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everyonesannoyedwithme · 3 years

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play the role of anyone but me, i

ok so i caved and im finally writing a series on this cursed website. consider it my bday gift for yall. chapters will probably be kinda short and spread out bc motivation is a bitch. also this chapter is kinda just set up of the characters and their relationships.

idea from a post by @lydias--stiles

summary: when julie and luke are partnered together for a songwriting contest in their music class, they are determined to win. only one problem; they hate each other. julie is convinced luke is just an ambitious bastard who only cares about his career and fame, and luke is convinced julie is just a spoiled goody two shoes who gets everything handed to her. yes i am aware this is cheesy, it is meant to be.

warnings: cursing

word count: 1,083

chapter i - a force to be reckoned with

It was the first day back at school for Julie Molina, and unfortunately, the rest of the school as well. Her father’s driver dropped her off at school less than five minutes ago and Julie was already considering calling him to pick her up. It’s not that she thought herself above all the kids in her school, she just thought most of them were below her. Especially the four boys currently blocking her locker.

“Ugh - move, you’re in my way.” Julie groaned, rolling her eyes at the boys.

“Oh, damn! The princess speaks to us, guys.” Luke Patterson. The single most obnoxious boy Julie had ever met in her life. He was loud and annoying and practically married to his dumb guitar. Julie hated his stupid face.

“Just move. You’re in front of my locker.” She groaned, putting one manicured hand on her hip and leaning her weight against it. Julie eyed the other three. Two of them were talking to each other, Peters and Wilson. Those two could be decent, sometimes, but Julie hated Wilson for publicly dumping his ex the year before. She hadn't been close with the poor girl, but you didn't just do that to someone. The third boy, Mercer, was smiling at his phone. He was the most tolerable of the group. They had biology together last year and he was good at it.

“What’re you gonna do about it? Call your daddy?” Patterson asked, mocking her fathers status. It's not like it was her fault her dad just happened to be a famous photographer who insisted on only the best for his oldest child. Julie just scoffed at the boy standing in front of her.

“I can smash that pretty guitar of yours.” She said with a sweet smile, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder.

“Pshh. You wouldn’t. Don’t wanna get those hands dirty, hm?” Patterson's eyes flickered to her hand, obviously referring to her fresh French manicure. Julie just rolled her eyes a second time and shifted her weight to the other side.

“Fucking move, Patterson!” She said, finally losing any patience she previously had with the boy. The other boys looked up from what they were doing at the rising tension between the two. Peters and Wilson didn't seem too concerned. Mercer did.

“Make me.” Patterson growled, leaning in towards Julie’s shorter frame.

“Bite me!” Julie spat at him.

Patterson reeled back at that, barking out a laugh. “So the princess has some fire after all. I guess you aren't an unfeeling robot.”

“And I guess you aren't a total idiot,” Julie said, glaring at the obnoxious child of a teenager. “oh wait. Never mind!” She finished with a sweet smile.

Mercer reached out and quickly grabbed Patterson’s shoulder before the teenager could move towards Julie at the insult. To her luck, a familiar blonde came up to the group at just the perfect moment.

“Ugh, why does it smell like testosterone and axe over here? Did you try out a new perfume, Jules?” Carrie asked, approaching the hostile girl.

Julie's entire demeanor changed, her scowl turning into a bright smile that lit up her whole face.

“No, but maybe these dumbasses did. What's the new scent called, boys? Disappointing your mother?” Julie quipped, reaching out to link arms with the taller blonde.

“Nah, it's actually railing your mother.” Wilson said, looking Julie up and down with a slight smirk. “Because that's what I spent all last night doing.”

“Ew, what's my idiot brother doing here? Doesn't he know this hallway is for juniors?” Carrie asked, pretending to whisper.

“I don't know, but he and his sophomore ass need to leave.” Julie stage whispered back.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Wilson said to the two girls. He turned to his friends. “See y'all later?”

“Yeah, see you at lunch. Alex’s boyfriend is saving us a seat, so find him. We have music before lunch so we’ll probably be late.” Peters said.

They all did some sort of elaborate handshake before Wilson left and Julie and Carrie exchanged a look. Julie sighed loudly.

“Just move, assholes.” She said, already exhausted by the conversation. Julie could see Carrie raise an eyebrow at the boys in her peripheral vision.

Patterson raised his hands in surrender, a grin finally taking over his face in place of the scowl he usually aimed at Julie.

“Alright, alright, but don't say I never did anything for you, Molina. See you in music class, ladies!” He called as he finally dragged Peters and Mercer away from Julie’s locker.

“God, I hate my brother’s dumbass friends.” Carrie grumbled, moving to lean against the locker next to Julie’s.

“They always look like they just crawled out of a bar. It's gross.” Julie shuddered slightly as she opened her locker to get her books.

“I know right! But whatever, enough about them. How have you been? I haven't seen you in, like, a week. How's Carlos? He’s so much more interesting than Bobby.” Carrie asked, a much more pleasant look settling over her features.

“I’m good and so is Carlos. He was excited to get back to school. I think he has a lot of friends in his class this year, and dad agreed to let him go to a public school instead of that awful private school he was in.” Julie said.

“Oh that's great! He's been dying to go to a public school for, like, ever.”

“Yeah. I don't see the big deal though. It's not that great here.”

“That's for sure.” Carrie’s phone buzzed, and she opened it at lightning speed to see who texted her. She chuckled.

“Flynn's late. She said to meet her in class and that she's bringing you your coffee and me my tea.”

“Of course she is. Make sure mine has a-”

“A shot of hazelnut, I know. I already asked.”

“You, Carrie Wilson, are an angel.”

“I know. Now c’mon, we have to get going or we’ll be late too. And you know Levy has a reputation for dealing with late students.”

“Oh yeah, Flynn's dead when she gets here.”

“For sure.”

As Carrie walked away and Julie finished locking up her stuff again, Patterson’s smile lingered in her mind. It was so rarely aimed at her, and infuriating as it was, she did like seeing it. Julie closed her eyes momentarily and huffed out a breath, clearing any image of Patterson from her mind. She wasn't about to think about that boy any longer than necessary.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fic #jatp fic #juke #willex #flarrie #juke fic

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jubilantscribbler · 3 years

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you ever look at a character and go, “hey buddy, why are you here?” and then try and justify it?

Yeah, Adam MadOnes, I’m looking at you. But after some deep, deep, DEEP thought, I realized that Adam’s role in the story is easily overlooked and overshadowed in the musical compared to Kelly’s and even Sam’s mom’s relationships with Sam. At face value, Adam is just the boyfriend who adds very little to the plot, save for the very end when he’s the reason Sam breaks out of that stupor long enough to realize that he’s not what she wants either.

But then you listen to his lines in “Drive”, and you realize, hey, wait a minute, maybe he was supposed to be kinda forgettable but always present. Because, when you listen to his lines and what he has to offer to Sam, it’s safety. Or rather, he’s the safety net that Sam could rely on, except that she doesn’t want to.

Lemme explain.

Compared to Kelly and Beverly’s songs, Adam’s tend to be more... chill. “Simple as That” really shows it off, with the song having a playful but easy beat that drives home how low maintenance their relationship seems to be. They tend to get each other... most of the time. Their relationship is described as “perfect”, but the simple tune and beats also makes their relationship just a little bit childish, in that bright-eyed, “Santa Claus is Real” sort of way that’s endearing. That sets up their relationship easily enough to overlook it - it’s a naive, sweet kind of love that goes with the usual High School Sweethearts narrative, where the two of them are a perfect pair and they’re TOTALLY going to get married after they graduate-

And then you get into “The Proposal” and the opening line, “Have sex with me” is backed up with an intense strum that immediately levels out into a song that gets surprisingly soft. It sounds like a love song, but the lines are more of a plea to please have sex with Adam, he’ll make breakfast and dinner and he has candles he’ll be so romantic, and it’s like haha the usual boyfriend shenanigans until he starts backtrack and go, you know, they can always bone down tomorrow, or even next week which is surprising given how insistent Adam was for like, 90% of the song (Genius has a comment that this song is actually what Sam assumes Adam wants from her - sex, but even then, Adam still makes the effort to not completely push her to commit to the act and even suggests putting it off). Adam appears in the background of other songs too, like “Top Ten” and “I Know My Girl”, making him an ever present, lingering background figure in Sam’s life. He doesn’t push to make himself more prominent, and he also doesn’t push Sam to go with what he wants too. And that’s important to keep in mind.

Adam as a character is all about being there for Sam. He’s literally described as having “great emotional intelligence and the loyalty of a Saint Bernard”. The first part is why he doesn’t push so hard with Sam. He can read her cues. He can tell when she’s uncomfortable or doesn’t want to do something, and he doesn’t push. This is actually important to his character, and it’s how it all culminates into “Run Away with Me”. It’s this emotional awareness that has him recognizing the importance of “On the Road” and trying to connect and reconnect with Sam after Kelly’s death, how he recognizes in that very last line that Sam... doesn’t want what he’s throwing down. But instead of getting upset with Sam, he keeps it to himself and instead wishes her good luck in a goofy way for her driving test.

But this emotional awareness is also what makes Adam so important to Sam. He’s different from Kelly and her mom - he doesn’t actively push her to make decisions or go along with what he wants. Kelly forces her forward, to make decisions for herself - impulsive, wild, self-serving, but also freeing choices that are meant to lead Sam to her happiness. Meanwhile, Beverly, Sam’s mom, pushes her towards success, to make the right decisions, to be calculating and careful but ambitious, and to understand the reality of the world they live in, specifically as women. Adam doesn’t do any of that. It’s why his music is less intense compared to the Kelly and Beverly’s songs, more slow and oddly calm. Adam backtracks, tries to give Sam space for her decisions, (”maybe not today, maybe tomorrow, maybe-”), but more importantly, he wants to stick by Sam in however way she needs him to be.

It’s that dedication and love for Sam that has her singing “Say the Word” to him, that sweet, soft love song where she says that if he asks, she’ll stay for him even though she wants to go. In that moment, she’s giving him the chance to lead her life in a direction that he wants which, when you look at how Sam takes to people trying to dictate what she should do with her life, is oddly sweet of her to offer to him. He doesn’t act on it immediately, probably doesn’t have the time to given the song that follows up, but when he does sing to Sam his response, it’s after Kelly’s death with the attempt to try and get her to run away with him.

This is the one time Adam actually tries to push her into making a decision. He tells her that she’s ready, that she can make a new life with him, that they can be happy together on the road, just like her favorite book, and, interestingly, he repeats back to her the words she sang to him. For Sam, if he said the word, she’d stay for him. But for Adam, if she says the word, they can leave together. Sam tells him to tell her that she’s ready in “Say the Word”, and he does in “Run Away With Me”. Over and over, he tells her that “she’s ready now”, and it almost sounds too good to be true. Sam can finally hit the road, something she wanted so desperately before with Kelly, something that she was so frightened of before that had her saying no. Now she has the chance with Adam, offering her almost the same thing - a life on the road with someone she deeply cares about.

Except.

His offer comes with that little catch. That little dream of his of settling down in a house somewhere with Sam, words that remind Sam of what Kelly warned her about before. His offer is to save her, have a simple life with her, one that’s easy and calming and full of safety.

He’s offering her a safe way out to getting what she wants... temporarily. What he actually wants from her is a life where they’re always together, where they can maybe get married, maybe settle down, maybe have a family if she wants or not, maybe live somewhere by the coast, and it’s not what Kelly would have wanted, or what her ambitious mom would have wanted, and it’s not what Sam wants at all.

And Adam realizes that all too late, just right at the very last line of his song, where he loses all his enthusiasm and quiets his voice just enough. And, in the live version, you can hear his heartbreak loud and clear.

“Drive” is where Sam’s impression of Adam really shines through as he blatantly states that he can keep Sam safe, his pleas for her to run away with him more pleading even when he says that it doesn’t have to be right away, it can be later, because Adam is always willing to wait for Sam, he’s in love with her. To Sam, he becomes that idealized lover, that perfect high school sweetheart that follows the trope of getting married after high school, of settling down and leading a life that doesn’t have a lot of strife because they’re always so agreeable with each other. Sure, he doesn’t maybe understand her at the same level as Kelly, nor does he push her to be her very absolute best, but he offers something simple. Something safe. Something that she can take her time deciding on.

Adam, compared to the rest of the cast, doesn’t really have those strong, identifiable traits other than his devotion to Sam. He really is just that boyfriend character, but despite how his relationship with Sam practically pales in comparison to Sam’s relationship with Kelly, he’s still that important person to Sam. He’s the safety net in her relationships, the one that’s always there to catch her, the one she ran to after her fight with Kelly and her mom, the one who inadvertently broke her out of her stupor. He doesn’t outright add to the plot because he doesn’t push Sam to make her choices like Kelly or Beverly. And the story is all about Sam trying to make her own choices. Each of them have their way of going about it - Kelly by sheer force, Beverly with caution and fear, and Adam with time. And once he finally tries to push Sam towards a decision?

That’s the tipping point that leads into “Drive”.

Like Beverly, he’s important in making Sam realize what she wants. He’s important in making her realize what she doesn’t want, despite being that perfect, devoted boyfriend who just wants to be by her side. He’s the rejection of that concept, similar to how Sam rejects Beverly’s idea of striving to be the best despite the hand that was given to her, of being as successful as she can be allowed and maybe even a little more, of having to live and cope with reality. He represents the safe path, the simple path, the path a lot of people would take and have taken. And he matters more not in what he can add to Sam’s life and story, because Sam doesn’t actually want that, but what it takes for Sam to realize, or remembers really, what she actually wants for once in her life. Because the entire musical is about Sam searching for what she wants, and what Adam has to offer isn’t it.

It’s easy to overlook Adam really. He doesn’t show up often in the clips floating around Youtube, he’s got like, One Really Popular Song and the other two are pretty skippable, and comparing his relationship with Sam to Kelly’s really makes you wonder why she chose to date Adam instead of Kelly, asides from the compulsory heteronormativity. But when you actually take a step back and put together what Adam has to offer in conjunction to how the others normally act around Sam, and why he matters so much to Sam, he can be a pretty important character. Because in the end, he’s the one who manages to push her out of her funk, and no one else.

#the mad ones #that's a lot of #WORD VOMIT #but i think a lot about adam and what he represents #they all represent something to sam #im getting a copy of the uh #the book itself to try and get a grip of adams character #he doesn't actually have much going for him #either in the clips or in the album #i never saw the whole thing live #but even if he doesnt add specifically to the plot #he adds a little something else instead #poor guy is just a normal dude trying to make his gf happy #he's really not a bad guy #i will stand by that til the day i die

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sea-side-scribbles · 4 years

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Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/60012781

Chapter 20

Nick was glad he had hurried up, because he made it home right before it went dark. He was still high from his adventure with Arthur and looked forward to see him again. But the closer he came to his house, and thinking about who was waiting for him inside, he also looked forward to see Morrie. When he entered it he noticed how quiet it was, as if they were still out and having a good time, or already asleep, what was unlikely. He called for them while he walked up the stairs, until a voice answered him. It was Morrie, looking like he had been waiting for Nick in the living room.

„Welcome back,“ he said holding up his arms and Nick grinned. Then he noticed.

„Are you all alone?“

Morrie shrugged.

„The others are in the pub again, but I wanted to wait for you,“ he explained.

Nick then ran into his arms.

They hugged and kissed, stumbled around and finally slumped on the couch together.

When they paused for breath Morrie quietly asked: „Where have you been?“

Nick cuddled into his side and it didn’t feel any less wholesome.

„I…told you before…I…I want to stop the drugs…I was in therapy today,“ he created an answer. It wasn’t entirely wrong.

„But Nick,“ Morrie turned to face him. „Why didn’t you tell me? This is the best idea you ever had and I’m absolutely with you! Everyone of us is!“

Nick avoided his gaze and simply said in a broken voice: „I have to make it…or I can bury myself.“

Morrie took his hands and stroked them with his thumbs

„You will make it, Nick! You’re not alone with this.“

Then he made a painful expression.

„I guess I was sarcastic when you first told me…When I was still angry at you and also at myself. But I’m actually proud of you and if you need help, I’ll be there for you. Whatever you need.“

Nick lifted Morrie’s hands and gently kissed them.

„Thank you,“ he rasped.

Morrie eyed him.

„Does it hurt?“

Nick cleared his throat.

„It’s…not really pleasant,“ he answered, thinking about how he had spent hours alone in that bedroom, sweating and winding in pain and nearly losing his mind.

„And it’s going on forever.“

At that, Morrie began to caress his cheek with his finger, purring „Aww, my poor baby.“

Nick turned his head, kissed the hand that was petting him and then started to cover the other man’s face with more kisses. Morrie closed his eyes, moaning with pleasure. Then he suddenly pulled the mask off his face and looked Nick in the eyes. Nick froze.

„Isn’t that much better?“, Morrie whispered.

Nick’s gaze wandered over every single uncovered spot on the other man’s skin.

„Your face…I..“, he stuttered and gulped. „I forgot what your face looks like…“

Morrie leaned closer.

„Now let me see if I forgot about yours,“ he was whispering again, tempting him.

Nick shivered but he didn’t flinch when Morrie carefully touched his chin, then shoved his fingers under the white plastic of his mask. While he removed it slowly Nick was staring at him, paralyzed. He was waiting for the other man to be startled by his looks.

„Oh my…,“ Morrie sighted.

„What?“, Nick interrupted him. His heart was pounding.

„You’re so beautiful…“, Morrie went on and Nick’s eyes widened.

His fear melted away when he saw the other man’s delighted expression. When they kissed again, it felt like they kissed for real for the first time. Nick could feel Morrie’s skin on his and it felt so soft when he brushed it with his lips.

„This is so much better!“, he panted the second he could breathe again.

„My words,“ Morrie replied and chuckled.

He shoved his arms under Nick and pulled him onto his lap. Nick took this as an invitation to ruffle the other man’s hair in order to completely ruin his neatly combed strands.

„Hey,“ Morrie laughed while he tried to stop his lover’s evil plan. After he had thoroughly failed and his rumpled hair strands were covering his face, he said: „Alright, I get it. You need a completely different treatment now.“

He got up and lifted Nick up with him, who immediately wrapped his arms around him an giggled.

„What’s the matter, baby? You look ravishing!“

He was kicking his legs, downright begging to be tamed. Morrie wouldn’t let him go.

„Come here, hot stuff, you need a cooldown!“

He carried Nick all the way to his bedroom and kicked the door open with a loud crack.

„Hey, this is my interior you’re destroying right now!“, Nick fake-complained and laughed.

„I’ll destroy much more than that tonight“, Morrie announced and Nick moaned loudly.

„Yeah, baby, punish me!“

Searching for the light switch Morrie accidentally turned on the stereo system that started to blast out Nick’s cheery songs, accompanied with bright lights from a glittering disco ball. Nick could convince Morrie to dance with him, before they made love to the music.

Much later, when it was silent and Morrie was already asleep, Nick carefully freed himself out of his arms. He cast a last tender glance at his lover before he sneaked out of the room and entered the bathroom, where he brought himself to look into the mirror. At first he viewed himself from a distance, then his curiosity won him over and he stepped closer, carefully palpating his face. Bit by bit he remembered that there had been a time where he had seen this face in the mirror every day. His and Morrie’s - and even the Garden District brought back memories which felt like they came from another life.

