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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟓

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You film your first scene. Jake wants to celebrate at the disco. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.5k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗 𝐒𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐂𝐀

Expansions by Lonnie Liston Smith is playing while Rooster fucks you in front of a camera for the first time.

You’re bracing yourself on a flimsy school desk, panties and plaid skirt at your ankles and white button-down entirely undone and exposing your torso. Rooster’s naked all except for a pair of thick framed glasses and a tie, which is Dennis’ attempt to make Rooster look like a schoolteacher.

At the very least, the set is clean and small. You’re inside a warehouse of sorts outside of LA, on a proper sound stage. It’s warm--not as warm as it is outside, but warm enough that they keep having to throw your hair back out of your face. You’re not sure if it’s the lights or the amount of people crowding the room or the smoke or the excitement that’s making it so warm--you don’t really have time to think about it.

This sex doesn’t feel very different for you--not entirely. Yes, there is a camera and there is a crew. People are smoking cigarettes and cigars and sipping on bourbon while they watch Rooster fuck you. There are bright lights above you and you’re wearing just about the ugliest school girl uniform you can imagine--which you would never wear. You’ve been going at this for hours now, only stopping to eat tuna salad and rehydrate. But otherwise, the sex feels fucking good. It feels really fucking good.

You’re turned on--you are always kind of turned on--but this time it feels especially gratifying. Hours of cunnilingus and handjobs and fingering and position switches and now you’re finally able to close Rooster inside of you, hold him against you as he fucks you. You were aching for it before he sunk into you. He could tell how bad you really wanted it, that you weren’t acting, that you weren’t like the other girls with the faux fuck-me eyes he usually shot with. And honestly, it made him all the more harder. Even if he knows that he’s going home with you, that you’re going to be living with him, he can’t get enough of you. He’ll seize any opportunity to fuck you.

“Gonna have to earn that -A, baby,” Rooster says, gripping the bend of your hips as he pounds himself into you. He watches your entire body jolt as you take every thrust, watches your eyelashes flutter and your pigtails quiver. “Think I just give out grades for free, huh?”

“No, Mr. Bates--oh, fuck--I’m gonna be a good girl and-and earn it,” you moan out, pushing yourself against Rooster’s body.

“Perfect,” Dennis grunts from his spot beside the camera, shaking his head in wonder as Rooster drives his cock into you over and over again. “Why don’t we spank a few times? Nothing serious,” Dennis says.

Rooster pauses momentarily, gasping when you clench around him and glance at him over your shoulder. Your sweet face is adorned with minimal makeup, which is supposed to aid in you looking young. And you do look young--because you are young.

“That okay, kid?”

It’s a courtesy Rooster gives all his scene partners, but he doesn’t call the rest of them kid.

You nod, swallowing hard.

“More than okay,” you answer, biting your lip.

You’ve never been spanked before, not sexually. But you’re not going to let that show: you’re a professional now. Dennis loves you, has been fawning over you and bragging about you all fucking day, and you’re gonna show him that you’re fucking down. You’re down for anything. You’re Cherry fucking Arsan and you don’t say no

“Told you she’s got a beautiful mouth,” Dennis mutters to the cameraman, cutting a cigar and striking a match. “Tell her she’s being punished, Rooster. She’s been bad.”

This is when Rooster is usually on autopilot. He thrusts, kisses, curls, pumps, pants, licks, spits, pinches, grabs, gropes while thinking about what he’s going to have to drink when he gets home or if the Bills are gonna be in the Superbowl this year. But he can’t go on autopilot with you--which is something he discovered only a few hours ago. He is achingly inside of his own body when he’s with you, feeling every single bit of your flesh and muscle and wetness, filling you up.

What’s peculiar is that while he’s thoroughly enjoying fucking you, he’s looking forward to when this is all said and done. He’s gonna take you to In-N-Out and buy you a burger, take the long way home through the winding palm tree-lined valley, take a shower with you, invite some friends over, light up some cigars, and just spend the night talking. You’re a conversationalist, someone who seems to know a little bit about everything, someone who is always listening with wide eyes and a bitten lip.

“Won’t be too rough,” Rooster tells you through grit teeth, squeezing your hip.

You don’t really mind if he is, though--but you smile all the same, humming.

“I’ve been so bad, Mr. Bates,” you moan out, throwing your head back. “Are you gonna hit me with your paddle?”

“I broke my paddle on another student,” Rooster answers and you pretend to gasp. You’re doing very well--better than anyone could’ve expected. “I’ve gotta use my hand on you, girl.”

When his hand first comes down, it’s at the same time he delivers a particularly deep thrust. The shock sends you forward, jolts the desk. The pain is there--a sting, heat pooling in your cheek. But then he smooths his hand over the spot, very subtly so that only you can detect it, and grips your hip again.

“Oh, that’s so good,” you whimper, which is entirely true and real. You like it. You like being spanked. “Fuck, Mr. Bates. Please, do it again.”

Rooster bites down hard on his lip, glancing at Dennis, who nods rapidly at Rooster and motions for him to do it again. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, your knees just about ready to buckle, when he spanks you again. The slap is loud--its bark worse than its bite--and again, he smooths his hand over the spot and gives you a delicious relief.

“Fuck,” you whine, panting. You feel like this is getting you close, a heat rising up from your toes and spreading all across your skin. “Fuck.”

Rooster’s throat is tight with arousal. You sound fucking pitiful, like you need release, like you want something that only he can give. He knows that sound, has become acquainted with it.

So, he reaches down and presses his hand between your legs, letting his pointer and middle finger circle your clit. You jolt again, but then press yourself into him further and arch your back.

“Just like that,” Dennis encourages, eyes widening at the breath caught in your mouth and the way your hips buck to meet Rooster’s thrusts. “Keep doing her like that, Rooster. Just like that.”

Rooster wants to talk to you the way he does when you’re fucking at home--wants to say your name and tell you that he wants you to cum. He wants to be closer to you, wants to let his body rest over yours. He wishes that you were facing him, that he could take your nipple in his mouth. But this is okay for now--he’s okay with watching your knuckles turn white and listening to those beautiful sounds falling from your parted lips.

“Shit, you gonna make her cum?” Dennis laughs jovially, shaking his head in wonder. “Tell him how close you are, Cherry.”

“I’m so close, Mr. Bates,” you pant, chest heaving. You want to reach back and hold him, but something keeps your fingers firmly curled around the desk instead.

Rooster is still steadily pounding into you, eyes trained on that red handprint on your cheek, fingers circling your clit as you clench around him and cry out desperately.

“Fuckin Hell,” Dennis mumbles to his assistant. “How good do they look, huh? Fucking perfect.”

When Rooster cums, letting his chest rest against your delicate back as he pulses and spills inside of you, you’re grinning and gasping. He’s holding onto you tightly, his hands sore from coming down on your rear so relentlessly at the direction of Dennis. You’re sore, too--but you don’t mind it.

Everyone starts to clap for you, Dennis releasing an ear-piercing wolf-whistle that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention.

“How was I?” you whisper to Rooster, catching his gaze. His glasses are sliding down his nose, his tie loose around his flushed throat. He swallows hard, laughing, then presses a kiss to the middle of your shoulder blades. “Was I outta sight?”

“You were fab, baby,” Rooster tells you. He pulls away from you just enough to let his cock slide out and then holds your waist as you straighten up. “Really somethin’.”

When you stand up and look out at all the men in front of you, all the mustaches and sideburns and corduroy and hairy chests and glassy eyes, something tingles in your belly. It’s like moving into a new home, understanding that things are unfamiliar now but will soon become a common fixture in your life. And as they all clap for you, grinning, you know this is something you’re going to see often.

So, with cum dripping down your legs, you take a bow.

Rooster’s still holding onto your waist, shaking his head softly as your pigtails swing wildly. He’s seen that grin of yours before--he likes it. It’s toothy and real, very wide and sweet. But something in his chest feels heavy when he realizes that you’re giving it to all of these jackoffs.

“She’s my new moneymaker!” Dennis calls gleefully, hobbling over to you and holding your naked waist with his beefy hand. “Cherry, you’re a fucking goddess, baby!”

When Dennis’ hand lands on your rear, where he gives a few lewd squeezes, you don’t pull away from him. You don’t do anything except grin and laugh. But Rooster sees it--sees him groping you.

“Stellar,” Rooster says softly, nudging himself against you and away from Dennis. Dennis pretends not to notice and you just beam up at Rooster. “Let’s rock and roll, Cherry.”

You feel like you’re on top of the fucking world.

Rooster drives home with the top down and lets the warm air kiss your face and throat as you throw your arms in the air and cry out your name: I’m Cherry fucking Arsan! Every single nerve in your body is alight with excitement, with pleasure. Dennis handed you a check for $1700 and it’s tucked in your bra now--you swear even the paper is hot, burning your skin.

“Oh, I feel fucking amazing right now!” You shout, pushing the straps of your tank-top down so your perfect tan won’t be broken up by thin straps of pale skin. “Oh, God, baby! This is the life you’ve been living since you were eighteen? Goddamn! I missed the fucking memo! I just wanna--ugh, I wanna fucking scream!”

Rooster, with his shades and another expensive turtleneck intact now, chuckles with a grin adorning his lips. He has a hand on your thigh, where he’s rubbing circles there with his thumb, and Joni Mitchell on the radio.

“Scream, then!” He tells you.

You look at him--all that beautiful man in this beautiful car under the beautiful sky. You think about the check in your bra. You think about opening up your own bank account. You think about taking another bump of coke. You think about fucking Rooster whenever you want to.

And then you fucking scream. Arms up, chest tight, throat open, mouth wide, eyes shut--you scream into the wide open air all around you. Rooster’s in stitches, his ears ringing, as your holler echoes all along the valley.

“Christ, kid!” Rooster laughs, squeezing your thigh. “You’ve got a set of lungs on you!”

Your entire body feels loose now as you lean over to rest your head on Rooster’s shoulder. You smell like sweat and sex, which is a scent that Rooster is so accustomed to now that he hardly even realizes it.

“Oh, I know,” you giggle, plucking the shades off his face and putting them on to shield you from the sun overhead. “I’m a screamer.”

Rooster smirks.

“Oh, I know,” he teases. He’s squinting at the sun now, but you look too darling in his oversized glasses to take them back. “Thought we could grab some burgers and have some company tonight. How’s that sound?”

You know that by company he means the usual crowd--which means Jake, which means another bump if he’s feeling generous. At the very thought of it, saliva pools under your tongue.

“Sounds groovy to me, baby!”

Rooster’s happy--he’s really, really happy. You’re snuggled up right beside him, singing along to Joni Mitchell, wearing his sunglasses, blinking at the sun, his scent thick on your skin. You’re happy, too--you’ve got more money in your bra than your daddy’s ever seen all at once, you’ve just been fucked, you’re gonna do a bump with Jake, and the sun is shining.

It’s a perfect day. It feels like the makings of a perfect life.

Jake is already waiting for you and Rooster in the living room. He let himself in a few hours ago, helped himself to a couple beers, turned on a record, and has been laying out on the couch waiting to hear that front door open.

And when he hears those familiar sounds, he sits straight up with a grin on his face, searching for you. There you are, just beside Rooster, dressed in a little pink tank top and a pair of clogs. Your hair is wild--Jake can tell Rooster rode home with the top down--and your cheeks are pink with delight. You’re carrying an In-N-Out cup, which you’re still slurping from, and you’re laughing at something Rooster said.

“Where’s mine?” Jake asks, eyebrows raised.

Both you and Rooster’s gazes snap in his direction immediately, Rooter taking a subtle step in front of you and puffing out his chest before he realizes oh, it’s just Jake.

“Jake!” You call out, dropping the milkshake on the tile as you skitter towards the couch with your arms wide open.

You’ve grown very fond of Jake since you’ve met him--he’s clicked into your life just as easily and quickly as Rooster has. And Jake has grown just as fond of you, stopping by Rooster’s pad more often than before.

Something stings Rooster’s cheek watching you skip over to Jake like you are.

But then he bites his lip hard and looks at the tile, shaking his head.

“Cherry, you spilled your milkshake!” Rooster whines, grabbing the discarded cup.

Strawberry clops onto the tile that Rooster just had cleaned, but when he looks up and sees you grinning apologetically over your shoulder as your clogs echo throughout the house, he knows he won’t stay mad.

“Get your pretty little ass over here, girl!” Jake insists, opening his arms for you.

Jake assists in holding onto your waist and hoisting you over the back of the couch and on top of his body, where you fall into a fit of giggles as you kiss his face and tangle your hands in his hair. He’s warm and soft--he smells like weed and patchouli.

Rooster crosses the house to throw the shake away, grabbing some paper towels as you and Jake kiss each other hello fervently.

“Did you miss me or something, baby?” Jake asks.

He watches the column of your throat as you laugh and sigh happily, your head tipped back. There’s a spot of shake just by the corner of your mouth and before you can answer him, he leans up and licks it off.

“Strawberry?” He asks, smacking his tongue.

“Mhm,” you tell him. “Want some more, baby?”

You offer him the little bit of your hair that dripped in the shake and he sucks it clean while you bite your lip.

