Keith Haring painting a mural on
Houston Street and Bowery in Manhattan, 1982.
This was Keith’s first major outdoor mural. It became an instant downtown landmark after Keith painted it in the summer of 1982. The mural was up for only a few months in the summer of 1982 before it was painted out but its image remains imprinted in the memory of many people who were part of the downtown artist community in the early 1980s.
In 2008 the Keith Haring Foundation, Goldman Properties and Deitch Projects recreated the mural using the extensive photographic documentation of the original work. The work was unveiled on May 4, 2008 the day that would have been Keith Haring’s 50th Birthday .
Keith’s former collaborater, graffiti artist Anel Oritz (LA II) contributed by tagging the wall and filling in the negative space with an intricate black interlocking pattern.
Prompt: “I’m not a good writer as you are, but I have an idea for a short story that can be split into three parts. The reader is a U.S. Army Lieutenant who comes home on leave and meets Juice. They both fall in love at first, they do everything together for a two weeks before she gets deployed. The reader and Juice fight before she leaves. Reader goes MIA (missing in action) Juice worries until about a year later he sees her in a store. They get back together, she has a PTSD episode on night.”
Word Count: 473
A/N: Thank you for the request!! This’ll probably be three/four parts long :)
My heart feels as if it is beating out of my chest, adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I swore I would never come back to this place. Now It’s the only place that I know I will be safe. They have been following me since I left Arizona. Keeping just in sight of my rear view.They attempted to grab me out of my truck when I was leaving a gas station. I can tell I have a black eye, and my lip is swollen. Im lucky my Old man taught me to fight. I know they are fucking with me, trying to psych me out before they attempt to run me into the ditch again.
All it took was one glimpse at the crow tattooed on my sternum and they were after me. Everyone in a five state distance knew what it meant. That I was an OId Lady for one of the members of the Sons of Anarchy. What better way to gain leverage over a club then to take a members Old Lady? To bad I was an ex. An ex who probably had been forgotten within the two years I had been away.
The welcome to Charming sign passes me in a blur. I barely catch a glimpse of the word SAMCRO carved into the sign, before my eyes are on my rear view mirror again. Obviously these assholes don’t know where they are, or where I’m heading. That or they are prospects, sent out to do the dirty work, and test the waters around Charming.
I quickly pull into the lot at Teller Morrow and notice there is only one bike. A Trike, parked toward the end of where the line usually starts. Piney is here I think to myself as I through the truck in park and begin running toward the clubhouse door. The sound of motors that don’t belong to Harley fills the lot, and my fear had tripled. Are these idiots fuckign crazy! Pulling into TM like this is a death wish. My hand grazes the handle on the clubhouse door when it is flung open. Piney standing with a shotgun in hand, quickly steps out of the way as I barrel inside. He’s standing in the doorway, shotgun at the ready.
“If you think you have the balls to come inside here be my guest” he calls into the lot. The bikes from the Guardians MC are lined up, blocking the entrance to Teller Morrow.
“Y/N, get my phone off the bar, hit 3, you’ll know what to do” he calls to me over his shoulder.
Running toward the bar I find the old burner, and quickly pressing 3. I go around the backside of the bar, my hands feeling for the pistol that is usually stashed there. MY fingers come in contact with the cold steel as the ringing of the phone stops and a voice I haven’t heard in two very long years hits my eardrum.
“Yeah” is all he says and my heart once again is racing. This time not from fear.
“Tig, you need to get to the clubhouse, The Guardians followed me, Piney is trying to hold them off”!
The line goes dead and I throw the phone. Knowing the guys will be here soon. My body goes into fight mode. I have to do whatever it takes to protect Piney and this clubhouse. I run quickly toward a side window that’s facing the lot. I see two full patched members, along with three prospects. The full members rockers are still white, especially in contrast to the rockers worn by the sons. Marred with dirt, blood, and life on the road.
“We can do this one of two ways” Piney yell’s into the lot once more. “You can leave and pray we don’t find you. Or you can start a war you will not win”. To emphasize his point, he racked the shotgun, making that noise that everyone knows so well. The Guardians at the end of the lot are standing their ground, pistols pointed toward the old man. I hear the faint sound of Harleys coming closer, and I know either all hell is about to break loose, or the pardon of a lifetime is about to take place.
