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dweemeister · 1 year ago

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The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

In the late 1950s and 1960s, American International Pictures (AIP) was a minor Hollywood studio with an outsized reputation. AIP, which made nothing but low-budget pictures and B-movies during its existence, focused on cornering the market for teenagers and young adults. Rather than making an endless string of superhero movies, AIP instead relied on its Beach Party series and related films (1963-1967) and inexpensive horror movies (usually involving producer/director Roger Corman). One of AIP’s mainstays for its coterie of horror films was none other than Vincent Price. A longtime character actor for 20th Century Fox, Price had only begun to regularly feature in horror films beginning with House of Wax (1953). From there, he became a regular on AIP’s Edgar Allan Poe adaptations (very loose adaptations, mind you) under Corman’s direction. No matter how dastardly Price’s characters schemes were in his numerous horror films, Price’s almost effortless charm always pored through, to the point that one cannot help but root for his schemes to succeed.

Though Roger Corman was not involved in The Abominable Dr. Phibes (Phibes rhymes with “bribes”), a portion of Price’s fans point to his performance here in the title role as the Vincent Price-iest of all. In this darkly comedic horror film directed by former production designer Robert Fuest (the 1961-1969 TV series The Avengers, director on 1970’s Wuthering Heights), the film’s deliberate campiness demands more absurd motivations, plot developments, and aesthetic choices than some viewers might be comfortable with. In short, this is not the ideal introduction to Vincent Price or AIP’s horror movies. To enjoy the first Phibes film is to be in on the joke, to accept the film’s inherent silliness.

The opening credits help set that mood. As they roll, Dr. Phibes (Price) ascends from beneath a flight of stairs, playing on organ Felix Mendelssohn’s “War March of the Priests” from Athalie. His only company in this fiendish lair are his tall, silent assistant Vulnavia (Virginia North) and his animatronic band, the Dr. Phibes Clockwork Wizards. Reported killed in a Switzerland car accident in 1921 alongside his wife Victoria, Phibes (who carries heavy facial scars and lost his speaking voice in the crash) is hellbent on seeking revenge against the British doctors who presided over Victoria’s failed surgery. Instead of going to therapy, Phibes murders the doctors instead. One after another, the doctors die in increasingly elaborate ways – each homicide inspired by one of the ten Plagues of Egypt as described in the Book of Exodus. After the third doctor dies, Scotland Yard finally begins connecting the dots under Inspector Harry Trout (Peter Jeffrey). Trout soon realizes that the deceased were all directed by Dr. Vesalius (Joseph Cotten). This revelation only begins to unearth Phibes’ wicked plot.

Elsewhere, Hugh Griffith plays a helpful Rabbi and Terry-Thomas plays one of the doctors. Derek Godfrey and John Cater play Inspector Trout’s superiors, Crow and Weaverly, respectively. Aubrey Woods, whom most know as Bill the Candy Man from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), plays an eyewitness named Goldsmith.

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The screenplay by William Goldstein (who returned for the sequel), James Whiton (his only major writing credit), and Fuest, is no one’s idea of sensible, intelligently structured writing. The transitions between the scenes involving Phibes, his assistant, and the victims to Scotland Yard and Dr. Vesalius are untidy. Goldstein, Whiton, and Fuest attempt to make more of a mystery out of this film than they should, but it only serves to make the investigatory half of the film as a dumping ground of expository dialogue. The scenes with Phibes are the zanier, far more interesting parts of the screenplay – even though the character can no longer speaker (the writers engineer an inexplicable workaround, but this unlikely development can have a pass in the context of this bizarre work). For the scriptural scholars among us, some of the stylish killings of the unsuspecting doctors take liberties with the stated Ten Plagues of Egypt. Though perhaps unacceptable to those demanding strict adherence to the holy texts, the thematic divergences of those murders are still so cockamamie that most viewers probably do not mind.

Dr. Phibes’ murders would make Jigsaw from the Saw series (2004-present) proud. To be clear, The Abominable Dr. Phibes is not a slasher film (a subgenre that was beginning to find its foundations by the early 1970s), but it contains elements that would become slasher hallmarks – an individual committing several revenge killings due to a past event, a sort of catharsis (in later slasher movies, sexual gratification) in the act of killing, and unusual manners of murder. Instead of horrifying the viewer with the wanton death, it is Vincent Price’s performance that keeps The Abominable Dr. Phibes within the confines of comedic horror. Due to reasons that I do not wish to spoil, Price’s Phibes scarcely makes a facial expression aside from his default, neutral gaze. His gait is deliberate and steady. Without the possibility of any facial muscular contortions or Price’s trademark smirk, so much of Price’s performance is through his eyes. From his thousand-yard stares, contemptuous gazes, world weary looks, and bemused glances, Price provides an enormous amount of the film’s soul and tenor with so little of his body. This sounds like a silent film director’s dream, but Price’s performance is a commanding one, in any era. His Dr. Phibes may not be in full control of his movements (thanks to Trevor Crole-Rees’ excellent makeup design), but Price is always fully in control of his acting. No surprise to anyone who knows Price’s work – always dependable to provide his utmost effort, no matter how dire the material.

The screenplay, nevertheless, keeps some emotional distance between the audiences and the title character. Though the film’s absurdity allows the viewer to scrap their sense of morality while watching Phibes slaughter each of the doctors, Phibes’ psychology is inaccessible until the film’s second half. The filmmakers, by not prioritizing Phibes’ mindset as much as they could, continually frame him as the villain amid bumbling detectives, the privileged victims (ensuring that the viewer cares not too much about their deaths), and the prideful Dr. Vesalius (whose hubris erodes as the film progresses, revealing his desperate humanity).

If anybody could be considered a co-lead here, that would be Joseph Cotten as Dr. Vesalius. The underrated and undermentioned Cotten, not at all known for his horror work and more for his collaborations with Orson Welles (namely 1941’s Citizen Kane and 1942’s The Magnificent Ambersons), performs ably here. Cotten replaced Price’s friend, Peter Cushing (Grand Moff Tarkin in 1977’s Star Wars, a regular as Baron Frankenstein and Van Helsing in Hammer horror movies), after Cushing fell ill. Cushing would have been ideal in the role, but never does Cotten act as if the unconvincing dialogue is beneath him, even if he doesn’t attempt to hide his American accent. As Dr. Vesalius, Cotten wonderfully inhabits his character’s desperation as his colleagues meet their ends, as if prophesied.

Set designer Brian Eatwell (1973’s The Three Musketeers, 1976’s The Man Who Fell to Earth) runs rampant with his design to Phibes’ lair. A curious combination of art deco and the garishness of 1970s colors serves the film’s ludicrousness. I am not sure how livable Phibes’ abode is – there are nary any bedrooms or any other amenities depicted – but the central chamber could be an ideal place for a raucous, demented soiree. Vulnavia’s ever-changing wardrobe in each of her scenes is also a delight, thanks to costume designer Elsa Fennell (1964’s Goldfinger, 1971’s Diamonds Are Forever). Perhaps there isn’t too much of association between campy costumes and sets with heartrending motives for murder, but that is exactly what transpires in The Abominable Dr. Phibes.

In addition, a laughably anachronistic soundtrack of swing jazz and Great American Songbook standards dot the film. I was not prepared for the appearance of either Mendelssohn’s “War March of the Priests” nor the legendary song that rounds out the closing credits. Phibes’ introduction while playing the former on organ readies the viewer not to take everything that is about to unfold seriously. For the latter song (again, I dare not spoil this), a brilliant solo trumpet takes the easily recognizable melody and swings it. Lyrically, this song’s placement in the end credits is fitting for what happens to Phibes. But I could not help but laugh the moment I heard the opening notes – a fitting send-off to a gleefully daft movie.

When The Abominable Dr. Phibes arrived in theaters, its poster showed the mutilated Dr. Phibes appearing as if he is about to kiss a woman. Above them read the tagline: “Love means never having to say you’re ugly.” This was a reference to Love Story (1970), with its (in)famous tagline and in-movie quote: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” The marketing for The Abominable Dr. Phibes confused audiences – was it a romance? horror? parody? – and the film struggled initially before AIP retooled its advertising to market the film as a horror film. On its low budget, the film was successful enough to warrant AIP to greenlight a sequel, Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972). That sequel marked the beginning of the end of Price’s association with AIP, due to conflicts over his pay (while AIP’s box office fortunes were dwindling), his lack of satisfaction with the scripts coming his way (not even Price wanted to star in two Dr. Goldfoot movies in two years), and AIP’s plans to replace him with Robert Quarry as their primary horror star.

In the years since the film’s debut in cinemas, The Abominable Dr. Phibes has garnered a deserved cult status. There was no stopping Vincent Price from leaving AIP, but AIP – with their Robert Quarry plans not even a secret – somehow undervalued the actor who was their principal attraction through the 1960s. An essential in Price’s filmography, The Abominable Dr. Phibes defies genre conventions, genre categorization, and any semblance of rationality. For those looking for some bloody horror as the mercury drops, look no further than here. The first Dr. Phibes films guarantees murders with a wink and, though not a smile, an animatronic band playing hits that have yet to be composed.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The Abominable Dr. Phibes #Robert Fuest #Vincent Price #Joseph Cotten #Peter Jeffrey #Virginia North #Hugh Griffith #Terry Thomas #Derek Godfrey #John Cater #Aubrey Woods #William Goldstein #James Whiton #Sean Bury #John Laurie #Trevor Crole-Rees #Maurice Kaufmann #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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finishinglinepress · 2 months ago

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FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: Venus Anadyomene by Alyssa Lindley Sinclair

On SALE: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/venus-anadyomene-by-alyssa-lindley-sinclair/

Venus Anadyomene chronicles the trauma and change endured by a woman’s body through #pregnancy and #childbirth, while exploring the intersection of mental and physical #health. The #poems in this book consider the threat of climate change, #parenting and existing as a woman within the political landscape in Texas, and a mother’s longing for a safer and more beautiful existence for her children. These poems play with form and voice, including prose poems, word games and prayers that evoke the visceral, the spiritual, and how we exist in between.

Alyssa Lindley Sinclair completed her Master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of St. Andrews. She grew up in the Boston area, and lives in Dallas, Texas. Her poetry and essays have been featured by Bear Review, River Teeth Magazine, Mutha Magazine, Literary Mama, and Poetry Society of New York, among others. She is the mother to three young girls.

PRAISE FOR Venus Anadyomene by Alyssa Lindley Sinclair

In this brave, passionate, sometimes tender, sometimes visceral collection, childhood memories mingle with prayers for the speaker’s own children – for all our children – as a counter to the harm being done, not only to the earth, but also to our bodies (particularly to the bodies of women) and to the “wordless garden / of myth” that nourishes the spirit. At a time when the dangers to that spirit are more insidious than ever, Venus Anadyomene is an urgent and moving call to reflection and response.

–John Burnside, Author & Poet, A Lie About my Father, Black Cat Bone, Winner of T.S. Eliot Prize, Forward Poetry Prize & David Cohen Prize

Longing, love, hope, disillusion and humour are layered in this playful and inventive collection. Various facets of maternity, from medicalised birth trauma, to the clamour of children in a hot car, via tender prayers, a word game, and allusions to Doctor Suess combine to make a moving and boldy visceral account of a mother’s experience.

–Lesley Glaister, Author, Honour Thy Father, Easy Peasy, Little Egypt, Winner, Somerset Maugham Award, Betty Trask Award, Jerwood Uncovered Fiction Award

In these lush, honest, sometimes brutal poems, Sinclair stares unflinchingly into both the beauty of mother/womanhood and what it takes to endure it. Where “legs become a basket” to care for one child, “[t]he floor tilts”, “the hospital room is an airplane climbing” while another comes into the world; Sinclair holds it all in balance. “Tall angel, please,” she writes. “Drip honey off your fingertips into the mouths of / My children, and deliver them … into something / more alive.” That’s exactly what these poems do.

–Sarah Carson, author and poet, Buick City, Poems in Which You Die, How to Baptize a Child in Flint, Michigan

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #chapbook #read #poems

#poetry #flp authors #preorder #flp #poets on tumblr #american poets #chapbook #chapbooks #finishing line press #small press #pregnancy #childbirth #family #parenting

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3llisarts · 7 months ago

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WIP not on a Wednesday!

I was tagged by @noodlecupcakes ! : > and I tag @disney-dreams-25 and @fingersinmyhair

The battle of Egypt. The fight where the Fallen failed to defeat Optimus Prime, and the Decepticon cause suffered several losses that day. The Fallen himself, for one. However, there was another much more painful loss. Nitor, the lion-like cybertronian, and Wraith’s minion.

Wraith was locked in a fight with Ironhide, the Autobot’s weapons specialist while Rhys had taken off in pursuit of Sam Witwicky and his girlfriend, Mikaela Banes. The assassin closed in on the two when Mirage thwarted her attempt. The fiery-red Autobot extended the blades along his forearms and swiped at Rhys. The assassin tumbled backward on the sands, scrambling to get out of Mirage’s way.

Nitor appeared out of nowhere, letting out a booming roar as he fastened his claws into Mirage’s upper back. The Autobot spun hard, attempting to dislodge the feline in a panic. Nitor snarled and hung on, though Mirage managed to throw him off and he crashed to the ground in a heap. The small assassin crab crawled backward as Nitor rose to his paws, his metal claws digging into the desert sands. He lowered his head as his tail lashed back and forth. Tiny metal shards emerged from his tail, not unlike the quills on a porcupine. The lion-like Decepticon flicked his tail and the shards flew through the air, embedding themselves in Mirage’s left shoulder. The red Autobot took a few, staggering steps as he geared to attack but Nitor was faster.

The big cat leaped and slammed into Mirage head-on, the sound not unlike that of a high-speed car crash. A deafening metallic slam; the two’s shadows cast across an old building thanks to the blazing desert sun.

Rhys watched, all but frozen to the spot. She could feel the individual grains of sand moving beneath her boots as she shuffled her feet. Everything in the assassin screamed at her to get up and run, but she couldn’t.

One of Mirage’s blades caught Nitor in the shoulder, the cat loosed a loud, metallic roar as red Energon splattered over the sand. He collapsed a mere amount of feet from Rhys as the gash in his left shoulder continued to leak. Little frayed wires zapped and crackled, the sounds almost inaudible as more of the red liquid ran down. Nitor stood up and shook himself out, his mane, comprised of individual strands of metal, puffed out and his claws extended. Nitor placed himself between Rhys and Mirage, a growl rumbling in his broad chest. Nitor’s scarlet red optics gleamed, highlighted by the sun. He hunkered down and sprang, though this time Mirage was ready.

Mirage lashed out, catching Nitor in the neck with one of his arm blades. Rhys watched in almost disbelief. In all the years she’d seen her friend fight, he’d never lost. He’d fought like a demon, both beside Wraith and by himself.

Red Energon sprayed across the sand and Nitor staggered to his paws. He groaned, the sound more metallic, like a recording from an ancient speaker. His optics flickered in and out of focus before he collapsed. Rhys scooted across the sand, wrapping her arms around Nitor and burying her face into his mane. She was only partially aware of Energon seeping from Nitor’s jaws and onto her bicep, as she held him close.

“No! Please!” Rhys called, her dark brown eyes wet with frustrated tears. She’d seen so many of her fellow Decepticons killed in action but this was different, this was personal. “Get up, Nitor, fucking get up!” The small assassin’s voice wavered and cracked. Nitor nudged her side with a soft chuff, one of his sledgehammer-sized paws draped across her lap. “We have to go- we have to get out of here-” Rhys started and she froze as Mirage’s shadow loomed over her, blocking out the sun. Rhys winced, hugging Nitor tight as she anticipated the end.

A loud whirring sound caught Rhys’s attention and she looked up, as a blast of energy sent Mirage sprawling. Wraith had arrived in the nick of time, the darkly colored Decepticon quickly scooping Rhys up.

Rhys woke up after that.

Rhys fought her way out of the thick, white bedsheets as her heart hammered against her chest like a bird in a cage. She had her knees drawn in, one hand clenched in a fist like she was gearing up to fight. The assassin slowly calmed down as she realized she was in her bedroom at Dylan Gould’s house. Her fellow liaison had offered her and Wraith a place to stay when they’d returned from Egypt. However, things hadn’t exactly gone great. Wraith and Dylan had been at each other’s throats every chance they got. It seemed the man had landed himself the VIP spot at the top of the Decepticon’s shitlist. And the feeling was mutual.

Just last week Rhys was woken up to the sound of Wraith’s engine revving and his horn blaring, followed by Dylan’s shouting. She’d hastily thrown on a sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans, and practically jumped the entire flight of stairs before booking it to the front door. The assassin put herself between the two with a particularly murderous look, demanding to know what they’d been arguing about.

Of course, Dylan threatened to sell Wraith on some used cars site and Wraith threatened to take him out.

