Vera Rubin, the groundbreaking astrophysicist who discovered evidence of dark matter, died Sunday night at the age of 88, the Carnegie Institution confirms.
Rubin did much of her revelatory work at Carnegie. The organization’s president calls her a “national treasure.”
In the 1960s and 1970s, Rubin was working with astronomer Kent Ford, studying the behavior of spiral galaxies, when they discovered something entirely unexpected — the stars at the outside of the galaxy were moving as fast as the ones in the middle, which didn’t fit with Newtonian gravitational theory.
The explanation: Dark matter.
Adam Frank, an astrophysicist who writes for NPR’s 13.7 blog, described dark matter by comparing it to a ghost in a horror movie. You can’t see it, he writes — “but you know it’s with you because it messes with the things you can see.”
“It was Vera Rubin’s famous work in the 1970s that showed pretty much all spiral galaxies were spinning way too fast to be accounted for by the gravitational pull of the their ‘luminous’ matter (the stuff we see in a telescope). Rubin and others reasoned there had to be a giant sphere of invisible stuff surrounding the stars in these galaxies, tugging on them and speeding up their orbits around the galaxy’s center.”
Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, Aiden Breen, Ghost & Reader/OFC
Warnings: Graphic depictions of torture, major character deaths (yes death is plural) andddd idk, just violence and cursing?
Author’s Note: Weirdly enough, this was one of the funnest chapters to write. I love showing the truly cold and clinical and twisted assassin side of the reader. Also, I know I’ve said this before but, in the original form of this story, it is Mitch x OFC, and the original female character’s name is Willa, thus the ‘Willowtree’ nicknames. (and you guys thought those were for nothing…)
Summary: Time is running out when Y/n finally comes face to face with Ghost and learns a shocking truth.
It was dark out, well before the sun was meant to rise, but you could see clearly enough. You glanced behind you as you and Aiden ran down the alley behind the hotel, that was supposed to serve as the team’s safe house in Rome. Ghost had very likely always known exactly where you all were, and he had come to collect the other half of the team. You heard a few more shots ring out, echoing against the bricks of the buildings on either side of you, and you ducked behind a large dumpster, your Glock trained between your legs, pointed at the ground, as you squatted next to some large bags of trash. You peeked back around the side, and saw Aiden laying face down on the uneven concrete.
Your stomach jumped up into your throat as you realized that he was no longer moving. You and Aiden had come to odds at certain points in this specific mission, but you had known him for years, and he was your friend, and now he was most likely dead. The man ran past you with his gun drawn, not realizing you had ducked out of the way when Aiden went down. He circled back around when he figured he had lost you, but you were waiting. You jumped out from behind the dumpster as he leisurely walked past, and hit him on the side of the head, with considerable force, with the butt of your Glock, rendering Ghost’s underling unconscious.
At this time in 1962, the U.S. was in the thick of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Here’s a brief recap of what exactly happened during those thirteen days.
It’s not hard to imagine a world where at any given moment, you and everyone you know could be wiped out without warning at the push of a button. This was the reality for millions of people during the 45-year period after World War II, now known as the Cold War. As the United States and Soviet Union faced off across the globe, each knew that the other had nuclear weapons capable of destroying it. And destruction never loomed closer than during the 13 days of the Cuban Missile Crisis.
In 1961, the U.S. unsuccessfully tried to overthrow Cuba’s new communist government. That failed attempt was known as the Bay of Pigs, and it convinced Cuba to seek help from the U.S.S.R. Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev was happy to comply by secretly deploying nuclear missiles to Cuba, not only to protect the island, but to counteract the threat from U.S. missiles in Italy and Turkey. By the time U.S. intelligence discovered the plan, the materials to create the missiles were already in place.
At an emergency meeting on October 16, 1962, military advisors urged an airstrike on missile sites and invasion of the island. But President John F. Kennedy chose a more careful approach. On October 22, he announced that the the U.S. Navy would intercept all shipments to Cuba, but a naval blockade was considered an act of war. Although the President called it a quarantine that did not block basic necessities, the Soviets didn’t appreciate the distinction.
Thus ensued the most intense six days of the Cold War. As the weapons continued to be armed, the U.S. prepared for a possible invasion. For the first time in history, the U.S. Military set itself to DEFCON 2, the defense readiness one step away from nuclear war. With hundreds of nuclear missiles ready to launch, the metaphorical Doomsday Clock stood at one minute to midnight.
But diplomacy carried on. In Washington, D.C., Attorney General Robert Kennedy secretly met with Soviet Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin. After intense negotiation, they reached the following proposal. The U.S. would remove their missiles from Turkey and Italy and promise to never invade Cuba in exchange for the Soviet withdrawal from Cuba under U.N. inspection. The crisis was now over.
While criticized at the time by their respective governments for bargaining with the enemy, contemporary historical analysis shows great admiration for Kennedy’s and Khrushchev’s ability to diplomatically solve the crisis. Overall, the Cuban Missile Crisis revealed just how fragile human politics are compared to the terrifying power they can unleash.
This is the fic @paranoid-borderline-insane requested. Sorry it took so long, I’ve been going back and forth between two hospitals, because two family members got sick at once, hooray… hope you like it!
