#walking statue of david

[phantomrose96]

Okay I have a story.

So my birthday is this Sunday (May 26th). My mom ordered some presents for me but one of them (an Etsy purchase) was seemingly stuck in transit and might not make it on time. I tell my mom all good, no worries. She gets in contact with the seller. After a long delay in response they get back with "Right we'll fix it!" It ships, tracking label and everything, good to go! ETA May 22nd (yesterday.)

During the work day I check the tracking and it says it's been delivered in/at mailbox! I double check with my mom "hey, is it mailbox size?" because if not, I don't want it sitting at the front door where anyone walking by could snag it.

She says "it's definitely NOT mailbox size." Okay. I text my neighbors in the building "Anyone seen a package delivered? It's a birthday gift from my mom and I wanna make sure it gets inside!" Success! Floor 2 David (not to be confused with Floor 1 David) had brought it inside. Inform my mom. All good!

I stop by home briefly around 4pm, because yesterday was hot-hot and I just installed my window A/C that morning in the living room, and according to my cat cam my stupid cat hasn't spent a single second in the climate controlled living room and is, instead, voluntarily baking herself elsewhere so I'm like "great" and hop on my bike to go home (10 minute ride) to check on her.

I get in the building door. Patches is crying from the top floor because she heard me. I maneuver my bike in the front hall. The ugliest fucking 6-foot-tall cat tree(?)/totem(?)/statue(?) I've seen in my entire life is just. Standing there.

My first thought is "What the fuck is that." My second thought is "Oh fuck that is for me." I look around at the floor in case there's perhaps anything else that might, in fact, be the gift.

No. Me and Cat Pole.

It's taller than me. I turn it around to face me and its face is painted and this is, in fact, uglier than it looked from the back.

Um.

Patches is crying. So I just haul it up to my level. MAYBE it was supposed to come with twine that I wrap around it (and hide its face from the world) for Patches to scratch. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe this is an inside joke, because when my mom moved into her current house the neighborhood gifted her some ugly-as-hell totem that apparently, by tradition, each newest-comer to the neighborhood is required to have and display in their window so maybe this is a very good riff on that.

Patches rubs against it. She's not afraid of this horrid facsimile of her kind.

Great.

Meanwhile SHE'S fine and the condo is a little toasty but totally liveable so I'm like "Good, cool, you're not baking. You're having a good time. Enjoy your new sister, I guess, I'll see you later."

I go back to work because this is a problem for later me.

After work, after my run, after whatever, I get home and it's like 8:00pm and Patches is so happy to see me and the totem pole is still just. There.

I text my friends like "so a bday gift is here from my mom and it's the Biggest Ugliest cat pole I've seen in my life. Is this a bit? Did my mom go 'that's so ugly haha! send!' Maybe she genuinely found it cute. How do I navigate this." My friend Sarah has the good advice to maybe text my mom neutrally like "Got the cat pole!" and feel the waters whether my mom is like "Isn't it ugly? 😂" or "Hope Patches likes it! 🥰"

My mom goes to bed early so I don't do any of that yet. Problem for tomorrow me.

This morning, Patches wakes me up for breakfast. I get her situated and I'm staring at the fucking Cat Pole again. I wonder if my Mom's been wondering all night what I thought of it.

I take a picture. I text her.

Okay.

I get on call with my mom. I ask for clarity that the ungodly horrid thing is NOT my birthday gift and is in fact a mix-up from the seller who sent me this instead of my actual gift. She's wheezing between words. She thinks I'm being too charitable for the amount of Absolute Fucking Ugly this is. I have to gently talk her out of using the word "monstrosity" while messaging the seller asking what the hell happened here.

I tell her I need to apologize for harming her dignity with Floor 2 David, who thinks this fucking thing is my mom's idea of a great birthday gift for her to-be-28-year-old daughter.

My heart goes out to the poor soul who did actually order this cat totem and is lacking it on this lovely day.

[fredoesque]

ranking terror characters based on how prophet-coded they are

crozier: 4/10 crozier's kassandra status is often overstated i believe. just because franklin is wrong doesn't mean crozier is right. none of his predictions come true except those regarding the ice. that's not prophecy it's just meteorological knowledge. some points for the act of hubris we may not survive though. i can't deny that they did not survive

silna: [ERROR]/10 objectively framed as a prophet character. makes the number one most accurate prophecy in the show ("she said that if we don't leave now we're going to [disappear]."). i can't say whether she truly is one however, bc her standing outside english modes of knowledge is a big part of what casts this statement in a mysterious light. from the english (and the audience's) perspective this is prophecy, but is it from hers? or is it just, as i said before, meteorological knowledge? maybe the prophet is just another role projected onto silna, bc her having supernatural insight is easier for the english to stomach than her having knowledge they lack. this doesn't entirely preclude her being a prophet as well though, since we know that there are in fact supernatural forces at play. english perceptions of her prophethood being incorrect doesn't mean said prophethood is necessarily non-existent. maybe if we saw more of silna, especially with her own people, i could give a definitive answer, but as it stands i'm undecided. whatever the case bonus points for making that terror model without masts that looks like the actual wreck that shit was cool as hell

david young: 7/10 solid first act prophet. hounded by visions he doesn't understand. gives warnings that ultimately go unheeded. not much else to say about this one it's a classic

hickey: 2/10 wants to be a prophet so bad but has little to no insight into the future. some points for his tendency to be the first to say things that are true about the present or to utter thoughts others have but are unwilling to share. may not be an actual prophet but strangely capable of filling the social function of one

jopson: 1/10 never really does anything prophet related but gets a point for objectively looking like he knows how you're going to die at all times

collins: 3/10 collins has visions but they're not of the future; they're of the past which is a different sort of thing entirely. does get some points bc visions are still visions and the past he sees does in fact mirror the future that awaits

fitzjames: 0/10 i've put him on the list bc he's a main character but he is absolutely not a prophet on account of he doesn't know shit. he IS a walking prophecy however and that prophecy is the rot of imperialism. and scurvy

blanky: 11/10 i've said this before and i'll say it again blanky is the only character who actually understands the situation they're in. not only does he give an ominous speech about the future, but his is actually acted upon in a way that ends up contributing to it's fulfillment. that's prophecy, baby! thinking about this is why i made this post

goodsir: 9/10 gets just one big prophet moment but it's an absolute banger: jacko's death. reads the future in an animal's entrails (if you squint) which is objectively the coolest form of prophecy. like blanky's prophecy, stanley hearing it and acting to avoid it only makes the situation worse

franklin: 1/10 the point is for "i've long wanted to move below"

[tsuvvy]

Oh Sister of Mine - Chapter 5

Poison Constriction

Cassandra explores her feelings of having a new little sibling while the others work to get information on where the seemingly invisible father might be. Instead, they find someone heavily involved in this situation and discover a disgusting truth.

Warning: Talk of a controlling serum being put into y/ns blood, mentions of bruising and blood, the poison serum has been an idea cultivating in my mind for awhile, pls just let it cook 😥

Word Count: 3.4k

“Miss Cassandra,” Said woman turned around, seeing Alfred with a tray of little sandwiches. No doubt for you. “While I have you here, Master Bruce asked to see you. He is paying the garden a visit, he asked that if I should see you I should invite you for him.”

“Oh..” Cassandra’s lips parted in a small surprise. Bruce wanted to see her? Why? “Okay, thank you Alfred.” She gave the man a soft thankful smile.

Alfred returned the smile with a gentle one of his own. But before he could walk away, Cassandra spoke up.

“He didn’t say why, did he?” She asked abruptly.

“I am afraid not,” His soft smile turned a bit apologetic.

“Alright, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Thank you again.” Alfred gave her a nod before walking away.

Cassandra stayed where she was for a moment, watching as Alfred walked down the hall with the tray still in hand. She might have needed a moment to build up the courage to go speak to Bruce, or maybe she needed to come up with what she would say to the man. Either way, her nerves were aflame before and while she made her way to the garden where Alfred said Bruce was.

She spotted him on a bench. He was calmly sitting still, almost mistakable for a statue.

Bruce looked at Cassandra, an uncharacteristic subtle smile reaching his lips at the sight of her. It was odd, even if it was common. Bruce saved that smile for only those he cared for deeply. His adoptive children and Alfred getting it most often. Though it was still rare, especially for someone like Jason who made it his own part time job annoying and angering the man. Dying and coming back to life sure didn’t change that habit, if anything it made it worse.

“Cass,” Bruce called out, pulling her out of her thoughts, “Sit.” He didn’t need to gesture to the empty spot next to him.

Cassandra listened. She moved to sit next to the man.

The two sat in silence for a while; silently watching over the flowers and listening to the soft wind and how it would shake the branches of the trees.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked abruptly. Cassandra looked at him, staying silent for a second.

“I’m okay..” Her voice was soft as she looked to the ground.

Bruce nodded slightly at her comment. “But that isn’t true, is it?” He looked down at her, his subtle smile gone now. It was never a luxury anyone close to him could ever witness for a very long time. You had to savor it for the small amount of time it was there.

Cassandra didn’t say anything to his comment. He already knew her lies were just that, lies.

“How are you feeling about everything?” He asked instead.

Cassandra thought about his question for a second. “I don’t really know how to feel.”

“Understandable.” Bruce responded.

The two sat in silence for a little while.

“Y/n,” She looked up at him, and he looked back, confusion written subtly on his stoic face, “Their name.” Cassandra clarified. She saw his eyes widen slightly, “Their name is Y/n.”

“When did they tell you this?” He asked.

“They got out of the room, they picked the lock when Damian wasn’t there,” She told him while turning back to look out at the flowers and delicately crafted and cut bushes. “They weren’t looking for a fight, pretty much all we did was.. Talk,” She shrugged her shoulders lightly, “They asked why I’d left David, and…” She paused.

Bruce gave her a second before pressing her to continue, “and?”

“And they.. I told them they were safe. They didn’t know what it meant. So I. I taught them what the word safe means. And they told me their name.

Bruce nodded his head lightly, turning to look at the flowers and bushes himself.

“That's a start, they’re starting to trust you and Damian a bit, however surprising it may be.” Bruce said. He lifted up a hand and gently placed it on Cassandra’s head. “You did good, Cassandra.”

Her eyes widened at the contact and the praise. In a sense, she was still a lot like you. No matter how long she’s been with Bruce and the Batfamily, she might not ever get truly used to being in a healthy environment. Not fully, anyway.

“Bruce…” Her voice was soft. He didn’t do anything to tell her he acknowledged his name slipping from her lips, but she knew he was listening. “I don’t..” She hesitated, “I don’t know how to be a big sister..”

Silence overtook the two, apart from the gentle wind rustling the nature around them.

“It’s not something you can just know, Cassandra.” He told her. Cassandra didn’t respond to that.

A silence once again overtook the two.

“There's this feeling in my gut, like a weed growing in it.” Cassandra abruptly spoke through the silence.

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him for a year!?” Jason yelled.

“Red Hood calm down!” Kate yelled at him.

The two were at Ace Chemicals in their vigilante suits. They hadn’t expected to find someone that has been involved with David in the past.

“I mean exactly that!” The guy yelled, a desperation in his voice as the Red Hood shook him by the collar of his shirt. After his statement, the vigilante dropped him and he fell to the ground.

The man rubbed his neck, trying to soothe the pain of how his shirt was so tightly held.

“Do you know what happened to him?” Kate, or Batwoman, asked him.

“No, he just straight up vanished,” the guy said.

Batwoman looked to Red Hood who had taken a few steps back.

“Mind if we look around?” Batwoman looked back at the man.

“N-No! Go ahead!” He quickly answered, almost fearful of what either vigilante might do to him if he said he did actually mind.

“Great,” Batwoman answered, “Glad you don’t.” She commented, an amused smirk on her face as she moved past him.

She started looking around; not that she had anywhere to specifically start.

And for the first about 14 minutes, nothing was found by either vigilante.

“This place has nothing,” Jason said, making sure to keep the man he was once interrogating in his view.

“It’s gotta have something,” Batwoman sighed, looking behind a few tubs of chemicals. She hadn’t met you yet. All she knew about you was pretty much the extent of what everyone else minus Cass knew.

Red Hood crossed his arms, huffing in annoyance as he looked at a few jars on some random desk. They looked poisonous. Probably gas too. One wiff would probably kill you.

“I’m gonna check further in,” Batwoman said, coming back out from behind the tubs of chemicals she had found nothing out of the ordinary behind. “Stay with him,” She told Red Hood.

“Yeah, alright,” He said.

Batwoman began walking into a back area of Ace Chemicals. There was a door into one room and then stairs leading upward to a few more rooms that were all next to each other.

She decided to go into the room on the bottom first.

Batwoman cautiously turned the rusty old knob, keeping her guard up. Ace Chemicals is known for criminal activity, I mean, it’s quite literally the birth place of Harley Quinn. It’s where Joker had pushed her into that vatt of chemicals all those years ago. You had to expect anything in this place.

“Ugh,” Batwoman cringed, bringing a hand to her nose, “Jeez, it smells like three month old eggs in here.”

She stepped into the room, keeping a hand over her nose as she began to look around.

There was really nothing to note in the room. It was obviously some type of hang out area no one had been in in probably years. A lounging couch that stank of rat poop and an assortment of other things that were just rotting under the cusions. Then there was a counter with a sink. One that had piles of dirty dishes in it. She had found a few rats licking off the plates; she didn’t bother them, but she did cringe. Then the fridge. She didn’t even want to open the thing. She could already tell that’s where the smell was coming from. And sure enough, inside the fridge was a variety of disgusting, old, moldy, and rotted food inside.

“Don’t think Kelsey is gonna want this muffin anymore,” Batwoman commented, looking at the container with a chocolate chip muffin inside and branded with the name Kelsey on the lid of the container. It was all moldy and gross.

“Blegh,” Batwoman gagged, closing the fridge with her foot.

She looked in the old wooden cabinets, behind and under the tables. Everywhere she looked, nothing but rats and their feces and disgusting bugs were found.

