ILLICIT

[hallyforester-deactivated202005]

Are we not doing the whole shitty name calling thing?

Yeah, sure, it’s stupid, but I’m human and like to get angry at the rest of the world when I make mistakes. Judging by your surly disposition, you’re not too different. 

[willgiamatti-blog]

“That was pretty shitty.”

 “I don’t get pissed and blame people when I fuck up,” he denied the accusation, yet lied through his teeth.

[kovjaku]

[mnndsmln]

It amazed Maanon how much this man’s actions all added up to how much he just didn’t care. Throwing clothes out of the window, tossing his jacket onto the counter of a place he had no ties to without asking, the sheer irrelevance of checking a mirror before he walked out of the house. After letting her brush meet the paint, Maanon began to cover her own side of the wall in what felt like years of silence, she couldn’t help but steal a glance – solely for the purpose of waiting for an explanation to hit her. It didn’t seem as if he didn’t have any money, the only thing he reeked of was arrogance. A ring on his finger would have explained it, perhaps he was yet another man angry at the world because he had been whipped for far too long and his partner rid of the only friends he could vent to. Maybe his vocabulary was more limited than hers – the man didn’t say more than two words to her in his responses, and that was if he didn’t choose to grumble and look away. Yet, as her eyes searched for an answer, the young woman came up empty. It wasn’t as if they would see each other again, so she could have asked for any bit of information. ‘What do you do for a living?’ or ‘Are you from around here?’, but if she did know anything about this man, it was that a yes or no question would get a yes or no answer. So she painted, and continued to paint, soft whispering leaving her lips. “Sous le ciel de Paris, coule un fleuve joyeux il endort dans la nuit. Les clochards et les gueux sous le ciel de Paris…” and on went her quiet rendition of the song until a thought crossed her mind. “Maanon,” she cleared her throat before continuing, “that is my name. I only mention it because I’d like to know yours –ah, but do not worry! I am not um, how do you say, trying to holla at you for a minute?” Her brows knitted together as she tried to recall which young man introduced her to such a phrase outside of Ricardo’s on her first venture into the ever-exciting neighborhood of Manhattan’s Spanish Harlem. In the end, it really didn’t matter so she carried on with her reasoning. “I want to know yours because when I recall this story of my victory, I need a name to tell.” Then there was a slight shrug of her shoulders, “Or a fake one if you so choose.”

[willgiamatti-blog]

Will only sunk deeper into the feeling a toddler has when he must pick up his toys after having so much fun because he’d made a mess. Or a grumpy teen that must stay and do chores while his friends go out to all the latest parties. He was bitter, or maybe just in need of a time-out  about this whole ordeal, but he continued to paint. And he was surprised with the silence, even if the brunette began to sing under her breath across the room. It wasn’t as bad as prying. As long as she didn’t ask for his whole life story that night, they’d be fine. He wasn’t up for deep chit-chats or anything that could get under his skin. People always seemed to enjoy that-- especially at night time. He wondered what the words meant, his thoughts drifting to the singular year of French in high school, and then his mind just relayed events that happened in high school in general. Fun times. Dark times. Well, actually, not much darker than the recent times. His thoughts were interrupted with her voice at full, audible volume, and he momentarily paused his panting to give the woman side-eye. Maanon. He’d never heard a name like it, but then again, he’d not met many people who were like the stranger that put up a good game in beer pong at a formal event in North Carolina. He wondered how she could just tell him her name so easily. Or bring him into this place so easily. Or into her car. Or even be around him. He was a stranger, and he could be dangerous. But maybe that’s who she was, and he wouldn’t even get it.  As she said the words, he made a tsuh sound with his tongue, sounding something like laughter. “No one says that,” he told her, turning back to his painting. Or a fake one if you so choose. Would he give her a fake name? Was it that significant? If she told the story,  people would know his name and that he lost. But that’d be a one in a million chance anyone would chide him. The people at the party who saw would, but whatever. He expected that. And while he hated defeat, did it matter enough for that effort of lying? The answer was: no. He gave a silent huff of a chuckle at the wall.  “It’s Will,” he responded as his eyebrows came together, and his focus was on the spread of the paint, the angle on the brush, and the precise strokes.

[willgiamatti-blog]

text | logan + will

logan: i frgot my kesy at home

logan: i thnnkk i took a cab heree

logan: i dnt think so ????

will: What's a kesy

will: take a cab home??

[hallyforester-deactivated202005]

Sure, Andre the Giant, I’m not stubborn enough to deny it was my bad, still doesn’t mean I can’t pin part of the blame on the car though. 

[willgiamatti-blog]

“Andre the Giant? Huh. You can, but it’s stupid.”