“You two are gnarly,” Rooster sighs, slumping down on the sofa behind you.

He wishes that he was under you--but he knows that he’s being selfish. He gets you all of the time. Hell, he just got you for four hours. He got all of you for four fucking hours. And, somehow, he got paid for it.

“Perfect for each other,” you tease, squeezing Jake’s pecs. “How’d you get in?”

“Rooster never locks the back door,” Jake says, nudging Rooster. “Not even after all that freaky deaky East Area Rapist shit.”

Rooster rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Do you know how far away Sacramento is, man? A whole fucking plane ride away. And we’re in one of the wealthiest suburbs in Los Angeles,” Rooster retorts. “Of course I never lock the backdoor.”

Jake pretends to mock Rooster and you laugh, sinking your weight onto him.

“How was it, baby? Gimme the skinny,” Jake says, pushing your hair behind your ears as you situate yourself on his lap, hands on his chest. “Don’t spare any details.”

“It was fucking groovy! Just, like, hours of fucking and then a round of applause and a paycheck at the end of it,” you tell Jake, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “Look at this.”

You reach into your bra, grab the check, then wave it in front of Jake’s face with a flush over your chest and throat. Jake feigns impression, letting a low whistle fill the room as he reads the paper.

“You’re a rich lady!” He grins.

“Won’t need us to buy your threads anymore,” Rooster sighs, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Gonna get rid of us?”

You scoff, letting yourself fall back until your head is on Rooster’s lap with your hips still planted over Jake’s.

“Nah,” you tell Rooster, tracing the smile that’s biting his lips with a careful finger. “Need you to show me how to open a bank account. And someone to buy me caviar.”

Rooster bites down softly on your finger and you laugh, kissing his arms and chest.

“Was it just you two?” Jake asks, drifting his finger from your belly button up your chest.

You shiver at his touch--you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to being touched so much all the time. You love it. It makes you feel like you’re living in a dream, something wrapped in cotton and confetti.

“Yeah, man,” Rooster answers. “It was her first gig. Dennis wouldn’t throw her to the wolves like that.”

He’s not telling the truth--Dennis would throw you to the wolves like that and very easily, too. Dennis tossed around the idea of today’s shoot featuring Rooster and three other men--all of which would run a train on you. But Rooster carefully coaxed Dennis away from the idea over coffee a few days ago, convincing Dennis that just you and Rooster would sell just as much as a gang-bang.

He doesn’t want to scare you, though--not when you’re already diving head first into this industry and his life. He’s guilty, almost, knowing that he isn’t telling the full truth. But he figures that as long as he’s around, you’ll be okay. You’ll be good. He’s too fond of you to let anything bad happen. And, anyway, wasn’t he the one that sat behind you and let you sign that contract?

Jake knows Rooster is bullshitting, at least a little bit. But it isn’t his prerogative to shed light on his friend’s discrepancy.

“Well, we’ve gotta celebrate somehow,” Jake tells you, squeezing your hips.

“I already had my first In-N-Out burger,” you grin, patting your belly. “What else could I possibly want?”

Rooster pinches your cheek and you grin up at him. You’re teasing him--he loves that you’re always teasing him.

“Let’s go to Bell Bottoms!” Jake says suddenly, a grin devouring his face. When you perch a brow at him, when Rooster sighs, he continues, “It’s the best disco joint in LA.”

At the sheer notion of going to the disco, your body is on fire. You’ve always wanted to go to the disco: dancing, drinking, sweating, singing, fucking. It all sounds so fucking glamorous. Your toes are numb just thinking about stepping into that foggy joint, just thinking about grinding yourself between Jake and Rooster.

But Rooster doesn’t like the disco.

He’s frowning, watching your body tense with excitement, watching Jake grin at you and twirl your hair around his fingers.

“Oh,” Jake suddenly says, catching Rooster’s less-than-enthused gaze. He glances at you and then nods to Rooster’s frown. “Forgot the old man doesn’t like the disco.”

Fuck.

You shoot around, bottom lip puckered and eyes wide. You scramble to move yourself onto Rooster’s lap, straddling him, sinking your fingers into his hair. Helplessly, he holds onto your hips and lets your weight sway him.

“C’mon, Daddy Warbucks,” you whine, nudging your nose against his, “take your little orphan out for a spin! C’mon! I’ve got boogie shoes now!”

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Jake adds from behind you, smiling at Rooster. “And by that I mean the first round is on Cherry!”

You nod vehemently--you have the money now and you intend to spend it on the people that you love. And you love Jake and Rooster; you love them so much that your heart could burst.

Rooster contemplates for a moment, still frowning. You’re kissing all over his face now like a puppy, muttering out little please’s as you cuddle up against his warm form.

“C’mon,” Jake encourages, smoothing his mustache. “She’s never been to the disco! Take this girl dancing!”

Rooster looks at you, pouting and smiling all at the same time, and then sighs. How could he ever say no to you? This might be an issue.

“Alright,” Rooster relents, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take you dancing, kid.”

Just as you finish shimmying your mascara on your lashes, Rooster appears in the mirror behind you. He’s wearing a suede jacket and a tight-knit sweater, his shades low on his nose and his curls gelled.

“Well, well, well,” you tease, smiling at him through your reflection, “you clean up mighty nice, Rooster.”

He crosses his arms, leaning against the door. He would tease you back if he could get his voice to work--but he can’t, not when you look as fucking beautiful as you do right now. Your eyes are glittery and big, your cheeks are pink, your chest is glimmering, your heels are high, and your hair is perfectly straight. You look much older right now than you did earlier on set--thank God. Rooster doesn’t like it when you look like such a young thing.

“So I’ve been told,” he finally breathes, letting his eyes drag down your body. “You look dynamite, baby.”

You shake your ass at him a bit, grinning. You’re so excited that your nerves are vibrating. It was difficult to apply your eyeshadow with the tremble in your hands, but you did it. And now you’re almost bouncing.

“Thanks,” you tell him, carefully applying lip gloss. “Like the dress?”

Your dress is the color of a tangerine, made entirely of sequins. The neckline dips low and the hem stops short on your thighs. But the sleeves--the sleeves fan out elegantly into bells. It’s a perfect dress, one that you bought without even trying on because you just knew.

“Shit yeah,” Rooster grunts, smoothing his fingers down your arm.

You grin.

He watches you silently, just breathing you in. Everybody’s gonna want you at Bell Bottoms. Everybody already wants you anywhere, everywhere. And he knows that you aren’t his to keep--you’re not anyone’s to keep--but he wants to keep you here, in his house, close to him.

“How many times’ve we fucked now?” Rooster asks softly.

Humming, you scrunch your brows.

“Well, what do you classify as fucking?”

“Full penetration,” Rooster answers.

You laugh.

“Hmm,” you start, tutting. “Well, there was the first time in the office--you know, with Dennis. And then, what, about a dozen times since? Twice on New Years. Once today, right? So, like, I don’t know. A steady fifteen? Twenty?”

He hums, swallowing. He can hear Jake in the living room, rummaging through the bar and making himself some cocktail that he shouldn’t be mixing with all the cocaine he’s ingested.

“Right,” Rooster nods. He steadies himself on his feet, clearing his throat. “So, you like fucking me then, right?”

He hasn’t ever asked anyone that in his life because he’s always just known. And, really, he knows that you do enjoy fucking him. He’s asking because of earlier. He’s asking because you dropped everything in your hands to run to Jake, to kiss Jake, to love on Jake. And it isn’t necessarily that he’s jealous--but envious. He’s envious. You haven't truly gotten the opportunity to miss Rooster yet and he knows that. But his heart is heavy now and he wants to hear you say it: you like fucking him.

You pause immediately, letting your eyes fall to his in the mirror. He’s looking at you completely earnestly, maybe even a bit sheepishly. But he isn’t letting his gaze falter, isn’t letting his eyes fall from your pretty ones.

“Roo,” you start softly, finally facing him and letting your back rest against the sink, “I don’t like fucking you. I love fucking you.”

His cheeks grow warm with delight. But you’re looking at him very seriously, your brows knit and your head tilted. You’re very serious about what you’ve just said--because you’re very serious about sex.

“Just had to make sure I was going your speed,” Rooster says, trying to sound casual. He doesn’t, though. “Don’t want you to have to fuck, you know, an old man.”

You feel it then--guilt. It’s like a warm glass of water being poured down the front of your dress and settling in a puddle at your heels.

“Oh, baby,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. He’s still blinking sheepishly, his heart sitting in his throat, as you stroke his face gently. “I don’t have to fuck anyone. Not outside of work, right? I want to fuck you. I always want to fuck you, baby.”

You’re telling the truth. Rooster is the best sex you’ve ever had in your life and it doesn’t really come close. Sure, you like fucking Jake and you liked fucking all those other men back home. But with Rooster it’s different--he’s attentive and driven, almost gentlemanly in his insistence that you cum before he does.

Rooster is searching your face: your knit brows, your pouty lips, your glassy eyes. He knows you’re telling the truth. He’s embarrassed for a moment that he even asked and gave himself away, but then you’re pressing your lips against his, curling your fingers in his hair.

“You’re the fucking man,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and sultry against his mouth.

He moans without even meaning to, his fingers digging into the rough sequins on your hips. Jesus fucking Christ--just to hear it fall from your lips, it makes his spine tingle. You recognize the chill, you see the way his eyes flutter shut, you see the way his breathing stutters. He likes it. What man wouldn’t like his ego stroked just a little bit?

“Oh, Cherry,” he mutters against your lips, smiling softly. His mustache rubs against your Cupid’s bow just right, getting mucked with gloss. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t want to ask you to say it again--but he wants to hear it again. Just the notion that the coolest fucking girl he knows thinks so highly of him makes his entire lower half go practically numb.

“You’re the fucking man, Bradley,” you tell him, really meaning it. You’ve used his real name very sparingly since he gave it to you a couple days ago--you just think Rooster suits him. But when he hears you say it, his head tips back and his jaw goes slack. “I mean it, baby, I’m not fucking with you.”

You can feel his hardening cock pressing against your dress now and it makes you smile. Just your words, just your breath, just this dress and it’s enough to make him hard. And that thought makes you wet again, makes your thighs press together.

Maybe you’re aroused, too, because of how fervently you mean it. You don’t like to stroke men’s egos if you think you’re not going to get anything from them. You like being fucked by men and you like penises, but you don’t necessarily like men. But Rooster--God, he might be one of the best people you’ve ever met. You know already, just like you know every day that California is where you’re supposed to be, that you’re going to know him for a long time. And he’s the fucking man.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bradley mutters, pressing your body against his. He’s thinking about the very first night you were here, when he picked your name, when you told him to imagine you were having sex again, when you got him started and left him out to dry. “You’re a fucking minx.”

“You’re not an old man,” you tell him, kissing his lips gently. His mouth is warm and wet and your gloss is transferring to his lips now. “But you’re my old man, right?”

You don’t know what you mean other than this is how you’re asking him if he’ll take care of you. You want him to take care of you--you want it more than anything in the world, you think.

He isn’t sure what you’re asking. But he nods, pulling you tight against his body.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” he says against your lips.

You like to hear men say that to you--but Rooster might be the first. Now you’re the one with a quivering chin, with a tingle running up your spine. Fuck.

By the time Jake comes round to your room, his hair freshly combed and his nose freshly blown, you’re pressing lingering kisses all along Bradley’s bare thighs and swallowing his thick ropes of cum. He’s leaning back against the door, his hands tangled in your hair, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every thick breath he takes.

“I leave for a couple minutes and the two of you go at it again?” Jake asks, grinning at you and leaning against the doorframe.

You press your face against Bradley’s warm thigh and sigh into all his expansive skin covering all that hard muscle. Even just blowing him, even just letting the head of his cock press into the back of your throat, even just swallowing his cum--it makes you feel closer to him. It makes you feel good.

Rooster still has blood rushing past his ears from cumming so hard. It happened quickly, which isn’t something that happens often. You’re good with your mouth, though--too good almost.

“Fuck off,” Rooster grunts, panting still. He’s stroking your hair now as you just rest against his thigh. “Make yourself useful and get the car started, huh?”

At that, Rooster tosses Hangman the keys. Hangman looks down at you, waiting for you to grin up at him or invite him on his knees beside you--but your eyes are shut. You’re just resting against the bare skin of Bradley’s thigh like it’s where you belong. You don’t even mind that you’re on your knees.

Then it’s quiet again. It’s just you and Rooster and your lip gloss is smeared and he’s almost naked before you. There’s no hurry, there’s no rush. Things are just calm. He’s petting your hair, smoothing his palm over your silky hair over and over again.

“Thank you,” you mumble to him, glancing up at him.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded and sweet.

Rooster’s throat is tight.

“Kid, why are you thanking me?” He laughs, swiping his thumb across your jaw. “I should be thanking you.”

No one has ever thanked you for blowing them before. Your heart feels fuzzy, fuzzy and warm. You don’t know why you do it--why you wrap your arms around his leg and hug him close to your body, but you do. He doesn’t say anything about the sequins digging into his thighs and doesn’t think it’s strange that you’re hugging him.

