#i seem to remember someone saying they were dressed in 1950's clothes but i could be wrong

[mettywiththenotes]

I still find it funny that Tomura and Izuku interact on neutral/friendly terms in the official art Hori posts. Real case of "we are enemies we oppose each other we are forever intrinsically linked we hate each other but we sorta need each other oh look at this angst" in the main story vs "haha what if we hang out or smthg. lets crash this studio ghibli movie parody in horror cosplay. you have a really nice smile btw. come with me and my friends to this event. you wanna get in on this 50's photoshoot?" outside of it

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

“Elliot Page doesn’t remember exactly how long he had been asking.

But he does remember the acute feeling of triumph when, around age 9, he was finally allowed to cut his hair short. “I felt like a boy,” Page says. “I wanted to be a boy. I would ask my mom if I could be someday.” Growing up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Page visualized himself as a boy in imaginary games, freed from the discomfort of how other people saw him: as a girl. After the haircut, strangers finally started perceiving him the way he saw himself, and it felt both right and exciting.

The joy was short-lived. Months later, Page got his first break, landing a part as a daughter in a Canadian mining family in the TV movie Pit Pony. He wore a wig for the film, and when Pit Pony became a TV show, he grew his hair out again. “I became a professional actor at the age of 10,” Page says. And pursuing that passion came with a difficult compromise. “Of course I had to look a certain way.”

We are speaking in late February. It is the first interview Page, 34, has given since disclosing in December that he is transgender, in a heartfelt letter posted to Instagram, and he is crying before I have even uttered a question. “Sorry, I’m going to be emotional, but that’s cool, right?” he says, smiling through his tears.

It’s hard for him to talk about the days that led up to that disclosure. When I ask how he was feeling, he looks away, his neck exposed by a new short haircut. After a pause, he presses his hand to his heart and closes his eyes. “This feeling of true excitement and deep gratitude to have made it to this point in my life,” he says, “mixed with a lot of fear and anxiety.”

It’s not hard to understand why a trans person would be dealing with conflicting feelings in this moment. Increased social acceptance has led to more young people describing themselves as trans—1.8% of Gen Z compared with 0.2% of boomers, according to a recent Gallup poll—yet this has fueled conservatives who are stoking fears about a “transgender craze.” President Joe Biden has restored the right of transgender military members to serve openly, and in Hollywood, trans people have never had more meaningful time onscreen. Meanwhile, J.K. Rowling is leveraging her cultural capital to oppose transgender equality in the name of feminism, and lawmakers are arguing in the halls of Congress over the validity of gender identities. “Sex has become a political football in the culture wars,” says Chase Strangio, deputy director for transgender justice at the ACLU.

(Full article with photos continued under the “read more”)

And so Page—who charmed America as a precocious pregnant teenager in Juno, constructed dreamscapes in Inception and now stars in Netflix’s hit superhero show The Umbrella Academy, the third season of which he’s filming in Toronto—expected that his news would be met with both applause and vitriol. “What I was anticipating was a lot of support and love and a massive amount of hatred and transphobia,” says Page. “That’s essentially what happened.” What he did not anticipate was just how big this story would be. Page’s announcement, which made him one of the most famous out trans people in the world, started trending on Twitter in more than 20 countries. He gained more than 400,000 new followers on Instagram on that day alone. Thousands of articles were published. Likes and shares reached the millions. Right-wing podcasters readied their rhetoric about “women in men’s locker rooms.” Casting directors reached out to Page’s manager saying it would be an honor to cast Page in their next big movie.

So, it was a lot. Over the course of two conversations, Page will say that understanding himself in all the specifics remains a work in progress. Fathoming one’s gender, an identity innate and performed, personal and social, fixed and evolving, is complicated enough without being under a spotlight that never seems to turn off. But having arrived at a critical juncture, Page feels a deep sense of responsibility to share his truth. “Extremely influential people are spreading these myths and damaging rhetoric—every day you’re seeing our existence debated,” Page says. “Transgender people are so very real.”

That role in Pit Pony led to other productions and eventually, when Page was 16, to a film called Mouth to Mouth. Playing a young anarchist, Page had a chance to cut his hair again. This time, he shaved it off completely. The kids at his high school teased him, but in photos he has posted from that time on social media he looks at ease. Page’s head was still shaved when he mailed in an audition tape for the 2005 thriller Hard Candy. The people in charge of casting asked him to audition again in a wig. Soon, the hair was back.

Page’s tour de force performance in Hard Candy led, two years later, to Juno, a low-budget indie film that brought Page Oscar, BAFTA and Golden Globe nominations and sudden megafame. The actor, then 21, struggled with the stresses of that ascension. The endless primping, red carpets and magazine spreads were all agonizing reminders of the disconnect between how the world saw Page and who he knew himself to be. “I just never recognized myself,” Page says. “For a long time I could not even look at a photo of myself.” It was difficult to watch the movies too, especially ones in which he played more feminine roles.

Page loved making movies, but he also felt alienated by Hollywood and its standards. Alia Shawkat, a close friend and co-star in 2009’s Whip It,describes all the attention from Juno as scarring. “He had a really hard time with the press and expectations,” Shawkat says. “‘Put this on! And look this way! And this is sexy!’”

By the time he appeared in blockbusters like X-Men: The Last Stand and Inception, Page was suffering from depression, anxiety and panic attacks. He didn’t know, he says, “how to explain to people that even though [I was] an actor, just putting on a T-shirt cut for a woman would make me so unwell.” Shawkat recalls Page’s struggles with clothes. “I’d be like, ‘Hey, look at all these nice outfits you’re getting,’ and he would say, ‘It’s not me. It feels like a costume,’” she says. Page tried to convince himself that he was fine, that someone who was fortunate enough to have made it shouldn’t have complaints. But he felt exhausted by the work required to “just exist,” and thought more than once about quitting acting.

In 2014, Page came out as gay, despite feeling for years that “being out was impossible” given his career. (Gender identity and sexual orientation are, of course, distinct, but one queer identity can coexist with another.) In an emotional speech at a Human Rights Campaign conference, Page talked about being part of an industry “that places crushing standards” on actors and viewers alike. “There are pervasive stereotypes about masculinity and femininity that define how we’re all supposed to act, dress and speak,” Page went on. “And they serve no one.”

The actor started wearing suits on the red carpet. He found love, marrying choreographer Emma Portner in 2018. He asserted more agency in his career, producing his own films with LGBTQ leads like Freeheld and My Days of Mercy. And he made a masculine wardrobe a condition of taking roles. Yet the daily discord was becoming unbearable. “The difference in how I felt before coming out as gay to after was massive,” says Page. “But did the discomfort in my body ever go away? No, no, no, no.”

In part, it was the isolation forced by the pandemic that brought to a head Page’s wrestling with gender. (Page and Portner separated last summer, and the two divorced in early 2021. “We’ve remained close friends,” Page says.) “I had a lot of time on my own to really focus on things that I think, in so many ways, unconsciously, I was avoiding,” he says. He was inspired by trailblazing trans icons like Janet Mock and Laverne Cox, who found success in Hollywood while living authentically. Trans writers helped him understand his feelings; Page saw himself reflected in P. Carl’s memoir Becoming a Man. Eventually “shame and discomfort” gave way to revelation. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” Page says, “and letting myself fully become who I am.”

This led to a series of decisions. One was asking the world to call him by a different name, Elliot, which he says he’s always liked. Page has a tattoo that says E.P. PHONE HOME, a reference to a movie about a young boy with that name. “I loved E.T. when I was a kid and always wanted to look like the boys in the movies, right?” he says. The other decision was to use different pronouns—for the record, both he/him and they/them are fine. (When I ask if he has a preference on pronouns for the purposes of this story, Page says, “He/him is great.”)

A day before we first speak, Page will talk to his mom about this interview and she will tell him, “I’m just so proud of my son.” He grows emotional relating this and tries to explain that his mom, the daughter of a minister, who was born in the 1950s, was always trying to do what she thought was best for her child, even if that meant encouraging young Page to act like a girl. “She wants me to be who I am and supports me fully,” Page says. “It is a testament to how people really change.”

Another decision was to get top surgery. Page volunteers this information early in our conversation; at the time he posted his disclosure on Instagram, he was recovering in Toronto. Like many trans people, Page emphasizes being trans isn’t all about surgery. For some people, it’s unnecessary. For others, it’s unaffordable. For the wider world, the media’s focus on it has sensationalized transgender bodies, inviting invasive and inappropriate questions. But Page describes surgery as something that, for him, has made it possible to finally recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, providing catharsis he’s been waiting for since the “total hell” of puberty. “It has completely transformed my life,” he says. So much of his energy was spent on being uncomfortable in his body, he says. Now he has that energy back.

For the transgender community at large, visibility does not automatically lead to acceptance. Around the globe, transgender people deal disproportionately with violence and discrimination. Anti-trans hate crimes are on the rise in the U.K. along with increasingly transphobic rhetoric in newspapers and tabloids. In the U.S., in addition to the perennial challenges trans people face with issues like poverty and homelessness, a flurry of bills in state legislatures would make it a crime to provide transition-related medical care to trans youth. And crass old jokes are still in circulation. When Biden lifted the ban on open service for transgender troops, Saturday Night Live’s Michael Che did a bit on Weekend Update about the policy being called “don’t ask, don’t tuck.”

Page says coming out as trans was “selfish” on one level: “It’s for me. I want to live and be who I am.” But he also felt a moral imperative to do so, given the times. Human identity is complicated and mysterious, but politics insists on fitting everything into boxes. In today’s culture wars, simplistic beliefs about gender—e.g., chromosomes = destiny—are so widespread and so deep-seated that many people who hold those beliefs don’t feel compelled to consider whether they might be incomplete or prejudiced. On Feb. 24, after a passionate debate on legislation that would ban discrimination against LGBTQ people, Representative Marie Newman, an Illinois Democrat, proudly displayed the pride flag in support of her daughter, who is trans. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, a Georgia Republican, responded by hanging a poster outside her office that read: There are TWO genders: MALE & FEMALE.

The next day Dr. Rachel Levine, who stands to become the first openly transgender federal official confirmed by the Senate, endured a tirade from Senator Rand Paul about “genital mutilation” during her confirmation hearing. My second conversation with Page happens shortly after this. He brings it up almost immediately, and seems both heartbroken and determined. He wants to emphasize that top surgery, for him, was “not only life-changing but lifesaving.” He implores people to educate themselves about trans lives, to learn how crucial medical care can be, to understand that lack of access to it is one of the many reasons that an estimated 41% of transgender people have attempted suicide, according to one survey.

Page has been in the political trenches for a while, having leaned into progressive activism after coming out as queer in 2014. For two seasons, he and best friend Ian Daniel filmed Gaycation, a Viceland series that explored LGBTQ culture around the world and, at one point, showed Page grilling Senator Ted Cruz at the Iowa State Fair about discrimination against queer people. In 2019, Page made a documentary called There’s Something in the Water, which explores environmental hardships experienced by communities of color in Nova Scotia, with $350,000 of his own money. That activism extends to his own industry: in 2017, he published a Facebook post that, among other things, accused director Brett Ratner of forcibly outing him as gay on the set of an X-Men movie. (A representative for Ratner did not respond to a request for comment.)

As a trans person who is white, wealthy and famous, Page has a unique kind of privilege, and with it an opportunity to advocate for those with less. According to the U.S. Trans Survey, a large-scale report from 2015, transgender people of color are more likely to experience unemployment, harassment by police and refusals of medical care. Nearly half of all Black respondents reported being denied equal treatment, verbally harassed and/or physically attacked in the past year. Trans people as a group fare much worse on such stats than the general population. “My privilege has allowed me to have resources to get through and to be where I am today,” Page says, “and of course I want to use that privilege and platform to help in the ways I can.”

Since his disclosure, Page has been mostly quiet on social media. One exception has been to tweet on behalf of the ACLU, which is in the midst of fighting anti-trans bills and laws around the country, including those that ban transgender girls and women from participating in sports. Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves says he will sign such a bill in the name of “protect[ing] young girls.” Page played competitive soccer and vividly recalls the agony of being told he would have to play on the girls’ team once he aged out of mixed-gender squads. After an appeal, Page was allowed to play with the boys for an additional year. Today, several bills list genitalia as a requirement for deciding who plays on which team. “I would have been in that position as a kid,” Page says. “It’s horrific.”

All this advocacy is unlikely to make life easier. “You can’t enter into certain spaces as a public trans person,” says the ACLU’s Strangio, “without being prepared to spend some percentage of your life being threatened and harassed.” Yet, while he seems overwhelmed at times, Page is also eager. Many of the political attacks on trans people—whether it is a mandate that bathroom use be determined by birth sex, a blanket ban on medical interventions for trans kids or the suggestion that trans men are simply wayward women beguiled by male privilege—carry the same subtext: that trans people are mistaken about who they are. “We know who we are,” Page says. “People cling to these firm ideas [about gender] because it makes people feel safe. But if we could just celebrate all the wonderful complexities of people, the world would be such a better place.”

Even if Page weren’t vocal, his public presence would communicate something powerful. That is in part because of what Paisley Currah, a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, calls “visibility gaps.” Historically, trans women have been more visible, in culture and in Hollywood, than trans men. There are many explanations: Our culture is obsessed with femininity. Men’s bodies are less policed and scrutinized. Patriarchal people tend to get more emotional about who is considered to be in the same category as their daughters. “And a lot of trans men don’t stand out as trans,” says Currah, who is a trans man himself. “I think we’ve taken up less of the public’s attention because masculinity is sort of the norm.”

During our interviews, Page will repeatedly refer to himself as a “transgender guy.” He also calls himself nonbinary and queer, but for him, transmasculinity is at the center of the conversation right now. “It’s a complicated journey,” he says, “and an ongoing process.”

While the visibility gap means that trans men have been spared some of the hate endured by trans women, it has also meant that people like Page have had fewer models. “There were no examples,” Page says of growing up in Halifax in the 1990s. There are many queer people who have felt “that how they feel deep inside isn’t a real thing because they never saw it reflected back to them,” says Tiq Milan, an activist, author and transgender man. Page offers a reflection: “They can see that and say, ‘You know what, that’s who I am too,’” Milan says. When there aren’t examples, he says, “people make monsters of us.”

For decades, that was something Hollywood did. As detailed in the 2020 Netflix documentary Disclosure, transgender people have been portrayed onscreen as villainous and deceitful, tragic subplots or the butt of jokes. In a sign of just how far the industry has come—spurred on by productions like Pose and trailblazers like Mock—Netflix offered to change the credits on The Umbrella Academy the same day that its star posted his statement on social media. Now when an episode ends, the first words viewers see are “Elliot Page.”

Today, there are many out trans and nonbinary actors, directors and producers. Storylines involving trans people are more common, more respectful. Sometimes that aspect of identity is even incidental, rather than the crux of a morality tale. And yet Hollywood can still seem a frightening place for LGBTQ people to come out. “It’s an industry that says, ‘Don’t do that,’” says director Silas Howard, who got his break on Amazon’s show Transparent, which made efforts to hire transgender crew members. “I wouldn’t have been hired if they didn’t have a trans initiative,” Howard says. “I’m always aware of that.”

So what will it mean for Page’s career? While Page has appeared in many projects, he also faced challenges landing female leads because he didn’t fit Hollywood’s narrow mold. Since Page’s Instagram post, his team is seeing more activity than they have in years. Many of the offers coming in—to direct, to produce, to act—are trans-related, but there are also some “dude roles.”

Downtime in quarantine helped Page accept his gender identity. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” he says.

Page was attracted to the role of Vanya in The Umbrella Academy because—in the first season, released in 2019—Vanya is crushed by self-loathing, believing herself to be the only ordinary sibling in an extraordinary family. The character can barely summon the courage to move through the world. “I related to how much Vanya was closed off,” Page says. Now on set filming the third season, co-workers have seen a change in the actor. “It seems like there’s a tremendous weight off his shoulders, a feeling of comfort,” says showrunner Steve Blackman. “There’s a lightness, a lot more smiling.” For Page, returning to set has been validating, if awkward at times. Yes, people accidentally use the wrong pronouns—“It’s going to be an adjustment,” Page says—but co-workers also see and acknowledge him.

The debate over whether cisgender people, who have repeatedly collected awards for playing trans characters, should continue to do so has largely been settled. However, trans actors have rarely been considered for cisgender parts. Whatever challenges might lie ahead, Page seems exuberant about playing a new spectrum of roles. “I’m really excited to act, now that I’m fully who I am, in this body,” Page says. “No matter the challenges and difficult moments of this, nothing amounts to getting to feel how I feel now.”

This includes having short hair again. During our interview, Page keeps rearranging strands on his forehead. It took a long time for him to return to the barber’s chair and ask to cut it short, but he got there. And how did that haircut feel?

Page tears up again, then smiles. “I just could not have enjoyed it more,” he says.”

[a-supernatural-writer]

hcs for poly! tlb with a fem! s/o who’s style is dark academia and is really blunt/logical and smart. she basically gives off a ‘mysterious, quiet, dark, critical’ vibe (she also doesn’t really know how to handle people who are extremely emotional and she doesn’t know how to soothe someone. she’s just really oblivious/clueless when it comes to others feelings). i’m so sorry if what i requested doesn’t make sense or if it was too much. i am seriously incapable of writing anything without making it look like an essay lmao. love your work btw 💕✨

Dark Academia Fem! S/O 

Poly Lost Boys x Fem reader

I had so much fun writing this! I love the dark academia aesthetic! And it made perfect sense and it wasn’t too much! Having a lot actually helps me expand and write more so thank you. And I’m the same, once I have an idea, I write a lot, so you’re all good! And awww!!! Thank you!!! 💗💗✨✨ I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so you are very different compared to the large number of characters on the boardwalk. Your style consisted of button shirts, sweaters or turtle necks, dress pants or a plaid pleated skirts, cardigans or waistcoats, oxford shoes or even wire framed glasses if you wore them for seeing or just for the look. 

To say that you caught the boys attention would be an understatement. You seemed to stand out amongst the crowd and they became curious. You were a mystery to them and they love the challenge. 

Somehow, someway, after days or weeks later, you became good friends which soon lead to you dating four trouble making punks. It was tough on both parts, but it happened, and hey, you weren’t complaining. 

You were very blunt when you first met them, not really interested in them and more or less interested in the book in your hands. It took a lot of “accidental” run ins to even get you to hang out with them. 

You slowly opened up when they offered to take you out for dinner at a local diner. They’re constant joking soon had you letting out small, almost whisper-like giggles and tiny smiles that sent them into a frenzy. 

When you would start talking about yourself, your ideas of fun were different from theirs. You liked museums, opera houses, bookstores and going to theaters to see plays. The games you played were chess and cards, and the music you listened to was old. You were pretty sure they thought you were boring but you actually peaked their interest. 

After a while of being friends with them, they asked you out. You liked them and the only logical step was to see if you liked them the same way they liked you was to date them, so you said yes. 

In general, them having a girlfriend with a 1940s/1950s dark prep look was fun. David and Dwayne like it the most. Paul next, then Marko. 

David actually really likes picking out your clothing on most days. You have an extensive collection of clothing with material from cashmere to linen, all the colors consisting of browns, black, cream and even a little dark green. 

His favorite thing to put you in is trench coats. Doesn’t matter what color it is, he just likes seeing you in them. Also, there are a handful of times that he has MADE you wear his trench coat. Yeah it almost swimmed on you, but he thought it made you look cute and it fit in perfectly with your look. 

Dark academia isn’t only your style, but it’s your way of life. David is the one that plays chess with you. You had to reteach it to him and pretty soon, the two of you had your own little set up in the cave that was always ready for a game of chess. 

David is sort of like you… in a way when it comes to others feelings. But deep down he knows that he really likes you and tries to show it the best he can. He took you to a theater to see a play that you were constantly talking about and so he took you on a date. You being you, didn’t realize that’s what it was until he told it straight to your face. Let’s just say you were speechless for the next hour. 

Also, when it’s just the two of you, deep inside the cave where your nest is, classical music is playing from your record player. It could be Beethoven, Tchaikovsky or Mozart. Whoever it is, David is the one that will listen to it with you the most. I think he really enjoys classical music and he enjoys it even more if the two of you are cuddling in your bed. 

Occasionally Dwayne would join the two of you. You would be sitting in between David’s legs as Dwayne sat in between yours, his head leaning back against your chest. It was like a cuddle pile… cuddle train?? Whatever you wanted to call it, it was cuddling while the three of you relaxed listening to classical music. And it was darn cute. 

Dwayne loves listening to you go on and on about any books you were reading at the moment. Whether or not it was nonfiction or even about any type of history. He was down. He lived through a lot and he knew about half of the stuff you gushed on about, but for some odd reason, it never bored him when you talked about it. 

He would be the one to get you new books, leaving you sweet little notes tied to them. Of course you thought it was just him being nice and thanked him for it without thinking there was any romantic meaning behind it. Yeah he was one of your boyfriends but it never really crossed your mind that way. He would just shake his head at your obliviousness and give you a small peck on the lips. 

Don’t ask him why, but his favorite look on you is a light cream colored blouse with a plaid skirt and Mary Jane shoes. Dwayne is a leg man so… he’s very happy when decide to show off some skin if you decide not to wear knee-socks or stockings with it. Even if you did wear them, he would still be attached to your side the entire night. 

Like David, Dwayne would bring you out to a lot of places that were opened late at night. If there was an art exhibition in town or even a museum that was open late, just say the word and he will happily drive you on his bike. Heck, David might even tag along. 

Also, late night bookstore dates… oh my heart, it’s too sweet it hurts. There are times that he does have to throw you over his shoulder when the bookstore is closing and you're pretty much refusing to leave. When he does that, you just stay frozen over his shoulder, not knowing if you should be blushing or cursing at him for carrying you like a sack of potatoes. 

If anything, you and Dwayne connect very well. You’re naturally very quiet and so is he. Not much is said between you two but there's a mutual understanding that can’t be explained. While the others are out causing trouble, you and him are on the sidelines watching hand in hand or your reading and he's just staring at you as you do so. 

Paul and Marko kind of give you whiplash. They’re loud and rowdy and definitely 100% opposite from you. But they interested you. They had a very chaotic outlook on life which made you ask many questions. 

Paul found your look sexy. He’s horny and you give off preppy school vibes, he’s living for it 24/7. Constant teasing of you giving him ‘private lessons’ which results with you whacking a book against the back of his head. But it doesn’t stop the reddening of your ears which doesn’t make him stop.  

This man is also your designated jewelry expert. You only wear some accessories and they're very simple. So you are very surprised when Paul finds you jewelry that is your style and collects it for you. You like leather watches, guess what, he’s got it for you. You want some fancy victorian looking brooches, he’s got that too. Simple rings with a single jewel in the middle, expect constant ‘will you marry me’ jokes, but he gets you the best.

