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hollandspiderling · 5 years ago

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Homecoming Redemption || Part Two - The Asking

Summary: After everything that has happened to Peter, all he wanted was to have some sort of normalcy for his senior year. With the new school year finally underway, so far everything seems to be going to plan. He and his friends are trying to not let the effects of recent events get the best of them and everyone is moving forward. Now with the homecoming dance quickly approaching, what will Peter do once he realizes that he needs to find a date?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: A rom-com series with a hint of angst. Swearing and underage drinking to come. Everyone is 18yrs old in this and all of the Avengers survived the blip. His identity is still a secret after defeating Mysterio because Peter deserves a break and time to breathe after everything he’s been through LOL

Word Count: ~4.6k

Author’s Note: Welp, I tried to write and schedule parts to be more on top of myself, but that was an epic fail. I wanted to focus on spending time with family and friends more during the holidays and preparations for finals sneaked up on me. The future parts will come when I am able to, but I hope this extra-long update makes up for it! I hope you all enjoy this update lovelies, xoxo Astrid. ❤

Teaser | Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Every morning it was a routine for you and Peter to ride the subway to school together. This has always been the case ever since you transferred, and he became your tour guide for the ins and outs of the city as well as Midtown Tech. You’ve grown so accustomed to his presence every morning as he met you at his stop with two bagels and coffees in hand. The only times that you guys did have separate mornings were when you would meet with your council at the beginning of each week. So, it was an odd thing for you to wake up to a text from Peter saying that he wasn’t able to accompany you that Friday morning to class. You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t disappointed by not having your daily dose of Peter’s morning rambling. It was always his upbeat personality that usually helps set your mood for the rest of the day. Because of how close your friendship was, he was the only person that managed to see the rare times where you’d let down your walls and become vulnerable with yourself. Whenever you stressed about upcoming projects, he’d always be the one to reassure that you had it in the bag and were worrying over nothing.

You sighed to yourself as you aimless watched the undergrounds of New York whizz past you as the subway train left Peter’s stop. It’s been a busy week for both of you for some reason. You knew Peter’s schedule by part so when he texted you that he was staying late the day before and not being able to come that morning piqued your interest. Peter would tell you everything so the vague answers he was giving you whenever you talked to him was picking at your mind. As much as you wanted to bug him about it, you knew you had to give him the space he needed because you trusted him. Whenever he was ready, he’d come tell you whether it was school or Avengers related, you’d wait until he was ready to talk to you.

Now with the last day of the school week ahead of you, you shook your head to clear your mind for the day. There was a lot to do and you needed to start making the spreadsheet and presentation for the homecoming court. As you stepped out of the subway, your eyes squinted from the bright, warm sunrays that were beaming down on you. Smiling to yourself, you took a moment to bask in the small moment you had with yourself. Nodding to yourself, you made your way towards Midtown and began to mentally go over your checklist.

Peter anxiously bit his lip as he paced back and forth in front of his locker. Everything that he planned for was finally happening and he was so nervous. He’s never done anything like this before and the fact that he asking you made it even more nerve-wracking. Some people might find it odd because his alter ego is Spiderman, but because of how much he wanted this to be perfect for you, he didn’t want anything to go wrong that day. It was hard to sleep the night before because of all the scenarios that popped into his head and he groaned, letting his head rest against the cold metal.

“I’ve never seen the school this empty before. Parker, you owe us coffee for having to wake up this early.”

His head snapped up and heard two people chuckle at his wide-eyed expression. Seeing who finally arrived, he smiled in relief.

“Y-Yeah of course. No worries, once all of this is done, I’ll get the coffee you want.” He said as Keila and MJ approached him with the big banner being held in MJ’s arms.

“Chill, Pete. There’s no reason to be worried, you gotta believe in yourself.” Keila smirked at him.

He nodded to their words as he rubbed his palms together and pursed his lips together.

“No yeah, you guys are right. I shouldn’t be worrying about it too much.”

“There you go Parker, that’s the confidence that we need. Also, nice change of vibes dude.” MJ complimented with a nod of acknowledgment.

Peter looked down to see what the boys helped him pick out to wear for the day. Kai had lent him a pair of black joggers and Ned helped him pick out a white shirt with a black graphic on it that wasn’t his typical science pun. Alex finished the outfit off with a denim jacket that he found in Peter’s closet when all of the boys came over after school.

“That’s all thanks to us, ladies.”

He looked behind him to see Alex and Kai coming up to them with beaming smiles. Kai had his hands behind his head as he leisurely walked up next to his twin sister and they high-fived each other. Alex slung his arm over Peter’s shoulders and encouragingly gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry Pete, Kai and I got everything covered for ya. We managed to get the boys of the team to distract Brad during lunch period. If that doesn’t work out, then Kai and I will handle everything ourselves, alright? All you need to do is concentrate on getting Stark as your date.” Alex smirked.

“Thanks guys, I know that you didn’t have to do all of this, but I appreciate it that all of you guys did.” Peter smiled.

“Oh, but you can’t forget about the best part.” Ned interjected as he came up to the group with Betty beside him as she held the basket containing all of your favorite snacks and small things that reminded him of you.

Everyone exchanged their hellos and with each other and Betty handed the basket over to Peter. She smiled at him and he gave her one back.

“Don’t worry Peter, we’ll be right behind you to support you. I’ll go hide the poster with the girls in the council room since it’s closest to the cafeteria. Alex and Kai will double check with the basketball team after second period and you’ll be scotch free to do your asking.” She reassured.

“Thanks Betty, it’s been a really nerve-wracking twelve hours.” He laughed.

“You’ll be fine Peter.” Ned confirmed as more students began to fill the empty halls.

“Is there anything else that you need from us, Peter?” Kai asked.

Peter shook his head and smiled at them as his grip on the basket tightened. “No, not necessarily. Having your support with me right now before everything else has been the most reassuring.”

“We’re glad to be of help for the greater cause.” Alex joked as he playfully wriggled his eyebrows.

Everyone rolled his eyes and Keila clapped her hands together. They all looked at her and she pointed at the clock. “As much as I would love to continue our conversation of hyping Peter up, it’s almost time for her to get here so let's all disperse so she doesn’t grow suspicious.”

Peter waved at them as he turned towards his locker and began to enter his combination. He hoped with his entire being that everything goes well that day. Grabbing the empty duffel bag, he had from his gym class, he put the basket in it and hung his backpack onto his locker. A soft smile crept onto his face as his eyes landed on the bouquet, he bought from the flower shop next to Delmar’s. Gently putting it into the duffel bag as well, he took in a deep breath and mentally began to reassure himself that nothing was going to ruin what he was going to do for you.

You raised an eyebrow to yourself as you noticed a huge crowd forming around the entrance of Midtown and tilted your head. Nothing was happening for the student body, so with curiosity, you began to head over towards the crowd. Some people in the back noticed that you were there and began to shuffle away. Murmurs of your presence spread through the crowd as excited whispers began to surround you and you had a feeling of what was happening. With a sigh, you began to rub your temples because it was too early to be dealing with this. Cautiously, you ascended up the stairs and your eyes landed on the group of boys holding out a poster.

The expression on your face flattened as you read what it said, and you mentally wanted to kill yourself. Rumors of Brad asking you to Homecoming was floating around for the past week and you decided to filter any idea of that actually happening out of your head. You could agree that he certainly did improve looks-wise after the blip, but that added another level of cockiness towards him which didn’t really appeal to you. The poster was decked out in red and gold letters saying, “I may not be a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, but I could be your date to homecoming?”

Girls in the crowd were gushing at how cute the gesture was as you plastered a fake smile on your face. You met eyes with Brad, and you could just feel the sense of pride and cockiness radiating off of him. If anyone knew you, they should know that anything that is affiliated with your uncle was off-limits and seeing how that was the first miss for him, you weren’t sure what else he had planned for you. You were pretty sure that all his smarts went out the door when he realized how hot he was and only put his energy towards getting girls.

“Brad…what is all this?” you asked as you tentatively eyed him once you stopped in front of him.

Crossing your arms over your shoulder and shifting your weight onto one of your legs, you waited for him to respond. He grinned down at you and one of his teammates passed a bouquet of flowers towards him to pass to you. You raised an eyebrow and looked at the bouquet. You accepted it from him and internally groaned. No one knew this except for Peter, but you were allergic to daisies. There were baby ones accompanying pink lilies within the bouquet.

“Thanks Brad, but I’m allergic to daisies.” You muttered.

He grimaced and said, “I was planning on giving you roses, but the market by my apartment ran out of them when I bought them last night. I can take those back from you if you’d like.”

You shook your head and he nodded in understanding. He readjusted his position and smiled down at you. “Well despite the flower mix up, I do hope that you know what I’m about to ask you.”

Nodding along to his words, you scanned the area to see that the council had joined in the back and confusion spread throughout your being when you noticed their expressions. That was something you had to address later, and you filtered it into the back of your mind. Turning your attention back to Brad, you continued listening to him.

“Y/N, will you be my date to homecoming? You’re the smartest and most gorgeous girl I know, and it would be an honor of mine to take you to this year’s dance.”

With all these people watching, you mentally grimaced as you didn’t want to publicly humiliate him in front of half of the student body. Despite having a huge dislike for all that was happening, you swallowed your pride for the time being and gave him a tight-lipped smile. You gave him a small nod and he beamed widely as everyone began to cheer for you guys. Before he could completely celebrate, you dropped your façade as people slowly dispersed to leave you guys alone. You stuffed the bouquet into your backpack to throw away later and closed your eyes as you felt a headache coming.

“What’s wrong, L/N?” Brad asked.

“Brad, we need to talk.” You sighed.

Peter sighed to himself as he heard the first bell ring and half of the class filed into his first period. He lifted his head off of his arms from the power nap he decided to make and cussed to himself when he noticed that Flash was making his way towards him.

“Penis Parker!” Flash obnoxiously greeted as he sat on the empty desk next to him.

“Flash.” Peter greeted.

“What’s got you panties twisted, Parker? Is it because of what happened just now?” He cheekily asked.

Peter gave him a confused look and Flash’s eyes widened. “Wait, you didn’t see what happened at the front of the school?”

Rolling his eyes, Peter shook his head in response and turned his attention towards getting his materials out for class. He heard Flash laugh out loud and settled down into his assigned seat that was in the row in front of him and across to his left. Peter watched as Flash turned around to face him and smirked.

“Brad asked Y/N to the dance and she said yes.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he could feel his heart drop to his stomach. There was no way that happened because his group made sure about it. Taking his phone out while their teacher began to take attendance and Flash flipped him off, Peter hurriedly checked his notifications to see that everyone was trying to get a hold of him. He mentally kicked himself for being stupid enough on leaving his phone on do not disturb out of all times and buried his head into his arms. This was not part of his plan and now he lost his chance. Sighing to himself, the rush of thoughts began to move faster than he could comprehend.

Rather than being happy and nervous, the negative emotions he was feeling was getting the best of him. Thoughts of how you were alone and probably grew somewhat closer to Brad when he was gone began to fill his head. Maybe Brad was the guy that you were referring to yesterday and he was always and will only be your best friend. There was still that weight of leaving you alone without meaning to when Thanos happened and both of you spent the majority of your time in Europe trying to get back into the gist of things. You were so patient with him and helped him figure out his problems during Mysterio but he realized that he wasn’t really been paying attention towards you more than he should have. If he did, then maybe he would have had a better chance with you.

The familiar heavy feeling filled his chest as Peter felt his muscles tensing and the shortness of his breath began to overwhelm him. Shaking his leg, Peter leaned against his seat and tightly gripped his desk as he tried his best to concentrate on what his teacher was teaching them for the day. Instead, most of his hidden insecurities got the best of him and his mind spiraled more into the negativity that was spreading throughout his body. It was slowly becoming too much for him and before, he would have cared about his attendance in class. That went out the window when he chose to become Spiderman and that was the only option Peter saw at that moment that was going to help him calm down.

With an anxiously raised hand, he waited for his teacher to call on him.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” His English teacher asked.

“Can I go to the infirmary; I don’t feel so well.”

She nodded and let him go once she noticed his pale complexion and Peter hurriedly grabbed his things. As much as he would have loved to look forward to his original plans, right now he needed to ground himself. Peter made his way towards his locker and hurriedly grabbed the things he prepared for you. A sad feeling came over him and he made his way towards the nearest trashcan. Opening the bag and grabbing the bouquet he bought you, Peter thought he was ready to throw it away. But as his hand hovered over the trash bin, he sighed. Putting the bouquet back in its place, he sullenly slung the bag over his shoulders and made his way out of school. He didn’t want to see you and Brad together so Peter decided to go to the one place he knew that would help keep him at a better place.

You bit your bottom lip as you eyed your phone as the minutes of the clock ticked down towards the end of your last class of the day. There was something off that day despite having an allergic reaction for most of the time. Peter had been missing all day and it wasn’t sitting right with you since he wasn’t answering his phone either. That was something out of the ordinary and once the bell rang, you were going to get to the bottom of this situation. Once the bell rang, you gathered your things and bit your bottom lip as you hurriedly made your way to your locker. Your friends had told you that they weren’t sure where Peter disappeared off to since they saw him that morning, but you couldn’t pinpoint what could have triggered him to leave.

As you grabbed your stuff that you needed for the weekend, you thought of all the places he could be. You already contacted F.R.I.D.A.Y and was notified that he hadn’t gone to the compound. Aunt May said that he hadn’t stopped by the apartment when you texted her during your lunch break and everyone else wasn’t sure where he could be. Sighing to yourself, you hoped that wherever Peter was, that he was okay.

“You okay?”

You jumped out of your thoughts when you looked behind you to find the girls standing around you. Giving them a small smile, you nodded and closed your locker after throwing the last book you needed into your bag.

“Yeah, I’m just worried about Peter…he hasn’t responded to me all day.”

The girls looked at each other as you looked at your phone once more. You felt yourself frown as you saw that there were no new notifications on your phone and ruffled your hair.

“I think I might know why…” Betty said sheepishly.

You raised an eyebrow at her and noticed that all of the girls had the same look on their face. Betty shifted around and said, “I think it’s because I heard Flash confronted him and said something that set him off.”

Hearing Flash’s name made you roll your eyes and facepalmed yourself. Flash was an idiot and knowing how his dynamic worked with Peter, that guy knew exactly how to push his buttons. What didn’t settle with you, was the fact that Peter actually let his words get the best of him. Usually Flash was just an annoying asshole that everyone would just brush off, despite the rare good interactions he had with anyone.

“Well, looks like I have someone’s ass to beat then.” You huffed as you determinedly cracked your knuckles and began your mission to find him.

