#slippers and schoolbooks

[womanofwords]

STEM Kids Shenanigans (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4: Spice

Layla Ismail was eating while surrounded by chaos. Her father was asleep on the sofa, her grandmother was banging on the bathroom door for her older sister, Aaliyah, to get out, and her mother was making breakfast. Her younger sister, Miriam, was already dressed and watching videos on her iPad. “I’ve been ready for ages!” she moaned.

“Yeah? Good for you,” Layla snapped, eating faster. Time was running out, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she was already dressed, she would be freaking out so much more. She did a mad dash around the house to grab schoolbooks and stationery when her mother approached her.

“Layla, Miriam, get to the car,” their mother said, walking to the car.

“Are you really going to wear those?” Miriam asked, pointing at the house slippers that her mother was still wearing.

“I’m not even going to leave the car,” their mother dismissed. “Why do I need proper shoes? You two need proper shoes because you’re going to school. Stop nitpicking and get. In. The. CAR!” Miriam and Layla got in without argument. Layla got dropped off first, because her school started earlier.

“Bye! I love you!” she yelled, ignoring the giggles from other students as she rushed in. She met Angelo on the way.

“You’re running late, too?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said, relaxing once she was inside her form room. What they saw made them want to be sick.

Melanie Sainsbury was in their registering class.

“Why are you in my registering class?” Melanie asked.

“We got transferred,” Angelo said.

“Why are you everywhere I go?” Layla spluttered. “And why didn't we see you yesterday afternoon?”

“I was at the weekly prefect meeting during Wednesday registration. And just so you know, I’m not happy about this either. Why are all of the school troublemakers being directed to me?” Melanie complained.

“Why do you think we’re troublemakers?” Layla snapped. “We haven’t done anything!”

“You haven't done anything yet,” Melanie snottily clarified. “But I’ll be watching you. I’ll be watching all four of you.”

“I'm sure you will, honey,” Layla said, as she and Angelo took their unofficial seats at the back of the room with Dante and Yujin. All four could feel Melanie's eyes drilling into their backs.

“Good morning, class,” Mr Oluwatola said, setting up a laptop to do the register. Melanie immediately put up her hand. “A question already, Melanie? Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Is this the designated registration room for all the troublemakers?” Melanie asked. “Since we’re getting an influx of . . . suspicious people.”

Mr Oluwatola looked at Melanie with confusion. “Who are you talking about?”

“The delinquents at the back,” she said. Everyone turned to look at the STEM club members, who wanted to shrink away into nothing.

“Miss Sainsbury, those four students are the only members of the newly formed club for science, technology, engineering and maths,” the form teacher said. “They have done nothing wrong.”

“Not yet,” Melanie grumbled. “Luckily, I’ll be keeping an eye on them.”

“Keeping an eye on us? You just keep bursting in on our meetups and asking us what we were doing!” Dante blurted out.

“Melanie, you did that?” Mr Oluwatola asked.

Melanie huffed and rolled her eyes. “I-I was under the impression that they were egregiously breaking school rules.”

“She said we were making robot hands to exploit the human nervous system,” Layla said. The other students laughed, and Melanie felt her face turn red with helpless fury and humiliation.

“We just want to talk about science in peace and she won’t stop pestering us and calling us troublemakers,” Dante sighed.

“I see,” Mr Oluwatola said, looking between the STEM kids and the accusatory prefect. When the bell went, he pulled Melanie aside. “Melanie, what you’re doing is harassment.”

“It’s not harassment, I have concerns!” Melanie whined.

“Unfounded concerns.” Mr Oluwatola fixed the pretentious prefect with a glare. “You need to drop this.”

Melanie sighed. “Yes, sir.”

But she was lying through her teeth.

(PAUSE)

The topic of discussion of the meeting was a new place to hold the meeting. "We really need a new meeting place,” Yujin sighed. “I’m sick of Melanie.”

“I know,” Dante said. “I’d offer my house, but my brothers are in there and they’re loud and annoying.”

“I’d offer my house, but we’re still unpacking. My dad’s super embarrassed and says we can’t have people over until it’s presentable,” Yujin sighed.

“My house is full of people. We won’t get a moment’s peace,” Layla sighed.

“I bet my parents will let me have friends over,” Angelo said. “They’re gonna be super embarrassing.”

“Will your sister be there?” Dante asked.

“Yeah, of course she will. She’s three years old, where else will she be?” Angelo asked.

“Yes! She’s adorable!” Yujin squealed.

“Once you’re done playing with my little sister, do we get to discuss actual science stuff? I want to find ways to get back at Melanie,” Angelo replied. “I was thinking maybe we actually started making some of the inventions she thought we were making?”

“And where would we make these inventions, your own lab?” Layla snarked. Dante and Yujin laughed.

“Kinda,” Angelo said. That shut them up.

“I was joking, you have a lab?” Layla gasped.

"It's not a lab, it’s a workshop in the basement. My parents have a designated space for me,” Angelo said.

"Angelo, are you rich?" Yujin asked.

“Kinda,” Angelo said.

“How are you not the coolest kid in this school?” Dante blurted out.

“I’m a giant nerd," Angelo replied. “No amount of money is making me cool. I’m beyond help.”

“So you’re the same sort of uncool as me,” Dante replied. “We really should have been friends earlier.”

“I know!”

“Boys, boys, this is adorable. But can we actually start inventing stuff that’ll make Melanie wet her pants and pull her hair out?” Yujin asked.

“Yujin, getting bold! I like the new confidence!” Angelo replied.

"We’ll need something innocent. Something . . . biological,” Yujin theorized.

“Like plants!” Layla suggested. “I spent the entire summer doing an experiment on peppers and how spicy they are depending on how much they are watered.”

“Great!” Dante said. “Something quiet that has nothing to do with Melanie!”

Layla grinned while she adjusted her hijab. “Who said anything about there being no Melanie?”

(PAUSE)

The next STEM meeting, Layla wowed them all with chicken tenders and three different bowls of dip. “Lady and gentlemen, behold the gambit of spices I have prepared for you!” she announced, as her new friends looked on with awe. “I have a theory that the less you water spicy peppers, the spicier they are. The spicy dip bowl on the left was made from the peppers that I watered the most and should be the least spicy. The spicy dip bowl in the middle are from the control group that was watered as per the instructions, and the spicy dip on the right was made from the peppers that I watered the least.”

Angelo was already getting a napkin. “We get a theory to test out and food? Cool!”

“It’s gonna burn,” Dante giggled. That was all it took to summon Melanie.

“I knew it! You’re going to commit arson, aren’t you?” she snapped.

“Relax, Melanie, we’re doing an experiment,” Layla explained. “It’s about peppers and how spicy they are depending on how much they were watered. My theory is that the peppers that are watered the least end up being the spiciest.”

“Ha! That’s how I know that you don’t know anything about plants or science!” Melanie scoffed. “Surely, if you’re not watering them as much, they should be less spicy because they’re malnourished. How did an idiot like you ever pass the tests?”

“She’s not an idiot!” Angelo snapped. “Why do you even come here when you have no respect for us?”

“I have my suspicions about you four.” Melanie looked them up and down. “Then again, maybe I don’t need to worry. You aren’t capable of being even a minor nuisance. Now, where is the spicy dip made of under-watered peppers?”

“Far right,” Yujin instructed. Melanie smirked at them as she strode over to the unassuming box of chicken tenders and rooted around until she got the biggest one she could. She took her sweet time covering it in dip before she took a big bite.

“I was right. I don't feel anything at all!” Melanie mocked, although it didn’t have the effect she wanted it to because she was talking with her mouth full. “You can take your little hypothesis and shove it right - oh.”

“Has the spice kicked in?” Dante asked. “It looks like it has.” Melanie’s face had turned red, which didn't go well with her shoulder-length brown hair.

“I need to go,” Melanie grunted, as she dropped the chicken tender into the trash and ran like hell to the nearest place to get water.

“I didn’t think she could run that fast,” Yujin mused.

“I didn’t think anyone could run that fast!" Angelo laughed. “Layla, that was awesome!” He, Dante, and Yujin applauded while Layla bowed like a comedian.

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!” Layla replied, alternating between bowing and curtsying. “All in favour of thinking of inventions while eating chicken tenders, say aye.”

“Aye!” they chorused.

(PAUSE)

While the members of STEM club ate chicken tenders and talked about invention ideas, Melanie rinsed her mouth out with water for the fifth time and seethed. Those delinquents had humiliated her. And the worst part was, nobody would believe her about them being bad kids. What would her parents say if their perfect daughter couldn’t do her job as a prefect? It was her job to watch over the other students, and she would do that no matter what.

Even if the other kids called her Snitch Sainsbury.

Even if the teachers said she was going too far.

Even if the other prefects called her crazy behind her back.

And even if she couldn't prove it.

To read the other parts of this fic, see Masterlist.

#creative writing #my writing #My WIP #writers on tumblr #writers #writeblr #writerscommunity #science nerds #science fiction #friendship #humour #autistic black boys #fantasci tumblr

[eltonjohndenver]

Slippers and Schoolbooks: Quarantine

Chapter 14

Series masterlist

@angelatwell​ 

characters: starkfredi, cartinelli, jackdaniels and 4 special cameos

“I'm going to kill you all.”

Quarantine. 

Peggy, angie, jack, and daniel (and chunky and rose) had moved out of their tiny apartment and into howard's mansion. And now they were all co-quarantining together. It was going at well as expected.

“Its 4/20 bitches!!” Howard yelled as he slid down the stair railing.

The others- who had been awake for some hours as it was 1 pm- groaned as he entered.

“Guyssss!” Howard whined, putting his phone down and slumping onto the couch next to peggy, “You’re rude and incorrect reaction ruined my tiktok!!”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Why do you even have a tiktok?”

“Because how else can i show my gayness and wealth to the people of the world?”

“By being quiet.” Daniel grumbled,

“Oh shut up you’re just still pissy over what happened at the passover seder.” Howard said.

Daniel scoffed,

“Yeah i think we all are! All the food was italian, except for the only good thing which was the Matzah i made!”

“It's not my fault that we only have ingredients to make italian food in the house! And Joey made Matzah too!”

Peggy interjected “Yeah but it was just garlic bread without the yeast...”

----- joseph during the seder------

------

Amid this and jack doing the renegade in the corner to his tiktok audience and angie recording him and setting it as her zoom background, they were interrupted when Joey entered the room covered in sauce

 “I need help.”

Howard began to stand up to help his boyfriend. Joey held up a hand to stop him.

“No, i need italian help.” He pointed. “Angie, come.”

Angie sighed, “God joseph, did you put parsley in the sauce instead of oregano again?” She closed her computer and got up.

Joey followed her back to the kitchen defeated 

“Yeah but they look so similar….”

The remaining group looked at each other in a ‘what the fuck just happened’ way. 

