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alexjcrowley · 10 months

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Whatever you're doing, drop it right now and go watch BlackBerry. I can give a million reasons to watch it and I will.

This movie has everything.

You loved The Social Network and you never really found something quite like it? Go watch Blackberry, then. You got the love triangle, you got the genius who displays neurodivergent traits overtly, the Best Friend, the other woman a.k.a. the real businessman.

BUT, big wonderful but, it's ugly. It's painfully uncool, staged and at the same time terribly realistic. They all look like shit and you can't help but love it. None of that Justin Timberlake, Andrew Garfield, Jesse Eisenberg that make you want to jump into a foursome, here the business cool guy (Glenn Howerton from IASIP) is balding and wearing a suit he clearly stole from Micheal Douglas from Wall Street and he looks unfuckable. The Best Friend has a ninja turtles wallet. They're all ugly, but let me be clear with what I mean: I am fucking sick of seeing fashion models on screen, I am talking about ugliness not as insult but as a punch of reality straight in the face. None of that tiktok black cat gamer boyfriends, these 40 year old men should all burn their entire wardrobe and sue their barbers, I love it.

And yes, at the very beginning (just there) the movie is set in the 80s, and thank God it's not Stranger Things/It chapter one aesthetic, it's disputable shirts and the most pathetic athletic hair band you'll ever see.

You said found family? These tech guys are all Best Friends and party together and dance and have movie nights in the middle of the day in which they watch Indiana Jones and They Live.

The first third of the movie is basically The House Bunny for business companies, with Glenn Howerton sweeping in, giving a makeover to the company, toss those glasses away and make it the belle of the ball, so much that quaterback is asking her to dance.

And it's directed with the camera movement of a mockumentary, hand-held camera baby. And I am telling you this as someone who is getting pretty sick of the overabudance of mockumentaries, I hear you if you're complaining, but this is so good you get over it.

How is the story of the Blackberry phone handled, you ask? Well I am no expert, but I think they did a brilliant job. The Social Network is about Facebook but also about connections and human relationships changing, here you see how the phone industry was changed by Blackberry. In TSN you never actually saw how The Facebook was impacting the world, just the main characters' lives. Here you got the other face of the medal.

The soundtrack? It fucking slaps. I don't know the titles of all the songs in the soundtrack, but sure as hell I am going to look for them. And every movie that has Joy Division in it has my respect.

Oh, if you're a cinephile, I must advise you to be real careful watching this movie, because the amount of movie quotes contained in it could make YOUR BRAIN EXPLODE. Same goes for nerd culture quotes, there are just tooo many and you could risk loving them too much.

Afraid this movie it starting to sound too wholesome and happy? Oh, don't worry, there's enough corruption and angst to fill a Scrooge McDuck money deposit. You got corruption arcs, you got a big deal of actual corruption, calls from the SEC, you got fucking espionage, you got straight up lying, committing crimes, betraying your best friend, one of the few man who looks worse as a villain than as a hero, you got bastardization arc, you got Onceler-ization arc, you got Mark Zuckerberg equivalent of "We're not putting ads", you got "Stop, this isn't you".

But I understand, it's not enough for you. How about the FUCKING Apple-Blackbarry War, uh? How about that? Might interest you? With a flavour of tragedy because you already know who prevailed, but you're living the story from the side of the losers. Doomed by the narrative, ladies and gentlemen.

You got resentment building up, you got workers' discontent growing, you got sales dropping, in TSN you stopped very little after the explosion, now you get to see the whole thing collapse. It's the Western Roman Empire and it's 476 AD. It's "we could have it all". It's epic and terrible and destructive and it's the story of fundamental changes in the phone market and what phones came to be. It has an ending that it's bitter and happy and delightfully ironic and leaves you wondering what if.

I had one, one complain about this movie: it all starts in Waterloo and you don't put Waterloo by Abba? But I take back my complain, and if you, like me, are into 60s music you're going to love it. They're one of my favourite bands, if you know who I am talking about, so I was elated.

Go watch BlackBerry. Go. Right now. This is how I spent my one night off, this is how I ended a very shitty day and I was not disappointed. Watching this movie has been the best thing to happen to me today.

#blackberry #blackbarry 2023 #glenn howerton #go watch it right now #movie #cinema #the social network #tsn #succession because it's the business wave baby

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gingerpeachtea · 1 year

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bus kids / fitzskimmons headcanons :) !

im avoiding my work so 🫡

daisy

she/they ; nonbinary & bisexual

ocd, adhd, ptsd

because of how frequently she moved around different foster homes and neglect from st. agnes, she didn’t get any formal diagnoses until she joined shield

she and matt were friends at st. agnes, and they still keep in touch; she even stayed at his apartment for a day or two after lincoln’s death

she has extreme trypanophobia (phobia of needles) after repeated trauma involving them (getting nearly-fatal amounts of her blood drawn for hive, the devil complex, getting her blood drawn again by kasius; that’s all i remember off the top of my head but there’s probably more)

she also doesn’t do well in medical settings for those reasons, and especially after the devil complex or malick kidnapping her

jemma

she/her ; bisexual ; trans woman bc t4t fitzsimmons is soooo <3333 (and even better, t4t4t fitzskimmons bc my transgenderification beam knows no bounds)

she has ptsd and ocd & is autistic

jemma got a ptsd diagnosis from andrew after maveth

illness became a huge ocd trigger for her after the whole situation with the chitauri virus

she can’t handle anything with swimming after having to save fitz from the atlantic

she had a HUGE crush on skye in s1, and her, daisy, and fitz all bonded over their collective crush on bobbi in s2

fitz

he/him ; bisexual ; trans man

(besides his canon disabilities) he has adhd and he’s autistic. sooo real of him

him and jemma swapped wardrobes at the academy bc they transitioned around the same time (not my hc!! got it from a fic but i adopted it into my brain bc i love it sm :D)

he has a collection of rubix cubes, and can solve basically any of them in under 30 seconds. he tried to teach jemma but it just didn’t stick, but he was very successful in teaching daisy

feel free to reblog with additions!! :)

#c speaks #agents of shield #aos headcanons #fitzskimmons #bus kids #daisy johnson #jemma simmons #leo fitz

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simonsaysfuckthis · 8 months

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Basics

Full Name: Simon Jon Knight

Born as: Simon Jon Fuchs

Birthday: November 30th

Age: 45

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Religion: Jewish

–Religious Level (1-10): Recently increasing to a 5

Birthplace: Queens, NYC, New York (lived there with mother's parents while she went back to L.A. to try to become a contract. Unsuccessful. His mother brought him back to California when she got a job as an assistant, never giving up on trying to become a contract by any means necessary.)

Current Residence: Apartment in Los Angeles' Koreatown

Height: 5' 7"

Hair Color: Near black

Eye Color: Dark brown

Sexuality: Pansexual

Love/Romantic Preference: Panromantic

Relationship Status: Divorced 5 times

Languages Known: English, Yiddish (rusty)

Details

Car: Doesn't have one and his license got suspended

Phone: LG Stylo 6. Lost pen. Cracked screen. Sometimes flashes when he's typing.

Music Genres:

Wardrobe: Grease-stained/blood-stained/dirt-stained basic or graphic tees, ripped jeans (sometimes jeans converted into shorts), has been known to be without shoes sometimes. Homeless-core.

Estimated Net Worth: Only has access to Prometheus allowance, which is handled through his agent. For his own sake, sometimes he won't have any funds immediately available.

Ransom Value: He could be found in a ditch weeks later and no one would be surprised.

Accent: New York (5/10) mostly from his mother's influence

Disorder: Undiagnosed memory issues, increasing in severity. Due to head trauma and prolonged substance abuse

Bloodlines + Connections

Bette "Bitsy" Berkowitz-Fuchs | Mother | deceased | ruled an accidental death | hit by a car while crossing the street

Joel Fuchs | Father | traveling salesman | left family when Simon was a young teen | deceased

Andrew Roberts | Casting Director | Bitsy's main employer | biological father | his car was involved in Bitsy's death

Marney Murphy | Agent the one to handle his finances and messes

Teagan Harper Hale | Friend

Agnes Heidi Ingrid Hawkins | directs him sometimes

Myles Deville Delaney | fucknut stole his chances to get his own show

Tito Miguel Cuervo Cardosa | plug

Levels

Drinking (1-10): 10

Swearing: 9

Smoking status: 8

Drugs: 8 (used to be a 10)

Cooking proficiency: 1. Crackhouse proficiency only

Intelligence: 6.5

Emotional/Social Intelligence: 4

Creativity: 7 (writes his own material)

Temper: 6 (sometimes will fight without a temper. more like an overabundance of self-defense)

#headcanons

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thecurseoflife · 2 years

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CHAPTER 19 : Life in a castle

AUTHOR NOTE : I am back ! Hoping not to put it back in hiatus too soon, but I am having a lot to handle back home, soooo we'll see ! The illustration each chapters was giving me more anxiety than anything else, so it won't be there everytime. Might come back when I feel like it tho :)

After the bitter taste of defeat the balloon left behind him, the Saporians went on with the occupation. They each chose a room, leaving to Camalia the choice of Varian's, since he was still knocked out. For a moment, she really really wanted to put him in the worst room of the entire castle, something like a cupboard or under some stairs. But she was way too nice for that.

So instead she simply putted him in the worst maidden room of them all. There was insects crawling in the bed, and the window was broke, letting the cold air of early spring in. There was spiderwebs everywhere, and the dust rested in every inch of the room. There was a wardrobe in the corner, broken of course. The mattress of the bed was hard and discontinuous, ready to give a stiff neck or a painful back. In other words, it was perfect.

The music mage laid the inconscious boy there, already savoring his disgust and horror the next morning. She couldn't wait to see his wrinched nose when he would appear for the breakfast. Ah, sweet revenge.

But for now, she had to go look for her own room. She walked past the Saporians, and was not surprised, but really grossed out when she saw that Andrew took the princess' room. Maisie and Kai were tempted to take the royal's room, but it wouldn't really fit the plan. Instead, they took a one bed bedroom, for a reason Camalia couldn't really grasp. Juniper took a small, round chamber, with only one bed and one window. She said it made her feel safe and comfy. It made Camalia uncomfortable and kind of panic, but if it fitted the woman, good for her ! Clementine took a pretty regular room, nothing too tiny but nothing too fancy either.

