#blind tom

[callmeanxietygirl]

Historias Negras, porque negro es mi color.

El niño n39r0 y ciego que se convirtió en un famoso pianista.

Blind Tom' Wiggins fue un prodigio musical afroamericano. Nacido ciego, cuando era un bebé, Tom Wiggins fue vendido como esclavo, junto con el resto de su familia.

Thomas "Blind Tom" Wiggins (1849-1908) fue un pianista y compositor estadounidense. Nació ciego y esclavo en Georgia. A pesar de su discapacidad, comenzó a tocar el piano a los cuatro años y se convirtió en un prodigio musical. A los 8 años, comenzó a dar conciertos en todo el país y se convirtió en uno de los artistas más populares de su época. Wiggins compuso más de 100 piezas originales y fue uno de los primeros músicos afroamericanos en ganar fama internacional.

Blind También sobrevivió al intento de asesinato ya que no tenía ningún valor económico para sus dueños. Sin embargo, Tom tenía acceso a un piano y su talento para percibir, recordar y reproducir sonidos se hizo evidente de inmediato. Muchos historiadores también creen que Tom estaba en el espectro del autismo, lo que podría explicar su extraordinaria memoria. Continuaría actuando en conciertos en todo el continente americano y Europa. —Thomas Greene Wiggins nació el 25 de mayo de 1849 de Mungo y Charity Wiggins, esclavizados en una plantación de Georgia. Era ciego y autista, pero un genio musical con una memoria fenomenal. En 1850, Tom, sus padres y dos hermanos fueron vendidos a James Neil Bethune, abogado y editor de un periódico en Columbus, Georgia. El joven Tom estaba fascinado por la música y otros sonidos, ya los cuatro años podía tocar las melodías en el piano. Hizo su debut en un concierto a los ocho años, actuando en Atlanta. En 1858, Tom fue contratado como esclavo-músico por un precio de 15.000 dólares. En 1859, a la edad de 10 años, se convirtió en el primer artista afroamericano en tocar en la Casa Blanca cuando dio un concierto ante el presidente James Buchanan. Sus piezas para piano "Oliver Galop" y "Virginia Polka" se publicaron en 1860. Durante la Guerra Civil, regresó con su propietario para recaudar fondos para la ayuda confederada. En 1863 tocó su propia composición, “Battle of Manassas”. Para 1865, Tom Wiggins, de 16 años, ahora "contratado" con James Bethune, podía tocar obras difíciles de Bach, Chopin, Liszt, Beethoven y Thalberg. También tocó piezas después de una audición y memorizó poemas y textos en idiomas extranjeros. La publicidad afirmaba que Tom no había recibido instrucción, pero de hecho fue instruido por un profesor de música que viajó con él. James Neil Bethune llevó a Tom Wiggins a Europa, donde recopiló testimonios de los críticos musicales Ignaz Moscheles y Charles Halle, que se imprimieron en un folleto "The Marvelous Musical Prodigy Blind Tom". Con estos y otros patrocinios, Blind Tom Wiggins se convirtió en un artista reconocido internacionalmente. En 1868, Tom y la familia Bethune vivían en una granja de Virginia durante el verano, mientras realizaban giras por los Estados Unidos y Canadá el resto del año, con un promedio de $50,000 anuales en ingresos por conciertos. James Bethune finalmente perdió la custodia de Tom ante la ex esposa de su difunto hijo, Eliza Bethune. Charity Wiggins, la madre de Tom, fue parte de la demanda, pero no obtuvo el control de su hijo ni de sus ingresos. El ciego Tom Wiggins dio su última actuación en 1905. Murió tres años después, el 13 de junio de 1908, a la edad de 59 años, en la casa de su manager en Hoboken, Nueva Jersey.Según un artículo de Classic FM, Blind Tom comenzó a tocar el piano a los cuatro años y aprendió a tocar escuchando a otros músicos y componiendo sus propias piezas. A los cinco años, compuso su primera pieza, "The Rainstorm", inspirado por la lluvia en su techo. A pesar de su discapacidad visual, tenía una memoria musical prodigiosa y podía reproducir cualquier pieza que hubiera escuchado.