---- 

Peggy only had a few classes still going. Her main military studies was still running though, but her professor (Professor Phillips) was pretty inept with devices and so the class spent the whole time looking at his forehead. Naturally, only like 10 people showed up for the zoom meeting. And out of those 5 were probably asleep. And two students who peggy was mostly acquainted with- sam and bucky- were cyber bullying each other on the sidebar chat. Bucky’s boyfriend Steve, also a friend of Peggy and Howards (who btw was one of the people who didnt show up for the class today fdkjg), texted Peggy and explained that he had tried to stop the distracting harassment but gave up.

At the end of the class- or what probably was a misclick by the professor, resulting in the hanging up of zoom, peggy made her way into the kitchen. 

Angie was stirring the sauce while Joey was being yelled at over the phone by his mother.

In the other room, jack was facetiming Gamgam like he did practically every hour to make sure she was ok. 

Peggy’s phone buzzed, a text from howard-who was right next to her- that read

#sasb #slippers and schoolbooks #i dotn want to put in all these tags #peggy carter #angie martinelli #joseph manfredi #howard stark #jack thompson #jackdaniels #daniel sousa #cartinelli #starkfredi #starkfredi imagine #cartinelli imagine #jackdaniels imagine #marvel crack

[legowolas]

Chapter 15 of Slippers and Schoolbooks is up!! This chapter contains more quarantine shenanigans: this time with cats, digital family reunions, and TikTok. What could go wrong??

#slippers and schoolbooks #angie martinelli #dottie underwood #howard stark #agent carter #fanfiction #mine #marvel

[popcrone818]

Broken

i have this story posted on my wattpad account, but im rewriting it almost in its entirety and i realised that i didnt have it posted on here for everyone of my wonderful followers to read. so if you like Dylan O’Brien or Dylan Sprayberry let me know which one. because currently as it stands without alterations its a Liam story, but im not a huge fan of him anymore and its changing the more i edit into a Stiles one.

also trigger warning. if your triggered easily by flinching from a past abusive relationship then this is going to trigger you. 

The Dead pool was over, everyone was safe, we could all go back to our normal lives. As normal as our lives could get when being surrounded by supernatural creatures. I had started living with Scott when Isaac had up and moved to France with Chris Argent when Allison Argent died. I understand how Isaac felt, we all felt it, and we all had to deal with it in our own ways, it just hurt having my brother leave me.

As I was a sophomore at Beacon Hills High when the Deadpool was rolled out I hadn’t been introduced to Violet and Garret other than just passing by them in the school hallways. When Scott had taken the bite of an innocent and coincidently got himself a beta the air around him exuded alpha vibes. I knew he was the same Scott, but I felt more inclined to become almost submissive around him. even though I wasn’t a wolf myself I knew that we had a sort of dysfunctional pack.

Scott’s beta, Liam was a prick to put things nicely. He and I never got along, I had heard of him through my boyfriend, Brett Talbot, they had gone to the same prep school, and he had told me of the way that Liam had defaced his coach’s car before getting expelled. The way Brett spoke of him made me hate him instantly. Even when Brett and I broke up I still couldn’t find it in myself to tolerate Liam, his presence a constant reminder of my life before.

 Over the summer break I went to France to see Isaac. Scott and Stiles had constantly text me the whole week I was gone, making sure I was safe. When I came home, I had ignored everyone and locked myself in my room. Both Scott and Stiles tried their hardest to get me to tell them what had happened in France that had caused me to switch off. Neither one having much luck. As I sat in my darkened room, glasses perched on the bridge of my nose and a movie silently playing in the background as I finished up my homework, I could hear pack night just getting started as Stiles whooped in exhilaration, for whatever reason pack night had turned into game night.

 I heard a light knock on my door as Lydia let herself in and leaned against the door frame with a sympathetic look on her face.

 "Oh honey," she said making her way to my bed where she wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Come and have some fun with us, school can wait for another day.” I pushed my schoolbooks and laptop further away from me on my bed as she stood up and walked to my vanity collecting the small amount of makeup I had accumulated over the years. She sifted through my closet before handing me an outfit which consisted of an oversized teal sweater with a pair of dark grey skinny jeans. She even let me where my slippers as we were in my house anyway, then ushered me in to the bathroom to change. When I came out, I cleaned my face of any leftover makeup from the day and got to work on making my face look natural but still accentuated.

 "There you go now,” she stood up and took my makeup back to my vanity. “Now time for you to let your hair down and have fun at game night with us.” She tugged my hand as I stood up beside her steeling myself for a night of having to bear Liam and his snarky comments.

  Liam's P.O.V

 I sat and watched as Stiles made a fool of himself while we played Pictionary, but I wasn't really paying attention, my mind had been racing with thoughts of Amaya. Ever since she had gotten back from France she had been holed up in her room. I wasn’t exactly sure what had caused her to shut everyone out, but I had my suspicions, either Brett or something happened in France. She and I never got along, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about her and the way things would be if we did get along. Amya automatically took a disliking to me, so I played her little game and made her think I didn't like her either. A shiver ran down my spine when I remembered the day that we first met, the very first day she had simply been disinterested and distant from Scott and Stiles and the next day she was sending me glares. Something had happened in those first 24 hours and I would bet money on it being Brett.  

Suddenly the music stopped pulling me out of my thoughts. Lydia had entered and stiles had stopped the music to gawk at her as her strawberry blonde hair bounced around her shoulders. With her was Amya. She lifted her head and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. She was flawlessly beautiful. I almost felt like I had never actually gotten a good look at her as usually we were screaming at each other or throwing snarky comments. Scott nudged me giving me a pointed look as his arm went behind my head to whack Stiles in the head before getting up and hugging his sister tightly.

 Amya's P.O.V

 I sat down in the only empty seat, between Liam and Stiles. I kept my head down, I felt ashamed for judging Liam based on what Brett had told me. After an hour of just sitting there watching as everyone made a fool of themselves at Pictionary, I started feeling hot and clammy. My hand squeezed Stiles’ thigh gently before I stood up and made my way outside to the porch swing. Finally breathing the cool fresh air, I was able to think clearly.  The only light illuminating the porch was coming from the kitchens open window. I shivered slightly as a light breeze ruffled my hair, I wrapped my arms around myself and slipped the sleeves of my sweater over my hands. Suddenly the back door creaked open and a head with chestnut coloured hair popped out.

 "Amya?" I heard Liam's voice call out, I stayed quiet hoping he thinks I'm not out here anymore. I had been a complete bitch to him while I was with Brett. The light caught his baby blue eyes as he turned his head flicking to the right at my rising heartbeat. He softly closed the door and came and sat beside me on the swing.

 "Amya," he started turning to face me, I shivered involuntarily at the depth of his voice, and he took it for me being cold, so he took his jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders, I flinched as his fingers met my bare skin on my shoulder. I saw him clench his jaw.

"Amya, I wanted to say I'm sorry for being such a dick to you while you were with ... Brett" I flinched at the sound of his name falling from Liam's soft pink lips. "I know were not really close, actually this is the first time we've had a proper conversation I guess, but please Amya, just trust me I'm not the guy you think I am." he gently grabbed my hands in his and I flinched away from his touch jumping up and away from him.

"I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch to you, Brett made me think things about others that I could never think on my own, you must be alright with Scott trusts you.”  I walked back inside without another word as I saw out of the corner of my eye Liam standing outside with his hand outstretched. I sprinted up to my room ignoring the calls form Lydia, Stiles and Scott.

My breathing went back to normal after 5 minutes and I slowly crawled back into bed not even bothering to take off Liam's jacket, I thought about burying myself in my homework again before I slowly closed my eyes only to have them wrenched open as someone slammed my door open, memories flooded my brain and I squeaked and shrunk away from whoever was in my room.

"OH MY GOD! Amya I'm so sorry I didn't mean to do that." Scott said coming to my side and pulling me into his chest while he wiped away my tears as he slowly rocked us back and forth, calming me down in the only way he knew possible.

"Amya, what happened outside with Liam?" Scott asked me pushing my hair out of my face.

"He said I could trust him." I said as my tears subsided.

"Amya, he just wants to help you, we all want to help you, but you've only let Lydia, Stiles and me in, maybe it's time you let some other people in. I know how Brett was with you, but maybe try to fix things with Liam, you don't have to worry about Brett anymore, and you know it, we will always protect you, as long as you let us in and let us know." he kissed my forehead and then got up to leave.

"Only for you" I muttered as he shut the door. I got up and got changed into PJ's leaving Liam's jacket on and put in Harry Potter and snuggled into the covers, halfway through the movie my eyes started hurting so I put my glasses on and continued to watch, as the credits rolled on Lydia walked into my room.

"You still up for a girl's night at mine?" she asked sitting at the end of my bed. I nodded and quickly packed an overnight bag, following her out of my room. "Is that Liam's jacket?" she questioned as we descended the stairs. I nodded and looked up at everyone, my eyes found Liam's baby blue ones before I averted my gaze and found Stiles’ familiar whiskey-coloured eyes watching my every move. Lydia dragged me out to her car effectively making me break eye contact with Stiles, yelling a goodbye to everyone inside.

She sped off in the direction of her house. Once there we decided to watch a bit of 'Legally Blonde' while we stuffed our faces with chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, this is the reason Lydia and I are best friends, even though I'm a year younger it doesn't feel like it. She is like my sister, she knew just how to cheer me up. I couldn't ask for a better family than the one I am in now.

Let me know if you like it, i have a lot i need to edit still so hopefully one chapter a day will get posted. if you’d like to get tagged in upcoming posts regarding this story shoot me a message, comment or ask. i also love you all

#stiles stilinski #stiles imagines #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinksi imagine #liam dunbar #liam dunbar imagines

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pond Interview: Wonderment in a Static World

Photo by Matsu

BY JORDAN MAINZER

On their latest album 9, Perth psychedelic rock band Pond wanted to dive into something new, both instrumentally and lyrically. With a mixture of warped improvised sonics and songs about individual characters real and fake, they’ve created the purest distillation of frontman Nick Allbrook’s fever dream dichotomies. Only he could mention a sexualized Winnie the Pooh on the same album as songs about toxic masculinity, all the while dedicating entire songs to abstract artists he loves like Agnes Martin. The post-improv session compositions are equally contrasting, the snap funk of “America’s Cup” followed by the buzzing, reflective, sad ballad “Take Me Avalon I’m Young”, and then the disco punk of “Pink Lunettes”. Yes, there are times when the mood of the song’s themes seem like all-too-perfect fits with the timbre of the music: the synaptic techno and squalling feedback that soundtracks Allbrook’s sex drive on “Human Touch”, the atonal Afropop guitars that flourish during “Rambo”’s chiding of Eurocentrism. For the most part, 9 is anything but the 9th straightforward Pond album that you’ve heard before. It’s one that manages to look outward and inward with peak sardonic wit and genuine melancholy, celebrating what’s good nonetheless.

I spoke to Allbrook over the phone from Hastings, UK a couple months ago. Read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: You wanted to write about more specific lives on 9. Was that decision influenced by anything going on in your life or the world?

