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starryschoolgirl · 6 months

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Elusive Engagement

a Baby Love snippet - Circa: March, 1968

Summary -> When the news leaks to the press about your upcoming wedding, Elvis holds his own interrogation which wreaks havoc within his entourage. But you're told not to worry your pretty little head about it, however you can't help when you have a hunch that the leak came from your family.

Warnings -> It's only a little angsty, crying, throwing bottles, angry Elvis, misunderstandings, possible manipulation, disapproving mother-in-law, Roy Orbison makes a very short cameo

WC -> 2.5k

Thank you to that lovely anon who suggested making this newspaper thing, you have sparked a snippet you inspiring poet. And many thanks to Jeanie and Willow for helping me with the newspaper, lovely those ones.

The shrill ring of the bedstand's telephone had been an abrupt and unpleasant wake up call to Elvis after a long night of playing piano keys and renting out a bowling alley. To be quite fair it wasn't that this caller was being rude, it was after all digging into the day, 1 or 2PM by Elvis' guess.

He drawled out a deeper than usual, "Mm hello?", rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he did so. The hand extended from his eyes to drag down the skin on his face tiredly, the pull of the skin would only serve to tug an eyelid open.

A joyous voice had filled Elvis' ear, an old friend's voice,

"Now I knew you had a wedding coming but why didn't you tell me I was invited to your wedding? And why didn't you tell me I was gonna sang too apparently?"

Elvis' eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head in a tired confusion, his lips smacked before he mumbled, "Roy? Man what are you talkin' about..."

He shifted in the bed slightly and turned to your side, warmth was emanating off you, his personal little heater. Elvis pulled the cord of the telephone from the bedside table so that he wouldn't knock over anything on the table as he scooted closer to your sleeping figure.

Roy's laugh filled the line, it was loud and had a bit of a pitch to it in the way Roy's singing voice could have. Elvis pulled the telephone away from his ear as he settled next to you, placing a hand on your stomach for contact as he leaned his back against the bed's headboard.

As he ran his hand down your stomach to your thighs, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the laced hem of your short nightie as he complained into the phone,

"It's too early in the mornin' for ya jokes boy, what's goin' on Orbison?"

The laughing on the other line had subsided as he realized Elvis really didn't know what was going on.

"Elvis, it's all over the papers here, ain't it on the papers in California? Your wedding, it’s been leaked..."

-----

As you awoke from your much needed slumber you reached for your favorite pillow on the bed, Elvis. Only, it seems Elvis wasn't in bed? Maybe if you reached further you’d feel him, he tended to roll around in his sleep.

After the first swipe around the bed your hand turned frantic as it searched for him, you quickly sat up just to see he was gone. You pulled a stray hair out of the corner of your mouth and tried to smooth your mussed up hair back to at least look presentable as you scooted to his side of the bed, the warmth of his body long gone and now just a cold bunch of sheets and blankets.

The pads of your bare feet against the wood floor filled the room as you walked to grab your robe, it was a very chilly March morning, then again every morning was as Elvis had an obsession with keeping the house cold.

You felt very carefree as you wandered through the upstairs hall of the Hollywood home you and Elvis had been residing in, you didn't hear the loud guffaws and crude jokes of Elvis' entourage, dubbed as the Memphis Mafia, so you hoped that meant you could enjoy a sweet domestic morning with Elvis.

Just the thought excited you as you let your robe flutter open while you pranced down the stairs girlishly looking for your fiancé. Just as you rounded the bottom of the stairs and steered yourself into the sunken living room you had seen Elvis in his usual dressy attire, his back was turned to you as he was facing another part of the room that you couldn't quite see yet.

Just as you were about to call his name, your feet finally landing onto the plush white carpet of the sunken room, Elvis’ voice boomed through the room as he yelled, “Speak Goddammit!!” His yell closely followed by a bottle that had flown across the room and shattered against the wall, your guess of it being a bottle had been confirmed as fizzy brown liquid began to drizzle down the wall that had intercepted the bottle. The sound that had filled the air as it shattered had made you jump and squeal from the shock.

Elvis' broad shoulders had turned at the noise of your distress and your eyes shot around the room in a bit of panic, Elvis' friends were here, but instead of being their usual joyous, loud selves they were quietly standing straight with blank faces, like soldiers in trouble with their drill sergeant.

They were in trouble with Elvis, and if that couldn't be told from the way they all stood with sunken expressions, then the way a few of them remained in a flinched stance from the bottle being hurled just inches from their heads was the giveaway.

You made eye contact with Jerry for a split second before he looked away, when you tried to make eye contact with the others they only looked away as well, then you turned to a fast-approaching Elvis.

He hadn’t yet shaved and his hair looked to still be tussled from sleep. Your wide eyes softened slightly at his facial expression, he looked upset, you could tell by the way his jaw clenched and his nose was just slightly scrunched in a way that only someone who was often close to his resting face could tell.

Your voice was soft and questioning as you reached a shaky hand up to smooth back his hair, “Elvis..?”

You then realized why the others wouldn’t look at you, especially with Elvis in this mood.

Before you could say anything else you watched as his hands found the sides of your robe, pulling the sides together to hide your figure. You’d felt an embarrassed heat spread up your neck as you realized Elvis’ friends had just seen you in your short nightie, and with the cold air of the room, they no doubt saw the two little hardened details of your chest that Elvis liked to admire most.

You let out a breath as he tied the string of your robe especially tight.

“Elvis, what’s the matter?”

Elvis sighed, his hardened expression softening just for your eyes as his back was now turned to the other guys, he shook his head for a moment while staring down at the floor. Now you felt worried, you brought a hesitant hand up to cup his cheek as you murmured softly,

“Can I help in any way?”

He cracked a little smile at the question and placed his hand over yours as he turned his cheek to kiss it. With his unshaved cheek rubbing against your hand you felt the slightest tickle, and any hesitance or fear you might’ve housed for a moment was out the window as you couldn’t help your giggle at the sensation.

The sweet noise only served as a reminder to Elvis that he had a duty as a man to handle it on his own, and not have you worry your pretty little head about anything.

Elvis’ hands rested at your waist and he leaned down to kiss your cheek and murmured against the skin close to your ear, “No little one, why don’tchu you head right on upstairs, be up there in a minute with ya alright? Just talkin’ with the boys”

He pulled back for you to see his little encouraging smile, to which you returned tenfold with your own sweet grin.

As you headed back down the hall that led to the stairs the house was silent and as you had left sight of the room you could hear Elvis saying something quietly but couldn’t quite make it out. You wanted to but at the same time you didn’t see the point, Elvis was handling his business, therefore it was none of yours. As you reached the staircase you noticed paper placed on the first stair.

Of course your eyes glazed over it as you were taking a step up the stairs and just as you had passed it, the headline finally hit you smack dab in the face.

“ELVIS PRESLEY TO BE MARRIED IN JUNE”

Your eyes widened, and you quickly bent down to grab it, taking slow steps up the stairs as you read the contents.

A close source had revealed the upcoming wedding? Who could that be? Is that why Elvis was so angry downstairs? No one was supposed to know until after.

As you had reached the top of the stairs you had to lean against the wall and think, a million thoughts going through your brain as to why one of the people close to Elvis would reveal it. They’d risk losing more than they’d gain. Elvis didn’t like people who couldn’t keep their trap shut about his personal business.

There were even a few times where Elvis had stepped up to his manager, Mr. Parker, because the man wanted to release some information to the press about you and Elvis to keep his name before the public due to his movie career going down the toilet.

That argument didn’t end well as Elvis had almost gotten the two of them sued by refusing to participate in a project unless Mr. Parker promised not to go to the press for publicity, as Elvis didn’t want your name being dragged in the mud. Those journalists often found a way to make anyone, even someone Elvis deemed as saintly and perfect as you, seem like last month’s garbage.

But a thought that seemed to reoccur in your brain at the moment was the worry that the leak came from your side. After all, your family didn’t approve of this union. Especially your mother.

No, she wouldn’t do that, would she?

Your body remained stiff even though you felt as if you were buzzing all over, this vibration in your stomach, mixing and stirring your stomach acids all around.

This could all be your fault. Those guys could all be paying for your own mother’s actions. It was enough to make you feel a little sick.

You kept a hand on the wall as you wandered down the hall to your and Elvis' shared bedroom, your steps grew faster as you heard a bang and Elvis yelling at one of the guys, as if your growing guilt would tackle you to the floor if you slowed down.

Once you made it to the room you closed the door behind you, and with the newspaper still in hand you sat on Elvis’ side of the bed, turning the rotary dial to your mother’s number.

After a few rings and a shaky breath you heard a familiar voice say “Hello”, it was Rienne, one of the maids.

You tried to remain composed, heeding your mother’s lesson that if you weren’t composed around the help, they wouldn’t respect you.

“R-Rienne, is mother home?”

Your palm felt sweaty as you nervously clenched your free hand into a fist, biting your lip to keep it from enacting its nervous quiver.

“Cosette, is that you? Oh how are you Dearie?”

“Rienne, please is my mother home?”

There was a short pause before Rienne answered with a yes, you spoke as softly as you could without stuttering, asking her to call for your mother. And when your mother finally did come to the phone she answered with a soft, quiet, “Cosette?”

Your lower lip wobbled as you spoke in a soft, quiet voice that almost completely mirrored your mother had it not been for the little crack at the end,

“It wasn’t you was it?”

As you were greeted with silence you brought your other hand up to clench the telephone nervously. Then your mother spoke once more,

“Setty, what ever do you mean?”

You breathed out wetly, allowing for vulnerability as you clenched the telephone as if you would your mother’s hand had she been here, “Th-The wedding, it’s in the papers Mommy”

More silence followed before your mother’s sympathetic voice, “Oh my love, I-”, she paused trying to find the right words, “Well, I-”

With her sudden loss of vocabulary your worry spiked and you questioned quickly, voice not raising in volume, only in distress, “It wasn’t you was it? Tell me it wasn’t please-”

“I told you not to get involved with that man, with men like him these things are bound to happen.”

You felt your eyes begin to burn slightly. You had almost worked yourself into tears from that last sentence. “You mean you didn’t leak-”

“Of course not my dear, why would Mommy do that to you?”

You wished you could see her, not only for the comfort she could offer, but also for the giveaway she could offer as well. You shared many traits with her, one of which being a giveaway for when you lie, and over the phone you really couldn’t tell. You wanted to believe her, you really did.

