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natache · 3 years

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Ita Rina

First and Forgotten Yugoslav Film Star who provocated Gestapo

Ita Rina was born on 7 July 1907 in the small town of Divača (then Austro-Hungarian Empire, later Yugoslavia, now Slovenia) as Italina Lida Kravanja. She was called Ida Kravanja for short. She was named after a journalist Finzi Haydée, Jewish family friend from Trieste. The first daughter of Jožef a railroad worker and Marija Kravanja, Rina had a younger sister Danica. Shortly after the outbreak of the World War I, the family moved to Ljubljana, where Rina matriculated in 1923. She was not a good student; she repeated the third grade of elementary school. However, her dream was to be an actress.

In October 1926, Slovenski narod (Slovenian People) magazine organized a beauty pageant, and Rina entered the competition. She was crowned Miss Slovenia and was to travel to the final event for Miss Yugoslavia, which was supposed to be held on 20 December 1926 in Zagreb. However, her mother did not want to let her go to Zagreb. After a group visit from the Slovenian delegation, Marija Kravanja relented. Unfortunately, when Rina arrived in Zagreb, the jury was already choosing the most beautiful of three finalists. She was, however, noticed by Adolf Müller, the owner of Balkan Palace cinema in Zagreb. He immediately sent her photographs to German film producer Peter Ostermayer. As her mother did not want to let her go to Berlin, Rina ran away from home.

Her escape was enabled by a family friend, a painter Alojz Malota and his wife Hedvig Šarc. They invited her to come with them on a trip to Austria, and instead she went to Berlin. She has said that she felt very lonely and scared during the train ride and thought about returning home.

“That was my longest and hardest journey. I huddled myself in a corner of a coupe and looked around myself in fear. I only knew few words in German...”

Rina arrived in Berlin in 1927. Shortly after she had her first audition, following which she had classes in acting, diction, dancing.

"They would shine a spotlight on me" she later said "cameras would buzz. There were cables everywhere. Some complete strangers would stare at me, whispering amongst themselves. They told me to scream, to laugh, wave and cry. I think I looked most natural in scenes where I was crying. All I had to do was remember how far away from home I've gone and how I've deceived my mother."

"You don't know how to walk!" a director was yelling. I've dedicated all my strength on walking as gracefully as possible, and I thought to myself "how's it possible that I, who have climbed Triglav thrice, all of sudden am incapable of walking." I must admit, first few steps on film were harder than any danger definitely mountaineering.

After several small film roles in 1927 and 1928, the critics finally noticed her in the 1928 film The Last Supper. The same year, Rina met at a Yugoslav embassy party, her future husband Miodrag Đorđević, a shy engineering student from Belgrade, son of a general director of the Royal Post Office.

He asked her out to dinner in a little more upscale restaurant. What he would find out later is that his students account was not enough to pay for the meal. He went to the phone in an attempted to call a friend who could lend him money. Ita figured out what was going on, and since she was already rich, secretly passed him a few bank notes, to spare him the embarrassment. She always liked him, and they understood each other well.

Around that time newspapers in Yugoslavia started to sensationalize her love life, as a counter she published an open letter.

Cenjeni g. urednik!

Vsikdar sem bila ljubeznjiva napram g. dopisniku Vašega lista. Želela sem na ta način izražati simpatije, ki sem jih gojila do “Vremena”. Toda nežentlementski dopis Vašega dopisnika od 15. t. m. je zlorabil to mojo ljubeznivost in me prisilil, da Vas naprošam zaradi istine za uvrstitev naslednjih vrstic: Prišla sem domov na oddih, da se pripravim za bodoče delo, ne pa da se zaljubljam kakor goska. Zaradi tega ne potrebujem nikakih senzacij, zlasti pa ne senzacij, ki gredo preko meja dopustnega. Čudim se prostosti, ki si jo jemlje g. Ambrož, da izmišlja kar imena mojih idealov. Prava senzacija bi bila šele, ko bi g. Ambrož nekoliko srečneje uganil moje ideale. Kar pa piše g. Ambrož, je bilo doslej meni in vsem mojim znancem docela neznano. Odpotovala bom tedaj, ko me pokliče novo delo. Senzacijonalni odhod avtomobilov itd. je prosta glupost.

Da končam. Žal mi je, da se je edini g. O. Ambrož smatral za najpametnejšega od vseh tukajšnjih novinarjev in da je segel po tako nehvaležnem poslu. Naši javnosti je treba servirati resnico o mojem delu in moji osebi, ne pa glupih izmišljotin. Prejmite g. urednik izraze itd.

Ita Rina.

Her breakthrough into European stardom came after taking a role in a controversial film Erotikon by a Czechoslovakian director Gustav Mahaty. As soon as she read the script about a seduced and then abandoned daughter of a guard of a railroad station, she understood it as her big chance, and she was right.

Erotikon premiered in Prague. Czechoslovakian censors cut out the scene of her giving birth to a child, but the movie garnered great success with film critics and audiences across Europe. At the premiere in Paris in Moulin Rouge and the film goers carried her out of the theatre on their hands.

The films success angered the puritans. Especially the french catholic theologian, abbot Betteleme who wrote: "... First, they lie next to each other, and then one to another ... It is true that the cover hides their figures, but it certainly does not hide their movements... The protagonists are shown in particularly long shots, especially Ita... A viewer can recognize her excitement, then her expression of anxiety mixed with longing, then the pain and at the end... I blush while describing the scenes". He went though streets of Paris tearing down the posters that were plastered all over. That only raised the popularity of the film.

In 1930, Rina acted in three films, most notable being the first talking Czechoslovakian film Tonka of the Gallows, which is often named her best role. Meanwhile, she married Miodrag Đorđević in 1931. Although she had announced her retirement from her film career, but she actually continued her acting until the outbreak of World War II. Her last prewar film was crime drama Zentrale Rio.

The situation in Germany was getting tense, especially for anybody who was considered undesirable which included actors who were foreign. She left Germany on the insistence of the then ambassador of Yugoslavia Ivo Andrić. In 1939, very close to the start of WW2 every time she went to work or went home, there was a man who sat in the car. In the beginning he was very quiet and she thought he was an assistant of the producer and that he might represent some new custume, a way of saying thanks to the actors. And then he spoke. At first there were talks of the superiority of the German race, but later his changes because more apparent. "I argued with him in that car" she told to the operator in the studio and retold him the whole conversation. "How could you have dared, that man is from Gestapo." said the operator. The story was retold to Ivo Andrić, and he ordered her and her husband to urgently leave Germany. The taping of the film was mostly done. That night they packed all of their belongs. In the morning she taped a few leftover scenes and absconded for Belgrade that same day.

"Only on the road I understood what's going on. Tanks everywhere, soldiers."

They went to live in Belgrade. She didn't act as the war was starting to rage and had her first child Milan in 1940 and thee years later a daughter Tijana. Her in-laws disagreed with the marriage to a controversial actress at first. And they had a permanent table for themselves and their friends at the local tavern.

After the bombing of Belgrade they moved to Vrnjačka Banja. Life during wartime was hard and she laboured and sold all of her possessions to keep family fed. She even rescued her husband from jail where he landed after he, in a tavern proclaimed that Hitler will have the same fate Napoleon did in Russia.

They moved back to Belgrade after the end of World War II in 1945. Although she was promised several roles in Yugoslav films, all projects were cancelled and she was treated unfavorably. After receipt of a letter she had written to President Tito, Rina began working as a co–production advisor in Avala Film. But she soon left Avala Film and moved to Lovćen Film.

She returned to the silver screen once, in the 1960 film War, about nuclear war fallout, directed by Veljko Bulajić. This was her last role. She got her role not though a studio, but through her husband asking nicely.

“Before the shooting of the film War began, I was approached by a very likable gentleman, that was the husband of Mrs. Ita Rine Miodrag, and in a very discreet, shy way, asked if we can talk and during that conversation, suggested to cast Ita. Honestly speaking, I have already completely forgotten about her. There was war, and they she didn't work for a very long time. She wasn't listed anywhere in cinematography as an active actress. I remembered her from her films. I suggested we meet. So we met, I don't know where in Zagreb or Belgrade, I cannot remember, but she impressed me. She made a strong impression, of a smart woman, an actress who didn't want to be in a film for no other reason, but to be filmed. She wanted to know about her role. I really liked that, so we made a deal.”

As she suffered from asthma, Rina and her husband moved to Budva (then Yugoslavia, now Montenegro) in 1967. There, she took care of her husband, who was ill with sclerosis. Rina died on 10 May 1979 from an asthmatic attack during the great earthquake that leveled the capital of Montenegro. She was buried a few days later in Belgrade, in the presence of numerous film artists, admirers, friends and family. Her husband died next year.

Best source is in Slovene here:

#ita rina #slovenia #german cinema #european cinema #20s #fritz lang #german expressionism #1920s #1930 #Yugoslavia #natache

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rivalsforlife · 4 years

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The AAI Cast Takes On Twitter

Hello! For the release of ace attorney investigations 2 ten years ago, on the official AA twitter account, Capcom posted a bunch of tweets that were made to sound like they came from the characters themselves. You can still find them if you dig far enough, but it’s a bit of a pain to find and especially a pain to understand in English, so I decided to compile them all here and attempt to translate them. (They have also been “localized” in true ace attorney fashion.)

First, a disclaimer: I am absolutely NOT a translator and my understanding of Japanese is abysmal. I put the original tweets through google translate and then went through trying to make them legible, including looking up words and phrases when they didn’t make any sense. As a result, I can’t guarantee that this is completely accurate, and I definitely messed with phrasing a bit to get things to flow better or sound more in character. Hopefully the general gist of things should make sense! I’ll put the original Japanese text below the English one, and if you actually know Japanese and would like to properly translate it, please do so! I just wanted to get this out here as fast as possible.

If you want to view the original tweets, I’ve filtered them (mostly!) here in reverse-chronological order. There are tweets from the game staff at the end that I did not “translate”.

With that said, here are the tweets. (It is long, so most of it is under the cut.) The breaks are things I added that I believe were breaks in time on the actual account, and represent new scenes.

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<Edgeworth>: I was told to “tweet” what I usually think about to commemorate the release of “Ace Attorney Investigations 2”... What should I do?

<Kay>: Come on, Mr. Edgeworth! First, you need to introduce yourself!

<Edgeworth>: Oh. Sorry for the late introduction. My name is Miles Edgeworth, a prosecutor at the District Attorney's Office. Kay informed me that this is “Tweeter”.

<Kay>: No! It’s pronounced "Twitter"!

<Edgeworth>: Is it "Tweeter"? I'm not very good at this kind of thing ...

<Kay>: Okay, moving on. Ace Attorney Investigations 2 is about to be released, and Mr. Edgeworth has a lot to say, right?

<Edgeworth>: Mm. Certainly, there are few opportunities like this, so this should be a valuable experience.

<Kay>: Then this Great Thief, Kay Faraday, will teach Mr. Edgeworth the fun of tweeting!

<Edgeworth>: I’m not very interested in that… but alright. More importantly, Kay, do you want to start working soon?

<Kay>: Yes! Then, we can play later!

<Edgeworth>: (Well, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to tweet.)

<Kay>: Mr. Edgeworth ... Your inner voice is in the tweet! Isn't that neat?

<Edgeworth>: Ah! Tweeter… I shouldn’t underestimate it.

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<Edgeworth>: It's already 12 o'clock ... I wanted to take a break for lunch, but it seems that I won’t get the chance. The detective just reported a new case. I'm heading to the scene right now.

<Edgeworth>: Detective Gumshoe seems to have been in a hurry. He said he “lost something important”... It’s probably not something to worry about. I should concentrate on the investigation first. It takes a careful investigation to find out the truth hidden in the scene. There are many things that cannot be understood from desk work alone.

<Edgeworth>: I've arrived at the scene. Mm? It seems that some pencils have fallen near the victim.

<Edgeworth>: Search for the connection between information. That is the pursuit of "Logic". Assembling "Logic" is the key to the investigation even in Ace Attorney Investigations 2. “Something lost by Detective Gumshoe” and the “pencil left on the scene” ... There is one answer that can be derived from the two pieces of information.

<Edgeworth>: Detective Gumshoe! It seems that we found your lost pencil. ‥‥ Don’t leave extra evidence on the scene!

<Edgeworth>: Hmm ... Finally, the truth of the scene has come into view. This case will likely be resolved soon.

-----

<Kay>: Good evening! I came to play as promised!

<Gumshoe>: Welcome, Kay!

<Kay>: Huh? Gummy, are you also on Twitter?

<Gumshoe>: It’s popular among my detective friends. As long as my number of followers keeps increasing, I’m happy!

<Edgeworth>: What is a "follower"?

<Gumshoe>: Well, people who read your tweets. To put it simply, it’s like a friend group.

<Kay>: It seems that there are many people who are watching this tweet! Ehehe. That makes me kind of happy!

<Edgeworth>: Hmm. Friend group...? That sounds a little embarrassing, but thank you, followers.

<Kay>: Hmm. I feel that followers and friends are a little different. Well, as long as he’s happy.

<Edgeworth>: Let’s say that tomorrow we’ll spend more time with our followers on Tweeter.

-----

<Gumshoe>: I've been waiting for you, Prosecutor Edgeworth!

<Edgeworth>: Mm. Good morning Detective Gumshoe. It's rare for you to get to court earlier than me.

<Gumshoe>: That’s because I have to set a good example for my followers! I skipped dinner last night so I wouldn't be late.

<Edgeworth>: What does skipping dinner have to do with getting up early?

<Gumshoe>: Well, it sets a “belly clock”, so you wake up at breakfast time!

<Edgeworth>: (There are too many problems with that, and I don't feel like pointing them all out... I’ll just stay silent.)

<Gumshoe>: Mr. Edgeworth ... We can see the tweets of your inner voice, you know…?

<Edgeworth>: It's about time for the court to open. I'm heading into court without any uncertainty today.

-----

<Kay>: Hello everybody! I'm Kay Faraday, also known as the Great Thief Yatagarasu. Fufufu ... I’m actually in the gallery right now! I wanted to see Mr. Edgeworth and Gummy in court, and keep an eye on the enemy!

<Kay>: Oh! Mr. Edgeworth screamed, “Objection!” This is the 5th time today. The other lawyer is sweating now. The judge’s gavel is getting fierce! Eh -- what? “You can’t tweet in the courtroom…?” Hey!

<Kay>: Uh ... I was kicked out of the courtroom. As expected by the new rival of Ace Attorney Investigations 2, Justine Courtney! She seems like a kind judge, but also very observant.

<Kay>: This is an unexpectedly strong enemy! Mr. Edgeworth, are you okay ...?

<Edgeworth>: Kay. What were you doing in the gallery today?

<Gumshoe>: I was surprised to see Kay being kicked out of court!

<Kay>: I didn't think that tweeting was prohibited. As a Great Thief, this is the ultimate mistake!

<Edgeworth>: If you have time to regret breaking the rules of the court, use it to learn a little more about them.

<Kay>: If I had to leave the court anyways, I wanted to have a cooler exit, befitting of a Great Thief!

<Gumshoe>: … I don’t think she regretted breaking the rules.

<Kay>: Anyway! You’ve already finished your work today, right?

<Edgeworth>: Yes, I finished my work in the courtroom today. It looks like we can have a nice holiday.

<Kay>: So, why don’t the three of us go play together! Bowling, karaoke, game centers, etc.!

<Edgeworth>: No ... I'm not very good at such things.

<Gumshoe>: Since it’s Friday night, why don’t we play around and recover from working hard! I think watching movies would be fun!

<Kay>: Yeah, you worked so hard this week! Now, let’s go play!

<Edgeworth>: *sigh*. Whatever I say, it’ll be a waste of time… If we must, at least make it a movie.

-----

<Gumshoe>: This Saturday morning is a nice time for a walk! I sometimes take a walk with Missile to build strength and give him training. As the “partner” of Prosecutor Edgeworth, I want to be useful in Ace Attorney Investigations 2!

<Gumshoe>: When investigating with a metal detector or collaborating with Missile, I will be second to none! Hey, Missile! Hmm? Is a scent bothering you? Aaaaa! Mi-Missile has run away! He must’ve smelled food.

<Gumshoe>: When this happens, I have to rely on the odor to chase after it! This is part of the investigation process! Uh… I lost him right away. When this happens, I have to prepare sweets that Missile likes to lure him in! … I’m so overwhelmed.

<Kay>: It’s a shame to keep Missile as a police dog. He stole away Samurai Dogs from this Great Thief and ate them…! I was trying to eat with Ema.

<Gumshoe>: Sorry about that, pal. By the way, what were you doing together? Collecting fallen leaves…?