“Well that was a waste,” She grumbled as she walked out of that room, closing the door behind her. Now it was time to look in the two rooms upstairs.

Batwoman walked up the stairs, deciding to go to the first room. She read the plate next to the door that read, ‘lab room.’

“This should be fun,” She sighed, opening the door and cautiously peeking in and looking around. From first glance, there didn’t look to be anything in here of note. “This better not be a waste of time,” She grumbled as she stepped in.

“Alright, I brought a new kind of food this time.” Damian said as he entered the room.

You hadn't turned to look at him from where you sat kneeled on the floor, your head resting on your arms that rested on the window sill.

Damian didn't move, you knew he didn't. There weren't any footsteps coming farther into the room.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and you finally heard him start walking, and soon you heard something being placed on the nightstand.

“Out.” You said, finally turning to look at the boy and raising one of your hands to tap on the window. He was standing staring at you near your nightstand, his hands in his pockets.

“Outside?” He questioned as he finally started moving throughout the room closer to you.

You had turned back to look out the window once more once he was standing at your side.

Damian's gaze rested downward on you. You looked so calm staring out the windows. Though your blank face looked as if you were displeased, he knew you weren't. He was the same way with his own blank face.

“What that?” He was pulled out of his thoughts by your voice. He looked at what you were looking out the window at.

Your pointer finger which rested against the window pointed towards two creatures in the air, gracefully maneuvering through the gentle breeze.

“Birds,” Damian said bluntly. “They’re birds.”

You looked up at the boy, “Bi..” You paused, unsure of if you were going to say it correctly or not.

“Birds.” He said one more time. “They’re flying.”

“Bird.” You finally attempted.

“Mhm,” he nodded.

You looked out the window once more. Watching the birds fly through the air. “Want that.” You said.

“Want that?” Damian repeated in the form of a question.

You nodded, “Want that.” You pointed to the bird.

Damian wasn’t quite sure if you meant you wanted a bird or if you wanted what the birds had. Freedom.

“Bird is…” You paused, watching the bird in awe.

“Pretty?” Damian questioned after a few seconds of silence. You nodded.

“Yeah..” He agreed softly, looking away from you and out the window at the birds again. “They are.”

“Dami.” His eyes widened a bit and he looked down at you again. Dami? Dami..? You were looking up at him, your face a blank one like his.

“Yeah..?” He managed to ask.

You pointed to the free spot on the floor next to you. “Sit.” You told him. Not in a commanding way like most would hear from your tone. He knew you didn’t mean it like that.

He listened and sat down on the floor next to you.

For you to actually invite him to sit next to you, and so close, was honestly a big step. He noticed you’d opened up a bit quickly with him, but he assumed it was because of the age difference between the two of you. There wasn’t really a big one.

“Dad..” You said softly. He looked to you, waiting to see where you would go with this, “You hate him.” It was more of a statement than a question. You didn’t look at him. You had rested your chin back down on your arms that rested on the window sill.

Damian stayed quiet, keeping his gaze on you for a moment before letting it drop down to the surface of the window sill and then out the window. “Yeah.” He answered. Though he knew you already knew that. “I do.”

A quiet fell over the room. The two of you staring out the window.

“He scares me…” You admitted.

He looked at you. Your expression, still blank, had grown a bit more solemn. Like a little puppy that had just been yelled at or hit for just trying to get love or have a bit of fun. It broke him to see you like this. So young and yet already so broken and wounded.

“Ugh,” Batwoman groaned as she walked out of the room she had just been looking in. “Theres nothing in this disgusting dump..” She grumbled, looking down at all of the chemical pits and barrels that Ace Chemicals held. “I doubt there’s anything actually here all these chemicals haven’t hidden.” She sighed, now making her way down the stares and back the way she came.

“Oh, don’t give me that crap!” Red Hood exclaimed. Batwoman started walking a bit faster, hoping to get there before he would probably kill the guy the two found.

“Please, please,” The man cried desperately, “The guy is going to kill me!”

Batwoman was met with a familiar scene. Red Hood holding the man in the air the collar of his shirt. But this time, the man’s face was bloodied. Blood ran down from his nose, he had a busted lip that was bleeding, and an array of cuts on his face.

“Red Hood!” Batwoman yelled, “What the hell are you doing!?”

“Tell me!” Red Hood yelled, shaking the man within the air. Tears were bubbling in the guy’s eyes.

“He.. He’ll kill me!” The man repeated. Red Hood scoffed.

“And if you don’t tell me what the hell you know, I’ll kill you!” He told the man, his red helmet growing an eary and angry sense to it.

“Fine! Fine!” The man screamed, his legs flailing around in the air, “Please, I’ll tell you! Just put me down!”

“Red Hood put him down!” Batwoman demanded.

Jason dropped the man, letting him fall to floor with a thud.

“Well,” Red Hood demanded himself, looking down at the man on the floor, “Go on!”

The man winced at his commanding and angry tone, “The guy you’re looking for. Cain or whatever.” His voice was shaking in fear, and he was looking down at the floor in shame. Of himself, or maybe something else. “He came here a few months ago after his disappearance. Vanished for about 3 months, came to me. He had some..” He sounded unsure. “He was asking for some weird stuff,” he shrugged his shoulders lightly, “Said he needed it for some project, I didn’t ask what. But he did have this weird sense of pride to him. One he never usually had.”

“Can you get to the damn point!” Red Hood demanded.

“Hey,” Batwoman said sternly, “Let him speak.”

The man recieved a nod from Batwoman, telling him to go on. “Cain wanted some type of like.. Serum. Said it needed to enhance and quicken the development of metahuman abilities. Then he had a thought to make another serum that would make someone more…” The man paused and sighed loudly, “Hell, I’ll just say it. More easily manipulable.”

Batwoman and Red Hood stood silent for a moment. Batwoman’s lips parted as she took in the information, and her eyes widened behind her domino mask. The two vigilante’s exchanged a glance.

“Hey,” Batwoman started, looking towards the man.

“Y-Yeah?” He looked back, a bit nervous of what might happen to him.

“Do you have any samples or spares of that?” She asked.

The man sat for a second.

“Well!” Jason exclaimed, making the man jump.

“Yes! Yes, I do!” The man scrambled to his feet, walking to a station a little ways away behind some tubs of chemicals with the two vigilantes close behind him.

“Damnit..” The man muttered as he scrounged around in the desk, throwing papers and gadgets sloppily in his hunt for the serum. “Here!” He announced, pulling out a green liquid serum in a small tube. He handed it to Batwoman.

“Not a lot, huh.” She commented, swishing the liquid around in the enclosed tube.

“Sorry,” He apologized, his expression growing a bit solemn, “I tried to save at least a bit, but. The recipe was tricky.” He began to scrounge through the desk once more before pulling out a paper with sloppy handwriting on it. “The ingredients were hard and illegal to get, then the only perfected batch he took immediately. It was hard to even steal that tiny bit out of it.” He handed the paper to Batwoman as well. “That’s the recipe for it.”

“Alright.” She nodded, turning on her heel and beginning to walk away with Red Hood next to her.

Batwoman stopped however, turning to look at the man and Red Hood went ahead, “C’mon (nickname).” She said, gesturing her head for him to follow and speaking like it was the obvious that he come along.

“Huh..?” His brows furrowed.

“Hurry it up!” Batwoman called. “You have vital information about this stupid serum and we can’t have you getting caught by the wrong people.” The man was startled into pace. He began to catch up with the vigilantes, still confused and quite bewildered by what the hell is happening.

“Damn, this just keeps getting messier and messier..” TIm groaned, running a hand along his face and moving it up to run through his hair. He was tired, anyone could tell at a glance. “Alright, give it here.” He spoke, putting a hand out to take the serum from Batwoman. “Who’s the straggler?” He asked as he got up and walked towards a machine.

“Hm,” Batwoman turned to look over her shoulder at the man.

“Um.. My name is Sullivan Bishop.” He answered her unsaid question.

“He’s got connections with Cain. Helped him make the serum.” She said as she crossed her arms, watching Tim carefully pour the bit of serum into a compartment of the machine and clicking a few buttons. Soon, it started up and started analyzing the liquid.

“Do you know what he used the serum for?” Sullivan asked. Everyone was silent. Sullivan visibly curled in on himself in defeat. He was terrified. He was in the batcave, surely not going to be let out anytime soon. And he was so lost. He had no clue what was happening. He’d never wanted to get involved with Cain to begin with. He knew he was shady, knew that Cain would get him in trouble. But this? This serum that was testing positive for countless things on the Batcomputer. This serum that could be considered a poison.

This was beyond anything shady he’d heard or expected from Cain. Whatever he used this serum for was downright psychotic.

Tim stared up at the computer, honestly at a loss for words.

“What the hell did you use?” Tim’s voice was breathless. But the look he gave to Sullivan sent chills down the man’s spine. “Toluene, lead..” His voice trailed off. “No wonder the kid was so set in killing Cassandra. This serum makes it so she can’t think for herself.”

“What the hell..” Red Hood’s voice trailed off.

“We can only imagine how long this was being administered into her blood stream.” Tim finished.

“I..” Sullivan’s eyes bubbled with tears, his voice breaking. “I didn’t know.. I… I didn’t know what he would use it for. I… Please I. I didn’t know..” He was rambling.

“You didn’t know?” Jason questioned, his tone growing angry and threatening.

“N.. No. No I didn’t I promise!!” Sullivan’s waorks were jumblings up as they tumbled from his mouth in fear of what Red Hood might do.

“Red Hood!” Batwoman stopped him from walking toward the shaking man with a hand on his chest, “Take a walk.” She made eye contact with him through his helmet when she ordered him.

<- Chapter 4 Chapter 6 ->

@redh00dsbf @02006 @shikanosn @rainnyydaysworld @notsaelty

[aismoker]

Playing for the winning team

David had always wanted to become a professional soccer player. had been invited to a company to discuss the possibilities of a sponsorship.

When he had receivedthe invitation, David was excited, but now sitting in front of a representative of his potential sponsor, Marlboro, he wasn't so sure anymore. He hated smoking, but deep inside he knew that the opportunity to get a sponsor wouldn't come a second time. He once more read the contract. There was a lot that he didn't understand.

Suddenly the representative spoke, with a cold emotionless voice: "So, what's it going to be?" David looked up at the man. In his opinion the man represented everything that evil corporatism stood for. Deep inside he knew that he shouldn't sign the contract. That getting involved with this sponsor was everything he was against. But on the other hand, it would probably be the only way to realize his dream to break through as a soccer player. It would probably be easier to get another sponsor once he was in the circuit...

"You know there will not come a better deal," the representative said, whike exhaling a cloud of smoke towards David, "just sign it. You won't regret it." David took up the pen. "I'll sign." After he signed and the pen left the paper, David had the feeling this was the worst decision he had ever made.

He put the pen back and looked up again. The representative smiled a cold cruel smile. His eyes seemed to glow red. "Welcome to the team." He then gave a sign to two men that had been standing silently in the room all the time that David had been there. They walked up to him and grabbed David forcefully. "What the fuck!" David shouted. "Nothing to worry about, they will take you to Introduction," the man said, still smiling at David.

The men that had grabbed David, started to drag him towards an elevator. David tried to fight, but they were too strong. They had grips of steel. They shoved him into the elevator and went down. David was desperate. What had he done?!? He tried to fight again, but the men that hokd him didn't move a muscle, literally. They didn't move. They just stood there motionless. Only the heaving of their chests as they took rythmical drags of their cigarettes indicated that they weren't statues.

The elevator went down deeper and deeper. When the doors opened, the men dragged David out into a metallic hallway. They went into a large room. In it, there were rows and rows of pod-like devices. Most of them seemed to be off, but several seemed to be working, as a humming noise came from them and clouds of smoke hung above them. David was dragged to an empty pod and locked in. David had no power to fight anymore. Desperation took over. "Please, let me go. I will do anything!" But the men didn't respond. They pushed a button and left him.

A helmet started to lower over his head. One last time, David tried to get out. To no avail. When the helmet covered his head, he heard a metalic click and he saw the Marlboro-logo light up on the display in front of his eyes.

6 WEEKS LATER

With a hissing sound, the pod opened. Out stepped David. He grabbed a pack of Reds that was lying on a table and expertedly lit up. For the last few weeks he had done exactly the same. He looked at himself in the mirror and admired again his new team uniform. Gone were his fears and reservations. He understood now. He had been enlightened. Made better. He was now part of the team. Marlboro was now taking care of him. He lived now in the training facility, together with the other members of Team Marlboro, to train for the upcoming soccer season. Thanks to Marlboro, he could now do the thing he loved most: playing soccer. In fact, he knew now that soccer had become even better, as he was no longer doing it to gain personal renown. No, he was now doing it for something bigger, something better than himself. By playing soccer, he could spread the joy of Marlboro, making sure the team would keep growing.

4 MONTHS LATER

The soccer season had ended and there they stood. Team Marlboro had won!

It had been uncommon season. From the very first match, David and his fellow team members had dominated the field. They were so synchronized to each other that it seemed that they were all part of one well-oiled machine.

The team had caused some commotion though. Their first match had been postponed, because the team had entered all with cigarettes in their mouths on the field. The referee had to go through the rule book, but couldn't find any rule that forbade smoking during a match, so there was no reason to cancel the game. Team Marlboro won that day with 17-0.

That was not the only unusual thing that happened that season. The season saw also an unusual number of irregular transfer. After each match, the star players of the opposing teams received invitations for a tour of the Marlboro Training facility. A few weeks after the tour, they usually announced that they had decided to leave their current team, because they wanted to be part of the winning team. Marlboro of course paid all the fines. Eachbtime it happened, their official statement was: "We of Marlboro are delighted that Mr. [so-and-so] has decided to join our team. We accept everyone with open arms."