Espero te haya gustado

Gracias por leer hasta aquí, aprecio tu tiempo y te comparto un historia real.

Saludos estimados

Giovanny Cevallos 😉

[bythepen98]

Doodles || 🐍🦁💚

Since I'm not done with the tomarry digital art thing yet, here's a few doodles I've made [of them] at work although not on my sticky notes this time. I happen to have a small green colored stack of paper which were supposed to be for my notes but ended up becoming a makeshift sketchpad. Gotta make use of whatever's available.

[agir1ukn0w]

so......people are judging us for observing that snow is hot in tbosas. as if they didn't purposefully cast tom blyth with his soulful, startlingly blue eyes and gentle soft hair and lithe build and calming voice and charming personality. as if acknowledging that he's a truly garbage person who chose to step over that line, over and over, who betrayed everyone who ever loved him, who will go on to murder thousands and thousands of children, is just supposed to turn off that primal part of our brains that recognizes when someone is attractive to us. and we can acknowledge it without fear of being judged because this isn't the fucking victorian era. and we have sympathy for his character because that is the way suzanne wrote him. as a human being. who is therefore sympathetic. even as we despise him for everything he's doing and everything he will do. we're all just supposed to act like tom blyth isn't fine as hell and just leave it at that. if you're not attracted to him at all, I get it. but if his performance stirs something in you, I think it's every fan's right to voice that with gusto. without being treated like backwards, amoral troglodytes. fucking people.

[mockingjaysnakes]

tom blyth photographed by julian ungano for behind the blinds magazine (2022)

[unlawfulchaos]

Mav: I once had a crush on someone and I didn't know how to handle it so I filled their car with heart-shaped confetti.

Slider: ...

Ice: That’s so funny! I went to my car once and found it filled with heart-shaped confetti.

Mav: How fun! I have to go water my dog now.

[thirstyvampyr]

ok hear me out

am i tripping or do u see it too??

[pollyna]

What about after the mission, Mav is left temporarily blind? The doctors say they have faith it's just until the swell on his brain gets down, and Mav can't help himself to joke with Ice because "we are two old men, I'm half blind and you shouldn't speak, it's gonna be the first time in a lifetime we won't be able to argue about anything!"

(It's a lie. They find the way of communicating and arguing, even when Mav can't see and Ice shouldn't talk. It's not the simpler or happier months of their life but they work it off and Mav uses it as an excuse to have Ice's face between his hands a lot.

"Have to learn what you face feels like babe.")

[jskywalkvr]

BLIND DATE AU

(Callum/Austin ft. the incredible Tom Hanks)

Where Tom sets up his nephew, Callum, who can’t seem to settle down with anyone, with his young, nice neighbor, Austin.

[latibvles]

“a real tough cookie with the whiskey breath.”

oh blind dates oc fest my beloved how i missed you. to the surprise of no one, because i cannot be quiet about anything ever : a MOTA OC this time around. i'm sure this bar probably has a name to be found somewhere on the internet, but until I come across it [ big cartoony shrug ]. anyways, here's Genevieve Laurent, or Gen, if you're friendly. @blind-dates-fest ♡

Tom’s is only a fifteen minute bike ride away. The pay is good, she gets to keep all her tips, and her boss, for lack of a better term — downright adores her.

That’s never been the reason why she’s stuck with it all this time, though. There were better paying jobs in equal distance, and if she really, really wanted to, she thinks she’d do a pretty okay job packing parachutes or something of a similar vein. Respectable work, her mother would call it, which was secret code for: work that will keep you out of trouble, and possibly off the street before midnight. But that was really what it came down to: whether Genevieve wanted to do it. And for all the respect she had for those women, she knew that wasn’t the thing that called to her — not like it did to Claire, who was now off in London with the best and brightest, working in the Foreign Office.

Whatever that meant.

Much more glamorous than Genevieve’s own station, and she’s fairly certain none of their mother’s letters are imploring Claire to quit anytime soon. She was almost apologetic, in a way, that she couldn’t entice her family with letters filled with omissions, with work so secret she could hardly speak of it — but the beer wouldn’t pour itself and somebody had to do it after all those hours in flight.

