speaker stands

Slipped and Fell for You

Day 1 of the Carry On countdown via prompts from @carryon-countdown 

Day 1: Coffee Shop AU

Simon

The overhead lights buzz with the old 80s music playing in the overhead speakers as I stand at the counter, bored out of my mind. It’s only been a few minutes since the last costumer, but it feels like it has been ages since I’ve seen anyone. My coworker, Agatha, is in the back “stocking.” I know she’s actually cramming for her upcoming geography exam after the break, so I don’t bother her for attention.

About 10 minutes pass before I’m ready to groan up at the ceiling in boredom for the third time today when a costumer walks in. The little bell on the door has my head snapping up and pulling me into character of the happy-go-lucky barista I am meant to portray.

The guy who walks in is unfamiliar, which is surprising this far into the semester. By now, most of the other Uni kids have come through the on-campus Starbucks in serious need of a caffeine boost or a calming tea. He has long black hair that looks extremely soft (seriously, what conditioner does this guy use?) and a sneer that could ward off anyone that dare try to talk to him.

“Hello,” I say cheerily, my voice cracking when he looks at me, sharp grey eyes boring into mine. “What can I get for you?” Mr. Death-glare glances up at the menu bored, then back to me. He looks tired, or maybe he always has bags under his eyes. Some people just look like that. “Coffee, black. Shot of espresso,” he mumbles. His voice is gravelly and low, and a weird feeling blooms in my chest. As scary as he looks, this guy is kind of…hot? I don’t know. Beauty concepts created by our society is weird, so who can really judge what is “hot,” right? Steaming milk is hot, for sure. He’s giving me a funny look and I realize I’m blushing.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I don’t remember telling him the price or him handing me money, I only remember his fingers slightly brushing against mine as we exchanged currency for goods. He nods and begins to shuffle over to wear the coffee is usually delivered. “Wait,” I say, outreaching a hand in more of a gesture than an actual attempt to grab him, but he seems to flinch anyway. “I need your name – for the coffee, I mean.”

“Oh,” he says, and his sneer softens to more of a tired scowl.  “Basilton,” he says and turns away to go sit and wait for his coffee. Basilton – what a name. I have no idea how to spell it, and I doubt he would be okay with being bothered again, so I just shorten it. No one else comes in while I make his coffee or when I put it out on the counter, but I say his name anyway, wanting to know how it would sound coming out of my mouth. “Basilton,” I say. His head snaps up and he tucks his phone into his jacket pocket.

As he reaches for his coffee, I pull it away, a lame attempt to – well I’m not sure what I’m attempting to do, but I’m doing something. His sneer is back and his eyes seem to go from daggers to swords as he looks up at me. “What,” he spits. “Erm. I- I didn’t know how to spell your name, so I had to shorten it,” I stumble over my words. What was I doing? More importantly, why was I doing it?

His face doesn’t soften like it did before. His brows knit together in angry confusion at me, and I swallow in attempt to get rid of the lump forming in my throat. His eyes flick to the movement of my Adam’s Apple, or is that my mind playing tricks on me? I don’t know and I don’t care. I feel like a nervous wreck and my palms are sweating from the heat of the coffee – at least, that’s what I tell myself.

I scoot the coffee toward him and he glances at it, almost seeming surprised by its presence – like he had forgotten about it.

“E-Enjoy,” I say.

He grunts and swoops the coffee aggressively off the counter, turns, and heads out the door. My heart is racing and I catch myself lingering my gaze on him until he turns a corner and disappears. Agatha comes out from the back, stretching her arms toward the ceiling and looking like death but beautiful as always. Her eyes widen when meeting mine, “Whoa, Simon, are you feeling okay? You’re completely red and look like you’re about to pass out.” She reaches out to touch my forehead but I swat her away. “’M fine,” I say. “Just hot up here, is all.” I make my way to the back and sit down. For some reason, this guy was in my head and wasn’t leaving. I can’t figure out if I like it or hate it.

