#Leader of the pack

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Leader of the Pack 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: On a night out at the bar, you're promoted from wing woman to main star.

Characters: James Conrad, short!reader

Note: it’s hump dayyyy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"Go grab us a pool table," Martyna demands as she leans on the bar. 

"Oh, sure," you turn to search the bar. There's only one table and it's taken. You frown. "Someone's already on it." 

"So what? Go put a stack of quarters on it," she says, "I can't. I gotta get my drink." 

"Right, er," you teeter on your feet and look back at the table, one man lining up his shot as the other watches, his thick hands around his cue.  

The shooter snaps the stick and the clack of balls is sharp and strong. You near nervously, pulling out change as you keep just outside their perimeter as the second man considers his turn with a suck of his teeth. Where he's burly, with a shaggy dark beard, and faded ball cap, the other man has blonde hair and is lithe. They are both tall, though the slimmer man has at least an inch on the other. 

You step forward as the man aims from the other corner. You set down four quarters in a stack, just enough to feed the table for another round. The thicker man pauses as he pulls back the cue and narrows his eyes. 

"Eh, you're gonna mess me up," he barks. 

"Oh, sorry," you recoil and fold your hands over your chest, "I was only..." 

You quiet as he grumbles and shakes his head, eyes pinpointing on the felt. You shake your head and back up as the other man tisks. 

"Syverson, don't have to be so rude, the lady is merely claiming her turn," the slender man intones, just a foot from you as he twirls the cue, it's butt set to the floor. "Don't fret over my companion," he girds in his peculiar accent, "he's a sore loser." 

"Heh, what's that about..." the other man hits the cue ball and sends a striped one into the pocket, "losing?" 

You're quiet, nodding as you try to think of the proper response. No one's ever called you a lady. Most people don't notice you. It's why Martyna prefers you as her wing woman, you keep her company until she finds someone fun. 

"Rather, you set me up finely," the first man retorts. 

You cross your arms protectively and back up, making sure you're out of the broader man as he stalks around to place his next shot. His friend watches calmly, unbothered as he knocks another ball in, then lines up for the third. That one's a miss. 

"Shit," the man in the ball cap stands straight and sends you a look. You're not even close to the trim. 

"Oh, don't even try to blame her," the blond reprimands, "that's not very valiant, is it?" 

"Whatever," the other grumbles as he plants his feet and watches the other. 

The slimmer man puts his first shot easily in the corner, the next he sends two balls into opposite pockets, and the next sees him with only the eight ball left to sink. His opponent huffs and shakes his head. You rock back and forth, you hope he wins if only to clear the table. 

"Finally," Martyna nudges you as she comes up beside you, "they didn't have Corona, you believe that?" 

"Oh, that's crummy," you say, watching the mam measure his shot. 

"Mmph, I know you don't give a crap," she scoffs, "why didn't you grab a ginger ale?" 

"I'm fine, just had that iced coffee," you shrug. 

She hums again. She knows you don't drink, that this isn't your scene, that you're not exactly a social butterfly, so why does she act so disappointed. She invited you. It's always her idea, never yours. You just go along, otherwise you'd have nothing to do and no friends.  

"Kinda cute," she leans over to whisper, "look at his shoulders..." 

You lower your brow as your cheeks burn. You hadn't really thought of that. Then, you wonder, which one she's talking about. They both have nice shoulders and muscular arms. 

They're strangers! You shouldn't think of that. You uncross your arms and once more clasp your hands together. 

The man finally shoots, calling left pocket. He calls it true. The ball rolls in and his buddy sighs and swears. 

"Nice," Martyna pops her lips off her bottle of flavoured vodka, "our turn." 

She steps and grabs the quarters. The bearded man tilts his head at her and fixes his camouflage cap. His cheek dimples as the other man rounds the table and pats his shoulder, "better luck next time, chap." 

"Isn't luck," the burly one utters and rolls his eyes, "hustler..." 

"And yet you keep falling for it," the other snickers, "come on, I'll buy you a celebratory pint, eh?" The blond turns and strides toward you. "Miss, you're up." 

He offers the cue and your lashes flick. You couldn't see his eyes before. They're so blue. You gulp and accept the wooden stick. 

