#pat O’Brien

[citizenscreen]

Lana Turner, Pat O'Brien, and Rita Hayworth salute the U.S. Military during a 1941 radio tribute.

[johngarfieldtribute]

Julie doing “stuff” with famous people (20th post)

Lana Turner poses with Julie in a photo shoot to promote THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE. Love that I.D. bracelet!

Behind the scenes of BODY AND SOUL with Hazel Brooks.

Getting wet with Ida Lupino in THE SEA WOLF.

In conversation with director, Anatole Litvak, and costar Eddie Albert on the set of OUT OF THE FOG.

A celebrity filled group poses for the premiere of DODGE CITY. Julie is flanked by Errol Flynn and Humphrey Bogart.

On the dock with Claude Rains in a scene from DAUGHTERS COURAGEOUS.

Posing in a scene from TORTILLA FLAT with Hedy Lamarr.

William Conrad is over Julie’s shoulder as they prepare to film a scene from BODY AND SOUL.

Posing with Rosemary Lane in a photo to promote BLACKWELL’S ISLAND.

Julie and Pat O’Brien play oil men and are shown in a photo from FLOWING GOLD.

[oldhollywoodholla]

Pat O’Brien (1931)

[eclecticpjf]

Now watching:

[thecourtofgraywaves]

A world where not only did Revenge Of The Old Queen got made, but Pat Carroll is in the title role.

[stone-cold-groove]

Have fun. Pat O’Brien’s - New Orleans.

[hunterthecharmer]

Unexpected - Part 2

Sorry for the delay everyone. Here's part 2! Hope you all like it :)

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

This is my inspiration for the outfit he’s wearing :)

Part 2

It’s the middle of the week, and every day has been spent coordinating with Dylan O’Brien’s team to get every piece of his schedule nailed down. He only had one assistant in the office currently which made your job a bit easier. Savannah, on the other hand was sipping her lattes with her feet kicked up in the corner of your office while you took your meetings each day as Glen’s assistant sent everything over via email or text, to not fill her day up with Zoom meetings.

“This probably means he’s a control freak.” Savannah muses, chewing on the end of her pen as she notates an email from his team. “Look, we both have our work cut out for us. Have you opened your package yet from his team?” You ask, waving your mailer in front of her with a grin. You already knew she was going to want to swap one of the items.

“Wait, what? No! What did they send?” She grins, tearing open the envelope to pull out a large autographed headshot of Glen. Some pens, a lanyard and a handwritten note from his assistant come tumbling out with it. Savannah pouts, immediately shifting her eyes to the one you’re holding. “C’mon, don’t make me beg! Let me see it!” She’s giddy as she shakes your arm, and you giggle as you dramatically remove it from its sleeve. “Trade ya?” You wink at her, before you both search the hall for some empty frames and get Jim from IT to help the two of you hang them up in your offices.

As soon as he’s finished, Savannah comes tapping on your door. “Thanks for trading. Dylan is my man! I hope he’s nice, I don’t know how I’ll feel if he’s rude..” her voice trails off, and you pat her on the shoulder. “He’ll be great. Don’t stress it! You’ll do a great job keeping him on track.” She smiles at your reassurance. “Sooo, are you going to pack your Longhorn hat?”

You gasp at her, crumpling a nearby scrap of paper and throwing it at her. “Listen, that hat is my only one that’s black, it goes with everything, and…yes, it may or may not have only been bought because of Glen. BUT, of course it’s coming. You never know what Tennessee weather will bring!” You smirk at her before flipping off the lights in your office, following Savannah down the hallway to the parking deck.

----

“Wow, it really is beautiful here.” You mutter to yourself as you climb into the shuttle taking you from the airport to the event location. The sky seemed a richer hue of blue, and the large trees shaded the vehicles the entire trip. You allowed yourself to breathe as you stepped into the large auditorium building. All the months of hard work and planning had finally paid off. Seeing it with your own eyes was a real treat that you rarely got to enjoy with this job. Hundreds of staff members were busily setting up chairs, tables and last minute details together before the talent would arrive that evening. The welcome party was going to be a blast - glow sticks, a DJ, boujee appetizers and twinkling lights. It would be the perfect way to welcome the talent and allow everyone on location to get ready for the weeks ahead.

After doing your makeup and spraying some texture spray in your hair, you take one last look in the mirror of your little cabin and smile. You felt confident in your all black outfit. Black levi jeans, an off the shoulder black long sleeve with some gold jewelry and some hoops. Your hair was curled, and the leather boots were keeping your feet warm from the winter chill outside. You plop down on the edge of your bed and take in your home away from home. Everyone had their own little log cabin, it was basically a studio set up with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room, chandelier above it and of course a bathroom and lounger with a big window. It was charming and cozy, and you couldn’t imagine how much nicer the talent’s must be if this was how lovely yours was.

One last spritz of texture spray to your hair and you were out the door, jumping on your personal golf cart to ride down to the warehouse.

“Over here! Over here!” You hear a high pitched squeal from across the gravel as you put the golf cart in park. You swivel your head to the left to find Savannah fastly approaching, one hand waving you down, the other holding her skirt from dragging across the ground. “Finally, you’re here!” She wraps an arm around you in a tight hug. You giggle as you steady your balance, hugging her back. You knew she had to be so nervous to meet the talent, because you weren’t the type to get starstruck and your own heart was hammering in your chest.

“We’ve got this! We aren’t the only ones meeting them for the first time tonight. Just remember that! I’m sure Glen will be lovely. I promise I will try to nonchalantly get Dylan to meet you tonight too. Deal?” You both pinky promise before heading inside towards the loud music.

You squint your eyes at the glowing white orbs on each high top table, not a single chair in sight other than at the bar. The DJ had many of the guests up and dancing while others socialized amongst themselves. Everyone was dressed casually, probably changing minimally after their plane rides. You and the other workers were definitely dressed up a little more, which instantly put you at ease. Feeling more put together and confident, you lead Savannah to the sign in table. Glancing around as you wait in line, you watch the other girls and guys check over their packets, taking in who their responsibility will be for the next two weeks. Reading what their pick up and drop off schedule will be like, and all the other fast facts about their assigned celebrity; allergies, preferences, etc. As soon as your packet about Dylan is in your hands, you find an empty table and start reading over it. You nonchalantly do a sweep of the room, the different colored lights illuminating everyone’s faces. Some of your favorite actors are in this room, and you couldn’t believe it. After a few moments you spot Dylan at the bar, the lavender backdrop and blue lights behind the stools accentuating his all white outfit. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, mid conversation with another actor you didn’t recognize. You quickly glance down at your paper, making notes with your pen. You get through about three pages before Savannah appears in front of you, slamming her lanyard down on the table. “Did you introduce yourself yet?” She whispers, rummaging around in her bag for her lipgloss. “No, I’m letting him finish his conversation first. How’s Glen?” You ask, smirking at her. “He’s a dream. He literally made a beeline for me through the crowd to introduce himself! I have to bring him his schedule, apparently no one had it in their rooms when they got here so that’s awkward. Strike one on us.” She bites her bottom lip. You feel your eyes widen. “What?! That was supposed to have been done days ago! The girls from scheduling said they had it under control..oh well. I guess it’s a nice ice breaker for us to approach them. Wait, did you say Glen came up to you? How’d he know you were his handler?” Savannah raises a hand to cover her mouth before moving around the table top to grasp your forearm. “Girl! You know how they sent us head shots of the talent? Apparently they received one of us too! Isn’t that wild?” She giggles, taking in your reaction. “So, that means Dylan already knows I’m here probably. Great..” You let your voice trail off before closing your folder and grabbing your lanyard to place around your neck.

“Let me go say hello, then!” You flash Savannah a nervous smile before heading to the bar, Dylan’s eyes immediately drifting from the man he’s talking to over to you. He places a hand on his shoulder and says what you assume to be a quick goodbye before turning on his heel toward you. “You’re the lucky lady who's stuck with me, yeah?” He grins, extending a hand to you. His brown eyes are friendly, twinkling beneath the lights dancing around the room. “I’m Dylan, so nice to meet you!” His handshake is firm, and you take note of how strong his cologne is. “I promise to get you everywhere on time these next few weeks. It’s great to meet you!” You return his smile, moving closer to him as a crowd of people brush past the two of you toward the buffet, the DJ announcing to everyone that dinner has been set out. Dylan leans down to your ear so you can hear him better. “I’m so stoked to be here, did you have a hand in all this?” He shouts above the music, gesturing around him to all the decor in the warehouse, fake pink and magenta flowers are strung up through the rafters, flameless candles were dispersed throughout the room, you were proud of the vibe in here for sure. It was kind of like a club but classier. “It took a village for sure, but I’m really happy with how it turned out! Oh, here’s your schedule by the way-” You continue to babble on to him about the whole event and the planning that went into it, and start going through Dylan’s schedule with him. He listens intently to you, his focus a hundred percent on what you’re showing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Savannah pointing you out to Glen, his eyes peering at you from beneath his black Texas Longhorns ballcap before he looks away. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you tear your gaze away from him. You and Dylan exchange some more info, and decide to meet out front by the golf carts in another hour or so. You meander towards the back of the space, your stomach growling at the sight of all the warm food placed ahead of you. Before you can grab a plate, you hear Savannah call your name, “Hey, wait up!” You spin around, her arm locking with yours to pull you away from the buffet line. “Where are we going?” You whine, turning your head back towards the food. “The food is that way! I’m starving.” Savannah shoots you a sympathetic smile as she continues to drag you through the crowd until she sits you down at a round table in the corner of the room. “Unfortunately, that food’s not for us.” She frowns, before leaving you to disappear behind a door and reappear moments later with two foil covered plates, two large water bottles under her arm. “Savannah…what’s on those plates.” You wearily question, grabbing it from her. You both count to three together before ripping the foil cover off, revealing a hamburger, bag of chips and the tiniest cup of fruit you’d ever seen. “Guess they had to cut corners to save money somehow.” You pout, pushing the plate away from you as you grab the bag of Lays.

“Here we chose the best menus each night for them, thinking we too would get to enjoy them, but no. We have to eat like kids.” Savannah complains as she bites into her burger. “What, lost your appetite?” She frowns at your plate. “I don’t eat burgers. Actually, I can’t eat red meat at all.” You reply, shrugging your shoulders. You slump back into your chair, disappointed that you’re missing out on the all you can eat sushi bar the talent is currently enjoying right now.

