#wrote this while drinking rye on the deck | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeyinde · 1 year

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I need to be railed by price as the team either walks past or is right next door. So upset he's fictional lmao

honestly, same.

this got away from me a bit, so sorry about that!

warnings: smut, implied near-death experiences, voyeurism, and (??) exhibitionism

For being stationed out in the middle of Siberia, snowed into some long-forgotten gulag on the fringes of the great, inescapable arctic nothingness, the air you breathe has never been hotter.

Balmy heat pulses, throbbing in tandem with each harsh thud of your heart as it snaps like a rubber band against your chest.

It leaks in from the old pellet stove that Gaz managed to get working—somewhat—but the stifling heat that simmers around you, clinging your sweat-slicked skin has less to do with fire, and everything to do with the way your captain fills your cunt until you ache.

"Fuck," he rasps, low and grating, words muffled into the flesh of your neck, when he presses the flat of his teeth. "So wet for me, love. So fucking tight—"

All you can do is dig your nails into his flexing biceps, legs locked around his waist, heels clinging together at the base of his spine, as he fucks you senseless in the middle of a storm.

(And with your teammates beyond the thin wisp of a wall.)

You're supposed to be quiet.

Those are the rules you accepted when he first parted the folds of your pretty cunt with his middle and index finger, and pressed his nose against your throbbing clit, eyes sparking with firebrands when he gazed up at you.

Quiet—because everyone is gathered in the room beside yours, and no one knows that your captain presses the head of his cock against this soft, fleshy place behind your belly button until you see Nirvana painted behind your eyelids like he's trying to fuck you stupid. To batter all logic out of your soft, sensitive head until only he, and the way he fits inside of you, remain.

(And sometimes, you think he is.)

Quiet. Quiet. And yet—

They can all hear you, surely. You're not subtle, and you're not silent, despite the growls in your ears to keep it down, now, love, don't want them all to hear you getting fucked by your captain, do you? Filling your tight pussy with my cock—

How can you be when he pulled you into the empty, rotting cell with a fire in his gaze, and his hands rough on your skin, and said I need to feel you, love. I need to be inside of you. Need to keep you warm.

You try to stay quiet. Try to stifle the moans that spill from your lips with each blunt, brutal thrust of his cock slamming against the plug of your womb. It feels as if he was trying to wrench it open, trying to fit inside the only space left that you haven't felt him, that you hadn't taken him in. And maybe he is. Maybe, this is him trying to split you apart at the seams until you unravel for him; unspooled and raw, and all his, and—

It edges into pain, into hurt and anguish, but the pleasure numbs you into a babbling mess of fuck, captain, it feels so good, please please please—

His fat cock splits you apart until you're a babbling mess drooling into the matted, grimy mattress below, chanting nothing but his name amid the hymnals of pleasure that slip out, unmuffled, and loud.

Stupid. Stupid.

These sparse walls are barely thick enough to stifle a sniffle let alone the way you stutter over his name—P–Pr–i–ahhh—P–Pri–ce—with each sharp thrust of his cock battering your bruised, gummy walls.

He doesn't even try to keep you quiet. Seems, in fact, to fuck you harder, aiming for whichever spot he hit inside of you that made you howl the loudest. Like it's a game. Like he wants them to hear.

And you get it. You get why he's so broken, so stripped, and bare, and fucking you when he knows everyone can hear you, can hear the slick way your cunt opens for his cock; the fleshy slaps of his heavy sack hitting your ass with each deep, hard thrust. The ragged pants broken by your barely stifled moans, or his sharp, smoking grunts.

You get it. You do—

A near miss. A wayward shot.

Soap says you should be resting, that you should be recuperating until you all have to move out, have to abandon this safe haven in the middle of the frigid, white wasteland where nothing but withering black trees grow in sparse thickets and the temperature outside drops low enough to freeze the grey matter in your brain within seconds.

It's scary. Daunting.

But nothing at all compared to the anguish in his voice when he saw you in shades of blue, in red. Lifeless, and cold. So, so cold.

It had taken them pushing you as close to the firepit as possible to bring some life back into your cheeks, and this—

This is all he knows how to do to keep you warm, to keep you from turning the same garish shade of deathly white, grey, as the world outside of these mouldering walls while you're stuck in a place that leaches it from your marrow; rapacious for heat in your body.

He fucks you like he's already lost you. Like you're already blue and grey and—

"Never again," he spits, words an angry snarl in your ear. "Never again—"

So, you let him take. Let him take, and take, and take because he never does. Never for himself.

You offer yourself up to him—however he needs it—and try to stay within the margins of the rules despite the fact that you can feel him bludgeoning into you, further and further until you can feel him in your sternum. Until you can taste him in your throat. Until your lungs are full of sweat and blood and hickory and smoke, and—

"Fuck—"

You choke on the thick press of fingers when he slips them into your mouth, barking out a sharp bite when he pushes his other hand under the swell of your ass to glue your hips together. Closer, closer, but not enough for him despite the stars that erupt behind your eyelids, the too full too much feeling of him grinding against your bruised, battered walls, carving out a place inside of you just for him.

"Gotta keep you warm," he hisses, pressing his damp chest to yours until the scant air is squeezed from your collapsing lungs, and all you can taste, and see, and feel is the graze of his coarse hair over your sensitive flesh when he smothers you under his bulk. "Gotta warm you up—"

They can all hear you. All of them.

And maybe, maybe it's the delirium. The fever. The injury. The ever-present threat of that creeping white death that ghosts along the gaps in the doors, searching for a way in to claim the one that got away, snatched from the brink of icy death.

It must be. It has to be.

But you think you can hear them, too. Under the heaving, desperate gasps in your ear, the broken commands uttered for you to stay quiet, and be good, and stay with him, stay with him, always, always, always, and the slap of his skin branding yours, you can hear it. Low murmurs. Movement.

Gaz sucks in a breath when Price mutters look'it y'takin' me so fuckin' good; needy little cunt won't let g'of me.

Soap groans low when you whimper around the thick, nicotine-stained fingers, nearly gagging, choking when he presses them to the back of your throat.

You hear Ghost shift, the scratch of his denim sliding against the cracked cement when he moves from his spot when you moan low, and broken, and beg for it in a series of please please please pleasepleaseplea—that stick together each time he slides in deep.

The noises from the other room all react to each whimper, moan, mewl, gasp that Price pulls from the depths of your chest as his cock splits you apart until your cunt is full of nothing but him. Until your head is heavy with pleasure, with the explosive chemical slurry of sex and tobacco and almost dying, and him, him—

It's maddening. Impossible.