Baz

I feel kind of bad for treating Simon so horrid, but today is not the day to fuck around with Tyrannous Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Firstly, I had to pull an all-nighter with Niall, the git not being able to understand the simple basics of Psychology.

Secondly, my father thought it would be a grand idea for me to stay at school over the break rather than come home so that I could “focus on my studies,” and he had no problem paying for me to stay. I know the real reason is because he cannot handle having an openly queer son at his event, but it’s not like I mind all too much. I just wish I had the option to stay with my aunt in London instead, but he thought that worse than me attending his event, thinking she may be a bad influence on me. Right, because the only thing worse than a gay son is a gay son with a rebellious attitude toward the government.

And now I think I’ve just offended my crush of over a year by being moody in the worse possible way. Seeing him close and personal with his blue eyes staring at me so kindly made me feel like shit. How dare he be even cuter up close, bronze curls elegantly disheveled and eyes darkened from the shadows. What’s worse is that I’m sure he is straight. I have no chance with him, but it’s nice to fantasize about the boy who sits 4 rows in front of me in Literature Lecture. Well, more like torturous. Not nice. Crowley, I am a fool.

As I round another corner, I remember Snow telling me he had put a nickname on my cup. I force myself to not trip over my own two feet as I look at the horrible hand writing that reads “BAZ” in black sharpie. My heart quickens and I can feel myself blushing. Hearing him say my name aloud felt impersonal, surprisingly, but the nickname scrawled in horrible chicken-scratch feels much, much more personal – almost friendly. Did he want to be friends, or am I reading into it? Then there was the teasing with my coffee earlier. Was that flirting or him being spastic? Honestly, I have seen him around campus enough to notice the random spurts of energy he gets, dragging a very reluctant purple-haired girl with him.

I shake the thought from my head, reminding myself that it was his job to be friendly – hell, he didn’t even know who I was, although I can’t say I blame him. I have always kept to myself in the back of the room, never wanting to alert any sort of attention.

Suddenly, I am no longer walking. Instead, I’m on the ground, boiling-hot coffee spilled all over me and seeping into the cracks of the concrete, edging toward dry leaves scattered about the ground. My arse hurts like hell and I don’t know what happened. I try to stand and realize the ground is more slippery than usual. “Fuck,” I huff. I maneuver myself onto a safer part of the pavement, avoiding the ice and my coffee as best as possible. ‘This makes 4,’ I say to myself, adding onto my list of why my day is absolute shit and why I have every right to be mean. I look back down from where I came, defeated, and start to head back toward the Starbucks.

Maybe Simon will pity me enough to give me a free coffee. Or at least a discount.

Simon

The bell rings and I come up front, ready to put on the smiling face everyone expects me to have. It’s harder this time, now that I know who Baz is. Agatha explained to me that he was in our Lit class and came from an extremely high-up government family, but wasn’t going home during the break because his father was embarrassed of him. I can’t imagine why, since he has the highest scoring in our school and literally speaks 5 different languages fluently.

I start to remember seeing him in class, seeing him before everyone else was seated in the room with his nose crammed into a notebook, or in the front arguing with the professor in a hushed tone over the reading material. I don’t know why I had never noticed him before? Maybe he didn’t want to be noticed. Whatever the reason is, I can’t help but to think about how he and I will be one of the few people stuck on campus during break. But I need to stop thinking about him because there’s a costumer and-

“Baz?”

Baz

This was a bad idea. A horrible, terrible idea. I thought that coming back to the coffee shop would give me the chance to clean up and regain some form of dignity. I had kept my head held high the entire way here and practiced my lines for when I came in. Simon was to say, “Hello.” I was to ask for the toilet, calm and cool, and he was to point in its general direction. Then I would clean up, say my thanks, and leave. I hadn’t even thought to buy another coffee to replace the old one, adrenaline having woken me up.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, Simon is looking at me like I had just walked out of the apocalypse with a massive wound I’m casually ignoring and called me Baz. I felt my breath hitch at the sound of him using the nickname. “What happened? Are you okay?” If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he was genuinely concerned that I had gotten mugged or something – my coat is covered in a giant coffee stain and my hair is windblown everywhere, so it’s understandable. I tried to say something witty, but his eyes were so full of concern it makes me feel sick.

