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zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !]

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

•─────────────────•

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took.

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.”

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere.

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her.

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –”

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

#playchoices #platinum #raleigh carrera #raleigh carrera x mc #platinumweekend #my fic #jade writes choices fics #tbh i really loved writing this one - it's really special to me !!

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bmoviedragonsreloaded · 4 years

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Review: American Samurai (1992)

“Why couldn’t we just have been brothers?”

SOURCE

This review is based on the Region 1 DVD release of the film.

SPOILERS AHEAD

The Cannon Group was on its last legs in the early 90s and American Samurai was one of the last movies distributed during its lifetime. The first of several collaborations between director Sam Firstenberg and star David Bradley, this is a picture with a lot going for it that still manages to confound me. When I first saw it, I was shocked by many of the creative and technical decisions, but having recently seen it again, I think I can hang a lot of them on the old sin of studio overreach. Still, it shines in some important and gratifying ways and is worth a watch if this is your kind of thing.

The plot: An American reporter trained in the ways of the samurai (Bradley) and his photographer (Valarie Trapp) investigate a murder in Turkey, where he uncovers a deadly tournament championed by his vicious half-brother (Mark Dacascos).

Writer John Corcoran (RIP) was a well-known figure in the world of martial arts publication, but his sole movie script is basically Bloodsport with weapons. It starts off incredibly pulpy with the baby protagonist surviving a plane crash and being raised by a modern samurai (John Fujioka), but it almost immediately begins hitting recognizable beats of the Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicle, down to a blatant Donald Gibb knockoff character (Rex Ryon). Nevertheless, I think the film originally intended to distinguish itself by being a more dramatic and heartfelt story, with the crux being the conflict between the brothers. We get hints of an emotional undercurrent, with Bradley’s character conflicted about fighting the sibling who feels jealous of his parental favor. However, in the end, we only get a superficial and choppy representation of their feud, including a rushed prologue and a head-spinning psychedelic scene where the lead confronts his brother’s demonic form in a dream. (Shades of Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story?)

That’s a recurring trend: parts of the story and action giving the impression of having once been very different. It’s most apparent in two instances: (1) the breakneck romance between David Bradley and Valarie Trapp, with an abrupt sex scene entirely performed by body doubles, and (2) the final duel between the brothers, which I’m certain was initially a short and minimalistic fight before being expanded with footage obviously transplanted from previous scenes. I get the impression that the script was heavily edited to focus on exploitation, and then the movie saw substantial content changes during post-production. It complicates what probably a pretty simple film, to the point that I don’t feel like I can accurately critique the screenplay and the acting. I don’t assume it was ever a dramatic masterpiece, but I wonder whether even Mark Dacascos’ hamfisted acting didn’t seem more appropriate before his character’s motivations were screwed with after the fact.

Speaking of Dacascos, he’s retrospectively one of the main drawing points of the movie. This was his first substantial film role and he’s still in proto form. His presence and intensity are already apparent, his acting would improve, but the filmmakers don’t quite know how to get the most out of his fight scenes. Dacascos looks great with a katana, but if you’re hoping to find the equivalent of his fight scenes from Drive or even the following year’s Only the Strong, you’ll be disappointed at his comparatively restrained adrenaline pieces.

That said, the action is pretty good. I definitely appreciate it more than I did during my first viewing. Weapons are the name of the game, putting the film in the same subcategory as Ring of Steel and the Swordsman series. There’s some purely hand-to-hand stuff in the first half, with David Bradley demonstrating some cool throws, but for the most part, the action’s a variety of colorful opponents fighting each other with a plethora of bladed weapons. The quality of the fights isn’t static, with more than one marred by an overabundance of cutaway shots, but a lot of thought has been put into the choreography. The flashiest match is a rare onscreen appearance of Hong Kong choreographers Dion Lam and Anthony Szeto, but my personal favorite is a sword-versus-ax encounter between David Bradley and a viking-themed opponent (Mark Warren). I like how Bradley first uses only the hilt of his katana to fight, then only the dull side of the blade before he actually starts slicing. It’s not spectacular stuff, but definitely enjoyable.

“Definitely enjoyable” is a good summation of the movie, but only if you’re already into this genre, are a fan of some of the performers, and/or are prepared to find pleasure in the little details. I like Sam Firstenberg’s signature gore (even though the content is clumsily censored in the DVD release) – not just because of how it helps spice up the duels, but because I appreciate how he was one of the few karate filmmakers who utilized special effects in his action scenes. I get a kick out of Valarie Trapp, who’s nothing special as an actor but whose real-life story of being a struggling writer taking small movie roles to get by is genuinely inspiring. And, of course, I love the fact that two action heroes in different stages of their careers were able to do a film together, because even if this isn’t the best, it’s not so for lack of effort. If this sounds like your kind of picture, it’s worth spending a bit of money on…though you might be better off getting the VHS version in this case, which I don’t recall being quite as heavily censored.