<Ema>: We’re grilling Samurai Dogs on this fire we made from scientific chemicals!

<Gumshoe>: Huh. Scientific chemicals, pal…? Mi-Mi-Mi-Mi-Missile! Do you feel alright?

<Kay>: It’s fine! He ate it before we started the fire.

<Gumshoe>: Oh. I wish I got to have some...

<Edgeworth>: It’s not good to use chemicals to play with fire, Ema. Scientific research is important, but please use moderation.

<Ema>: Yes! Moderation! By the way, are you going somewhere?

<Edgeworth>: Yes. I have some business. ... I don't have much time, so excuse me.

<Kay>: ... Mr. Edgeworth, where are you going?

<Ema>: Fufufu. In this case, we can follow his footsteps! Using the power of science… in moderation!

<Kay>: Alright! Let's follow him… in moderation!

<Gumshoe>: They both have a strange definition of “moderation”...

-----

<Kay>: That overwhelming scale! I think I’m going to cry! That’s a first for an orchestra concert!

<Ema>: The powerful sound of brass instruments and the splendid melody of woodwind instruments! Scientifically speaking, changing between different sounds is what makes music good.

<Edgeworth>: Umm. While I was looking forward to today, I didn't expect you two to follow me.

<Kay>: I wanted to bring Gummy as well, but he had to walk Missile, so he couldn’t come with us.

<Edgeworth>: The detective can still hear the “Ace Attorney Investigations 2 Orchestra Arrangement Collection” CD. You can pre-order one at E-Capcom.

<Ema>: I already pre-ordered it, of course! I’ll also get the 1:10 figure of Mr. Edgeworth!

<Edgeworth>: A 1:10 figure of myself? I don't remember measuring my height, but ...

<Kay>: That's because I stole Mr. Edgeworth's height perfectly!

<Edgeworth>: I'm a little hesitant to say it in the orchestra hall, but let me just say one word.

<Kay>: "Objection!"

<Edgeworth>: Wha…? How did you --!

<Ema>: This must be the famous technique of the Great Thief, stealing the words right out of his mouth! How informative!

-----

<Edgeworth>: I have no plans today, so I will spend my time reading at a nearby coffee shop. Naturally, I want to relax on Sundays.

<Edgeworth>: I’m drinking high-quality black tea in a comfortable sunny place. Today is going to be a good day off.

<Edgeworth>: Speaking of which, the other day, a follower named “Wendy” greeted me here on Tweeter. I don’t know how to return messages, so I haven’t done so yet. Let me thank you here. Ms. Wendy, thank you for following me.

<Oldbag>: E… Edgey-pooooooo! I finally found youuuuuuu!

<Edgeworth>: Gah! What are you doing in this coffee shop ...!?

<Oldbag>: No way, Edgey-poo! Just now, didn’t you say this on Twitter? Didn’t you just say “Ms. Wendy, thank you”? You made this old lady so happy! I just ran around all the coffee shops and searched for you everywhere, Edgey-poo. The power of lo

<Edgeworth>: Do you talk too much to fit on Tweeter? So, “Wendy” was you! No matter how many coffee shops you visit, there’s no way you found me so easily… Are you hiding something?

<Oldbag>: If you say that without evidence, you’d tarnish the title of “prosecutor!” I have nothing to hide from my dearest Edgey-poo!

<Edgeworth>: Hmm… Even without evidence, if I read your reactions and feelings, I can expose the truth while only using my words.

<Oldbag>: Oh, I heard about this, Edgey-poo! Isn’t it called “Logic Chess”? I know everything about you, Edgey-poo!

<Edgeworth>: What do you mean by “I know everything?”

<Oldbag>: You see, it’s because I’m a security guard. Recently, because the whippersnapper who was there before me got fired, I was temporarily guarding the prosecutor’s office. At that time, I just so happened to see your address, Edgey-poo.

<Edgeworth>: …………… I didn’t even need to pull out information, and you’re already telling me the answer!

<Oldbag>: Oh. It was a slip of the tongue. I thought I would get to see Logic chess.

<Edgeworth>: Well, could you see it in Ace Attorney Investigations 2? Please excuse me, I have very important business to attend to.

<Oldbag>: You mentioned that you have no business today! Today, I will never let you go!

-----

<Edgeworth>: Ngh… That was quite the disaster today.

<Edgeworth>: I was too careful just because it was a holiday. I was neglecting my remarks and wasn’t vigilant of those around me ...

<Edgeworth>: Mm? Now “Tweeter” is showing something from “Wendy”. … “Sorry. - Wendy.” … I’m not going to respond to that!

-----

<Gumshoe>: Prosecutor Edgeworth, did you hear? Agent Lang is coming from the Republic of Zheng Fa!

<Edgeworth>: Hm. Is he also involved in an international case? I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to him for long the last time. If I have time, I’ll go greet him.

<Gumshoe>: The last incident was a difficult one. I couldn’t talk much with Agent Lang’s subordinates, either.

<Gumshoe>: There are 100 people who know about it.

<Edgeworth>: If you tried to talk to everyone, the sun would set before you did.

<Gumshoe>: To be honest, I gave up trying to remember my own face and name.

<Edgeworth>: That’s just being lazy!

-----

<Lang>: Yo, Mr. Prosecutor. It's strange to see you in a place like this.

<Edgeworth>: It's been a long time, Agent Lang. I never thought we would meet again at a restaurant like this.

<Lang>: I just happened to see this place while I was looking for somewhere I could go alone.

<Edgeworth>: Alone ...? That’s unusual for you. Aren’t you usually with your subordinates?

<Lang>: Well… Lang Zi says: “To know the feelings of a lone wolf, you should leave the pack.” Sometimes I do things on my own.

<Edgeworth>: Is that so? However, I see a contradiction right there on your table.

<Lang>: Hah! Is that the prosecutor’s famous “deduction”?

<Edgeworth>: For someone eating alone, you ordered a lot of “platters”, which seem to serve over twenty people.

<Lang>: Arooooooo! ‥‥Oops. It seems I have a habit of ordering too much. If you don’t mind, Mr. Prosecutor, would you take a little?

<Edgeworth>: It seems that you’re not very good at acting alone.

-----

<Kay>: Eh? Agent Lang’s coming here again?

<Edgeworth>: Ah, yes. Unlike before, though, it seems like he’s acting alone for some reason.

<Kay>: Isn’t that because it’s difficult to sneak around with too many people? It’s an important rule for a Great Thief!

<Edgeworth>: He is an “international investigator”, not a “Great Thief”. … Anyway, he seemed to come to this country for some purpose.

<Kay>: Then, we might meet him again at a crime scene.

<Edgeworth>: Even if we both desire to pursue the truth, our paths often run counter to each other. If I meet him in the field, we may argue.

<Kay>: That’s nice. I also want a rival that will change me as a person! Ahh… I wonder if they’re out there… the rival who wants to hunt down the Great Thief!

<Edgeworth>: If you want to be arrested so badly, ask Detective Gumshoe.

<Kay>: Ugh! You just don’t get it!

-----

<Kay>: It's finally February!

<Edgeworth>: Oh. So it is...

<Gumshoe>: I'm looking forward to February 3rd!

<Gumshoe>: At our police station, we will sow beans for the bean-throwing festival! February 3rd is a precious day when you can eat soybeans for free!

<Kay>: Every year, I challenge myself with how many beans I can throw! “Out with the demons, in with the fortune, and in with the Great Thief’s treasure!”

<Edgeworth>: Did you forget the most important thing?

<Kay>: I was just kidding! Of course I remember what’s happening February 3rd!

<Gumshoe>: There is no reason to forget the release date of Ace Attorney Investigations 2!

<Edgeworth>: Mm ... I hope.

-----

<Edgeworth>: It’s three days before the game goes on sale. I hope the followers look forward to it as well.

<Edgeworth>: Investigating in winter is necessary, even if it’s cold, and you can’t catch a cold before the game goes on sale. Ergo, please take proper measures against the cold.

<Edgeworth>: Speaking of which, Detective Gumshoe wears the same coat all year round. Doesn’t that get cold? Ah… maybe it’s just that his salary is too low to buy anything else.

<Edgeworth>: ……… Should I invite Detective Gumshoe for dinner? What little I know about his eating habits worries me. I don’t think he’d eat instant noodles in winter…

<Edgeworth>: There is a handmade udon restaurant near the prosecutor's office. The taste is satisfying for a reasonable price. ‥‥‥‥‥‥ Though, when it comes to inviting Detective Gumshoe, I shouldn’t limit myself to just noodles.

<Edgeworth>: Mm. I tweeted that it was only 3 days before the game’s release, but it was 2 days. I worked all night in the office yesterday. It seems my sense of time has gone haywire.

<Edgeworth>: What I tweeted then was contradictory… Pardon me. Thank you, followers who pointed that out.

---

<Gumshoe>: This pork roast is delicious! This is my first one of the year!

<Edgeworth>: Detective Gumshoe. Stop eating while tweeting!

<Gumshoe>: I've been eating only plain pasta this year. I couldn’t help myself!

<Kay>: I could, but I still tweeted!

<Edgeworth>: It may not be instant ramen, but his eating habits are always in crisis.

<Gumshoe>: Ugh... every time I make a mistake while investigating, the cost of living becomes a crisis.

<Kay>: But the one who is in the most danger right now is Mr. Edgeworth, isn't it? I saw it in a commercial! He’s having his “biggest crisis!”

<Gumshoe>: I heard it too ... What kind of mistake did you make, sir?

<Edgeworth>: Don’t compare me to you! I don’t know what it is, but I’m not afraid of any crisis. No matter what happens, I simply do what I think is right.

<Kay>: As expected of Mr. Edgeworth! Well, you can always count on this Great Thief to help you in an emergency!

<Gumshoe>: Of course, I will help too! If you want to manage your living expenses in a crisis, sir, just leave it to me!

<Edgeworth>: First, could you try helping me as a detective?

-----

<Kay>: By the way, Mr. Edgeworth, what kind of person is your father?

<Edgeworth>: … Why would you suddenly ask such a question?

<Kay>: I just asked Mr. Shields. He said your father was a very good person! I also respect my dad, so I was a little curious about yours.

<Edgeworth>: When I was a child, he was someone I highly respected, and… the kind of man I aspired to be.

<Kay>: Huh? Is it different now?

<Edgeworth>: ……… About that… It’s difficult to explain. If you want to know the answer, please wait until tomorrow.

<Kay>: I see! The answer is hidden in Ace Attorney Investigations 2. I’ll be sure to steal the truth about Mr. Edgeworth!

-----

<Kay>: Gummy! Please decorate it from the right side!

<Gumshoe>: Here it is! Oh no, the decoration fell!

<Edgeworth>: What are you doing in my office in the middle of my workday?

<Gumshoe>: I’m off duty, but since today’s the eve of the release date, I’m preparing a party!

<Kay>: It's almost time to tweet! Mr. Edgeworth, please work and just ignore us!

<Edgeworth>: If you truly want that, then please stop climbing on my desk. … I’ll finish work soon, so please wait until then.

<Kay>: Eh! Are you going to help us?

<Edgeworth>: I would like to celebrate.

<Gumshoe>: That’s helpful, sir! Then, I’ll be sitting on the sofa and waiting until it’s time!

<Edgeworth>: ‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ Just wait in the corridor.

-----

<Gumshoe>: Cheers for the release of Ace Attorney Investigations 2!

<Edgeworth>: Hmm ... This party for the eve of the release is rather nice.

<Kay>: Ehehe. Tomorrow, we’ll give it our all!

<Edgeworth>: Umm. Thank you very much.

<Kay>: This is the last of our tweets ... It's a little regrettable.

<Edgeworth>: But I’m glad I had this opportunity to directly express my gratitude for the week. Those who were watching our tweets… let me thank you again.

<Gumshoe>: I still have something to talk about, but we’re already out of time!

<Kay>: But the eve of the release has only just begun! After this, you can talk to the development staff of “Ace Attorney Investigations 2” directly!

<Gumshoe>: Oh! Is that the plan?

<Kay>: I’m certain, because it’s information I stole from Capcom! It seems like it will start around 18:00!

<Edgeworth>: I do have a lot to ask, but let's leave that to the followers. Well then, excuse us for now.

<Edgeworth>: If you have any questions for the development staff, please quickly send them in!

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Translation notes first:

The localized foods are as follows:

dorayaki -> Samurai Dogs (since Missile also has a habit of eating those, though I don’t believe the original was dorayaki?)

somen -> instant ramen

katsudon -> pork roast

shirataki -> plain pasta

The “bean-throwing festival” is Setsubun, a festival where you toss soybeans and eat some in order to toss out bad luck and bring in good luck (to my understanding, please correct me if I’m wrong). What Kay said (minus the Great Thief part) is one translation of a phrase you shout while throwing the beans. I obviously gave up on trying to localize this.

------

Original Japanese (minus breaks):

〈ミツルギ〉：『逆転検事２　発売直前記念』として、私が日頃思っていることを“つぶやく”ように言われたのだが‥‥どうすればいいのだろうか？

〈ミクモ〉：ダメですよミツルギさん！まずは自己紹介からしないと！

〈ミツルギ〉：ム。紹介が遅れてすまない。私の名前は御剣怜侍、地方検事局で検事をしている。ミクモくんに教えてもらったのだが、これが“ついたー”というものなのだな。

〈ミクモ〉：違いますよ！“ツイッター”ですってば！

〈ミツルギ〉：“ついったー”か。こういったアレは、あまり得意ではないのだが‥‥。

〈ミクモ〉：まあまあ。逆転検事２も発売間近ですし、ミツルギさんも言いたいこといっぱいあるでしょ？

〈ミツルギ〉：ム。確かにこういった機会は少ないから貴重ではあるな。

〈ミクモ〉：それじゃ、この大ドロボウ・一条美雲ちゃんが、つぶやく面白さをミツルギさんに教えちゃいますよー！

〈ミツルギ〉：そちらはあまり興味がないが‥‥まあいいだろう。それよりミクモくん。そろそろ仕事を始めたいのだが？

〈ミクモ〉：はーい！　それじゃ、また後で遊びに来ますね！

〈ミツルギ〉：（まあ、気になったことがあれば気軽につぶやくとするか）

〈ミクモ〉：ミツルギさん‥‥。心の声がつぶやきに出てますよ！興味津々じゃないですか！

〈ミツルギ〉：なッ！ついったー‥‥あなどれんな。

〈ミツルギ〉：もう１２時か‥‥優雅にランチといきたいところだが、そうもいかないようだ。先ほど刑事から新たな事件の報告が入ったのでな。いま、現場に向かっているところだ。

〈ミツルギ〉：イトノコギリ刑事は、“大事な物をなくした”と慌てていたようだが‥‥どうせたいした物ではないだろう。いまは捜査に集中するべきだ。現場に隠された真実を知るには、入念な捜査を必要とする。デスクワークだけでは分からないことも多いのだ。

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥現場に到着だ。ム？被害者の近くに“えんぴつ”が落ちているようだな。

〈ミツルギ〉：情報同士の共通点を探す。それこそが《ロジック》を追うということだ。逆転検事２でも《ロジック》を組み立てることが捜査の重要なカギを握っている。現場に残された“えんぴつ”と“イトノコギリ刑事がなくした物”‥‥２つの情報から導き出せる答えは１つ。

〈ミツルギ〉：イトノコギリ刑事！キミが無くしたというえんぴつが見つかったようだ。‥‥現場に余計な証拠品を残さないように。

〈ミツルギ〉：ふむ‥‥‥‥ようやく現場の真実が見えてきた。この事件は早急に解決できそうだ。

〈ミクモ〉：こんばんわ！約束通り遊びにきましたよ！

〈イトノコ〉：いらっしゃいッス！ミクモちゃん！

〈ミクモ〉：あれ？ノコちゃんもツイッターやってるんだ？

〈イトノコ〉：刑事仲間の間でも流行ってるッスよ。フォロワーもどんどん増えて、うれしい限りッス！

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥“フォロワー”とは何なのだろうか？

〈イトノコ〉：えーと。自分のつぶやきを読んでくれる人たちのことッス。簡単に説明すると“トモダチの輪”って感じッスかねえ。

〈ミクモ〉：このつぶやきを見てくれている人たちも、たくさんいるみたいですよ！えへへ。なんだかうれしいですね！

〈ミツルギ〉：ふむ。トモダチの輪‥‥か。少々恥ずかしくもあるが、ありがたいことだな。

〈ミクモ〉：うーん。フォロワーとトモダチとはちょっと違うような気もしますケド‥‥。ま。喜んでいるみたいなのでいいや！

〈ミツルギ〉：明日も“ついったー”で、フォロワーに恥じぬ時間を過ごすとしよう。

〈イトノコ〉：お待ちしてたッスよ！御剣検事！

〈ミツルギ〉：ム。おはようイトノコギリ刑事。私よりはやく裁判所に着くとはめずらしいな。

〈イトノコ〉：フォロワーのみんなに、カッコ悪いとこを見せられないッスからね！遅刻しないように、昨夜は夕飯を抜いておいたッスよ。

〈ミツルギ〉：夕飯を抜くのと早起きをするのに、何の関係があるというのだ。

〈イトノコ〉：すさまじい“腹時計”で、朝ご飯の時間に目覚めることが出来るッス！

〈ミツルギ〉：（問題が多すぎて、指摘する気にもなれん。‥‥ここはあえて黙っているとしよう）

〈イトノコ〉：御剣検事‥‥。心の声のつぶやきが自分にも見えるの、分かってやってるッスよね‥‥？

〈ミツルギ〉：そろそろ開廷の時間だ。余計なセンサクをしていないで、法廷に向かうぞ。

〈ミクモ〉：みなさんこんにちは！大ドロボウ・ヤタガラスこと一条美雲です。ふっふっふ‥‥実はいま、傍聴席にいるんですよ！敵情視察も兼ねて、ミツルギさんとノコちゃんの法廷姿を見ておこうと思って！