And Camalia was still looking. No matter where, she always felt out of place. She felt like she was invading someone's privacy, and hated it. And everytime, her thoughts ran back to her old room. Her cell. As more and more time was spent looking for a room she knew wasn't there, her legs and soul wanted nothing more than go back to what she was used to.

She entered one last room and sat on the bed. It was quite a weird room to be honest. It was pretty big, and there was swords and weapons stack in one barril. No, actually, when she looked more, she realized there was weapons everywhere. On the wall, beside the window there was two crossed swords, and beside the door a huge wooden shield with the Coronan's emblem on it. And even beside that there was some kind of a very long and weird axe ! Intrigued, Camalia stood up and opened one of the two wardrobes, the one beside the bed. She couldn't help a small shriek of surprise when she was almost pierced by a knife, that happened to have fallen of the... collection of weapons there was in there. But she was in the maids quarter. Why would one of them happen to have so much swords and axes and knifes and other unidentified pointy things in their room ? Was that the room of an actual spy ? Of a murderer, even ! She was about to hastily get out of there when her eyes catched a glimpse of blue in there. She expected to see more red than blue, but reached out anyway and grabbed the... dress. It was a maidden dress, but really well made, and with ornaments and expensive material. One like she never saw on any of her friends. Well, maybe it wasn't a murderer's room after all. Still, she felt as uncomfortable in there than in the other room. She put the dress back in it's place and was about to leave when the door cracked open.

She jumped backwards and hit her back against the very dangerous barril. Which made her stumble and fall on the bed.

-Hey princess, you in there ?

-Uh... uh yeah ! Yeah, sorry, you scared me.

Juniper got in and whistled when she saw what kind of room it was.

-Wow ! Not the kind of room I expected you to end up in, but it is totally my style ! You're much more fierce than you look, kiddo.

-Wha- No, no ! I don't think I'll stay in here. Or in any of the other rooms to be fair.

-Oh, really ? Why is that ?

Camalia rubbed her head and sighed.

-I don't... I don't really know ? It's like I, uhm... It's as if I just took out a piece of the person's soul when I live in their room ? It doesn't make sense but I-I don't know how to explain it.

The woman strolled around the room, brushing off a thin layer of dust off the table, lightly touching the sharp end of some swords, stopping in front of one of the windows, to finally turn around and speak.

-I'm not sure what's wrong in this, but I do know how to cheer you up !

-Cheer me up ? I'm not feeling down !

-It's not because you're not crying on the ground that you don't need it ! Come on princess, come with me.

Juniper catched the music mage hand and dragged her outside. She ran to the princess' room, pulling Camalia behind her. She casted Andrew out, that didn't comprehend what was going on and sat the girl on the gigantic bed.

-Alright ! Now get rid of those clothes.

Camalia felt her cheeks heat up and she instinctively wrapped her arms around her.

-I-I... I'm... Excuse-me ? Wha-...I don't...

-Because we definitely need some new clothes for you ! How long have you been wearing those ?

The music mage could barely contain the sigh of relief that threatened to cross her lips. That was definitely not how she imagined her first time. She thought for a while. Clothes weren't really her top priority, so she never actually payed any attention to it. Maybe a year ? No, probably way more. But it's true that she had gotten taller so they had to change them... And they were getting a bit short already.

-I don't know ? A year ? Maybe a little less. Wait no, I didn't change after Varian got here. So hum, I guess at least a year.

She bit her lips as Juniper was thinking. It was embarrassing, and maybe not what the woman was used to, but she had to say it.

-And... I'm sorry but I'm not... really very comfortable with the idea of... undressing... here... with you... sorry.

She muttered the last word, almost more ashamed to say that than actually doing it. But Juniper was already head in the princess' wardrobe, and waved dismissively at her.

-Mmh, yeah, whatever... I'll just leave. Hey, what do you think of this ?

Her confidence renewed by the validation of the Saporian, Camalia was almost glowing. She looked at the redish dress and shook her head.

-I'm not really into dresses. I like pants a lot better. It's more comfortable and easier to fight or run in.

-Ah, that is true... Well, what do you think of the color at least ?

She lightly touched the fabric, trying to make an opinion.

-I'm more of an orange type of girl, but I have to admit that is a very pretty red, maybe we could-

A scream cut her off. Juniper immediatly tensed up and was about to dash out to fight whatever was scaring Varian like that until a hand grabbed her skirt, stopping her movement. She turned around to see an absolutely exhilarated Camalia. She was laughing to tears, trying to speak but failing times and times again. Around five whole minutes of laughters later, she explained that it wasn't anything to worry about. Juniper was already relaxed. As soon as she saw that the girl didn't worry one bit, she knew the boy was safe. She shook her head in amusement and rose the dress back up.

-As I was trying to get to, maybe we could use that dress as fabric to make some other clothes. What do you think ?

-Oh, I would love that ! But I don't really know how to sew...

-Don't worry, I do. I can teach you, it's fairly easy.

Camalia was about to nod when the door suddenly burst open, and a disheveled, very upset Varian appeared.

-Camalia ! Why did you put me in that gross, cockroaches infested room ?! It was disgusting !

-Well, as one might say, I didn't expect you to, you know... understand.

The alchemist froze for a second there, then it clicked. He became as red as the dress Juniper was holding and stepped closer to his friend.

-What ?! Are you seriously still on that ? That is such a stupid thing to be angry about !

-Not it's not ! You're stupid !

-Well I'm not the one that grew plants and hang myself upside down in a closed space !

-Oh yeah ? Well I didn't blew up my entire village !

-Hey ! I can't believe you're bringing this back now ! Why did I tell you those things ?!

-Because you're STUPID !

-AM NOT !

-SURE ARE !

Juniper stepped back to the entrance, the dress safely folded in her arms while the children were fighting. Kai and Maisie, that had followed Varian to the room after trying to rescue him from the cockroaches, were now watching it unfold in disbelief.

-What... are they doing ?

-They are very clearly deciding how to make some cupcakes. What do you think, Tophat ?

Maisie scoffed and scowled back in his very peculiar but very stylish hat. Kai chuckled and pointed at the dress.

-Oh that ? We were planning on making other clothes for Camalia, since she looks like a hobo. But she doesn't like dresses, so I wanted to sew something in that fabric, what do you think ? You're the one that taught me everything after all.

But before Kai could answer, Varian, that heard everything, yelled again, covering the big man's voice.

-Oh so YOU'RE getting nicer clothes now but I'm not ?!

-Not my fault you can't make that kind of decision for yourself ! You can't even sew !

-I CAN for your information ! Better than you I bet ! And, and you know what ?! I'm getting more clothes too ! And they're going to be BETTER THAN YOURS !

-OH YEAH ?!

-YEAH !

-Well I bet MY clothes will have better stitches and better style and better everything because yours will be TERRIBLE !

-WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT !

-WE SURE ARE ! We'll see how POOR your taste in clothing is !

-Not it's NOT !

As a response, Camalia sticked out her tongue and turned her back on Varian, signaling the... "conversation" was over. The alchemist was boiling, ready to throw hands. But, what she said last burned his mind. He took Kai and Maisie by the arms and dragged them outside. Before closing the doors, he shouted one last time.

-I'll have the best clothing and there's NOTHING you can do about it !

The doors slammed close and Juniper and Camalia were alone. The Saporian wasn't really sure how to engage the conversation, but to her surprise, it was the kid that went up to her and grabbed the dress to examine it. She reached out to take it back but one look of Camalia was enough to make her back off.

Oh so there was actually a bet. And that kid wanted to win it for real. Mmh. Why not ? It could be fun.

Juniper smiled widely and taped the dress with a wink.

-You know princess, before getting sewing, we need to figure out what we're going to make. You got any ideas ?

The music mage thought for a minute, before grabbing a paper and some ink to draw, very shakily, what she had in mind.

Juniper took the sheet of paper and nodded. She added some corrections and suggestions, then handed it back to Camalia that smiled.

-Yeah, this can work, kid.

An hour later, they were in the middle of sewing when someone knocked on the door.

-Come in !

Andrew pushed open the door, not even bothering to step in, with his signature disgustingly sweet smirk.

-I think you might want to check this out, Camalia...

She eyed Juniper that just shrugged and resumed her work. The music mage sighed and grabbed her guitare to follow the man. To her surprise, he guided her to the royal's bedroom. They weren't there yet, and she felt offended at first, thinking that he took their room, until he walked passed the huge bed. Curious, she followed him into the next room. It was small, with one window and a lantern sat on a wooden desk. Andrew was in the corner of the room, smirking to her, in that one way she hated. Why did he lead her here ? She noticed the large wardrobe that was taking most of the room, but was on the wall next to the door, and in the shadows. Intrigued, she opened it slowly... It was no wardrobe, it was a bookcase. There was a lot of books, most of them looked old or overused. She turned to look at Andrew, not really getting the point there. He simply pointed at the books.

-Why don't you check one out ?

She took one, her heart pounding in her chest. It was one of those books with no writing on the cover. She opened it. It was a book about magic. Camalia dropped it, shocked. Then took another one. And another one, and another, and another... They were all, all of them, all of those books, all of that knowledge was about magic. She always thought how weird it was that Corona's library was lacking so many magic's book. There was some, but they were usually about artefacts and weren't really actually teaching much. Suddenly it reached her, as fast and violently as a punch in the guts. She shuffled in the pile of books at her feet, and opened the first one she took. She only had to go to page 10.

It was an incantation to get rid of curses.

She turned the page and it was a potion... Then a spell, a rune, an object... All of them were ways to get rid of curses. Camalia felt sick.

-Corona was never very fond of magic... There isn't much of it around here, and not much knowledge about it either. Actually, I think all of the kingdom's books about magic are in there ! The king and queen didn't like or were interested in magic either, but when the queen got sick... And when, you know... The princess got kidnapped because of her magical hair... Well. They found ways.

Andrew slithered toward her and grabbed one of the last book on the shelf and handed it to her. He tapped it with his very own sweet smile.