But when he’s all the way up there and you’re all the way down there, you look smaller than you ever have in his eyes before. A small and beautiful thing, holding him against you, relishing in the feeling of his leg hair against your soft cheek.

You’ve hugged a man’s leg like this before. Just one time, not very long ago. Except he was not naked and you did not have a pretty dress on. You were crying and he was, too. It doesn’t matter now, though, because with each day that flits past, you’re certain that you’ll never see that man again. Your daddy will stay in Nebraska and you’ll stay here.

“Roo,” you whisper, “I wanna die in California.”

His breath catches between his teeth. You say it with such calmness--you aren’t sad, you aren’t mourning. You’re just telling him something.

“You will,” he says softly. “Eighty years from now.”

You hum for a moment. Eighty years of this. Eighty years of his skin against yours. Eighty years of falling in love and getting fucked and eating burgers and getting paychecks.

You sit back finally, lean your cheek into his palm. His eyes are soft, swimming with fondness. But he’s trying to read that strange serene expression all over your face.

Softly, he wipes the wet mascara from under your eyes. When you kiss his fingers, rubbing your face against his hand like a loving cat, he nearly weeps at the softness that overwhelms his being.

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” You ask, lashes battering against your cheeks.

Men don’t stay with you forever. Not usually. Not before.

“Where else would I go, kid?” He whispers.

That’s a good enough answer for now. You’re the one that pulls his pants up, you’re the one that fastens his belt and zips his zipper. You’re the one that helps him tuck his sweater back into his pants.

“You know earlier, when I said thank you?” You ask as he helps you to your feet. He pulls you against his body, nodding gently as you cup his cheek. “I mean it. Thank you. For, you know…everything.”

“It’s all gravy, baby,” he says, his breath fanning out over your face.

Your thumb is rubbing the rough skin of his cheek soothingly like you’ve always been doing this.

“Good. Because I don’t think you can get rid of me.”

Bell Bottoms is busy. Wall to wall, floor to mirrored ceiling, there are people dancing. It’s a sea of sweaty bodies dressed in corduroy and suede and silk and satin. It’s too dark to make out anyone’s face, too dark to differentiate one person from the other.

It’s a smaller building--which Jake tells you makes it more exclusive. The bouncer, a big hulking man with a big hulking beard, claps Jake on the shoulder and lets all three of you past the velvet rope. And inside, everything is purple, red, green, yellow, blue, pink. It’s a kaleidoscope of neon, dazzling the velvet walls and the silver mirror balls on the ceiling.

Get Down Tonight by KC & The Sunshine Band is pulsing through the speakers. It’s so loud that you can feel every single word in your chest, in the soles of your feet.

“I’ll grab us some drinks,” Rooster yells into your ear, manually stuffing your hand into Jake’s as Jake looks around excitedly, bobbing on his feet. Then he comes close to Jake’s ear and shouts, “Don’t let her go, man, alright?”

And then Rooster is gone, shuffling through the sweaty bodies and hair and stepping in puddles of tequila that have been sloshed onto the floor.

“Alright, baby,” Jake calls to you, holding both your hands in his and pulling your body against his. He’s high--excited, jittery. You look fucking beautiful in the dim glow of the room, like you’re a sculpture they had made for this exact spot. “You wanna bump?”

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you nod excitedly. You’ve been waiting for him to ask.

Honey, honey, me and you / And do the things / Ah, do the things / That we like to do

He shuffles the two of you against the wall and cages you in with his body. You’re grinning, kissing his face and sneaking peeks over his shoulder at the hustling crowd, the very lining of your stomach vibrating with excitement.

Jake’s happy that you want another bump--Bradley won’t ever get high with him and neither will any of the other friends. Maybe they’re all too old--or they think they’re too old--but you seem to be just the right age. Excited, young, new.

He tangles with the buttermints canister for a moment before he dabs his finger inside of it and then brings it to your lips. You’re already ready, grinning, barring your teeth for him.

“You’re so fucking foxy,” he mutters, pressing his finger against your gums.

There’s some sort of blissful relief in the movement of his finger in your mouth. The familiar taste of his skin and the new taste of flower petals on your tongue--you love it. You aren’t sure if you love it because it gets you high or if it’s because Jake is touching you.

“There you go, baby,” he mutters to you, eyes heavy-lidded. “That’s gonna feel real nice when you’re dancing, huh?”

Oh, do a little dance / Make a little love / Get down tonight, get down tonight

When Bradley wanders back to the spot he left you, holding three glasses in his big hands, he can’t find you or Jake. But it only takes a moment or two before he sees you on the dance floor: you’re easy to spot when you’re the life of the party.

And boy, are you the life of the party.

You’re in the middle of the neon dance floor, your dress reflecting every bit of technicolor that shines on you sporadically. You’re dancing like your life depends on it, throwing your hair back, leaving your throat open and your face serious. Every single swing of your hips, sway of your shoulders, bounce of your breasts--it’s enchanting.

Jake’s right there with you, hands on your waist as you two grind against each other and everyone around you. He’s fucking high--he feels great and he knows you do, too. You’re a good dancer and he knows he is, too. He feels like the two of you are made for each other.

Do a little dance / Make a little love / Get down tonight (Whoo), get down tonight (Baby)

And again, Rooster gets that feeling when he looks at you. You look tougher than everyone here--more beautiful, too. He thinks about you saying you want to die in California and his toes grow cold. He sits in a booth, leaves your drink close to his, and starts sipping on his Tom Collins.

“I feel so fucking good,” you call to Jake, hands over his shoulders. Your heart is pounding and you’re sweating, but you feel like you can do anything right now. “Do I look so fucking good?”

Jake grins, nodding fervently.

“You’re the hottest fucking thing this dance floor’s ever seen!”

You laugh loudly, tipping your head back.

Everyone is singing along and grooving, jiving. Everyone is touching you seemingly, the entire crowd moving in tandem. And when people touch you, you feel like they love you. Everybody loves Cherry Arsan. And Cherry Arsan loves everybody, too.

“Let’s never leave each other,” you tell Jake, all the affection sitting hot in your chest suddenly spilling out of your mouth. Your eyes are teary as you hold his cheeks in your hands, still moving your shoulders along with the song. “Let’s just always be like this, alright?”

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Jake says, his heart racing. “I fucking love you, Cherry!”

A certain pleasure prickles your skin at the words.

He loves you--he means it. You know that.

“Say it again,” you moan, biting your lip.

“I fucking love you,” Jake grins, peppering your face with kisses.

It’s all you’ve really ever wanted--to be loved, adored.

And because he’s high and he feels invincible and because you’re high and anything goes, you let him lift you. He wraps his arms around your thighs and you laugh wildly, bracing yourself against his shoulders. And then you’re up above everyone else, spinning, your head tipped back.

You can see your reflection in the disco ball above you, all one thousand little squares of you. You’re fucking beautiful. Jake sinks his face into your belly and inhales you, grinning. He feels you flex with delighted laughter and holds you tighter.

Then your head lulls at the perfect moment--you see Rooster sitting at a booth by himself, three glasses before him. He’s watching you, a smile tugging at his lips. You wave at him wildly, blowing him kisses and throwing your hair behind you.

“I love you!” You call to Rooster, but it’s lost in the sound of the music. He doesn’t hear you. But you keep calling it to him. “I fucking love you!”

It’s well past three in the morning when Rooster carries you inside the house, Jake trailing behind him with a broken Elvis song falling from his lips. No one is entirely sober, least of all you and Jake.

Almost all your makeup has melted off and your hair is matted to your face where you sweated from dancing all night. Jake’s holding your shoes and you’re softly scratching the back of Rooster’s neck, head on his shoulder, with your legs wrapped around his hips.

“Wanna another drink?” Jake asks you, slurring slightly, as he toes his shoes off and closes the front door behind him.

Rooster scoffs.

“Man, you need to sleep it off,” Rooster says, frowning when you nod at Jake. “You, too, Saturday Night Fever.”

“S’Wednesday,” you retort brokenly, yawning.

Rooster rolls his eyes, carrying you to the couch as you kiss his neck.

“It’s Thursday, baby,” he corrects.

Jake is already rummaging around the bar, still singing to himself. He’s fading fast, he can feel it. But he wants to keep the party going--wants to feel all that life thrumming in his body, pulsing through his veins.

“Got anymore Aperol?” Jake asks, vision bleary as he knocks into a few bottles ineffectively.

Rooster sits on the sofa, expecting you to climb off him and sprawl you--you don’t, though. You just stay connected to him, your breaths hot and damp against his shoulder. He hugs you close to him, humming. You’re gonna have a Hell of a time tomorrow.

“No,” Rooster lies. He wants Jake to just settle in for the night. “Why don’t you go take a shower, man? You’ll sober up.”

“Don’t want to sober up,” Jake sighs, grabbing a glass and pouring the first liquor he can paw in it. “Sobriety’s for squares.”

“I approve this message,” you mutter, blindly throwing a thumbs up in the air.

Rooster scoffs.

You sit up a bit, just enough to press your forehead against Rooster’s. You’re crashing--fading fast, he can tell. Now that the blow has worn off and the alcohol has settled in your belly, you’re almost done for. Your eyes are heavy and your limbs ache and your feet are sore, but you’re still so happy.

“You didn’t dance with me,” you whine, pressing your fingers into Rooster’s cheeks.

“I don’t dance, kid,” Rooster says gently, stroking your flushed cheek.

“But don’t you break all the rules for me?” You pout, tracing his amused smile.

Jake sinks into the sofa beside the two of you, sipping on lukewarm peppermint schnapps. It’s even warmer going down, spreading across his belly.

“Sometimes I do,” Rooster says softly, swiping the smudged lip gloss off your chin.

“Jakey danced with me,” you grin lazily, glancing at Jake, who’s humming with his eyes fallen shut. “He said he loved me, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Jake grins, peeking an eye open to tussle your hair.

Rooster’s heart skitters for a moment.

“See,” you pout, turning back to Rooster. You hold onto his shoulders, rub your nose into his. “Jake dances with me and he loves me. Don’t you love me, baby?”

Rooster swallows thickly.

“Of course I love you, baby,” he answers.

He’s thinking about when the three of you sat on this sofa not long ago--when you and Rooster admitted to never being in love, when Jake talked about Gentry. He’s thinking about the way he watches you lay on Jake, the way you slinked away from him and into his arms. And he holds you tighter now, pressing his lips to yours. You taste like salt and sweat and vodka, your lips plump with sleep.

He isn’t gonna let go of you tonight. He’s gonna stay right here, holding you against him. Because he does--of course he does--love you. He is almost entirely sure of it. Maybe not in the way he thought he would love someone, but in a way that makes his eyes heavy with salt.

“I know it,” you mutter to him, stroking his curls. “I know it.”

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: omg!!! the disco!! in this economy?? it's more likely than you think!!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

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heavenboy09 · 9 months

Text

Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You

1 Of The Most Noticeable Top Actresses In Cinema 🎥 Today

With A Acting Career Very Recognizable in Mostly The Horror & Drama Genres

She is an American actress.

She was born on August 6, 1973, in Clifton, New Jersey. Her parents are Ukrainians: Michael Farmiga, a systems analyst-turned-landscaper, and his wife Lubomyra "Luba" (née Spas), a schoolteacher.

She began her professional acting career on stage in the original Broadway production of Taking Sides (1996). She made her television debut in the Fox fantasy adventure series Roar (1997), and her feature film debut in the drama-thriller Return to Paradise (1998). Her breakthrough came in 2004 with her starring role as a drug addict in the drama Down to the Bone. She received further praise for the drama Nothing But the Truth (2008), and won critical acclaim for starring in the 2009 comedy-drama Up in the Air, for which she was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress.

She portrayed paranormal investigator Lorraine Warren in 1# Popular Horror Movie Franchise Of The 21st Century,

The Conjuring Universe films The Conjuring (2013), The Conjuring 2 (2016), Annabelle Comes Home (2019), and The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It (2021). From 2013 to 2017, she starred as Norma Louise Bates in the A&E drama horror series Bates Motel, which earned her a Primetime Emmy Award nomination. These performances, along with her lead roles in the films Joshua (2007) and Orphan (2009), established her as a scream queen.

Please Wish This Outstanding & Riverting Talented Actress A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

You Know Her, If You Dont Know Her. You Will Soon Learn To Love Her & Her Acting

The 1 & The Only

MS. VERA ANN FARMIGA AKA MS. LORRAINE WARREN OF THE CONJURING UNIVERSE FILMS 🎥

HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

TO YOU MS. FARMIGA & HERE'S TO MANY MORE YEARS TO COME

#VeraFarmiga #LorraineWarren #TheConjuring

#Vera Farmiga #Lorraine Warren #The Conjuring universe #Spotify

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spokenrealms · 2 years

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A Daughter of the Land

Adam Bates, the Land King of Hartley, Indiana, rules his 16 children with a firm hand and a tight purse. All work tirelessly on the family farm until the sons, at 21, are given 200 acres of land with a house and barn (they pay the taxes while their father holds the deeds). The daughters, at 18, get a term at Normal School to train as schoolteachers, a position they hold until they marry. Kate,…

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#Anne Hancock

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eutxrpe · 3 years

Text

painting a picture

—there is no color combination that could ever paint a picture like you. izuku (with the help of his students) still tries to capture your essence on a canvas though.—

pairing: elementary schoolteacher!izuku x gender neutral!reader word count: 2.1k words warnings: fluff, izuku being a simp for you, a bit of second-hand embarrassment the art in the banner belongs to @/hanabiy_chan on twitter!

song inspiration: picture perfect (freestyle) - jhene aiko

a/n: this is both dedicated to and caused by @whipped-cream-writings. you know what happened for this to be a thing. thank you for being you and inspiring this.

if there was ever a time to be embarrassed about something that deku’s students have said to him, it would be now.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“mr. deku? are you dating someone?” izuku’s head snaps up to see hina, one of his most extroverted students. many other students come over to his desk, intrigued by the question that hina had asked. their little heads surround the table, and eyes peer at him over the height of his desk.