Oscar Isaac, Christian Bale, Charlotte LeBon, Angela
Sarafyan, James Cromwell and Terry George
by Jay S.
The Armenian Genocide in
what is now Turkey happened over 100 years ago, but it is still a political hot
potato all these years later. In the days during and after World War I, the
Ottoman government rounded up and slaughtered 1.5 million Armenian residents.
To this day, the government (which was overturned to Turkey in the years
following the genocide) not only refuses to apologize for the atrocities, but
actively deny that they even happened.
Amazingly, for such a massive
occurrence in modern history, there has not even been a feature film on the
subject made in Hollywood. There have been several documentaries and some foreign
features – the best known probably being Atom Egoyan’s Ararat, but nothing in the US. Not that there were never any
attempts, but most were scuttled due to political pressure.
Until now. With The Promise, writer-director Terry
George – who also made a film about a similar genocide with Hotel Rwanda – has finally gotten a film
about the subject made with The Promise.
A tragic romance based on the backdrop, the film tells the story of a love
triangle between an Armenian med student (Oscar Isaac), a Parisian dance
instructor with Armenian family (Charlotte LeBon) and an American journalist
(Christian Bale) who try to save as many innocent Armenians as possible and get
the word of the atrocities to the world at large.
Of course, the film has not
been without backlash. The film was the victim of an internet smear campaign,
with their Rotten Tomatoes and IMDB ratings being attacked before the film was
ever seen. There is also The Ottoman
Lieutenant, another film on the subject – but told from the opposite
perspective – set for release soon after The
A few days before the
release of The Promise, cast members Oscar
Isaac, Christian Bale, Charlotte LeBon, Angela Sarafyan and James Cromwell and writer/director
Terry George met with the press at the Whitby Hotel in New York to discuss the
film and the still controversial historical event.
Why did you decide to make this movie? What approach
did you take to it?
Oscar Isaac: To my shame, I didn’t know
about the Armenian Genocide before I got the script and spoke with Terry [George].
It was new to me. To read about that, to read that 1.5 million perished at the
hand of their own government, it was horrifying. Not only that, but to this
day, it is so little known. [There is] active denial of it. That really was the
big interesting part of it. Also [I wanted to work with], the cast they put
together. And the fact that 100% of the proceeds will go to charity. That’s an extraordinary
thing to be a part of.
My approach was to read as
much as I could. To try to immerse myself in the history of the time. Also, in
LA, there’s a small museum that we were sent to. For me, the biggest help was I
had these videos and recordings of survivors, who would recount what they
witnessed as little children. Seeing their grandmother bayoneted by the gendarmes, or their mothers and sisters
crucified. Horrible atrocities. To hear them recounted almost felt like they
were little kids again. It was heartbreaking. I did feel some responsibility to
try to tell their story.
Christian Bale: Continuing off what Oscar was saying, the documentaries where you would
see survivors talking about horrific experiences. Loved ones, families, were very
barbarically killed. [I tried to] get into that mindset. To try even in a very small
way to understand the pain they must have gone through. The fact that people
were telling them that they were lying about what had happened. They had
witnessed it with their own eyes, had all of that emotion, but there were
people who refused to call it what it is – genocide. Still, people today refuse
to call it that. We have yet to have a sitting US President call it a genocide.
Obama did before, but not during [his time as President]. The Pope did
recently, but it is this great unknown genocide. The lack of consequence may well
have provoked other genocides that have happened since.
For me, it became startlingly
relevant, because as I was reading the script – and in the same way as Oscar,
was learning about the Armenian Genocide as I was reading, embarrassingly – I’m
reading about Musa Dagh [an area in Turkey], Armenians who were being
slaughtered, under siege, on a mountain. [At the same time] I’m watching on the
news, it’s the Yazidis, under siege, being slaughtered by ISIS. It’s so
relevant. Tragically sad it’s still relevant.
Charlotte Le Bon: I learned a lot as well by watching documentaries. I talked a lot with
Armenian friends in France just to get their take on the story and their
families’ stories. Also – just like Christian was saying – a couple of months
before the shooting I was in Greece, just on a holiday. I was on Lesbos Island,
which is close to Turkey. It was the beginning of the massive arrival of
refugees. They were coming like 1,000 per day. I didn’t know about it then. I
just remember being in the car and watching hundreds and hundreds of people
walking by the street trying to reach the capitol of the island. It was really,
really moving to see that. The only thing I could do was give them a bottle of
water. You don’t know what to do. A couple of months later, I was on set and we
were recreating the exact same scene that I saw, just a couple of months
Angela Sarafyan: I had known about the Armenian
Genocide, because grew up hearing stories from my grandparents, the stories
they had heard from their parents about their grandparents. So, doing this film
was very, very close to my heart, because it was a chance for me to give some
light to that world in a very different way. It’s never existed on film. It’s a
very controversial issue. What I got to do was really look at the time. Look at
what it must have been like to live in that time. The simplicity of what that
village was. The survival and romanticism of living in a small place. Learning
how people survive within the atrocity. I didn’t really have to go through some
of the horrendous things that you see, but I loved being able to investigate
that simple life. I read more, because Terry had introduced so many books and
scripts, a lot of material.