It has to be in your head. It has to be because the idea, the absurd idea of it all is enough to make you tremble, to make the molten knot in your belly coil, and coil, and—

Price drops his sweat-slicked forehead to your temple, lips brushing against your ear.

"Puttin' on a nice li'show for them, love. Almost makes me think you want them to hear," he murmurs, words rasped out in a whisper. Just for you. Just for you. "I must not be enough to keep y'warm, then. Must need some extra body heat, mm?"

(You hear Soap grunt, the noise a tucked plea of Captain, and of something that sounds like a broken amalgamation of your name, and fuck, and please, and—

And all at once, the rules break. Shatter.)

#mehhh #wrote this while drinking rye on the deck #suffice to say am a little tipsy #dunnoooo if this makes any sense #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x fem reader

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

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12 Days of Christmas - [Day 4]

A/N: Day number 4 for the Christmas coundown with @mattysheelies. This one’s almost 6k words. I loved writing this and I hope you like it too. It’s cheesy and cutesy and maybe cliché but it’s Christmas so idgaf. ENJOY ♥

Prompt: Snowed in together.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

“I felt so lonesome, all of a sudden. I almost wished I was dead.”

It happens, every once in a while, that you read a sentence in a book that you’ve read a hundred, maybe a million times before and it suddenly hits you like a punch straight to your gut. Because it’s different now. The book has stayed the same all through the seasons but you realize, you’re a whole new person who’s been through a whole new set of trials and tribulations. And all of a sudden you understand.

I slump back into the cold, sticky plastic of the bright blue seat and clutch my beat up copy of Catcher in the Rye closer to me. I face the huge windows, looking out into the black of the night and the airplanes, firmly rooted on the ground. There’s a heavy downfall of snow and no sign of it stopping anytime soon.

Maybe, I realize, this is my reckoning. Isn’t this what I’ve been wishing for ? A white Christmas like the one from the songs and the movies ?

Well merry fucking Christmas, (Y/N).

Every snowflake is a sick reminder of what could have been. Of what isn’t.

I let my eyes travel around the area. Rows and rows of blue plastic seats. There’s not a lot of people waiting around here. I assume most people have flown home a few days ago to make it in time for Christmas and the few that weren’t smart enough to do that, have resorted to some bar or a restaurant or something.

In theory, I could do that too. The thing is, spending Christmas eve by myself in an airport restaurant, would just seal the deal for this being the most depressing and downright sad Christmas of my whole life.

So I stay seated and lose myself in Holden Caulfield's delightful pretentiousness.

They’re playing Christmas music from a nearby speaker. I wonder if they want to taunt me. Me and everyone else stuck in a fucking snowstorm on Christmas Eve in god damn Indianapolis. They even have a tree set up and where it should make people happy, it only makes me even more sad. I wanna be home with my family, decorating my own tree with all the weird and quirky ornaments we’ve collected over the years. They all come with their own stories and it fills my heart with bittersweet nostalgia.

I’ve never known what being homesick feels like until tonight.

Again my eyes move along the rows of plastic seats. There’s a man in a sharp suit a few rows down. He’s got neatly combed hair and a red tie and shiny shoes and a face that says “ My name is Michael and I don’t allow anyone to call me by a nickname and I have an important job and I drive an expensive car and I probably fuck my secretary. “

It’s not a face you particularly want to look at. Except maybe if you’re said secretary.

A family of 3 sits by the end of the row. They seem — at peace. And for a moment I wish I could be them. I guess it’s different being stuck if you’re stuck with the people you love.

It makes me bitter to think about it so I avert my eyes and let them travel down the other side of rows. Which turns out to be no better for my mental state because there’s a couple there and they do not seem to care that an airport terminal is not the ideal place for some serious tongue action.

Across from them sits a guy, he’s got a mean mullet. Strands and strands of golden curls. He’s wearing a leather jacket and big black boots and there’s a deep scowl permanently edged onto his face. If he’s aiming for the whole bad boy vibe, he’s really nailing it.

I can see him shaking his head, as he too notices the couple getting awfully touchy, and I can’t suppress a laugh.

He notices and he looks at me and even across two whole rows of plastic seats I can see just how gorgeously blue his eyes are.

He doesn’t laugh or smirk or does anything to give me any indication of his feelings. Maybe I’m grateful for it. Maybe I wish he would. It would be quite nice to make a connection with someone right now. Just to make being alone feel a little less lonely.

“ the snow's comin' down

(Christmas) I'm watchin' it fall

(Christmas) lots of people around

(Christmas) baby, please come home”

It’s quite ironic, really,that they would chose this damn song. Of all the Christmas songs in all of the world.

Mullet boy seems to be a kindred spirit in this regard, I can see him sigh and murmur a “for fucks sake” into to collar of his jacket, as he sinks deeper into the chair.

“They’re singing deck the halls, but it’s not like Christmas at all. “

Yeah it really fucking isn’t.

A smacking of lips catches my attention and I focus back on the couple just to witness the guy’s hand travel straight under the sweater of his girlfriend. It’s a sight I don’t particularly want to see.

A sight that apparently makes my face screw up in aversion. And as it does, old blue eyes looks back at me and this time, I see a smirk. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared but I know for a fact that it was there. Maybe I don’t have to be all that lonely after all.

I close the bruised and battered orange book that, at this point, is hardly orange anymore, and place it in my backpack. If my life was a John Hughes movie or maybe any other romantic comedy, I’d get off my seat and walk over. There’d be some cheesy some playing in the background, maybe by the Smiths. I would throw him a smile and he’d look at me, an angel’s choir singing wonderous melodies. And tonight would change both our lives forever.

Alas my life is not a movie that Morrissey wrote any songs about. I am a coward and my heart already lies in several little pieces at my feet. So I don’t walk over just like that with no idea what to say, no incentive.

Instead I grab my backpack and walk past him, down a long corridor and end up at a vending machine that sells both, coffee and soup and I secretly pray that they don't come from the same jet.

The last coffee I had, I think as the warm liquid fills the paper cup, I bought at the little cart by Kelvin’s dorm room. It was a good coffee, had Hazelnut sirup in it. I remember the warmth of it in my hand. I remember the taste on my tongue. I vividly remember the sound of the cup hitting the floor and the stains on my pants and the feeling of my heart as it broke in two.

I don’t want to remember that though, so I will myself to ignore it. To push the thoughts away. I fill the second cup, grab it, put lids on them and then carry them back towards the row of seats.

Mullet boy doesn’t as much as glance at me as I drop down in the seat next to him. Only shows me that he notices me as I hold one of the coffee cups out to him.

“ Sorry it’s not booze. I know that would make looking at these two a little more entertaining. “

For a second he just looks at me in confusion, contemplates whether or not to trust me. In the end he takes the drink so I take that for a good sign.

