#and drink to your future career in the circus

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics that are hidden gems - amazing fics that have been a bit overlooked and as of the time I made this rec have less than 200 kudos - as requested in an ask that Tumblr has whisked into the abyss. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis/Harry -

💎 Into the Weeds by kair0sclerosis

(M, 87k, small town au) With the help of the captivating bartender, Louis, who he can’t seem to stop daydreaming about, and his enchanting group of friends; Harry remembers what it is to be alive. This is a story about small-town secrets, found family, queer identities, and the battle between fight and flight.

💎 don't be afraid to love (and love again) by localopa / @voulezloux

(E, 83k, angst) the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

💎 When the Lights Go Out by thelarenttrap / @antidotetogo

(E, 79k, F1 au) In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press--on and off the track--Formula 1 has ever seen.

💎 Your A-Team, Your Endgame by @silverkiiwii

(E, 70k, reality show au) a Next In Fashion au where Louis and Harry are partnered in the competition but they do not get along when they have to if they want to win. Full of fashion, banter, misunderstanding and a whole lot of making each other blush.

💎  Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

💎 Train Tracks and Porcelain by @jaerie

(E, 41k, historical circus au) Shadows were forming into people and things and, there in the middle of it, Louis watched the humongous head of an elephant emerge from a box car right in front of his eyes. Or a Water For Elephants inspired AU

💎 Mind of Stone by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

(M, 41k, mythology au) He needs to find a way back home, and then figure out what the fuck happened at the bar tonight.

💎 time to buy and time to lose by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou

(T, 25k, time travel) Over the years, Harry’s father has played many pranks on him, but this is a whole new level. Where did he even come up with this idea? An AU based on the movie About Time.

💎 From Christiania with love by @sweariwouldnt

(NR, 18k, friends to enemies to lovers) It's Louis' first field training day as a future police officer. It doesn't quite go to his plan. Or, maybe, it goes exactly to some bigger plan.

💎 Camboy on Lockdown (series) by @reminiscingintherain

(E, 12k, camboy Louis) While Louis was working on the final draft of his thesis for his Master's, the world went into lockdown around him without him realising. Now he's trapped in student accommodation, and needs a way to earn some money...

💎 it's time to find your wings again by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 12k, prison guard Louis) His fascination for supernatural creatures had turned into something most closely resembling loathing over the years, due to the many stories of their evildoing, and although he still doesn’t believe in hanging them for their crimes, he does believe in keeping the town safe.

💎 Heart of a Lion (With Metal in His Teeth) by graceling_in_a_suit

(M, 8k, sci fi) Harry is an Android. Louis is his target: a revolutionary leader trying to free his people.

💎 Grow as We Go by @larryatendoftheday

(T, 7k, breakup) a fic about growing up and choosing each other.

💎 But he talks like a gentleman by fondlelarry / @fondofstyles

(NR, 7k, humor) “I had a few too many drinks, ate a bad kebab, rang a bunch of doorbells till someone let me in, vomited in his toilet, stole his orange juice and crashed on his sofa. He woke me up with breakfast though, so I’d say it’s alright.”

💎  What we parted ways with by louisismycat / @liminalkittyfics

(M, 6k, exes) Alpha Harry is surprised to see omega Louis at his matchmaker’s cocktail party for millionaires. Years ago when they were together, Louis loathed schmoozefests with rich people.

💎 Pretty and Preposterous by @brightlyharry

(NR, 5k, neighbors) Harry donates a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his little free library. He never expects what comes next.

💎 old macdonald had a farm by vintagehistories / @adoredontour

(NR, 5k, animal direction) Louis is a hedgehog, Harry is a fish, Niall is a parrot, Liam is a golden retriever, and Zayn is Zayn. It’s a crazy twenty-four hours.

💎 Dirty Diana by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 3k, kink) In the month leading up to his 30th birthday, Harry writes to his confidante Diana every day, sharing his fantasies about Louis.

💎 Pussy Juice by @homosociallyyours

(M, 3k, girl direction) While she manages to dodge the bar's "special" drink, the Pussy Juice shot, she can't avoid the feelings that come up when her former teacher (and teen crush), Louis joins her and her friends for the night.

💎 the blue never-ending sky by @justanothershadeofblue

(T, 3k, epistolary) “Arizona?” Louis asked, and Harry made an affirmative noise from his position on top of his twin bed. “Wouldn’t know, would I?”

💎 Harry, That Kills People by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 2k, organized crime/crack) If there’s one thing that Harry hates, it’s getting his clothes dirty. If there’s one other thing that Harry hates, it’s murder.

💎 As Luck Would Have It by @justalittlelouislove

(T, 2k, humor) We've all experienced the trials and tribulations of technology. Louis is sabotaged by a bit of unhelpful autocorrect, but maybe luck is on his side after all.

💎 If I Can't Have You by Janie_17

(T, 2k, fwb) After Harry turns him down, going out for Karaoke is the last thing Louis wants to do, but his friends are persuasive. When Harry shows up with Nick Grimshaw in tow, his evening goes from bad to worse. But will his choice of song manage to turn things around?

💎 Needle by @nouies

(NR, 666 words, fantasy) “You didn’t deserve this,” he muttered between hiccups. “She didn’t have the right.”

💎 Insomnis by @kingsofeverything

(NR, 500 words, science fiction) Harry’s been having trouble sleeping. Louis makes everything better.

- Rare Pairs -

💎 Eight Days by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 22k, Liam/Louis) Louis and Liam got hitched in Vegas, completely forgot about it for more than a decade, and it comes back to bite them. Sort of.

💎 You Are A Song by @lululawrence

(NR, 3k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) To Louis, Nick felt like poetry in motion. He was a bit of chaos surrounding Louis’ otherwise monotonous days, and Louis was quickly becoming addicted.

💎 get my kicks like you by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 3k, OT5) “Wait,” Liam had said. “You all jerked it at Niall’s?”

💎 Ink on Your Fingers, Ink on My Skin by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

(E, 1k, Zayn/Liam) Liam gets tattoos for the thrill of it.

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Switch!Reader, Crassus Snow x Younger!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole, but he's a hot asshole... Stepcest, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, secrets, cussing, secret love child, Coryo is a bit selfish and too ambitious, Crassus decides to try and be a better husband/father, allusion to science experiments on a district person

Part 6:

Things have subtly changed between Crassus and you since he came home a couple of nights ago asking about your day. He wasn't overly affectionate with you, but he did inquire about your day once he got home. He's even been coming home a good 15 minutes before dinner’s served, which is nice.

It's currently dinner time, so you and your family are gathered around the dining room table. The food the cook made is exquisite and the conversation is light. Or at least it's light until Coriolanus decides to start bragging about his day interning in Dr. Gaul's lab.

“Dr. Gaul let me do another experiment today since my last one was so successful.” Coriolanus announced to everyone gathered around the table. With a smug smile, the young platinum blonde went on to brag, “And she says that I have the potential to become a very successful Gamemaker.”

“Son, shouldn't you be focusing on your internship and graduating first before daydreaming about your future career?” Crassus asks, his tone cold, flat, and judgemental, while gracefully cutting his steak.

“I have a natural aptitude for gamemaking and the science that goes hand in hand with it according to Dr. Gaul.” Coriolanus retorted while spearing some asparagus with his fork. “In fact Dr. Gaul lets me conduct my own experiments without her overseeing me because she believes that I have the potential to be great; she trusts me to conduct the experiments successfully on my own.”

Hearing that Dr. Gaul sees great potential in Coryo sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. That frizzy haired mad scientist always frightened you. If she sees something in your lover that’d make him a great and successful Gamemaker then you're a bit concerned. To do that sort of stuff, well, you can't even imagine how black and rotten of a soul a person must possess. In fact, you're afraid that t Dr. Gaul might be trying to groom and mold Coryo into something evil- like her.

Grandma'am just nods at her grandson, a thin shaky, but polite, smile on her face, as she reaches for her drink. She wants to seem supportive of her grandson, but she truly knows nothing about the games- other than what she sees on tv. So she clearly doesn't have a clue about how science experiments benefit gamemaking.

And Crassus, well, he's shaking his head and rolling his icy eyes at his firstborn. He doesn't approve of his ventures with science and gamemaking. He'd prefer him to follow his path, to enlist in the peacekeepers as an officer since he'll be earning his degree in the double majors of Military Strategies and Political Science. Crassus feels that his son would be more successful in the military then in science and the media- and gamemaking to General Snow is nothing more than creating a circus for a TV show. A TV show that airs a district punishment where 24 district children fight to the death, but still it's a TV show…

"And the lab rat that I experimented with earlier.." Coryo says as he begins to tell his family about what he did to the so-called ‘lab rat’. He isn't very descriptive, but you can imagine what happened just from the hints that's falling out of his mouth; you can tell that it is a bloody horrible act.

You shudder, dropping your fork- causing it to clatter against the plate. Just hearing the innuendos and poetic words about blood and gore flow from Coriolanus' mouth as he speaks about the lab rat that wicked witch Dr. Gaul has him experimenting on makes you sick. Yes, he's not going in depth with details since everyone's eating dinner, but he's saying enough to make your stomach churn and your blood run cold.

General Crassus Snow had seen the horrors of war during the Rebellion; the Dark Days, so hearing his son's bloody, but sugar coated explanation of what ungodly things he's done to the ‘lab rat’ Dr. Gaul assigned to him didn't bother the military man. But, being a keen observer, Crassus noticed that both his mother and wife were bothered by Coriolanus' low key bragging about his gory and gruesome scientific deeds. So, he decided to intervene on behalf of the women in his life, both young and old.

Crassus pointed his fork at his son, cutting his icy eyes sternly at the pretentious boy across from him, and said, “Coriolanus, son, this isn't an appropriate dinner time talk.”

“I'm not stating graphic details, all I'm doing is-” The young blonde with baby blue eyes attempted to defend his boasting, only to be calmly and coldly interrupted by his father's deep and domineering tone ordering, “Shut up, Coriolanus. I told you, your experiments on your ‘lab rat’ isn't proper talk for a steak dinner.”

Coriolanus obeyed Crassus, but the sour look on his face proves that he wasn't thrilled to be put in his place. That he felt insulted that his father, the great war hero of Panem, wouldn't let him brag about his deeds as Dr. Gaul’s prodigy.

You're grateful to Crassus for getting Coriolanus to stop talking about his internship with Capitol City's resident mad scientist. You're positive that Grandma'am’s relieved that Crassus put an end to Coriolanus' bloody, but poetic scientific innuendos as well.

After dinner everyone goes their own way. You go to the parlor to play gin rummy with Grandma'am while Crassus goes to his study to work on some paperwork he brought home from work. And Coriolanus claimed that he was going to his room to work on a class assignment.

But Coriolanus didn't go to his room to work on his studies. Instead he went to the nursery to spend some father-son bonding time with Cassian. And since he didn't want to be disturbed he didn't announce his plans to anyone.

So, Crassus, believing that the nursery was empty except for Cassian, decided to go check on the baby before diving head first into his paperwork. But when the head of the Snow family approaches he notices that the nursery's door's cracked open; that the light's on. He swears he hears the low baritone of his firstborn wafting from the baby's room.

Curiously, Crassus approaches the door with the movements of a velociraptor. Reaching the door, he spies thru the crack that Coriolanus is standing right above Cassian's crib. Crassus knows that his firstborn wouldn't harm his newborn son, but he can't figure out what he's doing in the nursery. The middle-aged man knows how his oldest son is; that he's cold and manipulative- also a hit with the ladies, so he doesn't understand why he's showing an interest in the baby.

Crassus, despite what Coriolanus may believe, knows more about his son's actions and personality that the boy thinks. Crassus knows that his son has a cold, manipulative, nature that's easily hidden by charm. He also knows that his son desperately craves attention, validation, praise, and affection- much like his mother did. God, Crassus remembers that his first wife seemed to want validation on her beautiful face, which she powdered every chance she got. Coriolanus was a weakling in Crassus' eyes, but he was a weakling that didn't have a loving bone in his body.

So why is Coriolanus bothering a sleeping Cassian for?

And the answer to that question was revealed when Crassus saw Coriolanus scoop up Cassian, only to cradle him in his arms while cooing, "Daddy's here, my baby boy. Daddy loves you, okay?"

Crassus’ icy eyes widened and his earlier suspicions from the day his son was born, when he heard Coriolanus call Y/N mommy hit him full force. Hearing Coriolanus tell Cassian that ‘Daddy's here, my baby boy. Daddy loves you, okay?’ made him start to feel that his oldest son, who he knows had a bit of a reputation with the popular girls at the Academy (including the Dovecote girl that caught the ‘flu’ during the 10th Annual Hunger Games and became a temperamental mess with yellow snake like eyes and rainbow scales littering areas of her skin like a bad case of plaque psoriasis), had targeted and seduced his wife when he wasn't around. Crassus knew that in the early era of his marriage to you that he was rarely home due to being a workaholic; he wouldn't put it past his son (who's his spitting image) to corrupt you with charming lies and batting his long lashes while giving you sweet doe eyes.

Crassus knows how his first wife snagged him; he wouldn't put it past his son to use those tactics while seducing the ladies- including you.

But the general doesn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. Although Coriolanus' murmurs are a clear reason to believe that you had an affair with him, Crassus wants to observe his firstborn's actions and collect evidence before he does anything rash, like confronting him and demanding a DNA test. Being a military man, he wants to have a proper ‘recon’ done and a ‘battle plan’ in place before confronting his weak heir about commiting stepcest with you.

Crassus, after seeing Coriolanus in the nursery, returns to his study to finish up his paperwork. But the cogs in his mind won't stop turning, he can't stop thinking about what he saw and overheard in the nursery. So, he decides to join you and Grandma'am in the parlor room.

“Who's winning?” Crassus asks, coming up to you while you're sitting at the card table, waiting for Grandma'am to make a move.

“I am.” You reply with a smile, looking at your husband as he takes a seat in the empty chair next to you.

Grandma'am turns to her son, who's sitting between you and her at the card table that seats four, and tells him in a blunt, but motherly tone, “Crassus, you'll have to wait until this game's over to join. We've just started a new hand and I'm not folding so you can play.”

Crassus nods, accepting that he won't be joining the game anytime soon.

And then, right as Grandma'am discards a card after drawing one, the loud cry of your son's heard echoing all the way from the nursery on the other side of the penthouse.

Crassus knows that Coriolanus, despite cradling the baby, didn't change Cassian, because if he did the baby wouldn't be crying his lungs out. Oh, isn't Coriolanus so great when it comes to newborn care? Holds a baby, but won't change it. Hell, Crassus will even tell you about how he's changed a few dirty diapers in his youth- not many, but a few whenever he was in his son's nursery and felt/smelled a heavy or wet diaper while holding him.

Hell, if what Crassus overheard Coriolanus say is true (and he hopes it's not because he'd hate to think that you'd cheat on him with his own son) then his heir isn't that great of a father.

But who’s he to judge? Crassus' son’s quite popular with the ladies and might've seduced you. What kind of fathering produces something like that?

“Crassus, can you take my hand? I need to go check on Cassian.” You ask your husband, holding your cards out to him.

Taking the cards from your outstretched hand, causing his fingertips to lightly brush against yours, he assures you, “Go ahead, petal. I'll be fine taking your place against mother in the card game.”

“Thank you.” You tell your husband, a hint of a smile on your lips, before taking off to tend to your baby.

Crassus looks over his hand, concluding that you have descent cards. Not enough to call gin rummy, but they have some potential.

He goes to draw from the deck, only to be bombarded by his mother patting his hand and telling him in that knowing way all mothers have, “I see you're showing a fondness to your wife, Crassus.” She lets his hand go, enabling him to draw his card, while smiling, “Petal’s a lovely pet name for Y/N; very befitting of a Snow wife.”

“Mhm.” Crassus hums, placing his card with the others in his hand.

While he muses over what card to discard, his mother gives him the sage advice of, “Well, I'm glad to see that things are better between the two of you. But, just remember that you should always kiss her good morning and goodnight even if you've had a little tiff. Can't ever let hard feelings or feelings of disinterest take root and fester in a marriage, especially one as fragile as yours.”

“Thank you, mother. I'll be sure to remember that.” Crassus tells Grandma'am while discarding a card he deems useless.

But maybe he shouldn't have discarded that one since his mother snatched it up from the pile and used it to declare gin rummy.

And later that night when you and your husband go to bed, he put his mother's advice to good use. He takes you by surprise when after telling you goodnight he commands in a deep tone, “Come here.”, while sitting up in bed.

You had just laid down and turned your back to him, which you do every night. You didn't feel like getting up, so you countered his request with, “We already said goodnight, Crassus, so go to sleep.”

But Crassus couldn't go to sleep. No, not without kissing you goodnight. If what his mother said was true and goodnight along with good morning kisses kept a marriage from fracturing then he needed to give you one. Lord knows that he never kissed his first wife goodnight or was overly affectionate with her, but Demeter seemed just fine with a transactional intimacy in their marriage. But you're not Demeter, you're you and Crassus has discovered that to put a smile on your face; to keep you happy and from crying that he needs to approach you with interest and intimacy.

Well, he decides that if you're not going to go to him then he'll just have to go to you.

So, Crassus leans over your body, his large frame engulfing yours, And tilts your chin with his large hand, turning your head towards his. And without warning, he brings his face close to yours and presses his lush, pillowy soft lips against yours for a kiss. A kiss that took you aback and lit a spark inside of you.

This kiss was unlike the others that you shared with your husband. Usually they felt mechanical and robotic, something that's done before or during the deed of fucking, but this kiss was fueled by a feeling of some sort. What’s fueling your husband's sudden kiss, you didn't know, but you did know that his kisses had the ability to harbor more than the cold impersonal touch you've grown accustomed to from him. In fact, his lush lips had the ability to inspire heart-rending stirrings.

