#love the coordination of this. germany could never)

[tardis--dreams]

Yesterday I went to the supermarket and it was the most crowded i have ever experienced any supermarket in my life. Like. They made us queue up to even enter and i was waiting for like 30 minutes to pay. So today i am very scared to return because What the fuck was that and is it over now???

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Sound of Music (1965)

I was shocked to learn that The Sound of Music received mixed reviews upon its release in 1965. I can sort of understand someone criticizing the liberties it takes with the story it's based on (though of course, someone who does this should realize that real life is not particularly cinematic) but how can you not fall in love with this musical? Unabashedly sweet, it effortlessly charms you. This is exactly the kind of movie you’d love to watch on a miserable day when you’re sick. No matter how foul your mood is, it��ll lift your spirits.

In 1938 Austria, Maria (Julie Andrews, magnificent) studies to become a nun but doesn't fit in with her peers. She’s always humming a tune and constantly finds her spirit whisked away by music. To help her decide where she belongs, Maria is sent to help care for the seven children of Captain von Trapp (Christopher Plummer). As the family bonds, everything seems blissful, until neighbouring Nazi Germany begins mobilizing its troops…

If you’ve never seen The Sound of Music before, you’ll feel a little foolish once it’s over. You haven't sat down with this movie, but you’ve heard several of the songs before, you’ve seen parodies of the most memorable scenes and you may have even seen clips out of context. It makes you go "Oh! That's from THIS movie!" There’s no way to forget My Favorite Things, Do-Re-Mi, Sixteen Going on Seventeen or So Long, Farewell and you won’t want to. Much credit belongs to Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, who wrote the stage musical but if that was all the movie had going for it, you could watch a stage version. What elevates this production is the cast. Julie Andrews, best known for her role in Mary Poppins is unsurprisingly excellent as Maria. What she does almost seems easy because - like the children she cares for - you instantly fall for her. She’s so sweet, gentle and kind it’s hard to imagine even the iciest hearts - like the one beating inside Captain von Trapp - staying cold in her presence. What’s surprising is Christopher Plummer. Turns out, he can sing. I don’t know if you’d be as excited at the idea of them becoming romantically entangled if the children weren’t there, but that’s the point. If Maria does fall in love, it won’t be with just the father, it will be with the family.

The film’s best scenes often involve dance numbers. Not the big kind of dances that suddenly has everyone in the country expertly coordinated; playful, childlike dances as the young Von Trapps perform for a crowd or tender scenes between two people who tell us how they feel through lyrics and body language. Though the children are only given limited screen time and character development, they all get enough for you to understand them as people. It helps that the young actors portraying Liesl, Louisa, Friedrich, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta and Gretl are terrific.

One of my favorite things about The Sound of Music is that while it’s light, happy, romantic and carefree - maybe even corny - it has this tiny bit of tension and a smidge of fear in it too. As we approach the second act, a looming shadow in the distance keeps you wondering. When Germany annexes Austria, it’s a cold bucket of reality dumped onto this musical. Things were so sweet and light before; surely this means the family will be alright? You’re pretty sure they will be, but there’s a part of you that doubts. It’s just enough to give this movie stakes and compels you to keep watching. As nice as the film is, it might’ve been too much without that little bit of vinegar.

The Sound of Music has melted the ice around my heart and rekindled my appetite for musicals. It's the kind of picture that introduces itself to you by handing you a bouquet. You fall in love with the songs, the story and the dance numbers too. There's even a puppet show so darling it'll make your every worry and fear vanish. I can't wait to see it again. (December 13, 2023)

[aussiepineapple1st]

Never Fly Near Giant Mold Monsters

This story is set in Resident Evil 8 Village. An AU of Chris calling on Leon's help with the Megamycete.

Ship: Chreon Words: 2,938 Contains: blood, death, angst, slight fluff.

Chris had been sitting in a tent his team set up in the forest, holding his phone in both hands. He was contemplating on calling Leon, they hadn't spoken in two weeks and the first thing he was going to ask was for help. Chris knew he would be here as soon as he could, but this was big. He had Ethan somewhere in Heisenberg's domain, his men keeping track of his whereabouts while they all worked behind the scenes to try and find Miranda. She had kept slipping out of his sight for 3 years now, but now that she had basically told them where she was, it was just a matter of searching every inch until they find her.

Chris hadn't slept in what felt like weeks, feeling like he had let the Winters family down after trying to keep them safe. Damn it! Why did everything he do blow up in his face lately? Rose had been taken, Mia was missing, and Ethan was being beaten to a bloody pulp by every creature in this god forsaken village.

He looks down to his phone one more time, he can't do this alone, he needed help, and who else than Leon? Pressing the call button on Leon's name he places the phone up to his right ear, praying to whatever had been keeping him and Leon alive for all these years, that he wasn't on another vacation he would be pulling him from. "Chris? It's been a while." Leon answered almost soon after the call had come through. "Leon." Chris seemed to pause, long enough for Leon to pick up on something. "Chris? What's wrong? Has something happened?" There was concern in the slightly younger man's voice over the phone after hearing the long silence. "Well. Yes and no? You know the Mold I found a few years ago in Louisiana?" "Yeah? Don't tell me you found more of it?"

"I have, and this seems to be the rout cause of it. I ran into a few problems with the Winters family, again. Mia had been replaced by a woman by the name of Mother Miranda." Chris explained the whole situation to Leon. Everything from him shooting her in the safe house, to Rose being kidnapped and now Ethan gone rogue in the village. "You didn't think to tell me any of this? How long have you been after Miranda?" Leon asks, annoyance in his voice. "3 years..." Chris said squinting as he waits for the earful from the other side of the line. "3... 3 YEARS?!" There was the sound of shuffling from Leons end of the line and Chris could only imagine he had been sitting down, now standing on his feet, probably pacing. "Right.. Where are you? I'll grab a small team and come to you."

"Romania, I'll send you my coordinates now." Chris says pulling the phone from his ear and sending through his exact location. Putting his phone back up to his ear, Chris waits for confirmation.

"Got it. I'll be there as soon as possible, I'm currently in Germany. Just took care of some BOWs." Leon explains almost about to hang up.

"And Leon?" Chris said quickly sensing he was about to end the conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, I really need your help." He said smiling softly.

"Don't mention it, I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay safe." Leon then hung up so he could make his way to Chris as fast as possible. Cursing under his breath as he gets to calling the few people left from his current mission.

"Love you too." Chris said to the phone with a sigh.

-----*Several Hours Later*-----

Chris was staring at the Village from the top of a hill his unit had set up camp on. Arms crossed over his chest sighing heavily, his breath visible in the freezing air. Pulling out a cigarette, Chris lights it, sucking on the butt he felt a slight amount of tension leaving his shoulders. A glint on his left hand catching his eye as he looks to the golden wedding band on his ring finger, giving it a small twist on his finger his ears perk up. That was the sound of a chopper, Leon was here. Taking one more suck of the cigarette he drops it on the snow covered ground and stomps it out. Looking out over the towards the mountains behind the castle, a black helicopter had appeared. Flying over the center of the village, Chris could feel his tense shoulders relaxing.

"That your backup, Alpha?" Speaks a male's voice fully kitted out, ready for whatever would be coming, they had already lost two people in their group by being here, he didn't want to be next. Chris only gives a nod as something below the helicopter caught his eye, reaching for the sniper rifle the man beside him was holding, he looks through the scope. His eyes widen as he saw a large arm of the mold bursting up from the ground. Chris reaches for his phone, handing the rifle back to his man as he calls Leon.

"I'm just over the village, can't you wait for me to land?" Leon quips, a smile on his face.

"Ascend! NOW!"

"What?" Leon didn't have time to think before the black mold had wiped the entire tail of the Helicopter away from the body. "Shit!" Was all Chris heard before the call was hung up. Chris watched in horror as the helicopter started to spin out of control, he notes which direction it was heading and runs as fast as he could calling anyone who gets to the car to come with him. Two of the men in his group were ready and hopped in the vehicle, Chris took off in the direction the helicopter had just crash landed. Driving over small trees and leaping off a few small cliffs they made their way to a small clearing, Leon had managed to direct the vehicle there. Better to be in an opening rather than in a bunch of trees. Chris puts the vehicle in park and runs out of the car towards the wrecked helicopter. A body was on the ground, but it wasn't Leon. Directing one of the two men to check on him, Chris saw Leon's figure lying on the ground of the passenger section of the vehicle. Fire engulfing the entrance as on of the others had been impaled by metal, already a charcoaled corpse.

Chris rips off his large black coat and runs over to the wreckage, leaping through the fire and landing next to Leon's body. He picks him up gently in his arms standing to his feet. Hopping slightly on his heals as he exhales, psyching himself up to run back through the flames. There was a hissing sound coming from the back of the helicopter giving him the signal that there was a tank about to explode. He leaps through the fire just as the explosion pushes him further through the air, wrapping an arm around Leon's torso, a hand cradling his head into Chris' chest as he hits the ground. Rolling in the snow Chris grunts as he was laying on Leon's limp body, he looks back at the helicopter. Moving to his knees Chris hooks his hands under Leon's arms, dragging him back away from the helicopter. Just in case it decided to blow up again. "Leon!" He calls trying to wake the unconscious male in his arms. Gently resting him down in the snow Chris kneels on Leon's right side. A gloved hand resting on Leon's chest as he lay in the snow. Nose and mouth bleeding, a large gash on his left shoulder and another unknown injury causing his navy blue, button up to be soaked in blood on the right side of his lower abdomen.

Chris looks over his husband's body, laying there in front of him in the snow. "Leon! Damn it! Don't do this to me!" He said cupping Leon's face in his gloved hands. One of his other men that had joined him here, walks over holding out Chris' black coat he had ripped off his body before leaping into the flames. Taking the coat with a look of thank you to his man, Chris placed it under Leon's head. He then pulls up Leon's shirt, revealing a large, bleeding gash to his lower abdomen. "First aid kit, STAT!" He looked up to the man still standing beside Leon. Nodding the man runs to the car grabbing a second kit and hurries back to Chris. Kneeling down the man pulls out some supplies. Chris had done a quick examination of the wound while waiting, concluding it wasn't deep enough to have done any serious damage. Maybe the muscle was broken through, but not any deeper.

Chris immediately grabs the alcohol wipes and cleans away as much blood as he could, doing a quick swab inside the wound. He then begins to sew up the wound, once finished he sits Leon up with the help of the other man and wraps a bandage around his lower abdomen as well as his shoulder. Chris had done the same treatment there. Relaxing slightly, Chris looks over to the second man of his group, who was walking over to the three of them. "He's gone, sir." He addresses. Kneeling down beside his teammate. "Damn it!" Chris punches the ground, his head hanging low. Looking to Leon still unconscious in the snow he couldn't help but feel tears threatening to leave his eyes. He had put them all at risk, he shouldn't have called.

"Sir... Alpha." One of the men called trying to get Chris' attention. He then lifts his head to look up at Men. "We should get him back to camp."

"Right." Chris replied. Taking the coat from under Leon's head, he placed it over his body and scoops him up in his arms once again. Walking to the large vehicle he had driven here in a hurry, Chris slides into the back, Leon's head on his lap as the other two sit in the front. "We'll get him to camp and he'll be fine." The man sitting in the driver's seat assured his boss as he started to drive back.

Once at camp he climbs out, pulling Leon into his arms once again, walking him into the medical tent where two of his team lay under white sheets. He averts his gaze and places Leon down on one of the cots, pulling up a stool beside him. The medic of the group takes a look at Chris' handy work, giving a nod and fixes Leon up a little more while checking on his vitals. She places a hand on Chris' shoulder to comfort him. "You did good, Alpha. Quick thinking on your part, the wound on his stomach hasn't done too much damage. He'll live." She assured, placing an oxygen mask over Leon's nose and mouth to help combat the smoke in his lungs. I'll come back and check on him in a moment. I'll give you two some time alone. And Alpha? Don't beat yourself up. You didn't know this would happen." She said patting Chris' back before she leaves. Chris was now in there alone with Leon, he reaches up to take his hand but stops when he sees the blood soaked into his gloves. Ripping them off he throws them to the ground and wipes his hands on his pants, trying to remove any blood that had soaked through.

Now taking Leon's hand from under his coat still on his husband's body, Chris held it tight, his thumb caressing the back of Leon's left hand. Running his fingers over the bloodied wedding band on Leon's finger, he couldn't help but break down. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he brought his head down to Leon's hand, holding the back of it to his own forehead as he cried silently.

-----*20 Minutes Later*-----

Chris had profusely apologised to Leon as he cried, but after a while he had gathered himself and made is way out of the medical tent. Calling his team together around the map. They had started to make a plan as he couldn't just sit around, there was Mold bursting out of the ground everywhere in the village, they needed to make a move. His team gets a visual on as much of the Mold as they could from their vantage point and makes a note of it on the map. "Alpha." Called a female voice, she had Chris turning his head as soon as he heard her speak. "Someone would like to see you." She smiled.

Her smile caused a sharp pain in Chris' gut, pure relief knowing Leon was alright and now awake. Rushing past her and to the Medical tent, Chris bursts through the material doors, immediately looking in the direction of Leon's cot he had placed him on. Bright blue eyes were staring at him when he had entered, the oxygen mask off his face and now replaced with a tube, tucked behind his ears to keep it in place under her nose. Chris jogs over to Leon and falls to his knees, placing his hands on either side of his face, kissing him. A long, wet kiss as Chris had already started crying once seeing his husband looking back at him. "I thought I lost you." Chris sobbed as he pulls away from the kiss and wraps his arms around Leon.