“yea, are you?”

“tell us! tell us!” tiny voices chant in unison before izuku shushes them all gently. he internally reminds himself that they are innocent six-year olds that were not trying to purposefully embarrass him before answering.

“y-yes, i am dating someone,” the class erupts into cheers before quieting down again. they don’t disperse and head back to their tables like izuku had hoped, because hina looks at him with bright, brown eyes and continues the conversation.

“what are they like? do you love them? do youuuu?” her hair bounces as she drawls out the last syllable of her statement.

“hina, isn’t it time to go back to your seat?” deku asked, cheeks flushing a deep pink at the questioning. shaking her head, she only giggles.

“it’s free time, isn’t it?” she pouts. “also you didn’t answer my question. i...i could always make you, though!” and izuku watches as the brown of her eyes turns a deep black to the point the iris matches her pupils. one of the oldest in her class, hina had already manifested her quirk: the ability to make anyone do what they she wants when they make eye contact with her but only when her eyes were fully black.

“hina.” he makes his tone more strict, catching her attention and making her gaze drift down to the floor. “no quirk usage in the classroom, okay? it’s not fair to your other classmates who don’t have theirs yet.”

“yea, i know it’s a power imbalance or somethin’… but please? tell me?” and when izuku sees her eyes again, they’re back to the umber they usually are and hold only truth in them. he sighs.

“after this, you’ll go back to your seat?” with an enthusiastic nod, deku catches his lip in between his thumb and pointer finger, trying to figure out how to describe you: the love of his life.

“they’re… amazing. i don’t know any words that could describe the way that i love them. but they’re that feeling when you have your favorite drink for the first time in forever! or-”

“you’re gonna ramble, mr. deku.” hina’s straight-forwardness could be taken as rudeness eventually... he’d have to take her over to bakugo’s or todoroki’s class one day to see what she does in other people. “i know that if i were in love, i’d show them what i couldn’t tell them!”

hina’s reply sparks an idea for a long-term project for his students… and for the both of you. izuku stands up, clapping his hands to get their attention. brushing his hair away from his face, the students see the glee in his emerald eyes and know that it’ll be an interesting project.

“what do you guys think of doing some painting over the next few weeks?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“izu, you’re home!” at the sound of his footsteps, izuku sees you turn around and smile at him and his heart flutters. you’re wearing one of his oversized sweaters and mismatched socks that soften the noise of your feet padding down the hallway to kiss him.

“hi, angel.”

your hands cup his freckled cheeks, and he hopes that you don’t feel the amount of heat that crosses them. from your laugh, he knows that the opposite is true. your expression suddenly changes from content to focused, and midoriya feels your thumb rub away some pink paint.

“paint?” you step back and arch your eyebrow at him, walking away to the kitchen to wash your hands. taking off his blazer and folding it over his arms, izuku follows you, the baritone of his voice floating over to you across the island that separates the two of you.

“i started a new art project with them,” izuku explains while he plays with his fingers, a habit he’s never really gotten over since his high school days. “their assignment is to supposed to paint something, someone —anything really— that brings them happiness. and then they asked me to do it with them.”

“and you just couldn’t say no?” after drying your hands, you turn around to face him, eyebrow arched and mouth curved into an amused smile. he feels heat race across his cheeks as he nods bashfully. “then i assume you’re painting all might.”

“well… you’ll see.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“you’re so forgetful when it comes to your health, you know that?” your unforgettable voice can be heard from across the room to deku, holding the lunch that you reminded him to take three times in total. the students, including one excitable hina, turn their heads up at the noise and gasp.

“mr. deku, is this (y/n)?” after shy confirmation from him, the class cheers and deku raises both of his hands to turn the shouts to hushed whispers.

“p-please go back to what you were doing! you guys wouldn’t want to wake up kacchan, would you?” the bunny that sat on the counter was taking a short nap, his expression relaxed which was the opposite of his hostile behavior. at the mention of the angry bunny, the students went back to work, dipping their fingers in the paint as they continued to talk about you. you shyly smiled and rolled your eyes at the excitement that your arrival caused.

“do you want me to go over to you? or…” your sentence causes deku to blush and stand up quickly, striding over to where you were at the door.

“no, it’s fine… i know that it was hard to take this time out of your schedule. thank you, sweetheart.” he murmurs, trying not to take the children’s attention off of their project. izuku takes the lunch from your hands, giving you a smile and squeezing your hand softly.

“of course! i’ll see you at home later?” he enthusiastically nods, and you kiss as a farewell, lips slotting against each other lovingly. it seemed like you were about to deepen it, but hina’s voice causes you two to part.

“ewwwww!”

and deku has never felt so embarrassed about showing his love for you. heat streams across his cheeks and down his neck while you laugh innocently. slinging your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug, you whisper your goodbyes into his ear, knowing that he would be mumbling about this into your lap at home tonight. in a sort of apology, izuku presses kisses into your neck. (knowing that his back was to hina, of course.) and like the angel you are, you giggle lightly at the sensation, and midoriya knows he’s been forgiven, even if there was nothing to forgive.

afterwards, you turn away, and midoriya sighs at the sound of your shoes against the hallway flooring. clutching the bento you brought him in his hands, he walks back to his desk and back to what he was trying to encapture in his painting. that was until he heard what hina mumbles —or tried to mumble— in the relatively quiet room.

“so that’s what love looks like…”

for once, deku lets out a sigh of relief at work. it was peaceful, and seeing all of the proud smiles on his (they were his at this point; he cared for them that deeply) children’s faces made him proud as well.

all was calm, and so before kacchan woke up from his nap, deku clapped his hands together and stood up, attracting the students’ attention.

“guys… i’m going to need your help with this plan i have, okay?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

you had been surprised when izuku called you while he was at work one day. he was almost religious with the amount of dedication and attention into his students and put his phone on silent everyday. so when he asked you to come to his classroom, you were shocked but quickly rushed over.

your heart skipped a beat with every step you took forward to the door, mind conjuring the worst scenarios every time you thought of izuku’s nervous, high-pitched tone.

“just c-come over as soon as possible please, angel!” you loved this man, but sometimes you just didn’t know what was in his mind.

and with bated breath, you opened the door to his classroom and gasped.

the room formerly had circular tables on top of an area rug with all might memorabilia on the walls and children running havoc around it.

but this room had fairy lights around it, giving it this safe haven aura, and there was a pathway to the other side of the room by separating the tables. someone squeezed your hand, so you tore yourself away from the look of the new room and made your eyes look downward. by the excited look in her eyes and proud smirk on her face, you assumed that this was hina, the same girl who had squealed in disgust during your kiss with izuku.

“follow me, (y/n)!” and although it was a very small distance, you took her smaller hand within yours and let her lead you to the other side of the room where you saw izuku, who was beside an easel. before walking away to another room, hina narrowed her eyes at your boyfriend, telling him to “man up and do it or i’ll do it for you!”

“what’s happening, izuku? is something wrong?” you let him take your hands and he immediately told you everything was okay.

“i just… n-needed to tell you something before i lost the courage to do so. you know that project i told you about earlier?” you nod, trying not to say anything as you saw him fight for the right words. “well… for someone who brings me happiness, i chose you.”

izuku walks behind you to envelop you within his arms from behind, hiding his face in your neck. you tear the paper hiding his work from you away and gasp at what you see.

“i’m not a very good painter! the sketch was much better…” and you know that he wasn’t being modest.

your features were there, but blobs of paint were astray in different places. your eyes were too far apart and your hair was just a touch different than it usually is. but you let yourself fall into the colors that he chose.

the background was pink and you remember that one morning, izuku had told you that you reminded him of the color of a carefree love: baby pink.

you were wearing the same outfit that you were on your first date, and you can’t help but tear up slightly at the amount of detail that he put into this painting.

“izuku… it’s bad but good at the same time, you dork. i love it. i love y-” you turn around to find him on one knee and his own eyes watering. “-ou.”

“i- um, bare with me, here.” you run your hands through his soft locks of hair and sniffle, and he just knows that you’re always going to listen to him.

“i could never put into words just how much you mean to me. which is probably why i put off this for so long. hah, i- you’re perfect, angel. perfect for me. i’ve always been in love with you even before we started to date… and just seeing you take care of me because i’m so forgetful when it comes to my health and always being there for me in the mornings has made me fall for you again and again everyday. i call these kids my world, but you’re my universe, my love. a picture so perfect that i tried and failed to encompass you.”

you sniffle again, and he presses soft kisses to the top of your hand, trying to compose himself to ask the damn question once and for all. he looks up and into your eyes, and finally… he’s determined to make you his.

“it would make me the happiest man in the world if you could marry me, (y/n).” he lets go of your hand to crack open the velvet ring box to reveal the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen. although you sometimes don’t know what goes through izuku’s head, it’s like he was in yours picking out this beautiful moonstone.

you get down on the ground too, resting your forehead against his as you whisper out a yes.

“yes… yes, i’ll marry you, ‘zuku. any day, any time, because it’s you. i love you.” you kiss his lips over and over again, making him giggle and pull you even closer on this kindergarten class floor.

and you’re not sure if the moment is ruined or made better by bakugo opening the door to his class and letting hina & the other students loudly rush into the room.

fin.

#bnha x reader #bnha elementary school teacher au #mha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha scenarios #deku x reader #bnha fluff

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shannendoherty-fans · 3 years

Photo

People, September 9th 1991

High School Confidential

By Tom Gliatto and Michael Alexander.

Photos by Mark Sennett.

Beverly Hills, 90210 Gets Its Heat from a Dangerously Cute Cast of TV's Hottest New Stars CONFIDENTIAL MEMO: FROM: The Vice Principal TO: The Faculty, High School U.S.A. I'm sure I don't need to remind you what happened when we didn't prepare for Bart Simpson last fall. The school was flooded with rude, antieducational T-shirts. Some cows were had. Well, as a new school year gets under way, I believe we face another daunting challenge: Brace yourselves for Beverly Hills, 90210. That's the Fox drama about unworldly twin teens Brandon and Brenda Walsh (played by Jason Priestley and Shannen Doherty), recent transferees from Minneapolis to the Hills of Beverly. There they struggle to assimilate into the fast-lane lifestyle of West Beverly Hills High School, where the kids come equipped with BMWs, call waiting and designer surfboards. In the process, the teens examine their emerging identities and the problems that adolescents everywhere face.

The show languished in the Nielsen ratings against Thursday powerhouse Cheers last year. But Fox had no replacement, so it stayed. While we were on summer vacation, new 90210 episodes began airing, and the show landed in the Top 20, becoming the most popular show among teenagers. To some extent, I take responsibility for having ignored 90210. I made the mistake of reading newspaper critics instead of my daughter's diary, and so I believed, as Howard Rosenberg sniffed in the Los Angeles Times, that the show was merely a "ZIP code for stereotypes and stock characters." Little did I know that this show would mesmerize teens by doing emotionally realistic shows that involved adolescent rebellion, alcoholic; parents, a breast-cancer scare and plenty of worrisome teen sex. "Most shows for adolescents," says 90210 creator Darren Star, "seem like they are written by 50-year-olds who think teenagers behave like 7-year-olds."

It also doesn't hurt that the show's male stars, Priestley and Luke Perry (who plays brooding loner Dylan McKay), are "to die for," as my daughter puts it. These two have each been receiving about 1,500 fan letters a week. So be vigilant: Surely some of these will be written by our students...during class! And I'm afraid that 90210 is only going to get bigger with our kids, if producer Aaron Spelling is to be believed. "I thought The Mod Squad and Charlie's Angels got a lot of publicity in their heyday," says Spelling, whose company produced those shows, "but it doesn't compare to this. It's crazy. We have merchandising coming out of our ears"—a complete line of T-shirts, beach towels, notebooks, etc. "And now these actors can't walk down the street!"

Or even streak through malls. You probably saw those alarming news reports about a frenzied mob of 10,000 fans that stampeded Perry when he appeared at a south Florida mall last month. "It's a little scary," says Perry. Scarier is the amount of time students will waste this fall discussing Luke. And Jason. And who is sexier. I provide some information on the two. Jason Priestley, 22, plays Brandon Walsh, a model of thoughtful level-headedness. In real life, however, the brown-haired, blue-eyed star, who started acting in commercials at age 4 and played an orphan on that very nice NBC sitcom Sister Kate, is no Oliver Twist. He likes dirt bikes, bungee jumping and is a chain-smoker (just about the whole cast puffs it up—but not on-camera). Vancouver-born Priestley likes to hang out in Las Vegas. As for his real romantic life, he was reportedly dating actress Robin (Doogie Howser, M.D.) Lively last spring, but it seems likely that now he is too busy for such dalliance;. He must be on the set 14 hours a day, five days a week. To avoid ever-present fans, Priestley says, "I look different from my character when I'm just walking around. I don't shave, I don't dress like Brandon."