Without even thinking much of it, your lips chased after his, wanting- no craving more of his kiss, as he began to pull away.

The action made your husband realize that you're touch starved; sent a small pang of guilt in his chest. Crassus couldn't help, but think that maybe that's another reason why you're sad and crying alone in the corner while he's at work. Because the little intimacy that there was between the two of you died once you grew too big in your pregnancy.

“We’ve got 5 more weeks until we can fuck again, so just let me know when the doctor clears you and I'll make up all the lost intimacy to you, okay?” Crassus tells you, his deep tone holding a slight warmness in it that you're not used to hearing, as he caresses your jawline with his thumb.

“Okay.” You tell your husband, already knowing that once your clear bill of health comes in you'll be stuck being his fleshlight- it's just a duty that comes with being Mrs. Y/N Snow.

But now that the surprise kiss is over and Crassus is just staring at you with something unreadable in his icy eyes, caressing your jawline with slow strokes of his thumb, you feel small and vulnerable. Perhaps even foolish in a way; you can't help but feel like you're being toyed with by your bored middle-aged husband because you know deep down in your heart that he doesn't give a shit about you. Hell, he's probably just playing with you to see how fast it'll take to make you melt under his touch before he decides to pull the rug out from under you and use your receptive feelings as a zinger to keep you in line with.

Only the gods know that your husband's a cold, stern, indifferent man that doesn't have a heart. Why would he show you an ounce of affection, if he didn't mean to turn it around into something cruel and uncaring in the end that would just keep you under his thumb?

Feeling a bit overwhelmed and self conscious, your melancholy creeps up on you and tears tickle the back of your eyes. Not wanting to experience a baby blues crying jag during bedtime, you push your husband's hand away from your face and quickly bury your face into your pillow.

Your rejecting touch burnt Crassus' hand worse than any fiery flames could. He couldn't fathom why you reacted the way that you did. Did he do something wrong? He thought that tonight was a good night between the two of you. He asked you about your day once he got home, spent some time with you and the baby, made Coriolanus shut up when his lab rat talk was bothering you at dinner, and had some light banter with you while playing cards with you and his mother. To him, the night went well and there was no reason for you to reject him after his goodnight kiss.

Maybe you're just tired from taking care of the baby all day?

Yes, that has to be it.

Because if it's not, well…Crassus doesn't want to think about that.

The following day Coriolanus was still a bit butthurt over his family not caring about his remarkable scientific breakthroughs and success. He's still salty about his father, the war hero General Crassus Snow, shutting down his talk about the experiments he performed on the lab rat Dr. Gaul assigned him. How dare his father, whose success and grandeur he's been told he has the potential to surpass, make him shut up about his brilliance in the scientific field that accompanies the role of gamemaker- whether that be an assistant or the head gamemaker itself.

The platinum blonde with the halo of curls felt that you at least should've wanted to hear about his natural aptitude for scientific endeavors and gamemaking. But no, you let his father, your damn husband, order him to stop all talk about his efforts with the lab rat. If you ask him, you've turned into a selfish bitch that's either crying or with the baby all the time. Goddamnit, you don't want to do anything (like suck his cock) anymore.

It's bullshit how nobody seems to appreciate his efforts, his intelligence, and his potential for greatness. What the hell kind of family does he have?

Well, he's sure that Tigris would appreciate it, but she's so kindhearted and gentle that he's afraid she'd faint at the reference to blood let alone any other innuendos to his experiments with the lab rat from 12. So, he'll refrain from telling her anything about it when he visits her next at her boutique/above shop condo.

And talk about his personal lab rat, she was doing exceptionally well. She responded to the after experiment tests and check ups with efficiency and skill that most lab rats struggle to possess right away after operations. Oh, yes, the reconditioning of the blank canvas that's the mind of lab rat 12 is going perfectly. In fact, Dr. Gaul says that Coriolanus has a natural talent and skill at molding and creating useless things into something new and functional.

After spending some time deep in the depths of the Citadel, where Dr. Gaul's lab is, doing only the gods know what to the little girl he's now dissociated himself into believing is a lab rat from District 12 instead of a living, breathing human being, Coriolanus found himself in the library at the University. He didn't have any classes today, but he was at the library studying. Coriolanus, despite having the best marks in all of his classes, wanted to remain the A+ student that he is; which is why he's cramming for his upcoming finals.

Finals that will determine if he keeps his spot as the valedictorian or not.

And while his nose is buried in a book for his sociology class Livia Cardew spots him. She's in the library to study for her own finals. She's a finance major, being that her mother owns and operates the largest bank in all of the Capitol let alone Panem, so truly none of her classes will be in the same scope as Coriolanus' considering that he's a double major in Military Strategies and Political Science.

Okay, that's a lie. She shares one class with him. An elective course: Communications. Although he sits in the front and is a total professor's pet and she sits in the middle of the lecture hall, they still share the class. Livia's impressed by his natural wit and way with words, how he delivers speeches in the class with such grace. He's so perfect in the craft of communication that he could very well teach the class; show the professor a thing or two.

Livia's not bad at public speaking, but she's not as poised as Coriolanus. She's a typical Capitolite gossip girl and will ramble on and get off topic during a speech if it's not an assigned prewritten one. If it's a speaking exercise where she has to come up with something on demand, well, she's doomed if the speech has to last more than 3 or 4 minutes. She's a proper young lady of Capitol City, Panem, but a snobby elitist all the same; sad to say gossiping is a main part of that.

But seeing Coriolanus sitting alone at a table on the second floor of the library feels like the opportune moment to grab his attention. Yes, Livia has been teasing Coriolanus for years (she was a straight up terror to him in their later Academy years) but she knew that her role in life, other then taking over her mother's bank since her brother was a useless drunk and her father’s been on a permanent vacation in 1 at a ski lodge since she was 10, was to bag herself a wealthy and successful husband. And who better than Coriolanus Snow, the heir to the esteemed Snow family, to raise her station in high society?

So, the dirty blonde walks over to Coriolanus' table with a mission in mind: snatch him up in her claws.

Setting her bag down on the table near the scattering of notes, Livia takes a seat next to Coriolanus all the while asking, “May I sit with you, Coriolanus?”

The young man with light blonde curls raised his head up to look at the dirty blonde who'd just plopped down in the seat next to him. Honestly, he hated her; she grated on his nerves. But Coriolanus knew that demanding that she leave him alone would be bad manners; would make him look rude and ungentlemanly. He couldn't afford Livia, one of the biggest gossiping bitches in his social circle, to spread the word around that he's an ill-mannered oaf.

No, that would ruin all of his future plans of greatness and grandeur.

Nodding, he gives the dirty blonde girl a fake smile. “Of course you may, Livia.” Coriolanus politely says before going back to his studies.

Livia digs her books and notes out of her large designer bag while asking, “What class are you studying for?”

“Sociology of Deviant Behavior. Dr. Gaul, my mentor, teaches it.” Is the answer Coriolanus gives the girl that he hates, who's opening up a book for one of her finance classes.

“I'm a finance major, so I've never taken that class. What's it about?”

Flipping his page in his book, Coriolanus answers Livia with, “Essentially Dr. Gaul teaches about the forms of social deviance, theories on them and the societal responses to them.”

“Oh, so it's about criminal and social control.” Livia concludes, pretending to show an interest in the blonde boy's class in order to reel him in. What? She'll be graduating University soon, she needs to start thinking about finding a potential husband; who better than the Snow heir?

Hearing Livia take an interest in his sociology class strokes Coriolanus' bruised ego. Oh, maybe, just maybe she'd like to hear about his work with his lab rat?

“Dr. Gaul assigned me a lab rat, some wretch of a thing from district 12 that was caught roaming around in the woods, to perform experiments on for her sociology class.” Coriolanus tells Livia as an opening to see if she'd like to hear more about his experiments with the lab rat.

“What kind of experiments can a sociology class on deviancy consist of?” Livia asks, not because she cares but because she wants Coriolanus to think that she does. She wants to woo him and what better way to do that then to appeal to his mind and his accomplishments with his mentor.

“Behavioral correction experiments that focus on reprogramming the mind.” Explains Coriolanus while adding to the notes he has scattered on the table. Apparently he read something in his textbook that he forgot to write down previously.

“Are those kinds of experiments hard to do?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus nods, “usually they are, but Dr. Gaul says I'm a gifted prodigy of hers.” Lifting his head from the book his nose was buried in and turning to capture Livia's attention, he brags, “All of my experiments have been done successfully without any oversight by my mentor; she even told me that I have the potential to be a greater man than my father.”

Hearing that peeked Livia's interest. If Dr. Gaul thought that Coriolanus had the potential to surpass his war hero father then he'd surely be a worthy catch. Smiling, she urges, “Please, tell me all about your successful experiments.”

“Of course, Livia. I'd be delighted to.” Coriolanus grinned like the Cheshire cat before going on to tell Livia all about the expe on his ‘lab rat’, using the exact same language and poetic innuendos he used the previous night with his family.

And when Livia showed an interest in Coriolanus' achievements and accomplishments scientifically, well, it made him feel powerful. It also made it feel like the only one that cares is the girl that bullied him while growing up, the girl whose hyena laugh he can't stand, the very girl he hates.

But by spending time in the library with the snobby, shallow girl he hates, Coriolanus is able to brag about his experiments without being shunned or shamed. Which led to Coriolanus asking Livia out to lunch; of course she accepted his offer.

A lunch offer that would be the beginning of something and the end of something all at the same time.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress @nayveetbhh @someonefromwutheringheights

[oreo-massacre]

mild pet peeve that i need to get off my chest:

People thinking Ichika's name is a combination of Ichigo and Rukia's name - how?

Like, Ichika being named after Ichigo is true in many ways, but where does the Rukia part come from? It's an actual word, much like Ichigo, but instead of a pun (one protect in ichigo just sounds like "strawberry") its literally "strawberry flower" (because its the flower Orihime embroidered for Rukia's wedding).

And mind you, I get people not knowing anything about WDKALY, or not even simply googling what she's named after lmao. But is it the "ka" part that trips people up? Like, where does Rukia have a "ka" in her name? There's a "ru", theres a "ki" and theres an "a".

At this point, with this kind of shaky basis I'll go on and declare that Rukia called her "Ichika" in Kanonji's honour too (ICHI go + KA nonji). I mean shes a big fan and all that. 🤨🤨🤨 Also, even if say, in some super unlikely circumstance, Rukia'd sneak in her own name into her kid's (because its always rukia doing the naming in people's assumption, because ship lmao) like I almost guarantee you it'd be symbolic and less awkward than "strawberry flower", because Rukia has fuckall to do with flowers in the entire series anyway.

I'm no poet but just the Kurosaki naming convention alone "Isshin" (one heart) "Ichigo" (one - from isshin, protect - for Masaki/his family) Kazui (one - following Ichigo, brave - general theme of the karakura kids especially and of the series, hence he ties into the last speech of the last chapter)

Even the Ishida family where you have Soken (ancestor bowstring) ryuken (dragon bowstring) and uryuu (dragon rain). Like, you can see how packed with meaning they are.

Shiba clan having the kanji for birds in their names and the clan's connection with the "sky" (the "ku" in kukaku is literally sky, like her tattoo), Jidanbo and Jirobo following a suffix convention. Rukia's name doesn't even have any kanji to do that with, let alone the absolute stretch that is converting "kia" to "ka" willy-nilly. Kubo takes care picking out his names - virtually every character, foreign or not has a basis or a namesake - especially the japanese cast. Which is why this whole thing is so ignorant, especially in the goddamn cheating aus. And the absolute confidence of these fools too. Like its "haha, funny" once or twice if you indulge in it, but the stupid ass ignorance pisses me the fuck off.

Besides, if you do read/know about WDKALY Kubo pre-packaged the joke for you. The joke of "youd think Ichika was named after Ichigo? No, you fool, it's Orihime's favourite flower and Rukia is playing favourites," but deep down its also a reference to Ichigo so win-win.

Frankly, if you dig symbolically with the assumption that its a reference to two people, and assume the strawberry kanji is for Ichigo and the flower "ka" kanji is for someone related to flowers, well......there are a couple of flower named or related people, and on first glance, Orihime, the real origin of Ichikas name has just as little to do with flowers as Rukia, but literally all the shun shun rikka, and rikka ( lit. six flowers) as a word itself, are named after flowers, a wholeass six of them, so essentially, Rukia named her kid after her goddamn otp whether you follow Kubos naming sybolism or not, and you dont even have to skew Orihime's name for that. Cool. 😃

[spiritualbambi]

pick a card: when will your material gworl era start?+details

pile 1 -> pile 2 pile 3 -> pile 4 -> pile 5

JOIN MY DISCORD

MASTERLIST

MY KOFI

INSTRUCTIONS: breath in, breath out and choose whatever picture that draws you in the most!

NOTE: it’s completely fine if you are attracted to more than one pile - the universe probably wants you to see some other messages. this is also general reading, not everything may resonate! enjoy!

PILE 1

in 3-5 months, baby! get ready because that material gworl era is running at you with full force. get your finest pink suitcase out coz you're travelling to new lands, somewhere you've never been. a new phase, freshness is in the air. lots of new experiences, exploring, shopping, clubbing, partying, driving, flying - everything that you deserve is finally arriving! don't miss out on any opportunity, you've waited too long for this. recently you may have been feeling like your life is dull and boring, like you're missing out on life, but the universe has been listening to your calls, so get ready! use the time till the material gworl era start wisely - take your time to care for yourself, put yourself first, treat yourself to a refreshing face mask, a nice bowl of salad and a glass of fresh juice, daily affirm to unlock the best version of yourself! the universe loves you <3

PILE 2

in 6-12 months your life will meet a stunning new start. you may be starting a new career point, maybe rolling into a new school, university or job. in this phase you are a queen, you are in control of your life. someone roll this a girl a red carpet, because that's how you're entering your material gworl era - like a hollywood actress with ten oscars at age 18, like a billion-dollar businesswoman with fifty mansions all over the world, like an undying english royalty. people are afraid of your power, people surrender to you, they KNOW who you are and what you can do. no one wants to get on your bad side. if they did, they have a death wish. you're in control of your destiny, your future is what you create, what you think of. your thoughts materialise themselves into reality.

PILE 3

your material gworl era is taking a vacation in hawaii and will show up at your doorstep in a year! you'll have to wait a year or so, but that's pretty near. it's for a reason too. you have something unfinished yet in your life that you need to painfully finish. you can't be accepted into the material gworl era with some sort of debts, after all. however, when the time finally comes... you'll be ready. and you'll know. you'll feel. you are the master material gworl, blue print of them all. head up, shoulders back, giving that off duty model walk. you're having drinks in most favourited cafes, bars and restaurants with your most loyal fanbase, or as others call them... "friends". you're mysterious, serving everyone that egyptian cat eye look. ah, so charming and so dangerous.

PILE 4

for this pile i'm not getting years, but rather an age. you will reach your best in your 20s. parties, parties, parties and one more time parties. you are a vip at them all. you don't even need to ask, they see you - they let you in. your existence talks by itself, you don't even need to move your mouth. you are the best of them all. glitter, pink, diamonds - that's you. you are paris hilton but just prettier, smarter and way more iconic. everyone wants to be friends with you, you are getting exhausted like "leave me alone, i want to drink my 10k pink champagne in peace..." jennie from blackpink would be swinging arms at others to prove her worth to you as a friend. no one can be as good as you, all of them end up as miserable copycats. everyone is just your circus puppets, and you are their cruel master.

PILE 5

your material gworl era is changing its route constantly. i can't tell the time even! i guess you are powerful, huh, able to control your destiny to the fullest. but when you choose to live your dream life fully, everyone's going to be jealous. these disgusting rats are secretly praying for your fashionable downfall. poor them, they're not going to get what they want. you are cherished by the highest forces, who can even try to stop you? you are a spoiled beverly hills girl in her pick juicy couture tracksuit. you are a nyc it girl. paris is baking you croissants privately. dior, chanel, prada are sending you love letters, begging you to be their model; you sigh, tear their already 100th letter this month and lay in your crystal bubble bath.

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 2: Those Eyes Add Insult to Injury

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader

Word Count: 2,554

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated everyday, there will be 4 more chapters ahead.

Several years had passed since you graduated. You and Wanda remained close despite the bustle of life would get in the way sometimes. She got accepted in Yale University and she chose to study Psychology. Maybe that’s why she and you got along so well. You both were humanitarians at hearts.

College was a lot more fun than high school but that also meant the bigger pressure would come along in one package. Nothing that you didn’t expect. You went into social study major to groom yourself for the future you had set for yourself. Life went along as methodically as you originally designed.

But fate was a comical thing sometimes. When it has settled its decision to place two people who have such a rich history in their past together, it would be inevitable and inescapable one way or another.

The past couple of years of high school, you and Steve were practically strangers who went to the same school. He never greeted or talked to you anymore in class and he abandoned every ritual you had in the good old days. He stopped calling or texting, he stopped answering and he stopped coming over.

He just… stopped knowing you.

There wasn’t a day that passed by without you pondering about where did it all go wrong? How did the fair-headed friendship that bloomed like the flowers in spring slip away as briskly as a bottle of wine? A million questions rushed through your nostalgic head and as the season changed, the gap between you and Steve kept extending wider and wider.

You didn’t even know whether he really went to college or not. Or perhaps, he decided to go straight into auditions and found himself a good agent who was willing to manage his career. You still remember when he was so eager to do whatever it takes to study in NYU but you assumed that things had changed since then. He was a different person, after all, maybe he had new plans to pursue his dreams. But of course, life deprecated its surprises being spoiled.

