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myloveforhergoeson · 1 year ago

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That's All She Wrote - Chapter 19

Chapter Index

Find me on wattpad + ao3!

Show: Big Time Rush

Pairing: James Diamond x Original Female Character

Chapter 19: No Sleep Till Brooklyn ~ 11k

Jo and Camille,

You’ll never believe who took my phone the first day of tour and refuses to give it back because “I have more important things to be focused on right now.”

I KNOW HE CHANGED MY LIFE BUT SOMETIMES I HATE GUSTAVO ROCQUE. And I’d never say I hate Kelly, but I am upset she let him do that… SOS!

Thanks to my expert negotiation skills, I’m allowed one call to my Dad per week - like this is some kind of prison or something - so I’m going to do my best to write letters to both of you in order to keep you updated.

While it took a long time for Gustavo, Kelly, and I to map out this tour path, I didn’t think about what it would mean to be crammed on a handful of buses with both the band and our musical accompaniment. Our lovely producer and talent scout get to take flights and stay in five-star hotels, but I’m okay to travel by bus. I’ve only been to Minnesota, Wisconsin, and California, so I’m excited to see the country this way. First stop - Orlando! In three days!

We booked three buses, one for the musical accompaniment (technically I’m one of them I suppose, but the boys say they hate road trips with Logan, so I just snuck onto the bus he’s on to keep him company), and two for the band. Each one has three tiny bunks, some couches, a full bathroom, most of a kitchen, and plenty of cabinet space for snacks, games, and anything we could possibly need. For now, I’m writing from the couch, sitting next to a napping Logan, and Carlos is up front making friends with the driver, Henrietta. The other bus is currently transporting Kendall and James.

Speaking of, after Gustavo told us the tour was back on after the concert when I came running to you two to tell you what had happened, James practically ran straight to 2-J to pack and hasn’t spoken to me since. I thought I had done everything right but I guess maybe he wasn’t actually into me after all. Maybe just the thrill of surviving a kidnapping?

“I lived through this so now I can kiss Roxy!”

Blegh.

Though, I suppose it might be a good thing… After thinking about it while I was packing I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship right now, if that’s even something he’s interested in. Sure, I like him, but I think I still need some time to get over what Dak did to me. As much as I don’t enjoy thinking about it, they bare many similarities and that scares me a bit more than I’d like to admit.

Pop stars

Can be self-absorbed

��Cuda extra strength hairspray

Pretty

I should probably quit while I’m ahead, but I guess I’m gonna learn my lesson if I keep playing with fire and then promptly getting burned.

All my love,

Roxy

***

Hey,

It was so humid in Orlando that it took me an extra hour to fix my hair before the show, but other than that, we had a lot of fun! I’m really proud of the show we put together and getting to perform for a new crowd all the way across the country was so surreal. There are people who know all the words to my songs, more than willing to scream them right in my face… If only that pesky boy band wasn’t in the way.

Just kidding!

Today, we’re heading to Mansfield, Massachusetts - one whole day on the bus and a show tomorrow. I’d look up some facts about the town to share but, you know, no phone or whatever. Warden Rocque hasn’t changed his mind even after the combination of pleading from the five of us…

Before the show in Orlando, I got to talk with the guys in the musical accompaniment band a bit more, they were super nice! Mick, the bass player, is pretty quiet and mostly hangs out with Gustavo and Kelly since they’re old friends, but Austin, the drummer, is our age and easy to get along with! He goes to a performance arts high school in Los Angeles called Hollywood Arts (Can you believe that’s a real thing?! A whole school just for acting, singing, and growing musical talent?!)

Austin and I have somewhat similar music taste, and his father taught him how to play the drums, just like my dad taught me how to play the guitar! We’re alike in many ways, and since 1/4 of Big Time Rush wants to ignore me right now, I think I’ll be spending more time with him…

It’s bad that I thought James might kiss me again at the show last night, right? I stood in the same spot side-stage, putting on the same lipstick and everything, but he and the band just ran past me on the way to the other side of the venue. I wonder if he told them what happened; everyone else is being normal to me.

Logan says he misses you so much, Camille! Quickly followed by a panicked statement, “Not that I don’t care about Jo, it’s just different!” Kendall joined us on the bus today, swapping out with Carlos, and said, “Tell Jo I vow to get my phone back so I can call her again,” and when I asked him why he didn’t write you letters too, he claimed that stamps were too expensive. Perhaps your boyfriend is both illiterate and broke, Jo, and for that I’m sorry.

See you soon, even if soon isn’t soon enough,

Roxy

***

Thought of you both today, and it made me so happy,

We just arrived in Agawam, Massachusetts, which is only two hours away from Mansfield, so we had a quick show turnaround for the day.

I never knew going on tour was so exhausting, it’s like I’m constantly running around the venues, checking our equipment, making sure the proper snacks are in the band’s green rooms, or seeing if the stage crew needs any help. We have two big eighteen-wheelers to carry all of our stage equipment… I can’t imagine being in charge of all that stuff - the stage manager is a saint!

This morning, Gustavo dragged us out of the bus around 6 am to get to a local radio station so the band could promote their show tonight live on the air. They even gave a pair of tickets away to a fan, it was so fun to watch and reminded me a bit of my radio days. I might call my old boss and ask her if BTR can get on Project Pop when we finish our tour in Duluth.

While the band was working out with our athletic trainer to keep in shape for the show this evening, I hung out with Austin a bit more. He was nice enough to show me his drum kit and I think I’m going to ask him to teach me how to play if we have some free time. It looks a lot more fun than the piano, plus I get to hit things. Drums are a crucial part of instrumental songwriting, and I could really use the knowledge of a seasoned drummer to help me learn.

James saw us together today when he made his way to the stage to warm up for the show, and I might be overexaggerating but I think he was a bit put off by it. I thought about talking to him about it, not that I need to ask if it's okay or justify who I hang out with, but I actually think he and Austin would get along really well if he could stand to be in the same room as me for more than 5 minutes.

I think it should be illegal to kiss someone and then promptly ignore them. What if I wanted to kiss him again? And again? And again?

Anyway, I wish mail traveled fast enough that you two could send me replies and I’d be guaranteed to get them at the next venue. It feels a bit like I’m writing to a brick wall here, but it certainly keeps me occupied during our very rare downtime. The couch on this bus has become my unspoken spot (the bunks are too narrow and small for me to feel comfortable in them) and I need to do more than just sleep here, listen to my iPod, or write/play my guitar.

Until the next letter,

Rox

***

Hello!

Too many things happened today for me to record before the show, I’m writing you two a nice list as we drive away to our next stop.

James rode the bus with Logan and me today (a two-hour ride to Saratoga Springs, New York) and the two of them ignored me almost the entire time and just played their stupid video game on the TV. All I got was a “Hey, Rox, can we use the couch?” and some semblance of a thank you when I told him yes. Ugh. Is “Hey, Rox, remember when I kissed you last week? Wasn’t that so awesome? Wanna do it again?” too much for him now? It feels like I sucked all of his fun, flirty, carefree attitude straight out of his body.

I asked Austin if he could teach me how to play the drums and he said yes, as long as I helped him write a song for a fun summer project. Apparently, a good chunk of the kids at his school are songwriters too, how neat! If they write something like a short scene of a play, a song, or a musical composition and present it in the first few weeks of school, they get extra course credit. I wish the Palm Woods school had something like that - I’d be rocking straight A’s the entire year.

It was finally time for me to call my dad today, as per Warden Rocque’s direction, and he’s doing okay. Nothing ever changes with him, so I’m pretty at ease as we travel. Kelly let me put him on the guest list for the Duluth show, and even though I know he won’t really like our music, I think he’ll admire the production. He always wanted to tour around the country, and I hope showing him some backstage magic can help satisfy the teenage rocker he used to be. Maybe it’ll be a good time for him to meet Kendall, Logan, and Carlos too!

The band was recognized in public for the first time today while we were waiting in line for coffee! I’m not sure if the girl posted the photo I happily took of her and the boys to ScuttleButter, but I hope you two can find it so you can see their dazzling, shocked smiles. They were beyond ecstatic; Carlos spilled most of his drink from how hard his hands were shaking with adrenaline. Good thing he wasn’t wearing his concert outfit or Gustavo would’ve thrown a fit.

I was hoping to sneak away and take a train to New York City since we got here so early in the morning, but that is what happened instead. We’re playing Madison Square Garden near the end of the tour, so I’ll see the city then, but I’m worried I’ll be too tired and burnt out to enjoy it.

Warm wishes,

Roxy

***

Friends,

Sorry for the lack of letters these past few days! We’ve been so busy getting from New York to Oklahoma, we haven’t stopped anywhere with a mailbox I could easily find. You know what would make it easier for me to find a post office? Having my phone.

I’ve probably complained about that enough, right?

Over the course of this particular trip, I’ve been traveling with Logan and Carlos and I’m beginning to understand why the boys claim road trips with Logan are tough. He has a pretty strict expectation for cleanliness, which Carlos and I do not adhere to at all - but in helping clean up and placing things in their bunks to help put a rest to Logan’s anxiety this afternoon, I learned he has a picture of you, Camille, tapped to the top of his bunk. It’s been pretty well hidden by the curtain he keeps drawn, but I caught a glimpse of it this afternoon. So romantic!!! I imagine Kendall has something similar of you, Jo, but I’ll have to wait until he’s back in rotation with us to double-check.

I wonder if it’s exhausting for the other three to keep moving around, or if they prefer it that way. For me, I like knowing that Bus 1 is my bus… Having to haul all my stuff from one bus to another feels like an excellent way to lose some of my things.

Do you think if James and I were together he’d have a picture of me in his bunk? The thought of him falling asleep to dreams of me… Seems impossible. And exhausting to work for. If he’s going to be all hot and cold like this, I’m not sure I’d be able to take it, but on the other hand, it’s not like I’m communicating with him either because whenever I even try to bring up anything related to us at all, I freeze up and all the thoughts exit my brain before I can get a word out. Maybe we are made for each other after all since neither of us seems to want to get a word out… The pretty idiot and his idiot songwriter… Haha….

On a separate note, after the show in Tulsa tonight, the band, our bosses, and the musical accompaniment will be headed straight to the airport to catch a flight to Del Mar, California for our next show there in four days. Due to my flight aversion, I get to stay with the buses and gear and travel on the ground to meet them there. It will be interesting to see how I fare, considering I’ve been around the band 24/7 for the last two weeks. Maybe I’ll be able to work on some music distraction-free. I have a few works in progress, both about guys I really don’t want to think about, but once this tour cycle is over there’s no doubt we’re going to begin the process all over again for album 2.

Just paused writing this to pull out my journal and write “All Over Again” down on a blank page. That sounds like a wonderful song title.

Talk again soon,

Roxy

***

Guess what?

I was right about getting in some quality songwriting time. With the near silence of the bus, besides the intermittent strumming of my guitar and terrible singing of my own lyrics to the musical background track in my head, I think I’ve finally finished Til I Forget About You, even if the title isn’t all that accurate.

In fact, the title isn’t accurate in the slightest. In these last four days, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about Dak more. There’s been lots of frustrated yelling, crying, ripping and crumpling of pages of my journal on the floor… I don’t know how Taylor Swift makes writing break-up songs look so easy. She’s been who I pray to when I get stuck on a line or can’t figure out which chord I like better.

Between Gustavo’s and my affinity for pop music, when I write from the deep recesses of my heart, I find myself bringing out my rock roots. There’s nothing better than the feeling of guitar blasting from the speakers so loud you can feel it rattling around in your rib cage, filling up your ears and leaving them ringing for days on end, and that is the feeling I’ve been coasting on these few days…

It reminds me of my dad and I think that’s why it helps me feel better. Growing up on the heels of his time in the rock scene in Texas, then discovering the punk scene in Minnesota, he was always using his free time to replicate the sounds he’d hear at shows to play for me on his days off. He would tell me all the time that I was such a smiley, giggly kid, as long as his guitar was out - so the minute I was old enough to hold one in my hands he bought me one and taught me to play.

When I was finally old enough to go to shows with him, I always loved the contrast between our looks - my mainstream, bright-colored clothing straight out of TeenVogue and his old, beat-up black band t-shirts blending in with the dark ink on his forearms and even darker jeans and Doc Martins. Was a crowded basement in a random suburb miles away from our house, filled with drunk 20 to 30-somethings and a lineup of 7 different bands in one night really the safest place for a 13-year-old girl? Certainly not, but he always kept me safe and gave me a space to foster my own music taste just like he was afforded as a teenager.

Phew. That was a long-winded way of saying that I’m finally starting to find myself getting over the pain Dak caused me through my music, and I’m really lucky Big Time Rush has given me the space to explore this. Not that Til I Forget About You is an incredible, unmatched rock song - it is still very much a pop song, which I love just as much - but it is, for all intents and purposes, mine.

I miss both of you so much, and I cannot wait to see you again.

Roxy

***

Greetings,

One thing always seems to lead to another. In Del Mar, we finally had an actual, honest-to-God day of rest yesterday and the band asked if I wanted to go to the beach with them. Of course, I agreed, because it felt close to chilling by the Palm Woods pool, but once we got there I quickly learned that the trip everyone took without me brought Austin and the boys closer together. Which is fine, that’s what I wanted in the first place, but now, it feels like I’ve lost my touring buddy.

They spent the entire day surfing (where did these boys learn how to surf?), playing volleyball, and trying to pick up dates, and basically left me to my own devices to watch our stuff. I even wore my best bikini top (purple!) in hopes maybe, just maybe, it would bother James a bit, but I’m not sure he even noticed as he kept trying to play wingman for Carlos and Austin all day. I guess he decided no one on the beach was interesting enough to try and pick up.

Something I did notice, not that it matters at all, but Austin had a bit of trouble in the sun all day. Logan said that he was displaying symptoms of hypoglycemia, and he and I had to help Austin back to our stuff at one point after he nearly toppled over from how shaky his legs were. Eventually, we were able to get a few sodas in him, and he claimed to be right as rain, but it was pretty scary. I know it’s not right of me to ask him what I can do to help if he ever needed it because if he wanted me to share, he would have told me, but it was a bit hard not to take note of the small, off-white pod attached to his deep almond abdomen when he took his shirt off.

Typically, I’d just look it up in private to confirm my own thoughts, but I don’t get my phone for another few days. For now, though, or until he’s comfortable talking about it, I stopped into a corner store on the way back to our buses to grab some snacks that I think would help if his blood sugar were to drop unexpectedly again. Now I just pray nothing punctures the small juice boxes I put in a plastic bag or the hard fruit candies don’t spill out and stick to anything.

And on top of all of that, despite applying copious amounts of sunscreen, I managed to burn my legs. Goodbye shorts and skirts, hello pants I was saving for the colder climates. I tried to take a page out of Hayley Williams’ style book and go for shorts and fitted tees or crop tops as my go-to stage look - adding in jewelry, belts, tights, whatever to switch up my looks day to day, but now I guess I’ll be looking more like Gwen Stefani circa 1995 with my small shirts and big pants.

The show went off without a hitch and we’re off to Central Point, Oregon now, and hopefully once things get back to normal I can get my tour buddy back.

Rox

***

Girls!!!!

I know you’re both from the east coast, and I am obviously so Midwest, but there is just something about the crisp, Oregon air that makes me long for a different hometown. If I grew up here, beautiful Central Point, I think (in addition to being a major league hippie) I might have led a very different life. It’s strange to think about, and I’m incredibly grateful for my current life, but can you imagine if I was the owner of a quaint crystal shop on the edge of the evergreen forests of this state, or if I hand knit sweaters, tye-dying them all crazy, fun colors to sell to tourists. One pretty prominent radio station, Talk Radio Network, is based here, so maybe I’d still be Rockin’ Roxy out here too…

It’s a quiet town, however, not like Duluth or Los Angeles, and it’s pretty far from Portland. My dad always told me he wanted to visit there - apparently, they have a thriving music community in that town.

That’s all I have in the way of updates. After tonight’s show, we’re on our way back to California to the town of Turlock. Kelly, Gustavo, and I could have been a bit more coordinated when booking shows, but we were desperate enough to take whatever we could get, even if it meant extra travel time.

Extra travel time, however, means I have more time to think about the dumpster fire that is my love life as I am now trapped in a bus with James once again. Maybe he and Logan will play that stupid game again and leave me alone as I write.

Speaking of, here’s a few lines I’m working on. What do you think?

I see you walking, but all you do is pass me by,

Can’t even talk, ‘cause words don’t come into my mind,

I’d make a move if I had the guts to,

But I’m paralyzed

Best,

Roxy

***

Good morning, or evening, or whatever the appropriate time may be,

I’m so sorry I skipped out on letters these past few days, our show turnaround time has been insane, and I’ve been doing my best to keep up with my assistant-ly duties to the best of my ability - meaning I’ve had no time to myself in the last four days. Since I last wrote, we’ve been to Turlock, California, Costa Mesa, California, Kansas City, Missouri, and are presently pulling away from Harrington, Delaware.

A list of things of note for you:

In Turlock, Carlos ran over to me during the show and asked me if I wanted to sing. I said absolutely not and he ran off again. Then in Costa Mesa, he ran up to me during City is Ours and asked me to shout “There they are!” into his microphone after the “We pull up, open the door, all the girls scream-” line, while the rest of the band held theirs out to the crowd. They’re really taking this show and making it theirs, and it’s lovely to see. As I write this, Carlos just informed me I’ll be doing that every night with that big, goofy grin of his that makes it impossible for me to even think about saying no.

We did a radio show in each city, and the questions these interviewers come up with in order to be different from one another are just insane. Though, one of the hosts did ask them if they had anyone special waiting for them back home - it gave Logan a chance to stutter his way around the question (Camille… Make it official with him already!) and Kendall the opportunity to monologue about Jo for, like, five minutes. I would’ve recorded it had I had a device on hand capable of doing so (yeah I’m not done complaining). By the time he was done, the interview had nearly ended, so Carlos squeaked out “I have four special people!” and I think he meant the Jennifers and Stephanie (Is Stephanie back yet?). James (blegh!) said “Anyone willing to wait on me is special,” like the true teen idol he is. Any girl willing to wait on him… I pity her.

My drum lessons started in Kansas City after the band managed to rope Austin into a game of pickup while the buses were unloading. Who puts a basketball hoop outside of a music venue and expects anyone to get anything done? Regardless, it was a lot of fun and Austin is a pretty attentive teacher - far better than grouchy Gustavo when he was going over piano basics. There’s a lot I can learn from him! We also started writing his song, a fun, simple summer song about the beach and girls and whatnot… I’m excited to see this project through with him.

Gustavo and Kelly wrote a note on the daily itinerary sheets they give the band and I that we’re currently headed to Denver, Colorado, where we’ll have two days off from performing to do interviews, radio shows, news slots, the whole nine yards. Apparently, news outlets come to us, not the other way around, and they’re very excited to talk to America’s next top boy band. We’ll be doing a few live acoustic performances as well, meaning the guys and I, on camera, filmed for the whole world to see. Let’s hope I don’t mess up.

Miss you endlessly!

Roxy

***

Greetings from the Mile High City,

The press day, the boys claimed, was “hella exciting” and “beyond epic”... I’d describe it more like “waking nightmare” if anyone bothered to ask me. All they had to do was sit there, look pretty, answer some questions or play silly games, and sing. I, on the other hand, was lost in an endless pile of media release forms for every news outlet to approve, combing through the Gustavo pre-approved questions the interviewers were going to ask the boys, keeping their refreshments well stocked so they never ran out of water and choked on a dry throat when they went to answer questions… My work is never-ending!

Definitely one of the worst days on this tour for me, though, I wouldn’t choose it over having to go back and rewrite Til I Forget About You. Speaking of, in my previous letter I forgot to mention a particularly important line that I keep repeating to myself whenever I find my thoughts unpleasantly flickering to Dak… Or at this point, to James.

I found a place where I can lose myself,

And just leave your memory on the shelf,

See? I’m fine, no, I don’t need nobody else.

The punctuation is subject to change, but for now, I’m quite certain I don’t need anyone else in my life. I’m fine just being Roxy for a while… Even if my thoughts often turn into Roxy and James.

Not to toot my own horn, but the song is very good, and I can’t wait to record it once we get back from tour. I think that’ll be a good point to mark my “getting over it” progress.

Something I forgot to mention about these interviews, that I now realize as we pull away from the Denver venue and off to Eureka, Missouri, is I’m actually learning so much about the band by sitting and listening in. They almost never talk about their lives before Hollywood, because the four of them have (as I learned today) known each other since they were four years old. From first meeting at a Pee-Wee hockey league game all the way to playing varsity hockey at MAHS, they’ve been with each other almost their entire lives. Most of the interviewers ask really good, clear questions, that lead the boys down a path that gets them talking and reminiscing on themselves - something they rarely speak about when the others are around. Today (among other things) I also learned Carlos is fluent in Spanish, Logan was really into ventriloquy in middle school, Kendall is allergic to kiwi, and James is the heir to the Brooke Diamond Cosmetics company.

I should have put two and two together on the last one, he’s insanely beautiful and the last name “Diamond” isn’t exactly very common, but remembering what he’s told me about his mom and now knowing she’s Brooke Diamond?? The Este Lauder of the Midwest?? accounts for a lot of his behavior.

A few years ago, there was a big scandal that hit the front page of all the Duluth papers, news stations, radio waves, etc., claiming that BDC’s top model, and Brooke’s husband, Blake Diamond, was caught having an affair with a woman half his wife’s age. On top of that being insanely disgusting, it was in the news for weeks, announcing the Diamond divorce, explaining the court hearings and who got what, all leading up to Blake and his girlfriend eloping to Vegas and getting married the minute he and Brooke were officially split.

What does that do to a budding teenager? Chew them up and spit them out a completely new person. No wonder James never talks about his parents, or his home(s). The only time I learned something about his family was after the dance when he told me his mom made him break up with his boyfriend and when we were back in Minnesota he vaguely told me his parents were separated.

God, I cannot imagine what that must have/still feels like for him. Knowing that he had Kendall, Logan, and Carlos to help him through it makes me feel better, though.

I think, among other reasons, that might have been why he helped get us back to Hollywood a few days before the big concert. Either returning home to his successful mother as a failure or returning home to stay with a cheater and his new wife…

Phew. That was a long one. Every time I send one of these I can feel the two of you mentally cursing me for my wishy-washy gushy James feelings - trust me, it’s just as exhausting for me to think I’m fine alone one day, then want him so badly the next. Please bear with me while I figure this all out.

Wish you were here,

Roxy

***

Eureka!

Somewhere in the middle of Kansas, Kendall woke me up from my lazy couch nap to tell me he wants to learn how to play the guitar.

“That’s great,” I said. “I’d love to teach you, but all my guitars are strung left-handed.”

Bless his heart, he cocked his head and asked, “Why does that matter?”

“Well. I’m left-handed. You’re not. It’s a completely different learning process.”

“Do you know how many hockey players play left-handed, even though they’re right-hand dominant?”

Of course, I don’t. But, in the small second I had to think about it, I realized that there are plenty of famous guitar players that do that too… kind of. Many left-handed guitar players just learn right-handed because left-hand guitar equipment isn’t produced near as much or to the same quality and standards as right-handed equipment!

Thankfully, my dad is left-handed too, so he knew where to get the proper things in order for me to play when I was little, but it was I who took it upon myself to learn how to restring a guitar to fit my own needs. When I was 12, there was this beautiful oak wood acoustic in the local music shop, but it was strung right-handed. The owner didn’t know how to restring it (claiming no one had ever asked him to before, but I just think he was lazy), so I convinced my dad to buy it, a pack of new strings, and a tool kit, and I took it apart, then put everything back everything completely opposite - worked like a charm, until I sold it a few years later to get my electric acoustic.

In all, I’m excited to teach Kendall but I’ll have to find the time in between my assistant duties and my own drum lessons. The request was a bit out of the blue, however, and I wanted to ask him why, but he was too busy buzzing to Logan about it after I told him yes. Maybe he’s trying to learn a skill that will set him apart from the other band members.

After tonight’s show, we’ve got another one tomorrow before another press day, then a stretch of three more shows back to back. It’ll be tiring, but at least we’re having fun. Playing shows is rewarding beyond measure, and hard for me to put into words, but the connection the band has to their audience is unmatched. The way they can make thousands of people get up and dance, sing, let loose… It’s a beautiful sight - one I’m so lucky to be able to witness almost every night.

Maybe you can find some clips on SnoobTube,

Roxy

***

Girls, I’m running out of clever greetings,

I AM SO TIRED.

Columbus, Ohio, along with being a boring city in the world, also happened to be the same place our press day was taking place - meaning we were there for two days too long. Then, we had our three-day tour stint.

On day one, one of our eighteen-wheelers containing half of the stage set up was late. So, guess who, on top of making sure the boys were situated in their green rooms and had everything they requested, had to assist with tech setup I knew nothing about, got to run the soundcheck almost completely alone, and explain to Gustavo the boys had to go on a few minutes later than anticipated :)

On day two, I learned more about the boys. Maybe I’m being dumb and petty, but I think it’s a bit strange that much of my knowledge of them is now coming from these interviews - they’re sharing important things, that I think as their friend I should have the right to have known about beforehand. They know I’ve been struggling to get good at the piano for months now and guess who I learned has been playing all his life? James. Would it have killed him to maybe offer a helping hand? In addition, I found out Logan’s favorite food is toast. Just… plain toasted bread and butter… Kendall’s dream pet, apparently, is a goat because he misses the one we rented at the School of Rocque so much and Carlos doesn’t think Antarctica is real. I wish I could’ve stopped him before he said that during a live interview, but you win some, and you lose some. I was too busy handling all the paperwork and helping the next news outlet set up to get the interviews done as quickly as possible to get in his way.

On day three, we made it to Clearfield, Pennsylvania, a cute town that runs along a beautiful river I discovered on a walk in the morning. Sometimes being cooped up in a bus all night gets old, so when the boys work out in the morning, I wander as far as I think I can before Gustavo and Kelly realize I’m missing. The show that night was great, but Kendall ripped his pants jumping off one of my amps, and everyone in the first few rows got to see his underwear. I’m not sure he’ll be living that one down for a while.

On day four, we rolled into West Allis, Wisconsin around 6 am, where we were promptly escorted off the bus and into a local radio station, who called Gustavo the previous evening and practically begged for a Big Time Rush live acoustic performance. So, Mick and Austin got to sleep in, while I grabbed my acoustic guitar and drowsily followed the boys into the studio, languishing in the familiar smell of Lake Michigan - So close to Lake Superior back in Duluth! We performed three songs, Big Time Rush, Stuck (of course…), and Any Kind of Guy acoustic. Honestly, my stage skills are getting better with each performance, and I think it’s because the guys make me feel so relaxed when we play together. Whenever I performed with Brand New Day, I was always trying too hard to impress Dani, and more importantly, Mag, so playing always took a ton of effort. But with Big Time Rush, I feel so at ease, and I’m able to let loose and have fun. The only thing that caught me off guard today was James derailing the interview before Stuck to dedicate it to “Any girl who feels like they’re invisible… Don’t worry, I see you.”

Dedicating a song you didn’t even write to a person it’s not even about? Barf. Those words keep rattling around in my brain and I wish I could kick them straight out, but I’ve been dwelling on them for days.

On day five, we took a ferry (!!) to Midland, Michigan, while our eighteen-wheelers had to take the long way around, through Illinois and Indiana. Since our stage equipment didn’t arrive until the later part of the day, I pulled out two of my guitars stored away in Bus 1 in order to give Kendall his first lesson at the venue. Since Carlos bunked with Logan and me the night before, the boys decided to switch buses for a few hours, which meant I had to deal with an insane amount of James' side eye as he went about making his breakfast in the small kitchen.

If he’s got a problem with me hanging around my friends, he’s no better than Dak and I’m certainly not going through that again. He kisses me a few times and now thinks he has some weird possessive thing over me? Absolutely not. I’m just so done with him, I don’t understand how just a month and a half ago we shared a journey that literally altered the course of our lives, and now, here he is, acting as though it meant nothing to him.

Maybe I need to get out of the celebrity dating pool - if this tour has taught me anything it certainly is the fact that all my friends are famous and I am not.

Yeah. What a downer of a letter this turned into,

Roxy

***

Send lots of caffeine and my giant stuffy puppy to Fairlea, West Virginia, please!

I’m too exhausted to write out a better greeting, so this letter begins with the truth. There were many times over the last three days I sat down to write this, but every day I ended up falling asleep in the middle. Last night, Logan had to physically remove the pen from my hand while I slept as I was apparently in danger of poking my eye out.

In three days we’ve been to Hamburg, New York, Indianapolis, Indiana, and Peru, Illinois. Another day without seeing the Big Apple, another day in a big city that makes me miss Los Angeles, and another day in a city where if the name and state weren’t written down on our call sheets I might be so tiredly deluded I think we’re in a different country.

Kendall, Logan, Carlos, and James are natural-born performers. I, on the other hand, am starting to believe that I may not be cut from a similar cloth. Something inside of them keeps them on the go, go, go, and I would love to know just what it is that makes them tick. The only thing keeping me motivated right now is getting to hear the crowd sing along to my songs every single night. It sounds a bit cheesy to write out, but it’s true! To know all of our hard work writing, recording, and rehearsing, is paying off and reaching corners of the U.S. we didn’t even know existed! And that people are buying our album… So I’ll have a nice cushion of a retirement plan when I’m older…

That, and my lessons of course! Austin has been so cool about helping me learn the drums, and I think I’m getting pretty good even though I’ve only had a few moments of practice. That, and we even had enough time to work on our song more, which is surprisingly almost complete… That boy can write! My goal is to write a drum section for one of my songs all by myself. Normally, Gustavo is able to take my lyrics and guitar melodies and write in drums, bass, piano, or whatever else we think is necessary to execute our grand vision, so for once, I’d like to fill in a new instrument and save him some time which would probably also equate to saving him some time yelling at our other band members.