“Toilet,” is all I manage. He nods hurriedly and jumps – actually jumps – over the counter and starts to show me toward the restroom. As soon as we were in, I thought he would leave. But he proves me wrong and stays with me as I take off my jacket and wrinkle my nose at it. I always knew white wasn’t my color, and this is a sign confirming my thoughts.

I sigh and look up at Simon. His eyes are wide and his cheeks go from pinkish to almost red as I meet his gaze. “Do you mind,” I mutter. He blinks at me and sputters, “Oh. Right, of course. Yeah. Sorry, mate. I’ll just. Yeah. I’llbeouthereifyouneedanything.” His hip hits the sink on his clumsy way out and I hear him mutter a curse under his breathe. “Watch your mouth, we’re at work,” I hear a girl call from outside. The door closes and it’s quiet once more.

I splash water on my face and hold on to the sink, staring into the drain as if my problems could be washed down the drain with the water. But they can’t, obviously. I check my pants to make sure they’re not ruined – they’re not, thank Merlin. I plan to check for bruising back in my room – not here, knowing that Simon is outside my door and could come in any time he wished. I leave the restroom, surprised to find him not there, but instead at the register, humming to the overhead music and doing tricks with the cup as he moves about. As if nothing had happened a few minutes ago.

I attempt to sneak past him, hoping he was preoccupied enough to have forgotten about me. “Hey, Baz!”

Apparently not.

I try to put on my sneer, not wanting to talk about how embarrassing I am to the universe. But the effort to do so diminishes immediately when his eyes meet mine. I feel my face fall as I approach the counter, feeling suddenly drained and tired and in great need of a nap. I look up at him and say nothing, knowing whatever may come out of my mouth may come off as offensive.

“You okay, mate? You really had me worried. I’m assuming your coffee spilled all over you somehow. I’ll make you a new one, don’t worry about it. Black coffee with a shot of espresso, right?” I feel my head spin as he takes off from the counter and goes for the cups to his left. “No,” I try to say, but it come out cracked and weak.

“Did I get it wrong?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and bringing his full attention to me.

“No,” I say again, firmer. “You are correct, I just do not want a coffee anymore.” He blinks at me. Once. Twice. He puts the coffee cup back onto its pile. “Oh. Well, could I at least treat you to a pastry?”

I shake my head.

“Not even a sour cherry scone?”

I look at him suspiciously from where I stand. “Sounds like that’s made up, Snow.” He cracks a smile and laughs a little. His laugh is so amazing; I don’t think I could ever get tired of it. I want to hear it again, but I can’t just tell him that. I realize I called him Snow, his last name. Crisse, I think I fucked up. I never gave away that I know him, right? Crowley, he’s going to think I’m some stalker.

But he’s still laughing and that’s good, right? My mouth tugs a little upwards, but I fight the smile. I don’t want to come off creepy – unless I already have and Simon is only laughing because he’s weirded out by me and fears what I may do to him. He stops and looks at me, eyes flicking down to my mouth and then back up at me.

What does that mean?

Simon

He smiles, just a little. It’s so small and brief that I barely catch it. I feel myself uncontrollably smiling wide at him. “Well then, it seems like I owe you a coffee. Perhaps we can get one tomorrow? Or whenever you’re available.” Smooth, Simon. Real smooth.

Baz looks at me, tilting his head in thought, his once windblown hair back to its perfect, soft style. “Will you be here during break?” he asks. I shrug, “Living on campus, but not working since we’re closed. What about you?” I don’t want him to know that I know he’ll be on campus – that would come off as weird.