SOURCE

American Samurai (1992) Directed by Sam Firstenberg (Revenge of the Ninja) Written by John Corcoran (editor of Inside Kung Fu magazine) Starring David Bradley (American Ninja 3 & 4), Valarie Trapp (Mr. Stitch), Mark Dacascos, Rex Ryan (The Man in the Iron Mask) Cool costars: The late, great John Fujioka plays another benevolent martial arts master, much like his role in American Ninja. The list of tournament fighters and other onscreen combatants include Hong Kong action masters Dion Lam (Black Mask) and Anthony Szeto (Wushu), karate staple Ron Vreeken (Under the Gun), and award-winning stunt pros Koby Azarly (Sector 4: Extraction) and Rocky McDonald (Mission Impossible II). Second unit director and action coordinator Guy Norris has since moved up the studio ladder, nowadays coordinating for major motion pictures like Mad Max: Fury Road and Suicide Squad. Video game fans may recognize composer Craig Stuart Garfinkle from his later work on the World of Warcraft and Fallout series. Content warning: Extreme violence, violence against women, kidnapping, police intimidation Title refers to David Bradley’s lead character, who plays an American trained in the art of the samurai. In a roundabout way, it could also refer to Mark Dacascos and John Fujioka, who are real-life Americans playing characters with samurai training. (If you want to be a pedantic nitpicker, the title’s a total misnomer since no character’s an actual member of the old Japanese military caste.) Cover accuracy: David Bradley and Mark Dacascos posing with swords, the latter seemingly wearing his outfit from the tournament, are certainly very true to the movie. That said, the Japanese syllabery and paper walls in the background don’t convey that hardly any of the story takes place in Japan. Number of full-length fight scenes: 10 Copyright Cannon Pictures / Global Pictures

#film review #film criticism #film critique #action #martial arts #karate #samurai #kendo #kenjutsu #american samurai #david bradley #mark dacascos #valarie trap #rex ryan #sam firstenberg

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thewildheroine · 6 years

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The Flower Collection

Warnings: Cleaning wounds

Word Count: 2935

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: This was just meant to be a quick little free write I started in my free time during school so I’m sorry if it is a little choppy or cheesy. I just decided to post it to test out the picture thing above and also since I didn’t write anything else today. Speaking of the picture thing really quick I’m thinking of doing that instead of gifs because trying to find just the right gif to go with a story is hard and I prefer the collage much more. If anyone dislikes it just let me know! Anyways enjoy the one-shot (and sorry once again if it is very crappy quality)!

|Masterlist|

For some of the most important occasions in my life for the past half a decade, Peter was there with a flower.

Five years ago, as I was walking down the street, staring absentmindedly at my phone I ran into him. Despite the hard collision we were both still standing. The only thing that had fallen at that moment was my phone, which I would later find out was hopelessly broken. I gaped while staring up at him dumbfoundedly, unable to disconnect my hands from his sturdy shoulders. He stared down at me as well and I could see the thin sheen of sweat on his velvety skin.

Peter smiled awkwardly, muttering an apology. He mixed his words together and it took him three tries to get, “I’m sorry,” right.

When he offered to walk me home I shyly agreed. Even though I should have been lamenting about my ruined phone and how my parents would react, I was completely focused on Peter. It’s hard to find boys like him in Queens. Ones who would happily make sure you got home safely in spite of the fact that he seemed to be rushing to get somewhere too.

We carried on a calm conversation, discussing how we both went to the same school and had somehow never managed to meet, though I did begin recognizing him by the time we were almost to my front yard. However, I did remember Ned when he mentioned him. It was mainly because we were in two of the same classes and usually worked as partners on projects.

Right before I stepped towards my driveway Peter stopped my foot, suddenly yanking me backward. He leaned down and picked up a weathered and limp carnation that must have been ripped out of our front garden earlier. I studied him curiously as he looked the flower over. His kind fingers gently pushed at one of the peals, making it perk up the smallest bit.

“Uh,” he laughed, realizing he had spent a whole minute staring at the white flower while I patiently waited to say goodbye. “Here you go. I know you can’t do anything with it now but-”

“No, it’s totally okay. I can put it in a vase, maybe try to save it for a little bit,” I told Peter reassuringly and let him place the carnation in my hand. “Let's call it a nice to meet you gift,” I giggled flatly at myself, automatically feeling stupid because of the unnecessary comment. Peter beamed at me though, and it diffused my anxiousness a little.

“Yeah,” he chuckled back and extended his hand towards me. I took it reluctantly. “Nice to meet you,” he recites. I nodded my head demurely as I turned back to my house, quietly saying goodbye.

One of the next, most memorable times he gave me a flower is at my first high school play.

I had played one of the main characters regardless of my fear of performing in front of hundreds of people, and it was because of Peter. By that time in our relationship, we had both become each other’s best friend and Peter was dedicated to encouraging me to do the things I wanted to do. He even sat with me for hours on end, practicing my dramatic lines. At times I almost thought he got even more into the acting than me.

Then we had reached the final show, and as I stepped up to the front of the stage to bow, the bright spotlights lighting up my face, I saw him in the midst of the cheering crowd, holding a bouquet of dahlias. Our eyes stayed on each other the whole time and I let a bright smile take up the entirety of my face. I reached for the hand of the person next to me and bowed eloquently, just like how Peter and I practiced the week before.

As the stage lights blacked out and the curtain closed I sprinted through the backstage area, ignoring the requests of one of the managers to take out my microphone. I burst through the doors and into the hallway that was already crowded with the parents of the actors and crew. They all held flowers, but my eyes were searching for the cotton candy ones Peter had been holding. It took me a second to adjust to the number of people until my eyes landed on him.

Peter stood at the edge of the hoard, grinning up proudly at me as I jogged towards him and lept into his open arms. We laughed together excitedly, our hearts filled up to the brim with joy. After a moment of enjoying each other’s embrace, I broke away from the hug and set my feet flat on the ground. The hair on top of my head had gotten a little messy then but I couldn’t care less. I watched blush bloom across Peter’s cheeks and I realized how lucky I was that I had a thick layer of stage makeup on to cover the flurry of pink roses appearing on my own face.

“Thank you, Peter,” I said. “They’re beautiful.”

“You deserve them Y/N,” he asserts in an especially soft way. “You were incredible up there. I loved watching every moment.” I didn’t realize I was gaping up at him until it was too late, and I had to cast my eyes downward so I could compose myself again.