Turkish government give you any problems? Somebody hijacked Rotten Tomatoes for
a while, who couldn’t have possibly seen the movie. The Turkish government has done all they can to not
let a movie like this get made. Did you get any pushback?
Terry George: I had a very healthy
exchange with a Turkish representative in LA who represented the Hollywood
Foreign Press. He presented the Turkish perspective that a genocide couldn’t
have happened. There was a war and bad things happen. Lots of people die on
both sides. I said that was exactly true, but in the case of the Armenians, it
was their own government that was killing them. So, we talked that out.
We had that thing where IMDB
was hijacked. We had the sudden appearance of The Ottoman Lieutenant movie four weeks ago, where it was like the
reverse mirror image of this film, right down to the storyline. There is a
particular nervousness in Europe, I think, about the film and about the
situation, particularly the way President Erdoğan has campaigned across Europe
for a for lifetime referendum. So, yeah, it’s an extremely amorphous subject.
Our idea, as always, is get
it out there. Let’s discuss the thing. I’d be more than willing to sit down
with any representative of any Turkish organization and talk this out, in terms
of different perspectives, and present our perspective of it. We’d rather air
the subject, rather than hide away and deny that any of it happened, or that
one side is right and the other side is wrong. Let’s have this discussion.
Christian Bale: I don’t know if I should say this, but don’t you think also that there’s a false
debate created – a bit like climate change – as though there’s as strong
evidence on one side as on the other? But there isn’t. There isn’t as strong of
an argument. Where the evidence really just points to the fact that it was
Terry George: Well, the Turkish journalist’s perspective was, “Let’s have a
convention about this, and everyone sit down.” Yeah, 100 years later, the
evidence has been shredded. Pretty much every respected historian in the world
recognizes it was a genocide. Almost every government that isn’t swayed by
Turkish strategic position recognizes that it’s a genocide. So, let’s sit down
and figure out what went wrong? It’s a bit late, guys.
The whole world acknowledged what took place. [Let’s] find a way
toward reconciliation and some sort of rapprochement
in the region itself. Until this issue is… not resolved, but at least some
sort of reconciliation comes about… there can’t be a real peace in that area.
You have a country where three of the borders have been closed since its
What was your favorite scene in The Promise?
Christian Bale: Favorite is the wrong word. Terry and
Survival Pictures made a decision not to show the full extent of the barbarity
and violence enacted during the genocide. There were multiple reasons for that that I’ll let Terry
explain. There was one scene where Mikael, Oscar’s character, he sees many of
his family members and also members of his home town who have been slaughtered.
That was very emotional for many people that day. Also, seeing Armenians whose family
members had gone through that, it was a very affecting day for every single one
of us on the film.
Terry George: Just as I did on Hotel
Rwanda, I was determined that this be a PG-13 film. That teenagers,
schools, people who might be squeamish about the notion of seeing an R-rated
genocide movie, that the horror be psychological. That put the burden – and
carried magnificently by both Oscar and Christian on that scene – the horror of
the genocide. It is told through how Oscar conveyed those moments of what he
found, in his face.
Oscar Isaac: Yes, that scene was really
why I wanted to do the film. Every time I would read the script, it would
impact me deeply. Throughout shooting, knowing that moment was going to come, it
was going to fall on us to convey the reaction, there was a challenge. For me,
it wasn’t the most challenging scene physically. It was a wild shoot. But
emotionally, at that point, the culmination of all the reading and watching the
videos of people recounting the tragedy, to do that justice. Of course we’re
just actors, but you can’t separate yourself from politics totally. There was
something liberating about that moment, being able to share it with everyone.
We can all mourn together through the act of imitation.
There’s also a scene in a
tank. We had to do all of this underwater stuff. That was difficult, especially
with a fake beard. (Laughs) Beard
number two, beard number three, there were some challenging evenings. But
again, we were watching on the news, a man jumped in the water to save his wife
and kids… they all drowned. Here we are doing that. Seeing the same thing
happening over and over again, it took its toll.
your character is a journalist questioning everything that you’re reporting. Did
the relevance of that today go through your mind?
Christian Bale: Of course. That was
developing during filming and then obviously has become much more present in
the news. What’re we calling it now? The Post-truth
era? [This shows] just how important it is to have a free press for any
democracy. That’s another aspect of the film that’s become much more relevant.
There is a scene where Oscar’s character chastises
you, as the journalist, for being able to leave and go back home.
Christian Bale: That line is countered by Chris, my character. That line is, of course,
absolutely valid and truthful. But equally truthful is when Chris says, “Without
the press, nobody would know what happened.” That’s why it’s so important to
have the press, so we can really know what’s happening. Especially now, in this
era, where we have to filter through what’s real and not. People are claiming
fake news, when it’s clearly not. It’s getting chaotic.
One other thing that was
very surprising and inspiring, the film is just the beginning of a big social
campaign. The Promise Institute for Human Rights just opened
at UCLA. A hundred percent of this movie is going to charity. Human Rights
Watch, Amnesty International, we’re getting out there with people on the front
lines so to speak. We’re trying to hold people responsible for genocide.
