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amchara · 2 years

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Effortless (Or, the time Kit almost earned an A-Level) - Chapter One

So... exactly a year ago today I posted the final chapter of this fic to Ao3. I'm still quite proud of it and I've realised I've never posted it to tumblr. So I'mma gonna do so over the next couple of weeks, albeit in slightly more digestible wordcounts (7,000 word chapters are a bit long, I've since come to realise 😂).

And once that's done- I should hopefully have the first couple chapters of the sequel ready! 👀

Note: This fic starts in mid-2013, picking up Kit's story shortly after Ghosts of the Shadow Market's Forever Fallen short story. You can definitely read it without having read Forever Fallen but there are nods to it throughout.

As it was written and finished in early August 2021, it's not canon-compliant with Secrets of Blackthorn Hall but... at the same time, it's not a million miles off and as I'm posting the chapters here on tumblr, I am making small tweaks so it's closer to canon, or- as much as it can be. Unlike Cassie... I chose to give Kit friends that we actually see him interact with. 😂

Summary: After moving to England to live with Tessa and Jem, Kit ends up attending a local sixth form college alongside his Shadowhunter training.

Featuring- a charming but slightly broken Kit, typical teen drama, mundane friendships, pop culture references, Carstairs-Gray family moments, a rotating cast of our favourite Shadowhunters as guest tutors and of course, some unacknowledged pining for one Ty Blackthorn.

Wordcount: 4,039 words

Rating: Teen, no content warnings for this chapter

Read on Ao3

or One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven (completed fic)

Chapter One: Twilight, Cows and College

(August-September 2013)

Kit looked at the squat brown-brick building in front him, and then back at Tessa. She caught his eye, her mouth quirking up.

“So, is this where I give you the pep talk?” she asked. “As you know, I never attended myself, and James got expelled fairly quickly from the Academy-- so I’m not sure I have all that much wisdom but we can give it a try.”

“Nope, not at all,” said Kit, unbuckling his seatbelt, and grabbing the bag at his feet. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will,” Tessa replied, a fond note creeping into her voice and Kit ducked his head, embarrassed but pleased at the trust she had in him.

Mina gurgled happily in the backseat, and Kit looked back at her with a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m a Herondale, a Shadowhunter, a former Shadow Market vendor and… probably should have a minor criminal record if we’re honest. I think I can handle a British high school,” Kit said with a winning grin, as he opened the car door.

“Bye Min-Min, bye Tessa,” he said. He leaned into the door. “I also know about the bet Jace and Jem made about how long I would last and-” he smiled even wider. “I plan to make them both lose.”

Tessa winked at him, and looked back at Mina. “All right then. I think we’re set here. Mina mine- let’s get on with our busy day of shopping and visiting the local library.” She turned her attention back to Kit. “Do you want me to pick you up at half three?”

Kit shook his head. “I’ll take the bus back to the village and then walk. If there’s one thing I learned from high school movies, it’s that while you can get your pare- adults to drop you off, only losers get picked up after school. I should probably start off on the right foot.”

“Let’s go with the experts then,” Tessa said mock-gravely. “See you after school. And have fun,” she said, with a tiny wave.

Kit straightened up and turned towards his new school. Altofts Sixth Form. “All right, let’s do this,” he muttered to himself as he walked towards the entrance.

It had all started with his early morning running. A terrible habit to have picked up. One that Jem had called him on, earlier in the summer when he had agreed to train with Kit.

Kit had actually taken to getting up early back in the winter. He hadn’t admitted it to Jem and Tessa but his nightmares - swirling terrors of both mantid demons and black shapes with white burning eyes had him waking up gasping and drenched in sweat - combined with the lack of central heating that turned his room into a freezer until the heat turned on again at seven... it just wasn’t conducive to sleeping in.

At first he had just tried to walk downstairs to get snacks from the kitchen and watch some tv. But soon after Mina was born he realised any sound would be liable to wake her, given the bat-eared hearing babies seemed to have. And he didn’t want to be the cause of further sleeplessness for Jem and Tessa.

So he started slipping down the back staircase by his room into the garden. And well… no use freezing in the garden and he still had delusions he might still want to be a full proper Shadowhunter someday, or at very least, not die horribly if slash when this whole First Heir thing caught up to him. It was also probably worth being fast enough to run away if he needed to.

Plus, the scenery was beautiful, given Cirenworth was located close to the edge of Dartmoor. Running alongside the narrow, suicidal-for-more-than-one-car lanes, with trees forming tangled green arcs overhead, across old stone bridges into ancient woods and up high, rolling sparse hills, he had plenty of other things to look at and not think about how he had messed things up, until the aching in his legs and burning in his lungs made him stop. Which was, admittingly, getting rarer, even in the occasional stifling heat of July.

He had a whole route figured out now, four months in. Which was why, Kit admitted to himself, he was irritated that someone else had found a similar path.

It was only for about two miles just on the outskirts of the village but Kit had seen him out of the corner of his eye most days the past week.

He was taller than Kit (most guys his own age seemed to be) and he usually wore what looked like a basketball jersey, shorter shorts than Kit figured most American teen boys would be comfy with, and had oversized headphones either on his head or around his neck. Other than that, he didn’t remind Kit of anyone.

The first time, the other boy had nodded at him in a friendly way as Kit had run past the tree where the boy was stretching, his white teeth flashing briefly in his dark-skinned face. Kit had nodded back and kept on running. It wasn’t that he wanted to be unfriendly… but he hadn’t really thought about making new friends, and figured given his background of Shadowhunter and part of a long-lost line of faerie royalty, it might be harder to relate to any new ones, especially mundanes.

Plus, he wasn’t sure he was that great of a friend, given the mess that had happened at the LA Institute. So he had been distant to any friendly overtures from local teens his age since he had arrived at Cirenworth, although he had to admit, he hadn’t minded the attention the giggling squad of girls outside the bakery gave him. Or the occasional chat with the kids of the werewolf pack that Tessa and Jem invited around sometimes.

But a week into this new shadow, Kit had rounded a particularly tricky corner on the narrow path and found the other boy, frozen in place. And Kit could immediately see why. He was surrounded by cows.

Now, cows might not seem like a dangerous situation but after nearly being trampled by an angry bull early on in his explorations of the Devon countryside, Kit was inclined to give any other bovines as far a berth as he could while running. Or in any other situation honestly.

Kit met the other boy’s eyes. “You er- ok?” he called.

“Ahh. Maybe?” The boy looked panicked as two cows started moving towards him, one cutting him off from the fence Kit could see he was trying to inch towards.

Kit made his decision. “Hey cows!” he shouted. The cows ignored him. Kit summoned up his courage and started jogging towards the small herd, waving his arms. “You heifers! You lazy… demonic spawn!”

The boy goggled at him and Kit narrowed his eyes. “Hop the fence!” he yelled, as a couple cows started moving towards him. Kit gulped and summoned all his courage and ran directly towards him, hoping the cow in the way would move and he wouldn’t have to dodge it or worse, attempt a leap over it. It did, and Kit stopped to grab at the boy’s arm, who finally started moving. They both scrambled up over the wide, stone fence to the next field, which was thankfully cow-less.

“Thanks,” the boy said, as they both climbed down. “That would’ve been an embarrassing end.” He grinned, brushing off the dirt from his shorts. “I’m Ade.”

“Kit,” Kit answered cautiously, as the adrenaline in his system slowly started to leave.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around,” Ade said. “Mate, you’re fast.”

Kit thought back to his time in the LA Institute and watching Emma run swiftly over miles of sandy beach, and even the time that he and the twins had run along the Thames to escape the Riders of Manan. He was slow, compared to others. “No, not really.”

“Ooh, an American! Didn’t expect that,” Ade whistled, disentangling his headphones from his short-cropped black curls as they both started walking towards the other side of the field to rejoin the road. “You here with your family on holiday?”

“No,” said Kit shortly. “I live just outside Sefton Crufts.” He glanced over, wondering if Ade knew about Cirenworth. A lot of the locals in the village did, and he knew Tessa and Jem (alongside Mina) had basically gathered a fan club.

“No joke?” Ade said. “That’s cool. I live in...” He named a village that Kit thought he remembered was a few miles back. “What high school did you go to?”

“Oh, I erm- homeschooled,” Kit mumbled, looking down. Time for the lies.

Ade nodded. “I see.” They trudged through some bushes. At the edge of the road, Ade looked at Kit and gestured towards the buildings off in the distance. “Hey, given you basically saved my life from… what was it you called them…. Demonic cow spawn? Do you want to get breakfast with me at ‘spoons? We’re pretty close to it - I’ll pay.”

Kit started to shake his head but suddenly his stomach betrayed him and made a loud gurgling sound, reminding him that he’d been up since six and had just run the better part of seven miles. Ade let out a big laugh. “Hah, you can’t argue with that, man,” he said, pointing at Kit’s midsection. “Let’s go eat.”

“Wow, this is really good,” Kit said, shoveling in the eggs and bacon.

Ade looked at him over a similar pile of breakfast, his friendly brown eyes puzzled. “Yeah, of course.” As if it were obvious. “Have you never had a Wetherspoons breakfast? When did you move here?”

“Last fall,” Kit said, figuring as long as he stuck to the basics, he could manage small talk without issue. “And no, I haven’t. But my- Jem and Tessa have taken me to the Bull and Hart. Food is also good there.”

“Ah,” Ade nodded wisely. “The gastropub.” He looked Kit over, as if assessing him. “Yeah, that tracks. I’m glad to give you some introduction to proper English pub food then.”

Kit thought he had been vaguely insulted - or at least labeled. He changed the topic. “I’ve been running that route for a few months now. But I only just saw you on it this week. Did you just move here too?”

Ade shook his head. “Nah, I’m not local either. But I’ve been here longer than you. My parents moved us down from London so my mum could take over a GP practice, but it was before I started GCSE’s.” He speared a couple of sausages and stuffed them in his mouth, chewing. He continued. “Football season starts in a couple weeks, and I’m starting at Altofts College and want to be on first squad. So I thought I should work on my endurance, given I spent most of the spring prepping for exams.” He lowered his voice. “I plan to go to Kings for medicine so I was kind of a nerd for most of last year.”

Kit had only understood about half the previous sentences but he nodded. “Plus you want to be able to outrun any further cow-based incidents,” he cracked.

Ade grinned cockily. “Well, let’s see. But I figured you seem to have that route down- how about you be my cow-guard?”

“If you’ll get my breakfast, sure,” Kit said, his mouth full of toast.

“It’s a deal Kit…” Ade trailed off.

“Kit… Herondale,” he answered.

After that day while Kit and Ade kept to their respective routes, and were able to avoid further herds of cows, they started meeting up for Wetherspoons’ breakfasts a few times a week, with the healthy appetite of the teenage boys they were. There they discovered that they while they didn’t support the same football teams (Kit didn’t understand the obsession really, but had adopted the same team Jem supported - Liverpool - and Ade was a hardcore Millwall fan), they had other common interests, including absurdist comedies like Peep Show, the IT Crowd and the In-Betweeners, that Kit had discovered the previous winter.

Until the day the pub greeted them with a ‘No electricity’ sign and Kit decided to invite Ade back to Cirenworth. He had told Jem and Tessa about Ade after the first couple of meetings, and while they were their typical low-pressure selves, Kit thought they were happy he had made a friend and told Kit to invite him around sometime.

“Whoa, I had heard…” Ade said, trailing off as they walked up the long yard to the huge manor house, rain drizzling down the grey slates. English weather in August - one hour it was warm and sunny, and then the next like mid-November. “You like… a long-lost American heir to some posh Downton Abbey shit?” He elbowed Kit in jest.

Kit let out a rude noise. “As if.” He suddenly became nervous though. There were rarely mundanes in the house - sometimes builders, given Tessa and Jem were still making the place habitable, plus a couple of mums and babies sometimes from Tessa’s local baby group. It’s not as if Ade or anyone could tell that he was anything other than a normal person. Well… as long as they avoided the training room. And maybe keep Ade away from the old family photos. Tessa looked a bit too ageless at times, Kit thought.

But as it transpired, Kit hadn’t needed to have worried. Jem and Mina had made their usual pilgrimage to the bakery, and they had all sat in the now-sunny garden and feasted on pastries, thick, buttery toast and fresh orange juice.

Ade had appropriately complimented Mina: “Your sister’s really cute. Almost as cute as my nieces.” And had asked polite enough questions to the lies that Jem and Tessa told him about what brought them to England and Cirenworth. “So you’re like- an art dealer, that’s really cool.” And had given them enough about his own background: “Yeah, so like my mum’s a GP, she moved here after studying medicine in Lagos and my dad was in the army but now he does security installations for rich footballers and bankers with second homes near Dartmoor. My sisters live in London- yeah, I’m the youngest. I can’t wait to go back to London. Devon’s okay but it’s not the city.”

He said with the fervor of a true believer and Kit remembered his brief time in London. He hadn’t been back since… well, since he had left with the Blackthorns.

He was briefly lost in his memories that he almost missed the next part of the conversation.

“Kit should come study at Altofts,” Ade said. “I know it’s probably not the same as the American system but it has a really good reputation- they sent like, three people to Oxbridge last year. And lots to Exeter and the London unis.”

“I think that’s up to Kit,” Jem said, with a small smile, as he sipped his coffee.

Kit was confused. Attend a mundane high school? That had never been brought up. He cleared his throat. “Hey- should we go up to my room? I’ve got CoD on my playstation.”

“Yeah, tight,” Ade said cheerfully. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said nodding to Jem and Tessa, who were both looking bemused.

“He has a point,” Jem said, later on, as he and Kit finished up in the garden from their daily training regime.

Kit looked up from where he was currently doubled over in pain. Jem had run him hard today- they had ended with some hand-to-hand combat, and Jem had finished off by throwing him in some kind of super harsh judo flip. Kit was fairly sure he needed an iratze for his ribs...“What?”

“Your friend. You’re training with me but there’s only so much Shadowhunter training we can do in a day- plus, I still have other responsibilities I need to see to. Going to this college could be a good thing for you.”

Oh. Kit’s chest went tight. He knew Jem had other errands and things he needed to see to in regards to restoring Cirenworth. He hadn’t realised the training might be taking up too much of his time.

“And you can meet other kids your age,” Tessa called in her low, musical voice. She and Mina had been sitting on a plaid blanket a little ways off from the cleared training ground.

“You mean, you think I can pull off the dual roles of training for epic battles between good and evil and still do my calculus homework?” Kit said sarcastically but he started to feel a twinge of excitement as he considered the proposal. It wasn’t that he had been bored this past winter - he and Tessa had done enough homeschooling ahead of Mina’s birth and he had spent a lot of quality time wallowing in his room and shooting out his feelings on his playstation… but he wasn’t sure he could do that for a second winter in a row.

Tessa grinned. “Buffy did it. I think you could.”

“Heh, well- you’d probably know, right?” Kit shot back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tessa said slowly, her eyebrows raising.

“C’mon- you mean in the past century, you never pulled an Edward Cullen and went to high school again?” Kit asked skeptically.

“Read the book,” Tessa said automatically, as she shook her head and pulled Mina up into her lap. But a blush emerged on her cheeks and Kit saw an opening.

“Saw the movie,” Kit replied, fascinated. “Hah, you did! Nothing to be ashamed about, Tessa. I bet there’s a reason so many vampires- or at least vampires in movies do it.”

Jem watched as they went back and forth, his face a study of confusion, as it so often did when they traded pop culture quips.

“No, I never attended a high school,” Tessa corrected him. “But I… may have a few English degrees.”

Jem looked at her fondly. “I know you did Cambridge in the 90s…” he said. “But what were the other ones?”

“Berkeley in 1965, and Columbia in the late 80s,” Tessa replied. “But the point is, Kit. You’re not a warlock. This is your chance to have a typical high school experience.”

“Shouldn’t I be having a typical Shadowhunter teen experience?”

Jem and Tess exchanged looks. “Well…” Tessa said gently. “There’s not really a typical experience but in terms of the more usual ones… most go to either the Academy, or are tutored in their local Institute.”

“Neither which are an option for me,” Kit said, suddenly feeling a bit bitter. “I need to avoid most Downworld or Shadowhunter places until we know more about the First Heir stuff.”

Jem was sympathetic. “We would’ve liked to have helped you with this, Kit. We did mean to get you a tutor but given the… upheaval in the last year with the Cohort… there are fewer Shadowhunters around anyway, and many of them are tied to their Institute or are helping out with the reformed Academy in New York.”

“I’m enjoying training with you, Jem,” Kit said slowly, not sure where the conversation was going. Did Jem want to stop?

Jem smiled. “I know. I am too. And I think it’s going well- and we’ll continue with it.” He stepped closer to Kit, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But… I think it’s good to not just focus on Shadowhunter education to the exclusion of everything else.”

His eyes took on a sudden, far away look, and Kit thought he saw some sorrow pass through them. “Given the events of the past few years- I think there are going to be more changes and upheaval coming for Shadowhunters and the Downworld. Having some who understand both the Shadowhunter and mundane world, and who can bridge the two cultures and their histories- that will help us all navigate through it.”

Kit thought back to some of the conversations he had had with members of the Cohort, and even with Emma and the Blackthorns, all of whom had been fairly ignorant of twentieth century history and some of the parallels which were currently happening within Shadowhunter society.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah- I get where you’re coming from. When you put it that way- the hard job of getting high and making out with people under the bleachers to be this noble task…” he held his hand up, as he saw both Jem and Tessa take synchronised breaths as if to respond. “Jokes- I’m in.”