"Thank you," you squeak. 

Martyna chuckles and grabs the triangle frame from the slot and sets it out. The blond leads away his second, the man with the beard sending a glance at Martyna as she loads the quarters to release the balls. You wait for her to set up, standing back with the cue in hand. You can still feel the warmth of its previous holder's grip. 

Martyna swigs from her bottle and sets it back on the trim. She fluffs her black curls and makes a pouty face. She's not doing that for you. 

You glance behind her, those men are watching. The blond nods cordially and returns his attention to the bar. The beard one continues to leer in Martyna's direction. You spin back. 

"You wanna break?" You ask. 

"Sure, whatevs," she turns to the table. 

You wait patiently as she scatters the balls. She sinks two solids. She's always been better at this than you. You don't mind losing. It doesn't make much of a difference. 

She sinks two more before your turn comes. You regret not grabbing a soda as you mouth grows dry. Martyna is sure to loudly tell you about this guy she works with and how much he wants her. You just humour her with smiles and mhmms. It isn't you she wants to hear her. You know her tricks. 

You sink a stripe, then a solid. Back to Martyna. You aren't very good at the game. Your arm's are too short. Maybe if you could get on the table you'd have a chance but that's not proper. 

She narrows the solids down to two plus the eight ball. You try your hand again. Scratch. But she misses her shot and you get another go. You sink two before you're done. Still, you're behind. 

She empties her bottle, a dramatic gulp that extends her whole body. She outshines you in all aspects; her hair, her looks, her height, her clothes... 

She wiggles her but as she bends to clean up. One ball, then two, then she lines up for the final blow. The eight. She calls the corner. She bounces it easily into the pocket and squees and hops, her shirt doing little to contain her amped up excitement. 

You lean the cue against your arm and give a clap, "good job, Mart," you say. Genuinely. It was fun enough.  

"Aw, you did good," she preens, "how about a rematch? Got any more change?" 

"Ahem," a voice interrupts as you grab your purse. The jangle of change comes from behind you and a shadow steps forward, "perhaps you might want to make it interesting? Fancy a round of pairs?" 

You glance over at the man with blond hair and lilted accent. Well, you look at his sleeve and follow it up. His profile is well-forged. If you had a type, he might be it. You never considered many men, they never considered you either. 

"Pairs?" Martyna toys with proposal coyly and eyes the bearded man as he comes up beside his friend, "I guess it makes sense. But girls vs boys?" 

"No fun," the blond agrees, "we might mix it up, eh?" He grins, "James," he touches his chest, "this is--" 

"Sy," the other man, who you called Syverson, speaks up, "ladies." 

"Martyna," your friend rolls out. 

You offer your name in a pitchy stammer. You already feel like the odd one out. The tension is thick enough to choke you. 

"Sy, fetch us some cues," James demands, "I'll claim a partner," he looks over at you, "do you mind?" 

"Oh, er, yeah, but um, I'm not very good," you say, certain he must have been able to see as much from across the room. 

"I'm certain we'll work fabulously together," he assures. 

"Here," Sy returns with two sticks, nearly jabbing the James with the spare.  

You cling to your cue and fidget. You have no idea what to do now. Someone has to begin. 

"I'll break," Sy insists. 

"Of course, loser's first," James quips. 

He gets an arch of the thick brow in return before Sy bends to aim between two fingers. You dig your nail into the wood of the cue in your hand. James sidles closer, crowding you as you catch a hint of something citrus. 

Sy bends and pulls back the cue. He hits the ball and sends it zooming fast enough to crack the triangle on the other end. The stripes and solids scatter, bouncing all around. James chuckles and leans towards you. 

“You’ll see he’s about strength, he doesn’t realise the significance of precision,” he intones, “I can show you. It isn’t about how hard you hit but the exact angle,” he tilts his hand to demonstrate as the balls still but non fall into the pockets. “Ladies first.” 

You don’t move right away. At first, you don’t get his meaning. You lift the cue and approach the table. You look around. It’s your choice; stripes or solids. Whatever you can get, as usual. 

That number four is hovering right at the side pocket. It’s an easy score. You’ll take it. 

