#mr Juilliard

[kennysaysthings]

Now I’m no expert

But I’d say THIS? Is the same look.

He’s staring at their hands. This cannot be a mistake.

[buthappysoverrated]

BlackBerry (2023), dir.Matt Johnson

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve grows up playing piano, absolutely hates it, but is so good at it. His parents aren’t around enough by the time he’s a teen to force him to his practices, so he slowly stops going.

His music teacher happens to be Robin’s mom, who studied at Juilliard, and traveled for nearly a decade with various orchestras and bands before settling down with her husband in Hawkins.

She can see what’s going on with Steve from day one, but knows better than to interfere.

Until he quits.

She can’t stand by and let someone so musically gifted give it up.

She shows up at his house with a violin, her own violin that she hadn’t used in years.

He’s hesitant at first, but decides to give it a try as long as she doesn’t tell his parents. The last thing he wants is for them to find out he picked up a new instrument.

She can’t give him official lessons, so she shows up to his house twice a week and hopes that he practices in his own time.

He’s a natural.

He takes to it like a duck to water.

She encourages him to perform in a local talent show, all kids under 18, most of them not half as talented as he is.

He only agrees when she says she’ll be front row.

And sure enough, for once in his life, someone shows up when they say they will. She’s sitting front row with her husband on one side and her daughter on the other. She smiles as he takes the stage, nervous about people who know him seeing him and reporting back to his parents.

He performs with heart, something he lacked with the piano. He performs with talent, something he may have with any instrument he picks up.

But most importantly, he plays with a smile. He’s having fun.

He sticks around to watch some of the other people performing: Tammy Thompson singing a very out of tune rendition of America The Beautiful, some kid from one of his classes playing piano miserably, and some band performing very loud, very angry music.

Steve wins, and for once, it feels better than when he wins at a swim meet or basketball game.

He spends the next three years secretly practicing, only performing in shows out of town, never saying anything to his parents.

He doesn’t want them to ruin this for him.

He applies to Juilliard, not thinking he has a chance in hell, not with his academic grades.

Luckily, they see that he’s “exceptional with the strings” and “plays with emotion that can’t be trained.”

He gets in.

He goes.

He thinks he may actually be able to do this, use a gift he has to make his life better.

His parents even find it acceptable, mostly because he got into the best school he could have. They still don’t bother showing up for his shows, but Mrs. Buckley always finds a way.

In his sophomore year, Robin gets in, and they both move into a small apartment off campus together. He promised to look out for her.

She tells him that music wasn’t really her passion, she was just good with a trumpet. She really wanted to be an engineer.

In his junior year, Robin transfers to Columbia, starts doing what she really wanted to do from the start. He’s proud of her, but misses having someone on campus during the day to have lunch with.

Until he stumbles, literally, into someone vaguely familiar.

“Sorry, man. Running late.”

Steve pats the man on the shoulder and turns to get to his class when the man stops him.

“Harrington? You’re a student here?”

He turns back and finally recognizes the man in front of him.

“Munson? When did you get here?”

“I got in this year. Kinda fucked up my first audition last year and they were kind enough to give me another shot.” Eddie smiled. “What on earth are you here for?”

“Violin. You?”

“Guitar and songwriting.”

“That’s great, man. I’m just really running late. Catch up soon?”

Soon was two weeks later, when Steve ran into Eddie again while leaving class.

“We should probably stop running into each other like this,” Eddie smirked. “The universe is trying to tell us something.”

“What’s it trying to tell us?”

“Not sure. Maybe we should go grab dinner and find out.”

“Now?”

“Why not? Got better plans?”

Steve thought about how Robin was barely at the apartment due to studying for midterms. He thought about how his only other friend from here was busy rehearsing for their senior showcase.

“Nah. Let me bring this home first,” he held up his violin case. “Actually.”

Steve was on a budget. His parents gave him money, sure, but they thought he was living on campus so the money they sent covered rent and groceries and nothing else.

“I could make dinner. If you want?”

“Steve Harrington cooks? And plays violin?” Eddie fake swooned. “Be still my beating heart. How will I not be seduced?”

Steve rolled his eyes. He remembered Eddie’s dramatics from school and knew better than to feed into them.

“I can make some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.”

“Spaghetti sounds great,” Eddie’s fake swoon turned to a soft smile. “You want some help?”

Steve didn’t need help, usually didn’t even want any.

But something about the way his stomach dipped when Eddie stepped closer, and the way he thought about having Eddie in his apartment, made him agree.

“Sure.”

They walked to Steve’s apartment in a comfortable silence, though Eddie kept tapping the back of his fingers against Steve’s hand.

Eddie fit next to Steve. They cooked together, they ate together, they even managed to clean up together. It was easy to find something to talk about. He’d never clicked with anyone like this, not even Robin.

By the time Robin came home, Steve and Eddie were both passed out on the couch, fingers laced together as if they hadn’t been brave enough to do anything more before they fell asleep.

By morning, Steve’s head was on Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s arm wrapped around him loosely.

Waking up to a soft kiss on his lips was something Steve couldn’t have imagined when he first ran into Eddie, but he was pretty glad it was how he started his day.

And almost every day after that, whether he woke up to a kiss, or met up with Eddie on campus for a kiss, he started his day with love on his lips.

[wizardwiener]

someone put this man on broadway RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!

glenn’s cameo in how it ends (2021)

please hit play and turn on the sound i promise you won’t regret it

[blainehasregrets]

Blaine’s Transfer To McKinley

One of the more disliked? plot points in Glee is Blaine’s transfer to McKinley. However, it’s always been silly to me that people think this plot made “no sense”, especially from Blaine fans who think Blaine transferring to McKinley meant Blaine was constantly having to relive the trauma from his previous experience in public school and Kurt was inconsiderate for making him transfer.

Don’t get me wrong: He definitely transferred to be with Kurt, and I have no doubt in my mind Kurt was being annoying as hell about it all summer given the scene of him being (playfully) passive aggressive over Blaine still going to Dalton (which makes his whole “pls don’t tell me you transferred for me because what if u resent me 🥺” even funnier lmao oh Kurt). And I also think him transferring in the middle of the episode aka nearly a week into the school year was supposed to show that Kurt was pressuring him. But I also do kind of chalk that up to the fact that The Purple Piano Project was incredibly badly written and they chose the worst possible ways to deliver information, like setting up Juilliard for Hummelberry just to explain to us NYADA a scene later like…! IMO, they could have kept that scene of Klaine in the Lima Bean, like I’m not saying they should take Kurt’s involvement in the decision completely away, but it should have been one of the very first scenes so Blaine could have been there from day 1. But omg all of this is besides the point let me move on…

However! To act as if it was not ultimately Blaine’s decision, and one he’s wanted to make for a while, is missing a huge part of his character. Not only that, I don’t understand how so many people miss this when it’s quite literally one of the very first things Blaine ever says in the show.

In Never Been Kissed, Blaine tells Kurt “I ran, Kurt. I didn’t stand up. I let bullies chase me away and it’s something I really, really regret.”

It’s literally the main thing we are introduced to his character with. Blaine is someone who wants to face his fears, in this case public school, he just hasn’t had an opportunity to do so.

The entire Dalton arc is symbolized by Pavarotti’s cage which comes up several times during season 2, and in Special Education the show frames Dalton as a place that doesn’t foster individuality (even though I think that plot point was uhh badly written because it was as if the writers seemed to forget why Kurt left McKinley in the first place…all of Kurt’s complaints about Dalton applied to McKinley too, but were supposed to forget about it because over on the McKinley side, Mr. Schue chose Fabrevans and Santana for the competition for once. but also all of this is besides the point too!), and the reason why Blaine falls in love with Kurt in the first place is because of Kurt’s independence and need for freedom despite the difficulties he faced, symbolized by him sing Black Bird. Despite the fact that I don’t particularly agree with this sentiment that a safe place like Dalton is “running away”, I think most people know going from a rich private school with no bullying to a shitty public school with tons of it is a massive downgrade, the show makes it abundantly clear that Dalton is not a place where Kurt or Blaine are meant to stay.

So, even logistics aside (because obviously as he was upgraded to a main character, he had to be with the rest of the characters more often which means he had to go to the same school, it’s really not much deeper than that), the show already set up that Blaine wanted to be free from a place like Dalton. Even in Original Song, we get the hint that Blaine is tired of his easy life in the Warblers where he gets all the solos and in Silly Love Songs he compares them to privileged, porcelain birds. To make it seem as if Blaine being at McKinley was traumatic for him or he had 0 choice in the matter and was doing it solely for Kurt is, imo, disingenuous and misses part of his character that gives him his own agency.

And yes I’m saying all of this acknowledging Blaine’s whole “I changed SCHOOLS FOR YOU 😫” thing, because I think it all can be true at once:

Blaine transferred to be with Kurt.

Blaine transferred because it’s something he’s wanted to do.

Blaine had no problem holding it over Kurt’s head when he wanted to.

I feel like none of that is contradictory to each other (or, even if it is hypocritical, it’s hypocritical in a way real people are). People are messy! They can have multiple reasons for doing what they do, and sometimes even when it’s their decision to make, they can still blame another other person for them. (And I say this with love but I mean…Blaine isn’t a stranger to blaming Kurt for something he chose to do, right? Moving out…cheating…Perfectly in character if you ask me!)

I feel like this decision doesn’t require that much suspension of disbelief either, Jesse transfers in season 1 for a couple episodes just to mess with Rachel. Yes it’s not realistic, but many aspects of glee are not and this is one of the ones I think was set up before the decision was even made.

And to be honest, I always thought the whole “Blaine should have stayed at Dalton” to be a pretty boring opinion, but when I was rewatching Purple Piano Project recently, Blaine said Kurt was just scared the Warblers were going to beat the New Directions, I couldn’t help but think that would have been soo interesting to see. The mess and drama that would come out of Klaine having to see each other as rivals…especially when you throw Sebastian into the mix…Blaine, who already couldn’t cope with the distance, having to see his boyfriend as the enemy? I would love to visit an alternate universe where that’s the route glee decided to go with.