Suddenly her voice was much colder, as she instigated,

“Is that what that man has you thinking? Is he making you think that your mother and father are these big bad wolves? Figures, a man like him doesn’t have much to offer so he has to make it look like everyone else has even less to make someone stay. You know I warned you-”

The change of tone was abrupt, and the burning of your eyes violently increased from each syllable she spoke. Your eyes would be pools in no time.

“N-No Mommy, no he didn’t say anything, he-”

Your voice had caught in your throat. God you couldn’t do anything right, and now your mother is misunderstanding what a good man Elvis is. When you could finally speak, your nervous panic had left your voice so pathetically quiet that it came out like a choked whisper,

“He’s- No, I, it’s not that, I promise, I,”

Your mother cut in again with a scoff through the line, “It’s an isolation tactic my darling, he’s turning you against us. Goodness, why can’t you see that? I know I didn’t raise a stupid girl”

And just as it always had since you were a little girl, your voice gave out completely as you tried to explain yourself to your mother. The same way your mother’s voice would give out anytime she tried to explain something to your father.

And as no noise would leave your throat, you would only be able to silently listen to your mother’s quiet voice that somehow even in a crowded room seemed louder and more present than any other person’s voice.

Despite its quiet softness, it could somehow often surpass Elvis’ loud harsh one.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you sat on the bed and listened to her go on about what Elvis was doing to you, what it would be like when you finally married him. She topped it all off with how much someone can change when he goes from man to husband. And that you’ll regret it all in the end.

You bit your lower lip harshly to stop it’s quivering, and as her voice rang through your skull you didn’t even recognize the click of the door, or the sound of Elvis’ shoes striding closer and closer on the wood floor.

It was only when you felt a pull on the telephone did you look up to find someone else, Elvis. He looked at you with worry before mumbling into the line as if your mother were an afterthought,

“Goodbye Mrs. Chevalier”

That was so fun to write! I had a whole other part written but I figured if it's a snippet, it's best I keep it short eh? Goodness I just love writing for this universe, I'm having so much fun messing around with these two!

Thanks plenty for reading!! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!

Taglist Lovelies: @fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat, @suraemoon, @geanecore, @pinkpuffycloud, @s0phlabrunette, @that-hotdog

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rainbowmegamix · 11 months

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Rainbow Megamix :: Information by Concert Date and Location

Details will continue to be updated as we get more information and can be found below the cut.

🌈 13 June - BMO Pavilion (Milwaukee, WI) 2 Volunteers There will also be a rainbow lights project, information can be found here or on Twitter

🌈 15 June - Huntington Bank Pavilion (Chicago, IL) 4 Volunteers There will also be a rainbow lights project, more information will be coming shortly

🌈 16 June - The Armory (Minneapolis, MN) 4 Volunteers

🌈 17 June - Harrah's Stir Cove (Council Bluffs, IA) 5 Volunteers

🌈 19 June - Denny's Sanford Premier Center (Sioux Falls, SD) 2 Volunteers

🌈 21 June - Red Rocks Amphitheater (Morrison, CO) 4 Volunteers

🌈 24 June - WAMU Theater (Seattle, WA) 3 Volunteers There will also be a rainbow lights project, more information can be found on Instagram

🌈 26 June - Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Center (Vancouver, BC) @fitfwtvancouver is organizing a rainbow lights project as well, more info can be found on their blog and in this post

🌈 27 June - McMenamins Edgefield Concerts (Troutdale, OR) 1 Volunteer

🌈 29 June - The Greek Theater (Berkeley, CA) 3 Volunteers There will also be a rainbow lights project, more information can be found on Instagram here and here

🌈 30 June - The Hollywood Bowl (Los Angeles, CA) 2 Volunteers

🌈 1 July - The Chelsea at the Cosmopolitan (Las Vegas, NV) 0 Volunteers

🌈 3 July - Arizona Financial Theater (Phoenix, AZ) 1 Volunteer

🌈 6 July - The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory (Irving, TX) 2 Volunteers

🌈 7 July - Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park (Austin, TX) 4 Volunteers

🌈 8 July - The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion (Woodlands, TX) 4 Volunteers

🌈 11 July - St. Augustine Amphitheater (St. Augustine, FL) 1 Volunteer

🌈 13 July - Hard Rock Live at Seminole Hard Rock Hollywood (Hollywood, FL) 0 Volunteers

🌈 14 July - Yuengling Center (Tampa, FL) 1 Volunteer

🌈 15 July - Cadence Bank Amphitheater at Chastain Park (Atlanta, GA) 1 Volunteer There will also be a Rainbow Lights project for the megamix in Atlanta! You can find more information on Twitter.

🌈 18 July - Ascend Amphitheater (Nashville, TN) 1 Volunteer

🌈 19 July - Skyla Credit Union Amphitheater (Charlotte, NC) 2 Volunteers

🌈 21 July - Red Hat Amphitheater (Raleigh, NC) 1 Volunteer

🌈 22 July - Merriweather Post Pavilion (Columbia, MD) 3 Volunteers

🌈 24 July - MGM Music Hall at Fenway (Boston, MA) 1 Volunteer

🌈 25 July - MGM Music Hall at Fenway (Boston, MA) 1 Volunteer

🌈 27 July - TD Pavilion at the Mann (Philadelphia, PA) 1 Volunteer

🌈 28 July - Stone Pony Summer Stage (Asbury Park, NJ) 1 Volunteer

🌈 29 July - Forest Hills Stadium (New York, NY) 1 Volunteer

#rainbow megamix #volunteers by show #fitfwt #rainbow direction #rainbowmegamix #louis tomlinson

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louisupdates · 11 months

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FITFWT23: TOUR RECAP MASTERPOST

FASHION RECAP: NORTH AMERICA, EUROPE (Top Ten)

LITHOGRAPHS and PORTRAITS

OUTRO SONGS

IQ 123: Tour promo and production interviews

TOUR TECHNICAL SPECS [TPI MAGAZINE]

GROUP PHOTOS NA

Louis’ care for his fans

NORTH AMERICA

26 May - Mohegan Sun Arena, UNCASVILLE, CT

27 May - Bank of New Hampshire Pavilion, GILFORD, NH

29 May - Place Bell, LAVAL QC

30 May - Budweiser Stage, TORONTO ON

1 Jun - Blossom Music Center, CUYAHOGA FALLS, OH

2 Jun - Michigan Lottery Amphitheater, STERLING HEIGHTS, MI

FITFWT23: WEEK 1

3 Jun - The Icon Festival Stage, CINCINNATI, OH

6 Jun - Kemba Live! Outdoor, COLUMBUS, OH

7 Jun - TCU Amphitheater at White River State Park, INDIANAPOLIS, IN

9 Jun - Saint Louis Music Park, ST. LOUIS, MO

PORTRAITS, 1st set [10.6.2023]

IG stories and selfies [10.6.2023]

10 Jun - Starlight Theatre, KANSAS CITY, MO

13 Jun - BMO Pavilion, MILWAUKEE, WI

15 Jun - Huntington Bank Pavilion, CHICAGO, IL

16 Jun - The Armory, MINNEAPOLIS, MN

17 Jun - Harrah’s Stir Cove, COUNCIL BLUFFS, IA

19 Jun - Denny Sanford Premiere Center, SIOUX FALLS, SD

21 Jun - Red Rocks Amphitheatre, MORRISON, CO: CANCELLED 😪

24 Jun - Wamu Theater, SEATTLE, WA

26 Jun - Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Center, VANCOUVER BC

27 Jun - McMenamins Edgefield Concerts, TROUTDALE, OR

29 Jun - The Greek Theatre, BERKELEY, CA

PORTRAITS, 2nd set [29.6.2023]

PORTRAITS posted 30.6 [x]

30 Jun - Louis Instagram recap

30 Jun - The Hollywood Bowl, LOS ANGELES, CA

1 Jul - The Chelsea at the Cosmopolitan, LAS VEGAS, NV

3 Jul - Arizona Financial Theatre, PHOENIX, AZ

6 Jul - The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory, IRVING, TX

7 Jul - Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park, AUSTIN, TX

8 Jul - The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion, THE WOODLANDS, TX

PORTRAITS, 3rd set [9.7.2023]

9 Jul: Louis Instagram recap

10 Jul RTL Radio Interviews

11 Jul - St. Augustine Amphitheatre, ST. AUGUSTINE, FL

13 Jul - Hard Rock Live at Seminole Hard Rock Hollywood, HOLLYWOOD, FL

14 Jul - Yuengling Center, TAMPA, FL

15 Jul - Cadence Bank Amphitheatre at Chastain Park, ATLANTA, GA

18 Jul - Ascend Amphitheater, NASHVILLE, TN

19 Jul - Charlotte Metro Credit Union Amphitheatre, CHARLOTTE, NC

21 Jul - Red Hat Amphitheater, RALEIGH, NC

22 Jul - Merriweather Post Pavilion, COLUMBIA, MD

PORTRAITS, 4th set [23.7.2023]

24 Jul - MGM Music Hall at Fenway, BOSTON1, MA

25 Jul - MGM Music Hall at Fenway, BOSTON2, MA

27 Jul - TD Pavilion at the Mann, PHILADELPHIA, PA

28 Jul - Stone Pony Summer Stage, ASBURY PARK, NJ

29 Jul - Forrest Hills Stadium, NEW YORK, NY

PORTRAITS, 5th set [31.7.2023]

North America FAN EDIT

AUGUST 2023 GAP 1 recap

AWAY FROM HOME FESTIVAL

19 Aug - Parco Bussoladomani, LIDO DI CAMAIORE, Italy

AUGUST 2023 GAP 2 recap (including the 28 launch)

EUROPE

29 Aug - Barclays Arena, HAMBURG

31 Aug - Royal Arena, COPENHAGEN

1 Sep - Spektrum, OSLO [Bigger Than Me anniversary content]

PORTRAITS, 6th set [2.9.2023]

2 Sep - Hovet, STOCKHOLM

4 Sep - Ice Hall, HELSINKI

DORK MAGAZINE PHOTOS 2022 w/ links

5 Sep - Saku Arena, TALLINN

7 Sep - Arena Riga, RIGA

PORTRAITS, 7th set [8.9.2023]