“Ah, ah, ah not so fast homegirl. I think finding Peter would be more important than that.” MJ coaxed as you felt her and Keila hold you back from hurting Flash.

The other girls laughed as they saw you pout at MJ’s words. “But it’s Flash!” you whined.

“Even if it’s Flash, you’ve been worried about Peter the entire day so I think you can save kicking his ass another day.” Keila chuckled.

“Ugh, I guess you’re right…I just don’t know where he could be.”

“If Peter was triggered by something, maybe he went home?” Betty suggested.

You shook your head and said, “I’ve already checked the compound and his apartment. He hasn’t been answering any of my texts either.”

“Maybe he needed to be in a happy place. Do you know any places that he’d hide at?” MJ asked.

You racked your brain for any ideas and one place popped up in mind. A groan escaped your lips as you slapped your forehead.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why didn’t I think of that before?” you said to yourself as you hurriedly hugged the girls and ran towards the exit.

“Thanks for helping me guys! I’ll let you know what happens.”

You hoped that Peter was still at the only place the two of you promised to be at if the other one didn’t want to be found by anyone else.

The bell of the café rang as you entered the small establishment. Soft jazz music filled the air as you scrunched your nose and scanned the place. ‘Oh thank god…’ You smiled to yourself as you spotted the familiar curls nestled on top of his arms. Shaking your head, you quickly ordered your usual drink at the place and quietly slid into the booth Peter was taking a nap at. You set your chin on top of your palm and your facial expression softened. Without thinking, your hand reached out and began to play with his curls.

You felt him move underneath your touch and he sleepily blinked his eyes open. A chuckle escaped your lips as you waited for him to figure out that you were in front of him. He slowly moved into a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair, looking around the café. It was a habit of his to be slightly sluggish when he just wakes up and you cleared your throat to let him know you were there. His eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat.

“Y/N? W-What are you doing here?” he asked.

You gazed at him as he searched your gaze and replied, “You didn’t answer me all day, I was getting worried.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed his phone out of his backpack and he sheepishly smiled. “Sorry, Y/N I accidentally forgot to take it off do not disturb.”

You laughed and thanked the waiter that brought your coffee. Taking a sip of the warm drink, you gave him a look of concern and he shifted his eyes towards the rest of the café. He played with one of the edges of his notebook that was in between you two and you knew he was hiding something from you.

“Pete…what’s wrong? I need you to talk to me.”

He shook his head and looked down as he held his hands together in front of him. “It’s nothing, really. I just overreacted over something little and it led to getting overwhelmed with everything.”

You sighed as you set your cup down and reached over to grab his hand. He looked up at you in surprise but felt himself relaxing underneath your comforting touch. You silently asked him again with a look and he tapped your hands. Taking that as a sign, you leaned back into your seat to give him his space.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready, but for now as a distraction, tell me about your day. I heard from Ned that you got asked to homecoming and you said yes.”

You choked on your drink and laughed. Peter looked at you with wide eyes as you paused to look at him once more and laughed. “Oh Pete, I only said yes because I didn’t want to humiliate the poor guy in front of the whole school. The way he asked was horrible.”

He gave you a questioning look and you tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “It was disastrous, Peter. Brad bought me a bouquet with daisies, of all flowers. Are you kidding me? I had to suffer from my allergies for the first half of the day and he had the audacity to quote my uncle as a way to ask me to homecoming. It was atrocious.”

You laughed so hard that you accidentally let out a snort. Peter laughed at the bewildered look in your eyes and he smiled back for the first time since you arrived.

“Wow, I-I didn’t expect that it was going to be that bad.” He replied and smiled to himself.

“It was, I wish you were there to see it, Pete. You would’ve seen through the bullshit façade I was putting in front of him. Ugh Pete, I wish you were there today in general. It would’ve been great to just have you by my side today.” You sighed.

He gave you a smile and laughed to himself. Without you knowing, you were giving him the reassurance that he needed. The tension that held within his body was finally being let go as he listened to your day and admired the expressions you showed while sharing what you’ve gone through. His eyes traveled to the duffel bag that was beside him and he contemplated whether or not he should just do it right then and there.

“Peter, what’s in the bag you have right there?” you asked as you noticed his gaze shift towards it.

He stiffened up and Peter suddenly began to grow nervous. You watched as he fidgeted with his fingers and you reached out to give him a reassuring squeeze. Watching as he took in a deep breath, you waited for him to say what’s been on his mind.

“Wouldyouliketogotohomecomingwithme?” he asked really quickly.

You smiled to yourself as you processed what he had just asked you and Peter kept his eyes shut, afraid of rejection. Without trying to give it away, you bit your lip and tried to be as silent as you could.

“C’mon, Y/N…you can’t leave a guy hanging like this.” Peter said as he peeped through one eye.

A giggle escaped your lips as you shrugged, and Peter sighed. He grabbed the bouquet out of the bag and passed it over to you.

“Hopefully this helps settle your answer.” Peter continued and kept looking at you in anticipation.

You felt your cheeks heat up and emotions take over you because of the certain flowers that he got you. Roses were always your favorite because they were your mother’s favorite and sunflowers were another one you loved because your mom had always called you her sunflower.

“Aw Pete…you didn’t have to…” you murmured as you hugged the bouquet to yourself.

He smiled at your expression and sighed in relief. “This wasn’t how I originally planned it, but I’m glad it all worked out in the end.”

Hearing his words, your head snapped up and you asked, “You were planning on asking me?!”

Peter nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck and grabbed the basket before sliding it towards you.

“I was supposed to do this big asking at lunch period, but Flash told me what happened this morning and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I told you that I was overreacting…”

“Oh Pete, it’s Flash. He can go suck it for all I care, and you know better than that.”

“I know, I know…I just-I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay Pete, but to answer your first question, I would love to go to the dance with you.”

You smiled at him before getting up from your seat and leaned over to kiss his cheek. His eyes widened when he felt your lips on his skin and looked up at you as you leaned back into your set. A wide smile came onto his face as he watched you hugged your basket excitedly.

“So, Peter Benjamin Parker, shall we head back to your apartment and devour all of these snacks together?”

Taglist: (lmk if you want to be tagged! Tagged those who asked and who I think might enjoy this fic || Crossed out means I wasn’t able to tag you!) @averyfosterthoughts @ithinkimightlikehim @ homecomIng @meganlikesfandoms @tomfiction4 @justcallmehitgirl @procrastinatingismybiggestflaw @mrhollandisart @yeahimcrying @littlebookbengal @caretheunicorn @mara-twins @jackiehollanderr @imsocial-not @ibookishqueen @itjustkindahappenedreally @3tothe1 @babebenhardy @kewl-r @llamazarecoolaf @mrsfortune1306 @dangerousluv1 @distracted-paganism @stxfxniexreads @mybitchborky @autty0314 @problems-in-paradise @megaprincesscakes @fangirling12566 @marvel-ousnesss @happywobble @zabdisamor

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tell-me-when-ur-ready · 5 years ago

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This Thing Called Love (part two)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but I don’t have the same exact health conditions she does. I’ve done lots of research, but I apologize if I get anything wrong!

Warnings: tiny bit of language

Word count: 1,200

Against Kellie’s better judgment, she said yes to lunch. She was in Toronto for dance, and nothing else; that was all she could physically handle. More than she could handle, actually, especially with the side effects from her new meds. But when Shawn had texted her, she’d answered Sure, tell me when (after several minutes, not right away; she did have some dignity left).

So that was how, the very next day, she found herself waiting outside a little café for Shawn to arrive. She’d gotten into town on Tuesday to give her body plenty of time to recover, if need be, before her dance competition; now it was Thursday, and the opening rounds of the competition started that night. She’d be dancing once tomorrow, a contemporary piece to a James Arthur song, and then hopefully two or even three times on Saturday depending on how she did—her main piece was her lyrical dance to In My Blood.

And that was what she should be focusing on, she thought anxiously as she tapped her foot on the sidewalk, not lunch with a celebrity she’d randomly met the day before (what even was her life?). But then she saw Shawn walking toward her and all coherent thoughts fled.

“Hey,” he said, raising a hand and flashing her that megawatt grin. He was wearing his signature skinny black jeans and a button-down shirt with the top few buttons gaping open, and anyone with eyes could see he looked really fucking good.

“Hi,” she said back, smiling.

“Sorry I’m a little late. I had trouble finding a parking spot.” He swept a few stray curls off of his forehead with one hand and gestured at the door. “Hungry?”

The waiter seated them at the back of the restaurant and they made small talk about the food as they pored over the menu, Kellie looking at the ingredient lists a little more carefully than Shawn. After they’d ordered and taken sips of their water and flattened their napkins in their laps, the conversation dwindled and things started to feel a little stiff.

“So what have you been doing lately?” Kellie asked awkwardly, and immediately felt like an idiot for asking it. What have you been doing lately? Who said that to a stranger? A strange boy? A strange celebrity?

But Shawn didn’t seem to pick up on the awkwardness that Kellie felt was glaringly obvious.

“Honestly, not much,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I mean, I’ve been doing a lot of things—working on an album and doing photoshoots and sponsorships and stuff. But it feels like I’m not doing anything cause I’m not on tour or playing festivals this summer. You know?”

“Yeah,” Kellie said, relaxing a little. “In high school I was a super competitive dancer; I was part of a lyrical dance team and we were on this T.V. show, it’s kind of like America’s Got Talent but just for dance, and we won. So we started traveling all the time—performing around the U.S. and Canada and Europe. But now, I just get up in my hometown every day and go to work, and then I sleep and then I work again. And that’s about it.”

He laughed. “Yeah. You get it. And I’m still being productive and doing what I love, it’s just—”

“Not the same,” Kellie said, and smiled back at him. Did she ever understand, she thought ruefully—more than he could know—how it wasn’t the same.

The conversation ran smoothly from there; Shawn talked about his new music video and Kellie talked about her dance background. They found common ground over the ways they took care of their bodies for tour (Shawn) and dance (Kellie). Both of them liked yoga, it turned out, and were interested in holistic health in general (although Kellie didn’t bring up the reason she’d first gotten interested in the field). And once Kellie had started Shawn on that line of conversation, he didn’t shut up for several minutes.

“So basically,” she said finally, leaning one elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand, “you’re a hippie.”

His mouth actually fell open.

“What?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s obvious. You avoid gluten, you meditate, you do yoga, you’re interested in holistic medicine… should I go on?”

Shawn laughed out loud, his smile reaching ear to ear. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, but he didn’t refute her claims.

“Also, you’re a Hufflepuff,” she said firmly, crossing her arms and sitting back in the chair.

That one he did refute.

“Excuse you!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “I am not a Hufflepuff. Not at all. I’m totally a Gryffindor.”

“No you’re not,” Kellie scoffed, but he brushed her off, emphatically shaking his head.

“You’re wrong,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Sorry.”

They were both still laughing when the waiter brought the check, and Kellie looked up in surprise; she hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed. She reached into her purse, but Shawn had already handed the waiter his card before her fingers had even closed around her wallet.

“I got it,” he said easily.

“Are you sure?” (Which was a stupid question, because he was a millionaire, after all.)

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks,” Kellie said, sinking back into her chair. Must be nice to be rich and not to have thousands of dollars of medical bills hanging over your head, she thought grimly.

“I had a really nice time,” Shawn said a few minutes later when they were outside the restaurant, shoving his hands in his pockets. His stance was relaxed, his face open.

“I—I did too,” Kellie said, a little breathless. She silently willed him to return to safer ground. The music video. Business. The industry. Something a little more professional than the way he was currently looking at her.

“So…” he said next, glancing down and scuffing the toe of his pointy boot on the pavement. “I’ll have my team send you details? About the music video?”

Kellie was tempted to tease him again, something like but what if I’m still secretly an ax murderer or don’t you think they should see me dance first, but she didn’t. His wide hazel eyes were looking at her a little too closely and the fluttery feeling in her stomach was one she liked a little too much—because this was something she couldn’t have. Not now, not ever. This needed to end.

“Yes,” she said with finality. “That sounds great. Thank you. And thanks for lunch.”

“Sure,” Shawn said, but she didn’t miss the brief flash of confusion in his eyes as she turned and purposefully started down the sidewalk.

As Kellie walked away into the Toronto sunlight, feeling the beginnings of a migraine pushing at the back of her head, she cursed herself for doing anything except what she’d come here for. It was time to focus on winning Saturday’s competition, because it just might be her big break—and God knows some kind of break was what she needed.

Taglist: @rosiemercy @learning-howto-be-myselfx3

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes blurb #sm #shawn

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ducktracy · 5 years ago

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124. alpine antics (1936)

release date: march 9th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: billy bletcher (bully), tommy bond (beans)

another beans cartoon by king, featuring his girlfriend kitty and a peg leg pete facsimile. beans plans to enter a skiing contest, and his motives for winning are pushed further when a bully brews up trouble.

open to a winter landscape, everyone skiing and skating. three snowmen sing “she was an acrobat’s daughter” as “she was an ice skater’s daughter” while a clarabelle cow facsimile skates right up against the screen, animation smooth and crisp. the singing snowmen have their own 15 seconds of fame, melting in front of a roaring fire to end the song.

more ice centered gags ensue—a dog boils some water over a fire and pours it into a hole in the ice, hoping for a quick dip. predictably, the genius pops up frozen in an ice cube. elsewhere, three horses wearing sweaters that spell out “SOS” skate in a line, a tiny dog skating beneath their legs. the entire scene is reminiscent of the opening scene in bosko in dutch. a turtle dances on the ice, when he and his reflection get separated. the gags aren’t laugh out loud hilarious, but the visuals are appealing.

enter beans and kitty. beans pushes kitty in a sled, occasionally hopping on the back for the ride. he brakes in front of a cabin (the break being a boot attached to a lever) to read a flyer posted on the wall. the flyer boasts a ski race, promoting $100,000,000 in prizes “or a cool $2.00 cash to the winner!” a classic that will appear in many a cartoon.

beans is ecstatic. he snags a pair of spare skis and declares “big race today, kitty! oh boy, watch me win that race!” a peg leg pete facsimile (more so than usual—this time he’s an actual cat, of course voiced by billy bletcher. i don’t know if i explicitly mentioned it but i’ve always implied it—bletcher also voiced pete in the original disney cartoons) hides behind a tree, menacingly chuffing on a cigar so you know he’s hot shit. he approaches beans and picks him up by the skis. he asserts his kindness by sliding beans off of the skiis and flicking him off his own pair before breaking beans’ skis over his knees. a reasonable fella.

rightfully so, beans is pissed, shaking his fist, sticking out his tongue, shadow boxing, tapping his foot, promising he’ll show him. he rips the seat portion of the sled off, and thus has his own makeshift pair of skiis. hope kitty didn’t want to do any more sledding. two conveniently placed straps are under the skiis, which he ties around his feet and shuffles off towards the big race.