Also, he’s not overly big into your music selection. He does try to get you into his type of music, which you only like very few and far between. But when you do get him to listen to your type of music, it’s only if you agree to listen to his music the next night. You guys come up with a system and decide to switch every few nights. 

Each of the boys have their favorite look on you and Paul's is when you wear a button-up of any color with a simple black tie, a pencil skirt and a pair of Dr.Marten boots. He especially likes the tie… for reasons. God damn it, you know the reasons, get out of here. 

He’s a very affectionate boy and he finds your looks over confusion some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen. Probably the first one to tell you that he loves you and you honestly like glitched out. Did you feel the same way? Yes, but poor little thing you doesn’t say it right away, but Paul knows that you aren’t really used to saying things like that without warming up to it. Which is okay. He knows even if you don’t say it. 

He definitely steals one of your blazers to put pins on it. Marko helps, putting a few patches on it that they both know you would like. It’s the one item that stands out in all of your clothing and you will wear it if they ask you to. 

Marko definitely thinks the look is cute and it suits you very well, but why no color?! You wear dark colors but nothing bright like the colors that are on his jacket. He tries to slip in some colorful clothing into your everyday look, it never goes as planned but you give him an A for effort. 

He loves how dark you can be at times though. You want to go to a local graveyard just because? Sure! Let’s go! He’s your designated graveyard buddy. You have many date nights there, looking at all the different gravestones and finding it interesting when you jot down some names in one of your notebooks. 

Speaking of notebooks, you have many of them. They were filled with notes from books you’ve read, real life observations or even just some random poetry and short stories that you wrote. Marko would go through them a lot and even sometimes draw little doodles or rough sketches that were thought up from your writings. 

When you spend nights down at the Boardwalk, your go to drink isn’t a slushie or a milkshake or even a soda. It’s coffee or tea. Yeah, and only Marko knows your drink orders by heart. None of the others seem to remember them correctly which you thank them for trying but Marko has got them all beat. 

Marko likes seeing you in sweaters and in your trousers or linen shorts with chelsea boots. If anything, when the two of you are alone, just wearing a knit sweater and shorts were perfect for him. He likes how cozy and warm you look. He’s very happy when he cuddles you and you are warm. 

Now when they tell you that they’re vampires, you think that they’re joking. Vampires aren’t real, they’re a work of fiction. Yes there was a real man named Dracula, but there was no way that they were actual vampires. 

Then they showed you hard proof and then there was no denying it at that point. Instead of running away, you were fascinated. You wanted to understand your boyfriends vampire ways that lead to you conducting extensive research and a notebook dedicated to them. 

They showed you everything about them, how they feed, to which you didn’t bat an eyelash of watching them feed one night. You were one morbid chick but they saw that as a plus that you didn’t react. You had graveyard dates for crying out loud, nothing really surprised them at that point.

Flying came next and they had a lot of fun showing you just how high they could go with you in their arms. You never screamed at the height, you were too caught up in seeing the overhead view of the town. You could get used to seeing a view like that every night.  

Then came the other things; how they slept before you came along, what actually hurt them and what didn’t. There was one time that you stared at their vampire faces for hours because you were taking notes on how their facial features changed. 

Soon you had to stock up on more turtlenecks because of the many bite marks they would leave behind from feeding on you if the weather was bad one night. It wasn’t tough adapting to their occasional feeding. A lot of your clothing already covered up your skin so it was easy to hide from people on your nights out. 

Not too long after, they popped the question. Would you want to be a vampire? Live forever, never grow up? Be with them for all eternity? You didn’t really need to think about it for too long, you knew what your answer was and so did they even if you didn’t say it out loud. You loved your boys and not much would change.

When you did change, it was entertaining for them to watch. You soon started taking down notes about your progress, comparing and contrasting your experience to their own. 

To the eyes of many, you became even more dark and mysterious. You had an aura around you that drew people in, it’s what got you your four vampire boyfriends, only now, it brought in your meal for the night.

[enby-crisis]

Past Missions (Five Hargreeves x reader) Valentines Special

Summary: A Flashback revels how (Y/n) and Five got married.

Word Count: 1357

Warnings: None?

A/n: This was supposed to be the Valentines Day Special and a former apology but there were some minor set backs involving a broken computer. Enjoy!

A Gentelman pt 4 Masterlist

"Five is the mission done?" You ask as your partner stumbles in, clearly enjoying the alcohol at some wedding held at the casino you were staying at. Being in 1934 was weird for you. It was as close to your own time as you've been since you left. It made you nervous at the possibility that someone could recognize you but you lived in New York and this was all the way across the country. "No he wasn't there." Five slurs. "Well it seems you enjoyed your stake out. Did you gatecrash that poor couple's wedding Mr. Hargreeves? " You tease. You already knew of Five's relationship with alcohol. You would never tell him this but he focused better when he drank so you minded less. Even if he was a bit of a blotto and seemed to drowned in the stuff. You stared at your work notes at the though of you not minding him being drunk. You should. You should. You tried to catch yourself but quickly realized that you might actually be pinning after this man. He was sarcastic but kind, arrogant and impulsive but you liked that he never treated you like that. He was playful but wasn't mean and not only knew your boundaries but tried his best to respect them. "You okay?" You jump, not noticing the older man hovering above you. "What were you thinking? You zoned out there doll." He mocked. He only called you doll because in your time it was used as a term of endearment and it was the only word he knew from your era. It was actually a term used after you time but you didn't want to correct him. "Yeah I'm fine." You dodged. "Okay but you didn't answer my other question. What were you thinking?" He smirked as he got closer to your face. You backed up as far as you could without falling out of the small wooden chair. "Nothing. please just-" "Drop it?" He finished. "Sure yes. 'drop it' as you say." You roll your eyes and pick up your pen to return to your report. "Look (Y/n) I don't know what's gotten into you but ever since that mission in Paris-" "We were in Versailles. Not Paris." You correct. "We were basically in Paris! Don't correct me." His voice rose an octave then went back down to a softer tone. "What's this about?" You deadpan, quickly losing interest. "You!" He shouts now. "Me?!" You stand, "I have yet to do a thing!" "You hide things from me. All. The. Time." Five calmly replied, drinking more from his bottle. "If it is so important then ask me anything." You try to mellow out too. Not wanting to get into a fight with a man who was intoxicated. "What were you thinking. When I walked in?" He asked again. "I..." You blush, "You. I was thinking about you." You spoke softly, afraid that Five would shame you for your feelings. It wasn't uncommon when a man would do so. "What about me?" He quirked an eyebrow. A mix of curiosity and suspicion on his face. Stupid old man. You think before slowly closing the gap. You put a hand on his face and smile when his breath hitches. You then quickly place a kiss on his lips before pulling back just as fast. "Not fair." He grunts before pulling you back to his lips for another heated kiss. You move with him, letting him guide you back to the desk. He lifted you up on the desk, moving his hand up your mid-length dress. "Five..." You pulled away. "Mh?" He hummed against your lips as he kissed you again. "I-I'm not- It's just- Five I'm a virgin." You rush out, and he pulls away. "So?" He starts to kiss down your collar bone. "Technically so am I." "Technically?" You push him back now. "Yeah.. Delores doesn't really count. She's my companion from the apocalypse. She was a mannequin I found in a clothing store." "I really don't want to ask what happened with you and a mannequin Five." You hush. "Then don't." He sasses and gives you that smirk. But Five was too smart not to know there was something else going on that had nothing to do with his past companion with the real doll. "Okay I'll bite. What is the problem then?" "We're not married..." You whisper, looking down and fixing your dress.

"That's what this is about?" The man huffs, exasperated by the trivial subject such as marriage. However after a moments contemplation Five seemed to remember where you came from and the importance to asking ones hand in marriage. "Then marry me."

You freeze, half expecting what he said to be caused by his drunken state. When Five doesn't take it back you respond, "You're drunk Five." And hop off the table with a pout.

The grey haired man wrinkles his nose at the accusation. "I am not that drunk sweetheart." He pause "But you already know that!"

"Prove it then. Ask me again in the morning you lousy, ossified, hard-boiled,  upstaged  oyster!" You shout back startling the man before you..

"Fine." Five calmly says, confused by most of the insult of slang he didn't understand. Without another word he pivots on his heels and leaves.

You grunt and turn back to finish your commissions report.

Practically done the door to the hotel room opens back up and Five walks in with an early 1950's style tea length wedding dress and a cardbord box.

You stared at him dumbfounded and quite curious.

"(Y/n). Remember that mission to London to make sure Orwell contracted tuberculous?" Five started, putting down the dress and box on the bed.

You were too busy staring at the lacing on the long-sleeved dress to do more then nod your head. You were too scared to touch the dress in case it was some twisted illusion.

"That's when I knew I loved you. Watching you go though and pet all the dogs at the road side market made laugh." Five continues to talk while he picked though the box, finding what he was looking for he smiles and holds a smaller wooden box in his hand. "When you walked away to get us food and I went to look for a jeweler I bought a ring, your ring, because I saw you pick it up when we stopped by the first time." As if seeing your hesitance he shows you the space themed sapphire ring and you tear up.

"On the mission to Greece?" Five says holding up a golden crown.

The mission to Russia? The one you hated so much you cried?" He holds up a vale.

The mission to California? You sat on the beach and watched the stars. I came back and you were asleep so I carried you to bed." He held up a tan tie with sea stars on it. By now you had a steady stream of tears down your face.

"I fell for you so hard (Y/n). Every time I wanted to tell you- I couldn't. I settled for buying things because you know I hate communicating and I knew you wouldn't believe me if I did tell you. Fine maybe not tonight but one night I want to marry you. Some night. I know you are terrified because of all that time you spent alone, having to fight for yourself but I am here now.  Fighting seems so unlike you. I know if you had a choice you wouldn't be here but I fell for you. No I didn't fall in love with you. I fell in love with how you saw the world and it was through those eyes that I saw what I was missing. Sweetheart I saw home. I saw you and me forever. I saw a future which knowing where I came from was the scariest feeling in the world but I still would marry you but you have to say yes." Five finishes, only steps away from you  as he waits for your answer.

Once more over come with lack of words, this time due to the insistent sobbing you simple nod your head and kiss him.

Taglist

@wumboho @nerds4life246 @11mb0 @herbatkazmiloscia @herbatkazmiloscia @herbatkazmiloscia @herbatkazmiloscia @uhhhfrogs @somanyminidragons @uhhhfrogs @somanyminidragons @fruitsaladtree @buuhsworld @fangirl3092 @xplrreylo @lucytheripper @im-here-for-fanfics @coffee-e-addict @eurus-thxngs @five-scoffee @justawilddreamerchild @mayempress @yikes-matey @alexander-hamilhoe @fwri @bubblegumflamingos

[pastelwitchling]

For Forever (1/2)

CHAPTER ONE. WORDS FAIL

“Michael fears he’s pushed Alex away for good.”

I’ve decided to start posting my chaptered fics here on tumblr, too. If you enjoyed reading this even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference 💕

read on ao3

tags: malex, forlex, malex happy ending

***

Michael leaned against the wall, a fancy glass of whiskey in hand that he’d filled with acetone hours ago. About the time Isobel had started scolding him for ditching the suit she’d laid out for him for tonight and gone with his flannel and cowboy hat instead.

Isobel laughed with a group of chattering guests. Still smiling, and through grit teeth, she leaned in close to Michael and said, “At least pretend you want to be here.”

“Nah,” Michael said, and took another gulp of his drink. He could’ve argued that most of these women didn’t seem to mind Michael’s clothes, seeing as how he’d gotten a few side eyes and more than a few passing touches to his arm, his hand, his jaw. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead, unable and unwilling to offer more than a smirk.

He had other people on his mind tonight. Particularly, he had one person. One person who he had walked in on in the bunker and seen making out with his boyfriend, one person who’d stuck in his mind since. And he was walking through the front door now, his boyfriend at his side, Rosa on the other. Not that Michael could look at anyone else with the way Alex was dressed. He wore a dark brown suit and white button-down shirt underneath. His hair was a mess of perfect, windswept strands, his cheeks were rosy, and his lips looked like he’d been chewing on them nervously all night.

Or like someone else had been chewing on them.

Michael shook the thought from his head. Forrest was here, after all, and he was Alex’s boyfriend, and his boyfriend had every right to put an arm around Alex’s waist and pull him in against him if he wanted. To murmur against his ear and kiss his cheek and be the one to hear him laugh before anyone else, just as he was doing now.

It didn’t matter how badly Michael wanted to tear Forrest’s throat out, or rip his arm off Alex’s body, or crush his fingers and threaten him that Alex was his, that he wasn’t allowed to touch him ever again. What mattered was what Alex wanted, and Alex wanted Forrest’s touch, Forrest’s lips, Forrest’s attention. Michael finished his drink and grabbed another off a passing tray, already reaching into his pocket for the flask of nail polish remover.

“What is that, your fifth glass tonight?” Max murmured as Michael downed half the glass in one gulp.

“Sixth,” Michael corrected, hissing at the burn and glad for it.

Max glanced at Alex across the ballroom and said, “How long’s it been since you two talked?”

“Yesterday,” Michael shrugged a shoulder. “On the phone. Before I went to the bunker because I missed him and found him halfway out of his shirt.”

He knew he’d probably startled Max with his confession, but anger and misery and alcohol eased his sense of caution and made him vulnerable.

Max, however, seemed to have known that already because he only scoffed. “And let me guess,” he said. “You just bolted.”

Michael raised a brow. “What’d you want me to do, throw Long off with my mind?”

Max sighed, like he knew that was exactly what Michael had wanted and been very tempted to do, and barely managed to refrain.

“This is important to Isobel, okay?” was all Max ended up saying. “It’s her big event, whatever you’re going to do, just don’t do it inside.”

Alex looked over then and caught Michael’s gaze. He held it for just a moment, his smile turning tighter, and he looked away.

Michael sniffed, placing his empty glass in Max’s hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Without waiting for his brother’s response, Michael walked across the ballroom, the marble tiles glittering under the white light of the fake candles, swaying his hips. If Alex saw him coming, he was pretending to be preoccupied with another guest, a tall elderly woman in white that seemed to like raking his body with her eyes.

Forrest had disappeared, but Michael didn’t know or care where. All he cared about was Alex. When he came close enough, Alex glanced at him, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t expected Michael to come up to him in the middle of a conversation.

Michael saw him plaster on a smile and heard him say the words, “Excuse me, please,” before he tried to turn towards the door. Michael couldn’t help but smile, an eager laugh escaping his lips as he hurried his pace and caught Alex around the waist with his arm. He pressed his chest to Alex’s back, his nose to the back of Alex’s head, deeply inhaling his vanilla and floral scent.

Alex gasped, startled, and Michael moaned, his eyes fluttering shut to the smell of Alex, his strength, his warmth.

“You look good,” he breathed.

“Guerin,” Alex warned quietly, “let me go.”

Michael chuckled under his breath, and swiped his tongue across the nape of Alex’s neck, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the airman.

“You and I both know you can break my arm before I say your name,” Michael drawled. “If I’m still touching you –” he brought his hand lower, to the hem of Alex’s shirt “—it’s because you want me to.”

Alex whipped around, and Michael brought both arms up to hold him close, pressing their foreheads together. Somewhere past his drunken haze, he could make out Alex’s frustration and anger. Somewhere, he knew this was a bad idea and would only hurt them both. Somehow he knew he was crossing some line by touching Alex at all.

On the surface level, however, Michael could only think of Alex’s hands holding Forrest’s face, pulling him in closer to kiss. He was jealous, he wanted Alex for himself, and he wanted him now.

Alex’s fists were on his chest, his eyes downcast as if trying with everything he had to resist him.

“Come on, baby,” Michael murmured with a lazy grin. “I’ve got my truck out back.”

“You’re drunk,” Alex said, shaking his head. “You can’t do this here, Guerin.”

“I can take you away,” Michael promised. “Just you and me. We could leave, right now.”

Something Michael said seemed to have woken Alex because he blinked and his brows furrowed.

“What?” Michael faltered, leaning in close, trying to keep Alex’s eyes, but Alex wouldn’t look at him anymore. “What’s wrong, baby –”

Michael cut off as Alex took his wrists, and gently but firmly brought his hands down. He didn’t let go for a long while. They were close enough that they could’ve whispered, and no one else would’ve heard.

“I wanted it to be just you and me, Guerin,” Alex said, “but you said no, remember?”

Michael frowned. His drunken haze sharpened a little to the present just as Alex let go of his hands, and he felt like he was drowning while his feet stayed on solid ground. Alex stepped back and looked to his right. He mustered a smile for Forrest who came holding two drinks.

“Hey, Guerin,” Forrest smiled, a laugh in his voice. “Drunk already, huh? I can’t blame you. This place isn’t really my scene either.”

Michael clenched his jaw. Kind Forrest. Understanding Forrest. How incredible was Alex’s boyfriend? They’d barely been together a month, but it felt like a year. Wasn’t Alex done with him yet?

Angry and too drunk to mask it now, Michael leaned in to Alex’s ear where his lips just brushed the shell, and he murmured, “Is he just to keep your bed warm? ‘Cause I can do it better.”

Alex put a hand on Michael’s chest and put distance between them. Before he said a word to Michael, he looked to Forrest. “Just a minute?”

Forrest looked confused, but nodded, and Alex touched his hand in thanks. Then he was leading Michael away, towards the door.

As soon as they stopped, Alex said, “I get it, okay? I didn’t plan on you walking in on us either, and I get you’re upset, but I’m an adult, Guerin. I get to make my own decisions, and I chose Forrest.”

Michael’s eye twitched. “Private –”

“I wanted you, and you wanted someone else,” Alex said, and Michael fell silent. “And it killed me to keep quiet, but I kept quiet. For you.”

“I’m not like you,” Michael growled. “I can’t pretend I don’t love you like you pretended.”

“Love?” Alex scoffed miserably. He didn’t look angry, just sad. So sad it made Michael’s heart ache and cleared his haze almost completely. “You betrayed me, Guerin. I can’t help but think that if she hadn’t broken things off, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I don’t look away, Alex,” Michael said fiercely, and Alex was shaking his head, as if unable to understand how Michael could miss the glaringly obvious.

“You did,” he whispered. “I don’t trust you, Guerin. What does love matter then?”

Michael opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. Alex’s shoulders fell, as if he’d wanted, more than anything, for Michael to give him a reason to believe in him again.

Alex sighed. “Look, I’ve got to go, Forrest is waiting.” He patted Michael’s arm as he passed, no differently than he would’ve done to Kyle or Max, and walked away.

Michael didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to see Alex pretend to smile, to see Forrest’s kindness bring out any real happiness in him. He didn’t want to see Forrest melt Alex’s heart, Forrest’s hand on Alex’s lower back, Forrest’s lips on Alex’s ear, his cheek, the corner of his lips, where Michael’s lips should’ve been.

Not caring what his siblings thought had happened, he turned into the night and left the party, and Alex and his boyfriend, behind.

 It wasn’t until the next day when Michael was seated at a booth at the Crashdown when he saw Alex again. The airman slid into the seat opposite him, tossing a file onto the table between them.

“Every report I can find on 1950’s captives,” he said casually as he waved down a waitress. “I know it’s not a lot to go off, but they’d just established Caulfield, so I think they were still working on their systems. A burger, fries, and milkshake, please,” he told the waitress who went off with a smile.

Michael raised his brow. He shouldn’t push his luck, he knew. Alex, after all, was being cordial. So everything should’ve been fine, right? Still, he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“You talking to me now, Private?”

Alex raised a brow. “I was never not talking to you, Guerin.”

“Really?” Michael smirked humorlessly. “Because I think you cut things off all clean and pretty at the event last night.”

Alex stared at Michael a moment, considering. Finally, he sighed and said, “You know, ever since I met Forrest – no. Ever since I found out you and Maria slept together, there’s been a battle going on in my head. I felt angry and jealous and hurt, and I knew I had no right to feel any of those things, not towards you. And then after I kissed Forrest, it was a whole new battle on top. I felt guilty for liking someone else, for wanting to – to try with someone else, and I couldn’t understand why.”

Alex wearily wiped a hand across his face. “I mean, I love you. I shouldn’t want to give up on being with you, I shouldn’t want to scream at the idea of you finally coming after me, even if it was only because your girlfriend ended things –”

“Alex –”

“I’m not finished,” Alex said, seemingly calm, though there was a chill in the way he looked at Michael. Like he was a stranger he didn’t like very much. “Last night it hit me that the reason I don’t want to be with you is because I don’t trust you. I don’t trust your feelings for me, I don’t trust that I’m not just some backup. I don’t trust that I’m allowed to be scared or – or miserable around you without you leaving me for something easier again.”

Alex huffed and gave their waitress a smile when she delivered his meal. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s a relief, honestly. No more battles, just the simple truth. Now, finally, I think we can move on past all of this. Don’t you?”

His smile was so polite, as if Michael was any acquaintance, that Michael felt his eyes burn and his fists clench. He wanted to scream about the unfairness of it all, about all of the times Alex had walked away. Except when he hadn’t. Except when he had come to the airstream again and again to fix things between them. Except when he’d told Michael that he loved him, that he wanted to start over, that he wanted to get to know him.

When things between them started to seem real, when it looked like they finally might be together, Michael had been the one to run. To someone else. No wonder Alex couldn’t trust his feelings.

When he spoke next, his words came out quiet and afraid to his own ears, “I don’t want to move on without you.”

For a moment, something fractured in Alex’s eyes, and Michael wondered whether or not all the battles in his head were really gone. Before he could think any of it, however, Alex shrugged and dipped a fry in his milkshake.

Without looking at Michael, his easy, resigned smile slotted into place, and he said, “You’ll get over it.”

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Chapter One - Welcome To Westview!

Nothing. You felt nothing. And then burning. It felt like your entire body was on fire. You looked down and saw pieces of your hand coming off. You looked around you, trying to make sense of where you were.

But all you could see was red. You were floating along through whatever this thing was, and there was still no sign of Peter.

“Peter!” you called out once more, hoping that this time he would answer.

“Y/n? Is that you?” you heard him faintly call.

“Peter where are you? I can’t see you!”

“I don’t know. There’s this red thing. And there’s a-,” he was suddenly cut off.

It was silent. You couldn’t hear him anymore. You felt a tear slip past your eye. He was gone again. You went into this thing to find him, only for him to disappear on you once more.

Then you saw something. It looked like a window of some sort. You squinted to try and see better, hoping to figure out how to get out of here. But luckily for you, you were floating towards the window. Your speed soon picked up. You didn’t have time to see what was on the other side of the window. And the next thing you knew, everything went black.

-

“What? You aren’t supposed to be here? But I don’t know how to put you back so I guess you’re stuck here.”

You looked around confused, trying to find who was speaking to you.

“Who are you?” you cautiously asked.

“That doesn’t matter right now. Let’s focus on who you are, ok? So let’s see, you need a name,” the woman’s voice said once more.

“Name? My name is y/n,” you said.