Savannah inhales her food as the two of you chat about your schedules for tomorrow, trying to find overlaps. Your conversation is cut short at the sound of a male voice in front of you. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt but, do you ladies happen to know where the restrooms are?” You both snap your gaze upward to see Glen standing in front of your table, the only celebrity in a 300 foot distance. You take in his outfit- his cap you noticed earlier, his dark black jeans, crisp white t-shirt and grey cardigan that fits him perfectly. He’s extremely handsome in person, even more so than on screen. You open your mouth to speak, but you realize nothing is coming out of your mouth. You quickly wet your lips with your tongue, eyes deferring to Savannah, since he probably came over here to ask her. She is his handler for the weekend, after all. Savannah’s mid chew on the last piece of her burger, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, uh, they’re behind the DJ’s set up, there’s a little hallway back there with the bathrooms.” You meet his gaze again, his green eyes locked onto yours before they drop to the plate in front of you. The sides of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. “Not hungry?” He points to your untouched hamburger, his watch catching the light. You take a mental note of your stomach doing backflips over this accessory, as watches have always been kind of a thing for you. A turn on, if you will. You shake your head and laugh, admitting that you can’t eat it. “I’ll be out of commission if I eat that.” Glen’s playful expression turns to one of confusion, pointing over his shoulder to the extensive spread of food behind you. “You want to trade? I didn’t see that as an option. Where’d you find that?” Savannah giggles, waving her hands in front of her as she finally speaks. “No, no, the burgers are just for us little people. You guys get to enjoy the good stuff.” She winks at him, and you nudge her beneath the table. Not exactly the best way to put it…

Glen’s eyebrows furrow slightly, head tilting to the side. “That doesn’t seem fair. Tell you what, I’ll bring you back a plate of whatever you want if I can devour that burger on your plate.” He flashes you a grin, and you’re enthusiastically nodding before you can think twice about it. “Yes, please! I’ll literally take anything you can gr-” you begin, but Savannah cuts you off. “She loves sushi, Glen.” They exchange a smile as he points to her before wading through the crowd. You turn to your coworker, mouth open in disbelief. “Umm, is Glen Powell bringing me a plate of food right now?!” You let out a tiny squeal, hitting her on the knee. She props a hand on her cheek, “I know right? Isn’t he so nice? Where the heck is Dylan?” She responds, squeezing your shoulder. “It sucks we have to act like we don’t know them. Like, at all.” She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s over by the dessert bar, why don’t you take a quick walk by? He won’t even notice! He’s quite the social butterfly tonight.” You wink at her encouragingly, and she actually stands from her chair. “You know what, you’re right. Be right back!” She’s giddy as she weaves through the crowd, and in her wake you see Glen reappear, a plate full of sushi in tow. He sticks out his tongue, clearly proud of his selection. “Here we go, I got a little bit of everything for ya.” He presents the plate to you dramatically, flicking his wrist to emulate a waiter as he drops it on the table. “You’ve outdone yourself.” You grin, placing a hand over your heart to match his energy. “And in return…” You reach for the plate, lifting the burger to his hands. He shakes his head, instantly grabbing the burger out of its sleeve and taking a huge bite out of it. “I’m Glen, by the way.” He mumbles, his mouth full. You swallow thickly, Savannah’s reminder echoing in your head as you introduce yourself, acting as casual as possible. You lift your chopsticks and dig into your food, not having realized that Glen’s attention is on you. The two of you continue to eat in silence, hunger clearly winning here. “Guess we were hungry.” You laugh, pushing your now empty plate away from you. Glen throws his head back with a chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Guess so. It was a long travel day.”

Suddenly, you remember why he approached your table in the first place - the bathroom. “Wait, did you ever find the restrooms?” Your tone has a hint of worry in it; what were you thinking, sending him off to get you a plate of food? You were sup[posed to be serving the talent, not the other way around. You suddenly felt embarrassed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Glen’s mouth turns into a soft smile, his expression playful again. “Oh, I knew where the bathrooms were.” His words hang in the air as you process his tone, taking in his facial expression. Was he..flirting with you? There was no way. You were delusional. Before you can respond, he stacks his empty plate on top of yours and slides them back toward him, leaning over the table a bit to make sure you can hear him. “Nice doin��� business with you.” He shoots you a quick wink before he tosses the plates into the trash can and disappears into the crowd. You’re aware of the cheesy grin on your face that you can’t wipe off, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you fidget with your bracelets. Savannah soon returns, waving you toward her. “C’mon, let’s get to our carts and wait for the boys! We have an early morning tomorrow.” ANd with that, you grab both of your bags and follow her to the gravel lot outside, the exchange with Glen replaying over and over in your mind.

Dylan strides up to your golf cart right on time, his eyes glazed over. “Man, that was fun! You guys killed that. I’m dead tired though.” He raises his hand for a high five, and you happily oblige before driving him to his personal cabin. Agreeing on a wakeup time, you wait for him to get inside before driving off.

You snuggle into bed that night replaying how amazing the event space looked, relieved that Dylan was kind and, so far, not a diva. You were looking forward to getting to know him a little better and look out for him the next few weeks. And then there was Glen…you had to try and downplay tonight’s interaction. He was just being nice, his parents clearly raised him right. That’s all it was. Did he seriously wink at you? Maybe you dreamed that part. Maybe he isn’t as nice as he seems, and just a charmer. He could have a girlfriend for all you know!

“I need help.” You mutter to yourself.

You shake your head and sigh; you were here to work. You needed to be professional and short with all of the guests here. End of story. You let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside your cabin window.

[oomox-oclock]

✮ Dreamer’s Ball ✮

(Julian Bashir x Elim Garak)

Star Trek Masterlist

Summary: (MY FIRST GARASHIR) Garak is getting slightly jealous that Bashir is spending more and more time with O’Brien. He’s afraid it will ruin his chances of getting into a beyond platonic relationship with him. (This is set in season 2) (mainly from Garak’s narrative) (Before ‘The Wire’)

A/n: Garak is so complex to write so im so sorry if he is mischaracterised , and Garak is like never jealous so this was EXTREMELY difficult to write. And writing this man pining and yearning is even harder.

~“If I can’t have you while I’m waking…”

—————————

Garak sat at their usual table at The Replimat, holding his Tarkalean tea in hand. Watching as Julian comes down the promenade with a little bounce in his step, a buoyancy that seemed almost irritatingly effortless. The Chief next to him, looking slightly annoyed and sweatier than Julian. 

'They were only playing racquet ball, not doing nefarious acts. The Chief has a wife.' Garak’s brain talks to itself. 'Having a wife hasn't stopped Gul Dukat before.' he rolls his eyes internally at himself. 'The Chief is not Gul Dukat.'

Julian pats Miles on the back as they part ways, and with that boyish smile. That damn smile that could charm a Borg into submission. Julian comes over to where Garak is sitting and waiting for him at The Replimat. That racquet ball outfit is a disgrace to fashion. But damn if he doesn't look good in it. Garak looks at him with the whites of his eyes showing and an undecipherable smile, watching as Julian sits down with a sigh in his chair. “You’re late.” Garak says with a lilt, schooling his expression into one of polite curiosity., though internally there is a flicker of something deeper. “Oh yes, apologies.” Julian responds like it’s no big deal, as he puts the serviette on his lap. 

‘Tsk, what a child.’ The devil on his shoulder says. ‘Now, now that would be calling yourself old, and you are of perfect middle age for a Cardassian’ The other devil on his shoulder tries balancing out his rationale.

"The Chief wanted one more game with me and I couldn't resist." He says with that god damn goofy smile and nonchalance as he bites into his food. "Ah, how noble of you Doctor, and how did that go?" Garak says with some fake intrigue, but you can never tell with him. "Beat him. I mean you have to give him credit, he’s nothing if not stubborn." He says through a chew, smiling to himself thinking of Miles trying to beat him. A twitch in Garak's jaw as it tightens. "Yes, uh, indeed..." Garak trails off. Julian notices the slight change in his demeanour. Analysing how his eyes aren’t on him, how he looks off to the Promenade floor, his mouth covered by his clasped hands in front of him as his elbows are propped on the table. “Is something wrong Garak?” Julian asks putting down his sandwich. Garak snaps back into his practised persona in a flash. “My dear Doctor what would have ever given you that impression?” He leaned back in his chair with a gesture of casual ease. “I was merely occupied with the thought of how much work I have to catch up on in my shop, as a result of our delightfully extended lunch.” He says as he makes the excuse to leave. Standing up and pushing his chair back with an effortless fluidity. “Ehm, good day to you Doctor, and next time might I suggest that you arrange your sporting endeavours for after lunch. The smell of sweat is not the best when someone has appetite.” “Garak- “But it’s too late, the Cardassian is out of the Replimat, down the Promenade, and into his shop. 

In the small sanctuary of his shop, the mask slips. Garak’s movements were quick, sharp, and imprecise as he folded a bolt of fabric with uncharacteristic clumsiness. His chest felt tight, his thoughts swirling in chaotic disarray. He reached for the next garment on the table… a pair of pants Julian had dropped off for hemming.

His grip tightened on the fabric. Why was he so... affected?

Jealousy. The word slithered into his mind, unwelcome and uninvited. No, no, not jealousy. Envy, perhaps. But Elim Garak did not get jealous. He prided himself on his control, his composure, his detachment. And yet here he was, his hands trembling as he clutched a pair of Julian’s pants to his chest like some lovesick fool. He could even rip it with ease if he gripped tighter. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to release the garment and smooth the wrinkles he’d left. 

“This is absurd,” he told himself. “He’s a colleague. An acquaintance. A... friend, at best.” The thought made him pause, his hands stilling. 

Was that it? Was it the simple fact that Julian had friends? That he belonged here, on this station, among its people? No, it was more complex, Garak frankly didn’t have friends on the station. Only Julian, like a handsome (slightly annoying) pillar of warmth and light in this dreary cold station. The fact that Julian has other friends, where it seemed like he was more attached to them than him, that Julian cared more about them, or even the flicker of a thought that Julian would choose them over him. Garak would never ever admit it, not even to himself, but it hurt. he forced himself to refocus, meticulously folding the pants with the precision they deserved.

But even as he returned to his work, a single, treacherous thought lingered at the edge of his mind: Julian Bashir was not just a friend. He was something else entirely. Something that made Garak feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years. And that, more than anything, terrified him. Yes sure his first thoughts when seeing Julian was ‘wreck that twink’ but he never thought Julian would be the one wrecking him so emotionally.