Leon only had the strength to gently pat a hand on Chris' back. "Okay..." He says weakly. Chris could hear how little strength his husband had and pulls back to give him some space, his normally hardened look that his squad knew, was now full of worry. He knew just because Leon was awake, doesn't mean he couldn't pass away at any moment due to any underlining injury, infection or still even blood loss. Leon looked around seeing the other cots empty, looking up to Chris. "My men? Did they make it?" Leon asked, having a feeling he already knew the answer. Chris just looks down and shakes his head. "Damn it!" Leon replied, resting his right hand over his eyes. Chris could tell he was trying to be strong but his bottom lip was quivering. "I shouldn't have called. I'm so, so sorry." Chris said tightening his grip on Leon's left hand. "I've caused so much pain, my squad, the Winters, you... I don't know why I'm still doing this." A gentle hand was placed on Chris' arm, causing his head to lift and look to Leon who was giving him a frown. "Don't say that, we have both lost so many men in our time. But you still keep fighting. If it weren't for you, all of this would still be getting worse. And in our line of work that just means more of a clean up." Chris could only scoff a small laugh at the thought of more of this Mold. He had found where it originated from, and from what he had experienced with this stuff, if you take out the source, the rest will crumble.

"Fine... You're right. It's just so much." Chris said, his shoulders lowering as if the weight of everything had become too heavy. Leon reaches up to place his right hand on Chris' cheek.

"I know. But we have to keep going. For the sake of this planet and the living things on it."

"Okay, now you're showing just how much blood you've lost." Chris teased, taking the hand on his cheek and pulling it to his lips, pressing a kiss on Leon's knuckles.

"You should probably get going.. It sounds like a lot is happening out there." Leon stated, not wanting to ruin the moment. But there was a job to be done.

Chris nods. "Yeah.. I'll be back soon. You get some rest and I'll see you when this is all over." He says moving to his feet, but leaning over Leon to press one more kiss to his lips before standing up. Leon held onto his husband's hand for as long as possible before he was out of reach. Leon's hand reaching out to Chris as he walks out of the tent.

"You come back to me Redfield, you hear?!" Leon called out hoping Chris would have heard him.

-----*2 hours Later*-----

Chris runs back to the chopper his squad had waiting for him, baby in his arms as he hands Rose to her mother.

"Where is Ethan?"

"Take us up we have to get out of here, NOW!" Chris says walking passed three bodies under white cloths. The Chopper takes to the skies and hurries out of the village as Chris stares at the three bodies. He feels his heart clench and felt a stabbing in his gut. There was the explosion knowing Ethan was now gone.

"Chris? What was that? Where is my husband?!"

"He's gone!" Chris says slamming his fist on the wall. He then walks over to the body placed on the seats and pulls back the cloth, revealing the pale, peace face of his husband. Falling to his knees Chris stares as Leon's face, reaching down to pull his left hand free from the cloth and holds his hand.

Mia saw the wedding rings on both their hands and placed a hand to her mouth, He was feeling the exact same loss she was right at this very moment. Standing up she walks over to place a hand on Chris' shoulder. "I tried..." Chris sobbed. "I tried to save everyone."

Tag List🏷️: @phoenix666stuff @c1a1r3r3df1e1d

[synashburn]

SHE'S A PYROMANIAC, MANIAC—

Name: Syndra Ashburn Occupation: Burn Coordinator Age: 44 Sexuality: Lesbian Species: Witch Coven: Circle of the Phial Hometown: Cologne, Germany Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Jealous, immature, daring, observant, dutiful, confident, adaptable & surprising

Gretchen doesn't know her family. Not her biological family, at least. Her biological parents ditched her as soon as she was born, at least - that was the story the orphanage had given her. Syndra doesn't know the real story, she doesn't care about finding them either; if they didn't want her, she didn't want them. As a young thing, she moved around from foster family to foster family. Most of them she doesn't remember, or rather aren't worth remembering, not until she found a steady home. Born in Germany, she changed last names all the time. Schneider, Becker, Hoffmann. In the mix of changing foster parents all the damn time, Gretchen had no steady childhood. She was cruel, stole from stores, was behind in school, fought other kids her age or older just for fun. In other words, she became a young rebel. Hung out with the wrong people on the streets, all blurry memories now.

A loving family that took her in when she was twelve. They showed her the ropes of life, rewired her brain into being a good girl. For however short that lasted. She had a foster mother, a foster father and a foster sister, a real sweetheart. Wouldn't harm a fly. Over months, they decided to adopt her for real. She would be a Richter now. Gretchen Richter. She and her sister Anne got close, real close. Obsessive wise, almost. For a while, Gretchen came to know what love meant. This fairytale went on for a couple of years. She was fifteen when she experienced with fire for the first time, her first real obsession.

Happiness wasn't meant to last. The walls were thin and Gretchen could hear her foster parents argue in the kitchen. She and Anne both did. Anne tried to comfort her in the best way she could; by touching Gretchen when she clearly wasn't in a state to be touched. Gretchen lashed out with a paring knife she kept for craft projects, slicing her sister's neck. In the episode she was having, she attacked her foster parents too, leaving them wounded inside the burning house she had set aflame. No one had seen the murder scene happen. The fire had been ruled as an accident, caused by an electronic failure in the house. Gretchen got put back into the foster system. She went back to shitty families, having fire as her only comfort.

Restless fingers found out again what it was like to pickpocket, to steal from thrift stores, to play with the lighter she'd kept in her pocket at all times. The library was her place to go after school, she picked up an interest in reading. And then experimenting in her room with the door locked, with stolen vials, herbs and spices she got her hands on. Mesmerized by her own creations, she went towards the woods, for days to come, instead of school. She skipped many classes to only grow further into her obsession of creating potions and see what she could do - see how far she could go. It started small, fires set aflame in barrels in the woods, change their colors, see how long her potions would last. When her knowledge, skills and power grew, she didn't just stop at that. She started forest fires, and when that wasn't enough, her interest expanded towards empty buildings. It wasn't enough, it was never enough, her curiosity of knowledge was not satisfied, not as a sixteen year old teenager. Her life only consisted of fire, everywhere she went, the flames licked at her feet. She couldn't stop, like a craving left unsatisfied, she needed to torch the place she hated most; the orphanage she was sent back and forth to most of her life. The building smoked in the deep of the night, too many colors flamed through the roof, affected by the potion she had mastered, each living soul in the building had its own color of flames licking at their body; a masterpiece of a show, truly one of her best works at the time. Flames that lost their colors and turned back orange by the time help had come, and Gretchen had long run back home.

At 18 she left the country, changed her name to Syndra Ashburn and left the foster life behind. Syndra explored her magical ability further on her own, getting more powerful each and every year. She landed a job as a burn coordinator, which was perfect for Syndra to stay on the move, play with fire and test how much she could do surrounded by nature. She'd left her past life behind, in trade for a great new one, where she was alone. Well, not entirely. Syndra's memory is clouded. She has no memory of the wreckage she caused, of killing her own sister, setting the house aflame of her beloved foster family. But that didn't come without any consequences; for Syndra is forever accompanied by a hallucination of her own young sister. For no one else to see, but for Syndra a consequence, a reminder, a curse or blessing. A convenience when she is alone, having no one around to obsess about. When she has no one to obsess about, she sets things or beings aflame, quenching her thirst.

Five years ago she moved to Port Leiry and joined the Circle of the Phial coven, settling down for the first time in her life, Syndra is rather excited to fuck around and find out in any way she can.

____________________

DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS; her newest obsession. Someone who contains a lot of power and is willing to do anything for Syndra. Or not at all, all the more fun for Syndra...

SISTER, OH SISTER; Syndra has never met her biological family before, and never felt the urge to try and find them. But surely her power must come from strong familial ties, and mayhaps her sister is willing to look for her... Name and country are UTP of course

BURN BABY BURN; a victim whose family, friends or any other relations have been turned to ashes and either does or doesn't know, yet is in Syndra's life for the better or worse...

[mariacallous]

In the summer of 2017, Gemma McGough was unemployed, but also a recently minted member of the UK’s top 1 percent: a multimillionaire from the sale of her company, Product Compliance Specialists. She was in a position where she never had to work again.

Then she read This Changes Everything, Naomi Klein’s book about the impact of capitalism on the climate. It struck a chord. “It was a massive shift in my thinking,” she says. “I sold my Porsche and bought a Tesla. What a cliché, the 911’s got to go.”

In 2019, she founded a new company, Eleos Compliance, modeled on the B Corp principles of transparency and social and environmental accountability. Although she took a salary, the majority of her money now came from investments, bonds, and rental properties—from wealth.

Suddenly swamped with scaremongering mailers from accountants offering legal loopholes to reduce her tax bill, McGough analyzed the tax she was paying on her salaried income versus the lower rates on income from the sale of assets. She reached two conclusions: first, that the country’s tax policy was unfair, and second, that she could be contributing more. Yes, she had worked long hours over 20 years to build her first business, but lots of people worked hard only to be left with “a mortgage and many more hours to work.”

Philanthropy wasn’t enough. McGough and her husband have given away approximately £400,000 ($509,946) in the past three years, mostly to reforestation, rainforest conservation, and strategic land purchases. “It’s a lovely thing to do, it’s a pleasure,” she says. “But ultimately it’s not the answer when you need a system-level change.” So in 2021, McGough became one of four British “wealth-holders” to join the UK branch of Patriotic Millionaires, a group of multimillionaires and billionaires who want governments to tax them more.

The organization was set up in the US in 2010 and now has 240 members there; McGough is a founding member of the UK arm, which has grown to 20 members. They attend monthly meetings, coordinate media activity via WhatsApp, and advocate for taxes on net wealth at parliamentary events. It’s a mix of founders and CEOs; uncomfortable heirs; and reformed financiers, such as Citibank trader turned inequality YouTuber Gary Stevenson.

They bring together connections, financial and tax expertise, status, access, and a few famous names—including the entertainment scion Abigail Disney. Actor Mark Ruffalo is a signatory on the recent “Cost of Extreme Wealth” open letter that was delivered to the World Economic Forum’s Annual Meeting this January. Phil White, a British former consultant and engineer, added a classic campaigning tactic to his Davos trip: holding up a cardboard sign saying “Tax the Rich.” There’s also increasing coordination with Taxmenow in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, and the Copenhagen-based Millionaires for Humanity.

On both sides of the Atlantic, the Patriotic Millionaires are notable for being unusually public and unusually frank—US chair Morris Pearl, a former MD at investment firm BlackRock, has described how the Covid-19 pandemic made him personally wealthier, and how he doesn’t check his bank balance because he doesn’t need to.

Why speak up when you’ve won the game? McGough admits that her “hard up” working class background might make her more likely to feel that she now has “enough.” She left school for her first job at 16 and set up her first company with her ex-husband with “two laptops and a list of contacts.” Luck and timing played a role—her RF compliance company ended up being part of a growth industry, and the ability to hire workers from the European Union contributed to her success.

The Patriotic Millionaires are eager to stress the economic case that wealth taxes could increase stability and help sustain both a healthy, educated workforce and a middle class of consumers with disposable income—so paying more tax could end up being good for wealthy businesspeople. For McGough, though, it’s about fairness and common sense in an era of widening inequality and deteriorating public services. The richest 1 percent of Brits hold more wealth than the poorest 70 percent combined. “I see it as a problem if you’ve got so much money that you no longer need a functioning society,” she says. “The country needs the super rich to be paying a proper share of taxation.”

The million-dollar question, then, is how much tax?

The group bases its proposals on research into wealth taxes and inequality, with an added dose of pragmatism: “Inheritance tax will never change,” says McGough. In the UK, the group is calling for an annual wealth tax of 1-2 percent for wealth above £10 million, which would affect around 20,000 people but could generate up to £22 billion a year, according to analysis from the Wealth Tax Commission at the LSE and the University of Warwick. That would be almost enough to give the entire public sector a pay increase in line with inflation.

Although wealth taxes are not a new idea, many of these taxes were removed in the 1980s and 1990s, and only four European countries—Spain, Norway, Switzerland, and Belgium—collect net wealth taxes, with levies in France and Italy on selected assets.

The cases against a wealth tax range from “I pay enough already,” which McGough says she has encountered a lot, to arguments around administrative costs, the risk of capital flight, and the potential increase in tax avoidance and evasion. It was a mix of bureaucratic issues and fears of a crisis of confidence in the markets that prevented Harold Wilson’s government from introducing a UK wealth tax in the 1970s.

As for capital flight, it’s conceded that some wealthy individuals may leave or move their money as a result of tax increases. But analysis by Cristobal Young, an assistant professor of sociology at Stanford University, suggests that the majority would remain. While 5 percent of billionaires live a transnationalist lifestyle between London, Switzerland, and tropical tax havens, the remaining 95 percent live in the country where they were born, educated, or started their business.

A new class of conscious multimillionaires—the UK arm has yet to snag its first billionaire—are leveraging their access to directly advocate for new wealth taxes to all-party parliamentary groups, partnering with Tax Justice UK. Events focused on tax and investments and social mobility are planned for 2023, though the group is generally opposed to this kind of influence of wealth on politics via private lobbying and its undermining of trust in democracy. For now, the invitations to Westminster are viewed as a necessary evil.