〈ミクモ〉：あ！ミツルギさんがまた『異議あり！』って叫んでる！今日はこれで５回目ですねー。相手の弁護士さんも汗だらだら流してますよ。裁判官の木槌も激しくなってます！えーとなになに？“法廷内でのつぶやきは却下しま‥‥す？”え。ちょ、ちょっと！

〈ミクモ〉：ううう‥‥‥‥法廷内から追い出されちゃいました。さすがは逆転検事２の新ライバル“水鏡　秤”さん！優しそうな裁判官だと思ってユダンしていました。

〈ミクモ〉：これは思わぬ強敵ですよ！ミツルギさん、大丈夫かなあ‥‥？

〈ミツルギ〉：ミクモくん。今日は一体傍聴席で何をしていたのだ。

〈イトノコ〉：法廷から追い出されるミクモちゃんを見て、ビックリしたッスよ！

〈ミクモ〉：まさかつぶやきが禁止とは思いませんでした‥‥。大ドロボウとして、一生の不覚です！

〈ミツルギ〉：後悔するヒマがあるのなら、法廷のルールについてもう少し学んでおきたまえ。

〈ミクモ〉：どうせ退廷させられるのなら、もっとカッコ良く立ち去りたかったです！大ドロボウとしては！

〈イトノコ〉：‥‥そっちで後悔しているとは思わなかったッス。

〈ミクモ〉：それはともかく！　今日はもうお仕事終わりなんですよね？

〈ミツルギ〉：今日の法廷で仕事は一段落ついたからな。気持ちよく休日をむかえられそうだ。

〈ミクモ〉：せっかくだから、いまから３人で遊びに行きましょうよ！ボーリングとかカラオケとか‥‥ゲームセンターとか！

〈ミツルギ〉：いや‥‥私はそういったものはあまり得意ではないのだが。

〈イトノコ〉：まあまあ。金曜日の夜はパーッと遊んで、仕事の疲れを癒すものッスよ！映画とかもいいッスねえ！

〈ミクモ〉：今週もお仕事お疲れ様でした！さあさあ。遊びに行きましょう！

〈ミツルギ〉：まったく。いまのキミたちには何を言ってもムダのようだな。‥‥せめて、映画にしてくれたまえ。

〈イトノコ〉：土曜日の朝は散歩日和ッスねえ！ミサイル。体力作りとミサイルの訓練も兼ねて、たまに一緒に散歩してる��スよ。御剣検事の“パートナー”として、逆転検事２では自分も役に立ちたいッスからね！

〈イトノコ〉：金属探知機を使った捜査やミサイルとの連携なら、誰にも負けないッス！ねー。ミサイル！ん？何か気になるニオイでもあるッスか？ああああッ！ミ、ミサイルが走って行っちまったッス！ミサイルは食べ物のニオイがすると突っ走っちゃうッスよ。

〈イトノコ〉：こうなったら自分もニオイを頼りに追いかけるしか！こっちも捜査のプロッスからね！うぅ‥‥‥‥‥‥さっそく見失っちまったッス。こうなったら、ミサイルが好きなお菓子を用意しておびきよせるッス！‥‥本末転倒な気もするッスけど‥‥。

〈ミクモ〉：警察犬にしておくには惜しいですね、ミサイル。まさか大ドロボウから“どら焼き”を盗み食いするなんて‥‥！せっかく、あかねちゃんと２人で食べようとしてたのになあ。

〈イトノコ〉：おどろかせてすまねッス。ところで、さっきは２人で何をしてたッスか？落ち葉をこんなに集めて‥‥。

〈アカネ〉：ヒゾウのカガク薬品でおこした火を利用して、あったか～い “焼きどら焼き”を作ろうかと！

〈イトノコ〉：え。カガク薬品ッスか‥‥？ミミミミミサイル！お腹の調子は悪くないッスか！

〈ミクモ〉：大丈夫だよ！火をおこす前に食べられちゃったから。

〈イトノコ〉：ほっ。だったら良かったッス。

〈ミツルギ〉：ぜんぜん良くないだろう。カガク薬品を使って、公共の場で火遊びなど。あかねさん。カガクの研究は大事ですが、ほどほどにしていただきたい。

〈アカネ〉：はい！ほどほどにします！ところで、どこかにお出かけですか？

〈ミツルギ〉：ええ。少し用事がありまして‥‥。あまり時間がないので、失礼します。

〈ミクモ〉：‥‥ミツルギさん、どこに行くんだろうね？

〈アカネ〉：ふっふっふ。そんなときは足跡を辿ればいいんですよ！ほどほどにカガクの力を使って！

〈ミクモ〉：よーし！ほどほどに尾行しましょう！

〈イトノコ〉：２人とも‥‥ほどほどの使い方がおかしい気がするッス。

〈ミクモ〉：あの圧倒的なスケール！涙なしには語れません！オーケストラコンサートなんて初めてです！

〈アカネ〉：金管楽器の力強い音と、木管楽器の華麗な旋律！音のカガク変化を起こすことで、音楽は作られているんですね‥‥。

〈ミツルギ〉：うム。この日を楽しみにしていたかいがあったというものだ。‥‥まさか、キミたちまでついてくるとは思わなかったがな。

〈ミクモ〉：ノコちゃんにも聞かせてあげたかったな−。ミサイルの散歩があるから、一緒に来られなかったんですよね。

〈ミツルギ〉：刑事には、サウンドトラックＣＤ「オーケストラ・アレンジ楽曲集　〜奏でられし逆転〜」を聞かせるとしよう。いまからでもイーカプコンで予約出来るだろう。

〈アカネ〉：あたしはもちろん予約済みです！御剣検事さんの“1/10フィギュア”もバッチリゲットしますよ！

〈ミツルギ〉：私の1/10フィギュア？身長などを測られた覚えはないが‥‥。

〈ミクモ〉：そりゃもう、わたしがミツルギさんの情報をバッチリ盗んでおきましたからね！

〈ミツルギ〉：オーケストラホールで言うのはいささかためらわれるが‥‥一言だけ、言わせていただこう。

〈ミクモ〉：“異議あり！”‥‥ってね！

〈ミツルギ〉：な‥‥なぜキミが言うのだ！

〈アカネ〉：これが有名な大ドロボウの技“言葉を盗む”ですね。勉強になります！

〈ミツルギ〉：今日は特に予定が入っていない。近くの喫茶店で読書をして過ごすとしよう。‥‥さすがに、日曜日ぐらいは落ち着いて過ごしたいからな。

〈ミツルギ〉：心地よい日の当たる場所で、上質の紅茶を飲む‥‥。今日は良い休日になりそうだ。

〈ミツルギ〉：そういえば、先日“カオルさん”というフォロワーから、ついったーでアイサツされたのだが‥‥。アイサツを返す方法が分からなかったので、まだ返せていないのだ。ここで改めて礼を言わせていただこう。カオルさん、フォローしていただき感謝する。

〈オバチャン〉：ミ‥‥ミッちゃぁああん！やっと見つけたよぉおおお！

〈ミツルギ〉：ぐッ！ど、どうしてあなたがこの喫茶店に‥‥！

〈オバチャン〉：やだよミッちゃん！こないだこのツイッターとやらでアイサツしたじゃないか。さっきも“カオルさん、感謝する。”って言ってくれただろう？オバチャンうれしくなっちゃってねえ。ついついそこいらの喫茶店を巡ってミッちゃんを探しちまったのさ。愛のチカラっ

〈ミツルギ〉：は、早口すぎて“ついーと”におさまっていないではないか！しかも、“カオルさん”とは‥‥‥‥あなたのことだったのか！いくら喫茶店を巡ったといっても、こんなにカンタンに見つかるワケはない。‥‥何か隠していることがあるのではないか？

〈オバチャン〉：ミッちゃんったら、証拠もないのにそんなこと言っちゃ検事の名がすたれちゃうよ！オバチャンがミッちゃんに隠し事なんてするわけないじゃないのサ！

〈ミツルギ〉：フッ‥‥証拠品がなくとも、あなたの反応や感情を読み取り“言葉のみ”で真実を引き出してみせよう。

〈オバチャン〉：ああ。それならオバチャンも聞いたよ、ミッちゃん！《ロジックチェス》っていうヤツだろ？オバチャン、ミッちゃんのことなら何でも知ってるんだからね！

〈ミツルギ〉：“何でも知っている？”‥‥とはどういうことだろうか？

〈オバチャン〉：ほら。オバチャン警備員だからさ。このあいだ、前に勤めてた子がクビになったっていうから臨時で検事局の警備をしてたんだヨ。そのときにミッちゃんの住所がたまたま目に入っちゃってサ。

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥‥‥こちらから情報を引き出すまでもなく、自分で答えを言っているではないか！

〈オバチャン〉：あら。つい口が滑っちまったヨ。せっかくロジックチェスが見られると思ったのに残念だねえ。

〈ミツルギ〉：そ、それは逆転検事２で見ていただけないだろうか。私は用事があるので失礼する！

〈オバチャン〉：今日は用事がないってつぶやいてたじゃないか！今日という今日は、オバチャン絶対に逃がさないヨッ！

〈ミツルギ〉：く‥‥今日はさんざんな目にあった。

〈ミツルギ〉：休日だからといって気を抜きすぎていたな。自分の発言や周囲の警戒を怠っていたとは‥‥。

〈ミツルギ〉：ム？また“カオルさん”から私あてに“ついーと”が来ているな。『残念無念　カオル』‥‥と言われても、断じて誘いに乗るつもりはない！

〈イトノコ〉：御剣検事、聞いたッスか？ロウ捜査官が西鳳民国から来ているみたいッスよ！

〈ミツルギ〉：ほう。また国際的な事件に関わっているのだろうか。彼とはあまりゆっくり話す機会が無かったからな。時間があればアイサツぐらいは行くとしよう。

〈イトノコ〉：前回の事件は大変だったッスからねー。自分も、ロウ捜査官の部下の皆さんとはあんまり話せなかったッス。

〈イトノコ〉：なんせ知ってるだけでも１００名はいるッスからねえ。

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥全員と話そうとすれば、日が暮れてしまうだろうな。

〈イトノコ〉：正直、顔と名前を覚えるのもあきらめたッス。

〈ミツルギ〉：すべてをあきらめているではないか！

〈ロウ〉：よう。検事さん。こんなところで会うとはキグウだな。

〈ミツルギ〉：久しぶりだな、ロウ捜査官。まさか、このような飲食店で再会するとは思わなかったが。

〈ロウ〉：どっか１人で落ち着ける店を探してたら、たまたまここが目に入ったんでな。

〈ミツルギ〉：１人‥‥？キミにしてはめずらしいではないか。いつもの部下たちは一緒ではないのだろうか？

〈ロウ〉：まあな‥‥。狼子、曰く！“単独犯の気持ちを知るには、群れを離れるべし”ってな。オレだって１人になるときはあるさ。

〈ミツルギ〉：ほう？だが、それにしてはキミのテーブルにはムジュンがあるようだ。

〈ロウ〉：ハッ！検事さんお得意の“推理”ってやつかい？

〈ミツルギ〉：１人で食べるにしては、注文した料理は“大皿”ばかりで、量はどう見ても２０人以上に見えるのだが？

〈ロウ〉：うおおおッ！‥‥しまった。いつものクセでつい頼みすぎちまったようだ。よければ検事さん、少しもらってくれねえか？

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥１人で行動するのは、あまり得意ではないようだな。

〈ミクモ〉：ええ！ロウさん、またこっちに来てるんですか？

〈ミツルギ〉：ああ。以前と違い、なぜか１人で行動していたようだ。

〈ミクモ〉：それは、やっぱり大人数だと忍び込むのが難しくなるからじゃないですか？大ドロボウの鉄則です！

〈ミツルギ〉：彼は“国際捜査官”だろう。‥‥なんにせよ、彼には目的があってこの国に来ているようだったな。

〈ミクモ〉：それじゃ、また現場で会うかもしれませんねー。

〈ミツルギ〉：真実を追い求める気持ちは同じでも、時にはぶつかることもある。もし現場で出会うことがあれば、戦うことになるかもしれないな。

〈ミクモ〉：いいなあ。わたしも自分を高めてくれるようなライバルが欲しいです。ハア‥‥どこかにいないかなあ。大ドロボウを追い詰める好敵手！

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥逮捕されたいのなら、イトノコギリ刑事にでも頼みたまえ。

〈ミクモ〉：もう！そういうことじゃないんです！

〈ミクモ〉：ようやく２月になりましたね！

〈ミツルギ〉：ああ。いよいよだな‥‥。

〈イトノコ〉：２月３日が楽しみッス！

〈イトノコ〉：ウチの警察署では、節分の豆まきをやるッス！２月３日は、タダで大豆が食べられる貴重な日ッスよ！

〈ミクモ〉：わたしは毎年、投げられる豆をどれだけ受け取れるか挑戦してるんですよ！“鬼は外、福は内、大ドロボウは盗み”って感じで！

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥一番大事なことを、忘れているのではないだろうか？

〈ミクモ〉：冗談ですってば！２月３日といえば、もちろんアレですよね！

〈イトノコ〉：逆転検事２の発売日を忘れるワケないッス！

〈ミツルギ〉：ム‥‥ならばいいのだが。

〈ミツルギ〉：発売まであと３日。フォロワーの方々も楽しみに待っていてくれたまえ。

〈ミツルギ〉：冬場の捜査は、寒くてかなわないな‥‥。発売前に風邪を引くわけにはいかん。しっかり防寒対策をしなければな。

〈ミツルギ〉：そういえば、イトノコギリ刑事は年中同じコートを着ているが、寒くないのだろうか‥‥。ああ‥‥単に、給与が下がりすぎて買えないだけかもしれないな。

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥‥‥夕食はイトノコギリ刑事でも誘うとするか。彼の食生活は、はた目から見ていても不安になる。まさか冬にそうめんを食べていることはないだろうが‥‥。

〈ミツルギ〉：検事局の近くに手打ちのうどん屋がある。リーズナブルな値段の割に、味も満足のいくものだ。‥‥‥‥いかん。イトノコギリ刑事を誘うとなると、ついつい麺類にばかり考えがいってしまうな。

〈ミツルギ〉:ム。さきほど発売まであと３日とつぶやいたのだが、発売日はあさって‥‥あと２日だったか。昨夜は、執務室で徹夜仕事だったのでな。日付の感覚が狂ってしまったようだ。