Who would’ve warned you that you would get accepted to New York University as well as Steve?

You didn’t know until you ran into him at a sorority party that you were reluctant to go at first because you were never that much of a party gal, but your roommate, Natasha coerced you to.

Natasha was a kind person but she could also be a little bold than you were used to. You were grateful that she was your roommate though, you were a little worried that you might have to live with someone who was mean or untidy, everything that Natasha was not. You could imagine the relief when you learned how organized and sensible Natasha was. You had a feeling that the friendship you and Natasha had was going to last a lifetime.

“My sweet girl, y/n, I love you but you really gotta put yourself out there, okay? Forget that motherfucker Steve Rogers. He ain’t shit. If you go to the party with me, you might actually find yourself a decent guy who’s a lot cuter than him and who will treat you right. Because if he doesn’t then I’m gonna kick his ass and he will think twice before cheating on you.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Nat. Besides, I don’t care about Steve anymore,” you lied. “It’s not even about him, I’m just simply not much of a partier.”

“Bullshit. You are now. Let’s go. I won’t hear any more excuses.”

So you had no other choice but to put on a simple dress and went to the party with Nat. There was no saying no to her when she had made up her mind. Plus, you thought it would be a good idea to familiarize yourself with the vicinity and your potential classmates.

You also wrote a new resolution in your invisible diary that you were going to expand your connection in college and socialize more. You were only really friends with Wanda back in high school. You also shared a few classes with Pete Parker who was nice and smart, despite being a little gauche sometimes and you would often talk to him but that was it.

You also lost your childhood best friend who knew you better than anyone else before Wanda did. It truly deteriorated your trust issues and that’s why it was difficult for you to insert yourself in social situations and just effortlessly talk with any stranger.

You stood in the corner with a red plastic cup in your hand that was still almost full of beer. You didn’t drink either so you had no idea why you even bothered holding it. Maybe it gave you a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t be totally alone in this party.

Natasha had asked you to dance but you knew you’d look like an untrained clown at a circus, so you refused to join her. Natasha was currently lost in the music, dancing with a guy named Clint. You had no idea who the hell he was but he seemed nice, and you knew that if Clint had bad intentions with Natasha, he wouldn’t stand a chance and you wouldn’t let him so you assigned yourself the job to watch over Natasha and bring her home safely in case she chugs down a little too much alcohol.

Your eyes wandered around the room, trying to recognize and learn some faces. It felt like you were the only lonely person in the room as the exuberant music faded into the background. Everything felt slow and steady until the person who just walked through the door made your heart stop.

It was Steve. Steve Rogers.

The person you had incessantly wondered about. You hadn’t seen him in over a year even during the gap between graduating and starting your freshman year in college. You were too occupied in moving out, spending as many time as possible with Wanda and your family and filling out college requirements. Steve would emerge in your mind every once in a while but you tried to erase him away as quickly as possible when it happens because you didn’t want to waste your time missing a ghost and someone who probably never spared a second of his life thinking about you too when you are surrounded with your loved ones for the last time.

You didn’t know when you were going to be able to see Wanda again. She was going to New Haven and that means, it would take at least at two hours drive to visit her so you cherished the last moments that you had with her. She was like a sister to you. You still talked to Wanda nearly every day through texts but you also didn’t want to intrude her study too much. Besides, you had your own duties too as a college student now.

So why did it feel like your lungs stopped functioning when you saw his gorgeous face and those familiar pair of cerulean blue eyes? He had a grin on his face as he walked in with five other college boys. You didn’t know who they were but you assumed they were his new group of nitwit friends. Steve was wearing a brown leather jacket with a black shirt underneath.

He walked to where the kegs were with the boys trailing him along like they were his security team. They joked with each other boisterously as if they owned the place. Typical. Nothing you hadn’t seen in high school. But you couldn’t avert your sights from Steve. You were too riveted by the fact that Steve was here, at a sorority party of NYU.

It couldn’t really be him, right? I mean, is this serious? You two really attended the same university? This must be a joke.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when Nat pat your shoulder with her energy still blazing from the dance floor. “Whew, that was fun but I need some drink now.”

You didn’t respond as your lips were still agape, not knowing what you were supposed to say to her.

“Y/N? You alright? You look like you saw a ghost.” 

“He’s here.”

“What? Who?”

“Steve Rogers. The guy that I told you about.”

“Where?!”

You pointed in his direction where he was surrounded by a bunch of pretty girls in skimpy dresses now. One of them was groping his bicep shamelessly and Steve had his arm around her waist. She threw her head back as she laughed cheerfully at something he just said.

“You gotta talk to him! Have some closure.”

“What? What the hell am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him that you and him are through and maybe, throw a drink at him afterwards. That scumbag deserves it.”

“Nat, no! Are you insane? I don’t wanna cause a scene.”

“But you can’t just let him get away with whatever he wants, y/n!”

“No, let’s just go home and forget it, okay?”

“Alright, if you’re not gonna talk to him, then I will.”

“No, Nat! Stop! What are you doing?! ” But she was already approaching him with ardent footsteps and fire in her guts as she brazenly inserted herself into the middle of the scene.

“Excuse me,” she sarcastically greeted the group. “Yeah, hi, I just need a minute. Are you Steve Rogers?”

You followed behind her but you stood just a few feet away from the incident so that Steve wouldn’t see you. But you could see from over Nat’s shoulder that Steve had a perplexed look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and all the girls around him were staring at Nat like she was a crazy person who just randomly popped up uninvited.

“…yeah.” He answered.

“Oh, so you’re the asshole that my roommate has been talking about. Man, she really didn’t lie.”

“Excuse me?” The puzzled look on his face turned into an offended one.

“Yeah, my roommate y/n. Does that ring a bell?”

He was aghasted at the mention of your name. Before he was given a chance to answer, Natasha filled his silence with more of her venomous words. “You really have the audacity to show your face here, huh? I swear to you, the next time I see your irritable face again, I will make you regret for ever breathing in my direction, but for now, I think this will do.” She threw the beer in her cup onto his face, humiliating him in front of everyone who was entertained by the drama.

Steve wiped his face with his hand and he was too stupefied by the information that had just been dumped on him like a cold water. Well, it wasn’t entirely figurative though.

Before Natasha walked away, she sneered with a sly smirk on her face, “enjoy your party.” She shoved the empty cup to one of the girl’s chest as she reflexively caught it, with a flummoxed expression, her eyes didn’t stray from Natasha.

She walked away vauntingly from the flock towards you, “let’s go, y/n.” as she kept walking towards the entrance. You were still frozen in your spot as she was already going for the door. But before you could follow her, your eyes landed on Steve’s doused face as his eyes were already fixated on you.

For a moment there, there were only you and Steve and the intimacy of unspoken farewells and muted longing that were encapsulated in one bubble of silence that comes when two people understand each other. It was like the drawer of Steve’s things that he left with the memories and he never asked you to return came hurdling back like ocean waves and everything just evaporated in the ticking time.

There was no need for words because your eyes delivered more than both of your lips had in the past couple of years.

“Y/N?” He uttered your name. That was perhaps the first time he had called you in years. And with that, it was like every broken piece you had intensively woven back together ruptured and there was no safety net that would prepare you for this fallout.  

He was bewildered by seeing you here and you had no clue what you were supposed to say. So you threw him a poignant smile, forcing yourself to put on an impassive facade in front of him. You were good at that, you had years of practice from all those times you found Steve making out with Janet in the parking lot. You wonder if they were still together?

You wordlessly walked away and joined Natasha to the front porch. Steve watched you turn your back on him, not knowing whether he should call your name again, follow you or he should just let you go. You on your way back home were filled with so many thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you had stayed and talked to him at the party? What would he say to you? Would he even care at all?

But on the other hand, you were relieved. It’s like, you truly got the closure Natasha said you deserved. Never in a million years, you would ever dream about standing up to Steve like that. Hell, you weren’t even brave enough to tell him how you feel back when you were younger. But may God bless Natasha and her parents for creating her, she defended you in a way that you could never do. And she showed you that maybe, it’s time you hold on to your promise that you vowed to yourself, that you were finally going to move on and bury him into your memory dump.

You were in college now. You had no time to wallow in sadness and heartbreak caused by a douche like Steve Rogers. So you made peace with the fact that it was probably the last time you were ever going to see him. You might run into him around college but you weren’t going to let it shake your ground. You unlocked the door of your dorm with a contented smile on your face as you sat on your bed.

Natasha instantly went for the small closet to change into her pyjamas but was briefly delayed by your mumble. “Thank you.”

“Pardon?” Natasha turned her head into your direction.

“Thank you. For doing that… At the party.” You smiled at her. You sincerely meant every word.

“I’d never let a man walk over a good woman like you, y/n.”

You nodded as she carried on with what she was doing. She went into the bathroom to wash herself off and you laid in your bed, feeling lighter than you had ever felt in years. Maybe she was right. It was time you realize your worth. You spent too many years doubting yourself just because Steve was too much of a reprobate to cherish you.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the comfort of your bed without fearing a ghost looming in your sweet dreams anymore now.

Letting tomorrow surprise you with whatever it has in store. Sometimes it involves a charming devil standing on the other side of your door with flowers in his hands and a wicked scheme to accomplish.

[kileyrose-2003]

Tina’s Tuesday Night Mini Fic Pt. 1

Word count: Who cares? Lol

A/N: Hi lovelies! I am back!! First thing, I know. You're probably saying Kiley, wtf? It's not Tuesday. I know. Life happened. I've had a busy past few days and a final today. Anyways, this was something I did with @merci-bitch when the U.S originally went on lockdown. It was a fun way to keep me busy and get my mind off of stuff. We both decided to restart this about a week ago. So, I dedicate this to my dear friend Tina. Love you hun and hope you enjoy this! And please, if you haven't been to her blog to read any of her work, go do so. She works so hard on what she writes and is amazing.

Pt. 2 will be coming next week

To everyone waiting on fics: I'll get there. Eventually. And I'm not going into reasoning. But anyways, love you all and I hope you have a great day!

"...This is the greatest show!" You slammed your hands down on the piano keys and breathed in sharply. "God damn it, Jenny!"

"What?" You let a groan and handed her the sheet music. "Look there at that line there. Do you see that note?”

“I can see, can’t I?” Her bright green eyes lost their cool shade of arrogance when she seen how pissed you look. "Not F!” You pointed to the paper in her hand. “D! You hear that note there?" You pressed down on the key repeatedly. "D!"

"Sorry." The red head smiled at you impishly. "No, you're not. This is the fifth time we've done this and yet you still insist on doing this your own way." She sat next to you on the piano bench and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Well, I think the change makes it sound better.”

“Phineas liked it better this way,” you seethed through gritted teeth. “But what does he know of art?” You could feel your face slowing turning a distinct shade of cherry red and you bit down on your tongue.

"He must of known something with how much you tried to get in his pants," you mused to yourself.

You rolled your eyes. You loved Jenny to death but how you couldn't stand her at times. You tried and tried so desperately to get along with her and compromise when she was like this but no matter what you did, she was stubborn and so..cold at times.

Sure, Jenny was a bit of a snob but she was a genius when it came to music and you respected that. She was what inspired you to take up music in the first place.

Your childhood was far from easy. Before you even joined the circus, you were bounced all over the place. You never belonged anywhere. From the deteriorating cottage in a small, seaside village in Sweden to the cramped one bedroom apartment in London that no one would dare walk past at night. Your father was no where to be seen and your mother was an actress, always struggling to meet ends meet. She was never home, but that wasn't always a bad thing. That meant you got to explore.

That was how you got to hearJenny sing for the first time. Hiding out in the musty attic of an old Swedish theatre. Even before she hit extreme levels of fame, her voice was like a siren's call. Drawing you in further and further in. It still was in a way. She was so beautiful and even as much as she pissed you off, you loved watching her sing. Like the time at the palace. She was eye candy in that dress, the way it hugged her hips and how the bust showed the slightest bit of clevage when you looked at her at just the right angle-

"Stop it, Y/n!" You told yourself. "She's not interested in you."

Or was she? The way she looked at you when you spoke to Phineas was always with such contempt or such jealousy. You could never understand why though. It was her who tried to steal Phineas away. Not you. He was a close friend who gave you a chance when you had nothing and you never so much as even thought of eyeing him in such a manner. Phineas clearly wasn't interested in her or any other woman but his wife. He pushed her away numerous times. Jenny had no reason to be jealous of you. Yet, she was.

‘But it is of me or others though?"

One could never be sure with Jenny. Sure, there was a bit of a rivalry between the two of you when it came to music. But she was your friend. 'Very clingy for just a friend,' you noted.

'That's normal though, isn't it?'

Maybe you were just over thinking things. Besides, the relationship between the two of you seemed to be getting better lately. Ever since the scandal went public, it seemed the two of you were spending more and more time together.

You were the only one who listened to her side of the story, held her when she cried, made sure she wasn't drinking her emotions away, and tried to help her through it. Even as much as she pissed you off. You warned her in the first place not to seek out Phineas but despite the nasty arguments, the constant bickering she became your friend. Maybe even your best friend. Which you got alot of shit for.

Nobody liked Jenny and you were starting to get the feeling you weren't so popular anymore either. Everyone thought after the affair went public, the two of you would of left. Her name as well as yours, was slandered all over the paper simply because you associated with her. You had been called it all. The ring leader, the mastermind, the mistress to the two.

But neither of you resigned. Yet. Part of you wondered how long it would be until either would receive letters of negotiations to end your contract. But either way, you knew Jenny wasn't leaving without you. She promised you that.

'So maybe she does like me.'

Then that small voice came in the back of your head. 'Or maybe you just want her to like you back.'

Either way, you couldn't let that haunt your conscience for now. Even as much as you'd like to visualize a future with her, it wouldn't work. You could feel the heat pooling into your cheeks as you came back to reality and bit down on your lip. Jenny's hand was lingering up and down your back, rhythmically making shapes with the tips of her fingers. Damn her and her touch! You shouldn't be feeling this way.

"Are you okay?" You shook your head and covered your face with your hands, trying not focus on all the pain you felt inside. "No. No, I’m not."

You felt tears burning in the sides of your eyes. "This isn’t working!” Jenny furrowed her brow and tried to move your hands away from your face. “What do you mean?” She was trying to be gentle even though you could tell from the look in her eyes she had no clue what to do.

“This..all of this!” You ripped the sheet music out of her hand and flung it on top of the piano. “Something's got to give,"

She rolled her eyes as if she seen it all before and stood up, walking hastily over to the ice bucket. "Do you not have what you want?" She opened up a bottle of red wine. "Fame? Recogniton?"

"It's not enough and I don't know if I even have any of that anymore." Jenny eyed you as she poured the liquor heavily into both glasses. "I'm not liked here, Jenny."

She handed you your glass and sat down next to you. You eagerly took a sip of the wine, just wanting to forget everything for a little while. "That's not true. I like you." She leaned in closer to you.

You cracked a small grin filled with cynicism. Maybe even a little bit of hostility. Never had you felt so much love and hate towards someone at the same time. "We could both leave." Jenny's voice pulled you out of your head.

"And go where?"

"Back to Sweden with me for the time being." You noticed the intensity in Jenny's eyes growing and she reached out and grabbed your hand. You could feel her nimble gently squeezing into the palm of your hand. "You know I care for you, Y/n."

"Do you?" You tried your hardest not to sound sarcastic, you were still a little mad at her. But god! How close she was to you. You could smell her expensive perfume, see the slight hint of a shimmer radiating off of her lips. "You're fiery and you don't take my shit."

This couldn't be real. You had to be dreaming. "Jenny, this...there's a possibility this couldn't work." You tried to scoot away from her, a little intimidated by the proximity between the two of you.

"We can try to make it work."

"How?" You eyed her skeptically. "Let me take you out. Let me show you I can make this work." You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why? Need a new fling after Phineas?" You teased.

Jenny wasn't amused by that all. If anything she was pissed but she smiled anyways. Seeming to stoop down to your level with a smile that was sickly sweet. "More like a date."

"And why should I do this with you?" She let go of your hand and placed it on your thigh. "Because I probably understand you alot more than you think." As you looked into Jenny's eyes, you found some level of sincerity mixed into those deep lustful orbs. You wanted to trust her so badly.

"What do I have to lose?" You thought.

Everything. Everything to lose.

"Fine." You gave in, despise everything in your mind screaming not too. "But you have one shot and one shot only."

Jenny nodded and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. "And it won't take me more than once to impress. After all, I already made your career." You felt the hair on your arms stand straight up as her hands lingered on you, gently squeezing your hips.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 6. Sharp."

"Yeah," you watched as Jenny walked away, her hair flowing behind her like a beautiful sheath.

You felt a pit growing in the depths of your stomach. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

[kamyru]

Driving life lessons (Toshiaki x MC)

Word counting: 1243

Summary: After Toshiaki helped his wife to learn how to drive and how a car works, he gets very angry when someone is disconsidering her skills.

It didn’t take a lot of time before the now settled Kijima family decided to buy a car. Being a calm and collected person, Toshiaki helped his wife to learn how to drive and everything she needed to know about mechanics.

After she got her driving license, MC was the one to drive them everywhere. To work, to home, on a trip? She was the driver. The only times Toshiaki was taking this role upon him, was when they were going to work parties together. He was letting his wife drink and then bringing her home safely.

On a regular day, Toshiaki and MC had a meeting with a client. Even though they were working together after so much time, none of them was very happy about this. The problem was the client. They had to make an advertisement for a car manufacturing company. They wanted to show how universal and easy to use their car was. The client wasn’t stopping himself from suggesting that they should put a woman in the advertisement, so everyone could understand that even people who know nothing about cars, can use it.

