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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years ago

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crocodile tears

Chapter 1: in which marina has the worst day of her life

Hi! And welcome! Yes, I am publishing the first chapter of this fic on my Black Clover blog, I know it’s a little bizarre. Ahem. Anyway- I hope you guys will read this and enjoy it if you like jojo! I know there’s plenty of overlap between these two fandoms. DM or inbox me if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Synopsis: Marina considers herself to be a normal teenager, despite both being the daughter of a senator and the center of many bizarre happenings throughout her life. However, everything gets turned upside down when her whole family is kidnapped. In that moment of fear, something within her awakens. Little does she know, this power is called a Stand, and she has caught the eye of the worst person imaginable. Marina must learn to master her stand, and decide where her loyalties lie: with the man who saved her life or with her newfound friends?

Warnings: Violence, frightening scenes, language, and Dio being toxic lol

March 6th, 1988

Cool water enveloped her body. Everything was cloaked in a sea green haze.

She was laying on the bottom of the riverbed, staring up at the muted sun. A crocodile swam by, almost lazily. It did not notice her, and she didn't feel scared.

It was just a crocodile.

"Marina... Marina, wake up already!"

Something cold and clammy grasped the 17-year-old girl's foot. Marina let out a scream and quickly recoiled under the soft white linens on her bed. "Five more minutes, mom!"

Marina’s mother scowled at her only daughter. She was already dressed in long, light pants and a tropical looking shirt. An over-sized hat adorned her head atop dark brown hair, a few shades lighter than her only daughter's. "Marina, we have five minutes before the ship docks. Dad's already gone up to eat."

"Well, that's just Dad," the girl grumbled back, pulling the covers more tightly around her shoulders, as if this cocoon would keep her safe from her mother's impending wrath. "He gets up early every day, that shouldn't mean that we also have to be up at the crack of dawn."

"It's not the crack of dawn, it's nearly ten o'clock already. The ship is running a little early, so we'll have more time to explore Alexandria."

Marina's only reply was a grunt. Her mother sighed. "What is it with you this morning?" She shook her head and swung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be up on the top deck watching us dock. It's nice and warm outside, so dress accordingly. We'll see you in five minutes, or it's going to be a very long time before you get to go on another cruise, young lady." A few moments later, and the door shut.

Marina groaned and finally blinked her eyes open, immediately feeling the pounding pain of a migraine wash over her temple. Ouch... did I have a nightmare last night? Usually I sleep like a baby on these cruises.

Marina and her family had been on numerous cruises throughout her life. Her father, Mitchell Porosus was a state senator, and earned a comfortable paycheck, so the Porosus family was able to go on trips whenever congress was on a break. Marina wished her dad was around more, but overall the family dynamic was happy and harmonious. Marina had her 17th birthday recently, and this cruise was supposed to be a celebration of that.

“You know what that means?” her father had told her that day. “You’re the same age as the Dancing Queen! You know, the song? Dancing Queeeen, young and sweeet, only seventeeen-”

Of course they were in public when they said that, so Marina was horribly embarrassed by her father’s terrible singing voice. For someone with a public reputation, he sure didn’t mind ruining it!

But in the end, it was sweet. Her father loved ABBA and Elton John, and Marina imagined that the two of them would dance to Dancing Queen or Tiny Dancer at her wedding.

Marina loved her dad and mom, and that was the reason why she finally dragged herself down from the bunkbed. From their room on the second level, she could see the dock inching closer and closer. With a yawn, Marina turned and walked into the bathroom, where she finally was able to look upon her tired face in the mirror. Her short, black hair was frizzled, but a few brush strokes later reverted it to its usual sleek form. Marina stretched her arms above her head, wincing a little as she heard her shoulders pop. Jeez, good thing I don’t have a swim meet today, my joints are all out of whack. Her blue-grey eyes, still bloodshot from a fitful sleep, harbored a major case of the dark circles. Nothing a little makeup couldn't fix.

A few minutes later, Marina was finally dressed in some high waisted jeans and a non-descript tank top. She had her trusty mirrored sunglasses on, yet the sunlight from the window was enough to make her eyes water. Leaving her room, she walked down the hallway, strutting with her hands deep in her pockets, her fingers running over the ID card given to her upon embarkation. Marina Porosus.

"Finally, there you are," her father greeted when she made it down to the gangway. "Ready to see Egypt?"

Her father was a tall man, with jet black hair like Marina's. While her mother's eyes were a warm brown, his were blue. He looked like your stereotypical senator, even if he didn’t act like it.”

"Do they even have any pyramids in this town?" Marina asked, a bit apathetically.

Her mother shook her head. "No pyramids, but there used to be a library here, the library of Alexandria!"

Marina raised an eyebrow. "Used to be? Well, what's here now?"

Her parents were at a loss for words. "Well, why don't we go see!" her father exclaimed optimistically, throwing his arms around his daughter and wife.

For the first time that morning, Marina smiled. Even if it was just her parents and her, the three of them would have a good time.

Alexandria was lively place, full of noise and life. Most of it was centered around the port, where the single cruise ship was docked. It was like any other port Marina had visited, except the air was much more dry than the Caribbean. Even Italy was more humid. Marina walked behind her parents as they made their way farther inland. “There’s some ancient ruins I want to check out,” her father said excitedly. “And are you still curious about the Library of Alexandria, Marina?”

Marina shrugged. “Was I curious to begin with?”

“Yes!” her father asserted. “Anyway, there’s a museum all about it farther inland. The walk is a little long, but it’ll be fun!”

Marina sighed, shaking her head a little. She knew her father had enough money to rent a cab, but he was stubborn and insisted that walking “built character.”

“Tarot card readings! Have your fortune told by the Tarot!”

For some reason, Marina’s feet stalled. Slowly, she stopped, then turned her head towards the source of the voice.

No... it wasn’t the voice that drew her there.

It was... something else.

Like magnetism. Gravity. Marina’s gaze fell upon a short, clocked figure, sitting at the mouth of an alley. The voice was feminine, wracked with age, but Marina couldn’t be sure. For a moment, she almost kept walking, but a moment of hesitation was all it took.

“Dad! Can I get my fortune told?”

Her parents stopped and looked back at her. Her father eyed the fortune teller suspiciously. “Ah, Marina, you don’t believe that stuff, do you?”

“So? It’ll still be fun.” Marina looked back over at the fortune teller. She still had that weird feeling, like that person was someone she knew. “Anyway, Tarot Card readings originated in ancient Egypt, so isn’t this a good experience to have while here?”

Well, her father couldn’t deny that. “Here-” He handed the cloaked figure a twenty dollar bill. “Will this suffice?”

“Certainly.” A deck of cards appeared from under the sleeve of their cloak, and instantly shuffled itself. They spread out across the makeshift table. A wrinkled hand gestured at the line. “Go ahead... pick three, my dear.”

Slowly, Marina reached down. With one finger, she slid one card forward, then another, and then a third. The fortune teller swept them up immediately and placed them face up. Marina’s eyes narrowed as she saw the pictures on the cards, but couldn’t read the writing on them. “So? What does it mean?”

With a soft chuckle, a withered finger pointed at the first. “This card represents your past... This is the Six of Wands card! Confidence, recognition, and success... you’ve known all three throughout your life.”

Marina gulped, shrugging a little. Maybe... but everyone’s had some sort of success in their life! That seems a little too broad.

“And this is the present-” They gestured at the middle card. “This is the Tower Card... it represents catastrophic change, and... awakening.”

Awakening? That’s interesting... I don’t know what that could be.

“Tell me...” Marina looked up to see an eye peering out from behind the hood. It narrowed curiously. “This card is one of the Major Arcana... it represents a milestone in your life. You must have noticed, then... even if you don’t know quite yet...”

Marina wasn’t sure she liked the way the fortune teller was spinning this. I haven’t noticed anything like that! “Okay... and the last card is the future?”

“Yes, yes...”

The fortune teller’s finger fell upon the face of the last card. Unlike the first two, it was reversed, facing away from Marina. “This card, when reversed, represents dissatisfaction, delays, and... an endless, fruitless search for closure.”

Marina felt a chill go down her neck.

“The World.”

The family left the fortune teller behind after that. Even as they searched farther inland, visiting temples and museums, Marina could not shake the slowly growing pit of dread in her stomach.

A few hours later, it was almost time to get back on the ship. The problem was that the small family had made their way a little too far inland and were now in real danger of being left behind.

"This is all your fault, dad!" Marina scolded as she jogged behind her parents. There was a taxi station nearby where they could get transport to the port. "You always geek out over this historical stuff and make us late to things!"

"Well, your mother wanted to get that hat from that store back there, too, so I'm not the only one to blame," he yelled back. "In any case, we can just hop on a taxi and-" His face fell, and the family skidded to a halt. The entire plaza was slammed, bumper to bumper traffic as far as they could see. "Mitchell, we're definitely going to miss the boat," her mom said quietly. Of course, Senator Porosus stayed enthusiastic, shaking his head. "No, we'll make it if we run."

Marina groaned as her father and mother started to run again. "Seriously?" It wasn't that Marina couldn't keep up; she had been swimming her entire life and had great stamina. It was just so damn hot out.

"If you hurry, we'll make it back in time for dinner," her mother encouraged, spurring Marina on into a true run.

With her dad leading the way, the trio raced down the street towards where they thought the port was. There were a lot of people walking on the sidewalks, but it wasn't hard to weave between them without disturbance. Marina craned her neck and, with a ton of relief, spied the top of their ship up ahead. "I can see it, Dad!" she exclaimed, already thinking about what she was going to eat for dinner tonight. "We're going to make it!"

"Here, let's cut through this road." He pointed at an alley that seemingly cut over to where the embarkation area was. "We can beat some of the line as well."

"Perfect!" Marina changed course and ran ahead of her parents and into the alleyway.

For a moment, the sounds of the busy streets died away, leaving only three pairs of footsteps slapping their way down the stone path. The buildings on either side were tall enough to block out the afternoon sun, leaving them in a comfortable chill.

Up ahead was a corner. Marina quickened her pace and turned into...

A dead end.

"Shit," her dad exclaimed, earning him a sharp kick in the shin from his wife. "Ah, excuse my french. Back luck, huh." He shrugged, ever optimistic. "Well, I guess we can double back and keep running."

"Yeah," Marina’s mom agreed.

Marina sighed. What a let down! Well, it wouldn't take too long to get back, at least, at this rate we’ll make in in time-

Marina turned around to see that five men, all armed with guns, had cornered them in the dead end.

"Look at this, just the man we were looking for!” one of them pointed at Marina’s dad. “This is the senator we were told to capture? He doesn’t look like much.”

“Don’t worry, this is him... Senator Porosus, a friend of yours sends this message:” one of the men grinned. “You’ve been in my way for too long, Mitch. It’s time for me to put the fear of God in you. Enjoy your extended stay in Egypt!”

“What? Who hired you?” Mitchell gulped and pulled his wife and daughter behind him. Marina felt her mom's cold hand clutch her arm. This time, she didn't try to shrug it off. “I’ve done nothing but get along with everyone. They all want to see me reach the top! I’m gonna be President one day-”

“We’ll see about that.” The man in charge raised his gun. “For now, come to our truck. We’ll make you and your family comfortable until someone generous pays your ransom.”

Oh no, they had a truck somewhere.

"Look... I don’t care what you do to me.” Senator Porosus said, his voice shaking a little. For someone in so much danger, he was staying pretty composed. “But leave my family out of it!”

“Mitchell-” Marina’s mother whispered, her grip on Marina loosening slightly. “Just do what they say, and-” She was cut off with a scream as one of the men yanked her away from her family.

Marina's eyes widened. Shit! This is actually happening- It was like a scene from a movie, some horrible, scary movie, and panic spiked through Marina’s veins. "MOM! DAD!" Someone grabbed Senator Porous as well, and now two more were advancing towards Marina.

"Don’t even try, you’re just going to get hurt!” one of the guys said with a twisted grin. Marina screamed and struggled anyway as her arms were twisted behind her body.

No... NO!

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be their last stop before flying home, where Marina would finish up the year and enjoy the summer with her friends. But now-

Catastrophic change... and-

With one last burst of strength, Marina wrenched her arm away, freeing herself for a moment. She turned around, her eyes wide and crazed with adrenaline.

Awakening.

The gun leveled at her head was suddenly crunched into a flat piece of scrap metal. The man holding it didn’t have a moment to realize what had happened, because numerous spots of his arm suddenly burst with blood.

He opened his mouth to scream, stumbling back, but it was as if something was clamped down on his arm, hard. Bones crunched as he was suddenly wrenched to the side, and the movement sent him flying into the nearby brick wall.

Marina froze.

What- what on earth-

But then something hit her in the back of the head, hard, and she fell back down to the bottom of the river.

The crocodile continued to circle high above.

And that’s chapter one!!!! I hope you guys are intrigued 0.0 Please comment/inbox/etc if you have any theories or thoughts, I always appreciate them! I’ll probably post the next chapter on Friday. I changed a couple things to make the story flow better than it did when I first released it. Anyway, see you next time!

Also, did anyone catch the meaning of Marina’s last name? hehe...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #fic #crocodile tears #oc: marina #jjba

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marvella15 · 4 years ago

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Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 3: Roberta

• The Gay Divorcee was a smash hit, raking in almost $600k in profit for RKO during the Depression. It was also nominated for Best Picture. So then why are Astaire and Rogers not the headliners for Roberta? No clue.

• As dumb as that decision was and is, in some ways, it makes their parts even more enjoyable. As the secondary pair, they don’t have to deal with misunderstandings and contrived plot devices keeping them apart or interfering with the development of their relationship. From the moment they’re on screen together, they’re a pair.

• Their romance in Roberta is of two teenage sweethearts reuniting as adults and instantly falling back in step and in love with one another. The warmth and friendliness of their relationship, which I believe mirrors the true relationship between Astaire and Rogers in many ways, is one of the main reasons I adore this film. There are several scenes/moments where they seem to be themselves and it works perfectly.

• Our characters/actors: Huck (Fred Astaire), Lizzie (Ginger Rogers), John (Randolph Scott), Stephanie (Irene Dunne).

• Love their names in this film: Huck (short for Huckleberry) and Liz. A vast improvement, especially for Rogers who has so far been Honey and Mimi.

• Of course for plot reasons Huck’s teenage sweetheart will be in the exact same place he ends up. But it’s worth noting that he requests for John to ask his aunt about Lizzie. He intends to look her up himself.

• Could John be a himbo?? He’s handsome, kinda dumb, but very kind.

• I like how Liz, in her alter ego as a Polish countess, continues throwing a tantrum even though John pushes her to the couch twice. Rogers doesn’t get enough credit for her slapstick abilities. She also somehow makes the word “orchestra” seem very suggestive.

• Love how Huck slides in towards the elevator in his hast to meet Lizzie again. She’s not mad to see him either, only worried he’ll blow her cover. Which he immediately almost does.

• A snarky reunion:

Liz, as the Countess: “Huck is for Huckleberry, n’est-ce pas?”

Huck: “Uhh yes, a couple of n’est-ce pas.”

• His face at being called a piccolo player is only bested by Liz’s barely concealed glee at Huck being demoted this way. In their first interaction, he calls her babe, toots, and playfully bites her hand and she puffs smoke right in his face. I love it.

Not for nothing, later in the film he will also call John babe and toots. Huck is an equal opportunity complimenter.

• Their relationship is established immediately as he celebrates her success and beauty. There’s no rivalry or obstacles between them, not even her stage name. While she is careful to remove her hand from between his when their private moment is interrupted, she doesn’t mind it being known she’s going off somewhere with him.

• Irene Dunne has a fine singing voice but it’s just not what I came to this movie to hear.

• Huck’s face as he watches Liz sing is adorable. Maybe a tad overdone but incredibly sweet.

(gif credit @themaladjustedjester)

• It’s a bit irritating that Rogers is forced to sing and speak in her fake Polish accent for most of the film but dang she does an amazing job with this song. It’s a full-body performance and she does it with gusto.

• I adore the way Astaire tosses the baton over his shoulder as soon as she comes to sit with him. He’s just like, don’t need that anymore.

• So cute as they reminisce about their younger years:

Liz: “You know I think I was in love with you then, Huck.”

Huck: “I know you were.”

Liz, mildly offended: “Youuuu.”

Huck: “Meeee. And what’s more, I was madly in love with you.”

• Their entire exchange is funny and wonderful. The teasing, the flirting, the declaration of past love for one another that is obviously still true. How he punctuates certain moments with a bit of tap for emphasis. They smile naturally and it feels like two friends talking. This could be AU Fred and Ginger’s real-life story and I would believe it.

• Talking about how she won a beauty contest:

Liz: “Well, you won it for me. How did you get all the men from the overall factory to vote for me?”

Huck, very pleased with himself: “That was easy. I showed them a picture of Lillian Russell.”

Liz, incensed: “Lillian Russell? Well what was the matter with my picture?”

Huck: “Well if you must know, we got a lot of votes from the farmers with a picture of a prize heifer.”

Liz, about to playfully sock him: “Oh youuuu.”

• “I’ll Be Hard to Handle” is a special dance for many reasons including that the taps were not dubbed over later. Since they used the original sound, we can hear both Astaire and Rogers giggling and whooping throughout the dance.

Usually, Astaire recorded the taps in post-production since the sound could not pick them up very well during filming. Hermes Pan, Astaire’s choreography partner, often recorded Rogers’ taps since she was typically off filming a different movie by then.

• Astaire often gets a lot of the credit for their dancing because he worked tirelessly on the choreography. Rogers was often away filming non-musical roles while he did this. She was in three other films in 1935 alone, in addition to both Roberta and Top Hat with Astaire. But she put in a lot of hard work too. While filming those other roles, she learned the choreography from Pan so when she showed up for the six weeks of rehearsal, she was prepared.

• And somehow this number feels perfectly spontaneous. At the start, as he pulls her in, she looks at him flirtatiously and it’s not acting. She waits for him to come spin them around and of course it’s part of the choreography but it’s a lovely feeling of anticipation all the same. Several times they appear lost in their own world, dancing for one another. They also seem to be talking to one another quietly throughout most of the dance. Like before in their films, you can see the acting start and stop pretty clearly.