porky makes a cameo at the starting line, riding a rocking horse into battle. the bully is confidently waiting for the start, yet his pride deflates as soon as he notices beans adorning new skis. he grimaces at beans, who innocently laughs in return. a turtle referee checks his clock—time is ticking. the bully also recognizes this, and thusly pulls out a rocket from his pocket. he swipes beans’ hat over his head so he can’t see, creating the perfect distraction as he ties the rocket to one of beans’ skis and lights it. and, of course, beans is sent rocketing backwards, flying right into a cabin and shooting out of the roof. he lands in the snow in a daze as the bully gives a trademark belly laugh.

the bully’s timing was just right. a fire of the pistol and the race is off. the bully speeds ahead on his skis, porky rides his horse into battle, a dog takes off with a makeshift sailboat, and another struggles to get his exercise bike through the snow. though beans is already at a disadvantage, his optimism is seldom flattened. he skis right where he is, the bully already in a steady lead.

visuals galore as we spot the racers. the biker sends snow flying right into porky’s face, a dog pumps a bellows into a sail, a duck rides a wiener dog donning skis, the essentials. beans is finally on the course, spreading his legs to avoid a tree trunk and conversely compacting his body as he passes between two trunks. the bully takes time to admire his lead, once more laughing. he shreds down a slope and jumps off, pulling a string to summon a parachute and ensure safely. as he floats lazily in the sky, he makes attempts to ski in the air.

cue the dirty tricks. the bully spins around a tree to stop himself, tying a rope to one of his ski poles. he jabs the pole into a neighboring tree and effectively creates a tripwire. one by one, his victims fall into place (literally): the cycling dog falls headfirst into the snow, spinning his bike upside down. porky’s next, he and his rocking horse both shaking their tails in the snow. next the sail boat dog, and even the three little pigs(?), also shaking their tails like porky. next is beans’ turn, who barrels into the pole with enough force that the pole is loosened and the bully’s contraption ties around him instead.

beans has now secured the lead... for now. the bully is fueled with extra motivation and vitriol to beat beans, puffing out his chest and breaking his bonds. beans slides over a hill, his skis getting lodged in the side of a mountain. and, of course, the bully flies right over his head, once more in the winning seat. to make matters worse, the duck and wiener dog duo are fast approaching. they slide UNDER the mountain, and barrel into beans from under, propelling him into the air. the duck briefly rides the dog like a tire, until a jump cut has them back in regular formation, the cut a bit discombobulated and incoherent.

the duck honks at the bully to get out of the way, who, of course, does everything but that. therefore, the duck turns the wiener dog sideways and knocks straight into the bully. their glory is hardly reveled in: they crash into a tree, the dog wrapping around the tree and pinning the duck. next comes beans, who uses the bully’s skis lodged into the snow as a ramp.

the chase is now exclusively focused on beans and the bully. beans hits a slope that flings him into the air, and once more he lands behind the bully. nevertheless, they weave in and out of trees, beans managing to pass the bully. another slope sends the bully flying forward, landing straight on beans’ shoulders. they pass a cabin, the bully riding on the roof and landing back on beans’ shoulders. they’re broken up once the bully runs into a tree branch, spiraling up the tree and back down. he’s flung forward, about to hit the finish line...

until he crashes into an ice patch, the ice propelling him underwater. beans rides over the reversible ice, skidding across the finish line. finally, a winner! yet, another ice patch (or perhaps the same one?) bucks beans forward as the bully pops his head out, clearly upset at his loss. iris out as beans pokes his head out from his own ice hole, staring incredulously at the audience.

not the most coherent beans cartoon. this is one of the rare beans cartoons i had seen before, and overall remembered nothing about it. i can see why. there aren’t many gags but moreso visuals that are all tired out and lose their punch. many times the story lapsed in coherence—at the end, the bully is clearly thrown into an ice patch that lies BEFORE the finish line, since beans skids past it and slides over the line afterwards. yet, the patch is shown to be inside the line at the end. of course, with many of these cartoons, suspension of disbelief plays an important role, but here it’s just not believable. believability can make or break a cartoon (believable does not equal realistic! stick to what you’re specializing in, no matter how absurd the plot is. a plot can be absurd but still believable). probably best to skip, but it isn’t a cartoon that’s terrible. the animation is certainly nice in some spots. just a relatively mediocre cartoon that i probably won’t be watching again anytime soon.

link!

#lt #alpine antics #reviews #long post

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classic-rock-roller · 7 years ago

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1. Your band is trying to figure out stage clothes one week. On the third day, Bonham’s late to rehearsal, but when she arrives, she’s wearing her old high school marching band uniform (photo available on request). She says, “Come on guys, these are sexy as fuck.” Daryl and Jess are skeptical, and Rhett says, “Yeah, right, I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those.” What’s your take on the band uniform?

“It looks great. We can change it a bit and it’ll look great. Hold on let me get a pencil.” I’d try to make a quick sketch of what I’m thinking based off of Bonham’s old band uniform and hope that the others like it.

2. You, Kevin, Randy and Bonham are getting ready to sit outside at Bonham’s house. She’s fished out her old plastic lawn chairs, and when Kevin sits down, the back two legs of his chair shatter, and he topples backward into the gravel. How do you, Bonham, and Randy respond?

Randy and Bonham start laughing and I try to hold in my laughter to ask him if he’s ok. He just looks at us and goes, “It’s not funny!”

3. Your band and QR are performing at an outdoor festival, and you’re all there the day before to learn how set up and tear down will go and for dress rehearsal. Kevin’s phone starts ringing during the initial briefing from the director of the event, which is getting him some glares. Rather than muting it or stepping aside to take the call, he chucks his phone fifty yards away into the grass. How do you, Bonham, Randy and Rhett respond?

Me: Was that really necessary?

Bonham: Do you hate your phone that much?

Randy: You really didn’t need to do that.

Rhett: (Who wasn’t really paying attention to anything) Why’d you chuck your phone?

4. Randy and Bonham are loading their gear into Kevin’s truck to take to the dress rehearsal for the outdoor festival. Bonham set her sax case down behind the truck before running inside to get her clarinet as well. Kevin was unaware of this, and he started backing down the driveway, effectively flattening the bell of the saxophone. You yell for him to stop, and when he gets out, he sees what’s happened. “Sweet holy hell, she’s going to kill me.” He’s just picked up the ruined case and flattened instrument when she and Randy come back outside. How do they respond, and what do you and Kevin do?

Bonham is freaking out and Randy is lecturing Kevin about being more careful. I calm Bonham down by telling her I’m going to take her to get a new saxophone while I pay for her other one to be fixed. And Kevin just kind of apologizes a lot.

5. You left your glasses on the living room table when Randy and Bonham arrive. Randy picks them up and puts them on, then says, “Good God you’re fucking blind! How do you live with these things?” Bonham gives him a little slap. “Randy, don’t be rude.” How do you respond?

“It’s ok Bonham. I’m used to that. My cousins used to ask it all the time. I am blind as a bat. But I usually try to wear contacts even though I hate them.”

6. Your band is doing sound check before a show, and everyone’s generally satisfied. You’re almost all the way torn down for the next band to set up when Rhett says, “Wait, I want to test the kick and hi hat again.” His entire kit has nearly been packed up, and Bonham says, “Oh Jesus tap dancing Christ” under her breath before shouting, “It’s fine, quit being a primadonna and let’s move!” What happens next?

He complains a lot but we pull him off so the next band can set up to practice because of course it’s Crüe and they’re all giving him the “what the fuck” look and the evil eye.

7. You just got to see the YouTube release of your band’s latest music video, and to celebrate, you and Bonham GIF’ed the whole video in tiny segments. She’s started a group text with you, Kevin and Randy, and is spamming it with them. After about five minutes, Randy shouts from upstairs, “How do you send a GIF?” For some reason, Bonham finds this extremely funny, and starts laughing her ass off. How do you respond?

“How do you send a gif? I don’t know how to send on either. Then again I refuse to update my phone so that might be why I can’t.”

8. You’re at the plumbing supply house with Kevin and your 4 year old son. Kevin’s holding him, and he’s fascinated with the rainbow faucet on display in the showroom area. Kevin tests out a brushed nickel faucet by moving the handles, so your son follows suit with the rainbow one, except water comes pouring out. “What are you doing, Andy?” Kevin says. Your son looks mystified and terrified at the same time. “I didn’t know it had real water in it!” he says. “It’s a faucet, son, of course it’s got real water in it.” Kevin says. How do you respond?

“No need to be sarcastic. He probably thought it was like the one you touched and nothing came out of.”

9. Bonham’s been deep cleaning her room, and you go in there at one point and see her rubbing toothpaste on the walls. “What are you doing?” you ask. She says, “Fixing all my tiny pinholes from my posters.” without even looking up.” How do you respond?

“Hmm, I never thought to do that. But aren’t you just going to put them back up?

10. You’re at Randy and Bonham’s with Kevin, and you three are in the living room while she’s making dinner for you. She’s cutting up corncobs to be grilled when a surprised shout comes from the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” Randy calls out. Bonham yells back, slightly confused and seemingly offended, “The corn squirted me! This is not supposed to happen!” How do you and Kevin respond?

Kevin: Of couse it’s going to squirt at you. It has water in it.

Me: When I used to cut it off the cob. I’m try to aim when it’d squirt at my mom or my sister.

11. You’re introducing Bonham to your family, and everyone seems to be getting along. Your sister looks surprised when Bonham greets her, so when Bonham walks away you ask your sister, “What the hell? She’s been nothing but nice to you!” She says, “I know, she’s fine it’s just…her voice is so deep, she sounds like a guy. Is she trans? Oh man, that would make so much sense.” How do you respond?

“Seriously, No she’s not. She sounds almost exactly like Erin so why are you even asking.”

12. Kevin is driving you, Randy, and Bonham back to Bonham’s mom’s house. When you get there, there are goats blocking the dirt road up to the house. Kevin sighs exasperatedly, but Bonham just says, “Oh, I got this.” She gets out of the car and bellows, “Go on, GIT!” Randy jumps when she yells. “Jeez Randy, what’s up with you?”Kevin says. He replies, “Nothing, I’ve just never heard her yell like that. It’s kinda scary.” How do you respond?

“I’ve seen her like this because I’ve scared goats with her already.”

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

1) Your manager thinks that’d it be a good idea for your band and GNR to collaborate on an album. You know that your singer and Axl can’t stand each other from the last time they were together. You know the two of them will be at each other’s throats, and not be able to work on songs and duets together. What do you tell your manager and does he listen to you?

2) You are over at Kevin and your singer’s house. Your singer comes through the front door and just starts a string of curse words, “God fucking dammit, Cock sucking dick, shit, fuck, shit, god.” She sees you and Kevin staring at her and goes, “I couldn’t curse for five hours because of my sister.” How do you and Kevin respond?

3) You, Randy, and your singer are hanging out at her house. She’s been annoyed with Kevin lately and he’s at work. All of a sudden you can hear him singing Fat Bottomed Girls through the open window. Your singer goes over and pulls open the screen before saying, “Stop doing what my pop used to do!” You hear Kevin stop and say, “Well, maybe that’s the point.” How do you, your singer, and Randy respond?

4) You’re doing an interview during an event. While talking to the interviewer, all of a sudden, you hear running footsteps and someone jumps on your back. “Hi, Bonham!” your singer screams in your ear before giving you a hug, “I haven’t seen you in ages!” You know she’s drunk. What do you do?

5) You know your singer cannot go a day without at least saying one curse word. One day you’re over at her and Kevin’s house and all she’s saying is “Mother trucker”, “fudge”, “sheet”, and “piehole.” When you look to Kevin he says, “We’re going to see her family and you know how she doesn’t like cursing around the little ones.” “At least I make an effort not to. Last time we were there you got my four-year-old cousin saying Motherfucker.” How do you respond?

6) Your singer introduces you to her family. All of them like you but her sister, she doesn’t stop giving you the fuck you look. After a while, the two of you are engaged in a fuck you look staring contest. What does your singer say and who wins?

7) Your singer’s sister is hanging out at the studio while you guys are working on your album. She is doing exactly what you asked her not to and is constantly bugging you. She’s already wasted three tapes by barging in on your guys. You’re all getting irritated. She does it one more time and you can tell your singer is about to explode on her. What do you, your singer, and your band say to her?

8) You have just fired Rhett from the band. You and your singer stop at a gas station to pick up food to take with you to audition a new guitarist. While in the checkout line, you both see a magazine with a picture of Rhett on the front and it says, “They’ll never survive without me. They’ll come crawling back or just break up.” What do you and your singer say?

9) Kevin comes to you and Randy one day. He’s really drunk and he says to the two of you as he’s leaning against the door, “I really fucked up. She’s so mad at me and I don’t know what to do. What do I do?” You know he’s talking about your singer, who’s his girlfriend. How do you and Randy respond?

10) Since firing Rhett from the band, all he’s been doing is dragging Kevin and your singer's names through the mud. One day after a concert, your singer is holding her son when all of a sudden, a crazy fan runs up and attacks her screaming about, “How dare you do that to Rhett?! Give me it!” And she’s trying to take her son. What do you and Kevin do?

11) It is the day of your and Randy’s wedding. The night before you and your singer, who is your maid of honor, went to the police station and filed a restraining order against your ex, who threatened to kill Randy. The wedding has gone off without a hitch so far. You’re just about to say your vows when your ex shows up brandishing a gun. He somehow got past the bunch of security. You all freeze but a minute later you hear a scream and a thud. Your singer has football tacked your ex and is now sitting on him after kicking away the gun. “It’s handled for now. He’s not going anywhere.” How do you, Randy, and Kevin react?

@osbournebemydaddy , your turn Bonham, love

#tag game #tag war

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megaphonemonday · 7 years ago

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the fire went wild

dothething asked, as a response to just like a ring of fire, when Mike realized his feelings. I personally think the show did a pretty good job of tracking Mike’s feelings for Ginny, so consider this a 4+1 times he should’ve realized something.

read on ao3

catching your lollipop fast ball

Another perfect screwball landed squarely in Mike’s mitt. He couldn’t help but be impressed, not that he really wanted to show it. Couldn't let the rookie get too full of herself, now could he? So, he snapped his gum a few times before popping the ball out of the webbing and snatching it right out of the air. He didn't even bauble the catch.

Baker wasn't the only one who could impress.

“Good,” he finally called, throwing it back to the artificial mound. “Now throw me the fastball I actually asked for.”

