#chat: danilo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

populationthree · 1 year ago

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hey chat what if i just put an entire chapter of a book im writing underneath the cut? That would be pretty funny I th

CHAPTER 1: CHRYSANTHEMUM

001 - DREAM

Soft—my grasp around his body felt nothing but. With my fingertips gently grazing against the material of his clothings, I could barely stand to perceive myself as myself. For all I cared, I was nothing but a set of hands.

But he stood right on front of me; I could perceive him. At first I couldn’t stand to stare into his feline eyes. No living man holds natural yellow eyes; everything about him was wrong. Yet, here I was. My yearning body threw itself to siphon whatever warmth exists on him. Seconds pass, I weep into the crook of his shoulder. My arms tightly bend around his body while my hands idly brush against the fur of his tail. I can’t seem to figure out how I got in this situation, but one of his hands softly strokes through my hair. For what it was worth, he made my hair feel like fine silk.

There was something about how stagnant he was—I could explore to my heart’s desire. Any of my burning passions which weakened me from the inside were nothing but paint to his blank state. I can’t tell if he stares at me with apathy, sympathy, or any empathetic qualities. I’m not sure if he can tell how desperate I am as a person.

“What am I?” Words barely escape my mouth as I look up towards him. “Really?”

He doesn’t move—he doesn’t budge. While my hands delicately feel against his bony ribs hidden underneath his skin, I’m barely able to cause a reaction. When was this a game? No matter how hard I try, any attempt at physical touch is muted in response. I’m hopeless, mainly, but I’m greedy.

While my hand gently sifts through his hair, another hand holds up his chin as my tear-stained eyes lock on to his. Never before have I felt so comfortable looking directly at his eyes. I know he can read my thoughts—I see him softly shake his head as a thought comes to my mind, “No.”

I whine, I weep. Why can someone so moldable like him hold limits? Desperately, my hands stick in place as I push my body closer to his. In response, he only steps backwards to push space between us. I’ll never understand him. He waits until I exhaust every last tear from my disheveled body before he brings me in close with one of his hands rubbing against my back in circles.

“I’m sorry” I repeatedly stammer. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He lifts my head up, making sure he has my attention. He waits until I cease my sobbing and truly admire his face. The silence after was hell. Never in my life has the absence of noise been so deafening.

“I am your limit.” He speaks. “I only allow for you todo what you’ll do to yourself. Truly, do you write of the things you think?”

Louder—yet stagnant. Words fail to piece themselves together as a coherent thought departs with each mirage of hope. My hands are greedy, yet his grasp is stronger. After a while, I realize he never anticipated a vocal answer from myself. In all honesty, he waited for the thoughts to align in a way he desired them to.

He was perfect. I look up to him with lust—if anything. His slim body, his long and bushy tail, his soft face, his pointy fox ears. Sometimes, I can only salivate. Sometimes, I can only dream of what I could do to him.

“So, what are we waiting for?”

Me, Myself, and I. Always, and forever will be.

002 - PRELUDE

“Don’t you have your own bed?” he reminds me while twirling his own hair, “You’re paying more than me for all of the bills, I don’t see why you need to share the bed with me here and now.”

As he spoke, I sat on the edge of his mattress with both my hands and feet pressed against his blankets. While considering his words, my expression lightly soured while I kept my attention towards him. With a simple reposition, I fix my limbs to sit in a quadrupedal position.

Danilo softly scoffed at my display as he checked the curtains within the room. All of the windows were blacked out by an opaque curtain, preventing any moonlight from pouring in. After the observation, he would adjust himself underneath the sheets of his bed while speaking, “Are you having one of those nights, Dani? If it helps you sleep tonight, sure. Get in.”

I excitedly burrow within the bed as I hastily draped the bedsheets above me. While Danilo worked on fixing the mess I made with the sheets, I wrapped my arms around his body while resting my head underneath his chin. My legs quickly snake around his while I involuntarily let out soft whimpers and whines.

“Settle down, settle down…” he softly reassures me while sifting his fingers through my hair, “You’re gonna have to talk if you want to sleep with me tonight. I know you don’t want to, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Tomorrow…” I pleaded, “let me sleep now…”

“Tonight, tell me what’s up tonight. What happened? Did you have another bout of insecurity.”

“Yeah… I did.”

“Oh, come on. The whole world isn’t out to get you. You know that, right?”

For an extended period, I would look up to him with my undivided attention. I made sure to keep my glance focused with my extraneous motions held still—all for emphasis.

“Okay,” Danilo surrendered, “the town may completely turn on you, but you’re safe here. You always know that.”

After his reassurances, he continued to weave his fingers through my delicate hair as another hand reached over to gently rub against my back in circles. His exhales and inhales slowed with each breath while his eyes closed in concentration.

Meanwhile, I could feel my negative feelings melting from my body. My intense shaking—throughout my whole body—gradually diminishes while I focus on the warm touch of his skin. I couldn’t help myself but to softly rub my cheek against his chest.

“You know I care about you, right?” Danilo continued to sift his hand within my hair, almost as if he was searching for something. “I have my boundaries, you know that. I still go to work—but it’s all to protect you.”

“Are you saying that just to make yourself feel better?” I questioned, “or do you genuinely mean it?”

“What?” For a moment, Danilo halted with his motions while looking down towards me. “No, why would you think that? Do you think I get some type of reward for cultivating you?”

“That’s what I feel everyone does…”

“Come on—everyone? What about Laque? You two hang out together every week or so. You’re always coming back with something fun to say.”

“Well… you’re right. I don’t think he’d do all that to betray me.”

“And Cheese? You’ve know him since you were kids. Granted, he’s known you before you’ve had the curse, but you two are still friends as if nothing ever happened.”

“Yeah, him too. I guess he’s not out for me either.”

“See? It’s your insecurities messing with you. I don’t think anything wrong about you, either. Although, I do find you a little strange at times.”

I furrow my eyebrows as I look back up to Danilo. Without any words, my expression quickly shifts to that of confusion as I try and understand his words. One of my hands lifts from his body as I purposefully pull his own hand from my hair. “What do you mean strange?”

“Well, don’t take it in a bad way,” Danilo continues, “I’ve never met anyone who purposefully acts like an animal and generates a suspicious amount of money through revealing images on the internet.”

“There’s an audience for everything!” I exclaim, “it’s not like anyone in the town can even pinpoint who I am. I’ve never shown anyone the interior of our house, and I conceal my face and any identifying marks. Don’t think you’ve got something to stand on just because you have a nine to five.”

After I spoke, a silence grips against the interior of the room as I watch Danilo’s face shift in contemplation. With his now free hand, he reaches over towards the side of the bed to grab a small, black remote. With his thumb idly combing over the multiple buttons spread across the stick.

“I never said that was bad,” he soon responds, “if anything, I find it interesting you use your curse productively like that. I don’t fully understand it, but I respect it.”

I return the same, puzzled stare back up at him as I did moments prior. “Are you saying the right words just to make me feel happy?”

“That’s never been my intention, and you know that.”

“Right, thanks, Danilo.”

“I’m your roommate for a reason. Do you want to watch a show to cheer yourself up?”

Almost immediately, I would scramble up from under the sheets to sit on top with my focus placed towards the screen in front of the bed. As Danilo repositioned himself to rest his back on the wooden back of the bed, I laid back with my head returning to lay on his chest.

While he repositioned his hand to resume his previous routine, he would simultaneously navigate through the television’s channels. With quick eyes, he read off the title of the shows and movies while flicking through the catalogue.

Against the television’s chaotic noise, I suddenly spoke aloud, “You’re still okay with what happened Saturday night, right? Are you mad or anything?”

“What?” He quickly broke his concentration to reply, “no, of course not. If anything, I enjoyed it.”

Once he finished speaking, I could feel my body sinking deeper into his blanket-covered body as his words echoed around in the front of my mind. The looping thoughts resounded with joy as my mind was put into a great ease.

While I was occupied with Danilo’s response, he would settle down on a rerun of a program we both watched together. Once he placed the remote back on the nightstand, Danilo reached his arm around my chest as he rested his elbow on top of my shoulder. All I could do now was gradually fix my focus to the show as his words floated around with no signs of stopping.

003 - PARTY

The night sky blinked with multicolored sparks, raining down its vibrant lights with a trail of smoke to follow. Chaotic bursts of noise scattered themselves among the plentiful stars—a distant cousin briefly staying in their celestial family’s residence. As these sparks fought for dominance against the dark clouds and chipped moon, they reigned supreme across the night sky.

December 31st, 20XX. The year of the animal was just around the corner. The final grains of sand slid through the top half of the hourglass. Twenty minutes of impending change. All of the houses illuminated their vibrant lights as the asphalts of the neighborhood streets were alight to the festive spirit contained within these houses.

Nested in the suburban sprawls of Normal was a chateau which reigned upon the upper middle class. Gates with a gem resembling a family crest locked the ordinary man from the loudest party in the city. Partygoers from around the Penumbran Strip gathered to celebrate the end of a simple era and to welcome in the joys of new beginnings.

And where was I among all this? Sat in the bustling mansion tucked away in the quietest spot of them all. A maid’s closet—that’s what I assume, anyway. Moments prior I stole a handful of unopened bottles of wine from the never-ending snack table placed in the foyer. What was a hassle for me was nothing more of a margin of error for the host.

Laque, the host. It’s not that I desire him, I cherish him as a friend. Sometimes, however, I don’t know when to say no. Every year, I find myself accepting an invitation to the largest party in the Strip. And for each party, I’m always within the closet kept to my own devices. I understand why he invites me—we’ve known each other for so long. In comparison to even the poorest guests, I reside as a stark outlier.

The taste of alcohol was present with each swig. Before, I would steal an equal amount of soda to held the taste. Now, I simply don’t care to hide the taste. It’s what I deserve—my punishment. Why trap yourself in the grandest social event in the area. Stepping outside was a dangerous game considering how glass windows stripped any and all privacy of the chateau’s interior.

The light in here was good enough. A fluorescent bulb kept overhang with a thin chain as a switch. This is as best as it gets, sometimes. I’ve nestled a blanket and pillow in here, sometimes. Somehow, it remains within the closet even after a full year. I highly doubt people check this closet. It’s just an extra room blind to the experienced workers of the manor.

And then, there was a set of knocks. My heart immediately jumped out of my chest as my hands scrambled to hide the alcohol among the cleaning supplies. Despite this, the door slowly creaks open to reveal a man staring down at me. It wasn’t just any man, no. With his recognizable yellow eyes and shaggy, brown hair; I could recognize his face from across the manor if the circumstances allowed.