“Well-uh-I better go and get changed,” I inform him. “You wouldn’t mind holding onto the flowers while I do that, would you? And we can go to dinner later?” He nodded and quickly took the flowers from my hands.

As I walked off into the dressing rooms I ran a hair through my stiff hair, pushing through the mousse so that it wouldn’t look so rigid later. I had to keep my head parallel with the ground to hide my wide smile. In my right hand was a thin, light pink pedal of a dahlia. Silently, I took another peek at it and tucked the small thing into the pocket of my jacket where it would be safe for the time being.

Yet another time Peter Parker gave me a flower was at dinner that night.

Our waiter sat us at a table with a miniature glass bottle that held three branches of lavender. It made the quiet, streetside diner seem brighter somehow. My eyes were stuck on them as I ate and talked with Peter who continued complimenting me on my acting. The only time I really shifted my focus away from them is when I heard Peter whisper something shocking.

“You’re just stunning Y/N.” I looked up from the purple flowers quickly, wanting to immediately verify if he had really said that. Just one look and I knew he meant it. His eyes were on mine as he slid his hand across the table and placed it on my own. I let my mouth open for a second, wondering if I should say anything. It snapped shut just as quickly as it opened though and I waited patiently to see what Peter did next.

My heart beat fast while he leaned across the table and all of the sudden I realized I was drawn to him almost as if he is was a magnet. Without my permission my own body began moving on its own accord, placing my hands on the table so that I don’t lose my balance. Not refusing the pull I take a deep breath and let myself get closer to him. When I’m close enough I instinctively shut my eyes. Right before our lips connected though I heard the little bottle holding the lavender fall over and Peter moved back immediately as he cleaned up the mess.

He winced frustratedly while keeping his eyes away from my own and used his napkin to wipe up the water. I grimaced and dropped my eyes to see none other than the stem of lavender I was looking at earlier.

Some of the little flowers had fallen off, making a perfect outline. I smiled contently down at it. A piece of me wanted to pick it up and hide it in my jacket, along with the dahlia pedal. The side of me that wins though is the one that says to be patient and see what it does, like the lavender can move around on its own.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Peter murmured and went to pick up the last flower. I feel the urge to reach out for it and place it in the exact same spot as before but I stay seated. He held onto it though, not putting it back into the vase. I watched Peter, enamored by him again and began wishing that the vase hadn’t been there. Had it even been moved an inch over his mouth would’ve found my own and we would’ve shared our first kiss

All of the sudden, like he was reading my thoughts, Peter flew forward, planting his lips on my own with absolutely no warning. It was easy to melt into it, however. My hand went up to the side of his face and I adoringly felt the soft skin of his cheek. We stayed connected for what felt like forever, only it was the sort of forever I would’ve been gladly willing to get lost in.

Before he separated from me Peter tucked the lavender stem into my hair and that night I slept with it in my hands so that it could be pressed against my heart.

Last year Peter gave me a single red rose. It was my very first apology flower that was ever given to me.

The day before I had discovered he was the Spider-Man despite how much he tried to refute it. I’m sure he would’ve told me on his own sooner or later. I would’ve have preferred it that way.

At the time we had been together for two years and I was hopelessly in love with him. I was getting scared for him though. He came to school having to hide purple and yellow bruises, barely keeping his head up, and limping through the hallways. I knew May couldn’t have been doing any of this. They adore each other. Flash definitely couldn’t have been the culprit. He knew how to talk but he’d never ever make any of those threats true.

That left only the idea of Peter getting mixed up with the wrong people in my mind. All that week I tried to pull it out of him. I suggested the idea to try and get a reaction, but every time his face was just as tired and blank as usual. Ned gave me absolutely no good insight either. Soon enough he was distancing himself from me and I began to fear that he may leave me more than he already had.

Then one night he appeared outside of my window, bloody and barely able to walk. When I threw up the latches and slid the window open he fell into my room. I had to patch him up that night, and when I was forced to take off his hoodie, even though he tried to refuse me in his weak state, I saw the suit. Everything came to me at that moment. How he would disappear during our dates without so much as a word and then come to school the next day, tired and suffering. Or how insufferable he’d be on days something big went down in Queens.

I continued cleaning his cuts, only this time I worked silently. Every peep that came out of his mouth was ignored, and right when I knew he would be okay I stood up, opened the window, and told him he needed to leave.

Peter got to his feet slowly, zipped up his jacket with the crimson stains blossoming even after I made sure he wasn’t bleeding, and came close to me, giving me insistent apology after insistent apology, begging that I forgive him for not telling me. I looked at him for a moment and then I saw the suit which forced my head to look away from Peter again. I frowned numbly and shook my head.

“I told you to go Peter.” He lifted his hand to my face but I swerved out of the way of its touch. Finally, getting the message, Peter went through my window and disappeared into the cold night air. I took a sharp breath when I thought he was gone, one I felt was long delayed, and collapsed to the ground to weep. Without the comfort of his arms anymore I pulled my legs up to my shaking chest. Only did I stop crying when I fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up to a single red rose lying right in front of my face. I stared at it, confused and worried that someone had come into my house through the window I left open obliviously. My fingers slithered like snakes across the hardwood and wrapped my hand around the flower’s stem, wincing when I felt a lonely thorn puncture my skin.

“Y/N,” I heard Peter say and turned around to face him, setting down the rose on my floor gently. He was seated on the edge of my window, still in his Spider-Man suit with the mask in his hand. I stood slowly, hesitant to even talk to him after the night before.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him, not wanting to get within a three-foot radius of him for the time being.