Rhys slid out of bed and padded over the hardwood floor, making her way to her closet. She moved with little sound, like a mountain lion creeping through the forest. The assassin carefully pried open one of her closet doors and felt around in the dark for her old Dodge Racing sweatshirt. She’d know that worn, soft fabric anywhere at this point. What was once a mid-grey had faded down to the color of fallen ashes, the red sections of the square design also a few shades less than what they once were. Still, it’d been a constant comfort in the last two years.

The corners of Rhys’s mouth hinted at a frown as she glanced over her shoulder. Whenever Rhys woke up from a nightmare, Nitor would come over from his spot in the corner of her room and lay beside her until she was good enough to go back to sleep. The lion-like Decepticon’s absence tore through Rhys like a sharp knife, leaving a clean, deep cut behind. Not that she’d ever speak on it. Though some days she was certain the emotions were practically written all over her face.

Rhys grabbed a sports bra from the top drawer of her dresser and quickly pulled it on. She didn’t feel like finding a shirt to wear, so her Dodge Racing hoodie would do. Regardless, she pulled on a pair of black jeans and pulled a belt through the loops. The small assassin turned, fumbling around in the dark till her hand brushed the cool metal of her gun safe. She bit her lip as she spun the giant dial, listening to it click home. Rhys let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, as she grabbed her hip holster and combat knife.

While it was a simple gas station run, and there was minimal risk of anything happening, Rhys didn’t want to take that gamble and lose. She slid her knife into the holster and pulled her sweatshirt down over top, before grabbing her boots and slipping out into the hall. Her socks muffled her footsteps, something she was especially grateful for as she crept past Dylan’s bedroom. She hadn’t been on a run like this since before she’d left for Egypt, and that one went without a problem. Hopefully, this one would too.

Once Rhys reached the bottom of the grand staircase, she put on her boots and laced them up. It didn’t take her long to disable Dylan’s security system, having overheard the code in one of his conversations with his assistant. The old woman had forgotten the code and had asked Dylan for it again, bless her heart. Rhys had overhead as she rounded the corner and come into the kitchen. Though she’d perfected the art of eavesdropping long ago. Besides, it wasn’t like they were unguarded. Wraith and Soundwave were parked in Dylan’s driveway, two very dangerous Decepticons. Anyone would be a fool to try to break into the place. Not that they’d get far, anyways.

Rhys padded down the long hallway to the front doors, and carefully pushed one of them open. The assassin winced as the aged wood creaked with the movement, half expecting Dylan to wake up and catch her right then and there. When nothing happened, Rhys sighed in relief and stepped out into the dark.

The assassin paused as Wraith’s low-lights flickered to life. A loud crackling sound cut through the silence, similar to static on a TV. The air warped and fizzled, and a man dressed in a fancy black suit materialized before Rhys. Wraith’s human form, a big man with short, dark hair, tan skin and piercing red eyes. Though at a distance they passed for a shade of dark brown. “Little spider,” Wraith rumbled and a frown curled across his lips. He tilted his head, his rose red eyes two careful slits as he looked Rhys over. “Another nightmare, I take it?” The Decepticon inquired. Rhys made a small sound in response, “and if it was?” She wasn’t the best at talking about things like this. Wraith knew it as well as she did.

“If it was, I am here for you,” Wraith said with a tiny nod. Rhys’s lips hinted at a smile for a moment before it disappeared completely, “thank you, old friend.”

“Where are you headed?” Wraith asked and he raised a brow. “Gas station run,” Rhys replied with a shrug, “i’ll be there and back in no time.” The assasin huffed and her lips broke into a grin, “like those practice missions when I was little. It’ll be easy.” “Would you like me to come with you?” Wraith offered, and the driver side door to his vehicle mode popped open. Rhys shook her head, “Not this time. The last thing I want to do is make a shit ton of racket, opening the gates.” She’d gotten lucky so far, she didn’t want to push it any further. “Understandable,” Wraith seconded and he set one big hand on Rhys’s shoulder, “good luck, little spider. I will be here upon your return.”

There it was again, that hint of a smile. Rhys turned to look at Wraith one last time before she turned her attention to the towering brick walls and the thick vines growing up the side, and began the climb. The assassin hauled herself to the top and peered over the side. She hadn’t done this in at least a couple of months. Was it just her or did the drop seem bigger? Now she was starting to regret not taking the gamble in opening the gates.

But it was too late to turn back now. Rhys swung one leg over the side of the wall and carefully lowered herself down. She hissed as her right foot slipped, the toe of her boot scuffing against the vines. Panic rose from deep in the assassin’s gut, though she regained her composure and continued her descent.

Rhys landed in the grass with a soft grunt, before she drew herself up and stood to her full height. Right, now that she hadn’t fallen and busted her ass, it was time to go to 7/11.

Rhys smiled as she was greeted by the bright neon signs in the window, advertising the gas station’s being open 24 hours a day. The little doorbell gave away the assassin’s arrival, though she didn’t let that distract her. She stepped inside and made her way to the back of the store, to one of the four, floor-to-ceiling refrigerator units with sliding doors.

The small assassin could’ve done this blindfolded, by now. She grabbed a can of Ultra Watermelon and Ultra Paradise, holding both close to her chest, and made her way to the checkout counter. A little flash of green caught Rhys’s attention and she stopped dead in her tracks. What was that? She raised an eyebrow as she felt her curiosity grow, and she rubbed her eyes with her free hand. Sitting only a few inches from her face, on the edge of the shelf, was a little green lizard. With how motionless he was, Rhys would’ve thought he was fake. A kid’s toy that’d been left behind during a bathroom break.

If it hadn’t been for the rise and fall of the lizard’s sides. Rhys looked around and gently poked the little reptile, her lips twitching with the start of a grin as he crawled backward on the shelf. Almost hidden by the coffee maker. “Sorry little man,” Rhys said quickly before she made her way to the checkout counter.

The attendant, a woman in her late 40s with dark brown/grey hair in a quick bun, and soft blue eyeshadow, looked up as Rhys approached. “I ain’t seen ya in a minute, hun’, how ya been?” The woman inquired. Amelia was her name.

“I’m good-,” Rhys said smoothly. She’d gotten so used to responding like this, to telling people she was good or okay and keeping up that act, it was almost like second nature to her. “Got my final exams coming up, so I’ve been studying for those,” Rhys continued her little lie. She offered Amelia her best grin, “Though you’ll see me again here soon~ I’m gonna need a few more cans if I keep staying up and studying.” Amelia laughed at this, ringing up the Ultra Paradise first. “I bet, you take care of yourself, yeah?”

Rhys nodded, and her grin was practically genuine as she watched Amelia ring up the Ultra Watermelon next. “I will, ma’am~ thank you,” the assassin replied, pausing to get the old ten-dollar bill out of her wallet. “By the way… you do know a lizard is hanging out by your coffee machine, right?” Rhys asked.

“Yeah, no worries, that’s just Marvin,” Amelia replied and she chuckled softly, “he likes the smell of the coffee~.” “Can’t say i’ve seen that before,” Rhys mused, “well~ I hope you and Marvin have a good rest of your day.” Rhys handed over the old dollar bill, and as soon as Amelia handed her the change, she pocketed it, grabbed her drinks and was on her way back to Dylan’s estate.

#rhys thompson #transformers bayverse #transformers dark of the moon #transformers oc #Dylan Gould #Transformers Movies

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fkyumerica · 11 months ago

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the blacks stayed naked the longest, then got school uniform clothing as their first clothing, nicer than the rest of people on the planet, then they mixed with overalls they stole from people, then they got prison stripe uniforms, then talked to people who were white that wore prison uniforms and messed up the world with them

and the first two weeks naked before the clothing they got, they did not pay attention to law that was spoken on giant speakers

and just had sex since

and when the whites in prison uniform saw them blacksc in prison uniforms they made it resaid on the speakers when other laws were to be spoken and did nto pay attention to the laws said and faked being court judges to let it all go

river dance was their stupid fucking dance, and fucked all of them on stage already

and didnt fuck them now and did

britney spears was it

all of them know now, dont they look stupid

country christmas on disney +

is it

uhhhhhhhhhhhh

they will stalk you

didnt farm

and hid in it

nonstop having kids

anyone wanna hold it

and ran away and left

left, leaves it, leaves it too

and they will retard find that person holding their infant even if it is pregnant by them to them from like 20ft away

for them to leave their house and make another one

so do they, with it, and gone forever marries another one

now its ransom give me the money

new family name i want the new house again, maybe we'll meet give me a knife

it meant someone in prison with their infant, made it up

now its their kid right take care of it, foster care

now make her forget about it

she had a child leave it too get a new house maybe we'll meet what new house give me money you need to give me money and a new house

mass taze and car battery smashed at once she knows about it

with 10 other car batteries they fucked with over night

now eat her out i shit rocking

she wont win

a rocker

wtf im not in that group

dont sware at us

i can whip you

and i made all the christmas songs

they can die

they cant even make one

we speak english bettter than her right

no, made up english

and going to egypt wont help it

they cant even sing

they didnt love

and fag old men jewish who fuck and mate with kids can only shut up to their wives playing a steel instrument

and one stole her right she cheated, gave her enough time to do it

20 years apart

and keyboard guy is deaf

lived with her right

no, i did not have a sexual relationship, and they only flirt to talk

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srbachchan · 2 years ago

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DAY 5209

Jalsa, Mumbai May 19, 2022 Thu 11:39 PM

💚 , May 20 .. birthday of Ef Sanjay Joshi ,, and Ef Heba from Egypt .. love ever and the wishes of happiness , peace and fulfilment .. 🌿

the director of the Gujarati film , for which a small guest appearance was done the other day .. this be his real hair .. grew it he says for 14 years ..

how do they manage it .. worth a thesis ..

alternatives .. every where .. easy to access and in a region where the necessary element does not take the effort of getting up and moving but to remain the reach of your hand .. stretched to its limit , thats it ..

the fresh new formula for the 80 year old .. when needed it should be in the vicinity .. so .. the duplication often not understood by many is the convenience of those that have the grace of ageing till now .. the right kind of pen, the tissue box, the intercom phone, that schedule paper, the mobile charger, the garbage bag, the printer, the shredder , the time piece , needed glasses , the stationary elements - paper envelopes cards , stapler, cutter , envelop opener , the speaker on remote bluetooth , post its, .... et al ..

where the sitting occurs .. the similar routine .. where the car travels occur , similar .. in the Vanity the similar also .. on set the aide equipped with similar .. similarity is the contention of the world now .. in familiarity ..

and the Apple Watch dog now even tells you to stand up for you have been sitting for long .. what next ..

shut up you are talking too much .. or the kind ..

aaah .. yes important element - shoe horn .. wherever there be shoes one must .. bending down to lace up or push that heel into the sneaker now an obstacle, which may be resolved now with the horn , long enough to be able to stand and wear the foot wear ..

a bit boring and uninteresting this .. but they that suffer the same symptoms as the 80 yr old , then there is empathy ..

and that is not all .. there is the comfort of various situations where the aged travel or pass by .. the simple attention given .. grips in the shower area .. matts on the floor so you do not slip .. towels within reach ..

funny is it not .. the GenX in the Ef are in the extreme hilarity .. they should be for they are right ... in my time we were right too, to extend surprise and smirk at the developments that prevailed or are prevailing now in this missive ..

SO ..

finally what this is coming to is the ..

CLUTTERED desk, room and all ..

and the clutter is the ultimate recognition of the process of ageing .. if it cannot be seen it will not be used ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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jackie-shitposts · 3 years ago

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I Thought Thieves Love Jules!

Carmen strolled out of the elevator, feeling pretty beat after her workout with Shadowsan. Not that she would ever admit that- she had wanted to keep going, but it had only been two days since she got electrocuted in Egypt, so Shadowsan made her cut her workout short while he continued. Carmen sauntered over to the counter, taking a long drink from her water bottle, just as Player’s image appeared on her laptop screen. “Check it out, Red. Julia just posted a new entry on her blog, about a recent find in Columbia.” Player said, ”But it totally digresses into fun facts about fair trade coffee, including a “Red Blend.” Carmen leaned onto the counter. “Could be another riddle to solve?” “Good thing I learned a thing or two about code-breaking from Julia.” Player smirked, clearly excited to show off his new skills. “Every paragraph ends with a number. If you line ‘em up like they're a date and time, it’s tomorrow at 8am.” “Seems Chief wants an opportunity to thank me over coffee.” Carmen quirked an eyebrow. Seems as though she’d be seeing her favorite agent-turned-historian-turned-agent-again in the field, per Chief’s request. “How can you be sure it’s not a trap?” Player asked apprehensively. “If it were, Jules would’ve worded it differently.”

“OoOoO, are we talking about Jules?” Zack asked, peeking his head out from the doorway.

“That ACME gal Carm has a crush on?” Ivy chimed in, peeking her own head out from under her brother.

Carmen rolled her eyes at the sibling’s cartoonish antics. “Jules and I are just friends, you two.”

Ivy scoffed, entering the room and flopping onto the couch. “Yeah right- then why did you specifically go to her when you needed help decoding the relics?”

Carmen casually took a sip of her water before answering. “Jules was already familiar with VILE- getting a stranger involved would’ve only made things more complicated and dangerous than it already was.” Zack hopped onto the couch opposite of Ivy, resting his feet up on her knees. He pointedly ignored Ivy’s protests of, “Zack, gross!” and smirked at Carmen. “Oh? Then why did you ask Devineaux where she was in Louisiana?” “Hey, you never told me about that one!” Ivy gasped, feigning betrayal. “I was just surprised ACME let that driving disaster use a car,” Carmen quipped. Player laughed on his side of the screen. “Don’t act like you’re any better, Red. Don’t you remember your first caper?”

Carmen gasped, pretending to be insulted. “Says the 17 year old without a learners permit.”

“Not like I have anywhere to go.” Player laughed, before refocusing on Carmen’s interrogation. “Speaking of firsts, how about when you first met Julia? I listened in, and it totally sounded like you were flirting with her. You called her “Jules” on your first meeting!” Carmen narrowed her eyes at Player in defiance. “I was just sitting across from Jules so I could blend in while keeping an eye on Paper Star. And what’s wrong with nicknames? I called Crackle “Gray” and Ivy “Ives”. I don’t see what the difference is.” “The difference is that you and Cracker used to be best friends, and now we are best friends. However, you and Jules were not friends at the time.” Ivy said, emphasizing the nickname. “His name is Crackle now.” “He went and rejoined VILE, I think I get to call Gary whatever I want.” Player chimed back into the conversation. “Why did you leave the Magna Cartas with Julia, anyway? You had one conversation with her, what made you think leaving them with her meant they were in “good hands?” “While sitting next to her, I noticed Devineaux’s briefcase, and she said they were travel partners on business. I figured that meant they were law enforcement also trying to recover the documents. Leaving them with Jules simply saved me the hassle of returning the documents myself.” Carmen explained casually. “What about the fashion show in Milan, Carm? Why’d you have Julia help us then?” Zack asked, a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. Carmen sighed in annoyance. Why won’t they just get off her back about this already? “Jules was the only ACME agent around, and I knew that ACME would be able to get the gowns to safety. And before you ask,” Carmen pointed at Ivy, whose mouth was already open with some smug retort, “I put her in charge instead of you because she would know where the gowns could be put for ACME to return.” At that, Ivy simply leaned back onto the couch and mirrored her brother’s smug grin. “Yeah, that was a fun night.” She smirked, and Zack tried to hold back his laugh that came out as more of a snort. Carmen raised her brow at the untold story, but she decided not to press. For the sake of her sanity.

“Well, what about Stockholm?” Zack blurted. Ivy and Player’s eyes snapped to Carmen, looking for any hint of discomfort, and Zack immediately tried to rectify the situation. “I-I mean, yknow, you just were gonna go try to get her help before-”

Carmen cut off his anxious rambling, smiling warmly. “Don’t worry about it Zack, I know what you mean. I wanted to talk to Jules to see if she could get ACME to back off. While that obviously didn’t happen, I know Jules didn’t try to betray me.” Carmen glanced out the window for a moment, whispering quietly to herself. “I don’t think I could be angry at her if I tried.” Carmen turned back to her friends and smiled. “Plus, she helped me out in Monaco and Ile De L'oleron afterwards, so-” Player practically leapt up from his chair, causing a loud crash as he knocked the fidget spinners off his desk and dropped the rubix cute he was playing with. “Yeah, let's talk about Monaco! You can’t tell me you guys weren’t flirting at the party. She was so confident you were going to deliver the goods to her door, and you trusted her not to stop you when you stole the eggs. Come on, Red, you know she was flirting with you!” Carmen felt Zack and Ivy’s eyes on her expectantly, and she chuckled at Player’s exasperation. “Player, I’m pretty good at reading people, and I’m fairly certain she wasn’t flirting with me. Even if she was, I was not flirting ba-” “Then what about the roses?”

Carmen’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. How did Zack, of all people, know about the roses?

“Oh my god, the roses! Carm, why the fuck didn’t you tell us about the roses?” Ivy exclaimed, springing up from her relaxed position on the couch.