“ Thanks. “

His voice is deep and raspy and I really really like the way it sounds.

“ I wonder if they even realize there’s other people around “ I say, watching the dude’s hand travel down the girls back, as they dreamily blink at each other like the main characters on a romance novel. Maybe those two get the romance and the the Smith song in the background. Maybe I’m just a sad side character in their story.

Mullet boy scoffs, takes a sip of coffee then speaks up. “ Don’t even think they’d notice if we joined in “.

He smirks at that. There’s an absolute underappreciation for people who laugh at their own jokes. I think it’s charming, endearing even. If you can’t laugh at your own joke, how do you expect anyone else to do it.

“ Least they’re not alone on Christmas fucking eve “

I don’t know why I say it. I don’t necessarily want to share my sob story. Sometimes my words just move faster than my head does.

“ Christmas is overrated anyway “ blue eyes says and shrugs his shoulders in a way that’s supposed to look casual. Only you can’t say shit like “Christmas is overrated” and be casual about it. There’s always more to a statement like that.

“ You think ? “

“ I know. “

“ How come ? “

He turns to face me and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. It’s like he’s straight from the cover of one of my mom’s romance novels. I think it’s quite unfair that he gets to look like this on a day like today and I — I look just the way I feel. Sad. Exhausted.

“ It’s none of your business. “

“ Oh geez, and here I was thinking we were bonding over our shared distaste for PDA. Guess not. “

“ You guessed right. “

For a moment, we fall into silence as another song plays over the stereo that has entirely too many obnoxious jingle bells in the backing track. For a moment I feel very lonely again.

It’s then, that the universe seems to have pity on me. It sends me a sign. A gift. A little Christmas miracle if you will.

That comes in the form of the couple getting more touchy, more — obnoxious. So obnoxious that the girl leans back, presumably to lay on the seats, only that’s not what happens. It seems to happen in slow motion when really it’s probably only the blink of an eye. She leans back and back and back and suddenly tumbles off the seats and onto the cold linoleum floor, her mister holding onto her so tightly, he falls right down with her.

My mama always told me not to laugh at other people’s misfortune. But at 18 years of age, I feel it’s time to break some rules my mama set. And this is one of them.

I can’t help it. I laugh. It comes from the deepest corner of my belly and fills my entire being. Then I catch those gorgeous blue eyes looking at my and I notice he’s laughing too. A hearty laugh. I think it’s a good one. No halfway laugh. No bullshitting. It’s a proper laugh and, as we lock eyes, our laughter only seems to increase.

The magic bubble that, until now, has surrounded the couple, seems to have been popped. It’s vanished. For them at least. Because as our laughter rings in unison, a proper harmony of joy, I feel like maybe me and mullet boy have been given a tiny spark of magic ourselves.

“ I’m (Y/N), by the way “ I say, trying to hold in more chuckles.

“ Billy ”

“ No no, you got it all wrong. His name is Michael and he’s on a business trip that he tells his wife he couldn’t postpone but actually he just wanted to get away from his family for the holidays. “

“ Michael ? nah. This dude’s not a Michael. “

“ So what’s his name then, Billy ? “

He thinks for a moment, face scrunched up in a way that is absolutely adorable. It makes him look way younger than he probably is. Very boy-ish. Very cute.

“ Edward “

“ Edward ? “

“ Yes. Look at him, he looks so boring. And can you think of a more boring name than fucking Edward ? “

I have to admit, he has a point. So I shrug and nod. “ You have a point. “

The little family from earlier, passes us and, as the mom glances towards us, her eye linger on Billy just a moment too long for it to be accidental. And he notices, the cocky bastard. He notices and revels in it, letting the corner of his lips lift up in a teasing smirk.

“ What the fuck was that ? “ I asked, flattened by the sheer audacity for both of them.

“ I got that effect on women of all ages. “

“ Wow, your ego is really tiny, huh. “

When he looks at me, grin widening and eye filling with mischief, I know I just said the wrong thing. I set myself up with this one, I admit that.

“ That’s the only thing tiny about me. “

“ Aaaand that’s my cue to leave. “ I pull myself halfway out of my seat when his arm shoots out and his hand grabs onto mine. The mischief in his eyes in gone, completely replaced by a pure and unfiltered honesty.

“ Stay. Please. “

I sink back down and we fall into a silence. He knows that I saw it in his eyes, the fear of being left alone and I know that he knows and so we’re stuck in this weird limbo of whether to ignore it or spill our sorrows to one another. And maybe it’s because today is Christmas and on Christmas you tell the truth, even if it to a stranger at an airport, but he suddenly breaks the silence and starts talking.

“ I don’t wanna be alone. “

“ Yeah me neither. “

“ I uh — I was supposed to be in California, to visit my mom over Christmas. I haven’t seen her in — in years. This was supposed to be our first Christmas together since I was 8. I called her earlier, from the payphone. I thought she might be devastated. She’s not. I don’t think she cares very much if I’m there or not. I’m still debating whether or not I wanna get on the plane if it ever goes. “

“ I came to visit my boyfriend for Christmas. Surprise him, you know. He’s going to college here in Indiana. We’re both from California and we haven’t seen each other since the summer. I thought It was the ultimate proof of my love to him. Well — turns out he’s been fucking his way around campus while I’ve been busy making plans on how to rearrange my life and all my dreams, to come study with him in Indiana after I graduate High School. “

Another silence fills our hearts but this one isn’t thick with anticipation and tension. It’s one that settles deep in our bones as we realize, that sometimes there’s comfort in shared misery.

“ Merry fucking Christmas to us. “ Billy murmures.

“ Do you wanna go see if we can get a drink at the bar ? “

“ That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while. “

“ I can not believe your fake ID says you’re name’s Ricky Hardman. “

“ If you’re mocking me I can just drink this myself, you know. “

“ Oh come on. It’s just — that sounds like such a porn name. “

“ So what. “

I have to snort at his complete lack of self reflection. He knows I’m right but he’s so stubborn. Again I find myself thinking it’s endearing rather than annoying.

To come back to a statement I made earlier, I also think we don’t appreciate the people enough, that make us snort-laugh. Is it a bit embarrassing and cringy? Sure but it’s a laugh either way and I don’t think we should ever take that for granted.

“ Put the cups down so I can spice it up a little bit “ Billy instructs me and I do as he says. This is probably our 4th refill of coffee for the night, my mom would have a go at me for all the caffeine but whatever.

Billy opens the bottle of booze he just purchased at the airport store and pour us both a decent amount into our coffees. Might as well have our own little Christmas celebration if we’re stuck here with nothing else to do.