-It's weird, isn't it ? How you had to live when all that knowledge was right here... But in here, there's something even weirder...

The Saporian let out a laugh, and left the room, whistling to himself as if he got the most wonderful news of his life. And Camalia was left there. Stunned. Astonished beyond words. Her eyes stuck on the cover of the book. And more specifically it's title.

"History of the Music Mages : Cultures and Traditions"

A long moment passed before Camalia even thought anything else than just about that title over and over again. It was hard. This was hard. It was horrible. She didn't feel any guilt about what she did to the king and queen anymore. She didn't feel mad either. She was just profoundly disgusted. Mostly by Andrew, of course, for the way he brought that up to her. But also by the royals. She just felt disgusted. This was disgusting.

She took a deep breath. If she didn't do anything about it now, she would take it out on Juniper or Varian or worse, Masha and the people. So she did what she knew best. She closed her eyes and focused on her feeling. And she pushed it down.

Juniper was starting to get impatient. She had been sewing, alone, for a full thirty minutes and was getting really tired of it. She was just about done with the scarf, and wasn't really invested enough to start another piece of the clothing. She sighed and threw the scarf on the ground, stretching and gazing at the night sky outside. Maybe it was time to go to sleep. They had a big day, after all.

A crack on her left made her turn her head to Camalia, that stepped into the room. She smiled apologitically to her companion, and Juniper shrugged.

-So, what did M.Bun wanted to show you ?

-Oh, just something dumb that he thought would hurt me.

-And... did it ?

The music mage just smiled and picked the glove she was working on up, before resuming her sewing. The Saporian didn't like the lack of answer, and decided she was done with that mess for tonight. She got up and wished Camalia a goodnight before leaving. Around five minutes after she was gone, Andrew came in and kicked Camalia out, ready to have his own beauty sleep.

She picked up the piece of fabric he threw out with her, and stood up. She didn't know where to go. Which was kind of ironic in a giant empty castle. She was back at where she started. Alone, without a place of her own. With her guitare. She began to stroll around the palace, not sure where she was going.

Camalia was heading toward the prison, mecanically, when a hand grabbed her shoulder and she jumped. She turned, ready to punch and fight her way though, only to face Varian. She had a quiet sigh of relief.

-What are you doing here ? Shouldn't you be sleeping ?

-Well, I was about to ask you the same question !

His eyes fell on the red tissue mess she was holding and smirked.

-Wow. This is the way superior and better at everything piece of clothing you promised ? If I knew it would be so easy to win...

-Hey ! It's a work in progress ! And anyway where is yours ? I can win if you forfeit.

-I'm not ! It's in Kai's and Maisie's room ! We'll finish it tomorrow, I was looking for a room to sleep in.

Camalia was taken aback. She didn't expect anyone else to have trouble with that.

-Most of these are empty. Why can't you just... I don't know, walk in one and sleep there ?

-Why can't YOU ?

An uncomfortable silence took place, neither of them wanting to explain their choices. Camalia wasn't liking lying to her friend about her support, and didn't want to do anything more than she was already doing. She wasn't on his side, but she was by his side. It was the most important thing. She was carrying her promise. Camalia sighed and walked away, breaking the tension.

-Well, good luck to you, Ball. And if you don't find anything, you can still go back to the cockroaches room, I'm sure they miss you.

-I SURE WON'T !

The music mage let out a laugh and left. In the end, she hadn't found anywhere she felt comfortable with, so she just slept in the throne room, beside some plants. For some reason, having nature close to her made her feel... safe ? No, it was deeper than that. It made her feel like home. And it was all she had been looking for.

Tomorrow, she will have to sneak out to meet Stan and Pete. She wasn't too worried, Camalia had learned how to be discreet and not raise any suspicion. And on this thought, she fell into a welcoming sleep. A sleep that, for the first time in forever, was neither a black void or a pit of nightmare, but calm, fun, and peaceful. FIRST | Previous | Next WHAT’S THIS ?

#the curse of life #tts #tangled the series #tangled au #varian tts #varian the alchemist #saporians #fic #writing #camilieroart

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jules-has-notes · 4 months

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collaboration spotlight — The Butts Remix by Home Free

youtube

When you need a job done well, you hire a skilled craftsperson. When the job you need done well is blending half a dozen songs that celebrate the human posterior into a toe-tapping a cappella medley, you ask one of the most talented goofballs in music production. Which is why Chris Rupp approached Layne Stein to help him and Adam create this piece. The tongue-in-cheek video Home Free filmed to go along with it makes the whole thing even better.

Details:

title: The Butts Remix

original songs / performers: [0:14] "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Trace Adkins; [0:55] "Wiggle" by Jason Derulo, featuring Snoop Dogg; [1:18] "Fat Bottomed Girls" by Queen ; [1:35] "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot ; [2:07] "Thong Song" by Sisqó ; [2:29] "Country Girl (Shake It For Me)" by Luke Bryan

written by: "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Dallas Davidson, Randy Houser, & Jamey Johnson; "Wiggle" by Jason Derulo, Ricky Reed, Andreas "Axident" Schuller, Jacob Kasher, Sean Douglas, "John the Blind" Ryan, Joe Spargur, & Calvin "Snoop Dogg" Broadus; "Fat Bottomed Girls" by Brian May; "Baby Got Back" by Anthony "Sir Mix-a-Lot" Ray; "Thong Song" by Mark "Sisqó" Andrews, Tim Kelley, Bob Robinson, Desmond Child, & Draco Rosa; "Country Girl (Shake It For Me)" by Luke Bryan & Dallas Davidson

arranged by: Layne Stein, Chris Rupp, & Adam Rupp

release date: 31 March 2015

My favorite bits:

recreating elements of the original videos, be it setting, wardrobe, or choreography, but in their own Home Free style

the commitment to the bit throughout, while mostly only objectifying themselves

Tim surruptitiously eating the ham sandwich in the back corner

Austin throwing it back at the end of "Wiggle"

Tim headbanging at the beginning of "Fat Bottomed Girls", then settling into his usual sedate grooving to the beat

Rob being the only one who gets to rap (in defiance of the group's well-established Guilty Pleasures bit)

Austin emulating synth vibrato by wibbling his lips with a finger

that bassy slide in the final transition

Chris busting out some tap during the dance lesson

friend of the band Eric "Buegs" Buegler — the guy in nothing but shortie overalls — giving it his all in the final dance sequence

"We hope you enjoyed our butts!" "…remix."

Trivia:

Portions of the "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" crowd sequence had to be framed carefully, because Chris was off-site handling production things for a portion of it and they were on a tight schedule for the location.

Austin choreographed the line dance section for "Country Girl".

Layne had already arranged an excerpt from "Wiggle" as part of VoicePlay's "Aca Top 10 — Summer Hits 2014" countdown.

The next year, VoicePlay included "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" in their "Aca Top 10 — Bro Country" countdown, for which Chris Rupp was their featured guest.

Chris did a commentary video for this medley several years later on his personal channel.

#Home Free vocal band #music video #a cappella #music medley #music #video

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extreme-investor-network · 2 years

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The Mar-A-Lago Raid

By now I’m certain you’ve seen the headlines about former President Trump’s home at Mar-A-Lago being raided by FBI agents. The facts of what has been reported are as follows: - FBI agents executed a search warrant at Mar-A-Lago on Monday - Per CNN, the raid was “tied to a criminal investigation into the handling of classified information” - The raid “signaled an extraordinary escalation of an investigation into the handling of certain documents from his presidency and raises questions about whether his legal exposure extends beyond whether he improperly took government records when he left the White House” - Former President Trump said they even “broke into safe” and Eric Trump said they went through Melania Trump's wardrobe - Attorney General Merrick Garland has been tight-lipped about the raid - Per Zero Hedge, Eric Trump told the Daily Mail that "the 30 agents who arrived at the property asked staff to turn security cameras off – and to kick their lawyer off the property, but they refused." - Figureheads on the right have called for an explanation, with Mark Levin’s head almost exploding while discussing the incident days ago - and even some on the left, like former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, are calling for an explanation of the events - Some Justice Department officials are also calling for a public explanation of the raid I’m certain that in the coming days, more definite information about the raid and its purpose will leak out and/or come to light, especially since it has become such a major news story. The points I want to put up for discussion with my readers are: - Is it possible this raid is tied to more than just a search for classified documents? - Do you believe the raid was likely justified; why or why not? - Do you think this raid, in the absence of major evidence and a public statement about its purpose, will help or hurt Trump in the primaries? - Do you think this raid, if shown to produce evidence of a crime and if transparently communicated by the FBI to the public, will help or hurt Trump in the primaries? Original Article Original Article Here: Read the full article

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clarkeayers5 · 2 years

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ferragamo belt 14

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parsons44corcoran · 2 years

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ferragamo belt 8

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cdyssey · 3 years

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Regret

Summary: When Fran doesn't come down to breakfast after spraining her ankle, the whole house is concerned for her—especially Niles and Mr. Sheffield. Set after "An Affair to Dismember."

A/N: Okay, so I've binge re-watched nearly four seasons of The Nanny in four days, and had to get at least one fic out of my system, lmao.

Fran Drescher's acting in "An Affair to Dismember" when she suddenly broke while talking to Maxwell made me sensitive. ;-;

AO3 Link

—

Breakfast is a remarkably boring affair without Miss Fine bursting through the door, raising her arms in a floral robe, and proclaiming, with signature adenoidal stylings, “Good moooorning, everyone!”

The clink of silverware, the scraping of ceramic plates, the ruffling sound of Mr. Sheffield anxiously attacking the New York Times like a new Andrew Lloyd Webber play has just dropped—all of it is so terribly drab that Niles spends the first fifteen minutes of her pronounced absence coughing loudly in the hopes that his employer will pick up the hint to do something about it.

“Oh, do go get a bloody cough drop, old man,” he finally snaps, smacking his newspaper down on the table. “You’re driving me mad.”

“Sorry, sir,” Niles arches a brow as he refills Mr. Sheffield’s coffee mug. “I have asthma.”

He turns away to replace the coffee pot on the side table.

