#and after work I went up to the deli and chatted with the ladies . their sister is having a baby currently and they’re really excited

[ambersky0319]

Im in a weird limbo

Im really tired bc i did a lot today (for context i work in a deli). I..

Cleaned and prepped slicers as soon as i came in cause opening messed it up

Put out new items on the sales floor

Put items out on our counter displays & documented what we did and did not have so my manager knew what to order

Made a salad

Made subs

Had to take an order on the phone which everyone struggles to hear on but I especially struggle bc I cant hear shit on phones

Helped customers at the meat, salad, and hot plates (and consoled customers who were annoyed about our hot plate not having anything bc we dont have a cook)

Note some customers ask for multiple things. Sometimes each item a customer wants needs we need to open a new one. There will be lines. We were down 1 of 2 slicers so other employees could not help

Helped unpack containers, refill a scale's paper, and organize things

It was an 8 hour shift and I got a 20 min break. It was an early shift. I've been up since 5am.

One of my coworkers was injured recently. He is Not our cook but was trying to figure stuff out since our ACTUAL cook didnt show up (again). A different coworker came in late. ANOTHER coworker (this one a cook) was supposed to come in at a certain time so the last minute cook (that was not injured coworker, and he came in pretty late anyway but he also wasnt scheduled today) could go on break and also so we could kinda catch up on things didnt show up at that time (idek if she did come in)

However, I also feel super energized bc I...

Worked on some concepts for YSE during my break

Injured coworker & last minute cook are people I really like chatting with while working - injured coworker at the end of our shift helped finish subs while I helped customers

Customers were all really nice - some really made my day!

A guy's kid was really excited over some ham.

Another guy, when I realized I fucked up which meat I was supposed to be slicing for him, ended up just rolling w it and bought a pound of it instead (after sampling and calling his wife lol).

An older lady wanted a specific salad that we were practically out of on the counter, but we had it in the back so I made some more of it and when I was done she asked where my manager was; injured coworker asked why and she said she wanted to tell my manager how great I was

Manager keeps letting me know that for my first job I'm doing really well and that she asks me to do a lot bc I've done good on practically every task AND I can adapt pretty quickly

Despite being 8 hours it went by SUPER quickly (coming back from a 20 minute break my coworkers are always like "wait you went on break already?" THATS how fast it feels)

Despite all the tasks bc it went by so quickly it feels like I didn't actually do a lot

So yeah

weird energy limbo

and i gotta repeat it all tomorrow and sunday 🙃

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Jay's thoughts: Extended Cut

OH FUCK- ya know, this part is not going to help after the way Terrible Waste ended with Juno getting captured and knocked the fuck out.

OWWW- broken ribs are a PAIN holy shit Juno. lady's being put through the wringer <3 love that <3 (I AM AN ANGST WRITER, PUT THEM THROUGH THE HORRORS! MORE HORRORS!!)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- SCREAMING- ZEPH YOU MONSTER<<<<<3333333333 (affectionate) Getting flashbacks to Monster's Reflection part 2 now aguuuuuuuu-

"gap toothed smile" STOP-

STOP STOP STOP STOP- POUNDING THE GROUND, ZEPH- first the jupeter reunion gone bad, now the steel twins jvbbvsfjbfsjgbfrsjb IM EATING GLASS THIS ISNT FAIR- CATAPULTING INTO HIS ARMS?? BRO GTFO IM JGBISGBRJKBGFRSJBN "And gods, if it didn’t make him feel like he could tear down this whole damn town with nothing but his own two hands." GFRSBJKSTRMBGTJIKLDMXVBDNF

Ben and Rita shaking hands meme, chatting away. yapping all day. :")

"Feels like I got hit by an angry toddler with a brick." bgfsijgsb- this is how three foot tall King of Hades, Slip Jackson can still win!!!

“You and I both know Mick could get knocked out from tripping over his own shoelaces. That does not give you bragging rights.” this is mick mercury slander!! how dare!! my boy failure!! (mick is me tho, sprained my ankle 6 times, and the fifth time it happened at work my coworker had his back turned and when he turned back around he went "jay no, no jay- not again" while i sat on the deli back hallway with tears in my eyes smiling and nodding and pitiful. he got my managers wheely computer chair and helped me up to sit down on it tho so all was forgiven ig)

"By the way, what happened to the eye? You lose a bet or something?" wellllll- welllllllllllllllll- tbh i've been wondering the same thing but like, this is fiction. this is fantasy fiction. anything could've happened at this point to make juno lose his eye

"the forgetfulness" ZEPH YOU CANT BE SLY IMMA- JFBSJIGBSJB

"why haven't you fought back yet?" same juno same, thank you for asking. mmm- making think of terrible waste now dammit mmmmm-

VESPA VESPA VESPA VESPA MY WIFE!! when i write her for Out in the Cold Field i am lowkey tempted to write her much much softer than she is here. she's still Vespa alr, still paranoid and has hallucinations and trauma, but ya know that clip of her in WLB "heh- wife." and you know how soft she behaves around buddy in Infernal Grind? that's what i wanna focus on. and this vespa here is the hardened one from death, the one who doesn't know about what Buddy tried to do. the one who has accepted her fate. this is the Vespa that we see in Clean Break when she's trying to pull Steel forward even if she also knows Ransom is there with them. aaaaaaaaaaaagggggg- but also Vespa probably internally going "oh goddess oh no now there's TWO of them??"

"this is the way it is" mmmmmmm-

"If none of you can ever work your way out of here, then what is the point of working at all?" OGOGOGOGOGOOGOGOGOGO- the monkey inside of my raccoon persona is going ape shit. fucking- Juno sees the world the way it could be, Ben sees the world the way it is!!! I seriously had to look up the lyrics again to If It's True and im still going ape shit. my predictions! might have been right!

M'tendere knowing what they died trying to do, knowing for centuries probably what an actual hell Hadestown had become and yet they kept turning a blind eye to it until they couldn't anymore. died trying to make the world a better place, trying to balance out all the hurt they brought about-

"a small group should tell everyone what is true and what is right." YOU SAID IT VESPA!!! IF ITS TRUE-

“Well, then. In that case, M’tendere, would you mind drafting some invitations? And Vespa, would you mind spreading them around? It seems we’ve got a party to plan.” BOUNCING IN PLACE I AM SO EXCITED!!!!! BARK BARK BARK BARK

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 14

yaaaay part 14!!! my favorite number!!!! i love this!!! apologies for the delay, school has been kicking my ass lately lol

okay kids, settle in: it's story time!!! this one is a longer one (around 2,000 words!!) which is part of why it took me a while lol

@smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye

The first thing he became aware of was the smell. Coal dust and dry wood and faint fire smoke, like some kind of strange cologne. The air was thick and heavy with it and he struggled to breathe in. The second thing was the dull pain traveling through his skull. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, radiating out from a central point of the back of his skull.

His eye blinked open slowly and painfully to reveal several stacks of wooden crates, a few garbage cans, and the stone walls of some building. He didn’t know where he was.

Juno groaned, and tried to sit up and see more of his surroundings before a wave of dizziness hit him like a sledgehammer, and he fell backwards against the ground. He closed his eye again in the hopes the world might stop spinning long enough for him to be able to get up and escape this place.

Slowly, it all began to come back to him.

Peter’s deal and lack of voice. His insistence to save him. Slip telling him to leave. Juno refusing to go. Slip calling the executives. One of them whacking him on the back of the head. The world going dark.

He wasn’t sure what had happened after that, but he knew his body hurt like hell. After a few minutes, he figured the worst of the damage was probably a cracked rib or two that screamed whenever he tried to breathe normally. Everything else seemed to be a bruise or scrape. They must have beat the hell out of him and then dragged him to this alley.

He lay there for a few more minutes trying to work up the strength to stand, but couldn’t find it in him. 

Suddenly, there were footsteps approaching, quiet and even. He couldn’t tell from where.

The workers? The executives? Slip himself? 

A shot of adrenaline raced through his veins.

He pushed himself into a corner and grabbed the neck of a shattered bottle in defense. It might not have been his preferred weapon, but it was better than nothing.

The footsteps got closer.

Juno’s breathing was painful and shaky.

Even closer.

A figure rounded the corner. They spotted Juno, and raised their hands in defense.

“Whoaaa!! Hey, buddy, I don’t mean any harm! Man, if I had a nickel for every time I found someone in an alley who started pointing a weapon at me...”

Juno’s eye widened. It couldn’t be.

The figure stepped forward, and a little of the orange glow of the nearby metalworks fell on their face. “Hey, are you hurt? Do you need help at all?” they asked, crouching down to just above Juno’s level.

He knew this man’s face. He would know that voice even at the ends of the earth. Both had haunted his dreams for the last 20 years, and still echoed in his waking.

Benten.

His face floated across from Juno, smiling and slightly sheepish, but just exactly as Juno remembered him. Warm eyes, vaguely mischievous expression, gap-toothed smile, gentle hands, hair in neat braids knotted on top of his head. Juno felt his face going pale and the bottleneck slipping from his grip as this ghost looked at him in increasing concern. And suddenly a strange sort of fear began creeping over him.

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Oh gods, I’m dead. I died.” 

The specter of Ben snorted and rolled its eyes. “Yeahhhh, sure, let’s go with that. Pretty much everyone is in Hadestown. Kind of comes with the territory, you know?”

Juno couldn’t say anything in response. His mouth had gone completely dry. He just kept staring, breathing hard and ragged. The bottle clinked to the hard ground and Ben’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Are you sure you don’t need…” Ben’s voice trailed off as he leaned a bit closer to Juno’s face.

His eyes went wider the longer he looked. Ben drew in a sharp breath.

“Oh gods. I don’t……. Juno?” he asked, so quietly Juno barely heard it over the distant clanging of pickaxes and the grinding of factory gears.

“Ben,” Juno choked out.

And then Ben catapulted himself into Juno’s arms, and they were both laughing and crying. Juno didn’t even mind the pain. He hadn’t felt this full of joy in a very long time. His brother was here again, solid and real and warm in his arms. And gods, if it didn’t make him feel like he could tear down this whole damn town with nothing but his own two hands.

“Juno!!! Super Steel!! It’s been so long, did you miss me? How in Hades did you get down here? Did you die? Or did you sneak in? If you did, it’s a little unlike you, because I was always better at getting into trouble and you were better at planning it but not really carrying through. OH, and you’ll never guess who I met! I ran into your HUSBAND. Your HUSBAND, man!! I can’t believe you got married and never told me!” Ben chattered away, eyes glittering with excitement and joy and a few tears he couldn’t stop from rolling down his face.

“Slow down, Ben, give me a second!” Juno hissed through his teeth as a spike of pain lanced his lungs.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“About as good as I can be considering I think I just had the hell beat out of me. Could you help me up? Feels like I got hit by an angry toddler with a brick.”

Ben stood, wrapped his arm around Juno’s shoulders, and pulled him onto his feet before giving him a peculiar look that Juno was in a bit too much pain to decipher.

“What is it, Ben?”

“Nothing, it’s just-” he sighed, “It’s good to see you again. I missed you.”

A smile crept onto Juno’s face. “I missed you too. Loser.”

“Oh come on, I am NOT a loser!”

“Yes, you are. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“If I’m a loser then you’re…. Well, I’m not sure what you are, but at least I’ve never ended up bloody and bruised in a random alley somewhere.”

“You’re acting like you never took a punch when we were kids.”

“The only punches I ever took were from you, and you hit like a feather, Super Steel.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I knocked Mick out once.”

“You and I both know Mick could get knocked out from tripping over his own shoelaces. That does not give you bragging rights.”

Juno stuck out his tongue in response and Ben recoiled, one hand pressed to his chest in mock offense and disdain.

“Really! I thought we were a little more grown up than that! If you keep behaving like that, I won’t be able to take you back to the hideout! You see, we only allow adults in there, and you, Super Steel, are not acting like an adult right now.”

Juno rolled his eye and sighed the deeply exasperated sigh only produced by interacting with one’s sibling. “Okay, fine. I apologize for sticking my tongue out at you.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Aaaaaand for calling you a loser.”

“That’s more like it! I’ll take you back to see Vespa. She’ll be able to do something about those bruises and scrapes of yours. By the way, what happened to the eye? You lose a bet or something?”

—----------------------------------

It was slow going to get back to the hideout. Juno couldn’t walk too fast from a shooting pain in his shin and the probably cracked rib, but Ben was more than happy to spend the time talking and catching up on everything he missed. Juno told him about the bar he worked at, about Buddy and Jet and Rita, about the nasty winter that hadn’t let up for years, about his reason for the journey down here. In return, Ben told him about Hadestown, the work hours, the jobs, the forgetfulness, the cruelty of Slip and the executives.

“Why haven’t you fought back yet?” Juno asked, limping through the door to the hideout before gingerly lowering himself onto a mat on the floor.

Ben shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about, Super Steel?”

“Against the executives. Against Slip. This whole thing is so unfair. Why haven’t you guys tried to fight back yet?”

“Not sure.” A tall person with long white dreads who was seated at the table responded as they entered. “Maybe it’s because they own all of us?” 

“Hey, Vespa? You here? We got someone who needs some patching up!” Ben called into the recesses of the house.

A moment or two later, a woman with short, spiky, neon green hair emerged, rubbing her eyes. “This better be good, Steel. I was in the middle of a nap,” she muttered, shooting daggers at Ben.

“It’s my brother. My twin. He’s got some scrapes and a couple nasty bruises you might wanna look at.”

The woman, Vespa, glanced between Ben and Juno before giving Ben a glare that could have singed wood. “You woke me up for some scrapes and bruises?”

Ben went completely silent and stared at the floor. The person opened their mouth to speak, but Juno beat them to it. “Yeah, he did. I think I got a broken rib, too.”

Vespa’s lazer-sharp gaze turned on him the second he began speaking. Juno stared right back. She looked him up and down for a moment before letting out a small huff and turning back down the dark hallway she came from. She returned shortly after, carrying a small bag filled with medical supplies that she threw down next to Juno.

“Is it true?” Juno asked, wincing occasionally as Vespa began to take a small antiseptic wipe to some of the more prominent scrapes.

“Is what true?” Ben countered, leaning against one wall.

“That Nureyev signed the contract. That there’s nothing I can do to save him.”

“Yup,” chirped Vespa. “We’re all fucked down here.”

“Vespa,” the person at the table said, shooting a warning glance in her direction. “Leave him be. He just lost his husband.”

Vespa sighed. “I know, I know, M’tendere, but if he’s going to be down here, he should at least know what he’s up against.”

“It’s just…. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. None of this is fair!”

“We know, Juno,” Ben sighed. “We also don’t think it’s fair that the world is like this, but that’s the way it is.”

There was silence for a minute as Juno chewed on his lip and Vespa finished bandaging one of the more major cuts.

“It shouldn’t be that way,” Juno finally whispered into the silence. “If I can’t save him, then what’s the point of me even being here? If none of you can ever work your way out of here, then what is the point of working at all?”

Ben, Vespa, and M’tendere exchanged a look. Juno continued staring at the floor, biting his tongue. This was just… so unfair. And he was so sick and tired of having to deal with it. He was slowly losing everything he had to Hadestown: his husband, his brother, his health, and now his ability to change anything for the better. It didn’t work on the surface, so why should it work down here?

But slowly, M’tendere began to nod. “He’s right, you know. Why should we even be working if we aren’t getting anything out of it?”

“You said it yourself! Because they own us,” Ben said as he threw his hands up to the ceiling.

“But there’s more of us than there are of them. Strength in numbers and all that. It isn’t right that a small group should tell everyone what is true and what is right. The many should decide that for themselves.” Vespa stood from where she had been crouching next to Juno on the floor.

“You could bring Hadestown to a standstill if you all just stopped working for a few days,” Juno said, easing himself up off the ground to stand next to Vespa. “Coal miners used to do it back on the surface to get better working conditions and pay. It could work here too.”

Ben was quiet for a minute, and Juno noticed that his face had gone suddenly thoughtful. “Huh. They couldn’t stop all of us, could they? If we partied around and had wine and flowers for a few days?”

A slow grin crept over Juno’s face. “No. No, they could only try.”

A matching grin appeared on Ben’s face. “Well, then. In that case, M’tendere, would you mind drafting some invitations? And Vespa, would you mind spreading them around? It seems we’ve got a party to plan.”

[rowanhoney]

ive had such a cute day!!

[hlupdate]

Harry Styles isn’t exactly dressed down for lunch. He’s got a white floppy hat that Diana Ross might have won from Elton in a poker game at Cher’s mansion circa 1974, plus Gucci shades, a cashmere sweater, and blue denim bell-bottoms. His nail polish is pink and mint green. He’s also carrying his purse — no other word for it — a yellow patent-canvas bag with the logo “Chateau Marmont.” The tough old ladies who work at this Beverly Hills deli know him well. Gloria and Raisa dote on him, calling him “my love” and bringing him his usual tuna salad and iced coffee. He turns heads, to put it mildly, but nobody comes near because the waitresses hover around the booth protectively.