Nicholas Allbrook: I’m not sure, actually. I think a lot of different things. I suffered a severe sort of burnout in general, just from the great heaviness of everything. I really felt like to actually be excited about writing, I needed to find something that wasn’t so terrifying and saddening, so I started zooming in a bit more on the minutiae of life. Things I had a teenage excitement about. Things I could describe in great personal detail. Songs about Agnes Martin. “Czech Locomotive” is about Emil Zátopek. There’s another song about Yukio Mishima. They’re sort of my 32-year-old version of writing your favorite actor’s name on your schoolbook. What you’re really into. [laughs]

The interesting thing is in writing about a long-distance runner from the 50′s that I was stoked on at the time, or writing about my favorite slippers, or fig season, every time they sort of led back into writing about something a bit weightier.

SILY: In a sense, a lot of these songs, you’re pining for human connection, even if it’s a sleazy one like on “Human Touch”.

NA: For sure. And magic, as well. A childish excitement. In “Take Me Avalon”, a lot of it is about how as you get older, [things like] teddy bears move from being friends and confidants to junk. People in costumes just become people in costumes. A lot of the album is about reaching for some sort of wonderment in a very broken, static monochromatic world.

SILY: On “America’s Cub” and “Rambo”, you tackle toxic masculinity and people’s pretentiousness, or putting on a persona of something they’re not. Was that something you were really thinking about on the record as a whole?

NA: Occasionally, yeah. I think I let myself get a bit more grumpy, be a bit more of a curmudgeon. It's also funny stuff, and I find pettiness in myself pretty hilarious. I was just letting myself be petty, having a laugh, not making any bones about the sort of saintly virtue of the writer. I’m just an aging grump. [laughs]

SILY: Do you have a favorite quip on the album? It’s full of quotable lines.

NA: I’m pretty into “She was talking at the speed of ice / As I emptied the organic waste / She was jacking a car but she seemed quite nice / So I let her use the toilet in my place.” I feel like toilet is an underused word in pop music. On the last album, I thought I was the first person to use “penis” in pop music, but turns out Young Thug beat me to it.

SILY: He’s revolutionary in a lot of different ways.

NA: And what better than saying “penis?” It’s not sexy, it’s not mean, it’s just penis.

SILY: The song “Toast” captures these multiple tones in one song you’re alluding to. You’re talking about deeper, more serious issues like brushfires and climate change inequality but also being a bit tongue in cheek, with a “Fuck it: let’s be together” attitude. Do you approach your songwriting with multiple layers in mind?

NA: It’s not so much in mind; that’s what’s in me, and I guess in everyone. Even in writing the lyrics to that song...You’re right. That’s why it’s really hard to explain the concept of lyrics to people. This is in every song I’ve ever written. Part of it is this grumpy guy poking fun at tourists, but also real fear and anxiety about bushfires and climate change. I’m also laughing at my own ignorance and my own hopelessness and uselessness and privilege, as well. When I say, “Let’s toast,” I’m talking about “them,” the people watching the stairway to heaven, the earth being toasted, us enjoying ourselves while it lasts, and also the ridiculousness of enjoying ourselves while it lasts.

SILY: Do you feel guilt about enjoying yourself while it lasts?

NA: Of course, yeah. I think at this point it really gets to that thing where I can’t explain it. I think that’s why a lot of people don’t like to explain lyrics. I try to, but I think this is why: There are so many different sort of feelings that go into it and around it. 

SILY: 9 is obviously your 9th record, but is there something specifically encapsulating of this record about POND that you chose the number for the title?

NA: We’re pretty into no-wave kind of stuff, and ESG, and krautrock like Can, and more industrial Reznor. It just sort of matched the black-and-white hiss of it. I don’t know! We couldn’t think of anything better!

SILY: Anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading lately that’s caught your attention?

NA: I just finished reading How Do You Live? by Yoshino Genzaburō. It was fucking awesome. Really cool. I’ve been listening to pretty fist-pumping stuff, like Springsteen and The Waterboys. Believe it or not, 80′s Oz rock, like Icehouse, The Angels, the Divinyls. Some new stuff I’ve been liking: I really like this song “Spaceship” by Youngn Lipz, this Sydney artist. [It] has the most magnificent soaring chorus I’ve ever heard. It fucking rocks. 

#interviews #pond #spinning top music #9 #matsu #nick allbrook #winnie the pooh #agnes martin #emil zátopek #yukio mishima #rambo #esg #can #trent reznor #how do you live? #Yoshino Genzaburō #bruce springsteen #the waterboys #icehouse #the angels #divinyls #youngn lipz

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 15

The day after the party, Nelly stayed in her apartment waiting for a phone call from Buster that never came. She left only to return the green dress, still smelling of Buster, to Carmela’s. His jacket hung on her coat tree. She buried her face in it and inhaled before she went to bed that night, and all of the sensations of the previous night flooded back in an intoxicating wave. 

The next day she went to work reluctantly.  She knocked on her neighbor’s door as soon as she got home to see if anyone had called for her. They hadn’t.

A week passed without a call, then two weeks. She thought that Buster would at least want his jacket; it didn’t look inexpensive. But November went by with no call.  

It was a while before she could admit to herself how silly it had been to nurture the hope that the kiss with him had meant something. In hindsight, her naïveté was obvious. He was drunk, she was convenient, and since he couldn’t convince her to go to bed with him, that was that. It hurt her, of course. She’d replayed the memory of the night in her head countless times, how he’d led her to the grass and handed her the glass of whiskey, how delirious she’d felt when he bit her neck, how he’d held her hand on the loggia while they waited for his butler to bring the car. She felt sure she had not hallucinated the husk in his voice when he’d invited her into his bedroom. In the first few days following the party, the memory drove her crazy. Lying in bed or in the bathtub, she would pretend that her hand between her legs was his.

December came and went. She spent Christmas alone in the apartment, but it didn’t feel like Christmas with the sun shining and the temperatures hovering near seventy. She was used to the bleak December cold of Evanston, shopping with Ruthie and her mom in downtown Chicago as snow slanted down, stinging their faces, and the frigid wind bit through them.  The opportunity to be in The Battle of the Sexes never arose, but on the third of January she received a letter from the casting office telling her that she had been chosen as an extra in John Barrymore’s Tempest. To say she was flabbergasted was an understatement. As she stared at the letter, she became more and more convinced that Buster was behind her turn of fortune. She couldn’t prove it. He was no longer near the United Artists lot, so she couldn’t ask him even if she wanted to—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her dashed hopes after the party had caused heartache enough and moving on was the sensible thing. Whenever she thought of him, she reminded herself that he was a married father and that even if things had gone further, it would have been to no end. The smartest course of action was to forget him and concentrate on the reason she’d come to California in the first place.

The first night of filming for Tempest came a couple of weeks later. First she and the other girls were buttoned into ball gowns made of sumptuous combinations of taffeta, chiffon, satin, lace, and beads. Her gown was of cream-colored satin, and a makeup woman twisted her hair into an intricate chignon with braids that undergirded the rest of her hair. A girdle pulled her waist to half its size and dainty beaded slippers with a modest heel rounded out the ensemble. Not since Buster’s party had she felt so ravishing.

When costume, hair, and makeup were in order, they were driven to the set in Studebakers with two rows of seats. It was now a quarter to six and dark. The girls gabbled in anticipation, but Nelly’s thoughts were in such a tumult that she was too distracted to join in. John Barrymore would be in that ballroom and she looked stunning. She wondered if he would notice her and if he did, how their conversation would go. Most of all she wondered whether she would feel anything toward him. There was no mistake that she had felt something the night that she had danced with him, though it had been eclipsed by her more potent encounter with Buster. Well, she had an angle with Barrymore and it was no better or worse than the angle Buster had played to try to get her into bed. If she was in the same ballroom as John Barrymore, if he chanced to recognize her, she would take advantage of it.

The palace ballroom was a breathtakingly huge set on the United Artists lot, every bit as real as the actual thing. The exterior was squarish and looked Roman in style, with an open-air stone porch and columns that were forty feet high. She and the other extras went up wide stone stairs through a set of towering arched double doors. Inside, there were ceilings even higher than the columns outdoors. A chandelier the size of a small elephant hung from the main ceiling. There were more columns inside, looking as big around as the sequoias she’d seen in her childhood schoolbooks. The ceilings and higher parts of the walls were adorned in frescoes and friezes. Candles burnt in candelabras affixed to the walls. On one end of the room was a bar and a long white table lined with countless glasses, a large, deep punch bowl, and a tub filled with ice and champagne. It was a dazzling sight.

Nelly knew a little bit of the premise of the film. Camilla Horn played a Russian princess. John Barrymore, a peasant turned military officer, was in love with her. The ballroom scene would be the first time they had met since Barrymore’s station in life had changed.

She located her partner Bradford standing against a wall with his arms folded behind his back. They’d been practicing for the past week in a large ballroom on the United Artists lot, and she was relieved that her average dancing skills had drawn no attention. Bradford was good-looking, brown-haired and of medium height, but she had noticed throughout their rehearsals that he was not interested in girls. There was no delicate way to convey to him that she had known many homosexual men back at the Vista and that it wasn’t a big deal to her, though she always tried to do her best to put him at ease. Still he remained stiff and aloof.

“Some place, huh?” she said.

“It’s something,” Bradford agreed, barely looking at her.

“Barrymore here yet?” she ventured. 

Bradford shook his head. “Haven’t seen him, but I don’t think Mr. Taylor’s here yet either.”

They fell into silence and watched everyone greet each other and the women compliment each other’s dresses. Bradford would never engage in more than small talk and Nelly was too excited to join in the other girls’ prattle. She liked them fine, but since she spent most of her time in the prop department, there was little opportunity for her to socialize other than in the canteen, where she listened quietly to the day’s gossip, having nothing to contribute herself and wanting to hear the latest lurid rumors. Barrymore’s marriage was indeed on the rocks as Buster had said and she found herself thinking about this fact more than was probably appropriate.

It was another twenty minutes before Barrymore and Camilla finally appeared, coming through a side door with Mr. Taylor and an entourage. Camilla was wearing a white satin gown with a full tulle skirt, a wrap to match, and earrings that brushed her shoulders. She looked every bit the princess she was playing. Barrymore was in black trousers, matching shiny knee-length boots, and a white officer’s coat with gold buttons. Her pulse quickened when she saw him and she wondered, not for the first time, if she could grow as fond of him as she had lately of Buster. 

However, she had no more time to be fanciful because Mr. Taylor was soon directing them to the dance floor, spacing them at intervals and telling them to remember what they’d practiced the previous days. Someone put a waltz on the Victrola. It played tinnily into the cavernous room and was soon swallowed by the sound of footsteps and rustling skirts. 

The first half hour was a thrill. Nelly relaxed, basking in the feeling of being in the midst of the greatest splendor Hollywood had to offer. All of the cameras were distant, focused on Barrymore who gazed penetratingly at Horn while she danced with a young officer and cast him contemptuous, conniving looks. There was no need to worry if she missed a few steps; trained on Barrymore and Camilla, the cameras could hardly have noticed. 