8 Sep - Zalgiris Arena, KAUNAS

10 Sep - Tauron Arena, KRAKOW

11 Sep - Atlas Arena, ŁÓDŹ

13 Sep - Wiener Stadhalle D, VIENNA

14 Sep - Stozice Arena, LJUBLJANA

15 Sep - Budapest Arena, BUDAPEST

PORTRAITS, 8th set [16.9.2023]

17 Sep - Arenele Romane, BUCHAREST

18 Sep - Arena Armeets, SOFIA

20 Sep - Plateia Nerou, ATHENS w/ links to AOTV announcements

SEPTEMBER 2023 GAP recap

1 Oct - Bilbao Arena Miribilla, BILBAO (VIZCAYA)

3 Oct - Altice Arena, LISBON

5 Oct - Wizink Center, MADRID

6 Oct - Palau Sant Jordi, BARCELONA

PORTRAITS, 9th set [7.10]

8 Oct - Pala Alpitur, TURIN

9 Oct - Unipol Arena, BOLOGNA

11 Oct - Rockhal, ESCH-SUR-ALZETTE

12 Oct - Sportspaleis, ANTWERP

14 Oct - Accor Arena, PARIS

15 Oct - Ziggo Dome, AMSTERDAM

17 Oct - Lanxess Arena, COLOGNE

19 Oct - O2 Arena, PRAGUE

20 Oct - Mercedes Benz Arena, BERLIN

PORTRAITS, 10th set [21.10]

22 Oct - Olympiahalle, MUNICH

23 Oct - Hallenstadion, ZURICH

FITFWT23: LATAM promo begins [28.10]

Twitter spree: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 Hall Of Fame, [31.10]

IGTV [1.11]: transcript, gifs [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

8 Nov - 3Arena, DUBLIN

10 Nov - Utilita Arena, SHEFFIELD

11 Nov - AO Arena, MANCHESTER

12 Nov - Ovo Hydro, GLASGOW

14 Nov - Brighton Center, BRIGHTON

15 Nov - International Arena, CARDIFF

17 Nov - The O2, LONDON

18 Nov - Resorts World Arena, BIRMINGHAM

FITFWT23 has come to an end!

ROLLING STONE UK 2023 AWARDS

23 Nov - Camden Roundhouse, LONDON

#fitfwt23 #fitfwt23: mp #fitfwt23: recap #louis tomlinson

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sapphyreopal5 · 12 days

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Hello love. Anything new on Jensen?

Hello Anon thank you for the ask. I know that Jensen's been awful quiet about the stuff he's said to be working on with the "if things go as planned, it's gonna be a busy year" comments he's made in recent months. I know I speculated on another post when someone here on Tumblr posted about a photo where Jensen was spotted with Justin Hartley, his wife Sofia and a man named Jason Checcini that he may be on his way to go film The Boys, which reportedly started filming April 8 according to this site (although we all know that filming dates can be pushed back). This post was made April 7, 2024.

However, after seeing another post that posted today April 18, 2024, I do believe that he may not only possibly be filming The Boys season 5 but he may have also landed a role on Justin Hartley's show Tracker. Tracker reportedly films some in the Vancouver area, according to IMBD.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lexi Jensen-DesJardins (@lexi.jendes)

instagram

Being who I am, I decided to look up the tour dates for the artist she mentioned seeing in her post where she says she met him in Vancouver. According to Ticketmaster.com, the tour dates for Noah Kahan are as follows:

What cities will Noah Kahan play on his upcoming tour? The We'll All Be Here Forever Tour will take Noah Kahan across North America in the following cities: 03/26 – Vancouver, BC @ Rogers Arena 03/28 – Calgary, AB @ Scotiabank Saddledome 03/29 – Edmonton, AB @ Rogers Place 03/30 – Saskatoon, SK @ SaskTel Centre 04/02 – Winnipeg, MB @ Canada Life Centre 04/06 – Toronto, ON @ Scotiabank Arena 04/07 – London, ON @ Budweiser Gardens 04/09 – Ottawa, ON @ Canadian Tire Centre 04/10 – Quebec, QC @ Centre Videotron 04/13 – Montreal, QC @ Centre Bell 04/14 – Toronto, ON @ Scotiabank Arena 04/16 – Toronto, ON @ Scotiabank Arena 05/20 – Asheville, NC @ Harrah’s Cherokee Center 05/22 – Asheville, NC @ Harrah’s Cherokee Center 05/24 – Nashville, TN @ Bridgestone Arena 05/25 – Nashville, TN @ Bridgestone Arena 05/28 – Cuyahoga Falls, OH @ Blossom Music Center 05/29 – Burgettstown, PA @ The Pavilion at Star Lake 06/04 – St. Louis, MO @ Hollywood Casino Amphitheater – St. Louis, MO 06/05 – Bonner Springs, KS @ Azura Amphitheater 06/07 – Saint Paul, MN @ Xcel Energy Center 06/08 – Saint Paul, MN @ Xcel Energy Center 06/11 – Dallas, TX @ Dos Equis Pavilion 06/13 – Woodlands, TX @ The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion presented by Huntsman 06/14 – Austin, TX @ Moody Center 06/18 – Chula Vista, CA @ North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre 06/21 – Hollywood, CA @ Hollywood Bowl 06/29 – George, WA @ Gorge Amphitheatre 07/01 – Ridgefield, WA @ RV Inn Style Resorts Amphitheater 07/03 – Wheatland, CA @ Toyota Amphitheatre 07/05 – Berkeley, CA @ Greek Theatre - UC Berkeley 07/06 – Berkeley, CA @ Greek Theatre – UC Berkeley 07/09 – West Valley City, UT @ USANA Amphitheatre 07/13 – East Troy, WI @ Alpine Valley Music Theatre 07/15 – New York, NY @ Madison Square Garden 07/16 – New York, NY @ Madison Square Garden 07/18 – Boston, MA @ Fenway Park 07/19 – Boston, MA @ Fenway Park

As you can see, the Vancouver concert took place on Tuesday March 26, 2024. The photo post with Justin Hartley, his wife and Jason was posted on Sunday April 7, 2024. Remember, this is just me speculating at this point along with everyone else but I do think it's possible Jensen has gotten a couple roles or is at the very least spending some time in Canada "networking". That's really all I have for you at the moment Anon but I hope this is at least somewhat useful or some interest to you otherwise.

#jensen speculations #tracker #the boys

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commonguttersnipe · 2 months

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And Now For...

Bevis The Lumberjack Lore

The Ant: An Introduction

-Played by Michael Palin

-Barber (extremely bad at her job)

-Smokes

-Has a strange bloodlust

-Can fashion music halls from her mind

-Wishes she was born a girl

-Even in her fantasies, everyone dislikes her

-Definitely ends up dating her customer

And Now For Something Completely Different

-Played by Michael Palin

-Pet shop owner (extremely bad at his job)

-Also smokes

-Is confused for a girl

-REALLY wants you to believe your parrot isn’t dead

-Abandons customer to frolic in the woods

-Casually strips into uniform

-Best girl looks at him like he’s made of stardust

-Wants to be a transvestite like his dad

Fliegender Zirkus

-Played by Michael Palin

-German

-Called Franz Schulz (Bevis’ cousin? Completely different person? Into the Bevisverse?!)

-Claims he is Shakespeare and co-wrote his sonnets with his wife (later changes his story and says he wrote only Act 1 of Hamlet)

-Then says he’s Catherine the Great

-Can apparently kill bats with an egg whisk

-When told to leave, claims he didn’t want to be on the show anyway (petty icon)

-Friends with the Austrian Border policemen?!

-Prefers cookies to buttered scones

-Wants to be a girl like Uncle Walter

Live at the Hollywood Bowl

-Played by Eric Idle

-Family man who murders bishops

-Eats dead unjugged rabbitfish and strawberry tart with not so much rat in it

-Gets tattled on by God

-Blames his crimes on society

-Gets his entire family arrested

-Actually seems happy

One Down, Five To Go

-Played by Michael Palin

-Last name revealed to be Anchovy

-Goes to a vocational guidance councillor for a new start

-Chartered accountant but wants to be a lion tamer

-Cute old man

-Dreams of an exciting job (like being a systems analyst)

-His auntie lives in Canada and sends postcards to him (maybe Betty Palin?)

-Also has a lumberjack’s uniform under his suit.

-Actually pays attention to his best girl (e.g scrunching their shoulders in unison, him trying to non-verbally show how happy he is in drag)

If I missed anything, please comment!!

#monty python #monty python’s flying circus #michael palin #eric idle #70s

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frodothefair · 3 months

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Expats. [Ch 1/?]

An Elijah Wood real person fanfiction.

Pairing: Elijah Wood x OC (Marina) Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with Elijah Wood, no offense or defamation is meant, and Marina is not real. Tags: @konjugaltdien @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @bumblingbriars @invisiblewashboard Summary: Elijah Wood gets romantically involved with a fan, and to escape some unexpected Hollywood drama, the two of them move to Ukraine, the country where she was born, and where she lived as a child. A/n: I went a little nuts. That is all. This could turn into a longfic... or into a post I delete the next morning. A scorpion bowl of the mind may have been involved.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every fan dreams of being with their idol, and it is a truth equally well-acknowledged that it hardly ever happens.

And yet, for nearly ten years, Marina Kotchoubey (1) was living that reality.

As far as biographies went, Marina’s was perfectly ordinary, except for the fact that at nine years old she had moved to LA from Ukraine. She was also fairly unremarkable, as far as Ukranian girls went – for she had dark-blonde hair and vaguely pretty features, she had grown tall and lean in middle-school, she had done ballet, and she excelled at school – for nothing short of A’s was accepted by her mother, herself a tall and lean academe, who had also done ballet.

In fact, the only feature that distinguished Marina from her mother was that Marina, in spite of every maternal reproach, could not help but slouch.

But that aside, she was quiet, and she loved music and movies.

She had seen Lord of the Rings when she was a junior in high school, on a Tuesday night when the movie tickets were cheap, and she had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love with a man who had the face of an angel and bitten-down, stubby fingernails.

When she was a freshman at UCLA, she had begged, borrowed and stolen to get a ticket to the Lord of the Rings Oscars Party, an event geared toward fans. It was the year that that The Return of the King had swept the awards, and Marina, quite inebriated, found herself being admitted by the imperious bouncer, and entering the large, dimly lit venue, wearing an outfit cobbled from bits and pieces from her friends’ closets, and somehow – she had no idea how – she ended up speaking to the man whose likeness had decorated her notebooks for years, and was the screensaver on her computer.