He was just a small-town English lad of 16 when he became his generation’s pop idol with One Direction. When the group went on hiatus, he struck out on his own with his brash 2017 solo debut, whose lead single was the magnificently over-the-top six-minute piano ballad “Sign of the Times.” Even people who missed out on One Direction were shocked to learn the truth: This pinup boy was a rock star at heart.

A quick highlight reel of Harry’s 2019 so far: He hosted the Met Gala with Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Alessandro Michele, and Anna Wintour serving an eyebrow-raising black lace red-carpet look. He is the official face of a designer genderless fragrance, Gucci’s Mémoire d’une Odeur. When James Corden had an all-star dodgeball match on The Late Late Show, Harry got spiked by a hard serve from Michelle Obama, making him perhaps the first Englishman ever hit in the nads on TV by a First Lady.

Closer to his heart, he brought down the house at this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony with his tribute to his friend and idol Stevie Nicks. “She’s always there for you,” Harry said in his speech. “She knows what you need: advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl.” He added, “She’s responsible for more running mascara — including my own — than all the bad dates in history.” (Backstage, Nicks accidentally referred to Harry’s former band as “’NSync.” Hey, a goddess can get away with that sort of thing.)

Harry has been the world’s It boy for nearly a decade now. The weirdest thing about him? He loves being this guy. In a style of fast-lane celebrity that takes a ruthless toll on the artist’s personality, creativity, sanity, Harry is almost freakishly at ease. He has managed to grow up in public with all his boyish enthusiasm intact, not to mention his manners. He’s dated a string of high-profile women — but he never gets caught uttering any of their names in public, much less shading any of them. Instead of going the usual superstar-pop route — en vogue producers, celebrity duets, glitzy club beats — he’s gone his own way, and gotten more popular than ever. He’s putting the finishing touches on his new album, full of the toughest, most soulful songs he’s written yet. As he explains, “It’s all about having sex and feeling sad.”

The Harry Charm is a force of nature, and it can be almost frightening to witness in action. The most startling example might be a backstage photo from February taken with one of his heroes, Van Morrison. You have never seen a Van picture like this one. He’s been posing for photos for 50 years, and he’s been refusing to crack a smile in nearly all of them. Until he met Harry — for some reason, Van beams like a giddy schoolgirl. What did Harry do to him? “I was tickling him behind his back,” Harry confides. “Somebody sent me that photo — I think his tour manager took it. When I saw it, I felt like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction opening the case with the gold light shining. I was like, ‘Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t show this to anyone.’”

In interviews, Harry has always tended to coast on that charm, simply because he can. In his teens, he was in public every minute and became adept at guarding every scrap of his privacy. But these days, he’s finding out he has things he wants to say. He’s more confident about thinking out loud and seeing what happens. “Looser” is how he puts it. “More open. I’m discovering how much better it makes me feel to be open with friends. Feeling that vulnerability, rather than holding everything in.”

Like a lot of people his age, he’s asking questions about culture, gender, identity, new ideas about masculinity and sexuality. “I feel pretty lucky to have a group of friends who are guys who would talk about their emotions and be really open,” he says. “My friend’s dad said to me, ‘You guys are so much better at it than we are. I never had friends I could really talk to. It’s good that you guys have each other because you talk about real shit. We just didn’t.’”

It’s changed how he approaches his songs. “For me, it doesn’t mean I’ll sit down and be like, ‘This is what I have for dinner, and this is where I eat every day, and this is what I do before I go to bed,’” he says. “But I will tell you that I can be really pathetic when I’m jealous. Feeling happier than I’ve ever been, sadder than I’ve ever been, feeling sorry for myself, being mad at myself, being petty and pitiful — it feels really different to share that.”

At times, Harry sounds like an ordinary 25-year-old figuring his shit out, which, of course, he is. (Harry and I got to know each other last year, when he got in touch after reading one of my books, though I’d already been writing about his music for years.) It’s strange to hear him talk about shedding his anxieties and doubts, since he’s always come across as one of the planet’s most confident people. “While I was in the band,” he says, “I was constantly scared I might sing a wrong note. I felt so much weight in terms of not getting things wrong. I remember when I signed my record deal and I asked my manager, ‘What happens if I get arrested? Does it mean the contract is null and void?’ Now, I feel like the fans have given me an environment to be myself and grow up and create this safe space to learn and make mistakes.”

We slip out the back and spend a Saturday afternoon cruising L.A. in his 1972 silver Jaguar E-type. The radio doesn’t work, so we just sing “Old Town Road.” He marvels, “‘Bull riding and boobies’ — that is potentially the greatest lyric in any song ever.” Harry used to be pop’s mystery boy, so diplomatic and tight-lipped. But as he opens up over time, telling his story, he reaches the point where he’s pitching possible headlines for this profile. His best: “Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations.”

How did he get to this new place? As it turns out, the journey involves some heartbreak. Some guidance from David Bowie. Some Transcendental Meditation. And more than a handful of magic mushrooms. But mostly, it comes down to a curious kid who can’t decide whether to be the world’s most ardently adored pop star, or a freaky artiste. So he decides to be both.

Two things about English rock stars never change: They love Southern California, and they love cars. A few days after Harry proclaimed the genius of “Old Town Road,” we’re in a different ride — a Tesla — cruising the Pacific Coast Highway while Harry sings along to the radio. “Californiaaaaaa!” he yells from behind the wheel as we whip past Zuma Beach. “It sucks!” There’s a surprising number of couples along the beach who seem to be arguing. We speculate on which ones are breaking up and which are merely having the talk. “Ah, yes, the talk,” Harry says dreamily. “Ye olde chat.”

Harry is feeling the smooth Seventies yacht-rock grooves today, blasting Gerry Rafferty, Pablo Cruise, Hall and Oates. When I mention that Nina Simone once did a version of “Rich Girl,” he needs to hear it right away. He counters by blowing my mind with Donny Hathaway’s version of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy.”

Harry raves about a quintessential SoCal trip he just tried: a “cold sauna,” a process that involves getting locked in an ice chamber. His eyelashes froze. We stop for a smoothie (“It’s basically ice cream”) and his favorite pepper-intensive wheatgrass shot. It goes down like a dose of battery acid. “That’ll add years to your life,” he assures me.

We’re on our way to Shangri-La studios in Malibu, founded by the Band back in the 1970s, now owned by Rick Rubin. It’s where Harry made some of the upcoming album, and as we walk in, he grins at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Did a lot of mushrooms in here.”

Psychedelics have started to play a key role in his creative process. “We’d do mushrooms, lie down on the grass, and listen to Paul McCartney’s Ram in the sunshine,” he says. “We’d just turn the speakers into the yard.” The chocolate edibles were kept in the studio fridge, right next to the blender. “You’d hear the blender going, and think, ‘So we’re all having frozen margaritas at 10 a.m. this morning.’” He points to a corner: “This is where I was standing when we were doing mushrooms and I bit off the tip of my tongue. So I was trying to sing with all this blood gushing out of my mouth. So many fond memories, this place.”

It’s not mere rock-star debauchery — it’s emblematic of his new state of mind. You get the feeling this is why he enjoys studios so much. After so many years making One Direction albums while touring, always on the run, he finally gets to take his time and embrace the insanity of it all. “We were here for six weeks in Malibu, without going into the city,” he says. “People would bring their dogs and kids. We’d take a break to play cornhole tournaments. Family values!” But it’s also the place where he has proudly bled for his art. “Mushrooms and Blood. Now there’s an album title.”

Some of the engineers come over to catch up on gossip. Harry gestures out the window to the Pacific waves, where the occasional nude revelry might have happened, and where the occasional pair of pants got lost. “There was one night where we’d been partying a bit and ended up going down to the beach and I lost all my stuff, basically,” he says. “I lost all my clothes. I lost my wallet. Maybe a month later, somebody found my wallet and mailed it back, anonymously. I guess it just popped out of the sand. But what’s sad is, I lost my favorite mustard corduroy flares.” A moment of silence is held for the corduroy flares.

Recording in the studio today is Brockhampton, the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest boy band.” Harry says hi to all the Brockhampton guys, which takes a while since there seem to be a few dozen of them. “We’re together all the time,” one tells Harry out in the yard. “We see each other all day, every day.” He pauses. “You know how it is.”

Harry breaks into a dry grin. “Yes, I know how it is.”

One Direction made three of this century’s biggest and best pop albums in a rush — Midnight Memories, Four and Made in the A.M. Yet they cut those records on tour, ducking into the nearest studio when they had a day off. 1D were a unique mix of five different musical personalities: Harry, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne. But the pace took its toll. Malik quit in the middle of a tour, immediately after a show in Hong Kong. The band announced its hiatus in August 2015.

It’s traditional for boy-band singers, as they go solo and grow up, to renounce their pop past. Everybody remembers George Michael setting his leather jacket on fire, or Sting quitting the Police to make jazz records. This isn’t really Harry Styles’ mentality. “I know it’s the thing that always happens. When somebody gets out of a band, they go, ‘That wasn’t me. I was held back.’ But it was me. And I don’t feel like I was held back at all. It was so much fun. If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not like I was tied to a radiator.”

Whenever Harry mentions One Direction — never by name, always “the band” or “the band I was in” — he uses the past tense. It is my unpleasant duty to ask: Does he see 1D as over? “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d ever say I’d never do it again, because I don’t feel that way. If there’s a time when we all really want to do it, that’s the only time for us to do it, because I don’t think it should be about anything else other than the fact that we’re all like, ‘Hey, this was really fun. We should do this again.’ But until that time, I feel like I’m really enjoying making music and experimenting. I enjoy making music this way too much to see myself doing a full switch, to go back and do that again. Because I also think if we went back to doing things the same way, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway.”

When the band stopped, did he take those friendships with him? “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Definitely. Because above all else, we’re the people who went through that. We’re always going to have that, even if we’re not the closest. And the fact is, just because you’re in a band with someone doesn’t mean you have to be best friends. That’s not always how it works. Just because Fleetwood Mac fight, that doesn’t mean they’re not amazing. I think even in the disagreements, there’s always a mutual respect for each other — we did this really cool thing together, and we’ll always have that. It’s too important to me to ever be like, ‘Oh, that’s done.’ But if it happens, it will happen for the right reasons.”

If the intensity of the Harry fandom ever seems mysterious to you, there’s a live clip you might want to investigate, from the summer of 2018. Just search the phrase “Tina, she’s gay.” In San Jose, on one of the final nights of his tour, Harry spots a fan with a homemade sign: “I’m Gonna Come Out to My Parents Because of You!” He asks the fan her name (she says it’s Grace) and her mother’s name (Tina). He asks the audience for silence because he has an important announcement to make: “Tina! She’s gaaaaay!” Then he has the entire crowd say it together. Thousands of strangers start yelling “Tina, she’s gay,” and every one of them clearly means it — it’s a heavy moment, definitely not a sound you forget after you hear it. Then Harry sings “What Makes You Beautiful.” (Of course, the way things work now, the clip went viral within minutes. So did Grace’s photo of Tina giving a loving thumbs-up to her now-out teenage daughter. Grace and Tina attended Harry’s next show together.)

Harry likes to cultivate an aura of sexual ambiguity, as overt as the pink polish on his nails. He’s dated women throughout his life as a public figure, yet he has consistently refused to put any kind of label on his sexuality. On his first solo tour, he frequently waved the pride, bi, and trans flags, along with the Black Lives Matter flag. In Philly, he waved a rainbow flag he borrowed from a fan up front: “Make America Gay Again.” One of the live fan favorites: “Medicine,” a guitar jam that sounds a bit like the Grateful Dead circa Europe ’72, but with a flamboyantly pansexual hook: “The boys and girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it.”

He’s always had a flair for flourishes like this, since the 1D days. An iconic clip from November 2014: Harry and Liam are on a U.K. chat show. The host asks the oldest boy-band fan-bait question in the book: What do they look for in a date? “Female,” Liam quips. “That’s a good trait.” Harry shrugs. “Not that important.” Liam is taken aback. The host is in shock. On tour in the U.S. that year, he wore a Michael Sam football jersey, in support of the first openly gay player drafted by an NFL team. He’s blown up previously unknown queer artists like King Princess and Muna.

What do those flags onstage mean to him? “I want to make people feel comfortable being whatever they want to be,” he says. “Maybe at a show you can have a moment of knowing that you’re not alone. I’m aware that as a white male, I don’t go through the same things as a lot of the people that come to the shows. I can’t claim that I know what it’s like, because I don’t. So I’m not trying to say, ‘I understand what it’s like.’ I’m just trying to make people feel included and seen.”

On tour, he had an End Gun Violence sticker on his guitar; he added a Black Lives Matter sticker, as well as the flag. “It’s not about me trying to champion the cause, because I’m not the person to do that,” he says. “It’s just about not ignoring it, I guess. I was a little nervous to do that because the last thing I wanted was for it to feel like I was saying, ‘Look at me! I’m the good guy!’ I didn’t want anyone who was really involved in the movement to think, ‘What the fuck do you know?’ But then when I did it, I realized people got it. Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’”

At one of his earliest solo shows, in Stockholm, he announced, “If you are black, if you are white, if you are gay, if you are straight, if you are transgender — whoever you are, whoever you want to be, I support you. I love every single one of you.” “It’s a room full of accepting people.… If you’re someone who feels like an outsider, you’re not always in a big crowd like that,” he says. “It’s not about, ‘Oh, I get what it’s like,’ because I don’t. For example, I go walking at night before bed most of the time. I was talking about that with a female friend and she said, ‘Do you feel safe doing that?’ And I do. But when I walk, I’m more aware that I feel OK to walk at night, and some of my friends wouldn’t. I’m not saying I know what it feels like to go through that. It’s just being aware.”

‘Man cannot live by coffee alone,” Harry says. “But he will give it a damn good try.” He sips his iced Americano — not his first today, or his last. He’s back behind the wheel, on a mission to yet another studio — but this time for actual work. Today it’s string overdubs. Harry is dressed in Gucci from head to toe, except for one item of clothing: a ratty Seventies rock T-shirt he proudly scavenged from a vintage shop. It says “Commander Quaalude.”

On the drive over, he puts on the jazz pianist Bill Evans — “Peace Piece,” from 1959, which is the wake-up tone on his phone. He just got into jazz during a long sojourn in Japan. He likes to find places to hide out and be anonymous: For his first album, he decamped to Jamaica. Over the past year, he spent months roaming Japan.

In February, he spent his 25th birthday sitting by himself in a Tokyo cafe, reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. “I love Murakami,” he says. “He’s one of my favorites. Reading didn’t really used to be my thing. I had such a short attention span. But I was dating someone who gave me some books; I felt like I had to read them because she’d think I was a dummy if I didn’t read them.”

A friend gave him Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. “It was the first book, maybe ever, where all I wanted to do all day was read this,” he says. “I had a very Murakami birthday because I ended up staying in Tokyo on my own. I had grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast, then I went to this cafe. I sat and drank tea and read for five hours.”

In the studio, he’s overseeing the string quartet. He has the engineers play T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” for them, to illustrate the vibe he’s going for. You can see he enjoys being on this side of the glass, sitting at the Neve board, giving his instructions to the musicians. After a few run-throughs, he presses the intercom button to say, “Yeah, it’s pretty T. Rex. Best damn strings I ever heard.” He buzzes again to add, “And you’re all wonderful people.”

He’s curated his own weird enclave of kindred spirits to collaborate with, like producers Jeff Bhasker and Tyler Johnson. His guitarist Mitch Rowland was working at an L.A. pizza shop when Harry met him. They started writing songs for the debut; Rowland didn’t quit his job until two weeks into the sessions. One of his closest collaborators is also one of his best friends: Tom Hull, a.k.a. Kid Harpoon, a longtime cohort of Florence and the Machine. Hull is an effusive Brit with a heart-on-sleeve personality. Harry calls him “my emotional rock.” Hull calls him “Gary.”

Hull was the one who talked him into taking a course on Transcendental Meditation at David Lynch’s institute — beginning each day with 20 minutes of silence, which doesn’t always come naturally to either of them. “He’s got this wise-beyond-his-years timelessness about him,” Hull says. “That’s why he went on a whole emotional exploration with these songs.” He’s 12 years older, with a wife and kids in Scotland, and talks about Harry like an irreverent but doting big brother.