Perhaps the moves are also a signal that self-interest extends beyond the business case. As some billionaires build luxurious bunkers, American members like investors Nick Hanauer and Karen Stewart are preoccupied with pitchforks and the fates of Marie Antoinette and the Romanovs.

The Patriotic Millionaires’ plea to tax the rich could cut through precisely because it comes from the wealthy themselves. Researchers from King’s College London and the University of St. Gallen, Switzerland, surveyed the history of wealth taxes in 2021, with data from 1880 onward across 45 countries. They found that the forces of democratization and modernization, and even the outbreak of wars, do not usually speed up the introduction of wealth taxes. Instead, they have mainly been used as an emergency tax when countries faced the shock of an economic recession. As with McGough’s own success in business, timing might be everything.

[creativepup]

Felt like doing some self-indulgent Pride art for some of my characters today. More info + pin closeups below the cut because I feel like rambling.

(These also ended up being a really good excuse to do more queer history research lol)

Gwbdolyb the pescetarian mindflayer archaeologist & her shrimp wife 'Robert'. Robert gets to have a colored dress since lavender has historical queer connotations. [An argument could be made that Gwyb is also trans since her original host body was male, but considering the process of ceremorphosis is all about erasing the host's identity I don't view it as 'counting'.] I've made pin-up art with them before.

Ra-Im Moon / 문라임, aspiring fashion designer (wearing one of her signature designs, the "skuit"). Technically she's an NPC moreso than my own character, but I couldn't have Seungmin without her big sister. The double-moon pin is another bi symbol (+ moon/Moon pun :)).

Seungmin Moon / 문승민, escaped corporate mercenary (her face was replaced with an electronic screen after an explosion). Ra-Im designed her demiromantic hanbok for her. I had a hard time searching for Korean-specific queer symbols, but I noticed multiple people with this flag at the Seoul Pride Festival so I went with that.

'Maddie' Moon, the 1970s Bionic Kid teen AU variant of Seungmin. Some close-ups of her buttons below. Maddie is Korean-American but also spent several years living in Berlin. I never fully figured out out if she's lesbian or bi (part of the reason I was initially looking at the double-moon is because it's preferred in Germany over the double triangles) so I tried to go with period-appropriate symbols that could work for both. The lambda was made an international symbol for gay & lesbian rights in 1974, and the pink color obviously has historical connotations as well. The labrys is often used as a lesbian feminist symbol. I'm admittedly not sure exactly what year the German pin is from but the sentiment is perfect. Wasn't able to dig up any other German/European-specific symbologies (although I did learn that organized queer groups were called friendship leagues / freundschaftverbände).

Tree Shaper, my beautiful mutton-chopped firblog (also nicknamed Branches). Exclusively they/them. I love them a lot.

Len my ghost boy! Len's look is supposed to be a bit anachronistic since he's originally from the 1980s but ghosted around through 2018 before traveling back in time to the 80s again (long story). The most commonly used trans symbol only came around in the 90s, but I did find this variant that was used by the FTM magazine Metamorphosis in the early 80s as well as on the pin below. Their activist friend Krysta would definitely have gotten him the Anita Bryant pin. (It would probably be a little more in-character for Len to have an ace ring instead of the pin, but I didn't make their hands very visible so)

& last but not least, Kraner the half-drow busker (not shown outside on a sunny day). He can normally make his tattoos glow in a variety of colors (good for putting on a performance) but I think he'd enjoy coordinating them specifically to match the pride flag. He's still coming to terms with his asexuality, but he'll get there eventually.

If you're reading this, thanks for listening & I hope you enjoyed!

[wvbaandtheboys]

y’know what? i like you! *hands over kaiser hcs*

i wrote out hcs before but yk what i decided to re-do them cause they were #cringe [oh and also some stuff was inspired by @/cherryrollarts so pls giv him love] CW/TW// Mentions of losing limb, physical/verbal abuse In his childhood, Kaiser was a lonely kid, mostly policed by his middle-aged father who was a retired soldier. Controlled in multiple aspects of his life, he barely ever experienced what it was like to live freely, and without oppression. Having been diagnosed with Asperger’s by his family doctor when he was just 8 years old, his father insisted on bending him into shape and fixing his behavior. Kaiser learned very quickly that the world wouldn’t treat him fairly. He was bullied and beaten at his school, and then always came home to an off-handed pummeling and lectures from his father. His disorder and horrid life made it hard for Kaiser to even care for himself, as he felt like everything about him was just a burden. Not even months after his 19th birthday, he found himself and multiple other boys being plucked from his boarding school and into recruitment for an incoming war. It was all so sudden that Von barely even had time to process it all. Being shoved into an army uniform and having what little dignity he had for himself stripped clean during those months of rigorous preparation, he marched into battle with thousands of men and boys alike. What it did to Kaiser scarred him till this very day. - While charging across the battlefield, he was caught in a mortar explosion which mutilated his left leg. The bodies of some of his allies who were trying to help him but were annihilated by incoming gunfire toppled onto him. It was so claustrophobic and agonizing that he felt he was going to just die right there. Thankfully, some were able to pull him out of his situation. - After retreating to their bases, Kaiser was so hysterical that he had to be sedated. When he woke up in a haze, his leg was gone, leaving only a stub up to where his knee should have been. Unable to scream or fight anymore, he had to lay there while he could barely make out the muffled sounds of a field medic saying he had to be discharged. - After losing his leg, Kaiser was discharged in the midst of the war dying down. A few months later, the war was finally over, and Germany had emerged victorious. But the now adult Kaiser was not anywhere near similar to the erratically behaved Kaiser his father knew before. The war had traumatized him. Physically and mentally changed him. Horrible PTSD which was only aggravated by his previous disorder. Waking nightmares that shook him conscious every time he closed his eyes. Loud bumps and thumps in the walls, in the sky, in the floorboards that would frighten him. Nothing felt safe to him anymore. Not even his own mind. It was only when he emerged into his 30’s that he was finally able to migrate from his old family home, and into America to seek a new beginning. - Where was Kaiser’s mother when this was all going down, you ask? Deceased. She died unexpectedly when Kaiser was 3. She was a retired military pilot, and one of the only women in the army that could size up Kaiser’s father. - Kaiser now has a prosthetic limb in place. It's a finicky thing and it might mess him up coordination wise sometimes, but he’s gotten used to it for the most part. He has the nurses check up and adjust it every so often after matches. - Wears glasses whenever he isn’t fighting. Is a total bookworm. - Motor tics!! - Took up boxing professionally for the sole purpose of setting a good example. Being the good example he never saw or had in his own life. He uses his injuries and mentality as a heart-felt lesson to the young boys he teaches, making it his sole duty to ensure none of them are left unready and ill prepared for tough situations in life. - Has an emotional support dog! Her name is Strudel, she’s a Yorkshire Terrier. He adopted her when he moved. She’s been a huge help with his harder days in the WVBA and just in general life, he loves her like family.

[allerod]

30 aka my own question, what's the absolute fucking worst "historical" movie series book whatever you've ever evered?

right, so they're not officially a couple, but i read them one after the other in a span of like three days, and they're both the same genre of alternative history so here are the worst two historical books i ever had the (dis)pleasure of reading:

the premise of the first one was simply "what if piłsudski haven't had cancer". and boy is the answer to that a doozy, according to the author! because, you see, if piłsudski had lived longer, he and hitler would meet up. and hitler would be so impressed by his mustache and strong belief in military supported dictatorships, he would fall in love instantly. and attacking your crush country is not a good flirting technique, so instead germany and poland would become allies in wwii. piłsudski would die nevertheless, and at this point hitler would start dating a polish girlie who reminded him of his, now dead, One True Love (piłsudski). they would be going on creepy dates and had creepy sex and all that, all while the war is going Great! woo! with the combined power of german-polish scientists, now not in camps, they could really invent a fully functional wunderwaffe, and a showing of it's power is scheduled. but sike! the girlie is working with the polish gov! using her position, she schemes with polish scientists! they change the weapon coordinates! the whole upper nazi management goes boom! poland takes control of german army and singlehandedly wins world war ii! hurray we're winner! but wait! the girlie was pregnant and now she's sad and she names her son adolf and writes down her memories of all the creepy dates she went on with her, now dead, One True Love (hitler). which her son finds after her death and sends to the publisher and that's this book apparently.

what a drag. the middle part was truly uncomfy. like bro why am i reading about hitler having sex. repeatedly. i can't recall the title of this, which is truly a tragedy, but whatever, it's over, let's read something else. oh what's this? a book named "the embaSSy"? well might as well, maybe this one will be better.

wait why is this set in modern day warsaw? ohh i see, this building we are moving into used to be a german embassy, okay. uh oh besties, these are the doors to a neighboring flat, ours is a floor above. huh, why is this flat full of nazi cosplayers. well, whatever, i need to pee i'm just gonna go to the toil- WHY IS HITLER SITTING ON THIS TOILET SINGING A SILLY SONG AND DOING FINGER GUNS. well whatever, we're returning to our own flat and we are taking hitler with us. who, upon getting to know him better, turns out to be a really swell guy. also turns out he knows nothing about any planned attack, he just wants to chill really, what do you mean world war. ooh could it be that this EVIL CLONE of him plans to take over ?! we gotta stop him, so back to the other flat we go! but first lets leave hitler here and give him a shave. okay now we can go. time for some wacky shenanigans! we get rid of the EVIL CLONE, but uh oh, there's a planning bombing of warsaw incoming in retaliation of killing hitler. and we shaved our bestie the real hitler, so no one will recognize him ; ; fortunately everyone knows his voice, so we just have to get him on a really high roof and give him a radio and he can communicate with the pilots to turn back and cancel the bombing. as soon as we find him in modern day warsaw because it seems he broke out of his enclosure..... time running out but we do it, the planes turn at the last moment, gg ez, we say a tearful goodbye to our new best friend and return home. if you disregard the noisy neighbors, this is quite a nice flat, right? and the view is beautiful, straight onto the palace of culture and science! wait where has the palace gone?

was:

is:

i cannot overstate how incredibly cringe that book was. i have never in my life read anything more cringworthy and i am not exaggerating. it's apparently based on a comedy movie by the same title, and every day i live in fear that i'll be forced to watch it and die instantly from the amount of terrible jokes presented to me.

but reading these two back to back was truly an Experience. i like to think they're taking part in the same universe, and stalin's penis was amputated in that timeline because we actually won wwii. thank you girlie for your service 🙏

[the-stressmushroom]

AftG Headcanon #1

A lot of people draw Andrew with piercings (which I totally think he has) but they don’t draw Aaron with them. In the books, they are indistinguishable, so I think Aaron has piercings too.

I think Aaron got the piercings in high school as a way to go against Tilda. He could never say anything against her, and any actions that directly defied her had immediate consequences, so he did something that was against her but was also easy to hide. It was something that was his.

After Andrew shows up, and Tilda dies, Aaron starts wearing the piercings constantly. They serve as almost a comfort for him. He gets even more. In total he has a double piercing on both lobes, an orbital conch and a helix on his right ear, and an industrial and a daith on his left. He has all matte black jewelry because he keeps up with that Minyard ™ aesthetic. Aaron does have a small pair of diamond studs he keeps tucked away in a box; they belonged to Tilda and he just can’t bear to get rid of them.

Once the contracts are signed with palmetto, Aaron comes home one day to Andrew chugging whiskey in the kitchen and Nicky unwrapping piercing needles. Andrew decided he needed to match Aaron but he refused to have a professional do it (too many hands he didn’t trust), so he told Nicky that he would be doing it. It goes surprisingly well. Nicky has steady hands and Andrew has learned not to flinch. After that, the twins are, yet again, entirely the same.

After Neil, and Drake, and Easthaven, and Baltimore, and Finals; after EVERYTHING, Aaron comes home one day to something shocking. Andrew, in the bathroom, cleaning a fresh eyebrow piercing. Aaron pauses and sighs, trying to get his anger under control. He asks, “Great, so I have to go get that now?” Andrew just looks at him cooly before returning to cleaning and mutters, “why would you need to get one?”

Aaron is frozen; Andrew is letting him go. Aaron turns and leaves the bathroom, but his soul feels lighter.

After that, Aaron starts wearing the small diamond studs that belong to Tilda in his second lobe piercing. He starts branching out in jewelry color, sometimes coordinating with Katelyn. At the fall banquet, he wears all jewelry that matches her dress color.

Andrew continues to wear the all black, but he gets a few more piercings. He gets a tragus on his right ear and another lobe on his left. He gets his tongue pierced (which Neil is too scared to admit that he loves). And he starts painting his nails; he always goes for black but Neil paints his own nails orange.

One Christmas, years and years down the line, when they are all exchanging gifts under the tree (Nicky and Erik fly into Chicago from Germany, and Andrew and Neil come up from Houston), Aaron’s daughter (5 at the time) comes forward with two small boxes. She places one in Aaron’s lap and one in Andrew’s. “They are from me, mommy, and uncle Neil!” Inside are a pair of black frames with a small spessartite garnet in the center. Aaron and Andrew look at each other and, while they don’t smile, the lightness in their eyes speaks volumes.

[thx-ghxst]

thxhornxdonx​:

The woman liked to keep tabs on the many men her parents tried to marry her off to. With the princeling being the one who lasted the longest she had a decided interest in him. When she finally found out went missing a brief wave of worry crashed over her. The giant of a man was kind, not overly ambitious or full of himself. And if she had to be tied down to one man it might as well be him.