Carmen bit her lip before answering. “They were just flowers, as a thank you gift for the help. How do you know about them, anyway? I didn’t buy them until after you guys left.”

At that, Player piped up once again. “So Red, you know how at the end of each month, I look through our funds and see how much we spend on capers, to set our budget for the next month? Well, it was pretty interesting for me to see that you used our encrypted card to buy a bouquet of red roses from the flower shop across the street from Julia’s apartment, on the same day we left her the goods.”

Fuck. Carmen needed to shut this down, now. “They were just a thank you gift guys, nothing more. Just something Jules could keep for herself. And red is my color, so the roses seemed like a good gift. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Carmen glared at the redheads sternly, daring them to stop her, before looking down at Player with the same forbidding look. ”I’m going to take a shower. Player, let me know when you’ve got a red eye to Seattle ready.” Carmen closed the laptop, tucked it under her arm and walked out of the room without looking back. ~~~

The video call flickered to black, and Player leaned back into his chair, sighing. Red can be so thick-headed sometimes. As he booked her flight, he thought back to their teasing and banter from moments before.

Red seemed pretty genuine- maybe we were wrong after all.

Player took a deep breath- he didn’t want to call Carmen back so soon, especially when she seemed pretty pissed at the end of their last call- but he had booked her flight for a short two hours from now. So, Player reconnected to Carmen’s laptop, still looking at the red eye information on his other monitor, before hearing a loud, exasperated groan coming from his speakers.

“Holy fuck that was such a mess!”

Player’s head snapped towards his other monitor. The laptop had been set on the dresser across from Carmen’s bed, where she was laying sprawled out in agony. Player quickly hit his mute button and sat back to watch.

Carmen’s arms raised up to cover her face- though Player couldn’t see it, he was sure her face was covered in her signature color. “God, and the roses- why did I use the card for the roses? That’s a basic credit card slip, how am I so stupid!”

Carmen sat up, hands still over her flushed face. “I’m so fucking lucky they didn’t hear us on the ferry or at her office, there’s no way they would’ve ever let that go- I thought I wasn’t being obvious about this stupid crush-

That was all the confirmation Player needed. He clicked unmute and nearly shouted, “So you do have a crush on Julia! I knew it!”

Carmen’s head snapped up to the source of the sound, her face as red as her coat hanging on the wall’s hook. “Player! What the fuck are you-” Carmen froze as she watched Player pick up his cell phone. “Player, if you do what I think you’re about to-”

“Then what? You’re two thousand miles away Red, I'm practically untouchable.” He laughed and grinned smugly at the webcam as he dialed a number.