Long before Nick Lightbearer was born he was simply called Norbert Pickles. He liked to play guitar and sing along in the park that was close to his school. Every since puberty had hit him he had spent a lot of time finding out what the girls liked. And it came out that playing guitar was one of these things. In addition had a good singing voice he was quite proud of. Since the first day he had vibed the strings and hummed a song the girls kept swarming around him and listened like they were under a spell. Words came easier to him when he was singing.

Because boys like music too he soon found friends that shared his passion and they formed a band. They played at school events and became popular amongst their colleagues. They were ambitious, dreaming about the big stages, concert halls filled with thousands of fans, but it was still a long way.

This certain day started like many others. Norbert didn’t hate school, but all he really wanted was playing music and so he did as soon as the classes were over. It was just the right time: a sunny spring day, warm and dry, perfect to sit down under a blossoming tree and get lost in his songs. He didn’t think about their great plans for now, if anything he looked forward to the pretty bird he was about to meet again this evening. Life was beautiful.

When he finished his song he saw his friend Matthew approach him. He looked out of breath, as if he had been running all the way.

„There you are,“ he said huffing and puffing. „I’ve been looking for you.“

Norbert was confused.

„Why, what’s up?“

Matthew leaned against the tree to catch his breath.

„There’s that guy from the parallel class. He’s quite good at the piano. Mortimer Dunn, you know him?“

„I’ve heard about him, yes.“

„I talked to him and now he’s thinking about joining our band!“

Matthew sounded very excited. Norbert put the guitar down, doubting.

„Is he really that great?“

Matthew held out a hand.

„You’ve got to listen to him, man! He’s playing for us right now! Follow me!“

Norbert bopped up and followed his friend out of the park and back into the school building. He had mixed feelings about this. Of course he wanted the best for the band, but did it have to be this guy? According to what he had heard Mortimer was rather shy and mousy. How would that look like on stage? And did this guy even like pop music?

So he was preparing for nothing when he opened the door to the music room where a piano was standing in a corner.

What he saw and heard afterwards made him hold his breath.

The band was complete when he and Matthew entered. Chris and Brad didn’t say a word, only nodded to them and kept listening. Mortimer shortly looked up and his and Norbert’s eyes met for a second. Then he continued to play. Norbert watched his long, slender fingers skim along the keys and after a while he noticed that he himself was listening like he was enchanted. He couldn’t stop looking at him either. After everything he had been told about Mortimer he had expected him to be a pimply little podge. Instead he was tall and slim, with well-groomed dark brown hair.

While playing, he had a charisma that Norbert couldn’t break away from. He was certain that he indeed was the one they needed. When Mortimer ended, Norbert was still frozen and gaping while the others began to applaud and cheer. Mortimer looked at Norbert and his expression was somewhat skeptical. Then Matthew pushed his elbow into Norbert’s side and the sudden pain made him snap out of it. He joined into their cheers, even though way too late.

„Wow…that was…I’m out of words,“ he stammered.

Matthew stepped forward, asking who would vote for Mortimer as their pianist. They agreed in unison, then they welcomed their new member with more cheers and slapped him on the shoulders. Everyone but Norbert, who didn’t dare to touch Mortimer. He had goosebumps all over his body and he was shivering without knowing why. All he knew was that he needed to leave the room before he fainted, and so he quickly said his goodbye and fled back into the park. He tried to play another song, but the peaceful atmosphere was gone. He was upset. Not even the thought about the pretty bird had the same magic as before. Frustrated, he shouldered his guitar and walked back home.

Even at night he lied awake, wondering what was wrong with him. Mortimer must’ve played something that made him lose his mind. The others didn’t seem to notice, they had been acting completely normal. But if it was about the music, why didn’t he remember the melody he had been playing at all? Instead he could recall the slim hands, his focused expression and the one hair strand that was coming loose while he was playing. Then again, it was still possible that everything would be back to normal tomorrow, he tried to calm himself down. Sinking into his confused thoughts, he slowly fell asleep.

#whf #wehappyfew #we happy few #nick lightbearer #whf nick #whf arthur

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egg-emperor · 4 years

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Can you do me the honor of the describing eggman's love for roller coasters and parks in great detail

His love for theme parks goes way back, for as long as he can remember! The awe he felt during his very first visit to one was intense. It was also one of the first-ever things to captivate his interest like that besides his grandfather's work, machinery, robotics, etc.

He likes that they're a grand presentation with fun interaction. He has always wanted to create things that are impressive and give him personal entertainment at the same time. So when he discovered theme parks, it clicked immediately that they are exactly his style as a perfect balance of his aspirations.

He's drawn to bright lights and vibrant colors. He loves to take in the breathtaking views that stimulate his attention, bringing the most joy and energy. His eyes weren't as sensitive back then, he’d be starry-eyed and could admire it for hours. He still feels that way despite having to wear shaded glasses now. That's how much he adores it!

The speed, heights, and extremities of rides give him a rush that has him chasing the thrill. Especially rollercoasters because he loves to go fast and feel the wind in the hair he had at the time lol. He enjoys the feelings of excitement and risk that come with it, it makes him feel so alive. The more scary, extreme, and fast they were claimed to be, the more pumped he was to see what they were all about- what they're like to ride and how they work.

That's why later on in life (like Unleahed and Colors) he admits his stuff is extreme and often dangerous because he wants to create rides that genuinely are. He knows it would get more people talking about it which he always likes. But of course, there are some that are perfectly safe but still wild and intense for himself to enjoy. His theme parks are for his own indulgence first and foremost.

With his ego and desire for attention that was already present from a young age, he began to think about how the more magnificent and ambitious the parks are, the more attraction they get. He loves the blend of creative design and entertainment and realized it would be the perfect way for him to show off both.

That's part of what developed his fantasy of having his own park one day, aside from it being really awesome if he did. It would be tons of fun and he'd make his the very best, even bigger and more impressive than anyone has ever seen so the whole world could recognize his efforts.

Theme parks became one of his special focuses for all of those reasons. He wanted to visit them as much as possible and learn more about them. But even when he couldn’t, he was immersed in it all the same and started coming up with his own designs. His imagination and intelligence made his ideas vivid, deep, and complex.

He put his daydreams to use by sketching designs and envisioning how it would all look and work. He'd focus on the physics and construction aspects with great interest. With rollercoasters, he has the greatest fascination with the height, length, twists, turns, peaks and loops that the tracks might have. He would think carefully about all this because he wants it to be full of thrills and surprises.

A lot of what he got to create in Unleahed and Colors involved a lot of cool ideas he had as a child, only further developed and improved upon after years more of knowledge and progress, of course. But his desires and tastes have always been very prominent and specific. There was nothing he wanted more than to see them become a reality one day.

Finally getting to bring it to life in any way is surreal and exhilarating. He really is as joyful and giddy to see it all unfold as he seems in Shadow the Hedgehog, Unleahed, and Colors. Gazing upon and experiencing the product of his own genius and deepest desire makes him feel the most energy, the highest he could ever be.

Despite his age, he still has that youthful passion within him that he will never lose touch with. Only now he gets to have full control of the fun rides, designs, and views. That's something he has fantasized about for years. And he can present his success in them with pride and have a blast. He has never felt more freedom than when he’s in his perfect element.

If anyone thinks it’s childish then they clearly don’t understand the intelligent work and progress that goes into the plans and production. He’ll never let anyone make him feel silly for his strong enthusiasm. Eggmanland with always be the biggest focus with his empire dream and that will never change.

The only difference is that nowadays he frowns upon most other theme parks that don't belong to him. He knows he can do better with all the things he's accomplihed. A tad bit of jealousy is involved because he isn't happy that theirs get to stand while his own is ruined by Sonic.

If he were to visit one now, he could appreciate it if it's good but he’d compare it to his own and emphasize how his concepts are superior the whole time! He has true pride and confidence in his being the very best. He anticipates the day Eggmanland can permanently stand as proof of that when he rules the world and his empire lives on forever. 💜

#headcanons #my post #asks #dr eggman #eggman #dr. eggman #dr robotnik #hobbies

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llaevateinn · 4 years

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Short, unfinished figureskating AU i wrote and idk what to do with it. So, yeet.

The first time they found out that Jin Ling spent his time after school and on weekends on the ice rink, the reaction was pretty bad. Jin Ling was braced for the usual "what are you a girl" remarks from anyone who thought that figure skating was "just for girls". However, he was unpleasantly surprised.

"So you're the one who keeps hogging our rink!"

"What?"

Jingyi flailed his arms when words failed him, which was not new. Jin Ling deftly dodged the almost perfect left hook thrown his way.

"My hockey team! We barely have any rink time because of the figure skaters!"

Now Jin Ling was scowling.

"What? You're on the hockey team?" And then: "You guys are the ones scratching up the ice so it's barely usable for me!"

"You're the one making holes in it with your stupid ice picks for skates!"

Sizhui on the side sighed long-sufferingly. These two were constantly at each other's throats enough as it was – add the age-old ice hockey vs figure skating rivalry into the mix and he just knew he wasn't going to have a peaceful minute again in his life.

"Boys," he tried to placate them. "Both of your sports are awesome, and you're both really good. There's no need to fight."

"We're not fighting!" they both shouted in unison.

Sizhui pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was he friends with them again?

Jin Ling had transferred to their school this semester, a grade below them. Initially he had not made any friends. He was gloomy and brash, arrogant even, and he never participated in any after-school activities. Sizhui and Jingyi had jointly made the decision to approach him. They had swiftly become fast friends, despite how they bickered sometimes. At least now that they knew about Jin Ling's figure skating, it made more sense that he barely had time for anything else.

"My grandma on my mother's side wanted me to do ballet," he explained once. "She was a really famous ballerina, and she got my uncle into it too. My mom never really liked it though, and I don't like ballet much either."

"How did you get the idea for figure skating then?"

"Um. That's- … My uncle- …" He hesitated. "It's complicated. But I had another uncle, besides the one you guys know of. Both my uncles on my mother's side used to figure skate, until my other uncle went away. I saw videos once, of their competitions. That's when I decided I wanted to do that."

"And your uncle, Mr. Jiang, is your trainer?"

"Trainer and choreographer," Jin Ling said proudly. "When my mom realized I was serious about figure skating, she said she wouldn't have anyone else train me. And he's the best! I've been competing in the Juniors Championships for a while now, and I even got bronze last year! Maybe next year they'll let me join the Seniors' competitions."

"Wow, that's so cool!" Jingyi exclaimed, rivalry between hockey players and figure skaters forgotten. "You're winning medals? You're awesome!"

Jin Ling blushed a little, though he proudly lifted his chin.

"Yeah, I am. Maybe one day I can even go to the Olympics!"

At fourteen, he already had such ambitious dreams, and judging by how well he was doing, they might one day even come true.

Despite having decided to devote his life to ballet, Jiang Cheng had been on or around the rink for his entire life. It began when his adopted brother chose figure skating as his hobby – and then later, to make it into something more serious. Jiang Cheng, always eager to follow his siblings wherever they went, had followed him onto the ice too. Ballet became a mere accessory to figure skating, as the two trained and showed enough talent to compete.

When his brother continually rose higher, winning medal after medal, trophy after trophy, while Jiang Cheng himself remained empty handed? It did not take much for his mother to convince him to go back to ballet instead.

But the ice never left him. It stayed with him as he accompanied his brother to his competitions. It stayed with him when his brother up and left, after their sister and brother-in-law's near-fatal accident. It stayed with him when his nephew, all of four years old and bright eyed, watched an old recording of the two of them racing over the ice, and said: "I want to do that too!"

Ballet was his work. His blood, sweat and tears were poured into it, to make his mother proud. So that he could take over her ballet studio, once it became clear that he would not excel in ballet either. Despite having studied under renowned teachers in Paris and Moscow, despite having joined famous companies and starring in productions on world tours, it was only enough to lend his name to a small, unambitious and kids-friendly ballet school.

That is, until Jin Ling announced that he wanted to become a pro figure skater.

There was no question as to who would teach and train him. Even though Jiang Cheng's mother clearly disliked it, she could not say no to her only grandson. Or to Yanli, who was the apple of her eye. Or to Jin Zixuan's money that would finance Jin Ling's dream.

"Make sure he wins," was all she said to Jiang Cheng, turning away in disinterest.

Jiang Cheng had not, in fact, made sure that Jin Ling won. He had made sure that Jin Ling would never, ever lose his joy and enthusiasm for the sport, however.

Though he was already too old for professional ballet, much less pro figure skating, he always accompanied Jin Ling onto the ice. He guided him through the basics, ignited his passion for music and choreography, and pushed his limits. But never further than Jin Ling was willing to go.

That he was damn talented and excelled at both the athletic and creative aspects of figure skating was just the cherry on top. That he began to compete in junior tournaments – and began to eke his way towards the medal rankings – was just incidental, in Jiang Cheng's eyes. Because he believed that Jin Ling's success was only due to the fact that he truly loved what he was doing. Without that, Jiang Cheng could force him to do drills as long as he wanted to, and it wouldn't make a damn difference.

When Jin Ling was fourteen, there were a few changes in their lives. Two, in fact, that were the most impactful. They came in the shape of one Lan Jingyi and his cousin, Lan Sizhui. The two boys, who were a year older than Jin Ling, quickly became his best friends when Jin Ling joined a new school that was geared towards young talents in sports and arts. Lan Jingyi was also a sports prodigy, showing a promising talent for ice hockey. Meanwhile, Lan Sizhui was an art major, a musical genius who specialized in traditional instruments.

The two of them became a fixed presence at the edge of the rink and in the stands, accompanying Jin Ling to trainings as well as competitions. Therefore, Jiang Cheng was not surprised to see them sidestepping all protocol and joining Jin Ling in a room below the stadium that was supposed to be for competitors only.

What did surprise him was the third boy accompanying them.

"Who is that?" he asked Jin Ling, only to get a blush the color of chili peppers in return. He sighed. "Just don't let him distract you from your performance today."

"Yes, sir."

Another sigh.

"Go, say hi. But then you come right back and continue your warmup."

"Yes, sir!"

That boy, he thought fondly.

#my fic #my writing #mo dao zu shi #gen #jin and jiang family feels #figureskating au #everybody lives #modern au #obv

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starryskylullaby · 5 years

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slip.

The war is reaching a climax. Lord Tyrik of House Lannister sees a far more personal side of his position.

[ with special thanks to @apothecaryremedies for bouncing ideas with me and helping me write her boy Tyrik 💙 ]

______________________________________

He had never seen the king look so vulnerable, so entirely removed from the symbolism carried by the crest that adorned the Targaryen family--so seemingly human. Only the bright rubies and black enamel crest on the golden armor that rested nearby served as a reminder to Tyrik that he was standing before a dragon, no matter the look of defeat drawn over Lucerys’ features. He figured that, as Hand of the King, it would have been his duty to offer consolation, to be as sturdy and unmoving as Casterly Rock itself for the king he’d sworn his service to.

But...he had to wonder if Lord Rambton had ever dealt with such personal matters as the conversation he was engaged in then. Lucerys Targaryen and Valerius Rambton had been friends, but even friendship had its limits when it came to secrecy--rumors spread far and wide, and Tyrik was very well aware of them himself.

At length, the king spoke up; the only indication that Lucerys wasn’t simply thinking out loud that Tyrik had was the use of his name, as the other man didn’t even bother to look up at him. “Tell me...have you fathered any bastards, Tyrik?”

"Bastards?” the Hand arched a brow, pouring himself some wine from the as yet untouched carafe nearby. Lucerys still didn’t move, just sat staring into the fireplace--something that made Tyrik purse his lips slightly in disapproval as he listened. “Yes. My father, you well know, sired at least two.” He took a deep, slow inhale through his nose. “And I one.” He sounded much more troubled about this than Tyrik assumed he might, after the previous statement. “Well, you wouldn't be the first king, obviously." It made little sense, he thought to himself, unsure where the other man was headed with all this--but he paid close attention. The title ‘Hand of the King’ brought him further riches and praise, but Tyrik was no fool. Arrogant, perhaps, and ambitious, but no fool. “A bastard,” the king mused quietly, “Had it lived, I wonder if this war might have happened sooner.” “Quite the suspicion, that.” “I can’t imagine she would have stayed,” the king continued dully, his expression far more sad than Tyrik was comfortable with looking at for long. “Astaeria. She’d have flown north long before she did.” There was a beat of silence, and Tyrik took a drink of his wine, wondering what he’d walked into, where this line of thought was taking them both--the mention of the queen was one that made the Lannister lord stop mid-drink, however. “I might never have had my trueborn son.” Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrik could see the king’s throat constrict slightly, and barely heard the next words, though he suspected they may not have been intended for him to hear at all. “My boy, my Aerion.”

"Your grace--" he paused, and when he spoke his tone was unusually soft for the proud lion. “Take it as a lesson, your grace, so that you do not lose sight of what you already hold so dear." He took another breath, letting the words sink in for a moment before his lips pursed into a thin line, and he found himself trying hard to stay somewhere between the line of utmost respect and crude truth. "I admit that I've had my fair share of whoring. Times of...weakness, I suppose--the thrill of having the world in your palm, feeling invincible with the spoils of battle." He paused, eyes clouded in memories for a moment, but it passed just as quietly as it had come. "And they are things I would rather keep from my wife, but I've not once repeated the same mistake, and never will I so taint her honor, long as I breathe." Tyrik reached for his drink again, taking a much larger gulp than before.

Lucerys was silent, mulling this over. “Valerius had no understanding of those things,” he replied finally. “Isn’t much for a fight. The man can wield a sword but there is no joy in it for him. A shame, really.” He sounded hollow, somehow, and Tyrik only listened. “Whoring…can’t speak for him, so far as that’s concerned,” he admitted, “But it held no appeal to me. Not even when I was a younger man, still unwed.” He swallowed thickly, Tyrik could see, and cast his gaze down. “There was only one woman I wanted. Only one woman I ever wanted--” his voice seemed to choke itself into silence and Tyrik watched him purse his lips and knit his brow in frustrated confusion, “And when I had her at last...somehow my eyes wandered.” Tyrik found he’d finished his wine, and helping himself to another cup, he set his jaw for a moment before speaking up once he’d set the pitcher down again. "I’ve found that whether or not they wear a crown, all men do foolish things--and I have reason to believe Lord Rambton already gave you his own thoughts over the Myrish bitch. Know that my sentiments align with his for once in that regard."

Lucerys’ head snapped up at this and his expression was irate, but the tone of his voice did not match it. “She is not the only of my faults, Tyrik,” he ran his tongue over his teeth behind his lips, turning back to the fire, “But she is without doubt the greatest of them.” Tyrik watched him, watched the firelight on his face. “Then am I correct in my assumption about your previous Hand?” The king’s brow furrowed. “You are.” “And you didn’t heed his words. You seem vexed by mine now, however.” Lucerys shot him an irritated look. “You have been a clever man, Tyrik, and I know you are not fool enough to misunderstand my reaction. Valerius has been my friend near twenty years now; his words were sincere, not some silver tongued ploy for more power and land.” "More land? Your grace, the overly ambitious picture you have of me is all too flattering," He smirked, though the king wasn't entirely wrong in his doubt. Lucerys sighed, turning back to the fire. “I am tiring of you this night, Tyrik. I have no patience for games or honeyed words at present.”