Within 30 minutes she had called her brother and told him everything asking him to take care of it. As she had done for him when it came to his only lovely future wife. Kaguya knew that he himself could not go but could tip off his team who were no doubt looking for him with the location she had gathered. She had never met them personally but that would change when he returned safely.

Kazuya a given her the contact information of the team leader; Price. She shot him a quick message with any updated information she had received since talking to her brother attached/

‘We do not know each other but we have a person in common. With your background, I hope that with the information previously provided and the stuff I just sent you can locate him. When you are headed home please reach out. If I don’t hear from you in 48hrs I will assume that you have failed and will proceed with a contingency plan.

Kaguya’

“I’ll give them one thing- they’re good,” Price muttered, reading over the additional letter for the hundredth time. Who else was Konig in bed with? The Capt wondered as he adjusted the coordinates on the map, “He aint far.” The team was champing at the bit for the extraction. If the intel was any good- which it was looking like it was, the 48hr window would be a breeze. Ghost and Aaron were closet and stood to grab their bags as soon as Price gave them the nod, go time. 

The copter was in the air within the hour, they were kicking the door in not too long after. What they found was nothing short of hell on earth, Konig was torn apart on the table from what Price would guess was a botch torture attempt. The man had some fight in him as Aaron patched up what he could in the field, the rest would be up to  a doctor in a proper hositpal. A flight to Germany was arragned, it was the most nuetral territory that Price could figure. Part of him hoped whoever it was would show up, at least put a name to a face. He’d get hell for the meeting, it was all as under the table as he could make it without risking the team getting court martialed over it.

With Konig sedated enough to travel the team was visibly calmer, Price could feel the knot in his chest losening. After the message returned he messaged Stella. 

Unknown: We have him. Attached is the hospital coords. Thanks for the tip. 

Stella: We found him. He’ll be treated in Germany, we’ll be home within the week I’d guess. Call you soon. 

@sevenxtenxthriteen

@thxhornxdonx

“We will ask you again. Where is the giant?” the man asked firmly grabbing Konigs face lifting it to look at him. Blood poured from his lips and nose, both had been busted against the cement floor when he collapsed the first time. The adrenaline they had shot into his system was fading fast, he was due for another shot. “Get the needle,” he called back, “The knife too- I want another patch.” Lifted by his wrists the man felt the bandages ripped off his back, a small whimper left the man. His head was released allowed to fall forward as the tools were brought, the sound of metal on flesh was one he wouldn’t soon forget. His cries faded out as his vocal cords failed him, the salt against the open wounds nearly had the man unconscious. The needle kept him awake.

Well placed boots to the shoulders rounded out the evenings activities, resting his full weight on the dislocated joints. It was then they allowed for a brief few hours of sleep. His good hip allowed for him to push up for some relief, it didn’t last long. The sun was close to rising, he suspected more of the same- it seemed they were

[theasstour]

𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕.𝟕𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

Tuesday, 13 December 2017

Tooley Street was always busy, whether there were a horde of people walking to and from the riverside and underground, or cars driving by at a ridiculous speed. London Bridge station on the other side of the road to where Y/N and the gang sat at Caffé Nero, looked like a small insect in comparison to The Shard that reached like a pillar above the partly cloudy winter sky. The blue painted brick building beside it, The Shipwright Arms pub, was a lively addition to an otherwise very bleak street.

The winter wind by the riverside was horrendous, but Y/N had offered to come with Annalise on her cigarette break, so she had only herself to blame for exposing herself to more of the biting cold than completely necessary. From where the two were sitting, they could just make out Tower Bridge behind them, bare trees rising up along the streets that indicated summer was long gone and winter had arrived.

Y/N had spent a lot of time just sitting outside the last few days. Whether it was on a bench by Regent’s Canal, in the grass at Shoreditch Park, or at a table outside a café with a coffee in hand. She had just been sitting there, staring out at nothing. Thinking. All she had been doing since finding that watch was think.

She had tried to find some kind of logical explanation as to why that watch had the coordinates for her family’s Newport cabin, but there was none. What kind of connection did George have to Newport? To that cabin? Had he just fucked her and left it there because he knew who Y/N’s sister was? And where was George now? She had not seen him since that night in October, was he still around? Or had Y/N just missed him when he had been, and this had all just been a huge coincidence. But Y/N somehow knew, deep down, that this was far from a coincidence and she should not treat it as one.

“You have to come to Monnickendam,” Annalise said, blowing out a puff of white smoke.

Y/N looked away from a man across the street who was arguing passionately with someone on his phone. Shoving the thoughts of the watch that was laid on her desk in her room, out of her head. She had not told anyone about it, this was not something she wanted everyone to know about because she had no idea what it meant. The only person that knew was Harry, and she would like to keep it that way.

“I’ve never been to the Netherlands,” Y/N said.

“Even more of a reason to come.”

Y/N smiled. “Buzzing. I haven’t travelled much in Europe, mostly been to Brazil with my family.”

“When you come to Monnickendam, we have to take the train to, like, Germany or France. Andorra is also so beautiful, I think you’re gonna love it.”

“Make a roadtrip out of it.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N’s smile grew. “Had you been to London before you came here for school?”

Annalise brought the cigarette up to her mouth. “Loads of times.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we went here around Easter in 2012 the first time, and I fell in love. Went here four more times, then to an Open Day last year.”

Y/N nodded. “Was Helmond your first choice then? Did you like it the best?”

“No, Battersea was, but I’m happy I ended up at Helmond.” Annalise breathed out white vapour. “Helmond’s prettier.”

Y/N laughed. “The aesthetic is more important than the uni itself, innit? If you can’t take decent Instagram pictures there, what’s the point of spending the next three years at that place?”

Annalise laughed along with Y/N, taking a last drag. “I rarely use Instagram.”

“I used to. I loved to like document my life, to let all my friends and family know what I was doing at all times. But then I found Snapchat, and it’s just better.”

“You know that if you, like, save a picture or video in the Snapchat app, Snapchat owns it?”

Y/N blinked.

“At least what someone at home told me once.”

“Doesn’t Instagram do the same?” Y/N asked.

“Think so,” Annalise said, walking over to the litter and stumping her cigarette out in the ash tray on top of it. “Ground rule: don’t save anything onto social media. Anyone can save and see your pictures.”

“Basically,” Y/N mumbled, looking over at the man she had watched earlier. He was still arguing with someone over the phone.

“Ready to head back inside?” Annalise asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N got up and the two strolled back over to the Caffé Nero their three other mates were sat in. Thian, Hayden, and Chloe were all sat with their laptops in front of them and books in the centre of the table behind their screens. Chloe was talking animatedly as Y/N and Annalise approached, Hayden busy with something on the laptop in front of them while Thian sat with a book in his hands, looking at Chloe as she spoke. Y/N took off her puffer jacket, hanging it off the back of her chair as she sat down, adjusting her black V-neck jumper and loose denim jeans.

“…the problem isn’t that. The problem is the fact that they never clean up after themselves. That’s the problem,” Chloe said, groaning loudly. “And when I ask in the flat groupchat if anyone wanna be social, no one answers. I swear, all of them hate me.”

“Maybe they’re just busy,” Thian suggested.

“They always say that, but I know two of the boys are in Dave’s room playing something on that PlayStation.” Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Should I learn how to play FIFA?”

“You don’t have to impress them,” Y/N said, turning her laptop back on to finish the essay for Critical Reading that was due that Friday.

“No, I know. But if I want to hang out with anyone in my flat, I gotta do something. What games do you play in the PlayStation, Thian?”

Thian stared at Chloe for a second, mouth working before he mumbled, “I didn’t bring one to uni.”

“Alright, then what did you play at home?”

“Call of Duty.”

Chloe scrunched up her nose. “Isn’t that a war game?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I’m not into that.” Chloe grimaced, looking at something further away. “I’ve never really played PlayStation. One of the blokes I dated in college gamed a lot, but I couldn’t be asked to sit around and just watch.”

“The three in my flat play GTA,” Y/N said. “At least that’s what Nathan wants to play, Harry and Mason just go along.”

Chloe’s face instantly lit up. “Oh, my word, Y/N. You have to make Harry teach me how to play something on the PlayStation.”

There was a slight pang in Y/N’s chest at the sound of his name leaving Chloe’s lips in that way. Y/N opened, then closed her mouth, then opened it again. “I don’t really hang out with them when they play it. I’ve had so much to do these past months.”

“That’s fine, Nathan can keep us company,” Chloe said, leaning back in her seat. “Make Mason come, too. God-“ She grinned, letting her head fall between her shoulder blades. “-Your flatmates are fit.”

“Harry’s fitter than Mason,” Hayden chimed in.

“No, definitely Mason,” Annalise said.

“I can’t choose. Depends on my mood,” Chloe mused.

Thian kept quiet, staring pointedly at his laptop.

“Can you do it? Make them teach me?” Chloe begged, sticking her bottom lip out at Y/N.

Y/N took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

Chloe grinned.

“They might be busy, too. Might not get to it till after Christmas break.”

Chloe waved her hand. “That’s fine. I just want to hang out with someone from my flat eventually.”

Y/N glanced down at her laptop again, trying to forget the conversation she had just had with the other three. Chloe continued chattering on about something of no significance, Y/N did not care to listen as she wanted to finish her essay before she had to leave for home coming Saturday. Though her coffee was cold now as she took a sip of it, Y/N still appreciated the taste of caffeine. It woke her up, made her more alert and focused.

Ever since she was seven years old, her papai had made her coffee to drink. He always said “coffee is as vital to a Brazilian’s existence as tea is to a Brit’s” and she had drunk it ever since. She loved the taste of it much more than tea, but seeing as tea was much easier to make, she had come to resort to it here in London. Home in Nottingham, there was always a brew in the making or one ready for whoever felt like having a cup, made with a proper coffee machine that Davi had invested proper money in. He had bought it back in 2001, and it worked just as well as it did back then. Y/N, like her papai, loved the coffee from that old coffee maker more than anything else. She could not wait until she was home with her parents so she could drink proper coffee all the time without going to the nearest coffee shop to do so. The instant coffee Nathan often made smelled and tasted rank, Y/N would have no other coffee than her papai’s and a cup made at a coffee shop.

“I’m gonna go buy a muff,” Hayden said, getting up from their chair. “This essay is doing my head in, I need something to sooth the pain.”

“Oh, could you buy me a scone?” Thian asked, putting his hands together as if he was begging on his knees. “I’ll pay with five stellar knock knock jokes.”

“Make it six.”

“Deal.”

The two shook hands and Hayden grinned as they looked at the other three. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Y/N and Annalise chuckled. “No thanks,” Y/N said, Annalise saying the same thing.

“No, I’ll just add to this,” Chloe said, patting at her stomach.

“Add to what?” Hayden asked.

“A belly.” Chloe gripped the little that was protruding from her tight denim jeans. “I’m trying to start working out for bikini season, to remove that extra uni weight, you know?”

Hayden looked absolutely lost, so did Thian, and Annalise looked to not be paying any attention at all. Y/N, however, felt a familiar pang in her chest. It was a small explosion she had felt before, one that would taint the rest of her day. Instinctively, she put her scarf around her chest, letting it fall over her stomach.

Hayden did not comment, instead they just walked up to the till, ready to tell the lady working there their order. The table fell silent, but not for the reason Y/N wanted it to. No, they were all just busy with their essays. Y/N knew that it would be impossible for her to concentrate on the assignment now that the only thing she would be thinking about for the rest of the day was Chloe’s comment. Chancing a look over at her friend, she saw her flicking through a book in her lap, completely unbothered, Annalise was cocking her head to the side as she wrote something on her Mac, while Thian was watching Hayden pay for their food. None of them had batted an eyelash. Which was nothing new, Y/N was used to no one picking up on covered up fatphobic comments.

She knew that Chloe had not said those things with her in mind, that the statement had been about her own body only. But Y/N could not help but feel the comment in her very soul. She could remember her mates from school in Nottingham making comments similar to that one, so hearing it wasn’t alien, but it stung as much as hearing it that first time.

“Here we go,” Hayden said, putting the scone down on Thian’s keyboard.

“Scones are so bloody good,” Thian moaned, taking a huge bite out of his. “If we had to fuck a food, I’d fuck scones.”

The table went quiet, all looking at Thian. He just continued on eating, humming some Alesso and Conor Maynard song that was always playing on the radio.

“Why did you just say that?” Hayden asked.

“Felt like sharing my thoughts with the class.”

Hayden raised their eyebrows before looking at the laptop in front of them. “The class did not need to know.”

Thian shrugged his shoulders and Annalise laughed, Chloe joining in after a little while. Y/N smiled at them, but her thoughts still drifted back to Chloe’s comments just a minute earlier. She spread her scarf out over her stomach, wishing she had worn something that wasn’t so tight fitted.

Friday, 15 December 2017

“Sorry we’re late,” Mason said as him and the rest of the rugby team streamed into the seminar room. Hayden, Y/N, Thian, Chloe, Annalise, Nathan, and Annalise’s two friends were all sat around one table, already having started a round of Uno.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hayden smiled. “I’ve put Uno decks on the other tables.”

“Cheers.”