“Yeah, I’ll be around. Erm… see you then?” he asks, awkwardly waving at me.

“Wait!” I say quickly before picking up a paper cup. I flip it and the marker out of habit and write my number on it. “So we can contact one another,” I say. My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest as he takes the cup out of my hand and examines it. Without a word, he reaches over the counter and grabs a cup and plucks the Sharpie from my hand.

From here, I can tell his handwriting is as beautiful as him. He hands me the cup with elegant numbers scrawled across it and I wrap it in my hands, holding it tightly to my chest.

“I’ll text you,” he says as he reaches for the bar of the door handle blindly, missing the bar twice before finally finding it and stumbling with it as it opened. A giddy laugh escapes me as I look back down at the cup.

Baz

Did I just get a date with Simon fucking Snow?

Hero

Summary: In which Bucky has never heard the song Hero by Enrique Iglesias but very quickly remedies that in your honor.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,408

A/N: Imagine inspired by this song. If you’ve never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. If you have heard it, don’t even lie and say you’ve never sung it at the top of your lungs (I know I have).

Originally posted by kittyseb

“This is my jam!” You exclaim excitedly once you hear the beginning of one of your favorite songs. In no time at all, Enrique Iglesias is blasting through the speakers and you are singing along with him at the top of your lungs.

“What is this?”

At the sound of Bucky’s question, you immediately pause your iPod and stare at him. “What did you just say?”

He gestures towards the speakers you are standing next to. “That song you just stopped playing. What is it?”

You try to tell yourself that his confusion makes perfect sense. It is not his fault that he has spent more than half of his life being used as an assassin for HYDRA. At the same time though, Hero is a classic and everyone should know it - the Winter Soldier included. “I can’t believe you don’t know it.”

Keep reading

sometimes my brain just screams random shit at me like “DO DOGS LIKE JAZZ???” and then 10 minutes later im blaring coltrane from my laptop speakers and standing next to me dog waiting to see what he does because I NEED TO KNOW

8

Roman Holiday reaction gifs.

For confused non-italian speakers:

  • Sciao belli!

Literally stands for: Hi/Bye beautiful!

  • po-po-po-po-po-po-po 

Stadium chant we sing when the national football team plays/wins. It’s the famous melody from the song “Seven nation army” by The White Stripes.

  • Dammi una vespa e ti porto in vacanza

Line from the song “50 Special” by Lunapop, it literally means: “Give me a Vespa and I’ll take you on a holiday”.

IMAGINE ISAAC DOING EVERYTHING HE CAN TO KEEP HELP YOU WITH BEING A NEW WEREWOLF


Originally posted by teenwolfdaily-twd

Originally posted by smridh007

You were scared. Your first day back to school - same school, only this time you are a werewolf, the newest member of the McCall pack. You walked down the halls, gripping the straps of your bag tightly, everything seemed new. It was louder, and all the different smells gave you a headache. 

You opened your locker, trying to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to add to the other loud sounds of kids slamming their lockers shut. It was not pleasant. 

“Hey,” Your best friend Isaac said, walking up to your locker, you didn’t mean to glare at him, but it felt as if his voice was on a loud speaker that you were standing directly in front of. “Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Listen, today’s gonna be hard, if you need anything, and I mean anything, Y/n, just text me.”


“So, how’s your girlfriend doing?” Scott teased Isaac about his crush on the new beta Y/n. 

“Shut up.” Isaac mumbled, looking at his phone, reading the text from you. “Isaac, you said to text you if I needed anything, and I’m hiding in the janitors closet because I feel like I’m gonna shift.” “Please help.” Your last message said. 

Isaac didn’t have to think twice before rushing to the janitors closet, “Isaac where are you -”

“I need to help Y/n.”

Taylor Swift’s 1989 Tour!