For the next few days, Garak kept their lunches brief, making polite excuses. 'urgent commissions', intricate stitching that required his 'immediate attention'. Matters of tailoring so delicate they could not possibly wait. All lies, of course. Yet, being away from him did nothing to quell the wretched gnawing sensation in his gut. In fact being away from Julian it made it worse. He feels as if he's in the grip of dreadful withdrawal, his skin itching, hands twitching. His mind clouded with some form of restless agitation. At this point he’s wants to scratch himself until he's raw and bloody to quench something.

Damn him.

DAMN HIM!

Garak would go over to exaggerate that this was pure hell, or is it an exaggeration? It was absurd. Garak had endured exile, betrayal, the cold, calculating brutality of the Obsidian Order. He had withstood far worse torments than this, had inflicted far worse torments than this. And yet, Julian Bashir; smiling, oblivious, infuriating, Julian was undoing him in a way no torturer ever had.

Looking out of his shop on boring dreary days, hands clasped before him, watching from a discreet distance as Julian and O’Brien walked on the upper level of the promenade. The two men laughed as they made their way up to Quark’s, Julian leaning in, animated, his eyes bright with amusement. Garak’s fingers tightened around the fabric he was holding, scaled knuckles paling. He needed to correct this. He needed control. And, if nothing else, he needed to stake some sort of claim.

'You are Elim Garak', he reminded himself for the hundredth time. 'Not a lovesick and head filled with fairytale daydreamer. Get your head on right.'

Today, following the new routine, Garak is distracted. Disasociating and staring at a wall as he folds the same pair of pants. Unfold, fold, place down, pick up. But then..

“Garak!”

The voice was warm, familiar, and far too cheerful. It's like a bomb has been dropped in his shop and life upon realising who it is. He turned, his features smoothing into a smile so practiced it might as well have been stitched into his very skin. “Ah, Doctor,” he greeted, hands already returning to the meticulous arrangement of garments after quickly folding the pair of pants again. “What a delightful surprise so early in the morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Garak said as Julian stepped in further, smiling. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me in the holosuites tonight. Maybe grab dinner before the time?" The words rang in Garak's ears, delicious in their implications. He nearly allows himself with a moment of indulgence...

Julian against the wall of the the changing room... under him... wanting... as Garak ravaged and pounced on him-

Control Garak. Wine and dine him first

Instead, he tilted his head, allowing just enough intrigue to slip into his voice. “Oh? And what program, pray tell, will we be indulging in?" Garak smirked. “It’s one I created myself. Miles already tried it out." Julian beamed. That name. Miles. Not the Chief. A minuscule pause, an almost imperceptible flicker of irritation. They’re getting closer. Julian, oblivious to Garak’s momentary lapse, continued, “It’s set in an old Earth ballroom.” Garak’s smile returned, sharper now. “A ballroom?” A bit intrigued by the human word. “Yes, a grand hall for formal dancing,” Julian explained, his enthusiasm evident. “How delightfully quaint,” Garak mused, his interest piqued. Julian chuckled. “That’s actually why I came by, I was hoping you might lend me a suit. And, well… yourself.” The words dripped with innocence, but Garak felt them settle somewhere deep and predatory within him.

He inclined his head, lips curving into something unreadable. “A suit, of course. But as for my presence, and dancing skills Doctor… are you sure you can keep up?” Julian grinned. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

Oh, this would be fun indeed.

And yet, as Garak turned back to his work, smoothing down the silken fabric before him, one thought refused to be silenced.

Did Julian and O’Brien dance together already?

No. Preposterous.

The Chief had the grace of a drunken Targ. No, they preferred hacking at holographic warriors in ancient battle simulations, not waltzing under chandeliers. But still. Garak’s fingers brushed over the fabric, a slow, methodical movement.

Tonight, he would remind Julian just how much more stimulating certain company could be.

The hours pass tortuously for Garak, especially after he handed Julian the suit he wanted. But the time soon came, Garak was dressed to impress and ready for dinner. Walking into Quarks and scanning the area, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. Then he spots Julian at a booth in the corner, in his own black tailored suit... It was an elegant cut, flattering yet practical, made of rich fabric that clung to him just enough to make Garak’s fingers itch. The doctor looked up as Garak approached, his expression warm, his boyish smile widening. “You clean up well,” Julian remarked, his gaze flicking over Garak’s attire. Matching suits. Garak clasped his hands behind his back, arching a ridged brow. “Doctor, you wound me. Did you truly expect anything less?” Julian chuckled, patting a spot for him too sit. “Fair point.” 

As their dinner continues Garak leaned back in the booth, hands steepled beneath his chin as he observed Julian across the table. The doctor was in high spirits, gesturing animatedly as he spoke, his enthusiasm as intoxicating as the Kanar in Garak’s glass, almost, because Garak doesn't really enjoy the conversation topic. “So then I told him- no, Chief, you can’t just recalibrate the simulation to let you win-” Julian laughed, shaking his head. “Honestly, I think he enjoys losing. It gives him something to complain about.” He says, and Garak doesn't look up from his drink. “How very... Cardassian of him, for a human. A constant battle, even in leisure.” Garak hummed, swirling his drink lazily. Julian grinned. “Exactly! I knew you’d understand.”

Oh, Garak understood far too well. He understood competition, strategy, and, most of all, the art of knowing which battles to fight. Right now, the one waging within his own chest was of far greater concern. He had been prepared for an evening of playful verbal fencing, had anticipated their usual dynamic: Julian oblivious, Garak indulging in the game of inching closer without ever stepping over the line. But tonight was different. Tonight, Julian had asked him out, had leaned across the table with that easy smile and warm gaze, had dressed in one of his suits, fitted just a little too perfectly.

And it was affecting him.

Damn him.

Julian took a sip of his drink, brow furrowing slightly as he studied Garak. “You’re quiet tonight.” He says. “Am I?” Garak smiled. “Relatively speaking.”Julian gave him a look. “I suppose I’m merely... enjoying the view.” Garak let out a soft chuckle.

Julian’s lips parted slightly, an almost imperceptible pause before he laughed. “I knew you’d appreciate the dinner” “Oh, I appreciate much more than this mediocre meal, my dear Doctor.” Garak’s voice was silk, smooth and deliberate. He watched, keenly, as Julian’s throat bobbed with a swallow, as his fingers twitched ever so slightly against his glass. Interesting. Before Julian could respond, Quark came around with their second round of drinks, and the moment dissipated into the casual ease of conversation. The doctor spoke of medical journals and holonovel plots, of Cardassian literature he’d finally gotten around to reading (a scandalous romance, of all things. Garak made a note to investigate further).

But beneath it all, there was something different tonight, as it had been plaguing him for the past few weeks.

Garak had always prided himself on control, on knowing exactly how much to give and when to retreat. But here, now, with Julian sitting across from him, his laughter rich, his eyes bright, his fingers brushing absently against the tablecloth as he spoke. Garak found himself wanting. Not just in the way he often indulged; fleeting, physical, a curiosity satisfied and discarded. No, this was deeper, messier. He wanted Julian’s attention, his time, his closeness.

It was infuriating that Julian is so blissfully unaware of Garak’s internal crisis, finished the last bite of his meal and sighed contentedly. “That was fantastic. You always know what to order." Garak smirked in response. “It’s a refined skill. One must cultivate an appreciation for the finer things in life. Even if it is Quark's food." “Well, now that we’re properly indulged, shall we move on to the holosuite?” Julian grinned, Garak arched a brow. “Eager, are we?" Julian chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Garak’s lips curled slightly. 'Oh, my dear Doctor. You have no idea.' He thinks to himself.

The doors to the holosuite parted with a soft hiss, revealing a scene bathed in golden candlelight. The ballroom was vast, marble floors gleaming beneath their feet, chandeliers casting delicate patterns of light and shadow across gilded walls. An orchestra played softly in the distance, the waltz elegant, timeless. Julian gestured around them. “What do you think?” Beaming with a proud smile.

Garak took his time answering, letting his gaze drift over the simulated ballroom before settling back on Julian. “Impressive my dear Doctor,” he admitted. "You do have a penchant for romance, don’t you?” Julian rolled his eyes at Garak's comment. “It’s about the history, Garak. The elegance of it all.” “Oh, of course.” Garak’s voice dripped with amusement. “History? You mean a romanticized vision of old Earth, meticulously recreated. I can almost imagine a time when people lived like this, dancing beneath chandeliers, lost in some foolish, fleeting moment of elegance.”

“You say that like romance is a ridiculous notion.” Julian smirked. “Oh, not at all,” Garak countered smoothly. “I simply find it fascinating that humans cling to these ideals, believing them to be timeless.” He tilted his head. “Tell me, Doctor, do you truly think love is best expressed through coordinated footwork and formalwear?”

Julian laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I do try.”

A silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, but weighted. Julian shifted, suddenly looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “So,” he began, “You do know how to dance, don’t you?” He asked with a slight cheekiness. Garak’s lips curved into something unreadable. “Doctor, I am Cardassian. We are nothing if not meticulous in our studies.” Garak held a hand out. Julian hesitated for only a fraction of a second before taking it. Garak fingers curling around Julian’s. The warmth of his skin was immediate, and for a fleeting moment, Garak despised the effect it had on him. His grip was firm, warm, steady. Julian positioned them effortlessly, one hand on Garak’s shoulder, the other still clasped in his own. Garak’s other hand settled lightly at Julian’s waist. The waltz swelled around them, the strings playing in a perfect, timeless rhythm.

“Follow my lead,” Julian instructed, confidence laced in his voice.

Garak chuckled. “Oh, Doctor. How very presumptuous of you.”

With a deliberate step, Garak reversed their roles in an instant, spinning Julian effortlessly into his hold. Julian let out a startled laugh, his free hand instinctively landing against Garak’s chest for balance. “You-!” Julian starts. “You assumed I would let you lead,” Garak murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “A dangerous assumption, Doctor.” Julian huffed but didn’t resist, letting Garak guide him through the sweeping movements of the waltz. Their steps aligned naturally, and to his credit, Julian kept up well. The doctor was light on his feet, his movements fluid. “I see why O’Brien didn’t join you,” Garak mused. “I imagine he’d have a much harder time keeping up.” He smirked mischievously and Julian groaned. “For the last time, Garak, Miles isn’t-” Garak twirled him, cutting him off mid-sentence, and Julian barely caught himself before stumbling, laughing as he did. “Careful, Doctor,” Garak teased. “I’d hate for you to fall at my feet.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh, immensely.”