Guitar lessons with Kendall have been going well too, though I’m not sure he’s very fond of me as a teacher. I’ve struggled to put together little exercises for him to practice because I barely remember learning guitar myself. Maybe I can talk to my dad about it on our next call.

Oh! And Carlos and I invented a game today!

We call it Honk Bonk, and you play it exactly how it sounds. Any time a car in traffic honks, you bonk the closest person on the head with something near you. My weapon of choice, of course, is my journal, and the boys are already used to bonking from that, though someone did honk during Kendall’s lesson today… I was tempted but alas, he needs to stay pretty so he can date my best friend. And sell more albums.

I hope you’re both well, I can’t wait to get back home to see you,

Roxy

***

Panicking! I spent all of today panicking!

This morning, Logan and Kendall shook me awake around 3 am to tell me that it was James’ birthday. TODAY.

I had a few thoughts on this. 1. Why didn’t any of the band mention this until we were three hours into the day? 2. Where the hell am I supposed to get party supplies on a moving bus rolling into Fairlea, West Virginia? 3. How am I going to survive an entire day centered around the guy I’m doing my very best not to think about? 4. Is James mature enough to be the first of us to turn seventeen?

Thank God James was on the other bus because if he had heard the ideas Logan, Kendall, and I had in order to surprise James the minute we stopped at the next venue…

Here was what we came up with:

If you cut up little pieces of colored paper, it kinda looks like confetti. The colored paper in question? Three of the front and back covers of books Logan had brought and finished in the first part of the tour. Kendall had to physically restrain him as I did this.

I’m a songwriter - when in a pinch, write a song. The three of us quickly devised a little spin on the traditional happy birthday song to surprise James with on stage later that blends into the traditional song everyone knows. Hopefully, an entire stadium of people singing to him is a good enough gift.

We can take old tour itineraries from the previous towns, a Sharpie, and some of the bungee chords holding our equipment down during travel to make a HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES banner.

The bus was stocked with enough items to make Oreo Fluff salad, thanks to the miracle that is pudding cups, but not a real cake… He seemed to enjoy it when he came to tell me we were going back to L.A. after a few hours in Duluth. I don’t have any green food coloring, however, so it was boring black and white.

A sub point - around 6 am I begged the bus driver, Henrietta, to let me use her phone and call a Fairlea local bakery and express order a cake to bring out on stage. I also managed to call the venue and ask them to pick up some cupcakes to be waiting in the green room when we arrived and put up any party supplies they had on hand.

It was exhausting, like most things on this tour I guess, but once we rolled into town everything had been squared away, our efforts were well worth it.

Did you know that when James smiles, like really smiles, he has the most adorable dimples that carve right into his cheeks?

A smile that makes me breathless. A smile that remained on his face all day as we surprised him with our homemade banner, confetti, and treats. A smile plastered on his face the entire show, especially when we surprised him with our song, cake, and the entire crowd sang him happy birthday.

When the show ended, the band freshened up and went to meet some fans out by the front of the venue, and I had to run back into the bus and record my journal entry and write this letter, as I currently am before they came back.

My journal entry contained the word “James” like 40 times.

GOD! He ignores me almost all of the tour, speaking to me only about the essentials or whatever's going on around us on our days off, I finally decide he isn’t into me and I should just chill out for a bit, and now I’m suddenly all about him again. Maybe it’s just because I’m around him literally every day… Maybe it’s because I felt a hint of (healthy! Definitely healthy!) jealousy when he looked at everyone singing to him on stage and in the crowd except for me… Ugh.

We’re on for another multi-day stretch of shows, so please forgive me for fewer letters as the days go on,

Roxy

***

Look I know I said I’d be sending fewer letters but I NEED to tell you guys this.

After arriving in Farmingville, New York, around 9ish in the morning, I was abruptly awoken to the sound of Gustavo yelling at the band about who knows what. Apparently, this pissed them off so much they came storming onto my bus, told me to get ready as fast as I could, and thirty minutes later we were sneaking out of the venue and into a taxi that drove us right into the heart of Manhattan.

We messed around the city for the ENTIRE DAY and Gustavo had no way of finding us since he had our phones. Finally, we got to be the tourists instead of the attraction, before getting back to the venue before the show started.

Once the taxi dropped us off right outside of Time Square, Logan had the brilliant idea for each of us to pick one thing we wanted to do, and do our best to complete them before the end of the day. The list is as follows:

Kendall wanted to go to the top of the Empire State Building

Logan wanted to visit the Morgan Library

Carlos wanted to see Spider-Man

James (after loudly complaining we couldn’t see something on Broadway) wanted to take a sightseeing cruise around the bay to see the Statue of Liberty

I wanted to see the musical instrument display at the MET and I convinced everyone to join me for a lunch picnic in Central Park.

Today was literally perfect, though I did feel a bit bad about leaving Austin and Mick back at the venue to run the soundcheck without me.

Besides admiring the thousands of advertisements roving around the Square, the first thing we did was hit the Morgan Library. The architecture was just breathtaking and it was amazing to see the carefully curated collection of historical documents. They even had musical manuscripts and printed forms of music from nearly one hundred years ago… I wonder how a boy band in 1909 would look… Or if my journals will be on display in 2109… Scary!

Not as scary as the top of the Empire State Building, though!

It was so cold and windy up there, even in the middle of the summer. I practically had to cling to Carlos’ arm to feel even a little bit stable, but of course, he wanted to get right up to the very edge of the building and look straight down. Kendall and Logan wanted to join him (one to spit off the edge and the other to try and calculate how far away the second tallest building in NY was) so I got passed off to James. Would it have killed him to put his arm around me and tell me it would be alright? Jesus. He just stood there, silently looking off into the distance while I clutched at his arm. Message received: He isn’t into me.

The rest of the day was fun and I wanted to write more but now I’m a bit sad after writing that. All I really want to do is go to bed now; I’ll tell you about it when we meet again, I guess.

Roxy

***

Daddy,

Tour is hard. So hard. And I feel so stupid for thinking that I was cut out for this kind of thing. Songwriters are for the studio, not the stage. I’ve spent so much time around the guys I’m starting to go crazy. You and I always talked about traveling if we had the money, and let me tell you one day per city is hardly enough to even say that I’ve been here. It’s not cross-country exploration if I haven’t explored five minutes past the closest coffee shop because I can barely keep my eyes open without caffeine.

I’m constantly tired. My back hurts from sleeping on the couch. My fingers are so sore. My eyes are dry from the incessant spotlight lighting us up for thousands of people every night. The next person to ask me for something might get their head bitten off if they don’t say “please?”

Just because I’m an assistant doesn’t mean I get to be walked all over.

The applause is nice though, hearing everyone sing along to my songs even in parts of the country I’ve never even heard of… Maybe that’s enough to get me to Duluth.

I can’t wait to see you. Sorry for the depressing letter, I’m having a hard time being away from both of my homes.

Promise you’ll listen to the setlist before you see us?

I hope I’m making you proud,

Roxanne

***

Hi.

The shows in Lima, Ohio, and Falcon Heights, Minnesota were great. Our friends are just so talented. It was hard being so close to Duluth, and I invited my dad to the show last minute, but he wasn’t able to make it.

We’re driving to Essex, Vermont now - 13 hours into a 20-hour journey.

The weather out here has been awful, it’s been thunder storming nonstop, so we haven’t been making as many stops as we usually have. Just my luck I’m stuck with Logan and James, and I’ve been writing a song all day.

It’s a song for James’ invisible girls… More accurately, a song full of words I wish he would say to me.

Am I out of mind, or just invisible?

Anyway. It’s been extra hard to write because the two of them were sitting less than three feet away from me the entire time. They’re both so nosey, consciously or not and kept looking over at me. I could tell they wanted to ask me about it, but at least they were respectful enough not to.

It’s got a really beautiful guitar melody, but I’d love to get my hands on my keyboard back home because I have a cool idea for a backing track… Never thought I’d be excited to play the piano but here I am, itching to play it thousands of miles from home.

We play Boston, Massachusetts in a few days, and the boys kept talking about wanting to hit up a pizza place in the city that they visited during one of their hockey tournaments a few years ago. At this point, I’m just trying to get through the next 7 hours. That’s when we get to the next venue, though we have to take a day off from the show tomorrow. Not only is it Carlos’ birthday, but it’s the day of Hawk and Rebecca’s trial. Sweet, sweet seventeen spent reminiscing one of the worst moments of our entire lives. Whoo whoo.

In other depressing news, after coming to the realization that I like James, but he doesn’t like me, it’s been extra hard to be around him. Mostly I just hang out with Austin and beat out my frustration on his drum kit… The last 13 hours have been like hell. Every time James smiles, it makes me want to. His laugh rings in my ears, sending a jolt straight through my heart. Whenever he gets up to walk by me, it takes everything in me not to stare as he moves about the bus.

It’s exhausting… Having a crush on someone is supposed to be fun. I’m supposed to feel like I’m walking on air, and glow, and sparkle, and shine. Instead, I feel like shit.

Truly, I guess I don’t really know him like I thought I did. What happened to the always flirty, unserious, loverboy who took me on a date our first month in Los Angeles?

I think I blew my chance with him once I met Dak, and I think I hate myself for it.

Exhausted and missing home,

Roxy

***

Happy birthday, happy trial day,

I hope you’ll be pleased to know that Hawk and Rebecca will be going away for a long time. We tried to celebrate Carlos’ birthday with cupcakes at the venue, but no one had an appetite after our Skype trial. To try and lighten the mood, I played a few songs he showed me at the beginning of the tour on my guitar, but I could tell as he absently sang along it wasn’t really helping.

Though, in other news that I shouldn’t be happy about, James spoke to me today unprompted and asked if I was okay after my testimony. Apparently, I was speaking quite shakily… Which, yeah. I was fucking kidnapped and asked to recount it in front of a room full of people I don’t know, of course, I was shaky. But at least he was thinking about me.

Maybe he needs signs or cues or reasons to act or something… Weirdo.

Anyway, we’ll bring a cake out for Carlos during the show tomorrow and have the crowd sing for him. Hopefully, he’s in better spirits tomorrow.

This was a weird letter, I know. Life’s weird recently, but thanks for reading. Miss you two.

Roxy.

***

Carlos fucking Garcia has been reading my mail. I’m convinced of it! Because tonight, when the band did the little introduction of their musical accompaniment, Carlos introduced me, walked right up to me, planted to sweetest, wettest, loudest kiss onto my cheek, and told me he loved me in front of the whole crowd.

When I told him I loved him back, we got some “awwws” (mostly “boooos” that I’m choosing to ignore) and continued the show.

Then.

When the show ended.

James grabbed my hand, dragged me off towards the back door of the venue, onto some side street alley where we couldn’t hear the crowds of people leaving the show anymore, and asked me if I wanted to make out.

A reason to act! Carlos telling thousands of people he loved me was a reason to act!

So.

We made out in a dirty, smelly alley and I think it was the best night of my entire life… Besides the five seconds I’m pretty sure a rat touched my foot.

There is hope yet,

Roxy

P.S.

When I got back to the bus I was buzzing so bad I told Logan everything. That I liked James, that we kissed, that we kissed some more, that I think about him all the time, that I’ve written one and a half songs about him already.

I’m in so deep at this point… And all Logan did was grin at me - stupid, dumb grin - and say “Finally,” before heading off to his bunk to sleep.

Camille, I hate your almost-boyfriend and I’m drawing all over his face in Sharpie tonight.

***

Oops,

Not to leave you two on a cliffhanger but the last month of tour has been so insane I haven’t even had a minute to myself to write (letters or otherwise), think, or even just take a breather in a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere.

The rockstar lifestyle is hard to get used to… Hopefully, we budget more off days for future tours or I might go crazy.

To answer the question I know is on your minds: No. Nothing else happened with me and James, though he does actually sit down and talk to me now (even if it’s mostly work-related, I’ll take it). We toured all throughout most of the other states in the country, I’d write them all here but I lost track after Boston if I’m being honest. Though I do know that at one point we were in Phoenix, Arizona and Kendall accidentally said “Hello, Las Vegas!” to the entire stadium.

MSG was insane. Best venue I’ve ever been to, the best crowd we’ve ever had, and the second-best night of my life.

As I write to you now, we’re about to play our last show in Duluth, Minnesota, before our three-day journey home. I’ve got a bunch of silly string to prank the boys with on stage during their solo sets… They won’t even know what hit them!

My dad finally got to meet the guys, though I’m not sure he liked any of them but he was kind enough - but what father would like the four boys his daughter is best friends with? I have no idea why he keeps calling James “Jay” but whatever. After the show ended I snuck him out of the venue and showed him our buses, and trucks for stage set up, and let him meet Mick and Austin as well - Austin even performed his song for my dad… His first audience member!

Safe to say, he loved Austin’s number, but how he felt about everything else, he didn’t share on his face like normal. I like to think I’m pretty good at deciphering how my father feels at this point in my life, but he kept his expressions at bay as we walked around everything we had waiting for us outside. I hope it didn’t put him off or something, considering I know that being a musician was his dream, too. What he did say was: “You shared this bus with two boys?” and “Which guitars are you using, Honey Bun? You deserve only the best.”

Dads.

I also got to meet Logan and Carlos’ families! (Minus James’... I felt really bad for him that his parents weren’t there…) Logan’s moms were so sweet - overly doting on him, fixing up his outfit, practically smothering him with health facts and tips. I think one of his moms is a realtor, while the other is a doctor, which would explain Logan’s want to be a doctor himself. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s a pediatrician. She gave off the vibe she’d be amazing with kids. It must have been so wonderful to grow up in that household :)

Since I’d already met Carlos’ dad, Mr. Garcia was kind enough to introduce me to his wife and three daughters. Genetics work in mysterious ways, blessing each of the Garcia children with the same dark hair and alluring eyes. It was hard to tell sisters Maria, Lupe, and Alena apart, but after talking to them a bit I was able to find some differences. They all followed me on ScuttleButter, so maybe we’ll talk more in the future. I loved getting to know them! Mrs. Garcia and her son also share a lot of the same mannerisms - they’re both curious, caring, and just a bit ADHD. The two of them spent most of their time together with the girls, pointing out different things about the venue, sharing stories from their time away from each other, and the coolest part was their switching back and forth from English to Spanish depending on if they wanted their conversations to be overheard or not.

At one point I think they were talking about me (and James) but I can’t be sure. Maybe if I’d taken Spanish in school instead of French my freshman year…

I wish Mrs. Knight had been there, but Kendall and James kept themselves occupied by talking sports with my dad. For a bit, Dad and Kendall talked about guitars after mentioning that I was teaching him how to play, leaving James out of the loop, so I went over and struck up a conversation with him.

Normal. That’s what we are - or more accurately what our relationship is - though, I think he looks at me a bit differently now. There’s no evidence to that last statement, I just feel his eyes on me sometimes and it makes my chest flutter. I much prefer being friends (who made out) that are able to be around each other, than whatever his weird, “ignore Roxy” game was.

The show’s in 10, so we need to start walking to the stage!

I loved writing to you two, but I can’t wait to get back to talking face-to-face. I’m in dire need of a girl’s night.

See you soon (for real this time),

Roxy <3

A little change of pace before season two! Thanks for reading :) Support for this story has been overwhelming!

Since school is starting back up, I'm going to be switching back to posting every two weeks instead of every week. <3

Season two starts September 5th, but I'll do my best to post little one-shots and such on my tumblr, so check over there every once and a while :)

#thats all she wrote fic #big time rush #btr #james diamond #james maslow #kendall knight #kendall schmidt #logan mitchell #logan henderson #carlos garcia #carlos penavega

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certified-diplodocus · 4 years ago

Video

tumblr

bonus:

my hEART

(Music of the Vampire is very silly and healed my tattered soul.)

#scooby doo #music of the vampire #it's a scooby doo musical about vampires #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #fred jones #velma dinkley #how to escape from sparkly vampires ft Shaggy Rogers:#HEY LOOK A HOLLYWOOD TALENT SCOUT #video #done with monsters

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pathetic-gamer · 2 years ago

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Beloveds, I realize that finals are approaching soonish and I wish to give you all a word of caution that you should keep in mind while writing term papers or doing research or what have you.

Beware Lit Reviews.

Specifically, beware of treating literature reviews as a source to cite and not a collection of sources the author lovingly, tenderly hand picked for you and you alone to read for yourself. A little laziness goes a long way in fucking up an entire field of research!

To illustrate my point, I bring to you a tale of woe.

6~ years ago I published a research paper. It wasn't exactly *groundbreaking* in my field but it was the first original research to bundle a few different phenomena into one big causal mess. The original research and data analysis I did was by no means a precision instrument, but it was enough to support my argument, so I concluded with the academic equivalent of "needs more research but not by me lol you guys have fun tho" and then threw it to the wolves.

A relatively well-known (within the field) tenured professor found it and did the academic equivalent of saying in an old-timey talent scout voice, "Hey kid, you've got something good here! A little fixin' it up and you could sell it to any studio in Hollywood!" (Wrote a thing saying the theory was solid and giving suggestions for where to take it from there, basically.)

The original author had unfortately already taken their diploma and fled the country (academia) because their radical ideas were too much for the old guard (had a mental breakdown), and therefore could not be reached for comment. Instead, someone else who no doubt meant well decided to shoulder the cause and said, "This is a clearly something of growing interest. I don't have an eye for new original quantitative analysis, so I will instead compile a lit review to help whoever comes along next!"

Carefully, lovingly, with great respect for every brick in the ivory tower, they collected my paper and the two referenced by the Professor as suggested reading for anyone considering continuing my research, along with a small number of vaguely related papers, and presented what I shall affectionately call the Catalyst.

The Catalyst was a work of art, in all honesty. The creativity and inspiration in selecting what papers to include and tie together was unmatched, the raw enthusiasm (and incomprehensibility) of the various summaries was stunning, and the presentation of their conclusion (Needs More Research) was such chaos, such beauty, that in the blinding light of its glory one could be forgiven for succumbing to the follies of wisdom incarnate - and yet, there was a pure truth to it that could not be denied.

Or so I thought!

Along came a researcher I shall derogatorily refer to as the Fool.

The Fool had seen the professor's call for more research, and I can only assume they intended to do just that. Unfortunately, their review of what little existing research there was began and ended with the Catalyst, and they lacked the divine touch of forbidden knowledge that the First Paper's author, the Professor, and the Catalyst's author possessed (which is to say a propensity for insanity - all of us had fled the country at least once, to my knowledge - and the basic ability to read a statistical analysis), and so their understanding of the Catalyst was limited at best.

By limited, I do, of course, mean nonexistent. They managed to take away incorrect conclusions of nearly every single paper listed, not to mention the Catalyst's assessment of the state of the theory overall. They were thus left with a theory that seemed self evident but was directly contradicted by what little quantitative research existed. Had they taken just one step past the Catalyst to look at the First Study, or even the other references, this entire tragedy could have been prevented; alas, they must have been so overcome by the Catalyst that they felt unworthy of the others.

For researchers in a somewhat broad field seeking something new and interesting, what better fuel is there than a theory that should by all rights be correct but, according to all known laws of physics (one guy who misunderstood a lit review), is not?

The Fool thus managed to spawn MULTIPLE YEARS and DOZENS OF PAPERS and HUNDREDS OF HOURS OF WORK from academics ACROSS THE FIELD trying to solve such a mystery, ultimately leaving the First Paper a minimum of five links deep in citation chain, far beyond the reach of the average sociologist.

It was at this point that I, Author of the First Paper and Thinker-Upper of the Theory of Great Consternation, saw my usual email update from the archive and noticed a higher volume of new downloads and citations than was typical, opened semantic scholar dot org out of curiosity, and discovered the absolute mess that had been created.

For a few days, I considered my next course of action. Should I emerge from my hermitage? My exile? Should I once more walk the golden wheat fields of my homeland and write a general response, despite no longer belonging to any institution in particular? Surely Elsevier, with its complete lack of publishing standards or academic integrity, would publish it.

All ends well, though, if only just this once. The Professor wrote a new paper, in which he said the academic equivalent of "You guys are fucking idiots. Did any of you actually read the First Paper? How are any of you academics? How do you sleep at night? A scourge upon ye!" The chatter then calmed as people realized the Theory of Great Consternation was actually normal and there was nothing to be excited about.

Just a few months ago, another paper appeared, now from the creator of the Catalyst. "Yeah," said they, "you guys are really lazy and it's kind of funny."

Thus ends my cautionary tale. In order to avoid the kind of misunderstanding as between the Fool and the Catalyst, I will give it to you plain:

A lit review should be used to get a general idea of what already exists and as a tool to find actual sources, NOT to get a summary of those sources without reading them or to, god forbid, use it as a source itself beyond mentioning it was useful and thanking the author for their effort.

In conclusion, further research is needed.

#not sorry for how long this is #academia #research tips #☕️🥧

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bamboo-woods · 3 years ago

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Amami&Ouma conversation

Amami’s ‘Possibilities for Talent’ Event

Amami: (A new possibility... Isn't it a little early for me as I haven't even achieved my primary goal? If I can't decide what to do, let's listen to others' voices...)

-> Do you think Ouma-kun will scout me? Do you think Hagakure-kun will foresee my future? It's really surprising that Celes-san talks to me first.

Ouma: If you have a talent, then help my organization! Ouma: Right- for Amami-chan traveling all over the world, I guess a spy role will suit you- Amami: That, isn't something you can ask so easily. If it's for real, isn't it life or death decision? Ouma: Of course I mean it! You think you had quite an interesting journey so far yourself but... Ouma: With me, you can go on a great journey that's more provocating and can make all of United States cry*! (TN: 'Made all of US cry' is a Japanese slang meaning that it's not touching at all. This catchphrase had been used too often to describe a Hollywood movie by Japanese media, so that people began using it for opposite meaning) Amami: Haha... that might sound fun. Ouma: Your answer sounds like you're not even interested 1mm! Amami: I mean, that you're inviting me for real, it's a lie isn't it? Ouma: It's not a lie! It's something about my beloved Amami-chan's future? Amami: You must be joking on me because I look cheerful. I'm not gonna show those sides again.

[I decided to think about my future, more seriously...]

Ouma’s ‘Possibilities for Talent’ Event

Ouma: In the first place, I think putting Supreme Leader's possibility on same level as the others was a mistake- Well, I might look for some new members! It's a lie so I'm only inviting them for laughs.

->There's a guy we need in order to be active all around the world! (Amami) There's a guy with a talent that we really must call! (Imposter) Everyone's looking for mum... I know it! (Tojo)

Ouma: If you have a talent, help my organization! It'll be really helpful if beloved Amami-chan is there! Amami: Sigh... here we go again. Ouma-kun, haven't you made fun of me earlier? Ouma: It's not a lie this time. In order for my organization to spread abroad, we need help from Amami-chan who have been in the field! Ouma: Hey hey, I beg you-! Amami-chan, you're more of friends with bad stuffs, right!? Amami: I don't remember saying something like that... Ouma: But you actually crossed dangerous bridge once, right? You once had come back from abroad with some wounds, no? Amami: Ah... there was one time when I stepped on bad thing. You did notice it, Ouma-kun. Ouma: It was a poor lie to fool me. I could know from the way you were walking, or the way you used your normal unwounded hand. If you don't want to be discovered by everyone at times like that... don't you think practicing lies under me sounds good? Amami: Don't you think that if Ouma-kun was really inviting me with heart, then I suppose you would have driven the situation in a more enjoyable way for me? Amami: That kind of foolish invitation is indeed, a poor lie to fool me. Ouma: Tsk- you could've played along a little longer- Ouma: Nishishi... But if it's now's Amami-chan, I think it'll be okay to invite you for real! Amami: Yeah yeah, I know that's a lie.

[I failed scouting Amami!]

#Amami rantarou #Ouma Kokichi #translation #hds spoilers #dr spoilers #happy danganronpa s

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lex-2002 · 3 years ago

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The Savoy Ballroom was a large ballroom for music and public dancing located at 596 Lenox Avenue, between 140th and 141st Streets in the Harlem neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City. Lenox Avenue was the main thoroughfare through upper Harlem. Poet Langston Hughes calls it the Heartbeat of Harlem in Juke Box Love Song, and he set his work "Lenox Avenue: Midnight" on the legendary street. The Savoy was one of many Harlem hot spots along Lenox, but it was the one to be called the "World's Finest Ballroom". It was in operation from March 12, 1926, to July 10, 1958, and as Barbara Englebrecht writes in her article "Swinging at the Savoy", it was "a building, a geographic place, a ballroom, and the 'soul' of a neighborhood". It was opened and owned by white entrepreneur Jay Faggen and Jewish businessman Moe Gale. It was managed by African-American business man and civic leader Charles Buchanan. Buchanan, who was born in the British West Indies, sought to run a "luxury ballroom to accommodate the many thousands who wished to dance in an atmosphere of tasteful refinement, rather than in the small stuffy halls and the foul smelling, smoke laden cellar nightclubs ..."

The Savoy was modeled after Faggen's downtown venue, Roseland Ballroom. The Roseland was a mostly white swing dance club. With swing's rise to popularity and Harlem becoming a connected black community, The Savoy gave the rising talented and passionate black dancers an equally beautiful venue. The ballroom, which was 10,000 square feet in size, was on the second floor and a block long. It could hold up to 4,000 people. The interior was painted pink and the walls were mirrored. Colored lights danced on the sprung layered wood floor. In 1926, the Savoy contained a spacious lobby framing a huge, cut glass chandelier and marble staircase. Leon James is quoted in Jazz Dance as saying, "My first impression was that I had stepped into another world. I had been to other ballrooms, but this was different – much bigger, more glamour, real class ..."

The Savoy Ballroom was named after the Savoy Hotel in London as those who named the ballroom felt this gave the ballroom a classy, upscale feeling, as the hotel is a very elite, upscale hotel.

The Savoy was popular from the start. A headline from the New York Age March 20, 1926, reads "Savoy Turns 2,000 Away On Opening Night – Crowds Pack Ball Room All Week". The ballroom remained lit every night of the week.

The Savoy had the constant presence of the best Lindy Hoppers, known as "Savoy Lindy Hoppers". Occasionally, groups of dancers such Whitey's Lindy Hoppers turned professional and performed in Broadway and Hollywood productions. Whitey turned out to be a successful agent, and in 1937 the Marx Brothers' movie A Day at the Races featured the group. Herbert White was a bouncer at the Savoy who was made floor manager in the early 1930s. He was sometimes known as Mac, but with his ambition to scout dancers at the ballroom to form his own group, he became widely known as Whitey for the white streak of hair down the center of his head. He looked for dancers who were "young, stylized, and, most of all, they had to have a beat, they had to swing".

Unlike many ballrooms such as the Cotton Club, the Savoy always had a no-discrimination policy. The clientele was 85% black and 15% white, although sometimes there was an even split. Lindy hop dancer Frankie Manning said that patrons were judged on their dancing skills and not on the color of their skin: "One night somebody came over and said, 'Hey man, Clark Gable just walked in the house.' Somebody else said, 'Oh, yeah, can he dance?' All they wanted to know when you came into the Savoy was, do you dance?".

The northeast corner of the dance floor, nicknamed "Cats' Corner," was monopolized by the best and boldest dancers. Some sources claim only Whitey's Lindy Hoppers were permitted to dance there, while others are less specific. Competition for a place in Cats' Corner was fierce, and every serious hopper awaited the nightly "showtime". Other dancers would create a horseshoe around the band and "only the greatest Lindy-hoppers would stay on the floor, to try to eliminate each other". On 140th street was the opposite, mellow corner which was popular with dancing couples. The tango dancer known as The Sheik frequented this corner.

Many dances such as Lindy Hop (which was named after Charles Lindbergh and originated in 1927) were developed and became famous there. It was known downtown as the "Home of Happy Feet" but uptown, in Harlem, as "the Track" because the floor was long and thin. The Lindy Hop is also known as The Jitterbug and was born out of "mounting exhilaration and the 'hot' interaction of music and dance". Other dances that were conceived at the Savoy are The Flying Charleston, Jive, Snakehips, Rhumboogie, and variations of the Shimmy and Mambo. Capitol Records released at least one album devoted to the club, The Home of Happy Feet, from 1959.

It is estimated that the ballroom generated $250,000 in annual profit in its peak years from the late 1920s to the 1940s. Every year the ballroom was visited by almost 700,000 people. The entrance fee was 30 to 85 cents per person, depending on what time a person came. Thirty cents was the base price, but after 6pm the fee was 60 cents, and then 85 cents after 8pm. The Savoy made enough money by its peak in 1936 that $50,000 was spent on remodeling.

The ballroom had a double bandstand that held one large and one medium-sized band running against its east wall. Music was continuous as the alternative band was always in position and ready to pick up the beat when the previous one had completed its set. The bouncers, who had previously worked as boxers, basketball players, and the like, wore tuxedos and made $100 a night. The floor was watched inconspicuously by a security force of four men at a time who were headed by Jack La Rue, and no man was allowed in who wasn't dressed in a jacket with a tie. Besides the security staff, the Savoy was populated by "Harlem's most beautiful women": the Savoy Hostesses. They would be fired for consorting with patrons outside the ballroom, but inside the hostesses would teach people to dance and were dance partners for anyone who purchased a 25 cent dance ticket. Roseland Ballroom hostesses often visited the Savoy on their night off; this inspired Buchanan to create Monday Ladies-Free Nights. Other special events began during the week, including the giveaway of a new car every Saturday. The floor had to be replaced every three years due to frequent use.

During the 1930s, Chick Webb was the bandleader of the Savoy's most popular house band. Ella Fitzgerald, fresh from a talent show victory at the Apollo Theater in 1934, became its teenage vocalist. Webb also recorded the 1934 big band song and jazz standard "Stompin' at the Savoy", which is named for the Savoy. The Savoy was the site of many Battle of the Bands or Cutting Contests, which started when the Benny Goodman Orchestra challenged Webb in 1937. Webb and his band were declared the winners of that contest. In 1938, Webb was challenged by the Count Basie Band. While Webb was declared the winner again, there was a lack of consensus on who won. Earle Warren, alto saxophonist for Basie, reported that they had worked on the song "Swingin' the Blues" for competing and says, "When we unloaded our cannons, that was the end".