    Imagine having the amazing opportunity to go to a Taylor Swift concert at Ford Field in Detroit-a magical land where perfect melodies and harmonies grace your ears and countless sparkly costume clad dancers run across the enormous stage. A place where Taylor becomes the most epic performer, singer, and even motivational speaker. Now imagine standing in the pit next to the stage and dancing along with Taylor and screaming every lyric at the top of your lungs. This is how I spent my Saturday night with my best friend. There is one more “imagine that” that I must add. Imagine meeting Taylor Swift before her concert in a locker-room-turned-New-York-Loft setting. 

    When my best friend and I heard that we would be meeting one of our idols and role models we decided that we needed to do something special, and original. After thinking of enough plans to fill a notebook and endless screams of the phrase “YES WE NEED TO DO THAT”  we came up with one idea that stood out among the rest. We decided to serenade her with her song “Welcome to New York”, but change the lyrics to say “Welcome to Detroit”. 

PLEASE EXCUSE MY HORRIBLE CLAPPING 

    Before the show we spent a lot of time practicing our song and making sure it would be perfect. When we inevitably got stuck in traffic on the way to the show we leaped out of the car with t-shirts thrown over our heads to protect our hair from the downpour of rain. We assumed that we would be totally late and miss the entire meet and greet so we started running. When we actually got into the stadium we realized that we needed to run around the ENTIRE THING to get to where we needed to be. Our high-heeled-shoes ended up in our hands and we finally arrived, completely out of breath, to the meet and greet. Little did we know that we were in store for a whole lot of waiting. 

    In order to actually get to the meet and greet location we needed to wait in a total of 4 spots. The first was where we got to see a graffiti artwork done by a Detroit artist in honor of Taylor’s show.

(Photo courtesy of TaylorSwift.com)
    After practicing our song for Taylor next to the artwork a few more times we were taken to go and wait in the second location. By the time we made it to the third waiting location the security guards were there and we were told that we were not allowed to bring anything in with us to meet her. We had to leave my ukulele out on a table along with our phones, purses, and letters to Taylor. While we were devastated that we couldn’t perform for Taylor we were still beyond excited to even meet her at all! Nothing could stand in our way of making the most of the short time we had to speak with her! 

    As the line dwindled down to the fourth location, we began to catch glimpses of her through a curtain and hear snips of her cheerful voice. Finally, we were next in line. We opened the curtain and there she was. She is stunningly beautiful and has legs for days. When we walked in, she immediately complimented Sierra, telling her that that she was so tall and beautiful.  I then joked that I am super short (a whopping 5′2″!) making us all laugh. Taylor then confided that she had quite a few tricks up her sleeve and surprises during the show tonight!

    Next Taylor said that we both looked super familiar so I told her all about THIS SPECIFIC BLOG! I said “I have a blog” and Taylor started asking me what it was. I told her that it was called “Swaggie Maggie’s View from the Pit” and that I wrote about music, bands and concerts. She thought that the blog was really cool and asked if I wrote about all sorts of music to which I answered YES! I told her that I was super into rock and metal and she laughed and said “Which is surprising because you look like a dainty ballerina!”. Taylor asked if she followed the blog (wink wink taylorswift if there’s even a chance that you’re reading this). She doesn’t, but I’m hoping that she stumbles upon this post one day.

     The time came for us to take a photo together an it turned out great! I feel like we all look like best friends and that this photo is the definition of squad GOALS! I love that she has her arms around our shoulders, and is leaning into Sierra. It looks so natural, like we have known each other for years. After taking the photo we both hugged her again and our time was up.

    We left the meet and greet feeling lighter than air! Her mom was standing outside the room so we skipped over to her-giddy from meeting Taylor, and struck up a conversation. When she asked us what grades we were in we both told her that we are Seniors in High School and that we are both going off to college next year. I will be at Michigan State while Sierra will be at Notre Dame: Her son Austin’s Alma Mater! After hugging Mama Swift we left the Loft.

