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darthwheezely · 4 years ago

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grande - g.w.

Summary: George meets a mighty adorable barista in the new cafe on Diagon Alley and the man just can’t help himself... based off the song Coffee Girl by Johnny Socko! Sorry this took me absolute ages (9 days oops) to get out, guys :/

Warnings: DIABETIC FLUFF STUPID AMOUNTS OF CARDIAC ARREST INDUCING FLUFF UWU,mentions of sexism, Fred being Fred, cussing probably, alludes to sex, PG/PG-13

taglist or people that might like this but idk: @theweasleyslut @kitwalker02 @loony-loopy-lupinn @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @thehufflepuffwife @monoscandal @lupinsclassroom @whiz-bangs78 @vogueweasley @rogueweasleys @band--psycho @lumosandnoxwriting @oh-for-merlins-sake @amxrtentias @virgohufflepuff @vivianweasley

George Weasley didn’t sleep. This had long been the habit of his ever since he and his parents had discovered that his elder twin Fred had been an avid sleepwalker by age 4, then became a (minor) party animal in his Hogwarts days, and finally when he became the co-owner of one of the Wizard World’s most successful entrepreneurs and business owners.

The man hadn’t slept in about 18 years give or take. And days like this reminded him of it constantly.

It was a Saturday, the first of the month, and to boot, it was about to be Christmas in a little over a week. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was packed with everyone from couples window shopping, children in desperate need of fun now that school was out, parents trying to keep them in line, and even some old lady named Ethel (who swore she was part Veela, and therefore Fred couldn’t “escape her girlish charm.”)

“Ethel, you have an absolutely ravishing day, and don’t even worry about that moisturizer it’d be a waste of product on a natural beauty like you” Fred winked and kissed the old lady’s hand, George watching from the top of the steps rolling his eyes.

“Oh, Freddie, you know how to keep a lady young, don’t you? Oh - goodbye, Georgie! Have a good rest of your day boys!” She waved majestically to the younger twin on the stairs and he bowed royally in response.

“Bye, Ethel!” They both called as she exited the building, the bells flurrying in her wake.

“Georgie, mate, hate to say it but you are being uncharacteristically quiet and it’s making me uncharacteristically uncomfortable.” Fred said bounding up the stairs to meet him, chuckling briefly.

“Freddie, mate, hate to say it but I’ve had absolutely no sleep as of late and it’s getting to me. But I’ll be back up to my usual antics in no time.” He padded down the stairs, winking at a couple young ladies ogling him, sending them into a fit of giggles. Fred sat down on the middle step eyeing his brother carefully. It didn’t take a genius to see George wasn’t holding on much longer, the dark circles littering his eyes and the way he mussed up his already purposely messy hair just...didn’t comfort his older twin at all.

“George.” Fred sighed, George looking back at him, confused. He took his hands away from the merchandise Wonder Witch he’d been rearranging and gave him full attention.

“Take your lunch break early. And longer if possible.”

“Pffft, why would I do that when I have women to woo and boxes to juggle?”

“George.”

“Fred.”

“Stop, I mean it. You look half dead as it is, just go take a nap or get an espresso from the cafe down the aisle or something that reinforces the idea that yes, you are a human being and no, not a zombie.” Fred crossed his arms feeling suddenly a lot like Molly and dropped the cross. George pretended to ponder this tapping his chin, rather finding the mature brother role reversal funny as hell.

“Oh, alright, but can I still be a zombie when I get back?”

Fred hit him with a folder and sent him on his way.

-•-•-

You had just finished the lunch rush, finally being able to calm down and not have to worry about making one more goddamn Butterbeer Latte for at least another 20 or so minutes...until there’d be another rush. You grabbed a lemon scone, took off your apron and sat against the back counter. You inhaled the citrus scent, it was always something that you loved to savor, and took a bite.

The holidays for the Merlin’s Mochas, the cafe, had been absolutely atrocious so far. All you had for customers were angry businessmen, bratty kids and their upper class parents who let them run around the already small place being rude to everyone, your boss Lionel who had an affinity for calling every woman who worked there a “bitch” (...ok lionel) and to top it all off: you’d been pulling 9 hour days every day except sundays. Needless to say: you kind of super hated your job.

You had just finished your scone when you heard the door chime signal a customer, immediately wiping your hands on your jeans and restrapping your apron.

“Hi how can I-“ oh Jesus this is the hottest man I have ever seen. He was easily no older than 23, fiery red hair, a perfectly tailored striped terracotta suit, green tie, and the most gorgeous doe brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“How can you...?”

“Help you, ohmygod, I am so sorry I’m super-“

“Tired? Yeah me too...interesting how similar we are this early in the game hmm?” He winked at you and your knees felt too weak. No he was just a stupid hot customer that also was really hot and also? Was super hot. No worries, Y/N, just don’t die by 22 okay thanks.

“Very funny...wait are you-“ your finger led from him to the statue outside Wizard Wheezes, realizing a simple oh shit

“Yeah, that would be me. Or my twin Fred but we never really decided, that’s why he kind of looks like both of us mixed. Although we’re twins so we basically look the same anyway. I mean because were identical. Twins, yeah.” George, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you sweating? She’s just a simply beautiful girl in a simply maddeningly purple coffee shop can you please breathe and not make yourself look stupid-

“Oh, wow! I’ve never met a twin before - not like twins are anomalies or anything it’s just so crazy. Science. Science is crazy” You closed your eyes and took a breath

“We should probably start over shouldn’t we?” You wrinkled your nose.

“That sounds much more redeeming than anything we both were about to say” George breathed out laughing softly, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“I’m George. Weasley. Like I said, I work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the shop over there, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before...or you for that matter, I never forget a beautiful young woman.” He said smoothly, his heart steadily subsiding - something about you had the power to not only make him scared out of his mind, but also totally at ease.

You returned the smile, warmly, the blood rushing to your cheeks at his compliment and sticking your tongue to your teeth. “Well, George Weasley, of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes I’m Y/N Y/L/N. And yeah, we’re new around here,” you leaned further onto the counter, realizing, albeit a moment too late that your eye level was directly with his abs now, and although he was wearing a suit...you could definitely tell they were there.

“We erm, just opened three months ago. It’s honestly a bit of a time to work here.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Well, nothing like a blatant sexist to run an entirely female employed establishment and weird stuffy rich people.” Your eyes widened suddenly, and you felt like you had said far too much far too soon. But he gasp-laughed - laugh that ended as soon as it began and burst into a smile...like you had shared a secret with him.

“What the hell is he doing here then? Got a boy’s club to run in a purple coffee shop?”

“I mean you never really know these days, George, imposters are among us at every moment” you purred and pushed off the counter, meaning it as a joke but George’s heart screamed when he heard your name. As you moved to the other edge of the counter, he followed you.

“What a resourceful and cruel young woman, I am starting to like you, Miss Y/L/N.” He clucked. “And do you think of me like you think of Mr. I-Hate-Women-That’s-Why-I-Hire-Them?” He got inches from your face, smelling the coffee beans and vanilla extract that riddled your skin.

“Hmm...Mr. Weasley, I’m not so sure.” You coyly stepped away from him and took long strides to the far end of the coffee bar by the wall. George immediately felt a pit of flirtatious butterflies and (arousal?) something more in his stomach, jaw dropped, he followed you again. He pressed his hands to the counter in front of you.

“Well, how can I convince you?” He asked rather quickly.

“Hmm...” you leaned forward like he did before and his breath hitched in his throat “...let’s get you a cuppa first.”

-•-

“Wait, okay let me get this straight-“

“Yes?”

“You have 6 other siblings.”

“Yes.”

“...because your mom wanted a girl?”

“That-that would in fact be true, yes.”

You thought for a moment.

“So you’re telling me after she made it through you two-“

“-she still wanted to have more of us, believe me, it races through my mind daily.” He nodded vehemently laughing with you. You two had taken to the empty cafe at a table nestled in the corner, him sitting in a chair across from you on a bench. You had both been cracking each other up with stories from your childhoods, like how you both had managed to never know of the other’s existence until now.

He’d discovered that you had transferred from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons early on in your fourth year. You, a Hufflepuff, loved the quiet and soft landscape of the French school. You both had absolutely no idea the other existed. How? The world may never know.

He was brash. You were careful.

He was already flying when you were just feeling comfortable learning how to walk.

But you sat there with him for the better amount of an hour and a half, laughing and interrupting each other with memories of the school years you had, some weird and strange, and especially during fourth year, hard for George to talk about.

Ginny, his baby sister, had almost died. And as he said to you in a candid and highly vulnerable state: he blamed himself for almost letting her go to this day.

“I...I really do believe it was my fault.”

“George, it couldn’t have been your fault. Hogwarts is a big freaking death trap - you and I both know that,” you had said with an exasperated laugh, eager to make him feel better in any facet.

“Yeah, but...I’m her big brother. Yes, she has five other older brothers but...we were supposed to protect her.” He swallowed and blinked back tears. “It was her first year, for Christ’s sake, and I paid about as much attention to her as a doorknob would.” He had rolled his jaw and taken a gulp of his gingerbread latte (you had said it was your favorite, and he was loathe to try anything else) and you had softly draped your hand on top of his.

“If she’s as kind and loving and funny as you, I’d love to meet her.” You quipped, a small smile growing on your face in effort to soothe. He had smiled back at you, turning your hand over in his and drawing his digits lazily over your palm.

“Funny, because I was thinking the same thing.”

-•-

He had told you to close your eyes, that much had been true.

See, his coffee had started to get cold. So, like if you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll have to have some milk-

If you give a George a latte he will have to not only have another one, but also feel the strenuous need to show off for you and take you to his place of work. Naturally. And it was so lucky that by the time he’d proposed you leave, he even helped you clean and lock up afterwards.

Truthfully, it almost scared you how much he had seemed to care.

“Alright, Y/N, darling, I’m going to release my hands on the count of three, yeah?”

“Perfect, Georgie” you giggled. You’d legitimately only knew him for so long, but you just...you trusted him. He grinned widely, his strong hands only applying a slight amount of pressure as not to hurt you.

“Alright, then. 1. 2-“ he took his hands off your eyes and watched you adjust not only to light, but to your surroundings as well.

“3.” He breathed out taking in the way you smiled like a teenager, face alight with pure inundating wonder. You squealed and started to run around the store.

“Look at these! Pygmy Puffs - ugh they’re so adorable look at this one! Oh, oh - ‘Fizzing Whizbees’ - these look absolutely wicked! And Per- ‘Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder’?” You picked up the glittery stone in your hand, and heard a smooth voice perk up behind you.

“A real money spinner, that one.” You turned around and there was a man that looked absolutely identical to George, although entirely different in the same way.

“Handy if you need to make a quick getaway,” you heard George on the other side of you. He smiled warmly down at you, nodding his head up to look at the twin across from him.

“Y/N, this is my-“

“-older, much more attractive and fiscally responsible brother.” He winked and you blushed almost immediately. “Fred. Weasley.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Georgie has told me a lot about you and the shop - absolutely marvelous this place is, I cant believe you two created so much in such a short span of time. Brilliant it all is, really!” George had started to flush, rubbing his jaw to seemingly take the red away from his striking face. Fred, upon hearing the genuine warmth from your voice and the unmistakable use of “Georgie” had a small, but highly distinct aha moment:

“Well, we couldn’t have done it all on our own, one of our best friends helped us out a good lot. But thank you, really...it means so much when other people see how much we do and-” he looked directly at George.

“-acknowledge the things we love, right George?”

“Absolutely, Frederick.” Fred had given him the look that seemed to imply: “please, God, make a damn move.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to be off and woo some ladies, have a biscuit and do some paperwork” he smiled wide when you giggled, already enjoying your company.

“But I hope to see you again, very soon, yeah? Please stop by whenever you can, we’re alwYs just down the street.”

“Freddie, for your company, I’m not so sure, I’m still deciding.” You quipped. Fred laughed heartily at that and looked at George.

“Georgie, I like this one.” George looked at you and winked.

“Me, too Freddie, me too.” You leaned back on your heels as Fred padded back up the stairs to the flat, now completely alone with George. You threw your arms behind you back and forth and took a long stride to George.

“So...what are you those?” You nodded up to the array of pink bubbles in a clam shape in the corner. He hummed and reached to grab your hand.

“Love potions - c-can I show you?” He raised an eyebrow slightly, but he felt his whole body turn to mush when you accepted his hand and nodded slowly. As he walked with you, you memorized the feeling of his callouses and veins, the way your hand curled deliberately in his.

You wanted to make sure if it was the last time you felt something like that, you had that memory with you for a while.

“Essentially, if you give these to a person they will temporarily have feelings of love and attraction for you. Depending of course on the dosage you use and the weight of the person in question.” He explained. You watched the way his suit jacket pulled taut against his back muscles and instinctively wanted to honestly just take the whole thing off-

“Hmm...I don’t know about these, Georgie.” You hummed mischievously. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

He scoffed placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Am i being questioned in my own establishment, Miss Y/L/N?”

You rolled your eyes and hit his arm, bowing slightly at him. “Well, do forgive my feminine insolence, Mr. Weasley, it’s not often I meet such bewitching mad scientists like you.” You watched his face grow blank for a moment at your compliment and immediately wanted to throw up.

“George, I’m really sorry, I know we just became friends-“

“Do you mean it?” He took a step towards you. You swallowed finding again his perfect milk chocolate eyes. You nodded.

“Hell yeah I did, you’re smart...and wicked hot” you both laughed at that. He took another step, the distance being unbearably harder to live in as his digits found a piece of hair and wound it behind your ear.

“Well, darling, the feeling is quite mutual.” He said quietly, taking in the whole of your face. He wanted to crash his lips onto every possible nook and crevice of your face, collide with you entirely.

“We’re going to have to do something about that, then, aren’t we?” You gently nudged his nose with yours and wrapped your arms around his neck, his strong and powerful arms pulling you to him gently. He wanted you to feel him not to break under his embrace. He leaned down and brushed his lips up to yours, feeling you whine and let out a minuscule sound.

“Got you making noises for me already and haven’t even kissed you yet, hmm?”

Your eyes fluttered close and one of your legs made it’s way in between his, snapping any chance at loose air between you two out of the way.

“Please, Weasley, pants a bit small for you?”

“Keep talking like that and they might, yeah.” You two laughed softly and with a final look to your lips he closed the last gap.

His mouth was perfect. His lips ghosted over yours one last time before wrapping every part of himself onto your frame, your lips entangled in each other like you’d never be able to taste him again.

But it was loving and slow and sweet. He tasted like gingerbread lattes and pastries and cinnamon and licking into his mouth you could feel the spice. He moaned lightly into your mouth, sending your knees buckling. He dipped you slightly, a hand traveling to your lower back to keep you steady, and his other hand coming up to nestle under the nape of your hair. Your hands caressed his face, his chest, needless to say? You wanted them everywhere. You wanted him everywhere.

The kiss broke and you and George were left breathless in each other’s hold, your foreheads pressed together as he kept you slightly dipped.

“Y/N, I’m feeling a bit tired” he quipped hoarsely, pressing a brief kiss to your lips and onto your neck. You hummed satisfactorily.

“Georgie, you’re gonna need another latte aren’t you?” You set multiple chaste kisses to his lips and cheeks, feeling him rumble with a small giggle. He caught your mouth with his and you moaned slightly.

“I’m gonna need a whole pot, to drink you in, love.”

#George weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley headcanon #coffee shop #Harry Potter #POV you get called cruel and resourceful by George Weasley #new kink unlocked

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petitprincess1 · 5 years ago

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Good Evening Ch13 (Soft and Fragile)

AO3 Link Summary: Before the incident, Alastor has a bit more of a reflection on his "lovers" and it's quite interesting on what he wishes to do to his dolls. Words: 1,738 I AM SO SORRYYYYYY!!! I got super stressed lately and my brain just froze. I really hope this chapter is worth the wait. Once again, very sorry. Warning: Obsessive and possessive thoughts and..."knifeplay" thoughts...kinda. ~~~ Hours earlier before the “oopsie” that happened at Pentious’ house, Alastor made up an excuse to go to the kitchen just so he didn’t end up strangling Vaggie, slice her throat, or say some very mean words. The intense hatred only increased when she mentioned him bringing in gumbo that had Valentino’s body in it. He was going to bury the guy to use as manure, but he was a bit pressed for time and it was rather difficult to stuff the body with aromatic herbs to keep any stench out. Plus, he didn’t feel like draining Val’s blood. Either way, he had to take a moment to breathe before walking into the kitchen.

Al tried to calm down by taking out the tongue that he took from that dead guard. Either no one has gone into the fridge yet or no one questioned the tongue. It wasn’t like it was impossible for him to have bought a cow tongue of sorts from the store. Thankfully, idiots would do anything to justify something that’s so simple.

He meant to chop this up for breakfast in the morning, but no one said that you couldn’t have an omelette in the afternoon. Besides, he still needed to make a small meal for Charlie. Alastor realized that he was going more and more towards Charlie everyday. It was surprising that the girl intrigued him, almost as much as Anthony did. Although, he was interested in them for completely different reasons. Anthony felt the closest to what could be romantic, even if it was a bit more perverse.

All Alastor wanted to do with Anthony was make him his and only his. Majority of the people that he came into contact with were incorrigible and absolute morons, especially that Pentious. The man had no patience with any of that and wouldn’t miss them the slightest bit if they were dead...possibly not Husker. The much older man was much more hilarious to have alive, especially whenever he was angry. It was so much fun to watch his lip curl into a snarl.

However, unless it was making him pouty, Alastor never wanted to see his ethel angry at him nor did he wish to hurt him that badly. Just the very thought sent a chill up his spine as he listened to the tongue’s muscles and ligaments making a slight squishing sound as the knife sliced through them, making him feel a nice calm about him. All he wanted to do was keep Anthony all locked up for no one else to see him. Yes, the man clearly could help himself, judging the bruising on his knuckles, but he still could have died. Keeping the little minx all tied up would clearly only benefit him.

Plus, Alastor could also easily lure those mongrels to his home and he could serve up some wonderful meat pies or casseroles to his favorite toy that he will keep all snug and cozy in his basement. Oh! That reminded him that he really needed to renovate that place back at his home. Well, temporary home in Eden. Al should also warn Anthony about the constant traveling. Alastor knew that his angel may have slight worry about his proposition, but he knew that the boy would be the one to stay. Meanwhile with Charlie….the man longed for her struggle.