“And half a mind to kick your tetchy derrière,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Niles?”

“Nothing, sir! Just saying thank you for your attentive care.”

“Dad,” Master Brighton thankfully interrupts, “where’s Fran, and what have you done to make her mad this time?”

Niles immediately turns around again in time to see his boss’s shoulders straighten in that way they often do when he’s indignant.

Or guilty.

Or some mixture of them both.

“I beg your pardon, Brighton,” he replies stiffly. “Why do you immediately assume I’m the problem here?”

“Process of elimination,” Brighton shrugs. “Fran’s not mad at me, Maggie, or Grace, and Niles is one of her closest friends.”

“You’re so astute, Master Brighton,” Niles smiles wryly as he moves to the left to get a better view of Mr. Sheffield’s face. The vein in his temple is beginning to throb, which is always a good time.

“She hasn’t dated anyone recently,” Miss Margaret pipes up.

“And she’s always fighting with her ma,” Miss Grace adds, “but that's never kept her from Belgian waffles before.”

“So, Dad,” Brighton grins, patting his father once on the back, “unless our math is wrong, that leaves you.”

“Goodness me,” Mr. Sheffield mutters, angrily stabbing a piece of link sausage with his fork. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of the lost Hardy Boy.”

“So you did do something!” Margaret exclaims.

“No! I bloody well did not, Nancy Drew. For your information, Miss Fine accidentally hurt her ankle clubbing last night with Val. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’ve called a doctor to come by just to check.”

“Tsk, tsk. And you didn’t offer to pick her up Cinderella-style and swoop her downstairs so she wouldn’t miss breakfast?” Niles asks chidingly, only to be greeted with a nasty glare.

“Yes, I did offer to bring her down to breakfast as a matter of fact... but Miss Fine seemed strangely subdued when I spoke to her through the door... I didn’t know what to make of it to tell you the truth...”

Mr. Sheffield’s brow contracts as he searches Niles’s face for an answer, and Niles stares back just as studiously, observing the profound concern in his employer’s dark eyes.

The gentleness.

The romance.

The stunningly oblivious care.

Niles sighs fondly.

Unlike Miss Babcock, he’s never had the heart to kick poor puppies when they’re down.

“I’ll bring her Advil and a fresh ice pack,” he promises. “Perhaps some pain relief will help her to regain her spirit.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Sheffield replies, self-consciously turning to his plate again, the tips of his ears rather pink. “I hate when Miss Fine isn’t feeling well.”

“Here, here,” the whole table concurs.

—

Twenty minutes later, Niles is at Miss Fine’s door with a silver tray laden with all the essentials: painkillers, an ice pack, a mug of coffee (milk instead of cream and extra sugar), and a copy of the new edition of Gloss. He lightly taps on her door with the side of his loafer.

“Miss Fine, can I come in?”

“No,” comes an immediate and sharp reply. “I’m not dressed!”

“How discouraging,” Niles sighs smilingly. “What ever shall I do?”

“Suff’a, and at least give me a minute to find a brassiere.”

“Oh, we’ll be here all day then.”

He hears a strange thud, a collection of evaluations (“dirty, dirty, slutty, Maggie’s, dirty”), and an assortment of Yiddish curse words he now vaguely recognizes from being friends with Miss Fine for nearly four years now. And then finally—

“Come in, Jeeves, but shut the door behind ya ‘cuz I haven’t applied a morning layer of lipstick yet.”

Niles elbows the knob and pushes with his shoulder until the door lights open to a peculiar sight. Far from being neat, Miss Fine’s room looks like Macy’s after its annual Black Friday sale with clothes strewn everywhere—from the dressers to the wardrobes to the floor. An empty suitcase is lying on the bed next to Miss Fine, who is sitting in bed wearing an oversized t-shirt, her injured ankle propped up on a pillow. Niles can tell, even from the doorway, that it’s red and swollen, but to his satisfaction and relief, it doesn’t appear to be broken.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Miss Fine mutters when she notices his incredulous gaze. “We got all the animals out t’day.”

“I can see that,” Niles replies, placing his tray on her bedside table and shutting the door. With his usual efficiency, he then walks back over, retrieves the ice pack, and gently places it on the affected area, frowning when she flinches.

“Mr. Sheffield said that the doctor was coming at ten,” he says as he gently lowers himself onto the bed, clasping his hands primly on top of his lap.

“Mm,” Fran grunts noncommittally, grabbing the two Advil pills and knocking them back with a swig of coffee.

“What? You’re not curious as to whether or not said doctor in question is single, Jewish, and living in a Manhattan penthouse? Miss Fine”—Niles reaches over and places the back of his hand on Fran’s head—“do you have a fever?”

“Oh, Niles,” she swats his hand away, “I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that one.”

“Niles!”

“Sorry, Miss Fine,” he withdraws his hand with a laugh. “You know I have to warm up before Miss Babcock arrives.”

“Glad to assist,” Fran quips, taking another sip of coffee, and it’s only as she closes her eyes to savor the taste, that he notices there are lines beneath her eyes from what seems to have been a sleepless night.

The smile sinks from his face.

“You know,” he says quietly, “in all of our acquaintance, I’ve never known of you to injure yourself while dancing.”

Fran opens her eyes only to immediately glance away, tapping her long nails against her mug.

“Val tripped me up when she thought she saw Elton John,” she shrugs dully. “Turns out it was just a really lifelike poster of him behind the bar...”

“I see,” Niles returns, raising a brow. “It was nice of Miss Toriello to forgo her weekend trip with her parents to come back and… boogie woogie oogie with you.”

“Dammit,” she pouts, scrunching her nose. “I didn’t think I’d told you that.”

“You didn’t. I overheard you and Miss Toriello gabbing on the phone about it yesterday morning.”

Fran can’t seem to help herself; she smiles crookedly, even as she shakes her head.

“I dunno who’s more absorbent sometimes—you or the dish sponge.”

He smiles back at her, patting her uninjured leg gently.

“Me, naturally."

"I can believe it, Chatty Cathy," she sighs.

"Now tell me, Miss Fine"—he regains his solemnity quickly, unwilling to let her deflect with jokes—"why does your room look like a tornado went through Loehmann’s?”

Her dark eyes immediately glance around the messy room, as though looking for an excuse and failing to find one.

It’s only now that Niles is sitting down, taking everything in, that he notices that most of the articles strewn about are her favorite clothing items, from her holographic Versace dress to the black tube top that Mr. Sheffield can’t pry his eyes away from every time she wears it.

“I almost did a very stupid thing, Niles,” she half-whispers, looking down into her coffee cup, her fingers tensed and shivering around the handle. “And the thing is, maybe it wasn’t really all that stupid? Maybe it was the smartest thing I could of done in a lifetime of doin’ so many stupid things.”

She pauses briefly before sardonically adding, “People included.”

Though Niles doesn’t have enough dots to connect the full picture, he has what he needs in the way of evidence to get the basic gist: Nigel being in town, the two of them going out, Nigel leaving town, the suitcase, the swollen ankle, and Miss Fine's uncharacteristic melancholy, smeared across her face so sharply that it may as well be lipstick.

He swallows thickly, suddenly grasping how close that they had all been to losing Fran forever.

“Well,” he says, making an effort to hitch an oblivious smile on his face, “isn’t it your mother who says that everything happens for a reason? It seems as though you’re right where you belong.”

“Yeah,” she snorts indelicately. “Twenty-nine multiple times over, single, and livin’ in a mansion with a man who won’t even commit to his meal orders at restaurants, much less his very available and desperate nanny.”

“Beautiful, young, and living in a mansion with three children who love you, a butler who’d be lost without you, and a man who won’t commit to his tie choices either but still cares for you deeply all the same,” Niles corrects her softly. “He was very worried for you when you didn’t come down to breakfast this morning. He didn’t even do the crossword on the Times.”

“Gee,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “how romantic.”

“Very,” Niles grins, “a modern day Romeo—emotional hangups and all.”

With that, he pats Fran again and stands up; he has no doubt that Mr. Sheffield will be calling for him soon to interrogate him as to Miss Fine’s wellbeing.

Maybe he can even get C.C. on speaker phone to rub it in her face.

“Y’know, Niles,” Fran smiles at him fondly, “if this whole Mr. Sheffield thing doesn’t work out, we should elope in Vegas in ten yea's.”

“Only if you wear this little number,” he says, bending down and picking up a black cocktail dress from the floor, folding it neatly over his arm.

“You wish you could be so lucky.”

“If we’re going to be in Vegas, anything can happen, I suppose.”

After he retrieves the silver tray from the bedside table, he bends down and kisses Miss Fine lightly on the head, his heart hurting when he notices the way that she closes her eyes beneath the gentle touch—young and vulnerable and terribly hurt by something he can’t quite fix with a well-timed witticism.

“Get some rest, Miss Fine," her murmurs against her head. "I'll check on you a bit."

“Thanks, hubby."

—

Scarcely ten minutes later, he’s down in Mr. Sheffield’s office as per usual, offering the producer a fresh cup of tea even though he had already drunk his traditional two cups at breakfast.

He insisted, though, on a third, for some excuse he couldn’t quite come up with.

And instead of coming up with an excuse, he immediately asked for all the particulars of Miss Fine’s health.

Predictable chump.

“Thanks, old boy,” Mr. Sheffield frowns, returning to his crossword, tapping the end of his pen arrhythmically against the paper. “Let me know when the doctor for Miss Fine arrives. I want to be there when he checks her over.”

“Ooh la-la-la,” Niles hums, dropping a sugar cube into the tea with a zesty plop.

Mr. Sheffield places his pen down on the desk angrily.

“Not like that… I just want to ensure she’s going to be well… you know, for the children’s sake.”

“Yes,” he sighs theatrically. “How will the children ever be able to bear their nanny having a twisted ankle?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mr. Sheffield snaps. “I don’t pay you to be sarcastic.”

“No, sir, you pay me to help you with the crossword when you’re missing three-across,” Niles smirks knowingly when he glances down at the incomplete puzzle. “What’s the hint?”

Mr. Sheffield adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking down again.

“A word that means feeling bad for not doing something that you should have done all along. Disappointment. A sense of shame.”