Cups clutched in our hands we roam around the airport, cheeks warming up from the alcohol. I feel more at peace now and yet my heart is ever as heavy with the longing to be home.

A sign directs us towards the visitors terrace where families usually gather to watch the planes take off and land. It’s deserted now but that’s not really a surprise. It’s cold, it’s snowing and there’s no flights going anyway. It’s just a dark, snowy night and a lonely runway illuminated by small lights that, if you believe hard enough, almost look like fairy lights in the distance.

“ I know it looks pretty, “ I say as I lean against the banister of the terrace “ but I really don’t find snow all that great.”

“ I fucking sucks, “ Billy replies. “ It’s cold and wet and turns into gray slosh in the matter of a few minutes. “

“ I always dreamed of a white Christmas, now I can’t wait to never see snow again. “

“ Me too. I hate it. Snow. Indiana. At least you get to stay in California once you make it there. I have to wait until graduation to finally move back home. “

I don’t want to pry, I really don’t but there’s something about him that intrigues me. Everything he says and does in scrowded in some kind of mystery. Some hidden meaning in all of it.

The way he looks and the way his words hold a certain softness to them, is a whole enigma in itself.

“ You wanna come back to Cali ? “

“ Fuck yes. I can’t stay here longer than I need to. I miss the sun and the beach and — my home. “

“ Oh god yes, the beach. “

“ See, and you wanted to give up on all of that for a guy called Kelvin. “

“ I — he’s nice.”

“ Oh I’m sure he is. And secure and smart. “

“ He is. We’ve been together since my sophomore year in Highschool. He was my first — everything. He studies business and is gonna take over his dad’s company one day. “

Billy blows a raspberry before turning to me with his perfect eyebrow raised in mockery.

“ That is so dull. “

“ It’s not “

“ But it is ! Tell me honestly, do you really love this guy or is it just — comfortable. Being with him ? “

And once again, something that I’ve considered so many times in my life, suddenly affects me in a completely different way than I am used to. I understand all of a sudden.

I get it.

“ I mean, maybe you have a point. What makes you the relationship expert though ? “

“ Nothing. I’m not saying I am. But I know I never plan on spending my whole life with someone because I am comfortable with them. It’s your goddamn life, you should live it for yourself. “

It hits me light a freight train. Straight in the heart. He’s right. Whether I want to admit it or not, Billy is right. I don’t let him know that though, it’s hard enough admitting it to myself. I think he knows anyway, by the way I look at him. By the way he looks at me.

“ Have you decided whether or not you wanna get on the flight ? “ I ask. It’s still not my place to ask those questions but it feels like something has shifted between us. Like tonight is ours entirely. A night of truths. Of heart opened and unguarded.

“ The alternative is spending Christmas with my dad and his wife and my stepsister. “

“ Sounds alright to me. “

“ Yeah, only my dad is the biggest asshole on the planet. He’s not a nice guy. His wife is a fucking nutcase, obeying his every will. She has the backbone of a jellyfish. And Max — Max hates me. That one’s my fault though. “

I want to hug him. It’s a strong urge that overcomes me. A sudden rush. His words are soft and sad and frustrated and I can see in his eyes just how much this hurts him. And god, it’s Christmas Eve. I just want to make him feel a little less alone.

So I do. I hug him, rest my head on his shoulder and together we look at the snow falling around us, covering the world in a thick white frosty blanket.

“ I’m sorry about that. Just so you know though, I’m glad we’re stuck here together. “

“ Well yeah, I’m hot and fun and I have great hair. “

“ Oh there we go again with the ego. “ I laugh. He makes me me laugh. Like genuinely laugh. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this around Kelvin.

“ What’s that book you’ve been reading. “ Billy asks as the laughter settles down again.

“ Catcher in the Rye. It’s one of my favorites. “

“ Uh-huh. What’s it about ?”

“ This boy, Holden. He gets kicked out of prep school and runs of to New York City and yeah it basically chronicles his days in NYC. It’s about loss of innocence and isolation. “

“ Sounds absolutely — “

“ Wonderful “

“ Boring. “

Here’s the thing about interests and hobbies. They’re a very personal, very individual experience. They’re yours. And yes, maybe it’s nice to share your passions with another person who feels the same. But let’s be honest: It doesn’t really matter. I am not hurt by Billy’s disinterest. Not even by his mocking scoff. Because it in no way lessens my love for the book. The story it tells and the nostalgia it brings me.

It also doesn’t lessen the affection growing inside me, towards Billy. An affection that both scares and excites me at the same time. By all means, it is delusional to fall for a stranger at an airport, who doesn’t even live in the same state as me. Someone I’ve only spent a few hours with.

Then again, life is never a straight path. I used to think it was but after tonight, maybe I can let myself take some backroads. Take a road less traveled. See where it leads me and if it brings me to a dead end, turn around and try again.

Maybe sometimes it needs a boy with a leather jacket and gorgeous blue eyes, to make you realize that life can be so much more if you just let yourself live it.

“ Okay sure. What are your interests then ? I’m sure there’s something you like doing, something you care about. “

“ My car. “

“ That’s such a guy answer. “

“ Pff, whatever. “

“ What else ? “

He takes a moment to answer. Contemplates. Mulls his answer over in his head. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes I haven’t seen since he talked about his mom earlier tonight.

“ Music. “

“ Music ?”

“ I really care about music. Not — not playing it but just music in itself. You can’t tell anyone this, okay ? It’s a bit ridiculous and It’s not really realistic, but I would love to work at a record label. Or maybe have my own music venue. To help discover bands and find new, awesome music. Whenever I’m sad or angry or frustrated, or even happy, there’s a specific songs for any emotion, any situation. I want everyone to be able to have that in their life. “

There’s something undeniably sexy about someone being passionate about something. He only just started but I could honestly listen to Billy talk about music for hours and hours and hours.

“ So who’s your favorite band then ? “

“ I’ll sound pretentious as fuck but my favorites are probably some local bands from my hometown in California. “

“ Maybe when you’re back home after graduation, you can take me to a gig. Show me some of those bands. “

My heart beats faster as I realize this is the first time either of us has mentioned there being a future. More than just one magical night at the airport.

It slipped out but I’m glad it did. The idea of more nights together, more time spent listening to him talk about his music. Experiencing that music with him. It doesn’t scare me. In fact, it excites me so much.

“ Yeah. Sounds like a plan. “

“ A good plan. “

“ A great plan. “

I don’t know if he notices that I notice, but his hand drops to the small of my back, so gently it’s but a whisper of a touch. It warms me up more than our boozy coffee ever managed to.

Airports have a weird energy. A specific mood that transcends through every corner in every room. It’s loaded with the arrival of change. It might be good and exciting or it might be sad. But something is about to change and you can feel it sizzling in the air.

