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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter one: from rhode island with love

*chapter one of book two of course

Zelda smelled of old books and soapy perfume, something which made Sam reminisce about her old life on the West Coast. She had taken her seat on the arm of the couch, right next to Marla, and she let the toes of her shoes hover about an inch above the floor. She held the drum sticks in either hand and she twirled the one in her right hand. She dropped it at one point and she stooped down to pick it up from the hard floor beneath her.

She twirled the stick again, that time with two fingers. She had long, slender fingers which held and twirled the stick like a series of serpents: Sam took a second look at her hand to find deep dark green nail polish on her fingernails that shone under the daylight from the window across the room. The men in the front room burst out laughing at something and she tossed the stick in the air. She caught it as if she had twirled a baton. Zelda turned her head to the two of them with a glimmer in her eyes.

“Are you in a band at all?” Marla asked her with a bit of excitement to her voice.

“I am, yeah!” Zelda declared. “The Cherry Suicides, we're called. We're a tiny li'l gang of girls who play loud, raucous, and kinda sexy hardcore punk. Straight outta Narragansett.”

Sam hesitated for a second.

“Rhode Island?”

“Correct a mundo.” Zelda showed her a smile, one where her cheekbones actually resembled to ripe cherries right off the tree. She crossed her slender, toned drummer's legs as Billy emerged from the hallway once again, that time with little white cups in either hand.

“This is courtesy of Eric and Steve,” he declared as he handed the cup in his left hand to Zelda. He handed the one in his right to Marla.

“I'll be right back for you,” he continued with a gesture to Sam, and he ducked back into the hallway.

“Our goal at the moment is go on tour with either Black Flag or the Ramones,” she continued as she tipped the cup back into her mouth. She knocked back whatever was in there in three large gulps. Marla cradled her cup in her lap. “How 'bout you ladies?”

“We're artists,” Sam told her.

“Like, actual artists?”

“Yeah.”

“She's waiting to hear back from the school people,” Marla explained with a gesture to Sam. “I'm already in school.”

“Oh, that's cool! Our lead singer and guitarist, Morgan and Minerva—they're sisters—they tried going to school a couple of years ago and Morgan said she hated it. Min survived the two years and said, 'fuck it, I'm a guitarist.' I thought of doing it when I got out of high school but at that point, I met Min and she invited me to jam with her and Morgan. We've gone through about three bassists already.”

“Why's that?” asked Sam, to which Zelda shrugged.

“Our first bass player, Di—she didn't want to commit, like she wasn't comfortable with going out and touring, which I don't understand because that's the whole point of being in a band, if you ask me. Our second, Victoria, she had bad chemistry with both me and Morgan, like she called Morgan controlling—which is complete bullshit. Morgan's been my friend since high school and she's anything but controlling. And she called me enabling, which is... fucking weird.”

Sam chuckled at Zelda's gratuitous swearing: the way in which she did it sounded so natural and fluid to her train of thought.

“And now our current bass player, Rosita, she's been doing real good with us.”

“So third time's a charm?” Sam followed along.

“Apparently so! And it's funny you say that, too—what'd you say your name was?” Zelda knitted her eyebrows together.

“Sam.”

“Sam! It's kinda funny you say that, 'cause we actually have a song titled 'Third Time's a Charm'. It's gonna be part of our demo tape.”

Billy returned to the room with two cups in either hand again, and that time he handed the one in his right hand to Sam.

“Thank you,” she said with a sweet smile.

“The speed metal paradox—the boys are inexperienced with girls and yet complete and total gentlemen,” Zelda remarked.

“What kinda metal?” Sam asked her as she took a small sip of the cold water.

“Speed. Quick, to the point, sharp, and yet kinda... melodious. At least, that's what I always hear it being called in the past—year or so, since we started comin' to New York City from Rhode Island.” Zelda turned towards Billy. “I assume that's what you guys are.”

“Stormtroopers?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged in response as he brought the cup to his mouth.

“I guess? We're just Stormtroopers, if you ask me and Charlie.”

“Charlie says Anthrax are just... y'know, Anthrax,” Marla replied with a shrug herself.

“Labels are for cans of soup, not people,” Sam declared.

“Yes!” Billy said with a point to her. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“We just call ourselves punk because we like punk,” Zelda explained as she twirled the drum stick in her right hand again. “We like punk—we like the Ramones and the Sex Pistols, and I like to play fast like Charlie. But we don't really go anywhere beyond that, though, for the same reason.”

One of the guys from Legacy, a slightly hefty boy with a round face and a sheet of lush curls spread down his face, emerged in the doorway right then with his hand up by his chest.

“Bill's in a room full of girls,” he joked with a little nod of his head.

“At least we take care of him,” Marla retorted, which brought a laugh out of him. He rested his large hands on the sides of the door frame for a second, and then he lunged for them.

“I didn't introduce myself, by the way—I'm Steve.”

“Better known as Zetro,” Billy added as they each shook hands; “if anything, he actually goes just by that. Everyone knows him as Zetro.” His hand dwarfed Sam to the point it made her think of a bear paw.

“Why Zetro?” Marla asked him.

“It's been with me since I was a kid,” he explained. “Let's just say I've got a thing for cartoons.”

“Us, too,” Zelda replied with a gesture to Marla and Sam, even though the three of them had only known each other for a few minutes.

“By the way, we're handing out cups of water because we have a couple of dudes runnin' around here who aren't twenty one yet, Frank and—”

“Oi! Zetro!” Another of the boys from Legacy emerged from behind him. He had smooth straight inky black hair, part of which spread over the side of his forehead and hid his left eye a bit, and a round little boyish face with smooth, slightly angled dark eyes. Even though Sam didn't want to think that, he looked as though he could have walked right out of the Chinese neighborhood of San Francisco.

“Zetro,” he repeated as he flipped back his hair with a flick of his head.

“Yeees?” Zetro replied with a flick of his tongue.

