#but yeah it was also near Broadway in manhattan so there was like SO MANY PEOPLE SOB

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

sinking

request: Helloo! 👋🏼 I really like your stories for Spencer Reid, they’re pretty detailed, creative and really interesting! So.. idk if you’ll see this but I was wondering if you’re willing to create a Reid x Reader where, the reader doesn’t know how to swim and so one day, an unsub who works around waters or something holds reader hostage and then shoves her into the ocean off the dock, in hopes to run away and no one knows she can’t swim besides Reid who jumps after her immediately? Sorry, thank u! :)

for: @tooweirdforyou 

word count: 2,600                                                                                     reading time aprox: 10 mins

masterlist

New York City, the land of naked cowgirls in the middle of Times Square, overpriced souvenirs, and home of Broadway shows. Unfortunately we didn’t have the privilege to be stationed in the heart of Manhattan, since our unsub had decided to execute his activities in the suburban neighborhoods of the city.  

We were seated in a police station in Rockaway. The neighborhood we were in was low on the socioeconomic spectrum, which offered a clue to the profile we’ve built. Me, Spencer, and Morgan sat around in the conference of the station, discussing our frivolous adventures of life as we waited for the rest of the team to head back from their tasks. 

“Wait so you’re telling me that you hate the ocean?” Morgan teased Reid, nudging him in the shoulder in a brotherly manner. “Why is that?” He continued, a smirk making its way onto his lips.

“Do you have any idea how many microbes are in the ocean” Spencer cringed, crunching up his nose in disgust. “In a single liter of seawater alone, there’s approximately a colony of one billion bacteria and ten billion virus-” He explained before getting cut off by Morgan. 

“Oka-okay germ boy, enough of that before you ruin my image of a perfect vacation” 

“Germ boy? That’s new” I interjected in amusement, laughing as Spencer squatted lower in his chair to hide the oncoming blush on his cheeks. “Oh come on Spence- hey everyone’s got some sort of phobia” I reassured, reaching over to ruffle his tangled hair. 

“Well actually, a phobia is-” 

“Don’t ruin it Spence” I joked, watching his lips curl up into an amused smile. 

On cue, the rest of the BAU entered the building in a hurry. Hotch and JJ ran side by side into the office where we held Raymund Celter, a relative of the suspected unsub, for questioning. Me, Spencer, and Morgan looked at each other in confusion, until Emily walked up to us with an embittered expression. 

“What’s up?” Morgan asked, directing the conversation to the suspenseful air that surrounded the four of us. 

Emily sighed, rubbing her forehead in frustration. “Our unsub...isn’t who we thought it was” She admitted, letting her eyes cast over the interrogation room where Hotch and JJ were.

“Wait- but our profile still fits right?” Morgan insisted with his eyebrows furrowed and his forehead etched with lines. 

“Yeah, but we’ve been looking at the wrong type of relationship” She sighed, her defeated expression indicating the exhaustion that all of us shared. “If the unsub isn’t a relative- and we ruled out employees since the victims aren’t necessarily affluent- who else has full invitation to the house, is comfortable enough with the family, and is particularly close to-” She paused mid sentence as all the cogs in our brains were turning until we all settled on the same idea. 

We looked at each other in revelation and it seemed like JJ and Hotch shared a similar idealization as they rushed out of the interrogation room. 

Emily was quick to get Garcia on the phone, witnessing the troubled looks she received from Hotch. “Garcia, can you see if there were any family friends or close neigh-” She requested, although she was abruptly cut off by Hotch informing her of the details that they’ve uncovered. 

“No need for that. The man we’re looking for is Henry Bennett, he grew up next door to the Celter’s residence- Garcia can you look for the last known address” Hotch commanded, chewing the inside of his mouth in anticipation. 

“Uh- we might have a problem, sir” Garcia sheepishly admitted. “Well I’ve looked at his DMV records and there are 4 possible locations where he can reside at” Garcia explained, sending the coordinates to our tablets. 

“Um okay, we’re going to have to split up. JJ and Morgan, Emily’s with Rossi, Reid you’re with me- Y/N are you okay doing this by yourself?” Hotch asked, concerning wavering in his eyes. I nodded in affirmation, already strapping on my gun and heading to the armory for FBI bullet proof vests. 

After everyone had situated themselves in the right attire, it was time to leave in separate cars. That’s when Spencer pulled me aside by the arm, clutching it with a tense hand. “Are you sure you’re fine going alone? I can tell Hot-” He rambled, his words laced with the same concern Hotch expressed previously. 

“Don’t worry germ boy, I think I can handle myself pretty well” I jokingly reassured. Although the lines etched across his forehead didn’t seem to lessen as I tried to lighten up the air. “Listen Spence...I’m going to be okay- I promise I’ll be extra careful” I expressed in the hopes that his doleful expression would vanish. 

He responded with a hesitant nod and a tight lipped smile, pulling me into a warm embrace. He smelled of pumpkin spice candles mixed in with a little sweat, which, oddly, made out to be a comforting aroma. 

“Hey germ boy, If it makes you feel any better about before, I’m absolutely terrified about the ocean too- well all types of large bodies of water” I sheepishly admitted, ruffling the top of his head as I went to open the front door of the SUV. 

“Wait what?” He replied, taken aback by my profession. “You are?” He continued with a smirk on his lips. 

“Yeah, I don’t do well with the whole “deep water and the unknown thing” I expressed, staring at my twiddling thumbs. “I also, kinda, don’t know how to swim either” I blushed, climbing into the front seat of the vehicle, watching Spencer’s grin grow. Finally bidding a final adieu to all of my colleagues, I headed out to the coordinates I had been assigned to. 

-

With my luck, I was sent to a docking area near Rockaway beach. The coordinates that Garcia had sent me were of an old fishing hut near the coastline. I was in constant contact with the rest of the team, communicating whether the unsub was to be found at our locations.

I surveyed the area with my gun close to my chest, pointed down to the floor. My eyes flickered to the water numerous times, feeling my anxiety rile up in my veins as I attempted to keep my focus on finding unsub.  I was essentially on high alert, every creek and every sound triggering my flight or fight response. 

It wasn't until I had gotten to the fishing hut that my anxiety rose to a new high. The small house was located at the end of the dock where the waves crashed against the wooden spokes below the thin bridge. 

Suddenly, I had heard footsteps from the inside of the hut. I raised my gun into a more controlled position before taking a breath, tentatively opening the door to enter. “FBI”  I yelled, feeling my arms shake as the sound of the water amplified, bouncing off the floorboards. “ Henry Bennett”  I called out,  surveying my surroundings. “ I'm from the FBI, I just want to talk” I peaked  around the corner, seeing a slight shadow of a figure at the end of a hallway. 

I radioed in my location, letting the rest of the team know that I had found the unsub. Hotch informed me that the rest of the team we're coming soon, although they might take longer than expected. With a brief goodbye, I finally made myself known, locking eyes with the unsub himself. “Henry Bennett-” I began but was ultimately cut off with his radical spiel. 

“Ge-get away from m-me” He stuttered, a pistol in his right hand pointed directly at me. “Y-you don-don’t understand. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS!” He yelled, his behavior becoming more unstable by the minute. 

“Hey, it's okay-it's okay, I'm here to help” I proceeded to attempt to calm him down as he started to hit his head with his other hand. Although he continued to inflict harm to himself, repeating the same mantra as before. 

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS! NO ONE UNDERSTANDS! NO ONE-” 

��In the midst of his words I cut him off abruptly,  placing my gun in its holster to indicate peace. “Henry, look at- hey look at me Henry”  I called his attention, halting his actions. “I'm here to help, my team is going to come very soon and they are going to help you” I reassured, creeping closer to disarm him. 

“Ar-are you sure?” He whimpered, still clutching onto the gun with the tight grip.  I placed my hand over his, letting him sink into my touch. 

“Yes Henry, I promise” I softly guaranteed, feeling his grip loosen up as I rubbed his back to  soothe him. Although as I proceeded to take away his gun, he tensed up again looking at me with doleful eyes. 

“Do you really promise?” He asked in desperation, searching my eyes for the truth as I fished out for his weapon. I nodded, giving him an understanding smile as he finally let go of his weapon. I calmed him down, telling him everything was going to be okay, letting him kneel down into the position to apprehend him for his crimes. 

Unfortunately, the team had picked this time to approach the area, the loud sirens engulfing the dock, triggering the unsub to expel in a violent outburst. Suddenly I was pinned to the ground with strong arms, while malicious screams were emitted from the unsub's mouth. 

“You promised! YOU PROMISED!” The unsub repeated, reaching over to retain the gun he had. “You lied to me- JUST LIKE THE REST OF THEM!” He sobbed, pressing the cold metal against the back of my forehead. “Now you’re going to pay” He threatened, forcefully pulling me up to my feet and walking me out to the docks. 

The team came into view as we walked out, although my vision was distorted due to the tears that began to appear in the corners of my eyes. “Henry Bennett, FBI, let her go and things will go smoothly” Spencer spoke, maintaining a calm composure. When he locked eyes with my terrified ones, I saw a chink in his armor. 

Despite the small discovery, he had a firm grip on his gun, pointing it directly at the unsub as the rest of the team followed behind him. 

“NO! SHE LIED TO ME!” Henry bellowed, digging the barrel right into the side of my head as he held me by the neck.

“Please Henry, nobody has to be hurt” Emily interjected, trying to extinguish the situation in a peaceful manner. 

“But- but” Henry shook his head, letting his malevolent expression falter for a moment. The team crept closer to where we were positioned. Soon enough, Henry noticed this and for every step forward the team took, he would take a step back. 