Mason and the rest of the team sat down, all chatting amongst themselves and letting go of heavy sighs as they took their seats. It was clear that the last training session for the team this year had not only been cold, but also immensely tiring. They all looked very ready to travel home for Christmas break, and it looked like a few already had.

Y/N felt their struggle with the cold. She herself was wearing a mini linen skater dress in black. The skirt was loose, making it comfortable to hide her belly in – she had not stopped thinking about Chloe’s comment all week, but it would not stop her from looking really fucking good – and the waist was open, baring some of her skin and rib tattoo to everyone. Her skin protruded around the straps that were wrapped around her waist, connecting her skirt from her top, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she just tried to stay out of Chloe’s vision. The plunge neck revealed a very deep cleavage and skin, making it so Y/N had put on two silver necklaces to top of the outfit. The rest of the top had long sleeves and a nice collar, which was why Y/N had bought the dress. It was slutty, but in a modest way.

The rest of the gang around the table had also dressed up, ready to go out after this. They all had their last lecture of the semester today, meaning that their Christmas break had just started, and they wanted to celebrate before everyone travelled to their separate locations the next day. Chloe to Oxford, Thian to Bristol, Hayden to Sheffield, Annalise to Monnickendam, and Y/N back home to Nottingham. It would be weird not to meet up with them, to not go to lectures and stress about assignments for the next month. Then again, Annalise had made a Snapchat and Messenger group to ensure that the gang would talk every single day. And knowing her mates, Y/N was sure they would.

During a break between rounds, Y/N got up from their table after making sure that her polyamide shorts underneath her dress didn’t roll down her stomach. She wore them to prevent chafing, knowing that if she did not wear them underneath her skirt, it would be hard for her to wear anything the next day. She did the zip of her chunky sock boots before making her way over to Mason’s table.

“Alright, Y/N?” Mason said as she came closer, giving her a small smile.

“How’re you lot finding the society?” she asked, looking around the table, meeting Kai’s eyes.

Kai beamed. “Good, it’s nice to spend some time with the whole team off the rugby pitch.”

“You’re dressed up,” Mason pointed out. “What’s the occasion?”

“Uno Society.”

Mason smiled. “Trying to pull some rugby players, are ya?”

“No. No, rugby players.”

Mason only raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her, smile widening.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just as unbearable as Harry sometimes.”

“Nah, Harry’s worse than me.”

“Right.” Y/N took a big breath. “Chloe over there, the blonde,” Y/N said, motioning behind her with a nod of her head. Mason’s gaze immediately fell on Chloe. “She’s wondering if you and Harry can teach her how to play the PlayStation.”

Mason blinked, looking over at Kai as the bigger man clapped his hands together before laughing.

“Is that funny?” Y/N asked.

“No, it’s not. I just knew Kai would react like that,” Mason said. “But I’ll do it. After Christmas at some point.”

“Nice, I’ll tell her that, then.”

“Why does she need someone to teach her how to play PlayStation?” Kai asked, and though there was laughter in his voice, Y/N could tell his question was sincere.

“Some blokes in her flat never want to be social, they just stay in this one room playing PlayStation, and she’s kinda left out ‘cause she doesn’t really know how to play.”

“That might not work out,” Kai said, smiling still.

“Worth a shot, either way.”

“Maybe she just wanna spend time with this hunk,” Kai grinned, putting a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Or the other hunk that’s not here.”

“Speaking of him,” Y/N said, putting a hand on her hip. “Not that I care, but where is he?”

Kai grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You don’t care? Not at all?”

“No, Y/N doesn’t like Harry much,” Mason explained, completely unbothered. “He’s working. The team’s popping by The Stag’s Head later to check on him since it’s his last shift and all that.”

Y/N nodded, suddenly remembering how Harry had told her that a few weeks ago.

“What’s the bellend done to you?” Kai asked.

“Another time, Kai. We’re in the middle of a round,” Mason said. “I’ll find a day that’s good for Chloe to come over.”

“Wicked,” Y/N smiled. “See ya.”

“Later, mate.”

Y/N walked back to her table, sitting down in her seat again. “Sorry,” she said when Hayden gave her a look. “Chloe, Mason said he could teach you how to play PlayStation sometime after Christmas break.”

Chloe squealed. “Really?!”

“Yeah, he’ll text me saying when.”

“Ahh! Buzzing!”

Y/N gave her a smile before the gang went back to playing.

Though she was physically present over the next hour or so, Y/N’s mind travelled back to the flat and the watch on her desk. Besides assignments, Christmas, and what Chloe said on Tuesday, that was all Y/N had spent her time thinking about. She would be in bed, about to go to sleep, then just get out of her bed and look at the watch, study it carefully. Maybe there was another message of sorts on it, maybe she was supposed to do something with it. But other days she did not want to touch that watch. There was something about it, something about how it had just been left in her possession so casually, something about the fact that she had not seen George since that night, that did not sit right with Y/N at all.

Throughout the rest of the night, after the Uno Society, while the gang was sat at a pub, and then dancing at a club later, Y/N could not bring herself to enjoy herself thoroughly. All her energy went back to that watch. She wanted to understand what it meant, why George had it, and what she was supposed to do with the information. Was she even supposed to do anything at all? It only made her want to travel down to Newport even more. She had to now. Her parents might think about getting rid of that cabin, but Y/N had to revisit it one last time before that happened.

Y/N did not drink that night; she was afraid of the conspiracy theories she would form if she did. She had one cocktail at the pub they went to, but could not do more than that, and her mates did not ask questions as to why she was not drinking, something she really appreciated. It was late when she announced she would be going home, and so she called Nathan and made him stay on the line with her as she took the tube back to Haggerston Station. Once she reached Orsman Road, she could hear his snores on the other end, and hung up halfway down the road to the flat. However, in the distance, she saw a stag’s head sign hanging out on a metal pole, protruding from the building opposite her flat building. She suddenly remembered what Mason said, and crossed the road, making her way over to the pub.

A small group of lads made their way out of the pub as Y/N reached it, the last one holding the door for her. She smiled and thanked him before walking inside. Now that she wasn’t affected by alcohol, Y/N was finally able to take in the pub properly without having the slight haze of alcohol taint it. The lights were comfortably dimmed, not too much so you could not read the menu, but just enough so that a person’s facial features would be a tad blurry. The red that ran along the wall behind the dark bar counter was subtle, giving the bar a sense of holding onto the secrets of each person who walked through the front doors, like a Victorian murder mystery. Y/N could see Sweeney Todd’s barber shop trapped in the same colours.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man walking out from behind the counter said, grey hair and broad shoulders. “We’re closed.”

“Oh,” she said, looking around the dark pub. “I… I thought I might find Harry here.”

The man narrowed his eyes a little. “He’s got a new girlfriend? So soon after the other ones?”

Y/N felt herself narrow her eyes back at the man. Girlfriend? Harry’s had girlfriends – plural – since he started working in The Stag’s Head? There was a very strange combination of a lot of different feelings that swarmed around Y/N’s body, suddenly making her feel seasick. She was about to abort her mission, to say she would just catch Harry at home, when there came a voice from the door leading out into the smoking area.

“Y/N,” Harry said, turning the lights off outside and closing the door. It looked as if he could not quite believe his eyes as he saw her standing there, like he had not thought she would ever show up to his work like this. Without seemingly able to help himself, his green eyes fell down to her green dress and her exposed legs. He quickly looked to his other co-worker, clearing his throat as he walked behind the pub counter. Y/N could swear she saw a slight pink hue to his cheekbones.

“I’ll leave if you’re busy.”

“No,” Harry said, the word coming out a little too quickly as if desperation got the better of him. “No. Not busy.”

The grey-haired man raised his eyebrows at Harry. He must have seen something in Harry’s demeanour, because he said, “You’ll be alright to close up on your own?”

Harry smiled. “It’ll be a nice way to end my time at Stag’s Head.”

“Nice,” the man Y/N now suspected was Harry’s boss, said. “Pop by with the keys tomorrow, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave both Harry and Y/N a smile each before he started on his walk up to his office. The pub was suddenly very quiet, not a single sound came from inside, just the distant siren outside and the low buzz of the city. A place that was usually bustling with noise, energy, and anticipation, was now left with the latter. Y/N looked around the place, unsure of what to do with herself now that it was only her and Harry there. Harry watched her, picking up the Cif spray from where it stood under the counter. She felt his gaze on her as she walked along the booths, touching the red velvet cushions, a rush of goosebumps travelling up her spine at the knowledge that she had his full attention.

She turned around, leaning her bum against a table as she took in the liquor behind Harry. He was washing the counter, looking over at Y/N again, eyes falling to her mid-area that was expanded slightly at the pressure the surface behind her was providing. He quickly looked away again, biting his lips together as he focused on the counter in front of him. Y/N could not help a small smile.

“What made you show up to my work, then?” he asked.

“Can’t a friend show up to another friend’s work?”

Harry let out a strangled chuckle. “Alright. That’s very nice of you, but I don’t buy that for a single second.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“There’s gotta have been another reason as to why.”

“Okay…? What’s that?”

Harry shrugged his shoulder, spraying more Cif onto the counter. “You were bored. You didn’t want to be around your other mates any longer. You wanted to see a delicious man with an irresistible Northern accent clean up a pub since it’s his last shift ever here tonight.”

Y/N let out a laugh, placing her hands on either side of the table beside her. “None of the above.”

“Alright,” Harry said, coming out from behind the pub. “What didn’t I cover?”

“You weren’t at the Uno Society meeting.”

The answer came so effortlessly, as if her subconscious had been holding onto the answer for Y/N until she was strong enough to know the real reason. Her hands instantly gripped the table harder, feeling embarrassed for admitting vulnerability so easily. She blamed how easy it was to talk to him, how he just seemed to throw a lasso around her deepest secrets, her most private desires, and drag them out of her.

Harry looked over at her from where he was cleaning the tables a bit further away in the pub. “Had work. Would’ve been there if I didn’t have to be here.”

She nodded, looking down at her black boots. For some reason, his words warmed something inside her. Hearing someone care about something she cared about made her feel special. Then again, someone she just met on the street could tell her they hated Marmite, something Y/N also did, and she would feel equally as fuzzy inside. Finding small bonds, small preferences, small somethings that connected you to other people, made you feel like you weren’t alone, but it also made you feel special, made you feel seen and understood. It was as if someone opened a door into their soul, and giving you a warm handshake, welcoming you into them and their life.

“The lads had a blast,” Harry said, now closer to Y/N as she had zoned out for a minute and some.

“They did?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to just sit down and relax like that. We don’t really get to do that.”

Y/N watched as Harry hovered by a table, leaning over it to clean it. His black tee shirt stretched over his broad back, his shoulder blades visibly working as he ran the cloth over the table in front of him. The outline of his muscles, the way they were so hard against the soft fabric of the tee shirt, made Y/N’s body feel very hot all of a sudden. He worked so carefully, sliding his hand holding the cloth so slowly over the table, paying it his undivided attention. She adjusted her position against her table, looking away from Harry as he stood back up, his black trousers that had been tight around his buttocks, slacking at the lack of pressure on the material. Get a fucking grip, Y/N screamed at herself in her head, focusing on the wall in front of her. She saw Harry look at her over his shoulder, gaze lingering on her for a few seconds. Y/N suddenly found it very hard to draw a proper breath.

“You’re mad I didn’t show up?” Harry asked.

Y/N was silent, her brain completely blank. “Didn’t show up…?”

She could see his smug smile in her peripheral vision. “Yeah.”

“To what?”

His smile widened and he focused on a table closer to her. “The Uno Society.”

She closed her eyes. Her checking out Harry while he had his back to her had not just made her forget the whole reason why she had showed up to The Stag’s Head in the first place. His body looking the way it did, him caring about the society, him teasing her to get a reaction out of her… Why the fuck did he have that effect on her?

“No,” Y/N said, refusing to look at him still. “I’m not mad.”

“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”

Y/N could feel her hands instinctively grabbing harder onto the table behind her. “No reason.”

“You know,” Harry started, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “You can try all you want, but I still know you.”

She huffed. “You wish.”

“I don’t gotta,” he said, chuckling a little. “Don’t gotta wish when I already do know you. Wish I knew you better, wish you’d just open up to me like you did so easily before, but that’s for a later time.”

That made her look over at Harry, her eyebrows drawn together as she just watched him clean yet another table. He… Did he really think she would one day open up to him again and they would go back to being friends like they used to? Was he really that optimistic? Had he thought about it? About them and their friendship? And what a future with her alongside him at uni would look like? Her eyes landed on his bicep as it flexed, holding his body weight as he leaned against the table again. Her gaze following his arm all the way down to his hand, long slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, and the thick veins over the dorsal part of his hand made something in Y/N’s brain short circuit. That along with the casual way he was leaning his hips against the table, staring down at it with his head cocked.

What the fuck, Y/N said to herself again, looking away from him. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?! How was she supposed to stay neutral, to not find him attractive, to not want to sink right back into old habits when she allowed herself to study him and look at him like that. She had to stop. This was getting out of hand.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” Harry said, working slowly as he cleaned up the table in the booth beside the one she was stood leaning against.

“No, I’ve just got things on my mind.”

“What things?”

Your broad shoulders. Your hands. The way you stick your tongue out of your mouth when you are concentrating. But Y/N said none of those things, as doing so would sentence her to a lifetime of humiliation.

“Insignificant things.”