〈ミツルギ〉:私としたことが、つぶやきが“ムジュン”していたとは‥‥失礼した。指摘してくれたフォロワーの方、感謝する。

〈イトノコ〉：カツ丼美味いッスぅううう！今年初めてのトンカツッスよ！

〈ミツルギ〉：イトノコギリ刑事。つぶやきながら食べるのはやめたまえ！

〈イトノコ〉：自分、今年は水炊き鍋で“しらたき”ばかり食べてたッスからねー。

思わず叫んじまったッス！

〈ミクモ〉：叫んだん��ゃなく、つぶやきですけどね！

〈ミツルギ〉：ソーメンではなかったが、彼の食生活はいつも危機的状況だな。

〈イトノコ〉：うう‥‥捜査で失敗するたびに、生活費がピンチになるッスからね‥‥。

〈ミクモ〉：でも、いま一番危機が迫っているのは、ミツルギさんのほうなんじゃ？

ＣＭで見ましたよ！“最大のピンチ”だって。

〈イトノコ〉：自分も聞いたッスよ‥‥。いったい、どんな失敗をしちゃったッスか！

〈ミツルギ〉：キミと一緒にしないでくれたまえ！

身に覚えはないが‥‥ピンチを恐れていても仕方がないだろう。

私は、自分の信じる道を行くだけだ。

〈ミクモ〉：さっすがミツルギさん！いざとなったらわたしも力を貸しますからね。大ドロボウとして！

〈イトノコ〉：もちろん自分もッス！ピンチな時の生活費のやりくりならお任せッス！

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥せめて、刑事として力を貸してもらえないだろうか。

〈ミクモ〉：そういえば。ミツルギさんのお父さんって、どんな人なんですか？

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥なぜ、いきなりそんな質問を？

〈ミクモ〉：さっき信楽さんに聞いたんですよ。ミツルギさんのお父さんは、すごく立派な人だったって！わたしもお父さんを尊敬してたから、ちょっと気になっちゃって。

〈ミツルギ〉：幼い頃の私にとっては、尊敬すべき相手であり‥‥目標でもあった。

〈ミクモ〉：あれ？いまは違うんですか？

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥‥‥どうだろうな。一言で説明するのは難しい。この答えを知りたいのならば、明日まで待ってくれたまえ。

〈ミクモ〉：なるほど！逆転検事２に真実が隠されている‥‥と。ミツルギさんの真実、私が盗んじゃいますよ！

〈ミクモ〉：ノコちゃん！そっちの飾りは、もっと右よりでお願い！

〈イトノコ〉：こっちッスね！あ、飾りが落ちたッス！

〈ミツルギ〉：昼間から、人の執務室で何をしているのだ。

〈イトノコ〉：今日は非番ッスからね！明日の発売日に向けて、前夜祭の準備をしてるッスよ！

〈ミクモ〉：そろそろ、つぶやく時間もなくなって来ましたからね！

ミツルギさんは気にせず仕事をしててください！

〈ミツルギ〉：そう思うのなら、机の上にのぼるのはやめていただきたい。

‥‥もう少しで仕事が片付くから、それまで待っていたまえ。

〈ミクモ〉：え！ミツルギさんも手伝ってくれるんですか？

〈ミツルギ〉：私とて祝いたい気持ちはあるのだ。

〈イトノコ〉：助かるッス！

それじゃ時間までソファーに座って待ってるッスよ！

〈ミツルギ〉：‥‥‥‥‥‥廊下で遊んでいてくれないだろうか。

〈イトノコ〉：逆転検事２発売に向けて、乾杯ッス！

〈ミツルギ〉：フッ‥‥前夜祭というのも良いものだな。

〈ミクモ〉：えへへ。明日には、わたしたちのカツヤクをお見せできるんですね！

〈ミツルギ〉：うム。感慨深いモノがあるな。

〈ミクモ〉：わたしたちのつぶやきも、これで最後になるんですね‥‥ちょっと名残惜しいです。

〈ミツルギ〉：だが一週間のあいだ、このような機会をいただけて良かった。直接、感謝を伝えることが出来るのだからな。私たちのつぶやきを見ていた方々。‥‥あらためて礼を言わせていただこう。

〈イトノコ〉：まだまだ話したいことはあるッスけど、もう時間ッスからね！

〈ミクモ〉：でも、まだ前夜祭は始まったばかりですよ！なんと！このあと「逆転検事２」の開発スタッフに直接質問ができちゃうんです！

〈イトノコ〉：へえ！そんな企画があるッスか！

〈ミクモ〉：カプコンから盗んできた情報だから、確実ですよ！１８時ぐらいから始まるそうです！

〈ミツルギ〉：私としても聞きたいことはたくさんあるのだが‥‥そこはフォロワーの方々に任せるとしよう。それでは、私たちはこれで失礼する。

〈ミツルギ〉：開発スタッフに聞きたいことがあれば、どんどん追及してくれたまえ！

#ace attorney #aai2 #(no spoilers though!)#miles edgeworth #kay faraday #detective gumshoe #my posts #really hoping there isn't some egregious error in there hahaha!#also hoping someone appreciates it half as much as I do #but even if no one does this was fun to look at

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aloneworldwebinfo · 5 years

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POMIS Full form - Post Office Monthly Income Scheme

Post Office MIS Scheme - How To Open Post Office MIS Account

पोस्ट ऑफिस मंथली इनकम स्कीम यह पोस्ट ऑफिस की स्कीमों में से एक ऐसी scheme है, जो आपको आपके जमा निवेश पर guaranteed return देती है। कोई भी व्यक्ति इस scheme का लाभ उठा सकता है.

जिस तरह से हम किसी भी bank में अपना account open कर सकते है, उसी तरह ही पोस्ट ऑफिस में जाकर MIS account open कर सकते है। यह account खोलने के लिए वही documents लगते है जो बैंक में लगते है। कोई भी भारतीय नागरिक यह खाता खोलकर उसका लाभ उठा सकता है।

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secretmellowblog · 4 years

Text

How Costume Design Can Change Everything About a Character: starring Inspector Javert!

SO.

Javert’s costume in the scene where he commits suicide is radically different in Les Mis 2012 vs the usual Broadway productions.

In Les Mis 2012, Javert returns to the barricades wearing a fancy Important-looking uniform. His clothes are perfectly neat and tidy. He also has a big Important LEGION OF HONOR medal! I googled it and the Legion of Honor is “the highest French order of merit for civil and military merits!” This medal gets a whole scene to itself, Tom Hooper really likes this medal and wants you to know that Javert has it

But in the Broadway stage musical the costume is radically different. Yes it varies depending on the production, but usually it looks something like this:

It’s the ordinary black coat Javert usually wears-- except it’s not fastidiously Neat the way it usually is. The coat is unbuttoned and loose, the collar is open, the cravat is untied. You can actually -see- that Javert is trying to be his old self, but is incapable of doing that because he’s falling apart.

In the book Javert Falling Apart was conveyed through subtle and actually really sad bits of characterization? In his final confrontation with Valjean Javert is dazed/distracted “as if in a dream,��” Valjean says things and Javert does’t seem to process them; Javert asks questions but doesn’t seem to care when his questions aren’t answered; etc. In the musical Javert’s dazed/distracted state is conveyed through the costume design instead.

In the 2012 film it looks like Javert is mentally Stable-- like he took some rest, thought through some stuff, then came back in a neat fancy uniform with a Medal.

But Stage!Javert looks like he didn’t rest at all after leaving the barricade-- like he just immediately threw his old clothes back on and went back to work without a moment’s pause.

And that’s what happened in the book!!

Javert, after his unlooked-for escape from the barricade, had betaken himself to the prefecture of police, had rendered a verbal account to the Prefect in person in a brief audience, had then immediately gone on duty again, which implied—the note, the reader will recollect, which had been captured on his person—a certain surveillance of the shore on the right bank of the Seine......

Crowe Javert is the kind of Important guy who gets awarded a Legion of Honor......but OG Javert stumbles backs from the barricade and his boss is like “you spent all last night tied to a post awaiting execution? ok whatever. your next shift starts in five seconds.”

Crowe Javert’s costume is designed to make him look IMPORTANT. He’s dressed like a high-ranking military officer rather than a low-ranking police inspector. So much emphasis is put on the big fancy Legion of Honor medal. The costume design conveys that he’s a super-respected Important person.

But OG Javert is not important!

The point of book/musical Javert is that he’s one of Les Miserables even as he cruelly oppresses other people like him, and his life is utterly unimportant to the society he guards. I could go on a tangent about how police inspectors at the time did not have anywhere near the level of insane power and prestige that police officers have today; the type of low-ranking work that Javert did was looked down on for being ugly menial labor, and low-ranking people like Javert lived in utter poverty......and how Javert’s whole Thing is that he’s “outside the pale of society and sees with despair that he can never enter it”-- that his origins have made him a scorned permanent outcast who only guards “normal society” because he’s so far beneath it that he can never belong to it. When he’s held hostage, the National Guard makes no effort to save his life/refuses to do a hostage exchange, because he doesn’t really matter to them.

But the point is that like: the 2012 film implies Javert is someone who society at large actually cares about, which radically changes his character.

So here’s how I think this changes the way we view Javert’s Moral Crisis(tm):

(Keep in mind that the costume designs are a symbol of the wider characterizations, I’m not saying I’m getting all of this from the costumes alone)

In the 2012 film Javert’s crisis comes across as: “Javert has Everything, but it isn’t enough.” Javert is accepted by society, he’s praised and respected, he’s wearing a big Important Uniform, he’s given the Most Important Medal society can give, he has a giant support system at his back.......but it’s just not enough anymore because it Feels Morally Wrong.

But in the book and stage show it’s like-- Javert has nothing. Javert has no support system, Javert is alone, Javert is utterly unimportant and expendable, and he’s aware of that. When he loses his sense of purpose, there really is “nowhere (he) can turn.”

It’s not “Javert has everything but he still feels wrong,” it’s “the only thing Javert had was his Moral Certainty(tm), and now that certainty is gone.”

Idk if this is coherent but what what I’m trying to say is: a lot of Les Mis adaptations portray Javert as being more Powerful/Important than he was in the book (Les Mis 2012, BBC LES MIS, any version that brings Les Mis into a modern setting) and like........................I think that radically changes his character in a way that makes his story far less coherent, or at least far less sympathetic and tragic.

#les mis #inspector javert #long post #meta #see I've been thinking about the BBC miniseries incoherent version of Javert #and I've been trying to write a post on how #Javert isn't an Important person in the book #but adaptations always portray him as being like #a Huge Deal #with medals of honor and loyal underlings who admire him/try to befriend him #(and that's at its peak in the bbc miniseries)#but like.......#then i got sidetracked by talking about these costumes!!!!#so I guess it's gonna be a multi essay series #because I have far too much time on my hands #my emotions about javert are very complicated!!!!#so everything i write about him becomes too long!!!#:((((#my complicated emotional relationship with javert #tw: suicide #but yeah like...there's nothing wrong with making javert more Important #or bringing him into a modern au #but then he's a very different character #and you kind of have to acknowledge that #does his suicide even make sense anymore #if he has this huge support system that adores him and gives him everything?#idk

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire. And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all, but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now. He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Just a Friend #chapter 1 #Here goes

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before-we-get-started · 3 years

Text

Dream Come True

Colin Shea x O/C Corinne MacAdam

Multi-Chapter Story - Complete

Summary: Colin Shea and his band Rock the Cradle are finally making it big - until something unexpected happens. When he meets a girl that makes him reconsider his player ways, he thinks his life may be coming together, until she blows it apart.

Warning: Bad language, smut, suicidal ideations - no one under 18, please

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please do not read if you are underage. I do not own the character of Colin Shea; the rest are my original characters. By reading beyond this point, you understand the disclaimers as posted.

Chapter Five

On Monday, she woke up with a new outlook. Today she’d start a new job, something much different than working for the events management company. Serving as personal assistant to a family friend, an heiress and philanthropist, eccentric and a spinster, but a very nice woman. Cori’s mother had reminded her that her new boss, Ms. Robbins, was prone to mood swings (and forgetting things), but that she’d treat her fairly and appreciate her hard work.

On a whim on Sunday, she’d decided to color her hair. She bought a kit and gave herself light blonde highlights, lightening the chestnut brown. She looked as if she’d been out in the sun, as if maybe she had a healthy outdoor lifestyle, not like she’d been holed up feeling sorry for herself for months.

She dressed in a chocolate brown business suit with a cream blouse, a bow tied at the neck. She put on her brown pumps and some with the crème filigreed toe accent and grabbed her purse. For good luck, she put on the pearl drop earrings her parents had gotten her for her 16th birthday. She’d prepped her lunch the night before and grabbed the thermal bag from the frig, along with her travel coffee mug. She had plenty of time to make the T to the Back Bay neighborhood where Ms. Robbins lived.

As she’d finished getting ready, “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves had been playing on the radio. She found herself singing it softly as she left the apartment. “I’m walking on sunshine – yeah!” she sang, a little louder than she planned, as the door to 6A opened. Colin emerged in his boxers. He bent down to pick up a newspaper, then stood up and took a good look at her as she walked by.

“Mornin’ 6C,” he said with that gorgeous smile. His eyes ran over her from head to toe and she could almost feel it.

She smiled back, gazing over her shoulder as she walked by. “Mornin’ 6A. Have a good day.” She kept walking down the stairs, her optimism bubbling up. What a great way to start the day – Colin in his boxers. She smiled to herself, descending the stairs, holding on to the wooden rail. She looked up just long enough to see Colin, arms on the railing, leaning over to watch her.

“You have a good day, too,” he said, lingering as she bounced her way down and out of the building.

Ms. Robbins lived in a huge terracotta brick home on Newton Street. The house had been divided up into condos and she occupied the entire first floor. It was just her and Yaz, her Yorkie (Ms. Robbins was a lifelong Red Sox fan). Cori had been to her home twice before – once as a child for a dinner party, and once a few weeks ago for her job interview. She entered the front door and rang the bell at the door on her left, the entry to Ms. Robbins’ home.

“’S open!”

Cori entered and walked into the main living area, adorned with floral wallpaper in greens and blues. Wood three-quarter round trim stained a honey color trimmed the room and honey colored hardwoods peeked out from a solid blue area rug. There was a Steinway piano, a Victorian couch and chair and a coffee table in the room, along with built-in shelves that held items from around the world, secured during Ms. Robbins’ travels.

“It’s Cori,” she said in a singsong voice. Yaz came streaking into the room, yapping ferociously. She bent down and petted the silky hair around the blue bow tied around a small tuft on his head. He returned the gesture with little licks to her hand.

“Good morning!” Ms. Robbins had cornered the market on brocade dresses. Every time Cori had ever seen her, she was in some type of beautiful brocade. Today’s was a kelly green/ecru paisley that was beautiful against her ivory skin and auburn hair. In her mid-60’s, she was medium height and quite fit, a few lines on her porcelain skin but they weren’t too noticeable with her impeccable makeup. She was holding a number of envelopes as she entered the room.

She hugged Cori and extended her arms, getting a look at her. “Cori, you look absolutely gorgeous. I’m so excited we’ll be working together.”

Cori smiled. “I am too Ms. Robbins. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

“I’m going to keep you busy,” she said. “Now let me show you around so we can get to work.” She led Cori through a formal dining room, complete with a giant ornate wood table and chairs, into a kitchen that had obviously been recently remodeled. Tall white cabinets, a beautiful light gray granite and a white subway tile backsplash, with larger square ceramic tiles and a beautiful mosaic tile providing a pop of color behind the large stainless Bertazzoni range. The kitchen was immaculate – Cori wondered if any food had ever actually been prepared in the room.

“You can put your lunch bag here,” she said, pointing to the giant SubZero frig, “and are you a coffee drinker?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Cori said, shaking her travel mug in front of her.

“Wonderful! I have a coffee station here, there are an assortment of flavors. Lots of creamer in the frig. Help yourself,” she said, waving her arm in front of the high-end coffee maker like it was up for bids on The Price is Right.

She showed Cori the powder room and where she could store her coat and any other items she brought with her. “I want you to feel at home. Help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. If you can’t find something, just let me know. Mi casa, su casa,” she said with a smile.

Cori felt a surge of excitement, for the hospitality and for the unknown opportunity that lied ahead.

They made their way to the office, just off the living area with beautiful French doors in the same honey wood. The walls were done in a green wallpaper with wide green velvet stripes. The honey floors carried in and there was a large mahogany desk, built-in bookcases behind it and a high-backed leather office chair.

“This is your workspace now,” Ms. Robbins said. “You’ll find a variety of office supplies in the desk and in the cabinet on the wall. If what you need isn’t here, make a list and – well – I’ll send you out to buy it,” she smiled.

Cori laughed. “Yes ma’am,” she said with a laugh.

“And how about if you call me Amelia. ‘Ma’am’ and ‘Ms. Robbins’ make me feel old.”

“Ok Amelia,” she said. “I love that name.”

“And I love yours. My mother’s name was Corinne. I’m named after my father’s mother. Thank goodness, my mother’s mother was Agatha.” They both laughed.

“I thought we’d operate this way – this new laptop is yours. You can use it here and take it home if you ever need to work after hours. In this book (she opened a leather-bound journal), there are sections. The first will be for your schedule. I’ve written what I’d like you to do this week here,” she said, pointing at a page behind the first tab. “The second section will be for lists. I’ve written this week’s date and a list of items I need you to purchase. The third section will be for your hours. Sign in and out each day, and be sure to include any evening or weekend hours, there will eventually be some. I’ll check it on Fridays, send the hours to my accountant and he’ll transfer money to your account on Monday morning, so pay weekly. Does that work?”

“Yes,” said Cori. “That works perfectly.”