“We're outta cups,” he said.

“How are we outta cups?” Billy asked him.

“I asked Jon and he was like 'we're fresh outta cups.'” He nodded to the three girls on the couch. “So—keep those in hand, ladies.”

Zetro gestured over to him with finger guns.

“Rhythm guitarist Eric Peterson,” he introduced him.

“I'm half Swedish, half Mexican,” he explained. “My dad came here from beautiful Sweden.”

“Oh, wow, I feel dumb right about now,” Sam blurted out.

“Why's that?”

“I thought you were Asian at first.” Eric burst out laughing at that and smacked his knee.

“I thought you were Asian!” Sam insisted. “I feel so dumb for that now.”

“Don't be,” he said with a sharp gasp so as to catch his breath. “If it makes you feel any better, you're not the first person to think that.”

Marla and Zelda glanced over at Sam with raised eyebrows and little smirks on their faces; the latter giggled a bit.

“Well,” was all she could muster out from her lips. He was kind to her to top it all off.

“By the way, when's your gig?” Eric asked Zelda.

“At five,” she replied with a toss of her drum stick.

“Are we all going together?” Billy folded his arms across his chest.

“Who, us an' you guys?” Eric gave his hair another toss back with a flick of his head.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I think we are.” Eric turned to Marla and Sam. “Would you girls come along? We're gonna see Zelda's band at this little bar down the block. We're all walkin'.”

“At least we're walking!” Marla exclaimed.

“Yeah, I don't really wanna get back into the car again,” Sam confessed. “I don't think Aurora does, either.”

“Just goin' right down the block here,” Zelda repeated Eric's words, and she dropped the stick on the floor again. “I'm gonna get ahead of you guys in a little bit 'cause I'm in the band, y'know.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Zetro, “it's imperative you've gotta. It's important. It's necessary. It's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's, it's—”

“Yes!” Zelda cut him off as she picked up the drum stick. She stood to her feet and followed Eric out of the room. Sam and Marla climbed to their feet but they stood there for a second. Billy ran his hands over the crown of his head and he turned to them with a thoughtful look on his face.

“A metal show last night and now a punk show today,” he stated, “I'm kinda jealous of you girls.”

“And Aurora's comin' along, too,” Zetro added as he followed Eric out of the room.

“The three of us and all you guys,” Sam stated, “when we were driving together over here, I swore it all felt like a dream.”

“It is kinda like a dream, isn't it?” Billy showed her a little grin. He led them out of the room to meet up with the huge group of guys, and they all walked together up the block to the little dark lit bar at the end of the block. Marla linked arms with Charlie and Sam and Aurora strode behind them right next to Frank; right in front of them, Zelda broke out in a run at the second cross walk.

Sam peered behind her to see Scott and Billy side by side, followed by the other two guys from Legacy. Meanwhile, behind them, bringing up the rear was the boy with the yarmulke. At some point, he had removed his yarmulke and he revealed that little plume of white at the right side of his head. She couldn't see it for very long but it shone under the afternoon sun like a little pearl. He ran his fingers through his otherwise jet black hair as she returned to a forward position.

It was implied he was the other one under twenty one, or so she assumed. He looked under twenty one with his boyish round face and slightly prominent little tummy at second glance back at him. When they stopped at the first crosswalk together, she glanced back at him again. Even with his little tummy, his waist was slender and almost delicate, and even with his blue jeans, she could tell his thighs were toned and slim. Aside from the little plume at the crown of his head, he was quite striking and even if he was closer to her, he could have stood out in that small crowd of people: he had a prominent aquiline nose and brow, sharp high cheekbones, and smooth sensual lips, and add to this, he was long and lanky; quite tall for a youngster.

“Sam!” Aurora exclaimed over the traffic.

“Huh?” She whirled around to find them crossing the street, and she clutched her purse even though she had slung it over the opposite shoulder.

“Hey, it's Joey,” Frank remarked as they came closer.

“You sure that's Joey and not Zelda?” Aurora asked him.

“Zelda's not that tall,” said Charlie.

“Well, Joey isn't, either,” she pointed out.

But indeed, it was Joey as his thick black curls entered their view. Zelda meanwhile emerged from the side of the bar with a bottle in her hand. The men meanwhile, each showed the man there at the door way their ID cards: Sam gazed on at the boy at the back, and she knew there was no way he could get in.

“I should tell you ladies,” she started in a low voice, “I can probably get you both in for no charges if you'd like.”

“How's that?” Marla asked her. Zelda turned to the man at the front door and pressed her hands to her hips.

“I'm with the band,” she proclaimed. “And these two chicas behind me are with me.”

“Lemme see some identification,” he commanded.

“Here's your identification—” Without hesitating for a second, Zelda lifted up her shirt part of the way up her stomach and he stopped right in his tracks.

“Okay, okay, but none of that in a little while, okay, sweet heart?”

“We'll be the judge of that,” she sneered at him as she dropped the hem of her shirt, “and don't call me sweet heart.”

“Wait, what about him?” Aurora gestured to the boy at the back.

“It's okay, Aurora—I'm with all those guys, too.” His voice was even striking, like it didn't match up with his body. He looked so odd and he sounded so powerful, like he knew what he was doing and his body just dripped with testosterone.

“If you're underage, you can come in at least until nine—that's when the kitchen closes.”

“Okay, good.” Aurora gestured for him to follow them into the tiny but bright lit bar. The wooden floor looked as though it had just been polished and all the dark tables and accompanying spindly chairs looked brand new; at the right side of the room stood a small, cramped but bright stage with Zelda's drum kit already set up. Sam took another drink from her cup when Zelda herself darted across the wooden floor from the bar on the left side of the room.

“Morgan!” she called over the chatter of the gathering crowd in there. “Morgan!”