“I’m so sorry-”

“I don’t want an apology,” I asserted to him with anger boiling up in my throat. “I want and deserve a reason. I’m your girlfriend Peter and, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have a right to know about these things.” Tears stung my eyes but I managed to keep my aggressive glare. Peter stared at me solemnly for a moment before looking down at the mask he was clinging to desperately.

“I was scared,” he confessed to me. “I wanted to tell you so bad Y/N, but there’s something that looms over my head every day. The more you know about this part of me, the superhero I hide from the world, the more danger you’re in and I can’t lose you Y/N. I couldn’t imagine waking up in the morning, knowing that you’re not apart of this world. Or looking at a flower without feeling sick.” Peter took a deep breath and wrung his hands nervously. “I’m in love with you Y/N.” I listened to his explanation attentively and once he was done my arms dropped limply to my sides. Peter’s frightened eyes stayed on me as I walked towards him.

I wasn’t angry anymore; I was actually the opposite. In my head, I couldn’t help but think how terrible a fate it is to be afraid of telling someone something so important because it may just hurt them.

My fingers effortlessly flowed into the back of his hairline and I hugged his head against my chest. Peter seemed to stall for a moment, so to let him know I wasn’t mad anymore I kissed the top of his head. He promptly relaxed. His hands ran across my waist and his fingers trickled past the hem of my loose shirt while they skimmed across my spine and Peter pulled me even closer to him

The rose he gave me that day remained on my desk for a whole two months before I hid the flower somewhere the hardened red pedals wouldn’t break so easily.

All these flowers and the many more that Peter gave me aren’t eternal though. Sooner or later each of them dried up, and to try and keep them around for as long as possible I crushed the pedals and stored them in a bottle like relatives will store the ashes of their loved ones in urns. Now I have a dozen of them lined along a shelf in my house. If I were to look close enough I may be able to identify where each colored speck originated from and the memory it holds.

Today, however, Peter gives me my very first immortal flower. The stem is a small golden hoop, meant to stay around my finger for the rest of time itself and the pedals are made of diamonds that sparkle beautifully in the sunlight. The vines secure the flower in place so that I know I will never be forced to lose any part of this gift.

Peter holds this one different from the other flowers as well. Instead of it being in a bouquet or tied with a ribbon or even just plainly plucked from the cement, it is in a little wooden box and Peter is down on one knee, waiting anxiously for an answer. In his eyes is all the hope in the world, trapped in a sea of sweet, warm honey brown that glimmers just as brilliantly as the gemstones in the sun. While I gape down at him I understand the purpose of all the flowers before.

They were all meant to be preparation for this one. The most infinite and precious flower in the world which Peter has offered me. It is meant to tie it all together; from every soft pedal and hurtful thorn, every sweet smelling perfume and snapping stem… from every eternal memory to the ephemeral flakes of my long dead flowers. All I need to do to embrace the everlasting bouquet Peter has offered me in the form of his love is to say one word.

I smile and lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and whispering the word into his skin. “Yes.”

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #mcu fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #spider man #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #imagine fanfiction #fanfiction #one shot #one shot imagine #peter parker oneshot

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thesweatycollectiontyrant · 6 years

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110 in the Shade

I decided to make it as pleasing as possible for myself to just profile each musical in alphabetical (and numerical? hence 110 in the Shade) order, starting with a gorgeous classic, 110 in the Shade.

Background Info

This is a musical that opened just after the Golden Age. It’s kind of in that area of musicals that people don’t really know how to refer to. Others in the area are a lot of Bock and Harnick musicals, like Fiddler on the Roof and She Loves Me, also, Jerry Herman favorites, Mame and Hello, Dolly!

Writers

The show has music and lyrics by the team of Harvey Schmidt who actually died exactly a week after my 18th birthday and Tom Jones who did not die exactly a week after my 18th birthday. Schmidt and Jones wrote other works together including, The Fantasticks (one of the longest-running shows in history), and the marriage profile, I Do! I Do! starring the likes of Robert Preston and Mary Martin (with a low Db), who were quite the duo, if you’d ask me. The book was by N. Richard Nash, who actually wrote a play called The Rainmaker, that was produced a few years prior.

Da System

The way I’m going to do this is that I’m going to write while listening. I’m always going to include the cast recording I chose to listen to.

Side note: Most of the time, I’m going to choose especially with classic musicals cast recordings that I feel have the best voices. ALSO, while I do listen to the entire show, I’m gonna just talk about highlights.

Who’s Singing?

For 110 in the Shade, I decided to go with a studio recording from 1997, starring Karen Ziemba as Lizzie Curry and Ron Raines as Bill Starbuck.

Time to dig into this loaded show.

Let’s Do This

For a while, I listened to the recording with Audra McDonald (one of my favorite voices of ALL time, period) as Lizzie, but eventually, I noticed that they transposed a lot of songs for her. Which by all means is okay although a bit surprising for a soprano, but I wanted to hear the way it was intended. I also wasn’t the biggest fan of Steve Kazee’s voice as Bill Starbuck (choppy vibrato), so I searched for a recording for something that is true to the original material, but recent. Thankfully, this recording served everything I was looking for. Another thing that’s funny listening to Karen Ziemba sing this instead of Audra McDonald are these two things: When I think of Karen Ziemba, I think of her phenomenal dancing and the fact that she’s an alto. When I think of Audra, I think of her amazing acting and the fact that she’s a soprano. It’s funny to me that they had Karen Ziemba do the part. Maybe, she was a soprano back in the day. However, despite her alto-ness, she really has quite the range and went OFF in this recording. Very pleasantly surprised.