“Thought you were leaving me out to dry tonight, sweetheart,” There’s a solid hand gripping her shoulder and squeezing, and Tom gives her a smile that’s all crows feet and genuine appreciation. Of course, the place wasn’t actually called Tom’s — but the sign was so faded that she and the other girls just tended to refer to it by the name of their esteemed publican. Genevieve returns the smile.

“And miss out on all this? Wouldn’t dream of it.” As if to accent her point, there’s a wave of hoots and hollering from the floor beyond the bar — no doubt from a bet won or a game of darts coming to its speedy conclusion. The song of the end of the work day. He gives her shoulder a shake, then lets go.

“Do me a favor and take those whiskeys to the table in the back? I think Elsie’s got caught up out there,” she follows his gaze to one of the other girls on shift —Elsie’s smile is easy and the tray on the table is empty, but she’s chatting up a storm at a table of men in brown uniforms. And Genevieve can’t exactly blame her, because while they knew practically every member of the RAF who came in and out on their days off, Americans were a sight to behold. Which is probably why Tom is sending her to the table in the back, with the hopes that she’ll be speedy.

“Yessir,” Genevieve hums, taking the tray of glasses with little fuss, making her way across the bustling floor with practiced hustle.

It’s not the pay that keeps her here, or the warmth of her boss. Not even the fact that she could do every job in this place, if she had to.

Genevieve had a penchant for poking her nose into places for the thrill of it — and there really was no thrill quite like conversation with people who had time to kill and liquor in their systems.

She recognizes the RAF officer at the table: David Griffiths, who Claire knew better than Genevieve did. She’d laughed when Claire told her he joined the RAF, and as an officer, no less. He’d been meek before the war, to put it lightly — maybe that slate-colored uniform and dark blue tie gave him the confidence he once lacked, she didn’t know. And then a couple regulars from around town. So the one in a brown uniform as opposed to their English blue sticks out like a sore thumb, and her curiosity is piqued in spite of David’s attempt to draw her attention with his smile alone.

“Thought old Tom was keeping you in the back tonight.”

“You know, it’s much easier to simply say you missed me, Griffiths,” she hums, leaning over to set down the tray. “Whiskeys for the table, yeah?” David clears his throat and makes a show of adjusting his cuffs, flaunting the new insignia adorning his sleeve as he had for every promotion prior. Genevieve straightens out, wraps her arm around his shoulder to pick off a stray thread.

“Captain Griffiths, congratulations,” Genevieve acknowledges just for the sake of him, then diverts her attention to look over the table, eyes settling on the new face staring right back at her. His dark hair curls over his forehead, with a straight nose and a pretty pair of lips — the wings on his jacket are catching lamplight. The smile on his face is what’s got her the most curious. “And who’ve you brought to cause trouble in Tom’s respectable place of business?”

The smile grows, the stranger leans back in his seat.

“No trouble over here ma’am, not unless you hate singin’.” His voice is deep and gravelly and, well, very American. His tone goes up at the end of the sentence, like it’s a question she’s meant to answer, and Genevieve wonders if it still counts as a bait when she can recognize it for what it is. She raises her brows, David’s hand curls around her wrist loosely as if to remind her that he’s there.

“Only if it’s bad.”

“Best keep your mouth shut then, Major, wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” around them, the other men chuckle at David’s quip — Genevieve pulls her wrist from his barely-there grasp as the Major raises his glass to his lips, before waving a hand dismissively on the swallow.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m like a canary over here.” He draws out each syllable, his smile only growing. She doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Well, Major, make sure not to shatter any glasses with your tunes and you’ll have soothed all my worries,” He chuckles at that, sitting back in the chair and Genevieve looks him up and down rather shamelessly before patting Griffiths’ shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, boys.”

Genevieve knows the feeling well — that sensation of eyes tracking her every movement as she walks away. She’d call it a sixth sense, the way she can make the distinction between the slighted nature of Griffiths’ staring as opposed to the more welcome lingering look of the Major, who’s name she’d surely get by the end of the night. If Claire were here, she’d probably laugh, then apologize to Griffiths for her little sister’s fleeting attention span, accompanied with some remark about how Genevieve had a penchant for things shiny and new. Genevieve would beg to differ and say it was more like she had a penchant for the things she didn’t understand.