“Great. Whenever you need to go out, Gerald will be available with the car. Let’s take today to get you familiar with the house, the neighborhood and the things I’ll expect you to do. We’ll have lunch on Beacon Hill today because it’s so gorgeous out and tomorrow will be your first actual day with work.”

And so the day progressed, Ms. Robbins doing all the things she promised. After getting familiar with more of the house and where things were stored, they sat in the office and discussed her upcoming calendar and events, and the other tasks she’d expect Cori to accomplish. At 11 a.m. they walked out front where Gerald and the car were waiting. They climbed in the back and Ms. Robbins directed the driver to “run the tour route.” They wove through the streets of the neighborhood and those that bordered. She showed Cori her preferred market, florist, office supply store and other shops. Cori made notes as they went. When they’d finished the tour, the driver stopped in front of a bistro in Beacon Hill with a low brick wall that surrounded a courtyard full of outdoor tables under bright red umbrellas.

“Ms. Robbins, so good to see you. Right this way.” The host showed them to a table tucked away in the back corner of the courtyard. Almost as soon as they were seated, a server set glasses of ice water and iced tea in front of them with a little bowl of lemon wedges. The host handed Cori a menu.

“Will you be having your usual today?” the host asked.

“Yes Phillip. But please give Ms. MacAdam a minute to look.”

“Of course.” The host left the table, passing another server who set a two baskets on the table, one with fresh hot breadsticks in a linen cloth bed and the other little pats of cold butter.

Cori inhaled the smell of the fresh bread, closing her eyes.

“A carb girl, a girl after my own heart,” Ms. Robbins said, pulling out two breadsticks and handing one to Cori.

“Maybe just one,” she said, using her knife to cut off a small wedge of butter and smearing it on the breadstick. She took a bite. “Oh my gosh,” she said softly.

“I know, right?” said Ms. Robbins. “Those breadsticks are my spirit animal.” They both laughed.

Cori chose a salmon salad with a lemon vinaigrette and Ms. Robbins got her usual Salad Niçoise and they chatted away, talking about Beacon Hill, their favorite Boston eateries, Cori’s family, and eventually, Cori’s recent past.

“I saw your mother last year at a benefit and she said you had found your dream job with Spalding Events. Was it not what you had hoped?”

Cori suddenly felt panicked. Ms. Robbins obviously didn’t know what had happened to her, or that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life when he banged her best friend the night before their wedding. Just the thought of all of it made her a little dizzy. She took a deep breath. Get it together.

“It was wonderful, but I was in an accident-“

Ms. Robbins gasped quietly and reached for her hand. “Oh dear, are you ok?”

“Yes,” said Cori. “I am now. I actually stepped off the curb and got hit by a cab.”

This time the gasp was much more audible. “My word! Cori! That’s horrifying!”

“It was,” she said softly. “I suffered some serious injuries. The folks at Spalding were kind enough to let me keep working from home once I was able. But I had to do a lot of physical therapy, I moved back in with my parents. Honestly, I just needed a fresh start.” She left out the part about Matthew and Amber.

Ms. Robbins kept her hand on Cori’s, patting it softly. “I’m so glad you’re ok. I can’t imagine what your parents must have gone through as well. Your supervisor spoke very highly of you when I called. She said they’d have you back in a minute.”

“That’s really nice of them,” she said.

“Well, don’t worry. I know events are your specialty. We’ll start out slow but eventually, you’ll be planning my events. I love to entertain and especially to raise money for my foundation. You’ll be able to put that experience to work and for lots of good causes.”

Cori felt a rush of giddiness. Her own events. She loved the sound of that. This was exactly what she needed, what she’d hoped for.

“I can’t wait,” she said with a giggle.

“Good! Now, tell me, if I keep you late or ask you to work on weekends, will I be imposing on a relationship with your significant other? I understand that you have a life.”

The smile ran away from her face. “No, no significant other.”

“Well, then we’ll have more than one goal for our events, won’t we?” she said with a smile.

They finished lunch, which was delicious, and the driver took them back to Newton Street. The rest of the day was spent getting familiar with the office, files she’d need, Ms. Robbins’ rolodex and books from some of her previous events. There were photos and agendas and a list of all the companies used for each event. She recognized lots of them from working at Spalding.

Five o’clock was here before she knew it and she grabbed her bag and headed for the T. She left her lunch bag for tomorrow. The ride home was easy and she ascended the stairs of her apartment building, headed for the sixth floor. On Saturday night during the party, her neighbors said the elevator is almost always out. She was glad it was working when her father helped her move in.

She reached her floor and stared at 6A. She wondered if Colin was home, and if so, what he was doing. Impulsively, she knocked on his door. After a bit, he answered. He was in a Patriots t-shirt and athletic shorts, barefoot, his hair spikey and messy. He looked like maybe he hadn’t been awake for very long.

“Hey! How was your first day?” he said, smiling.

“Really good,” she said. “Very good. Hey, I was thinking, maybe you could come for dinner one night this week. You can tell me about your neighborhood watch program.”

He smiled. “You’ll be a good recruit and I never turn down a free meal. So yes.”

“Great, how about Wednesday at 7?”

“I’ll be there.”

As Cori walked away, she saw a leggy blonde coming off the last step and turning towards Colin’s door. She peered over her shoulder and saw him embrace her, then they shared a long, deep kiss. She noticed his long eyelashes laying on high cheekbones when he closed his eyes for the kiss. Cori felt her knees go weak. She wished for a second she was a leggy blonde.

“You came,” he said. “Nicole, right?”

“Nina,” the blonde corrected him.

“Yeah, Nina. Come on in.” He held the door open for her, placing his hand on the small of her back as she walked in. He looked over at Cori. “Night 6C.”

“Good night,” she replied. The door clicked behind him. Cori unlocked the door and went in, spending the rest of the evening thinking about that kiss. It wouldn’t be as good as the one she got from her mystery man, but she bet it was close.

Tuesday was a normal day, learning and exploring at work, then on Wednesday, she ran to the market after getting off the train to grab a few items. She was in by 5:30, giving her some time to prep dinner. She loved to cook. She wasn’t a chef by any means but she could hold her own. She’d decided to prepare a margherita pasta with shrimp for tonight, with a salad and strawberry shortcakes for dessert. She took a quick shower, put on a little makeup, pulled her hair up in a messy bun after dressing in jeans and an emerald green cold shoulder shirt and jeans and headed for the kitchen. She chopped tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil, seared the shrimp and boiled the pasta. She tossed the romaine salad with some vinaigrette. She set the table, opened a bottle of white wine and put it in an ice bucket, filled two glasses with ice water and as she was setting them on the table, there was a knock at the door.

She glanced in the mirror next to the door – she looked as good as she could, she supposed. She unlocked the door then opened it.

“Hey,” he said. She gasped softly. He was in a cobalt blue button up shirt, black belt, jeans and boots. There was a thin silver chain around his neck, a small silver medallion resting in the valley between his defined pecs. The edge of a tattoo peeked out where the shirt was unbuttoned. His hair was styled. He handed her a small bouquet of fresh flowers. “For you.”

She smiled, a smile that lit up her whole face, and took the flowers. “They’re beautiful. Come in.” She stepped out of the way and he walked the few steps in, making the step down into her living/dining room.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here,” he said, making a show of sniffing the air. “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t in cardboard or Styrofoam.”

“I hope you like shrimp – and pasta,” she said.

“That sounds great,” he replied.

She pulled a vase out of the cabinet, added a little water and put the flowers in, setting them in the middle of the table. “Everything is ready,” she said, extending her arm toward the table. He sat down at one of the place settings and picked up the napkin, unfolding it and placing it in his lap.

“So how was day three?” he asked.

She pulled the pan of pasta from the stove and set in on the table. “Really good,” she said.

“Tell me more.”

“I’m a personal assistant for Amelia Robbins. She’s heir to Robbins Manufacturing. She has a house over in Back Bay.”

“Wow, nice neighborhood,” he said, eyeing the pasta she was putting on his plate.

“Very nice. She lives in a huge building full of condos. Her home is the entire first floor. It’s really pretty,” she said.

“So what kind of assistant stuff are you doing?”

“I run errands, do some shopping, manage her calendar. Eventually I’ll be her event planner. She hosts a number of fundraisers for non-profits throughout the year.”

He twisted the pasta around his fork and took a bite, stopping abruptly. He spoke but the words were unintelligible with a mouthful of food.

“What?” she said laughing.

He chewed and swallowed. “I said Holy Shit, this is amazing!” He loaded another fork full and shoveled it in. “Absolutely delicious.”

She was pleased. The evening would suck if the food was bad.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, taking her own bite. It did taste pretty good.

They talked a little more about her job and then she asked about the band.

“So, what’s the name of your band?”

“Oh, Rock the Cradle – like, Boston is the Cradle of Liberty, and we definitely rock.”

“If I wanted to hear you, where would I go?”

“Finnegan’s, O’Leary’s, Rap’s, local bars,” he said.

“Mm,” she hummed as she finished a bite of pasta. “I’m envious. I always wanted to be in a band. I took piano and played in orchestra in high school. It must be great to take the stage and play your own music.”

He sighed, smiling broadly. “It is,” he said as he put his hand over his chest. “It’s the most incredible feeling. I’m addicted.”

“I’ll bet! And I’m sure you have a pretty incredible stage presence.”

“Well, I don’t mind bragging but yeah, I can wrap an audience up, no problem.”

Cori was impressed. “Just think, when you get that record deal, you’ll already be great at performing live.”

His face dropped then. He looked down at his plate. “We took a break for a while a few months ago. There were some things I had to work through.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did the break help?” She couldn’t help but wonder – guys in bands were often partiers. Did he have a drinking problem? Drugs? He didn��t seem the type, but you never knew what someone else was going through. She stirred the fork around in her plate. “If you guys are that good, I’m sure you’ll get another chance.”

He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly, like a little boy. “It gave me some time to think, and yeah, exactly. I tell the guys that all the time.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.

She smiled, feeling sad for him. He was obviously incredibly disappointed. That sweet smile was gone and she found herself wanting to give him a hug. “Probably get a better record deal next time anyway.”

He smiled. “Exactly. That’s what I told the guys. Everything happens for a reason.” He pulled the fork across his plate, scraping up the last possible bite.

She smiled, happy he liked it so much. “Dessert?” she said sweetly.

His face suddenly shifted and through hooded blue eyes, he smirked and purred, “I never turn down dessert.”

Cori felt the heat flush her cheeks. “Sorry to disappoint you, just strawberry shortcake.”

He laughed. “Ok, I’ll settle for that.”

He picked up the plates from the table and took them to the sink while she pulled the sponge cake, strawberries and whipped cream from the frig. She pulled two ramekins from the cabinet and with a knife, cut circles of cake to fit in the little cups. Colin stood next to her at the counter, peering over her shoulder.

“That looks so good,” he said, reaching over and sticking his finger in the whipped cream. She pulled the bowl away from him.

“Patience,” she laughed. “Go sit.”

He strode to the couch, dropping himself against the throw pillows.

Cori thought about how comfortable all of this was. Dinner together, easy banter, affectionate looks. Everything she thought she’d have by now, with Matthew.

She stared down at her hands and sighed. Colin was sweet and dangerously sexy, but he was just another Matthew. Having a variety of girls was his trademark. Besides, she wasn’t even in the league with the other girls she’d seen at his place.

She shook her head to clear the thought and grabbed two spoons, carrying their desserts to the couch.

Colin admired the sweet treat as she handed it to him. “You’re one incredible cook,” he said, dipping his spoon in and snagging a little of each layer. He hummed as he enjoyed the first bite. “Man, I could get used to this,” he said, smiling at her.

“Well, stay on my good side and I’ll fatten you up.”

He laughed. “Hey, the body is part of the show. But I’ll take my chances.”

They finished and she took their cups. She was so enjoying his company, she spoke before she could think about it. “So, I was thinking, if you want, maybe we could watch a movie or play a game or something.”

Colin glanced at his watch and made a face, then bounced off the couch up the step to the front door and peered through the peephole. “Shit.”

“Everything ok?”

He stepped down from the door. “Can I take a raincheck? I need to get out of here.”

She hoped the disappointment that washed over her didn’t show. “Of course,” she said.

“Great. You’re the best. Thanks – for the best meal I’ve had in a long time.” He reached for her to pull her into a hug and as he touched her arm, they both felt as if lightning shot through them.

Colin jumped back. “Damn, what the hell?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know. The two of us together are dangerous,” she said with a smile.

He grinned and looked a little sad. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks again.” He unlocked the locks on the door and left, pulling it closed behind him.

She was a little dazed, lightheaded even after the moment. She hadn’t noticed any static electricity anywhere else. That was an enormous charge. She stepped up to the door and peered through the peephole. Her heart dropped. Colin’s back was to her and he was wrapped around another leggy blonde. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her tongue was down his throat. He turned them around, never breaking the kiss, fumbled with the doorknob and opened the door, pulling her inside. The door closed.

She was right. Not even close to being in his league. She stepped down into the kitchen to clean up.

Monday morning’s alarm rang and she trudged through her normal routine. As she unlocked her door to leave, she heard voices in the hallway.

“I can’t. Look, I would if I could but I’ve got something else going on.”

“Colin, you always do this. I want to go on a date. A real date. You know I only want to be with you.” The voice was female.

She slowly opened the door, embarrassed to intrude on their conversation, but she had to go to work. She slowly stepped out, the conversation continuing.

“I appreciate that,” he purred, running his hands down her bare arms. She had raven hair that was pulled into a ponytail, tight yoga pants and a spandex workout top, her curves on display. “But there’s so much going on with the band, I just don’t have the time right now. You know I like you Brittany –“

“Brianna,” she corrected him.

He smiled that megawatt smile. “Yeah, Brianna.” He fidgeted a little as if trying to come up with what to say next.

Cori suddenly felt brave and started around the bannister. “Hey Colin,” she purred, smiling at him. “Tonight’s still date night, right?” She winked at him and kept walking, saying “See you at 7,” as she made her way down the stairs. She could still hear their conversation.

“You’re dating someone else! You said you weren’t!” Brianna was angry.

“No, she was just kidding,” Colin pleaded. “I’m not dating anyone. But my door is always open for you Brianna,” he said in the sexy low voice.

“As if,” she sniffed. “Goodbye Colin.” Cori could hear her stomping down the stairs above her. She stifled a laugh.

The week was going by quickly. Cori had joined her parents for dinner at one of their favorite spots and had just gotten home for the evening.

“I must’ve pissed you off pretty good, eating and running the other night.” Colin had opened his door and stood in the doorframe as she walked past.

“What do you mean?” she said with a smile.

“I mean telling that girl it was date night,” he said. She looked at him and there was a grin where she thought there might be anger.

“Hey, I was just doing you a favor. She left, didn’t she?”

“She sure did,” he laughed. “I’m sorry about the other night. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing to do. You took the time to cook for me, I could’ve at least stayed and helped clean up.”

“Not a big deal,” she said, unlocking the door. She smiled at him, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. This was all they’d ever have, this banter back and forth, neighbors. She knew how big her crush was every time she saw him with another girl. Why was she attracted to guys she couldn’t have?

“You know,” he said, coming around the bannister towards her, “we could pick it up tonight, maybe watch a movie?”

She hesitated before answering. She had the luxury of the day off tomorrow, a three-day weekend. Ms. Robbins was going out of town and told her to take a break. She had turned the alarm off on her phone the moment she got the news, a Friday to sleep in. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him. “Sure.”

“Great!” he said and when she opened the door, she could feel him behind her he was so close. His woody, musky scent filled her nose. She felt something wash over, something she hadn’t felt for such a long time, a longing. She thought about the girls she’d seen wrapped around him, kissing him.

She’d never wished so badly she was someone else before. Would she ever be comfortable in her own skin, and not so desperate for her sexy neighbor?

As he walked past her into the living room, he ran his hand above her waist and once again, a shock went through them both that nearly knocked them off of their feet. Colin stumbled forward, catching himself on the sofa, Cori bracing against the kitchen counter.

“What the hell is up with your apartment?” he asked, rubbing his hand. “You need to have the super check your power. Something is definitely up.”

She caught her breath. “Maybe that’s my built-in ‘hands off’ alarm,” she said with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in a trap like those other girls and get all disappointed.” She’d tried saying it as a joke but her voice sounded sad.

“Look, I’m always honest with anyone I’m with. I don’t want anything long term. I like girls, I’m like any other guy. I just don’t have the desire to be with anyone for very long. I tried that once and it didn’t work. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Must’ve gotten your heart broken pretty badly,” she said, trying to hide the sadness from her own failure.

