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theanarik · 4 years ago

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WILLEX - BLIND DATES

Title: Blind dates

Summary: 5 times Alex went on a blind date, and 1 time he met the boy.

Rated: T and up audiences because of language

Also on ao3

This story is subject to changes from part 2 on because my betaboy hasn’t come back to me with the notes. But i was too eager.

Beta: Golden Retriever. Best boy ever 💖

Alex loves his parents. They’ve always been supportive of him and his dreams, as well as his career path (studying to become a music teacher did not sit very well with his dad, but he was still helping him pay college). Alex also loves his brothers something fierce. They’re all off doing their own thing, starting their own families or studying a new degree or something other; he’s not keeping up with them much, but they’re good. Alex loves his family a lot, he does, it’s just that sometimes it feels like they don’t love him back, at least not the same amount.

When he was little, he used to hide behind his mom’s legs when his brothers were teasing or bullying him, always laughing at him because he was a “momma’s boy” (although if he’s being honest now, Alex thinks that maybe they were jealous because their mom always favorited him); but growing up, and growing distant from them and their parents, made him realize a couple of things on his own. First, when he was 14, he realized that boys were starting to talk about girls in the "isn’t-she-pretty-?" type of way, and Alex could – objectively – see it, but he wasn’t really sure how to participate on that conversation.

Second, when a new boy, Luke, joined his class halfway sophomore year, he realized that boys could be pretty too, but he really didn’t feel sure about sharing that one with anyone. He befriended Luke when he discovered that he had a passion for guitars, and Alex told him that he played the drums. Alex has never seen Luke’s eyes shine the way they did in the six years of knowing him ever again.

Third, at 16 years old, Alex realized that he may have had a tiny crush on Luke since he met him, but he was obviously not going to do anything about it because he was straight and straight boys don’t have crushes on other boys. Right? (The fourth thing, he later realized is that he might be gay).

Perhaps discovering himself was a journey full of changes – and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t like change much –, but there was a moment that made him realize that the love his parents had for him was… conditional. One afternoon, after coming back from church, his parents were talking about Juliet, their neighbor, about how her son had recently come out as gay, and how devastated she must have felt. The boy was not living with them anymore, Alex had heard. How awful must have been for her, Alex had heard clearly. "Well, he’s not our son, he can do and be as gay as he wants as long as it’s not one of ours", Alex had heard and could not stop hearing.

He didn’t eat dinner that night.

Alex knew what coming out to his parents could do to their relationship. He knew that his mother would cry, that his father would yell or maybe kick him out of the house; he knew that once the words were out of his mouth, there was no going back.

One night, during dinner and while his brothers were visiting, Alex couldn’t take it anymore. They were talking non-stop, rambling and talking and talking about how they wanted grandchildren, about how they wanted them to each find a nice girl each and settle after school. Alex had felt his heart beating faster and faster as the words left their mouths, felt a drum on his hears when his brothers laughed, felt his hands trembling and sweating as he tried to grab his glass. Felt the world stop when it broke.

“I’m gay.”

Two little words, said in a soft, afraid tone, and the table was silent.

“No, you’re not,” his father had said, like it had been rehearsed many, many times before, and continued with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Nobody looked at him as he stood up to grab a swift and the dustpan, nobody checked up on him when he cut his hand picking up the little pieces of glass. Nobody said anything as he started to cry.

Alex loved his parents, but after coming out he realized his parents loved him as long as he was whatever they wanted him to be.

Alex has gone on dates with a lot of different people because he doesn’t really have a type. He even dated Luke (which was a weird, self-discovery time he doesn’t really want to repeat). Alex has gone on dates with boys who knew they were gay, with boys who were discovering themselves and with boys who didn’t want to label themselves just yet. He’s had boyfriends and partners here and there, but they never lasted more than the six months mark. Alex is starting to think he’ll never find anyone and that he’ll die alone. He’s only 21.

His mother calls him on his birthday as usual, wishes him happy birthday with a strained voice – the one she’s been using since he was 17 –, and then tells him excitedly that she met this beautiful girl down the pier, she was singing with her best friend and she played the piano; she tells him that she’d be perfect for him and, "oh, Alex, don’t you want to meet her?"

Alex sighs, it’s been 4 years since he came out and his mother still tries to deny it. He’s never gone on a date his family’s set up and he wonders if maybe, just maybe, if he goes on a blind date with a girl, like his mom wants him to, and then says that it didn’t work, she’ll calm down a little bit. Ruffling his hair and massaging his eyes, he lets out:

“Sure, mom, I want to meet her.”

There’s silence on the other line as Alex waits for her answer. There’s a squeal and a "oh, that’s great, son! and you’ll love her! Her name is Julie, and you should meet her at…"

And that’s how Alex finds himself at Eats and Beats at 11 a.m., a good two hours after his morning classes have ended, waiting for one Julie. He’s been checking his phone for the past ten minutes, hoping against hope that Julie doesn’t show up. He doesn’t really know how the girl looks, his mom only told him that she had beautiful milk-chocolate skin – Alex immediately reacting to that comment with a discreet grimace and yes, Alex did pull a face at that –, dark curly hair, and a "you’ll now when you see her." Well, Alex doesn’t know if he’s seen her.

11:05 a.m., and no Julie. Alex wonders how long he has to wait until he can say that she didn’t show up. 15 minutes per hour just like his classes? He’s counting how long a “straight date” is supposed to last when someone clears their throat beside him.

“Hi, are you Alexander Mercer?” a girl with "milk chocolate" brown skin and dark, curly hair says. She’s pretty and, for some reason, Alex feels somewhat at ease when she smiles at him. He’s sure he’s seen her somewhere. “I’m Julie Molina.”

“Hi, Julie!” Alex says, offering his hand for her to shake. She looks at him weirdly for a second, but she shakes it, nonetheless, sitting in front of him. “And, please, call me Alex. Alexander makes me feel like I’m being scolded by my mom.”

Julie chuckles and asks him how his day’s been going. They talk for almost 20 minutes about their classes (to Alex's surprise, Julie’s also a Music major!) and then they stay quiet for a few seconds, Julie’s happy look turning concerned by the second.

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something, Alex.”

“Okay…?

“I already like someone else.” She says, rushing then to say, “you seem like a great guy! And you’re very attractive, but you’re not really my type. I’m sorry.”

Alex stays quiet for a couple of seconds, staring at Julie, surprised. He blinks once, twice, and then he chuckles. “Oh, thank god.”

“What?” As the tables have turned, Julie now being the onethen it’s her turn to be confused.

“I’m sorry, Julie. I’m gay. I’m only here to appease my mother a little bit.”

“Oh.” She laughs happily and continues, “does your mother not know you’re gay?”

“Oh, she knows. It’s just taking her a bit of adjusting.” He tells her, and that seems to calm her initial scandalized expression. “So, who is this person you like?” She looks at him funnily and Alex chuckles. “I need to know who you’re leaving me for.”

“Do you know Luke Patterson?”

“Been there, done that.”

“He’s like, really good with the guitar and-. I’m sorry, what?” she says with a confused smile.

Alex feels his heart starting to beat faster by the second. Julie doesn’t look upset, but she doesn’t look happy either and Alex wonders if he fucked up.

“I mean!” he tries to explain. “It was a really long time ago, when we were teenagers? He’s my best friend, so of course I know him, you like him?” Alex says, his tone going increasingly higher as he tries to explain his relationship with Luke.

“Alex, calm down,” Julie says, trying not to smile. “Yeah, I like him… we have a couple of classes together, one with Mrs. Harrison?”

“Oh.” Then realization comes. “Oh. You’re that Julie!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“… Nothing.” Alex avoids looking at Julie altogether, focusing on looking at his hands, his coffee, the tabletop, the wall.

“Alexander…” she says, and Alex feels like he’s being scolded by his mom. He looks at her for a split second: her eyebrows are up, her eyes are disbelieving and her mouth is down. Alex groans, he can’t help it.

“Let’s just say that you have a chance with him, okay. That is all I’m gonna say!” He rushes when he notices her opening her mouth.