You position yourself, overly aware of your audience. It feels like the whole bare is watching. You blow out your breath and set your sights. You pull back and snap forward. The cue ball wobbles in its path but hits true, knocking the four into the hole. 

It isn’t exactly precise. You stand straight and let out and oomph as your back meets an unexpected wall. James brings his arms up and puts his hands around yours. His proximity is suffocating. 

“You’ve got an easy in on the five,” he advises, guiding you to bend with him as he directs your stick. “Loose,” he wiggles your front hand and squeezes your back hand. “Keep it like this, not too high.” 

He holds you like that for a moment then draws back. He steps to the side and crosses his arms. You focus on the ball, your skin speckling with heat. His scent lingers, perhaps a touch of orange in his cologne. You keep your hold loose and grip tight the butt of the cue. You shoot and the white ball clacks off the red solid, sending it neatly into the corner. 

Martyna giggles and you look up. She’s not laughing at you. Sy is muttering something to her. You blink and stands straight, glancing over at James. You understand what this is but you’re the placeholder, the wing woman, you just keep the friend busy while she has her fun. You know how this ends. 

“You’ve got another go,” James says. 

You nod dumbly and face the table again. You search for your best hope and shift around to the other side. You nearly cross your eyes in your efforts to bounce the ball from one wall into the opposite pocket. You just miss. You cringe and back away. 

Your gaze meets James’ as you find him watching you still. Martyna moves to line up her shot, giggling over her shoulder as she does. As you edge away from her, that man’s eyes follow you. They’re so blue. So, intense. 

You look at the tip of the cue and tap your thumb to the side. You’re in your head. He’s not really staring. When you peek up again, he hasn’t looked away. Not even as you hear the balls hit. He winks and your chest pounds in disbelief.

This can’t be real. 

[poptartcrush]

R.I.P. Mary Weiss/ Lead Singer/

The Shangri-Las

[whispering-radiance]

What is bro looking at?

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is talking to us from Verona ... he's practicing his Italian but there's no sign of Robert de Niro waiting. Weatherwise it's back to wearing jumper, jumper, cardigan, though there could be sunshine later. The traffic lady is probably taking time out at a service station in the middle of nowhere with the chef on the radio ... they're both letting time tick til the man on the radio returns.

Today's groaner: why do toucans dance in pairs? ... because two toucans can can-can better than one toucan can ;-D badoom tish ... here all week!!

Biggest Dog was at the vets yesterday after a sleepless night for us both. Dementia has crept in and made a home and is closing the windows on her sight. Much comforting is needed at night. However, she remains indomitable, in possession of much energy and is the one who still leads the charge when the postman calls. Long may she continue, for who else will keep the Hairy Horde in line, turn cardboard into shreds and scatter the pigeons onto the telegraph poles? Beautiful Biggest Dog.

Friday, Friday, Friday and the coffee is coming cup after cup after cup ...

[twnj]

This is the first time I've drawn something outside the Naruto fandom 😬 it's @servenna fault, your Honour!!Recently, I was introduced to the Magic Bites series and there seems to be hardly any fanart of it, which is strange since it's been around for 15 years, I think?

Anyway - Curran in the shadows when they first meet.

[palomahasenteredthechat]

I hope he's having a good day and that he doesn't freeze his tits off.

[blueiscoool]

Leader Of The Pack

No matter what you say, but when a girl next to you carries out exemplary service, you yourself always give one hundred percent.

Maybe that is why the calculation of the anti-aircraft installation, where the commander of the anti-aircraft division Victoria serves, is one of the best in the brigade.

[bandersnatchcrinklefries]

disney night on DWTS

omg so I've become super invested in Dancing with the Stars over the past few seasons and Disney night tonight really was everything.

Like, it always is but this really was the best I've seen!

Highlights:

the genie from the broadway Aladdin!!! [inner theater kid shrieks]

Stephen as Hercules and "A Star is Born"--they did a fantastic job matching the characters to the celebrities this year.

the costumes were 11/10

Jen and Sasha doing "Kiss the Girl!!!!" it was perfect. so, so cute. favorite thing.