As annoying as it was to try and get the doll alone, it was also thrilling to actually have someone fight. Not that Anthony didn’t fight with Alastor occasionally, it was different with Charlie. She seemed to wish to deny all attraction towards, but he could easily tell when one has hidden desire. He has felt her heartbeat quicken on her wrist, seen the hidden passion in her eyes lying beneath the disgust, and, most importantly, he can sense the morbid curiosity in her. It won’t be too long til he finally caught her in his grasp.

Alastor scrapped the tongue off of the cutting board into a frying pan that had oil, minced garlic, and chopped onion in it. He breathed in the smell and sighed happily, “Patience is a virtue.”

Niffty came into the kitchen, carrying groceries, and gasped at seeing Alastor, “OH! You didn’t tell me you would be in the kitchen! Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude. I just went to get some extra food and-”

“Don’t worry, my dear! It’s perfectly fine. After all, this is your kitchen and I’m merely intruding in on your space,” Alastor spoke charmingly and humbly. Niffty gasped even more as she placed the groceries on the counter, using a step stool, and quickly replied, “No no no! My kitchen is your kitchen, so stay as long as you wish.”

The man smiled at her and gave a polite nod, “What a sweet lady you are. Also, do you mind helping me out? Just get some eggs and whisk them up. I’m making an omelette for Charlie~”

“Awww, you’re such a sweet man!”

“...I know.” ~~~ Later on into the day, Al had come over to Charlie’s office and knocked on the door. Charlie called from the other side, “Who’s there?”

Alastor thought of a joke for a few seconds and replied, “Adore!”

It went silent for a few seconds before the golden-haired girl asked, “Adore who? I don’t think-”

“Adore is between you and I, so please open up!” Alastor exclaimed, cutting her off on purpose. There was another brief silence before the door suddenly opened up and revealed Charlie looking away from Alastor. She seemed to be annoyed, but the small reddish tint to her pale cheeks showed her keeping a smile back. She mumbled under her breath as she walked away, “That was a terrible joke and you know it was.”

The creole chuckled as he walked into her office and saw that her office was pretty decent and cozy looking, especially with plush carpeting. He leaned up against a bookshelf behind him as he raised an eyebrow at two norwegian dwarf goats that were sleeping within a pet bed that looked like a little house. Charlie sat down on the chair at her desk and asked, “Is there something that you need, Al? Oh! Also, thank you for the omelette, it was very sweet of you to make that for me. Although, I thought we ran out of certain cuts of beef.”

She gestured to the empty plate on her desk that had bits of onion on the surface, as well as some ketchup. Al nodded and replied, “You’re quite welcome, my dear~ Also, I have my resources. Anyway, I was just asking if it was alright if I head off early. Just want to do a bit of hunting, that’s all.”

Al’s grin subtly grew a bit at seeing Charlie’s skin become slightly paler when he mentioned hunting. He could just say that he was just going to go hunt some deer, but it was hilarious to think that the girl thought he was hunting humans. No, not today. She gulped and replied, “Uh, well, I guess if you have nothing else to do, then that’s okay. Just...you know...be back around dark, just so you can have the night shift. I-If you want to, of course!”

The man couldn’t help but reach towards Charlie, making her slightly flinch, and gently caress her cheek. He brushed his thumb against her skin and almost felt aroused at the softness of it. Alastor could only imagine how nice it would be to carve through it. He was sure that he barely needed to add extra pressure to slice the skin open. He hummed and then muttered in a low tone, “Of course, Charlie.Why would I ever say no to you?”

Charlie mumbled under her breath, feeling an odd chill up her spine, “Uh...I’m sure you have, especially when I don’t want you messing with my cheeks.” She slowly lowered Al’s hand from her cheek and moved it back to his side. She then concluded, “Uh, well, if that’s all, the you’re free to go, Al.”

Alastor stared at his hand for a few seconds and then nodded absentmindedly as he walked out of the room. He felt Charlie’s eyes on him as he left out and listened to the door gently creak close before she locked it. However, Al barely cared as he felt many tingles up his hand that Charlie touched. He never liked being touched...but he was definitely craving more from her.

He began walking down the hall and was trying to clear his mind when a woman ended up bumping him from behind. Al turned and saw the woman looked distraught, almost in a daze. Before he could question her, she asked, “I’m sorry, but have you seen Angelo? I...I really need to speak to him….regarding a man that he...worked with.”

Alastor blinked at her and wondered what she could possibly want with Anthony. It made his stomach tie into a knot, but he just said, “Well, Anth- Angelo is on medical leave. He got harmed pretty badly.”

Not even the slightest bit of worry in the woman’s eyes, if anything, Al saw a bit of frustration. She nodded and muttered, “...Right. I forgot...thank you.”

The woman then silently walked away from Alastor, making the man narrow his eyes at her. He’s going to have to follow her, isn’t he? Great! Right...well, maybe Charlie was right about the human thing. He could always buy venison from the butcher. ~~~ In present time, Baxter was helping Sir Pentious roll up Traci’s body in a rug, while Alastor was braiding Anthony’s slightly grown out hair and Cherri was trying to calm down. The spunky girl washed the blood off of her face and pretended the brain bits were just chewed up wads of gum. She pulled her head out from the sink and quickly grabbed some towels, wiping her face off.

Cherri was making very quiet sobs as she kept envisioning the woman getting shot over and over again in her head. It just wouldn’t end. Angelo looked at her and asked, “Hey, ya gonna be alright, Cherri?”

She turned to Angelo and took a deep breath before glaring at Al, “What the hell is wrong with you!? Why did you do that?”

Alastor scoffed, “What? It was just a bit of hunting.”

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mysterious-foxes · 4 years ago

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TW: Death, Drugs, Emotional manipulation/gaslighting

I don’t want to go back and edit anything, but this took way longer than I thought it would while trying to write it out. This is for documentation purposes and some entertainment if you want to hear about a psychotic woman that came into my life. Here ya go:

Okay, now that I’m home, I’ve eaten, given both dogs love (and bf took them on a walk), and I have New Girl on in the background, I’m ready to write out this crazy rant. Feel free to skip if you don’t want to read this LONG story or for whatever other reason you wouldn’t want to read it. I’ll add a ‘read more’ so that this doesn’t take up everyone’s timeline. I will say this though, if someone had told me this was going to happen a year ago, I never would have believed them, but everything I’m writing is 100% true.

If you are here to read my crazy rant about this fucking insane lady, welcome! I hope you find this as funny/interesting as I am currently. This is also a very emotional subject for me so while I might be thinking it’s funny now before I write it, I may go through a range of emotions while writing this. Such as anger, sadness, bewilderment, confusion, etc.

A little bit of a background. I am the youngest of 6 kids. I have 2 sisters and 3 brothers. I’m going to give them all code names using the color of the rainbow. Oldest to youngest is Red (f), Orange (f), Yellow (m), Green (m), Blue (m). Red and all 3 brothers are married (Yellow has been with her girlfriend for 3+ years). Blue only just got married a couple of months ago. I have 4 nephews (2 from Yellow and his wife, 2 from Green and his wife) and 2 nieces (both from Red and her husband). My mom and dad were married for over 30 years. They would never show much (if any) form of PDA in front of us kids and I never once saw them fight. My dad has always been quiet and never talked much. And he never really built a good relationship with us kids, especially those of us who have left the religion he believes in which is 4 1/2 out of 6 (I’m still unsure of Blue’s complete views and I don’t think he even knows. I wouldn’t be surprised if him and his wife left the religion within the next few years, even if it’s just secretly). My mom passed away a year and just a few days ago (on Green’s birthday). I miss her more than anything.

A little about my mom (again, for background). She was a great lady. She was also religious. She was extremely involved in the community, her church community, volunteered a ton (served on the local softball board for 17 years and did anything and everything for my high school’s theatre even after I was gone). She put everyone ahead of herself (especially us kids). She also pushed through any pain she had. About 2 years ago, she realized she was really sick and needed help. Doctors could not figure out for the life of them what was wrong with her. They took out her gall bladder. They put her on diets. I honestly don’t even know what else. About 6 months later, they found the problem and delivered the news. She had pancreatic cancer and it was severe. They gave her 6 months to live. We made the most of those 6 months. I was going out to my family’s a lot more than I had in a while. Red flew out and stayed for a few months. All of my siblings were there when she passed. Oof, I got a lot more into that than I meant to, but I feel like it gives a pretty good background about her. I told you this would be long.

Okay, so now we’re to where I can start talking about this insane lady. So for obvious reasons, my dad was very lonely. In May, my dad gives me a call and tells me he’s been talking to a woman (we’ll call her Ethel). Well, it felt soon, but I was happy my dad was finding comfort. He met her (get this) on an LDS widow and widowers facebook page. She lived in Oregon and he was going out to meet her in person and spend time with her for a week or 2. Awesome! Way to go Dad! Live your best life and make yourself happy!

He comes back and we start talking about when she’ll come to visit. Well Ethel has a sister (who lives in a city about an hour from my dad’s house) needs to have heart surgery Ethel needs to watch her cat. So Ethel comes to Utah and stays at my dad’s house for a couple of days. A few of us kids go out and have dinner with them to meet her. I was the first one there. Upon first meeting her, she talked, A LOT. She talked the majority of the time. It didn’t take long to realize that she had something to say about EVERYTHING and she seemed like she though she was the expert in EVERYTHING. For example one of the most recent times I talked to her, she was talking to me about the theatre I work at (which is a $31 billion theatre, super high tech and honestly they do pretty well). When I mean she was talking to me, I mean SHE was talking (she doesn’t let other people talk very much if at all. Only for “I’m sorry, that must be hard” or “I agree with you”). Well, she hasn’t been to the theatre I work at, but she’s been to their location in another nearby city which puts on a lot smaller productions and doesn’t have even 1/10th the amount of tech. They don’t put on nearly as good of productions. Well, Ethel tells me, “I’ve never been to a Broadway show, but I think that they’re as good as Broadway.” Like what?! HAHAHAHA. How can you even say that? You know absolutely nothing about it and you’re saying that!

Now, we’ve all met her, but she doesn’t really know the first thing about any of us kids. She asked me one question and then took over the conversation as soon as I got 2 words in. She did ask us all in a group about my mom (which was super awkward). We mentioned my mom was very charitable and she goes, “Oh I’m charitable person!” Who the fuck says that? And comparing herself to my deceased mother (who both her and my dad have “reassured” us time and time again that she’s not trying to replace). She constantly says how much like my mom she is or what she’s done better than my mom. HUGE RED FLAG. How desperate do you have to be to try to one up a dead person?!

In Ethel’s constant talking, she talks about her children and family members a lot. She talks a lot about how her husband passed and her brother passed and someone else passed all pretty quickly. She talks about her brother passing basically every time I talk to her. Now you might think it’s sweet she talks about her family, but it’s not. She doesn’t talk good things about any of her family. She talks about all the mental illnesses they all have. Her children refuse to meet my dad (or so she claims). And she doesn’t talk to any of her 3 children at this point. Another huge red flag.

So Ethel was here to take care of her sister and her sister’s cat while she was in the hospital. Well, turns out her doctor couldn’t do it the day they had planned, so it got pushed back. Then her sister desperately needed to go shopping so she had to push back her HEART surgery again. And I think one time she couldn’t go because her feet hurt from diabetes? There were a few different things. So Ethel is staying at my dad’s house this entire time. My dad’s very religious and so they’re not having sex, sleeping in the same bed, or even sleeping on the same floor. My dad is staying downstairs while she sleeps in his room. Finally, a month later, her sister goes in for surgery. Ethel is gone from my dad’s house for 2 days. To be fair, my dad wasn’t feeling good and had an infection in his tooth so was in a lot of pain. So yes, I get why she wanted to come support her new boyfriend, but also, my dad had plenty of children close enough to take care of him and she was supposed to be taking care of her sister’s cat. She stays at my dad’s house for another 3-4 days before going back to her sister’s. She gets back and to her surprise (but nobody else’s), the cat is missing. I also would have ran away if I thought I was abandoned and needed to scavenge for my own food since I haven’t been fed in days.

Finally, Ethel is going back to Oregon. Orange and my dad take her to the airport. On the way home, my dad mentions to Orange that they’re talking about getting married. Wow! Less than 9 months since my dad’s wife of 30+ years passed and he’s already ready to get married to another woman. What the fuck?! How is he over my mom already? I get wanting companionship, but holy fuck that’s quick! So I call my dad. My Aunt J had already chewed out my dad telling him that he’s moving too quick and not thinking about us kids (which is not wrong). And I guess she told him just to have sex and get it over with. I know my sisters also called my dad just before me. I called my dad and told him I was uncomfortable with how quick they were moving and I didn’t understand why they felt the need to move so quick. He just kept saying that it’s different when you’re older....I told him the 2 reasons that I could think that they were moving so quick is that she’s a gold digger or that they wanted to have sex (which come to find out that she claims she never had sex with her deceased husband and hated sex when she had it with her ex but I don’t know if she ever told my dad that because some of the things he has said to her is questionable). He assured me that was neither. Sure Dad...

I know I’m kinda all over the place here, but bear with me. So my Aunt J reached out to Ethel’s children. Only the oldest daughter responded (which Ethel claims is a liar and manipulative and basically the worst person on earth). So at this point, for I feel like pretty obvious reasons, I don’t trust much of what Ethel says and will most likely take her daughter’s word over hers. My aunt didn’t want to say everything and wanted us to reach out to the daughter personally, but she did tell us that the first thing that Ethel told her children when she met my dad was that she met a guy with a 401k. Who the fuck talks about that first?! Not even his name or where he’s from, but that he has money...So Orange ends up reaching out to Ethel’s oldest daughter. Ethel has said that her oldest daughter is a liar and manipulator and is basically the worst person in the world. I don’t know how someone can say that about their own child that they claim to love so much. Anyways, so Orange is pretty level headed and took everything that the daughter said with a grain of salt. But the daughter said some nice things and honestly made us feel better about Ethel all around. One of the things that Ethel has said on multiple occasions is that her children refuse to meet my dad. Well, when Orange talked to the daughter, she said that she was more than happy to meet my dad and talk to him about Ethel. But again, overall, she did make us feel better and that Ethel actually had feelings for my dad and wasn’t going to gaslight him (turns out that wasn’t accurate). We wanted to be upfront with my dad so Orange told him about the conversation and told him that it made her feel better. My dad told Ethel (including that Orange took what the daughter had to say with a grain of salt and that the daughter made her feel better) that Orange talked to her daughter and Ethel says, “I can’t believe that Orange would believe her lies!” First of all, I trust anything that her daughter says over her in the first place, but that just reaffirmed that. Second, that’s extreme gaslighting and my dad believes it.

Okay, so this has been a lot to write out and a lot more exhausting than I thought it would be. I’ve taken week long breaks (if not more) at a time, so I don’t know if I’ll forget to say something or if I’ll go in a different direction than I was originally planning for the next paragraphs but hopefully this is all entertaining enough. It won’t be all in chronological order, but I’m doing my best.

So after all of this, my dad tells us that we should go through my mom’s stuff that’s in the house that we want. Until you’ve done that shortly after the death of a loved one, you don’t know how exhausting it is. The first time was on a weekend that almost all of my siblings were able to be there. We video chatted my sister who couldn’t be there since she lives across the country. So we split up all of the big stuff. There’s some big furniture that people couldn’t currently take. Like I live in a tiny 1 bed apt and I couldn’t fit a piano, dresser, and vanity all in my apartment (let alone just one of them). So those are staying there until I can buy a house (which hopefully will be across the country). I was going out every Sunday to go through everything. I was a little petty and at one point was going through a box that had a bunch of church stuff in it right in front of my dad and kept asking him if he wanted the church things. My dad said we had plenty of time to go through things and take what we wanted so we were only doing what we felt was necessary and then would take our time from there.

One of the things that my dad and Ethel claimed was that their deceased spouses were trying to get them together...if anyone knows my mom, that’s definitely not true. I don’t know how my dad doesn’t see my mom would have hated Ethel. Her, Green’s wife, and myself would be gossiping so much about Ethel. Plus, one of my mom’s wishes when she passed was that if my dad got remarried then all of us kids would like his new wife. Not a single one of us like her. So not only is my dad completely oblivious to the fact my mom wouldn’t like her, he doesn’t uphold to one of her dying wishes.

So Ethel comes back to Utah. I don’t remember quite why. But she stayed at my dad’s. It was supposed to be temporary and she was supposed to stay somewhere else for most of the time she was here. Then she kept making excuses as to why she wasn’t leaving Utah and not staying somewhere else. There was one point where she was supposed to drive back to Oregon, but her car “broke down” about 7 (I think) hours from my dad’s house, but probably somewhere in the middle of the drive. So my dad being the good guy that he is drove out to pick her up and brought her back to his house. Where she has stayed ever since. The only time she’s left since was for their honeymoon. She had come back a couple of months before they were even technically engaged.

Oh my god! I just remembered something I forgot to mention earlier! Ethel and my dad do a LOT of PDA. My parents rarely showed affection in front of us. They rarely kissed in front of us. The most they would do was hold hands. Well Ethel and my dad are full on cuddling in front of us. Which wouldn’t be a big deal if that wasn’t the first thing I ever saw of her when we first met and if they didn’t do it so much in front of us at the beginning and if my parents showed any form of PDA. They also called each other pet names which my parents never did. All in all, it was really weird. AND my dad made a dirty joke which he has never done so to his kids in the 34 years he’s had any of us. I was very taken aback. So they ended up getting officially engaged and wanting to get married ASAP. Blue had been engaged for several months before. We told my dad to not even get engaged before Blue got married...well, they were talking about having a small ceremony in Oregon and inviting only a couple of her friends. No....my dad is not getting married without a single one of his friends or family members. I think enough of us spoke up about that so the idea was quickly shot down. But my dad was talking about getting married within maybe even weeks. We all knew Blue didn’t want him to and that would be taking away from him. So we convinced my dad not to get married before Blue’s wedding. He was unhappy about it, but he waited.