The song continued, and their movements became more natural, more synchronized. Garak was acutely aware of the hand resting against his shoulder, of the steady rhythm of Julian’s breathing. He could feel the warmth of him, could smell the faintest trace of cologne, something clean and understated. Another sudden dip, Julian exhaled sharply but didn’t argue, but did huff out. Their movements quickly found their rhythm, their bodies aligning with the ebb and flow of the waltz. The room around them faded into insignificance—the towering columns, the painted ceiling, the simulated guests watching from the sidelines. None of it mattered.

Only this.

Julian was close... Closer than Garak had anticipated, his breath warm against Garak’s cheek, his heartbeat a steady pulse beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“So,” Julian murmured, his voice lower now, more thoughtful. “You’re actually good at this.”

“Surprised?”

“A little.” Julian’s lips twitched. “I figured you’d claim to be good at everything, but…” He let his hand drift slightly against Garak’s shoulder, fingers brushing along the intricate embroidery of his jacket. “This is different.” Julian said, and internally Garak panicked so he spun Julian away from him, twirling him once before pulling him back with precise, effortless control. Julian laughed, eyes bright, breathless. “Show-off,” he accused, grinning. Garak smirked. “Naturally.”

Garak studied him, the curve of his mouth, the way his eyes searched Garak’s face as if seeing something new. For a moment. One brief, impossible moment. Garak considered leaning in. The Kanar he had earlier making him go through with it, and some unstoppable force.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

He can't stop himself, he gently dips Julian with fluidity, leaning down. The wording narrowing to the space between them. Julian's eyes widen, and Garak's warm breath is against his cheek. "I always wanted to try... what do humans call it? Ah, a kiss..." In an impulsive uncharacteristic decision, Garak closes the distance. Without hesitation, without calculation, without control. Giving those sweet soft warm lips a kiss. Placing his on Julian's gently, but with harsh burning passion behind them that bled out from weeks of yearning and pining. But it didn't feel right... Julian was still, too still. Then he realised, he wasn't reciprocating. Garak pulled back, his eyes wider than normal. His pulse hammered. Pulling them into standing position again, but his hands still around Julians waist, as if he could fix whatever went wrong. Julian was staring at him, horror creeping onto his features, slowing like a consuming sickness. "Doctor- I-" He begins but Julian wipes his mouth in disgust and steps away from him. No, pushing him away. "What the hell-? What made you think that was a good idea!?" Julian looks at him with an anger and accusatory tone that Garak had never heard from him. Garak faltered in every way, and if you looked closely, his lip quivered. "My dear-"

"Don't 'dear' me. I could never love a Cardassian like you."

Those words, so harsh and blunt, it felt like a blast to the chest. A knife being plunged again and again with every thump of his heart. Everything starts to melt in Garak's mind. The environment twisted and blurred. The walls, the floor, Julian's face melting like wax. The music warped into something distant and hollow.

Garak gasped

The air left his lungs with a shuddering and panting exhale. His hand touched his face, over the ridges and scales of his face.

'Thank god... Just a dream... a horrible, horrible nightmare.'

Garak turns over to his side, seeking him. And there he was. His Julian. His husband, (husband of a few years since moving back to Cardassia), laying next to him, sleeping in those ridiculous blue pajamas. His hair salt and peppered, but he's handsome and boyish nonetheless. Garak instantly softened, wrapping an arm around him, bringing his back to his chest in a cuddle. His personal heater. Nuzzling into his neck and smelling his familiar and calming scent. His heart swelling with love and affection. Relaxing into his man's body heat and forgetting about the terrible dream. "Hm... You okay...?" Julian stirs and speaks groggily. "I'm fine my dear, just a bad dream." He places a kiss on Julians neck. Julian smiles with a soft sigh of contentment and backs into him in the cuddle, holding his hand. Lacing their fingers together. Perfection.

A calm silence, as Garak is trying to go back to sleep, is slightly interrupted by his lovers voice. "Garak." "Yes darling?" Garak peeks one eye open.

"Wake up."

In a bright flash the domestic scene is gone. The warmth vanished once again. The weight in his arms. Gone.

Lurching up, sitting pin straight in his bed, his chest heaving. The room too dark, too still, too quiet.

He was alone.

Deep Space Nine, his quarters, his empty, empty bed. Outside, the stars hung silent, distant. Indifferent to his grief. His fingers twitched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out...his palm smoothing over the sheets beside him, searching, aching... But of course, there was nothing. Just cold fabric.

For a moment, he simply sat there, staring at the space where Julian should be. He placed his hands in his lap, folding them neatly. And so he sat there, alone in the dark, waiting for sleep to take him.

And if it didn’t, well.

There were worse tortures than this.

Weren’t there?

He's not so sure anymore

—————————

~”…I’ll go to sleep and dream I’m with you.”

A/n: Please tell me if you guys liked it 😍 also shout in my inbox and request things all you want 🗣️ and reblog pretty please

[luckypunklemonade]

(shamefully, with my hands deep in my pockets and my head hung) i fucking loved your dan akroyd fic and it was amazing. i would love more of him flirting with reader and being super annoying only to be ignored by her.......... im so sorry world..........

lmao I love this message don’t apologize and I’m so, so glad we’re on the same wavelength because I have more thoughts! I plan on more with just him but I don’t have a ton of time to hash them out the way I want and this is how I build up to it.

*Me handing this to you in a crumpled envelope with hearts and stars on it* here. for you! :)

| Dylan O’Brien as Dan Aykroyd in Saturday Night

All week has been ramping up stress, especially as the sort of crew, cast, and tech liaison that Lorne needed but wouldn’t admit he needed. Of course the night of, only half of the bits and sketches were prepped and put together. It didn’t help that Lorne was yet to organize a final say on the entire run, who’s in and who’s out. It would break your heart seeing cast members rehearsing their sketches, cutting bits to fit into a box of time we may have to keep shrinking or toss altogether, but you were too busy.

You were never usually involved with the cast, mostly because their pre-performance rituals involved coke and, otherwise, you just couldn’t find them. They were always wandering, gathering and dispersing just to torture the poor crew runners. One of the things you had to make clear to Lorne, you are not their wrangler. “Look around, Lorne-“ You had to snap to get his attention, waving a list of things the ‘talent’ needed that Neil delivered to you.

“Lorne! You have legions of spineless interns who dream of getting threatened by execs like you do. Ask them to keep these guys contained. I believe in you, but you’re gonna have to designate jobs to someone who isn’t already drowning in tech crew tasks.”

“You’re dependable.” He muttered, eyes tracking a rack of clothing. The implication that this would placate you made you clench your fists.

“I’m serious, Lorne. I’m not your jack of all trades. As if handing out Donoghue’s pages and having to bring him back complaints wasn’t enough, I had to call maintenance to the south hallway twice. I can’t be responsible for-“

“You’re doing great.” Lorne patted your back as he walked past you toward the control room, eyes glazed over in stress.

Sure, he was stressed. We were all stressed. You were sure you’d find time to feel empathetic toward him when you didn’t have a novel’s worth of papers in your hands.

Onto the set after the lighting equipment crashed down, yelling at the guys who rigged it, turning to yell at Belushi as he wound his fist back. Right in the middle of him and the target, telling the light director to cool his jets before he gets in trouble and you get put in charge of finding his replacement, Dan caught Belushi’s arms and pulled him away. You threw an exasperated “thanks” at him, to which he winked and corralled his steaming costar toward the hall.

Finding Dan was easy. Anywhere a cute girl was or, surprisingly, where you needed him. He was a flirt and a distraction but, when something felt unmanageable or a shelf was too high, he was dependable. You didn’t even have to ask. What you couldn’t figure out was if he was like this with all the crew that needed his help.

While it was helpful, having him at your disposal when it was needed, you wished you could have the help silent. He was a smooth talker with more charm than most girls knew what to do with and half the brains to use his pick-up line a little quieter. Having heard his whole spiel three times over on every girl he knew, you rolled your eyes twice just so he got the idea.

“Danny, aren’t you supposed to bring a sort of ‘new wit’ to the cast? Is that really the only line that works?” You asked snatching a roll of twine from the hands that just retrieved it from the shelf for you.

“It hasn’t failed me yet.” He began reaching for the twine to untangle it for you, accepting defeat when you pulled it out of his reach, eyebrows furrowing at the knots.

“And telling girls you’re a manwhore gets has a high success rate?”

“So far.”

He liked the way you scoffed like he was funny. His type of dry humor always got laughs, but not like yours. Yours was sarcastic and challenging and it made him want more.. You started walking away quickly to something you could do at the same time as untangling, he followed.

“It’s not like there aren’t any other girls to harass, Danny. Since you get to take it easy with the rest of the cast.”

“Not half as fun as harassing you, pretty girl.”

“I’m busy.”

“I like ‘em busy.”

You grabbed a crew member carrying a box of hats, “Did Neil tell you those go to props instead of costumes?”

Your conversation served two purposes: checking another thing off of your list and ignoring Dan. He stood with his eyes bouncing between you and the other guy as you told him of a few other things he could do for you. Of the “runners” in the crew, you were by far the most productive, effective, and reliable. When the tasks were handed off, he stepped back in front of you. “Y’know, this past week, I’ve been picking up your hints, pretty girl.”

You scoffed again, “Danny, the only thing I’ve been dropping for you is your pages and complaints from the crew about your marks. If I’ve been flirting with you, it’s practice.”

He smiled, a cocky smile making you dread his response. “I’m working on the punctuality.”

You smiled back sarcastically and walked past him, “I’m working on the flirting.”

Throughout the day, your list had shortened despite how many well-meaning questions Gilda asked and how immovable Donoghue was about his pages. You walked out of his office, middle finger raised accompanied by “You’re my favorite coworker. Never change,” you turned right around to Dan. “I need help in my dressing room.”

“Right.”

“It’s true, I’m helpless. You are here to help, right?”

“I’ll get Mark from costumes down soon. You’ll have to wait.”

“I need help from you. Mark can’t help me like you can.”

You turned to face him, “Don’t insult Mark. Mark is what you get and Mark is what you‘ll like, got it?”

Dan looked down at you, then up as if he was pondering, then back down at you, “Yes, ma’am”

He grabbed your waist to pretend as if he needed to squeeze past you in the hallway despite all the room he had. He laughed at your reaction as he walked away. “Jesus, Danny, don’t hurt yourself.”