Tyrik steeled himself some, and held his wine cup a bit tighter.

"Then if I may be plain, the presence of that red cunt unnerves some of the men." Grey eyes narrowed, and he did not back down even when the king turned to glare at him again, instead doggedly continued his statement. "She does more harm to you than support. While I don't consider myself a virtuous or at all pious man, gossip does travel quickly. To the common folk, a king without visible faith in the Seven leads to certain...mistrust." “My ancestors have not been friends of the Faith. The Seven hold no sway over my judgement.” “And the red god does?” The king’s mouth opened and shut, and his silver eyes glinted in the firelight. “Tread carefully here, lion.” “Your ram friend did not, and you have told me you do not desire honeyed words—and so mine will be plain.” He set his cup aside. “The red woman’s presence here is an ill thing. Already she has cost us time and a potential treatise with your sister, who is arguably the most reasonable of the three of you dragons. Her ‘offerings’ to this ‘Lord of Light’ have cost us valuable allies and have turned them enemies, who now fight for your brother--” He cut himself off, wetting his lips, “--No, not your brother, I fear I’ve misspoken.” He fixed his gaze on Lucerys, “House Baratheon has denounced you.The Baratheons, the Estermonts, the Tarths--all have declared for your sister now.” Lucerys had no retort for this. Tyrik shook his head, “Not Asra, but Astaeria. The raven from Evenfall Hall came today, ‘House Tarth recognizes Queen Astaeria of House Targaryen as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and her son Prince Aerion as rightful heir to the Iron Throne’,” he recited from memory, “This comes in the wake of your red witch burning a cousin of Lady Jocelyn’s--and with Lord Rogar dead, she and her sons lead House Baratheon, and their banners.”

In the silence that fell, Tyrik took his wine up again, and took a good long drink. “Somehow I get the sense none of this is what’s keeping you up this evening, all the same,” he sighed at last. Lucerys just stared stonily at the flames. “I have not been sleeping well,” he admitted. Tyrik eyed him cautiously over the rim of his cup, taking a drink. “I have been told you haven’t taken your red woman to your bed in...days, yes?” “...I called her Astaeria,” came the near hoarse reply, and Tyrik couldn’t take another sip, watching the king with surprise. This, he hadn’t expected. “I called her Astaeria, when she was in my bed last.” He looked suddenly much more disheveled than Tyrik had noticed before, “I held her in my arms but I…I could only think of my wife.” He could see the king’s eyes had glossed over, and something felt...strange about this, seeing him this vulnerable. All of the sly remarks he might have made died on Tyrik’s tongue. “I imagine that did not please her much.” This earned him an angry sidelong glance, and he took a quiet breath. “I have received nothing but word that your sister is safe.” “I would rather she were here,” Lucerys said honestly, “She, and our son. She would not even see me at High Heart, she will not meet with me. She has been disgraced by these malicious rumors, and it is my own fault they were allowed to be loosed through the realm.” “You did not know of their existence, your grace.” “And I should have. I know very well who started them,” the king hissed, and Tyrik only sipped his wine. All the realm knew who had started these rumors, by now, but that mattered little anymore. “She’s the only woman I’ve wanted all my life--I had her, and now I’ve lost her.” His voice was startlingly raw, “And I can never atone for what’s happened to her.” Lucerys shook his head, eyes red-rimmed in the light now and glossed with unshed tears. “I want her here,” he said helplessly, “Back with me, that I might at least try to make things right again.” Tyrik took a deep breath, and had to look away.

"You love her, that much is obvious.” He swallowed, considering his words. “Atoning for what you did, however…that might take more assistance than I can offer you, your grace.” He sighed quietly, “And it could only happen if she were to agree to see you again at all.”

King Lucerys’ voice was so tight that Tyrik feared it might break. “I have made far too many mistakes during a war, Tyrik,” he whispered, “I cannot let this be my last.”

#asoiaf au #text post #this is setting the stage for an awful lot #maki this boy is such an awful boy but i love a good bad lion #you'll get ur dang land tyrik calm down

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ryanmeft · 6 years

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Star Wars: The Last Jedi Movies-at-Home Review

Star Wars: The Last Jedi completely changes everything about the franchise, a fact which some will love and some will hate. One thing I feel confident in saying is that if you think the previous sentence is true, the odds of you being a middle-aged fanboy who still believes busy adults should be thinking more about the term “Midochlorians” are high. The reality of Rian Johnson’s entry into the once-iconic toy-generation engine is less dramatic: a few insignificant background details have been altered, once-thrilling space opera has been replaced by a plot revolving around running out of gas, and otherwise the movie is the same old Star Wars. Like The Force Awakens, it is still tied firmly to the original trilogy. Unlike The Force Awakens, it’s not very much fun.

I don’t honestly remember how part seven ended, and before you rush off to remind me, you should know I don’t remember because I’ve had better things to do since 2015. I don’t think it left off with the rebel fleet, led by the now departed Carrie Fisher as Leia, running out of oomph, but that’s where we start this entry. Actually, correction: we start with hotshot space pilot and bad Han Solo impersonator Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) lobbing grade school insults at Imperial Commander somebody-or-other (Domnhall Gleeson) to distract him from the fact that he wants to blow up their ships. I know people who were personally offended by the glib tone of this scene, but I didn’t mind, because quite frankly it was still more polite, mature and useful than trying to have a conversation about the franchise these days. He does blow up the ship he wants, loses 95% of the Rebel ships in the process, and wonders why they don’t declare him a hero.

If you somehow like Poe, don’t worry: the other characters eventually fawn all over him, because this movie has so many gaps of logic it is officially a registered Libertarian. Witness the scene in which Leia is temporarily unable to command. An officer prepares to announce her replacement. The camera pans around the room, lingering on familiar faces, right before the new commander is announced as…a supposedly legendary Admiral who we’ve never seen or heard of before this exact moment. Sure, she’s played by Laura Dern, and having Laura Dern in a movie is usually a good enough motivation for anything (see Downsizing for another example), but the film is riddled with such random and inexplicable introductions and asides. During the opening space battle, the cameras of longtime Johnson collaborator Steve Yedlin linger on the protracted heroic death of a woman whose importance is not explained, and who is later revealed to be a foil for terrible new character Rose (Kelly Marie Tran). Rose is also there to be Finn’s (Jon Boyega) pointless love interest. They have a mildly interesting subplot on a planet where the locals made their bones by double-dealing weapons to both sides, and Boyega once again proves he’s got the most interesting character of the three new stars, but his story is robbed of any pathos by a moment so ridiculously stupid that I’ll let you discover it for yourself. I never, ever question the logic of a movie about magic sword knights in space, but The Last Jedi is, in this regard, ambitious.

Throughout all of this, the dialogue is so vapid and empty that it could only have been written by corporate committee. Compare it to the original Star Wars, which I re-watched afterwards for the first time in over a decade. The dialogue there was hokey and at times a bit workmanlike, with stilted delivery, and is mostly quotable through cultural accretion rather than any inherent quality. What it has is the sense it was written by a bunch of big kids who grew up on Flash Gordon and were having a ton of fun. The Last Jedi feels dictated by people whose primary interest was in appealing to as many demographics as possible, and as anyone experienced with spinning a good yarn knows, stories that are made for everyone are really made for no one.

Where the film comes alive is when Luke Skywalker is on screen, and I can honestly say I never expected to write those words. For all that he’s iconic, he was the dullest of the three main heroes in the old films. Here, he turns out to be the one and only part of the movie that feels like anyone really believed in it. Played again by the now obviously aged Mark Hamill, he resides in exile on a planet with only one island, inhabited by a frog-like race that seems to live to maintain it. Here are the remains of the first Jedi temple, a fact which could really be spun out into something fascinating if Disney were remotely interested in things that are fascinating. Luke has given up on the Jedi Order for reasons that are, if not really gripping, then more compelling than anything else the story offers, but like a true believer he still carefully guards the original religious texts. I wondered through most of the film how much better it would have been if the rest of it were this inspired. Unlike Harrison Ford’s obligatory, phoned-in final outing as Han Solo, appreciated somewhat by me at the time but which I have since recognized as pure fan service, Luke’s return feels like it adds something not just to this film but to the franchise.

It’s just too bad Johnson had to nearly foul it up by taking Rey’s story to the least interesting place possible. Rey is, if you recall, the new Force-wielding hero of the series, and she travels to the Skywalker Cosmic Bachelor Retreat to try and get Luke to train her. Their scenes together have zip, including a particularly funny moment, and for a while we think the movie will really go somewhere with Rey’s temptation toward darkness. It does not, because that would cut into merchandise sales. Instead, Rey heads off to confront Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) and his boss Supreme Commander Snoke (Andy Serkis), whose head looks like someone did something very painful to another part of their anatomy. Back in my review of The Force Awakens, I called Kylo and Rey the new additions with the most potential. I also said I could not give the series credit for future movies, and I have been proved right. Almost every bit of interest the two characters had has been flushed in favor of completely generic paths for their stories to take. The one revelation I thought added something new to Rey will doubtless be retconned for something duller when J.J. Abrams takes the reins back with the next installment. I think Daisy Ridley has a bright career ahead of her, and after seeing her in two Star Wars movies, let’s just hope it’s still ahead of her.

The new Star Wars series has schizophrenia. On the one hand, it wants to hew so closely to the original films that it refuses to break from them even in spin-offs. On the other, it seems determined to give fans what they have long desired by all but erasing George Lucas from the series he created. There is none of his life here, or his boyish, innocent wonder. There are no Mos Eisley cantinas, no strange alien jazz bands aboard floating slave ships, no underwater cities or rolling droid armies. There is nothing to match them, either. This latest entry neither moves the series forward nor captures the boundless magic of the past. No one could come in on The Last Jedi and ever think this was a series born from a crucible consisting of Kurosawa, Robin Hood and Joseph Campbell. In the quest to make it inoffensive to anyone not obsessed with continuity, it has finally been made lifeless. For all the complaining people still do about the prequels, they were at least films a human being wanted to make, done how he wanted to do them, with influences and ideas and innovations. The words “A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far, Far Away” feel like farce now, applied as they are to a film with very little of the all-too-human emotions that generations of wide-eyed children invested them with.

Verdict: Average

Note: I don’t use stars but here are my possible verdicts. I suppose you could consider each one as adding a star.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

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geneseo98 · 5 years

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Game of Thrones Series Finale

Lost. Sopranos. Breaking Bad. True Detective Season One. The Thrones deep dive journey that I went on was deeper than all of them. So I don’t come to write this post enthusiastically. That the final season, episode, stories in this epic tale that I hyped to my friends, read up on, listened to hours of podcasts on... Kinda stunk.

Let me start by saying that the final episodes were clearly well acted, visually impressive and downright unprecedented in television history. It looked and sounded great (when we could see through squinting darkness in E3) time and time again. In no world are these things not achievements of the highest order. Emmys will be rightfully coming to many on the show who worked for years on every detail. But the reason I was one of many to get sucked into this world

For the season opener, I thought about it all day long; sat up on my couch leaning forward for the full hour. By the season finale, it was almost an afterthought. “OK, let’s see how they get Jon to kill Dany here.” I kinda didn’t care who ended up as ruler. I appreciated the “their stories will go on” vibe from the final moments, but ultimately, the dramatic scenes fell flat to me. I didn’t.... care? How is that possible? I agreed with all the bullet point choices the show made. Jon/Dany drama once his big secret was revealed. Arya playing murder hero. Dany breaking bad. But SO much in between the lines didn’t land. WHY?

Been doing some digging the last few weeks and came up with some pieces and quotes that I think ring the most true.

The Real Reason Fans Hate the Last Season of Game of ThronesIt's not just bad storytelling—it’s because the storytelling style changed from sociological to psychological.

In a Ringer podcast after Episode 4, Andy Greenwald said something like “The game board had been stacked up for years like an epic game of chess. And suddenly, the game changed to Chutes and Ladders. Nothing wrong with Chutes and Ladders. But it’s not the game we were excited to play.” That hit home for me.

I enjoyed this random Twitter thread about plotters and pantsers in terms of script-writing.

The Unearned Madness of Daenerys Targaryen

Matthew Ball on Twitter: “The big failure in #GoT finale was yada yada-ing of post-war power/statehood/allegiance. These notions underpinned the entire show/books, GRRM’s very interest in writing epics”

Even the Ringer’s die-hard fans/writers crapped on the season/finale (even if their editors’ headlines softened their blow... “Bran the Broken indeed.”)

Alan Sepinwall on the finale/series

Some of my back of the envelope complaints: - Oddly, more people should have died in the Battle of Winterfell. - I don’t care what the cinematographer says about the brightness level on my TV, The Long Night was shot far too darkly - Tyrion and Varys suddenly losing every bit of their back-room guile and intrigue, given nothing but contrived bad ideas to advance the “Dany is going nuts and alone” thread - The “End of the Dothraki?” - So many of the strongest moments of conversation, verbal sparring were straight callbacks to days/seasons gone by... (Arya: That’s not me... Jon: Love is the death of duty.... - How Euron and Iron Fleet just “sneak attacked” and killed a dragon in broad daylight easy peezy.. and How they captured Missandei and used her as a prop just to push the Dany mad thread again... but then Cersei just let the remaining, crippled forced regroup back at Dragonstone - after Euron did the same thing after the sneak attack? - How they turned Jaime Lannister, one of the most thoughtfully complex characters in TV history, into the protagonist of a series of baffling decisions just to set up his final act. - The coffee cup. The water bottle. Mixing up Gendry Rivers and Waters. All small time nerdy stuff. But they hit home how sloppy and seemingly careless some of the writing was this season. - So did Dany go mad in that moment to kill a million innocent people as hinted at in the after-show extras? So if so, how/why did she have zero remorse in the moments after the hour-long murderfest? - The Euron-Jamie fight. Bah - Cersei, Bran and Dany were the most important figures of the final few episodes and they were the most one-dimensional, inconsistently written characters of the bunch! - What was the point of the Arya/horse shot at the end of The Bells when the next time we see her, she’s literally horse-less and told to stay out of it. - JON’S WHOLE PARENTAGE STORYLINE WAS DEEMED IRRELEVANT! - Did Drogon burn the Iron Throne in a suddenly sharp - Bran’s position as Three-Eyed Raven is barely explained, which seems important when it’s the basis of the Battle of Winterfell and his resume for becoming king .. and he somehow jokes he expected to become king the whole time -- while somehow knowing millions would die to make it happen the whole time? - The replies to this thread about the season’s biggest miss was therapeutic

- More nit picks: How did the Iron Throne not crumble in the collapse? Why couldn’t Cersei and Jamie just move over 10 feet and go to the area without any rubble? How did Grey Worm get to the top of the steps before Jon when Jon just left him in the streets saying he was going to Dany? Why wasn’t Bronn in the King’s vote meeting as Lord of Highgarden? Why was he allowed to keep Highgarden anyways? Why did Brienne get a vote? Why did she leave Sansa when she was sworn to protect her? Why would Dorne or the Iron Islands allow the North to break away when they wanted or had their independence earlier? Why didn’t the archers shoot at the White Walkers when they were just standing next to the trench? What’s the point of the Night’s Watch and the Wall at the end? But in the interest of being fair -- because I would still tell someone that’s been living under a rock for a decade that they need to watch this show all the way through -- the season had some cool things. - The conversations in “Knight of the Seven Kingdoms” A love letter to the characters and the fans who spent years with them - a 90-minute battle scene/episode was straight up intense. - The chaos of King’s Landing attack looked damn impressive for TV (thought not up to Mission: Impossible, Avengers-level spectacle) - Tormund Giantsbane’s breast-feeding story - The Dothraki fire sword charge image - This shot - One more fun Tyrion-Jon verbal sparring session (even if there’s no way any guard/Dany would allow Jon to just waltz into his cell to chat it up) As for the show’s legacy, it just cracks my top-5 dramas of all time (if we’re not counting Band of Brothers as a though stands alone as the most ambitious story ever told on the screen. 1 Sopranos 2 Mad Men 3 Breaking Bad 4 Lost 5 Game of Thrones 6 Friday Night Lights (currently watching The Leftovers, never saw West Wing, The Americans, The Shield, Justified, Fargo, Six Feet Under, Battlestar Galactica, failed to get through the Wire 3x, did 5 episodes of Deadwood, did first 2 episodes of Fargo which were awesome)

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madness-of-void · 7 years

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Little Distraction

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Theme: Kids

Based on this post

The thing about accepting a date from some dude that sat next to you in your advanced photography class just because he was cute was...well...

It was a bad idea.

Stiles could tell that all the dude wanted was to get in his pants. Bad. Add a notch to that belt above the fornication bed. Not that he minded. Stiles hadn't been laid in a few years. He was quite surprised by his ability to ignore his libido and breeze by classes like it was nothing.

But he did miss sex. Sorta. He didn't need it, per se. He could live without it. And besides, he liked getting to know people before he decided to share something completely intimate with them.

But this guy, this incredibly cute dude in his advanced photography class, with the dimples and curly red hair and pretty blue eyes, just...no. Nothing fun about him. All he had going for him was the looks. Now, if his efforts were more focused on trying to engage Stiles in some type of interesting conversation rather than attempting to give him a boner from under the table in a fucking public place...

Out of all the first dates Stiles had ever been on, this one had to be the worst.

He had no idea how to get out of this uncomfortable situation. Not a single clue. Sure, he could tell the guy to go have intercourse with a cactus, but he has calmed down a lot since his high school days. He wasn't as much of an ass as he used to be. Though he was definitely considering it. Wasn't like the dude didn't deserve it.

Thankfully, a blessing in disguise showed up.

And what was said blessing?

A baby.

An adorable, rosy cheeked, olive skinned, tousled black haired, stunning golden-green eyed, Gameboy onesie wearing baby.

Instantly, Stiles forgot all about his terrible date. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.

Now, Stiles adored babies. They were just so small and cute and innocent and sweet – how could anyone hate them?! His eyes focused with intense joy on the little tyke, even when the father (at least he thinks it is the father) got in the way briefly. All he saw of the maybe dad was the back of his head, which was the same black as the baby, and the fact that the guy was made of muscle. Other than that, the world revolved around the bouncing baby boy in the highchair.

“Oh my god...so cute...” he whispered, leaning in closer.

“I am?” his date asked, a smirk forming.

“Shhhh! Shut up! I'm gonna talk to the little guy.”

“Uhhhh...”

Stiles waved at the baby, grinning like an absolute idiot. “Hello! Hi! Hi there!”

His date proceeded to look even more confused than he was already. Not like Stiles cared. There was a baby behind his date. And Stiles would not be distracted from a baby!

The baby stared back at Stiles, brows furrowed deeply. It was too damn cute! Ugh! Stiles wanted one! He started making faces, ignoring what was likely words of annoyance from his date. He blew up his cheeks, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue.

To his delight, the little tyke squealed happily. Loudly.

Score one for the Stiles!

He started to play peek-a-boo, a classic hit for babies. And, as expected, the little guy loved it. Laughed hysterically! Stiles could feel his chest swell with joy. With pride. This had to be the best thing in creation! Almost better than curly fires! (Which was saying something, because nothing was better than a good batch of curly fries.)