On the show, 26-year-old Luke Perry (Brenda Walsh's boyfriend, Dylan) sports a leather jacket, dagger sideburns and a squint that spells t-r-o-u-b-l-e. Although he grew up and graduated from high school in Fredericktown, Ohio, he seems to have attended James Dean wise-guy classes. Perry, who played country-boy Ned Bates on the ABC soap Loving, entertains the 90210 cast by strutting around bare-chested making jokes. Does he have a girlfriend? "No. You know how I can get in touch with Linda Hamilton?" What kind of music does he listen to? "Tom Jones is awesome." Are he and Priestley ever mistaken for each other? "He's mistaken for me on his good days." And 90210, he says, is "the best show on television, except for Jeopardy!" We should act quickly, faculty, when we see any signs that Beverly Hills, 90210 is disrupting normal student activity.

How abnormal might things get? Consider: "It's almost like there are cults," says Brian Austin Green, 18, the North Hollywood High grad who plays the cutely dweeby David Silver. "Girls go to school the day after the show, and they actually become these characters. They say, 'Okay, today I want to be Dylan, you can be Brenda, you can be Brandon.' " Needless to say, students caught pretending to be TV characters should be brought directly to my office for detention. But you know, it might not be a bad thing if our students could show some of the good sense that the 90210ers display in coping with the pressures of fame and fortune. Jennie Garth, 19, who plays the very sexy, very blond, very snotty Kelly Taylor, is particularly admirable. The youngest of seven children, she grew up on a farm near Champaign, Ill., until her schoolteacher parents moved to Phoenix when she was 13. "Living in a small town and coming from a very tight and close family instilled a lot of standards that I need to live up to," says Garth, who just bought a home in Sherman Oaks. She also recently supplied her parents with the down payment for their new home, setting a splendid example for today's youth.

According to a tabloid that someone left in the faculty lounge, Memphis-raised Shannen Doherty, 20, a veteran of such wonderful shows as Little House: A New Beginning, is the only cast member to be accused of behaving like "a spoiled brat" on the set. But she maintains she is no such thing. "I think everybody gets in a bad mood," Shannen says. "You do not work 16-hour days and not start feeling it. But I have never thrown a tantrum. I've gotten upset on the set, but it's never been just to be a bitch. You have to stand up for yourself in this business. That was something I was told when I was 12 years old and working with Michael Landon."

As with about half the cast members, Doherty is in a relationship—in her case, a real-estate developer with whom she's exchanged commitment rings. "You really have to date a while before you decide if this is the person you want to marry," she says with Brenda-like candor. Almost sounds like the relationship could be a future 90210 plot. "The problems of young people have accelerated," says Aaron Spelling, "and so have their feelings and thoughts." The show, he says, has kept pace: Even with their Clearasil-perfect complexions and plump allowances, the students at Beverly Hills have encountered their share of problems. "We had the guts to make Luke Perry be a member of AA," says Spelling. "We had Jason, our star, drinking and driving. That's reality."

And, apparently, the adulatory fan mail often includes a sad dose of that reality. "I got a letter the other day from a girl who mentioned the show we did on parental drug abuse," says Perry in a rare moment of seriousness. "She wrote about catching her father freebasing in the basement. I get letters like that all the time, from people all over the country." Gabrielle Carteris (at age 30, she's 90210's oldest cast-kid), who plays Andrea Zuckerman, the bright student who comes from the wrong side of Rodeo Drive, remembers an encouraging close encounter in a grocery store. "One girl came up to me after we'd done the breast-cancer show," says Carteris. "She said, 'I went home with all my friends and we checked our breasts for lumps.' "

In conclusion: Maybe I didn't need to write this memo. Maybe things won't be that bad, even if every locker in every corridor has a picture of Jason, Luke, Shannen or Jennie in it. Perhaps our dear little school is more like West Beverly Hills High—at least the TV version—than I thought. That's what Ian Ziering, 27, thinks too. "The reality on the show pretty much mirrors the way life is all over, in terms of teenagers," says New Jersey—bred Ziering, who once did Fruit of the Loom underwear ads and now plays 90210's curly-headed jock, Steve Sanders. "There's a mystique about Beverly Hills. But that's not what keeps people tuning in. The show could have been Montana E-I-E-I-O." By the way, should any student pronounce his name "eee-an," correct him or her, please. It's "eye-an."

-- WHEN BEVERLY HILLS, 90210 PREMIERED last October, Highlights, the student newspaper at Beverly Hills High, ran articles mocking the school's TV counterpart, West Beverly Hills High. "They said that the show was a joke," says Jenny Brandt, 14, a sophomore at the 1,900-student school. But as the story lines improved and Jason Priestley and Luke Perry became stars, the jokes stopped, and Brandt found herself, like many of her pals, glued to the set on Thursday nights from 9 to 10 P.M. "No phone calls allowed," says Brandt. "Except during commercials." Hope Levy, a 17-year-old senior, has taken fandom a step further with her friends. "We have little handmade cards," she says, speaking from her mom's car phone. "They say you're a member of Club 90210." While some kids think the show treats them as snobby stereotypes, most agree with sophomore Jordan Rynes when he says, "It's like a soap opera for teens. The shows dealing with drinking and drugs are the most real—adults don't realize how accurate it is."

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gifs-masterlist · 3 years

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Downton Abbey

A/N: All gifs are tagged to their source via “Credit”, or if it has been edited by me under “original gif found here”. (Please note: This is the link from which I found the gif, not necessarily where it originated.) “Credit” means I’ve linked where I found the gif, but the original link is broken. If your gif has been used and you would like it taken down, please message me. I will gladly remove it. Thank you.

Credit #albert mason #paul copley #reaction gifs #english #working class #tenant farmer #son: william mason #daughter-in-law: daisy robertson #widower #

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#downton abbey #masterlist #downton abbey masterlist

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not-a-space-alien · 5 years

Text

hey its me again wall of text sorry not sorry

k i saw your little treatise justifying zadr and yknow its a cartoon its not the worst thing ever of course nobody is gonna sue you for reblogging fanart or burn you at the stake or w/e and im glad you decided to open yourself up to a differing opinion but zim IS portrayed as an adult. there was even an unfinished episode where zim’s childhood and growing up training from start to finish would be shown so by the time of the pilot he is definitely a full grown developed adult by irken standards especially if hes a former member of an elite military force like the invaders. jhonen has said that the irony and sad comedy of zims character is that hes a grown ass man and a war veteran to boot who VOLUNTARILY goes to an elementary school every day and throws hands with an 11 year old boy who should be well below his notice because he’s that pathetic and desperate for validation that he’ll stoop to seeking it from a child. it also sets up a dynamic between them where dib is CHALLENGED by having to go up against an adult with way more experience than him while dib is just a child, so when he wins its more meaningful, which is a common trope in childrens fiction that an underdog young hero has to take down a powerful adult villain.

jhonen might joke a lot but he’s serious about this part of the characterization of zim and dib and he even went to great lengths to make dib look and act more like a kid in ETF (more emotional and naive, designed to look smaller/softer, going in depth with his relationship to his dad and sister and needing his dad to protect him at the end when he’s too overrun to fight alone) just to drive home the point of how young he is. it was a very deliberate move and jhonen knows what hes doing ESPECIALLY since he also left zim pretty much unchanged and also includes gags about zim’s relative maturity like animating him briefly grimacing because his joints are sore and the part where he pretty much gestures to his crotch and goes “theyre afraid to look at ALL-A THIS”. like you would not see jhonen do that sort of joke with an underage character ok. dont confuse his social awkwardness and self deprecating/trolling humor for not knowing the difference between right and wrong and not acknowledge when he means something sincerely because he doesn’t just clown on people and troll ALL THE TIME 24/7 hes a human, and times have changed with more awareness on issues such as the grooming of minors so he can go back on things he may have said in the past that he doesn’t agree with now or said by mistake. he has said enough times that zim is older than any human alive that its safe to take his word for it by now. judging by the one strip he did in JTHM about johnny murdering a pedophile who was about to prey on squee i think his stance on protecting kids is pretty clear. also i wouldnt put it past jhonen to have redesigned membrane to be more chaddy looking to divert the adult fandom’s attention away from dib and throw the fangirls a bone but thats a whole nother can of worms lol.

and the justification that zim is immature so hes essentially on dib’s level is a reversal of something lots of kids hear from either creepy or ignorant adults who tell them theyre “so mature for their age”. no matter how emotionally mature you are it wont ever compensate for the number of years youve been alive so that’s not very sound logic, and even in fic where theyre both adults it’s still pretty weird because it doesn’t erase their history where zim knew dib as a kid. that’s sort of like a grownup waiting with bated breath until a kid is “legal” so they can start dating. kinda like when jacob imprints on bella’s newborn daughter in twilight then having it handwaved away by saying he’ll wait till she’s grown up, which understandably drew a huge amount of criticism. it’s a loophole that might be mildly acceptable in some cases but the context leaves it colored with a residual ickiness that sets off some red flags for me and a lot of other people.

also you said zim is an alien and therefore the situation itself is unrealistic, but the reason invader zim’s writing resonates with people is because zim is written with very HUMAN emotions and motivations and part of the humor again is how irkens despite being aliens from another planet mirror some of humanity’s worst flaws such as being petty, gluttonous, willfully ignorant, arrogantly believing they are special and better than everyone else, easily manipulated by propaganda, all too eager to greedily colonize other societies etc making them not so different from us at all. so the premise out of context might not seem realistic but the idea of a sad burnout adult who doesn’t realize how humiliating it is to be consistently outsmarted by a kid less than half their age IS realistic and applicable to human interaction since we’ve likely all met someone like this before at one point in our lives for example a schoolteacher who has a personal vendetta against one or more of their students and has nothing better to do than antagonize them, or a really dumb parent that you fight with a lot.

another thing, i know you and other fans probably have a lot of sentimental value and nostalgia attached to zadr because you probably shipped it back when you were a kid yourself and you cant be blamed for something you liked as a kid, but youre an adult now, and you have to listen to the portion of kids in the fandom who dont like zadr and say without question that the age gap makes them uncomfortable. those kids ARE the priority. we’re grown up now and we have to put our feelings aside for them because that’s part of being responsible and mature. i feel like zim himself is a pretty good example of how not to act at our age [shrug emoji]

and anyway a lot of the same elements of zadr can be explored with zadf just as well with just as much potential for cute moments and as a bonus is it’s not creepy

You do bring up some good points, and I’m not saying you’re wrong... But honestly I’m still not convinced. I mean, stuff that Jhonen said, the thing is even if it’s the author saying it it’s still outside of canon, that’s the reason why Neil Gaiman got flack for Good Omens because they didn’t write an actual kiss or hug or hand-hold between Aziraphale and Crowley yet Neil Gaiman went on Twitter saying they were queer representation. I still don’t really put much stock into what he says because the unfinished episodes and Jhonen’s commentary don’t really change the dynamic that’s actually in the show. And again...Jhonen said if there were going to be romance in the show it would be Zim/Gaz, so he’s either a huge hypocrite or doesn’t view Zim as being incompatible with Gaz.

I do think it’s much better when Dib is an adult and it just makes more sense, and I actually do prefer zadf to zadr and if i were going to ever write fanfiction or make fanart it would probably just be zadf, just because i know this does have some stuff to think about and I totally respect that you have a different view of it, but i honestly just don’t see it that way. The analogy with Jacob imprinting on Bella’s child in Twilight isn’t really the same thing honestly. The author in that situation tried to make it not......that....by saying that imprinting isn’t always a romantic relationship thing, and that Jacob would be more of an older brother, but honestly that doesn’t really negate the impact of grooming that kid would have with Jacob around. The idea that Zim would somehow be grooming Dib seems really silly to me although you’re right, I think his characterization in Into the Florpus has evolved somewhat especially with regard to Dib wanting to get his father’s approval, but again Zim has parallels with that in trying to please the Tallest. the world-building and characterizations are inconsistent and scattershot at best. Like no, zim isn’t waiting for him to turn legal, that’s absurd, they’re nemeses coming at each other then learning to be friends. You’re right that that doesn’t have to be zadr but I still tag it as zadr so people can block it if they want to.

Like, I’ve seen people ship Zim with Professor Membrane instead of Dib. That seems very weird to me. that professor membrane would have a relationship with someone who literally goes to his son’s elementary school and who doesn’t know anything at all about human behavior and emotions.