“You know,” he starts, “I’m not surprised this is where you hide off to for these parties. I kind of forgot you’re on good terms with Laque.” My hands were shaking. While my fingers tapped away on the edges of the nearby shelves, my mind was racing to find any amount of words to say. Once the sentence formed itself in my mind—a perfect retort—I shoddily released the string of words in a trembling voice, “What are you doing at Laque’s party?!”

“I’m his cousin, remember?” He taps against his temple with his index finger. “Danilo Toru? Laque Toru? I’m nowhere near the fortune, but he still remembers I exist. Unlike his parents.”

After fumbling my own words, I quickly swiped my hands to the pillow stowed away within the closet. As I buried my face within the luxuriously soft material, I contorted the muscles in my face to hold back any tears. I hoped—I prayed—that the noise would quiet down into its muffled state. I awaited the sweet silence to return back to me. To hell with the destructive thoughts, it’s all I know.

A hand firmly grasped against my shoulder beyond my senses. As the noise outside quietened down to its muffled state, the hand would adjust itself upon my tattered shirt. Just in front of my pillow, his voice would pierce through the soft material, “You’re not gonna hide under your pillow all night long, you know.”

I slowly lowered the pillow down toward my legs after giving myself a moment to compose myself. Without another moment, Danilo would reach his other hand to press against my remaining shoulder. Afterwards, I was able to gain a glimpse at how he was standing. Both of his knees were on the ground as the legs down acted as support. With both of his hands grasped against me, he was able to lean forward a considerable amount.

“One step at a time,” he remarked, “Are you planning to hole yourself up in this closet until the sun breaks or do you want me to drive you home?”

For a moment, my mind quickly panicked. My hands left their grasp against the pillow as they wrapped around the wrist of Danilo’s arms. My body desperately conveyed its decision paralysis while my mouth remained silent.

Danilo would softly laugh at my display as he moved each hand off of my shoulder. While my wrists were wrapped around tight, he could still balance with his leaning position. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. But, I need to do a few things first.”

Immediately, I was confused. As my emotions calmed down, I mustered what words I could out from my mouth to respond, “What do you mean? How can you have errands at a party?”

“Well, I want to see the countdown at least. Laque’s down at the basement with his brother at the mini-bar. I certainly want to talk to him before we leave, but there’s not a lot of people either. If you’re comfortable with it, you can probably speak with him too.”

I slowly nod while I continue to listen.

“There’s no windows down there—you won’t have any contact with the moonlight. After we see the countdown, then we can leave. Sound good?”

Silently, I give a weak thumbs up before I push against the ground to stand back up. With Danilo’s help, we both push ourselves off the ground of the maid’s closet. While we’re both standing, he reaches one arm around my shoulder to keep me close as the remaining hand opens the door out to the rest of the chateau.

“Come on,” he reassures me, “I’ll always be here if you need anything.”

004 - SUMMARY

Work was exhausting. Every weekday starts before the sun rises and ends just as the natural light of the world fades upon the city. Most of my hours bleed away within the confines of a wholesale warehouse where I move boxes and direct customers and retailers alike. Nothing new happens within the scaffold-like walls, and sometimes I like it this way.

Personally, there’s a sort of satisfaction I get from the long hours. While my lineage prides itself on the inheritance of their hardly-working ancestors, I’ve broken that in a plea for satisfaction. Don’t get me wrong—I haven’t shunned myself from their generosity. I’d much rather gather my worth as a man by my own hands than what was provided to me. However, my name, Danilo, remains a part of me granted by my heritage.

Normal—love this town. Everyone here prides themselves on the extraordinary fact that nothing differs in this town. Once, this town was named Celeste—based on the founder of the city. Of course, this recently changed in favor of a surprisingly active tourism scene. Traps and attractions all surrounding the novelty of normality sell themselves as a getaway to the towns around them. I mean, I can’t blame them. Where else would I go to get away from it all when there’s a federal-enforced barricade around the Penumbran Strip.

The roads are packed most of the time. I remember nearly fifteen years ago when the roads were newly paved with asphalt. The procedure was slow and methodical. My father once told me about a time in the town’s history when dirt roads snaked through the town to small grocery stores and underfunded amenities. Now, this place is different. Sometimes I envy my father for living in his time. Yet, it’s hard to place if my envy is on a cause of these roads or for something greater.

I hear an onslaught of chatter among coworkers and customers alike in my hours. Some customers drive all the way to Normal due to the price of the goods. Why spend your money in a grocery store barely surviving against the town’s mandated horror than to spend it in bulk in a town known for its relative paradise? This process of thought feels rational, yet I can’t help but shake the thought of inevitable instability. At what point will this town remain as the only habitable location?

I can relate to the pride the residents share with this town. Imagine waking up one day and learning the rest of the now-called “Strip” was affected with this mysterious affliction—and you weren’t. You would assume you just won the lottery. Fate and divine alike marked an unfathomable amount of men to a newly created Hell in America and here you are—a blindspot in its wrath. At the end of the day, all of this clamoring reduces itself to a game of superiority. “Fate favors the wealthy”; a phrase which many men place upon this town. God bless it.

This town has yet to be hit by the suburban plague. The lack of an infrastructure and a desire has left most of the towns within the strip as immune. Yet, plagues mutate. Idle conversations and local news segments discuss the benefit of suburban neighborhoods. We have the budget—they state—we can support a project like this. I can’t wait to imagine how they pull it off.

In the meantime, I’ll spend the foreseeable future in my small one-story house nestled in the haphazard sprawl of individualized homes. The exterior is nothing to write home about—bland colored walls with windows closed off from the inside. A mailbox awaits at the edge of the concrete driveway, leading to a garage where I park my two-seater car within the protection of the elements. Once I shade my only vehicle within the garage, the bulky, metallic door slides down to hide it away from the sins of the world.

Waiting in the small fridge next to the entrance to my house is a set of carbonated beverages ready to grab from a brightly-colored box. With my canned drink in hand, I snap open the thin cover to release a swarm of bubbles to the top of my drink. I wasn’t expecting much to change with the house—why should it? But, there’s always a nagging feeling that something should change. The same routine of unwinding from a long day at work.

Yet, nothing would change. The house remains in one piece. I can hear the distant noise of the television’s broadcast from the living room all the way from the exit from the garage. If there’s any type of noise in the house, then my roommate, Dani, is asleep. The inverse to this observation is true, as well. With this information, you can infer how unsurprised I was when I found her asleep on the couch.

It’s hard to summarize who Dani is through a brief synopsis. Firstly, she’s my roommate. The summary could end there. However, there’s a lot more to her that provokes some further explanation. The reason she’s my roommate is through the efforts of my cousin, Laque. Those two have been friends ever since elementary school; they’ve been through thick and thin. When he proposed the idea to me, I never really understood where he was getting at. Out of all of the people, why me? Why not let her live in the mansion if you believe it so?

Of course, this was Laque. Sometimes, he has a hunch on certain ideas and insists it’ll work out in the end. I don’t think I’ve seen a premonition of his that hasn’t worked well. That, or he really wanted to see us get along well because of our similar names.

Secondly, Dani has an unusual connection to everything outside of this town. She’s developed a name for herself as a “persona”. Which, subjectively, I don’t particularly care about. If anything, I’m a little envious on how her prospects online pays better than my grueling full-time job. At some points, she’s offered to cover some of my expenses so I can work a part-time job. I’ve declined this, of course. It feels like she’s a projection of my family—some distant relative that’s still influenced by their arcane touch.

Thirdly, she has no sense of fashion or anything beyond basic hygiene. Thankfully, she showers often enough. From what I’ve last checked, her pointed teeth are whiter than my own. Her dirtied brown hair throws itself into a cacophony of shapes, yet it all remains unnaturally curly. All of her clothes are a mixture of white t-shirts, some sweatpants and an occasional jacket or two. From her minimalist wardrobe, there’s this style to her that would allow her to fit in to the slums of a metropolitan city.

Her favorite shirts—above all—are esoteric in-jokes involving unfathomable words. She tells me they’re all designed by her friends. It’s nice—I adore the charm—but it feels too “avant-garde” for me. Most of these shirts are covered by an orange hoodie whenever she goes outside, so I don’t believe most of the town sees the shirt’s displays.

Fourthly—and most distressing—Dani’s very touchy. If there was any indication of heritage, it would be her nonverbal body language. She always reaches over for hugs when she’s happy. She always wants a high-five for something that excites her. It’s strange, really. I’ve hailed from a family where contact between each other was kept for situations where it couldn’t be avoided. With her, it’s a completely different approach.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate how she displays herself. It’s always an aspect of her that catches me off guard. Over the time we’ve spent together as roommates, we’ve kind of bonded together more of friends if anything. She always indulges about her life with me—what she does and the history behind it all. Admittedly, I don’t have much to share back. It’s nice to sit down and listen, though. I’ve grown to enjoy the simple act of mildly caring for her. Not in a familial way, but something that draws compassion from somewhere I never knew was there to begin with.

When she first moved in, I was a little concerned with the adamant usage of blackout curtains. Every window in the house has a set of its own, and she always draws them shut around 4 pm. She told me I could open them whenever I wanted, but she couldn’t be in the same room.

Over the years, these little things compounded on themselves in a noticeable pattern. The next idea that struck me odd was her sharp teeth. Once, we were both in the bathroom cleaning it out and she briefly stopped to check her teeth in the mirror. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Though this small detail slightly compounded.

Eventually, I realized how much she cared about eating meat. Dani had these specific preferences towards individualized brands, and there’d never be a deficit of any sort no matter the time of day. Alongside this, she always sleeps in her bed in a curled-up position. Obviously, the television inside her room would play a documentary of various subjects to keep her asleep.

It all compounded—the distaste for the night, the limited social gatherings, among others. Personally, I didn’t care. I’d be an ass of a person if I disliked how a functional adult lived their life. Over the months, I’ve debated with myself if I should even confront her about it. Especially now, she was very secretive about her external life. In contrast to her tendency to divulge every last detail of herself, it was the complete opposite when she first moved in.

One night, while we were both situated on the couch in the living room, I found myself unable to keep my eyes open while watching a familiar rerun of one of our favorite cartoons. As I sat myself up from the couch and yawned, I could hear Dani stuttering with her words for a little bit before sitting me down.

She disclosed the fact that she’s been meaning to tell me something for months. Dani planned out all of the reactions to what she was about to say—with her tidied bags, I admittedly thought she was going to move out soon and this was the heads up. But, she would bring up a question which completely blindsided me, “Do you know how each town has its own curse?”