• When one of them does a little extra dance, the other watches in true appreciation and delight. Again, not acting. Most instances where they make eye contact they look very pleased with themselves. This is the closest we’ll ever get to seeing what Astaire and Rogers were like in rehearsals, complete with the in-joke bugle call.

• To understand better the moments of reality vs. acting, just look at the sequence where they challenge each other and argue using different dance steps. All acting. Then look at their faces immediately after this sequence ends and they enter the final moments of the dance. All them.

Side note: don’t miss how Astaire claps his hands together to make the smacking noise when she slaps him.

• While watching a private fashion show, John and Huck dislike a gorgeous black satin gown that’s low cut and with an almost completely open back because they think it’s too revealing. But later Rogers is going to wear almost this same gown and will look marvelous in it during the “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” dance.

• After selecting a new gown, Liz teases Huck that “tall, handsome gentleman with large bank accounts will be asking for my telephone number. And getting it.” He replies, “And won’t they be surprised when I answer?”

• Upon hearing that John’s terrible ex, who has just arrived to undump him now that he’s rich and famous, will be leaving on Saturday, Huck departs with this line: “Goodbye, John. I’ll see you Sunday.”

• Irene Dunne definitely enjoys her few seconds of being spun around with Astaire. But who wouldn’t?

• Huck’s line to Sophie, “Gee, darling, you look terrible,” is such a burn and I love it.

• Another thing I have a soft spot for is Astaire’s piano playing. It’s energetic and fun and he doesn’t do it nearly enough imo.

• Astaire sings 3 songs (I’m not counting the fashion show “song”) in Roberta but they all have that very conversational style that suits him. And in fact both “I Won’t Dance” and “Lovely to Look At” are duets framed as a conversation with Rogers. My favorite part of “I Won’t Dance” is this exchange:

Astaire: “You know what? You’re lovely.”

Rogers: “And so what? I’m lovely.”

Astaire: “But oh what you do to me.”

• I also have to mention the little callback to “The Continental” as well as the strange rhyme of “for heaven rest us, I’m not asbestos”??

• Notice how this solo routine for Astaire is not interrupted by any cuts to his face or feet like previously solos? He got his way with the camera work.

• “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” is a lovely song that I don’t necessarily want Irene Dunne to sing, not when Ginger Rogers is in the same film.

• Rogers’ acting when Huck talks rhetorically about wanting to marry Liz is fabulous. First, she has to be incensed at the mention of a “Liz” when publicly she’s still known as the Countess. Then she’s flustered that he’s just admitted he wants to marry her. And then she glares at him when he takes up the joke and describes his fiance-to-be as “simple” with “big feet.” And all of that happens in about three seconds. The way she sharply looks him up and down always makes me snicker.

• This lengthy fashion show is something else I usually skip. Was there a line of gowns that were sold as movie tie-in merchandise? I highly doubt it. But why else is this so long??

• When Astaire sings the lyrics “and heaven to kiss,” his voice drops and Rogers glances at him. Huck and Liz have most certainly been kissing off screen.

• Absolutely love how the lyrics of “Lovely to Look At” change for Astaire and Rogers. Instead of a “most impossible scheme come true, imagine finding a dream like you,” Rogers sings that he is her “most impossible dream come true, imagine finding a boy like you.” She takes his arm and on the lyrics “it’s thrilling to hold you terribly tight,” he squeezes her hand.

• Their dance, set to “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” is slow and stunning, one of the most beautiful they created. It’s full of soft looks between them. Rogers spends most of the beginning gazing at him lovingly. Not to be outdone, Astaire does the same when she’s turned away or not looking at him. He also has a small, private smile soon after they begin. It’s lovely.

• The duet is romantic and yet they don’t embrace fully until about a minute in. Instead, they hover near one another, faces angling together, small touches here and there. Holding fingertips for a particular move. His fingers briefly touch her ribs when she places his hand there for a beat. It’s a dance of deep partnership and love, not courtship. Neither needs to woo the other.

• And when they do embrace, he holds her close for a prolonged moment before moving into the next step. As he does, that private smile sneaks out again.

• The sudden dip is another example of Rogers trusting Astaire. She looks magnificent in the pose too. They both do.

• She lays her head on his shoulder, his hand resting gently on her hair, and her arm is around him. It’s a very intimate pose, made even more so by how he tilts his head towards her and his lips are very close to her brow. And there again, that smile.

• When the music becomes playful, Rogers glances over her shoulder at him and finds his eyes are already on her. Both of their faces soften.

• And ending a sumptuous dance with a backwards leap up three stairs. Super casual. They walk off the way they began, their arms linked.

• Speaking of casual, Huck and Liz get engaged in the most laid back way ever. Perfect for them.

• I have always loved Stephanie’s expression when she realizes just how dumb (but sweet) John is.

• The reprise of “I Won’t Dance” ends the film. Newly engaged but still in the same clothes they just performed a slow, romantic duet in, Astaire and Rogers perform a much more energetic dance. She makes her dress work for her superbly. The way they dance is very like “I’ll Be Hard to Handle,” which shows that this celebratory number is Huck and Liz, not the bandleader and the Countess performing for a crowd. And the choice of song is fitting since in the lyrics he said he couldn’t dance with her for fear he’d fall in love with her. But now they have danced quite intimately and they’re engaged. Might as well keeping dancing together.

• Soooo another film finished! We’re getting into some of the best ones now. Up next: Top Hat.

• Also if fanfiction is your thing, here’s a very sweet one for this film.

#fred astaire #ginger rogers #roberta #classic hollywood #old hollywood #astaire and rogers rewatch #fred and ginger #y'all have got me making gifs now for this #and by y'all i mean my own perfectionism and obsession

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teatitty · 4 years ago

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Okay now for the “Robin meets Little John” part of the “How Robin Became an Outlaw” tale! You’ll notice that there’s a trend of people being quick to anger but trust me that’s just how the english are we’re very hot blooded lol

Robin wakes up one day and is like super bored because him and his men haven’t had any sport for a while so he decides to go out and see if he can find anything fun to do. He tells them to listen out for his horn, which he will sound three times if he needs their aid

He walks through the forest for a long while, meeting and greeting various people on the way (usually by tipping his hat at them), but no adventure is found. Eventually, after many hours, he comes across a pebbly stream spanned by a narrow bridge. A tall stranger on the other side is also walking towards it and they both simultaneously pick up their pace, racing to be the first one to cross it

They argue over who is the better man for a little while (”best man crosses first” basically) and Robin eventually threatens to hit the stranger between the ribs with a clothyard shaft (arrow) to which the stranger calls him a coward, because while Robin has a yew bow and arrows the stranger only has a blackthorn staff to defend himself with

Robin takes some exception to being called a coward and agrees to lay down his bow if the stranger will give him time to “go and cut a cudgel to test thy manhood with” (not kidding that’s the direct quote) and the stranger agrees, leaning upon his staff as he joyfully watches Robin (yes really)

Robin goes off to cut a staff of ground oak “straight, without flaw, and six feet in length, and came back trimming away the tender stems from it” all the while the stranger waits for him, whistling idly as he gazes about. Robin takes this time to measure him from head to toe, noting that he had “never seen a lustier or a stouter man. Tall was Robin, but taller was the stranger by a head and a neck, for he was seven feet in height. Broad was Robin in the shoulders, but broader was the stranger by twice the breadth of a palm, while he (Robin) measured at least an ell about the waist.”

(An ell was a measurement from the tip of your middle finger to your elbow, so Robin is basically saying that this stranger could wrap his entire forearm around his waist)

They decide that the loser will be whoever ends up knocked into the stream and come to blows. The direct line here is “Never did the Knights of Arthur’s Round Table meet in a stouter fight than these two.” The fight goes on for about an hour, each one receiving and giving blows in equal measure, till they were both sore all the way down to their bones, yet neither of them cried “enough” because they’re both prideful and stubborn

Robin eventually gets a good blow in on the strangers ribs that nearly knocks him off the bridge, and in return the stranger cracks him atop his crown. Robin strikes back, misses, and gets cracked on the crown again, tumbling head over heels into the river. Robin takes his defeat in good stride actually, laughing at his own plight with the stranger and joking about how he’s “in the flood and floating down with the tide.”

He compliments the strangers strength and looks (not kidding), noting that no other man between here and Canterbury Town could do to him what the stranger had done (amazing) and then blows on his horn three times, calling forth his Merry Men. The Merry Men burst from the bushes all clad in lincoln green and this is when we meet Will Stutely, our first named Merry Man, who immediately notes that Robin (whom he calls “good master”) is soaked down to the skin. Robin explains how he lost the fight, to which Will immediately yells that the stranger will get a good drubbing himself, and then orders the men to attack him

They all leap onto him but the stranger was ready for them, and they only manage to hold him down through sheer numbers. Robin stops them, again praising the stranger, and then asks if he’ll join the merry band, giving a list of reasons why he should that include “having three sets of lincoln green clothes, eating sweet venison and drinking the stoutest ale, sharing in whatever goods that befall them” and becoming Robin’s right hand man (geez dude who only just met the guy but okay live your bi dreams)

The stranger says he wont join someone he can beat so easily in a fight but if Robin proves to be the better archer then he’ll change his mind. Robin wins beacuse although the stranger hit the bullseye deadon, Robin’s own arrow splits his one into splinters lol

The stranger is super excited about this, saying that not even Adam Bell (a north country bowmen whose name has been celebrated in many ballads over the years) could shoot so well as Robin. We find out the stranger’s name is John Little to which Will Stutely, who cannot help a good jest, jokes that he is “little indeed, and of small of bone and sinew, therefore thou shalt be christened Little John and I shall be thy godfather.” John gets riled up about this at first but Robin laughs aloud and calms him down, agreeing to the name, and then they all go home together

Here we find out that they all live in huts of bark and tree branches, and have made couches of sweet rushes spread over the skins of fallow deer. There’s a great oak tree with broadly spreading branches and beneath it was a seat of green moss, where Robin himself sat during feasts and merry making. They all sit down to feast together, with Robin placing Little John at his right hand side, “for he was henceforth to be the second in the band.”

After the feast, Will Stutely stands up and says it’s about time they christened their new bonny babe. Little John protests, but he’s outvoted very quickly, and one the men stands up to play pretend at being the priest leading to this hysterical scene

“Now who bringeth this babe?” asked he right soberly. “That do I,” replied Will Stutely. “And what do thou callest him?” “Little John call I him.” “Now Little John,” quoth the mock priest, “thou hast not lived heretofore, but only got thee through the world, but henceforth thou wilt live indeed. When thou livedst not thou was called John Little, but now that thou dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be called, so christen I thee.” And at these last words he emptied the pot of ale upon Little John’s head

They all have a good laugh, Little John included, and then Robin “took this sweet, pretty babe, clothed him all anew from top to toe in lincoln green, and gave him a good stou bow, and made him a member of the Merry Band.”

And that’s how Robin met Little John and made him his right-hand man! The next story I will tell will include the Sheriff himself!

#folklore

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years ago

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Field of Poppies Part 4

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 4: The Shelbys go on holiday to the summer fair.

With school on summer holiday, Polly was at her wit's end with the children. While they mostly played outside, they’d always be in and out of the house banging around, tracking mud on the floor, coming in with scraped knees, or crying about something being unfair. Meanwhile, Finn was starting to walk and was also wreaking havoc, pulling on everything not tied down and making quick getaways.

So, it was decided they would spend some of the holiday on the road with the Strong family. Of course, Tommy and Arthur weren’t exactly pleased. Seeing as the betting shop was just getting up and started, they couldn’t afford to lose out on money. Polly insisted and said Danny and the other men could handle a few weeks.

Going on seven months pregnant, Amelia was a bit apprehensive about traveling out to the Welsh countryside. However, Tommy assured her that if she were to go into an early labor, she was in capable hands, probably better than any doctor in Birmingham. It was enough to sway her. They all needed a break from the city’s smoke and mud. Some fresh air was bound to do them good.

And oh how sweet the air smelled once they were finally away from the city limits. Amelia had been to the countryside before but had never joined Tommy’s family to see their kin out on the road. Her parents would never allow her to be near other Travelers, especially ones who tended to be more nomadic in nature than the Shelbys were.

But Tommy had told her enough stories as a child to make her interested. He tried to scare her with the stories they would tell around the fires. Try to explain the excitement of spring and summer fairs. It seemed like another world when he described it all. To be out in the Welsh wilderness, sleeping under the stars, riding horses all day, spinning yarns about fairies, it seemed to be a child’s dream.

Now, Amelia was much more aware of the struggles Tommy’s extended family faced. The prejudice and poverty. None of those issues mattered as a child. They had blinders on so they wouldn't see the ugly side of life. All they saw was the fantastical magic the world still held onto. She yearned to have that innocence back but there was no going back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the second day of traveling to the Black Mountains, Tommy was steering the vardo with Amelia sitting beside him. He held the position naturally, letting the reins be an extension of his arms as he guided the two horses along. Arthur was on another horse, riding along while Polly and the other three children stayed in the back of the wagon.

“Good to be outside, aye?” Tommy struck up a conversation as a lull in the muggy afternoon settled on them.

“Oh yes.” Amelia nodded. “Good to see the clear sky instead of smoke.” She joked. "I forgot how blue the sky could get sometimes."

“Get used to it. ‘Cause when we’ve got everything going with the shop, m’gonna buy a house out in the countryside.”

She smiled. “Is that right?” It wasn’t the first time Tommy made bold claims. Once money started rolling in from the betting shop, he started promising things that sounded outlandish even to Arthur. He promised a brand new luxury car to John, a new five story house for Polly, as many horses as Ada could want, and now a house in the country.

“Like a cottage. Mum, dad, and I used to rent one for the holidays out in Wiltshire.” She recalled. “Cute little place.”

“No.” He shook his head, the cigarette in his mouth practically just a bit of ash. “One of those fucking big ones. Like royals have. Dukes 'n whatever they are.”

“Oh, Thomas, please.” She giggled and nudged him.

“I’m serious!” He chucked the last bit of his cigarette. “Big place, dozens of bedrooms, proper kitchen, riding stables, maids, cooks, everything. We’ll live there with the baby. He’ll have room to run ‘stead of being cooped up in Small Heath.”

It sounded wonderful to Amelia, like the stories he used to tell about traveling. But it was so far-fetched. “Can we focus just on what we’ve got now?” She wondered. “Tommy, I’m okay with making do with what I’ve got…and what you and your family have given me.” She touched his knee.

He glanced over at her, his blue eyes so bright in the summer sun. “You don’t think you deserve more than this?�� He wondered. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice big house, proper holidays to places like France?”

“All those things would be nice but if I never get those things then I’ll be fine. I’m okay with what I have now.” She smiled at him to reassure that there wasn’t anything he needed to prove to her or promise.

Tommy sighed and his eyes returned to the grassy path ahead of them. “I know the baby’s not mine but…I don’t want any other kid to go hungry like we did. Ain’t right how we were brought up. And if I can change that for my family and for the baby then, why not?”

Amelia felt she wasn’t in a place to tell if he was right or wrong. So, she leaned over to kiss his cheek affectionately. “You’re a good man, Tommy Shelby.” She said softly. “A very good man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They met up with the Strongs at their camp and together they moved North to go to the Appleby fair. Ada chattered on to Amelia the whole ride there about how fun the fair was. There were crafts and fortune-tellers and horses, horses, horses. She would see all of her cousins and other distant relatives that they only got to see once in a blue moon. They’d race horses, swap stories, share laughs, and her brothers would box with the Lee boys.

Although the trip took a little under a week, Amelia was in good spirits the whole way there. Tommy was practically a different person out in the countryside. He knew how to survive in Small Heath and knew how to survive outdoors just as well. He let loose a bit, not bothering to dress up and going barefoot a lot of the times. He smiled more and played with his siblings. It was as if he had left all his worries back in the city.

Amelia thought he was so beautiful in the sun. His smile brightened ten fold, his eyes sparkled, and he moved as if he didn't have any stress on his shoulders. It warmed her heart to see him play-wrestling with John, riding horses with Ada, and picking up Finn to spin him around. For a moment, she pictured her child in the scene. A little boy or girl toddling after Tommy, looking for his attention. Tommy scooping them up and holding them close, just as a father would.

All she could do was smile and keep her wide-eyed fantasies to herself. But it was so easy to get caught up in the magic of the forests and fields. It was so easy to get caught up in the smile of Tommy Shelby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ada was right, there was a lot to be said about the fair. Intricately and brightly painted vardos lined up and many people were milling around. There were people washing their horses in the rivers as children played and splashed one another by the banks.

After a long journey, Amelia wanted to stretch her legs. Tommy walked with her along the river as the rest of the family prepared camp and watered the horses.

“Pol said your feet might be hurting these days.” Tommy’s aunt was his go-to to get any pregnancy answers.

“They’re a bit swollen, the heat doesn’t help,” Amelia admitted. Although getting to walk was nice, she was starting to get flushed in the heat.

“And uh…any word from home?” He kept his eyes to the ground, kicking a stone along their way.

“While we’ve been on the road for over a week?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t gotten any messenger birds.”

Tommy chuckled. “I meant when we were back home. I mean, we haven’t talked about it much.” He pointed out.

Her smile faded. “No, I haven’t heard from them. I don’t know if they know where I am but I figured…well, I figured they would’ve thought to try and find me in Small Heath. I don’t know where else I would’ve gone with nothing in me pockets.

“And the father?” They hadn’t broached the subject before because Polly insisted that he leave the matter be. But curiosity was just too damn tough to ignore.

“Tom, I told you…”

“Tommy Shelby!” Someone crowed out ahead of them. Three young men about Tommy and Arthur’s age stopped them.

His face soured when he saw who was calling him. “Will.” He muttered obviously not in the mood to talk to them.

“I heard the Shelbys were coming, how the hell are ya?” Will appeared to be the oldest of the three, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair.

“Fine, fine.”

"And he's got someone up the duff." Will smacked a hand to his forehead when he saw Amelia. "Shelby, Shelby, Shelby. What a shame! You have to learn how to pull out or these things happen, Tommy." He tutted in Shelta. "She is a sight though."

Amelia suddenly felt very self-conscious about the baby bump showing. Of course, she ought to be showing at her stage of pregnancy, but she wasn’t keen on embarrassing the Shelbys. Especially if Tommy wasn’t actually the father.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Tommy spat venomously.