It was until we had reached the end of the dock that the team had realized. “Please Henry, we know what happened with Raymund- we know that his parents didn’t approve of your friendship with him-” Emily began, placing her gun in the holster, similar to the tactic performed before. “-or should I say relationship. It was wrong of them to-”

“THEY WERE WRONG! THEY LIED TO ME!” He screamed, the gun in his hand shaking as he loosened his grip. “I loved him and they t-told m-me I couldn’t” He cried, dropping his weapon. 

The team took this as an opportunity to approach Henry, seeing that he was disoriented. But, they soon found out that they were wrong. Henry threw himself into the water with his arm still latched around me. I struggled against his grip, beating against his rib cage as he fought my resistance. 

With a hard blow to the forehead, I was able to swim up to the surface. I glanced at my feet, seeing his unconscious body drift down into the dark abyss. Terrified thoughts raced inside my head, thinking of the possibility of drowning and never being found. I squirmed and kicked, taking in a breath of air as I broke into the surface. 

Suddenly, I was scooped into a pair of arms as I continued to panic and writhe in their grasp. I took chaste breaths, my eyes still covered with water, so I was unable to see who had me. It was until Spencer’s soothing voice reached my ears, that I finally calmed down. 

“Y/N! Y/N! I got you- hey I got you” He repeated, although the affirmation was more for his own state of mind. 

My breathing was still rapid, but my brain had registered that I was going to be okay. I let tears mix in with the sea water on my cheeks as I sobbed in terror. The cold sensation of the water increased my adrenaline by ten fold. I gripped onto Spencer’s vest, similar to a child with their mother, letting his voice soothe me. 

I placed my head in the crook of his neck as he pulled the both of us near a ladder. He pushed me up gently, encouraging me to climb up to the rest of the team. Once I was situated on land, I sat down and burrowed myself into my knees. I was embarrassed, yet grateful that Spencer had saved me, knowing that my severe fear of water was now known to the rest of the team. 

Finally, Spencer knelt down to where I sat, wrapping his long arms around where I had enclosed myself. I let myself lean into his embrace, nuzzling my head into his neck once again as he helped me control my breathing. 

A blanket was placed on the both of us as I refused to get up. Spencer gave a sideways glance to Hotch in the way of saying “give us a moment’. The team had refuted back to their cars in respect to Spencer’s request, leaving me and him on the dock. 

“Than-thank you” I muttered, able to muster up the strength to express my gratitude. 

“It’s nothing Y/N” He reassured, letting the sound of seagulls and the waves permeate the ambiance of the scene. “When...when you told me that you had a fear of the water- and that you can’t swim- seeing you getting pushed into the water nearly gave me a heart attack” He admitted, breathing into the top of my head. 

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do to thank you Spence. I was so- so terrified- and you went to- I just- thank you” I praised, looking up into his worried expression. 

I placed an apprehensive hand on his cheek, getting a better look at the beautiful features that graced his face. I smiled at him, observing how his eyes would flicker from my eyes to my lips. I blushed at the discovery, letting myself lean more into his embrace. 

Slowly, our faces closed in on the distance, our breaths fanning over each other’s faces as we looked at each other for any indication of resistance. Finally our lips collided in a kiss, maintaining slow movements as we melted in each other. 

His lips were supple and tasted like vanilla lip balm, although his movements were gentle and meaningful. He grazed my cheeks with both of his hands, cupping them in his palms as he pulled away. He proceeded to place chaste kisses on my forehead as I let my eyes close at the feeling. 

“I think that was a pretty great way to thank me” He grinned. 

“I guess I’ll just have to keep thanking you for all the times you’ve made my life better” 

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie​

A/N

i hope this is okay, not my best work, but i hope it’s still enjoyable. 

[blainesebastian]

if you haven’t already written a fic about Sebastian picking up blaine while he’s curled up in a ball to the bedroom and peppering his face with kisses please please do with cherry on top! (Also i dont know if I explained myself well but I hope you got the point lol )

yessss, i hope you don’t mind but it’s not as ANGSTY as i’m usually capable of lol *u* enjoy xoxo love you! 

--

Sebastian hates having a busy work schedule but it pays the bills. It’s not that Blaine doesn’t understand, they both have high demanding jobs—time, effort, responsibilities, all keeping their New York life patched firmly together. They make it work, communication is key, something Blaine severely lacked in his last relationship (and well, effort, in Sebastian’s honest opinion). Talking through a lot of things helps, especially when hours run late and emotions run high.

Blaine’s theater schedule can sometimes be unpredictable and Sebastian’s law firm pulls him in when he least expects it (and usually at ridiculous hours) but the money and experiences have been good, so neither of them really complain. Blaine does admit one morning in a rush to eat breakfast and leave before eight that he misses him and Sebastian leans up from the counter and makes sure to kiss him. Because he misses him too and he hates that their erratic calendars cause early mornings and late nights.

Blaine presses him against the kitchen table to kiss him back, arms wound around his neck, mouths moving greedily like this might be the last intimate embrace that they share. They accidently knock piles of mail and fruit to the floor and end up leaving the apartment at 9:30—but it’s completely worth it.

No one ever told them that this was going to be easy, that balancing life, work, and a relationship wouldn’t have its challenges. But that’s okay, because they’re going at it together and Sebastian thinks that’s what really makes the difference.

Regardless, Sebastian feels bad when he can’t promise his presence at things Blaine puts together—like he’s throwing this small, congratulatory mixer at their apartment for the part he’s recently gotten on Broadway. Him and Blaine already celebrated privately but this is more so Blaine can invite his friends and theater people. Not an incredibly big deal but of course, Blaine wants him to be there.

And he would be—if it weren’t for this one case burying him alive with paperwork. He’d actually rather be anywhere else than stuck in his office in lower Manhattan, especially when there’s a party going on at his place. He can picture Blaine dancing in the living room, drinking a little too much so that his cheeks have that soft shade rose color Sebastian likes so much, eyes a liquid honey because he’s happy. Sebastian’s been getting a few pictures and texts over the development of the night but he also knows Blaine isn’t sending too many because he doesn’t want to be a distraction.

Sebastian calls him anyways when he has a small break, just to hear his boyfriend’s voice which has a slightly high-pitched excitement when he picks up. “Sebastian!”

The taller chuckles lightly, running a hand through the front part of his hair. He can hear gentle noises filtering in from behind Blaine—the soft cluster of beats in music and general chatter. “Hi, B. Are you having a good time?”

Blaine grins into the phone, Sebastian can picture it when he talks, “I’m having the best time.”

“I can tell.” He smirks a little; he’s not drunk yet but certainly on his way.

“Are you coming home soon?”

Sebastian lets out a soft sigh before shaking his head, “No, I’m sorry. I won’t be home until late. Trust me, I’d much rather be with you.”

Blaine hums a little and there’s some shifting on his end—if Sebastian had to guess, he probably slipped into the bedroom to continue their conversation and is sprawled out on their bed. “I’d much rather you be with me too,” He drawls out, “I’m very cuddly right now.”

Sebastian laughs a little, leaning back against his chair and drums his pen on his desk. “Oh, are you?”

Blaine hums in confirmation, “So sorry you’ll be missing it.”

Sebastian leans up to rest his elbows on the edge of his desk, glancing down at the paperwork he still has yet to complete. “You won’t be just as snuggly when I get home?”

There’s a long series of gentle noises from Blaine, like he started to agree with a sound but then ended up humming along to the song currently on in the living room. “Mayyyyyyybe, guess we’ll have to see, huh.”

Sebastian smiles, “I love you, go drink some water okay?”

Ironically, Blaine’s a pretty high-functioning drunk. He knows when he needs to drink water in-between alcohol. Sebastian’s seen him come home, practically tripping over his own feet and still able to floss and brush his teeth before tumbling into bed.

It’s rather impressive.

“I love you more.” And Blaine hangs up without another word—most likely because he didn’t want Sebastian to try and convince him that he was wrong about who loved the other more. Spinning his boyfriend into a tizzy while he’s tipsy and on the phone probably won’t be as entertaining anyways.

So Sebastian concentrates on getting his work done so he can go home to him.

--

By the time Sebastian makes his way into the apartment complex and unlocks their front door, it’s going on two AM. Definitely not the time he wanted to be home but there’s not much he could do about it—he did manage to put in a personal day for tomorrow (technically today) so at least he can settle in.

He turns the light on in the living room and glances around to survey the damage—it’s actually not as bad as he thought. Some wine glasses and dishes left about in the dining room and kitchen but nothing seems destroyed.

Blaine, as drunk as he can get, is still a neat freak. He was probably stumbling around in an attempt to clean despite the fact that he should have been concentrating on having a good time and worrying about all that tomorrow.

He sighs and takes off his coat and shoes, setting them near the couch before making his way into the bedroom—to find Blaine curled up on the floor near the closet. A soft, sudden chuckle leaves his lips because he’s half undressed and their dalmatian, Fitzgerald, is lying against Blaine’s back. His ears perk when he ears Sebastian, sitting up and beginning to wag his tail as his other owner steps closer.

He smirks a little and crouches down, petting the dog between his ears. “C’mon.” He motions for him to scoot and the dog gets up only to jump onto the bed but at least he’s out of the way.

Sebastian smiles, shaking his head as he reaches for the shirt Blaine seems stuck in, one arm in and the other out, and tugs it over his head. His boyfriend makes a soft moaning noise, turning into the touch. The taller’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to get him out of his jeans, not down here anyways, so he maneuvers Blaine’s body until he can pick him up bridal style.