“When they’re taking up a lot of space in your head and preventing you from being present, they’re not insignificant,” Harry said, sounding a little serious all of a sudden. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing inherently bad on my mind, just… I’ve got a lot of… thoughts,” Y/N said, not knowing how else to explain it without giving something away.

“What thoughts?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Thought you did Architectural Studies, didn’t know you also had a degree in being Nosy.”

Harry let out a laugh, coming to stand in front of her with the spray and the cloth in his hands. “I’m very nosy.”

“Glad to hear you’re self-aware.”

“But right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bloody hell, Y/N thought, could he just fucking stop being so nice? So fucking adorable? And fit? It made hating him so much harder than it already was.

“I’m okay.”

He took a step closer. “What’s been on your mind then?”

“Just… life.”

“Has uni exhausted you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what I’m thinking about.”

Harry took another step closer. Y/N’s palms were suddenly very clammy.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked again, a small smile on his lips as if he was challenging her.

“Maybe you just have to face the fact that I won’t tell you and you can’t figure it out on your own.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I’ll figure you out.”

Y/N watched as Harry took another step closer, her heart suddenly beating very fast inside her chest.

“I just gotta…” He trailed off, now standing directly in front of her. Tip of his shoes against the tip of hers. Without a warning of sorts, he leaned closer, bending over her until his head hovered beside her own. Chest wavering above hers, touching as she drew in a precipitous breath and he did the same. Their bodies did not brush against one another again, an invisible, burning shield was built to keep them apart the second their upper bodies made contact. As if the universe was telling them that by touching like that, the world would go up in total flames around them.

Harry’s sudden closeness made her breathe in a little too harshly, she was sure he must have heard it but she simply did not care. The reaction her body was having to him being so close was electric, it made all the hairs on her body stand on end. She didn’t know what he was doing that close to her, thinking at first that he must have wanted to whisper something in her ear, to say something to her that would undoubtedly make her glad she was leaning against something solid for support.

But she heard the familiar sound of the Cif spray, and a second later, Harry reached his cloth behind Y/N’s back, cleaning the table. She felt his breath against her neck, triggering something radioactive inside her. The oud aroma of his cologne, with notes of cedar, patchouli, and spicy saffron filled Y/N’s nostrils. In those seconds when Harry hovered above her like that, his warm body inches from hers, breath fanning against her skin, his aroma, and aura mere inches from hers, Y/N was conflicted as to if she wanted time to speed up or slow down some more. She knew that if she stayed like that, with Harry so close to her, for much longer she would go absolutely mad and have an impossible time resisting him if he were to try something like he had done in the living room the week before.

No sooner had she thought that, he pushed off, face lingering just centimetres from hers. “I just need to take a look,” he said, speaking as if he did not mind if the whole world was watching them. He raised his hand, about to touch her chin. For what reason, Y/N did not know, but she didn’t ask any questions. However, he stopped, as if touching her was something he could not do. Y/N was glad he hadn’t, because God knows how her body would have reacted had he tenderly touched her jawline like it looked like he wanted to.

“Take a look?” Y/N mumbled.

“At you.”

A small breath left her lips.

“Maybe the answer to what’s been on your mind is somewhere in your eyes,” he said, eyes suddenly falling to her lips. “Or your lips.” He glanced at her forehead. “Or in the slight lines that appear between your eyebrows when you’re deep in thought.” He looked down at her hands on the table edge. “Or the way you’re gripping the table so tight right now.”

Jesus Christ, she was about to explode. Y/N let go of it immediately, standing up and forcing Harry to take two steps back. His intense glance lingered on her, falling to her lips as she opened her mouth to take a breath.

“It’s getting late,” she said, fingering the hem of her leather jacket as her heart continued to hammer away inside her chest.

“Wait for me, yeah?” Harry walked over to the next table to clean it, doing it way faster than all the other ones. Biting his lip and moving his hand with the cloth over the table as if to make up for time spent on something else, cleaning very slowly and standing too close to her.

“No, I can walk home by myself.”

“I know you’re capable of walking, but I don’t like you being out in the streets all alone late at night.”

Y/N looked over at Harry as he cleaned the last booth, seeing the determination to finish as quickly as possible.

“It’s just across the road,” she said.

“Please just let me walk you across the road, then.” Harry walked behind the bar counter, putting the cleaning supplies away.

“You make me sound like an old lady.”

“Just-“ He appeared from behind the counter. “-Wait.” He then disappeared into the backroom where he only stayed for a few seconds. Y/N would have thought that since he enjoyed working at The Stag’s Head, he would have at least lingered for a few moments to take in the last time he would ever be back there. But instead, he emerged wearing his coat, locking the door behind him, mere seconds later. He turned the lights off, and, walking over to where Y/N was standing, placed a gentle hand to her lower back, guiding her in the direction of the door that she could only barely make out in the dark. Goosebumps instantly ran up Y/N’s back and she inhaled at the pressure of Harry’s hand on her body. He held the door open for her and Y/N stepped outside, watching as Harry locked the front doors to The Stag’s Head for the very last time.

He looked around them after locking the door, checking up and down the three streets that came to a crossroad just outside the pub. Once his eyes finally met Y/N’s again he gave her the smallest smile, then motioned for her to lead the way back to their flat. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she could not find it in herself to do just that in that moment. Though it was just across the road, she very much appreciated Harry’s company back to their flat. Distance was nothing when the roads were dark and the faces of the figures walking past were left blurred by the dim streetlamps.

Harry held the door for Y/N once again, letting her be the first to enter the building. She strolled upstairs, unlocking their front door and watching as Harry gestured for her to walk on inside. The flat was dark, except for the warm yellow lights Nathan had twined around the railing of their terrace and the changing colours of the luminous Christmas tree in the living room. The kitchen was usually left in darkness, as was the rest of the flat, but since their eyes were used to night outside, it wasn’t hard to navigate their way to the stairs. They took their jackets off, and without her leather jacket on, Y/N was very aware of how much of her skin was exposed to Harry. Her dress showed off her legs, arms, and parts of her back to him, and she knew that, if he walked behind her up the stairs, he would get a good look at her bum.

She took her boots off and started up the stairs with her purse in her hand, hearing Harry make his way up them as well. If any man were to walk behind her up the stairs, Harry was one she trusted not to take the mick, to not look up her skirt and make her feel uncomfortable. But… after everything… she still didn’t want him to see her knickers. However, facing her door, she heard Harry walking up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face him once he reached the first floor. What happened next happened so suddenly that Y/N barely managed to wrap her head around it before the moment was gone.

She had just turned around to face Harry when he walked up over to her. Taking a step back at the sudden closeness, she felt herself breathe in sharply as Harry’s face lingered only centimetres from her own again. Though the person standing in front of her was a man, a completely different person, something inside her brain took her back to that night when they were 16. He hadn’t been this close to her since then, had not touched her or looked at her like this since then. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and then to meet hers, wet lips parting as if the anticipation was killing him.

And Y/N had to painfully admit, it was killing her, too. As much as she had tried to fight it, it was impossible to now. She wanted Harry to kiss her. Not tenderly kiss her like you would peck a person you were in love with, or to gently rub his thumb over her cheek as a show of affection, or to hug her tight when they met up for lunch. No, she wanted him to fucking kiss her. She wanted him to grab her face and kiss her hard; desperately, needily. She wanted them to fumble to take each other’s clothes off, and for him to make up for how bad that first time together was. There was absolutely no denying it, Y/N wanted Harry. She really wanted him. All these months, all those moments spent trying to push the thought away, she simply could not anymore. There was a hunger inside her for him, but only in the sexual sense. She could never fall in love with this man, she just wanted to fuck him. And she wanted to fuck him bad.

Her own lips parted, and she looked into his eyes with an expression she hoped he could read, because she needed him to understand. Once again, Harry raised his hand, hovering between them as if he were unsure what to do with it. Fingers twitching, she could see he was conflicted, whether he should touch her cheek as it looked like he wanted to, or if he should stop himself. Y/N let her eyes fall to his hand, to tell him she wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel him somewhere, anywhere on her. Just looking at him, she could see he wanted the same as her. He wanted to feel her body, to explore it in a completely different way to last time.

Harry’s hand fell out of view, and just as Y/N thought he was going to let it hang limply, uselessly, at his side, she felt something on her waist. A warm pressure, snaking around the black linen of her dress. She waited for him to pull her closer to him, for their torsos to connect, but it never happened.

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, eyes falling to her lips again.

She did not answer, instead just tilted her head so it would be easier for him to kiss her. With her eyelids hanging low over her eyes, her body language not showing any sign of protesting, and with her lips parted, Y/N hoped the message was coming across clearly. Harry leaned in closer, his nose almost touching hers. Her heart was beating so fast and hard it hurt. Her hands were clammy. All her attention focused on Harry and the electricity they created on that spot where his hand rested. He leaned down, lips hovering just over the crook of her neck, making her close her eyes. Breath against the hair of her shoulder, lightning shooting up Y/N’s back. He slowly leaned back out again, nose hovering beside hers. The anticipation was absolutely killing her.

“I…” But he drifted off, eyes falling to her lips again. She could feel his breath on her mouth, could smell his cologne. The tension was making her dizzy, she just wanted him to bloody kiss her already.

She was just about to do it herself when she felt his warm hand drop off her waist. She blinked, and the next second, Harry took a step back. He only looked at her, mouth working as if he was trying to find the right words to say, but there were none. So, as if blinking himself awake from a sort of dream, he took another step back. Suddenly, he opened the door into his room. He stopped in the doorway, looking back at Y/N. Again, he tried to say something that must have died on the tip of his tongue, because again, he did not utter a word. It looked like he physically could not say them out loud. Instead, he closed the door, leaving Y/N standing alone out in the dark hallway.

Y/N’s eyes rested on the door to the bathroom, trying to go over in her head where it had just happened. Had… Had Harry just walked away just now? Had he teased her in the pub, then done almost the same just now, only to walk away? What had gone wrong? Why had he not kissed her? What had made him step away? What had made him stop? Y/N could not answer a single one of the questions, and she doubted Harry would give her any. She closed her eyes, resting her head against her door behind her. This was exactly why she had not wanted to live with Harry, this was why she had not given in to his charms and flirts before. Now, because of what had just happened, because of how awkward that had just been, they were back to square one. Just living under the same roof as him infuriated her. She could not fucking stand Harry Styles.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 4th April, 9PM GMT!

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[loneberry]

What have I done today? Very little. (Secretly, I like doing very little—if I had my druthers I’d spend my days in bed, reading and writing in my journal.)

If I had to make an inventory of my day’s activities it would look something like this:

Megaformer pilates class

Grocery shopping

Reading by the sea

Cooking

*

Yet at the end of the day, as I was crying during the conclusion of Woolf’s first novel, The Voyage Out, all the details of my day surged forth with such a powerful force that I felt, how can I describe it, it was something like pure love. I want to be better. I want to tell my beautiful friends how much they mean to me. How full a day is, even when nothing happens. Isn’t that what Bernadette Mayer taught us in her durational poem written on the winter solstice? It began with a dream. So did my day.

Every night for the last week I’ve woken up in agony—it is the recrudescence of my mysterious autoimmune condition, which waylaid me for 6 months this year. I wake up in the middle of the night covered in hives and can’t go back to sleep. During the day I struggle to focus or function. At night I take four different antihistamines and every otc sleep remedy (magnesium, melatonin, valerian, kava, Benadryl, herbal tea, CBD) plus my prescription sleep med. Nothing works.

When my hives woke me up at 3am I was dreaming. Of Laura. I go to check the time on my phone. Uncanny, the only notification is a text from Laura. She sends a picture of Walter Benjamin’s memorial. Half-asleep, I write her back:

Wow I was just dreaming you wrote a brilliant novel called “diaries of a terrorist” (funny my friend wrote a book w that title)… it was somehow about the geometry of revolt, about an elaborate coordinated action in Red Square that took the shape of a pentagram, aimed at revealing an invisible structure… but the action misfired because there was a flaw in the original hidden design of the structure. There were more points than the five of the pentagram…

Red Square… was it Russia? No, it was somehow Germany. But it looked like the Red Square of Moscow… perhaps because earlier in the day I was thinking about my trip to Russia. Was the pentagram of the dream drawing attention to some latent demonic presence in Russian society? Lord. How I wish I could sleep.

What do I do when I can’t sleep… listen to podcasts with my eyes closed while in bed, my usual rotation of news, political economy, politics, and war. So much emotion in the voices of strangers, how it stirs me. Richard Fierro, the man who disarmed the Club Q gunman in Colorado Springs, is talking about the incident, calmly narrating the actions, when suddenly he starts weeping about the people he could not save. It cuts through everything, like the testimonies of Ukrainians I listen to daily. On another podcast, Ukrainian writer Victoria Amelina speaks beautifully about her memories of Maidan, of the university of the streets, the transformational eros of revolt, and how useless literary writing feels during times of war, how she switched from writing novels to investigating war crimes.

News. It never stops. Ariana’s mother is dead. Bernadette Mayer is dead. A 2-day old Ukrainian baby, dead. More civilian infrastructure in Ukraine has been destroyed by Russian missiles. A maternity ward. All the cities in candlelight. No water in Kyiv. Germany builds an LNG terminal. Meanwhile in Virginia: another mass shooting. Turkey is attacking the Kurds. Who will help the Kurds?