Eventually, the little shrieks of pure, awesome joy pulled the supposed father's attention away from the menu and towards what was making his boy so noisy. Which was when Stiles became slightly distracted. Wasn't hard. Baby daddy was just...just so...unfairly pretty. He could see where the squealing tyke got all his good looks from. Every. Last. Bit. Of. Them.

“I think your date left...” the guy said in a surprisingly soft voice.

Stiles allowed his attention to be pulled away, finding that, in fact, his date had left him. He shrugged, sputtering with no cares to give. Dude's loss. Babies were a godsend!

“He was only in it for the bedroom game, anyway.” he snorted.

The pretty man's face fell, like he felt it was all his fault somehow that Stiles had lost his date.

“No no no no!” He hurried over to the chair his date once occupied, sitting in it backwards and motioning towards the still giggling baby. “It's totally cool, man. The kid is way better of a conversationalist!”

The guy snorted, a smile forming. (Revealing the most adorable bunny teeth, holy hell.) “Thanks, I guess. Sirius is pretty smart for his age.” He turned to the baby, that smile growing as he ran his fingers through the thick mop of black on the child's head. “Aren't you?”

The little guy, Sirius, beamed at him. All gums. All cute.

Stiles held back all the fanboying he wanted to do. Held it in very tight. Because he didn't need to lose his cool now. Later in his dorm would be a-okay! Now? Nope!

“Sirius, huh? Like...Sirius Black? Or like the star?”

Pretty guy's ears went bright red and he flinched lightly. “Um...both?”

“That's awesome, man. He's gonna be the coolest kid in school.” Stiles leaned in a little closer, careful to keep the legs of the chair not too far off the ground. “Isn't that right, little dude?”

Sirius garbled, still all gums smiling. Goddamn...so friggin' cute!

“Derek.”

“H-h-huh?”

“My name?”

“Oh! Oh, dude! Okay! Cool! Uh, I'm Stiles.”

“What kind of name is Stiles?”

“A much safer one than my real name. Trust me. I think only my mom and babcia could say it without tripping.”

“Ah. Polish, I presume?”

Stiles flailed, nearly falling forward. Crisis was adverted, thanks to Mr. Derek. But little Sirius thought it was funny as hell. So...score two for the Stiles.

“You, uh...you know Polish?”

“I know a lot of languages.”

“Oh wow. Neat. I know, like, the bare minimum of Spanish and Polish. Yeah...I've never been real good at learning languages. Though I'm taking sign language at school right now. Doing pretty good in that.”

“School?”

“Don't freak. I'm over twenty-one.”

Derek hummed, looking thoughtful. “What are you going to school for?”

“Photography. With a minor in criminal psychology.”

“Sounds like a tough load.”

“Eh. I like it. I'm being challenged, and I'm also challenging my professors.” Stiles held a finger out for Sirius, scrunching his face up as he grinned. “They're not as good at conversations as you are, little dude.”

Sirius screeched giddily, taking Stiles' finger and attempted to place it in his mouth. Stiles laughed, tempted to lean forward to let the baby nom on his finger. But he knew what would happen if he tried, so he just watched as Sirius fruitlessly tried to pull him towards the mouth.

“He's usually shy...” Derek confessed quietly.

“Wha? Really? He seems like a totally bubbly kid.”

“No. He's...pretty shy. Usually cries when people talk to him.”

“Huh. Guess that means I'm special. But not as special as you, Sirius! Man...someone needs to get you a wand.”

At that, Derek chuckled, ducking his head in order to hide his smile. Score three for the Stiles? Score three for the Stiles!

“So...he yours?”

Derek nodded, a fond gaze directed to Sirius followed. “Yeah. All mine.”

“Where's his mom?”

“In prison. Where she belongs.”

“Ouch. Well, if that's where she belongs, then good. Sirius here doesn't need that kind of bad influence.”

Derek gave Stiles this look. A look that questioned why Stiles didn't ask about his son's mother. Or at least any further. And Stiles wanted to. He really did. But he felt like this was one of those times he needed to put a cap on his overwhelming curiosity. Especially with something that sounded this serious.

“So, how old is the future badass wizard?” he asked, changing the topic quickly.

Tension bled out of Derek, and he smiled as bright as the sun. “He's about five months.”

“Wow! Five months!” Stiles brought his attention back to Sirius, who was staring at him like he was waiting to have the attention returned. “You're such a big boy! Pretty soon, you'll be driving and picking up chicks! Or dudes!”

Sirius giggled, leaning forward in the highchair and slamming his hands down repeatedly.

“Or maybe just collect dogs and cats. Or birds and lizards. Or hamsters and fish. Or rats and guinea pigs. Sometimes pets are way better.”

Sirius giggled more, a little drool slipping out of his gummy smile. Stiles laughed at that, taking a napkin from his table and wiping up the dribble.

“You're really good with kids.” noted Derek.

“Yeah, well, I love them. They're cute. I mean, they can be nightmares, but I still love them.”

“Most people your age don't think like that.”

“Most people my age aren't as intelligent and ambitious as I am. I really fit my Slytherin traits. Minus the shrewd part. I don't even know how to be shrewd. Or maybe I am and don't realize it.”

“Slytherin, huh?” Derek leaned back in his seat, smirking. “Hufflepuff.”

“Dude! No way! You heard that Slytherins and Hufflepuffs are supposed to be the best of friends?!”

“I've heard.”

“Slytherpuffs for the win! Or, as my mom likes to call them, Honey Snakes.”

At this, Derek let out a loud, sunshine laugh. Made Stiles' heart swoop right into his gut. Especially when Sirius joined in, sounding hysterical and gripping at the highchair.

Stiles, for lack of a better term, might be fucked.

~+~

Apparently, Stiles was still a sucker for hot advanced photography class peer. Maybe it was because Sirius' inhumanly pretty father was far out of his league. Like, beyond out of it. So out of it that even if Stiles waltzed right up to him with every quote of love he could muster, and every promise of happiness, and confessing his undying affection for little Sirius...he would still be way bellow the bar of what was in Derek's league.

Which is why Stiles was stupid enough to accept a do-over date with his classmate.

Which he regretted almost five seconds in.

His date thought that rock climbing at the state park was a great idea for a make-up date. A superb idea, actually. Because he would not shut up about it the entire ten minutes it took to drive there. And once they were scaling the wall, Stiles huffing and puffing and swearing profusely under his breath, his date had the gall to invite him for Netflix and Chill after a few rounds on the wall.

Mr. Nice I'll Give You A Second Chance Guy went right over the edge of the wall, and became a splat of goop on the ground.

“Are you serious right now?” Stiles spat, gripping tightly at the colorful and fake rocks.

“What?” his date asked dumbly.

“Netflix and Chill? Really?”

“Well yeah. Do you not like the idea?”

“I would...if it was actually watching Netflix and chilling out on the couch with snacks! Not you, again, trying to get into my fucking pants!”

“Hey!” called the person in charge of the wall from bellow. “There are kids here!”

Stiles glanced down, so not in the mood for any of this shit. “Bite my ass!”

The coordinator, or whatever he was called, gawked at him in horror, while those around him either scowled or snickered. Stiles' date scoffed above him.

“What the hell's wrong with you, dude?”

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, to hiss and curse at this bastard for making him think that he was actually going out with Stiles for more than just sex. Scream it to the heavens so everybody knew what this dick was all about.

But a blessing came.

And that blessing was Derek, walking a bike next to the wall, wearing bike shorts and a tight fitting tank. He was a marvelous site to see from where Stiles was. But nothing could compare to seeing little Sirius. Who was sitting in a neon blue bike carseat, wearing baby sunglasses in the shape of a wolf and a snapsuit that covered up his sensitive arms and legs. And...

“OH MY GOD! HE HAS A TINY BIKE HELMET!”

Of course that caught the attention of everyone nearby. And Sirius noticed him before Derek did. That loud squawk of joy proved it. Derek looked up at the wall, immediately breaking out into a knee destroying grin. He waved at Stiles, while his son smacked his knees repeatedly in excitement. Stiles, the best he could, waved back enthusiastically. Almost fell off the damn wall.

He was certain his date was saying something. Probably along the lines of how Stiles was being distracted by a baby again. But, alas, Stiles was distracted by little Sirius. Again. So, in order to make sure he didn't cause bodily harm to himself, he reclined down the wall. Nearly tripped over himself as he tried to get the equipment off, ecstatic to see Sirius and Derek again.

Especially since he had been thinking about them for days.

Once free, he raced over to them, instantly gripping the sides of the carseat and making noises at Sirius. The tyke screeched happily, keeping his shaking fists close to him. Stiles stuck his tongue out, blowing raspberries. Sirius did the same back.

“Fancy seeing you here.” teased Derek fondly.

Stiles snorted, smirking at the single father. “I'm starting to wonder if you have Stiles Is Having A Bad Date I Must Intervene With My Child senses.”

Derek quirked his brows up, saying a lot more than his words did. “Bad date?”

“Bad date.”

“Same guy?”

“Same guy.”

“Mmmm. Trying to make it up to him? Or is he trying to make it up to you?”

“Well, he was supposed to make it up to me. But then he offered Netflix and Chill. So...needless to say...bad date.”

“What's wrong with watching Netflix and relaxing on the couch or bed with snacks?”

Oh, pure innocence. This man just went up yet another level out of Stiles' league. “Unfortunately, the meaning doesn't translate to that anymore. It means Netflix and Sex, basically.”

Derek wrinkled his nose, as if someone had shoved something rotten in his face. “That doesn't make sense.”

“I know! Really sucks 'cause, dammit, I wanna actually Netflix and actually Chill!”

“Baaaaaaah!” Sirius interjected, now grabbing at one of Stiles' fingers and trying to insert it into his mouth.

“That's right, future wizard! It sucks!”

Sirius grunted, fighting hard to get that finger into his mouth. His father laughed lightly, shoving a binky into his mouth instead. Sirius didn't look the least bit amused, but he took it for what it was worth and just kept Stiles' finger captive. Not like Stiles minded. It kept him away from his very bad date.

“Well, if you want to leave, I was thinking about returning the rental and going out for lunch...” said Derek shyly, ears tinted pink.

Next to Sirius and all other babies in the universe, Stiles decided right there and then that Derek's ears going pink was the cutest thing ever created. So was the shyness. There was no reason for it, since the last time they saw each other they talked for hours on end while making faces and/or noises at the five month old. But it was endearing as hell. So, so endearing.

Stiles slumped dramatically, sighing with relief. “Oh my god, yes! Please take me away from here.”

The single father beamed, ducking his head slightly. “Your wish is my command.”

Oh yeah. Stiles was beyond screwed.

~+~

Life was unfair to him.

Just...so unfair.

Not only had Stiles not bumped into Sirius and Derek since the rock wall date (thank you midterms), but he was swindled into a third date with his classmate. How he was swindled? Oh, it was fairly easy. His so called friends wanted to do a group date, which Stiles agreed to. Group dates could be fun! But what he didn't know, until he arrived to the club with the other half of the group already waiting for them, was that advanced photography classmate was going to be there. And that his friends basically shoved Stiles at him.

He was getting new friends after this.

Fuck them. Fuck them hard. With a cactus.

The minute they entered the club, which was a poor place for a group date, by the way, Stiles stormed away from the group. Right to the bar. If he was going to be stuck here with these dillweeds, he was going to drink like it was going out of style. No dancing. No socializing. Just drinking till he felt wasted, then he was calling a cab to take his drunk ass home. He didn't trust what these assholes would do if he allowed them to 'take care of him' while drunk. Probably toss him over to advanced photography peer and allow him to do whatever he wanted to Stiles.

The very thought made Stiles sick to his stomach.

He made himself very cozy at the bar almost instantly, telling the bartender what was up. She gave him a look of pity, volunteering to call him a cab when she felt he had had enough and would escort him herself to the cab when it came. Even told the other bartenders that Stiles was going to be the only customer she would serve until he went home. That...had to be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. He breathed out his thanks, to which earned him an adorable smile in return.

She was plain adorable, really. With her little Spirited Away dress and hair tied up into several braids.

(He wasn't going to flirt with her, though. She had a ring. He respected that kind of shit.)

As the night lagged on, he was fortunate that his 'date' barely bothered him. Just came over from time to time, asking if he was ready to dance yet. Each time, Stiles said no. And the bartender, who he learned was named Kira, would glare thunderbolts of death towards the dude. Advanced photography classmate would always huff and pout and stomp off, obviously not used to being told no at a club. But he should be used to Stiles blowing him off. This would be the third time now.

Sadly, Sirius or his dad weren't there to save him.

But Kira was! And Kira was super nice. And a great listener. Maybe a bit of an enabler whenever he would pour out poetry about Sirius and Derek. Especially when he lamented about the fact that he was not remotely close to Derek's league.

“I bet you are. I mean, he lets you near his kid. No guy, or girl, who has a kid would allow someone not in their league to be near their kid. Especially a five month old.”

At this point, Stiles was definitely a little spent. He was swaying slightly on the stool and smiling like a dope. “Really? You think tho?”

“Of course! That is such a young age for a child to be around a stranger. He must really trust you to have you around his son. Especially if the mother is behind bars.”

Huh...Stiles never really thought of that before. Maybe it was because he had only interacted with Sirius and Derek a few times, or his borderline crippling self-doubt, that made him feel that he was nowhere near Derek's league. Maybe he was in Derek's league. And that would mean he would be able to hang around Sirius and Derek all the time! Or, well, most of the time, but still a lot of the time!

Kira was definitely a horrid enabler.

“Okay, you know what?”

The new voice made Stiles groan, his rising happy mood flattening. He turned around to face his so-called date, sourness consuming his face. His date looked furious. Scary furious. For a split second, Stiles felt like he may be in danger. Even with Kira to back him up, who had told him that she used to be a Mixed Martial Arts competitor, he was spooked. He quickly tensed himself up, ready to fight back if he had to.

“What?” he spat back, defiance in his stare.

His 'date' grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him off the stool. Stiles near about screamed, startled by the strength. His heart sped up and all thought process went out the window. He could feel the alcohol lowering his abilities to stand straight and to think properly on how to respond.

He suddenly became incredibly terrified for his life.

“You are going to dance with me. And you're going to dance with me right now.”

The force behind the voice only made Stiles that much more scared. He pulled back, his panic fueling him now. Which was still spotty because of the alcohol.

“N-no!” he tried to say forcefully, but it more or less came out like a terrified child.

His 'date' yanked him again, trying to drag him to the dancing floor. Stiles screamed, attempting poorly to pull away. He could see Kira rushing up to him, ready to help with this assassin glare plastered in her dark eyes. He could also see a lot of other people starting to notice the commotion. So he screamed louder and fought harder, hoping that it would deter this creep and maybe Kira could avoid kicking anyone's ass.

Then, something happened that Stiles did not expect.

Just as Kira approached, fists poised to go, with this jerk raised his own fist to her...someone grabbed at his wrist, holding it in place.

And that person was Derek.

“H-hey! I know you!” Stiles' drunk mind supplied.

Derek gave him a terse smile before twisting advanced photography peer's arm behind his back. The guy cried out, clearly surprised and not happy.

“Hey! Get off me!”

“Let go of Stiles. Now.”

Derek's voice made Stiles' blood run cold. But it was also a bit of a turn on.

(Okay, he was drunk enough.)

Stiles' 'date' spat on Derek's face, which earned gasps from the small crowd that had accumulated around them. Somewhere from that crowd, a woman shouted, “Kick his ass, Der!” And, well, Derek obliged.

He took the creep's other wrist, twisting it away from Stiles and forced behind the back. Then, Derek kneed him in the gut. Advanced photography peer doubled over, swearing with venom. Again, Derek kneed him...right before he handed off the guy to Kira. And Kira went to town before tossing him over to the bouncers. Stiles' 'friends' raced off after the bouncers and his 'date', arguing that Kira and Derek were in the wrong.

Once it was all done, Stiles gawked at Derek like he was some sort of supernatural being. Which, to be honest, the dude had to be! He kept showing up whenever Stiles was having a bad time with his classmate! Maybe he had a sixth sense. A Stiles focused sixth sense.

“You okay?” Derek asked him, swimming in worry.

Stiles nodded, a little disoriented. “Where's your little guy?”

“Stiles...I can't take Sirius to a club.”

“I know..but where is he? I miss 'im.”

At this, Derek ducked his head to hide his smile. But Stiles saw it. There was no way that could be hidden from the Stiles!

“I'll call him a cab, Der.” offered Kira, patting the single father's shoulder.

“Waaaait...you know Derek?”

“I would hope so. I'm his sister-in-law.”

So that's why she was being an enabler! Sneaky sneaky lady. Like a fox.

“It's okay, Kira. I'll take him home. I'm the designated driver for Erica's bacherlorette party, anyway.”

“Is there enough room?”

“I drive a minivan.”

Kira nodded, the words 'good point' lingering in the air. “Well, I'll leave him to you, then.”

“Thanks, Kira.”

“Yeah! Thanks Kira! You're badass!” Stiles echoed, grinning like a dope again.

She bowed, smiling giddily as she pretty much skipped to the bar.

And that's all Stiles remembered. Besides the throwing up near Derek's shoes and passing out.

Next thing he knew, he was being woken up by baby babbles and a tiny hand touching his face. He groaned, trying to get himself put together before opening his eyes. Which was not happening. Not with a splitting headache and stomach flips.

“Sirius...you have to leave Stiles alone, champ.”

Wait...was that Derek's voice? Stiles opened his eyes, his sloppy mess of a self be damned, to see if he was having hallucinations of some kind. Nope. Not any hallucinations. That was Derek, looking so warm in his sweats and burgundy thumb hole sweater, crouching down to scoop up his son away from Stiles. Sirius squawked in protest, making grabby hands at Stiles. The farther he got away from Stiles, the louder Sirius got. Right until the point he started to wail.

“Shhh...Sirius...Stiles is sickie. We have to let him sleep.”

Sirius did not like the explanation, his wailing turning into infuriated cry-screams. Which hurt both Stiles' head and heart. He sat up, feeling dizzy and groggy. Derek noticed immediately that Stiles was awake, and looked ready to apologize for his son. But Stiles didn't let him. Just held out his arms – telling the father that Sirius was more than okay to be near him. Sirius got louder, almost flying out of Derek's hold in order to get to Stiles. Luckily, Derek was a bit more coordinated than that and passed off his son without a tumble.

The very second the little guy was in Stiles' arms, he smothered his face into his shoulder and calmed down. He sniffled here and there, accompanied by bitty hiccups. It was the cutest! It also made Stiles fall in love just a little bit more with this kid.

“He really likes you...” breathed Derek, face soft and vulnerable.

Stiles smiled, rocking the little guy back and forth carefully. “Yeah, well...I really like him. So...”

Derek nodded, looking that much more vulnerable.

Shockingly, Sirius fell asleep on Stiles, which meant that Stiles was not going anywhere. Might as well make some small talk.

“Um...so...this is your place.”

Derek flinched, guilt crossing into the vulnerable. “I...you...you said you didn't want to go back to your place. You were...worried about that guy attacking you in the middle of the night.”

“Mmm...makes sense. I mean...he did scare the hell out of me. I seriously thought he was going to hurt me. At least...I think so. A lot of last night is a blur. Guess that's what happens when you wallow your anger in booze.”

“That'll do it.”

A hesitant, awkward silence fell over them. Only Sirius' breathing filling the room. Then, Derek sat down beside them, staring fondly at his boy.