Niles straightens up with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“Oh, sir, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

#the nanny #fran fine #niles the butler #maxwell sheffield #maggie writes

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thewobblypigeonstorybooks · 2 years

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HAUNTING IN THE AIRWAVES - PART 3

The house lay silent. The breeze non-existent. All seemed to stand still. The only thing not, was Ellie.

Deep in her sleep, she flailed around in her bed, her duvet was no longer on her bed and she brow damp with sweat. It was clear she was in panic. Her breath was short unable to hold any air in, she would mutter, what she said was anybody’s guess.

What sounded like a fight in the room went on, and on, and on for far too long. But in an instant it had stopped, and all fell silent. If anyone thought she was in panic mere moments ago would now think the worst had happened to her, not even the sound of breath could be heard. She was still, like a statue in the bed.

At that moment, a pin falling onto carpet would have made enough noise to shatter the silence that now engulfed the room. But a pin was not what would shatter the silence. Ellie took a deep breath in, the first for some time, and proceeded to sit up in bed. She was clam, her movements smooth, but one thing was apparent the Ellie sitting up in bed was not the same Ellie that fell asleep in that bed, that Ellie was still asleep.

Carefully, she arose from her bed and stood up. Her face was soaked in sweat, her top of her hands too. But it was clear from the pyjamas on her that the sweat wasn’t restricted to hands and head, the energy she had exerted during whatever happened while she was asleep had taken a lot out of her. Her body moved over to the door, it took a could attempts to find the handle, but she got it eventually and opened the door to the landing. She shuffled onto the landing, her breath still slow, so slow it was almost like she wasn’t breathing at all.

As the house stood still, only the sounds of bare feet on carpet emanated through the top floor, but was nowhere near loud enough to break through doors, walls or even too much of the air itself. Step by shuffling step, she made her way over to her father’s bedroom. From outside there was the sound of a gentle snore, nothing laboured or hard, just soft. Enough to tell those outside that Andrew was asleep, in a deep sleep, but asleep and comfortable, nevertheless.

Ellie opened the door to his bedroom. So gently it made no noise. She shuffled in with little sound. The darkness was thick like soup, the air still. But Ellie had started to walk around the room with ease and absolute silence. Her actions were random, open doors to wardrobes, pull open draws, even open the curtains in the bedroom. She walked around again before leaving and somehow closing the door behind her, again making no sound and leaving the room nothing like it was when she had first entered it.

Through the landing, Ellie made her way somewhere else. Her shuffles again silent. She walked past her room, making no effort to go back to bed but approached the stairs. Her hand dangled ahead of her, finding the banister to guide the subconscious down the stairs. She had found what she was looking for, and proceeded to descend the stairs. One-by-one, slowly, carefully, she creeped down the stairs, her head fixed ahead, making no sound at any point.

Her foot landed like a feather falling from the sky onto the laminated wooden floor at the bottom of the stairs. It was quiet, it was smooth and made no sound at all. She continued her night-time adventure around the house and headed from place to place.

First, she headed to the living room, then into the kitchen, then to the downstairs toilet. She randomly walked from place to place, making no sound along the way.

Ellie went again to the living room, she hobbled through and got to the back door. She looked outside, or at least seem to look outside, she wasn’t aware of any of the actions she had taken to get where she was now. All that would have greeted her, for the darkness not being there, was the garden. It wasn’t the largest, the house itself was a small semi-detached build in the seventies, so the garden space reflected the size of the house.

She stood, watching. Nothing happened. She was static for some time, breathing deep and slow still. Ellie’s hand approached the lock to the PCV double doors and turned it to unlock it. CLICK. The lock was old, so with the squeak of plastic that had been aged and the mechanism inside, it was never a subtle action to unlock the door. This time, the sound emanated through darkness it sounded much, much louder.

Carefully, like she had with all other doors, she opened the door to the garden, the door made a horrific squeak and all the mechanisms inside made a begrudging sound of movement. All this meant Ellie had to put some effort into opening the door; without it there was no way it was going to open.

CLUNK, the handle gave way, falling down and allowing the door to be opened. WOO-WOO-WOO-WOO, the alarm blared around the house. The sound piercing to the ear drums, but not to Ellie. She opened the door, as calmly as any other door and made her way outside, into the darkness of the garden.

Upstairs, Andrew shoots up, his dad-senses in overdrive. “Ellie!” he whispers. He shoots out of bed, and yanks open his bedroom door, not knowing the state of his own bedroom. He runs over the landing to Ellie’s room, and sees she is not there, “ELLIE!” he shouts, top of his voice. He looks around and knows the only reason the alarm could be going off is because a door to the front or back has been opened.

He ran down the stairs, flick light switch after light switch on. By the living room door, a panel, the alarm control box. He enters the code franticly and disarms the alarm. On the box a red light shows, ZONE 2, the backdoor. He flies into the living room, turning the light on and sees the back door open. He runs to the back door, turns on the light to the garden and see’s Ellie sitting on the garden table, eyes closed, but sitting up.

His heart sank. He had never seen anything like this ever. This wasn’t something Ellie had ever done before, and in that moment sheer panic ran through his body.

Carefully, he left the house, barefoot and cold in only a t-shirt and shorts. He notices Ellie too is barefoot and worry starts to sink in that she is going to be very cold. “Ellie?” he whispers over to her, trying to get her attention. “Ellie?!” this time louder. Slowly her head dips onto the table and Andrew freezes.

“Urgh, it’s cold!” Ellie murmured, her eyes did all they can to peel open, her head too heavy for her to lift. Andrew made his way to the garden furniture, to the chair where Ellie rested her head in her hands. “Baby girl?” Andrew asks, his hand gently on her shoulder, “You okay baby?” “Urgh,” is all Ellie could give back, her body, her mind, exhausted. “Come on you…”

Andrew gently lifted Ellie’s head, pulled back the chair and lifted her up to carry her back in the house. He was gentle as he could be allowing her to stay asleep as best possible. As he turned to head back into the house, his neighbour, Gina, came out to see what was going on. “OH MY!!” she shouted, her voice broken with age, “SHE HE OKAY?” “She is fine,” Andrew replied, gentle, still trying not to wake Ellie. “I heard the alarm!” “I know, I’m sorry, I think Ellie has been sleepwalking around and tripped it opening the back door.” “Why would she do that?” “I don’t know, I am going to get her back to bed now and probably not get too much myself…” “You know I always said you and her need…” “Gina, not now, really not now!” Gina held an emotion on her face Andrew had seen so many times, it switched a part of his brain into overdrive, the same part that was reserved for bad drivers, the one time an electrician broke most of his worktop and that one couple from Ellie’s school whose child would bully Ellie when she could. Gina was in that list, always interfering - and not for the better.

“Look, Gina,” Andrew whispered, “I don’t have time for one of your lectures, its God knows what time, I am tired, I dread to imagine the state of this one in the morning.” Gina didn’t know what expression to return, in her head she was just trying to help, and to her that was always the case. “Okay…” she replied, reluctant, but considering it was the middle of the night and that she too wanted to get back to bed.

Andrew carried Ellie back into the house, his eyes heavy himself but he was able to get her back into bed, lock the house again and set the alarms. He looked over to the clock and saw it had just turned 4am. He knew he wasn’t going to get much more sleep. Instead, an action plan formed in his head; he needed to talk to Ellie, he needed to make sure she was safe and hope that this wasn’t going to happen again. How he was going to do this, he had no idea, just talk and hope. Maybe it was her brain reacting to the film. Who knows.

#story #hauting_in_the_airwaves

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jemej3m · 4 years

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HAVE U EVER THOUGHT OF A BAND!AU?? i love band au's and ur work!!! (not to mention but i think u would write an excellent drummer!andrew)

are you kidding me??? have i ever thought of a band au? bruh i breathe band au’s

also, i wanted this to be soft, so have some childhood friends starting a band out of their mum’s garage :DD

“Can I now?”

Neil ducked his head, trying not to show Andrew his grin. “No, ‘Drew.”

Andrew cocked his head. “How about now?”

Neil turned around and arched a singular eyebrow at the man. “You cannot shove your drum stick through Kevin’s brain, Andrew. Not now: not ever.”

“I hate you,” he muttered. Neil just grinned.

“You say the sweetest things to me, ‘Drew.” With that, he turned and continued to tune his acoustic. Behind him, Andrew was going bright red.

What started as a friendly, neighbourhood band had turned into something else entirely: Neil and Andrew were cramped backstage, tuning and warming up. Kevin was probably talking to his mom on the phone, whilst Nicky was most certainly trying to escape their security detail and go flirt with fans in the event centre’s foyer. He could charm a crowd.

They’d started the band up when they were just kids: Neil remembered Kevin grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him across the street, where he’d noticed the three Dobson boys setting up instruments in their garage: Nicky on bass, Aaron on keyboard and Andrew on his drumkit.

Neil, having been only 11 whilst the others were 12 or 13, wasn’t as outspoken or enthusiastic about joining them as Kevin was.

“Come on, Neil,” Kevin insisted, dragging him by the elbow. “I’ll sing and you play the guitar. Okay?”

“It might be fun, Neil,” his sister, Dan, insisted, giving him a gentle push out the door. “It’s just messing around in a garage band. Nothing serious.”

If little Neil knew where he’d be, nine years later, he probably would’ve spontaneously combusted out of paranoia and fear.

Adult Neil still got anxious - he always wanted to perform his best - but it’d taken years of gigs and scouts and labels to work them up to where they were now. It was a gradual process, which definitely helped the whole stage-fright thing.

“What are you thinking about?” Andrew inquired, sitting down behind Neil and hooking his chin over Neil’s shoulder. He smiled, leaning back against his best friend.

“Just stuff,” he responded. “How we got here. Where we’ll go.”

“Next stop on the tour is D.C.”

“Funny.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, deadpan. “That’s what I’m known for.”

Neil just laughed, getting to his feet. “We’d better get ready before Kevin comes back.”

“Your brother is the worst,” Andrew grunted, following suit.

“At least we’re not related,” Neil grinned, jostling Andrew’s shoulder. “You can’t talk: you’re Aaron’s twin.”