But I’m sorry I love “I changed SCHOOLS FOR YOU 😫” and, regardless of all the reasons I’ve listed above, the general craziness it spells for Blaine that he’d transfer to a shitty public school to spend one year with his lazy fucking boyfriend (said affectionately) too much to wish it was changed. I love you canon Klaine!

[wrwnbabo]

"SOUND ON!

We were lucky to have our protagonist, Jerry, be voiced by award winning actor, Mr. Alfred Molina. You definitely know him from some of the roles hes played over the years in movies and tv shows like Frida, The Spider-Man franchise, Chocolat, Boogie Nights, Magnolia, An Education, Feud: Betty and Joan, Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark (throw me the idol!) and his new series, Three Pines.

When we asked Alfred to be our lead, we were kind of embarrassed. He's a Juilliard trained actor whos won awards on the biggest stages, and we asked him to make bird noises. But ill tell you this, he absolutely nailed it. Not only is Alfred a great actor, but he's a super nice human being and a joy to be around! So happy to have him as part of our "Flutter" family!

Here's some fun clips of Alfred in the recording booth that we wanted to share with the world!"

IG post from @fluttershortfilm

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Muted/Unmuted

Summary: A visit to his brother's university doesn't go as planned - but it's what was needed.

Characters: Virgil, John

Words: 3K

Warnings: depression, hinted.

A/N: I have a small contribution. Look, it's been so long, I'm going to drop this and run. Have 3K of Virgil playing piano.

Or, Read on Ao3

~*~

Muted/Unmuted

The restaurant had a coat check, and that’s how John knew he’d have to use the Tracy name to get himself a table coming in without a reservation like he was. Taking advantage of their privilege wasn’t among his favorite things to do - or any of theirs really - but he made a mental note to donate to a local food kitchen, deciding the time with Virgil was worth him using his name for personal reasons.

“Near the music, if available,” he advised the hostess once he’d handed over his gray overcoat. Though it looked flat on the hanger, it was specially tailored to his silhouette. Around his neck, he continued to wear the long, wide scarf he’d walked in with. It had kept him warm walking through the campus of Denver Tech. Though it was warmer inside the building, he’d carried some of the outside chill with him. He’d been out walking a lot longer than he’d intended - once he’d managed to find the Edwards building from Virgil’s scrawl, one of his suitemates had redirected him into town, here, where Virgil had apparently picked up a last minute shift. 

John hadn’t even known that Virgil was working, not with the coursework he had on his plate to keep up with his two majors. But Virgil was like Scott, like John himself, and like their father before them: a man of action. He liked to keep his hands busy. 

He couldn’t deny the skip in his step, for it had been too long since he’d had a chance to visit Virgil in person, let alone had the chance to listen to his music live. Gordon or Alan or even Scott would’ve lamented the time lost, especially when the weekend was already so short to begin with, before finding something else to keep themselves busy. But John had arrived earlier than expected and it made him smile to know nothing had really changed about his brother since going their separate ways to University. Virgil would always step up when he was needed. 

There was nothing John would rather be doing with his first evening visiting than spending a few hours listening to his brother play the piano. The large textbook adding weight to his satchel reminded him he had his own studying he could do. It would be just like old times -  him lounging in the armchair deep in a book and Virgil practicing his scales and arpeggios before launching immediately into whichever piece was his current creative outlet. Sometimes it was the school play, sometimes a competition piece, and for a while his Juilliard entry, back when he thought he might apply. 

“I’ll likely settle down here for a while,” he advised the woman seating him as he relieved himself of the weight on his shoulder and placed his bag on the private booth before sliding in himself. 

“Of course, Mr. Tracy.” 

Privacy curtains blocked out the tables in his periphery, and though he wasn’t directly in front of where Virgil would play, they had secured him a space adjacent to the small stage space with two pianos, currently empty. 

He worried not about the clientele, letting the people fade away from his mind. But he was curious about the place his brother spent so much of his time, noting the soft, warm lighting, swirls of cloudy marble for each table counter, and seating cushioned with velvet. The kind of luxury they’d grown up with. 

Movement at his left caught his eye as Virgil situated himself at the piano. A black suit, slimming, but not among those specially tailored to his form, gave him the appearance of similar elegance. John recognized it for what it was, a uniform just as much as those worn by the other employees. A tie, nondescript enough that he couldn’t make out its coloring in this light. Though his hair was gelled into his usual coif. 

When he noticed John's eyes on him, Virgil gave him a small smile in acknowledgement from across the tables as he flexed his wrists in preparation for his set. John waved back, then opened his textbook to the latest chapter.

The piano keys, pliant under Virgil's capable fingertips, fluttered familiar melodies with the accompaniment of gently clinking glassware and the hum of dinner chatter. For awhile, John lost himself in physics, math, possibility, and theory. A glass of amber, cooled by stone, opened his mind to think a little looser and with a little less pressure sitting behind his brow. 

He thanked the server for bringing out his first course and used the opportunity to glance around the room. For as much as he liked to keep to himself, people-watching was among his favorite pastimes. When they were younger, he and Virgil used to make up backstories for the people they encountered. It had been a simple form of entertainment and yet great practice for their respective creative endeavors where they both relied on their powers of observation and expression. 

But for all the exercises in years past, his brother stole his gaze this evening, so familiar and yet changed in the months since they'd seen each other last. His face had filled out a little around his high cheekbones, five o'clock shadow a bit more prominent in the evening light. The suit squared his strong shoulders, and it made him seem bigger behind the instrument. Not that Virgil ever seemed small sitting at the piano keys, not with the way he enchanted audiences and conjured emotions in tones. 

Virgil was unaware of his prying eyes, his expression locked on the space where his sheet music usually rested. It was blank. Where his fingers flew over the keys with ease, the music itself was beautiful. Light and ever so gentle. But looking over the crowd, enamored with their respective dining partners or focused on the business portions of their dealings that evening, not one gave a care to the direction of the music. So much so that Virgil was practically background; when he paused between songs, there was no applause or acknowledgement to his performance. 

John’s antipasto turned in his stomach, the silverware suddenly loudening in his ears in a moment where Virgil paused and caught him looking, no doubt his expression bewildered. Barely a breath, and his brother was back in his set. And this time, with his mind less divided with his schoolwork set to the side, John heard it. 

The music was beautiful. That hadn’t changed, and Virgil was as precise as ever.

But it was soulless, as lifeless as the chestnut eyes that refused to meet his. 

~*~

Virgil performed two more sets after the first finished, three in total spanning from six to half after nine, with short breaks in between where he scurried somewhere in the back. John tried both times to catch him on his way to the restroom, but both times his brother had eluded him. After the second, a part of him wondered if the disappearing act was intentional. 

“Would you like a refill, Mr. Tracy?” a server asked, a gloved hand reaching for his glass of water before he could answer. “Do you know him, sir?” she asked, noticing his gaze during the final set. “The pianist?”

The more he watched, the more he noticed. There was a lack of embellishment, and his heart pounded over the lack of flourishes in the melodies. After a while, every tune started to sound like the same song repeated, Virgil’s movements rote and uninspired. 

“No.” 

“Oh, well, if you are into music, we have dueling pianos every Thursday night. It’s a bit more lively with two of them.”  

“Does V- he ever play?” 

“Oh, yes, sometimes he’s on the schedule. But you’ll want to come for Monsieur Allard. Should I see about securing you a reservation this upcoming week, Mr. Tracy?” 

John shook his head and broke the news that he was just in town for the weekend, waiting until she’d left to hiss out the breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t the server’s fault that Virgil was playing at barely half his talent, stifled and muted in this space of opulent luxury. It was apparent they didn’t know who Virgil really was, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked. And if John knew his brother, that had been intentional, a place to unwind where he could just play and not be his father’s son with their name marketed for the clientele. 

But, oh, the cost. He didn't know everything, yet. He intended to find out, but one thing he knew - this place was bleeding the life from him. 

He paid his check long before Virgil finished, loath to linger any longer than he needed to in the restaurant. His meal had been as luxurious as their menu boasted, and though the decadent flavors had turned flavorless in his observations, he sent his compliments to the chef and left a generous tip nonetheless. 

Out front, he received in message form. And with that he slung his messenger bag back over his shoulder, retrieved his coat, and happily left the building behind him.

Virgil beamed when he saw him, his arms laden with a garment bag and struggling with his phone. He'd since changed into casual jeans and flannel where the collar peeked through a similar overcoat. 

"You made it!" he laughed, pushing off the wall he was leaning on and slinging his free arm around John's thin shoulders. 

"A bit early," John admitted, the excitement infectious. 

"Come on," Virgil gestured In the direction of campus. "A short walk then we can get you out of the cold." 

They walked in step, and Virgil voiced the directions as they went. John had memorized them on his way in the first time, but there was no reason for him to tell Virgil that, especially when the instructions came with storytelling about which classes he had in the buildings they passed or which dormitories had the most drama. 

"The arts building is to your left." 

John didn't know what to say. He knew Virgil didn't have any classes there; they'd discussed their respective semesters at length this past summer. 

Virgil smiled at him, and it seemed genuine. 

But those eyes. John couldn't ease the turn in his stomach left by the way they looked through him. The glassiness he'd witnessed was long gone, but that didn't mean whatever was doing that to his brother was resolved. 

And they'd seen this before. 

"Are you okay?" The words burst out of him. "You'd tell one of us if you weren't, right?" 

Virgil's expression crumpled. 

John stopped in his tracks, a tentative hand reaching for his elbow "Virgil?"

"Why do you ask?" he replied, spinning toward him. 

“You - you just didn’t seem like yourself.” John dropped his hold on him.

Virgil sighed, wincing as the instinct to tug at his hair left residue on his fingers. He rubbed them anxiously on his jeans. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“It’s who they want you to be.”

He bowed his head. “I’m Vince Tanner there; I really thought I’d be doing right by mom’s name. I’d be playing after all. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t come say hello; they have rules around us approaching the dinner patrons.” 

“They what?!”