Obviously, the press is needed to get evidence, data trails, it’s essential.
Hopefully people will see the film and have compassion for refugees, the crisis
they are going through.
Terry George: We’re partnered with one organization that I got
involved with during Hotel Rwanda
called Global Nomads. We’ve made
this video that we hope to distribute and show in schools around the world.
you talk about any of the unsung heroes that you found out about making the
Christian Bale: There’s Aurora Mardiganian. She’s
a real Armenian national hero. The award is named after [her] as well. [She’s]
a phenomenal woman who went through real tragic circumstances but came through
and told her story with film as early as 1919. She was phenomenal. I mean talk
about a fierce, strong woman who overcame phenomenal tragedy. She was very
James Cromwell: I think [Henry] Morgenthau [U.S. Ambassador to the
Ottoman Empire from 1913-1916 during the Armenian Genocide] was pretty
impressive. I didn’t know anything about him when I started [playing him in the
film]. Also, you can’t leave out the fact that there were consular
officers all over Anatolia who were also sending briefs back to Washington. That’s
one of the reasons that we have the record that we have. Morgenthau’s
biography, his memoirs, and these eyewitness reports.
strikes me as amazing that today there are no people with that sort of moral
outrage as part of our State Department. There are ambassadors to Yemen. There
are ambassadors to Sudan, Somalia, and Libya. You hear nothing. No one stands
up for the people who are being oppressed all over the world now in the way Morgenthau
took responsibility. [President Woodrow] Wilson was supportive, but not the
legislature, not congress. Congress was against him. After Wilson, [President
Herbert] Hoover was very much against him, against supporting his work and
against establishing the Armenian state.
So as far as a cause is concerned, it just shows us
that at the top, down to the average citizen, we have been so desensitized to
the suffering of people that we cannot recognize ourselves in the other. [This]
is one of the reasons you do a film like this. It has a narrative at the core,
so that the audience can come in and feel what other people feel. By doing that
you do what Shakespeare said [in Hamlet]:“Hold a mirror up to nature; to show virtue
her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his
form and pressure.” That’s what we do.
Terry George: There was an ambassador quite recently, Ambassador [John
Marshall] Evans, who was the ambassador to Armenia. He refused to not say the
word “genocide,” and was forced to resign. In the [President Bill] Clinton
James Cromwell: [President George W.] Bush.
Terry George: He’s a latter day hero in the mode of Morgenthau. [He]
rightly stood up and recognized [the genocide] for what it was, and paid for it
with his job.
Angela Sarafyan: For me personally, it
would be in my family. The orphans really. All of my great-great-great grandparents
were orphaned. They didn’t have parents left. They were all taken away. The
mere fact that they were able to survive and then to form families. One of them
fled to Aleppo to start a family in Syria. It seems like it’s coming full
circle with people today fleeing from Syria to find refuge in
other countries. So, I find them personally heroes in my own life. The mere
fact that they were able to survive, form families, have a sane mind. I think
that kind of trauma changes you genetically. Doing the film was continuing that
legacy and making it live forever. Instead of it just being a story that was
told, it lives in cinema. It will be an experience for people to watch and have
as their own.
love to know more of your thoughts of the web hijacking of IMDB and Rotten
Tomatoes against this film. Who do you think organized this or do you think
these are individuals?
Terry George: It can’t have been 50,000
individuals decided, after we had two screenings in Toronto, to [rate] us 1 out
of 10. Seems like a miraculously spontaneous thing to happen. I definitely
think that was a bot, or a series of bots that were switched on. Then we had the
contrary reaction, what I genuinely think was 25,000 votes from the Armenian
community – because we didn’t have a bot going – voting 10 out 10. It brought a
highlight to the not only IMDB, Rotten Tomatoes, just the whole question of
manipulating the internet. Manipulating reviews and people being swayed by
that. It’s a whole new world.
So I couldn’t remember FDR’s name (which I am ashamed of because he’s like my fav???) so what did I call him?
President fuckin Fred
Why am I like this
My friend and I spent the rest of class creating a life for the raddest pres ever
President motherfucking Fred.
The slogan will be ARE YOU READY TO LEARN SOME HARDCORE REAL-ASS SHIT, MOTHERFUCKERS?!
First off, we’re going to have a show with a comedic edge hosted by Jessica Williams entitled, “Shit White Men Didn’t Fucking Invent, For Fuck’s Sake, No Matter What You Think.” I figure six seasons and a movie shouldn’t be a difficult expectation.
We’re going to have a show called, “What The Fuck Is Wrong With You?” denouncing stupid conspiracy theories. Once a year on the anniversary of the moon landing, whichever astronaut would like to scream obscenities at people who believe the moon landing was faked will get to do so.
We’re going to do two paired shows about the presidents of the United States. One will be called “What [The President] Did Right” and the other will be called “What [The President] Did Wrong.” There will be no time limit on either episode. I expect the “What Reagan Did Wrong” episode to be approximately seventeen hours long.
And we’re also going to do the same thing for every other world leader, goddamn it, because we are NOT the most important people on the planet.