They both smiled. “We can go into Totnes tomorrow and pick you up a syllabus so you can choose your courses,” Tessa said, as Mina drooled on her shoulder. Kit didn’t think that was the right wording but he nodded.

“Oh, and don’t think if you go, you’re going to have an easier time on your Shadowhunter training. I’ve been in contact with several Institutes and people we know… it’ll be good for you to have exposure to different ways of fighting and training,” Jem informed him. “So- starting from next month, we’ll be hosting several guest tutors for you.” His normally mild smile held more of an edge. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Kit gulped. “Yay?”

So, that was how he, Kit Herondale, future Shadowhunter extraordinaire and heir to the First Heir or whatever, ended up at a sixth form college in South Devon. It wasn’t going to be entirely like he had seen in movies- this seemed more like a cross between community college and high school, Kit thought, as he pulled out the schedule he had been given from the front office.

The secretary had almost swooned when he walked in, telling him she loved his accent and so Kit left feeling pretty smug. But that smugness had quickly drained away as other people streamed around him and he tried to figure out what the double and single blocks meant, and what the hell was a tutor group…?

“Yo, Herondale!” he heard a voice call. Kit looked up and saw Ade approaching. Kit had texted him earlier.

“You’re here,” Ade said delightedly, after he had clapped Kit on the back in greeting. “Noice.” He gestured to his friends around him. “This is Eamonn, Tom and Ben. Lads- this is Kit Herondale. He’s an American, from Los Angeles.”

The other boys looked vaguely impressed, and he made small talk with them as they threaded their way through the busy halls. Ade checked Kit’s schedule. “Awesome- we’re in the same tutor group, although…” his eyes danced down the page. “Nothing else-” he handed it back to back to Kit. “Not surprising though- I’m on a one way ticket to study medicine in London with Chemistry, Bio, Physics and Maths and you’re- an artsy lad,” he said, with a friendly grin. “Which is good, no rivalry between us.”

“Yeah,” Kit mumbled. He had chosen Art (he wanted photography but it hadn’t been offered as a full A-Level), English Literature (for Tessa and because he actually did like reading the classics, he had discovered), History (because someone had to know about mundane history, according to Jem) and Film Studies (because duh).

Kit and Ade split off from the rest of his friends and went into a classroom.

The tutor group seemed to be like the American version of a homeroom, and Kit relaxed into his seat as the teacher in the front of the class droned on about regulations and expectations. As he leaned back in his chair, he took stock of his new classmates.

“Psst,” came a hiss from his right. Kit looked over, and saw a girl with brown hair cut in a severe bob smile at him. He smiled back; he planned to unleash the full Herondale charm at this school.

“I like your tattoo,” she whispered, pointing at his hand.

Kit froze. He looked straight ahead, ignoring her. Before heading out of the house in the morning, he had spent time painstakingly drawing a glamour rune on his arm, to hide his other runes, including the very obvious Voyance one.

Shit. There were mundanes here in the school with the Sight. Well… that was going to make things interesting…

Not going to bother with my usual taglist for this one, given it's technically not a new fic but feel free to let me know if you want to be notified when I post updates and I will start a new taglist for it.

#sobh #tsc fanfiction #kit herondale #kit x ty #kit herondale x ty blackthorn #secrets of blackthorn hall #jem carstairs #tessa gray #mina carstairs #effortless #my fanfic #alicantenet

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bigfootmountain · 3 years

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Report # 1083 (Class A)

Submitted by John Green on Saturday, January 1, 2000.

William Roe account -- Highway worker has lengthy sighting at close range & records much detail

YEAR: 1955

SEASON: Fall

MONTH: October

PROVINCE: British Columbia

COUNTRY: Canada

LOCATION DETAILS: Five miles up Mica Mountain near an old deserted mine

OBSERVED: Ever since I was a small boy back in the forest of Michigan I have studied the lives and habits of wild animals. Later, when I supported my family in northern Alberta by hunting and trapping I spent many hours just observing the wild things. They fascinated me. But the most incredible experience I ever had with a wild creature occurred near a little town called Tete Jaune Cache, British Columbia, about eighty miles west of Jasper, Alberta.

I had been working on the highway near Tete Jaune Cache for about two years. In October 1955, I decided to climb five miles up Mica Mountain to an old deserted mine, just for something to do. I came in sight of the mine about three o’clock in the afternoon after an easy climb. I had just come out of a patch of low brush into a clearing, when I saw what I thought was a grizzly bear, in the brush on the other side. I had shot a grizzly near that spot the year before. This one was only about 75 yards away, but I did not want to shoot it, for I had no way of getting it out. So I sat down on a small rock and watched, my rifle in my hands.

I could just see the top of the animal’s head and the top of one shoulder. A moment later it raised up and stepped out into the opening. Then I saw that it was not a bear.

This drawing of the animal William Roe saw was done by his daughter under his direction.

This, to the best of my recollection, is what the creature looked like and how it acted as it came across the clearing directly towards me. My first impression was of a huge man, about six feet tall, almost three feet wide and probably weighing somewhere near 300 pounds. It was covered from head to foot with dark brown, silver-tipped hair. But as it came closer I saw by its breasts that it was a female. And yet, its torso was not curved like a female’s. Its broad frame was straight from shoulder to hip. Its arms were much thicker than a man’s arms, and longer, reaching almost to its knees. Its feet were broader proportionately than a man’s, about five inches wide at the front and tapering to much thinner heels. When it walked it placed the heel of its foot down first, and I could see the grey-brown skin or hide on the soles of its feet.

It came to the edge of the bush I was hiding in, within twenty feet of me, and squatted down on its haunches. Reaching out its hands it pulled the branches of bushes toward it and stripped the leaves with its teeth. Its lips curled flexibly around the leaves as it ate. I was close enough to see that its teeth were white and even.

The shape of this creature’s head somewhat resembled a negro’s. The head was higher at the back than at the front. The nose was broad and flat. The lips and chin protruded farther than its nose. But the hair that covered it, leaving bare only the parts of the face around the mouth, nose and ears, made it resemble an animal as much as a human. None of its hair, even on the back of its head, was longer than an inch, and that on its face was much shorter. Its ears were shaped like a human’s ears. But its eyes were small and black like a bear’s. And its neck was unhuman. Thicker and shorter than any man’s I had ever seen.

As I watched this creature, I wondered if some movie company was making a film at this place and that what I saw was an actor made up to look partly human and partly animal. But as I observed it more I decided it would be impossible to fake such a specimen. Anyway, I learned later that there was no such company near that area. Nor, in fact, did anyone live up Mica Mountain, according to the people who lived in Tete Jaune Cache.

Finally, the wild thing must have got my scent, for it looked directly at me through an opening in the brush. A look of amazement crossed its face. It looked so comical at the moment I had to grin. Still in a crouched position, it backed up three or four steps, then straightened up to its full height and started to walk rapidly back the way it had come. For a moment it watched me over its shoulder as it went, not exactly afraid, but as though it wanted no contact with anything strange.

The thought came to me that if I shot it, I would possibly have a specimen of great Interest to scientists the world over. I had heard stories about the Sasquatch, the giant hairy Indians that live in the legends of British Columbia Indians, and also, many claim, are still in fact alive today. Maybe this was a Sasquatch, I told myself.

I levelled my rifle. The creature was still walking rapidly away, again turning its head to look in my direction. I lowered the rifle. Although I have called the creature “it,” I felt now that it was a human being and I knew I would never forgive myself if I killed it.

Just as it came to the other patch of brush it threw back its head and made a peculiar noise that seemed to be half laugh and half language, and which I can only describe as a kind of whinny. Then it walked from the small brush into a stand of lodgepole pine.

I stepped out into the opening and looked across a small ridge just beyond the pine to see if I could see it again. It came out on the ridge a couple of hundred yards away from me, tipped its head back again, and again emitted the only sound I had heard it make, but what this half-laugh, half-language was meant to convey, I do not know. It disappeared then, and I never saw it again.

I wanted to find out if it lived on vegetation entirely or ate meat as well, so I went down and looked for signs. I found it in five different places, and although I examined it thoroughly, could find no hair or shells of bugs or insects. So I believe it was strictly a vegetarian.

I found one place where it had slept for a couple of nights under a tree. Now, the nights were cool up the mountain, at this time of year especially, and yet it had not used a fire. I found no sign that it possessed even the simplest of tools. Nor a single companion while in this place.

Whether this creature was a Sasquatch I do not know. It will always remain a mystery to me, unless another one is found.

I hereby declare the above statement to be in every part true, to the best of my powers of observation and recollection.

WILLIAM ROE

Sworn before William Clark, a Commissioner for Oaths in and for the Province of Alberta.

Follow-up investigation report by BFRO Investigator John Green:

In addition to the information in this sworn statement, Mr. Roe made the following remarks regarding the sasquatch in a letter:

"The nails were not like a bear’s, but short and heavy like a man’s finger nails are. Its eyes were not light and large but small and black like a bear’s. You couldn’t see any knotted, corded muscles. This animal seemed almost round. It was as deep through as it was wide, and I believe if this animal should have been seven feet tall, it would have weighed close to 500 pounds. We have got to get away from the idea of comparing it to a human being as we know them."

I never did meet Mr. Roe and I knew very little about him, but in 1969 on a trip across Canada I met two zoologists in different cities who had corresponded with him concerning his observations of buffalo. They b

#cryptozoology #cryptids #bigfoot #bigfootmountain #bigfootsighting #bigfootisreal #bigfootsightings

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kreekey · 4 years

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examples of people being racist toward yoko unintentionally: 1- calling her a weird stalker when they glorify/don't mind the many white fangirls who used to stalk the Beatles. 2- spreading misinformation that she lost custody of her daughter when in fact she'd won against her white crazy ex despite everything NOT in favour of her 3- bashing her for using John's glasses on the album cover she worked with John on, when they would've praised the artistry and bold statement if she was a white woman

Hey sorry I got around to answering your ask so late! You make a lot of really interesting points and I rarely hear people consider that.

1 - reminds me of a Tumblr post I saw about an obsessive Beatlemaniac stalker and people were like “me” or “bless her” haha. Definitely different when they can interpret Yoko’s actions as “stalking”. And your point also reminds me of this quote, which isn’t about fangirls but still somewhat kinda related.

“Like Yoko when she met John, Linda was a divorced woman with a daughter when she met Paul mere months later. There are stories similar to those about Yoko of her “scheming” to meet and marry Paul. In the same way that Yoko is said to have joked prior to meeting him that she was “going to marry John Lennon,” Linda joked like any woman with a celebrity crush about how she was “going to marry Paul McCartney.” (Bob Spitz notes both in his book The Beatles. Guess which one he thought was conniving, and which one he thought was adorable.)... Was it the lucky fact that Linda got the scene a few months later than Yoko, or was it her whiteness?“

And I don’t have the answer if it was Yoko’s race that made her such a target, but it’s something interesting to consider and note. [And I’ll clarify this, I'm pretty sure Yoko didn't know about the Beatles until she became face to face with one, like she wasn't a fan who got lucky enough to meet her idol. In the David Frost interview and the 1971 Rolling Stone interview, John noted that Yoko didn't know him when they met, and Yoko Ono: Collector of Skies by Neil Beram says this on their meeting: "She was about as familiar with John's work as he was with hers. "I was an underground person, and such an artistic snob," she said later. "I knew about The Beatles, of course... but I wasn't interested in them." Just about the only thing she could recall about them was the drummer Ringo Starr's first name, because ringo means "apple" in Japanese.”] Also, and this definitely wasn’t stalking, but I posted a quote from Bob Spitz’ biography where he writes along the lines of

“[Linda] always insisted that she was going to marry Paul McCartney,” [Nat Weiss] recalls, “even before she met him”... It was no accident that Linda Eastman veered into his aura. She’d taken a few polite shots of Ringo and George before “zeroing in on Paul,”... Linda had come dressed to kill. Most days she played the typical rock chick, decked out in rumpled jeans and a T-shirt, with little or no makeup and unwashed hair. But today her hair had been carefully blow-dried so that it fell perfectly forward in wing points at her chin. And she was dressed in an expensive double-breasted striped barbershop jacket arranged just so over a sheer black sweater, with a miniskirt that flattered her gorgeous legs. When she squatted down – not so subtly, in what must have been a rehearsed gesture – in front of Paul for an intimate chat, he had trouble keeping his eyes from wandering below-decks...

, and some people commented that it appeared kinda predatory/pre-planned (reminds me of some criticism of Francie Schwartz’s meeting with Paul), but overall cute and everything. At the time I wondered how people would react if Yoko did that to John lol. No way of knowing, just a thought. And also, I know Yoko sent him Grapefruit and little instructions often, I think that’s usually what people cite as the stalking, that she tried to ensnare him with it. Again quoting Yoko Ono: Collector of Skies,

For a time Yoko kept in touch with John by mailing him daily instructions-she called this Dance Event-that said things like "Dance" and "Watch all the lights until dawn" and "I'm a cloud. Watch for me in the sky." John found the instructions as perplexing as he found them intriguing.

And quoting this interview (in which she also asserts that “each and every occasion she visited John at Kenwood, it was at his invitation.”),

Despite the popular theory that Yoko was frantically inventing schemes to snare the wealthy Beatle, she was struggling with problems in her marriage [with Tony Cox] and also working hard to establish her career in the UK. Arriving in London in September 1966 to perform at the ‘Destruction In Art Symposium’, Yoko was already respected as an avant-garde artist and performer in New York, where she was allied to the Fluxus movement. She had a trained musical background, and had recently been involved in the improvisational music favoured by her peer group. She had also compiled a book of conceptual and instructional pieces called Grapefruit, and printed up a limited edition.

Yoko distributed copies to a number of influential people during 1966-’67. And John Lennon was one of the recipients. This has since been interpreted as one of various ruses on Yoko’s part to enchant Lennon.

She retorts: “There was a myth that I sent Grapefruit to him… how I wanted to trap him. It was a printed, published book. I had an orange carton of them, a lot of it. I would be giving it to critics. It was that sort of thing. He wasn’t the only one who got it.”

And by then, John had already eagerly offered to sponsor one of her shows, I think he was genuinely interested in her work. I don’t think John was actually threatened by these notes or felt he was harassed, especially since he made the jump to invite her over while his wife was away (and Yoko just thought it was a party!). He once referred to Yoko “someone that could turn me on to a million things” in the Lennon Remembers interview, he admired her art. And I know he said to Cyn that the letters were just junk from another one of those weird artists, but c’mon, what do you think John would say to his wife regarding the woman he’s romantically interested in? I don’t think it would’ve been fully truthful IMO, especially considering when John said that he nearly invited Yoko to India around that time because he liked her so.

2 is very true. Tony himself tried to make it seem like Yoko and John were crazy heroin druggies, and that's the case he tried to make (and that’s what he tried to tell Kyoko, that he was “saving” her from drug obsessed occultists). But, Yoko had gone “cold turkey” (ala the song) off heroin in 1969. This was 2 years before she won full custody in 1971.

Although neither parent had been awarded sole custody of the child, Mr. Cox became increasingly reluctant to let Yoko and her new husband spend time with Kyoko, and finally refused to permit it at all. For a year before the Lennons came to America, they had been chasing Mr. Cox and Kyoko around Europe. In Majorca, Spain, the Lennons caught up with them and spirited Kyoko off to their hotel; but Mr. Cox called the police, and a Spanish court gave the child back to him. The incident added to his fear that the Lennons wanted to take her away from him for good.

Soon after the Lennons arrived in New York, they went to the United States Virgin Islands, to the same court where Yoko had been divorced, and that court awarded her permanent custody of her daughter.

But, Tony then took Kyoko to Texas (hiding/kidnapping her) which was in violation of that court order. Then more custody battle due to Tony’s stubbornness and evasiveness, but yes, Yoko did win custody then despite everything (even though John was very threatened by Tony lol, to the point he disallowed Yoko to visit him alone in order to discuss co-parenting when that was an option and suggested kidnapping Kyoko. But then again Tony was also kinda crazy. Seriously though IMO Yoko really tried gallantly to have Kyoko in her life, and the loss hurt her. To hear people try to spin it as Yoko being the monster in the situation through misinformation is unfortunate.)

3 is hypothetical, but I do speculate that if Yoko was white, the attitude toward her would’ve been different. Sean said, “It’s intense how racist the world is. If my mother had looked like Debbie Harry, I really think the reaction would have been different.” (X) Yoko’s former partner, Sam Havadtoy, also touched on this in an interview from 1990:

Q: ...No matter what Yoko does, she’s frequently the victim of a bad press. Any idea why?

Havadtoy: After John’s death, newspapers wrote that Yoko was this selfish person hoarding John’s memory, controlling it, not willing to share it with his fans. So after two years, she puts out 200 hours of film footage and a record and they say she’s exploiting John’s memory. She can’t win.

Q: Why not?

Havadtoy: Racism. If she were blond-haired and blue-eyed, nobody would have blamed her for breaking up the Beatles. They were the darlings of the universe; she was an outsider, an Oriental, an avant-garde artist--easy to pick on. When John married Yoko, the British press wrote: “At least he will have clean laundry.” And it’s still happening. America is infatuated with Japan-bashing.

And I do think Season Of Glass was a memory thing, I posted about it here: X.

And yes, I think that much of Yoko’s criticism/legacy was rooted in that initial reaction, which was pretty sexist and racist. But I think that influence can still be felt today, in ways that aren’t obvious. And like you said, unintentional. (Before anyone gets mad, if you dislike or hate Yoko that doesn't automatically make you racist lol. But the narrative built around her might’ve influenced your opinion of her, and the narrative was kinda rooted in a racist mentality. So that’s why and re-interpreting her in a fresh light is necessary).