Floating World Pictures made a documentary called The Savoy King about the ballroom. It was shown at the 50th New York Film Festival. Other prominent Savoy house bandleaders included Al Cooper, Erskine Hawkins, Lucky Millinder (with Wynonie Harris on vocals), Buddy Johnson, and Cootie Williams.

The Savoy participated in the 1939 New York World's Fair, presenting "The Evolution of Negro Dance".

The ballroom was shut down in April 1943 as a result of "charges of vice filed by the police department and Army". Its license was renewed in mid-October of the same year.

#google #historic

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stuck-in-hawkins · 4 years ago

Text

October 28th, 1993- Reunion

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Pairing: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656785/chapters/60958708

Will felt completely exposed. He just stood there breathless, staring, with his heart pounding a mile a minute.

Mike stood up from the couch, with that big beautiful smile. Before Will could pick his jaw off the floor, Mike was over to him in a few strides and had wrapped his long arms around him in a hug. Will was trying to process it all, but thoughts, sensations, and memories were crashing like waves against the shore and he could barely keep up.

His senses taking in all the familiar and new with Mike. How there seemed to be a place that Will just instinctively locked into in the embrace. The secure pressure of his arms wrapped around, the scent of some new cologne or deodorant that combined with the familiar smell of Mike that he could never quite pinpoint. There was the feeling of being small in his arms, and an onslaught of memories that beckoned. Will knew he’d lose himself in them if he dwelled but there would be time for that later. It just felt so good to be held by Mike again.

“Hey, Will.”

Will’s mind commanded, ‘Say something!’ He needed to recover so that he didn’t look like some lovesick puppy. But he was still taking everything in. He had only seen Mike a handful of times since leaving for college. He wasn’t used to how wide his shoulders were or how soft he’d gotten. Since 7th grade, Mike had been a beanpole, tall, bony. But now, all his edges were softened. He even had a bit of a belly. Will’s arms wrapped around Mike and felt… hair? Mike had a ponytail.

“Hey, hippie.” He pulled back from the hug. There were curls in the front of his face that were still too short to reach but it was plain as day: he had a ponytail. Will chuckled, “Since when did you decide to do a ponytail?”

“Since the last time the barber hacked off my hair.”

Will laughed, “You mean that buzz cut? That was two years ago!”

“Yep.” He took the hair in hand and flopped it so that it rested on his shoulder. It was a little past his shoulder. “This stuff grows like weeds.”

“Well, I’m still betting you’ll be the first to go bald.”

Mike held his hands up. “Don’t curse me like that, Will.”

“Sorry, but only models can have hair this perfect without paying for it later.” He hadn’t meant to, but he touched Mike’s hair as he said it. This would have been fine if he had just played it off. But, when he realized where his hand was, he drew it back so hard he hit himself in the chest.

Will thought, ‘Oh dear, God. Could you be any more obvious, Will Byers?’

And there it was, beneath the familiarity and laughter of friends, all the intimacy that had come during that time. The memory of being someone else’s other half was still ingrained in his every motion. The pathways in his brain had been carved out with each touch and a wall had come down. It could only be held up with conscious effort.

The motion was not lost on Mike and there was a recognition that crossed his face. But Mike smiled. Was it sympathetic, guilty, or just awkward? Will couldn’t tell. He mentally scolded his cheeks, trying to forbid them from blushing. But he could feel the heat rising. He hated being such an open book.

Mike broke the silence, “You always work on Sundays? Busy life on the prop scene?”

Will felt instant relief. Work was a safe topic. “It has peaks and troughs. Right now, I’m working on a bit of a passion project, making a monster.”

“Wait! Holy shit, like for a movie? What one??”

“It’s not for a movie, per say. It’s more like a talent scouting thing.”

Dustin interjected, “He couldn’t tell us, even if it was for one.”

Mike turned, “So you don’t badger him for info, then. Right, Dustin?”

“Uhh. Do you even know me, Mike? Of course, I do! He’s got to crack at some point.”

Will watched the way Mike’s eyes crinkled with those familiar laugh lines. And without even trying, Mike had made Will fall for him all over again. A part of him wanted to fight it, to just be happy with being friends. He wanted to save himself from the hurt that would follow. But this love was a familiar and warm embrace. It woke him up from the pain of that morning’s rejection. It was hope.

Mike was here for the first time in years. He was within reach again. He was gorgeous and smiling. But why was he there? What brought him out to Burbank after so long?

“When did you get in?”

“I think my plane landed at… 3?”

Dustin added, “Yeah. About then.”

“Feeling any jet lag?”

“For that crazy three hour difference?” He laughed. “It’ll probably just feel like a long day. I’m hoping that I can power through until 10.”

“Sounds like a late night for you, old man.”

Mike smirked, playfully, “Listen, just because you are some cool Hollywood cat now,” he poked Will in the stomach. Today of all days, he was wearing his crop top. And the contact was direct, skin on skin, Mike’s fingertips in his stomach for the briefest of seconds. Will felt his heart leap inside him. Mike did a double take looking at his mid drift, which had clear muscle tone. “And apparently working out?” Mike was astounded.

Will flustered, waving his arms, “I’m not like a musclehead, or anything! It’s just a thing I do with my friends from work.”

Dustin leered, “Don’t listen to him, Mike. It’s ‘cause he’s single and trying to bring home a beefcake.”

Will’s head snapped to Dustin. He was getting redder by the minute, “What the fuck, Dustin? BEEFcake?”

“Listen, you can’t bring home gorgeous men and me not talk about it. Seriously, Mike, these guys are all 10’s.” He winked.

Will was staring daggers at him, “I am never making you breakfast again.”

“WAIT! No!” He stretched his arm out, “I’m sorry!! I take it back.”

“Too late. It’s Captain Crunch for you from now on.”

Dustin groaned, and flopped over the couch, defeated. Will’s eyes flicked over to Mike and saw him suddenly self-conscious.

Mike caught his gaze and said, somewhat sheepishly, “I can’t say I’m really surprised, though. You're a catch, Will.” There was a sadness in it. As if Will was out of reach. As if he had been the one that got away.

The sincerity of it left Will speechless. Was he misinterpreting it? He wanted to let him know that the door hadn’t closed, but he didn’t want to be wrong and make things awkward. He’d clear the air later, when Dustin wasn’t there to watch. He couldn’t look at Mike’s face now.

He tugged the longer side of his hair behind his ear. A useless and nervous gesture, as the hair went right back in his face. “It’s not- I’m not-” He stopped himself. Take the compliment, he told himself. “Umm… thanks.”

Will saw Dustin smirking. Was he trying to play cupid? Will was going to chew him out the second he was alone. This was not something to play with.

Will desperately wanted to change the subject, “So, how are we going to show him the best California has to offer?”

“How about Gauman’s?”

Will shrugged, “Sounds good. What do you think, Mike?”

“That’s the place the Oscar’s are filmed at, right?” Mike asked.

“The very same. But, when there’s no Oscars or premiers it’s just a regular theater,” said Dustin.

Mike nodded. “Sounds awesome.” Will smiled seeing the childlike excitement on Mike’s face, the kind he used to get before a much anticipated movie or comic release. Will felt flutters and wondered if he would be coming down off of cloud nine anytime soon.

“Cool,” Will said. “I’ll go get dressed.” He needed to sort out everything going on inside his head.

Mike looked down at his own clothes, “Do we need to dress fancy or something?”

“Well, not exactly. You’re fine. But cut offs aren’t exactly something I wanna wear there.” He gestured at his own clothes.

Mike’s eyes flicked down and immediately looked away, his face beat red. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Will blushed. Holy fuck. They were both absolute disasters right now. He walked down the hallway to his room and flopped on the bed. Breathe. Why had Mike gotten so flustered? Why had he looked down? He could feel his stomach flipping at the suggestion in the question.

He had to calm down. But everything inside him felt like an amusement park, spinning, and jumping. How in the hell was he supposed to keep himself together? He had to wait until Mike was alone. It would be better to get it all out, clear the air. But what in the hell was he even supposed to say?

‘Hi, Mike! Nice to see you, by the way, I’m still in love with you. Is this a mutual thing? Or should I have gotten over all this years ago?’

He put the pillow over his head and groaned. He could get through this. At the very least, they would be in a theater. It was a familiar space, where they could forget everything else and just be the Party again, picking apart movies. Unravelling cinematography, digging up meaning, and concocting theories and Will could collect himself. ______________________________

They bought tickets for Return of the Living Dead 3. It was one of those gritty B rated movies that the party had always loved tearing to shreds. After they gave Mike the unofficial tour around the handprints, they went inside and paid for their tickets. They were making their way past the various displays of movie props and costumes encased in glass when Will’s eye caught sight of something. He turned so fast he nearly got whiplash and made his way over to the case. Inside, there was a set up for Halloween: a town of monsters, each with unique and incredible designs. The setting looked like an ink drawing come to life, complete with the texture of hatching lines on the ground. This parade of characters was led by a charming skeleton in a Santa suit and a girl that looked like a cross between a rag doll and Frankenstein. He read the plaque beside it: The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“Don’t drool on the case, Will.” Dustin teased.

Mike came over, “What is it?”

“These are the stop motion puppets from the movie,” Will answered. He couldn’t take his eyes off the figures.

“Oh, Stop motion! Like the special effects for the older Hollywood films?” Mike asked.

“Or like Rudolph,” Dustin added.

Will stared, “It’s like a cross between the two. It’s completely embracing the horror aspect of the medium and combining it with the whole Christmas movie tradition.” He couldn’t get over the character designs, the idea behind it. The premise intrigued him and he desperately wanted to watch it.

“Should we see that one instead?” Mike suggested.

Will turned, “No! No. I’ll definitely have to come back to watch it though.”

Dustin leaned in, “We have to go see that movie with him, Mike. He’s gonna totally flip shit the whole time.”

Mike crossed his arms like he was studying Will, “You think like Labyrinth level freak out?”

“Hard to say,” Dustin retorted.

Will shook his head, “Nothing will be Labyrinth level freak out. That was a once in a lifetime movie. A high fantasy setting with elaborate backdrops and the most insane special effects featuring David Bowie as the Goblin King, himself.”

Dustin smirked, “Not to mention those pants.”

Will stood up, “Why does everyone always bring up the pants?”

“Because it was an enlightening experience. I finally understood what you see in men. And now I know with certainty that if Bowie were to ever ask I’d- OW!”

Will punched Dustin’s arm. “You’re not gonna finish that statement.”

Mike chimed in, “You know better than to speak blasphemy against The Thin White Duke around Will.”

Dustin played it up, soothing his wounded arm. “Aw, come on, Will. I didn’t mean it, I know you get first dibs.”

“How kind.”

They laughed as they went into the theatre together. _________________________________________________

It was a tradition of theirs that following a movie showing, they would stand around the lobby and dissect it. However, since the theatre was getting crowded, Will suggested they relocate to the nearby diner. They began picking it apart in the car, shouting over one another the most grotesque or ridiculous parts. Will had the edge in these conversations now, because he could usually determine what exactly they used for certain effects. The guys enjoyed hearing Will’s insight into the behind the scenes techniques. Once they got in the diner and got their seats, the conversation quieted a bit and their ruminations became more well thought out. They cited different camera angles, acting, and plot points. It felt like old times.

After they ordered their food, Will asked, “So, Mike, how long are you in town for?”

“I’m staying for the week.”

Will almost dropped the fork he’d been messing with, “The whole week?!”

“Yeah, I have some vacation time that the boss told me I needed to use before December.”

“You didn’t want to save that for Christmas vacation?”

“Nah. A lot of families take that time off. School, you know?”

“That’s cool of you.”

Mike shrugged, “It’s just the decent thing, you know? El doesn’t really care about the holidays too much so I can be flexible.”

And a cloud swept over Mike’s face. Something he hadn’t wanted to bring up. Someone he didn’t want to mention. And Will could see him brace for the question.

Dustin asked, “How-?” He felt clumsy. “How is she doing?”

“She’s okay. She has her good days and her bad. I told you she lives with me now, right?”

Dustin nodded.

“That day I got my hair buzzed? Bad day.” He laughed it off, “I don’t think she recognized me for two weeks. The worst part? I actually bought a wig.”

Dustin nearly spit out his drink, “You what?”

Will laughed. “You didn’t!”

“Oh yeah. My first toupee. Looked like a fucking mop.”

Will joked, “Oh, please tell me you still have it. I’d pay money to see that.”

“No way. It’s haunting some thrift store now.”

Will shivered. “The worst thing to find there.”

Mike chuckled. He asked, “So, when is Lucas getting here?”

Will perked up, “What??”

Dustin suddenly looked awkward.

Mike turned, “Shit. Was that supposed to be a surprise? I thought he already knew.”

“No, it’s okay. Recover it! Surprise, Will!! Lucas will be here tomorrow!”

The smile on Will’s face could have lit up the city. He couldn’t contain his joy. His friends would be back together for the first time in so long. He didn’t see the way Mike was looking at him, the content smile and the eyes that just couldn’t get enough of Will’s warm glow.

Dustin was beaming, “Max will be picking him up and they’ll be staying at a hotel nearby.”

Will couldn’t believe it. “Dustin, did you put this all together?”

His friend got a little bashful and tried to shrug it off. “I mean… I just made a few calls. Lucas told me he’d be home in time for Halloween and I thought it was the perfect opportunity for a reunion.”

And then, something sank inside Will. Halloween. It had been ten years... Was that why Dustin was doing this? He coached himself, ‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Just enjoy this.’

He smiled. “It’ll be so good to see them again.”

The change wasn’t immediately visible to the guys.

Mike suddenly got excited, “Are we going to have a Halloween party or something to celebrate?”

Dustin answered giddy, “Oh, hell yeah! I mean we have the monster maker himself here!” He clapped Will on the back.

It shook Will out of his head. He saw how excited they were. Maybe this whole thing was orchestrated out of concern for Will, the thought of it stung his pride a bit. But then again, maybe it was the only way to get everyone together. The last time they had all been together had been when Hopper found El… She had been broken, disoriented, and wandering around New York City. The reunion had been one of grieving, trying to heal, and being there for Mike.

That was what going their separate ways had meant- only seeing each other for the big things: weddings and funerals so to speak. So, Will watched Mike and Dustin talking animatedly and let himself get caught up in it, too.

“As much as I’d like to bring the studio stuff home, I don’t think I could get it past Anderson. They get extra uptight at the shop with props and stuff around Halloween. Everyone wants to borrow stuff for their own parties. But I might be able to whip up something homemade.”

Dustin bragged to Mike, “It’s too bad you won’t get to see The Werehouse, Mike. It’s like a cinephile's wet dream. They have a full on werewolf! Fur and everything!”

Will asked, “Why wouldn’t he be able to go?”

“Because visitors are banned.”

“No, you are banned.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m banned’???”

“You were touching literally everything!”

“And that was enough to get me banned?”

“You gave Scottie such agita, I thought she was going to have an aneurysm. Do you not remember her following you around, asking you to put things down?”

Dustin grimaced, “I got a little caught up. It was a lot to take in.”

Mike asked, “So, does this mean I get to go?”

The idea of showing Mike his work space was elating to Will. There was that familiar feeling that Will had everytime he handed Mike his sketchbook or a new drawing. The hope of approval and praise for his art.

Will eagerly nodded, “Just don’t touch anything.”

Mike smirked at Dustin, who groaned, “That is SO not fair!”

“Sorry, Dustin.” Mike shrugged as he scooted out of the booth.

Dustin pouted, “Are you, though?”

“Well, not really that sorry.” He laughed, “I’ll be right back.” Mike excused himself to the bathroom.

Once he was out of earshot, Will looked over at Dustin.

He didn’t want to ruin the moment but he had to ask. “Is there a particular reason you got us all together?”

“Because Lucas is coming home.”

“He was home a year ago. We didn’t get together then.”

Dustin’s shoulders sank and he started fidgeting with his napkin. “You said it yourself. It’s been too long. It was an excuse for us to get together. And… well, it has been 10 years...”

“You say it like it’s some kind of anniversary.”

“I mean, it kind of is. You making it out of all that alive is something to celebrate.” Dustin said it genuinely, his heart in his words, “We watched what we thought was you, pulled from the quarry. We listened to you calling out for help. It affected all of us, Will.”

Will suddenly felt selfish. He’d seen this whole thing as some kind of elaborate pity party, but he hadn’t been the only one to suffer. He hadn’t been the only one to face that thing.

But a question still nagged at him, “Did you tell anyone… about the nightmares?”

Dustin tightened and looked guilty. “Just Mike… he….”

“Dustin you promised!”

“I know. I know. But I was worried, Will! I didn’t know what to do.”

“There is nothing for you to do. It’s something that I’m handling.”

His friend looked at him, anger tempered in his brow, “They’ve gotten worse. Don’t tell me they haven’t.”

Will’s fingers dug into his knees, his knuckles turning white. He felt humiliated. It was true. They had been getting worse. It wasn’t so bad when he had someone sleeping next to him, but on the nights he was alone? There was a 50/50 shot at waking up in a cold sweat. A few weeks ago, he had woken up with a yell in his throat and Dustin’s panicked face above him, trying to shake him awake.

‘Please… don’t tell anyone, Dustin. Please…”

But of course he did.

“Will, you don’t say when things aren’t okay. You shoulder them until something breaks. So, I made a judgement call. I didn’t want you to go through it this year alone. I wanted you to know that you have us. That we’re here.”

Will put his head in his hands, “But why did you have to tell Mike?”

“Because I didn’t know how to help. And it’s damn near impossible to get him out of Hawkins these days. But he’ll do it for you.”

His insides did a somersault. “That’s another thing, Dustin.”

“What?”

“Please, stop playing cupid with me and Mike.”

He was quiet, mumbling, “I wasn’t trying to before, at the house. I was just messing around.”

“I know but the jokes were hitting a little too close. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t want to dig up. It’s complicated between us and we need to figure that out ourselves.”

Dustin looked like a puppy getting scolded, “I gotcha. Sorry.”

Will added, “And, I swear to God if I ever hear the word ‘beefcake’ from out of your mouth, I am mailing your nudie mags to your mom.”

His eyes got wide, “You wouldn’t!”

Will rested his chin on his hands, “You really want to gamble on that?”

He held up his hands, “Fine. It is stricken from my vocabulary forever.”

Mike was making his way back over and Will tried to tuck everything back inside. Mike slid back into the booth. He pulled a small notepad from his back pocket and put it on the table.

“Okay. So what are we doing for costumes?”

And Will laughed. All of a sudden, the years melted away. He remembered how Mike would spend the remaining days of summer planning out their Halloween costumes, their trick or treat routes. The jubilant energy of new ideas spreading across his face, the excitement in his voice. It all came back. This time was precious. Their lives would undoubtedly fall back into their pattern before long. Lucas and Max would likely move back by her job in Silicon Valley. Mike would go back to Hawkins. Back to El. So, Will needed to hold onto every moment and make them last.

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keepeacer · 5 years ago

Text

Let me collect dust.

more gyjo! a chaptered slow burn this time :)

Chapter 1 - Lady Grinning soul

Words: ~5673

Rating: M (for future chapters)

Content Warnings: drinking, getting hit in the head with shoes

Summary: It’s the summer of 1977, and Gyro Zeppeli is the bassist in a band. He does the singing, too. After getting a late start to a show day, he meets someone in a bar that he has the feeling he’ll be seeing a lot of in the future.

Ao3 Link

Full chapter under the cut

The Sunset Strip has been, historically, a breeding ground for talent. Some artists rose through the ranks of the clubs like Aphrodite from the froth of the Mediterranean, and others suffered a fate akin to Icarus— melting and collapsing under the weight of their own excess. It was, and still is, a veritable neon mausoleum.

Legions of would-be rock stars and pin-ups flocked to these musical establishments like flies to rotting meat, drowning themselves nightly in swathes of glitter and narcotic cocktails made up of ingredients they couldn’t begin to pronounce. It was a fairly common occurrence to see people dragged out on stretchers from a bad high, or simply knocked out cold on various surfaces and left there until some good Samaritan hauled them over their shoulder and took them home... wherever that was.

The overarching theme was that most of these lost souls didn’t exactly have a home to return to.

Diego Brando was not one of these lost souls.

No, Diego Brando had himself a stuffy little apartment in the Hollywood Hills, with a balcony on one side facing that horrid white lettered sign, to boot. In this apartment he had installed a rather large conversation pit with red upholstery, upon which was perched a grey miniature poodle with the name tag “Silver”. Silver was currently chewing happily on a pair of cherry red Doc Martens.

The owner of these boots lay splayed across one section of the couch with one arm covering his face and the other dangling towards the floor, a pea green sheet haphazardly thrown onto his otherwise nude form. His snores were thunderous and his sleep was deep, deep enough that he didn’t register the indignant shout from across the room, or the half-eaten boot that was flung at his head until it had been picked up and he had been slapped with it again, a bit more insistently this time.

He twitched as he stirred from his sleep, a long yawn escaping his lips, which he smacked after the fact. A wince; his breath tasted absolutely rancid.

It suddenly registered in his mind that he had been attacked in his sleep. He hoisted himself up on his elbows and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. His assailant had gathered Silver into robed arms, a violent expression raging in pointed turquoise eyes.

Despite his diminutive form, Diego Brando managed to be the exact kind of disheveled morning-after-terrifying that caused Gyro Zeppeli to physically recoil, pulling his sheet over more of his person as if it would serve as some sort of protection.

Gyro did not know what he did to warrant such venom, but it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been woken up in such a way. He smiled sheepishly, hoping that he’d calm the other man down with his trademark disarming grin. “Good mornin’, sunshine.”

It did not work. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Uh… sleeping?”

Diego all but growled as he stomped into the pit, leaning over slightly and picking up the victimized boot with the hand that wasn’t cradling Silver. He advanced toward Gyro, waving the boot in the air. “Do you know what this is?”

“Yeah, that’s a bo— Huh?! ” Gyro spluttered, eyes widening at the realization that those were, in fact, his prized cherry Docs . His gaze shot from the boots to the poodle in Diego’s arms, a poodle that looked almost smug . It knew what it had done. “The fuck happened to my boots?!”

Diego threw Silver’s newest chew toy at Gyro, connecting with his chest with a dull thud and an “Ow!”. He ran his hand over the tuft of hair on Silver’s head, cooing down at his pet.

“I’m sorry this oaf tried to poison you, darling,” Diego purred, scratching under Silver’s chin.

Gyro looked at him incredulously. “How? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your boots.”

“And?”

“You left them where my sweet angel could have choked on them.”

Gyro scoffed in utter disbelief. He had half a mind to jump up and start yelling, but he remembered his physical state and decided that, what with the wide-open windows, Diego’s neighbors didn’t deserve that kind of performance this early in the morning. He instead contented himself with sitting upright completely and angrily gripping his boot. His poor, poor boot.

“Your angel?!” Gyro scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger at the doe-eyed Silver. “That little rat that chewed the absolute fuck out of my fucking boots? That’s real goddamn leather!”

This was met with an eye-roll. “Oh, please. They cost you what, 20 dollars at most?”

“20 dollars at most,” he mocked, putting on the most obnoxiously fake English accent he could muster. Gyro gestured around angrily to the opulent apartment he’d regrettably become a guest in for the night. “ Just 20 dollars . You know, you were so much nicer last night. Weren’t beating me with my own damn things, for one.”

“You endangered the life of my pet, you brute!”

“You owe me new boots.”

“I don’t owe you a bloody thing!”

Gyro threw his hands up into the air and dragged them down over his face in exasperation. He’d made several unwise decisions in his life and going home with a psychotic Englishman was proving to have been one of the worst. He drummed his fingers on his cheeks, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

The previous night had been spent on the Strip, because where else would it have been?

Club Asphodel was much like its namesake, in that its patrons tended to wander aimlessly around the venue indefinitely on any given night; at least, until something interesting pushed its way through the peeling velvet-lined doors. That night’s attraction had been a locally established outfit by the name of The Clergy; its members donned themselves in dark, cult-like attire and played gloomy tunes that dealt with occultism and blasphemy. As for what the actual genre was, it was up in the air, but the members described it as “an unholy cross between blues and plainchants”.

Gyro had taken his usual spot by the bar, leaning against the counter and tucking into a bottle of Hamm’s. The standard procedure for a night out.

Gyro was a very big fan of people-watching. Not for any sort of creepy purposes, but moreso because he simply got a kick out of observing people as they went about their lives. He liked seeing the desperate teenagers plead with the bouncer for passage into the club; he was intrigued by sudden breakups on the dancefloor when one lover noticed the other’s gaze lingering too long on someone else. Got a good laugh out of overzealous drunkards that had their beers slapped into their faces by the unlucky recipient of their harassment. If someone he saw interested him, he’d go over and talk to them. It was a simple enough game that had made him plenty of friends in the clubbing scene, as well as the inevitable enemy or two. Or three. He’d long lost count.

The Clergy had begun playing, and they were stellar, as usual. It was a wonder that they hadn’t been signed yet, though there were whispers in the crowd that night that scouts from Elektra were prowling the Strip, and that a couple could very well be in Asphodel.

Gyro loved The Clergy— he really did. It’s just that he found it incredibly hard to focus on their music while sticking his tongue down a pretty blond’s throat. All it had taken was a hand down his pants and the feeling of hot breath against his neck and he’d made his plans for the night. One speedy trip in a yellow Volkswagen Beetle and he’d found himself pushed into a conversation pit, only to awaken with that same pretty blond from the night before beating him over the head with the docs he’d slaved away an entire summer over a deep fryer for. Only now, they’d been chewed up by his shitheaded dog.

His boots. His fucking boots. Why did it have to be his boots?!

Diego had set down Silver and was now ambling around the pit and picking up Gyro’s clothing, throwing them at him as he went. Gyro held up his hands to shield himself, but to no avail; he was hit square in the face with his own underwear, as God would have it.

“Hey, c’mon, I can pick up my own clothes,” Gyro whined, grabbing his underwear off of his face and setting it down next to him. “You don’t h—”

“I want you out.” Diego was fuming, eyes alight with a fury that Gyro considered wholly unsuited for the situation. And especially in his eyes. If anything, he should be the angry one; that’s not to say that he wasn’t angry, but it was more of a ‘now I have to buy new fucking boots’ than an ‘I will unleash the gates of hell upon thee’ type of rage.

“I still want new—”

“Get dressed and piss off before I call building security on you.”

And that was how Gyro found himself wearing his shirt on backwards and missing his socks on the corner of Hollywood and Highland, waving down a cab. Diego had hardly given him enough time to dress himself before practically shoving him down the staircase, throwing a bag of coins after him (which he’d caught, thanks.)

He had intended on walking the entire way home before he’d noticed the time on a clock attached to a lamppost. It then dawned on him that it was in fact, Saturday, and he’d spent the better part of his morning ambling around the Hollywood Hills in an attempt to make his way out of the labyrinth of ostentatious housing and unnaturally green lawns.

Upon seeing the time he’d gone into panic mode—he had to get back to his apartment and he’d have to do it in record time. It was currently 11 AM, and he had to be somewhere by 11:30 AM.

But he’d have to get his bass first.

It wouldn’t have been so awful to miss practice for a day, if it weren’t for the fact that him and his motley crew of idiots had somehow managed to book themselves a gig. And of course, it was slated for that very night.

A two-toned green and cream Checker Taxicab pulled up next to him and unlocked the doors, Gyro smiling gratefully as he slid into the back seat. “Corner of Vine and Romaine, please.”

The driver grunted in acknowledgement, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Newports. Fun guy. He held it towards Gyro, who muttered a small thanks and took a couple into his hands. Can save these for later , he thought as he deposited them into the pocket of his jacket. The driver then held out a lighter, shrugging when Gyro declined. He smacked the button on top of the taxi meter and shifted the gears out of park, the axles of the vehicle squeaking dangerously as it sped off down the street.

Anxiety and hunger bubbled in his stomach as he sunk into the leather seat, lazily observing the morning bustle of the Hollywood streets through the dusty window. His mouth watered at the sight of the first Burger King they drove past; it registered in Gyro’s mind that the last thing he’d ingested since the previous afternoon was alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol. Alcohol that could do to be sponged up with a nice, gooey Yumbo.

He felt surprisingly put together for how much beer he’d consumed. It was possible that he’d simply developed an iron stomach and was thus immune to the adverse effects of intoxication. Maybe getting smacked with a saliva-covered boot was the ultimate hangover cure.

Gyro glanced at the clock installed in the car; 11:08 AM. He then looked to the street signs they were passing up; they were on Sunset, just about to pass Highland. Almost. He chewed on his lip anxiously; his bandmates wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he ended up being late on such a big day. Any other day, they wouldn’t have cared, but gig days were of the utmost importance.

The next few minutes stuck in morning traffic were absolutely agonizing, but ultimately they prevailed, with the driver depositing Gyro on Romaine at approximately 11:13 AM. Gyro gave a hurried thank you and tossed the man a couple dollars before hoofing it in the direction of his apartment.

He ignored the greetings of his neighbors as he ascended the stairs, fishing out his spare key from under the doormat. Gyro practically slammed the door open after rapidly turning the key in the lock, making a beeline towards the stand where he kept his bass. He stopped in front of it, smiling fondly as he knelt before the case.

The case itself was a simple, faux-leather thing, beaten and worn around the edges. A few stickers had been slapped onto the surface; some of bands that he hadn’t even heard of and others of silly teddy bear drawings. Just for peace of mind, he unhitched the clasps holding it closed and slowly opened the case, smile widening to a grin as he took in its contents.

His baby was a monochrome Gibson EB-3 that he’d affectionately dubbed Valkyrie. The neck was a sweet-smelling black mahogany that contrasted with the white walnut body. The pickups and pickguard were black as well, though in another life they’d been a deep, wine-red color. While he’d slaved away over a grill for his Docs—as well as much of the rest of his clothing—Gyro actually won Valkyrie through a fistfight with the bassist of another local band, Wekapipo from Ataxia. Bastard got what he deserved.