Last year, Harry was in the gossip columns dating the French model Camille Rowe; they split up last summer after a year together. “He went through this breakup that had a big impact on him,” Hull says. “I turned up on Day One in the studio, and I had these really nice slippers on. His ex-girlfriend that he was really cut up about, she gave them to me as a present — she bought slippers for my whole family. We’re still close friends with her. I thought, ‘I like these slippers. Can I wear them — is that weird?’

“So I turn up at Shangri-La the first day and literally within the first half-hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Where’d you get those slippers? They’re nice.’ I had to say, ‘Oh, um, your ex-girlfriend got them for me.’ He said, ‘Whaaaat? How could you wear those?’ He had a whole emotional journey about her, this whole relationship. But I kept saying, ‘The best way of dealing with it is to put it in these songs you’re writing.’”

True to his code of gallant discretion, Harry doesn’t say her name at any point. But he admits the songs are coming from personal heartbreak. “It’s not like I’ve ever sat and done an interview and said, ‘So I was in a relationship, and this is what happened,’” he says. “Because, for me, music is where I let that cross over. It’s the only place, strangely, where it feels right to let that cross over.”

The new songs are certainly charged with pain. “The stars didn’t align for them to be a forever thing,” Hull says. “But I told him that famous Iggy Pop quote where he says, ‘I only ever date women who are going to fuck me up, because that’s where the songs are.’ I said, ‘You’re 24, 25 years old, you’re in the eligible-bachelor category. Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up, and explore and have an adventure and let it affect you and write songs about it.’”

His band is full of indie rockers who’ve gotten swept up in Hurricane Harry. Before becoming his iconic drum goddess, Sarah Jones played in New Young Pony Club, a London band fondly remembered by a few dozen of us. Rowland and Jones barely knew anything about One Direction before they met Harry — the first time they heard “Story of My Life” was when he asked them to play it. Their conversation is full of references to Big Star or Guided by Voices or the Nils Lofgren guitar solo in Neil Young’s “Speakin’ Out.” This is a band full of shameless rock geeks, untainted by industry professionalism.

In the studio, while making the album, Harry kept watching a vintage Bowie clip on his phone — a late-Nineties TV interview I’d never seen. As he plays it for me, he recites along — he’s got the rap memorized. “Never play to the gallery,” Bowie advises. “Never work for other people in what you do.” For Harry, this was an inspiring pep talk — a reminder not to play it safe. As Bowie says, “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

He got so obsessive about Joni Mitchell and her 1971 classic Blue, he went on a quest. “I was in a big Joni hole,” he says. “I kept hearing the dulcimer all over Blue. So I tracked down the lady who built Joni’s dulcimers in the Sixties.” He found her living in Culver City. “She said, ‘Come and see me,’” Hull says. “We turn up at her house and he said, ‘How do you even play a dulcimer?’ She gave us a lesson. Then she got a bongo and we were all jamming with these big Cheshire Cat grins.” She built the dulcimer Harry plays on the new album. “Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, those are my two favorites,” he says. “Blue and Astral Weeks are just the ultimate in terms of songwriting. Melody-wise, they’re in their own lane.”

He’s always been the type to go overboard with his fanboy enthusiasms, ever since he was a kid and got his mind blown by Pulp Fiction. “I watched it when I was probably too young,” he admits. “But when I was 13, I saved up money from my paper route to buy a ‘Bad Motherfucker’ wallet. Just a stupid white kid in the English countryside with that wallet.” While in Japan, he got obsessively into Paul McCartney and Wings, especially London Town and Back to the Egg. “In Tokyo I used to go to a vinyl bar, but the bartender didn’t have Wings records. So I brought him Back to the Egg. ‘Arrow Through Me,’ that was the song I had to hear every day when I was in Japan.”

He credits meditation for helping to loosen him up. “I was such a skeptic going in,” he says. “But I think meditation has helped with worrying about the future less, and the past less. I feel like I take a lot more in—things that used to pass by me because I was always rushing around. It’s part of being more open and talking with friends. It’s not always the easiest to go in a room and say, ‘I made a mistake and it made me feel like this, and then I cried a bunch.’ But that moment where you really let yourself be in that zone of being vulnerable, you reach this feeling of openness. That’s when you feel like, ‘Oh, I’m fucking living, man.’”

After quite a few hours of recording the string quartet, a bottle of Casamigos tequila is opened. Commander Quaalude pours the drinks, then decides what the song needs now is a gaggle of nonsingers bellowing the chorus. “Muppet vocals” is how he describes it. He drags everyone in sight to crowd around the mics. Between takes, he wanders over to the piano to play Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up.” One of the choir members, creative director Molly Hawkins, is the friend who gave him the Murakami novel. “I think every man should read Norwegian Wood,” she says. “Harry’s the only man I’ve given it to who actually read it.”

It’s been a hard day’s night in the studio, but after hours, everyone heads to a dive bar on the other side of town to see Rowland play a gig. He’s sitting in with a local bar band, playing bass. Harry drives around looking for the place, taking in the sights of downtown L.A. (“Only a city as narcissistic as L.A. would have a street called Los Angeles Street,” he says.) He strolls in and leans against the bar in the back of the room. It’s an older crowd, and nobody here has any clue who he is. He’s entirely comfortable lurking incognito in a dim gin joint. After the gig, as the band toasts with PBRs, an old guy in a ball cap strolls over and gives Rowland a proud bear hug. It’s his boss from the pizza shop.

In the wee hours, Harry drives down a deserted Sunset Boulevard, his favorite time of night to explore the city streets, arguing over which is the best Steely Dan album. He insists that Can’t Buy a Thrill is better than Countdown to Ecstasy (wrongly), and seals his case by turning it up and belting “Midnight Cruiser” with truly appalling gusto. Tonight Hollywood is full of bright lights, glitzy clubs, red carpets, but the prettiest pop star in town is behind the wheel, singing along with every note of the sax solo from “Dirty Work.”

A few days later, on the other side of the world: Harry’s pad in London is lavish, yet very much a young single dude’s lair. Over here: a wall-size framed Sex Pistols album cover. Over there: a vinyl copy of Stevie Nicks’ The Other Side of the Mirror, casually resting on the floor. He’s having a cup of tea with his mum, Anne, the spitting image of her son, all grace and poise. “We’re off to the pub,” he tells her. “We’re going to talk some shop.” She smiles sweetly. “Talk some shit, probably,” says Anne.

We head off to his local, sloshing through the rain. He’s wearing a Spice World hoodie and savoring the soggy London-osity of the day. “Ah, Londres!” he says grandly. “I missed this place.” He wants to sit at a table outside, even though it’s pouring, and we chat away the afternoon over a pot of mint tea and a massive plate of fish and chips. When I ask for toast, the waitress brings out a loaf of bread roughly the size of a wheelbarrow. “Welcome to England,” Harry says.

He’s always had a fervent female fandom, and, admirably, he’s never felt a need to pretend he doesn’t love it that way. “They’re the most honest — especially if you’re talking about teenage girls, but older as well,” he says. “They have that bullshit detector. You want honest people as your audience. We’re so past that dumb outdated narrative of ‘Oh, these people are girls, so they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ They’re the ones who know what they’re talking about. They’re the people who listen obsessively. They fucking own this shit. They’re running it.”

He doesn’t have the uptightness some people have about sexual politics, or about identifying as a feminist. “I think ultimately feminism is thinking that men and women should be equal, right? People think that if you say ‘I’m a feminist,’ it means you think men should burn in hell and women should trample on their necks. No, you think women should be equal. That doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to me. I grew up with my mum and my sister — when you grow up around women, your female influence is just bigger. Of course men and women should be equal. I don’t want a lot of credit for being a feminist. It’s pretty simple. I think the ideals of feminism are pretty straightforward.”

His audience has a reputation for ferocity, and the reputation is totally justified. At last summer’s show at Madison Square Garden, the floor was wobbling during “Kiwi” — I’ve been seeing shows there since the 1980s, but I’d never seen that happen before. (The only other time? His second night.) His bandmates admit they feared for their lives, but Harry relished it. “To me, the greatest thing about the tour was that the room became the show,” he says. “It’s not just me.” He sips his tea. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a room, asking them to bear with him.”

That evening, Fleetwood Mac take the stage in London — a sold-out homecoming gig at Wembley Stadium, the last U.K. show of their tour. Needless to say, their most devoted fan is in the house. Harry has brought a date: his mother, her first Fleetwood Mac show. He’s also with his big sister Gemma, bandmates Rowland and Jones, a couple of friends.

He’s in hyperactive-host mode, buzzing around his cozy VIP box, making sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped off at all times. As soon as the show begins, Harry’s up on his feet, singing along (“Tell me, tell me liiiiies!”) and cracking jokes. You can tell he feels free — as if his radar is telling him there aren’t snoopers or paparazzi watching. (He’s correct. This is a rare public appearance where nobody spots him and no photos leak online.) It’s family night. His friend Mick Fleetwood wilds out on the drum solo. “Imagine being that cool,” Gemma says.

Midway through the show, Harry’s demeanor suddenly changes. He gets uncharacteristically solemn and quiet, sitting down by himself and focusing intently on the stage. It’s the first time all night he’s taken a seat. He’s in a different zone than he was in a few minutes ago. But he’s seen many Fleetwood Mac shows, and he knows where they are in the set. It’s time for “Landslide.” He sits with his chin in hand, his eyes zeroing in on Stevie Nicks. As usual, she introduces her most famous song with the story of how she wrote it when she was just a lass of 27.

But Stevie has something else she wants to share. She tells the stadium crowd, “I’d like to dedicate this to my little muse, Harry Styles, who brought his mother tonight. Her name is Anne. And I think you did a really good job raising Harry, Anne. Because he’s really a gentleman, sweet and talented, and, boy, that appeals to me. So all of you, this is for you.”

As Stevie starts to sing “Landslide” — “I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around youuuu” — Anne walks over to where Harry sits. She crouches down behind him, reaches her arms around him tightly. Neither of them says a word. They listen together and hold each other close to the very end of the song. Everybody in Wembley is singing along with Stevie, but these two are in a world of their own.

[jimlingss]

The Deli Diaries [5]

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10  || Chapter 11 [Finale]

➜ Words: 2.7k

➜ Genres: Fluff & Cuteness, That good ol’ slow burn, Slice of Life

➜ Summary: Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.

➜ Warnings: Mundane-ness that might make you bored to death

➜ Notes: slow burn that is slowly but surely moving somewhere

Okay. You might not completely hate your job.   But only sometimes...sometimes you don’t want to stuff deli sausages down your throat and hope you choke to death. Though the feeling of finding your job somewhat decent happens once in a blue moon, or rather, once a cute toddler comes giggling your way.   “Umm…” You lean over from behind the cases, abandoning your next task of making pizzas and instead trying to gain the attention of the older woman who’s looking at the packages of macaroni. When she lifts her head, you gesture towards her daughter. “Would she like a sample?”   “Oh. Sure!”   Your heart is swooning.   You’re actually not that big on kids. They can be loud, noisy, rambunctious. You don’t appreciate how they relentlessly ask questions, or when they run around to disrupt your peace, or throw screaming tantrums in public or how they smear their boogers on all the furniture. You don’t even like babies — all they do is shit and eat and they look like wrinkly aliens when they’re born.   You’re much more of a dog person. At least if a dog poops on your floor, they’ll be somewhat apologetic about it. Plus, a dog won’t grow up to tell you they hate you or slam doors or unleash their pubescent anger on you.   But there’s this point in time for kids where they are so fucking cute it’s unbearable. It’s around the toddler stage, when they’re learning how to walk and can’t dash off on a wild goose chase, when they’re still babbling nonsense and can’t make snarky remarks, when they’re learning how to read social cues and instead of looking like a wrinkly alien, they’re looking like a regular human child.   “This is honey ham!”   You hand the sample over to the mother and she takes it gratefully before handing it to her child.   The toddler is sitting in the shopping cart, seat belt attached around her abdomen and cotton, pink onesie. She’s bustling with energy, her tiny amount of wispy hair tied upright like an apple stem, bobbing up and down as she sways from side to side. The kid is blowing raspberries to entertain herself, chubby cheeks puffed out, kicking her feet and wiggling around. When you meet her eyes, she quirks her head to the side and grins, cheeky smile showing two white teeth and pink gums.   “Would she like some cheese?”   Her mom turns to her. “Do you want some cheese?”   The kid nods, head dipping down and coming up before repeating several times. You melt at her adorableness and you grab four cheese samples, handing it to the older woman. “Here you go!”   “Oh wow, that’s a lot,” she laughs and then takes it into her palm, handing one to her daughter. “What do you say? Say thank you.”   The kid inhales the cube of cheese all at once, chewing it inside her cheek. “Tank you!”   Her mom smiles softly at you before beginning to move away. “Thank you.”   “No problem.” You wave towards the kid who waves back at you enthusiastically. Your cold dead heart feels surprisingly warm. “Bye!”   Maybe your job isn’t so bad after all.   //   You take it back.   You take it all back.   “There aren’t any sandwiches left?” This random lady is looking at you in appallment, like she can’t believe her own ears, that someone actually might’ve been here before her to buy sandwiches and the store hasn’t been open for nine hours now.   You decide to walk around the cases, going out to personally meet her and take a look. “No, unfortunately whatever’s out here is all we have.”   “...I don’t like tuna.” She throws the sub sandwich in her hand back onto the shelf. “You’re not going to make anymore?”   “Well sometimes my supervisor makes them in the morning,” you explain calmly. “But usually they’re prepackaged. Someone delivers them.”   The customer tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then crosses her arms, tapping her foot in impatience. “So, you don't make it here yourselves?”   “No…”   She gives you a skeptical look, red lips pressed in a straight line. “Can you check the back?”   “Okay...?” You walk back behind the cases, opening the cooler door and...yup...sandwiches haven’t magically appeared. When you return to the customer, you offer your grievances. “Yeah, I’m sorry. There’s no more.”   “Can you ask your manager?”   “My….manager?” Your brain goes blank. There’s a monotone sound that rings through the recess of your mind. Uhhhhhhhhhhh….and you snap back to reality. “She already went home a few hours ago.”   “Then can you ask someone else?” She looks at you like you’re dumb and maybe you are, but you still don’t appreciate the dirty look. Nonetheless, you’d rather not get fired for telling a customer to fuck off, so you nod instead.   “Okay. I’ll ask.” You walk away, stealing three strides and when you turn, her beady eyes are narrowed on your form. She’s staring. But before you can go up to the customer service counter, you run into someone else on the produce floor. He’s a familiar boy, dark tuft of hair that’s too reminiscent of cotton candy, and all eye smiles and soft, sweet voice. “Hey…”   “What’s wrong?” Immediately, Jimin is concerned, stopping from piling oranges onto the display basket. He fully turns to you, reading your sour expression.   “Nothing. I just got a difficult customer.” You take a peek back and thankfully the lady isn't straight out glaring at you, instead she’s occupied on her phone.   “Oh. Do you want me to call the manager on duty?”   “Nah, it’s fine.” You wave him off. “I don’t want to make a big deal. She just wants to ask me someone...higher up if there are sandwiches left.”   “Well.” He lifts his chin playfully to look down on you, pretending to be a supervisor. “Are there sandwiches left, Y/N?”   You grin. “No. There aren’t.”   “And why not?”   “Because other people bought them already.” You laugh and he eases into a smile. “Okay, I’m going back now before she thinks I’m chatting with you.”   “Well you are chatting with me,” he chides, teasing you. “Get back to work!”   “Aye, aye, captain.” You salute him before walking back to where the lady’s angrily tapping her fingers on her mobile phone. As you come around the counter, her head rises. “Yeah. I’m sorry. We don’t have anymore.”   The customer sighs exhaustingly, adding to the theatrics by rolling her eyes. “I’ll take some lunch meat then.”   “Alright. What would you like?” You put on a new pair of gloves before placing your hands behind your back as you await her decision. She takes a long moment to decide, eyes flickering all over the meat case. “Do you want a sample?” you suggest.   “No.”   The woman shuts you down with a curt tone and then presses her oily fingertip all over the clean glass, leaving prints all over the surface. (An angry and irrational thought passes...if you were evil enough, you would take her fingerprints and put it at a crime scene and frame her for a fucking murder). “I’ll take three hundred grams of black forest ham. And I want to see the first slice.”   “Of course.” You take the ham out from the case, throwing it on the slicer and adjusting the knob before cutting one. “What do you think?”   She leans over and lifts her hand to press the slice of ham that’s in your palm. “That’s way too thick. Half of that. Like one fifth of an inch.”   “Okay.” You’ll never comprehend why certain people give you such complicated measurements — as if you have a ruler downloaded inside your brain and you recognize what the hell one fifth of an inch is. “How about this?”   “That’s too thin.”   “Oh. I’ll fix it. Would you like the slice?”   She gestures. “Just add it into the pile.”   “I..uh..okay, but I was wondering if you wanted to eat it.” You clear your throat, continuing on your explanation when she stares at you impassively. “Some customers like to eat a slice as a sample.”   “No. I don’t want any samples. I know what it tastes like.”   Well damn. “Okay.” You cut another slice. “What about this?”   The woman groans and shuts her eyes, waving you off. “It’s fine. I’ll take three hundred grams.”   You pull a piece of plastic, cutting a total of six slices and when you put it in the scale, it’s four hundred grams. “Um, is four hundred okay?”   Her expression goes bad and before you can take out any slice and apologize, she groans again. “You can’t get three hundred?!”   No response leaves you this time. You simply take out a slice and it drops down to three hundred and thirty grams. When you wrap it up in the bag and you hand it to her, she roughly swipes it away from your grasps. The lady stares at it for an extended moment with lips downturned and thinly drawn brows furrowing. “Is it okay?”   “It’s a bit too thick. And it’s not three hundred.”   Well….she told you to cut that thickness and it’s only thirty grams over. What exactly is this stranger expecting from you?   “I can cut it again if you want.”   “No, it’s fine. Actually, I don’t want it anymore.”   “Oh...okay..” You’re a bit stunned, watching as she throws the perfectly fine package of sliced deli meat onto the ledge of the deli case. “I can redo it, it’s not a big deal.”   “I’m fine. Thank you. Bye.” The woman’s sincerity is never felt and she twists on her heel, pushing her shopping cart away. And you’re left behind the counter with the bag in your hand.   You open it.   When no one’s looking, you eat it.   Might as well….or else this is going into the trash can.