Joey, Frank, and Charlie had ducked over to the bar, as did the boy with the stripe in his hair. However, Sam watched him at the far end and by the mere look on his face, she could tell he wasn't asking for a drink like the three of them behind her. Aurora huddled closer to her and adjusted her bra strap with a jerk of her arm. Marla joined them and she gazed on at the bar herself.

“How old is he, by the way?” Marla asked Aurora; Sam followed her gesture to the boy with the stripe in his hair.

“Who, him?”

“Yeah.”

“He's—” Aurora paused for a second. “—seventeen. I think? Seventeen or sixteen. I'm drawing a blank on his name, too—Eric told me all of their names, but I forgot to write it down because Jon was trying to talk to me at the same time.”

“You had all that paper with you, though,” Sam chuckled at that.

“That was all the legal, business nonsense,” Aurora pointed out. “The stuff you don't see that comes when you're handing in a demo tape or a recording of literally any kind and signing to a major label. The stuff that's like totally mind numbing, but—you know, somebody has to sift through it. Anyways, of the five of them, all I know is Eric and Zetro because they talked to me first and the two of them did all the talking no less.”

“I'm just—drawn to that little stripe in his hair,” Sam confessed with a gesture to her head.

“Yeah, it's—it's—” Aurora ran her tongue over her top row of teeth.

“It's odd,” Marla finished for her.

“It's odd and it's interesting, too,” Sam added. “Like, why does he have it? And right there of all places?”

“My grandmother from North Korea had something similar to that,” Aurora said, “like just a single part of her hair was gray and the rest of it was solid black, almost exactly like his. Except hers was—on the side of her head, like her temple, not over her forehead. It's a mutation, I think? According to my dad, she didn't have it show until she was like fifty years old, though, and that was when he fled the North and went to Seoul.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and frowned. He just sat there at that little table with the yarmulke hanging out of his jeans pocket and the glass in hand: from across the room, Sam could tell it was club soda. He glanced about the room like the kid in the cafeteria whom no one wanted to sit with at lunch time. “Let's keep an eye on him—he looks lonely.”

“Yeah, maybe we should,” Marla added. “Poor guy's underage and he pretty much had to shout at the guy at the door just to get in.”

“I think Eric is underage, too?” Aurora recalled. “He told me their ages and he told me he doesn't turn twenty one until the middle of May. But he's almost like a high school student, though. He's a sixteen year old baby.”

“A sixteen year old baby who's already going gray,” Sam said in a soft voice.

“Exactly!”

He glanced to his left and he brought the glass up to his lips; Frank came over to him to talk to him about something and his eyes sparkled under the warm lighting of the bar. Sam thought about the man in her dreams, and she wondered about him. Zelda breezed past them with one of the bar backs.

“I told them I was going to get them into the club—” Sam couldn't hear the rest of it given she fell out of earshot. She watched Zelda weave her way through the crowd once more; she disappeared behind a large black speaker, and Sam caught the abrasive sound of a downtuned guitar in that direction. Several more patrons gathered around the stage and all around right in front of them: the three girls stood at the back of the crowd.

Every so often, Sam glanced over her shoulder at the boy at the far end of the bar. At least he was talking to Frank, who was underage himself. But he still looked so out of place there: out of place and alone.

Within time, Joey and Charlie joined them with drinks for themselves. Joey showed her a little grin and a raise of the brown bottle; he did the same for Aurora and Marla, too. Charlie meanwhile put his arm around Marla's shoulder and offered her a sip from his bottle.

“Quite the place to be, isn't it?” he asked her over the roar of the crowd.

“Absolutely!” she replied with a smile and an adjustment of her purse strap. He tipped the bottle into his lips and she thought about the night before. She was about to ask him what he had done upon leaving her place when that distorted guitar sliced through like a knife. Lead guitarist Minerva and lead singer Morgan were both little black girls with short bobs of black dread locks: Minerva had bright white dyed shocks that dotted her hair and a little red star tattooed on her shoulder. Morgan meanwhile had a big red ring on her right middle finger and long red and white striped acrylic fingernails, and she wore nothing but a black lace brassiere and a black leather mini skirt. Bassist Rosita had long black hair down to her waist and wore a black satin camisole over a pair of black leather jeans and matching black leather boots: before she took to the stage, she set a big floppy black hat atop her head and Sam could see a blue rose and a fiery red rose embedded at the brim.

The Cherry Suicides were loud and fast, and powerful, and yet they were straight to the point. Morgan had an abrasive voice that filled out the whole room: Sam was mesmerized by her and the way in which she ran her fingers through her dreads and down around her chest, and the way she closed her eyes at certain points. At one point, Rosita put one foot up and she showed off the inside of her thigh and the bell shape of her jeans. She had big narrow heels on her boots that resembled to knives. Zelda, meanwhile, was the only white girl up there and she barely moved her arms when she drummed.

Sam noticed a tattoo of cherries on stems on Morgan's right hip. Cherries on stems that looked to be bleeding. The Cherry Suicides.

She turned her head again and the boy with the little pearly stripe in his hair stood on the far side of the room with a little glass in his hand. He looked so out of place there in that club, given he was so young and the look on his face was one of confusion. Sam turned her head to Marla and Aurora, both of whom were in awe by the sight of them.

They began that song Zelda had talked about before, “Third Time's a Charm”, which was slower and a bit more heavy in comparison. Morgan crooned out about wanting to make her lover climax three times after he tried to use a knife, and that the third time was a charm.

Sam turned her head yet again, and for a fleeting moment, she pictured herself pressing her lips onto those smooth sensual ones. She shook her head at that thought.

No, she thought. No, no, no. Bad Sam. He's only sixteen!

He took a sip from his glass as Zetro and one of the guys from Legacy joined him so he was a little less lonely, or so she assumed. They huddled near the corner of the room like three boys in a strange place.

Third time's a charm after a dance with the knife. Third time's a charm after a dance right with your wet cock...