Satisfied, Gyro closed the case and secured the latches, picking it up as he stood. He gave his apartment a quick once-over before shrugging and heading out the door, grabbing his keys before locking the door.

He gave an apologetic wave to his previously rebuffed neighbor as he headed down the stairs again, half-jogging on his way to his car. That was nothing special; it was simply a ’65 Mustang with chipped baby blue paint and fucked suspension that he couldn’t afford to fix yet. Sometimes the starter relay would straight up fail, and he’d have to play mechanic on the side of the road until he fixed it himself by some stroke of dumb luck. Either that, or until another driver took pity on him and gave him a hand.

Today was one of the Mustang’s good days, and so it started without a hitch. Didn’t even make a loud churning noise when he sped up on the 101 in an effort to make it to his bandmate’s place in time. In fact, it was so well-behaved that it didn’t start sputtering and dying until it pulled in front of the building, whining obnoxiously before Gyro shut the engine off.

Exhaling, he exited the car and grabbed his bass, nervously stepping through the gate to the house. He was definitely late, and he was definitely going to hear about it. Gyro was two seconds from knocking on the door before it swung open, a silently seething Sandman on the other side of the screen door.

“You’re late,” Sandman said simply, opening the screen and allowing Gyro to waddle in. Predictable .

Gyro smiled sheepishly, setting his case down next to the rest of the band’s equipment. He held his hands up innocently, trying not to falter under the intense gaze of the man before him. “I’m sorry! I got, uh, caught up…”

“Heads up!”

There was barely any time to react as a small styrofoam clamshell went flying at Gyro’s head. He managed to catch it between open palms, the container squeaking slightly as it bent inwards. Poco grinned from the doorway, a half-eaten cheeseburger in hand. “Glad you finally made it.”

He stuck his tongue out, opening the clamshell to reveal a slightly jostled Big Mac. His stomach gurgled in anticipation, though it proved to be in vain. Gyro had only taken a single bite before recoiling, making a face. “It’s cold.”

“Get here on time, then,” Sandman deadpanned, taking a long, obnoxiously loud slurp out of his cup of soda. Gyro scowled and took a seat on the couch.

“Not my fault you two live all the way in goddamn Echo Park.”

“It isn’t our fault you live in Hollywood.”

“Fuck you. Rent’s cheap on my street.”

“Sure. You owe me 65 cents for that, by the way.” Sandman pointed at his burger.

Poco held up a hand to silence the two, chewing thoughtfully on his cheeseburger before swallowing. “Who was it this time, Gyro?”

“Huh?” Gyro was mid-chew himself, trying his best to stomach this achingly cold pile of mushy bread and meat that they dared call a Big Mac.

Poco walked over and poked Gyro on the neck. His hands went up to cover his exposed skin, flushing in embarrassment at the knowledge of what decorated that particular stretch. He shot Poco a look, which dealt absolutely zero damage to the knowing grin plastered on his bandmate’s face.

“What was her name?”

“ His ,” Gyro grumbled, “name was Diego. Prissy rich ‘Hills type. Bottle blond. Nice ass.”

Gyro listed all of the above information willingly because Poco (and more subtly, Sandman) would hound him for it endlessly if he didn’t. The two were very preoccupied with who he slept with; they claimed it was because they were looking out for him, but he personally thought it was because they were both perverts.

It was Sandman who spoke first.

“…Diego? Diego who?”

“Uh… Brando. Why?”

Poco spluttered. “Did you just say Diego Brando?”

“…Yeah? What, you know ‘im?”

Poco and Sandman both stared at him like he was stupid. He even felt offended for a split second. Did he do something wrong? Was Diego Brando Poco’s long lost brother, or even Sandman’s? He spoke up again when neither of them answered his question. “Guys?”

Poco shook his head and walked away from Gyro, exiting the room. Gyro turned to face Sandman, who rolled his eyes and stood up. He, too, walked away and exited the room, but returned shortly after with a stack of what appeared to be tens of Star magazines. These were dropped unceremoniously at his feet, with Sandman sitting next to Gyro and scooping up the one at the top of the pile.

“Do you see this?” Sandman pointed to the cover of the magazine, which featured none other than… Diego. He was sitting on the floor against a rocking horse in classical jockey apparel, tongue sticking out of plump lips between two fingers. A bit risqué. The issue was relatively recent, too; April 1977.

Gyro blinked. He didn’t know Diego was famous. “Um, yeah. ‘BRITISH ROCK SENSATION TELLS ALL’…? He a singer?”

The corner of Sandman’s mouth twitched. “Do all Italian expats live under a rock?”

“What? I just know the metal and punk shit from there. Not any of that obscure crap.”

“It’s not obscure. Or ‘crap’. Be respectful.”

“Whatever…,” Gyro muttered, scanning over the other captions on the cover. “’What really happened to Joe Kid?’ Who? What?”

“Oh, that is unforgivable !” Poco yelled from the other room. Sandman shot Gyro a disapproving look, grabbing the magazine out of his hands and setting it back on the pile.

“You’re really so ignorant.”

“What the fuck? Why am I supposed to know all these people?! They’re obviously only big in uh... not-Italy.”

“Whatever. Get your stuff set up so we can practice. Hopefully you won’t be late to your own show, too.”

Sandman didn’t seem to notice Gyro flipping him off as he moved himself over to his drumkit. He twirled a stick around and tapped a cymbal, the crash echoing throughout the house. “Poco!”

There was a shuffling noise from the other room before Poco’s head emerged in the doorway. “On it!”

Gyro set down his burger, still muttering under his breath as he set up his bass and cab. He didn’t know why his bandmates expected him to know about everything that crawled out of the British Isles. Sure, Diego was very clearly loaded, but he figured that big time rockstars had better things to do than peruse seedy dive bars in the dark corners of Sunset. Like, go to stuffy wine tastings, or whatever.

It wasn’t like Gyro was totally ignorant of popular culture as a whole. It was just that growing up, his parents didn’t allow him to do anything fun. If it didn’t relate to preparing for medical school, he wasn’t permitted to participate. That included listening to fun music, watching television, hell, even playing outside with the local kids. As a result, Gyro didn’t get a taste of any type of music aside from jazz until he was late in his teens, and that was only for what was prevalent in Italy. He knew big names like AC/DC, The Beatles, Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin, sure; but anything that hadn’t made a considerable dent in the Italian musical market, he was unfamiliar with prior to arriving in Los Angeles.

It was a sensitive spot for him, but he knew enough local bands to earn him at least a little bit of respect in the LA scene. At least, as much respect as could possibly be afforded to a newcomer, and a foreigner, at that. People early on hadn’t really taken him very seriously, so it was by chance that Gyro bumped into Poco and Sandman, who’d been looking for a bass player to jam with. They’d all hit it off, and Vertigo had been formed practically overnight.

Their band was one of misfits, as was typical of any other non-glam band that popped up in the vicinity of the strip. They shared more traits with the burgeoning punk scene than anything else, yet they were finding that the sound shared by their peers just wasn’t… enough. Didn’t have the right crunch, wasn’t as intense, as demanding. Their music ached for something more.

He thumbed at the strings of his bass in thought. They needed more… gravel.

“Alright,” Poco chirped, plugging the amp chord into his guitar. “I think we oughtta, uh… practice the shit on the setlist.”

“What setlist? We agreed on a setlist ?”

“Christ,” Sandman sighed.

Poco pointed at a piece of paper taped to the floor before Gyro. He squinted below him. Sure enough, 8 of their songs were scribbled onto it in black marker. He winced at a few of the choices; Poco seemed to have gone out of his way to pick what’d make their fingers bleed the most. Which was pretty hardcore, so he couldn’t complain… much. Still, he’d have liked to have had some sort of say, since he’d be the one singing them. Or shouting, more like. More heavy that way.

Practice went as it normally did, which was to say that it was incredibly flawed, but charmingly so. Sandman’s snare only fell off of its stand twice, and the amp managed to not cut out at all. Hopefully, it’d be about the same for their set later that night. Gyro had mastered the technique of yelling without fucking his throat up too bad, so sucking on a lozenge would be more than enough in the hours between practice and the actual show.

It was funny, the anxiousness that festered within him. It wasn’t as if he’d never played at Señor Rosado’s. He’d had a slew of awful shows there, actually, but the audience (and the band) was often too drunk to really care; fast and loud music didn’t need to be good when combined with alcohol. The chaos of the pit was fun to watch from the stage, and it was even more fun when he got to set his bass down and dive into it at the conclusion of the show.

After lingering at Poco and Sandman’s house for a while longer after practice, he packed his stuff together and headed home for a quick shower. He still smelled like sweat and Hamm’s. And Diego, he thought with a wrinkle of his nose.

He didn’t spend too long in the shower and spent even less time on his outfit, throwing on a raggedy pair of jeans and an equally ratty old Stones shirt. He frowned at his chewed-up boots but decided to put them on in favor of his Chucks, deciding they added character. Saliva coated character.

The car ride to Señor Rosado’s wasn’t anything of note, and neither was the club itself from the outside. The inside? Also unremarkable.

The real appealing part of Rosado’s was not the interior decorations, nor was it the obnoxiously large neon sign with a racially insensitive vaquero displayed above the front entrance. It most definitely was not the restrooms, which, even when ‘clean’, had an odor akin to rotting pig shit on a sweltering July afternoon.

No, the thing that drew the local miscreants and rock n’ roll weirdoes to Rosado’s was something known as ‘The Carnage’. The Carnage was the utter chaos that drove the underground scene in Los Angeles. It was the way of being, the ideology, the look. It was a lot of things, and one way it could visualized was by a chick in a mullet snuffing out her cigarette on a bloodied bonehead’s chrome dome amidst a particularly disastrous barfight. The Carnage manifested only in certain spaces, and Señor Rosado’s was one of them… much to the chagrin of its owners.

One of whom was approaching Gyro as he lugged his bass cab towards the stage to set up.

The incredibly skeevy co-owner, Devo, sneered as he took in Gyro’s appearance, lighting a cigarette. “Peavey? Really, Zeppeli?”

“Good enough for Van Halen then it’s good enough for me.”

“Who?”

Now it was Gyro’s turn to scoff. He ignored Devo as he set down the cab, fumbling with the wires behind the rig. It was in that moment that he was endlessly grateful for gaff tape.

He waved in greeting to his bandmates, smirking when they realized that he’d actually arrived before they did. For once. Gyro looked to Sandman for any sort of emotion on his face and, of course, was given nothing but a resentful glare. But what was Sandman if not a little venomous?

It didn’t take too long for them to get completely set up. Their opener hadn’t even arrived yet; why would they? The bar wouldn’t permit its patrons to enter for another couple of hours.

Poco and Gyro took to entertaining themselves by playing darts in the green room, with Sandman acting as a half-hearted referee as he buried his nose in a thick textbook. Gyro understood partially; though he himself was a med-school dropout, he was no stranger to taking any possible moment to cram knowledge into his noggin in preparation for tests. He’d understand completely if it weren’t for the fact that Sandman didn’t go to college.

Eventually Gyro had grown bored of absolutely demolishing Poco in every aspect of the game, so he took to laying down on the hole-infested couch that Devo had deigned to plant in the room. He closed his eyes for what he thought was a little bit before peeking one open, trying to read out what the dusty clock on the opposite wall read. If it was right, it meant that the bar had already opened its doors for the evening.

He figured it was as good a time as any to get a good soundcheck in. For the sake of the openers; testing acoustics and all that jazz. Gyro honestly had no clue who the people playing before them even were. Not that he hadn’t heard of them... it was just that Devo literally didn’t tell them. Likely to be some other local shitshow that was even more obscure than Vertigo. He supposed it didn’t matter, so long as they were loud.

Gyro pushed a dozing Poco off of his legs and stood up, grabbing his bass and mumbling to Sandman that he’d be back. He received a disinterested hum in response.

A few patrons milled about the club already, some sitting on the chairs provided closer to the bar. Gyro couldn’t say that he recognized many, if any of them, but they were all probably locals. He sincerely doubted anyone from like, Montana had flown in just to see his little band of talking mice.

He found that the openers had already set up their own equipment, but were currently absent from the stage. There’d probably be time to actually meet them sometime between sets. He picked up a stray cord from the floor and plugged it into Valkyrie, giving a test strum before going back to fiddle with the cab knobs.

Once he was satisfied he took his place by the front mic, adjusting it for his height. The current setting was a bit short, and it wasn’t really going to cut it for a lanky guy like him.

“Blegh!” he gurgled into the microphone, pleased to hear his voice echo through the room. A few giggles came from customers in the non-visible vicinity. With the way the lights glared in the direction of the stage, and the general dimness of Rosado’s itself, it was hard to really see anyone.

He experimentally strummed on his bass, a few isolated chords before they melded together in his standard soundcheck song. Gyro was aware that he was likely totally butchering the genius of Geezer Butler, but he bassically had it down.

Gyro leaned into the mic, laughing softly as a random man in the back of the bar whooped loudly.

“Some people say, that my love can’t be true…”

He grinned at the girl that sat on the stage near him a few more lines in, adding a wheezy rasp to his voice as he progressed. It had devolved into a straight shriek as he got to the “My name is Lucifer” line, cackling maniacally as he suddenly ended off the song there. The girl stayed even after he went back into the green room to drop off his bass and reemerged; perhaps she was expecting something out of him. She wouldn’t be getting it.

Gyro decided that he was absolutely parched, and that the swill Devo left a cooler of in the room wouldn’t cut it. He hopped off of the stage and into the pit, swaggering over to the bar.

And that was when he saw him.

Peeking out from under a red fiddler cap were a pair of azure eyes, eyes that stared him down as their owner took a sip from some syrupy green cocktail. They were the type that demanded the completely undivided attention of those around him. His face, framed by feathers of blond, was set in a pout, though it didn’t seem like a particularly affected one. It was the kind that rested.

He was dressed a bit stuffily for the location, though his outfit seemed worn around the edges. A white cotton button-up shirt was accented by a soft yellow tie that had seen better days, his crimson high-waisted pants hugging his hips a bit more snugly than was probably standard.

The barstool next to him was invitingly open. Gyro took it.

“You the one that was singing just now?”

His voice was quiet, tinged with a subtle splash of sadness and what sounded like those ‘Southern country’ accents Gyro heard on TV now and then.

Gyro nodded, a slight grimace on his features. “Yup. How bad is it, doc?”

The young man gave a huff through his nose that Gyro thought was supposed to be laughter, though his lips did not show any sign of curling upwards. In the dim bar light, he idly registered a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Not bad’t all. Pretty damn good, actually.”

“Hey, thanks. Means a lot.”

“No problem. You the one from uh...Vertigo, right?”

Gyro’s eyes lit up. Being recognized was a relatively new thing, and it somehow felt even better coming from this person. “Yeah! Yeah, I am. Bassist and lead shrieker.”

There was a hum from his conversation partner, who took another sip of his cocktail. Gyro didn’t know what exactly was in it, but judging from the smell it was some pretty strong stuff. He flagged down the bartender and ordered a whiskey on the rocks, catching it as it slid across the table towards him.

“We’ve been trying to sound heavier lately,” Gyro found himself blurting out, earning a cocked eyebrow from the fellow across from him. “I dunno if I gotta start yelling about blood and guts, or play faster, or what, but—ah, fuck. Sorry, didn’t mean to start rambling at you.”

“You try downtuning? Pedals?” The young man didn’t seem bothered by Gyro’s verbal diarrhea at all, swirling around the cherry in his cocktail.

“Hm? No, I—”

“Try out E. No drop tuning. As for pedals, Boss’s Overdrive crap might work for what you’re talkin’ about.”

The way he delivered this information, he’d seemed almost bored, but there was a notable glint in his eye that wasn’t there before.

“I dunno why I didn’t think of that,” Gyro mused, taking a swig of his whiskey. He looked behind himself to the stage, where he noticed Poco trying to wave him over.

Gyro frowned. Figures, when he finally finds someone that was actually interesting to talk to he’d be summoned by his bandmates. They’d barely gotten any real words in; Gyro didn’t even get the chance to ask him his name yet. He groaned and finished off his whiskey, slamming it down onto the counter and earning a glare from the bartender.

Gyro swiveled around to face him again. “Hey, I got— oh?”

The boy in the red hat was gone.

#gyjo #gyrojo #johnny joestar #gyro zeppeli #jjba #steel ball run #jojo's bizarre adventure #fanfiction #my writing

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haberdashing · 6 years ago

Text

Three’s A Crowd

Into the Spider-Verse fic. Noir’s relationship with Ham becomes complicated when he grows attached to a man from his own dimension.

Inspired by this text post.

on AO3

Spider-Noir was surrounded by a group of Nazis who seemed intent on cornering him in a dimly-lit alleyway. It was a battle of one against several, and every time he punched out the lights of one Nazi, another one would rise up and take a swing at him.

A pretty typical evening for him, really.

A few blows landed with more force than he would have liked, but he could handle it. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. He’d probably have half the details of the fight forgotten by the next morning.

What Noir hadn’t expected, however, was for a nice-looking man in a suit to see what was going on and join the fray rather than walk on by and pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

As the stranger reached into his pocket and slipped on a pair of brass knuckles, Noir wasn’t entirely sure which side the other man would be on. He hadn’t noticed his Spider-Sense increase upon the man’s appearance, but given that it was nearly overwhelming him as it was, that didn’t mean much. Noir watched the stranger carefully, ready to take him on if need be-

And watched as the stranger delivered a solid left hook into the jaw of one of the Nazis.

Noir nodded slightly in approval, and without sharing a word, the two men began to work together to tackle the threat in front of them.

Noir could have handled the fight himself, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t deny that it was nice to have a bit of help all the same. It meant a few less hits landing on him, a few less aches and pains he’d have to contend with throughout the night.

As the fight drew to a close, with all of the Nazis that had attacked Noir left unconscious, webbed into immobilization, or both, Noir turned towards the stranger that had fought alongside him.

The man extended a hand in his direction. “I’m John.”

Some small part of Noir wanted to reciprocate the gesture, to tell John his own first name, but the rest of him knew better than to share such important information with someone who was practically a stranger. Information like that always came with a cost, and even if this John really did mean well, it would be better for everyone involved if he knew as little as possible about Noir’s true identity, just in case.

“Spider-Man.” Noir took John’s hand. His grip was firm, but not overly so; his hand was warm, but not sweaty. The man knew how to give a good handshake.

John looked into Noir’s eyes- or, rather, the eyes of his suit- as he deadpanned, “Never would have guessed.”

Noir didn’t laugh, but the tips of his mouth did curl ever so slightly upward.

After they were reunited, after they had obtained a means of inter-dimensional travel that didn’t come with the risk of their cells violently glitching and dying in the process, the other spider-people had started to refer to their group as the “Spider-Family”, or “Spider-Fam” for short.

Noir wasn’t so sure he bought into that idea.

Okay, so Miles, Gwen, and Peni would be the kids of this supposed family, which made some sense to him, even as the three protested that they were mature and capable and didn’t need to be babied by the older members of their group. And Noir supposed that he could see Peter B. as the brother he’d never had, in a way.

But Noir’s feelings about Spider-Ham weren’t familial in the slightest.

They were... different.

The two had never outright talked about it, had never put a word to this strange attraction between them, but when it came time to rest the two always ended up side by side, body pressed into body, the feeling warm and soothing and right.

John had a knack for showing up when Noir was in the middle of a tough fight. If he hadn’t known better, Noir could have sworn that the man had a Spider-Sense of his own.

The second and third time they bumped into one another, they shared a table at a local coffee shop afterwards.

The fourth time the two met, they rented a hotel room nearby, though they both returned home well before dawn.

But it wasn’t until the fifth time that Noir and John came face-to-face, after Noir invited John up to his apartment, that the two really got a chance to talk.

Noir let loose a few things. That his name was Peter (though John still preferred to call him “Spidey”). That when he wasn’t Spider-Man, he was a private eye. That he was lonely. That last one almost felt like a lie, after he had gotten to know the other spider-people better, gotten to know Ham better, but loneliness had been ground into his soul for a long time now, and a handful of meetings with kindred spirits from other dimensions wasn’t enough to change that.

John let loose a few things, too. That he was a Chicago native, having moved to New York City only a few months prior to their first meeting. That he’d never gotten this close to another man before. That he was a radio host.

Noir listened to John’s radio show whenever he had the chance, in between hunting down bad guys both as a private eye and as Spider-Man. The man was talented, that much was for sure. Despite everything, John’s show always managed to make Noir laugh.

But then, that was what had first attracted Noir to Ham as well- that the pig could make him laugh.

He had gone so long without laughing, before.

“Noir? Hey, Noir!”

Noir snapped to attention. They were in Gwen’s dimension, now, in the middle of a movie marathon- horror films, mostly, as Halloween was quickly approaching.

(Halloween wasn’t a holiday that Noir particularly cared for; it was hard enough tracking down bad guys when they were the only ones wearing masks.)

Noir should have been enjoying himself, should have been focusing on the movies and on the other spider-people and on how Ham was squeezed in between himself and the wall, but his mind kept drifting elsewhere. And now, apparently, Ham at least had noticed.

“What is it?” Noir asked.

“What pizza toppings do you want?”

Oh, that was all. Somehow that wasn’t what Noir had been expecting. “I’ll eat whatever everyone else wants. I’m not picky.”

Noir almost went on to mention why he wasn’t picky, how he had learned too well how it felt when money was tight and having food on the table might as well have been a minor miracle, how to him food was just fuel and he would eat anything put in front of him just the same, grateful to have any food at all- but they didn’t need to hear all that. He didn’t need their pity.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Ham rested one arm across Noir’s shoulders. “You’ve been acting kind of weird today, Noir.”

“Weirder than normal, you mean?” Noir didn’t have to turn around to tell that the voice was that of Gwen, her voice muffled by the potato chips she was shoveling into her mouth. Neither Noir nor Ham deigned to dignify her comment with a response.

“Penny for your thoughts, mister tall dark and handsome?”

Noir’s face grew hot as Ham finished his sentence. That was about as blatant as Ham’s flirting ever got, at least when the others were around.

And then Noir remembered what, exactly, he had been so distracted by in the first place... or rather, who had been so distracting.

Ham deserved to know. It wasn’t fair for him to be carrying on with another man behind Ham’s back, Noir knew that. But Noir also didn’t want to get into it while everyone else was around, didn’t want to derail an evening’s entertainment with discussion of his love life.

Noir made a decision, one that he knew he might live to regret.

“...nothing. It’s nothing.”

Noir and John were side by side in Noir’s bed. Noir was getting tired, though he’d never admit it. It had been a long day, and a long evening as well.

“Pity what the world’s coming to these days.” Noir said.

John nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m glad somebody does, at least. Just look at what’s happening in Germany- look here in America, even, Nazis taking to the streets-”

“At least we’re doing what we can to shut them down here.” John replied. As Noir murmured his agreement, John continued, “It is scary, though. And it’s personal for me- I mean, my wife is Jewish, and she’s wonderful, I-”

“Your... wife is Jewish.” Noir repeated.

It took a moment for John to realize what exactly he had just said, for his eyes to grow dark with emotions Noir couldn’t quite place. “Oh, that sounds bad, doesn’t it...”

“Your wife is Jewish.” Noir stood up and started to throw his clothes back on, his mind racing. He was disappointed in John, sure, but more than that, he was disappointed in himself. He was a private eye, for God’s sake, he made his living off of noticing details that others would overlook, and yet he hadn’t realized that he’d been sleeping with a married man.

“Spidey- Peter, it��s not what it sounds like, I can explain-”

“I think you should go, John.”

John stood up, but made no motion to put his clothes back on or to head towards Noir’s apartment door. Instead, he took a deep breath, then let it out before saying, “Annie and I have an... understanding.”

Noir’s eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”

“Before we got married, we each chose one celebrity that we could sleep with if we got the chance, regardless of our marital vows. She chose Gary Cooper. I chose Spider-Man.”

“You’re joking.”

John didn’t waver even slightly. “No. For once in my life, I swear, I am not joking. Scout’s honor.” John made a gesture crossing his heart before adding, “Granted, I don’t think either of us were expecting to actually take advantage of it...”

“Have you told her? About... about us?”

“I have, yes.”

“What did she say?”

“That I owe her a ticket to Hollywood.”

Noir couldn’t help but laugh, despite the circumstances. It was ridiculous, really. It was just ridiculous enough to be true. “I’ll help pay for that ticket.”

“I’ll let Annie know you said that. She’ll probably get a kick out of it.”

Silence loomed in the room as Noir picked his next words carefully.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely forthright with you either, John. There’s somebody else in my life, too.”

John’s eyes widened. “Really? Because your apartment screams bachelor to me...”

Noir wasn’t sure whether to take John’s comment as an insult, or an attempted joke, or a mere observation. Nevertheless, he pressed forward with his speech. “Well, he doesn’t live here. He doesn’t even live in this dimension, actually. His name is Peter, too, and he... he’s a pig. A talking cartoon pig. With spider powers like mine. Because he used to be a spider.”

John laughed. Noir hadn’t had the opportunity to hear John laugh much. It was a beautiful sound. “Now, Spidey, I’ve never heard you joke like that before-”

“I’m being deadly serious right now.”

John’s laughter died as abruptly as it began, replaced with a look of pronounced befuddlement.

“It’s a bit of a long story...”

The next time their group of spider-people got together, as they sat together on a rooftop in Peter B.’s dimension, Noir pulled Ham aside and cleared his throat before speaking.

“We need to talk.”

“Well, I’m always glad to talk to y-”

“Let me clarify. We need to talk, alone. I don’t want the others to hear.”

“Got it.”

The two swung over to another building before facing one another.

“There’s somebody else.” Noir’s voice was low, almost a whisper, partly because he didn’t want the sound to carry over to where the others were sitting, partly because he felt like saying it too loudly would make it seem that much more real.

Ham didn’t share the same mindset; his response was as loud as his usual speech, or perhaps even slightly louder. “Another spider? Well, I-”

“No, not another spider. Just a-” Noir faltered for a moment, and when he resumed talking, he couldn’t look Ham in the eye. “-a man. A nice man, who I’ve grown... close to, over the past few weeks.”

“From your dimension?” Ham asked.

Noir looked back at Ham and blinked a few times before answering. He had anticipated a number of possible questions from Ham, but that hadn’t been one of them. “Yes, from my dimension.”

“See? I knew your world couldn’t all be as doom and gloom as you made it out to be.”

“Is that a joke?" Noir’s voice grew louder with every word. Part of him knew that if he spoke too loudly, the others would hear; part of him didn’t really care at this point. “Is this all some big joke to you?”

“No!” Ham protested. “But- you’re not- is this your way of telling me we’re through?”

Noir held one hand against his temple. “Well, I- I care about you, but I care about him, too, and if I have to pick one of you I don’t-”

“You don’t have to pick.”

Noir let his hand fall to his side as he looked at Ham. “What?”

“You heard me. You don’t have to pick. Just because you care about one person doesn’t mean you can’t care about someone else. That’s not how it works.”

“So you’re- you’re fine with me being with... someone else?”

“Sure.” Ham paused for a moment before adding, “As long as he’s fine with it, too.”

“He- he is. We had a talk about it.”

“Man, would I have loved to be a fly on that wall.” Ham muttered just quietly enough that Noir wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to have heard it. In a normal voice, Ham added, “So, tell me about this new beau of yours.”

“His... his name is John, and he’s a radio host...”

John wasn’t usually in Noir’s apartment in the middle of the day, but then, that wasn’t going to be the most unusual thing about this particular meeting of theirs.

“When is he going to get here?” John asked.

“Any second now.” Noir replied.

Indeed, it was only a matter of seconds before Spider-Ham materialized out of thin air at Noir’s side.

Before Ham and John could utter a word to one another, Noir introduced the two. “Peter, meet John. John, meet Peter.”

The two extended their hands at roughly the same time, though John had to crouch down to complete their handshake.

“Pleasure to meet ya.” Ham said.

“Likewise.” John replied. A moment later, he added, “Now what is all of-” John pointed in the general vicinity of Ham. “-that?”

“Color. It’s color.” Ham clarified. “Specifically red-” Ham pointed at his mask- “And blue.” Ham pointed at his legs. “I know, you’re not used to the stuff.”

“You can say that again.”

As the two talked, Noir tried and failed to suppress a laugh.

Both Ham and John looked over at Noir.

“What is it?”

“It’s not that funny, is it?”

“No...” Noir replied. “It’s- the same voice. You two have the same voice.”

“What are you talking ab-”

“No, that can’t be-”

“Oh my God we have the same voice.”

Noir wondered if the voice similarity was part of some greater connection between the two. He tried to remember if any of the Peter Parkers- which Ham wasn’t, as he was Peter Porker, and from what Ham had explained regarding his origin story, he hadn’t even started out with that surname- had shared a voice. His voice wasn’t the same as Peter B.’s, that much Noir knew, but did it match that of the Peter from Miles’ world, the one who had died trying to stop what had both endangered the rest of them and brought them all together? Was Spider-Woman Gwen Stacy’s voice the same as that of the Gwen Stacy that Peter B. had alluded to before, but never seemed to want to talk about?

Noir didn’t know the answers to these questions off-hand, but nevertheless, it felt like two pieces that he had struggled to fit together in his mind for so long were finally fitting into place.

And, perhaps more importantly, both Ham and John had joined in Noir’s laughter, and the two were sharing jokes now, and...

And it had all worked out, somehow.

He had two sources of laughter in his life now, and it seemed that both of them were here to stay.

Perhaps he was ready to start making up for lost time.

#into the spiderverse #into the spider-verse #spider-man #spider-man: into the spider-verse #spider-noir #spider-ham #personal #my writing #hamnoir #ham/noir #i don't even fucking know okay

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myloveforhergoeson · 1 year ago

Text

That's All She Wrote - Chapter 9

Chapter 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8

Find me on wattpad and ao3

Show: Big Time Rush

Pairing: James Diamond x Original Female Character

Chapter 9: Livin' On A Prayer (1.9) ~ 13k

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for one whole month,” Kendall sighed, lounging poolside with his bandmates and assistant.