“Anything on the set list has to be pre-approved, all these crowd pleasers. They all sound the same after a while, you know? And I’m not normally so irritated by repetition; but I can’t even -”

Virgil reached out his hands before him, as if invisible keys had sprung out to answer where the words couldn’t, and he played a tune John couldn’t hear. “I tried once. They said I was too disruptive to the guests.” 

John hummed. “What about this Allard person? He any good?”

Virgil snorted. “He sounds sophisticated and smart.”

“Do you get to release any of that,” - he didn’t have the music theory knowledge for the right descriptions, but he knew Virgil understood what he meant - “during the dueling piano nights?”

“No. That whole thing is a joke, and we’re supposed to be there to make Andre sound good. That’s all.”

“Virgil!” At this time of night, the campus was still busy with night owls like themselves or those returning from evening festivities at their party or tavern of choice -  some even on their way to. John didn’t care how his voice raised. There was no visible wound, but Virgil was being bled dry nonetheless. “Why do you even show up?”

“Diego called out sick.” 

“Not just today. Any day. Why are you letting them do this?”

For that, if Virgil had an answer he didn’t share it, his jaw tight. In the yellow light of the street lamps, his skin turned sallow, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest. To protect himself from the cold or from the conversation, John didn’t know fully. But Virgil always did wear his heart on his sleeve. 

“You’ve given me an explanation. Thank you,” John stepped in front of him and grasped him by the shoulders. “But that’s still not an answer.” 

“Can you let it go?” Virgil pleaded, his voice small and deflated. “I don’t want to bring this visit down anymore than it has been.”

“No, I can’t.”  

He glanced up, his eyes welling. “I’m fi-”

“You’re not.”

“No,” Virgil shook his head finally, “I’m really not.” He tightened his arms around himself, breathing deep to push back the swell of tears threatening to fall. “I’m not okay. I’m not.”

This would be the moment big brother would have wrapped him in a hug, Gordon would’ve done the same long before, and Alan wouldn’t have known to push that hard. But John? John had a different answer. Keeping his hands firmly on his brother’s heaving shoulders, he urged them both out of the walkway and toward the building they’d just passed. 

~*~

John let Virgil believe the door had just been open; his rule-abiding would’ve had him running all the way back to Kansas if he’d known they’d broken into the music and arts building. The lock jammer built into his watch was a gift from Parker upon John’s graduation. He hadn’t known if it would work on its own; he’d only had his hope that Denver was as unaware of their security issues as Cambridge. But sure enough, John budged the door open easily and ushered his older brother through the threshold. 

After admitting his struggles Virgil had gone silent. That was ok, John knew. At this stage, the music would speak where Virgil couldn’t yet. 

“Do you know where the music room is?” he asked him. “That’s ok,” he continued when Virgil shook his head mutedly. “We’ll find it.” To the center seemed to be a concert hall, with a gallery lined along the walls of the surrounding hallways. Likely the classrooms would be further back. John stepped further into the left hall, looking for any indication of whether it was approaching the art wing or the music one. 

“Here.” John cocked his head at his brother’s voice, where Virgil was holding the door to the concert hall open and gesturing for John to come back the way he came. “They have a few performances this weekend,” Virgil explained thinly. “I figured the piano might still be here.” 

The theater was Virgil’s space, not John’s, and within a few minutes, Virgil had found the controls he needed to give them a bit of light. The grand piano was situated stage right, facing towards the orchestra seating to provide the audience a side view of the instrument and the pianist. 

While the audience seating looked much more comfortable, John opted for grabbing one of the chairs set up for the back violins and pulled it closer to Virgil’s side. He wanted to stay close. Virgil hands hovered over the keys. Bright eyes looked over to him, unsure.

 ���I don’t know where to start.” 

“Play something you wanted to play tonight. Something not on the approved setlist.” John couldn’t help the condemnation laced in his words, nor did he try to. 

Virgil’s flat smile twitched at the edges, and he huffed in agreement, though the sound was shadowed by a trickle of tones that molded into an elaborate musical story. 

Angry and somber, the melody from Virgil’s hands was familiar and the instinct to fill in the poetry of the words overtook him - not enough for John to sing out loud, but with each progressing chord he felt a jolt to his gut. 

It was a cry, a song lamenting the loss of times of war. 

“It feels so wrong to feel the way I feel when there’s this happening. Every day, when I wake up my thoughts drift to Scott, and I wonder what he’s seen that day. How much worse it must be to be in the thick of all this violence.” 

His breath hitched. 

“I want to play something that matters.” 

A harsh crescendo of notes from Virgil’s left hand. The right continuing the melody, softly while the chord bounced along the auditorium and faded. 

“Something mom would be proud of.” 

He stopped. 

“You know,” John tried. “Others’ experiences don’t negate your own just by being worse. I’m worried for Scott too.” 

A flicker of life with a trill, and his hands fell to his sides. 

He looked at John. “Every day my decisions feel like mistakes. Would dad be proud of the path I’ve chosen? Would mom understand? I feel so wrong and worthless. All the time.”

“Oh, Virgil.” 

He sucked in a breath and turned away, hands poised back above the ivory. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Doesn’t need to be, just make it real.” John leaned forward, then asked if Virgil wanted him to go.

Virgil shook his head. “No. You can stay.”

Vulnerable with the cover of night, in a space sacred to Virgil, emotion poured from him, fragmented at first - anger, sadness, jubilance quieted all too quickly - before they converged into a jumble of sound and frustration. 

His soul bled beat after beat. A refrain of Juilliard’s audition pounded from the heart. 

Slashed with another, until it was the two melodies speaking to each other before one assimilated the other.

The cry of war mashed with the trill from earlier, turned minor with panic and worry, persisting. Unrelenting - soulless and lifeless. 

And then it built back up from a singular note, repeated into a quickened pulse, blurred with discordance, then the themes came back, louder, fiercer. Crescendoed while Virgil’s heart purged itself upon the keys.

Songs from the restaurant cascaded around them, the pretty made furious as it washed over them.

Virgil pushed back from the piano stool, standing, his whole self looming over the the movement of his hands, while he borrowed from the strength of his trembling arms and shoulders and back as he pounded on the instrument - and pounded until the music left them breathless, choked of air until there was only heat and noise. Until -

He broke.

A sob slashed the last chord, and Virgil fell to the stage with a thump of his large form. John tumbled forward to his knees in front of him, the pressure behind his own eyes released from watching. But at least Virgil hadn’t been alone. And as soon as he was near enough, Virgil launched himself at the closest brother he had while John gathered him close and whispered not that he was ok, but that he wouldn't be alone.

[klarriel]

Nimrod

Chapter 12 / 27 - Winter Time

“D’you really think today would be better without you? Like shit it would. It certainly wouldn’t be for me.”

Cas smiles and nods, one small tear finally escaping before he can wipe it away with the sleeve of his jumper. Dean takes that as a sign, removing his hand and letting it sit at his side.

When Cas looks back at him, there’s a crack in the wall behind his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Cas says, softly, like a prayer.

(Please check TW’s on ao3)

Story summary:

It's 1979, and the world is at the cusp of a new decade.

Dean Winchester lives in the small town of Smith Center. He keeps himself invisible, his father's words in his head a never-ending reminder of the past he'd rather forget.

When the mysterious musician Castiel Novak becomes his next-door neighbour, Castiel will see him, and save him, in more ways than one.

Dean will have to learn that people don't always leave - if you ask them to stay.

Start from Chapter 1!

A loud bang echoes through the room.

“Dean! Open the door!”

Dean shuffles where he’s sat, pressing his back against the wall. Sam is crouched beside him, burrowing himself into his brother’s side. Dean slings a protective arm around him, pulling him in further.

“Dad, you’re drunk!” Dean yells, the heat of a fresh punch still stinging his cheek.

Another bang shakes the door frame

Dean suddenly falls to the floor, and the space where his brother once was is empty. 

Sam sits beside him, except Sam isn’t a little boy - it’s the Sam that left Dean; a sixteen year old kid who can’t even look at him.

“Sam… Sam it’s me - Dean.” Dean grabs Sam’s shoulders and shakes them, but Sam just watches the door, face expressionless.

The banging continues, and Sam doesn’t seem fazed by it.

Dean thinks his eardrums will burst if the noise doesn’t stop,

and suddenly it does.

and Sam screams.

Dean screams out his brother's name, waking from sleep in a cold sweat. 

-

Dean reckons he deserved a little longer in bed this morning - his newly consistent six A.M wakeup calls have been a gruelling hit on his psyche, and his body is telling him to go to back to bed  - but here he is, at seven o’clock in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he waits in Bobby’s office for the older man to arrive.

It’s been a couple weeks since the whole incident with Alistair, and the talk with Ellen - if Dean’s honest, the meaning of everything that happened those few days isn’t really sinking in. He’s been going about his life like normal - at least he thinks he is, despite the ridiculous number of times Cas has taken to asking him if he’s alright every day since then. 

In the time he’s worked here, it’s become abundantly clear how long Ellen had this arrangement planned - of course she’d make sure her choice to take some time out wouldn’t have an impact on anyone else. She’d set Dean up at Bobby’s, and found other part time gigs for everyone else under her employment. Jo was the only person manning the store for a couple hours every day - hey, someone has to supply Mr. Ryerson with his daily paper, and all things considered, Dean’s pretty stoked it’s not him. 

Dean’s already had a paycheck from Bobby, which has meant that, for now, he’s pretty much breaking even with how much he’d earn normally with both of his jobs combined. The downside is that, given all the hours Bobby has signed him up to do - against his will - he’s had to cut back on all of his shifts at the Roadhouse. Benny, true to his character, was completely understanding - Bobby sweetened the deal by recommending Gary in his place while Bobby trials Dean in the garage, at least until the guy has saved up enough money to go to college (Bobby says he’s aiming for Juilliard - Dean’s never heard of the place, but reckons it sounds like a damn fancy prep school). 

Dean’s taken to the job like a duck to water - after spending years being forced by circumstance to learn how to fix up a car, Dean has a pretty good base knowledge, so he wasn’t totally out of his depth on his first few days. Despite the innumerable hours he’d spent working away at the Impala, however, it turns out there’s always more to learn - something Bobby hasn’t let him forget.  