#sorry I know i've said something like that last paragraph many times but just to clarify y'know #yoko ono #the beatles fandom #asks #answers #long post #it got longer than i expected sorry!!#also anon sorry i left your ask unanswered so long!! hope you see this <3 #retrospective

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florenc-ia · 4 years

Text

These are my last reads, took me some time but oh well. Enjoy

Give Me Truths 110k

Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.

Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

chances under the purple sunrise 28k

“You’ve been taking my shoes?” Louis asked, scoffing. “I paid a lot for them!”

“How unfortunate for you.” Harry smiled bitterly. He peeked over Louis, eyeing the hook that still had the worm.

The red box was open right next to him. Harry saw that inside, it had a couple of transparent containers that were filled with worms, too. He eyed Louis skeptically before nodding. “Right. I’ll give you your, er…. little boats back if you let me have the tub of worms.”

A groan crawled out from Louis, his head falling back and his eyes landing up at the clear sky. “I need those.”

“They’re food for myself and others, not to be used as bait.”

Or the one where Harry is a merman, prince of the Atlantic Ocean, whose curiosity and healthy envy takes over him and he steals Louis' shoes every time he fishes.

Absolutely amazing it’s so beautiful and cute I loooooved it

Oh Glory 21k

Tomlinson looks Liam over, tilting his head. “Are you a swimmer as well?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, a little cautiously. Harry wonders if it’s Tomlinson’s fame or the unimpressed eyebrow that’s making Liam wary. “Distance, I’m doing the 1500m. Harry here’s a sprinter.”

“Ah,” says Tomlinson, turning his glinting eyes back to Harry. “So you’re not an endurance man.” A beat passes, and his grin grows, wide and filthy. "Shame."

Harry Styles is Team Great Britain's newest swimmer, and has spent his whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no distractions is tested when he's assigned to the same Rio apartment as Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry's childhood crush.

Torn On The Platform 27k

AU where harry and louis are strangers but they always get the same train to work in the morning and one day harry falls asleep on louis’ shoulder. louis wants to be annoyed because harry just broke a least seven rules of tube conduct but he looks so soft and peaceful that he just lets him sleep and wakes him ever so carefully when it’s his stop. it happens again and again until it becomes a regular thing where louis will let harry snooze and then gently nudge him awake, hand him the cup of coffee he took from him so it wouldn’t slip and spill everywhere and send him off with a “have fun at work, love” and after the tenth time harry isn’t even embarrassed anymore.

In a sky full of stars, be my Northern lights 13k

It's one of those nights there's nothing on the telly that Louis absently scrolls through Tinder. After swiping left on a bunch of profiles he comes face to face with a picture that stops him in his tracks. The picture is..almost sweet. It’s a boy with brown curly hair, wearing a very low cut yellow blouse, paired with a black jacket. He’s got a smile on his face and his tongue sticking out, but it’s not in any way lewd or suggestive. He just looks like he’s having a good time, and something about the innocence of it has him swiping right rather than left.

He’s barely checked the other pictures on the boy's profile before Tinder confirms that he’s got a match. The shots are so different from the pictures Louis is used to on Tinder - half naked boys who are smoldering at the camera - that he can’t help but smile.

It quickly turns into a frown when he opens up the message he’s just received.

Harry: Hello!

Harry: Thank you for swiping right

Harry: I have a proposition for you

baby we could be enough (I’ll make this feel like home) 52k

“Did you clean the table?” Harry asks Louis once Rose is done speaking, now occupied with trying to see if she can reach over and touch Harry’s hair from where she’s sat. At Louis’ nod, Harry frowns. “You didn’t have to do that. You’re my guests here, I could’ve dealt with it later.”

Louis just smiles easily, though, adjusting Rose on his lap so that she’s facing Harry better. She manages to tug on a loose wave of hair, and she makes a noise of triumph that both Louis and Harry smile at.

“I don’t mind,” Louis murmurs to Harry, even though he’s looking at Rose. “This one here seemed very excited to talk to you.”

And, okay. Harry can’t help but think of how domestic this feels, all of a sudden.

[harry is a photographer who's trying to find his place. louis is a single father with a smile that feels like home.]

That’s How I Know 19k

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

Never Too Late 18k

Harry’s confused for a moment before it hits him: the little boy is signing. Harry squats down to get to the boy’s level again and mirrors the same action.

“Dad?” He inquires. Harry learned basic sign language after having met a fan who was deaf. He made it his mission to learn signing so that he’d be able to communicate with other fellow hearing impaired fans.

The little boy smiles brightly, his tears now long gone. He goes on to extend both hands, palms up as if he’s asking where? Followed by the previous sign which means Dad. Harry smiles to himself at the amazing little guy standing in front of him.

He stands up taking the boy’s hand, “Let’s go find your dad,” he tells him making the motion with his hand.

Just having come out of the closet and recovering from vocal surgery, famous recording artist Harry Styles needs to get away from LA to work on new music needing to prove to his label that his career isn't over. Little does he know that his life is about to change forever when he runs into an old friend at the city he's decided to escape to.

Truth Be Told (I Never Was Yours) 76k

Harry watches Louis as he scrunches up his nose and bites the end of a pen in concentration. He’s been working on seating arrangements for the past hour and getting more frustrated by the minute. Louis huffs out a breath and glances down at Harry with a soft smile on his lips before he returns to the task at hand. It’s easy, right then, for Harry to let himself believe that they’re planning a seating chart for their own wedding and bickering over who is going to sit where from a list of their own family members. He can let himself daydream about a white picket fence and a dog that they could have within the next year.

It’s like a cold slap in the face when Harry looks to the top of the page to see “Aiden and Louis Grimshaw” at the head table, and Harry has to mentally remind himself for the thousandth time that Louis is not his. Never was, really. He’s just the wedding planner that’s been in love with Louis since he was sixteen.

(or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.)

Even Angels Have Their Demons 53k

Louis is appointed the role of Guardian Angel, and his first mission is a boy named Zayn Malik. Unfortunately, it seems that a certain Demon has gotten to him first.

Or... an Angel/Demon AU where Angel Louis hates Demon Harry, but somewhere along the way that stops being so true.

Three French Hems 20k

In which Louis is a designer at Burberry and Harry spends December wearing Lanvin… and Lanvin… and Lanvin.

In Dreams 23k

AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

Say It Somehow 129k

Louis Tomlinson may be one of the most respected actors on the West End, but he's terrible at knowing how to act around Harry Styles.

The story of two people who find each other at just the right time, featuring first dates, sleepovers, heartbreak, lots of sex, baked goods, overpriced bedsheets, and musical theatre references galore.

A Darker Shade of Love 750k

Louis is a 30 year old multi-billionaire with a very dark past. He is violent and is a sadist with a taste for pain.

Harry Styles is a 19 year old student who sets out to London after being kicked out by his homophobic father to follow his dreams. He wants to go to the best University to study but he needs a lot of money so he starts to work as a part time stripper at a gay club to support his studies and his life.

The club he works at, Garland's, is part owned by Louis Tomlinson. When they meet, its life changing for the both of them.

Ok so this one has very sensitive content. It’s very well written but if you can understand this is all fiction then you’re good. Be careful reading it if you think you might get triggered

A Sea Without Water, A Compass Without Direction 84k

”Tell me, Louis,” Captain Styles said, leaning forward a little. ”D’you think I’m an idiot?”

”I—what?” Louis asked, surprised by the blunt question. He had expected something different, something along the lines of how he learned music, or how he ended up as a prisoner on the other ship.

”Do you think I’m an idiot?” The captain repeated, putting emphasis on each word as though Louis couldn’t understand him otherwise.

”Of course not,” Louis said, shaking his head. He’d be a fool for thinking such a thing, and an even bigger fool for saying it out loud. ”Captain.”

Captain Styles nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. ”Then why did you lie to me?”

”L-Lie?”

”Out on the deck. You lied to me,” he said. He held up his hand, three fingers up.

”Three lies total. I hate liars.”

Waiting for the tides to meet 59k

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

#larry stylinson #larry #larryfanfic #fanfiction #fic recommendation #fanfic #reading

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freewithyourtempo · 5 years

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Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

"Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way.

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming.

Lehnsherr takes his time answering.

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup.

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down.

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick.

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room.

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?”

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs.

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”

The journalist sits back down with no further comment.

Emma raises her hand to ask a question.

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame.

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.”

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise.

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo.

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up.

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi.

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again.

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe.

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it.

He is such a good guy.

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer.

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already.

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away.

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.

Except that he doesn’t.

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails.

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended.

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps.

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result.

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question.

“Does he prefer blondes?”

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever.

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices.

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens.

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair.

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view.

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?”

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead.

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then.

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet.

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard.

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips.

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have?

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming.

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.”

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject.

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles.

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

“He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat. Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.”

#cherik #cherik fic #you asked #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #actor!erik #emma frost #logan howlett #my fic

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writeawayjake · 4 years

Text

New Robin Hood chapter!!!

Robin Hood

Chapter 9

Is that a knife at my throat or are you just happy to see me?

His back felt like a sack of rocks, his neck felt like it might snap if he moved his head, and to top it all off, the real cherry on top, the worst of the worst - his ass was numb as hell. Rocks are not nature's lazyboy. It was worth it though, to make sure the village was safe… for now at least.

The sun was just starting to crest the mountains, the warmth would definitely be welcome. It doesn't occur to most Americans but Afghanistan, particularly the mountains, can be cold as hell. Thankfully they were way below the snow line so that was something.

It did nothing however to alleviate the feeling of a knife point at his throat. Huh, didn't see that coming. Was his first thought. His second… well he wasn't able to keep that one in.

"Y'know, that much iron really isn't a healthy part of a balanced breakfast." That definitely sounded funnier in his head.

Flicking his eyes to his right, he could just barely make out her arm, the knife of course, and a little bit of that fiery red hair. Hm, I bet she looks even prettier with her hair down. I should really be more afraid right now.

"Alright jackass, answer my questions or we'll see if you can breath out the side of your neck." She growled in a low whisper.

"I mean I can try but -" his next smartass remark was cut short by an elbow to the back of his head. "Ah Jesus okay fine, what do you wanna know?"

Coming around in front of him she squatted on her haunches, knife point still at his throat.

"If you're trying to seduce me it's working." He said in his best, smooth-fifty's-detective voice.

"Fucking Marines," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How do you know Nottingham?"

"Well he's kind of huge. Bit hard to miss."

"I swear to god I will skin you alive starting at your sac."

"Fine. But if you keep flirting with me like this the gang's gonna start to talk." He paused for a second, watching the hamster wheel of hate spinning in her brain and finding it way too amusing considering she had a knife at his throat.

He sat there in silence for a moment, taking in the features of her face. Realizing he hadn't really had time yesterday. Her hair was let down from the low tight bun it had been in yesterday. A wavy mess of reds and oranges. Under those scowling eyebrows her eyes were getting the glint from the quickly rising sun.

Man she's pretty. He thought. In all likelihood that'd be his last thought if he kept this up. He was pretty sure she wouldn't actually stab him, but when it came to beautiful women with weapons pointed at him, his track record wasn't the best.

With a sigh he let all the puckish goofiness slide off him and got serious. "Nottingham was my C.O. back at Leatherneck. Pretty much from the start I wasn't what you'd call his "favorite"." He said in air quotes.

"I'd've put you on latrine duty for your whole tour and I've only known you a few hours." She replied dryly.

"Really? 'Cause I swear I used to kill at the base's open mic night."

"Finish the fucking story jarhead."

"Okay okay, well long story short we ended up in a situation very similar to the one you went through yesterday. Difference being he was too chickenshit to leave his desk. So when we got back to base I maaaaaay have hit 'im with my rifle butt and got on top of him screaming I was gonna kill him."

"Yeah that definitely sounds like Ahab." She replied, cautiously putting her knife back in the sheath on her hip.

"Oh who told you that? Was it John? That fuckin' narc. John you fuckin' narc!"

Hoping to see her face crack into a laugh, he was disappointed to find it stony and unamused.

"In all seriousness, he's an evil piece if shit and he needs killing. I said I'd kill him and I don't break my promises." He sighed. Looking into those stern brown eyes of hers made him want to tell the truth. In all the time since that awful day he hadn't talked about it with anyone except John, and even then only when he was drunk.

"Alright. You get to live for now," she finally said before getting up and offering him a hand. As he took it she continued, "But if you keep talking, I can't guarantee your safety." As she finished helping him up a slight curling started at the corner of her mouth.

"See, I know you're threatening me, but it still sounds like flirting."

"So you haven't shot 'im yet. Hones'ly I'm surprised." Said a gravely British voice standing behind them. Their chat must have woken him up. Explained the sass.

"Jury's still out on that one." She replied standing back up and walking off.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the hunky slice of beefcake, cradling his rifle in one hand and lighting a cigar with the other.

"Mornin' Tuck!" He chirped, as he began to stretch all the stiffness out of his back and shoulders.

"Mate, she's gonna kill ya if keep actin' like an twat."

"I dunno," he replied, his voice full of idiotic cheer. "I think I'm wearing her down."

Shaking his head and letting out a low chuckle Tuck walked off to start rousing the others. Especially John who was snoring like a bulldog wearing a nose plug.

@emdop @hannahs-creations @lourek @fragrant-stars

#writing #mywriting #robin hood #modern #au #maid marian #friar tuck #little john #the sheriff of nottingham #fiction #WIP #WriteAwayJake #!!!

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poore-choice-of-words · 5 years

Text

Nightingale & Peregrine Chapter 6

Whoo! It’s been awhile. But hopefully chapter seven wil come sooner than this one. Enjoy!

First, Last

...

He was late. Luckily, most people didn’t go to ice cream at one in the afternoon. Scratch that. A lot of people went to ice cream in the afternoon, unluckily. That was why there weren’t any parking spaces. He was sure his running speed to get there was better than his record in highschool, not that it was much of a record, but still.

This was the second time in as many days he’d literally bumped into Mandie.

“Hi.” he heaved a breath. “Fancy seeing.” Heave. “You here.” Heave. “Sorry I bumped in.” Heave. “To you.”

Helena was glaring at him, and was that laughter Mandie was suppressing?

“Hi.” She said, from behind a hand.

Definitely suppressing laughter.

“Hi,” He replied.

“You already said that.”

“Did I?”

Helena nodded. Moses decided to lift himself up so he was face to face with Mandie instead.

“Nonetheless, I insist upon buying both of you your Ice Cream as pardon for my transgression.” He bowed so that once again he was at eye-level with Helena.

“I accept your offer.” Mandie offered him a hand to get back up with, which he gladly took.

Helena looked skeptical.

“Think she suspects anything?” He whispered.

“Only what you just confirmed.” Mandie said.

Helena was squinting at him.

He bent down to be at eye-level her. These squats were going to help him work off that ice cream.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. I asked for you two to come here. I’m paying for your ice cream whether you like it or not. Then you can kick me out of the store.” He put his hand out for a shake.

Helena shook it, then pointed at her eyes and back at him.

“Gotcha.” He nodded for a bit before standing up. “Is this line ever going to move?”

“Lend me your arm?” Mandie asked. There was mischief in the tone that Moses ignored.

“Here you go.” He offered an elbow.

Mandie grabbed his wrist and leaned back, taking his arm, and nearly taking him, with her. He caught on quickly enough to hold his ground, otherwise he would’ve fallen on Mandie, and Helena might’ve kicked him out before they even got in the store.

They held themselves like that for a few moments, until she lifted herself up, making him stumble back. Then he noticed they were now holding hands. She was wearing gloves again, white silk, or some imitation. It was quite soft against his skin, and the gloves didn’t cover past her wrist, which he had been grasping onto while she’d been hanging.

He quickly released, realizing he’d had skin contact with her for more than a second and didn’t learn every one of her thoughts in his head for any amount of that time.

“How?” he looked at his hand. From the corner of his eye, Mandie seemed betrayed? Was that the word?

“There seems to be a couple, or a pair of siblings gumming up the line.”

“Do you always do that lean back thing?” He turned to Helena, “Does she always do that leanback thing?”

Helena shrugged.

“It’s not uncommon,” Mandie answered.

“Can you give a heads-up next time?”

“What makes you so sure we’re ever going to end up in a line together again?”

“Maybe it’s just a hope.”

Mandie half-smiled, then went into a straight face. Did she suddenly dislike him? Why had she come then? Was free ice-cream that irresistible an offer? Of course it was, it was ice cream.

“I’m getting the sense you don’t want to end up in a line together anytime soon. Would that be a warranted assumption?”

Mandie pulled her ponytail in front of her and began stroking it.

“What are you doing here, in town?”

He should have thought of an excuse before now. He was frozen for long enough that no matter what he said, she wouldn’t believe. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

“I’m working for a secret organization to capture Nightingale, and I’m using you in an attempt to learn her secret identity.”

Mandie looked hurt, and scared, betrayed, that was the word.

“I swear that was a joke! I’m sorry. Has that actually happened before?”

“You wouldn’t be the first operative to fail at seducing Amanda Piec,” Spectrum commented in his head. He hoped it was just a memory and not the real Spectrum.

Back in the real world, the real Mandie looked at him with pity, and possibly laughter. Had he been played?

“I’ve actually been doing temp work for... a lot of places.” He was great at making excuses.

Mandie finally outright smiled. She bought it, or she didn’t care.

“Maybe I should call your company sometime. I could use some help.”

“With what?”

“I’ve always got packages that need delivering. I actually had to make a stop to send a package before we got here.”

Helena made a thumbs-down motion and a pouty face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she doesn’t like waiting in the car.” Mandie turned her head. “Oh look, the line’s moved.”

