a man had done… well Killian would never forgive himself for the pain it was causing Emma.

“Killian… I’m so sorry,” Emma whispered, surprising him with her words.

He moved towards her, counting himself a blessed and fortunate man when she didn’t shy away. Instead she melted into him and he wrapped her up in his embrace, breathing in the scent of her as he kissed the crown of her head. Killian’s eyes closed for a moment as he let himself take comfort in holding her again. Having her in his arms was the only thing that could heal the pain he’d been harboring since Liam arrived, and he thanked God that whatever had happened, Emma wasn’t decidedly against the two of them being together. She was still open to him, even if she hadn’t come to him like he wished she would.

“Emma, I promise you, whatever you’re thinking you have no reason to be sorry. You just have to tell me what happened. What did Gold say to you?”

“You know about Gold?” Emma asked, clearly surprised and Killian filled her in as quickly as he could about Liam. He tried to breeze over the fact that his brother didn’t trust her, and luckily she allowed him to divert back to the central question – what had happened to make her act this way?

“Please, love, just tell me,” he begged and soon enough she relented.

“He came to me today and he…” her voice broke but she held it together, willing herself not to cry. “He said that if I continued to see you, if I even so much as replied to a text, that he’d know and he’d end your career. He said the deal you had with Regina meant nothing, and that the only way you’d ever play in the leagues where you belong again was if I…”

Her ability to speak collapsed in that moment. She released a broken sob and Killian’s whole body felt the impact of it. He was distraught at her grief, but as the intention of Gold’s plan became apparent to him, his emotions began to blur into something he couldn’t fully understand.

“If you left me,” Killian filled in numbly as Emma nodded, her tears still streaming down her beautiful face.

It was all so clear to him now. Gold’s goal was to take everything Killian loved and leave his life an ashen wasteland in the process. Killian just never imagined that Gold could come this close to totally destroying all Killian held dear. Losing the game would have been a blow, but losing Emma would have crushed him entirely. There would be no recovery. He didn’t think he was strong enough to take that kind of pain.

“So you were just going to end it then?” Killian asked, his voice a hollow sound so unfamiliar to his ears.

“I didn’t want to, but it seemed like the only way.”

The only way? It wasn’t a way at all! Life without Emma wasn’t something he was interested in, and when he considered the leverage Gold had it was nothing. So what if he never played another bloody game in his life? It wouldn’t matter, and Emma should have known that. He’d been trying to show her that for months, but she didn’t see. Hell, maybe she didn’t want to see because she herself didn’t feel the same.

“Was it that easy for you to say goodbye?” Killian asked, his own hurt and insecurity getting the better of him.

“Easy?” Emma parroted like she couldn’t believe he’d described it that way. “You think this is easy? Today has been one of the worst days of my life, Killian. Staying away from you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I almost gave in a thousand times.”

“But you didn’t. You made a choice.”

“A choice for you!” Emma yelled as her arms waved in the air. “Don’t you get that? I couldn’t let him take your dream, Killian. I had to protect you. That’s what you do when you love someone – you fight for them and you do anything you can to see them happy!”

Though her irritation was undeniable, there was only one thing in that moment that stuck out to Killian.

“You love me?” Killian asked. More tears spilled from her eyes as Emma looked down to the floor.

“Of course I love you, but it’s not enough because -,”

Whatever Emma was going to say, Killian couldn’t bear to let her say it. For though the circumstances were anything but ideal, his greatest wish had just been achieved. Emma Swan, the best woman who he had ever met, had just confessed that she loved him. Through some miracle this woman had given him her heart, and she didn’t see that that was everything. With this kiss he hoped to show her how precious her love was and to make her see that nothing else even registered when compared to that. Their relationship was all that he needed, plain and simple, and when they broke apart from the kiss he made sure to say that as clearly as he possibly could.

“The only dream I have that matters, love, is the one where you and I are together from here on out. I don’t give a damn about any of the rest of it. I just want you, Swan. Because I love you, more than anything in the world.”

“You do?” Emma asked, her tears having shifted to happy and relieved ones as her lips curled upward in a hopeful smile.

“Aye, love. There is no choice. Football’s a game, but you… Emma, you’re everything. I can’t live without you, Swan. I won’t do it.”

“I don’t want that either,” Emma promised, her hands holding tight to his shirt as if she was afraid he’d slip away somehow. “I was just scared. I didn’t want to take your choice away. I didn’t know how I’d live without you, but I didn’t want you to resent me.”

“I understand, Emma, really I do,” he assured her. “But you have to promise me that from now on you run to me. Whatever it is, whatever the threat, we will face them together. It’s the only way.”

“I promise.”

The two of them seemed to be of the same mind in that moment, opting to forego anymore talking and to find their reassurance through each other. They kissed again, this time with just as much heat but a deeper rooted need to take things further. For Killian’s part, he was determined to love Emma as she deserved, and that would start with taking her back to her bed and ravishing her fully. They managed to get to her room without breaking apart, and once the door was closed, Killian had her pushed against it. Instinctively he rubbed the hard and heaving lines of his body against hers, reveling in the shiver that coursed through her and the breathy pants of need she set free.