So leading up to their wedding, Ethel kept pushing us to get things out of the house. When we talked to my dad, he would always say that we could take as much time as we need and Ethel would say she never pushed us at all. And whenever I’d come out, I hated being around Ethel and would always go hide in the basement “doing things” until the rest of my siblings came. When I was forced to talk to her by myself, she would just keep talking and talking and not letting me get a word in. I live with my boyfriend and I’m not married so she thinks I just live in sin. She asked me about him once just so that she could say that she has family in the city he grew up in and so on and so forth. She also won’t talk about my sister’s girlfriend. Probably because they live in sin too...anyway, Orange, Green’s wife and myself planned a bridal shower for Blue’s (at the time) fiancée. She didn’t want Ethel there, but it was being hosted at my dad’s and Ethel never left so we couldn’t get around it. Speaking of Blue and his wedding, Blue was supposed to have brunch with his fiancée’s parents and my dad. Before my dad was actually engaged, he brought Ethel along. And Ethel doesn’t even ask, but tells them all that she’ll take care of the ties. Then she goes out and buys some samples before even knowing what the wedding colors are! Blue didn’t want her going to the wedding, let alone doing anything for the wedding. When I get married, Ethel will not be doing anything for my wedding.

Blue’s wedding happens. This is the first time Ethel meets my boyfriend. I don’t think they even said one word. This is also the first time that Yellow and his wife have met Ethel. Now Yellow’s wife got her degree in psychology and is a therapist. She said that Ethel crossed off almost all of the signs of a narcissist. Ethel still hasn’t even met Red and her husband in person (even to this day). Now we’re a month away from my dad’s and Ethel’s wedding...unfortunately. My dad asks me to put together a playlist for their wedding. No thanks, but I’ll do it for my dad. He specifically requested a song by Chicago for her walking down the aisle. Chicago was my mom and dad’s band so I was very upset that my dad would have a song with another woman from the band that him and my mom loved so much. I begrudgingly put together the playlist and added that. However, I didn’t add any other Chicago songs (even though he suggested that). And I made sure any songs I used didn’t mention forever or only love or anything like that. I might be a little petty.

Day of their wedding, I find out that all the decorations Ethel asked for from Green’s wife were from Blue’s rehearsal dinner. She didn’t even ask Blue or his (now) wife if she could use them. She asked Green’s wife...and then when she told Ethel she would have to ask Blue, Ethel said something along the lines “Well his dad paid for them so I can use them.” I don’t think it was quite as snarky as I put it, but that was the message she was trying to get across. My siblings are all hanging out at the dining table before the ceremony. Even though they’re both religious, they were just having a civil wedding in the backyard because if they were to marry in their temple, she would have to divorce her deceased husband (but my dad would be able to be married to multiple women for eternity...not misogynistic at all right? /sarcasm). My dad’s bishop comes in all bright and cheery. He knows quite a bit of my family so he comes and says hi. I don’t think it took long for him to realize we weren’t happy about the wedding. Ethel claims she invited her children (I really don’t think she did). She had a few of her family and friends come to the wedding, but none of her children. We’re pretty sure one of the couples that came was her daughter’s ex husband and his new wife (whom she has said she is closer with her daughter’s ex than her actual daughter).

Okay, so I’m now at the point where I’m going to give information that I don’t 100% remember fits where. Some of it was before their wedding, some of it before they even got engaged, some of it after their wedding. This may just be a bunch of word vomit, so I hope it all makes sense and anyone who happens to still be reading this doesn’t get lost. BTW, if you happen to still be reading this, congratulations on making it this far! I told you this would be a long post.

One of the first times we met Ethel when she was out here the first time we were doing a family dinner. I don’t remember everything we did for the dinner. Green’s wife cooked the main meal. Orange was supposed to be in charge of the Au Gratin Potatoes and something else. Well, I had asked what I could do and had the choice of rolls or salad. In our family group chat, my dad said Ethel wanted to contribute and asked what she could do. I told him I would do the salad and asked if she could do the rolls. Apparently that wasn’t good enough and she wanted to do more so she ended up doing the au gratin potatoes. We specifically wanted our family recipe for the potatoes and Orange had already bought the ingredients for it so she let Ethel know where to find the ingredients. Before I get into what actually happened, one of the things that Ethel boasts about all the time is that she grew up helping her mom with catering and so she knows how to cook really well (I have liked very few of the things she’s cooked). So Ethel doesn’t use our recipe and uses her own for the potatoes...they weren’t very good. And the rolls she brought were terrible store bought rolls. Like, if she doesn’t want to make rolls, whatever, but at least buy decent rolls. Also, rolls are a really easy thing to make to show off to a family you’re trying to impress. I seriously just get the frozen Rhode’s Rolls and then after cooking them melt butter on top of them. Super easy and people are always super impressed with how good they are. So not only does she not use the recipe for potatoes we wanted, her recipe is meh, AND she gets shitty store bought rolls.

At one point, Green’s wife and I were going through the small room upstairs cleaning it out and trying to make sure my sibling’s belongings got in a box for each of them. This is the room that my mom died in. All of my siblings were in this room with her. It is painted dark blue and along the middle of the wall around the room is a trim of wallpaper covered in whales. Ethel and my dad are wanting to turn this room into his home office (especially with how much he’s been working at home due to Covid-19). Which is whatever, they can do what they want. While Green’s wife and I are in there cleaning out the room, Ethel comes in and starts using some sort of tool on the wallpaper that tore small holes in it. She said it was so they could take down the wallpaper easier. I don’t know why she had to do that while we were in there cleaning. It has been a few months since then and she hasn’t done anything else to that room (including taking down the wallpaper). Green’s wife believes she did that while we were in there just to be mean. She actually believes Ethel just likes being mean and does things just to be mean. It’s hard to disagree with that considering everything else.

I don’t know why I didn’t say something about this earlier when I was writing about how Orange and my Aunt J had spoken to Ethel’s daughter. There were some things that they talked about that were huge red flags. Ethel’s daughter said that Ethel was a gold digger and just looking for someone to take care of her. Also that from Ethel’s first marriage, she got $60,000 from her ex husband and she blew it all within just a few months. Ethel has been filed for bankruptcy multiple times and just overall isn’t great with money. All of her children have tried to help her and she has burned every bridge because she just sells the cars they would buy for her or do other stupid things because she never had any money. I mentioned before that Ethel’s children refused to meet my dad. They said that it was way too soon after her last husband passed (their step dad) for them to meet my dad (yes, it had been like 7 months). So since they refused to meet my dad right away, Ethel told them that they wouldn’t be a part of her life anymore. Of course my dad doesn’t believe any of this, but like I said earlier, I trust Ethel’s daughter way more than I trust her.

When my dad was talking about getting married to Ethel, one of the things we pushed for was a prenup. My dad reluctantly agreed that he would look into it. It turns out that in my state, if they hadn’t gotten a prenup stating otherwise, when my dad died (if Ethel was still alive) then everything would go to her and then once she died everything would go to her children and nothing would go to my dad’s kids. So he did go through with the prenup (which also covered if they got a divorce he wouldn’t have to give her money or anything). His lawyer actually gave him some really good advice and I hope that my dad was more open to his lawyer about those things than he was with us even though we said the same things. And luckily, control of the trust and everything else is still in the hands of my oldest siblings when my dad passes (even if Ethel is still alive).

So Green has 2 kids. One that they’re fostering and hoping to adopt, the other has some cognitive disabilities. Even so, he is the smartest kid I know. At 3 years old he could name all of the planets in the solar system. I’m 24 and I can’t do that. He just retains knowledge really really well. Well, Ethel likes to call him her “special little buddy”...which is extremely ableist to say the least. He doesn’t really like her and he can tell that we all don’t like her (he’s 6 and he can see that better than my dad). Green’s wife absolutely hates it when Ethel calls him that too. Green’s wife is probably the one that stands up for all of us the most. But she’s also super nervous of the inevitable time that she pisses Ethel off. Ethel has called CPS on her own daughter because her preteen grandson was moody and didn’t talk to her while she was at lunch with him. If she calls CPS on Green and his wife, then they take their foster child out of the home immediately and who knows what that’ll do to their chances of adopting him. When Ethel calls CPS on any of my siblings, if I haven’t already done it for other reasons, I will tell my dad that I want to be a part of his life, but our relationship can’t include Ethel. I know my siblings and they do not do a single thing that would concern CPS.

So when Blue got married, I’m not sure exactly when it was, but I know that Ethel talked to Blue’s new sister-in-law for a bit. And she was talking about Blue’s wife’s anxiety, which Blue’s wife has never said a thing to Ethel about. And Ethel just went on and on about Blue’s wife’s anxiety and how hard it must be and that’s why Blue’s wife is like this and so on and so forth....I’m curious to know what Ethel thinks my mental illness is and tells people about.

I’m writing this one right now because it just happened and I don’t want to forget the details. So my dad’s house has 6 bedrooms and 2 family rooms. It was a good size for my family while we were growing up, but now it’s just the two of them in a 6 bedroom home. They’re planning on redoing a lot of things and we’ve been doing a lot to clean out the house and split up my mom’s stuff. So in the smallest bedroom in the house, there was a lot of baby stuff and when we didn’t know where to put things, a lot of it would go in there. Well, on multiple occasions, they’ve told us that we can take as much time as we need to go through the house and that there was no rush. Ethel has been pushing to get everything out when my dad isn’t around, but now even my dad has pushed to get things out a little bit. They decide that anything we haven’t gone through and they’re not sure what we want, they’ll put in a storage unit for us to go through when we can. I thought that was a great compromise. Well, Ethel ended up taking a picture of the small room and posting it on Facebook talking about how messy we are and how terrible of step children we are. How we were supposed to get it out by the time they got back from their honeymoon so on and so forth. Yellow and his wife see this before Ethel ends up deleting it off of Facebook. Yellow calls my dad (which I’m so grateful because so far it’s just been the girls making any sort of fuss) and is really upset about it while talking to my dad. My dad puts him on speaker and talks to Yellow and Ethel together. Ethel says she accidentally posted it on Facebook and it was supposed to be just for her aunt. How do you accidentally post something on Facebook? And if you’re talking shit and posting it to a private audience, you sure as hell aren’t going to make the mistake of posting it publicly. But also, she was talking shit about my dad’s kids and he defended her. How can he take her side on that one?

The anniversary of my mom’s death is on the same day as Green’s birthday. Well, the day was coming up and in our family group chat Ethel asks how we want to celebrate the birthday and remember my mom. Not my dad, ETHEL asks...that is not her place in the slightest. If my dad had asked, then I would have been more than happy to talk about it, but Ethel doesn’t get to be the one to try to see how we want to celebrate. Green’s family, Yellow’s family, and myself and my boyfriend ended up going to an amusement park for that day. Then we went out to my dad’s that night for pizza (hawaiian especially to remember my mom) and to watch a destructo show (because my mom LOVED those). Yellow and his family were staying at my dad’s. Well, Ethel told Yellow and his wife to make themselves at home and to eat whatever and drink whatever. When Yellow was telling me about this, I thought it was so funny because 1 he said he felt like “yeah, of course I’ll make myself at home, this is my house, not yours! and 2 my mom would get so annoyed with him for when he visited opening up a bag of chips without asking for permission or things like that. Like small things that didn’t matter in the scheme of things, but he would do with my mom, of course he’s not going to care what Ethel thinks about it. The other thing that Ethel talked to Yellow and his wife about was getting rid of all the sippy cups and only keeping one in the house per grandchild with their name on it. She said that she would always find 5 sippy cups full of milk laying around the house, but she wasn’t saying that because of Yellow’s family. So that means she was saying it because of Green’s family. Which, the younger one never leaves his sippy cup behind and the older one doesn’t drink milk (he used to be allergic and now just doesn’t like it).

One of the things that bugs Green’s wife a lot is that Ethel will always message her and say passive aggressive shit or ask her to tell my family about something or talking to her about getting everything cleaned out of the house, etc. At one point she asked Green’s wife to choose what toys they wanted to keep in the house. My mom bought way too many toys for the grandchildren, but she loved them. She would end up putting a bunch in storage and rotating them out when the kids stopped playing with some toys because they were bored of them (genius really). But it sounded like Ethel was wanting to get rid of basically all of the toys, which the point of having them there and not at my siblings’ house was so that the kids had toys to play with there and only got to play with them at my dad’s house. I think one of the reasons for getting rid of them or at least downsizing is that she always claims that the toys don’t get put away. They do though. I have been there when my siblings are putting their kids mess away. I’ve helped clean the toys up. They always get cleaned up.

Oh my god!! I can’t believe it has taken me this long to mention this one. So while my dad and Ethel were on their honeymoon, we were going through the house and trying to clean out as much as possible. Well, while doing so, we found a TON of different medications. Some were for her, some her deceased husband, and some were for somebody named “Gale Friend”. But there were probably at least 40 different bottles of pills (if not more). And at one point, Green’s wife was downstairs cleaning out of of the bedrooms. In one of the vanities (that is either mine or Orange’s, not even my dad’s let alone Ethel’s), there were some more bottles of pills and LOOSE PILLS in the drawer. This is an area that my nephews are unsupervised a LOT. Imagine if one of them opened the drawer and ate one of them! Yellow’s wife thinks that it’s too sloppy for an addict and that Ethel was trying to get us to say something to my dad so that she could play the innocent victim and that his kids just hate her and it’s her and him against the world.

Speaking of playing the victim, she does that with my dad a lot. She has literally told him before that it’s him and her against the world. She has talked bad to him about every single one of his kids (except my oldest sister that I know of). She has been trying to cut him off from his family. He can’t talk to anyone of us or even his sister alone. Also, when we’re around, she talks to my dad in a baby voice. I’m sure she does it when we’re not there too, but just trying to act like she’s this innocent helpless little girl and my dad has fallen for it. I’m sooo scared that he is finding himself to be miserable and feels like he has nobody there to help him. I hope he knows that any one of his kids would help him if he said anything. He’s such a good guy and deserves happiness. I hope that soon, he is able to realize that she’s not happiness.

Wow, this was incredibly long. I’m 100% sure there are things that I missed/forgot about. And I’m 100% sure there are things that will happen later and I will be back here writing it down to keep record and if anyone actually was interested in knowing. If you are here reading this, you seriously deserve a medal for being able to get through this entire thing. Thanks for bearing with my scattered brain and I hope it at least made you laugh at the insanity if nothing else.

#long post #tw death #death #tw gaslighting #tw emotional manipulation #tw drugs #psychopath #insane #insanity #i miss my mom #i hate this woman #why did you do this dad?

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this-do-be-therapeutic · 5 years ago

Text

Fall

Sebastian Stan x Reader

A bunch of fluff that will hopefully make you smile.

Warning: Seb is so good???????????????????

A/N: Just like my last one, this both felt super long and super rushed at the same time???? IDEK anymore, man. I hope you enjoy.

If you have any writing tips (like not writing all of your fan fictions at 1 in the morning), I’m open to any and all of them!!!

People love Fall for many reasons. The pretty leaves changing colors, the weather getting cooler letting everyone get ready for hot chocolate and cuddling, Thanksgiving, even the leaves when they fall and get to the satisfying crunchy state. However, that was also the worst part of fall, the leaves falling. I always spent over an hour raking up the leaves that fell from my huge maple tree in my huge yard and the two other trees in my yard, it was so much work, every single year.

And that’s exactly where I am right now, raking up the leaves for my parents because they’re both old and always working. My mom recently got kidney stones take out, so it’s understandable that she wouldn’t want to be dealing with these. My dad was always busy working in his store that he owned with a partner and my brother. Why my parents couldn’t ask one of the other boys to do it, I’m not sure, but whatever.

I’m raking up the leaves, with my rake, like every normal person does, when I hear a loud whirring noise. Like someone running a motor, and the sound of leaves rustling after it.

Okay, so someone is cleaning off their sidewalk with a leaf blower, fantastic. I’m glad people care about others walking on the sidewalk.

I turn to glance at the good samaritan and am shocked at what I see. Not only is that man absolutely stunning in his leather jacket, short brown hair that looks way too soft to be real falling in his eyes, his perfect muscular build that is oh so tasty, but he’s not using the leaf blower to clean the sidewalk. Oh no, he’s using it in his freaking yard?! Who on earth does that? That is not morally okay. I take back everything I said about his stunning body.

Okay, fine, it’s not the worst idea. In fact it’s kind of genius, sort of. But you’d think with a body like his, he’d be fine doing a little work, and I definitely would not mind him doing it. But it’s also kind of dumb. First of all, you can’t really aim with a leaf blower, it’s just air, so it goes everywhere, often times making an even bigger mess than you started with. And it doesn’t make satisfying piles that everyone loves to jump in even when it’s not the leaf pile they made in their own yard and it makes a huge mess for the owner of whoever’s house it is has to clean up and it’s so rude and frustrating and freaking trespassing and GET OUT OF MY YARD, YOU CHILDREN.

Anywayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

I continue to stare at him doing that for a few more minutes, torn between swooning and going over to chop off his head (and maybe keeping it in the freezer with some sunglasses, kinda like Medusa, ya know? Because I’m sure his gaze is just so darn captivating I would freeze up the moment he looks at me, wink wink) when he glances up at me. He turns off his darn leaf blower and sends me a shining smile while walking over to my parents’ yard. And let me say this right now, he gets more and more attractive the closer he gets, HOT DANG.

“Hi neighbor. Couldn’t help but notice you checking my girl out. She’s pretty, right?” Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my gosh his voice is breathtaking. But who is he talking about? Is this his way of telling me to stop looking at him because he’s off the market without actually having a female around??????

“She? What are you talking about?”

He smiles even wider, as if excited to show me this girl. He lift his leaf blower, using his head to gesture at it a little. “Her name is Ethel. She works real hard and well. Had her for about 5 years now.” First off, that’s a gross name (A/N, I am so sorry if your name is Ethel, I asked my friend for a name and he came up with that and the reader had to think it was gross, love you!), and second, what?

“You... You named your leaf blower?”

“Of course, who doesn’t?”

“Any person with any sort of common sense????”

“I don’t see a problem with it. People name their cars. Anyway, my name is Sebastian Stan.” At least his name isn’t terrible. I kinda like it, actually.

“Huh, well good for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” I gesture to the yard and my rake before I begin again, the sound of the leaves getting crushed and moved loud and hopefully ending the conversation.

“Wait, what’s your name?” And he didn’t leave.

“Doesn’t matter, you won’t be seeing me again anytime soon. I don’t live here, and I only come when my parents ask me to.” And that’s when it starts to rain. “Freaking hormonal weather...” I curse the rain because it means I can’t finish my work today.