“Are you sure?” she asks him, softly, and Alex now understands that he doesn’t need to like girls to get why Luke likes Julie.

“Yeah. You’re good. You’ll probably have to ask him out yourself, though. He’s pretty stupid when it comes to something other than his guitar.”

Julie laughs, says that she’s noticed and offers a piece of Luke’s own brand of stupidity during classes. Alex laughs with her and shares some stories of Luke when they were in high school.

When Alex goes back home to grab his other best friend, Reggie, and drag him to have lunch with him, Alex receives a text from his mother asking him how the date went. Alex answers quickly telling her that Julie was very nice, but that she liked someone else, he adds a sad emoji just for fun. He turns off his phone the moment they pass the threshold.

Alex should have known that accepting to go on one blind date would end up in him being set up by his friends. Luke, Reggie and the new addition to their friend group, Julie and Flynn, decide to set him up with four different people to try and date. And no, he doesn’t get a say in this. Alex has tried to explain how he went on a date with Julie only to please his mother, and that that was it, but none of them really listen to him.

Friday afternoon finds him back in Eats and Beats, sitting on the same booth he was at when he met Julie. This time, Flynn’s the one who set him up with someone. He’s supposed to be one of her acquaintances’ cousin, he’s already graduated and is working as a vet somewhere nearby. Alex has never seen a vet clinic near Sunset Boulevard, but he’ll give the benefit of the doubt to the other man.

Alex’s been starring at the wall for a while when someone sits down in front of him. He turns to look at the man, recognizing him from the pictures Flynn sent him.

“Hi, I’m-.”

“Alex, I know,” the man interrupts him, and Alex raises his eyebrows.

“Okay. And you’re Bobby?”

“No. Trevor. Bobby’s my brother but he couldn’t come. Had more important things to do.”

“Okay?” Alex is starting to get a little upset with the man. He frowns, looks at the time and says: “Look, man, I was waiting to meet Bobby. So, if you can tell him to text me if he wants to meet, that’d be great. I’m gonna go.”

Trevor rolls his eyes at him and murmurs a low “whatever”. Alex wants to punch the guy. He walks up to the counter, orders another coffee to go and walks up to his apartment.

“Hey, Lexy,” Luke greets him from the kitchen. “What happened?”

“Dude didn’t even show up, sent his brother instead to say he had ‘more important things to do’. So, I left.”

“Ugh, dude, that sucks. Go shower and come back in 20 minutes, I’m making pizza.”

“You’re the best.”

“Can you say that to Julie, please?”

Alex laughs at him for a couple of seconds, trying to ignore the pout on Luke’s face. It’s not like he really wanted to go on a date anyway.

“Hey, bro” Luke says, smiling apologetically.

“Luke?” Alex says confused. “What are you doing here, man?”

“I’m your date!”

Alex has never experienced war flashbacks before, but the time he “dated” Luke comes back with full force. The awkward kisses, the sneaking around, the hand holding and, oh god, the hand jobs.

Luke sits down in front of him, still smiling, and Alex wants to run away from him.

“Dude, you’re my best friend and I love you, but never again.”

Luke laughs, then he seems to catch onto what Alex just said and kicks him under the table. “You’re a dick.”

“You know what they say, you are what you eat.”

“Alexander!”

“Lukas!”

Luke glares at him for a couple of seconds, mumbling “my name is Luke” before bursting out laughing, making everyone near their vicinity look at them.

“So, why’re you here? I thought you said you were asking someone from your Poetry class?”

“Yeah… so there was a bit of miscommunication with that one.”

“… he thought you were asking him out.”

“He thought I was asking him out.” Luke says with a nod, “and I didn’t want you to keep waiting here alone so I came! Wanna watch a movie?”

“You’re not going to kiss me like last time, right?”

“Nope! I won’t even hold your hand.”

“Then, let’s go.”

Contrary to popular believe, Alex does have friends outside of his band (he has a band now! How cool is that!?), and yeah, it’s mostly the people who he has classes with but! They’re his friends too and they, somehow, have decided that he needs a boyfriend. Alex is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, his friends a little bit too meddle-y.

Nick, his project partner, says that he knows the perfect guy for him, and Alex is kind of getting tired of hearing that phrase. The problem here is that Nick didn’t tell him any name, didn’t share with him any pictures, he didn’t share anything about the other person and Alex is getting anxious. In past occasions, Flynn, Luke and even his mom had shared a picture, a description or the name of the person he was meeting, just so he could feel a little bit in control of the situation; he even rejected some of the people Julie showed him before she gave up.

Alex has checked the time ten times now and it’s still stuck on 3:45 p.m. His date was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, and Alex has not seen anyone come inside the restaurant for about ten minutes now. Alex has taken to count the jars on top of the table – there are five: salt, pepper, toothpicks, hot sauce and something else he doesn’t really want to check out –. When he’s memorized the jars’ order, Alex tries to focus on the stains on the table; there’s one with the shape of a puppy!

His last attempt at grounding himself is the 5 to 1 strategy he read on the internet. He starts by listing the first 5 things he can see, starting by the puppy stain. He then looks at the jars on the table, the window to his left, the waitress walking past him and…

“Reggie!” Alex says, almost yelling. Reggie turns to look at him and frowns when he catches the, probably, frantic look on his face.

“Hey, man!” Reggie says sitting down in front of him, smiling reassuringly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to be on a blind date, but I have no idea who this person is, and before you say anything, he’s not here yet.”

“Well, that is the general idea of the blind date, yes.”

“That’s not what I-. Okay.”

“Well, I’m supposed to meet someone here too. My friend Nick set me up with this-.”

“Wait, Nick?” Alex interrupts, starting to feel his blood rush to his face. “Nick Danforth-Evans?”

“Yeah, the very same!” Reggie smiles at him brightly. “Cool dude, you know him?”

“Oh god.”

Alex realizes what’s going on a few seconds before Reggie does, hiding his face on his hands and groaning. He should’ve seen it coming. Nick has been talking for weeks about a new friend he made at the puppy shelter where Reggie volunteers. He should’ve seen it coming from a mile afar.

“Oh.” Reggie says and he sounds a little bit disappointed. “Well, now that we’ve realized we’re both each other’s dates, and there’s no chemistry whatsoever, no offence-.”

“None taken.”

“Wanna grab street dogs?”

“I’m not sure, Reg-.”

“Relax! Street dogs haven’t killed us yet.”

Famous last words.

After getting out of the hospital for a really bad case of food poisoning, his mom insists on him staying at home a couple of days before going back to school and Alex loves his mom, he really does, but he’s come to associate home to the apartment he shares with Luke and Reggie, and occasionally Julie when she stays. He doesn’t really want to stay with his parents. Managing to escape her hold, Alex promises he’ll go on another date with a girl she picks, and he wonders if it was a whole plot to get him to agree to it after she let him go. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter, and he forgets about it for a couple of weeks until he receives a call from his mother telling him that she found that Carrie Wilson, “lovely girl, Alex, is single and that he’s going on a date with her, and please try?”

“Mom, but Carrie is-.”

“Beautiful, I know, but I think you have a shot.”

“I mean, sure, she’s pretty but she’s also-.”

“Don’t you dare say that she’s out of your league, baby.”

“… That is not what I was going to say.”

“Then it’s settled! You’re going on a date with Carrie!” Alex stops listening when she starts talking about cute, blond grandchildren.

The day of the date, Alex thinks that Carrie’s not going to come to the café. She’s running late and if there’s something he knows about her is that she values time too much. After half an hour, Carrie enters the café, scans rapidly for him, and walks straight to his table, sitting down gracefully as she flips her hair.

“You’re going to help me get together with Flynn.”

“Hello to you too, Carrie. How are you in this fine afternoon?”

“Tired, I just came from a Dirty Candy rehearsal. Alex, I need you to help me, Flynn hates me.”

“Alright, Wilson, but only if you let me rehearse with you guys.”

“Deal.”

Oh, yeah, mom, I forgot to tell you. Carrie’s a raging lesbian and she’s been out for a while now. No blond grandchildren for you.