Beside him, Carlos nodded, “One glorious, fun-filled month.”

“One glorious, fun-filled, sun-filled month,” Chimed in James.

Fun-filled for who, exactly? Roxy asked herself as the boys recounted their antics, all of which she had to clean up. From their tricycle race across the hotel to their bathtub-though-the-lobby prank to the hockey bear mascot attack prank - all from just that morning.

But it hadn't been all that bad for her, she concluded, as she thought about her own personal growth over the course of the month. She had lent some of her songwriting talents to the band, and with the help of Gustavo, their demos were coming along quite nicely.

“The demos!” She yelled, startling herself and the boys around her as she came to a shocking realization.

The month they had spent in Hollywood was easily the best month of her life so far, but whether or not they got to stay was all dependent on company CEO, Arthur Griffin. They certainly were not the only band trying to break the big time, not even the only band currently signed under Rocque Records. If their demos weren’t picked, Gustavo would send them packing all the way back to their little podunk town in Minnesota. Something that Roxy planned to avoid at all costs.

As if her dread wasn’t already growing larger in the pit of her stomach, Kelly strode up to the teens from the lobby - 5 tickets poking out from behind her record book.

“Hey, guys!” Her cheery tone betrayed the awful information she was about to deliver to the boys. “I just stopped by to drop off your tickets.”

“Oh!” Exclaimed Logan, wiggling his fingers to snatch one of the papers from her. “Hockey tickets?”

“Concert tickets, hm?” James raised an eyebrow.

I could only wish they were concert tickets.

“No,” The assistant sighed, defeatedly holding out the palm of her hand toward the older woman. “Plane tickets.”

Nodding in confirmation, the talent scout confirmed Roxy’s suspicions, but the boys still didn’t seem to understand. Carlos and Kendall even looked at each other excitedly, trying to figure out an exotic location that would fit both of their vacation needs.

Kelly looked between the band members, “You guys do know that if your demos don’t get picked by the record company tomorrow, you’re going back to Minnesota.”

There were a variety of different reasons this arrangement would not work out for Roxy. If their demos didn’t get picked, she would have to say goodbye to all of her Palm Woods friends, destroy an undefined relationship with her favorite teen idol, return home a massive failure, and on top of it all she would be forced to get on a plane for the second time in her life. Just the thought of it made her queasy.

It didn’t work for the guys either, but at least this information acted as a form of motivation. Each of them jumped out of their seats, eager to follow Kelly all the way to Rocque Records to try and see if Gustavo could do anything about the current situation before releasing their newest demo track: “Famous”.

Though the band and their assistant had already spent a good amount of time recording the vocals and the backing track, Gustavo hadn’t felt the song was “ready to release” since his trip to North Carolina. On top of letting the teen's house sit his mansion, he had been awfully busy trying to convince Griffin to choose Big Time Rush’s demos, so he hadn’t been able to work on producing the final cut of the track until recently.

The track was a chronicle of the trials and tribulations celebrity wannabes in Los Angeles go through. Some aspects the teens couldn’t even wrap their heads around like ending up on the cover of the world’s most popular magazines, paparazzi constantly on their tail, a private jet. All things the boys won’t understand until they managed to get their demos picked by the record company.

Like the line in the song, all Roxy was focused on was continuing to keep their dreams alive during the car ride by feeding the boys little bits of information like the sparkling marquees branded “Big Time Rush” in every city they’d visit on their future tour or the horde of fan mail they’ll begin to receive once the band reaches popular radio.

One of my songs on the radio that is.

Just the thought of it made her giddy; there was only the current demo's obstacle in their way.

As she ran after the boys into the control room on their way to meet up with Gustavo, a lyric popped into her head. Running and writing certainly wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for now as she trailed behind her friends.

If we never flew, we would never fall

If the world was ours we would have it all,

But the life was live isn’t so simplistic-

Ominous, especially for such an important day ahead of them, but she kept the pen tucked into the fresh page in case she got any more inspiration later.

Gustavo and one of the media techs were holed up in the control room, trying to decide the best way to cut “Famous” into a hit song. Their session was noisily interrupted as the band threw open the door, practically letting the handle slam a hole into the wall, nearly scaring the two men out of their wits.

“We don’t want to go home!” Yelled Kendall, pointing an accusatory finger at their boss. “We want to stay here-”

“And get famous!” James added, trying to drive the blond’s point home.

The girl held up her songbook, nearly unnoticeable as she was standing behind the guys, “And get one of my songs on the radio!”

Looking towards Kelly for some help on how to break the news, Gustavo signed as he took off his large, black headphones. For now, he settled on, “Yeah, about that…”

Roxy’s hand flew to her chest as her stomach sank.

“Too bad!” The producer continued. “It’s been a month. The demos are done. That was the deal.”

“Right!” Carlos snapped, leading the group to believe he knew what was going on. “What are demos again?”

His assistant placed a hand on his shoulder, “They’re the sample songs we’ve been recording. ‘Big Time Rush’, ‘City is Ours’, ‘Any Kind of Guy’ and ‘Famous’.”

“And,” Kelly added, holding up the mirrored CD burned with the aforementioned tracks. “If the record company likes them, then you get to stay here, make a full album, go on tour, and then… ‘You become famous!’” She sang, imitating the song the producer had written for the band.

Snatching the jewel case from the talent scout, Gustavo stood up, scowl plastered on his face. “But if they don’t pick it, I take over my father’s scooter business and you go back to Minnesota and be nobodies again.”

At the notion of fame potentially slipping through his fingers, James let out an ear-splitting shriek.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nobody.” The assistant mumbled in frustration, earning a bit of side eye from the band. “And besides, we’ve worked so hard to get here, it would be a waste to throw in the towel now... Don’t you have any kind of sway with Griffin?”

Kendall backed her up. “We’re so close!”

“You’re not so close.” Gustavo bluntly replied.

Logan tilted his head to the side, confused. “We’re almost there?”

Their bosses shook their heads.

“Halfway there?” Carlos questioned.

Snapping his fingers, Gustavo answered, “You’re almost halfway there.”

At his words, Roxy’s eyes lit up, quickly thumbing through the pages of her book to find her pen. “Almost halfway there, we’re nearly there now, nothing’s gonna get in the way…”

She kept singing to herself, knowing the idea was rough, but for now, she wrote down her idea and a few key notes that would help her figure out the melody later. A synth-pop tune was currently playing in her head, something the band hadn’t tried out yet. How well it would work was anyone’s guess, though she was excited to figure it out as she slowly came up with the band’s potential newest single.

A single she would make sure to help produce after the record company choose Big Time Rush as the winning band.

When she finished humming the new tune to herself, she shut her book and lifted her head to find the entire room looking toward her. Though she appreciated their aptitude for silence while she was writing, she sure hated they couldn’t find anything better to do than watch her as she worked the mess jumbling up her brain onto paper.

“Now, I’m going to go to my office,” Gustavo grumbled, doing his best to escape the conversation the boys had cornered him into. “Please do not follow me.”

He held his hand up like he was trying to train a dog to sit, before grabbing Kelly’s arm and running out of the room.

That scene looks familiar, Roxy thought as she fondly recalled the first time Logan had caught her wrist and dragged her into the auditorium with Carlos and Kendall one month ago.

As if he could somehow read her thoughts, Logan seized her wrist once again, dragging her along after his friends to follow the two people who specifically requested to be alone. The boys sure were funny like that.

Normally she wouldn’t agree with them, but this was a matter that should not be taken lightly in the slightest; it was disheartening to see their bosses run away from the topic so easily. They needed to be able to secure their spot in the record company to stick around in L.A. and continue to make music together. Perhaps Kelly and Gustavo knew of some secrets about the process they weren’t letting on about.

That can’t be a good sign.

On their bosses' coattails, James was the first to burst into the office. “How could Griffin not pick Big Time Rush? He loves us.”

“Griffin loves all the bands with demos, plus Roxanne, and there are six of them, but only one gets picked.” The man held up six fingers while the assistant swelled with pride. At least someone around here appreciated her efforts.

Kelly held up an opposing demo CD, “And the one that everybody is talking about is Vampirah.”

Snatching the case out of her hands with another shriek, James turned it over and over to examine the art of the vampire-themed band. Logan and Roxy peeked over his shoulders, one to size up their competition and the other to try and discover which studio the teen vamps had been recording in.

The assistant’s admiration was short-lived as an image of Dak popped into her head. The original vampire boy.

“Vampire dudes with guitars…” Logan groaned, scrutinizing the back cover displaying Vampirah’s picture. “We’re toast!”

“Don’t lose faith!” Roxy cheered, knowing they wouldn’t give up the fight just yet. “Even if they are hot, hunky, supernatural creatures of the night…”

“Hey! Not helping!” Cried Kendall, shooting the rambling girl a death glare. “We are not toast. What’s the one thing we’ve learned since we’ve been in L.A.?”

The long-haired boy next to their assistant pumped his chest out, picking at his new shirt, “That black is the new black.”

“That I love vampires.” Roxy grinned, teasing Kendall. “And teamwork and friendship and stuff.”

The blond quickly pointed to the boy beside her: Logan.

“That…” He held his finger up in realization. “if you drink cold milk on a hot day, you die!”

Carlos’ eyes widened in fear, “That every time you leave your house your toys come alive!”

The frontman narrowed his eyebrows, clearly not getting the answer he was hoping for. “That you don’t wait for your dreams to happen, you make them happen.” He affirmed before turning back to Gustavo. “Now, how does the winning demo get picked?”

Without knowing the context of the conversation, just by looking at Gustavo’s face, one could imagine that Kendall had just threatened to kill his entire family. One thing was clear - the producer was enraged by the blond’s simple question.

“That is a highly classified corporate secret that no one will tell me, and it’s killing me!” He yelled in the boy's face as if this were information Kendall was supposed to know about him.

Oftentimes, the girl had a hard time concentrating when Gustavo yelled and it left a painful ringing in her ears. This time, however, his statement resonated with her on a new level. He was someone who always had a plan, who always knew what to do, but now? It seemed as though the band was hopeless.

With a sigh, she pulled her journal out of her bag.

Seems like going the distance is unrealistic

But we’re too far from the start

James and Logan unsuccessfully attempted to peek at what she was writing; she snapped the book shut and smacked both of them on the arm with it.

“Guys, we want this as badly as you do,” Affirmed Kelly, trying to lower the heightening tensions. “But all we know is that the winning band is picked by a top-secret adviser very close to Griffin-

Whatever she was about to say next was cut off by a haughty laugh as a young blonde woman walked into the room on her cell phone. Appearance-wise, she seemed to be the band’s age, and she was dressed in such sparkly and fancy clothes it was clear she came from a wealthy family. Hanging off of her shoulder was a pink and white purse that went flawlessly with her outfit, carrying a small, fluffy Pomeranian.

“Yeah!” She laughed again, but once she took a moment to take in her surroundings she gagged. “Ew! I just entered this totally ugly office. Hold on, I’m mini-barfing.”

The socialite coughed and pretended to stick a finger down her throat. Walking past the band, who gawked at her every step, she made her way to Gustavo’s desk and held out her hand. She then sat right down in his desk chair. “I’m here to pick up a CD from Big Time… whatever.”

The assistant didn’t have even a second to process what was going on before Gustavo screamed, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Sensing this young girl may be far more important than she appeared, the assistant cringed at their boss’ tone of voice. There was a slight chance that this was Griffin’s top-secret music advisor. Who knows more about music than teenage girls?

In an attempt to ease the tension Roxy tried, “Mr. Rocque, I wouldn’t-”

The other girl cut her off, “Mercedes Griffin, as in, your boss’ daughter.” before speaking into her phone again, “I’ll call you back, Jess. Livin’ Large here is about to start groveling.”

And grovel he did. The band had never seen Gustavo’s entire demeanor change in an instant, leading him to act in such a kind manner toward another human being. It was growing apparent that the situation was becoming dire.

“Hey!” Gustavo laughed, attempting to cover up his rudeness from before. “I am so, so sorry. Um…”

Running a panicked hand through her hair, Kelly took the demo CD case off the desk and handed it to the producer. “Um… here!”

Gustavo had trouble holding it, his hands visibly shaking. “Here’s the demo. Um, can I- can I get you a latte… or a yacht?”

Pettily, Mercedes grabbed the CD and moved to make her way back out of the now-cramped room. Though, this time, the band was clearly in her view as she held her head high, not hunched over her phone like before.

“Is this the band?” She stopped in her tracks, peering at the five lined-up teens at the back of the office.

Roxy shuffled behind James and over to where Kelly and Gustavo stood to avoid any potential confusion. She certainly didn’t want to be wrapped up in this mess. The four boys, however, didn’t even notice as they unconsciously primped their hair and straightened out their clothes as the potential advisor looked them over.

She stepped closer, “You guys are hot!”

Carlos didn’t waste any time with introductions before stepping out to meet her, “Oh, and you’re the secret someone who’s close to Griffin who decides the winning demos!”

Maybe Roxy telepathically communicated her thoughts with the helmet wearer, or maybe he caught on a lot quicker than he lead his friends to believe.

Mercedes thought for a split second, something the assistant was sure to make note of, before nodding. “That’s right, I make the decisions. And I just decided that…”

She stuck a painted pink nail out, waving it back and forth between the boys. No one spoke as no one was quite sure what the gesture meant, though eventually, it landed on Kendall.

“You’re my new boyfriend. Let’s go!”

His jaw dropped to the floor as Roxy ducked into James’ arm to hide her laugh. No way this girl was serious, but she certainly was funny.

Kendall stood stock still for a moment before he was finally able to articulate his thoughts. “What? I don’t even-”

Top-Secret advisor Mercedes didn’t even let him finish his sentence before she grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him out of the room. He tried his best to struggle, but the girl was surprisingly stronger than he looked. A chorus of “Help! Help!” came from his lips as he placed both of his hands on the inside of the door, trying to keep himself grounded.

Kendall’s plan didn’t work.

“I don’t even know her! I don’t even know her!” He yelled down the hallway of the floor until the elevator doors shut and drowned out his voice.

James turned to his friends, brows furrowed in anger. “This is not right!”

The three nodded.

“I know, right? We’ve gotta save him from that man-stealer! Jo is going to be so upset…” The assistant agreed.

“No, I don’t care about that! How could she pick Kendall over me?” The long-haired boy spat, wiggling his hands down his face.

“Maybe she doesn’t date shallow guys?”

***

Back at the Palm Woods, the remaining band members and their assistant did their best to sneakily follow Kendall and Mercedes around to try and make sure he was keeping her happy. A happy Mercedes was the key to their future here in Hollywood.

His new girlfriend had mentioned a trip to the pool, so the gang unloaded all of the fun pool supplies they could gather on Kendall, who was visibly having quite a bit of trouble carrying it all through the lobby. Loaded up with special lounge chairs, pool noodles, and even a dog bed for the pomeranian, Froopy, the teens were sure they hadn’t missed anything the socialite could want to create the perfect pool date.

The poor boy had been following Mercedes around shopping all day, and by extension so had the rest of the group, her shopping bags were weighing him down even more, making the fact he could carry that many things for her all the more impressive. The cherry on top, however, was her fondness for pet names, which she made very apparent by not speaking to him until he called her one. Kendall had settled on Pumpkin for now, which she seemed to love almost as much as she did shopping.

Wish I had her kinda budget, Roxy concluded as she snuck into the lobby with everyone else. They placed themselves in the janitorial closet across from the front desk and covertly watched the pair through a crack in the door.

The two had a little spat when Kendall had a few too many questions aimed her way, so when she stormed off and he ended up nearly collapsing under the weight of everything he had been carrying the group was able to help him out.

Logan and Carlos rushed out of the closet first, reaching Kendall’s side nearly instantaneously.

“Hey, big guy, you’re doing a great job!” Logan congratulated, pulling him off the ground with the help of the helmet wearer.

Kendall let out a groan as he tried to keep his legs from wobbling out from under him a second time, attempting to pick everything up once more. “She’s horrible!”

“Sure she is!” Roxy hissed, pulling James out of the closet with her. “But if she loves you, she’ll pick my songs!”

“Yeah! Our demos! And we get to stay in L.A., and we’re almost halfway there!” Carlos corrected, patting Kendall’s head.

Almost halfway there… She took the thought and ran with it, getting only slightly distracted by James holding a handheld mirror up between him and Kendall. He was still wounded by Mercedes’ decision, unable to see how being her boyfriend was shaping up to be a truly terrible thing.

While he was doing so, she pulled out her songbook and snuck a glance at Kendall balancing all his weight into his friends.

So we take what comes and we keep on going,

Leaning on each other's shoulders,

Then we turn around

and see we’ve come so far somehow-

“How could she pick you over me?” The wannabe cried, severing the assistant’s line of thought. “Look at this!”

James continued to admire himself in the mirror, nearly shoving Kendall to the side so he was the only thing in the reflective focus.

Could he have at least waited until I was done to complain?

“Now,” Logan said, completely ignoring James’ vanity issues. “Here’s some subliminal imagery that will help her pick our demos.”

The studious boy held out a green and white cap with Pick Big Time Rush printed on the front.

Very subtle.

Carlos was the next to offer his help, “And some breath spray just in case she wants to kiss you!”

Just the thought of it was enough to make Kendall gag on the spray his bandmate was forcibly putting in his mouth “I have to kiss her?”

“I’m not sure this band is worthy of you whoring yourself out, man.” Roxy half-joked, still thinking Mercedes’ act was all a façade.

In the small window of time they had left before Mercedes realized Kendall hadn’t been following her out to the poolside, the other boys tried to convince their friend dating such a pretty girl wasn’t the end of the world - especially if it meant they got to save their band in the process. Just as Carlos was about to say something else related to the breath spray he was proudly holding on display, a shout from outside startled him.

“Wait!” Gustavo called from the doorway of the lobby. Apparently, he and Kelly had decided to show up after all.

The talent scout ran up behind him, carrying a handful of extra CDs. “We can’t let you do this!”

“Oh, thank God.” The new boyfriend moaned.

Gustavo held out an old CD player, “Not without the perfect mood music for your pool date with Mercedes!”

The handle of the music player was then shoved into Kendall’s mouth, which was the only open spot for him to carry anything else, and began to blast “Big Time Rush.”

He was then reluctantly shoved off to the pool to impress his big date, stumbling with every step through the large French doors.

“Isn’t this a little cruel?” Roxy thought aloud, wondering if anyone else felt bad for the poor boy. Her original stance on the matter was quickly beginning to change, though she was willing to do nearly anything to ensure her band would be the one chosen by the record company.

Gustavo waved her off, “He looks great!”

With that, the six snuck off into a pool cabana right behind where the two were having their date.

After a few minutes of setting up, everything was laid out to Mercedes’ satisfaction. Froopy was curled up in his imported dog bed, two slices of cucumber laid over his beady eyes, right next to his owner receiving the same treatment. She was relaxing in a beautiful white sundress and large sun hat as Kendall gently placed two cooling cucumber slices over her eyes. “Big Time Rush '' continued playing on a loop.

“This is relaxing!” Mercedes commented as Kendall raised his hands in caution, afraid the fruit covering her eyes would fall off. “Now fan me and make dolphin noises so I feel like I’m in Cabo!”

What the hell…

Roxy didn’t even know where Cabo was.

“Don’t do it!” She whispered from behind the green curtain as the others poked their heads out to try and solve their issue. The others tried to silently convince him to do it, while the front man silently waved his arms back in anger.

As they silently argued, the assistant rolled her eyes and pulled up a clip of dolphin noises on her phone and played them aloud, while the blond pulled a frond off of a nearby palm tree and fanned her with it.

“Isn’t it great being in love, new boyfriend?” She sighed. “You love me too, right?”

All of Kendall’s movements ceased. He didn’t love her, how could he? Love was too big of a deal to even fake, which was not something that would please the socialite.

By this point, Roxy was fully convinced this was still some long elaborate joke. Griffin was crazy, sure, but his daughter just seemed like the typical boy-crazy teenage girl. As much as she didn’t believe Griffin would hire a teenager as his secret advisor, she might as well believe neither she nor her friends had a place in Rocque Records either. The situation was infuriating and was going to get someone hurt sooner rather than later.

The new boyfriend looked back to the tent where everyone was nodding, edging him on, except for the assistant.

“You don’t have to do this,” She mouthed, hoping he would catch her wave.

When her words registered with him, he nodded in agreement and stayed silent, something his girlfriend was not happy about.

She sat up, taking the cucumber off of her eyes and shutting off the CD player, “You hesitated! Maybe I’ll hesitate to choose your demo as the winner… I heard Vampirah’s amazing!”

For Gustavo and Kelly, this was the last straw. They popped out of the tent trying to stop the girl from examining the rival CD she pulled from her large purse. In an attempt to help, the other three band members followed suit, rushing over to Mercedes while Roxy walked over to Kendall to make sure he was okay.

“You can’t!” Kelly called followed by a “Woah-woah-woah!” from Gustavo.

The assistant gingerly rubbed her friend’s back, watching with wide eyes as Carlos fell to his knees in front of the beautiful girl.

“Of course he loves you!” He reassured her. “I mean, who- who wouldn’t love you… With your hair and your-your hands and that rat-dog thing?”

A genuine, pearly smile flashed across his features, melting the debutante’s frozen heart. It was like he meant every single word he said, and it looked like Mercedes was falling for it. Slowly, her cheeks began to match the pink tint on her lips.

“Wow…” She gasped, holding her hand out to him. “It’s like you really know me.” Whipping her head around, she faced her boyfriend. “I’m breaking up with you. He’s my new boyfriend.”

Kendall, while relieved his ordeal was over, had a whole new look of concern twist his face as he began to fear for his friend.

“Now carry me out like they do in the movies!” Mercedes demanded, jumping right into Carlos’ outstretched arms. “Old boyfriend, bring my stuff up later.”

The black-haired boy whined a bit, before taking a few weary steps towards the lobby.

Meanwhile, James was freaking out about not being a girl’s first or even second pick out of his friends.

What a stupid thing to be worried about at a time like this. Why does he want to date her so badly anyway?

While the rest of the band members and their bosses chased after Carlos and his new girlfriend, Roxy and Kendall took a breather out by the pool. Flopping onto the girl’s personal lounge chair, the assistant was sure to wiggle around as much as she could to ruin the perfect Mercedes-shaped indent on the memory foam pad.

“Rox, come on!” Kendall pouted. “I’ve gotta take this stuff up to the apartment.”

“Who cares?” She asked, cocking her head towards her friend. “She’ll forget about it in two minutes. It’s a waste of time.”

“She picks the demos, we have to do what she says.”

Contemplating this for a bit, the assistant crossed her arms behind her head, settling farther into the chair. “Do you really believe that?”

He sat at the foot of the lounger. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” She sat up, counting out the evidence on her fingers. “What if this is all just an act? She wants a boyfriend, she thinks you’re hot, Carlos plants the idea in her head that we need her, she hesitates before she says she’s the advisor… Seems a little fishy, right?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” He agreed, but only for a moment. “Until we find out the truth, we’ve still got to do what she says. She is Griffin’s daughter after all. Even if she isn’t telling the whole truth, she might have some sway.”

Roxy rolled her eyes, “Ugh. Fine. I just hope she doesn’t loop back to you, Old Boyfriend. Now carry me out like they do in the movies!” She mocked, throwing her arms out.

Roxy, of course, was kidding around in an attempt to make light of a rough situation, but Kendall stood and easily scooped her up. “I’m using this as an excuse not to carry anything else.”

“Whatever, Old Boyfriend.” She giggled, locking her arms around his neck.

The last time they had been this close, she had been a nervous wreck of an assistant trying once again to prove her band was the band Rocque Records could rely on, and a lot had changed since then. Now, they’d been in L.A. for an entire month; all of her friends at the Palm Woods meant so much to her, and Big Time Rush meant so much to her. If it was all swept out from under her feet by some snobby rich girl…

He started heading towards the lobby, presumably up to 2-J to make sure everything was going alright with Carlos.

“Hey…” She started, not quite sure where her thoughts were headed. “Not to be a downer but… If this doesn’t work out, are we cool?”

Kendall’s answer was immediate, a look of worry crossing his face. “Of course we’re cool. Why wouldn’t we be?”

She blinked, there was no easy way to say she felt responsible because their songs were her songs. If they didn’t get picked by the record company for the lyric matter or the boring pop melodies… she didn’t know what she would do with herself.

“Well… we’ve got such a good life here. Better than I ever had in Minnesota, at least. We’d miss out on being cheesy tourists, we’d both lose out on incredible dates, and we’d miss our chance to show the world boy bands can be a force for good.”

Maybe the last thing was a little far-fetched, but it was still a chance they’d lose regardless. Music touched lives, it had certainly touched theirs, and Big Time Rush had the chance to inspire so many people around the world. To miss out on that would be one of her biggest regrets.

Once they reached the elevators, he softly set her down and pulled her into a side hug. “We do have an incredible life here, but if things do go south I promise we’ll do everything in our power to make Minnesota 20 times better than it was before.”

As they stepped in, the reality of the situation finally hit her. She had spent so much of the morning deflecting and making jokes, ignoring the very real possibility that they could be sent home by the end of the day. She looked over at the frontman, a pool of tears beginning to blur her vision. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I’d like that.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm until the elevator dinged to signal their arrival on the second floor.

“Remember when we first met? And the police dragged you all the way to my house because you were too terrified to even speak?”

They exited into the hallway and she nodded.

“I was so worried you hated us and that I ruined your chance of coming out here and living your dream… I don’t want any of us to feel like that ever again. We’re going to get through this, we always do.”

“That’s so true,” She grinned, expertly stifling a sob. “The four of you… are like my good luck charms, I swear. I could never hate you.”

Finally, the two stopped in front of the door to 2-J. On the other side of the door, she could hear “Any Kind of Guy” being played very loudly, no doubt another thing to subliminally message Mercedes into picking the band.

“If something does happen later,” Roxy whispered. “I’m so glad we did this, it’s been the best month of my life, easily… and.. oh my-”

Reaching for her songbook in her bag she pulled it out, realizing her pen was missing somewhere in the depths of the pouch, digging to the bottom to find it.

“Where are you…”

Kendall reached forward and she instinctively moved the book back, but he held out his hands in defense, pointing out the pen tacked onto the book. “Front cover.”

“Ah, sorry.” She apologized, taking the writing tool and twirling it around her fingers a few times. On the most recent page, she found a blank spot amidst all her other notes related to this new song. “How are you ever gonna reach the stars, if you never get off the ground? And you’ll always be where you are if you let life knock you down… Sound good? It’s a message I need right now.”

In front of her, the boy’s eyes widened. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m not going to let life knock us down, not today at least. So, how about we go face the she-demon?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Taking the key out of his back pocket, Kendall was incredibly careful not to make a sound as he turned the lock and opened the apartment door. Both of them expected the hinges to creek, holding their breath and waiting, but it never came and the two were able to sneak right behind the unknowing couple and into the bathroom next to the kitchen. It seemed like that’s where the rest of their team, including their bosses, were hiding as well.

From the small glimpses Roxy got while trying to keep her head down, she noticed Mercedes was sitting on the couch, letting her freshly painted toes dry while petting Froopy and reading CEO Daughter magazine. Carlos was stuck in the kitchen, slaving away over a batch of cookies in his fancy white Pick Big Time Rush apron and matching chef’s hat.

The smell coming from the oven was heavenly, but it came at such a dirty expense. There were baking ingredients everywhere, covering the countertops, kitchen sink, and even the floor.

On the couch, the blonde called out demanding cookies and a small crack in the door revealed the terrified boy taking them out of the oven with bare hands in his haste, causing the assistant to wince out loud as he screamed in pain and dropped them all over the floor.

Making a move to help him, she tried to reach for the door handle to open it a bit wider, but Gustavo quickly swatted it away.

Carlos was fine after a few moments, stoically carrying on after his moment of agony. Picking the pieces off of the floor he loaded them back onto the tray and ran over to his girlfriend.

“It’s my grandma’s recipe!” He proclaimed, eagerly holding out the try for Mercedes to try.

One bite was enough for her as she spit it back into his face.

Disgusting.

“These are the worst cookies ever!”

The boy’s voice broke as he tried to fight back, “Oh, well, I-I’m not my grandma. I’m a hockey player!”

A wicked smile graced the girl’s beautiful features as she glared at him, “Well maybe that’s why these taste like hockey pucks. I wonder if Vampirah makes great cookies… I guess I’ll find out when I pick them and not Big Time Crud!”

She snatched the tray from her boyfriend’s hands and began to violently throw the puck-like cookies at him despite his cries for her to stop.

Roxy reached for the door handle again and was blocked once more.

“She’s emotionally and physically abusing him! Let me go!”

Not even dignifying that with a response, Gustavo shrunk back into the bathtub, pulling Kelly with him.

Through the crack in the door, they could see Carlos coming closer and closer, meaning they needed a hiding spot as soon as possible- so into the bathtub and behind the shower curtain it was. It was a tight squeeze, but she found a place in between Logan and James, with her back pressed into Kendall’s chest.

Now crying, Carlos, opened and slammed the door, sliding down the back of it once he found shelter from the advisor’s throwing skills.

“This looks weird, right?” Kendall questioned, referring to the six people desperately trying to cram themselves into the tub, and trying to take Carlos’ mind off of his terror of a girlfriend.

The chef nodded at his statement, though still incredibly frightened.

“Who cares?” Cut in Gustavo. “Get back in there!”

“You can’t be serious!” Complained the assistant, trying to argue with her boss. “She’s emotionally and physically abusing him!”

Logan shook his head, “Yeah, but, we’re close to near to almost being halfway there!”

The rest of the group, sans Roxy and Kendall, tried to shoo him back out into the apartment, but he continued to shake his head in fear. “I can’t go back. Roxy’s right, she hurts me!”

A set of sharp footsteps alerted the team to Mercedes’ swift approach. From beyond the door, they heard her shrill voice call out to her boyfriend, “Are you talking behind my back with shower people?”