“Shoot, I should get home, get Ethel in a warm dry place, she gets a little finicky when she’s wet.” He smiles again before walking away.

I sigh and sit on my parents’ porch. I took a cab here, neither of my parents are home so the door’s locked, I don’t have a key, and I can’t call a cab because of course my phone decided to die a little after I started raking. So I just sit there, watching the rain pour down on the pile of leaves I had managed to make.

A few minutes of sitting there by myself and Sebastian comes jogging into my yard with an umbrella. “Locked out?” he asks, as if it’s not obvious.

I roll my eyes and respond, “No, I just love sitting in the freezing cold rain without a jacket watching my hard work get ruined.”

He chuckles a little before walking up to me, offering his hand. “Come to my place. It’s warm and unlocked right now. I also make a mean cup of hot chocolate.”

“Tempting, but how do I know you’re not just luring me into your house so you can murder me?” I glance at his hand. It looks rough and calloused. Probably from lifting weights. Those metal bars aren’t exactly easy on the skin.

“Come on, would I do that? With a face like this?” His smile is literally blinding me.

“Yes.”

He sighs, his smile falling a little, making me sad. “Come on, at least if I’m a murderer you’ll die comfortably and not out in this ice cold rain.”

I nod a little. “I guess you’re right.” I reach up and take his hand, his smile back to its original brightness as he pulls me up.

“So, do I get to know your name yet?” He wraps his incredibly warm arm over my shoulder so I fit under the umbrella with him.

“Not until I’m certain you won’t kill me.” He laughs again and squeezes my shoulders gently in amusement as he leads us back to his house. My hand flies to his chest in that action and I can feel his well defined pectorals, taunting me because I can’t see them.

“I guess I’ll just have to come up with a name on my own. How about... Jessica?”

“Oh gosh, can we end this nonsense right now? I don’t want you calling me any actual names.”

“But you look like a Jessica to me.” I shoot him a glare right as he looks at me. “Fine fine, how about Princess?”

“You’re killing me, Sebastian.”

“I think it fits you.” He squeezes me again as we get to his door.

“And how do you figure that?” He pulls his arms from around me, causing me o shiver from the cold reaching where I was used to his warmth.

“So far you have been nothing but a royal pain.” He opens the door before closing his umbrella and shaking the water.

“Wow, thank you so much. That means a lot to me.” Sebastian looks back at me and we both just stand there, looking at each other, his face no longer having his beautiful smile. Instead, he looks thoughtful and serious.

“That’s exactly why I said it. I couldn’t possibly risk upsetting the princess.” He continues with a straight face for just a few more moments before bursting out laughing and telling me to go inside with his arm. “Please, come inside. Ladies first.”

I scoff, just thinking ‘That’s what she said’ as I walk in. When I first walk in I see the living room. A love seat against one wall across the TV on top of a little dresser thing, most likely full of movies, consoles, games, all the works a stereotypical man would have. Between the TV and couch is a coffee table, a vase of yellow roses in the middle of it. In the corners of the room are lamps and other plants.

“Please, have a seat. I’ll bring you something to drink.” He shuts the door and heads into what I can only assume is the kitchen. I take a seat on the couch, enjoying the softness on my bum.

Sebastian comes back around 5-10 minutes later with 2 cups of a steamy beverage. He takes a seat next to me and hands me one. Hot chocolate, I soon realize. “Thank you, Sebastian.” He nods silently, watching my reaction as I blow on it before taking a small sip. At first, all I can feel is it burning across my tongue and down my throat, but the after taste is magical. It straight up tastes like caramel Lindor chocolate truffles. “Holy heck, that is amazing!”

He sets his own cup down with a smile. “I’m glad you like it. My mom taught me the recipe. She is a magical woman. She would have liked you.”

“Oh? How come she isn’t around to like me?”

“She lives in Romania.”

“Romania? Is that where you’re from?” He nods, his hair that had been tucked away falling back into his face. My hand shoots up to tuck it away so I can see his beautiful eyes better. “Do you miss being there?”

“Of course. My family is there, and many of my old friends.”

“How come you moved here, if you liked it so much?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just felt a pull to move across the globe. Maybe it was your soul telling mine it missed me.” He smiles sheepishly and looks down.

“Do you really believe that stuff?” He nods again. “That is so disgustingly cute.” I smile when he looks up again.

“You have a beautiful smile, you know that?”

‘No, not many people tell me that. I guess I don’t do it that often.” I lean my head against the back of his couch. “Not many people try so hard to get me to smile.”

“Well then it is their loss. Your smile is breathtaking. Thank you for blessing me with your smile, Princess.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N, that’s my name.” He hums softly.

“I think Princess fits you better.”

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #Sebastian Stan Fluff #Sebastian Stan x Female Reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes x Female Reader #Bucky Barnes Fluff

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dancingsparks · 5 years ago

Text

The Only Thing Worse Than Spotting A Spider

A silly little Dron fic, inspired by my own incompetence at dealing with spiders. Thank you so much @randoyoyo for beta-reading this!

Also on Ao3

“And bring that lovely man of yours with you next time, you hear me? I get terribly lonely with no visitors all day.” Ron snorts — Ethel is many things, but she is most certainly not lonely. Ethel has a family big enough to rival Ron’s own, everyone coming by regularly, carrying food and bringing stories to entertain the old lady. She is sweet, a little too forward sometimes maybe, but nobody can stay angry at her for long. She is the kind of neighbour who invites you to tea, who sees everything and gives you knowing smirks when you pass her in the hallway. Ethel had realised Draco moved in with him way before Ron did, for example — a fact they both still tease him mercilessly over.

“As if I could keep him away if I tried. You know he is already planning which cake we should bring next time.” Ethel cackles at that, her laugh reverberating in the corridor and up the stairs, filling Ron with warmth. He truly didn’t expect to make such good friends when he moved out, and into a muggle area too! But now, standing here with Ethel after being dragged in for a quick cup of tea on his way up to his and Draco’s flat, Ron can’t imagine anything else.

“Chocolate dear, it’s my favourite.” Ron can already picture Draco, only his curls showing over the heavy books with complicated recipes, scoffing at the mere mention of something as plebeian as chocolate cake. He would whip out something spectacular, fancy and elegant, proudly present it and get awed compliments — but never as good as chocolate cake.

If he’s honest, Ron never understood Draco’s problem with chocolate, why he doesn’t just bake the cake already. He himself loves it, and Draco has a sweet tooth — he loves everything with chocolate. And yet Draco stubbornly refuses, pulling on his apron and setting to work. It’s endearing, and Ron loves watching him, the concentrated little frown, the graceful movements through the kitchen, the faint layer of flour settling on him and giving him a ghostly look, the inevitable dough tasting.

“He knows that, Ethel.” Ron presses a kiss on her cheek, salutes her and dashes up to meet his boyfriend before she can keep him any longer. All this talk of cakes made him hungry. Or maybe it’s the anticipation, the giddy excitement.

Today is his and Draco’s one-year anniversary. No one thought they would make it this long. Hell, Ron didn’t think they would make it this long. When he saw Draco working in the Bakery, following Harry around who insisted he was up to something — poisoning cakes, money laundering, potion smuggling — they quickly became regulars, Ron eating Draco’s delicious cakes and Harry watching him suspiciously.

Ron doesn’t remember how Harry talked him into dating Draco to find out more, to gain his trust and destroy the evil scheme from behind enemy lines. He does remember the gobsmacked expression on his face when Ron told him he wasn’t pretending anymore, hadn’t been for a long time and won’t ever be again. It took a lot of groveling for Draco to forgive him his less than pure intentions at the beginning, but Ron wouldn’t change a thing, not if it meant giving up what they built for themselves.

To celebrate, and spite all those who told them they wouldn’t last a month, Draco chose a fancy dish Ron can’t even pronounce to be prepared by themselves. And with that he meant of course Ron would do the cooking, while he himself does everything in his power to distract him. That is how it always goes when they cook, Draco’s skills limited to an astounding palette of soup — the talent for potions definitely showing — and screwing up the meals Ron would cook. He would season them all wrong, use the worst possible ingredients, nibble on Ron’s neck just so. They ended up with far too many burned meals, ordering take away instead.

This meal would probably be no different. The thought that Draco would restrain himself so they could eat Ron’s first and most likely barely passable attempt at an incredible complicated meal is ludicrous. If Draco wanted a fancy meal, he would have dragged him to a restaurant. Ron can live very well without that though, without being stuffed in in formal dress robes, without being observed by others and forced to behave all stiff and appropriate. He would do it for Draco, though he didn’t want to do it as often as Ron feared, thank Merlin.

Whistling some tune that is stuck in his head through frequent repetitions in the radio, Ron unlocks the door. “Love, I’m home.”

He waits for the shouted reminder Don’t call me that, sweetheart, the ritual a mockery of surgery-sweet pet names they themselves would never admit to using. He frowns when it doesn’t come, closing the door and placing the groceries on the floor, out of the way. He slips out of his shoes, lines them up carefully — Draco wouldn’t shut up about it for a month if he didn’t — and steps on socked and thus silent feet further into the flat.

It’s silent, eerily so, tension in the air, and Ron is gripping his wand, whole body ready to attack, to deflect and defend. Dread pools in Ron’s gut, spreading heavily through his veins, creeping over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He is wound up tight, ready — needing — to burst.

“Draco?” Keeping the waver, the uncertainty, the fear out his voice is harder than expected, the hold on his wand tightening subconsciously. Ron didn’t expect an answer, and when he hears Draco call from the kitchen he quickly moves towards him, not letting up his guarding but hastening his steps, wanting to help him, to free him — whatever he needs.

The picture that greets him in the kitchen is … not what Ron was expecting. Draco seems unharmed, a little ruffled but not hurt or injured. That’s good. It would be great, but he is also standing on a chair, clutching his arms around himself and looking frightened, eyes frantically searching.

The surge of relief that washed through Ron at seeing Draco not in a puddle of his own blood is quickly crashed in the realisation of just how not alright Draco actually is. Taking measured steps towards him, hands raised to show he doesn’t mean harm, Ron moves farther into the kitchen. Draco eyes flit to him but don’t stay, searching the walls. Ron looks around himself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

There is their counter, things already set up for Ron to start cooking; there is the fridge, with their many photographs of themselves, of friends and family; there is their table, Draco standing on one of the chairs. That is not all that unusual, now that he thinks about it: Draco is a drama queen. After having assured himself everything is fine, Ron is pretty confident Draco is exaggerating.

Ron loves these moments, when he can come in and save him, sweep him of his feet like a chivalrous knight rescuing a damsel in distress. Draco, however, did not appreciate the comparison and Ron slept on the couch for a week after foolishly mentioning it to him.

“Where is the monster?” He expected Draco to laugh, indulge him in the game and describe a fearsome beast hiding under their table maybe, glare at him and threaten him for daring to make fun of him.

Draco does none of these things, he keeps looking around, searching.

“You think I would be standing here if I knew?” Ron frowns at him, that’s neither here nor there. But at least Draco doesn’t sound scared, more impatient and annoyed than anything else.

“Okay what is going on here?”

“There was a spider here, climbing on the wall, and now it’s gone.” Draco is looking at him now, raising an eyebrow at him as if Ron is supposed to fix this.

But Ron can’t move, the words hitting him over the head and paralysing him. He can feel them, the spiders, crawling on his skin, legs moving quick and light, ghosting touches creeping up his body and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Without thinking, trying to escape the sensation, the threat, Ron jumps up onto the chair, clinging to Draco for dear life.

“Let go of me!” Ignoring his protest, Ron looks around, frantically searching, mind running wild with images of spiders emerging from every crack, every corner, coming down the walls and covering every surface.

“Ronald, look at me.” His head is being turned around, slim hands holding him and stroking his face, Draco looking at him with wide grey eyes, concerned. “Now, that is better isn’t it?”

That really is better, yes. Ron can feel himself calming down, the sensation of hairy legs on his back lifting and replaced with the soft touch on his face, Draco taking up his senses.

“There you are, better now?” Ron nods mutely, embarrassment coming over him and making him blush. The worried frown on Draco’s face disappears, replaced with a smirk that rings every alarm bell in Ron’s head. This particular smirk seldom means good for him.

“What kind of Gryffindor are you, fleeing from a little spider?” Against all expectations, they jab doesn’t hurt, doesn’t remind him of his failure in bravery, but instead calms him down further, even makes him laugh. He shoves at Draco in retaliation; wouldn’t do to let him think he can get away with that kind of thing.

Draco sways precariously, letting out a most undignified squeak that he would deny later, not expecting the shove. Ron abruptly remembers they are standing on a chair, that place is limited right now. Not wanting Draco to fall on the floor — he would never let him forget about that, Ron can already hear him complain: that one time Ron tried to feed him to a spider and hoped to flee while it was distracted, gorging on poor, helpless Draco. Ron quickly grabs him, pulling him back in.

“What kind of Slytherin are you, not having come up with an ingenious plan to get us out of here?” Draco glares at him, cross over his near fall, blushing and trying very hard to appear unaffected. It is, despite their circumstances, rather lovely.

“The plan was to make you deal with it, obviously. Don’t blame me for neglecting your duties.” Draco is adorable when he is pouting, not that he takes favourable to being told. Draco has many wonderful traits he doesn’t like pointed out; Ron learnt to appreciate them silently.

“My duty, is it?”

“Of course, why else would I keep you around?” Ron can think of quite many reasons why Draco is keeping him around; like the fact that he is providing food, that Draco makes him carry around the heavy stuff when needed, that he makes him laugh every day.

None of these are worth bringing up now, not when indulging Draco in his antics always proved to be entertaining.

“Yeah? Let me deal with this then.” Casting another look through the room, searching for the spider again and not finding anything, Ron nods to himself. He can do this, he is a Gryffindor, for Godric’s sake!

Determined he steps down from the chair, pulling a startled Draco down with him and carrying him out of the infested kitchen as quickly as possible. It’s neither as easy nor as heroic as expected, Draco struggling in his hold, testing his balance and complaining loudly.

Ron ignores him, taking long steps to bring them into safety.

He only stops once they are in the living room, far away from the kitchen and with the floo close should further escaping be needed.

“Fine, you are a true Gryffindor, foolish and brash and constantly needing to prove your valour. Will you set me down now?” Ron doesn’t want to, now that Draco finally stilled and holds on to him instead, sitting him back down is the last thing he wants to do.

Draco, clever as he is, realises that too. “No! I know this look, there is no way I’m kissing you while our house is —”

He doesn’t continue, instead gesticulating wildly and grimacing in the direction of their kitchen.

Right. The spider.

Ron certainly doesn’t want to go back in, and he knows that letting Draco deal with it would entail the entire house being meticulously cleaned by the exterminators. Which is a totally unnecessary and overly dramatic path of action. All they need is someone to go in there, catch the darn thing and release it in some garden far away from here. Ron still remembers the lecture Harry held about not killing — Harry!

That is the solution! Harry could deal with the spider while he and Draco drink a nice cup of tea to recover from the shock, and as thanks he will invite Harry to stay for dinner sometime. Watching Harry and Draco bicker and pretend not to like each other is hilarious and it has been way too long since Ron got the chance.

“No worries love, I have a plan.” Draco raises an eyebrow at that and opens his mouth to argue, but Ron just drops a quick kiss on his nose, distracting him, and grabs the floo powder.

Ron won’t allow their anniversary to be spoilt by something trifling as this. They both dealt with worse, fate would have to try harder if it wants to ruin their happiness.

#draco x ron #ron x draco #dron #hp #fanfic #my writing #domestic fluff

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malarkeys-beanie · 5 years ago

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hii can i get a ship? i’m 5’4, black hair and eyes, half brazilian half chinese. i’m pretty introverted, i get stressed very easily (usually calm down by taking hot showers), and i’ve been told i have a resting bitch face. with the person i’m dating i’m pretty much wearing they’re clothes 24/7, and although i’m introverted i don’t mind spending a lot of time with then, doing something or nothing at all. thanks !!

i think you and Donald Malarkey would be absolutely aDORable together!

i’m gonna do another modern au here. let’s do something real cliche like you guys live in the same apartment building and Don gets your mail by accident. so that morning he knocks on your door and is greeted by just about the prettiest lady he’s ever seen. your beautiful eyes and shiny hair positively mesmerize him for a hot second. he catches his bearings and shyly returns your mail. from them on out poor pining Malarkey finds any and every excuse to talk to you. he found some random bracelet on the ground (he bought it himself) and was wondering is maybe it belonged to you. he saw that someone’s window was broken and was wondering if it was yours and if you need help fixing it (he absolutely knows it’s someone else’s window). Don calls up Muck for advise “i just can’t tell if she’s into me”. it’s difficult to tell due to the resting bitch face, but i mean how could you not be into the cute ginger with biceps fit for a superhero? Muck of course encourages him to just shoot his shot. finally he gets sick of all the games and the next time he passes you in the hall he just straight out asks you if you’d like to get coffee sometime. you gladly accept (you had been about at the point where you were just gonna ask him yourself) and you decide on that saturday morning at the place down the street.

saturday morning rolls around and you have some jitters so you have to call one of your friends for reassurance about your date with the cute ginger in your apartment building (oh he finally asked you out did he). little do you know that don is having the same problem. he has called Muck several times and Skip once again gives him a pep talk (after his initial teasing ofc). Malarkey arrives to pick you up and when you answer the door he is thrown off for a second by how pretty you look for your date. the two of you walk down to the coffee shop, and there are plenty of shy smiles and heart eyes on the way. you guys order and start chatting. you ease into conversation really well right off the bat. malarkey initiates most of the conversation at first, but eventually you get comfortable enough that it gets more balanced. you find him really easy to open up to. the typical first date questions are asked: where he’s from (Astoria, Oregon), about his friends (he’s got a group of guys he’s really close with), and his pets (he’s got a bird named Ethel). it’s a smashing success of a first date, and when you look at the clock you realize you’ve been chatting for almost three hours! you agree that you HAVE to do this again sometime soon and Malarkey drops back off at your apartment, in a chivalrous way ofc, but also just because you guys are really enjoying each other’s company and the more time together the better. swoon, am i right?

your 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and dates pass just as successfully and all of a sudden you and Don have been dating for 2 months and are basically sharing apartments. it’s going really well, and you balance each other really well. Malarkey’s super sweet, but he can also be a bit chaotic. he enjoys roller skating around the apartment with Ethel on his shoulder. you are able to control the chaotic-ness when it crosses the line into recklessness, but you still love it. Malarkey’s really understanding of your introverted-ness and he gets you to open up while still respecting your boundaries. the first time he saw you wearing his clothes the poor guy just about passed out. even after it becomes your main at-home attire, Malarkey still thinks it’s simultaneously the cutest and hottest thing he’s ever seen and he never gets totally used to it.

one day you come home from a pretty stressful day and are pretty noticeably distressed. Don gets pretty worried, but you take your shower and then he cuddles you for a while. afterwards you tell him about your stress issues and he is ofc really understanding and sweet about it, and he tells you about the mental health issues he struggles with as well. the longer you guys date the more these things come up and need to be handled, but you two work together as a team and it really helps.