Alex has decided to stop going on blind dates. He won’t even look at the pictures his friends have for him because he’s just not doing that anymore. He hasn’t met a single person who he has spoken more than a sentence to without feeling uncomfortable. He’s just leaving Eats & Beats after signing the band up (Julie and the Phantoms, “tell your friends!”) for an Open Mic night. He’s happily answering texts on his group chat when he’s promptly ran over by someone.

The next thing he knows he’s on the floor, his to-go coffee is now all over the sidewalk, his hands burn a little bit, but he’s overall okay. There’s a person lying beside him that moves all too quickly to stand up and say:

“Aw, man, you dinged my board!”

Alex blinks twice while standing up, feeling anger starting to bottle up on his chest.

“I dinged your board!? Dude, you ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-.”

His mind goes blank for a couple of seconds when his eyes land on the man in front of him, adverting his eyes as he tries to process what just happened. The man in front of him is a little shorter than him, and it’s looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Y-you ran me over.” Alex stammers and mentally kicks himself as the other takes his helmet off, slowly, and flips his hair back, showing him a piercing on his right ear.

Oh god.

“Sorry. I thought you heard me” he answers and then smiles, and Alex’s heart does summersaults. “I’m Willie, by the way.” Willie offers him his hand and Alex shakes it.

“Alex.”

“So, Alex, what are you doing in Hollywood, man? Taking a picture with that Marilynn girl?” Willie wiggles his eyebrows and clicks his tongue; Alex wants to laugh.

“Uh, no. I was actually signing us up for an Open Mic night at Eats and Beats.”

“Who’s us?” Willie asks with a little pout, bouncing on his feet. Alex thinks he’s cute.

“Oh, my bandmates and me. We’re a new band and we’ve been playing gigs here and there.”

“That’s cool, man. What’s your band’s name?”

“Julie and the Phantoms,” Alex answers and continues after a beat. “Tell your friends.”

Willie smiles and then turns to look past him, frowning. Alex turns around and realizes – again – that his coffee lays on the sidewalk, completely gone. Alex sighs and bends down to grab the cup, finding a nearby trash can to throw it.

“No coffee for me.” Alex murmurs to himself, drying his hands a little bit on his pants.

“I did pancake you, huh?” Willie says smiling and Alex chuckles. “Sorry again, though. Come on, I know the best coffee place, I’ll buy you another one.”

“Really? Uh, okay, yeah. Sure.” Alex answers, trying not to seem too eager.

“Cool! You just gotta keep up.” Willie tells him while putting on his helmet again and starting to skate away.

Alex runs after him not long after and catches up with Willie right before he goes skating into traffic. Willie laughs a little, getting off of his board and grabbing Alex’s wrist to make him cross the street running. A couple of blocks of running later, Willie stops in front of a coffee shop Alex has never seen before: The Hollywood Coffee Club.

“Come on,” Willie says, opening the door for him.

One cup of coffee turns into two, which then turn into three. Alex spends his whole afternoon talking and laughing with Willie, talking about their lives, their dreams, their hobbies. Alex talks about the band, and how he thinks they’ll make it big someday, and Willie promises to go to their next gig at Eats and Beats. Willie tells him that skating is the most freeing thing he’s ever done, that he met Tony Hawk once and signed one of his boards, and that he’s working towards his master’s degree.

Alex learns that Willie is three years older than him, that he’s studying because he’s not really sure what else to do with his life, and well, his dad offered to pay for it. Willie learns that Alex has two brothers, that drums is the most anxiety-relieving thing he’s ever done, and that he’s afraid of graduation.

Once Alex realizes the time – 7:45 p.m. – Willie and he decide to get out of the coffee shop and walk down the pier. Somewhere along the way Willie grabs his hand and links their fingers, and Alex’s head blanks for the second time in the day before continuing with the conversation. Once they reach the beach, Willie tells him that he lives nearby the university and, “would you wanna come watch a movie or something?”

Willie rambles about how the dorms for post-graduate students are individuals and that the dorm is small, but it’s cozy.

“We could watch the movie and order takeout? But it’s okay if you don’t want to!”

“Willie,” Alex interrupts him smiling. “I’d love to.”

Willie smiles again and Alex feels his heart wanting to get out of his ribcage. Once they reach the dorm room, Alex shoots a quick text on the group chat letting his friends know where he is, and also that he’s probably not coming home.

Alex🥁: on a date. See you guys tomorrow.

His phone immediately starts vibrating and he decides to put it on silent, stuff it on his pocket and forget about it until later.

“Hey, Alex!” Willie calls him from the small en suite bathroom. “Do you want pizza or like, Mexican?”

“Pizza’s fine by me.”

“Awesome.”

Alex smiles to himself as Willie gets out and starts calling the pizza place. Willie sits down beside him on the bed, already logging on Netflix, turning to look at him with a soft smile. As he hangs up, Alex decides to be bold and kiss Willie on the cheek, feeling relieved as he gives him the brightest smile he’s ever seen.

Alex’s really glad none of his blind dates worked out, and finally decides to flip off the version his parents decided to create of himself on their heads. He likes this version of him better, the one he is with Willie.

Tagging: @netflixaddictedd @headheartbellarke @tiriansjewel @justaphantomband @phanhowell @sunshine-julie-molina thanks for waiting!!!

#willex #alex mercer #willie #jatp #also on ao3

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tommysparker · 5 years ago

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Take A Break [Tom Holland x Reader]

Slightly inspired by Take A Break from Hamilton: An American Musical. Mostly inspired by me being a stressed student who just wants someone to cuddle with.

Special shoutout to @greenorangevioletgrass for beta-reading and generally being an awesome friend! Love you broadway bestie bro <3

Warnings: fluff. just fluff. Also Haz’s famous pancakes make an appearance

“Well, look who finally came out of their cave.” Harrison exclaimed, peeking his head out from the corner of the kitchen.

You scowled, partially from his comment, mainly from the blinding sunlight pouring into the house through the sliding doors. Who needed sun when you had the light of a computer screen? “Shut up. I only came down for food, and I’m only accepting pancakes so either get to it or piss off.”

The dirty blonde boy only grinned before disappearing behind the wall. Prick.

“Darling, you’re up!” your boyfriend exclaimed, standing up from his spot on the living room couch and walking over to engulf you in a hug. “I missed you this morning,” he muttered into your neck as he kissed it sweetly.

Shit, it isn’t morning?

“Been workin’,” you replied lazily, melting into his warmth.

Though you and Tom have been together for a while now, and usually sleep in the same bed, lately you’ve been sleeping in the spare bedroom to keep the madness that is education confined into one space. He says he doesn’t care about the mess, but you insisted that once you catch up on everything you’ve been neglecting, he has all the power to hold on to you and never let go for a whole week. Tom fully planned to hold you to that promise.

“You should take a break, you’ve been working day and night for three days now,” he hummed, planting another kiss next to your ear.

“Baby, you know I can’t--”

“Oi! You two love birds can get it on later. I’m not letting your sex life get in the way of my famous pancakes being eaten.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, pulling yourself away from Tom’s embrace, immediately missing having his arms around you. “I’ll take a plate to-go, thank you.”

Tom whined at your response to his best friend. “Nooooo, stay with meeee.”

“Tom I--”

“Staaaaayyyyy.”

“Tom--”

“C’moooooonnnnn, take a break!”

“To-”

“Take a break and get awaaayyy-!”

“I swear to god if you start singing Hamilton I will not hesitate to burn you like Eliza burnt those letters.”

“Wait, but wouldn’t I be Eliza 'cuz I’m telling you to take a break but you being Alexander refuses to-- hold on. Are you gonna cheat on me next time I leave the house?-- Ow!” Tom ended his ramble short to rub the back of his head, Harrison standing behind him holding up a spatula. “Dick.”

“Shut up, my pancakes are getting cold.” You giggled at the exchange, padding over to the kitchen counter where a fresh plate of pancakes sat, your boyfriend hot on your tail.