Her nose wrinkled, eyebrows furrowing. Without the brim of a baseball cap to cover it up, it was pretty obvious. A little amused, Mike had to wonder if that was how she always looked when she wanted to shake him off. The set of her mouth looked just right, lips pursed in annoyance. He’d gotten pretty familiar over the 17 entire times she waved his calls off her last start.

“That’s not what I’m working on,” she tried, worrying the ball behind her back. There was no doubt in Mike’s mind that her fingers had settled into a screwball grip yet again. Well, if she wanted to dick around, fine. At least the foam mats here in the pitching lanes were a little easier on his knees than the hard packed clay on the field. Mike could wait her out.

“It’s gonna be,” he tried anyway. If he didn't have to spend his entire evening in the bowels of Dodger Stadium, even if it was with someone as intriguing as Ginny Baker, why should he? “There’s nothing you or I can do to tweak that screwgie. Your fastball on the other hand...”

Baker's pursed lips flattened out into a straight line, but she didn't give him an actual reply, instead looking down as she toed the rubber and settled into her windup.

It was a refreshing change not being told to fuck off. Most of the bullpen was too familiar with him for the full force of his captaincy to have much effect on them. Mike should really work with the rookies more often. They had such a pleasing way of deferring to his every call.

Well. Most of his calls.

Another screwball landed in his mitt.

He tilted his head at her in exasperation, rolling his eyes though he was sure she couldn’t see it in the dim light of Dodger Stadium’s pitching lanes or the shadows of his mask. She raised her eyebrows in challenge.

Flinging the ball back at her with more strength than the throw really required, he gave up on reining in his annoyance. Given the way the impact with her glove rang against the cold cinderblock, Mike had a feeling Baker knew it, too. Still, she didn't wince or even shake out her hand, simply climbing back up the hill to set for another pitch.

“Fastball,” he commanded gruffly, giving her the hand sign for good measure.

To be honest, if she didn’t listen again, Mike wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it’d probably involve more than a little yelling on his part. He had a feeling, though, that Ginny Baker would give just as good as she got.

(He kind of wanted to find out.)

Baker huffed but shrugged. She settled into her stance and sent a perfectly serviceable, if unenthusiastic, fastball right down the middle of the plate. If every hitter worth their salt wouldn’t have been all over that pitch like white on rice, Mike wouldn’t have minded the lack of heat.

As it was...

“I hardly even needed a mitt to catch that, Baker,” he taunted, throwing the ball back. “Weren’t you just tellin' me you top out at 87? That couldn’t’ve been more than 70.”

Even across 60 feet, 6 inches, it was hard to miss the stubborn set of Ginny Baker's jaw. It was a new expression from her, but one that Mike had a feeling he'd be seeing much more of before the season was out. She gave a sharp shake of her head, reared back into her windup, and threw again.

Fastball, top inside corner. This time, there was even a slight sting in his palm.

Something like pride fluttered to life in Mike’s gut. And when Ginny grinned, teeth on full display, that flutter kicked into high gear.

Mike cleared his throat, flinging the ball back a little harder than necessary, though it had nothing to do with annoyance this time.

“Good. Again.”

They continued on in this pattern, Mike alternating between approval and goading to get his desired results and Ginny generally rising to meet and exceed his expectations, until Baker’d exhausted her 40-odd pitches. She didn’t protest when he stood and signaled the end of their session, but Mike could still tell that she was itching for more.

Good. It was nice to see that first game really had been a fluke. She really did want this.

Mike jerked his head to the door, but didn’t wait for her to catch up. She had the knees of a 23-year-old. He did not.

Sure enough, it only took a few seconds for her to fall into step beside him on the walk back to the visitor's clubhouse. She shook out her arms and stretched them over her head, bouncing on the balls of her feet even as they walked. Mike marveled at her energy. Hadn’t she done early work—and Jesus, it was work. Parts of Mike still ached from yesterday's tandem work out session—before Kimmel, too? Wasn’t she tired? He sure as hell was, and the game hadn't even started yet.

“Blip said if we win in LA, there’s a club y’all usually go to. You gonna come out, too?”

Mike always did. And usually he left the place with some very entertaining company. But something within him rebelled at the idea of sharing that bit of information. He shrugged it off and frowned, trying to project an air befitting his status as her captain.

“Let’s worry about actually winning first, okay, Baker?”

Her grin, dimples popping and eyes dancing, made him feel a lot of things, but most of them weren’t even remotely related to his status as her captain.

Automatically, he grinned back. Privately, though, Mike resolved to put as much effort as necessary into finding some company for tonight. A little no-strings fun, some relieved tension, and hopefully he'd wake up in the morning with his head on straight again.

Yeah. That was exactly what he needed.

listening to your feminista rants

"This is such bullshit,” Baker muttered mulishly. Mike could just see her now, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping in her seat.

Except, he couldn’t see her.

They were all the way across town from one another, Baker presumably in her suite at the Omni and Mike stretched out on one of the recliners scattered around his pool, trying to convince himself to go inside. If he went inside, though, started getting ready for bed, he’d have to end this phone call. Because while it wasn’t weird to talk to his rookie most nights—about anything from tomorrow’s start to the meager offerings of late night TV in hotel cable packages—it was definitely helped by the fact that Mike stayed out of his bedroom while doing it.

Specifically, he stayed out of bed.

It just— It was better if he did.

“Huh?” Mike was pretty sure he’d missed something. Hadn’t they just been talking about the surplus of fro yo shops in the Gaslamp Quarter and what’d happened to all the real ice cream shops, didn't people know that the novelty of paying by the ounce was not offset by the objective inferiority of frozen yogurt?

Which was definitely some kind of bullshit, but not the kind that would inspire this level of annoyance from Baker.

Well. Maybe it would. The girl did take her food very seriously.

She sighed down the line. “Sorry. Amelia sent me this interview request.”

When she didn’t elaborate further, Mike prodded, “Isn’t that her job?”

He didn’t love talking about Amelia with Baker. Just like he didn’t love talking about Baker with Amelia, but he could suck it up and play it cool for a while. It helped that he hadn't actually seen Amelia today. Mike didn't like to think about the fact that it was easier to talk to his rookie when he hadn't recently hooked up with her agent, though. Too messy for his tastes. Then again, hooking up with his rookie's agent was probably too messy for his tastes, too.

“Yeah,” she agreed, a little listlessly. “She usually does a better job of weeding out the obviously sexist ones. I think she’s been distracted lately.”

Oh, was this another one of her girl power trips? He could definitely deal with that. Ignoring the rest of her complaint and whatever role he might play in it, Mike tucked an arm behind his head and asked, “What's wrong with the request?”

“What isn’t?” Baker muttered under her breath. Mike waited her out until she sighed and offered, “They led off with what they wanted the photo spread to look like.”

“I don’t see what’s so obviously sexist about that.”

“That’s because you’re a dude.”

“That’s probably true.”

It didn't even get a laugh. She was too worked up for his dry delivery to even dent her indignation. To be fair, there was a lot in her life to be indignant about.

“Like—” Baker cut herself off with a humorless laugh, but not for long. "No one sends your agent the list of outfits they want you to wear for a photoshoot and completely forgets to add the interview questions, right? No one would dream of doing that to anyone else in MLB. Just me. It’s just me who has to navigate even the shortest interaction with a reporter like I’m guarding state secrets. All because I want people to focus on how I play the game.”

Mike didn’t tell her that he couldn’t really remember the last time an article about him had included an actual photoshoot. “You’re not wrong,” he said because A) that was what he was supposed to say in this situation, having learned his lesson from listening to Rachel's complaints, and B) she wasn't.

“And no one asks you about your skincare regimen during pre-game pressers. Or cares what you wear on road trips or what you eat on your cheat days or which of the hundreds of guys you’ve been in a four-foot radius of in the past 24 hours is secretly your boyfriend and which ones just want to sleep with you.”

“Well,” he drawled, “if I had a secret boyfriend, I’m pretty sure some people would be interested.”

That earned Mike his laugh. Not quite as bright as he’d wanted and almost in spite of herself, but he grinned at the still water of his pool anyway.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

And he did. There was no denying that Ginny Baker, just by virtue of being the first, was going to be subjected to bullshit her teammates weren’t and never would be. While it wasn’t often that she actually complained about it, Mike couldn’t miss the way it dragged on her. The way her smile was always a shade too harsh in press conferences, her jokes rehearsed. He definitely couldn’t miss the way she always let out a huge sigh of relief the second she got out of the press room, shoulders slumping and exhaustion settling in.

“Yeah, I know.”

That certainty was nice to hear. That was why Mike felt warmth rush through him, flooding his face. It was so nice, in fact, he was still smiling when he finally hung up the call and climbed into bed.

He might’ve even been smiling as he fell asleep.

the way you constantly interrupt me

Well, there was no beating around the bush. This speech blew.

It wasn’t often that Mike couldn’t talk his way out of a corner, but he had a sinking feeling, the longer he went on, this might be one of those times.

Something about the rhythm of it, maybe? It wasn’t up to Mike’s usual standards for all he was hitting all the usual beats and talking points. Then again, he’d gotten a little out of practice. Hadn’t had much occasion to give celebratory speeches these past few weeks.

But today, the Padres had clinched their first series sweep in what felt like forever. And clinched it with a shutout victory, at that. That was certainly cause for Mike to step up and address a few words to his team.

But it was time to start wrapping it up, now. Before they realized he was talking in circles.

He raised his beer one last time to the gaggle of Padres still jostling each other in the open space of the clubhouse.

“This was just the beginning. We keep playing like that, then you better believe the postseason’s got our name on it. Good job, guys—”

“And girl.”

Mike whirled and took in said girl’s defiantly raised chin. He hadn’t put his back to the hallway holding her changing room on purpose, except, yes. He had. Most of these mooks might not know a great orator from a stuttering wallflower, but he had zero interest in finding out if Ginny Baker fell in with the crowd on this front. He had a feeling she didn’t and wouldn’t have any problem with letting him know it.

Funny. It wasn’t often he hated being right.

Next to her, Blip’s arms crossed over his chest, but a grin was pulling at the corner of his mouth as his eyes darted between her and Mike.

For his part, now that he’d turned his attention back to her, Mike couldn’t imagine looking away.

Flush with victory, he couldn’t think of a time she’d looked better. Not even on the red carpet, wearing that ridiculous red dress that should’ve been illegal by any sane standards. Not that he really had a horse in this race, but Mike was pretty sure he preferred her as she was now, still wearing her uniform, a little disheveled from the game.

And what a game!

Tonight, for the first time since she went AWOL from her party, Ginny’d taken the mound and thrown a beautiful game. A work of art, really. Mike had seen a lot of twirlers in his time and if he’d had any doubts about Ginny Baker’s actual skills, this game would’ve taken them out back, shot ‘em, and buried ‘em six feet deep.

And that was just on the strength of five innings. Erring on the side of caution, Al took her out with the Padres up 4-0. It hadn’t seemed like she chafed at the tight leash, though, given the way she draped her arms loosely over the dugout fence to watch the rest of the game.

Then again, Mike could only go based on what he’d observed.

Ginny still wasn’t really talking to him.

Until now. Until this.

He didn’t even tell her off for interrupting him.

“And girl.” He tipped his bottle to her, nodding his head for good measure. A smile flickered across her lips for a second.

Unspeakable relief swept through Mike. It’d been so long since Ginny’d actually addressed him off the field (or the red carpet), he hadn’t quite realized that he’d been craving it, missing what’d come so easily not even two weeks ago.

Jesus, how long had it been since they last talked outside of a game situation? It couldn’t have just been two weeks. He wouldn’t feel so fucking grateful to hear her voice again, without the roar of a crowd underpinning it, if it had only been two weeks.

Since he couldn’t stare at his rookie pitcher in awe quite as long as he would’ve liked, Mike cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to the rest of his teammates. “All right, you mooks. Get your asses in the showers and go home. We’ve got another game to play tomorrow.”

There was roughly an equal amount of booing as cheering, which was about as good a reaction as Mike could ask for.

Because he wasn’t going to push his luck and ask for Ginny to actually smile at him, too.

If he watched out of the corner of his eye as she clapped Blip on the shoulder and retreated to her dressing room, that was his business. It was also his business if he took the first opportunity to follow her.

“Come in,” she called, hardly before he’d finished knocking.

Mike pushed the door open, but didn’t step into her space. It felt important that he didn’t. Not yet, at least.

“That was a good game.”

Ginny turned and blinked, like she was surprised it was him. Since there was none of the anger or confusion that’d colored their interactions the past weeks, Mike tried to take it in stride.

“Thanks,” she replied, looking wary, but not entirely closed off. “Wouldn’t have managed it without that homer in the seventh.”

Mike shrugged, though she wasn’t wrong. When she continued to stare at him probingly, he grinned, a touch too self-conscious to manage his trademark charm.

“You gonna go out with the guys?”

“I thought we were supposed to go home so we could come back refreshed for tomorrow.”

He rolled his eyes. “You think I really expect any of these dummys—”

“You calling me a dummy, Lawson?” she demanded, and that! That was a smile. A real smile from Ginny directed straight at Mike.

“If you go out to the karaoke bar the way Voorhies wants, then there’s no—”

She laughed. “You asshole.”

Since Ginny looked legitimately fond, Mike didn’t even protest. He laughed, too.

“Yeah,” he agreed, more than a little wondering. “That’s me.”

oh, that horsey laugh

Mike was fucking exhausted.

And why shouldn’t he be? They’d played a doubleheader yesterday and suffered through a rain delay at Wrigley today. Yesterday. Whatever.

They were supposed to leave Chicago at 11:00. It was now 2:30 in the morning and they’d only just pulled away from the gate. Mike had been awake for nearly 20 hours now, and tomorrow—today, whatever—he’d have to get up and do most of it again.

It wasn’t the game that’d kill him, though. It was the fucking plane.

Mike couldn’t quite explain the hatred he felt for the endless array of charter planes the Padres commandeered in the course of a season. For a guy who didn’t even go to an airport until he was 18 and heading out for Idaho and his first stop on the way to the majors, air travel doesn’t hold much romance for him. The seats were too close together and now that he’s gotten old, the dry air makes his throat itch and back tighten.

It beat day-long bus rides, though.

If he could help it, he never slept on the plane, hated waking up with a kink in his neck and stiff knees, but he’d make an exception today. He was just that tired.

What Mike really wanted was his bed. And preferably a warm body to share it with. It’d been a while since that happened, though, and he wasn’t holding his breath for tonight. So, he’d have to settle for reclining his seat as much as possible—fuck Margolis sitting behind him; he’d given up a triple and let three runners steal before getting yanked—and sleeping while he could. If he didn’t, there was a good chance his drive home would end poorly.

Nothing quite drove home how old he was getting quite like feasibly believing he might fall asleep behind the wheel.