Don really wants you to meet his friends, and the first on that list is ofc Skip Muck. he comes over one friday night and he likes you right away (well you clearly make his best friend so happy, how could he not?) but he can tell how cool you are right away. he acts all disgusted by how head over heels you guys are for each other, but of course he couldn’t be happier for Malarkey. finally you two decide to just move in together (you basically live together anyway, and what’s the point of having two apartments? so Don moves into your apartment. you guys have the best date nights whether you go out to a park or a nice restaurant, go on some spontaneous adventure, or just sit on the couch and binge and cuddle. life is good and you couldn’t be happier that Donald Malarkey got your mail by accident that one morning.

sorry this took so long, i had some writer’s block issues. i hope it’s ok, have a wonderful day!

#band of brothers #donald malarkey #malarkeys beanie ship requests #ok question do i use too many parentheses?#and do i say you guys to much?#polite constructive feedback is appreciated

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the-star-knight · 4 years ago

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Tales of A Star

Summary: A retelling of the show through Star’s eyes

Rated: T+

Chapter 1 - Aftermath of Before Ever After (Origins)

Word Count: 2,150

Author’s Note: I’ve tried to put Star’s start in a post series timing but it didn’t feel right, so instead i just jabbed her in the original show. Nothing major changes, think of it as more layers in the story. Also it’s through Star’s perspective so I try not to repeat anything that is unnecessary.

Next Chapter ▶︎

I often think about how it is to live a normal life. You know, without having death breathing down your neck all the time or having the responsibility of being “the chosen one”.

Having a normal life sounds nice. Not having that stress about thinking about what crazy thing that will get you almost killed today. I envy people who don't ever have to think that.

Anyways, I awoke really early that morning. The sun barely rose above the horizon. I had to make sure I got back in time before my parents got up.

I went down toward the royal stables. There was a pretty young black mare. She has a white marking on her forehead.

"Hey there, Luna," I patted her head. I call her Luna because of her white marking. It sort of resembles the shape of the moon. Okay, more like a wobbly moon.

I pulled out an apple from my bag and gave it to her. She quickly ate it and neighed in happiness. I pulled out another apple from my bag and ate it myself. I didn't have time to prepare anything for myself since I planned to go beyond Corona borders.

I saddled Luna up. "Are you ready?"

She neighed and kicked her hooves in the air in delight.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said. I got on her back and we rode off.

Horseback riding is one of my favorite things in the world. The wind in your hair and the early morning air smelled crisp. We rode through the town square and the bridge, and we passed a village. The buildings slowly disappeared and more and more trees came into view.

Eventually, we approached the Corona Wall. I looked for a way to cross over.

I saw an archway in the wall that we could cross. Unfortunately, it was guarded.

"Hold it!" One of the guards said as we approached. "What is your business?"

"Um…" I tried looking for an excuse.

"Quickly!" Another guard soldier came in panting. "We require backup! A fugitive has been spotted!"

“What? I thought they were all captured yesterday,” the soldier grumbled.

"Look like not all of them! Come on, move it!"

"You, um...stay here!" The guard said. "We will be right back!"

And with that they ran off.

I stood there for a couple of moments to see if they'd come back, but they didn't. Well, that was too convenient.

We continue to pass Corona borders and the wilderness spreads far and wide. It felt like the trees and hills stretched forever.

Eventually we stopped near a bridge. However, the bridge wasn't fit for crossing. It was simply gone. You can see the remains of where the bridge used to be. There was no way getting to the other side

"Weird, I could've sworn the last time we were around here the bridge was still intact,” I said. “Come on, let’s find another way to cross.”

We rode downstream until we hit an easier way to cross. We crossed along a shallow river.

Now, I don't know why but I could feel something was pulling me towards a direction. You can call me crazy all you want but it felt like someone or something was calling me.

As we approached a cliff, I realized that more of these black rocks were appearing. I've seen them sprout every once in a while but only a couple, but these rocks were everywhere. They were tall and sharp. I looked at my reflection at one of them. My braided hair was a mess, with hair strands sticking out all over the place. This is what I get for being in a rush this morning.

These rocks were taller than me, even though I'm not that tall too begin with, but we won't get to that.

Then, I saw something I would have never imagined to see in person: the place where the Sundrop flower was found.

There was a stone lying at the edge of the cliff. It had engravings on it and a small picture of the Sundrop flower.

I couldn't believe it. There it is! The flower that saved the queen and the princess!

Although I was filled with amazement, something else caught my eye.

Something shined on the ground. A gemstone. It looked like a diamond but it was more shiny than any diamond I've ever seen and it seemed to be almost…glowing? I picked it up and put it away in my pocket.

Luna and I decided to rest here and admire the view. I sat and leaned back. Out there was the vast beautiful, blue sea. I closed my eyes and smelled the salt in the air. I heard the waves crash against the cliffs.

I smiled.

It was nice and peaceful. Unlike back at the castle where everything has been hectic especially for the princesses coronation yesterday. My mom is one of the queen’s handmaidens, so she heard all about the crazy thing that happened. Also, you know the news here travels fast with the handmaidens.

Lately things have been weirder than ever. My mom told all of my family what happened yesterday at the castle over dinner. Luckily, my mom wasn’t there when Lady Caine tried to take prisoners. My dad was pretty shaken up by what would've happened if Lady Caine did get her way. Seeing my dad get worried is a face that is hard to look at.

"Oh my gosh! We have to get back!!" I quickly got myself up and got on Luna. "Sorry, girl. I know we didn't stay too long, but we have to get back before my dad finds out."

We rode back as quickly as fast we could.

When we reached the stables, I already found my dad there. But before I could hide, he already saw me.

"Star!" My dad didn't sound exactly thrilled.

"Um...hola, papá!" I said nervously.

"Star, what did we talk about your morning rides with Luna?"

"Um...to not be late for my morning chores?" I try to put on a fake innocent smile.

My dad gave me a look and simply sighed. “You do know that I don’t mind you riding off but you have to at least be on time for your morning chores. It worries me when you are not back on time.”

“Dad, I’m fifteen! I can handle this,” I said. “Plus, the amount of royal guards have practically doubled overnight because of yesterday's incident at that castle.”

"I know," he sighed. "But, it’s still concerning."

I sighed, he was right. It wasn't right for me to get upset over my dad getting worried. "Sorry, dad."

After yesterday, I can only imagine how other Coronans might feel. Corona has been safe for the most part but after yesterday, I'm not so sure how safe Corona is anymore.

"Come on, ojitos, these stables aren't going to clean themselves," my dad said.

Ugh, I always disliked how my dad called me by my eyes. It's shortened for ojitos míos. Yes, I am his only child that has taken after his brown eyes, although having an entire nickname by my eyes is pretty weird since it's basically calling me eyes. Like who would call anyone eyes?

I simply sighed and grabbed a pitchfork and began to unload the hay into the stables.

My dad is the royal stable keeper. Everyone who works in the stables has to listen to him. There are a couple of people that work here, but they are quite a bit older than me. Aside from being the youngest at 15, I’m also pretty much the only girl working here. This makes it a lot harder for me to make friends and my anxiety doesn’t do me any favors either. I’ve always kind of felt out of place, you know?

All throughout the day I couldn’t stop thinking about what I saw and found that morning. The Sundrop flower and that weird gemstone. The gemstone was so unnaturally bright. Maybe I could make a nice piece of jewelry. Oh yes! That's a good idea.

Then I couldn’t stop envisioning how the necklace would look like. It's like an image that was already engraved in my head.

Later that day, I went home and drew the image of the jewelry I had stuck in my head. I pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. I try to derail from that image to see if I could find a better design I liked. However, whatever ideas I had I seem to go back to that image. It kind of resembles some sort of symbol.

I began to think about what jewelry I should make the gem out of.

Maybe earrings? Nah, there's only one gem. Hm...maybe a bracelet? I like it but not sure if that's what I want. What about…oh! A necklace!

When I was finally done with drawing what the necklace would look like, I went to the one person who could help me out.

"Hey, Xavier!" I greeted him as I entered his workshop. Xavier is Corona's blacksmith. He also knows a bunch of cool magic stuff.

"Ah, hello Star. How may I help you?" Xavier said.

"Um, hi Xavier! I was wondering if you could help me," I pulled out my paper with the necklace design on it, "with making this necklace,"

It was pretty embarrassing showing him my design. I’ve seen Rapunzel’s amazing intricate designs for dresses and pretty much anything you can imagine. My design was pretty simple, nothing too elaborate.

I handed the paper to Xavier.

“Oh, this is very nice, Star,” Xavier said. “Over here.”

Xavier walked over to a table and Star followed.

“Here,” I pulled out the weird gem from my bag and handed the gem to Xavier.

“Ah, what an interesting gem,” Xavier observed the gem. “Never seen anything like it.”

Neither have I, I thought.

“Silver metal would be an excellent choice.”

I let Xavier do all the metal work, since I didn't know a single thing about metalworking.

Xavier put the gem on the charm. "Ah, there we go. It is all yours, Star."

He handed the necklace to me.

“Thanks, Xavier. Look great!”

“Anytime.”

I put the necklace on and I headed back home.

At the dinner table my mother was still talking about the crazy thing that happened during the princess’s coronation. Apparently she wasn't done talking about it yesterday.

“So, Ethel told me how Lady Caine took prisoners, including the king,” my mom told us as she laid the plates on the table. “Lo puedes creer, Santiago?”

My dad sat down, “Well, it’s definitely hard to believe, Julianna.”

“And then, princess Rapunzel takes off her wig only to see that her long hair is back."

"De verdad?"

"Yes, it's like her hair practically grew overnight!"

"Oh, i wanna see Rapunzel’s long hair!" one of my sisters jumped up in excitement.

"I hear that her hair is like seventy feet long!" My other sister said. "I wonder how long it takes her to brush it."

"Too long probably," I added. I took a bite of my dinner. I wondered how Rapunzel handled the whole magic hair thing coming back.

"Rapunzel then," my mom continued, "starts fighting Lady Caine and the rest of the criminals. Eugene and Cassandra stepped in to help. Fortunately, everything turned out okay. The criminals were captured and the people that were taken were set free."

Later, I crawled into bed and my mother came in. She kissed my sisters on their forehead. My mom approached me and kissed me on the forehead as well.

I took off my new and put on the nightstand next to my bed.

"Oh, what is that?" she pointed to my necklace.

"A necklace. I found a gem and I wanted to make a necklace. With the help of Xavier, we made this."

"It looks very pretty."

My mom got up and walked towards the door.

"Buenas noches, mis amores." she closed the door slowly behind her.

I dreamt.

I stood in an empty void. There were memories floating in front of me. They were close enough to tell that they weren't mine, but they were far enough where I couldn't quite grasp it. Vague shapes and blurred out faces, I couldn't really make out any of them. Whatever these memories were, they seemed important.

I awoke in confusion.

That hasn't happened to me before, or to anyone, as a matter of fact. I couldn’t help but to feel that those memories were only pieces of something bigger. Something way bigger.

#tangled #tangled the series #tangled fanfiction #the star knight #the star knight au #my writing #star #my ocs #tales of a star

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dayna-scully · 6 years ago

Text

ncis/tiva s8 lb

8x01

mountain mama

I can assure you, I do not have any tan lines

things that would probably get you arrested

sharks circling again

this would have been better as the s7 finale

8x02

I am a younger model

I can hear ya McGee, I got ears

8x03

seriously dinozzo

is this also necessary

husbands

8x04

why is he trying to break into ziva’s computer

you’ve been flirting with the Miami heat

a walking Israeli love machine

handle with care, contents priceless

he loooves her

8x05

dinozzo? turning down a girl in a bikini? the world must be ending

ooooor he’s in love

tony has every iteration of ziva memorized

Compared to the ziva I shared a bed with five years ago

You were just putting on a show…you were putting on a show, right?

they always put ziva in these father & daughter situations

here again

I can tell/that’s just my knee

her daddy taught her to play catch 😖

“my father taught me”

gibbs’ nod is everything

8x06

special Ethel

you’re dating within your age range

why are they always sitting behind each other!! Never at their own desks!!!

if only that shirt fit a little better, tony

it might be slightly less horrifying

are you supposed to be fat Elvis?

8x07

aww ziva’s American passport

wow, you’re in a great mood

ziva is worried

ziver

I’m a federal agent, dad

I very much doubt that senior does anything but lie by default

oh dad, shut up

oh toe-knee

ziva is a grandma name

ugh all these assholes

she sees her dad all the time, Abby, his name is gibbs and he works upstairs

oh ziva

McGee needs to change his pants

I wish they had spent less time on Eli and more on ziva’s mother

we are calm, you’re yelling

tony can tell when she’s getting squirrelly

8x09

I don’t really care about Leon’s flashbacks…

8x10

looks like tony, doesn’t sound like tony

oh gosh, I’m sorry, are you and he-?

the lady doth protest too much

she’s got the eyes of a killer

you feeling okay, dinozzo?

enough! we’re just friends, there’s nothing different about him

oh really ziva

ziva: ????

you are not crazy

and that is why we love you

oh, we?

this coming from the girl who said she barely had a professional relationship with tony yesterday 🤔

but you love him

yeah, sure, “we”

ziva’s gonna shoot the confetti

that was always so hilarious

8x11

duck, call

abbses

that is why it is called a bat nap

May be code for something/yeah, hedonism

men are trash

8x12

McGee noticing tony staring at ziva’s empty desk

tony definitely hasn’t been thinking about her all weekend

I need my inhaler/I want ziva back

I promise you, Ray is a good man

why do you have to reassure tony about him hmm??

8x13

ziva feels bad but not bad enough to get involved

a pool dolphin

late nineties?? That makes you sound so…

ziva was barely a teenie bopper in the late 90s

you know, Tony, you do not wear jealousy well

oh so we’re acknowledging the fact that he is jealous of the guy you might be dating mmhmm okay

I know a bickering couple when I hear one

this reminds Gibbs too much of Shannon and jelly

ziva is endlessly amused by tony

this is all about mcgee but she’s only looking at tony

I like Tony’s maturity around the service people they encounter (usually)

for someone without rank over them, he sure seems to pull it

I’m not sure I wanna open up those wounds, duck

well is she talking about saleem or about Eli

you’re too young to act so old

8x14

I do not want to hear about your threesomes

whyyyyyy do they always have to go back to Kate

which writer was obsessed with her

when confronted with a psychologist, ziva looks to tony

hmm worried about something?

I want something permanent, something that can’t be taken away - is that too much to ask?

oh z bb

I liked Kate but I don’t understand the preoccupation the show has with her

it really rubs me the wrong way, like ziva wasn’t enough even to the writers, she was always just the puppy to kick when they needed drama

8x15

“this new app” it’s the same program you guys have had since season 3 but okay

close your mouth, tony

I miss my blackberry

ziva’s being the nice big sister and Tony’s being a dick

I could never be that energetic

oh mcgoo

the hydrant didn’t deserve such an undignified death

ziver, get the phone

8x16

sometimes the brains sneak out of the hole

tony and ziva stuck together for hours 👀👀👀👀👀

8x17

I cannot smell you from there

oh the sass

ziva is going to eat ej

very territorial

mmhmm thank you thank you

why all the touching ziva

no this one’s problem is definitely her bite

ugh

8x18

tony looks kind of ashamed that ziva is noticing he’s talking to ej

8x19

ziva wants gibbs at her wedding he’s her dad

I should stop this

bickering

8x20

oh yes all the flirtatious looks at tony

I don’t have a special anything and it’s none of your business

the last time ziva has a boyfriend in town, you killed him, tony

I suppose this candlelight dinner may have seemed sweet but it just seems cheesy and try-hard

uh ooooh

if you were fine you wouldn’t be here

oh my god tony said thank you to someone

what about you and ej?

oh christ ouch

the implication being that he…never understood ziva

that is the fakest fucking eyeball I’ve ever seen in my life

8x21

ziva is going to murder ej

dinozzo got some ass and now he thinks he’s hot shit

why don’t you tell him how many sides it has, Tim

I’m pretty sure you don’t like her, z

this stakeout scene is adorable

the writers make very strange choices

why is Tim jealous of the other guy when it’s been three thousand years since he and Abby slept together

like either commit to mcabby or let it go!!!!!

why does ziva look so sad

YOU CANT DO THAT

you can’t make pixels where there are none!!!

stop doin that!!!!

brunch date ft. shared croissant

same

the cia you say

8x22

why don’t you just investigate

and again, ziva is always watching tony

Tony’s hair was never that dark but ok

you can’t outrun me, I’m wearin tube socks!

you’re not just any partner, McGee

you’re her little brother

I don’t think that would count as reading him his rights, tony

8x23

most bottom feeding mudsuckers

franks looks more like a corpse than when he’s actually a corpse

tony and ej is unsettling everyone, not just ziva

that wasn’t even that deep???

poor ziva

there is always another monster

how does tony reconcile this kind of intimacy with his insistence that they have a totally platonic professional relationship

like that is undeniably incredibly intimate

he initiates the hug, and that’s a totally different hug from Abby and McGee

anyways

8x24

gibbs is gonna murder secnav when he finds out

if he wasn’t, I am

Tony’s really wound tight

ej’s patronizing is gonna drive me up the wall

it’s just different for some of us

oh???? Different how, Anthony?????

cause you can’t live without her?????

I hope tony knows ziva’s actually alive post season-whenever

I need to find ziva

supporting each other

no thank you please don’t come back, ej

ziva needs steady, ciray is not steady

#ncis #tiva #liveblog #show: ncis #ship: tiva

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years ago

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NEW TV SHOW

August 14, 1962

HOLLYWOOD (UPI) - There is something ludicrous in the sight of a man trying to do a woman's work. A man looks about as silly wielding a dust mop as a woman does trying to throw a baseball overhand.