Every time they had to hear a new misogynistic ‘joke’, the atmosphere in the room was turning heavy. The only man in there, besides the client, was Toshiaki. The women had no idea what to do, but what they knew for sure was that they wanted to finish the project as fast as possible.

For Toshiaki, it was nearly impossible to keep himself as calm as ever. On the one hand, every word pronounced by the client was pissing him off and he knew that only he could stop that circus. On the other hand, it was an important project and none of his teammates wanted to give up on it for the sake of their careers.

When his wife came up with an idea that showed a woman driver but put the accent on how powerful and innovative the car was, instead of how easy to use it, he was proud of her. Their advantage was that not only one person was supposed to give them acceptance on the advertisement, so they could have succeed.

After they got that acceptance, thanks to the fact that the biggest part of the committee didn’t have the same concepts and ideas as their representative, everyone was more than happy.

At their last meeting, they had to decide some things about filming. Everyone was already relaxed. Even the client stopped with his ‘jokes’. Or so it seemed, till the last minutes of the meeting.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t stick up with my idea. I have never in my life met a woman who is good at driving, not to mention that they are useless in mechanics. The only reason why they are still driving is that men let them do it. Mr. Kijima, what do you think? Aren’t you the same?”

Toshiaki gave him a look that could shut up everyone, though it didn’t work on the man.

“I’m sorry for you that you encountered so few women in your entire life. About the fact that they can’t drive, I have to say that my own wife is not only a wonderful driver, but knows how cars work good enough to be of use for everyone who has questions about them.”

MC hasn’t ever seen her husband so angry. She even had to put a hand on his shoulder to help him calm down. Everyone in the room could bet that Mr. Kajima was ready to hit the client. Though, nothing happened. The client just shut up and avoided Mr. Kijima for the rest few minutes of the meeting.

In the end, he asked Mrs. Kijima to go with him to the shooting. MC agreed, though her husband wasn’t very happy about this. 

MC took her place near the driver. She knew where they had to go. It was a place that no a lot of people knew about and the cars weren’t very often seen there. When she just got her driving license, she and Toshiaki were driving there often, to help her got some experience.

The trip was a calm one. The man wanted to say something, though he remembered the Exec’s reaction and remained silent. He had only one question for the woman on his left.

“Are you and Mr. Kijima married? You have the same surname.”

“Yes. We married nearly two years ago.”

The man grinned. He wanted to find out if the woman was as good as her husband said, though he was too afraid of that said husband.

However, he didn’t think that in less than two kilometers from their destination, he would have to see her skills in practice.

His car wasn’t a new one. He loved it, even if he had no idea how to take good care of it. His wife asked him a lot of times to take the car to the service for check-ups, but he thought that he is good enough to repair everything by himself.

When they finally arrived on the loneliest part of the road, he understood that something was wrong. Very wrong, to be more precise. MC immediately knew that something happened. She looked at the man near her, who was trembling with his hands on the steering wheel.

“What happened?”

Before he could answer, she understood what the problem was. His leg was fully on the brake, though, the car was only getting faster and faster.

“We are going to die... We are going to die...” was everything that the man could say.

Hearing this, MC understood that he was too panicked to do something to stop the car. Her advantage was that she knew by heart the entire road and how empty it was.

Unbuckling her seat belt, she waited till the next possibility to turn the car in the other directions. They were going down on a slope. If they could turn the car and go up, sooner or later, the car was going to stop.

When the original driver felt MC’s hands on the steering wheel, he finally let it go. He didn’t stop saying that they are going to die. With a fast move, she turned the wheel. He didn’t even observe what MC did and how the car stopped. Her plan worked. After making sure that the car wasn’t going to go down again and that it wasn’t in the road, MC called a hauler and then made sure to call Toshiaki and explain everything.

“Are you alright? Do you need medical help?” was the first thing he asked, after hearing her story. She could sense panic in his voice.

“Yes. I am alright. Though, the client is shocked.”

Toshiaki could finally breathe with ease.

The client felt on his knees, happy that he came out alive. Now he couldn’t stop himself from thanking MC.

When Toshiaki met with his wife at the end of the day, he couldn’t stop himself from saying that the man deserved his fate and it would be a good lesson for the future.

MC smiled. Toshiaki hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, not caring at all that his colleagues could see him like this. Seeing MC healthy, smiling near him was more important than everything else.

On the day of the advertisement premiere, the entire team that worked at it got hand-written letters with thanks and apologies.

[bentenharuki]

When I read HQ, I decided to research a little on volleyball but of course, my knowledge is just a tad bit better than a novice. There are players who are short, the shortest is only 5' and a half? Can you explain why there would be no Hinata or Hoshiumi in real life?

Hi!

I will try to answer everything, hopefully in a comprehensible way.

There are many questions you've asked beside this one so I will try to put it all together, if you don't mind (you remember your asks anyway...so it should work).

For the part where you quote one of my posts where I tell the Horrible Greedy Mangaka (the author whose name I despise) said like he renounced at developing Lord Kags more, it's from one of his final interviews explaining the future careers (?) of all the players he put in the National Team. He said basically regarding the player who should have been the most talented since the start "he's already great, so what else was there to add"? - which is IDIOTIC because no matter how great of a talent/player you are you NEED to best yourself every day. The more talent you have, the higher is the climb you are destined to have (instead Furudate basically let him stay the same or almost the same as he was at 15 years old: IDIOTIC, as I said.

Furudate has no real perception of the greatness in sport so that was just a way to say "I can't understand a thing about superiorly skilled players, so I cannot say anything more about the character I was meant to refer at as a great talent, and therefore let's leave him in the dust and create a protagonist with zero realism and make people (who cannot understand the sport nor appreciate it fully) identify with him. It will bring me way more money than be truthful, and it's gonna work way better than try to understand the real dynamic of a sport."

This is something that I will never EVER forgive him for. He vilified real volleyball and created fake suggestive ideas about it in people who basically have never ever seen a real match and worse, who have never ever PLAYED it for real at decent level. All of this smells so fake to me, it makes me angry STILL to this day if I rethink about it.

About the height of players, (hoshiumi, Hinata, both under 1.80 by far) sorry, but in no real team of male volley players at ANY good or great level you find people short the way midgets Furudate loves to boast are. This because in modern volley power is the most important quality. It's not even debatable. Shorties are deficient in elevation, weight, strength, power. They will simply get blocked in series, no matter how fast or jumpy they can be. Just take a look at any CEV game, and judge for yourself. In the past 15 years, the heights of team roasters have constantly grown. It's a basic rule which is followed because IT WORKS INFINITELY BETTER AND MORE than any other asset.

Just take a look at the beast roasters in National Teams or in the best volley Leagues in the world (I am Italian, I watch the best players play every year here) and midgets are nowhere to be seen. The more volley develops, the more height and power do count and amount.

Furudate tried to tell a fairy tale: but sport is not a fairy tale: sport is a real path of real, quite heroic and symbolic life.

To play is one thing, if you are short. To play at the greatest levels is another thing. Furudate has so little knowledge of real volley he dared to claim a beach volley training can best your skills. FALSE to the highest. Beach volley is a funny thing, it's an athletic circus, but there are NO connections with the depth and the complexity of indoor volleyball there. Strategy, which is a vital part of indoor volleyball, and which exists because you have MANY players and possible way to make them interact, disappear fatally in outside volley. And this makes the two games like night and day.

Schemes in beach volley are dire at best, and although it is a funny and entertaining thing to play and watch, the ball, the court/ball/net dimensions, the rules are DIFFERENT and there is NO way a real top volley player would ever switch between there and the beach, or viceversa. They are two different sports with little in common, and maybe some help in training there can be found for female players (slower and less athletic than their male counterparts and by definition less powerful and strong), but in male volleyball the skills you can hone by training in beach are virtually ZERO. Especially when you are a top player. You can relax and have fun with beach volley, but it's like having a drink in the heat when you wanna relax. It's nothing like the real thing you wanna do, it's just a break you get some fun in.

Furudate then put everybody and their sisters in the National team, at the end of his AWFUL "final arc" (as i call it, the Fairy Tale Midgets Arc). PATHETIC. It was also blatantly absurd to have as many players as he had become pro. Even in smallest leagues the percentage of players who transition from high school playing to pro are like 1,02%.

In HQ there would be like 20% or something, even around 25% if you count smallest and foreign leagues. It's all part of the fairy tale I despise.

If you want to create a para-sport manga then create a fake sport: one like Blue Lock or Prince of Stride: or you start by putting alienating elements like superpowers (like in Kuroko No Basket, which is clear is only inspired by basket, then it goes for the superpower route but OPENLY), and you stop trying to fake realism in your opera.

They are all valid choices: all, ban the one The Greedy Mangaka did: pursue the money of delusional, not educated readers honing them into believing what they are following and reading avidly is somehow REAL and near to reality of the sport the manga had to depiction and describe.

I call this lying to the incapacitated and I will forever despise ALL of the way HQ became after Inarizaki arc (the best arc of the series, the one that gave me hopes before everything turned out impossibly wrong).

I won't even mention the hate I felt when one of my top characters became even a Country Traitor just to keep having 1264322 setters around.

In NO Country more than Japan to have one of the best characters become a foreigner would have felt wrong and fake.

Japan has a strong, very strong Country Pride and to ditch it to play a sport instead than fight INSIDE your Country to become a valid choice is like calling yourself weak, scared and hypocrite.

And Furudate The As*s dared to make Oikawa (my Oikawa!!!!! The Prideful, talented Oikawa) THIS kind of loser, ditching his roots because he didn't feel he could have reached National Team in Japan??????

PATHETIC.

Fake, Offensive, Pathetic.

No real Japanese would have ever ditched his Nationality to play. Not a single one (because in Japan to become a foreign citizen you RENOUNCE to your first Nationality and this is more or like a capital sin in Japanese mentality. And Oikawa became THAT kind of traitor. Unbelievable. Such a beautiful, deep character trashed to become a belittling loser so into his own world and frustration he couldn't manage to fight for his own place in his own home country. All this is so profoundly anti- sport I can't even detail it. It's just a void of real sport spirit and again it makes me angry any time I think of it.)

Ok... I think I wrote a lot (sorry... I didn't expect this to be this long but it's above than me. If I start to think about this all, I still as bitter and angry and disappointed as ever...).

I hope some of your questions were answered and I hope in a readable way... I am sure I filled this with typos and mistakes but I always write in a rush and it's not easy when this is my third language ... sigh!

Have a nice time and hopefully I made myself clear and cleared your doubts on this all.

Hugs, K.

[mrepstein]

‘THE STARMAKER WHO BURNED TOO HOT’ (The Sunday Mirror - June 14, 1970) The above piece is an extract from journalist Godfrey Winn’s 1970 autobiography ‘The Positive Hour’

Brian Epstein built an empire around the Beatles - but he carried the seeds of his own doom

By GODFREY WINN

BRIAN EPSTEIN was the business brain behind the pop revolution of the sixties. He discovered the Beatles and made them millionaires. As a star-maker, Epstein's career was spectacular but brief. He was thirty-two when he died in August, 1967 - poisoned by an overdose of a sleeping drug. With his love of show-business, GODFREY WINN - Britain's best-known journalist - was a long standing friend of Brian Epstein and watched the pop impresario build a world wide entertainment empire. And he was close enough to Epstein to see the tragic consequences that instant fame and untold fortune had on the young genius.

I found myself one Saturday evening in 1963 climbing the stairs of an anonymous building close to Cambridge Circus, in London’s theatre-land.

In a barren, unfurnished room the walls, with their peeling paint, were decorated with posters of such plays as A Taste of Honey and The Miracle Worker.

i looked at the posters, and decided that there was a certain symbolism, a link here with the intriguing encounter that lay ahead of me.

I thought, too, of all the players who had rehearsed in this room for a multitude of productions: so full of hope that success was this time almost in their grasp, and so often to be reminded that half the members of the actors’ union, Equity, are permanently out of work.

Acclaim

Would it be different for the latest Merseyside group who, already acclaimed in the provinces, were about to have their most important challenge to date, the star spot on the Sunday Night at the Palladium television show?

The Beatles, with the hair-style that they made their own, were still not much more than a name to me.

A few days before I had talked with their manager and discoverer Brian Epstein in the lounge of the Grosvenor Hotel next to Victoria Station.

He was dressed in the kind of silk suit that pop groups wore like a uniform. But there, all comparison ceased.

For at that time he had not yet discarded the solid air of the middle-class Jewish back-ground from which he was sprung.

Unreal

Epstein’s tragedy was that, in surrendering one background, he became so overwhelmed by the trappings of the world into which the fantastic success of his proteges catapulted him that he was never able to put down roots into reality again.

This son of a prosperous Liverpool store-owner was the classic example of the actor manque.

He was nearly thirty when we first met, but as soon as he started talking of the time when he had enlisted as a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, his voice had the eager lilt of a stage-struck youth.

A moment later his expression had changed. He was earth-bound once more as he described his return to Liverpool and entry into his father’s business.

And how, one day, while he was serving behind the record counter of one of his father's stores, a customer asked about a record made in Germany by an unknown Merseyside group.

And how he tracked down the record, later saw the group performing “for peanuts” at the Cavern in Liverpool, and sensed "something dynamic”; then peddled their tapes around London recording companies.

“And do you know, that tape, that very first record, Love Me Do, sold a hundred thousand. We were IN."

Just as I was in, now - the only spectator at the Beatles' private rehearsal for the Palladium.

Screams

Or rather, myself plus the tailor who had brought with him the four new suits, black like a matador’s, that Epstein had ordered for them to wear, replicas of his own. They put them on and pranced round the rehearsal room, bowing to an imaginary audience of fourteen million viewers.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: We are very pleased to be here at the Palladium.

Suddenly, uncontrollable excitement possessed them. The Palladium. The Palladium, they shouted out, screaming like their own fans, as other pilgrims have cried across the centuries. Jerusalem on high.

It was the youngest who spoke the introduction. He wasn't satisfied till he had taken them through it a dozen times.

"It's the moment before the curtain opens," Paul commented with the air of a veteran. “You finger your guitar and hope they won't start throwing things."

The moment they started to tune their guitars they seemed to fill the shadows of the lonely rehearsal room, darkening into twilight, and at the same time to grow in stature themselves.

The Beatles will always be held in high regard for what they have achieved by the unique sound of their music.

Having been among the first to recognise their talent, I feel I am in a position to suggest now that what has gone wrong somewhere along the line has been their inability, especially in the case of George Harrison and John Lennon, to pour back sufficient of the bounty that has fallen into their lap.

Perhaps it has been part of their appeal for the adolescents, that they themselves have not grown up in the full meaning of the phrase, any more than Brian Epstein was able to do.

Right up till his unnecessary, wanton death Epstein went on referring to his discoveries as his “boys,” seeing himself as the fifth member of the hierarchy, the eldest Beatle.

Then, when the group ceased performing together except for recording sessions, he could not help feeling to some extent excluded, even though he was still their manager - “the boss,” as they called him.

Dire

So in order to try to prove that he was someone big, in the theatrical firmament, in his own right, he started producing and putting on plays, with dire results.

He had all the money in the world to squander, but too little productive talent of his own.

Disappointed, and depressed, though he would not admit it, he finally turned to pep pills by day, and sleeping pills by night, a diet that was ultimately to destroy him.

Once he proclaimed to me, standing outside the Palladium: “All that matters is to have your name in lights.”

I could not persuade him otherwise, though I had persuaded him to spend the Sunday before the Whitsun holiday, making the journey all the way to Bolton in Lancashire, to hear an unknown singer in a pub, who had been recommended to me with such persistence and such enthusiasm by one of my readers, that in the end I felt it churlish of me not to do something about it.

Kinder?

The singer’s name was Michael Haslam. He was married and worked by day in a local tannery, and he specialised in singing ballads.

As it happened, Epstein was looking at that moment for a ballad singer, as a contrast on his touring bills to such of his properties as Billy J. Kramer and Gerry and the Pacemakers.

Otherwise, I doubt whether he would have ever listened to my suggestion, and in a way now I wish I hadn’t been persuaded myself to make the effort.

To have done nothing might have been kinder in the long run to the dark, tall young man, with the sort of looks which Elvis Presley first made fashionable, and the physique of a miner, who packed them in at weekends at The White Hart.

Except that if the Beatles’ impresario had not turned up that Sunday evening in Bolton, yet another pub singer might still be imagining he was there only because the luck of being discovered had just never happened to come his way.

Certainly the audience reaction that evening in Bolton was tremendous and entirely spontaneous. I can hear it, smell it how. Even so, I was not entirely convinced myself.

Undoubtedly there was a voice of some lyrical power, but did he also possess sufficient personality?

And how would he stand up to another environment, bereft of his regular admirers, alone on a stage, or in front of a TV camera?

Epstein brushed aside my doubts. On the spot he decided to sigh Haslam up, with the arrogant impetuosity of a Tsar.

Anxious

Two or three evenings later, Epstein and I met again, this time in my London home. We had arranged that he should pick me up and have a drink, en route for the Palladium.

He was eager for me to see another of his proteges, This time the girl, also from Liverpool, who through his astute judgment had with surprising sped reached what used to be the Mecca of all music hall artists.

Cilla Black.

In the fervent hope that one day Mike Haslam, equally skilfully projected, would reach the same goal, I accepted, though Miss Black’s nasal voice with its Liverpudlian vowels screaming at me over the radio at breakfast time had not created in my mind the most enticing of images.

Doubts

However, none of that was my affair. I could switch off the knob.

Whereas the other artist, uprooted and disorientated, was to some extent my responsibility.

In the forty-eight hours which had intervened, my initial doubts had only grown.

“After all, Brian, if I hadn’t dragged you to Bolton, you would never have heard of him.” Even to myself, it sounded like a self-accusation, but my guest again brushed aside my fears.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, with a rajah-like wave of his hand.