You looked around once more, trying to find the source of the voice. But there was no one near you. Was she in your head? That would be the most logical explanation, she could be a telepath.

“How about Susan? You look like a Susan. Now you need some new clothes.”

“I already told you my name is-,” you stopped yourself and looked down, watching as your clothes transformed from your pajamas into a 1950’s style dress.

“Your name is Susan, ok? Sorry about this little inconvenience, but when you wake up you’re going to forget any of this ever happened.”

“What do you mean?” you asked her.

But the voice didn’t respond. Then you felt your head start to spin. You began to feel tired, and soon you fell asleep once more.

~

Your eyes opened and you blinked a few times, trying to get your sleep ridden eyes to focus. When they finally did you looked around to find yourself in a bedroom. The walls were a light gray, and the floor was a dark wood. The only thing in the room was the bed you were currently lying on, and a bunch of boxes.

“This is your room. You just moved here. This is your home.”

It was like a faint whisper in the back of your mind. You nodded slightly, going along with what it was saying. You looked around the room and felt a few memories of the day before fill your head.

You saw yourself carrying boxes up the stairs, and putting sheets on your bed. You saw yourself meeting your new neighbors, and applying for a job at a coffee shop. It all felt so familiar, yet so wrong.

“No, no, no! These are not my memories! I don’t live here, I don’t even know where I am!” you shouted desperately, trying to get the pictures out of your mind.

Then another question entered your mind. Who am I?

You searched your brain for something, anything that could tell you who you are, but there was nothing. You didn’t know your name, your age, where you were from, anything. Your entire life was one big fuzzy haze. 

“What?! Why don’t I remember anything?! Who am I?! Where am I?!” you shouted once more, feeling fear take over you. 

“Your name is Susan. You are at your house. Everything is fine.”

You nodded along. Susan. Yeah that seems right. You smiled softly to yourself as your name replayed through your mind.

“Susan. My name is Susan,” you said, as if trying to convince yourself of it. 

You relaxed, and slowly sat up. You went to stretch, but froze when you saw your hand. It was gray. That’s not right. You weren’t that color before. You quickly stood up and ran to look out the window, everything was gray. There wasn’t any color anywhere.

“Don’t be silly, it’s always been like that, Susan. You just had a bad dream. Everything is okay.”

No. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong here. There wasn’t any color. This definitely wasn’t your house. Was your name even Susan?

You left your room and walked around your house, trying to find a mirror. You didn't remember what you looked like. You had to know. Maybe if you saw your face, something would come back to you.

After searching around your house for a few minutes you finally found the bathroom. And much to your luck, a mirror was hanging above the sink. You walked towards it, and as soon as you saw your face, only one thought filled your mind.

“My name is y/n,” you said, finally finding something that felt right. 

~

You spent the day unpacking, since you had nothing else to do. You managed to arrange the furniture, unpack the dishes, and put your clothes away all in one day. There were only a few boxes left, which you decided on unpacking tomorrow. Thoroughly exhausted, you walked over to the couch, hoping to get off of your feet for a bit. But the ringing of your doorbell interrupted your plans. 

You walked over to the door and unlocked it, before pulling it open to be met with a woman who was smiling brightly at you.

“Hi dear, I’m Agnes! Your neighbor from across the street.”

“I’m Susan,” you said as you moved aside to let her in.

‘No that's not right. My name is y/n, not Susan,’ you thought to yourself.

“Lovely to meet you dear. Golly you settled in fast, and you only arrived yesterday! So how’s Westview treating ya?” “Amazing, this town is so quaint, I love it.” “So is it just you in this house, or are you hiding a man somewhere in there?” Agnes asked with a laugh.

“Nope just me. I’m not with anyone right now.”

As soon as you said it, you felt it was wrong. Were you with someone? Why couldn’t you remember them?

“Well us single gals gotta stick together right?” she said, before laughing once more.

You nodded and smiled at her, grateful to finally have a friend.

“Well I should get going, dinner’s not gonna cook itself! It was nice meeting you dear!” Agnes said as she walked out the door.

“You too!” you said, before shutting and locking the door.

You walked back over to your couch, laying down on it, feeling the relief of being off your feet after a long day. Your mind filled with thoughts, none of them making sense. You gave up and trying to think, and decided to just sleep instead. But before you fell asleep, one last thought crept into your mind. Silver.

[paigiepixels]

I Bet on Losing Dogs - Lip Gallagher x Reader

You + Me - The Prince of the South Side, Lip Gallagher, falls in love with his best friend. This is their happy ever after. Chapter title is based on Mitski’s I Bet on Losing Dogs.

previous chapter ● also on wattpad

++++++++++

“I feel really shitty about earlier,” Lip mumbled into my hair as we walked to his dorm.

“Don’t worry,” I shook my head, “I’ve all but forgotten about it, honestly. Watching someone get interrogated on drug charges will do that to you, I guess.”

“Please, stay tonight?” he asked as we reached his building.

A tiny chuckle left my lips, “Why the hell did you think I left the car? Your campus isn’t in the safest neighborhood but I know you can defend yourself, you don’t need me and my pepper spray walking you to your door like it’s the 1950’s and we just shared a milkshake at the diner.”

He opened the door for me as he shook his head. “Okay, okay.”

“What’s next, are you gonna wear my letterman jacket? Want me to take you to the point overlooking a small suburban town to make out in my dad’s car? Can I grope your A-cups over your cheerleading uniform while we kiss with no tongue? What’s that sound outside? Could it be an escapee from the local prison that lost his hand in that accident where they replaced it with a hook?”

“Alright, you got that out of your system yet or are you still workshopping your tight five?” Lip threw an arm around me in as the elevator doors closed.

“I could go a little longer.” I shrugged. “Baby boomers paid twelve dollars for their houses then ruined the economy for the rest of us, they deserve to be made fun of.” Lip just shook his head as he unlocked his dorm door.

I shrugged out of the large shirt I slipped on earlier that evening and shimmied out of my leggings.

“You know,” Lip eyed me up and down like I was a bottle of water in the middle of the desert, “it’s been well over twenty-four hours since we last had sex.” He quickly undressed.

Placing my hands on my hips, I played along, “Hm, I guess it has been.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and made his way over, placing his hands over mine. “Maybe we should, I don’t know, have some sex?”

“The beast with two backs?” I countered.

“Take a trip to pound town?”

“Butter my biscuit.”

“Mmmm, exactly,” he mumbled with a lick to his lips as he leaned into towards me.

I gripped my fingers into his curls and let his tongue explore the confines of my mouth while I leaned back onto the bed. One of Lip’s arms groped my ass while the other steadied him on the mattress. I pretzeled my legs around his waist, his mouth wandered from my own, to my neck, down to my décolletage and breasts, placing kisses along every inch he could. I mumbled some profanities as he slipped a hand under me to unhook my bra, I toed at his boxers, giving him the hint to even the playfield. Rapidly, he took off whatever remainders of clothes we both had on and reached into the nightstand for a condom. Before I knew it I was practically impaled by him, a gasp getting stuck in the very back of my throat. My eyes squeezed shut and my hands grasped at the skin on his back, surely leaving marks and scratches from my nails. The pace was steady tonight, not too fast nor too slow. He rocked back and forth into me in long, firm thrusts, satisfying his need to just be close to me.

I could tell by his mood tonight that this wasn’t just to get off, this was emotional, it was coming from somewhere deep down within him. Not like I could blame him, it’s been a rough few weeks. The way he buried his head into the crook of my neck, nuzzling into my hair and taking a long whiff. Sex was always personal for us, even a quickie with little to no eye contact was filled with emotion, but times like this were different, like everyone else on the planet had disappeared and the only reason we were still breathing was to have another second to be together.

Lip was hastily becoming undone, his breaths becoming sharper. He rubbed my clit with gentle force as I squeezed my eyes shut, he was trying to get us off at the same time. I bit my lower lip with a sharp canine and curled my toes as the dopamine exploded in my brain. He groaned and shuddered before collapsing onto me, placing kisses on my exposed neck.

“Fuck,” he mumbled while rolling over and removing the condom with a snap.

“When was the last time we went that long without fucking?” I wondered out loud.

“Can’t remember, my brain is goo,” he chuckled.

++++++++++

I saw a half-naked Lip, town slung around his hips, walking down the hallway from the opposite end as I reached his door. A tall man in a hoodie was behind him, it took me a few seconds to realize it was Kevin.

“Hey, you two,” I shifted onto the balls of my feet as Lip unlocked his room.

“Uh, hi,” Lip said, tugging the towel around his waist a little tighter. Kev followed him inside, I blinked twice, wondering why he was here. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to take you to Carl’s court thing, what is he doing here? Kev?”

“Uh, just crashing in an empty dorm while V stays at the house with the girls.”

“Huh,” I nodded. “No comment, I guess.”

“What about V?” Lip asked as he walked around the room getting ready.

“What about V?” Kev repeated. “I can’t think about that right now. She’s doing her thing, I’m doing my thing, it was her decision.”

I dropped my bag onto Lip’s unmade bed and sat next to it. “Don’t you think it’s worth it to give it another shot? You have kids, you’ve gotta at least try to work it out.”

Kev sighed and leaned his head against the wall, “I don’t know anymore, V was the one who started this whole mess and now she’s stopped talking to me about anything that isn’t baby.” His sentence stopped when he answered his ringing phone. “Well, duty calls. Rape Walker, at your service.”

I pursed my lips and widened my eyes at Lip, who mouthed Long story.

“I was gonna just take the L, you know,” Lip said as we walked hand-in-hand to the parking lot.

My shoulders shrugged, “I don’t mind taking you, I want to be there for Carl and Fiona. Mostly Fiona,” I chucked. “She’s gonna need it.”

“Can you actually imagine Carl getting in front of a judge and not incriminating himself for like, fourteen things he did this morning alone?”

“Your Honor,” I imitated the young teenager by putting on a lazy voice, “I swear the bailiff stuck that joint in my mouth before I got in here. That’s not mine-” I was stopped in my tracks by getting walked into by what felt like a brick wall wrapped in wool.

“I’m sorry-” Her face changed from an indifferent position when she looked up from the Blackberry in her hands. “Phillip, I’m sorry, I wasn’t quite looking where I was going,” she tucked her cellphone into the pocket of her expensive-looking jacket. “Have you spoken with Mr. Lorenzo from Financial Aid yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” Lip replied before gesturing at me with his free hand. “Professor Runyon, this is my girlfriend y/n. Professor Runyon teaches Critical Theory.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reached out and was met by a cashmere-covered hand to shake while staring at her striking face.

“Likewise,” her hand lingered after the shake, I pulled away. “Well, I have a class to get to, very nice to meet you, y/n. Phillip,” she nodded and continued to walk in the direction we were coming from.

“She seems nice, if not overly-perfumed,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, she hit on me yesterday,” Lip sighed as he grasped a hand firmly around my waist and ushered me to my car as quickly as possible.

“What?!”

“So, you’re dropping that class, right?” I all-but stated as we got in the car.

Lip shook his head, “I can’t. It’s the only one left and I need a full load.”

I squinted at him, “I don’t know, I’d say you were already full of something if you asked me.”

He blinked before replying, “I can’t compete with that, it’s a good one.”

Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, “I don’t want to be this demanding, controlling girlfriend. You know I hate that. I trust you, but,” I picked my head up and took a breath, Lip pushed a strewn hair off of my face, “I don’t trust other people. It’s a lot for me.”

“Hey, look at me…” he grasped my face between his hands as much as he could with the console between us. “Trust me, only me. That’s all there is to it. Believe me, I won’t do anything for you to worry about, ever. Alright?” I nodded. “Nope, not good enough for me. Gotta hear you say it.”

“Alright.”

“Okay, good.” He pulled my face closer with his hands still holding on and kissed the top of my head for at least a three-count. “Now, let’s get going to this damn hearing already.”

++++++++++

We shuffled into the small courtroom and into stiff chairs with itchy upholstery. I settled in with Lip on my left, he leaned in towards V and muttered, “V, this thing with you and Kev, is it temporary?”

“What did he say when you asked him?”

“Uh, nothing,” Lip broke eye contact and looked towards the ground, feigning innocence and ending the conversation.

“All rise,” the bailiff announced. “The Circuit Court of Cook County is now in session. The honorable Judge Rita Gaither is presiding.”

Chuckie was up first, Sammi was sitting in the front row with bruises littering her face. His lawyer’s defense was that Chuckie is of barely functioning intellect, it was a miracle he could wipe his ass, et cetera. Of course, Sammi stood up and testified towards her son, calling Lip’s family “a den of wolves.”

I hardly recognized Carl when he came in after Chuckie’s sentencing. Fiona had dressed him to play the part - an old button-up of Lip’s, hand-me-down khakis, all topped off with a neatly combed head of hair and glasses from Patsy’s lost and found.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s an upstanding young man,” Lip whispered.

V leaned in, resting her chin on a well-manicured hand, “Just like Ted Bundy.”

“Do you regret what you’ve done, Carl?”

“I did something really dumb that I shouldn’t have.” Fiona nodded along with his answer. “I trusted a fucking retard with a man’s job.” Uh oh. “Next time I move a bunch of drugs, I’ll be smarter.”

“If you want to go into my chambers and speak to me off the record, now is the time. Otherwise, you will end up in juvenile prison. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, please.” I could practically see the explosion going on inside Fiona’s head.

The judge sighed, “That’s not what I was hoping to hear.”

“I know what you were hoping to hear. If Your Honor would lose 20 pounds, I would consider tapping that.” Lip laughed into his shoulder, trying to hide his amusement.

“I think I've heard enough. I sentence you to the maximum of one year at the Illinois Department of Corrections Juvenile Justice Division. You're remanded to the custody of the Sheriff. This court is in recess.”

Fiona grabbed Carl by the arm and asked him what he was thinking, he was excited to go. It didn’t surprise me.

Once we left the building Ian and Lip separated from the group to go smoke, I caught up with them after a quick chat with V about her twins.

“How’s it hanging, boys?” I asked while stuffing my hands into my coat pockets to warm them up.

“Nothing, just bullshitting,” Lip grunted as he stood up from his crouching position next to Ian. He handed me the cigarette he was smoking to share. As I was mumbling a thanks Ian got off the bench and walked away without as much as a goodbye.

“The fuck’s his problem?” I asked, handing the cigarette back.

“He went to the clinic, he’s upset about the medication.”

“Of course he is,” I spat and Lip replied with a confused look. “You think I like taking birth control every day? No! But like clockwork, every morning, I open that little plastic round thingy and pop one, just so you can jizz inside of me.” I patted him on the shoulder for comfort. “Plus I got my anti-depressants and anti-anxieties, but those aren’t as annoying as taking a pill every day purely for sex purposes.”

“Wow, thank you for your sacrifice,” his voice was dripping in sarcasm.

I stole the cigarette back from him and replied after a puff, “You’re damn welcome.”

++++++++++

I was reading on the small bed in Lip’s dorm when he came back from class, resting in just a large t-shirt and my underpants.

“Hey,” he flung his backpack onto the floor. I didn’t bother looking up from my book while I mumbled a greeting back. “You want a beer?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I replied.

Lip made his way over to the mini-fridge and opened it. “Uh, you stock my fridge?”

“Yeah, I got a couple of things while you were in class. Folded your clean laundry, too.”

After grabbing a beer Lip closed the fridge and sat down on the side of the bed. “Hey,” he placed a hand on my bare leg, I almost recoiled, his hand was freezing from being outside. “You don’t have to keep taking me places and getting me stuff.”

I placed my open book down on my chest, “What?”

“I know you’re going through stuff, you don’t have to be spending so much time doin’ shit for me.”

“Well, I like doing stuff for you, okay? It makes me feel like I’m doing something good.”

“Like we’re charity?”

I groaned and sat up onto my knees, “No, like, I love you, and I love your family, and helping you guys, like, makes me feel like I have a purpose. Like I’m part of the big family I always wanted.”

“…You’ve always been part of our family.”

“Do you not like it anymore when I do things for you?” I asked with a raised brow.

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I love that you love my family, but I’m just saying, even if you didn’t do these things, everyone would still love you. You don’t have to buy your way in.”

“Oh, I never bought my way in,” I chuckled, “I sucked my way in, s’more like it.”

Lip rolled his eyes at my corny joke, “You’re so dumb sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, pulling on the hem of his shirt. “Now get into bed and show me just how much you appreciate me buying you groceries and changing your sheets.”

++++++++++

Wattpad (where the entire story is posted)

Y+M Playlist

[thecomposerofstories]

Information on Amy.

(Be warned it's a ~little bit~ long, any other pieces of information you want to know I'll gladly answer if you ask.)

~General Information~

Fandom: Toy Story.

Name: Amy the Ragdoll.

Nickname, if any: Amy, Ames, and Doll-Face(usually by more villainous characters or used in a joking manner).

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: ??? (I mean I know the gender of who she has a crush on, but I'm unsure on what her actual sexuality should be tbh)

Age: Mentally, mid-twenties in the first story second movie, thirties to forties in the third and fourth. Physically, she doesn’t have an age, but in regards to when she was made (the 1950’s) makes her fifty to sixty.

City they currently live in: San Francisco, apparently that’s where Toy Story takes place.

Any pets: Would Rex count? He just follows her around like a nervous puppy.

Current occupation: I mean she’s practically a therapist, but she’s a toy and she only treats Rex so it probably doesn’t count lol

~Physical Appearance~

Height: 10 inches.

Body type: Stocky, but a bit gangly too, similar to Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Eye colour: Black.

Skin tone: Light.

Clothing style: Pale green/turquoise shirt with short puffed sleeves, with a denim dungaree dress with a daisy print in the centre over it. She wears yellow rain boots.

Hairstyle: No style, it’s just there. It’s messy and gets in her face easily and is made out of dark brown thin string.

~Speech/Language/Communication~

Amy speaks quietly and politely, rambles a bit if left without a reply or under pressure, very nervous in front of intimidating characters.

First language: English.

Learned languages: A bit of Spanish (Ya’ll remember Toy Story 3!)

Accent: American.

Pitch of voice: High, but soft, not quite annoying, unless she’s stressed, then it gets very pitchy and shrill.

~Behaviour/Habits~

Amy tends to just stand there when she can’t find anything to do, and will immediately try to find Rex, Hamm, Buzz or Jessie if surrounded by strangers (Though she’s not sure if it’s for their comfort or her own) Amy is very polite.

Spending habits: She doesn’t like to be made a fuss of at all, the very fact of someone giving something to her is unnerving (even if the thing never costed anything at all) and she feels compelled to give the giver something in return.

Morning routine: She gets up same time as the others, but wishes she could stay in bed a bit longer though. Before she came to Andy’s room, her sleep pattern was all over the place.

Bedtime routine: Similar to above, now she goes to bed the same time as the others, but before she just slept and got up willy-nilly.

Nervous habits: Amy will try to find Rex if she’s nervous, and she’ll pretend it’s because she’s worried for him, which is quite true, but she also just feels most safe with him. Speaking of, Amy will let Rex hold her hand and squish it whenever he or Amy is nervous, it’s calming to the both of them.

Bad habits: Not a very good exerciser, but then again, she’s spend basically half her life in a small attic, so I’ll give her a break.

Skills/talents: She’ very logical, mind-over-matter, (mostly, very good at calming others down and/or convincing them. She’s very good at spelling and knows quite a lot of words, some of which others haven’t even heard of.

Hobbies: Reading, talking (especially with Rex, Jessie or Hamm), and generally just lazing about or walking around somewhere, on her own or with a friend.

~The Past~

Amy’s first owner was a little girl called Alice. Alice loved nothing more than to read Amy stories (Mostly fairy tales), but of course, Alice grew up like all kids do, and she left Amy in the attic for someone else to have her.

Amy waited for many years, and all that time she’d never given up that someone would find her.

She thought she’s hit the jackpot when Andy and his family move into Alice’s old house, but they don’t go up into the attic to collect her. Some weeks later, though, Andy’s mother brings a set of boxes filled with junk into the attic and leaves. Woody, Buzz, Slinky, and Rex were trapped in one of the boxes (Call me a cheater but this part was actually inspired by a Toy Story comic, where those four toys get stuck in the attic that way and have to escape. It struck me odd that they never met at least one new friend there, so I made one. It was also my first story, I needed some inspiration!)

Amy, in a fit of panic, goes and hides.

But then she’s found by Rex as he and the others try to find a way out.

They then decide to let the strange, dust-covered ragdoll come back to Andy’s rom with them. (well, Rex did, anyway.)

Home town: Would Alice’s old room count? But it’s now Andy’s Room, so it won’t count will it?

Happy or sad childhood: Pretty normal to be honest, as normal a life as a toy could have anyway. And as for sadness, having spent all that time on her own for all those years, having missed out on so much, is a little sad. But Amy made sure she never became bitter over it or used it as an excuse for anything.

Earliest memory: Waking up in her toy store, with a friend of hers for company (a ragdoll Prospector, a much as she remembers) and as she gets bought by Alice’s Auntie, she says she hopes he gets picked up by a kid. (Unbeknownst to her, she would meet him again in a while to find out he never got to experience it)

Saddest memory: One, being left by Alice, yet being so happy for her and how much she’s grown up, if she could cry tears of joy for her owner, she would. Two, some (or most) of the days she spent waiting for a new owner to arrive. And three, watching Rex have a mental breakdown of anxiety.

Happiest memory: One, the time she and Alice went to the park, (Amy absolutely adores nature) Two after sliding down a drainpipe to get to Andy’s room, and three, having known she’d helped her friend out.

Significant events: Being bought, being left in an attic, being rescued from the attic, while gaining some new friends.

~Family~

The entirety of Andy’s room, whether they like it or not, they’re all in this together and are some kind of mish-mash, found family in a sense.

Siblings: I’ve been thinking of giving Amy a brother (since I based her on Raggedy Ann, a matching bootleg Raggedy Andy seems reasonable) bur I’m unsure about it, since I’ve already mapped out Amy’s entire series of stories (Around six or seven all together, so far I’m currently writing only the third) and I can only fit him in the fifth or sixth if I can.

~Relationships~

Romantically? I’d like to say she has a crush on Rex, I don’t know why I thought of it, I was contemplating it one day as I sketched a rough (and terrible) sketch of her, and I drew Rex too because he’s just so fun to draw and I wanted to make a scale for Amy’s size, and one of my friends (who had been watching me) immediately said “I ship it!” and well, the rest is history, I made the decision to ship it too.

Friends: Jessie, Hamm, Buzz, and Rex are her closet friends, but she’d like to say that all the Gang are her friends. Later on she becomes good friends with Mr. Prickle Pants, Buttercup, Trixie and Totoro, and she absolutely loves the peas and Forky.

Best friend(s): Hamm, Mr. Prickle Pants, Jessie, and Rex.

What do people like about them? Amy’s pretty easy to talk to, she’s polite and attentive and will sit in companionable silence with someone if they need it. But she won’t hesitate to give hard truths and advice if it’s needed.