“He never does that with anyone except me. He won't even do that with his aunts, or his uncle, or my parents.”

“Really? Huh. Guess I'm special.”

“Guess so.”

The silence fell over them again, this time not so awkward. Still hesitant! But not awkward. Then, without any prompting, Derek started leaning in. Stiles leaned in as well. And, before they knew it, they were kissing. Not anything heated or passionate. Just...soft, gentle, sweet, quiet exploring. It was the best kiss Stiles had ever had. So much emotion...so much...trust. He felt like this was some type of honor and he had to respect it whole heartily.

And he would.

He definitely would.

As Derek pulled away, Stiles unconsciously chased. That earned him a kiss on the forehead and a hand running down his arm carefully. It was all so mind blowing. He was half certain that he was in some sort of dream. But Sirius shifting slightly in his hold told him that it wasn't. That it was all very real, and very amazing.

(Amazing was not a strong enough of a word, but that was the best he could think of.)

“Wow...” he whispered, staring deep into Derek's gaze.

Derek grinned like the sun, staring just as deeply into Stiles' eyes. “Yeah. Wow.”

“I, uh, you, you free Friday?”

“Well...I think I can work something out. I'll have to see if someone can watch Sirius for the night.”

“What? No! Bring him! I love star wizard!”

Derek gaped at him, stunned as all hell. “Are-are you sure?”

“Uh, yes? I know that dating you means dating your kid, in a way. And I would love to get to know you two better. Especially Sirius 'cause, no offense, I have fallen in love with your kid. Not in a creeper way! Just...y'know...”

“Stiles...I know what you mean. And thank you. For caring about my son.”

“Of course. I'm not a total douche.” He swallowed, laying back against the cushions. “Now...if you excuse me...I gotta try not to puke all over your kid...”

Derek rolled his eyes, patting his shoulder as he stood. “I'll get you some Coke and crackers.”

“Oh my god, you're a saint.”

“I do my best. And Stiles? Don't puke on my son.”

“I'll try.”

~+~

Their first official date was at the very restaurant they met at. And a lot of it was spent making Sirius giggle and squeal. They did learn some things about each other, but a lot of their attention was directed at Sirius.

The next time they went to that restaurant, it was for Sirius' second birthday. During that little party, Derek and Stiles' families teased them about being together for so long that Sirius was calling Stiles papa. Which wasn't a lie. No matter how many times they tried to correct Sirius, Sirius refused to call Stiles anything other than papa. So, with Sirius' help, Derek sought to fix it with a proposal.

It wasn't until Sirius' third birthday that they went to the restaurant again.

Their family and friends nearly took up the whole place in the celebration, filling the air with joyful noise. As they ate, Stiles announced that he had a very important question for the birthday boy and Derek. It became uncharacteristically quiet, everyone confused.

He didn't leave them in suspense long. That would be too cruel.

He got down on his knees, making it so Sirius was looking down on him. Then, he asked if it was okay if he adopted Sirius – become his official papa instead of step-papa.

“But you are my papa.” Sirius replied simply, like it was such a silly thing to think that Stiles was anything but.

The innocent response caused everyone to sob. Especially Derek, who was so overwhelmed with emotions that he could only nod his approval.

When they came again, Sirius bragged to anyone that would listen that his papa had adopted him and that his name was Sirius Stilinski-Hale.

Also that he was daddy's star and papa's wizard. Because, honestly, he was.

He really was.

#sterekbingo #sterekbingo2017 #sbkids #sterek #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #singledad!derek #college student!stiles #fluff #first meeting #meet-cute #stiles has some pretty bad dates #derek saves him #kira yukimura #she's at the end #brief violence #brief drinking

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hipsofsteel · 7 years

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10,000th Post!!!

When Eyes Meet Eyes

A short (and unplanned) prequel to ‘1917′ , for my 10,000th Tumblr post.

Summary: On August 20th, 1908, the “Great White Fleet” of the US Navy arrived in Sydney, Australia. It was the first time the personifications of the United States of America and the Australia met. And when eyes meet eyes, soul meets soul.

Relationship: AmeTralia (America/Australia)

Work Status: Complete Work

Part Two of the Darwin series

Found on AO3

Found on Wattpad

I had always heard stories about America. Stories from England. Stories from Canada. Even stories from the others I interacted with from my distant corner of the world.

They spoke of him like a devil sometimes, or with fondness at others.

Canada said that sometimes my behavior reminded him of America. The way I would rush to tell them things, my overeager excitement, and reckless and somewhat absentminded nature. And I knew England saw him in me as well.

It hurt Arthur when I grew faster than he had expected, shooting up from somewhere around his knees to only an inch or two shorter than him in the time he took between visits, my booming industries gifting me with the same fast growth America had once experienced. I was an ever-present reminder of something he had lost, something he could never hope to regain. It put a strange distance between us, but I remained his loyal son, trying to help him forget the pain, at least in those early days.

Japan and China spoke of that distant land in somewhat different tones.

Japan spoke in fear. Of dragon ships spewing smoke and destruction, of negotiations all but held by the sword.

China, in pain, and through the haze of opium, spoke of him in a similar manner.

"A blue-eyed demon in the body of a man. An eagle, unafraid to bare his talons and sink them in. Ambitious and young, with a lust for power. He will either fade away, as many demons do, or overthrow the king and take that mantle himself."

They were legends, pieced together and telling me of a former colony who had caused the man who raised me such great pain. A nation now strong, covering a continent from sea to shining sea.

These legends were what I knew of him when he came in 1908 at my government’s invitation.

When I had learned Alfred was sailing with the "Great White Fleet", I begged for us to invite him to come to Australia. I was curious to meet this other nation, as isolated as I was from the rest of the world.

And so, it seemed, was he, for he accepted the invitation at once.

He came off that ship on that August day in all his glory, wearing the uniform of an office that would hardly befit a human so young, although he was no human. Blond hair tucked beneath a cap, a grin on his face, blue eyes sparkling like the waters off of the Great Barrier Reef.

He had not seen me yet. I suddenly felt almost small in his presence, the way I once had with England. He was tall, strong, and handsome. Something inside wanted to reach out to him in that moment, something I could not put a name too.

And then he saw me.

***

The invitation to take the fleet to Australia had delighted me more than it should have. For years, Canada had told me stories of the young colony, and often said we would get along well if we ever met.

I had doubted I would get the chance for many more years. I had considered writing letters, but I knew that England still burned any personal letters I sent to him. I doubted he would let me "corrupt his young colonies". The only reason he left Matthew and I alone before Matthew's independence was that he knew we must communicate frequently and freely due to our shared border.

So I jumped at the chance to meet these two young colonies I had heard so much about. Their invitations had surprised me, but I had welcomed this opportunity. England could no longer stop them from meeting me, and I had every reason to see them and show them what Americans could do.

New Zealand, or Avery, had been polite and calm during my visit to Auckland. They were a very quiet person, and reminded me of Matthew. We had shared a few drinks and laughed, and the conversation had been amiable, but I found myself sighing as I left. It had been a long way from Honolulu to Auckland, and while I had felt welcome, I had not felt the excitement I had hoped these voyages would fill me with.

Arriving in Sydney had felt no different at first. I had smiled at the sight of the land, and grinned at the people excitedly leaning over the edges of ropes to try and get a closer view of our ships. It was no different than the other places we had visited, and I had no reason to hope it would be.

What I had not prepared myself for, however, was my eyes meeting his. Those bright green eyes, like new leaves on a tree beneath soft brown locks, dark as the soil in the Willamette Valley, and skin tanned from the years under this harsh southern sun.

Our eyes met, and something in my heart almost lurched forward, beating in a rhythm that frightened and excited me at the same time. A feeling I had no name for filled me.

Many years later, I would read a phrase in a book that, given the future ahead of us, even unknown in that moment, described our meeting perfectly.

When eyes meet eyes, soul meets soul.

And in the time it took for us to cross the docks and introduce ourselves, I felt that phrase in my heart, body, and soul.

And I know he felt the same.

***

We walked forward to meet each other, the men of my government who had come to greet this fleet, the men his had chosen to represent it.

The introductions went around.

And then they came to us.

"This is Kyle Kirkland, a young man in our employ."

It was a term those in the know often used to speak of us when they did not know if others were in the know. It was why we were always introduced last, and so informally, almost encouraging these men to forget us. It also helped that we often blended into the background to human eyes, although we all stood out in a room with only the others of our kind.

The officers smiled. "And this is Alfred F. Jones, who represents the personal interests of our President."

He smiled at me, and I felt my heart all but leap forward in my chest. We shook hands.

His hands were warm like sandy beaches, and his grip was strong. A few seconds later, our men had looked away, our abilities to fade into the background protecting us from further notice.

"Always pleased to make my acquaintances with a Kirkland." He said with a smile once it was clear we were in no danger of being eavesdropped on.

I chuckled. "Consider yourself lucky that you got away with Jones as a last name after such an extensive history with him."

There's a faint laugh hidden on that face at that comment. "Yet somehow, Matthew also managed to escape such a fate."

"Yeah, he sure did, mate. But I expect that's more thanks to traits he has from a certain stubborn Frenchman."

Alfred chuckled. "I heard you got your stubbornness from a certain Scotsman."

"And Avery from a Welshman. You must have drained every ounce of stubbornness from the pommy bastard while he was still young."

Alfred's laughs at that had me grinning like a loon, and as we walked to where the formal dinner was to take place to greet our American visitors, I knew that this moment had been far too long in the making.

He spent eight days in Sydney, and we ran around like young children. I told him the stories I had, and he shared his. We babbled like toddlers who had just gotten enough of a grasp on English to construct understandable sentences.

There were silent moments, when recalling our histories caused us too much pain. Even now, in the 21st century, we still feel those pains.

Nowadays, they are forgotten with a kiss.

Back then, it was a hand on the shoulder and a concerned voice.

"Kyle?"

"Sorry. My memories get a little hazy after that."

"I understand."

Year later, we would share our stories with each other, or as much as we could recall from before Arthur had arrived. Our tales and myths, our joys and sorrows, our fears of losing who we once had been, and acknowledging that, to a certain extent, we already had.

But being young, we tried to spend more time as children than adults. Trading stories of England and our quiet siblings, laughing at old antics we used to annoy them. I told him how England was doing personally, something he was not apparently told, even by Canada.

"I worry about him, but he shut me out long ago. I have no idea how to let him understand that I still care."

"One day you'll get it through his thick head. I know you will." I said, and my words apparently offered some comfort if the smile he gave me was anything to go by.

We laughed and smiled, hearts young as we continued to speak of happier times.

I requested that my government let me go with him until his final stop in Albany, but my Prime Minister's response was scathing.

I won't transcribe the exact words he used, but I believe "childish" "irresponsible" and "Arthur would throw an absolute fit if he found out I'd even let you meet him once, let alone run around with him for eight days in Sydney. I don't dare imagine his response to allowing you to travel with Alfred until he leaves our homeland" all made their way into the message.

But as Alfred prepared to leave, he took my hands in his and grinned.

"Until we meet again, Kyle Kirkland."

"Until then, Alfred F. Jones."

And then he left.

We wrote letters, always friendly, although they were few and far between.

The next time we met face to face was in 1917, on a dock in France. I was no longer a boy. Gallipoli had made me a man.

He knew the moment he saw me that something had changed, but the wounds were too fresh, the pain too new. And besides, he was unsure how to approach me. Too much had changed in a mere nine years.

But then he saved Avery’s life in those hellish trenches. And in doing so, he saved a part of me I had feared was lost forever.

A kiss in the middle of the war should not have left such an impression as it did. But there was something there, something that had been lingering in our minds since 1908. A small spark was fanned into a small flame by that kiss, big enough to light a candle, although we spent more time lighting cigarettes in those days of war.

However, with the letters we shared and the agreement that perhaps this was something more than either of us could name, and that we wanted to make it more...

We spent the rest of the war fanning those flames into a full-blown fire.

A fire that still consumes us today.

When eyes meet eyes, soul meets soul.

And even now, a hundred years later, I know those blue eyes as my place of rest.

As he knows my green ones as his.

#my fic #otp: golden gaytime #ametralia #aph australia #aph america #alfred f jones #ausmerica #ausame #ameaus #ozame #ameoz #ozus #usoz #celebration post #aph

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thedeathlike-blog · 7 years

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PROCESSING MEMBER INFORMATION...

HIGH COURT'S PARK CHANYEOL is a PURE-BLOOD WIZARD residing in HONGDAE. He's an AUROR.

READ FURTHER?

11:13 jeju island i. he was the book, staining his pages with regret. bleeding black into parchment. wish i may, wish i might.

a man, ragged. he stood proud, towering over the fields, the grass, the blades. briefcase in hand, he’d conquer this land, this life, this world. he’s money, power, influence; history inscribed in concentrated wrinkles. there’s a thin line of approval by the corner of a mouth, and a gash of failure torn across a cheek. but the world needs a hero, ( a hero is not the badge-boasting, uniformly-dressed man. that is a coward, weaving destruction through simple, devastating words. fine. money. court. jail. spiders. barking. words that destroyed lives, worlds. ) the martyr to bring to ruin the chaos. waves crash onto the shoreline. those four walls of steel towering high look a little lonely, entrance inviting, beckoning. they need a sacrifice, the spiders and dementors are growing hungry.

protest: ₩100000 fine disturbance: ₩150000 fine, 2 months community service uproar: ₩200000 fine, dogs chewing at heels, probation riot: ₩500000 fine, jail anarchy: ₩5000000 fine, deportation ruination: death

meet a starstruck woman. she’s the mastermind behind these vigilantes. she’s the tens of thousands of wasted bills. the criminals, the murders. a naïve follower, fond of turning blind eyes and denial – seduced by glitz and glamour. killed by greed. see, the government belonged to us, not these fools masquerading as our citizens, officials, said the briefcase man. he’s collected the debt of millions, stashing away their secrets in leather and lock, ( carrying criminals, deaths, fines. she’s but an asset ).

for now, just for now. cope with this reality with a little ‘pick-me-up’. it’s a guaranteed potion to lock up the dangers and fears. ( curiosity ) officers shall become street performers. go on and applaud for them in their entertainment. cheer, laugh. ( escape ) but whatever you do, don’t offer gratuity. they are a pack of wild animals looking to bite your hand off. should when fantasy wears off, come see me again. ( slave ) your mind will have betrayed you by then. ( addiction ) the men will return in their hexing-glory, wands poised and itching for blood. ( illegal ) we shall keep you in perpetual fantasy of bliss; where nothing goes wrong, where there’s no troubles, nothing to worry over. where the only price to pay is a small sum. ( life )

23:46 seoul ii. we’re the ruined, never resurrected, always agonied. we’re the once kissed, never missed, always dismissed. baa baa, black sheep, have you any soul?

briefcase man and starstruck woman, have you no conscience? here you lie, collapsed in a smoke-ridden bed with paint-peeling walls surrounding you. you’ve exchanged liquored kisses with bated, drunken breath. in the wake of this aftermath, a stolen briefcase, stars stabbed from eyes, reality. disheveled sheets, no longer what could’ve been their security. the curtains are pulled shut, and this crime scene attraction isn’t yet open to the general public. barks rock the crumbling building – oranges and reds peek out from curtain underside. now, tell me how it feels to lose it all when you’ve come so far, sacrificed everything? dignity’s nothing when you’ll be walking these streets by morning, panhandling and playing on the pity of law-abiding civilians. easy. there’s nowhere to go but up from here. you’ve starved your clients of feel-good drugs and took them down with you.

starstruck woman’s shared history with briefcase man. she’s the broken woman. broken woman’s come alive at last to witness the puppetry of man controlling woman. of man lusting to rob the stars, rob her body. he’s gone by mid-morning, pledging a formal farewell to her, wishing the best in her endeavours. they’re guilty, callous words of a boy having broken his toy. in his briefcase is a three millionth collection. starstruck woman indulged in her high-risk high-reward russian roulette as long as it would last. broken woman scoured the streets, sunrise to sunset. from nothing, she became nothing. she needed briefcase man to keep afloat, stay alive. no, she’d take over and become the hero.

17:29 seoul iii. we’re the succeeded, always feared, never pursued. we’re the once destroyed, always determined, never unfinished. three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run.

enter result of an illicit relationship; he, who studious and conning, and she, who foolish and trusting. broken woman declared war with briefcase man but fifteen years ago – demanding support for their wizarding child – but briefcase man continued to play the lottery against all odds – losing it all, winning it all ( he’s dying in addiction and mustn’t ever break down in front of clients ). no, it must be kept hush-hush. i can’t have my reputation ruined. i’ve worked so hard ( too hard ) for everything and it can’t come down to this. the boy, maybe, perhaps i can see him once a year for his birthday, but no more. take the money, fine. but this must be kept a secret or else. and whenever the boy asks, shut him up some more. ( shut him up with expensive wands and books, all signed by dad ) you’ll learn that a child’s anger means nothing. teach him, tell him how ignorance can be his best friend. i am too busy to come home, i’m sorry. but i always think about you. should he cry, go ahead and hug him. remind him that i’ll be home soon. just another day, ( another dad-less night ).

so was the plan for bright-eyed, ambitious son. crafted with the finest, most delicate bones of fallen birds. he grew up carefully constructing dad by imagination. dad made the nightmares better, dad encouraged son to soar above and beyond. dad, his hero. dad, the comic book protagonist defeating evil. a brave soldier, having set sail on the seven seas shy of six months ago since their last encounter. but birdboned boy couldn’t spoil the secret. it’s his to keep. friends knew birdboned boy’s father as a renowned official advancing the world one step at a time. the father with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. the father all the other boys in class aspired to have, sick with envy in their glowers and clenched fists strangling wands. they craved that wealth; boys begging to be spoiled rotten by briefcase man’s family.

there's dad, no, that isn't dad spitting venom black. he splits in two innocent bystanders in the wake of ( another ) murder. the court strokes its ego.

ill words of absent father? forbidden in this sanctuary mom bled for to build. he’s fed lies daily as a three-course meal, desserts optional with false hopes and promises should his bright eyes defy mom turning the lights off. dad is great. dad helps and saves people. dad makes people feel better and gives them hope. ( erase that idea that dad’s dipped his hands in the blood of hundreds and broke down this country. he was of refined purple, not of chaos black. the death court is a mockery. betrayers. ) where there’s light, there’s darkness, ( light is good, darkness is bad. so they say. but darkness is safety, blankets to drown in ). his beloved bedtime story becomes the tale of briefcase man and starstruck woman, partners-in-crime, ‘til death do they part. dad’s the unseen force. where shadows lurked, dad existed. and mom’s the brains, slaving over her study space day-in and day-out to create the most peculiar of potions for any ailment. the dealer and the fool, as they’d say.

it’s only when holidays come and go that disappointment breeds rage, hopelessness. mom fears letting a monster loose, leaving money for birdboned boy to wake up to, along with a phony letter signed, ‘love, dad’. mom fears breaking her child, for there’s nothing more she could do. so she beckons to the son, for him to come closer, for him to put his trust into her instead while dad is away. they would bond over their love for stars, the night sky, the moon. she would read to him her favourite constellation, and how the constellation was a hero in greek mythology. birdboned boy wants to join the stars one day. mom tells him, ‘not until i’ve gone there first’. but one day, one day. he’d bother dad for the secret on how to reach the stars. the sky turns dark, he frustrates himself again and again trying to disappear from ground and land upon a comet.

light hurts. it’s annoying. through dawn, daytime, and beyond, his room’s a fortress perpetually shut in by curtains. he wears the darkness, experiments with darkness, learns from darkness. it’s powerful. it makes the light wither. a few too many lightbulbs are put to waste in his trials-and-errors. mom’s retired from potion-making. now instead, opossum tails hang from her window as good luck charms. through the letdowns, the empty promises, the shattered hopes, there’s one thing that remains. birdboned boy will make superhero dad proud, be just like him.

make disappear the evil. resist temptation.

scrub tongue of unforgivable curses. toss weight of the slain from his shoulders.

hero.