“No… Apple Blossom!” His breaths were shallow.

Suddenly the boy was launched forward, Roxy catching him, as his girlfriend easily destroyed the door to the bathroom with one swift kick.

At the sight of seven people standing in the bathtub, her jaw dropped as she shrieked, “You lied to me! We’re finished!”

Directing her attention to the people in the shower, she zeroed in on Logan and James. “My new boyfriend is…”

James shoved his assistant out of the way as Mercedes pointed a finger between the two remaining boys. Wherever she moved it, he followed, trying to make sure he was the only contender in her line of sight.

The wannabe’s plan didn’t work, his moving around only brought Logan into her view.

“Him!” Mercedes giggled, finger landing on the studious boy as a look of terror crossed his face.

“Him?” Echoed James, infuriated. “Do you not see this, huh?”

He wiggled his fingers down his face, laughing so hard in denial Roxy thought his head might explode.

Logan was more than happy to help James get the date, pointing to him, and pushing him closer to the girl, but nothing worked as the socialite called, “Let’s go, new boyfriend! We’re gonna dye your hair to match my bag!”

Logan eyed her emerald purse, hands flying into his own hair before screaming, “No!”

Their producer couldn’t care less about his feelings or his hair color preferences, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “You’re gonna do the right thing.”

The new boyfriend gulped, contemplating his options for a moment. Beside him, the assistant elbowed Kendall. Hopefully, by now he had come up with a plan to rid the band of Mercedes before Logan ended up looking like he belonged in the Emerald City. “Do something, now!”

The nudge was just what the frontman needed as he responded to her statement, “Yes… I will.”

Marching out into the apartment, Kendall walked up to Mercedes and blocked his friend from her view. Roxy was right behind him, just in case he needed a little backup. Girl fights could get pretty nasty.

“Hey, you’re my old boyfriend! And you’re not even part of the band! Where’s my new boyfriend?”

Kendall wore his signature smirk, “He’s dumping you…”

A chorus of “What?!” came from both the socialite and team BTR as they emerged from the bathroom.

“Because you’re spoiled, pushy, mean, and he, and me, and we would all rather go back to Minnesota than spend one more second pretending to be your boyfriend.”

Roxy’s heart sank, leaving her feeling similar during their conversation with Gustavo earlier, but she knew that this was the right thing to do. As much as it sucked, if her friends would be pushed around and abused here in Los Angeles, going back home was the best course of action.

The frontman pumped his fist in the air, “Man, it felt good to say that!”

Picking up her dog and shoving all her nail polish from the coffee table and into her purse, Mercedes turned around and pointed a sharp finger at the boy. “Well, let me tell you something. There is no way I’m picking your demos now. Big Time Rush is Big-Time done!”

Throwing the CD case on the floor, the teen smashed it with the heel of her cute silver stilettos. After a mean stink eye, she squished it a little more before storming out of the apartment, making sure to slam the door behind her for lasting emphasis.

Once she left, the group was in disarray. Everyone was groaning, coming to terms with the consequences of Kendall’s actions.

Roxy stared at the door, trying to wrap her head around everything that just happened. “But… she doesn’t pick the demos right. She can’t… I was so sure.”

Beside her, Kendall slung an arm around her shoulders and she turned into him.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered into her hair, voice breaking just a smidge and letting her know he was just as disappointed in the outcome as she was.

“It was the right thing to do.” She assured him, even if she did feel her breathing become more rapid and shallow.

It was official. Their musical journey had come to an end.

At the lowest she’d been in quite a while, it didn’t help that her brain was still hardwired to write songs. One lyric popped into her head and even though she tried to ignore it and focus on the love she was feeling from her friend right now as he held her close, it wouldn’t leave her head.

Letting go of Kendall, she rummaged through her bag left on the counter and pulled out her writing tool.

Got no more to give,

Cause we gave it all.

The last line was slightly obscured as one of her teardrops hit the page, mixing with the already wet ink. Quickly, the red dot grew.

They all stared at her songbook, watching the mark in silence.

Carlos voiced his thoughts, “What do we do now?”

Kelly pulled the CD player off of the counter and held it in the middle of the group and dutifully, Logan pressed the play button.

“Ah, ah, ah-ah, oh.”

***

Since the boys had the span of three bedrooms, one bathroom, a massive kitchen, and an entertainment center, Roxy helped them get all of their things together in order to move before she even thought about heading over to her apartment to do the same. Right now just wasn’t a good time to be alone.

Taking all of the clothing from Carlos and Logan’s room, and then from James and Kendall’s room, the five started to work on putting them into their correct suitcases and duffle bags. Mama Knight and Katie were nowhere to be found, but the teens agreed it was best to leave their things alone.

For whatever reason, their bosses had stayed to oversee their packing efforts.

As she watched the teens pack everything away, Kelly gripped her ledger, “You guys can hold your heads high. Most bands don’t even make it almost halfway there.”

Gustavo, distraught about inheriting his father’s scooter business, was too busy munching on the puck-like cookies Carlos had made. His co-worker’s sentiments were helpful however, they stopped him from taking any more bites of the potentially toxic food. “She’s right. I am very, very proud of all of you. Ahh!”

His random shout startled the band and their assistant. Maybe Gustavo wasn’t handling this loss as well as they thought he would.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He lied, and no one believed him before he abruptly cried, “Scooters!”

Kelly snatched the plate of cookies as Gustavo grumbled something else, before fainting onto the couch behind him. It was shaping up to be a tough situation for everyone.

Logan had been on and off talking about Camille and how much he was going to miss her. It left a guilty pang in her stomach - she hadn’t texted Dak about anything that had happened today - but there was something in the back of her mind that told her not to. Whether she was too scared, or their day would take a turn for the better, she wasn’t sure, but deemed it best to listen to her gut.

“...And she’s probably on her way right now to tell her dad to pick Vampirah.” The boy concluded.

During her mental debate, she quickly realized the subject was changed back to Mercedes.

Bang!

Their front door was kicked open, much like the bathroom door had been an hour earlier, and in the doorway stood the devil herself: Mercedes. With her hands on her hips, she cocked her head- either getting ready for a fight or getting ready to claim another boy as her own.

Everyone screamed at the sight of her, turning their heads to the entryway to see what she was going to do.

“Look, I know we haven’t all dated that long,” She began, sauntering into the living room, heels clicking loudly on the floor. “But, I just wanted to come back to say… I’m sorry.”

She’s … sorry? A ray of hope beamed into the girl’s chest. Maybe we aren’t doomed after all.

“Yeah! You should be sorry!” Interjected James. “How could you pick them over me!”

Good to know his mind is still in the right place.

Quickly, Roxy tried to change the subject, “James this isn’t the time-”

“Shh!”

Mercedes looked between the band member and his assistant as they bickered, a look of confusion written on her face. “Because I never date anyone prettier than me.”

He turned to his friends, a grin replacing his once ever-present scowl. “I’m better now!”

The socialite continued, “And Kendall’s right. I’m a rich spoiled bully who dresses hot and… thinks your songs are great.”

Each of the boys moved to stand in front of her as they took in her words, their assistant getting up as well.

Carlos excitedly pulled his helmet on, “So, you’re gonna pick Big Time Rush?”

This conversation seemed to have brought Gustavo back to consciousness, he shot up and pumped his fists in the air. “We’re halfway there!”

The band as well as their bosses launched into cheers, but Roxy was still quite skeptical. While they were enthused, she pulled out her book and crossed out all of the “almost” in front of “halfway there”. It made for a much smoother beat and it finally fit into the melody she had written down in the morning.

Mercedes jumped up and down in delight as well, celebrating with the band before saying, “Yeah, I don’t choose the winning band!”

“What?”

Celebration stopped as BTR leaned in, glaring at her.

“You’re not the top-secret music adviser?” Kendall questioned, turning to face his friend. “Oh my God, Roxy was right!”

She loved being right, but this hardly seemed like the time to brag about it. Now that they knew that Mercedes wasn't the one who picks the demos, they were one step closer to finding out who was.

“See, my dad asked me to pick up the demos because it was on my way, but I let you believe I chose the winning band because you’re cute, and…” The girl began to break down, and a bout of ugly sobs heaved in her chest. “I love manipulating people!”

Their boss let her cry for a bit too long, before sweeping her in a side hug of comfort. “There, there, Mercedes. They forgive you.”

Gustavo gestured to the teens, who were far from even thinking about forgiving her but rolled with it anyway.

“How do the demos get picked?” Roxy crossed her arms, trying to piece the puzzle back together and form a plan to keep her friends in town.

Mercedes wiped a few tears off of her face, petting her dog in her purse a few times to help calm her down. “First Daddy looks at the demos to make sure that the covers are shiny. From there, the guy with white gloves takes them to an unmarked door at the end of a corridor. Finally, he places them on the desk of Daddy’s top-secret music expert… Lo-Lo, the million-dollar hit-predicting super chimp.”

“An ape picks the demos?” The assistant cried. “That’s… That’s…. Ugh!”

Throwing her hands down in defeat, she tried to maintain her cool, but it was getting harder and harder after all their CEO’s daughter had put them through.

Mercedes rolled her eyes, “No, a chimp does. And if he claps, you’re in, but if he makes a fart noise, you’re out.”

The blonde began to sob again, “And sometimes I think Daddy loves Lo-Lo more than me.”

Kendall was next to try and comfort their new source of information. “Mercedes…” He copied Gustavo’s moves and wrapped her in a hug. “It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“Totally unrelated,” Roxy spoke again, watching as her friend cringed as he hugged the girl tighter. “Do you have a security card for your dad’s building?”

The teens were immediately on the same page, even if their songwriter’s plan was awful.

“Oh, please.” Kelly sighed. “What are you gonna do, chipnap Lo-Lo and train him to love Big Time Rush?”

***

“Yeah,” Roxy sighed, peering through the glass of Studio A to see their ape prisoner jump around on one of the numerous black tables they had set up. He was dressed in an adorable black suit, just like his owner would often wear. “What? Like it’s hard?”

The six had dressed in their very best disguises, Logan a prince, James a cop, and Roxy a cowgirl, to distract the people at the front desk while burglars Kendall, Mercedes, and Carlos nabbed the chimp in the building Griffin conducted his business in a few skyscrapers down.

Kelly now stood in the room with them, seconds away from tearing her hair out. “I was kidding!”

“Roxy’s plan worked perfectly!” Logan commended, making her giggle as she looped a finger around one of her pigtails.

They took a small break to change back into their normal clothes in the costume department before returning to the studio to get Lo-Lo to love Big Time Rush. Roxy, Gustavo, Mercedes, and Kelly stood in the booth, ready to play any of their songs at a moment's notice as the band stood in with the chimp.

Logan, wearing a random doctor’s coat he found, was pacing back and forth. “Now, according to Pavlov, animals can be trained to associate positive feelings with certain stimuli, such as sight, smells, and…”

“Big Time Rush demos.” Kendall finished, holding up their CD.

“Exactly!” Roxy said through the mic on her headphones, flooding her voice into the adjacent room.

Logan nodded, “We’re gonna train Lo-Lo to pick the Big Time Rush demos through the positive reinforcement of bananas!”

Each boy held up as many bunches as they could hold, moving them around to catch the chimp’s attention.

Thank goodness the grocery store was having a sale…

Placing a yellow bundle on the desk in front of Lo-Lo, Logan hesitantly backed off and Carlos held his thumb up. Knowing this was her cue, Roxy gently pressed the play button on the soundboard in front of her and the band’s titular song began to play.

As it blasted through the speakers, she couldn’t hear anything going on in the room but noticed more and more bananas being placed on Lo-Lo’s table.

Another thumbs up from Carlos and the assistant hit a new button, allowing “Any Kind of Guy” to flow into the room. James clapped in excitement and Lo-Lo copied his movements, bringing a huge smile to Kelly’s face.

She beamed, “He’s clapping! It’s working!”

“Halfway there, and here we come!”

The boys reached into the huge crates they had express shipped from the supermarket, and grabbed an armful of bananas each, setting them in front of the chimp-advisor.

This time, Kendall turned around and mouthed something that looked like, “One more time!” So she pressed the third button and the newly finished “Famous” began to play.

Lo-Lo reached out in front of him and gripped one of the treats, lazily bopping his head along to the beat of the song.

“He picked it up!” Marveled Gustavo. “Is that a good sign?”

The producer’s question was soon answered as Lo-Lo raised his arm behind his back and chucked the banana at the boys in the room, who ducked, causing it to splatter all over the glass in front of the people in the booth.

“Not a good sign.” The girl deadpanned, mouth hanging open in shock.

As the song continued to play, Lo-Lo picked up more and more bananas and threw them - hitting everything in sight causing all-out chaos in Studio A.

While the boys were scrambling for shelter, Roxy hopped up from her seat, trying to change the song so there was no bad memory associated with “Famous” but they were out of presets. As she turned to her bosses for help, panic widening her eyes, Gustavo and Kelly appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

Her plan had been a total disaster.

From behind the glass, Lo-Lo grabbed a bundle of the fruit and made way for the open studio door, running out into the hallway. There was the faint ding of the elevator and by then they knew that Lo-Lo was long gone.

The door… How could we be so careless?

The band turned back to her, shocked looks gracing their features, but she didn’t have the energy to respond. She just sat back down in her chair, trying to hold her emotions back, thinking about how terrible the weather in Minnesota must be in the middle of February.

Gustavo screamed, but it didn’t even phase her.

After taking whatever they had left in ape treats to the lounge, Logan and Carlos had to physically guide Roxy into the room where she collapsed onto the white couch, emotionless.

If this was what being in shock felt like, numb, cold, dazed, she never wanted to put herself in a situation like this again.

“You know,” Gustavo laughed. “The scooter is the sensible solution for today’s high gas prices, pollution, and offers seniors increased mobility, and- Ah!”

He screamed again as Kelly covered her ears. The teens looked at him but didn’t have enough energy to try and help him be optimistic about his future. Picking banana peels off of their clothing, the boys just sighed, as Roxy laid her head on Logan’s shoulder. She closed her eyes, imagining the early mornings she would soon have to face working back home at the news station - if they even wanted her back after her time away.

Shifting under her, the couch cushions bounced as Kendall shot up. “You know, we are not giving up. We’re almost halfway there, and another thing I’ve learned since coming to L.A. is that together, we can do anything.”

Damn him. He was so good at inspirational speeches. Slowly opening her eyes, she tried to formulate a new plan to get their demos picked. However, Griffin and Obdul rounding the corner with Lo-Lo in hand sent her right back into shock. At this point, there was nothing they could do anymore.

“Look who I found hitchhiking on the Hollywood freeway.” Griffin reprimanded, sightly gripping Lo-Lo’s hairy hand in his own.

Kendall sat back down, losing his inspired feeling from seconds ago. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Their assistant groaned, burrowing into Logan a bit more.

Lo-Lo was passed off to Obdul as Griffin stepped forward, hands behind his back. “I am deeply disappointed in all of you, but I’m also curious. What happened? Help me out.”

No one volunteered any help, but another pang of guilt twisted her stomach. Slowly sitting up and raising her hand, she shyly called out his name. “Uh, Mr. Griffin-”

“It’s my fault, Daddy!” Mercedes admitted, cutting Roxy off. “I lied to Big Time Rush, and I made them be my boyfriends, and then I ate terrible cookies, and then I cried, and then I helped them chimpnap Lo-Lo, and… I love you!”

Griffin considered her words, not even flinching at his daughter’s tears before turning to the band, “Is that true? Because she lies… A lot.”

“It’s all of our faults.” Gustavo stepped forward.

Kendall stood once more, “We really want to stay here in L.A. and make an album…”

“And a tour!” Carlos hopped up next to him.

James brushed Roxy’s arm as he stood, “And be famous!”

Her turn, “And write amazing pop songs.”

And finally, Logan joined, “But we may have gone a little too far.”

A slight exaggeration, really.

Still eating her banana, Kelly slid in too, “Sorry?”, but it was phrased more like a question than a true apology.

Griffin blinked. “Those are a lot of sentences containing words, containing letters, and I admire your passion and dedication. But it doesn’t change the fact that Lo-Lo picks which demos win. So what do you say, Lo-Lo? Do you like Big Time Rush?”

Immediately, the chimp made a fart noise between the heels of his palms. In a matter of seconds, all hope the band had been crushed by a stupid animal.

What do animals know about music anyway?

“Ooh, the fart noise.” Childed Griffin, not even trying to hide his pleasure with Lo-Lo’s statement. “Sorry, boys, Vampirah wins.”

The assistant looked at her band, all of them were crushed.

“Lo-Lo’s wrong, Daddy!” Mercedes shouted, holding her hands out in defense. “The vampire fad has one, two years left, max. These guys’ songs have infectious melodies, classic pop hooks, and Big Time Rush will crush the 6- to 16-year-old demographic, which is your core music-buying base.”

Logan and Roxy both excitedly tapped each other’s arms with every word the girl said. All was not lost.

“Wow,” Griffin said, slack-jawed and truly shocked by his daughter’s carefully crafted words. “Lo-Lo, I’m transferring you to missile defense. Mercedes, you’re my new hit-predicting adviser, and this way, we’ll get to spend more time together. Big Time Rush wins!”

No way… she thought, watching as all of her friends began to excitedly jump up and down. “We did it… We did it!”

Roxy joined in on the celebration which lasted for only a few more seconds before Griffin spoke again.

“Anything else for my princess?”

She brought a finger to her cheek, “Well, I never really got a chance to date Logan.”

Her father didn’t even bat an eye. “Logan! You’re Mercedes’ new boyfriend.”

The studious boy shivered, pulling Roxy in front of him like a human shield.

“Now get to work. We need some new songs for the Big Time Rush album.

Roxy pulled out her journal, handing it to Gustavo. “I’ve got just the thing in mind.”

***

An hour went by, finishing up the lyrics and adding in a sweet guitar melody, Roxy and Gustavo conferred on the final musical elements the girl had written in her journal as the boys learned the new song.

Quickly, the band changed as Roxy set up her equipment in the studio. A small stool was set off to the side for her to play along with the boys as they showed off her new song, “Halfway There”.

Just as she figured earlier, the song had more of a synth-pop melody and that would be produced in the final version of the song. So, for now, she pulled out her electric guitar and hooked it into the amp, playing a small test melody that followed the lyrics quite nicely. Though it wouldn’t be in the final copy, it was nice to share this moment with the guys in her own way.

After she played a few more chords, the band ran into the studio, dressed in adorable black and red outfits that matched her guitar perfectly, signaling the beginning of the performance. They followed her countdown, finally moving to the beat as she played the opening line, and had a blast performing their new song for Griffin and Mercedes.

As they sang, their actual words and the emotions they put into the performance led their assistant to remember all of her favorite moments since arriving in L.A.; from Gustavo whisking them from the grocery store in Minnesota to the luxurious Palm Woods hotel, to their relaxing days by the pool, to all of their new friends… She was truly blessed to be living in paradise with such a wonderful band by her side.

Before she knew it, the song had ended, leaving the boys in the middle of the studio floor in their final poses. From the other side of the glass, it was clear that this new song was a fan favorite.

Gently setting her guitar down, Roxy raced over to the boys, crushing them all into a group hug. Thankfully, they reciprocated, pulling her in as they heaved in an attempt to catch their breath.

“The four of you mean so much to me,” She whispered. “Thank you for always believing in me.”

None of them said anything in response to her words, they just squeezed her tighter as Gustavo and Kelly emerged from the booth.

They gladly followed them back to the Palm Woods and were overjoyed when Kelly wrote out two release renewal checks and handed them over to Bitters at the front desk.

There at the lobby with him was Mrs. Knight and Katie who both looked like they were on the verge of passing out from exhaustion.

Carlos jumped forward, wrapping Mrs. Knight holding a plunger, in a hug, “We’re gonna make a full album…”

“And probably a concert tour…” Logan added.

“And be famous!” James yelled.

Mrs. Knight slammed the plunger on the front desk, turning to Bitters. “I quit and I gave Buddha Bob the rest of the day off.”

Bitters cringed, “What room?”

“3-B, and it’s bad.”

As Bitters slugged off, she turned to the teens. “Well, I guess we’re not going home.”

“Actually, Mom,” Kendall said, placing a hand on Roxy’s shoulder. “I think we are home.”

***

After settling back in and helping the boys put their stuff away, Kendall grabbed the girl by the wrist and dragged her out into the lobby and onto some random city bus that was stopped out front of the hotel.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” She sighed, staring out the window. It wasn’t abnormal for the guys to drag her with them, but this was the first trip that required a bus - normally they took a car from the service employed by Gustavo.

He grinned, poking her in the side. “Remember how I said I’d make ‘home’ 20 times better? Since we are home, I figured we can still up the percentage.”

At least he had given her time to grab her bag before they left and she rummaged through it to find a hair tie. Right now, as far as she was concerned, the only bad thing about L.A. was the heat.

The mini-backpack she always carried with her was full of things the girl deemed to be necessary: wallet, keys, journal, phone, makeup bag… but after meeting the band she added in a handful of new items, causing it to bulge up. It wasn’t heavy but it was getting a bit inconvenient.

Now, she regularly carried a first aid kit for Carlos, a personal grooming kit for James, a stack of brochures for touristy things around the city she had been collecting for Logan, and a key to 2-J on a chessy I Heart L.A. keychain from Kendall.

Finding the tie in the bottom and pulling her hair up, she glanced over at him. “And just how are you planning to do that?”

“Well…” He trailed off, looking at their destination as the bus pulled to a stop. “In Minnesota, our favorite thing in the world that made every single day better was hockey.”

“Oh, Kendall,” The large, white ice rink dome was the only thing in her field of vision. “I… don’t think this is a good idea.”

Of course, her statement was ignored as he pulled her off the bus and inside the rink. The hair on her arms stood, getting used to the now bitter cold temperature as she glanced around the lobby. There was a line of ticket booths to their right and skate rentals to their left, along with rows upon rows of lockers for patrons to place their stuff in while on the ice.

On the other side, dressed in their hockey uniforms without their helmets were Logan, James, and Carlos - in fact, they were the only people inside what she assumed would normally be a place full of hustle and bustle.

“It’ll be fun, trust me.” The boy at her side snickered, holding out a pair of white ice skates. “These are for you, we stole Gstavo’s credit card and one of your shoes. Put them on, please.”

“Freak,” She muttered walking towards the bench the band was standing by. At least she had decided to wear leggings today instead of shorts, that might have spelled disaster for her.

“Oh!” Kendall snapped his fingers. “We rented out the entire place, so don’t try and weasel your way out of this by saying you’ll be embarrassed or whatever. No embarrassment around friends!”

What a load of bullshit…

Sitting down she took off her Vans and carefully stepped into the white skates. They felt a bit wobbly under her feet, but once she tied them up they felt a bit more comfortable though far heavier than she was used to shoes being.

At the other end of the bench, the boys had been whispering about something, glancing over at her every now and then.

Carefully, she stood up with her arms sticking out in an attempt to keep her balance and fumbled over to them. The single blade keeping her standing was tricky to balance on, but she caught on quickly enough.

“Okay,” She huffed once she grew near them. “Ready for action.”

The four looked her up and down. “No, you aren’t.”

“What?” She turned to Kendall and pointed an accusatory finger. “You told me to put these on, so I did. Now I’m unprepared?”

Her swift actions caused her to lose balance and her arms flailed out, catching onto the closest thing: James’ sleeve.

He grabbed her arm as well, guiding her back down onto the bench. “You didn’t lace up your skates properly.”

Another side glare was shot at Kendall, who gave a small “sorry” and shrug in response. The other three made their way to the ring, snickering at the poor boy who was now stuck in the instructor role.

Bending down to fix her lace job, her forehead collided with James’.

“Ow!”

Their hands flew to their foreheads to try and numb the pain.

“Jesus, Roxy.” The boy sucked in a breath of pain, kneeling in front of her. “Just stay still, let me fix them.”

Dipping his head down, she felt her foot be lifted onto his thigh to lace them both tighter and higher up.

“Um, the blade?” She asked, unsure of how uncomfortable it was for James to help her. Obviously, he wouldn’t do it if it was an inconvenience but she was worried about cutting up his nice maroon and gold uniform.

“Hm?” He looked up at her, meeting her gaze. “They’re in a blade guard.” He knocked on the plastic covering with his knuckles. “It’s all good.”

Once he was done on her left skate, she could feel the difference in lace jobs; the shoe was better supported by her socks and by her ankle. Though snug, it would help in the long run.

It was strange to feel completely out of her element and having to trust the guys, but this sport was very important to them and it was something they wanted to share with her. If it meant a lot to them, it meant a lot to her.

Finishing the other, James stood and offered his hand.

“Come on,” He wiggled his fingers. “I took the guards off so it’ll be harder to walk.”

The urge to fight back was strong, she could do anything she put her mind to, but Roxy knew that she was out of her depth. Begrudgingly she accepted, grabbing his hand and allowing him to lead her over through a pair of large double doors into the room that held the rink.

She thought she was chilly before, but now she was faced with a full blast of freezing air in the area to keep the ice from melting. Taking her free hand, she rubbed her arm in an attempt to fight the goosebumps peppering her skin.

Would it have killed them to tell me to dress warm?

Ahead of them was the large ice rink, riddled in blue and red boxy lines to mark off certain sections of the playing field. Two large nets were at either end, allowing enough room from the backside of the rink walls for a handful of skaters to move behind them. The rope of the goals swung back and forth from the slight, cool breeze dusting over the room.

Protected by a thick plexiglass layer were the stands for spectators. There were at least three different floors for fans to sit in, easily able to hold around 20,000 people. Though the venue was primarily used for hockey and basketball games, it was nice to fantasize about a crowd with tens of thousands of people screaming for Big Time Rush. They would get there one day, but for now, an easy pop tune was lazily playing over the speakers from one of L.A.’s numerous radio stations.

On the ice, Carlos, Kendall, and Logan were easily gliding around and getting a feel for the arena. Watching them move so gracefully at such high speeds was a bit nerve-wracking, but the smiles plastered on their faces told her they knew what they were doing. This arena was a million times nicer than the rink they must’ve played on at home so they wanted to remember every second of their time here.

“Dude…” The girl marveled, swiveling her head around to keep her eyes on her friends while trying not to spill all over the carpet. “This had to have cost a fortune.”

Still helping her move, James shrugged, “We had Logan deal with the money.”

A few more minutes of struggling brought them to the small door on the rink walls that allowed skaters into the ice. The skates seemed to get heavier on Roxy’s feet as they drew closer and she began to have serious second thoughts about hitting the ice. There were only a few times in her life she had been either roller or ice skating back east and all of those sessions had ended with at least some kind of injury. It was safe to say there was a reason she was a Minnesota native that was not fond of the ice.

Almost as if her new teacher could read her mind, he stepped onto the ice and paused. “You’ve skated before, right?”

Hesitantly, she nodded and placed one shaky hand on the partition for some support.

“Good.” He said, laughing a bit as his eyes combed over her. “Then you know how to fall at least.”

“Not funny!” His assistant hissed, knuckles turning white as she gripped the wall a bit tighter.

One foot stepped out, testing the smooth surface with her sharp, new blade. As she put some pressure on it, her foot wobbled forward and back - the action causing her heart to jump a bit. No one likes to fall, and no one likes large bruises covering their hips, but that was certainly the direction in which she was heading.

Silently she cursed the boys for making skating look so easy.

As her foot steadied she allowed the other one to hit the ice and it nearly slipped out from under her. She clutched the partition even harder, feeling her joints start to ache.

James watched her carefully, holding his arms out just in case he needed to grab her.

This is so humiliating.

“Go join the guys, I’ll be fine here.” Roxy tried as she slowly glided towards him, hoping to get him off her tail.

The wannabe shook his head. “Take your time. Focus on your center of balance and bend your knees a bit more.”

“I’m fine.” She lied.

Her actions betrayed her as her right foot shifted unexpectedly, causing her to yelp and circle her arms backward a few times in order to regain her balance. From a small distance away, she could hear the band snickering.

So much for no embarrassment around friends.

It wasn’t her fault they had been skating since they could walk.

“Sure. You’re fine!” Her teacher whistled, clearly doubting her. “Use your right foot to push forward a bit.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Following his instruction, she lifted the blade a few centimeters off the ice and placed it behind her. Trying to propel herself proved harder than she thought as she once again lost her balance and fell forward onto the ice.

The ice that was at first glance smooth turned out to be sharp, and bitter as it cut into her palms and knees. She hissed at the contact, “Shit!”

“See? Not fine.” James huffed as he grabbed her hands and pulled her up. “Hold onto my arm, I’ll keep you up.”

Arguing with him seemed useless as she gripped her hands around his extended arm but she felt the need to anyway. “Just give me a second, I’ll get the hang of it.”

“I’m going to push forward…” He taunted.

“Stop! I’ll-”

Her legs slipped again, but he was able to keep her stable with a quick arm around her waist.

“James, I’m-”

“Stop fighting and let me help you!”

“I won’t learn if-”

A shout from across the rink snapped the pair out of their fight. “Shut up!”

Carlos giggled at his echoing voice as he pointed toward the ceiling. His assistant had no idea what he meant, but as the five quieted down she was able to hear someone talking over the radio.

“102.7 KIIS FM would like to give a warm welcome to L.A.’s newest boyband, Big Time Rush. Officially signed under Rocque Records, these four are sure to make your hearts throb! Our station was given an exclusive play of their first single ‘Any Kind of Guy’. Give it a listen, tell us what you think, and we’ll be sure to keep up with them in the future!”

The steady, electronic beats of the song’s intro filled the arena as the teens looked at each other. In a flash, the other three made their way to the side of the rink James and Roxy were on, crashing them into a massive hug.

Though she didn’t have time to properly brace for impact, the four hockey players kept her from slipping down to the ice as they drifted towards the walls of the rink.

“Oh, my God…” Was the only phrase Roxy was able to articulate as they let the song play.

She had a song on the radio. Big Time Rush had a song on the radio. One for all of the greater Los Angeles area to hear. After the massive number of ups and downs they had been through just today, this felt like the perfect note to end it on. The band was here to stay, nothing could stop them now.