Everyone is shipping them SO HARD and it's hilarious but terrifying. I like the ship but I'm still rooting for her and Jonathan from the Bachelorette who comes to see her every week.

Joey giving George of the Jungle in the best way.

the song from Zombies 4 is actually amazing???? brb adding it to the Halloween playlist. Female werewolf representation 11/10

obsessed with Phaedra's bedazzled lipstick. Cruella de Vil is always a banger and they really did it justice

When I saw Dwight dressed as Wreck it Ralph I thought "they better do 'When Can I See You Again'" and they DID and it made my whole life. That song introduced me to my first music crush Owl City <3

Ilona as Luisa from Encanto doing "Surface Pressure" was everything. Like you need to watch this dance. She's my favorite. Seeing a woman be fabulous and flex and be cheered was great. Although having it be the Eldest Daughter Breakdown Theme Song takes away from that a bit. (Is Luisa the eldest or is it Isabela? They're both very eldest daughter coded).

Oh also this was the first time I heard "I2I" and it definitely lived up to the hype.

have definitely gotten to the part of the season where I don't want to see any of them go.

[myimaginaryradio]

Leader Of The Pack - The Shangri-Las

[weneverlearn]

Mary Weiss, me; outside Magnetic Field, Brooklyn, 2008 (photographer unknown)

Mary Weiss, R.I.P.

It was 2005, and I'd lived in NYC for less than a year. I somehow finagled my way into a listening party for the incredible new Rhino Records box set, One Kiss Can Lead to Another: Girl Group Sounds Lost & Found. It was at some small event space in midtown, I don't remember what it was called. Cool joint though...

I felt a bit overwhelmed in this packed room of esteemed scenesters, aging industry big wigs, and the incredible original performers from the box set they were able to round up and sing a few songs.

Luckily the ever-fun couple of Miriam Linna and Billy Miller (Norton Records) were there, scanning the room with eyes as wide as anyone's, and the two introduced me to a few heps, like Richard Gottehrer -- the amazing producer/songwriter who sprung form the Brill Building and ultimately produced some of my faves, like Richard Hell, the Go-Gos, and Marshall Crenshaw, among many.

Then I saw Sune Rose Wagner, singer/guitarist of the Raveonettes, one of my newer faves of the moment, and he was crying. I'd interviewed him over the phone a couple years earlier for a Cleveland mag, so I re-introduced myself and asked what was wrong. We hugged. He said that earlier in the week they'd played and had all of their instruments stolen afterwards, and he was so distraught he was thinking about quitting music. I told him no way, maybe they'll find the stuff, etc... He kind of perked up, and then once the women started singing with a live band, his teary eyes started shining from the glow of the stage taking over the pretty dark room. These women -- and I can't remember which acts they came from, but they were all on the box set -- were resplendent in glittering dresses, hair done big, and smiles wider than 5th Avenue.

I saw Billy and Miriam again, and they were chatting with Mary Weiss lead vox/face of the Shangri-Las -- arguably one of the top three acts of the whole mid-60s "girl group" scene. I was introduced quickly, but I let them get at their convo as I assumed the Norton nabobs knew Mary from way back.

However, Billy comes up to me later and tells me he had never met her before, that she was his first female musical star crush, and he absolutely sounded like a 16-year old trying to cram his melting heart back into his chest. I was pretty floored myself -- I always loved the Shangri-Las from first hearing them slip out of oldies stations growing up to when I first started diving into girl group sounds as a record-amasing teen. They, the Ronettes, and Darlene Love were the cream of the dreamy crop in my book.

The whole night was not unlike making your way through a Shangri-Las compilation: every emotion possible heaving up and down, surrounded by sounds lilting, swelling, crumbling, but always with that Big Beat bubbling, ready to shove you out of the sadness...

After the news of Mary Weiss' sad passing yesterday, of course many acknowledged her teen stardom of the mid-60s; the influence of the Shangri-Las' street-tough image and emotions on the New York Dolls (who used Shangri-Las producer, Shadow Morton, for their second album) and much of the early new wave of the mid-70s; the respect of her keeping a singing career going through the years, and the glorious third act she had in the late 2000s with the help of Norton Records and the great album, Dangerous Game, where Weiss, in excellent voice, was backed by the rulers of garage pop of that era, the Reigning Sound.