I remember how puzzled I was at the question. Over the next minute, I thought of all of the curses each town had and how our town—Normal—was devoid of it. Within her shaking body and pre-planned words, Dani spoke about how she was the curse and how no one else in the town ever knew about it. The sharp teeth, hatred for the night, the fixation on meat—I was surprised how I didn’t catch on earlier. Fifthly, she was a werewolf.

In the moment, the information was a lot for me to process. While it had certainly replaced my views on this town and its stature, it would slowly dawn on me how significant the concealment of her secret would be. What if the town knew? They’d certainly ostracize her. Or worse, kill her. The damage she could cause on the town’s reputation was a palpable feeling, and it was clearly something on her mind behind her warm tears.

I couldn’t find myself sleeping that night. The next morning, I crammed as many caffeinated beverages within my system as my body could allow. But, throughout the night, I stayed awake to comfort Dani. With a blanket wrapped around her body and a box of tissues nearby, I could only assume this was what Laque meant when he wanted us to live together.

005 - AFTERMATH

It took me a few days. If anything, one part of the process was the ample amount of questions I had. While I was fine with the consequences of protecting the load-bearing resident of this town, I was still left confused and intrigued.

Once Dani calmed down enough, I was able to ask her a few questions regarding the information while I was unwinding from another day of work. “So, did Laque know about this beforehand?”

“Laque?” Dani questioned with intrigue. She would reveal her head from her room with her hands resting on the frame. “You’re the first person I’ve told about this…”

“Curse?”

“Yeah, but don’t call it that. I don’t like thinking this whole werefox thing is a curse.”

“Isn’t it a werewolf?”

“No—completely different. One’s a fox and one’s a wolf.”

“But they’re both canines.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not really an excuse to lump them both together. Apples and oranges are both fruits, but they’re still different in taste and looks.”

“I guess so.”

Dani slowly rescinds back into her room as she inaudibly mumbles to herself.

“So would it be better to think of you as a pet in this roommate-situation or another resident.”

“What?!”

The question was enough for Dani to return back to her peering position on the door frame. Though, this time, she was a lot more agitated than before. Yet, I continued to speak, “I don’t know—feels like I need to accommodate for the information somewhat.”

“Like how?!”

“I mean, the meat-part’s covered. You’re practically potty-trained. Do I need to get you chipped just in case you run off? Do you still think like us; do I need to dumb things down? Will you suddenly get distracted when you see a chicken?”

“Do you hear yourself?! No! Nothing’s changing! I don’t need to get chipped. I’m just like everyone else. And I’ve never been distracted with a live chicken!”

“Wait, is the reason you get all pouty sometimes is because you’re holed up in the house most of the time? Do you want me to take you on walks?”

“You’re still not thinking of me as a normal person!”

“Right, sorry.”

Eventually, the air of hostility would die down as I returned back to the idle show on the television. Dani retreated back into her room as she shuts and locks the door behind her. I didn’t hear much back from her for a while.

A few minutes later, she would hastily swing her door open while darting directly towards me. Part of me flinched as she reached her hand over, but none of me expected her to grab my hand. With a strong yank, she pulls me off of the couch while grumpily giving me orders, “We’re going on a walk now, and I don’t care if you get tired.”

At first I was taken aback, but eventually I would accept the demand while walking over to my jacket hanging near the front door. “You could’ve just asked for something like this, but sure.”

006 - BRUNCH

An afternoon at the Toru Estate sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to everyone else—but to me, it’s an average Thursday. Every lunch, Laque always invites me and Danilo out to join him and his family for dinner. And after lunch, he indulges us on the amenities stored away in the nooks and crannies of the estate.

Laque always enjoys spending the afternoon with us—even if it’s for a few hours. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the mess that’s left from the weekly get-togethers, but I try and stay as cordial within reason.

The chateau is always as immaculate as an advertisement. With all of the servants working underneath the family’s rule, it’s rare—if not impossible—to find a smidge of dirt or grime left behind for any outside or indoor reason. At the point in his life, I believe Laque’s grown numb to the pristine. If I brought him to my house, he’d faint upon entrance.

“Glad you could come this week!” Laque cheerfully thanked us between each sip of some exotic wine, “The week’s been tough—with all the tourists and all. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you two made it on time! I was expecting some sort of mild delay.”

Danilo—seated on the opposite side of the table—was hardly swayed by the extravagant aesthetic laid out by the mansion. The gold and marble rooted within the various materials and fabrics barely held an effect to his mannerisms. Even in his words, he spoke as if he was home, “We left early. Dani was finishing up with her work for the night, so it was a little bit of a crunch.”

Laque, on the other hand, was interested in the small explanation Danilo gave him. Not that he assumed it was a lie—no. Every facet of any of our lives as something the aristocrat enjoyed hearing about. “Ah! I don’t suppose you two see each other much, no? You always work while the sun’s bright while Dani’s wide awake at midnight! What do you say you do again, Dani?”

“Online content creation,” I recited, “I can work whichever schedule I want, as long as it stays consistent on the other side.”

“I envy her a little bit.” Danilo waited until he finished with his current bite off his plate before continuing with his thoughts. “I had to fight to shift my hours on Thursday—switch from starting in the morning to the afternoon. Her? She just has to make sure whatever she needs to do is prepared.”

While none of what Danilo said was a lie, it was still sugarcoated to a small degree. As easy as his explanation sounds, the work required isn’t simply adhering to a schedule. Right now, I didn’t want to focus on the full logistics with my food still in front of me. I kept myself silent as the two cousins reconnected.

“You know, you’ve never really spoken about why you left your family,” the aristocrat moved on to a new topic, “You don’t have to answer this—of course. I’m just a little curious. Is it all really because you didn’t want their protection?”

Even with the question, Danilo wouldn’t budge in emotion. From his expressions, what was seemingly a touchy subject wasn’t much of an issue with him. He responded with a collected tone, “I just don’t want to live out the rest of my days without some sort of struggle.”

A confused expression overtook Laque as he heard Danilo’s response. “Our ancestors did the hard work for us, you know. I mean, if I bog myself down in needless strain, there’ll be less time to enjoy life in the moment. You know?”

“That’s what my coworkers think. Why am I—a descendant of wealth—working a nine-to-five at a warehouse? It’s like they’re staring directly at a descendant of European royalty.”

Laque didn’t seem to be affected by Danilo’s words. He would still listen on, but he would finish his plate while allowing his cousin to finish.

“I’m just not suited for this type of lifestyle. I mean, sure. We both graduated from the same prestigious private school near the Strip. But that felt like our parents just handed the school money to claim we’re up to standard with the curriculums. Graduating from that school was enough of a credit to where I didn’t need to search far for a job. I didn’t work for anything in life—I don’t like that.”

After his winded spiel, Danilo took a moment to recompose himself. While I silently cleaned what little crumbs remained off my plate, I scanned my head back and forth to look back towards the two. From Danilo’s scathing words, I expected Laque’s demeanor to shift from jovial to grave.

Despite my assumptions, he seemed to be happy with the response Danilo gave. “Well, I can’t really tell you how to live. At least you can live a normal life in this town. I’d hate to juggle a full time job while in fear of some shapeshifting beast, you know?”

“Hm,” Danilo muttered out, “You could say that.”

Once I finished my plate, I would leave all of my used silverware on top as I silently departed from the table. I couldn’t muster any words to announce that I was leaving. While Laque didn’t seem to notice, Danilo slightly turned his attention toward me before returning his gaze to his cousin.

“Well, hey!” Laque continues, “You know of one of my friends—right? Mute, pink tips with thin, round glasses? Last I got in touch with them, they were defending their family from the town’s undead infestation.”

While I snuck off, I continued to eavesdrop on the conversation while putting my attention towards Danilo’s slight movements. I watched as he adjusted his position in his seat at the mention of Laque’s friend. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

“It can’t get worse than that, right? We live in the greatest city in the Strip, and I’m sure you’d do the same to protect your lifestyle if there was some issue with this town. Probably not some loyalty to the town—I could be wrong—but just to keep some normalcy in your life!”

The rest of the conversation devolved beyond a point where I could handle it. With shaky hands, I navigate down the flight of stairs to the basement where I take my residence on an expansive sofa. My emotion melted away at my insides as I confined myself within my own thoughts.

Even through layers of left-around blankets, my skin felt cold to the touch as I failed to focus on any of the details beyond the nearby coffee table. Part of me desperately yearned to reach for my phone—to grant myself some escape from my overwhelming emotions. However, a louder half forced me to remain curled up on the sofa, shivering.

The passage of time slipped away from my thoughts. What was once a laser-focus on each passing second gave way to more pressing priorities. Could I really drive home in this condition? How long do I need to keep this secret from Laque? The logical part of my thoughts knew the frenzy of emotions held no reason to shake me to this level. It was an off-handed mention, he wasn’t talking about me. Nonetheless, the simple realization wasn’t enough to break through the fog.

Suddenly, I felt a warm grasp on both of my hands. As my fingers curled around each hand, I haphazardly looked up to see Danilo standing right in front of me. While my focus would swiftly snap to his yellow eyes, I slowly sat up on the couch with my grasp tightening around his hands.

“That bad?” he questioned, “I know what he said—I didn’t think it was that bad. But, I can’t really dismiss it. Are you okay?”

I barely managed to push out any verbal response to him. Before I could try at a second attempt, Danilo lifted one of his hands off from my grasp. His freed hand pulls the blanket around my head off to my shoulders to reveal my frayed hair. With gently strokes, he softly combs through my hair without breaking his attention.

“I have to go to work, but if you really don’t want to stay any longer, just say you have to leave to grab my missing bag from the house for me. Is there anything you need?”

Danilo’s words were a softer in tone than they were at the dinner table. I’ve already recognized why, yet his quietened voice hadn’t lost its charm. With a tight pull, I wrap both of my arms around his body while pressing my exposed face against his clothes.

“Don’t go,” I squeaked out, “Please.”

“I wish…” Danilo slowly stepped away as his hands returned to his side. “I’ll try and get home as soon as possible, okay? Sorry lunch turned out like this.”

As I accepted Danilo’s departure, I gave a small wave goodbye as he left up the stairs. After he left, I kept my attention to the closed door at the top of the stairs. What good was there but to stare? Eventually, I followed suit to return back to Laque. I felt better, no doubt. Even for a short moment, the brief time I spent with Danilo was enough to revitalize me for just a little bit longer.