The Lee brothers jostled each other, pleased that he was fighting back. “Still got that mouth on ya, Tommy Boy, haven’t ya?”

“Fuck off.” He wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist to steer her away from the brothers. “Fucking lowlifes never know when to shut their mouths..” He muttered under his breath.

“Still got a fight in ya then? Or are ya too scared to step into the ring with me?” Will taunted after him.

Amelia felt Tommy’s arm stiffen and he stopped in his tracks. Her eyebrows knit in worry. “Tom…” She warned.

But he slipped away from her and turned to face the brothers again. “Name a time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ah, it’s never too long ‘til Tommy gets into it with one of the Lees at the fair.” Arthur punched his brother in the arm. “Lucky you got practice with those Birmingham Boys, aye?”

Tommy avoided Amelia’s questioning glance even though he could feel her eyes on him.

Polly didn’t even look like she wanted to get into the matter. Men fought at fairs, that was only tradition and it was in good fun most of the time. Besides, Small Heath was much more dangerous than a bout of boxing.

Around the Shelbys’ camp, there was a buzz in the air of excitement. Music could be heard in a couple of different directions, people laughed and joined each other for a good time around the roaring fires and lanterns. Some girls some yards away were dancing in a circle, their long skirts illuminated by the flames.

“When can I fight, Pol?” John asked hopefully. “I can take the Lees too!”

“Hush.” Polly scolded. “When you’re older and you’ve learned how to box properly. I don’t want to bring you home with a broken hand.”

John grimaced. “I’m old enough.” He muttered.

“Men don’t pout or slouch.” She said and stood up to tend to Finn who was stirring in the vardo.

“You gonna kill ‘im then, Tom?” Arthur smirked. “I heard he was…” He made a subtle gesture to Amelia who was talking softly with Ada. The eldest Shelby wanted to mention about how bad Tommy had it for Amelia. It was blatantly obvious to everyone. But neither of them seemed to want to admit it.

Tommy tossed a twig into the fire mindlessly. “He’ll learn to keep his fucking mouth shut.” He mumbled.

“Shelby!” Someone called.

Arthur grinned and clapped his brother on the back. “Let’s go then.”

“Tom?” Amelia looked worried when they stood up. “Where are you going?”

“Gonna go fight, Mel. Tommy’s gonna show them Lees how to throw a good punch”

“But…” Her stomach went into knots. “Maybe you could stay here and-”

“Won’t be long, Mel,” Tommy promised.

“Fine, then I’m coming.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and followed them.

“Not really for women.” Arthur tried to show opposition to the idea but Tommy didn’t seem to mind. Maybe if she saw him fight, she would know he could hold his own and she wouldn’t have to worry about the betting shop. No longer was he the stick-thin little teenager who was sometimes more bark than bite. No, he’d found his anger and learned to use it to his advantage.

The makeshift ring was lit by lanterns and nearby fires. A group was already forming to watch the show. The Lees were riling Will up who was already there, waiting for his opponent. But they all seemed to be in good nature, passing drinks and cigarettes, laughing, and cussing.

Tommy pulled off his undershirt and handed it to Amelia to hold. She was a bit stunned to see he had a tattoo on his chest. The sun-like lines were certainly new as far as she was aware. But she didn’t mention the ink.

Arthur was handing his brother a flask, Tommy downing the contents before ducking under the rope.

The crowd of onlookers was a bit rowdy, pleased to see young blood fighting like real men. Bare knuckles, no weapons, how it was meant to be a Romani man. A good show of tradition.

Amelia felt her palms start to sweat. Will was a good head taller than Tommy was and seemingly more muscular by his build.

However, Arthur, standing beside her, looked less than concerned. “He’ll be alright, Mellie. He’s taken down bigger fuckers than this one.” He promised.

Amelia had seen Tommy fight before, but the last time must’ve been when they were only thirteen. The wiry boy had a habit for picking fights and never staying down even when he was bleeding or had a broken bone. She never seemed to mind seeing him fight while they were in school. But seeing him in the ring with someone bigger than him, it made her stomach flip-flop.

And Tommy drew out the suspension. He allowed Will to get in a couple of swings, but he dodged them. His size allowed him to be quicker and more agile on his feet. The two circled around each other, fists up by their faces. Will looked smug with himself, confident that he would win. On the other hand, Tommy had fire in his blue-eyes. He wasn't fighting to have a few laughs.

“Hit ‘im, Tommy!” Arthur roared after his brother dodged a couple more blows.

Something changed in Tommy’s eyes as he threw a punch. Amelia could hear the blow land even over the boisterous crowd. She winced and ducked her head a bit. When had she ever been afraid to watch a fight? She must’ve egged on a few scuffles in her day. Goading Tommy to kick in the teeth of the school bully. But when Will landed a punch and she saw Tommy’s head jerk back, she cringed and hid her face in Arthur’s sleeve.

She could still hear the contact of punches, the sound of the men spurring them on, and the grunts from Will and Tommy as they fought. But she couldn’t bear to watch it.

It only took a few minutes before someone was shouting.“Oi, oi! Get ‘im off!”

“Tom, c’mon, that’s enough!” Arthur moved from Amelia and got into the ring.

She looked up and saw Tommy on top of Will, pummeling his face. Arthur ripped his brother off.

"Got fucking devils in them. Those fucking Shelbys are rabid." Someone nearby remarked.

"Aye, get it from their father. Murder in their blood."

"Do not let me hear you talking about her again." Tommy threatened in Shelta before he finally let his brother steer him away from the ring. He spat on the ground, leaving the Lees to help an injured Will off the ground.

Coated with a sheen of sweat, Tommy was breathing hard. Even in the dim light, Amelia could assess the damage. It seemed Will had taken the brunt of the fight. Tommy only walked away with a bloody lip, a bruise forming on his jaw, and some dirt sticking to his torso.