Joey, who stood on her left, took a swig from his bottle and flashed her a wink. She had no idea if he was tipsy yet, but he had already been loosened up from that single bottle. It was such an odd place to be right at that moment with the lyrics coming out of Morgan's cherry lips; Marla, Aurora, Charlie, and Joey on either side of her; and that boy with the plume in his hair, right on the other side of the room.

Zelda gave her right drum stick a twirl and she caught it between her thumb and her index finger as a final touch. Sam and Marla glanced at one another in awe as the crowd before them erupted into applause.

“They were badass!” Aurora declared.

“Loud and not giving a single fuck,” Charlie added, “that's pretty rock n' roll if you ask me.”

“By the way, you ladies want get something to eat?” Joey offered them. “I was talking to Kirk a little bit ago and he offered us to go and meet up with Metallica across the street.”

“So,” Charlie added, “again, we won't have to drive anywhere.”

“Big ol' party,” Marla remarked. Zelda emerged from the crowd in front of them with a glass in one hand and a soft blush in her face.

“Didn't even break out a sweat!” Sam said.

“Not even feelin' it, fellas,” Zelda boasted as she took a big drink from the glass.

“Wanna get sump'n to eat?” Joey offered her.

“Oh, definitely—I could use a bite to eat. I'll ask the girls, too.”

“From Rhode Island with love?” Sam asked her.

“From Rhode Island with love, kids,” Zelda echoed with a raise of her eyebrows and a raise of her glass towards them.

#fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 1 #chapter 17 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #deadly nightshade #book two #anthrax #anthrax fanfic #legacy #joey belladonna #frank bello #charlie benante #billy milano #eric peterson #steve souza #also on ao3 #text

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bates--boy · 3 years

Text

Peter was just about done with work that day, cleaning the bottles for the infant animals when his phone buzzed in his pockets. He shut the sink off, yanked off the wet rubber gloves, and pulled his device out of his pocket. “Oh!” he chirped, seeing the name of the sender.

[Naseem] Yo, Pete, it’s Naz. Was wondering if you have plans for lunch today?

[Naseem] I wanted us to do some extra rap practice and maybe go over the lines between Troy and Stefan before our big night

Peter turned to sit back against the lip of the sink, hugging one of his arms across his torso as he typed.

[Peter] i have a half-day today so i’m free once i clock out at twelve.

[Peter] i’d be happy to buy you lunch if you haven’t eaten yet. i know a great place to get a bite to eat.

[Naseem] Bet. My break’s half past noon. See you at your work?

[Peter] fine by me! see ya!

Smiling at the screen before shoving his phone into his pocket, Peter finished cleaning the rest of the bottles, went to the changing area to wiggle out of the waterproof overalls, and then to the employee area to punch out at the time clock and fetch his hoodie and his copy of the stage play from his locker. He looked down at the practically beaten-up book, some pages curled in, corners folded, colorful tabs poking out of the pages: pink for Josef’s spoken lines, blue for Troy’s; green for Josef’s songs, yellow for Troy’s. Slightly crinkled from the times Peter shoved it into his bag to carry at all times, or when he had his quick bursts of sleep while reading over the thing.

With a quick cleaning at the employee basin, Peter made a brisk walk back to the grounds, heading to the entrance area. He sent a quick message of his location and waited with the play lying open, quietly murmuring Josef’s verses. Soon, the familiar deep blue XC60 rolled onto the lot, with the Nigerian, Palestinian, and Swedish flags painted across the back. Naseem climbed out and waved as he strolled over, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his copy of the play rolled in his hand. When he drew close enough, Naseem said, “Wow, it’s been a while since I last came here.”

“Ah, so you probably don’t know about the new aerial arts performance they have here,” Peter grinned as they walked back to the conservatory grounds together.

Naseem shrugged. “I have. And I’ve been meaning to come check it out, but, you know. Schedule..”

“Well, the next time you’re free, come on over! I can even sneak you in for a show!” Peter nudged his shoulder against Naseem.

“How are you gonna--” Naseem stopped once he saw the coy grin on Peter’s face. “Lemme guess: you’re the star?”

“One of them.” Peter bobbed his shoulder and looked away in faux modesty. He giggled and patted Naseem’s arm. “Come on, I know a great picnic area we can practice in.”

Peter and Naseem took the stroll to the benches, dodging giggling little kids darting everywhere to get to the next animal enclosure that caught their eye, and the wandering animals that escaped their habitats, mainly small bird and marsupial species. After Peter bought them both bottled smoothies at one of the snack kiosks, they settled at a table near the wooden fence post, drawing annoyed glances from passersby as they sat on the tabletop instead of the benches.

“Which scenes do you want to practice today?” Peter asked before pulling a long draught from his bottle. “We can just do a couple so I can treat you to lunch.”

Naseem skimmed the pages he had marked, going back and forth and shrugging. “Ones that have our characters singing so we can work these vocal cords. Let’s start with...” he consulted his shorthand notes. “Act III, scene 4. So, my character comes up to yours.”

Naseem clambered down the picnic table, took a few steps away, and stomped back. The chills Peter felt may or may not have to do with the complete switch of energy Naseem made. Even his green eyes flared with fury.

“Why the hell did you do that to Josef?!”

Peter sighed as his character did, shifting on the table and leaning forward on his knees. So cool and unaffected, to the point of almost being despondent. Peter still couldn’t figure this Troy out, but he spoke his lines.

“I didn’t do a thing to him, Stef.”

Naseem crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Oh, really? So when he said no to that stage deal because ‘his mom’s gonna die alone in their apartment while he’s out singing for pocket change’, that wasn’t you?” Peter had to pause here, as Troy struggled to find an excuse. Naseem threw up his arms. “God, what is wrong with you?! What kind of a friend are you?!”

“A realistic one.” Peter’s tone remained calm, stoic - a stoner too mellowed out to get worked up.

Naseem rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Realistic. Jo finally had what he needed right in his lap, and you couldn’t even be supportive of him because you’re realistic. That’s bull crap, even for you.”