007 - EIGHTH GRADE

With a cheerful wave, Laque recognizes my arrival from the basement as I sit back down at my seat at the table. Once I fully settle down, he leans forward with his arms pressing against the table to speak, “So, Danilo’s gone back to work. Can I get you anything? More food? A refill?”

“I’ll take a refill,” I answer, “And a bowl of crackers. I’m not that hungry.”

Without hesitation, the heir of the castle sits up from his seat to fulfill my task. There’s an air of tension—the feeling is unmistakable. From what I recall from the previous times, the both of us usually talked for an hour before one of Laque’s many servants gave me a ride back home. I knew Danilo’s excuse was something thought of on the spot. I’d need to find a backpack in the house and be given a ride to the warehouse he works at. It’s better for me to endure the pain.

Once the plate of crackers and filled cup arrive back at the table, I focus my attention towards the assortment within the bowl. Obviously, I was pulling my focus away from him. Each time I looked up to see his face, he was always looking down at my orange jacket with a solemn expression. I’m not sure if I caught him giving the same glances earlier, it wasn’t something I paid attention to when Danilo was around.

Minutes pass. I spend the time in silence munching away at crackers. Every once in a while, I’ll look up to see the same judgmental glare. I’m not sure how much time will pass until it stops, but I was ever-curious. “What’s on your mind right now?”

The question immediately took Laque out of his glances. If anything, it looked as if he was trying to find something appropriate to say. “Oh, the jacket. I haven’t really seen it on you since eighth grade.”

“It is a large jacket. I’ve kept it clean and tidy for more than five years.”

“I wonder why.”

The way Laque spoke—it was passively aggressive. It was enough to get me to raise an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s the jacket Chase gave you years ago. I didn’t know you still wear it.”

“It’s a good jacket.”

“You don’t really care about what you wear, do you? I guess you’ve thrown it on because it was the first thing you saw in your closet.”

“Are you still mad about what happened in eighth grade.”

Suddenly, Laque scrunched up his eyebrows as he wordlessly took another bite off of his plate.

I knew what he was thinking, he knew what he was thinking. Ever since the mention of eighth grade, I had a large suspicion on where the conversation would lead. I repeat my question, “Laque, are you still mad.”

“No. No I’m not.”

“Then why do you suddenly care about what I’m wearing? Not everything’s your business.”

“What? I don’t care about what jacket you wear. I’m just saying. Do you two still talk?”

“Laque.”

“What? I’m just saying. I still talk to him afterwards—we’re close friends.”

“Why would that matter? I’m not going to tell you if I still talk to Cheese or not.”

“You still call him that?”

“Laque!”

“I’m just saying! I care about my friends. He’s the one that came to me after the breakup.”

At this point, my free hand was pressed down on the edge of the table as I slowly eat crackers to pass the time. I still vividly remember the visceral rage on his face at his birthday party; how silence gripped the room in a tight hold. I spoke through my teeth, “You sure don’t care about what you say to me, though.”

“We all used to be good friends, you know? I don’t think there’s a time afterward where we hung out together. Maybe we can change that?”

“We both know why that doesn’t happen. If you never threw a tantrum because I was ‘ruining the friendship’, then we’d all be having lunch together.”

“We were kids!”

“And you’re still mad about it!”

Another round of silence washes over the dinner table. Laque’s face contorts in a plethora of ways. His eyes darts around the room while he clears his throat often.

I pushed myself up from the dinner table after leaving nothing but crumbs in the bowl. However, the glass of water was left more than half empty. As I adjust my coat, I finish up the conversation, “I’m heading home. I don’t know why you’re still acting like this, but I don’t want to talk to someone who’s this invested in my personal life.”

“Fine,” he replied back. I could’ve mistaken his faint remorse for isolation. “But you’re the one who’s still wearing the jacket.”

As I leave the castle and notify Laque’s chauffeur, I spend a moment of the downtime to take off Chase’s orange jacket. Once I finish wrapping it around my waist, I depart from the château back for my house.

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persa-tra-i-miei-pensieri · 10 months ago

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Rivedere la scena dell'addio/arrivederci di Tonio Cartonio dalla Melevisione con l'attore che la guarda insieme al pubblico è stato davvero commuovente... la promessa l'ha mantenuta ci siamo ritrovati a Città Laggiù!

Ascoltare dal vivo le due frasi di apertura e chiusura delle puntate di Art Attack anche è stato commuovente:

«Questo è Art Attack! Bentornati ad Art Attack l'unico vero programma che vi dimostra che non bisogna essere dei grandi artisti per fare dell'arte e allora all'attacco!»

«Purtroppo per oggi gli attacchi d'arte terminano qui ma io vi aspetto come sempre nella prossima con tanti altri attacchi d'arte ancora tutti da scoprire qui con Giovanni, qui ad Art Attack ciao!»

Ancona comics & games 🥹

Danilo Bertazzi - Tonio Cartonio della Melevisione 🍎🍃🦉

Giovanni Muciaccia - Art Attack ✂️📄🖌️📏✏️

Avevo il cuore a mille e a parole mie confuse e intrecciate per l'emozione li ho ringraziati per la meravigliosa infanzia che mi hanno regalato.

A Danilo ho detto anche quante volte sarei voluta entrare dentro al televisore per raggiungere il Fantabosco e che la fantasia trasmessa da piccola attraverso questo programma me la porterò per sempre dietro e a quel punto non so con quale coraggio gli ho detto tant'è che sto scrivendo un racconto fantasy, lui ha alzato lo sguardo dall'autografo meraviglioso che mi stava scrivendo (melebacio) e mi ha guardata dritta negli occhi sorpreso, non ha fatto domande ulteriori ma in quello sguardo c'era la soddisfazione di aver creato un input anni e anni fa per un qualcosa che sta prendendo forma nel presente, l'ho abbracciato e mi ha salutata augurandomi il meglio nella vita e io ero a dir poco al settimo cielo, sentivo come un calore che si espandeva nel cuore, come un caminetto acceso che riscalda e trasmette aria di casa, di luogo sicuro, è stato un momento stupendo che si stava sommando ad altri piccoli istanti di felicità della giornata: dal giro in camion con papà alle risate con lo zio, alle coccole fatte al cane di un operaio di papà, alla chiacchierata in fila per il meet&greet con alcuni ragazzi, alla sensazione di far parte di qualcosa di grande come un comics in cui i ragazzi sono tutti nerd e eterni bambini come me, alla chiacchierata in macchina con mio cugino e la chat con la mia amica, erano tutte piccole cose che insieme mi hanno scaldato il cuore per tutto il giorno 💓

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alessandrxs · 10 months ago

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HSHQTASK059

when did you join ? what made you join ? what do you remember from the plotlines that were current at the time ? where were you in life when you joined and where are you now ?

i joined back in 2018 , which is crazy to even think about because it's now six years later ! i remember having seen the group a few times in the tags but didn't apply until a few months later ... but when i DID pluck up the courage to join , it was just before the olimpiel wedding which was so fun to be a part of ! i think i was literally just starting a new job too around the time i joined , so it was changes all around , which was really refreshing !!

2. which characters have you written over the years ?

too many ... starting with prycilla , aurora , danilo , amon , kris , ale , renee , aalayna , omari , pretty sure i had a kelsey merrit at one point , eloa , the madelyn cline and drew starkey i had for seconds , i think there was a sofia carson in there somewhere too ...

3. what is your favourite plotline that you've been part of ?

being a part of the italy plotline was so fun ! i'm not good at politics by any means but being around people who had so many good ideas which would always boggle my brain bc i'm dumb as shit was so fun to be a part of ! but also , the egypt plotline will always have a place in my heart ...

4. what about other people's plotlines ?

so so SO many !! the english plotline , the french ..... i was always on the edge of my seat whenever they were written out on the dash waiting for the next person to reply so the tea could be dished out ! but honestly every single plotline was just so interesting and amazing to read that i was always in awe

5. who is your favourite character from the ones you've played ? why ? what made you love them ? what made them so fun to write ?

considering how many times i've brought him back after thinking his time was done , without a doubt my favourite would have to be ale ... i just feel like he became such a comfort character for me , especially since when i've been going through things he's always been the character i've reached out for to write ! but kris was also so much fun to write and then my fool of omari , he really was my comedic relief character !

6. if you could relive a plotline, which would it be ?

kris realising just how much of a prick his dad is and becoming firmly team silje <3 it was a defining moment for him , and now silje has a job and is in college !! she's doing so good !!!

7. is there a plotline that you'd edit now if you could ?

literally not a single one ! i loved all the twists and turns , seeing how things unfolded , it was fun to just be able to write them out and see where they led and go from there

8. what's a plotline you wish you would have been able to finish before closing or just write more of ?

definitely the egypt plotline ... it happened at a time where i really didn't have time to be fully involved in and i think it's just been so unresolved , if only life didn't happen 😔

9. what is your favourite ooc memory ?

the panic in the ooc chat when evy fucked up the counting bot when we were at like 300+ ..... AKJDNFKJDF there are so many moments that i'll cherish forever but this one is the first that came to mind !

10. where can others find you if they want to get in touch ?

i have a tumblr for indie / 1x1 purposes which is @gcdlybehaviour ( currently under co ) and a discord that's with the same name ! honestly feel free to contact me at either of them at any time !

11. what else would you like to say ?

thank u all so , so much for all the memories and making hshq such a special place <3 i joined at a time where joining groups had become such an anxiety inducing experience for me but everyone was so , so welcoming and it soon became a place of comfort and to just get away from everything ! i've genuinely loved writing out every single thread , plotting out every single plot and just being able to be in an environment where everyone has been like a family ! i'm going to miss everyone so much <3

#hshqtask059

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poeta-do-caos23 · 2 years ago

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Vc é de onde, Danilo?

Me chama no chat

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ramiropalacios · 3 years ago

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for: @danilobianchi location: somewhere nice n breezy

“You know,” Rami said loftily, setting himself down without grace beside Danilo. “I think I could get used to life like this.” He leaned back in the seat, enjoying the cool breeze that came from the ocean. It was nice— a stolen quiet moment, music thudded heavily around them from the parties on the beach and inside the clubs down the street, but under the blanket of winking stars, they were alone. “I bet you miss your girls though, don’t you?” Over the last few days they had managed to befriend a handful of strays, some fed them when they went down to the water and he was certain that there were others that were smuggling them into the hotel at nights. “Everytime I see a big dog going by, I think that it’s one of yours, I won’t lie.”