Andrew just pointed a stick at Neil in warning.

The lights were flashing. Audience screaming. Neil opened his eyes out of his reverie and looked to his counterparts: Nicky was rushing up and down the front lines, giving out as many hugs as he could. Kevin was waving and blowing kisses. And Andrew -

He stood behind his drumkit, shirtless and dripping with sweat. He still bore his armbands, brimming with blades and secrets, and in his hands he loosely held his favourite pair of drumsticks, a pair Betsy had bought him, one’s he’d been careful to not break.

Neil’s mouth was dry as he walked over to where Andrew stood. A spotlight blazed from above, shrouding Andrew’s head and illuminating his hair like a golden halo. He looked angelic. He was angelic.

“You were amazing,” Neil said, voice lost under the cacophony of the crowd. His hand was reached out, gently brushing the bare skin of Andrew’s bicep. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore: the post-show euphoria was driving him.

Andrew didn’t need to hear him. He could read lips. Read intentions.

They were ushered off the stage soon after, Neil’s ears still ringing, his fingertips still burning. Andrew tugged on a fresh shirt, a towel around his neck. He had the most laborious job out of all of them, save maybe Kevin. Neil looked away from the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“Good show,” Kevin panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Neil nodded, the exhaustion of playing for four hours settling in. His shoulders ached, fingertips raw with playing both his guitar and the keyboard (Neil filled Aaron’s vacancy when he’d fucked off to college) whilst his throat ached from countless harmonies and backups he sung for Kevin.

Genuine praise from Kevin was rare and prized for their band, and was usually reserved to the few moments after a performance finished. Then he’d go back to his regularly scheduled criticisms and evaluations.

“Wasn’t it?” Nicky grinned. “We are such hot shit sometimes! Anyway,” he slung his guitar off to the side, careless. Neil winced a little. “I’ve got a cutie waiting in my car, apparently.” He winked. “His name’s Erik and he’s built like a wall. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!”

“Jesus Christ,” Kevin said, not unkindly. They were all used to Nicky’s antics by now. He looked back to Neil. “You gonna stay with Andrew or me?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. Was he going to stay with his brother or his best friend? The choice wasn’t exactly hard to make.

Kevin put up his hands. “What? I thought you two’d had a lover’s spat or something, before the show.”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, voice low.

“You guys weren’t as synthesised as you usually are,” Kevin continued. “Did Neil say something, again? Neil, what did you do?”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped.

The man took his final warning with a grain of salt and rolled his eyes, peeling off to cool down and head back to the hotel. He left Neil standing in the middle of the corridor, baffled. What the fuck was he talking about? A lover’s spat?

“Don’t think too hard, junkie,” Andrew muttered, fingers hooked into the collar of Neil’s shirt. “He’s just sprouting his usual bullshit.” But Andrew couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Right,” Neil agreed, smiling weakly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tugged him down the corridor with a finger hooked through Neil’s belt loop.

Neil went willingly. He always went willingly with Andrew. There was no one else in the world that he trusted more.

“What do you mean, you’re not a thing?”

Neil paused with his fingertips up to the door, ready to push it open. It seemed as though he had stumbled upon a conversation - perhaps not for Neil’s ears.

“He’s not interested,” Andrew said, sounding exhausted. “And I’m not about to pressure him into something he doesn’t want.”

Huh. Maybe they were talking about a new guy. Andrew didn’t date that often - or very successfully - and he was usually not willing to talk to Neil about it whenever it did happen. Neil wasn’t quite sure why but respected his boundaries nevertheless. He just didn’t know that Andrew went to Kevin about it.

Neil wondered who it was, this time. Roland? He’d been the most long-term thing Andrew had ever attempted. No, Andrew said he wasn’t interested in Roland. Unless he was lying.

Andrew doesn’t lie to me, Neil reminded himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin insisted. “He’s been in love with you ever since he first saw you. Don’t give me that look, Andrew. Put away your knives.”

“Do you think so?” Andrew asked, voice low. Gravelly. Tainted by disbelief.

Something in Neil’s chest tightened. He sounded…hopeful. Neil was arbitrarily jealous. Who was this guy?

Wait, why was Neil jealous?

He pushed against the door, ignoring the way that the two of them shifted so that it didn’t look like they were engaged in conversation.

“We’re loading up the bus,” he supplied. “Time to get moving.”

And if Neil noticed the way that Andrew walked around him, careful not to brush their knuckles, well.

He didn’t say anything.

By the end of the third week, Neil couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, or why Andrew was so adamant in avoiding him, but he hated it. He hadn’t felt this isolated since his early years when his father would shut him in a wardrobe and his mother would scold him for eliciting his father’s ire, before both of his parents died and Wymack adopted him into his strange little family, brought him into the tiny cul de sac where Betsy Dobson and Abby Winfield lived with their own collections of abandoned kids.

“Andrew,” he mumbled as he watched Andrew tuck himself into his own bed. They were sleeping in the same hotel room but they were millions of miles away from each other. Neil felt stiff and confused.

Resigned, he shut the light off.

“Fix it,” Kevin demanded.

“Fix what?”

“Just tell him already. It’s getting nauseating.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin threw Neil’s lyric notepad back at him. “‘Living limbless, lost, lonely, ever since you went and left me’? What do you mean, what am I talking about? I thought you two were already together - now he’s saying you were never interested? What the fuck, Neil. You’ve been practically married for years.”

Neil blinked. “Me and -”

“Andrew, yes, who else?” Kevin continued, irritable as he scrawled down new ideas. “You’re so fucking dense sometimes - ow!”

Neil stuck out his tongue, satisfied with the large black line his thrown pen had left behind. He fished out another pen from his bag and kept writing, letting Kevin’s banter distract him from how painful his chest felt.

The tour was ending. They were looping back to South Carolina. Andrew hardly looked at him anymore, let alone spoke to him. Kevin looked at Neil with pity. Nicky tried to cheer everyone up with icecream.

Neil couldn’t understand why they were falling apart. What had he done? What had he said?

The screams irked him. They sounded less ecstatic and more afraid. Neil was falling apart onstage, overthinking. They’d just played for Charleston, one of their last stops on the tour.

The curtains came down. Neil couldn’t move. The others were already off the stage. Neil couldn’t breathe.

“Neil,” Andrew said. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye. How was he to explain that Andrew’s estrangement had left him in such a miserable state that he could hardly perform without breaking down?

“Neil, look at me.”

Neil closed his eyes. “Whatever I did - I’m sorr -”

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, before pressing a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. His eyes flew open, though he didn’t move. It didn’t matter: Not a moment later, Andrew ricocheted back, hand over his own mouth. In his other hand, his favourite drumsticks snapped, falling to the floor in uneven halves.

By the time Neil had opened his mouth, Andrew was gone.

Neil spent the drive to the pub they’d chosen to ride out their performance high in silence. Andrew was stoic and unmoving, silent despite Nicky’s attempts at conversation. When they arrived, Neil felt like he wanted to throw up.

It was bustling at the late hour, but dark enough to slip in unnoticed. Neil followed Andrew up to the bar: at one point, someone shoved into Andrew and Neil felt him press Neil against the marble top, warm from shoulder to shin. Neil wanted to lean back into him. He wanted Andrew to look at him, to talk to him. He wanted Andrew back. He wanted Andrew.

Quickly, he turned around, ignoring the bar tender when he asked if he was sure he wanted a virgin martini. Andrew was right there, pupils blown, cheeks red. Angry.

He was furious.

“Andrew,” Neil insisted. “Why -”

He grabbed the tray of drinks and disappeared before Neil could form a sentence.

And - well. Neil wasn’t known for subordination.

He waited patiently for the others to get drunk and disappear into the crowd, like they always did. Sometimes Nicky dragged Neil with him, if the night was right. Andrew usually just sat, patiently waiting for his family to return to him. His whiskey sips were cautious and slow.

Tonight was different. As soon as they were alone, Andrew stood, knocked back the entire glass and strode towards the exit. Neil let his breath hitch and followed, almost jogging in order to keep up with Andrew’s stride.

“Andrew, this is insane,” he said as they walked down the street, leaving the bar behind. “I’m losing my mind here. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?”

“Exist,” Andrew snarled, hands curled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket.

Neil ran ahead of him, almost tripping over the uneven sidewalk. They’d walked far enough that they seemed to have removed themselves from any remnants of the club, and instead were stood in front of a circular, patheon-esque church and its haphazard graveyard.

Andrew stopped walking and stared. In the moonlight his skin was pale enough to be translucent.

“Tell me,” Neil whispered. “Truth for truth. We promised, Andrew. To never lie, to never leave. Why did you kiss me?”

“You promised,” Andrew corrected him. “I swore I would have your back. Does that have to constitute being attached at the hip?”

Neil crossed his arms, petulant.

Andrew’s sigh was aggravated. “It was never meant to be a problem.”

“What was?”

“You.”

“Andrew -”

Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, then slipped across the warm skin at the nape of his neck, then tangled themselves into Neil’s hair. Andrew pulled their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes closed too tight. Neil wanted to iron out the crease between his brows.

“‘Drew?”

“Shut up,” the man croaked. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, weakly. “I wanted to kiss you.”

Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s scalp. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his fingers carefully found their way onto Andrew’s jaw, forcing the man to look up at him. “I did.”

Andrew just swallowed, red-cheeked.

Neil pulled Andrew closer, head dropping to Andrew’s shoulder. His heart throbbed like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent and never, ever out of time. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Andrew lied.

“I think I like you, ‘Drew,” Neil whispered into the skin of Andrew’s neck. “I think I really do.”

“I hate you,” Andrew managed, sliding his hands around Neil’s waist and holding him close under the Charleston moonlight. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Neil managed, closing his eyes. It made a lot more sense, now.

Between their erratic breathing and racing pulses, a drumbeat formed.