Blaine’s head falls to his shoulder, a soft pinch between his eyebrows at being moved and Sebastian instantly smooths that away by planting a bunch of soft kisses on his face. Blaine relaxes, especially when Sebastian lays him down in bed. It’s much easier to undo his jeans and tug them off, deciding his boyfriend can sleep in just his briefs for the night.

Sebastian runs his fingers through his messy curls, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth when Blaine just barely blinks awake. “You’re home.” He croaks out.

The taller hums, “Yeah, I’m getting into bed soon. You gonna be sick?”

Blaine shakes his head and presses his face into his pillow, a gentle whining noise following. Sebastian, at this point, knows that means turn off the light and come here. He rolls his eyes but follows the request, moving around in the dark to get ready for bed. He strips down to his boxers and white t-shirt, brushing his teeth and shifting the dog down to a spot by Blaine’s feet so he can crawl into bed.

Blaine moves rather instantly, sensing the shift of weight on the mattress and Sebastian wraps his arms around him, keeping him close. He buries his nose and lips into his curls, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, and a twinge of sweat on his skin. The taller runs an open palm up and down Blaine’s spine, over and over again until he feels him drift off into sleep.

Sebastian knows that this relationship thrives on communication, on being able to be honest with one another—but he also knows that it’s built on this too—on how easy it is to come home.

[scratchybeardsweetmouth]

Iain Glen Knows Why You're So Thirsty For Jorah Mormont on Game of Thrones

By Madison Vain April 29, 2019  Photography [and Videography] by Tyler Joe

Excerpt:

Ser Jorah Mormont crossing the wide terrains of Westeros on horseback is a familiar sight for fans of HBO's Game of Thrones. But for actor Iain Glen, who’s played the role now for seven-plus seasons, it’s hardly his favorite mode of transportation. “I always find a bicycle,” he says, sitting in a Midtown Manhattan green room, speaking about how he prefers to get around since the show catapulted its cast into the stardom stratosphere. It’s simply the most practical—not to mention safest—way to travel, these days. In some locations, especially Spain, he notes, fans don’t hold back when they spot the lovelorn lord. “They’ll attack you,” he says. “They’ll just grab you and start snogging you without invitation.” It's not exactly a violent response, but it does make getting around difficult. “They just want to hold you,” he continues. Cue: a set of wheels. “I don’t know what it is,” he admits, “They stop looking. They don’t associate actors with bicycles. So [I] just always sneak out the back, get a bicycle, and find a hickey restaurant on the outskirts of town. That’s my modus operandi.” New York is a bit easier, and he insisted on arriving at our April interview on foot even though a few blocks away fans have been camping outside of the hotel where the Thrones cast is staying for the premiere of Season Eight. Fans in the city recognize him, but let him get on his way. “It's lovely, actually,” he admits, laughing. “It reminds me of London.”  Historically, the attention has been confusing for Glen's younger children. (He has one son and two daughters.) His youngest is six and, as the actor says, frequently taken back by the approach of strangers. He chuckles, recalling her questions: Do you know that person? Why do people keep speaking to you? Why are they calling you Jorah? But for Glen, it's welcome. He says his wife actually put it best: “Who would not want someone to pat you on the back and tell you you're fantastic a few times every day?” For many of Glen’s young costars, Game of Thrones marked the very beginning of their careers. (Bella Ramsey, who plays Jorah’s cousin, the spunky Lyanna Mormont, hasn’t even seen most of the series on the account of only being 15 years old.) But the 57-year-old Scot has been working consistently across film, television, and theater for decades. One of his fondest memories of New York, he says, almost wistful, was when he and Nicole Kidman starred in Blue Room on Broadway in 1998. He lived near Central Park and spent his down time perusing the Met, freely.   “It’s a great deal to take on when you’re that young,” he says of co-stars like Maisie Williams and Sophie Turner who began filming as young teens. “But they all seem to be managing incredibly well.” And, as only an actor seasoned by years of rejection can, he quips, with a laugh: “And, if I’d been Kit’s age or Maisie’s age when I started, I certainly wouldn’t be complaining!” A wizened perspective actually made him more measured in his acceptance of the role, initially, he recalls. “When you accepted the job, you had to commit for, I think it was four years,” he says. “And they wouldn’t tell you if you were gonna die.” Glen said his team pressed HBO for details: “I asked for a breakdown, going forward, season by season.” His quest turned up few details, but something about the little he learned inspired him. “Listen, you go out for stuff, and there’s some things you really want and some things you don’t,” he says. “I really wanted this. I remember saying to my wife that I had a funny feeling about it. I felt like it was going somewhere.” As we all know now, he was right. The show is watched obsessively, by millions. (The Season Eight premiere drew a record 17.4 million viewers, making it HBO’s biggest night ever for streaming.) And in the age of Netflix binges where watching on your own time is the norm, it remains a can’t-miss, Sunday night event. That reality is a treat for the cast, as much as the viewers, assures Glen. A long career means the actor is exponentially more aware of how special it is to have been involved. “It’s very unusual to come back to something again and again and again,” he muses. “The life of an actor is very ephemeral. That’s what we’re used to; getting thrown with a bunch of strangers and getting to know each other really quickly and then saying, ‘Right, I’m gonna completely forget about that and now I’m going to jump into something else.’ Certainly, in my experience as an actor, I’ve never done anything like this. And to come back to something that everyone is saying is just going fantastic, that’s a very binding thing in itself. That was very winning.” much has been made over the years about some of the brutal shoots the cast has had to endure each season. (See: the Battle of Winterfell, which required 11 weeks of freezing, night shoots.) But for the most part, Glen was lucky. “In the early seasons, I was part of the Dothraki/Daenerys storyline,” he explains. “We were always on the move, always traveling. But we were always coming into rather fantastic, gorgeous, sunny warm spaces. We were filming the bit that the crew always looked forward to each season, before they went back to shitty, wet, cold weather.” And then came the greyscale. When the disease had gotten to its worst, Glen spent eight hours with the costume department, getting a full prosthetic outfitted on him before each shoot. “It was like coming in at midnight and being ready to shoot at eight, to then do the ten-hour day,” he recalls. “It reminded me of some of the drugs I’ve taken. At university, I was pretty spaced out—but in a nice, helpful, acting way.” It was also during this time that Glen thought his run on the notoriously deadly show was coming to an end. “I thought my number was up,” he admits. “[Creators] Dan [Weiss] and Dave [Benioff] really enjoy fucking with the actors—not giving them any sort of clues. So I asked them both individually, because I couldn’t get the answer.” He still came up short. “One of them said ‘I’m not saying.’ The other, when I said, ‘Do I survive the greyscale?’ said, ‘You do this season.’” (Turns out, the actors know just how you feel, wondering about their characters’ fates.) Ser Jorah is not Jon Snow. He doesn’t have a hero storyline and he's not a contender for the Throne, so it wasn’t a give-in that he’d earn such a passionate fanbase. And yet the Jorah fan accounts on social and thirsty fan fiction on the internet has run wild over the years. Glen attributes it to his devotion to Dany, the Mother of Dragons. (Even, yes, when he betrays her.) “In a chaotic, mad, dangerous, and violent world in which people are generally out for themselves,” he begins, “the purity of his desire to support her—to be there for her—is a nice contrast to the rest of the show. For the first two, three seasons, it was about this desire to express that from his point of view, but never doing it.” He follows up, “Do you know what I mean?” Um yeah. Jorah as the head of House Friendzone is the material that’s spawned, to be exact, a gajillion memes since the show’s 2011 debut. The way he looks at her, even now, oozes with a desperation that viewers can’t help but melt over. “I think they modulated their journey really beautifully throughout the seasons,” he says of the writer’s attention to Dany and Jorah. “I think they found a really compelling root through it, where for you, as an audience, it's hard to stand from the outside. And I'm not the best person to ask, but people tell me, that you have such a mixture of emotions watching. At first you think, ‘Oh please, go on and say it!’ But then very quickly it's, ‘Oh god! You shouldn’t have!’” On a show that has to divide time between so many characters each week, there’s an inevitable risk that some storylines will feel one-note or under-developed. Glen’s refuses this in his portrayal of the former slave owner mightily, instead bringing a weightiness as well as a readiness to recognize internal conflicts to his turns on screen. “It’s like real life,” he says of his careful approach. “Isn’t it? With people that we fall madly in love with, there’s always a moment of, ‘Fuck, I never realized you were such a shit when I fell in love with you.’” It’s been a delight, truly, for audiences. But Sunday night, the pensive stead’s run finally came to an end. After leading legions of troops into the Battle of Winterfell, near the end of the one-hour, twenty-two minute episode, he fulfilled his final mission: protect Dany with his life. He lasted as long as the battle and Dany held him as he drew his final breath. For the fans who've loved him, they know it's exactly how he'd have hoped to go. [...] “I feel very happy with his story arc,” Glen tells me. “When we read all six episodes before we started at the beginning, in a big room in Northern Ireland—Belfast—I thought the writers had managed it incredibly well and thoroughly, in terms of looking after everyone. It’s one of the hard things when you write big, sweeping, epic dramas like this. How do you look after everyone’s storyline, individually?” We’ll continue to see as Season Eight continues its March towards a May 19 series finale. Glen is adamant that the sheer scale of the production will stick in his memory bank forever. “I felt like a kid, coming into set and seeing some huge, monumental fucking castle—and arriving at bases with so many vehicles, so many extras, so many horses. There’s a side to that which is just really thrilling.” But the moment he’s actually most fond of a shoot from Season Five when Ser Jorah, following a brutal journey with Tyrion Lannister, offers his life to Dany in the Fighting Pits in Mereen. It took several days—and five or six other fighters—to film, something Glen loves, but it was what was going on behind the camera that he enjoyed most. “My family was there,” he recalls. The crew dressed his then seven-year-old up as a mini Ser Jorah and let her call the shots alongside director David Nutter. “They put her in the gear and put scars on her face. It was so, just great.” Looking ahead, Glen joins the DC Universe. Earlier this month, it was announced that the actor would take on the role of Gotham City’s most notorious billionaire, Bruce Wayne, on Titans. It’s unlikely that that show—or any role—could eclipse Jorah’s rabid fandom but that hardly bothers Glen. “I’m proud of the product and I’m proud of any association with that,” he explains. “You can walk around thinking, ‘Didn’t you see my Hamlet?’ or ‘Where were you when I did Henry VI at the Royal Theater Company?’ but you’re wasting your time. [Thrones] is kind of the Holy Grail, to be critically approved but have a massive following? That’s the ticket.”