“But I do worry,” I protested anxiously.

“You shouldn’t. Don’t you realise, it’s nothing to do with you anymore. Mike Haslam belongs to me now.

“From this moment he is my discovery, and I shall look after him completely, change him, mould him, fit him into my set-up.

“All the credit, all his future success will be entirely my doing. You merely introduced him to me. Anyone might have done that.”

I was flabbergasted rather than relieved by this lofty declaration.

Rebuff

In an instant he had assumed the air of the great, international impresario slapping down a small-time sleazy agent who had dared to suggest that he should have a slice in the property value of the unknown name about to be groomed for stardom.

Of course, I wanted no financial stake in the young man’s future. I was not in show business in any shape or form.

At the same time, I surely had an ethical stake. A moral stake, if you like. Anyway, something quite different and rather more binding.

But I was meeting the real Brian Epstein for the first time.

Gone was the mask of mock humility, worn by the apparently modest young man fresh from the provinces, who in his original talk with me had praised and congratulated everyone except himself.

For the first time I glimpsed the strong streak of paranoia, which was swiftly to grow into a kind of sickness.

Welcome

Not surprisingly, I was dismayed and we had an uncomfortable evening, saved, as far as I was concerned, by the affectionate welcome I received in the dressing room of Frankie Vaughan, who was the real star of the show.

He and the boys in the band were deep in a poker session, but the occupant of the coveted No. 1 room broke off without a trace of annoyance and jumped up from his seat to offer us drinks.

How different had been my reception in the No. 2 dressing room.

Miss Black was seated in an ungainly position, her legs sprawled out in front of a portable television set, and did not trouble to get out of her chair, or to make any attempt at conversation.

After a few embarrassed moments, I backed out into the passage again, and it was then, at my suggesting that surely his new girl needed a matronly, experienced woman in attendance to help and advise her back-stage, that Epstein made the comment that having your name in lights was the only thing which mattered.

I expect he thought my suggestion was an impertinent one, though it was only intended to be constructive.

Unfortunately, I had already promised to have supper with him afterwards, and then to see his new house, and Miss Black, dressed in a black leather coat, more suitable for the back of a motor-cycle, came along, too.

Surprise

Not wishing to lie openly about my reactions to her performance, and searching for some topic of conversation which would be of mutual interest, I asked my host if he was contemplating adding any other female singers to the troupe of artists under his banner.

I am still surprised when I recall the reply I received, uttered with absolute and final conviction.

“No, I do not need any other women artists. Cilla is the Edith Piaf of England.”

Whatever she was or has become - and Miss Black has undoubtedly achieved a large and loyal following among her contemporaries - she is not another Edith Piaf, that great Parisian singer. How could she be?

Despite all Epstein’s confident assertions, Mike Haslam failed to float for long in the larger pool.

Symbols

Even while he was still alive I never talked with Brian Epstein alone again, after that evening at the Palladium, when in the small hours I found myself standing in a room in his house dominated by a row of telephones of different colours on a long desk.

Nothing else about the house, the modernistic innovations of which suited his temperament, left any mark upon my memory.

Only the telephones, those inanimate props of a tycoon existence, stare at me like a blown-up photograph on my desk. The symbols and instruments of a certain kind of power.

“I lift one receiver,” he told me exultantly, “and say to the operator ‘Get me a Hollywood number.’ I book in that call, and five minutes later I am talking to New York.

“Hardly have I rung off, when it is Australia on the line. Everyone wants me, everyone wants the Beatles. Everyone wants all my boys.”

“What about the time factor?” I asked. “For instance, when it is mid-day here, and perhaps three o’clock in the morning there, or vice-versa?”

“I don’t mind about that. I am ready to take calls all round the clock. I like it best sitting here by myself through the night, doing business. Big business.”

His usually deceptive, quiet voice rose to a crescendo: he was playing the big scene in the third act from all the stage and screen dramas of which he had been cheated by his inability to make the grade as an actor in the legitimate theatre.

But I had no desire to play in turn the part of the stage stooge, and fled from that house in Kinnerton Street to walk home through Belgrave Square, where at the corner of Chapel Street and Groom Place the nocturnal life of the fifth Beatle was finally to snuff out in the last of his London homes, whose larger rooms he had furnished in even more grandiose style.

Some months before that happened, he had a breakdown, which was hushed up, and then they put him in a private nursing home at Roehampton, in Surrey, which caters particularly for patients whose minds have been temporarily disturbed.

Guarded

After that he was never without a friendly and considerate bodyguard, who became his shadow.

Except on that final weekend when, in a sudden change of mood, he decided to drive himself from his country home at Heathfield, Sussex, back to London, though it was a bank holiday.

The Chapel Street house was only a stone’s throw from where my elder brother lives, and sometimes, when I was dining with my family, my sister-in-law, more in bewilderment than disapproval, would comment:

“Such strange people hang about Mr. Epstein's house.

“I suppose they are waiting, hoping that one of the Beatles will come out.”

That Sunday afternoon, when the news of his death broke, and the police cars drove up, the flower boys and girls in their peacock clothes left the Kings Road parade and crowded into Chapel Street, as though they were queueing up for a pop concert.

As far as I was concerned the epitaph was spoken by David Jacobs - not the disc jockey but the lawyer, with the looks himself of a film star - who acted for so many other names in show business beside the Beatles.

Freedom

Now that it was all over, the final battle lost, Epstein's adviser from the start spoke to me with a freedom he could not have done before:

“The trouble with Brian was that he had everything, and yet nothing.

“He had a strong family feeling, right till the end, and his loyalty towards the Beatles and his other properties, like Cilla Black, was fantastic.

“I suppose you could describe it as a kind of love affair on his side, but nothing stands still in life, and he was conscious that they were inevitably growing away from him, as they matured both as artists and people.

“This made him more and more restless and unhappy, though he wouldn’t admit it except in one of his increasing moods of depression, when all I could do was to remind him how much he was worth, in money and properties.

“But even that knowledge began to lose its flavour. It was then that he started taking pills to try to recapture the sense of euphoria he had had at the beginning.

“It was imperative for him to feel that he was still in the swim himself, not just taking a percentage of their earnings.

“I hoped so much that the house at Heathfield would make a difference.

“He had gone down that weekend for the Bank Holiday. But after dinner on that Friday evening, he suddenly changed his mind and drove himself back to London, alone.

“What would I have done had I known? It’s always so easy to be wise after the event.

“Sometimes one has a kind of instinct, and can act swiftly, but even then it can be too late, or impossible to protect the person indefinitely against himself, if the seeds of self-destruction are strongly developed in him or her.

“In this case we shall never know for certain exactly what happened. Except that he went to sleep again that night, and never woke up.

Loner

“In a way, I was closer to him than anyone. He really unburdened himself to me.

“He was not so much a loner, as a oncer.

“What do I mean by that? I mean that he was incapable of any lasting physical relationship with anyone. He was incapable of love.”

All too soon David Jacobs himself was to discover his own torments.

[xrikix]

Happy Birthday Iwaizumi! A birthday AU <3

It’s an AU where all the Haikyuu characters are grown up in the future! We also made OCs for their children :). Enjoy~

Happy Birthday Iwa-Chan! 

Iwazumi was standing besides the counter, sipping his coffee as he slowly let the caffeine wash away his drowsiness. The sunlight filtered through the windows, lighting up the kitchen with rays of yellow. The city was quiet, with the leaves rustling outside from the slight breeze. 

The silence was peaceful… maybe a little too peaceful. Soon enough, Iwaizumi heard feet thumping on the wooden floors of the house as his son yelled at Oikawa for waking him up too early in the morning. Iwazumi sighed, placing his coffee on the counter, waiting for them to appear in front of his eyes like a traveling circus. 

Okiawa slid in through the doorway of the kitchen, clutching the side of the wall as Hoshi popped up behind, slamming into Oikawa in the process. Both of them, catching their breaths from running, looked up to see Iwazumi staring at them in confusion. Iwazumi opened his mouth, his expression tired, “It’s too early for-” 

“Happy birthday!” Hoshi yelled, cutting in. Both Oikawa and their son had a huge smile on their face as they looked at Iwaizumi expectantly. Iwazumi exhaled, trying to hide his obvious happiness.

He laughed, “Happy birthday to me, I guess.” 

Okiawa walked up to him, placing a kiss on his cheek, “We need to do something for your birthday!” 

Iwazumi shook his head, “I’m fine with just relaxing at home.” 

Hoshi gasped, “No! You can’t do that dad! You need to go out and enjoy your birthday!” 

Okiawa was pondering ideas before brightening when one hit him, “Let’s go on a date!” Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi by his arm, snuggling with his body.

Iwazumi chuckled, “There’s really no need-” 

Hoshi shook his head, beginning to push Iwaizumi out of the kitchen, “No, no, dad. Go out and have fun.” 

Iwazumi confused, twisted his head to look at his son, “What about you? What will happen while we’re gone?” 

“Don’t mind me dad,” Hoshi said as he grunted from the weight of trying to push his dad out the door, “Just go and have fun. Look at dad! He’s practically jumping from excitement.” Iwazumi looked towards where Hoshi pointed his finger, his eyes meeting his husband who was bouncing with joy.

Iwazumi sighed, “I guess we haven’t gone out for a while… Okay, fine. But-- ” 

“No buts! Go have fun!” Hoshi said as he pushed Iwaizumi out the front door. 

Iwazumi squinted as the sun suddenly glared into his eyes, “Hoshi, I’m not dressed yet.” 

“Oh.” 

“Why did we ride the train?” Iwazumi asked as he and Oikawa stepped off the train, onto the platform, and into the bustling crowd. 

Okiawa who couldn’t stop glowing from the thought of having a date looked at his husband, “It’s a surprise!” 

Iwazumi rolled his eyes, “Well, let’s get to it.”

The sun continued to shine brightly into the afternoon sky with the white clouds gently rolling by. Iwazumi couldn’t ignore the fact that everything was peaceful. They were walking side by side, with Oikawa randomly clinging to him as they looked at the different shops. 

Iwazumi glanced at his husband, and saw that he was wearing a beige coat they had bought on their first vacation together. Iwaizumi smiled, “Aren’t you hot?” 

Okiawa looked over his shoulder and shook his head, “Not really.” He was dressed with a short sleeve shirt with jeans but topped with a beige coat around his shoulders. Although simple, it radiated his fashion style as they walked around on the streets. 

Oikawa decided to twist Iwazumi's words, grinning to himself, he looked at Iwaizumi square in the eyes, “Did you just call me hot?” he remarked. 

Iwazumi chuckled, “You answered my question already.” He could feel Okiawa slip his hands into his. He could feel the rough calluses from the years he had practiced volleyball. 

“Well I think you look even hotter than usual," Okiawa said, staring back into the distance. Iwazumi was dressed in clothes that Okiawa forced him into, a jean jacket over a simple white shirt and jeans. Iwazumi sighed, “You forced me into this.” 

“Is it so bad to make my husband look hot?” Iwazumi gave a slight grin, not bothering to respond to his question, both fully knowing the answer. 

They continued to walk for a few more minutes as they came across an antique bar nestled the corner of a street. Okiawa opened the door and cool air blasted onto their face making them feel refreshed. Iwazumi looked around, the wood paneling on the floors contrasted the white walls. Different plants were set up around the place along with fairy lights that strung across the ceiling. The bar was in the middle of the room, with tables set up around it. Tucked away in a corner was a record player, playing sweet melodic music throughout the place. 

Iwazumi felt relaxed inside the new bar, very different from the loud pulsating ones that his teams made him go to after their games. The bar was quiet, with only a few people here and there, the chatter breaking the silence. 

Okiawa walked them over to the bar, with the sole bartender’s back to them. “Can we have some drinks?” 

The bartender turned around and Iwazumi gasped. Standing in front of them was Kyotani from high school. His hair was still blonde, with the two dark lines but was slightly longer. He still had a fierce, brooding look on his face but nodded at Okiawa’s question. “What are you doing here Kyotani?” Iwazumi asked. 

Okiawa smiled, “He owns this place.” 

Iwazumi stood in awe as he watched Kyotani professionally make their drinks. His hands added the ingredients, shook the shaker, and with a flourish added the extra details. Within a few minutes, he placed the drinks gently in front. 

Okiawa took a sip and sighed from how relieving it felt, “Mad-dog chan, you make one fine drink.” Iwazumi had to agree as he felt the liquid slip through his mouth, the refreshing taste cooled him off.  

“Thank you,” Kytoani said, his voice deep but surprisingly still quiet. “What are you here for?” 

“It’s Iwa-chan’s birthday,” Okiawa responded as he faced Iwaizumi. 

Kyotani glanced at Iwaizumi, “Happy birthday.”

 Iwazumi chuckled, “Thank you, it’s nice to see you doing well.” 

Kyotani nodded and walked off to the side of the bar to greet new customers, leaving the couple alone with their drinks. 

“This was surprisingly nice,” Iwazumi said, taking another sip and enjoying how peaceful he felt. 

Okiawa softly laughed, “You wanted to just relax right? So here we are," he said, as his eyes wandered around the bar. 

Iwazumi sighed in contempt, "Don't you think it's a bit early for drinks?" He stared out the window, the sun still high in the sky, "It's only the afternoon."

 "We're at a bar, and bars are where you drink." 

Iwazumi laughed, "Noted." 

The two were quiet out of contempt and comfort. It felt nice to be around each other in this setting where no words were needed. 

Iwazumi sighed as he outstretched his arms to relax with his thoughts wandering, "Look at where life brought us." His hands were on top of the counter, and he could feel Okiawa lightly put his hands on top.

He looked to see a grin on Oikawa’s face, "We're at the peak of our careers, playing volleyball."

"With a family," Iwazumi added, envisioning Hoshi in his head. 

Okiawa stifled his emotions that were starting to get the better of him, "I'm glad." 

Iwazumi nodded, after a moment of silence, both cherishing how lucky they were. 

"Thank you for this." Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s hands.

"Anything for you darling." 

Although Iwaizumi has never been an emotional person, so much so that he never knew how to properly convey his feelings in words, right now that didn't matter. His mouth opened to mutter the words he would say a thousand times over and over again, just for one person, "I love you." 

Okiawa's grin grew wide as his eyes glittered with happiness, "I love you too," both meeting for a kiss. 

Although they spent most of their time in the bar, catching up with Kyotani, they eventually went outside. They walked past countless shops as Oikawa glanced at all the clothing. Soon enough, the sun was waiting to wave goodbye.

The peacefulness hadn’t lasted very long after that.

When they arrived home from their date, Iwazumi opened the front door to find literal chaos. 

Kyotani was sitting on the couch, silent and occasionally shift his eyes towards the kitchen. They could hear the yells and screams of multiple people emerging as the couple walked into their home. 

"Uh, hey Kyotani..." Okiawa said, oblivious. 

Iwazumi, slightly concerned, faced Kyotani, "What are you doing here?" 

He didn't respond but his eyes were focused on the kitchen. 

Iwazumi sighed, seeing the living room covered in bags, garbage, paper, party supplies, everything just thrown everywhere. He gingerly walked towards the kitchen, worried at what he would find. With Oikawa behind him, they entered the kitchen to find the twins of Kageyama and Hinata ruining the peace. Leo was furiously swiping on his phone, Minami was covered in frosting, and Hoshi was trying to save a burnt cake. 

Iwazumi's eyes continued to wander as he noticed baking supplies flung everywhere. Flour coated the walls, eggs dripped on the floor. He saw Hinata and Kageyama on the other side looking dejected and tired, as they flung themselves away from the children. Hanamaki and Mattsun on the other hand were dying from laughter. 

The group didn't seem to notice as Leo looked up from his phone, gasping when he saw Okiawa and Iwazumi standing in the doorway in shock. He turned to the rest of the crew, "Um guys? We have visitors…" he said,  gingerly waving. 

Okiawa waved back but Iwazumi continued to stare.

"Hello Mr. Oikawa and Mr. Iwazumi, nothing suspicious is going on here." Minami said as she quickly wiped frosting off herself.

"Oh hey!" Hoshi said as he hid the cake behind him, “Didn't notice that you guys arrived!" He sheepishly chuckled as he flashed a what do we do look at the twins. 

Minami shrugged and Leo mouthed some words towards Hoshi, who nodded. 

Okiawa walked over to prod Kageyama and Hinata who looked like their souls were sucked out of their bodies. "So… tired… how… " muttered Hinata as his eyes were blank. Kageyama's head was pressed into the table, no response.

"Um, I think they're broken," Okiawa remarked as he backed away. 

Hanamaki almost choking on his laughter said, "Oh yeah, they tried to fix this but was bombarded with all the stuff the kids were doing," 

Mattsun nodded, "You should have seen them try to help the kids after they burned the cake! Hilarious! We have it all filmed here," as he proudly shoved the phone in their faces. 

"Um… we'll get this all cleaned up I swear…" Hoshi said as he continued to try and fix the cake. Iwazumi, not knowing how to respond, soon bursted out in laughter. His amusement rang throughout the kitchen, adding onto Hanamaki and Mattsun’s, soon Okiawa joined in.

“You’re not mad?” Hoshi hesitantly looked up, his expression still confused. 

Iwazumi shook his head, “Why would I be? It was just a surprise, it’s the thought that counts.” 

Hanamaki snickered, “But your house is a mess.” 

Iwazumi sent him a glare, “And you guys are helping me clean it up since you found this so amusing.” 

The house was a mess but in due time, everyone was able to clean it up. The moon was shimmering in the night sky and despite everything that had happened, they managed to pull off a small celebration. With the help of Oikawa and Hinata, who recovered himself, Hoshi baked an actually decent cake. 

The twins helped decorate the cake, with a rainbow of frosting. 