As I stand next to Billy in the softly falling snow, I know that the girl that arrived at the airport earlier today, heartbroken and without purpose, is not the same girl that’s gonna get on that flight home. Something has changed. I think I like this new girl better.

“ They’re singing deck the halls … “

“ Oh Jesus, what is it with this fucking song ? “

“ What, you don’t like it ? “

“ Do you ? “

“ Totally “

I don’t know what hits me. Maybe it’s the fact that the future is so awfully unknown. I don’t know if after tonight I will ever see Billy again. Or maybe because it’s Christmas.

Or maybe because I’m a little drunk and half in love.

But I start to dance and sing along. With the snow falling down on me. Snowflakes dropping onto my hair and melting, leaving it wet and streaky. But it doesn’t matter right then. All that matter is the music and the night and him and I.

“ Come dance with me. “

“ I don’t dance. “

“ It’s Christmas Eve, Billy. It’s my Christmas wish. Come on. There’s no one around. “

Here’s some piece of advice from me to you: If you’ve never had a guy in a leather jacket and biker boots twirl you around while the snow is falling and Christmas songs play over the stereo, then you’re missing out.

Billy’s hand is warm, his smile is gentle. It’s all so vastly different from the way I felt when touching Kelvin. Everything that comes with Billy is an enigma, a surprise. Nothing is certain and yet I am sure that I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.

The last chord of the song echoes through the night as Billy pulls me close to him, I can see his breath in the cold, accumulating in little clouds. I can feel his skin in mine.

“ You’re gonna get on that flight, Billy Hargrove. “ I say, my voice but a sigh. A whisper

“ I’m gonna get on the flight. I’m gonna graduate and then come back to California. Permanently this time. I’ll find you and take you to all the underground clubs and show you all my favorite bands. And I’ll even listen to you talk about your books. “

“ Even if you think they’re boring. “

“ Uh-huh. “

“ Hey Billy. “

“ Hmm ? “

“ I think I wanna write a book. I think that’s what I want to do with my life. “

He’s so close now, our noses touching, our breaths touching, our lips touching. Warm and soft and gentle.

“ Write about us, so you don’t forget me. “

I kiss him then. Or he kisses me. I don’t know for sure but really what does it matter. In the grand scheme of things it’s irrelevant who initiated the kiss. It matters that it happened. And by god I will never be able to forget this kiss or the boy that gave it to me.

“ Dear passengers, we are delighted to announce that the runway has been cleared. The sky is blue and free of any downfall. Flights will resume shortly. More information about departure times will be available shortly. Feel free to turn to our staff for guidance or additional information.

“ Billy. Hey, Billy. “ I say, and shake him awake. He looks so peaceful and boyish while sleeping, it breaks my heart a little to interrupt his sleep.

“ Hmm.. ? “

“ I think our flights are gonna go soon. Snow’s stopped. “

“ Oh. “

I don’t have to ask to know what he’s feeling. What he wants to say. “ Oh. this is it for us. “

We gather our stuff, stretch our limbs and get off the uncomfortable plastic seats. The board on the wall shows us that our flights go in just two hours. His to San Diego, mine to LA.

Our time is numbered and we finally have an expiration date. My heart breaks once again though this time I try to hold onto the fact that we both want a future of whatever it is we’re sharing. Even if it’s just a friendship, I want Billy Hargrove in my life.

“ Hey uh — “ Billy speaks up and takes my hand in his “ let’s make a deal. “

“ What deal ? “

“ To see each other again. Maybe — maybe next Christmas Eve. “

“ Where ? “

“ I don’t know. Let me — let me come to you. “

“ Santa Monica pier. “

“ Okay sure. “

“ Cool. “

He kisses me again and this one too, will stay with me forever. In my heart and in my head.

“ Here I’ll give you my phone number. Call me if anything changes. If my dad answers just ignore his stupid comments “ He says, fumbles around in his backpack and come up with a pen and — a cassette tape ?!

“ Something to remember me by “ he points out as he scribbles his number onto the little slip of paper. “ Some of my favorite songs on there. “

“ If you give me something, let me give you something too. “ I say and pull out my old worn out copy of Catcher in the Rye, scribble a message on the first page, then hand it to him.

“ There’s a bunch of notes in the margins. I never got to share them with anyone, I’ll gladly share them with you. “

Then I kiss him. Again and again and again, until it’s all I can think about and all I can feel.

“ Flight 207 to LAX boarding now. “

And that is it for us, at least for now. The magic of last night is broken. It’s Christmas Eve gone, replaced by Christmas day. No snowstorm. No magic. Just the brutal truth that real life awaits.

So we part. With more kisses and a promise.

“ Until next Christmas. “

The plane is already high up in the air when Billy Hargrove pulls the book from his pocket. It’s old and worn out and what looks like it used to be orange once upon a time is now a washed out beige.

He opens it up to the first page and can’t suppress a smile. A real one. Not one of those he fakes for his dad and susann. A real smile that reaches his eyes. One he feels in his heart.

“ Meet me at the Merry-Go-Round! “

His heart soars as he thinks about next year. A future that suddenly looks much brighter than ever before.

There’s a lot of notes and scribbles and highlighted sentences. He skims through it until one passage catches his attention.

“ Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do. “

And so he thinks back to the overly touchy couple and their magnificent tumble from the plastic seats. And he remembers her laugh and his ringing up in unison.

He understands. That Holden guy has a point. Maybe it’s worth reading the book after all.

A year later.

I’m rushing through the crowd of people, a vibrant clementine sky the backdrop for my misery. God, why can I never be on time.

My heart hammers in my chest. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave.

His eyes meet mine across the way as he leans against the banister by the Merry-Go-Round and I feel like I am back at the airport. The magic is back.

“ Sorry I am late. I am so so sorry. “ I say and can’t help myself but pull him into a kiss. One filled with passion and longing and a promise kept.

“ Ah If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late. “ He replies.

“ You read the book. “

“ I read the book and all your notes. “

“ That’s good, I uh — have something else for you to read. “

It’s a bundle of papers, no cover art or fancy pictures on the front page. All it says in big bold letters is “ A white Christmas - a story of girl meets boy. “ I hand it to Billy and he looks at me in confusion.

“What’s that ? “

“ That’s the first draft of my book. “

“ You wrote it! “

“ You believed I could so I did. “

“ What’s it about ? “

“ Oh you know, just a girl and a boy and a magical night at the airport. Lots of snow. Lots of kissing. Little bit of magic. “

“ Can’t wait to read it. So, you wanna go see a band ? “

“ They any good ? “

“ Pretty fucking good!”

Darlene Love’s voice echoes through the stereo and for the first time I have to disagree. This feels like Christmas more than any moment before ever did.