This all didn't go unnoticed by the media. At first they ridiculed the team, for non-stop smoking. After that, as the success and renown of the team started to grow, they started to accuse the team members of using illegal performance enhancing drugs. Some outlets became openly hostile towards them. To stop this, Marlboro had invited all sports hournalists to the Training Facility. After that, most of the smear articles were retracted and replaced by articles stressing the team spirit and unity of team Marlboro, praising the dedication Marlboro showed for the team and that this was the future of sports.

But that was in the past. Now the team stood there, with the cup in their hands. They didn't feel happy, just grateful for Marlboro that they were part of the team. The cup didn't mean anything to them. Ever since they had become part of the team, they had known they had become part of the winning team. Thanks to Marlboro, their aspirations had become so much bigger than winning a piece of metal. Their goal was now to make sure that everyone would know the joy and bliss of Marlboro.

8 MONTHS LATER

Due to the victory of Team Marlboro, the sale of Team Marlboro merchandise sky-rocketed, just like the sale of cigarettes. And the hype didn't die out over time. On the contrary, the numbers increased each month.

Of course, Marlboro had expected this and was well prepared for the next step in the plan. Everywhere in the country new Training Facilities popped up, organizing training camps. Men flocked to them like moths to a flame. They all wanted to become part of the winning team.

Here you see the latest batch. They just finished the training camp. They were ready to play for the winnong team and spread the joy of Marlboro.

[cierraonline]

They’ve been dating for a while pookie I’m sorry

anywaysssss

Did You Miss US?

chapter two: did you miss us?

warning: none

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

XXX

UCONN GAMPEL PAVILION�� 

University of Connecticut  

Storrs, Connecticut

Okay guys, we’re back…. Did you miss us? ‘Cause we missed you!

Whistle blows

“Listen up,” Geno Auriemma, the man with the plan—the man who built stars and legends—UCONN’s women’s basketball head coach with nearly 1,000 wins under his belt, announced. “This season, I will not be your head coach—” The older man was interrupted by gasps that filled the room. Thirty young women stared at him, mouths agape in shock, while his staff stood behind him in support. “Now calm down. I’m not going anywhere, nor am I retiring. This year, your head coach will be one of our own…. Sasha James.” With that introduction, the brown-skinned girl walked into the stadium and stood next to her mentor, essentially a father figure to her.

“Aahh,” all the returning girls jumped up, rushing to Sasha and pulling her into a tight embrace in congratulations.

“That’s my wife!” Paige pointed to her partner with a wide smile, knowing how much this meant to Sasha.

“Okay, get off me,” Sasha laughed as she tried to push away the arms and hands. “Sit down, y’all are embarrassing me,” she added, mainly addressing her best friends. Once everyone returned to their original spots on the bleachers, her expression turned serious. “So, this year we’ll be following my coaching plan for the women’s basketball team, which was approved by the athletic director, David Benedict,” Sasha said, pointing to the white man who raised his hand in greeting, as it was the first time some players had met him. “First on the list is our Europe tour, a team bonding and learning experience.”

“Really!?”

“Shut up!” The girls jumped up in excitement, thrilled at the prospect of traveling abroad for team bonding.

“Now, we have a problem,” Sasha began, watching the players’ faces grow worried. “There are 30 of us, half of whom are red-shirts due to either prior injuries or eligibility situations. A portion of those who aren’t red-shirts don’t get time on the court because skills aren’t being picked up quick enough. With that, we’re just wasting space and resources. At the end of last season, an email was sent out stating that although the season is over, we want you all to be prepared and in top condition. Freshmen, you got the same email after confirming your commitment to the team. So, before we leave for our trip, we’ll be cutting off the dead weight. Today, you’ll be doing multiple drills and rounds, and if we believe you’re performing well, you’ll stay. If not, I’m sorry, but this will be your last day on the team, regardless of scholarship status.”

Internally, the players felt a bit of panic, but overall they believed they were the best—after all, they’d made it this far.

“You will also have to play according to my standards,” Sasha declared, making the tension rise further. “The goal this season is to win like it has been for the past five years that got us to win Big East Conference and the Final Four. I don’t like losing and I won’t start this season. I like no-score games—it brings in publicity, which brings in money for the department and us as players. I need to know I can trust you all to win without relying on our heavy hitters to play a full game with no breaks. Last season, we recycled the same five players. This year will be different. We have five  players planning to enter the draft, and we need to put them in the best position to be seen and recognized.”

“Are you guys scared?” Geno asked from beside Sasha, observing his players’ reactions. “You should be. We’re still falling behind on basic skills that should come naturally to us. We’re not rebounding properly, not making fast plays, and not thinking smart on the court. There’s no more depending on the starting five or your status to save you.”

“Everything will be tested and calculated, and by the end of the day, the staff and I will be left with the best 14 players to continue with the athletic department. That means 16 of you will be ending your college basketball careers today,” Sasha nodded, watching her teammates exchange glances, wondering who would stay and who would be shamefully dismissed. “Let’s start with suicides—15 on each side, meeting in the middle. Let’s go,” she clapped her hands and took a seat on the bleachers.

Giving them a moment to get into position, Geno blew the whistle, and the running began. “Ramirez is lagging behind; her speed hasn’t improved since her freshman year,” Sasha noted to Geno, who nodded in agreement, jotting down the player’s name.

“Ayanna’s speed seems to have improved since her injury,” Chris Dailey commented, pointing at the sophomore.

“Alright!” Geno blew the whistle. “Line up!” The players stood in a straight line as the staff observed them. The goal of this elimination round was to test speed but also endurance—who looked tired and exhausted? This would show who had taken the offseason seriously and who hadn’t.

“Ramirez, your speed hasn’t improved. Anderson, you look tired, and you’ve only ran for 10 minutes. Bennett, your speed is inconsistent. Davis, Geno feels you’re not giving us your best because you’re overconfident, thinking we can’t replace you. Lastly, Jones, Coach Dailey feels your maturity hasn’t shown any growth. I’m sorry, girls, but you’re off the team. Tomorrow, you’ll have a meeting with David to go over the next steps.” 

Sasha moved on to the next drill. “Alright, let’s do dribbling drills. I want a relay race with 12 on each side, from the left side of the court to the right. The winning side is safe from elimination.” Sasha didn’t have time to watch the eliminated players cry over their lost positions. She needed a winning team—budget-friendly, hardworking, and serious about the chance they are given.

“Flores’ handles are sloppy,” Geno shook his head in disapproval as the player lost control of the ball twice before reaching the other side of the court. “Ines is doing better than last season. Keep a close eye on her.”

“Garcia is looking down too much,” Chris Dailey noted.

“What do we think about the freshmen?” Sasha pointed out Kamorea Arnold, who seemed to have a strong grip on the ball.

“With freshmen, we don’t need perfect; we need to see that there is room for improvement and how fast they can implement corrections,” Geno advised, advising for  Sasha to not expect perfection from the freshmen class. “We want people to see that we create stars, but we also nurture growth and progression.”

“Flores, Garcia, Harris, Johnson, and King, you’re dismissed,” Geno announced, prompting one of the girls to sob and plead for another chance. “You’re seniors, but we have yet to see evidence that shows the progress you made since you’ve been in this program for three years.”

“I plan on entering the draft this year!” Harris cried out.

“You shouldn’t have entered the draft when you’ve haven’t been getting much playing time for the past two years and had no playing time in your freshman year,” Sasha said, moving on to the next test. “Freshmen, you’re safe. Please grab your uniforms, practice schedules, and packing lists.”

“Thank you!” they squealed with big smiles, running to where Chris stood at a foldable table.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Sasha continued. “Geno, Chris, David, and I will each choose a player to save.”

“Paige,” Geno nodded at the blonde, who exhaled in relief before running to the table where Chris stood.

“Nika,” David selected the Croatian player.

“Azzi,” Chris smiled at the league’s best shooter next to Sasha.

“Aaliyah,” Sasha chose.

“Thank you,” Aaliyah whispered as she passed by her friend and teammate, heading to Chris for a congratulatory hug.

“Alright, let’s do rounds. I want to see smart plays… choose your teams,” Sasha directed the remaining players, who were more nervous than ever. With a whistle, a game on each side of the court began, and the returning players played harder than ever. Some stood out for the right reasons, while others didn’t.

“Caroline is thinking smarter; she’s stepping into that leadership role we’ve been waiting for her to take,” Geno commented, watching as she quickly passed the ball to another player instead of holding it and risking a blocked shot.

“Amari’s passes are getting faster,” Sasha noted as the player did a no-look pass to her teammate.

“Aubrey’s defense is improving, especially in blocking and holding screens,” Geno added.

“Alright, line up!” Sasha blew her whistle. “Lewis, Mitchell, Nelson, Parker, Rodriguez—thank you for the time you put into this team, but you’re eliminated,” she announced, watching as the remaining players huddled together, sharing tears and congratulations. “The rest of you, let’s start making corrections faster and implementing them. You’ve been here; you know the standards. It shouldn’t take the last round of eliminations for things to start clicking. We need it to click the minute you step onto the court. Got it?”

“Yes,” they answered, nodding.

“Well, go get your stuff. We’ve got a trip to pack for,” Sasha smiled, clapping her hands.

“Don’t ever put us through that again,” Aubrey jokingly pointed at Sasha as she and Amari pproached her.

“I had to try to get rid of you somehow. Isn’t this your fifth year?” Sasha laughed, nudging the girl’s shoulder.

“Don’t get jumped!” Aubrey laughed.

“Go get your stuff before I have Geno kick you out too,” Sasha rolled her eyes, showing off her playfully sassy side.

[noneorother]

All the music you didn’t hear: The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you. *Part2*

The Bonkers Meta Series 2: Electric Boogaloo. This week on the chopping block: The official Good Omens 2 soundtrack album!

Part 1  l  Part 2  

If you, like me, have absolutely no respect for your time (or your 2023 Spotify Wrapped) and are willing to sit with the show and the David Arnold score album running side by side to match up all the songs, then you too can find out what I did: exactly 6 songs in the album go off the rails in the show in a very specific way. And you know what they say about a song…

So let’s break these misbehaving songs down, shall we? 

A Bell Tolls for Thee

There are SO MANY DAMN BELLS in season 2. I think the sound department might have had a competition going. But I want to show you the bells that happen in the music of the show, but not in the album.

Specifically, there are tubular bells all over the score in David Arnold’s orchestration in season 2 (and some in season 1). It’s an instrument used throughout classical music to represent grandfather clocks or church bells, signalling time passing, like striking the hour. But, this season has done something devious: it sets up your expectation by putting tubular bells in all the regular places in the score, so that you notice less when they whack a big tubular bell ring in a place where it should not be, at a key moment in the story. 

Feel free to go back and listen to these time codes in the show, it’s going to become obvious real fast.  

S2E1 - 14:55 l Song : Into Soho Aziraphale answers the door to a naked Gabriel, and recognizes him for the first time. A bell rings once.

If you listen closely to the album version, David Arnold recorded a beautiful and uplifting ending to this track. Too bad we never get to hear it in the show, it splits off into a bell toll and then a reorchestration. We never hear the end!

S2E1 - 42:30 l Song : Tiny Miracle Aziraphale & Crowley perform a class-A miracle, and Crowley pokes the barrier with his finger. A bell rings twice.

Same thing for Tiny Miracle! The ending of the song in the album we never get to hear in the show, it gets interrupted by 2 tubular bell tolls and another reorchestration of other music. 

S2E3 - 33:59 l Song : Reprise - Something Terrible Aziraphale considers the statue of Gabriel in his present day trip to Edinburgh. A bell rings three times.

This one starts from silence with 3 bell tolls as a reprise of “Something terrible” starts just after it. The second and third bells are woven into the music on beats they never appear in those bars on the recording. 

S2E4 - 38:00 l Song : Zombie Dressing Room  Shax asks Beelzebub for permission to attack the bookshop. A bell rings four times.

This one is extra weird (see my first music post). Even though we stretch out Zombie Dressing Room way after the dressing room scene is over and into the Shax in hell scene, it still manages to work in 4 new tubular bell rings that aren’t there in the score, and we never hear the same ending as on the album. 

S2E5 - 00:05 - 10:14 l Song : Reprise - Something Terrible Shax requisitions troops and gathers her legion. A bell rings five times.

This one is tricky because Shax’s scene in hell is cut up 5 times, but you probably see where this is going: every time we cut back to Shax there’s a new bell rings once that wasn’t in the recording.  

S2E5 - 29:56 l Song : Shax Shax arrives from Hell in the elevbator to attack the bookshop. A bell rings six times.

This is the last time in the season when we hear extra tubular bells. In a pretty bizarre turn of events, the demons Shax has mustered have walked in from down the street, but Shax takes the elevator to arrive at the bookshop. What a way to treat your troops. In any case, we get a final song that doesn’t get the ending it deserves, and gets cut off in favour of a reprise.

Taco Bell: Live Confused So why put so much effort into signalling these 6 specific actions with bell tolls? The first three are clearly Aziraphale & Crowley related, while the second three are Shax related. (All the Shax actions accompanied by bells have flashing lights above Shax.) Could this be a way of signalling we are halfway to the second coming, 6 hours until midnight on the armageddon clock? Or something else entirely?

Every time we hear the added bells, the soundtrack in the show deviates from the planned endings written for the album. Are these mistakes in the timeline, that were never supposed to happen in the ineffable plan? I guess we'll all be listening together for tubular bells in season 3... -------------------------------- Thanks to @embracing-the-ineffable for the encouragement, and the Ineffable detective agency for all their hard work. Part 1 is here!

[stelly38]

“I can’t remember how much bonking I did”  —Aidan Turner

With Ross Poldark behind him, the star of Di5ney’s adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals talks ’80s excess, intimacy coaches and beef brisket.

Here I am, avidly watching the first few episodes of Rivals, the sizzling new Disney+ treatment of Dame Jilly Cooper’s raunchy blockbuster, before my interview with dreamboat-y Aidan Turner, when my 22-year-old daughter walks into the room. “What the actual?” she cries, open-mouthed in horror. “Oh my God! What are they doing?”