“The least you can do is eat down here,” Tom remarked, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling your head from behind. He knows how stressed you can get when it comes to deadlines, especially when said deadlines have passed and you still haven’t got the assignment turned in, and he hates seeing you so worked up. Also can’t a man just miss his partner?

During the lockdown period, Tom had gotten a lot more attached, meaning he always wanted some form of affection. So, the times you did crawl out of your hideout, he took full advantage of the time-slot.

You leaned back into his chest, turning your head to place a light kiss on his cheek, completely ignoring his claim. “You’re adorable when you get all needy.”

That earned an embarrassed groan from your lover.

“Please Y/n, just stay down with us for at least two hours. I can’t take much more of his whining,” Harry pleaded, a teasing smile aimed at his older brother, to which he responded by flipping him off.

Regardless, all the boys agreed on wanting you to spend some time with them for a little while.

You sighed, thinking oh what the hell. A few hours won’t hurt anyone.

The minute you agreed, Tom picked you up, your body laid over his shoulder, and marched straight to the couch. “Tom what the hell-- put me down!”

“M’kay,” he responded cheekily, dropping you on the sofa before laying on top, trapping you between his body and the large cushions. He grinned at your protests, simply resting his head on your chest and holding you like you’d disappear any second. “Shush, I’m cuddling.”

“I can see that,” you remarked, raking your fingers through his hair, earning some hums of approval from your human weighted blanket. As much as you would have preferred to be in Tom’s position, you did admit it was nice to sit back and relax a little. Maybe you should take breaks more often.

“Hold on a damn second, someone has to eat these bloody pancakes!”

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I really hope you enjoyed this! I know its short, but it’s my first fic on tumblr and I was running on one hour of sleep so...yeah.

Feedback is always welcome!

Tagging some people who will hopefully like this: @greenorangevioletgrass @soraitmnt @angel-spidey @farfromparker @allegra-writes @parkerpeter24 @tetralea @theactualprincessofeverything @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

#im scared to post this idk why #ahhhh #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom x reader #tom x y/n #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #lets all have a moment of silence for haz's pancakes lmao #rae writes sometimes

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harry-hollands · 4 years ago

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selcouth // harry holland // 2

chapter 2: The Not So Lonely Ray of Sunshine

story summary: Harry was used to living in his brothers’ shadows. Tom was the actor and Sam was the cook and musician. He was used to being second best and genuinely gave up on finding someone who could love him for him. Someone who could believe that Harry wasn’t second best. His mindset changes however, when he meets you. The sunshine to cast away all of the shadows.

teaser // chapter one //

chapter summary: sunshine shines brightest when happy

pairing: harry holland x reader

warnings: none? swears, fluffy, simp harry

word count: 1.8k

When Y/N had forgotten her winter coat, she had mentally cursed herself. She had made it into the theatre with minutes to spare, but she was mentally cursing herself. “How is it that I am the dumbest person in the world? How could I have been so damn dumb to leave my winter coat in Paddy’s car on one of the coldest nights I have ever experienced?”

Being pulled out of her thoughts by Alita, one of the stage directors, Y/N made it backstage, warming up her voice as she made it to her dressing room she shared with her ‘sisters’. Y/N gave a greeting to Sophia, who would be playing Angelica, and was also an American exchange student from California, and gave a greeting to London native, Sicily who would be playing Peggy Schuyler/Maria Reynolds.

“Hey, love! Cutting it a bit close, yeah?” Came Sicily’s thick and cheerful English accent. How she was able to keep out of her singing baffled both Y/N and Sophia.

Sophia giggled and rolled her eyes before reaching over and helping Y/N set her personals down before pulling the girl into a hug. “Hey, babe. Please ignore Ms. I’m Crabby Because Everyone Is Getting Into A Relationship But Me over there.” The Californian stated before pulling away and sitting back down at one of the vanities to finish her stage makeup.

Y/N couldn’t deny Sophia’s claim. Just last week, two of the ensemble members announced to the cast that they had been dating for six months, and over seven months ago, Sophia’s girlfriend, who just happened to be fucking Zendaya went public on Instagram, confirming what everyone was expecting; that the literal goddess was dating a Broadway member.

To be fair, Sicily had had a messy breakup a year prior, and was forced to cut a lot of people from her life who kept shitting on her for breaking up with her boyfriend. Y/N and Sophia were both relieved that the Londoner had broken off the relationship. Sicily’s ex radiated toxic masculinity, and verbally discussed his dislike for both Sophia and Y/N in front of their faces. Yeah. It was a lot.

Bored because the turntable on stage was refusing to work, Y/N decided to FaceTime Paddy to pass the time. During the whole call, Y/N was keeping her voice warm, and practiced harmonizing with Sophia and Sicily. After an announcement that the turntable was finally cooperating, Y/N rushed a goodbye to Paddy, and told him that the Hamilton Instagram page would be going live, so anyone could find out what goes on behind the scenes.

After running through their first dress rehearsal, and polishing up certain scenes, Alita, the stage manager had dismissed everyone. Y/N, Sicily, and Sophia made their way to their shared dressing rooms, wiping off their tear stained makeup. Sophia was taking off her ending dress, and Sicily was looking at her phone.

“Y/N, love, you are fucked.” Came the blunt voice of Sicily.

“Why?”

“It’s fucking snowing out, and it’s negative one degrees Celcius!”

“Fuck! I left my coat in Paddy’s car. Shit.”

Just as Sicily was about to make a teasing comment, Y/N’s phone went off, causing all three of them to jump.

“Bloody hell Y/N/N! Why is your ringer so loud?”

“Oh shut it Sicily. You’re ten times louder.”

“Only for you Soph!” Sicily remarked, with a wink.

“Shut up both of you! I’m trying to text Paddy back, and I can’t hear any of my thoughts!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Yeah. Sorry, love.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as the two continued to bicker quietly. She began typing intently, before pocketing her phone in her tote bag, and beginning to shed the layers of her Eliza costume. After the three women packed up, they all headed out the theatre doors, and hugged each other.

Sophia ran to Zendaya’s already familiar car, while Sicily hailed a taxi to take her to the tube. Y/N was still mentally cursing herself, as she wrapped her thin sweatshirt around her frame. “I really need to learn to wake up to my alarm.” The frozen girl muttered.

Waiting underneath the theatre awning for twenty minutes was probably the longest twenty minutes of Y/N’s twenty one years of life. As soon as she saw a car turn from the corner, approach the curb, and the sound of the horn, the actress immediately knew that it was Sora. How? Probably because she saw the girl cackling from the inside of the car.

As soon as she heard the horn of the car, Y/N was sprinting to her savior, and immediately throwing everything in the boot or trunk as she called it, into the car. Y/N, without hesitation, threw open the back door, and slammed it shut, with her teeth chattering, and her hair dusted in fastly melting snowflakes due to the heated temperature inside the car.

“Well don’t you look like Anna.” Sora teased from the front seat before taking off after Y/N had fastened her seatbelt.

“You are never going to let this go, are you? Just because I can sing Anna better than you does not make me her!” Y/N retaliated with a breathless laugh.

For the first time, Y/N glanced at Harry, and she instantly knew what Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton felt when she first saw Alexander. If she were in a musical, Y/N could guarantee she would break out into “Helpless”.

Unfortunately because life isn’t a musical, Y/N opted for a smile. And god was she thankful at that moment for the bitter cold. At least if she was called out on a blush, she could always blame it on the frigid weather.

Looking at Harry for the first time was indescribable. The way he smiled back at her was intoxicating, and while Y/N opted out for drinking, she felt as though she could get drunk on his smile. It was strange. How could one stranger make you feel this way in a matter of seconds?

An answer that both Harry nor Y/N knew at the moment...but that’s a story for the future.

Hearing his voice was like a prayer she didn’t know she needed to hear. Y/N had been compared to the sun since the day she was born. And when you think of the sun, you think of the day. And when you think of the day, you think of how much more social interaction goes on.

Most people assumed that Y/N was not a lonely person upon meeting her for the first time. Socially, Y/N probably knew almost everyone in Oahu. But romantically, the girl was so lonely. She was always that one friend who knew who was dating who, and gave out the best relationship advice despite never actually dating anyone.