“Killian.”

His name was a sigh on her lips as her fingers came to rip his shirt off and then his came to tear hers away as well. It riled him to see more of his love exposed to him, but while Emma seemed intent on moving quickly, Killian couldn’t bear to. Tonight he wanted slow and steady, a declaration of the way his love for her would last forever. He wanted to map out every luscious piece of her and pull every type of pleasure from her body, but first he needed something from her.

“I need you to say it, Emma.”

“I love you,” she said without hesitation, understanding him fully and he released a growl at that, tearing off the rest of the layers between them. He maneuvered her to her bed and from there he was a man on a mission.

“Again, Emma,” he commanded as his mouth hovered just above her breasts, his hand teasing upward on her thigh, headed to the place she wanted him most.

“I love you, Killian. God I love you so much,” she said as her eyes closed and her body arched upwards. He rewarded her as his fingers entered her and his thumb brushed her clit. She moaned and then his mouth moved to her hard peak and her hands ran through his hair. In no time at all she was riled to a state where release was imminent, and without his even needing to ask she murmured that she loved him again.

Her orgasm washed over her as Killian gave her everything she needed, but while she came down from the high, Killian was hardly finished. He worked to rile her up again quickly, and by the time his mouth was at her sex she was whimpering for more. His eyes flicked back up to hers. She watched him with a wild expression, and the need and love he saw there on her face had his hard length jerking almost painfully.

Killian believed that Emma must think she was saying the words again, but truth be told she was so consumed with sensation, her exclamations weren’t exactly coherent. Instead they were the most beautiful music to his ears, a serenade of Emma’s want for him that he’d memorize if it killed him. He warred with his want to finish her quickly and give his Swan what she wanted, but instead he tormented her with his mouth and skilled tongue. Only when her whole body was flush with need and she was practically begging did he send her over, and then he kissed his way back up above her, waiting for her eyes to blink open again before he told her all he felt.

“There has never been another love like the one I have for you, Swan. There is no me without you anymore. I’m changed now. You changed me, and I am yours, forever. Just as your mine. We belong together, love, and that’s exactly how we’ll stay.”

“Mine,” Emma whispered happily, the mistiness of her tears returning as she ran her fingers along his jaw.

Killian knew what this meant for Emma. She’d told him how much it hurt in her past to not belong to anyone – to never have anyone claim her and to not have someone to claim in turn. Her friends had been the only exception, a family she was blessed to have, but the truth was that she dreamed of more, and Killian would be that dream for her. It was only fair, after all, since she was every good thing in his life and so much more.

With a hard thrust, Killian filled Emma completely and he had to stall for a moment at the tight wet hold of her heat. Fuck, she was perfect, made for him in all ways, and it felt like a miracle every damn time he was in her. When he moved again and set a rhythm designed for satisfaction, all thoughts fled his mind. There was only getting them both to that state of perfect bliss, and when they found it the two of them had both been of the same mind, saying those three little words to each other at the moment that they fell apart.

“So how long do you think this will last?” Emma murmured sometime later as her fingertips trailed across his chest lightly, drawing a design neither he nor she was conscious of.

“This?” Killian asked, assuming she meant the relationship between them. “Well Swan, I thought I was rather clear in my promise to you. I said forever and I meant it.”

“No not us,” Emma said laughing as she shook her head. “I meant -,”

Before Emma could get her thought out a loud knocking came from the front door and it as accompanied by an equally audible proclamation.

“All right, you two. I’m coming inside this apartment now, so if there was some super hot make up sex that didn’t make it to the bedroom, now is the time to relocate!”

“There we go. I knew she’d be back,” Emma said giggling as she ducked her head into Killian’s chest.

“I guess we should count ourselves lucky. A whole two hours. She showed a lot of restraint,” Killian joked and Emma shook her head as she sat up, slipping from the bed and getting some clothes on. Killian followed suit, hating that this moment had ended, but knowing he would end up in bed with Emma tonight regardless. There would be no more leaving. Not now. Not anymore.

“Oh believe me, someone kept her busy,” Emma replied. “Only question is was it the girls, or was it Graham?”

“I told you they wouldn’t be out here in the living room, Red. You owe me five bucks,” Graham said from where he and Ruby were now in the apartment and Emma covered her mouth to stifle more laughter as Ruby responded.

“Trust me, Humbert, once Emma gives me the all clear, I’ll make it up to you, and what I have in mind is a whole lot better than ‘five bucks.’”

“Oh God,” Emma said with feigned severity as she took Killian’s hand. “Come on, let’s go tell them the good news. The sooner we do, the sooner they leave.”

“Ah, can’t deny I like the sound of that, love.”

And with one last kiss, the two of them set forth to assure their friends that the storm had passed, knowing all the while that the next time trouble came they’d be ready and that they’d always have each other, no matter what.