I chide her prudishness. “Well, if you must know, Rupert Campbell-Black and a woman he probably just met have reached a shuddering climax on Concorde,” I explain. “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know, darling – the Mile High Club has been around for…” but it turns out that’s not what’s triggered her.

“These people are SMOKING! On. A. Plane. Who even does that?” Everybody, that’s who. Welcome to the sassy, sexy 1980s, Missy. Double-breasted suits and taffeta skirts, booze, bonking, endless ciggies and hairstyles so fugly (the mullet, for pity’s sake?) as to have recently crept back into fashion. It’s all there: rampant sexism, social climbing and conspicuous consumption, to a banging soundtrack of Eurythmics, Hall & Oates, Haircut 100 and the rest – no idea how The Birdie Song got in there though. Did people really...? Yes, we did. Now run along. From the moment the opening credits roll on Rivals, it’s fair to say we are immersed in a very different, instantly recognisable universe.

I lapped up every transgressive minute. Why, dear readers, the last time I enjoyed a pleasure quite so guilty was when Aidan Turner took off his shirt in…  “I’m not here to talk about Poldark,” says Turner very politely, with a fabulously winning white smile, when we meet. So we don’t. At least for a bit. We are here, after all, to discuss his new role in this very different literary classic – and no, ladies, he’s not been cast as the libidinous blaggard Campbell-Black. As if. County Dublin-born Turner, 41, was a shoo-in for dashing Declan O’Hara, the saturnine Irish journalist turned reluctant chat-show host who finds himself at the epicentre of a battle royale in the cut-throat world of independent television. David Tennant plays Corinium TV boss Lord Baddingham, and Alex Hassell’s Rupert Campbell-Black has ascended to the lofty heights of Tory Minister for Sport.

I could try to explain, but that’s about all the primer you need – rest assured that with this high-budget adaptation, even the most loyal of Cooper’s fans will find themselves safe in its (wandering) hands. “Rivals is about the three things that fascinate all of us: sex, power and money,” says Turner. “That trifecta is especially potent when there’s a clash of status and class. Class informs all sorts of things, including the sex, which is sometimes completely transactional on both sides. From the very top to the very bottom of the ladder, everyone’s slightly on the make.”

Speaking of the top and indeed the bottom, the eight-part series employed not one but two intimacy coaches. “They had a lot of intimacy to coach,” confirms Turner breezily. “I think they really improve sex scenes because they encourage creativity and it all looks so much more authentic. There’s a lot of bonking. I want to say I did a lot of bonking – I can’t quite remember how much.”

Declan is very much the dark-eyed, watchful outsider, his integrity as deep-rooted as his humongous moustache – “artist’s own”, remarks Turner. (He speaks in mellifluous Irish tones and uses his own accent to play Declan.) Amid the jostling for supremacy in the first few episodes, Declan’s only crime appears to be wearing mustard socks on air and having sensuous congress with his own wife (played with exquisite brittleness by Victoria Smurfit).

Such uxoriousness appears borderline scandalous in Dame Jilly’s masterfully constructed world of egos, oneupmanship and serial adultery, which signals that despite being a workaholic, Declan is clearly a good ’un – although, to be fair, I have only seen the first three episodes.

“I hadn’t read Rivals before. It seemed very British so it wasn’t really on my radar, but it’s really fun – although later on it descends into something much murkier. I just read the scripts initially and then was really struck by how faithful they were to the book,” says Turner, who is married to the American Succession actor Caitlin FitzGerald, 41. “You get a real sense of the characters in the first 15 or 20 pages and it’s a mark of excellent writing that you feel you already know these people.”

Whether or not you like them is up to you, but it’s absolutely gripping and Turner’s character is right at the heart of the story. “Rivals is a really truthful depiction of an era that in a great many ways was hugely problematic,” says Turner. “It’s not being refracted through a modern lens and some of it is quite shocking, particularly the way women are treated. There’s also endless back-stabbing; Declan is detached, the one who sees what’s going on, and because he’s not from this class-bound world [he] struggles to understand the playbook – but he’s married to a woman who does and that causes tension.”

To research the role of a broadcasting homme sérieux, Turner trawled YouTube to watch hours of Firing Line, the US current-affairs talk show presented by conservative pundit William F Buckley Jr for 33 years. From 1966 to 1999, he verbally sparred with leading figures of the age.

“I felt it was important to look to older shows, the way they were presented and the communication style,” says Turner. “The interviewee would be given time and space to answer questions in full. These days it’s very different; the nearest we have to that now would be podcasts.”

“Once filming started, to be honest I was channelling my dad the whole time. He’s an electrician, not a journalist, but Declan is very like him – the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, his passion. He feels very Irish and so does Declan.”

For Alexander Lamb, an executive producer on Rivals, finding the right fit for the pivotal character of Declan was crucial. “The very first person we thought about – the very first person we cast – for Rivals was Aidan. He was the lynchpin because he just felt so right; he’s got depth but also such charm and that was exactly what we wanted. A lot of the cast was built around him.” That cast also includes EastEnder Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, best known for The IT Crowd, Emily Atack of Inbetweeners fame, and Claire Rushbrook, who was in the first series of Sherwood. When it came to Turner, Lamb had been impressed by his previous standout roles as a vampire in the supernatural series Being Human and a clinical psychologist in police procedural The Suspect.

“Aidan hadn’t played sexy-dad-with-teenagers or an intellectual journalist before, so that gave the whole thing a freshness. I think there’s a lot to be gained from getting actors out of their comfort zones,” observes Lamb. “I’ve never really worked with an actor before who was so conscious of his performance. He would come back behind the camera to see if he could improve on what he’d done.” Dame Jilly, adds Lamb, needed no persuasion in casting Turner. “It did not escape her just how good-looking Mr. Aidan Turner was. Let’s just say she became quite the fan.” Turner responds in kind, with unalloyed admiration. “Jilly is so sharp, perceptive and really funny – she’s very kind, but as she was seeing the daily and the weekly rushes I am quite certain that if she hadn’t liked what any of us were doing, she would have told us very swiftly.”

Later, he quietly relates a telling conversation with Cooper at a garden party held at her Gloucestershire gaff (to call it a pile would be too excessive, to call it a house too modest), one summer evening last year, after filming. “I remember a surreal moment when she took me by the arm and led me around the garden, pointing out the place where she would write and how she would look over the valley,” he says. “And then she pointed out the houses where her nearest neighbours and friends lived and said, ‘This is Declan O’Hara’s house, and that one’s Tony’s house,’ and explained how she would visualise the world of Rivals. It was a very special moment.” How magical, I say. He nods very slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching, eyes crinkling at the preciousness of the memory. He’s so unabashedly soulful, I almost have to look away. And so, to business: is Turner really as handsome as they say? Hmm. Maybe that’s what strikes you first but, in truth, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

Born in Clondalkin, a town outside Dublin, before the family moved to a suburb of the city, Turner admits he was never academically inclined. With a low boredom threshold, he struggled to concentrate at school, but when his accountant mother took him along to dance classes, he excelled; he went on to compete in ballroom dancing at national level, but lost momentum.

There was a stint working as an electrician with his father, but it was a job at the local cinema that sparked his interest in acting, entering the Gaiety School of Acting, Ireland’s national theatre school, where he graduated in 2004. After appearing in several theatre productions, including Seán O’Casey’s Easter Rising play The Plough and the Stars, he got his first major television gig in 2008 in the Irish hospital drama The Clinic.

“I was a lowly receptionist and Victoria Smurfit, who is my wife in Rivals, was a consultant,” he smiles. “Let’s just say we didn’t have a huge number of scenes together back then, so it’s great to catch up now.” Soon the BBC beckoned and he was cast as Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood drama Desperate Romantics. The six-parter failed to make a mark, but led to a critically acclaimed role in the comedy-drama Being Human, where he caught the eye of director Sir Peter Jackson, who cast Turner as the dwarf Kili in The Hobbit trilogy between 2012 and 2014.

Various other parts followed, culminating in his award-winning portrayal of Captain Ross Poldark in the 2015 revival of the BBC classic, which ran for five series and made him both a household name and a pin-up among ladies (and interviewers) d’un certain age.

After he was shown scything a field shirtless, a sheen of sweat on his ripped – sorry – torso, the Sunday-night concupiscence became so pronounced that media commentators called out the reverse sexism and denounced the reductive way in which Turner was being treated as a piece of prime meat. A decade on, he still seems mildly baffled, but not ungrateful, for the attention, if loath to dwell on it. “There are worse things to be known for than having a nice physique,” he says, philosophically. “But that was a long time ago and I’ve done a lot of fully clothed work since.” Hilariously, in Rivals, Declan finds himself sharing a schedule with a series called Four Men Went To Mow, featuring a quartet of topless hunks – with scythes. Turner almost leaps off the sofa when I bring it up. “I know! I was reading the script and when I saw the Four Men Went To Mow reference, I assumed someone was deliberately winding me up. Then I realised it was actually in the original book, so I took a deep breath and let it go.”

I can confirm he’s fully dressed for our interview, wearing a mustard top by British menswear brand Oliver Spencer, which he dryly describes as ‘drab chic’, Levi’s 501s, and a pair of trainers. He points out they are classic white Reeboks with a natural gum sole. I admit I didn’t know that was A Thing. “To be honest, neither did I,” he shrugs in good-natured agreement. “They were a present from a mate of mine – he’s a musician so far cooler than me, obviously – and he was very emphatic that the soles were a big deal.”

On his wrist is a 1969 Omega Seamaster. “It cost less than £2,000, it was an anniversary gift and the only watch I own,’”he offers, pre-emptively. “Oh, and I’m not sponsored by Omega, none of that.” Would he like to be? I ask mischievously. “Ah well, I’d certainly take the phone call. You always like to have options.” This is all the more interesting because later I ask if there’s any truth in tabloid rumours that he has variously been earmarked as the new Bergerac and the next James Bond. He denies both charges. “But you’d take the calls presumably?” I suggest. A pregnant pause follows. “You know, I don’t think I would. I have to say I think I’d pass on those.” Bergerac I can understand – but intimations of 007 are, like talk of knighthoods, not to be trifled with, much less dismissed out of hand, however cat’s-chance unlikely.

Turner just pulls a slightly apologetic face (possibly for the benefit of his aghast agent reading this). But really it should come as no surprise; Turner has built up a reputation as a protean performer, moving seamlessly between television, film and the stage in a variety of markedly different roles. Last year he appeared opposite Jenna Coleman in a minimalist two-hander, the West End revival of Sam Steiner’s 2015 fringe hit Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, about love and language. Director Josie Rourke says she cast Turner not just because he is ‘brilliant’, but because he has an ability to connect with his character and with the audience.

“Aidan is a very technical and focused actor who really works hard to prepare – in that respect he’s not dissimilar to David Tennant. That might make him sound dour or serious, but he’s very personable and funny,” says Rourke, a former artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse in London. “He’s acutely aware, in a lovely way, of every single person in the room. There’s something fundamentally unselfish about his performances.”

Off stage, Turner leads a quiet life with his family in an 18th-century house in east London, which he famously furnished with the table and chairs from the Poldark set in Cornwall. He looks amused when I wonder aloud if he hangs out – virtually or actually – with the slew of young Irish actors, like Paul Mescal and Barry Keoghan, who have made a name for themselves. “It sounds boring but I work, and then when a project is finished I start reading scripts again,” he says. “I’m not on social media, I don’t get wrapped [up] comparing myself to anyone else. Frankly, it’s hard enough keeping track of my own career. Since the birth of our son, my wife and I have agreed that only one of us will take a job away from home at any given time; we’ve not [had] a clash yet but we’ll have to see what happens when the time comes.”

They did, however, both have plays on in the West End at one point last year; he was appearing in Lemons while she was in The Crucible. “It worked out really well, we headed out in different directions during the day, catching up with friends and getting stuff done, far too busy to see each other,” he recalls. “Each of us did our show then we would meet up afterwards and share a cab home. It was really fun, but that sort of synchronicity is quite rare.” Like a lot of actors, Turner is guarded when it comes to discussing his personal life. Although frenzied interest from the paparazzi has calmed down post-Poldark, every so often pictures do appear in the tabloids – and Rivals will no doubt increase his bankability. It is something he accepts with equanimity.

“If I do get snapped, I don’t make a fuss or get angry, but I try to stay out of the way.” I remind him of a very striking photo of him putting the rubbish out in a frankly extraordinary receptacle. “Ah yes, maybe I should get rid of the fluorescent pink wheelie bin, a bit of an own goal,” he sighs.

I bet he doesn’t. Far too much of a compromise. I do manage to winkle a few details out of him by playing my fellow Irishwoman card and discover that he’s a ‘serious’ pool player – just this week he settled down in front of a recording of Steve Davis and his teammates taking the 2002 Mosconi Cup in Bethnal Green. He plays golf, enjoys music, and is an avowed Nick Cave fan.

“I’d have to say my favourite downtime is having friends round for good banter and food in the garden, weather allowing. I’m trying to perfect the manly art of beef brisket in my [Big] Green Egg barbecue. I think one of the reasons Rivals was such a happy show to work on was because so many of the scenes were us all together at parties. Then at the end of the day we’d kick back and half of us would still be in character.”

And what characters they are, all dressed up in their ’80s finery, jockeying for position, angling for seduction as Tears for Fears belt out ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World.’ Gen Z won’t understand, much less approve (lock up your 22-year-olds), but as a snapshot of a bygone age, Rivals promises to be TV gold, and at its glittering epicentre, Declan O’Hara, legendary brooding broadcaster with the biggest ’tache in town.

All episodes of Rivals are available on Di5ney+ from 18 October

Interview by Judith Woods from The Telegraph; Photos by John Balsom.