The only place to go from here was up.

Hi! At this point we all know about the beta reader message... What do we think of the new BTR album? Anyone seeing them this summer? Thanks for the asks, your support is much appreciated! <3

#big time rush #btr #james diamond #james maslow #kendall knight #kendall schmidt #logan mitchell #logan henderson #carlos garcia #carlos penavega #thats all she wrote fic

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spideyxchelle · 6 years ago

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hellooo! re-read your hollywood au and just wanted to say it brought a smile to my face the same way it did the first time 😊 i know it’s been a while since awards season but was curious if you had new headcannons in that verse? Especially with zendaya pulling off looks at the met gala? Again, just wondering 🤗 thanks for taking time out of your days to share your talents with the rest of us, it’s always appreciated 😊😊

i actually wrote a little something. its a short, sweet hollywood au continuation. have fun, babies.

peter gets the matte black invitation to the met gala on aSaturday. it is addressed to michelle jones and guest. and he immediatelydreads the entire thing. in the six years they have been dating, mj has alwaysgone to the met gala alone. peter dreads red carpets. as a two-time oscarnominee, he knows that he is expected, to a certain extent, to take pictures andgive interviews. but he feels more at home in his ratty baseball caps behindthe camera.

but his girlfriend, oh his girlfriend, shines in front ofthe camera. the soft corners of her mouth that effortlessly turn upwards in ateasing smile, melt the hearts of millions. she does not relish the limelightbut, damn, she is so good at it. at every event he has ever been to with her,mj is the best dressed. without question. her stylist, Flash Thompson, is aninsufferable dick. but he has an eye for fashion. though, peter does find itquite cutting when he shows up in his worn jeans, t-shirts and baseball capsand flash fixes him with the ‘look’. theyou-are-on-the-arm-of-hollywood-royalty-up-your-game-parker look. he knows heshould do better. he just doesn’t wanna.

and the met gala means he is going to have to actually try.or enlist the help of a stylist. mj could show up in a pillowcase and wouldstill make it look couture.

it is a lot of pressure to be her arm candy. he can’t wear ablack tux and call it a day.

he spends six whole hours bent over the invitation,spiraling. so, when mj gets home and he’s sitting at their kitchen islandpanicking, she sighs and asks, “you good, baby?” he lifts the invitation andshe rolls her eyes, “its just the met.”

“sure,” peter says back, “when you look like, you know, youdo…its just the met gala. but I have as much fashion sensibility as a dog.” mjpecks his mouth, “a very cute dog.” he frowns, “don’t tease me.” “its so easy,though,” she grins.

the next two and a half weeks leading up to the event are anon-stop stressfest for peter. he goes to work and cindy throws water on himfive different times. the last time, hedoes not try to flinch away. he takes his punishment and wallows in his ownsadness in the director’s chair. soaking wet. cindy groans, “you take all thefun out of teasing you.” “I’m sorry to take the fun out of bullying me.”“pranking,” she corrects, “seriously, though, what’s wrong with you?” “the metgala.” “still?” cindy rolls her eyes. “yes,” peter exclaims, pulling himselfout of his chair, “people are going to expect me to look better than good. andI’d rather stay home in my pajamas.” “so do that,” cindy reasons, “say you’resick or something. mj’s gone to the gala the last six years without you. shecan do it again.” “what?” peter frowns deeper, “so harry osborn can fawn overher all he likes?” “harry and mj are not—” cindy starts. “I know, I know. hedoesn’t like her like that. still don’t buy it,” peter mumbles.

“have flash help you, then,” cindy tries. peter shakes hishead, “he’s a little too adventurous for me.” cindy takes a deep breath, “havemj do it, then. or do something else. I don’t care. but you being grumpy isn’tworking for me. so figure it out.”

with an order from cindy there is nothing for peter to doexcept buckle down and fashion it up. and he does something he never thought hewould have to do—he goes to flash thompson for help.

he walks into flash’s studio and is assaulted by feathersand sequins and fabrics of all textures. it is a lot to take in. flash issitting at a counter sticking something and peter tries to speak but ispromptly cut off, “you really wore those jeans here?” peter glances down at hisoutfit, “these are comfy jeans.” “they hang off your ass, parker. how is that agood look, hmm?” flash challenges. peter falls silent.

Flash drops his project and starts to circle around peter.he feels super self-conscious but he takes it all in stride. quietly. flashtuts a few times and, then, announces, “burgundy.”

peter blinks, “excuse me?” “did I stutter, parker? burgundy.black will make you blend in. anything brighter will make you stand out. and mjneeds someone that matches her but not someone that tries to outshine her.she’s the movie star.” “I’m not arguing with you,” peter agrees, “in fact, Idon’t feel the need to stand out much, you know?” “burgundy,” flash repeats.

he goes to four separate fittings. it is exhausting and afew of the alterations don’t even seem necessary. the suit doesn’t look allthat different to peter, to be honest. but flash always hums in approval whenthe tailor changes some small detail. he must be missing something.

they fly to the gala and flash carries a rattling fabric bagon the plane. michelle and him share a private look. peter tips his baseballcap back and questions, “what are you two planning?” she plops herself down inhis lap and kisses him soundly, “don’t worry about it, baby.” peter pulls hisarm around her waist, “if you’re planning to look heart arrestingly beautifulyou should warn me. I’ll need some kind of armor. I’m only human, after all.”“scouts honor,” she crosses her hand over her heart, “I will not be packing anykind of weaponry.” flash snorts and peter knows he is missing some kind ofjoke. she swallows whatever questions he has in another kiss.

when they touch down in new york, peter thanks the pilot andmichelle tugs him into the black car to their hotel. she is in yoga pants, herhair is a mess and she is beyond stunning to him. he leans across the leatherseats to kiss her. her eyes flutter open and she cups his cheek gently, “whatwas that for?” “just love you,” is his answer.

michelle yanks the divider between the back seat and thefront seat closed. they spend the rest of the ride to the hotel getting lost ineach other.

when the driver politely knocks on the tinted window of thecar, michelle and peter lung apart and begin to fix rumpled clothes. mj smoothshis hair back and peter steals one final kiss before the door opens. they aremet with a flash of lights. peter fits his baseball cap on and he shields hiseyes from the lights. he lifts his bag up so that his face is somewhatconcealed and walks to block michelle from the onslaught of unexpectedphotographers.

they shout a wave of questions. about the gala. about hernext film. about his next film. about their sex life. and peter has to grit histeeth. the media attention has not gotten easier to handle in the subsequentyears since he has been in the limelight.

the front door of the hotel is opened and closed behindthem. the paparazzi are locked outside.

when they are safe inside the elevator, mj slips her handinto his and whispers, “you did it. its over.” it takes a moment for him toregister her words but when he does, he ducks his nose in her neck andbreathes. she quietly scratches his back.

the next morning, he decides he wants coffee. he has aphonecall with cindy. he kisses mj’s naked shoulder and heads to the lobby.when he walks outside, he thankfully is not met with the trick of lights. thereare no vultures today.

the coffeeshop on the corner is quiet. until the internet.when he hangs up one of the girls at a nearby table leans over and asks, “areyou peter parker?” he tips his head down to hide his face, “uh, yea.” she turnsher phone around and there is a sneaky picture of him sitting in the coffeeshopon the phone talking to cindy. someone across the shop must have snagged apicture of him when he wasn’t looking. he begins to look around for the culpritbut no one is meeting his eye.

the girl that spoke to him shyly asks, “can I get a picturewith you? I love your movies.” he softly smiles, “sure.” that is how he ends uptaking seventeen selfies in a row.

when he gets back to the hotel and hands his girlfriend ato-go cup of coffee she giggles, “got caught up in a selfie parade.” he blinks,“how’d you know that?” she turns her phone around and there are a stream ofpictures of him on instagram on the account michellejonesupdates. “proud ofyou,” she opens her arms for snuggles. he easily falls into her arms. “I don’tdo this celebrity thing as well as you do.” “it takes practice.” “I’ve hadyears of practice.” “you’re a director, you dork. its never gonna come easilyto you. but you’re a sweet man and you deal with it.”

he is so in love with her it is a physical ache that settlesin his chest. he lays on top of his girlfriend as she runs her fingers throughhis hair. he knows he would give up everything, fame and fortune and notoriety,to have her. he is the luckiest man in the world.

“hey, mj?” he kisses her shoulder. “hmm?” she hums. “marryme?”

there is a sharp intake of breath. then, she pushes him offof her forcibly. “you did not just ask me to marry you in bed.” he grins wildlyand scoots closer to her, “sure. why? did you want some fancy proposal.” “wellno—” “so then, will you? marry me, I mean.”

her voice is wonderous and quiet, “seriously?” he nods andtakes her hand in his, “yes. god, mj I love you more than anybody. more thananything. you’re my rock. my whole world. and, I’d really like to stand up infront of all of our friends and family and tell them how much I love you. sothey can be crazy jealous of our love.” through tears, she nods, “its true.we’re, like, the coolest couple ever.” “totally,” he agrees, “so…what do yousay?”

she sniffles. she nods, “yes. of course. of course I’llmarry you.”

peter cups her face between his two hands and showers herwith kisses. she laughs and cries through all of the laughter.

that night, when flash arrives to get them both ready for the gala, he zeroes in onthe antique ring that used to be peter’s mother’s engagement ring. the onesitting on mj’s hand. “no,” flash immediately says. “what?” mj questions. “thatring. you can’t wear that. I have designed a game changing—nay—a WORLD CHANGINGoutfit for the met gala. and if you wear that ring nobody is gonna payattention to my genius.” Michelle squishes flash in a hug, “oh flash, nobody isgoing to ignore your work. you’re a genius. but the ring stays.”

it is so hard to love mj. every minute he loves her more andmore. it does not feel sustainable. and yet, every day proves him wrong. god.he’s so fucking lucky.

he discovers he is even more lucky when mj gets dressed forthe gala. his jaw drops. “you promised you’d warn me if you’d be heartarrestingly beautiful.” “no,” she pecks his mouth, “I promised no weaponry.”“jesus, mj,” peter groans, rubbing his face. his makeup artist smacks his handand warns him not to smudge his makeup.

when they arrive at the carpet, his burgundy is a niceaccent to her silver warrior couture. and if she asked him to swear allegianceto her, he would have dropped to his knees on the entry carpet and done so.damn.

she parts oceans as she walks. people gawk and awe. she is avision. she is fierce. and he belongs to her completely.

he is overlooked, as he had expected to be. but damn. gettingto walk at her side all night is an unparalleled treat. no one else even getsclose to looking as singularly wonderful as she does. in fact, she is sostriking nobody notices her ring.

well. in person.

the internet notices immediately. and twitter is floodedwith a lot of capslock flailing.

he is so happy the next day he decides to go on his mostlyunused Instagram to upload a picture of her from the gala with the caption— #putaringonit

and mj follows suit uploading a picture of him drooling intheir bed with the caption—#forbetterorforworse

#headcanon ask #hollywood au

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papermoonloveslucy · 6 years ago

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CBS ON THE AIR: A CELEBRATION OF 50 YEARS ~ Part 1

March 26 – April 1, 1978

The origins of CBS date back to January 27, 1927, with the creation of the "United Independent Broadcasters" network. The fledgling network soon needed additional investors though, and the Columbia Phonograph Company, manufacturers of Columbia Records, rescued it in April 1927; as a result, the new network was renamed the Columbia Phonographic Broadcasting System on September 18 of that year. Columbia Phonographic went on the air on September 18, 1927, with a presentation by the Howard L. Barlow Orchestra from flagship station WOR in Newark, New Jersey, and fifteen affiliates. This was the birth of CBS radio.

CBS's involvement in television dates back to the opening of experimental station W2XAB in New York City on July 21, 1931. Its initial broadcast featured New York Mayor Jimmy Walker, Kate Smith, and George Gershwin. The station boasted the first regular seven-day broadcasting schedule in American television, broadcasting 28 hours a week.

To celebrate its fiftieth year of broadcasting, CBS devoted seven nights to a celebration of their history – nine and a half hours of air time: “CBS: On The Air – A Celebration of 50 Years.” The goal was to bring together more than 100 network stars, past and present, with Walter Cronkite and Mary Tyler Moore serving as overall hosts. Other stars and personalities stepped up to host nights they were associated with. The event was produced by Alexander H. Cohen and written by his wife, Hildy Parks.

The music for the event was written by some of the greatest theatre composers of the time with the main musical theme written by Leonard Bernstein. “Member of the Family” was written by Jerry Herman. “Cowboys and Clowns” was written by Jule Styne.

The event's announcer was Dick Tufeld.

The schedule:

Sunday, March 26 - “Night of 100 Stars” - co-hosted by Telly Savalas and Jean Stapleton

Monday, March 27 - “Have a Laugh on Us” - with Lucille Ball, George Burns, Arthur Godfrey, and Bea Arthur

Tuesday, March 28 - “Chills and Thrills with a Laugh Chaser” with Alan Alda, Garry Moore, and Phil Silvers

Wednesday, March 29 - “Dreams Come True” with Dick Van Dyke, Buddy Ebsen, Cicely Tyson, and Danny Kaye

Thursday, March 30 - “Join the Family” with Richard Thomas and the cast of “The Waltons”

Friday, March 30 - “We’re Getting Personal” with Lauren Bacall, Eve Arden, Bert Convy, Richard Crenna, Bonnie Franklin, Jim Nabors, and Linda Lavin

Saturday, April 1 - “A Rootin’, Tootin’, Hootin’ & Hollerin’ Salute to Cowboys and Clowns” with Carol Burnett, Carroll O’Connor, Art Carney, Isabel Sanford, Tony Randall, and Sherman Hemsley

Although CBS attempted to bring together as many of its stars as possible, a few were just unable–or unwilling–to be involved. According to TV Guide, Cher and Amanda Blake were sick, while ABC refused to allow Cloris Leachman to participate in a special on another network. Supposedly, Charlton Heston declined to give CBS permission to use his likeness.

Lucille Ball, who helped bring the television network to prominence in the 1950s, was part of the celebrations on Sunday as one of the 100 stars, and on Monday, the night she ruled on CBS with her three sitcoms.

Like other network anniversary celebrations, “CBS: On the Air” has never been repeated nor has it been officially released on any format. However, The Paley Center for Media has more than 40 listings relating to the specials, including complete installments, clip compilations, and rough cut reels.

Although they are not near each other on stage due to the alphabetical order of entrances, this is the last time Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance would be on the same television show. Vance would make one more appearance on her own before her death in 1979.

Lucy Ricardo: “What are you? The Cuban television network?” Ricky Ricardo: “Yes. CBS. The Cuban Broadcasting System.”

Sunday, March 26 - “Night of 100 Stars”

The 115 (or so) stars were introduced to viewers by the night that they first enjoyed success, starting with Sunday. Lucille Ball enters during the second group (Monday) and is one of the first because the stars are introduced alphabetically. Vivian Vance ends the Monday night group. It takes nearly nine minutes to introduce all the “members of the CBS family.”

Here are the CBS Stars with professional connections to Lucille Ball:

Sundays

Arlene Francis (“What's My Line?”) was a panelist for Lucille Ball's six appearances on “What's My Line?” from 1954 to 1965.

Alan Funt (“Candid Camera”) guest-starred as himself (and his evil doppelganger) on “Lucy and the Candid Camera” (HL S4;E14) in 1971.

Valerie Harper (“Rhoda”) was in the chorus of Wildcat (1960) on Broadway starring Lucille Ball. Harper joined Lucy on “Dinah!” singing “Hey Look Me Over” in 1976 and sang a musical tribute to Ball at “The Kennedy Center Honors” in 1987.

Ann Sothern (“Private Secretary”) was one of Lucille Ball's closest friends from her days at RKO. Ball would always say that she would hang around the casting office asking if there were any roles Ann Sothern was too busy to do. She guest-starred as her “Private Secretary” character on the very first “Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour.” In return, Lucy appeared on her next sitcom, “The Ann Sothern Show.” Sothern played Rosie, the Countess Frambois, in several episodes of “The Lucy Show.”

Nancy Walker (“Rhoda”) did the 1943 film Best Foot Forward with Lucille Ball.

Mondays

Beatrice Arthur (“Maude”) starred opposite Lucille Ball in the 1974 musical film Mame, recreating the role she created on Broadway. Like Valerie Harper, she paid tribute to Ball in song at “The Kennedy Center Honors” in 1987.

Lucille Ball (“I Love Lucy” / “The Lucy Show” / “Here's Lucy”)

Ken Berry (“Mayberry RFD”) was spotted by Lucille Ball performing on stage and put under contract to Desilu for the Desilu Workshop. He played himself on a 1968 episode of “The Lucy Show.”

George Burns (“Burns and Allen”) and Lucille Ball appeared on many TV variety and award shows together. In 1966 he played himself on “The Lucy Show” and did a cameo as himself on a 1970 episode of “Here's Lucy.”

Arthur Godfrey (“The Arthur Godfrey Show”) also hosted “Talent Scouts” on which Lucile Ball did a guest appearance in 1963. After a career lull, Ball guest starred him on “The Lucy Show” as himself in March 1965.

Andy Griffith (“The Andy Griffith Show”) filmed his show on the Desilu backlot. Lucy interviewed Griffith on her radio show in 1965. In 1968, the two did a pantomime sketch on “The Tennessee Ernie Ford Special.” He finally teamed with Ball on “Here's Lucy” in 1973.

Don Knotts (“The Andy Griffith Show”) played Lucy Carter's “last blind date” on a 1973 episode of “Here's Lucy.”

Art Linkletter (“The Art Linkletter Show”) was first mentioned on “The Lucy Show” in 1962 and would appear as himself four years later. Lucille Ball was his guest on “House Party” in 1964. Linkletter will also play himself on a 1970 episode of “Here’s Lucy.”

Danny Thomas (“Make Room for Daddy”) and Lucille Ball's careers are forever linked. “Make Room for Daddy” was filmed at Desilu Studios and when it moved to CBS the characters did a cross-over episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour,” exchanging homes with the Ricardos. In return, Lucy and Desi played Lucy and Ricky on an episode of “Make Room for Daddy.” When Thomas starred in a sequel titled “Make Room for Granddaddy” Ball guest-starred and did the same when he starred in the short-lived series “The Practice.” Thomas appeared as himself in a 1965 episode of “The Lucy Show” and as an eccentric artist on “Here's Lucy” in 1973.

Vivian Vance (“I Love Lucy” / “The Lucy Show” / “Here's Lucy”) is best remembered as Lucy's best pal Ethel Mertz on “I Love Lucy.” She returned to play Vivian Bagley on “The Lucy Show” and Vivian Jones on “Here's Lucy.” The pair also were seen together on CBS in “Lucy Calls The President” in 1977.

Tuesdays

Jamie Farr (“M*A*S*H”) was seen on “Lucy, The Rain Goddess” (TLS S4;E15) in 1966.

Garry Moore (“The Garry Moore Show”) was also the host of “I've Got A Secret” on which Lucille Ball appeared in 1956 and 1961. In between, she was a guest on “The Garry Moore Show” in 1960.

Phil Silvers (“The Phil Silvers Show”) played an efficiency expert on a 1966 episode of “The Lucy Show.” Lucy made a cameo appearance on “The Phil Silvers Show” in 1959.

Red Skelton (“The Red Skelton Hour”) did five films with Lucille Ball between 1938 and 1945, including DuBarry Was a Lady (1943). Skelton played himself on “Lucy Goes to Alaska” in 1959.

Wednesdays

Steve Allen (“The Steve Allen Show”) was the guest-host or panelist for three of Lucy's appearances on “What's My Line?” and “I've Got a Secret.” He played himself on “Lucy Calls the President” (1977).

Eva Gabor (“Green Acres”) made two appearances on “Here's Lucy,” once playing herself.

Danny Kaye (“The Danny Kaye Show”) appeared as himself on a 1964 episode of “The Lucy Show.” Before that, Ball guest-starred on two “Danny Kaye Specials.”

Dick Van Dyke (“The Dick Van Dyke Show”) invited Lucille Ball to appear on his short-lived variety show “Van Dyke & Company” in 1976.

Thursdays

Ellen Corby (“The Waltons”) played Miss Hannah, Lucy Ricardo's high school drama teacher in “Lucy Meets Orson Welles” (ILL S6;E3) in 1956. She also appeared in a 1963 episode of “The Lucy Show.”

Fridays

Eve Arden (“Our Miss Brooks”) did a one line cameo as herself in “Hollywood at Last!” (ILL S4;E16) in 1955. Arden and Ball did two films together at RKO in the late 1930s.

Richard Crenna (“Our Miss Brooks”) played Arthur Morton, a variation on his character Walter Denton in “Our Miss Brooks,” on “The Young Fans” (ILL S1;E20) in 1952.

Jim Nabors (“Gomer Pyle USMC”) did an uncredited cameo as Gomer Pyle in “Lucy Gets Caught Up in the Draft” (TLS S5;E9) in 1966. Both shows were shot at Desilu Studios.

Saturdays

Carol Burnett (“The Carol Burnett Show”) was a protege of Lucille Ball's. In 1966 Lucille Ball and Zero Mostel were the stars of “Carol + 2”. Ball and Burnett would exchange appearances on each other's shows. Carol made seven appearances on “The Lucy Show” and “Here's Lucy,” while Ball did four installments of “The Carol Burnett Show.”

Art Carney (“The Honeymooners”) played Lucille Ball’s husband in the 1967 film A Guide for the Married Man. He also starred in Lucille Ball’s 1976 TV special, What Now, Catherine Curtis? As well as her first special, Happy Anniversary and Goodbye in 1974.

Mike Connors (“Mannix”) played his iconic detective Joe Mannix on an episode of “Here's Lucy” in 1971. Lucille Ball was responsible for rescuing “Mannix” from being canceled early in its run.

Fred MacMurray (“My Three Sons”) played himself in “Lucy Hunts Uranium” in 1958.

Audrey Meadows (“The Honeymooners”) played Lucy's sister on one episode of “Life With Lucy” (1986).

Tony Randall (“The Odd Couple”) played a mountain climbing executive on a 1971 “Here's Lucy.”

Betty White (“The Mary Tyler Moore Show”) was a life-long friend of Lucille Ball's. The two made no dramatic appearances together, but did co-star on episodes of “Password.”

On Saturday, April 1, the special ended with these same celebrities lined up on a elevated walkway outside CBS Television City. Lucille Ball appears behind the screen credit for director Clark Jones.

Next! “Have a Laugh on Us!” ~ Part 2

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ejsponge61 · 7 years ago

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Atlanta and the Rise of African American English

In the months leading up to its premiere on September 6th of 2016, buzz for the television show, Atlanta, had been growing. The city has been in the spotlight in the last few years. Over a decade ago, Tyler Perry used the city as a filming location for his first Madea movie, Diary of a Mad Black Woman, and ever since, Hollywood has flocked to the area due to its lower relative cost when compared to other locations in America. Movie franchises such as Guardians of the Galaxy and Fast and the Furious have filmed in the city. At the same time, hip hop had blossomed in the Metro Atlanta area, and artists from the region, such as Ludacris and 2 Chainz, were gaining national recognition. This lead to Atlanta becoming a national center for hip hop culture for over the last decade. People looked forward to the show’s depiction of black culture in such a distinctive place, and the show also seemed to be the culmination of years of attention the city has been getting. So, because of this, the show was greeted by widespread success.

The pilot episode, “The Big Bang”, set a record for most viewers for most viewers of a basic cable comedy premiere, with 1.8 million tuning in. With an average of 888,000 viewers for each of the ten episodes, the entire first season of Atlanta was a financial success. However, the show was also critically acclaimed. The show has won 2 Golden Globes, for best Musical or Comedy Television Series and for Donald Glover as Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical Series. The show has also taken home an AFI award, two Critic’s Choice Television awards, two Writer’s Guild of America awards, and is also nominated for four Primetime Emmys later this year. For the Stone Mountain raised writer, lead actor, and creator of Atlanta, Donald Glover, all this success and acclaim is surely much appreciated. However, some might be surprised by the mainstem success of the show.

Because the show is set in modern day Atlanta, Georgia, and is written by someone who was raised in the area for most of his youth, it features heavy use of an African American English, specifically of the Southern variety. There are many scenes that would show this, but the best example comes from the second episode of the series, “Streets on Lock”. The protagonist, Earn, was involved in a shooting in the prior episode and is now awaiting bail within a holding area in the local jail. One of those waiting in the room turn to him and express their frustration. The scene can be viewed here and a transcript can be seen below.

Man: Ridiculous, man. Man, what'd you do to get in here?

Earn: Um Damn, man.

Man: [stammers] I should've just went home, boy. Shit, instead I'm in here, locked up, 'cause this fool I ain't seen in about 11 years, man. Boy, I was at Five Points, 'bout to catch a bus, feel me? And this nigga I ain't seen led me and come on talking about, “Man, listen, hey, I ain't seen you in about 11 years, boy. Let's hang out. You know, get a beer.” So, I followed him to the goddamn gas station. We get two beers, ain't get but two of 'em, but they were the big ones, though; they were the big ones. Anyway, so he like, “Man, come on, let's go up to the house and drink 'em. “So, we get to the house, he like, man, my old lady [murmurs] So we gon' drink 'em on the porch, feel me? I'm like, “Boy, APD be rolling through here, boy.” And he done talked me into it, so, sure enough, APD done roll up and seen the goddamn two cans out there. Locked me up for public intoxication. You know man I'm in here, man, ‘cause this nigga, man, I ain't seen in 11 years, man. I'm gonna be in here till Tuesday 'cause I ain't cash my check.

Earn: That's messed up.

Man: Damn, man, I should've went home! Shit!

Grady: Hey, man, I said I was sorry. I just ain't seen you in, like, 12 years.

Man: Man, fuck you, Grady! Shut up!

This section displays a lot of aspects of African American English. He uses both boy and nigga as a term of address, and he pronounces boy as bwa. He removes unstressed syllables in some words, such as leb’m years instead of eleven years. He uses filler phrases, but they are sped up to the point where words change, such as him saying “Know what I’m talmbout?” rather than “Do you know what I’m talking about?” He removes consonant clusters at the end or beginning of some terms, such as ‘cause instead of because and gon’ instead of going. Also, the southern aspect of the dialect pops up in the vowel sounds he uses, such as jest instead of just. This might be the heaviest use of African American English in the show so far, but it is still fairly representative of its use throughout the show. However, the use of African American English to this extent has historically been uncommon in hugely successful shows such as Atlanta.

Ever since the 1950’s television has been dominated by shows that have predominately white staff members, and those shows have commonly been the ones that are most consumed. Early television was dominated by variety shows, like Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts, game shows, like The $64,000 Question, and news programs, like 60 Minutes, but sitcoms were and have also been immensely popular. Much like any other genre, the most watched sitcoms were still largely white. In fact, about thirty years after I Love Lucy, nearly twenty years after The Andy Griffith Show, and a decade after All in the Family, a show with a predominantly African American cast was the most watched television series in America.

From 1986 to 1989, The Cosby Show was the most watched television show in America and it also won multiple Emmys and Golden Globes during its run. Despite the recently discovered controversies and atrocities committed by its star, The Cosby Show was one of the earliest examples of a mainstream, but also positive, depiction of African American life in America. Bill Cosby himself played a doctor, his fictional wife, played by Phylicia Rashad, was an attorney and their family was upper middle class. These aspects made the show more accessible to Caucasian viewers, and the cast resonated with African American viewers, so the show succeeded. However, these very same aspects that made the show easier to watch included the deemphasis of African American English, and honestly, race wasn’t focused on much in the series. Other sitcoms of the time, such as The Jeffersons and Diff'rent Strokes, heavily embraced African American English. In addition, The Jeffersons would often make jokes relating to race, using terms such as “nigger” and “honkey”, while Diff'rent Strokes was infamous for its uncharacteristically serious episodes that would tackle issues such as race. Mentions of race in The Cosby Show were often relegated to discussions of the Civil Rights Movement and black musicians such as James Brown and Lena Horne, and African American English wasn’t really spoken by any of the main characters.

So, why is Atlanta, thirty years later, able to be so successful both commercially and critically while other black sitcoms have been either wildly successful without the use of African American English or have not reached such highs while using the dialect. Well, to understand the answer to that, other aspects of pop culture must be analyzed, as television, music, and film are all related to one another.

Atlanta is far from the only media property to feature African American English. Even before the aforementioned The Jeffersons and Diff'rent Strokes, black characters in film had been using the dialect. One of the earliest examples of the dialect in film is the 1934 film Imitation of Life. In it, Louise Beavers played Delilah Johnson, the maid of the main character, Beatrice “Bea” Pullman. Beavers, who had grown up in the North and in California, had to study hard and long to nail the “southern negro dialect”. Her portrayal was relatively well received, as her role was one of the first times in American cinematic history that a black woman’s problems were given major emotional weight in a major Hollywood motion picture. However, she was given even more criticism for the role, as it continued the portrayal of black women by her, and by other blacks in Hollywood, in roles that were subservient to whites. In fact, almost every role that Beavers took before or since Imitation of Life was either a slave, servant, or maid, as those were the only roles available to blacks at the time. Still, while this use of African American English seemed to have mixed reception, countless films and shows have used African American English since. Some of the most authentic of these come from African Americans who have created and casted (or stared in) their own works.

These works didn’t appear until the late 1970s and 1980s, and Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, is a great example of one of these later works. The film takes place entirely on Stuyvesant Avenue, between Quincy Street and Lexington Avenue, in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn and tells the tale of heated racial tensions between a black neighborhood and an Italian family that owns a local pizzeria. The film has a mostly African American cast, Including Samuel L. Jackson and Martin Laurence, and is written by Spike Lee, whom is also black. So, this film contains heavy use of African American English, from the protagonists to the more ancillary characters. The film was a critical success, is considered one of the most impactful movies of the 80s, and is still considered to be Spike Lee’s most compelling work by most. Similar to Atlanta, the uses of the African American English dialect didn’t prohibit viewers from understanding the dialog or off put them from the deeper messages of the film. However, while Do the Right Thing was a considered a commercial success at the box office, it would take a couple more decades before films with African American English would begin to lead the box office.