Camilla was the most beautiful woman in Hollywood that Nelly had seen yet, blonde, slender, and big-eyed with perfect Cupid’s bow lips. 

She could not have imagined how tiring the evening would become as the half hour wore into an hour, and the hour dragged into a second. After performing endless dances with Bradford under that dizzingly high ceiling, having always to smile and look gay, she was hot and thirsty and hungry. Her feet were swollen in her delicate shoes. Though the extras were permitted short breaks every half hour, the communal pitchers of water weren’t sufficient to quench everyone’s thirst and they were forbidden to touch the plenitude of spirits laid out in the tub and on the long tables draped with white tablecloths. The beer, champagne, and other drinks appeared to be for Barrymore’s benefit alone. One scene had him standing at the bar with cameras grouped around as he drained glass after glass. He appeared to be drinking the real thing. She could steal looks at him, but only over Bradford’s shoulder and they couldn’t be long lest she spoil the scene. 

Around the third hour, now close to ten o’clock she guessed, she ceased to care about Barrymore at all. He had by now moved onto the floor with Camilla and the Victrola was trying to be heard over the dancing again. Nelly had only mind for her thirst and exhaustion. She wondered how much more of it she could take. Her lips were chapped and her smiles now felt more like grimaces. Bradford’s eyes looked glazed, though his steps were as sure and strong as ever.

Suddenly, there was a little shriek, a cry of “Mein Gott!, and the echoing sound of something hitting the floor. Bradford stopped and so did Nelly. They followed the other dancers’ eyes to the center of the room. Camilla was sitting on the floor on her behind wearing a look of shock and looking like an upended wedding cake in her disarranged white dress. The cry had been hers. Barrymore was on his hands and knees, laughing and trying to get up. One of the male dancers had to assist him, and when he was on his feet again he swayed. There was no disguising that he was really drunk. After two male extras had helped a ruffled-looking Camilla to her feet, he reached for her waist and again lost his balance, almost taking them both down again. She couldn’t say why, but Nelly was seized by the conviction that Buster had warned her that John Barrymore was like this.

Bradford dropped Nelly’s hand, clearly sensing that this was more than a momentary disruption. Mr. Taylor appeared, standing between the two parties and talking to them and his crew, his face serious. Someone brought a chair for Barrymore and he sat heavily in it. His face looked red. A few of the other dancers attempted light conversation as if the spectacle in front of them wasn’t taking place, but Nelly had no energy to pretend she was interested in anything else. The reprieve from dancing was a blessed relief.

Little by little, chatter began to filter back to Bradford and her: Barrymore was indeed drunk as a skunk and to avoid the cost of reshooting the scene on another night when he was sober, Mr. Taylor was trying to come up with a solution for him to finish his dance with Camilla.

“I need to sit down before I faint,” Nelly said. 

Bradford nodded as if barely hearing her. The pitchers of water had been brought out again, so she grabbed a glass, filling and draining it twice. After the edge was gone from her thirst, she walked to the coatroom to find her handbag, keeping the glass so she could refill it in the washroom.

The washroom was empty save for one other girl. Nelly used the toilet and set to touching up her makeup once she’d washed her hands and had another two glasses of water. Somewhere in the echoing hall outside of the washroom, a clock chimed the half hour and she remembered standing in Buster’s foyer looking at his grandfather clock. Vaguely, she wondered if every famous man in Hollywood drank as much as Buster and Barrymore and, if so, what they were trying to escape from. 

She was carefully coating her lips in Vaseline to address the fine cracks that hadn’t been there three hours earlier when he came in, blundering through the door like an ox.

“Mr. Barrymore!” she said, utterly amazed to see him.

“Oh, hello. Jack, please,” he said, as if he hadn’t just walked into the women’s washroom. His cheeks were rosy with color and his gait was unsteady. 

He stumbled to one of the sinks and she watched in disbelief as he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. Before she had time to do much more than look away, he was urinating into the sink. She couldn’t seem to move.

“What the hell are you doing in the men’s lavatory?” he said, swaying in her peripheral vision. 

Her face was hot. “Sir I’m sorry, but it’s the ladies room,” she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. 

The appalling sound of urine splashing into the sink seemed to go on for hours. “Why in the hell would they have urinals in the ladies room?” Barrymore boomed. 

She didn’t like the sense she was getting, one of being around a powerful, dangerous animal. “Sir, they’re sinks.”

“I’ll be damned.” In the corner of her eye, he shuffled and ran the tap. He had finished urinating.

Her thoughts went back to their dance at Buster's party. She’d had a drowning sensation then and had considered whether she might be love-drunk. That feeling seemed very far away now. She looked over and he was picking his nose in the mirror, wiping the contents on its edge. She couldn’t believe she was seeing what she was seeing.

“We met at Buster Keaton’s party in October,” she said, because she was embarrassed and could think of nothing else to say.

“Did we,” Barrymore stated, sounding disinterested as he peered into the mirror.

“Yes,” she said. “We danced and I told you about wanting to star in a talkie of The Taming of the Shrew.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if struggling to remember it. The approaching sound of giggling and the subsequent appearance of two extras through the door saved her just then.

“Mr. Barrymore!” said one of the extras, looking bewildered.

“By Jove, this is the ladies room!” said Barrymore. He’d finished picking his nose and was propping himself up with one hand on the sink.

“He was confused,” said Nelly. “We should take him back to Mr. Taylor.” A little voice in the back of her head asked why she was bothering to defend him at all. “Come here.” She took him by the elbow and gestured to one of the other girls to do the same. He stank of booze and she thought she caught a faint whiff of urine as they led him down the hall and back through one of the sets of arched double doors. She was no longer awed by him. Rather, she wanted to dispose of him as fast as possible. 

In the crowded room, Nelly located Sam Taylor by searching out Camilla’s distinctive white dress. She and the two extras led Barrymore to them. Mr. Taylor raised an eyebrow when they approached.

“I think he needs an eye kept on, sir,” Nelly said, her arm still in Barrymore’s. 

“Found me in the fucking ladies room!” said Barrymore, chuckling.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Taylor. Nelly could tell he was trying not to betray his annoyance at Barrymore. 

She could have stayed and offered more of an explanation, increasing the director's chances of remembering her face, but she’d had enough of playing angles and wanted to get as far away as possible from the dangerous animal that was John Barrymore. As soon as she found Bradford again, she poured out her entire tale. 

“He’s a pig!” she concluded. 

“Good God,” said Bradford, making a face. She wondered if he had found Barrymore as handsome as she once had and was now reconsidering. 

“You’re telling me.”

“They’re building him a sort of carousel now in the courtyard for him and Miss Horn to sit on since he can’t stand straight,” Bradford said. “They’re going to film the dance that way.”

“Looks like we’ll be here all night,” said Nelly, her spirits sinking. If she had gone back in time and told the Nelly Foster of last July that the idea of spending prolonged hours in the same room as John Barrymore would cause her intense dread, she wouldn’t have believed herself for a minute.  

Her prediction turned out to be true. The clock chimed one before Mr. Taylor had the footage he wanted. Nelly was surprised that the carousel hadn’t made Barrymore vomit, but although he swayed off in the direction of the washrooms several times more, he kept down whatever he had drunk.

She piled into one of the Studebakers with the girls and fell asleep for the brief duration of the ride. Back at the United Artists costume shop, she degowned, redressed, and shoved her aching feet back into her own shoes. She lined up for a streetcar with the other girls and sank wearily into a seat when it opened its doors. It was another forty-five minutes before she was home. By now the hour was two a.m. and she had to be up at five-thirty to catch a tram in time for her seven a.m shift in the prop department. She felt like Perrault’s Cinderella, but the magic had vanished before midnight and she was, all in all, relieved to be among her rags and ashes again. Notes: You can watch Tempest here. John Barrymore really did get so drunk during the ballroom scene that he couldn’t stand. “And when we were dancing together in one scene, he fell down with me on the floor because he was so drunk. So they had to build a carousel affair for us, it was a sort of criss-cross arrangement, and we put our arms around each other, looked deeply into our eyes and somebody moved the carousel around so it looked in the film as if we were lost in each other’s arms.”

-Camilla Horn quoted in Tony Villecco’s Silent Stars Speak: Interviews with Twelve Cinema Pioneers (McFarland & Company, 2001) 32. The same page also quotes Priscilla Bonner as saying that Barrymore picked his nose all the time and his face got red with blotches when he was drunk. I did read somewhere too that he once stumbled into the women’s room by accident. Fun fact: Buster’s later paramour Dorothy Sebastian was originally cast in Camilla Horn’s role! Incidentally, the book cited here also has one actress calling Buster sweet and wholesome.

#Buster Keaton #John Barrymore #fan fiction #RPF #Actor RPF #Golden Age Hollywood #silent film #Camilla Horn

[for-all-your-ranting-needs]

💞-1/4 my parents, especially my mother often throw tantrums and act like children over the slightest things, for e.g: when I take a shower thats "too long" or do something she doesn't like. Like yesterday night when I didn't hear my mother call for me to get her towel (which was two feet away) she then came in threw a tantrum, messed up my entire room, bringing schoolbooks, hit me with her slipper and other shelved items down to the floor, and even breaking my shelf.

(i’m going to answer these all on one of them but) i really hope that you’re okay <3

#anon #advice to come... #parents tw #💞 anon

[white-lies-dark-truths]

Dear friend, I write to you not as a friend nor a guide to you but rather as a stranger. I want to write to you as though I know nothing of you, all I write to you today is what I know of me. Having been a girl who has lost her first love many years ago, I write to light to you my journey, my story, my insight but also my inspiration, my courage and my thrive. I don’t want to make this about me, so I will detach myself from this story by saying one thing; this is not my story and it is not about me.

His eyes, a hazelnut green, a dark featured boy. Just a boy. Not a man yet nor a kid anymore. Just a tall figure with dashing hair. All of which peaked my interest. Of course, how could it not? Being just exactly my kind of boy.

Oh did he dance, he moved so precisely, with every being of his body, it was his passion. Oh did he love his passion. He loved his moves, always had nice shoes. Sometimes he would dance for me too. This boy had drive, desire, ambition, but most of all, he was fond of someone like.. me.

This boy more than just liked me, he knew how to make me feel loved, he knew how to dance his way around my heart, knew every little thing that made me jump, scare, run, scream, laugh, cry. And he did it anyways. Because he knew how, and it became, yet again, a passion for him. A passion of the different kind. The kind that you don’t leave behind.

You see this boy grow passionate of my presence as I grew fonder of his own. He taught me how to dance, showed me how to play and most of all, he allowed me to fall into his arms, his bed, his intimacy. And there I was. I was consumed.

So consumed. He was my single passion, my only precious discovery, to forever be my first great treasure. Oh was it ever luck to be the passion of a boy like this. I picture a future. I picture our memories on the fridge, our matching slippers to wear around the house. I made my own paperbook in my head, heart, schoolbooks, journals, mimd, body, spirit. I made him alive in my life. He was it all for me.