[bitter69uk]

Hagsploitation truly is the horror sub-genre that keeps on giving. Sparked by the unexpected success of 1962’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? in the 1960s and 70s, maturing female stars of golden age Hollywood extended their careers by swallowing their pride, embracing their inner scream queen and plunging into exploitation shockers: think of Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Tallulah Bankhead, Olivia de Havilland, Agnes Moorehead and Shelley Winters starring in the likes of Strait-Jacket, Hush … Hush … Sweet Charlotte, Berserk, Lady in a Cage, Die Die My Darling, Dear Dead Delilah and especially the “question movies” Whoever Slew Auntie Roo?, What’s the Matter with Helen? and What Ever Happened to Aunt Alice? Roaring back from career doldrums (I last remember her playing Miley Cyrus’ mother), 61-year-old Demi Moore finds herself in a similar position in director Coralie Fargeat’s grisly and stylish satire The Substance. In a gutsy, exposed (in every sense) performance, Moore plays Elisabeth Sparkle, a middle-aged television celebrity abruptly fired by ageist and sexist network executive Dennis Quaid (really chomping the scenery). Despondent, Elisabeth takes desperate measures to rejuvenate her “best self” with a mysterious unregulated black market scientific procedure called The Substance … and things swiftly unravel. Characterized by stunning art direction and a visceral sound design that emphasizes every repulsive squelching noise, The Substance ratchets up maximum dread and offers a goldmine of knowing movie references: Basket Case. Carrie. Death Becomes Her. Every single David Cronenberg “body horror” flick but particularly The Fly. Thematically, it reminded me of two specific b-movies from the late 1950s: The Wasp Woman and The Leech Woman, in which the anti-heroine experiments with science (or voodoo) to restore youth and beauty with monstrous consequences (and – it must be noted - these films make their point with a fraction of The Substance’s budget and two hour-and 40-minute running time). The Substance is bound to be divisive. There was multiple “walk outs” when I saw it. And has Fargeat lost control of the material by the ultra-gory splatter fest finale? However you cut it, it’s a wild ride and destined for cult status.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

By David de Bruijn

Many are shocked, wondering how this could happen in the Netherlands.

To me, their bafflement is what’s shocking.

I grew up in The Hague, where real and abundant antisemitism, from epithets in the street to physical threats to the community’s safety, was part of our daily life. As a young boy, I vividly recall how The Hague's football hooligans—viciously opposed to Ajax, Amsterdam’s “Jewish” team—walked the streets under a banner reading “We’re hunting for Jews.” (Indeed, for my entire life, football stadiums in my home country have been filled with lurid chants like “Hamas, Hamas, all the Jews on gas!” and “My dad was in the commandos, my mom was in the SS, we like to burn Jews, because Jews burn the best.”)  

In high school, second- or third-generation Moroccan kids would point and hiss “Psst, psst, that’s a Jew, that’s a Jew!” as they passed by on their bikes. 

But most impactful were the myriad security measures our community had to undertake. Seen from the front, The Hague synagogue is not recognizable, two thick green doors presenting a closed facade to the street. Behind these doors are glass doors that open only once additional permission is given. All the windows are made of bulletproof glass. A permanent police post guards the synagogue. In Amsterdam, the Jewish primary school has even more dystopian levels of protection, hidden behind several layers of metal spikes and fencing. From the outside, the view of the school is entirely closed off. (Even as I write this, I feel uncomfortably conscious of not revealing any sensitive security details.)

Self-protection was a constant—and to me, natural—part of Jewish life. Leading youngsters to a summer camp in northern Friesland meant bringing a dedicated security team and, when possible, keeping quiet the fact that it was Jewish children gathering here. 

Violent, antisemitic assaults have become increasingly regular occurrences. In May, a student at the University of Amsterdam, a young man, was assaulted by a protester in a keffiyeh, struck in the head with a wooden plank. In August, a statue of Anne Frank was defaced—for the second time—with anti-Israel graffiti. Today, walking around with a kippah in the Netherlands is an act that requires bravery.

As the situation worsened over the years—motivating some, including me, to move, others to adjust, and so many to worry—one of the most painful aspects was the way the Jewish community was gaslit. Dutch society repeatedly told its post-Holocaust Jewish remnant—and itself—that “never again” was not merely a concrete promise, but a core concept of modern Dutch morality. However, the dominant culture of the country’s immigrant communities has proven manifestly hostile to that worldview—and to Jews. 

For the North Africans living in Holland, the dominant Jewish story of the twentieth century is not Auschwitz, it is Israel, which in their distorted conception is an illegitimate, one-directional criminal enterprise directed at an innocent population. Nor—and this is crucial—is this merely an attitude about a conflict. They believe it is the crime of the twentieth century, conferring ultimate guilt on the Jewish people. “Palestine” is a phrase felt to carry the gravity of “Holocaust,” grotesquely inverting the perception of the Jewish experience.

For Holland’s Jewry, this reality has been palpable for decades. Yet nothing—no politician, no policy—has altered this reality. In the aftermath of every single violent attack—as will most likely be the case now—the political answer has been a room-temperature broth of subsidies, youth centers, dialogue forums, visits to Islamic pensioners clubs, and interfaith dialogue.

So it did not surprise me when international media outlets, like The Associated Press and The New York Times, covered this widespread attack as if it was the unfortunate, but perhaps expected, result of the Israeli fans’ conduct before and during the match, such as reportedly taunting Ajax fans with inappropriate slogans. Further, the AP wrote, the attack followed a Palestinian flag being “torn down from a building in Amsterdam on Wednesday,” and the rioters were angry because “authorities banned a pro-Palestinian demonstration near the stadium.” The Times originally pinned the attack on differences over sport and on taunts, as “violence tied to a match between Dutch and Israeli teams,” and reported that “the tensions in the hours leading up to the violence” was in part caused by “one man [being heard] saying in Hebrew, ‘The people of Israel live,’ while others shout[ed] anti-Palestinian chants using expletives.” (The Times has apparently stealth-edited its reporting numerous times since publication.)

In other words, if all you read were the initial reports, you might think that the Israelis started it, or at least had it coming.

What the reporters and media fail to understand is that this was an attack on Israeli football fans, but not one carried out by football hooligans. The Ajax team is itself Jewish friendly—fans of Amsterdam’s Ajax are affectionately (and sometimes not-so affectionately) referred to as “super Jews,” and Ajax is understood as the “Jewish team,” so it would make little sense that Ajax supporters would attack Jews or Israelis for their ethnicity—even if they are fans of an opposing team. 

No, this was straightforward: According to the accounts of witnesses and victims, it was an attack by immigrant, Muslim communities against Israelis and Jews.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 11 all chapters

-You fly into Rome on a beautiful June day with an ache in your heart you can’t quite shake. You throw yourself into the sights, visiting museums, soaking up the beautiful art and the Mediterranean sunshine. You see things in person that you’d only seen in art history books before, and as an artist you know you are forever changed. You meet plenty of interesting travelers in your hostel, but no one who quite holds your attention, or your imagination, the way the memory of Mr. Wick does.

Italy is beautiful, but the men are exhausting. Not all the men. Just the continual stream of the ones who find you on the street, see a young lady traveling alone and take it as license to bother you. Constantly. More than once, when you turn down their offers of whatever, as politely as you can in your broken Italian, they get nasty.

It’s a relief in a way when you pair up with a kind young man from Argentina to go see the Vatican. No one bothers you, and you have fun, but it’s not exactly what you want.

You actually like being alone, and in others casual company you find that you itch to steal away to a quiet corner to read or sketch or write in your journal. You revel in this special kind of solitude, being a solo traveler in a strange land, not needing to cater to the wants and whims of anyone else for once.

When Javier tries to kiss you on the Ponte Sant’Angelo, you cannot help but feel as though you are being watched. He’s a good-looking young man, funny and sweet and you enjoy his company. At any other time in your life you would have happily lost yourself in a fling. But you know you wish you were looking into a very different pair of dark eyes, and you turn your head at the last minute, receiving soft lips on the cheek.

“Javi…” you sigh with regret, holding distance between you with a hand on his chest.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, clearly crestfallen.

“It’s ok.”

You’re not mad. You’re just…sad—and you’re not sure why you can’t kick this melancholy longing and enjoy yourself in this beautiful place. You feel like you’re walking around with a hole in your heart, and it’s all Mr. Wick’s fault, the big idiot.   

After a week you move on to Florence, and the museums there fill your days. You see so many wonderful things, from the statue of David in the Galleria dell’Accademia, the wonderful paintings in the Uffizi gallery, the splendor of the Duemo... You fall in love all over again with Botticelli, Bellini, Lippi and Uccello and Tiziano and so many others.

You also see a sun-bronzed old man masturbating unabashedly on a blanket in the park, but that’s Italy for you, apparently.

You still feel as though you are being watched, but you never find the source of this weird feeling between your shoulder blades. You try to shrug it off, going for long walks along the Arno between snacks and visits to this galleria or that.

Before you leave the city you go to a book binder’s shop Mr. Wick told you about that has been in business for literal centuries. They have such wonderful things, books with leather covers and gilded arabesques, ornate handmade papers and parchment. You pick up a blank journal for Mr. Wick. It’s small, but its all you can afford. It’s beautifully made, and you hope he’ll like it.

Venice is beautiful, but so very infuriating.

You manage in a blunder on the very first day to drop your phone, cracking the screen into a thousand spiderwebs. It renders the maps you downloaded utterly useless, and you try to go the paper route, but you are lost for the umpteenth time in the maze of small side streets and canals when a seemingly helpful middle-aged construction worker takes pity on you and offers to lead you back to a main road.

At least you think that’s what he says, but after five minutes you realize you read the situation so very wrong, when you find yourself in a dead-ended alley and the older man is puckering his lips at you. It would have been comical on screen, perhaps, but in real life you are not amused. He’s big, but not fast. You’re glad for your flat sandals as you duck under his outstretched arms and dash away down the street, thinking you can’t possibly get yourself any more lost than you already are.

You look over your shoulder to check if he’s pursuing you, and run into something immoveable. You hit so hard you bounce, and you might have ended up in the canal, had strong arms not wrapped around you.

Oh no.

 Fearing you may have landed yourself out of the frying pan and into the fire, you try to squirm away.

“Y/n?”

Recognizing that voice, you freeze for a moment, before actually bothering to look up at who has you in hand.

It’s none other than Mr. John Wick.

A nearly unbearable flood of surprise and excitement fills you from your hair follicles to the tips of your toes.    

“What are you doing here?” you demand, and maybe it sounds more like an accusation than it should.

“Tying up some loose ends,” he answers vaguely. “Is he bothering you?”

You look over your shoulder to see the construction worker has emerged from the alley, and is stumping your way.

“Yes.”

The worker airs some dramatic-sounding complaint with John, waving his hands animatedly. John’s answer is much less musical, but perfectly pronounced, and you’re pretty sure he told the guy to get the fuck out of here.  

Grumbling, your suitor goes in the opposite direction, talking to himself as he does and gesturing with his arms to no one but the audience in his own mind.

So melodramatic.

You cannot help but notice Mr. Wick still has his arms around you, glaring at the man until he disappears around a corner. You are still breathing heavily from your little mad dash, steadying yourself with hands on the flat plane of his chest. John finally looks back down to you, his eyes fixating on your lips before valiantly rising back to meet your gaze, his fingertips digging slightly into your sides. 

You rack your brains for something to say, when all you really want to do is grab the lapels of his beautiful suit jacket, stand on tiptoe and press your lips to his. 

“I…thought you were retired?”

It seems he only reluctantly lets you go after that, the tips of his fingers sliding from your ribcage. Immediately you feel the loss of his strong hands.

“I try to be,” he quips, almost evasively. “Why aren’t you in Rome?” He asks this as if you are the one who is in a place you’re not supposed to be.

“I…saw everything I wanted to see?”

Only then does he finally offer you a smile. It’s almost boyish, and it pulls at your heartstrings with a vengeance. You look him over. It might be the first time you’ve seen him wearing anything but all black, in a light grey summer weight suit with an airy white button down open at the throat.

He looks, if you may be frank, utterly edible.

“It's good to see you,” he says almost shyly, as though he's afraid you might not feel the same.

If only you could tell him that you've thought about him every day since you've been gone. 

“I’m very glad to see you,” you dare to admit. “It's a small world, I guess.”

You decide not to think about what a strange coincidence it is, running into this man in a back alley in Venice. At the moment, you simply don’t care. It’s as though for once the Universe was paying attention to your heart’s yearnings and delivered on it in the flesh.

“Yeah. So...where are you headed?”

You sigh, and very sorely wish you could hang your head on the solid plane that is his chest again. Your desire to be held by this man is an ache in your very bones.

“I don't even know. I'm so lost.”

Usually you have a decent sense of direction, but this fucking city has you walking in circles. Usually that's fine too, but you've never felt so hunted in your life. 

“Would you... like to come to lunch with me? I'm on my way to meet an old friend. He would love to meet you.” 

For a moment you are dumbfounded to receive such an invitation. But then, you look down at yourself in your colorfully cute but obviously cheap sundress, then look at him in his smart suit that probably cost more than your car.

“That's so sweet, John, but I'm sure I'm not dressed to go wherever you're going.” 

“What do you mean? You look beautiful.” 

You look back up to him, open mouthed. He's never really said anything outright like that to you. It feels ridiculously good to hear it. Warmth floods you from head to toe. You know you are blushing, maybe even glowing, but it’s hard to feel too embarrassed when he looks at you like that.

“Thanks.”

He reaches up very slowly, just barely brushing your chin with his knuckle. “Come with me.” His voice is low, soft even, yet somehow adamant. It induces a flutter in your heart—and an ache in your loins. You like to think you are not easily led, but you wouldn't have dreamed of arguing with him now. 

“Alright.”

His pleased smile is a balm to your earlier frustration. For the first time since you got off the train and promptly got lost trying to find your hostel, you feel like you can relax in this maze of a city. You didn’t realize it before, but you haven’t felt safe for weeks.

He offers you his arm.

The gesture is sweet, and gallant, and maybe you lean against him a little more than you need to. His arm is dizzyingly solid beneath your fingers, and you can’t help but feel a little giddy as you stroll together towards your destination.