And when Marina was inebriated, she had a habit of fancying herself a poet, and saying terrifyingly stupid, regrettable things.

At first, she lost no time in confessing that she had watched The Ice Storm no less than thirty times to soften the horrors of the college application process. Then, she gave a treatise on why she thought Elijah’s character in that film had autism. (2)

And then, at some point, they spoke of the Gypsy punk-rock band Gogol Bordello, and how Elijah was fascinated by their music even though he could not understand a word, and his plans to film Everything is Illuminated in Ukraine. Marina (of course) had shared that she was Ukrainian, and Elijah commented politely on her having no accent – as everyone did – and then she told him that if he happened to be Kyiv, he should go to her favorite restaurant – the one she always frequented with her father whenever she was back – and that the fish in that restaurant tasted like it had leapt right out of the river, high on life because it survived cancer.

She did not remember much after that, but she could not shake how awkward she felt. Why on earth did I just tell Elijah Wood to eat cancerous fish? And, Why must I be so cloying and so zealous? He’ll think I’m one of those deranged stalkers! And she remembered thinking that she had taken up far too much of his time – for it was his night, after all. But the complimentary drinks had been deceptively sweet, and blush-colored, and little plastic scorpions and crabs lay across the bottoms of the glasses… And she was drunk, far too drunk to remember how to end a conversation.

And so it was, in a few minutes’ time, that Billy Boyd appeared at Elijah’s elbow, his smile going not to Marina, but through her, and with remarkable tact, he had intoned that there was someone he thought her idol should meet. And she knew, right then and there, that she had overcrowded her welcome, in a sense, and she gave a small, frozen half-smile as he said his good evenings and was gone. And then she felt awful, and rued every word after “Hello,” and every drink after the first. So she stood in line and got herself another. And in a corner, feeling nonsensical and overdressed, she ruminated.

She had ruined his night so much that he had needed a friend to spirit him away. And that – that made her feel like Gollum. In the corner, in her borrowed dress and borrowed heels, she began to weep. But the weeping turned into a senseless, foolish laughter – until Billy Boyd, who had all but air-lifted Elijah away from her, tapped her on the shoulder from behind.

She cursed the screen-printed cocktail napkin for refusing to absorb her tears, but courtesy demanded that she turn around, so she did. And Billy, whose face and shoulders looked older than they had done when he was Pippin, said very little – though his eyes were kind. He only handed her a small white napkin, folded diagonally, like a triangle, and said, puzzlingly, “Elijah wanted me to give this to you.”

Bumbling thanks was all she could give in reply, and Billy Boyd bid her good evening, turned on his heel, and melted into the crowded night.

Feeling poorly and baffled, she stood like a statue for a long time before opening the napkin. Inside it were ten digits and a couple of dashes. A phone number.

She did not believe it was real. The scorpion bowl drinks were full of alcohol and fiction.

For a week, she agonized over whether to open the napkin again. The necklace, heels, dress and perfume all returned to their rightful owners, the only things she had left of the Awards party were her creased ticket of admission (General Admission: Admit One) and the triangular napkin. They sat like orphans on the painted-over radiator.

She was certain that if she opened it again, she would call. And she was certain that if she called, she would find that it was not his number, but some anonymous digits, or the rejection hotline, or the police.

But in the end, she called. Of course she did. And it did turn out to be his number, and they met in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Venice Beach that very same weekend, drank Last Words served by an unscrupulous bartender who checked neither of their IDs, and talked for hours. He then took her home to her college apartment in his modest BMW 3-series – modest for a movie star, anyway, and there were crumbs all over the interior – and they continued to meet, frequenting live concerts, and arthouse movie matinees with five other people in the audience, and karaoke bars in Japan and Korea-town.

Elijah was surprisingly easy to be with – as unassuming, kind, and humble as his public image suggested, and far quirkier and more cheerfully irreverent than any camera could capture. Before long, they had all but invented their own language – a bubbly vernacular of cockeyed misquotations, and twisted references that only they understood (3). By her 23rd birthday, he had proposed, and they married quietly, wearing their rings on their right hands in the Ukrainian way so that nobody would guess. (4)

In the years that followed, Elijah made film after film, became a DJ, and started a record label and a production company, while Marina had gone to law school and joined a firm, her angular student awkwardness blossoming into a chic, sublime femininity. They lived in Venice Beach, and tried to keep a quiet existence – and for the most part, they succeeded.

But in the end, it was as true a statement on Earth as it was in Middle-earth: the hearts of men, and women, were easily corrupted.

Kotchoubey is a noble family name that originated in Ukraine. After the revolution of 1917, however, few of its members remained in the Soviet Union. The fictional Marina’s ancestors were among the ones who stayed behind and did not flee, as she herself is a Ukrainian immigrant who came to the US in the early 90’s.

Based on the fact that yours truly has watched The Oxford Murders repeatedly for the last month. I watch it at least three times a week, on weekdays, as I eat and relax.

Mr. Nisile and I have such a language. So thick is it that military code-breakers would pull out their hair.

In parts of Eastern Europe, wedding rings are worn on the right hand, while in Western Europe and the US, they are worn on the left. In real life, Elijah is also often seen wearing a plain silver band on his right hand, though I doubt he was ever secretly married to a Ukrainian beauty.

Bonus: What do you think Elijah calls Marina in private? Answer: Mari. ;)

#elijah wood #real person fanfiction #fanfiction #lotr #lord of the rings #writing #fanfic #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction

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cellarfulofnose · 6 months

Text

tonight i'll be stayin' here with you

@smallsnzplz prompt #4. I once had a girl (or, should I say, she once had me)...

1961

The Bitter End wasn't crowded. Alice came there to get away from the throngs that steamed up the cafés. There was music sometimes. Not all the time. If anyone got up to play, the whole place settled into curious silence for a while, then went back to their books. There weren't any world-shaking acts that got up to play there. As far as she'd ever seen.

These days Alice thought she was about tired of stars. If someone got up to play their guitar and sing in front of everybody, as far as Alice was concerned, it better be to buy a bed for the night. Or a mouthful of soup. That was the only reason she wrote. People came to Greenwich thinking it was Hollywood.

It was Bohemia. They didn't last long.

The boy who'd been sitting near her creaked to his feet and slung a guitar strap over his shoulder. It'd been a while since anybody had been on stage—and it wasn't even a stage, really. Just a milk stool and a microphone. But Alice couldn't stir herself to feel annoyed, not even as he yoked a harmonica brace over his neck. A little music wouldn't go amiss right now. She didn't peer too close, but he looked like a busker. He wouldn't take up too much of her time.

He introduced himself to the room with a voice like a tin can, and she had to look.

Under his too-big newsboy cap, Alice's eyes flew to the first thing she always noticed on a man. His nose. It was like none she'd ever seen. At once rounded and sharp, long and slim with a lovely down-curve. It looked almost too smart on his soft cherub face, and he looked like he knew it. There was a tightness to his light eyes. Bleared and weighed down by that jewel of a nose. And he sang right through it. Rang like hollow wood.

She couldn't look away.

The café glanced at him when he got up, then returned to their books. When he began to sing, some heads turned back in surprise. But now he was a couple songs deep and they were really listening. Alice let her coffee go cold.

He stayed a little longer than he maybe should've. Though he wasn't a regular, Alice thought the boy could tell he had this place's attention in a way they didn't usually give it. Certainly, he had hers. But his set ended, as all sets do, and he ambled back to his seat. Nearer hers than she remembered. His hat, full of coins, jangled like a tambourine as he set it on the table. A heavy sound. He'd done well. A hot shower was in his future tonight.

His hand slipped inside his coat and fumbled for something. Alice didn't allow herself to imagine—when he pulled out a red bandana and cupped it to his nose, a bright leap of shock caught her. He blew his nose earnestly, easing his head side to side for good measure. She was close enough that she heard a small hum in his voice, a sigh of effort, like that soft sound took some serious doing. She didn't even try not to stare.

Too careless. The boy locked onto her gaze as he emerged and blinked self-consciously. He sniffed—his nose twitched. Alice was transfixed. As the red bandana disappeared, the tip of his nose remained pink. His eyes, too, even. He looked half-dead of the flu, poor boy.

Alice was in love with him. She bought him a hot bowl of soup.

---

1966

The boy slipped her grasp—she didn't mind. Others came and went.

Seasons changed. Soon enough, the name Bob Dylan, household around these neighborhoods, met the face from her memory and became one.

And what a face it was. He'd grown into his nose by now, his brow and cheeks and chin so arrowhead-sharp you'd cut your hand to slap him.

Alice wanted to cut her hand. She paid for a show or two, but when they became too expensive, she figured out how to let herself in. She talked her way out of a ticket for trespassing. The crew came to know her by face, if not by name, and that suited her fine. She talked her way in with the girls that seemed at home in his dressing room. What's he like? Then she saw for herself.

They'd always usher her out just as the show ended. One day they must have figured her half-hearted protests weren't worth the trouble. There she stayed—and there he was.

"Who's the chick?" asked Bob.

It was several minutes after he opened the door that he deigned to acknowledge anyone in the room. But Albert was quick.

"She said she knew you."

Bob exhaled smoke as he regarded her. Three soft jets through his mouth and nostrils. "Knew me?" He squinted suspiciously—or maybe he was just nearsighted. But the more he looked at her...

Alice gave him the coy once-over she'd seen the other girls do. Different men, but she had a hard time believing they were that nuanced. She smiled, barely.

"Oh...right." Comprehension dawned on Bob's pale, peaked face. His eyes wandered over her. A smile cracked his lips. He hid it with another pull on his cigarette. "Well, why didn't you say so?" he added, with a glance at Albert.

"You know her?"

"Yeah, oh, yeah." Bob's eyes crinkled with the lie. He didn't recognize her from the Bitter End. No chance. But he knew exactly who she was. Her own mischief reflected back at her in his eyes. She would make an honest man of him.

"Yeah, I know 'er. Yeah, we just, uh." Bob was next to her now. Alice didn't rise from the couch, hardly rose her head to look at him from under her lashes. "Haven't had a lot of time to catch up." Bob seemed to stall for a moment, then stroked her cheek with the side of one finger. Asking.

Alice's eyes fluttered shut. She wasn't acting.

His finger hooked under her chin, and she opened her eyes to look him in the face. He seemed keen enough to take her right there, in front of God and everybody. She almost didn't protest.