“Player, you are so dead next time I visit Ontario!” Carmen yelled before she threw her door open, barrelling down the hall to the stairway.

~~~

Zack and Ivy watched in silence as Carmen walked out of the room. When they heard the door to the stairway close, they looked at each other, before they couldn’t take it anymore and burst into laughter.

“Holy shit she looked so mad!” Ivy wheezed through her laughing fit.

“I know! Do you think that means she was telling the truth?” Zack questioned as he tried (and failed) to calm his giggles.

“No way.”

“But she seemed pretty-”

“What are you two laughing about?” Shadowsan’s stern voice stopped the twin’s giggling dead in its tracks. Just as Ivy opened her mouth to make an excuse, since she doubted Carmen wanted Shadowsan involved in her love life, (he is like her father, isnt he?) Zack spoke up.

“We tried to get Carm to confess that she likes Julia, but she kept on telling us she just likes Julia as a friend. Maybe she wasn’t lying, most of her reasons were pretty solid.” Ivy would’ve smacked him then and there if Shadowsan hadn’t interrupted her train of thought with a small chuckle. Since when did Shadowsan chuckle? “On VILE Island, Carmen was trained to be a master of deception. Do you not realize that she was also trained to survive any interrogation?” Shadowsan said, with…humor in his voice? Zack and Ivy were silent for a moment. “Wait, does that mean she actually does like Ju-” The moment was interrupted with a call on Ivy’s phone. When she looked at the caller ID, her eyes widened as she answered it and put the device on speaker. “Carmen does have a crush on Julia!” Player shouted from the phone, just as the Crimson Gay Ghost herself burst into the room and crashed into Ivy. “Dammit!” Carmen yelled, taking the phone from Ivy who was now on the floor with Carmen and laughing. “Player, I’m going to fly to Ontario and kick your ass!” Player’s laughing from the phone was almost drowned out by Zack and Ivy’s. “Oh no you’re not, you’ve got a flight to catch in two hours!” “OoOh where to? To go see your “favorite ACME agent”?” Ivy teased through her laughter. “Yeah Carm, I thought thieves love Jules!” Zack said as he laughed. Carmen jumped off of Ivy, her voice a noticeably higher pitch and her face extremely red as she shouted, “No! I mean- well, that is- I just-” As Zack, Ivy and Player continued to tease an extremely red-faced and stammering Carmen, Shadowsan smiled and quietly walked out of the room. It seems the war may be coming to a close with ACME on their side, but that doesn’t mean Carmen has to stop chasing someone.

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x0401x · 4 years ago

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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #25

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Sri Lanka Nakata Diary

Title: I got to make some time all of a sudden.

Hello, this is Iggy.

Just as the title says, I suddenly managed to make some time for myself here in Sri Lanka. The guest who was supposed to come over had to go on a last-minute trip, so I wound up with almost an entire day off.

My boss told me that I should take it easy while I was at it and that studying was forbidden, so if you’d like, please give me suggestions. I think there aren’t many people living in Sri Lanka among the ones who are seeing this, so anything goes. Like your favorite ways to spend your leisure time, for example.

By the way, I like cooking when a senior acquaintance of mine comes over, but I noticed lately that I don’t cook much when I’m alone. Eating out is best when it’s Sri Lankan curry.

Ely_03

Hi, Iggy. I always have fun reading your blog. I live in Greece. I have interest in Japanese people because my daughter is studying abroad in Japan, so I’m happy to have found this blog.

1975Halleluja

Do they not have night clubs there? How about you try going to one? I’m reading you all the way from Egypt.

BB_Typhoon

How about trying to clean up your room? It might be surprisingly messy.

Archangel

Hello, nice to meet you, Iggy-san. If you are in Sri Lanka, apparently, there is a Sri Lankan massage called Ayurveda. You are finally having a day off, so isn’t it a good idea to relax in a way you have never experienced before? Take care of your body. I found the spa below. Not so bad, is it?

(This URL is only visible to the administrator.)

Title: I went to do Ayurveda!

Hello, Iggy here. Thank you for your previous comments to my blog.

I went to the spa that Archangel-san introduced to me, and it was a series of first experiences, so I was very excited. Back in my country, I kind of imagined that women were the ones who get this kind of massage, but if my tired body would get better, I could keep getting it in the future too.

The owner of the spa was a Tamil speaker. It would have been great if I were more able to talk to them. Thanks to them, I experienced enrichment in many aspects.

Iggy out.

Archangel

Iggy-san, it seems you had a fulfilling day and nothing makes me happier. I think that the most efficient way to study about languages and gemstones is to proceed with the two paralleling each other like wheels. I hope your training will be fun.

Punk_Of_England

When I read a blog from someone who’s having fun, I have fun too! If there were a ‘like’ button, I might have pressed it nonstop. Take care of your health. Man, anonymous sections sure are convenient.

Title: Three-Wheeler

Hello, Iggy here. I had a question in one of my updates.

Do you remember that, last time, I wrote an article about purchasing a three-wheel bike called Three-Wheeler? I’ve been addicted to riding it around lately.

I did have a driver’s license in my motherland, but I was the kind who didn’t have a car or bicycle, so maybe my eyes opened up to the fun of driving a car when I came here.

This thing is like a bike with a hood, so it feels good when the wind hits my face. Finding waterfowl when I’m running around the man-made areas in the evening makes me feel satisfied.

I’m going to study now. After I’m done, I’ll go ride on the Three-Wheeler again. Looking forward to it.

Archangel

Iggy-san, hello. It seems that you are enjoying your new vehicle. Although this is excessive concern, but if I may share my worries about the Three-Wheeler, while it does have a casual ride quality to it, is not appropriate for crime prevention. For example, there is no wall to protect your body if a thug happens to attack from the side of the vehicle while it is temporarily stopped. Your senior and boss have probably already told you not to carry valuables with you when you are riding. Please be careful.

Iggy

>Archangel-san, thank you for always leaving comments. Indeed, I do recall my boss telling me that. I never take valuables with me when I use the Three-Wheeler, but I’ll make sure to take it to heart once again. Thank you very much.

ilovestones

I went back to read the article about the Three-Wheeler. So cute! I don’t see bikes like that in my country at all. Must be fun to drive around one of those. I think this would come in very handy if you ever feel like renewing all the strata within a 20km radius of your house. I’m jealous.

Punk_Of_England

This might be the anonymous section and all, but I think people’s quirks show in their text, so it’s hard to tell if they haven’t yet been discovered or if they’re just being let through...

Title: Men in Skirts

Iggy here. Just as the title says, I’ve passed by several men who were wearing skirts. I wonder if it was traditional wear. But it also had a colorful and casual feel to it, so I’m slightly confused about what it was. I’m not very confident as to whether or not I was making a rude face when I looked at them. My apologies to them.

Archangel

>Iggy-sama.

That is called sarong, which is a traditional wear in Sri Lanka. Please refer to the URL below.

(This URL is only visible to the administrator.)

I believe you understood that it is used as formal wear. Perhaps the fact that there were so many men wearing colorful sarongs means it was a wedding ceremony? Do not be so discouraged.

Title: I was given a sarong!

Iggy here. For now, please take a look at this photo.

(The image is displayed only to accounts authorized by the administrator.)

I got a red and blue gingham check sarong! It’s comfy! Since it’s the locals who wear it, as expected, there’s lots of pros to it – it’s breathable, doesn’t bleach in the sunlight, and it’s easier to walk in than I had imagined.

As you can see in the picture, the length is down to the ankles. It’s longer than a Scottish skirt and that helps. It seems people put this on to go to wedding ceremonies. So cool. Above all, it suits the climate of Sri Lanka, so I think that’s better to wear than Bermuda shorts if you want to spend time here.

I received this from my neighbor, but it’s extremely comfortable, so I’m planning to buy one or two more for myself. I wonder if this can’t be worn every day.

Shinghalion

I am a local. It makes me happy that you like my homeland’s clothes. This sort of garment also seems to be trending amongst Sri Lanka’s elite college students in the recent years, so if there are any places near you where college students hang out, then the boutiques next to them are where you should aim to go. Please have a pleasant life. By the way, it seems to me that someone is leaving several comments. Are you okay? If they are being a nuisance, it seems that there is also a block function here. Just my excessive concerns.

Archangel

>Shinghalion

Pleased to meet you (just for the sake of it). Please do not say such outrageous things to someone you have never even met.

Title: I ended up accumulating sweets.

(The image is displayed only to accounts authorized by the administrator.)

I made too many...

The picture is of coconut rolls, pudding and caramelized date. As one would expect, I can’t eat them all on my own, but when I tried to share with my neighbors, they told me that it’s bad for children’s teeth and got a bit angry, so things are awkward. What should I do?

Title: My boss came over!

The sweets that I made in big quantity didn’t go to waste. Lucky me.

Weird coincidences do happen. I’m truly glad for that.

I wonder what I should make next time he comes. Please leave a comment if you have any suggestions. As for Sri Lankan sweets, I still only know about things like watalappan, and also the rolls, cream buns, and coconut dumplings sold at the station’s kiosk. But all of them are delicious, aren’t they? If you have any recommendations, please tell me.

Archangel

>Iggy-sama, I saw your post with great interest. However, I do not think you should forget about the true feelings of the person in question. Please use every day to improve your own skills and promote your physical and mental health. In that respect, as expected, I think that the sweets you are supposed to make should have focus on your current specialties, but do you agree?

Shinghalion

>Archangel, overprotection can be a bad habit if it goes too far. How about you realize that already?

Archangel

>Shinghalion, Neither I nor you know each other at all. Please refrain from speculating and saying such things on your own accord.

Punk_Of_England

Phew~! This is getting kinda interesting. I’ll be watching over the course of events.

ilovestones

Hum, please leave it as that. This is Iggy-san’s blog. Aren’t you being a bother to him?

Archangel

I resent my actions.

Shinghalion

I apologize.

Punk_Of_England

I’m sorry.

Mura_Shimo

Heya, Iggy-san! It’s your well-acquainted H.S. I came to see your blog! It’s a fun one with lots of comments. Considering that you said you didn’t advertise it to anyone, that’s amazing! Natural virtues maybe?

I wanna see you again and talk! Do lots of updates~! I’ll do my best at guitar practice too~!

Punk_Of_England

The possibility of toleration has disappeared, huh. A-san, you okay? Are you going to be silent for the rest of your life?

Archangel

I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, but I am hesitating as well. Remaining silent might be the safest.

Archangel_Of_Archangel

Hello, nice to meet you, Iggy-san.

I read your entire blog. You seem to be having lots of fun. That is a relief. I have experience with working in a country a bit farther to the southeast than Sri Lanka, so seeing you live a fun daily life reminds me of my youth, which makes me both cry and laugh. This is a very good blog where your daily life comes to mind in vivid colors.

Also, the way that so many people are looking after Iggy-san in the comment section made the corners of my eyes feel hot. Speaking of which, do the people who leave comments on this blog really have no relation to Iggy-san and just watch over him through this blog?

>Archangel-san, can we talk again?

Mail account

Sender: [email protected]

Destination: [email protected]

Message: I shall contact you through the usual phone number.

Sender: [email protected]

Destination: [email protected]

Message: I will be waiting for it. Thank you for always taking care of my son.

Title: The comments decreased?

Hello, Iggy here. Ever since the last update, I feel that the people who always send comments to the blog have gone quiet somehow. Have I written anything weird? It is weird for me to make such a request, but if there is no problem in particular, please be as dynamic as always. I mostly spend my time by myself, so I get encouragement when I read from you.

The city has become lively with the preparations for Perahera. It seems there will be many plans for the summer again, but will I be able to see it live? Iggy out!

Archangel

>Iggy-sama, hello. I shall write a long comment in due time.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinha de vulpian #jr short story collection #tanimoto shouko #jeffrey claremont #shimomura haruyoshi #saul ranashinghe ali #nakata yasuhiro #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #richard

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 25

A/N: So this chapter begins the first mention of COVID-19 for the story. I know it’s not much but I did want to put a little disclaimer because I know it was a traumatic event for many people, especially those who were affected by it personally. We will obviously get deeper into it as the story progresses in the next chapters (judging by the date...it’s time!)

Also, no @’ing me about what happens here with a certain someone.

March 2nd, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was paying attention to the news at the airport.

“While the first case of what epidemiologists are referring to as COVID-19 was recorded in Toronto on January 25th, the novel coronavirus is still baffling some scientists in terms of its symptoms. They range from severe in some, to completely asymptomatic in others. While there are currently less than twenty cases in Toronto thus far, Ontario health officials have recorded three news cases today. One is a man in his 60s who returned on a flight from Egypt, while the other two are women in their 60s and 70s returning on a flight from Egypt. Public health officials are encouraging individuals to wash their hands frequently and exercise caution whenever and wherever possible.”

“Want some hand sanitizer?” John asked from beside her. He was laid out in the chair beside her while her knees were against her chest.

She nodded, leaving her bag of pretzels in her lap before she extended her hand and he squirted some Purell onto her hand. John always had everything readily available – hand sanitizer, band aids, healthy granola bars, breath mints – she was sure he probably had a spare hair elastic in his backpack too, and a full surgery kit for all she knew. She rubbed the sanitizer in between her hands. “What do you think about all this?” she asked, motioning towards the TV monitor.

John shrugged. “I’m a bit nervous about it,” he admitted. “I know that Aryne is taking some extra precautions with Jace. A lot of her friends from Queen’s ended up going to med school so she’s friends with a lot of doctors and listening to their advice.”

“I guess we should all be.”

“Wouldn’t hurt, right?” John asked rhetorically. “Better safe than sorry. What do you think about it?”

Aberdeen pursed her lips slightly. “I have no clue. Science goes way above my head. But if doctors and epidemiologists are going to tell me to do something – or not do something – so I don’t get sick, I’m going to do it – or not do it – whatever.”

“Atta girl,” John smiled. “Just listen to the experts.”

“That’s why I listen to you about hockey,” she winked.

He laughed out loud. “You butter me up too much. What are you looking for? A granola bar? You already have pretzels.”

“Not everything with me has to do with food.”

“Really?”

She pinched him.

***

March 5th, 2020

It was 24 Celsius in Los Angeles, and Aberdeen was loving it. Though the Leafs had suffered a bit of an embarrassing loss to San Jose the night before, today the team had a day off before they had back to back games against the Kings and Ducks. Some of them were going shopping on Rodeo Drive (Auston, Frederik), and some were visiting old friends since being traded (Kyle, Jack), but most were doing exactly what Aberdeen wanted to do: going to the beach.

They decided on Malibu Beach. It was only a thirty minute drive from the hotel, so Aberdeen put on her bathing suit and packed herself in a car with John, Jason, and Justin Holl. William, Rasmus, Kappy, and Pierre followed in another, with Tyson and Mitch tagging along in the last car too. It may not have been super-hot to Californians, but for sun-starved Canadians, it would do. The sun was out, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and she was going to tan the entire afternoon. She would take advantage of it as much as possible.

As she helped set up the blankets and beach towels, she watched as Mitch and Tyson already stripped down to their bathing suits and ran into the ocean together. Pierre was setting up some Bluetooth speakers and John was passing around the sunscreen. The visual of these men rubbing sunscreen across their abs made Aberdeen’s heart flutter – but then the image of them having to slather sunscreen all over each other’s backs brought her back down to earth. She chuckled to herself and shook her head.

“Aberdeen, sunscreen!” John tossed the bottle towards her. She caught it and stripped down to her tankini before squirting some onto her legs and arms, making sure to cover herself thoroughly. She could tell William was watching but trying not to make it seem like he was. Jason took care of her back.

The guys did their own thing while Aberdeen read her book and tanned. She could hear them screaming every now and then and watched as they gave each other piggyback rides and splashed water at each other like they were a peewee hockey team on a weekend tournament. Every now and again someone would come back to the blankets and beach towels to relax, but soon enough, they were back in the ocean, being loud and obnoxious but happy, happy boys.

“Whatcha reading?” Tyson asked as he walked towards her, wet from the salt water and sand sticking to his legs. She flashed the book at him – Milkman by Anna Burns – and he squinted his eyes to see it properly in the sunlight. “Is it about milk?” he asked.

She shorted. She remembered back to when she was reading Women Talking by Miriam Toews and William asked “Do women talk in it?” like a smartass. “It’s about a woman in what’s very obviously Belfast coming of age during the Troubles. I thought it might give me some more insight into what my mom grew up in.”

“Is it any good? Was it as good as the one you were reading last week on the plane? Normal Girls or whatever it was?”

Aberdeen giggled. “Normal People, you mean? No, it’s not as good as that. Fuck, I loved that book.”

“I know. You wouldn’t shut up about it!” he joked, wiping his body off. From behind him, Aberdeen could see John making his way towards them. William was still off in the ocean, throwing a football between him, Pierre, and Mitch. “Think you can teach Mitch how to read?”

Aberdeen smiled. “I can certainly try.”

As if on cue, Mitch’s booming voice was heard. “Hey T-Bear! Get over here!” he yelled, putting everything he had into his throw of the football so it reached Tyson, who caught it expertly.

“See ya later, Aberdeen,” he said before running off, throwing the football towards Pierre who had to dive into the water to catch it.

Instead of focusing on the water cascading down Pierre’s abs or the sunlight hitting William’s broad shoulders perfectly, making him look like some Norse god, she focused her attention on John. “You feeling good?” she asked.

“The best,” he nodded, wiping himself off before lying the towel down again and sitting on it, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “You’ve already gotten some colour,” he commented.

“Thank God,” she said, looking down at her arms. “The winter has made me so pale. It’s a bummer I didn’t get my dad’s skin tone. My sister and brother got lucky with that.”

“You took after the Scottish side?” he asked. Aberdeen nodded. “I get it,” he said. “Aryne can’t tan either. She burns too easily.”

“Wonder if the Swedes are going to look like tomatoes in a couple of hours,” she said, nodding her head towards them. “Imagine they’re on TV and beet red? I might get fired for not slathering sunscreen on you guys or not telling you to put on some hats.”

John laughed out loud, choosing to lean back on his elbows. “I don’t know about that, Aberdeen. Something tells me you’ll be around for a long time if certain people have anything to say about it – well, until you want to leave, that is.”

Aberdeen’s body stiffened slightly at his words. “Wh…what do you mean?” she asked.

“Ah, nothing serious, Aberdeen. Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head. With the silence between them, Aberdeen thought he may have dropped it, but he didn’t. He was just preparing to articulate what he wanted to say. “It’s not just Brendan liking you, you know. We know William has, like, the biggest crush on you, okay? We’re all adults here,” he said to her shock. “It’s cute, but we all know it’s harmless.”

“It is harmless,” she stressed.

“I know, Aberdeen. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t for a second forget that you’re all Toronto Maple Leafs,” she said. “Every job in this organization is a dream job for someone and you guys forget that some people spend their entire lives, their entire careers, building up their resumes waiting to get hired by this organization. Nobody would ever, ever, under any circumstances, want to do anything to fuck it up, because once you’re done here, there’s nowhere else to go.”

“I knooooow, I know. I’m just ribbing you like we rib him about it,” he smiled. He was so jovial about it all that Aberdeen calmed down a bit. He wasn’t trying to get to the bottom of something like he was when he and Morgan asked her about Ethan – he was just being good-humoured. A human, not a captain of a hockey team. Maybe her overreaction was a bit much but she needed to remain guarded and vigilant about it if ever, and whenever the guys brought it up. “He looks at you googly-eyed all the time even though he knows nothing’s ever gonna happen. I’m pretty sure he’d cry whenever you leave.”

Aberdeen snorted. Cry from joy, probably, because that would mean they could actually touch each other in public. “He told you that? That nothing is ever gonna happen?”

John nodded his head. “Well, nothing’s ever gonna happen as long as you work here,” he clarified. “But don’t tell him I told you. He kind of figures and we all know it’s a lost cause as long as you’re working here.”