“Against my better judgment I got involved with someone I thought might be the one. I was wrong. We wanted different things. Brought me right back to plan A,’ he said, bending down to look at DVDs on her shelf. “Besides, when the band takes off and we hit the road, the last thing I want is to leave someone behind and not be able to enjoy myself.”

“Well, I’ll give you that. At least you’re honest. And you’re not playing the field while you’ve got a fiancée on the string.” Her voice trailed off and she looked down, pissed at the tears that were burning at her eyes.

He stood up, a concerned look on his face. “Did that happen to you?” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said, barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, really meaning it. “That sucks.”

“It does. And with my best friend, no less.”

“Ouch.”

She looked at him, willing the tears away that were rimming her eyes. “Pretty much almost ended my life, at least it felt like it. All of this, the apartment, the job, it’s just me trying to get a fresh start. It’s like I don’t know where I belong.”

He gave her that adorable half smile. “You seem like a great girl Cori. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. And if you need someone to get you back in the saddle, I’m always available for a ride,” he smiled.

Her face broke into a smile. “That’s THE worst pick up line EVER!” she laughed and he laughed too.

“Yeah, that was bad even for me,” he said, running his hand through his spikey hair to the back of his neck, letting it linger there. Every move he made turned her on. This was torture.

“Ok,” he said, desperate to change the subject and spinning towards the TV. “I suggest a comedy, nothing too heavy tonight.”

“Agree!” She pulled two bottles of beer from the frig and threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. When it was done, she joined him and they started the movie. There was no conversation, just laughter. He’d made himself at home on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. She tucked her legs up under her in the chair. She’d made a friend. That was the takeaway. It wasn’t sad, it was happy.

When the movie ended, he cleaned up the beer bottles and popcorn and headed for the door. “This was great, I hope we can do it again.”

“Me too,” she said with a smile.

“Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?”

She wished she had a fabulous night planned, but the truth was it would be her, her jammies, some wine and a good book. “Nothing really,” she said.

“Great! Come down to Rap’s. The band is playing at 8. It’s just down the street.”

“I know it, Rapscallion’s, right?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be a big weekend for us. We’re playing a festival Saturday afternoon and at Rap’s on Saturday night.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. I’m glad you’re back on track.”

“Yeah, it feels good,” he said. “So you’ll be there Saturday?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

He clapped his hands together. “Awesome.” He stepped up to the door, gave her a wave and left.

Cori suddenly felt deflated. The biggest player on the planet just spent the evening with her and didn’t even try to make a move on her. Of course she’d been an idiot and acted uninterested. But she should be uninterested, she’d been down this road before.

Saturday would be fun. She’d get a friend to go with her. Who knows, maybe she’d meet someone more in her league.

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans angst #chris evans fanfiction #what's your number #dream come true #colin shea #colin shea fanfic #colin shea fanfiction #colin shea x ofc #colin shea x original fictional character

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thousandfourhundreddays · 4 years

Note

Can you write a modern Michael smut ?

IT’S TIME.

Michael Gray x Reader

A/n I LOOOVE writing anything modern so I love this request. Hope you enjoy!!

You’d first met Michael on a night out in Manchester. A drunken night out. A very drunken night out.

You’d never believed in love at first sight but from that night on, you couldn’t help but succumb to the idea.

You caught his eye the moment you walked in, the light filtering in, framing you perfectly, reflecting off your dewy skin, illuminating your ocean tinted eyes. The world stilled around him as he fell in love.

Now, a year and a half later, you were still together. Things were perfect, somehow still in the honeymoon phase and there was a part of you which though that it’d never fade.

However, one thing you hated was the distance. Michael in Birmingham and you down in London. The mear 130 miles between you felt like millions as you lay in bed at night. You understood that work was a priority. If you ever wanted to be able to build the future that the two of you had discussed so many times, the two of you had to be patient. The beautiful house, expensive cars, holidays, falling asleep in each other’s arms every single night, waking up to the boy you loved with your whole heart was so close, only just a little further until your could grasp it.

But for now, you were lay in bed, gazing at the ceiling, wishing that the cold space beside you was taken up by him.

Rolling over with a frustrated huff, reaching for your phone which you had lazily strewn on your bedside table, the blue light flooding the darkness, revealing the time. Through squinted eyes, you strained to focus on the numbers. 01:14am.

Carelessly you threw your phone down beside you, the sheets rustling as you soothingly rubbed your eyes.

A yawn escaped your lips as your eyes flicked between your phone and the darkness. You lay there for a few minutes, the cogs of your mind whirring behind your eyes.

“Fuck it” you whispered to yourself, abruptly sitting up, grabbing you phone and opening your contacts, scrolling down about half way, finding Michaels name and calling him before you could talk yourself out of it.

Raising it to your ear, you knees tucked up against your chest, biting your lip impatiently as you heard the pained sounds of the dial...

“Y/n? What’s up? You ok?” A string of questions fell from his lips, worry woven through his croaky voice, most likey from sleep.

“Michael” you spoke through a content sigh, collapsing back down onto the bed at the sound of his voice

“Y/n what’s wrong?” His voice a little desperate

“Nothing, no nothings wrong, sorry” you giggled

You were met with silence, Michael now totally lost as to why you were calling so late, not that he was complaining. Your voice was just as much of a comfort to him as his was to you.

“Come see me.” You stated bluntly. Your fingers crossed as they rested by your side.

“Y/n, babe, I can’t-... well I don’t... hang on” you could hear his smile radiate through his voice as he nearerd the end of his sentence.

Searching through his mental calendar, he silently begged for tomorrow to contain nothing but paperwork and accounting.

His lips curled up into an even bigger grin as he remembered that tomorrow was in fact Saturday, a catch up day for him and the boys in the office. Deciding that the paperwork can wait, he finally put you out of your misery...

“Ok” you now both lay there in bed, contentidley beaming to yourselves.

“Really?” Slightly shocked at his spontaneity, but then again, maybe you were the spontaneous one, knowing full well he could never say no to you.

“Yeah.. yeah I’m on my way, love” you heard him rustling around, stumbling out of bed and haistily packing a bag.

“Thank you” you said excitedly

“The pleasures all mine, darlin. I won’t be long” he giggled

“I love you”

“Love you, try and get some sleep though, yeah? It’s late”

“Ok, ok”

“Bye” you spoke in unison, your soft voices blending in the still night air. Relaxing into the matteres as you heard the line cut off.

Too much excitement flowed through your body for sleep to ever arrive, not helped by the constant checking of your phone, wishing for the time to tick by quicker. It was the longest two hours of your life but here you were, stumbling out of bed after hearing a gentle knock at the door.

You silently ran towards the door, feet absentmindedly carrying you over the cold wood floor, standing on your tip toes to peak through the peep hole in your door. Your body wrapped in one of Michaels shirts pressed up against the cool wood.

Gently swinging the door open, you took in the sight of him, the boy you loved standing at your door at three o’clock in the morning, a smile gracing his face, lighting up the room as you mirrored him.

All but throwing yourself at him, he took you in his arms, holding you tighter than he ever had before. Muttering small I love you’s into your ear.

“Iv missed you”

He simply smiled, taking your face in his hands, kissing you gently. Moving his hands to your waist to steady you, he guided you backwards into your appartment. Dropping his bag by the door he pulled back,

“Iv missed you too” a cheeky smirk plastered on his face

Moving your hand to the nape of his neck, you pulled him in once again, deepening the kiss, humming with pleasure.

It was now your turn to lead him away, pulling him towards your bedroom, you kicked the door shut as you went.

“You didn’t just bring me all this way for a shag did you?” He asked playfully

Biting your lip, your words were muffled by his lips “Maybe I did, are you complaining?”

“Not at all” speaking through kisses he was placing down your neck.

You giggled as he made his way back up to your lips, his tongue slipping between your soft lips as he placed his hand on the small of your back, lowering you down onto the bed.

Resting your legs around his waist, you pulled him closer, his callous hands brushing the thin skin of your thighs. A soft moan filling the air as he traced small circles on the inside of your leg.

Holding you by the waist, he kissed your skin through the delicate material that lay between you making his way down to your core. Voicing a accepting groan as he appreciated your choice of underwear, he placed a small kiss over the black lace thong that you wore, he pulled them off you painfully slowly, doscarding them on your bedroom floor.

You chuckled at the sight before being cut off by a moan that slipped up your throat as Michael plunged his tongue into your wetness, spreading your juices over your lips.

“So fucking wet” he murmured, entranced by the taste of you.

You started to beg as he dipped his tongue into your core once again, craving for a release. “Ok baby, ok” he spoke, his lips vibrating against your wetness as he dipped a finger into you.

“Mi- Michael!”

“What’d you want baby, tell me what you want” his voice was deep and seductive.

“More” you begged. “I want more” now breathless you reached down, in twining your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips deeper between your legs. The sight alone was enough to bring you close to the edge

Your vision blurred as he sped up, adding another finger. His tonge flicking against your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves, teasing you, bringing you to the edge.

“I’m close” you whined “I’m close” you repeated breathlessly.

“Let go for me y/n, cum for me” he purred, bringing you to your peak, his fingers carrying you through your orgasm as your legs began to shake as he sucked gently on your clit. Your head resting on the pillow, your lips hanging wide as you came on his fingers.

Licking up your cum, he continued to stroke your core as he made his way back to you, kissing you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips.

Removing his fingers from between your legs, he licked them clean before placing one in your mouth, “that’s my girl” he whispered, kissing your lips softly once you were done.

Moving his lips down to your neck, he sucked slowly, leaving small purple bruises on your tanned skin. His fingers making quick work of the buttons on your shirt, leaving it to hang open, he took in the sight, eyes wide, licking his lips as you followed his lead, pulling off his hoodie and moving down to his joggers. Carelessley throwing them to one side, you began to pull at his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck, silently telling him how badly you wanted him.

Taking the hint, he slowly lowered himself back down to you, biting your lip, drawing a sensual moan from you as he pulled off his boxers. Once again, using your legs to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

He took himself in his hand, pumping down once or twice before lining himself up with your entrance.

“Please, please baby, I need you” you purred into his mouth. And with your beg, he pushed into you slowly, allowing you time to adjust, both of you revelling in the pleasure of him streatching you. After a few seconds, a slight nod from you encouraged him to draw his hips back before pushing into your again. Swallowing each other’s moans between kisses, a slight sheen of sweat began to glimmour over your bodies.

Setting a pace, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, nibbling into your ear lobe as he went.

“So good, so good, so fucking tight.” He chanted, entranced by the feeling on you clamping down on his cock.

The lewd sound of your wetness echoed through the walls of your apartment, fusing with your filthy moans as you left scratches down his back, a reminder of the pleasure he fed you.

You were both reaching your peak, his thrusts becoming clumsy as he twitched wildly inside of you.

“Michael, I’m gonna cum, I’m close baby, I’m close” your sentence broken up by your irregular breathing.

“Let go, go on” he moved, his hand down to your clit, your body becoming overstimulated as he pushes you over the edge, tears forming in your eyes.

You vision once again become blurry as he fucked you through your orgasm, releasing himself deep inside of you with a low groan.

Both of you basked in your post orgasm haze, regaining your breath as you kissed his damp skin, drownin in each other’s moans. Slowly, he lowered himself to lie next to you, taking you in his arms, holding you close.

“Fuck, I love you” he spoke, releasing a deep breath.

“I love you” placing a light peck to his chest “so much”

Placing his hand on your cheek bringing your eyes up to face him, he naturally brushed your skin with his thumb.

“Its time y/n” and with those simple words, everything fell into place.

A/n ok so this was loooooong, but I hope you enjoyd!!🖤

MASTELIST

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@namelesslosers

#michael gray imagine #michael gray x reader #michael gray fanfic #michael gray #michael gray smut #modern peaky blinders #modern michael gray #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders smut #isaiah jesus x reader #tommy shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #john shelby smut #john shelby x reader #tommy shelby x sister reader #john shelby x sister reader #peaky blinders imagine

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1iam · 3 years

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ADVANCED MENTAL ALCHEMY “The All Is Mind; The Universe Is Mental.” - The Kybalion

The Universe is the product of an entity of intellect and it is entirely mental. Through scientific research we know that all forms of "matter" are actually energy under law. Also, with the advent of Quantum physics we are just beginning to understand the relationship between consciousness (the observer) and the Universal energy. As stated above, the mind is all, and being all, it has the ability to place its will upon the material Universe (material reality). The Mind is not human but its greatest expression in the mental mechanics of material reality is in the form of Man. A man/woman, is the Mind in flesh. The walking, talking creator of material reality. The Universe that we live in is a mental energy arrangement that responds to the collective mental activity of us all to produce an experience of material reality for the Mind to exercise and entertain itself. At any point of material observation (person), the Mind can awaken from its dream in character personage and exercise its will upon all of material reality (The Universe). The Universe (material reality) is an energy arrangement that is constantly changing and adjusting based upon the mental commands it receives from people, who are basically for lack of a better term, "God in the flesh." The energy of this mental matrix does not obey the rules of time, distance, and matter when making adjustments and changes but it does do its best to stay within the present storyline of material reality so as not to cause the matrix to become meaningless. Probably 99.9% of the time, the changes and adjustments made by the energy matrix are complete and unnoticeable to the unawake human family. But, if you'll just look around right now and consider your daily life so far, I'm sure you can imagine that there is an enormous amount of information under law here and hiccups can occur in the process.

During the week of April 11, 2021 to April 17, 2021 I had a doctors appointment that Monday the 12th that required me to take the day off from my trucking job with CMAC Transportation. The doctors appointment didn't take long and I was actually happy about having the day off because that would leave me with a four day work week. Driving a semi is not an easy job and five day work weeks take a toll on you, so I was happy to have a doctors appointment to excuse one of those days. I had that Monday the 12th off but my boss (Rich) at the CMAC account where I work informed me that week that he needed me to work on Saturday, April 17, 2021. I'm all about making the company and our customers as successful as possible. I didn't want to work the Saturday, but they needed me and I was there. It turned my four day work week back into a five day work week with only Sunday the 18th before Monday again and at least another 5 day work week. That stuck with me in my mind! I worked Saturday the 17th of April, carried a load of WestRock cartons to Kelloggs in Battlecreek, MI. I started at 6:00 AM, got my paperwork, logged into the Qualcomm in my tractor, called dispatch for a load number and logged that into the Qualcomm. I did a pretrip inspection on my tractor and logged it into the Qualcomm. You know, the whole nine! The GPS on the Qualcomm was logging my whole trip. When I got to Kelloggs I signed a gate pass and went and got signatures for the load from the receiving department. I drove back to Brownstown MI with the Qualcomm logging my trip the whole way. I did a post trip inspection of my vehicle, certified the day and logged out of the Qualcomm. I turned in signed paperwork at WestRock insuring that the load was received in Battlecreek in good condition. I went home. It wasn't a long day, I was done by 1:00 PM.