Dean had begrudgingly spent his first morning with Bobby, collecting the Novak’s van from the town with Bobby’s recovery truck. The entire journey there and back consisted of Bobby lecturing him about the difference between a fixed-venturi and a variable venturi carburetor.

“I don’t gotta know all the details, Bobby.” He’d sighed, shifting the gear stick and flicking the turn signal.

“The details are the most important part, boy.” 

Dean had just shrugged - maybe it wasn’t the best idea to piss off your new boss on the first day. 

He had spent the next two weeks tinkering with the van, learning every aspect of a vehicle, all under Bobby and Rufus’ watchful eyes. He’s picked most things up pretty quickly, all things considered, and by the end of the fortnight they were happy for him to work on the simpler things on his own. 

Dean re-centres, looking around in the stillness of the office. He realises he’s not spent any more than thirty seconds in here before - Bobby’s not one to run late, and is usually out front waiting for him at the crack of dawn, wrench box in hand.

It’s a box room, windows on three sides providing a panoramic view of the shop floor - a wide expanse of dark concrete, big enough to house three or four cars, with wide openings on the adjacent wall exposing the outside world. There’s a desk covered in piles of loose papers and folders. Coffee rings form halos on top of a wooden cabinet, filled with books and pots of loose bolts and pencils. A calendar dedicated to local vistas hangs loosely on a nail tacked to the wall. A corkboard on the wall is decorated with business cards and newspaper clippings, one of which is a photo of a group of men. Dean steps closer to get a clearer look, and recognises a younger Bobby in a group of soldiers, all standing to attention, the lines of their pressed camo uniforms harsh against the plain backdrop. Dean swallows thickly and turns, as his eyeline tracks to another table. A weathered phone sits beside a photo of Bobby and Rufus, and a black and white photo of a dog. There’s another photo frame that’s been upturned, and is half-covered by a pile of receipts - almost forgotten. Dean leans forwards to take a closer look, only to be met with the sound of someone clearing their throat. He jolts up, turning to see Bobby in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

“By all means, make yourself at home.” 

“Sorry, Bobby, I-” 

“Save it.” Bobby sighs, “Just… go get started on the van. I promised the boy it’d be finished today, and I don’t intend to break that promise.” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean nods, sliding past Bobby and out of the cramped room, and the formalities slip out on reflex. For a moment, Dean almost forgets how long it’s been since he addressed someone like that. He twists, like he’s been scalded, and he can sense the way Bobby stills before slowly shaking his head.

“Bobby… Bobby’s just fine, kid.” 

Dean swallows the lump in his throat, and grabs a toolkit, leaving before he can say anything else. 

-

Dean tightens a final bolt on the underside of the van, wiping the sweat from his brow with the backside of his left hand. He gathers the pouch of Bobby’s wrenches from the floor, and pushes himself out from underneath the car.

He near enough screams like a girl when he returns to the cold light of day, only to be surprised with the vision of Cas - leaning back on his haunches, coat pooling on the floor, head cocked in Dean’s direction. 

“Shit- Cas ,” Dean slowly rises to sit, heartbeat thrumming, rubbing his temples in the charade of ever being mad at seeing Cas, “How long have you been sitting there?” 

“A while.” Cas shrugs, as his eyes track up to Dean’s forehead, “You’ve got a… substance.” 

Dean rubs his fingers over the spot to discover a smear of black oil. 

“Shit.” He grabs a rag out of his pocket, and wipes it away. His cheeks flush lightly, and he continues the conversation in an effort of distraction, “What you doin’ here anyway?” 

Dean rubs the dirt from his overalls as they both rise to stand. He’s so focused on getting the oil off of his face that he doesn’t notice the way Cas’ eyes are fixed on him the entire way up.

“I came to see how things were going -”, Cas finally says, “Bobby visited the library today to tell me the van would likely be finished today.”

“I didn’t take Bobby as the scholarly kind.” Dean finally pockets the rag, satisfied that his forehead is clean enough, and leans up against the van, ankles crossed.

“Mostly material on hunting…” Cas’ forehead wrinkles, “Although, now that I think about it, he left as soon as he’d finished updating me.” 

“That’s Bobby for you,” Dean slots the pouch of tools into the utility belt fastened loosely across his hips, “Likes to update clients in person - super old school.” 

Cas nods, casting a glance over the van, before smiling at Dean.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this. For all you’ve done for us.” He smiles, and Dean returns it - genuine. 

“Listen, your van got me this job - I’m the one who should be saying thanks.” 

Cas gives the suggestion of a shrug, scanning Dean’s outfit slightly. 

“It suits you. The work - you seem… content with it.” 

Dean pushes himself off the van, and turns to survey his work. In that moment, he realises how much he’s managed to accomplish in the space of a few days. 

“I guess it’s not so bad. Better than bagging groceries all day.” 

“Jo is certainly missing you.” Cas replies, and before Dean can ask how the hell he knows that, Bobby pulls round the corner. Dean and Cas both turn to look at him, and Dean has the urge to stand a little straighter. 

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built For Love Part 1 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: So this is the official series for MBJ x Charlotte (Famous Black OC) - this will include random moments in their relationship to see how they got to where they are… and I'll do random one-shots like I've been doing in between. Hope you enjoy :)

Word count: 3k

***

“Aye yo, Els! Charlotte!” 

Charlotte whipped around as she walked toward her car on set, finding Michael jogging up to her. The neutral expression on her face curled into a bright smile as he approached her. 

“Did you just call me Els?” She raised her eyebrow. She really only went by one nickname in her life: Charlie and that was reserved for family and friends. She certainly never went by her dreaded middle name, Elsbeth. She despised it, a gift from her absentee mother - whoever met a black girl named Elsbeth? Or any girl for that matter? 

“Yea… your middle name is Elsbeth right? Els for short?” 

She chuckled. “How’d you know that though? And what if I don’t like nicknames?” 

He shrugged and winked at her, causing her to blush a bit. “I’d never reveal my sources. And well… I figured you might make an exception for me?” 

Despite the look of faux annoyance on her face, she could not deny that the nickname had a certain allure on his lips. Well… a lot of things did if you asked her. 

She laughed, playing along with their flirtatious banter for a moment. “Yea… maybe. I might need some more convincing though, Mr. Jordan.” 

“Well let me start now. Let me take you to dinner? A congrats on finishing a long week on set.” 

Charlotte immediately shook her head, laughing nervously. “Thank you but I probably shouldn’t? Need to head home and start reviewing my lines for next week a-and everything.”

She actually did not have many lines to review at all. However, as luck should have it, she and Michael would be filming their intimate scene during the next week. And though Charlotte did not want to show it, it made her anxiety skyrocket. So her vision for the evening was to merely sit at home with a glass of wine and wallow in her anxieties about the upcoming week. But she could not tell Michael that. 

She also would not hate the time to just decompress. Though she had been acting since she graduated from Juilliard, somehow this terrain felt different and more exhausting. She had only done her first tv role a few months before signing on to play Bianca. 

He shook his head. “Come onnnn… You’re gonna be great next week and every day. You’re a natural. You gotta eat dinner right? And I won’t keep you out too late. Promise.”

She wrestled with her internal debate for a few moments. Common sense said she should say no. However, the side of her that was drawn to Michael like a moth to a flame, the side she did not quite understand, was much louder. 

“Fineeeeee… but only because I’m starving,” she added with a playful wink. 

A bright boyish grin took over his features as he led her to his car. Their car ride was filled with lively conversation as they recapped the day on set. She had only known Michael for a few months, had only spent considerable time with him in the last two weeks but something about him put her at ease with every conversation. Since their chemistry test, their banter was effortless and, she will admit, flirtatious but she did not think anything of the latter. Ryan told her that her co-star was a charmer… on screen and off. So she assumed that was just par for the course with him and nothing more. Her character was meant to fall in love with his but she knew they could not. 

But still, it did not stop them from gravitating toward each other all day on set or hanging out in each other’ trailers. Though theirs could never step outside of the bounds of friendship, Charlotte appreciated his commitment to developing a relationship with her outside of their characters. She felt it made their chemistry on screen even stronger. 

Soon, she found herself sitting across from Michael at a back corner booth of a steakhouse. It was late so there were few patrons in the space besides them, allowing both of them to feel more at ease about being in public. Charlotte knew no one would recognize her but Michael had been acting since he was a kid. And last thing she needed was rumors on the internet about them tomorrow. 

“So you've seen me work for a couple weeks, it's my first movie - got any tips for me, super star?” She asked after the waiter dropped off their drinks and took their order. 

He scoffed playfully. “As if you need tips from me.” 

“Why’d you say that?” 

He shrugged, taking a sip of his whisky neat. “You’re almost too good. I've been tryin’ to keep up with you.” 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she waved her hand to dismiss his compliment. 

He shook his head. “Nah… haven’t found another girl like you out here.” 

Charlotte looked away from him, his smolder overwhelming. She let out a nervous chuckle before leaving his statement to linger without a response. This is always were the she lost her nerve. Occasionally, he would utter something that made her think their banter was more intentional than she originally assumed. However, she never had the nerve to press it and see if that were true. There was not a world in which someone like him wanted to be with her. And she did not believe in setting herself up for rejection. 

Instead, she simply shook her head and offered him a small grin. “I imagine there are plenty of girls better than me out there.” 

Michael sighed. “I doubt it. So did you always want to act or?” 

Charlotte nodded and sat up a bit straighter, leaning on the table as she spoke. Michael could not help how her face lit up slightly when asked about her work. 

“Y-yea, ever since I saw Audra McDonald in Ragtime when I was younger… My family will tell you I had a flair for the dramatic longggg before then and I did school plays and stuff like that throughout middle and high school. But that was the moment that made me see it as a career, you know? A real possibility for my life. Went to Julliard and then started working on Broadway. I thought I’d do that for the rest of my life… you know musicals and plays. I wanted to be just like her.” Michael noticed how the ghost of a smile on her face as she remembered a past life turned into a frown, her eyes filling with longing and sorrow. “Life just took some unexpected turns when I… h-had to leave New York and move to LA so I switched to tv and movies but acting was always the plan.” 