Post-Note: So there we have it – I told you guys I would fix things up and the biggest hurdle is now conquered. Trust me when I say that any CS based angst is behind us now, and while there might be some more hiccups, the love isn’t going anywhere. We haven’t quite seen the last of Gold yet (or Liam either), but Emma and Killian are ready for the battles, whenever they might come. Anyway, I hope that you guys liked the chapter, and I want to let you all know that I am not exactly sure when the next chapter will be up. I will be launching a new story next weekend as a part of CSSNS and I am not sure if that will effect when this story gets added to. That being said this story still has five whole chapters and an epilogue left, so don’t worry. It might take a little longer for an update to come, but it will come, I promise. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend!

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restoreamericanglory · 3 years

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New Post has been published on Restore American Glory

New Post has been published on http://www.restoreamericanglory.com/breaking-news/writer-whines-tom-brady-still-hasnt-paid-a-price-for-supporting-trump/

Writer Whines: Tom Brady Still Hasn’t Paid a Price for Supporting Trump

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In an article for USA Today this week, sports columnist Nancy Armour lamented the fact that NFL quarterback Tom Brady has gotten an “undeserved pass” for supporting and befriending former President Donald Trump. It will probably not surprise you to learn that Armour knows why Brady has gotten this supposed “pass.” If you guessed it has something to do with white privilege, you get the gold star.

In the piece, Armour reminded readers that a MAGA hat was once spotted in Brady’s locker, and she drew attention to past remarks Brady has made about his “friend” Donald Trump.

“He was happy to talk politics until he wasn’t,” she griped. “How mighty white of him. Brady’s ability to enter and exit the debate at his choosing, to shield himself from accountability, is the height of white privilege. As this country grapples with the far reaches of systemic racism, look no further than Brady, for whom the expectations, and allowances granted, will always be different.”

Why can’t people like Armour understand that literally everyone on the planet has the right to “enter and exit” political conversation whenever they choose? Indeed, you even have the right to excuse yourself from thinking about it, if you desire. Guess what? You don’t even have to have white skin to exercise these rights! A lot of miserable leftists would be a whole lot happier if they discovered this hidden liberty.

“In theory, it should not matter whether Brady supports Trump, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez or someone somewhere in between on the political spectrum. He has a right to his private views,” Armour continued. “But it was Brady himself who chose to make those private views public. If you think that MAGA hat just happened to wind up in his locker – at camera level, not buried at the bottom beneath a pile of cleats and clothes – I have a case of TB12 supplements to sell you. Brady has carefully cultivated his image over his 21-year career, whether it be his style or his social media posts, and he knew just what kind of reaction he would get.

“Brady has had the chance – several, in fact – to clarify or walk back his comments and has chosen not to,” she continued. “Instead, Brady has been allowed to divorce himself from it while Black athletes are made to own their views in perpetuity. It might seem petty to bring up Brady’s moral cowardice now, when the 43-year-old is accomplishing things unlikely to ever be seen again in the NFL. But celebrating what he’s done while turning a blind eye to what he has not is a privilege Brady does not deserve.”

No, it doesn’t “seem petty,” Nancy. It seems like a desperate search for clicks and views. Which is exactly what it is.

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andrewuttaro · 4 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 27 - TOR

2-1 OT Loss

This was 95% of a perfect Buffalo Sports holiday weekend. We got the big, National TV Josh Allen coming out party against Dallas on Thanksgiving followed by a win over the Maple Leafs in Buffalo and an OT loss up in Toronto the following night. Barring Eichel ripping home the OT winner this was almost the best we could’ve asked for. Walking out of the Calgary game in the pouring rain Wednesday I just felt lost with this team. Sure, the last five or so games have looked better than the prior ten in several metrics, but the actual W’s were still few and far between. Friday afternoon in Buffalo we got the win. Saturday evening in Toronto we got damn close to another. Three out of four points in this home-and-home series is awfully nice. I’ve been very forward saying there cannot be anymore moral victories with this team: not in year five of Eichel and year two of Dahlin. This club has underachieved for too long. But in instances like this you got to acknowledge the significance of how a two-game series can make a difference. It’s not just the eye test effects; take a look at the heat maps getting thrown around after these two game and you can see shots coming from the right places. The expected goals, the advanced stat I proclaimed was the harbinger of doom as the hot start faded, its picking up again. Corsi, yeah it’s picking up too! The thing you can take from each game from this one back to the Florida Panthers game, other than five points, is that the Sabres maybe bouncing back from an absolutely ghastly stretch. They maybe bouncing back like they never managed to last season after resurrecting the love of hockey in this City like Easter morning during the ten-game winning streak. If they can’t be consistently good right now, the next best thing is the ability to bounce back. What’s that motivational buzzword: perseverance?