    We made our way to the Left Pit to claim our spots for the show. Vance Joy (aka James) was just beginning his performance, and since we were front row we had the perfect view of James and he was absolutely breathtaking. In between two of his songs Sierra screamed  “I love you James.” We could visibly see that he was surprised that someone knew his real name and looked over at us. We both waved and Sierra even blew him a kiss. His set was great! He even covered Bruce Springsteen’s song “Dancing in the Dark”. I am a HUGE Springsteen fan so I freaked out…I’m pretty sure I was the youngest person who knew the song. He ended with Riptide since it is his most popular song. I swear for an entire chorus he made eye contact with us and we died. We literally just died!

    Finally, Taylor took the stage wearing one of many dazzling outfits. The crowd (myself included) went wild and the show began. Having to run on a stage through a room filled with 51,000 screaming fans and dancing as if her life depended on it, it’s hard to believe that her vocals sounded as flawless as they did! I have said this before and I will say it again: Taylor Swift is not only a talented singer, but she is an amazing performer! She sang every single song off  her new album as well as putting new spins on songs from previous albums such as “I Knew You Were Trouble” and “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”. My dad got tears in his eyes when she performed “Love Story” because that was the song I sang for my school’s talent show when I was in 6th grade!

    Those surprises that Taylor hinted at? She was telling the truth! Dan Reynolds of Imagine Dragons made an appearance to sing Radioactive, even though he is currently on tour! We all went crazy and had, as Taylor calls it, a Rage Fest! Then during “Style”, Taylor’s two friends Martha Hunt and Gigi Hadid came out and walked the runway! The three of them had the biggest smiles plastered on their faces and we could really tell that they were having the best time. I only hope that they realized that the fans were having the best time as well.

     I loved every second of the concert and writing this blog allowed me to relive every glorious moment! I have quite a few more fun blogposts lined up for this summer, so stay tuned!

-Swaggie Maggie

(co-written by Sierra Mayhew)
   

This is not conservatism. What was proposed yesterday is not what this party stands for, and more importantly, it’s not what this country stands for.
—  Speaker of the House Paul Ryan denounces Donald Trump’s Muslim ban 

The Wall of Sound

It was a signal moment in the history of sound that set in motion a years-long work in progress that would culminate in what’s arguably the largest and technologically innovative public address system ever built, and it started not with a bang, but with something of a casual, stoned proposition. 

This singular work of engineering would come to weigh over 70 tons, comprise dozens and then hundreds of amps, speakers, subwoofers, and tweeters, stand over three-stories tall and stretch nearly 100 feet wide. Its name could only be the Wall of Sound.

Congress Gothic

You’ve been told not to enter the chamber without a judge present, but it’s only when you look in through the crack in the door as the chamber congregates outside that you understand the precaution.

The docket written on the white board reads ‘damnation’, over and over, neatly numbered one through eight in red dry erase marker.

“Where are you from?” you ask the girl beside you, waiting for the session to begin. Every head in the chamber snaps in your direction. “Florida,” they murmur in unison.

The Presiding Officer stands. She asks, “Is there a motion on the floor?” There is none. The floor is motionless. The chamber is cold and stagnant as a tomb.

A brief recess is called an hour into the session. Flawlessly synchronized, the speakers stand and assemble into a perfect circle.

“I don’t usually judge Congress,” the new judge explains. The Presiding Officer asks her for clarification. She stares numbly at the front of the chamber. “Two down,” she whispers. “Fist at seven.” Her face goes blank.

A speaker requests permission to exit the chamber. He doesn’t return.

The chamber calls a recess for dinner. The halls are empty. The cafeteria is empty. The school has been bought by a developer and is slated to become a shopping mall. Congress is twenty-five years behind the rest of the tournament.

The Presiding Officer’s gavel is not a gavel. Each time she taps it, her desk is dotted with red. A speaker who continued thirty seconds over time appears to be missing his femur.

After the tournament, your coach hands you a stack of ballots. They’re blank, but every speech was scored a 6.

(speech and debate gothic by sail-for-warmer-climes)