Aberdeen nodded, deciding not to say anything as she looked out into the distance. The boys were still throwing the football, and Justin was attempting a yoga pose on the beach. She picked up her book and buried her head in it.

***

Adrian Kempe, a Swedish friend of William’s, recommended a taco restaurant in Malibu for the group to have dinner. It wasn’t a far drive from where they were on the beach, so at around six in the evening, they shook the sand off the towels and packed them back in the cars and headed to Café Habana. Aberdeen was in the car with John, Jason, and Justin again.

When they arrived at the restaurant, she looked out the backseat window to see Kappy making a beeline towards someone. The girl, Aberdeen soon noticed, was Saylor. She figured Saylor was here for another modelling gig, though Aberdeen did find it somewhat amusing that Saylor always popped up in cities or areas with…well, shall we say distractions. She was in New York. Las Vegas. Aberdeen knew she’d been to Florida. Now she was in LA. Saylor didn’t go Columbus or Colorado.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Saylor squealed as she saw Willy, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him. “Surrrrrpriiiiise!”

“Surprise,” he smirked, but Aberdeen could tell he wasn’t as excited as she was. “Here for some modelling?”

“Who wouldn’t want to come down to LA to model? I just came from a shoot,” she said, now focusing her attention on Aberdeen. “Hey girl!” she squealed again.

“Hi Saylor,” she smiled.

“I’m so glad I won’t be the only girl here tonight,” she smirked. “The boys can get so boring sometimes.”

“Aberdeen’s used to it by now,” Jason piped in. “She’s only been travelling with us since September.”

The group moved towards the restaurant and were seated in the back patio at a long table. Aberdeen was squished in between Jason and John, and directly across from her sat Willy, Pierre to his right and Saylor to his left. Saylor and Kasperi didn’t even have to sit down to ask the waiter and waitress attending to them if they had oysters. They didn’t. With one quick look at the menu, and a disproportionately long discussion requiring everybody’s calculators to be out to determine how many orders of tacos were required for everybody to have three tacos each (much to Aberdeen’s entertainment), the group ordered four orders of every taco variation (and there were five of them) on the menu, along with some sides of baby broccoli, sautéed zucchini, and French fries. As a dining group of 11, it should have been more than enough food. She felt bad for the chefs, but knew the food would be amazing. She saw it being brought to a table near them and it looked delectable.

While Aberdeen maintained professionalism at all times when she was in front of the guys, when the tacos came, that professionalism waned. She made sure to grab the four tacos she was guaranteed and wanted and piled them onto her plate. They looked delicious. Even as she bit into her first one, she moaned audibly at the taste, making the guys around her laugh. Willy eyed her as she did so, taking a bite out of his own.

“So what have you been up to?” Saylor asked Aberdeen as she crunched on a French fry. “Kappy told me it was your birthday?”

“It was! I turned 22.”

“Ohmigod, I remember my 22nd birthday. We went to the rooftop bar at the Bowery Hotel in New York City,” Saylor said. Aberdeen knew it would be something ultra-luxurious because that was the only way Saylor seemed to roll. “What did you end up doing?”

“Oh, a bunch of friends and I just got a booth and bottle service at a club. Nothing as fancy as that,” Aberdeen answered.

“How many were you?”

“I’d say about twenty.”

Saylor’s eyes bulged a bit. “When you get older, your friend group gets soooo small,” she said, her tone making it seem like she was the all-knowledgeable big sister bestowing wise knowledge upon Aberdeen. Saylor was only a year older than her. If it was Jen, Aryne, or Bee giving this advice, fine – but not Saylor. “My friend group is so small now. All the drama that goes on between people is just so tiring, you know? Less people, less drama.”

Aberdeen didn’t want to be rude, so she nodded her head. “I can get that. These are all people I’ve known since high school and throughout university, though. We’ve already been friends for a long time.”

“And you’re still friends with them?” Saylor asked.

Aberdeen nodded her head. Before she could say anything else, John piped up. “I think that’s a testament to your character more so than anything, Aberdeen.”

“But it could also speak to, like, the way people are,” Saylor went on. Aberdeen indulged her, looking at her so she would continue. “Like, when I was in high school – my family is from Lake Forest, and I went to Lake Forest Academy – I found out this one friend was talking behind my back and I totally ditched her. But then we ended up at the same college, and it was really weird for a while, but then we ended up becoming friends!”

Aberdeen didn’t know what point she was trying to make. Neither did anybody else listening, judging by the looks on their faces. “That’s good you were able to turn the relationship around,” she commented, not knowing what else to say.

Saylor looked very proud of herself. “Besides that, what else have you been up to? Are you still just, like, Brendan’s assistant?”

Aberdeen bit her tongue to smile curtly. “Just.”

“And a great one at that,” Jason said before stuffing his mouth with a taco.

“I guess that’s enough for you,” Saylor commented.

Aberdeen almost dropped her taco. So did Jason. Willy was looking in between them. She didn’t know how to respond at this point and not sound rude when Saylor’s rudeness was so blatantly obvious. Aberdeen still wasn’t sure whether or not Saylor actually had the capacity to be underhanded. She was starting to err on the side of Saylor knowing exactly what she was saying to people but saying it in such a way and with such a tone that everyone thought she was just dumb and didn’t know better. Aberdeen began to believe Saylor did know better, and her act wasn’t fooling Aberdeen anymore. It made her reconsider what Saylor said to her in New York about her nose. “It’s actually not enough for me, but it’s what’s paying the bills right now and I’m not going to discuss career aspirations at the dinner table in front of people who are technically my colleagues and who don’t want to see me leave anytime soon.”

“But you can’t be in a job you hate just because it pays the bills!” she said like some dreamer. “You need to go out there and be creative! Cultivate! Be artistic! Design! Sometimes the best opportunities come when you just drop everything, quit your job, and start hustling as you do what you love!”

Aberdeen felt her blood begin to boil. She tried to remain calm. “One – I never said I hated my job. I love this job and I love the people I work with,” she clarified. “Two – that’s a bit easy to say for someone with family money who grew up in Lake Forest and went to a private school. I have rent to pay. Bills – groceries, my cell phone, internet, stuff for my cat – I can’t just up and quit my job with a steady income to hustle and be creative when I have a shit ton of responsibilities.”

“I’m sure your parents would help you if it’s your dream and it’s something you really wanted to do.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Aberdeen deadpanned. “My parents have their own shit to deal with. My mom would kick my ass if I was that stupid. I mean, my parents are immigrants, so that goes without saying. They don’t owe me a dollar, and I would never ask them for it. I would never do that to them.”

“What about your grandparents?”

Aberdeen could feel John, Jason, Pierre, and Willy deflate at the question. It was almost comical. “I think you’re missing the point, Saylor,” Jason said nicely. “Aberdeen is already hustling to get to an end-goal of writing. This job is actually helping her get to that goal.”

“Writing?” Saylor questioned. “I thought for sure you wanted to, like, work in sports or broadcasting or something. Writing, then? That makes sense, I guess. Better for you to stick behind the cameras.”

Aberdeen wondered if everybody else could hear what Saylor was saying too. She felt like she was in the twilight zone or something. It confirmed to her that Saylor knew exactly what she was saying. “Yeah, I guess. Kind of how it’s better for you to be in front of the cameras because you thrive on attention.”

“Yes! Modelling is all about getting attention and hype around your brand,” she smiled sincerely, so happy that the topic was back on her and her modelling. She didn’t get the subtle dig at her…extracurricular activities that took up more of people’s attention than any work or collaborations or modelling she’d done. “I’m working so hard to build mine now, which is why I’m in LA having meetings and doing more collabs.”

“Is modelling enough for you?” Jason asked.

Aberdeen almost spit out her water, but Willy beat her to it. She saw Saylor’s face light up even more. “Oh my God, yes. I looove modelling. I’m soooo into the creative aspect of it and building my brand.”

“That’s great, Saylor,” Aberdeen smiled. “I’m really glad that it’s working out for you considering how much you love it.”

“Thanks, girl,” she winked. “It’s hard because the industry is so saturated these days. I mean we were talking about this in New York. Every girl with an iPhone, some makeup, and good angles thinks she’s a model. It really takes someone creative like me to stand out. Someone with a unique look and a unique brand,” she went on. “Like your nose, you know? It’s big. Huge. We talked about that. You could get a nose job, or you could work with it. Most would get a nose job.”

Jason was ready for Aberdeen to snap. So was John. So was Pierre. But William knew better. When he saw Aberdeen smile, close-mouthed, just a hint of a coy grin playing on her face, he knew better. “I have a Virginia Woolf nose,” Aberdeen said. “It reminds me of how much I want to become a writer and not a model.”

***

“I feel like I just watched a WWE match on pay-per-view,” Aberdeen overheard Justin say to Jason in a low voice as they trailed behind her in the parking lot (he sat beside Jason during the meal and had heard everything, but even if he hadn’t sat beside him, Aberdeen had a feeling he still would have heard). After the tacos were eaten, everybody decided to call it a night and go back to the hotel – well, mostly everyone. Saylor wanted to go out for drinks somewhere else in Malibu. Everybody else politely declined.

“Yeah, except it was pretty one-sided,” Jason said in an equally low voice. “It’s like Aberdeen was Stone Cold Steve Austin and Saylor was the poor jobber her stunnered every Monday night.”

“You picked up on the nose comment too, right? I mean she was basically telling Aberdeen to get a nose job?” Justin asked.

“Yup,” Jason popped the P sound.

“I thought I was going crazy when I heard it.”

“Yeah, me too. But from what I’ve heard from Jen I didn’t expect more from her.”

“It’s good that Aberdeen is mature. I think if it were me at 22, I would have lunged across the table,” Justin commented.

***

“Who’s Virginia Woolf?”

Aberdeen was lying naked in her hotel bed, tits out, with William lying by her side after he’d fucked her, and that was the question he asked. Aberdeen smiled. She loved William and she knew him – she really did, at least she liked to think – but sometimes she didn’t understand how his brain worked. She knew she liked to call him “Head Empty”, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure. He clearly had thoughts. He just brought them up at weird times. “She was a writer in the early 1900s,” she answered, laughing slightly.

“And you want to be like her?”

She shook her head. “I’d like my writing to be like her writing.”

“Why don’t you want to be like her?”

“She filled her pockets with rocks and committed suicide by drowning herself in the river behind her home,” she said, looking over at him. His face was blank, processing the information, and she smiled wider. “Maybe if my writing was like hers, I’d actually get published in Toronto Life or something.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Her smile faded. She hadn’t told him yet. She’d wanted to keep it to herself for as long as possible because she didn’t want to burden him with the news. “I did try. I sent in one of my personal essays and they rejected it. They sent me the email on my birthday.”

William remained silent. He saw the look on Aberdeen’s face and knew that she felt embarrassed and disappointed – in herself, in her writing. He wrapped an arm around her and propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at her. “Minskatt…”

“Don’t, Willy. You’re going to make me cry.”

“No,” he shook his head, not accepting what she was saying. “After the Carolina game you told me I needed to talk more and that you’d listen. Well, you need to talk now and I’ll listen,” he said. “Talk to me, minskatt. I’m listening.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and it wasn’t because of her writing getting rejected anymore. It was because of the man hovering over her. His head may by empty, but Aberdeen was sure his heart was full of gold. She didn’t know how she got so lucky. She didn’t know how he was hers. “I just don’t know how much more rejection I can take,” she whispered. “I try and I try and I write and I write and I read so I can write better and nothing is working. Nothing,” her voice was shaky. “I just want an editor to read my writing and say ‘This is what I’ve been looking for all along.’ But that hasn’t happened yet. And I’m scared it’s never going to happen.”

“It’ll happen one day, minskatt. I promise you,” William encouraged as he tightened his grip around her with his one arm. “You’re so talented. Your dreams are going to come true and you’re going to look back and wonder why you ever doubted yourself.”

“Do you doubt me?” she asked suddenly.

“No,” William said without hesitation. “Not for a second.”

Aberdeen stayed silent, bringing a hand up to wipe the few tears that had fallen down the side of her face. She rested it on William’s forearm draped across her body. “When I get like this, all my insecurities come out. About my future, about everything. Maybe I was never destined to be a writer. Maybe I was destined to be a personal assistant or a bank teller. Maybe I was destined just to be normal girl with a big nose and nothing special.”

“How can you say you’re nothing special when you’re my treasure?” he asked, burying his face in the crook of her neck and placing a light kiss there. She couldn’t help but smile, and he smiled at the fact he made her smile. “That has to count for something, right minskatt?” he stressed the word.

She nodded. “It counts for everything.” She looked directly into his baby blues, barely blinking. “The second I leave here I’m going to plant the biggest kiss on your lips, Willy. You have absolutely no idea.”

That caused William to laugh out loud before he bent down and gave her a quick kiss. “Not if I beat you to it,” he said.

“You won’t. Trust me. God, I can hardly wait,” she said. “I still don’t know why you keep waiting for me.”

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

“I wait for you because I love you. Because I love everything about you.”

“Even my big nose?”

“My favourite part of you,” he kissed the tip of it. She could have cried again. “It’s what makes you you. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

When she craned her neck to kiss him, she made sure to wrap her arms around his body and pull him close, wanting to feel his body on top of hers. He got the hint, and stuck his tongue down her throat, and they kissed until he was hard again. Though he hadn’t expected a second round, he was more than willing to partake. He even made sure to bring extra condoms. He always did now – since Valentine’s Day. He had them everywhere: in his wallet, in his suitcase, in his shoe. “I love you minskatt,” he mumbled against her lips.

She didn’t respond at first. But when she did, it was with something he wasn’t expecting. “Tell me how you want me.”

He froze for a brief second, the previous conversation they were just having still fresh in his mind. “What?”

“Do you want me from behind? On top?” she asked in a breathy voice.

He groaned. “On top.”

They switched positions so he was lying on his back. Aberdeen climbed on top of him. “Willy?” she asked. “Can we…can we try something different?”

He nodded quickly. “What is it, Aberdeen?”

“Can we…” she began, almost a bit embarrassed. “Can I try reverse cowgirl?”

William couldn’t help but smile. “Of course,” he said, gripping at her hips.

“D’you have another condom?”

“My back pocket.”

She dismounted him, leaning over the bed to grab his pants on the floor and retrieve the packet. When she straddled him again, she did it so her back was to his face. He could feel her pump him a few times before she rolled on the condom, and he sighed at the feeling. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I love you, Willy.”

“I love you too,” he said, his hands back on her hips. He helped her lower herself onto him, the both of the moaning at the feeling. He loved watching himself disappear inside of her. He noticed she wasn’t moving yet. “You okay?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded her head. “It feels so good,” she said. “I’ve never…you know…”

“It’s okay,” he said, understanding what she wasn’t saying. He couldn’t believe that her previous sexual partners were so selfish that they never let her explore what she liked or what she could possibly like or positions she could do. He shuddered at the thought of her potentially asking and being turned down. It made him angry just thinking about it. He didn’t want her to be that way with him. He wanted her to be completely open. “Do what you feel comfortable with, minskatt.”

She began rolling her hips back and forth. William groaned in response, and he could feel Aberdeen’s hands grip his thighs and her nails dig in slightly. As she rocked herself on his cock, she began to moan, gasping out anytime William would buck his hips slightly. He had to admit he liked the view, but what he liked even more was that she was enjoying herself on top of him, doing what she wanted.

“Willy?” she asked suddenly. She looked over her shoulder at him again. She looked so innocent and he knew that she meant to do it, and he almost exploded right then and there as she bat her eyelashes at him. “Can you…can you come up here?”

He did as he was told, pushing himself up and wrapping his arms around her body. He kissed her back and dragged his lips along her skin to her shoulder and neck. “What is it, minskatt?” he asked.

“What if I wanted to try more?”

If it was possible, William felt even hotter. The sound of her voice saying those words was…indescribable. “What do you mean?”

“You just make me feel so good. I’ve never had anybody make me feel this way. I feel so comfortable with you,” she said. “You…I feel safe to try things with you. Things I couldn’t try with other guys.”

He knew what she was getting at. He placed a tender kiss on her shoulder. “What do you want to try?” he asked. She remained silent, wondering if she should have even said anything. “Don’t be ashamed, minskatt. What do you want me to do?”

She hesitated. “D’you…can you pinch my nipples?”

He smiled because it was such a simple request. He brought his hands up and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumb and index fingers. He felt her sharp intake of breath and her head leaned back into his shoulder. He could tell by her reaction that she wanted more. “What else?” he asked, biting down on her skin near her shoulder. “What are you not telling me?”

“That,” she stressed. He didn’t know what she meant. “The bite. You—You can fuck me, Willy. I want you to fuck me. You can be rougher with me. I think I’ll like it.”

When William heard those words and how she emphasized them, he wanted to make sure. Needed to make sure. The first time they had sex it was a good old-fashioned hookup. The second time they had sex they’d made love. In subsequent times since, it was mostly making love, if only because they had waited so long to finally be together and that was what they wanted to “release” – love. But now, with those words being said, he knew Aberdeen was ready to take the next step. She was willing to go further. She trusted him to go further with her, and only wanted to do it with him. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I trust you. Fuck me, Willy.”

He pinched her nipples again, harder this time, and she gasped. He started to move his hips too, moving inside of her, and she began to moan again. Without warning, he fell back down on the bed, bringing her with him so her back was flush against his chest, though her knees were still bent and he was still in her. This was definitely a new position for her, judging by her reaction – a quick “oh fuck” escaping her lips. He heard her breathing get heavier as she felt one of his hands snake down from her breasts and on to her clit. “Willy…” she moaned out.

He started pounding into her, using his athletic physique to be able to so with such force in a new angle she’d never felt before. Her moans fuelled him, and the moans changed to slight whimpers when he started rubbing at her clit. “Fuck, Willy…” she managed to get out.

But he wasn’t done. At least he didn’t want to be done. His other hand, still pinching her nipple, moved up to her neck. “Willy,” she mewled, bringing her own hand up and placing it over his.

“Is that okay?” he whispered into her ear. He wasn’t applying any pressure – it was just sort of there – but that was apparently enough for her. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable going further, anyway, at least without her verbalizing something.

“Yes Willy, fuck,” she arched her back. “Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

He increased his pace. Her cries let him know that even with those simple actions, she was feeling pleasure. She was liking it. She was getting what she wanted from him. That was the only thing he wanted. “I want you to cum all over my cock, Aberdeen,” he growled into her ear. She didn’t answer, but when she arched her back again, he felt her walls tighten around his cock and he knew she was done. He let himself find his release too, groaning in pleasure as her body writhed on top of his. He didn’t stop rubbing her clit until her hand went over his to stop him. Her body went still as he slipped out of her and she fell to his side, trying to regain her breath.

After a couple of minutes, she curled around to face him. “I know that was probably really tame but it was new for me.”

William shook his head. He didn’t want her to feel nervous about anything. “Baby steps,” he kissed her.

“No guy has ever, like…asked what I like in the bedroom,” she admitted. “So I couldn’t explore things. Well I didn’t feel comfortable exploring things. But I know I can with you.”

William nodded his head. “Don’t worry, minskatt. We can start slow. No need to rush. You can tell me what you like and where you’re willing to go.”

“You too.”

“Hmm?”

“You tell me what you like and where you’re willing to go, and I’ll go there with you too.”

He nodded his head, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

183 notes · View notes

haileygarciasunshine · 4 years ago

Text

One Night

Pairing: Bill Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1,400

Warning: Mentions of drinking

Summary: One night is all it takes for things to change.

Bill Weasley Masterlist

Found this edit on pinterest, and I love it😭🥺🥰

Part Two?? Let me know your thoughts!

“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” You practically shriek through the phone. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you listened to your friend talk through the phone.