And so what if she liked the staring, and leaving the air more charged than she’d found it?

Regardless of the interaction, the night wears on, and so long as the taps are flowing Genevieve is busy enough to keep from staring at the back table for too long. At some point, they stand up and make their way toward the dartboard (and Elsie with them, who shoots her a wink from across the room that has her laughing and Tom groaning from their spots behind the bar). Luckily, she’s only gone for maybe fifteen minutes — and she comes back with orders for Tom, before scurrying over and leaning forward on the bar.

“Better straighten up over there, Genny,” Elsie leans forward further to tuck one of Genevieve’s stray hairs behind her ear.

“Back from your mission so soon?”

“Well I had to make sure the prize was in place.” Genevieve raises an inquisitive brow.

“And that means..?”

“It means—” Elsie is effectively cut off by another round of hollering, and Genevieve knows the grin on the other girl’s face all too well. Elsie turns around and she follows the girl’s eyes to several things. One, Griffiths walking out of the pub, two, Major Canary laughing as he makes his way over and three, a conglomerate of Irishmen clapping his shoulders and shaking them in congratulations. “Well now we know who the winner is. Good luck!”

Before Genevieve can get a word in, Elsie’s scurrying back over to Tom on the other end of the bar to grab the drinks he’s lined up. She turns her back to the floor, but still hears a heavy exhale as someone takes a seat behind her. Then she tilts her head to look, and makes little attempt to withhold her smile as the dots connect fairly quickly in her head.

“Major Canary,” Genevieve hums in greeting. “Am I getting you anything?”

“Whiskey’s fine,” He looks around, like he’s taking a survey of the room, then turns to rest both elbows on the polished wood as she grabs one of the glasses that’s already dried. “Think you got me in trouble with your boyfriend back there,” he laments with a grin, running his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Who, me?” Genevieve slides the glass along the countertop. “You might have the wrong girl, sir.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” He takes that tone again — so clearly baiting her and Genevieve is, admittedly, a little too eager to take what he’s giving this time.

“Well for one, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hums, holding up the pointer finger, and then her middle one, “And two, I’m willing to wager it was the dart game that got you in trouble, Major.” She slides the glass over the countertop, and he takes it. He’s closer now than he was at the table — she can finally make out that his eyes are blue, like the RAF uniforms.

“Yeah? How much are you willing to bet?”

“Well, how much did you earn in your game? Must’ve been a hefty sum for the Captain to walk out like that.” Genevieve leans forward on the bar now, tilting her head as she looks at him, already knowing the answer. His eyes flit over her face and down the length of her neck, following the curve of her shape before the bar cuts off his vantage point, then he goes back to returning her stare. He brings the glass to his lips, then licks off the excess before he opens his mouth again.

“A shot with the pretty girl serving drinks tonight? Pretty priceless if you ask me.”

“Well that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” Genevieve remarks with an airy laugh.

“But it made you laugh. Must be doing something right.” He counters, and she laughs again with a roll of her eyes. “See? Just did it again.” Genevieve shakes her head slightly.

“Well if my company’s so priceless why haven’t you asked my name yet? Bragging rights and all that.” It’s hardly the bait of their earlier conversation — but it’s something, and she wonders if he recognizes it for what it is, like she had at the table. He finishes off the glass, pushing it back to her with his fingertips and holding her gaze all-the-while.

“Well my bragging was gonna be making you laugh ‘till your boss throws me out, but I should probably get the name so I know who to ask for next time, right?” She takes his glass, and moves to fill it again — feeling both like the belle of a ball and like one of those wood logs in a fireplace crumbling into charcoals, giving off sparks. Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire is screaming at her to stop dancing so close to cliffsides before she takes a tumble she’ll regret, but right now she doesn’t feel any ground giving way beneath her feet.

“Genevieve. Gen, if you’re friendly.” She hums out, taking her time on his refill with the express purpose of keeping him there a little longer. The laugh he lets out is breathy, almost disbelieving, and she looks back up at him through her lashes. “Your turn, or should I just keep calling you Major Canary?”