No, it wasn't some top 10 album, but it just oozed with a kind of vintage-to-ever cool that is so rarely captured in a "comeback." (And it definitely got her press and new young fans.)

In fact I think that album, and especially that incredible Rhino box set, brought back that '60s malt shop-meets-back-alley girl group ouvre to a whole new generation.

This was not front page news. Nevertheless loads of acts like King Khan & BBQ, Peach Kelli Pop, Shannon & the Clams, Hunx and His Punx, the Vivian Girls, Baby Shakes, Black Lips, A Giant Dog, and even the re-emergence of Nikki Corvette and Ronnie Spector to the stage brought the cloud-bound reverb and scruffy riffs of vintage girl groups back to prominence in the underground garage rock scene. And again, due to their sounds and looks, the Shangri-Las and the Ronettes were the template.

It has since dawned on me many times that Mary Weiss -- and the Shangri-Las as a whole -- have a nearly singular place in R'n'R history. Considering the admittedly limited catalog of songs, their outsized influence has spread from radio hits in the '60s to the underground proto-punk not ten years later; to the CBGB scene; early '80s new wave and power pop shadow-pep (like Blondie, Go-Gos, and many more); Aerosmith covered "(Remember) Walking in the Sand," and others of the big coif/high dramatics of hair metal had some Shangri-Las DNA in the hair spray; from transgressive filmmakers like John Waters to drag queen blueprints; to 2000s female neo-soul hitmakers -- arising at the same time as the aforementioned garage pop underbelly -- and even up to the recent talk/sing busted romance stylings of mega-popsters like Taylor Swift.

I saw Weiss at a couple shows over the next year or so. She was always so excited and grateful for all the accolades and thanks people laid on her. She played a remarkable show in Brooklyn that Lee Greenfeld booked, at the Atlantic Antic street fest in September, 2007 -- right outside Greenfeld's madly-missed club, Magnetic Field. We felt the Antic gig would be the first of many, but there were just a few more local gigs, if memory serves.

Somewhere in 2008, at an A-Bones / Yo La Tengo show at Magnetic Field, I chatted with Weiss for a bit afterwards. I can't express enough how inspiring was her love of music and hanging out at a small bar with a bunch of music obsessives knocking back cheap beers. At the 1 a.m. chime, she kissed my cheek, I laid one on her's, I walked home, and I will assume that if there is a Heaven, that moment should get me into the meetings where they discuss how to improve Heaven. It's a cinch it's improved today.

Variety obituary here.

From obituary:

The group’s tough-but-vulnerable New York City teen image was genuine. “Overall, the girl groups had very sweet images, except for the Ronettes and the Shangri-Las, who had a tougher, harder attitude,” Greenwich told the website Spectropop in an undated interview. “By today’s standards, they were as innocent as the day is long. Back then, they seemed to have a street toughness, but with a lot of vulnerability. Mary Weiss [had] the sweetest long straight hair, an angelic face, and then this nasal voice comes out, and this attitude — the best of both worlds.

“In the beginning, we did not get along,” she continued. “They were kind of crude, with their gestures and language and chewing gum and the stockings ripped up their leg. We would say, ‘Not nice, you must be ladies,’ and they would say, ‘We don’t want to be ladies.'”

From Chapter 33 of The Downtown Pop Underground — order online, or from a local independent bookstore