Somehow, they got into a car with all their clothes on. The second the door shut, Bob went straight for her breasts. Alice struggled to pull the divider shut, then covered his hands with hers. He muttered 'S your name, anyway? in between kissing the life out of her, and once she caught her breath, she told him. Twice. His short-term memory seemed to be on the fritz.

Perhaps it was contagious. Alice nearly forgot why she was there, until he buried his nose against her neck in the elevator and her chest roared with butterflies. He nuzzled and hummed and she probably could've stayed there for a week, but he felt slightly cold and wet on her skin, and she just had to drag him up for another kiss.

They stumbled backward together, the hall—the door—the bed. She made herself pull away from his mouth, his hands, and went for her purse. Bob was all questions.

"Hey, c'mon," he needled. "What're you...Hey, I ain't gonna give you nothing." Bob pivoted, seeming to think she was hunting for a condom. "What're you looking for?"

Instead of answering, Alice pulled the round tin from an inner pocket and unscrewed the lid. Menthol filled the air. As she lifted out a healthy, thimble-sized deposit and began to arrange it across the metal tray on the nightstand, she felt Bob appear over her shoulder. She pretended not to notice.

"Hey, gimme some of that. What is that?"

A strange order in which to ask those questions, she thought. His misfortune and none of her own. "It's pretty strong," she warned, truthfully.

Bob scoffed.

"You might not like it." Alice continued to shape neat little piles.

"Bullshit." When she didn't react, "Aw, baby, c'mon. I'm hip." His chin rested on her shoulder. A dog begging for leftovers under the kitchen table. "Let me have some of that."

Alice kept her smile small. "Suit yourself."

Bob didn't wait. He vanquished the first pile in one great, rushing snort. "What is this, some kinda..." The next two took a few tries each. Diminishing returns.

"Herbal remedy." Alice blushed.

"Oh, that's–" Bob coughed, sharp, from his throat. Snuff! The tray was clean, save for a few specks. "That's cute." He finished pawing at his nose with a final, sweeping sniff. There was a moment of oceanic calm behind his frosty eyes.

Before, "Ow, fuckin'—shit—" Bob cringed like he'd suffered a jab to the eye. His hand flew to his nose.

"Are you all right?" Alice dared to ask.

"It's so—" Bob lost the end of his sentence to a shuddering cough. Then his lungs started to fill in short gasps. Again he gasped, again, again, again, and Alice felt her stomach drop with each one, felt her heart dive, until the line snapped.

He sneezed over the bed, half-blocked by his arm. It almost sounded offended.

"God b–"

Right away, he wrenched another gasp and buckled with an even stronger sneeze.

Alice jumped. The fingers he'd clamped around his nose did nothing to dampen the sudden, cutting sound. She felt herself blush and heat. "Bless you."

Bob sputtered out an urgent sneeze—managed a surprisingly coherent Thankyou, trembled with the coming gasp—and sneezed so wretchedly he let himself drop onto the bed. He still held his nose between his fingers. To keep from quitting the powder, she could only imagine. He wouldn't want to sneeze it out before it got him high.

"Thin walls," Alice warned, on an impulse.

Bob nodded immediately, even as the obvious need to sneeze began to snatch his breath again. His shoulders shook—Alice expected a sound, and there wasn't one, and her stomach flipped over like she'd missed a step on the stairs. He bought it. He was smothering himself into silence on the off-chance someone would hear him through the walls, assume illicit substances, and whip up a drug bust. God.

He did it again—sneezed next to silently. But it seemed to backfire. Once he started, they just kept coming. He was twitching, shuddering, trying not to breathe in or out for fear of letting one slip, until a shaking gasp broke his hold and he couldn't stop the next sneeze from hissing out through his teeth.

"Oh." Alice felt her ears go red.

Or the next, from rupturing out of him with a kick from his chest, loud and violent.

"Bless you." Waves pounded inside Alice's ears. She touched his back tenderly, and her vision swam. "Darling."

Bob groaned. Alice didn't have time to react before his curly head swung into her shoulder. He leaned limp against her, sniffling and sighing with exhausted relief. She cradled his crown and wove through his hair.

She tried to drop her smirk as he finally surfaced, but her cheeks bloomed to see his face. His eyes were flame blue against weeping red. Even his lips seemed reddened, like after a good strong cry. Or a sound kiss.

The powder had nearly worked its way out. To the untrained eye, it looked as if he'd rubbed dirt just under his nose. Above his lip. Alice thought about lending her handkerchief, but his hand appeared to swipe it away—well, to try. Now it just looked like more dirt.

"Mm." Bob's smile was tight, and his eyes darted slightly. Not ashamed, but slightly shy. He sniffled against the block in his head. "So, uh. When's it start kickin' in?"

Alice couldn't help it. She laughed. She hurried to cover her mouth, but Bob wore a sheepish grin, seeming to suspect a joke at his expense.

"Oh, okay. What?"

"What?" She smoothed her face and played coy. "You didn't get enough that time?"

"Well, shit, I don't know. I was hopin' it'd give me a little pep or something." Bob's eyes were watering again, and he looked slightly disturbed. "Made me..." his breath skipped, "sne—sneeze." He recovered in time, but wavered on the edge long enough for Alice to feel the earth move.

He looked a little disappointed that it hadn't come, even. As he glanced up at her in the midst of rubbing his nose, his expression turned distinctly suspicious. "Lookin' at me like that," he murmured, still unable to keep from smiling despite himself.

"You're teasing me."

"I'm teasing—" Bob shook his head, pushing through his disbelief. If anyone was being teased here, his expression seemed to say, it was him. "You want me to sneeze? That'd do it for you?"

Alice shifted. "You didn't seem to mind it so much yourself."

Bob snickered, then laughed again softly as it dawned on him that she was serious. "No, I guess it didn't feel too bad."

"You loved it," Alice accused.

"Yeah?" He grinned. "Maybe you oughta let me try some more..."

Bob reached for the canister, but Alice drew back, just an inch. Bob looked utterly confounded.

"I would," she quickly explained. "Only—"

"Aw, don't be like that."

"No, I would, really..." Bob had started cupping her cheek, her chin, to plead with her. It didn't make speaking easy. "It's just. Like I said, it's an herbal remedy."

"Yeah?" Bob wasn't convinced.

"For colds." Alice tried her best to look concerned. "What if I get sick?"

"Aw, come on, I'm not gonna get you sick." Bob was brushing her hair behind her ears now.

"Yes—" Alice fairly gasped, " well...I'm afraid I just can't spare it..." Managing to disguise her effort, she reached to replace the canister in her purse.

"Hey. Now, you don't want that." Bob held her wrist. There was no power in his grip, but she froze. "You want me to sneeze some more." He sniffed dangerously, roughly—trying to stir up another one? "I know that. Don't put that away." All this he punctuated by stroking her cheek, letting his overlong nails graze her skin, set her face awash with sparks.

Alice opened her mouth to speak. And swallowed. "Well. Maybe if you're very, very good..."

"Mm, good, baby." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, next to his hand.

"...you can have some more later." She replaced the canister and snapped her purse shut.

This was enough to make Bob draw back. He looked bewildered, but he still couldn't wipe the smile off his face. "I'm teasin' you, huh?"

"Kiss me."

Bob's mouth twitched into a wider smile, every moment looking like he might say something, but he only sniffled and leaned in for a kiss.

Alice sighed. He was a wonder to touch. His kisses were ambitious but sincere, and he gasped through their mouths when he couldn't get a breath in his nose. She let him wrap his small frame around her, even as she grew dizzy from all the blood pooling at her center. When she cupped him through his cords, he whined appreciatively and sank his teeth into her lip. She squeaked.

A minute later, though, Bob detached—as she suspected he might. He looked unsure.

"Something wrong?" she panted.

He pawed at his nose. "Don't ask me that like you don't know." Sniff. "I still got a tickle in my nose. I want to—" He sniffed again, looking distracted.

"Do you?" A question to the statement he'd finished, and the one he hadn't.

Bob's ears seemed to perk up. His eyes were wet but focused. "I've been good to you, mama," he ventured. "Haven't I?" An innocent, almost boyish glint of hope.

Alice smiled. She leaned in close. Bob parted his lips, awaiting her kiss. She was pressed against him.

She inclined her head and stuck out her arm, reaching not for a kiss, but for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

As Alice pulled back, purchase in hand, Bob made a sound like a kettle about to boil over. He was champing at the bit—perhaps literally, she thought as she watched his jaw work.

She threw him a line. "There's another way." She plucked a tissue and tried to make quick work of it, twisting from the corner, through her practiced fingertips. "And this way doesn't sting so bad."

"You're—oh." Bob reached down and winced as he gave himself a slightly painful adjustment. "Yeah, I've seen that."

Alice looked up. "Seen what?"

"The, the tissue thing." Bob performed a twisting gesture, a strikingly perfect pantomime of this particular instrument's use.

Oh?

Alice gnawed her lip and looked back down. "Really? Where?"

Bob laughed. "It was John, he showed me. Beatle John, you know him. John."

Alice's heart leapt into her throat. After '61, when she'd given up on the sickly busker from the Bitter End, there was a period...John Lennon. 1963. He had a statue's face. An emperor's profile. She'd wanted nothing more. That nose. And he liked to play around with...and he'd done it in front of Bob...

"He did it to me." Bob gestured again. This time, there was a flick of devilry in it. He knew he had her listening rapt. "Couple a' times, but I got it now. Here, let me do it." He held out his hand.

"Did he really." Alice's heart had plunged from her throat into her stomach. She was breathing harder now, sweating. She didn't hand over the tissue.

Bob giggled, as if he were just seeing the humor in it. "Yeah. Well, I had this bad cold, he was just helping me to, uh." He laughed. "Kinda makes you think, huh? Kinda makes you wonder." He snorted—laughing had knocked something loose. "What he was really after."

"Um..." Alice was panting. "Come here."

Bob saw her brandish the tissue and obligingly stuck his nose out. Very, very good.

She held him by the jaw. He didn't shave too close; his cheeks prickled her fingers. From this distance, she could pick out a few blemishes against his pale skin. Beautiful, she thought. She stuck the wicked point of the tissue just inside his left nostril. And left it there.

Bob rippled with irritation, his face contorting as he fought the urge to snort it out. He twitched his head side-to-side, chasing the bare minimum friction. "You–you gotta—"

"Did you like it?"

Alice barely knew she was going to ask before the question slipped breathlessly past. "When John..."