Thank God most of the team was in agreement on that front. The cabin was dark, only the dim, blue glow of iPads and phones illuminating the space. It was quiet, too, just Al’s sonorous, familiar snoring disrupting the silence.

Until someone had to go and make Ginny Baker laugh.

In spite of how tired he was, the sound of her laugh—loud and more than a little obnoxious but entirely genuine—was enough to make Mike smile automatically in response. He kept his eyes shut, letting her guffaws fade away and send him to sleep.

It wasn’t so different from being on the phone with her late at night, game adrenaline slowly filtering out of his system and his eyes growing heavy. Okay, maybe he’d given up on staying out of bed for all of their conversations, but he was only human. Sometimes Baker talked a lot, and it always put her in a good mood when she could tease him the next day for falling asleep on the phone.

Except Ginny wasn’t on the phone with him. She wasn’t even laughing at him.

Which shouldn’t have been the problem and shouldn’t have fucking bothered him at all.

“Do that again!” she demanded, delight coating every word.

Salvamini’s laugh was more mellow, and if Mike weren’t sure the man was head over heels in love with his wife and family, he’d think he was flirting.

“You’re not gonna figure it out,” the first baseman replied, and there was the soft whirr of shuffling cards. There were a few quiet moments before it started all over again.

“How did you do that?” Ginny demanded, laughing bright and loud and not at all aware that it was nearly 3:00 AM and everyone around her wanted to be asleep.

Still, Mike couldn’t bring himself to yell at them to shut up. He did sit up and glare blearily their way, cutting Salvi off in the middle of saying, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Magician. Yeah fucking right. The only people who actually believed that were the guy’s kids. And none of them were over the age of six.

Salvi had the nerve to grin, making Ginny turn to look, too. “Looks like captain’s calling,” he teased, nodding to Mike three rows ahead.

Mike rolled his eyes and flopped back into his seat. He didn’t cross his arms over his chest, because then it would look like he was pouting.

Which he wasn’t.

He closed his eyes. If he tried really hard, he could probably fall asleep in the next thirty seconds. That seemed reasonable.

The soft pad of sneakers against the carpeting of the aisle wasn’t enough to make him open them, but the soft creak of leather and mechanical parts shifting right beside him was. He cracked one eye open and took in Ginny Baker curled up on the seat next to his.

She grinned when she saw she had his attention.

“Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, old man?”

“Don’t need it,” he rumbled, “when you look as good as I do.”

Her responding laugh, though it was absolutely familiar, was quiet this time, just for Mike’s ears.

“You keep telling yourself that,” she murmured, eyelashes kissing the tops of her dusky cheeks as she settled in for some sleep herself.

She was the last thing before Mike’s eyes shut and the first thing he saw when the plane touched down in San Diego, and that didn’t make him feel any kind of way.

Not at all.

i’m gonna miss the hell out of you, baker

His phone should be in his pocket. Better yet, he should’ve left it at home when he decided what he needed to do with his last night in San Diego was go out and get sad drunk all by himself.

(Maybe all by himself. He still hadn’t decided. Which was, of course, the problem.)

It was, unfortunately, neither of those places.

No. It was sitting right on the slightly sticky bar top, mere inches from his third beer of the night.

This was a disaster waiting to happen.

When had drinking and cellphones ever been a good combination? Never, in Mike’s experience.

He couldn’t resist unlocking the screen every so often, though, staring at the text he’d drafted on his way here and still hadn’t sent.

Blip’s warning kept replaying in his head.

You could have just said bye to everyone.

Well. Mike didn’t give a shit about everyone. It stung that Blip was clearly so put out with him, but they’d get it together. Probably once Blip figured out that captaining that gaggle of overgrown kids was no walk in the park and maybe he needed or just wanted a little of Mike’s advice.

And yeah, if he were in the right frame of mind, he’d want the whole team to understand why he was going, but they’d get it after his press conference from Chicago tomorrow. They’d—probably, not all Padres were made equal, after all—figure out what went down.

And if they didn’t, what did Mike care? He wasn’t their captain anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s captain.

Still, there was one teammate he wanted to say goodbye to. One teammate he needed to know understood the whole messed up situation.

Not that Mike quite understood it all himself.

All he knew was that he’d been ready to fight tooth and nail to stay a Padre, but one look at Ginny Baker, going through her stretch and hum routine before taking the mound again made him realize he couldn’t. He couldn’t stay her teammate, stay in her life even, and not fuck it all up somewhere down the line. That was what he did best: fuck good things up. He refused to do it to her, though. No matter how fucking fond he felt every time she yelled at Stubbs for calling his ex a crazy bitch, or lit up the first time her fastball cracked 89, or laughed too long and too loud at terrible jokes, or cut him off to start a story of her own.

No matter how “fond” didn’t even come close to cutting it.

He’d leave his team, the closest thing he had to a family, before he put Ginny’s career in jeopardy.

Because he loved her, okay? He’d fucking fallen in love with his rookie, the first woman in MLB. He loved her and knew she meant more to the game than he ever would. There was no point in denying it now.

Mike laughed a little to himself. All the signs had been there. But it was the fucking humming that did him in. Fucking Katy Perry pushed him from willful ignorance straight over the edge into self-awareness.

Yeah, he’d miss this town and miss this team, but mostly what he’d miss would be her.

And, terrible as this idea was, he wanted her to know.

He drained the last of his beer and unlocked his phone again.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Mike hit send.

Like magic, a blue bubble popped up on his side of the conversation, just two words, but two words that he thought might change everything. Or enough. God, he hoped it would be enough.

Boardner’s Bar.

#bawson #bawson fic #pitch #pitch fic #i wrote something #seriously lets bring back #5+1 fics #yes i'm aware this is 4+1 #but my point stands

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ensigntilly · 7 years ago

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Magnetised (chapter 1)

hey y’all ya boy is back with some gay shit

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Syndicate Summary: Jacob saves a young boy's life but ends up stumbling into more than what he intended Word Count: 1,770

Read on: AO3

Jacob had been on edge all day. Ever since Starrick’s death, he had been going through London, in what he described to Evie as a “clean-up operation”, taking out rouge Blighters that were still hiding in the shadows of the city. It had seemed like a good idea to begin with, but it was quickly becoming more of a chore than a job.

The sun had just begun to set, creating an awe-inspiring ombre effect over the Thames that most people had come out to see. And Jacob saw this as a perfect opportunity to catch any Blighter scum. He was perched on top of a rooftop overlooking the docks. People below him roamed about, although from high up Jacob was they just looked like bobbing heads, occasionally stopping to admire the view. Lovers sat on the benches in front of steel railings to watch the ships move in and out of the Thames, arms wrapped around each other while others trotted along with hands shoved into pockets and head bowed, navigating the back streets and alleyways of London with ease. Streetlamps were just coming on now, creating shadows along the brick walls of buildings and shedding more light on dirty dealings that were occurring in London. Across the street, a bar fight has broken out between a few men and punches were thrown blindly until police parted them. And Jacob sat and watched them all.

Even as night drew near, the city didn’t fall asleep. And neither did Jacob. The city was uncomfortably quiet, and Jacob was considering returning to the train hideout and sleeping on his sofa in one of the carriages while Evie and Henry stood unbearable close to each other pondering over pieces of crumpled paper. Jacob sighed and stood up, ignoring the pain in his knees and he jogged down the slope of the roof. From there however, he noticed something. On the other side of the street, a boy, no older than seventeen possibly, was being followed by a Blighter. The Blighter kept his distance from the boy, and Jacob could only assume this was to not arouse suspicion from the public, and he stopped to look into shop windows and pubs every now and again before pursuing the boy once more. If anything, this Blighter was more of a pest than a genuine threat. But he was a pest that needed taking care of.

Jacob dropped back down onto one knee and remained perched on the roof, following the Blighter’s movement with an eagle eye. There was just something about the movement of the Blighter that made Jacob’s skin crawl with distaste- it was a sly walk, but oddly casual and collected (and Jacob had never understood how they could wear such ever boots without making a sound). It was a walk that promised something else than what was on the surface. Jacob watched as both the boy and Blighter turned into an alleyway, which was adjacent to the house Jacob was on, and walked towards the docks. Out the corner of his eye, Jacob saw the Blighter’s hand twitch, before a flash of silver caught on the moonlight and hit Jacob’s face. Jacob’s body immediately went rigid- the Blighter had a knife. How had he not noticed before? How had he not even suspected it? It would be a quick and perfect kill; creep up behind the civilian, stab them in the back and as the body was spasming around, hurl it into the Thames.

The boy, who was still seemingly oblivious to the Blighter stalking him, stopped in the middle of the alley to fix his clothes, holding his coat tighter around his small frame and pulling at his sleeves to cover his hands. He looked so fragile and flustered. Behind him, the Blighter had caused the sea of people surrounding the docks to part and stumble away in fear, all eyes drawing to the knife digging into the Blighter’s palms. Yet the boy never looked back. His entire body was trained on the metal railings as he stepped out of the obscured alleyway and into the night, the Blighter trailing behind him. The boy stopped suddenly once he reached the barrier. His upper body was flung against it and his head aimed towards the steep, muddy embankment which led into the Thames, the surface of which was lit up by the moonlight, causing white streaks to dance on the top.

The Thames was empty at that time of night, the boats that previously populated the river with passengers littering the decks had scattered into other lands, making the expanse of water seem vast and as if it disappeared down into fathomless depths.

Footsteps echoed throughout the docks as the Blighter positioned himself directly behind the boy, completely blocking Jacob’s view. The knife still lay in the palm of the Blighter’s gloved hand, but his fingers had closed around it, gripping it tightly in such a manner that Jacob knew what was going to happen next. In that moment, Jacob didn’t think about why the boy had not turned around yet nor why the Blighter hadn’t attacked him. Jacob didn’t actually think any coherent thoughts in that moment. He stood up hastily. Ignoring the creek of roof tiles as the slid down the side slope, he crouched down on the ledge of the roof, his hands shifting to his belt so he can grab his kukris. From above, it was clear that the boy’s hands were shaking violently, his hold on the metal railings turning his knuckles white and his entire body trembling horribly.

As soon as the Blighter’s hand twitched slightly, Jacob hurled himself off the ledge, flattened the Blighter on the ground, and drove his kukris straight through his back before lifting the man’s head back to create a gash across his throat. The Blighters head lolled to one side and made a sharp thump as it hit the ground.

Jacob stood up after a second. His knees and hands were covered in blood. The Blighter’s blood had begun to weave its way around the cobblestone paths of the docks, spilling into the road. It wasn’t until Jacob looked up did he realised that the boy still had his back turned and sobs were not silencing wracking his small frame. Tentatively, Jacob reached a hand forward to lay on the boy’s bony shoulder.

“Are you okay? Not hurt at all are you?”

The boy immediately jerked backwards, stumbling over a stone that was jutting out of the ground and his arms failed about at his sides as he struggled to keep his balance. He fixed his mussed hair and straightened his thin-rimmed glasses, not once meeting Jacob’s gaze for a second. There was definitely something odd about the teenager and Jacob cocked his head to one side as he peered into the boy’s eyes. He had a very small and rounded face, and almost a comedic blush plastered on his face. His eyes were a shining blue and even though his lips were just a mere line, Jacob found them strangely endearing, and Jacob didn’t deny the fact that his eyes always found themselves resting on those lips. The entire boy was endearing too- his tweed suit was a few sizes too large for him and draped carelessly over his shoulders and drowning him down to his knees. His waistcoat was buttoned up so tightly that it could easily be cutting of the boys breathing. Beneath Jacob’s scrutinising gaze, the boy seemed even smaller than before. Jacob blinked a couple time before taking a slow step towards the boy. The boy eyed him warily.

“Excuse me, what’s your name?” Jacob asked.

“Edmund.”

“And how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Jacob nodded and rubbed his hand along the stubble on his sharp jawline. An awkward silence fell between the two of them as Edmund bit his bottom lip nervously and Jacob fiddled with his jacket buttons. He didn’t want to pry on the boy’s privacy, but Jacob wasn’t one to just let something like this slide without any suspicion raised.

He glanced up in time to see Edmund taking a few steps back, his eyes now meeting Jacob’s. They were deep blue ocean eyes; eyes that had more below the surface than what was revealed. Maybe Jacob could let himself drown in them. It was then that he noticed that Edmund had backed away more, and was now stood in the shadows of a building, his body cowering in on itself as he stood.

Jacob reached out and grabbed Edmund by his wrist, and pulled Edmund closer to him again. He tried not to think about the was the Edmund’s breath was tickling his lips, or how Edmund’s own looked incredibly inviting at that moment and how easy it would be for Jacob to lean down and for their lips to meet and he would kiss the boy breathless and he could take him into a bar and they would be happy lovers drinking cheap beer that had a statistically high chance of killing them both. Maybe afterwards he could bring Edmund to the train hideout and hover above the younger boy and leave adorable little marks along his neck and jaw for his parents to find, all sense lost in an ecstasy of love and lust. After he could wrap the boy in his arms and hold him tight as they both drifted off to sleep, buried deep in warm, comforting blankets. In hindsight, that idea didn’t seem so bad to Jacob. He was snapped out of his daydream by Edmund’s voice.

“Listen I don’t know what you want with me but I can promise you Sir, I have done nothing wrong. I didn’t even know that guy and I was just coming down here for a stroll on a nice Sunday night because that’s what boys my age do. I wasn’t-”

Jacob raised a hand and Edmund clamped his mouth shut. Jacob eyed a pub across the street, one that only had a few drunk business men stumbling around outside and a bartender who just served drinks and didn’t care much for what came in. It was a perfect place for itching information out of a nineteen-year-old boy who nearly was brutally murdered.

“You’re not in trouble, I just want to talk to you. Shall we go?”

“Go where?”

“Follow me.”

Jacob outstretched his hand, offering it to Edmund, who took it gingerly and proceeded to follow Jacob through the alley, the tension between the two boys gnawing at the stone walls surrounding them.

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yuudetama · 7 years ago

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Meet Me At the Carnival [Part 1] // BTS’ V

What do you do when the person you’re looking for is already gone?

Angst, Carnival AU. Word Count: 5k.

Part 1 // Part 2 [Final]

I’m looking for somebody. Can you help me find him? The carnival breathes, it spins, it sparks flames like a firecracker; it is alive. You try to stand firm on the ground, but it’s hard when bodies are sweeping past you like a crescendo wave crashing at all the wrong times. They veer off in every which way to breathe in the magic of the circus: dancing bears, elephants wearing funny little hats, tattooed men juggling five, six, ten flashing knives at once. A clown spinning dishes on a knobby stick. Children grabbing greedily at powdered funnel cakes, fairy floss. Everywhere you turn there is something to see, and there is something for everyone who enters this strange, fantastical land. Please, he’s very important to me. Having been deemed unsafe and improper by the orphanage, it introduces itself as a peculiar space from the get-go. Since childhood you’ve gathered and become one with tales of the carnival, yet standing in the very place of those stories now, you find yourself taken aback. The activity is simply overwhelming. Attraction-seekers surround you from all the unpleasant angles, pushing you backwards, forwards, this way and that, like seaweed struggling against the surge of ocean water. “Move, you’re in our way!”