And my baby is finally home.

Taglist; [I copied this from @mattysheelies and just added a few new ones, if you wanna be added or deleted from the taglist please let me know]

@sebastiansloserclub ; @killer-queen-xo ; @william-hargroves ; @billysgodcomplex ; @daisyxbuckley ; @allabouthargrove ; @mcrmarvelloki ; @charmed-asylum ; @1998--js ; @naiomiwinchester ; @hargrovesprincess ; @mystrangerfics ; @teafrompari ; @staybruuutal ; @colourado ; @higher-further-faster-bb ; @ayybtch ; @carlaangel86 ; @baebee35

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #12dayswriting

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foxtophat · 4 years

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for mercy -- 2, 3, 4, 9, 11! :)

2: What scene did you first put down? this feeds into #9 but i actually wrote john and nick’s meeting first. the first time was disjointed from john’s pov and then the second time stuck with nick’s pov, and since nick was easier to write as i went ahead and just kept his pov throughout

3: What’s your favorite line of narration? ok it’s not like my FAVORITE b/c i’m sure there are other parts that i like equally as much, but after picking around my favorite chapters (winter nights, helping hands and unpaid manual labor) i think this is one of my better attempts at conveying action while not forgetting setting:

Nick hopes he never has to admit it again, but John is apparently right to warn him. The dirt under the thick foliage is loose and wet from the earlier rains, which Nick only realizes as he sinks his boot right into the root system of the vines holding the erosion at bay. He pitches down the hill, managing to bring up his arm a fraction of a second too late to save himself from going headfirst into the ground. His elbow takes most of the damage, followed immediately by his temple, ringing his bell so thoroughly that he misses the rest of his full-on tumble down the slope. He's face-first in the dirt one second, and face-up to the canopy the next, the world still spinning even when Nick is pretty sure he's hit the bottom. Somewhere nearby he can hear the river, and all around him are deep green leaves and bright pink flowers. Sunlight shines in through the trees, and for a moment the amber light turns the world around him into an alien landscape. The plants rustle in the breeze; somewhere on the incline above, he can hear roots tearing through the dirt. They're miles away, on the contour just above him, and Nick struggles to focus on them.

honestly that whole chapter was pretty baller as far as narration goes, i think it’s the one i’m most satisfied with overall. thats not the question but thats an answer!

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? again with the favorites, let me just highlight the dialogue right before that part because it is PEAK john/nick

"What are you doing?" John asks incredulously as Nick starts to gently pick his way through the brush down the slope. "That's a terrible idea." "Suddenly you know so much about everything," Nick grouses.

also peak john/nick from the party, because this is actually their relationship now

"What, you wanna go hide all night?" Nick rolls his eyes. "No, don't be a baby. Worst that'll happen is you'll get knocked down again." John doesn't look convinced, so Nick tries another route. "Come on, we went through all that just so you wouldn't have to hide out every time we have company. And people are gonna have to get used to you eventually — at least Sharky and Hurk already know you're alive." Finally, when none of that seems to work, he sighs and promises, "I'll make sure nobody decks you for no good reason, c'mon." John finally relents, sighing and gesturing vaguely. "Fine," he says, "Whatever you say.”

and just for good measure, here’s a decent bit of john and kim talking

John takes a breath. [...] "I'm sorry," he mutters. Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?" "No," he quietly replies. "You were right." Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. [...] "We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder. There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer." Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

actually i have some pretty good dialogue in a newer fic but i’ll wait to talk about that until its done, suffice it to say kim and john can actually communicate like adults sometimes

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic? so yeah originally the fic was going to be from john’s perspective, and he and the ryes were going to communicate through the radio for a while before john’s died. it was gonna be a whole thing to make it more realistic for nick and kim to forgive john, but then as i worked on it i realized that actually, fuck that lol. i still have scraps from it left around in case i can use any of the lines later

11: What do you like best about this fic? its definitely the closest to what i envisioned it to be. most of my fic winds up not being exactly what i wanted, but this one was STUPID easy to manage. every time i needed something to happen, i could just organically get it to happen, and it was just NICE to write something that wasn’t constantly struggling with me to get out on paper

#ask meme #kiichu #oh shit i should have added this tag to the other ask #lil fic things #spookychu

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ismael37olson · 6 years

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You're Cellophane!

Not too long ago, I created a Music Man glossary, since that show is so chock-full of period slang and euphemisms. Now, working on Anything Goes, I find the same thing is true. It's part of what make both shows so good -- they create a very real, full world in which these characters exist. And contrary to what a lot of directors and actors think, it is not important for the audience to get every reference; but it is important that the actors get them, so that they can live fully and honestly in this world. That sense of reality is the real value of period references. On the other hand.. In the original Anything Goes, several the lyrics were full of references to people and things that were popular in 1934, many of which we haven't even heard of today. So a lot of the original lyric for "You're the Top" and "Anything Goes" would just be baffling to audiences; and instead of listening to the song, they'd be feeling left behind and confused. Those lyrics had to be revised for the revivals. All that said, for actors and directors working on Anything Goes, and for all musical theatre fangirls and fanboys (of which I am one) who just love the show, here is my Anything Goes glossary. Take a look particularly at the juxtaposition of these pop culture references against each other, in their context. Porter is doing some really subtle, sophisticated social commentary in many of these lyrics. From the original 1934 script: "Manhattan" -- a cocktail made with whiskey, sweet vermouth, and bitters. While rye is the traditional whiskey of choice, other commonly used whiskeys include Canadian whisky, bourbon, blended whiskey, and Tennessee whiskey, invented in in the early 1870s at the Manhattan Club. "Grosvenor House" -- one of the largest private homes in London, torn down during World War I, and replaced with the luxury Grosvenor House Hotel