“My turn, she says,” he mutters, probably more to himself than her even if she can hear it. She passes the glass back over. “Well if we’re being friendly it’s Bucky. Egan.” He exaggerates it — the word friendly, but Genevieve’s really hanging on the ‘if’. She feels almost like a kid picking apart words to prove her point. She should’ve been a lawyer. ‘If’ meant she had options, and maybe she feels a little prideful; to know she has control of where this thing goes. It’s a rush. The kind she wouldn’t get packing parachutes or up in an office. The kind only another person could give her.

The ground gives a little beneath her feet, but Genevieve is undeterred.

“But I take it you’re aiming for a little more than that, is that right, Bucky?”

The smug grin on his face is as much of an answer as any.

And it excites her down to her bones.

[weewoobrainrot]

everyone look at goose + slider being fed up with icemav 😭😭

[eemcintyre]

Surprise Me (Tom Cruise)

I've been pondering on this absolute unit for a while. Please appreciate the amount of time, energy, and NYC restaurant research I had to do, lol

TW- none

Summary- One of your friends, after a poor track record of setting you up on blind dates, gets one more chance and makes the most of it. You meet the date for dinner at an elegant NYC restaurant to discover that your friend has set you up with Tom Cruise.

Y/N was one of those people who had told herself, her whole life, that she would never go on a blind date. No matter how many months or years went by of being single, she had refused to stoop to what she perceived to be such a desperate level. Moreover, she was not actively looking for a relationship, as she was generally happy on her own, living a full life of work, hobbies, travel, and friendship.

However, one lapse- one lonely, alcohol-induced, self-pitying night of self-disclosure with a friend later, and that friend, Nikki, had become obsessed with setting her up. Nikki had arranged a number of dates for her with a number of men, who despite Nikki’s good intentions, mostly turned out to be questionable at best, and occasionally were potential serial killers at worst. Tonight was Nikki’s last chance- she promised that this time would be different and would make up for all of the other terrible evenings and to just trust her. Promises, promises.

Y/N exited the taxi that had taken her to La Grande Boucherie, the restaurant that she and her date had agreed on for the evening. It was an open-air French establishment situated in an alley between two avenues. From across the street where the taxi had dropped her off, she could see fairy lights wrapped around several small trees inside the restaurant, twinkling in the descending dusk.

All she knew about her date, from their text conversations spanning the last few days and the description of Nikki, was that his name was Tom, he was handsome with dark hair, fun and energetic, and that he worked in the filmmaking business. As Y/N lived in New York, it was not at all unusual to run into people in the film industry rather frequently- even she herself had worked in costume design, and currently production design. Although, he and Nikki were both a bit vague when she asked what exactly it was that he did. She figured that meant he was probably one of those “aspiring actors” who really make their living doing guided NYC tours or waiting tables and had a bit part in a B movie once.  

Y/N had never been to La Grande Boucherie before, and it looked a little more high-end than she had anticipated. Elaborate fixtures of spherical lights hung from the vaulted ceiling, and large tropical plants provided a small canopy by one of the walls. Although “Tom” had mentioned that the place was on the elegant side, she almost wondered if she was underdressed, in a simple, mid-length, classic black dress. But she figured the date wouldn’t last a particularly long time anyway.

If tonight’s a disaster, this is the last time you set me up and I swear I’ll key your car in revenge, she texted her friend a final time before slipping her phone into her purse and crossing the busy street. She wondered why she was feeling a bit nervous when she had been on so many unsuccessful dates and her expectations had become so low. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, it appeared that a miniscule part of her remained hopeful about finding someone. And at this point, she really had no idea what to expect, as this was a much nicer place than where her previous dates had invited her. Though, of course, men with money had just as much potential to be terrible dates as those without, she was terribly curious, and equally intimidated. What had her friend gotten her into this time?

Upon reaching the front of the restaurant, she briefly scanned her reflection in the window, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder and shrugging. She also took a moment to evaluate the atmosphere of the restaurant up close. Soft jazz music glided through the entryway, and the building smelled of a combination of rich, sizzling French meats and soups, and the luxury perfumes and colognes of the affluent people who dined there. She was not necessarily worried about the dinner being expensive- she made enough money to be able to splurge on something nice from time to time- but doubted that the overall night’s experience would be worth it, no matter how good the meal was.