“You can say whatever you want about me, Stef, but of all these people feeding him these wild dreams --” Peter swept his hand about, gesturing to a figurative crowd while a few eyes turned their way. He pointed to his own chest. “--I’m the only one looking out for him.”

“No, looking out for him would be helping him with this. He has a chance to get a better life, but you don't want that for him!"

"I don't--?!" Peter gave a scoffing laughing and rolled his eyes. "You're so far off, it's funny!"

"Yeah? So all this time you kept telling him to don't do it, it's not because you know you're wasting your own life being some bum mad that you lost your trust fund and you're angry that Josef can make it?"

"No!" Peter's voice started to boil, Troy's cool, arrogant façade starting to crack and chip. His free hand curled into a shaking fist.

"Then why? Why are you being such a shitty friend?!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see a uniformed figure walking up to them, parents trying to distract their kids from the argument.

"Because this would break him just like it almost did me!"

In a blink of an eye, and a sudden flush of heat on his cheeks, Peter was on his feet, too, feeling Troy's despair as he and Naseem were practically nose to nose. For all the anger, the anguish, and the overprotective adrenaline Troy was supposed to feel at that moment, Peter channeled the underlying heartache and exhaustion; he sounded tired.

"Like it did my sister."

"Er, excuse me," the uniformed man said when he came close enough, a hand reaching out to them. "Is there a prob--"

Naseem stared at Peter for a breath. "Your sister?"

Peter gave a soft, sad laugh. "Oh, that's right, I never told you about Anna, did I?" He silently filled his lungs with air.

You don't know the story of a boy and a girl Mommy pleasers destined to dominate the world

The worker looked between the two men, casting an especially long glance at the singing one. "...What?"

Born to hold the dreams that Mommy tucked away Cause she got bare footed and pregnant Waiting on her someday

The worker furrowed his brows. “What is--” he spotted the open scripts in their hands and lowered his own hand. “Oh... okay...”

Peter felt a tickle of a grin almost appearing on his lips, amusement almost breaking his character. Almost.

Commercial deals, toddlers on every single ad Barely out of diapers, and we’re out there selling fads Taught to walk so we could tap dance and do a twirl And hold our hands out for all the gold, silver, and pearls

Yanked outta school when the lime lights calling us Daddy got you a gig, so you better not fucking fuss! Tuck in your gut, tilt up your chin, chest out and sing You’re gonna make it worth taking this diamond ring

What you do with heavy makeup and cameras flashing? Swallow cotton and pinch our cheeks red to stay dashing Seeing enemies in friends looking for a ladder to climb Trying to bring you to ruin when they find the right time To strike, like vipers on the hunt for your big juicy kill And the only way to stop the cracks is a tiny yellow pill

A tiny yellow pill A tiny yellow pill A handful of tiny yellow pills Until her heart went still

Naseem slowly started to unfold his arms, his character Stefan hit with a world-shattering realization. ��Oh...”

Peter turned his face away. “Yeah...”

Naseem shook his head and sighed. “Man, I’m... I’m sorry. But, see, here’s the thing...”

I had never known you were crushed this hard Ruled by your fears, beaten, tattered, and battle scarred Now that I think it, so much shit start to make sense Is this why a little stage work gets you so incensed?

I hate that for you, all this pain you’ve been burdened Chasing a high and identity that doesn’t leave you hurtin’ But it’s unfair how you hurt Josef with your sister’s ghost Breaking a dream for someone else’s overdose

What does it do for the person on the other spectrum Piss poor, tryna get meds for his ailing, dying mum When even his close friend is robbing him of a dream Cuz he can’t stop himself from falling apart at the seam? Still blinded by phantom lights, suffocating at the gills? What about Josef’s mum little pills?

Her little pills Her life saving pills If she don’t get hers, then her heart will stand still.

This was the part where Peter is stunned into silence, indignant, hurt, scrambling for more excuses, still trying to cling to the death of his sister -- the crux of Troy’s listlessness and indifference. But then a loud cry rang out around them.

The crowd of mere picnickers grew during their rehearsal, it seemed, now cheering and clapping and whistling, someone even going “You tell him, baby!”

Stuttering, Peter looked towards Naseem and exchanged smiles with him. They stood closer together, held hands, and took a bow.

“Thank you, thank you!” Peter called out, waving to the cell phones held out. “If you want more, purchase tickets for Inner City Lights before they sell out!”

“Written and produced by Gunnar Didig!” Naseem added, calling out the website to purchase over the hooting and whistling.

#note to self: never write a musical #life thus far ( story )#droid noodles ( writing )#and suicide imp tw #long post

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

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Chapter 1 - Tapped Out

Catch Perfect by George deValier

CHAPTER ONE

TAPPED OUT: A player who has lost all of his money.

Berwald drove slowly down the narrow residential road. Situated behind the university, it was a colourful, ramshackle sort of a street, obviously inhabited mainly by students. The houses were large, slightly dilapidated, many with evidence of renovations half completed then forgotten. The cars in the driveways looked old and run down. An inordinate amount of people were hanging around outside, talking over fences and strolling the footpaths; Berwald could hear the racket of people shouting and music blaring even from inside his car.

Berwald scanned the numbers of the houses he passed. He was not exactly excited about moving into a share house - in fact he was dreading it - but after his last disastrous game he didn't have much of a choice. Having lost everything, and now completely broke, he had five days to move out of his apartment. So when he'd spotted the ad for a 'Gay-friendly, Scandinavian Housemate' in the student paper he'd figured that, although a bit strange, it was probably his best option. He was a bit apprehensive, though, based on the phone call he'd made.

"Hello?" A bored voice answered after three rings.

"Hi. Callin' 'bout the ad."

"Excuse me?"

"The ad, in th'paper."

"Oh right, right. ICELAND!" Berwald winced as the voice shouted in his ear. "PHONE FOR YOU!"

A few seconds later. "Hello?"