In 2015, the N.W.A. biopic, Straight Outta Compton was released to critical and commercial success. The film told the ups and downs of Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, DJ Yella, MC Ren, and Eazy-E, otherwise known as the hip hop group, N.W.A., and the controversies that came with their massive success. The film heavily used African American English in line with how it was used in the late 80s and early 90s. It made $ 157 million domestically at the box office, over three times it’s $50 million budget, and made over $200 million worldwide. It is not only the highest grossing film by a black director, F. Gary Gray, in the United States, but also the highest grossing music biopic of all time, beating Walk the Line. So, with Do the Right Thing, African American English was proven to not be a hindrance to critical acclaim, and with Straight Outta Compton, African American English was proven to not be a hindrance to financial success and mainstem appeal.

Now, if you’ve notice, there is a trend with the last two features mentioned. Both Do the Right Thing and Straight Outta Compton are heavily tied into the culture of hip hop music. In Spike Lee’s film, one of the most important characters, Radio Raheem, carries a radio that blares loud hip hop music with him in most scenes. In addition, aspects of hip hop culture, such as radio DJs and stylized brass knuckles, are found in the film. In Compton, the very subject matter of the movie is based around hip hop. N.W.A. is one of, if not the, most influential hip hop group of all time, and their influence can be seen not just in their genre of music, but throughout all of pop culture. Even if one is not a fan of rap music, the names Dr. Dre, Ice Cube, and maybe even Eazy-E are familiar to any consumer of popular culture. In fact, the show Atlanta also has a lot of influence from hip hop culture. The main character acts as an agent for his relative, Paper Boi, who is an up-incoming rap artist. All of these have heavy influence from the musical genre of hip hop, and it is the rise of hip hop over the last few decades that may be responsible for the widespread adoption and acceptance of African American English in mainstream pop culture.

African American English has historically been much more common in music rather than in other non-literary art forms. Some of the earliest examples of African American English in music can be found in blues, R&B, jazz, and spirituals near the beginning of the 20th century, like with W.C. Handy’s 1914 song, “Saint Louis Blues”. In the song, Handy writes “Cause my baby, he done left this town,”, which uses “done” to indicate the recent past. Another great example would be Nina Simone in 1967’s “It Be’s That Way Sometime”, which uses the habitual be and drops constants like s at the end of adverbs. But going back specifically to hip hop, the uses of African American English are rampant.

In 1979, The Sugarhill Gang released the first commercially successful hip hop song, “Rapper’s Delight”, and it is considered to be the song that introduced the genre to the United States as a whole. In the song, one of the members says “At the age of seven I was rocking in heaven dontcha know I went off.” This phrase contains a combination of don’t and ya, similar to how the scene from Atlanta contained a combination of talking and about. Also, later in 1983, Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five released the song, “New York, New York”, which is considered one of the first rap songs to use “nigga” as a term of address. This trend would be a staple of rap and hip hop for the rest of its existence, especially once N.W.A, or Niggaz Wit Attitudes, rose in popularity later that decade. In addition to these grammatical qualities, hip hop has also created and spread lexical items that are now specific to African American English. For example, in the Kanye West and Jay-Z song, “Otis”, Jay raps “the big face rollie, I got two of those”, where the term rollie is a slang term for a Rolex watch. In the Kendrick Lamar song, “Mamma”, he writes “Tossin' footballs with his ashy black ankles,” where ashy here means dry skin. Also, law enforcement has been given many nicknames in hip hop, such as 5-0, po-po, and twelve.

Now, as rap music has continued to change and popularize African American English, it has also grown into the current largest musical genre. According to Neilson Music, R&B/hip hop is now responsible for 25.1% of all music consumption, beating out rock for the first time since Nelson began measuring music. And hip hop didn’t get this big by itself, as many of hip hop’s most prominent artists have collaborated with those outside of the genre. In 1985, Run DMC released a cover of Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way”, with Steven Tyler and joe Perry as guest vocals. Jay-Z worked with Linkin Park on their 2004 joint album, Collision Course, including their hit song, “Numb/Encore”. Kendrick Lamar worked with Taylor Swift for her hit song “Bad Blood” in 2015, and earlier this year, Katy Perry featured the popular Atlanta rap group, Migos, in her song “Bon Appétit.” This has led to everyone in America being a fan of at least one song from the genre, with even our former president, Barak Obama, showing his love for rap artists like Kendrick Lamar and Chance the Rapper.

All of this evidence shows that hip hop is quickly consuming all of popular culture, and with the rise of hip hop comes the rise of the culture that the genre was born from. That leads to dances made popular in rap songs, like the Dab, being done by even Ellen DeGeneres. This has led to rappers being popular enough to cast in multi-million-dollar motion pictures, such as Ludacris being cast in the Fast and Furious movies and Donald Glover being cast in Spider-Man Homecoming and Star Wars. And this has also lead to African American English being exposed to more Americans than ever before. While everyone in the country might not speak African American English, everyone now either has a friend who speaks it, or consumes media in which its use is very common. African American English is no longer commonly used to paint characters as a negative stereotype. African American English is now being used by black storytellers and artists to more accurately portray their experiences and to bring viewers and listeners in their own perspectives.

Atlanta is able to be as successful as it is because the environment in which it was release has changed dramatically. No longer does a black sitcom have to deemphasize race to reach massive critical and commercial success. No longer does the use of grammar and lexical terms from African American English have to mean a show won’t reach the widest audience or win any major critical awards. Thanks primarily to the rise of hip hop in mainstream culture, shows like Atlanta are allowed to thrive, and it is to that genre that most of these shows are in debt.

However, with the use of African American English being more widespread than ever, this has led to some non-whites using the dialect. In hip hop, it is commonly done to show “street cred” or to fit in with other rappers. But in some cases, specifically with the use of nigga as a term of address, much criticism has been given to those who attempt to use the dialect without being black themselves. However, if hip hop continues to grow in popularity, then everyone will have to deal with some big changes either way. We’ll all either change to align ourselves within the previously set rules of African American English, or we will simply change those rules according to how the dialect is used in the future. And only time will tell if we’ll still be using the same dialect we are discussing today.

#atlanta #earn #donald glover #rap music #hip hop #ebonics #african american #language #english

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courtneytincher · 5 years ago

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The Sleazeball Peddling Russian Girls to Billionaires

Photo Illustation by The Daily Beast/Photos Getty; AlamyODESSA, Ukraine—Disgust flashed across Kristina Goncharova’s delicate features when she heard the name Peter Listerman. In Odessa, Ukraine’s graceful Black Sea resort, every local fashion agency and beauty contest organizer knows Listerman, a man always looking to hire Russian and Ukrainian models for his VIP escort agencies. And to 24-year-old Goncharova, Listerman’s name brings a whole storm of associations with dubious big-money characters treating teenage girls as if they were animals at a pet store. Even back in 2016, sources familiar with the beauty business were not surprised to see a report on the New York Post’s gossipy Page Six site connecting Listerman to Jeffrey Epstein: “Instead of having his assistants troll local high schools, the billionaire money manager—and registered sex offender—is importing his playmates from Russia.” The article suggested Listerman had been seen visiting Epstein’s apartment and noted a TV interview in which Listerman said he introduced many oligarchs to Russian models, but insisted: “I’m not a pimp, just [a] matchmaker.”Now Epstein is held in a federal lockup in Manhattan, facing up to 45 years in prison for molesting and trafficking minors. And Listerman appeared to be running scared as soon as we started asking questions.Jeffrey Epstein Arrested for Sex Trafficking of MinorsEarlier this month, celebrities arrived here from all over the world for the 10th annual Odesa International Film Festival. Young Ukrainian models took part in the Fashion Weekend events, with photo shoots on the beach. And sure enough, Listerman showed up as well. We found him drinking in the company of some young women by the pool at the Palace Del Mar hotel. (He was easy to track: he kept posting bawdy videos of himself at the Del Mar or the Dacha restaurant talking about... sex.) When asked about his dealings with Epstein, Listerman tried to turn his activities into a joke: “I invented myths and fairy tales to entertain people,” Listerman told The Daily Beast. But when pressed to explain the details about the alleged traffic of teen models, he declined to answer and subsequently blocked a reporter on his Instagram and Facebook pages. What’s certain is that Listerman’s pursuit of potential “matchmaking” talent is notorious, and for decades the activities of Listerman, a Russian citizen, were an open book. He often bragged about his business on Russian TV, referring to the women he hooked up with rich men as “chickens” or “tyolki,” which means heifers, young cows that have never been bred. He also called women his “shaggy gold,” alluding to pubic hair.Here is how he described the type he is searching for in an interview with a Russian tabloid, Komsomolskaya Pravda, during his visit to the Siberian city of Krasnoyarsk in 2009: “My Hollywood clients and oligarchs are sick of emancipated Muscovites, European and American women, who resemble robots. Everybody is sick of these evil women, they want gentle and romantic!”Russian and Ukrainian organizers of beauty contests try to distance themselves from Listerman as if from a contagious infection. Earlier this year Listerman was noticed outside the luxurious Borvikha concert hall in Moscow right before the Miss Russia 2019 beauty contest. “The scandalous matchmaker was not allowed even to cross the threshold,” Komsomolskaya Pravda reported.In the early 2000s, Moscow’s glamorous world of wild oil money embraced the cynical philosophy of “Uncle Petia,” as Listerman is sometimes called: “God created 50 percent of people who are ready to sell their guts and 50 percent of those who just pretend they cannot but secretly they are ready for anything,” he said in one of his interviews. In a 2007 movie, Gloss, by Andrei Konchalovsky, a procurer seemingly modeled on Listerman is named Petia. He checks if young women’s feet are gentle and agile enough before sending them off for consideration as mistresses for “a very serious client in Sardinia.” One of the models Petia sells to an English lord is a virgin.* * *The Beauty Queen Machine* * *For years, Tatiana Savchenko, the founder of Odessa’s first modeling school, has seen the real-life Listerman cruising for her students at fashion shows and beauty contests. “I have heard him approach women at our agency with his usual, ‘Hey, beautiful, I have a client for you!’” Savchenko told The Daily Beast. “It took a lot of work to keep him from tricking our teen models in his traps.”Goncharova, who was one of Savchenko’s students, actually trained from the time she was five to become a beauty queen. She attended ballet, singing, painting and chess classes; she learned to speak French and English, to move gracefully, and answer questions about her ambitions. In a recent interview with The Daily Beast, Goncharova said that “the world’s famous seller of young models to oligarchs”—Listerman—had been writing “What’s up, Bride-to-Be?” messages to her for years. The young model won the Miss Teen Ukraine contest in 2010 and her dream came true: she was invited to take part in Miss Teen World in Houston. That was when she received the first, “Hey, Beautiful,” message from Listerman, who wanted to meet with her. She was 14 years old. Goncharova, a tall, long-limbed Ukrainian model with big doe eyes is gentle, romantic—and horrified to hear about Epstein’s case with such details as the “orgy island” and the alleged connection to Listerman. “I had enough of a brain to turn him down when I was a minor but many girls look for a chance to meet with him, say yes to his offers, as he is paying them much more than €300 [$334], the average of what we make per day working as professional models in Europe,” she said. And Listerman is relentless. In 2016, he sent her private messages on Facebook every few months. “Hi, Mama, how is Odessa?”; “Is Leonardo DiCaprio with you now?” and then four months later: “Hi, Bride-to-Be, have you been successful?” He knew that as a beauty queen she was. In 2017 Goncharova won Miss Tourism International, a contest of models from 20 countries. But clearly Listerman had another notion of success—hooking up with someone very rich.Today, Goncharova says, she realizes that she has been surrounded with girls obsessed with dreams of American wealth and luxury since her childhood. The daughter of a model, when she came to Savchenko’s school, Savrox Models, at the age of five her first teacher was none other than Oleksandra Nikolayenko, who won Miss Ukraine in 2001.Later that same Nikolayenko met Donald Trump’s friend, casino and hotel owner Phil Ruffin. “Ukrainian models and American billionaires found their way to each other at beauty contests,” Savchenko, who had met Trump and Ruffin at several international competitions, told The Daily Beast. “Not everybody needed Listerman’s services.”Made Desperate by War, Odessa's Women Look to Model's Cinderella StorySavchenko went to the Nikolayenko-Ruffin wedding at Mar-a-Lago and remembers vividly her encounter with the future U.S. president: “Donald grabbed me by my waist and whispered compliments that made me blush.”Teenagers from poor Ukrainian regions, where five years of war and economic crises have wrought widespread devastation, imagine themselves escaping to a modeling career, maybe marrying a political leader, a rich businessman, or a foreign sugar daddy.On a recent scouting trip in the Ukrainian city of Kharkiv, the managing organizer of Miss Ukraine Universe, Aleksey Diveyev-Tserkovny, announced the organizers could turn any woman into a model. “When 2,000 beauties showed up, we decided to just let them quickly go past us so we could pull the most beautiful ones from the crowd,” Diveyev-Tserkovny said last week. “But there were so many beautiful girls that my head was spinning.” When asked about Listerman and Epstein, Diveyev-Tserkovny shook his head in disapproval. “To speak to me about Listerman’s hunt for girls is the same as to speak about porn films to an expert in art-house film festivals,” he said. “Listerman has been chasing me, trying to make friends for a long time, since the beauty contest we organize is No. 1 in Ukraine.” * * *The Instagram Pageant* * *Awareness of the role procurers play in Russia and Ukraine is slowly on the rise. Some young women have spoken out about sexual abuse and suffering. But others are posting their nude and semi-nude pictures on Instagram. “I am not sure how to stop girls flocking into escort agencies—just search for love in Odessa or in Ukraine and you will see tons of young women revealing their bodies,” said Savchenko. “The number of girls interested in beauty contests is shrinking, replaced by an Instagram race for popularity.” Modeling schools organizing beauty contests check every participant’s page on social media. “We play the role of a filter: if some girl posts her nude pictures on Instagram we immediately reject her,” Savchenko added.Boris Nemtsov, the opposition politician and critic of Vladimir Putin assassinated in 2015, wrote about Listerman in his book Confession of a Rebel. Soon after Putin’s first election in 2000, Nemtsov, a Russian parliament member at the time, stayed in the same hotel as Putin and businessman Vladimir Potanin in the French ski resort of Courchevel. “We come downstairs and see around 10 long-legged girls. Potanin and I were in shock. It turns out Petia Listerman, a famous ‘promoter’ brought them.” Nemtsov asked Listerman why he brought the women to the hotel: “But you are also men, after all,” Listerman said, assuming that explained everything.The “promoter” has bragged in multiple interviews about finding Russian model wives for big name stars, claiming soccer champion Cristiano Ronaldo and NHL star Alex Ovechkin met their spouses through him. He claimed he had a contract with Tatiana Akhmadova for half of all her divorce proceedings after introducing her to billionaire Farkhad Akhmadov. None of those claims have been substantiated in any detail.In any case, there’s more—or less—than matrimony on offer for a prospective "bride-to-be."“Listerman’s business is surely not just about marriage—we are aware that there is an international market of models supplied to escorts around casinos, yachts and resorts,” Savchenko told The Daily Beast. It’s doubtful that any of the Russians or Ukrainians that Page Six noticed around Epstein were there to be life partners.The problem of human trafficking from and through Ukraine is huge, and not limited to would-be models. According to the International Organization for Migration, 230,000 Ukrainian women, men and children have become victims since 1991. But Goncharova, for one, thinks that Ukraine’s new first lady Olena Zelenskaya could do great service leading the anti-sex-traffic campaign and increasing awareness among young people. As for Goncharova herself, after a lifetime of modeling, at 24 she is disillusioned and says she is planning to quit the business.Read more at The Daily Beast.Get our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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char27martin · 7 years ago

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How to Work with Hollywood: Crossing the Chasm from Book to Film

Doug Richardson, writer of Die Hard 2, Bad Boys and Hostage, takes an author through the process of book to film and what an author can expect when working with Hollywood.

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Celebrate. You just sold your book to Hollywood. It’s going to be a movie. At least that’s the big hope. So congratulate yourself. Cash the check. Buy a Mercedes. After all, you’ve always wanted a Benz. Hey. While you’re at it, buy two Mercedes because somehow you convinced the movie studio to pay you to pen the first draft of the screenplay. Awesome. You just made it over the first hurdle.

Now comes the second hurdle. Actually writing the screenplay. Easy? Heck no. It’s not. But for argument sake – as well as this article – lets say you’ve done it. I’m not here to tell you how to adapt your book into a quality screenplay. Google that question, and I’m sure you’ll find volumes of how to’s out in the digital ether. This piece is about what nobody dishes; which is what happens after you’ve written the script. That’s because, up until this point, it’s been a summer’s stroll down Imagination Boulevard. The work has been just you, your talent, wits, and craft. Up until now, you’ve had only yourself to answer to.

So let the fun begin.

DELIVERING YOUR SCREENPLAY

Doug Richardson

Oh. And it better be golden. Why? After all, it’s just a first draft, yes? The reason it needs to be awesome is because the powers that be – ergo the studio and producer(s) – are fully expecting your script to stink. This is due to the unfortunate fact that you’re a novelist. And historically speaking, authors make lousy screenwriters. So as a safety, they have an experienced Tinseltown script jockey ready to step in and re-adapt your book. But don’t take that personally. These veteran scribes are movie people both studios and producers have worked with before or have already had success at adaptation or are the tiffany names actors and directors like to see on a title page.

My point? If your screenplay is golden, you can forget entirely about the pitfalls listed in the last paragraph. Moving on.

WHAT TO DO WHEN YOUR DRAFT IS COMPLETE

This is where things get a little sticky. Your contract spells out that you are to be paid upon completion of the draft. Completion is when the script is turned into the studio. Only the producer is not the studio.

What producer, you ask?

There’s almost always a producer. He or she might’ve discovered your novel and presented it to the studio. Or perhaps your agent sent the book to the producer. And even if there was no producer involved in the purchase, the studio or financiers most likely will assign a trusted producer to the project. So, just know, there will be a producer. And the producer is going to want an early peek at the script. A preview. For his or her eyes only.

Now contractually – at least in the eyes of the almighty Writers Guild of America (WGA) – the producer is a representative of the studio. So if you allow the producer get a first look, you are technically delivering your work and should be paid accordingly. Then what should you do? Turn the work into both the producer and the studio at the same time?

“Definitely not at the same time,” the producer will kindly whisper. “If you show it to me, it’s not like an official delivery of your draft. I just want a little unofficial looksee to make sure the work is up to snuff. You know, ready to turn in to the big, bad movie studio. I’m talking a best foot forward kinda scenario.”

How to Design Your Novel for Film Adaptation

Let’s say that’s exactly what you do. You give your ready-for-prime-time screenplay to the producer for a hush-hush unauthorized read. He or she will most surely have a “helpful note” (or two or three) to better your work. They will strongly suggest you apply the notes to the screenplay before the studio sees it. The producer, after all, claims to have your best interest at heart as well his or her own because the producer doesn’t get paid unless the movie gets made.

Is there a reason not to allow the producer an early look? Here’s some: Because the producer is an agent for the studio. The producer’s bread is buttered by the studio. And despite what they promise, you must assume the producer is going to slip the script to the studio. Period. End of discussion. There are exceptions to this rule. Rare exceptions. Like finding a dead body buried in your backyard kind of rare. In essence, the producer’s “helpful suggestions” will be the studio’s “helpful suggestions.” And by executing those suggestions you, the screenwriter for your novel, will be in fact performing a free draft for them.

And WGA seriously frowns upon writers doing free work.

That said, by no means am I suggesting you do free drafts. Nor am I suggesting that you don’t. If the end game is to write the movie from the first draft to the last, each individual writer needs to make his or her own decision regarding how best to navigate this gooey situation. And it is an ugly, slurry of a swamp. I will add that many veteran screenwriters worth their price will scribble as many drafts as they deem necessary to get the script to that magical place where it morphs from words on a page to camera-ready motion picture.

MANAGING THE NOTES PROCESS

And there will be notes. These handy tips apply to all the notes whether provided by the producers or the movie studio or anybody else involved in the process. Upon hearing their suggestions to better the script your instinct will be to take a defensive posture. Especially when the notes are bad. And just like there will be notes. There will be bad notes.

So here’s the trick. Be defensive of your work, your vision, the end game, your movie. But never, ever let them see it. In other words, do not be combative. Appear pliant. Be resilient. Remember, you’re getting paid well for this. Your job is to be Mister or Missus Fix It. All while protecting the good work you’ve done and the good work you’re yet to do.

As for those rotten, stinking notions-slash-script-suggestions you’re certain to receive, I suggest this pair of strategies to be used separately or together.

Be fast on your feet. Since most notes are given verbally in either a meeting or over the phone, try to be quick of mind. Process the note and spin it back in a way that applies to the work in such away that satisfies the script. More importantly, spin it in a way that makes the note-giver feel as if they’ve been heard. Talk the note through, including whatever negative ripple effects it might incur to the work.

And if being mentally nimble on the spot is not your talent?

Then be complimentary and quiet. Stay cool. Reply like this. “That’s interesting.” Or one of my favorites. “Let me marinate on that and get back to you.” This approach resolves in two ways. For one, that lousy, awful, no-good note will probably be forgotten by the offending note-giver before the meeting is over. And two, it gives the writer time to get underneath what the note really means and come up with a workable solution. This is because sometimes a bad note is actually a good note.

Say what?

Note-givers are rarely writers. They don’t necessarily understand how the story works or what magic you performed to get everyone to the table. Instead of coming up with a cogent rationale for their suggestion, they will often offer a bad example. They may even qualify it as a bad example or idea or scene. But contained within is their problem. They are identifying something missing in your script. Or pointing out a dislike. As screenwriter, your job is to investigate and get underneath that bad note, digging through the emotional dirt that birthed it. Discover the golden nugget that makes the movie better.

And what if the note is good? Don’t be a moron. Use it. Your name is on the movie. You’ll receive credit and applause for it.

Getting Honest Feedback

YOU SURVIVED THE NOTES AND REVISION PROCESSES AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T BEEN FIRED

Congratulations. After what feels like a hundred drafts, the studio loves your script. They see as a movie. Now it’s time to bring on the visionary. What? You’re not the visionary? No, dummy. You’re just the writer.

Your next hurdle is the director. This is where you picture a big, yellow caution sign. And don’t be disturbed by this. More often than not, the director will have you sacked before even meeting you. Which, to the writer, makes no earthly sense because the director would not be interested in the helming the movie were it not for you and your awe-inspiring script.

The director’s problem with you… is you. You are the screenwriter. Even worse, you authored the novel.

Yes, there’s an ego thing here. An understandable one. The director often considers him or herself the author of the film. This might be hard to digest when considering that in television and theater, the writer is regarded as king or queen, the alpha dog in the food chain. If only that explanation solved your problem. And it is your problem, if you’re going to remain on the movie.

There’s a secondary and practical reason for the director having an issue with the original writer. Movie stars. Though it’s often the combination of the screenplay and the director that gets a bankable actor interested in the first place, come that crunch time before and during actual production, the star and lesser performers quickly discover that the writer has two things to offer that the director doesn’t. The first is time. The director is the center of a cyclone of activity with everyone from the studio to the carpenters hammering nails into the sets demanding an opinion or approval. Because the director is busy scouting locations and choosing lens sizes, the writer is often available to talk about character the actor is about to play or is playing. The secondary reason why actors seek out the writer is because they quickly discover the writer is a vast reservoir of information on their character, having invented it, lived it, known it, and/or rewritten it a million times.

This makes directors extraordinarily nervous. Their wont is the actor’s full attention. They demand that performers look to them for guidance. Thusly, it takes a very secure movie director to allow the writer around the cast, either before production or during.

If you’re losing faith, don’t. The director obstacle is navigable. And this is true even if you’ve already been informed that you’ve been replaced.

Request a meeting with the director.

Beg. Beseech your agent, the producers, the movie studio, or anybody with a position of authority to get you a meeting with the director. “Fire me after,” says you, the writer. “Just let me plead my case to keep me on the picture.”

And if by some miracle you succeed in this nearly impossible ask? Here’s what you say. “I’m a fan.” “I think you’re going to make an amazing movie.” “I can’t say how thrilled I am that you are directing.”

If all this sounds really kiss-ass? Yeah. It is. But it’s just the set up for the knock-out punch. Because as writer about to be fired, you must say the following:

“I wrote my book.”

“I wrote my screenplay.”

“I’m satisfied as an artist.”

“My job as the screenwriter at this point is to help you make a really great movie. I’m here to assist you in any way you need.”

And lastly and most importantly:

“And if an actor comes to me to ask me a solitary question regarding anything involving the movie, I will defer to you and your wishes. Always. If I fail, send me packing.”

And here’s the magic of this ruse. Okay. It’s not a ruse. It’s very real advice. But it may feel like a ruse because in the end, once the director is secure in both your roles, it becomes far, far easier for him or her to trust you won’t do what he or she most feared. You talking to the actors. Why is this? Because the director’s most precious resource is time. The director is constantly crunched for every priceless minute and might ask you to confer with the actors, rehearse them, dine with them, mollify them, even having the faith in the writer to hand them a scene to direct. I kid you not. It’s happened. It’s happened to me.

Understanding Book Contracts: What’s Negotiable and What��s Not

SO NOW YOU’RE NOT JUST THE WRITER ANYMORE

You’re the movie star’s best friend. Okay. So, you’re not a best friend. At least not yet. But on the movie you may almost feel that way because stars and actors can sometimes become attached and darn needy during the process. Therefore, when the phone rings at three in the morning and you’re already way short of sleep because there’s a snowstorm that won’t stop and the production demands you to rewrite the tennis in the park scene to take place inside a warm and cozy basketball gym – and make it work like you’d always meant for it to be in a basketball gym – do you politely ask the movie star to let you return to slumber and discuss his or her problem at a later time?

Absolutely not.

There’s an old showbiz joke. Q: How do you say no to a movie star? A: You don’t. You don’t. You tap dance, swivel, twist yourself into a pretzel to keep the picture moving forward without uttering the word “no.” If the movie star has either a movie or non-movie related issue, I strongly suggest you grab a cup of coffee, listen ad nauseam, assist the aforementioned movie star in any way, short of breaking the law or your own moral limit. Remember, you’re still the writer on the movie, trusted, and with that much more influence over the final product. More than most screenwriters can ever say.

PRODUCTION AND OTHER WRITER PROBLEMS

Not every picture is a giant, hundred-plus million-dollar budget, CGI-driven event movie where money flows like water. In fact, no movies are like that. From large scale to small, all movies have limits and are subject to physical and monetary boundaries. For cost or time issues, you will be asked to merge and bundle scenes. What does this mean? Let’s say you have an early scene that takes place in a restaurant and a later scene that shoots in a supermarket. But for budget reasons, the production can afford only one of the two locations. The writer must rework the script to solve the problem and, as usual, make it appear like it was almost meant to be just one locale.

As the writer during production, you will be asked to turn rain into snow and summer into fall. Cut scenes in two, or even entirely, because the movie can’t afford to shoot them. Make speeches shorter or longer based on an actor’s desires, needs, or talent or hopeless lack thereof. Give actors easier words to pronounce because their mouth can’t form around the elocution in your head. Write actors out of scene or even the entire movie. I have. I’ve done all of these, every time trying like hell to make the work appear seamless and as if it was always meant to be.

I’ve even had to scrawl out an apology for director who needed to get an offended actress out of her trailer and back to work.

“Why?” I asked the producer.

“Because you’re the writer,” he squarely and rightly replied.

FINALLY YOUR MOVIE IS MADE

Pat yourself on the back. Go back to penning your next novel or screenwriting assignment. Take a vacation. Lord knows you’ve earned it. In the meantime, the editors have been editing, the composer is scoring, the marketing folks are busy planning how many screens your movie is going to unspool on just days after the glitzy premiere you’ve been invited to. In fact, the studio has graced you with an entire row at the premiere to fill with your family and friends and don’t forget to include your agent and manager. And so you won’t be unpleasantly surprised, one of the powers that be has even arranged for you to view the finished motion picture. Upon viewing your movie, and it lands anywhere between amazing and just average, count your blessings.

But what if the final movie stinks? I’m not floating the negative just to be negative. After all, if the movie is good, it’s not a problem to navigate. At least it shouldn’t be.

Yet there is a solid possibility you will hate your own movie. Everything squeaks. To see it sends chills up your spine. The bad kind. What to do then? Sure. It’s a personal choice. I’ve been there and wanted to eject myself from the premiere and disinvite family and friends because I was embarrassed by the final product.

Then I had someone talk some sense into me just the way I’m talking sense into you. I’d sought out a mentor – an old sage who had a history of doling out worthy advice.

“What? If the movie’s good, it belongs to you and if it doesn’t, it’s not yours anymore?” he asked through the phone, mocking me with incredulity.

“Uh… no,” I said, still stuck on the horns of my I-hate-my-movie dilemma.

He told me not to be a baby. Attend and support the picture. If asked, do the press junket and be a team player. Because despite my reservations, if the movie was any kind of success, acclaim would still come to me. As well more money, respect, and movie work.

Yes, it’s a judgment call. It’s an artist’s personal choice. Yet all the same, that novel you wrote – you know, the one that started this whole turgid process? Your publisher is going to apply all the millions of dollars the movie studio spent promoting the motion picture and slap that artwork from the movie poster onto a paperback printing of your soon-to-be popular novel. Sales will spike. And besides cashing that check, you’re going to want to be there for the ride.

For more information on Doug’s films and novels, visit his site and follow him on Twitter: @byDougRich

Get help adapting your book to a screenplay with Screenwriters University’s online course: Writing the Adaptation

The post How to Work with Hollywood: Crossing the Chasm from Book to Film appeared first on WritersDigest.com.

from Writing Editor Blogs – WritersDigest.com http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/book-to-film-how-to-work-with-hollywood-crossing-the-chasm

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