As I listen to the score, I can say that it is incredibly picturesque. The Overture is both riveting and solemn. It reminded me a lot of Rossini’s William Tell Overture with the whole Morning section mixed with some Fireball. The orchestra is phenomenal. The orchestrations are very lush; something like a mattress that eats you up, but doesn’t make you sink. It’s very full for such a Western-esque score, and it’s perfect to me. It’s a lot like Copland’s Rodeo.

During the opening number, you find out from the Greek chorus (kinda) of townspeople. There’s a drought and it’s gonna be Another Hot Day. The opening number is special because it introduces many themes that happen all the way through the show. The interesting thing is that they introduce them in a way that it doesn’t get annoying to the listener. The motif is formed in many different ways all the way through the show. Also, most of the singing in this number is unison or counterpoint between the men and the women on different themes. The unison singing (while it can be beautiful at times) really gives you that bored sense of I Don’t Care What Happens Today Get Me a Palm Tree I’m Hot.

“Lizzie’s Comin’ Home” is very fun and gives you something you don’t get to hear as much. A trio between three men ("Sincerely, Me" anybody?), Lizzie’s father, H.C. Curry, and her two brothers, Noah and Jimmy. Nice harmonies at the end, and definitely something that could be performed in a concert/cabaret setting.

A few things happen: Lizzie gets her “I Want” song, addressed to Love, so she can get her a mans. The dudes sing about poker and stuff (which is actually a fun number, and a great example of a “Blow High, Blow Low” male ensemble number).

Then the male lead is introduced. Bill Starbuck(s)(?) claims to be a rainmaker (what about a coffee maker? wow now I need caffeine). He leads all the townsfolk in a SUPER DUPER FUN ensemble number that I honestly love, simply titled “The Rain Song”. It’s so exciting and something that you can listen to to get your blood pumping. WOW Ron Raines’ voice. Ooft. Love it.

“You’re Not Foolin’ Me” is a fun duet between Lizzie and Starbuck where they are doubting each other to the point that it’s comical, sort of Beatrice and Benedick meet “Anything You Can Do”.

“Raunchy” is the ultimate definition of a hoot. I don’t need to say anything else. Just watch Audra McDonald do cartwheels at Radio City Music Hall.

“Old Maid” serves as Lizzie’s nervous breakdown that she truly might never find love. She’s just met this guy who she thinks she might like, but she’s not sure, because she’s never really had a chance before, and now he comes along and she doesn’t know what to do, so she just resorts to imagining the thought of being alone forever. This is a fantastic example of amazing songwriting, from changing meter, repeated themes, chord voicing, orchestrations, character arc, everything. This is a great example of a song to give a superstar Soprano who has some fantastic acting chops.

Act Two traditionally opens with an ensemble number *squeals in excitement* called “Everything Beautiful Happens at Night”. It gave me some “Clambake” vibes, as it was written in waltz time, and has some really beautiful and interesting harmonies that just fed my musician soul like I had some Cracker Barrel. Then there’s a fun dance routine with either tapping or softshoe that sounded like tons of sweat, or as my high school theatre teacher called it, success.

Starbuck gets a really nice solo called “Melisande” which is a sort of tale he tells Lizzie. I’ll have to listen again to get specifics yikes but y’all know.

“Simple Little Things” is a nice little (kind of redundant, but still beautiful and necessary) solo for Lizzie.

Kristin Chenoweth made a little appearance in “Little Red Hat” which is more or less of a throwaway duet with one of Lizzie’s brothers, whom she is dating.

The Finale culminates in an enormous celebration by the ensemble when the rain finally comes and the temperature drops from 110 while they’re in the shade to a melancholy 100 in the shade. RIP I guess. The number has some fun A-flats for the Tenors and Sopranos. An interesting ending to a genuinely fun show.

Audition Songs

Cool thing about future posts. Most of the shows that I post about, I have access to vocal scores for, so if you’d like PDFs of songs for auditions or anything, just let me know, and I’d be more than happy to send to you! YouTube links will be posted with the title of the song.

Regarding this show in particular, while I mentioned that this is not in the Golden Age, per se, this is still a perfect show to take to an audition that asks for a Golden Age song.

“Love, Don’t Turn Away” - Lizzie, D4-F5

The song has a charming quality. Good idea for auditioning for a Rodgers and Hammerstein show, like Cinderella. It’s for a Soprano, but can easily be sung by a Mezzo, as it doesn’t go too high.

“Raunchy” - Lizzie, G3-Ab5

This song is so so so so so funny. Coincidentally, this would also be good for a Rodgers and Hammerstein/Bock and Harnick/Lerner and Loewe audition. Maybe something along the lines of Amalia Balash or Eliza Doolittle. The song is for a soprano. The situation is that she’s explaining to her dad how she’s gonna get her mans. There are some harmonies at the end between her and her dad that could easily be cut for an audition. That’s where the high Ab happens, so if you choose to cut the section where they sing the “Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo”s, the song goes up to a G5, which is only a half-step difference.

“Old Maid” - Lizzie, B3-G5

This song is featured in the infamous The Singer’s Musical Theatre Anthology: Soprano, Volume One. Disclaimer: I’m not hating on the series of books; I’m hating on the idea that many voice teachers across the country simply choose the same songs for their students to sing. While this is in the anthology, It is more of an unpopular one. Which is good *maniacal laugh*. This is a great song to show your dramatic acting ability, ladies. It’s an awesome song to take to a Weill or Bernstein audition because of its opus nature, but also it’s great to bring to an audition for the composers and roles mentioned in the above paragraph. This is a fantastic song.