A hand pushes you aside and you stumble over the flattened grass. A group of schoolboys runs towards the pirouetting bear, yelling dares of bravado at each other over the din of the crowd. They hardly spare a backwards glance, not bothering to apologize for their haste. That’s fine, that’s okay. Apologies are not what you came looking for. In the grand scheme of things, those boys hardly present themselves as an issue or even a speck of dust in your mind. He said he would be here, you see- An elbow jabs into your back. This time, however, you manage to stand your ground. The pain comes in quick, hard pulses, and in response you plunge a hand into your pocket. A soundless breath leaves your lips when your fingers wrap around a little glass sphere. The weight in your hand is small, but it is comforting. It is comforting and reminds you of a place once called home. I’ve come a long way to meet him- The elbow pokes you again, accompanied by a voice that reeks equally of jest and rotted beer. “You, girlie- you lost?” The marble falls into your pocket. You avert your eyes and step back, but the beer-festered man simply presses himself closer. “No, thank you, sir- If you would excuse me, I’m to meet somebody-” “No thank you and a sir!” Yellow stained teeth flash in an ugly laugh. “Well well, ain’t you the pretty polite missy! Tell you what, you an’ me can go over there and you can tell me all about your no thank yous and a sirs-” He makes a clumsy swipe for your arm. Alarmed, you try to evade his advances but the crowd presses against you, leaving no room for escape. The intoxicated man leers at you, this time making a grab for your waist. Instinctively your hands fly up, but as they do a flash of red steps in front of you, blocking the lecherous motions of the impolitic man. “Aye, not so fast,” the red speaks. You blink and find yourself staring at the backside of a fearsomely tall woman. Her hair flows over her shoulders like a scarlet river; in the bright heat of the day, the colour only enhances the austerity of her stance. She looks down at the man. “Let’s not get carried away here, shall we? We wouldn’t want to have to escort you out, now.” Her voice is mild but carries with it the promise of following through with whatever escort method she has in mind. The man, on the other hand, is too far gone to tell a sparrow apart from a seagull. “You want to throw me out? I’m a paying customer, I’m what keeps your business runnin’, you don’t do that to a good customer like me-” “We’ll survive,” the woman says smoothly. “Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to ask again?” He opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish, too slow to answer in a witting manner. Beside him the crowd mills about in all different directions, pushing carelessly past you and the red-haired lady, creating a momentum that causes the man to sway gracelessly on his feet. “Aye, not worth it.” He spits in a last-ditch attempt to recover his dignity, but the effect is ruined when the nicotine-stained spittle lands on his shoe. “Wouldn’t want to dirty my hands anyways… Buncha hoors…” He swaggers off into the crowd, leaving behind the stench of partially-digested beer and abhorrent body odour. The woman shakes her head. "Drunks," she says dismissively. "Always at every show. Like fleas you can't shake off a dog." She sweeps her eyes over your hunched form. “Look after yourself, girl. It’s not always this easy getting rid of the bastards.” “Wait!” you blurt out when she turns to leave. At this close of a distance you’re able to recognize her military jacket and training boots. “You were in the show earlier, weren’t you? With the lions?” “Aye, that was me. I train the animals here.” “Then…” Hesitation catches your voice but you shake it off. You’ve come too far a ways to act shy now. “Could I ask you to take me to the ringmaster?” She cocks an eyebrow. “The ringmaster isn’t partial to visitors,” she informs. “He prefers to remain undisturbed when he’s working.” “Please, I must ask him something.” “And what might that be?” “There’s somebody I need to find.” Your voice comes out in a whisper, but you know the woman has heard it from the way she crosses her arms and studies your expression. A little girl bumps into you, nearly dropping her ice cream cone on your feet, but you don’t dare look away from the lion tamer. Perhaps she is convinced by what she sees in your face, because she drops her hands. “Alright, come with me. I’ll take you to see the ringmaster.” I’ve waited a very long time to see him. Please. ------- She leads you to a quiet area behind the grand tent. A caravan is there, so silent and still that it looks tantamount to the giant oak it stands beside. The carnival bustles with life around it, but somehow, somehow, it feels as though not even the sounds of the circus can penetrate the caravan walls. The lion tamer tells you to wait and slips through the door. You tug at the loose threads of your jacket, trying to calm your restless mind. The jacket is frayed more so than your nerves, but you think that your state of anxiety isn’t too far from catching up. What seems like an eternity passes before the woman reemerges from the van. “Go on, then,” she says, shooing you inside. “The ringmaster will see you now. But keep in mind, girl, he’s a busy person. Try to keep your questions nice and quick, alright?” Inside it is dim, illuminated only by a lamp and the odd candle here and there. It’s not very big but the sparsity of furniture creates an illusion of enhanced space. A dressing mirror, a small bookshelf, a writing desk. The sounds outside are muffled, making you feel disjointed from the peculiar world you had just stepped out of. A lone man sits at the desk, jotting notes with a slender quill. Black top hat, black mask, black coat. An extension of the shadows residing in the caravan. He dips his quill in ink and scratches at the parchment before speaking. "Who are you and what business do you have in my carnival?" "I'm looking for somebody-" The ringmaster waves his quill impatiently. "So I’ve been told. But that doesn't answer my question: who are you?" You tell him your name and he repeats it. "No surname?" You shake your head. “No surname,” you echo, and it sounds hollow even to your own ears. The feather pauses as a pair of dark eyes observes you from behind the mask. But the silence only lasts for a handful of seconds, and soon the quill resumes the task at hand. Scratch-scratch-scratch. “Who is it you need to find?” Outside, a group of children shrieks with delight at the troupe of dancing bears. You swallow nervously and continue, “His name is Taehyung. I think he might have joined your carnival seven years ago. He intended to work here as an acrobat. He… I watched the show earlier but didn’t see anybody who could have been him, so I was hoping you could tell me if he was here or not.” The ringmaster makes no comment but you think that he listens to you with no ill intent. Feeling emboldened by his interest, you add, “It’s very important that I find him. Please, sir, I wouldn’t be wasting your time if it-” “He’s not here,” the hatted man cuts you off. Scratch-scratch-scratch. “There is no person here who goes by that name.” The curt nature of his reply takes you aback. “Oh,” you say after a moment. “Are… Are you sure?” “Quite.” He shuffles his papers, dips his pen into the murky pot, and continues his work. “I am the ringmaster. It’s my duty to know the name and face of everybody who comes to join my carnival.” “Oh,” you repeat, only this time it’s fainter. The word trembles in the air before vanishing like candle smoke. Why are you here? I am looking for someone. It’s very important. I must find him. Can you help me find him? The ringmaster, it seems, also knows how to interpret certain silences, because he soon answers in kind. “For what reason do you seek him?” “I owe him something,” you say. Your throat has become dry, and the words come out in a raspy half-whisper. “And I’d like to give it to him as soon as possible.” He sets down his pen. Hands fold together on the scratched surface of the desk, and for the first time you notice that he’s wearing gloves. Satin cloth, the colour of ivory, melded perfectly with his hands like a second set of skin. “As I’ve said, there’s nobody like that here. Perhaps you’ve come to the wrong carnival.” You press your arms against your sides. Crushed by the weight, the marble digs into your hipbone from its hideaway in the pocket. The pain is not unbearable but it is sharp and clear, and it fills you with a renewed sense of resolution. You clear your throat. “May I stay anyway? Please. I’ve come a very long way. I can’t go back until I find him.” He regards you for the briefest of minutes. The ringmaster, the mastermind behind this whimsical land, the biggest enigma the carnival has to offer. He picks up his quill and resumes his writing. Scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch. “Do as you will. Our doors are open to everybody who wishes to enter.” ------- “Taehyung?” Twigs snap underneath your footsteps, but not a voice breathes back as you tread deeper into the forest. "Taehyung? Are you here?" You shriek and stumble backwards when a figure suddenly drops down in front of you. “Taehyung! You idiot, you almost gave me a heart attack!” "Sorry, sorry," he laughs. He raises his palms in a gesture of apology. “I thought you knew I was up there. Didn’t you see me go up?” “No, I didn’t. The branches are too thick to see a monkey like you climbing up.” You peer at the treetops. Even the lowest branch is high, too far from the ground for a normal person to jump gracefully down. After ten years you still don’t understand how Taehyung does it. At the age of seventeen he should be lumbering around with two left feet, just like the other boys who run and trip through the town streets like a group of trolls. When you tell him this, he only looks pleased. “Didn’t you know? I was born to fly.” And you can’t really argue with that. Because, if there is one thing you could say without any hesitation whatsoever, it is exactly that. “Someday I’m going to fly in the grand tent,” he was constantly saying. “I’ll perform for people all over the world and they’ll be amazed, you’ll see.” And you didn’t doubt him for a second. Taehyung was born with the sky at his feet, destined to fly just as Icarus once did over the sea. Except Taehyung doesn’t have bronze wings, and there is nobody to warn him not to get too close to the sun. No, Taehyung only has you, and it hurts to think of how he’s not even aware of it. Blonde hair flops over his eyes, tousled by his short freefall from the tree. He pushes it back absentmindedly and asks, “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to help the kids with their studies.” You ignore the splinter in your chest and point to the direction from which you had appeared. “The kitchen is a mess. The boys got into an accident and spilled flour everywhere. The matron wants us to come inside and clean it.” “Never a dull moment in that place, I’ll give her that.” Taehyung grimaces. “I don’t see why we have to bother with cleaning, though. It’s still a dump even on its best days.” “It’s not a dump,” you say automatically, although you understand perfectly where he’s coming from. “It may not be the best place to live but the orphanage is our home until-” “Until somebody, by some miracle, decides we’re worth keeping, I know,” he finishes with a groan. He runs his fingers through his hair again before offering you a hand. “Alright, then. Let’s get going before the witch shrieks at us.” You scowl at him, feigning disapproval at his language, but you take his hand anyway. He grips yours in return- a habit the two of you have kept since childhood- and his palm is calloused from years of swinging from trees, but it’s warm and strong and god, you hope that he can’t hear how loudly your heart is pounding. He grins at you. So familiar and heartbreaking to look at, but it’s the only thing that has kept you from yielding to misery throughout the years. “Come on, let’s go home.”