I had an appointment at the Secretary Of State office to have my driver's license renewed on April 27, 2021. My license expires on my birthday in July this year. Because of the pandemic I got an early appointment. If I missed my April appointment the next opening was in October! I notified CMAC Transportation of that and of course, they gave me the day off to go and handle my CDL-A situation. I was happy about that because it wouldn't take that long and it turned my five day work week into a four day work week. I went and handled that business on Tuesday, April 27, 2021 and had a great day off from work. Near the end of the work week, my boss at WestRock, Rich, notified me that he really needed me to work Saturday the 1st of May. In my mind, I'm like "All hell naw! That's blowing my four day work week!" Of course, I'm about being of value to the company and the customer. They will never regret hiring me. All I said was "Yes Sir, I'll see you in the morning." But, in my mind, I'm thinking I see how they're going to play me, every time I get a day off during the week they're going to work me on Saturday. Anyway, I worked Saturday the 1st of May as well. But these two Saturdays are in my mind because I worked them and they blew my four day work weeks. When the April 11, 2021 to April 17, 2021 pay period came around, guess what? Saturday, April 17, 2021 wasn't in my pay! Okay, okay, they slipped up, it can happen. I'll just call CMAC Transportation and notify them that they missed paying me for Saturday April the 17th, no problem, right? WRONG! CMAC notifies me that they have no record of me working Saturday, April 17th. Now, not only was my four day work week screwed up, but CMAC is telling me I didn't work on Saturday April the 17th and they're not paying me. At this point, in my mind, I'm like, "Hey! You got me fu*ked up!" I tell CMAC Transportation to go back to April 17, pull up my truck number and the Qualcomm record of the whole day, logged as me, the driver, working! CMAC Transportation tells me that they have no Qualcomm records, nothing that says I worked on Saturday April the 17th. Okay, at this point, I'm thinking, obviously, CMAC is another sleazy trucking company trying to rip me off and I'm done! I don't let companies, people, nobody mistreat me and just move along as though nothing happened. I told my wife, Debbie, that I was going to resign from CMAC Transportation. Debbie talked to me about the trucking profession, trucking companies and how unethical they have been all around. She said, if you're going to be a company driver, you can't run every time they screw you. She was right, but at the same time, I just couldn't eat them screwing me out of my Saturday pay as though nothing happened. As a happy medium between my wife Debbie and myself, I didn't resign CMAC Transportation but I did notify CMAC that I was done working Saturday's until they paid me for working Saturday, April the 17th. Now, wherever that led was up to them, but I keep my word. We started going back and forth about me not working any more Saturdays with text messages and an administration person named Tiffany was attempting to help me understand that they have no record of me working that day and if I did work that day, I must have done so without logging into the Qualcomm. She insinuated I was just driving the truck without taking care of any business and the truck itself never reported unauthorized driving that day, which is totally ridiculous and even insulting to me, being the professional driver that I am. My boss at the CMAC WestRock account, Rich, said he remembered me working that day but he was kind of hazy about it. Rich is very busy everyday and the day in question was almost three weeks back, so he didn't seem absolute about it like I was. Rich said he would try and get me paid for that Saturday, even though there was absolutely no record of me working that Saturday according to CMAC Transportation. Long story short, WestRock and CMAC Transportation valued my service and respected me as a driver so much that they paid me for Saturday April the 17th, 2021 even though they say they have absolutely no record of me ever working that day. I want WestRock and CMAC Transportation to know that I am truly honored by that. I do understand pay procedures and processes and how difficult it is to pay with no record of what you're paying for. The pay was a respect thing and I'm honored by that. A few days ago Google send me an email with my April Timeline recorded. This is a GPS Timeline that tracks the movement of my cellphone everyday, all day. Finally, I would have proof that I went to Battlecreek MI on Saturday April 17, 2021. I opened the email and rushed to that Saturday and boom! There was no record of me going to Battlecreek MI on Saturday April 17,2021. Only then, did I realize that the energy matrix had made a change that was incomplete. The matrix flipped my Saturday in every way except my memory. By leaving the Saturday worked in my memory, it created a conflict that could have cost me my job had WestRock and CMAC Transportation not been so generous. Rarely does the energy matrix miss a detail when making changes and adjustments but it does happen from time to time. CMAC Transportation not having any record of the Saturday should have tipped me off, but this rarely happens and the Google Timeline made me aware of it.

I did list some other examples of energy matrix slip ups in my Teachable course on Mental Manifestation. Thanks for listening. The experience was enjoyable when I think about it. It took me through a range of different emotions and was worth the observation. https://mental-manifestation-school.teachable.com/

#wakethegod #amorc #rosicrucianism #tumblr #cmactransportation westrock

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Marcella: Will There Be a Season 4?

https://ift.tt/2YKJcSk

ITV crime drama Marcella was always intended to be a trilogy, according to actor Anna Friel, but a return after season three is possible. Speaking to Hello Magazine ahead of the UK season launch last month, Friel said that “the end of the third season is very much left open. I guess it depends on how much the viewers here like it.”

Marcella season three was released on Netflix outside the UK in summer 2020, but ITV fans had to wait until January 2021 to find out what happened next to the troubled detective after she was recruited as an undercover officer at the close of season two. The new run of episodes is set against the backdrop of a Belfast crime family infiltrated by the detective in her new guise as ‘Keira Devlin’. Can Marcella bring down the powerful, drug-dealing, gun-importing, people-trafficking Maguires, or might she decide to join them?

All eight instalments of the new season are currently available to stream on ITV Hub, with episodes also airing weekly on Tuesdays at 9pm on ITV1. Fans who’ve already binged the lot are now wondering if that’s the last we’ll see of DS Backland.

“There is a kind of satisfying end to series three, as you’ll see,” Friel told press. Speaking to radiotimes.com, she teased that “There’s quite a twist and a surprise for Marcella coming up. I think viewers will be quite surprised, as they were with season two, but pleasantly surprised this time. […] There might be some redemption.”

Marcella Season 3 Ending Explained: Murders, Money and the Mystery Caller

By Louisa Mellor

Marcella Season 3 Episodes 1 & 2 Review

By Louisa Mellor

That all sounds quite final, but Friel isn’t wrong about open-ended nature of season three. In fact, one hint she gave radiotimes.com could be more than just a tease. Marcella “could end up going to Cuba,” Friel said. “She could go anywhere.”

[Season three finale spoilers below]

The season three finale sees Marcella board a private jet to an unknown destination, in the company of Katy Barrett, the orphaned infant daughter of Stacey and Bobby Barrett, members of the Maguire crime dynasty. Before leaving the Maguire mansion, Marcella transferred the entirety of the Maguire fortune (some £24 million) to a secret bank account “for Katy”, though by the looks of her flash ride and new look, she was also digging in to the cash.

Adopting/abducting baby Katy could be the redemption Friel was alluding to. An ongoing storyline in Marcella is the character’s PTSD following the death of her infant daughter Juliet. The trauma of losing Juliet triggered the detective to develop dissociative identity disorder, which involved entering fugue states during which she blanked out and awoke with no memory of what she’s done.

Through regressive hypnotherapy in season two, Marcella relived her traumatic memories of Juliet’s death and learned that she had accidentally killed her baby while trying to quiet her. The guilt of that realisation prompted a breakdown in which she signed over custody of her two older children to her ex-husband, contemplated suicide, then severely cut her face and hair before taking advantage of an opportunity to disappear when she was mis-identified as having died in a fire.

With a new baby, a new start in a new country (possibly Cuba, the destination to which the Maguire family planned to send Bobby Barrett when he went on the run after committing murder), and another new name (at the private airport, Marcella is called “Miss Hart”), perhaps the character is being given a clean break from her past and an into-the-sunset happy ending.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

That’s complicated though, by a phone call Marcella receives just before boarding the plane. A mystery caller who knows her real identity has tracked her down to the private airport. Marcella takes the call and then hangs up when she hears her real name being used. If it’s DI Rav Sangha (assuming he survived that gunshot wound) or somebody else from her past, that could open the door to a new series from creators Hans Rosenfeldt and Nicola Larder, dragging Marcella back to the world of crime, murder, intrigue and statement coats.

The post Marcella: Will There Be a Season 4? appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3jhbQUT

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years

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I’m better

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 1090 words.

Summary: For Y/N being part of the STRIKE team wasn't the best, they underestimated her, but Steve would be in charge of brightening Y/N's day.

Warnings: Underestimation, some bad words.

A/N: This is my entry to the @itsunclebucky ‘s 300 Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt #10:

“When did you become so smart?”

“When I stopped listening to you”

Also is my entry to the @littlecrazyfangirl-98 ‘s Mi’s 650 Follower Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt #7:

“Why are you so shocked? I told you I could do anything for you and I meant it”

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You hated when they underestimated you, sometimes she is the only girl on the team she was not the best in the world and much less if it was STRIKE, several times you had asked to change your team, but the request had been denied. Your only salvation or at least the one that made missions and training more passable and bearable was your boyfriend Steve.

On the last mission, you had ended up very angry after the incident, it hadn't even been your fault those things had not gone as they should, but the other team members had not followed the instructions making everything chaos, the worst, they had blamed you.

Rumlow had yelled at you while scolding you, the rest of the team insisted that it was your fault instead of taking responsibility until Steve managed to put everything in order and reassure them.

"Calm down, next time I'll ask that it's just a mission where you and I go," Steve promised.

You were in your office typing furiously to be able to write the mission report, you had to make it very clear what had happened because you imagined what the others were going to put, you didn't even notice when Steve came in with a cup with coffee.

"Are you angry?" He asked.

You looked up and with a smile thanked him for the coffee.

"No, I just thought people think I'm not capable of doing things, you saw it doubt what I can do," you answered by drinking the cup.

“You are very smart.”

"But that doesn't seem enough for those idiots, I already asked, I don't know how many times the change of team and they always deny it to me," you said annoyed.

“Who?”

“I have not the slightest idea, it seems that it is not Fury, but it is before the negative.”

"Need help?" Steve offered.

"I'm almost done with this, thanks."

“Do you want to go to dinner later?”

"Sure, it sounds good," you agreed.

You printed the document, you had to deliver it the next day, you left everything to be the first, so it would be more likely that they believed your version to that of your colleagues.

"Why are you with me?" You asked suddenly.

"Because I love you," he replied.

“Why?”

“You are cute, funny, and intelligent, I like how your nose wrinkles when you don't like something, you have the patience for me when I don't understand or don't know something from this time…

You kissed him, he had told you enough reasons.

"I would be able to do anything for you to make you happy," you said.

As Steve had promised you on the next mission, only the two of you were going.

The mission went well until you found that the door had a code, no one had informed them of that and obviously, you did not carry the necessary equipment, although perhaps it would not be useful since it looked old.

"Ughh maybe we should just blow it up or shoot it or something," you suggested exasperated after reviewing it for a long time.

You had not the slightest idea how to open it, at the Academy you had never been taught something like that, at least not with something so old.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Steve replied.

"Then what do we do?"

“Wait.”

Steve recognized it, it was like the one in the chest where his mother used to keep the money, and it took him a couple of minutes to open it.

"Ready, we can continue," he reported.

“When did you become so smart?”

“When I stopped listening to you.”

"It's not funny," you replied, pretending to be offended.

"Come on honey, I was kidding," he said and gave you a few small kisses as an apology.

You took the contents of the box to leave, Steve went ahead to verify that there was no danger and they could leave.

He had not noticed that an enemy appeared behind you, you immediately noticed him and attacked him quickly to prevent him from going backward, upon hearing the shot, Steve turned around alarmed, he was speechless when he saw how quickly you had acted.

“Why are you so shocked? I told you I could do anything for you, and I meant it.”

"Yes, you did," Steve said, remembering it.

"Well I think we should go," you said.

For that mission, they had received congratulations from the superiors.

You were walking slowly to the gym, you didn't feel like going to train with the team, it was exhausting, but not only physically but also mentally, you kept thinking that they were idiots, you were just trying to take a little more time to win More patience, of course, you would appreciate that there was an emergency mission or that the Earth exploded or something happened that prevented the training from taking place.

"Y/N!" Steve called reaching you.

"Steve."

You stopped when you heard him, he stopped in front of you with a smile.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

He stretched out his arm offending you a folder, you took it and opened it with curiosity, and you smiled when you saw that it was the approval of your change of equipment.

"I wanted you to find out as soon as possible," said Steve.

You rushed him completely happy.

"Is this real?" You asked.

You wanted to check that it was not a dream or hallucination or that you had not read correctly.

"That's right, your request to change teams has been approved," he confirmed.

"Will I no longer have STRIKE training?"

“No, it will not be necessary, the training will only be you and me from now on; By the way you have to think of a name for our new team “, Steve informed you.

"STRIKE and all its members can get screwed then!" You exclaimed with joy.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to say those things doll, they could hear you," Steve "scolded" you.

"I don't care if they find out, I'll finally get rid of them," you replied.

It was true you did not care if they found out or not, you just wanted everyone to know how happy you were now, miraculously your day had improved and by far.

Steve hugged you.

"I love you, you are the best," he said trying to reassure you.

"I love you too, Stevie."

You kissed him, you didn't care if someone else saw them.

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stillellensibley · 4 years

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Looking at the history of emptiness in modern art I am often reminded of Zeno’s paradox of Achilles and the tortoise. Zeno imagined a race, in which Achilles would generously grant the tortoise a head start of say 100 metres, and each would move at a steady, unchanging speed. His conclusion was that Achilles would never be able to catch up with the tortoise, because every time he came close, the tortoise would have had time to move a little further, so that the distance between them would endlessly decrease to a few yards, a few metres, one metre, 0.1 metre, 0.01 metre, etc. In the same way, every time the audience of modern and contemporary art is led to believe that the avant-garde reduction of the artwork to a minimal, barely perceptible form can go no further, along comes another artist who creates another even more minimal, even less perceptible, artwork.

Thus, it seemed that the history of modern art had reached its zero point when Marcel Duchamp presented a glass pharmacy phial filled with Paris air to an American collector in 1919, or when Kazimir Malevich painted his White on White composition in 1918, and two years later filled a room with, as one person noted, empty canvases ‘devoid of colour, form and texture’ on the occasion of his first solo exhibition in Moscow. Yet in a 1968 article, critics Lucy Lippard and John Chandler could only observe that ‘the artist… has continued to make something of “nought” 50 years after Malevich’s White on White seemed to have defined nought for once and for all. We still do not know how much less ‘nothing’ can be.’ Thirty-five years later, Gabriel Orozco’s sole contribution to the Aperto exhibition at the 1993 Venice Biennale consisted of an empty shoe box, eight years before Martin Creed notoriously won the Turner Prize partly for his installation Work No. 227: The lights going on and off at regular intervals. Nearly ten noughty years down the line, and shortly after a museum survey entitled Voids: a Retrospective presented visitors with nine perfectly empty rooms, we are still none the wiser about ‘how much less “nothing” can be’.

Year after year, decade after decade, however, one thing doesn’t seem to change: if we haven’t walked through, on, or past the artwork without noticing it, our reactions to this kind of barely perceptible, almost nothing, practice will predictably range from puzzlement and laughter to anger and indignation. Even before Malevich’s 1920 exhibition, a French cartoonist had imagined in 1912 that the empty canvas would be the next avant-garde prank visited on its baffled public. In the caption, the artist presenting his blank canvas explains in a pun on the then-current Futurist movement: ‘It’s the most futurist picture of all – so far it is only signed, and I’ll never paint it.’ As the emptiness and reduction of blank canvases, of white or black monochromes and of Duchampian readymades were extended to silent concerts and empty galleries in the second half of the twentieth century, the question remained: are all these forms of emptiness so many variations on the same provocative joke?

The first documented entirely empty exhibition, Yves Klein’s The Specialization of Sensibility in the Raw Material State Into Stabilized Pictorial Sensibility – better known as The Void – at the Galerie Iris Clert in Paris in 1958, certainly had all the trappings of an elaborate PR stunt. Not only did Klein empty the exhibition space and paint the remaining walls and cases white, he also posted two Republican Guards in full uniform at the entrance of the gallery, served blue cocktails especially ordered from the famous brasserie La Coupole and had even planned to light up the obelisk on the Place de la Concorde with his brand of International Klein Blue. While the last event was cancelled at the last minute, an estimated 3,000 visitors did show up on the night of the opening, filling the streets around the gallery as they waited to enter the exhibition space through blue curtains, one small group at a time. The crowd was finally dispersed by the police called in by disgruntled visitors who had felt swindled after paying their entrance fee to be shown an empty gallery. In some ways, the succès à scandale of The Void has obscured Klein’s very idiosyncratic brand of showmanship and mysticism. His interest in the immaterial was genuine, inspired by his exploration of monochrome painting and his belief, influenced by Rosicrucianism, that humans must strive to liberate themselves from flesh and matter.

If some artists since Klein have embraced such spiritual readings of the void, a more general preoccupation with the invisible seems to account for many empty exhibitions in the past 50 years or so. Maria Eichhorn, a German artist whose early work includes white texts written on white walls, speaks for many artists when she explains: “There is such a fixation in our Western culture on the visible, which explains why we think that… a room is empty… because there is nothing visible. But I’ve never thought that an empty room is empty.” In the late 1960s Robert Barry had already pointed to the imperceptible forces that literally surround us by introducing radio waves as well as magnetic currents into the gallery space. American artist Maria Nordman has tried to focus viewers’ attention on the light falling through an empty gallery’s windows at different moments of the day and of the year. More prosaically, other artists have invited visitors simply to contemplate the architecture of the gallery. Arriving in 1993 at the Museum Haus Esters in Krefeld, originally a house designed by Mies van der Rohe, British artist Bethan Huws felt she could not add anything to the beauty of the modernist building. Instead, she distributed a poem to visitors and let them admire the gallery for itself.

In the 1970s American artist Michael Asher pioneered strategies through which to reveal the architectural structure of the gallery. At the Clare Copley Gallery in 1975, for example, he simply removed the wall separating the empty exhibition space from the art dealer’s office. By opening up this space, the artist was not only inviting visitors to consider its architectural features: he also reminded them of the Business transactions taking place behind the walls of commercial galleries. After Asher, other artists have explored the invisible networks of art business and institutional presentations that frame the art we view. Maria Eichhorn used the budget allocated to her show at the Kunsthalle Bern to tackle the institution’s debts and fund much-needed refurbishments of the building (Money at the Kunsthalle Bern 2001), while in their 2005 Supershow – More than a Show, the collective Superflex used theirs to give each visitor two Swiss Francs instead of asking them to pay an entrance fee to see empty spaces adorned only by texts stating the physical properties of each room (surface, wall colour, maximum number of visitors, etc). Museum surveillance is alluded to in Roman Ondák’s 2006 More Silent than Ever, which warns visitors that hidden listening devices are installed in the room.