What do people dislike about them? Amy is quite a doormat, if someone is rude to her or breaches anything she just lets it happen, and sometimes she’s too indecisive about her own stuff, unsure whether she’s going to offend others or not over the smallest things, which annoys others quite a bit.

~Mentality/Personal Beliefs~

Amy is a toy of logic, and though she believes others can do it if they set their minds to it, she doesn’t quite believe in herself. She believes she must follow the rules of being a toy at all times, no matter what.

Phobias: Dust. She hates it. It took a good five weeks to brush all the dust out her hair and clothes, and even so there’s still some in her pockets and places she can’t reach. And being alone, too. Now she can’t be alone for more than an hour before she starts to get antsy and nervous. And for a short time books gave her a strange tiredness, after reading them for so long and for so many years she couldn’t even stand the sight of them.

But of course, not for long, since Amy found out Andy had a copy of Red’s Dream by a Mr. William Reeves.

Optimist or pessimist: Depends on the situation really, if her mind can’t come up with a solution, then there’s no point in trying anymore. Unless someone else can think of something, that is.

Personal philosophies: “You are here to make good things happen. No person here is made for one reason only, or even only one. There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not just for the attention of others, no matter how cool they are. We should find are own meaning, as we’re the only ones who have control of it.

It’ll take a while, but I swear, it’ll be worth it.”

Biggest dream/wish: Amy wants nothing more than to find meaning for herself, but finds it rather hard to do so. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll settle for someone else’s meaning. As cheesy as it sounds, she just wants an adventure. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the hero, though, she’s just happy to go along with the ride so long as it gets her out the house for a few hours. She also, above all else, wants Rex to find meaning too, even if she never does, it would be nice to know that he had.

Greatest strength(s): Persuasion, story-telling, logic, and good grammar.

Biggest flaw: Despite being a ragdoll, Amy can’t sew because of her fingerless hands, which are just soft mittens in shape. Amy is also quite a doormat, as I said before, so if her calm persuasion and reasoning doesn’t work, she’s left to be walked all over.

Regrets: Staying in that dratted attic too long, the window was open, she could’ve just climbed out, but no, she had to stay there for some mind-rotting decades. But if she had just escaped, she would never have met her new friends. Amy just wishes she had met them a lot sooner.

Achievements: Escaped the attic, slid down a drainpipe, leapt onto the windowsill (though nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over in the process) stopped her friend from having a panic attack, and managed to remember the entire Dictionary and is able to recite it down from A to Z, and even Z to A.

Secrets: Not much, just strange feelings for one of her friends, but it’s not much of a secret, Bo knows, and Mr. Potato Head and Hamm could see it from a mile away, and the others have their suspicions.

Goals: Read the entirety of Andy’s (and later Bonnie’s) bookshelves, become more confident in herself, have her own book-worthy adventure, and figure out what those strange feelings for her friend is.

~Likes/Favourites~

Favourite colour: Even before meeting Rex, Amy’s favourite colour was always green. Every time Alice had taken her to the park, Amy adored watching the sunlight pour through the leaves with a golden-green glow.

Favourite book(s): Because it’s sentimental to her, being her owner’s favourites, she loves Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz. They all hold similar plots (a little girl in a blue dress goes to a fantasy land, has a few adventures, and then leaves said fantasy land to go home to her family and responsibilities) but it reminds Amy of her old owner Alice (who was actually named after Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) and their playtimes together.

Favourite Book Quotation(s):

“Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.”

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid.”

Favourite movie: Amy does much prefer books, since they allow her to imagine the setting and characters in her own way, but doesn’t mind movies, and isn’t picky on what they watch, though she does quite like horror films.

Favourite song: Amy likes any kind of music, new or old.

Favourite game: Amy never really cared for games, the competitiveness always bothered her and stressed her out. But she’s more than happy to watch Rex play his video games and cheer him on.

~Relationships with other characters~

~Rex~

- Hit it off pretty quickly.

- Amy helps him with his anxiety, and helps him find confidence in himself, she acts as a certain therapist to him.

- Both become very stressed without the other around.

- Rex will hold and knead at Amy’s hands sometimes; it calms him down.

- Rex will let Amy ride on his back if she’s tired or needs to see something (Because she’s so short).

- One of them can basically be talking about the most boring-est things ever, yet still the other will hang on to their every word.

~Jessie~

- Became friends pretty quickly.

- Will drag Amy along anywhere.

- Get along fairly well.

- Jessie does the talking and Amy does the planning.

- Jessie always pranks the other toys and makes Amy tag along (along with Hamm).

- Introvert/Extrovert dynamic for sure.

- Both were left in alone for years so like to find solace in each other.

~Hamm~

- Hamm begrudgingly warmed up to the timorous ragdoll.

- Surprisingly good pals.

- Have full conversations without saying anything.

- Like to sit and look out of the window together.

- Hamm makes Amy laugh when she really shouldn’t (mainly when he makes fun of the other toys, mainly Woody).

- Hamm makes fun of Amy having a crush on Rex every once in a while, though he doesn’t mean any harm.

~The Potato Heads~

- Mr. doesn’t really interact with Amy much, but finds her surprisingly tolerable, if a bit high-strung and annoying.

- Like Hamm, Mr. makes Amy laugh at the most wrong moments.

- She and Mrs. Are quite good friends, and she sometimes lets Amy take care of the aliens if she and her husband are busy.

~Woody~

- Are aquianteces.

- Don’t exactly interact much, even though the whole room practically revolves around him, in Amy’s opinion, though she would never say it to his face.

~Buzz~

- Amy thinks he’s super cool (then again, he is Buzz Lightyear, he practically invented coolness)

- Both are just as clueless as one another when it comes to social cues and interactions.

- Amy helps him with vocabulary and spelling every once in a while.

~Mr. Prickle Pants~

- Are absolute BFF’s.

- Go back and forth with book quotes to the point of driving the other toys insane.

~Bo Peep~

- Amy's not exactly sure if Bo has befriended her or not.

- (She has)

- They later become good friends.

- Amy misses their talks, Bo was one of the only toys she could talk to that could keep a secret.

[xbladekitkat85]

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Where’s Morgan?  An Irondad Oneshot

To say that everyone was excited to go to Disneyland was an understatement. It was a very big understatement.

Tony had planned every detail of the trip, making sure that they had bought the right amount of the correct passes to get everyone in and the hotels reservation, and rental car.

When he had finalized the plans, he gathered everyone in the living room.

"Ok, what is this about?" Harley asked suspiciously. "Is this a set up to a prank?"

Tony gasped in indignation.

"Why would you ever say that? Would I really do that to you?"

"You've been acting weird." Peter pointed out. "You keep on minimizing the internet tabs every time we would enter your lab."

"That doesn't mean anything. I could be trying to find you all your Christmas presents early." Tony replied immediately.

"But since when do you shop for us on the Disneyland website?" Morgan asked slyly.

Then there was a moment of silence.

"WAIT, WE'RE GOING TO DISNEYLAND?!" The boys asked in disbelief.

Tony let out a laugh that only showed itself with his family.

"That's right. Oh, and I also invited Shuri because last time she was here in the states, she didn't get to go."

All of the kids smiled at each other in excitement.

"The fact that Shuri is coming too is amazing dad!" Harley said.

"This is going to be so fun. Oh I've been wanting to go to Batuu so bad!" Peter gushed.

"Make sure to buy me some shoes with inserts so I'm tall enough for all the rides, dad." Morgan said.

"Wait, when are we going?" Harley asked suddenly.

"Tomorrow. Mom already made a packing list of all the essential items we need to pack." Tony said with a thankful smile to Pepper. "You should be receiving the lists any second now."

Everyone's phones vibrated with the notification of a list. As soon as the kids felt it, they ran to their respective rooms to start packing.

*The next morning*

"All right, do we have everybody on the jet?" Tony asked.

Pepper looked around and thought for a moment.

"Okay, I'll give each of you a number and whenever we do a head count, when I say your number, wave or something. That way we know we're all here. Ok, Tony, you'll be 1, Rhodey, you'll be 2, Harley, 3, Shuri, 4, Peter, 5, and Morgan, you will be 6. Everybody got that?"

Everyone nodded.

"We'll try it a few times on the way so we can get the hang of it."

After a long flight, and a few practices of number counting, they arrived in Anaheim and made their way to Disney's Grand Californian Hotel and Spa. They checked in, unpacked ate dinner and went to bed early to get enough rest for the next day.

*7:00 the next morning*

"All right, everybody up!" Morgan sang as she jumped from bed to bed, effectively waking everyone in the room.

"My love language is quality time together, but not like this, Morguna." Tony groaned as he finally sat up.

Peter was the next to get up.

"Ok, we have to get dressed and get our phones ready to reserve our boarding groups for Rise of The Resistance! I already have the app ready to go!"

"Hold on kiddo, we need breakfast before we go. What do you all want?" Tony asked.

Everyone listed off what they wanted from the room service booklet and soon everyone had eaten and were ready to start the day at Disneyland.

"Ok, let's do our headcount before getting in line. to enter" Pepper called out.

"One."

Tony flashed a peace sign.

"Two."

Rhodey waved.

"Three."

Harley casually dabbed as he sneezed.

"Four."

"FRE SHA VACA DO!" Shuri said gleefully, making Peter and Harley laugh.

"Five."

"It is Wednesday my dudes." Peter began.

Then all the kids joined in, "uuuuuuuUUUUUUAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

"Kids, you can't do that kind of shit here." Tony interrupted. "Ok, six?"

"Watch yo profanity." Morgan said with a grin.

"We have taught her so well." Peter said, wiping away a fake tear.

"Well, we're all here, so lets go." Pepper said, beckoning everyone towards the gate.

As soon as the gates opened and everyone was inside, Peter reserved their boarding group for Rise of the Resistance.

"Sweet, we're boarding group 15, we can go on a couple of rides while we wait for our turn!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"All right, where do we find a map?" Pepper asked.

"We don't need one. I recruited someone to help us around the park." Tony said.

"Wait, who?" Harley asked.

"Well I did some research on who would be the best tour guide for our trip." Tony explained. "I had Fri do a background check before hiring her to help us. She's known for being a encyclopedia of knowledge on the parks and their history. She knows her stuff and was more than willing to help us. Also, she's the granddaughter of one of the original Imagineers, X Atencio, who did the script for the Haunted Mansion and Pirates of the Caribbean as well as the music that plays through both rides."

"So, a legacy of the Imagineers is going to show us around? How cool is that?" Peter asked.

"So when is she coming?" Shuri asked.

"I'm here already." A new voice said.

Everybody turned to look at the new person who had entered the group. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She was dressed in the color scheme of Snow White's outfit but in the style of 1950's clothing. Her makeup was also reminiscent of the era of clothing she dressed in.

"Nice to meet you all in person!" She said with a smile. "The name's Sarah Atencio."

She shook everyone's hand and when she got to Morgan, she crouched down to her height so she was at eye level with the young girl.

"I like your outfit miss." Morgan said politely. "Is it supposed to look like Snow White?"

Sarah smiled at her question.

"It is indeed. The outfit I'm wearing is called a Disneybound. Do you know what that is?"

Morgan shook her head no, but still seemed to be interested in what it was.

"No, but it sounds cool." She replied.

"I can teach you all about it later while we wait in line. How does that sound?" She asked.

Morgan smiled shyly and nodded.

Sarah stood up straight and smoothed out her skirt.

"All right, let's get this trip started! Did anyone have a preference in where we go first?"

"Well, I know that Peter would be very interested to go to Batuu. I myself am curious to see what it looks like in person." Shuri piped up. "I also wanted to see the lightsabers they sell here and compare them to the ones I have at home."

"Are we all in agreement?" Sarah asked.

Everyone voiced their agreement or nodded their heads.

"All right, on to Batuu!" Sarah proclaimed.

*Time skip*

"Peter, since you wanted to go to Batuu, do you have your story planned out? Or are you going to improvise?" Sarah asked.

"I already have planned some aspects of my character but I'm still not sure about a couple of things. So I guess both?" He answered.

"Whoa, what do you mean, character? What story?" Harley asked.

Peter turned to look at Harley in disbelief.

"Do you not remember when we had this conversation?" He asked.

"No, why else would I ask?" Harley retorted.

"Ok, basically, Batuu is a trading post and a secret base for the Rebellion and the First Order is looking for them. Everybody who goes there has the possible chance of being stopped by Stormtroopers who are looking for Rebel spies. It's also possible to be stopped and interrogated by Kylo Ren. So if you wanted to be more immersed in the experience, you could come up with a backstory for why you are in Batuu and what side of the war you're on. As for my backstory, I'm a con artist born on Yavin-4 posing as a merchant looking for a place to trade my fake rare materials on the planet. I sell to the First Order and report to the Rebellion with what the First Order is interested in buying and how much of the item. But the thing is, my so called rare materials are so realistic looking, that they fool the First Order. What they are buying is useless and they won't know it until they try actually using it."

"That's more thought out than what I would come up with." Harley said. "I probably would have come up with some idiotic backstory like, 'Oh, I'm the secret child of Luke Skywalker and I have come to take down my cousin and his stupid army of bucket heads.' Something that wouldn't make sense."

"Well, I'll give you points for using SW slang." Peter remarked playfully.

"We're about to arrive at Rise of the Resistance since it is around the time your group should be called. Are we all here?"

"I'll check, we have a system." Pepper said. "One... Two... Three... Four... Five.... WHERE'S MORGAN?!"

Everyone in the group instantly looked around to see where she could have wandered off to.

"Oh no, Fri, please activate the 'Little Feetsies' protocol." Tony said tapping the side of his sun glasses.

"Activating 'Little Feetsies' protocol."She responded.

"Activating what now?" Harley asked.

Instantly, Tony could see the footprints of everyone in their group on the ground. The smallest pair of feet had diverted from the group way back towards the bazaar.

"Everyone follow me." Tony said.

"Is nobody else going to ask why there is a protocol with that name?" Harley asked as everyone else followed Tony.

Everyone in the group followed Tony as he walked the path of Morgan's shoe prints, making sure he didn't accidentally crash into a person in the process.

Eventually, Tony stopped and everyone saw why.

Morgan was standing with Kylo Ren and his Stormtroopers. And she was smiling as she talked with him.

"Well, I guess Morgan has connections to the First Order now." Shuri said, grinning at Peter, who looked slightly jealous. "How does your character feel after seeing a tiny 5 year old with the Supreme Leader wrapped around her little finger?"

Everyone laughed as they watched the duo, who seemed to be devising a way to end the Resistance once and for all.

"Ok, so that's a good way to help your troopers train and be better at ambushing the Resistance. And also try feeding them yummy food so they will be more hardworking. Give them something like, like.... Spaghetti! Or cheeseburgers!" Morgan told the tall and scary looking man.

"The First Order thanks you for your information and loyalty. You will be rewarded." One of the Stormtroopers told her.

"If only my military strategists had ideas as well thought out as yours." Kylo Ren said with interest. "How would you like to become my apprentice? Learn how to fight properly?"

Peter chose that moment to run to Morgan and scoop her up, making her squeal in surprise.

"AIIIIE, Peter, don't do that!" She giggled.

"I'm so sorry if she was bothering you Supreme Leader, she tends to run off and show off her intellect whenever she gets the chance to." Peter said with more confidence than he felt.

"I had hoped that she would become my apprentice. I could train her well, she would live a successful life as my right hand."

Peter laughed a bit nervously before replying.

"She's a bit too young right now. Maybe when she's at least 16 I would let her decide if she still wants to or not."

"How unfortunate. I insist you reconsider." The deep voice of Kylo Ren replied.

"I apologize Supreme Leader, but I must decline. Well, we have somewhere to be very soon, so I believe this is farewell for now."

Peter carried Morgan back to the rest of the group and Morgan waved goodbye to Kylo Ren.

“Morguna, why did you run off without telling us?” Tony asked the young girl.

“We were worried you might have gotten lost, honey.” Pepper added.

“I’m sorry mommy, Kylo Ren asked me to be his right hand!" Morgan said, right off the bat.

Pepper's facial expression was a mix of horrified amusement and Tony was trying very hard not to laugh. Shuri and Harley looked very proud of Morgan for charming Kylo Ren himself. Sarah was just laughing at the whole situation.

"And I told her no, because she is too young." Peter interjected "Besides, you are supposed to be with the Resistance Morgs, what happened to that?"

"She double crossed you is what happened."Harley replied "Betrayed her own brother, who is supposed to be a con artist."

Everyone burst out laughing at that comment and after it died down, they all went to Rise of the Resistance.

NOTE: This is my first fic on Tumblr, and I think I might do more? It depends on if I have time to write, hahaha! Also if you have seen this on Wattpad, don’t panic, this is the same person who has it on there, I am not stealing someone else’s work. I am taking my own writing and putting it on Tumblr. Also, I know that Disneyland is literally on the opposite side of the country for them, but for the sake of me never having gone to Disney World, I used Disneyland instead. Because I know nothing about the parks layout in Florida.

[thehopefuldandelion]

Birds, Dreams, and other Happy Things

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic EVER( I’ve read a ton but have never written one). I have been really loving the song Dream a Little Dream of Me specifically by Doris Day and I wanted to create a little fic about it. All grammar mistakes and errors are mine. :)

One shot, everlark...

And I do not own the hunger games...

FanFiction.net : 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13456901/1/

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“You ready Katniss?” my roommate and singing partner, Johanna, asks me.

 “I guess,” I reply, “what if they hate the song?” 

“They won’t, otherwise I’ll beat them to bits.” That’s Johanna for you. Always telling me the God honest truth. Ever since I started working at this crusty, dilapidated bar a couple years ago, my life has changed. For the better, I guess. Life as an Everdeen has never been easy. Low paying jobs and Ramen have become the highlights of my shitty existence ever since my father died, leaving my mother to check out. My sister, Primrose, has had the happy childhood I never knew because of my efforts. At 16, I became a parent to her after my mother abandoned us, taking my dad’s life insurance money with her. Hell, I don’t know where she is but I hope I never see her greedy face again. Regardless, bills still have to be payed including Prim’s pricey college tuition. My rent is already 2 days late and I can’t afford- 

“Katniss,” someone calls in a gruff voice waking me out of my trance. I recognize it immediately as the bar owner, Haymitch Abernathy’s, voice. "You're on in 2.”

 I reply with a simple, 

“Thanks Haymitch.”

 Here goes nothing. 

------------------------------------------------------------

“Peet, pleaseeeeeeee. I really need a wingman tonight. You are the best man for the job,” I can almost hear the pout in my best friend Finnick’s voice over the phone as he says this. 

“Finnick, you know I can’t. I have an important meeting tomorrow I need to be well rested for. This is my final opportunity to expand the bakery throughout the country,” I tell him in reply.

 I've known Finnick since we were in diapers, running around, eating baby food. He’s always been a great friend, especially in college, but can be a real douche when it comes to any and all responsibilities. 

“I’ll have you home by 1 at the latest. C’mon Peeta. You need the distraction after Delly-” 

“DONT TALK ABOUT HER,” I cut him off and then take a deep breath, “Ok, I'm sorry I yelled but you know it's still a sensitive topic for me.” 

He’s not wrong about me needing a distraction. I had just walked into our apartment, excited to tell Delly the news about the bakery, when I see her butt naked on another man. His name was Thom or something like that. What an asshole.  

“Fine,” I grumble, "I'll come BUT only if I get to leave when I want.” 

“YESSSSSSSSSS!” Finnick squeals like a schoolgirl causing me to roll my eyes. And that’s that. 

——————————————————————————

I place a kiss on my father’s picture with my index and middle fingers, a ritual I do before every performance no matter where it is. James Everdeen was a man with both spunk and spirit and sang with the most beautiful voice. If you listened closely enough, you could hear the silence of the birds as if to hear his melodious singing. It wasn't the same since after he died and I am still grieving his death. My mind strays to the thought of Prim hearing me sing tonight. Her college is out of state preventing us to see each other more than 4 times a year. I cherish every second of her company when she visits. 

As I step onto the worn stage and in front of the 1950’s style microphone, I remember how exhilarated I become whenever that spotlight focuses on me. On my left are the backup singers, Johanna and Annie, while on my right I can hear Thresh drop a beat as Gale plays the keyboard. My body and voice are one as the words seem to flow out of my mouth in tandem with the moving of my body. “This is for you dad,” I think to myself. 

------------------------------------------------------------

The bar Finnick drags me to is called Abernathy’s, a small but welcoming place, near his apartment. Once inside, we both grab drinks and head over to a rectangular table. I notice Finnick winking at a stereotypical busty blond with fake eyelashes and large boobs. I roll my eyes exaggeratingly while I turn my attention to the stage (more of an elevated platform only 2 or 3 feet off the ground) as someone announces the next singer. I don’t catch her name because of Finnick’s obnoxious flirting.  

The girl, no, woman who walks out takes my breath away. From her toned, olive legs to her enticing grey eyes and dark hair, she is the most beautiful human being I've ever laid eyes on. The moment she opens her mouth I am captivated by her melodic voice. It is both sultry and sweet with a touch of harmony. I’m hooked like a fish on a line. It’s official, I’m a goner and I don’t even know her name.

 -----------------------------------------------------------

Stars shining bright above you   

Night breezes seem to whisper I love you

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me 

As my eyes wander over the surprisingly filled bar, I notice a pair of crystal blue orbs that seem to stand out from the rest of the crowd. His orbs are locked onto mine in a comfortable gaze. Who is this man? Why is he here? And why, oh why, do I want to sing this song for him?

------------------------------------------------------------

Say night-ie night and kiss me 

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

 When I'm alone as blue as can be 

Dream a little dream of me 

The attraction between the singer and I is heated and I can't seem to tear my eyes away from hers. It seems as if time has stopped and it’s just the two of us. She seems to be singing the song directly at me until she continues searching the large crowd. Who is this woman who has captured my heart in a matter of minutes? 

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Stars fading but I linger on dear  

Just craving your kiss 

I’m longing to linger till dawn dear 

Just saying this 

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  

Sweet dreams to leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be 

Dream a little dream of me 

I tear my eyes away from his muscular body and slightly curled blond hair and focus on finding my sister in the crowd. Her small, slender frame and long blonde hair aren't hard to miss so I spot her right as the musical interlude ends. She gives me a smile filled with an emotion that reminds me of the day she convinced me to sing again. It was a deathly cold winter morning only a couple days after my father’s accident. I shut out the world and anything that made me feel happy including singing. I felt guilty, like I shouldn't sing because my dad is dead and I'm dishonoring him. Prim, darling, Prim dragged me out of bed, made me eat a hearty breakfast, and said she had signed me up for the Christmas caroling competition in town. No matter how much I bitched she would not have it. I did sing and I realized that my dad is still with me, both in my heart and voice. Humming and singing around the apartment has become a habit of mine ever since. Hey, singing pays the bills so how can I complain?