[kimnamjooonz]

Blank Space - Episode 4

Welcome To New York

Songs that inspired this Episode:

 Welcome To New York - Taylor Swift 

Delicate - Taylor Swift 

Empire State of Mind - Alicia Keys ft Jay Z

Headlights - Robin Schulz 

''When we first dropped our bags on apartment floors, took our broken hearts , put them in a drawer''

It was like magic. Amanda, or better said Morgan, took one step outside and almost everything about her persona seemed to change. The way she walked, the expression on her face and even the way her black hair moved. She was every inch the star she was supposed to be. Taylor wondered if she had this rehearsed, she was an actress, after all. She was still in awe about how Morgan had changed her personality in seconds. ''Taylor!'' even the way in which she spoke had changed. ''What are you doing? You haven't moved in like a minute. We have to find a taxi.'' It was like magic again. She had only said that words when five employees from the airport carried all their luggage to a taxi that a sixth employee had found for them in record time. Taylor was starting to think that there was witchcraft involved. Morgan walked after the employees with dignified small steps. She had put on a pair of sunglasses that made her look even more majestic. People were staring at her which was weird as five minutes ago no one had paid any attention to her. But being surrounded by a troop of employees and displaying the personality of a beautiful but intimidating tigress was making its effect. That wasn't sarcastic but quirky Amanda Ward-Prowse. That was Morgan Llewellyn, the star. And there was a huge difference between both of them. Taylor walked behind her, passing completely unnoticed while the employees placed the bags inside the car. When they finished Morgan tipped them all generously and Taylor could have sworn that at this moment she had all of them wrapped around her finger. ''My Lady...'' one of them opened the taxi door for her. Taylor slipped into the taxi without anyone calling her 'My Lady'. Goddamned Morgan. She had stepped in New York ten minutes ago and she was already stealing hearts. ''What was that?'' asked Taylor after giving the direction to the taxi driver. ''You caused mayhem back there.'' ''Really? I didn't notice.'' And it seemed genuine. But this was coming from the same woman who had changed her personality in five seconds. They were too busy taking pictures of the city to keep with the same topic. These pictures would look great on Morgan's Instagram (her new verified account not the old Sebastian Stan fan account, thankfully that account was safely hidden with no chance of coming back to haunt her). ''Here we are'' said Taylor when the car parked in front of an elegant apartment building. Morgan had only seen the place in pictures but she wasn't disappointed at all. Taylor paid the driver and went straight inside the building to talk to the administrator who had to give her the keys. ''Miss Llewellyn!'' said the woman behind the desk, with a cheerful voice. ''We were told you were arriving today. Here are your keys. You're allowed to have pets but I'm sorry if you wanted to bring children. They're not allowed for more than a five hour visit.'' ''So, yes to pets, no to kids?'' Morgan asked and the administrator nodded. ''This place is paradise.'' ''You also have a parking place. I genuinely hope that you are comfortable here. It's an honour to have you here, Miss Llewellyn.'' Morgan's day only got better as they got to the actual apartment. It was big, beautifully furbished and a luxury to live in. And it was paid by the producers. It couldn't get better. Even Taylor seemed to have forgotten Josh and Caernarfon and was over the moon with the new place. She was exploring the rooms like a little kid. ''I can't believe I'll be living in an apartment on the West Side of Manhattan. What is my life'' she threw herself on the enormous couch. Morgan was looking through the window. The apartment was on the third floor and the view was pretty nice, All the buzz of the city was exciting to her and she couldn't wait to get out there and start conquering. Or at least take pictures at Time's Square or go to a Broadway show. ''Third floor on the West Side, me and you, handsome you're a mansion with a view, do the girls back home touch you like I do?, long nights, with your hands up in my hair, echoes of your footsteps on the stairs, stay here honey I don't wanna share, cause I like youuuuuuuuu'' she was mumbling that particular part of Taylor Swift's Delicate, a song that by some reason always reminded her of Sebastian Stan. Maybe she just wanted to recreate this particular scene. Well, she now had the apartment on the third floor on the West Side, she just needed the guy. It was better not to think about that. She didn't want to add more embarrassing thoughts to the list just in the case she ended up working with Sebastian any time soon. ''Morgan!'' Taylor shouted making her jump. ''I was talking to you.'' ''Sorry...'' she shook her head. ''I was falling asleep. I didn't rest very well on the plane.'' ''Why don't you go to sleep? I can wake you up at night in case you want to have some pizza.'' Morgan took her advice seriously and when she touch the bed she fell asleep immediately.

Morgan woke up the next morning feeling better than ever. She had slept through the previous evening and the whole night, not even waking up to eat. She was hungry but with a feeling of pure happiness. She found Taylor in the kitchen, surrounded by a wide variety of things: papers, pretty looking bags, cups of tea and a wide variety of cakes. ''Finally, you're awake. Many things happened while you were asleep.'' ''Tell me'' she grabbed a cronut and started eating it. ''You were officially announced.'' Taylor showed her an article on Rotten Tomatoes. ''You're the only confirmed casting choice for now.''

WELSH ACTRESS MORGAN LLEWELLYN CASTED AS MEREDITH HATHAWAY IN THE AMERICAN DREAM. 

Morgan read the title, smiling a little.

The highly anticipated movie by Oscar winning director Damien Chazelle (La La Land, Whiplash, First Man) finally has a lead in Morgan Llewellyn a relatively unknown Shakesperean actress. At 25, Llewellyn, will be making her debut in a big Hollywood production although her credits include numerous plays at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, the latest of them earning national acclaim with her portrayal of Lady Macbeth almost getting her a Laurence Olivier nomination. ''I literally crossed the Atlantic to see Morgan in action and I was left speechless.'' Chazelle explained. ''It was an absolute sham that she wasn't nominated to the Oliver back in 2016. She'll be a strong Oscar contender in the near future, I assure you of that.'' Chazelle didn't comment about the choice for Llewellyn's co-star but rumour has it that Tom Holland, Sebastian Stan and Timothee Chalamet are shortlisted for the role. 

''Well... I just hope is Tom or Timothee. I don't think I could bear working with Sebastian.'' Taylor was really surprised. ''Wasn't that your dream?'' Morgan, or back then Amanda, never said anything out loud about her obsession with Sebastian but Taylor just knew. ''Yeah, it still is but... I'll embarrass myself in front of him.'' ''How could you embarrass yourself?'' ''By existing!'' Morgan exploded. ''I've been drooling for him since 2013, I had a fan account dedicated to him, I read fanfiction about him and... yes, I was bloody jealous when I learned that he had a girlfriend, it's also true that I listened to Beyonce's angry songs imagining I was dedicating them to him. My whole existence is a joke''. It was hard for Taylor not to laugh. ''Look, he has no idea about all of that and he has no way of knowing. He can't read your mind. You just have to pretend that nothing happened and that's all. At the end of the day you'll be good friends or good castmates at least.'' Morgan made a dismissive gesture with her head and kept eating her cronut. ''You got sent this'' Taylor handed an envelope to Morgan who lazily opened and read the note inside of it.

Dear Miss Llewellyn, I have been noticed of your recent arrival to New York City and I hope that you are settling down nicely. I was hoping that we could have an interview as soon as possible to talk all things Vogue. I am looking forward to finally meet you. Notify me with your agent whenever you have a free evening. Wishing you the best, Anna Wintour.

Morgan almost fell from the chair. 

''How does she knows about me?'' was the first think she could think of.