//   Time ticks so slowly. Sixty seconds is drawn to a hundred, making one simple minute so much longer than it needs to be. At this point, you’re just pacing back and forth, pretending to do work as you watch the time on the microwave. You stare. Stare. Stare. Until the last two digits hit a double zero. The hour’s over which only means one thing.   “My shift’s over, Yuna!” You announce across the deli to your coworker who just got back from her break less than five minutes ago. You rip off your hairnet, grabbing your bag to leave.   “Ugh, you’re so lucky. Bye.”   “See you tomorrow?”   “Yeah. Tomorrow.”   This is undeniably your favourite, happiest moment throughout the day. You’re practically grinning and skipping away, reminiscent of frolicking in a field of fresh flowers in some cheesy montage. You unclip your name tag from your apron as you approach the machine by the front door. And at the exact same time, you run into a certain someone.   “Hey, produce boy.”   Jimin grins and swipes his card after you do, officially clocking out for the day. “Hey, deli girl.”   “Off already?”   “Yup.” The two of you exit the store. “Are you working tomorrow?”   “Unfortunately.” You sigh but more for dramatic purposes. “You?”   “Yup.” He runs his hand into his hair, sweeping it back — a habit you notice he does quite often. “From noon to six. And yours is..?”   “Three to closing. Are you driving home?”   “No, I’m actually walking,” he admits with a shy smile.   “Oh.” You’re pleasantly surprised since it seemed like he drove most days. “Which direction…?”   “Over there.” Jimin slowly points and you smile.   “Same. I guess we can walk together.” The both of you begin on your way, strolling beside each other and cutting through the parking lot before landing on the proper sidewalk. “Is your house far?”   “About twenty minutes.” Jimin takes a shy peek at your profile. “You?”   “Mine’s about ten. That’s far for you though.” You’re not that big on getting active and twenty minutes rounded up was half an hour and walking for that long under the evening beating sun sounded like an absolute nightmare. “Why won’t you take the bus?”   “It’s okay. It’s actually not bad,” he muses. “Exercise is good. And time goes by faster when you’re with someone you like.”   There’s a second of silence and Jimin finally registers what he just said. “Uh, I mean..when you’re with someone who you can talk to, like that you like...like as in a friend...um—”   He’s scrambling for dear life and you can’t help but laugh. He’s too cute. “It’s okay. I get it.”   Jimin scratches the back of his neck, embarrassment burning his cheeks bright pink and he decides to switch the topic before he’ll kick his blanket tonight thinking about this very conversation. “Did that lady give you a hard time?”   “From earlier?” You look at him. “Yeah, she was a bit crazy. She wanted sandwiches but there were none left and then she wanted black forest but apparently it was too thick and then too thin and then too thick again and in the end she didn’t even want it! I don't get that! Why people just order things and don’t actually buy it. Do you know how many times things have been returned to the deli and then we have to throw it out? It’s so wasteful.”   He’s amused, smile on his face as he listens attentively to your endless tangent. His footsteps are synchronized with yours, matching in a singular beat, and he makes sure to look both ways before crossing the street with you. “But you’re okay?”   “I’m fine. Just annoyed...and tired...but when am I not?”   Jimin hums. “She didn’t yell at you, did she?”   “Not really,” you answer before a thought strikes you and your hands begin digging into your bag slung across your body. A second later, a plastic baggie emerges and you open it. “I didn’t throw it. Want some?”   “Sure.” Jimin rips a slice of black forest ham into two, sharing with you.   He chews. It’s quiet for a moment.   And Jimin is overcome with a fear that it’s awkward.   He’s really not that shy or timid despite most people’s first impressions of him being that way. With his friends, he can be pretty noisy and rambunctious. But with you, he puts himself under pressure, trying to drive the conversation. He wants it to keep going once it’s died down but his mind draws a blank when nervousness eats him whole.   He wonders if you’re doing the same thing, if you’re trying to think of things to make the atmosphere less tense or worse….what if you’re actually thinking about how weird he is?! Jimin knows he’s a klutz and a bit soft spoken but he hopes you don’t think he’s a creep for walking home with you or that he lacks social skills. Or maybe you’re just as nervous as he is.   Jimin’s palms are sweaty and he steals a glance at you while he continues to chew.   A million thoughts are racing inside his head and all you think of is — “I don’t like hams.”   Your expression has gone sour but you take yet another bite of the black forest ham as if to confirm your dislike. “Yeah. I don’t like it. Still not a fan of hams.”   Park Jimin scoffs lightly before laughing. His chaotic mind instantly dies down.   He knows you don’t like your job. You don’t like production. You don’t like customer service. You don’t like people. And you don’t like hams either. There’s a lot that you complain about and that you express you don’t like.   But a tiny, tiny part inside of him hopes….you like him.   (Uh, he means that in a friendly way, like...as friends...like you like him as an acquaintance, like he’ll just be happy if you don’t hate him as much as you hate your job….god….Jimin’s not even sure what he’s thinking anymore).

[ritacaroline]

Starshine                         Ch.6 Jimmy Page    Fan Fiction

Sequel to  In The Light.

“Alright, babe, I’m leaving. John’s waiting outside, I’ll see you in a few hours.” Jimmy called, as he exited the house with his guitar case in hand. Jill answered, “Ok, I hope it goes great.”  She had invited a few friends over for swimming, so needed to pass, on joining him at his practice this time. Mrs. K. was busy 

 prepping a lunch and refreshments for them, for the poolside. Jill wore her orange swimsuit and a long swimwear cover up. Very relaxed. First one there was Clare, next guest to arrive was Nell. Clare and Nell had met briefly a few days prior, so they were glad to get a chance to chat and know each other better. Next, Alison arrived, Peter Grant’s girlfriend, then, Maureen Baldwin arrived. All went in the pool, laughing, swimming, enjoying the warm sun. Linda, Rob’s girlfriend, was also expected, but not till awhile later, since she had some responsibilities in town. Regarding the lunch, first Mrs. K. brought out a few pitchers of drinks. Pina Coladas, Iced tea, Margaritas. Fruit for the cup edges, crystal salt for the Margaritas. After all the women were a bit high, she brought out the food, in a basket with handles, for easy carrying. There were several different types of elaborate sandwiches, and some containers of various salad types, like macaroni salad, veggie salads, pasta salad.

  Delicious deli type treats, pickles. The ladies enjoyed their food at the outdoor picnic table with a huge umbrella over it. And they loved the feast. The work was not difficult for Mrs. K. and she loved seeing the girls having fun. A few moments later, they caught a glimpse of Mrs. K. leaving through the gate. Jill called over, “Rebecca ! Why not come and sit for awhile ? Grab a sandwich with us ?“ Mrs. K. replied, “Oh no ! You girls relax and have fun. I don’t want to interfere or cause you to restrict your conversation due to me. But thank you.“ 

“Well, I don’t think you could cause that to happen ! But, it’s up to you, and come back if you change your mind. Or next time then.” Jill responded. 

Lots of fun subjects were covered, little bits of gossip, comments about the men, movies they’d seen, lots of laughter. It was a great morning and afternoon for them all. More drinks, more swimming, more laughing. Soon, a couple of them had to go, but the fun continued awhile longer for the others, and Linda would be there shortly.

Meanwhile, at the studio in town, the men had completed a good solid two hours of intense practice. They’d also been rearranging various musical phrases to better the sound. It was quite a bit of diligent focusing for Jimmy, but he was happy with the results. At noon, they all drifted down the hall to the room that they used for the dining area. Some of them had a smoke, some had a quick lunch. At that moment, there were footsteps heard in the hallway, Jim wasn’t sure who it could be. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He also next heard female voices approaching the room, and soon the visitors stood at their doorway. They were four women, unknown to Jimmy. Quite attractive ladies. One spoke, a red headed young woman. She voiced, “Hey Rob. Thought we would take you up on your offer to drop by the studio. Any Wednesday at lunchtime, you said. Remember ?” with a huge toothy smile. Dripping in flirtation. Rob responded, “Ahh, yes, my love, Vanessa ! How lovely to see you. We just completed some heavy work, and were just having a break. A perfect time to have a little visit. Come on in !”  Vanessa headed into the room, and waved her three friends in, behind her. Two dark haired ladies and a blonde. She introduced them, as “This is Molly, this is Kara, and this blonde lady is Glenda.” They all shook each other’s hands, and the girls already knew the men, just from magazines, albums, concerts, fame in general. There was a light discussion happening as the ladies sipped on soft drinks. Rob asked, “Vanessa, why not come with me, over to the sound wall room, where I practice my voice ? We can chat in there for awhile. How about it ? “ “Why certainly, darling. Point the way.” she answered, with a knowing voice. It indicated, “I’m up for anything.” though she didn’t say that directly. Jimmy was a little surprised, since he hadn’t seen Rob with any woman since he’d been living with Linda, his girl. Okay. It’s not my business, he thought. John Paul and John Henry stood, finished with their break. They had mentioned that they were about to resume the practice. The ladies asked, “Mind if we come along and listen ?” John Paul said, “Not at all, c’mon in, there’s seating in there.” So Molly and Kara stood and followed. However, Glenda, the blonde did not. Jimmy began to stand, to join the guys also. But she had purposely remained in the dining area, alone with just Jimmy. Sipping on a Dr. Pepper. In order to detain him from exiting, she immediately began asking him questions, regarding various songs of his, and other music questions, as she was laughing a lot, smiling heavily, and in flirt mode. Jim was kind, stayed the extra few minutes to answer her questions.

Rob and Vanessa, in the sound room, were enjoying each other’s company quite a bit. She mentioned to Rob, “Oh, by the way, my friend Glenda is insanely in love with Jimmy. That’s why I brought her along. I thought she’d get a chance to meet him, and, well, you know, whatever.” Rob responded, “Well, I doubt she’ll get a moment of attention from Jimmy. He just got engaged this week and he’s mind numbingly in love with his girl.” Rob was leaning his butt against a counter top in there, with his legs apart. And Vanessa saw that as her opportunity to approach him. They had met at a club several nights ago, and sort of hit it off. He didn’t hesitate to invite her then, to a neutral meeting place, their practice studio. He wasn’t necessarily attempting to cheat against Linda. But, alternately, he wasn’t opposed to a little non committal fun now and then. Maybe a little bit of kissing wouldn’t be so awful, he thought. Especially when encountering a woman as fascinating and delicious looking as this gorgeous red head. With a killer bod.

Vanessa slowly stepped closer to him, admiring and fondling his wild halo of golden curls. She stepped directly in between his open legs and leaned in right against him. She began a sweet gentle appreciation of Rob’s wet lips as her two hands gripped the sides of his slender hips. She seductively kissed him as she continued to massage his hips. It was so sensual, Rob didn’t have the

strength in him to stop her. It felt so wonderful having his lips engaged with this lovely creature, he nearly forgot he was involved with someone. He soon became helpless and all he could do was gently return her arousing gestures. Love the one you’re with, he had heard, was the fashion. So, in no time they were passionately kissing, in a hot slow romantic embrace. Rob was loving it, feeling her sweet tongue against his, and against his neck, he was licking her lips, feeling her hips deeply pressing and rubbing against his. The motion and touching was surely beginning to start some wood down below, which was far from controllable for him. Soon Vanessa had her delicate hand against his private area, caressing him. She slowly unzippered him and slid her hand right down the front of his jeans, for a better feel. He was in pure paradise, lost in her wet kisses and her hand massaging his jewels. His parts down south were now fully engorged, much to Vanessa’s delight. Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, a loud voice startled them right out of their entanglement. “Do you MIND getting your hand off my man’s dick !!??” shouted Linda. She had the look of a grisly bear about to attack. She had just dropped into the studio, delivering a lunch which she had just picked up for Rob, thinking he’d appreciate it. But, what she had just observed made her breathe fire and grenades. She really had faith in the belief that Rob was always loyal to her. However, he was caught just now like a deer in the headlights, frozen in shock, and guilt. He cared for Linda, and quite a bit.  But he just happened to have a case of wandering dick at this particular moment. Linda made a fist and punched Vanessa in the shoulder, barely hurting her at all. But - did so, probably just for the drama, wanting to show she was also furious with this red headed tramp. However, Vanessa had not a clue that Rob was off the market. He hadn’t given any sign of that detail, to Vanessa. How was she supposed to know ?  Linda looked incensed, as heavy tears rolled down her face. She screeched at Rob, “Go drown yourself, you cheating bag of shit !!  Don’t ever come near me again !! I am so done with you.” Her voice was shrill as she struggled through her tears. Then, slammed the door harshly as she exited.

Linda decided to stomp her way through the hallway, to see if maybe Jill or Clare were present. Maybe she could get some comfort or a hug, or commiserate with either of them, on what a waste of airspace Rob was.  Simultaneously, just down the hall, Jimmy and Glenda were mildly chatting. Just bullshit, Jimmy thought. Nothing interesting, he was just being polite. He was about to get going back to practice with John and Bonz. He stood up, and turned way behind himself, looking to see if he’d left his pick there. But, when he turned back around properly, much to his surprise, Glenda was right in front of him. An inch away.  She instantly placed her two hands behind his neck and immediately, mashed her mouth onto his. He was caught off guard, confused, what’s even happening ? Why is this stranger in my face ? He had no intention of going anywhere near her, and he put his hands against her sides to push her off of him, ….however, it was just the exact moment that Linda burst into the room, crying. All Linda caught of the view in front of herself, was Jimmy and this unknown blonde, mouth to mouth. She just howled, “Oh my God ! Jimmy ! You pig !!” and turned away instantly. Thinking, “I was just at your engagement party this week !!” She began running toward the exit of the building. As she passed the room Rob had been in, he was in the hallway by now, attempting to explain his way out of this. Rob called to her, “Linda ! Don’t, .. don’t leave, it’s not,.. Oh Hell !!” She was thoroughly disgusted with all of them and just kept quickly marching, at this point. Couldn’t care less about hearing his story. Pouring tears. Once outside, she hopped into her car, and took off, leaving wheels.  

Jimmy was now pissed off with this strange woman who had over stepped her boundaries. He didn’t even know her, had no interest in her, and certainly no intention of any move that may hurt Jill. Ever. He was way in love and hadn’t even noticed another woman in many months. He forcibly pushed Glenda away, she stumbled backwards but caught her balance and stood straight. He exclaimed, angrily, ”Great ! You’ve messed things up for me pretty well. Get your friends and get out ! “

Next ch. (7)   https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/184961652226/starshine-ch

Chapter Index for “Starshine” is located at bottom section of Ch.1 , click here : https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/184383708541/starshine-ch-1-jimmy-page-fan

Link to “In The Light” - original fan fic - https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/Fan%20Fiction

JimJam Mistresses @tremble-and-shake @ledoftherings @gimmeeshelter @adonna1964 @justanotherzosofangirl @starchild0985 @girlofthemoon75 @bonscottintheimpala @12909168 @jjullz @cherryfloyd @tenementcrazylittlefruitcake @save-me-from-the-gallows-pole @soy-laprincessa @marauderofworlds @ultrabitchystudentperfectionus @satanspizzadeliveryguy @misspenylane @zi-zidane @catherine0627 @pagingpage-the-original @amythesticon @strangerspassinginthestreet @ thezeppelinbeatles @pour-some-sugar-on-mee  @carryfire18  @j-james-thlk @70shoney @strange-broo @page-daddy @nadianad1337 @yerawizardjimmeh @jimmyypagey @magnetacuddles84 @rock6880 @ledxzeppelin @kinkyspice  @thelandofnevermore  @my-golden-lion  @itsblackbetty  @magnetacuddles84   @luvejimmy  @palenickelsaladparty @jennmarieetn 

*Please advise if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

[i-choose-liam]

April Come She Will - A TRR AU fanfic

Summary: What if Liam was a commoner, unburdened with propriety and a horde of duties towards an entire country? What if he was born with the freedom he so longed for, and could go for the woman he wanted without a care in the world? If he was free to pursue his passions and desires, what kind of a lover and man he would be? An Alternate Universe fic set in the USA, where Liam, a commoner, meets and falls for a writer, April.