“Melisande” - Starbuck, G2-G4

This song is pretty range-y, but it’s a story-telling song. It’s a good song to have fun with. Very appropriate for a Baritone or Tenor.

“Simple Little Things” - Lizzie, B3-E5

Not much to say about it other than I think it’s really pretty. Starbuck has a weird line at the end you can cut if you use it.

To Wrap It Up

This is actually a really fantastic show. I love the plot. Lizzie really grows up over the show, and shows that even people who are a little silly can find love too. This show is a really good choice for high schools. You can cast it as big as you need by adding to the townsfolk. Not sure if they have a lot of individual lines, but it could be solved easily. The revised version, offered by Tams-Witmark only has twelve characters. Crizzazy. I know the original version, also offered by Tams-Witmark has a similar get-up, but gives the option to add more to the ensemble. If you’ve got a dynamite soprano who can act really well, this is the way to go. It’s a very accessible show, and something that could really bring a group of people together.

Get it.

#musical theatre #110 in the shade #inga swenson #audra mcdonald #ron raines #classic shows #classic musicals #theatre #broadway #karen ziemba #western #audition help #audition songs #lizzie curry

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meraenthusiast · 4 years

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The Best Leadership Quotes and How to Apply Them

[Editor’s Note: Today’s article in a guest post from Jesse Cramer who is an engineer and an avid reader/writer. He runs the blog The Best Interest, which started as his creative outlet but gained recognition for explaining complex personal finance ideas in simple terms. Jesse discusses money basics, like your net worth targets by age or the most common unknowns in personal finance. He writes about successful behavioral concepts, like the Fulfillment Curve or learning the biggest lesson from the COVID-19 pandemic. Habits matter too. Developing the habit of tracking every expense with YNAB helped boost his savings rate to over 60% in 2019.]

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Leadership is a famously difficult duty.

Whether you want to become the big shot or you’re already the boss, you’ve got work ahead of you. Let’s look at our most famous leaders and their motivating guidance. These inspiring leadership quotes are sure to illuminate your road ahead.

Leadership is Learning

While leadership styles vary, the core characteristics of effective leadership do not. For example, many famous leaders place an extra emphasis on education.

“Leadership and learning are indispensable to each other.” -John F. Kennedy

Perhaps this quote is so often recited because JFK didn’t say it. He wrote it and was scheduled to say it during a speech on November 22, 1963. That speech never came, and the rest is history.

But Kennedy’s words are alive and well. Leadership often takes place at the cutting edge, as a new territory gets explored. Launching into new space requires bountiful curiosity and the ability to learn.

Just think about it! In 1900, an engineer said, “Now Abel, I want you to dismount your horse and give this motor carriage a try. Mind the bumps!”

Sixty years later, that same kind of engineer said, “Now Neil, we’re gonna strap you real tight to this aluminum tube full of explosives. But don’t worry. We’ve already got the coordinates for the Moon typed into the GPS.”

Wait…that’s not how GPS works…

The Audacity to Learn

Enough digression! The point is, it takes major league audacity–from individuals, organizations, or entire societies–to make that kind of technological leap in 60 years. Innovation distinguishes the lead group from those behind.

JFK would go on to write that “ignorance and misinformation can handicap…progress.” It’s now 57 years after he said that, but I’d say he hit the nail on the head. The importance of learning is that it acts as armor against ignorance and allows us to discern real facts from fake. Learning yields progress for the individual and the group.

Knowledge is a magical resource. Why? It can be given away ad infinitum, yet still, be retained by the owner. Leaders are generous in this way. Leaders want to learn and want others to understand.

It’s the main reason I love writing detailed breakdowns of complex topics (e.g., what happened during the Big Short, anyway?)

When I ask you to envision a true leader, is he enlightened or in the dark? Does he fight adversity with wisdom or with ignorance? Does he let his intellect guide him? Is he a slave to emotion?

The fact is, leaders are always willing to learn. A curious and open mind is what earns the respect of their followers.

“It is necessary for us to learn from others’ mistakes. You will not live long enough to make them all yourself.”— Admiral Hyman G. Rickover

This quote is impressive because of its simplicity. It’s just basic math and the logistics that follow. There have been hundreds of generations of humans before you. Those billions of people have screwed up in various ways–we all know it happens. You can choose to use their mistakes as a starting point, or you can put on blinders.

If you want to lead–to be at the cutting edge–then you cannot afford to repeat the mistakes that others have already made. The cutting edge has no room for error.

Mistakes –> Learning

At best, repeating previous mistakes is a waste of time. At worst…well, I’ll leave it up to your imagination.

You’ve got to learn from others’ mistakes. The keyword is learn. This leadership quote is just like that saying, “Those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them.”

If you’re scientifically inclined, you could even think about this quote through the lens of natural selection. Successes are selected, whereas failures are not. Therefore, avoid the behaviors that lead to failure. If not, they might lead to failure again, and you might be the one that ends up not being selected.

“I am still learning.” -Michelangelo

I don’t know if Michelangelo was a leader of people. But he was a leader of culture, and amazingly still is 450 years after his death.

Perhaps you know him by his sculpture? He’s known for the beautiful range of work that is still on display across the internet and in museums.

It’s more likely that you know Michelangelo because of the Sistine Chapel. Not only is it beautiful, but it’s also 133 by 46 feet in size: one man, four years, and one wonder of the world.

He was also an illustrator, architect, and poet. Michelangelo (along with Leonardo da Vinci) is the reason for the term “Renaissance man.” Michelangelo wasn’t a Renaissance man – he was the Renaissance man. That’s him!