But even funnier, I think is a woman trying to do a man's work. I don't mean in the professions or trades — I mean around the house. Certain household functions like climbing ladders and fixing light switches have a built in logic that is completely foreign to the feminine mind. (1)

I think this has a universally comedic element in it. It had better have — because that’s the premise of the new television show I’ll be doing on the CBS Television Network this fall under the title “The Lucille Ball Show.”

Maybe it should be named “The Lucy Show" (2) — because that's the character I’ll be playing: The same improbable kook I had so much practice at playing on “I Love Lucy." She's a widow with two children trying to be both the lady of the house and the man of the house. As you might suspect, if you knew Lucy, she approaches her problems in a kind of inside-out way. (3)

Like Most Women

Actually, Lucy is like most women, only more so.

After 11 years of playing Lucy it may be that I’ve acquired some of her characteristics, or maybe she has acquired some of mine. This question, if it must he answered, will have to be answered by someone else. But whatever the answer, I’d like to say that I love Lucy, too — and whatever changes in her situation, I'm going to do my best to day her the way she’s always been.

In this, I’m happy to report, I'll have expert assistance. Vivian Vance will be with me for one thing. (4) Bob Carroll Jr., Madelyn Martin, Bob Weiskopf and Bob Schiller will be writing the new show (5) — and they are the ones who as writers of “I Love Lucy" made Lucy what she is as much as I did.

Desi Is Producer

And of course, Desi Arnaz will be the executive producer of the new series. (6)

A decade without a vacation can make you pretty tired and when we stopped filming “I Live Lucy” I was just that. But I didn’t take a vacation. I went into Broadway musical '“Wildcat," and by time I'd been in that show for a year (7), I was exhausted. So I took a year off — a sort of sabbatical — from work. It was a wonderful vacation and I finally had time to do a lot id things I'd never had time for before. I enjoyed it so much I didn't get excited about the new series until Vivian and I started getting down to specific discussions with the writers and Elliott Lewis, our producer.

Then I suddenly realized how much I had missed Lucy.

I just hope everyone else has missed her as much.

# # #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) This opening paragraph seems extremely sexist in the present day. Bear in mind that in 1961, America had not gone through the women’s liberation movement, and the culmination of the Equal Rights Amendment was still more than a decade away. Lucy’s gender role thoughts reflect a very 1950s ideal. The very first image of Lucy and Ethel in 1951 (above) was of them washing dishes. As the Lucy character ages, comedy based on these type of domestic stereotypes will wear thin.

(2) The working title of the show was “The Lucille Ball Show” but it was eventually changed to “The Lucy Show” before the first broadcast in October 1962. Lucille is not being entirely truthful with the public. In reality, when “I Love Lucy” / “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” ended in April 1960, they were without their iconic star and ratings dipped. Similarly, Desilu was also facing financial trouble. The creation of a new show for Lucille was the natural answer to these problems, and Ball agreed to do it for one - possibly two seasons - but no more. As with “I Love Lucy”, however, syndication is where the real money was - and “The Lucy Show” would need more than two seasons to be successfully syndicated. So at the end of 1964, Ball re-upped, although the series changed greatly from its original premise.

(3) The premise of the show was borrowed from the book “Life Without George” by Irene Kampen, who got screen credit on every episode. In the book, Viv’s character was also a widow, but for TV was changed to a divorcee. Vivian played the first divorced female leading character on a TV sitcom.

(4) Vance agreed to return to Desilu, despite having moved East to live with her new husband. The rigorous schedule and great distance finally proved to much, and she left the series after season 3. She made guest appearances on “The Lucy Show” and “Here’s Lucy.”

(5) Writers Madelyn Martin (formerly Pugh), Bob Carroll Jr., Bob Schiller and Bob Weiskopf stayed with the series through the end of season two in spring 1964. They still received screen credits for all 156 episodes as ‘creators’. They left the show after being with Lucille since “My Favorite Husband” in 1948, claiming they were out of ideas!

(6) Desi Arnaz stayed as Executive Producer for 13 episodes. He had sold his shares in Desilu to Lucille, and wanted to usher in the new series. Once the show was on his feet, he resigned, but mutual agreement.

(7) Lucille began doing “Wildcat” on October 29, 1960 (out of town tryouts), and had undergone several weeks rehearsal prior to that. The show opened on Broadway on December 16, 1960. Eight performances a week singing and dancing proved taxing for the nearly 50 year old star, and she had to withdraw from the show due to exhaustion at the end of May 1961. Ball’s understudy assumed the role, and the show closed shortly afterwards. There were plans to bring it back in the fall (with or without Ball, no one knows), but they never materialized. All tolled, Ball was in the show for seven months, a few months shorter than the year she claims here. Preparations for such an endeavor, however, likely began months earlier than rehearsals, so it was likely close to a year all said and done.

#Lucille Ball #Wildcat #The Lucy Show #Vivian Vance #Desi Arnaz #Life Without George #I Love Lucy #TV

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itsteaveetime · 7 years ago

Note

Hey, if you're still taking prompts, can I request Mike T. getting his wisdom teeth out, based on the video of Mike W. getting his out on Instagram?

//Send me a prompt, get a drabble/one-shot. Always accepting prompts. Hopefully not supplying fics that completely suck.//

Mike Teavee is not cuddly.He never has been. Not even really as a baby, despite Ethel’s tendency to view his pre-walking, talking, and texting years through rosy tinted nostalgic glasses. He had (in Ethel’s biased opinion) been adorable, of course: thick dark hair and huge blue eyes, but he spent a lot more time crying and drooling than cooing sweetly at her than she likes to admit.A little like how he is drooling now, ironically. Of course now there’s more blood.

She presses a towel wrapped around a package of frozen peas to her son’s mouth. His head is propped up by pillows, but he’s still mostly out of it. Tears still cling to his long dark lashes.She secretly enjoys these moments, just a little bit. Not his pain, of course. But under normal circumstances he wouldn’t allow her to hover so close. He would be annoyed if she tried to brush the hair off of his forehead. She can look at his face for as long as she likes when he’s like this, without him twisting it up in disgust. At least: until the drugs wear off.Michael has to be sedated for every dental visit. Even for something as simple as a cleaning. That’s been the deal ever since he punched one of the dentists out for ‘lying’ (“He said it wasn’t gonna hurt and it hurt”). Even at 14 they have to dope him up, knock him out, and strap him down. It’s far from the only place where certain precautions are taken due to her son being…her son. But the dentist’s is the only one that leaves her with such a pliable little boy; one who answers to 'Mikey’, and doesn’t remember that he did so later, and as such doesn’t punish her in any way for upsetting his 'street cred’ (or whatever the kids today call it). And Mike does need a lot of dental work. He isn’t very diligent about brushing and he grinds his teeth like a horse, even on an SSRI.But nothing about Mike comes completely without complications. She keeps one eye on her son. She keeps the other on his phone.She isn’t sure how (particularly because of his temporary loss of fine motor skills), but in the time between when he first comes to, and they allow her to collect him, he always manages to text or tweet at or FaceTime someone. She has, over the years, ended up apologizing on his behalf to a wide variety of people. From local businesses to the presidents of small nations. She’s never able to explain how he manages to get their numbers: he just does. That’s just Mike.Today is unlikely to be an exception. Today has not been a simple cleaning.

There is always the chance she will be fielding a complaint from Jerry Jubilee’s publicist shortly, but lately (at least, since regaining his height after visiting Wonka’s factory), Mike tends to limit his drugged contacts to a smaller and more familiar circle.Some time last year he sent a long rambling missive to Mrs. Gloop (specifically Mrs. Gloop, not her son) full of half hysterical sobbing about jello molds (Ethel has no idea what that’s about, her casseroles are just fine), and wildly complimenting her ability to knit. Michael has no idea why he suddenly began receiving regular care packages full of sweaters and scarves from Germany, and Ethel isn’t about to tell him because oddly enough: he actually wears them. Mrs. Gloop knows a boy’s color palate when she sees it, and all of her offerings are acceptably black on black, with maybe a touch of neon. Ethel had not been previously aware that one could knit an iPad cover, but Mike is particularly pleased with that creation. Although Ethel privately suspects the device never really has the chance to get cold.Slightly more recently, well…she had rather liked it when Oleg Salt had rung up, even though he had insisted on calling her 'Mrs. Television’. Ethel has and has had her hands too full with Mike to even think about re-entering the dating scene, but she’s not dead: the Russian oligarch is a looker. She’s still not exactly sure what Mike might have said to him or his daughter, but she wouldn’t entirely mind if Mr. Salt had to call again. A lady can have her dreams on those cold Idaho nights. Whoever Mike has bothered this time is taking their time saying anything about it. There’s probably some way of finding out who they are, but she couldn’t possibly. His little computer phone intimidates her: it has no buttons. Best to just sit and wait and enjoy her son’s heavily drugged company and hope whoever she ends up having to speak to speaks English.

Mike’s head has lolled onto her shoulder, and Ethel is feeling particularly maternal, despite the fact that Mike has definitely already ruined her blouse, when his phone buzzes to life.

“Phooooooooone,” he mumbles into her neck.

“Oh. I…right,” Ethel says, to the phone mostly. “I just…”

She manages to retrieve the device without sending him tumbling to the floor, and then to wrangle one of his limp hands into activating the device, by placing his thumb over the little circle at the bottom herself. The phone is…alive now, but she has missed the call. She did see that the number was labelled something: Old Man. Her heart screeches to a stop for a second, like a needle across a record, but it couldn’t possibly be: Mike does not speak to his father. He would never have the man’s number saved in his phone, would he?

The device begins to vibrate in her hand again.

“Phone,” Mike mumbles.

“…Hello?” Ethel says, dubiously.

“Hello Mrs. T., I have some concerns,” the voice on the other end of the line (although Ethel supposes they don’t really use lines anymore) says.

She doesn’t know how he knows so quickly that it is her: this is Michael’s phone. Most people are at least a little confused when she answers it (which she does rarely, because when alert Michael does not allow her to touch his phone). It seems unlikely that he might have recognized her voice, although she recognizes his instantly. As if she could forget it.

“Mr. Wonka,” Ethel begins. “…whatever Michael did, I’m so sorry, but it really wasn’t his fault this time.”

“He’s sent me twenty-seven video messages, and I don’t mean to alarm you, but I suspect he may have gotten into some of your, uh, ‘lemonade’,” Wonka tells her.

“Oh, no,” Ethel protests. “I would never let him do that.”

Wouldn’t she? No, she wouldn’t. Not that Ethel isn’t a cool mom, but she needs that ‘lemonade’ for herself.

“Tell ‘im he’s old,” Mike tells her hair. “S’important an’ he needs to know.”

“He’s had his wisdom teeth out,” Ethel says, hoping Wonka cannot hear what Michael is saying.

“…oh,” Wonka replies.

The man sounds strangely small on the other end of the phone. Ethel supposes chocolatiers and dentists may be some sort of natural enemies, but she’s not sure that quite accounts for how he sounds.

“Mo-om,” Michael is saying in her ear, over and over. She can feel drool dripping down her back. At least, she hopes it is just drool.

“Also tell him he’s my friend.”

Michael is crying softly now, which is just sort of how coming off of meds like these goes. She knows better than to think it means anything.

“Heeeeeee’s my friend and it’s too late he just is,” Mike sobs.

She would place her hand over the receiver if this was any sort of normal phone, but Mike’s little black box doesn’t have one that she can find.

“It’s just the medication,” Ethel continues, apologetically over her son’s sobs. “They make him…like this, and he won’t remember it tomorrow, and I’m sure he’d appreciate if you didn’t say anything about it.”

There’s a thoughtful moment of silence from Wonka.

“My lips are sealed,” he finally says, which Ethel considers surprisingly mature of him, until the chocolatier goes on to say:

“I’ll just save these somewhere for future blackmail.”

Ethel rolls her eyes, but that does sound more like the Wonka she knows. Not that she knows him. Not, apparently, like Michael knows him.

“I should get back to him,” she says.

Mike is clinging to her waist.

“Of course,” Wonka says. And then: “…you know what they say, though: in vino veritas. Well, good-bye.”

Ethel does know that they say that. Of course she of all people would. It’s not something she puts much stock in.

But as her son puts his head in her lap and lets her stroke his hair (something he does secretly like even when he is sober) and mumbles something that sounds very much like ‘I love you’, she cannot help but hope that Wonka has a point.

#charlie and the chocolate factory #catcf broadway #fanfic #prompts #mike teavee #Ethel Teavee #willy wonka #dilf salt

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fayewonglibrary · 5 years ago

Text

Viva the Divas! (1996)

FROM AMERICA TO ASIA, STYLISH WOMEN SINGERS ARE FORCING THE BAD BOYS OF POP MUSIC TO STEP ASIDE

BY: RICHARD CORLISS

There was something feminine about Elvis. His mouth formed the pout of a sullen schoolgirl; his hair was swathed in more chemicals than a starlet’s; his hips churned like a hooker’s in heat. Presley was manly too, in a street-punk way. For him, the electric guitar was less an instrument than a symbolic weapon–an ax or a machine gun aimed at the complacent pop culture of the ‘50s. Performing his pansexual rite to a heavy bass line, Elvis set the primal image for rock: a man and his guitar, the tortured satyr and his magic lute.

He also established the androgyny of the male star. When a guy could provide his own sexual menace, long hair, coquetry and falsetto singing, who needed women? Oh, they were allowed to scream in the audience, or maybe sing backup, but not to rock on, down and dirty, with the big bad boys. Even today girls are no more encouraged to pick up a Stratocaster than to pilot an F-16. They are expected to play only one instrument: the voice.

And do they! After nearly 40 years as second-class citizens, women singers are staging their own revolution, The upheaval may be demure, even ladylike; Miwa Yoshida does not froth on the concert stage, nor is Faye Wong likely to trash a hotel room. But they have stormed the barricades where it counts: on the charts of best-selling CDs and in the hearts of a billion or so fans around the world. They have reconfigured pop music. This is the era of the pop diva.

Diva means goddess. The dictionary definition is more modern: “an operatic prima donna.” Let’s fiddle a little with those words. “Operatic”: note the strenuous, hyperemotional, aria-like feel to many pop ballads. “Prima donna”: remove its suggestion of imperious temperament and translate it literally as “first lady.” Voila! Celine Dion or Gloria Estefan, Whitney or Mariah, Madonna or Enya, Miwa or Faye, Toni Braxton or Tina Arena, Annie Lennox or Alanis Morissette. They come from the U.S., of course, but also from French and English Canada, from Cuba, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Australia, Japan and China. In every country, in any language: la diva.

Like so many other forms of popular culture, the diva genre exists both locally and globally at the same time. Dion, from French Canada, alternates albums in French and English. Estefan, born in Cuba and raised in Miami, records in Spanish and English. Dion was chosen to open the Olympic Games in Atlanta with a pop hymn, The Power of the Dream, backed by a 300-member gospel choir, and Estefan was there on closing night to sing her anthemic Reach. Both singers embodied success stories as potent as any come-from-behind Olympic fairy tale: Dion, the youngest of 14 children who has become this year’s Diva Deluxe; and Estefan, brave survivor of a 1990 bus crash that broke her back, who is now back on top. “So I’ll go the distance this time,” she intones, “seeing more the higher I climb.”

Divas can’t climb much higher. They nestle at or near the top of their country’s music charts. Some, like Dion, Houston and Mariah Carey–not to mention, for the moment, Canada’s crack-voiced outlaw diva Alanis Morissette–have been on the Top 10 lists in Europe, the Americas and the Pacific Rim simultaneously. More important, most are damn fine singers. They are a link between the great voices of the past (think of Ella Fitzgerald, Ethel Merman, Edith Piaf) and the ears of people who can’t get attuned to the howling self-pity of much contemporary rock but aren’t ready to give up on pop music.

Like the Olympic spirit, the divas’ internationalist impulse reflects both a curiosity about other cultures and a nose for smart marketing. To spur Japanese sales of her Colour of My Love album, Dion added a new song, To Love You More, from the Japanese TV mini-series Lover, backed instrumentally by the Japanese ensemble Kryzler & Kompany. Dion sang it in English, but the locals didn’t mind: they bought 1.5 million copies.

A diva needn’t be Western to have the international flair. Nothing forces Yoshida, the soul-jazz sensation who fronts the band Dreams Come True, to go west to increase her Japanese fan base. She still writes and performs songs in her native language. Yet she usually records in Britain, and she cut her first solo set, Beauty and Harmony, in New York City with some top American sidemen. The collaboration produced vocals that were more precise, more regimented, than her past work. But it showed the need for even top regional artists to prove their chops in the U.S., which is still revered as the big leagues for singers.

Some stars of the Pacific, like Tina Arena, have long set their sights on America. An Australian who has sung publicly since she was five, Arena has an easy authority as vocalist and songwriter; her cool-teen voice matches her rock-easy compositions, which are so infectious that six-year-olds would learn them instantly and so familiar that you might think they were big hits a decade ago (they’re all new, all hers). When Arena gets precision and voltage into the songs–Heaven Help My Heart, Greatest Gift, Standing Up–she sounds like a kid sister to Elaine Paige, superb star of London musicals, who introduced such instant standards as Don’t Cry for Me Argentina (from Evita), Memory (from Cats) and a quite different Heaven Help My Heart (from Chess). But England is not Arena’s destination. She’s moved to Los Angeles because, like a lot of divas, she may believe she can’t be a star until she’s an American star.

Wong is too cool to entertain those ambitions. Indeed, she prefers to record in her native Beijing, where she can concentrate on her music, rather than in Hong Kong, where for years she was a formulaic Canto-pop singer known as Shirley Wong. Her striking, angular looks–think of an elongated pixie who moonlights as a sorceress–made her a natural for movies, but her debut made few notice; in Beyond’s Diary she played the girlfriend of a pop musician.