A/N: I hadn’t envisioned this to be a story about friendship, but it’s turning out to be so. And I can’t say I mind. There will be romance, of course (come on, it’s me who’s writing this), and it will be a sort of slow burn in Liam and April’s case. God, I hate those. But writing this is fun! Let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!

Tag list: If I have forgotten to put anyone’s url here, please remind me. And if you want off the tag list, all you have to do is let me know. Thanks! @kennaxval​ @thatspicegirlssong​ @lizzybeth1986​ @bowful​ @indescribablechoices​ @femmeshep​ @zaffrenotes​ @hopefulmoonobject​

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x Original Female Character

Rating: T

Characters: Liam, Hana Lee, Maxwell Beaumont, Drake Walker, Original characters, and an adorable golden retriever named Sir Arthur.

Chapter 1: Belle of the Boulevard

Chapter 2: Friends

Chapter 3: Hey Tomorrow

Normally, Drake wouldn't have bothered making fancy breakfast for his two friends. But they had been let down after yet another apartment hunt. Since they were both sleeping the disappointment off, Drake supposed he could make something nice to cheer them up. He was in a pretty good mood... before Maxwell burst into the kitchen with his morning mofo energy. "Drake!" He sighed. "What?" "You're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you!" "Your pigeon buddy won't come to the window anymore?" Maxwell said, "I saw Buckbeak just a while ago. But that's not what I am talking about" Drake put away the broken eggshells, asking, "What are you talking about?" Maxwell said, sounding dystopian, "April is not on any social media" "So?" That appalled Maxwell. He exclaimed, "So it's weird and unnatural!" Drake said, "Hey. I'm not on any social media either" "Exactly my point!" He turned to give Maxwell a reproachful look, but the man was rambling. "I didn't even know her last name until yesterday. But then I picked up Liam's Kindle last night and I saw he was reading lesbian erotica. I was like, um... okay. Whatever rocks your boat. Then I saw the writer's name - April Costas! That's why Liam was reading erotica! So I did a little digging of my own. She's not on any social media sites. Doesn't that bother you?" Drake gently pushed him aside, reaching for powdered sugar. He said, "What bothers me is that you two spent your night snooping on a girl. I can understand Liam doing it, he likes her. But you are being you again" Maxwell grinned, "Sparkling and joyful?" "Nosy and annoying" 

Liam came into the kitchen, greeting them both with a "good morning". He asked Drake, "Need any help with breakfast?" "No, I got it. You and the Daily Mail here can sit at the table" Maxwell received a sympathetic smile from Liam. He sat down next to him, not quite meeting Liam in the eye. "Why are you name-calling him this early in the morning?", Liam asked Drake. He replied, "Why don't you ask him?" "Maxwell?" Maxwell fidgeted with his fingers, replying, "Well, I... I googled April last night" "Okay?" "She's not on any social media" "I didn't know that" Maxwell asked, "You're not mad at me?" Liam smiled, "Why would I be mad? You can google whoever you want" Drake set two plates before them on the table, saying, "If you two ladies are done having a heart to heart, eat up" The plates were piled with golden French toast, with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. Maxwell's face lit up at the sight of the food. "Yum!", he said. Liam smiled at that reaction and turned to Drake, "Thank you, Drake. This is rather nice of you" "Don't get used to it", Drake smiled. Liam cut a piece of toast for himself. His fork and knife were met with some resistance. 'Strange' He had to apply a little pressure to slice the supposedly soft and fluffy toast. Before putting the morsel in his mouth, he glanced at Maxwell. Maxwell gave him a pained look, his jaws moving around the food in his mouth, like giant cogs on an industrial machine. Liam threw caution to the wind and put the piece of French toast in his own mouth. It was... chewy and bland. But he didn't complain. Next to him, Maxwell whispered, "My teeth are starting to hurt" "Sshh" Sadly for them, they hadn't noticed Drake glaring at them from next to the kitchen stove. He scowled. "What? My food isn't fancy enough for you two freeloaders?" They immediately disagreed. Liam said, "No, no. It's lovely" Maxwell nodded, "Yeah. Really... edible" Drake watched him carefully for a moment before turning back to the stove again. Maxwell whispered, "Where's Sir Arthur? He must be hungry" Liam whispered back, "You're not feeding my dog this. Eat" Drake returned to the table, with French toast piled high in two more plates. Maxwell and Liam gave him their best grateful smiles.

***

April dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin, having just made clean work of her empanadas. Her agent sat across from her in the red chair, matching the theme of the deli. She ignored their piercingly observant gaze and looked around for a waiter. 'Maybe I can get those little pita wraps' Joel said, their voice crisp as cold water, "You're stress-eating again" April made a face. "I'm not!", she said. "Come on, April. Is it really going to be that difficult for you to maintain a social media presence? All writers have to do that" "I know they do. I am just not..." They said, "Comfortable putting my life details out there for everyone to see - heard that before. I'm not asking you to post nudes. Just... maybe one tweet, one pic, one status update every other day" "But Joel..." "Listen", they leaned forward, the cuffs of their coat sleeves revealing slender wrists, "When I take Porcelain Palace to my contacts in Hollywood, they are going to be like, "April who?". You are virtually non-existent. And your silly website where you review people's fanfiction doesn't count" April leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. Joel went on, despite the look on her face. "This business is as much about image as it is about storytelling. I told you that when you hired me" They gave April a nurturing smile. "I just don't want your work to be sidetracked in Hollywood. Porcelain Palace deserves to be made into a movie. We need that movie in our time. And I am not going to stop until that happens. Are you?" She mumbled, "No" "We agree then. You will sign up on the sites I just emailed you, and start posting" "Urgh" "Don't be dramatic. And stop stuffing your face. You're going to look like a rikishi soon if you keep at this" "I eat what I want. And I already got my 10k footsteps in today, all right?" "Good", Joel placed some dollar bills on the table and got up, buttoning their coat jacket, "I'll see you in exactly one week. Call me if you need me" "Yeah. Thanks" "Anything for my favourite person" Joel leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of her head. April smirked. "Want to tell Shirin you called me that?" They gave her a stunning grin, walking away, "That's the beauty of being in a mature poly relationship. I don't have to worry about jealousy. Good day, April" She raised her hand in half a wave, sighing, and dropping it the moment Joel was out of sight.

Her social skills had been a big joke since kindergarten. Her mistrust of people in general, coupled with a strong sense of privacy, kept her shielded from the allure of "social sharing". But Joel was trying to create an image for her, and they knew what they were talking about. Problem was - it made April feel hungry again. Her phone buzzed. She saw who the text was from and smiled in surprise. 'Hello, April! Not sure if you remember, but you saved me from a horrendous date at the Whiskey Duck? It's Hana' April quickly texted back. 'Of course I remember. It's great to hear from you! How have you been?' She sat in the small deli during lunch hours, typing away letters and emojis to a welcome distraction.

***

Drake was losing to Maxwell in that stupid kart game when his phone buzzed. He ignored it, but it only buzzed again. "Pause", he said. Maxwell grinned, "Nuh-uh. I'm winning" Drake thought he had no option but to end the race. He swore as Maxwell beat him by a hair's breadth. Ignoring his friend's victory break-dance, he checked his phone. 'What the fuck?' He was part of some chat called Whiskey Ducks. The first text had been from a number he didn't know. 'Hi guys, it's Hana! I just thought this would be a fun and convenient way for me to talk to you all at once :D' The next text was from another unfamiliar number. 'Hello. April here. :)' Drake was still making sense of the thing when a third text was sent in the group. This number he did recognise. 'Yoohoo! Its so great to be able to talk to my friends together! Viva la technology! ^_^' The text was followed by a gif of the Minions hugging and saying "Buddies".   "Maxwell!" He nearly jumped on hearing his name. "What?" Drake frowned, showing him the phone screen, "What the hell am I doing in a group text?" Maxwell defended himself, "Hana wanted me to add you and Liam" "IN A GROUP TEX..." The door to Drake's apartment swung open and Liam came in. He closed the door behind him, giving the guys a nod. "Hey", he said. Maxwell quickly turned his attention to Liam. He asked, "How did it go?" "It is affordable, if you don't mind living with rats" "Wait. Cute rats or the creepy ones?" Liam sighed, "Maxwell" He deposited himself on the couch between Drake and Maxwell, much to the latter's relief. Drake was complaining within seconds of Liam's butt hitting the couch. "Look what your precious buddy did. He added us to a group text" "Keep your calm..." "What do you mean 'keep your calm'? He didn't even ask us!" Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "I wasn't talking to you" Maxwell took that as encouragement to speak up. He said, "There's no harm done. Hana just wanted to invite all of us to Coney Island" Drake said, "I don't want to go to stupid Coney Island. And how did you get Hana's number anyway?" Maxwell revealed with a happy smile, "I added her on pinterest. She has the coolest boards. Especially her food board. Oh my god"

Liam pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, rubbing his sore temples. The apartment hunt and the current state of his job were enough to fill his head with worry. Drake and Maxwell's constant bickering was just the cherry on top of a steaming pile of crap. "You always do this!" "And you always give me hell about it!" They fought, one on each side of Liam. He could feel a headache coming on. But his entire facial expression transformed on seeing who else was in the group chat. Hana said, 'I wanted to invite you all to Coney Island with me. As a thank you for that evening. It will be super fun, I promise!' April replied, 'You don't have to thank us' 'But I really want to! And it's not like I have any friends in New York to enjoy Coney Island with :3 ' April is typing... 'When do you want to go?' Liam smiled. April was such a knight in shining armour. 'How about tomorrow?', Hana suggested. Maxwell is typing... 'Tomorrow's good for meee! I have nothing to do tomorrow' Liam was surprised to see - Drake is typing... 'Like everyday' Maxwell replied with a sad puppy face gif. April is typing... 'Is it okay if I bring my friend Jenna along?' 'Sure! The more, the merrier', Hana said. Reading Jenna's name, both Liam and Maxwell turned to look at Drake. He tried to seem nonchalant, "What?" Liam shrugged. "Just wondering if you can make it tomorrow. You have a thriving business to attend to, you know. Unlike me and Maxwell, who have nothing to do everyday" "Yeah!", Maxwell grinned. Drake glared at Liam, saying, "Why do you always take his side? I'm your best friend!" Maxwell objected to that. "Hey! We are all best friends!" Their phones buzzed again. Hana asked, 'So guys? Does tomorrow afternoon work for you?' Maxwell replied with an enthusiastic yes. Drake replied, 'Ok' Liam had his eyes on April's name in the group text as he typed, 'Can't wait'

[supernaturallymarvellous]

Cafe Conversations

Summary: Y/N goes to the same cafe regularly and one day overhears a conversation between Black Widow and Winter Soldier that might just change her life forever (based off this post).

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 908

A/N: all translations taken from Google so apologies in advance for any errors.

🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️ 🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️ 🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️ 🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️

The small café was perfect. Y/N had found herself stopping there every week after her foreign language class at the local community college. Being a newcomer in a city that housed so many different customs, religions, and ethnicities, Y/N had sought out a way to immerse herself in the variety of cultures that surrounded her on a daily basis. As she had found herself living in an area of mainly Russian households, her first step had been to attempt to learn enough of the language to be able to hold conversations with her neighbours and the shopkeepers of the little delis and cafés that were nearby.

The café she was sitting in now was one that she had discovered on her first day in the city; just around the corner from her apartment, it served delicious handmade cakes and pastries, as well as some of the best tea Y/N had ever drunk. In addition, the owner, an elderly lady named Svetlana, always made her feel welcome, giving Y/N extra helpings of food to take home and teaching her snippets of Russian during quiet periods.

Y/N had been coming to the café for a few months, sitting at the same table every time. She had made friends with a few of Svetlana's regular customers but there was one particular couple that had attracted her attention from the first moment that she laid eyes on them. She knew exactly who they were - it was hard not to when their faces were regularly sprawled across the morning news thanks to their status as Avengers. At the next table sat Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes, better known to the world as Black Widow and the Winter Soldier. Y/N however left them to their own devices. They were obviously comfortable here, taking a break from their stressful lives, and she certainly didn't want to intrude on that.

What Y/N couldn't help though was accidentally overhearing their conversations. Without really noticing, she had kept her ears open whenever she was in the café, trying to develop and improve her listening comprehension and her understanding of everyday Russian. Most of the café conversation revolved around the patrons' family lives and work, but Natasha and Bucky's conversations were different. They seemed to avoid all talk of their day jobs, instead opting to discuss whatever was in the news that day, as well as voicing their opinions on new movies and music.

So, when they had walked through the door that afternoon and taken their usual seats at the table next to Y/N, she once again found herself listening to them talk. For the first few minutes, they chatted about nothing in particular and Y/N let the conversation drift into the background. What she heard just a short time later however caught her attention and dragged it away from the food in front of her.

"Я думаю, она милая." ("I think she's cute.")

"Она не симпатичная ... она красивая." ("She's not cute...she's beautiful.")

"Тогда поговори с ней, ты идиот." ("Then go talk to her, you idiot.")

"Я не могу этого сделать. Наташа, ей жарко. Она такая чертовски горячая!" ("I can't do that. Natasha, she's hot. She is so damn hot!")

Y/N almost dropped the cup she had been holding between her hands. They couldn't possibly be talking about her, could they? She was just a normal girl living in New York City. Surely two of the most attractive people she had ever seen in her life couldn't think that she was worthy of their attention. Y/N shook her head; she must have mis-translated their words. She went back to her own thoughts, grabbing a book from her bag and trying not to feel too disappointed that she wasn't the person that they were talking about.

Time ticked by and soon Y/N heard the scrape of chairs against the wooden floor as Natasha and Bucky got up to leave. Bucky brushed quickly past her table and, feeling a sudden flush of embarrassment at what was a violation of their privacy, Y/N slid further down into her seat and tried to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. It didn't work though and as Natasha made her way out, she stopped briefly and placed a napkin in front of Y/N, a line of numbers scrawled on it in black sharpie.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are. I could tell that you listening to us talking about you. I'm a spy, remember! Anyway, that's his number. Call him."

Y/N looked up at the redhead standing in front of her. However, before she even had a chance to open her mouth in an attempt to apologise, the other woman had bent down over the table, pen in hand, and was scribbling away on the napkin once again. She stood quickly and looked directly at Y/N, an almost devilish grin spread across her face.

"Actually, here's my number too. If you'd be interested, perhaps the three of us could get together some time. I'm sure Bucky and I could teach you a lot of Russian.....as well as a few other things."

With that, Natasha winked at Y/N before heading towards the door to to join her companion. As soon as she saw them turn the corner and leave her line of sight, Y/N snatched the napkin from the table and entered the numbers into her phone.....this was certainly an opportunity that she was going to take full advantage of!

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Tagging: @waywardimpalawriter   @zepppie   @helvonasche   @mysteriouslyme81   @chainez-8   @everything-but-the-not-natural   @redlipstickandplaid   @iamskyefox   @jayankles   @hgwhovian   @da-palmtop-tiga-dragon   @my-people-skillls-are-rusty

[bob-giovanni]

A Casual Affair - Part 21

Characters: Simon X OFC

Summary: Violet tries to adjust to her new more public life.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, A bit of fluff

Notes: I’m sorry it took so long to get this written, and this is a pretty short chapter, too. I’ve had the worst case of writer’s block. It also didn’t help that I was busy bingeing Brooklyn 99 (It’s a fucking fantastic show and you should watch it if you haven’t.)

Song for this Chapter: “Paparazzi” by Lady Gaga (Playlist Here!)