We’re going to do White History Month the way it should be done – by showing every goddamn thing white people have fucked up since time began. You already got something like twelve to sixteen years of education about how awesome white people were throughout history. Don’t come crying to me when you suddenly get that White History Month you wanted and it turns out we were absolute smug selfish abusive murdering shitsacks.
We’re going to learn about mathematicians and scientists and artists and performers and royalty and peasants and anyone who’s had a hand in making history, no matter where they were from. We’re going to have documentaries about every goddamn country on the planet, especially the African ones, because for fuck’s sake Africa is not a fucking country.
We’re going to have documentaries about disasters that happened in Africa and Asia and the Middle East that don’t fucking focus on white tourists. We’re going to have a show called “Hey, Everybody, Stop Being a Dick” where people talk about bigotry and -isms they experience every day from other people, and how many of these -isms haven’t progressed so much as changed. We’re going to have a show about gay rights that focuses on shit you never see in the mainstream like the homeless LGBT youth population and biphobia in the media.
We’re going to have a bunch of shows where we pick a date at random, and we show you what your everyday life would be like if you were poor or rich, or what you would do socially, or what kind of slang you would use and what you’d be reading. We’ll have a concert playing songs which would have been popular at the time. And we’ll have a show where we show what people would have been wearing at the time so you know.
We’re going to have shows about mass shootings which never mention the shooter’s names but tell you about every goddamn victim. We’re going to have made-for-TV docu-dramas that aren’t just about shit that happens in the United States. We’re going to have an entire department devoted to standing up and saying, “There are not enough women in the crowd in the background of this scene,” and, “Why is the only black man in this miniseries playing the fucking Devil?!” and anything else that needs to be pointed out to keep us from looking like assholes.
And hey, we’ll talk a LOT about the fact that poor people throughout history have done impossibly hard jobs for not enough money without only doing so because we can get Nielsen ratings out of them if we do.
Obama called no other lawmaker besides Flake and did so as a friend, according to a person familiar with the call. The former president and Flake did not talk about gun control or any policy issues, focusing only on the Republican senator’s condition after the shooting.
(anyone else get that feel Obama himself is the “person familiar with the call”)
A/N: Part two mofos! For all those who don’t know, when I write Cut, I’m referring to their vest! I realized that not everyone watched Sons Of Anarchy! And if I write any “Biker Talk” and you don’t understand, please shoot me a message and I’ll tell ya! I’ll try and tell everything in the A/N though!
Pairings: Roman X Reader X Dean X Seth, mentions of Becky Lynch and Charlotte.
You looked at yourself in the mirror. “Are you sure this looks good?” You asked your best friend, Becky.
“Yes! Ya look great! He called ya dis morning and told ya da’ it was just a casual date! And he’s a biker! I’m sure he’ll love it!”
You were wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, black boots, a dark red shirt and a leather jacket.
“Maybe I should change…”
“Y/N, as ya best friend I’m telling ya, that you look good and you’re not changing.”
You went to say something, but there was knocking on the door. “Oh look at da’! There is no time anyway!” Becky said, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to the door.
You looked back at her and she gestured for you to open the door. You took a deep breathe, straightened up and opened the door.
Roman was standing on the other side of the door, looking fine as hell. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, black biker boots, a dark blue shirt and his cut. His hair was down around his shoulders and looked like he shaved his scruff.
He looked you over. “You looked amazing, Y/N.”
“Thank you. You look good too.” You said, smiling.
He smiled. Becky came up behind you. “Alright, you kids have a nice time. I’m gonna be waiting here, eat your food and watching your TV.”
You rolled your eyes at her. “Just let me grab my bag and then we can go.” You said.
As soon as you were out of ear shot, Becky turned to Roman.
“If ya hurt her, I’ll skin ya alive. She’s be through enough with her last boyfriend, and ya hurt her, I’ll hurt ya.”
Roman pulled his eyebrows together. “I wouldn’t hurt her…”
“Ya better not.”
You came around the corner with your bag over your shoulder. “Ok, I’m ready.”
Roman smile and held his hand out for you. You smiled and took his hand. He lead you to his bike and then handed you a helmet.
He got on and put a helmet on, you got on behind him, put your helmet on and wrapped your arms around him.
“You good?” Roman asked, looking over his shoulder at you.
Roman then kick started the bike. You rest you cheek against his back, smiling.
When Roman pulled up at a bar, you looked around. It was like a biker bar, well you were pretty sure it was a biker bar. Why? Because there was nothing but motorcycles parked outside of it.
Roman got off the bike and you followed his lead. You put the helmet on the seat as he hung his from the handlebar.
Roman held his hand out for you, and you took it. He lead you into the bar and you looked around. Yep, it was a biker bar.
From what you could see, all their cuts said Hounds Of Justice. Roman lead you to a booth in the back of the bar.
You slid into one side and he slid into the other. “Is this your club’s bar? I mean do you own it? ” You asked.
“No. We just took it over for our own.” Roman said, looking around.
“Oh…” Roman looked back you and smiled. You continued to looked around. Music was playing over the whole bar, people were playing pool, taking shots and women were dancing.