------------------------------------------------------------

Stars fading but I linger on dear 

Just craving your kiss 

I’m longing to linger till dawn dear 

Just saying this 

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  

Sweet dreams to leave all worries behind you 

But in your dreams whatever they be 

Dream a little dream of me 

Dream a little dream of me 

Dream a little dream.... of me 

When the song concludes, the singer turns her back to the audience and says goodnight seductively over her shoulder causing me to drool. I must have really zoned out with thoughts of her because Finnick shakes my shoulder several times before I respond. 

“You ok, dude?” he asks concerned, “What were you thinking about?”

 I nod my head, anxious to go talk to the dark-haired goddess who just walked out of her dressing room. I jump out of my seat, startling people around me and walk (ok, run) towards my future.

------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as I sing the last note, a wave of contentment envelops me like a blanket. This is where I belong, on a stage, honoring my father through song. 

Annie drags me off stage and leaves to get drinks for all of us. Thresh, the gentle giant he is, just pats my back and smiles. He has never been much of a talker but I appreciate his calming demeanor when I have a shitty day. I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder and see a familiar face, Gale. My best friend since we could hunt. Gale has been Prim and my life support for since my father died and would lug me out of bed on days my depression got the best of me. I can’t imagine life without his ugly face.

“Great job out there Catnip. You always do great,” he tells me. 

I scrunch my nose in response to the nickname he gave me when I was 11. 

“Not too bad yourself. Is Madge here or...?” 

“No, she’s complaining that everyone would laugh at her swollen feet.” He then looks at me with a humorous glint in his eye and says, “Pregnant women. Am I right?”

 Madge and Gale have been dating since high school and are now married with a baby on the way. I often find myself daydreaming about having what they have but I snap out of it. The chances of me having someone who cares for me and would want a family with me are slim. Some would say I’m picky but its more that I’m cautious. I saw what happened to my mother after my dad died. Love destroyed her in the end and I don't know if I could live like that.

 “I wouldn’t know,” I huff, “I will be in my dressing room”.

——————————————————————————

I bump into Johanna on my way back to the dressing room. She notices the scowl on my face.

 “What’s got your panties in a twist?” she asks mockingly. 

“It’s none of your concern, Johanna.” How am I supposed to explain to someone that what I want most of all, I can and will never have.

 A couple minutes later, after I’ve changed into more comfortable clothing, I hear a knock on the door. 

Johanna, in a screeching voice, says, “Brainless, you better get out here. Haymitch wants you to mingle with people.”

I gag. I don’t “mingle”. I avoid people at all cost. My sister is out there waiting for me, though, so I grudgingly walk into the main bar area.

------------------------------------------------------------

There she is. The closer I get, the faster my heart starts beating. She’s even more beautiful up close than I could see from afar. The singer is wearing skinny jeans (which make her ass look divine), a flowy green blouse with a hint of cleavage, and not a trace of makeup can be found. Her hair is in an intricate but effortlessly messy braid. My fingers itched to unbraid it and run my hands through her luscious long locks.  

The woman is hugging a shorter blond headed girl who I assume is a friend or, possibly, sister. This intense urge to grab her by the waist and kiss her senseless bubbles up within me. I push it back down knowing I need to be of sound mind when I confront her. 

As I get closer, the blond girl says something about a cat to which the singer responds with a scowl. I’m about to tap her on the shoulder when a drunken man, about a head taller than me, with bleached hair steps in front of me and asks if the singer wants a drink. She tries to refuse but he doesn’t take no for an answer. On an impulse, I go up to her which shocks the man. 

“Hey honey,” I say while putting an arm around her waist and kissing the side of her head, “I’m sorry, I had to go to the bathroom.” 

My mind gets lost in her forest scented shampoo. She smells like evergreen trees during Christmas and her sweet perfume mixes nicely with the smell.  

The beautiful singer looks at me with wide eyes and a shocking expression on her face.Just when I thought this was a stupid idea, she continues the act by saying, “It’s ok, dear.” She then takes it a step further by laying her head on my chest as well as most of her body weight. 

The douchebag looks pissed, mumbles “whatever”, and walks away.

“Thanks for that...” She says and inquires for my name. 

------------------------------------------------------------

“Peeta,” he responds with a crooked smile, “Peeta Mellark.” 

My first reaction to Peeta saving the day was to yell at him but as I smelled his scent, cinnamon and spices, I decided to play along.

 He sticks out his hand for me to shake. 

“Katniss, Katniss Everdeen,” I tell him. When I shake his hand, I feel goosebumps rise on my skin and an electrical shock go through my arm. I pull my hand away and look at his face. It’s obvious Peeta felt it too.

“Hey, could I maybe buy you a drink?” Peeta questions me nervously. 

“That would be nice,” I say in reply excited to see where this night may go.

Peeta and I end up talking the whole night through. He tells me that he grew up in his parent's bakery and wants to open a new one in New York. His 2 older brothers, Rye and Bran, were troublemakers until they settled down. As the night continues, we seem to drift from surface level topics and dive into the darkest parts of our pasts. When I learn about his abusive childhood from his mother, I start bawling caused by the 1 too many beers I’ve had. I recount stories from Prim and I’s childhoods and my job here at Abernathy’s. When my parents were brought up, I was reluctant to tell this handsome man about my dad but as soon a s I do, I'm comforted in a way I have never felt before. Haymitch eventually yells at us to get out of the bar and I leave with a content smile on my face. 

While I’m walking to the taxi, too intoxicated to drive, Peeta calls my name. 

“Katniss, can I have your number? So, we can... you know... talk... and... stuff?” 

As I turn around, his floppy blond curls are bouncing while he runs towards me. I giggle at his hesitant tone. We exchange numbers and I give him a kiss on the cheek which puts a pink blush on his face. 

------------------------------------------------------------

Katniss and I went on our first date about 2 months later. A simple romantic picnic in the park while watching the sunset.

“Beautiful,” I said but not at the sunset. 

Without warning, she straddles my lap and gives me the shortest kiss making my body ache for more. From then on, we were inseparable. I love her and I want the whole world to know but I am not sure how to tell her. 

------------------------------------------------------------

I have fallen hopelessly and incandescently in love with Peeta Mellark. He’s been there through every painful period, strenuous performance, and temper tantrum. Without him, I’m lost; But how do you tell someone you love them when you have never been in love before?

 -----------------------------------------------------------

I hear the apartment door open and shut. Small, olive arms wrap around my waist. Katniss deeply sighs against my back.  

“Long day?” I ask. 

“Yeah. I missed you,” she tells me in return. 

I turn in her arms so I can face her and kiss the top of her head. Those beautiful silver orbs lock onto mine. A stray hair falls out of her braid, which I push behind her ear in a loving gesture. She rises on her tiptoes and brushes her lips against mine. Katniss sighs into my mouth as we tangle our tongues together.

 I can feel her tug on the hem of my gray Henley shirt which causes me to say sarcastically, "I didn’t cook us dinner just so it could burn.” 

Katniss gives off a hearty laugh and I fall in love with her even more. It seems just yesterday I was listening to her sing and admiring her beauty and now I get to call her my girlfriend. We both serve our plates and talk as we enjoy a relaxing evening at home. 

------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, I wake up and see a handsome, naked Peeta beside me. The sunlight flooding in from the open window hits his golden curls in a way that makes it look like he is wearing a halo. His muscular arms are wrapped around my slender waist and I lean my head back against his chest. This is what I have always dreamed of but never had.  

I give Peeta a languid kiss and his eyelids slowly open revealing those crystal blue eyes I’ve come to love. 

“If that’s my wakeup call every morning, I’m never leaving this bed,” he says in a low voice. 

“Peeta, I love you.” 

I said it. That confession is finally out in the open. I close my eyes, scared of his response. 

He puts a finger under my chin, causing my eyes to open. 

“Katniss, my love, I love you as well,” he says with a crooked smile.

 In that moment, I realize that Peeta is home. And as long as I'm with him, I will never feel lost.

 We spend the rest of the day in bed, repeating our confessions of love, and kissing to our heart’s content.

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A/N: Ahhhhhh that’s it! I hope you liked it. Anyway uhhhhhhh ill check in with you all later. Bye ;)

[thegreatfatnerd]

Hi, Hope you enjoy this, if you want to get in touch don't hesitate to message me I will always reply as soon as I can, also if you could leave a little review, it really helps, it helps keep me inspired and motivated x 

8th Doctor finding his new companion x

Finally, it had taken a while, it was tedious yet enjoyable in a way, strange really, going through all the stuff that a previous incarnation held as important, dear and interesting. In a way, they still were because I suppose I am that person but at the same time I'm a different person. Train magazines, hundreds of clocks it would seem, but some things will never change, such as wanting a cup of tea. The Tardis knows me so well, probably better than I know myself.

 Word count : 2832. 

And So The Adventure Begins.

-------------------------------

Sat down in my favorite chair, with a perfect cup of sweet tea, what could be better. Well, staring at an empty chair, what's the point in saving worlds on a semi-regular basis and sitting to relax when you are by yourself. Well usually the Tardis steps in here, she does always seem to know best, she seems to always land in a place so I find someone or so fate gets involved. Maybe this time I should change that, maybe I could find my own companion. I must admit I'm feeling a little lonely, but not for much longer me thinks. Well, maybe I should let fate have its turn, maybe I should let the Tardis decide where we land, then again, who knows where I could end up, who knows what species I could end up with. Maybe for once, I should have full choice, this won't happen often so let's take a chance ...

Earth 2019

"Alright, I heard you I will put the rubbish out, I will eat, but no nothing unhealthy, yes I know I'm on a diet, yes I will sort out everything before I leave... I'm losing you, bye bye." I promptly hang up, "Ugh, I hate people sometimes."

I look in the mirror, this is as good as it will get, I'm 'really dolled up', by that I mean I have literally just cleaned my glasses, bright red lipstick, that if I'm totally honest was totally wrong for me, and that is it. I'm wearing my favorite dress, I think anything with a petticoat, can hide a multitude of sins.

Looking at the clock I realize as usual I'm ready with some time to spare so I make sure I've done everything I need to do. I can hardly believe it sitting here. I'm about to go on my first date, leaving it to the week before your 22nd birthday means I am more nervous than should be necessary.

One last look in the mirror, great, it doesn't really matter what clothes you wear, I will always look fat. Let's get going shall we don't want to miss the bus, that would be a great start either late or on time but out of breath and all sweaty, yuck.

As always the bus is late and it's raining so all that effort on doing my hair is undone, at least that's what I'll say to him, I don't ever really do much to it anyway, it's always big but not quite curly clip the bits off my face and we're good to go.

xxx

I'm standing in the doorway of a restaurant I've never even heard of, some Italian place, great time to get a text the exact time you're meant to meet, he isn't coming, he never had any intention to. Well, I'm here, I don't care if I'm on a diet or not. I want something greasy and unhealthy, tomorrow I'll be going back to my place to live by myself, have no human interaction for at least a week so who's gonna notice.

That's a good plan Chinese, and a walk through the beautiful green gardens, I'm sure that will make me feel better. Bench by the lake, lovely, food, check, no person in sight, even better and to top it all off the rain has stopped.

Of course, there had to be someone where I couldn't see, but hey, as long as this bloke doesn't talk to me or sit by me there's nothing to worry about. Just keep eating, the diet can start again in the morning.

"Excuse me?" First time I look up at this bloke, what the hell is he wearing, velvet jacket, don't see that everyday does you, best be polite.

"Yes."

"Could you help me, I'm terribly confused, I was wondering what year it is?" Great, he's crazy, I'm all alone and there is a crazy bloke with me, could this night get any worse. First proper look at him, and it confirms my suspicions all the good looking guys are mad.

"Umm, 2019, why?"

"Well I thought it was, but then I saw you in that dress, which looks lovely by the way, but then I thought it could be the 1950's but then I looked and saw your food and that confused me again. May I sit down?" Every other bench is empty and he wants to sit with me, this bloke who actually noticed my dress, I really want to say no. But hey I'm curious and if I'm totally honest I don't think it would be possible to say no to those eyes.

"Um, sure." I say moving my things across, I look down and realize how greedy I must look. I have enough food for at least two if not more, "Want some?" I say holding some chips up.

He smiles, I have to admit it was quite a smile, held it up, stared at it for a moment before eating it. I offered him some more of all the food, he did the same with everything.

"What's your name?" He suddenly comes out with, should have really seen that one coming.

After swallowing, "Y/N", I hold out my hand ready to shake, he does take my hand and then replies.

" Hello Y/N, lovely name, I'm the doctor."

"The doctor? Really is that what people call you, what, doctor what?"

"Just the doctor", after that we sat in silence for a little while, I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but I just couldn't bring myself to break this comfortable silence, besides who am I to judge. It wouldn't be fair anyway, everyone around here thinks I'm a bit strange and that never stopped me, maybe it's the same for that guy.

My eyes are starting to itch, oh how could I forget about my hayfever, I'm sitting in a giant flower garden, this really isn't my night is it.

I pick up my bag and start rooting through it. I'm sure I had some tablets or a tissue or something in my bag, why can I never find anything when I need it.

"What are you looking for? Could I help?"

"Just looking for my hayfever tablets or a tissue or something, nothing important."

"But if you're suffering with an ailment then it must be important."

"No, it's just my eyes." I take my glasses off and wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my cardigan. "Fine, see?"

"No, no, this will never do." He rooted through his pockets, as if they were huge, then pulled out a handkerchief, "Here, use this." He offered me the handkerchief, I wasn't going to take it, but pushed it closer, I really didn't have a choice.

"Thank you" What else can I say?

"Your welcome." He stopped and sat for a moment then said: "Are you quite warm enough, it does seem to be going cold and getting dark."

I hadn't really noticed the temperature, but he was right it was getting cold, but of course, I'm not going to let him know, I'll be fine soon, I'll be walking home. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure thank you." He didn't seem to believe me but didn't say anything. I put my glasses on.

"We should really leave the gardens if there is something affecting your health." He seemed to clarify, "Keep the handkerchief, I've got plenty and you might need it again."

"Oh, well, thank you." I stand up and gather my things, I don't really want to go home yet but suppose I'm going to have to.

"Which way is town again, I can never remember."

I can't help but laugh, "Well, that depends on where you need to go, most of the town is that way" Pointing which way, " train station that way, bus station that way."

"Well, which way are you going." I don't think he realizes how weird and creepy he sounds.

"Um, Oh I'm going in a totally different way."

"But you came from that way, " He said pointing down the now dark, creepy lane next to the church and graveyard.

"Yeah, that's the direction of the place where I got stood up, to go home I need to go that way."

"You said the bus station was that way."

"I'm not getting the bus." Okay, why am I saying all this to a creepy stranger, whose name I don't know.

"How are you getting home, then?"

"Walking, it won’t take too long." Although that's not entirely true it can sometimes take an hour to walk home, but I always enjoyed walking and right now a walk by myself is probably just the thing I need.

"Walk, by yourself, in the dark, I think not."

"It's alright I walk it all the time, and anyway, once you're over the river, there are street lights."

"Let me give you a lift or something"

"Oh, no, I don't want to make you go out of your way."

"It wouldn't let me walk you home," I was about to interrupt when he said, " At least let me walk you to the street lights over the bridge."

"Okay, I suppose."

He offered me his arm, he really was the nicest gentleman I've ever met. I took his arm, and we started walking.

"So you got stood up, then."

"Yeah, a bit of a disaster, eh."

"Well, I think he must be an imbecile, to stand you up."

"No he's just a man, well, here we are at the bridge. It was nice to meet you, doctor."

"The pleasure was entirely mine."

A week later

Finally everything is sorted, ready to move, just typically your flatmate tells you their moving out the day before rent is due and she's leaving today, so no way I will be able to stay.

All morning was spent on the phone to the landlord trying to explain what's happened, he seemed just as annoyed as me, he's coming to collect the keys in 2 hours.

After that all my time was taken by packing all my stuff, so now that's everything into boxes, I don't quite know what I'm doing now, I mean tonight shouldn't be a problem. I will just have to go and stay at my parents house, luckily they are on holiday for a few days and I have the spare key, after that isn't so certain though.

More immediate problem then is how am I moving my stuff, can't drive the car, it's at the garage getting repaired, so no car, not going to be able to get all this on a bus, could get a taxi I suppose.

"Good", he opens the door for me " Which way, back that way", I say pointing from the direction I just walked.

"Bye" Jess pops her head out and round the door, with a box in her arms, her boyfriend having taken everything else. "Oh give these to Mr Baker for me" throwing her keys at me and leaving.

"Why did I ever move in with her, I do not know." I don't know why but speaking to yourself does sometimes help.

I put both our keys on the kitchen table , all my boxes are outside, I've made sure everything is clean. I don't really want to see Mr Baker, he seemed quite angry on the phone, not that I blame him. I know I wouldn't be able to afford it on my own and even if I could I wouldn't want to live alone, even if I do hate people sometimes, maybe one day I'll be a crazy animal lady.

Oh great no credit on my phone, so can't ring a taxi, my parents house is about a 30 minute walk and I wouldn't be able to take all the boxes at once. So I suppose I will have to hide all the other boxes, carry one down to the house to walk back and get the next one. It's going to be a long day.

Well might as well get going, these boxes aren't going to move themselves, besides the weather says it's going to rain again later, at least at the moment it's dry. Boxes hidden behind the shed, hope Mr Baker doesn't get rid of it, that's all my sci fi stuff and other dresses. Oh great I'm going to bump into Mr Baker I know it. Headphones in, musical playlist, I think, to calm me down, let's start walking.

I can't be more than 10 minutes away from where I left, when this bright yellow car pulls up beside me, with none other than the man from last week. What a coincidence that he is up here, almost too good to be true.

"Why, hello there Y/N, what have you got there." Why do I feel the need to tell him everything.

"Oh, hello Doctor, well done for remembering my name, most people don't." That's it keep stalling that will make everything better (!) "Oh, it's just some stuff I'm taking down to a friends." Well it's kinda true.

"Would you like a hand or a lift or something."

"No need, I'm sure I'll be fine"

"It's going to rain soon might as well."

"Oh, all right."

"Alright then"

"This is a lovely car," small talk has never been my forte, besides can't really talk about the weather.

"Oh, yes, I've had her for a long time, her name is Bessie"

"She's lovely, pull in down there on the next left, that's it straight in front."

"Do you believe me?" He says from behind me.

"Are you sure this is where you were headed , you were going in the other direction. "

"Well, as you're here, I thought I'd make the most of it, and get all the stuff."

I hop out the car and head to where I know all the heavy boxes are, what I hadn't expected was for him to be right behind me.

"Funny place to keep clothes, and, are those X-men comics?"

He obviously got distracted, typical man. " Uh, yeah"

"And Wonder Woman, and Superman and Batman ... "

"Yeah there are a few there, I'm not the most sociable person, one can never be lonely with a good book or comic."

He looked up smiling, then his smile fell as he stood up. " Are you alright, you're not getting rid of them are you, you seem to love them?"

"Well, not today, but probably soon" I don't know why I told him everything but I did.

After that he helped me get everything into the car, he got the door for me , he then headed back to the house, went in the general direction of the front door then after a minute if that came back and we headed off the road again.

"I might have a solution to your problem."

"I'm listening" Please don't be creepy, please don't be creepy.

"You could come live with me" Okay it's creepy. "Hear me out, I'm an alien, I have two hearts, I would say see for yourself but I am driving. I live in a spaceship called the Tardis, I can travel anywhere in time and space. How does that sound."

"Like you have read far too many comics."

"Let me show you." He turns down a country lane , and we keep going for some time before we stop at a weird blue, police box. "This is it," He practically jumps out the car and helps me out. "This is the Tardis" It doesn't look like a spaceship, who knows what will happen if I go in there. He opens the door and I can see some lavish furniture, and curiosity always gets the best of me, so I have a look.

Best to be honest "Yes", I could hardly breathe let alone talk.

"No, way, it looks huge in there," I literally walk around this box twice before I step inside, "It's bigger on the inside."

"Do you believe me?" He asks from behindn me.

"Great let's get you moved in, before we have an adventure".

So thank you for reading, honestly I know it's not great please don't be mean and any help to improve would be greatly appreciated X

[themcuhasruinedme]

Vintage Film Fest (Pt. 3)

[Summary]: You and Steve have been dating for a while and you surprise him with a pair of tickets to a vintage film festival as an anniversary date

[Pairing]: Steve x reader

[Word Count]: 2,806

Tagging: @theashhole @dividedwecantfall @peterman-parker @avengerofyourheart @nataliarxmanxva @metalarmproblems @mcuimxgine @accio-rogers @imagine-assembling-the-avengers @that-sokovian-bastard @hellomissmabel @abovethesmokestacks @peculiar-persephone @bellameys @beccaanne814 @hymnofthevalkyrie @buckys-shield @callamint @redgillan @lancefvcker @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel @iwillbeinmynest @theassetseyeliner @lilasiannerd @aubzylynn @sgtbxckybxrnes @iamwarrenspeace @marvelrevival @httpmcrvel @avengersnthings @feelmyroarrrr @girl-next-door-writes @honey-bee-holly @patzammit

A/N: Harold Lloyd gif was made by yours truly! So, since Tumblr links no longer work you can find the other parts of this short series in my masterlist. And again, I encourage you guys to watch the movies and shorts I mention in this as they are all wonderful and amazing (heads up though: some of them are silent!) and all can be found on YouTube.

Day three seemed to go by kinda slow and you kept watching the clock throughout the day, waiting for the time to hit when Steve and you were to drive over to the theater.

You had went out shopping a little earlier that day, going to your favorite vintage clothing shop - a place that had everything from 1920′s to 1950′s inspired clothes and dresses and found a really cute day dress that looked like it could be from the 1930′s.

Steve liked when you wore clothes like that. He would say that they look much better on you than any “modern day” style. But then again, he said anything looked good on you. You also believed that he liked it mostly because it brought him back to that period in time. And you were happy to have anything spark those memories, cuz it meant that you were in for a walk down memory lane with him and it was the best feeling both of you could have.

When it was finally time to go to the theater, Steve couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Wow, [Y/N]. You look gorgeous,” he said as he took you by the hand and turned you around to look over the dress.

“Thank you. I found it at that vintage clothes shop, the one I told you about.”

“Oh, you mean the one that you always go to?” he asked as he locked the front door behind you and escorted you to the car.

You nodded. “That’s the one. I’ll have to take you there some time. They have clothes for men there as well.”

Opening the door and gently letting you sit down in the passenger seat, Steve placed a kiss on the top of your hand. “We’ll make that our next date,” he said giving you a wink.

When you got to the theater, Steve helped you out of the car and held your hand as the two of you walked in and stood in line to get the popcorn and drinks. And when you got all your snacks for the movies, the two of you walked in to a quarter-filled theater.

“Not as bad as last night, huh?”

“Hush up,” he said and playfully nudged your arm.