I feel like with this discussion people don’t really understand the problem with age gaps. With age gaps, it’s not a matter of mature/immature, it’s about development. A ten year age gap sounds like a lot right? a 25-year-old and a 15-year old would absolutely have a predatory “relationship.” But a 35- and a 45-year old, that’s perfectly fine. Having a difference in age doesn’t automatically make the relationship unhealthy. so if Dib is 25 and Zim is [whatever the hell aliens years i still don’t really take Jhonen’s word for it bc he’s not consistent], that’s doesn’t mean it has to be bad. The thing about telling minors they’re “so mature for their age” to try and convince them that a person interested in them isn’t a pedophile is that we know a human being who is 15 isn’t developmentally at the same level as a 25-year-old regardless of their behavior. What is Zim? All we have to go on is how he acts, and he acts like Dib is an equal match, it’s not “he’s immature for his age,” it’s very unclear. Raw number of years isn’t the ultimate decider, for example in DnD lore elves reach maturity at, like, 100 years old so a 25-yo human trying to get with a 50-year-old elf would be predatory to the young elf even though the “younger” one is technically twice as old as the human. Do you see what I’m saying?

I also don’t really buy the idea that Invader Zim’s writing resonates with people because Zim is ~~so human~~. The guy steals a bunch of kid’s organs in one episode and flies into a tantrum over the slightest inconvenience. You have to be reading really deeply into it and dig into some old internet archives of things Jhonen Vasquez has said to paint it as realistic. You can do some interesting things with it wrt like, Zim being defective and starting to experience human emotions but that’s mostly fanon.

Well, you’ve given me some things to think about, thanks for explaining your side to me. I’m still going to tag things as #zadr so people can block if it can’t plausibly be categorized as zadf. I’m not actually making any fan content for Invader Zim so the point is kind of moot, but if I ever do I’ll definitely take this into consideration.

#invader zim #zadr #submission

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just-breathe-fight-cf · 6 years

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Movies, TV Shows & Literature Of Cystic Fibrosis

As mentioned in my last post, cystic fibrosis is rarely featured in movies, TV shoes and literature that isn’t a medical school lesson. Some of the TV programs pull at the deepest emotions and some of the TV programs make you wonder what the writers were thinking. Some of these programs I’ve never seen and will not give comment about my viewpoint as a CF patient.

Foreverland | Film | 2011

In this Canadian film, cynical 21-year-old cystic fibrosis patient, Will (Max Thieriot), has given up on trying to find a job or relationship because of his obsession with the idea that many with CF don’t live to their 30s. He goes on a road trip to Mexico and rediscovers his thirst for life in the process. The film uses salt as a thematic symbol — a clear connection to cystic fibrosis patients’ salty skin. It also shines a light on the daily life of a CFer: treatments, the feeling of ‘drowning’ in mucus, uncontrollable coughing fits, and an overprotective mom who worries about the sound of his ‘soupy cough.’

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Red Band Society | TV Show | 2014

In this now-cancelled show, patients with various medical conditions have adventures in the ward of a fancy L.A. hospital called Ocean Park. A rebellious character named Dash Hosney (Bradley Brian, Jr.) has cystic fibrosis and is in need of a lung transplant. Despite being in end-stage disease, his first scene features him in a hazy closet sharing a marijuana joint with a friend without ever coughing. He also runs and skateboards easily without need for oxygen. Not all end-stage CF presents itself in the same way, but his high energy is a head scratcher at times. At other points, the disease does show itself, such as when he coughs up blood during an argument. I’ve watched this series and found that the writing for cystic fibrosis is terrible.

For example; Dash was listed as a lung transplant patient which has to honor five requirements to qualify for a transplant: 65 or younger. (1)No smoking or substance abuse in 6 months. (2)BMI less then 30%. (3)No prednisone for 6 months. (4)Have a social support system. (5)FEV1 lower then 30% and/or on oxygen. The only one he passes was the BMI and no prednisone. His history of smoking marijuana and drinking alcohol violates number 1. We never see his parents or friends which violates number 4. His ability to be physically active without oxygen and his energy is confusing for a terminal patient needing a lung transplant. The only time we see some symptoms of CF is in the last two episodes when his condition matches his symptoms.

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Bates Motel | TV Show | 2013–2017

A re-imagining of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 classic, Psycho, Bates Motel features a character with cystic fibrosis named Emma Decody. She’s 17 years old, on the waiting list for a lung transplant, and on supplemental oxygen. The show, taking place in present day, casually mentions her life expectancy is 27 years old, while the actual reported average life expectancy is 37. Despite her end-stage disease, Emma climbs up a mountain without much trouble then easily sprints through a forest without a single cough at the end of episode two. While hiding from the men chasing them, through the mountain, protagonist Norman whispers to Emma, “Don’t even breathe.” Then he remembers her cystic fibrosis: “Sorry.”

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Ghosts | Graphic Novel | 2016

This story is about middle-schooler Catrina’s relationship with her little sister Maya, who has cystic fibrosis. The girls and their parents move to Northern California’s coast in hopes that the salty sea air will help Maya’s lungs. Maya has advanced disease and so the topic of death is thematically explored — Maya has an obsession with ghosts. Basic information about cystic fibrosis symptoms are nailed, as is the effect of salty ocean air on lungs and the common feelings of resentment the disease can produce.

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No One Dies in the Garden of Syn | Book | 2016

Synthis (Syn) Wade is a teenager with cystic fibrosis who is pushed into a pond that portals her to a new world where illness and death do not exist. Most of the book has Syn cured of her disease, but the basics of cystic fibrosis are still covered for background purposes. In the normal world, she has morning treatment routines, coughs because of thick mucus, and has very little energy. This is the first book in an ongoing trilogy, so there is room for the disease to be explored more in-depth.

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Everyone Dies in the Garden of Syn | Book | 2018

When Synthia (Syn) Wade discovered a secret world where illness and death did not exist, for the first time in her life she didn’t have to worry about her cystic fibrosis. However, a dark truth and a dangerous foe were waiting in the shadows.

Syn must now return to the Garden to save a loved one held captive by a madman and the odds are against her. The secret world is overrun by the terrifying Creepers. Her one-time allies have turned their backs on her. And worst of all, the healing powers of the Garden are no more. This time Synthia fears fighting alone, without respite from her life-threatening illness. The last time Syn visited The Garden, death was held at bay. Now Everyone Dies in the Garden of Syn.

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Teeth | Book | 2013

A boy named Rudy is forced to move with his family to a remote island in an attempt to save his 5-year-old brother Dylan, who has cystic fibrosis. The fish at the island have magical healing properties if eaten, but Dylan must eat them for the rest of his life if he is to remain cured. Rudy enters a strange, violent friendship that forces him to choose between his happiness and his brother. The book describes common CF symptoms as well as its potential for lethality, though much of the story takes place with Dylan being cured of these symptoms because of the magical fish. It’s fantasy, if you haven’t guessed.

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ER | TV Show| 1997

ER Episode (season 3, episode 14) Who Apply Now?

Dr. Doug Ross treats Jad Houston (Chad Lindberg), a 17-year-old cystic fibrosis patient who wants to die, but isn't old enough to sign a DNR.

ER Episode (season 3, episode 16) Faith

Jad Houston (Chad Lindberg) turns 18 and requests that Doug take him off the respirator which has been keeping him alive.

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Grey’s Anatomy | TV Show| 2011

(Season 7, Episode 16) Not Responsible

Ricky was in the hospital for a lung transplant to treat his cystic fibrosis. When Altman found out that he was dating another person with cystic fibrosis, she said she wouldn't do the transplant unless they ended the relationship, so they agreed to break it off.

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House | TV Show| 2009

Episodes #514 "The Greater Good"

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NY Med | TV Show| 2012

Season 1 Episode 6

A woman with cystic fibrosis needs new lungs; an ER nurse makes a startling personal decision after hearing an elderly couple's story about their 65-year marriage; surgical residents share tales of hazing by senior surgeons.

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Lifebreath | Movie | 1997

When lovely New Yorker Chrystie Devoe (Francie Swift) is diagnosed with the life-threatening disease cystic fibrosis, her schoolteacher husband, Martin (Luke Perry), does everything in his power to procure a lung transplant for her. Chrystie's rare blood type limits the possibilities, so Martin resorts to extreme measures to ensure his spouse's survival with a plan that involves Gale Pullman (Gia Carides), a real estate agent who is a perfect donor candidate -- and unfortunately quite healthy.

#cystic fibrosis #advocacy #Cystic #Cystic Fibrosis Awareness #cysticfibrosis #Fibrosis #movie #movies #book #books

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theburningbright · 6 years

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MONTREAL — If Xavier Dolan could direct a film about his life, he says, the opening scene would show the first encounter between his headstrong and emotional Quebecer mother and his Egyptian-born womanizing father, at a bohemian bar in Montreal where his mother had gone to hear his father sing.

This being a Dolan production, there is a good chance the mother would be overbearing, vulnerable and exquisitely made up. The camera would zoom in unforgivingly. The emotions would be volcanic, and ecstasy would soon give way to agony, accompanied by the frenetic beats of a music video.

His parents’ marriage ended when Mr. Dolan was 2 and a half years old. By the time he was 8, his mother, unable to cope with her hyperactive son, sent him to boarding school in rural Quebec, where the young gay boy was mercilessly bullied and where, in turn, he tormented others. He found refuge in Hollywood films like “Titanic” and “Mrs. Doubtfire,” along with the psychodrama of kitsch American sitcoms.

Today, Mr. Dolan — celebrated actor and director, Louis Vuitton model, voice-over artist (he provided the voice of Ron Weasley in the French Canadian versions of the “Harry Potter” movies), darling of the Cannes Film Festival, former child star and art-house cinema wunderkind — says the fuel for his art is his lost childhood. He has directed seven films. He is 29.

“I wanted to get out of childhood as soon as possible and escape it, and now that I’m making movies, I’m chasing it,” he said during an eight-hour interview that had all the intensity of a Dolan film, accented by allusions to Proust and a heavy snowfall outside. It began at Montreal’s opulent St. James Hotel before migrating to his handsome Edwardian house, which, he notes, channels the red chinoiserie of Diana Vreeland’s lush New York apartment.

“What I have been feasting on all these years is nostalgia — a nostalgia for the childhood that I didn’t end up having,” he added.

Waiflike and compact, wearing a hoodie and with a tattoo of Dumbledore(of “Harry Potter” fame) on his left arm, Mr. Dolan peppers his sentences in English with words like “prolix” and “epistolary,” and only occasionally switches into French to emphasize a point. He used part of his earnings as a child star to take Berlitz classes in English. Even early on, he said, he realized that if he was going to conquer Hollywood, he would need to speak fluent English.

In person, Mr. Dolan is at once intense and cerebral, funny and self-deprecating.

He has sometimes been pilloried as impish and arrogant, and he bristles at being labeled an “enfant terrible,” as he often is. It is perhaps an occupational hazard for a director who has been variously compared to Alfred Hitchcock, Woody Allen and the poet Arthur Rimbaud.

He made his first film, “I Killed My Mother,” a Freudian-tinged, semi-autobiographical film about a gay teenager who clashes with his mother, after he dropped out of college at 17. As one producer after the other rejected it, he scraped together money from his child-acting gigs to make the film himself, at age 20, eventually winning international acclaim. When he later noted wryly that Orson Welles, who made “Citizen Kane” at 25, was a “late bloomer,” the critics pounced, and he turned to Twitter to explain that he had been joking.

“I’m a big mouth. People can dislike me and think I’m a narcissistic brat,” he said. “But one thing no one can ever take away from me is that I’ve always spoken my mind, and I have always been true to myself.”

As we meet, he is the subject of a social media storm over his decision to cut the American star Jessica Chastain from his soon-to-be released film, “The Death and Life of John F. Donovan,” his first English-language film. The movie focuses on an 11-year-old boy and his unlikely correspondence with a closeted actor that is contorted into scandal. (When he was 9 years old, Mr. Dolan wrote a letter to Leonardo DiCaprio, requesting a meeting. He got the address wrong, and it is now framed in Mr. Dolan’s house.)

In the deeply moving film, shot in London, Montreal, New York and Prague, the boy, now a grown man, tells a hard-bitten journalist about how Donovan, torn between fame and personal fulfillment, had changed his life. The original cut of the movie, which stars Kathy Bates, Natalie Portman and Susan Sarandon, and has added cultural resonance in the #MeToo era, was more than four hours long. Eliminating Ms. Chastain, he says, was predicated solely on her character no longer fitting the story line.

“People are saying: How can you cut someone so famous?” he said. “To me, that’s an insult to her talent.”

Born in Montreal, Mr. Dolan was raised by his single mother, Geneviève, a college administrator with Irish roots. He began appearing in commercials for a drugstore chain at the age of 4, and by the time he was 6 he was a child star, appearing in movies, television shows and commercials.

Mr. Dolan’s films, a cri de coeur for tolerance, are invariably populated by outcasts and underdogs, a reflection, he says, of his own feelings of not belonging. When he was 8, he recalled, a bully on a bike plowed over him in the schoolyard. “At that moment, I decided that my world was in the movies and in the shows,” he said. “Anywhere but real life.”

Continue reading the main story

He remembered a kindly headmaster letting him escape bullies by allowing him to watch his beloved American sitcoms in an empty dormitory. Later, he added, the headmaster, who was accused of pedophilia, killed himself.