"Tommy gun" -- the Thompson submachine gun, invented by John T. Thompson in 1918, and became infamous during the Prohibition era. "rote shot" -- a section of the newspaper with society photographs, called the "rotogravure," after the printing process "Evelyn" -- a then common British man's name pronounced EVE-lin. "Snake Eyes Johnson" and Moonface Martin" -- jokes on 1930s gangster nicknames, like Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, Bugsy Siegel, Machine Gun Kelly, Lucky Luciano... "dicks" -- law enforcement; a slang term for detectives, originally coined in Canada and brought south by rumrunners during Prohibition. The comic strip character Dick Tracy was named for this term. "a wireless" -- a telegram "Mater" -- British for Mother, from the Latin, an intentionally old-fashioned term "Eight Bells Strike" -- the striking of eight bells on a ship says a four-hour watch shift is over (it's not connected to a specific time on the clock) "my sea legs..." -- a person's ability to keep their balance and not feel seasick when on board a moving ship. "Nicholas Murray Butler" -- a famous American philosopher, diplomat, and educator; president of Columbia University, president of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, and a recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. "Damn white of him" -- originally used under British colonialism, an expression of appreciation for honorable or gracious behavior, under the assumption that white people were inherently more virtuous. "The Social Register" -- according to Wikipedia, "The social elite was a small closed group. The leadership was well known to the readers of society pages, but in larger cities it was impossible to remember everyone, or to keep track of the new debutantes, the marriages, and the obituaries. The solution was the Social Register, which listed the names and addresses of the families who mingled in the same private clubs, attended the right teas and cotillions, worshipped together at prestige churches, funded the proper charities, lived in exclusive neighborhoods, and sent their daughters to finishing schools and their sons away to prep schools" "Beefeater" -- actually a ceremonial guard at the Tower of London, but here just referring to a British person, possibly also implying that Evelyn is stiff...? "Coliseum" -- the famous amphitheater in Rome, built in 70-80 AD "Louvre Museum" -- the world's largest museum, in Paris, holding some of our great works of art, including the "Mona Lisa." "Symphony by Strauss" -- German composer Richard Strauss was still actively writing operas and concert works when Anything Goes opened.

"Bendel bonnet" -- a ladies' hat from Henri Bendel, the upscale women's specialty store still today based in New York City, selling handbags, jewelry, luxury fashion accessories, home fragrances and gifts "Shakespeare Sonnet" -- Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets, fourteen-line poems Mickey Mouse -- you have to remember that for these characters living in 1934, Steamboat Willie premiered only six years ago, and Mickey was still only in black and white... "Vincent Youmans" -- Broadway composer of many musicals, including No, No, Nanette, Hit the Deck, and several Hollywood films "Mahatma Gandhi" -- still in the middle of his historic fight for independence for colonial India from Great Britain at this moment "Napoleon Brandy" -- an "extra old" blend of brandy in which the youngest brandy is stored for at least six years "The National Gallery": Famous art gallery in Washington, D.C. "Garbo's salary" - according to an article on Slate.com, "After the success of Flesh and the Devil (1927), Greta Garbo demanded that MGM raise her salary from $600 per week to $5,000 per week. Louis B. Mayer hemmed and hawed, so Garbo sailed to Sweden. Eventually Mayer gave in and Garbo sailed back. $5,000 per week comes to $260,000 per year, or the equivalent in today's dollars of $4.6 million per year." "cellophane" -- according to Wikipedia, "Whitman's candy company initiated use of cellophane for candy wrapping in the United States in 1912 for their Whitman's Sampler. They remained the largest user of imported cellophane from France until nearly 1924, when DuPont built the first cellophane manufacturing plant in the US. Cellophane saw limited sales in the US at first since while it was waterproof, it was not moisture proof—it held water but was permeable to water vapor. This meant that it was unsuited to packaging products that required moisture proofing. DuPont hired chemist William Hale Charch, who spent three years developing a nitrocellulose lacquer that, when applied to Cellophane, made it moisture proof. Following the introduction of moisture-proof Cellophane in 1927, the material's sales tripled between 1928 and 1930." Our story is set in 1934. "Derby winner" -- the 1934 running of the Kentucky Derby was its 60th! "You're a Brewster body" -- the frame for a Bentley or Rolls Royce luxury car "A Ritz hot toddy" -- a specialty drink of the Ritz Hotel bar in Paris "the sleepy Zuder Zee" -- The Zuiderzee was a shallow bay of the North Sea in the northwest of the Netherlands. The characters in Anything Goes know this because in 1928, sailing events for the Amsterdam Summer Olympics were held on the Zuiderzee. "Bishop Manning" -- Episcopal Bishop of St. John the Divine Cathedral in Manhattan. "A Nathan panning" -- a bad review from New York drama critic George Jean Nathan "broccoli" -- something of a novelty in 1934, having been farmed commercially in the US only since the 1920s, and the first advertising campaign on its behalf didn't occur until 1929. So in 1934, broccoli was the culinary cutting edge "a night at Coney" -- Coney Island "Irene Bordoni" -- French actress who starred on Broadway in Cole Porter's 1928 musical Paris, introducing the song "Let's Do It" (which had replaced "Let's Misbehave") "a fol-de-rol" -- a useless ornament or accessory, nonsense

"Arrow collar" -- the famous "Sanforized" collar on Arrow Shirts. The Arrow Collar Man became an advertising symbol in the 1920s for rugged masculinity. "Coolidge dollar" -- the very sound, very strong American dollar, under President Calvin Coolidge, before the Depression "Fred Astaire" -- Broadway and film star of musical comedies "(Eugene) O'Neill" -- Pulitzer Prize winning American playwright of powerful dramas, including Anna Christie (1920), The Emperor Jones (1920), The Hairy Ape (1922), Desire Under the Elms (1924), Strange Interlude (1928), Mourning Becomes Electra (1931), and others "Whistler's Mama" -- the famous painting actually called Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1, best known as Whistler's Mother, painted by the American painter James McNeill Whistler in 1871 "Camembert" -- A mellow, soft cheese with a creamy center first marketed in Normandy, France. "Inferno's Dante" -- Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) author of The Divine Comedy, the third part of which deals with Inferno (Hell). "the great Durante" -- comedian/actor Jimmy Durante. His first film was in 1930, but he had made 19 films by 1934 "de trop" -- a mispronunciation of the French phrase de trop, meaning too much, not wanted, unwelcome "A Waldorf Salad" -- a salad of apples, walnuts, raisins, celery, and mayonnaise, originated at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in Manhattan. "Berlin ballad" -- A romantic song by American songwriter Irvin Berlin, who by 1934 had already written standards like "Alexander's Ragtime Band," "What'll I Do?", "Blue Skies," and "Puttin' on the Ritz." A few years later, in 1938, Berlin would write "God Bless America." "an Old Dutch master" -- a Dutch master painter like Rembrandt, but ALSO a brand of cigars "Mrs. Astor" (changed to "Lady Astor" in 1962) -- Mrs. John Jacob Astor, leading New York socialite. "Pepsodent" -- toothpaste introduced in the USA in 1915 by the Pepsodent Company of Chicago. The original formula for the paste contained pepsin, a digestive agent designed to break down and digest food deposits on the teeth, hence the brand and company name. From 1930 to late 1933 a massive animated neon advertising sign for the toothpaste, featuring a young girl on a swing, hung on West 47th Street in Times Square in New York City.