Michael nodded along as she spoke, quietly noticing her chose of hers. “Had to leave New York,” as if something forced her out. He made a mental note to find out the true story behind that one of these days. 

She paused. “That or owning an ice cream shop.” 

He let out a hearty laugh as her last statement caught him off guard. “An ice cream shop was your back up plan?” 

“Of course. 1. There’s always a market - who doesn’t love ice cream? 2. No one is ever angry in an ice cream shop because it’s amazing. Perfect job honestly.” 

“Can’t argue with that logic. What’s your dream role?” 

“Elphaba… from Wicked,” she answered immediately. For her, there was no other role. “It won’t get me a Tony,” she admitted. “But it’s always been the dream.” 

“Why?” 

“I dunno… the character herself is perfectly written. So layered. And her songs are perfection. That show is a true masterpiece and it’s one of the biggest shows in the world.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately… under that green skin, the actresses don’t look like me. But that just makes me want it more.” She glanced up at him and noticed the way he was staring at her, immediately feeling self-conscious. She coughed and sat back. “S-sorry… here I am just going on and on about myself.” 

“Nah, nah you good. I asked and I like hearing about you.”

She raised her eyebrow in suspicion. “Really?” 

“Yea… what? You don’t like to talk about yourself?” 

“Ehh, nah, not really. Don’t want to bore you.” 

“I don’t think that’s a word I’d ever use to describe you.” 

Charlotte blushed, her nervousness forcing her eyes away from him and onto a painting across the dim dining room. She did not understand how or why he had this effect on her. But whatever he was doing, she did not want him to stop. 

“How’d you feel after today?” He asked, referencing their scene choreography session from earlier. "Ready for next week? I know those scenes are fucking awkward as hell.” 

“Ummm… y-yea yea totally ready,” she muttered, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth and bit in to it lightly. 

“You nervous?” 

How did he fucking know that?

“What? No, why’d you say that?” 

He leaned forward, a curious expression painted on his face that Charlotte hated that she could not read. “You bite your lip when you’re nervous… o-or anxious I think? You were doing it when we met for our chemistry test… and on the first day of our table read. Right before our scenes all week. Today during our session.”

Charlotte tensed slightly, curious of how he noticed such a subtle tick, something that she thought she was doing a better job of hiding it from everyone. Her eyes fell from his to the table, frustration coursing through her at her own emotions, emotions she wished she had better control over. 

“You are hella observant,” she muttered under her breath as she fiddled with her napkin.

“I’m your scene partner… my job is to know you. And aint shit to be ashamed of. I get anxious too… a lot,” he admitted. 

“Really? You’ve been acting your whole life.” 

He chuckled, his finger drawing patterns in the condensation of his glass. “Yea and shit is still hard. I still doubt myself… still get nervous and shit that I won’t do well o-or will let people down. It helps to talk about it though.” He eyed her for a moment and then asked, “So what makes you nervous about it?” 

Charlotte studied him for a moment, her brain churning to figure out if she wanted to share her deep anxieties with him. It had been so long since she had been vulnerable with someone or confined about her anxieties with someone. She always feared their judgement and pity. And even though she did not know Michael that well, for some reason, she feared his judgement and pity more than anyone else. She could not understand why it mattered so much to her but she wanted him to see her as strong and assured, everything she was not really but tried to put on for the world. She wanted him to like the facade because who she really was did not seem worth his time. 

However, the part of her that craved vulnerability and a safe place to land freed and propelled the words from their cage in the depths of her soul. Something about him felt… safe. And in that moment, the feeling of safety with him felt like relaxing in the warmth of the sun. She wanted to lean into it, not run away from it. Even if it was only between two friends, she craved it and just could not turn away a rare bit of warmth in her cold life. 

“Well…” she chuckled nervously. “I feel so fuckin’ lame saying this but… I’ve never done a sex scene before? A-and I g-guess I just feel more self-conscious than I should. I know it’s just like every other scene but it’s so intimate and,” she shrugged. “A-and there’s shit from the past coming back u-“ she turned and stopped herself, she was getting too real with him now. “I d-dunno. A-and I’m just self conscious about the amount of people who’ll be watching? Like that’s so weird, right? I-I just feel like I'm gonna look stupid. Saying it out loud makes me feel really dumb.” 

He chuckled, ‘Nah it’s not dumb and honestly, this shit is awkward as fuck. We just met two months ago and even though its hella choreographed, there’s a level of trust and intimacy we have to share to sell it. So I think if you’ve never done that shit before, it’s more daunting than people would think.” 

“Thanks for not making me feel stupid about it. That does make me feel better.” 

“Never. Look, my job is also to make you feel as comfortable and safe as you can be in every scene but especially this one. We are gonna be as close as two coworkers can be, I wanna make sure you’re straight. So let me know what you need and I gotchu. I want you to trust me.”  

She smiled over the rim of her glass. 

“I do… trust you,” she responded definitively. And she was surprised at how deeply she felt that in her soul. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

***

“Cheers!” Michael offered as he and Charlotte clinked their wine glasses together, a half-empty bottle of red wine sitting on the coffee table of his living room. 

“What are we cheering too?” She asked as she took a sip of her wine. 

He shrugged. “I dunno… to movie set firsts? To finishing one of our hardest scenes?” 

“I like the sound of both of those! Cheers.” She took another sip before sitting her glass down and leaning back, her hand running through her faux locs she had installed for her character. “Thank you for today by the way. You made it super light a-and fun, shockingly.” 

He twisted his face up in faux offense. “Shockingly?? Ouch. I thought every moment with me was fun?” 

“You aight,” she winked at him before grabbing the bottle to refill her glass. “I was actually surprised at how few folks were on set also. The way Ryan talked when we first went over it, it seemed like the whole crew would be there.” 

At Michael’s silence, she eyed him suspiciously as he nodded and glanced off to the side, scratching the nape of his neck. 

“You know something about that?? Tell me!” 

“Alright fine, I wasn’t gonna tell you but I ain’t gon’ lie to you either. When you said you were nervous about people watching, I texted Ryan and asked him to close the set. I didn’t tell him you asked o-or were anxious about it,” he clarified as he watched the heat rise in her cheeks from embarrassment. “I j-just reminded him that it was your first time on a movie set a-and we shouldn’t assume you’ve done a scene like that before. I hope that’s ok? I’m sorry if I overstepped. Just wanted you to feel more comfortable.” 

Charlotte tilted her head as she studied him for a moment. Part of her thought she should be mad at him for making requests on her behalf but she wasn’t? She found the action maddeningly kind and endearing if anything. That he took her words to heart and actually tried to help her be more comfortable. That he was silently working behind the scenes to make her feel safe.

Michael took her silence for anger. “You’re upset. I’m sorry, Charlotte. I over-“ 

“N-no. Don’t apologize!” She let out a breathy chuckle before adding. “I’m not upset. It just…that just might be the sweetest thing a fellow actor has ever done for me.” She leaned over and squeezed his hand, the heat from his body warming her hand. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

He turned his hand over in hers and squeezed back, offering her a nod and smile. Charlotte’s eyes fell from his down to their connected fingers, heat rising in her at the simple touch. She felt it every time, even among the most innocent of touches, pure desire and electricity. Her mind drifted back to feeling his hands on her body earlier that day. The palms of his hands was rough and callous but today proved that his touch was anything but. It was strong and gentle. And she knew it was wrong but she left set today craving more of it, yearning for more of him.

Something in her snapped back to reality, forcing her to rip her hand from his quickly. She cleared her throat and busied herself with her glass of wine. 

“A-anytime,” he offered quietly, seeming equally as frazzled by their touch as she was. 

“I-I should head back to my apartment,” she whispered, deciding it was best to remove herself from his presence before she drank anymore wine and lost anymore of her sensibilities, which felt as if they were hanging on by a thread as it was. “T-Thanks for the wine.” 

“I’ll walk you out.” He stood and stretched lightly before walking her to his door. 

She slid on her shoes as he grabbed her coat from his closet. 

“Thank you again for today, seriously. You are the best scene partner a girl could ask for.” 

He closed the gap between them and wrapped her in a tight welcomed hug. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as his hugged around her waist. She knew this was the exact type of touching she was leaving to avoid. But for the briefest moment, she remembered what it was like to have intimacy with someone else, to feel secure and whole in their arms. 

They both lingered in their soft touches for longer than they should have. Charlotte let out a content sigh as he rubbed soothing circles on her back and held her, her forehead falling gently against his chest. 

She was the first to break their sweet, hidden moment, the high tide of longing in her building to places too strong to be contained. She couldn’t allow herself to fall any deeper into this - whatever it was - for a million different reasons. He would never reciprocate it and she would never deserve it if he did. Why bait misery? 

She lifted her head from his chest to stare at him, his grip around her body didn’t loosen or move. They just stared at each other. Before Charlotte could say a word, his lips were on hers. She didn’t return it at first, her whole body paralyzed from shock. But it only took a few seconds for her to return it fervently. 

There was a small arch in her back as their mouths explored each other for the first time. She could feel a cloud of desperation and need settling around them. She had kissed him before, however, this - without the mechanics of acting guiding them - felt entirely different. This was pure bliss, his lips casting a fog over her brain that stopped the formation of any thought unrelated to the man in front of her. His tongue danced with hers as they moaned lightly into each other’s mouths. She never wanted this moment to end. 

But it did. He leaned back briefly, a need for air overcoming his desire to consume the woman in front of him. He wanted all of her for the rest of his life. Michael had kissed many women in his life but none had ever felt like that before. He had tried his hardest to keep his feelings at bay, to give her space and not push. When he realized he wanted to pursue a real relationship with Charlotte, he vowed to wait until filming concluded so she would not feel obligated or pressured to date him. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. And some moments, he felt it so strongly and in others, he felt her pull away from him, causing him to doubt himself.

But the more moments he spent with the woman in his arms, the harder it was to keep those feelings at bay. Every moment with her was kindling to this fire and tonight was proof that it would only grow out of control if they did not finally choose to acknowledge that it was there.