"Yeah...yeah, I liked it." Bob's voice was light, floaty. He wore a slight frown, his eyes half-shut. His furrowed brow smoothed when he smiled. "I love to sneeze. Feels too good not to. And this cold—" He made a sound of pain and coughed. Alice had wiggled the tool, just a little bit. Just back and forth.

"Go on."

"Um." Bob shut his eyes tight, causing a few teardrops to roll down his right cheek. "I don't remember...what I was—" Now she twitched it again, and kept going, in small pulses, and he couldn't speak through it. His nostrils flared out. His mouth lazed open.

A sharp gasp of warning. Alice stopped. At the very same time, Bob took hold of her thigh. Her jaw dropped to match his. He wavered, fragile as glass. Her skin was on fire.

When it was clear he wouldn't sneeze, Bob surrendered with a light groan. He shook his head, freeing himself from the tool, and glared at her. It was enough to send a chill down her spine.

"What'd you stop for?" he demanded. And sniffled.

"Thought that'd be enough." Her lie ended in a gasp that was nearly a yelp as he gave her thigh a squeeze and slid his hand higher.

"No, you gotta move it around more, get it all the way up there. I'll show ya. Hey." Bob drew her to him with a hand at her back. "Baby, let me show you." Still stroking her thigh. Her blood burned.

Alice swallowed heavily. "You think it's easy with you distracting me?"

"Mm-mm. Don't know what you're talkin' about, babe." He was so close to her that his breath danced over her neck, cooling then warming her. Then she felt his lips. His nose.

Alice forced herself to pull back, certain she'd shatter if she didn't. Wordlessly, she raised the tissue between them. Bob grinned his victory and stuck his nose out.

The first tiny brush of movement had him coughing and staining his cheeks with tears. She wasn't merely teasing now. He was so profoundly affected that, for a while, he didn't try to utter a word.

In an instant, the pitch of his breathing changed. He stammered something that, if allowed to finish, might have been Oh, shit or Oh, Jesus. Instead, he started to sneeze...only to bottle it up into a quiet tremor. He snatched another quick breath and sneezed openly this time, thin and sharp as a willow switch. His hands had been wandering all around her—there was nothing to cover his mouth except her.

"Bless you." Alice could've melted metal.

Bob mopped at his lips and nose with the cuff of his sleeve. He sniffled—a strong effort, but not much got through—and sighed. "Thank you. Thank you, did I get you?" The timbre of his voice had changed to something dull and froggy.

Alice laughed breathlessly and wiped at her face, the front of her blouse. "I'll live."

Bob didn't react except to lean in like he was going to kiss her. But he ground to a halt partway there, dropped his eyes, cleared his throat.

His hand rose above the tops of her stockings.

"Hello." The breath pushed out of her. Bob didn't slow. He followed her smooth skin under her skirt to the hem of her underwear, traced the lace border. Alice's hips moved without her meaning to. She almost wished he wouldn't touch her—she was a swollen mess, he'd know with one touch how depraved she was—but he did. Dead center. She felt the fabric stick. He tested her with a fingertip, and her small shame was engulfed by want. She burned for him to touch her. He must have felt her heartbeat.

Bob let out a faint breath of surprise. "Weren't kiddin', were you?" His glacier eyes locked on hers for a moment, then fell. He felt along her seam with the pads of two fingers, further in, further down.

Alice gasped. She felt sweat and tears gather in her head, fire in her belly. "Bobby." She'd heard her call him that—Joan. The poor woman must have been used to all this. Able to keep her head at times like these. She wouldn't be whimpering, quivering...not from one lousy touch. Not from a couple of sneezes.

"Yeah?" Bob moved in nearer to her. His lips were at her ear. "You want me t'..." He asked with his hand, fine and careful strokes. Alice squirmed.

"Babe—" Bob's voice came out as a rattle. He cleared his throat as gently as he was able, but this close to Alice's ear, it was a rumble. He sniffed. "Baby, you wanna do it to me again?"

Alice drew silent breaths through her open mouth. If she answered she'd break.

"I know you liked it." His mouth twitched on her cheek—a smile. "I like...seein' how you get. Shit..." He was talking so slowly, rubbing her so carefully, Alice had a moment of panic. She couldn't hold out. She twitched away from his hand.

Bob must have thought her hips had bucked of their own accord. He chased her sidestep and stroked her lovingly. "I want to," he added. And sniffled, light and wet.

"Yes." Alice heaved a heartbreaking sigh. She felt the lights of the world dim, felt her heart race. She held his wrist firmly. Bob stopped, and Alice wanted to cry when he did. Her body hurt with want. She ignored the screaming ache and recovered the tissue, fallen on the bedspread.

His hand retreated from her skirt and came to rest on her knee. She saw his fingers and thumb rub together, probably unconsciously, feeling her traces on them.

"Gonna let me do it?"

Just to spite the smug expression on Bob's face, Alice shook her head no.

Bob rolled his eyes, pretending great offense, but he assumed his ready position all the same.

His haughty expression barely flickered when she began to tease at the right side of his nose. He looked defiant, and only more so when the tickle forced him to cringe and weep. This time, he seemed oddly stiff. His cough was like a clenched fist.

"G'nna—"

He was whispering something.

"...Gonna—gonna s-snee—hz...!"

Consciously or not, Bob tightened his grip on her knee as he neared the tipping point. His brow was tightly knit, eyes closed; he couldn't even see her flounder on the spot.

It took one more refrain for Alice to realize he was chanting Not gonna sneeze. Which, judging by his gulping breaths and the way his nose twitched, didn't sound like the truth.

"Oh, really?" Alice lessened her effort slightly. "How do you figure that?"

Bob spent a long while fighting off a sneeze, his breath coming in great bounding gasps, until at last he let out a shuddering sigh of defeat. "Maybe..." He gathered his strength with a heavy sniff and trudged onward. "Maybe I don't want to." He didn't even sound like he had convinced himself.

Alice must have let her disbelief show on her face, because Bob glared at her through his tears and croaked, "Hey, don't slow down."

She let him have it.

Bob winced, then coughed, then swore. He gave little struggling sounds with each breath—coming faster and faster now. Alice's heart was skipping beats. He looked ready to...well.

His hand suddenly slipped in next to hers; to drive her away, she thought. But he just pressed the very edge of a finger under his nose. He wasn't in her way, but still, she tutted. "Cheat."

Bob huffed, perhaps meant to be a laugh or a snappish reply. It only succeeded in chasing away the sneeze that threatened. He groaned.

Heedless of his cheating finger, Alice moved to stick the tissue in his other nostril. As soon as she slipped free, though, Bob made a sound of protest. He shook his head like a dog drying itself off. "Don' stop," he wheezed.

Interested, Alice held back. "I thought you didn't want to."

"I'm tryin' not to, but it feels..."

Alice cried out to feel his hand between her legs again. Too shocked and too hot to even form his name. With clumsy fingers, he felt for lace and drew her soaked cotton to the side.

"You're so wet."

"Fuck, that's..." Alice slapped a hand over her mouth. He traced her cunt, slick and swelling and aching tightly. Her clit. Just a fingertip, but she saw stars. She panted for breath, making the room spin.

"Yeah. C'mon, baby."

Alice had no wherewithal to protest when Bob took hold of her hand and used it to jab the tissue up his left nostril. They both gasped and whined.

"Sorry, honey..." He was moving her hand too, in frantic little circles. He had his own technique. "Can't wait, I can't stand it—" he coughed, "god—!"

He wasn't touching her as faithfully as he had been, but it didn't matter; Alice was trembling. A whisper of a touch would finish her.

Bob exhaled vocally, heaved a sharp gasp—again and again, he dragged her over jagged ups and downs—then he sneezed! They came crashing out on top of each other, three in the space of one, tossing his hair, shaking the bed. As if he were so desperate to let them free, he couldn't wait for one to end before the next began.

It wasn't the triple-sneeze that did her in. It was how he quaked once he'd let go of it. An audible, hair-raising shudder. It was a filthy fucking sound, and Alice quickly followed it, coming on his hand, barely touched, rocking with need.

"Oh," Bob sighed, groaned. "Look at you, you're so fuckin' pretty. Yeah, hey. Baby, god..."

Alice chased his praises with mewling moans. She couldn't summon speech. When her throat dried out, her breath came in fluttery sighs.

He kept petting her even after she was done coming. Lightly, as if to soothe himself. She swallowed, tried to catch her breath. "Bobby," she said, her head on his shoulder.

"Honey, wait just a minute."

Alice started when Bob's hand disappeared and he shifted away. She lacked the breath to ask him what was wrong, but as the haze cleared, she saw him unroll the tissue and press it to his face. He was sniffling.

"My nose." His hands were prayerful, perfectly elegant, almost delicate when they folded the tissue to his nose. "I gotta—"

He shrank like a violet as he blew with force. The sound was thick, awful. But productive. He grunted in apology and tried again, a few times more, until his breath came clear and a small nest of discarded tissues had gathered on the bed.

"Poor dear." Alice knew it was wrong to say, but she couldn't control her tongue. This elfin wisp of a man had somehow grown into an even bigger charity case than the soft-faced train-hopper she'd watched in the café that time. It was starting to get her hot all over again.

Bob wasn't offended—he positively blossomed. Put his face next to hers and let their bodies line up. He still had goosebumps from the sneezing. Alice could see on his neck; on his wrists where they poked out of his sleeves. "You gonna take care a' me?" he nuzzled, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Alice sweltered. She rubbed over the shape of his cock, still trapped in his slacks, felt him pulse and stir and almost whine. "You've been awfully good for me," she said, not answering.

Bob seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open and his mouth shut. He rolled into her touch, helpless to his own needs. "How...how good?" he managed.

Alice put her lips on his ear. "Very, very good."

"Yeah?" His shaking hand covered hers and made her touch him harder, more deliberately. He was hard as a statue, even just from this, and she could feel his blood beat under his skin and clothes. Beat, she thought, does that make me a poet?

Her answer was a kiss. Bob swore freely into her mouth, but his words survived only as tangled moans.

His lips pulled apart from hers a moment. "Wanna...Can I?"

Alice glowed. "Yeah."

At once, his hands were on his zipper. She heard a little sigh of relief once he freed himself from his restraints. Alice started to lean down to admire him, but he was already clambering behind her to work on her skirt. She pulled her blouse over her head.

Many hands made light work. Alice was down to her underthings when Bob said, "Here, gimme the shit."