She grabbed Helena’s hand and moved forward. The line kept steadily moving forward since apparently everyone had now figured out exactly what they were going to have. Moses should’ve thought about it. He was sure he didn’t want chocolate because chocolate was the worst ice cream flavor, except for maybe grape, but that wasn’t an ice cream flavor, yet.

“Why didn’t you want to hold my hand?” Mandie asked.

“What?”

“This isn’t middle school, and I thought you…”

She was right. This wasn’t middle school. If this were middle school, he’d be rushing into stuttered apologies. Instead, he waited a moment before stuttered apologies.

“It’s, uhh.”

Helena smacked his leg. He looked down at her, and she pointed at the counter, where the guy at the counter looked weary.

“Oh, sorry!”

…

They managed to get their ice cream, Helena hadn’t told Moses to scram, and Mandie asked to sit outside.

Overall things were looking okay.

“So you design for Nightingale?” He couldn’t think of a better question to start the ball rolling.

Mandie had an expression that said she was tired of that question, but ready to oblige an answer.

“I design for the entire Heroes’ Guild, but since we live in the same city, yes, Nightingale is my most common in-person customer.”

There were so many questions Moses could ask about Nightingale, but that was just the thing. He was talking to Mandie right now, not Nightingale. He needed to ask a question more about Mandie.

“Why white?”

That was still a Nightingale question, but it was also a Mandie question.

“It’s what she wore that first night.”

“First night?”

“Nightingale was Nightingale before I made the costume, and the first night she saved was in a white tank-top and a pair of jeans.”

“Seriously?”

“Still amazing, I assure you.”

“I don’t doubt it. You don’t wear white all the time without skill.”

Jeans? what made her switch to a skirt?

“Yeah, she has skill. She’s… perfect.”

Nightingale wasn’t the best conversation subject. She seemed to leave Mandie with longing. Moses stored the skirt question for later.

“Not that I doubt your skills, but why you?”

“What?”

Was she offended? Moses was screwed.

“Why of all the people in the world did Nightingale ask you to make the costume, or did you volunteer.”

“Well, most people who know me know I make my own clothes.”

Moses took a moment to look at Mandie’s outfit, a light pink dress with blue and purple flowers that looked embroidered onto the skirt.

“You made that?”

She nodded.

“Wow.”

“I make clothes for superheroes, and the dress get’s a wow.” Mandie was sarcastic, but she was also smiling.

“Yes! Most people don’t fully process big stuff, but this dress is right in front of me, and it’s beautiful by the way.”

“You don’t need to exaggerate for me.”

“I’m not, did you hand embroider the skirt or…?”

“I use a special machine, but I did design it.”

“See? I need to ask you for style tips.”

“I think you clean up well enough.”

Moses didn’t have a response. Mandie had cornered him in compliment combat.

“Thanks.”

He could feel himself blush. Maybe he wouldn’t seduce Mandie, but if he kept this up, she’d manage it on him.

…

Maybe Moses should have asked if Nightingale had any tips for superheroes just starting out. The closest he’d seen Nightingale to being tied up like this was when he was pointing a cane at her neck.

The worst part wasn’t that the chains were definitely power suppressant, which meant these thugs had a bigger budget than he initially thought. The worst part was that he probably wasn’t going to get Nightingale’s trust to help her if he couldn’t even help himself.

“Looks like someone fancies himself a superhero,” said thug number one, in what sounded like a very fake british accent.

“Looks like someone fancies himself a Beatle,” Moses retorted, getting a punch from the nearest thug for the comment.

“Maybe he just fancies one hero in particular.” They all had that probably fake accent, he knew because they all laughed in the accent too.

“You got me, I wanted to see Black Dragon, but I think I got the wrong town. Do you have a local hero associated with a particular neutral color?”

Thug number one was about to hit him again, when a familiar sultry voice interrupted.

“Now, Anders, that’ll make it much harder to get out on good behavior this time.”

Moses squinted in an attempt to find her in the rafters. Either she was behind him, or the suppressant was messing with his ability to see her.

“Who said I'm going to jail again, Katie?”

Katie? How did this minor crook know Nightingale's name.

“Nobody, because they don't have to.”

So maybe she hadn't been flirting with him as Ace of Spades, not that he thought she had. She just seemed to have a way of talking to her enemies, a way that could be interpreted a flirtatious.

“Is it my turn to comment?” Moses asked, “cause it sounded like you just got owned.”

No response, even a single laugh.

“Start struggling if you can fight.” He heard in the back of his head. The voice sounded like Mandie plus the voice in the back of his head that he never listened to. He was going to listen to it this time.

His struggling looked more like trying to spin in mid-air than proper struggling, but hopefully the point got across to Nightingale, if she was the one he'd heard.

After a few excruciating seconds while Anders kept talking, he felt something hit his hand. He grabbed it, and felt the ridges of a key’s teeth. He felt for the lock with both his hands as Nightingale came down to the ground.

She took off the skirt to reveal an equally white pair of pants. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. The deployed skirt, which now looked more like a blanket, took two of the thugs out, pinning them to a wall.

He managed to get the key in the lock and turn it. He had to struggle a bit more to get out, but when he did, he punched the nearest thug, who glared at him.

Maybe that wasn't the best method. The next time he punched, he pushed at the thugs mind to knock him out.

“Don't use that on Anders, I need him awake.”

“Why?”

“Focus.”

She sounded irritable.

The next thug came running at Moses. He turned out of the way and pushed them to the wall. They looked back at him afterwards and attacked. He felt a pressure that the thug definitely felt more of since it pushed them into the wall again, this time knocking them out.

“Show off.” He said, aloud.

Nightingale glared, although the masked covered her eyes in dark lenses, which meant he couldn’t actually tell if she was glaring, but there was a feeling.

“Did I accidentally interfere in a lovers quarrel?” Anders asked.

“We’re not lovers,” Nightingale said.

“And who said we were quarreling?”

They both took a step towards Anders. Nightingale was closer, but Moses opted against closing the gap between her and himself.

“What do you want to know?” Anders grumbled, without the accent this time.

“I need some information on Ace of Spades.”

So Anders was a snitch, probably a good one, if snitches could be good.

“Word is the guy used to run with the suits.”

“As in the four suits?”

So Nightingale knew who they were. Moses was almost flattered. He wasn’t sure if he felt more or less flattered that she seemed to flinch when Anders responded.

“Yeah, then the guy disappears for half-a-year and comes back with the suit and cane.”

He was gone for six months? It hadn’t felt that long, it felt longer.

“And that’s all you got?” Nightingale asked, bringing Moses back to reality.

Anders shrugged. “The guy’s new--wait, some people are saying he’s a reincarnate of Inferno.”

“Dante Gionelli?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“The guy with a house full of booby traps?” Moses asked.

“Do I need to repeat myself to you?”

Moses turned to Nightingale. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“Go figure.” She turned to Anders. “Nothing else?”

“Come back when he’s been around for more than a month and maybe I’ll have something. This guy is different.”

Nightingale seemed to stew for a moment.

“Fine.”

…

Moses had followed Nightingale to the roof. Since she hadn’t stopped him, he assumed she didn’t want him gone. At least not yet.

“I don’t really plan on leaving so--”

“What’s your code name?” She asked.

“My what?”

“Call sign, title, superhero name. What is it?”

Before thinking about it, Moses admitted, “I never thought about it until this moment.”

“Take your time.”

He didn’t take much. Truly he’d been thinking about this for awhile, and one corny name remained.

“Do you mind if I spin off of you a little, I mean, I’m starting in your town, but I don’t wanna encr--”

“Go right ahead.”

“Alright, since you’re a Nightingale, heard but rarely seen, then I’ll be a Peregrine, fast and fearsome.”

Nightingale laughed.

“I’m sorry, it was just, so dramatic.”

Peregrine couldn’t help but smile at managing to make her laugh.

“If you’re going to stick around you’ll need a costume.” She switched to business.

Moses looked at his current outfit.

“A good costume.”

“Now that’s just mean.”

Nightingale smirked.

“Give me your measurements next time we talk.”

“When will that be?”

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

“I can be.”

“Good.”

She walked away, about to jump onto the next roof.

“Where are we going to meet?” Moses asked just before she leapt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

...

Tag List: @lynn-iswriting, @kaylewiswrites, @taz-writes, @theshadowsofthenight, @merigreenleaf, @lady-redshield-writes, @concealeddarkness13, @authorisada, @cadewrites, @elizabethwillow, @writing-in-mermish, @royalbounties

#oc: amanda piec #oc: helena casborough #oc: moses casborough #wip: nightingale & peregrine #Moses gets to narrate a fight scene #Peregrine is revealed #everything's exciting #moses doesn't know what a boon this is to him

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rowdywarrior85 · 5 years

Text

STRANGER THINGS PRESENTS: 8/11, PART 1

[DISCLAIMER: This story in purely fan-fiction, meaning I own no rights to the show STRANGER THINGS, its episodes or characters. Basically, this story is my interpretation of the show, its episodes or characters. Forewarning, there will be descriptions of violence (sometimes graphic), adult content and language; if you have kids under 17 reading this story, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. Either way, hope you enjoy it.]

(We open to black.)

KALI (voice-over): Your mother sent you here for a reason, remember? We belong together. There’s nothing for you back there. They cannot save you, Jane.

EL (voice-over): No. But I can save them.

KALI (voice-over): Jane. JANE!!

(Smash open to a sunset looking over the city of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The theme song to LAVERNE & SHIRLEY starts up in the background. Snaps of beer breweries, cheese products and of course Packers fans. Camera then pans over an abandoned brewery, in one room Funshine tortures Axel over a game of chess with an episode of LAVERNE & SHIRLEY playing on the TV.)

FUNSHINE: Something on yo mind, brutha? Check.

(Funshine moves a bishop 2 steps forward.)

AXEL: Oh, I got alot on my mind, Funny. Mickie and Dottie are out getting grub, you’re kicking my ass in a child’s game, and our fearless leader is currently moping in her “penthouse” since “Shirley” fucking bailed on us.

FUNSHINE: Aight, A) Chess is a strategic game for all minds and all ages. And B) Jane obviously had her reasons, despite Kali’s feelings about it.

AXEL: Yeah, well, this strategic game is whuppin’ my goddamn aging brain.

(Funshine chuckles at Axel’s predicament, then looks up to the supervisor’s office up top. Inside, Kali is seen moping over a Polaroid picture she’s holding in her hand. The Polaroid consists of her and El/Jane smiling in the van, El/Jane with a warm smile and her arm draped around Kali and her lustful lip-lick. She turns to the radio with CALL ME by Blondie, then turns the dial to static. She then proceeds to close her eyes, holding the polaroid in her hand, concentrating on El/Jane. Camera cuts to a black space, the Void, she walks around until she hears gunshots and commotion coming from her right. As she closes in, she discovers it to be El/Jane watching an episode of MIAMI VICE with Mike. She then proceeds to observe them holding hands, kneeling close to El/Jane, looking to her with envy.)

KALI: (deep sigh) Lucky.

(Outside, the gang van pulls in. Funshine and Axel hear it outside.)

FUNSHINE: Soup’s on.

(Axel gets up to address the van.)

AXEL: You’re late, girls! Fuckin’ starving here!

(Inside the van, Mickie gives a vacant expression on her face.)

HELL-O!!!

FUNSHINE: Bad news, brutha. CHECKMATE, MUTHAFUCKA!!!

(Suddenly, a gunshot goes off, going through Mickie’s head, splattering her brain matter and blood across the inside of the windshield. A scream from Dottie is heard inside the van.)

FUNSHINE: Oh my God!

AXEL: HOLY SHIT!!

(Kali snaps out of her Void visit, puts the polaroid in her inner jacket pocket and bolts to the window. A thick, aged Russian voice barks from inside the van.)

RUSSIAN VOICE: My sincere apologies for intruding on your dinner plans, cossacks!

(A 60 year old, silver-haired and bearded, stocky Russian agent in a black suit strolls around from the back of the van. He has Dottie in tow as a human shield, with a standard issue Marakov handgun in his right hand pointed to her right temple, and his left hand tight on her left shoulder. Axel pulls out his .45 and points it at the uninvited guest, but Funshine motions him to be cool.)

I am simply here one reason. Your leader, a Hindu girl.

(Axel and Funshine look to each other. Suddenly, the intercom is activated from Kali’s suite.)

KALI: (over intercom) Who’s asking? And for the record, I’m British.

RUSSIAN AGENT: Oh, my apologies, devushka, I am Special Agent Ivan Perdovski, enforcer of Science Division of KGB. We’ve been looking for you for some time now. Rumors of people seeing things that are not there...

(As Ivan talks, a platoon of Russian soldiers along with Spetnaz commandos around the brewery.)

…a tunnel caving in at Pittsburgh,…

(Kali recalls doing that.)

…a former hospital orderly seeing old ghosts,…

(Kali recalls that, too.)

…and of course, a steel wall appearing in front of cops at abandoned factory in Chicago. Coincidence? I think not.

IVAN: Listen to me, comrades. We just want girl, give her to us, and we consider you all loose ends. But if I see something out of ordinary, you all die today.

AXEL: (laughing) “We”? I think you might be up in your age, “comrade”. Cuz the way I see it, it’s all of us and ONE… OF… YOU!!

(Ivan laughs at the gang.)

IVAN: (Russian) TAKE NO PRISONERS, I WANT THE GIRLS ALIVE AND UNHARMED!!!

(Soldiers and Spetnaz burst through the doors and windows. Axel and Funshine are shocked by the intrusion, as a hidden blade jets out of his left jacket sleeve and slits Dottie’s throat. Funshine is shocked even further, whilst Axel screams in agony.)

AXEL: DOTTIE, NO!!!!

(Blood pours from Dottie’s opened neck wound as she falls to the floor with hand to her neck, and ceases to move.)

YOU COMMIE FUCKERS!!!

(Axel fires his gun wildly, Ivan draws fire as he goes for cover.)

Get Kali and get the fuck outta here!!

(Funshine signals to Kali that need to roll out. A Spetnaz commando heads up to the upper level after Kali with Funshine following behind. The commando heads up to the Kali’s room, when he unexpectedly runs into a wall, the commando is perplexed and proceeds to turn around, only to be met by another wall. The walls begins to close in on the commando, he screams in Russian with floods of panic, only to be met by the force of Funshine’s right cross. The commando falls like a sack of potatoes, the walls simply disappear; Kali peers around the corner, wiping the blood off from her nose, smiling to Funshine as he squats next to the unconscious commando.)

KALI: Grab his weapons, Funshine. We’re clearly not safe here.

FUNSHINE: You don’t gotta ask me twice, K.

(Funshine grabs the commando’s AK/Grenade Launcher combo, a claymore mine and ammo. The two make their way to the exit, but are stopped by Ivan’s voice.)

IVAN: YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE YOUR REMAINING COMRADES BEHIND, WOULD YOU, DEVUSHKA!?!

(Kali motions to Funshine to stay by the exit while she peers over the door to the main loading dock. To her horror, she sees Axel on his knees with Ivan’s pistol pointed to his head, with the Red Army pointing their guns at her perspective door.)

IVAN: Drop your weapons and surrender the girl to me, calmly.

AXEL: (looks sharply to the door) FORGET ABOUT ME, KALI. YOU JUST GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! SAVE YOURSELF!!

IVAN: You have ten seconds to make up your mind, surrender yourself, and your friends will be spared.

(As Ivan counts down from 10, Kali looks to Funshine, who nods at her not to do it. By 7,Kali motions to Funshine to shut up while she uses her powers on the Red Army. By 5, she looks over, raises her hand up in her signature gesture.)

…4 …3 …2

AXEL: WE’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, KALI!!!

(With that, Ivan puts one between Axel’s eyes, Axel falls to his side lifeless, the Red Army opens fire as Kali pulls back and ducks.)

IVAN: (Russian) HOLD YOUR FIRE!!!

(Soldiers cease fire.)

I WANT THE GIRL ALIVE!!

(Kali sits by the door in disbelief, all but Funshine are killed as she holds back her sadness. Funshine grabs ahold of her.)

FUNSHINE: (whispering) There’s another exit out there, we can make it.

(They both look at each other in affirmation. As Ivan and his troops wait, a cloud of smoke jets out of the door. The soldiers ready their weapons.)

IVAN: (Russian) Wait!!

(The cloud envelops from the door to the exit left of the door. As Ivan looks in fascination, we see Kali using her abilities to generate an illusion of said cloud to cover herself and Funshine. Camera pans over to Ivan and his troops who see nothing but the cloud. As the cloud inches toward the exit, a timid soldier shoots at the exit causing her to stop yet she keeps the illusion. Ivan shoots and kills that soldier in frustration, Kali and Funshine continue to the exit, at the same time she looks on to her comrades. When they make it to the exit, Ivan looks her cloud with a light smile.)

IVAN: (chuckles, English) You can’t win, devushka. There’s nowhere you can’t go where we won’t find you.

(Kali then motions to Funshine to see a nearby forklift. Funshine takes note and shoots the propane tank on that forklift, detonating it to provide a distraction long enough for the two misfits to escape. While the soldiers recover from the disorientation of the explosion, Kali and Funshine make for a black Ford cruiser sandwiched between two army supply trucks. They both get in, Funshine hotwires the car to start, and both get the Hell outta Dodge. Ivan and the troops run outside to their vehicles.)

IVAN: (Russian) They made off with my car, we can track it! Kill the assailant, but I WANT THE GIRL ALIVE!!!

(Ivan gets into the passenger side of an army truck while the other one goes ahead. Kali and Funshine race through the city with the Russians in pursuit. A Milwaukee cops notices the Ford speeding by.)