Finding seats around the same area as the two previous nights, you both settled down and waited for he movie night to begin. As the night before, there was plenty of time to wait before the movies and shorts actually started which again made you need to pull out your phone and play some games on. This time you brought your earbuds with to also watch some videos on YouTube, mostly other shorts of Charlie, Buster and Harold that weren’t being played on the big screen.

When you felt Steve tap your arm then point to his ear, you removed your earbuds to hear that there was going to be a five minute delay which then you heard moans and groans from all parts of the theater, mostly from the kids. But that five minutes went by quickly.

When the lights went dark and the first film started up, you had a smile appear on your face as it was one of Laurel and Hardy’s famous silent shorts called Liberty.

The theater made have started out quiet but laughter rang out seeing Stan and Ollie in prisoner outfits being chased by a cop, getting in a get-away car and trying to change into normal clothes. Even more laughter happened when a cop started chasing the car which sent Stan and Ollie into panic mode and made them quickly get out of the car, only to find out they had each other’s pants on.

The laughter was practically non stop through out the rest of the short as Stan and Ollie keep trying to find places to change pants but had no luck and had even worse luck while they were behind a seafood restaurant with Stan having a crab fall into his pants and begin to have problems with the crab nipping his butt.

A lot of gasps and ooo’s came from the kids all over the theater as they watched Stan and Ollie somehow get stuck at the top of an unfinished building and almost fall off of it several times, due to the crab still being stuck in the pants which were now properly on Ollie.

And squeaks of joy scattered throughout the place when Stan and Ollie were finally able to safely get back down on the ground.

When the lights came on for the first break to start, Steve looked over at you and smiled. You smiled back and placed your head on his shoulder, the two of you waiting quietly for the next one to start. And quickly start it did.

Your smile got even bigger seeing that it was one of your favorite Buster talking shorts called The Timid Young Man. You remembered that when you had started really getting into watching everything Buster had did, you were very hesitant with watching his talking stuff because you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to like the way he sounded. But when you heard his beautiful low, Midwestern, gruff, flat baritone voice, all your worries went out the door because hearing it made you melt into a puddle.

The audience sat in silence and watched as a girl ran out of her wedding ceremony, saying how she didn’t want to marry the man then watched the scene change as another girl gets a key to Milton’s, Buster’s character, room and wakes him up to tell him that their wedding was that day.

“Last night you said you couldn’t live without me,” the woman told him.

“Oh, I must’ve been drunk,” he replied, which made the audience burst out laughing.

The audience then watched as his butler told him to leave and go up to the mountains so he wouldn’t have to marry her. It then turned into him picking up the runaway bride on his drive out, getting into a heated standoff with another driver and finally getting to camp where the woman set everything up while Milton went fishing, which in turn had the whole theater laughing over.

Plenty of laughter came and went throughout the short, especially when the driver they had met earlier wandered on to their camp and Milton tried to get rid of him by doing several different things including pouring gasoline into the man’s salad. And when the short ended and the lights came on, you could see smiles on so many faces in the theater.

Another break happened and as you and Steve sat quietly waiting for the next one to start, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking behind you, you saw the couple you and Steve talked to the night before. Your excitement caught Steve’s attention and he turned around also getting excited to see them. The four of you talked for a bit during the break and got quiet when the lights dimmed down.

The title card of one of Charlie’s famous silent short’s called A Dog’s Life flashed across the screen and you were in a moment of quietude. It may not have been one of his laughter filled comedies but it did have some laughs here and there.

As soon as the dog appeared on the screen, you heard so many awww’s from every corner of the theater and most of it was from the kids. But you couldn’t help but smile too as the screen stayed on the for for a bit.

But laughter started when The Tramp got busted by a cop for trying to steal a hot dog and when the cop tried to get him, The Tramp evaded him by rolling out from under the fence, untying the cop’s shoes and kicking him when the cop got stuck under the fence.

It became quiet while the audience watched The Tramp wander around looking for a job and then finding that there was one but several others wanted it as well, the laughter broke out again seeing the poor Tramp get out smarted by the others.

But when the scene came of The Tramp saving the little dog from a bunch of other dogs, all the kids in the audience whooped and cheered which then turned to more aww’s when The Tramp took care of the little dog by giving it some milk that was left over in a bottle on someone’s doorstep to drink.

Laughs came when The Tramp came across a street food vendor who had a plate of sliced bread on the counter and he started stuffing them in his mouth, only stopping when the owner turned around to suspect The Tramp of something. And laughs came again when The Tramp snuck the dog into a pub by hiding it in his oversized pants.

You nestled your head on Steve’s chest as you watched The Tramp meet a girl in the pub, quickly fall for her but then get tossed out because he had no money to pay for his tab. Steve looked down at you and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head which made you smile and sigh contently.

Watching The Tramp go back to his outdoor sleeping spot with the dog, who he named Scraps, was the most adorable thing you could ever see.

But soon the movie was over with laughs happening throughout the rest of the short and it was time for a longer break.

You and Steve took turns to go to the restroom and Steve got a couple boxes of candy from the concession stand as well. Coming back, he handed you a box of Reese’s Pieces, your absolute favorite. Eyeing it like a vulture, you snatched it out of his hand and as you started to open it, all he could do was laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, shoveling a handful in your mouth.

“You,” he said. “It’s almost like you’ve never had candy in your life before.” “Well, excuse me if you bring over my favorite kind. I can’t help how my mind tells my body to react upon seeing my favorite candy.”

Steve just chuckled and shook his head. Another several minutes and the lights dimmed down once again for the next movie to start.

A talking Harold Lloyd movie called Feet First started and this was another one of your favorites from Harold. After all, how could you not love how hard he tries to be the best shoe salesman possible along with his sweet and boyish voice.

The audience watched as he helped a girl who got in a bad scrap with a man after her car hit his from behind then seeing Harold and the girl both instantly fall for each other.

Steve joked that that’s not how things worked in real life which made you jab your finger in his side.

“Ow,” he whispered while flinching a bit.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” you whispered back and linked your arms around Steve’s arm, adjusting the way you were sitting in your seat.

Laughter came and went as the audience watched Harold meet the girl again and believe her to be the boss’s daughter, which made him want to impress her even more. And then watching as he accidentally gets stuck on a ship eventually meeting the girl again along with his boss and his wife.

Gasps from the kids throughout the theater happened when Harold escaped from the ships crew by hiding in a mailbag which then got picked up and brought ashore to New York but fell off a delivery cart onto a window cleaner's cradle, which was then hoisted upwards.

More gasps and ooo’s followed as the audience watched the bag get caught on the side of the building as Harold struggled to get out of it. But laughter soon followed as everyone watched him get out of the bag after landing on the cradle and going into panic mode, clinging tightly to it and yelling for help while the two window washers at the top of the building hoisting it up were totally oblivious to then fact that Harold was on it.

Soon it was a mix of gasps and laughter as you all watched Harold try to get into the building while also trying to not fall off, along with the cradle going up and down only causing problems for him.

When the happy ending came and the movie finished, the lights came on and the last break of the night started. You decided to pull out your phone and scroll  through your social media for a bit while Steve did the same, which made the two of you show each other several different posts which made you both laugh until the final movie started.

It was another talking Buster movie, which this one also happened to be one of your top three favorites called Speak Easily. Even though most fans considered his talking movies to not be good at all, mostly due to how MGM treated him, making a character for him that acted like a total buffoon, there were still a few decent ones and this was one of them.

The audience watched as the timid and shy Professor Post, Buster’s character, was told by his assistant to get out and see the world because the Professor was such a lonely person. He told his assistant that even though he wanted to, he couldn’t afford to spend his money to indulge on “a whim”.

Giggles from all the kids throughout the theater came when the assistant gave the Professor a letter saying that he inherited $750,000 which made the Professor excited and that he decided he was going to go out and “buy companionship”. Laughter happened while you all watched the Professor pack his trunk with anything he grabbed, including his own bed.

Quietness came while the screen showed the Professor board the train, meet the manager of a dancing troupe that was on the same train and immediately fall head over heels for one of the dancers named Pansy. Aww’s filled the theater while watching the Professor take care of a baby from someone that was part of the troupe but laughter rang out when the Professor noticed his trunk wasn’t on the train and stopped it, causing an argument with the luggage man.

Gasps came from the kids as you all found out that the letter the Professor got was actually written by his assistant only to help get him out and see the world because the assistant couldn’t stand seeing the Professor be so lonely from day to day.

Laughter came and went throughout the rest of the movie as the audience watched the Professor miss his train, meet back up with the dancing troupe at the opera house and quietness fell upon the theater when the sheriff came to take the troupes things but then the Professor paid the man which then made the manager decide to let the Professor take over the show and manage it to repay him for his kindness.

More laughter came with seeing the Professor trying to direct the show so they could get it on Broadway, get somewhat flustered and tongue-tied with a spoiled actress who joined the production, incorporating new dance moves into the show, the actress “buttering up” the Professor and then seeing the two of them get drunk at her apartment. 

Even more laughter happened when both of them fell asleep in her apartment and the Professor not realizing what happened until he woke up the next morning and tried to sneak out quietly but didn’t even manage to make it out of the bedroom without waking her.

As more laughs came and went through the last bit of the movie with the show being put on, the manager finding out the Professor didn’t have all that money, the show crew trying to keep the Professor away from the stage and Buster causing chaos that only he would know how to do, it was sure a delight to end the night with.

When the screen went black and the lights came on to say that night number three was over, you and Steve waited until almost everyone was gone to walk back to the car. Linking your arm to Steve’s as you slowly walked through the parking lot, you placed your head on his shoulder.

“So, can I ask you yet if you’ve been having fun with this?”

You looked up at him and giggled. “And I’ll say again, do you really have to ask? This has been one of the greatest dates we’ve done.”

He smiled at you and kissed the top of your head. “You’re exactly right.”

[seungkwanslowqualityenglish]

Heaven

Summary: Taking the elevator to class seemed like a good idea, until it malfunctioned with the campus nerd and you in it. Seemingly transported back in time, you cannot think of anything to do except try to find your way back home, but the universe is not always that easy to decipher.

Who: Rowoon [ SF9 ] x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2 K

Genre: AU / Angst / Fluff

Day 7 of the Sensuous Writing Collab

I’ve been watching Grease a lot, and planned to include 1950′s slang, but it seemed a bit awkward so I just removed it all. This is also honestly a hot mess, since I didn’t save it when I was writing this the first time, I lost pretty much half of it and had to rewrite it. 

Rarely were you late to class. Mostly due to having a teacher that locked the door exactly at ten fifteen when class started. You could not afford to be late. Especially with the old man yelling about how missing one class means a drop in your letter grade. That is why you always hated scheduling meetings for before class. But when that was your advisers only open appointment for the next three months, you took it. This is how you ended up in the elevator. It was a bit faster to use to get to class, rather than walking up twelve flights of stairs to class. The old rickety elevator could barely hold one person, let alone two. You were pretty sure the elevator was older than your parents were. Possibly even as old as your grandparents are. Due to this the doors did not close fast enough. Allowing someone to someone squeeze into the elevator with you.. It was slow going up, seemingly taking much longer than it should. Floor one passed and then floor two, yet it started to malfunction as you reached floor eight. The elevator stopping between floor eight and nine, it refusing to go up any further. A moment of panic set in between the other person and you. They trying to pry the doors open, as you repeated hit the call button on the elevator, to no avail. After a moment, the elevator started to shake, and finally began to move once more, but not in the way anyone would want. In that moment, you could just tell this was not a good sign.

Everything was black and there was a sharp pain in your head, as you found yourself coming to. All you could hear was yelling, someone yelling something about not hitting a lady. Trying to pull yourself up, just to sit up on your elbows, you saw a flash of pink and a blur of black. Three girls in pink jackets rushing you, a flurry of questions coming from their lips. These words you are unable to understand. Then the black blur is seen once more, but this time you can tell it is a jacket, a leather jacket.

“Aye, calm down, you’re gonna make them faint again. Let’em come to before you start with the questions, kay ladies.” A voice you find yourself unable to recognize says. Seemingly trying to quell the three that were questioning you. “Are you okay? You took quite a hit. And also quite a fall.” The voice asked, as you started to realize it was male, but that was all you knew.

Opening your eyes fully, you found your face just a few inches away from another’s face. As you started to completely come to, you recognize the face of the person in front of you. But, there was something that did not make sense to you at all, what were you all wearing? He was in a leather jacket and white shirt and the girls were wearing hot pink jackets. Looking down, you realize that you yourself are in a poodle skirt. It was confusing. How were you suddenly in a poodle skirt, you did not own one, nor did you know anyone that did.

Staring at him, you started to recognize him, Seokwoo. He had been in the elevator with you, and he was here now. How was he here? How did he change so quick? Where were you? And what had happened? Your thoughts were overloading your mind. You found yourself starting to slip off your elbows, falling to ground again. Falling, you did not find yourself hitting the ground, instead hitting a hand. The hand ended up scooping you up, beginning to carry you somewhere, in your half conscious state.

As he walked carrying you, shrill yelling could be heard. Some poor boy was being berated by three girls. They all took it upon themselves to defend the honor of their best friend. But that yelling soon was inaudible, as you found yourself being carried into a building.

Nurse beds were never comfortable, and anyone who says they are is lying. Finally awaking, you found yourself in a stark white room, but you did not see a single person around. You were confused as to where you were, was this heaven, was this a hospital room, was this a hallucination. There was one person in the room you had yet to realize, it was him, Seokwoo. He was staring out the window, and scaring off anyone that might come near the office. A short laugh resounded through the office, as you sat up and started looking around.

It was odd to see him like this. From your few interactions before he was never this threatening or intimidating. He never wore leather jackets either. There were so many things he was doing and wearing that were so foreign. The way people seemed scared of him without him even doing anything, it was odd. Especially since usually he was somewhat of a nerd. “What happened?” You found yourself asking to him. Your voice was scratchy, as though it had not been used in a while, which you assumed was probably due to you fainting. Or the fact you presumably fainted.

This finally got his attention, and you found a set of warm brown eyes on you. It only took him a few seconds to stand up, closing the door, and making his way over to you. “Are you okay? You took a football to the head.” He said, his hands finding their way to your face. He caressed your chin, as he turned your head so he could see the spot where you were apparently hit. A bruise oddly not forming. The hit was hard enough to knock you out, then cause you to faint again later, it should have at least left a mark. But there was nothing.

“No, what happened? Why are you dressed like that? Why am I dressed like this? Where are we?” You started a jumbled mess of questions falling from your lips at a rapid speed. He was unable to understand even half of what you had asked, you honestly were not even sure about what you had asked. You just wanted answers, and wanted them now. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, which brought you closer to him, you had finally calmed down. “Where are we?” Was the question you had settled on asking, hoping for him to at least be able to answer that.

You heard a sigh leave his lips, seemingly one of relief. “You don’t know? I don’t know either?” He started. “All I remember was being in the elevator. Then I was here, watching you get hit by a football and falling to the ground. People were calling me Rowoon and moving away from me as I neared you. It was weird, they acted like they were afraid of me. And I honestly have no idea what happened or what is going on, I was hoping that you might know.” He finished. He seemed just as confused as you. The both of you were in an elevator only moments prior, on your way too class. Yet here you both were now, wearing odd clothing and in an odd location.

After a moment of silence, you found your voice. “This doesn’t make sense. We were in the elevator, it was malfunctioning, and now we are here. Like maybe this is just some grand hallucination and we’ll wake up in a few minutes and be back on our way to class.” It was easier to brush off the idea of what might have happened. Chalk it up to a shared delusion, and that you would be on your way to class in a moment.

“But what if this isn’t. I mean what if this isn’t a delusion, what if it is real?” He did not want to believe it either. But he found himself unable to entertain any other idea of what could have happened.

It was an idea you did not want to admit or accept, it could not be real, it just could not. Earlier it had been two thousand eighteen, but now according to the wall calendar in the office it was nineteen fifty-eight. That just had to be wrong, how could you just go like sixty years back in time so easily, it is impossible, it had to be. Despite the fact everything had a familiar feel to it, you knew it was wrong. It could not have been as familiar as you were thinking.

The room was silent, as the two of you seemed to be collecting your thoughts. “We need to get home, one way or another. This just isn’t right, this isn’t where we should be.” You said, as you stood up, starting to move towards the door. “This isn’t our home, we need to somehow get out of this shared delusion. Since there is no possible reason we should be here and dressed like this most of all.” You told him, gesturing to puff of a skirt you were wearing and the leather jacket he was wearing.

“Honestly your dress reminds me Sandy from Grease.” Seokwoo said with a short laugh, before he grabbed your arm as you tried to pass him. “You need to sit down, we don’t need you to faint again.” Was all he said, before he escorted you back over to the bed, helping you sit down once more.

Deciding to listen to him, you sat back down, trying to gather your thoughts. “We need to find a way home, this isn’t making any sense.” You said, before looking up at him once more. “And I swear if you start singing any songs from Grease,I’ll be going back home and leaving you here.”

This caused the two of you to laugh. It was odd, finding humor in a situation you had no idea what was happening, why it happened, and all. “You just don’t want to hear me sing Greased Lightning. Since you know it’ll be better than John Travolta’s version, and you’ll never be able to listen to the original again.” Seokwoo jokingly said, before starting to laugh once more.

“Yeah, you just think that.” You said, through your laughing fit. The conversation however, ended promptly, as the nurse returned to the office. She kicked Seokwoo out of the room, before clearing you to go back to class.

Time passed for the both of you without much of a thought. You were both dragged into your respective friend groups. Friends that mirrored the ones you recalled from reality. But they were also so much different. Joy never had been the leader of your friend group,  and she definitely was not as cynical in reality as she was here. Sally was always so studious, but here she had dreams of dropping out and becoming a hairstylist. Mina was never as energetic and bubbly as she was here. Lastly was Lisa, she was always stunning in reality, but here she became even more so.

Seokwoo had never been in a large group of friends. It was odd that he was somewhat easily accepted as the leader of a group of five. Chris, Mark, Johnny, and Kevin easily becoming his friends. He seemed to be adapting to everything much better than you were. His friend group grew, he became less feared and intimidating. But that mostly just to the people that realized he was not all he was chalked up to be.

You kept trying to return home, you did so many things, never being able to get home. Through your attempts, you also found yourself unable to get hurt. No bruise would form from a spot you were hit. No place would bleed if your skin was cut. No pain would be felt from any sort of injury. It was odd, but Seokwoo and you kept trying, well trying for as long as you could. Soon, it became hard to try to return home with him. He would show up late and mess whatever ritual you thought could work up. He would come up with a reason not to come. He doing anything he could to deter you, to get you to not try at all, like he wanted to stay here.

The two of you quickly began to grow apart. You would only see each other at school and then it was brief. Long conversations you had grown accustomed to, turned into longing stares. Stares at one another, when the other was not paying attention. You found yourself missing him. You missed how he would hold your hand as he lead you to class, or just walked with you anywhere. You missed how he would always brighten your day. You just missed him in general.

Seokwoo, unknown to you, was feeling the same way. He missed the polite laughing at his jokes, even though he even knew they were bad. He missed the stunning smile that would grace your face when he spoke to you. How you would always dedicate all your attention to him when he spoke. He missed holding your hand, how you would always let him do so without questioning it. He missed so many things, but unlike you, he saw no reason in wanting to return home. He would never tell you, but he was more than fine staying here forever, as long as you were with him. But you were still trying to get home, which is why he started to spend less and less time with you. Something in his mind made him think it might help you realize that there was no reason to return home. Since to him here was fine.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and after this, it was something you started to believe. You never realized how much you loved being around him, until you were no longer around him. It was not until you rarely saw him, that you finally realized how much you needed him. The thought that talking to your friends about it might help it did nothing. Only allowing them to tell Seokwoo’s friends, which confirmed that he was the same way.

This is what caused them to decide to do something. They saw all the longing looks. They heard the talk of missing one another, and saw the lack of doing anything about it. A plan started to form in their heads. They finally taking it into their own hands to help you both out. Since they seemed to know that trusting you two to fix everything yourselves was not going to work. When starting to plan, they thought of the perfect event for it to take place, the school carnival that was to happen next week.

The carnival had only just started when you felt a hand intertwining with yours, as you started to be dragged away from your friends. It was odd to see Johnny being the one dragging you away, but then you saw Sally doing the same to Seokwoo. You followed him, being confused as to what was happening. It was not until you found yourself and Seokwoo standing near each other by the edge of the carnival.

“You two need to settle this, we don’t care what is going on, just fix it.” Sally quickly said to you, before she intertwined her hand with Johnny’s and the two left. As they left, Seokwoo exchanged an odd look with you, since it seems he also had never realized the two were dating.

Moving behind a large standee, as you were finally hidden from the view of most, Seokwoo decided to speak. “How did your little satanic ritual go?” He started, like he honestly had no idea of where to take the conversation. “Since I heard from Mark that Mina told him you were doing something satanic. What they said sounded like something that would have been in the Blair Witch Project.”

“Have you even ever seen the Blair Witch Project, since your comment is telling me you haven’t. Which one no what I was doing wasn’t satanic. And two both you and Mark should really not trust Mina to judge what is satanic and what is not. And even if I was, what else do you want me to do, I’ve tried everything. I’m trying to get us home, at least I’m trying instead of just sitting around waiting for something to happen.” You retorted back, part of you was getting tired of his attitude, but the other part knew he was right.

“What if this isn’t what you thought? What if this isn’t some grand hallucination? What if this isn’t some heat stroke dream or anything like that?” He said at your denial of the situation. “What if there is no one to return to? What if our families aren’t worrying, since there is no need to worry about us?” He added, never giving you a change to reply. “Did you ever think about that? Why else wouldn’t they be trying to find us or something. Since if we were in the hospital from it malfunctioning, wouldn’t we be able to hear voices or something. You need to realize, that maybe there is no going home, since we are home.”

Everything he said was possible, but also something in you that refused to admit it. “No, there has to be a way, we can’t just stay here. I have my parents, you have your parents and older sister. Don’t you wanna get back to them? Don’t you want everything to go back to normal?” You said, trying not to scream at him, you were not exactly angered, just exasperated. He seemed as though he did not want to return to them, like he would prefer here to going back there.

You had tried everything at that point. Every cliche thing you had seen in movies and read in books, nothing worked. Losing hope was harder than someone might think. Maybe you just had not done something right, or maybe your timing off was. Deep in your heart you knew it was worthless, but you could not find it in yourself to stop. Weird rituals and all helped none. At this point there was pretty much nothing else you could think of that would possibly fixed it all.

Well, you could not think of anything, until you saw Chris and Joy kiss. It might sound stupid, but it worked in some movies, like Sleeping Beauty. Yet, this also was not an animated movie and you were not waiting for your prince charming. “What would you do if I kissed you?” You questioned him, completely changing the topic of your current conversation. As you did so, you realized his face was much closer to yours than you previously thought. “Would you want me to kiss you?” You added murmuring it, some part of you hoping he might have not heard it.