Jax is the first one on the scene, followed by Bobby, Chibs, Tig and Happy. It looks like they have a few prospects as well. The guys are on their feet in seconds when they park at the end of the compound. Pistols drawn, they are aiming at the Guardians, who now have a glint of fear in their eyes.
“You all are either very stupid, or have huge balls” Jax calls toward the men in the center of the lot. “I’m giving you to the count of five to get the hell off my lot, before I unleash hell on your heads. Five…… Four……Three”. Not needing to be told twice, the Guardian mount their bikes and begin to leave, the Sons pistols still trained on them.
I feel exhausted as the last bike pulls away from Teller Morrow, My body is shaking as I sit down on one of the stained up couches. Piney walks toward the bar, grabbing a bottle of Tequila. He takes a drink before offering me the bottle. I gratefully accept it, knowing I’m going to need to be numb when he walks in the door.
Chibs is in first, followed by the man who broke my heart two years ago. I give a small smile as Tig gets down on his knees in front of me. His bright blue eyes piercing me with his gaze.
“What the hell happened doll” he asks as he brushes his thumb against my swollen lip, blood coming away with his thumb.
“It’s not mine, well not all of it at least. Apparently biting someone’s ear when they jump you is frowned upon in Arizona” A smile crosses his face as he brushes my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah, I wonder who you learned that move from” he laughs.
“Here lass, let me look at ye” Chibs Scottish accent is calming as he takes my face in his hands, looking at the numerous cuts and bruises.
“You’re gonna be sore for a couple of days, but other then tha’ ye will live” he states as he wipes down my cuts with an alcohol wipe.
“Thanks Chibby” I wince as the cleaning of another cut begins. I see Jax standing close by, a beer in his hands.
“Well one thing hasn’t changed. You still know how to make an entrance” he chides as Chibs finishes with my face. “You want to tell me what brought all this down on your shoulders”?
I glanced at Tig, who had been quiet since Chibs started tending to my wounds, then pointed down to my chest where Tig’s crow was in plain sight. “They needed leverage, and I guess they thought it was me”
Please, explain you spy/scout headcannons. I am interested.
omg no u have to be more specific but ok here’s one
scout is, obviously, an aggressive, die-hard, emotionally invested Red Sox fan. spy, obviously, doesn’t give a shit. one evening, scout’s little handheld radio that he usually listens to with headphones in his room is broken, so he’s using the public one that’s in a common area where spy is trying to read. he’s got the volume cranked up, hunched over listening all intently muttering to himself and periodically explosively shouting “YEAH!” or “OH HELL NO THATS SOME SHIT” or “cmoN CMON CMON CMON OH FUCKINGHELL”
spy is like “*massages bridge of nose* for the love of god can you at least lower ze volume.” and scouts like “dude cmon theyre playin’ the yankees besides it’s the bottom of the seventh inning the game’ll be over soon anyways” and spy’s like “the bottom of the what.” and scouts like “,……oh hell naw there is no way i can stand for such blatant ignorance” and proceeds to explain all about baseball and the rivalry between the sox and the yankees and the red sox’s current standing in the league etc etc
thirty minutes later spy’s got his chair pulled right up to the radio next to scout’s with his suit jacket off and his sleeves rolled up all leaned over with a cigarette clenched between his teeth and his brows deeply furrowed like he’s thinking about an important philosophical question and scout has his eyes closed and his head down and is whisperimg prayers to jesus and the announcer on the radio is like “oritz is in position…. tanaka winds up… tanaka makes the pitch and ITS A HIT, GOING, GOING, GONE!!! THE RED SOX WIN!!!“ and scout and spy simultaneously leap up while grinning and bellowing curses in their respective languages and scout grabs spy and puts him over his shoulder and takes off running and whooping all over the base
Theo Rossi:The last time we saw Juice, he was taking people out and hiding evidence. He has the biggest secret ever been told in this world hidden in his cerebrum here. So, what’s gonna happen? Where is he? He’s probably shaking somewhere—-Kim Coates:He’s not playing shuffleboard anywhere, let’s say that.TR:—hiding He’s not in the spa hanging out.