Sure people had crushes on her, but no one looked at Y/N the way Harry did in the first few seconds. He looked at her like she was the only girl in the world. The only girl that truly mattered. For the first time ever in her life, Y/N felt like she was the most important person in the room...or in this case, the car.

From Paddy’s position in the front passenger seat, he could tell that his best friend, with whom he had grown to be super protective of, and his brother, who he had never seen look so lovesick, were taken. Even if they had just been introduced, they acted as if they had known each other since kindergarten. Paddy was definitely going to bring up how he was the perfect matchmaker at Sora and Harrison’s wedding, and eventually Y/N’s and Harry’s...but uh...again. A story for the future.

The car ride back to the house was filled with melodious laughter, lighthearted banter, and the occasional swears in English, Japanese, and Hawaiian.

As soon as Sora pulled up to the house and parked, everyone leaped out of the car, Y/N this time with her winter coat on, grabbed her garment bags and purse, while Harry kindly closed the door of the boot of the car.

The snow dusted group made it to the front door, and hurried inside, slamming the door shut, not wanting the warm air to escape. Sora and Y/N brushed off the white powder before hanging up their coats and scarves on the clothing hooks by the door.

Laughter and light bickering was heard in the living area, which caused a light smile to appear on Sora’s face. “Glad to see that they survived without us.”

Harry chuckled before helping Y/N with her garment bags, yelling a hello in the house, which caused a few thumps before Elysia came charging down the hall.

“Y/N/N!” The twenty-three-year old Brit launched herself onto Y/N causing the unsuspecting girl to tumble on the ground.

“Hey El! How’s life treating you?”

“Eh. You know. Same old, same old. How’re rehearsals?”

“Exhausting. In fact, I need to put them on and walk and dance in the stage heels we’re required to wear. We just got them delivered today.”

The rest of the group who had stayed behind, came down the hall and smiled when they saw Y/N on the floor with Elysia on top, still holding Y/N in a bone crushing hug.

Elysia, after another moment more, finally stood up, and helped the musical actress stand up. The two shared a giggle before Y/N looked up at the rest of the group.

As soon as Sam locked eyes with Y/N’s frame, the older twin immediately gasped before bouncing up and down in excitement. “Bloody hell! You’re Y/N Y/L/N! The insanely talented theatre foreign exchange student at LAMDA! Some of my friends who attend LAMDA always speak of you!”

Y/N blushed profusely at the sight of being recognized. “I wouldn’t say I’m that good though. Everyone is pretty much exaggerating.” She answered honestly.

Sam continued to shake his head. “No, I don’t think you understand. It’s extremely difficult to get a leading role as an underclassmen for a musical, but for a foreign exchange student of any age snagging a leading role is impossible!”

Y/N just shrugged her shoulders, before introducing herself to the rest of the group. “Uh. Hello. My name's Y/N and I’m playing Eliza Hamilton in Hamilton in a couple of months. I’m also studying at LAMDA, and booking some auditions on the side.” The girl stated softly, slightly intimidated by all of the gorgeous human beings in front of her.

As introductions had been passed around, Y/N was shown to a spare guest room by Harry and Tom where she could change into her historical ensemble and practice her singing and dancing in the studio that Tom had for practicing stunts in the backyard.

As soon as Y/N emerged from the guest room wearing the signature satin blue dress, a hush fell over the room. Any signs of conversations had ceased when they saw the sight of the satin baby blue dress hug the girl’s body.

“Holy fucking shit.” Harry muttered under his breath.

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onlovestreetwithjimmorrison · 7 years ago

Text

Mary and Jim to the end

Before Jim Morrison became famous with the Doors, he and Mary Werbelow were soul mates. In the never-ending procession of Morrison biographies, she is mentioned briefly but never quoted. Google her, and not a single photo appears. She has never spoken publicly about their three years together - until now.

By ROBERT FARLEY Published September 25, 2005

[Courtesy of Mike Sanders]

WHERE THEY MET:

Clearwater Beach, Pier 60. Mary was in high school, Jim just finished a year at St. Pete Junior College. His second cousin, Gail Swift, who lived in Clearwater, says their relationship was intense: “I think they answered a lonely call inside each other.”

Go to photo gallery

BEAUTY CONTESTANT:

Mary, at 18, competed for the title of Miss Clearwater 1963. The Clearwater Pass Bridge is behind her.

[Courtesy of Clearwater Public Library]

Mary Werbelow is polite but firm: She doesn't do interviews. Ever.

Jim Morrison was her first love, before he got famous with the Doors. Friends from Clearwater say that for three years in the early 1960s, Jim and Mary were inseparable. He mourns their breakup in the Doors' ballad The End.

For nearly 40 years, all manner of people have tracked Mary down and asked for her story, including Oliver Stone, when he was making his movie starring Val Kilmer as Jim. Others waved money. Always she said thank you, no.

"I have spoken to no one."

She can't see what good could come of it; some things are just meant to be kept private. Besides, journalists always get it wrong. They focus on Jim Morrison as drunk, drug abuser, wild man. They don't know his sensitivity and intellect, his charm and humor.

"They take a part of him and sensationalize that. People don't really know Jim. They don't really have a clue."

Mary is afraid to share. Because nobody could ever fully understand him, or her, or them. Not to mention how painful it is, even 40 years later, to relive something she would rather forget. She still aches for love lost; her regret never relents.

She lives in California, alone, in an aging mobile home park. By phone she is told that back in Clearwater, to make way for condos they're tearing down the house on N Osceola Avenue, the place Jim lived in when they met. His room was in back, books stacked everywhere save for the path to his bed.

"That was a lovely home," Mary says. "It's a shame to knock it down."

Across a dozen conversations, she amplifies on stories the old Clearwater crowd tells, and adds some of her own. She says she's not sure why she's talking now. Maybe it's just time.

SUMMER 1962, CLEARWATER:

Nine years before Jim died

Mary and best friend Mary Wilkin spread their beach blanket near Pier 60. Our Mary was 17, wearing a black one-piece, cut all the way down the back, square in front - a little daring for the time, especially for a buttoned-down Catholic girl.

Amid the flattops on the pier, the guy with the mop of hair stood out.

Jim had been sent here by his father, then a Navy captain, after he blew off his high school graduation ceremony in Virginia. He had just finished the year at St. Petersburg Junior College and lived with his grandparents, who ran a coin laundry on Clearwater-Largo Road.

On her beach towel, Mary turned to her friend and uttered the first sexual comment of her life:

"Wow, look at those legs!"

Jim tagged along when his friend came over to flirt with Mary Wilkin. He told our Mary he was a regular pro at the game of matchsticks, a mental puzzle in which the matches are laid out in rows, like a pyramid. Loser picks up the last one.

Jim challenged Mary and suggested they spice things up with a wager. If she won?

"You'll have to be my slave for the day."

If he won? Mary had to watch beach basketball with him.

As Mary's first command, she marched Jim to the barber. She was just finishing her junior year at Clearwater High, where all the boys had flattops; she was not going to be seen with such a hairy mess.

"Shorter," she told the barber.

"Shorter.

"Shorter."

To a buzz cut.

He must really like me, Mary thought. I'll see if I still dig him by the time his hair grows out, and if I do, it won't matter.

Slave order No. 2: Iron and clean. And wash her black Plymouth, a.k.a. "The Bomb."

Jim had begun the wax job when Mary's father rescued him with a picnic basket and suggested the couple adjourn to the Clearwater Causeway.

To cap slave day, Mary had Jim chauffeur her to St. Pete, in the shiny Bomb, to see the movie West Side Story.

Mary was on the high school homecoming court. Her friends did cotillion dances at the Jack Tar Harrison Hotel, hit Brown Brothers dairy store for burgers and malts, and shopped Mertz's records for Ben E. King, Del Shannon and Elvis Presley.

Hair shorn, Jim still attracted attention, shy behind granny glasses, army jacket and a conductor's hat. The local law stopped him multiple times to check his ID.