"the steppes of Russia" -- a region of grasslands joining Europe and Asia -- Around 1930 the Soviet Union wanted to attract foreign tourists to bring in currency and improve its external image. On Stalin's and the Party's initiative a national tourist agency was founded. Intourist was responsible for attracting, accommodating and escorting all foreign guests.Western advertising styles were applied to appeal to the target audience. Intourist posters pictured a tourist paradise, not a country of laborers and peasants. Trains were no icons of progress but a comfortable way of transport. Intourist women were not working hard in a factory but were either fashionable or exotic. "Pants on a Roxy usher" -- the famous Roxy Theatre in Manhattan ("the Cathedral of motion pictures") had a squad of ushers who were trained like an army platoon and wore very tight pants. "G.O.P." -- Grand Old Party, i.e. Republicans. "Tower of Babel" -- Biblical tower in the land of Shinar, the building of which ceased when a confusion of languages took place. "Whitney stable" -- the socially prominent Whitney family bred famous horses "Mrs. Baer's son, Max" (also referred to as "Maxie Bauer") -- Max Baer, World Heavyweight Champion in the 1930s (his son, Max Baer Jr. played Jethro on The Beverly Hillbillies) "Rudy Vallee" -- 1920s/1930s crooner, who often sang through a megaphone and later starred in the original production of How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. "Phenolax" -- a pink flavored wafer laxative, first introduced in 1908

"Drumstick Lipstick" -- brand of makeup manufactured by Charbert, a French cosmetics firm. "brig" -- military prison "in irons" -- shackled "The Dean boys" -- baseball players and brothers Dizzy and Daffy, members of the famed "Gashouse Gang," the 1934 St. Louis Cardinal baseball team, which won 95 games, the National League pennant, and the 1934 World Series -- just months before Anything Goes opened! "Max Gordon" -- Broadway producer from the 1920s through the 1950, famous for extravagant productions "Jitneys" -- independent taxi cabs or small buses. The joke here is that the middle-class folks who can still afford to take a cab, here in the middle of the Depression, would be shocked to find out that some of the richest Americans (in this case, the Vanderbilt and Whitney families) had lost nearly everything. "Vanderbilts and Whitneys" -- two prominent rich families in New York "Sam Goldwyn" -- movie studio head "Lady Mendl" -- an American actress, interior decorator, author of the influential 1913 book The House in Good Taste, and a prominent figure in New York, Paris, and London society. Her morning exercises were famous, including yoga, standing on her head, and walking on her hands. "Missus R." and "Franklin" -- Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt

"broadcast a bed from Simmons" -- Eleanor Roosevelt did weekly radio broadcasts sponsored by Simmons mattresses "Mrs. Ned McLean" -- a socialite who was the last private owner of the Hope Diamond "Anna Sten" -- Ukrainian movie star "Swannee River" -- a reference to Stephen Foster's famous song "Old Folks at Home" and to the Gerhwin song "Swanee "goose's liver" -- pate "Russian Ballet" -- reference to the 1934–1935 world tour by the Dandré-Levitoff Russian Ballet "the Oxford movement" -- a 19th-century movement of High Church members of the Church of England which eventually developed into Anglo-Catholicism, arguing for the reinstatement of some older Christian traditions of faith and their inclusion into Anglican liturgy and theology. Presumably, Mrs. Wentworth is confusing the Oxford Movement with The Oxford Group was a Christian organization founded in 1931 by the American Christian missionary Frank Buchman. [For the references in "Anything Goes," see my earlier post on that song.] [For the references in "Blow Gabriel, Blow" see my earlier post about that song.] "Sing Sing" and "Joliet" -- famous maximum security prisons [For an explanation of the intro to "Be Like the Bluebird," see my earlier post about that.] Additional Things from the 1962 version: "The Globe American" -- a generic fictitious name for a newspaper "Hymsie Brown, the fighter" -- a fictitious nicknamed boxer "you know the New Deal" -- reference to government red tape, bureaucracy "Toscanini" -- Italian conductor Arturo Toscanini. The New York Philharmonic under Toscanini, in 1931, became the first orchestra to offer regular live coast-to-coast radio broadcasts of its concerts, gaining Toscanini unprecedented fame and a remarkable salary of $110,000 per year. "Milton Berle" -- already a successful stand-up comedian in the 1930s, patterning himself after one of Vaudeville's top comics, Ted Healy (the inspiration for Billy Flynn in Chicago). A year before Anything Goes opened, Berle starred in the short musical film Poppin' the Cork, a topical musical comedy about the repealing of Prohibition. "tomato ketchup" -- During the 1930s Heinz increased their sales force and advertising, to battle the drop in sales due to the Depression. Heinz salesmen were expected to be at least 6ft tall, impeccably dressed and particularly eloquent at promoting Heinz products. Their equipment which included chrome vacuum flasks, pickle forks and olive spears weighed about 30lbs. "Chippendale" -- various styles of furniture fashionable in the late 18th century and named after the English cabinetmaker Thomas Chippendale

"Fourth Dimension" -- according to Project Muse, "During the first three decades of the twentieth century, the fourth dimension was a concern common to artists in nearly every major modern movement: Analytical and Synthetic Cubists, Italian Futurists, Russian Futurists, Suprematists, and Constructivists, American modernists in the Stieglitz and Arensberg circles, Dadaists, and members of De Stijl. Kandinsky’s own awareness of the idea, and the growing interest in Germany in the space-time world of Einstein. Although by the end of the 1920s the temporal fourth dimension of Einsteinian Relativity Theory had largely displaced the popular fourth dimension of space in the public mind, one further movement was to explore a fourth spatial dimension: French Surrealism." "George Bernard Shaw" -- British playwright (Pygmalion, Major Barbara, Man and Superman, Saint Joan, etc.) "verse" -- Today, we call the first section of a song the intro, which sets up the topic, before we get to the first verse and main melody (though many songs today don't have one). Then we get the first verse, which introduces the main melody, and then in most pop songs, we get the chorus. Sometimes there's a contrasting section called the bridge. But in Porter's time, the first section was the verse, and what we call the verse and chorus were together called the refrain. "Tinpantithesis" -- an invented joke word, meaning the Tin Pan Alley (common) antithesis (opposite) of good music Gullery -- Billy's joke on Mrs. Harcourt "un peu d'amour" -- French for a little love "DAR, PTA, and WPA" -- The Daughters of the Revolution, the Parents-Teachers Association, and the Works Progress Administrtion -- three things that do not belong together, but Mooney doesn't know that... Every day, I find new richness in Anything Goes, new craft, new surprises. It's such diving this deep into a show I've always loved but never thought about that much... Hope you enjoy learning about all this stuff as much as I do! The adventure continues! Long Live the Musical! Scott from The Bad Boy of Musical Theatre http://newlinetheatre.blogspot.com/2018/02/youre-cellophane.html

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