''IMG Models. They are hyping you up. You're Hollywood hottest newcomer, everyone wants to be the first media outlet of your career. For what I see, Anna has your heart.'' ''It's Anna Wintour. If I get in her good books now I'll probably get an invitation to the MET Gala next year. And I really want it. Get me an interview with her.'' Taylor wonder how much time would take her to land her first Vogue cover. A couple of months, or maybe less, knowing Morgan. She was quietly strolling through her Instagram when she suddenly gasped. ''What happened?'' Taylor asked, hoping that Morgan hadn't choked with the cronut. But she just looked dumbfounded. ''Tom Holland just followed me on Instagram''. ''Maybe he got the role.'' Amanda didn't say anything. She was probably working with Tom Holland, holy hell. But the surprises didn't end up there. ''Or maybe Timothee got it'' she said with a shaky voice. Morgan showed her phone, with the notification that Timothee Chalamet had just followed her. ''Dammit'' now Taylor was curious. ''Maybe they're competing for the role trying to win you over. Don't expect Sebastian to get in the game. He's older than these two kids, he's doesn't need to pull these kind of tactics.'' Morgan had to admit that Taylor was right. Sebastian was social media numb and he probably still had no idea who she was. Well, maybe he knew, he was up competing for the role, after all so he probably was aware of who had been cast as the lead. Morgan wanted to sing. She was finally having her moment of glory. Her phone kept buzzing. She was getting hundred of followers and mentions so she decided to turn the notifications off before she went crazy. And she was about to do it when she saw a notification that almost made her drop her phone. She had to check thrice that it had the tiny blue mark beside the username because she still couldn't believe it that this was real. So, Sebastian Stan was in her list of followers and he definitely knew who she was. Her 2013 ass was shaking. ''What were you saying, Taylor?'' she showed her the phone. ''He's an idiot'' she glanced at the screen and winced. ''By the way, he's liking your pictures.'' She couldn't understand a thing of what Morgan was saying. It was a sort of gibberish. Then she shut up and smiled. Taylor had no idea what Morgan had on her head but she supposed it was nothing good. ''I'm going to have a shower'' she said with an innocent smile and Taylor immediately guessed her intentions. ''Don't you dare to start posting sexy after shower pictures for Stan to notice. Be decent for once.'' ''Do you think I'm missing this awesome opportunity?'' ''Yes, you are. Remember that the guy has a girlfriend.'' That didn't affect Morgan a little bit. ''And?'' she shrugged her shoulders with a gesture of indifference. ''Morgan! You're not going to go around New York stealing boyfriends. You're going to be nice and ethical.'' She just rolled her eyes. ''Why couldn't he wait two weeks single? He could have had this'' she pointed at herself. Taylor was speechless. ''Now everything is more complicated.'' ''Morgan! Stop.'' she took the phone from Morgan's hands. ''Remember that your co-star can be Timothee. Or Tom. Are you also mad at him because he's apparently dating Zendaya?'' ''Gosh, no. Who doesn't love Zendaya, she's awesome. You're just being wild, Taylor. Tom is a boy. He's not my man like Sebastian is.'' ''You're messed up.'' Taylor blurted out. Then she took a couple of tickets from Morgan's mountain of presents and showed them to her. ''What are those?'' Morgan asked. ''US Open tickets. To see Rafa Nadal tonight. I won't give them to you unless you stop with this madness and start behaving like a serious person.'' That seemed to get Morgan's attention. She could miss many things but not the US Open with Rafa Nadal involved. ''Okay, I'll stop. For now.'' That was enough for Taylor.

The next days passed in a rush. Morgan had been invited literally everywhere. From the US Open to Broadway shows and meetings with important people. Everyone wanted a share of Hollywood's hottest newcomer. Morgan was enjoying the attention but hardly had time to do anything. It was rare to find a moment to go shopping or simply go sightseeing. And she didn't want to think about what was going to happen when she started filming. She'd have to add extra hours to her day. The last day before the read through, Morgan decided to do something relaxing. The next day she was finally meeting the entire cast and she couldn't wait. For Morgan 'relaxing' meant buying a car for herself. She didn't listen to Taylor's advice about New York's traffic or about keeping it simple with her car choice. She had gone and bought the latest model of Porsche. Keeping it humble with Morgan Llewellyn. ''I can believe you bought this. You can't be more pretentious, seriously Morgan.'' But Taylor didn't have any intention of spending her evening trying to give lessons of humility to Morgan as she wanted to go to Central Park. In two weeks they hadn't had the time to go there yet. Morgan took this as a chance to drive her new Porsche around the City. ''Do you have any idea who my co-star is?'' Morgan asked for the millionth time in the last two weeks. ''They are announcing him tomorrow evening. You'll find out first though, at the read through. The odds are saying that Timothee is getting the role as Tom Holland looks way too young and Sebastian Stan's agenda is more messed up than your head.'' Morgan felt a mixture of relief, excitement and tiny bit of disappointment. She liked Timothee and wanted to work with him but Sebastian was her ultimate celebrity crush. Maybe it was for the best. They walked around for a long time until they ended up at the zoo. Unlike Morgan, Taylor liked to see the animals. ''Poor things.'' Morgan had a pained expression on her face. ''I'd set them all free if it were in my power. They deserve to be in their natural habitat not exposed for our entertainment.'' Taylor had forgot lesson number one: never go to a zoo with Morgan Llewellyn. ''I feel bad because I like these ones'' they had reached the Serpent Section. ''They are so majestic, just look at them.'' ''You don't really want to set the snakes free...'' that wasn't Taylor's favourite section. Snakes always crept the hell out of her. She couldn't understand why Morgan liked them. ''Maybe. They are not so bad, they are misunderstood'' there she was again, justifying the villains. ''They are quiet unless you step on them. Then, they'll send you to hell. Literally. Is there any snake merchandising around?'' ''No. But you can always go to the Taylor Swift merch site. Or to the Bvlgari store. You know better than I that their designs are heavily inspired by snakes.'' Morgan's eyes lit up. ''How could I have forgotten about that? Let's go. I need a lucky charm for tomorrow.'' ''Tell me you're not showing up with an snake necklace.'' ''Who knows. It's Bvlgari after all.'' she winked at an snake that wasn't even looking at her. ''One of these days you'll star speaking Parseltongue.'' ''I wish'' Morgan said with the biggest smile on her face.

P.S. Taylor is so done with Morgan. I’d be too, to be honest. My girl is a pain in the ass. 

[pancaspe]

You’re 27. Here Are Millions to Stage Your Musical.

The New York Times, Feb. 18, 2007

IT was late and cold, and outside the nightclub Pacha in far west Midtown a boyish-looking man in a suit and sneakers was walking up to the front doors. Inside, the club was crowded: an eight-piece Latin band was playing, people were dancing and drinking tequila cocktails; it was, as little as the scene may have looked it, an opening-night party for a new Off Broadway musical.

The young man approached the large bouncers out front. “Let me in,” he said, laughing like an under-age teenager who knew he’d get away with it. “I’m the guy who wrote the play.”

Lin-Manuel Miranda was in a good mood, and for good reason. In the Heights, a Latin and hip-hop musical set in a block or two of the Latino neighborhood of Washington Heights, had just opened, after seven years of work, in a $2.5 million Off Broadway production.

The reviews were trickling in, and they ranged from mostly warm (Charles Isherwood in The New York Times called the musical “light and sweet”) to mostly glowing (“bursts with a vitality and freshness” said the New York Post reviewer).

A good night for the creative team, most of whom are at least a decade younger than the average Broadway theatergoer: Mr. Miranda, the conceiver, composer, lyricist and star just turned 27; Quiara Alegría Hudes, who wrote the book, is 29; and Thomas Kail, the director, just turned 30. To see people so young involved with a big project like this could be sweet tonic for those inclined to fret about the Future of the American Musical, which explains the buzz that has followed this production for years.

But all this youth could also prompt a not-preposterous question: How did they get to be at the helm of a $2.5 million commercial production in the first place?

While it may seem that Mr. Miranda brought hip-hop and Latin-flavored sounds to the traditional musical, he was actually a Broadway baby first. His father, a community organizer turned major league political consultant, and his mother, a psychologist — both from Puerto Rico — introduced him early on to Man of La Mancha and The Unsinkable Molly Brown. By the time he graduated from the elite Hunter College High School, Mr. Miranda had acted in a string of school shows, directed a production of West Side Story and written several musicals (including a few “very Les Miz-ish” numbers for a musical adaptation of Chaim Potok’s Chosen).

So he has musical bona fides. What about the experience of growing up in Washington Heights? “Most of my friends were white and Jewish,” said Mr. Miranda, a profoundly affable young man who constantly shifts between energized and self-deprecating. As for the local Latino teenagers, “I was pretty isolated from them.”

With few friends in the neighborhood where he lived, weekends meant a lot of watching television, listening to music and making home-made movies. “I was really a self-entertained kid,” he said.

But later, like countless college students before him, Mr. Miranda discovered where he was from once he had left. At Wesleyan University, in Middletown, Conn., he moved into the Latino student house; one summer in college he got a job covering Washington Heights for Manhattan Times, which became a kind of seminar course on the neighborhood and its residents.

When he decided to write a musical for a theater on campus, he drew on the boleros and traditional Latin sounds he had mostly ignored growing up, and the wordplay of lyrically dexterous rap groups like the Pharcyde and Black Sheep he listened to in high school. The early version of In the Heights was a campus hit his sophomore year.

At first the show centered on a love triangle. Two characters — Nina, a Heights resident who becomes something of an outsider when she leaves for a prestigious university, and Benny, an outsider because he is not Latino — are still part of the show. Another — Lincoln, Nina’s closeted brother, who has a crush on Benny — would be gradually phased out.

The focus on outsiders, people who are in the neighborhood but are not exactly of the neighborhood, was no coincidence given Mr. Miranda’s experience, which also goes some way toward explaining the neighborhood’s rose-tinted portrait. But the genre tends to be filled with those kind of characters anyway.

“It was an amalgam of every musical I’d ever seen,” Mr. Miranda said, citing Rent, West Side Story and Fiddler on the Roof in particular.

Mr. Kail, who had graduated from Wesleyan ahead of Mr. Miranda, was given a recording of Heights by fellow alumni with whom he had started a theater company, Back House Productions, in the basement of the Drama Bookshop on West 40th Street in Manhattan. They staged a few workshops, and the buzz grew among the abidingly older and whiter Broadway crowd: A new musical. By a young guy. A Latino guy. And it’s got rap, but rap that appeals to people who normally don’t like rap.

The show might well have languished for years in readings. It could have been picked up for a musical festival. An interested producer could have taken it to a nonprofit. An especially confident producer could have brought in a new, more experienced team to rework it, and presented the show commercially.

But none of that happened. Jill Furman was the first producer to express serious interest; she was followed by Kevin McCollum and Jeffrey Seller, the power hitters whose specialty is finding left-field hits like Rent and Avenue Q.