COP: (grabbing the radio communicator) All units, all units. We got a black Ford cruiser blasting through downtown. Request backup, over.

COP #2: (over radio) 10-4. Backup arriving imminently, over.

(Five more squad cars join the pursuit.)

IVAN: (Russian) Local police. Let them pass. Trust me.

KALI: There’s a junction up ahead.

FUNSHINE: Gotcha.

(The Ford blasts through the junction with Russians and sirens in hot pursuit. Kali closes her eyes and raises her hand. The cops approach the junction, when suddenly, …)

KALI: Boom.

(…the middle of the junction starts caving in. Cops hit their brakes in a panic.)

IVAN: (Russian) All stop now!!

(The cops braking in the middle of the junction results in a horrific car accident from all directions. Ivan looks on in astonishment.)

She’s good, real good.

KALI: There’s a bus station three blocks from here, park one block before there.

(Funshine looks down and sees a node with a blinking red light, indicating a tracking beacon. He looks up modestly to the road with concern, then looks to Kali.)

FUNSHINE: Gotcha.

SPETNAZ DRIVER: (Russian) Tracker is still working. Target is making for the local bus station.

IVAN: (Russian) Good.

(Funshine parks the car one block away from the bus station.)

KALI: Right, let’s roll.

(Kali steps out of the car, then looks back at Funshine, who sits solemnly in the driver’s seat.)

Fun, what’s wrong?

FUNSHINE: Houston, we got a problem.

(Funshine points to the tracking beacon to Kali.)

KALI: Shit.

FUNSHINE: Yup.

KALI: Then, we need to go now. Ditch the car.

FUNSHINE: No, Kali. YOU need to go.

KALI: No. (sniffles) You’re not doing this to me.

FUNSHINE: They’ll find us wherever we go.

KALI: (voice breaking, tearfully) If you stay, they’ll kill you too. Then I’ll have nobody.

FUNSHINE: Bull. Shit.

(Points to her jacket, specifically where the polaroid of her and El/Jane)

KALI: Fun, I can’t face her after she…

FUNSHINE: She’s the only family you got. You don’t have to face her now, but when the time comes, you’ll have to. You two are gonna need each other, sooner or later. But for now, you need to get on out now. Take this,…

(He hands her a $100.)

…get on the first available bus. Go, and don’t ever look back. We’ll be with you always,…

(He then points to her heart.)

…right here.

(Kali shares a final tearful hug with his gentle, giant, muscle bound friend.)

Now, go on kid. Go, now!!

(As Kali makes a break for the bus station, Funshine takes the claymore, ties the tripwire around the handle on the door, and faces the claymore toward the door. Funshine then sees the Russian convoy surrounding him. Ivan motions one of his Spetnaz commandos to the car. Commando knocks on the window, Funshine acknowledges him. Commando then motions him to open his window, Funshine smiles and decides acknowledges him.)

FUNSHINE: Evening, officer. Is, uh, there a problem?

COMMANDO: Where is girl?

FUNSHINE: You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, sir. What girl?

COMMANDO: No bullshit. Where is special girl?

FUNSHINE: You know what, I’m afraid you just missed her. She showed me quite a time, if you boys got here sooner, she could spread some love for y’all red-necks. Know what I’m sayin?

(Commando growls at Funshine, then turns to Ivan. Ivan nods up to the commando, commando turns back to Funshine.)

COMMANDO: Step out of car, comrade.

FUNSHINE: Tell you what. Why don’t you be a pal and, uh… open the door for me. Think you can do that, “comrade”?

(Funshine then chuckles and takes his middle finger shows it to Ivan. Ivan looks at him sternly, but as the commando opens the door, he eyes widen.)

IVAN: NYET!!!

(But it was already too late, the commando swung open the door, triggering the claymore. The commando looks down in disbelief.)

COMMANDO: (Russian) Fuck me.

(BOOM!! The claymore takes Funshine, the commando and most of the troops. Ivan is blown back, but survived with a slight burn on the left side of his face, most of his hair gone. Camera cuts to the road floor, where an plastic orange bear mask is seen half burnt. The explosion was heard clear across to the city limits where a bus is leaving Milwaukee. All the patrons saw the explosion, including Kali who sits in the very back, she sits back down in tears, knowing the last of her crew is gone. Camera cuts to the front to front of the bus, then pans upwards to show the destination of the bus, “California”.)

BUS DRIVER: (over intercom) Alright, everybody. We’re all safe and sound now. Next stop, Sunny California.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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waypathfinder · 5 years

Text

Crimson Lane - Chapter 7 - Shadow

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

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It was a record. The third consecutive day temperatures had reached over 45 degrees Celsius. A searing, bone-dry fierceness that parched Rey’s mouth and dried her eyes.

It was the worst time to be homeless, without a water supply or reliable shade.

Rey skulked through the alleyways of Jakku in worn earth-toned rags. The inhabitants watched her, eyeing the swag she clutched at her side.

The streets of Niima were the most run down in Jakku, attracting transients and tramps, the abandoned and abhorred. It was her hunting ground now, but there were still treasures to find if you knew where to look. And dangers too, if you didn’t.

She’d left this place ten years ago, but it hadn’t changed. The barren streets, run-down cars, walls of graffiti and pawn shops had shifted over time, but they still felt the same. A mirage of heat waves danced above the cracked and spongy roads, and the dilapidated state of the sewers left a rotting odour rising through the ground grates.

It was the last place most people would want to be, but to Rey, it was home.

She was just 16 then, gangly armed, skinny and flat-chested. A bag of bones, rubbery sinew and wiry muscles. Easy pickings.

But Rey knew these streets like the back of her hand, easily navigating through laneways and leaping across rooftops. The roads were quiet in this part of the region, but she was never alone. There was the feeling she was being watched from the shadows, sized up for the bounty of an attack. She had nothing of value: a spare change of clothes, a comb, some tissues, a toothbrush, a screwdriver and a Swiss Army knife.

Her only saving grace was that she was too poor to rob. More trouble than she was worth. So she was bold and reckless, casing up abandoned shacks that might still have food, and learning to squat in forgotten rooms and apartments.

Stepping around the broken bottles and flattened piles of cardboard box beds, she rounded the corner to a block of flats. Ex-state housing apartments that had fallen into disrepair. It was a favourite among squatters and drug dealers. A dangerous junkyard to those who didn’t know better.

She stood silently, gazing up at the boarded and smashed windows. It looked smaller than she remembered and dirtier. The fire escapes had become loose and corroded in parts, but it was still functional.

This was the reason she was here. She drew a deep breath and took a running leap, reaching out to grab the half-collapsed fire escape. It groaned and shuddered as she made contact, threatening to collapse. But it was holding her weight, and that was all she needed.

Rey climbed like a lizard, passing sections where the steps had rusted through. Three floors up, she found what she was looking for.

Someone had already broken the window, and it was large enough for her to shimmy inside. She kicked the remaining shards of glass aside with her boot, enjoying the sound of them smashing on the ground below.

The stairway had come away from the building here, leaving a good metre distance between herself and the window, with a sheer drop to the concrete below.

Hopefully, she would just have to make this jump once.

Clutching the scalding metal of the fire escape, she took a big breath and threw herself off the ledge.

Oof. Her chest and abdomen crashed against the exterior wall as she grasped hold of the window frame, pulling her body over the serrated edges of glass and onto the kitchen bench beneath the window.

There was a stench of rotting food and mould. Cigarettes and empty bongs lined the kitchen sink, and a thick layer of dust and white powder littered the bench

“Gross,” she muttered, as a swarm of cockroaches scattered into the open cupboards and beneath the fridge when she landed on the lino floor.

Home.

Her home.

Or at least it had been before they had sent her away.

***

“It’ll be for the best, Kira,” her mother had told her, tucking her hair into three tidy buns.

“Don’t cry, scout,” her dad added. “It’s just until we get back on our feet. Then you won’t be so much of a—-”

Burden. They didn’t need to say it; she had heard them talking about it last night in their bedroom.

She broke down, and then yelled, and then kicked off a juvenile riot of one, throwing papers and placemats at them until, at last, she planted her five-year-old feet on the floor and refused to move until the worker from Children's Services dragged her out to the van.

Once she was tightly buckled into her seat in the van, she risked one last look back to the place that had been her only home for five years. To wave, to blow them kisses, and big forgiveness for her outburst.

But her parents weren’t there. They didn’t even watch her leave.

That was 11 years ago and they never asked her to come back. When she arrived in Jakku, 16 and homeless again, a fellow scavenger had told her the couple died months ago. It hadn’t been the biggest surprise; they were wasting away before her eyes, even as a young child. She wouldn’t be a burden to them any more, she could provide for herself and for them, budget, repair things abandoned and broken.

They never gave her the chance. Her eyes stung at the thought. As always, she was alone.

“Oh well. That’s nothing new,” she told herself, as she kicked away the shattered glass on grey slate tiles. She would at least make the best of it here. That dodgy fire escape had deterred other squatters. The water still worked, albeit tinged brown. And there was that acrid stink of chemicals that she hoped to air out, but sometimes that smell never left.

The only issue was the bed. Someone had gone to town on it, possibly with a machete. The pillow top was shredded, the spring coils bent out of shape and broken in a sea of discoloured stuffing. She sure as hell wasn’t sleeping on the floor with the roach faeces everywhere. Two blocks away, she had spotted a double-sized dog bed on the side of the road; she could use that.

The paint was cracked, it had a serious cockroach infestation, and she was pretty sure someone had defecated in the loungeroom.

But it would do. It would do nicely.

________________________________________________________________

That was how the dream started, memories of the past, smells, feelings, emotions. Taking her back to that place she had tried so desperately to make home.

But then, the tide always shifted, like darkness preceding a storm. The natural light of her parent’s abandoned apartment bled into night and the nightmare began.

Not again! her conscious mind rallied, but she was powerless to stop the images unfurling.

She had come back from a day of trading and haggling, body bathed in sweat from the heat and humidity. Too exhausted to take her usual precautions of listening through the walls, or checking the light shadows beneath the door.

Rey shoved the door open, grasping the handle and throwing her shoulder against it to loosen the swollen timber. She stumbled in behind it clumsily. The apartment was pitch black and silent, just how she left it. Except—the hairs stood up the back of her neck—somehow the air seemed crisper; a sharp tang of bay rum aftershave, sweat and leather.

Rey blinked, squinting her eyes into the dark expanse. Straining to hear any noises that didn‘t belong there, a dripping tap, the street sounds floating in from the kitchen and—breathing.

Shit.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice shaking as she peered through the darkness. “Is anyone here?”

Strong arms, clamped around her from behind and she screamed as she was lifted off the ground. The room erupted with scurrying feet and sharp hisses.

“The chair!” A voice hissed. “Tie her to the chair.”

She was thrown into a metal chair and pinned against it by multiple unseeing hands. Overhead the light flickered on with an electric buzz and Rey clamped her eyes shut at the sudden glare. The man who had grabbed her from behind kneeled in front of her now, coldly binding her hands and feet with cable ties.

“Stop!” she cried. “I‘m just a scavenger. Can‘t you see I don‘t have anything you would want?”

“Shut up,” her captor hissed, tightening the cable ties around her hands, while another man appraised her. This one was also masked, but with the slightest hints of fiery hair showing at his collar.

“How would you know what we want?” he asked with a British accent, circling around her with his hands clasped before his abdomen.

Rey gulped, feeling weak and dizzy from the heat of the day. She screamed for help though her mouth was hot and dry, and kicked her tattered boots at the black shapes crowding her.

They dragged her chair across the loungeroom, the grating metal on tile sound reminding her of scraping fingernails down a blackboard. She struggled, strained; it was no use. They dragged her to the middle of the room, where a single bright bulb hung by a wire, rocking overhead and making shadows dance on the walls.

The chair was tilted backward, forcing the white light to clash against her skin. The shadow towered above her, looming beyond the light, his face hidden by a balaclava and his coal-dark eyes melting into the darkness.

She stared at him in terror, unable to blink, body rigid as stone. If only she could get free and run from here and out the fire escape. The rotting emergency route to the street wouldn‘t take their weight; she was barely sure that it would hold hers.

She must have looked that way because her captor followed her gaze. How long had they been here waiting for her? Did he even know there was another way out - the only way out, she thought, looking at the silent faceless creatures of darkness guarding the doorway.

He took three long strides in her direction and crouched at her feet.

She waited for him to speak, but he only cocked his head to the side considering his catch. With the light blaring onto her face, the surrounding men appeared like dark auras hovering on the outskirts of purgatory, waiting and watching their leader.

“Who are you?” Rey dared to ask, squinting her hazel eyes with fear—and curiosity.

“Last month you came into a sum of money…”

“No,” she whimpered, her voice failing her. “I don’t have that.”

“Three-hundred-fucking-grand,” one of the other men sneered from the shadows.

She shook her head wildly, her lips shaped the word “no”, over and over again.

“I know you have it.“ The masked man pounded a gloved hand into his opposite palm, cracking his knuckles with bone-shuddering certainty. She scrunched her face, waiting expectantly for a blow, but it didn‘t come. He paused, searching her face as though he were reading a map - the angles of her cheekbone, along the line of her jaw, focusing on the most minute of details as if to burn them into his memory. And lastly, to her eyes. Considering them with thoughtful curiosity.

“Get on with it.” The red-haired man was pacing a circle around them.

And then the study was over; the eyes in front of her grew dark and she was filled with foreboding. He stood abruptly, reaching for a metal bar that she would come to know as a Tonfa, an Okinawan weapon. He slapped it warningly against his leather palm.

“I know you have the money, and now you‘re going to give it to me.“

No, no, no! Her mind fought against the memory in her dream.

Why did it drag her here every night?

She kicked at him and felt someone poking at her arm, and she batted it away absently.

“Get away from me!” she screamed in the dream, but there was nothing she could do to make him stop, until—-

She woke.

Lifted out of the memory by a pair of powerful arms tucked beneath her knees and back. Her body tightened as though the man from her dreams had manifested before her. Her eyelids fluttered, and she saw the pale jaw, the long, black lashes that brushed shadows on high cheekbones, the hair, thick and dark as the night sky, and those earth brown eyes peering down at her. He held her body a little closer into his chest and a quiet whisper came from his lips.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

Kylo.

Eyes closed, she sleepily slipped her arms around his neck and melted into his hold. Was she still mad at him? She couldn’t remember now that sleep was nipping at her heels. Maybe. But he had saved her from her nightmare. And that was enough.

“I was having a bad dream,” she said lazily. “He was going to hurt me.”

Kylo’s brow furrowed with concern. How tender his eyes were now. In this half-awake state, his body tight to hers, it warmed her, tucking into a cocoon of midnight.

Safe.

“Who was going to hurt you?”

“The man in black. He’s the one I dream about. The centre of my nightmares.”

The heaviness of sleep was bearing down on her before she saw the pain in his eyes, and she wondered why he looked so sad.

She would tell him; it was okay. She was okay. They were just nightmares —

The warmth of the bed swallowed her up, and she curled into the pillow. From far away, she could hear a soft promise: “He won’t hurt you again.”

How sure those words were. As though it were within his power to speak them.

It almost made her believe he could keep her safe from the demons of her dreams.

And maybe he could.

#Crimson lane #Reylo #Reylo Au #Reylo Fic Rec #Reylo Fan Fiction #Reylo fan fic #save ben solo

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dr-gloom · 6 years

Text

College Parties Never Amount to Anything Good

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: none

Words: 2,036

Tags/Warnings: drinking, rapping, college AU, Human AU

Summary: Roman thought they all needed a chance to unwind after a stressful semester. So what was his natural first choice? A college party.

Enjoy!

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Roman had thought it’d be a good idea. They’d all needed to let loose and have a good time; Roman had just finished the last production of the play he was in, Logan had finally turned in the research paper he’d been working on all semester, Virgil had been so stressed from classes and being a tech in the play that he was having panic attacks in class, and Patton had had a rough week of childcare fieldwork (he loved those little kiddos, but sometimes they could really be a piece of work). So, when Roman heard about a party his co-star was holding at their rather large apartment on the more... affluent side of town, he knew he had to drag the other three along.

Patton had been easy to convince. As tired as he was from working with some rather difficult kids that week, he was always up for a fun party with his “Theater Kiddos” as he referred to them affectionately. It’d been a while since he’d seen any of them since they’d all been so busy with the play, so he was more than happy to agree to a party. Besides, he reasoned, they all needed a break from being college students to just be young adults, and this was the perfect way to unwind in a (relatively) safe environment.

Virgil had vehemently objected to it. Roman was expecting that of course; even on his best days Virgil hated large social gatherings. Roman had followed him around campus and the dorms for three days, begging him to come along and promising he’d have fun (he’d gotten Patton to bug him when the two were in their shared dorm room). Virgil finally caved when Roman promised he’d let Virgil buy whatever he wanted from the Disney store. No price limit; Roman trusted Virgil to not bleed him dry.

Logan had been the hardest to convince. Logically, he saw no point in going to a party where his peers would be listening to loud obnoxious music and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Roman had told him that Patton and Virgil were coming along too, but Logan wasn’t one to cave to peer pressure. He wanted to use his new-found free time to catch up on sleep he’d missed, and it would take a very good reason to get him to change his plans. Roman casually told Logan that if he didn’t come, Roman would tell Virgil that Logan was the one who stole his old hoodie. Logan caves to blackmail surprisingly easy, Roman found out.