A lady came over to the table. “Hey Pres! Long time no see!” She said.
Roman smiled up at her. “Hey, Charlotte. How have you been?”
“I’ve been good! How ‘bout yourself? Looks like you got yourself a little date!” She said.
“Yeah I do.” Roman said, chuckling. Charlotte looked over at you and smiled.
“Honey, you need to run while you still can. Don’t let his charming smile trick you! He’s a son of a bitch!” She said, laughing.
“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny Charlotte. Just get us two beers, please.”
“Anything for you Pres.” She said, before walking away, smiling.
You looked over at Roman. “Why did she call you Pres?” You asked.
“I’m the President of the club, see.” Roman said, shifting his cut so you could see the ‘President’ patch. You looked at the other ones around it. One said“Men of Mayhem’.
“What’s that mean?” You asked, touching the patch.
Roman looked down to see which now you were touching, suddenly his face went emotionless.
“Nothing.” Roman said, shift in his seat.
“Oh. I just thought that every patch meant something.”
“This isn’t girl scouts. Not every means something.” Roman said.
“Oh. I didn’t….. mean it like that. I just thought… you got the patches because you did something to earn them. That’s all.”
Roman went to say something but Charlotte came but with the beers.
“Here you go Pres, and…” Charlotte looked to for a name. “Y/N.” You said.
“And Y/N. It that all I can get ya?” She asked.
Roman nodded his head. “Yeah, for now.”
“Okay! Let me know if you need anything else!” With that she walked way.
Roman slid from his seat with his beer and held his hand out again, for you to take. You took his hand, your beer and let him walk you over to an empty pool table.
“You ever play?” He asked, grabbed the pool balls and a couple of sticks.
“Uh, like maybe once of twice.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.
Roman handed you a stick and start to rack the balls up, when someone came and stood next to you.
You looked up, it was a guy. Tall, shaved head, sleeves going down both of his arms, and some facial hair.
“I haven’t seen you here in a long time, Pres! Thought you would be at the club house!”
Roman looked over at him. “Hey, Randy. Yeah, well I came here with my date.”
Randy looked down to you and smiled. “Randy, nice to meet you.” He said, holding his hand out.
You took his hand. “Y/N.” You smiled at him.
“Hey Pres, you wanna play two on two. You and Y/N, vs me and Seth?”
Roman looked to you. “You wanna play that?”
“Sure! But just a warning, don’t count on me to help us win. I don’t have a clue on what to do.”
Roman chuckled and pulled you over to him. “That’s alright. I can whoop both their asses!”
You were about half way through the game, Roman was currently whooping their asses. You stood up on your tippy toes and looked over Roman’s shoulder.
“You wanna take this shot?” Roman asked, looking over his shoulder at you.
You took a step back. “Uh, do you not remember what happened last time I took a shot? I hit the ball right off the table and then somehow hit you with the stick at the same time.”
Roman start laughing. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
You made a face but did protest when he pulled you over to him. You lent over the table, lining the pool stick up with the cue ball.
“Ok, remember we’re solids.”Roman said.
“Here, you want to hold the stick like this.” Roman said, matching your position, he placed his hands over yours, moving them around so the you had a better grip on the pool stick.
“If you place your pinky on the end like this, you’ll get a much better hit.”
You looked over at him, his face was a mere few inches away. You forced yourself to focus on hitting the ball.
Roman’s arms went with yours once you hit it, added my power to the hit. You smiled when you see that you sunk a ball.
“I hit one in!” You said, excitedly. Roman smiled at you and took the next shot, sinking the eight ball in, winning the game.
“Well, looks like we won!” Roman said, smirking.
You ended up playing two more games before Randy and Seth got sick of losing and said there were down play.
Roman smiled down at you as you both walked out to his bike. “I have a lot of fun tonight, Y/N.”
“Me too. It was a lot fun.”
“I know a bar like this isn’t really a first date kinda place, but-” You cut him off.
“Don’t worry about it. I had a lot of fun, that’s all that matters.”
Roman nodded his head and pick up your helmet, putting it on you and buckling it.
You shook your head and looked away, but Roman took your face in his hands. He leaned in, his lips were just about to touch yours, but Seth yelled for him.
Roman pulled away and looked over his shoulder at Seth. “We have an emergency with The Kings!” Seth called.
Roman stiffened. “Alright. Lets go to the club house!”
Roman pulled his helmet off the handlebar and got on his bike. You watched as Seth, Randy, Dean and some other guy hopped on their bikes. You turned back towards Roman’s bike when you heard him start it.
You went to get on the back, but Roman stopped you. You looked at him confused.
“Just stay here. Okay. I’ll come back to pick you up. I just need to take of this real quick.” He said.
Before you could get a word in, he back his bike up and pull away, leading the pack of biker away from the bar.
You ended up calling Becky to come and get you after you waited an two hours for him last night. He hasn’t even called you today to say he was sorry or to see if you even got home safe.
You were just walking out of your house, when Roman pulled up. He got off his bike and came over to you, standing right in front of you.
You folded your arms. “What?”
“I’m sorry! I got caught up in it! I didn’t want to leave you! But it wasn’t something I could ignore.”