After Mr. Dolan was catapulted to cinematic fame with “I Killed My Mother,” he made a raft of French-language films, including “Laurence Anyways,” an ill-fated love story featuring a transgender schoolteacher. In his most critically acclaimed movie, “Mommy,” which shared the Jury Prize at Cannes in 2014, a mother played by his muse, the Quebecer actress Anne Dorval, tries to tame her violent son.

Unifying nearly all of his films are strong-willed but vulnerable female characters who provide succor to emotionally wounded sons. “I was brought up by women. I never had a father figure,” Mr. Dolan said. “Of course, there is a part of my mother in these strong women, and of course, there is a part of me.”

While his films can divide critics, they seldom leave the viewer indifferent. His last film, “It’s Only the End of the World,” about a gay man who comes home to his family in rural France to tell them that he is dying, was booed at Cannes in 2016, but won the Grand Prix. More than a year later, Mr. Dolan is still smarting from the eviscerating criticism (the film, with A-list French actors such as Marion Cotillard, is hard to watch, and it deals an emotional body blow, with characters who brutally turn on one another).

“I still feel scared to disappoint people and to be criticized or mocked,” he reflects. “I wasn’t like that before.”

Mr. Dolan admits that his romantic life has been largely devoid of longer-term relationships because he tends to be attracted to unattainable heterosexual men. His latest crush is Canada’s prime minister, Justin Trudeau. In the same way, he said, he really made friends only in his late 20s, after an adolescence consumed by work.

“The love stories that I have found that are reciprocal are in movies,” he said, with more than a hint of wistfulness.

His next film, “Matt and Max,” recounts the story of two heterosexual male 20-somethings who share a kiss, and the impact it has on their lives. After a slew of thoughtful films with gay themes, such as “Call Me by Your Name” and “God’s Own Country,” Mr. Dolan said he wanted to reflect on unrequited love — his unrequited love.

As I am leaving, he suddenly stops me and looks me in the eye. “I don’t want you to think my parents were monsters,” he said. “My childhood really wasn’t that bad.”

#interview #unseen

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ericvick · 3 years

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13 hopefuls in at-massive discipline make their pitches to Democratic groups

A huge slate of candidates competing for the 4 Boston City Council at-massive seats experienced the flooring in the course of a digital meeting past Wednesday night time hosted by the Ward 4 and 5 Democratic Committees and moderated by Boston World reporter Meghan Irons.

Right after the Sept. 14 primary election, 8 of the 17 hopefuls, 13 of whom participated in the forum, will continue campaigning for the seats on the 13-member physique becoming still left vacant by Michelle Wu and Annissa Essaibi George, who are running for mayor. The typical election is set for Nov. 2.

Extra than 200 viewers on the Fb livestream tuned in to listen to from two incumbent at-huge Councillors searching for re-election, Michael Flaherty and Julia Mejia, who won her seat in 2019 by a single vote, and newcomers Claimed Abdikarim of the South Stop Kelly Bates of Hyde Park James “Reggie” Colimon of Roslindale, Domingos DaRosa of Hyde Park Alex Grey of Jamaica Simple David Halbert of Dorchester Ruthzee Louijeune of Hyde Park Carla Monteiro of Dorchester Bridget Nee-Walsh of South Boston Jon Spillane of Beacon Hill and Nick Vance of Hyde Park.

Erin Murphy of Dorchester, a Boston schoolteacher, was attending yet another event and unable to make the program.

Requested why she’s operating, Bates, a nonprofit government, called herself a “bridge builder” of Black and Irish descent who thinks in fairness when it comes to the financial fix of the metropolis.

South Boston’s Flaherty told viewers he should be re-elected due to the fact of his very long report of community provider, incorporating that he’s “excited about aiding introduce colleagues to City Hall” and contacting himself a “mentor” and “problem solver.”

Grey, 36, hopes to develop into Boston’s 1st blind elected official. A previous adviser to Gov. Deval Patrick, Grey explained that the town “needs listeners in positions of leadership” and hopes “to be a voice on the council for individuals with disabilities.”

Louijeune, a 34-year-previous attorney, is hoping to become the initial Haitian-American girl elected to the council. She reported she thinks in the “power of community arranging and conference persons wherever they are.”

Montiero, a Boston native and social employee of Cape Verdean descent, claimed she skilled housing and food stuff insecurities as a younger single mother. If elected, she said, she will focus on “filling gaps in metropolis services” and “connecting people today to crucial methods.”

Nee-Walsh named herself a “different prospect,” citing 15 several years of knowledge as a union ironworker who “worked tirelessly to recruit more female ironworkers. She extra that she’s notably concerned with senior concerns and small company assistance.

Vance, a Hyde Park resident who grew up in Dorchester and Mattapan,, served as the former political action co-chair for the Boston NAACP. He pointed to his expertise doing the job on youth workforce development on the Mayor’s Youth Council as the Youth Arts and Lifestyle Director. He said he would focus on mental wellbeing recovery from the pandemic.

Abdikarim, who immigrated to Boston with his family as an African refugee, set his concentration on “bridging disparities.”

Colimon, a Haitian American who served as a Metropolis Council liaison for previous Mayor Martin Walsh, claimed he would like to breakg down language limitations and systemic inequities.

DaRosa, who unsuccessfully ran for an at-substantial seat in 2017 and 2019, claimed the town is dealing with the “same disparity issues” as when he created his very first bid. He has worked as a Boston Facilities for Youth & Family members (BCYF) worker for 23 decades.

Halbert, a previous legislative aide to former Gov. Patrick who ran for an at-huge seat in 2019, presently sits on the boards of the Bigger Mattapan Community Council, East Boston Key Streets, and the East Boston Task Advisory Committee (PierPAC).

Immediately after expending 15 decades in public support, he claimed, he is aware how to craft general public plan and deal with the problems experiencing Boston.

Mejia, an Afro-Latina from Dorchester who was so narrowly elected in 2019, explained she has “unfinished business” on the council, exactly where she’s “working to make a seat at the desk for everyone” and “holding town government accountable.”

Spillane, a former staff of the city’s Department of Community Development and a current graduate of Suffolk College Law Faculty, labored most not long ago as a staffer for District 8 Councillor Kenzie Bok, who represents Back again Bay, Mission Hill and Fenway, amongst other neighborhoods.

Two teams of candidates answered quite a few questions on an array of distinct topics and confronted “yes” or “no” queries in lightning-rounds. When questioned if they would help abolishing the Boston Organizing and Development Agency (BPDA) and producing a new organizing office, a proposal put forth by Wu in 2019, the area was break up. Voting “no” ended up Nee-Walsh, Flaherty, Grey, Vance, Colimon, Spillane, and Abdikarim. Voting “yes” were Halbert, Mejia, DaRosa, Bates, Louijeune, and Montiero.

Questioned no matter if or not they’d support eliminating law enforcement officers from the Boston universities, a incredibly hot-button difficulty amid police reform endeavours, 10 replied “yes,” except for Spillane, Flaherty, and Nee-Walsh, who answered “no.”

All of the candidates stated they would help raising the city’s Inclusionary Development Plan (IDP), which involves that market place-fee housing developments with 10 or far more models set apart a part (currently 13 %) of those units for income-restricted housing or spend into a city fund to subsidy housing projects.

According to Boston Elections Department information, previous at-huge Councillor Althea Garrison, of Dorchester Donnie Palmer Jr., of Dorchester and Roy Owens Sr. of Roxbury have also been qualified as official at-massive candidates. They did not show up at the forum.

Garrison, 80, was elevated to an at-large council seat briefly in 2019 after Ayanna Pressley was elected to Congress, as she positioned fifth in the 2017 election. She unsuccessful to retain her seat in the November 2019 election, finishing seventh in an eight-man or woman run-off.

Palmer is a skilled heavyweight boxer who survived a shooting in 2015. Owens has labored as a BPS teacher and social worker for the Office of Public Welfare.

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#atmassive #Democratic #Discipline #groups #hopefuls #pitches

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bantarleton · 6 years

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Ann Bates, Loyalist Spy

The name Ann Bates was little-known even among historians prior to AMC’s hit American Revolutionary War TV series, Turn. Even afterwards, it’s hardly what could be called a household name, and pales in comparison to Revolutionary War heroes from either side. Among the pantheon of females involved in the eight year struggle, however, it deserves at least a little more recognition, for Mrs Bates, a Philadelphia schoolteacher by day, was also probably the most effective American Loyalist spy of the Revolution.

To supplement her income as a school teacher, Ann also kept bees, raised sheep, and ran a small store. She was married to Joseph Bates, who was a soldier and artillery repairman for the British Army. Joseph Bates enlisted under General Clinton of the British army during British evacuation from Philadelphia in 1778. The army then marched to New York City, where Bates received her spy training. Although loyalists were often punished through persecution, beatings, tarring, destruction of property or even execution, Bates never suffered any of these casualties. This was likely due to her low profile, and the respect she maintained amongst her neighbors regardless of the volatile political climate in Philadelphia at the time.

Because women were generally understood to be uneducated about wartime strategy and armaments during the Revolution, she was able to go un-noticed in Whig camps. While in hiding, she disguised herself as a peddler and freely traveled amongst the Patriot soldiers. She is most well known for her spy expeditions at George Washington's camp in White Plains, New York.

Ann Bates was first discovered by a civilian-spy, John Craig, or "Craiggie". The two met sometime during British occupation in Philadelphia. Craig was an active member in Clinton's espionage network, and assigned Bates with small secret tasks while they were still in Philadelphia. Craig quickly noticed her intelligence, and referred her to meet with his general, Major Duncan Drummond, in New York City. She would then go on to flee Philadelphia on June 18, 1778, when British commander General Clinton evacuated his forces from the capital. This was in response to news of an alliance between France and the United States. As the political climate was changing, Bates was one of many loyalists who left Philadelphia with the British Army. She swiftly left the capital after convincing the General at the time, Benedict Arnold, that she was leaving to sell her goods in New York City. After her husband joined Clinton's army on June 18, 1778, Bates followed the British to their headquarters in New York City. After she arrived at headquarters to meet with Craig, she was surprised to meet with one of Clinton's main spy handlers, Duncan Drummond, instead. The two persuaded Bates to join the British spy network. He was recorded describing their meeting; "A woman whom Craig has trusted often came to town last night. She is well acquainted with many of the R.A. (Royal Army)... It is proposed to send her out under the idea of selling little matters".

On June 29, 1778, Bates left New York City for her first mission after only one day of training. She subsequently traveled to Washington's camp in White Plains, New York under the name "Mrs. Barnes". Because she was familiar with the artillery used during the Revolution, she was able to relay valuable information about the Americans' materials and strategy. Initially, Bates' mission was to find a disloyal soldier in Washington's camp who could give the British intelligence some potential intel, but she was unsuccessful in that mission. She then changed her mission while at the camp, and listened in on many conversations and counted artillery pieces on the camp. At George Washington's camp in White Plains, American troops were planning the Rhode Island Campaign. She recorded valuable intelligence on American movement into Rhode Island.

On her way back to New York City after her first mission, she was stopped at an American patrol stop four miles from White Plains for unknown reasons, and arrested at the check-point due to suspicion. Bates remained in confinement overnight, but was released the next morning. Once she finally returned to New York City, she relayed the vast information that she was able to gather to Major Drummond. She reported that Patriot weapons were far more scarce than the British had originally believed them to be. General Drummond was impressed with her work, her memory, and her capabilities. Although Bates had just undergone a stressful mission, she was eager to return to White Plains again. She totaled three trips to the camp, and relayed information necessary for the British troops to combat American military efforts in the Battle of Rhode Island. In her third mission, she noted that 600 boats were being prepared to attack Long Island. Bates was able to give specific and important intelligence about the amount of troops that were heading to attack British forces stationed in Long Island.

In September 1778, when she was on another mission infiltrating Washington’s army, a deserter from the British Twenty-Seventh Regiment recognized her, but she was able to elude capture. She then went on to travel through a series of safe houses that were designed for women spies at the time. She later wrote, "I had the Opportunity of going through their whole Army Remarking at the same time the strength & Situation of each Brigade, & the Number of Cannon with their Situation and Weight of Ball each Cannon was Charged with".

During her final mission in White Plains, Ann Bates came across a former British soldier, a defector, who she suspected would report her after seeing her. She had recognized him from an earlier mission, and immediately left the American camp. She fled directly back to New York, and while doing so, cut straight through New Jersey. While traveling throughout that state, Bates stayed in Tory safe houses throughout the state. She wrote of the safe houses, "where I might be accommodated through the Jerseys."The expansive network of Loyalist safe houses throughout mid Atlantic proved to be effective. Many British prisoners were able to escape American camps from Virginia, up the east coast due to the effectiveness of the safe houses.