He read his poetry at the avant-garde Beaux Arts coffeehouse in Pinellas Park and visited St. Pete's only live burlesque show, at the Sun Art Theater on Ninth Street.

Friends who thought they knew Mary couldn't fathom why she would want to hang out with the likes of Jim Morrison.

What they didn't know was how out of place Mary felt in her social circle. Jim talked like no one she had met.

"We're just going to talk in rhymes now," he would say.

He recited long poems from memory. "Listen to this, listen to this," he'd say, "Tiger, tiger, burning bright . . ." - excited, like it was breaking news, not William Blake.

This was not puppy love, Mary says, like the earlier boyfriend who played guitar, wrote songs and serenaded her by phone. This was different. This was intense.

"We connected on a level where speaking was almost unnecessary. We'd look at each other and know what we were thinking."

She liked her alone time, in her bedroom, dancing and drawing.

Jim liked his alone time, in his bedroom, reading.

They skipped dances and football games and hung out, at her house, his grandparents' house, wherever.

"I hated to let him go at night. I couldn't shut the door."

When it came to sex, Mary's answer was no.

"It was not happening. And it didn't for a long time. I'm surprised he held out that long."

Mary's grandparents were strict Catholics. She had visions of them at the last judgment, watching her. "It was too much for me to bear."

The poet

Everybody, everybody, remembers the notebooks. Any time, any place, Jim would fish one from his back pocket, scribble and chuckle.

Chris Kallivokas, Bryan Gates and Tom Duncan. And Phil Anderson, George Greer, Ruth Duncan, Gail Swift and Mary. They all remember.

Around Jim, you always felt watched. He'd bait and goad, get a rise, take notes. "There was no one who wasn't under observation," Gates says. "His only purpose in life was observation."

When Jim drove, Mary kept a notebook at the ready.

"Write this!" he'd say, dictating an observation. Or he'd pull over and scribble himself.

Everyone has a story about Jim's brainy side. Kallivokas remembers the night his Clearwater High buddies and a new kid came by Alexander's Sundries, his father's drugstore on Clearwater Beach. They wanted Kallivokas to come party, but he had a term paper due the next day, on Lord Essex. Naturally, he had written all of two sentences.

"I know all about him," the new kid volunteered. Jim wrote the paper off the top of his head, with footnotes and bibliography.

"To this day, I don't know if it was right," says Kallivokas, who says he got an A+

They would rag Jim that the books crowding his living space were for show. He'd look away and challenge nonbelievers to pick any book and read the beginning of any chapter. He'd name the book, the author and more context than they cared to hear.

"He was a genius," Mary says. "He was incredible."

She says his heroes were William Burroughs, William Blake, Hieronymus Bosch, Norman Mailer, Friedrich Nietzsche, Karl Marx, Arthur Rimbaud, Aldous Huxley, Jack Kerouac.

Mary didn't have heroes like that. "Jim was my hero."

The provocateur

Pre-Mary, Jim's buddy Phil Anderson brought him to a house party on Clearwater Beach.

Jim was dazzling with the dictionary game. People would pick obscure words, and Jim would tell the definitions.

Phil turned, and his pal was standing on the couch, peeing on the floor. "Needless to say, we were asked to leave."

That was Jim. He'd charm, then provoke. It was worse when he drank.

He got epically drunk on Chianti at the all-day car races in Sebring, crawled around in a white fake fur coat like a polar bear covered in dirt and tried to launch himself onto the track. Friends grabbed his ankles.

"He'd get a real pleasure out of shocking people and being a little eccentric and peculiar," Kallivokas says. "And that came to the forefront when he had a couple drinks."

Mary says he rarely drank in her presence.

"It was out of respect for me. We were in love, and he didn't want to do things that I didn't like."

"That's a real key to understanding Jim," Gates says. "She was the love of his life in those days. They were virtually soul mates for three or four years."

In the fall, Jim transferred to Florida State. Most weekends, rain or shine, he hitchhiked back to Clearwater, 230 miles down U.S. 19. Most days in between, letters postmarked Tallahassee arrived at the Werbelow mailbox on Nursery Road.

Mary's father intercepted one, read the page about sex and never got to the part that made clear Jim was writing about a class. Furious at her father's snooping, she burned all Jim's letters, a move she came to regret, deeply.

She wasn't much of a letter writer herself. At Jim's direction, she wrote once a week and included the number of a public telephone in Clearwater and a time he should call.

On his end, Jim would put in a dime for the first two minutes. They would talk for hours. When the operator asked him to settle up, he'd take off. Free phone service.

On her end, Mary would loiter by the phone at the appointed hour, glancing about, certain it was the week the cavalry was coming to arrest her.

"I was so scared," she says, laughing. "I just thought it was normal. I see now it wasn't."

She always assumed he had her wait at different phones for her protection; now she's thinking it was his way of making sure she wrote him at least once a week.

March 30, 1963:

Eight years before Jim died

It's hardly something Mary brags about; she says she would have declined. But when the Jaycees called to recruit her for the Miss Clearwater competition, Mary's mother answered the phone.

"Oh, yeah," mom said, "she'll be happy to do it."

The third and final night of competition, more than 1,000 people packed Clearwater Municipal Auditorium. Five finalists matched "beauty, personality and poise."

Mary was looking good, not that Jim was thrilled. If she won, it was on to Miss Florida. Less time for him.

In her toreador outfit - tight-fitting green pants with red sequins down the sides from hip to ankle - Mary did the bossa nova, swirling a red and yellow satin cape. The Clearwater Sun called her performance a "house-stopper." Time for her big question: "If your husband grew a beard, what would you do?"

What a stupid question, she thought, and answered: "I'd let him grow it. Whether he would kiss me or not would be another matter."

She told the judges she was headed for college, torpedoing her chances because it meant she would not be available to fulfill all obligations of Miss Clearwater.

Sitting through other contestants' routines, Mary scanned the darkened hall until she spotted Jim, bored senseless. But there.

She got first runner-up.

1964-65, Los Angeles:

The breakup

Mary's father banned Jim from the Werbelow house. Mary won't say why; she doesn't want to add to the Morrison myth.

When she followed Jim to Tallahassee for a semester, her parents objected. When he started film school at UCLA and Mary announced she was following him to Los Angeles, they were devastated.

To bribe Mary to stay, her mother bought her an antique bedroom set, no competition for a 19-year-old following her heart.

Mary says Jim asked her to wear "something floaty" when she arrived in Los Angeles. "He wanted me to look like an angel coming off the plane."

Instead, she drove out a week early and surprised him.

Together again, in an exciting, intimidating city, they kept separate apartments. Mary got her first real job, in the office of a hospital X-ray department. Later, she donned a fringe skirt and boots as a go-go dancer at Gazzari's on the Sunset Strip.

Jim studied film. At the end of the year, a handful from among hundreds of student films were selected for public showing. Jim's was not among them.

Shortly after, Mary says, he told her he was humiliated, considered his formal education over and needed to forget everything. He built a fire in his back yard and incinerated many of his precious Florida notebooks.

Mary says he started doubting her commitment. "You're going to leave me," he would tell her.

"No, I'm not. How can you say that? I'm in love with you."

After one fight, Jim went out with another woman. He wasn't home the next morning. Mary went to the woman's house, but she said Jim wasn't there.

Mary called: "Come out wherever you are!"

Jim slinked forward, a hand towel around him. Mary bolted and, in a blur, hit the woman's fence as she sped off.

"That was the beginning of the end."

He was drinking hard and taking psychedelic drugs. The darkness she says she had seen from the start was overtaking him, and she didn't want to watch him explore his self-destructive bent. She felt he had swallowed her identity. Whatever he liked, she liked.

"I had to go out and see what parts of that were me. I just knew I had to be away from him. I needed to be by myself, to find my own identity."

She enrolled in art school. The day Jim helped her move to a new apartment, she told him she needed a break.

"He clammed up after that. I really hurt him. It hurts me to say that. I really hurt him."

They split up in the summer of 1965.