Oh did this boy love his passions, he loved his whole world. So much. So much. So much. He loved his world and all that made him strong, handsome, intelligent. He loved all that made him. He was in love with himself. Oh what a beautiful thing I thought. Silly boy, being a boy, becoming a man, loving his world and all that came with it.

This boy had so much in his world. Maybe too much for just a boy, he need be a man. But how can he be a man when he is without escape? He saw his father a man, his father the big man. The strong man. The powerful man. The one that decides. The one that controls. The one that has all that it takes to battle the world that he loves to be in. Because his world loves him so dear. But this boy is just a boy. Acting like a man.

His eyes felt like they were turning grey, for the little times I get to look back in them. I saw this boy frustrate about me, anger about me, dissolve about me. He would swallow me whole, empty my soul, just to see what is left of a passion he outgrew. Outgrew wanting some new.

Oh did I try, I would be that new. I would be for you. I would just do. I do. I do. I do. I don’t.

But oh I was never going to abandon, all that I vision, all that I see, all the beauty in we, all the songs that we... but I did.

I gave up on we.

I didn’t want to see.

His passion was no longer me.

He had passioned another she.

But they are no better than we.

She don’t see what I see.

I have to let that be.

But how can I let it be?

Can’t help feeling so unfree.

Trapped and chained to he.

How can this be?

Maybe...

Is it because of me?

I am not she.

Can I ever be?

Can somebody help me?

Help me.

Help me.

Help me.

No.

Not really.

I can’t be.

I don’t want to be.

I am all me.

It is not for he.

Nor for she.

It is for me.

Only.

So.

Who am I going to be?

[ao3feed-danielsousa]

Slippers and Schoolbooks

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JUqsHL

by peggyismywife

its a College AU!

Words: 1133, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M, Multi

Characters: Peggy Carter, Angie Martinelli, Daniel Sousa, Jack Thompson

Relationships: Peggy Carter & Angie Martinelli, jack thompson & daniel sousa, Daniel Sousa/Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli

Additional Tags: Cartinelli - Freeform, College AU, JackDaniels, Agent Carter - Freeform, GAYYYYYYYYYY, lesbanims

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JUqsHL

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #daniel sousa #agent carter

[tillerman1]

TORMENT [to the word] pt.2

Bertha's room.

Dark, first glimpses man only two figures. So lights a ceiling lamp and the hold will till appear.

Jan-Erik places Bertha on a narrow, sloping couch. He kindles the lamp off the bed. Over the relatively sharp the candle seems this that Bertha is one entirely young girl, only peaked, ravaged cum indescribably seamy. She opens the eyes and considers Jan-Erik. So turns she to against the wall and big howls.

Jan-Erik stands and looks at her some moments, then walks it and takes the cognac flask that stands on some board with two glassware. He empties some content of the slush –

BERTHA (howls): Give seventeen in my cognac.

Without to take any as preferably notice of her takes he the hat and turns to against her –

JAN - ERIK : I should go now. Goodbye!

Bertha stops instantly to howl and grin and shriek. She becomes cum even completely silent. Then comes it half-suffocated, frightened –

BERTHA : No! Go none! I dare not be alone. (pause) HE comes perhaps …

Then silences she again, then comes it like a little frightened beep –

BERTHA : I am so damn fearful for him.

Jan-Erik. He looks misguided out. He understands that it not is simulation –

BERTHA : Go don't please, please rare –

JAN - ERIK : Who are you fearful for?

Bertha and Jan-Erik. She has sat to erect in bed and speaks cool, forced –

BERTHA : It can I not say. He vet [knows] all things. And spies on me.

She drags down him on the bed edge. Leaning to forward against him and whispering frightened –

BERTHA : And then when he is here … then would you see …

Then throws her with even round – crawls together in the bed and your howl ill –

BERTHA : I stand(s) not outside anymore. I stand(s) not outside … I stand(s) not outside …

Jan-Erik. He is till the extremes confused. Worried, as like disgusted. But can still not walk –

BERTHA (muffled): I vet it … he comes to take life of me. As he torments me.

Bertha.

She turns her on spine and tries providing a small pathetic distorted smile –

BERTHA : Stay eh! Please you!

Jan-Erik stands silent. He is deeply confused –

JAN - ERIK : I may probably not.

BERTHA : May not, what talking you.

JAN - ERIK : Judgment becomes cross at home.

Bertha turns to on side, supports the head in a hand –

BERTHA : Will judgment cross!?

infamously, something advantageously –

BERTHA : You perhaps should read homework too?

Jan-Erik becomes angry and answers bitterly –

JAN - ERIK : Yes, that should I.

Both are silent.

Bertha travels to and goes forward to some gas kitchen, puts on the water –

BERTHA (harsh): Go then for hell.

She goes past Jan-Erik, kicks off the shoes, takes on to the slippers. Drags of to the dress and takes on one sloppy bathrobe.

So goes she forward till Jan-Erik –

BERTHA : How should you have the now then?

The becomes again silent. Jan-Erik is tense. He looks at her, mighty seriously. So says he easy and straight on thing –

JAN - ERIK : Probably wants I have you, but …

BERTHA : But …

JAN - ERIK : I think not if you.

She thinks only laugh, becomes per even very serious. So says she low, suddenly with one completely other way –

BERTHA : Make the something?

Jan-Erik and Bertha –

JAN - ERIK : Yes, for me.

It becomes silent one moment. Bertha make one small grimace –

BERTHA : Think you I am cheesy?

JAN - ERIK : Nana.

Jan-Erik shaking on the head –

BERTHA : Are you perhaps something fearful for me?

JAN - ERIK : Yes, something.

BERTHA : The should you not be.

The stands mitt against each other without that move each other. So beats her arms if life on Jan-Erik and presses the hard adjacent him. She looks on him malicious, trying –

JAN - ERIK : You would not … you … you …

He beats arms of her and kissing her cool, clumsy.

Jan-Erik stands in some dawn's light and takes on to a jacket and a rock(coat) –

BERTHA : Should you go now.

JAN - ERIK : Nay for puss name, I must home. The clock is why half four.

BERTHA : You can well come here something and say adieu.

Bertha is in a bed crouched and travels to when Ja-Erik comes.

Bertha whips the arms about the throat on him and drags him till herself.

BERTHA : It was so kind of you that you stayed.

JAN - ERIK : Yes… kind yes.

BERTHA : And you must come back often ... often. [sic]

JAN - ERIK : I vet not… get see …

BERTHA : Promise… you must promise.

JAN - ERIK : Yes… I promises[sic].

She kisses him, lays herself down, rolls together herself and peers slumberous on him –

BERTHA : You have promised.

JAN - ERIK : Yes, nay go(o)d night.

Jan-Erik opens the hall door, slinker[sic] in silent, silent, goes through the hall, ducking in in his room, lights the ceiling lamp.

There on the bed sits the father. Shrunken, silent.

Jan-Erik stays and only stares. None a word exchanges. Jan-Erik starts automatically shoot off the outerwear.

The father traveling in from the bed and goes slowly forward towards Jan-Erik. He is some moments very indecisive, then walks it silent front till the door, turns himself back, thinking yet one time say something, but walks silent out and slow cum silent the door behind out.

Jan-Erik stands cum sees after him, goes slowly forward to the bed and falls together on it, creeps together and presses the face against the pillow, but cry doesn't.

It rings in a giant corridor bell. The corridor is after some moments are till congestion filled with boys, as penetrates forward against the same goal: the stairs.

From classrooms will constantly new hoards.

Ringing.

School and the noise.

Against the current since Ring IV L. penetrates to small Pippi. His face is worried and he is very eager –

PIPPI : Where is Pettersson? Has anyone seen till Pettersson?

ELEV : He is left in there, lecturer.

Pippi will in on a class, peeps himself around, gets eyesight on Pettersson, one skinny, cranky type with dizzy eyes.

PIPPI : Hi! There was you-all Pettersson. Good. I must talk to you.

Pettersson looks particularly gloomy out. Cuts with the eyes.

PETTERSSON : I vet that.

Pippi beats up the classbook and looks in it –

PIPPI : Come here now. It is not something further fun to be class principal when such here becomes till.

PETTERSSON : Um!

PIPPI : Why truant[,] he?

PETTERSSON (figure is).

PIPPI : Why in the sir's name did he that.

Pettersson fights a battle in his confused and fermenting brain.

PETTERSSON : Äch.

PIPPI : Where Pettersson afraid for someone.

PETTERSSON : Äch.

PIPPI : Could Pettersson not his homework

PETTERSSON (mumbles something, but your figure just.)

PIPPI : We must talk about it here now. Understand doesn't Pettersson that.

PETTERSSON : Yeah. {from the Finnish "Joo"}

PIPPI : These.

Pippi pushes away the book and leans himself forward. Looking none on Pettersson but toys something with the inkwell lid.

PIPPI : These.

PETTERSSON : It was so that Caligula… I mean… see the lecturer that Latin…

PIPPI : Yes. I understand.

PETTERSSON : He scares.

PIPPI : Scares he?!

PETTERSSON : Man becomes not wise… nothing may man say. And judgment others hate him. But we are a funky everybody.

PIPPI (nods seriously and is silent).

PETTERSSON : So available why they that man has respect for. But he scares for how he thinks about it. So think I, (whispers) a sadist.

Pippi laughs till something, but controls himself immediately –

PIPPI : Think Pettersson so?

PETTERSSON : I vet not.

PIPPI : And so truant Pettersson on Monday morning, when it was double-hour Latin.

PETTERSSON : All even Sundays are destroyed for man has double-hour on Monday's morning.

The calling now and pupils initiates arrive in at the class.

PIPPI : And now gets the stick for Pettersson. Was it where.

PETTERSSON (desperate): Yes!

PIPPI : Is he so afraid, Pettersson[?]

PETTERSSON : Please lecturer! Let me avoid the pin! It gets then terrible cum then may man possibly not go up in a coin. Let me escape!! I will ne'er don't more! But they are so angry home cum I dare not go home with no pin.

Pettersson has spoken burning. Some seconds look Pippi at him. Then slams it to the book and screws together his pen -

PIPPI : I am so decent so that it is lucky that I become pensioned next year. It should the cat stand out with to being loyal to both you and the teachings. But beware tenacious Pettersson, do none it.

Pippi takes a schoolbook and hits it hard on the head of the tear-shiny, grateful Pettersson.

Pippi goes outward from the room.

Some map space.

Pippi will in, get view Caligula, takes a map.

Caligula stands and looks at the register.

Pippi gives himself away out with his, only turns himself about –

PIPPI : I think the boys are fearful for one lecturer.

Caligula looks at Pippi and answers very indifferently –

CALIGULA : Well, it perhaps not hurts.

Pippi has prepared some attack and goes now straight on –

PIPPI : Nay yet not may man teach out anything in that way.

Caligula guffaws till –

CALIGULA : Oh.

Pippi and Caligula. Pippi has sat it on some poster stand. Caligula stands and reads on the list –

PIPPI : I mean, would it not better to be decent against judgment. Nobody is[,] (of) course, mean. …

Caligula snorts.