------- "Just because I brought you here, girl, doesn’t mean you can hang about as you please.” You glance up to see none other than the woman who had rescued you the day before. Her words are reprimanding but her eyes are crinkled into a smile. Today her fiery hair is pulled back in a ponytail, allowing the sun to cast shadows from her cheekbones. Fumbling to your feet, you try not to trip over the roots of the oak tree. "I'm sorry, I know I'm not allowed back here. But I dropped something in front of the popcorn stand and it rolled underneath the caravan." You unfurl your dirtied fist to reveal a little golden sphere. "A marble?" She peers down. "You were digging in the dirt for a wee marble?" "It's not just any marble," you explain as you stuff the tiny glass back into your pocket. "It's special. Somebody gave it to me long ago and I've had it ever since." You want to thank her for her help the other day, but the words are lost as you become distracted by the flutter of black cloth. The ringmaster is standing behind you, regarding you with a look of barely-there interest. “Excuse me,” he says, and you scramble aside. He nods in acknowledgement at the animal trainer and sweeps inside his caravan. And that’s it- there are no hellos or good days or if you haven’t found your missing friend, I’m afraid you will have to leave. You twist your fingers when the door clicks shut. “He won’t kick me out, will he? I have no money left to pay for tickets or-” The lion tamer stops you with a shake of the head. “Don’t worry about him. He may look like a fright but he means well. He looks after us, see? The carnival isn’t just a business, girl, it’s a family. We all accept each other here without asking questions. The ringmaster knows more than anyone what it’s like to have people you love and want to protect, even if they’re not with you anymore.” And that’s why you’re still here, is what she doesn’t say. You realize that the carnival folk are a lot more perceptive than they seem. They occupy a whimsical wonderland that looks senseless from the surface, but within this world are people who become family through nature, who forge bonds that overlook namesake and run deeper than blood. It’s the kind of family Taehyung would have wanted, you think. She begins to saunter towards the performers’ tent, but not before nodding at your pocket. "Best keep that close to you. You wouldn't want it to roll under the lion cage next time." “I will,” you answer, although by the time you speak the lady is long gone. “This is the last thing I’d ever want to lose.” ------- Crossing your arms, you tap your foot to an impatient beat. “Come on,” you complain, doing your best impression of a one-legged drum dance, “We have to go, it’s almost dinnertime. Do you want to eat leftover rolls again?” “Just give me five more minutes, and I promise we’ll leave.” Taehyung’s voice is muffled as he continues to search through the grass. When you give no reply, he looks back at you and crinkles his face. “Come on, have I ever broken a promise to you before?” “... No,” you admit grudgingly. “Exactly. So stop complaining and let me- Aha! I knew I’d find it here!” In a flash he’s scrambled to his feet and standing before you, holding out a fist with an air of undisguised triumph. You look at him dubiously, but he only urges you to hold out your own hand. “Go on, it’s a gift for you. I meant to give it earlier but I thought I’d lost it. I hadn’t realized it’d fallen from my pocket.” You peer at the object he’s dropped into your palm. “Your old marble?” you say dubiously. It’s a glass ball about the size of a button, with air bubbles and golden flakes that make it look like a bite-sized galaxy. “Not my ‘old’ marble,” Taehyung scolds, flicking your nose. “It’s my lucky marble. When I have this I always land on my feet, no matter where I’m jumping from. But I’m better at landing now than I was before, so I’m giving it to you. It’ll keep you safe. Make sure to keep it close, or I’ll get mad at you.” “And if I lose it?” you joke. “Then I’ll really get mad. Don’t forget, it’s a gift from me. If you lose it it’d be like losing your best friend,” he warns. It’s easy to tell that the little glass means quite the lot to him, because Taehyung hardly ever gets this serious about anything. Warmth floods your insides and you cradle your hand, clutching protectively at your newfound treasure. “In that case, I’d better keep a good hold on it. Thank you, Taehyung.” He smiles but says nothing in return. There are times when Taehyung does nothing but chatter and laugh and fill up the quiet, but there are also moments when the two of you can understand every i and every t without having to say them aloud. Which is why, as you begin walking back to the house together, you know the reason behind his lagging steps. “You don’t need to tell me,” you say when he opens his mouth. “I already know.” He stops mid-step but you continue walking. You only make it three steps before he catches you by the sleeve. “We’ll both be turning eighteen soon,” he says quietly. “They won’t have any obligation to keep us after that. Have you thought about what you’re going to do then?” When you say nothing, he adds, “In two weeks’ time the carnival will arrive in town. You know I’ll have to leave with them but... Won’t you at least consider coming with me? It may be a risk but it’ll be one worth taking, I’m sure of it. Think of all the excitement there, all of the adventures we could have. We have no place here, anyway.” I could stay to look after the children, you want to argue, and you could stay, too. Then we would have our place. You want to resent him for thinking about a future without you in it. It’s always been you and Taehyung, Taehyung and you, fending off whatever hardship or hatred the world has thrown your way. How can he be so selfish, you think, wanting to leave you here all alone while he goes off trapezing on his worldly adventures? How can he be okay with that? And almost immediately that animosity turns on itself. Because, how could you be the selfish one and ask him to stay? How could you ever chain down your Icarus, when all he wanted to do was fly next to the sun? The marble lies in your grip, a small, delicate thing, but suddenly it feels as though you are carrying the weight of a thousand burning suns. ------- The heat is unbearable. The sun is unforgiving during your fifth day at the carnival. It’s angry, harsh, hot enough to scorch grass and scare away a good number of the usual entertainment-seekers. The torch juggler sets aside his routine for the day and the animals pant, lie on their sides, anything to escape the burden of the blistering heat. The lion show is one of the carnival’s most anticipated attractions, but when the beasts refuse to budge from their shaded cages the ringmaster cancels their scheduled acts. As a result, patrons drift away in a sea of disgruntlement after the acrobats finish their show, and the grand tent is left empty by mid-morning. Empty is a good word for it. The seats are empty, the stage is empty. Ticket stubs and popcorn kernels litter the ground, a half-hearted tribute to everything the circus has to offer, but the fun and thrills are the last thing on your mind as you sit alone in the front row seats. Today, the grand tent does not burst with the excitement of cartwheeling clowns or booming music. It only feels defeated, mournful, as though it has lost something precious and has no way of gaining it back. Empty. “The show is finished for the day. The animal acts will resume tomorrow.” Somebody slips into the seat beside you. Although you know who it is, you raise your head like an automated machine. The ringmaster returns your gaze with a steady stare of his own. He’s dressed in his usual top hat and mask, but somehow appears unbothered by the insufferable heat. “I’m sorry,” you say after a pause. “I just wanted to sit here for a bit.” “The tent is closed to visitors after performances end,” he reminds you, but his tone is less reprimanding than it is thoughtful. Your gaze drifts around the deserted stage. “Do you want me to leave?” You can feel the ringmaster’s eyes boring into the side of your face. “I doubt you have anywhere to go.” His tone is so mild that you can hardly take offense to his words. At any rate, he’s right. You have no real home, no family. The person you're looking for is nowhere to be found, and you have no money for the train back to where you came from. No home, no money, no family, no friends. Empty, with no way of gaining back what is lost. As if sensing your grief, the ringmaster speaks abruptly. “Tell me about this person you’re looking for.” He’s studying you through his mask but you can’t tell whether he is asking out of curiosity or kindness. It may be a combination of both, or it may simply be neither. Either way, it hardly matters. His words do nothing to ease the loneliness that cracks your insides. Does anything exist in this world, you wonder, that can heal this feeling? Memories, perhaps, but your memories are old and mock your intentions. They taste vaguely bittersweet when you think back on your past, to the days spent with your precious friend. To when you and he would parade around town, pretending that your home existed somewhere outside of the orphanage. To when you would lie on the grass together side-by-side, laughing at the clouds and humming at the touch of the sun. “See that?” he would sometimes say, tracing the outline of the fluffy whites with his fingertips. “Someday I’ll fly high enough reach those. I’ll jump so high up that even the birds will be jealous of me." And then he would turn to you and smile that beautiful smile of his. You remember it as clear as crystal rain, blissful and innocent and simply so full of Taehyung, and suddenly it feels as though the weight of the ragged world has settled on your chest. You’re miles and miles away from the place that’s supposed to be home, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as when you think about Taehyung. Nothing could ever hurt more than when you think about him. You realize that the ringmaster is waiting for an answer. He looks at you expectantly, so you rapidly blink out the hurt in your eyes. Slowly you begin. “He came to the orphanage four months after I did. We were both young and alone, scorned by the world, but it wasn’t until I saw him swinging from the laundry rope one day that we began speaking to each other.” Yet another memory dedicated to your freefalling boy, but this time you can feel your lips twitching into a wry grin. “It was my turn to wash the bedsheets, but the rope snapped and he fell into the water basin. I don’t think he realized that it wasn’t meant to hold up seven year old boys. The matron found us and we both had our dinners taken away as punishment. But I wasn’t angry at him. He apologized by sneaking me bread from the kitchen. I thought that was very kind of him. We ended up sharing the food and finding better places for him to swing from the next day.” You peek at the ringmaster. He says nothing as he listens to your story, but his presence is comforting. It somehow gives you the strength to say aloud what has been haunting you throughout the years. You spread your hands out in front of you. “Taehyung could fly. It was his dream to be an acrobat. There was a forest close to where we lived, so he practiced swinging from tree branches whenever he had the chance. Every time he jumped the clouds reached out to kiss him. The birds loved him, the sky loved him… I loved him.” Glancing at the ringmaster, you add, “Your carnival came to our town just before we turned eighteen. The matron refused to take us and we didn’t have any money to go on our own, but Taehyung never stopped talking about it. He was always saying how he was going to join one someday, so when you came it was like a wish come true for him." "And you ended up following in his footsteps, looking for him," the ringmaster finishes for you. "But as I said before, he isn't at this carnival. So why haven’t you left?" You suspect he is curious rather than angry about your extended visit. In any case you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. "I'll keep looking until I find him." "That doesn't answer my question. Why are you still here?" A perfectly valid question which calls for a perfectly valid answer. But when you try to search for the right one, the words evade your grasp, as slippery and elusive as water, and when they fall away you make no attempt to call them back. You brush away a ticket stub clinging to your coat hem. "Because maybe I'm afraid of what I'll find." You make it halfway to the exit when he calls after you. “What is it?” “I’m sorry?” You look over your shoulder. The ringmaster is still seated where you left him, but he makes no move to hurry after you. With his mask and black coat, he looks remarkably similar to how he first appeared- as a shadow, blending in quietly with the backdrop of the grand tent, watching and observing the tears and cries and cheers of the audience. “You said before that you owed him something,” he clarifies once he sees that he has gained your attention. “What is it that you owe him?” It had always been Taehyung who was the brave one. He had no qualms about teasing the younger children or defying the matron’s oppressive rules, no fears about leaping from heights that would make a grown man shake in his boots. But now, you can’t help but think that he would be proud of you and the way you respond to the ringmaster’s question, a confident answer that rings out with only the slightest hint of a quaver at the end. “A goodbye.”

#taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #bts taehyung #bangtan scenarios #taehyung

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auskultu · 8 years ago

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Monkee Davy Talks About The Beatles

Keith Altham, New Musical Express, 4 March 1967

"GEORGEPAULJOHNRINGO," our very own pop monster, has now grown to that exalted position where it is a kind of sacred cow whom none may speak of without reverence or doffing the cap.

The Beatles have always based their enormous appeal on being human, but certain of their more fanatical followers have decided they are gods and when Monkee Davy Jones was quoted as saying: "The Beatles are finished, tired and on their way out," the screams of sacrilege rent the air all over Beatledom. Has Davy been chipping at the very pedestal of the pop Caesars ? Was he misquoted? What does he really think of the Beatles? Before he returned to America I got the facts straight from Davy at his London hotel.

"Oh, come now," grinned Davy through his sun-tanned face. "The Beatles are the top – people tried to make out that I had said they were finished. I said nothing of the kind. What I said was that they were tired and I believe they are. I'd be tired.

"I've only been in the business five minutes but I know how I would feel after five years of it at 26 years of age.

"I bought all the Beatles albums and once I hitched from San Francisco to New York just to see them appear – I spent all my money on that trip.

"A reporter came up to me in the U.S. and asked what I thought about John Lennon's Jesus quote when he said he thought the Beatles were more popular. I said that there was some talk about us being more popular than the Beatles at the moment, so where did that put us! I can imagine this guy going away now and writing: 'Davy Jones says he's God.' I never said that either!"

Just to prove how much he enjoys the new adulation Davy stepped to the hotel window to wave to the hundreds of screaming fans gathered below. This had the immediate effect of causing three young ladies to step back into the main road to get a better look at him and brought a furious driver's taxi to a screeching halt! A uniformed commissionaire fought valiantly to stop the girls invading the hotel lobby!

"That's nice," smiled Davy, "The doorman's waving too." He was too, and in no uncertain manner!

Davy began launching into one of his famous monologues and in a heavy Lancashire accent addressed the crowd as if they were a union meeting! They had no idea what he was saying, which was: "Now I've noticed that there is a lot of secondhand rubbish in the streets. This has got to stop!"

"Tomorrow morning I only want to see first-class rubbish."

"And another thing – I've noticed that some of you haven't been coming to the Saturday night singalong. Well, tomorrow I want all of you there and..."

"We want Davy!" screamed the girls and began to run berserk about the car park, while the commissionaire sat down on a bench to have a quiet cry. Davy returned to seat himself on the sofa. On a table by it a pile of autograph books were waiting for him for signing.

"I'm going to sign this one 'Peter Tork' and really blow their minds out there," smiled Davy. He flicked back a few pages in one book. "Say, that's good. This girl's got Eleanor Rigby's autograph!"

Significantly Davy raised an objection to our photographer taking a shot of him smoking a cigarette. He explained that the group has now got such an incredible influence on young people that he did not want any fans to start smoking just because Davy Jones does.

"And if you think that's crazy just remember all those kids who tried to jump off buildings in the States and fly when the Batman series hit TV," qualified Davy. Having swallowed a pill designed to keep him wide awake for a further 24 hours and another dozen interviews, Davy began a non-stop conversation for over an hour. This included a monologue on the U.S. police, who still tend to victimise young people with long hair. He recounted a recent incident in which he was somewhat unnecessarily handled after being stopped on his motorbike in LA. We also discovered that Jane Asher once taught him a cockney accent when he appeared with her in a stage version of Peter Pan in Britain and that one of his favourite U.S. comedians is Bill Crosby.

On the other hand, he did not want to discuss Mick Jagger! Enter a waiter with coffee who said: "Good evening sir!" to Davy. Davy took the waiter quietly on one side. "What's your name, waiter?" "Joseph sir," "Well mine's Davy. Would you please call me that the next time you come up. I hate all this 'sir' bit." Exit pleasantly surprised waiter.

The name of Cassius Clay was mentioned and it produced an all-star performance from Davy, who leapt to his feet and began dancing about the room yelling: "Watch my feet – watch my feet! My God, if I were a foot-and-a-half taller I'd kick him to pieces!"

He climaxed this piece of cabaret, which he chose to call the Mohammed Jones double clutch shuffle, by bringing his elbow smartly back against the door with a resounding smack – it seems Mr. Pearl is not the only exponent of karate and I have it on good authority that Davy has a head like a bullet – loaded, of course!

I also noticed Davy was wearing a badge labelled "Jewish Power," which I would think had absolutely no significance except to signify his sense of humour. He embellished this by informing me he is sending away for another badge: "Sterilise LBJ – no more ugly children!"

Of religion Davy says: "Young people are bored with the Church as an establishment. There are too many conflicting dogmas. They should all put their heads together and come up with a new, more acceptable religion. "I read the Bible because my mother used to read it to me, and because it is so beautifully written and can give you good ideas for new songs."

Before leaving I was invited to participate in the sport of "wall creeping," which consists of sliding along the wall flattened up tight against it. All a part of life's rich pattern, I suppose, and a fair reflection of the kind of 'happy kick' that Davy is getting out of his new found fame.

I would add one thing about him. Before I met him Sonny Bono told me in confidence that he believed Davy was a nice person because of something he had done for someone – and related the incident. I won't cheapen the deed by publicising it except to say it makes Davy Jones a decent human being first – and a Monkee second.

#monkees #davy jones #nme #beatles #interview #music journalism #1967 #1960s #sixties #60s

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timesorceror · 8 years ago

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Day 19 (January 25th) - Anders and Mark of the Assassin

The theme for this day is Anders in Mark of the Assassin.

For @justhanderspositive‘s challenge: [HERE].

When Hayden walked through the room, everyone’s heads turned.

And it wasn’t because they’d been the one to slay the first wyvern (or indeed, the largest), it was most likely because of the outfit that they entered the room with. It was a set of dress robes, all long red silk and black lace and brocade, one which left their shoulders bare to show off the long black curls that fell in elegant waves around their face, though Hayden had deliberately decided to leave off shaving their stubble, electing instead to apply a small bit of kohl around their eyes and a swipe of bright red lipstick to match the robes. And, the robes were corseted. Quite obviously so.

Anders watched as Hayden walked through the people, making small talk with Duke Prosper and some of the other nobles that milled about. Eventually, they made their way over to where he stood with Fenris and Tallis, the latter of the two whistling softly at Hayden’s approach.

“Well! You clean up nice,” she complimented them, “Much, much better than nice…” Anders watched her eyes rake down Hayden’s form and he frowned, though beside him, he could also hear Fenris’ low growl of possession. Hayden laughed lightly and waved the tension away with a hand.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Tallis, but do refrain from making passes at me with my partners next to us? Or at least in the room?” They flashed her that winning smile of theirs.

Tallis glanced over at Anders and Fenris, edging over a few steps when she noticed Fenris’ flattened ears and sharp glare. Anders knew how it felt to be under that intense gaze, wondering if looks could indeed burn a hole through one’s skull and kill a person. Certainly, the heat in Fenris’ eyes alone should’ve been enough to at least set her ablaze.

“I, well… yes. Does that also mean you are off limits when they are not in the room?”

“I’m afraid it does,” Hayden said airily, with an undercurrent of finality. “Now, Anders, the Duke tells me that the Remigold should be coming up soon, and I must have that dance with you and you alone before some other pair of hands steals you away.” Anders, who was also wearing a set of corseted robes (though his were a much more subtle green and gold affair, built more for support and to emphasize his hips than anything close to the masterpiece that Hayden wore), took Hayden’s hand and glanced back at Fenris, who was still glaring daggers at a now very unsettled Tallis.

“Do try not to kill our assassin with your eyes, Fen?” Hayden asked as they walked out onto the ballroom floor. “We need her for later.”