Her gaze roved over the occupants of each table, but none of them appeared to be the mysterious “Tom,” either not fitting the description or already accompanied by other guests. Luckily, “Tom” had texted her a table number to look for. Approaching the hostess’ podium, Y/N inquired “Hi. Can you point me in the direction of Table 16?”

The hostess answered with a knowing smile that puzzled Y/N. “Good evening. Of course. It’s the one in the far-right corner by that display of pink flowers.”

“Thank you,” Y/N murmured, spotting the table and the back of the head of the man sitting in one of the chairs.

“Enjoy your night, ma’am.”

“You too.”

Y/N crept slowly across the tiled restaurant floor to Table 16, frustrated with herself at how on-edge she was. Feeling like she was being observed by everyone she passed, she almost tripped on a chair leg. Rounding the last corner and reaching her destination, she braced herself to greet “Tom” and finally see what he looked like.

Sitting at the table was a man in a simple black suit and white dress shirt with the first two buttons undone. He had short, dark brown hair, a few strands brushing his forehead, with green eyes that stood out against his pale skin, and a distinctive mole on his left cheek. Y/N froze, momentarily forgetting everything about what she was going to say, where she was, what she was doing there, and how to talk.

From his seat at the table, Tom Cruise grinned and said “Hello.”

“Oh gosh… wait- oh my gosh, you’re…”

“I am,” he grinned wider and shrugged. He was about to say more, when Y/N continued:

“I am so sorry, I- I must be at the wrong table. They told me Table 16 and pointed me this way-” she gestured frantically, feeling her face grow hot.

“Well, you found it,” Tom confirmed, gesturing to the small sign on the tabletop. “This is Table 16.”

“Oh, um, well, he must have texted me the wrong number… I am so, so sorry, this is embarrassing. I was supposed to meet someone here, and…”

“Wait, hold on- is your name Y/N?” Tom inquired, cocking his head to the side.

“…Yes, it is,” she answered slowly, feeling lightheaded.

“Do you know Nikki?” He leaned toward her from his chair. The look on her face was her answer. “I think we’re supposed to go on a date tonight,” he stated matter-of-factly, beckoning to the chair across from him. “Sit down.”

“Oh, there’s got to be a mistake here somewhere…” Y/N said, her stomach performing feats of acrobatics as she stood rooted to her spot.

“You won’t even give me a chance?” he teased, fixing her with puppy-dog eyes. “I thought we got along pretty well over text.”

“No- I mean, it’s not that, I just…” Y/N brought her hands to her head in embarrassment as she stammered, finally managing to move and take a step back from the table. “I’ll be right back; I just need to- I just need to use the restroom- I’ll just be a minute.”

“You will come back, right?” he joked, although his eyes betrayed genuine concern that she was about to make an escape.

“Yes, I’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She spun around and took several rapid steps in the opposite direction of the table before she heard him call out “It’s the other way.”

~

“Wow. I can’t believe you; I mean, what the fu-” Y/N hissed into her phone, holed up in one of the women’s bathroom stalls of La Grande Boucherie.

“-What?” Nikki’s voice sounded from the phone speaker innocently.

“You know exactly what you did-”

“-Are you actually calling me right now to complain about being set up with Tom Cruise? I told you that I was coming in clutch for you this time.”

“What the hell are you trying to do to me?? I am not prepared for this!” She snapped, detecting the footsteps of whoever else had also been in the bathroom as they exited rapidly.

“What do you mean? I’m sure you’re wearing something nice, you always do, and I know you know how to eat…”

“YOU SAID HE WORKED IN THE FILMMAKING BUSINESS, NOT THAT HE’S THE MOST FAMOUS ACTOR IN THE WORLD.”

“Okay, okay, calm down…”

“Why didn’t you tell me??” Y/N groaned, emerging from the stall to examine her hair, makeup, and outfit, which seemed to have gone from “possibly slightly underdressed” to totally inadequate.

“You know you never would have gone if I’d told you. You would have either thought I was trying to prank you or you would have had the aneurysm that you’re having right now.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Y/N snapped defeatedly.

“Act like yourself? Do what you would normally do?” Nikki replied, exasperated. “He was interested in you just off of my description and you guys’ texting.”