With the brief reprieve to catch her breath, Charlotte’s desires quickly faded into embarrassment. 

What the fuck did you just do?

“U-um I’m sorry, s-so sorry, Michael,” she whispered as she took a step back from him, his arms releasing her from his web. She avoided his eyes as she grabbed her coat from the floor where it fell. Suddenly, the plain white walls of the front hallway in his temporary apartment seemed far more interesting than the shell-shocked man in front of her. “D-don’t know what came over me. I-I should go.” 

She quickly walked around his body and out the door, leaving him paralyzed and confused in his doorway. And by the time he regained his wits about him, she was gone. 

Charlotte slid into her car and let her head fall onto her steering wheel with a wave of shame and embarrassment. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Charlie??” She whispered to herself while one silent question oscillated through her mind: Why couldn’t things ever be easy? 

Part 2

Taglist: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @msniaimani @hi888888sworld

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a comment with your thoughts and let me know if you want to be tagged!

[strryhaze]

Neil Perry : I can't talk to him this way.

John Keating : Then you're acting for him, too. You're playing the part of the dutiful son. Now, I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You have to show him who you are, what your heart is!

Neil Perry : I know what he'll say! He'll tell me that acting's a whim and I should forget it. They're counting on me; he'll just tell me to put it out of my mind for my own good.

Among his many activities at Brown, John especially enjoyed being onstage and proved to be a talented actor. He told director John Emigh that one of the reasons he loved acting was that he believed people would cast him not because of his family background but because he fit the role best. Jim Barnhill, who taught John in a small scene study class in his sophomore year, described John as “among the best and most talented students” he ever encountered. He thought that John could have been accepted into Juilliard School or the Yale School of Drama.

While John appeared in a few plays that Emigh directed, he passed on one. It was Shakespeare’s Henry IV, which tells the story of a young man who transcends his misspent youth to become king. Even though most of his friends were in it, Emigh reflected, “John wanted nothing to do with that play. It hit too close to home.”

In January 1982 John again showed his commitment by cutting off his hair for David Rabe’s play In the Boom Boom Room. He played the role of Big Al, a foul-mouthed street hoodlum who was dating a go-go dancer. “Kennedy’s performance was really the high point of the evening,” the Brown Daily Herald critic wrote. He brought out his “more sensitive side in a very realistic manner, all this without hardly ever succumbing to the characteristic Pacino-type movements and speech patterns so many actors feel obliged to take on.

John’s final theater performance came in April 1983 for Miguel Piñero’s Short Eyes. “It was not John F. Kennedy and the guys,” recalled Richard Gray Jr. “It was an ensemble.” John, he reflected, went out of his way to be like everybody else. “It was clear in the theater community that John never wanted to get anything because of his name. He wanted to be right for the role.”

“Mrs. Onassis, who attended the opening-night performance of Short Eyes, gave them rave reviews, telling the actors, “This was as good as anything on Broadway.” Stephen Hill recalled that John’s famous mother “radiated this glow of friendliness and warmth. I remember how proud she was of John, how happy John was to be with his mom and introducing her to all of us. It made me realize Jackie Onassis is just another proud mother.”

Many people have written that John wanted to be an actor and that his mom objected and forced him to pursue a more traditional legal career. Christopher Andersen quoted a friend as saying, “His mother laid down the law. She told John in no uncertain terms that acting was beneath him, that he was his father’s son, and that he had a tradition of public service to uphold.” But not all close friends shared that opinion.

“I really think that’s just myth,” reflected Sasha Chermayeff. “I think he enjoyed acting. But he had no intention of pursuing acting professionally, ever. I never ever heard him say anything seriously about wanting to pursue it as a real life’s work.”

Although director Emigh claimed that John confessed he liked the theater because he would be evaluated based on his talent and not his family name, John was not so naïve as to believe such neutrality existed. He knew there was no escaping his past—not even when he was pretending to be someone else.

— america’s reluctant prince, stephen gillon .

[txtaetertots]

HOPELESSLY DEVOTED 14: annoying friends

[ synopsis ] you’re trying to get into your dream school. beomgyu’s just trying to pass a class. the only way to ensure you both get what you want is to work together. very closely.

taglist: @heyanonymous123 @flrtsbin @anonella22 @chocorenchin @gyuszie @flowerbe0m @kaikamalover @n034sy @iactaid

send an ask to be included on the taglist! :)

Beomgyu had been anticipating it all day. Every bell that rang only meant he was closer and closer to his “date” with YN. Was he actually interested? Well, who wouldn’t be? YN was beautiful and he had the pleasure of working beside her for two months. According to his friends, she wasn’t interested in having a relationship before her dreams were accomplished. But, Beomgyu wasn’t really looking for anything serious anyway. Where was the harm in a little fun? Being in drama club doesn’t mean he has to be miserable for the rest of the year.

The time finally came. After rehearsals, YN joined Beomgyu walking to the café across the street from their school. Just as she agreed. But, they were quickly joined by members of their respective friend groups. They hadn’t even had a chance to push through the front doors before Eunchae and Kazuha jumped from behind them and locked their arms with YN’s, cutting between her and Beomgyu. Much to his disappointment, Beomgyu’s friends filed by behind them, pulling him into a group huddle where they messed with his hair and pinched his cheeks.

Chaewon and Yunjin joined them shortly after at the café. It wasn’t the ideal scenario Beomgyu had planned, but at least he managed to secure a seat next to YN anyway. He could hear her laugh and giggle as she spoke with her friends. Almost as melodic as her singing. He smiled to himself as he stirred his macchiato, earning a teasing coo from his own friends.

“So, YN,” Soobin started, eyes still on Beomgyu giving him a playful smile. “How’s it been working with our Gyubear so far?”

YN looked over to Soobin, smile still bright as ever. “Oh, it’s been wonderful!” She confesses, giving Beomgyu a pat on the shoulder. “He could use a little work on his line delivery, but his singing is great.” Beomgyu stuck his tongue out at Soobin, earning a giggle from YN.

“You’re so nice, YN,” Yeonjun snickered. “If Soojung had gotten the part of Sandy she would’ve been on Beomgyu’s ass the second the cast list came out.”

YN cleared her throat hearing Soojung’s name. It left a bitter feeling in her throat. Worse than usual.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Soojung?”

“The girl who plays Rizzo,” YN said bluntly, playing with the straw of her iced coffee.

“She’s kind of YN’s rival,” Eunchae said, munching on her danish. “They’re always butting heads.”

Beomgyu furrowed his brows, trying to think of the girl who’s playing Rizzo. Ahn Soojung. The short, slender blonde who was constantly snapping her fingers at the ensemble and stage crew.

“She’s always bossing my little sister around,” Kai scowled. “I’m just glad she’s graduating soon so she can leave Hiyyih alone.”

“Did she ever say what school she’s going to? I don’t remember Mr. Kim announcing her commitment last week,” Soobin pondered.

“I heard she got rejected by Juilliard,” Taehyun snickered. “Rumor has it she’s still waiting on her second choice to make a decision.”

YN tensed, reminded of her final rival battle with Ahn Soojung. It wasn’t fair. NYU wasn’t even Soojung’s preferred school, but it was YN’s top choice since middle school. All these years she put into her resume and transcripts, so sure she would be a shoo-in… just to be potentially taken away just like that.

Beomgyu noticed YN’s change in demeanor. Her smile gone and shoulders sunken, she was uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, “I think we should make a group chat.”

Everyone turned their heads to look at him, surprised Beomgyu of all people was suggesting a group chat amongst the cast. He just wanted to change the subject for YN’s sake, and it was the only thing that came to mind.

“I mean,” He continued. “Don’t cast members usually make group chats?”

“Look at Beomgyu,” Yeonjun teased. “He’s settling into drama club pretty nice if you ask me.”

They all agreed to create a Twitter group chat for themselves. Everyone in the main cast, excluding Soojung of course. They exchanged handle names and began arguing over what to call their chat. YN’s smile began coming back, her giggles orchestrating a beautiful melody in Beomgyu’s ears. He smiled, eyes fixated on her once again.

<< prev | masterlist | next >>

[good-realtor-bad-realtor-dynamic]

In between all the Glenn and Charlie stories where they talk about how they got into acting, the plays they did in school, Juilliard and Williamstown and making a career of it, they managed to drop quite a few hints and little bits teasing all their upcoming projects.

Sunny Season 16 teases dropped in today's podcast:

Mrs Mac, Mrs Kelly and Uncle Jack are all back

Charlie is wearing his 'Murica bandana and possibly a denim jacket (filmed on the day of recording the pod)

Uncle Jack is in this America episode

Heath Cullens was directing it

Charlie has a few new sweatshirts this season

Mac is wearing a facial prosthetic to do a specific gag for one episode where something happens to him that affects how he sounds (they filmed it the day before this was recorded)

Megan is going to be directing two episodes

She and the other writers are working on finishing off the last two scripts while the guys are off filming season 16 and one of these scripts is only 25 pages so there's going to be room for a lot of improv

Charlie's movie Fool's Paradise is coming out on 12 May 2023 IN CINEMAS.

Jon Brion (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Punch-Drunk Love) did the score with a full orchestra and Charlie got to hit a gong

Ray Liotta was very excited for this movie to come out and used to phone Charlie because he wanted to see it RIP :(

Leslie Jones (Punch-Drunk Love, Thin Red Line) and Tim Roche (one of the Sunny editors) did edits on this film

Glenn is in the movie and Charlie says he's fantastic

Glenn's Blackberry movie is also probably coming out fairly soon considering he talks about some of the bts.

He found it hard to watch himself in the movie because his character tapped into a side of himself he loathes

I looked it up and he's playing Jim Balsillie, who's a real person so I could look it up and figure out why he's gross if I wanted to.

Related because it's from this episode but not quite related because it's not an upcoming show: see these photos of child Glenn Howerton doing theatre in Alabama and Juilliard before Sunny (1) (2)

[destinyc1020]

I would say that it doesn’t hurt to have Kaia in your corner. Her mom (Cindy)is still kinda Hollywood royalty and her dad was partners with George clooney in a tequila company that sold for like 500 million bucks. So yeah don’t keep her too close, but an instagram like or two now and then can’t hurt. And don’t worry I think Zendaya knows a thing or about keeping her walls up to strangers.