Distantly, he heard Fenris grumble something that sounded like, “If you don’t hurry back I wouldn’t count on it,” which made Anders laugh as he leaned over to press a kiss into Hayden’s hair. Hayden preened under his attention, which made Anders laugh even more.

“You’re like a little bird under all this attention,” he told them as they got into position to begin the dance. Hayden huffed. “I never do this back home, and now I wonder why I don’t. Here, I don’t have to hide what I am or care about anything anyone says. It’s liberating.” The music began and Anders took the lead in the dance as Hayden fell into the comfortable routine of following. Anders nodded in understanding.

“They do seem to like your outfit. You really went all out with it, didn’t you?”

“Your robes are corseted too,” Hayden pointed out, but Anders shook his head. “True, but mine are more for pleasure than presentation. You, my love, set out to make a statement. And you have.” Anders leaned in close to press a kiss against a corner of Hayden’s lips, feeling the gentle scratch of Hayden’s stubble against his own.

“I do like that you chose not to shave,” Anders confessed. “It helps add that extra touch of rebellion to your presentation tonight. It makes me all a-tingle.”

Hayden hummed contentedly as Anders spun them around the room until the dance came to a close. They sighed, more than a little disappointed that it was over.

“We were having such a wonderful time,” they lamented. “Why must all good things come to an end?” Anders chuffed and brushed a stray lock of hair from Hayden’s eyes. “I think that’s more a question for Varric, not me. I’m no philosopher.”

“But you are a wordsmith,” they pointed out. “I’ve read your manifesto. Your words are like a kind of magic all their own, you know?”

“After months and months of editing,” Anders muttered, which made Hayden snicker as they approached Fenris and Tallis. Fenris was no longer glaring at the other elf, but the red-headed assassin still seemed unsettled to be standing next to the man who’d been glaring daggers at her for the entire length of the dance.

“Oh hey, um, Hayden, do you think we could go, um, mingle with the nobles some more?” She tittered a bit when Fenris glanced at her, not glaring again yet, but definitely staring. “Maybe, um, we could find that key we need since I burned a good set of lockpicks on that door, right?”

Hayden sighed softly, removing themselves from Anders’ arm and offering her one of their own. “Well, I suppose we should. Anders, why don’t you see if you can get Fenris to dance, hmm?” They flashed a smile at the sullen elf, who flushed when Hayden’s soft blue eyes caught theirs. “I know we’re not just here for the party, but really, you should enjoy yourselves! Just don’t sample the ham, I hear it tastes of despair.”

And with that, they were whisked off by Tallis to go pester the nobles some more, promising to meet back up once they had the key and the information they needed to get inside to steal the jewel they’d come for (though Anders had a sneaking suspicion that either they were here for more than just a jewel or they weren’t there for a jewel at all, but that of course remained to be seen).

Anders turned his head to glance at Fenris.

“You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to,” he said, trying to help the elf relax as much as he could around so many strange people. “But you should at least sample the wine.”

Fenris smirked.

“I did. And Duke Prosper is either a fool or has better tastes than I’d normally give someone like him credit for, if the quality of these early wines are better or worse than the wines that are served later when most people are good and properly drunk. That’s when people break out the good stuff, because people don’t drink as much when they’re already drunk.”

Anders felt a single eyebrow raise with his curiosity.

“You know a lot about wines, don’t you? Is that…”

“…something I learned in Danarius’ service? Yes. I wasn’t just his bodyguard, if you recall. I tasted his wine, his first bites of food, checked the meats to see if they were properly cooked…” Anders shuddered with disgust. “Revolting that he turned you into his food taster. What if you’d been poisoned?”

Fenris shrugged. “He only started making me learn when he discovered that someone had been poisoning my rations, to get me out of the way, presumably so they could try to kill him without my interference.”

Anders blinked at him owlishly. “You’re immune to poison?”

“Resistant. I think I’m immune to some of the lesser strains, but more potent poisons do tend to have some effect on me if I’m exposed to them for long enough. Anyway, it made me that much more useful, though he was never quite sure if my resistance was natural or yet another side effect of the brands, like my hair.” Anders nodded, turning back to watch the couples dancing on the floor as he let this information settle in his head. “Yes, I suppose, knowing that, it seems practical to have you as a food taster. He was still a right piece of shit, though.”

Fenris chuckled warmly. “Well, I suppose I should be flattered that you think so. By the way, I think I recognize the next set coming up. Does that offer for a dance still stand?”

Anders cocked his head, listening to the music, and turning to face Fenris again.

“You know this one? Let me guess, yet another of the “gifts” that rat bastard bestowed on you?“

"Yes,” Fenris agreed, “but at least this is one that I will enjoy reclaiming for myself. Come dance with me, Anders, so that I can forget about that assassin for a little while.” Anders hummed in amusement as he linked his arm with Fenris’ and they walked out to take up their places for the next dance.

“Hayden is still with her, if you recall.”

“Hayden can handle themselves,” Fenris purred, grasping Anders’ waist to signal that he wanted the lead in this dance, which Anders gladly acquiesced to. “You, on the other hand, are trouble when no one is watching you.” He leaned up to capture Anders’ lips in a kiss, which Anders couldn’t help but smile into.

“Trouble, am I? I’ll show you trouble,” he said, gripping Fenris’ waist gently. Fenris grinned, and a familiar spark lit within the depths of his wide green eyes.

“Later,” he whispered as the music started up slowly. “It wouldn’t do to leave Hayden out of the nights’ festivities. Not after they went to such trouble to wear what they did…” Anders laughed under his breath. “I knew I wasn’t the only one of us to be so affected by those robes. I can’t wait to get this heist over with so we can remove them together.”

“And yours,” Fenris added. “And yours,” Anders repeated with emphasis. “After all, it’s not an Orlesian party until everyone is naked.” Fenris merely chuckled and pulled Anders close, sweeping his mage off of his feet for a few blissful, contented moments of magical revelry.

That is, until Hayden and Tallis arrived back with the key, and the heist began in earnest…

#anders #fenris #hawke #hayden hawke #non binary hawke #fenhanders #dancing #corsets #danarius is a rat bastard #but i think he's probably dead at this point so who cares #danarius can rot in the void #tallis #mark of the assassin #januanderstakeback #timesorcerorwrites

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the-grand-writer · 4 years ago

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Lost Souls

Zoom!

I ducked my head as an arrow whizzed passed me tearing off a chunk of my armor and embedded itself in the tree behind me. Sherrie was getting better at aiming her bow-which was great-however the downside to that was she decided to use me, Ricky, as target practice! I sighed turning around on the branch of the tree I’d climbed and yanked the arrow out of the tree’s trunk. A flurry of splinters burst out of the tree and scattered themselves across the soggy ground below.

“Hey, Ricky!” A feminine voice shouted from below, “are you going to cry now or are you going to climb down and give me my arrows back?!” I looked down through the dark moonlight coated leaves of the forest to see a girl dressed in blue and black armor tapping her foot impatiently. In my humble opinion, the plates were not the best at hiding her curves, but I was not going to complain. The girl had a short blonde ponytail tied to her left side and warm tan skin that looked angelic in the moonlight. This was my girlfriend, Sherrie. On her wrist were a pair of bright gold gauntlets and a quiver was slung over her shoulder. I often questioned why she wore gauntlets that were really only good for show and not effective in combat when she was using a ranged weapon, but the only answer I got out of her when I asked was that they were “lucky” and I would never understand.

Personally, I was wearing light tan scouting armor. Would the armor protect me from much? No not really, but it was much lighter than the standard armor everyone else wore due to it being made of leather and not chainmail or iron. It allowed me greater speed and mobility. I prefer to outmaneuver my opponents until they tire themselves out instead of lumbering towards them like a fridge with legs and a sword. Many times, I have wished my armor could offer me more protection than it does, but the reality is this is the most protective it can without sacrificing any mobility. Realizing Sherrie was still waiting for me to come down, I placed the arrow in between my teeth and bit down on it, firmly holding it in place. In my other hand were a few arrows I had retrieved earlier that day, getting down from this tree would be changeling but not impossible. I grunted as I slowly began my descent back down to ground level.

As I descended, my thoughts drifted from Sherrie to myself. I considered myself a rather tall guy, I had decently long arms, strong athletic legs, and if I was being honest with myself, I was the tallest guy around, a fact that kind of made me self-conscious but there was nothing I could do about it. I wondered if my dark skin made me look scary to those that were shorter than I… That thought amuses me. Sherrie does not seem to care though; I am her gentle giant.

“Well Sher bear, if you could get your shots closer to the ground, that would be much appreciated” I muffled out as my feet connected with the muddy ground. I pulled the arrow out of my mouth letting it join it friends in my right hand as I turned around facing Sherrie who lowered her bow and walked toward me.

She leaned up to kiss my lips as I took my helmet off. I was substantially taller than her, probably by a foot and a half, but she had more weight to her, more drive behind her movements. I pulled her closer to me a small smile etching its way across my face. I sighed contently, it felt, well it felt nice to spend time with my girl like this. I could feel my blood getting hotter when I with her.

She pulled away from me and I could see the hint of a smile on her face, “We better get back to the dorms before one the Majors notices we’re missing.”

I groaned in annoyance, she was right of course but it was ridiculous that we had to play a game of cat and mouse whenever we wanted to see each other, “Yeah… But we should meet again! And soon! Perhaps when they let us off again?” I said quickly hoping my child-like excitement went unnoticed.

Sherrie smiled softly as she held her hand out to me. I nodded placing the arrows in her palm “I like the sound of that.” She leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, “And who knows, maybe the Majors will let us off early!” She patted my chest smiling.

I blushed not expecting the kiss at all.

“Well I’ll see you around tiger~” She bowed, and I bowed back in turn, then we went our separate ways.

I looked out over the gently flowing water of the lake as I furiously rowed the oak wood oars of my kayak. The men’s dorm room was on the other side of this lake which always made it a bit of a commitment to meet with Sherrie-especially when you had a counselor meeting to get to but that’s beside the point-She, on the other hand, had it easy as we met very close to the women’s dorms. My breath became heavy as I practically rammed my kayak into the shore sending a heap of dirt and other particles into the air. I leapt out of the boat sprinting toward the meeting building. After a fair amount of running, I skidded to a stop just outside the central building. What luck! The counselors were just now walking into the central building! This gave me just enough time to make it back to my room before anyone suspected a thing. After catching my breath, I entered the building and made my way toward my room.

I closed the door to my dorm sighing in relief. Man was I tired. I yawned taking off my armor and placing it in my locker. I then climbed into my bed and groaned. I really needed to get five hours of sleep tonight, there was no telling how ragged the Majors might work us in the morning and I really was not doing myself any favors sneaking out so late to be with Sherrie! I took a deep breath rolling over in bed. I needed to relax. The room was silent, the only audible sounds being that of my roommate’s light snores. Thank goodness he was a heavy sleeper or sneaking back in here after my nightly excursions would be more nightmarish than it already was. They did not know about my relationship with Sherrie nor my nightly visits with her and I didn’t know if that fact bothered me or caused me relief. I suppose it is not important. After staring at the ceiling for a little while I soon felt the warm embrace of sleep begin to wrap itself around my body as the world around me faded and my eyes closed.

I dreamed about home, it had been so long since I had seen my parents, did they miss me? What had they done in my absence? Did they still own the same house? Had I become the son my father always wanted me to be? Images and memories of a simpler time floated about my mind all things I knew I would not remember when morning came. It was their idea to sign me up for this War Ready Program. It was a six-month youth program to teach us how to be ready for war against any other nation. The idea was for everyone involved to be ready for service should war come unexpectedly. But with how things were at the moment I doubted this program would be of any use to me.

My dreams soon drifted to marrying Sherrie, having about two or three children with her. Raising them up in a safe loving household. Teaching them to love their parents, be loyal to their friends, and to treat others with the kind of kindness Sherrie had showed me during my time in the program. What a life that would b-

I bolted upright in bed as the dorm walls shook and the sound of an explosion reverberated throughout the room. My roommate rolled out of bed grunting in alarm as the lights flared forcing me to shield my eyes as they adjusted to the now blindingly bright room. I did not know we were going to have a drill tonight! I and my roommate quickly scrambled over to our lockers getting our armor on. After making sure our armor was fitted, I rushed into the hallway to see a stream of armored personal running out of the building. I followed them wondering what was going on, this seemed a little too real to be a drill. Once I arrived outside It did not take long for everyone to realize what has happened. The green fire was everywhere, it looked like something out of a children’s storybook, the forest screamed and creaked as the green flames danced merrily atop its burnable branches and leaves. We all recognized those green flames. They were the mark of a Final Flame Bomb. The Majors ran around like chickens without heads issuing nonsensical orders clearly not prepared for such a sudden attack. I looked over the men’s side of the lake which was nearly completely intact aside from a few buildings surrounded by now burning trees. but when I looked across the lake something inside me snapped. The women’s dorms were completely engulfed in flames.

Instinct took over as I ran to the small dock down by the shore and untied a kayak quickly setting sail across the lake. No one stopped me as I rowed like a mad man. I once again ran my boat ashore sending up a cloud of sand and dirt once more; extinguishing some burning foliage as I leapt out of the boat. The flames swirled viscously around me as if they were trying to swallow me whole like a snake and the light was so blinding, I tripped over a root I did not see. A tree screamed in agony as it fell just a few inches in front of my flattened form sending up a wall of flames blocking my path, but I was not going to retreat! With a grunt of determination, I got back to my feet and kept moving jumping through the wall of flames that dared to try and keep me from my goal. The intense heat gnawed at my now blistered skin, but I felt nothing, it was like I was outside of my body. A spectator to my body’s actions as my heart took the controls.

I sprinted through the collapsing forest dodging flame coated branches and foliage that fell before me. The noxious smoke rose far into the sky above me and the smell was atrocious yet still, I persisted. I got closer and closer to the women’s dorms covering my mouth and nose with my charred hands, looking for any sign, any glimpse, of her. It was so hard to see, the bright green flames and black smoke created a fog-like haze that was almost impossible to see through, but then, when I was just about to give up, I saw her. Sherrie was running toward me her back ablaze, however, she did not look scared or in pain, rather she looked like a phoenix rising from the ashes the flames looking like wings carrying her to me. We hugged each other amid a world of flames; speech was impossible, there was too little air left for us to say how we felt. All I knew at that moment was that I had her! The girl of my dreams, the person I was willing to search the deepest darkest caves and trudge through the hottest infernos to find! The person I was going to marry one day and spend eternity with. Sherrie smiled widely at me as we collapsed to the ground and kissed each other one last time as our eyes sealed shut never to open again.

#short story #grandwriter #Read

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hubgurublr-blog · 7 years ago

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