“Go wash off and calm the fuck down,” Arthur ordered before heading back toward the camp.

~~~~~~~~~~

Amelia followed Tommy to the river so he could wash the blood and dirt away. She lingered behind as he knelt down on the bank and splash cold water over him.

“What did you say to him?” She wondered.

“Nothing.” Tommy shook the water from his hair and wiped his hands over his face.

“Well, you said something, Tom.”

He stood and took his shirt back, using it to dry off a bit. “It was nothing.” He said again.

They stood in silence for a bit. Music still hung in the air as the night wore on. There was an uproar from the crowd, signaling the start of another boxing match.

Curious, Amelia stepped toward him and splayed her fingers out over his tattoo, following the direction of the lines. “This is new.”

Tommy felt like his skin was on fire even after the cold douse of water. He couldn’t find the words for a long moment, simply watching her slender fingers trailing over the inked lines. “I-uh…you can’t tell Pol about it.” He tried to hide his stammer. “She’ll fucking kill me.”

Amelia laughed softly and withdrew her hand. “Alright.” She agreed. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He smiled and threw on the shirt to conceal the tattoo. “C’mon.” He murmured and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

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datingintampafails · 4 years ago

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Chapter 16: Ethan*: Part One

Ethan* was the one where when I said to my friends, “I don’t want to have to write a stupid ‘dating in Tampa’ chapter about this guy…. He’s a good egg.” But here I am, writing it.

I matched with Ethan* on Bumble during a super busy work week, we chatted about things briefly on the app, and I mentioned that I might be able to do a video chat rather than an in-person date easier that week because of my schedule. He agreed to it and asked if that night would work. So our first date is a rather spontaneous video date. I made dinner for myself and was eating it about 20 minutes before our time we picked up, when a piece of mozzarella got stuck in my throat and I was choking. I managed to dislodge the mozzarella cheese stuck in my throat, but was afraid my voice might be weird since I had just stuck my hand down my throat to save my own life.

He had said that he tended to be a little awkward on the phone. Despite the disclaimer, I found him to be perfectly fine on the phone. I told him about my near death experience prior to the call, and we had a laugh about it. We gave each other tours of our homes. He owns his and has completely renovated his place, which is pretty cool. I admired the handiwork of his home, especially the “shiny floors” that he had redone. I learn some quirks about him, such as being homeschooled until college and that he doesn’t like chocolate (weird). He also had mentioned that he was born in Northern Virginia, about ten minutes away from where I grew up and lived there until he was five, before moving to St. Pete. He never had typical pets, but did take care of some squirrels and some lizards, straight Florida kid shit. We ended the call recognizing we got along and generally understood each other. I knew he was 26 but turns out that I was like ten days short of exactly a year older. He immediately after said he was “excited to hang out... soon.” and that we seem to have a lot in common. Agreed.

I let him know that I have some questions for him before that, but that I’ll get to them. The next day, rather than doing that, my friend Lauren inspires me to make a legitimate dating application. I create this thorough Google form, which includes serious questions, as well as some less serious questions which are unfortunately inspired by my previous dating experience, i.e. do you chew with your mouth open? are you a warlock?, etc. I send this to him, and he hesitantly does it after I ask him to. His comment at the end is “I thought this was dumb, but I actually had fun.” From this form, I learn that truly Ethan* does have some similar goals to me. He also doesn’t want children. I ask what people are looking for and he responds with “Unsure yet, but I am open to anything from casual friends with benefits all the way up to a long term relationship if we are a good match. I don't have any future goals but I enjoy companionship and sex and seek these out in a partner.“ Seems like a fair expectation, which is kind of where I am at too. I send that same application to different people that I’ve matched with at the time, but Ethan* is definitely my front runner.

This guy didn’t really match up to my usual douchebag energy guy I usually go for. He was a college athlete, wide receiver and ran track, and definitely still kept up with his physique. He had curly bronde hair that was slightly receding on the sides, a six-pack, and nicely sculpted shoulders and back. I knew ahead of time he was on the shorter side, that is, not over six feet tall. He owns a boat and also has a pilot’s license and flies planes for fun. Things that were definitely unique and super cool. He asked me if I would ever go flying with him, to which I enthusiastically said that would be cool. He didn’t know that learning to fly is also something on my bucket list, I would actually never have the chance to tell him.

That weekend, a few days after our virtual date, I was finally done with my marathon of working long days and said I would be down for meeting up. He mentions his plans with his friends were canceled that night, and we decide to do something that night. I let him know I have an appointment and can come over after that, around 6. We discuss what we are going to do, we decide on a night in. I suggest tacos, however, he responds by asking if I like Chipotle. I inform him that since we live in a place where there are much greater options for local taco places, which aren’t Chipotle and basic, we should get that instead. He then suggests a place by him we can go to, and we agree on that. However, this is also coming from a guy who said Papa Johns was his favorite type of pizza. With pineapple.

I go for a comfy but not trying too hard look for that night. Some athletic leggings from Uniqlo, and a crop top. Ironically, I believe that exact ensemble is in one of my photos on Bumble, in hindsight. I excitedly text him about it being 7/11, which is free slurpee day, and ask if we can go. He says there’s a 7 Eleven by him that we can go to. I finished my appointment, which was actually a lip and eyebrow wax, and drove to his place. He asks me to park on the street so that he can drive his car to the taco place, and I sarcastically tell him that he’s going to have to drive around my car in the driveway. I then mention I’m on the way and will see him soon.

Usually, by the time I am going to meet someone in person, I have given them my number or other ways to contact me outside of the original app. My friend had suggested to me that I try to stay on these apps communication wise, until a successful first date. I was trying to follow this advice and since Ethan* and I were still communicating exclusively on Bumble, I was following that advice. Granted, he hadn’t really asked me either to change communication methods, so it worked out.

I message him “Aqui” when I pull up to his house, and as I start to get my things out of my car he emerges from the front door to greet me. Immediately as I walk up and analyze him, I feel bad as a wave of disappointment falls over me. He in no way lied about his height on his profile, but definitely I overestimated how tall his height was. Otherwise, he was 100% authentic and who he said he was. He meekly asks about my appointment and if everything is okay, specifically asking if it was a doctors’ appointment. I admit I was actually getting a wax, then he compliments me saying that my brows look really nice and he otherwise wouldn’t have said anything as it would seem weird.

I then say I’m hungry and we should go get food. I get out to his car, which is a super nice Jeep Grand Cherokee, with a leather interior. Despite the nice car, I look down at the floor of the passenger seat, which is entirely covered in discard receipts.

I mention this to him, and he gets super embarrassed about forgetting to clear his car before I arrived. Upon looking at the receipts as I help him clean, I recognize many of them are from Taco Bell. We bond however over the amazingness of Baja Blast being the ultimate drink. I insist we go to 7 Eleven first to get our slurpees, since I don’t want the food getting cold/soggy. We find out it isn’t really free slurpee day, due to COVID-19, and instead it’s a get a medium free next time with your membership there or something. So I get a medium anyway, so at least mine is free.

Next, we pull up to the taco joint, which is basically you walk up to a door to order. We discuss the menu and agree that fish is gross. He orders for us both, which I love, and sit briefly at a colorful picnic table outside of the restaurant. We are there not even one minute, when he asks if we can go to the little market that’s next to the restaurant. I say sure, and we browse the market. He picks up some apples and some grapes, and we just sort of look around. We are joking around and I quiz him on the “best type of apple,” which is sort of an inside joke at my full time job.

He finishes his purchases and we sit at a different picnic table, while waiting again for our food. They bring it out and we take it back to his place. In the car he’s going between rap and pop music. I’m more or less into anything but country, so it’s a fair vibe. I figure since he was on a football team, that was probably what he was used to listening to in the locker room.

Now that we’re back at his place, I excuse myself to the restroom. A man’s private restroom always says something about the man. Does he clean his bathroom? How many products does he have? Does he have that singular shampoo/conditioner/body wash combo bottle in his shower? His toilet definitely could use a scrub, same with his shower, but otherwise pretty well kept and he had separate products in his shower.

I’m still feeling iffy about the guy due to his height, and when I sit down on the cough with him, he asks if I like South Park. Unfortunately we find out that South Park has been taken off Hulu and so we look for a back up. Then he asks about Rick and Morty; I love that show, so we turn that on for us to watch while we eat. He too is a couch eater, which is good since his dining table literally has no chairs around it.

We share some laughs, we eat the food, we drink the slurpees. Once there’s no longer food to eat, he asks if I want to cuddle. I say “uhm okay.” I remember a message he had sent me the day before where I said I hope he doesn’t try to cuddle in my lap like my dog, and he had responded “what if I did? jk. but really do you like to cuddle?” And I’m wondering if I’ve gotten myself into a stage 5 clinger situation. Somehow I become like the guy, as he is nuzzled onto my belly and I have my arm around him. Later he asks to spoon, and I’m like yeah that’s fine. As I’m sure that’s less awkward than what we’re doing now. Though if I wasn’t so uncertain about him, the previous position probably would have been cute and endearing. While we were cuddling, we talked about goals and briefly about my application. He talks more about how he flies planes on the side, and that his goal is to join the National Guard as a pilot. The cut off is 32, so essentially he wanted to gain more and more flying experience so he could join before the cutoff. I have never really been particularly interested in being involved with someone in the military, so that was almost a turn off for me. However, I did this it was good that he had solid goals he was continually working on.

Regardless, I’m still having a good time. He’s a nice and entertaining guy, and we mesh well. It starts to get late, so I mention it’s time I go. Before I leave, I remember we have still only been talking via Bumble, I ask him for his number. I then realize I also don’t know his last name, so I also ask for his last name. I realize his initials are “Eh,” which I find humorous, so I text him “eh” to let him know it’s me. Which also described how I was feeling at that moment.

He then walks me to my car and I give him a hug, and then he kisses me. Even though I wasn’t really feeling kissy after this date, I realize it is actually a really nice kiss and tell him I’ll let him know when I get home. I think back to Aaron* where he wasn’t the best kisser, and think oh well that’s nice.

I get home and stew over the date, thinking about what I’m going to do about this guy. He texts me the next day saying “Would it be bad if I already wanted to see you again tonight?” I tell him I have plans, which isn’t a lie, I do, and let him know I’m free the next night. We set up another hang out at his place.

In my mind, I determine the way I’ll figure out my feelings is to sleep with him. “If the sex is good,” I think to myself, “then that should get me over the height thing. And if it’s terrible, then I’m outtie anyway.”

#tampa #dating #tampabay #st pete fl #florida #love #bumble #relationship

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briamichellewrites · 3 years ago

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Jayde found out that she was to be moved again. She hated moving but that was what foster care was like. Other kids were adopted but not her. She showed up at the office of Warner Music with her book bag and suitcase, along with a big trash bag with all of her other stuff. Rob and Mike were waiting for their bandmates to talk about going on tour when they noticed a girl sitting on one of the chairs in the lobby.

As they walked over to her, Rob recognized her. Jayde? She got up and ran over to him. Rob! He gave her a big hug before bending down to her level. It made him less intimidating since he was over six feet tall, and towered over kids. He also liked being able to be at their level, figuratively and literally. What was she doing here? She was waiting for her social worker. Her foster parents told her she was moving and that she needed to wait there. He got up and explained who she was and the situation to his bandmate.

Could they bring her upstairs with them? It would be safer than letting her stay down by herself. Yeah, they could do that.

How did he know her? She had been his neighbor for a couple of years as she had been living next door with a couple who fostered children and animals. They were an older couple without biological children. Instead, they opened their home to children who didn’t have one. It was a rewarding experience and they loved doing it. Because they were older, they only had up to three children at a time.

His parents were friends with them and they helped them out occasionally. That was how Rob met her. He volunteered his time with the kids by hanging out and being an older brother figure for them. Mike had known him since high school but he didn’t know that. He was full of surprises. That made him laugh.

Upstairs, he introduced her to his other bandmates. Brad Delson, Joe Hahn, Chester Bennington, and Dave Farrell. They all exchanged hellos with her. She was beautiful! He had her sit down next to him, so she did. Her stuff was placed against the wall, out of the way. Her phone was in her pocket. She felt it vibrate, so she took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was her social worker wondering where she was. Bevin wasn’t answering her phone.

She told her everything, including being dropped off with her stuff. Bevin had told her she was coming to pick her up. She was angry – but not with Jayde. This was not supposed to happen and it could be considered child abandonment. After taking a moment to process her thoughts, she told her she would find out what was going on and call her back. Was she with someone safe? Yes, she had found her friend, Rob. Ok, great! That made her feel a little better. She told her again that she would call her back. Ok. With that, they hung up.

“My social worker is going to try to call Bevin or Henry and find out what’s going on.”

“Who are Bevin and Henry? Your foster parents?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I lived with them for over a year. She stays at home with the kids and he is an engineer or something like that.”

“Do you have anyone you can stay with”, Rob asked.

“No. I’m supposed to be going on a press tour. My manager said it was just a handful of interviews I have to do.”

He had forgotten she was a pop star! She nodded. How about them Grammys? They laughed. Did she have it with her? She nodded. It was in her book bag. She had wrapped it in a shirt because she didn't want it to get ruined. After going over, she went through her bag until she found it on top of other shirts. It was thoroughly protected. She brought it over to show them.

“Best New Artist. Congratulations! Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. I met Elton John, Whitney Houston, Britney Spears, the Backstreet Boys. Uh… that’s all I can remember. I was really tired when we got home!”

“That is a lot of people.”

“Do you play an instrument”, Dave asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, the piano.”

They would have to visit her the next time they were in the studio. That would be cool! They laughed. During their conversation, she asked if she could have a snack. Yeah. She pulled out a baggie of celery sticks and gluten-free peanut butter and started eating. Chester jokingly asked if Rob had influenced her snack choice because it was very healthy. No, she had celiac disease, so she couldn’t have gluten and everything had gluten!

What’s celiac disease? It was an autoimmune disease. Her body attacked itself whenever she had gluten. She also couldn’t have food that had gluten residue on it. Her foster parents found out she had it when she was two years old. She kept getting very sick, so they brought her to the emergency room. After doing testing, she was diagnosed. They cut gluten out of her diet and she stopped getting sick.

She also had to take dietary supplements to make up for not having gluten. It wasn’t serious. She just had to be careful about what she ate and how it was prepared. Along with that, she also had ADHD.

When her social worker returned her call, she was told that all of the homes were full, so she couldn’t find a placement. She didn’t know what to do, so she handed the phone to Rob because he was a responsible adult after explaining the situation. He nodded and introduced himself as he got up to take the call in private. While they talked, she was asked about the Grammys. It was very fun!

There were tons of people! There were also a lot of reporters and photographers. They all took her picture. It was very loud and she just wanted to go inside where it was quieter but she had to talk to a couple of reporters. She was probably the youngest one there. It was a lot of adults. Did she get to eat anything? Yeah, at the after-party. The was the most fun! She liked being able to walk around and talk to people. Everyone was really nice to her.

She had to return her dress, shoes, and handbag because she was only allowed to borrow them. Did she take a lot of pictures? Bevin did. She brought her camera with her. What time did she go to bed? It was around three in the morning because she had to put her pajamas on and wash her face. She slept in until eleven-thirty. They were not allowed to sleep in until noon. Not even the older kids.

“Jackson is awake at like six in the morning but he goes to bed at like seven.”

“How old is Jackson?”

“Uh… eight months? Something like that. He doesn’t do much except put things in his mouth.”

They laughed.

“That sounds like a baby”, Dave said.

Rob came back in. She was staying with him for the time being. That meant she had to follow his rules. No meat, unless it was grass-fed, endless hours of listening to 80s new wave, and homemade gluten-free pasta. She could do that. Ok, they had a deal!

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @jovichic-bonjovi4ever @borhap-au @beneathashadytree @duffs-shot-glass @geo-winchester

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imaginethatalena · 7 years ago

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#34: Batfam x Reader

Thanks @crazyfreckledginger for requesting! I’m sorry that the ending kind of sucks, but I hope you like the rest of it. My brother is a big Transformers fan so he helped me out with the Transformers part. I hope you like it ❤

Request Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3: Tell me if you have enough of my requests (hey don't blame me blame the anon who asked you if you write for Transfomers) So it's another crossover and the reader has scarlet witch powers and gets badly injured whist on patrol (she moves around alot but patrols the cities she goes to). She is found unconscious by the batboys and brought to the cave. They stitch her up and when she wakes up, Bruce asks her a few questions because he has suspiscons on what she is. She doesn't tell them much and says that she has to leave now. Bruce stops her and says that she is in danger and that they will protect her but she declines and leave rapidly. Bruce orders the boys to get her back whilst he does some research on her. The boys 'stalk' her and discover that she can really defend herself after being ambushed by a villain (idk Bane?) because he wants to use her. Then a group of police cars arrive and are shooting at her and the boys are about to step in when a group of sports cars, motocycles and vans arrive and the police car transform in decepticons and the autobots transform and fight them. After the fight, Jazz finds the boys snooping and brings them to the group. The reader recognises them but doesn't say anything. Ratchet says his line in the movie (it's something like "The boys pheromon levels suggests they want to mate with Y/N" and it become awkward but the other autobots become very protective? I dunno how to end it lol! I'm really sorry this is long!!

“God dammit!” You cussed when you saw the amount of blood coming out of your leg. You had just barely made it out of a battle with a particularly violent mugger, and you had gotten very badly injured. You thought that your telepathy and telekinesis powers would give you an edge over such a low risk criminal, but this one had a big knife and good aim. The person you were saving had gotten away, which meant it was time for you to leave and assess the damage.

You were getting lightheaded and you fought to stay conscious, realizing that the blood loss was worse than you thought. You had to stay conscious long enough to alert someone to where you were.

“Help!” you shouted into the night. You had been wandering the northeastern cities of the United States for a couple weeks now, and every single one had had at least one vigilante on duty the nights you were there. Tonight you had come to Gotham, and you knew there was an entire family of vigilantes here. You hoped one of them would hear you.

“Help!” you shouted again, but this time your voice was much softer. You lost consciousness moments later, just as a dark silhouette appeared in your vision.

“Over here!” Dick shouted to his brothers, leaping to the ground with the grace of his acrobatic training. Damian dropped down with the help of his grappling hook while Jason sped around the corner into the alley on his motorcycle, Tim sitting behind him.

“Shit,” Jason said. Dick was crouched next to you, checking your pulse. “Is she alive?”

“Yeah, but she’s bleeding pretty badly.”

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Tim said.

“Are we going to just ignore how she’s dressed?” Damian asked, pointing to your outfit. It was obvious you were a vigilante of some sort. “What if she has an identity to hide? We can’t risk that.”

“We’ll get her to Alfred, then,” Dick said. He scooped you up from the ground and went over to Jason. “Tim, get off. Let Jason take her.”

Once Jason was sure you weren’t going to fall off his motorcycle, he sped out of the alley and into the city. His brothers would catch up. Getting you medical help was the priority.

You awoke to a tugging sensation in your leg and you opened your eyes to see a high stone ceiling above you. You raised your head to look around and saw you were surrounded by six unfamiliar people.

Startled, you sat up and pulled your leg away from whoever was holding it, feeling a sharp pain as your skin stretched around the half done stitches.

“Ow!” You clutched your leg and cast your nervous gaze around. “Who the hell are you?”

Four of the people were young men, the oldest looking to be in his twenties and the youngest to be around eleven. They all backed away as soon as they saw you were panicked, but the older man at your side gave you a chastising look.

“My dear, you’ll have to allow me to finish the stitches before you can move around,” he said, his kind voice accented by a British upbringing.

You reluctantly gave him back your leg under the hard suspicious gaze of the final person, a tall man who appeared to be the father of the four boys.

“Who are you?” he asked you.