Master motivator Ralph Krueger better be yelling that one in the locker room if we’re getting our bang for the buck out of him. We can ride him all we want about roster optimization but that’s what fans do good or bad and frankly; I don’t think he’s going to mess up the deployment WHEN his boss makes the trade we’ve been waiting for. They’re two points out of second in the Atlantic Division. If you want to get a GM’s attention for the necessity of a single trade, show them how it can make a difference in the standings right now. A top six forward makes a difference in the standings right now. Something about playing the Leafs makes me very long-winded on the prefaces. This game proved what a boon another top six winger would be for this club. Three players scored this game: William Nylander, Rasmus Ristolainen, and John Tavares. You might notice only one of those guys is a Sabre. The next thing you may notice is that Sabre is a guy most would consider not a part of the future of this team anymore. We can point at all the opportunities in this game that didn’t come to fruition while on the other hand also saying, yeah: another real goal scorer in the top six would be nice. Hate them or hate them (those are your only two options) the Leafs know who their guys are. They’ve committed tens of millions of dollars to four or five guys who are therefore paid to score goals or in Andersen’s case prevent them. When they don’t score or block enough the team is screwed. However you may feel about that model it’s gotten them three straight playoff appearances and that’s more than we can say about Buffalo. I’d sell an internal organ for a first-round sweep at this point. They could lose each game by six goals and most of South Buffalo would still be dangerously hammered climbing light poles. Make a trade, Jason. We get it, you find this defensive depth intoxicating but if you listen to what you Head Coach is telling you he certainly isn’t. He wants to optimize the roster and he certainly doesn’t want to get called Housley 2.0. The Bills don’t play for a week, buddy; do you think YOUR boss doesn’t have the time to notice something like that? Get the smart-ass bloggers like me off your back before that pesky fracking baron who pays you realizes how friggin close we are and forces you into another Ryan O’Reilly trade! Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, another goal scorer taking pot shots at Fredrik Andersen and maybe you seal up the full four points out of this weekend against the Leafs. The Jack Eichel Sabres will respond to that kind of morale bump. Marcus Johansson got called for slashing Cody Ceci and before you know it William Nylander is deking an Auston Matthews assisted shot over Carter Hutton’s shoulder like he was doing a magic trick. We could have a whole separate talk about how special teams is a crapshoot on this team but I’m kinda proud of myself for getting through two Leafs games without putting on the EXPLCIT tag and I don’t want to mess it up now. About seven minutes into the third period Rasmus Ristolainen took a puck in from the boards slowly but surely and this putrid Leafs defense let him all the way to Andersen where he deked in the equalizer. We got the absolute sexiest version of Rasmus Ristolainen this game and not anyone else really. Not even two minutes into the overtime period John Tavares and his unit were just buzzing around with the puck in the Sabres zone. He was covered by Victor Olofsson when we ripped a shot that appeared to not even be on target. However, the hockey gods get the most LOLs out of things going wrong for the Sabres, so Carter Hutton reached his glove out and the puck deflected in off of that. 2-1 OT loss done deal. Okay, to be fair a lot more happened in this game than the score will tell you. Ilya Mikheyev showed us how it’s done in Mother Russia and speared Sam Reinhart right in the nuts without getting called. Jeff Skinner got pissed. Conor Sheary scored a goal that didn’t count because when it crossed the line it was in Andersen’s glove and remember those heat maps I mentioned earlier? Well the Sabres let precisely zero shots from what one might consider the “net front” area while taking a high number of shots from those spots in their own right. Say what you will about the Leafs this season, the Sabres played good offensively and pretty good defensively to get this result.

So you probably don’t want Carter Hutton letting in that OT goal. I don’t see why he wouldn’t put out his glove there though. It probably looked like it could’ve gone in from his angle. Nonetheless it’s an excuse for me to proclaim that the tide has turned: Linus Ullmark is now the starter and Hutton is the backup. We were predicting this would happen last season but here we are with King Ullmark just in time for Christmas. Each time Hutton gets called new Lehner my Ullmark jersey gets a little bit prettier. Enough piling on, I think we can all agree this home-and-home series would’ve been bulletproof had it been four points. Since its three, also more than we probably expected, we probably need a dominating performance tomorrow night against a struggling Devils team to really make it seem like we’re back on track. The very vocal pessimist party on Sabres twitter will probably second guess it until there is an x next to the team in the standings but the resurgence is on. Go beat up the Devils Monday night and fly to Western Canada with the confidence it takes to win in this league. If you have trouble finding that confidence just ask Jimmy Vesey: he went from zero to hero in one week. Confidence is one hell of a drug. Like, comment and reply to this blog to help out. Happy Holidays.