“I know but-” You huffed in annoyance. “Fine.”

Hanging up your phone, you rubbed your temples, in attempt of relieving some of the built up pressure in your head. Leaning on the table, you swirled your drink around in the glass, before downing the rest of it.

Sighing, you stood up from the table you were previously occupied. The music playing through the speakers, suddenly seemed louder, while the small group of people quickly turned to a large gathering of people.

Squeezing your way through the crowd, you made your way to the bar. Flagging down the bartender, you paid for your bill.

“What’s a pretty little thing, like you doing all alone here?” A husky voice questioned you.

The hair on the back of your neck, stood up, while ice began coursing through your veins. Gulping, you turned toward the voice.

“That’s none of your business.” You spat, turning back to the bar, patiently awaiting your turn.

The man chuckled in a dark tone. “Feisty.” He inhaled. “I like it.”

With the change in season, you had dressed up for a fall night in the town. Grabbing the edge of your black cardigan, you tugged the edge, wrapping it around you, attempting to comfort yourself.

You thought the next best thing, was to ignore him. However, the man who was larger than you had other plans.

“Don’t be like that, baby.” He snarled, grabbing your elbow pulling you closer towards him.

“Bill!” Charlie, yelled to his other brother, once he recognized his familiar face walk through the threshold of the bar.

Chuckling, Bill greeted his younger brother with a quick hug and pat on the back.

“How’s Egypt been?”

Once both men had taken a seat, after getting their drinks, their conversation was filled with small talk.

A silence fell between them. Clearing his throat, Bill was the first to speak. “Why are we here Charlie?”

Scoffing Charlie responded. “What? Can’t I just spend quality time with my brother?”

Bill shot his brother a quizzical look, before he hummed in response.

“Okay, okay.” Charlie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I might’ve..set us up on a double date.” He rushed the last bit out.

“What!” Bill exclaimed. “Charlie! Why would you do that?”

“Well, you look like you’ve been pretty lonely, the last few months.” Charlie attempted to defend himself, while holding his arms up in surrender.

Bill brought both of his hands up to his face, as he began rubbing his face in frustration. “Charlie..” He groaned. “I’m not going on a double date.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t cha think Bill?” Charlie quipped.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Bill questioned, gazing at you from across the bar.

Turning to follow Bill’s stare, Charlie raised his eyebrows slightly in confusion. It wasn’t a secret that you and Bill were close, you would go as far as to consider yourselves best friends. Everyone in the family knew how close you both were. You practically lived at their house during the holidays, not that Molly or Arthur or any of the children really minded. They considered you family, extending you an invitation to come over whenever you had time.

“I’m going to go say, hi.” Bill stated.

He was already halfway across the bar, by the time that Charlie glanced up to see what his brother was saying.

---

“Let me go.” You snarled, struggling to get free from the creep. “I have a boyfriend.”

Smirking, the man glanced around quickly, before he responded. “Oh yeah? And where is he?”

“Turn around.” A familiar husky voice stated.

The overwhelming feeling of comfort washed over you. Quickly, you glanced around the mans arm to see a red hair that you knew all too well.

“Bill!” You exclaimed, breaking free from the unwarranted grip rushing into Bill’s side. His firm arm wrapped around your waist, in a protective manner.

“Oh yeah?” The man snarled. “Prove it.”

“We don’t have to prove anything to you.” You snapped.

“If you can’t prove it, then she’s free reign.” He smirked, taking a predatory step towards you.

Bill growled toward the man. Turning towards you, Bill gave you an apologetic gaze, before his hands made their way to your jaw. Your hands quickly wrapping around his neck. Placing his lips on yours, he gave you a gentle chaste kiss.

“Whatever dude.” The man scoffed before stumbling away.

Once he left, Bill didn’t take his hands away from your jaw, instead he placed his forehead against yours, causing your breath to mix together.

“Thank you.” You whispered, not breaking eye contact. “When did you get back?What’re you doing here?”

“I just got back, a few hours ago.” He offered you a toothy grin, before chuckling. “Charlie wanted me to go on a double date with him.” He groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

Giggling, you brought your hand up to the back of his head, knotting your fingers into his hair.

“Let’s get out of here.” You muttered in a soft tone.

Not waiting for his response, you grabbed his hand before leading him towards the exit. While on your way out, you quickly stopped at Charlies table.

“Charlie!” You exclaimed full of excitement. You threw your arms around his shoulder’s pulling him in for a hug. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Charlie grinned.

Giggling, you nodded to the two other girls, that were sitting at his table.

Bill was beginning to get inpatient. His firm hands, landed on your hips, while his chest pressed into your back. His hot breath, lingering around the shell of your ear. Growing needy, Bill placed his lips to your ear, placing gentle kisses in his wake. Taking your earlobe between his teeth, he nibbled on your ear. Before gently blowing into your ear.

“We’ve got to go.” You muttered, grabbing Bills hand rushing out of the bar.

Passing through the bar threshold, you twirled around, catching Bill by surprise. Gently, you pushed him into the brick wall behind him.

Your sudden actions catching him by surprise, causing him to gaze at you with widened eyes.

Reaching up to his face, you gently traced over the werewolf scars along his face.

The dim lighting on the outside of the bar, allowed you to see a light pink dance along Bill’s cheeks.

“You’re so handsome.” You whispered, gazing into his blue eyes.

“Even with the scars?” He questioned before he frowned glancing down at his feet.

Grabbing his chin, you forced him to look at you.

“Even more so, with the scars.” You offered him a soft smile. “I like the earring by the way.” You teased.

Chuckling Bill smiled down at you.

Knotting one of your hands in his hair, you wrapped the other around the back of his neck. Stepping closer to him, your chests pressed together, before you stood on your tiptoes.

Closing your eyes, you pressed your lips to Bills. Butterflies, began to erupt in your stomach, before heat rose from your stomach to your chest. Bills hands began to roam your body. One of his hands on your hips, grabbed your ass, while the other stayed on your hip.

Bill nipped at your bottom lip, enticing a gasp from you. Quickly, he flipped you around so that your back was pressed into the bricks. A soft moan fell from your lips, causing him to smirk against your lips. His tongue traced your bottom lip asking for entrance, that you eagerly allowed. Once his tongue was in your mouth, you allowed him to trace every nook and cranny of your mouth, before running your tongue against his.

Pulling away, Bill rested his forehead against yours, while you both were panting.

“We should...We should go.” He muttered.

“Let’s go to my place.” You grinned, grabbing his hand you began leading him towards the direction of your car. Lifting his arm, he wrapped it around your shoulder. Lacing your hands together, they dangled together, while you wrapped your other arm around his waist, keeping him close while you walked away together. Bill continued placing gentle kisses, to the top of your head, as you walked into the night together.

#billweasley #billweasleyimagine #billweasleyimagines #harrypotter #harrypotterimagines #billweasleyxreader #bill weasley x reader #imagines #fanfic #fanfics #fandoms #fandom

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3llisarts · 7 months ago

Text

WIP Actually on a Wednesday

Chapter 1

Rhys woke up after that.

Of course, Dylan threatened to sell Wraith on some used cars site and Wraith threatened to take him out.

-------------------

Enjoy y'all! < 3

#rhys thompson #transformers bayverse #transformers dark of the moon #transformers oc #Transformers movies #Dark of The Moon #Dylan Gould

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aliferous-ly · 5 years ago

Note

I've never really asked for a drabble before... If it's okay with you, could you do 7 "I almost lost you" and 32 "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" with Logan and Deceit? I just kinda thought that it had the potential to make some angst with a happy ending. Oh and I only found you recently, but I love the writing that I've seen so far. I always love finding amazing writers. (I'm sorry, I'm a total suck up)

im gonna start this with if you’re on mobile, i am So Sorry

i started this and was like “ha im getting a little carried away” and then went “oh no”

and thank u dear!! that’s v sweet of u awe

summary: Declan is a loud and proud aromantic. Then he realizes why he feels weird, and off, and awkward around his best friend, Logan, and his world starts to crumble.

warnings: f word twice, lying, parent being imprisoned, angst, questioning identity, if there’s anything else lmk!!

It starts, Declan thinks, when Logan smiles.

The situation starts out innocuous -- they’re sitting in Logan’s room, Declan tossing a tennis ball up and catching it unsuccessfully, making a right disaster of Logan’s room with all the objects he keeps knocking to the floor. Logan, naturally, continues doing his homework.

And they’re just -- talking.

Declan likes to think his world should shift on a more momentous occasion, maybe with fireworks, fingers brushing against one another dramatically, Jason Mraz playing in the background.

But it’s the smallest thing. Declan throws the tennis ball up in the middle of his sentence -- “You can’t tell me you hate white pines, they have the softest needles” -- and he misses it on the way down.

So he takes a tennis ball to the face and sits up, sputtering, rubbing at his nose, arm reaching out to snatch it before it rolls too far.

Logan chokes out a laugh, eyes squinty and wrinkled at the edges. His laugh fills the room for a few thrilling moments and Declan thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world and he can’t stop staring at Logan’s engaging face, in the upturn of his lips and dimples carved in his cheeks.

He’s radiant.

Declan’s heart squeezes, lungs filling with something heavier than air, a foreign feeling washing through his veins. Like rose petals or sunlight. Woodsmoke or freshly fallen snow.

The gears in his chest shift and settle and he feels… right. More right than he’s ever been.

Which is, of course, why fear swiftly follows this gorgeous wash of emotions, because this is unusual and anything unusual is often bad.

Declan forces down the incoming wave of anxiety, schooling his expression into one of smooth disdain.

Just in time, too, because Logan opens his mouth and says, “It was only a matter of time until you paid for your crimes.”

“I’m too pretty to die,” Declan replies, thanking the heavens that while his brain may be steadily turning into mush (have Logan’s eyes always been that striking? Or his shoulders that broad?) his tongue still works.

“Implying Death themself has a type, intriguing,” Logan says. He flashes a look over his computer, the after effects of joy still written on his features. “Bold of you to declare what Death likes.”

Declan tries for a smirk but can feel the way his mouth turns to genuine grin, the traitor. “Aw, Logie, are you saying I’m not everyone’s type?”

“That would be rather ironic, wouldn’t it?” Logan says wryly. He types away at his computer, dutiously finishing an English assignment that Declan is currently ignoring for bigger and better things. “The aromantic everyone pines over.”

That strikes an odd chord in Declan’s chest, like he’s a half-tone off; not quite wrong, but not quite right, either. His expression must change, because Logan pauses in his typing. He blinks at Declan. “Something wrong?”

Of course, that’s when Declan’s brain decides that those words are simply too much, too much, his shoulders tightening, back tensing. It’s like his rib cage is squeezing his vital organs, which seems rather counterintuitive. He hates this unknown, this awkward buzz against his skin, the prickling feeling through his bones.

The resounding crash of everything happening all at once is overwhelming and Declan can’t seem to decide whether to sit as still as humanly possible or bolt.

Or, of course, do what he does best.

Lie.

“I forgot to do something for my mom,” Declan says, barely registering the words before they fall from his lips. He hasn’t lied to Logan in a very, very long time (he knows it’s because they have been best friends for ages, but his mind twists it into something of a foreshadow, even though it’s not, it’s not) and the resurgence of his bad habits leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, but. Desperate times. Desperate measures.

“Oh,” Logan says, disappointed, and Declan longs to explain -- what?

He angrily shoves the emotions deep into his chest. If he can’t explain them, he’s not going to give them the right of control over his actions.

(He ignores the prevalent fact that he has just lied to his best friend in order to escape his presence, but denial, evidently, is not just a river in Egypt).

“Sorry,” Declan spits out, meaning so much more than it seems. He stands, grabs his backpack, shoving papers and folders into it haphazardly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Logan calls out hollowly. Declan takes that as his leave and he slips out Logan’s bedroom door, backpack in tow, keys clicking in his pocket.

Something deep inside him aches. But he doesn’t know why.

Frustrated, Declan gets into his car and slams the door shut, fingers white-knuckled against the steering wheel. He takes a breath. He’s fine, he’s fine. He’s probably just sick, or something.

Or something.

Not for the first time, Declan longs for a working aux connection.

Because flicking through radio stations does not help.

Lewis Capaldi croons Someone you loved on one, Sam Smith singing Dancing with a Stranger. He woefully flips through two channels on commercial break, groaning when the last one has Adele, which, really?

He remembers Virgil’s favorite station, and turns up the volume to forty, My Chemical Romance’s Mama screaming from his speakers. He pulls into his driveway with Hallelujah by Panic! at the Disco blowing his ears out when he remembers that Logan once spent hours rambling about Brenden Urie and a conspiracy about curses and he slams his palms on his steering wheel, furious.

Can he not escape Logan for a moment?

As Declan slams the car door shut, throwing his backpack over his shoulders, and freezes at the sight of the stupid Beware, dog sign that Logan had vandelized to read Beware, snake, he realizes that no, he really can’t. Because Logan is his best friend, his favorite person, and his life is irreversibly intertwined with Logan unless he up and leaves with absolutely nothing, starting from scratch. Which would be worse than death.

He trudges up the stairs like a funeral dirge and when his door shuts with a click he leans against it, steadily sliding down until his knees almost touch his chin.

“Fuck,” Declan says out loud, unable to keep the emotion termoil inside like it should be.

His phone buzzes where it fell from his hands, angry against the carpet. Declan sighs. Rubs a hand down his face. And picks up the phone.

There’s one text from Logan that reads, “are you okay? I’m not irritated but you left rather…”

Well. The beginning reads as such. Declan assumes there’s more, but he’s unwilling to open it for the time being.

Then he has three from Virgil, two of which reference an obscure meme video and the third which reads “r u home i wanna play dark souls on ur ps4”.

And there’s a text from Patton asking if he wants normal chocolate chips or mint ones, and a followup that proclaims “never mind i got both! :3c”.

He sends a quick “no” back to Virgil and merely opens the texts from Patton, leaving only Logan’s unopened. I’m not irritated but you left rather… suddenly?

A strange emotion flutters about Declan’s chest and he groans. He doesn’t feel this way about his other friends, not even Virgil, who he’s known for ages and has gone through four too many devastating arguments to not be close with. Nor does he feel like this with Patton, his brother. Those bonds are, he’s certain, platonic--

Declan lurches forwards with a gasp, the realization bowling him over and leaving him breathless. He curls his fingers into the carpet, focusing on the texture instead of the immediate swirl of panic.

He -- does he have a crush on Logan? Him, Declan, the aromantic king, who once boasted the world could never produce a human Declan could fall in love with?

And it doesn’t track with him falling for Logan either because Declan would have loved him months earlier, suddenly falling in love with someone he’s loved platonically… it just doesn’t make sense. Declan can’t wrap his mind around it.

Maybe he’s just reading the emotions wrong. How can he -- what can he do that -- which --

What would Logan do?

An experiment, Declan’s mind supplies helpfully, so, well. Declan pressed his back against the wood of his door and thinks.

Hypothesis: he’s in love with Logan.

In love? A very rational part of his brain yells. You were talking about a crush before!

So Declan thinks, and revises. Hypothesis: he’s feeling romantic attraction to Logan.

Then he takes a few minutes trying to remember the following step in the scientific method and ends up looking it up on his phone, and it’s really long so he’s just going to cut some corners.

Procedure:

Well, Declan can’t think of any way to do this physically without making an entire fool of himself, so he changes the experiment into a thought experiment.

Procedure: Consider emotions of other relationships and compare to feelings for Logan.

Okay. Declan settles. He considers. He tries to imagine holding hands with Virgil and giving him flowers, but he can’t really picture giving Logan flowers either, so if it’s weird for both -- but he wants to hold Logan’s hand, not Virgil’s, and sometimes Patton’s, and Patton is his brother, he knows for sure his emotions are strictly platonic. So if Patton is the control group, the certainty of platonic emotions, Virgil is the one with normal emotions, and Logan has some weird emotions, so if Virgil and Logan’s are merely two different shades of friendship then Declan will know.

Declan closes his eyes and imagines kissing Logan, because that’s what romantic partners do, right? He imagines stepping closer to him until there’s inches of space between them.. Declan thinks about leaning in, brushing lips before pressing in, heat curling in his chest and oh god, oh god Declan’s face is on fire.

His eyes shoot open and he can only imagine how panicked he must look right now. He presses his hand against his chest, taking deep breaths. Then, reluctantly, he thinks about kissing Virgil -- nope, nope, eugh he physically shakes his head, gut rolling uncomfortably.

So that is a big contender for Declan has romantic feelings for Logan.

He sighs and clunks his head against the door. This sucks. Declan hates feelings.

The door downstairs sounds, opening and closing, followed by a resounding, “HEY, CICI, LOVE YOU!”

Dee sighs, a smile flickering across his face. He pushes to his feet and exits his room, wandering downstairs, aloof.

“Hey Pat,” he says, leaning against a wall.

“Ci, I’m making lots of cookies!” Patton declares, beaming at him, and Declan’s heart drops.

His expression must, too, because Patton’s features are suddenly painted in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that,” Declan says, and he feels bad, unexpectedly, for not replying to Patton’s text earlier. “Lots of cookies? With mint and chocolate chips? Enough to feed an army?”

Patton’s arms wilt and Declan reads the tremor in his shoulders, the glisten of his eyes. Patton tries for a smile and misses by a mile.

Declan crosses to where Patton stands in five steps, wrapping his arms around his smaller brother, pressing his cheek against Patton’s head. “What’s wrong?”

Patton takes a shuddering breath, returning the hug. “Nothing, really. I’m glad you’re home.”

“Ah,” Declan says. He tightens his grip on Patton. “Do you want help?”

“No.” Patton presses his face into Declan’s chest. He’s shaking, ever so slightly. “Can you talk with me at the counter, though?”

“Of course,” Declan agrees, mentally side-tabling his emotional turmoil.

“Okay,” Patton says. He’s quiet for a few more moments, then says, “And Steven Universe later?”

“Anything,” Declan says. He makes a face. The word had slipped out unbidden, but Patton doesn’t tease him for it.

“Alright.” Patton pulls away, takes a breath. “I’m about to make the best damn cookies the world has ever seen.”

“Damn straight,” Declan says, grinning. Patton pauses for just one moment more before moving to the kitchen, dropping various ingredients onto the counter and moving smoothly to gather more.

Declan wonders at his influence on Patton’s vulgar mouth, then shrugs. Patton’s a teenager. He can do what he wants.

“Weren’t you hanging out with Logan?” Patton asks conversationally. He’s pulling down bowls and sugar, obviously expecting easy small talk. And normally Logan is easy for Declan to talk about. He talks about him all the time.

So when Declan winces, Patton turns and addresses him with full attention, brows furrowed. “What? What happened?”

“I…” Declan considers for a moment to just lie about it but dismisses the thought. This is Patton. “I think I have a romantic attraction for him.”

Saying it out loud only cements the certainty in Declan’s chest. No, he hasn’t quite completed the experiment, but he just… knows.

The knowledge is both relieves and spikes his anxiety about the whole situation.

“Oh,” Patton says, eyes wide. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Declan says honestly.

“Alright,” Patton says. He turns back around and a wave of affection flows through Declan. “How did Roman do on his audition?”

Declan hums, eternally grateful for Patton’s ability to turn the conversation away. They talk about Roman’s skill as an actor for a few minutes, jumping to Patton’s involvement in VEX robotics (focusing on the robotics instead of the people) and they kill about forty minutes with Patton talking about his baby bot, Pat Jr.

When the clock strikes seven, Declan throws together two grilled cheese sandwiches and they eat in front of Steven Universe and the gems, Declan stretched out along the couch and Patton creating a throne of blankets for himself.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Patton murmurs, eyes never straying from the bursts of pastel on the screen, “but if you do have a romantic attraction to Logan it’s okay. You weren’t wrong in saying you’re aromantic. Because that fits you, you like it. There’s just more strings attached than you originally thought.”

Declan blinks, the smallest smile growing on his face. “Thanks, Pat.”

Patton hugs a pillow, eyes bright. “Love you, Ci.”

Declan pushes his foot against Patton’s blanket pile in response.

“Do you think we have to move?” Patton says, three hours into their movie night.

Declan breathes, slowly inhaling as if it gives him an excuse to not reply. “I didn’t. I don’t want to. But probably.”