Simon and Violet had been back from their vacation for a little over 2 months and since then things had been a little crazy. Pretty much everyone at the office now knew that Simon and Violet were in a relationship which prompted some complaints about favoritism. Luckily Violet was able to find a new job working as an assistant at one of the big Broadway theaters. It sucked not being able to see Simon as often, especially since he’d moved back into his place. But they still spent every weekend  and multiple nights during the week together. One thing that was starting to wear on Violet was the attention. It didn’t happen often, but considering it never happened before, getting recognized a few times a week was taking it’s toll. Violet was planning on taking time this coming weekend to talk to Simon to see how he coped with this sort of thing in the beginning.

As Violet was finishing up her tasks for the day, her new boss, a guy around her age named Andy, walked up to her desk. “Hey, Violet.” She smiled and looked up at him. “Hey, Andy. What’s up?” Andy was clearly about to walk out the door. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder and his bike helmet in his hand. “Before you head out for the weekend, can you just make sure that the new rehearsal schedule is posted online? We really have to kick things into high gear if we’re gonna be ready for the opening in a couple of weeks.” Violet nodded. “Already done. I wanted to make sure everyone had plenty of time to get their affairs in order since the next couple of weeks are going to be capital B busy.” Andy laughed softly and nodded. “Thanks, Violet. You’re the best. Have a great weekend!” “You too, Andy.”

Violet watched as Andy left. When she first took the job with him, she was worried that he’d try and use the fact that her boyfriend used to be her boss to try and get into her pants. Luckily Andy is gay so she had no worries there. And he was really nice. He acknowledged that he knew about her story from the papers but he assured that he wouldn’t judge because he knew the papers didn’t know the whole story and it was none of his business what went on behind closed doors. That was a huge relief for Violet. She’d been on a few other interviews before landing the one with Andy and all the other people wanted to talk about was her relationship. It was nice knowing that there was at least one person who didn’t give a shit. And no one else that worked at the theatre treated her any differently. It was all she could’ve hoped for.

As Violet was nearly done for the day she texted George, the driver Simon insisted he pay for to take her to and from work everyday, to let him know she was almost ready. About 15 minutes later, George replied that he was outside. Violet grabbed her things and made sure to shut out the lights and lock the door as she left and climbed into the back of the car. “Afternoon, Violet.” He greeted her as she buckled up. George was originally from Tennessee and had a thick southern accent that always made Violet smile. “Afternoon, George. How was your day?” “Ah you know, uneventful. How was yours?” “The same.” Violet and George chatted a bit as he drove towards her apartment. Once the car pulled up out front, Violet thanked George and told him to have a good weekend before heading into her building.

As Violet took her keys from her purse as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. She was so tired that she didn’t notice Simon sitting in the arm chair facing the door when she first entered. However when she turned to put her things down, she gasped loudly and put her hand on her chest. “Jesus Christ, Simon!” She exclaimed. Simon let out a loud laugh and slapped his knee. “Oh I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said between giggles. “What the fuck did you think would happen? I wasn’t expecting you until later tonight!” “I know, I know. I just wanted to surprise you.” Violet set her things down and kicked off her shoes. “Well consider me surprised.” Simon stood and walked over to Violet, smiling at her as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “How was your day?” Violet smiled and wrapped her arms around Simon’s torso, really needing to feel safe in his arms. “Stressful.”

Simon wrapped his arms around Violet. “I’m sorry, love. I ordered us dinner. It should be here soon. Why don’t you tell me about your day while we wait for it to get here?” Violet nodded followed Simon to the couch, snuggling against his side when he sat down. She sighed deeply before speaking. “How did you deal with all the attention when it first started happening?” She asked. Simon gently ran his fingers through her hair. “What do you mean?” Violet gently ran her fingertips along Simon’s clothed abs. “I mean when you first started getting recognized in public, when you started noticing people taking pictures of you while you were just doing normal everyday things…how did you deal with it?” Simon sighed softly. “Unfortunately there’s no right answer. Some people just adapt. Other’s hide. With me, I just tried to pretend like the cameras weren’t there. If someone approached me, as long as they were nice about it, I’d talk to them or take a picture with them or whatever. If they were rude I’d tell them to fuck off and go on about my day.” Simon leaned down and kissed Violet’s forehead. “You’re strong, baby girl. You’ll get through it.”

Violet nodded. “I know. It’s just frustrating. I went out at lunch and some guy in the deli I went to kept taking pictures of me. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. It was like he thought that just because parts of my life have been made public that he had every right to just snap a million photos of me. Like, if you’re gonna do it at least be more discreet.” Simon sighed. He hated that his actions had led to this. He wanted nothing more than to protect Violet and he felt like a failure. “Do you feel unsafe? I could get you a bodyguard.” Violet laughed softly and shook her head. “I think that’s overkill. But I appreciate the thought.” A moment later the bell rang. Simon stood and pressed the buzzer once he confirmed it was the delivery man with their food. Simon thanked the man and took the bag to the kitchen. He set up everything for them before calling Violet in. As they ate, Violet talked a little more about her new job. Simon wasn’t super familiar with the world of theatre so hearing about some of the behind the scenes stuff was pretty neat.

“How’s your new boss?” Violet smiled and nodded. “Andy is a nice guy. He’s one of the few people I’ve met recently that doesn’t give a shit about my personal life.” Simon smiled. “He, uh, try to make a move on you?” Violet laughed and shook her head. “Calm down, Simon. He’s gay.” Simon laughed softly. “Sorry. I let my jealousy get the best of me for a second.” Violet smiled. “It happens to the best of us.” When they were finished eating, Violet cleaned up and put away their leftovers. Simon poured each of them a glass of wine and headed out to the living room. He placed the glasses on the coffee table before settling down on the couch and turning on the TV. This was how he and Violet would unwind at the end of the week. They’d each have a couple of glasses of wine after dinner, watch some TV or a movie before heading to the bedroom to have sex and then they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. It was a comfortable routine that they’d both quickly gotten used to. Violet joined Simon on the couch a few moments later and took a sip of her wine before leaning up to peck Simon’s lips a few times. “Love you.” She said softly. Simon smiled and nuzzled her nose. “Love you too.”

—————————————————————————————————

Violet slowly opened her eyes and looked over at the clock on her bedside table. It was 2AM and she had to pee badly. This always happened. She’d wake up in the middle of the night and be so comfortable and not want to move but she had to go to the bathroom and had no choice but to get up. She groaned a bit as she sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched her arms a bit. She stood and trudged to the bathroom, not even bothering to cover up. Simon was the only other person in the apartment so she certainly didn’t care if she was naked around him. Once she was finished she washed her hands before heading back to the bedroom. As she climbed into the bed, her phone dinged. She furrowed her eyebrows and picked it up off the nightstand. The notification indicated that she had a DM on Twitter. She’d never gotten DMs before but as soon as her relationship with Simon became public she started getting some with people calling her a whore and a home wrecker as well as the occasional dick pic.

This was an actual message though from someone she didn’t know. The message simply read, “Trouble in paradise?” with a link. Violet sighed softly as she tapped the link, expecting to be sent to some bullshit tabloid story. However she was surprised when the link led to some photos instead. There were about 20 pictures, all of them were of Simon and Charlotte. In a couple of the photos they were holding hands. In a couple others they were kissing and smiling and laughing. Violet rolled her eyes. Why would she care about some old photos of Simon with his soon to be ex-wife? But Violet could feel her heart drop when she took a closer look at the photos. They were timestamped from 3 days ago. That had to be photoshopped, right? But then Violet realized the shirt Simon was wearing. She’d bought it for him just before they left Bora Bora. So at the very least the photos had been taken within the last 2 months. Violet felt tears stinging at her eyes. Was Simon cheating on her…with his wife?

Tags: @collette04 @66psychotic99 @simons-thirst-squad@mwesterfeld1985 @negans-castle@neganismyobsession@laymetorest77 @brittlw @faith-lynn9

[pendragonfics]

Little Secrets

Paring: Peter Parker/Reader

Tags: female reader, superhero reader, sidekicks, gun violence, hostage situations, puns & wordplay, bad puns, fluff, humor. 

Summary: Peter Parker is a simple guy. He likes nerdy TV shows, hanging out with his friend Ned, and being the superhero Spider-Man in his spare time. When there's a new vigilante around town, and a new girl at school, he doesn't put two-and-two together...

Word Count: 2,466

Current Date: 2018-02-24

Based loosely on this song: little secrets // passion pit

Even though he was Spider-Man, the astonishing and all-inspiring web-master, he still was seventeen years old, and while that was cool because he still got a student discount at the cinema down the street, it still meant he had to go to school. Sure, school wasn’t so bad. He had Ned, to make remarks about the other students with, and Michelle, who not-so-humbly made him well-aware of how he was at times. And…

He caught sight of her in the hallway, and it was like everything stopped. Well, not quite. Flash walked into him, and gave him the middle-finger, and someone else knocked his books from his hands. But he stopped. It was almost like she stopped, too. She wore a preppy kind of backpack, but wore old jeans, and a yellow t-shirt and plaid.

“Hey, Ned,” he turns to his friend, picking up his fallen stack of books, “That girl. Did you see her?”

Ned frowns. “We’re at school, there’s a lot of girls here. Boys too.” He shakes his head. “So, no.”

Peter sighs, “No, man, that one,” he bites his lip, pointing, “Um, her locker’s next to Michelle’s, her shirt has the word ‘steminist’ on it –,”

“Oh, you mean _______!” Ned’s face lights up like Peter just hung the lights on the Christmas tree. “She’s cool. She’s on my bus, she was reading a Star Wars novelisation. She’s epic.” Ned praises, taking out his books for the day. “What about her?”

Peter feels his face heat up.

Ned laughs, working it out. “Ooh, do you like her –,”

He whacks his friend on the shoulder. “Shut it…” He mumbles, rubbing at his collar just as the bell rings for homeroom. “I just think she’s cute, that’s all. Not that –,”

He sees her arm against the locker beside him before he can register that Michelle has appeared. Her hair is piled atop her hair like an Instagram girl with a Tumblr attitude, and with a pencil tucked behind her ear, the looks she serves him and Ned are daggers.

“If you want to keep your noses, idiots, keep them out of _______’s business.” She demands, flexing an eyebrow. “She’s new and doesn’t need you throwing her all around the place with your nerdy crap.” She eyes Ned’s Star Trek t-shirt, making her point clear. “Got it?”

“Um –,” Peter goes to speak, but Michelle’s glare was enough for him to shut his mouth. “Um, yeah, got it. See you later, MJ.”

Later that night, he’s out on patrol in the neighbourhood. Just checking out the places that usually have petty crime and whatnot. He’s trying not to think about earlier in the day, when he almost walked into _______ in the cafeteria, and only got out of the way thanks to his Spidey-Senses. She had looked in his eyes for half a second – they were such a beautiful colour, like… – and Michelle had led her away to sit at a different table, with the drama club. But that was six hours ago, and since, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her. Michelle was good, she was almost like a professional teenage bodyguard to the new girl. But there was one place where Michele couldn’t police, and that was his mind.

There was a noise, and beside him, another superhero sat down. Peter blinked and turned to see who it was. Their suit was yellow and black banded and had wide eyes like his suit. Except, the mask was cut to expose their mouth and jaw, revealing a small smirk.

He had no idea who this was.

“Thought I’d find you here, amazing Spider-Man,” the superhero grinned. “I’m Bee. Just flew into town.”

Peter laughed at the pun. “Amazing Spider-Man? Sounds cool, I’ll remember that.” He paused, and added, “You a good guy, or a bad guy, Bee? Just want to prepare my comebacks in case you’re bad. Haven’t had a villain in a while, so I’m a bit rusty.”

Bee laughed. “Web-slinger, the only bad I am, is badass. And at sudoku.” She flexed her fingers in her superhero suit, and added, “Y’know, if you want, I can help out a little with your superhero buzz-ness, or whatever.” From her superhero suit, a pair of wings buzzed to life, and she pointed down to the street below. “Mugging, one o’clock.”

He shot a web down before she finished that sentence. “It’s almost ten, but since you’re new, I’ll let you adjust your clock to local time,” he quipped, soaring toward the fight.

---

Apart from being Flash Thompson’s chemistry partner, Peter’s trying to have a good day. He even wore his science shirt (from physics camp last year. It reads I’ve Got My Ion You) and played his upbeat Spotify playlist in between class and hanging with Ned. Now he missed the bus after someone tipped his bag upside down, and just his luck, Aunt May can’t pick him up because she’s taking a class downtown on how to be a medical receptionist or a mechanic (he can’t remember, he wasn’t paying attention).

So, he’s walking.

Today, he almost managed to talk to _______, as they passed on the stairwell by the Math classrooms. He opened his mouth to say hey, and she raised her hand to wave, but as soon as they did this, the current of students pushed them away, and he was carried up, and she downstairs. It’s been almost a month since she became a part of the student base of Midtown School of Science and Technology, and dutifully, Michelle had made sure they both had zero contact with each other.

As he crossed the road near where Delmar's Deli-Grocery was rebuilding, and as he got to the other side of the street’s sidewalk, he paused his iPod, taking the buds from his ears. Under his t shirt, he could feel the hairs of his arms stand up, and his mind was ringing with the signs of his Spidey-Sense.

He dashed as inconspicuously to the nearest alleyway to change.

But as soon as he was shooting web to get toward the danger, he heard the familiar trill of wings. Already flying toward the melee that was a street over was Bee, flying loop-the-loops all around him as he swung his way.

“How aren’t you dizzy?” He asks, eyes narrowing on his fellow superhero.

She laughed, twirling mid-air, “I rode a rollercoaster on Coney Island and I’m cured for life.”

Peter sighted the disturbance he felt. His eyes narrowed in on the event going before him: there was a man, maybe twenty-five, holding a girl by her hair. There were a lot of bystanders around them both – they were out front of a not-in-hours nightclub, in the middle of daylight.

“If anyone calls the police, I’m shooting her, I swear,” he shouted. “Leave me alone!”

Peter blinked. Wow. Someone must be having a bad case of the Mondays. “Okay,” he said to Bee, landing on a building out of the man’s eyeline, “Remember the plan we had when we took down that bank robber, two weeks ago?” He asked.

“Uh-huh,” Bee nodded, bobbing mid-air as her wings worked to keep her airborne. “You went in half-cocked, Man-Spider, and I saved you and stopped them all from getting away? Yeah, that’s not happening, not when you bumble around like this block is only your beehive.” She sassed.

He raised a hand in defeat, shrugging, “What’s your better plan, Bee-yoncé?” He retorted.

She laughed, flying in a circle. “Follow my lead, and don’t cover me in whatever your web is made of.”

Down below, he heard a gun go off. His eyes followed the noise; the shot was fired into the air, from the hostile man. He still had a handgun raised up. He shot into the air twice more, and then held the gun against her head.

“It’s web! It’s real web!” He cried out, eyes wide, “Don’t make fun of my web, we’ve got to save that girl!”

Bee raised her hands in surrender. “Geez, Spider-Louise,” she shook her head. “Let’s go.”

He did, staying out of eyeshot of the gunman and his hostage. Bee flew right into their sight, and the man shot again, this time aimed to her. She dodged with enough time, and landed fifty feet before the man, her hands raised.

“Don’t shoot, hombre!” she cautioned, “Insects don’t go well with bullet holes.”

Peter watched from behind the crowd as the guy aimed the gun once more toward Bee. “How can I trust you?” He asked, taking the safety off. His Spidey-Sense was going haywire and being away from the heat of the goings-on was hard to do. “You police or something?”

Bee shook her head. “Do I look like police? I’m barely even eighteen, man, I just really like bees, and world peace.” She took a step toward the guy, and added, “Hey, why don’t we sit down for a chat, work out what you’re going through?”

His jaw flexed. “No! Stay where you are!” He shouted.

That was his signal. There was a policeman about a hundred feet down the road, and with some quick web work, he snagged their hat, and somersaulted into the heat of where the gunman and Bee were. “C’mon, this girl doesn’t need to be a part of this –,” Bee began, just as Peter interrupted.

“Hey, it’s your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Policeman,” He greeted, lifting the police hat from his head in greeting. The bad guy stood there, confused. “I’m just in the area, checking on parking tickets, making sure nobody is squashing little spiders, because those fellas are real cute, and don’t harm anyone,” he prattled, walking about. “Oh, Bee the vigilante, nice to see you.” He waved to her.

“This is my bad guy, go get your own!” She pretended to huff, gesturing to the hostage before her. “Can you believe this guy?”

Peter shrugged, holding the police hat against his chest. “…hey, is that a gun? I don’t think it’s legal to be pointing it at people, dude.” He noted, and added, “Hey, lady, has he been pointing this at you?”

She nodded mutely.

Peter turned to Bee, just as she said to the gunman, “How about you put the gun down?” She asked, and added, “Please?”