Dan had never been flirted with like this. In his industry, girls sort of fell into the directors’ box. They did what they were told, meaning they fawned when he swooped in or made it clear they wanted nothing to do with him. You were backstage, jaded to his kind, and not intimidated by anything he could throw at you. You flirted back by teasing him, by sarcasm and wit to match his. He asked once why you weren’t on stage with the crew. You said you weren’t a circus clown, you only worked with them.

While Lorne and Dick were stuck in a room full of creepy old men, Neil was ran off somewhere, and the control room asked for more cigarettes, you walked through the hall with a fresh pack. Leaned against his dressing room doorframe, watching you walk quickly past and toward the control room, he called, “I met Mark.”

“That’s great, Danny.”

“Mark doesn’t call me ‘Danny’. It’s just ‘Dan’, he doesn’t know me like you do. I only accept the best service, you know.” He catches your arm, “So, what do you think about my part in the construction sketch?”

“Danny, not now. Those pricks are demanding things and, even if they’re pricks, they could switch to Carson any time they want and I have too much faith in Lorne to let-“

“Well, have faith in me for a second, will ya?” He pulled you into his dressing room and directed you to his mirror, sitting you down and sliding his hands over your shoulders. “Take a few deep breaths. Jesus, you’re tense.”

“What do you want?”

“I just wanna talk.”

“Quickly, Danny. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Twenty minutes later, you emerged from his dressing room, smoothing your shirt down and beelining to get those cigarettes to the control room. This ordeal was to be added to the list of setbacks tonight. You left Danny on the couch, buttoning up his shirt, with the door open for the few who weren’t too busy to see the spectacle. He grinned at you as you turned the corner regardless. For once, he felt like he was the one being used. And he liked it.

[citizenscreen]

Pat O’Brien, Andy Devine, James Cagney, and Ann Sheridan on set of William Keighley’s TORRID ZONE (1940).

[waitimcomingtoo]

hoax ~ p.p

chapter one: just a sweet, sweet fantasy

series masterlist

Despite the fact that Peter had been pining for you the last three years of college, he had never had a conversation last more than a few minutes with you. As hard as he tried, he always got flustered and ran out of things to say or just made the conversation awkward. You never noticed him the way he noticed you, even after you were paired up with Ned for a school project last semester and your friend groups merged in the process. Peter thought his luck will change now that he was running in your circle, but all it did was make it more evident to him that he didn’t have a shot with you. You only saw him as a friend, and even that was an exaggeration of your relationship.

“Hi.”

You jumped a little when you heard Peters voice and looked up from your phone. You hadn’t even noticed that he was already sitting at the table you agreed to meet your friends at. It was pretty common for you not to notice Peter, but that didn’t mean he’d ever stop trying to get your attention.

“Oh, hi Peter. Sorry, I didn’t see you there. How are you?” You asked politely.

“I’m good. You?”

“Good. Thanks for asking.” You replied. You then pulled your phone back out and started to text, making all conversation cease.

“I like your skirt.” He said after a long beat of silence. You looked up in surprise since you thought the conversation had ended.

“Aw, thanks. That’s so nice of you to say.” You smiled before going back to your phone. He sighed in defeat even though this was how your conversations, or lack there or, usually went.

“Yeah, no problem. It’s like jeans but…not.”

“Oh, yeah. I think it’s called denim.” You laughed awkwardly and didn’t know it was was socially acceptable to go back to texting.

“Right. Denim.” He nodded, and conversation ceased once again.

“I like that it’s pleated.” He said after a full minute of silence.

“What?” You asked and looked up from your phone again.

“Your skirt.” He explained while his face turned bright red. He knew he was beating the death out of the skirt topic and it was made even worse by you knowing the same thing.

“Right, my skirt. Thanks. So do I.” You smiled politely again and touched the skirt.

“Hey losers.” MJ said as she approached the table. Peter heard you sigh in relief over not having to be alone with him anymore, and he couldn’t even blame you.

“Hey. Sit with us.” You smiled and patted the table. MJ sat down and the awkward tension dissolved with the presence of a third person. Your other friends, Kate and Gwen, soon joined the table too and the dynamic of the friend group was restored. Much to his disappointment, you and Peter seemed to lie in opposite ends of the friend group. You were friendly with each other, but also couldn’t be left alone together without maximum awkwardness ensuing. You were the people that would laugh at each others jokes in a group setting but never be able to hold a one on one conversation.

“Did you do the trig homework?” MJ asked you.

“Oh yeah. You need it?” You asked and put your backpack on the table to get your homework out. Peter looked up and noticed a pin of Spider-Man’s mask on your backpack. He did a double table and looked at you in surprise to confirm the backpack belonged to you.

“Is that a Spiderman pin?” He asked you.

“Oh, yeah. You haven’t heard? He’s her latest obsession.” Gwen teased you.

“For the record, I’ve always liked him.” You insisted. “I’ve been a fan since day one. The obsession has just gotten worse as I’ve realized he’s the only man for me.”

“Wait, really? He is?” Peter asked with a surprise smile.

“Please don’t get her started.” Kate whined. You ignored her and leaned towards Peter to talk to him.

“You know when you have a celebrity you like and you just know that if you ever met, you’d be great friends?”

“Of course.” Peter shrugged. “Dylan O’Brien would be my best friend if we ever crossed paths.”

“Exactly. That’s how I feel about Spiderman. Except instead of friends, we’d be lovers.” You said simply. A blush painted Peters cheek to hear you talk about him like that.

“Sounds like you really like him.” He smiled shyly.

“I’m in love with him. I have so many videos of him saved on Tik Tok.” You laughed and pulled out your tik tok to show your friends your collection of saved videos.

“Girl. 407?” Gwen gasped. “You’ve saved 407 edits of Spiderman with sexy songs in the background?”

“Um, yeah. I watch them before I go to sleep.” You shrugged and pulled your phone back. Peter was stunned to silence to hear how deep your obsession ran.

“You need help.” MJ snorted. “You don’t even know him.”

“I feel like I do. Haven’t you ever felt that way about someone you haven’t met yet?”

“I have.” Peter spoke up, making you smile.

“See? I’m not crazy. Just a romantic.” You sighed. The conversation changed subjects and Peter was silent as he thought about what he had heard from you. After three years of being hopelessly in love with you, he may have just found his way in.

A few days later, your group agree to meet up in the library to do homework together. Ned was still out sick with the flu, so Peter didn’t have his crutch to lean on. You arrived early to the library and saw that Peter was the first one there. You gulped and braced yourself for the awkwardness that was about to happen and sat down across from him.

“Hey, Peter.” You said politely. He looked up at you and blushed before trying to think of something cool to say.

“Hey. How’s it going? How are you?” He asked.

“Pretty good. I’m a little stressed out over this stupid paper but Gwen said she’d help me today. How are you doing?”

“Really good. And you? How’s it going for you?” He asked before realized he already asked that.

“Uh, I think we covered that.” You joked.

“Right, right. You’re still good, I’m assuming. And, uh, nice shirt by the way.” He complimented you.

“Aw, thanks. It was my moms back in the 80s.” You smiled at him and then opened your laptop, ending the convo.

“I like your hair too. Did you change it?” He asked to try to resuscitate the conversation.

“No. I haven’t washed it in a few days. It’s just greasy.” You laughed awkwardly and ran your fingers through the it.

“Oh.” He gulped. “Well, it looks good.”

“Thanks.” You smiled again just as the rest of the friend group joined you. You both seemed to relax now that everyone was there and you no longer had to limp through a conversation. Peter didn’t say much as the group talked about homework and weekend plans but snuck glances at you the entire time.

“Wait a minute. Why do you have a magazine? What year is this?” MJ laughed and pulled a magazine out of your open backpack. You gave her a playful look and snatched the magazine from her.

“Because. Look at this picture someone took of him yesterday.” You smiled cheekily and laid the magazine out for the table to show them a picture of Spiderman.

“Oh my God. Please. It’s too early for this.” Kate playfully whined and banged her textbook against her head.

“This is the most detailed photo I’ve seen of him yet. It’s so clear. I bet he’s so cute under the mask.” You sighed happily and looked at the picture again. Peter watched the way you stared at the picture in the way he’d been looking at you all these years and smiled to himself. He’d never been able to turn your head, but he was pleased to know Spiderman could.

“Or he’s 30 and has a greasy little rat face.” MJ grimaced.

“Stop it. Don’t ruin my fantasy.” You said and playfully smacked her arm. She laughed and wrapped an arm around you while you continued to stare at the picture.

“Fantasy?” Gwen smiled coyly. “Uh oh. Spill.”

“Okay, so I have this fantasy where he sees me walking home and drops down from the sky to walk me home. Just to make sure I get there safely.” You told the group with a dreamy smile.

“Oh. That’s a lot less erotic then I thought it would be.” Kate said in disappointment.

“Oh, trust me. I have plenty of those. But I’m not sharing any of them here.” You smiled coyly and drummed your fingers on the table. Peter gulped when he realized what you were talking about and turned bright red.

“What else do you fantasize about?” Gwen asked you.

“Mostly him saving me from danger. But low key danger. I don’t want to actually be in danger danger. Maybe just tripping on the sidewalk and he catches me. Or, you know, he stops a car from crushing me like in Twilight.”

“This little crush of yours is getting out of hand.” MJ laughed and shook her head. “You’re literally asking to be crushed by a car now?”

“But imagine how amazing it would be to be his girlfriend.” You gushed. “He could swing me around the city in his arms and kiss me on the top of the Brooklyn bridge. Or take me on dates on the top of the Empire State Building. I want it so bad.”

“So stand in the street until a car comes near you and wait for him to swing you to safety.” MJ said sarcastically.

“Don’t give her ideas.” Kate groaned.

“You don’t think I’ve considered that? I’d do anything for a date. Just one. I swear, I could get him to fall in love with me. I just need one chance.” You sighed and picked up your magazine to admire it.

“I bet he would.” Peter spoke up. You looked at him over the magazine and smiled.

“See? Peter supports me. At least someone’s on my side.” You said and gestured to Peter. You made eye contact with him again and this time, it didn’t feel awkward. You liked that he was being supportive, no matter how silly your argument was.

“I think you’d make a great couple.” Peter continued, making you smile once again.

“Thank you.” You told him. “Now I just need to find a way to talk to him.”