Errrrmm.... At this point, Kaia needs Z more than Z needs Kaia Anon rofl 🤣 You can tell who needs whom the most by who's trying the hardest lol.

Z has 184 MILLION followers lol. Who do you think needs whom more? 😅

No offense to the Gerbers lol, but they're just not Hollywood royalty or in the acting scene AT ALL... which is where Kaia is trying to go. 👀

The only person (or family) that I thought was beneficial for Z to attach herself to were the Washingtons (Denzel and 'em). Shea was invited to some family BBQ over the Washington house around the time that she and JDW did the M&M film together, and I was like "yaaaassssss Z!" 👏🏾

Now see, THAT is Hollywood Royalty. 😊 Mrs. Washington is from Juilliard too?? Yessss!! 👏🏾

[opera-ghosts]

Mme. Marcella Sembrich, whose successes as a star of the opera were followed by widely hailed achievements as the mentor of singers after her retirement in 1909 from the Metropolitan and from the concert stage in 1916, died at 8 A. M. yesterday in her home, 151 Central Park West. She was 76 years old. She had been ill since last Nov. 15, with her condition becoming progressively worse as she lost strength. For the last few days death, which was attributed to emphysema and heart complications, had been hourly imminent. So widely was she known, however, not only in New York City but also in other cities of the United States and abroad, that the foreknowledge of the end did not dim the shock of her passing. Persons who called at or telephoned to her home yesterday forenoon for| news of her condition were in-'| formed of her death, and then to)! the apartment began a steady succession of messages of condolence and of callers to express their grief.

Son Present at the End. Recently, Mme. Sembrich had been in such a weak condition that she had received no callers. With her at the time of her death were her son, William Marcel Stengel, and her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Juliette Stengel. Her husband, Wilhelm Stengel, died in 1917. She had no other close relatives in the) United States. Until the onset of her illness she had remained actively at work as a. teacher. During the Summer she) had conducted the school she had maintained for a number of seasons at Lake George, N. Y. Many satudents got instruction there from her | rich store of operatic accomplishment.

New York in October and took up her residence in her apartment,which overlooked , Central Park. She went forward as usual with her teaching. Since her illness, however, which at first took the form of asthma and interfered seriously | with her breathing, all of her contact with her students had been curtailed. To conserve her strength, the utmost quiet was prescribed by her physician, Dr. Charles Goodman Taylor. Friends said yesterday, however, that her advanced ace had from the first made her, illnes a matter of serious concern to them. : Her teaching contacts previously had been linked both with the Juilliard School of Music here, and) with the Curtis School in Philadelphia. She was a director of the, latter institution until last year, and was the recipient of a degree of Doctor of Music for her work there. In accordance with what was understood to be a wish of Mme. Sembrich, and of her family, the funeral services will be simple. The services, it was announced, will be held at 3 P. M. tomorrow in St.Patrick’s Cathedral. There will be. no special music, other than that, by the boys’ choir of the cathedral. The place of burial was not made known.

Active pallbearers were announced as Cornelius N. Bliss, Serge Rachmaninoff, Josef Hofmann, Ernest Hutcheson, Ernest Schelling, Frank Ia Forge, Wilfred Pelletier, André de Coppet, Walter Damrosch, Antonio Scotti, H. H. Flagler, W. J. Henderson, Richard Aldrich, Emilio de Gogorza, Edward Ziegler, Adolfo) Betti, Efrem Zimbalist and Paul D. Cravath. | Honorary pallbearers will be Giulio Gatti-Casazza, John Erskine, Francis Rogers, Alexander Siloti, Ugo Ara, Dr. W. H. Haskin, Adolph S. Ochs, Alfred Pochon, Rubin Goldmark, Sigismund Stojowski and Dr. J. A. Taylor.

When Marcella Sembrich sang her |farewell to opera on Feb. 6, 1909,her voice was young and beautiful. The final rise of the curtain that | night revealed her enthroned on | the Metropolitan Opera House) stage. Grouped about her was every member of the Metropolitan Opera Company. Facing her was an audience that filled every foot of floor space from the doors to the roof. Gifts were piled high beside her throne and great masses of flowers | stretched into shadows far down. the stage. “It is because I like the sun best | when it is high,’’ she said, in ex- | planation of her retirement. ‘‘It is | better that I leave when every one is asking ‘why?’ than later when. my ability might be less.’’ * She was then within nine days) of being 51 years old. She had | reigned at the Metropolitan for| more than a generation; she had/| typified for three decades here and| abroad the highest perfection of| bel canto singing. Just as Mme. Adelina Patti had done before her, she had kept alive the old traditions of Italian song, and with Melba she had carried on to increasingly greater heights the traditions of the old Italian mastery of the voice. She had found success early and it had lasted long. In her bright career was no place for anticlimax. She never could recall a time when music was not the chief interest of her life. There were piano lessons when she was 4 years old; lessons on the violin two years later. After she had developed a remarkable ability on both instruments recognition of her extraordinarily appealing and expressive colorature soprano voice came when she was 15. So she had, as Franz Liszt told her, ‘‘three pairs of wings to fly with through the land of music.”” ‘‘But sing,” he had ordered, ‘‘sing for the world, for you have the voice of an angel.’’ Music, poverty and endless work made up her childhood. She was born Praxede Marcelline Kochanska on Feb. 15, 1858, in the hamlet of Wizniewczyk, Galicia, Poland. Her father, Kasimir Kochanski, one of fourteen children of a tanner, had run off and joined a military band. Leaving to marry, he had learned to play all the musical instruments and was able to make a passable living by his skill.

The family made up a home quartet. Her mother, whose maiden name was Sembrich, played second violin, her brother first violin, the father a ‘cello and Marcelline the piano. They wandered about seeking pupils. As the daughter grew older she played piano to her father’s violin in the homes of the minor nobility and rich townsfolk, Always very poor, they had to borrow the scores of Haydn and Mozart, and the daughter worked by candlelight, copying the parts. She was 12, alert and confident, a self-supporting artist—she lived very cheap—when she met her first patron. A wandering singer of folk-songs, Father Lanovich, liked her instrumental accomplishments so much he helped her to enter the conservatory at Lemberg. In three years one Wilhelm Stengel, instructor of piano, taught her all he had to teach. He took her to Liszt and the great man talked of her wings. He gained her a hearing wit: Epstein, who accepted her as a student of piano and to Helmesberger, under whom she studied the violin. He took her to Rochitansky, in Vienna, under whom she _ studied voice. Then, when she was 19 years old and ready for her début he married That year of her début and marriage, 1877, she wintered in Milan, learning from the younger Lamperti that Italian ‘‘bel canto’’ which she was later to make her special art. To Milan then as now came impresarios seeking singers. Marcelline had two offers. One would have taken her to Tiflis, across the Black Sea. The other called to Athens and she accepted it. The night of her début was June 3, 1877. It was very hot; the opera was at Phaleron by the sea. The King entered the royal box and the opera, “‘I Puritani,’’ started. The new singer was well received, but ee was no great sensation about it.

In the next year advisers on her musical career worked. over her name and molded it into Marcella Sembrich. She appeared as Sembrich at the Saxon Royal Opera at Dresden and had an immediate and tremendous success. A two-year engagement in Dresden followed.

Then she made her London début at Covent Garden in 1880. It was in ‘Lucia’? and the critics reported that London was dazzled by her vocalization. A season of grand opera in Madrid followed directly and then the first of fifteen seasons in St. Petersburg and Moscow. Those were great days for the opera. The gracious applause of royalty was important and thrilling then. The young singer had much of it. Orders and decorations and royal gifts began overwhelming her. But in 1883 she left Europe for New York.

She came in stirring times. A war was on between the old and the rew. Insurgents from the old citathe Academy of Music, had joined with considerable recent wealth to build the Metropolitan Opera House, familiarly known As the ‘‘White Elephant,’’ where every one with enough money could sit in a box and show off gowns and jewels. Adelina Patti was retained by the old; Christine Nilsson by the new. | Marcella Sembrich, then only 25) years old, rated next to Nilsson in| in “‘Lucia,’’ the second opera it, gave, and sang Patti’s roles. By the end of the season the critics could find no praise too She was not, of coursé, favored above Patti. When Patti Sang the Academy was two-thirds For Patti was was Queen of But Marcella Sembrich did make a real place for herself. Her great night of that first year was April 21, 1884. Henry E. Abbey, impresario for the Metropolitan, had found hard going that first year. He had gambled on exrensive productions and lost heav‘- .. A benefit was given for him. The littl. girl whose father could play all the instruments in the band showed off her three pairs of wings. She sang an aria from ‘“‘La Sonnambula,’” she played a nocturne by Chopin and furnished the violin obbligato to Gounod’s ‘‘Ave Maria,’’- sung bv Miss Nilsson. One critic the next day described her as a “‘meteor in a galaxy of More Singing Lessons, England and many long tours of the Continent followed. She appeared in opera and concerts in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Warsaw, Berlin, Paris, Madrid and lesser capitals, sharing the first honors of Italian opera with the most distinguished artists of her generation and with the great ones who had been famous when she was still playing for dances in Galicia. In 1897 she came back to America for a concert tour, and in ovember, 1898, rejoined the Metropolitan Opera Company. In the Metropolitan’s répertoire she made the operas of the florid Italian school inevitable. In the succeeding seasons she lost none of her vocal powers. Several stars of the last generation made their debuts by her side. She reappeared as Gilda on Nov. 23, 1903, for Caruso’s American début as the Duke in ‘‘Rigoletto’’ and she sang with him in his first successes. There were several reasons why she retired in 1909, when her career was at zenith, when she was winning the operatic honors and popularity that were to be equaled only by Caruso. One was that fashions in opera had changed. In her younger days, as she put it, you just came out In your nicest evening frock and sang. But by 1909 the dramatic opera had pretty much taken the place of lyric opera and she found that while the public had once wanted to hear only the old operas sung over and over again, they then wanted ‘‘a new role every week.’’