“You call that a volleyball?” Minami said as she pointed at a lump of white frosting that Leo meticulously placed on the cake. 

“What do you mean? It clearly looks like a volleyball!” 

“It looks like poop!”

“Oh yeah?” Leo said whipping his head, “Yours is a flippen oval! What volleyball is oval?!” 

“It’s a circle!” Minami angrilerly faced Leo. 

“Hah?” Kageyama towered behind his kids, his glare sending chills down their spine, “Quiet down.” 

The two returned to work with their mouths shut. Hoshi snickered from the side to which Minami looked up and stuck her tongue out. 

Festivities continued and they placed the newly decorated cake in the center of the table with candles.

Iwazumi had the biggest grin on his face as he watched his family and friends sing happy birthday. The amount of love that engulfed him, he could not speak into words. 

He joyfully laughed as the song ended and he blew out the candles. He knew he might be a year older, but he could feel the steady beating of his heart, telling him that he’s still here. He would never trade his family for anything and his thoughts wandered back, to high school, to college, his volleyball games, his marriage, and especially the day that he got to meet his son, Hoshi. Like he said before, he felt extremely lucky, surrounded by the people he cared about, thankful for what life provided him. 

“Frosting attack!!” Hoshi took a glob of frosting and shoved it into his dad’s face. Oikawa and the rest of the crew gasped.

Iwaizumi, shocked, slowly came back to his senses. “Run or die.”

He didn’t have to tell Hoshi twice.

[bohemian-war]

DAY TRIP | BEN HARDY X READER

Hellooooo :D!!!

This is my second Ben Hardy’s imagine following @lion-wasczyk  ‘s request. I went to Windsor for the first time on a day trip yesterday and I absolutely fell in love with the city so I thought I could do this based on that trip. Something fluffy with Ben :’). 

Enjoy! 

Like/reblog/feedback’s always welcome and truly appreciated.  P.S. This might turn out to be longer than expected.                                                           ------------ “Are you sure you want to do this? You must be exhausted after your trip.” 

Ben finishes preparing his backpack by putting the water bottle in one of the compartments. He turns around with a smile and approaches you. He wraps you in his arms and you rest your head in his chest closing your eyes and feeling his heart beating calmly. Ben sighs and gives you tender kisses on your forehead. ”Y/N, love, I am fine, honestly. I promised you we’d do this. In fact, a day outside London is exactly what I need.” It had been a couple of days since his trip to the US to attend the Golden Globes. Rami and Bohemian Rhapsody had won two awards for best actor and best film and you could not be happier and prouder of the whole crew. You had agreed with Ben that you two would go on a day trip to Windsor & Eton together after he returned but now that you thought about it more closely, the jet lag might not be doing him any good and you could not imagine how a whole day's excursion could benefit Ben. “Are you sure that this is all about me? Because if you are the one craving for a movie, dinner, and perhaps other things... we could call it all off and stay in.” Ben pulled away from you a bit to see your expression. You were blushing so badly that went back to hide your face in his chest.  “No, no. I am fine. I swear.”

“Let’s go then.” You smile at Ben and grab your stuff. You were really excited about visiting Windsor. You had never been there but since you had seen the Royal wedding on television, you were looking forward to exploring the city on your own with the love of your life by your side.  Once on the train, Ben helps you to leave the backpacks on the floor next to the seats and you both sit down and admire the landscape. The whole trip lasts barely an hour from central London. “I haven’t been to Windsor since I was in primary school.” Ben laughs and his smile awakens your curiosity. “How’s that so?” “We used to do lots of day trips back then. You know that England stands out for playing an important part in History so when it came to studying certain topics, they’d take us to the place in question and we could understand the whole thing better.” It fascinated you the way he usually talked about his early days and how his eyes would shine by the mere mention of it. It could also be that you were too in love with him to see any difference.  “That’s incredible. The most I used to do was going to see a shabby play or to the circus. Poor animals. I couldn’t stand it.” Ben sighs and brings you closer while kissing your temple.  “I am sure you’ll love Windsor. It feels cozy and close to home.”

“I cannot wait to see it. I might find my Prince Harry and marry him there after all, as Meghan did.”

He snorts and denies with a funny head.

“I will never understand why you girls are all obsessed with Prince Harry. He is no one special. He just happens to have money.”

You open your mouth to complain.

“He happens to be a dashing Prince. You are just jealous, Ben!”

“Jealous of what? Of him having to deal with lots of responsibilities on a daily basis and not enjoying life as someone should? I am not jealous. I am grateful for not having to go through that the rest of my life. Thank you very much.”

You sigh and look at him with sad eyes

“You are a famous actor now. It does not make any difference.”

“It does. It is not the same thing at all.”

“Whatever...“

You rest your back in your seat and cross your arms in front of you with a frown and pouting like a child. 

“In my defense though...” Ben starts and leans over to whisper in your ear. “I can say that I can make you feel better than Prince Harry. I can make you wet your pants in less than five minutes. I literally can have you panting my name just with my look and attractive accent, darling. 

A deep heat wave takes over you and suddenly you find yourself putting your arms between your legs to stop the feeling of pleasure that you have begun to feel there. A tiny squeal comes out of your mouth and an old lady with shopping bags looks angry at you. You just want to disappear. All you do is feeling how you shrink in your seat. Ben sees you and laughs. You start punching him gently.

“You are evil!”

“Oh, love, you cannot even imagine.”

Once you both arrive in Windsor you are surprised to see that the place is quiet and pretty much empty. Everyone has returned to London to work after Christmas and you can walk with all kinds of tranquility without anyone interrupting you. When leaving the small station you realize that there is a small path that goes to the city center and allows you to appreciate the castle even more.

“Unfortunately, the castle is closed today as they are doing some works inside. But we can always come to see it again in the future.” Ben explains to you while looking up to admire the view and holding your hand at the same time. 

“I’d love that.”

“Maybe for our wedding day.”

You immediately snap and look at him with your mouth open. 

“Is that a proposal?”

Ben smiles looking at you and rubbing the back of his neck shyly. He ends up avoiding your gaze and takes your hand back in his. You can tell he is quite overwhelmed by the previous question. You got excited there for a second and really wanted to apologize but it’d make everything extra awkward so you decide to let go and not continue putting so much pressure on him. 

“Where are you taking me now?”

“It’s probably one of my favorite places in England.” Ben excitedly smiles.

“It must be good then.”

After going pass the museum, the Royal station and the shopping area you both end up going to The Long Walk (check it here. I did yesterday and the experience is gonna stay with me forever. It was beautiful!). When your eyes stop on the path that starts at your feet and the great amount of nature that surrounds it, your eyes become watery and the first tears begin to emerge streaming down your face. You did not know for a second if it was your excitement and natural reaction to it or everything was caused by the cold wind.

“Ben, this is... beautiful.” 

”The Long Walk runs south from Windsor Castle to the Copper Horse statue of King George III atop Snow Hill where there are impressive views of the castle. It is a total of 2.65 miles.”

Ben smiles proudly of his historic speech as he passes his view of you to the landscape in front of you. When you see that you do not react, he approaches you and surrounds you with his arms.

“Shall we?”

You smile and nod.

It takes you an hour to cross all the way but it's worth it. You both end up under the statue and watch Windsor from the hill while the deer run freely through the forest.

“I have no words to describe this right now.” You were astonished and overwhelmed by the situation. “I cannot believe that we all live locked away in our own world and get to miss places like this one every single day.” 

Bed nods at your words. 

“That’s why sometimes we all need a break to remind us of things like this exist for a reason.”

You sigh and look at him. Ben passes you back the water bottle and you drink while he observes you. The cold water runs down your sore through after the tiring walk and it really hurts, however, it makes you feel so alive that you wouldn’t change it for anything else. You both stay there for a while without saying a word when Ben stands up and approaches you. He kneels in front of you.

“I’d like to apologize.”

“What for?” You frown.

“For not answering your question earlier regarding the proposal.”

“Please, Ben, forget about it. It was stupid. You don’t need to beat yourself up.”

You sigh. You had completely forgotten about it and now that he was bringing it back again you started to feel sick. Ben looks at you with his shiny eyes. 

“The truth is that I have something for you...” He reaches for his bag and spends a few seconds looking for something. He takes out a small black box covered with a velvet bow. You put a hand in your mouth not believing that he would have been able to do it.

“Y/N forgive me, honestly. That conversation came out wrong and I was looking for the right moment.”

Tears are now streaming down your face. You wipe them away because they are starting to blind your vision of Ben and you also need to keep everything professional. 

“Y/N, listen, I might not be Prince Harry...” You laugh and shake your head while wiping your tears again.”I don’t own a castle. I am just an actor who happens to make films; sometimes even good ones, you know?”

You immediately reach out for him. You absolutely hate when he doesn’t give him some credit for his career. Ben lets you guide him towards you but proceeds with his speech. You can tell he is nervous but he is also under control as it’s the two of you in the hill. 

“But I am willing to sacrifice everything I’ve got to make you happy and if that involves talking about the Royal family and bringing you here, away from civilization, then I will.”

You feel dumb now. Your soul has abandoned your body, which is anchored to the ground, and your eyes are full of tears that never fall. You watch Ben open the box and you come across with the most beautiful engagement ring covered in diamonds and sapphires. 

“Y/N, you’d make me the happiest man in the world if you decided to give me a chance as your future husband. Will you marry me?”

They always say that it takes at least three seconds until you answer even when you have been rehearsing the entire situation for a while. You knew your answer but you couldn’t speak. You also had to think of what your life might be like now; married to a famous star. Lots of doubts start haunting you, however, you shake them away. You knew you had to fight against your anxiety. You had been very unhappy before meeting Ben. You never knew if you could make it as well as you did not know if this decision was being selfish but what you did know is that you deserved to be happy for at least five minutes of your life. So you start nodding.

“Yes!”

Ben smiles in relieved and helps you stand up. He puts the ring in your finger and that is when you cannot stop staring at it. 

“Ben, I have no words...”

“Y/N, don’t even mention it. Are you happy?”

You nod and start pouting at the same time. You were probably a massive mess at that very moment but you couldn’t care less. 

“Then that’s the most important thing in the world to me.” Ben stares at you and gives you a gentle pat on the chest. You surround his neck with your arms while he pulls you closer by the waist. 

“Joe’s gonna be jealous...” You laugh.

“Well, he’s got cardboard Ben to please him instead.”

You cringe and frown at the same time. 

“I keep thinking that’s a weird thing to do.”

Ben laughs and takes his phone out. 

“Should we immortalize the moment and send it to him?”

You both decide to take a selfie on top of the hill with the statue behind you both covered in sweat but happy at last. You open your hand in front of you to show your ring to the camera. Ben ends up uploading the photo to Instagram with the caption, "she said yes." #happiestmanintheworld.

It did not take Joe more than five minutes to answer with a "... I did it first" and a picture of him in a suit with cardboard Ben in a white dress. The rest of the cast complimented you sometime later. You indeed had to highlight Gwylim’s joy and the number of champagne emoticons and exclamations used by Lucy.

Before returning to London, you both stop at The Madame Posh for an afternoon tea and to start discussing the design of the menus for the ceremony. Because everything that promised to be a simple day trip ended up being the happiest day of your life.

[timothymudd]

Best of 2019

If I thought I'd experienced challenging years in the past, 2019 redefined my measure of difficult times. This year was nothing short of a relentless rollercoaster of events from death to new work opportunities to brutal family drama to the devastating loss of a pet to buying a home; and, all the relative learning that comes along with hit after hit after hit. All in all, I survived. Was it graceful? Barely. But, when moving forward is the only option at the end of the day, that's all you can do and hope the next go-round will be better. While I just about kept up with my music listening, I've replaced the word 'Favorite' with the word 'Defining' in my list of 2019's personal moments. It better encapsulates the feelings I'm left with as this year's circus leaves town. Zooming out a little further, overall, this has been a decade of personal honesty and massive growth. I plan to honor and respect its teachings from the thrilling highs to crippling lows. Looking ahead, all I'm striving for is my health and a little bit of peace. Boredom wouldn't be that bad for a while, either. As ever, enjoy the music; and, happy New Year.

Favorite Songs of 2019

'Tenderness,' Duff McKagen

'What You Don't Know,' Caroline Spence

'Not,' Big Thief

'bad guy,' Billie Eilish

'Seventeen,' Sharon Van Etten

'You'll Need A New Backseat Driver,' The New Pornographers

'Lover,' Taylor Swift

'555,' Jimmy Eat World

'White Noise White Heat,' Elbow

'VTr,' The Twilight Sad

'Something to Hope For,' Craig Finn

'At It Again,' Erin Rae & The Heartbeets

'Catch Me I'm Falling,' The Chemical Brothers

'Weird Ways,' Strand of Oaks

'Loaded Gun,' Jack Peñate

'The Sea,' Lily Kershaw

'Hollywood,' Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

'My Wing,' Hiss Golden Messenger

'Wild & Lonely,' Melissa Etheridge

Favorite Albums of 2019

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Ghosteen

The New Pornographers, In the Morse Code of the Break Lights

Duff McKagen, Tenderness

Caroline Spence, Mint Condition

Michael Kiwanuka, KIWANUKA

Billie Eilish, WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?

The Twilight Sad, IT WON/T BE LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME

Elbow, Giants of All Sizes

Craig Finn, I Need A New War

The Chemical Brothers, No Geography

Angel Olsen, All Mirrors

Big Thief, Two Hands

Kim Gordon, No Home Record

Wilco, Ode to Joy

The Raconteurs, Help Us Stranger

Julia Jacklin, Crushing

Brittany Howard, Jaime

Lana Del Rey, Norman F*#$%&$ Rockwell!

FKA twigs, MAGDALENE

Favorite Shows of 2019

Duff McKagen, Showbox, Seattle, WA 06/16/19

Neko Case, McCaw Hall, Seattle, WA 12/5/19

Nick Cave, Moore Theatre, Seattle, WA 10/11/19

Tank & the Bangas, Thing Festival, Port Townsend, WA 08/25/19

Hannah Gadsby, Moore Theatre, Seattle, WA 06/08.19

The French Tips, Columbia City Theatre, Seattle, WA 03/27/19

Erin Rae & the Heartbeets, Sunset Tavern, Seattle, WA 08/19/19

De La Soul, Thing Festival, Port Townsend, WA 08/24/19

Calexico, McCaw Hall, Seattle, WA 12/5/19

Jeff Tweedy, Thing Festival, Port Townsend, WA 08/25/19

The Black Tones, Thing Festival, Port Townsend, WA 08/25/19

Among Authors, Capitol Hill Block Party, Seattle, WA 07/19/19 

Sam Cobra, Spanish Ballroom, Tacoma, WA 11/14/19

Defining Moments of 2019 (in chronological order)

Performing multiple fantastic shows throughout the year with Erin Rae & the Heartbeets

Taking my first step back into higher education in 20 years

Our first real Seattle snowfall

The passing of Jen's mother, Pat, and everything that ensued

Truly learning what it takes to be there for your partner in life 

Starting my new position at Trident Seafoods; learning and growing my career

Finally understanding my relationship with my father

Losing Luff—my new definition for utter heartbreak and grief

Buying our first home in West Seattle, and everything that ensued

Completing the UW Data Visualization Certification Program

Being invited back to UW as an instructor in 2020

Remotely being there for Dave as he and Cora welcomed Gloria into the world

Finally learning the difference between what people are and can be—no matter what you want them to be

Sarah & Tyler's wedding (after ten months of relentless testing, it's perfectly acceptable to spend a Sunday afternoon drinking in a Cancún swimming pool)

DIY Weekend with Regan and Paul (and all the tool buying that ensued)

Recording with Jack Endino

Introducing my Mum to Seattle during her first Thanksgiving

Finally, a quiet Christmas in our own home

Letting the dust settle, examining the scars and looking forward to a healthy, more stable, future

[verytamenow]

Getaway Car is About Leaving BMG

Okay, okay, I know it's a reach, alright? You can stop typing out those anons telling me I'm on crack. I know. This very much so IS a crack theory. This is something of a followup to another crack!theory I wrote with @yourmarkonmeagoldentattoo (who I also owe a thank you for proofreading this) back in September 2017. Where I wondered if there wasn't a bit of a power struggle for how Taylor Swift™ was being presented to the public and if Taylor herself and her label were on the same page. So here's a little backstory: I watched the Reputation Tour Movie on Netflix last light and since I wasn't overwhelmed by the fact I was just feet away from our Lorde and Saviour Taylor Alison Swift herself in person, I was able to notice, or really - focus on, a few details I hadn't before. Such as Getaway Car having a Neon font that while not a match for the 1989 font, was reminiscent of it to me. And while it could have be the old fashioned Vegas imagery of neon lights on a desert getaway run, what if Taylor Swift - queen of hidden meaning - intended it to be more. We've all questioned the origins of Getaway Car. Was it a convulted reference to Kissgate and it's fallout? Was it about bearding with CH and that ending? Was it just a fun escapist fantasy what was originally meant to seal reputation as being about TH before that crashed and burned? But what if it's not about a personal relationship, but a business one? Taylor vs BMG and reputation era vs 1989 era.