Pippi laughs –

PIPPI : Lazy are they see, terribly lazy, but they are good in one's way, thinks the lecturer not so? *I* think it at least.

Caligula turns to if for to answer, but Pippi occurs him –

PIPPI : See it here is the one such complicated work cum it would course greatly better if we met and went half the way was and not were enemies with each other - we and the boys. Some work is probably nerve-abrasive in any fall.

CALIGULA : I exercise a type's terror with other words.

PIPPI : That have I never said.

CALIGULA : Where want the lecturer come?

Pippi becomes eager and eager - but also madder, aggressive –

PIPPI : I think that the lecturer, with his upper-case reading not, would be so wasted afraid about clean the idiotic respect.

Caligula is also evil, suddenly leaves it his polite indifference –

CALIGULA : Sorry, but that has the lecturer nothing per to do.

Pippi travels to from his seat. He laughs something –

PIPPI : Yes, it has me face soul. For it is MY class and MY boys.

CALIGULA : Them perhaps far ill.

PIPPI : Yes. Not all. But some. The others think only ill about the lecturer and driver with you behind your back.

There hooks it in on seriously for Caligula. And now throwing it himself in in the stride definitely –

CALIGULA : How vet you that?

PIPPI : For I characterized your mine boys.

CALIGULA : Doing not I that.

PIPPI : No, for then would he not wear oneself at as he does.

Caligula has started walking over the room. Stays annoyed –

CALIGULA : Carry us at. Matter god and use don't that expression.

PIPPI : I thought didn't that were some expressions that applied. I thought you-all were concerned from your boys. But I am an old cheer-idiot.

CALIGULA : Oh.

PIPPI : For presently understand me that he doesn't care himself about them one iota.

CALIGULA : Oh.

Pippi has taken off to the glasses. Eager –

PIPPI : But what care he himself about then? For a teacher should well bother himself about their boys and if he doesn't care himself about THEM, what care he to when about here in life.

Caligula turns himself towards Pippi, sharp, lightning-fast –

CALIGULA : I am not amused by cross-examination. Who may have taken map no. 40.

PIPPI : But I am amused off to make intelligible for it that he is rather unsuitable as schoolfellow, it is perhaps me cum for I am FOR kind, but I think about the boys cum I am not FEARFUL for them.

Caligula forgets again and instantly the map number forty and stabs till violently –

CALIGULA : Vet you that! Would I be scared! Ridiculous.

Pippi. He has got in one shock and continues –

PIPPI : Yes! For you tear it as a battle of life and death. "Scare you me then should self my soul scare down you under the consoles." But I should say that IT IS WRONG!! If he doesn't understand it himself.

CALIGULA : Was is map number forty.

PIPPI : He stays now!

Caligula is dumbfounded. The purple insignificant Pippi has somehow grown.

PIPPI : He may gladly stay and listen to me, for I am so old that I could be his pappa. So it is VOCATION-teaching and so means that man is called and with called means something born with and it is larval that he, because that he has your study-merit, points, at result cum seniority, should make teacher, for he knows no more about boys than my old galoshes. The invention's also something it called …

Pippi is so angry that his small hook-beard trembles, but he is excited also –

PIPPI : … heart and joy and lite amiability and understanding, but this has it damns in my small box not so much that one flea can live off it even. But self shall tell him how he available in all schools and not just in schools but take me the cat everywhere. If he would alone and exceptionally would it well not so miserable. But I'll tell him that he is in all schools, not just in schools, but to me the cat everywhere. Man-opener! is he. {sic}. So THAT.

Caligula, as hitherto been muted, is icy when he answers. And he answers with his eternal argument –

CALIGULA : Listen to me. I have been sick. Very ill, my nerves are still not as they should, the courses are large and heavy, I am objective, pet not, pampers not, works objectively, were so good and I will not change at that matter because that lecturer incidentally has met some neurotic poor among the students who have regretted themselves.

Caligula gets a sudden bout of irritability that goes out over the map number forty –

CALIGULA : Where available that damned map number forty. Who may have jerked it.

Pippi's face enlightened with a smile –

PIPPI : Oh! It has I.

Displays on the map in hand. Goes out.

PIPPI : Good midday, lecturer!

Caligula travels himself slowly.

Some classroom.

In the doorway stands sudden Caligula, apparently upset –

CALIGULA : Is Widgren here?

GRÖNSTRAND : Nah.

CALIGULA : Where is he then?

PETTERSSON : In the corridor perchance.

CALIGULA : Thanks.

Jan-Erik stands at the drinking fountain. Caligula comes behind the back on him.

CALIGULA : Yes then, there are you[,] Widgren.

Jan-Erik spins around. Unpleasantly affected by the other's voice –

JAN - ERIK : Yes, what wants the lecturer?

CALIGULA : I want (to) talk to you.

There becomes a short pause. They regard each other.

CALIGULA : Can we not put us here on the bench.

They go to a bench in one corner, beside the fountain.

On the bench.

Caligula takes off to the glasses.

So strange is that without glasses sees it out as one fully another human, much less, afraid cum something insignificant.

Jan-Erik registers it –

CALIGULA : Yes, I would speak to you.

Jan-Erik silences. {sic} Caligula expects sulfurs.

Caligula puts on a confused face –

CALIGULA : I am sorry[,] Widgren[;] if there should have to be any grudge between us. Sorry is I. Really sorry.

Jan-Erik silences still and stares disoriented on his teacher –

CALIGULA : I want not… that you should think badly of me.

Caligula breathes on his glasses. Embraces forward one handkerchief and begins polishing them. Jan-Erik silences, can nothing say –

CALIGULA : I have my difficulties, look you… I have been ill also… very ill.

Caligula leans to something forward and adds the hand on Jan-Eriks knee. Jan-Erik can none keep back one small gesture of creep –

CALIGULA : I have sat and seen on you. You have considered me with such aversion. Malice. That may you not do.

JAN - ERIK : I vet not what I should say. I have nothing against the lecturer.

Jan-Erik speaks slowly, for he has badly to find words.

Caligula. He speaks nervously, supplicant cum with something from his peculiar, soft tone –

CALIGULA : Yes, that have you, that have you. But his none so there and look at me in the continuation.

Then of a's beats it round –

CALIGULA : I prohibit you that!

He puts on himself the glasses. Travels himself. So also Jan-Erik, who feels great relief.

Caligula, - Jan-Erik cum Sandman as approaching the from the remote –

CALIGULA : Yes, Mr. Widgren, then was it nothing more.

Caligula drips off.

Sandman up till Jan-Erik –

SANDMAN : What wanted the home sadist?

JAN - ERIK : He is like hell himself.

They walk towards the classroom –

SANDMAN : Include you thou incidentally, what was that for one girl that you were visible with on The Big Street for a few there late.

JAN - ERIK : Oh, an acquaintance.

SANDMAN : Sure, I understand. A friend!

The open window in Bertha's room. In the windows is a geranium. It's dusk outside.

Jan-Erik stands middle of some floor and plays fiddle. It is a small, much tad ballads stump-way.

On the stomach on the couch lies Bertha. She supports the chin against the arms and looks straight out through the window. So peeks she through surreptitiously on Jan-Erik, smiling the slightly.

Jan-Erik ends and takes down the violin.

Bertha. She sighs something sentimental, looking still out through the window –

BERTHA : Crikey sow nice you playing!

JAN - ERIK : Shucks, it was well no! I have time to incidentally ne'er practice nowadays.

He puts himself on the bed-edge. Bertha cures together herself and adds some head on his lap.

Jan-Erik takes a bun from the washer (tea tray) that stands on a chair before the couch –

JAN - ERIK : Certainly is this a pupil of upper secondary school's dearest dream - to get sit at his girlfriend's and take buns.

BERTHA : Thou jests you – –

JAN - ERIK : I am so happy of night and gives the cat in everything - such spring twilight you. Think if we would go out a while and promenade on Storgatan and laugh a Caligula and whole the teaching college in one view.

Bertha appears hardly enthusiastic –

BERTHA : Oops - I vet don't -

She stretches on to, looks at him -

BERTHA : Think you about me? – – – Something – say – – –

Jan-Erik nods and pats her.

BERTHA : You understand - - - I - - - See you the star that shines in here?

JAN - ERIK : It looks out as if it hung a long bit down from the heaven on an invisible string and dangled.

BERTHA : You must think it has been a fine company - - - before – –

She is silent some moments -

BERTHA : If you knew how lonely man has been – – –

Jan-Erik bends to over her –

JAN - ERIK : Lonely yes - - - who think you not have been alone – –

Bertha drags him down till her and kissing him –

BERTHA : But now am I there not all(s) long – – –

JAN - ERIK : You were scared too. So scared for someone.

BERTHA : I was that.

It becomes quiet one moment –

JAN - ERIK : You want none say about who he was not? …

Bertha. Jan-Erik.

They stand still tight together. Bertha shakes her head –

BERTHA : That can I not. Scales not in some way not. You may imagine, he has probably tried lead here. I have heard how he has sat the key in new the lock and mixed and pried. And then has he called. And sometimes vet I that he has gone behind me in the street.

Bertha has spoken with base, something baited voice. Turns on, becomes as usual –

BERTHA : O you, now talking we not about him longer. Now drinking ourselves tea.

They sit cuddled on Bertha's couch.

JAN - ERIK : … Sandman, understand you, he is worlds contempt and misogynists and sharp. He thinks I am scary secondary.

BERTHA : Oh, that is you none all(s). I have never had it so good with someone as with you.

JAN - ERIK : Have you had many then?

BERTHA : Nah… Not! But you understand, Man thought that it was fun with everyone that sprang after one.

JAN - ERIK : Have you never been dear in any[?]. So where real.

BERTHA (short): No.

JAN - ERIK : Why not it then.

BERTHA : Ash that you are dumb. There has never been anyone who liked possess me… and so wanted I lead out and lead something, cum so thought I that… yes, it was nothing.

The telephone. It gives an angry signal from itself.

Suddenly gets Bertha tense. She listens after the ringing. Jan-Erik goes forward and takes up the lure –

JAN - ERIK : Hello.

He stands silent and listens. So assumes his face an expression of the most undisguised surprise. Bertha. Her sitter quietly, taut on the couch.

Jan-Erik enough her without a word the lure. She travels to and takes it. Jan-Erik stands left –

BERTHA : Yes.

Bertha stands silent. Her face changes. The eyes blocked up –

BERTHA : So think I don't… You lie... No, No! You lie only for that scare me.

She puts down the lure. They look at each other.

She walks some moments quietly forth and back over met room, so breaks her out –

BERTHA : He is horrible, disgusting.

She sinks together in a chair. Staring ahead herself, aimlessly.

Jan-Erik walks forth till her and falls to knee before the chair –

JAN - ERIK : Bertha! WHO IS IT!

Bertha crawls down on some floor against him, as hiding themselves.

BERTHA : You may never go from us, hear you that. Hear you! Dearest… dearest…

Jan-Erik shakes away the head. But he looks misguided and uneasy out.