#dl:follow #krp #kpop rp #kpop roleplay

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celticnoise · 5 years

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CELTIC legend Billy McNeill made his first team debut exactly FIFTY-ONE years ago today and took his first steps into club folklore.

The iconic former manager and player, who sadly passed away in April this year at the age of seventy-nine, played 790 games for his only club, winning nine league championships, seven Scottish Cups, six League Cups and, of course, the European Cup.

McNeill also represented the full Scotland international team on twenty-nine occasions, played nine times for the Scottish League and made five appearances with the Under-23 side.

Author Alex Gordon paid tribute to his friend in his publication, ‘BILLY McNEILL: In Praise of Caesar’, which was published last year.

Today CQN takes a walk down football’s memory lane to honour the man voted Celtic’s Greatest-Ever Captain by the supporters.

Here is fellow-Lisbon Lion Bertie Auld’s view in an edited extract from the book.

BILLY McNEILL began his Celtic career alongside me in a game against Clyde at Parkhead on August 23, 1958. I ended my Celtic career against the same opponents at the same venue on May 1, 1971.

He came in as a winner. I went out as a winner. I think you can take it as read we shared a few memories in the thirteen years in between.

I’m exactly two years and twenty-one days older than my chum and I signed first time around from Maryhill Juniors in April 1955 while Billy arrived from Blantyre Celtic in August 1957. So, I had a two-year head start on him and that gave me the opportunity to welcome our new centre-half into the first team. I had made my debut the previous year, but I couldn’t call myself a regular in the top side.

I played in six successive League Cup-ties up to the Final against Rangers on October 19, 1957 – and was left out of the line-up for Hampden. Neilly Mochan took my place at outside-left and smacked in two goals as Celtic walloped our old rivals 7-1. Oh, to have been on the field that day, but I could hardly complain when you look at the scoreline.

Neilly played most of the games wide on the left that season and every now and again Willie Fernie was switched from the right to wear the No.11 shorts. I was hardly a veteran when Billy prepared to take his bow in those green-and-white hoops. Bobby Evans was our regular centre-half and he also played there for the Scotland international team.

He had been a mainstay in that position since 1948, so it looked like Billy might require the assistance of dynamite to shift him from that berth. Bobby did look as though he was in with bricks at Parkhead and it was bordering on Mission Impossible for any ambitious, bright-eyed youngster to dislodge him.

Remember, too, that Evans had captained the club to their Coronation Cup success in 1953 over Hibs who were favourites for the trophy. Celtic won 2-0 and Evans had completely nullified the threat of the Edinburgh side’s star forward Lawrie Reilly as well as making a telling contribution to the second goal which was scored by Jimmy Walsh. He was the first Celtic captain to lift the League Cup in 1956 and he was in place again the following season for the 7-1 rout. The fans idolised him.

That afternoon, though, Billy was clearly determined to make his mark. The determination that has followed him through his life was clearly evident. He would have been a new Bhoy to most of our supporters, but, of course, I had played alongside him a few times in the reserves and I had a good idea of how those fans would react to an eager eighteen-year-old central defender.

Bobby, who had converted from the old right-half berth to the middle of the rearguard, was not particularly tall, certainly under six foot. He had a mop of bright red hair and was a good passer of the ball, powerfully-built and strong in the tackle. All eyes would have been on Big Billy against the Shawfield side. The supporters might have been intrigued, or even surprised, to note he was just about the opposite of their hero. Billy was around the six-foot two-inch mark, extremely lean and, of course, possessed fair hair.

What do I remember about the match? Not too much, to be honest. I know Sammy Wilson gave us an early lead with a header and I recall my shot that gave us the second goal about ten minutes before the interval. I remember all my goals, I just wish there had been more of them!

I accepted a pass as I came in from the old inside-left position and, fortunately for me, the defenders backed off. Had they forgotten my left foot was a magic wand? I hit the ball from about twenty yards and it flew wide of their keeper, a guy called Tommy McCulloch. Astoundingly, at the age of thirty-seven, he was still in goal for Clyde when I played my last game for the club in May 1971. Billy’s first appearance concluded with a 2-0 triumph and I like to think I contributed to his first win bonus. Well, that’s what I’ve been telling my big mate for years, anyway.

Bobby Evans, who had returned from international duty, might have expected to walk straight back into the team. That was not the case, though. Bob Kelly had taken a shine to Billy and that was an open sesame to the first team. Billy and I played the remaining five games in the League Cup, winning four against Airdrie (2-0), St Mirren (3-0), Cowdenbeath (2-1 and 8-1 in the two-legged quarter-finals) before losing 2-1 to Partick Thistle in the last four at Ibrox in front of a crowd of 45,000.

That would have been Billy’s first major disappointment in football. We were looking to win the silverware for three successive seasons, especially after that 7-1 result the previous year.

Theoretically, Billy McNeill was only three hours away from his first medal after a mere nine games – he had played three in the league – in senior football. As everyone knows, I was born and brought up in Maryhill and always had a soft spot for the Jags. I thought what a friend gets is no loss. Thistle were thumped 5-1 in the final by Hearts. Maybe they had used up all their good fortune against us in the semi-final.

https://ift.tt/2U0EAo3

#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[MF] Egg Society

The Welch family had passed down ownership of ‘Welch’s Tailor and Men’s Apparel’ at 1679 Haywood Street in downtown Asheville, North Carolina since 1918. As the shop approached its one-hundredth birthday, the keys to the building were passed from Gregory Welch to his son, Scott Welch, on his thirty-second birthday. With this change came a rebranding of the store, with the word “men’s” being dropped to promote what Scott called “inclusion of everyone, for everyone.” So this became the motto of the shop, and under its window-top sign sat an inscribed gold plate confirming this exclamation.

Scott loved the store, if not for the work, then for the simplistic routine it represented. He had spent hundreds of hours in the store as a boy, and continued to do so as he worked his way through grade school and The University of North Carolina. Since taking over the business eight months prior, he repeated the same ritual daily. He would wake up at 6:00am, run three miles at 6:30, eat two eggs and a small bowl of cereal with his first cup of coffee at 7:00, and get into the shower by 7:30. From there on began the real work, his grooming routine was meticulous and obsessive, involving fifteen minutes of washing and rinsing every string of skin and hair on his body, followed by at least seven minutes of hair brushing and gelling, ensuring perfection in his deeply brown pompadoured hair. Following that, he would shave his chin and face as tightly as possible without leaving a cut, rub deodorant under his arms, and brush his teeth. After his initial cleaning he would shuffle into his room and pull on a clean white t-shirt, boxer briefs, and a pair of flamboyant dress socks that fit the season. He would then examine the suit he had ironed the night before, iron it again, and put it on as carefully as possible. Finally, he would slide on a pair of loafers and his Masonic ring, and stoll out the door.

On this particular day, Scott completed this routine as usual, pulling into the employee parking lot on Haywood Street and unlocking the store fifteen minutes before opening time at 9:30am. He sat in the front desk of the store as usual, reading a book (‘In Cold Blood’ by Truman Capote, today) and reading through emails on his computer. As was normal, a few customers, mostly local lawyers and business owners, came in and out of the shop asking for a new order or an up to date fitting. Around 1:00pm Richard Meyer, a seventy year old county judge, struggled into the shop on his lunch break and greeted Scott with a warm and exhausted “Hello!” “Hello sir!” Scott responded with the spirit of a salesman “How’s it been today, Scotty?” Judge Meyer responded, starting to catch his breath “Well, you know how it is in the summer, we’ve been a little slow” Scott said, pushing himself up using his desk. “Well” Meyer said briskly, cutting himself off at that word, seemingly losing his train of thought as he peered around the room slowly as old men do. “You know son, I can tell you’re ambitious about this place,” he continued, in a breach of character that surprised Scott. “Ambitious, sir?” Scott responded, wide eyed “Yes son, ambition” “What makes you say that?” Scott said, pushing further up on his desk Meyers bent down, grabbed his knee and let out a prolonged sigh, before groaning “I’ve lived in Asheville my whole life, my Daddy took me here to get my first suit when I was little, when I started working at Johnson & Salem I got myself fitted here, and I cannot imagine myself going anywhere else,” Scott looked up at him in increasing curiosity “And do you know why that is, Scotty?” “Why, sir?” Scott asked, the anticipation further building within him “Because it’s steady here” “What do you mean?” “I mean I don’t care too much for changes. I like simplicity, and with all the changes going on in this goddamn town I could use some more of it, a lot of us could” Meyers said with a hint of old southern aggression. “So you’re saying not to change much?” Scott said, shocked by the seeming outburst “I’m saying not to change at all son. Keep the place simple, and it’ll never fail, because it never has before” “Of course sir, because it never has before,'' Scott said in agreement. Meyers shook his head up and down in affirmation “Good.”

Meyer shuffled out of the shop with a similar exasperation to that which he came in with, and Scott couldn't help but mumble under his breath, “Miserable old man.” Behind this congested statement was the worsening of an intense inner anxiety that had troubled him since being handed the business. His anxiety was one derived from an idea much more intimidating than failure, the reality of plausible failure. ‘Welch’s Tailor’ was a one-hundred year old business in a city comprised of largely first-generation residents with an entirely different cultural scope than that of the slow southern money that dripped from Asheville in the prior century. The new generation of monied residents came from a foreign source, one that had a disdain for any old order or perceived bigotry. Being a tailor had meant to Scott’s predecessors holding deeply ingrained relationships with the permanent names of Asheville’s elite across the professional fields. Tailoring had meant attending Masonry meetings, congregating at the First Baptist Church, and exchanging favors with any repeat customer that held merit in the community. These community members, such as Judge Meyer, still comprised the majority of the customer base at ‘Welch’s Tailor’; but Scott knew well that relying on them would be impossible in the near future. Their children and grandchildren had all moved far away from Asheville, and the shop, and new money had moved in. The repetition and comfort of 1679 Haywood Street was a niche habitat that Scott had grown accustomed to, and would fail without. With this an ever present anxiety had stayed with him up until that moment, as he searched for what it meant to be a tailor in the new Asheville.

As the temperature reached its peak on that yellow July day, so did Scott Welch’s anxiety. He sat with his legs crossed up on the front desk, distractedly reading one paragraph of ‘In Cold Blood’ repeatedly, and sweating through his thick white shirt. For the two hours since Judge Meyer’s visit not one customer had walked through the front doors. Summer was the slow season for tailors anyways, as heat and the absence of any special occasion drives customers away; but this day seemed to be particularly devoid of business. Just as Scott determined that Meyer’s visit had been a harbinger for the end, a customer strolled through the doors. He was a thin, slim man of about forty, who appeared to have been successful in warding off his impending middle age years. He wore a slim-fit light grey suit, with a neatly knotted pink bow tie, and matching brown glasses and loafers. A glowing brown belt lined his thin waist, and he continually adjusted it as he walked into the store. He peered through the shop with intelligent eyes, and more purpose than Meyers had. His eyes finally settled on Scott Welch sitting at the counter looking back at him. The man walked over to the counter, pulled back on his well-combed black hair, and said “hello there, sir” with an extended hand and the arrogance of a successful social climber. “Hello, sir” Scott responded after a moment of hesitation. Scott’s encounters with new people always were filled with these hesitations. “This is a wonderful store you’re running sir! Very classy, very good vibes” With these words, Scott’s anxieties from before melted from his mind, and in response to this said “Well, that's what we're all about here in Asheville, good vibes” elongating the “i” in vibes. “Of course sir, that's the reputation” the man said, resting his arm on the desk, leading Scott to notice a black sapphire ring on his left pinkie finger. They sat in silence for a moment, both pretended to appreciate the moment in contentment, looking around separately and smirking while nodding their heads “What did you say your name was again sir?” The man said, breaking the silence “I’m Scott Welch, and your name?” “You can just call me McKay” the man said, looking up with a bright, inclusive smile. “Well, it's nice to meet you Mckay” “It’s wonderful to meet you too, sir.”

The pair walked around the store with McKays initiation, in search of a pair of Navy pants to replace a pair he had ruined the day before, spilling coffee on himself flying into Asheville. McKay explained to Scott Welch that he was involved in the business of shipping and distributing construction materials, and was based out of Columbus, Ohio. As Scott searched for the perfect pair of slim-fit Navy pants, he was preoccupied with the persona of his customer. McKay was clearly a man with high levels of social awareness, he used each word and facial expression as an opportunity to convince his partner in conversation that he was being entirely genuine in communicating himself. Whereas often a pat on the back and an attempted charismatic smile come across as unnerving, McKay used his gifts so masterfully that he was able to relax even the most critical and awkward persona, in Scott Welch. In discussing business, hometowns, and menswear, Scott felt as though his presence in that moment was the only thing in the world that mattered to McKay. Scott’s prior uneasiness was quickly replaced by a sense that he was taken care of, which was his main desire since being given the responsibility of the family business. So, in twenty minutes of pants shopping, Scott became enamoured by the magical figure in a pink tie. When Mckay finally decided on a deep navy, and slightly less slim, pair of pants, the two exchanged business cards and began to discuss mutual connections that they had. “I cannot believe you don’t know Roger Prescott” McKay would tell Scott laughingly, among a multitude of other names that were seemingly important and definitely unknown to Scott. This blindness to the modern names of business reinvigorating Scott’s feelings of incompetence as a tailor.

“You know, you could always come to an Egg Society meeting” McKay told Scott, sensing his worries. Scott asked “What is the Egg Society?” Recognizing his naivety, silently thankful that McKay was there to take care of him. “Well, Scotty, the Egg Society is a group of men throughout the country that have the unified purpose of empowering community leaders” “That sounds very important, much too important for me” Scott said laughingly “No no Scott, we would love to have a man like you join, guys like you are the pillars of our community” “I very much appreciate the offer, I do, bu-” “No but”! McKay interrupted affably, “you’re coming tonight buddy” Both of them laughed, and Scott agreed. McKay wrote down “42 Old Revis Road, West Asheville, 10:00pm” on the back of his card and handed it to Scott. He pointed down at it and commanded “be there.” “I’ll be there” Scott responded, with another hesitant pause. “Maybe it’ll help business” he thought to himself.

The remainder of the day went by as any summer weekday at ‘Welch’s’ did, a few familiar customers strolled in and out of the store to greet Scott and buy something minor. In contradiction to the earlier half of the day, Scott even fit a few new customers, which he hadn’t done in days. He assumed this must have been a sign that McKay and the Egg Society would bring him good fortune. As the day wound to a close at 6:00pm, Scott’s nervous excitement rose. He shuffled through the shop blaring Neil Young as he swept and dusted its whole radius. He locked the door with a pleased skip, with “Alabama” still blaring in his head. He drove home faster than usual, fifteen miles over the speed limit, rather than ten. When he reached his house, he ran inside with the intention of maximizing the success of that night.

McKay hadn’t told him what to wear, so he decided that wearing a shirt, tie, and slacks should suffice for a meeting with such important figures, and decided to bring a jacket just in case he was under dressed. He repeated his morning grooming routine, and compulsively ironed out any wrinkles in his clothes. “Scott Welch, you are the man” he said to himself, staring at the mirror. He passed the remaining minutes until 9:36 (which is when he determined he should leave his house) by pacing and distracting himself with cleaning, as he always did when he was nervous. He felt almost child-like in his excitement, which embarrassed him. He worried that this new acquaintance was out to ditch him in a dirt field, or prank him in some way. This made him feel even more like a child. So when 9:36 hit, Scott Welch was dreading the drive.

Scott arrived at 42 Old Revis Road at exactly 10:00, as would be expected of Scott Welch; and no one was there. It was a small, closed off dirt parking lot, surrounded by thick bushes and collapsed wooden fencing. “Oh God” he whispered nervously, with his mind wondering to all of the possibilities for why MacKay wasn’t there. Had he lied to him, playing a practical joke that would result in public shame? Maybe he died on the drive over, or even worse, right after he left the shop! Scott sat with anxiety sending shock waves through his body, and his heart rate further increasing. It finally broke its pace when a shiny black Escalade pulled calmly into the parking lot at 10:12, and only did so to skip in his chest. Out of the Escalade hopped McKay in a large dark purple robe, large ovular glasses (with no spectacles), and what appeared to be slacks, a white collared shirt, and a black tie underneath the robe.

“Hurry!” He aggressively whispered to Scott as he knocked on the drivers side window of his car, “No one can see me in these!” “Alright, alright” Scott responded in a hurried anxiety. He hesitated to speak again, coming out of his head for the first time in hours. The two shuffled into the Escalade, dipping their heads for secrecy on McKay’s request. “We made it” Scott said in a confused relief “Well, we don’t know if we made it, at least we hope no one saw us” “I don’t think anyone did” Scott responded, trailing off at the end of his sentence to show his confusion The two sat in silence, and Scott looked out the window and slouched down into the seat. This often happened to him after moments of severe worry. “Where are we going McKay?” Scott questioned in annoyance “What do you mean where are we going?” He gave little time for Scott to respond, “We’re going to the congregation of course!” McKays eyes opening wide with these words. “The congregation of the Egg Society I’m assuming?” “Of course that’s what I mean!” McKay’s voice continuing to get more and more excited “Where exactly is this meeting?” “Oh, you’ll see soon enough, we generally don’t just outright tell embryos like you where we meet. Security purposes” “Embryos?” “Yes newcomers, do I have to explain everything to you?” McKay commanded, losing his patience. Scott Welch has always had a problem with asking too many questions.

Eventually, the Escalade pulled onto a long and bumpy gravel road, and drove up what seemed to be an entire mountain. Scott’s mind wandered to the thought that he had hastily gotten into a car with a lunatic, the egg society? He couldn’t believe he had fallen for that. He determined he must be in the car with a schizophrenic sociopath, which would explain the paranoia and charismatic charm.

After an eternity of bumps, nearly falling off of the side of the mountain, and quiet anxiety; the pair arrived at a large, imposing house at the top of the mountain, surrounded by dozens of cars and covered in egg paraphernalia. Scott looked around hurriedly and noticed that there was at least one carton of eggs on each car, two large gold painted ovals at either side of the door, and a sign that looked like an advertisement in a ballpark outfield reading, very simply, “Egg.”