He saw his finger pull the trigger, and before the sound of the bullet fired, he had already shot a web at the man’s hand and flung the police hat at his head. The webbing took his hand back, and as the hat smacked him between his eyebrows, the man stumbled backwards, loosing his footing, and his hold on the girl’s hair.

“Bad citizens really need to learn how to beehive,” Bee cheered, going to help the girl get away from the gunman.

But as Peter appreciates the pun, he misses the second where the gunman gets a hold on the weapon once more and fires a shot. Peter webs the man to the ground, all his limbs, and snatches the gun away. But the bullet still is flying, and as Bee realises it’s going toward the hostage she rescued, she stands in the way.

Peter watches in horror as he sees it hit her sternum. But as soon as it hits her, rebounds, and with a sharp plink, the metal shell falls the sidewalk.

“I told you insects didn’t go well with bullet holes,” she calls out, poking her tongue out at shooter.

He lets out a breath. He sees the police only just arrive and let them take over the scene. Later, after they give their statements to the police, Peter goes to chats with Bee, to check if his sidekick is okay after all the hero work they did and being shot at. But he can’t find his yellow-clad superhero friend anywhere.

Must have flown home.

---

The next day, he arrives at school only to be practically attacked by Michelle. This time her hair cascades in ringlets over her shoulders, a ninety’s era scrunchie holding her long hair up in a side ponytail. But as cool as she looks, she acts like she’s still as tough as usual, and dragging him by his wrist, takes him to an empty geography classroom.

“What –,” he goes to ask.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sick of you being so dumb,” she huffs, and gestures to the other side of the classroom, to where _______ stands, an arm crossed over her chest, “Mr. Stroman said nobody’s here for two periods. I’m locking you in until you talk about everything.”

Peter turns to _______. She’s wearing overalls with a stripy yellow shirt, and big boots that look like she’s a no-nonsense hiker in her spare time. She waves and walks toward him.

“Any idea why MJ is acting so weird?” He asks her.

She shrugs. “I have an idea…she told me to tell you something. I mean, it sounds crazy, but I have this super big secret, and that’s the reason she didn’t want me hanging around you because apparently you’re a magnet for trouble or something.” She blurted out. He could practically hear her heartbeat heavy in his ears, and she adds, “I don’t know why she put you in here, though, and said the same thing too…”

He blinks.

“I don’t know how she found out, but I have a secret too,” Peter sits half on a desk, and pinches the top of his nose. “Ned is so in trouble…”

_______ sighs. “I really don’t want to miss English, we’re doing King Lear…” she mutters, running a hand through her hair. “The reason MJ didn’t want me to hang out with you is because I’m this superhero person? I just moved here, I was supposed to lay low, and she found out on my first day!” She groans, and adds, “Great, another person knows now…don’t know what she’s getting at, heroes are supposed to be secret –,”

“You’re a hero?” He asks, quietly, and adds, “So am I.” It’s then it clicks. “You’re Bee, aren’t you?” He asks, noticing only just now the correlation to all the yellow she wears.

She blinks, and after a pause, eyes wide, she whisper-shouts, “You’re – you’re – oh my honey, you’re him? Of all the people who could be that guy, it’s you?” She exclaims.

Peter frowns. “Is that a bad thing, or –,”

She laughs and runs toward him. Before he can realise what’s happening, _______ has wrapped her arms around him and gathered him in for a hug. She smells faintly of pollen, new pencils, and peppermint, and laughs against his neck. “It’s a good thing, Spider-Man.”

At that, the door unlocks, and Ned and Michelle poke their heads in.

“That took a surprisingly little amount of time,” Michelle remarks evenly. “Thank God that’s over.”

[whattoreadinsteadofdrinking]

It is finally raining after keeping us all indoors with the highest humidity/terrible air quality for the whole week.  It’s such a relief to see the rain fall.  

Both my roommates are out, and will be for the night, and that’s a relief too.

I’m listening to “A Well Tempered Clavier” and watching the rain and just got off the phone with my friend who managed to also escape our toxic ex-job.  I am so proud of her, it has been a long time coming.  

It’s, what, Wednesday?  On Monday, I had a serious bout of depression/feeling really down.  Yesterday, about halfway through the day, I realized I was getting a migraine. I had also pulled my lower back muscle somehow (probably overworked out.). So I spent the second part of the day in bed, feeling truly, truly awful from my migraine/back situation.  Today I woke up and STILL had a migraine :/ usually it goes away overnight, almost always.  But I spent most of the day today in bed too, just resting, trying to make it through the terrible pain. Migraine pain is unlike anything else.  I slept from 2 to 6 and when I finally woke up, I did feel better.  Now I am trying to salvage the day so that I don’t feel like I wasted most of my last week of summer.  However, if this is going to happen,  I am glad it’s happening before work starts. I absolutely can’t work like this.

It’s also interesting because I have noticed that my migraines are usually preceded by a day of depression/extreme feelings.  That’s happened twice in a row now that I’ve documented.  So that’s good to know.  I feel like I am a weird detective of my own body, trying to put together the pieces to figure out when/why this happens.

Tomorrow, I am going to the ocean with my friend K. It promises to be an amazing day.  I am going to bring coconut water with pineapple, my secret favorite drink of all time, and sip it leisurely throughout the day while keeping it cool in my tiny cooler.  I am also going to bring a deli meat on rye sandwich, and some pickles, and chips.  Mmmmm. It’s nice to anticipate a delicious meal.  

I’m going to lay in the sun and just not think and have fun with K.  I’m going to let the ocean batter me around in a friendly way.  I’m going to buy some weird tchatcke to remind me of the trip from the boardwalk, and probably get an ostentatious ice cream.  It’s summer, baby! Gotta live that life for a few more days!

Today I watched the new Emma movie (finally) while I was battling my migraine. It was charming and beautiful.  Emma is always my least fave Austen lady heroine, because she is rich and I am judgmental.  Also she is a meddler and I HATE a meddler.  But it is still a good story and the movie was so sweet.  Gotta love Mr. Knightley.

I’ve been thinking about dating a lot lately.  I went on more dates than I normally would, during the pandemic, because of the mandatory (to me and my sense of covid safety) option of meeting via video chat first.  And then, going on walks! Because I would only meet up with men outdoors during covid.  For some reason, the low-key nature of a video date or a walk made me a lot more likely to give guys a chance.  But I never hit it off with anyone, never met anyone that sparked my interest.  I sometimes wonder if there is something wrong with me, because of my lack of interest in dating.  I try, I really do.  It just feels... like a lot of work for little reward.  

When I examine my past relationships, I realize that every man I ever dated, I had known as a friend for at least a year first.  Maybe my threshold of trust is just a lot higher than it is for some people, or maybe that’s just what it takes for me to be attracted enough to want to be with someone.  I also was thinking about how, every guy I’ve been in a serious relationship with, has been someone that was equally involved in some kind of life-consuming activity or job as me, lol.  The first guy I fell in love with, was because we had been friends and then worked for a summer program with high school kids, and we contractually had to spend almost every waking minute together, along with the rest of the staff.  That kind of time, the energy of being thrown together and having to solve problems and keep the summer going, was a fertile ground for getting to know someone better and seeing how they operated under pressure, as well as how they were with the people they were there to serve.  That is super attractive to me.  We eventually broke up, but, I can’t help but feel that that summer changed us both forever.

Now that I am older, there are far less situations where I am thrown together with men in the sort of way that allows one to really get to know someone deeply, without doing so on purpose-- that is, without dating.  I don’t want to do the work of dating, I just want to already know a man enough to know I trust him and that we are compatible, lol.  I realize that’s ludicrous.  But that’s what I want, and I think sadly that's the only way I’m going to be able to get into this whole relationship thing again.  I am in no hurry-- it’ll happen if it’s gonna happen-- but I miss the feeling of being in the same story as someone else.

[canaryatlaw]

okay, so today was wild, as expected. my body decided to be an asshole and woke me up at 6 am and didn’t let me fall back asleep, so I didn't even get as much sleep as I wanted to, but once the alarm rang at 8 I actually started getting ready. I was doing the death witch cosplay today which is actually pretty simple, mainly just a tank top, jacket, jeans and boots, so it didn’t take me long to get ready. We headed out the door around 9 and made a stop at the local bagel place because I wanted Jess to have an authentic New York bagel, I got an egg sandwich on a roll because you have never had an egg sandwich before in your life if you have not had one from a LI deli or bagel place. But anyway, we got the food and got back on the road, the convention center is about an hour from my parent’s house, so not bad. We were able to find parking pretty easily, and didn’t have to wait very long to get in. Unfortunately it was very hot, and we were both wearing rather warm cosplays, so we had to deal with that. But we got into the actual room and headed over to Brandon’s table to see what was going on. He had a fairly long line and we didn’t see his handlers that Jess knows around so we got in line and waited. We talked to Brandon for a bit and then Jess and Brandon took several selfies, one of which I photobombed and it’s legit the funniest thing ever. After that we went to the show floor and just kind of milled about, I’m not really searching for anything in particular at the moment so it was mostly just observing. There was a t-shirt that said “Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law” which I kinda wanted but i already have so many shirts....I’ll decide on it tomorrow. Brandon’s panel was at 1, so we grabbed some seats in the back during the previous panel (someone from the walking dead) and waited until that was over and people cleared out to jump to the front. The panel was really good, lots of good questions and answers, I asked what his favorite blooper was from the gagreel and he said he loved the one with him fighting the curtain and it failing and then Courtney is just laughing, as well as all the dance moves. Afterwards we milled about the floor for a while more before meeting up with two of Jess’ friends. Jess had a photo op at 3, so I went with her to that, then we reunited and went to Brandon’s table all together, then went through the floor with the friends where they discovered an “A.T.O.M.” shirt that obviously Brandon NEEDED to have, so that was purchased and we went back to his table and gave it to him, and it was pretty great. After we said goodbye to him for the day we headed out, going to the cheesecake factory where we were gonna get food even though it wasn’t all that late yet (I think it was like 4:30). But of course they still had a wait, but we only had to wait like 15 minutes so it was nothing. My stomach had been bugging me all day, no idea what’s going on with that, and I was trying to find something that I would be sure wouldn’t piss of my acid reflux, which was difficult on a menu with giant amounts of fried and other types of food I can’t eat. I ended up settling for what I normally get, the four cheese pasta, which I was somewhat concerned about because the tomato sauce can be acidic sometimes, but it was fine. We had a good time chatting and joking, it was a lot of fun. We got cheesecake of course, because all visits there have to end in cheesecake, it’s the law, but of course none of us actually finished the piece 😂 they do such a good job of filling you up with food. We sat and talked for a bit then said goodbye to friends and headed back home. Everything was pretty docile here, just my parents and my uncle, who we talked to for a bit before heading upstairs and hanging for a bit. The air mattress Jess slept on last night had a leak, meaning she woke up mostly on the ground, which is something I’m very familiar with as it happened legit all the time on tour when were were all sleeping on air mattresses for a month, so we had to have my dad fix it and hopefully it works now. And yeah, shortly after that we started getting ready for it and here we are. Tomorrow we’re going back to the con of course, I’m going to do my Ramona Flowers cosplay and hope 1) that my wig doesn't look terrible, and 2) that I don’t actually melt, because her outfit is legit just two layered jackets, but I’m going to try to manage them so I won’t be dying the whole time. Okay, it’s almost 1 am, I’m off to sleep. Goodnight ladies and gents. Hope you had a kick-ass Saturday. 

[thehikingnerd]

Day 128 (9/22).

We woke up and started getting our things ready. I didn't eat because I knew we were close to town where the promise of coffee and real food were waiting just miles away. I went to pee and saw that some animal had dug up my poo in the night and had consumed every bit of it leaving no trace at all, including the TP. Gross but kind of impressive in a way. Butt'rs saw another salmon near the bank and we assumed that it just must have been salmon jumping in the night. We finally headed out and back down the road toward Greenwater. We found a souvenir and clothing shop that had a coffee shop in the back. We went in and got coffee and I got a breakfast sandwich that wasn't impressive even by hiker standards. But the lady and her daughter who ran the place were both really nice. We chatted with a lot of people about the trail, and once hearing about how Butt'rs' phone was ruined the daughter said to hold on. She went upstairs to retrieve and old iPhone 4 that had just been sitting up there for years. So she gave t to Butt'rs, and he set it up and got a replacement phone for free, she just gave it to him and then I think he tipped her like $20 or something. I bought a plain dark green trucker hat and really liked it. I figured the intense sun was over this far along the PCT, and my floppy full-brimmed hat was kind of annoying to wear. I also got a postcard and sent t to Angie. Soon after that I walked further down the street and got another sandwich (and a free bag of chips on the house) from the deli and then went on to the convenience store at the far end of the 70-yard long "town". I was talking to the guy working there and he said he lived in KY for a short time. Indeed he knew the Louisville area and we talked for quite a while about bourbon. Finally, Butt'rs made his way there too and we kept on down the road. We just walked for a long time, breaking occasionally. At a big open area next to a river we spread out all of our things to let them fully dry as they were still damp from that morning when we put them in our packs. I was eating blackberries along the side of the road and even got an apple from an apple tree randomly growing on the side of the road. I stepped on a small snake and he slithered off under a blackberry bush before I could identify him. Just before dark we had made or way to Enumclaw. We stopped in at a Mexican sit down place in town and I charged my phone and battery pack while we gorged and cleared every scrap from our plate and ran through like 3-4 rounds of chips and salsa. Finally, it was time to find a place to stay as the trail angel I texted earlier never replied and couch surfing yielded absolutely nothing. I was talking to Angie on the phone as we left and we turned down the right way and I heard Butt'rs ask “164?” And I said I think so. We needed to go north on the Main Street out of town which I knew it was something like 164 so I just followed along talking in the phone and not paying attention. Finally I got off the phone as we passed a farmers park. It looked like it might be a decent place to sleep but I didn't remember seeing it on the map I looked at earlier, we were supposed to be shooting for (something) bridge site state park. Turns out we were heading west on 164 and needed to be going north on 169. Wtf, we had walked like two miles in the wrong direction and why do they have like 3 roads in this town and two of them are that similar of a number? Anyway, there wasn't anything to do but turn around and we thought we would check out this other park on the way back, luckily this park was perfect. Basically just a collection of wide trails through the woods and even though the park was Day use only we camped there in the middle of one of the trails. It was a good place to sleep far from traffic, which can be hard to find in towns.

[thisismrbrendanjay]

'Someday, you won't be able to order coffee without hearing me': how Stefani became Lady Gaga

She was once dancing in her underwear in 'crunchy' clubs; now she's a superstar. Brendan Jay Sullivan recalls his year with an unknown Gaga

ByNick Levine

29 May 2020 • 4:11pm

A 19-year-old Gaga with Brendan Jay Sullivan in New York, 2006 CREDIT: Brendan Jay Sullivan

When Brendan Jay Sullivan first met Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta on New York’s Lower East Side in 2006, he was struck by her unabashed ambition: this “shy, quiet girl with dark hair” told him that she wanted to be “the biggest pop star in the world”. On tiny stages across New York City, she went by the name of Lady Gaga.

Sullivan, who became Gaga’s DJ back when she was a 20-year-old wannabe working as a go-go dancer in Manhattan, recalls spotting the singer’s “great vision” when he met her at a bar where her then-boyfriend was working. In his book Rivington Was Ours: Lady Gaga, the Lower East Side, and the Prime of Our Lives, Sullivan describes the boyfriend, whom he refers to using the pseudonym “Guy”, as “inattentive and possessive” – and says Gaga even gave her "thick, dark, raven-haired Italian mane" a botched blonde dye job to impress him.

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Though Gaga didn’t mention “Guy” by name, she said in 2010 – two years after bombastic hits such as Just Dance and Poker Face made her a superstar – that she once had a boyfriend who told her she’d never succeed. Her riposte? "I said to him, 'Someday, when we're not together, you won't be able to order a cup of coffee at the f---ing deli without hearing or seeing me." 

It's safe to say Gaga, who has sold 27 million albums to date and today claims her sixth UK number one single with Rain on Me from her just-released album Chromatica, has found her words more than vindicated.

“People loved watching her because she was so fearless,” continues Sullivan, who says he bonded with the star straight away when Sullivan recognised that her stage name was a reference to the Queen song Radio Gaga. They soon became a musical “team” – he’d play records at Lower East Side night spots, and she’d dance to them. “And then afterwards, we’d talk about music and everything for hours.”

At this point, Sullivan says Gaga had already made a deal with her father Joseph Germanotta, an Italian-American internet entrepreneur who worked hard to send his daughter to Convent of the Sacred Heart, New York City’s oldest private school for girls, and then to the prestigious Tisch School of the Arts at New York University.