Some light lights in the hall. Jan-Erik and Bertha come outside from the room. She is among bathrobe. Jan-Erik puts on to coat. So kissing they each other.

She opens the door.

Jan-Erik goes down for the first steps. So hears Bertha shout –

BERTHA : Jan-Erik!

Bertha is halfway out from within the door.

She runs down after him on the stairs.

Throws herself about throat on him –

BERTHA : Stay with me.

JAN - ERIK : You should not be afraid. There are no ghosts.

BERTHA : I have seen one leastways.

JAN - ERIK : Well, it is buried and definitely dead from and with at night, says we.

The stand's silent some moment. –

BERTHA : Yes, I want so gladly. You, you should get something! Key to the hall door, so you can come in when you want.

Jan-Erik takes received that. Holding it in the hand –

JAN - ERIK : Thank you, but …

So throws he about –

JAN - ERIK : How Pharaoh should it go to the writings.

BERTHA : It goes surely good.

JAN - ERIK : I have not studied a smack.

BERTHA : I should deliver thumb.

JAN - ERIK : Wondering what we get for subjects. Yuk 17.

He kissing her hastily. –

JAN - ERIK : Cheerio.

So runs he.

Bertha stands left some moment. Goes slowly up the stairs again.

She goes in through the door, after she closed the door, goes she in through the room. Sails forth till the mirror. Taking off her bathrobe(,) brushes herself lite lazily in the neck. Peeks to in the mirror, leans herself forward against it.

Going up to the bed, kick off the slippers. Crawling down on the bed. Extinguishes the table lamp. It becomes entirely dark in the room, as when who street lamp, which draws strange figures in the roof. But now is it one faint gray daybreak in the room.

On brittle clock beats three species. Bertha is sleeping with closed eyes.

With even open she the eyes. She looks afraid out. Afraid. She travels oneself slowly in the bed, watching right out, try's penetrate some dark. She gropes after the lamp, trying light, but fails. There becomes no light.

BERTHA : Who is there?

She sits erect in the bed and stares straight out. No rejoins, that is deadly silent. There comes a wind shock driving cum any squeaks faintly down on the street.

The room from Bertha's sight-angle.

It is in one weak gray day's dawn. The street lamp's light is off. So includes light footsteps.

Bertha bites to of the fingers.

Against the door of Berthas sight-angle.

It opens gently cum one gray person, one widely indistinct face becomes visible. The created only stands.

Bertha wants jay, but may not. She has permeated herself up against the wall in jitters.

The figure takes a pair lingering step forward over some floor. Then whispers it low, hoarse, praying –

THE VOICE: (Caligulas): Bertha!

Bertha may suddenly agency to scream. She screams high and shrill. The light as well as goes out around her –

BERTHA : No !!! NO!

On black blackboard stands: "Tuesday the 25 March, First the date of writing. Swedish." Under this message has one boy designed one exceptionally unsightly devil. Unto the writing room stands the boys in groups and discusses.

BROBERG : Yes, now may the moment atone what years transgressions. Boys! You divines not which the solemn occasion. One should come dressed up.

BERGMAN : You are the conditioned you.

BROBERG : Second time. It becomes no amateur performance no.

Grönstrand, as protected as always otherwise –

GRÖNSTRAND : Should not Sångpelle blow fanfares.

SANDMAN : And so could we sing terrified not you small herd - In unison eh!

The rector enters now.

He has of basic of the day's solemn touch attached frock coat. He walks forward to Caligula. Dries himself in the forehead a little nervously –

RECTOR : Awfully hot.

Caligula shakes over the head.

CALIGULA : Yes. Yes. Hot!

Another group; has just observed the rector's entrance.

SANDMAN : Strap on rectors in sabbath coffin.[?][movie: Look at them in their funeral attire.] Hear you. Vet you why rectors and everyone they other the guys look outward like funeral entrepreneurs whole the band?

DE ANDRA : Nah.

SANDMAN : Yes, because they are jittery, so they have his upper-case day, the exam pumps like up them till a measure of dignity because they never will come further than till the student. Years out and year in drops they the student. It is [a] climax for them. Bigger gets it ne'er. It is cursed solemnly it(,)[;]; - for them.

Rector. He has now made front against the class. Says professionally, fast –

RECTOR : Yes, then maybe the gentlemen are please cum scores place at your respective number. Want Bergman and Östergren come forward.

Bergman and Östergren arrives forward. The rector shows them a brown envelope with a red seal –

THE RECTOR : Wants gentlemen inspection your intact seal.

Bergman and Östergren supervises, gives some envelope back –

THE RECTOR : Thanks. Sit down.

With an elegant movement open he some envelope.

THE RECTOR (till Caligula): Wants the lecturer last kind and share out the tasks when self says till.

The rector takes up his watch and looks at it.

Caligula stands quietly and stares blankly before himself.

Grönstrand poking himself nervously in the nose with the pen.

Jan-Erik is dull and tired and drums with fingers.

The rector buttons together the clock –

THE RECTOR : Where so good.

Caligula puts started along the row of benches and board and parts out the small patches. Last comes it till Jan-Erik. He gets his patch. But. They stare at each other one moment. One moment for long. Caligula turns the back till. Jan-Erik looks after him and breaks the point of his pen. Many have already started working. The others sitter and look right out through the windows, where the sun shines in, strong and hot. Some window closes.

Now has the sun, which still shines equally strong, moved it till another side of the window. The classroom presents presently one picture of disorder, fatigue cum rush. The approaching itself the write time's final and all are employed with that "compose in."

Jan-Erik travels to and goes forward and leaves its writing and goes out from the hall.

Jan-Erik goes down the school stairs. But he stops suddenly. It is as if he grips of evil notions. He starts walking again. Faster and faster. Till gone runs he.

Street.

Jan-Erik walks and runs about alternately. He seems excited, worried.

Bertha's house.

He runs up the stairs with high speed. Up till Bertha's door.

Rings one long signal. Nobody opens. He begins to hammer on the door. He rings and hammers.

Jan-Erik takes up a key, with which he opens. He pushes Bertha something back long.

JAN - ERIK : What is it with you! You are why full!

Bertha keeps silent.

JAN - ERIK : That is it that has happened. Say, what is it!

Bertha keeps silent. Giggling something.

Jan-Erik walks into the room. There sees it the unmade bed, the bottle, the two glasses, turns himself till the still overheard giggling Bertha –

JAN - ERIK : Who is it which been here?

He shakes her –

JAN - ERIK : Answer for 17.

Bertha is silent the still. But now runs the tears from her wide open staring eyes. But she keeps the mouth shut. Hard.

JAN - ERIK : Bertha! Say what it is! You must talk about one for me. What when has happened. You may not just keep quiet and look out so there! Bertha! Hear you not what self says.

She is silent staunchly. Jan-Erik releases her. Pushes till her so harsh that she tumbles down on the bed. There lies her silent and still, lets the tears flow from wide-open eyes.

Jan-Erik looks at her one while. So walks it up till the bed where she lies. And tries a speech low and quiet till her –

JAN - ERIK : You know that I think very highly of you, not truly. You have been so kind towards me cum us have why had it so good together. Have we not!

He is silent some moment, but continues, then she nothing says:

JAN - ERIK : Is the final with the now. Was it not fun to be decent longer.

Respond!

Is it final with everything?

Is it?

It becomes silent.

So says Bertha –

BERTHA : Yes, it is final with everything together. He comes to take some life of me.

Quiet again.

BERTHA : He sits and toys with a penknife and so speaks it low and slow. He tells those horrible cases, those offensively horrible cases. So becomes it suddenly nervous, then travels it himself and goes around in the room and drags in the fingers so here… and he has such disgusting white small hands and hair on the fingers.

Jan-Erik terribly disgusted –

JAN - ERIK : Stop! Talk don't about some as.

BERTHA : You wanted the…

Jan-Erik has as crept away for to himself –

JAN - ERIK : So have I come in all this here. I want a matter in peace.

Breaking out –

JAN - ERIK : I am so led to everything as God to pity.

Bertha has sober till. She speaks low and toneless, indifferently –

BERTHA : For me also.

JAN - ERIK : I vet not. You are as if I ne'er had known you. You have the incidentally done out.

He travels to and goes some step.

JAN - ERIK : And that is why equally good. For I want none divide with any other.

Bertha is across back.

And looks up in some ceiling. She answers none. Looks just indescribably small and tired out.

Jan-Erik stands a moment and thinks about if there was anything more he should say. Then leaves it.

There is a drill machine running out on the street outside the school. Sweaty workers, smoke cum dust. It slams and hammers completely deafening.

In classes are there a nervous excitement. So is just before a lesson, everyone is collected, Man waits for the teacher, some seated and studying only the most talking, discusses, edges –

BOY 1: Now has Man a week to himself. If it were over anyway!

BOY 2: One week till! It is not wise. Them seals we get wilted censors.

Another group. Other boys.

BOY 3: There shall seventeen hang together on it here heat.

BOY 4: My skull has swollen such I don't get on the lid.

BOY 5: All sense blowing off towards Hell.

Third group.

BOY 6: It is shit everything(...)[;] miserable, senseless ridiculous shit.

One as supported at the door gives a warning signal.

BOY 7: Now comes the old-man devil.

BOY 8: He looks doesn't normal out in daylight.

GRÖNSTRAND : Good morning! As has he done that ever.

Grönstrand and the class traveling themselves. Some left sitter in the benches, reads in in the last –

BERGMAN : You whisper what!

Pettersson rips in his grammar –

PETTERSSON : We had syntax also. Crikey the syntax. I have forgotten work at in the syntax.

BERGMAN : If thou whispering till me on the morphology to me whisper till you on the syntax.

Caligula settles himself. Everyone settles themselves.

CALIGULA : Absent?

PREFECT : No absent.

Caligula. He strikes up his book. Takes out a pen –

CALIGULA : Thanks! Widgren begins translating the day's lesson.

Widgren lifts some head and answers defiantly –

WIDGREN : I have not read on till in daylight.

Caligula reacts violently –

CALIGULA : Is none you cunning.

WIDGREN : Me he not.

CALIGULA : He!

WIDGREN : Could none rather. I held on half overnight with history.

Caligula travels to and goes down in class till Jan-Erik. He waves the pointer –

CALIGULA : Could none rather! So Mr. Widgren dried not. It was one strange enlightenment.

JAN - ERIK : I read you on as much I time.

CALIGULA : You-all ignore me and my homework.

JAN - ERIK : No! I ignore nothing.

CALIGULA : Yes – so!

He looks up. Speaks now with large participation in the voice –

CALIGULA : Is the anyone more who not »could« read to in passing.

Death's silence. Nobody says anything.

Caligula approach to Jan-Erik –

CALIGULA : It seems last Mr. Widgren that is especially dilute. That can it come to presently then.

JAN - ERIK : I vet not. I do as excellently I can.

The longer Caligula speaks why above looking it to and within themselves self.

CALIGULA : Sir Widgren is lazy, quite pitiful also. We have not period with bad boys. We should do an exam. Has not Mr. Widgren taken it. But Mr. Widgren comes to understand that one day when it is too late. Vet Mr. Widgren what I think. I think that you get indifferently grade in Latin, Mr. Widgren. Vet you what I think more.