"I… hi. Callin' 'bout the ad."

"'kay big boy, so it's ten bucks for the first five minutes, twenty every five after that, it'll be extra if you're after anything too kinky. You got the PayPal info there?"

"Er… um. The ad 'bout th'housemate."

"Oh, for Christ's sake… NORWAY YOU IDIOT HE'S CALLING ABOUT THE HOUSEMATE WANTED AD!"

A few seconds later the original voice came back on the line. "You can come look at the place tomorrow. Number 58. You'll know it when you see it."

Berwald did not have a chance to respond before the line went dead.

Coming back to the present, Berwald slowed down as some students kicked a soccer ball down the street and nearly ran in front of his car. He gritted his teeth in annoyance… some people deserved to get run over. The students waved a halfhearted apology and ran off the road into a group converging on a front lawn. Berwald nearly swerved off the road… was that blond guy naked?

He was just gaining control of the car when he saw it - an enormous Danish flag flying in front of a two-story house. Now he knew what they'd meant by knowing it when he saw it. He pulled into the driveway of number 58, parking behind a battered old Volvo. Steeling himself, and still wondering if he was doing the right thing, Berwald got out of the car and walked to the front door.

He was interrupted mid-knock as a tall, blond man brandishing a beer can threw open the door. "Yeah what?" he shouted.

"Here 'bout the ad," said Berwald, taken aback.

The man stood a bit taller and narrowed his eyes. "Which one?"

"Stud'nt paper."

"What?"

"Stud'nt paper," Berwald repeated a little louder.

"Aaah…" The blond instantly relaxed. "Let's see, that was the ad for the housemate… you gay friendly?"

Berwald wasn't actually quite sure what that meant. He'd never given much thought to his own sexuality, but he wasn't bothered by anyone else's, so he nodded. "Sure."

"Scandinavian?"

Berwald nodded again. "Swedish."

The man's eyes lit up worryingly. "The last piece of the map arrives! Come on in, Sweden. We've been waiting."

Berwald stepped warily through the door and was immediately hit by the strong smell of smoke and air freshener. He glanced cautiously around the large, open house. Some trash-laden couches and scattered beanbags centred around a TV to the left; a young man in a blue beret sat reading at a large dining table to the right. He didn't look up.

"Want a beer?" asked the loud blond, opening a small fridge in the corner of the room. It was surrounded by plastic crates, bottles both full and empty, and plastic cups. Berwald shook his head but the man tossed him a can anyway. "Haven't seen you around campus," he continued after taking a swig from his own can. "What are you studying?"

Berwald had been dreading this part of the conversation. "M'not a student."

"You work there?"

Berwald nodded and hoped he would leave it at that. No such luck.

"You're not a professor, are you?"

"No." Berwald discreetly placed the beer can in a dead pot plant. "Gard'ner."

There was a silence as the blond stared at him. Berwald stared back.

"Huh."

Actually, that was a far better reaction than Berwald was used to.

"I'm Denmark."

"Denm'rk?"

"You're kind of hard to understand, man."

Berwald shrugged. He was used to hearing that, although he wasn't sure why. He'd worked hard to get rid of his accent.

Denmark broke into a grin and laughed loudly. "Sweden, you're all right. You don't talk much, and I like that. When can you move in?"

Berwald just stared. He wasn't good with words at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't one of those.

"Let me show you around the place." Denmark casually threw his arm around Berwald's shoulder, and Berwald fought the instinct to throw it off. Denmark led him to the dining table first. "This is my sugar plum, Norway. Isn't he the sweetest thing you've ever seen?" Denmark ruffled Norway's beret.

"Don't touch me," Norway growled. He did not look up from his book: The Stranger by Albert Camus.

Denmark giggled and pinched Norway's cheek. "Yes you are just the sweetest, cutest little pixie in all of Scandinavia you are!"

"I am going to kill you one day."

"Hehe, silly little Norge."

Berwald blinked in surprise. He was starting to wonder about Denmark's mental wellbeing – and what was with the names?

"And here we have the living room," Denmark continued, steering Berwald over to the circle of couches. What Berwald had taken for a large pile of rubbish was actually two guys, asleep, covered in cushions, fast food wrappers, and empty bottles. "This is Faeroe, and this is Greenland."

"My name's Mike," came a muffled voice from beneath a cushion.

"Shut up, Greenland. Now Sweden, as my newest subject you have last choice in the television viewing schedule. If you wish to view a program, you must submit the title and time of the show, in writing, at least one week prior to its airtime. Please also include a brief summary of its content and why you…"

"Don't watch much TV," Berwald interrupted quickly.

"Ah. Well there you go. Study's through the back there, and the kitchen is right through here…"

It was obvious by this stage that Berwald should just leave. He didn't really get people. He didn't particularly like people. And any person choosing to live with this 'Denmark' had to be either perpetually drunk or a little insane. Being students, possibly both. He tried to protest as Denmark steered him into the kitchen. "Look, th'nks, but think I might…"

"Finland!" cried Denmark cheerfully. "When did you get home?"

The young man in the kitchen glanced up as he shut the fridge. "Hey, Den. I just came in through the back."

"Sweden, this is Finland."

Berwald's heart suddenly, unexpectedly, filled his chest. The instant their eyes met, Finland blinked his away, stepping back to grip the counter behind him. He stared intently at his feet, as though they were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. He had two different shoes on. Berwald couldn't breathe.

"Finland, meet Sweden, our new housemate." Denmark's voice sounded muffled and far away.

Berwald opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. He coughed a few times before finally managing to say, "'t's B'rw'ld."

"It's what?"

"It's Berwald," Finland clarified, still staring at his feet, his light blond hair falling in his eyes. Berwald had seen them only briefly, and thought they were blue. Or green. Or hazel.

"What's Berwald?"

"He's Berwald!"

"No, Fin, he's Sweden."