So, Roman had met the other three at the front desk of their dorm hall, grinning triumphantly as they approached. Roman wore a soft red cotton shirt, with black skinnies and red high-tops (each decorated with a gold crown decal). Patton skipped up to Roman in a light blue V-neck, jeans, and light blue converse covered in sharpie doodles. Logan followed behind at a measured pace, dressed exactly as he always is (which confused Roman – Logan had still been getting ready when he left their room); black polo, dark-wash jeans, and navy-blue vans. Virgil brought up the back in his custom-made hoodie, a purple V-neck, and black skinnies tucked into black high-top vans with purple laces. The four men head out the door, chatting as Roman leads them to his co-star’s apartment.

The apartment was loud and crowded. Roman had quickly lost track of Patton. Logan had located the couch and sat down, flatly refusing to move, eat, or drink at all. Virgil was practically glued to Roman’s side, occasionally talking with someone nearby (usually a fellow techy). Roman took the first cup thrust into his hands, drinking the poorly-mixed drink, his laughter becoming louder and more carefree the longer he walked around. At some point he’d lost track of Virgil, but by the time he’d realized this he was buzzed and couldn’t find it in him to worry all that much. What? He’d had a hard month too.

He’d been wandering around the apartment for a couple hours when he finally found (read: remembered he was looking for) Patton. The jovial fatherly figure was obviously very drunk, standing on the coffee table in nothing but his shoes and boxers, swinging his pants around and laughing loudly while people cheered. It took Roman a moment to comprehend what he was seeing (and another moment to get over the fact that fuck, Patton is hot) before he rushes forward, reaching up to get Patton’s attention. He grabs Patton’s arm, and the ECE major looks down with pink cheeks and a goofy smile, his face lighting up when he realizes who’s next to him.

“Roman!!! Guys, guys! This is Roman. Isn’t he amazing???” The other students standing around (who all knew Roman and Patton) just laugh, confusing Patton slightly. Roman, now more sober than he really cared to be, purses his lips and tugs lightly on Patton’s arm as Patton takes a cup from someone nearby and downs the liquid, making everyone laugh when he winces. “Come on Padre, you’ve had enough. Time to get down, you’re being cut off.” Patton pouts and the crowd boos, but one look from Roman has them all silent. Patton gets down, and Roman helps him to put his pants back on. Neither of them can find his shirt, though.

Roman makes Patton hold onto the belt loops of his pants as they walk around looking for the others. If Patton was this drunk, he didn’t want to think about how bad off the other two were. One of the tech crew (Elliott? Roman thinks that’s their name) approaches him, an obvious look of concern on their face. “Ah, hey Roman… We kind of need your help.” They glance over their shoulder, and Roman frowns. “What is it?”

“Well… We got Virgil drunk, and…”

Roman feels a pit of dread grow in his stomach. “Where is he?” Elliott leads Roman and Patton (who is now a little more sober, and worried about “my dark strange son…”) to the back room, where most of the techies are hanging out, sitting and laying on various surfaces. Virgil is sitting on the sink of the attached bathroom, crying his eyes out with great, heaving sobs, two other techies trying to calm him down. Patton makes a worried sound in the back of his throat and lets go of Roman’s belt loops, stumbling into the room and scooping Virgil into a hug. Roman squats slightly to be eye level with Virgil, and the techies leave the bathroom. “Hey, Surley Temple, what’s wrong?” He uses a gentle tone, not wanting to upset the other more. He knew Virgil got… easily upset when he was drunk. He didn’t think Virgil was stressed enough to want to get drunk, though.

“I- I- Pearl loved R-Rose Quartz so m-m-muuuch~!” He sobs, clinging to Patton – apparently not caring that the other was shirtless. Roman blinks, straightening up and just. Processing. Then he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh that wants to come out. Steven Universe? He was crying over Steven Universe? Well, when Roman takes a moment to think about it Virgil has cried over more ridiculous things while drunk. Once, he’d cried because Roman killed a spider. Patton rubs Virgil’s back, sniffling himself, and Virgil just keeps babbling about how sad it is, because Pearl lost the woman she loved and has to raise her kid, Roman, that’s so sad! Roman makes sure that Patton can take care of Virgil (and that the techies can take care of Patton – the ones that aren’t stoned out of their minds promise to make sure his two friends stay out of trouble) before leaving to find Logan.

Roman can’t remember a time in all the years he’s known Logan that he’s ever seen the other drunk. Not even buzzed. Maybe that’s why he’s so surprised when he finds Logan completely wasted, still at the couch but standing now, rapping.

Roman knew Logan could rap. Or rather, he knew Logan liked “slam poetry” and wrote his own material occasionally. But Logan “wasn’t a performer”. He didn’t care for audiences, or large crowds of people – not to the same extent as Virgil, but enough that he didn’t associate himself with public speaking unless it was necessary.

But now Logan was in a rap battle with one of Roman’s fellow actors, and he was winning.

“– Put makeup and tap shoes up against me?

I’m a master, I read prose like Greek tragedies

I write rhymes like songs flowing from piano keys

You’re no match for me, you act out comedy

My name comes from Logos and it matches me

You want to face off? What a poor act

I’ll bury you under my words of fact

Do you get me? Or is your brain too packed

With useless lines from old British hacks?

I conduct experiments, I prove theories

Everything you say comes from a TV series!

Science is about understanding existence

Theater’s about singing for a sixpence

I theorize that you are going to lose

And look at that, it looks like you do!

Go back to your costumes and microphone

Leave the thinking to the ‘nerds’ who made your cellphone.”

Everyone in the room erupts in a near-deafening cacophony of shouts, the closest people clapping Logan on the shoulder. Logan’s eyes are a little unfocused, and his cheeks are pink, his hair and clothes mussed, but he looks smug as he pushes his glasses up his nose. The theater kid he’d just crushed is staring at him in a mix of awe and complete befuddlement, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. Roman is in much the same state, looking around the room at all the people cheering for Logan, and he belatedly wishes he’d been recording that.

After he gets over his surprise, he makes his way through the crowd and grabs Logan’s hand, dragging him toward the back room without a word. Logan struggles to keep up with him, stumbling and nearly falling. When Roman comes back into the bathroom where Patton and Virgil (who’s thankfully stopped crying) are, he stops, and Logan regains his footing. Roman leans against the counter with a sigh. “I can’t believe I have to be the buzzkill… We’re going home, now. You’re all drunk.”

Roman wonders what possessed him to bring them to a party where he knew they’d probably be talked into drinking. Well, he tries to reason with himself, Patton never goes overboard, Virgil is usually too anxious of being drunk to drink, and Logan thought drinking was “illogical” and “pointless”. You didn’t think you had to worry about them getting drunk. Virgil sniffs, and Roman does not want to deal with a cry-y, panic-y Virgil, so he takes his hand and brings him to his feet, leading the three of his friends out of the bathroom and back into the apartment. As the four pass, the techies who notice wave and say goodbye. Roman waves over his shoulder, for once in his life feeling not at all up to any kind of socialization as he drags his friends through the apartment.

He has to drag Patton away from a drinking game – twice – letting go of Virgil to keep a tight hold on Patton’s hand. He tells Virgil to just hold on to his belt loops, just like before, and Virgil nods, trailing behind him with his head ducked like a small child. Logan follows him without a word, just stumbling… A lot. It takes them three times as long to get back to the dorms as it did to get to the apartment, and by the time they’re all stumbling through the front doors Roman is completely exhausted. Patton doesn’t look much better, and Virgil is crying again (“I s-stepped on a sn-snail!”). Patton and Roman each wave goodbye to each other before grabbing their respective roommates and heading to their rooms. Roman’s last thought before he falls asleep is that next time, they’re just going to have a movie night.

The next morning, the only one who doesn’t have a hangover is Roman. He calls it poetic justice.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders

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whitejeweler · 4 years

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Welcome to Music Monday when we bring you great songs with jewelry, gemstones or precious metals in the title or lyrics. Today, Alexander Hamilton sees himself as a “diamond in the rough” in “My Shot,” the rousing Act 1 hit from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s blockbuster Broadway show. Miranda famously portrays the 19-year-old founding father in a musical about young revolutionaries and their determination to rise up against the British. Hamilton on Broadway has grossed more than a half billion dollars.

In the first verse of the 5:34 rap, Miranda’s character knows he’s smart and well spoken, but acknowledges that he’s also young and a bit rough around the edges.

He sings, “I probably shouldn’t brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish / The problem is I got a lot of brains but no polish / I gotta holler just to be heard / With every word, I drop knowledge! / I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal / Tryin’ to reach my goal.”

The “young, scrappy and hungry” Hamilton vows to lead the charge against oppression, repeating throughout the song that he’s not going to throw away his shot at making a difference.

Although Hamilton opened on Broadway more than five years ago, the show recently earned a big boost and broader audience when Disney Plus released the Hamilton movie on its popular streaming service just before U.S. Independence Day. The offering spiked Disney Plus downloads by 752,000 over the July 4th weekend.

The Hamilton movie features the original cast and is essentially a “live” recording — using six cameras — of an actual Broadway performance.

In 2016, Hamilton earned a record 16 Tony nominations and won 11 awards, including Best Musical. The play also won the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Drama.

Despite the accolades, Miranda reminded fans that the show was “no overnight success.” It took the composer/lyricist/actor/singer seven years to write the play, including a full year of revisions to today’s featured song, “My Shot.”

Please check out the audio clip of Miranda and the cast of Hamilton performing “My Shot.” The lyrics are below if you’d like to sing along…

“My Shot” Written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Kejuan Waliek and Albert Johnson. Performed by Lin-Manuel Miranda and the original cast of Hamilton.

I am not throwing away my shot! I am not throwing away my shot! Hey yo, I’m just like my country I’m young, scrappy and hungry And I’m not throwing away my shot! I’m ‘a get a scholarship to King’s College I probably shouldn’t brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish The problem is I got a lot of brains but no polish I gotta holler just to be heard With every word, I drop knowledge! I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal Tryin’ to reach my goal. My power of speech: unimpeachable Only nineteen but my mind is older These New York City streets get colder, I shoulder Every burden, every disadvantage I have learned to manage, I don’t have a gun to brandish I walk these streets famished

Ooh!

The plan is to fan this spark into a flame But damn, it’s getting dark, so let me spell out the name I am the

A-L-E-X-A-N-D E-R we are meant to be…

A colony that runs independently Meanwhile, Britain keeps shittin’ on us endlessly Essentially, they tax us relentlessly Then King George turns around, runs a spending spree He ain’t ever gonna set his descendants free So there will be a revolution in this century Enter me!

(He says in parentheses)

Don’t be shocked when your history book mentions me I will lay down my life if it sets us free Eventually, you’ll see my ascendancy

And I am not throwing away My shot (My shot) I am not throwing away My shot (My shot) Hey yo, I’m just like my country I’m young, scrappy and hungry And I’m not throwing away my shot (And I’m not throwing away my shot)

I am not throwing away my shot I am not throwing away my shot Hey yo, I’m just like my country I’m young, scrappy and hungry And I’m not throwing away my shot It’s time to take a shot!

I dream of life without a monarchy The unrest in France will lead to ‘onarchy? ‘Onarchy? How you say, how you say, oh, ‘Anarchy’! When I fight, I make the other side panicky With my

Shot!

Yo, I’m a tailor’s apprentice And I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis I’m joining the rebellion ’cause I know it’s my chance To socially advance, instead of sewin’ some pants! I’m gonna take a

Shot!

And but we’ll never be truly free Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me (That’s right!) You and I. Do or die. Wait ’til I sally in On a stallion with the first black battalion Have another

Shot!

Geniuses, lower your voices You keep out of trouble and you double your choices I’m with you, but the situation is fraught You’ve got to be carefully taught: If you talk, you’re gonna get shot!

Burr, check what we got Mister Lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot I think your pants look hot Laurens, I like you a lot Let’s hatch a plot blacker than the kettle callin’ the pot… What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot Poppin’ a squat on conventional wisdom, like it or not A bunch of revolutionary manumission abolitionists? Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is!

Oh, am I talkin’ too loud? Sometimes I get over-excited, shoot off at the mouth I never had a group of friends before I promise that I’ll make y’all proud

Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd

I am not throwing away my shot I am not throwing away my shot Hey yo, I’m just like my country I’m young, scrappy and hungry And I’m not throwing away my shot

Everybody sing: Whoa, whoa, whoa (Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!) Hey! Whoa! (Whoa!) Wooh! Whoa! (Whoa!) Ay, let ’em hear ya! (Yeah!) Let’s go!

(Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!) I said shout it to the rooftops! (Whoa!) Said, to the rooftops! (Whoa!) Come on! (Yeah!) Come on, let’s go!

Rise up! When you’re living on your knees, you rise up Tell your brother that he’s gotta rise up Tell your sister that she’s gotta rise up

When are these colonies gonna rise up? When are these colonies gonna rise up? (Whoa!) When are these colonies gonna rise up? (Whoa!) When are these colonies gonna rise up? (Whoa!) Rise up!

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory When’s it gonna get me? In my sleep? Seven feet ahead of me? If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be? Is it like a beat without a melody? See, I never thought I’d live past twenty Where I come from some get half as many Ask anybody why we livin’ fast and we laugh, reach for a flask We have to make this moment last, that’s plenty

Scratch that This is not a moment, it’s the movement Where all the hungriest brothers with something to prove went. Foes oppose us, we take an honest stand We roll like Moses, claimin’ our promised land And? If we win our independence? Is that a guarantee of freedom for our descendants? Or will the blood we shed begin an endless Cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants?

I know the action in the street is excitin’ But Jesus, between all the bleedin’ ‘n fightin’ I’ve been readin’ ‘n writin’ We need to handle our financial situation Are we a nation of states? What’s the state of our nation?

I’m past patiently waitin’. I’m passionately Smashin’ every expectation Every action’s an act of creation! I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow For the first time, I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow.

And I am not throwing away my shot I am not throwing away my shot Hey yo, I’m just like my country I’m young, scrappy and hungry And I’m not throwing away my shot

We’re gonna rise up! (Not throwing away my shot) Time to take a shot! We’re gonna rise up! (Not throwing away my shot) Time to take a shot! We’re gonna (Rise up! Rise up!) It’s time to take a shot! (Rise up! Rise up!) It’s time to take a shot! (Rise up!) (Rise up!) (Woooah!) It’s time to take a shot! (Rise up!) Take a shot! Shot! Shot! A-yo it’s time to take a shot! Time to take a shot! And I am not throwing away my Not throwing away my shot!

Credit: Screen capture via YouTube.com.

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apvxoxo · 7 years

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Apple Girl Pt.1

I randomly thought this up, and I actually like where this is headed more than my other story lol. Hope you guys enjoy <3

The store clerk was giving Paula a hard time again. Every time we ever went into the record store he would badger us without fail. Trying to push us to buy more than we could afford. "Sir," I shot my eyes to her in fear . She has the worst temper for a 16 year old girl. I can only imagine what she'll conjure up. "Could you please give us some space. We know what were looking for and we don't need any assistance." He eyed both of us head to toe. Putting both hands in the air in surrender, "Well I'm over here if you can't find your way"

"Oh we will, thank you." She pushed a caustic smile at him rolled her eyes and went back to shuffling through the records.Her finger nails filed through the bin so fast her nail polish started to chip right on the edges.

"Paula you don't think there all gone do you? I will be so devastated I just need this album I just.."

"Renee, enough. Look at me," she grabbed both of my shoulders positioning me in front of her,

"We will get it I promise. If i have to go to Jimmy Page himself. Were going to get this album." I only let out a small laugh, I felt defeated. All I wanted was the album, and I knew it would be gone by the time school was out.

" Paula what about the store on main st.? Could it be there?" She kept flicking through the music without hesitation of my inquiry.

"Renee, why don't you start looking through that box over there. Take a deep breath, and look." I scuffed my shoes on the floor slinging my arms at my side making my way over to the box. I knew it wouldn't be in there.I lazily flopped my hand onto the first record flicking it back with only one finger, nope. nope.. nope... This is hopeless.

"Paula lets just go home. I don't even want to look anymore it's just a waste of time." She sighed and rubbed her eyes with her thumb pinching the bridge of her nose in defeat.

"I can't believe you want to give up. This isn't just another album Renee this is Houses of the Holy were talking about. This is definitive of our music experience that we get this and you just want to give up?"

"Do you think I want to stop! I told you it would be sold out, I'm just as mad as you. And for the record, I'm the one who even got you into zep. So don't take this into your own hands as if you were the one who discovered them. You wouldn't even know jack shit about them if it wasn't for me."

She narrowed her eyes at me while sucking her lips in. I was defeated what can I say. It had been a long day and at the rate we were going I didn't even want to look at another bin of records ever again.

" Alright Renee. Have it your way. And next time I happen to discover something I'll be keeping it all to myself."

Not like you'll ever find something as incredible as led zeppelin.. moron

"Then you can just walk home alone! Fuck this!" She stormed out of the store pushing past customers, the old bell on the door almost fell clean off. I'm surprised the handle didn't bust. The kids stared back at me for some sort of apology, as if I was responsible for her actions. I just gave them that fake smile and slung my bag over my shoulder.

Fuck this is right.I made my way down the sidewalk avoiding all eye contact with the women who always fed the birds right on the bench near my apartment. I usually always strike conversation with her, she gives the best advice. But today, I was in no mood. It must have been at least 6:00 and I hadn't eaten since lunch, I pulled out the apple my mom insisted that I bring with me, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.I hate green apples and there was little bruises on it. I opened my mouth wide to take a bite, fuck being lady like. But my foot skid along the uneven grooves in the pavement and the toe of my shoe caught the divet where the sidewalk ends.I lunged forward just enough to toss my apple about a foot away.