#andreil #pining #band au #drummer andrew #guitarist neil #they're soft and in love #childhood friends #betsy dobson is a good mother #and wymack is a good father #musician au #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #oblivious neil josten #jem writes

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deus-ex-knoxina · 3 years

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okay but what's the cast for fuck riko

ALRIGHT SO

it’s kind of an ensemble cast show but there’s really 5 main characters and then ensemble (who double as non-speaking roles/characters who are only there for a scene).

these names will have little to no relevance so i’ll add a quick plot rundown at the end (in order of appearance; kevin and neil’s roles are written to piss riko off)

nicky is playing alex

katelyn is playing jess

kevin is playing noah

dan is playing alicia

neil is playing luke

i chose THE most basic ‘contemporary teen musical’ names i could think of, did i do a good job

the ensemble is marissa, allison, matt, laila, probably jimprov, and possibly some OCs depending on how many people i need

crew: jeremy’s SM, alvarez is ASM, aaron’s on sound, renee’s doing wardrobe/hair/makeup, the cast is going to handle deck crew shit, and around the time that tech week hits they’re gonna realize that since kevin is in the show they don’t have someone to do lights. oops. but they’ll figure it out

andrew’s writing the book, jean is composing (and orchestrating and is also rehearsal pianist and music director, pray for him he has so much to do), and they’re gonna basically finish off a scene/song and immediately hand it off to the cast to learn since they are on a TIGHT SCHEDULE. also, as far as production team goes, wymack’s directing (he’s so tired) and katelyn and neil are tag-teaming on choreography

andrew and jean are petty as shit, jean knows a lot about riko and what annoys him from being kinda-friends with him for years, and they’re USING IT

the musical itself is a coming-of-age story about a road trip right after high school graduation, kevin has a Fuck Riko Song in which he demonstrates his superior range, and nicky’s gonna make everyone cry sometime in the second act it’ll be great

#fuck riko: the musical #i don't remember my inbox tag #THANKS FOR THE ASK ANON

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tabloidtoc · 4 years

Text

Globe, October 5

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Jeffrey Epstein’s assistant Sarah Kellen Vickers’ shocking deposition and why Ghislaine Maxwell is terrified of her testimony

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Anne Heche laughing, Serena Williams on the court at the U.S. Open, Justin Theroux cleans up after his dog in NYC

Page 3: Josh Duhamel in a sling, A.J. McLean bald and wearing a mask and sporting a nasty scalp scar, Julianne Hough drinking in Studio City

Page 4: Fox News’ popular pundit Andrew Napolitano who is a former New Jersey Superior Court judge is accused in a civil suit of forcing a male defendant to give him oral sex in exchange for a light sentence, David Bowie lured Tina Turner into a steamy tryst by dancing naked in front of her wearing one of her wigs and mimicking her singing Rolling on the River in 1985

Page 5: Furious mom of eight Kate Gosselin is determined to win back custody of son Collin after the teen sparked a child abuse furor by publicly claiming his raging dad Jon Gosselin kicked him for denting their car, Kelly Clarkson is keeping her lips zipped about her heart-shattering divorce from Brandon Blackstock so their young kids won’t be wounded by an ugly public fight

Page 6: TV’s queen of mean Ellen DeGeneres isn’t just despised by her staff and crew she’s also hated by her housekeepers who she treats like dirt

Page 7: Accused sex fiend Prince Andrew is a disgrace and the monarchy is erasing him from official family photos and banning him from all major events -- tarred by his dozen-year friendship with convicted pedophile Jeffrey Epstein and charges he bedded one of the billionaire’s teen sex slaves Andrew was just eliminated from his father Prince Philip’s 100th birthday celebration set for June 10

Page 8: Glee star Naya Rivera didn’t have to die -- the 33-year-old actress drowned on a boating trip with her son and her death was ruled an accidental drowning but a renowned forensic pathologist says the tragedy could have been prevented because she had vertigo and it may have triggered a panic attack as she struggled to get back in the boat -- if she had been wearing a life jacket she’d probably still be alive

Page 10: Former president Jimmy Carter has come clean about Willie Nelson getting high on the White House roof with his son Chip, Lisa Marie Presley reveals she divorced Michael Jackson after he pressured her to have a baby -- Michael already had his dermatologist’s assistant Debbie Rowe lined up to be his baby mama and he sucker-punched Lisa Marie with an ultimatum have my child or Debbie would do it

Page 11: Tiger Woods’ worst nightmare is coming true as ex-galpal Rachel Uchitel is finally dishing the dirt on their steamy affair that destroyed his marriage and put his golf career in a tailspin -- Rachel is in talks to join The Real Housewives of New York City and finally wants to set the record straight

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- Miles Teller wearing his mask wrong and wearing two caps (picture), Candace Cameron Bure barked back at fan backlash blasting the wholesome TV star for posting a cheeky snap of husband Valeri Bure cupping his famous wife’s breast, Jessica Alba sobbed like a baby after discovering her 12-year-old daughter Honor is taller than she is, Zac Efron apparently has a thing for brunette beauties named Vanessa -- having once famously romancing his High School Musical co-star Vanessa Hudgens he’s now head over heels for a 25-year-old Aussie waitress named Vanessa Valladares, Tampa Bay Buccaneers quarterback Tom Brady is done with cold weather forever -- after spending two decades with the New England Patriots Tom has really warmed up to Florida’s balmy year-round weather and his new team but his daughter Vivian doesn’t like it hot all the time

Page 13: Britt Ekland (picture), Jason Sudeikis at the beach (picture), Selma Blair’s hair has grown back after chemo treatment for MS (picture)

Page 14: Reese Witherspoon lives in a newly renovated multimillion-dollar Nashville mansion but it’s her closet that’s a priceless showstopper because she turned a massive walk-in closet into a museum with wardrobe treasures from her iconic gigs like Legally Blonde and Walk the Line as well as lavish gowns and accessories she’s donned on the red carpet, Selena Gomez’s gourmet kitchen got too hot for the culinary novice to handle so she got herself an HBO show she shoots at home called Selena + Chef where the star invites renowned chefs to give her cooking lessons via remote video, Fashion Verdict -- Joy Bauer 7/10, Katherine Waterston 4/10, Nathalie Emmanuel 3/10, Vanessa Kirby 10/10, Maya Hawke 2/10

Page 16: Jane Fonda’s great regret was skipping some Sexual Healing from singer Marvin Gaye who was gaga over her, Bar Refaeli barely escaped jail after being convicted of cheating her native Israel out of a fortune in taxes but she did get nine months of community service plus a $1.5 million fine and was ordered to pay back taxes on $7.5 million in earnings

Page 17: Chris Evans was red-faced after accidentally posting fully nude social media selfies showing the Captain American hunk standing stiffly at attention

Page 18: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Liam Neeson, Jay Leno has a new gig hosting the iconic game show You Bet Your Life, drama-plagued Denise Richards won’t be returning to The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills after a stormy two-season stint on the show

Page 20: True Crime

Page 24: Cover Story -- Murdered pedophile Jeffrey Epstein’s accused madam Ghislaine Maxwell is shaking in her prison cell terrified the billionaire pervert’s former personal assistant Sarah Kellen Vickers will rat her out to the federal prosecutors who’ve charged her with sex crimes -- the feds could get a slam-dunk case against Ghislaine by making a deal for Sarah to squawk but so far she’s not talking

Page 26: Health Report

Page 30: Hoda Kotb is moving fast to have baby No. 3 with fiance Joel Schiffman at age 56 -- the two are in seventh heaven raising her adopted daughters Haley and Hope and want to add a boy to their brood

Page 38: Real Life

Page 44: Straight Talk -- in a desperate bid to get attention and return to relevance forgotten celebrity Paris Hilton has joined the crusade to help Britney Spears gain control over her $59 million fortune

Page 45: Caitlyn Jenner is feeling smug about Keeping Up With the Kardashians ending its run after 14 years on TV but she’s upsetting her reality star relatives by reveling in their misery plus Caitlyn who appeared on the E! show for several seasons as Kris Jenner’s husband Bruce believes things would have been different had they not iced her out of the series

Page 47: Hollywood Flashback -- John Candy in 1989′s Uncle Buck, Bizarre But True

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sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 .

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟏 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 . NAME: Andrew Milton. EYE COLOUR: A very dark shade of brown hues that look charcoal-like in low light. HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: A “high and tight haircut” with the sides completely shaven. Other than that he has black hair. HEIGHT: 6′1. CLOTHING STYLE: Milton grew up in a household that tended to dress more formal, always wanting to look presentable in someway and form. He tries his best to look presentable, only including red and black to his wardrobe to symbolize the agency. Almost always he dresses formal and pays a pretty penny to have his clothes tailored and high-class, he never slacks in his clothing choice. BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: Some might be attracted to his slim figure. I would say his clothing suits him??