THE SHANGRI-LAS’ INFLUENCE ON PUNK LOCATION Brill Building The Shangri-Las were one of the common musical denominators that Blondie shared, and Clem Burke explained the Shangri-La’s proto-punk appeal: “They had their black leather vests and their tight black leather pants, and they sang ‘Give Him a Great Big Kiss.’ They sang about dirty fingernails, wavy hair, and leather jackets, and things like that.” The Shangri-Las cast a long shadow over glam and punk rock. The New York Dolls’ “Looking for a Kiss” borrowed the spoken word intro from their “Give Him a Great Big Kiss,” and another Dolls song, “Trash,” copped the campy “How do you call your lover boy?” line from “Love Is Strange,” a catchy 1956 hit by Mickey & Sylvia. The group’s final album, Too Much Too Soon, was produced by Shadow Morton, who had crafted the girl group classics “Leader of the Pack” and “Remember (Walking in the Sand)” for the Shangri-Las. As Burke recalled, “Bubblegum rock was part of the roots of the New York music scene. Some of the old-school guys like Richard Gottehrer or Marty Thau—who had some money and success in pop music—they understood the music because they were coming from that Brill Building mentality.” Thau was the New York Dolls’ first manager before McLaren took the job, and he had previously made a living as a record promoter for late 1960s bubblegum groups the 1910 Fruitgum Company (“Simon Says”) and the Ohio Express (“Yummy Yummy Yummy”). Thau recorded the Ramones’ first demos and released Suicide’s debut album on his independent label Red Star, and also formed the production company Instant Records with the old-school industry hit maker Richard Gottehrer. “Richie was part of that whole Brill Building rock thing,” Leon said, “which had a lot of nostalgia for us because we grew up with it on the radio when we were kids.”

[gone2soon-rip]

MARY WEISS (1948-Died January 19th 2024,at 75). American pop music vocalist, best known as the lead singer of the Shangri-Las in the 1960s. . Between 1964 and 1966 several hit pop songs of theirs documented teen tragedies and melodramas. They continue to be known for their hits "Remember (Walking in the Sand)", "Give Him a Great Big Kiss", and in particular, "Leader of the Pack" which went to #1 in the US in late 1964.Mary Weiss - Wikipedia

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Leader of the Pack 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: On a night out at the bar, you’re promoted from wing woman to main star.

Characters: James Conrad, short!reader

Note: I'm Canadian so I get a three day weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“I defer to you,” James says as Sy grumbles over a near miss. “Call it.” 

You look at the table. Oh, right. Only the eight ball left. You examine the felt and consider every angle. It’s well out of your skill range. 

“I can’t...” 

“Certainly, you can,” he insists blithely, “I’ve no doubt.” 

You frown with tight lips, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

You walk around the table, one way, then the other, and back again. Sy lets out a deep sigh of irritation as Martyna giggles into her glass. How many drinks has she had? You resign yourself to failure and approach the trim. 

“Right corner,” you declare, though it is more murmur.  

You shift back and forth, trying to get the angle right. You squeeze the cue tight until your knuckles hurt. You loosen up as you glance away from the felt and your eyes meet James’. He shows no sign of anxiety. He simply watches. Patient. 

You open your dry lips and blow out between them. You narrow your sights on the ball and pull back. You bring your back hand forward and the tip sends the cue ball spinning. You look away before it can bounce the eight ball off the edge. 

You back up with your cue and cling to it, the butt to the floor. 

“Aha,” James exclaims as Sy groans, “victory.” 

“Huh?” You blink and look at the table as the white ball rolls away from the corner pocket, the black ball gone. 

“Whatever,” Sy growls, “need a girl to fight your battles.” 

“Don’t be a poor sport,” James chides playfully. He gets only a growl in response. “What say you all to another match?” 

“Mm,” Martyna hums as the ice clinks in her glass, “I need a drink.” 

“Me too,” Sy agrees as he puts his cue in the wall rack, “what’re you drinking?” 

He takes her cue and places it away with his own. She grins and gives her order before following him away. She leaves you alone at the table with the other man. Barely more than a stranger, even if you know his name. 

You sway awkwardly and look around. Maybe you could distract him by losing to him. You glance at the table and try to piece together the suggestion. 

“And you? Would you like a drink?” He offers before you can summon your voice. 

“Oh, uh,” your lashes flick. “I don’t really... drink.” 

“Perhaps a sparkling water?” He suggests and offers wordlessly to take your cue, “we should let some others have a go. I’d hate to live on the felt.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

You hand over your cue and watch him take both to the rack. He secures them then turns back, strutting over to you. The coned glass shade casts a glint in his eyes and nicely limns his features. You’re all too aware of how mismatched you are. Where he is confident and handsome, you’re reticent and plain. Boring, if you do say yourself. 

“Come,” he beckons you toward the bar as he trails behind you. 