"You have got to be kidding me " I leaned down to scoop the apple, I always avoided bending over on the street. You know how men can be. So I squatted down level to the apple it had rolled under the bus stop bench,

"That's weird" A snake-skin boot stood at the exact same spot ,and it was a huge boot at that. I'm not talking size 9 or 10 I'm talking at least 11..and a 1/2. Reaching my hand mindlessly under the bench a grasped the stupid apple. While sliding my hand out I accidentally swiped the boot

"Oh sorry, I'm just trying to grab something." A soft voice that sounded almost ..familiar replied. Wait, was he was British?

"That's quite alright love, what's got you on all fours down there anyway?"

I finally looked up to see who the hell was wearing snake skin boots in mid June,

"It was just this app.."

The snake skin boots, the British accent, the recognizable softness of his voice.. It can't be.

"An apple? All that for an apple huh? Must be a hungry girl." .. It was "Your.."

I had to stop while I was ahead. I couldn't let him see how starstruck I was. I would look like the million other girls. I had to stand out in some way or another. Paula always told me to act older, I still don't know what that means.

"Um yea, You know no big deal." Maybe act like I don't care? Is that what being older is like? His face grew warm and his smile grew, he patted the spot next to him on the bench.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"Oh sure, " play it cool, play it cool I moved my bag over my lap, neglecting to remember all my Led Zeppelin pins that covered it edge to edge. I scooted a comfortable distance to him as he peered down at my bag. He glared up at me without raising his eyelids.

"Nice pins. I uh, hear their alright."

The underlying tone of humor in his voice relieved some of the tension, of which I created.

"Thanks, Robert. Er..can I call you Robert?". Can I call you Robert? Was I brain dead? I guess it just felt polite. What a great time to practice my manners.

His eyes squinted when he laughed, and all his teeth were exposed. Oh how I loved the little chipped tooth.

"Well it is my name, I'd hope you'd call me Robert. But I guess that leaves out my introduction doesn't it? What's your name apple girl?"

"Renee," I could see the wheels turning in his head, how can I mess with her.

"Hmm I much prefer apple girl. Renee is so mundane . Doesn't really fit a girl like you, maybe a 30 year old but not quite you."

"Well, I think my mom assumed I would be 30 at one point so that's probably why she chose that name."

He laughed exposing his teeth again, and a newly discovered dimple. One deeper on the right cheek. Just one more thing to love.

"very true, but your what 18 19?" Oh shit. I can't blow this.. just lie. A little white lie wouldn't hurt, definitely not now.

“Uh yeah, 18. I just turned 18."

"Oh well, happy birthday then Renee. Perfect timing."

Jesus Christ this man had me in a trance. I wasn't even really listening to what he was saying just watching his mouth as he talked. The length of his upper lip would curl every time he spoke. I counted the times he would adjust his hair in between sentences.. 6

"Perfect timing? For what?" "Well to celebrate of course! I'm off to a party tonight and I still need someone to bring. Lucky enough I've run into you. You would like to go, yeah?"

Oh..my.. this couldn't be real. I shook off the excitement/nervousness building in my chest and conjured up an answer. "A party?.." He interrupted me,

"Well to be fair, it's much more of a get together if you like. Only a couple of people nothing crazy like the typical New York parties I'm sure your used to."

What New York parties. Hell, the best party I went to this year was my Nana's birthday and it was only fun because she got tried blowing out the candles and face planted the cake. So I'm not well versed in parties. But I couldn't turn this down. No fucking way. I'm going, Plus I could bring Paula. There is no way she could be mad at me after I tell her this.

"Well, could I bring my friend? I mean it's a bit last minute and I'd like to bring someone just in case."

"But of course, she can accompany our Jimmy over there. Have you met him? Well of course you haven't. Would you like to? Come on. He loves to meet the fans." My face was pale and expressionless, Robert got some sort of kick of seeing me so nervous. It must have been a control thing for him. I was able to hold enough composure around Robert, I can do the same for Jimmy. I hope.

"Jimmy ,c'mere someone you should meet"

He stood with his back facing us, his black curly hair caught the almost setting sun making it look almost auburn. He was just as tall and long as I'd imagined him. He spun around balancing a cigarette in his mouth, he immediately put it out when he saw us approaching.

"Well hello there, whose this?"

Robert held me around my waist with one arm. He was nudging me forward to shake his hand, I extended it apprehensively god he was beautiful too.

"Hi Jimmy, my name is Renee. It's really nice to meet you, an honor really. I just love your music and...well thank you for everything."

He kept my hand in his and smiled, such a sweet smile. Tilting his head to the side and nodding as I spoke. An unsaid thank you. It's my pleasure darling.

Robert spoke up after the extended exchange between me and Jimmy.

" Well, that's more than I got for an introduction. Wheres my bloody thankyou!"

Jimmy lessened his hold on my hand and looked to Robert impassioned, "Robert would you leave her be. Bloody hell, have you always got to be the center of attention?"

Surprisingly I wasn't shocked by their banter. I grew up with 3 older brothers. I learned to be comfortable around boys fighting. However these weren't exactly boys. I figured I should speak up, cool the air.

"Robert, you didn't let me finish. I was going to say, thank you both for everything. Your music has really changed my life. Goodness, you should really let people finish Robert."

He bit his lower lip and looked down to his shoes. Hands on hips, like a little boy who'd just been scolded. It felt kind of nice talking to him like that. Getting through the elation barrier he created. It was quite funny seeing him flustered actually.One more dig, then I'm done

"Patience is a virtue you know."

He blew air out of his mouth, lower lip covering the top blowing the frizzy curl from his forehead. He cracked a smile and looked to Jimmy,

"So, I've invited Renee here to Richards party. I figured it was perfect since I haven't got someone to bring and she's just had a birthday."

Jimmy looked back to me grabbing my hand once more he kept his eyes closely locked on mine. Lifted my hand to his mouth and placed a soft, kinda wet if I'm honest. Kiss

"Your birthday is it. Well isn't that lovely, how old? 16?" How the fuck did he..Well I can't be too taken back. I didn't exactly pass for 18 or even 16. Hell, I still got the occasional kids menu at restaurants. I just nodded my head in a neutral rotation. But I'm sure my expression read as, of course I'm 16.Robert interrupted looking to me shaking his head brows furrowed,

"No. She's just turned 18 Jimmy. Not as young as the ones you like. And besides she's got a friend for you anyway. What did you say her name was?"

"Her name is Paula, she will be so excited to meet you guys. I should probably go and tell her actually it's getting kind of late."

Jimmy looked to me eyes squinted still smiling, "And is she 16 too then?"

"I'm not 16!" I blurted out with a whine in my voice. These boys just give it right back, they love to tease you. But I know Paula could take it. She had a way with older men. Jimmy just kept that derisive grin on his face.

"Well, it's been a pleasure Renee. Tell Paula I can't wait to meet her, if she's half the lady as you I should be delighted." He walked back to the limo that had been waiting and shimmied his skinny boy inside. Robert took me under his arm again and cleared his throat,

"Sorry about Jimmy, you know boys. Once they've see someone else have it, they've got to have it too."

"Isn't that just all kids though? Not just boys?"

"Alright, you win. All kids do that don't they. Now can we get Paula on the way or she can meet us there?"

He thought I was going with him in the limo. He thought I was 18, he thought I had it under control.

Okay that may be pushing it a little. I had to go home anyway I needed to give my mom some excuse.

"Well do you think I could swing home first I've got to get ready and..You know how us girls are."

"Oh nonsense you look divine! Just come along with us I don't want to be late. We can swing by Paula's and then off we go. See just that simple."

Just that simple.

"But Robert, I don't.. I mean I have to.." He started pulling me along toward the limo urging me to the door, "Not another word. I've had enough, your coming with me and that's that." He shoved me into the back seat with Jimmy and Jonh Bonham. I sat closest to the window dividing the driver from the backseat, what was I doing. Robert shifted his way in close to me, he placed his hand on my leg. Might I add the size of this hand.

"Alright altogether right? Wheres Paula's house we'll get her first."

"She's right off of.."

My mind trailed back into the conscious, Paula's mom would see me get out of the limo. Paula's mom would see Paula get into the limo. Well if she even got that far.

"Well go on spit it out Renee" Jimmy chimed in while lighting another cigarette

"Cat got your tongue darling?"

I got myself this far I can keep going. Just keep cool. I replied to Robert while still looking to Jimmy who was now smiling,

"No, I'm fine. She's right off of porter street I'll tell you when to stop. "

I kept my eyes to Jimmy, Jesus it seemed like some sort of initiation to give the new girl a hard time. It wasn't like I was already a nervous wreck or anything.He put the cigarette in between his lips and crossed his legs. Softly batting his eyes.

Once we pulled up to Paula's apartment I tapped on the drivers glass, It was just transparent enough that I could see the irritated glare he gave me through the rear view mirror.

"It's right here, this tan brick one here." Thank god, her mom wasn't home yet I had just enough time if I scrambled.I touched Roberts hand that was still draped over my upper thigh,

"Okay I'll be back. She might be a minute but just wait okay."

"Not too long now, we don't want to be too late. We are the life of the party you know?" I can only imagine.

I smiled while my cheeks blushed and moved out of the limo. I lightly shut the door behind me and walked steadily to the door. Slowly made my way up the steps, opened the door. And as soon as I shut it behind me, I ran like hell.

I tripped and stumbled up the flight of stairs down the hall and twice to the right. I kicked and pounded my fist onto the door. My breath panting,

"C'mon Paula please.." She opened the mail slot to see who it was, once realizing it was me,

"Go home Renee I don't want to hear it. "

"Paula open up this is an emergency"

"Your definition of emergency isn't exactly accurate Renee. What could it possibly be."

If she makes me ask one more time I'm breaking down this door. "Paula, what does 3 of the four members of Led Zeppelin are downstairs in a limousine waiting for us to go to a party with them define as?"

It was a drawn out silence until I heard the lock switch, she even had the bolt locked.

She slowly opened the door stood in the doorway, hand on hip.

"Renee, what kind of a story.. I mean really you could just apologize you don't need to make up some lame story searching for my forgiveness."

I had no time to beat the shit out of her, I just pushed past her grabbing her arm and dragging her to the window. Both Jimmy and Robert were standing outside of the limo leaning against it. Jimmy still, cigarette in hand puffing out smoke through pursed lips,

"Look for yourself." Her eyes widened to the max, she put her hand over her mouth to muffle the scream.

"Renee! Tell me how you puled this off. What on earth are they doing here, I'm so proud of you" The rightfully deserved praise put aside, we needed to go.

"Just thank me later. C'mon Jimmy is waiting for you." She smiled and jumped in place squealing out of excitement, I grabbed her hand leading her to the door.

"Wait wait, what about Mom?"

"Forget it I'll just tell her your at my house."

"But didn't you tell the same thing to your mom?" Shit, I had left one component out of the equation. Something came over me, I didn't care, I needed to go to this party. I don't care if I never left the house again after this.It was well worth it.

"We will worry later just come on." We ran down to the lobby and looked in the mirror quickly before leaving. We looked to each other once more grabbing each others hands, lets go have the night of our lives.

We opened the door and looked to the boys still leaned against the limo arms folded.I was more desensitized to seeing them in real life. But Paula was just in the midst of the shock phase. She squeezed my hand all the way down the stairs and until we approached them. Jimmy smiled and stood up straight, Robert looked at me the whole time not taking his eyes away from mine.Jimmy flicked his cigarette and put out his hand palm facing up.

"You must be Paula, well I'm Jimmy." Paula apprehensive, placed her hand in his. Mouth slightly agape nodding her head, "Jimmy Page..Jimmy.."

He laughed a breathy laugh while putting his other hand on her forearm, he seemed to loved the girls who fawned over him. I assumed it just reminded him who he really was and what he really meant to people.

Robert was much more modest. So humble so..

"And I'm Robert, its a pleasure to meet you. And no need to thank me love. Renee has taken the liberty."

So dense.

Robert spoke up again, "Well girls let's get on then, enough of the run around yeah?" Jimmy puffed his cigarette once more before flinging open the door. Extending his arm to invite us in,first Paula then me.Robert followed sitting closest to the window Paula opposite to Jimmy and me in between them. Jimmy leaned into me softly whispering

"She's lovely. But ever so nervous, weird.." I only looked to him confused saying nothing with words, but my expression dumbfounded.I replied,

"What's weird? "You strike me as the nervous one. I guess I shouldn't be so quick to judge huh?"

He smiled again his eyelids heavy and peering down to my legs.I guess he liked more of a challenge. Which oddly, I had no problem giving it right back to him. I hope that Paula will loosen up, I'd like to divert most of my attention to Robert.

"Yeah,you know I thought you would be a lot cuter in person." He stifled his breathy laugh bringing his hand to scratch his chest, he kept his eyes on me while rubbing it

"Your nerves must have clouded your vision then yeah?"

“Maybe so Jimmy.."

Enough of this.I looked back to Robert who was fiddling with his fingernails,

"You know you shouldn't bite at your cuticles. It's really bad for your nails"

He paused to look up at me curling that side grin lips slightly puckered. He adjusted his belt buckle and extended his arm around me,

"I do a lot of things that probably aren't good for me love. I'm a big boy I can take it.But what about you? You must do something bad?"

I tried to think of something sexy to reply to that.. not a shock, I got nothing. I mean don't men like good girls anyway?

"No,nothing really. I'm pretty much a good girl." He bit at his bottom lip again. His eyes had that devious look like he is going to attack,

"A good girl huh? We'll have to fix that."

#robert plant fanfic #robert plant fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic

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thisisheffner · 5 years

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Austerity, gentrification and big tunes: why illegal raves are flourishing | Music | The Guardian

It’s an hour after midnight on New Year’s Day 2020, and a stream of revellers is gathering in an alleyway next to KFC on London’s Old Kent Road. They pass between piles of car tyres and through a gap in a gate where a group, wrapped in hats and scarves, are taking £5 notes from each person who enters the yard of a recently abandoned Carpetright warehouse.

Inside, the lights are on and groups of partygoers are huddled in groups talking, waiting and smoking as a behemoth sound system and makeshift bar are constructed against one wall. Next door, in a larger abandoned warehouse that was formerly an Office Outlet, an even bigger sound system is being built.

There’s a sense of anticipation as the warehouse fills up with mohawked punks, tracksuited squatters, crusties, rude boys, accountants, graphic designers, students, and grey-haired veteran techno heads. Everyone has come together looking for the same thing: a night of loud electronic music and dancing without the constraints of a regulated night club. No closing time, no dress code, no age limit, no searches on the door.

In recent years, unlicensed underground raves like these, which are run by decentralised networks of soundsystems and party crews, have flourished across the UK as legitimate night clubs have foundered in the face of tighter licensing requirements and a population of young people with less disposable income.

In September, the drum’n’bass producer Goldie, who was awarded an MBE for his services to music in 2016, singled out illegal parties such as these as a key pillar of the UK dance music scene amid struggling clubs and increasingly corporate festivals. ��Culture ain’t a thing you can put in a weekend festival,” he said. “Rave culture is thriving, but on an underground level. People want to go to fucking raves, people want to go to illegal parties.”

I played an illegal rave in a forest last night in Blackburn those kids are brilliant,there love for the music is pure! #dropjaw 🔥⚡️🙏🏼

Bryan Gee, another British hall-of-fame drum’n’bass DJ, started playing reggae at south London squat parties in the early 80s, when he was 16. Today, he is in his 50s and still plays occasionally at unlicensed raves despite regularly DJing for crowds of over 7,000 at legitimate commercial venues. “I’ve turned up to unlicensed parties over the last couple of years and been shocked by the numbers,” he says. “Some club nights spend a ton of money on advertising and can’t pull in anything like the numbers these events get.”

“Since the 80s the illegal rave scene has always been active on some level,” says John (not his real name), a member of a prolific London-based free party crew. “It’s no coincidence that the original boom in acid house free parties took place after a decade of Tory government headed by Margaret Thatcher. It’s still here now and the current political climate is one reason why it’s healthier than it’s been for a long time.”

The last couple of years have seen scores of unlicensed events across the country, from 5,000-strong mega-raves in Bristol warehouses, to three-day breakcore soundclashes on south coast beaches, to intimate psytrance parties in the woodlands of Lancashire, and multi-rig “teknivals” on Scottish wind farms. Like John, many of those involved in the free party scene believe that these events are becoming more important than ever amid the widening social divides, ongoing Tory austerity and creeping gentrification.

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The free party veteran and acid techno innovator Chris Liberator says that unlicensed raves are a way for people to take back control of their local areas, even if it is only for one night. “We are culturally in a place where normal people can’t control their environment at all,” he says. “I’ve seen the best pubs in my area turned into Starbucks – homogenous, big corporate high streets all with the same shops. There’s no space for people to live – let alone to throw events and have some fun on their own terms. There is very little cultural representation for anyone apart from the mainstream, and even the mainstream clubs are struggling to stay open.”

Police, though, maintain that these events pose “a significant risk to public order and public safety”, in the words of Metropolitan police service commander Dave Musker, who is the national lead for unlicensed music events. He describes them as “illegal, dangerous gatherings that encourage antisocial behaviour and are linked with serious criminal activity” and adds that organisers are changing the “structure” of their parties to “counter police tactics” (understandably, he refuses to detail these tactics on either side).

By 3am, hundreds of people have filled the dimly-lit warehouse. The giant sound system is thundering out a gut-shuddering set of bass-heavy jungle, and the walls are covered in an increasingly dense patchwork of graffiti tags. A heaving mass of ravers are thrashing and embracing on the thickly carpeted dancefloor in front of the speaker stacks. Around them are signs that say “20% off 1000s of carpets”.