A few months later, Jim got together with a film school buddy, Ray Manzarek, who says he wanted to combine his keyboards with Jim's poetry. They started the band that became the Doors.

Friends from Clearwater never saw it coming. Back then, Jim didn't have much interest in music. He didn't even appear to have rhythm.

"He didn't sit around and sing," Mary says, laughing. "Jim, no, he was a poet. He wrote poetry."

By phone from his home in Northern California, Manzarek says all the guys in film school were in love with Mary. She was gorgeous, and sweet on top of that. "She was Jim's first love. She held a deep place in his soul."

The Doors' 11-minute ballad The End, Manzarek says, originally was "a short goodbye love song to Mary." (The famous oedipal parts were added later.)

This is the end, Beautiful friend

This is the end, My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end

Of everything that stands, the end

No safety or surprise, the end

I'll never look into your eyes . . . again

. . .

This is the end, Beautiful friend

This is the end, My only friend, the end

It hurts to set you free

But you'll never follow me

The end of laughter and soft lies

The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end

* * *

Within two years of their breakup, Light My Fire was No. 1 on the charts and Jim was the "King of Orgasmic Rock," the brooding heartthrob staring from the covers of Rolling Stone and Life.

He took up with other women, notably with longtime companion Pamela Courson, but Mary says she and Jim kept up with each other. She says she was his anchor to the times before things got crazy.

"I'd see him when he really needed to talk to someone."

Before a photo shoot for the Doors' fourth album, she says Jim told her: "The first three albums are about you. Didn't you know that?"

She says she didn't have the heart to tell him she had never really listened to them. She had heard Doors songs on the radio, but she didn't go to his concerts, she didn't keep up with his career.

Mary vehemently denies it, but Manzarek says she told Jim, "The band is no good and you'll never make it." He says Mary wanted Jim to go back to school, get a master's degree and make something of himself.

When Mary moved, she says, Jim had a knack for finding her. He would eventually ask if she had changed her mind. "Why can't we be together now?"

Not yet, she would answer, someday.

More than once, she says, he asked her to marry.

"It was heartbreaking. I knew I wanted to be with him, but I couldn't."

She thought they were too young. She worried they might grow apart. She needed more time to explore her own identity.

In late 1968, Mary moved to India to study meditation. She never saw Jim again.

March 1, 1969, Miami:

Two years before Jim died

With the Doors coming for their first Florida concert, Chris Kallivokas left a message with his old friend's record company. He says Jim called him back, loving life.

"The chicks we get, the money. . . . It's great."

"So that crowd control works," Kallivokas teased, talking about theories that intrigued Jim in Collective Behavior class at FSU. He said Jim answered:

"You've got to make them believe you're doing them a favor by being onstage. The more abusive you are, the more they love it."

They planned a reunion in Clearwater.

* * *

Some 15,000 fans cram into the 10,000-capacity Dinner Key Auditorium, a sweaty, converted seaplane hangar in Miami. Jim Morrison announces his drunken presence with dissonant blasts from a harmonica.

The cover boy, 26 now, has a paunch and beard, a cowboy hat with a skull and crossbones and noticeably slurred speech.

One stanza into the second song, Five to One, he berates the crowd.

"You're all a bunch of f - - - - - - idiots!"

Confused silence. Uncomfortable laughter.

"Letting people tell you what you're gonna do, letting people push you around. How long you do think it's gonna last? . . .

"Maybe you like it. Maybe you like being pushed around. Maybe you love it. Maybe you love getting your face stuck in the s - - -."

Screams from the audience.

"You're all a bunch of slaves. . . .

"Letting everybody push you around. What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do! What are you gonna do! What are you gonna do!"

He talks as much as he sings. He wails about loneliness and rants about love. Three songs after berating the crowd, the music softens and he lets loose a plaintive:

"Away, away, away, away, in India

"Away, away, away, away in In-di-a

"Away, away, away, away in In-di-a."

* * *

Morrison invited the crowd onstage, and the concert disintegrated. Amid the chaos, he supposedly unzipped his pants, exposed himself and simulated sex with guitarist Robby Krieger.

With the country debating indecency run amok, Jim Morrison was Exhibit A. He was charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, a felony, plus indecent exposure and two other misdemeanors.

The courtroom in Miami was packed. State witnesses saw what they saw. Others said it was hype, Morrison only simulated what he was accused of. There wasn't a single damning photo.

Bryan Gates hadn't seen Jim in ages. They caught up during a break, and talk inevitably turned to Mary. What ever happened to her? Gates asked. Jim said he had lost touch, California seemed to have swallowed her up psychically.

He was acquitted of the felony but convicted of indecent exposure. On Oct. 30, 1970, he was sentenced to six months of "confinement at hard labor" in the Dade County Jail.

Out on appeal, he moved to Paris, where he shared an apartment with Courson.

The Doors released L.A. Woman in April 1971, with hit songs Love Her Madly and Riders on the Storm. Months later, Jim Morrison was dead.

On July 3, 1971, Courson found him in the bathtub. The listed cause of death was heart attack; drugs were suspected. He was 27.

September 2005

34 years after Jim died

Mary is 61, unemployed and rarely leaves her mobile home. She says she married and divorced twice, and she has no children.

"I can't find anybody to replace Jim. We definitely have a soul connection so deep. I've never had anything like that again, and I don't expect I ever will."

She painted, mostly realistic oil portraits. She won a small legal settlement after she said she developed multiple chemical sensitivities from rat poison that seeped through the vents of her art studio over the years. It makes it difficult to be around scented products, and she gave up her art.

Mary would not meet with a reporter for this story or allow her photo to be taken. She says she weighs exactly what she did in high school - 107 pounds - but now her hair is long and gray. "People sometimes tell me I look like an artist."

She doesn't think the early Doors albums are all about her but says the lyrics include references to her and Jim's shared experiences, including the "blue bus" in The End. She considered writing about the references but decided against it. An artist herself, she didn't want to spoil people's various interpretations.

For decades, she says, she brooded over how things might have turned out had they stayed together but finally concluded it was destiny. "He was supposed to go into that deep, dark place."

His grave in Paris draws pilgrims from around the world, but not Mary. Quite the opposite, she says. She wants to forget, and still she feels his ghost checking on her.

Lines in Break on Through especially pain her, lines she interprets as Jim saying she betrayed him by not getting back together:

Arms that chain us

Eyes that lie

"I promised it wouldn't be forever, that I'd get back together with him sometime. I never did. It's very painful to think of that. For a long time, any time I would think about him, or anyone would talk about him, I'd cry.

"It used to make me so sad. I never gave him that second chance. That destroyed me for so long. I let him go and never gave him that second chance. I felt so guilty about that."

Mary says she is tired. She has trouble sleeping. She says she's not sure if she has done right by talking so much. She's worried that others will seek interviews that she does not want to give. She wants that made clear: She does not want to talk about Jim anymore.

- St. Petersburg Times researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this report.http://www.sptimes.com/2005/09/25/Doors/Mary_and_Jim_to_the_e.shtml