A pink tint rose to Y/N’s face. “He was? You’re not just telling me that?”

“Hey, I’m a little crafty, but I’m not evil.”

“…What did he say?”

“He thought it was cool that you’ve done production design and costume work, he liked that you’re kind of outdoorsy… he was interested, okay? Get out there and talk to him instead of talking to me!”

“We are going to have a serious talk about this…” Y/N muttered, straightening the wrinkles in her outfit and heading for the door.

“You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Trust me, I’ll want to know every detail.” Nikki paused. “And you said I’d never set you up with anyone good.” Y/N could hear the triumphant smirk in Nikki’s voice and hung up, rolling her eyes.

“Be calm. He’s just a person. He’s just a guy,” she said to herself as she neared Table 16 once again, relieved to see that Tom still sat there.

“I told you I would come back,” she managed a smile, moving to slide into the other empty chair, when Tom rose from his place to pull it out for her.

“I’m glad you did,” he added, smiling back and looking equally relieved as they finally faced each other at the table. “I ordered us an appetizer and some drinks while you were gone. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so hopefully it’s all okay…”

“Oh, I’m not picky.” Silence fell briefly, and before it could become too awkward, Y/N decided to address what was certainly weighing heavily on both of them. “So, you and I got off on the wrong foot and I want to apologize. I was just totally caught off-guard…”

“Nikki didn’t tell you?”

“No- well, she knew I never would have gone if I’d known-”

“Do you really hate me that much?” he chuckled. “I mean, I know not all of my movies have been great…”

“Not at all, it’s not that, I just would have been too scared.” Y/N dropped her gaze to her hands, twisted tightly together in her lap.

“Well, it’s normal to be nervous, but come on, I’m not so scary now, am I?” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, smirking.

Y/N gathered the courage to meet his gaze. “No,” she admitted, with a grin. “I just feel out of place here, in this restaurant, in this whole situation.”

“I think you fit right in,” Tom assured her. “Actually, before our conversation went off the rails earlier, I was going to say that you look stunning.”

“T-thank you, you do too,” she stammered, feeling the blush creeping over her face again, cringing at her reply. He laughed, but it was a good-natured laugh, not seeming to be at her expense.

“Thanks. I tried.”

Y/N finally took a sip of the drink that Tom had ordered for her, a sparkling cocktail that tasted of cranberry and lemon. “This is good,” she nodded.

“I made a good choice?”

“Yes, you did, thank you.”

Soon after, the appetizers arrived- a roasted beet and endive salad. As they started to eat, Tom suggested:

“Now, why don’t we just start the night over? Hi, I’m Tom.”

“I’m Y/N,” she replied, and they both laughed between mouthfuls.

“You mentioned that you do behind-the-scenes work for film projects- what are you working on right now?”

“Oh, just a local documentary thing. Street art and its origins, styles, and cultural significance. Terribly exciting, I know.”

“Of course it is. But you’d rather be doing something else?”

“Like everyone else around here, I have higher aspirations. I know everyone has to work their way up- you know that better than anyone- but I also know that not everyone who puts the work in ends up making it, and it usually just comes down to chance and luck- being in the right place at the right time or knowing the right people. I’m just afraid that my miracle is never gonna happen, y’know?”

“Well, I really believe that if it’s what you’re meant to do, as long as you stay dedicated and a step ahead of everyone else, it’ll happen. We’re just not all on the same timetable. It happened early on for me, but for a lot of other people, they didn’t ‘make it’ until they were in their thirties, forties, hell, fifties…” He took a taste of his own drink- a non-alcoholic cocktail.

“I hope I don’t have to wait that long,” she said, half joking and half serious. “But what projects are you involved in at the moment?”

He obliged to the change in topic. “I have a lot going on with this action-movie satire piece. It’s one of those ones that’s been stuck in development hell for a few years, so there’s just a lot of negotiating back and forth; it gets tedious after a while, but I think we’re finally getting things nailed down. It’s looking like it’ll be a lot of fun once we get past the initial stages.”

During the course of this conversation, they realized that they should begin perusing the menu and decide on their main courses. As she examined the options, Y/N reminded herself that she could afford to spend a bit extra once in a while, yet the prices still managed to stun her. It must have been visible on her face, because Tom said “Order whatever looks good. I’m buying tonight.”