[artandthebible]

David and Bathsheba

Artist: Artemisia Gentileschi  (Italian, 1593–1653) 

Genre: Religious Art

Depicted People: Bathsheba

Date: circa 1636-1637

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: Columbus Museum of Art, Columbus, Ohio

David and Bathsheba

The story of David and Bathsheba is one of the most dramatic accounts in the Old Testament. One night in Jerusalem, King David was walking upon his rooftop when he spotted a beautiful woman bathing nearby (2 Samuel 11:2). David asked his servants about her and was told she was Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, one of David’s mighty men (2 Samuel 23:39). Despite her marital status, David summoned Bathsheba to the palace, and they slept together.

[lyrashifts]

. . . INTRODUCING MY MARAUDERS DR !

ABOUT : this dr is set in the 70s, and begins during my first year at hogwarts. it strays quite far from the actual events of the marauders era, and instead merges with the plot of the lighting era. in this dr, me and my friends work against prejudices and an upcoming war, as well as a very dangerous voldemort on the rise.

౨ৎ﹕[ ABOUT ME ! ]

+ name : lyra a. lavigne

+ nationality : english-french

+ birthplace : cambridge, england

+ languages : english, french

+ blood status : pureblood

+ house : gryffindor

+ moodboard

౨ৎ﹕[ PERSONALITY ! ]

+ likes : writing, playing the guitar, drawing, reading, theater, cookies, poetry, magical creatures and animals, going on long walks, baking, being better dressed than everyone else, jumpers, rainy days, shopping (especially for music and clothes), hozier, queen, david bowie, the smiths, little women, lemon iced tea, stealing james's invisibility cloak, pranking (and actually getting away with it)

+ known for : converse, cherry red, loving 90s muggle movies, being best friends with remus, reading at social events when bored, drinking too much coffee, having cool hair, my style, quoting dead poets society daily, leather jackets, liking hozier and the smiths way too much, being an amazing gift giver, having a new hairstyle every day, being nice to everyone unless they cross me, smelling like cinnamon, coffee, and books, being amazing at school and magic, somehow getting every lead role in plays, wearing jumpers and leather jackets in the dead of summer and not somehow overheating to the point of death

౨ৎ﹕[ BACKSTORY ! ]

+ backstory : i grew up in england where a lot of my family was but by the time i turned 13 we moved to scotland, partially to attend hogwarts and partially because my parents wanted to get away from some of our pureblood family members. my parents, though from a notable pureblood family, don't agree with the views of pureblood culture. because my parents' reputation for their last name still upheld, when we moved we were invited to an event that ended up just being a pureblood society ball. we only stayed out of politeness, but it was there that i met sirius and promised to be best friends with him when we got to hogwarts since we both hated the party.

౨ৎ﹕[ WARDROBE ! ]

+ description : my style in this dr can change a lot, especially taking into consideration the weather or location i'm in. in terms of colors, i wear a lot of neutrals but tend to have a specific color pop (which oftentimes a cherry red). during winter and autumn months, i am often wearing oversized jumpers (whether mine or stolen from remus). i also almost always wear flared or baggy pants. some of my iconic pieces include leather jackets, doc martens, band tees, baker boy hats, plaid skirts, and more. during the summer i tend to wear baby tees and babydoll tops, along with skirts. with my uniform, i pair many accessories to make it look as appealing as possible, and use magic to have different nails every day.

౨ৎ﹕[ LIFE AT HOGWARTS ! ]

+ general : students start first year at 14, so it is a sort of hybrid between highschool and university, where students have much more freedom once 18. school uniforms are only required during classes from monday - thursday, and on friday you may wear your desired outfit underneath your robes.

+ dorms : students are allocated private dorms that have within them a bed, a desk, a private bathroom, and more. once a student is assigned to a dorm, the dorm changes to accommodate that student's taste. once you are given your dorm number, you must choose a password and it is your responsibility to ensure students you do not want to come in cannot. in the case that a student knows your password and you do not want them to, you can ask a professor to change it and they will do so. alohomora will not unlock dorm rooms. dorms are organized by house, but boy's and girl's dorms are not separated - everything is instead organized by house and name.

+ extra-curriculars : the clubs i am part of include music club (which later inspires me and my friends to make a band), theater club, art club, care of magical creatures club, and in later years, the quidditch team

+ houses : the animosity between houses (especially slytherin and gryffindor) is not nearly as prevalent as depicted in the books. it is known that not all students in one house are the same, and so, while some friendly competition is encouraged, it is not uncommon to have friends from every house. students of every house are allowed into the common rooms and dorms (with permission of at least one person from that house).

+ events : all the events featured in this post are included in this dr

౨ৎ﹕[ ABOUT THIS DR ! ]

+ worldbuilding : not a lot changes about the war except for the fact that it's toned down and ends during my seventh year (which we redo since it would be similar to the last year in the harry potter books - looking for horcruxes without actually being at hogwarts). of course, none of my friends die. i haven't accounted for how the war will end exactly, so i suppose i'll let that work itself out organically.

+ main friends : remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, lily evans, regulus black, marlene mckinnon, mary macdonald.

+ relationships : i am a formal part of both the marauders and the valkyries. i became friends with the marauders at the start of the school year, and we were consequently established as a friend group before me and the girls. i tend to spend more time with the marauders but our groups often mingle since everyone gets along (except maybe lily and james at the beginning). i also have some friends in slytherin, such as andromeda and regulus, but i tend to stay away from the anti-muggleborn students.

[inawickedlittletown]

It's A Love Story (BuckTommy) - one-shot

Summary: You saw all kinds of things working at a restaurant. First dates. Failed dates. Proposals. Arguments. Break ups. The passing of secrets.

Or, the waitress at the restaurant Tommy and Buck go to for their first date likes to people watch.

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 5: outsider perspective

Rated: G

Words: 2.9k

@bucktommypositivityweek

-

Read on Ao3

You saw all kinds of things working at a restaurant. First dates. Failed dates. Proposals. Arguments. Break ups. The passing of secrets. People watching almost made up for the meager pay and the nights when few dine-ins meant less tips. Rachel was only working there until she managed to get the right role. That was something she’d been saying for years and she’d landed her fair share of commercials and done a few background characters here or there. Her boss was at least very understanding of her goals and willing to work around her auditions. It was better than she could have ever expected. 

People watching was fun too, especially for someone that was trying to hone the craft of emoting emotions well on film. The best people to watch were the regulars. On them you could see the human condition. A good day or a bad day played out differently. You got to see how things changed from a change in partner or family that grew or got smaller. A small insight into their lives. 

One guy, a guy that Rachel and her coworker, Casey, had named David after the Michelangelo statue, came in almost once a week. It was never on the same day, but he always ordered a medium pizza. It was always just the single pizza pie. It was always ordered over the phone and he paid in cash and nearly always left a tip in the jar. 

David was a bit of a mystery, but he was so hot that she, Casey, some of the other girls, and William tried to make conversation with him if they spotted him. Sometimes, when they knew it was his order, they made the kitchen wait to put it into the oven so they could get a bit more time with him. 

The problem with David was that he was hot and nice. He was tall, kinda built in a way that meant he could probably pick Rachel up without breaking a sweat. His jaw looked like it could cut glass and his cheeks were perfectly chiseled. He had an aquiline nose and on him it made absolute sense. What made it worse were his blue eyes and how sometimes his dark hair curled just a bit. 

He was always friendly, greeting them with a polite hello and a smile. He was always on his own and nothing about him gave away what he did. Casey thought he was or had been military. No ring on his finger told them he was unmarried. William had once gotten the courage to ask if he was seeing anyone. 

He’d gotten a crisp, “no” for his trouble. 

Casey had gotten him talking sports one night and since Rachel knew nothing about sports she hadn’t been able to tell if his opinions were good or not. 

Years went on like that and there was something absolutely lonely about the guy. The few times he ate in it was always on his own. 

On Wednesday afternoon when it was quiet enough that even William had gotten bored enough to start rearranging the shelves under the counter, David walked in. 

“Hi, how are you,” Rachel said at once. “Did you put in an order?” 

“Oh. No. Last minute decision,” he said. “I almost forgot I don’t have anything to eat at home. Can I just get a medium veggie?”

“Sure,” she said. “Fifteen minutes?” 

He gave a nod and took a seat at the counter. Rachel hated the counter seats because it meant having customers right within hearing distance, but she was changing her mind having David there. 

He propped his head on his hand. 

“Long morning?” Rachel asked. 

“Yes. Very,” he said. “I was supposed to get off work — at this point — ten hours ago. So now all I want is food and sleep.” 

He blinked lazily and left as soon as his food was ready. 

Rachel didn’t see him again for a few more weeks and then to her surprise when he next showed up on a Saturday night, he entered with another guy. He looked like he’d put a little more effort into his clothes than usual, not that he ever showed up looking like a slob. His friend was probably equally as hot as him. He had an interesting marking over his left eye and he was cute in a more approachable way than David. 

“It’s a date,” William said. “Haven’t I been saying for ages that David is gay?”

There was actually no telling if it was a date or not. Rachel hadn’t been lucky enough to have them sit in her section, but Casey was willing to recount everything she heard from the table. 

So in the kitchen they all got to hear about how the not-David guy was a bit of a rambler and was giving David a lecture on sea turtles of all things. David, according to Casey, didn’t seem to mind a bit. He seemed to encourage it. So far there was no telling if they were just good friends or on a date, but one thing was for certain, they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. They drank almost two pitchers of beer between them by the time they asked for the check. 

“Rachel, he’s paying for the whole thing and he’s paying with card,” Casey whispered to her. 

“They’re on a date,” William threw in. “Also, look at his name on the card.” 

Rachel had to go deliver drinks to her table, so she returned after Casey had already processed the payment and returned the card to David. 

“Thomas,” Casey told her. “His name is Thomas Kinard.” 

Something weird did happen, then. Thomas’ friend seemed to get spooked for some reason, glancing around like everyone in the restaurant was looking at them. It wasn’t the other dinners as much as the wait staff but he didn’t seem to get clued into that. David — Thomas — was suddenly looking a bit more serious. 

Rachel went to lead a couple to their table when halfway there, the guy stopped in front of David’s — Thomas’ — table and he called out, “ Tommy!” 

So he went by Tommy. Rachel thought it fit him. His companion was named Buck apparently and Buck only managed to stiffen even more. Rachel didn’t hear everything that was said over the din of plates, cutlery, and conversation, but she could see that Tommy had gone a little flat. His companion looked even more panicked. They didn’t look like they even said another word to each other and then they got up to leave. 

“What is happening?” William asked. 

Rachel was taking care of her own table. The couple looked happy and the guy actually informed her that they’d just decided to move in together. 

“That’s nice,” Rachel said distracted by watching David — damn it, his name was Tommy — walk out with Buck. 

Rachel managed to sneak closer to the window to look out there and she saw them share a few words before Tommy, shoulders squared, got into a car and left his companion behind. Buck seemed frustrated by being left behind. He didn’t waste too long before he too departed. 

“If it was a date,” Rachel told William and Casey later, “I don’t think it ended well.” 

They saw Tommy again two weeks later. He wasn’t picking up his single pie, but two pizza pies, garlic knots, and an order of wings. He was all smiles and talked to William about having spent the day at the zoo. 

“Well that was unusual,” William said. 

After that he just kind of disappeared. He had either found a better pizza place or he’d given it up altogether. So, it was shocking when Tommy returned one Thursday night. He wasn’t alone. Buck, the guy he’d been eating with that one time was with him. They stood close to each other at the counter and Buck laid his hand on Tommy’s forearm. Tommy smiled at him. 

Tommy smiling made him look even more gorgeous. The skin around his eyes crinkled and he had the straightest, whitest teeth. No one had ever managed to get his job out of him and Rachel was starting to wonder if he was maybe some kind of model or actor. 

“So I suppose I have to thank you,” Buck was saying. 

“How do you figure that?” Tommy asked. 

“I think the muay thai helped a little.” 

Tommy laughed. “I doubt that. But I’m glad you were quick on your feet.” 

“The whole thing was nuts. Chim really saved the day catching the baby. I like when everything gets resolved in one shift.” 

“I know what you mean. You’re not left wondering.” 

“Exactly.” 

Rachel caught Tommy’s attention. He went to pay, but Buck pushed him back and extended his card to her. 

“Evan,” Tommy said. 

She looked between them as Tommy finally gave a nod. Evan looked a little smug and as he signed the slip he shot her a smile. 

“My boyfriend here is always trying to pay for everything,” he said. 

Boyfriend, he said. So William was right and it had been a date that time they were in before. And, clearly whatever happened at the end of the last date had been resolved. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Rachel said. 

“Exactly,” Tommy said. 

“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it,” Evan said and he glanced back at Tommy. “I’m just saying that you deserve to be taken care of too.” 

The look that Tommy settled on Evan was one that Rachel wanted to take and keep into her back pocket because it was infatuation and fondness and maybe even love rolled into one. 

They left still talking to each other and Tommy opened the door for Evan who carried their food. 

After that Tommy started showing up on his own again, but there was no telling if it was because he wasn’t dating Evan anymore or what. After all, sometimes he still did pick up a single pizza pie, but other times it was two or other things from the menu. Casey did report that she’d seen Evan stop by to pick up take out once or twice and that he was nearly always distracted by his phone when he did. 

It did take a while for Tommy and Evan to return together. It was, of course, on the night before Rachel’s big audition. It was for a new tv-show and for some reason they were looking for complete unknowns for the main cast. Rachel was hoping it’d be her big break. Her agent seemed to think she had a shot. 

So, she was a little distracted and running lines as much as she could. She was also lucky that Casey and William were both on shift because as long as it wasn’t busy they were willing to let her take up a table and just go over the lines again. Rachel would pay them back when William needed to sit and write whatever had popped into his head or when he needed to revise something he was turning in and Casey when she had a big test or finals to study for. 

Casey, as a lark, even sat them at the table next to her and winked at her. She rolled her eyes, but that didn’t stop her from eavesdropping. 