“Here you go Scotty, you’ll need these” McKay said, reaching into the back of his car and pulling out a large pink robe and a copy of the ovular glasses that he wore. “I put them on?” Scott asked again, continuing his nervous habit “Of course you do!” McKay said excitedly The two men hopped out of the car, and while Scott dressed himself, McKay walked around to the back of the car and pulled out two cartons of eggs. “I got a dozen for you, we put these on our car as a sort of offering” “Okay” Scott responded nervously, unable to think up a response to such a ridiculous statement. “Now listen, we’re going to go up to the front doors and a man in a tuxedo is going to open the doors, just let me do the talking” “Don’t worry, wasn’t planning on saying anything” They walked to the front door, and McKay knocked twelve times , and just as he said, a man came to the door sporting a thin, well-kept mustache, and a butlers tuxedo. “Good evening gentleman” the man at the door said calmly “Hello sir, I have brought a friend with me this evening, a potential embryo” The man stared deeply at Scott, with empty, calculating eyes. He leaned towards him with only his upper body, and sported a pretentious facial expression. Scott had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. After an uncomfortably long moment of that, the man said, “Very well sir, you both may enter”, and relaxed back into an upright position. McKay led the way into the house, and Scott followed, sweating intensely and pulling on the shoulders of his robe. He was beginning to feel self conscious about his attire. He followed McKay through what appeared to be a silent and empty house, beside a massive stairwell, under dozens of extravagant light fixtures, and across a creaky, thin-paneled hardwood floor. The house reminded Scott of one he had seen in a Scooby-Doo cartoon as a child, a mansion “haunted” by greedy relatives seeking a wealthy inheritance. So this is what he imagined as McKay led him down into the houses large empty basement, where he began to hear voices of people quietly socializing, a group of wealthy social climbers looking to gain more from each other. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, McKay stepped beside him, guided him by his back, and announced to the room “Hello everyone! This is my dear friend, Scott Welch!” McKay said this immediately as they turned the corner, giving Scott no time to scout out the environment before his presence was announced, making his introduction to the society a room full of strangers staring at him; which did not bode well for his already present sense of anxiety. His heart fluttered, and he felt an intense dropping sensation, as he overstimulated himself scanning hurriedly around the room. He saw white and yellow painted faces staring back at him blankly, all dressed in magnificent robes of flamboyant colors, all covering men in white collared shirts, ties, and black slacks. The room was decorated with professionally photographed shelled eggs. It contained no windows, and was comprised of dark grey concrete walls, and a brown carpeted floor. There was a piano in the corner of the room occupied by a man wearing a large egg mascot head, complete with webbing in front of the eyes for him to see out of. The members of the society congregated across the room, but were specifically concentrated around tables on each wall of the room that were covered by pastel Easter table covers, and large silver bowls containing deviled eggs, egg salad, scrambled eggs, and what Scott deduced must have been eggnog. In the center of the room was what appeared to be a shrine, where more photographs of eggs and dozens of small candles surrounded a mature hen locked inside of a black cage that appeared to be meant for a much larger animal. After a few moments of staring, the crowd chanted to Scott in unison,

Welcome, welcome brother egg

Young one born of feathered kind

To the white one we shall beg

To welcome your incipient mind

“Come on in Scott,” McKay whispered, leaning into his ear. Scott raised his eyebrows in nervous agreement, and followed McKay’s leading hand that was placed on his lower back. He took him around the room, introducing him to each person in the room. They greeted him pleasantly, but it was a disturbing pleasantry. Their smiles were artificially wide, and their eyes were opened to an extent that wrinkled their entire face. Scott tried to match them, but his face could not extend itself as far as those staring at him. He began to notice patterns in the flamboyant dress of the members of the society, those dressed in purple or red robes were those with the most power and social clout in the club, and were surrounded by the largest numbers of people. Scott estimated that there were around forty members in the basement, of which about four wore purple and red robes, with the rest in pink or baby blue. Every member of the club was a young, in-shape man, all but one of which was white. The lone non-white member was an African-American man who called himself ‘Sunrise’. Scott got in a long conversation with Sunrise, as McKay had politely excused himself to have a discussion with the other men in purple and red robes.

“You look like a very nice man” Sunrise said with an eerily large smile, barely spreading his teeth as he spoke “Thank you sir, you look nice too” Scott said, looking around the room nervously “I can tell you aren’t very comfortable here” sunrise said, not breaking eye contact and sending a chill down Scott’s spine “You can?” “Of course” he paused “everyone is at first, but you get very, very used to it” “I hope I do, you seem like a great group of guys” “Oh yes, but the focus isn’t on us” Sunrise said with a closed mouth giggle “Now let's go get your face painted, silly!” The pair walked over to one of the tables across the wall and were stopped by McKay with a push. “And what do you think you’re doing, Sunrise” he commanded, not breaking his artificial smirk. “H-he needs his face painted” Sunrise stumbled, for the first time losing his smile “Oh well, Scott here will be painting his face using a different instrument tonight”

Scott and Sunrise went back into the corner they had talked in earlier, and stood silently while other members greeted Scott. “It’s such a pleasure to have you here tonight, you’re truly doing The Society a service” he told Scott, rubbing gently down on his red robe. “Why don’t you have some eggnog, brother.”

“Of course I'll have some” Scott said hesitantly, it couldn’t be too bad he thought, everyone else is drinking it, and he had to do something to blend in with these people and get out of the basement safely at the end of the night. From the first sip, Scott was in heaven. His body buzzed in a pleasurable warmth, and he enjoyed spinning and wobbling around the room. Suddenly, he felt his own smile widened as his bliss intensified. He observed in flashes himself stumbling around the room, giggling with the rest of the club, and being handed more and more to drink.

As the night went on for however long it did (Scott was not quite sure) there was a growing tension in the room, despite his inner joy. An overwhelming sense that the evening was for him caused a great deal of nervousness. Eventually, the two members in purple, one of which was McKay, began to ring singing bells in front of the cage; and everyone in The Society moved in front of them. After a moment of this, the men in red appeared from around the back of the cage, with the unmasked one, a long, slim man of about forty sporting a neatly trimmed black beard, carrying a tray with multiple black straps and a knife. The man with the egg on his head, who could be easily decipher as the leader, began to speak in a commanding, fatherly voice. “Hello my friends!” he commanded, throwing his arms into the air to an intoxicated applause from the crowd. “May the white one be with us!” there was more applause, and with it, the crowd repeated back to him in unison “May the white one be with us!” “Very good, friends” the man with the egg on his head said, bringing his hands together. “Now. Let us discuss business! We have a new man in the crowd, his name is Scott, everyone greet him!” “Hello Scott” they said obediently, causing Scott to laugh intensely and fall to his knees. Everyone stared at him, so he decided he better stand up. “It is a pleasure to have us all gathered here today in appreciation of the white one!” this drew a cheer from the crow, a welcomed distraction from his mishap for Scott. “As you all know, we have brother Golden here today, all the way from Columbus, Ohio”! The man said, motioning at McKay and drawing another rowdy cheer “And let us not distract ourselves from our purpose tonight, brothers.” the crows looked over at Scott. “Tonight! Will be the night we welcome a new brother! Give our brother a new name! He will reinvent himself, through blood, for the white one!” this statement resulted in the loudest reaction yet from The Society, giving Scott pink cheeks even in his intoxicated stuper. “The time has come! Brother Scott, may the initiation begin!” The man with the egghead motioned at his partner carrying the, who proceeded to carry the tray to the cage, sitting it on the ground and pulling out the struggling hen that sat in it. He strapped its legs to the tray, expertly avoiding its wild claws and emotionlessly tying down the squawking bird against its will. “Now, brother Scott! The time has come! Remove the white one!” Scott was confused, and while he normally would have been shocked with empathy for the bird, he was intoxicated by the drink he had been repeatedly given and by the increasing roars of the crowd. “Brother Scott!” the man repeated, as the tray carrying the still struggling chicken was placed on back in the opened cage. “You are to take this knife, and remove the white one!” Scott was visibly shaking, and still a bit confused. Although the intentions of the club members were becoming more clear, he was expected to cut the chicken open, and remove any eggs it carried in its body. “I shink em not hearin’ you right” Scott slurred drunkenly, hoping he was misunderstanding. “Cut into the hen brother Scott!” The cheers of the crows grew louder, and Scott’s drunken haze more intense. The room was spinning now, uncomfortably so. He decided the only way to get out of this state would be to do what the man in the egghead said. He knew best. Scott approached the cage now, slowly stumbling, regaining consciousness with each step. The roars of the crowd encouraged him, these were his new brothers, the new generation of influencers. He grabbed the knife. Hadn’t the founders been fascinated by the occult? Weren't the Romans a beautiful and dark people? He stared down at the hen, squealing less intensely now, but still jerking its head around in fear. It didn't even notice him. He was no longer alone, the cheers of the crowd still grew in intensity, as did his confidence. He looked down at the bird again, finding confidence in his empathy for it. He could kill. So he drove the knife into its stomach, unsure of chicken anatomy, and cut all the way down to the bottom of its torso. It let out a painful scream, unable to let go of its grip on life as it lose control entirely. The crowd cheered, and Scott spread its intestines, exposing multiple fully developed eggs. He pulled one out, the biggest one, and the cheers of the crowd grew louder, making more noise now than the movements and fading squawks of the hen. He turned to the crowd now, and there was a moment of silence as he presented the object of their worship. The man with the egghead walked to him now, put his hand on Scott’s back, and cried out “He has found the white one, now let him paint his face in blood!” The crowd let out an enormous cheer, and Scott proudly lost any sense of empathy that he had left. He turned back to the chicken, and rubbed the blood from its opened stomach across his face. “He is born!” the man yelled. For just a moment, Scott Welch was proud. He had initiated himself into a society of men who could get him places, and had done so with joy. These were his brothers in blood, his brothers in the yoke that spilled on his face when he ate the egg under the man with the egghead’s command. Slowly, he lost this passion. As he slipped out of intoxication from the crowd and the drink, the crowd greeting him proudly suddenly became horrifying to him. “What have I done” he thought internally, looking back at the mangled body of the hen laying still in front of its cage. He no longer felt pride in its death, or even felt beauty. There was no beauty in that soulless mess of blood and struggle. He drank no more, and wanted nothing but to leave. His pain grew more and more severe, to the point that it was intoxicating him again, until he left the basement with McKay. “Wait brother!” the man with the egghead yelled at them as they left. “We must give you a name.” Scott inwardly dreaded the possibilities. He thought he would be named ‘hunter’ or ‘yoke mouth’ or something of the like, to always remind him of the shameful event. “We shall call you brother Birth!” “Brother Birth” The crowd repeated, all coming sadly out of their haze. Scott smiled, and left the room somberly.

The ride back down the mountain was quiet, with a bit of small talk between Scott and McKay that eventually died down. Scott could still taste the blood and egg on his breath, as well as the alcohol. “Brother Life” he thought, as the Escalade pulled slowly back into the dirt parking lot where the two had met hours earlier. “See you soon, Brother Life” McKay remarked with a wink. Scott said nothing. There was a thick musk of shame present. Scott went home, repeatedly looking at the clock that now read 4:13am, focusing on the anxiety of waking up in the morning rather than the pain of the events that just occurred. “Brother Life,” he could not get the words out of his head. He went home and tossed in bed, eventually leading to a shallow hungover sleep. He was in a repeating state of waking, but never fully got up until 11:00am. He was very late. So Scott Welch concluded that he had better sell the shop. It was better for someone responsible to be in charge of the family name, he decided.

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Mile high chapter 11

A small, black-haired woman walked out of the closet, clutching hangers full of colorful dresses in each hand. She grinned at us.

She was beautiful, with sleek, long black hair pulled back from her stunning face. Her dark eyes were almond shaped and vibrant, with heavy violet eye shadow that brought out her olive skin to perfection.

Her lips were pure crimson and the shade suited her coloring. She was one of those people who could have been just about any race, but whatever it was, it was lovely.

She wore cute little eyeglasses on her nose that were so attractive that you had to wonder if they were just a fashion statement, or if she really required them. She wore an impeccably fitted emerald green sheath with a bright blue belt. Her shoes were five inch stilettos and hot pink. She wore a necklace of deep jewel-toned stones, with heavy gold hoops in her ears. Both of her wrists were heavy with intricate metal bangles.

She looked fashionable and intimidating, and though the outfit somehow worked beautifully, I could tell at a glance that she was a woman who wasn’t afraid to try and fail at fashion. I was betting that she would think that not trying was the only way to fail. Her outfit was timeless elegance but still managed to be trendy. I was impressed. I would have been happy to achieve either of those things. It was ambitious to try for both.

She eyed me up and down without shame as Justin introduced me. “Jackie, this is Selena. Selena, Jackie. She’s responsible for all of the new additions to your wardrobe.”

She smiled at me rather expectantly. “What do you think? It’s okay if you hate it all. I just need feedback, so I can get an idea of what you do like. Justin here is my favorite client of all time. He lets me dress him however I like. Can you imagine? It’s every stylists dream, a supermodel of a client who will wear damn near anything I pick out.” She eyed me critically as she spoke, as though mentally taking my measurements. She even began to circle me. I thought she was a strange little woman.

“I, uh, haven’t had much of a chance to look at it.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Well, when you do, any feedback would be good. It will give me some direction for your sense of style.”

“Selena likes the preppy look for men, Jackie,” Justin told her. “Keep that in mind when you’re shopping for me as well.”

She snorted. “And so it begins.” She sounded very put out by his request. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

I shot him a baffled look. Where did he come up with this stuff?

He shrugged at me, smiling a little. “You forget that Stephan and I talk.”

She was still circling me, studying me rather unnervingly. “Justin had you right on, size-wise. A size 5/6 in the waist and hips, and a 7/8 in the bust and shoulders. You have a body that’s fun for men to play with, but not too fun to dress. Your legs are a plus, though. There’s nothing I love to dress more than a killer set of legs. If you lost about ten pounds, though, you could have model proportions. That would be ideal. Something to think about.”

Some part of me agreed with her about the need to lose ten pounds, but it still stung to hear it. It was petty, but I had gone from kind of liking her to thinking she was awful in a few short sentences.

“Jackie,” Justin said, a cool warning in his voice. “She doesn’t need to lose a pound. If you talk her into a diet, I will fire you.”

She just grinned, uncaring about the warning and my stiff expression. “Okay, okay, just a mild suggestion.”

She laid the colorful armfuls of fabric onto the bed. “Based on your body type and skin tone, I picked out five dresses that I thought had the best shot of suiting you. Try them on, if you please, or anything else you see that catches your fancy.” She seemed to dismiss me completely after she finished speaking, approaching Justin with wide eyes.

She stabbed the red ink on his chest. “When did this happen? It has to be brand new!”

He just grinned, turning to show her his back. She was struck speechless at the sight.

I turned my back on them, grabbing the dresses on the bed and heading into the closet to try them on, while they continued to chat.

You wouldn’t have known it was a guest room if you were going by the closet. It was the size of a guest room all by itself, with mirrors lining every wall. I assumed this was the room where he usually worked with Jackie, going by the clothing, both male and female, lining the walls, tags intact.

I hung Jackie’s choices on a bare stretch of racks, eyeing them up dubiously. They were gowns. I liked skirts and sundresses well enough if they were cool and comfortable, but I felt overwhelmed even trying on the gowns I was looking at now.

I took a deep breath, plunging in. I wouldn’t let someone like Jackie see that I was intimidated by the clothes, or any of it, for that matter.

I grabbed a plain navy gown first. I could see by the cut of the top half that I wouldn’t be wearing a slip with it, so I slipped out of it before working the silky material over my legs, hips, and finally my bust. It was a strapless gown, with a long slit up the side. It zipped in back, and I couldn’t manage on my own. I almost took it off just because of that, but with a sigh, I stepped out of the closet to get a hand.

Jackie was still studying Justin’s shoulder tattoo when I stepped out of the closet. He shot me a admiring smile. “That looks great.”

I gave him a rather weak smile. The more I got ready for the gala, the more I felt a little overwhelmed by my misgivings. This was not my world, I didn’t want it to be, and I didn’t know if I could fake it, even for Justin.

“Can you zip me?” I asked him, my voice very stiff. He did, after all, have a strange woman running her fingers along his back.

He moved to me, completely ignoring Jackie’s demand for him to hold still. He held the back together, zipping me in with more ease than I would have expected. The dress didn’t have a bit of give in the silken fabric, and I’d thought it would be tighter.

I turned to the huge mirror mounted on the wall, approaching it to eye the gown with a critical eye.

Justin followed me, watching my face more than anything. I thought he could sense my uncertainty.

I thought the dress looked nice enough. “It fits,” I said flatly. “And it’s actually long enough. That’s pretty impressive, I suppose.”

Jackie made a little humming sound in her throat. “They make them long like that, for heels. Looks like you’ll need at least a three inch heel to pull that one off. It fits well enough. A little plain, but it fits.”

I headed back into the closet, biting back a comment about the fact that she had been the one to pick the thing out.

I chose a pretty lavender gown next. The top was a halter, and it didn’t take long to realize that I couldn’t wear a bra with the neckline.

I usually wouldn’t be caught dead going braless in public, but I tried it on, just to see. The way it tied gave the top a surprising amount of support in the bust area, and the silk was soft against my skin.

It was fitted, but not tight, from neck to about mid hip, where it fanned out in fluffy layers of chiffon, a high slit showing a lot of one leg. Jackie liked her high slitted gowns. It was ultra-feminine but still sexy, and I loved it instantly.

Justin blinked at me as I walked out, his jaw going just a touch slack. I was gratified. I decided instantly to wear the dress. Jackie’s input be damned.

Jackie whistled. “Very nice. I almost want to save that one for a bigger event.”

“No. I’ll wear it tonight,” I told her. I needed all of the confidence boosting I could get for the night, and Justin looking at me the way he was looking at me did exactly that.

He swallowed, then licked his lips. All of his nervous tells. It made me smile.

“You look beautiful,” he said, with feeling. “But it seems a little revealing. Do you think it’ll pick up as see-through with the camera flashes, Jackie?”

She gave him a ‘do you think I’m an amateur?’ kind of look. “It wouldn’t be in the pile if it did.” She turned back to me, her voice brisk. “Now to accessorize. You can go start getting dressed yourself, Justin. I got this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jackie pointed me in the direction of shiny navy wedges with a peep toe and a four inch heel. They were more comfortable than they looked, though that wasn’t saying much.

“Does the navy go with the lavender?” I asked dubiously.

She gave me a very exasperated look. “Would I pair them if they didn’t? And Justin is wearing this amazing all navy tux. It’s very fashion forward. Only a supermodel like Justin could pull it off. And he mentioned that he likes you guys to match, so I think he’ll like the shoes.

Eyeing myself up in the mirror, I had to agree that the shoes went well. I would have never guessed the the dress would pop even more with shiny navy shoes, but I was no stylist.

She sighed, looking at my jewelry. “Justin obviously wants you wearing that choker and earrings.

While they’re lovely, I had other accessories in mind for that dress. Oh well. Sometimes I must compromise my vision. A girl’s got to eat.” As she finished speaking, Justin was striding back into the room, a jewelry box in his hands. He was still shirtless. He set it on the bed without a word, just smiling as he strode back out.

Jackie sighed again, opening the box. Her eyes widened. She shot me a speculative glance. She took two thick diamond studded cuffs out of the box, walking to me. She snapped them on my wrists, making no comments about the abrasions that they covered. She circled me, pursing her lips as she tugged at several spots on my dress, adjusting it just so.

“It doesn’t need alteration, since you’re so damned tall, so that saves time.” She grabbed a smooth white robe off of a rack, holding it up for me. “So you don’t mess up the dress while you get hair and makeup done. We have a minute to talk.”

I thought that sounded ominous, but I met her gaze squarely.