You rolled your eyes. “Come on. Don’t be mad at me. Please.”
You looked at him, clearly annoyed. “Who are The Kings?” You asked.
Roman stiffened. “They’re nobody.”
“Come on! I’m not an idiot, Roman! That’s why you left last night! Who are they? what was the emergency?”
Roman took a deep breathe. “Listen they’re nobody you need to worry about. So stop asking.”
“I want an answer. You left because of an emergency. What was it? I think I deserve an answer, since I waited for you for two hours!”
Roman’s face went hard. “I don’t have to give you an answer on anything I do. You can either accept my apogee or not.”
You clenched your jaw. “Okay, fine. I don’t accept it.” And with that you pushed past him and got into your car.
Roman turned and looked at you as you backed your car out of the drive way.
That’s not at all how he thought this was going to go down. He was hoping that you were accept it and then let him take you out again. But you were a lot more hardheaded then the other girls he’s dated.
President Dwight Eisenhower was a talented, if slightly boring, painter. Starting only in the last twenty years of his life, he created over 300 paintings of old-fashioned subjects including his family, his farm, and a few portraits. One was of Abraham Lincoln, which he painted his first year as president! Eisenhower called his paintings “daubs” and did not allow them to be bought or sold, preferring to paint for relaxation and give them away as gifts.
according to CJ Pearson (a 13 year-old conservative Republican), President Obama is just egging on the “domestic terrorist group” that is Black Lives Matter. Oh, and also cannot seem to find the name of Ahmed Mohamed because ‘Muslim kid’ is better fitting?
Sam imagine requested by anon! As this imagine was edited for reposting, I no longer have the original request. Hopefully, a summary will suffice: “Sam and the reader prepare for the reader’s oncoming final exams, shedding a charming light on the otherwise stressful and droll actions.” I figured this might be beneficial, what with exams coming up. Hope you like it!
Your head throbbed with the heated, stinging sensation of long exposure to metal music, perhaps through the unforgiving speakers of a rock venue, though no music was playing in the dank, poorly-lit motel room you were calling house for the next few weeks. Your throat was raw, like you had swallowed a handful of small, shattered and fragmented shards of stone. Every laborious moment gone by sent another helping down your esophagus. Your hands held your face above a review packet, your fingers mechanically probing your temples to massage the strung-out exhaustion from your brain, the size twelve standardized font swimming in the haze that your fever had produced. You were home (or… motel was, unfortunately, more accurate than the comfortable noun) alone, fighting the harsh afternoon sunshine by hanging the fluffy down bed sheets over the drawn curtains as you struggled to study for your final exams the coming week while simultaneously battling the worst stress-induced cold you had ever been dealt. You were almost certain that Lucifer himself was cackling in his cage at his handiwork. Not even the arrival of your boyfriend Sam could have cheered you up at this point. You were just about ready to grab your shovel and bury yourself in the woods, content to suck air through a McDonald’s straw until your tests were over, mounds of dirt providing a happy sanctuary from the unbearable stress of education system until you could safely crawl free and rejoin the world. The taste of bile and aluminum in your mouth had a serrated feel to it. Your environment was the epitome of uncomfortable. Your breath came in heavy rasps, bouncing off of the thin walls, coming back to your ears sounding very much like your throat had been replaced by a busted squeaky toy. You painfully cleared your throat, a rattling of the rock shards, as you flipped the flimsy paper (though you could read nothing) and stared blankly at the next page.
A shaft of light erupted from the doorway, your head ducking to avoid the blazing headache any and all forms of light now sparked within the confines of your mind. Sam Winchester stepped into the room in all his glory, his jingling keys a harrowing choir in your skull. Great, noise. Your head throbbed in response to his footfall, your eyes narrowing instinctively to reduce the amount of light, if not noise. He slowly closed the door, the clunk of the deadbolt reassuring, if not excruciating. If you had to be trapped with anyone, it was him. You lifted your eyes, squinting (still) at his smiling face. He seemed to be glowing, radiating light, and he smelled of the Impala. Leather, metal, asphalt, car exhaust, gunpowder, and freedom. The wind still clung to his hair, shaping it with delicate, if unsure, fingers, tendrils swept over the part in the middle of his scalp. How wonderfully careless he was. His eyes, a rich chocolate brown in the dim lighting, the lack of illumination thieving the golds and greens from around his pupils, were examining your hunched posture, your pained expression, your half-closed eyelids. His lips parted, concern on his tongue before he spoke, his eyebrows furrowing as he made his way to you, his federal agent facade fading away to nothing but a crisp suit and squeaking dress shoes.
“God, Y/n, you look terrible,” he whispered, his hand on the back of your chair as he crouched to your level, the back of his free hand pressing into your forehead, spreading a shocking coolness to your skin. Your eyes closed at his touch, his care soothing as much as his icy fingers had managed.
“You flatter me, Winchester. Keep that up and I just might marry you,” you mumbled, prying your dry eyes open, absorbing Sam’s worry-riddled amusement, his half-grin tainted by his scrunched forehead. How close to perfection the expression had been, save the creases in his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak, tilting his head in sympathy, and sighed, his conclusion clearly bad news. You weren’t exactly expecting a pass from the lawyer-turned-doctor, but it couldn’t have been too bad.