Gradually she found her own style, on records and on film. Her second picture, Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express, made her a hip pinup to sophisticated moviegoers on both sides of the Pacific. The film also internationalized her choice of music. She plays a dizzy waitress in a fast-food restaurant who is obsessed with going to California and playing, over and over and over, the 1966 California Dreamin’ by the Mamas and the Papas. Over the end credits she sings a Cantonese cover of the Cranberries hit Dreams. And now, on her Restless CD, she meets the international market on her own terms: five of the songs have no intelligible lyrics at all, and two irresistibly obscurantist cuts were written and produced by Scotland’s Cocteau Twins. Wong remains the spooky gamin of Chinese music, and Restless is a wondrous blend of Canto-pop and lollipop.

Wong’s approach alternates between a blissed-out whisper and bright piping in a register so high only Pekingese pups can hear it. That puts her squarely in one tradition of divadom: the vocal virtuoso. For decades, two Americans defined this style. Patti LaBelle, a gospel-trained ranter, has enthralled the faithful with her mad-woman riffs. Bette Midler, known internationally as the blowsy star of movie comedies, built her career as a throwback singer who could evoke Sophie Tucker’s bawdiness and Bessie Smith’s soul-in-hell emotional exhaustion with equal power and facility. The virtuoso mode can also be heard in the florid, world-weary style of France’s Catherine Ribeiro and, with glances back to the glamour of Piaf and Dietrich, in the bitter brilliance of Germany’s Ute Lemper. Though their styles were unique, all these women kept bright the flame of the traditional torch singer.

But none of them became international superstars or encouraged others to do the same. For that you can thank Houston (and her mentor at Arista Records, Clive Davis). It was an old recipe–great chops, exotic looks and a clever choice of material–that served Lena Horne, Abbey Lincoln, Eartha Kitt, and Houston’s cousin Dionne Warwick. But in the harsh prevailing winds of mid-'80s rap and heavy metal, Houston was a welcome spring breeze. Her delicacy of phrasing made songs like Saving All My Love for You and The Greatest Love of All easy listening in the best sense. Her prom-queen glamour made her an ideal star for the early video era, an antidote to Cyndi Lauper’s goofy-girl atavism and Madonna’s bad-girl sass. Her first album, Whitney Houston, sold 10 million copies.

Houston has retained her eminence, if not pre-eminence, while curtailing her output: she has released less than a single regular album’s worth of songs, only 10, since 1990. But her example and her relative quiescence have spurred a dozen divas-in-waiting. Many noted the structure of Houston’s big hits–a slow-tempo devotional tune that escalates from the foreplay of whispers to the explosive orgasm of wails and whoops–and made the mistake of imitating it. (Houston made that error too.) Dion’s early English-language albums are almost touching in their fidelity to the Whitney formula. It took her a while to realize she could relax on record.

Today’s top Whitneyesque star is Mariah Carey. Like Houston, she’ll mix ballads with synthesized dance music; she’s a handsome woman with a video flair; she has a patron in Tommy Mottola, boss of her record company, who is also her husband. Carey has even outsold Houston in the '90s, because she releases albums at a busier pace.

One big difference: Houston sings straight soprano with some church inflection; Carey is a coloratura. She could even be called a cubist, for she appraises nearly every note in every song from a dozen or more angles. In When I Saw You from her current Daydream CD, Carey breaks the word knew into an amazing 26 separate notes (this is only an estimate: we played these four seconds over and over, and got up to 26 just before we went mad). Her jazzy riffs suggest demon virtuosity, but it could also be musical browsing. Maybe Carey can’t decide which interpretation is the right one, so she tries them all.

Like Carey, many female singers co-write their music. Many others don’t, and are thus handicapped by pop’s 30-year tyranny of singer-songwriters. Hey, if you don’t write, you’re not an artist. “Vocal interpreter” used to be an honorable job description–good enough for Ella, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. Now the epithet is often an insult. It conjures up images of a Las Vegas lounge singer crooning Feelings.

All right, maybe the top pop songwriters of the day–Babyface and David Foster (who collaborated on Dion’s The Power of the Dream) and Diane Warren (who helped Estefan write Reach) aren’t Gershwin and Stephen Foster and Harry Warren. But they can write good songs for good singers. These three composers all had a hand in Toni Braxton’s fine Secrets CD–dusky, mellow, infectiously commercial, like a grownup Tina Arena.

And there’s plenty of other good music to record. Alison Krauss, a child fiddle prodigy from Illinois and later a world-class bluegrass singer with her band Union Station, became a star with her 1995 compilation Now That I’ve Found You. The set puts Krauss’s mountain-stream soprano on pretty display. She caresses standards from R. and B. (the title song), gospel (the soul-lifting When God Dips His Pen of Love in My Heart) and the Paul McCartney catalog (an elfin I Will). Think of it: a singer with no gimmick but a passionate talent and a great, rangy taste in music.

If there’s a knock on the modern divas–whether pop, like Carey, Houston and Dion, or pure, like Krauss–it’s that their material is just too amiable. Much of their music is not just middle of the road; it tiptoes on the white line in the middle of the middle of the road. Dammit, they sing like girls! And in social norms, the pop diva adheres to the proper side of the gender split in music. She is expected to be a sister before a lover; the operative slur word is “nice.” Pop is the boarding school where the good girls live. Rock is the shooting gallery where the naughty boys hang out.

Somewhere between these extremes there should be an outlaw diva. She can do cool-guy things: write songs about malaise and disorientation, play a harmonica, take herself very seriously, sell 16 million copies of her first big CD. Why, she could be Alanis Morissette–the anti-Whitney, the pariah Mariah, the outre Faye, the mean Celine.

Anyway, that’s how the 22-year-old comes across on a first listen of the Jagged Little Pill album. Morissette’s songs sound aggressive, grudging, desperate. Her alto lurches among the octaves, from growl to shriek. A typical phrase will end in a gasp, as if one of the emotional inferiors in her songs had suddenly retaliated by pressing thumb and forefinger on her windpipe. The voice of Sinead O'Connor, you imagine, in the mind of Patti Smith.

But Morissette is not that simple. A former teen star in her native Canada, she’s smart enough to give her choruses sing-along melodies–the likely contribution of co-writer Glen Ballard, who formerly produced Wilson Phillips, the trio of cool-harmonizing, second-generation pop stars. In the perkier tunes (You Learn, Head over Feet), the singer overdubs tight harmonies that might have come from Wilson Phillips. And that is Morissette’s dirty little secret: inside her edgy plaints are craft and a yen to please. She’s a mainstream diva in spite of herself.

Morissette may soon discover that the rock machismo she approximates is often just an acid flavor of the month: a hit, a burnout, a trivia question. But being a diva is a life’s work. The Scottish Annie Lennox has been at it for 20 years, developing a husky voice and a gift for weaving a dramatic spell that is almost visual. Her 1995 Medusa album has 10 old and new songs written by others. The opening cut, No More “I Love You’s,” relies on Lennox’s evocation of love’s demons–“Desire, despair, desire, so many monsters”–and her conjuring up, in a mid-song monologue, of a little girl for whom these monsters come to life. A woman’s bed of sad passion has telescoped into a child’s bedroom fears at midnight.

The final number on Medusa is Paul Simon’s 1973 Something So Right. In Lennox’s gorgeous reworking, she answers the pessimism of No More “I Love You’s” and completes the album’s circle. “Some people never say the words I love you, / But like a child I’m longing to be told.” Again a girl in a woman’s supple voice, Lennox finds salvation foraging in a child’s garden of cries from the heart. Lennox might be Piaf here–there’s that eerie understanding of a lyric–but with the fever adjusted to room temperature.

Piaf is still an icon, both for her poignant life story and for her ability to hurdle emotion over the language barrier. But in the world market of the '90s, when virtually every album with gigantic global sales is in some form of English, what’s a diva to do? Cultivate her own garden, for the worldwide boom in CD sales means there are more people searching for something different. Morissette’s album is bubble-gum music next to Tori Amos’ Boys for Pele, with its forbiddingly opaque lyrics, a voice that runs amuck over the octaves and the famous inside photo of Amos with a suckling piglet at her breast. Yet the album has sold millions. Moral: You can’t be too weird. You must be you.

That is the message attended to by Wong in her recent take-me-or-leave-me mode, and by Yoshida in her American experiment. It surely applies to singers who harbor nations within themselves. Enya, the Celtic lass whose ethereal soundscapes might have emanated from a very gentle UFO, sings in Gaelic, English and Latin–the languages of family, school and church. Her melodies are so mellow as to seem downright shy, yet they’re so popular that an entire genre of new music is known simply as Enya.

By that standard, the pop brand of Cuban-American music should probably be called Gloria. With time, the Estefan sound has grown full and wise, Latin rhythms accompanying rather than defining the melody. Estefan has also learned to write for her voice and disposition; on her latest album, Destiny, she has taken her own advice. Reach–higher.

And Celine Dion has reached inside. The Falling into You CD, a supercharged superproduction, will yield perhaps half a dozen smasheroo singles, and it’s a treat to hear her belt a song to bits. But a bigger piece of her heart can be found on The French Album. There the girl from Quebec sings in her mother’s language and in a voice so ardent and discreet it reminds you of Elvis in the intimate ballads he recorded in his time off from creating the bad-boy iconography of rock. Murmuring like the heart just before sleeping, Dion’s voice summons the power and the glory of the diva.

–With reporting by Charles P. Alexander/Montreal

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SOURCE: TIME MAGAZINE

#1996

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broadwaybydesign · 7 years ago

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Rose’s Turn: Costuming the 2008 “Gypsy” Revival

I’ve been on a bit of a Patti Lupone kick this year, as my reviews of War Paint probably showed, so I decided to take a look at a few of the costumes from her Tony-winning turn as Mama Rose in the 2008 revival of the musical Gypsy: A Musical Fable. I’m focusing on just the Mama Rose costumes this afternoon because I think that they deserve special attention, but in the future, I think I will go back and take a look at the other costumes.

Gypsy’s revival was costumed by the late Martin Pakledinaz, best known for his Tony Award-winning costumes in Thoroughly Modern Millie and the 2000-era revival of Kiss Me, Kate. Mr. Pakledinaz did a fantastic job capturing the original feel of the musical while still managing to infuse the dramatic, overbearing Rose character with rich, beautiful colors.

For those unfamiliar with the musical, Gypsy is the story of Rose Thompson Hovick, the mother to burlesque pioneer Gypsy Rose Lee (from whom the musical takes its title) and the very definition of a stage mother. You think the moms on Dance Moms or other reality shows are a little crazy? They’ve got nothing on Mama Rose. Take a read through Gypsy: A Memoir if you ever have the time or inclination. A dear friend of mine from college did her capstone on the influence of Gypsy Rose Lee on burlesque as an art form, and the story of her is absolutely fascinating, especially the domineering nature of her mother.

The role of Rose was originated on Broadway by a woman whose name is synonymous with theatre stardom, Ethel Merman, and has been since played on stage in New York by Dame Angela Lansbury (who won the 1975 Tony for her performance), Tyne Daly (who won the 1990 Tony for her performance), Bernadette Peters, Patti Lupone (whose revival is the subject of the review, and who won the 2008 Tony for her performance), and will be once again revived by Imelda Staunton in 2018 following a wildly successful West End revival. In other words, this is a role that commands an actress with power and the ability to belt out a melody that will be heard in the rafters. And any role that demanding deserves costumes that match. Let’s take a look:

The musical as a whole is set in the 1920s and 1930s, and follows a family of vaudevillians as they try and make it big, led by the domineering and overbearing Mama Rose. As a result, the costumes that Mr. Pakledinaz designed tend to be dramatic and showy, a little risqué, and intended to wow the audience without overpowering the character or actress (though, frankly, I’m not sure one can overpower Patti Lupone).

This first number is in a color palate I haven’t looked at much before, which is the golds and browns families. Typically, a designer will not mix two different patterns in fabric, but on occasion there can be a very good reason for doing so. Here, Mama Rose is wearing a brown-and-white checked jacket over a gold, orange, and white blouse and a slightly softer orange skirt. The overall effect that’s given off is one of the character being a bit off, like there’s something that isn’t quite right or expected about who and what they are. But that’s not a flaw in the costume design; it’s a feature in my book given that the musical follows Rose’s journey into losing everything--family included--in her quest for fame-by-proxy.

The color choices add to that overall effect, I think. Later in the musical, the palate Mr. Pakledinaz uses gets a bit darker and more muted, but here, it’s almost manic, clashing just a little bit without being unpleasing to the eye. The clash in the dual geometric patterns draws the eye, especially in comparison to the much plainer designs given to the supporting characters in this scene and in others. Clearly, this is where the attention should be, words or music be darned, and it’s a great effect. And, as I said, it’s not unpleasing to the eye. It’s just unusual.

I find that when I mention Gypsy to a person who isn’t a theatre fan, they don’t necessarily know what I’m talking about. But bring up the manic, show-stopping number “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” the light of recognition tends to cross their faces. In part, that’s because this is one of those showtunes that managed to get into the public mind because it’s a great phrase, and because of Bette Midler’s performance as Mama Rose in a mid-1990s television version of the musical. For those who might not know it, let me give you a taste of this number and why the costume gets some special attention in this post, with this clip of Patti Lupone performing it at the 2008 Tony Awards ceremony; the dialogue is important, but if you want to skip right to the music, it starts at the 1:12 mark:

youtube

This number closes the first Act of the musical, as Rose’s younger daughter June has eloped and left her stage-obsessed mother behind. The family (including older daughter Louise, the titular Gypsy, and Mama’s fiancé Herbie) believe that this will finally compel Mama Rose to give up her obsession with making it big and let them settle down. Instead, in the blink of an eye, Mama Rose transfers her dreams from one daughter to another in a show-stopping number that is as manic as it is memorable.

For this number, Mr. Pakledinaz has costumed Patti Lupone in a number of layers that can be seen both in the clip above and in this still from the stage production itself; it’s far more somber than the piece which started out this review, and that reflects that despite the new plan to make Louise into Gypsy Rose Lee, the character of Mama Rose is still in a darker place herself and is now clinging to one last hope of stardom. In full, the costume looks like this:

The coat she wears at the train station in this scene is a rich, deep maroon purple that almost drinks up the shadows while providing a contrast to the Mr Lupone’s skin as it’s illuminated by the stage lights. The fabric is heavy and woolen in a rare exception to the general rule that you avoid heavy fabrics in live theatre (even when the setting requires it), and I think you can read a little metaphor into it: the character is literally being weighed down by keeping out the cold, the way she is figuratively weighed down by her dreams of stardom even if it’s only by proxy.

Beneath that is a gorgeous blue dress with a cream scarf/collar that, unfortunately, has not been photographed much in the right lighting. I was, however, able to find one still that offered a little more perspective on it, however:

As you can somewhat see, the dress underneath the maroon coat is blue, with a wild and Bohemian paisley and swirled pattern that is alive with color, busy, and designed to catch the eye. As with Mama herself, a simple exterior embodied by the coat gives way to a much more complex interior, as embodied by this dress. The blue manages to not fade into the background thanks to the coat acting as a barrier, and I like the addition of the scarf/collar itself as a way to lighten up the whole ensemble, as well as to draw the eye down to the skirt; in the theatre, I do believe it would be much easier to see the pattern, at least from center orchestra.

The scarf/collar combination itself is a gridded white chiffon, as seen in this closeup which also lets us look at the dress’ hem in a tiny bit more detail:

More of a cream than a pure white, it’s there to provide covering on the bust as well as to lighten the ensemble, as I stated. It does that job well, and the use of a rougher fabric design as compared to the smoothness of the dress itself is a wise one. It adds just a little bit more contrast when viewed up close, and I like that. We can also see the Bohemian influence in the hem of the dress, with the somewhat funky and rule-less design in blues and oranges.

The final costume that Ms Lupone is outfitted in during the 2008 revival is also her simplest of the production, but that in no way makes it less impressive. As the show winds down, the 11 o’clock number, “Rose’s Turn,” represents Mama Rose coming to grips with the idea that not only will she never make it big, but that she’s lost everyone she might have cared about: June (the daughter who eloped), Louise (Gypsy Rose), and Herbie (Rose’s fiancé). She tries hard in this number to justify everything she’s done, and finally admits that it was all about her in the end. It’s a sad, powerful, memorable number and it has a costume to match:

The giant ROSE in lights is in fact part of the production; part of the sequence for this number is Rose fantasizing about seeing her own name up in lights and hearing the crowds applauding and cheering her name. But as she fantasized, she’s outfitted pretty plainly. The deep, burnt red that she wears here is far different from the manic pattern of the blue dress from the end of Act I. Instead, it is simple, cleanly cut, and even makes the character seem a bit small on the darkness of the stage. That’s obviously intentional: the designer wants the focus to be on this character, and this character alone, with no design elements to distract. The color has to do the work, not the costume.

The A-line cut of the dress, interrupted only by a band of satiny or silky fabric at the waste, is classical and believable as simply a dress that a woman in Mama Rose’s station would own and wear. The plainness is once again a feature rather than a bug: there is nothing to distract from the character, from the words, from the music. There is simply the deep red color against the blackness of the character’s fantasy, and the audience is left--in my opinion--a little bit haunted by the overall effect.

Mama Rose is one of the most challenging roles on Broadway, not only because of the need for belting vocals and a powerful voice, but because of the personality of the character. There is a reason, I think, that only the Broadway Greats have been cast in the role throughout the musical’s history; Merman, Lansbury, Lupone, all are the definition of a leading lady, and have been costumed to fit the part. For the 2008 revival, I think the choice of colors and styles was absolutely spot on, and the Tony nomination for Mr. Pakledinaz was well-deserved.

Gypsy is a fantastic musical that drips with classic Broadway style and flair, not to mention costuming. I highly recommend it as an entrée into the world of musical theatre, and especially recommend the 2008 recording of the production. Treat your ears to the show-stopping, powerful, bittersweet melodies and enjoy it for what it is: beautiful theatre.

That wraps up this review of the 2008 revival of Gypsy. As I said, I may come back to look at some more of Mr. Pakledinaz’s designs for this production later on this year; there certainly is a lot to work with. On a personal note, this was the last production that I was able to enjoy before I took my hiatus from the theatre fandom, and it’s one that has always left fond memories in my mind. It’s worth looking into!

Later on this week, I’ll be posting some more full reviews and have a couple mini-reviews queued up. So stay tuned, dear readers!

Edit: A kindly Anon noticed that I had inadvertently reversed the birth order for Louise and June; June is, by a year, the younger of the two daughters, and this post has been updated accordingly!