I rearrange my wilting gillyflowers into smaller vases. There’s the smell of clove as I cut the stems. Gilly…I knew you simply as “stock.” Others call you “hoary”—a word I once used in my journal to describe a vision of my future: “…a hoary woman alone in the stone house, clutching her shimmering memories.”

Meditate on Sophrosyne. When will I ever get a handle on this monkey mind? Cook tilapia and pasta. Think about the dead. Call Ulysses. UC on strike. Call from Lily, mom in the hospital again. “Toss a penny to the sky. Heads or tails. Who knows, not I…” Conversations on the pier, while the crows, seagulls, and pigeons loitered for scraps. How the pelicans flew overhead in their enormous formations, then dipped and glided just above the water. The face of the young man with the fishing rod as he looks up when I bike past him.

All the words I read. Free associating in the marginalia, that tender compassion I felt for Virginia Woolf, the exposed nerve that was her mind, too sensitive for the world. I think of the death of her brother Thoby, of the sexual abuse she endured in childhood, all the things she never got over. The sea, the water closing over the head. So much in a day. There are people I can’t protect. You can’t protect the dead. I think of the dead. She died without dignity. Does anyone die with dignity? Yes, some do. “Poetry doesn’t tell you how to bury the dead,” though I often think, as I’m looking at a patch of light while tidying my house, that poetry is the last defense of the sacred.

[marvelvsmarvel]

Cap’s Super Power

After analyzing the fight scenes between Cap and Bucky I started to think about what we know about Cap as a fighter and seeing his actual progression in the MCU and how this speaks to being a super soldier not only physically but tactically and strategically.

First Avenger: It’s the Superman fighting where he’s literally physically superior than everyone that he really only needs to swing or kick to win a fight. He still uses a gun and uses the shield in the most basic way as protection or a frisbee. Learns at minimum that the shield can absorb bullet damage completely when fired directly.

Versus Red Skull: Kinda the same example of his fights with Bucky. Cap was used to easy wins that when he first hits Skull and he takes the blow it’s terribly shocking. Skull is only not as surprised because he understands the capabilities of their abilities. Their fight isn’t as crazy in a technical manner again as fighting styles back between American and Germany wasn’t so broad from boxing + street fighting but again when you’re used to winning most fights with a punch or kick someone who can actually take the blows makes a match and in the end it ultimately was a draw.

Avengers: There’s the moment when he first hits Loki and he barely moves and Cap realizes “oh crap he really might be a god”. Cap’s insufferable yet utterly amazing willpower and ability to learn and adapt and strategize in combat and warfare are verily considered a part of his super powers or abilities. We see that for the first time here as he keeps at it against Loki and lasted against an army of aliens who are kicking his butt. Again when he went under he fought Nazis with wild tech and a super steroided Red Man Group member and then woke up to a demigod and aliens... in the future. His will power is insane! But his strategic mindset is in full display coordinating this advanced fighting group of individual abilities whom he only just met hours before against an army no one anticipated of unknown tech and weaponry. (He did research up on the Avengers members but more or less spark notes.) He also learned about the sonic blast that occurs between Thor’s hammer and his shield on the fly. All in all probably the most beaten up he’s ever been with or without serum and had a realization of the number of “I should be dead” moments that solidified how durable and strong he might actually be.

The Winter Soldier: After fighting an army of aliens and winning Cap looks to take it easy and routinely by hooking up with SHIELD to refine his abilities and knowledge on modern warfare and it shows. Primary difference is in his shield-wielding every which way from his turtle defense position to redirecting bullets to taking down a quinjet with only that shield. There’s obviously more psychological trauma in this one fighting his previously accepted as deceased bestfriend (and that never quite goes away) but also psychological in that it seems possible that this is the first time he’s been stabbed and shot by a bullet. Now I know he fought aliens but still he was never shot before. I point this out to show that post Avengers he had an idea of what he could do and how durable he could hold up in a fight but here I think he believed he was going to die in the final fight with Bucky.

Age of Ultron: Once again the strategy is on full display as the team works much more like a well oiled machine. (It is suggested that he was the one that trained them as a unit as well since he trains the new members at the end.) He and Thor use their weapons-combos in a few different ways.

Verse Ultron Bots: It is noticeable that Cap works their joints which seems like their most vulnerable spots but it also just neutralizes them. This is like Fighting 101 but it shows up later in more noticeable ways.

Civil War: Strategy again only with a fun wrinkle in which he trusts Wanda to literally toss him into a building. It’s understandable that on paper Team Cap had way less fire power and so the pregame strategy had to be key. There was a joke that Cap literally could’ve killed Peter when he dropped that container on him but I think that in the one on one fight between Spidey and Cap that he got a gage of his strength primarily when Peter webbed his arms into a tug-o-war situation.

Versus Iron Man: That Fighting 101 breakdown started with taking out the thrusters on one foot. Keep the combat close within his arm reach to avoid the hand repulsors and other long range weaponry which of course is a huge advantage to Iron Man. Again seems obvious and plus they’ve trained and fought together but he makes the cognitive effort when he charges Tony dead on with his shield. Attacking the neck area (joint) in rage he literally rips the helmet off (but that is a common opening for the suit). He takes out the arc reactor thus neutralizing the suit. (He did luck out with a strategic enclosed location...or did he pregame that as well...?)

Infinity War: The tactical aspect of fighting with foreign weapons without training such as the Wakandan gauntlets and Proxima Midnight’s spear is demonstrated. This is his second go at aliens only this time the army is a mindless horde. He’s a lot faster and stronger since Avengers and it shows.

Versus Thanos Round 1: It’s not a fight but there’s things to analyze. He charges in and doesn’t initially attack but slides under and behind. He strikes his knee (joint) and then uppercuts his chin. An uppercut to the chin is a classic knockout punch but it’s also practical being Thanos’s most exposed weak point and the height difference. He also gets to gage his strength in a game of mercy but Thanos hand vs all of Cap.

Endgame: That insufferable willpower...

Versus Thanos Round 2: There is the idea that Cap knew he was able to lift Thor’s hammer and with that came the understanding that he would “possess the power of Thor”. With a clear understanding of this he wields Mjolnir as if it was always his and calls lightning at will but first the breakdown. Throws the hammer to save Thor with dramatic effect. This time he attacks first with a Mjolnir uppercut that levels Thanos. Then the behind the back sneak attack by tossing the shield knowing it would be deflected and then throwing the hammer at it to create the sonic blast. A flying knee to the chest because he’s still bigger than him and stronger than him. So afterwards using the hammer and the shield he goes knee (joint) to uppercut again but now seeming to be on an even power scale with Mjolnir that 40’s Brooklyn back alley boxing mentality comes out attacking the head over and over again. Then he calls the lighting and literally give his best shot. Obviously Thanos turns up the heat and regains the advantage BUT if Cap was on par with strength and ability there’s no saying who wins that matchup.

Overall I just love the detail toward progressing Cap as a fighter. The super soldier serum was a one and done and it made what was good great but that didn’t just include him physically but mentality and spiritually as a good man and as a warrior.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Fashion is an instrument through which you show you belong to a group.

- John Weitz

John Weitz was a man for all seasons. Handsome, intelligent, and debonair. He was a novelist, historian, businessman, spy, and above all a renowned mens and ladies fashion designer. James Bond was fiction but he was the real deal.

Born in Berlin in 1923, Hans Werner Weitz was the son of a prosperous clothing manufacturer and German first world war hero, who had won the Iron Cross in the infantry. The family was living well when Christopher Isherwood visited. But they were Jewish, quick to understand what was about to happen, and, in the early 1930s, moved to London, where the young Weitz went to well known private school, St Paul's in London. At St Paul’s he said it was normal to be caned if he didn’t wear morning clothes to class, so he always did with lapels rolled properly. “On weekends we wore blazers…correctly…with the collar up and with a scarf and with brown suede shoes, which were very new then….but never, of course, after six,” he once reminisced.

He was an apt pupil and Oxbridge seemed to be a seamless next stage. However he lasted only a year studying at Oxford University.

Instead he headed off to Paris to begin an apprenticeship with the women's tailor, Captain Edward Molyneaux. In 1938, at the age of 18, Weitz was falsely arrested as an enemy agent while working in the London office of the Paris fashion house Molyneux.

His father was already in America and in 1939, and when France was overuun at the outbreak of the war, Weitz could see he had to get out of Europe. After a tortuous trip through Shanghai, China and later Yokohama, Japan to reach the USA.

In 1943 and now a naturalised American citizen and aged 21, John (as he was now dubbed) was recruited by the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the forerunner of the CIA, operating in Germany until 1946. He was fluent in both French and German which came in handy in his work during the war in Europe.

He would only ever describe his work in Germany until 1946 as "sensitive," though, much later, his publisher John Fairchild told the New York Times that Weitz "loved all that romantic part of his past. He was a perfect gentleman."  What is known about his OSS work was that he was part of a 1944 mission in support of the plan to assassinate Adolf Hitler  formulated by German Wehrmacht officers, under the instigation of Claus von Stauffenberg. After the war, Weitz helped to liberate the Dachau concentration camp

Weitz was also a man with connections, as when he confirmed that a former OSS boss had shown him gangster blackmail photos of the longtime FBI director J Edgar Hoover with his boyfriend, Clyde Tolson. In the 1970s, Weitz's friend Albert "Cubby" Broccoli, producer of the James Bond movies, teased him about his resemblance to the character - adding that Weitz was better looking.

Weitz returned to New York in the 1940s, a young garment trader well placed to pick up on American women's new taste for informal sportswear, leather coats and men's shirts.

Weitz founded his women’s sportswear business, John Weitz Designs, in 1954, and launched men’s wear a decade later. For his women’s wear, he often tailored the best of men’s designs for the female figure, with looks such as shaped houndstooth checked coats, formal shirts with jet buttons and cuff links, and corduroy pants.

“Whatever happens in women’s pants comes from the men’s pants,” he said in 1965.

In the Sixties, Weitz began phasing out his women’s and children’s apparel business to concentrate on men’s wear. By 1977, Weitz had 18 licensees and $150 million worldwide retail sales of products bearing his label, including sunglasses, belts, umbrellas and even cigars. That year, he also reentered the licensed women’s apparel category, because, he said, he saw the need for an alternative to coordinated sportswear merchandising.

“I’m rather sick of seeing American working women treated as children with prepackaged clothes,” Weitz said at the time.

In 1964, he launched his menswear range, applying the technical standards of manufacture he had learned from his father. Unusually, in that era of obsolescence, he went for ease and wear - clothes, he said, should be worn "as if they are old and valued friends".

Of course he committed fashion faux pas here and there. This was the 1970s after all. But the previaling zeitgeist had to be understood before we laugh or wince at the designs today. None left a lasting impression quite as strong as the posthumously awarded ‘king of the ‘70s’—the leisure suit.

Once hailed by top designers John Weitz and Calvin Klein as a garment with staying power, the leisure suit was ostracized from the kingdom of en vogue before the 1970s ever came to an end. Just as it had swiftly risen to the top of fashion, it fell into the leagues of comic relief twice as fast.  Today we laugh at the cheesy styles, feminine colors, and garish plaids. But what we seem to have forgotten is that the leisure suit did more than just provide us with years of laughs. The leisure suit helped men open themselves up to new ideas in clothing. It allowed them to experiment outside of the style box they’d been locked in for too many years. If the 1970s had passed without the leisure suit, “business casual” for men might never have developed as soon as it did. The leisure suit may have been a fashion catastrophe, but it laid the groundwork for men to strut their fashion stuff for decades to come.

He was his own dream model - "healthy and scrubbed," with a flat stomach - and toured stores showing off his new line of narrow, European-cut shirts, half the width of the standard American style. His navy suit, alphabet-patterned ties and aubergine socks are commonplace now, but were then part of a new, executive self-presentation, more about putting it together than design. By 1974, he had become a household name, with annual earnings of $18m and a Coty Award, fashion's prize for innovation.

Weitz skilfully let his name generate money by itself, using witty advertisements to maintain a high public profile. A poster on the back of New York buses announced, for example, "She ditched him, John Weitz ties and all".

He also used his writing abilities to promote the business image: his book Man In Charge, The Executive's Guide To Grooming, Manners And Travel (1974), became a bestseller, but was really just part of his trade in suavity and martinis. Even his headquarters was above Madison Avenue. There were also two well received novels, Friends In High Places and The Value Of Nothing.

Two other books, however, marked out Weitz as a historian of the Nazi period. He wrote Hitler's Diplomat, a biography of the third reich foreign minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop, and Hitler's Banker, about the president of the Reichsbank, Hjalmar Horace Greeley Schacht.

He was repeatedly asked about reconciling the sale of navy blazers and researching von Ribbentrop, but he saw no clash: "Who else but a fashion designer would understand such a worldly man?" Weitz certainly comprehended the Nazis genius for the projection of personal image, and, though never a major historian, established a sufficiently solid reputation as a researcher that the president of Germany consulted him on the subject.

Meanwhile, he lived the life of his executive book, raced cars at Sebring in the 1950s, and belonged to the New York Yacht Club and the Vintage Sports Car Club. In his Park Avenue apartment, a Chinese chef cooked dinner parties for his friends - among them the novelist Tom Wolfe- and film people.

In 1964, he married the actor Susan Kohner, and their two sons, Christopher and Paul, remembered Ingmar Bergman taking them to the circus, and film directors John Huston and Billy Wilder dropping in for coffee -"just nice old men around the house every once in a while". The boys' chief complaint about their father was that he made them wear blue blazers. Both Chris and Paul would go on to forge their own Hollywood careers as the producers and directors of such movies as American Pie (1999) and About a Boy (2002).