#chat #chat: danilo #danilo bianchi

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chrygemini · 4 years ago

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Dolcemente avvolta tra le coperte 😊🐱🥰 @danilocurti #lady #neko #chat #gatto #cat #love #lovecats #chrygemini #danilo #coperta #yellow #giallo https://www.instagram.com/p/CMW81dOlblF/?igshid=1diyzvapmr82c

#lady #neko #chat #gatto #cat #love #lovecats #chrygemini #danilo #coperta #yellow #giallo

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maevesdarling · 4 years ago

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Take me home tonight

Sooo, I decided to post chapter 1 of the story @unicorn-cloud and I have been cooking up for a while. This plays post series in an alternative universe. There’s mentions of gore and canon typical violence in both this and the second chapter, basically Walt is not dealing with things as good as he thought... I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, probably around 3 to 4, also please be kind to me it’s been a long time since I uploaded my works to Tumblr, thx!

Chapter 1: The Call

Later, after he put his gun and badge down and moves further away from the border, Walt gets a call from an unknown number. He contemplates not picking up. It's been years since Kiki's death and operation Leyenda. He thinks, for a moment, that it could be Miguel Angel, calling him from his jail cell to taunt him, but no, he's not important enough to that man and besides, Miguel Angel doesn't wield as much power as he used to.

There are others. New players in this fucked up game, Walt knows that. He saw them rising on the horizon like a looming thunderstorm, ready to destroy the earth in it's path. But for now, he decided to enjoy his peace. His back's been bothering him more as of lately and he's got a few more grey hairs. He quit smoking about a year ago, after his doctor told him to do so. He's had a few setbacks since then, a half finished pack is always hidden underneath his kitchen sink, just in case he needs a fix. But overall, he's trying to stay away from the cigarettes and eat more healthy, even though the microwavable dinners at the supermarket look damn tempting, especially since it's only himself he's cooking for.

He's up in Colorado these days. The DEA was kind enough to leave him with a nice sum of retirement money, probably to shut him up after all the shit he pulled of during his career and to be fair he doesn't blame them.

He buys a nice enough house on the outskirts of town, with some additional property, a rundown barn and an old apple tree orchard that he has no plan on using. The weather's less hot, and there's a few lakes where he can fish, but otherwise, it's pretty much like any other town he's lived in. The dark red sandstones dotting the farmland remind him of Mexico. Of sitting in the hot sun and watching a small airfield in the distance, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. Sal's voice next to him asking about their next move. It's nostalgic in a way.

The first day, after he finished dropping off his stuff in the small, rundown house, he sets off to drive around, get familiar with the place. He finds a shabby bar, a small supermarket, a post office, a family owned diner and a few farms, with cows and hundreds of chickens roaming the surrounding fields, that sell local products. Over time, he ventures out further and discovers some more bars, supermarkets and, to his surprise, a gay club.

It's well hidden, two cities over, wedged between an antique bookstore and a barbershop. It looks nothing like a club from outside, and from the inside, it's hardly distinguishable from any other bar Walt has ever set foot in. But he knows where to look, it's something you learn over time.

The first time he orders a drink, his eyes fall on a guy sitting on the other end of the bar. Dark hair and dark eyes, with a bristly moustache. He's wearing a black cowboy hat and a jeans jacket, it's not what he would have worn. Plus he only looks a slight bit like Sal, his face is much older, more weathered from years of hard work in the sun, but it's enough for Walt to give in to his yearning.

He buys Not-Sal a drink and they fall into an easy chatter. Two hours later, Walt is driving him back to his house. Not-Sal is more experienced than Walt had thought when he starts undressing him with steady hands, his fingers touching in all the right places, he's already prepared, as if he'd been expecting this to happen, and doesn't mind it when Walt accidentally let's Sal's name slip at the height of his pleasure.

They lie together afterwards, sharing a cigarette between them, neither of them ready to leave yet. Walt is slowly falling asleep to the feeling of another person combing their hands through his hair. When he wakes up the next morning, the house is empty. There's a note on his kitchen table, a short thank you message, that's it. Next time he's at the club, Not-Sal is gone. He finds someone else. A different man, with dark hair, dark eyes and a friendly face, and then another and another. Some of the men he brings over are kind, they'll stay the night and sometimes even the morning, to share a quick meal with him before they move on, others leave almost immediately after they finish. Some of them yell out Walt's name as they come, others don't. And some yell out another man's name, but that's okay because so is Walt.

He's careful with the company he keeps. Always making sure that no one sees him leaving the club with another man, driving different routes back home and of course he's always stocking up on enough condoms because he's not stupid, he knows how important protection is.

Even though he's had a few men over, none of them return for longer than a couple of times. Its fun, to fill the mornings with senseless chatter, and to fall asleep in another person's arms. But they're not Sal.

He's longing for him. Even after all those years he's still longing for him. It's been three, almost four years since he last heard from Sal. He was moving to San Francisco. The DEA wanted someone new up there and Sal was growing tired of the shit hole they had placed him in after Mexico. They had called each other almost everyday, sometimes they would even meet each other, for a quick chat and an even quicker fuck. There was never enough time.

Sal wanted to call him back, he promised, once he was in San Francisco, to call him every day. Write a postcard. But nothing came. The telephone was silent for two whole months and Walt was desperate. First, he checked the newspapers for any missing or recently deceased people, when that search came up empty, he started to search the phone book for Sal's new address but of course that came up empty as well. He kept buying new phone books, just in case and by now, there was a small bookcase filled with old phone books in his house, and not a single one held an address for Sal Orozco. It was almost like he never exited. Only Walt's memory kept him from going insane. The fading photos on his wall, the one he kept in his wallet, next to a picture of Greg and his family. One of Sal's shirts he forgot in Walt's apartment in Texas, it had long stopped smelling of him, but nevertheless, Walt would pick it up and inhale deeply, thinking that the ghost of Sal's smell was still there, etched into the fabric. He slept with the shirt, on those nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming and with a thundering heart. He wrenched his eyes open but he saw them anyway, Amat, Ossie, Danilo, sometimes even Kiki. He saw them die, he saw their bodies, bruised, burned, riddled with bullets, standing in front of his bed, he could hear them calling out his name. "You killed us, Walt." They'd point at him, blood dripping from their fingertips onto his bedsheets. Those nights were the worst. Sometimes they could only be stopped with an entire bottle of whiskey.

The dreams had gotten better since he found the dog. The dog didn't have a name. He was a stray, with dark, golden fur and dirty white paws. He picked him up on his way home from an unsuccessful night at the club, the dog was covered in ticks and fleas, one eye had been badly bruised and he was tied to a tree by the side of the road. Clearly abandoned. He expected the dog to bark at him, or worse, bite him, when he kneeled down beside him to untie him, but instead, it sat down in front of Walt and started wagging it's tail, as if he'd known Walt all his life. He took the dog in and gave it a bath, making sure that no ticks or fleas survived, before driving him to the vet the next morning to check out his eye. The vet couldn't save it and so Walt decided to take him in, just another broken thing keeping his company.

He put a collar on the dog and called him his, they slept in the same bed and sat on the couch together, watching football games and stupid action movies. The dog went fishing on the lake with him, even though he was no big help in catching the fish, he also liked to run around the orchard and sit on the front porch to sleep, and Walt liked to sit beside him and think, scratching behind his fluffy ears. Sometimes he wondered if Sal liked dogs. What he'd say if he met his dog.

The other animals were intentional. Walt bought a couple of chickens to sell their eggs at the local farm, and to keep himself busy. Then he renovated the old barn as best as he could and bought three goats to sell their meat, but once he saw them in their pen, he decided they weren't going to the slaughter house and kept them for their milk instead. He also fixed up the orchard as best as he could and started collecting the apples. Soon the onslaught of apples was too much for him to handle and so he collected them in a few boxes, along with the chicken eggs and sold them to the nearest farm. Surprisingly, the people around town started knowing him once he started visiting the farm more frequently. He would have regular conversations with some of them and at some point, even started looking forward to see them. He didn't go to the town hall meetings, or to Sunday mass, and the people had been weary of him, but once they saw him with his dog and the boxes of apples in his trunk, they warmed up to him.

He enjoyed his new life. It wasn't luxurious, but that wasn't what he wanted for himself anyway. He was no Miguel Angel. He didn't need a fleet of private planes and a couple of hotels to be happy.

The phone rang again and reminded him of his current situation. The dog had stopped wagging it's tail on the couch beside him and was looking at him with his one eye, almost as if he was saying "what are you waiting for?"

And so Walt picked up the phone, fully expecting Jamie or Ed or someone else from the DEA to yell at him to get his ass back to Mexico.

"Hello... is this Walt Breslin?" The phone slipped from his grasp and fell, he caught it in his suddenly sweaty palms, pressing the shell back against his ear. Three years silence could not erase the memory of that voice. Hushed conversations between them, hiding behind a parked car as they watched over a suspect, a gasp and then a low moan, while Walt kept hitting that one spot inside him, that set Sal's body on fire, a chatty conversation over two mugs of steaming coffee in a diner that ended with both of them laughing hysterically. Walt had enough memories for an entire lifetime with that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.

"Sal-" He breathed, rearranging the phone against his ear.

"Is- Walt is that you? Oh my god- fuck- I found you!" There was a short pause on the other end of the phone and for a moment Walt thought he was imagining things, then Sal's voice returned. "I- I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, apologizing over and over.

"Sal- How did you find me? Wh- Are you alright? Is- do you need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Walt. I am. I just- fuck- I missed you so much. Where are you? I called you're old address so many times- I thought something happened to you…"

"Shh, I'm okay. I'm in Colorado. Small town near Denver. I'll give you the address… That is… If you want me to…"

"Yes! I mean... yes I want- I want to see you. If that's okay. I need to- need to know you're okay."

He contemplated with himself wether to ask this or not, but in the end, Walt did it anyways. "It's been three years, Sal. Why did you never call? What's changed?" Another sobb from the other end of the line. "I'll tell you. In person. Friday? Is that okay for you?" Walt squinted at his calendar. Friday was in two days, he needed to clean the house, buy some groceries and pack the car for Sunday's apple delivery.

"Yeah, Friday works."

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday… Walt… I missed you."

"… Missed you too Sal."