“It’s horrible,” Evan said in a tone that was almost whining. “Like I expected the worst, but it’s worse than that. But we can…we can talk about something else because I don’t even want to think about Gerrard anymore. He already takes up too much of my time. Can you tell me about your day?” 

“Lucy and Melton are feuding,” Tommy said. “I think he ate her sandwich by mistake a few days ago and she’s not letting it go. That’s as exciting as it gets around Harbor.” 

“Other than when you’re flying a helicopter. Maybe I really should think about transferring. After all the lessons have paid off.” 

“Uh…I’m not saying it’s not an option, but they kinda need you over there right now.” 

Evan laughed. “I know. I know. I think Eddie is growing a mustache and I don’t know if it’s in response to Gerrard or Chris. Either way, it’s weird.” 

“Evan, you can’t just say that and not have pictures.” 

“He’ll probably still have it when you see him for basketball tomorrow.” 

When the restaurant started getting a bit busy she had to get up and help with the takeout orders. So Tommy flew helicopters? She added that to the lore and passed the information on to William and Casey. 

It was almost a week after the audition when she heard back about a call back. A chemistry read. Two more auditions and then right in the middle of grabbing a take out order to pass to a customer her phone began to ring. 

“Casey, I gotta take this one.” 

Considering how noisy it was inside, she ran out to the front. It was twilight, the sky shot with a bunch of different colors as the sun went down. 

“Hello?” 

She paced the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and listened as her agent said a lot of things that lead up to, “you got it, Rach. You got the job.” 

Rachel didn’t know what noise she made, but her agent was laughing and Rachel was laughing. There may have even been some jumping up and down. 

“Thank you sooo much,” Rachel said into the phone. “I can’t believe it.” 

When she turned around, she saw Tommy and Evan walking out of the restaurant. They were smiling at each other, completely caught up in each other. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever want to come back here,” Evan said. “It was…it was an awful first date.” 

“It was not and I have no regrets.” 

“Still,” Evan said. 

Rachel smiled to herself as she watched them go. 

Rachel didn’t think about Tommy or Evan again after that. She had finally gotten a role on an actual tv-show. Her boss at the restaurant was cool about it and let her know she could come back if she needed to. Rachel didn’t wind up needing to even if that particular tv-show lasted all of one season. The doors had been opened to her, at least, and she had steady work. 

It was almost a full three years later before she stepped foot there again. William, and Casey had agreed to meet up for dinner and they decided it may as well happen where they had met and become friends in the first place.  

Soon after Rachel left, Casey had finished her degree and gotten a different job. William had stuck around a little longer until the script he’d been working on for years was finally picked up. They’d always kept in contact and William had kept them informed on the regulars that he still saw right up until he left. 

“Oh my god,” Casey said twenty minutes after they arrived. 

“What?” 

“Guess who just came in?”

Rachel almost didn’t even have to, but she turned anyway and there they were. Tommy and Evan. 

They were sat a few tables away which meant they couldn’t actually listen in, but they both still looked amazing. Both were smiling easily and didn’t seem to run out of things to say to each other. There was actually something sickening in how in love they looked. 

“What are the odds,” William said. 

“I know,” Rachel said. “But maybe we shouldn’t be creepily watching them all night.” 

Casey laughed. “I guess you know about that now.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’ll die if anyone ever recognizes me from that show. One eight episode season and it was over. Haven’t had anything that big since.” 

Not that she was complaining, really. She was, after all, a working actor and she’d gone to a few auditions that seemed promising. One might mean having to live in Canada for a while, but she was at a stage in her career where she wouldn’t be passing anything up. 

“You will,” William said. “You’ll be the first I call if I ever get backing for my latest script.” 

They were catching up and Casey was giving them the gossip at her new job when silence seemed to fall over the restaurant. 

“Holy shit,” William said. 

At the same time, Tommy said, “Evan, I can’t believe you. Of course. Of course, yes.” 

Rachel turned at once. Evan was down on one knee next to the table and Tommy looked like he was going to start crying in his seat. In the next moment they were hugging and kissing and maybe even crying. 

“Now that is a love story right there,” Casey said. 

Rachel couldn’t help but think about Tommy back when they had named him David and how he had been such a constant every week or two. Always on his own, always ordering take out for one. How there had always existed a loneliness in him even while he was always kind, tipped well, and looked insanely hot. For years that had just been the norm. He never shared much about himself and small talk with him just always resulted in conversation about sports or a movie and nothing about himself. 

Bringing Evan that first time had shocked them because it was outside the norm, but looking at them with their big smiles, holding hands across the table, she was happy to have witnessed even a tiny bit of their story. She was sure there was a lot more. 

[simply-ivanka]

Oversight, Judiciary, and Ways and Means Committees Release Report on Impeachment Inquiry Finding Joe Biden Has Committed Impeachable Conduct

Below are key findings from the impeachment inquiry report. The 291 page report can be found below.

From 2014 to the present, as part of a conspiracy to monetize Joe Biden’s office of public trust to enrich the Biden family, Biden family members and their associates received over $27 million from foreign individuals or entities. In order to obscure the source of these funds, the Biden family and their associates set up shell companies to conceal these payments from scrutiny. The Biden family used proceeds from these business activities to provide hundreds of thousands of dollars to Joe Biden—including thousands of dollars that are directly traceable to China. While Jim Biden claimed he gave this money to Joe Biden to repay personal loans, Jim Biden did not provide any evidence to support this claim. The Biden family’s receipt of millions of dollars required Joe Biden’s knowing participation in this conspiracy, including while he served as Vice President.

Joe Biden used his status as Vice President to garner favorable outcomes for his son’s and his business partners’ foreign business dealings. Witnesses acknowledged that Hunter Biden involved Vice President Biden in many of his business dealings with Russian, Romanian, Chinese, Kazakhstani, and Ukrainian individuals and companies. Then-Vice President Biden met or spoke with nearly every one of the Biden family’s foreign business associates, including those from Ukraine, China, Russia, and Kazakhstan. As a result, the Biden family has received millions of dollars from these foreign entities. 

The Biden family leveraged Joe Biden’s positions of public trust to obtain over $8 million in loans from Democratic benefactors. Millions of dollars in loans have not been repaid and the paperwork supporting many of the loans does not exist and has not been produced to the Committees. This raises serious questions about whether these funds were provided as gifts disguised as loans.

Under the Biden Administration, the Justice Department and Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) afforded special treatment to President Biden’s son, Hunter Biden.Several witnesses acknowledged the delicate approach used during the Hunter Biden case, describing the investigation as “sensitive” or “significant.” Evidence shows that Department officials slow-walked the investigation, informed defense counsel of future investigative actions, prevented line investigators from taking otherwise ordinary investigative steps, and allowed the statute of limitations to expire on the most serious felony charges. These unusual—and oftentimes in the view of witnesses, unprecedented—tactics conflicted with standard operating procedures and ultimately had the effect of benefiting Hunter Biden.

The Biden Justice Department misled Congress about the independence of law enforcement entities in the criminal investigation of Hunter Biden. Biden Administration political appointees exercised significant oversight and control over the investigation of the President’s son. Witnesses described how U.S. Attorney for the District of Delaware and now-Special Counsel David Weiss, who oversaw the investigation and prosecution of Hunter Biden, had to seek (1) agreement from other U.S. Attorneys to bring cases in a district geographically distinct from his own and (2) approval from the Biden Justice Department’s Tax Division to bring specific charges or take investigative actions against Hunter Biden. Despite the clear conflict of interest, Weiss was only afforded special counsel status after the investigation came under congressional scrutiny.

The White House has obstructed the Committees’ impeachment inquiry by withholding key documents and witnesses. The White House has impeded the Committees’ investigation of President Biden’s unlawful retention of classified documents, by refusing to make relevant witnesses available for interviews and by erroneously asserting executive privilege over audio recordings from Special Counsel Hur’s interviews with President Biden. In addition, the White House is preventing the National Archives from turning over documents that are material to the Committees’ inquiry.

See report at the below link

[joe-spookyy]

What is the Gay subtext between David Kissler and Jack Goodman ?

so the subtext in this one is not super overt like it is in like. reanimator. but it’s definitely there. first i’ll start with the basics. full essay under the cut.

now, the werewolf is one of the easiest classic monsters to read as queer. i mean, it’s right there. someone who walks among “normal” people, who are completely unaware that this person carries a “dark secret” that sets them apart from everyone else. i could be talking about this person’s status as a werewolf. i could also be talking about their queer identity that they choose not to disclose. the idea of living a sort of double life and hiding part of yourself is prominent in werewolf media and also in depictions and the real lives of queer people. additionally, the transformation aspect is something many trans people find easy to connect to. the point is, it’s pretty damn easy to read lycanthropy as a metaphor for queerness of any kind.

and 80s werewolves have it even queerer. just like 80s vampires, they’re a monster that spreads their disease through physical contact. a bite. a scratch. and of course. usually a lot of blood. what else was big in terms of blood in the 80s? yeah. you probably guessed it. the aids crisis! i could write a whole different essay on this but the fears that came with the aids crisis are, just like most other societal fears, reflected in the horror films of their time. here’s a snippet from the AAWIL essay book that comes with the arrow dvd release.

so, even though the aids crisis wasn’t quite around when the film was released, it still had a connection to the culture, which adds to the potential for a queer reading. and it’s quite interesting that director john landis chooses specifically to compare david’s affliction to aids. also if you want proof on this point just check out how many werewolf and vampire movies came out during the 80s and the aids crisis. it really makes you think.

okay. now we’ve covered the basics. but what is it exactly about an american werewolf in london, and more specifically, jack goodman and david kessler, that reads as queer? well. let me tell you.

first of all a little more on the aids point. david’s condition is, like aids, infectious. and it affects almost exclusively men - david only has one female victim from his first night of “carnivorous lunar activities.” and you know what else disproportionately affects men? aids. and it’s also quite interesting that his victims are predominantly men with the idea of lycanthropy as a representation of his queerness - his preference for men in his nighttime activities can certainly be read as representative of something other than being a werewolf.

now, my favorite point and the one that i find most compelling. as we know, david and jack are on a little trip when jack is killed in front of david, and jack then returns to haunt david throughout the movie to encourage him to. yknow. kill himself. so what about that is queer? i’m so glad you asked! if you pay a little extra attention, you’ll notice that every time jack shows up, it’s after david’s just had a heterosexual experience. when he appears the first time, david’s just been flirting with his nurse, alex. when he comes back, it’s right after david and alex have just had sex. in fact, jack and david have a conversation here while david is fully naked. neither of them even bat an eye about this. and finally, jack and david have their last big talk while inside a very loud and very heterosexual pornography theater. kind of odd, right? it’s almost as if something other than jack’s ghost is haunting david. he can’t shake off visions of another man while he’s with his woman? here, jack could easily serve as a reminder of david’s sexuality, and he acts to rip david from his attempts at returning to normalcy after the attack. he just keeps coming back to tell david he’s a werewolf, and if we, as above, read lycanthropy as a metaphor for queerness, it easily reads as a blatant reminder for david that he is out of the societal norm (either in his existence as a werewolf or his queerness) and can’t go back now that he knows it. so, he’s reminded of this fact every time he tries to push himself to move on and be with alex. the final scene with the two of them in the porn theater is an even bigger nod to this idea. he’s literally in a pornography theater with a naked woman massive and on the big screen and all he can focus on is the fact that jack’s there, and of course, the fact that he is indeed a werewolf - permanently different from everyone around him, and, as far as he’s been told, dangerous and not deserving of life, which is a sentiment i’m sure many queer people can say they’re familiar with.

there are a few other nods to the idea of queerness in the film. of course, they’re not taken terribly seriously or presented as anything but jokes, given that it’s an 80s horror movie made by a straight man, but they do sort of add fuel to the fire of a queer reading of this movie. most notably, when david wakes up naked in the zoo after a night of werewolfing, he just kind of runs off with the nearest unattended clothing item. this piece of clothing happens to be a long women’s coat. bright red, with fur trim. wearing nothing but that, david almost looks like he’s wearing a dress, and it certainly doesn’t make him look more masculine. as he’s waiting in line for the train to return to alex’s, we’re shown all the men staring at him with disdain, as he whistles and makes small talk like nothing at all is off. david appears perfectly comfortable in the situation - it is just the judgement of others that makes him seem out of place. the coat emasculates him, and now the people around him are reading him as queer, whereas in his typical clothes, no one would look twice. later on, in an attempt to get himself arrested, david hurls obscenities in a public park, most notably (imo), “queen elizabeth is a man! prince charles is a faggot!” queerness is the butt of the joke here, of course. but if you squint real hard you can read david as queer and just decide he’s allowed to say the f slur. cause he can reclaim.

also, the film takes an interesting route - rather than “defeating” david’s otherness, by somehow returning him to a human state and saving his life, and thus allowing him live out his days with alex, they let the werewolfism win. david ends up tragically dead, despite alex’s please and love confession. in this film, heterosexuality Doesn’t win. now, i’m not necessarily saying queerness wins. it’s not like david gets to live happily ever after with jack. however, we as the audience are fully aware this is the only way things could have gone. david’s condition was permanent (as is queerness), and there was no way to change him. no way to make him fit that societal norm. instead he goes down, just like jack did. in a way, i guess they are presumably together in the end. i don’t really know the afterlife logistics in this universe, but they’re both dead and presumably at peace and not walking the earth, since david’s death broke the curse.

so! there’s a little rundown of most of the queercoding in an american werewolf in london. it’s a bit late so forgive me if anything doesn’t make sense. i’ll take follow up questions. peace and love.

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace- 8

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @dark-night-sky-99 @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis

Word count: 3,2k

Masterlist

Part 7~Part 9 (coming soon)

He likely doesn’t even realise you’re awake. Not that you mind, after all, he’d just gotten out from the shower. His finely cut muscles, like the David statue, has water running down from the top of his broad shoulders all the way down to his v-line. That towel hangs incredibly low and every time he moves it threatens to fall.  