The Best Still Get Better

I don’t mean to worship the guy, but I want to properly explain just how talented, experienced, and learned Michelangelo was. When he says, “I am still learning,” it carries extra weight. It’s like the leadership quotes you might see from world-class athletes who say, “I still practice.”

Michelangelo likely became who he was because he was always learning. It only makes sense that he maintained that attitude even after he “reached the top.” That’s a leadership quality worth emulating.

Leadership is Action

While leaders shouldn’t be rash, they also can’t afford to be indecisive. Leaders lead. Leaders act.

“The pessimist complains about the wind. The optimist expects it to change. The leader adjusts the sails.” -John Maxwell

This one has that Goldilocks “magic of three” vibe to it. You don’t want to be too “this” or too “that.” You’ve got to be just right. The more time I spend in this world, the more I think this quote is a home run.

Talk is easy. Complaining about a situation or expressing hope for change is low effort. Anyone can do it, and just about everyone does do it. Leadership, however, is not a low effort task.

Leadership requires action. A leader identifies when the winds are changing, understands how the new gusts affect them, and works towards saving the boat. Heck, sometimes those winds even propel the ship faster than ever before!

When Life Throws You Lemons

I talked about this idea in one of my first articles after the COVID-19 pandemic came to American shores. Take what life gives you and prepare for what’s next.

The Stockdale Paradox would tell us that you have to balance hope with the stern ability to face present-day facts. That is Stockdale’s version of “adjusting the sails.”

I’m also reminded of the story of two Chicago programmers working on solving problems for apartments.com.

After many late nights debugging code, they realized that their primary problem had changed. Apartment searches were easy compared to the issues they were having with quality late-night take-out food.

As funny as that problem is, it’s what inspired Matt Maloney and Mike Evans to start GrubHub. Their winds changed, and they adjusted their sails.

“Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm.” –Publilius Syrus

Another boat metaphor? I know, I know. But it makes sense. Boats need captains. Good boats need good captains. And good captains are good leaders.

My youth baseball team had a captain that became a complete tyrant at the slightest hint of unrest. He found it easy to be our “leader” when everything was going according to his plan. That’s because the sea was calm. But a ripple of discord would rip his hands from the helm as he lost his cool. That’s not real leadership.

When the Going Gets Tough

A good leader, on the other hand, stays in control even when the surf gets choppy. And that means that leaders sometimes make tough decisions i.e., when the going gets tough, the tough get going.

As you see your star rise into a leadership role, remember that it’s often these challenging situations that will define you as a leader. A true leader is forged in the heat of difficulty.

“Whatever you are, be a good one.” –Abraham Lincoln

If the world was full of middle managers, then who would make the coffee?

Not everyone can be a leader at all times. There’s another oft-repeated quote along these lines: “a good leader can be a good follower,” or “a good leader knows when to follow.”

Honest Abe is highlighting this idea. Even if you find yourself in a “follower” position, be good at what you do. That’s what a leader does.

Show Me Your Chops!

Just imagine someone who would try to convince you, “I will only put effort into any team in my life if I’m the unquestioned leader.”

One of the many natural responses I’d have is, “Do you have the chops? Where’s the proof?” In other words: good leaders put in the legwork.

Be good at the entry-level position until you’re given small responsibilities. Be good at taking notes until you start running the meeting. Work your butt off on the JV team until they have no choice but promote you to varsity.

There will be many steps in your journey, and you will not be at the front of the line for most of them.

Leadership is About Others

What good is a general with no soldiers? A leader takes people and lets them do the most extraordinary things. A good leader is nothing without the people who follow their lead.

“Leadership is the art of giving people a platform for spreading ideas that work.” –Seth Godin

Leadership–especially in modern times–involves the network effect. The capability of everyone far outweighs the ability of a single person.

Great leaders attract great people, and then let those great people spread their wings (and their ideas). One of my first bosses micromanaged me through every task–even mundane chores like ordering paper supplies. I’ll never forget that feeling. Any potential I had was cramped inside a tiny cage.

A genuine leader props up those around them. Seth Godin’s writing is all about unlocking people’s potential. That’s what this leadership quote is all about.

“You take people as far as they will go, not as far as you would like them to go.” –Jeanette Rankin

Of all the leadership quotes here, Jeanette Rankin’s reminds me of “the single most important trait” for a person to have (that’s a Gary Vaynerchuk claim). What trait? Emotional intelligence.

Emotional intelligence involves the ability to control and express one’s emotions but also to “handle interpersonal relationships judiciously and empathetically.” The second half of this definition is a prerequisite of good leadership, according to Rankin.

When to Pump the Brakes

That is one of the many challenges of leadership. You cannot drive your team to exhaustion. But you can’t be so soft as to under-perform the team’s expectations. People feel satisfaction from exploring their limits, but hostility multiplies when those limits aren’t respected.

The emotionally intelligent leader is thinking about the personal development of those around them.

“A leader is best when people barely know he exists…when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will all say: We did it ourselves.” -Lao Tzu

A young child writes out the entire alphabet for the first time and proudly exclaims, “I did it!”

Of course, we know that child got lots of help across the spectrum of his little life. Timmy didn’t synthesize the alphabet on his own accord. He was taught, he was led, and he had weeks of error-filled practice.

But as good parents and teachers, we want our children to know that they are capable on their own. You did it, Timmy!

From Small Kids to Muscled Men

True leaders empower those around them to become better. They share recognition with their team. It’s not just with children. You’ve seen this before–it happens in every single sports interview ever.

“Well Jim, I couldn’t have done it without the other guys out there. They did all the hard work in the trenches. They set the pins up, all I had to do was knock them down. It was a team effort.”

While I’m tired of every sports interview containing these same platitudes, I understand why they’re (over) used. Deferring the credit to your team is part of being a leader.