“That’s why you haven’t told anyone,” Patton says. He shifts, turning to look at Declan. Declan maintains eye contact with the screen, despite having seen this movie countless times. “And why you told me to keep it under wraps.”

“Yes,” Declan says, because really, he lies to the world, but he doesn’t lie to Patton.

He tries not to lie to Patton.

“But something changed yesterday.” Patton’s not asking questions. Somehow, he just knows, despite being left out of the loop. “And you were going to tell Logan today.”

“Yes,” Declan says. Static thrums through his veins. Aladdin ignores a buzzing genie on screen, swatting him away to benefit his own desires.

“What happened?”

“Mom’s not getting out,” Declan says simply, because that’s it, really. Their mother is not getting out of jail. And with no father, their final hope is their uncle, three states over. Their father’s brother.

Two months away from eighteen, and Declan is forced to concede.

“When?” Patton asks. He’s trembling, but he’s not crying. Declan knows that will come later.

“Because of the legal mixups and leaning on Sasha, two weeks, probably,” Declan says. Sasha is, of course, their next door neighbor, the crazy cat lady of the street who “watches” the boys “all the time”.

“Two weeks,” Patton whispers. There’s a sheen in his eyes. Declan tries not to look but his gaze is like a magnet and Patton stares, stares, stares. “That’s not enough time. That’s not…”

Declan closes his eyes.

He really thought he would win.

He thought he could win.

They only had to last two more months. His deadbeat mom had to last two months and they couldn’t even keep the legal proceedings--

He takes a breath. “Uncle Thomas is nice, at least.”

“I don’t want uncle Thomas,” Patton snaps.

“Well we don’t have a choice, Pat,” Declan bites out, stomach rolling at the words, eyes snapping open.

Patton recoils, hurt flickering behind his eyes, but Declan knows it’s not enough to overpower the fire roaring in Patton’s lungs. “We did, we could have put more savings into mom’s defense, we could have found a place to live before it was our last resort but now we have to tell all our friends that we’re moving hundreds of miles away in two weeks!”

“Mom doesn’t deserve to get out,” Declan spits.

“I don’t CARE.” Patton’s fingers are clenched in fists. He stands. “I don’t care if mom deserves it or not. We deserve to stay.”

“The world doesn’t work like that,” Declan says.

Patton opens his mouth and snaps it shut, obviously restraining himself. A thousand emotions swim behind his eyes. Declan hates every single moment but he doesn’t say a word.

He leaves.

He leaves Declan sitting alone on the couch, watching Patton’s favorite movie. A door slams shut and Declan exhales heavily. They don’t get into fights, it’s just not -- Patton’s normally too upbeat to bother, Patton hates being angry, Declan normally doesn’t -- there’s nothing to get angry about, not in the grand scheme of things. They share easily, they have chaotic conversations, they…

They’re fighting.

Declan buries his head in his hands. He was too hopeful, too caught up on the possibility of the future to notice the sinkhole of reality.

He really thought -- things would work out, Patton has his lucky charm of a personality and Declan works, he works hard, so things should -- Declan’s a senior in high school, halfway through the first semester, he should be worried about grades and school dances and friends and crushes and --

Logan.

Declan curls, releasing something like a sob or maybe a dry heave. Whether or not he’s in love with Logan (most signs point to yes but there’s no way Declan’s addressing that) he still loves Logan, he loves being with him and talking to him and ordering his ice cream before Logan gets there to see the surprised and fond expression cross his face.

Two weeks?

To say goodbye to his best friend?

Before moving, before picking up his entire life and his family (just -- Patton. Just Patton) and going somewhere Else?

Declan doesn’t feel like an adult.

He doesn’t want to be an adult, either.

Even if the world is asking him to be one.

“You’re acting strange,” Logan observes.

Declan shrugs. “I’m always strange.” He takes advantage of shoving fries in his face to avoid expounding.

Logan sighs and puts down his burger. “Declan. Something’s going on.”

Several somethings are going on, actually, but thanks. Declan shrugs again. “Haven’t been getting much sleep.” Which is a true statement. He’s written about ten different ways to tell Logan he’s leaving, nine of which are ripped up in the trash, one of which Declan just burned because he doesn’t want even scraps of that disaster to exist.

Five days to go and Declan still hasn’t told him. Five days. They don’t have many classes together, otherwise Logan would have pieced together the weird treatment from the teachers. Declan wonders if just disappearing into the void is an alright way to go, but a little Patton in his head chastises him for even considering it.

Then again, at this rate…

“Hm,” Logan says. He has a thoughtful look on his face that’s absolutely devastating to Declan’s heart and general health and coherence of thought, let alone considering what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Is there a reason?”

Declan considers, eyes narrowing as he stares at nothing. “I neglect to answer that question.”

“So yes,” Logan says. The words fall from his lips with crushing sorrow. He takes a breath. “Why aren’t you telling me?”

“Telling you what?” Declan says, internally wincing at the hurt flickering through Logan’s eyes.

“Okay,” Logan says instead. He turns back to his food.

They eat the rest of the meal in silence.

Declan watches absentmindedly as Logan attempts to make a tower out of pens and pencils. With the addition of Roman’s copious amounts of colored pens, the tower is quite impressive.

Two days.

(Two Days).

Declan’s all packed. Sorta. Not really. He’s going to skip some classes in the future and pack all at once, throwing everything into the boxes (the empty boxes lining his room), not caring if anything breaks.

He…

He hasn’t told Logan yet.

Or anyone, really, but Logan’s the one that -- the one that matters the most.

Logan did, however, ask him if he was okay three times before leaving him be, because Logan knows that Declan becomes testy if asked the same question consistently.

So basically, as far as Declan can figure, Declan’s a tool. Logan is trying, and Declan is giving him jack shit to work with.

Patton has told all his friends, which means it’s only a matter of time before Logan finds out, right? Patton’s a sophomore, they’re seniors, and the school is large, but it’s also not as big as it seems.

Roman, sitting next to him, hums under his breath as he types. He’s editing his college essay, which Declan would be doing if he had a college essay to edit and also cared enough. The atmosphere is strikingly calm, which leads to an anxious buzzing under Declan’s skin.

Tell him. Just tell him. Just open your mouth and tell him. You’re in a library, he can’t get loud and yell.

Declan wonders if yelling would be better, actually, than wide eyed stares and wounded expressions.

He’s contemplating the merits of writing a letter (absolutely not, he doesn’t know why he’s even considering it) when he spots Patton out of the corner of his eye.

Patton in and of himself does not scare Declan.

The fact that he’s bee-lining for Declan and his friends does make him a bit nervous, though.

“Cici,” Patton hisses. The cutesy play on Declan’s middle name sounds odd in such a harsh tone of voice. He glances at Logan before staring at Declan.

Declan’s starkly aware of Roman and Logan’s attention when he says, “yeah?”

“You told them?” Patton says, and Declan--

Well.

A combination of fear and fury and regret zip through his veins at warp speed.

But Declan’s well trained in the art of deception.

He schools his expression into one of cool indifference. “That I’m taking you for ice cream? Nah. I didn’t think they’d care. You wanna go right now?”

Roman huffs a laugh, turning his attention back to his computer. Logan doesn’t look away, though, hand resting on a bright yellow flair pen.

Patton’s brow furrows. “I mean the--”

“Man, if you were that impatient you could’ve texted me,” Declan interrupts with a long, drawn-out sigh. He stands, swinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Get me some ice cream next time,” Roman says, grinning. His gaze doesn’t leave his screen. “Bye, loser.”

“Bye,” Logan echoes.

Something registers in Declan’s brain-dead skull that Logan sounds lifeless because his best friend has been distant (Declan. Declan is Logan’s best friend).

Declan pauses, sighs. Patton looks outraged and about two seconds from outing Declan.

“I’m sorry,” Declan says. Logan looks up at him. “It’s not your fault. Just… I’m going through some things. You deserve to know. I shouldn’t shadow you without any info.”

Patton looks even angrier, if possible, but then Logan’s talking and Patton hates interrupting people.

“Okay,” Logan says, soft as ever. “I’ll wait for you.”

And if that doesn’t make Declan feel like the nastiest motherfucker.

“Let’s go,” Declan says, pulling Patton along before Patton lets loose.

He opens his mouth, but Declan beats him to it, whispering, “Shh, we’re in a library.”

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Patton hisses instead.

“Language.”

“You haven’t told them?” Patton exclaims. He yanks his wrist from Declan’s grip but continues following him, arms gesturing wildly. “You’re the worst.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Declan mutters.

“You better get me ice cream now,” Patton says, crossing his arms. “After making me watch that.”

“That’s fair,” Declan concedes, and then realizes he’s going to have to spent the next thirty minutes listening to Patton chastise him and --

Honestly, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want it, but before he can say anything, Patton says, “don’t even think about escaping this.”

So he’s stuck listening to Patton chastise him for the next thirty minutes until their next class starts.

But he gets a turtle sundae out of it, so it’s like, at least 20% a win.

“CICI,” Patton screams from the living room.

Declan shoots to his feet, tripping and slamming his knee into the doorframe, scrambling to reach Patton as swiftly as possible. He appears at the edge of the living room, hand pressed against the wall, chest heaving, eyes blown wide. “What? What is it?”

He assesses Patton for damage, but Patton’s standing with his phone clutched between his fingers, shaking ever so slightly but appearing physically fine. He’s staring at Declan, lip trembling.

“Patton?” Declan says.

Patton opens his mouth, tears dripping down his cheeks. He sniffs, making an angry noise in the back of his throat as he wipes at his face. “I shouldn’t tell you! I should let you suffer because you’re mean.”

“Patton,” Declan says, approaching his brother like one might a wild animal.

Patton shakes his head and Declan stops.

“I’m upset!” Patton says. Then he lets out a laugh, choked. “But I’m so relieved.”

Declan doesn’t say anything.

Patton sniffles a few more times, then peeks at Declan through his fingers. Declan tries for a smile, sheepish. Patton smiles back, watery and soft. His shoulders shake as he laughs softly, his phone pressed against his cheek. “I was so scared.”

“Me too,” Declan says.

“I’m sorry,” Patton says, the anger draining from his face and leaving a wide-eyed pile of nerves. “I didn’t mean it. You’re not mean. You’re just scared.”

“It’s okay,” Declan says. His arms hand limply by his sides. He wants to do something with them, to cross his arms or put them in his hoodie pockets or something, but he also wants to leave them available for when Patton wants a hug, so he stands awkwardly instead. “I forgive you.”

“I’ve been calling Uncle Thomas,” Patton says.

Declan’s heart does something funny in his chest.

Patton pulls his hands away from his face, rubbing his cheeks clean, staring at his phone for a few moments before his hand drops, dangling at his side. “He’s -- he said he’s coming here. His job can be done online and the stuff he can’t do online he’ll fly back for which won’t be often, he said it’s important to him that we -- have a support system throughout highschool, and he wants us to finish here before doing anything else.”

The information barely filters through Declan’s mind because when Patton exhales another sob Declan steps forward and envelops him in his arms on instinct. Patton’s legs go weak. Declan sinks to the ground, Patton pressing his face into Declan’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Patton mumbles. “I don’t know why I’m crying. This is good. This is good.”

“Sometimes emotions have a funny way of showing,” Declan says. He runs his fingers through Patton’s hair, untangling the curls. “You’ve been stressed. It’s okay.”

“Why aren’t you crying?” Patton says. He taps his palm against Declan’s chest, reminiscent of a smack without any of the power. “It’s not fair.”

Declan laughs, sort of. “I might later. I don’t know. Emotions are weird.”

“You never told your friends you were moving,” Patton says. “Will they ever find out?”

“Probably,” Declan says. He squeezes Patton. “I know you told your friends. It’s better your way. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Mm.”

Declan can feel the rise and fall of Patton’s chest. It slows as Patton calms down. “We don’t have to move,” Patton murmurs.

“We don’t have to move,” Declan agrees, and Patton presses even closer.

Declan doesn’t know how he finds his way to the beach but at one point he’s baking Patton cookies and the next he’s sitting on a slab of concrete overlooking the pitch dark waves. He knows Patton is sleeping, or is at least pretending to sleep. He vaguely remembers writing a note in case Patton looks for him.

It’s been three days since Patton discovered Uncle Thomas’s moving plans. Discovered? Convinced? Declan isn’t sure.

And he doesn’t really know how to react. He’s been moving on autopilot, making dinner, doing homework, putting in minimal effort into his friendships so they don’t abandon him on the side of the road --

No. Declan shakes his head. Putting minimal effort into his friendships because his friends don’t deserve to be cut off without a word.

Nothing feels right.

(Something is off).

He hears footsteps and before he can whip around, before fear has the chance to truly take over his body, he hears, “this seat taken?”

“No,” Declan says, and Logan sits next to him on the concrete. They’re quiet for a few moments, watching the reflection of the moon, tasting salt on their tongues.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Logan says finally.

Declan closes his eyes, breathes. His emotions are all tangled up in his chest and he doesn’t want to tap into it for fear that if he lets out a little he’ll let out everything.

But Logan deserves to know.

(He deserves someone better.)

“My mom lost,” Declan says, which sounds nicer than it did in his head. “She’s unfit to care for us, anyway, but now she’s officially calling prison her new home.”

Logan’s quiet. Declan listens to his breathing. He spies Logan’s hand against the concrete and longs to close the distance and entangle their fingers, just for a modicum of physical comfort. The slightest hint of warmth permeates the air around Logan and Declan wants to lean closer, to press their arms together.

“My Uncle, on my dad’s side, is taking care of us. He… wasn’t originally going to move here, but Patton talked to him and he decided moving here is the best course of action.” Declan shifts. He doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know how to explain.

Logan stops breathing.

“I almost lost you,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper.

Declan glances at him and can barely comprehend the amount of horror shining in Logan’s eyes. Logan’s staring at him, expression open and terrified. “I almost…” He exhales, shaking. Declan watches him so closely he can see the sticking of his chest as he breathes, the tremor of his shoulders.

Declan’s heart stutters and he wants to tear his gaze away but he owes, he owes Logan this. Even though the only thing he wants to do is run away, to preserve himself. “I -- I never told you,” Declan says, more scared than he has been in a long time. He opens his mouth and stops, shrinking away. He looks over Logan’s shoulder, unable to maintain eye contact. “We were supposed to leave two days ago. I was going to tell you and then…”

Then I found out that I’m in love with you, and it freaked me out so much I closed myself off.

Logan’s truly shaking, and Declan doesn’t know what to do. You caused this. This is your fault.

“Ugh! I’m sorry,” Declan exclaims. He can’t stand this, these tentative moments, fragile as glass. He wants to take a hammer to the whole affair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not much but I was scared, and it’s not a valid excuse, but I was terrified, Logan, I couldn’t leave you! You mean too much to me!”

“You mean a lot to me too,” Logan says, but Declan’s on a roll, now, there’s no stopping the hurricane in his heart.

He moves his gaze to the waves, finding solace and energy in the constancy. “I was going to tell you when we were hanging out a few weeks ago in your room, and then I freaked out because -- and then I left, and haven’t been able to figure out how to word it since, and Patton’s better than I am, he told his friends almost immediately, imagine, having worse emotional competency than a fifteen year old--”

“Roman found out,” Logan says, grinding Declan’s tangent to a halt. “He mentioned something to me but I needed to hear it from you.”

Declan stares at him.

“I asked Patton if you were at home,” Logan explains. Declan can barely tell in the shadows, but Logan’s face seems to darken. “When he said no, I knew there was one other place you would go. Probably.”

Declan worries his lip. He’s that predictable?

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Logan asks, quiet.

“Because…” Liquid anxiety slogs through his veins. His voice drops, quiet, quieter than the sound of waves. “Because I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.”

For a second all he can hear is the crash of the sea and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know why the moon isn’t falling from the sky, why the stars haven’t combusted, because his world feels like it’s falling apart at the seams.

“I discovered that,” Declan continues, the words slipping between his lips before his mind has any say in the matter, “and didn’t know what to do, and then I needed to tell you I was leaving, and I love you, and I couldn’t. Because I’m a coward.”

Another beat. Declan takes a long breath. “I still love you. And I’m no longer leaving.”

“I suppose… now would be a bad time to bring up demiromanticism?” Logan tries.

“It would be a terrible time, but thank you,” Declan says, and he can’t help the small puff of laughter that escapes.

“I love you too,” Logan says, then, and Declan can’t breathe.

He turns to Logan without thinking, searching his sapphire blue eyes for deception even though Logan has never, ever lied to him. He can’t hope, he can’t dare to hope, the world would never give him two miracles. “Don’t trick me.”

“I’m in love with you,” Logan clarifies, nervous. His hands are wringing together and he’s biting his lip.

Declan reaches out, fingers trembling, to brush against Logan’s cheek. “You…”

“I’ve been in love with you,” Logan says. He’s looking down, away from Declan’s gaze, but he leans into his touch. “For awhile. I never wanted to bring it up because… you were so adamant about being separate from romance…”

“I thought I was,” Declan says honestly. “Which is why this is a real fucking trip, let me tell you.”

Logan laughs, and some of the tension in the air dissolves. “I can imagine.”

“God, I love you,” Declan says. He brushes his thumb underneath Logan’s eye.

“I love you too,” Logan says, eyes wide and sparkling, then he moves forward and cradles Declan’s head in his hands and Declan short circuits because he’s right there he’s RIGHT THERE and he’s touching him he loves him he loves him--

“You’re gorgeous,” Logan says, and Declan just stares at him dumbly because his mouth stops working. His heart is barely going, the only reason he’s not dead is because his body has some sort of instinctive survival instinct, or something.

Emotion clog his throat and Declan doesn’t know how he’s not sobbing already so he’s unsurprised when the smallest tear slips out of his eye.

“Oh,” Logan says, wiping the tear away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s -- it’s not -- it’s not you,” Declan chokes out. “God. This is so embarrassing.”

“I don’t care,” Logan says. He leans closer, pressing their foreheads together and staring into Declan’s eyes. “It’s okay to cry.”

Declan smiles thinly, blinking away tears. “I don’t deserve you.”

Logan stares at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” Declan says. His trembling hands hold Logan’s jaw. “And you’re so smart and passionate, and you have the most wicked sense of humor, and you’re my best friend.”

“No,” Logan shakes his head. “I mean, I am your best friend, but there’s no deserve in a relationship. We’re just people. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. Please don’t sell yourself short.”

Declan wants to say that only proves how good Logan truly is, but he settles for a simple, “Okay.”

Logan brushes hair out of Declan’s eyes, then sighs, dropping his head to Declan’s shoulder. Declan’s hands slide down to Logan’s upper back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Declan says.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Logan replies, muffled. He pulls away for a split second, eyes blurry and a crease already showing from his glasses pressing into his skin. “But if you withhold life-altering information like that from me again there will be issues.”

“I won’t,” Declan says. He swallows. He hates promises. He hates them, because he never feels like he can maintain them. “I’ll… I’ll try my hardest.”

Logan searches his gaze, nods, and then presses fully into Declan.

“Woah, okay.” Declan shifts as Logan clings to him like a koala bear. Logan’s basically in his lap and Declan, well. Declan has no complaints.

“I can do this as much as I want because we’re in love with each other,” Logan mutters, and wow, if that doesn’t send a thousand vibrations across his skin. In love with each other.

Declan grins. He likes the sound of that.

“You know,” Logan says conversationally. His fingers trail up to press against Declan’s face, outlining his lips. “I love it when you smile.”

Declan hums, his smile broadening. Me too, Logan.

Me too.

#im also posting this on ao3 bc this is a MONSTER #loceit #logan sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders #brotherly moceit #god the dynamics..... so good #roman sanders #virgil sanders #well virgils mentioned hes not actually in it OOPS sorry virge love u #does the ending make sense?? i hope so #deceit: i also love it when i smile thank u logan #<-- incorrect interpretation yet i love it #did someone order some uhhhhh fluff #willowaudreykeyes

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jojosbizarreblog · 4 years ago

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Hi! I don't know if you're taking requests, but if you are, I was wondering if I could get a small scenario set during part 4, where the Reader was a crusader and Jotaro needs her to help to catch Kira. But the reader herself is done with stands and all that jazz so she flat out refuses (and of course she ends up getting convinced to help!). Sorry if this is too specific... I like to go into detail with my requests ❤️