Mr. Kail stayed onboard. When it became clear that Mr. Miranda, in addition to conceiving, composing, writing lyrics and acting, could not also tackle the book — which everyone agreed needed the most work — Ms. Furman found Ms. Hudes, who, like Mr. Miranda, grew up in a mostly Latino neighborhood (in Philadelphia) and went to a prestigious northeastern university (Yale). She was also, at the time, 25 years old.

Workshops were held at the Manhattan Theater Club, followed by a stint at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center in Waterford, Conn., and another semi-staged workshop in New York. But there was no question where the show this was headed.

As the play was being reworked, the producers talked to nonprofit theaters around town in search of a stage big enough to contain a neighborhood. Well, as luck would have it, Mr. McCollum and Mr. Seller are part owners of a young Off Broadway theater, 37 Arts, at 37th Street near 10th Avenue, which had been longing for a show that could draw audiences that far west.

Running a show commercially costs money, but the producers said that if they had put on the show in a nonprofit theater, they would have contributed about $1.5 million — and would have lost control.

“There was so much enthusiasm for the talent involved with this show,” Mr. Seller said, “that spending $1.5 million to do it at a resident theater company versus spending $2.5 million to do it Off Broadway became a wash for us.”

Mr. Kail said that while many Off Broadway shows are scrambling to cut as many characters as possible to save on costs, the producers of Heights hired five more people. The cast has now swelled to 22.

So this is how a 27-year-old more-or-less-untried songwriter and actor ended up at the front of a large, multimillion-dollar production which seems, if not Broadway bound, at least Broadway oriented.

The Seller-McCollum approach — finding already-conceptualized projects, usually in the hands of novices, and getting them onstage — does carry risks for the producers. The last venture they helped produce, the $10 million musical High Fidelity, was loaded with young talent. It closed on Broadway in December within two weeks of opening, one of the high-profile disasters of this season.

But does the approach carry a comparable risk for a young artist? Mr. Seller offers an emphatic no.

“So many young musical theater writers, directors and choreographers are not getting the chance to learn their craft, because no one’s giving them the tools to do a show,” he said. “If they fail, they will learn from it and go on to their next project, and if they succeed, well, they will learn from it and go on to their next project.”

Mr. Miranda of course said he had only been thinking as far as opening night. But after working for seven years on a show that encompasses much of his life, does he worry about a follow-up?

“I have tons of ideas,” he said. “Literally if have a file on my computer which I call Post-“Heights.” It’s growing. But, yeah, I know that a good deal of childhood and my young adulthood is in this show. And so yeah, it’s um, it’s um —” He paused, uncharacteristically. “That’s a great question.”

[shortlovinlife]

Stranger on a Street pt. 3

Sometimes, with the right impetus, Davey can be just as bold as he needs to be

As it started getting longer, you can now read this chapter and the rest of the story on AO3 here!

It was almost two weeks before David heard back from the interview and had to restrain himself from whooping down the phone when they told him he had been given the internship. And that they had been very impressed by his interview. He was asked to start the following Monday, since he didn’t have anywhere that needed him to hand in a notice.

His first thought, after hanging the phone up and jumping giddily around his bedroom for a moment because he had finally got a job, was of Jack, the busker, who he might even see on his way to work every day this spring.

With that thought, David felt like a wander down the street might be just the way to celebrate. He grabbed his scarf on the way out, hoping to keep back the chill air of the day.

It was half an hour later, as he stood just around the corner of West Broadway listening to a Jason Mraz song on the guitar that David asked himself if he could really do this. He had walked along the main street until he spotted Jack up ahead, then he’d immediately turned onto a different street to avoid being spotted. Now, he came bearing what he hoped was a suitable thank you gift, since he didn’t want Jack to think he was just going to pay him and walk off again.

But moving forwards onto the street was proving difficult. Maybe Jack was bold, but David certainly wasn’t and this was the most spontaneous thing he had ever planned to do. He took a deep breath, listened until it sounded like near the end of the song, and walked around the corner.

Jack’s eyes caught David before he finished the last chorus and somehow the smile he gave spread to his voice, making the last few words sound impossibly warmer and richer. Or maybe David was letting his imagination get away from him.

“Davey! Nice to see you around my neighbourhood again.”

“You remember me.” David said in relief, though he realised it sounded dumb even as the words came out. Jack just laughed, immediately waving off the possible awkwardness David was imagining.

“I told you, learn a little bit about a person and they become more than just a face on the street.” He then cocked his head at the two takeout coffee mugs in David’s hands.

“Oh right. I wanted to thank you - again. But without giving you money, in case you got the wrong impression. And well, it’s a cold day, so I thought something hot to warm you up might help.”

“Woah, thanks.” Jack seemed genuinely taken aback, and David couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at his choice of gift when he saw how Jack was digging his hands into his hoody pockets, trying to keep his fingers from going numb, which would make playing difficult. David started to extend one of the cups but just as Jack reached out for it, he pulled it back.

"See, I was going to bring you a coffee but then I thought that wouldn't help your singing very much. And pineapple juice is good for that but that’s kind of the exact opposite of bringing you something to warm up with, so I hope you like it?"

Jack gave him a look and slowly reached out to take the offered cup this time, checking David wasn’t going to snatch it away once more. "So, what did you bring me?"

"Right, oh, it's hot spiced apple. Sorry, I think I was overthinking things." David tried to concentrate on not letting his ears burn bright red, it seemed to be becoming his specialty around Jack.

"Well look at you, knowing about what's good for the throat. You a singer too?" He asked then took a slightly hesitant sip from the cup. "Hell Davey, this is good!"

David let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding and smiled self-consciously. “No, actually my mother is. At least, she does community theatre.”

“Aww, and I thought we could end up singing a duet.” Jack had wrapped his hands around the cup and was looking over the rim at David, who desperately tried not to picture that very possibility. “So, you waited two weeks to come back and thank me? Again.” The last word Jack added on with emphasis.

“No. Oh, no I came back because I just heard, I got the job!” At this, Jack’s eyes widened and he started forwards.

“Way to bury a headline, Davey. Lead with that next time, will ya?” He held up his hand and David quickly gave him the high five he was expecting, with almost no hesitation. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks, I just thought I should thank the guy who actually got me there.” He said and was pleased with the guffaw of laughter he got from Jack.

“Should think so too.” He reached out and clapped David on the arm, brief enough that he didn’t mind it that much. “Nah, you’da got there and impressed them without me. Anyways, now that you’ve bought me coffee – sorry, spiced apple – I’m guess it’s alright for me to ask what job it is we’re celebrating?”

“An internship. At the law courts, you were right about that.” David said, before he wondered whether Jack had remembered their whole conversation just like he did, or had he been thinking over their encounter in the past couple of weeks a little more than most people might have. Maybe David was just one of many guys that Jack stopped to talk to in a day. “It’s not exactly well paid, and not the area I necessarily want to go into, but it’s experience. And a job. Which is more than I had before.”

Talking this much, especially about himself was very new and a little scary, or so he thought, except something about Jack’s willingness to listen just invited him to answer and dare to open up a little. “Tell me about it.” He laughed in response, and David had to think for a moment what he was responding to because there was a wonderful way Jack’s eyes crinkled up when he laughed and that was definitely not what David was supposed to be thinking at that moment.

Not knowing what to say exactly and feeling like he should get himself out of the situation where he kept getting distracted by the very attractive, very talented musician, David gestured at the cup in Jack’s hand. “Maybe some other time. Anyway, I should let you get back to…to it, hopefully that’ll help keep your fingers working.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jack’s smile faltered just a little as David announced he planned to leave but something made him perk up again. David took a moment before he realised that he’d suggested he come back to talk to Jack again. “Stick some caffeine in this and I may have just found my new favourite drink.”

For the first time, David realised Jack had the perfect showman’s smile. One he put on to charm anybody walking past, anybody who had eyes apparently. It shouldn’t have felt like such a blow that maybe it was just politeness that had caused Jack to speak to him in the first place.

For just a moment, he regretted coming today, maybe it was dumb to be stupidly bold and bring coffee to the cute flirty boy with the guitar. But with an effort he ignored it, because he’d got to talk to Jack once more. And that had been fun, that’s all he wanted.

“Glad to hear it. I should go call my parents, tell them the good news.” He said, looking at Jack’s hands, both still curled around the warm takeaway cup.

“Y- you told…” Jack started, lips pursed as if he had been caught off guard.

“Hmm?” David was already wondering whether it would be his Dad’s break time yet, if it was a good time to call and he didn’t quite follow Jack’s train of thought.

“Never mind. I’ll see you around, I’ll hold you to it. Hey, maybe more often if you’ll be here every day.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you. I know this is the way to go now.” He gestured down the street, and privately a part of him was dancing at the thought that Jack had also realised he would be here more often. That was something to quiet the doubts that Jack wouldn’t have remembered him.

Just as he was going to step away, this time checking the path behind him was clear as he changed direction, Jack called out once more.

“Hey, you got any requests?”

“Requests? You mean, to play?” He glanced from the guitar hung down Jack’s back, up to his face.

“Yeah, it’s kinda what I do?” Jack gestured to the instrument as well, smirking at the unnecessary explanation.

“Oh, umm. None that I can think of.” He wracked his brains, trying to think of a good answer, he wasn’t going to lie to himself and pretend he didn’t want to impress Jack. Unfortunately his brain had suddenly gone blank of any good songs he had ever heard.

“Ahh well, next time then.” Jack offered, taking another long drink of the spiced apple and looking down happily at the cup. “I owe you for this.”