“Maybe leave a couple flies on your windowsill.” Peter suggested. All the girls looked at him in confusion and he felt embarrassed that his joke didn’t land.

“Because he’s a spider. And they eat flies.” He shamefully explained. You stared at him slack jawed for a moment before throwing you head back laughing.

“That was genius.” You laughed. “Although, I hope he doesn’t actually eat bugs. I don’t think I could kiss a guy who eats flies.”

“He doesn’t.” Peter said with such certainty that everyone looked at him in confusion again.

“I’m….I’m guessing.” He lied. You smiled at him again before going back to talking to your friends. The conversation faded to background noise as Peter constructed a plan in his head.

After class that day, Peter changed into his suit and hung out on top of a building to watch the people walking in and out of campus. If you wanted to talk to Spiderman that badly, he was gonna bring Spiderman to you. Finally, he spotted you walking to your dorm with your earbuds in as you typed away on your phone.

“Hey! How are you? I’m Spiderman!” He whispered to himself to practice what he would say to you.

“No. That’s stupid. She already knows it’s me.” He grumbled. “Hey! What’s up? It’s me, your friendly neighborhood giant fucking loser Jesus Christ this is so difficult. Okay. Just be normal. Just talk to her. Just…”

Peter trailed off when he heard the sound of an engine revving. A car was speeding down the street and heading right towards the blissfully unaware you. Peter immediately jumped down and landed between you and the car, putting his hand up to stop it right before it could hit you. The car bent against his hand and came to a halt as Peter held you close to his body. People on the street gasped and started to take picture while you gasped for air. You pulled your earbuds out and looked at Peter in disbelief.

“Hi.” He said through the mask.

“Oh my God. It’s you.” Your voice shook as you tightened your grip on him. You were shaking with adrenaline and fear so he tightened his grip around your body.

“It’s me.” He said weakly. He had almost seen you die but now had to pretend you were a stranger he had never met before.

“You just saved my life.” You told him as a smile crossed your face.

“It’s my job.” He said simply. Your smile grew and you threw your arms around him in a hug.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his ear. Peter blushed under the mask and hugged you back. People on the streets clapped and took videos, but you were unaware of any of it. The man driving the car got out just as the police arrived to take yours and Peters statements. Once you were all squared away with the police, Peter wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Let me get you somewhere safe.” Peter said before swinging you a few blocks away from the sight of the crash. You held on tight and let out a happy scream as he swung you since it was a dream of yours coming true. When he set you down, you smoothed your hair down and looked at him.

“Thank you so much for saving me. I’m such an idiot. I was so focused on my phone that I just mindlessly kept walking even when the walk sign wasn’t on.”

“You’re not the idiot. That driver was. He was going 60 miles an hour in a school zone. It wouldn’t have mattered if the wall sign was on or not. I’m just glad I could be here to stop the car.”

“Just like Twilight.” You whispered to yourself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Sorry. I’m just a little starstruck.” You admitted with a shy smile.

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.”

“I know. But I’m kinda your biggest fan.”

“Well, I’m flattered. It’s nice to have a fan.” He chuckled through the mask. For the first time, Peter actually found it easy to talk to you. Conversation was flowing and he didn’t even have to try.

“I’m seriously obsessed with you. I’ve been following you since you first started, back when I was in high school. I think what you do is amazing. And now that you stopped me from becoming street meat, I’ll love you forever.” You told him before you knew what you were saying. You felt embarrassed to be freaking out so much over him, but he didn’t seem to think it was weird.

“I’m happy to hear that.” He smiled shyly at the sound of you promising to love him forever.

“Good. And I promise, I’ll never look at my phone while walking again. I’ll be super careful from now on.”

“What were you so focused on anyway?” He wondered.

“Oh, um…” You trailed off and just showed him your phone instead of trying to explain. It turned out the thing that had distracted you so much that you almost got hit by a car was a Tik Tok of footage of Spiderman edited to the song Deep Throat by Cupcakke. You smiled in embarrassment while Peter burst out laughing.

“That’s…intense.” He said once he regained his composure.

“I’m sorry. I tried to warn you. I said I was a fan.” You laughed and relaxed a little. You felt like you were being so weird, but he seemed to enjoy it.

“Can I walk you home?” He offered, making you light up.

“Really? I mean, yeah, sure.”

Peter put a gloved hand on your back and started walking with you back to your dorm. Conversation flowed easier than it ever had before and Peter felt like you were meeting each other for the first time. Talking to you as Spiderman was the antitheses of talking to you as Peter. His jokes didn’t fall flat, there was no awkward silence, and you were the one constantly complimented him.

“You know, I’ve fantasized about this very moment a million times.” You admitted to him as you neared your dorm.

“Have you?” He smiled coyly.

“Yeah. I just didn’t think it was actually gonna happen.”

“I don’t mind walking a pretty girl home. Maybe it can happen more often.” He timidly suggested. You stopped walking and looked at him to see if he was serious.

“I would like that.” You grinned.

“Cool. I’m smiling back at you, by the way. Sorry, I know it’s hard to tell under this.” He joked and gestured to the mask.

“It’s okay. I actually could tell.” You told him. Peter smiled only again and felt his heart swoon for you. You got to your dorm all too soon, meaning this conversation had come to an end.

“This is me.” You smiled sadly and pointed to your building. “Can I ask you something? Before you go?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“How old are you?” You said, close to a whisper.

“21.”

“Really?” You gasped. “Me too. You have no idea how relived I am to hear that.”

“Relieved? Why?”

“Because now I know my crush is age appropriate. So I can fully indulge in the fantasy. And because now I get to laugh in my friends faces who thought you were 30 or something.”

“It’s not really a fantasy if it’s really happening, is it?” Peter said as he stepped closer to you. Your breath caught in your throat and you broke into a dreamy smile.

“Trust me. It’s definitely a fantasy.” You sighed happily.

“Well, have a good night.” Peter said and squeezed your arm.

“You too.” You replied as you touched where his gloved hand had just been. Peter looked over his shoulder to wave at you before swinging away. Once you thought he was out of earshot, you let out a happy scream and jumped up and down. But you were never out of ear shot when it came to Peter, and he heard the whole thing with a grin on his face.

🖤🕸️🖤

chapter two is out now!

comment if you want to be on the taglist

Tag List 🏷️

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @serendipitous-amor

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@letsloveimagines @peterparkoure

@a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr @maryjanee23

@geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@fiantomartell @solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow

@thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman @smilexcaptainx @quaksonhehe

@kelieah @seasidecrowbar @lovelessdagger @electraheart-3174

@unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @horanxholland @thesuitelifeofafangirl

@marshxx @heyheycharlatte @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke  @thestylestour

 @officialsimppage

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Okay, folks, the mini-tourney is inching closer to the finals, so I'm going to give a list of the competitors in the Miss Billboard Tourney in order to give everyone a chance to submit more propaganda. The nominees are:

Lale Andersen

Marian Anderson

Signe Toly Anderson

Julie Andrews

LaVerne Andrews

Maxene Andrews

Patty Andrews

Ann-Margret

Joan Armatrading

Dorothy Ashby

Joan Baez

Pearl Bailey

Belle Baker

Josephine Baker

LaVern Baker

Florence Ballard

Brigitte Bardot

Eileen Barton

Fontella Bass

Shirley Bassey

Maggie Bell

Lola Beltran

Ivy Benson

Gladys Bentley

Jane Birkin

Cilla Black

Ronee Blakley

Teresa Brewer

Anne Briggs

Ruth Brown

Joyce Bryant

Vashti Bunyan

Kate Bush

Montserrat Caballe

Maria Callas

Blanche Calloway

Wendy Carlos

Cathy Carr

Raffaella Carra

Diahann Carroll

Karen Carpenter

June Carter Cash

Charo

Cher

Meg Christian

Gigliola Cinquetti

Petula Clark

Merry Clayton

Patsy Cline

Rosemary Clooney

Natalie Cole

Judy Collins

Alice Coltrane

Betty Comden

Barbara Cook

Rita Coolidge

Gal Costa

Ida Cox

Karen Dalton

Marie-Louise Damien

Betty Davis

Jinx Dawson

Doris Day

Blossom Dearie

Kiki Dee

Lucienne Delyle

Sandy Denny

Jackie DeShannon

Gwen Dickey

Marlene Dietrich

Marie-France Dufour

Julie Driscoll

Yvonne Elliman

Cass Elliot

Maureen Evans

Agnetha Faeltskog

Marianne Faithfull

Mimi Farina

Max Feldman

Gracie Fields

Ella Fitzgerald

Roberta Flack

Lita Ford

Connie Francis

Aretha Franklin

France Gall

Judy Garland

Crystal Gayle

Gloria Gaynor

Bobbie Gentry

Astrud Gilberto

Donna Jean Godchaux

Lesley Gore

Eydie Gorme

Margo Guryan

Sheila Guyse

Nina Hagen

Francoise Hardy

Emmylou Harris

Debbie Harry

Annie Haslam

Billie Holiday

Mary Hopkin

Lena Horne

Helen Humes

Betty Hutton

Janis Ian

Mahalia Jackson

Wanda Jackson

Etta James

Joan Jett

Bessie Jones

Etta Jones

Gloria Jones

Grace Jones

Shirley Jones

Tamiko Jones

Janis Joplin

Barbara Keith

Carole King

Eartha Kitt

Chaka Khan

Hildegard Knef

Gladys Knight

Sonja Kristina

Patti Labelle

Cleo Laine

Nicolette Larson

Daliah Lavi

Vicky Leandros

Peggy Lee

Rita Lee

Alis Lesley

Barbara Lewis

Abbey Lincoln

Melba Liston

Julie London

Darlene Love

Lulu

Anni-Frid Lyngstad

Barbara Lynn

Loretta Lynn

Vera Lynn

Siw Malmkvist

Lata Mangeshkar

Linda McCartney

Kate McGarrigle

Christie McVie

Bette Midler

Jean Millington

June Millington

Liza Minnelli

Carmen Miranda

Joni Mitchell

Liz Mitchell

Marion Montgomery

Lee Morse

Nana Mouskouri

Anne Murray

Wenche Myhre

Holly Near

Olivia Newton-John

Stevie Nicks

Nico

Laura Nyro

Virginia O’Brien

Odetta

Yoko Ono

Shirley Owens

Patti Page

Dolly Parton

Freda Payne

Michelle Phillips

Edith Piaf

Ruth Pointer

Leontyne Price

Suzi Quatro

Gertrude Rainey

Bonnie Raitt

Carline Ray

Helen Reddy

Della Reese

Martha Reeves

June Richmond

Jeannie C. Riley

Minnie Riperton

Jean Ritchie

Chita Rivera

Clara Rockmore

Linda Ronstadt

Marianne Rosenberg

Diana Ross

Anna Russell

Melanie Safka

Buffy Sainte-Marie

Samantha Sang

Pattie Santos

Hazel Scott

Doreen Shaffer

Jackie Shane

Marlena Shaw

Sandie Shaw

Dinah Shore

Judee Sill

Carly Simon

Nina Simone

Nancy Sinatra

Siouxsie Sioux

Grace Slick

Bessie Smith

Mamie Smith

Patti Smith

Ethel Smyth

Mercedes Sosa

Ronnie Spector

Dusty Springfield

Mavis Staples

Candi Staton

Barbra Streisand

Poly Styrene

Maxine Sullivan

Donna Summer

Pat Suzuki

Norma Tanega

Tammi Terrell

Sister Rosetta Tharpe

Big Mama Thornton

Mary Travers

Moe Tucker

Tina Turner

Twiggy

Bonnie Tyler

Sylvia Tyson

Sarah Vaughan

Sylvie Vartan

Mariska Veres

Akiko Wada

Claire Waldoff

Jennifer Warnes

Dee Dee Warwick

Dionne Warwick

Dinah Washington

Ethel Waters

Elisabeth Welch

Kitty Wells

Mary Wells

Juliane Werding

Tina Weymouth

Cris Williamson

Ann Wilson

Mary Wilson

Nancy Wilson

Anna Mae Winburn

Syreeta Wright

Tammy Wynette

Nan Wynn

Those in italics have five or more pieces of usable visual, written, or audio propaganda already. If you have any visuals like photos or videos, or if you have something to say in words, submit it to this blog before round one begins on June 25th!

If you don't see a name you submitted here, it's because most or all of their career was as a child/they were too young for the cutoff, their career was almost entirely after 1979, or music was something they only dabbled in and are hardly known for. There are quite a few ladies on the list whose primary career wasn't "recording artist" or "live musician," but released several albums or were in musical theater, so they've been accepted.

[mvacts]

SENTENCE STARTERS

BARRIO FRANCÉS: Aquí puedes visitar sitios como la famosísima calle Bourbon, célebre por sus establecimientos de bebida. Existen bares icónicos como la Old Absinthe House, el Pat O’Brien’s bar, conocido por inventar un cóctel rojo llamado Huracán. También está el Mercado Francés, donde se encuentra desde comida fresca hasta un mercado de pulgas. ¡No olvides dar una vuelta en carruaje por las rues del barrio!

“Toda esta música me pone de buen humor”

“Creo que voy a pasear en carruaje, ¿quieres acompañarme?”

“Me dijeron que este es el cóctel más famoso de Nueva Orlean, pero puaj, es demasiado dulce”

“¡Hay tantas cosas hermosas aquí! No sé qué podría llevar como souvenir de vuelta a casa”

“Hm, esa camiseta es un tanto… particular. ¿Te la vas a llevar?”

TRANVÍA ST. CHARLES: En funcionamiento desde 1835, es la línea de tranvía en funcionamiento continuo más antigua del mundo y la mejor forma de ver la ciudad. Su recorrido comienza en las avenidas South Carrollton y South Claiborne, y termina al borde del Barrio Francés.

“¿Tranvía St. Charles? ¿Y dónde está el que se llama Deseo?”

“Muy lindo todo, pero podría ir más rápido, ¿no?”

“Nunca más me subiré a esa cosa”

“Bueno, esa fue una experiencia… Interesante”

MUSEO DE ARTE DE NUEVA ORLEANS: El Museo de Arte de Nueva Orleans (NOMA) tiene una de las colecciones de arte más grandes del sur de Estados Unidos, con una impresionante selección de arte francés, japonés, estadounidense y africano, así como el Jardín de Esculturas Besthoff. Los visitantes pasean por los jardines, exploran la colección permanente y asisten a muchas de las interesantes exposiciones temporales.

“Encuentro ese cuadro muy bonito aunque no sé nada de arte”

“Nunca entendí el punto de los museos…”

“Iba a sentarme aquí, pero esa estatua me perturba. ¿Me acompañas a buscar otro lugar donde descansar?”

“Este jardín es muy bonito para hacer un picnic… ¿Y adivina qué? ¡Traje provisiones!”

BUQUE DE VAPOR NATCHEZ (puerto del río Mississippi): Barco de vapor antiguo en el que se realizan paseos, con buffet, brunch y música jazz.

“¡Qué hermosa vista! Me encantaría vivir en este atardecer por siempre”

“Ya era hora de tener un poco de paz, ¿no crees?”

“La música jazz es tan relajante…”

“Nada mejor para despejar la mente de los problemas en Arcadia Bay que con un buen trago y una vista incluso mejor”

ACUARIO AUDUBON: Mostrando la riqueza de la vida marina que se encuentra en América del Norte y del Sur, el Acuario Audubon de las Américas es un destino de visita obligada para los amantes de la naturaleza. Desde el colorido arrecife caribeño recreado hasta una colonia de pingüinos, hay mucho para entretener a todos los grupos de edad.

“Qué bonita es esa nutria…”

“¿Crees que los animales entiendan por qué están encerrados?”

“No me gusta ese lagarto… Siento que en cualquier momento golpea el vidrio y sale para comerme”

“¿Me acompañas a la tienda de recuerdos? Quiero llevarme un peluche de pingüino”

MARDI GRAS WORLD: Recorrido de un almacén de trabajo donde se fabrican las carrozas para los desfiles de Mardi Gras en Nueva Orleans. Mardi Gras es una expresión francesa para denominar al carnaval.  El llamado “Martes de grasa” se refiere a que era el último día para disfrutar de los placeres tanto culinarios como carnales antes de la época de abstinencia que marca el inicio de la Cuaresma y Semana Santa.

“¡Oye! ¿Me tomas una foto aquí?”

“No sé si soy yo, pero algunas de las carrozas son bastante perturbadoras…”

“Los arlequines de la entrada me parecieron muy turbios, ¿no te pasó?”

“¡Mira! Una carroza del Hombre Araña. Esta sí que me gusta”

“Hay de todo aquí dentro. No pensé que se podían hacer tantas carrozas distintas”

¡Pueden hacer visitas interactivas a los sitios listados arriba en este link: https://www.xplorit.com/new-orleans/! Cualquier duda sobre cómo usar la página, no teman en acercarse a preguntarnos y nosotres les guiaremos.

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Chapter 8: Roy Kent Fucks Up: The Sequel

Hungover Roy is a fucking cunt.

Ch7, (on ao3), Ch9

Roy wakes up and immediately decides this day is going to be shit.

His head is pounding, and it feels like a skunk has taken residence in his mouth.

He’d forgotten to close the curtains, and even the grey morning light pouring in from his windows is too much, sending a throbbing pain to his head.

He lies there, one arm thrown over his eyes as he groans, trying to trick himself into believing that he’s not hungover and that his grey matter isn’t drilling its way out of his skull. A thought slowly creeps its way to the surface, his brain taking a moment to boot up.

He lifts his arm up from his face and, despite the pain, opens his eyes to look outside. The very bright outside.

“Fuck!” He shouts, then immediately regrets it as his whole body protests the noise.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand. He presses the ‘on’ button. The screen stays black. Battery dead. The charger lays innocently on the nightstand, unplugged. His alarm never had the chance to ring.

“FUCK!”

Drunk Roy is always such a cunt.

He searches high and low for painkillers, coming up empty-handed because, much like Drunk Roy, Past Roy is also a cunt who didn’t replenish the painkillers after the last rosé-and-crêpe-induced drunken fiasco.

He almost plummets down the stairs in his rush to get ready, grabbing onto the banister at the last moment, twisting his shitty knee in the process. Why the fuck hadn’t he bought a bungalow? Also, why the fuck did the FIFA party have to be on a work night? And why the fuck did he let Jamie to convince him to go?

He burns his breakfast which his smoke alarm high up on the ceiling is more than happy to inform him of.

He tries to switch off the shrieking high-pitched beeping with a broom, the noise doing his head in. He succeeds but only because he accidentally knocks the alarm out of its fixture. He doesn’t bother trying to catch as it falls and clatters onto the kitchen tiles. It doesn’t make a sound after that.

By the time he’s murdered his smoke alarm, his toast is more closely related to charcoal than bread.

He doesn’t have time to make anything else.

He glares down at the multiple pieces of plastic that used to be his fire alarm as he swallows his buttered charcoal.

Cursing vanilla vodka, he barrels to his front door. He curses Drunk Roy as well when he trips over his own shoes in the hallway because apparently taking the extra second to put the shoes on the designated shoe shelf is too much for Drunk Roy.

He adds Jamie to the curse for the sake of thoroughness.

He’s the last to arrive at work. The moment he steps inside he can already hear all the fucking imbeciles he calls teammates before he’s anywhere near them.

Everyone in the locker room is already dressed for training. Colin is still screeching about his one singular FIFA victory. Kukoč and O’Brien are having an arm-wrestling rematch with half the locker room cheering them on. The other half of the room is talking over the cheering and Colin’s screeching, practically having to scream as they debate beanbags VS couches as though there’s any debate to be had. All of them loud and chipper and annoying, jumping all over the place, full of energy despite all the alcohol consumed yesterday.

He makes his way to his locker, not greeting anyone, not acknowledging anyone, hoping that they’ll do the same. They don’t.

As soon as they spot him, they all shout hello. His skull rings from the noise.

Jamie, the most chipper of the lot, walks up to him.

“Hey, Granddad!” Jamie slaps him on the back in greeting.

Roy staggers, not prepared for the pat, needles of pain poking at his shit knee.

“You look like shit.” Jamie says, having to shout right into Roy’s ear just to be heard, his hand still on Roy’s back, “Seems like vanilla vodka doesn’t agree with you.”

Jamie’s smiling with all his teeth again. Whiter and shinier than ever under the harsh locker room lights. Roy’s headache spikes just looking at them. He looks away.

Colin pauses his ten-hundredth victory speech to add, “Yeah, Roy. Some people just shouldn’t try to keep up with the youth when it comes to partying.”