Caligula swings with the stylus. He speaks low without accents –

CALIGULA : That you are for flimsy for the exam. It is a steel bad air master. Not for you. Absolutely not.

He turns around so that Bergman comes in the shot field –

CALIGULA : Bergman begins translating the day's lesson.

Now sitter Pippi in the chair. He puts a small fine artificial bird front himself on the chair –

PIPPI : Mayst anyone thinking one, a little rascal in 2.4 sat there here on some floor under my lesson cum that jumped straight forward against me and as pep it in a chorus …

The class is one big laugh –

PIPPI : Wager might it be for fun in that. I saw enough that the juvenile the rascals amused to magnificent… but it was well not that fun… Or was it..!

Pippi looks himself around with glittering eyes. There heard an explosion of giggles down in the class -

PIPPI : That is that for din. There is a man who noises.

POJKE I : This where I lecturer. Sorry. Pardon.

[moonlit-maiden]

The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 62: Asexual Cinderella

Fairy Re-Tellings

There was once a kind merchant with a wife he cherished and a daughter named Ella they both loved dearly. During one cruel winter in Ella’s 6th year, her mother fell ill and perished. Ella was devastated and cried for her mother’s reassuring smile and wise words. Seeing how in need Ella was for a mother figure, the merchant remarried to a widowed Countess who had two daughters of her own around Ella’s age. Feeling at ease that his new wife and step-daughters would care for Ella, the merchant set off once more to travel and trade.

Unknown to the merchant, his new wife was cruel, preferring her own daughters to the fair Ella. She chased Ella to the attic and demanded she make her keep by serving as a maid; cooking, cleaning and mending while in rags. The attic was cold and drafty, forcing the young girl to curl up by the dying hearth at night. She would awake with soot all over her hair and body due to moving in her sleep and soon her step-sisters teased her with a new nickname; Cinder Ella. The step-mother delighted in the demeaning change in name and so the little girl was stripped of even her name and became the maid Cinderella.

Years went by, Cinderella abused and harassed by her step-family. Whenever her father returned from traveling she would be cleaned, the bruises hidden and dressed in finery as was her due. And for a while Cinderella would pretend everything was okay, that maybe this time she would be allowed to live with her family. Alas, each time her father left she was sent back to her duties with a slap in the face and laughter.

When she turned age 12, her sisters would sneak boys their age and sometimes a little older into the house as their mother slept. These boy would be retiring from their day at school and leave their schoolbooks behind. Curious and desperately not wanting to hear the wanton sounds being made in the bedroom, she secreted those books away. Before her mother had died she had been taught the basics of reading and writing. Meticulously Cinderella copied from those books meant only for boys, covering for her sisters as she slowly began to learn. Soon dreams of growing up and opening a school to teach girls began to fill her mind and the nights by the sooty hearth weren’t as unbearable as before.

At age 16 it was announced that the Prince would be holding a ball to find his future wife and that all of-age girls were to attend. Excited at the prospect of having an evening off and speaking with other people, Cinderella was devastated to learn she would not go. After aiding her sisters in dressing her step-mother locked her in the drafty attic with no way out, lest she wish to jump from five stories to the ground. Cinderella wept, for all she wished was to go to the ball and have a night of peace. As her tears fell, they shimmered and turned into the spitting image of her deceased mother, though now with fairy wings and shimmering skin. ‘My dear maiden. Your heart is pure and your wish gentle; I shall grant your wish’. The girl stared in pained confusion. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I am your Fairy Godmother. And tonight, you will find your Prince and live happily ever after.’

Cinderella looked away, embarrassed. ‘While I wish to go to the ball, I do not want a Prince. Relations of the body hold no interest. Rather, I wish to go and meet a friend. That would be more than enough for my happiness.’ The fairy was a bit surprised but nodded, thinking of something even better. ‘Then tonight you will go and find someone who can make your dearest wish come true.’ With that, she unlocked the door and instructed Cinderella to bring her a large pumpkin, six mice and two lizards. Once all was collected in the front yard the Fairy Godmother who looked like Cinderella’s mother snapped her fingers and the pumpkin became a carriage. She waved her hand and the mice became white horses. She wiggled her fingers at the lizards and they became a footman and carriage driver. Finally, the fairy turned to Cinderella and blew at her. Blue, shimmering smoke tendrils wrapped around the girl and became a rich, blue gown complete with magical crystal shoes.

‘When midnight strikes you must flee. For the magic shall go away.’ the fairy warned. ‘Why midnight? Why not when I return?’ Cinderella asked. ‘At midnight the world resets and all magic is dispelled, I am sad to say. Otherwise I would be more than happy to let you stay as long as your heart desires.’ Satisfied, Cinderella climbed into the carriage and went to the ball. When she arrived it was in full swing. Food was plentiful and the atmosphere was cheerful. While all the girls vied for the Prince’s attention, Cinderella simply chatted with the other young men and women who had been ignored by the Prince. She felt her heart swell as she laughed and danced and made new friends. But soon the Prince took notice of the vibrant young woman who did not pant after him but rather enjoyed herself. Feeling bold, he asked Cinderella to dance to which she agreed. He asked what she had been laughing at and Cinderella re-told the joke a Count had just shared with her. The Prince laughed and Cinderella smiled, happy the future King had a sense of humor.

Through the night the two became inseparable, swapping stories and discussing current events. The Prince relaxed, feeling deeply at home with the mysterious maiden in blue. But Cinderella had lost track of time, enjoying spending time with people too much, and as the large clock struck 12 she fled in a panic. The Prince ran after, realizing he had never even asked the girl her name. As she ran, Cinderella stumbled down the stairs, losing one of her magical crystal shoes as well as getting quite a few new bruises. Having no time to spare, she left the shoe behind, jumping into the carriage as it sped off towards home. Halfway down the road the magic disappeared, popping like a soap bubble and Cinderella was in rags again. However, she kept the other crystal slipper and smiled, glad to have a token of her joyous night. ‘Thank you… for everything…’ she whispered as she looked behind at the dark silhouette of the palace.

A few weeks later it was announced the Prince would be visiting all the ladies in the land that were unmarried and of eligible age. For he had become obsessed with the blue maiden who had left behind her shoe. He desperately wished to see her again and keep her close; no other outside of his family had made him feel so at ease. When the royal procession came to Cinderella’s house she was locked once more in the attic. Angered, she bid her time, knowing she would need to yell as loud as she could from the attic window to get his attention. The two step-sisters meanwhile were fighting. The eldest shoved the younger and tried to put on the shoe. The magic shoe shrank, refusing to fit the false claimant as it had done for all others. The elder sister fumed as the younger was given a chance. She asked for a moment and, once alone, took a knife and cut her toes off. The magic of the shoe was violated by the dripping blood and stopped working, allowing the younger sister to fit the small shoe. She came out, triumphant and wincing in pain. The solider in charge nodded in satisfaction and began to escort the girl out. As they exited, Cinderella yelled from the window, pointing out the blood seeping from the shoe the step-sister was trying to hide with her skirts. Upon seeing this, the step-sister was sent back and the solider demanded Cinderella try the shoe.

When she came down, the shoe was cleaned and thus the magic could work again. The shoe fit with ease and Cinderella produced the sister-shoe to her step-family’s horror. With a smile Cinderella left for the castle, planning her next steps. When she arrived at the palace the Prince was overjoyed and attempted to kiss her. Instead the maiden took a step back. ‘My Prince, I am sorry but I cannot marry you. For though our time at the ball was wonderful and I care for you deeply, I do not wish to marry.’ The Prince was shocked at the rejection. ‘Then why bother to come at all!’ he exclaimed. ‘Because you are the only one who can make my dream come true. Though it is paltry, I can offer you my hand in friendship. Nothing more.’ The Prince asked for some time to think and for a few days he pondered this. For though his ego stung at the rejection, the maiden still wished to spend time with him. Could he be content with this?

After a few days Cinderella was summoned from her guest quarters. ‘Convince me.’ the Prince said. ‘Convince me why marrying you in unwise.’ And so she did, stating how she could never return in body his love, only in heart. How he was a kind man and generous, deserving a woman who could love him fully and give him heirs as she did not wish to. And finally, how her dream was to open a school for young girls, something only he could allow. The Prince agreed, realizing that though he loved Cinderella, he loved her enough to let her find happiness in her own way. And so he funded her and granted permission to open an all-girls school, the first of its kind.

In a few years the Prince found another to marry, a gentle woman who loved him with all her heart and body. The Prince kept in contact with Cinderella, his passion for her cooling and becoming a warm friendship. When the royal daughter was born the Prince knew exactly who would tutor her; his first love and best friend. Cinderella lived happily ever after, running her all-girls school and continuing her friendship with the King and Queen for years to come in the peaceful kingdom.

#thearchers1000picspam #fairy retelling series #cinderella #asexual #ace #blue #clock #magic #blood #tw blood

[slippersandschoolbooks]

#chapter 12

[eltonjohndenver]

peggy: i think i attract idiots

danny: what do you mean?

*joseph, howard, jack  and angie in the background: in various stages of idiocy, joseph yelling at howard in italian covered in linguini, howard inexplicably shirtless holding a martini in one hand and a now empty pot in the other yelling back, jack covered in feathers and screaming because a flying piece of linguini messed up his eyeliner, angie belting out showtunes as a soundtrack for the madness and dancing with chunky and rose on her shoulders*

peggy: i dont know maybe its a feeling?

#slippers and schoolbooks #sasb #kljsdlfkdslkfdslkjdjskfl

[legowolas]

jack slipped on a banana peel,,,,trying to test it out,,,,he has a concussion now,,,daniel is dying laughing

WHAT AN IDIOT BOI

Uwu soft bbies

#ask #sapphicsamwise #slippers and schoolbooks

[goodagentbadagent]

Slippers and Schoolbooks

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JUqsHL

by peggyismywife

its a College AU!

Words: 1133, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M, Multi

Characters: Peggy Carter, Angie Martinelli, Daniel Sousa, Jack Thompson

Relationships: Peggy Carter & Angie Martinelli, jack thompson & daniel sousa, Daniel Sousa/Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli

Additional Tags: Cartinelli - Freeform, College AU, JackDaniels, Agent Carter - Freeform, GAYYYYYYYYYY, lesbanims

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JUqsHL

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #souson #jackdaniels #jack thompson #Daniel Sousa

[ao3feed-mcufemslash]

Slippers and Schoolbooks

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JUqsHL

by peggyismywife

its a College AU!

Words: 1133, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M, Multi

Characters: Peggy Carter, Angie Martinelli, Daniel Sousa, Jack Thompson

Relationships: Peggy Carter & Angie Martinelli, jack thompson & daniel sousa, Daniel Sousa/Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli

Additional Tags: Cartinelli - Freeform, College AU, JackDaniels, Agent Carter - Freeform, GAYYYYYYYYYY, lesbanims

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JUqsHL

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #mcu