Let's rewind to 2016 before everything went to hell. It seemed such a promising year. 1989 had won Album of the Year, Taylor's second in less than a decade and before 30. She'd come off her most successful era - both album and tour earnings millions. On the verge of overexposure but not there yet - getting the standard criticism that has always mystifyingly surrounding her but seemingly about to dodge the cycle heavy criticism that followed her achievements. And on time to release another album - her rumoured last on her contract - in the fall of that year. Surely there wouldn't be a better time to renegotiate a contract? When her star was burning so brightly and she'd been able to deliver the ultimate “I-Told-You-So” to Scott Borchetta about switching to pop? Surely BMG would want to make sure their flagship artist and crown jewel in their lineup wasn't going anywhere? So why didn't they? The best way Scott could have capped off that era would be announcing he had re-signed Taylor Swift for a few more records ensuring number 6 wouldn't be her last with them. It would have been almost guaranteed money in the bank at that point, especially with her then steady every other year cycle. Something Scott could have used, either knowingly or unknowingly about to face several setbacks, including the future loss of Tim McGraw in 02/17 to Sony (and to what degree Taylor would have known this was coming or heard it might be or the two not re-signing could have influenced each other, I don't know), several rumouredly expensive projects such as the attempt to turn Steven Tyler country going nowhere, and the folding of Dot Records in 03/17. On the pro side of the pro-con list for Taylor: Scott had seen potential in her at 14 and they'd both taken a gamble. Scott in signing such a new and unknown artist and putting his fledgling label's comparatively limited resources behind her, Taylor in signing with a label that may go nowhere rather than holding out for a bigger name. They had grown up and changed the industry together and few would be more invested in the continued success of Taylor Swift than Scott Borchetta who had built a label group around her. Their rumoured family like relationship meant it was a tight bond to break and BMG had always given Taylor a freedom most other young artists would never have had. So why didn't it happen? Well we know from the new deal there was one thing Taylor wanted: her master recordings. And with 5, soon to be 6, albums in BMG's hands, they had the ultimate bargaining tool if they'd wanted to keep her. Except when 80% of your revenue comes from one artist? You're not likely to want to give that up, even if that revenue is more limited by Taylor's rights as a songwriter in regards to licensing. It's still a valuable commodity as long as we're in the streaming bubble. Especially if you're investing in objectively risky pet projects. It was well rumoured to be the major sticking point, making it's way into multiple articles as the deadline drew closer and closer, and the Variety Article from 08/18 breaks down all the major players and what was at stake pretty well. Was it any surprise Universal wanted to keep such a major artist? Enough to negotiate it's spotify payout for ALL artists and ensure her master recording would return to her even if not immediately. But what does any of this have to do with Getaway Car? Well, let's take a look at the lyrics through this lens. No, nothing good starts in a getaway car... It was the best of times, the worst of crimes I struck a match and blew your mind The best of times is easily explainable as the brief post-Grammy's high. An album that as the time had sold over 9 million copies worldwide, a tour that had grossed $250.7 million globally, numerous endorsement deals, streaming revenue, and to cap it all off a second Grammy for AOTY. The worst of crimes? Not re-signing immediately when offered. For both both this would have been a shock. Taylor that Scott wouldn't consider compromising on her masters and Scott that Taylor would consider another deal. But I didn't mean it And you didn't see it Maybe Taylor wasn't 100% sold on leaving BMG just yet and a compromise could have been reached, but Scott saw it as all or nothing. The ties were black, the lies were white In shades of gray and candlelight I wanted to leave him I needed a reason This seems such a good summary of a business deal. A professional atmosphere with promises that may or may not hold up being offered to get a signature. All of it being a shade of gray in terms of who would benefit and having to be viewed in the right light. Taylor realizes if she'd going to leave BMG, she needs a far better deal. A really good reason. X marks the spot, where we fell apart He poisoned the well, I was lying to myself I knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed We never had a shotgun shot in the dark “X marks the spot” would easily be the signature line on a contract and would be the obvious place where things would fall apart between the two parties. Taylor was fooling herself to think they could reach an agreement that they both wanted after Scott had drawn the line in the sand. Perhaps it was something she had known from the beginning of the meeting, the idea of two familiar business associates having a drink over talks being well known. Chorus You were driving the getaway car We were flying, but we'd never get far Don't pretend it's such a mystery Think about the place where you first met me We're riding in a getaway car There were sirens in the beat of your heart Should've known I'd be the first to leave Think about the place where you first met me In a getaway car No, they never get far No, nothing good starts in a getaway car Scott was ultimately running the show to a degree, being the label president. He was releasing and pushing reputation, the last album of the deal. And while she predicted, hoped, it would be a success it wasn't going to take them further. Taylor's reminding Scott this wasn't unforeseeable. He'd met her at 14 in a cafe and she'd been every bit as ambitious and  set on how her career should look then as she was now. Scott's aware of what's going on and maybe worried or even panicked, alarm bells going off as he faces losing the crown jewel of his label group. But he should have known this was coming, that she'd walk if she didn't get the deal she wanted. She'd already walked from a development deal at 14 because she didn't see a future in it. The end of everything, surely not something good, starts with reputation. It was the great escape, the prison break The light of freedom on my face Perhaps reputation was more than just the last album for Taylor. It was freedom. Freedom from the press and the heavy interview and promotion schedule that had defined 1989. Freedom from the pressure to be Taylor Swift™ at all times. Freedom from caring about major awards that would make the label look good such as Grammys. Freedom from anything but fulfilling her own expectations and her fans'. She's no longer carrying a label. Soon to be no longer under a contract, along with whatever other clauses - regarding public behaviour or image that can exist in contracts - might have existed. But you weren't thinking And I was just drinking Scott didn't think things through. Didn't weigh the costs and is now feeling it as the clock ticks. Meanwhile, Taylor is unfussed. Calmly sipping her drink as she watches the fallout. Well he was running after us, I was screaming 'Go go go!' But with three of us, honey, it's a side show And a circus ain't a love story And now we're both sorry (we're both sorry) A reference to new contract negotiations. Scott still trying to get Taylor to re-sign while Taylor courts new options. He's trying to chase her while she's telling her own team to prepare to jump ship. Maybe there's even a bit of a struggle for control as the new era kicks off and each side tries to leverage it to their advantage. It makes negotiating a new contract more interesting. Any other label aware of BMG's history with her and continued attempts to court her and the industry and media beginning to realize there hadn't been news of a contract and beginning to weigh in. It's becoming a sideshow to the main exhibition that is her music. Both Taylor and Scott probably have regrets over how this is ending. X marks the spot, where we fell apart He poisoned the well, every man for himself I knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart Again referencing a contract, and Scott's refusal to budge. This time Taylor voicing it became more about them each trying to get the best deal for themselves, or maybe Scott looking out more for himself in their negotiations, rather than a team working towards a mutually beneficial deal. And it's a harsh realization for Taylor after over a decade, hitting her like a slug to the heart. Chorus We were jet set Bonnie and Clyde Until I switched to the other side It's no surprise, I turned you in 'Cause us traitors never win They had been a team, an unknown artist and fledgling label against the world and the industry. Moments like winning the Horizon Award at the CMAs which inspired the song Change and winning AOTY for Feearless probably building that bond. Something that remained in place until she switched to viewing herself as a potential free agent. It shouldn't have been a surprise it happened, though maybe it was, but it certainly felt like a betrayal to both parties. I'm in a getaway car I left you in the motel bar I put the money in a bag and stole the keys That was the last time you ever saw me She's talking again about reputation and this era as a getaway car. She walked out of that negotiation into a new era, taking her earnings and control over her career with her and declaring this would be the last era Scott got with her. Chorus I was riding in a getaway car I was crying in a getaway car I was dying in a getaway car Said 'goodbye' in a getaway car A reflection on their separation to come over the era. It hurts and it's painful but it's also a phoenix moment forever. BMLG Taylor dying and being reborn in the next era, this one being a goodbye and her send off to them. I was riding in a getaway car I was crying in a getaway car I was dying in a getaway car Said 'goodbye' in a getaway car

[fred-frederator-studios]

Arlen Schumer: The Frederator Interview  

Arlen Schumer is the designer and illustrator of our Frederator Fredbot, the robot that’s inspired so many variations.

You read that right.

We all hear so much from fans about our “red robot” that I thought the time was right for Arlen to design something for us again, 20 some-odd years after his first.

So here it is! The 2019 Frederator New Year’s poster. (You can see some of the poster’s development work here.)

Arlen’s not only a fantastic artist/designer, but he’s a prolific pop culture historian with some great books and essays to his name, and a thriving lecture series on some of the famous (and even more unsung heroes) of comic book art.

How did Arlen Schumer come to Frederator? And how did Arlen come to art, specifically, comic book art? As you can read below, he and I have known each other and worked together for several years, even pre-Frederator.

All this and more, in the first Frederator interview of 2019.

Hi Arlen. When did you start drawing? 

I grew up in Fair Lawn, New Jersey, a great place in the early-mid ‘60s, with equal parts bucolic American suburbia and small-town Rockwellian, pop culture ambiance—everything from an uber-Jewish deli like Petak’s to Plaza Toy & Stationery, which had a classic 20th Century soda fountain: it was there, after school, that I read all the comic books of my youth while drinking chocolate egg creams (with a pretzel log, natch). And because Fair Lawn, like all of New Jersey, was in the shadow of New York City, I grew up on all that pop culture through television, not just the 3 networks but the 3 local stations that showed everything from the old Universal monster movies to The Little Rascals to The Three Stooges to the George Reeves Superman TV series.

One of those local TV shows, a children’s show called Diver Dan, which was filmed in black & white to look like it took place underwater—the actor, in a deep-sea diver’s suit (with a helmet that never revealed his face, so he was like a superhero), walked slowly like he was underwater, surrounded by pop fish hanging by wires—triggered my interest in drawing, as I watched my brother draw him first, and copied him. I’ve been drawing ever since!

What was the first comic you fell in love with?

Giant Superman Annual #7 (Summer ’63): Not only is its cover the hands-down greatest of all the great multiple-panel Superman Annual covers that Superman Artist of the Baby Boom Generation (and my first favorite artist) Curt Swan drew in the ‘60s—not only does it feature perhaps the greatest single Superman figure ever rendered by Swan (in pencil; head of DC coloring Jack Adler did the hand-painted grey wash tones over it) or any Superman artist, before or since—but it is the first comic book cover I can recall ever seeing, when I was five years old, in summer camp that year. What an image to come into the wonderful world of comics by!

What was your first professional job as an artist?

My summer job between freshman and sophomore years at art school (Rhode Island School of Design), creating black & white line illustrations for a t-shirt silkscreening company in Fair Lawn.

I know that you count Neal Adams as a primary mentor? Were there any others?

Neal Adams was one of two Gods of Comic Book Art in the late-‘60s: the other was Jim Steranko, who was described as the Jimi Hendrix of comics, because Steranko’s career was as meteoric in its rise, and as short-lived. Though Steranko didn’t die in ’70 like Hendrix, that’s when he left Marvel Comics after less than 4 years of explosive and experimental works—and, like Hendrix, his impact on both the art form and its audience was in converse proportion to the relatively small amount of work he turned out. In particular, Steranko’s design sense and typographic talents were a tremendous influence on my choosing to major in Graphic Design at RISD.

It was sometime in my junior year there that I must’ve written Steranko a fanboy letter, gushing about those very things—and much to my shock and surprise, he wrote me back, inviting me to come see him in his home/studio in Reading, PA! So I took a bus from Providence, RI to Reading, and spent the day with Steranko—except I barely remember a thing about it! Why? Because I think I was having a Dr. Strange-like ectoplasmic out-of-body experience the whole time I was with him—I, a fan, spending quality time with one of the Twin Gods of Comics!!!

He wanted me to leave RISD and begin working with him as his apprentice! I couldn’t believe what he was offering me; I remember the bus ride back to Providence in a daze, feeling the utter cliché come to life of my future like the road in front of me: I could either stay on the main highway of getting my college degree, or take that exit ramp and join the circus! What do you think I did?

I stayed in school and got my diploma a year later. Had it been freshman year, maybe I would have left; but not when I was a year away from matriculating—not to mention honoring my mom’s sacrifice of putting me through school financially. But I’ve remained in touch with Steranko ever since, and feel both fortunate and unique, that I am the only fanboy who grew up to not only work for one of the Twin Gods of Comics (I ended up working for Neal Adams 3 years after I graduated from RISD), but almost worked for the other, too!

And then, Fred, there was—YOU! You were one of the first great professionals I met/interviewed with after I graduated from RISD and moved to New York City, when you were still at Warner-Amex having just created the MTV always-changing logo [actually it was Manhattan Design; I was the company creative director]. You impressed me as someone who was “real,” who didn’t hide behind a phony “professional” mask. We stayed in touch after that, and you gave me my first real breakout illustration job when I went solo as a freelancer a few years later, designing and illustrating an animated 30-second spot for a radio station, working with Colossal Pictures in LA (who later became Pixar)—and a NY metro-area billboard to go along with it!

Since then, we’ve done a bunch of great things together, up to and including this Frederator poster! And I’ve watched you wade through your own career waters as a multi-dimensional leading man, wearing so many different hats over the years—the decades—which has inspired me to cultivate my own Renaissance Man attributes. I’ve always described you to others as a mensch, the ultimate New York pro who’s got a great big beautiful heart an d soul to match his creative mind. If I could ever be described that way one day, I would consider that to be the highest compliment I could ever receive!

How about the mentors that you never met?

My father died when I was only four months old; my mother raised my older brother (by a year and a half) and I herself. Neither of my grandfathers was alive, and, though I had a handful of uncles, I would only see them a few times a year at family gatherings. So I had to find surrogate father figures elsewhere—and I found them in the American Pop Culture I grew up with in the’60s, in roughly this chronological order: Sean Connery’s James Bond, my first idealized masculine role model (the first movie I ever recall seeing, when I was around four-five years old, was Dr. No, the first Connery Bond, at a drive-in theater); Twilight Zone’s Rod Serling, a pop prophet of moral righteousness in the vast television wasteland, looking cool as all get-out in those incredibly tight TZ introductions—all of my artworks based on the series can be seen as my ways of honoring Serling’s legacy as a son would honor his father’s; and the superheroes in comic books, first and foremost Superman and Batman (the Yin-Yang of the genre), pseudo-paternally teaching me right from wrong, good from evil, and standing up and fighting for one’s beliefs. These are the things I suppose sons learn from the fathers, as well as their religious and academic authority figures. But “Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Comic Books”!

You've published a few pop culture histories, and given countless lectures on various great, neglected figures. What got you started as an historian?

I don’t know how any artist in any genre or medium, if they truly love their work, cannot also be equally-interested in the history of that art form. When Keith Richards plays any of his classic Rolling Stones licks, he knows which black bluesman he nicked it from; filmmakers like Spielberg and Scorsese know the history of film like they know their own films. And the history of comics is as rich in artistic triumphs (and personal tragedies) as the histories of the other major 20th Century art/entertainments: film, television, popular music and rock and roll.

When I was a senior at RISD, for my degree project, I toyed with designing an exhibit of comic book art, and when I went looking for a theme, the only subject that seemed both worthwhile of my passion for the material and deep enough for the demands of the assignment was one based on the comics I grew up with in the 1960s, and the artists who drew them, the twin founts from which I drew the inspiration to become an artist. Though I never did that exhibit (I ended up doing a giant autobiographical photo-comic instead), I kept the ideas and images that I gathered, in the hopes that one day I’d use them in some other form. Many of those 1979 layouts are the same ones I’ve used in my book published in 2003, The Silver Age of Comic Book Art; its introduction, in which I place the images and ideas encountered throughout the book in a socio-political, historical framework, is composed of essentially the identical concepts from my aborted exhibit idea.

The idea to do a book instead on this period of comic book history goes back even further, to 1970, when Jim Steranko, on the heels of his amazing barnstorming stint at Marvel Comics, wrote, designed and published the first of his twin-volume History of Comics, which remain the best books of their kind, and were—and continue to be—a source of inspiration. Except they were about The Golden Age of Comics (circa 1938-1950), the period Steranko grew up with and was affected by, not The Silver Age of Comics (circa 1956-1972) that I, and the entire Baby Boom Generation, was turned on to.

Steranko himself might have been inspired by the first great book about comic book history, Jules Feiffer’s 1965 The Great Comic Book Heroes, even though it’s more of a handful of wonderfully written, witty essays on specific Golden Age superheroes Feiffer followed avidly as a boy, accompanied by reprints of the origins or earliest adventures of those heroes. Feiffer may not have realized what it was like to be an 8-year old comic book fan in 1966 and hear that there was actually a book in the Fair Lawn public library about comics!

How did you come to design the Fredbot?

When you asked me to come up with my take on the classic Japanese-influenced sci-fi trope of the giant-monster-attacks-the-tiny-people back in 1997 for your first Frederator brand image—but make it a robot, and make it look like you [I don’t remember this last part], to boot—I immediately thought of the animated robot Gigantor, one of the first Japanese anime to reach American shores in the wake of the Batman TV series in 1966. Once I started drawing my version of Big G, it was a no-brainer to add the distinctive Seibert horned-rim eyeglasses, topped by the equally-distinctive Seibert eyebrows, and voila! Fredbot!

OK, I know you love Bruce Springsteen. How come?

I believe there are Four Pillars of Rock & Roll, in roughly chronological order: Elvis, Dylan, the Beatles, and Jimi Hendrix, representing the greatest voice, lyrics, band, and guitar; hence, The Four Pillars.

Like Elvis, Bruce is a singular, dynamic presence with a commanding vocal power; his lyrics and songs have stood the test of time and made him the only one of the many “new Dylans” to actually live up to the label, living a true, real rock & roll life while writing it down, The Great American Novel but on records, great American songs chronicling not only his life and career, but that of the postwar generation that has come of age with him, timeless anthems like “Born To Run,” “Thunder Road” and “Born in the USA,” just to mention three of his greatest hits; with The E Street Band, Bruce captured the sheer joy, enthusiasm and positive energy of the early Beatles; and, like Hendrix and any of the other guitar gods—Clapton, Page, Van Halen, The Edge—Bruce has played searing, soulful, melodic leads with the best of them.