He put the phone down slowly, feeling like he was still in a dream. The dog had noticed something was off about his behavior and was staring at him in concern. " 's alright bud, I'm just… surprised, is all. We'll meet a friend of mine on Friday. I hope you'll like him…"

Lost in his thoughts, Walt began his evening routine, closing the chicken pen, checking on the goats and refilling the dogs food in case he got hungry during the night, only when the brown cibbles hit the kitchen tiles did he notice his thoughts slipping off. The only thing on his mind was Sal. Sal with his kind face and the warm, dark brown eyes, Sal wrapping an arm around his hips and pulling him closer, Sal whispering into Walt's ear. A hushed love confession neither of them dared to talk about. So, so many memories they shared between them, how was he supposed to wait any longer to see him again?

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

#narcos mexico #walt breslin #sal orozco #My writing #fingers crossed I find the time to finish chapter 2 soon

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imjustalonesomewriteblr · 4 years ago

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Chapter One

Word Count: 1,936

Warnings: Maybe mild language (I forget), tiny bit of violence (it isn’t described besides a bruise/mark and hinting), government people and maybe some politics (?).

Alright, this one’s three and a half weeks behind schedule, but who cares. It’s done now. So far the only criticism I’ve gotten on this one is that the dialogue in the beginning is too long and the ending is too short, so I’ll try to fix that next time. :)

Léonie enjoyed listening to Florette whistle in the morning. It was a nice, peaceful way to wake up, especially because the alternative would be a loud alarm. Today, even though it was summer, Florette was whistling a Christmas song, but Léonie didn’t mind. It still made her happy.

The room’s large windows gave the two of them a wonderful view of the lake. That was the one good thing about waking so early in the morning: everything was calm and quiet. The dim light from the moon lit the room more than their weak ceiling light ever could. A few birds sang and flew past the window.

��Good morning, Florette,” Léonie turned over and looked down from her top bunk. Florette was stretching on the floor, as she had done every morning for almost three years.

“Mornin’,” she replied.

“How did you sleep?”

“Not as well as I could’ve.”

“That is too bad,” Léonie laid on her back and looked to the ceiling. She hardly had any wall space next to her bunk, so she had resorted to decorating the ceiling.

Ms. LaPore had only allowed the volunteers to take objects home from their missions that could fit in a tiny plastic bag. This resulted in the volunteers having an unusual amount of posters and short books and not clothes or larger objects. Léonie’s ceiling was mostly covered by old movie posters and magazine covers, plus several postcards.

“We’ve gotta hurry up,” Florette tied her shoelaces, “The meeting’s early.”

“I am aware,” Léonie scooted to the end of her bed and jumped down, “Did you read over your folder?”

“Nope. I’ll do that during breakfast,” Florette said. Léonie sighed.

Léonie walked over to her dresser and pulled out her uniform: a grey shirt, black pants, and simple white shoes. She had been instructed to wear her name badge this time, so she pinned it on her shirt.

“Why don’t you wear a dress or something,” Florette was sitting on the lower bunk now, watching a deer walk in front of the window.

“I am not supposed to.” It was only then Léonie realized Florette was not completely in uniform. She was wearing a dark green flannel over her shirt and her socks were pink. Florette’s hair was in two buns, which was against Assembly policies.

“Take those off, Florette,” Léonie put her own white socks on, “and change your hair.”

“I’m going to wear my hair however I want.”

“You will be in trouble.”

“I wasn’t last time.”

“Last time, Mr. Steinberg interrupted Ms. LaPore as she was trying to discipline you. That was simply luck,” Léonie put her final shoe on and began making her bed before it was time for breakfast.

“Whatever,” Florette mumbled, laying on her back, “I don’t care.”

Léonie shook her head and sat down on the rocking chair next to the window. She picked up the book she was currently reading and opened it to the page she had bookmarked. Léonie had read Aesop’s Fables innumerous times now, but it was one of the only books she had and she didn’t want to bother Mr. Johnson for any new ones.

Within five minutes of Léonie sitting down, there was a knock on their door. Florette opened it, revealing Reese on the other side.

“Breakfast’s ready,” she said, “I wouldn’t get too excited about it, though.”

“What is it?” Florette asked.

“Water and toast. There isn’t any butter or jam, either,” Reese said.

Florette groaned and walked past Reese.

“At least it is something,” Léonie said as she exited the room. Reese shut the door behind them.

Breakfast was held in the kitchen of the main house. The main house, which was owned by Mr. Steinberg, was a large, brick building from the early 1900s. It had seven bedrooms, all of which were converted to offices, a large basement, and multiple repurposed living rooms. It also had a nice conservatory, which Mr. Steinberg and, occasionally, Danilo spent time in. The main house and the volunteer’s guesthouse were separated by a large yard, forested area, and pool.

Danilo met the tree of them in the hallways and, together, they grabbed their folders and began walking to breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” Léonie asked.

“Fine.”

“Bene.”

“That’s good.” Léonie said.

The smell of fresh grass wafted past them. The yard had been cut recently, probably for the officials who were visiting. A pool boy was taking the leaves that had fallen out of the pool and another was cleaning the stone.

As the volunteers neared the house, they could see a large group of men in suits and women in nice dresses crowded in the conservatory. Others were viewable through the windows and glass door.

“What the crap is going on here?” Florette said.

“Did you not read the stuff in your folder?” Reese asked.

“No.”

“Oh my God, you idiot.”

“If I read this stuff,” Florette motioned to her folder, “would I know who those people are?”

“Duh!”

Danilo shushed the two women as the glass doors opened in front of them.

“Volunteers, I need to speak to you in the kitchen,” Ms. LaPore whispered almost immediately after they stepped into the house. She examined their appearances quickly, before stopping at Florette, “Especially you, Travere.”

The volunteers made their way to the kitchen. It was noticeably quieter, and colder, than the entryway. The only person in the room was a maid, who was cleaning the metal counters. The room was all white except for the metal counters, which had dark red details, appliances, and chairs. There was a plant in the corner and a chalkboard, but otherwise, the room was empty.

“You’re late,” Ms. LaPore snapped, her anger visible on her face. Her red dress and black heels seemed to match to her mood perfectly, “I don’t tolerate late volunteers.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it took a while to.. find our uniforms,” Reese said.

“Really? All of you had trouble finding one of your three pairs of uniforms?” Ms. LaPore asked, then she turned to Florette, “I see Travere he-”

“It’s Miss. Travere, Juliette.”

“Do not address me by my first name,” Ms. LaPore hissed at Florette, “I see Travere had no problem improvising.”

All eyes turned to Florette’s outfit. She pulled the legs of her pants down so that her socks were covered, but her flannel was simply unhidable.

“Do you have an explanation for your attire, Travere?” Ms. LaPore said.

“Uh, yeah, Juliette,” Florette responded. Léonie mumbled a quiet ‘Oh my goodness’ and shook her head. Florette continued, “I thought, because I’m ninety-two and not incapable, I should be able to dress myself in whatever I see fit.”

Ms. LaPore’s face turned bright red and she stormed towards Florette. Almost like they were in a cartoon, Ms. LaPore grabbed the back of Florette’s collar and began pulling her towards the other room. Before they entered, Ms. LaPore turned to the rest of the group, “I want complete silence in here until I return! Anyone who speaks will end up like Travere here.”

The door slammed behind them and the three volunteers were left alone in the kitchen. None of them spoke and they ate their toast in silence.

A man in a business suit worth more than Léonie had seen in her lifetime walked in the room quickly to grab some cups. His glare lingered on the three of them and their measly pieces of toasts as he made his way through the room. Other than that interruption, their breakfast went on quietly.

The moment Danilo finished his toast, Florette walked through the doorway. Her head was down, hiding a bright red mark on her face, and her arms were crossed in front of her.

“Ms. LaPore says to meet in the amphitheater,” Florette said as she grabbed her piece of toast and continued towards the other door.

The amphitheater was in the front woods, so that guests could not see the volunteer’s housing. It was surrounded by trees, but because of its weekly cleaning, there was no sign of dirt on the stage or seating. There was a circle stage made of bricks in a herringbone pattern. The seating was also brick, and for this occasion, cushions had been put at each of the guests’ spots. The volunteers had been placed in the very back, with only Mr. Johnson to watch over them.

After a few minutes of the volunteers mindlessly flipping through their folders and Florette refusing to talk to Léonie, Mr. Steinberg and DeBurrow began leading the guests towards the amphitheater. Some of them looked at the amphitheater in an awe-like wonder, while others, who were unimpressed with the small size, chatted among themselves. The volunteers watched as the guests filed through the rows of seating and selected their spots. Most of them already had partners and sat together. A few of them were in military uniforms.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. DeBurrow spoke. He stood behind the pedestal that was positioned in the middle of the stage. He shuffled some notecards, “I thank you all for being here so early in the morning.”

Mr. DeBurrow cleared his throat, “Did you know that 98% of the officials in this room were formerly employed by their militaries? Mr. Howard Steinberg, Mrs. Juliette LaPore, Mr. Xavier Johnson, and myself included. Yet, 100% of you still work in the governm-”

Mr. Johnson awkwardly ran down the terraced seating down to Mr. DeBurrow. He whispered something in the elder man’s ear and then returned to the volunteers.

“Excuse me,” Mr. DeBurrow, “I know you all have been out of school for years, but I need to take attendance. We’ll do this quickly.

Anyone associated with the United States Central Intelligence, please raise your hand.”

Two men raised their hands. Mr. DeBurrow crossed something out on a piece of paper and told them to put their hands down.

“British Secret Intelligence Service?” A woman who resembled Reese raised her hand along with another man.

“Polish… Agencja Wywiadu?” A woman raised her hand.

Mr. DeBurrow called out names for at least five minutes until Florette was sure he had listed every country in the world. Well, every country except two.

“Now that that’s finished,” Mr. DeBurrow glanced at Mr. Johnson, “I can continue my speech. You all are gathered here today because you are, one, the best of the best in your respective countries and, two, you are some of the few individuals aware of the troubles brewing in China and Russia.”

A wave of murmurs rushed over the amphitheater. A few individuals seemed confused at the mention of the two countries, but were quickly informed by their companions.

“As of two weeks ago, China and Russia have been at war. It started near the town of Jalai Nur and Lake Hulun, on the Northern Chinese-Russian border,” suddenly, several holograms appeared behind Mr. DeBurrow. The Assembly had installed them instead of screens because of their effectiveness and inability to get wet. Only a few of the crowd was surprised by their appearance, as holograms and projections had been used for at least a decade.

A map of Russia and China, plus several statistics, appeared on the projection behind Mr. DeBurrow. He grabbed his pointing stick and directed the crowd’s attention to the map.

“I won’t get into much detail on the attacks so far,” Léonie sighed in frustration. She wanted to know what was going on. Mr. DeBurrow continued, “but if this war between these two countries carries on any farther, the world will irreversibly be thrust into World War III.”