“I asked you first,” was your reply, but you didn’t need an answer. Aside from the old man tending to your leg, you recognized each of them from their superhero suits. This was the Batfamily. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin all shared the same curious look, but Batman’s was cold and careful.

“Who are you?” he asked again, his voice firm, and you thought it would be best not to fight him and just answer his questions.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I’m kind of a vigilante, but I don’t have a home, so I just drift from city to city and do what I can while I’m there.”

“What kind of vigilante?” he probed. “Do you have any special abilities?”

“No,” you lied. “I’m just a fighter trying to do some good.”

“When we brought you here, we were followed by a few cars,” Nightwing said. “We lost them fairly easily, but we wanted to know if you knew anything about them.”

“I don’t.” You were just full of lies tonight, but they didn’t need to know everything about you all at once. You didn’t trust them.

“We believe you’re in danger,” Batman told you as the old man finished up your stitches and started wrapping your leg. “I think you should stay here until we learn more about the people following you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you said, getting to your feet and looking for the exit. “I have to get going.”

“Wait.” Nightwing put a hand to your arm, but you quickly pulled away. Realizing that teleportation was the only way you were going to get away, you opened a portal beneath your feet and slipped away before they could stop you.

“Go after her,” Bruce ordered his sons, already at the Batcomputer. “I knew there was something off about her. I might have a lead.”

“What are we waiting for?” Jason asked, already revving the engine of his bike. Bruce had managed to get a tracer on you, and they were all ready to follow you back to downtown Gotham.

“Hey, Jason,” Roy said, climbing off his bike when the four boys showed up. “Why did you call for me?”

“I thought we could use your help on this one,” Jason said as they continued to search for you. When they found you, they were surprised at what they saw.

“Forget it, Bane!” you were shouting at the man attacking you, a hulking figure with green veins highighted on his unnaturally bulging muscles. “I’m not going to join your stupid secret society!”

“Your power is wasted saving the lives of ungrateful civilians,” he told you as he fought against your power, manifested as a golden glow that kept him away from you. “If you will not join us willingly, I will take you by force!”

“Good luck with that,” you said, and opened a portal beneath his feet. “Have fun in Arkham, asshole.”

The Batboys couldn’t do anything except stare at you in awe. You had gone toe to toe against Bane, a Rogue that even Batman had failed to defeat, and won with little to no effort. They were about to speak when a number of police cars and vans sped over to you and surrounded you. Instead of policemen exiting the cars, the cars all began to transform into robots that stood hundreds of feet taller than you. Soon after, a silver sports car, a yellow Camaro, an ambulance, and a pickup truck arrived and also transformed.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Dick asked.

“What the hell is going on?” Jason gasped. Roy stood next to him in stunned silence.

“This is impossible,” Tim said.

“Duck!” Damian shouted. The robots had begun to fight, and the collateral damage of their battle was enormous. Parked cars were smashed, sparks flew in every direction, and the robotic shouting coming from what was supposed to be their mouths was deafening. Eventually the boys could see the majority of the robots chasing away a few of their brethren.

“You Decepticons should know better than to challenge the Autobots!” one of them shouted, presumably an Autobot towards the retreating Decepticons.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” one of the four remaining robots asked, the one that had previously been an ambulance. “You’re injured.”

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” you told the robot. “It was just a couple stitches. Where’s Optimus?”

“He’s with Sam right now. Who fixed you up?” another robot, the one that had been a silver sports car, asked you.

“I was picked up by the Batfamily, Jazz,” you said. “But don’t worry. They don’t know about you.”

“Are you sure about that?” John Cena’s voice came from the yellow robot.

“Since when did you start quoting vines, Bumblebee?” you asked with an amused smile. “And yeah, I am. Why?”

“Because you were followed.” The boys heard a deep robotic voice above them, and they were all grabbed by the last robot. It was surprisingly fast for its size, and there was no escape once he had dropped them to the ground near you.

“Shall I kill them?” it asked, revealing cannons in its arms pointed straight at them. The boys began to panic, Dick and Tim pleading with the robots while Jason, Roy, and Damian shouted meaningless threats.

“They’re the ones who helped me, Ironhide,” you said, rolling your eyes. “They’re fine.”

“What are you?” Tim asked in wonder when Ironhide put his canons away.

“We’re the Transformers,” Ratchet told him. “Are you the Batfamily Y/N told us about?”

“Yeah, we are,” Jason said. “You guys were the cars that tried to follow us.”

“We thought you were kidnapping our friend,” Jazz said defensively. “Of course we’re going to search for her.”

“Pardon me, but I’ve scanned these boys, and their pheromone levels suggest they want to mate with Y/N,” Ratchet said. “I don’t believe they would mean to harm her if they---”

“Listen here,” Ironhide’s cannons came back. “If you’re all thinking about mating with Y/N right now, you better be prepared for the consequences. Right, Bee?” The yellow autobot’s face was covered by a combat mask and he readied his own guns.

“Guys, guys!” you shouted, stepping in front of the boys. “Calm down! It’s fine! I barely know them!”

You turned to the boys with a serious look.

“No one is supposed to know about them,” you said. “Can you keep our secret?”

Dick, Jason, Roy, Tim, and Damian all nodded. They weren’t sure how to feel about your robot friends, but at least now they knew you were safe.

#batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfam imagine #batfam imagines #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #transformers #imagine #request #transformers imagine #transformers imagines #dc comics #dc comics imagine #dc comics imagines #the batfamily

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rowansparrow · 7 years ago

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100 Follower Giveaway: Mycroft Holmes x Reader

Requested By @the-spencer-collective: If there's anymore space in the giveaway I'd love to request one. I haven't seen any from Sherlock, I may just be missing them, bit still. A gender neutral reader x Mycroft. Where reader works for the government, close to Mycroft but not as high up as him. Moriarty recruits them through threatening and they disappear for a long time. Somehow Myc finds them and tries to get them to come back to him. Love confession? "I'll protect you"? Sorry if it's too long!

Ooooooh boy. This got... dark. Really dark. Really fast. Sorry about that. But ANYWAY! Thanks for requesting! I hadn’t gotten a Sherlock request yet, this was really fun to do, and a nice change of pace. Hope you like this! (Even though it gets sad and angsty at the end) TW: Suicide

Request number 8 of 15 (Five spots left in the giveaway!)

Rain fell on the sidewalk as I ran along to the cafe around the corner. I had been halfway there when this storm had blown in, thoroughly drenching me. I cursed myself for not checking the weather before I left. As I wrapped my thin jacket tighter around me, the rain suddenly stopped, all at once. Looking around, I found that it was raining everywhere except for the area surrounding me.

"Really Y/N, you must remember to bring an umbrella or something when you go out on these early morning walks through a rainstorm." a voice said from beside me. I glanced over, seeing the tall figure of Mycroft Holmes standing next to me. Looking up, I saw that we were both shrouded under the cover of his large, black umbrella that he seemed to always carry with him. I smiled.

"I know, I know. It wasn't intentional today, however." I replied, shoving my hands in my pockets, grateful for the protection from the rain. He chuckled.

"I find that incredibly hard to believe." he mused. I rolled my eyes, wiping some of the rain off my face.

"I forgot to check the weather today. I was just heading to the cafe for a quick morning tea and suddenly this happens." This lead to another faint chuckle, and Mycroft looked at his wrist, checking the time.

"Well, you're in luck. I was heading that way as well. I have a little while before I'm due back. Mind if I join you?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Not at all." I replied. He smiled down at me, and we continued walking until we reached the cute little shop. Mycroft leaned forward, grabbing the door handle and holding it open for me, still holding the umbrella over my head. Once I was in, he closed the umbrella, shaking it off and stepping inside behind me.

After sitting the umbrella down in the holder next to the door, he gestured over to a small table in the corner of the room. It was our usual table, as we both frequented this cafe, often running into each other. It had become practically routine, as he found it useful to rant about his brother's behavior to me, an impartial audience. The waitress soon walked over to us with her notepad and pencil in hand.

"What can I get for you two today?" she asked, preparing to write. I opened my mouth to reply, but Mycroft spoke first.

"English breakfast tea, with sugar and honey. Rose tea, plain. And, a plate of macarons. Blackcurrant, if you please." he requested. I closed my mouth, a small smile on my face as she walked away. Mycroft looked up, noticing my smile and looking back down at the newspaper that had been laid out. I could swear that I saw a hint of blush color his cheeks.

"You remembered? I'm very impressed." I said. He cleared his throat, lifting up the newspaper and opening it to the first page.

"Well, I recall it being very strange that you take nothing in your Rose tea. And blackcurrant macarons are my favorite as well." he replied. I chuckled, leaning back in my chair.

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you for remembering, anyway." I replied. He snorted, turning the page of his newspaper. After a few moments of silence, I noticed something on the first page. Smiling to myself, I nodded at it. "Sherlock solved another case I see." I remarked. Mycroft scoffed, shaking his head.

"Yes. He's been on a rampage since he met his little friend." he said. I smiled thoughtfully to myself, gazing out the window.

"Yes, though I hear John Watson is quite fond of him as well." I replied smugly. Mycroft looked up at me over the paper curiously, and I chuckled, quickly shaking my head. "It's nothing, it's nothing." I said hurriedly as the waitress approached with our tray. Mycroft sighed.

"Naturally." he replied. The waitress placed down the macrons and tea carefully, then bowed her head, giving Mycroft a sweet smile and walking away. I felt a strange feeling in my stomach, but shook it off quickly.

"I think the waitress here fancies you." I remarked, and that strange feeling returned. He sniffed, picking up his teacup and taking a sip from it.

"I think she fancies the fact that I come here and give her my business every day." he replied. I reached up to the macaron plate, my hand touching his as he had reached up at the same time. We looked up at each other, and I felt my face grow pink. "After you." Mycroft insisted, drawing his hand back. I laughed, grabbing one and bringing it to my lips.

"Thank you." I said, smiling. He nodded, reaching to the plate and grabbing one as well. We sat for a while, just eating and drinking as the rain grew heavier outside.

That had been ages ago.

“Has it really been that long?” You wondered to yourself. With Moriarty, time had seemed to blur together. Nothing mattered to you but survival. Do what he said, get it done quickly, keep your mouth shut. Repeat. You wouldn’t have to worry about time for much longer.

You shook those thoughts away, focused back on your job. Moriarty had been very specific about what you were to do, all the way down to exactly how you were supposed to be sitting – one leg crossed over the other, elbow on the table, teacup in your left hand, facing the door – in that all-too-familiar little coffee shop. The bell chimed above the door, black umbrella closing as the figure stepped through the entryway.

Mycroft Holmes, as always, was right on time.

You watched as he very pointedly kept himself from glancing over at where you were sitting – odd, you’d never considered him the sentimental type – refusing to look at the table where the two of you had so often shared tea. He approached the counter, his back to you as he ordered a drink to go. The young woman at the counter did exactly as you had instructed her to, and wordlessly passed him a cup of plain rose tea.

You saw the tension settle in Mycroft’s already too weary form, watched his hand shift over the handle of his umbrella – you’d always wondered if he stowed a weapon of some sort there – and finally, finally, turned towards your table.

You’d changed your hair, and your outfit was far different from anything you’d typically wear, but you saw the recognition – the pain, the fear, the relief and god damn us all the joy – that washed over his face in that instant when he looked at you. You rose soundlessly, sweeping your coat off the back of your chair and around your shoulders in one fluid movement, stepping out the back entrance to the café and back into the street.

All according to plan.

Also according to plan, Mycroft Holmes did not follow you out. Part of you wished he had. That would’ve made all this easier. You had begun to understand Moriarty’s games with the Holmes boys a little better since you’d been working for him, and you found yourself understanding just how predictable the brothers really could be, once you’d watched them long enough.

No, he would not follow you out. Moriarty had been right about that.

It was in his office, his inner sanctum, his one sanctuary, where you would meet face to face again.

That’s where you were, thirty-two minutes and twenty-six and a quarter seconds later, when Mycroft Holmes stepped into his office. You didn’t miss the fractional jolt to his body when he saw you lounging in his chair, feet up on the desk, but he regained his composure just as quickly, quietly shutting the heavy doors behind him.

“I presume this was Moriarty’s doing?” He asked you matter of factly, folding his hands over the hook of his umbrella in front of him, like a soldier in parade rest.

“Mostly.” You answered, rolling one of his fountain pens between your fingers. “The tea was my idea.”

“Naturally,” Mycroft responded dryly. “You never could resist a personal touch to your work.”

You swung your legs down from his desk, choosing to lean forward instead. “How did it feel, Holmes? Did your blood run cold, like they say in the books and movies?”

A minute shift in his lips, a flicker of his eyelid. Otherwise his face remained expressionless.

“Can’t say I didn’t expect something like this.” Mycroft finally said, shifting his feet and placing the umbrella in its rack. “I always assumed your final quest would end with me.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “That is what you are here for, isn’t it, Y/N?”

He stepped forward, and in that one step you were on your feet, pistol in hand and aimed directly between Mycroft’s handsome eyes. Mycroft stopped, the faintest sneer crossing his lips.

“I see.”

“If you knew it was a trap, why’d you come here?” You asked him, not lowering your gun. Mycroft sighed, folding his hands behind his back and rolling his neck, like he was bored already with the whole ordeal.

“Truthfully, Y/N, I’d rather hoped I’d be able to… talk you out of it.” He lowered his voice slightly on the last phrase, and he brought his eyes back to you, his forehead creasing as he frowned sadly at you. “What have you gotten yourself into, Y/N?”

This… this was not part of the plan. What was he doing? Was this a scheme? If he knew you were coming to kill him, did he plan this out? This had to be some kind of trick, it had to be!

Yet his eyes… they were earnest, looking at you with such pain, such anguish, it was something you never thought to see in his face before. Your gun hand dipped slightly.

“You…” You shook it off, raising your gun again. “You’re stalling.”

“You know as well as I do that what happens behind these doors is strictly confidential.” Mycroft drawled. “If you were to shoot me in the head right now, I doubt anyone would even find my body for several days. Nobody would come looking for me.” He tilted his head at you, and in that instant, you thought he looked strikingly like Sherlock. “And yet, my dear Y/N, you haven’t pulled that trigger yet. So, what’s stopping you?”

He let the words hang in the air between the two of you, and you swallowed hard.

“I have to, Mycroft.” You whispered, your gun hand beginning to shake. “You know I do.”

“Frankly, I do not.” His voice was gentle. “You haven’t shot me yet because you don’t want to kill me. You are safe here, Y/N. You don’t have to be afraid of Moriarty anymore.”

“You don’t understand, he’ll -.”

“Y/N.” A crack of emotion rippled through his voice, and Mycroft clenched his fists. “Y/N, I’ve… I’ve come to care a great deal about you. I was -.” He cleared his throat. Tried again. “I was… lost, in your absence.”

A trick. It had to be a trick.

“Come back to me, Y/N. You know I can help you.”

You shook your head. “Nobody can help me.”

“I can.” Mycroft Holmes was dangerously close to begging. “Let me save you.”

You shook your head again, slowly lowering your gun. “You can’t.” You whispered. “But I can save you.”

Mycroft realized what you were doing, stepped forward, a cry of “Don’t!” halfway torn from his lips, but he was a beat too late.

You pressed the barrel of the gun against your temple and closed your eyes.

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the-truest-sentence-i-know · 4 years ago

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Chapter Six | The Crew

Fandom: Disney’s Descendants

Summary: Quinn Little, raised in Auradon by Little John, finds out that her heritage is not what she thought it was. When Little John tells her that her real father was a villain, she must go on a journey of self-discovery that will bring her to all the forbidden places in the United States of Auradon.

Pre-canon & canon compliant to the first Descendants film.

Word Count: 2.3k | 6/23

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad ||| quotev

Sheela showed Quinn to her bunk that evening. The forecastle was a bit cramped and hammocks hung from the ceiling. Quinn’s was in the corner and underneath it sat a chest for her belongings.

“Not the entire crew lives down here, just those who don’t want to or can’t stay with their parents,” Sheela explained.

Quinn wanted to ask why but did not want to pry or seem ignorant. So, she just nodded.

“You’ll be woken when it’s your time for watch,” Sheela said as she walked away. “You have the crappiest time cause you’re new, so I suggest you get some sleep!”

Quinn had many questions. Why was it the crappiest time? Would she be on watch alone? What exactly did ‘watch’ entail? But instead, she took Sheela’s advice and got into the hammock.

As it turned out, the reason it was the crappiest time is that you’re woken up right before you’re deeply sleeping.

“Oi!” a voice jumped into Quinn’s vaguely forming dreams. Her hammock swung back and forth as she blearily opened her eyes. “Your watch, newbie.”

Quinn sat up and tried to get up as quickly as she could and tumbled to the ground. A chuckle sounded from somewhere above her.

The forecastle was almost pitch-black and Quinn carefully stood up. Cyrus, the quartermaster, stood in front of her.

“You’re on with Saoirse,” he said, gesturing towards a tall figure with red hair on the opposite side of the cabin. When she turned, Quinn recognised her as the first mate.

“I want you up there with me in one minute,” she said and climbed up the steps up to the main deck.

Quinn quickly pulled on her boots, tossed on her jacket and put her dagger in her belt.

Saoirse stood on the quarterdeck. Unsure of what else to do, Quinn went up and joined her. She stood beside her and followed her gaze towards the docks. They stood there in silence for a while.

“Blake spoke to me about your performance at the test,” she said finally. “He’s the gunner, so he’s in charge of fighting and weapons training.”

Quinn glanced at her quickly to try to see where this was going, but she was expressionless.

“He says it’s clear you have basically no training,” she said bluntly. Quinn ducked her head slightly. “But that you’re not beyond hope.”

“Really?” Quinn asked before she could stop herself.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, so I don’t have to go ask Jax why the hell he recruited you.” Saoirse’s eyes never left the shore.

Quinn nodded and refocused on the island. Saoirse was not exactly warm and cuddly, but she liked that about her.

The night was uneventful and it gave Quinn time to think. She crossed the deck to look out over the water, from where she could see the lights of Auradon. She could imagine the students of Auradon Prep, sleeping safely in their beds, not having to be on guard at all times. She tried not to think about Dad. She had not told him because she knew he would worry – and try to talk her out of it. She had sent a note by mail the morning she left, so he would have received it by now. It was short and to the point.

Dear Dad,

I’m going travelling up north, just to think. I don’t know when I’ll be back.

I love you,

Quinn

She had always wanted to go north, so it was believable enough. She just hoped he did not blame himself for her leaving. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him.

“We usually don’t get attacked from the water,” Saoirse called.

Quinn nodded and crossed the deck, so she faced the island again. The moon was nearly full and bathed the city in its pale light. It seemed to never truly sleep – there were still people bustling about, although fewer than during the day. Although it had scared her at first, Quinn was starting to see the beauty in it.

Quinn woke the next morning to a bell ringing. Around her, she heard the sounds of others also just waking up. Blearily she sat up and nearly toppled out of her hammock. The bell rang again, and someone called, “Breakfast! Five minutes!”

Quinn managed to get out of the hammock without faceplanting into the ground and quickly averted her eyes from a guy getting changed a few hammocks over. Everyone here seemed pretty chill about changing in front of each other. Quinn was not quite confident enough, though, and quickly shimmied her bra on under her shirt and pulled on her jacket and boots.

She followed the rest up to the main deck, where she saw Nia, Nabil, and Hugo, who did not sleep aboard the Jolly Roger. She joined them.

Breakfast was bread and cheese, which Hugo’s little brother, Harper, was very excited about. “We never get cheese!”

Hugo rolled his eyes but tore into the food just as enthusiastically.

“How was your first watch?” Nabil asked.

“Kinda boring,” she said, shrugging.

Nia nodded. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Quinn,” Sheela had come over to them. “After breakfast, you’re training in the shop with Blake.”

Quinn nodded and turned to Nabil once Sheela had left. “Which one’s Blake?” she said quietly.

“Blond guy,” said Nabil, pointedly looking at his food. “Beside the redhead – who’s Seamus, by the way, his fling.”

Quinn was about to ask what he meant by ‘fling,’ when she saw who he was referring to. It was the guy who had administered the loyalty part of her test. She quickly looked down before he caught her looking his way.

“Yeah, he’s way scary, but good at his job,” Hugo said.

Nia nodded. “He trained all of us. I don’t think he’s ever been beaten in a fight.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Quinn said. She looked up again and saw that Blake was looking at her. The way his eyes looked through her made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

•••

The sword was heavy in Quinn’s hand – heavier than she had expected. Just holding it in front of her defensively was difficult and she had to build up momentum to swing it, which meant that a surprise attack was basically impossible.

Blake was going to train her in weapons combat. He was the gunner, which meant he was in charge of training and weapons. Quinn tried not to be afraid of him, but she was. After the whole fake kidnapping and real torture, she had avoided him. It had seemed too real, and he had been enjoying himself a little too much.

And a little too hesitant to stop.

“Alright,” he said, holding a wooden practice sword. “I will first test you to see which weapon you have the most potential in.” He eyed the way Quinn was holding the sword. “From the look of it, that won’t be the sword, but I’m allowed to have my fun.”