She arched a brow at me. “Justin and I go way back. We went to school together. I’m his stylist, but it’s not because I need the money. I love fashion, but I come from money myself. I’ve had to dodge my fare share of fortune-hunters, but it’s nothing compared to what Justin has to deal with.”

She eyed me from top to bottom, but it only made my spine straighten. “You’re attractive enough, but I must admit, I don’t get it. Is your vag**a gold plated? He’s been chased by supermodels and playboy bunnies. He f**ked a lot of them, hell, most of them, but he never even talked about having a girlfriend.

Not once. Now you’ve moved in with him, and he’s acting like he’s a one woman man for life all of a sudden. I’ll admit, I’m intrigued and mystified by the change in him, but I don’t understand any of it. How did you wrap him around your little finger, Selena? And how do you feel about him? As one of his few close friends, I’d like to know your intentions.”

I returned her narrowed gaze with an icy one of my own. If I’d had any doubts before, I knew it now; Jackie and I were not going to be friends.

“If you and Justin are such close friends,” I began coldly, “you should be having this conversation with him, not me. You’re a virtual stranger to me. I won’t be discussing my feelings, or my intentions, with you.”

She just sighed, as though I’d disappointed her. “I was too direct, wasn’t I? Now you don’t trust me.

I’m blunt, Selena, but we don’t have to be enemies.”

I just gave a little shrug, wanting to end the awkward and personal conversation as quickly as possible.

“Hair and makeup?” I asked coldly.

She sighed again. “Follow me. They’ve set up a room for it.”

She led me to a large room one floor down. It had glass walls, and I thought it must have been some sort of entertainment room before they’d taken it over. There was a huge flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, and several reclining chairs pushed up against the wall, as though to make room for the salon-like setup.

Two ladies were waiting and chatting, looking antsy as we entered the room. There was a barber shop chair set up in front of a a table loaded with hair products and cosmetics. It was intimidating to imagine the setup was all for my benefit.

A thin, dark-haired girl strode towards me, smiling. Her heavy chestnut hair hung in waves nearly to her waist. Her nose dominated her thin face, but in an attractive kind of way. It was somehow a distinctive nose, rather than just large. Her big, dark eyes helped. And her artfully applied makeup, with smoky eyes and plum colored lips.

“I’m Amy,” she said. “I’ll be doing your makeup. It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Karlsson.”

I shook her hand, thinking that her amiable approach had to be the polar opposite of Jackie’s. “Nice to meet you, Amy. Please, call me Selena.”

The second woman stepped forward, her smile just as friendly as Amy’s. “I’m Ariel. I’ll be doing your hair. Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Karlsson.”

I shook her hand, smiling. The friendly women were already helping me shake off the awkwardness that was Jackie. “Selena, please. Nice to meet you, as well.”

They sat me in the chair, tripping over each other to discuss my hair and makeup, then giggling at each other. They were obviously friends.

I made it easy on them. “You’re the experts. I trust your judgement, so fix me up however you think is best.” I’d never spared much time or thought on my appearance, and I didn’t intend to let my strange new lifestyle change that.

This seemed to please them both, and they set to work. I closed my eyes, just letting them. They worked on me, blowdrying my hair, and applying my makeup for maybe ten minutes before I felt Justin enter the room. Both women paused for scant moments before resuming their ministrations. I guessed that he’d waved them back to their work, sitting somewhere to watch. I felt Ariel begin to play with my hair, pulling it back and twisting it.

“Leave her hair down,” Justin said from somewhere to my right.

Ariel let it fall without a word, smoothing it out.

Justin wasn’t quiet for a full minute before speaking again. “Are you ignoring me, Love?”

Impatient man. “If you didn’t notice, Amy is applying makeup to my face. I’m trying to hold still.”

He made a little noise of displeasure in his throat.

“You can open your eyes, Selena. I can work around it,” Amy told me. I could tell she was just trying to appease Justin, since I could still feel her working on my eyelids.

“It’s fine. I’ll hold still until you’re done,” I told her.

It was maybe thirty seconds before Justin spoke again. “Did you like the cuffs?” he asked me.

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” I told him.

Amy and Ariel began to ooh and ah over my diamond jewelry. “That is luxe. Who did you borrow from? You’ll need a bodyguard for this kind of jewelry.” Ariel’s voice was awed.

Justin answered for me, but I felt my cheeks redden. I had tried very hard not to think about how much the jewelry he gave me was worth, but her comment made it harder to ignore.

“I actually had it all designed for her,” Justin told them. “It’s her own personal collection.”

More oohs and ahs. “What a generous boyfriend,” Amy said, her voice dreamy.

“That’s nothing. I haven’t even begun to gift her with my mother’s jewels. She left me a queen’s ransom’s worth,” Justin said, a clear grin in his voice.

I thought the two women were going to swoon as they rushed to tell him how wonderful he was. He was wonderful, but I couldn’t bring myself to be pleased with the prospect of more extravagant gifts. They still just made me uncomfortable. And if he wasn’t joking, if he really did intend to give me some of the jewels his mother had left him, well, that was even more disconcerting. It seemed like such a huge step.

You didn’t give a woman things with such sentimental value unless she was your wife, or you were certain that she would be. The thought still made my blood run cold. Would he really push this issue so soon after I had agreed to live with him? I still couldn’t believe we were moving so incredibly fast, and yet he only wanted more. I tried not to panic at the thought.

“She even left me her five-carat princess cut diamond engagement ring, surrounded by sapphire baguettes. Don’t you ladies think that would look particularly lovely on Selena’s left hand?”

I felt myself get a little light-headed, but the ladies went crazy, gushing over how romantic he was. I told myself, rather desperately, that he was only joking, that he was just having fun at our expense, but I was beginning to know him well enough to be worried.

“Just take deep breaths, Love. You’ll grow accustomed to the idea, once the initial shock wears off,”

Justin told me, his tone rather casual considering the topic matter.

The ladies giggled, as though he were joking. If only.

“Justin,” I began.

“Deep breaths,” he said again, the clear smile in his voice infuriating. But I took a few deep breaths, and it did help a little.

Amy and Ariel finished my hair and makeup within seconds of each other, almost as though they had it down to a science. They seemed to be used to working together, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

“Thank you, ladies,” Justin said, his voice a touch husky.

I knew that tone. It wasn’t fit for company. It was way too tender and affected for that.

“You can open your eyes, Selena. Tell us what you think. We can change anything you don’t like,” Amy said, her voice endearingly earnest.

I looked. I was…stunned. I looked more lovely than I had thought makeup could make me. My eyes were lined in a soft brown, my lashes sooty and black. My lids were a pale lavender near the brows, with a more vibrant violet along my lashes. The color brought out my eyes startlingly, the liner making them look huge in my rounded face. Just a touch of bronzer on my cheeks had me glowing, and a soft, shiny pink lip made my lips look plump and kissable. My hair was straight and smooth, the short bangs working with the makeup to bring out my pale aquamarine eyes.

“Wow,” I managed to get out.

“Exquisite,” Justin murmured.

My eyes traveled to him when he spoke. He had turned one of the reclining chairs towards me, and was lounging in it comfortably, one perfectly tailored leg crossed over a knee, shiny navy shoes gleaming in the light. They were the mens version of my shoes. I knew he’d get a kick out of that, if he hadn’t noticed already. Hell, I got a bit of a kick out of it. He looked amazing, of course. Jackie had been right about his tux being fashion forward. It was sleek and navy, more fitted than a normal tux, showing off his stark muscular build to perfection. Even his sleek dress shirt and bow tie were a dark navy that caught the light a bit more than the rest of the ensemble. It was something you would normally only see on a runway at fashion week, because no one who wasn’t a damned supermodel could pull it off. The dark navy set off his dark tan, his turquoise eyes shining vibrantly against the dark contrasts. His hair was slicked back just a tad.

I pointed at him. “Did it really only take you ten minutes to look like that? That is so unfair.”

He looked at his watch. It wasn’t one I’d seen before. I had quickly caught on that he liked to collect watches. Expensive ones, of course. “Love, it only took you forty-five minutes, so you can’t really complain, either. That’s unheard of for a red carpet event.”

I waved a hand at the women hovering behind me. “It took a team to get me ready that fast, Mr.

Beautiful.”

Amy and Ariel giggled at the name.

Justin smirked. “Every woman attending tonight had a team getting them ready, love, and I guarantee that no one other than you only took forty-five minutes, team or no.”

Justin politely dismissed my ‘team’ of beautifiers, and I thanked them again.

When we were finally alone, he pulled me to my feet, whipping off the white robe that protected my gown. His eyes were hot as he just stared at me, studying me from head to toe. He smiled when he saw our matching patent-leather navy shoes.

“I take it you like me all dolled up like this. Are you going to try to have those two follow me around to achieve the affect more often?” I asked him, only half-teasing. There was no telling what the crazy man would do.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, a gesture that always drove me wild. “To tell you the truth, I like you best bare of makeup and everything else. I’ve never met a woman who looked more beautiful without a thing on. But I have to admit that I love the idea of shoving you in the face of the press when you look so polished and lovely, and when they’ve printed so many unflattering things about you. It will make them all look like fools, after some of the nonsense that’s been posted.”

I gave a little shrug. I really couldn’t let the things being said about me get to me, or I’d never leave my house again. I thought that it was a little naive for Justin to think that he could change anyone’s mind after the things that had been said about him. I certainly wouldn’t be holding my breath.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jackie reappeared as we were almost to the elevator, handing me a tiny navy patent-leather clutch. It was cute, but I hated having something on me that would take up the use of my hand for the entire night, so I declined. She looked baffled by the refusal, looking at the clutch in her hand as though it had done something to warrant the rejection.

I looked at Justin. “Do I need to take anything?”

He considered. “Only what you would consider essential. If you don’t have anything you want to bring, then you certainly don’t have to.”

“But it completes the ensemble!” Jackie said.

I just looked at her. If she was paying attention, she could have seen in my eyes that I just didn’t care that much about ‘completing the ensemble’. She finally got the idea, moving out of our way, though the look she gave me was less than friendly.

“Will you be attending tonight?” Justin asked her as he led me into the elevator by a hand on the small of my back.

She shrugged. “I may come to hound the red carpet press about who I dressed tonight. Free publicity and all that.”

Justin just nodded, pushing the button.

Jackie hurried into the car. She seemed to have just realized that she was leaving, too. She pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. She saw my look.

“I live in this building, as well,” she explained.

Well, that was handy, I thought.

She got off on her floor with a dismissive little wave.

“What do you think of Jackie?” Justin asked as soon as the door closed.

I gave him my little shrug that drove him crazy. I was going for nonchalant, but I ruined it with a dumb question. “Have you slept with her?”

He didn’t get offended, as most men probably would. He never seemed to mind my inquiries about his past affairs. He didn’t like my questions, but he seemed ever willing to give me answers. I appreciated his candor, even if I didn’t always like his answers.

“I have not. We have always been strictly platonic, and we’ve been friends since high school. So what did you think of her?”

I grimaced a little, but not so he could see it. “I’m trying hard to reserve judgement, at the moment. She told me you’ve been friends for a long time, but she seems to be nurturing a vague dislike for me. The feeling is very much mutual, so far.”

His hand gripped my hip almost painfully. “Why? What did she say to you?”

I shot him a look. “She thinks I’m after your money, I guess. It’s what you can expect everyone to be thinking and saying. I’ll have to get used to that kind of nonsense, I suppose.”

He used the tight grip on my hip to push my other side into his rigid stomach. He spoke very close to my ear, as though we weren’t alone in the elevator. “You don’t have to put up with that. We can fire her.

You can fire anyone who doesn’t suit you, for any reason.”

I placed a hand on his chest, right on his heart, where my name was branded. I looked up into his beloved eyes. “That’s not necessary. You’ve obviously been able to maintain a good working relationship with her over the years. Maybe just don’t have her shop for me anymore. I don’t want anything else, anyways. It’s all too much, Justin.”

“I will have a word with her, Selena. If she disrespects you again, I’m firing her. She will get a clear warning, but only one.”

I rubbed that sweet little spot on his chest. “People will be thinking that, Justin. We need to be prepared for it. It’s a conversation that I will undoubtedly be having again and again. There’s no way for me to prove to the world that I don’t want a damned cent from you.”

We arrived at the lobby floor, and he hugged me into his side, a hand going to the hoop at my collar to hook in that familiar finger as we made our way through the swank lobby and to the waiting town car. In the scant space from the building’s doorway to the car, three flashbulbs snapped at us just getting into the car. Justin ushered me in without a word, crowding in behind me. I scooted across the seat to give him room, but he just followed me, plastering me to his side as the door closed behind him.

He kissed the skin just behind my ear as he spoke. “And yet, it’s all yours, love. Every damned cent. I want to lay the world at your feet. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right?”

I rubbed my hands over him comfortingly, hearing a strange vulnerability in his voice. I stroked his knee, and found my favorite spot on his heart, running my hand over it again and again. “I don’t need any of that, Justin. I’ve grown to need you. I love your honesty, and your tenderness, and your dominance.”

I took a deep breath, suddenly panicky about the things coming out of my mouth. I had never said anything quite so revealing to him before. “But I don’t need any of that other stuff,” I said firmly.

“Nonetheless, you have it,” he murmured, burying his face in my neck. He began to suckle me there, and I melted. He pulled back abruptly. “I don’t want to muss you up for your first red carpet.”

I was breathless when I responded. “At least I’m not nervous now. I can’t even remember why I should care enough to be nervous. I only care about getting you to touch me again.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was his happy laugh, and I felt my whole body get soft, my smile as our eyes met unmistakably tender. I didn’t think there was much I wouldn’t do to make him that happy.

And yet I had done so little to make him so. It seemed miraculous to me that my every small gesture seemed to affect him so.

He was still giving me that boyish smile as the car stopped. The gala was apparently very close to his home.

Justin handed me out of the car expertly, his hand falling swiftly to my waist. He ushered me through the press as though it were a dance, the cameras snapping at us in quick succession. I plastered my most polished smile on my face. It was a photo-ready smile, if a touch cool. I had perfected it at a young age.

Growing up fast and painfully had taught me that smile. Yes, it was polished, but I had earned that polish.

A few photographers shouted out some rather rude comments, but we both ignored them. They were acting that way for a reaction, and it was the last thing I would give them. My smile never even slipped.

Justin kissed my forehead when we finally made our way into the grand entrance of the building.

“You’re a natural. Those bloodhounds can take some getting used to.”

My mind had already moved past the strange red carpet experience when I saw a doorway into some kind of elaborate ballroom. “Oh, Justin, I don’t know how to dance. I didn’t even think of it.”

He kissed my forehead again, and I caught the edge of his smile at the top of my vision. “You only need to dance with me, Love. And we know all too well that if I lead, you know how to follow, even without experience.”

I tried to tell myself that he may well be right. Perhaps it would just be that easy. I felt the nerves clench in my stomach nonetheless.

A seemingly endless stream of introductions and polite mingling began almost immediately. I gathered from some of the pleasantries exchanged that this was a gala that his mother had been involved with before she’d passed. She had made the charity rounds, I learned, donating generous amounts of both her time and money. Justin had mentioned briefly that it was a fundraiser for cancer research at a prominent New York hospital. I tried to say the right things when addressed, but I felt quickly out of my depth. I had never been to anything like the gala before, and I was overwhelmed by all of the affluent company I was suddenly keeping. It was daunting, to say the least.

Justin, for his part, was a perfect date for such an event, including me in conversations that really had nothing to do with me, and keeping a warm hand on my hip, often sending warm, reassuring smiles my way. He seemed content just to have me at his side. But I just felt awkward, as though I had no purpose there. The introductions quickly became a blur for me. Most of the people I met hadn’t left enough of an impression to put a face with a name even moments after moving on. There were a few exceptions.

After mingling for a solid hour, we were approached by the most austere looking woman I had ever seen in my life. She had to be seventy, with silver hair pulled back into a severe bun, and a navy gown that went from her neckline to her toes, the stark lines showing a sparse figure.

She stood directly in front of us before she spoke. Her tone was icy, her accent crisp and British.

“Justin. And how are you this evening?”

His eyes were cold as he studied the woman, but the moment he spoke, I detected a note of something I’d never heard from him before. It was almost as if he affected a slightly sneering tone, mimicking her accent just enough to goad her. I watched him in fascination. “Aunt Mildred. I am well. And how are you this fine evening?”

Her brow arched. I thought that to her it may have been a way of answering. She never spared me a glance. “Well enough. I have been hearing things about you, though. Disturbing things. Even more disturbing than your usual debaucheries. Please tell me that you haven’t invited a penniless flight attendant to live in one of your homes.”

I stiffened, but still couldn’t look away from Justin. How did everyone seem to know that we had moved in together before it had even happened? I had barely even agreed to the arrangement.

His eyes began to twinkle, but it wasn’t a good kind of twinkle. It was as though he had engaged this woman in hostile banter too many times to count, and I thought he just might look forward to offending her. “Aunt Mildred, meet my girlfriend, Selena. Selena, this is my charming Aunt Mildred.”

The awful woman just slanted me a malevolent stare, giving me a sneer.

“Now, now, Auntie,” Justin began in that goading tone, “you had better play nice with my dearest Selena. I have not invited her to live in one of my homes. I have welcomed her into all of them. And though I know it would break your heart if anything were to ever happen to me, you will be beholden to this angel to cover your living expenses when I pass away, as she will be my sole inheritor.”

I shot him a look. I didn’t care for him putting me in the middle of what was obviously a family squabble. I let my eyes tell him as much. He just smiled at me, stroking a finger down my cheek.

Mildred harrumphed. “I know you like to have your fun at my expense, you rotten boy, but this is going too far. Really, what a ridiculous thing to say. You’ll give the poor chit delusions of grandeur.”

He stopped smiling, giving her a very serious look. “It is no joke, Mildred. Meet my future. Her name is Selena. Come to terms with it. My advice would be to get on her good side.” With that, he led me away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

He was tense as he led me away. “Please don’t involve me in that family stuff, Justin. It makes me horribly uncomfortable.”

His mouth tightened. “Just handle it with the practicality that you’ve handled the press, Love. My family is f**ked up to the Nth degree, and you are now a part of it. Trust me, it’s best to face them all head on.”

“Facing them is different than goading that awful woman with lies about heirs or inheritors.”

He pursed his lips, studying me. I could tell that he was debating with himself what he should say to me. “It wasn’t a lie, Selena. You will be inheriting everything, should I pass. I’ve already begun the process.”

I swayed a little on my feet, feeling suddenly quite light-headed. “Please don’t, Justin. Don’t say that, and if you’re so crazy that it’s actually the truth, don’t do it. It is the last thing I want. Your family will despise me.”

“I’m sorry to say that they will despise you regardless. They are a spiteful nest of vipers, and if something should happen to both of us, all of the family wealth will be going to my mother’s favorite charities. I know you will tell me that I am too hasty, that it’s all too sudden, but this is how I do things, Selena. When I’m certain of something, I am decisive about it.” His eyes were steady on mine as he spoke, and we stared at each for a long moment while I tried to process what he was saying.

“You won’t sway me from this,” he continued, “I’m quite set on this course. It only needs to bother you as much as you let it. Go back to pretending that you don’t know, if you need to.”

I gave him a long, level stare. “You’re impossible,” I told him.

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