He was reaching for her purse.

Alice swiveled her head around to get a look at his face, then back to her purse, before she parsed his meaning. "You want—are you sure?"

"I won't take it all," Bob said quickly, shaking his head. "Swear. Just a little bit." He'd started to breathe a little heavy. Could be something to do with his fist around his cock, giving short, rapid tugs.

Alice sat there burning, looking him over, then dove for the jar. With shaking hands, she carefully wrested the lid and held the contents out to him. She feared a spill...but then, she wasn't desperately afraid.

Bob reached out, then stalled. His hand froze. He looked pained, then he stuck out a finger as if bidding her to wait.

Alice trembled. She knew this face by now.

Sure enough, Bob started to inhale. He wedged the back of his hand across his mouth, convulsed once—and held still.

There was so little sound, Alice couldn't tell if he'd squashed it down or simply quelled it before it could materialize.

Bob dropped his hand and let his breath out. "The smell," he explained softly, grinning with shy surprise.

Already? she wanted to say. Maybe you've been over-served. But what slipped out instead was "Bless you." A soft whine. He wasn't the only one over-sensitized, woefully unprepared.

"Thank you," he purred. His voice was getting away from him again. He wriggled Alice's underwear down around her knees, and she grit her teeth to keep from gasping.

Alice's eyes went wide when she saw the incredible handful he'd procured from the tin. A tower of powder. She screwed the lid back on and practically threw the thing away to balance herself with both hands on the bed.

Bob caught her eye and chuckled. "Hold still," he instructed, and piled the powder on the table-top plane of her ass.

Alice heaved a gasp and swore when his nose crashed into her soft skin. Over his snorting and huffing, she could hear wet sounds in time with the trembling of the bed. He was touching himself again, building to speed.

He brought his hand down in a slap, and she squealed, but he was only brushing her off, carelessly swiping away the specks he couldn't suck up, leaving them to settle in the sheets, in the creases of his hand. Alice bit her tongue and whimpered.

Bob coughed gently, then again with spite. "Fuck." His voice went raw in the middle of it; she could hear his throat try to close against the intrusive spice. He took careful breaths.

"You nice and ready for me?" he rasped.

"Yes—yes. Yes." Alice started to answer, but his hand appeared between her legs to check for himself, and soon that was the only word she knew.

He coughed again. "Jesus, baby, you're so—" A worried gasp and a frantic sneeze cut him off.

Alice lurched. It was so sudden, the spray across her back.

Bob grabbed her waist and sputtered out another sneeze, showering her again. "So w—wet–!" he gasped, his voice sailing above his speaking range as he fought what was coming.

He drew a sharp breath, and then no more, and Alice almost believed he had lost it before the sneeze came, abruptly and violently, painting her back.

Alice leaned into the mattress and moaned. She couldn't even...

"Bless me." Bob's voice was dulled, wrecked by his symptoms, but she could hear his smile in it. "God, Jesus fuck, feels...good..." As his breath started to skip, she felt the head of his cock press against her. Without thinking, she reached down, found his hand, guided him in, and they locked together.

"Oh." Bob moaned, heavy with surprise. He pressed into her all he could, squeezed her hips for more leverage. "You feel..." He might have went on, but he was panting heavily, vocally, exerted by sex and wild from the tickle in his nose. He sneezed once, twice in a row and gave a shaking groan before he started to fuck her in earnest. Alice wailed into the sheets. She though she'd hit her peak before, that he couldn't rile her back up again, but this. She was light-headed, dizzy. Helpless.

Bob drove into her, practically singing with pleasure, and started sneezing again. The sneezes came close together, in soft summer-rain whispers and fine mist. They made his body and his voice shake badly. He sucked air like he was drowning and sneezed like he couldn't breathe. Alice loosened her hips and took it, and took it, and bit the sheets and yowled.

As Bob wound up for another, his movements grew stiff. His hips jerked. His breath tumbled in and out, high and loud until he was whimpering, and still it wouldn't come.

"Ah, god," he sobbed, and came like a wave breaking.

Alice's eyes slammed shut as another orgasm shattered through her and she clenched around him. The room, the world seemed to wink out like a star. They cried out to each other until they lost their breath and fell together. Alice waited, curled around him, for her heartbeat to quiet and her ears to quit ringing.

Before that happened, Bob sat up to catch a short, sharp bark of a sneeze in his steepled hands. He let out a mild groan.

"Bless you." It was only too easy.

Bob sniffled and rubbed his forehead. He didn't lie back down. "Don' think there's any more."

Alice rose next to him and filled his hands with tissues.

He flashed her a sheepish grin of thanks, and she drug her nails up and down his back as he cleared out his nose. He'd kept all his clothes on, just undone his slacks. But when she scratched his arms, a shiver tore through him, and she imagined his hair raising all across his body.

Bob made a noise of distress when he spared a glance at the contents of his tissue. It wasn't blood, Alice assured him, just rusty powder. He blew his nose until nothing more would come, but his head was still stuffed. She told him it'd likely stay that way for a while, a day at most.

"Need a cigarette," was his response.

"It'll mess with your throat," Alice offered, knowing it wouldn't sway him.

"No, no, it'll clear my head. Hey, you got a...?"

Alice lit his cigarette and shook out the match. She marveled at his sharp, flushed face, finer and more handsome in catarrh and tears than most were in health. Her hand wandered up the back of his shirt to scratch between his shoulder blades. Sure enough—goosebumps.

"Do you remember the Bitter End coffeehouse?" she asked.

---

Epilogue

What Alice failed to mention was how, after the congestion had gone, the medicated stuff would linger in his sinuses. How his head would drip like a faucet from the time he woke up. How bad the shifting, the draining, and the dripping would tickle. Sometimes it only drove his eyes to water, but more often, it made him sneeze. Throughout the day, there was no telling when it would come. Mornings were almost a guarantee. Things had settled during the night, and suddenly going vertical always made this interesting. It wasn't unlike the first few days of a cold.

Another small detail that Alice seemed to miss was that her particular interest was dangerously, fatally contagious.

He'd always found pleasure in the release provided by sneezing. The relief. He'd step outside on a sunny day and half-scorch his eyes staring at the bright sky, just for the chance to feel something spark and catch and prickle into an itchy sneeze. Two if he was lucky—and he usually was.

It must have been some form of classical conditioning. Ever since he'd messed around with that girl, all he had to do was sneeze once, and it wasn't relief he would feel, but heart-pounding arousal. Quick as a light. And ever since his tryst, they were coming in bunches.

In the dressing room before a show, Bob threw a hand over his mouth and started to sneeze. The first two came out muffled, like he'd tried to hold them in, but the third burst out of him, throwing his head forward.

He shuddered audibly, sounding as if someone had walked over his grave.

Robbie frowned. "You cold?" he asked after a while.

Bob sniffled. "Hm?"

Robbie echoed the shiver, letting his teeth chatter and his shoulders shake. "What's all that for?"

"What, I can't sneeze?"

"Aw, forget it." Robbie went back to the newspaper, accompanied by the gentle sounds of Bob sniffling and occasionally clearing his throat.

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tomlinsins · 1 year

Text

FAITH IN THE FUTURE TOUR 2023

Venue Capacities, North America under the cut!

Uncasville -> Mohegan Sun Arena- 10,000

Gilford -> Bank Of New Hampshire Pavilion - 9,000

Laval -> Place Bell - 10,000

Toronto -> Budweisar Stage - 16,000

Cuyahoga Falls -> Blossom Music Center - 23,000

Sterling Heights -> Michigan Lottery Amphitheatre - 7,200

Cincinnati -> The Icon Festival Stage - 8,000

Columbus -> Kemba Live! Outdoor - 5,200

Indianapolis -> TCU Amphitheatre - 6,000

St. Louis -> Saint Louis Music Park - 4,500

Kansas City -> Starlight Theatre - 7,958

Milwaukee -> BMO Pavilion - 10,000

Chicago -> Huntington Bank Pavilion - 14,000(seating)/30,000(max.)

Minneapolis -> The Armory - 8,500

Council Bluffs -> Harrah's Stir Cove - 4,000

Sioux Falls -> Denny Sanford Premier Center - 12,000

Morrison -> Red Rocks Amphitheatre - 9,500

Seattle -> Wamu Theater - 9,000

Vancouver -> Doug Mitchell Thunderbird Sports Center - 8,000

Troutdale -> Mcmenamins Edgefield Concerts - 7,000

Berkeley -> The Greek Theater - 5,900

Los Angeles -> The Hollywood Bowl - 17,500

Las Vegas -> The Chelsea At The Cosmopolitan - 3,000

Phoenix -> Arizona Financial Theatre - 5,000

Dallas -> The Pavilion At Toyota Music Factory - 8,000

Austin -> Moody Amphitheater At Waterloo Park- 5,000

Woodlands -> The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion - 16,500

St. Augustine -> St. Augustine Amphitheatre - 4,092

Hollywood -> Hard Rock Live - 7,000

Tampa -> Yeungling Center - 10,411

Atlanta -> Cadence Bank Amphitheatre At Chastain Park - 6,900

Nashville -> Ascend Amphithetre - 6,800

Charlotte -> Metro Credit Union Amphitheatre - 5,000

Raleigh -> Red Hat Amphitheater - 6,000

Columbia -> Merriweather Post Pavilion - 19,319

Boston -> MGM Music Hall at Fenway - 5,000

Philadelphia -> TD Pavilion At The Mann - 14,000

Asbury Park -> Stone Pony Summer Stage - 3,000

New York -> Forest Hills Stadium - 13,000

UK & EU capacities | Australia capacities

#soo freaking excited for this tour!!!!#fitf live is gonna fuck!!!#louis tomlinson #fitf #faith in the future #venue capacity #fitf world tour #hljournal #dailytomlinson #tour #hltracks #axp #fitf tour 2023

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behindthemirrorofmusic · 1 year

Text

For #womenshistorymonth a look at some of the most important women in the history of The Phantom of the Opera.

Number 20. Sierra Boggess

Sierra Boggess is probably one of most well known names in Phantom history.

She began her Phantom journey by re-imagining the role as the first Christine in Phantom: The Las Vegas Spectacular in 2006.

In 2010, she originated the role of an older Christine Daaé in the original London version of Love Never Dies, which continues the story of Phantom.