John Weitz had a deep fondness for cats which raised eyebrows amongst his more masculine following. But Weitz was unrepentent. Weitz adored their elegance, and was quoted on them more often than on the Nazis. "Even overweight cats instinctively know the rule: when fat, arrange yourself in slim poses," he wrote.

John Weitz died on 3 October 2002 at the grand old age of 79. He remained a dashing figure and aged well - like the American version of Gianni Agnelli. He had throughout his life the air of adventure, even danger. He was stylish fashion designer who lived up to the executive image of his clothes. It’s no wonder no one balked when he made a name for himself with the nowadays unthinkable ad slogan, “John Weitz designs for the woman who wishes her husband could afford her.” His was a life well lived.

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

With more and more information revealed via Augustus' burner phone, The team now has to make an important decision, one that would change the course of their lives, forever.

Chapter 15 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : Meet Me Halfway

Unexpected Alliances

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

Flying above Russian Airspace

Roach was speechless. Admittedly the dark and messy battle at the Gulag was something worth noting but the thing that kept his head preoccupied at the moment was Soap and France kissing in the middle of warfare.

Guess love knows no boundaries huh. He thought to himself as he looked at France kneeling beside Soap who passed out from exhaustion. Another person laying beside him was an old man named Jack. The 141 records had a match to Jack, he's apparently Alex's mentor who got missing when their safehouse got raided.

Guess the force will be having two reunions tonight. His eyes turned to Price, who sat by the huge window and gazed into the sea of clouds, he's always serious and in thought that Gary found him intimidating, even after that short mission in Germany. 

Then there was Ghost. He's surely heartbroken now that she saw what France did. And Gary was slightly to blame, well not necessarily his fault but if he pushed him enough to confess, maybe this won't hurt more than it did to him today.

Gary spent the rest of the trip observing, noting his comrade's actions, discussing with their thoughts, especially after the invasion. He was glad 141 extracted Soap before the deliberation, where none of them are allowed to perform missions. Gary felt scared, he just got here, got the hang of it, and was afraid to cut ties with the 141 on such short notice. But he hoped Shepherd would talk sense to the board, especially now that the burner phone filled with leads was within their possession.

"You're awfully quiet…" Ghost nudged to Gary while fidgeting with his gun.

"Well, I got nothing to talk about." Gary replied, turning to the masked man.

"Well I've got a lot, and it's pretty nasty. Can't say it here though." He replied, his tone was almost relieved, as if he just blurted out something that was bothering him for a long time.

"Is it about them?" Gary whispered, pointing his thumb to the couple back at the med bay.

"That's a different story, and I told you I was right, they already had a thing going on since day 1. Who am I to interfere…" Gary could feel him frown beneath the mask, he got defeated in the war of love.

"That's okay… You'll find someone better." Gary consoled and Ghost automatically shrugged it off. 

"Eh. I hope…" he said, turning to the window opposite to Gary's position.

~

Task Force 141 Base - Infirmary

"The audio from this room's camera is muted so it's best to discuss it here." Ghost sat on the chair as concerned 141 members circled around him, Jack, Alex and Soap occupied the beds as they recovered from injuries.

"What you got for us, lad?" Price crossed his arms as he leaned by the door, his hat tilted perfectly on his head.

"An anonymous number sent Augustus coordinates of the base prior to the attack." He held up the phone and everyone murmured.

"Looks like we have another mole in our hands." Alex grunted, turning to Jack for nostalgia.

"But this time, we have a solid lead to who it is…" Ghost added while everyone braced themselves for the slap of reality they're going to get.

From out of nowhere the infirmary doors opened, Maxine was panting and sobbing at the same time, her hands held her thigh desperately enduring some sort of pain.

"It's Samantha… haaah… Shepherd took her!..." she panted as Gary quickly assisted him while everyone who was capable of fighting dashed to the scene.

"Go, Gary. I'll take care of her." Soap quickly got up with Jack, they were already fine and just required to complete their nutrition so assisting her would be the best option.

Gary nodded and dashed outside, bracing himself for the unbearable news.

"Shit. What's going on! I thought we already agreed not to take Samantha elsewhere!" Gary caught up with Ghost and the rest of the available team.

"I have my wild guess, but you're not going to like it." He replied, adjusting his shades as they exited the building. From there, they saw the General's aircraft already far away from their reach. Behind them Alex, Soap, Jack and Maxine followed, their faces were drawn with extreme sadness. 

A few seconds of staring at the sky and Price's comms received an incoming message.

"Captain, I regret to inform you that the 141 is no more… I'm sending the High Value Individual to their care as the threat escalated and is being designated to a different force. I'm sorry. Please tell the rest of the group that in two weeks they will be returned to their prior assignments before 141 was established." his voice was nonchalant, emotionless and straightforward, like he's reading it from a diner table's tissue paper.

"No…" Price muttered. They were this close to Nero.  The rest of the team looked down, others started to disperse and did as ordered while the more concerned group stayed.

"Shepherd's working with Nero. He wants the EMP based weaponry to help his marines in Afghanistan." Ghost blurted, raising the heads of everyone around him.

"He's trading the economical side of the world to win a war?" Gary asked, as the information doesn't add up.

"It's a wild guess but the global economic pressure is already influencing the government to allocate more funds to anti terrorism. Cutting off 141 shouldn't be in play but he found a way to do so… He wants us to stop fighting back." 

"Then fighting back is what we're going to do." Price muttered, grabbing his phone.

"I'm going to make a few phone calls. Those who want to stay and save the world could stay. Those who are content to return to their past lives, you could leave." 

"What about me?" Maxine asked, raising her hand.

"Come with us, We'll take care of you while it's not safe out." Gary said, almost pleading her to say yes.

"I don't have anyone else but France and Samantha. I don't know where to go from here…"

"Then that settles it. Nikolai will take us somewhere safe. If the 141 is no more, we could still salvage weapons and ammo for ourselves. But after this, there's no turning back." Price added, his voice sparked inspiration to everyone. 

And that was it, from that moment. They've gone rogue, for a good cause. And they have to defeat Nero, Whatever it takes.

The Next Step

John Price

Task Force 141 - Disbanded

Former Task Force 141 Base - Helipad

A small group of his comrades were willing enough to stop the war, even at the cost of losing a lot of privileges. Price was always one to work under strict jurisdiction, and this rogue act he's going to commit will be backed up soon, it's going to be dependent on how Laswell influences the board.

The idea was easy. Create another task force which had to be approved prior to the 141's disbandment so that the papers for their redeployment would never be processed. Of course a few strings needed to be pulled and an organization must be able to absorb them. Interpol was willing to help along with Jack's influence to the CIA and Price was lucky enough to have them two on their side.

And there they were, with Nikolai's majestic aircraft, they set course to a temporary camp thanks to Jack. Price noted that he'd get along with the CIA, given they're age similarities and stance toward warfare. 

He surveyed his trusty crew and took note of their abilities. There's Alex, former CIA and fought alongside him in Verdansk and Urzikstan. He's got a clear objective and will and it doesn't matter to Price whether its love or world peace. He's good at terrible hostile locations and can single-handedly turn the tide of war by local agreements and persuasion. A good weapon.

Then there's Simon Riley, or Ghost. Excellent Sniper, the team's tech guy. He's a keeper, his ability to reject emotions while in combat makes him focused and a keen observer. He also excels in weapon usage. You give him anything with a trigger and he'll be sure to hit enemies no matter what.

Another one is John MacTavish, or Soap, what kind of a name is Soap? Price thought. Price looked at the muppet proudly. He rose among his comrades during recruitment and stood at the top of his batch, showing exemplary combat skills and demolitions expertise. Excellent at handling air support machinery and his keen eye never misses a tango hiding from the field. He's got it tough recently, Price believed luck wasn't on his side that's why he got injured a lot.

There's Gary Sanderson or Roach. Price calls him the team's therapist. He sees the willingness to help from the guy. He's eager to train hard and be better and he was impressed on how he handled the German Infilnitration they did together. He has initiative and a clear goal. Something useful at these times.

There's Francine Winters, France a.k.a. Shepherd's prodigy, the last minute addition. He's still quite skeptic as to why she's placed here, but so far he knew that with her sister mentally disturbed by the enemies she's bound to use her emotions as ammunition. She's great at stealth and close combat especially great for breaking and entering missions. She could be trained of open area battles and she has the drive to do so, making her another good addition to the team.

As for the remaining ones, Jack and Maxine, he has no idea yet but them tagging along and using their resources to the fight would greatly increase their chances of killing Nero and destroying the era of EMP machinery.

"Looks like you got yourself a pretty nice team, pal." Jack patted the Former captain's shoulder.

"Yeah. Small enough to remain secret and powerful enough to defeat Nero." he muttered. Jack held his phone and showed it to Price.

"I got us a place. An old CIA Safehouse."

"Are you sure this is going to be okay?" 

"Positive. This one's not used for decades. Classified as dormant and unmaintained. It's situated near a city that once housed a lot of terror activity but after it got neutralized it became very peaceful." Jack convinced. Price no longer hesitated, the team needed the help they can get.

"As long as we're under the radar." He replied and gave Nikolai the coordinates. From there they would begin their revenge toward Nero's attack, plan Samantha's rescue, and discover what Shepherd is really up to...

One step at a time.

Doing everything they can.

To set things right.

Whatever it Takes.

END OF PART 1

Wild ride first half. I hope you stay for the second part right around the corner!

Notification Squad my beloved 💝

@smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @ricinbach @beemybee @whimsywispsblog

[jacobwalkerjacob]

Painter of Petulant Girls: Yoshitomo Nara

                          Painter of Petulant Girls: Yoshitomo Nara

Yoshitomo Nara never considered being a painter until he was 18 years of age. Indeed, even while considering workmanship in Germany, he was uncertain about picking painting as a vocation. It was not until 1993 that Nara began seeking after painting genuinely. Before long, he got his first task to create special banners for the Swedish film Lotta Leaves Home. During this time, the craftsman fostered his unmistakable style: childish compositions of creatures and kids. Obliged to American twee and Japanese kawaii, these works portray a scope of enthusiastic intricacies, from disobedience and protection from thought and quietness.

 Nara has displayed universally, at long last carrying his work to the United States in 1995. In 2019, Yoshitomo Nara turned into the most costly Japanese craftsman when his canvas Knife behind Back sold for a record-crushing USD 25,000,000 at Sotheby's Contemporary Art Evening Sale in Hong Kong. From that point forward, his works consistently show up at barters from Sotheby's and other significant closeout houses. Yoshitomo Nara Paintings are very famous and are available for sale online.

 Nara is a music lover

Nara was brought into the world in Hirosaki, Japan to working guardians and experienced childhood in the rustic local area of Aomori. The craftsman is the most youthful of his siblings. With an age hole of more than ten years between his kin, Nara went to Japanese TV shows and comic books for comfort. "I was so forlorn and just encompassed by apple trees… I could converse with no one aside from nature," said Yoshitomo Nara in a meeting for ArtReview. "So I conversed with the trees, the canine, and the pigs."

 At eight years old, Nara started paying attention to the radio station from a close by US Air Base, at last fostering an interest in American and European pop, troublemaker, and society music. In spite of the fact that he didn't comprehend the verses of these melodies, he discovered them moving and freeing. Nara before long gathered the American and European records that molded his imaginative style.

 In the wake of finishing his schooling in Tokyo, Nara went to Germany. From 1988 to 1993, he learned at Kunstakademie Düsseldorf. In 1994, he got comfortable Cologne, where he remained for an extensive stretch. Nara embraced a progression of cooperative activities in the last part of the 1990s, including cover workmanship for The Star Club and Shonen Knife and a book cover for writer Banana Yoshimoto.

 In 2013, Nara chose to adjust the bearing of his vocation. "I felt awkward with being given a specific name, regardless of whether it was good or negative," the craftsman told Ocula in 2016. "I understood that I'd since quite a while ago ignored the 'discussion with myself,' which had been the establishment of my imaginative movement. So I quit coordinated effort works and began working with earthenware production to restart the discussion."

 Around a similar time, Nara went to photography, reporting his excursion. The 2017 presentation Takeshi Motai: The Dream Traveler at the Chihiro Art Museum displayed a portion of these photography works. He additionally delivered an assortment of ephemera from his life and travel, named Yoshitomo Nara Photo Book 2003-2012.  As he loved music he also liked to create stickers. Yoshitomo Nara stickers are the most favorite of all the fans of him. Album cover for Shonen Knife’s Happy Hour (1998), designed by Yoshitomo Nara is very famous. This Yoshitomo happy hour  is liked by almost every fan of Yoshitomo.

 Nara keeps on making artworks, figures, and drawings at his studio in Tochigi Prefecture. Today, his pictures of evil honest characters are among his generally sought-after craftsmanships. These creations highlight essential tones and straightforward, strong lines against void foundations. The impending Phillips x Poly Auction occasion will give one of these notorious works a gauge upon demand. Nara's Missing in real life (2000) portrays a young lady wearing a larger than usual green dress and investigating her shoulder in a severe way. There are many such artists to be explored. One can see the Auction Calendar of AuctionDaily to see their upcoming art sale.

 Media Source: AuctionDaily