Without any word of warning, he swung his sword and, before Quinn could get her blade up to block his, the flat side hit her in the shoulder. The blow was not hard enough to knock her over, but it did hurt.

“If I’d been trying to kill you,” Blake said. “You’d be dead.”

Quinn set her jaw and gripped the sword hilt tightly.

This time, she swung first. He blocked it easily, but she saw his expression change. This was what she was supposed to do.

He faked to the left and then came at her right, but years of training with the quarter-staff as well as her encounter with Skyla and Scarlett had taught Quinn to know a feint when she saw one. She managed to bring up her blade to block it.

She celebrated this small victory too much, however, and Blake smacked the fingers of her right hand with the flat of his blade. Quinn cried out and dropped the sword. As she quickly stooped to pick it up, Blake kicked it out of her reach. She felt the tip of his wooden sword at her throat and slowly stood up.

“And. You’re dead,” he said. “Never take your eyes off your opponent.” He rolled his eyes.

Daggers were next. Again, Quinn used a real one while Blake took a wooden one. She supposed she kind of had experience with this weapon, although she was not sure if a losing fight counted as experience. She copied Blake’s stance: blade pointed down and left foot ahead.

Quinn knew she had to pay attention to his blade, that was obvious, but also his feet, because that sometimes betrayed future moves.

He stepped forward and Quinn flinched, jumping back. He grinned and she knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. She calmly took her position again and he attacked this time. Quinn tried to block his blade with hers, as she had done with the sword, but that did not work well this time; the blades were too short. The wooden dagger slashed across her stomach.

“Dead,” said Blake.

Now she knew how this worked. When he attacked, she would try to block his arm while going in herself. She never got him though, he was just too fast.

They trained with daggers for a longer time than they had with swords. Quinn hoped this meant she had more potential. He never gave her any instructions or tips, just the one word, over and over again: dead.

Once, after a few particularly short bouts, the last one ending with her falling on her back hard, Quinn snapped.

“Dead,” said Blake, as he had for the past fifteen minutes.

Quinn sat up and threw her dagger to the ground. It skittered over the concrete floor. “Then teach me damnit! You’re supposed to be training me, so tell me what I’m doing wrong!”

Blake just looked at her, his face remaining expressionless. He drew the wooden dagger across her neck. “Dead,” he said.

Nearly growling in frustration, Quinn tackled into him, sending them both rolling over the floor. She pulled out her own dagger – which she had kept hidden – and held it to his throat. “Dead,” she snarled.

Instead of looking shocked, or surprised even, he grinned. It was the most frustrating reaction possible.

“What?” Quinn asked.

He pushed her off of him – with more ease than she could have hoped for – and said, “So, what did you learn?” in an infuriatingly condescending tone

Quinn frowned, getting to her feet. “What?” she said again.

He rolled his eyes. “I made you angry. You fought better. One of the reasons you didn’t do well in the fight with Jukes was because you didn’t want to fight them. That, and a lack of training,” he added.

Blake placed his wooden dagger back in its place on the wall. “Channel your anger, frustration, whatever, into your fights,” he said walking towards the door. “Class dismissed.”

•••

After Blake Left, Quinn stayed to practise the sword on her own. She swung at an imaginary opponent, trying to flow through the moves gracefully, like she could with a bow and quarterstaff. Her arms were starting to tire when she heard footsteps behind her.

Still a little on edge, she spun around, stopping her blade when she saw it was Jax.

He barely flinched. “I take it training went well then?”

Quinn sheathed the sword. “I understand why he’s Gunner.”

“You don’t like him,” Jax noted with the ghost of a smile.

“He’s just... very intense.”

“And scary?”

“Wouldn’t saying that be admitting to weakness? I understand that’s a big no-no around here.”

Jax just smiled.

“He is going to teach me actual moves though, right? Not just to fuel my fight with anger?”

“I could show you something if you’d like,” Jax said, stepping closer.

Quinn could tell there was definitely more than friendly helpfulness on his mind, but she did not really care. Why not have a little fun? She smiled. “Alright.”

“First we need to fix your grip,” he said, stepping closer to Quinn. He prodded her fingers to the middle of the hilt. “Don’t hold it like you’re choking it.” Holding his hand over hers, he stepped behind her, almost flush against her back. Quinn felt her breath hitch but tried not to let on. “Think of it like an extension of your arm, a part of you.” He guided her in slowly slashing the sword in front of her. “Your other hand,” he took her wrist lightly. “is mostly for balance, or a good punch to the face if the need arises.”

“And footwork?” Quinn asked in a voice just above a whisper.

“All your movement has to come from your core.” He placed a gentle hand on her waist, sending tingles up her spine. “If you think about your feet too much, you’ll trip yourself up. We’re not here to do pretty footwork, but to fight effectively. Think of it like moving your core and your feet should cooperate.” With light pressure to her waist, he guided her across the floor.

“Going slowly is all well and good,” Quinn said. “But I doubt it’ll help in a fight.”

“Once you can do it well slowly, you can do it quickly.” His voice was low, and Quinn could feel his breath on her cheek. “It’s all about muscle memory.” He suddenly twirled her out of his grasp and Quinn heard the scrape of his sword against his scabbard. Quickly, she stepped toward the flash of light on the steel of the blade. A clang rang out and Quinn realized that she had blocked the strike. For a moment, she was stunned and did not move.

Jax pulled back his sword, pulling her off-balance. With her guard down, he pushed her back until she hit a wall, his blade at her throat. Quinn’s breath caught again, feeling the press of his body against hers. She grinned a little.

Jax raised an eyebrow, returning the grin. “There’s hope for you yet.”

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years ago

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damn it, here I'm again: how about sterek + (those are all so perfect dear lord someone send help) "I picked up what I thought was a stray on the side of the road last night and it turns out you’re a werewolf. Um. Can I offer you some pancakes?"

This was such a fun prompt to work with! (also on ao3)

Stiles had a history with strays.

Ever since he could walk, toddling around the Stilinski home as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him, he had an affinity for animals. More specifically, taking in any animal in need.

Living in a residential neighborhood adjacent to the local woods meant that he had never been lacking in that department. He couldn't throw a stone around their neighborhood without finding a baby bird that had fallen from its nest or a dog that had wandered out of its yard.

In the creek behind their house, buried in the woods by a groove of black willows and white alders, he used to catch redwood salamanders and Cascades frogs. He would wade knee deep into the water in search of the sneaky amphibians, never caring that his pants got soaked.

He would keep them in an old fish tank, arranging algae covered rocks in the water of the terrarium so his new pets could spend time on land. He used to spend hours digging up worms in the backyard so he could feed his amphibians.

Of course, they eventually died — wild animals weren't meant to be in captivity, after all — and Stiles had been devastated. He had cried for hours, until his eyes were red and puffy and his throat was sore.

A few months later, he found an abandoned squirrel pup in their front yard. There had been no nest in sight, nor any mother squirrel searching for her lost baby.

The pup was cold to the touch and Stiles refused to risk letting the pup freeze to death while waiting for its mother. John had reluctantly agreed and allowed Stiles to adopt the squirrel.

For the next several weeks, he dutifully nursed the squirrel pup with an eyedropper full of puppy milk. He set up a nest for it inside, composed of old t-shirts and ripped socks that made a perfect bed for the tiny pup.

It had been a bittersweet day when Claudia had informed Stiles that it was time for the squirrel to leave. They had released it in the backyard where it ran right up a nearby sycamore tree, chattering away as though saying goodbye.

After the squirrel came a blind kitten they found wandering through the neighborhood, mewling pitifully. Stiles had snuck the kitten into his room and cared for it under his parents' noses for weeks until his mom went looking for something in his room and stumbled onto his little secret.

Unfortunately, with Stiles in elementary school while both of his parents worked full-time, they just didn't have the time or resources to care for a special needs cat. But luckily there was an older woman who ran a cat sanctuary a few towns over.

After taking the cat in, she had assured Stiles that he could visit anytime he wanted. And he did, his mom driving him over every other weekend.

Next came an entire litter of puppies that he begged to keep, only for his dad to painstakingly explain why adopting six Tibetan mastiffs was not a very good idea. And after that was the mountain lion cub that he somehow found on one of his exploration through the woods.

John nearly had a heart attack when he came home from a double shift to find his son cuddling the baby of a two hundred pound killing machine.

He then had to inform Stiles that a mountain lion was not a pet. Park rangers had been called in and the cub was safely returned to its den for its mother find.

But Stiles' affinity for taking in strays never wavered. Even as he got older.

In high school, he worked at the vet clinic with his friend Scott, just so he could help out any animals in need. It was better than working some crappy retail job like many of his classmates.

And it was a great reprieve from the everyday stress of high school. If he was ever feeling particularly stressed, he would just call up Deaton and volunteer for an additional shift.

Basically, his job consisted of bottle feeding kittens and doing trial introductions for potential pet adopters. It was a pretty sweet gig apart from the occasional bittersweet moments when animals were adopted.

Even after he moved out of Beacon Hills to attend Stanford he made a point of dedicating his time to animals, getting a job at the local pet store just outside of town. So it was no surprise to anyone that while on break in Beacon Hills, he didn't hesitate to pull over to check on what looked like a stray dog standing on the side of the road.

He had been driving in from Stanford, having enough days off for Thanksgiving break to warrant the drive back to Beacon Hills. Drumming his fingers against Roscoe's steering wheel while imagining the amazing meal his dad would be making in a few days, Stiles had been absorbed in his own thoughts.

Until he noticed a dark shape in the shoulder of the forest road leading into town. His interest immediately piqued, he had pulled over to get a better look at whatever the dark shape was.

Lo and behold, it was a dog. A stray by the looks of it.

The dog was huge, probably some sort of wolf dog hybrid that someone had purchased on a whim then realized the complications of the hybrid. Its coat was jet black with a few grizzled spots around its muzzle.

Fortunately, the dog didn't seem undernourished or injured in any way. And it wasn't wearing a collar let alone a tag bearing an address or phone number.

But what really caught Stiles' attention was the dog's eyes. He hadn't thought dogs could have hazel eyes with that much green in them, captivated by the specks of gold and rivers of bluish silver in the canine's irises.

His heart instantly captured, Stiles had coaxed the dog closer with a few soft words and careful touches. He had been glad to find that the dog was a gentle giant, docile and sweet as Stiles scratched it behind its ears.

With plans to take the dog to the vet clinic first thing in the morning to check for an implanted ID chip, Stiles had corralled the dog into his Jeep and continued his drive home. His dad hadn't even bothered to act surprised when Stiles showed up on the front doorstep with a stray in tow.

But, of course, because Stiles' life could never be normal for more than a few months at a time, it turned out that the stray he had picked up was much more than meets the eye. He found that out the hard way the next morning.

After a wondrous night curled up in bed where he actually got the recommended eight hours of sleep, Stiles woke early in the morning craving pancakes. But not just any pancakes; his mother's famous pancakes.

They were fluffier than a cloud and had just a hint of vanilla, making them perfect for any kind of syrup under the sun from traditional maple to boysenberry. His mom had always made them on special occasions, especially holidays, which made them perfect for Thanksgiving break.

Once he brushed his teeth and took care of some other hygienic needs, he tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, careful not to wake his dad. He hurried past the living room couch where the stray dog he had picked up had spent the night, too preoccupied with his thoughts to pause and greet the dog.

He was in the middle of flipping pancakes, adding an extra bit of flair the way his mom had taught him, when he heard the telltale pad of bare feet on the kitchen tiles. Beaming, he looked over his shoulder, cheerfully greeting, "Mornin', pops— Uh... You're not my dad..."

He was pretty much stating the obvious since the tall, bearded, naked man standing in the kitchen was clearly not his father. The aforementioned bearded, naked man said as much, simply stating, "Uh, no."

"Are-Are we being robbed?" Stiles asked, turning the heat on the stove down and tightening his grip on the metal spatula in his hand in case they really were being robbed. "Because, I gotta say, this is fucking weird, man. You're not even wearing pants."

The mystery man's eyes widened almost comically as he tensed and rushed to cup his hands over his crotch. His cheeks flushed, drawing Stiles' attention back to his eyes. His eyes that were oddly familiar.

Hazel-green with gold and silver. Holy shit.

"Shit, you're a werewolf, aren't you?" Stiles groaned, feeling his own face flush. He had practically kidnapped someone! Because he thought they were a stray!

The yet to be introduced man just nodded, still looking embarrassed as all hell. Stiles let out a sigh, "Keep an eye on the pancakes. I'll be right back."

He waited for the werewolf to nod before he slipped out of the kitchen and back upstairs to the laundry room where he rifled around for a clean pair of pajama pants. After finding his baggiest pair, he hurried back downstairs where he was met with an eyeful of the werewolf's firm ass and the tattoo between his shoulder blades.

"Uh, here. These should fit ya," Stiles announced after clearing his throat, holding out the red pajama pants that just so happened to be patterned with white dog bones. Turning his head to give Mr. No Name some privacy, he wandered back over to the stovetop where his pancakes were still cooking. "I'm Stiles, by the way."

"Derek," the Sheriff's voice returned, managing to make Stiles' cheeks flush even deeper. He craned his neck to take a peek at his dad who was embracing the now only half naked werewolf, a friendly smile on his face. "Son, this is Derek Hale, my new deputy."

"Of course it is," Stiles mumbled, hanging his head as he poked at one of the pancakes with the spatula. Sparing another glance over his shoulder, he watched Derek and his dad plop down at the kitchen table.

"So... Can I offer you some pancakes?" Stiles asked, meeting Derek's mesmerizing eyes.

"Yeah, why not," Derek answered smoothly, sending Stiles a sly wink when the Sheriff wasn't looking.

It may have been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life but it made one hell of a 'how I met your father' story.

#sterek #au #first meetings #meet cute #pre-slash #full shift derek #werewolves are known #awkwardness #embarrassed stiles #naked derek #because reasons #my fic #fic #xamberry

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Shirt Quotes

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• A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory. • A Mexican guy named Sam pushes Gary Frankel next to Isabel. “This guy can break your arm with one snap, asshole. Get out of my sight before I sic him on you,” Sam says. Gary, who’s wearing a coral shirt and white pants, growls to look tough. It doesn’t work. – Simone Elkeles • A thump thump thump noise that was so unfamiliar, and yet I couldn’t quite place it. But I knew it. It was – “Mmm-hmmm,” Monica murmured, just as Wes came view into the path. He was running, his pace quick and steady. He was in shorts, his shirt off, staring ahead as he passed. His back was tan and gleaming with sweat. – Sarah Dessen • A typical ‘Larry King Live’ is a pastiche whose absurdism defies parody. 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Tell me what I’m looking at.” From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, “A giant pair of cartoon lips.” I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull’s glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd!” Bob said. – Jim Butcher • Also, I used to think that one day I might get someone to iron my shirts, but the truth is I really like doing them myself. – David Sedaris • Amos clapped his hands. “Khufu!” I thought he’d sneezed, because Khufu is a weird name, but then a little dude about three feet tall with gold fur and a purple shirt came clambering down the stairs. It took me a second to realize it was a baboon wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey. – Rick Riordan • Amy, listen to me. What I do. The choices I make. They’re mine. Only mine. The consequences of those decisions—mine. “Mine,” he repeated when she sighed heavily. “No one else’s.” Silence. Only the warm wetness of her tears dampening his shirt. It broke his heart.- Cindy Gerard • An old market had stood there until I’d been about six years old, when the authorities had renamed it the Olde Market, destroyed it, and built a new market devoted to selling T-shirts and other objects with pictures of the old market. Meanwhile, the people who had operated the little stalls in the old market had gone elsewhere and set up a thing on the edge of town that was now called the New Market even though it was actually the old market. – Neal Stephenson • And also, there are so many times when you need to make a quick escape, but humans don’t have their own wings, or not yet, anyway, so what about a birdseed shirt? – Jonathan Safran Foer • And drinking neat liquor from the bottle, with all my long hair and my shirt undone and my beads, not so much the lizard king, more a gecko duchess, I fitted in nicely with their idea of what a creative person should be.- Russell Brand • And I was victim to that very early in my career, where I would go into auditions, and I’d be wearing a big T shirt, a big baggy T shirt and loose jeans. You know, to try and show people that there was more to me than just that. – Charlize Theron • And speaking of on board, she’d moved into John’s room properly. 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I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I’m a Juicy girl. “I bet you are,” he murmured. – Karen Marie Moning • As she turned to concentrate on the portal, Eve tugged on Claire’s shirt. “What?” “Ask him where he got the boots.” “You ask.” Personally, Claire wanted the vampire bunny slippers. • At the beginning of my career I was going through a really weird phase of dressing in boys clothes. I would only wear one American Apparel T-shirt and shorts and brogues the whole year round. Not the same T-shirt, obviously, but one style of American Apparel T-shirt. I think I was going through a tomboy stage. – Florence Welch

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It’s funny when you get asked to do a talk show, and then they follow it up with requesting you take your shirt off. – Kellan Lutz • Christian stretched out beside her and pulled her close. ʺBut for what itʹs worth, I think youʹd be a great queen too, Princess Dragomir.ʺ ʺYouʹre going to get dirty,ʺ she warned. ʺAlready am. Oh, you mean from your clothes?ʺ He wrapped his arms around her, heedless of her damp and muddy state. ʺI spent most of my childhood hiding in a dusty attic and own exactly one dress shirt. You really think I care about this T-shirt?ʺ – Richelle Mead • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Corrigan told me once that Christ was quite easy to understand. He went where He was supposed to go. He stayed where He was needed. He took little or nothing along, a pair of sandals, a bit of a shirt, a few odds and ends to stave off the loneliness. He never rejected the world. If He had rejected it, He would have been rejecting mystery. And if He rejected mystery, He would have been rejecting faith. – Colum McCann • Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that’s why I did it….Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest. – Jennifer Donnelly • Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!” Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. “I swear, I’m going to start taking my clothes off!” The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. “Chicken,” she said, and paced the room, back and forth. Rachel Caine • Derek looked around, like he was searching for something to use. Then he stripped off his shirt. I tried not to look away. Not that he looked bad without his shirt. The opposite, actually, which is why…Let’s just say friends are really better when they’re fully clothed. – Kelley Armstrong • Did she just-” “Yes.” “But I don’t-” “Yes you do. We both stink.” “Well, I’m not-” “Yes. You are.” He huffed. “You wont let-” “No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags. “Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped. “No. She couldn’t.” He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse. – Maria V. Snyder • Different elevator music was playing since my last visit-that old disco song “Stayin’ Alive.” A terrifying image flashed through my mind of Apollo in bell-bottom pants and a slinky silk shirt. – Rick Riordan • Don’t cry.” “How can I not?” I asked him. “You just said you loved me.” “Well, why else did you think all of this was happening?” He set the book aside to wrap his arms around me. “The Furies wouldn’t be trying to kill you if I didn’t love you.” “I didn’t know,” I said. Tears were trickling down my cheeks, but I did nothing to try to stop them. His shirt was absorving most of them. “You never said anything about it. Every time I saw you, you just acted so… wild.” “How was I supposed to act?” he asked. “You kept doing things like throwing tea in my face. – Meg Cabot • Doubts are like stains on a shirt. I like shirts with stains, because when I’m given a shirt that’s too clean, one that’s completely white, I immediately start having doubts. – Antonio Tabucchi • Elegance is always in style for men. There are all different kinds of elegance. It can be silk, it can be a T-shirt. – Donatella Versace • Even now if I see someone working out, in great shape, like a 40-year-old guy with his shirt off jogging I always think, “Look at that idiot.” That’s why everyone in my movie is kind of goofy because I’m a champion of the goofball. What sucks is I have to work out now not to die. I was always happy not working out because I never wanted to be someone who worked out to look good, but now I have to try to not die, which is such a drag. – Judd Apatow • Every time we give a musician the advice to give away the music and sell the T-shirt, we’re saying, “Don’t make your living in this more elevated way. Instead, reverse this social progress, and choose a more physical way to make a living.” We’re sending them to peasanthood, very much like the Maoists have. – Jaron Lanier • Every woman should have a daughter to tell her stories to. Otherwise, the lessons learned are as useless as spare buttons from a discarded shirt. And all that is left is a fading name and the shape of a nose or the color of hair. The men who write the history books will tell you the stories of battles and conquests. But the women will tell you the stories of people’s hearts. – Karen White • Everywhere I go I buy new music shirts. – Shaun White • First, she wanted to taste the sweat that shone on his throat and fragile clavicle; then he chose to undo the tails of her shirt, that she had tied up beneath her breasts; then, but then impatient they forgot about taking turns and quarreled silently, eagerly over each other, like pirates dividing treasure long sought, long imagined, long withheld. – John Crowley • For a split second longer she stood motionless. Then, somehow, she had caught at the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her. His arms went around her, lifting her almost out of her sandals, and then he was kissing her—or she was kissing him, she wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. The feel of his mouth on hers was electric; her hands gripped his arms, pulling him hard against her. The feel of his heart pounding through his shirt made her dizzy with joy. No one else’s heart beat like Jace’s did, or ever could. – Cassandra Clare • For as long as I could remember, he had never worn a single piece of clothing that could be considered casual. Khaki shorts and golf shirts, to Umberto, were the garments of men who have no virtues left, not even shame. – Anne Fortier • For me, it’s important that a fan can buy something that is related to me. Like in soccer, you buy a shirt and it’s got somebody’s name on the back. That’s kind of a cool thing. – Roger Federer • For my prom, I was so fancy, I got t a suit tailored. I wanted a three-piece suit. I thought it would be cool to wear all black – black shirt, black tie, I figured it would be the coolest thing I’ve ever done. That was my first suit. I put the suit on two years later and it was so big on me and absurd and didn’t fit. I still have it. I won’t throw it out. It’s too fun. It reminds me where I come from. Actually, I have an evolution of suits in my closet. It starts with that one and goes up to the suits that I get to have now. – Gabriel Macht • Fortunes made in no time are like shirts made in no time; it’s ten to one if they hang long together. – Douglas William Jerrold • Foul!” yelled Jamie, who seemed extremely happy not to be the one facing a blade. “Distracting technique! Put your shirt back on right now. Sarah Rees Brennan • From working with Ralph Lauren, I started to understand what it meant to build a brand. There were times when I was working there that it seemed so repetitive. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. But when I stepped out of it, I realized what he was doing was achieving a signature look and reiterating that. That’s why when you think about a polo shirt you think about Ralph – he owns that garment. – – Simon Spurr Girlfriend, Lilies, Abby • Girls can wear jeans and cut their hair short and wear shirts and boots because it’s okay to be a boy; for girls it’s like promotion. But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading, according to you, because secretly you believe that being a girl is degrading. – Ian Mcewan • Girls can wear jeans, cut their hair short, wear shirts and boots, ’cause it’s okay to be a boy, but for a boy to look like a girl is degrading. – Charlotte Gainsbourg • Got to say, dying would really wreck my best day. Been there, done that, and now that I think about it, Artemis forgot to give me the t-shirt. – Sherrilyn Kenyon • Grunge was so self-consciously lowbrow and nonaspirational that it seemed, at first, impervious to the hype and glamour normally applied swiftly to any emerging trend. But sure enough, grunge anthems found their way onto the soundtracks of television commercials, and Dodge Neons were hawked by kids in flannel shirts saying, ‘Whatever.’ – Douglas Rushkoff • Guys are lucky: We can wear a suit over and over, just with different shirts and ties. – Ryan Reynolds • Having stuff that fits you perfectly makes the craziest difference. I remember the first times that I was introduced to that – having a shirt that’s actually tailored to your body and not just made for your average American. It just changes your life. – Mayer Hawthorne • He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities. She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest. – Julia Quinn • He does this on purpose,” Stephanie’s mother said as they sat in the car, seat belts on and ready to go. They watched him appear at the front door, shrug into his jacket, tuck in his shirt, go to step out, and then pause. “He looks like he’s about to sneeze,” Stephanie remarked. – Derek Landy • He knew her now. She was the weird girl in the class above him, who dyed her hair pink and always wore a lot of pentragrams and crystals. Right now she was also wearing giant chandelier earings and a violent pink T-Shirt that bore the words ROMEO AND JULIET WOULDN’T HAVE LASTED. • He leaned back for a moment to tug her shirt down her arms, with the same wicked, lovley smile that had first stolen her breath years ago. – Melissa Marr • He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he’s on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. “Who am I?” “Jericho” “Who are you?” He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He’s commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: “Whogivesafuck? – Karen Marie Moning • He told me this while ripping through his duffel bag, throwing clothes into drawers with reckless abandon. Chip did not believe in having a sock drawer or a T-shirt drawer. He believed that all drawers were created equal and filled each with whatever fit. My mother would have died. – John Green • He was dressed just like on TV, with lots of silver chains and bracelets, ripped jeans, and a black muscle shirt (Which was kind of stupid, since he didn’t have any muscles). – Rick Riordan • He was going to take a dive into this lake. He just didn’t know it. Cerise rose, finding footing in the soft mud. The water came up to just below her breasts and her wet shirt stuck to her body. William’s gaze snagged on her chest. Yep, keep looking, Lord Bill. Keeeeeep looking. – Ilona Andrews • He was in blue jeans and a work shirt, which is another weird quirk of Rich Old Men. Just one of the guys here. Blue jeans and a work shirt, salt of the earth, working man like yourself. Like they’re somehow uncomfortable about being rich enough to sleep in a bed made of vaginas being pulled around the town at night by a fleet of gold-covered midgets. – Warren Ellis • He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt and had stopped in the middle of the hall, furiously scratching one bare forearm. “Fleas?” I said. – Kelley Armstrong • Headbangers’ are people who like heavy-metal music, which is performed by skinny men with huge hair who stomp around the stage, striking their instruments and shrieking angrily, apparently because somebody has stolen all their shirts. – Dave Barry • He’d changed since the last summer. Instead of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, he wore a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and leather loafers. His sandy hair, which used to be so unruly, was now clipped short. He look like an evil male model, showing off what the fashionable college-age villain was wearing to Harvard this year. – Rick Riordan • Here’s a newsflash from the only High Preistess you have left at this dang school: Zoey isn’t dead. And believe me, I know dead. I’ve been there, done that, and got the frickin’ T-shirt.” – Stevie Rae – P. C. Cast • His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed for a twinkling. He was no different from the dark things in the boundary. A bringer of death. • How had I managed to tie my boots? I didn’t even remember getting dressed. I was out here in public at the mall. What was I wearing? Jeans. I could feel socks. I had my boots on. I plucked at the edge of my t-shirt and saw it was red. I was wearing Dad’s spare Army jacket, and there was a heavy weight in the right pocket that had to be something deadly. – Lilith Saintcrow • I am always looking for a cool tee shirt; maybe one with a rock band or an old advertisement. – Bridget Hall • I am one who is very meridione – Southern Italian. I am proud of this. I design everything with my team, which is fantastic and small. I design by look. For example, people always comment to me, “When you do men’s shirts, you always keep them closed on the catwalk.” That’s my thing. – Riccardo Tisci • I borrowed this from Kyle. My other shirt was pretty filthy.” “Wow, you’re wearing each other’s clothes now. That’s, like, best friend stuff.” “Feeling left out?” said Kyle. “I suppose you want to borrow a black T-shirt too.” “As long as everyone’s wearing their own pants.” “I see have come in on a fascinating moment in the conversation.” Eric poked his head through the curtain. – Cassandra Clare • I can’t even tell you how good it felt to see him. It felt even better when he reached through the metal grate, wrapped his fingers around the front of my shirt, dragged me forward, and kissed me through the bars. “Sorry” he said-only not looking to sorry, if you know what I mean. – Meg Cabot • I could have grabbed his shirt collar. I could have pulled him close to me, so close he could feel my breath on his skin, and I could have said to him, “This is just a crisis. A flash! A single match struck against the implacable darkness of time! You are the one who taught me to never give up. You taught me that new possibilities emerge for those who are prepared, for those who are ready. You have to believe! • I couldn’t meet his gaze. I stared at the table just behind him–the mess of cards on it, the lantern giving off its quiet glow. “When you gave me your shirt to wear that night, I could feel you. I could feel your essence.” The world went still. We were standing only inches from each other, not touching. Outside, I could hear the faint murmur of the wind blowing through the trees. “What did it feel like?” he asked in a low voice. “Like…coming home,” I admitted. – L.A. Weatherly • I do feel that film and TV are often behind when it comes to the way women look, they often dress them in khakis and denim shirts, but women and mothers these days look great and films need to reflect that. Real people look very fashionable, moms are at the forefront of the style. But things are getting better in that way. – Kristin Davis • I don’t have any elaborate uniforms; I come to the ring in a T-shirt, a pair of sneakers and some shorts. – John Cena • I don’t know, but I always loved that image of a girl putting toenail polish on a guy – her boyfriend, or something like that. Or a guy waking up in the morning and reaching over and putting on his girlfriend’s shirt. Like Keith Richards putting on one of Anita Pallenberg’s blouses, or Courtney Love putting nail polish on Kurt Cobain. – Marc Jacobs • I empathize with women in their high heels so I’ll be there in my kilt and T-shirt and I’ll walk around all day just to prove that if I can wear the shoes for 36 hours then certainly our customer can wear them. – Marc Jacobs • I felt that I ostracized myself by my behavior, by the past, by living with all the regrets of my mistakes, that I sort of wore a hair shirt and beat myself up most of the day thinking and regretting why did I make such a mistake? Why have I made so many mistakes? – Sarah Ferguson • I first heard Personville called Poisonville by a red-haired mucker named Hickey Dewey in the Big Ship in Butte. He also called his shirt a shoit. – Dashiell Hammett • I go outside, and I’m wearing a funky T-shirt and my hair is dirty, and people say, ‘What’s wrong with her? She needs to invest in a hairbrush.’ – Kristen Stewart • I got live tweeted once by someone who was opposite my home in some rented accommodation. He was actually describing on twitter what I was doing. ‘I took a shirt off, I went to the window, I put a shirt back on… ‘ And I’ve got blinds in my flat! – Benedict Cumberbatch • I had never ironed anything in my life. The proper pressing of a shirt was a mystery of the universe akin to black holes and dark matter. – Lisa Kleypas • I hate formal stuff. I love looking like a doll and all that stuff and playing dress up, but when I’m home, sweat pants, t-shirt. When I’m in the studio, sweat pants, t-shirt. – Nicki Minaj • I hate watching me. I hate watching me. It just makes me feel awful. I think, ‘I look stupid from that angle. I wish I didn’t let them put that shirt on me.’ – Jesse Eisenberg • I know dead. I’ve been there, done that and got the freakin’ T-shirt. – P. C. Cast • I know that’s an endorsement I’ve been waiting for,” Skye added. “Perfectly adequate in bed. They should make that into a T-shirt – Susan Mallery • I like having the vinyl, but it’s not like we’re going to sell an umbrella or something. I don’t like the idea of selling something that’s not music – I mean, I like going to shows and buying the shirt, but beyond that, I don’t know. There’s a lot of crap in the world. – Robin Pecknold • I love my work with a frenetic and perverse love, as an ascetic loves the hair shirt which scratches his belly. – Gustave Flaubert • I love to meet my fans, and after every show I usually hang out for a few hours, talking to my fans, signing autographs, and selling T-shirts. – Tommy Chong • I never cared about buying things for myself, like clothes. And then all of a sudden I realized how great it is to be very precise about the shirts that I wear and all the things that are a part of my closet. So the ritual of fashion and shopping became very personal to me. – Marc Jacobs • I once had a boyfriend who couldn’t write unless he was wearing a necktie and a dress shirt, which I thought was really weird, because this was a long time ago, and no one I knew ever wore dress shirts, let alone neckties; it was like he was a grown-up reenacter or something. – Susan Orlean • I owned a Ferrari, a Range Rover, a Mercedes 560SL convertible, a Jeep Cherokee and a Nissan 300ZX. I can’t remember the intricate decision tree I had to climb in order to determine which one to drive to work on any given day – it probably had something to do with the weather, or which car had more gas in the tank, or upholstery that best matched whatever shirt I happened to throw on that morning. – Michael J. Fox • I put on the Hank Williams and the Patsy Cline and the Rosemary Clooney on vinyl – I’m not trying to be some cool indie-rock person, I just love the way it sounds – and throw on a T-shirt and jeans. In Texas, we practically come out of the womb in jeans. – Kelly Clarkson • I remember at 16 years old, growing up in Queens, we were punks, but hey, when we went to the theater, we wore a shirt and tie! Similarly, I believe that to keep movie theaters in existence, they’re gonna have to make ’em an event, have a couch, a table and drinks or something. Otherwise, there’s no reason to get out of your bed! – James Caan • I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don’t know, but I’m almost there. I hear my friends calling. – Jeff Lindsay • I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid. – Kami Garcia • I saw a transvestite wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Guess’. – Demetri Martin • I see no reason to have my shirts ironed. It’s irrational. – Barry Commoner • I simply adore ‘The Simpsons.’ I go to bed in a ‘Simpsons’ T-shirt.- Steven Spielberg • I still have the shirt I wore my first time on Johnny Carson’s show. Only now I use it as a tablecloth at dinner parties. It was very blousy. – Ellen DeGeneres • I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling. – Pablo Neruda • I think a fragrance is more of a signature than even what you wear – something you’ll remember more down the road than a shirt. – Ryan Reynolds • I think certainly after every show I headline, I will be available to the fans. When I’m headlining a show, I don’t walk off stage. I’ll walk to the front of the stage and sign hats and shirts and tickets for 15 to 30 minutes, until everyone has everything signed. – Luke Bryan • I think good-looking people seldom make good television. And American television studios almost concede before they start: ‘Well, it won’t be good, but at least it’ll be good-looking. We’ll have nice-looking girls in tight shirts with F.B.I. badges and fit-looking guys with lots of hair gel vaulting over things.’ – Hugh Laurie • I tore open the closet door and began feverishly sorting through the shirts piled on the floor in the vain hope that inside that pile there might be some wondrously perfect shirt down there, a nice and tough but I’m also a surprisingly good listener with a true and abiding passion for cheers and those who lead them.- John Green • I used to wear sleeveless T-shirts all the time on court, but now I’ve got a brand new look – I’ve moved on to polo shirts. Sleeveless T-shirts give you real freedom of movement and they keep you cooler in matches, but I just thought it was time for a change. – Rafael Nadal • I used to wear sweats and a T-shirt to auditions, but my agent would yell at me and tell me I had to look nice and presentable. So I had to drop that habit. – Kellan Lutz • I was a tough kid with the jeans, the concert shirt with the flannel over it, the comb in the back pocket and the feathered hair. – Cameron Diaz • I wear jeans and a T-shirt sometimes. I just like clothes – since the first time I can remember, like age ten or eleven; I was just obsessed with music and clothes. Just like a lot of people in England from my generation. – Paul Weller • I went to an all-boys Catholic school, and not only were we not allowed to wear pajamas, we had to wear dress shirts, dress pants, a tie, dress shoes… they stopped making us wear blazers, like, two years before I started there, so pajamas… you wouldn’t even get in the front door wearing pajamas at my school. – John C. Reilly • I will put on my shoes and shirt and get out of here – it’ll be better for all of us. – Charles Bukowski • I would go with my husband to the tailors where he gets his shirts made, and I would watch the bespoke process. I would ask them, “Would you be able to make that for me?” And they would always say, “Well, yes, but no.” They were very French about it. I decided I would just do it for myself. And I started doing that. Then other people would notice, and want it. So I started doing things for friends, little pieces, and my own line grew that way. – Minnie Mortimer • I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it. – Jerry Spinelli • If I was left to my own devices, you would see about ten T-shirts in rotation with maybe a few nice pairs of jeans – but I also like to look good. I like feeling really well put together, I just don’t have the aptitude and the knowledge to do that. – Daniel Radcliffe • If you are late for work in Mumbai and reach the station just as the train is leaving the platform, don’t despair. You can run up to the packed compartments and find many hands unfolding like petals to pull you on board. And while you will probably have to hang on to the door frame with your fingertips, you are still grateful for the empathy of your fellow passengers, already packed tighter than cattle, their shirts drenched with sweat in the badly ventilated compartment. They know that your boss might yell at you or cut your pay if you miss this train. – Suketu Mehta • If you leave here, War can find you again. What are you going to do if that happens? (Tory) Leave bloodstains on his best shirt. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • If you two were going to be that obvious about it, why didn’t you guys come down in your Team Daniel and Team Miles T-shirts?” “We should order those,” Shelby said. “Mine’s in the laundry,” Arriane said. – Lauren Kate • If you were a woman, all I’d have to say is ‘Colin Firth in a wet shirt’ and you’d say ‘Ah. – Shannon Hale • I’ll look through ‘Us Weekly’ and I’ll see a picture of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston. And I’m like, ‘Wow, they just… they look so good. Even if they’re like just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, they still look great.’ – Moby • I’m a jacket man. And if I’m without one, I am kind of seriously disabled. I don’t know how to operate in shirt sleeves. – Bill Nighy • I’m an athlete, so I can dress down with the best of them. I can throw on t-shirts and sweats with the best of them. – Dwyane Wade • I’m not big on flak jackets and tie-dyed shirts. You know, that’s not me. 0 Joe Biden • I’m pretty low-key; you’ll often find me in jeans, a T-shirt and sweatshirt. – Olivia Wilde • I’m really not a fascist. Everyone wears what they feel great in, or comfortable with. It’s a beautiful day, you have an armless shirt: it goes with flip-flops. – Christian Louboutin • In a big Bollywood romantic film, taking my shirt off and spreading the hand towards the mountain with dancers behind me are not my cup of tea. – Vir Das • In high school I spent most of my time in jeans and T-shirts or Juicy sweats. We’re such a laid-back town. I mean, people wore bikinis under their clothes half the time, so you didn’t really get dressed up to go to school. – Lauren Conrad • In junior high P.E., I was way too shy to take a shower in front of the other kids. It was a horribly awkward time – body hair, odors… So I’d go from my sweaty shirt back into my regular clothes and have to continue the day. – Will Ferrell • In my everyday life, I just wear jeans, t-shirts and trainers – if I can go barefoot, that’s even better. But for the events I have a stylist, and in two hours we have selected a whole outfit. – Penelope Cruz • Is not the most erotic portion of a body where the garment gapes? In perversion (which is the realm of textual pleasure) there are no “erogenous zones” (a foolish expression, besides); it is intermittence, as psychoanalysis has so rightly stated, which is erotic: the intermittence of skin flashing between two articles of clothing (trousers and sweater), between two edges (the open-necked shirt, the glove and the sleeve); it is this flash itself which seduces, or rather: the staging of an appearance-as-disappearance. – Roland Barthes • Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?” “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked. – Cassandra Clare • It doesn’t hurt.” “But my eyes do,” said a coolly amused voice from the doorway. Jace. He had come in so quietly that even Simon hadn’t heard him; closing the door behind him, he grinned as Isabelle pulled Simon’s shirt down. “Molesting the vampire while he’s too weak to fight back, Iz?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure that violates at least one of the Accords.” “I’m just showing him where he got stabbed,” Isabelle protested, but she scooted back to her chair with a certain amount of haste. – Cassandra Clare • It finally happened, he thought as he burrowed under his shirt and took hold of his heavy cross. All his life he’d wondered why he’d never fallen in love, and now he knew: He’d been waiting for this moment, this woman, this time. The female is mine, he thought. – Manny – J.R. Ward • It’s just an ice bucket with a bottle in it. The two flute glasses are little tray. I got to shut the curtains. I’m in my boxer shorts and shirt. I’m going to take a bath and go to bed. But I want to shut the blinds so it’s really dark in the room. – Danny DeVito • It’s like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable – different reactions to the same temperature. – Maggie Stiefvater • I’ve always loved wearing a suit. When you have on a crisp shirt and a tie you always feel like you’re going somewhere. It feels like a bit of an occasion. – Jamie Redknapp Jamie Redknapp • Juliet shook her head. The thought of eating anything made her feel nauseous. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” “Oh yeah, the heartbreak diet,” nodded Trudy sagely. “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. – Alexandra Potter • Jump into an open grave? What kind of idiot are you?” Butters replied. “I might as well put on a red shirt and volunteer for the away team. There’s snow and ice and slippery mud down there. That’s like asking for an ironically broken neck. – Jim Butcher • Keep your shirt on,” she said with a laugh at her bad joke. “Your clothes are at the laundry. They’ll deliver them as soon as they’re ready.” “And in the meantime?” “Looks like you’re naked.” His jaw worked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I beg your pardon?” “Beg all you want, you’re still going to be naked.” Tabitha paused at the wicked image in her mind. “Come to think of it, a gorgeous, begging, naked man… that’s the stuff of fantasies. Begging won’t get you your clothes, but it could get you something else.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.- Sherrilyn Kenyon • Kizzy wanted it all so bad her soul leaned half out of her body hungering after it, and that was what drove the goblins wild, her soul hanging out there like an untucked shirt. – Laini Taylor • Many of the male faeries had their shirts unbuttoned and chests bare. (How’s this for freaky: no nipples or belly buttons.) – Kiersten White • Many years ago, I concluded that a few hair shirts were part of the mental wardrobe of every man. The president differs from other men in that he has a more extensive wardrobe. – Herbert Hoover Mari Mancusi • Michael held me when I got inside, because I was shaking all over. That felt so good. Warm all the way down. Did I mention Michael’s feet? They’re all the way sexy, and he’s always barefoot – he hates shoes. I wish he hated pants and shirts, too. – Rachel Caine • Morelli grabbed the front of my shirt, pulled me to him, and kissed me. It was a great kiss, but I didn’t know what the heck it meant. It seemed to me a breaking up kiss would have had less tongue. – Janet Evanovich • Most little children’s obsessions are robots and Barbie dolls. My obsession as a kid was the Versace house. I used to save up my pocket money to buy Versus shirts. I was that obsessed! – Riccardo Tisci • Most of the time, I’m in khakis and a white T-shirt. I’m a total Gap girl. Super casual, hair in a pony tail and no makeup. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • My father had put these things on the table. I looked at him standing by the sink. He was washing his hands, splashing water on his face. My mamma left us. My brother, too. And now my feckless, reckless uncle had as well. My pa stayed, though. My pa always stayed. I looked at him. And saw the sweat stains on his shirt. And his big, scarred hands. And his dirty, weary face. I remembered how, lying in my bed a few nights before, I had looked forward to showing him my uncle’s money. To telling him I was leaving. And I was so ashamed. – Jennifer Donnelly • My heart was a little bit broken, but I still had to go to school. I buttoned my dress shirt over it and my winter coat, too. I hoped it didn’t show too much. – Gabrielle Zevin • My Papa’s Waltz: The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. – Theodore Roethke • NASA has to approve whatever we wear, so there are clothes to choose from, like space shorts – we wear those a lot – and NASA T-shirts. – Sally Ride • Never knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. – T-shirt – Darynda Jones • No offense but I don’t relish being someone’s science experiment. Been there, done that, and sold the T-shirt for profit. (Sebastian) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • Oh, I can never get enough,” he said. “Which, incidentally, is what your sister said to me when – ” The carriage door flew open. A hand shot out, grabbed Will by the back of the shirt, and hauled him inside. The door banged shut after him, and Thomas, sitting bolt upright, seized reins of the horses. A moment later the carriage had lurched forth into the night, leaving Gabriel staring, infuriated, after it. – Cassandra Clare • Okay, I’ll wear the Bite Me shirt,[…]It’ll be my standard response to any-one who tries to hit on me.” I giggle. “Someone can come up and be like ‘Hey babe, what’s your sign?’ and I’ll just point to my shirt.” Rayne laughs appreciatively and tosses me the tank top. “Of course they might think you’re pointing to your boobs in a ‘have at ’em, big boy’ kind of way. • On the other hand it was bad manners to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if you’re getting it from an overweight cracker in a fringe shirt. – Ilona Andrews • One day she told me that they’d decided that my gender was divvied into two neat piles-Men and Guys. Basically, all the saints of the world: Men. The jerks, the players, the wet T-shirt contest aficionados? They were Guys. – Gayle Forman • Only Jace, Clary thought, could look cool in pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, but he pulled it off, probably through sheer force of will. -pg. 329- – Cassandra Clare • Or why you are wearing a picture of Santa Clause on you shirts, but-” “It’s Herman Melville. – Daniel Handler • Overdone lipstick is a deterrent to men. It rubs off easily onto their skin and the edges of their shirts, so it discourages them from kissing, touching, and coming closer to you, which is what they really want to do! – Helen Fisher • Paris answered for him. “Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again.” “I’m surprised you didn’t mention the part where you fainted,” Lucien said wryly. Strider chortled. “Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby!” “Hey,” Paris said, frowning at Lucien. “I told you I hit my head midflash.” Lucien Gena Showalter • Patch stood over me, and a drop of rain slid from his hair, landing like ice on my collarbone. I felt it slide along my skin, disappearing beneath the neckline of my shirt. His eyes followed the raindrop, and I began to quiver on the inside. – Becca Fitzpatrick • Patch was dressed in the usual: black shirt, black jeans and a thin silver necklace that flashed against his dark complexion. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and I could see his muscles working as he punched buttons. He was tall and lean and hard, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if under his clothes he bore several scars, souvenirs from street fights and other reckless behavior. Not that I wanted a look under his clothes. – Becca Fitzpatrick • People always expect Hulk Hogan to be standing up straight, or to have the bandanna on, or to not have my arms covered up. If I have an extra large shirt on people go ‘oh yeah you look small.’ It kind of ruins the mystique. – Hulk Hogan • People care about my personal life. But really I’m dorky! I drink beer and go to football games. And ya know, sit in my house in a t-shirt on the weekends and play with my dog! – Sophia Bush • Place unopened pouch in warm water for 5-10 minutes. Unopened pouch may be laid on a warm surface. Lay unopened pouch in direct sunlight. Not much chance of that down here. Place unopened pouch inside you shirt, allow you body temperature to warm your MRE. I was surprised they left out: Place unopened pouch on ground and pee on it. – S.A. Bodeen • Producers and studios know what sells. It’s nice to be one of the guys that can help sell a movie by taking his shirt off. – Kellan Lutz • Pulling on your country’s shirt is the greatest honour a footballer can have. It’s what I always dreamed of as a kid and I get a buzz every time. – Wayne Rooney • Rae burned me. She has matches or something. Look, look…” Tori pulled down the collar of her T-shirt. “Leave your cloths on, Tori,” Simon said, raising his hands to his eyes. “Please. – Kelley Armstrong Rain, Eye, Hair • Ramil met Tashi’s eyes with a mischievous look. “Now Wife we have a long voyage ahead of us with no interruptions, no affairs of state to sidetrack us.” He brushed his fingers againist the lacings of her neck. “Isn’t it time you returned that shirt to its owner? – Julia Golding • Remember the first time you went to a show and saw your favorite band. You wore their shirt, and sang every word. You didn’t know anything about scene politics, haircuts, or what was cool. All you knew was that this music made you feel different from anyone you shared a locker with. Someone finally understood you. This is what music is about. – Gerard Way • Rowdy, hopped-up college kids pass us in an endless, noisy blur like they’re being mass produced or squeezed out of a tube – guys skulking in their T-shirts and cargo shorts, girls in low-slung jeans and flip-flops, pimples and breasts and tattoos and lipstick and legs and bra straps, and cigarettes; a colorful, sexy melange. I feel old and tired and I just want to be them again, want to be young and stupid, filled with angst and attitude and unbridled lust. Can I have a do-over, please? I swear to God I’ll make a real go of it this time. – Jonathan Tropper • Rule number one of anime,” Simon said. He sat propped up against a pile of pillows at the foot of his bed, a bag of potato chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said I BLOGGED YOUR MOM and a pair of jeans that were ripped in one knee. “Never screw with a blind monk. – Cassandra Clare • Sailing is the closest I can get to nature – it’s adrenaline, fear, a constant challenge and learning experience, an adventure into the unknown. And of course there is nothing better than wearing the same T-shirt for days and not brushing my hair for weeks. – Daria Werbowy • Sejal had not thought of her home, or of India as a whole, as cool. She was dimly aware, however, of a white Westerner habit of wearing other cultures like T-shirts—the sticker bindis on club kids, sindoor in the hair of an unmarried pop star, Hindi characters inked carelessly on tight tank tops and pale flesh. She knew Americans liked to flash a little Indian or Japanese or African. They were always looking for a little pepper to put in their dish. – Adam Rex • Sharks are as tough as those football fans who take their shirts off during games in Chicago in January, only more intelligent. – Dave Barry • she glanced down and saw that a glove of blood covered her lower arm from the elbow to the wrist. The arm was throbbing, stiff, and painful. “Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?” she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.” He dug into his pocket and brought out his stele. “It would have been a lot less painful.- Cassandra Clare • She glanced up at him, and in that moment he pulled his wet shirt over his head. She forced her mind blank. Blank as a new sheet of paper, blank as a starless sky. He came to the fire and crouched before it. He rubbed the water from his bare arms and flicked it in the flames. She stared at the goose and sliced his drumstick carefully and thought of the blankest expression on the blankest face she could possibly imagine. It was a chilly evening; she thought about that. The goose would be delicious, they must eat as much of it as possible, they must not waste it; she thought about that. – Kristin Cashore • She heard Adrian say to Christian, ʺYou know, your shirtʹs kind of grungy-looking. Seems like you could put in a little more effort since youʹre dating a princess.ʺ – Richelle Mead • She sighed. Loudly. “Physical appearance is not what is important.” Yeah right. Tell that to any girl who hasn’t bothered to put on a presentable shirt or fix her hair because she’s only running into the grocery store to get a quart of milk for her grandmother, and who does she see tending the 7-ITEMS-OR-LESS cash register but the guy of her dreams, except she can’t even say hi—much less try to develop a meaningful relationship—since she looks like the poster child for the terminally geeky. – Vivian Vande Velde • She slid out from under his arm, and picked up his shirt from the floor. When she put it on, it failed to meet in the middle over her chest. that always worked in the movies, she thought, disgusted, and dropped it on the floor. – Jennifer Crusie • She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget. – Kami Garcia • She’s really gone, then. The little girl with the back of her shirt sticking out like a duck tail. – Suzanne Collins • Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.- Josh Lanyon • Sin met Mae and Alan coming into the flat. Mae frowned. “Is it no-shirts festival day?” “Every day with Nick is no-shirts festival day,” Alan said absently, but he was frowning too. – Sarah Rees Brennan • Since I was a child, I hated having to deal with my hair. I hated having to change my clothes. As a kid, I had a sailor shirt and the same old corduroy pants, and that’s what I wanted to wear everyday. – Patti Smith • Slippery slope. I carry a spare shirt, pretty soon I’m carrying spare pants. Then I’d need a suitcase. Next thing I know, I’ve got a house and a car and a savings plan and I’m filling out all kinds of forms. – Lee Child • So what about that key?” I asked. “I knew you’d be asking me about it sooner or later.” He pulled the cord out from underneath his shirt and dangled the key in front of me. “What do you want for it?” I sneered. “Five dollars?” “I don’t want money,” he said with a wicked grin. “What does it go to?” “A kiss will unlock more than this key will,” he whispered in my ear. – Ellen Schreiber • So, ah, I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re not wearing a shirt.” “Distracting, isn’t it? – Lisa McMann • So, what did you get for me?” Angeline paused for a beat. “Jeans.” “What?” croaked Artemis. “And a T-shirt. – Eoin Colfer • Some people have the meat-market mentality, so you’ve got to take your shirt off because it will bring girls into the theater. When that comes up on set, I challenge it. – Josh Hartnett • Sometimes I’m so tired, I look down at what I’m wearing, and if it’s comfortable enough to sleep in, I don’t even make it into my pajamas. I’m looking down, and I’m like, ‘T-shirt and stretchy pants? Yup, that’s fine. It’s pajama-y, good night.’ – Rebecca Romijn • Summer is a Latvian chicken. We make foolish choices. We think we’re young again. We run with outstretched arms toward an object of love and it pecks us and pecks us until we’re standing there snot-nosed and teary in the middle of Astor Place and the sun sets fire to our Penguin shirts and all that is left to do is go to our air-conditioned homes and ponder the cruelty of our finest season. – Gary Shteyngart • Sweet Jesus. It was The Delicious in the dark shirt and jeans. – Julie James • Taro came into the room, strands of hair flying free of the tie at the back of his skull, sweat plastering his cream-colored shirt against his chest and back. I wished I had an artist’s skill, that I could make renderings of him in all his states of beauty. He would never want to look at them, or even know about them. I would just like them for myself. Maybe he would want to see them when he was much older, and beautiful in a different way. – Moira J. Moore • The American dream is a crock. Stop wanting everything. Everyone should wear jeans and have three T-shirts, eat rice and beans. – Bill Hicks • The boys and girls in the clique. The awful names that they stick. You’re never gonna fit in much kid, but it you’re troubled and hurt, what you’ve got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did! – Gerard Way • The door banged open and Eve rushed out, flushed and mussed and still buttoning her shirt. “It’s not what you think.” She said. “It was just – oh OK, whatever, it was exactly what you think. Now WHAT? – Rachel Caine • the juniors were acting different because they are now the seniors. They even had T-shirts made. I don’t know who plans these things. – Stephen Chbosky • The man walked past me and stopped, observing the blood running down my neck. “Your injury. Let us tend to it.” He looked out through the open doorway and silently gestured to someone out there. “Our world,” he said, “is far more advanced than yours. For reasons you’ll understand shortly.” A thin, bony, naked woman entered the room, carrying two small, white kittens. She sat one of the fluffy cats in my lap and stuffed the other down my shirt. She turned and left. “There,” said the large man. “The kittens will make your sad go away. – David Wong • The reason I want you to put a shirt on is, well, because, um…” “You’ve never seen a guy with his shirt off?” “Ha, ha. Very funny. Believe me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” “Wanna bet?” he says, then moves his hands to the button on his jeans and pops it open. Isabel walks in at that exact moment. “Whoa, Alex. Please keep your pants on.- Simone Elkeles • The three biggest fashion mistakes are cheap suits, shoes, and shirts. Spend your money on something good. – Donatella Versace • The way I see it, life is a jelly doughnut. You don’t really know what it’s about until you bite into it. And then, just when you decided it’s good, you drop a big glob of jelly on your best T-shirt.- Janet Evanovich • The woman who opens the door has a blue stain on her shirt and dark hair wound into a messy knot and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They’re pale, like a lioness’s, nearly golden, but they also look like they’ve done their fair share of crying, and we all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn’t have any. – Jodi Picoult • Then he looked at my T-shirt and saw Byron’s picture on it and he quoted “She Walks in Beauty,” which is like my favorite poem next to the one by Baudelaire about his girlfriend being nothing but worm food, except that Lily called that one first because Baudelaire is her fave poet and so she got the shirt with him on it, even though Byron is way more scrumptious and I would do him on sharp gravel if I had the chance. –from The Chronicles of Abby Normal – Christopher Moore • There are other measures of self-respect for a man, than the number of clean shirts he puts on every day. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There is a preppy wabi-sabi to soft, faded khakis and cotton shirts, but it’s not nice to be surrounded by things that are worn out or stained or used up. – Gretchen Rubin • There was a courtroom scene where my son is convicted of killing Kevin Spacey’s character. I find the bloody T-shirt and realize my husband did it. I get up the courage to take the shirt and send it to the police as evidence. I go out of the house for the first time. There was all this stuff I had to do that became quite truncated, because they slimmed down the movie. I understand the American Beauty is brilliant without all that stuff, but for me, personally, it was hard to see all that go. – Allison Janney • There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus’s vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing. ‘Your stomach’s growling,’ I said. ‘I know it,’ he said. – Harper Lee • They walked to school, talking about how much they were longing for the summer holidays. “Oh, I am planning things,” said Jamie. “Great, great things. I could join a band.” “You gave up the guitar after two lessons.” “Well,” he said, “I could be a backup dancer.” “Backup dancers have to wear belly shirts and glitter,” said Mae. “So obviously, I support this plan. Sarah Rees Brennan • This is a team of gay dudes, isn’t it?” What gave it away? The pink shirts, or half our team drooling over you? – Simone Elkeles • This is going to sound crazy, but the first thing I do when I get home is take off all my clothes – at home, just around the house. I take everything off. I can’t stand clothes! I take everything off – my shoes, my socks, my watch, shirt, everything. I am completely naked. – Tom Ford • Thomas Pynchon looks exactly like Thomas Pynchon should look. He is tall, he wears lumberjack shirts and blue jeans. He has Albert Einstein white hair and Bugs Bunny front teeth. – Salman Rushdie • To be the name on somebody’s shirt that they’ve made themselves in preparation for one of your shows – it doesn’t get much cooler than that.Hunter Hayes • T-shirts for ten dollars are even more fashion today than expensive fashion. – Karl Lagerfeld • Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While the look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part. – Rachel Vincent • Walking over to Iggy, he poked him with his shoe. “Does anysing on you vork properly?” Iggy rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Well, I have a highly developed sense of irony.” Ter Borcht tsked. “You are a liability to your group. I assume you alvays hold onto someone’s shirt, yes? Following dem closely?” “Only when I’m trying to steal their dessert,” Iggy said truthfully. – James Patterson • Was I wearing my ‘I’m done with my virginity, please get rid of it for me’ T-shirt? – Rachel Vincent • We are not going to die.” Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. “We’re not?” No. And do you know why?” He shook his head. “Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I’m too stubborn to die.” I hauled on the shirt even harder. “And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die. – Jim Butcher • Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: if someone yells “stop!”, goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: the fights are bare knuckle. No shirt, no shoes, no weapons. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight. – Chuck Palahniuk • Well, he was wearing those really bad pants ant that awful shirt. Clearly he did need some things explained to him bya teenager, but i didn’t think it was the right time to mention his unforunate and obvious fashion impairment. – P. C. Cast • What was Dionysus going to go? Send him back to his hellish isolation? He’d been there, done that, and had the Ozzy T-shirt to prove it.’ (Styxx) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • What’s goin’ on?” I ask as I take a seat. “Obviously not this.” He tosses me my shirt from last night. “I found it on the floor of the den. It’s obvious there was some hanky-panky going on.” Okay, so he knows we fooled around. But at least he didn’t find Kiara’s bra on top of my shirt. “Yeah . . . things kinda got a little heated after you and Mrs. W. left the den last night,” I tell him. – Simone Elkeles • What’s it like to envision the ten-thousand-year environmental impact of tossing a plastic bottle into the trash bin, all in the single second it takes to actually toss it? Or the ten-thousand-year history of the fossil fuel being burned to drive to work or iron a shirt? It may be environmentally progressive, but it’s not altogether pleasant. – Douglas Rushkoff • When I revealed the campaign, some lady in the front row, a photographer, asked “is that airbrushed?” So I just lifted my shirt up and my stomach was the exact same thing as in the ads. It was actually kinda nice that she said that, because I’m sure plenty of people probably thought that. That’s one of the reasons I did it – especially when you work so hard to get your body to look like that – it’s frustrating. – Dara Torres When I was fourteen and first started going out, I always wanted to be the opposite of everyone else. So I would go to the club in a polo T-shirt and pants and sneakers and a hat on backward, just so I would not be dressed like other girls. – Rihanna • When I wear the national team shirt, its sole contact with my skin makes it stand on an end. – Diego Maradona • When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice. – Anne Michaels • When Rae got back, she spread her empty hands wide and said “Okay, guess where I hid it.” She even turned around for me, but I couldn’t see a bulge big enough to hide a flashlight. With a grin, she reached down the front of her shirt into the middle of her bra, and pulled out a flashlight with flourish. I laughed. “Cleavage is great,” she said. “Like an extra pocket. – Kelley Armstrong • Why are we, as a nation so obsessed with foreign things? Is it a legacy of our colonial years? We want foreign television sets. We want foreign shirts. We want foreign technology. Why this obsession with everything imported? – Abdul Kalam • Willow nestled against him. He smoothed her long hair down the back of her T-shirt, feeling its softness. In a few moments she fell asleep again, her breathing warm and regular against his chest. Alex kissed her head, his arms tightening around her. As he drifted back to sleep himself, he saw a brief flash of the thousands of angels streaming in, but right then it seemed distant, almost unimportant. The only thing that mattered was that he was lying in a bed holding Willow, their bare legs entwined. It was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. – L.A. Weatherly • With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know. – Hunter S. Thompson • You can put a new shirt on your back, slide a fresh chain around your neck, and accumulate all the money and power in the world, but at the end of the day those are just layers. Money and power don’t change you, they just further expose your true self. – Jay-Z • You could have the best suit in the world, but if you haven’t got the right shirt and tie with it you could look like a bag of rubbish. I think the shirt is the most important thing – you need a nice collar with it so that you can make it look good. • You don’t annoy me.” Carefully he rebuttoned the placket of her shirt. “I thought you did, at first. But now I realize it was more like the feeling you get when your foot’s been asleep. And when you start moving, the blood coming back into it is uncomfortable . . . but also good. Do you understand what I mean?” “Yes. I make your feet tingle.” A smile came to his lips. “Among other things. – Lisa Kleypas • You know how people love to glamorize poverty? There’s nothing glamorous about it. But it did make me really creative. Those days, I was literally taking t-shirts in the day and sewing them back together to make dresses for the night. – Beth Ditto • Your shoes have to match your belt. That’s rule number one for guys. You can’t put the brown shoes with the black belt. Or a brown belt with a black wristwatch. Just don’t do it! Also, I don’t like boots with suits. And when you wear sneakers, make sure they go with your shirt. – Ashton Kutcher • You’re barely even wearing a shirt! What are you going to do if a mugger jumps out at you, flash them? – Sarah Rees Brennan • Zach had rushed down to rescue me without remembering to put a shirt on…Maybe I had died and gone to heaven. – Meg Cabot • Zane brought her hand to his chest, over his heart and she felt the strong rapid beat through his shirt. “Feel that?” His throat worked as he swallowed. “It would break if I fell for you and anything happened that would take you away from me.” –Zane to Willow in ‘The Edge of Sin’ in the Real Men Last all Night anthology – Cheyenne McCray [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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

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

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

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

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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