Bates wanted to get back to British lines as quickly as possible, for fear that her cover would be blown. On Saturday, September 26, 1778, on her way back to New York City, she was discovered at an American headquarters. The American unit had over 5,000 troops, and was under the command of General Charles Scott. General Scott was Washington's Chief of Intelligence, and was on the lookout for British counter-intelligence. Bates was detained and taken to Scott who questioned her. Bates told Scott that she "was a Soldier's wife in the Centre Division & had forgot something about five or six Miles below the Plains." Bates eventually was let go, but she was rattled by the occurrences, and suspicion that she was beginning to garner. After she returned to New York City and delivered information to Major Drummond, Drummond took her to Long Island with him for fear of her running into American forces again. A few days later they returned to Manhattan and Drummond asked her to meet with a friend of Benedict Arnold's within a 47-mile radius of Philadelphia. This displays Benedict Arnold's early involvement with the Tory intelligence network.

Between October 1778 and August 1779, Bates did not have any participation in Clinton's spy espionage network. This was due to Clinton sending Drummond back to England due to a disagreement between the two. Major John André went on to take Drummond's place. André was most well known for his collaboration with well-known American traitor, Benedict Arnold. In April 1780, her husband, Joseph Bates, was sent to Charleston, South Carolina to siege the city. Bates traveled with him there, but refrained from taking part in any further spy networking while in Charleston. An old friend, British Colonel Nisbet Balfour called for Bates' assistance in operating a spy ring out of Charleston. While there were plans for her to aid in General Cornwallis' mission to siege Charleston, both missions were aborted.

On March 6, 1781, Ann Bates and her husband sailed for England.

She is remembered as a well-connected, intelligent, and integral spy for the Loyalist army during the American Revolution. Her busy career and the family's economic distress put a strain on her marriage, and Joseph left her soon after they arrived in England. Regardless, Bates took pride in her role after the war was over, and wrote a petition for a pension in 1785. The petition stated, "my timely information as the blessed means of saving the Rhode Island garrison with all the troops and stores who must otherwise have fallen a prey to their enemies". She contacted Major Duncan Drummond to assist her in securing a pension from the British government for her services during the American Revolution.

Major Drummond's personal papers, official government documents, and her memory secured her a pension. Bates' date of death was not recorded, but it is suspected that she died in England.

#history #turn #spy #american revolution #revwar #american war of independence #military history #ann bates

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culturalgutter · 6 years

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We really should have had a mystery series featuring a sensible lesbian couple by now. Something like two Miss Marples sharing a sensible home and sensibly solving extremely–some might even say overly–complicated murders together. One wakes the other up when she turns on the nightstand lamp to do a crossword puzzle, her favorite occupation when she is trying to crack a case. It helps her think. There should have been something based on a series of books written in the 1920s and 1930s, just after the War–either one. It should have been written by female author with three names and set in a quaint village outside London, the kind of village with many corpses in the shrubbery. Or maybe set in the city, with someone like Miss Fisher, but including the women she has had affairs with. Her dressing table or mantle featuring suggestive photos of the detective on holiday in Malta or visiting Paris with Josephine Baker, Marlene Dietrich, Anna May Wong, Djuna Barnes and even, possibly, Garbo herself. Our detective’s tux would be divinely tailored.

Yes, we could have them now, a retro 1930s correcting the oversights of the past. But we should have already had these drawing room mysteries long ago. They should have played on Masterpiece Theater, A&E and the various BBCs. They should be so prevalent that there are Sesame Street parodies teaching children how to count or the letter “L” or the word “sensible.” Old mystery and film fans should patronizingly explain to us that Zasu Pitts or Theresa Harris, Margaret Rutherford or Maude Eburne, in fact, performed in the first film versions of these films back in the day. “The earliest performance of this character dates back to Sarah Bernhard,” a random pedant would interject*.

The realized this terrible loss in the very same moment I saw it almost presented to me in Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate (1971) and its spin-off series, The Snoop Sisters. The Snoop Sisters ran as part of NBC’s Mystery Movie from 1972 to 1974. Though it stars two sisters, aunts to a police officer, I think it will get hard to read them as anything but a married couple in the future. I discovered The Snoop Sisters while watching old, made-for-tv mysteries and thrillers with the Gutter’s own Beth Watkins. We watched one where Barbara Stanwyck’s house is probably possessed and another where someone is trying to drive her mad. One where a theater troop re-enacts a murder to get a confession. One where Shelley Winters’ passion for Debbie Reynolds gets the best of her, demonstrating that there is something very much the matter with Helen. Another called, A Very Missing Person (1972) in which Eve Arden plays Hildegard Withers, a character who was variously played by ZaSu Pitts, Edna May Oliver and Helen Broderick in a series of 1930s films based on the novels of Stuart Palmer**. Ms. Withers is an ex-schoolteacher with an intriguing taste in hats and another good candidate for sensible lesbian detective. And we watched Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate. Helen Hayes, Mildred Natwick, Myrna Loy and Sylvia Sydney. They are retired women who occupy their time with luncheons, amazing outfits and creating the profile of a much younger woman for a computer dating service. Unfortunately for them, their profile attract a serial killer. Unfortunately for him, these ladies have moxie. Watching the movie, I realized that I would love to see these women solve a mystery every week. Apparently someone at NBC felt the same, because while the movie was not picked up as a series, it is somewhat reprised The Snoop Sisters, with Mildred Natwick taking on Myrna Loy’s role as Helen Hayes’ sister. It is the snazziest Mildred Natwick has ever been in a film, as she plays the fashionable Gwendolyn Snoop-Nicholson, “G.” for short. It is one of the only times I can think of that Mildred Natwick has outdressed nearly everyone else on the screen. Helen Hayes plays mystery novelist, Ernesta Snoop. And now both are instigators.

The Snoop Sisters has the things people like in 1970s made-for-tv mysteries—women in their 60s and 70s, magicians, Roddy McDowell, switcheroos and twists. The Snoops solve mysteries, scoop the police—led by their own nephew Lt. Steven Ostrowski—and charmingly prove what everyone thinks is happening is not what’s happening at all. Except, that yes, Alice Cooper is happening, and so is a fist fight between Vincent Price and Roddy McDowell. Also, classic film star Joan Blondell is a medium, Bernie Casey wears pants no one should be able to successfully look handsome in and Steve Allen hosts Ernesta Snoop on his television program. There are so many outfits—fantastically printed caftans and ties; wide lapels; loudly patterned suits; sweaters with ring pulls. And there is a lot of decor—including Gloria Hendry’s amazing octagonal waterbed.

Sadly, there were only five episodes produced, but fortunately they have been collected in a dvd set.In “The Female Instinct,” the Snoops solve the murder of an old Hollywood icon Norma Treet (Paulette Goddard) while Barney tries and fails to keep them out of trouble. There is a sweet screening of one of Goddard’s films, The Ghost Breakers (1940), presented as one of Treet’s. Their nephew***, police Lt. Steven Ostrowski (Lawrence Pressman) as their nephew, Lt. Ostrowski sets Barney, a retired cop played by Art Carney, to keep the ladies out of trouble. But no one, not even Art Carney—an Art Carney who does a stunt—can stop the Snoops from doing what they want to do. And they want to write mysteries, solve mysteries, meet amazing people, and disguise themselves as anything from “stuffed animal fluffers” to exterminators and a bowling team.

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And they wear amazing outfits. G.’s wardrobe is very much from the 1970s, including a beautiful coat I covet. Ernesta’s much more turn of the Twentieth Century. I will also note that Ernesta is butch, but hers is a butchness leaning towards Gertrude Stein but with a fondness for ridiculously feathered hats. It’s from a when wearing a certain cut of jacket was more meaningful in gender coding than wearing a skirt. In this case, most of Ernesta’s skirt suits are “mannish” in the parlance of the thirties and forties. And I am pretty sure she is straight up wearing men’s or boy’s gray striped flannel pajamas.

My favorite part is the peek into Ernesta’s creative process as she works on a book while G. takes dictation.

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We also get another glimpse of their home life as Ernesta works on her embroidery in bed and Mildred asks to borrow her liniment, after a close call with a potential assassin required that they both run.

By the second episode, “Corpse and Robbers,” there have been some changes. Now Bert Convy plays Steven. And rather than a retired cop, Barney is now a paroled convict doing the lieutenant a favor by watching his aunts. Played by Lou Antonio, Barney is also twenty or thirty years younger than the Snoops and too hobbled by his respect for their ladyness to come close to contending with them. In the episode, Ernesta tries to discover what happened to her dear old friend, and toy-making genius, Franklin Birdwell (Liam Dunn). Ernesta also hopes to prove that she is not imagining that he has called her. The Snoops disguise themselves as “stuffed animal fluffers” to infiltrate a toy factory that specializes in toy dogs that bark and wag their tails, Winnie the Pooh stuffies, and giant devil masks. I assume the factor is one of the Joker’s old hideouts and, in its off hours, the site of many a giallo murder.**** Ernesta and G. also go jogging in knit outfits.

Their activewear.

In “Death Is A Free Throw,” we discover many interesting things, such as that G. is a basketball fan and that their Lincoln limosine’s license plate just happens to be 473 FEM. Oh, and as Ernesta and G. defend a man who has come flying out of the green room for the Steve Allen show, “We warn you, Mr. Bates, we know kung fu.”

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Fortunately, fisticuffs prove unnecessary and the Snoops quickly befriend basketball great, Willie Bates (Bernie Casey). Willie wears some amazing outfits that only Bernie Casey could make it seem like a good idea for anyone else to wear. I mean, some other people could look handsome in them, but, seriously, don’t think you could because he could. Meanwhile, everyone has stomach trouble and G. becomes a suspect.

“The Devil Made Me Do It!” might contain the most wonders per hour. The Snoops find themselves the target of a Satanic coven that would very much like its ancient relic back, thank you. Classic film bombshell Joan Blondell appears as a medium, Madame Mimi. And Alice Cooper not only appears as a witch, but sings a song to a very interesting audience at the Frou Frou Club.

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But my favorite character is the Honorable Morlock (Cyril Ritchard), the proprietor of an occult shop who specializes in providing New York’s covens with human skulls, in any size and painted in any color you might like. He assures us that Henry Ford had the right idea in only offering one model of car in one color. He blames the government for the rapacious frog bone suppliers. He wears a wig, red eye shadow and stunning ritual magick robes. (The Honorable Morlock definitely spells magic with a K and probably deplores the confusion of stage magic with the Art). And he speaks in rhyming couplets whenever he can. When Barney asks how the Honorable Morlock knows he has a bad back, he declaims: “Lucifer, give me strength! Do you think you’re dealing with kids? Because I’m a pro—that’s how I know!”

He’s a pro!

And if The Snoop Sisters had to go out, at least it went out with an episode featuring both Roddy McDowell and Vincent Price. The episode begins gloriously with Ernesta and G. cosplaying that most romantic of classic horror couples, Frankenstein and the Bride****. Ernest is the creature, of course. And Mildred Natwick makes a remarkably elegant Bride. They are dressed up to attend the Michael Bastion Film Festival, a revival of classic horror films. We see among the attendees people dressed as vampires, a werewolf, the Metaluna Mutant and a mummy. That’s right, G. is a horror fan. She’s seen all of Bastion’s films and is excited to meet Bastion himself. Bastion and his wife arrive in an old hearse. His wife leaves from the passenger side. Muscle men in silver masks pull a coffin out of the hearse, lean it up and open it to reveal Bastion to his adoring fans*****. There is a fun movie-within-a-tv-movie starring Bastion, and, of course, a murder during the screening. Bastion is the accused and the Snoops investigate. Like Price himself, Bastion is a noted gourmet cook and G. distracts Bastion by taking him up on an offer of a gourmet luncheon. There is a very fine drunken-crepe making scene. And Ernesta wears an indescribable golfing outfit. I do not think I am spoiling anything but informing you that there is also a fistfight between Roddy McDowell and Vincent Price. This is obviously an enticement.

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While I willingly admit that the Snoop sisters are, in fact, sisters, no matter how queer coded the relationship and the show seems, The Snoop Sisters does satisfy some of my desire for weird old tv mysteries starring a lesbian couple. Sure we could do something retro now and that would be fun, but it isn’t the same. And it’s a reminder of how much we could have had without prejudices limiting art.

*One must take the good with the bad if one is truly sensible.

**A Very Missing Person also stars Julie Newmar and Pat Morita. Morita plays a hippie, which is so, so worthwhile.

***I will note the long tradition of couples who are coded gay having nieces and nephews. I also suppose that if Steven were Gwendolyn’s son, she would not be considered so free to gallivant around with Ernesta because she would be a Bad Mother somehow to the series perceived audience. Even if Steven’s all grown-up and a police lieutenant now.

***I have been thinking about gialli a lot while watching this made-for-tv mysteries with Beth.

****For my thoughts on calling the creature, “Frankenstein,” and on the poor Bride, please see “The Specter of Frankenstein.”

*****Bastion later arranges to meet someone in the men’s bathroom, but I am resisting the temptation to say anything about that.

Two other queer and queer-ish, made-for-tv movies: The Judge and Jake Wyler starring Bette Davis and Doub McLure; and, What’s The Matter With Helen? starring Debbie Reynolds and Shelley Winters.

~~~

If you need her, Carol Borden will be consulting with the Honorable Morlock.

Snooping Ladies Sensibly Solving Mysteries We really should have had a mystery series featuring a sensible lesbian couple by now. Something like two Miss Marples sharing a sensible home and sensibly solving extremely--some might even say…

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