A little known Lady Gaga performs at a bar in 2006

 “Gaga and her dad were both Springsteen fans, so they had the language of music to understand each other,” Sullivan says. “She said to him: ‘I love you, but I’ve gotta leave home to do this. I want to become a pop star and I’m willing to do anything to make it happen.’” According to Sullivan, Gaga’s father gave her a year to prove a career in music could be viable – then found her a cheap apartment on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Gaga’s family home was only a few miles away on the refined Upper West Side, but the move to one of New York’s most creative neighbourhoods was clearly symbolic as well as practical.

Gaga’s new apartment may have been cheap for Manhattan – around $1,100 a month, Sullivan recalls – but she wasn’t living in squalor. "It was a very slim, efficient space but it wasn't tiny,” Sullivan says. “And the kitchen was bigger than you would expect in a one-person Manhattan apartment – that's the Italian girl in her, I think.

"Our other friends would just have a couple of take-out containers in the fridge, but Gaga's place wasn't like that. After a full night out, she'd roll out hamburger meat into meatballs and bake them, then cook spaghetti on the stove in carefully seasoned water. This wasn't like some college kid's version of spaghetti and meatballs – she’d make it all properly."

Gaga’s apartment also had “a little production space” where she could record songs she was writing on her two guitars. Though their nightclub act originally had Gaga dancing to records Sullivan would play from the DJ booth, she really found her groove when she started to sing as well. “My biggest contribution was saying to her: ‘You’re a great go-go dancer, you’re a great singer, so why don’t you sing when you dance? So she started coming on around midnight and singing three songs there and then – and it just clicked straight away,” he recalls.

Unstoppable: Lady Gaga on her Born This Way tour CREDIT: Alamy 

At this point, Sullivan concedes that Gaga didn’t yet look like a pop star. "She'd already been an extra on The Sopranos – and [Jamie-Lynn Sigler's character] Meadow Soprano was kind of the icon of what a cool Italian girl should look like. So Gaga looked a lot like Meadow Soprano. And you know, she'd just dropped out of New York University and looked a lot like a college kid, too – kind of sweet and innocent."

Still, there was no denying the singer’s stage presence and chutzpah. "Someone from the club would introduce her and really try to hype her up,” Sullivan recalls. “'Like: ‘You're gonna be hearing a lot more from this lady, but remember you saw her here first.' Then Gaga would blow them all away – every single time."

Though Gaga was clearly a natural performer, Sullivan says her early stage act wasn’t loved by everyone. “Someone like Lana Del Rey, she used to, like, innocently hate Gaga,” he recalls. “Lana came out of the Williamsburg scene in Brooklyn; Gaga came out of the Lower East Side scene [in Manhattan]. Obviously Gaga was getting more attention and playing bigger clubs and Lana just didn’t like her.”

CLICK TO WATCH GAGA ON THE SOPRANOS

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrainCFg9BU

Others criticised Gaga for her choice of stage attire. “When you come out in your underwear and tell everyone: ‘I’m gonna be this huge pop star but tonight I’m playing this crunchy club’, some people are going to say: ‘Who does she think she is?’ But that criticism is the price of glory, you know?”

Gaga’s star was rising fast, but Sullivan says she hit a major stumbling block when she was dropped by her first record label, Island Def Jam. "She had a record deal – she was making it, and she already had some of the songs that went onto her first album [2008's The Fame]," Sullivan recalls. "But at the time, those label guys were so frazzled from the music industry collapsing due to illegal downloads that they weren't looking for a totally new artist like Gaga who had the vision to save them."

At this point, Sullivan says Gaga's business-savvy father came to her rescue by "taking over her affairs" and helping to extricate her from the deal relatively painlessly. When her demo tape found its way to Jimmy Iovine, co-founder of Interscope Records, who duly signed her, she became "unstoppable". 

Lady Gaga and her Rain On Me collaborator Ariana Grande 

In his book, Sullivan writes that Gaga “had an innate social intelligence that made her approachable to everyone”. This intelligence helped her to communicate with a powerful figure like Iovine, who’d made his name working with legends including John Lennon and Bruce Springsteen.“Though he's one of the most successful producers in the world, he’s still just a Brooklyn Italian Boy at heart who likes the simple things in life like good food and good chat,” Sullivan says. “So he and Gaga just really hit it off.” 

Sullivan’s last hurrah with Gaga was appearing in the music video for her debut single Just Dance. Since then, he’s continued to watch her career closely and says he’s touched by the charity work she does for “young people who feel like outsiders” with her Born This Way Foundation. He also loves Gaga’s new duet with Ariana Grande, Rain on Me, because it represents the positive impact she’s had on other female artists.

Lady Gaga performing in 2008 CREDIT: AP

At 26, Grande is eight years younger than Gaga and grew up watching her navigate the industry on her own terms. “I remember playing one of Gaga’s songs for another DJ and him saying to me: ‘What is this bullshit 16-year-old girl’s music?’ And I remember saying back: ‘If 16-year-old girls had someone like Gaga to look up to do, you’d never get a date.”

He also suggests that collaborating with Grande hints at a nurturing role Gaga’s always wanted. “I remember her saying to me: ‘When I’m the biggest pop star in the world, everyone’s gonna trust me and I’m going to start my own label and be the grandmother of pop,'” he recalls. “But think of an Italian grandmother, you know, making meatballs like Gaga did in her apartment on the Lower East Side. ‘Do you need food in your belly? What do you need to succeed?’ I think that’s what she meant by being the grandmother of pop.”

[absofrutely]

Oversharing

It was unconventional, but I was able to negotiate the first four months of the job being fully remote, working from home since my wife gave birth to Elijah. I met my coworkers briefly during the interview process and in the first couple of days that I showed up to the office in Israel for orientation, but our communication was primarily through Slack, our internal company chat platform, and through Zoom or Skype, our preferred video conferencing applications. 

When I hit my four month work anniversary, I fully understood what the term “stir-crazy” meant. Cabin fever was another synonym, but after watching yet another movie about a man losing his mind after being confined to a specific area for a long time, I decided to transition to being full time in the office before I completely lost touch with reality. 

Going to Israel for a couple of months would be novel, and I had never worked internationally. I've always wanted that experience before it wasn't feasible, before life got in the way and I'd have to settle for living in the suburbs. Amelia, my wife, wasn't too thrilled, especially being left at home with an infant, but since her mother was visiting for the next six months, she reluctantly let me leave. 

At the office, I technically wasn’t the new guy anymore as four more people were hired after me, but in a way, I kind of was, since I had never worked in the same space as my coworkers. It was an open office plan, no cubicles or offices. I think I read somewhere that the office space was supposed to represent the (lack of) hierarchy in the company. The C-suite sat next to first year analysts, VPs sat next to interns, and I sat next to one of the digital marketing managers. Offices were turned into conference rooms that were only used for meetings or the occasional phone call. 

I liked my coworkers. They were all extremely competent and some of the most professional people I’ve ever met. I knew most of their names, but I couldn't put the names to faces just yet. There was Simon in accounting, Greta, the VP of Finance, Jackie, the engineering manager, and Danielle, the HR lady. 

I was wrapping up some work, so I showed up in the lunchroom around 12:30pm, a little late. For lunch, I microwaved some Campbell’s soup that I found in the company pantry, and while I waited, I snacked on some Keebler’s Cheese and Cheddar Sandwich Crackers. 

My coworkers all walked in with lunch they picked up from McAlister’s Deli, a restaurant down the street. They were in mid-conversation. 

“This morning was really rough. The cramping was so terrible that I felt like lying down on the bathroom floor and never getting up.”

“Honey, you need to get that checked out. I’m pretty sure it’s endometriosis, you know, that condition where your uterine tissues grow outside of your uterus?”

“Well, I definitely have cervical mucus on most days when I’m not ovulating.”

Jackie chimed in excitedly, “I watched some instructional videos last night and I bought a speculum, so I can give you an examination in the conference room later on today. I’ll put some time on your calendar. Free pap smears for everyone!”

I choked on my crackers. 

Four pairs of eyes shot in my direction. 

“Hello everyone,” I said weakly. We exchanged polite hellos and they went back to their conversation. 

David, our CEO, entered the room with fanfare and announced, “Everyone, I’m going to divorce my wife.”

“Back so soon from therapy?” Danielle asked. 

“Today’s session was cut short because I got a call from the school nurse. Jimmy’s got blood in his stools again,” David boomed. 

“Again?” Simon asked, clearly concerned. 

“Well, he might be getting it from his old man. I’m still recovering from last year’s anal fissures,” David chuckled.

Danielle turned her attention to me, “How about you Leopold? How’s your day going so far?”

Feeling the pressure of five expectant pairs of eyes, I stammered, “Great! Traffic getting here wasn’t great, but I made it before my 9am meeting.” 

No one in the room responded. 

I laughed nervously and added, “Uh, and I have a urologist appointment for tomorrow?”

David clapped me on the back and joked, “Getting the snip so soon, eh? We’ve all been there, brother. Gonna be shooting blanks like the rest of us!”

He roared with laughter. 

I relaxed a little, laughing nervously with everyone else. 

“By the way, any fun plans this weekend?” I added. 

Greta burst into tears and ran out of the office wailing. Jackie gave me a disgusted look and chased after her. Everyone else shot a disapproving glance at me. 

Shocked, I retreated back to my desk, not really sure what had happened. I figured I'd leave the soup in the microwave, cut my lunch short and sort things out later. 

It wasn’t even an hour later that I received a meeting invite from Danielle, the HR lady. The invite was called, “Re: This afternoon”. I figured Danielle would clear things up, especially since she must have known how confusing everything must have seemed to me. 

Heading into the meeting, I passed Greta’s desk. She hissed at me, “HR’s gonna crucify you.” Taken aback, I quickened my pace. 

Danielle was sitting in the conference room with a laptop on the desk. I also noticed a manilla folder with print outs that looked like legal documents with clear signature pages. 

It was apparent that she had been crying, her mascara smeared all over her face and her eyes swollen and bloodshot.

Choking back tears, all she was able to utter was, “How could you.”

I didn’t know what to say, simply because I had no idea what was going on. 

“How dare you come into our office and pry into our private lives like this?”

I protested, “Listen, I don’t know what I said, but if I crossed any boundaries, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?! You’re FUCKING SORRY?!” she screamed, hysterical. 

David entered the room, face completely solemn. 

“David, can you please tell me what’s going on?” I pleaded.

David was a linebacker back at the University of Tel Aviv back in his college days, and though he had lost a step and still ate like a college athlete for the last 15 years, he was still 6’5” and by the looks of it, around 285 pounds. 

Without speaking, David opened the conference door for Simon, who struggled to drag in a gigantic wooden cross. The cross being too much for Simon to bear, he passed it off to me, which I accepted reluctantly. 

David locked the door behind him. 

After I was whipped and stripped naked, they forced me to march to the cafeteria while carrying the cross, which was well over 150 pounds. 

While David held me down, Danielle placed a crown of thorns on my head. I shrieked as the needles pierced my skin, blood running the side of my nose, obscuring my vision. 

The onlookers shook their heads at me, spitting at me with fury and vitriol. 

While nails were being driven through my hands, I caught a glimpse of my wife smirking, holding our four month old son, Elijah. 

She called out at me, “Think you could leave me at home with a four month old and my mother with dementia?”

“Think again.” 

She thrust a spear in my side and as I screamed, she crammed a bottle of wine vinegar into my open mouth. 

One of the interns poked his head into the lunchroom to see what was going on, took an AirPod out of one ear, took a look at my bloody face, put the AirPod back in his ear, and immediately retracted his head. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing he hadn’t seen before.

[sumergosuigeneris]

April 4, 2019

The guys on Chicago Med. Very realistic. They’re good guys but. Everything has to be their way, their morals, their decisions, and centering themselves. I think it’s a very realistic way of portraying men, because most males are decent, but with the patriarchy being the way it is, they’re bad without intending to be.

This week has been long and exhausting.

On Tuesday, I got a shit ton of stuff done at work. But. So at lunch time, I went in the back breakroom. I took my laptop per usual, and was answering emails, including with the boss. As I was walking toward my cube, boss comes in with his friend (the one who I really like), and is gesticulating towards my cubicle, like ‘where is she. She’s never at her cube.’ Or some such bullshit. He saw that I saw, and changed his gesture. So, it pissed me off. We have 2 1/2 locations. I have two bosses. He’s rarely around. I move around the floor of location1 looking for sunlight or temperature or whatever but I’m there. I can’t tell you how many people told me they never knew where my predecessor was - which means she was rarely at location1. Theoretically, I could spend most of my time at location2, at least that’s what I was told when I started, in which case I’d rarely be at location1. And to top it off, we barely exchange more than a few words a day, and when we do say anything besides hi or bye, it’s usually at my instigation. So what the fuck was his problem? There’s a fucking double standard re: me. And I’m sick of it. Hurt, really. But, also I think wondering about whether or not we’re really changing is making me more intolerant.

The other thing about Tuesday was that I got up early to get my laundry done, and the entire laundry room was down. I had to find a laundromat. And it’s the first time I’ve used one since I got here, so I was unprepared for how expensive it was. And I couldn’t figure out the prices and the lady wasn’t helping me the way I wanted. She wanted to help me get all my clothes washed. I wanted to be able to afford to wash *anything.* It worked out though. But it added to the length of my day.

Yesterday, we had our staff meeting. Nothing was said about it during the meeting. My coworker friend talked about stuff involving stool samples, which was funny. And funnier b/c she didn’t think anything of it, until I told her after. I was so exhausted, I was grouchy. I didn’t tell her her talk was outstanding. It wasn’t, but it was good and interesting, so I should have been more positive. Also, I accidentally didn’t feed her. I didn’t realize she hadn’t made a plate, so I gave my building staff some. Luckily, she said something while I still had food that wasn’t dessert, but I felt bad.

Again I was exhausted, so I went to the grocery store for chicken. The wait was long for no reason, per usual. But one of the elders in line started complaining, and escalating. The workers got rude, so it escalated more, and others go involved. The workers called security. But then started working faster. At no point did a manager come to assist us. The people that work at that store are extremely slow, and stop often and dick around. And I never see a manager saying anything. They work especially inefficiently in the deli, depending on who’s working. And what the elder was saying was true. I actually thanked her for defending us b/c I was afraid security was gonna try to kick her out. I’ll skip going there for a while again.

But last night and tonight, I had a couple beers. I don’t think they affected/effected me. But it just makes me feel better. Pushing through B5 and Continuum to relax before sleep. B5 is not exactly the same as I remember. Also, it doesn’t play well with binge-watching. Part of how great it was was the tension from week to week. It’s less mythic. Continuum - I started it years ago, then didn’t have cable. Then it came to net flix and I dithered. Then I started really trying to watch it, and somewhere along the line I got confused. Kiera’s character doesn’t make sense. But then I started thinking, that she’s consistent, it’s my understanding of her when the show started that was wrong. And I’m very disappointed in both the Alecs. One of them is leaning in to becoming the bad guy. The other prioritized his girlfriend over Kiera. Disappointing. It’s hard to work through. Of course, the fact that I’m exhausted and not paying enough attention even when I’m not exhausted doesn’t help.

Today, had another big meeting. I was helping the person who I used to be kinda friends with. Taking notes. It was very stressful trying to make sure I caught everything (which I didn’t), and she wasn’t taking very many notes. But turns out it’s okay b/c most of what they said they’d talked about before. It was productive. She had asked if she could treat me to lunch after, but I felt weird (per the issues I’ve mentioned before with her) so I said I had to get back to my desk. Which was true. And of course, I was at the end of the corridor talking to my cancer friend’s coverperson and he came out of his office and saw I wasn’t there. I think he thinks I’m a slacker. Which, as I’ve mentioned, there was a period of time when I was. But that’s when he was away. And I still got the important shit done. With a couple exceptions I mentioned. But he also chatted with me for a couple sentences today, so...I don’t get him, and I look forward to not working for him. If it happens.

The split itself is definitely happening. The only reason I know is because boss2 is setting up 1:1 meetings with all the managers. Here’s hoping I make out well. But I won’t know or believe until I know and it happens.

Anyway, super exhausted, and while I had things I really wanted to talk about these last few days, I’ve forgotten most of it, and am ready for bed.

Thank god tomorrow is Friday. I’d love to go to a baseball game, but I gotta work. Will try to go this weekend.

Oh, I think part of the exhaustion is ‘my period.’ I’m at the placebo part of the pack. And got it. A bit. I am grateful that the cramps weren’t too bad. I didn’t realize they were pms cramps until I actually started spotting. Or whatever. It’s not spotting exactly. I should look it up since I’m so embarrassed about what I didn’t know about periods before (spotting doesn’t count as bleeding).

Anyway....it’s nice to be back. Missed you.