He stands in front of the closet, trying to decide what to wear. “Are you enjoying the show?” His voice is rough, you can see his eyes slide over to you, and a huge blush coats your cheeks. On instinct you pull the covers up to hide your face. He tsks and walks over to you, and lightly pulls down the sheets. “Didn’t I tell you not to hide your face from me?”  

You giggle, “You look quite handsome for an old man.” He groans and rolls his eyes. “¿Qué voy a hacer contigo?” You hum as a reply, “I like it when you talk Spanish to me.” You use his own words against him. He shakes his and grabs some clothes from the closet. “Go get ready, dormilona.”  

You sigh and push the sheets to the side. “Why, anything particular planned for today?” You ask watching each reaction. “Oh yeah, you have big plans for today. Me? I have nothing but boring meetings and practising.” He shrugs, pulling the shirt over his head. “Poor thing, are you sure I can’t company you?” You ask, holding out your hand for him to take, still sitting like a princess on the bed.  

He does just that, gently caressing your knuckles. “No, mi niña bonita. You’re in Italy, I want you to enjoy it. Plus, I have a surprise for you.” He winks, shooing you out the bed only for you to return soon after wearing a matching set. Light white linen, short button up top and short skirt with a comfortable pair of flats. Of course, with your new Prada bag close by.  

“Wow, wow, wow, don’t you look beautiful?” He says, taking your hand and allowing you to spin, before he slowly places kisses all the way up your arm to your shoulder. Your hair is pulled up with the claw clip he got you, leaving clear space for his lips to find a home there. “Deberías ser adorado. Debería haber santuarios y estatuas en tu nombre. Me aseguraré de que seas un Sainz, para que los que me aman, te amen aún más.” 

You furrow your brows, “You speak words that I cannot understand but your eyes say so much more than your mouth ever will.” It’s true, he looks to be madly in love, obsessed even. His eyes fall on your frame as if he is seeing a god for the first time. His eyes go from chocolate brown to that of a pitch-black night. Stars in his eyes.  

“You will understand, soon enough,” he winks and then asks, “Do you have everything?” You smile and nod, opening your back only to see your phone and some lip-gloss. Your wallet is their too, but inside is only your ID, your driver's licence and a credit card you haven’t used in two weeks now.  

“Good.” Then he takes your hand in his and to you, you’re only thinking you’re going for a walk, for breakfast. Yet, when you exit the hotel, you can see just what Carlos meant when he said the Ferrari fans go big. They’re surrounding the hotel, there were fans yesterday too, but you can only assume the closer it gets to the weekend the more there will be.  

“Keep your head down.” He says, pulling out his sunglasses and in one smooth move puts them on. He seems like someone else entirely. His demeanour is different. His hand is wrapped around your waist, his grip firm and even tight. His jaw is locked tight, and his whole personality is so much suaver.  

It does something to you, the way he takes control. Guides you through the crowd, still waving and giving attention to the fans but at the same time he is untouchable. And now, you are too. Cameras are flashing and people are screaming his name...and yours too. It sends a thrill down your spine and instead of keeping your head low like he said, you keep your head high.  

Carlos guides you into the car, and still careful of the people, he drives off. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. A bright smile is smeared on your face. “What are you smiling about, chica guapa?” He asks, his hands smooth on the gear box. The way he sits back on the chair is something you could watch forever and ever.  

“That was so cool, you were so cool, I felt so cool. Appelez cela un rêve appelé vrai.” You sigh, stabilizing your beating heart by fixing your hair. “You enjoy that?” His dark brows knot and you nod with a bright smile. “Don’t you?” This is part of his job; doesn't he love his job?  

He shakes his head, “I really do appreciate the fans but sometimes eh…” You can't help but let your mouth hang open in shock. He raises his brow at you. “Carlos. Those people out there make your career. You're the only way that they might ever get a taste of the life. They live through you. I find it thrilling,” you explain, and it does seem to have made an impact on him.  

“Like, back home, idols are an escape from reality. Seeing these people on, living the life you can only dream of, makes you hopeful that maybe someday you could be them. It might never happen for some, but even then, it helps you get out of the bed in the morning.” Like always he’s hanging onto your every word.  

He pulls up to a really fancy looking car shop. Luxury vehicles you can only ever dream of displayed in all sorts of ways. The people who work here greet you both with utmost respect, they too look for anything they can do for you. You can't help but look around, taking in the beauty of some of these cars. Hand crafted leather seats expertly painted and worked on for years.  

“You like?” Carlos asks, his hand falling on the curve of your waist. You noticed it instantly, after last night his touches have become more frequent. Not that you mind, in fact each time he places a kiss on your shoulder, or grabs your hand, you can feel the lightning course through you. The power of a thousand horses making their way through your stomach.  

“My dad would go crazy.” You mutter, thinking of all the times your father would call out the exact name and model of a car as you passed. “But do you like it?” Carlos' brows furrow, you can see he worries and can tell he was excited to show you. “Of course, it just feels so crazy. I never thought in a million years I could ever even be this close to the cars I see on my feed all the time.” You mutter, your hand on his chest as you take it all in.  

He smirks, “Pick one.” His words are so simple and easy. You'd think he's asking you to say if you wanted chicken or beef. “Pick one?” The words fall from your mouth and feel like a thousand butterflies on your tongue. He nods, “Any one, I'll rent it for the day or even the whole week if you wanted.” He shrugs, also gazing at all the magnificent cars.  

He lets go, allowing to roam and decide which one. Then you spot it, in the very back of the show room. You don't know the name, the model or anything important. You just know, this is the one. “Ahh, yes, the Ferrari R8 Spider.” The front man begins speaking, listing off all the special features but you're not listening. All you see are hearts and stars.  

“This one?” You can call out his deep voice and accent out of a million voices. “Yes, I don't need to see any other one.” You beam up at him and you can see he too is excited about it. “Should've known you'd always find the Ferrari,” you nod, appreciating each and every grove of the car.  

While the people set up all the paperwork, Carlos pulls you to the side. He pulls out his wallet and then hands you his Black Amex card. “What's this?” You ask him, holding the card gently as if you're cradling a baby. “You've never seen one before?” He asks, his brows pulled together but still teasing. “I want you to go to Milan and shop your heart out. No limit.” He sends you a wink and you feel your knees grow weak.  

“You can't be serious.” The words are like lead on your tongue. What on earth is he doing? “Of course, why would I joke?” He's dead serious. Carlos is dead serious about this. “No limit?” You ask one more time just to make sure you didn't hear wrong. “There are two conditions.” You nod, not even caring if he says you have to go down on your knees.  

“Otis and Brutis stay with you at all times.” He then points his thumb to the two massive bodyguards waiting just outside the shop. A whine escapes your mouth, and you push out your bottom lip more than ever before. “No, they're such a drag.” You whine, grabbing onto his polo shirt. “They will follow you, wherever you go.” His voice is stern but still you fight.  

You know that it's for your safety, but you can't help but feel like a criminal. Someone who should be watched at all times, like you're being babysat. A thought plays in your mind, the perfect way to get him to change his mind. “Daddy, please don't make me take those oafs with.” You give him your best puppy eyes, the word now feeling much more comfortable on your tongue.  

His reaction is priceless. You can see the internal struggle in his mind. His hand reaches up, gently caressing your lips, you can see he so wants you. “Fuck…” a glimmer of hope, his resolve seems to have cracked. That sure was easy. “No, absolutely none-negotiable. They stay with you at all times.” Perhaps you are a child, because right now you feel like throwing a tantrum.  

“But you said-” he laughs, and interrupts you. “As much as that word coming from you, makes me want to fuck you right here on the display floor, it doesn't mean you automatically get what you want. Manners are good from a cosita dulce like you, but your safety always come first.” No wonder his eyes are stormy like that. You're certain that your panties are as wet as can be and that you're red like a tomato.  

He can tell you're left speechless and continued with his conditions. “Be back before dinner, and I want a fashion show when I get home.” With that, he pulls you close, placing a kiss on your forehead and then proceeds to pay the deposit for the car rental. Leaving you a soaked mess, absolutely hungry for his bones. You will get him back for that. 

Us Weekly: 

“Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend and his girlfriend spotted outside the Hotel de la Villa.”  

Glamour: 

“Carlos Sainz’ girlfriend spotted driving a Ferrari in Milan.”  

Mirror:  

“Y/N Y/S/N spotted spending big in Milan.”  

30 000 Dollars. The excitement to see her in that 30 000 made me rock hard all day. Some of them she posted on her story, which I keep track of religiously. But I know for a fact that that couldn’t be all of it. I saw the news articles; it gave me a great sense of pride seeing them finally call her by her name and not just as my girl.  

I made sure to make is home as quick as possibly, though, I don’t find her in her room or even mine. That is until, I ask the guards.  

The sight is truly delicious. It makes me disgusted by the pure amount of clothes I’m wearing, or the fact that these two idiots even dare look or be around her. Her arms are hanging lazily onto the side of the hot tub, her eyes staring out at the view of Italy. But the bikini she’s wearing should be illegal.  

It’s bright red, with delicate knots holding the thing together. One small tug and it will fall right off. Her body is so soft, her curves fill the bikini perfectly. Her hair in one of the claw clips that I bought her, messy and lazily done. Some of her locks falling out of place, making her neck look so ready to be kissed. Her waist curves and I just want to rip the damn thing off. 

“Leave,” my voice is stern and deeper than I thought it would be. She turns by the sound of my voice, and lightly treads her way to me. A huge looking cocktail in one hand, more than half empty. “Bonjour mon Carlito,” she winks at me, and I groan at her words. Where did she hear that, or is it the alcohol speaking?  

I bend down next to the hot tub. “Hola, mi niña bonita.” Her cheeks go red, “How many of these have you had?” I ask, referring to the mixed cocktail. She shrugs, “This is the first, but the night is still young.” I tsk and shake my head. “You know the deal, niña pequeña,” she whines and pushes out her bottom lip.  

I tsk and shake my head. “In any case, you have to show me what you got.” My finger gently caresses her cheek. After the night that she joined me in the bed, everything changes. Clearly, she is ready for more. Ready for the next step, even just a small one. More touches, more kisses on her cheek or her neck. Perhaps even a week or two from now, a kiss on the lips.  

Again, she pouts. My fingers find that bottom lip of her, if I kiss her now, there will be no wait. “Daddy, please come join me.” How on earth could I ever say no to eyes like that. That beg and plead and want. Those eyes that I could never in a million years say no to. I gently place a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll go change.” A wide smile covers her lips and her eyes sparkle.  

I’m quick, not even 5 minutes. The bubbles are a nice temperature, no hotter than the weather but no colder than 26 degrees Celsius. My hands instantly find her waist, she’s gazing at the view again. You can see the towns and people and far away mountains and farmlands. I don’t care about any of that.  

All I can think about is the feeling of her waist under my hand. Her back against my chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath. The sweet, sweet smell of her. Sickly sweet ripe berries, hot honey on the tongue and home. She’d be such a good mother, if she and I... then she’d never be able to leave me.  

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice is like angels in my ears. I tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, mostly just to feel her down-like skin. “You, I’m always thinking about you.” Her cheeks are pink but still a smirk is on her face. “You get this faraway look, somewhere special where I can’t possibly be.”  

I can only shake my head at her conclusion. “No, mi amor, you are my special place.” She giggles, the sound of fairies being born. “I’ve seen the interviews, years before we met you still have the same other dimension look.” She looks to chuff with herself. “That’s because I’ve been dreaming of someone like you since forever.”  

She laughs out loud, her head falling back and her drink almost tipping over. “You’re smooth, Mr Sainz.” Her words are music to my ears. The urge to kiss her is so strong. Instead, I make do with the sweet spot on her collarbone. “They do call me the smooth operator.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Full of yourself, aren’t you?”  

“How can’t I be, with such a beautiful lady sharing a hot tub with me. In the tiniest bikini might I add.” She hums and then does a slight turn, the water gracefully spinning around her. “You like?” Do I like? “Fucking hell, chica bebé, I’m struggling to keep my hands off of you.” Then her eyes turn to that of a siren.  

“Why do you keep your hands to yourself?” Her tone is begging, a slight whimper in her voice. She might have had only one drink, but her tolerance must be low. Then her hands begin to roam my body. Her touch is like fire, lighting on my body and my loins ablaze. A groan leaves my mouth, the self-control is unbearable when her big doe eyes go sultry like that.  

Her hands make delicate contact with my stomach, pushing her chest against mine. She looks up at me through her lashes, a temptress that should be locked up. “Why won’t you touch me?” She takes my hand, so small in comparison and places it on her ass. “Why won’t you kiss me?” She lifts her chin, her lips mere millimetres from mine.  

“Fucking hell, chica bebé, you are my weakness. Do not think for a moment that I don’t want to bury my cock deep into that warm cunt of yours. If I had it my way, I’d have you right here, right now. You’d never even leave the bed and be covered in marks of my making.” My words cause a whimper to leave her mouth, needy and wanting more than ever.  

“Then why deny yourself?” Now it’s my turn, I use both my hands and shove her up against the wall. My knees press up against the little amount of fabric that hides that sweet pussy of hers. My head right down against her ear. Kissing and nipping. Leaving purple marks against her neck. Fuck, I promised myself I wouldn’t do that until much later.  

I just can’t control myself when her legs wrap around my waist, the water splashes over the edge. Her arms pull me closer. “Because I like seeing you beg. I like hearing your pitiful whines as you beg me to fuck you, like the whore we both know you are. I’ve already given you so much and yet you still want more.”  

Her tender finger pull on my hair, now her lips are by my ear. “Please, daddy, please just use me already.” A deep chuckle escapes me. “See? So needy. But you see, mi pequeño, I can’t give you everything you want all at once. It’ll leave you ungrateful. And I don’t tolerate brats. I’m going to leave you wanting and needy. I’ll make the tension so much you’ll want me just as much as I need you.”  

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