But wait, I’d be a coward to not talk about it. The scandals unfolding right now that originated with Bill Peters and Akim Alui are not a witch hunt. Don’t be a dumbass. Hockey as a sport is not growing. The way the league points to it growing is farcical at best. The sport is shrinking because it’s a rich white kid sport with an ugly culture to match. As North America gets more diverse hockey is not keeping up. Not only is it not keeping up its proving at every turn that it prefers the racist failings of a generation of boomer coaches who get recycled over and over again to any real movement toward inclusivity. Bill Peters thought it was okay to yell the N word about one of his non-white player’s music in a packed locker room. The Ontario Hockey League, twenty something clubs across the most populace province in Canada, thought it was okay to blacklist a kid in his NHL Draft Year as a troublemaker because he got in a fight AFTER one of the most notorious instigators in this sport called him a racial slur. Alui was essentially booed out of Windsor for standing up for himself. Top to bottom this sport is not for everyone and if we have any hopes of saving it for coming generations we have to listen to guys like Akim Alui without feeling like the whole sport is under attack. It’s called learning and growing. It’s something this sport has trouble with far less important issues. The Steve Dangle Podcast is one of my go-to’s on a regular basis. You should listen to it. It’s a lot of Leafs talk but the way they discussed this reckoning here was brilliant. It’s not about what kinda guy Peters or Babcock are. Peters turns out to be a real bad guy. It’s about the fact that hockey allows the culture for people to feel comfortable talking like that. This state of affairs isn’t okay and frankly painting it in your quasi-political culture wars colors is not helpful. That’s harmful. Those last two sentences were me. I felt the need to say this after what’s been going around this week. Please, don’t be a dumbass. I’m looser with the mute button on twitter these days. Don’t be a dumbass, listen. Please just listen. It’s what we need more of these days. That’s it for me. I’m just some blogger. Go listen to someone’s story who’s actually effected by it. Let’s be better people to each other. Let’s Go Buffalo.

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. I feel like close second in Greatest Game Against the Leafs in Sabres history is Punch Imlach’s return to Toronto in 1970. The newspaper clippings are great. Not only did the expansion Sabres beat their Coach’s former team, there was a Sabres fan who gave Imlach a sabre which he had with him for postgame. That’s how you fire the first shot in a rivalry.