#assembly of absolutists #11.. 4.. 3..#writblr #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing #my writing #chapter two #leonie gloria thalmann #florette priscille travere #danilo santo potenza #reese daisy ellis #xavier clement johnson #fiction #realistic fiction #my oc #my ocs #imjustalonesomewriteblr

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jdu662 · 4 years ago

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10 songs that bring back memories of my travels: Jo Frost's playlist

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of family holidays to Greece. These days Zorba’s Dance is undeniably a bit of a cliche, but when I hear that slow bouzouki intro, I’m reminded of my dad, who would put this LP on after drunken dinners and start dancing the sirtaki. I watched Zorba the Greek for the first time during lockdown last year when I came across it in my dad’s DVD collection. I was surprised by how much it affected me, making me pine for Greece – and for my dad, who I realise looked remarkably like Zorba (played by Anthony Quinn).

Vuoi Vuoi Me by Mari Boine

Womad has been the source of so many of my musical introductions: it was there, in 2007, that I first saw Mari Boine – the unofficial ambassador of Sámi music – perform live. It started a fascination with Sámi culture and joik, the distinctive guttural song style of the indigenous people of northern Scandinavia. Several years later I was invited to Kautokeino, way up past the Arctic Circle near Boine’s home of Karasjok, for the Sámi Easter festival. It felt like a crash course in all things to do with joik and reindeer, but it also gave me an invaluable insight into Sámi history and the people’s relationship with those who colonised their land. These days the Sámi have their own parliament, flag and national day (6 February).

That’s It! by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band

Like many others, I saw most of my travel plans scuppered last year, including a road trip from Nashville to New Orleans to coincide with the New Orleans jazz fest. The impetus for the trip had largely come about while binge-watching the HBO series Treme. We’d compiled a playlist for our journey through Tennessee and Louisiana, but when it became clear that our dream of visiting venues such as Preservation Hall in New Orleans wasn’t going to happen, we’d play it at home. This track by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band always lifts my spirits, gets me dancing and makes me dead set on rebooking our trip as soon as it’s safe to do so.

Bitori Nha Bibinha by Bitori

The most internationally celebrated artist from Cape Verde is the late Cesária Évora, the doyenne of morna music, steeped in saudade (nostalgia or longing). I could have picked any number of Cesária songs, but when I visited Santiago – largest of the Cape Verde islands – it was funaná that became the soundtrack of my trip, blaring out of the packed alugueres (minibus taxis), market stalls and bars. Funaná was banned by the Portuguese up until 1975 as they feared the songs in Creole were subversive and its frenetic dance rhythms immoral. Septuagenarian accordion player Victor Tavares, AKA Bitori, is the genre’s unlikely star, largely thanks to singer Chando Graciosa who persuaded him to record this in 1997, and to Samy Ben Redjeb of Analog Africa, who rereleased it in 2016.

Train Song by Sakar Khan

One of the most atmospheric festival locations I’ve visited is the Mehrangarh Fort, home of Riff – the Rajasthan International Folk Festival, held each October during the harvest moon in Jodhpur. This colossal red sandstone edifice reverberates with the sound of Rajasthani folk musicians such as Manganiyar legends Lakha Khan and the late Sakar Khan, masters of traditional bowed, stringed instruments the sindhi sarangi and the kamayacha. Riff is a full-on immersive experience and to do it justice, a certain level of stamina is required as concerts start at dawn, carry on through the heat of the day, then continue long into the night. Whenever I hear the rasping sounds of these ancient instruments, I’m instantly transported back to Jodhpur.

St Thomas by Sonny Rollins

One of the benefits of studying French and German (in those happy EU days) was being able to spend a year as an English language assistant in a school in Vienne, just south of Lyon. After my stint teaching, I volunteered at Jazz à Vienne, a wonderful two-week jazz festival held in the town’s Roman amphitheatre. I returned every summer during the early 1990s, making lifelong friends and getting a crash course in jazz in the process. Over the years I saw incredible artists, including Ray Charles, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil, and Sonny Rollins, who remains one of my favourite sax players. The experience became the foundation for my love of music from around the world and my work today.

The Plateau by Jenny Sturgeon

I’ve always found comfort in walking, and last year it took on even greater importance. So between lockdowns, my partner and I headed up to the Cairngorms to do some hiking. Just before our trip I received Jenny Sturgeon’s musical tribute to Nan Shepherd’s book about the Cairngorms, The Living Mountain. Every hike we embarked on would reveal different landscapes – and every type of weather imaginable. Back in London, listening to Jenny’s album brings back memories of those mountains, especially hearing the bird song on this opening track, as Jenny sings: “Step on step, foot by foot, we walk that’s how we know, through the heather and the mud, the plateau ringing through our blood.”

Count Your Blessings by the Como Mamas

One of my European festival highlights in recent years was FMM Sines, held on Portugal’s wild and relatively untouristy Alentejo coast, in the towns of Porto Covo and Sines. A really relaxed, friendly vibe permeated the opening weekend in the seaside resort of Porto Covo, where a mixture audience of locals and travellers congregated in the main square. The Como Mamas, from Mississippi, were unknown to me, but turned out to be a revelation. As the three singers took to the stage, the atmosphere transformed into something resembling a devoted congregation at a gospel gathering. Since then, Count Your Blessings has become a mantra, particularly last year.

Pothole in the Sky by Lisa O’Neill

One of the things I sorely miss during these socially distanced times is those random conversations you strike up with complete strangers over a pint. There’s nowhere better to do this than in Dublin, especially in one of the city’s many music pubs, such as The Cobblestone or O’Donoghue’s. I haven’t been lucky enough to see the Irish singer Lisa O’Neill at a session, although she was apparently a regular in pre-Covid times. The combination of chat, beer and music is perfect and I can’t wait to revisit.

La Grande Folie by San Salvador

Most of the travelling I do as editor of Songlines is to festivals around the world, and one of the things I most enjoy about them is the communal listening experience. There’s something visceral about hearing music being performed live with other people around you. For me, San Salvador perfectly encapsulate this feeling. A sextet from Saint-Salvadour in south-west France, they sing in Occitan. There’s a real physicality to their music and something incredibly powerful about the combination of voice and percussion. They always finish their sets with La Grande Folie – a song that resonates with these crazy times.

• San Salvador are due to perform at Songlines Encounters Festival at Kings Place in May (Covid permitting)

#songs

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thenovelqueers · 4 years ago

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danilo rly sus tho...

[ID: Screenshot of the chat from Among Us. Tablet screen is broken and player is a ghost. Everyone on screen has voted.

Green text: Danilo has voted. 2 remaining.

Roland: Danilo sus

Jamie: no i was with him

Justin: danilo sus

Jamie: grant pretty quiet...

Grant: im ded idiot]

#the novel queers #tnq podcast #podcast #among us meme #the blood of kings #john michael curlovich #jamie dunn #danilo #roland #justin #tnq image

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myhouseidea · 5 years ago

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This project is a transformation of an old apartment. The client, who works in the field of art, is nostalgic and fond of places that carry memories. He especially likes the apartment’s outdoor garden which occupies more than 100 square meters, since it is where dreams begin and all the plants in it have been growing together with his family. Before the transformation, the family had lived in this apartment for 10 years. Because of increase of family members, an extra room needed to be added in order to satisfy living demands. To achieve this, the design firm, JINGU PHOENIX SPACE PLANNING ORGANIZATION, turned the space of an original bedroom and a bathroom into two bedrooms and one bathroom, while retaining the previous layout of the residence. Photography by Ouyang Yun

#gallery-0-6 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-6 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Since the apartment accommodates life, dreams and family memories, the client hoped to transform it into an ideal home. The designers renovated the space based on its original simplistic and austere tone, and at the same time incorporated the client’s collections into it. They added white archaized and textured paint onto interior surfaces, and then polished it. The white finish enriches textures of the space, brightens the living room which used to be lack of daylight, and promotes interplay of light and shadows. The left area inside the entrance is the dining room, which needs to borrow light from the kitchen. The designers extended the kitchen outwards to the garden, and endowed it with a ceiling composed of an aluminum alloy frame and ultra white translucent glass, a white kitchen cabinet, and walls clad in white microcrystal tiles, so that more natural light can be brought into the kitchen and dining room. Through the area of the kitchen where daylight shines in, the occupants are able to indistinctly see the vigorous greenery in the garden. As to the living room, the client wanted it to be an intimate place for family gathering and chatting, rather than a humdrum space where the family merely watch the TV and have no interaction. Considering this, the design team arranged a long table at the middle of the living room, and surrounded it with an American country-style fabric sofa, traditional rattan chairs and a leather bench, making this area perfect for tea drinking, talking, reading or just sitting quietly, and enabling family members to get closer to each other in a comfortable and relaxing way. In addition, a low skinny platform beside a wall in this area places an abstract painting collected by the client. The picture depicts scenes of a busy market, which inject a living atmosphere into the space. Outside the door of the study, there is a wooden lacquered cabinet that the client bought from India. Its diverse light hues add an exotic ambience and a sense of inclusiveness to the space. Each of the objects in the space has its own story, but at the same time is compatible with each other. It’s not necessary to define those items by certain styles, because what they need is a space of inclusiveness — an ideal home. This ideal home is where life returns and dreams begin!

Project information: Project name: A Place Where Dreams Begin Location: Xing Guang Hua Ting, Shantou, Guangdong, China Area: interior (about 150 m2) + garden (about 160 m2) Completion time: November 20, 2019 Design firm: JINGU PHOENIX SPACE PLANNING ORGANIZATION Chief designer: Ye Hui Design team: Chen Xuexian, Zeng Dongxu Decoration team: Feng Qi Wu Tong Construction firm: Wan You Yin Li Main materials: white microcrystal stone tile, beige stone tile, white textured paint (DANILO), beige gravel

A Place Where Dreams Begin by JINGU PHOENIX SPACE PLANNING ORGANIZATION This project is a transformation of an old apartment. The client, who works in the field of art, is nostalgic and fond of places that carry memories.

#A Place Where Dreams Begin #apartment #bathroom #bedroom #house #house idea #houseidea #Jingu Phoenix space planning organization #kitchen #living #myhouseidea

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 6 years ago

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Brazil: four arrested over hacking of Bolsonaro justice minister's phone

Sérgio Moro hit by scandal after the Intercept published leaked chats suggesting he had conspired to damage ex-president Lula

Brazil’s federal police have arrested four people for allegedly hacking the phone of the justice minister, Sérgio Moro, a key member of the far-right president Jair Bolsonaro’s cabinet who had previously been a renowned anti-corruption judge.