[willgiamatti-blog]

text | logan + will

logan: fein ill drve

logan: i thnk i cna make it

will: Ok

will: fuck wait

will: do i go to prison if you die and i don't stop you????

[willgiamatti-blog]

text | logan +

logan: so i liek ve ry dru nk

logan: cou ld u com get me

logan: ever thign is blrury

will: fr?

will: fuck off

[hallyforester-deactivated202005]

Blondie, really?

I wouldn’t have fucked up if the car would have done it’s damn job, definitely blaming them. 

[willgiamatti-blog]

“You admit you fucked up? It’s your job to turn your lights off. Responsibility, blondie.”

[willgiamatti-blog]

hey!!! if we haven’t plotted yet, i’d still love to plot with all of you, and if we have plotted before, i’d really like to talk about interacting more!! so like this if u wanna plot or interact more

[willgiamatti-blog]

these bitter days remain  ✘

i. i’m not human at all - see party people

“it’s not my fault, it’s your own fault. i’m not human at all, i have no heart.”

ii. eyes on fire - blue foundation

“i’ll seek you out, flay you out alive. one more word and you won’t survive. and i’m not scared of your stolen power. see right through you any hour. i won’t soothe your pain. i won’t ease your strain. you’ll be waiting in vain.”

iii. hurt - johnny cash

“i hurt myself today. to see if i still feel. i focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real. the needle tears a hole. the old familiar sting.”

iv. chum - earl sweatshirt

“through the city with criminals, stealth, welcome to enemy turf. (...) it’s been twelve years since my father left me, left me fatherless.”

v. if i had a heart - fever ray

“this will never end, ‘cause i want more. more, give me more, give me more.” 

vi. don’t sit down ‘cause i’ve moved your chair - arctic monkeys

“break a mirror. roll the dice. run with scissors. through a chip pan fire fight. go into business with a grizzly bear. but just don’t sit down ‘cause i’ve moved your chair.”

vii. yonkers - tyler, the creator

“while syd is telling me that she’s been getting intimate with men. (syd, shut the fuck up.) here’s the number to my therapist. (shit.) tell him all your problems, he’s fucking awesome with listening.”

viii. wicked games - the weekend

“i left my girl back home. i don’t love her no more. but she’ll never fucking know that, these fucking eyes that i’m staring at.” 

[likeanewday]

[noelbadgespugh]

[hallyforester-deactivated202005]

What kind of car manufacturer doesn’t put some sort of alert system in when you leave your lights on? Shouldn’t I get screamed at in beeps to remind me that I should turn them off– instead I figure it out four hours later when my battery’s completely drained. 

[willgiamatti-blog]

“Don’t blame them when you fucked up, blondie.” 

[thebrcmos]

“Mind zipping this up for me?”

[willgiamatti-blog]

Will tossed her hair, dragging the zipper upward. “You’re good.”

[kenna-rykerarchive]

there was no question that there would be a rebellion on kenna’s behalf. with her arms pinned to her sides, she was already limited to very few opportunities to break his grip. and that was without consideration of the fact that her capture was significantly taller than she was and, with respect to the firm plate of muscle to which was her cage, somewhat more powerful. she could feel the weight of her lift the ground, as if she weighed little more than a rag doll, as the man retreated further into the blanket of darkness and kenna’s fight to escape became more desperate. but kenna was not deaf, and at the sound of the oncoming static, grunts and footfalls she went stiff and, if one dared say, shrank back a little further into his arms, despite it being her temporary prison. there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity and she knew when not to cross it. big burly men, darted past the mouth of the alleyway each swing of their arms spoke of power and pent up aggression and a vicious sort of violence that no police officer should ever inherit. they weren’t cops. but then she knew that already. and suddenly being in the stranger’s arm wasn’t the worse place she could be after all.

[willgiamatti-blog]

as they came close, will became more taut and aware, ready to flee or fight at any given moment as he eyed the opening of the alley. he was glad she was smart in being cautious, and he retreated even further into the dark, his hold still on her. because while she made the right decision, that didn’t mean she was to be trusted. or anyone, for that matter. ever. but as the men passed, he caught a look at them, studying them for the brief moments he saw them. they were something special, a type of person  he recognized because he’d seen them often before. but he didn’t care who they were. it was none of his business-- he just wanted his money. he loosened his grip on her, not quite letting her go yet. his body wasn’t so tough as he knew they were good then. “pay up,” he told her, expectant, a slight lift in his chin as he did. 