“No, that’s not…” David started to protest, he did not mean to start an endless cycle of paying back favours, then realised Jack’s intention was to wind him up. It wasn’t fair that he could so easily read him like this. “I’ll see you.” He said instead, and with a last wave, turned into the moving crowd going back towards central Manhattan.

When he was still smiling at the end of his road, he tried to tell himself he was giddy from finally pinning down a job.

If he also thought that it was just perfect that his good news coincided with meeting a really cute guy, then who was he to argue?

[dancal13]

Napa to Nashville - Day 2

You’d think with the two hour time change, that maybe just maybe I would wake up at a normal time.  Apparently that is not in the cards.  At 6a (4a PST),  I was up and in need of coffee.  I went down to the front desk and asked where the nearest Starbucks-ish-like coffee shop was located, as hotel coffee service in Nashville is not a thing.  I was directed to go one block, turn right and go 5 more blocks... (WTF that’s nearly half a mile a way) what is wrong with these people.  

I was sure they were wrong, so while walking using the provided direction, I pulled out my phone and “googled on bing” the nearest Starbucks, turned left and quickly learned that I should just listen to the locals.  After 30 minutes of wondering the streets of Nashville I ended up at the originally and properly directed Starbucks, got both hot and iced coffees for Susan and I, and shamefully walked back to the Hotel.  Suzy was still sleeping, none the wiser. When she woke we ordered breakfast in.. Going to be a long day, so we took our time.  

Around 11 we headed out, back to Broadway.  But with a reason... a purpose! So there is a thing in Nashville, I didn’t know, maybe you do.  But every Cowboy Boot store offers it.  If you buy 1 pair of boots, you get two additional pairs for free.  Now beyond the Why, is the question who needs 3 sets of cowboy boots. Likely there is someone, but not my wife.  What I didn’t know is the she was in Cahoots with our friends Kari and Michelle, and not unlike the Wine Barrell auction, Susan had a commitment from each of them to purchase a share (or 1/3) of the boot purchase.  So I spent my morning watching the kids, and when I say the kids I meant the 20 odd pairs of cowboy boots as Susan tried on, tested, texted her share holders and made super important boot decisions, that if done poorly could haunt the rest of our days.

For clarity of purpose my shoe selection stayed relatively boring, and was not swayed by the regions country/western bent. Avert your eyes if my legs offend you.

When it was all said and done Suzy got her boots and two other sets were shipped back home for distribution

As we hadn’t adjusted to the time, we needed to kill some time before eating a late lunch, so we explored Broadway in the daylight (and yes the place was rocking at noon).  We stopped by BB Kings, but to quiet, decided we might come back.

We moved on to a nearby alley recommended to us by one of our Lyft Driver’s known as Printer’s Alley and known for it’s Blues bars and music.  It immediately looked promising.

We looked in a few and chose the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar.  Walked in grabbed a drink and watched two Bluesy dudes play guitar and sing (yes the blues) and they were great.  There were possibly 50 people in the bar, no more - enjoying the show, hiding from the heat and having a drink - we fit right in.

After a couple drinks and set of music, we tipped our waitress, tipped the band and headed back out into the street, and talked about coming back that evening to see Sista Ruth.

We walked a bit longer, scouting bars for the evening and looking for places that might broadcast the late Husky game.  It was 2p, and we were finally hungry for lunch.  

Beyond the music, Nashville is also famous for Hot Fried Chicken.  If you like food with heat this is a must try, the more touristy place is Hattie Bs, and the original hot chicken creator is Princes (again we learned this from our Lyft driver - great guides in Nashville).  We were planning to go to Princes, but the original location was closed the other was much further away, so Hattie B’s was where we landed.

It was hot out side and the line was out the door, Susan kept asking if we could have it ubered to our Hotel, then the line started moving, we ordered, sat and had our food in 20 minutes.  The chicken can be ordered at 6 different levels of heat - No heat, Mild, Medium, Hot, Damn Hot!, and Shut your Clucking Mouth!!  Susan ordered a Mild fried chicken sandwich and i order a Hot dark meat, we also added pimento mac & cheese, cole slaw and crinkle cut fries. Good news we ordered the heat level right for both of us.  Would like to try Damn Hot next time, but not necessarily an entire order.

We had plans that would take us late in to the night - Dinner, Music, Dancing and if lucky a Husky game near the end. (little did we know, play the ominous music).  So we headed back for some chill time and maybe a nap.

At 7p we were up, dressed to kill it (meaning, yes Susan had her new boots on) and ready to head out.  Side bar here: when heading to a cool new place we like to find restaurants that the locals like, not always easy but in this situation our friend Mike Epplin has a brother that shares the same mission, who had also been to Nashville and through Mikey provided us with a number of recommendations.  This night we would try Josephine

 We arrived thirty minutes early and were sat in the bar.  There were two talented and creative bar tenders working the small space.  I went with a less sweet Manhattan and Susan ordered what they described as beefed up Cosmo, where the pomegranate juice was replaced by Pomegranate liqueur.  Both executed well, the early vibe of the restaurant was awesome.

It was 50 minutes before we were sat, the hostess told us it was because she had a great table for us, with her favorite waiter, but the nice older lady who was sitting at it was dragging her feet and slowly drinking her tea. We were excited that we made such a nice impression, but as we watched all those around us who arrived later than us being sat and getting their food we started to question her sincerity.   Once we were seated though, and met our waiter our fears were allayed and what turned out to be a great meal began.  First things first.  an heirloom tomato bruschetta and duck fat hashbrowns with a sprinkling of trout roe.  Wow and Yum

I ordered a half bottle of Vieux Telegraphe Chateauneuf-du-Pape and Susan had another Cosmo.  Then our entrees arrived Carbonara and a grilled Pork Chop with a Sorghum Vinegar Glaze also delicious.

We decided to pass on desert, to keep it light as there was still a lot of time left in our evening.  Fun to be had.  We boarded yet another lyft and headed back to broadway.  

First stop..  And yes this is the actual, entire name.  Kid Rock’s Big Ass Honky Tonk and Rock & Roll Steakhouse -  funny signs, four floors of food, drinks and live music, oh yeah and oh so many flat screens showing every sporting event being currently broadcast.  [Noted for later].  

The first band, was a hard rock band, and like most other bands we saw during our visit I couldn’t begin to tell you their name.  We grabbed a couple cocktails found a rail and enjoyed the show. 

The guy in the middle, stick thin and heroine chic, played the shit of the harmonica, moved like Jagger (not the song) and put on a helluva a show.  After busting through 8-10 songs he then wandered through the crowd with a metal bucket taking donations... New fact to share.. We went to a lot of bars, saw a lot of  bands - only BB Kings charged a cover.  Most, if not all of these bands play for tips, drinks, etc.  We tipped all the good bands we saw, if you love small venue live music, and are heading to Nashville budget accordingly.. 

Susan decided it was time to leave and head to the next place. So off we went, wandering about half block till we came to Crazy Town.  

Music sounded good, so in we went.  First song played by the new band in the new bar was “Blister In The Sun” by Violent Femmes, they had us at hello.  They played a few more progressive songs, bounced into Metallica “Sandman” then Bruno Mars “Uptown Funk” hit a country song or two and then back into progressive rock.  Nothing but fun.  Second Side Note: Good friend Brian Wilbur when getting beat by us on the golf course, so it happens often calls us HonYawks, no one on has a clue to what it means.  Saw this sign, which suggests he pronounces his insult wrong, though still no idea what it means

At the intermission of their set, I made sure to buy the band a few drinks, and tip them, I’m a quick study.  We stayed there for a couple hours dancing and drinking but it was almost time for Husky kick off. so we headed back to Kid Rock’s place headed to the third floor, found a seat at the three hundred foot rectangle bar, ordered drinks from her

and asked her to find FS1.  

Check - First quarter done Huskies leading. Then the weather gods intervened.  Good news we had other distractions. So we drank, watched other games, listened to music and waited. 

The game finally resumed around 2am our time.  They tied it up, we went back to the hotel, it was 2:30a, what could go wrong..  Figured we wait to read the good news in the AM...

[homelesshaunts-blog]

Ms. Lipshutz and the Goblin by Marvin Kaye

“I’m in the mood for love/ Simply because you’re near me...”

Love can be found anywhere...even in an Alley, if one's lucky enough to find it.

Hello, Welcome to Homeless Haunts, and I'm Lavel Wideman, your Bloghost of Horror.

A young unattractive woman with frizzy brown hair and who has terrible acne. She’s the kind of girl to look high and low and maybe too for love, especially for this story. Not just any love she’s got to have certain things; he's got to be good looking; and he's got to have good skin, and also, the right kind of height. Her mind is set on “The right one.” But you know, sometimes, not everyone gets what they want, and not everyone can match certain qualifications. But although love is sometimes blind, not seeing what could be a good catch, and who stands right in front of you...?

In fact, her love could be standing in front of her of all places, the unemployment line. Even an unmarked notch on the bedpost by cupid, love has a tendency to find love anywhere...and in this story, too. Meet me in the Alley of Fear.

Lipshutz, Daphne A., Ms. (age: 28; height: 5’2”; weight: 160 lbs.; must wear corrective lenses), had frizzy brown hair, buck teeth, and an almost terminal case of acne. Though her mother frequently reassured her she had a Very Nice Personality, that commodity seemed of little value in Daphne’s Quest for The Perfect Mate.

According to Daphne A. (for Arabella) Lipshutz, The Perfect Mate must be 30, about 5’9” in height, weigh approximately 130 pounds, have wavy blond hair (1st preference), white teeth, a gentle smile and peaches-and-cream complexion. He must like children and occasional six, or if necessary, the other way around.