(Don’t apologize! It actually helps me out a lot when it goes in depth like this, so thank you! Hope you like it!)

(P. S. Zinnia flowers have a purpose in the title, trust me)

(P. P. S. It’s long. It’s angsty. Buckle up)

Zinnia Blossoms in Full Bloom (Jotaro x reader)

You opened up a little shop to get away from your past. Unfortunately it comes back to you through the visit of an old friend.

Opening the little flower shop outside of Morioh was arguably one of the best things that you’ve done. It was good to leave the old things behind, leaving behind the oozing monsters that threatened to drag you down and envelop you whole. Of course, you still kept in contact with some of your remaining friends, but it was difficult with them all over the globe.

‘Fire Cherry Flowers’ was the name of the little shop, in honor of the ones who have passed. It was your way of remembering their life while you tried to forget the pain that came with their memories. Business was slow when you first opened but eventually, the shop gained popularity, and now you had no trouble keeping yourself busy.

You were getting ready to close up shop for the day, cleaning up the fallen flowers on the ground behind the counter, when the bell to the shop rang behind you. “In a moment!” You called. Straightening up, you started turning to the person. “I’m about to close up for the day, but what do you nee—” You froze as your eyes made contact with familiar ocean blue ones.

“(Y/n),” Jotaro said. He still looked as handsome as ever, decked out in a long white coat and matching pants, almost like what he wore ten years ago. You couldn’t help but remember all those nights spent with the others, long lost memories.

You swallowed thickly. “Jotaro. What brings you here?”

“I need your help.”

“How about we sit down for some tea,” you said. “I’m closing up the shop, so we can sit in the backroom and you can tell me what’s going on.” You two parted on good terms all those years ago. He left Morioh to pursue his dreams of becoming a marine biologist while you stayed near to apprentice under a skilled gardener, learning about the nuances of plants.

He nodded and hovered in a corner of the shop as you bustled around, locking doors and turning off lights. You beckoned him to your back room, where a little stove accompanied by a table and chairs occupied the area. Tea was made in a few short minutes and you sat down across from him, setting down two cups.

“What brings you here?” You asked him, nursing the warm cup between your hands.

Jotaro sighed and took a sip of his tea. “There have been murder cases popping up around Morioh lately.”

You nodded. “That’s right... I overheard it in the news. What has that got to do with you needing my help anyway?”

“We believe it’s the work of a Stand user.”

Frowning, you told him, “Jotaro, you can’t be serious. I told you guys that I’m done with all that Stand business.”

“I know. I’m working with a few others, but it’s better to have more seasoned people to help us with this.”

You slammed the cup down, face shadowed by your hair. “I can’t! Stands have caused me nothing but pain! I’m done with that Jotaro, that life is over for me.”

“Please,” Jotaro said. “I’m begging you, (y/n). I know it hurts, I feel it too. I spend nights remembering their deaths, it hurts so damn much.”

You paused as a lone tear trickled down his face. Jotaro never talked about his feelings and showed them even less. Even when they were close to bursting. He must’ve really been desperate. You sighed and blinked away your own tears. “Let me think about it,” you said, even though you knew what your answer was. Scribbling down your address, you handed it to him and said, “Come back tomorrow.”

Jotaro nodded and set the teacup down. You stood there alone in the backroom as he left. The chime of the bell was the only thing heard before the silence overtook your shop.

Well, time to get ready for tomorrow. Who knew what laid ahead.

The car rumbled as you stared out the windows at the familiar sights that passed you. Buildings that were still so similar despite the ten-year difference.

The old cream parlor. Whose maraschino cherries were something Noriaki often gushed about

That ramen shop that had great sushi. Something Avdol would’ve loved. Perhaps even Iggy too.

Next to you, Jotaro was focused on the road. You couldn’t help but scan his features over. Soft dark hair, a sharp jawline, striking aquamarine eyes. Perhaps Noriaki was right when he told you that you had a crush on Jotaro. You’d thought the feelings would have been gone by now, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, you supposed.

His phone rang, somewhere in his coat’s pocket, and Jotaro fumbled to take it out and answer it. “Dr. Kujo speaking,” he said. You watched as Jotaro shrank back from the multiple loud voices screeching over the speaker. “Yare yare daze, I leave you three alone for one moment, and trouble’s already found you. I’m only a few minutes away so try not to burn down my hotel room.”

Jotaro sighed as he hung up, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “People you working with?” You asked.

“You could say that. I’m more of a babysitter for them though.”

You shook your head. What the hell did you get dragged into now?

The car rolled to a stop in front of a hotel. “We’re here, let’s go.”

You grabbed your bag and followed Jotaro as he briskly walked through the lobby and up the stairs, questions in your head. What sort of people was Jotaro working with? Detectives? Criminal investigators?

Your expectations were quickly dashed when he opened the door to three teenagers. Two of them were sporting pompadours, though one had quite a sizable one. Both were screaming their heads off, trying to yank a jar off of the one with a smaller pompadour. The last one, who was comically short, was sitting in the hotel’s armchair, watching the chaos in front of him.

None of them heard you two enter, too stuck up in their troubles. They didn’t notice the dangerous aura Jotaro was giving off either. You looked at him and said, “Are you shitting me? Jotaro are these who you’re working with????”

The screaming stopped and all eyes zoned in on you. The previously screaming teens straightened up, hiding the jar behind their back. Jotaro gave a long-suffering sigh as he shut the door behind you two.

“Jotaro!” The one with the larger pompadour beamed. “Who’s this?”

“This is (y/n) (l/n). She’s a friend of mine and a former Crusader.”

You nodded at them. The shortest one stood up and walked to you, sticking out his hand. “My name is Koichi Hirose, nice to meet you.”

Taking his hand in yours you gave him a smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

The larger pompadour wearing teen pushed Koichi aside, grinning at you. “I’m Josuke Higashitaka, Jotaro’s uncle! That’s my friend Okuyasu Nijimura!”

You blanked. He looked seventeen at the oldest. How did he end up being Jotaro’s uncle? You squinted at him and then Jotaro, trying to pick out any similarities. “What the fuck happened when I was out?” You asked Jotaro.

“Joseph got busy,” was his reply.

Sighing you turned back to the teen and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Josuke.”

Josuke brightened. “You said you were a former Crusader, right??? What was it like, traveling across Egypt???”

Oh god.

Nights under stars. Making fun of each other. Two limp objects and a canid body in Polnareff’s arms. A crumpled water tower.

You forced a smile to hide the inky blackness seeping through your heart. “It was hell and high heaven at the same time.”

Josuke frowned at the cryptic phrase but was stopped from asking any more questions when something shattered and Okuyasu screamed. You winced at the volume and wondered how Jotaro managed to work with them.

“Crazy Diamond!” Josuke yelled. A being appeared and you blanked.

His Stand...

Oh god oh god oh god.

You flinched as Jotaro’s hand came to rest upon your shoulder. He turned your attention away from whatever was happening with the teens. “Will you be alright?”

Swallowing thickly, you replied, “There’s... going to be some adjustments needed.”

He sighed a straightened up, walking to the now quieter teens and ushering them out the door. “Come back tomorrow,” he barked. “We’ll work on some more stuff next time.”

The door shut with a resounding slam, leaving peace and silence at last. You found yourself drawn to the balcony overlooking Morioh. Jotaro’s presence settled next to you and you two stared at the little town below.

“Josuke’s Stand...” you began tentatively.

From the corner of your vision, you could see Jotaro give a shart nod. “I know. I promise that it’s different from his.”

You nodded stiffly. “Alright.”

“Hey... do you want to go to that ice cream parlor we passed?”

Your heart clenched at the unexpected question. “The one that Noriaki swore up and down had the best maraschino cherries?”

There was the barest hint of a smile in Jotaro’s reply. “Yeah... we did promise to try it out when we got back. Never got around to it.”

“I’m in,” you agreed. “We do need to fulfill our promise after all.”

“Alright. We’ll head over there tomorrow, then we’ll get to work on the case.”

That was it for the conversation between you two as a breeze passed over the quiet bubble that had set in.

In that quiet, you couldn’t help but reminisce about those long gone.

[Zinnia is a symbol of endurance. It also symbolizes lasting friendships, goodness, and remembrance.]

#oh fuck oh god i’m crying #*ugly ass sobbing*#jojo’s bizzare adventure x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #jjba reader insert #jjba fanfic #jojo part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #kujo jotaro x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jjba imagines #jojo’s bizarre adventure imagines #jotaro kujo #jotaro x y/n #my works #my writing compendium

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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

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Martin Gurri's The Revolt Of The Public is from 2014, which means you might as well read the Epic of Gilgamesh. It has a second-edition-update-chapter from 2017, which might as well be Beowulf. The book is about how social-media-connected masses are revolting against elites, but the revolt has moved forward so quickly that a lot of what Gurri considers wild speculation is now obvious fact. I picked up the book on its "accurately predicted the present moment" cred, but it predicted the present moment so accurately that it's barely worth reading anymore. It might as well just say "open your eyes and look around".

…

In conclusion, 2011 was a weird year.

Gurri argues all of this was connected, and all of it was a sharp break from what came before. These movements were essentially leaderless. Some had charismatic spokespeople, like Daphni Leef in Israel or Tahrir-Square-Facebook-page-admin Wael Ghonim in Egypt, but these people were at best the trigger that caused a viral movement to coalesce out of nothing. When Martin Luther King marched on Washington, he built an alliance of various civil rights groups, unions, churches, and other large organizations who could turn out their members. He planned the agenda, got funding, ran through an official program of speakers, met with politicians, told them the legislation they wanted, then went home. The protests of 2011 were nothing like that. They were just a bunch of people who read about protests on Twitter and decided to show up.

Also, they were mostly well-off. Gurri hammers this in again and again. Daphni Leef had just graduated from film school, hardly the sort of thing that puts her among the wretched of the earth. All of these movements were mostly their respective countries' upper-middle classes; well-connected, web-savvy during an age when that meant something. Mostly young, mostly university-educated, mostly part of their countries' most privileged ethnic groups. Not the kind of people you usually see taking to the streets or building tent cities.

Some of the protests were more socialist and anarchist than others, but none were successfully captured by establishment strains of Marxism or existing movements. Many successfully combined conservative and liberal elements. Gurri calls them nihilists. They believed that the existing order was entirely rotten, that everyone involved was corrupt and irredeemable, and that some sort of apocalyptic transformation was needed. All existing institutions were illegitimate, everyone needed to be kicked out, that kind of thing. But so few specifics that socialists and reactionaries could march under the same banner, with no need to agree on anything besides "not this".

…

Gurri isn't shy about his contempt for this. Not only were these some of the most privileged people in their respective countries, but (despite the legitimately-sucky 2008 recession), they were living during a time of unprecedented plenty. In Spain, the previous forty years had seen the fall of a military dictatorship, its replacement with a liberal democracy, and a quintupling of GDP per capita from $6000 to $32000 a year - "in 2012, four years into the crisis there were more cell phones and cars per person in Spain than in the US". The indignado protesters in Spain had lived through the most peaceful period in Europe's history, an almost unprecedented economic boom, and had technologies and luxuries that previous generations could barely dream of. They had cradle-to-grave free health care, university educations, and they were near the top of their society's class pyramids. Yet they were convinced, utterly convinced, that this was the most fraudulent and oppressive government in the history of history, and constantly quoting from a manifesto called Time For Outrage!

So what's going on?

Our story begins (says Gurri) in the early 20th century, when governments, drunk on the power of industrialization, sought to remake Society in their own image. This was the age of High Modernism, with all of its planned cities and collective farms and so on. Philosopher-bureaucrat-scientist-dictator-manager-kings would lead the way to a new era of gleaming steel towers, where society was managed with the same ease as a gardener pruning a hedgerow.

…

Realistically this was all a sham. Alan Greenspan had no idea how to prevent recessions, scientific progress was slowing down, poverty remained as troubling as ever, and 50% of public school students stubbornly stayed below average. But the media trusted the government, the people trusted the media, and failures got swept under the rug by genteel agreement among friendly elites, while the occasional successes were trumpeted from the rooftops.

There was a very interesting section on JFK’s failure at the Bay of Pigs. Kennedy tried to invade Cuba, but the invasion failed very badly, further cementing Castro’s power and pushing him further into the Soviet camp. Representatives of the media met with Kennedy, Kennedy was very nice to them, and they all agreed to push a line of “look, it’s his first time invading a foreign country, he tried his hardest, give him a break.” This seems to have successfully influenced the American public, so much so that Kennedy’s approval rating increased five points, to 83%, after the debacle!

…

In Gurri's telling, High Modernism had always been a failure, but the government-media-academia elite axis had been strong enough to conceal it from the public. Starting in the early 2000s, that axis broke down. People could have lowered their expectations, but in the real world that wasn't how things went. Instead of losing faith in the power of government to work miracles, people believed that government could and should be working miracles, but that the specific people in power at the time were too corrupt and stupid to press the "CAUSE MIRACLE" button which they definitely had and which definitely would have worked. And so the outrage, the protests - kick these losers out of power, and replace them with anybody who had the common decency to press the miracle button!

…

Any system that hasn't solved every problem is illegitimate. Solving problems is easy and just requires pressing the "CAUSE MIRACLE" button. Thus the protests. In 2011, enough dry tinder of anger had built up that everywhere in the world erupted into protest simultaneously, all claiming their respective governments were illegitimate. These protests were necessarily vague and leaderless, because any protest-leader would fall victim to the same crisis of authority and legitimacy that national leaders were suffering from. Any attempt to make specific demands would be pilloried because those specific demands wouldn't unilaterally end homelessness or racism or inequality or whatever else. The only stable state was a sort of omni-nihilism that refused to endorse anything.

(I’m reminded of Tanner Greer’s claim that the great question of modernity is not “what can I accomplish?” or “how do I succeed?” but rather “how do I get management to take my side?”)

Gurri calls our current government a kind of "zombie democracy". The institutions of the 20th century - legislatures, universities, newspapers - continue to exist. But they are hollow shells, stripped of all legitimacy. Nobody likes or trusts them. They lurch forward, mimicking the motions they took in life, but no longer able to change or make plans or accomplish new things.

…

How do we escape this equilibrium? Gurri isn't sure. His 2017 afterword says he thinks we're even more in it now than we were in 2014. But he has two suggestions.

First, cultivate your garden. We got into this mess by believing the government could solve every problem. We're learning it can''t. We're not going to get legitimate institutions again until we unwind the overly high expectations produced by High Modernism, and the best way to do that is to stop expecting government to solve all your problems. So cultivate your garden. If you're concerned about obesity, go on a diet, or volunteer at a local urban vegetable garden, or organize a Fun Run in your community, do anything other than start a protest telling the government to end obesity. This is an interesting contrast to eg Just Giving, which I interpret as having the opposite model - if you want to fight obesity, you should work through the democratic system by petitioning the government to do something; trying to figure out a way to fight it on your own would be an undemocratic exercise of raw power. Gurri is recommending that we tear that way of thinking up at the root.

Second, start looking for a new set of elites who can achieve legitimacy. These will have to be genuinely decent and humble people - Gurri gives the example of George Washington. They won't claim to be able to solve everything. They won't claim the scientific-administrative mantle of High Modernism. They'll just be good honorable people who will try to govern wisely for the common good. Haha, yeah right.

…

Gurri divides the world between the Center and the Border. He thinks the Center - politicians, experts, journalists, officials - will be in a constant retreat, and the Border - bloggers, protesters, and randos - on a constant advance. His thesis got a boost when Brexit and Trump - both Border positions - crushed and embarrassed their respective Centers. But since then I'm not sure things have been so clear. The blogosphere is in retreat (maybe Substack is reversing this?), but the biggest and most mainstream of mainstream news organizations, like the New York Times are becoming more trusted and certainly more profitable. The new President of the US is a boring moderate career politician. The public cheers on elite censorship of social media. There haven't been many big viral protests lately except Black Lives Matter and the 1/6 insurrection, and both seemed to have a perfectly serviceable set of specific demands (defunding the police, decertifying the elections). Maybe I've just grown used to it, but it doesn't really feel like a world where a tiny remnant of elites are being attacked on all sides by a giant mob of entitled nihilists.

…

At the risk of being premature or missing Gurri's point, I want to try telling a story of how the revolt of the public and the crisis of legitimacy at least partially stalled.

Gurri talks a lot about Center and Border, but barely even mentions Left and Right. Once you reintroduce these, you have a solution to nihilism. The Left can come up with a laundry list of High Modernist plans that they think would solve all their problems, and the Right can do the same. Then one or the other takes control of government, gets thwarted by checks/balances/Mitch McConnell, and nothing happens. No American Democrat was forced to conclude that just because Obama couldn't solve all their problems, the promise of High Modernism was a lie. They just concluded that Obama could have solved all their problems, but the damn Republicans filibustered the bill. Likewise, the Republicans can imagine that Donald Trump would have made America great again if the media and elites and Deep State hadn't been blocking him at every turn. Donald Trump himself tells them this is true!

With this solution in place, you can rebuild trust in institutions. If you're a Republican, Fox News is trustworthy because it tells you the ways Democrats are bad. Some people say it's biased or inaccurate, but those people are Democrats or soft-on-Democrat RINO traitors. And if you're a Democrat, academic experts are completely trustworthy, and if someone challenges them you already know those challenges must be vile Republican lies. Lack of access to opposing views has been replaced with lack of tolerance for opposing views. And so instead of the public having to hate all elites, any given member of the public only needs to hate half of the elites.

You could think of this as a mere refinement of Gurri. But it points at a deeper critique. Suppose that US left institutions are able to maintain legitimacy, because US leftists trust them as fellow warriors in the battle against rightism (and vice versa). Why couldn't one make the same argument about the old American institutions? People liked and trusted the President and Walter Cronkite and all the other bipartisan elites because they were American, and fellow warriors in the battle against Communism or terrorism or poverty or Saddam or whatever. If this is true, the change stops looking like the masses suddenly losing faith in the elites and revolting, and more like a stable system of the unified American masses trusting the unified American elites, fissioning into two stable systems of the unified (right/left) masses trusting the unified (right/left) elites. Why did the optimal stable ingroup size change from nation-sized to political-tribe-sized?

…

The one exception to my disrecommendation is that you might enjoy the book as a physical object. The cover, text, and photographs are exceptionally beautiful; the cover image - of some sort of classical-goddess-looking person (possibly Democracy? I expect if I were more cultured I would know this) holding a cell phone - is spectacularly well done. I understand that Gurri self-published the first edition, and that this second edition is from not-quite-traditional publisher Stripe Press. I appreciate the kabbalistic implications of a book on the effects of democratization of information flow making it big after getting self-published, and I appreciate the irony of a book about the increasing instability of history getting left behind by events within a few years. So buy this beautiful book to put on your coffee table, but don't worry about the content - you are already living in it.

#scott alexander #book review #martin gurri

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