#Jim Morrison #Mary Werbelow

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Birthday Quotes

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• A birthday is just another day where you go to work and people give you love. Age is just a state of mind, and you are as old as you think you are. You have to count your blessings and be happy. – Abhishek Bachchan • A birthday:-and now a day that rose With much of hope, with meaning rife- A thoughtful day from dawn to close: The middle day of human life. – Jean Ingelow • A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman’s birthday but never remembers her age. – Robert Frost • A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday. – Erma Bombeck • All I want for my birthday is another birthday. – Ian Dury • All I watch is the Food Network. I took a cheese making class a few weeks ago, and I told my family and friends to only get me kitchen stuff on my birthday. I’m into every kind of cookbook and anything by Anthony Bourdain. I’d love to own a restaurant if I could find the right chef. – Jesse McCartney • All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much. – George Harrison • And for the city’s birthday, we will host events in every neighborhood of the city, inviting all of our residents to share in the celebration of Boston’s great epic – the story of neighbors who support one another where it matters most. • Any time women come together with a collective intention, it’s a powerful thing. Whether it’s sitting down making a quilt, in a kitchen preparing a meal, in a club reading the same book, or around the table playing cards, or planning a birthday party, when women come together with a collective intention, magic happens. – Phylicia Rashad • At 50, don’t let aging get you down. It’s too hard to get back up. Happy 50th birthday. – H. H. Asquith • At her birthday, my seven-year-old daughter will say that she wants these big cakes and certain expensive toys as presents, and I can’t say no to her. It would just break my heart. But when I was little, for birthdays we just played outside and we were happy if we got any cake. – Goran Ivanisevic • Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me. – Christina Rossetti • Because time itself is like a spiral, something special happens on your birthday each year: The same energy that God invested in you at birth is present once again. – Menachem Mendel Schneerson • Believing hear, what you deserve to hear: Your birthday as my own to me is dear… But yours gives most; for mine did only lend Me to the world; yours gave to me a friend. – Martial • Birthdays? yes, in a general way; For the most if not for the best of men: You were born (I suppose) on a certain day: So was I: or perhaps in the night: what then? – James Kenneth Stephen • Brilliantly lit from stem to stern, she looked like a sagging birthday cake. – Walter Lord • Every year on your birthday, you get a chance to start new. – Sammy Hagar • Everyday is a birthday; every moment of it is new to us; we are born again, renewed for fresh work and endeavor. – Isaac Watts • Except ye become as little children, except you can wake on your fiftieth birthday with the same forward-looking excitement and interest in life that you enjoyed when you were five, “ye cannot enter the kingdom of God.” One must not only die daily, but every day we must be born again. – Dorothy L. Sayers • Fly free and happy beyond birthdays and across forever, and we’ll meet now and then when we wish, in the midst of the one celebration that never can end. – Richard Bach • For my birthday I got a humidifier and a de-humidifier… I put them in the same room and let them fight it out. – Steven Wright • For my birthday this year, my girlfriends – who knew I’d just inherited my dad’s turntable – gave me a carton of albums like “Blue Kentucky Girl,” by Emmylou Harris, and “Off the Wall,” by Michael Jackson. It’s all stuff we grew up with. I mean, you can’t have a music collection without Prince’s “Purple Rain” – it just can’t be done! – Connie Britton • From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye. – William Butler Yeats • Happy birthday greetings and warmest wishes, too May today, tomorrow, everyday Be truly happy for you. – Margaret Brown • I binge when I’m happy. When everything is going really well, every day is like I’m at a birthday party. – Kirstie Alley • I crashed my boyfriend’s birthday when I was 12 years old. He didn’t invite me and so I showed up. – Isla Fisher • I had arranged a birthday party for him and my children, who are all Aquarians. Instead, we got married. I ran out of excuses. It was just us and my children. – Diane von Furstenberg • I love having my birthday at Australia Zoo. – Bindi Irwin • I love photography. My boyfriend’s got a great camera, which I bought for his birthday. – Sarah Sutton • I love the big fresh starts, the clean slates like birthdays and new years, but I also really like the idea that we can get up every morning and start over. – Kristin Armstrong • I remember when the candle shop burned down. Everyone stood around singing ‘Happy Birthday.’ – Steven Wright • I was fired by ‘America’s Next Top Model’ on my birthday. – Paulina Porizkova • If I have the power to post ‘Happy Birthday’ on someone’s Facebook page and make them feel really good, it feels really good to make other people feel really good. I love it. I’m a huge Facebook and Twitter person. And I love talking to my fans. It’s fun. – Rebecca Mader • If there’s one thing I really want for my birthday, that is for the mining company not to mine my daddy’s reserve. – Bindi Irwin • If we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday at a time of presidential inaugurals, this is thanks to Ronald Reagan who created the holiday, and not to the Democratic Congress of the Carter years, which rejected it. – David Horowitz • I’m a summer baby, so I usually have my birthday as a good summer memory. – Sloane Crosley • In 1993 my birthday present was a star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame. – Annette Funicello • In childhood, we yearn to be grown-ups. In old age, we yearn to be kids. It just seems that all would be wonderful if we didn’t have to celebrate our birthdays in chronological order. – Robert Breault • It does not seem a year Since last we sent to you Our wishes for your special day And all that you would do. And once again we wish you All joyous things and more A day that’s filled with happiness And memories to store. Then when you think in years to come Of Birthdays long ago You may remember fondly How much we love you so. So have a day of pleasure Do things that make you smile For ………….. you are treasured Today and all the while. – Janet Horne • It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me. – Ellen Glasgow • It’s odd the things that people remember. Parents will arrange a birthday party, certain it will stick in your mind forever. You’ll have a nice time, then two years later you’ll be like, ‘There was a pony there? Really? And a clown with one leg?’ – David Sedaris • Mattresses! Beautiful! Let’s go buy a couple of mattresses. Give ’em to people for their birthday. – Lawrence Tierney • May the moments of today become fond memories for tomorrow. Happy Birthday – Rob Jackson • Most of us can remember a time when a birthday – especially if it was one’s own – brightened the world as if a second sun has risen. – Robert – Staughton Lynd • My brother got a .22 for his 12th birthday; I got a .22. He got a hunting knife; I got a hunting knife. – Stephanie Cutter • My first recognition of age setting in was exactly on my 36th birthday. I have no idea why, on this day of all days, I looked in the mirror and realized my face no longer looked young. – Paulina Porizkova • Nicole will come up in conversations where it’s in a part of the conversation. Or we may be somewhere and I would tell some story about their mother and I. You know, we always honor her birthday. – O. J. Simpson • On a royal birthday every house must fly a flag, or the owner would be dragged to a police station and be fined twenty-five rubles. – Mary Antin • Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time. – Jean Paul • Pleas’d look forward, pleas’d to look behind,And count each birthday with a grateful mind. – Alexander Pope • Success is like reaching an important birthday and finding you’re exactly the same. – Audrey Hepburn • The best birthdays of all are those that haven’t arrived yet. – Robert Orben • The best way to remember your wife’s birthday is to forget it once. – Herbert V. Prochnow • The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity. – Seneca the Younger • The return of my birthday, if I remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general care of humanity to escape. – Samuel Johnson • The summer of 2002 at the Wilson birthday party I met Van Dyke again and I made plans to have dinner with him. – Matthew Sweet • The turning point was when I hit my 30th birthday. I thought, if really want to write, it’s time to start. I picked up the book How to Write a Novel in 90 Days. The author said to just write three pages a day, and I figured, I can do this. I never got past Page 3 of that book. – James Rollins • The way I see it, you should live everyday like its your birthday. – Paris Hilton • Then when you think in years to come Of Birthdays long ago You may remember fondly How much we love you so. – Janet Horne • There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents, and only one for birthday presents, you know. – Lewis Carroll • There is still no cure for the common birthday. – John Glenn

• We didn’t have a whole lot of money when I was growing up either. I would always ask for magic books or magic tricks for my birthday or for Christmas and the rest of the year I either had to mow lawns or find part time jobs to help supplement the cost of doing magic. – Lance Burton • Well, birthdays are merely symbolic of how another year has gone by and how little we’ve grown. No matter how desperate we are that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake, we know it’s not to be, that for the rest of our sad, wretched pathetic lives, this is who we are to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably; happy birthday? No such thing. – Jerry Seinfeld • We’re sending you best wishes And hope your day goes well And that you’ll find some memories With stories you can tell Of how you had a marvelous time And those around you too With fun and lots of laughter And all this just for you.. Have a Very Happy Birthday – Janet Horne • When I was little I thought, isn’t it nice that everybody celebrates on my birthday? Because it’s July 4th. – Gloria Stuart • When I was young and it was someone’s birthday, I didn’t have the money to buy nice presents so I would take my mom’s camera and make a movie parody for whoever’s birthday it was. When I’d show it them, they’d die laughing. That reaction was a high for me, and I loved that feeling. – David Henrie • With a recent birthday, I’ve been acting now for twenty years. – Thayer David • You’re birthday reminds me of the old Chinese scholar….. Yung No Mo – Dana Rosemary Scallon [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Birthday Quotes

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