As Y/N opened her mouth to strongly protest, he held up his hand. “Nikki said you’d complain, but you can’t change my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out, I want us to have a good time, and besides, it’s the way I was raised.” He shrugged, folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything, and I know you’re capable of paying if I let you, I just want to. Okay?”

~  

When the server appeared with their entrees, the dusk had long since turned to nighttime darkness, allowing the fairy lights and orb ceiling fixtures to bathe all of the restaurant’s occupants in a warm glow. Y/N had ended up deciding on a mushroom ravioli dish, while Tom ordered a filet, and they shared a portion of seafood that he insisted she try. She was surprised to admit that she was feeling remarkably more at-ease.

“I am obsessed with this place,” he said offhandedly, having made it about halfway through his steak.

“I can see why,” Y/N giggled. “So, tell me: what is it you like to do when you’re not sword-fighting people or scaling the sides of buildings?”

Tom laughed, using one hand to smooth his hair back. “On those rare occasions, I like to do things like rock-climb, fly…”

She coughed on her food. “Fly? Oh yeah, that’s right.”

“Or cook, watch sports... I can have fun with both feet on the ground too. I’m down for just about anything.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you get into when you’re not designing the aesthetics of local documentaries?”

“Well, I enjoy a good hike or some skating, and I can be a bit arts and crafts-y when I want to. I do some drawing and painting when I’m between big work projects.”

She was amazed at how attentively he listened, and how he didn’t do it just to respond, but to ask questions as well. She was used to enduring her date’s life story without getting more than a few words in edgewise. She reminded herself that his entire job was to be a convincing actor, and so to not become too optimistic or believing of how he appeared. But damn, if it wasn’t difficult the longer they maintained eye contact and sat so closely and laughed with each other amidst the dim, cozy lighting and the soft jazz piano. Maybe she wouldn’t totally eviscerate Nikki after all.

~

After making it to the end of dinner, standing on the street outside, they prepared to part ways.

“You can ride along with me and my driver can drop you off,” he proposed.

“No, that’s extremely sweet of you, but you’ve done more than enough,” Y/N insisted. “You can’t change my mind.” Her eyes gleamed mischievously at him as she referenced their conversation near the beginning of the evening.

“Well, Y/N,” Tom sighed, “I’ve got to admit that tonight was the best time I’ve had in a while. You didn’t think it turned out so bad, right?”

“Not bad at all,” she replied, clutching her coat in both hands as a soft breeze passed.

“Good enough to do it again sometime? Soon?” he asked, eying her expectantly as the two of them shifted awkwardly back and forth on the pavement.

“Oh, I suppose,” she teased, though her expression was beaming. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a while too.”

A limousine pulled up to the curb next to them. She deduced that it was Tom’s aforementioned ride, but he was determined to stay until she flagged down a taxi, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her on the street alone at night.

“You’ll have to think about what you’d like to do next. Maybe we could go flying,” he joked, as she eventually caught a passing cab driver’s attention.

“Maybe,” she chuckled as she approached the taxi. Tom opened the door for her, and before she slid inside, he placed a hand on her shoulder and murmured “Have a good night. Be safe.”

“Goodbye, Tom,” she slid into the backseat of the cab, smiling at him and then to herself as the cab started on its path to her home. Basking in the feeling of his touch on her shoulder and the slight giddiness that the earlier cocktail afforded, she lost herself in contemplation of the evening’s events, wondering where they might lead.

[bassed11]

It's not gay to tenderly kiss one of your best friends... No way..

[succfanart-archive]

some recent succ blind contours lol (drawn without looking at the canvas)

[johnnyutah]

the nature of your 20s is sometimes you make up a fun song to sing to yourself and sometimes the fun song is “i can’t kill myself because there is a new venom movie coming out” chanted endlessly on repeat

[sainzstorms]

the old money vibe in carlos sainz makes him husband material, the fact that he's a very handsome, gorgeous, and breath-taking is just complementary. that is if you're blind enough to ignore the red flag.

[fartbong-rewritten]

This will be Tom Waits in 2281