“I don’t know. Why?” Seokwoo asked you back, as he started to wonder if this was another one of your ideas. An idea that would suddenly transport the two of you back into your time. He remained as skeptical as ever, but did not question you any further.

At one time you saw Seokwoo as nothing more than the studious business major, who did not socialize or even actively participate in the social scene. Yet, here he seemed different. He was confident and sarcastic and somewhat alluring. He was a person you had found yourself falling for. But you were still unsure of whether it was truly that or just due to the fact he was the only person who understood how you felt. “So is that a no?” You muttered, part of you took his words as a mild rejection, and the other part of you felt stupid for even thinking this might work. He would tell you this is not a fairy tale. You are not Cinderella and he is not Prince Charming. No kiss will make either of you magically awaken into the world you were accustomed to.

The crestfallen look on your face hurt him, he was unsure of what to say. Yes might scare you but a no might anger you, to him there was no safe option.  “What would you do if I kissed you?” He asked back, finally deciding that it might be one of the few safe options on what to do.

You were at a loss for words, did he just ask you what you had asked him. Resisting the urge to scoff, you shrugged before giving him the answer he gave you. “I don’t know.” It gave you a small triumphant feeling to say to him, exactly what he said to you. Part of you wanted to disorient him by saying something bolder, but you were unable to. You instead just relying what he had said to you back to him.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Seokwoo then asked. He had heard your murmuring, and that for some reason mildly terrified you.

This would be an easy question to answer for some, yet you found yourself unable to. Maybe it was having to admit the fact that you had fallen for the diligent business major. Maybe it was the fact that he alluded something he did not before, confidence. The both of you had changed being here. Despite thinking it was not a positive change to start, you began to realize that it was a positive change. He was more carefree and confident. You were even more carefree and you found yourself unable to stress the little things. Maybe this is where your flood of confidence came from, if even only for that moment. “What would you do if I said yes?” You retorted, moving even closer to where Seokwoo was standing.

As the small distance between the two of you was easily closed. You found yourself practically pushed against his chest. Had he not been so tall, you would have been face to face with him. “I would do this.” He muttered, before you felt his lips pressing against yours. The kiss was chaste and ended far too soon for your liking. “What would you do then?”

Maybe the kiss gave you another random shot of confidence. You moved to wrap an arm around Seokwoo’s neck, to keep him from moving back up. “I would do something like this.” You said before connecting your lips to his once more. This kiss lasted much longer, as his hands found their way to your back, and your other arm did as your first did. “What would you do then?” You ask him back, once you pulled away from the kiss.

Had the two of you been paying attention, you would have been able to see your friends somewhat rejoicing. They celebrating their plan working. The two of you however, were too engaged with each other to be paying any attention to them. This being the first time you were together in what felt like weeks.

As his lips met yours again, you began to think to yourself, that maybe this was not so bad. The original thoughts you had of here being a horrible place to be. It was second best to your home, well those thoughts for some reason faded when you were kissing him. Replaced by thoughts of how great this place was, of how it was different, but a good different. It made you think of him, made you think of being carefree, and it made you think of happiness. And here that is what you would get, happiness.

In some part of your mind you knew it was stupid of you. Stupid of you to think that you were somewhat some time traveling Sleeping Beauty that went back in time. Thinking that the kiss of a Prince Charming would help you return. Yet, then again, many of your little plans and ideas to get back home were stupid. Seeing how no matter what you did, nothing ever changed. Things only ever stayed the same. But maybe the same was not as bad as you thought. The predictability of here, and the comfort of him made it feel different.

Minutes passed before the two of you finally parted. Pulling away you had to stop yourself from laughing. Seeing as your lipstick had managed to move from your lips onto his face. The moment the two of you had, just starting into each other’s eyes, as you realized maybe this was home, was ruined. Your friends were still yelling for the two of you to join them playing carnival games. His friends were paying out the profits from the bets they had made. You had friends here, you had happiness here, and most of all you had him. This was your reality, or maybe it would be better to say your heaven, since reality is really only for the living.

[putthison]

An Interview with Glenn O’Brien

Glenn O’Brien, the columnist, TV host and downtown social figure who originated “The Style Guy” in GQ, has passed away at 70. I interviewed O’Brien five years ago, when he released his book How To Be A Man. You can listen to our conversation here, or read it below. His irascible, relentlessly cool voice will be missed.

JESSE THORN: Tell me a little bit about why you wanted to write this book after you've been The Style Guy for ten or twelve years now.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I have a following, so I thought that I should do something that they would want. I didn't want to just answer questions, I thought this was a good excuse or cover for writing a book of essays. I'm now familiar with what men want to know because I get a set of questions every month. I just kind of took it from there.

JESSE THORN: I get these kinds of questions in my e-mail, too, from one of my other jobs as the writer of the blog Put This On. I find myself wondering whether we are living in an unusual time generationally, and I think you're just at the age to have had some perspective both on the huge generational shifts of the end of the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s when you were a kid and the generational shifts in the post 90s era, as people ran out of things to be an alternative to. How do you see where these people stand that are writing to you?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think a lot of people didn't have the complete parenting experience; I think my parents were not TV babies, I was from the first generation of TV babies, and we weren't just propped up in front of the tube, and it wasn't expected that that would raise us. I think that might have become the way kids are raised. There's less effort and less thoroughness in preparing boys to be men, and men to deal with the complexities of the world. I think people of my generation were given some sense of occasion, some sense of cultural diversity that I would say is endangered at this point.

JESSE THORN: You write a little bit in the book about the effect that your grandmother had on you gaining that sense of occasion.

GLENN O'BRIEN: She was a good coach. She laid down the rules as she understood them, which might not be the same rules that I observe, but I respect them and some of them I still follow.

JESSE THORN: What did you think of the rules when you were a teenager growing up in, if I'm not mistaken, Ohio?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I had mixed feelings on rules because I think I thought I was a rebel; I wanted to be a Beatnik. Certain roles I was fine with, like aesthetic rules, but social rules I felt like it was time for a change.

JESSE THORN: Did you grow up thinking of yourself as someone who was going to get out of Dodge as soon as he could?

GLENN O'BRIEN: Absolutely, I used to watch the What's My Line and I've Got A Secret that were these panel quiz shows, sort of like reality shows I guess. They would have interesting people on and their would be panels of these New York wits who hung out at El Morocco and the Stork Club and they would say very clever things, and I always thought that's what I want to do, I want to go to New York and be one of them.

JESSE THORN: I read somewhere, I can't remember where right now, but as a kid you actually got your parents to take you to the Stork Club and wait outside while you went in and socialized.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I realized I had very little chance if they tried to enter with me, so I said “Wait Here.” I went in and the Maitre d' was very charmed and he took me around to every table and introduced me, it was really great.

JESSE THORN: I like the idea that you thought you had a chance solo.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I was pretty cool; I was well dressed and I knew what was going on. I was a hipster, I knew who Walter Winchell was, so why not?

JESSE THORN: It's really wonderful. When did you first come to New York?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think that happened when I was around 11. My stepfather was with the phone company and was always being transferred somewhere or other; luckily for me, we lived in New Jersey for two years, and that was a highlight because I was almost there. I got to go to Manhattan and see the jazz and go to art museums and see people that I never would have encountered in Ohio.

JESSE THORN: How do you think having a stepfather who was transferred around affected who you were as an adolescent?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think anybody who's an army brat or corporate brat or whatever who moves around, you become more self reliant. You can't just hang with your posse for life, you've got to audition every time you make a move.

JESSE THORN: Tell me a little bit about the move that you made; when did you first come to the big city for keeps?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I knew that I wanted to end up in New York, but I wound up going to college in Washington, D.C. at Georgetown. I planned to move to New York as soon as I could, and so I wound up going to grad school at Columbia University School of the Arts in the film department. That was my first opportunity to be a New Yorker.

JESSE THORN: This was the 1970s if my math is right in my head.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I arrived in 1970. I immediately fell into this job working for Andy Warhol.

JESSE THORN: I want to talk about Warhol in a second, but first I want to ask you, where did you stand in relation to the counter culture as it was in the late 1960s as a guy who was as an 11 year old was able to converse with people about Walter Winchell?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I was up on my Beatnik literature and I was a jazz fan at a really early age; that was another adventure I had when I was little was I made my parents take me to - - they drove me to the Cleveland Jazz Festival. I was one of the few whites and probably the only one under 13 years old that was in attendance. I was into Cannonball Adderley and Jimmy Smith and all that stuff, so that kind of went in to the whole folky thing and Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones and all that. I was chomping at the bit of hipness.

JESSE THORN: Did you have a plan for yourself when you got to New York?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I wanted to make films. I was a huge fan of Godard and Melville and the French New Wave and Italian filmmakers like Fellini and Pasolini and also Andy Warhol. I wanted to make films and I got sidetracked.

JESSE THORN: When did you meet Andy Warhol and how did you meet him?

GLENN O'BRIEN: I was at Columbia with a classmate of mine from Georgetown named Bob Colacello who's become a well known writer since then; he's now a contributing editor at Vanity Fair. Bob and I were the stars of the criticism writing class at Columbia and our teacher, Andrew Sarris, was the main critic and film editor of The Village Voice. He would let his better students write for The Voice, as stringers. I wrote about things like El Topo and Pink Flamingos and Bob reviewed Andy Warhol's Flesh and gave it a glowing review and compared Andy to Michelangelo, and I guess Dallessandro to David or something like that.

They were looking for somebody who could run this magazine that they'd had for nine months and it had a different editor for every issue, so they were looking for stable and young clean cut college kids, and we fit the bill, and we knew about movies and it was a movie magazine and so they made Bob an offer and Bob said Okay, but I'm going to need help, can I hire my friend Glenn? I went and met Andy and I guess I passed muster and there we were in business, making a magazine that we had to learn by doing.

JESSE THORN: I think it's really interesting, the idea of being the responsible party of an irresponsible venture, if that makes any sense? To be the clean cut college kids that are brought in to be the straight arrows that nonetheless get it.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think at that point there was a lot more -- I know a lot of kids now who are in their late 20s or early 30s and they're still trying to figure out what they want to be when they grow up, but we were driven. I think we grew up watching The Little Rascals; like, let's put on a show. Let's build a theater. I think there was just a feeling that anything was doable if you applied yourself to it.

JESSE THORN: I wonder if you could compare yourself as a very young man, especially in terms of style and comportment and identity to where you are now.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I'm wearing the same kind of clothes that I liked then now, I think. Fashions come and go, but I was really a modernist, I think. When the hippies came in I had hair down past my shoulders and a beard like Jesus, and I was wearing a tweed Brooks Brothers jacket, because it just seemed like that was what you wore if you were a modernist. I didn't want to dress like a goth or an American Indian, I just would have felt ridiculous. I think that that's a good life choice, to find something you like and stick with it.

JESSE THORN: It seems like the symbolism of that mode of dress that came about in the 1950s and 60s on college campuses and was about a simple, comfortable version of traditional tailored clothing changed a lot between the time when you probably started wearing those clothes and, say, the 1980s when the preppy revival happened, and now, 25 years after that. Tell me a little bit about how your relationship to that aesthetic changed.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think in my life there've been two periods of what I would call aberration in men's fashion. The first was the polyester era, which followed close on the hippy era. There's a great example of it in that movie with Johnny Depp and Pee-wee Herman -- I think it's Blow. These spectacularly bad taste leisure suits that actually look kind of good on those guys, but you were thinking, where is this coming from? It lasted for a very short period.

Then in the late 80s early 90s, we went Italian and the power suit came in, the Wall Street power suit, which had enormous shoulders and very blousy trousers with multiple pleats and -- I don't know, I think it was when guys were really trying to show off and starting to wear watches that cost $50,000 and drive cars that looked like electric razors and things like that. Thank God that's over.

JESSE THORN: Those suits are kind of an odd mix of that assertion of power that's implied in, or explicit, in the power suit, those huge shoulders. And then this expression of, I don't really care about anything, I'm so relaxed, with the really droopy lapels and huge balloony pants.

GLENN O'BRIEN: It's funny because it actually coincided with the period when a lot of people started working out, so the shoulders looked even more ridiculous because you had shoulders on top of shoulders. You would see athletes like Michael Jordan wearing a suit like this, and it made their head look like a tomato or something.

JESSE THORN: I want to ask you about how you've seen the identity of masculinity change in this 30 years or so that you've been either in the business or connected to the business; from the late 70s through today.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think we've evolved culturally in a lot of ways that I might not have expected to happen in my lifetime. I think that, thankfully, men today aren't so hung up on their sexuality and trying to prove that they're red blooded woman chasers. I think personality and cultural identity aren't so hung up on that stuff. Today you really can't tell who's gay and who's straight, and I think that's a good thing.

JESSE THORN: I thought it was really interesting that your Style Guy column was, when it was originally conceived, was going to be called something like Ask Your Gay Friend until you were picked to write it and everyone was like, well, we can't say that, Glenn's straight.

GLENN O'BRIEN: That was quite a few years before Queer Eye for the Straight Guy came on. It was a stereotype I think; straight men are clueless about interior décor, clothes, cooking, etc., and so they have to learn all this stuff. Things like that are, I think, encouraged by shows like Sex and the City where there's always conflict between the men and the women and the gay guy is like the sidekick of the posse of chicks. It's all kind of silly. Thankfully, we're going back to a more renaissance idea of manhood, where we're not just specialists who work on our computers and build bridges and do manly things, we do all the things that are important in culture. I think we're getting back to being generalists again, and that's a great thing.

JESSE THORN: You have a really funny and charming and eloquent description of the fop, and I would say defense of the dandy, in your book. Tell me a little bit about what you like about dandys, and also why you chose the word dandy to describe the thing that you like and discarded a variety of other adjectives.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think it had to do with really finding out where the dandy came from. I think if you say the word dandy people think of someone who sends too much time thinking about how they look and is very fussy and extravagant and maybe is the kind of person that you would crane your neck after, like, wow, did you see that? But in fact the original dandy movement was a movement away from frills and flourishes and gold trim and extravagant colors. Beau Brummel who was the first so-called dandy was the man who invented modern trousers and who basically wore gray and black or tan instead of bright blue covered with gold trim. It's really the opposite of what I think people think of it as.

It was really kind of a political movement where the middle class was coming in to its own and you didn't have to be a landed noble anymore to be somebody, you could just get by on the strength of your personality and your taste.

JESSE THORN: Beau Brummel was noted for his advocacy of what we would now think of as a modernist aesthetic; something that's simple and clean and clear and to some extent uniform, especially compared to the gold brocade short pants, or whatever people were wearing before. That idea of the uniform was really, really strong in men's style, especially in the United States, through the 1960s when I think the counter culture kind of exploded it. I wonder how you feel about the idea of men's dressing as being an expression of the uniform.

GLENN O'BRIEN: I think in the civilian uniform there's a lot of latitude; there's plenty of room for self expression. I think in the 60s we kind of went in costume because things were so screwed up, and revolution was in the air. Everybody was thinking we have to be tribal, or we have to be more like savages and shamans. So there's this kind of explosion of consciousness that was fueled by psychedelics and people just began to live out their fantasy. Look at the bands of the time and they're dressed like Davy Crockett and Danielle Boon or Paul Revere and the Raiders, there was a tremendous fantasy. But basically when you settle down you realize that we still have to work and we still have to make things happen and raise the family.

The men's suit is a great modernist ideal in the same way that the Bauhaus building was; it's efficient, but it's beautiful in its symmetry and it relates nicely to the body. Nobody has come up really with a better idea. Blue jeans are another great idea, and now, certainly in the creative world, that's what guys wear. They wear a sport coat and jeans, that's another modernist costume that works, and it says something about our culture at the moment.

JESSE THORN: It seems like people who came after that generation that exploded the uniform are now coming of, and in fact the generation fully after, the folks whose parents exploded the uniform; I'm one of them, my dad was a veteran who came back and went to work in the anti-war movement, so needless to say he was not wearing a lot of Brooks Brothers sports coats. Although John Kerry probably was at the time. The people who came up with those folks as their fathers are now looking out at a landscape where they realize they can wear just about anything, but they don't have the tools to address that panoply of choices effectively. How do you see things moving forward with these folks that feel a little bit lost?

GLENN O'BRIEN: You have to educate yourself on any subject; you're not born knowing about art, music, cooking, how to speak, how to write. Everything is a matter of educating yourself, and I think you just have to start with “What do I like?” I think a lot of people have trouble with even that, which is one of the most basic decisions that we make hundreds of times every day, What Do I Like? It's Socratic. Know thyself. Figure it out.

The uniform, I think, comes out of the whole corporate thing. A lot of it is about blend in, keep your head down, and maybe you won't get fired. But I think now we're at a time when people are starting to lose their trust that their corporation is going to take care of them into their dotage, and the union is going to look out for them. I think now everybody realizes is you kind of have to look out for number one, and so I think that's why we're seeing a blooming of more individuality in the way men look, and that's a good thing.

JESSE THORN: It's nice to hear you say that, because when you speak with men's style experts, they often have one of two things. They have either a very well defined classicism; if you have, for example Alan Flusser, who you cite in the book and who I've interviewed before and is a great guy and an incredibly knowledgeable guy. Alan Flusser's aesthetic is defined around a classicism that is built around 1939. If you go to J Press you're going to get a classicism that's built around 1962 or 1960.

On the other side of it, you have people advocating a total fashion free-for-all that's determined by runways that change every year because people need to put new product on shelves. How does a man balance between those two things?

GLENN O'BRIEN: There's a lot of choices out there, and you kind of have to find out what it is that you put on that empowers you? What makes you feel better than anything else? For some guys it's going to be the barbarian suit that looks like its from a costume epic, and for other people it's going to be the slim Tom Brown narrow lapels sort of post-Mad Men look. It's just finding out what works for you. For me, it's -- Andy said it, the best look is a good plain look. In a way I like that, because if you look closer you can see, well, that's an interesting tie, or I like your Playboy bunny cufflinks, but you're not going to notice me from across the street, and that's who I am.

JESSE THORN: Glenn, I sure appreciate you taking the time to be on The Sound of Young America.

GLENN O'BRIEN: It was great, thank you.

JESSE THORN: Glenn O'Brien is the author of How to be a Man, a guide to style and behavior for the modern gentleman.

[anothergracekellyblog]

Taken from Good Housekeeping, May 1977

A noted novelist visits Princess Grace and finds laughter and tears beneath her serene armor of “glacial perfection.”

The Other Princess Grace by Budd Schulberg

When I was invited to write the scenario for a television special on the life of Princess Grace of Monaco, my gut reaction was: What an odd bit of casting. I write about prizefighters, brawny longshoremen, the fight for survival in the inner cities. I root for underdogs.

Princess Grace wasn't exactly my idea of an underdog. Her father was rich and she is immaculately beautiful. Her career from Philadelphia to New York to Hollywood to Monaco seemed to be up, up, up to the top of the mountain. For a child of Hollywood who had been raised with - and, accordingly, took a rather dim view of - movie stars, and of establishments in general (from film moguls to European royalty), a pilgrimage to the crystal chandelier world of Princess Grace Patricia Kelly Grimaldi of Monte Carlo would not seem to be my cup of tea, or should I say, my Venetian glass of champagne.

Is that a nice way to talk about a princess? A princess, especially an American born princess, is the stuff and the fluff of fairy tales. Hans Christian Andersen (with an assist from F. Scott Fitzgerald) should be writing this story instead of a follower of the fight game, a self-appointed expert on Muhammad Ali.

But it's a little late in the day for Andersen or Fitzgerald. And so...

Once upon a time there was a beautiful Irish-American girl whose grandfather had sailed as an immigrant boy in search of his fortune in the New World. If we had told John Henry Kelly as he stepped off the gangplank of a creaky old sailing ship in Boston that his granddaughter would return to the Old World and become the Princess Grace married to Rainier III and help to rule a sovereign principality from a 200-room palace that is one of the most majestic living museums in all Europe, that sturdy greenhorn would have put us in our place.

Grandfather Kelly made his way in the green world of 19th-century New England. His sons moved on to Philadelphia, where they prospered. Patrick, the oldest, made a success of the construction business and Grace's father, Jack Kelly, went to work for him as a hod-carrier and a bricklayer. A fierce second-generation competitor, Jack thrived on work. He could lay bricks fast and make money fast and row fast - somehow he found time before and after work to train for hours every day in a racing shell on the Schuylkill river and to become the national sculling champion. Wife Margaret was an ideal mate, not just a successful magazine cover girl but an athlete, too: the first co-ed physical education teacher at the University of Pennsylvania. “Way ahead of her time,” Princess Grace would reminisce, “the completely well-rounded modern woman. Now there's someone you could do a special on!”

We were sitting with her in the drawing room of the Grimaldi’s Paris townhouse in a courtyard of lovely old houses just off the Avenue Foch. When we rang the buzzer, she came to the door herself, with a warm and easy welcome to Bill Allyn, who would produce the TV special. Allyn had been a friend of hers from live television days in the early 1950's when they were both young actors scrounging around New York for work.

I was pleasantly surprised at the informality. No liveried servants, no bowing or scraping. Dressed in slacks and a light brown sweater with another shade of brown sweater over it, she might have been a suburban housewife in her late thirties, an especially pretty housewife. Marvelous eyes, marvelous nose, marvelous bones, marvelous skin. Yet neither in dress nor in manner anyone's conception of a fairy-tale princess. More like the girl next door, albeit the beautiful girl next door, 20 years later. I had pictured the cool grace of the Hitchcock movies and palace receptions. Instead, in a most friendly manner she led us into the drawing room, tastefully furnished but lived-in and warm. A big old dog called Andy bounded at her side. Chatting and reminiscing with Bill, she was shy and diffident with me, a watchful stranger. But quicker to laugh than I would have expected.

Spread on the coffee table were snapshots of a recent family trip to the Sahara. "I'm the family photographer," she said. "I really think these are pretty good, don't you?"

She picked one out, a moody sandscape relieved in the distance by what looked like an oblong glass. A mirage, she said proudly. "That's awfully hard to get. Rainier didn’t seem so impressed. But even when you can see it with the naked eye, it's tricky to pick up with a camera."

We asked about her family, the Philadelphia Kellys. Jack Kelly Sr. had been a driving spirit whose motto in life was, "I don't care what you do but whatever it is, don't just be good at it, be the best!"

He had gone to England's Henley Regatta to race in the Diamond Sculls, but had been forbidden to enter because he had the hands of a working man. "This is an event for gentlemen." A generation later, the Kelly family had gone to England to cheer Grace's brother "Kell" on as he won the cup that had been denied his father.

"There aren't any words that can do justice to my feelings." Father Kelly had said. "I feel a tremendous sense of pride for Kell. He's the one that matters, not the thwarted ambitions of an old guy who once got his fingers publicly burned over here because he was born without a silver spoon in his mouth."

"It must have been a heavy load," I said to Princess Grace, "to keep up with the Kellys, to keep up with yourself - to be the best."