“Baby, you’re burning up. Why don’t you lie down, lay off the books? You’re not a machine. It’ll do you good to rest,” he breathed, his voice low and tender as he dropped his hand to rest atop your thigh. You shook your head, an action you soon discovered was a mistake as jolts of double bladed electricity surged through your mind, blistering your brain wherever the lightning fizzled, scorching nerve cells. You pressed a palm to your temple, waiting out the internal attack, Sam stiff beside you. Well, convincing him of your good health was out the door in a whopping two seconds.
“Later, Sam. I have to study. I’ll relax when I’m done. Or dead, whichever comes first,” you slurred,fatigue stealing your eloquence as well as your clear vision, Sam’s chiseled face blurring around the edges. How long had it been since you slept? The recommended number of hours, of course. There had been far too many nights running on vapors, but that was all part of hunting. You were stretched incredibly thin as of late. Sam’s hand left your thigh, reaching for your packet. You laid your head on the table as he leafed through your study guide, paper crinkling in his hands like radio static. The cheap material of the table, tragically attempting to pass for wood, smelled strongly of acrid, generic cleaners and the unseen crumbs of stale coffee cake. After a moment of intensive assessment, Sam let the pages settle on the surface before you, waiting to speak until you had lifted yourself into a seated, not slumped, position.
“Y/n,” he began quickly, licking his lips, his brow furrowed in a different manner. Focus, not stress, wrinkled his skin. “What was the name of the Native American tribe that was forcefully removed from their land in 1813?” His eyes were alight with intelligence and determination. As much as you loathed the task, a study-buddy was without doubt beneficial to both your memory and your consciousness. You bent your face to your hands, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you focused on facts. Gears in your head fought against rust and clogs as they struggled to life, spinning dust from their cogs as you thought on the subject.
“Cherokee, from both Carolinas,
both Virginias, Tennessee, Alabama, Georgia, and Kentucky,” you rattled off, your lips nearly immobile as your brain vomited facts over Sam’s inquiries.
“You got my next question… that’s worth something,” he paused, turning the paper on the table to better read the minuscule font, his lips forming phantom words as his eyes scanned the page. “Who ordered their removal?” He was drilling you, at this point. You exhaled slowly, the very act of releasing breath tugging your eyelids closed, inching you towards sleep, your fingers pinching with increased force against the migraine you felt boiling beneath your fingers.
“Jackson,” your answer was automatic, a reward for sleepless nights spent hunched over your textbooks. “He was the asshole president.”
“Yeah, he was the asshole. What did they call the march? The Cherokee?”
“The Trail of Tears,” you whispered, yawning into your statement, Sam’s hushed return of a compliment scraping at your eardrums with long, unkempt, pointed fingernails. “Understandable. Cherokee Roses formed from the fallen tears, or so the legend says. 4,000 dead on the march, but that’s only an estimation. I doubt anyone was keeping track if they were forcing them on a death march.” Sam lifted your packet, tearing it straight down the center in one swift, fluid, and unstoppable motion. You cringed at the disruption, shock plastered on your face. Sam released the paper over his shoulder, the scraps fluttering to the cheap shag carpet that covered the warped hardwood flooring. It was a really classy motel, to say the least. You stared after your study guide, your body frozen in sleep-deprived surprise.
“Judging by your answers, that’s enough studying for tonight, at least,” he smiled, standing up before you, his body bent over yours as he pressed his chilling lips to the corner of your lips. You moved to protest, and his face was before yours in a moment, his hands smoothing over your cheeks, palms cradling your face. “Y/n, you answered nearly three questions with every answer. If you could tackle one topic like that, I’m sure you’ve got everything under control. You’re a walking textbook.” You sighed, shrugging your exhausted agreement, your eyelids drooping dangerously low. Suddenly, you were in his arms, the genius having scooped you out of your chair. He chuckled at your bewildered expression, ducking his lips to your throbbing temple. “You’ve got this in the bag. You deserve a break. I promise you can run yourself into the ground tomorrow night, but you need to sleep first,” he explained, the room spinning precariously as you were carried to your bed, your hands clutching weakly to his shoulders as he walked you towards comfort. Sam set you down on top of the thin sheets, which were all that survived your charade with the windows, turning to steal the sheets from Dean’s bed beside yours, covering you with every blanket that hadn’t been donated to the crusade against the sunlight. Sam smoothed the hair away from your forehead with the pads of his fingertips, kneeling at your bedside. You felt your eyelids drooping, your exhaustion and illness winning over. His eyes stared down at yours with obvious love, his lips turning up in the corners as he gazed at sick little vulnerable you.
“Thanks,” you garbled, your voice a barely-there whimper of gratitude and sleepiness. Sam’s head tilted back just slightly with his exhaled laugh, his smile widening.
“Go to sleep,” he breathed, conscious of your migraine, his calming voice a welcomed lullaby, chasing the horrors, stresses and discomfort of the day away with three simple words. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, the softness of his lips and the pinpricks of stubble the last thing you felt before slipping into a dream, your pain all but forgotten.