For some years. after retirement from opera she continued in concert tours both here and abroad. ‘“‘Gradually,’’ she had said in re-calling the period, “I began to feel the desire of transmitting to the younger generation of today the art that I had learned so thoroughly. and practiced so long.’’ After the death of her husband in 1917 she withdrew entirely from the public platform and devoted her time and energy exclusively to teaching. Aspirants came to her and she selected and labored over the most promising. Stars of the Metropolitan and other companies came also; ‘‘for inspiration,’’ they always said, but Sembrich’s aides ‘the ichestra, she appealed to the public knew they were seeking perfection. When the Juilliard Foundation was established in New York and the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia she was called to head the departments of voice. In the succeeding years at New York, Philadelphia and at her estate in Lake George pupils from all over the world assembled for her tutelage. She gave many stars to the musical | firmament. Her most. successful pupils included Dusolina Giannini, Queena Mario, Alma Gluck, Hulda Lashanska, Harriet van Emden, Ethyl Hayden, Florence Page Kimball and many others. Her great hope in the last few years of her life was that America should have a national opera— opera through a movement that should reach out to every part of the country, bringing to the nation the culture that goes hand in hand with musical development. It would utilize American talent and its productions would be entirely in English. It was on behalf of this movement that she appealed to the public béginning in 1930 when the depression threatened the American opera. First her efforts were in behalf of the American Opera Company. Then she returned to the stage of the Metropolitan on Feb. 26, 1933, at the jubilee stage show, and begged her old friends to help the Metropolitan, urging the company and its followers to ‘‘carry on.”’

For the Metropolitan, as well as Philharmonic-Symphony Oragain on her seventy-sixth birthday on Feb. 15, 1934. Paderewski, her friend of many years’ standing, sent her the following message on this birthday: ‘‘Most affectionate. wishes and greetings to the greatest and noblest artist and friend, from Paderewski."’ Except for such occasions, and in addition her chairmanship of the Polish-American Relief Fund during the war, she remained in retirement from the public eye. But in the world of music, even to her last days, retirement was not for her. She occupied a position in American music such as Liszt had in the Weimar days. Musical notables came to her studio, her ‘“‘trophy room,” as she called it. Surrounded by mementos of Brahms, Verdi, Rubinstein, Gounod, Thomas, Paderewski, Modjeska, Joachim and Clara Schumann and others of the great artists who had worshiped her talent, she was sought for the gospel of perfection with which she inspired fellow-musicians. In those last years most of her time was spent in America, her Winters in the apartment facing Central Park, replete with cherished reminders of her lifelong triumphs; her Summers at Lake George at the estate she had established with her husband and teacher, and-to which they used to repair in the early days of her retirement. She was one of the really great personalities in the music world, one of the great ones whose sun was always high.

[oftatteredwings]

[ lily james, demigirl, they/them ] — spotted in the streets of brooklyn, it’s HOLLY BERNE. they have lived in the city for 10 YEARS, working as a BLOGGER/INFLUENCER. the 34 year old will probably be seen around BUSHWICK a lot, seeing as that’s where they live. people say they can be a bit DITZY and HOT-HEADED, but friends know them to be ARTISTIC and ENTHUSISTIC. you know for sure you’ve found them when you’ve come across MESSY CURLS, A POCKET FULL OF CANDY, DANCING UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP. welcome to brooklyn, it’s been waiting for you!

IN A NUTSHELL; an inability to stay still, a pack of dachshunds dutifully following behind them, messy curls, a different loungefly backpack every time you see them, a pocket full of candy, a pen tucked behind their ear, dancing until the sun comes up.

tw: death, parental death

ABOUT.

Name: Holly Joy Berne Nicknames: Hol, Hols Age: Thirty-four Date of Birth: 25th December 1989 Birthplace: Dún Laoghaire, Dublin, Ireland Occupation: Blogger/influencer Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Grey-romantic/pansexual

They’re an Irish beauty who grew up in Dún Laoghaire, Dublin as part of a massive family.

Middle child of six ( along with their twin brother ).

Born on Christmas Day… full name is Holly Joy, brother is Joseph, you can see where this is going. Their mom really loves Christmas!

They wanted the spotlight from a young age, desperate to be heard and seen, they took dancing and singing lessons, even attempted acting at one point as well as figure skating.

Wanted to attend Juilliard in NYC so spent their teen years working their ass off, cleaning in the ferry port, a paper round, babysitting and dog walking. If they could fit it in, they’d do it.

Sometime during sixth form they came to terms with their gender confusion, coming out as a demigirl and asking everyone around them to use they/them pronouns. They won’t be offended if you use she/her by accident as they’re very much in touch with their feminine side still, but they is their main preference.

It was another couple of years before they discovered that they were also grey-romantic. Romance just didn’t come easily and they weren’t all too bothered, one night stands and fwbs was the way to go.

At 19 Juilliard came a calling! It was a shock but one they’d been so desperate for, so they packed up and moved to the States… a couple of grand short.

Freshman year went well, they lived in halls and embraced everything the city had to offer. Second year came around and they found themselves with no money, living in an apartment with four other people, infested with roaches and so run down it was a health hazard.

A little over a year later they were forced to move out and drop out of college, moving in with family they had in London, still wanting somewhere with opportunity.

Eventually set up a blog, telling tales of their time in NYC, their discoveries in gender and sexuality. They attempted YouTube as well, but it was a bit of a fail, they never had the patience to actually make the videos. Eventually Instagram worked out for them, along with TikTok in more recent years. Their main focus was and always would be the LGBTQIA+ community.

It was then they made the decision to move back to New York City, finding themselves a small apartment in Brooklyn.

Their father passed away in September 2019 and they were forced to go back home to Ireland for a couple of months. Brought half of their family back with them when they returned, including their twin brother.

Dog mom to a pack of rowdy dachshunds ( Wednesday, Morticia, Sally and Mrs Lovett ) and are usually found fighting to control them early in the morning before starting work for the day.

Hates to admit it, but sometimes they come across as kind of dim. They’re also hyper af, constantly bouncing around the place and dancing ( they never gave that up ), talk way too much, and are too loud for a lot of people.

LIVED.

1990: Dublin, Ireland 2009: New York City, New York 2011: Notting Hill, London 2014: Brooklyn, New York

[halfclanbloods-writing-blog]

Percy Jackson Mortal Au

Part 2

Annabeth reached her usual lunch table with some news.

"Hey, you heard about the musical this year?" They all assisted an ambitioned high school. It was one of the best ranked high schools in arts and sports, and a very ambitioned one.

"I think Mr. Apollo's already working on it." Will replied.

"With Mr. D. Even he is helping. And so are Pollux and Castor, they're helping to choreograph. And direct, for that matter."

"Those really want to get into Juilliard, aren't they?" Nico commented from beside his boyfriend Will.

"Yup, they're hoping this will help."

"I doubt Juilliard will be very interested in this kind of stuff." Percy said, opening his arms to welcome Annabeth in an embrace.

She shrugged. "I mean, this school is very recognized in the arts." It was true it was a school with a great arts program. A group had been preparing a Musical on Black History since the previous year supposed to be presented this year and they were very secretive about it. No one other than Mr. Apollo, Mr. D and the group had seen or been to the rehearsals. Even Hazel refused to say something.

"But you didn't ask about the musical." She continued.

"I'm sorry, Annabeth, we'll ask next time." Nico replied sarcastically.

"What about it?" Will asked.

"They're making the continuation of last year! They're making High School Musical 2!"

"Really?"

"Yup."

Last year, they'd all performed in the well-known High School Musical show. They'd been surprised they could sing as well as their paralelisms with their characters. Since they would perform for an entire month non-stop, there had been two casts.

That was how Annabeth and Percy met. They performed as Gabriella and Troy, respectively. Like her character, Annabeth was crazy smart and had originally entered her school for the maths and physics program, but decided to give theater a shot. As she found out, she had a really great voice with a great range and followed to love that form of art. As for Percy, it was shocking to everyone, as he was kind of the stereotypical jock. He was the star and captain of the swimming team and awarded the school with a dozen prizes on his first year.

It didn't come as much as a surprise when they both started officially dating. Everyone on the play would tease them mercilessly and say the characters were made for them.

Even Piper and Jason, who played Gabriella and Troy in the other cast had ended up dating, but it hadn't lasted as much. Jason had originally entered as a jock in the football team

It was also how Nico and Will met and started dating, with the whole cast teasing them as well. But their characters didn't interact a lot, or have chemistry, at least in the first part.

"So, did you hear about the musical?" Silena asked as she plopped down next to Will and grabbed one of his french fries. She'd played Sharpay last year, but she was a much better person and friend than her character.

"What musical?" Leo asked. He wasn't interested in either scenic arts nor sports. Although he could dance to a certain point, he'd joined the school for their maths and physics program, just like Annabeth.

"The one they're doing this year." Silena answered.

"Annabeth just told us." Will commented.

"So, are you auditioning?"

"Yes!" Nico and Will said at the same time, before sharing a kiss.

"No." Leo replied crossly while working on his project.

"Yup." Annabeth said.

"What about you, Percy?" Silena asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not really sure it's my thing."

"That is such a Troy thing to say." Will commented.

"Yeah, you were an amazing Troy last year," Silena added.

"Last year." Percy remarked.

"Why not?" Annabeth asked her boyfriend.

"I don't really think I hace a good voice. Or can act, like put the emotion into it." Percy admitted.

"You have a really great voice, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth reassured him.

"Yeah, and the fact you know acting is about putting emotion into it shows you do know about the art." Silena comforted him

"I just don't know. I really want to focus on swimming now."

"Please, you're the most talented swimmer I've ever seen, and I come from Venetia." Nico said.

He just shrugged. "I don't really know. Coach won't like it."

"That's literally the plot of High School Musical," Will whispered under his breath.

"Please, Seaweed Brain? Can you think about it?"

Percy stared into Annabeth's begging eyes he couldn't resist. "Ok, I'll think about it."

"What about you, Leo?"

"Oh, I don't dance."