You lead the way ahead of him, through the bodies waiting for their own drinks, and you stop before a tall stool. He gestures over your head and calls the bartender by name, “Curt.” 

The man finishes up the order and takes a bill in return before he nears your side of the bar. He greets the other man with a subtle nod, “pint?” 

“Yes, and whatever the lady prefers,” James says. 

The bartender only notices you then, tilting his chin down to see you. You give a sheepish grin. You don’t often order more than water. 

“Ginger ale, please?” You request. 

“All I got is organic ginger beer. It’s spicy,” he replies. 

“Sure, thanks,” you agree easily. You hate to trouble him or the man who’s kindly offered to buy you a drink.  

You’ve done this before. You bear through the awkwardness of the courtesy until you see Martyna has her catch of the night. Then you find a way to excuse yourself and the men never seem to mind. They're already scoping out someone else. 

The bartender uncaps the dark green bottle of ginger beer and places it on the bar. Then he fills a tall pint of golden beer and sets it next to the non-alcoholic beverage. James takes both and bids you to ‘come’. You do as he says. You’re not sure what else to do. 

He leads you to a table and you peer around. You see Sy and Martyna. He has her penned in by the wall as they speak closely and nurse their drinks. You sit as James puts your drink before you. You face him and wonder for a moment how he got his fare for free. He never paid. He probably has a tab, he seems to know this place well. 

“You don’t come here often,” he states, not asks. 

You nod, “I’m not much for... bars, but Martyna likes them.” 

You put your hand on the bottle and turn it slowly. His eyes follow the movement of your fingers for a moment before they return to your face. You save yourself from talking and take a sip of the ginger beer. It is rather spicy. 

“I wouldn’t figure you the type. In the best way possible,” he chuckles softly, “this isn’t the place for nice girls.” 

Nice girls. Boring girls. You know what he means. 

“Yeah...” you agree flatly. 

“You from the city or visiting?” He asks. 

It’s small talk. He’s filling the air. He’s playing his part. Keep the other one distracted while his buddy seals the deal. You get it. It’s torturous. 

“From here. Live here,” you shrug. 

“Right,” he nods, “in this neighbourhood?” 

“South east,” you say. 

“Ah, not very far,” he muses and tastes his beer. You stare at the table. You’re tired and slightly embarrassed. You appreciate him being so nice but you know it’s not genuine. 

“You know,” you examine the label on the bottle, “you don’t have to sit with me. I can just go,” you glance over at Sy and Martyna as they lock lips, “looks like they’re getting along so--” 

“Pardon?” He cranes to see over his shoulder, hooking his arm behind the chair so his bicep bulges and his bluish grey tee strains across his chest, “no,” he turns back, “I... that isn’t-- unless you want me to go away.” 

You swallow. You drink again, just to wet your dry tongue. 

“Sorry, I just thought... usually...” you cringe and snap your mouth shut. You shake your head. 

“I’m intrigued, it has nothing to do with anyone else,” he brings both elbows to the table and leans forward. “I see a lot of types come through here but you... you’re different.” 

You crinkle your brow and look down. Your slate gray pants with the barely discernible plaid pattern sewn into them and your stuffy turtleneck under the crocheted vest don’t really fit. You’re all too aware of how you stick out. You let go of the bottle and drag your hands down to your lap, picking at the tip of your thumbnail. 

“Like I said, I’m not really a drinker. It’s Mart,” you sniff. 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. Truly,” he keeps his attention on you, “did you make the vest yourself? I like the roses.” 

“N-no, my grandma...” you once more scald in humiliation. With each word, you just stamp in his first impression. 

“You’re close with her?” He intones. 

You look at him. His eyes make you want to melt into the chair. He isn’t like the other men you’ve sat in purgatory with. He isn’t looking around at anyone else. In fact, his intent stare makes you squirm. 

“Yeah, I try to visit,” you clear your throat and shift in the chair, nervously running your fingernails in a ridge of the ribbed sleeve of your turtleneck, “I’m boring. What do you do?” 

He chuckles, “talk about boring. Trust me, I’m not very exciting. I want to know about you.” 

His intensity makes you want to fan yourself. 

“Just a bookkeeper,” you answer.  