Finland just shook his head. He was wearing the ugliest sweater Berwald had ever seen. It had a moose on it. "It's very nice to meet you, Berwald. My name is Tino."

Tino. Berwald almost spoke it aloud… Tino. What a wonderful name. Shy Tino. Blue or green or hazel eyed Tino. Tino, whose shoes did not match.

Denmark swung himself up to sit on the bench and patted Tino on the shoulder. "Great to see you're getting along with your new roommate."

Berwald felt his brain cease functioning at this point. "Roommate?"

"Yeah, look, I know we advertised another room but you know how these things go." Denmark shrugged and took a gulp from his beer can. "Decided we needed it for the twister mat."

"He's moving into my room?!" Tino spluttered, recoiling from Denmark's hand. "You never even asked me!"

Denmark raised the hand placatingly. "Hey hey, it's all good Fin, we moved some of your stuff today to make space. Found your stack of porn under the bedside table. Kinky stuff." He winked.

Tino turned red. "Huh… that's not…" He looked straight at Berwald, eyes wide and panicked and… violet. Violet eyed Tino. "I don't have…"

"Haha, just kidding, this kid's innocent as they come, I swear." Denmark dropped back to his feet and charged, face suddenly inches from Berwald's own. Berwald did not blink. "Which is why you're NOT staying in his room. Well, not exactly. We've rigged you up a little alcove upstairs. I'm sure you'll be completely comfortable."

Berwald contemplated the situation. There were guys passed out on the couch, a psychopath reading existential philosophy in the dining room, and this 'Denmark' was quite possibly certifiably insane. Then Berwald looked at shy, badly dressed, violet eyed Tino, and he could only nod. He wasn't going anywhere. "Sounds good t'me."

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#catch perfect chapter 1

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andrebearakovsky · 7 years

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The Caps Lost and You Want to Cry Remedy Masterpost

EDIT: Hi there! I managed to get this post functioning again, but I have an updated list! I tried to update this post but tumblr’s a dick and won’t let me have as many links as I want on a post. So, to see the updated list, go to my blog, and click on the tabs on top that say “Caps Masterpost Pt. 1″ and “Caps Masterpost Pt. 2″ (I had to do it in 2 parts because, again, tumblr won’t let me have pages with that many links). Enjoy! I promise there’s a lot more to like in the updates!

So the Caps just lost and you feel ready to cry. What can you do to help remedy that feeling of despair? I present to you my magnum opus, a masterpost of happy and funny Caps videos and posts to make you feel better and forget about any bad hockey you just watched. In this post is everything you could ever want to watch related to the Caps. Of course, I don’t have everything, I’m not nearly as extensive as RMNB, and there’s a lack of actual hockey highlights (as the point of this post is to highlight off-ice hilarity). So sit back, pick what you want to watch, and enjoy.

Official Team Events

Segway Tour 2017

Segway Tour 2015

Segway Tour 2007

Family Skate 2016

Caps visit MedStar Georgetown University Hospital 2016

Emoji Sentences - Barry Trotz, Unleash the Fury, More Cowbell, Backstrom, Dump and Chase, Poke Check, Ovechkin, Rock the Red, Faceoff, Power Play Goal

Emoji Impressions

Casino Night 2016

Casino Night 2015

Capitals Bobblehead Election

Justin Williams Bobblehead Concession Speech

Tom Wilson Meets the Holtby Bobblehead

Burky/Willy and Schmidty/Chorns play videogames

Ovi and Kuzy talk about their hair

2017 Canine Calendar Shoot - pics plus a video of Kuzy giggling, a feature on Taylor Winnik, Ovi’s dog maintenance

2016 Canine Calendar Shoot

Willy, Latts, Beags, and Schmidty go golfing

Swedish Food Tasting

Dads Trip 2016

History of Caps Mentors’ Trips

Caps visit Joint Base Andrews

Jay Beagle skates with his son

Caps at Six Flags 2015

Caps at Six Flags 2011

Rowing on the Potomac

Crab Cake Cooking Competition

Team Silliness

The Russian Bros have fun in front of a giant Ovi ad

Team bonding dart competition - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Halloween Karaoke - Zach Sanford, Alex Ovechkin, Andre Burakovsky

Ovi’s Smelling Salts - Mojo, Kuzy

Nicky pranks Mojo and Burky

The late-night fire alarm incident

Shenanigans on a plane feat. Green & Brouwer

More Silliness

Why did they give Locker a t-shirt gun

Ovi, Kuzy, and Geno dress as Russian mascots

Ovi and Carly discuss their pregame routine

“Hockey at its best”

Andre Burakovsky, Tom Wilson, Michael Latta

Burky explains the Uber incident

Burky is the MPP of the Caps

5 seconds of Burky looking cute

Cruisin with Willy and Burky on the way to Casino Night

Burky shames the cameraman for being a Penguins fan - the whole interview is good but this happens 15 minutes in

Interview with Latts - dolphins and Valentine’s Day

Cruisin with Willy and Latts on the way to Casino Night

Willy and Latts feature for Washington Life Magazine

Willy and Latts voted best bromance

Burky spooks Latts

Interview with Latts - nicknames, playoff beards, and Caps Roomies

Burky and Willy sing dubsmash together

Willy and Latts fill out their 2015 March Madness bracket

Willy Sings (Badly)

A good brobeans post

I meant to include the video of Tom and Latts’s apartment from the Road to the Winter Classic episodes but I cannot for the life of me find it, so as consolation I’m going to include a link to the Road to the Winter Classic episodes which you can watch if you have Amazon Prime here

Alex Ovechkin

Ovi delivers pizza - Part 1, Part 2

The Alex Ovechkin song

Behind the scenes with Ovi at the 2017 All Star Game - Video 1, Video 2

Ovi escapes his own home

Ovi makes a noise

Ovi DJs

Steve Dangle talks about Ovi’s 500th goal

Ovi swings away in 2015 Breakaway Challenge

Ovi dons a cowboy hat in classic 2009 Breakaway Challenge

Alex Ovechkin Funny Moments

Top 10 Ovi Off Ice Moments

Post with links to many Ovi quotes and videos

Nicklas Backstrom

Nicky hat trick quote

Nicky singing (there’s also some behind the scenes but the singing is the important part)