A judge ordered the arrests of Gustavo Henrique Elias Santos, Suelen Priscila de Oliveira, Danilo Cristiano Marques and Walter Delgatti Neto, who live in three different cities in São Paulo state. The judge said the group hacked the messaging app accounts of Moro, two federal judges and two federal police investigators.

The ruling issued Friday by the judge Vallisney de Souza Oliveira was made public Wednesday.

Moro, who also heads Brazil’s federal police, said on 5 June that his phone had been hacked.

Four days later, the Intercept and other media outlets started publishing reports based on leaked messaging app exchanges between Moro and prosecutors dating back to the minister’s time as a judge in a corruption investigation known as “Operation Car Wash”, which led to the arrests of many of Brazil’s business and political elite, including the former president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva.

The judge’s ruling does not establish a direct link between the arrests and the reported exchanges.

#brazil #brazilian politics #vaza jato #digital rights #corruption #politics #sergio moro #mod nise da silveira

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ourpickwickclub · 6 years ago

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L, someone said that when they went that Blake stayed on his phone a lot. And even if Gwen walked up to him it would take him awhile to pay attention to her. Was it like that when you was there , I don’t see him just staying on phone not paying her any attention.

No, when I was there he would open up his phone, glance and then pop up and walk over to her...if she were talking to Kelly or if Danilo were there he would chat with John or he would sit back down and go on his phone. Seriously it is boring there...if I had a phone I would have been on it too!

-L

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friendship-anarchy-blog · 6 years ago

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We Gather (Capital) To Scatter (Our Members): on #lonsileaks and #sociospeaks

The last week has been a mess with a nice scoop of ice cream on top for the University of the Philippines. That scoop of ice cream, of course, is the University’s first chance at the men’s basketball championship in 32 years.

But I’m not here to talk about that. I want the mess, because that’s more interesting than screaming at dudes throwing balls.

On the 14th of November, a frankly pathetic brawl caught on CCTV followed by a shooting incident occurred within campus grounds between Alpha Phi Beta and Upsilon Sigma Phi. After a lull in any kind of reporting about it, clashing accounts from eyewitnesses and the fraternities involved (of course), and basically nothing else done regarding campus security apart from the momentary closing of the school gate near the gun fire, the issue was (barely) tackled briefly in a statement by the University of the Philippines-Diliman’s Chancellor Mike Tan. In it, he lightly acknowledges the fraternity-related violence that occurred, glazing over all other ideas of condemnation by saying that on the same day of the gun incident, the UP men’s basketball team won a game, which “would not have been possible without the widespread support of … an alumni group where Upsilon Sigma Phi, Alpha Phi Beta and all the other fraternities … have been key players”.

A week later, on the 21st of November, a rogue—well, someone—took to Twitter with the aid of a Google Drive to release the entirety of a Facebook group chat from Batch 2017 of Upsilon that consists of over 40,000 messages. This event is what is now known as #LonsiLeaks—which I guess is made to sound like Watergate but with college boys instead. The messages in this group chat contained comments, “jokes”, and other kinds of uses of words of the most horrid, disgusting, inhumane thoughts and beliefs.

Misogyny? Check.

Homophobia and LGBT+ harassment? Check.

Belittling of the social sciences? Check.

Marcos apologism? Check.

Racism? Check.

Islamophobia? Check.

Support of massacres and genocide? Check.

Threats of violence and harm? Check.

Flaunting of control of seats of power and authority? Check.

You name it, Upsilon’s got it.

The backlash was, understandably, immense. Nearly every day since the exposé, a new statement from a different university organization, college student council, or department is released. Calls ranged from the unanimous hashtag #EndFRV; to general sentiments on ending impunity; to the more fearless demands for the President of the UP System, Danilo Concepcion, and the Executive Vice President, Ted Herbosa, to resign. The aforementioned men occupying the highest positions of the most notorious University are, unfortunately, members of Upsilon.

The best and most constructive responses have come from the faculties of departments that have been staunchly against the presence of elitism, violence and misogyny especially in the community. My personal favorite—and my obvious bias as a graduate of it—is that of the Department of Sociology, which was directly lambasted in the group chat of Upsilon. The Department has started a series of teach-ins called Fraternities and Society, discussing the social causes and consequences of fraternity violence. The speakers are all members of the faculty, experts on education, Marxism, social organization, gender, feminism, and even, most fittingly, fraternities.

Here was a small community of professors, intellectuals, researchers, and activists making a stand against a group of snotty rich boys protected by snobby powerful men, vicious and arrogant and disrespectful of women, LGBT+, indigenous peoples, non-Catholic religions and anything else that isn’t like them. And they were making a stand the way they knew best—through in-depth, open, informal, non-hierarchic education that uses sharp structural analysis.

The 29th of November saw the first of these sessions. I sat with other students and professors on the floor of our college’s spacious lobby, greeting friends and former teachers while I caught my breath from running straight out of work. With nothing else but a Facebook event page on such short notice, the teach-in attracted more than 40 people sitting or standing on that cold tiled floor, listening to Gerry Lanuza cite Freud, Engels and Deleuze and Guattari off the top of his head to explain misogyny and the capitalist heteropatriarchy.

But I’ll have to gloss over all that to jump to the most interesting concept I learned that night. It came from Andoy Evangelista as he talked about the nuances of the “backwards vs. modern” debate in conversations of progress and development. He mentioned it merely in passing, but he explained that homonationalism is the Empire’s (or the West’s) use of LGBT+ rights and women’s rights as a measure or standard of modernism. In my understanding, it was sort of a liberal-democratic thing, where you include people as tokens of identity politics rather than actually incorporating the necessary and contextually-appropriate changes in fundamental ways of living and organizing life and society to recognize, acknowledge, and respect the diversity of human life.

It was such a good point to discuss in the context of fraternities, the patriarchy, and the Classic Woke Ass Non-Upsilonian U.P. Student, as homonationalism is a slippery slope a truly radical and progressive person would have to be mindful of if they wanted to genuinely change things. It’s a reminder that there are historical, cultural, and colonial nuances that need to be kept in mind when we talk about radical change in a country as steeped in colonial mentality and fake measures of progress like the Philippines. Maybe we can start by checking the words we use when we argue for LGBT+ and women’s rights, by being wary of the comparisons we do and the benchmarks we set for ourselves in achieving culturally- and contextually-appropriate development. The West isn’t the one and only example of progress, unlike what white feminism wants us to believe.

Another thing to watch out for is homonationalism’s unfortunate use as a false sign of alllyship by people who aren’t really allies. For one, most organizations’ responses to the #LonsiLeaks issue was to disavow the blatant misogyny, LGBT+phobia, Islamophobia, racism, and many other things wrong with that one group chat. And there’s nothing wrong with that, especially if values protecting diversity are what they really stand for. But Upsilon and its members started doing the same thing, crafting and posting statements claiming to simultaneously Wake Up Furious upon seeing the leaked messages. The fraternity and its many mouthpieces all said that everything in the chat was not in line with what they believe in and fight for, claiming to have worked hard to build safe spaces for the abovementioned sectors in the University.

I call bullshit on that.

I call bullshit on Upsilon’s statement because these stupid privileged boys could have only had the courage and platform to say the vilest things in an environment that made them see, feel, think, and believe that saying the vilest things does not have repercussions—and even if it did, there was someone to save you from the consequences anyway.

I call bullshit because Upsilon has existed for 100 years and you can’t tell me that in those 100 years, a group comprised exclusively of well-off men has not and has never produced and reproduced a culture of belittling and disrespect, of misogyny and violence, of secrecy and non-accountability.

I call bullshit because I have been privy to men’s conversations—men who aren’t even in fraternities—and the things they say in the comfort and confidence of people they know they can trust (i.e. Will not judge them, will laugh along with them, will not question them, will not point out that this is wrong, wrong, wrong) is nothing short of hair-raising, stomach-churning, nausea-inducing.

My friend told me that he has a theory about Upsilon, and frats in general. Upsilon’s motto is we gather light to scatter, and he told me that he believes that fraternities serve no other purpose than to keep pooling and collecting capital. For Upsilon, he says that light means the capital that they collect: money, power, connections.

He didn’t at first get to make the necessary connection as to what they were scattering, so I answered for him: “Their members.”

Upsilon, and all fraternities by extension, scatters its members. It plants them like seeds so it can further its control and capital, broaden itself and find an in for any industry and aspect of society that can be influenced.

Frankly, I don’t see them serving any other purpose myself.

Honestly, any way I look at it, fraternities are just unnecessary as a social organization. The only thing they offer people is upwards mobility for middle-upper class men, one foot in the door of wealth and power in the form of this “brotherhood”—a network of people who have become embedded in the various seats of power in the country.

I’m still trying to understand the reasons many have used to justify the existence and utilization of frats.

Belongingness and community? Colleges and universities have orgs that address all sorts of interests and advocacies. Or literally any other kinship ties.

Brotherhood? Literally, friends—and friends won’t make you dehumanize yourself or run to and fro just to prove you’re “loyal” to them. And inb4 “Iba kasi ang brotherhood ng frat (The brotherhood of fraternities is different)!”: if you’re looking for That Kind of Brotherhood™, you’re probably already incubating toxic notions and ideas of masculinity.

To help others? But there are so many other means to do that without needing to join frats. I really don’t get this.

A rite of passage? I actually don’t know what for, and what kind of difference going through the rite of passage of joining a frat would make.

Personal development? Jesus, I’m pretty sure you can get this in any other aspect of your life from any kind of organization or responsibility.

I really cannot think of anything else fraternities can offer aside from wealth, power and opportunities. I’m not an expert on fraternities, so I won’t deny I may be missing some things here, but personally as someone who has more than just dabbled with the topics of institutions and organizations for research, and as someone who has a handful of great, trustworthy, dependable, ambitious men in my circles who have no involvements with fraternities at all, I see fraternities only as a necessity in a country so corrupt and backwards that we still need to rely on the padrino system to get anywhere at all.

So maybe let me rephrase what I said a while ago: any way I look at it, in a society that aspires to be progressive, equal, and truly radical, fraternities are just unnecessary as a social organization.

-Adrienne Onday

#homonationalism #sociology #upsilon #lonsileaks #fraternities #frats #university of the philippines #up diliman #society #fraternities and society #misogyny #feminism #racism #islamophobia #homophobia #violence

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