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟐 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 . FEARS: Going to hell, nosophobia, being buried alive. GUILTY PLEASURE: Reading (mystery novels most of the time, but historical or other informational literature is fine), learning about others secrets (or just general gossip), proving someone wrong/being right, curling up with a cup of coffee or tea, spending his money. BIGGEST PET PEEVE: Being ignored or his orders not being taken seriously, people drinking out of the milk carton than putting it in a glass, people with bad manners, people who use devil advocate constantly against his plans, a room/air filled with smoke from cigarettes, someone not finishing their drink. AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: Maintaing his high status in the agency, living a comfortable and luxurious life, having Dutch see justice, ridding the new world of criminals.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟑 : 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 . FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: Most of the time it’s just the thought that he has to get up and get ready for the day. Milton keeps a pretty structural schedule in his day, but it’s not excessive to where there can’t be any leniency. So, he tends to follow that schedule and keep it in mind. Almost always after that initial thought he thinks of what he’s going to eat and acts on it. He runs through a list in his head mostly. WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: His job honestly. He thinks about the case he’s on, what else is needed for it, the direction of it and any added clues or changes in his plan. Milton isn’t a work alcoholic and knows when to take breaks, but he’s determined to see his job finished and carry out effectively (whether that be quick or with tactical planning, whatever gets it done and makes his investor happy). WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: It depends on the location. If he’s in a hotel someplace or at home, he makes sure his watch, glass of water, wallet, badge, and revolver is on the bedside table next to him (or his revolver is under his pillow). When camping, while that doesn’t happen often he has had a few instance where he made camp. He makes sure his tent is secure, the fire is lit, his items are nearby. No matter where he is, he makes sure there’s bullets in his gun. WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS: His morals. he prides himself on being a “good citizen” and a “respectable human being.” He has a lot he prides himself on, but he really favors his morals and his standing whenever placed against a criminal.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟒 : 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 ? SINGLE OR GROUP DATES: Single. TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: Either really. Not loved in a romantic sense, but he appreciates it when someone holds him in high regard, loves his work ethic, that his family and friends love him, that sort of love. But I would say more respected, since he really wants that before anything else and he feels like he deserves it. BEAUTY OR BRAINS: Brains. Beauty is nice and definitely catches Milton’s eye, but brains is what keeps him around a person. He would be annoyed if he felt like someone never intrigued him at all. A personality is what draws Milton even closer and solidifes a friendship or any other dynamic. DOGS OR CATS: Milton isn’t a large fan of animals overall, he doesn’t have any of his own. I would say he would prefer a dog over a cat, mostly because a dog would be easier for him to handle. He would hate being scratched and being at a cat’s wishes rather than a dog that tends to do whatever their owner wants.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟓 : 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 … LIE: Yes, even though he wouldn’t like to admit it. Milton tends (or tries) to be honest and straightforward, but if something is in his favor by lying, then he’ll take that route. He would mostly lie to criminals than a random stranger on a street or someone that doesn’t commit any crimes. Milton may use a white lie when talking to anyone though if it’s beneficial in a situation. BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: Yes, greatly. Pride could be one of his downfalls. Milton is very sure of himself and can be arrogant.. BELIEVE IN LOVE: Soulmates? no. But a true partnership and a shared love between two people? Yes. WANT SOMEONE: It’s not a proprietary by any means, but he welcomes it. Not in a romantic way, more in a friends with benefits scenario with a deep emotional connection. He likes having friends around him and enjoys that part of his life.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟔 : 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 … BEEN ON STAGE: No. DONE DRUGS: In a lot of products in the 19th century modern day drugs were used, but Milton has not voluntarily smoked weed, snorted cocaine, or anything of that nature. He doesn’t smoke tobacco either.. CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: Sort of. Milton would still argue its himself and he will voice his opinions no matter the company, but when he’s around investors int he agency (like Cornwall), he will change and up a few features of his personality to get in their good graces.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟕 : 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 . FAVOURITE COLOUR: Darker colors: Blacks, grays, reds. FAVOURITE ANIMAL: Nia Quail. FAVOURITE BOOK: N/A. FAVOURITE GAME: N/A.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟖 : 𝐀𝐆𝐄 . DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: Thursday, December 24th. HOW OLD WILL THEY BE: Milton is almost two centuries away and would be dead by now, but in terms of adding Milton to my muse list: I guess 42?

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟗 : 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 . I LOVE: to the core. I FEEL: Wooden floor, desk table, parchment. I HIDE : My misdeeds. I MISS: My father. I WISH: for justice & civilization.

#( 𝑰 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 ; headcanon (( Milton ))#drug mention tw

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fics-not-tragedies · 4 years

Text

In a Week: Chapter 11 🌲

Words: 1577; Warnings: none; Summary: Andrew tells Flo he’s taking her out for dinner.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight; @angelpeachamber; @sgt-morgan; @julessbrown;

Monday, 8:20pm

Back at the hotel, Andrew opened the doors for her, letting her enter the lobby before he did, like the proper gentleman he was. But his eyes dropped down to her hips, mesmerized by the way they swayed with every step she took.

“I’m taking you to dinner, tonight” he informed her as they entered the lift, in away that clearly surprised him, like he hadn’t planned it at all. He pressed the button for her floor.

“Are you?” She giggled, eyebrows raised.

“Yep.”

“I’ll have to see what I’m doing” she replied sarcastically, flicking her hair over her shoulder, pretending to avoid his eye contact, “Might have plans.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah…” she said, raising her chin in mock confidence, “was gonna hang around the bar for a bit and see if a handsome stranger approaches me offering a Malibu” he shook his head at the way she liked to tease him then tried again, pride long gone.

“Come to dinner with me and, em, I’ll buy you all of the Malibus you can drink…” he drawled. She pouted and tapped her lips with her index finger like she was weighing up her options.

“Throw in a bottle of cheap champagne and I’m yours for the night.”

“Can do” he concluded, grinning like a fool.

Monday, 8:25pm

They stepped out of the lift walking silently all the way to her door, Flo retrieving her key from her jeans pocket to unlock it.

“I’ll see you at half nine then…” he said firmly as she fiddled with the lock, “will pick you up from your door like a proper gentleman.”

“Okay” she laughed, nervously, “I’ll see you soon” Andrew nodded, taking a good look at her rosy cheeks and messy hair, amazed how she always looked so put together, before turning sharply on his heel, “What am I wearing?” She called before he could get too far, already panicking about her wardrobe situation.

“I really don’t think that, em, I’d help you with that” he chuckled suggestively, “Besides, you’re gonna kill me with whatever you wear, honey.”

Monday, 9:15pm

With only fifteen minutes left until Andrew was due to rap his knuckles on her hotel room door, Flo was now beginning to panic. She had told herself that twenty minutes lying on her bed would do no harm, but she had inevitably slept and overslept, drained from the buzz of being with him.

She was halfway done with drying her hair, the white towel thrown frantically across the bathroom, but the typically crappy hotel room hairdryer was proving more of a challenge than she was prepared for. She wiggled her hips in the mirror to tip her hair back and forth, still wearing only her underwear, unsure if she even had anything to wear over it. “…you’re gonna kill me with whatever you wear, honey…” - that’d be an understatement.

Clipping her slightly damp hair on top of her head, she threw on some makeup, something glowy, but with a touch of glam, rouging her lips. Though her skin wasn’t heavily made up, it was more makeup than she worn around him before and it made her worry that he’d think it was too dramatic - too much for a date. She seriously considered scrubbing it all off and starting again, then she reminded herself that she shouldn’t allow it to be a date, shouldn’t have called it a date - it wasn’t a date. But… was it?

After a second breakdown about her lack of clothing choice, she settled on a deep black colored shirt dress in a satin material, something that was shorter than she’d usually be comfortable with, showing off her legs. She wasn’t wear it anytime soon, she even had no idea what she packed it at the first place, so it seemed like a perfect opportunity to put it on now. The neckline plunged in a way to expose her cleavage and Flo buttoned it up a little so that she wasn’t showing too much skin and rolled the sleeves. She found her heels at the foot of her bed and sat to slip them on. Aware of the time, she threw on her gold necklaces, put in some gold earrings and shoved on a couple of rings.

As the minutes rolled by, her fingers were shaking with more vivacity. She couldn’t put into words what she was feeling, how she was feeling, how he made her feel. Part of her was excited just to be surrounded by his energy again, his bottomless excitement and curiosity about everything bringing out smiles that were so intense her jaw ached. But she was also terrified of being vulnerable, of losing the control she practiced every second he was near to her, scared she’d do something wrong and undermine the connection she couldn’t deny. She stood at the dressing table, dousing herself in more perfume than she’d ever used in her life, pondering how he’d look and just how she was going to keep herself from touching him.

Monday, 9:25pm

Andrew’s approach was much less frantic, though the anxious feeling instilled in him was very much the same. He had three cigarettes to calm his initial nerves, smoking and reading on his balcony until he had to shower, then stood under the spray of the water for almost twenty minutes, just reminding himself of all the ways he was bound to fuck this up.

After washing his hair and scrubbing his body with an overly abrasive sponge, he patted his body down in the mirror and observed himself long enough to make himself uncomfortable. He was frustrated by the natural moodiness of his face when he stared back at himself, worried he didn’t smile enough, that she’d think he was grumpy. He twitched the corners of his lips, trimmed his beard a little, so he doesn’t looked like a bear and dried his hair. Wrapping his towel around his waist and heading back to the wardrobe, he picked out some clean underwear and some suit trousers which sat well on his waist. Pulling them on, he laced them with a thin belt and buttoned a tight white shirt over his chest and tucked it in. Andrew left the top two buttons undone, rolled his sleeves and found some dress shoes in the bottom of his suitcase.

It was now that he pouted at himself nervously in the mirror, pushing his trembling hands through his hair. This was special, important and he had to look good, had to feel good about himself if he was going to actually win her over. He hadn’t even had time to process how she’d look, what she’d be wearing, how much skin she’d be showing and how he was going to handle wanting her so bad, but as soon as the thought occurred to him he couldn’t ignore it. He was just about to pick a sample from the minibar, one with the strongest alcohol percentage, then checked the time and had to scrape together his phone, key and self-assurance to get out of the door on time. He wasn’t going to be late.

Andrew locked his door and sunk into the old elevator with his head down, sailing smoothly three floors down to hers. He cleared his throat as he stepped out. As he approached the spot he said goodbye to her twice already, he tried to focus his attention, tried not to blink too often or too little, tried to smile. And then, he raised his fist and held his breath.

Monday, 9:29pm

Just then, Flo heard a slight shuffle and a quick but solid knock against the wood, three times. The sound was followed by a silence which made her want to pass out and she froze, momentarily forgetting what she was supposed to be doing. Barely able to walk straight, think straight, she headed towards the sound, checking her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she passed. With only approximately three seconds to judge her appearance, she shook her light hair dramatically from the clip she forgotten about, tossing it aside and undid two buttons at her chest. Hand already on the handle, she practiced her most confident smile, assured that as soon as she saw him, she’d lose her mind and along with it any of the confidence she was faking. He was too much for her and she was certain that at this point he already knew this, noticed the way her eyes lit up every time he opened his mouth to say something, his Irish accent making every word sound more poetic and Flo just wanted to fall asleep to him reading her some of his favorite poetry, because she just knew he loved poetry.

On the other side of the doors Andrew exhaled shakily, thinking that no matter what she put on her outfit would do more damage to him than imagined it will. There was something magic about her, something so deeply captivating that he found himself breathless when he was around her way too often. What was scaring him was the black hole in her that was filled with unsaid words and unspoken emotions. He wanted to encrypt her like she was his own Enigma, he wanted to know even the darkest secrets she held deep in her heart. But mostly - he wanted to know what was the final decision that drew her here, to that hotel.

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