Cruisin with Nicky

Ovi & Nicky

All Star Nicklas Backstrom

Ovi and Nicky complete each other

Braden Holtby

Holts wants to bring the Cup back to his hometown

Holts has strong opinions on socks

Fetus Holtby video

Karl Alzner, John Carlson

Alzner does “Canadian or Nah” and makes a loon call

Carlzner test drive - Part 1, Part 2

Carlzner roomies - Part 1, Part 2

Carlzner Q&A at Caps Con Kid Press Conference 2011 - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Carlson at 2011 Winter Classic (segment from 10:50-15:47)

Evgeny Kuznetsov

Kuzy’s daughter drives the car

“It’s rivalry night”

Kuzy tells the story about meeting Brad Pitt and Orly getting cut out of the photos

Kuzy trolls the refs (mushrooms, baked potatoes, and medium rare steak)

Kuzy at the All Star Game

Kuzy’s most Extra celly possibly ever (with links to more cellys in the article)

Nate Schmidt

Nate Schmidt’s mohawk misadventures - Bonus: Holts calls Schmidty the best player

Schmidty sings Taylor Swift

Schmidty’s Chewbacca impression

Schmidty’s Interview Sabotaged by Teammates

Barry Trotz Mishaps

Oshie bulldozes Trotz

Trotz gets hit in the head with a puck

Dancing

Mojo busting moves (feat. Taylor Winnik)

Lars Johansson victory dances - dance 1, dance 2

Justin Williams Dances to Cotton Eye Joe

Shaving Cream

Vrana 1st NHL goal

Kuzy hat trick

Willy 1st NHL goal

Nicky pranks Ovi

Mustaches

Movember trophy ceremony 2015

Top 5 Caps mustaches

Who has the best mustache?

Christmas

Christmas elf dancing

2015 holiday card

2014 holiday card w/ Wizards

2013 holiday card

Commercials

2017 All Star Game Audition Commercial

Paisano’s Commercial

Paisano’s Commercial Bloopers

Ovi as Caps Interviewer (feat. Nicky, Greener, and Brooks Laich)

Ovi Eastern Motors Commercial

2007 All Star Game Road Trip Commercial

Global Heritage Series

Nicklas Backstrom - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Evgeny Kuznetsov - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tributes

John Carlson 500 Games Played Tribute

Karl Alzner 500 Consecutive Games Played Tribute

Alex Ovechkin 1000 Points Ceremony

Alex Ovechkin 1000 Points Tribute

Nicklas Backstrom 500 Assists Tribute

Nicklas Backstrom 500 Assists Ceremony

Braden Holtby Vezina Ceremony

Alex Ovechkin 500 Goals Ceremony

Alex Ovechkin 500 Goals Tribute

Karl Alzner breaks Caps record for consecutive games played tribute

Drafts

Jakub Vrana (phone call with Ovi)

Zach Sanford (interview)

Andre Burakovsky

Tom Wilson

Evgeny Kuznetsov

Marcus Johansson

Alex Ovechkin

Reference

Every butt slash article RMNB has ever written

Player reaction gifs

On-Ice Moments

Oshie’s shootout goal that wasn’t actually in the shootout

Ovi’s 1000th point (John Walton call)

Nicky’s 500th assist

The epic Orlov hit on Duchene

Edits to Orlov’s hit

Ovi’s 500th career goal (all calls)

Huge save leads to Ovi’s OT gamewinner

TJ Oshie Olympic Shootout

Oshie shootout compilation

John Carlson scores OT winner in 2010 World Juniors

Empty Net Fails

Best 1 on 1 Embarrassing Moments - Part 1, Part 2

10 Minutes of Bad Goals

5 Minutes of Happy Goalies

Hat Tricks

Oshie 04/28/2016 vs PIT in the playoffs

Williams 01/17/2016 vs NYR (I can’t find his hat trick from ‘06 so this’ll have to do)

Kuznetsov 10/23/2015 @ EDM

Oshie 01/03/2015 @ SJS

Backstrom 12/13/2014 vs TBL

Oshie 03/27/2014 vs MIN (hats)

Ovechkin 12/10/2013 vs TBL

Eller 01/04/2012 vs WPG

Backstrom 4/17/2010 vs MTL in the playoffs

Ovechkin 05/04/2009 vs PIT in the playoffs

Ovechkin 12/15/2006 @ ATL (I’m only including 3/17 Ovi hat tricks else we’ll be here all day)

Non-Caps

Goal Horns

Connor McDavid Rap

Auston Matthews Rap

Carpool with Cam - Nick Foligno, Seth Jones

All Star DJ Snoop

Baby Leafs in Road to the Winter Classic

Get Vladi some snow

Jamie Benn and Tyler Segin Head to Head

PK Subban wins breakaway challenge

“Fruit Salad” by Dylan Strome feat. Mitch Marner

Crosby and MacKinnon work at Tim Horton’s

Full Games/Events

2017 All Star Game

2017 All Star Game Skills Competition - Part 1, Part 2

2016 Heritage Classic EDM vs WPG

2016 All Star Game - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

2016 All Star Game Skills Competition (playlist)

2015 All Star Fantasy Draft

2015 Caps Winter Classic

Still not satisfied? Go check out some of my posts! They’re funny I promise. Karlsson/Carlson flowchart, Caps Drinking Game, Why Carlson or Alzner Should Have the A, Caps True Nicknames, Top Golf RMNB Insta Photos, New Caps Lineup, Caps Top 10 (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3), Caps Hat Tricks and 1st NHL Goals, Jay Beagle, Caps Family Tree, Caps Bromances, My Top Caps Moments of the Regular Season

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