“Ah, a very useful occupation.” he praises. 

Boring, you want to say again. Just like everything about your life. You look at the ginger beer and frown. 

“You don’t like your drink?” He suggests. He’s attentive to the point of discomfort. 

“It’s fine, I just... different,” you utter. 

“Who do you bookkeep for?” He asks. 

You give pause. He asks a lot of questions. Maybe you’re just not used to that much interest, but it feels like a bit much. How would you know? You see Martyna and the men she associates with. They look at her the same way. It could just be that he really is into you. 

“A publisher. There’s a few of us.” 

“Hm, yes, there would be,” he hums, “think I might know the book house.” 

“Uh, yeah,” you give half a smile. Everyone knows the publishing company; it’s the core of the city’s economy. 

“I’m rather a fan of their mysteries,” he says. “Have you read--” 

“Conrad,” a drunken slur interrupts him and James sits back to look up at the other man. Sy’s eyes are half-glazed as Martyna clings to his arm, “we’re headed out.” 

“Ah, yes,” James checks his watch, “it is rather late.” He turns his attention to you, “shall we?” 

You look between them. Martyna bats her lashes at you drunken and tweaks her brow. You’re all leaving. Together? 

“I’m afraid he’s crashing at my place, he had some issue with his pipes,” James explains, “so I’m afraid I’ll need to let him in like a stray cat.” 

“Hmph,” Sy growls but is quickly distracted by Martyna’s hand rubbing his chest. 

This is strange. It’s never been like this before. Maybe it’s better that you stay close to Martyna to make sure she’s okay. Usually, she tells you to go. She calls you a cock block. She isn’t wrong. You don’t exactly inspire lust. 

“Right, yeah,” you stand and hit the table as the chair is heavier than you expect and traps you.  

The ginger beer wobbles and clatters onto its side, sending a foamy wash across your middle. You quickly pick it up and set it right but it’s too late. You’re mortified. 

“Ah, pity,” James remarks, “Sy,” he looks at the other man, “fetch us a cab, I’ll get something to clean up from the barkeep.” 

“Don’t drag your ass,” Sy warns. 

James doesn’t acknowledge the warning, striding over to the bar and speaking briefly with the man behind it. You stand in the damp mess as Martyna purrs at the other man before he leads her out. James returns and offers a dish cloth. 

“How unfortunate,” he remarks as you accept the cloth. 

“Yeah, I... it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“I hope it doesn’t stain your vest,” he says. 

You shrug, “it’s fine.” 

“Yes, but your grandmother put such hard work into it.” 

You dab at the moisture and look up at him. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you. Your lips slant and you focus on sopping up the ginger beer. 

“I wasn’t... wasn’t making fun,” he says, “if it came across--” 

“No, no, I didn’t think so,” you lie. You do what you can and ball up the cloth, “I’ll bring this back. Maybe I should just meet you outside.” 

“I will wait,” he assures, “I am a gentleman after all.” 

[scorpius6689]

The Night Wolf

[violets-and-books]

I see the scenario-

Wesper angst song

I assume it's Wylan POV and then Jesper is the "leader"

There are so many Jesper dying fics bestie why would you do that to me 😭

I can see it now. Ao3 Tag: Bad Parent Jan Van Eck

*long sigh* I have to lay on the floor for a while and not write that.

YEAH, GET IN!!!!

Yup! Isn't it fantastic!

Jesper is just so death-coded. Perfect tragic hero archetype

Wait, what if Jesper dies in soc 3-

Yeah, please don't write it. I wanna write it!

[howardhawkshollywoodmusic]

37. Leader of the Pack by The Shangri-Las debuted Oct 64 and peaked at number one, scoring 1068 points.

The writer and producer of all their hits was Shadow Morton. Lead singer Mary Weiss sports lovely B-52s styled hair. The pack leader is played by Robert Goulet, who was also a guest on the same episode of The Ed Sullivan Show. Robert had the number 84 hit of the year, My Love Forgive Me.

[lcsimmimg]

Aquarius has maxed out her Wellness Skill and her Leader of the Pack Aspiration. So, she has been teaching yoga classes during her weekly meeting of the Wellness Women.