That’s why I just want to stay focused on the fundamentals. I’ve got to cross my T’s and dot the I’s. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’m taking these best leadership quotes one at a time.

Leadership is Ethical

Above all else, leaders do the right thing, especially when it’s also the hard thing.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” —Kurt Vonnegut

Out of all the leadership quotes here, this one stopped me in my tracks.

Kurt Vonnegut is suggesting that our personalities are not innate, but rather are learned behaviors formed by habit. And those formative actions are, essentially, small performances of pretending.

We pretend and pretend and pretend, and suddenly it doesn’t quite feel like pretend anymore. It just is. We become what we’ve pretended to be.

We aren’t born mean, friendly, timid, or courageous. Instead, we’re born as the proverbial lump of clay, waiting to be molded. As we mature, the clay is formed in a certain direction via the actions we choose to take.

But even adults who claim to be “stuck in their ways” still possess that malleability. They are merely pretending to be stubborn old dogs. They’re pretending refusal to learn new tricks.

That’s Not Really Who I Am

As a leader, you might face a situation where you feel like acting like a tyrant. Of course, you tell yourself, you’re not a tyrant; you’re just acting like one in this situation. This is the exact scenario that Vonnegut would caution against. It’s all too easy for acting to supplant reality. Life is too short–memento mori–to pretend to be a tyrant.

We can view this leadership quote from another point of view. Namely, there’s the version of you that you see, but there’s also the version of you that everyone else sees.

If you want to lead, you’ve got to show everyone else that you’re a leader. It might not come naturally to you, and that’s ok. Try to take the actions that a good leader would take. While you might see leadership potential inside you, you’ve got to make sure that others see it too.

Even if it feels like pretend at first, you’ll soon be a true leader.

“Management is doing things right; leadership is doing the right thing.” –Peter F. Drucker

Who’s a leader in your life right now? For many, the answer could be your manager at work. But Peter Drucker is asking us to consider the fact that management and leadership can be exclusive of one another. While the two are often intertwined, there’s an important distinction.

Management is procedural. It’s about spellchecking your essay. It’s ensuring that the cogs are meshing as expected, so the whole machine functions with efficiency. Management considers the “resource” in “human resources.”

Leadership is moral. Leaders look for meaning in the essay. They consider the cogs as they exist outside of the machine, perhaps even calling into question the machine itself. Leaders put the human first.

Separate “Management” from “Leadership”

Perhaps you’re looking for a promotion at work. I think it’s important to understand the difference between effective management and effective leadership.

It’s certainly easier to become a manager if you’re already seen as a leader, just as it’s easier to share your leadership skills if you’re given a managerial position. But the two should still be seen as mutually exclusive. It’s possible–and impressive!–to become a leader without being any sort of manager.

So use this leadership quote to ask yourself, “Leadership or management…which role are you truly aiming for?”

“The pressure of adversity does not affect the mind of the brave man . . . It is more powerful than external circumstances.”— Seneca

Seneca is considered one of the original Stoics. Just like all things hipster, stoicism is back in style. And why shouldn’t stoicism be popular?! This leadership quote is the perfect example of how stoicism promotes the same mindsets that we associate with effective figureheads.

A good leader–whether man or woman, Mr. Seneca–does not let adverse conditions harm their psyche. A leader is a person who faces disaster with a steely gaze and an iron will.

We’ve seen this countless times in history. Why are Winston Churchill and Abraham Lincoln considered timeless leaders? Mainly for their calm decision-making during embattled eras.

Why are Martin Luther King Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi still revered civil rights activists? Because they let their moral compass guide them, even as their rulers (managers, not necessarily leaders) tried to hinder those paths. Societal pressure was no match for their mindset.

But Leaders Aren’t Perfect

Churchill, Lincoln, King, and Gandhi were all far from perfect, by the way. Leaders aren’t perfect. Who is? I know the separation of leadership from faultlessness is something I’ve struggled with. Perhaps you have too.

How can I be a leader if I don’t have all the answers, don’t have all the experience, don’t have all the skills? While knowledge and experience are certainly important, there will always be a new situation to make you feel like a foolish greenhorn. It takes bravery to grab the wheel despite your flaws and confidently point your boat into the crest of the wave.

Honorable Mention

There are a few more I couldn’t leave off the list

“Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do.” —Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who loved semi-colons.

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

“In the end, it is important to remember that we cannot become what we need to be by remaining what we are.” —Max de Pree

“The mind must be trained, rather than the memory.” —Eleanor Roosevelt

“My job is not to be easy on people. My job is to make them better.” —Steve Jobs

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” —Theodore Roosevelt

“The greatest leader is not necessarily the one who does the greatest things. He is the one that gets the people to do the greatest things.” —Ronald Reagan

“Effective leaders allow great people to do the work they were born to do.” —Warren Bennis

“Face reality as it is, not as it was or as you wish it to be” —Jack Welch

“The challenge of leadership is to be strong, but not rude; kind, but not weak; bold, but not bully; thoughtful, but not lazy; humble, but not timid; proud, but not arrogant; have humor, but without folly.” —Jim Rohn

“No person will make a great business who wants to do it all himself or get all the credit.” —Andrew Carnegie

Lead On!

While I’m sure there are dozens of worthwhile leadership qualities–and even more worthy leadership quotes–I think a focus on learning, action, people, and ethics will give you the foundation to be an effective leader.

It’s just like John Quincy Adams said:

“If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader.”

I trust that today’s leadership quotes left you with a little more inspiration than when you started.

Lead on!

This article originally appeared on Your Money Geek and has been republished with permission.

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