Sierra once again played Christine Daaé in the 25th anniversary concert of The Phantom of the Opera at the Royal Albert Hall in London

She also played the role in the Broadway production of The Phantom of the Opera several times, including the 25th anniversary. She also returned to the show for a limited run to play Christine alongside Norm Lewis' Phantom.

Sierra was also going to be Christine in the, unfortunately aborted, first French production.

Besides Christine Daaé, Sierra, a drama Desk and Drama League nominee, is best known for originating the role of Ariel in The Little Mermaid on Broadway.

Sierra began her career in the ensemble and as an understudy for Cosette on the U.S. national tour of Les Misérables, a few years later January 10, 2013 she joined the West End company at the Queen's Theatre and took over the role of Fantine.

She also played the roles of Binky and Ram Dass in the musical Princesses at Goodspeed Opera House and the 5th Avenue Theatre in Seattle. Her previous work includes West Side Story (Maria), The Pirates of Penzance (Mabel), The Boy Friend and Sweet Charity (Charity).

She also originated the role of Rosalie Mullins in School of Rock, 2016.

From July 26–28, 2019, Sierra starred as Cinderella in the Hollywood Bowl's production of Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods.

From March 13-May 15, 2022, Sierra starred as "Mary" in the New York premiere of Barry Manilow's musical Harmony at the National Yiddish Theatre Folksbiene.

At the moment she stars as Lily in the newly imagined production of The Secret Garden at the Ahmanson.

She has frequently participated in Broadway Barks, a cat and dog adoption event founded by Bernadette Peters.

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terrence-silver · 1 year

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Say Terry, any era, takes a liking to a server from a restaurant he visits and later finds she is being bullied by a few co workers. Would he sit back and watch how she handles it or would he low key interfere?

Btw I'm OBSESSED with your Terry posts! TIG is finally getting the recognition he deserves and I'm all here for it!

---

On the forested slopes of Hollywood Hills, there's a tucked away place called The Vernon; VIP exclusive invite only lodge and whenever Terry Silver is a guest there, his people always ensure the venue is neatly cleared out for him and for him only upon reservation. His father used to eat out here back in the days, in the 50's, in the restaurant's own prime in the company of producers, starlets, singers, models and actors looking for their next big break, talent scouts, Marilyn Monroe and would-be movie Golden Era silverscreen bigshots, and now he ate here as well, maintaining a sense of familial tradition and going one step further to up his old man who had to have his brunch with everyone else. He simply enjoyed the act of dining all alone, meanwhile, undisturbed, within his own separate bubble, not having to endure inane background chatter and the focus being on anyone else who wasn't him, perfecting in control of everything around him. Maybe the act of having enough power and reach to simply order one of the most expensive and coveted establishment in The Valley totally off limits on a whim when he was there is a high just as delectable as the Sashimi they served.

Perhaps.

Then, there is that server he's been watching for six months now.

Being all alone in the all sleek black wood, black floor tiles and glass accommodations gives him ample time between appetizers and the crisp, cooled white wine to scrutinize the immaculate surroundings and the comings and goings of the uniformed, highly professional staff catering to his wishes, accompanied by their 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' disciplined approaches. They know him, regular guest as he was, and they're all pleasantries and kindness as they make turns around his table, one entree demoting the next in the Michelin Star restaurant. He'd lie if he said he didn't take explicit and an almost perverse sense of personal pleasure in having these people practically trip over themselves for him. He'd lie if he said he didn't take explicit pleasure in seeing you every now and again. You've been bringing forth his lemon water to dip his fingers into for months now. That appeared to be the scale of your duties so far. Thank you, goodbye, anything else for you, sir? Only difference was your body language, compared to everyone else. Terry noticed. Terry made an elaborate hobby out of noticing everything.

Eyes occasionally downcast.

Shoulders slightly slumped, not frumpy, by any means.

Nobody here was ever anything but perfect and well put together.

Sad? Could he say you appeared occasionally stressed? Anxious?

Every time you'd retire to the kitchens, you'd return gloomier.

Interesting.

He knows better than to schmooze at a place of employment, so he shows his appreciation with a hefty tip directed at you. And another. And another. Money talks. One time, big enough to buy, what he assumed, is a high end vehicle, or at least, what was generally considered a high end vehicle --- all cash, looking at your expression for any signs of feeling impressed. Guilty. Impassive. Disgusted. Anything. He makes the first move without making the first move, at least not verbally. At least not outside the realm of analyzing the menu with you and what would be most appropriate to order and then, it is you who speaks up, after your last tip which was well over five thousand dollars. -"Sir, I..."- You stutter on occasion, carrying his Sushi tray and a decorative bowl of rosewater, and he already knows what this is about, judging by the discreet tone of voice. -"Don't mention it."- Terry is all charm and saccharine sweetness. Just an old man throwing around money on a beautiful waitress three decades his junior. Nothing to see here. -"Anything for my favourite server."- He musters his brightest smile and he watches your cheeks drain of all color, eyes as wide as a fawn's. If only for a moment.

You were pretty too, turns out.

One of those people too pretty to be working.

Did you realize that?

-"Buy yourself something. Treat yourself. On me."- He waves his hand vaguely in the air, using this as a clever segway to discover what he was really interested in. -"Can't be easy, on your feet all day for an old man."- He chuckles, placing his fork and knife into his place, tidily, knowing his manners, making a joke at himself, not hearing you return his mirth. You weren't certain if you were allowed to chuckle at his age. Understandable. He did it anyway to ease up the atmosphere. -"Are they chewing you out?"- He blurts out intentionally, looking squarely at you, still smiling, to give off the impression he was talking about the weather. -"Chewing me...out?"- You're momentarily confused, setting down his meal on the table with perfect care. Terry repeats himself, still grinning. He knows for a fact that smile never reaches his eyes, feeling something dangerous bubbling in him; an icy rage, as sharp as a rigid stone. -"Yeah, chewing you out."- Reiterating, there's a vague threat in his voice. What else could it be? Nice venue. Undoubtedly adequate salary. So, it had to be workplace mobbing. He's concluded as much. You shake your head, politely.-"No, sir, they're very good colleagues to work with. Excellent collective."-

Lies.

He knows a liar when he sees one.

-"Sounds like a rehearsed load of bullshit."- Terry chides.

-"No place is perfect, sir."-

-"That's not the type of reviews this place has, you know."- The Vernon? Not being perfect? People would kill to land a job out here. He wouldn't step a foot here if it wasn't stellar. So, that was another lie too. Terry Silver wanted to know what made The Vernon, the hotspot where the second generation of Silver men dined at, imperfect, exactly. You weren't exactly going to smear your own bread and butter, though, as much as he wanted you to, so Terry either had to be very clever very quickly, or apply some power. -"Yeah."- Is all you muster, quietly, as a way of deflecting, refusing to elaborate further, standing aimlessly with your tray, waiting for him to ask for something else --- the staff in the backrooms fidgeting as he dips the tips of his fingers into the rose petal filled scented water. You were procrastinating with their most exclusive guest for a couple of seconds longer than usual, it seemed. Amusing. Terry just says it, what he's deducted, simply because he can. -"They've been poaching your tips, haven't they? The money I've been giving you?"- His tone of voice higher than usual, directed at the collective at the bar. The whole room grows pale. -"You're gonna let that shit fly?"-

His tone raises, infinitesimally, laced with intentional wrath.

The frightened manager steps forth, like a rat.

-"Mr. Silver, I assure you..."-

He shutters, bending his back to appear smaller as he rubbed his hands nervously. -"Don't bullshit me. Give it back. All of it."- Terry wastes no time, blunt as ever --- thing is, he had ways to find out whatever it was he needed to find out. All the information on you. Where you lived. How you lived. Your social security number. Your blood type. What your colleagues were doing. How they talked to each other in their downtime when they thought nobody was looking. How they talked to you. All the ways they'd shame you whenever you'd get anything extra on the side. The hierarchy of surrendering your rightful does to your seniors For all intents and purposes, Terry would enjoy a bit of workplace Machiavellian machinations to go alongside his dish, but that was his money, given to his server, from his pocket, and watching one of the waiters silently, serious as the living dead, produce a wooden mahogany locked box with a stack of collected bills inside of it, accumulated, months and months back, handing well over fifty thousand dollars back to Terry, he feels that's only rightful humiliation. It isn't over, though. Terry pushes the money inside of his blazer and extends his hand. His pinkie ring finger. -"And apologize."- He isn't jesting. He gestures, though.

-"Kiss it."- Terry clarifies once the manager is confused as to what that means.

Within a brief moment of hesitation, looking back and forth.

He does. Bending down and touching the sapphire with his mouth.

Flushed with embarrassment and humility.

You stand on the sidelines, looking like you almost pity the guy.

Why? He didn't deserve an ounce of your precious, darling sympathy.

In the 80's, Terry wouldn't be nearly as merciful.

If anything, he was mild and a bit more tame in his approach nowadays.

-"Good."-

Terry coos.

Once he is promptly done humiliating everyone, dismissing the crowd of waiters, serves and cooks from his table, he finishes his dinner in the stiffly cold atmosphere, as chilly as the grave, with everyone watching, unsure what to do and how to behave, Terry stands up and leaves, entirely too pleased with himself. Not before turning to you specifically, handing you his card. Of course you were scared. Of course you'd be weirdly flattered. Of course you were secretly distraught, baffled, and caught in a concoction of emotions too many to list. You might even hate what he has done, but you weren't likely to forget him any time soon. He'd be there, firmly lodged in your brain as the man. The Man. That alone, was something. A start. -"You can always leave this dump and find some place better."- He states, shamelessly, watching your hand shiver as you took it out of his hand. -"With me."- He adds, and you don't really realize what he means. With him, yes, with him as your keeper, paramour and companion. Did beauty need to be wasted toiling and serving out here? Serving those who weren't him? -"Maybe I'm looking for an assistant too."- He shrugs with a smile, easing back into a corporate mood as not to be way too blatant that he was looking at his kept woman. -"Call it and you'll get me."- Is all he says before he leaves the venue one last time, feeling a collective exhale of relief.

After over fifty years of operating, that week, The Vernon infamously closes.

With all the media scandal and pomp it rightfully deserved.

He ruined your job, sure.

But, you call him that weekend for a new prospect.

Just as he thought you would; he cant help but smile into the phone.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #old man terry #terry silver x beloved #terry silver x reader #tw; work place harassment #tw; and terry silver harassing harassers #tw; nobody in this story is good but beloved #hshsh

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