Daphne’s Quest for The Perfect Mate was hampered by her job as an interviewer (2nd grade) for the State of New York, Manhattan division of the Labor Department’s Upper West Side office of the Bureau of Unemployment. The only men she met there were sour stomached married colleagues, or the people she processed for unemployment checks,” and them, “her mother cautioned,” you can do without. Who’d buy the tickets, tip the cable, shmeer the headwaiter, pick up the check?”

Ms. Lipshutz worked in a dingy green office around the corner from a supermarket. To get there, she had to take a southbound bus from The Bronx, get off at 90th and Broadway and walk west past a narrow, dark alley. Next to it was a brick building with a doorway providing access to steep wooden stairs that mounted to her office. The stairs were worn smooth and low in the middle of each step by innumerable shuffling feet. Daphne noticed that unemployed feet frequently shuffle.

Late one October afternoon, just before Hallowe’en, Ms. Lipshutz was about to take her final coffee break of the day when an unusual personage entered the unemployment bureau and approached her window. He was six feet eight inches tall and thin as a breadstick. There were warts all over his body, and the color of his skin was bright green.

Ms. Lipshutz thought he looked like the Jolly Green Pickle or an elongated cousin of Peter Pain. He was certainly the ugliest thing she’d ever set her soulful brown eyes on.

Leaning his pointy elbows on her window shelf, the newcomer glanced admiringly at her acne-dimpled face and asked whether he was in the correct line. He addressed her as Miss.

Bridling, Daphne told him to address her as Ms. The tall creature’s eyebrows rose.

“Miz?” he echoed, mystified. “What dat?”

“I am a liberated woman,” she said in the clockwork rhythm of a civil servant...Her vocal timbre was flat and nasal, pure Grand Concourse. “I do not like to be called Miss. If I were married—“(here she betrayed her cause with a profound sigh)”—I would not call myself Mrs. So please call me Ms.”

The green one nodded. “Me once had girlfriend named Miz. Shlubya Miz. She great big troll. You troll?”

“...Please state your name and business.”

“Name. Klotsch.”

“Would you repeat that?”...fishing out an application form and poising a pencil.

“Klotsch.”

“First or last?”

“Always!”

Unusual names were common at the unemployment office, and so was unusual stupidity. Ms. Lipshutz patiently explained she wanted to know whether Klotsch was a first or last name.

“Only name. Just Klotsch.”

“How do you spell it? Is that C as in Couch?”

“K as in Kill!” Klotscth shouted. “Kill-LOTCH!”

Kindly lower your voice,” she said mechanically. “I presume you wish to apply for unemployment checks?”

Spreading his warty hands, the big green thing grinned. “Klotsch not come to count your pimples, Miz.”

...Daphne, who was extremely sensitive about her acne, took offense. “That was a cru-el thing to say!”

“How come?” Klotsch was puzzled. “Me no understand. Klotsch like pimples. You lots cuter than Shlubya the troll!”

Daphne...found it wise to retreat into the prescribed formulae of the State of New York for dealing with an unemployment insurance applicant.

“Now,” she began. “Mister Klotsch—“

He waved a deprecatory claw. “No Mister.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You liberated, so okay, Klotsch liberated, too. If you Miz, me Murr.”

“I see,” she said primly...whether she was being made fun of. Inscribing Klotsch’s name on Form NYS204-A, Ms. Lipshutz requested his address.

“No got.”

“You are a transient?”

He shook his shaggy head. “Me are a goblin.”

“No, no, Murr Klotsch, we are not up to Employment History yet. Simply state your address.”

“Me don’t got. Landlady kick me out of cave.”

“Oh, dear. Couldn’t you pay your rent?”

“Ate landlord,” Klotsch glumly confessed.

Daphne suddenly noticed that Klotsch had two lower incisors which protruded three inches north of his upper lip. Civic conscience aroused, she told him eating the landlord was a terrible thing to do.

“Telling me! Klotch sick three days.”

“Do you go round eating people all the time?”

The goblin drew himself erect, his pride hurt. “Klotsch no eat people! Only landlords!”

Ms. Lipshutz conceded the distinction. Returning to the form, she asked Klotsch for his last date of employment.

He sighed gloomily. “October 31, 1877.”

Time to be firm: “The unemployment relief act, Murr Klotsch, does not cover cases prior to 1932.”

“So put down 1932,” he suggested. In an uncharacteristic spirit of compromise, Daphne promptly complied. (It was eight minutes before five o’clock.)

“Place of previous employment?”

“Black Forest.”

“Is that in New York State?”

“Is Germany.”

“You may not be aware that the State of New York does not share reciprocity with overseas powers.”

Klotsch thought about it briefly, then raised a crooked talon in recollection. “Once did one-night gig in Poughkeepsie.”

“Check.” She wrote it down. “Previous employer’s name?”

“Beelzebub.”

Ms. Lipshutz stuck pencil and application in Klotsch’s paws. “Here—you tackle that one!” While he wrote, she studied him, deciding that, after all, Klotsch wasn’t so bad looking. He had a kind of sexy expression in his big purple eye.

“And where does this Mist—uh, Murr Beezlebub conduct his business?”

The goblin shrugged. “Usually hangs around Times Square.”

“Then he does not maintain a permanent place of business?”

“Oh, yeah: further south.” Klotsch shook his large head, scowling. “He no good boss, got all goblins unionized. Me no like. Klotsch work for self.”...

Eye on the clock (four of five), Ms. Lipshutz proceeded with her routine. “Have you received any recent employment offers?”

“Just Beezlebub.”

“Do you mean,” she inquired with the frosty, lofty disapproval of an accredited representative of the State of New York,” that you have refused a job offer?”

“Me no going to shovel coal!” Klotsch howled, eyes glowing like the embers he disdained.

Ms. Lipshutz understood...”That brings us, Murr Klotsch, to the kind of work you are seeking. What precisely do you do?”

He replied in a solemn guttural tone. “Me goblin.”

“What does that entail?”

By way of demonstration, Klotsch uttered a fearful yell, gnashed his teeth and dashed up and down the walls. He panted, snorted, whistled, screamed, swung from the light fixtures and dripped green on various desks. Ms. Lipshutz’s colleagues paid no attention. Worse things happen in Manhattan.

Gibbering his last gibber, Klotsch returned to Ms. Lipshutz’s window. “That my class A material. You like?”

“Interesting,” she conceded. “Do you get much call for that sort of thing?”

Plenty work once! Double-time during day! Klotsch used to frighten farmers, shepherds, even once in a while, genuine hero.” He sighed, shrugging eloquently. “But then scare biz go down toilet. They bust me down to kids, then not even them. Too many other scary things nowadays, goblins outclassed.”

She nodded, not without hasty sympathy (two of five). “And have you ever considered changing your profession?”

“Got plenty monsters already in TV, movies, comics.”

“What about the armed services?”

Klotsch shook his big green head. “All the best jobs already got by trolls.”

Ms. Lipshutz...would have like to assist Klotsch, but it was 4:59 and she did not want to miss the 5:03 bus...she asked him to return in one week.

The hapless goblin shambled out without another word.

Ms. Lipshutz...pattered swiftly down the old stairs to catch the 5:03.

Turning east, she heel-clicked toward Broadway. There was a dark alleyway separating the corner supermarket from the building that housed the unemployment bureau. As she passed it, a great green goblin leaped out at her, whoofling, snorting and howling in outrageous menace.

Daphne nearly collapsed with laughter. She snickered, tittered, chortled and giggled for nearly a minute before gaining sufficient self-control to speak. “Murr Klotsch...it’s you!”

His face was sad and long. “Miz no scared, she laugh.”

“Oh...oh, no!” Daphne consolingly reached out... “Murr Klotsch...I was so, so frightened!”

“Then why you laugh?”

“I was positively...uh...hysterical with fear!”

The goblin grinned shyly, hopefully. “No kidding?”

“Truly,” she declared firmly, coyly adding, “I don’t believe my heart will stop pounding until I’ve had a drink.”

So she missed the 5:03 and Klotsch took her to a nearby Chinese restaurant where the bartender mixed excellent zombies. Just as her mother always warned, Daphne was stuck paying the bar bill...

Ms. Daphne Arabella Lipshutz (age: 281/2; weight: 110lbs., wears contact lenses) wedded Klotsch the following spring despite her mother’s protests that she surely could have found a nice Jewish goblin somewhere.

...Klotsch found work in an amusement park fun house, where he made such a hit that a talent scout caught his act and signed him up. Since then, the goblin has made several horror films, appears on TV talk shows...

The only unfortunate result of their marriage is that it has worked wonders with Daphne’s complexion. But Klotsch is too considerate to mention his disappointment.

ALLEY OF FEAR

Oh, how I love happy endings. It just touches me all in the right places. Please excuse me as I whip out my hanky. Ka-pow!

Sometimes our judgments, especially of others, tend to be too harsh. And maybe for some unrealistic.

Where you see a potential partner in others but don’t in someone else, who might not be so appetizing, especially to ones eyes. But if we take a careful look, there might be love, may be a hundred times or two hundred times what we've been looking for all our lives.

A person you thought least of might be right one. Who might be the missing ingredient to capture you. A love you always wanted. Sometimes in stories like this one, we sometimes miss out on opportunities finding them.

Lucky for us, love always have a way of finding us, even if we’re not looking.

In the case of Ms. Daphne Lipshutz and Murr Klotsch, love has been simplified. And right here in the Alley of Fear, stories like this surfaces.

So I hope when you find the time to read the story in its whole context, it will put you in the mood for love. Like this tune, “I found love on a two way street. And hope-fully will last in an Al-ley.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and in your own homes, and if you have one?

Homeless Haunts bringing the world of the poor to your door.