She crossed her legs and thought a moment, as if there were still a challenge in the question, some lingering sense of childhood hurt. We had heard from friends that not only had she been a shy child, but rather sickly, too - unlike her outgoing, tomboyish older and younger sisters. She liked to stay in her room and read, draw, sew and dream, try to turn her introspection into poetry.

"Yes, it was - it is - a heavy load," Princess Grace said. The silence that followed seemed to hold its own inaudible sentences: Loads are to be carried. Burdens are to be borne. Challenges are to be met. And overcome. You could almost hear the convent sisters teaching her character with a stinging ruler. And the voice of Jack Kelly Sr. echoed in the room: "Be the best, Grace Patricia, be the best!"

UNCLE WON PULITZER

The mood changed suddenly when we talked of her two theatrical uncles: Walter Kelly toured the vaudeville stages of the world as "The Virginia Judge," and the famous playwright of the 1920's, George Kelly, won the Pulitzer Prize for Craig's Wife. Grace warmed to his memory. "I think Uncle George was a great American playwright, but there's a whole new generation that doesn't know him as well as I wish they did. He knew his people. Exactly how they talked and what they felt. Both The Torchbearers and The Show-Off are wonderful plays, human, funny and moving. In his preface to The Show-Off, the great humorist Heywood Broun wrote, ‘This is the best comedy yet written by an American.’”

Then it was Uncle George who influenced you to go into the theater?" She thought a moment.

"We were always doing plays. I was Cinderella in my sister Peggy's play when I was twelve, and I had a part in an Old Academy Players production in our hometown, called Don't Feed the Animals. I did Peter Pan as our graduation play at Stevens - but we were talking about Uncle George."

Clearly, of the two theatrical careers, she was much more at ease with George's than Grace's. "Uncle George was one of the most fascinating men I ever met. He could remember every poem he ever read. He loved poetry and language and the theater. He could recite favorite poems all night long. So wise, witty, human - there was simply no one like him in the whole world."

I had once been aware of, and then half-forgotten, the George Kelly-Grace Kelly family relationship. Certainly I hadn't realized until now what a driving force it has been in her life.

Then, with both of them remembering lines from another of Uncle George's plays, Behold, the Bridegroom, Bill Allyn and Grace (for she was all actress now and not at all princess) fell to reminiscing about those live shows they had done in what is now looked back on nostalgically as "the Golden Age of television": Studio One, Lights Out, Philco, The Kraft Playhouse. They were both talking at once. "Those were really insane days... absolutely hysterical... things are so much more ordered now, on film or tape, but live, going on in front of all those viewers... how did we ever get through it?"

"It was like living on the edge of a precipice!" Grace was laughing. "I'll never forget one time I was playing a scene in bed with all my clothes on under the covers so I'd be ready to run into the next scene dressed. But the camera didn't stop in time and they didn't cut away, so there I was, on the screen getting out of bed with all my clothes on!"

Now she and Bill were trading bloopers. She was up on her feet, standing in front of the mantel, trying to stop from laughing so she could demonstrate a dreadful mishap in The Cricket On The Hearth. "It was supposed to be snowing and a wonderful English character man and I were coming to bring an orphanage a hot pie for Christmas. The prop men were throwing salt down but we were told to walk close to the window under the eaves, so it wouldn't actually fall on us, because there we'd be with snow on our costumes that wouldn't melt when we got inside. We were to wave through the window, and the pie was too hot. So I set it down and the old actor stepped in it. He came limping into the place with half the pie spread over his shoe. "Look what we brought you - this nice, hot pie - Merry Christmas!"

INFECTIOUS LAUGHTER

As I listened to her laugh, I thought of all the people who had warned me about her "glacial perfection." But the laughter was infectious - from a real live girl with an appealing, self-deprecating sense of humor.

She was still getting money from home in those early theatrical days, but that streak of independence led her into modeling to pay for the acting classes. Before she was 19, she was earning enough to move out of the Barbizon Hotel for women and into her own apartment. A nesting sort of person, she enjoyed fixing up the place.

"Remember giggle belly?" Allyn said.

"Giggle belly!" Again Grace laughed as she tried to describe this silly game. A group of young actors would lie on the floor with their heads on each other's stomachs and tell funny stories that would make their heads bounce up and down as their bellies giggled. "We did a lot of silly things," they both agreed. "And we all laughed a lot. But along with the fun there was hard work... "

"Like Strindberg's The Father," we prompted.

That was Grace's Broadway debut, with her name in small print under the starred names of Raymond Massey and Mady Christians. Grace still says she only got the role because both stars were tall and her rivals for the part were all too short. "Nonsense,” says Raymond Massey. "She got the part because she showed the most promise. All through the rehearsal period we were impressed with her earnestness, her professionalism and her good manners. She was organized and dedicated. Between rehearsals she would ask Mady if she could sit in her dressing room and talk about the theater. She was a delight to have in the company. A rare kind of young person who had a hunger to learn and to improve herself."

"It ran only a short time," Grace said, "but it was wonderful experience."

Young Grace Kelly soon became a favorite cover girl, so it was inevitable that Hollywood would tap her on the shoulder - Hollywood personified in the ebullient, English-fracturing Russian director, Gregory Ratoff, who screen tested her for a somewhat less than immortal film entitled Taxi.

The Taxi story turns out to be another funny bit. I'm not studying her anymore, I'm laughing with her. It has ceased being a job and has become a vacation.

The role in Taxi, she told us, called for an Irish brogue. Although her name was Kelly, she sounded not at all like forebears from County Mayo. More like a proper Philadelphian. But, like any aspiring actress, she assured Mr. Ratoff that the brogue was no problem. Then she ran home to ask how one went about acquiring an overnight brogue.

"One of my friends had a maid just ονer from Ireland I hurried oνer to listen to her speak. But she was too shy to open her mouth. I'd ask questions to try and get her talking, and all she'd say was, ‘Yes, Mum,’ or ‘No, Mum.’ So I handed her the newspaper and asked if she'd mind reading it out loud. The poor girl finally admitted that she could hardly read. I put together what thought might pass for a brogue - and flunked the screen test."

But Grace Kelly had what Frances Fuller, head of the American Academy, described as, "A very special quality. Also the face of a Grecian goddess, but it was that extra something that is more than beauty, some special poise, an inner light."

When her New York agent, Edith Van Cleve, described that "special quality" to Jay Kanter, a youthful but influential Hollywood agent, brogue or no brogue, Kelly was movie bound.

AGAIN THE PRINCESS

"You must be getting hungry?" was Grace's answer to the first question about Hollywood. “If it's alright with you, I've made a reservation at a club nearby - the food is quite good." She rose briskly. Suddenly she seemed the princess - a gracious, down-to-earth princess, but clearly in command. Now it was difficult to imagine her ever playing "giggle belly" or impersonating an old actor with a meat pie on his shoe.

A blonde, middle-aged, bejeweled houseguest materialized. A friend from Grace's Philadelphia days. Having lived at least four different lives in four different times, places and worlds, Grace cultivates a capacity for not losing touch with anyone of them.

There was a waiting chauffeur and limousine. The princess asked us if we'd prefer to walk. The gentlest of commands. People who recognized her pretended not to, as if they understood that she preferred it that way.

We were ushered to a round table in a corner of the Club Rothschild with the most muted of fanfare. Luncheon conversation was easy but disjointed because Grace's houseguest was something of a dangling participle to a life story I was trying to piece together. It was like a flashback to Philadelphia adolescence while I waited to move forward to Hollywood early maturity. The princess was being the perfect hostess, somehow managing to talk old times with her hometown friend and films and filmmakers with us. On her way out, I noticed that fellow members of the club stepped back or moνed to one side so they could gain a clear view without being ostentatious. She pretended not to notice.

Back in the comfortable and now familiar drawing room, we were returning to the Hollywood of my youth. After an uneventual role in a forgotten movie called Fourteen Hours, Grace was on her way to the most remarkable five-year career in the history of motion pictures. A mouthful of a statement, but there it is. In 60 months, a classically photogenic face, the stamina of a marathon runner, an obsessive drive for self-improvement and a little bit of luck that was parlayed into great gobs of luck by the power of the will, swept Grace Kelly from obscure starlet to international star.

The luck began when Jay Kanter "sold" her to producer Stanley Kramer and director Fred Zinnemann for High Noon. In her big scene, she is finally driven to pick up a rifle and kill the fourth outlaw to save her husband, played by Gary Cooper, after Cooper has dispatched the other three.

A nomination for Best Supporting Actress in Mogambo didn't convince her that she was all that good in it. "I really wasn't," she said straightforwardly. "I was lucky. I was in awfully good hands. I was new in the business."

To master film technique, so different from either live television or the theater, was a challenge. "Be the best!" was echoing in the hall again. But from the outset Grace Kelly was a different cut from the lovely blonde starlets so overjoyed and overwhelmed by Hollywood. With her two sisters to keep her company, she stayed at that Sunset Boulevard relic of lost elegance, the Chateau Marmont. She would only sign her seven-year contract at MGM with the provision that she could go back to New York and the theater every other year. Remembering her as a star on the rise 25 years ago, agents, producers, directors, fellow actors and friends all draw a consistent picture of a girl with a steel trap mind who could not be dissuaded once she set that mind on what she wanted to do.

LUCK AND WILL

Now the Kelly luck embraced the Kelly will: the screen test that had failed her in her quest for a role in Taxi impressed that crustiest of critics, John Ford, who cast her in Mogambo - a remake of Red Dust, with Grace playing the Mary Astor role of the genteel but adulterous wife, Ava Gardner taking on Jean Harlow's "Honey Bear" and Clark Gable repeating the role he had created in the original. Two more disparate ladies than Ms. Kelly and Ms. Gardner could hardly be imagined, but they got on surprisingly well. Ava threw tantrums while Grace tended to her lines and her knitting. Frank Sinatra, in Africa for a visit with his unpredictable Ava, pronounced Grace Kelly the squarest of the squares. Even when columnists hinted out loud that Graces love scenes with Gable were unusually convincing. Grace never lost her Kelly cool.

Back in Hollywood for the Mogambo interiors. Grace and fellow-actress Rita Gam found an unpretentious apartment on Sweetzer Avenue. A pair of hard working bachelor girls, they were an odd couple: the cool golden girl who all ways seemed to have her emotions in check and the dark, exotic beauty whose emotions kept spilling over, "We both kept falling in love with the wrong men,” Rita remembers.

But if there were emotional frustrations and dead ends, the Kelly career kept climbing smoothly upward. The same, now-famous test that Ratoff and 20th Century-Fox had thumbed down caught the eye of another film master, Alfred Hitchcock. There was Dial M for Murder opposite Ray Milland, Rear Window opposite Jimmy Stewart and To Catch A Thief vis-a-vis Cary Grant.

With top directors Zinnemann, Ford and Hitchcock and leading men Cooper Gable and Grant, could a girl ask for anything more? If her name is Grace Kelly, the answer is yes.

We were still sitting in the Paris townhouse, but our minds were now focused on The Country Girl. The Clifford Odets Broadway hit was to be done as a film Every female star in town was after the role of the drunken actor's wife, described by Odets as "the broom behind the door." Grace knew that this was a part that could prove she wasn't just an elegant clotheshorse.

But winning that role was one of the longer shots in the Hollywood sweepstakes. In the first place, MGM, her "home studio," didn't want to loan her out. In the second place, Paramount and the producers of The Country Girl - wanted a bigger name to match the star male leads, William Holden and Bing Crosby. And, finally, even Crosby, looking for all the help he could get in playing a complex and difficult dramatic role, expressed his doubts that the elegant Kelly girl could handle a part so totally out of character for her.

The more opposition, the greater the determination. Grace told Jay Kanter and Lew Wasserman, representing the sinew and brains of the powerful agency that represented her, that they had to get Metro to release her for the role. She had to get this part. Otherwise, she was ready to go on suspension, quit Hollywood and return to New York to concentrate on the theater.

Thus are Hollywood legends born. For the screen test, Edith Head, whose mantelpiece is a parade ground for Best Costume Oscars, and who had dressed Grace in dazzling gowns for those high fashion movies, now helped Grace completely transform herself into the worn and weary country girl. And in the film, which she subsequently made, it wasn't just an outward change. She gave a performance from the inside such as she had never given before. At the end of the first week, a convinced Bing Crosby said, "I'll never open my big mouth again!"

It was Oscar time and Grace was nominated for Best Actress. But everybody agreed that Judy Garland had a lock on the little statue - the sentimental favorite making a dramatic comeback (on and of the screen) in the musical remake of A Star Is Born. But when Bill Holden opened the envelope on the stage of the Pantages Theater, we heard: "And the winner is . . . Grace Kelly!"

That same night Marlon Brando won his Oscar for On The Waterfront. While they posed together, swarming photographers shouted, "Kiss Marlon, Grace! Go ahead, kiss him!”

Suddenly Miss Kelly was from Philadelphia and the Stevens School, and her father was Jack Kelly, Sr. and her uncle was George Kelly, who had won a prize she respected perhaps even more, the Pulitzer. "Don't you think he should kiss me?” asked Grace Patricia, looking cool and elegant in aquamarine satin. On she swept to a party at Romanoff's - the girl who had everything. "Miss Perfect," people were calling her, some in awe and some inspite

"How did it feel?” I asked her in Paris.

Another long pause. "I was unhappy. Now I had fame, but you find that fame is awfully empty if you don't have someone to share it with."

As she sat there remembering that triumphant and lonely night, I found myself thinking of a note that F. Scott Fitzgerald had written to himself while preparing to write his heroine Kathleen in The Last Tycoon: "People simply do not identify with people who have all the breaks. I must endow this girl with a little misfortune.” I was beginning to find it in the girl who had everything.

Meanwhile, back at the Palace...

In 1955, the principality of Monaco was not the flourishing place it is today. The casino was run-down, the ancient palace itself in disrepair. Aristotle Onassis, George Schlee and Gardner Cowles were meeting to discuss how to save it.

Running the troubled affairs of Monaco for seven years, already in his mid-30's and still a bachelor, Prince Rainier III knew he must find a suitable wife with whom to share his life and the duties of the principality. Remembering his own unhappy childhood (a broken home at age six, lonely and disoriented at a British boarding school), Rainier insisted he would not make a marriage of convenience.

LOVE STORY OF THE CENTURY

And so the stage is set for what the press of the world called, "The love story of the century." The Prince had met Grace casually in Monaco when she attended a showing of To Catch A Thief the year before. Now he came to Hollywood on a visit less casual. Then went on to Philadelphia to meet her family.

I begin to ask direct questions and get surprisingly (although less surprised now than when I first met her) direct answers.

"Did you ask your parents for permission to marry Rainier?"

"No, I made up my own mind. I had asked them once or twice before and it hadn't worked out. This time I knew I had to make my own decision."

In fact, Father Kelly disapproved of the match. Rainier seemed like a nice fellow. But European princes are notorious playboys. And she'd be an American living far away in a foreign land.

I took a breath. “Princess Grace, do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?"

"Well, suppose not."

"I'm trying to put myself in your place. Every writer has to do that. It must have been a terribly difficult moment. You were marrying a man you barely knew… going off to a strange world… knowing as a member of your church there was no turning back. Giving up a film career on your way to becoming a superstar - you must have felt... well, how did you feel as you went up that gangplank?"

This time the pause was so long that I thought she resented my question too much to answer. She stared at the floor. When she looked up, her eyes were wet. If she had glacial perfection, the glacier was melting. She spoke quietly, with total simplicity:

"The day we left, our ship was surrounded in fog. And that's the way I felt - as if I were sailing off into the unknown. I had been through several unhappy romances. And although I had become a star, I was feeling lost and confused. I didn't want to drift into my thirties without knowing where I was going in my personal life."

As if she had been conceived by Scott Fitzgerald, here she was, endowed with a certain misfortune.

"I guess I'm a homebody at heart, she was saying. But I didn't have a home. Rainier came into my life at just the right moment. I needed someone who wouldn't be Mr. Grace Kelly. I could see that Rainier was a dedicated man. He had liberal ideas for making the principality more than a playground. While life on board ship must have seemed to the world like one continuous party, I couldn't help looking out into the fog and wondering: ‘What is going to happen to me? What will this new life be like?’ I had never met his family, except for his father, I must say he was wonderfully supportive. But I had no idea how the rest of the family, and the Court, would accept me. What sort of world was waiting for me on the other side of that fog?"

A friend said to Princess Grace, "But it was such a gorgeous wedding. The loveliest royal wedding of the century. European royalty. World celebrities. And so beautifully organized."

Now Princess Grace laughed.

WEDDING SHEER CHAOS

"Chaos! Fifteen hundred invited guests. And most of them wanting extra tickets for the balls and the dinners and the two weddings, first the civil one in the throne room of the palace, then the religious one in the cathedral. The weather was foul. And more journalists than they had covering D-Day. The language barriers! And the palace wasn't ready to be lived in yet. Sheer chaos!"

Bridesmaids, including Rita Gam, remember it as the most romantic time of their lives. But for Princess Grace the summer was long and hot. There was resentment from the traditionalists. What was an American, and from Hollywood at that, doing in their palace? Rainier understood the difficulty of the transition and was of great help to her But there were times, Grace admits, when she would stroll the palace walkway and wonder....

But time is a patient teacher. "Once Caroline was born, and then Albert, I began to feel my roots in Monaco. I was finally beginning to master the language, by osmosis. You might say I worked from the inside out. Now that I had my new family around me, I could move outside the palace into the community."

Once she got her bearings, Grace of Monaco became the most active princess the principality has ever had. Realizing that the local hospital was run down, she found ways to modernize it. She founded a daycare center and enlarged the old people's home. "She brought us heart," an old man says.

"She brought the palace back to life," says a staff member. "Inviting the children of the village into the throne room for a Christmas party. And the flowers everywhere. The Garden Club that grew into an International Flower Arranging Festival. The Children’s Village she set up through the Monegasque Red Cross to help keep together children of the same family who have lost their parents. Bazaars promoting the arts and crafts of Monaco. Using the courtyard of the palace as a natural stage for the International Arts Festival."

I was standing in the courtyard of this ancient castle, with its gracefully winding stairway. The chief of the secretariat was speaking with an enthusiasm he had drawn from Princess Grace. "She wants the palace to be used, to be alive, to help make the world more beautiful. Nureyev has danced here, and Danny Kaye has entertained, and the Paris Opera Ballet, Yehudi Menuhin, the Mexican Ballet Folklórico... She's brought a special quality to the palace that enriches the life of the principality. That's why we love to work with her. She gets up early and never stops.

"It's not just because she's our princess,” says Paul Choisit, the former consul for Monaco in New York, who now runs the secretariat, "I think she's the most unusual person I've ever known And with all the demands on her, the official duties, she still manages to save a great deal of time to share with her children. It's a known fact throughout the principality that Caroline, Albert and Stephanie are blessed with a supporting and loving mother."

I'm back at the townhouse in Paris, having returned from the old-world new-day atmosphere of the palace. We're talking of the ballet school I’ve toured (where teenage ballerinas are schooled by masters), through which Grace of Monaco hopes to restore to its former grandeur the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. The phone rings and it's Arthur Rubinstein. The phone rings again. It's Moscow. The International Television Festival is coming up and her staff has been at work on it, reaching out to renowned guest artists to appear at the gala after the awards. Monaco's Festival, far purer than the now corrupted Film Festival in Cannes, gives awards for such shows as the best on protection of the environment and best children's program, as judged by children themselves.

I see that Grace Kelly of Philadelphia, daughter of self-made millionaire Jack, niece of the Fabulous Uncle George, has found her way through the fog to a creative world she has made for herself on the other side.

As Hans Christian Andersen might have said, "And so the princess lived happily - and busily - ever after."

[therumpus]

For a while I wore baggy earth tone clothes because the last man I loved would strike me in the face if anyone looked at me so all my clothes were too big until one day I thought, you know what, no one is hitting me in the face right now, I’m going to buy this red dress from a mass market store, I’m going to spend money I don’t have to do it, and so I did, and I went to a party on one of the Avenues feeling fancy and looking sexy and my friends were there and there was a balcony that wrapped around a corner and overlooked Central Park and people complimented me and my dress while I drank wine and I think there was coke; if there was coke I did that too. One of our group was a man I’ll call S. who people thought was handsome in a James Dean way I guess if James Dean had lived past when James Dean had lived and had accrued enough alcohol in his liver that his skin had that kind of gray, puffy look alcoholics might get although S. was only around 30 at the time. We left the party to go to a second location and somehow it was only the two of us in the cab, me and S. Although I remember saying to a friend, please ride with us, I get how things happen when people are divvied up amongst cabs. Cabs are fancy and decisions have to be made and there was probably coke and S. always got just what S. wanted. In the cab, S. kept trying to move in on my mouth with his mouth and so I turned away, and he was okay with that, I think he didn’t realize that was a no, only that he kept missing. Look at you, he said. In that dress. Don’t you know I have a girlfriend? I did know and sometimes I felt sorry for her because, even if he didn’t strike her in the face, S.’s skin was kind of gray for 30 and she seemed to tend to him the way I imagined 1950’s women tended to their partners, helping them out of their shoes when drunk, emptying the ashtrays while they typed their tragic and male American wonderpieces. The next thing I knew, S. dove at me, his hand quick between my legs. I think it probably took a moment for me to realize what was going on, as often happens when a man is sexually assaulting me, so before I knew it his fingers were on my vulva and if he’d been less drunk and more coordinated his fingers would have been inside me but luckily he was clumsy and not fully committed to the action and when I went to move his hand away he let me move his hand away. I made some light chatter in the cab to keep him occupied until we got to the second location and it was only when we arrived there that I allowed myself to feel anything at all, though I couldn’t tell you what it was I felt as I still don’t know what it was that I felt. I think I waited to tell anyone what had happened but S. continued to follow me around the second location, a friendlier one really, my friend’s apartment, until my friend kicked him out for hounding me, and I was relieved and grateful, and embarrassed about my sexy body in my red dress. My friend walked a very drunk and always gray S. to the subway where he passed out and rode the #2 line from the Bronx to Brooklyn back to the Bronx back to Brooklyn all night long and someone stole his wallet because how could they not and then the story became poor S. got so drunk his wallet was stolen! and he’s really a very disturbed genius, someone help him! My friend said I should talk to him so I went to his place of work, which was behind a desk outside an art gallery and the chair faced sideways so I had to turn my body to face him. I said, Do you remember what happened? and he said no and I said, you grabbed my pussy in the cab and he said, Well come on! Don’t act like you’re not always flirty and seductive and I tried to quietly sort out if I was always flirty and seductive. I ended up apologizing to S. saying I’m sorry you had to leave the party and that your wallet got stolen and he said it’s okay, though he avoided me after that and told our friend that he couldn’t respect me because I’m not a serious enough person.

THE RUMPUS INAUGURAL POEMS: Lynn Melnick