#buffalo sabres #hockey #blog #NHL #Toronto Maple Leafs

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riverdalelovee · 7 years

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I thought I would post my Fic on here as well. 😊 The Girl Next Door Summary: 18 year old Jughead Jones is a straight 'A' over-achiever who feels that he has never really lived life to the fullest. That is, until he meets the girl next door. Notes: This will be based off of the movie called "The Girl Next Door". I will be taking dialogue directly from the script of it but also adding in a lot of my own stuff and leaving stuff out. In this AU, Jughead is 18 years old and Betty is 20. Sorry for any errors, and thank you to @wheninriverdale for editing for me, you're the best. This is my first Fic so I'm a little scared. If there is enough people interested, I'll start on chapter 2. I hope you enjoy. :) Chapter 1 "How do you just skip class every day and go to the beach?" Jughead asked Archie as he watched Riverdale's football team and cheerleaders, the River Vixens, exit out the glass doors leading out to the parking lot of Riverdale High. "Because they just don't care. Let’s go with them. Seriously, let’s just do it." Archie exclaimed. Jughead stopped suddenly causing Archie to slam into his back. "Why?" Jughead and Archie may have been best friends, but they also had very different interests. One of them being sports and another being the people they chose to hang out with when they weren't with each other. "We never do anything Jug. I mean, we're graduating. We should be going nuts right now. Let's just do something." “I am doing something Archie; I'm going to class" Archie grabbed Jughead's arm before he could cross the threshold to his next class. "You already got into Yale Jug, come on." Jughead yanked his arm away from Archie and proceeded to take his usual seat by the window in the back of the class. He watched out the window as Archie slapped the shoulder of one of his football team mates, Reggie, before hopping into the back of the pickup truck. Jughead rolled his eyes and took his science text book out of his book bag that was slouched on the floor and threw it on his desk hard enough to turn a few heads in the rows in front. _______________________________________ "Oh, hi honey. You’re home early" Jughead's mom, Gladys, said while she sat at the kitchen table with his father, Fred Andrews and Mary Andrews. Jughead and Archie's parents have been close friends since before they were born, throwing Jughead and Archie into each other's lives as a result. They instantly became best friends and have been inseparable as far back as they could remember. "Yea, I postponed working on the Blue and Gold. I gotta work on my speech. Hey Mr. and Mrs. Andrews." Jughead said while kicking his shoes off and sliding his book bag off his shoulder. "Hey Jug. Congratulations on Yale." Fred Andrews said lifting his coffee mug in Jughead's direction, giving him a nod and a smile. "What's the speech you're working on?" "Oh, it's for this scholarship I need to get so I can actually go to Yale. It's pretty expensive." Jughead explained while rubbing the back of his neck and darting his eyes to the floor. The mood shifted in the room. Jughead's family was not well off, but had enough to get by. This was pretty well known in their small town, where everyone knew each other's business, but it never caused people to look down on their family and Jughead was grateful for that. "What kind of scholarship is it? What do they give it for?" Fred asked Jughead, trying to bring the mood back to something more positive. "It's for the student who best demonstrates moral fiber." Jughead explained, lifting his head. "Oh, I'm sure you'll get it Jughead." Mary Andrews said smiling at Jughead. "Thanks Mary, I mean I hope so. There's some stiff competition and they only pick one of us so I'll just have to blow them away with my speech." Jughead excused himself and headed up the stairs to work on the speech. Jughead sat at his desk in his room with his feet resting on his bed that was covered in flannel sheets. His desk lamp and the full moon outside were the only light source to inhabit his space. He shuffled through his now worn out index cards that contained bits and pieces of the speech he had been working on tirelessly for the past 3 months. Giving this speech at the scholarship award ceremony would be the most important moment of his life and he knew he had to put everything he had into each word. He grabbed a fresh index card from the pile sitting on his desk and started writing himself a list. 1. MAKE EYE CONTACT 2. BE CHARMING 3. JFK QUOTE! "Jughead, could you please take out the trash for me honey" Gladys called from the bottom of the stairs. Jughead closed his eyes tight and scooped up his cards. "Yea sure mom, be right down." Jughead grabbed the bag of garbage by the front door and swung it over his shoulder. He walked towards the end of the driveway, while reciting parts of his speech under his breath. "John F. Kennedy once said..." Jughead stopped dead in tracks, feeling his stomach tighten instantly at the sight in front of him. A baby blue Volkswagen beetle was parked on the street in front of his next door neighbor’s house, the Lodge’s. The trunk was open and the most beautiful golden hair he had ever laid eyes on was rummaging inside. His eyes trailed down her bare shoulders and slender frame to the black skirt that stopped just below the most perfect curves. Her long legs were almost glowing in the moonlight. Jughead swallowed hard and could feel the bag start to slip out of his now sweaty palm. He started moving towards the garbage bin at the end of the driveway, not taking his eyes off of her. She turned out of the trunk, bags in hand, and started towards the Lodge’s house. Jughead walked straight into the garbage bin, knocking it over, causing a loud crash to echo through the air. She looked over in his direction, but didn't startle, almost as if she knew he was watching her. A small smile crept at the corner of her mouth and Jughead quickly looked away feeling the heat rise through his entire body. She turned her attention back to the front door, closing it softly behind her. She was the most captivating woman Jughead had ever seen in his entire life. "Look, I don't know who she is." Jughead said to Archie over the phone as he paced back and forth in his bedroom. "I'm just saying that this girl was unbelievable. I mean she was like an angel. She had this smile...you should have seen it." "So did you bang her?" Archie asked Jughead. "Oh yeah Archie, I banged her." Jughead said sarcastically as he plopped down at his desk chair, looking up at the ceiling. "That's what a man does." Archie said, laughing a little too hard at his own joke. Archie was a lot more experienced than Jughead in the girl department and loved to remind him of this fact. "Yeah, okay Arch." Jughead said as he turned his head sideways to look out the window. "Oh my God." Jughead almost dropped the phone at the sight that was displayed in the window of the house next door. The mystery girl Jughead had seen earlier was sitting at a vanity brushing her wavy blonde hair. He could tell she was listening to music because her head was slightly moving in a rhythm and once in a while she would mouth words, singing along to whatever she was listening to, Jughead assumed. "What Jughead?" Archie asked "What happened?" "The girl next door, I can see her through my window. God, who is this girl?" "Be a man and go over there Jughead." Archie said. "Come on. Just introduce yourself." "Okay, and say what. You know I'm not good with this stuff." Jughead said to Archie, not taking his eyes off of her. "I don't know. Get off your ass and do something Jug!" Archie yelled at Jughead through the phone. "Oh my God." Jughead breathed in sharply. The girl moved out of her chair and with her back to the window, pulled her red tank top up over her head, throwing it to the side of the room. Her bare back was completely exposed causing Jughead's heart to race, and making him forget he was on the phone with Archie. She moved her hand to her waist and slid her black skirt slowly down over her hips, exposing the black thong she was wearing. Jughead clicked off the phone, ending the call with Archie. He knew he should look away, that this was wrong, but it was like his whole body had been paralyzed and he didn't have a choice. The phone rang and Jughead clicked the talk button, not taking his eyes off of her. All her heard on the other end was Archie's voice saying "Dude, what the fuck?" Before he quickly pressed the off button and threw the phone on his bed. Just as the girl stood up straight after kicking off her skirt, she turned her head and locked eyes with Jughead. Jughead hit the floor so hard he thought he had blacked out for a split second. He skidded across the floor and put his back up against the wall underneath the window. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Jughead said out loud to himself while digging both of his hands deep into his hair, knocking his beanie off his head. He slowly lifted his head over the window sill. The light was off in the room and she seemed to be gone. Just as he began to relax back down to the floor, a figure caught his eye coming towards his house. It was her. A split second later the doorbell rang and his heart was in his throat. "Jughead!" Jughead's father's voice rang through the house causing him to jump. He couldn't believe this was happening. She probably told his parents he was watching her, he thought. "Jughead, come down here." His father's voice rang from the bottom of the stairs again. Jughead rubbed his face and grabbed his beanie off the floor, shoving it hard over his head. He made his was slowly down the first few stairs and stopped half way down when he saw the girl standing between his mother and father. "What are you doing up there?" Jughead's father asked. "Come down here." Jughead hesitantly walked down the rest of the stairs and came to a stop in front of the girl and his parents. She was even more beautiful up close. She had her hair up in a loose ponytail, wearing a yellow t-shirt and grey sweat pants. Jughead rubbed his hands together while looking anywhere but at the girl standing in front of him. His heart was racing again. She hadn't taken her eyes off of him since he had emerged from his bedroom. "Jughead, this is Betty."