People are risking arrest to create a space where people can come together, no matter who they are, in a country where social divides are increasing

In a era of austerity, the unlicensed rave scene offers people a low-priced alternative to legal clubs. But that’s not the main reason people attend, according to Sophie Duniam, one half of underground electronic music duo My Bad Sister, which started out MCing at illegal events. “It offers people a place where they can come together as a community without prejudice and without intimidation,” she says. “People are risking arrest just to create a space where people can come together, no matter who they are, in a country where social divides are increasing. What the Tory government, and all governments, want to do is to isolate people so they can control them. When communities are united they are stronger and they can’t be pushed around.”

Duniam says that the ability of clubs and festivals to provide a similar space for free expression has been curtailed in recent years due to more stringent attitudes towards licence requirements. Drug-related incidents have led to the closure of several clubs in recent years, including The Arches, which used to be located in Glasgow and had its nightclub licence revoked in 2015, after the death of an underage clubber. In 2016, London superclub Fabric also saw its licence taken away for five months, following the death of two 18-year-olds after taking drugs on the premises. It reopened in 2017 with stricter security regulations. “It’s like 1920s prohibition in America,” Duniam says of the legal clubbing scene. “When we perform at Fabric all of the punters are searched and have their passports photocopied before they are allowed into the club – and you can get chucked out for having a vape.”

Many believe the rave scene is filling a void left after a decline in grassroots venues, defined by the mayor of London’s office as those that focus mainly on music, and play an important role in local communities or as a hub for musicians. In July, figures revealed there were only 100 grassroots music venues in the capital, 30% fewer than in 2007. It’s representative of a nationwide decline: a government select committee report published in 2019 warned that the “closure of music venues presents a significant and urgent challenge to the UK’s music industry and cultural vibrancy”.

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The Bristol-based DJ, producer and record label owner Mandidextrous, who started her career DJing at free parties in the early 2000s in Buckinghamshire, says “the innovation that happens in the underground is what fuels the commercial scene”. She also believes that the UK’s squat party scene offers a unique space for people to come together. “As a transgender woman, I’ve been two different people in the rave scene, and I have been openly welcomed throughout the whole thing. You get every single walk of life.”

It’s 10am on the Old Kent Road, New Year’s Day. A flood of new people enter the former Office Outlet warehouse from another unlicensed event, which took place in an office block on the South Bank and was shut down after police seized the sound system in the early hours. As the pale morning light streams through the skylights, hundreds of ravers are dancing to a hardtek remix of DJ Nehpets’ Bounce, Ride. A man with a wild head of grey hair is cutting intricate lines through the peripheries of a crowd of a pair of roller skates, swooping inches away from a teenager asleep on the floor wrapped up in a large yellow “Store Closing” sign.

Since the original boom in acid house parties in the late 80s, the unlicensed rave scene has been the target of media scare stories about drug overdoses and violence, but many of those who regularly attend say they feel safer than when they attend legal club nights. “Parties take place without a problem every weekend,” says Duniam, comparing them with licensed events where “people are kicked out at four in the morning, or earlier if they have done something to piss off the security. If you are a teenage girl and you haven’t got money for a cab, and the trains don’t start running until six or seven in the morning, being thrown out can leave you in a very vulnerable position. This would never happen at most illegal raves where, because no one is getting paid to look after anyone, everyone is looking out for each other as a community.”

The police claim this utopian vision is false. In 2017, two people were shot when gunmen wearing masks let off semi-automatic weapons at an illegal party in Leyton, and over the course of 2014 two teenage boys died after taking drugs at separate unlicensed raves in London. The Met’s Dave Musker says: “The obvious public risk comes from unsafe derelict buildings, overcrowding and youths being exposed to alcohol and illegal drugs in an environment which encourages excess. The revellers at these events are often unlikely to report crimes, including serious sexual assault, due to the culture of taking part in an illegal activity. Young people under the influence of alcohol or drugs are also at risk of being victims of crime or violence as they leave the venue.” He maintains the police’s priority is “to protect vulnerable people”.

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This is all a gross misrepresentation, according to Mandidextrous. “I’ve been attending illegal raves for more than 20 years, attending hundreds of illegal parties, and I have hardly seen any violence,” she says. “Any I have seen has actually come from the presence of police. If you go down any high street on a Saturday night you see bar brawls and fights on the streets; if you go to a rave, no one is fighting. Everyone is there to have a good time. Occasionally you get a few bad people – but nine times out of 10 they are marched out of the rave as soon as they do something wrong.”

The rave in Carpetright at least passes off without incident: by 9pm, the last of the equipment is being packed into vans while a handful of remaining partygoers sit around a small fire in the yard of the warehouse. Some are discussing the Tory campaign pledge to change the law on trespass and give police new powers to arrest and seize the property and vehicles of those “who set up unauthorised encampments”. The plans have been seen as an attempt to criminalise Gypsies and Travellers, and could also have ramifications for the free party scene. “Even if the laws get changed raves will carry on in some form,” says one person. “There are too many crews and too many sound systems.” As if to illustrate their point, another white van pulls up, and another crew get out to clean up the venue ahead of their own party the following weekend.

This content was originally published here.

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whenimgoodandready · 7 years

Text

*SVTFOE, The Battle for Mewni Bloopers

Hey, Everyone! Since I saw The Battle for Mewni, I decided to finally work on my blooper post for it! It was so much fun! My friend @agentpfangirl1997 and I came up with some really good ones and one of which a running gag included by me! I’m still doing my little AU on svtfoe being a tv show that everyone is in with Daron as their director, so Hope you like it! And thank you Bianca!

•Return to Mewni

-Angie:“Marco? It’s 3 a.m."

Marco:(sadly) "Is it?"

(Marco turns on the tape recorder and Eric Carmen’s song "All by Myself” plays)

🎶All by myself

Don’t want to be all by myself anymore

All by myself Don’t want to live all by myself anymore🎶

(Marco cracks a smile. He covers his face on the table and we hear mumbling. His head springs up laughing hysterically)

-(Moon is turning on the wheel to open the magic well springs)

Star:“Is that supposed to be all”-(notices it’s not black, but brown goo. She raises an eyebrow) “chocolate-y and thick?"

(Janna shows up with a stick and a strawberry stuck through it)

Janna:"Sorry” (puts the stick through the well that’s now shooting chocolate) “chocolate fountain was busted"

Star:"Uh, Janna, we’re in the middle of shooting and you’re not in the movie”

Janna:(rotating her stick around the chocolate for the strawberry) “Whatever"

-Moon:(tearing up) "Toffee and his monsters killed my mother"

(Star’s face looks shocked and her mouth opens. She closes up her mouth and tries to hide her laughter)

Moon:(sternly) "Really Star?"

Star:(laughing) "Sorry"

(Take 2) Moon:(tearing up) "Toffee and his monsters kill-"

(she’s interrupted by Star laughing again. Moon tilts up her head sternly looking at Star)

(Take 3) Moon:(tearing up) "Toffee and his monsters killed my mother”

(Star’s face looks shocked and her mouth opens. Moons mouth cracks a smile and she covers her face trying to hide it. Star points at Moon)

Star:“A-ha! Now you’re doin’ it!"

(they both laugh)

•Moon the Undaunted

-(Young Queen Moon (a.k.a. Star) puts a coin in the vending machine and presses B4. Nothing happens. She pushes the button again. Still, nothing happens. Star groans and presses it once again. Nothing. She glares and grinds her teeth as she repeatedly presses the button rapidly. As she continues to, she shakes her fist angrily. She raises her fists in the air and screams toward the sky. She uses the wand with both hands and holds herself up on the machine with her legs as she smashes the wand against the machine denting it and groaning. The machine moves back and forth slowly with Star scared thinking she’s going to fall. The machine falls on its back with Star screaming. We hear a loud thud. Star holds onto the machine. She looks up and raises herself up dusting off her dress. She innocently puts her arms behind her back and nervously laughs)

Star:"I’m not me when I’m hungry"

(the machine shoots out the candy bar and she grabs it in the air)

Star:"Snookers satisfies"

(the staff laughs)

-Young Queen Moon (Star):(to Toffee) "I want you and your army to leave immediately or”-(her British accent fades back to English) “face the”-(stops when she realizes it) “Oh, um, sorry!” (coughs) “I got this” (squeaky voice) “Or face the”-(back to English) “No, that’s chipmunk"

(Toffee sighs)

•Book be Gone

-(The spellbook blasts Ludo away)

Ludo:(air born) "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

(Take 2) (the spellbook blasts Ludo away)

Ludo:(air born) "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-”(the harness gets stuck in mid flight dangling Ludo upside down. He waves his arms frantically) “HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!"

|continuing from Moon the Undaunted|

-Young Queen Moon (Star):(French accent) "Bonjour!"

Toffee:(unamused) "That’s French"

(Star darts her eyes away. Looks at Toffee again)

Star:(German accent) "Gutentag!"

Toffee:(still unamused) "That’s German"

(Star thinks for a moment then uses a Japanese accent) "Konichiwa?"

Toffee:(slightly annoyed) "That’s Japanese!"

|returning to Book be Gone|

-(Ludo is angrily marching through different landscapes while groaning. The projector screen shows the following: mermaid shore, forest, dessert with skulls, swamp lands, rain (he slips a few times. Then the screen shows the Las Vegas strip with party music. Ludo gets up and looks behind him. He laughs and points back with his thumb) "I wish!"

-Ludo:(to the spellbook) "So if you’re not letting me write in you because of something I did or I said, I-I… All right. I’m just going to come right out and say it. I love you, book. I do! I love you!"

"Spellbook”:(husky voice) “I love you too Ludo!"

Ludo:(his eyes widen and freaks out) "Wha-What!? What!? What!? WHAT!?” (points at the book) “The book can talk!?"

(The spellbook snickers and Ludo looks behind it and looks annoyed. He points a finger away)

Ludo:"Janna, get out of the scene!"

(Janna gets up from hiding behind the book and walks off annoyed)

Ludo:(calling out to her) "You’re not in the movie!"

Janna:(off screen) "Yeah, well I should be!"

•Marco and the King

|continuing from Moon the Undaunted again|

-Young Queen Moon (Star):(Hawaiian accent as sticks her hand out to Toffee for a hand shake) "ALOHA!"

(Toffee just stares at her disapprovingly. Star awkwardly puts her hand away and looks down at the ground. Looks back up at Toffee)

Star:(Italian accent as she waves her hands about and squatting) "Babadaboopi! Beebeda Boobeda Babeda Babeda!” (grins)

(Toffee face palms)

|starting to Marco and the King|

-King River:“We all-”

(a guy throws corn at River, but he misses and hits Marco knocking him back. We hear him go “Ow!”)

King River:(concerned) “Marco!?"

Marco:(off screen painfully) "Polo!"

(King Moon laughs)

Marco:(off screen) "Help me up!"

-(Ludo gestures for his rat army to attack. The rats scatter around squeaking and some cover Ludo. He freaks out)

Ludo:(flailing his arms about and running around on the spider) "GET ‘EM OFF ME! GET 'EM OFF ME! GET 'EM OFF ME! ANIMAL TRAINER, GET 'EM OFF ME!"

•Puddle Defender

-Moon:"Excuse me. Where is your washroom?"

Buff Frog:"Uh, washroom?"

Moon:"Yes. I’d like to freshen up a bit"

Star:"She has to take a sh*t!"

(Star and Moon smile embarrassingly as the staff laughs)

-Katrina:(to Star) "Sometimes you just gotta sneak out to the club and go dancing and make it rain on the hoses"

(Stars eyes widen in shock)

Star:"What!?"

(Katrina giggles)

Katrina:(to Marco off screen) "Okay Marco I said it! Can I have my dollar now!”

(she and the tadpoles laugh)

Star:(glares at Marco off screen) “Marco!"

|continuing from Moon the Undaunted once again|

-Young Queen Moon (Star):(she has her fingers on her temples and is rubbing them getting into focus as Toffee is slouching impatiently) "Okay, I got this, British, think British, tea, crumpets, cricket, London bridge, Spice Girls” (stops rubbing her temples and spreads out her arms) “Okay let’s do this!” (claps her hands and she and Toffee straighten up)

Star:(Australian accent) “Gidday mate! Names Moon from down under, would you like another shrimp on the barbie!?"

Toffee:(frustrated) "That’s Australian!"

Star:(annoyed) "Well its close enough!"

(Toffee puts one hand on his hip and the other on his head as he hisses stressfully)

•King Ludo

-Ruberiot:(playing his lute and singing) 🎶Ohhh, he…Came on bird and spider🎶

Fool Duke:(singing) 🎶Uh, shone his grace upon us all🎶

Ludo:"I did do that, didn’t I?"

Ruberiot:🎶And he brought the rats here to-🎶 (a string on the lute breaks. Ruberiot looks pissed) "Ah sh*t!"

(the staff laughs. Ruberiot is still pissed)

Ruberiot:(to the staff off screen) "It’s not funny!” (slams lute on the ground and storms off)

|still continuing from Moon the Undaunted|

-Young Queen Moon (Star):(she is trying to get in British mode again by mouth exercising) 🎶Me-ma-mo, me-ma-mo, me-ma-mo🎶 (all the while, Toffee is slouched with his eyes stuck rolled up. Star is now making horse noises and cleansing herself with her hands in front of her. She stops to pause and smile) “And we’re doin’ this!” (she and Toffee straighten up again)

Star:(Cockney British accent) “'Ello General! 'ave you 'idden me 'atchet!?”

Toffee:“COCKNEY BRITISH STAR! SERIOUSLY!?” (groans and face palms again while holding up his elbow)

Star:(looks to the camera. She smiles and continues with the accent) “'Ello! I’m Nigel Thornberry! Today we’ll be observing the overdramatic lizard!” (grins)

(Toffee peeks through his fingers to glare at Star)

|returning to King Ludo|

Ludo:(to River) “Do you have any last words?"

King River:"People of Mewni! I am not afraid!"

Ludo:"Blah-blah-blah. Levitato"

King River:"And neither should-” (is blasted away in the sky) “Yoooooooouuuuuuuuu!"

(everyone looks up. Ludo notices something falling)

Ludo:(pointing up) "Hey, what’s that?"

(King River comes crashing down screaming and Ludo screams seeing it and River crashes onto him. Ludo frantically waves his hands and feet around mumbling)

•Toffee

- Choir Kids:(singing) 🎶Born to the wild, a gift from above🎶

🎶A story of triumph, a story of love🎶

🎶An army of rodents with he at the helm🎶

🎶He toppled the old king, brought peace to the realm🎶

(Janna slides in singing along, but louder)

🎶Handsome and fearless and brilliant and tall🎶

(The choir kids stop and Janna finishes off the song)

Janna:🎶Beloved by Mewmans, he tends to us all🎶 (she takes a bow. Ludo marches in)

Ludo:(angrily points away) "Janna, get out of here!"

Janna:"Damn it, Ludo I should be in the movie!” (storms off mumbling)

-(Star emerges out from the black goo smiling. Waltz of the Flowers by Tchaikovsky’s ballet song plays as she syncretize swims around solo. This goes on for a few minutes)

-Toffee:(to Moon deadpanly) “Are you finished?"

(Marco punches Toffee (Note:Marco was supposed to aim for his chest where Toffee was wearing a punch through suit), but he misses and punches his collarbone instead. Toffee winces in pain and bends down clutching his shoulder)

Marco:(looks around panicking for a moment looks to Toffee) "Oh my gosh! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-"

Toffee:(painfully) "I’m fine!”

(Moon holds onto Toffee as he’s bent down clutching his shoulder while Buff Frog runs off screen to get help, Ludo crawls over to see what’s goin’ on worrying)

Marco:(panicking more) “I’m sorry! Should I get some ice!? You want me to call a doctor!? Again, I am so sorry!"

Toffee:(still in pain) "Marco, I told you, I’m-Ah!" (hisses painfully)

(Buff Frog comes back with two paramedics. They hover around Toffee)

Paramedic 1:(gesturing people away) "Back away, back away"

(The paramedics take Toffee away)

Toffee:(off screen) "Damn it, Marco! Some one get my agent on the phone! Ah!"

(everyone looks at Marco with him nervous)

Marco:(whimpering) "Am I fired?"

|final shot from Moon the Undaunted|

-Young Queen Moon (Star):(talking to Daron who is off screen) "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get! We have only one film left for the shot and then we’ll continue tomorrow for the rest if I mess up again” (Toffee is typing on his smart phone indifferently as Star continues to talk to Daron) “Okay, okay, I promise, I’ll get this right! Sorry Daron!” (turns to Toffee) “Are you ready?"

Toffee:(stops typing, looks up from his smart phone and sighs) "Are you sure about it this time"

Star:"Yes, I promise"

Toffee:"Alright fine” (puts away his smart phone and crosses his arms)

Star:“qaqIHneS >sup qaqIHmo’ jIQuch, bIpIv'a"

Toffee:(raises an eyebrow) "Since when do you speak Klingon!?"

Star:"From the "Star Wars Rebels” studio!“

(Toffees had enough)

Toffee:"THAT’S IT! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! (to Star) "You’re not even taking this seriously!"

Star:"Hey! I just panicked okay!"

Toffee:"And that was your fallback!?"

(they argue over each other and hear some things like Star saying, "You’re such a killjoy!” and Toffee saying, “This why you’re known as a studio brat!” and another with Star saying, “You’re lucky you’re still getting paid throughout the whole season!”. The arguing continues and Marco leans in deadpanly facing the camera. He slowly pulls out a clapperboard and raises the clapper, he grins and claps it ending the shot)

#svtfoe #svtfoe bloopers #the battle for mewni #btw that's actual Klingon there

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