Roy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even grunt, barely bothers to waste a glare on Colin. He shrugs off Jamie’s hand and marches over to his locker, wondering when the fuck Colin gained confidence to speak to him like that.

Richmond’s locker room never used to be so chaotic. It used to be he could come to work hungover after yoga nights and resent his pounding head in peace, knowing one simple glare would be enough for everyone to leave him alone. Then Lasso had to go and ruin that by promoting fucking good working relationships and friendship and shit. Fucking Lasso.

He sits on the bench, about to change into his gear when Lasso steps out of the coaches’ office and tells them all it’s time to head out onto the pitch. Lasso looks at Roy, still in his street clothes.

“Better get your shimmy on, Roy,” Lasso says in his overly blithe voice with his usual cartoonish expression plastered on his face.

The locker room empties out. On his way to the door, Jamie pats Roy on the back one more time. Roy’s head jostles with the movement, his brain howling bloody murder.

“See you on the pitch,” Jamie says.

And then Roy’s alone.

He hears the raucous laughter of his teammates getting further and further away.

He sighs as silence finally descending on the room. He holds his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees as he fights down the nausea.

He allows himself a minute to feel sorry for himself as his head and knee and just about his whole body inform him that he’s just not cut out for this anymore. Drinking. Partying, Hangovers. Football. He doesn’t know what ‘this’ is. At least, he pretends he doesn’t.

After the minute’s over, he straightens up, pity party over, and gets ready.

He walks out onto the pitch, immediately blinded by the bright sunlight shinning into his face, stabbing his eyes with sharpened knives. Trust the sun to grace London with its fucking presence when he’s too hungover to appreciate it.

They’ve already started warming up, doing stretches on the grass. He joins in, positioning himself as far away from everyone as he can without Lasso making sad faces at him.

“Look who finally decides to grace us with his presence” Jamie says.

Roy glares at him, but his glares don’t seem to be working today because Jamie keeps smiling like a fucking idiot.

Training is a fucking mess.

He suffers though one drill after another, each one more taxing on his body than the last, his knee screaming at him with every step, his head screaming even louder with every whistle.

(And does Lasso really need to whistle so frequently? Someone seriously needs to take that twat’s whistle privileges away from him.)

Roy’s slower than ever, far behind everyone else, watching them all speed ahead of him. When they move onto play-matches, his passes are sloppy and he can’t keep the ball to save his fucking life.

It seems that whenever he gets the ball, Jamie’s there to steal it away from him. Again. And Again. And Again. Always with that same self-satisfied little grin.

Near the end of training, Jamie slide-tackles him, graceful as a fucking gazelle, and Roy ends up on his back, staring up at the fucking bright blue sky, the ball long gone.

Jamie gets up without a problem, practically bouncing off the grass like a fucking bouncy ball, one of those flashy, obnoxiously coloured ones you get from vending machines.

Off to the side, Roy hears Isaac say, “Ooh! How could Jamie do his BFF dirty like that?”

Everyone within earshot laughs because Roy’s teammates with a bunch of children.

Roy tries not to be mad because it was a fucking good tackle but when Jamie bends over him, blocking the blue sky with his big, perfectly coiffed head, Roy just wants to throttle the little fucker.

“Need a hand?” Jamie asks, extending his own hand to Roy.

The throttling urges abate as Roy goes to grab Jamie’s hand, because, yes, Roy’s knee could really use a fucking hand (or to be put out of its misery; Roy wouldn’t mind being put out of his misery either right about now).

But then Jamie has to ruin it by adding, “After all, we’d hate for you to break a hip or something, Granddad,” he says it with a smug, bratty smile on his face.

Roy sees red and, growling, bats the hand away. Jamie jumps out of hitting range, giggling like a fucking hyena, before running off, leaving Roy lying there on the grass.

Fucking prick.

Roy struggles to get up on his own, hides it as best he can, praying for the patience not to kill any of his teammates today because, quite frankly, prison sounds boring as fuck.

He’s spared from incarceration by the final whistle blow, ending training and releasing him from this torture.

Roy lets everyone walk ahead of him, not wanting to be in the middle of the beanbags VS couches debate which is still going strong.

Jamie, ahead of the pack, looks back at Roy and calls out to him, “Come on, Granddad. Keep up,” he says, “Do you need me to get your walking frame?”

Roy gives Jamie the finger and doesn’t say anything. Actions speak louder than words, and all that.

Jamie laughs, turns back around and heads inside.

As Roy passes the coaches, he hears Lasso comment to Beard, “Isn’t it lovely how Jamie and Roy are getting along? Those two are really joined at the hip,” Lasso pauses before adding, “Figuratively of course. If it were literally, we would have a problem.”

Beard hums in agreement.

Roy glares at them as he walks away. Lasso, fucking oblivious, smiles at Roy and starts his own debate with Beard about the pros and cons of playing football with two players attached to each other.

By the time Gail’s finished abusing him, everyone has fucked off for the day, and the locker room is blessedly empty.

He sits on the bench, pressing an ice-pack to his knee, courtesy of Gail.

(He doesn’t think about the look on her face when she inspected his knee.)

He’s considering a second pity party when Jamie enters the locker room in all his bouncy-ball street clothes, holding a cup of water. The fabric colours are painful to look at.

“Hey, Roy. You busy later?” Jamie asks before Roy has chance to tell him to fuck off.

Jamie doesn’t pause long enough for Roy to answer, opening his mouth to let thousands of unwanted words pour out.

“There’s these two influencers I know from Insta who were planning to go to this really fancy restaurant—I’m talking real fancy—but they had to cancel because their Pomeranian, Sapphire, ate an 18 carat gold ring or something, so they have to take her to the vet.”

Roy is only half paying attention, discretely trying to stretch out his knee some, assessing the damage as Jamie blathers on.

“Apparently it’s, like, super hard to get a reservation, with, like, a months-long wait list and shit. It’s one of those weird-ass restaurants where they have the steaks with the gold flakes on them, and where they put caviar on basically everything, and they serve things like foie gras, whatever the hell that is. It’s, like, well stupid,” Jamie says, waving about his hands as he speaks, the water in the cup sloshing dangerously close to the edge. “Anyway, they passed off the reservation to me because I’m fucking amazing. And as we haven’t had a cheat day in fucking forever, I figured I’d invite you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to go to some fucking ridiculous restaurant with you?”

Jamie puffs up his chest, teeth on full display, and says “As we’re officially BFFs and everything—”

“We’re not friends,” Roy interrupts.

“Yes, we are,” Jamie says, waving Roy’s words away.

“No,” Roy insists, “We’re not.”

Of course they’re not friends; they can barely stand each other. It’s a fucking miracle that they’re not at each other’s throats anymore.

“We’re not?” Jamie asks.

“Fuck no, we’re not.” Roy says, trying to keep the ice pack balanced on his knee while packing up all his shit. He can shower at home. The sooner he was done here, the better.

“Oh.” Jamie murmurs.

It’s not the quiet ‘Oh’ that really gets Roy’s attention, but the stillness. Jamie is never still. A Still Jamie is not a Good Jamie.

Roy lifts his eyes from his bag and takes a proper look at Jamie.

Jamie’s smile has completely disappeared, his face now perfectly blank, all emotions wiped away.

“Right,” Jamie says, quieter than Roy’s ever heard him, starring over Roy’s shoulder, not making eye contact, “Of course. Makes sense.”

Except nothing makes sense. Definitely not Jamie’s reaction.

And then Roy watches as Jamie transforms right in front of him.

Jamie’s smile comes back, taking over the whole of his face, more like a smirk than anything else. Closer to those smiles he wore at the start of the season. He straightens up, jutting his head up; Roy hadn’t even noticed him curl in on himself.

“I’d best leave you to it, yeah?” The quiet is gone, Jamie’s voice back to normal as though it hadn’t been so small moments ago.

Jamie takes a step closer, puts the cup of water on the bench next to Roy and drops two painkillers Roy hadn't seen down beside the cup.

“Have a good one.” Jamie turns around and leaves the locker room at a perfectly normal pace, nothing out of the ordinary, except for his fists clenched at his side, knuckles white, manicured fingernails digging into his palms.

Roy doesn’t say anything. Watches Jamie leave. Looks down at the painkillers. Ignores whatever emotions are churning inside him.

He takes the painkillers, washes them down with the water. Pretends they aren’t hard to swallow.

next chapter

[adventuressclubamericas]

New Orleans Cocktail of the Month – Hurricane

No discussion of New Orleans cocktails would be complete without the Hurricane. This sweet concoction of rum, sugar and fruit juices – named for the glass, not the storm – was invented at Pat O’Brien’s during World War II. These days, you can still get a Hurricane at Pat O’s, or pretty much anywhere in the French Quarter. A favorite of Big Easy tourists, and a drink that goes down real easy, maybe give one (or more) a try while you’re in town for Miss Fisher Con!

Information provided for entertainment and educational puposes only. Please drink responsibly. Photo credit: NOLAskip

[rasslegram]

Vale 2023

Terry Funk, Bray Wyatt, Joyce Grable, Killer Khan, Jim Breaks, Doug McLeod, Kurtis Chapman, Brett Wayne-Sawyer, Emile Dupree, Bart Sawyer, Curtis Smith, Randy Johnson, Bill Howard, Count Drummer, Pat Blake, Sheik Adnan El-Kaissey, Darren Drozdov...

Mantaur Mike Halac, Iron Sheik, Tommy Siegler, Tony Peters, Exotic Adrian Street, Superstar Billy Graham, Butch Miller, Rod Bell, Peggy Lee Leather, Abe Jacobs, Rich Landrum, Ed Garea, Brian Dixon, Tim Lyle, Beverly Shade, Don Luce, Willie Paul, Bill Robinette...

JR Bundy, Jerry Jarrett, Jason Silver, Jeff Gaylord, Toro Bill, Eric Froelich, Black Warrior, Johnny Powers, Karl Von Steiger, Mike Pappas, Don West, Sean Patrick O’Brien, Jimmy The Jester, Terry Machalek Sr, Brian Bukantis, Matt Mann, Lanny Poffo...

Billy Two Rivers, Rockin' Randy Rhodes, Charlie Norris, Ed Cheslock, Dan Masters, Howard Brody, Chica Ye-Ye, La Arpia, Carlos Elizondo, La Tigresa Del Norte, Jay Briscoe, Kenny Jay, El Justiciero, Benny Galant, The Rose, Robocop, El Rostro, Indio Vitela, Millonario.