Presented with invisible elements such as Ondák’s listening devices or Barry’s magnetic fields, we are left wondering whether to believe the artists’ claims since, after all, there is no adequate way to confirm them. We come to realise that our relation to the work is predicated on knowledge, presuppositions and some form of trust in the authority of artists and art institutions. British artist Ceal Floyer traces her interest in minimal displays back to her experience as a gallery invigilator while she was an art student. ‘I watched a lot of art being seen. And a lot of art being not seen,’ she remembers. ‘That was a training in itself. I discovered that presumption is a medium in its own right.’ As with Creed’s The lights going on and off , Floyer’s plastic buckets and black rubbish bags casually sitting in the gallery certainly reveal to us our prejudices and expectations as to what art is or should be. Gabriel Orozco says he actively seeks to disappoint his viewers. Is my irritation at being presented with an empty shoe box or lights going and off ultimately good for me?

The veiled hostility directed by the artist at the viewer situates such attitudes in the context of more radical declarations against art and its institutions. When presenting her empty exhibition at the Lorence-Monk Gallery in New York in 1990, American artist Laurie Parsons went so far as to refuse to include her name on the invitation to the opening and to remove all reference to the show from her CV. Four years later, she ceased to produce works altogether, thus following a line of artists before her who deliberately decided, as part of their practice, to give up, or take a break from, the profession. From this perspective, the empty gallery is less an artwork than a gesture – of provocation, dissent and critique. As Brian O’Doherty has shown in his well-known study of the modern “white cube” gallery, such a gesture ‘depends for its effect on the context of ideas it changes and joins’. For the gesture to succeed, its timing, place and audience have to be just right. Sometimes it can be understood only retrospectively, as it becomes historicised.

It would be unfair, however, to reduce all explorations of emptiness, nothingness and the invisible to the rhetoric of the gesture. To return to Orozco’s Empty Shoe Box: when it was first shown in 1993, it certainly poked fun at the Venice Biennale’s frenzy of publicity and consumption, but it also served as a memorable image of the container or vessel that is a leitmotif in the artist’s work. ‘I am interested in the idea of making myself – as an artist and an individual – above all a receptacle,’ stated Orozco. Playing with contrasts between empty and full, his work as a whole exemplifies a sensitivity to reciprocal spatial relations. In a notebook, he compares discarded pieces of chewing gum on a pavement with the stones placed on a board in the Asian strategy game of Go. Like Empty Shoe Box, the Go stones and the spat-out blobs of gum occupy and cut out space, demarcating a territory according to very specific patterns of chance and intention.

Many artists have similarly been interested in the space between objects. Both the Belgian Joëlle Tuerlinckx and the Brazilian Fernanda Gomes often present arrangements of small, discrete everyday objects scattered around otherwise vacant gallery spaces. Tuerlinckx describes the exhibition space as ‘a kind of parcel, a packet of air’ that she is invited to open and explore through her work; Gomes says she never comes to the gallery with a pre-defined plan. In these installations, the empty gallery becomes a blank page to be inscribed (as in Tuerlinckx’s spatial drawings), or the pregnant void that surrounds objects in paintings such as Giorgio Morandi’s (in Gomes’s three-dimensional still-lifes).

Painting is also a surprising reference for the performances staged by Marie Cool/Fabio Balducci, during which Cool stands in an empty room as she enacts a series of repetitive, extremely precise gestures using flimsy everyday materials such as paper, tape, or thread. The French- Italian duo has claimed that the image of a figure hovering in an undefined yet meaningful space was inspired by early Renaissance religious painting such as Simone Martini’s Annunciations. The empty gallery as a stage for action has also been effectively used by Martin Creed, when he asked runners to sprint down the Duveen Galleries at Tate Britain, one by one at regular intervals, in 2008, or by British-German artist Tino Sehgal, who in 2010 choreographed two continuous scenarios, involving three actors, in the spiral rotunda at the New York Guggenheim Museum.

Placed in vast expanses of void, both bodies and objects appear more vulnerable. On the one hand, such installations provide an alternative to the spectacular displays encouraged by increasingly large-scale museum and gallery spaces. By celebrating the commonplace, the barely noticed, as well as frailty and precariousness, artists thus seem to be actively resisting the pressure to create ever-bigger, glossier, more awe-inspiring works. On the other hand, however, such minimal mises en scène can create new forms of spectacle – as when Maurizio Cattelan places his miniature self-portrait, a resin figurine hanging from a clothing rack, in a corner of the empty gallery in order to emphasise his apparent failure to take on the revolutionary role of 1970s artists such as Joseph Beuys (to make the point, the Cattelan mini-me is clad in Beuys’s signature felt suit).

While such formal devices are often little more than simple gimmicks, works that effectively stage their own weakness and vulnerability can raise questions about the institutional and social conditions that guarantee their existence as art. In Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of The Emperor’s New Clothes, a naked emperor is persuaded by his tailors that his fine clothes are visible only to intelligent people; his subjects, afraid like him to admit that they cannot see them, applaud his outfit until a small child in the crowd finally blurts out the truth – ‘But he’s got nothing on!’ Though above all a cautionary tale against the deceptive powers of flattery, vanity and sycophantism, the story also provides an image of the willing suspension of disbelief required by most forms of art. After all, the artist’s deception, like the cheating tailors’, could never work without our participation. In his 2002 work Lament of the Images, Chilean artist Alfredo Jaar mobilises this kind of community of believers by presenting us with two dark, apparently empty rooms. In the first, we come across three small backlit text panels relating real stories about invisible or impossible images, such as the fact that the United States Defence Department purchased the rights to all available satellite images of Afghanistan during the 2001 air strikes so that the global media could not publish them. The second room houses a single, brightly lit, empty screen. Blinded by its light, we are reminded of our own blind spots – our complicity in the invisibility of certain images and in the existence of many an emperor’s new clothes.

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clexa--warrior · 5 years

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Hey, Have You Heard About This Coronavirus Thing? Crazy Shit, Right? (Ferret/Shower Cap)

History texts depicting this period will read like deranged Choose Your Adventure books written by sadists; no matter how frantically you flip backwards, you just can’t seem to find the page when you still had the option to vote for the really smart lady with the email server. Anyway, join me for a quick news round-up, it won’t take long, and when we’re done, I give you permission to run away to join a roving Thai monkey street gang.

(As always, find this post WITH nifty news links here: http://showercapblog.com/hey-have-you-heard-about-this-coronavirus-thing-crazy-shit-right/)

For those of you just waking up from a Rip Van Winkle nap, the United States is facing a massive, coast-to-coast, health crisis, whose tragic consequences have exploded exponentially because our Idiot Manchild President really believed, in that churning campground septic tank he calls a mind, that protecting his personal approval ratings by understating the problem was more important than the health and safety of the American public. I don’t know what you can call that but murder. On the one hand, it’s weird to say “wow, the President murdered a bunch Americans through boneheaded, unforgivably selfish, neglect,” but we already saw him get away with precisely that crime in Puerto Rico, so here we are.

Now, I have come to expect malice from the federal government under Hairplug Himmler, but sometimes their capacity for raw, senseless, evil still shocks me. This is my way of saying that, until they got fucking caught, the Department of, and Someone Should Slap the Word Out of Their Filthy Mouths, Justice attempted to remove CDC fliers offering potentially life-saving information regarding the coronavirus from...immigration courtrooms. My God. What a small but potent horror. Feels like the work of an ambitious intern in Stephen Miller’s office, doesn’t it? Trying to impress the boss? Just a sinister little trick, to spread a little more pain, a little more misery, a little more death in an already vulnerable, and whatta-coincidence-nonwhite, community? Fuck these awful, awful, people.

It seems President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster has been calling up leading Taliban terrorists on a secret U.S. kill-or-capture list, presumably to trade tips n’ tricks on how to undermine the USA at home and abroad. Now, negotiating with these murderous dirtbags is a big diplomacy no-no (and of course Donnie Dotard got rolled anyway) but in all honestly, if I had access to a secret kill list contact sheet, I’d probably give in to the temptation to make some prank calls. “Is your refrigerator running? Yeah? Are you sure it’s not a FLEET OF DRONES ABOVE YOU RIGHT NOW?”

For Jeff Sessions, the wages of sin turned out to be a faceful of Trump-branded fecal matter, as the Candycorn Skidmark, whose campaign Ol’ Beauregard embraced way back before fascism was cool in conservative circles, endorsed his opponent in the coming Alabama Senate runoff. How must it feel to have been the very fellow who flipped the switch on the Rube Goldberg/Mousetrap Board Game device that destroyed America, and to watch the machine work its destructive magic for years, only to realize it’s also got one special crotch punt in store for just you personally. I’d feel bad for Bilbo Bigot, if it he weren’t, y’know, one of the very worst people alive.

Alex Jones got arrested for drunk driving, and, upon his release, got right back to work selling...sigh...selling some bullshit toothpaste that he’s telling the rubes magically cures the coronavirus. Authorities are cracking down on Jones and fellow charlatan Jim Bakker over their odious snake oil peddling enterprises, but I don’t know what’s more shocking and disappointing to me, that there are such vile fuckwads in the world, who seek to profit off the fear of the misinformed during times of crisis, or that said fuckwads have so many blind, willing, disciples?

Speaking of fuckwads, Ron Johnson seems to have backed down, for now at any rate, from his quest to stage a show trial for Hunter Biden in the U.S Senate. And that’s awesome and all, but never forget how ready, how eager, RoJo has been, to corruptly manipulate the vast powers of the government for his democracy-stomping Turdlord’s political benefit. Ron is the kind of fellow you’d have found stamping documents outside trains bound for Dachau.

But yeah, I suppose the big story is still that coronavirus thing. Great choice on evolution’s part, the way symptoms don’t necessarily manifest right away, so we can spread that shit around without knowing we’re even infected. Anyway, I made sure to thoroughly disinfect tonight’s blog before posting, and medical professionals inform me that though the virus can linger on plastic and metal surfaces for as long as days, it cannot survive on a poo joke, so please rest easy, knowing you can safely consume this content in comfort. Unless you're reading it next to somebody with the coronavirus, but that's on you, kid.

The Shart Administration has actually slowed progress in this crucial fight, by classifying high-level coronavirus meetings, because they’re more worried about congressional oversight of their crimes n’ fuckups than they are about OUR LIVES, and y’know what, I do believe I’ll be voting Democrat this November.

And of course, many conservatives are more concerned with blaming the virus on the Chinese than preventing its spread; by gum, there’s no need to abandon yer principles, even when your ineptitude is getting countless folks sick and/or killed! “We may be a cabal of dangerously incompetent assclowns, but let none forget that we are also RACIST assclowns!”

With the stock market finally catching up to the rest of the world in noticing a pudding-brained twit had inexplicably been placed in charge of the most powerful nation in history, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot oozed into the Oval Office for a prime time speech, and if his goal was “fuck up the entire world as much as humanly possible in ten short minutes,” then he succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings.

It was a speech that completely failed to reassure, instead reminding the world that this drooling manbaby, this bathtub drain hair clog in an ill-fitting suit, truly is President of the Entire United Fucking States, and not only is he light years out of his element but he’s probably spending most of his time practicing his “the world is ending, you have to go out with me now” phone call to Salma Hayek rather than pursuing desperately-needed solutions.

Despite being on teleprompter, with the text of the fucking speech right fucking in front of him, Dorito Mussolini somehow managed to catastrophically misrepresent his own administration’s policies, dropping one more cartoon anvil on the stock market’s already-throughly-bludgeoned ballsack. This is, of course, on top of nonsensical non-solutions like banning travel from Europe, when the virus had already had weeks to spread throughout the country thanks to presidential bungling and neglect.

For 73 years, this cretin has somehow never encountered a problem he couldn’t lie, buy, or bully his way out of, but COVID-19 doesn’t care how much money your daddy gave you, little man. And may I say, on behalf of the thousands who are about to become sick, fuck you. Fuck you eternally with a rusty shovel, for daring to take on such an important job without the skills, temperament, or character to execute its duties. Asshole.

In contrast, Smilin’ Joe Biden gave a speech of his own; calm, collected, solemn, and filled with concrete steps to address the problems facing the nation. And America collectively went, “Oh right, it’s actually highly abnormal to have a gibbering, rectum-mouthed, dolt for a President, and we can actually have a decent, competent, one again! Soon!” It was like leadership porn. I got aroused.

Meanwhile, our already-hopelessly-overmatched Golf Cheat in Chief is multitasking, lobbing missiles at Iran-backed militias in Iraq. I’m just hoping the buttons on his desk are clearly labeled, y’know? Or at least that there’s somebody hanging around who can tackle him before he bombs Seattle and launches 500 respirators at Tehran.

So, um, in the midst of this once-in-generation shitstorm, I guess Sarah Palin dressed up in a bear suit to perform “Baby Got Back” on a reality television program. I’m not a religious person, honestly, but I’m increasingly open to the idea that there is a God, and that s/he’s been on a meth bender since mid-2016.

Social distancing is the zany new anti-dance craze sweeping the nation as we all do our damndest to not get sick and die! As a result, public gatherings are getting called off left and right. March Madness, MLB, NBA, PGA, SXSW, Broadway...personally, I don’t think I fully appreciated the scope of this crisis until I saw the XFL shut down their season. Like, are we even America anymore without one billionaire’s sad attempt to reboot his once-failed vanity project?

As sensible organizations all over the world made painful but obviously necessary sacrifices to, y’know, slow the spread of a deadly disease and save lives, naturally the Velveeta Vulgarian was among the last holdouts, canceling his precious hate rallies only grudgingly, because the safety of even his own fervent base is secondary to the sugar rush of their rageful cheers, filling, if only for a moment, that empty space within him where most people have a soul.

Now more than ever, I am brimming over with gratitude that we took the House back in 2018. Thank god there’s a little leadership, a little accountability, a little common frickin’ sense in Washington now. And thank god for Katie Porter, one of the standouts in a freshman class packed with absolute ass-kickers, cornering the CDC chief into exercising his legal authority to make coronavirus testing free for every American. Imagine if Kevin McCarthy were running the House right now. He’d be fleeing from reporters, in mismatched loafers, trying to sell the public on a bill bailing out nothing but Trump University and Marm-a-Lago.

Well, the Emperor of Hemorrhoids finally buckled and declared (acknowledged) a state of emergency over the coronavirus, which is admittedly a pleasant change from his previous “do everything I possibly can to help the fucker spread” position. We’re still woefully behind, and god only knows how deeply the virus has penetrated while the doddering old bastard diddled and dawdled, but the good news is, the President of the United States finally moved his bloated ass out of the road so we can get to work cleaning up his mess, which is, I suppose, as close to an act of kindness as he’s come in his entire misspent, treacherous, life.

In the middle of today’s press conference, Vice President Mike Pants paused to give Boss Turdworm a rhetorical handjob seemingly designed to last through an entire 14-day quarantine. Jeeeeesus. Mikey Hairshirt was a man once. Not much of one, to be certain, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the possibility of bored schoolchildren pouring salt on him, which would of course prove swiftly fatal in his current state.

A reporter asked Government Cheese Goebbels, “Hey, if you’re not too busy fellating yourself over fucking up slightly less than you’ve been fucking up for weeks, why the fuck did you close down the pandemic office, you nation-wrecking clod?” and he whinged that the question was “nasty,” before reiterating his refusal to take responsibility for the things that are, objectively, his fault. I truly do not understand how this trembling coward’s approval rating isn’t 0%

So Nancy Pelosi spent the week trying to hammer out an emergency bill with Steve Mnuchin, but Republicans naturally balked at many necessary measures. It’s a tricky spot for the GOP; they can’t risk the mass-extermination of the underpaid labor/consumer force that keeps their donor class filthy rich, but doing anything to improve working folks’ lives is just instinctually anathematic to them. But at the time of posting, it does appear as though a deal has been reached, let’s hope no spray-tanned morons fuck it up, right?

In conclusion, I am sick of typing the word “coronavirus,” and you are sick of reading it, so let’s let’s all retreat to our quarantines for the weekend, okay? Enjoy the solitude! Read that novel you bought back in college! Watch that 425-minute Russian film set in a fish cannery! Hey, you can even peruse the archives at showercapblog.com if you feel like reliving just how the fuck it all came to this! Anyway, if you don’t hear from me for a bit, fear not, I’m turning production of this blog over to Jared Kushner, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.

#shower cap’s blog

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