#fanfiction #fanfic #bughead #riverdale

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dethdealer12345-blog · 6 years

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Kung Fu Yoga (2017) Review

Kung Fu Yoga, a joint feature between India and China, starring Jackie Chan is one of the worst movies I have ever seen, and yet I do not hate it.

The film opens with an over the top battle sequence wherein Jackie, as an ancient Chinese General single-handedly defeats an enemy armor.

Which sounds amazing.

Unfortunately the entire thing is done in horrible CGI that looks like one of the early PS2 era Dynasty Warriors games.

Thus the problems begin as soon as the film starts.

The fight drags on for minutes, far longer than it should, allowing you to thouroghly enjoy the awful effects, and while the film is not a Hollywood level production, it does not in any way excuse the terrible special effects.

The film then starts proper with Jackie Chan, as China's greatest archaeologist, Jack telling his class how the battle totally happened and the lone Chinese man definitely defeated an army all on his own.

And for those who noticed, yes, Jackie Chan plays a character called Jack.

Their not even trying.

With lighting so bright and so garrish looking, you are immediately reminded of a commercial as the film starts to show one pretty looking part of China after another. And it only gets worse the longer the film goes on. As if the film were desperate to get tourist to see all the lovely sights and attractions in the perfectly clean, shiny, and happy lands of China and India.

And as a side note I must make mention of how often foreign films do such things, especially Chinese, Korean, and Japanese films. Don't get me wrong, Hollywood films still do the same, if not as obvious. Except for their morales and political leanings, as Hollywood is so far Left that it hurts, especially when its combined with their authoratarian nature, but politics aside, Hollywood only ever does such things in the most low brow garbage they put out. Things like Adam Sandler films. China, Japan, and Korea however have turned such obvious pandering propaganda into an art as every year dozens of films come out to show just how cool and perfect their respective countries are.

Even worse are the ones set during any period of warfare, where the heroes and their nation are shown as kind, intelligent, brave, and all around great people, able to do and overcome anything. While their enemies are incompetent, cowardly, stupid, and evil just for the sake of it.

It feels like something written by ten year old's.

And Kung Fu Yoga is one such movie.

As the next scene shows how super awesome perfect archaeologist Jack(ie), has developed a new technology to help with the repainting of the Terracotta Warriors. Remember those, they are super cool and a real treat for the family. Come to China today and you can see these and more.

At this point I was just mad, as the film was unbelievably bad.

Then our main actress walked into frame.

Smile on her face, she turns to Jackie and asks him in the most busted up, incomprehensible English I have ever heard or seen in a movie. All the while she poses, no joke, just straight poses as if she were at a modeling gig. Tilting her head just so, holding her self just right, and smiling. Always smiling.

Other characters are introduced but none of them matter, or are of any importance.

The only characters that matter are Jackie, main girl, villain, and pretty boy.

Pointless filler litter the next few minutes as the group starts a history lesson. Which is another thing the movie continually does. Tell history, but not real history, more of a bastardized version where in neither country has ever done anything wrong and everyone within is perfect. Again nothing but propaganda.

After a scene were Jackie smacks a karate training thing, the one with the stem looking wood pieces sticking out, which is more sad than anything as Jackie does his best to still perform his stunts.

And for being 63 I must applaud the man, even though I am still sad that he is reduced to being in such garbage.

Finally the group decides to go and find the missing treasure. Using new super great technology, they find it within seconds. Along the way they are joined by pretty boy, who is a treasure hunter/thief.

Finding the treasure they are disappointing to learn that it is under a large block of ice. Luckily, Jackie knows a guy who happens to have a giant drill, one that can easily cut through the ice and reach the treasure and so the problem is resolved almost as fast as it is brought up.

While the drilling is happening, Jackie and his group are surrounded by CGI wolves. Thinking quickly Jackie decides to perform Kung Fu with pretty boy.

The two punch and kick and do all manner of other attacks and stunts against each other, none of which look good. That doesn't work of course. And I am utterly perplexed as to why they thought it would and why it is in the film. In the end the wolves are chased off by snowballs.

During all of this, main girl continues to tell history lessons while Jackie just looks depressed.

Finally, they head down the newly drilled hole, were they find the treasure.

Frozen over by a tiny, easily breakable layer of ice, the find the near perfect condition treasure. When suddenly villain arrives, with a handful of goons. Armed with guns they order Jackie and his group not to move, only to realize that shooting could bring the whole ice cave crashing down.

At the same time, Jackie's group finds a large diamond. Thus a kung fu fight ensues, wherein Jackie, pretty boy, and another guy fight the bad guys while the girls stand around and look pretty.

The fight goes back and forth for a bit, but then Jackie and his group win, knocking out most of the bad guys, while pretty boy jumps on the slow moving lift, rides it up through the drilled hole, runs to a snowmobile and escapes.

The movie then cuts to Jackie and his group captured, and being tied up while the villain, rides up the lift and chases after pretty boy.

It was at this point that I paused the film and rewound it, thinking I had zoned out and missed something. But no. I had not missed a thing. The movie had apparently just skipped or straight cut the part were Jackie and the others are defeated and captured, which is so jarringly weird, since the last time we saw Jackie and the others had been when they had won.