#gypsy a musical fable #patti lupone #broadway #theatre #musicals #martin pakledinaz #costumery

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starlightafterastorm · 8 years ago

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WHO’S THE MURDERER?

So the big question of Season 1 is ��Who killed Lilly Kane Jason Blossom?”

(Forgive me I HAD to put the Veronica Mars reference in there. It makes me laugh every time)

@somebooksmakeusfree and I have been going back and forth and we’ve compiled this list. Which we will probably go back and revise as we get closer to the reveal. My comments are after the “N” and hers are after the “A”

Buckle up, this might turn into some long speculations...

Who we can rule out for SURE:

Betty - N: Was in LA for her internship. Our Hitchcock blonde has a solid alibi.

A: I know what you’re thinking, “...but what about ‘Dark Betty?’” ‘Dark Betty’ may have her secrets, but I don’t think this is one of them.

Veronica - N: Just moved in from New York. She had NO reason to be anywhere near Riverdale/Jason.

A: Agreed.

Who we can PROBABLY rule out:

Archie - N: Because it’s fucking Archie and there was so much drama about him hearing the gunshot and even if we don’t have a solid alibi for him yet on the weekend of the 11th IT’S NOT GONNA BE HIM.

A: Come on guys, Archie couldn’t keep a secret (or a girlfriend) if his life depended on it. I know it. You know it. Jughead knows it.

Jughead - N: I’m willing to bet it’s not Juggie even if he doesn’t have an alibi for the 11th. He’s one of the core four and Cole probably wouldn’t be joking about it if it actually was him (or would he? Cole is the trolliest of trolls). Also they’ve already ruled him out in episode 7. And gave us a beautiful Bughead scene to boot.

A: Cole even rhymes with “troll.” So far, we haven’t been given a motive that would explain why Jughead would ever murder Jason, even with his father’s entanglements with the Blossoms and the Sneks. (Can we talk about how sad it is that he doesn’t have an alibi because he was probably spending that time alone...living in that shack of a drive-in theatre? *cries*)

Fred - N: My god, please don’t have THE ONE GOOD PARENT ON THIS SHOW BE THE MURDERER. I doubt it’s Fred.

A: Fred is too one-dimensional of a character...unless crazy things happen when his ex wife returns.

Hal - N: The fact that Hal was shown to break into the Sheriff’s home to steal the photos probably rules him out. The fact that they placed so much suspicion on him early on seems like a fake out. I think HE THINKS Alice did it and he stole the pictures to protect her.

A: Or he stole them because he knew the real reason Polly and Jason were running away and he didn’t want anyone finding out about Polly’s condition or putting suspicion on their family in general. Definitely not Hal.

Alice - N: I believe Alice when she says she didn’t do it. I also believe her when she says she would have done it if given the chance. She told Hal he should know what she’s capable of. It’s possible we learn more about some sort of specific event that might justify that statement OR it might just be that they’ve been married for close to 20 years and he should know her well enough by now. And also if she was a Serpent then HELLS YEAH she’d be capable. but I doubt she did it in this specific instance.

A: Alice has really been redeeming herself lately. Could she have killed Jason? Absolutely, she disliked him because he was a Blossom and because he “ruined” Polly’s life. Did she actually do it? Probably not, though Hal may secretly think she did. Anywho, I’m living for brick- throwing, Jughead-liking, emotional Alice.

Polly - N: I think the whole Cooper family is… not quite all there, Polly included. But with the nuns and being locked up and being pregnant and everything I don’t think Polly did it. Her distress at finding out Jason was dead was too real. (HER FACE WHEN SHE ASKED BETTY WHEN HE WAS COMING TO GET HER BROKE MY HEART) But also she was being held captive by insane nuns.

A: Okay, my theory, if Polly did it, is that she had a psychotic break and doesn’t remember killing him. WHAT IF DARK BETTY ISN’T ABOUT BETTY, BUT A HINT ABOUT POLLY? If Polly really does have Dissociative Identity Disorder or another mental illness, she may have repressed the act of murder. Why would she have killed him? Maybe he decided he didn’t want to be around for her and their unborn babies, or decided they couldn’t run away, or tried (like Hal did to Alice) to force her to have an abortion. Then again, probably not. The details of the murder seem rather difficult for a pregnant woman to execute, let alone a teenager that lives with parents and is locked up in a creepy asylum.

F.P. Jones - N. Nope. Not him. Same thing with Hal, it’s a fakeout with the jacket and the Serpents. NO DOUBT HE’S GOING TO GET FRAMED FOR IT THOUGH

A. It’s too easy.

Kevin Keller - N. Probably not but Kevin’s been acting sort of shady and there have been weird cuts to him sometimes (though I thought that was more due to his hiding the fact he’s dating Joaquin). I don’t know. I hope it’s not him.

A. I can’t decide if finding the body rules him out or makes him more suspicious. I love Kevin so much. I don’t think he did it...and Joaquin better not hurt him!!!

Cheryl Blossom - N. I had ruled out Cheryl but girl was acting SHADY in episode 9. I think her grief is real but… you know she’s got her own issues to deal with. And she’s not dealing with them well.

A. She’s losing it, but I really don’t think she killed her twin.

Hermione - N: Same as Veronica. Even if Hiram was somehow involved and Hermione is ok with shady dealings on behalf of her husband I think straight up murder is where she’d cross the line.

A: If Hiram did put a hit out on Jason, this doesn’t mean Hermione didn’t know about it though...

Reggie Mantle - N. Nah. Probably not Reggie.

A. I really doubt this too.

Dilton Doiley - N. Probably not but Dilton could have snapped and gone FULL SURVIVAL mode on Jason.

A. Not convinced.

Chuck Clayton - N. Maybe some revenge thing having to do with football? I’m voting no on Chuck. ALTHOUGH HE WAS BEING SO SHADY WITH OUR SHADY GIRL ETHEL. Was he really just apologizing?

A. Chuck is a lot of things, but I don’t think murderer is one of them. Besides, his only motive would be to take Jason’s captain position, which I’m not convinced he’d have been in the running for anywho, unless...well, ya know...nepotism. ***Edit: After episode 11 I’m starting to get weird vibes about everyone’s favorite shady girl, Ethel, and Chuck. Are they working together? Was all of this a big con? What would the reason be for that anywho? I have no idea, but creepy Ethel creeping on the hot tub scene and then Chuck and Ethel consulting civilly during lunch does not bode well...

The Pussycats - N. I don’t think it was any of them.

A. Nah.

Grundy - N. We haven’t seen her since episode 4. She might have been crazy enough to do it but my gut says she’s gone for good (or until they bring her back for drama’s sake in season 2).

A. GRUNDY IS THE WORST!!! I don’t see why she would have any reason to kill Jason though.

Viable suspects (BECAUSE WE JUST DON’T KNOW)

Clifford Blossom - N. DUDE DID NOT FLINCH WHEN HE WAS SHOWN HIS SON’S BODY. We haven’t seen enough of him to really tell but he’s been less broken up about it than his wife and daughter. And the shame of having his heir/only son run away with a Cooper might have made him snap.

A. Cheryl really is the only Blossom who’s been genuinely upset. Both of the parents are sketchy. Both of them are super creepy to Archie, the surrogate Jason, which makes me wonder what they were like to the real Jason.

Penelope Blossom - N. Even if she didn’t pull the trigger, it’s highly possible she was complicit in the murder in some way. She’s creepy as hell.

A. She is one creepy lady. Did she caress Jason like she caresses Archie at the funeral? I put nothing past her.

Ethel Muggs - N. Ethel was SUPER shady in episode 3. She enjoyed Dark Betty and Chuck’s retribution a little too much. And as Jughead’s narration of how that whole situation would have darker rippling effects no one could have predicted, Ethel thanks B + V sweetly and Cheryl says #JusticeForEthel. Also… what was the conversation she was having with Chuck in Episode 11? (Also... that scene with Jughead. Was that supposed to come off kind of creepy and lovelorn? Was it just a nod to the comics or something more?)

A. Barb Ethel is definitely sketchy. If we hadn’t had the hospital scene, I would have thought her whole ‘parents fighting’ story was made up. Something is off about her….

Hiram Lodge - N. He has been pulling some sneaky shit behind the scenes all season. Maybe a pointed attack to the Blossom family that had been coming for a long time? (I FUCKING CALLED IT BEFORE EPISODE 9). I want to say it’s not him though because i think he’ll become the big bad antagonist of season 2.

A. He seems the most likely villain, but it’s just so easy. It’s too easy. For all we know, he’s wrongly behind bars and the real mastermind behind all of this has been Hermione all along...

Joaquin - N. We just don’t know enough about him to rule him out.

A. He’s kind of the Snek’s errand boy, but he also clearly has a sense of morality that seems like it might stop him from committing murder. Also, #DontHurtKevin.

Sheriff Keller - N. Everything could be a cover up.

A. He’s a terrible sheriff...

Mayor - N. It’s been mentioned before how hard it was for the mayor to get her position as an African American woman. Maybe it was a power play against the Blossoms?

A. Murder seems like bad politics, but then again, so does sexual assault and habitual lying...

Principal Weatherbee - N. Look we don’t have all the facts. It could be Weatherbee. It could not be. We just don’t know.

A. Definitely don’t know enough about him.

Pop - N. POP. HE HAS A FREEZER. NO ONE KNOWS WHAT HE DOES IN HIS SPARE TIME. HE COULD HAVE GOTTEN INTO A DISPUTE WITH THE BLOSSOMS BECAUSE OF MAPLE SYRUP.

A This is it guys. This is my crack theory. Pop knows all the town gossip probably, because...they’re clearly the only restaurant in Riverdale. He also is the only one that we can confirm probably has a freezer large enough for a body. What is his motive? No idea, but he’s definitely the most unsuspected person in town.

#riverdale #riverdale theories #who killed jason blossom?#betty cooper #jughead jones #archie andrews #veronica lodge #jason blossom #cheryl blossom #i should tag ALL the characters but i won't

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notafraidofstopping876 · 8 years ago

Text

So for my senior acting recital I’m closing with “Watch What Happens” from Newsies and the scene leading into it.

Part of my homework for it is creating a character bio, and this is what I wrote for Katherine. (It’s my personal interpretation, with as much ties to the real Pulitzer family that I could tie in).

Enjoy!

Who am I?

My name is Katherine Ethel Pulitzer, and I am seventeen years old. I was born to Joseph and Katherine Pulitzer in 1882.

My father runs New York City newspaper The New York World, and holds monopoly on most major printing presses in New York City, making him one of its most powerful men.

As such, I come from great wealth and luxury. I was raised in a house hold full of servants, and never wanted for anything. However, I was never like my sisters, or the daughters of my father’s wealthy friends in the newspaper business. I always gravitated towards wanting to play with their sons, and wanting to run around outside and be active instead of cooped up inside with needlework or dolls. To this day I’m still friends with several of them, such as Darcy whose father owns the Tribune, and Bill, the son of William Randolph Hearst.

My parents tolerated my “unladylike” behavior when I was small, but the older I get the more they try to mold me into what their idea of a proper young lady is, grooming me to marry well. But no matter how hard I tried to please them, I just couldn’t dampen my sense of adventure and even now I have a growing urge to rebel against them, my father especially.

But despite how much I sometimes resent him for all those years of “Sweetie don’t get your dress dirty” and “Why can’t you be more like your sisters?” I did learn many valuable lessons from him, such as the power of the press. I watched him control the entire city not only with his wealth, but with what was printed in his papers. In recent years my eyes were opened to how he would abuse this power, overworking and underpaying his employees, having people spy on and take down anyone who might threaten his position, and swaying his readership by controlling everything printed in The New York World.

Two years ago, however, a reporter named Nellie Bly made her way into my father’s newspaper, and shocked everyone with her undercover work for a story for the Woman’s Lunatic Asylum on Black Island. It wasn’t long before even my father started taking her seriously as a reporter despite her gender. I finally had the chance to meet her and she became a mentor to me, encouraging me to do my own writing and helping me improve over the last two years.

Earlier this year, I finally decided to follow in her footsteps and try to make it as a reporter myself. While my father wasn’t thrilled with the idea, he didn’t outright forbid me either. I refused to work for his newspaper where everyone knew me as the boss’s daughter. I didn’t want anybody else to look on me any differently because of the family name either, so I took up the pen name Katherine Plummer. Nellie wrote me a letter of recommendation, which helped me land a position at the New York Sun.

So far however, I have yet to write any hard news. I’ve been confined to the social pages, reviewing flower shows and vaudeville performances. It’s very frustrating not getting to write about the issues and topics that really matter, but even Nellie Bly had to write about entertainment and the like until she got her big break, so I’m doing my best to persevere and pay my dues.

It was actually while I was on the job covering a show that I may have stumbled upon my big opportunity. I was at the Bowery Stage, when a scrappy newsboy came into my box. I had bumped into him earlier, strolling with Darcy on my way to work that morning. He and one of his newsie buddies tried to make a pass at me, but I quickly shut him down. Yet somehow we ended up at the same variety show, and he found his way into my private box, and insisted on trying to flirt with me despite my protestations.

He said his name was Jack Kelly, and that he worked for the New York World as a paper boy. I failed to mention that my father owned that paper, as I’ve been trying to keep my anonymity, and because it really wasn’t his business anyway. He eventually left, but not before leaving behind a piece of newspaper he was carrying. Upon picking it up I realized that it was a drawing of me that he had drawn right there. I don’t know what I was expecting him to leave but that certainly wasn’t it. I was stunned that such an exquisite drawing came from this scruffy, cocky and annoying boy. At this point I had very mixed feelings about this Jack Kelly, but didn’t think I’d run into him again, but I would be proven wrong.

I had dropped by my father’s office earlier today, where low and behold I spotted him AGAIN trying to get in to speak with my father. This time he was accompanied by two other newsies, one his age and the other much younger, couldn’t have been any older than ten. One of my father’s security men forcibly threw them out through the front doors, barking at them to stay out. That made my blood boil, partially because as much as I hated to admit it I found myself fascinated by this Jack Kelly, but it especially angered me that they did this to the little boy.

I confronted the guard about it, who insisted he was just doing his job, and that some “ragamuffin boys mumbling about a strike was not worthy of Mr. Pulitzer’s time”. The word strike immediately caught my attention and I sought out Mr. Wiesel, the man hired to distribute and sell the papers to the newsies every morning. As it turns out, my father had made the decision to raise the prices of the newsies’ papers, from fifty cents per hundred to sixty cents. Not only that, they had decided to go on strike, and Jack was leading it.

My gut reaction was one of outrage at my father. I knew his paper sales had been down ever since the Spanish-American war ended, but that was true for all the papers across town, and it certainly wasn’t any skin off of his back in the long run. What business of it was his to make life difficult for those boys? But then I realized just how massive the situation really was. A group of Davids were readying to take on Goliath, the biggest paper in New York City no less, and I was one of the first reporters to know about it. It was then that I knew I had to pick up this story

After deciding that the newsboys’ strike could be my big chance I’ve been waiting for, I spent the afternoon trying to convince my boss to let me run with the story. He wasn’t keen on the idea. He eventually gave me permission to write my story, but that I would have to really impress him for the story to actually run.

Overjoyed and slightly overwhelmed from the pressure I raced back to The World to try to put together the pieces of the story. Wiesel told me I could find the boys at Jacobi’s Deli, the off-hours meeting place for the newsies.

What time is it?

It’s a little after four P.M.., July 21st, 1899.

Where am I?

I am outside of Jacobi’s Deli in Lower Manhattan, the watering hole so to speak for the newsies. From there I leave for my office at the New York Sun.

What surrounds me?

In front of Jacobi’s Deli the streets are about as quiet as New York City ever is, with much of the city still at work. The occasional pedestrian walks by. The roughly paved stone streets sit beneath my shoes. The air is laid with the smell of deli meats from inside as Mister Jacobi gets ready for the dinner shift.

In my office is my typewriter at my small desk where I write all my stories. On the wall is hanging Nellie Bly’s undercover story on the women’s asylum that she did for the New York World. For the most part however my office is simply functional, supplies for my work, such as ink, typewriter ink, a wastebasket, and film for my camera and the like. I purposely don’t keep many personal items at the office, trying not to reveal too much about my wealth or my family name to any of my coworkers, especially my boss.

What is my fourth wall?

At Jacobi’s is a rundown street in need of repaving, and the summer sun still high in the sky.

At my office is the framed story from Nellie Bly in front of the faded wallpaper. I was given one of the smallest dingiest offices as I am still not considered a serious reporter by anyone at The New York Sun.

What are my given circumstances?

Hot on the story, I found Jack Kelly and the rest of the newsies at Jacobi’s Deli. When I came in several of the boys were taken aback by my presence and wouldn’t take me seriously at first, Jack included. Finally I admitted that yes, I was just busting out of the social pages, and finally broke through to them that I was there to help them. Jack has agreed to an interview and given me instruction to be at The World first thing in the morning to photograph the strike.

What is my relationship?

I have only met Jack Kelly yesterday. At first I thought he was just a cheeky imp, and so far the handful of interactions I’ve had with him have proven that true. But beneath that, he is a talented artist and is brave enough to take on a powerful man such as my father for what he believes is right, which I have to commend him for. He has expressed definite interest in me romantically, but I’m not sure how I feel about him in that regard. He is definitely handsome and there are qualities in him I admire, but I have to remain objective so I can do my job.

What do I want?

I want to interview Jack Kelly and then write my story on the Newsboys’ Strike, both to further myself as a journalist and to help them out with their cause that I sympathize with.

What is in my way?

Jack is not taking my questions seriously and keeps trying to flirt with me. Also, this is the biggest story I’ve ever written and there’s a lot of pressure on me, to help the boys and to finally prove myself to everyone in my work.

What do I do to get what I want?

Encourage Jack to open up to me, shut down his attempts to be frisky, maintain my professional composure, keep my identify as his boss’s daughter hidden, give my support for his cause off the record, remind myself why I took on this story, give myself a pep talk for motivation, and quickly sort through the emotions racking my mind.

What do I expect?

I expect that if I really apply myself and chase after the story, Jack Kelly will eventually come around and I’ll get my story published.

#newsies #newsies forever #katherine plumber #katherine plummer #katherine pulitzer #watch what happens #joseph pulitzer #the newsboys strike of 1899 #les jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #kara lindsay #stephanie styles #liana hunt #morgan keene #nellie bly

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