[mnndsmln]

Men. Wasn’t that the moral of the story whenever a woman asked something of a man? The theatrics tied to every action this one went through. The huffing, the puffing, it was as if everything pushed his buttons even if it were just ever so slightly. And the tie out being tossed out of the window! Come on. On one hand, Maanon would not have thought anything about him tossing it in the back of her car or simply putting it on the floor beneath him, but on the other hand…that thing was God ugly. So, she merely huffed as well, pressing her lips together and keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her to keep from showing the amusement she felt with herself. Two could play the game of feigning incomparable misery. His unresponsive nature didn’t bother her much as it was a short car ride that consisted of only a handful of turns before she could park her car in front of the shop. Only a small, “We are here,” left her lips as she pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened her door. There it was, tucked away under the unlit Gelato’s the Motto sign. Seeing her friend’s hard work never failed to bring a smile to her face; today, despite her company’s assumed inability to feel such emotions, was no different. The key chain she didn’t tuck away after she got out of the car came into use as she opened the door to the shop. One pair of Maanon’s fingertips held onto the edge of the frame for the man while the other stretched out to turn the lights on, revealing taped and partially painted walls with cans lined up against them, unopened boxes piled on top of one another in the middle and on the shelves ready to display goods from lighted and pushed in sections of the walls, and one of Carrie’s pouch of hair ties on the counter – classic. Letting the door soon close, the girl’s feet led her over to the collection of paint because she assumed whoever this man was wouldn’t take it upon himself to begin. Maanon reached down to pick up one of the brushes before pointing to the empty paint tray and can next to it. “It is primed, but only use the pastel pink for the wall.” Before handing him the roller, or attempting to until she stopped mid-way. Part of her didn’t trust him to do this task. Simple, simple task. Anyone could paint a wall and they could do it well with quick training but he was difficult. All night he had been difficult. And yet, this was her only option. “And do not fuck this up too, eh?” Although the meaning behind her message was serious, her tone was light and her grin was smug as she tilted the brush toward him in an offer and added with a simple clearing of her throat, “In reference to your suit. I mean, you did not pass one mirror before leaving your home?” After picking idly at his collar for only a short moment in jest, she turned to grab her own equipment and take it to the next wall.

[willgiamatti-blog]

Will gave a nod, removing his coat jacket as he stood from the car, shutting the passenger door behind him. When he read the store’s sign, he wanted to snort at the originality. He caught the brunette’s smile, something like a sheen of pride in her eyes, and he didn’t understand it. It didn’t look ready to open in here, and he didn’t know the owner or the effort put into the place, so he wasn’t very enabled to react as she did.  He’d never been proud of someone in that way, so he dismissed it. Tossing his jacket onto the counter, it landed next to the hair ties. Following behind, Will eyed the walls as he picked up a can of paint. Silently, though, he all the while damned himself for ever putting him in a situation as to where he was painting the walls of a store so late at night-- or early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it. And getting nothing in return. He picked up a paint tray with the same hand, and he acknowledged her words before reaching to take the roller he was offered with the other. He paused and dropped his fist as she hesitated. He scoffed then, his eyebrows slighting coming together at her implication as he did so. While Will was the type to purposely fuck this up for the Hell of it, he wasn’t going to. She was in for a treat. He knew, without referring to the ego he’d somehow built, that he could paint well. He could paint better than anyone she’d manage to find to do this task for her, even if the brunette would find that hard to believe. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her, an edge in his tone. He took the roller. At her question, her gave her narrowed eyes, looking over her smug smile as she fiddled with his collar. A single, disbelieving chuckle escaped the corner of his lips as it slightly twitched upward, and he shook his head slowly. Will didn’t care much about appearance, but he wasn’t surprised she did. He cared about getting the things he wanted, and he never thought he needed a special appearance to do that. But maybe it was different for others. “Nah, actually, ” he said, his eyebrows bound upward for a few seconds.  He gave her pleased expression one last look before he turned away, finding his own wall on the far side of the room and tapping his brush against his hand, removing any dust that’d managed to collect. God, he hated this. Doing this for someone he didn’t even know, and then the paint being a permanent reminder that he helped a stranger because he suspiciously lost a game of beer pong. The whole ordeal made him almost frown, call it quits, and ditch her. Like he did with most everything else. But he stayed put, pressing his brush into the pink paint and starting his strokes, effortless and precise. Art was a second nature, his concentration not so stiff as with all other things. On one hand, he’d probably never see her again. On the second hand, if he was going to paint a gelato shop, he might as well do it well. It’d be there for a while, and he wasn’t about to let every customer in there see a shit job, knowing he performed it. So he continued to paint-- his lines always clean, never reflecting the out-of-the-lines coloring he did in kindergarten just to spite his teacher.

[fkclou]

anonymously make an assumption about me and i'll confirm/deny it