Its as if a good 3-5 minutes of the film was cut or just never filmed.

Continuing on, the bad guys then just leave Jackie and the others behind, to freeze I guess, while they leave.

Main girl then uses yoga to get out of her ropes.

It's as stupid as it sounds.

With everyone freed, Jackie, the 63 year old man, and main girl than decide to dive into freezing water, that is within an ice cave to try and find a way out. They do not know if their will be one, but they are desperate and have been stuck down in the cave for almost thirty seconds, and so Jackie and main girl hold their breathe and dive in.

Luckily the two are able to hold their breathe for minutes, and they escape.

The movie then cuts to two weeks later were pretty boy is trying to sell the diamond at an auction. Jackie, others, and main girl all head there to stop him from selling it or if that fails buy it back.

After one attempt to convince him not to sell, the auction begins. Luckily, and I mean that as literally as possible. Luckily, Jackie also knows an incredibly wealthy business man who has hundreds of millions of dollars just sitting about waiting to be spent. And so the auction begins, with Jackie and villain bidding over the diamond. Sadly all the tension is lost because Jackie's friend basically has infinite money, and thus all they have to do is raise their hand and the diamond is theirs.

A fight and car chase then begins, one where Jackie is driving around with a CGI lion in the back of the car he procures. Like all the other CGI in the film, the lion looks horrible, and again I was left wondering why it was even in the movie. And why CGI.

As for the chase itself, it is between Jackie, villain, and the Indian police. All of whom are driving Lamborghini's. Now, I might not know much about India, but I am pretty sure their police force do not drive around in luxury sports cars. Thus even the police are propagandized, as India is shown to be just as equally magnificent as China.

The chase ends with main girl taking the diamond as she is now not with Jackie and Co, for some reason. It is never shown nor hinted as to why she has turned against them. She just has.

Jackie then goes to main girl, who is revealed to be the current descendant of the empire that owned the treasure Jackie and Co had recovered. She is also apparently an incredibly wealthy princess, living in a house that has actual gold walls and must surely be worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

How we are supposed to sympathize with her I have no idea. As oh no, a multi-billionaire has lost some of her money, woe is her.

Wearing an incredibly wealthy dress, she then asks Jackie and Co to change into Indian clothing, which they do for one scene which lasts a minute or two where they again go over some ancient fictional history about how the billions they found under the ice was not the real treasure. Instead the diamond that main girl took is actually a key to a much larger treasure.

With the short history lesson over, Jackie and Co change back into their clothes and begin another history lesson of a temple where the diamond is supposed to unlock the remaining treasure.

Why Jackie had to change into Indian garb for two minutes is something that I can only guess at (Propaganda to make India look pretty...oh yeah...cough)

Jackie is then invited by villain to his pent house were a few of the other characters have been captured, and are currently in a cage surrounded by hyenas.

Jackie is then forced to help bad guy to save his 'friends'.

During this a few of the other, other characters sneak over and save the others. Bringing a pile of meat, one of the guys climbs over and tosses it out into the pit of hyenas, getting them to turn from him. He then stops doing that, jumps in, dodges the hyenas and lets the others out. All the while he forgets about the meat that is bulging out of his pockets.

The meat he purposely gathered to use to distract the hyenas.

I guess the guy's an idiot. As there is no other reason why he would forget his plan mere seconds after coming up with it.

Villain than demands that the treasure is his families, and forces Jack(ie) and main girl to the temple were they find a secret tunnel to an underground temple made entirely out of gold and gems, and jewels. Along the way Jackie, Girl, and a goon fall and are hanging from a vine while a snake tries to bite them. In the end Jackie and Girl get away leaving the goon to hang. Goon pleads for help to which Jackie says he will help later. He is never helped and I can only presume that he falls to his death.

The bad guys then start to steal the treasure when they see a giant, solid, humongous statue of Shiva made out of pure gold.

A fight then starts, not that it matters, as Jackie wins.

Then a group of civilians walk down into the temple and start to pray to the statue, at which point Jackie tells bad guy the treasure is not for him but for everybody. At which point everyone breaks into dance. A giant, hundred plus people dance seen that plays for minutes, wherein, Jackie, bad guy, girl, pretty boy and everyone else in the film dance and sing, and sing and dance.

And I have no words for what I saw.

I mean, is that just a thing that happens.

Is it Chinese? Indian?

Did the movie think that was a good ending. I have no idea. And by that point I was so broken that I just laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

How was this film the highest grossing comedy film in China. According to Wikipedia the thing made 254 million dollars.

How? Why?

2/5

All in all, the film is terrible with no redeeming qualities. It is one of the dumbest, most boring, over commercialized, propaganda pieces I have ever seen. The entire movie came off more like a long travel commercial than a film, and yet it fails so spectatularly at so many moments that I found myself laughing multiple times at how terrible the movie was. And so, somehow, I was mildly entertained.

Would I recommend this film to anyone, of course not, but did I hate it.

Only slightly.

#Movie Review #Jackie Chan #Kung Fu Yoga

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