But Bruce isn’t one of those rock & roll pillars—he’s the rock & roll roof built over them, the complete rock & roller, putting it all together as no one has before. Bruce Springsteen is, quite simply, the promise of rock & roll...delivered.

His uncompromising and unparalleled creativity, body of work, attitude, and performance and work ethic have been an inspiration to me since I first heard the song “Born to Run” over a tinny AM car radio when I was 17 years old in the summer of ’75. Especially when I lecture, I employ what I call the “Springsteen Performing Style,” which is to give your 110% all to your audience, whether it’s 10 people or 10,000 people.

Bruce is also a bonafide moral leader for our age, doing what a true leader should be doing: living his life by example, and using it to inspire and exhort others to do the same.

He is the true President of the United States.

Thanks for the interview Arlen. And of course, thanks for the Fredbot! Happy New Year!

[black-roses-are-gorgeous]

Broken Dreams

Title: Broken Dreams

Pairing: Kazuki (ex.SCREW) x OC (hinted)

Warnings: wrong spelling and grammar certainly happened

Rating: T

Synopsis: Shattered dreams don't mean the end

Author’s note: Like 'Essence of colors' this story was written with another character. I had to change it a little to fit Kazuki but I think it isn't that bad. And of course I don't think that disabled people are cripples. Ah, and I'm sorry if Kazuki seems a little bit off. Some of my changed stories fit him better.

Some people called me bitter and yes, I was convinced of that too. I was bitter.

Early on, I decided to devote my life to art—the art of ballet. Ballet was graceful, elegant and one of the most difficult sports in the world. This dance demanded so much. Both physically and mentally. I had soon come to terms with the fact that my childhood and youth were almost completely forfeited. Becoming a ballerina has been my dream, so I trained from the time I was old enough.

My first ballet lesson began when I was at the age of four, once a week until it increased to five times a week. My extra training on the weekend not included. I was determined, so I did everything to make my dream come true. I only had this dream in mind. I didnʼt care that by the end of 30—at the latest—everything was over and I had to reorient myself. That was worth it to me; I wanted to prove myself that I could make it to the top.

I attended a state ballet school from fifth grade on and graduated from there. An advantage of this school was the advanced course for dance in the last three years. Even if outsiders thought that everything was going easily for me, it wasnʼt. My day had been filled with school, dance and homework. Physical health and good grades were requirements for the dance performance course. Not to mention the social behavior.

No, it wasnʼt easy; I worked hard for my dream.

And my efforts paid off. Even in school at the school performances I gradually got better, more important roles. When I was in the eleventh grade, the play for the school performance was Giselle. Only the high school girls were allowed to apply for the Giselle, but most of the time it was one from last year. The one to whom a great future has already been predicted.

But it came differently—completely different. I had practiced and practiced until I had almost fallen into bed in the evening and never wanted to get up again, so exhausting was my extra training. But as I said, my efforts paid off—at the announcement of the roles my name was mentioned in connection with Giselle. An 11th grader as Giselle—a novelty. Everybody knew me from there on and now I was the one with a great future. Silent voices predicted a future for me as a Prima Ballerina.

But that never happened.

Giselle was a success. As every year, renowned dancers, trainers and conductors of various ensembles were represented in the audience. Everyone knew that an unknown 11th-grade girl was dancing the lead role. I was proud. Not on me, but on my achievements. Every drop of sweat and every burst open, bloody blister had been worth it. I had been working for this since my childhood.

Classical ballet was no longer the only form of ballet. For some time now there have been modern productions that were nevertheless adorned with classical ballet elements. After further successful performances, I was asked if I would be interested in dancing the lead role in such a production. The creator of this piece wanted an Asian touch. I could fulfill that.

Even the stage wasnʼt classical. It was placed in the middle of the auditorium and completely round. The main feature of the play was the steady turn of the dance. It was about inspiring the audience from all sides. A fantastic idea, I assumed. I trained for the first time with new, unfamiliar people, usually already older than me. There was envy everywhere, I could live with that.

The highlight of the production was the sliding down from the sky. It almost reminded me of a circus. It was so exciting and how many chances did I have to slide down from above? Not many, probably.

The rehearsals went well. What worried me was the final rehearsal. Most of the time it went wrong, so one day one began to say, if the final rehearsal went wrong, then the performance became a success. What did it mean if the final rehearsal was brilliant? Yes, I had been superstitious. I was so scared that something about this beautiful piece would go wrong.

And it did.

One of my fixings ripped and the other one alone couldnʼt hold me anymore. I didnʼt slide down from the sky, I fell from the heaven. All the pain I had suffered up to that point was nothing in comparison with the pain when I hit the stage hard. I was glad that I was still alive, but my career, my dream, was suddenly over. Just like that.

I had come away with a severe concussion, several abrasions, a bruised arm and two completely broken legs. It took weeks for me to get up and being able to walk again, and yet I would never be able to use my legs the way I used to. To say the least, my legs were in the ass. I was a cripple.

In my apartment, I mostly moved with a wheelchair. I could still walk, but it looked very strange and I couldnʼt move on my legs particularly fast either. When I went to town without a wheelchair, I wore floor-length dresses and took my crutches with me. Although I was still slow and tied on crutches, but at least you couldn't see my strange walking.

Sometimes I wished I hadn't survived the fall. My efforts were completely lost.

It was again one of those days when I had to go to town. There was a gaping emptiness in my fridge. There was always a lot happening in the city, but today it was really crowded—and loud. I heard music. Japanese rock music. Slowly I approached the crowd and struggled cautiously to the front.

The five young men turned the cobblestones into their stage. They came loose in their music. Their songs included both ballad-like and rock-like elements I had never heard before. Everyone had their own style of playing the music and one stood out for me the most. He reminded me of myself, to be honest. He played his guitar with as much grace and precision as I was used to dance.

His play was perfected down to the smallest detail. Even how he moved his fingers was more graceful than that of many ballet dancers I had met. And we talked about something completely different here. He was surrounded by a lightness for which I had trained hard for.

But deep inside, at first just a little bit, I felt the jealousy gurgling in my stomach. Of course, I didnʼt know him and I didnʼt know how long he had worked for this grace. But I couldnʼt shake off the thought that he could do what I was denied forever—accomplishing his dream freely and carefree.

After a while, the group ended their performance and so the crowd dissolved. I stopped. I was paralyzed. I just couldnʼt leave. This vile cobblestones should also be my stage. I was so entangled with my own thoughts that I didnʼt notice anything.

»Hey, are you okay?—Um, hello? Are you okay?« One of the musicians waved his hand in front of my face. I was back in the here and now. I stared at him, perplexed. Where did he come from so suddenly? »Are you all right? Youʼre crying,« he inquired again in very good English.

I did what? Carefully, so that my crutch wouldnʼt fall to the ground, my hand moved to my face. Everything was wet. Oh god, since when did I cry? »I-donʼt know ... Itʼs just—Who is he?« I pointed to the graceful guitarist who was about to empty a whole bottle of water at once.

The young man followed my shaky hand movement. »You mean Kazuki? He looks good, right? But you should not cry about something like that; you look good too. By the way, Iʼm Rui.« Kazuki? Sounded familiar.

»I donʼt mean that. He's such a graceful player,« I said, watching this Kazuki. Even when drinking water, elegance surrounded him. »And thanks, but Iʼm just a cripple with broken dreams.«

»Cripple?« Shocked, he looked at me—his eyes fell on my crutches. »Come, Iʼll introduce him to you. Kazuki is happy to hear that you are moved this much by his playing.« Without realizing it, we began to move slowly. »He moved from Tottori to Osaka all by himself when he was fifteen to become a musician. Imagine that—as a half child to move into a foreign city where you know nobody.«

The other young men had now realized that Rui was now in tow with me. Curious, they looked at me. What else? My only consolation was that I hadnʼt lost my good posture.

»Guys, thatʼs- Whatʼs your name again?«

»Kazuko.«

»Okay, thatʼs Kazuko—is that a coincidence? Kazuki, she cried because of your graceful playing.« Thank you for saying that so openly. »Kazuko, meet also Byou, Manabu and Jin.« He pointed at the person by name.

Kazuki came up to me. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at me with concentration. »I know you. You were this exceptional dancer, Amamiya Kazuko. My sister-in-law has a big poster of you hanging on her wall. Iʼm sorry about what happened to you.« There was a deep regret in his voice.

»Exceptional dancer?« Rui stared at me questioningly.

I took a deep breath and I already felt the next tears, which made their way up. »I-I-was a ballet dancer and- and had an accident last year. And—oh god!« I cried my eyes out and if my legs wouldʼve let me, I would just have broken down. All my grief and disappointment came to light again. My whole life was simply forfeited.

Rui laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. »Easy, everything is alright,« he tried to soothe me, but that backfired.

»Nothingʼs alright,« I sobbed, »I worked all my life for it, and before my career even started, itʼs already over. My dream just blew up.« My crutches clattered to the floor, and before I could sink away, Kazuki grabbed my hands. He held me in place without problems.

Calmingly, he let his coarse thumb circling over the back of my hand. »I cannot imagine how hard that must be for you. I wouldnʼt know what I would do if I suddenly couldnʼt play anymore. Since I fell in love with music I trained hard to be here now,« he said calmly. »But Iʼm sure I would find something else that makes me happy. And I want you to do that too.« He looked at me insistently.

»I have no other dreams,« I said in a shaky voice. »There's nothing.«

He squeezed my hands slightly and gave me a smile. »Of course thereʼs something and weʼll find it together, okay?«

I looked at him and returned his smile, though in a milder and sader form. »Okay.«

[askcarlyle]

[A contribution (in conjunction with @askbarnum) to FanFicFeb on @theothersidediscord for Prompt #1, "First Meeting". Edited from the live version, which took place on server last night.]

Carlyle

swirls the amber liquid in his glass and looks around the cozy tavern, which is almost packed to capacity with the majority of the troupe in attendance

Thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate our anniversary. If one can even call it that...

from behind the bar, a gruff voice issues -- "I've poured liquid courage at enough first dates to recognize one when I see it, fellas."

...right. As I saying, thank you for being here to mark the occasion of our first meeting...

Barnum

Downs the last half of his finger of whisky and elbows Phillip in the arm as Lettie pours him another

It was a date, not a meeting. We had drinks. I charmed you into coming away with me. Listen to the bartender. I planned that date for days.

Carlyle

frowns and tosses back drink before raising a hand to dispute

A "date" implies previously agreed upon arrangements by both parties. We hadn't ever spoken before that night. We hadn't even been in the same room before that night.

Barnum

Well before we entered the bar we spoke. I asked you if I could buy you a drink and you said yes, that was an agreement. It is the oldest method in the book for requesting someone's company on a date.

pokes another peanut into his mouth before tossing the shell at Fedor playfully. The other man tossing back a whole handful from the ones he was eating.

Drinks, small talk, seduction, then an agreement. You had been making eyes at me since the moment I introduced myself.

Carlyle

snorts and throws another peanut at Barnum

If that's what you call trying not to be blinded by your scarf's loud paisley pattern.

Barnum

frowns teasingly

Hey, that is my favourite scarf. You just don't appreciate real fashion. It is eye catching. Besides, who other than young children dressed by their mothers wears matching scarves and hats?

Sips his drink thoughtfully

I suppose admittedly while it might have taken a few drinks and some charming words to seduce you, you had me wooed much faster. From the moment I spotted you at my daughter's ballet recital.

Carlyle

coughs and puts down drink

Ballet recital? You don't mean that night at the concert hall with my cousin's dance academy...

God, their champagne was weak.

Barnum

Chuckles as he breaks open another peanut, waving a dismissive hand

Yes well, somehow I don't think they were trying to promote the parents and carers getting drunk. It was also 6pm when it finished and during the course of that evening I saw you down twelve glasses. Your mother looked very embarrassed, it was more entertaining to watch than the company I was forced to socialise with.

Carlyle

ducks head at the memory, both in amusement and bemusement

Admittedly, I can't recall much about that night's attendance or who I spoke to. You were really there?

Barnum

Tosses the peanut in his mouth, keeping his eyes on the other with a teasing grin

Of course I was. It was Caroline's first recital, she had the lead in the first and third number. I spotted you at the afterparty, you did rather stick out like a sore thumb. The only man in the place under 35 I'd wager. Took no more than a few moments to figure you out; single man with no kids, you were dressed up too smartly to not have a career and yet it couldn't have been anything extremely well paid because you seemed to be living with your parents. Alcohol problem, and you looked bored.

That is why I knew straight away you would be easy to snatch up as a business partner. Boredom is truly the worst illness a man can fall victim to, he would do anything for a cure.

Carlyle

raises an eyebrow

That sounds thoroughly disreputable when you phrase it like that. So it was a business meeting, you agree. And in turn, I will admit that it was difficult not stare too openly when you introduced yourself later. I'd thought the larger than life persona was only for the stage.

Barnum

That did sound a lot creepier coming from my mouth than I had expected. Perhaps that is enough drink for one evening.

Pushes his glass away with one finger. Turning his full attention to Phil

Whether intentional or not as a romantic affair, it was still very much a date. I was married. Things were complicated.

beams in pride at the comment, leaning back slightly on his stool

I am quite the diamond in the rough of the public. You had your charm too, it's not often that men have a bit of bite to them. You had the snark and attitude of a young me. Admittedly I think I was near as infatuated with you as you were of I by the end of the evening. Perhaps it was the alcohol but the way you danced and those tight trousers had me losing sleep for days afterwards.

Carlyle

glances at glass and puts it back down as well

If every offer of a drink I agreed to in life came with that intent, I would have been called something a lot harsher than scandalous.

considers

I suppose some interesting thoughts might have crossed my mind when you were up on that table. To be candid, I was half tempted to stuff a $5 note down your shirt and ask for an encore.

Barnum

Frowns, creasing his forehead

I am a businessman not a cheap street walker. I would have charged far more than $5 for an encore. Though if you had batted your eyelashes enough I may have offered you a complimentary lap dance.

Carlyle

laughs and leans into Barnum with grin

A paragon of self-respect and generosity! I swoon to consider what showing an ankle might have netted.

Barnum

puts a loving arm around Carlyle and presses a kiss to the top of his head

Do you have any idea how many laces and buckles are on these boots? It would have taken me a good fifteen minutes in that state of alcohol indulgence to have flashed you an ankle. You'd have gotten bored and lost interest before I had gotten through the first knot.

Carlyle

from behind the bar, the voice once again pipes up -- "Fifteen minutes would have been generous. You two fell over and passed out two minutes after shaking hands."

shoots bartender a warning look

I recall we danced for quite a bit after that. Didn't we? It's all a bit fuzzy.

Barnum

Squints thoughtfully

I am sure I distinctly remember getting up on the bar to do a celebratory dance with you. I think I was still quite within my limits. I wouldn't have passed out at the bar.

...Then again I am not sure I entirely remember getting home that evening. What I do remember is my hat smelling like vomit for days despite having no memory of being unwell. Perhaps some of the details of my recollection aren't entirely crystal clear.

Carlyle

bartender continues speaking "Mine are, unfortunately. You still haven't paid me back for getting those carpets cleaned, Barnum. And your friend there was slurring something about how your perfect harmonization during your duet was metatextually symbolic of your future relationship as a whole, whatever that means."

stares at bartender in confusion, then shrugs

Barnum

I am curious enough to want the truth from you and yet hesitant enough to ask whether you would deem it appropriate to share in front of my entire troupe.

Glances at his abandoned glass and makes the decision to pick it up again and down it in one go before locking eyes with the bartender once more

What other things was Mr Carlyle spouting that night?

Carlyle

turns to bartender, wide-eyed and suddenly uncertain

I can buy you much nicer carpets, you know.

Barnum

Beams in teasing excitement, putting a hand before Phillip's chest to push him back into his seat

The carpets will be paid for. Now tell me exactly word for word what Phillip said about me that night. Leave out no details.

Carlyle

New lamps. Gas ones.

Barnum

The bartender rolls his eyes, turning his back on them to keep scrubbing a glass. "You think I remember your interactions word for word? This was a long time ago , boys. I have hundreds of customers come through here, not just the two of you."

He puts down the glass, picking up another one "I remember you deciding on a deal between you both, and paying your tab. Mr Barnum tried to climb up on the bar and fell over the other side, then fell asleep on the floor behind the counter. Mr Carlyle did not seem to notice the disappearance of his friend and continued to talk to the empty seat next to him for a while, goodness knows what it was about. You did call him handsome a few times and it grew into a few less appropriate comments as you downed a last nightcap.

If I remember correctly, you both waltzed on my snooker table once Mr Barnum awoke, made a dreadful mess of my carpets, and the flowerpot I used to have in the corner, and the coat rack, and my only indoor lavatory, and then left. I believe Mr Barnum insisted on taking you back to his home."

Carlyle

scratches head

I do vaguely remember being tucked in, but thought was a dream.

glances around at the troupe, some of whom had been whispering amongst themselves

I'd like to see how precise any of your memories are after that many shots. I was barely able to walk the next day when we visited the circus.

Barnum

-Chuckles to himself cheerfully-

I do remember the next morning clearly enough. Charity woke me up with a bombardment of questions about why I came back at four in the morning carrying an unconscious Phillip Carlyle and put him to bed in the guest room, then passed out myself in the hallway. She was more amused than angry I think.

Refills his glass once more, then gives Phillip a friendly pat on the shoulder

You were on another planet that day. I don't think you took in a single word I said. It was very charming, you seemed to fall head over heels for Miss Wheeler and stumbled around like a bashful fawn all afternoon.

Brings his glass up for a toast

To eventful beginnings. I am so very glad you were seduced into joining me on that first date all that time ago.

Carlyle

holds up glass

To a very auspicious first encounter, and a night that we will never quite remember or forget.

fade to black