#AND said he was born in 1993

[wikitpowers]

oh did i mention my kickstarter book is on it’s way??? probably failed to mention it because i’m still so angry that they didn’t include ty’s new flowercard that i’m genuinely refusing to talk about it

[gobbluthbutagirl]

so i knowwww the first rule of tv show timelines is, we don’t think too deeply about tv show timelines, but like…regarding the righteous gemstones…a) in the season 2 interlude episode, taking place in 1993, eli says he has “two teenagers.” yet in 2000 judy is still in high school. so how does that work. and then b) how old is gideon? because presumably season 1 takes place in 2019. and you’d think he was probably about 17/18 during the prayer power convention scene which took place(i think) in 2018…so the year 2000 should be about the time he was born, right? also c) when aimee-leigh is pregnant with kelvin she says she’s due in july. and then later kelvin says his birthday is really close to christmas. so what happened there!!! and then d) this one isn’t really timeline-related But. in season one when they’re talking to the nancys amber says she was raised in “a rural part of the state.” so you assume she’s still from south carolina just one of the asscrack nowhere parts. and then in season 3 they say she’s from kentucky which is of course a completely different state. so???

[cloveroctobers]

JAMES EARL JONES

James Earl Jones was an American actor known for his iconic voice acting roles and for his work in theater. Over his career, he received three Tony Awards, two Emmy Awards, and a Grammy Award. Born in Arkabutla, Mississippi in 1931, he had a stutter since childhood. Jones said that poetry and acting helped him overcome the challenges of his disability. A pre-med major in college, he served in the United States Army during the Korean War before pursuing a career in acting. Jones made his film debut in Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove (1964). He received a Golden Globe Award nomination for Claudine (1974). Jones gained international fame for his voice role as Darth Vader in the Star Wars franchise, beginning with the original 1977 film. Jones' other notable roles include in Conan the Barbarian (1982), Matewan (1987), Coming to America (1988), Field of Dreams (1989), The Hunt for Red October (1990), The Sandlot (1993), and The Lion King (1994). Jones reprised his roles in Star Wars media, The Lion King (2019), and Coming 2 America (2021).

He was described as "one of America's most distinguished and versatile" actors for his performances on stage and screen, and "one of the greatest actors in American history.”

( January 17th, 1931 — September 9th, 2024)

Rest well.

[joelsmochi]

Dirty Lies

SUMMARY: Joel realized how much you matured since he last saw you 4 years ago and can’t resist you. WARNINGS: age gap [reader is 22, joel is 35], smut minors dni, no descriptions of reader aside from having shoulder length hair & having a girly sense of fashion, pervy!joel, shy-ish!joel, needy!joel, reader seduces joel. 18+ WARNINGS: infidelity if you squint (technicalities people), brief objectification, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, reader was a lying little shit in high school but it paid off WC: 7.3k [please read author's note]

A/N: this was originally going to be a 15k word long smut as part of my LDR series, but........ I figured the more parts I can make out of it the more content I can produce, so here is part one of Us Against The World. Enjoy :) Edit: I’m rereading this and noticing a few typos, I apologize about those! Grammarly isn’t so helpful sometimes…

series masterlist | main masterlist

There you were in your blue tank top and yoga pants laying with your father’s dog in the middle of the front yard. You had just returned from New York a few days earlier from college, which your father amicably told Joel about over a few beers the week before.

Joel was expecting to see your 18-year-old self: long hair, sparkly eyeshadow, dressed in your late mother’s hand-me-downs from the 80s. But that was no longer you.

You dressed more modern and age-appropriate. Your hair was shorter, looked curlier, and you had highlights. Your eyebrows were thinner and your face was free from the loud makeup your teenage self was accustomed to. Joel would make jokes from time to time about how he believed you were just born with glitter all over your eyes.

Joel felt a little silly thinking you wouldn’t have changed. Who doesn’t make a drastic change when they leave high school? He hadn’t found the time to stop by and say hello but he wasn’t necessarily rushing it.

He’d met your father when you guys moved in next door in 1993 and he remembered you introduced yourself the second you saw him and Sarah playing outside despite your father’s protests.

You told Joel about how your dad was only being grumpy because he’d just turned thirty-six. Something about getting old. You didn’t bother to retain that information.

But here you were: all grown up. It reminded Joel of the day he overheard you and your best friend talking about how handsome you thought he was. He wondered if you still felt that way.

You sat up, feeling the sense that someone was watching you; your eyes scanned around until instinct made you look to the same window Joel was standing in.

For some reason, he didn’t feel embarrassed about being caught staring. He offered you an energetic smile and you took in his appearance.

He hadn’t changed much — his hair was a little longer and he had a few more fine lines across his face, but he was still the handsome man you remembered and admired.

You stand up and walk over to the window prompting him to open it.

“Hey, creep,” you teased with a big grin, “how ya been?”

Even your voice sounded different with its blend of Texas and New York. It was sultry with a hint of confidence. He tried not to let his weaknesses show.

“I’m doing all right… Sorry for starin’. Could hardly tell that was you,” he responded.

You just barely saw his eyes glance down to your chest, and it made you smirk.

Had this been any other man you’d have your fist meeting their jaw, but it wasn’t any other man. It was Joel. You hadn’t forgotten that he was attractive, but you did forget just how attractive. Or maybe his sexiness came with his age.

Not like it mattered anyways. It wasn’t like you could make a move.

“I been gettin’ that a lot… Dad tells me you’re a contractor now with Tommy.”

Joel nodded and said, “Yep, hated workin’ for other people, so…”

You were unsure if you were being awkward or if it was just… Awkward.

“Cool. Yeah, no, I get that. How is Tommy, by the way? Is he still really cute?” You giggled.

This made Joel roll his eyes. “Not cuter than me,” he answered begrudgingly. You watched how his eyes faltered again, trailing from your lips to your belly ring. “Your dad let you get that?”

You scoffed and waved your hand lazily as if you were swatting his condescending tone away. “One, Dad can’t tell me what to do with my body. And two, Tommy was always the cuter one.”

“S’that so?” Joel grunted as if he were tempted to laugh.

You gave him a cunning look and nodded. “Yeah. But you were always more handsome.”

Joel found himself blushing at the compliment, trying to wipe the redness away with his calloused palm to no avail.

You let out a quiet teetering laugh and looked back to make sure your dog was okay for a moment. “He get that dog after I left?”

Joel focused on you again and confirmed it once he noticed the dog again. “Yeah. I think your dad likes having something to take care of.”

You looked back into Joel’s eyes and bathed in them for a moment. He seemed more like himself, more certain of who he was. It made you a little sad to know how much time has passed, but maybe it was better this way.

“He was always like that. I think it started after… Well, you know.” You took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. “How’s Sarah? She still my little rockstar?”

“She’s more of a pop star, now,” he said. “She still wears that bracelet you let her have, the… The silver one.”

Your chest swelled with joy and you couldn’t contain your excitement. “Really?! Aw, man, that’s so cool. I remember I would throw a fit if I didn’t have that damn thing on.” The dog barking grabbed your attention once again. He was just barking at the mailman but settled once the worker started petting him. “Sorry!” You shouted before returning your focus to Joel. “Well, Joel it was nice seeing you. We should… Catch up. I could use some… Life advice.”

“I’m free tomorrow night if that works?” He tried to contain his excitement.

You slowly backed away, giving him one more nod and smile. “Perfect. Just come over whenever like old times.”

Joel decided to be respectful enough to not ogle over your ass as you walked away. He turned away from the window wondering how the hell he was going to get over this… Crush?

Is that what this was? A crush?

He decided to not torture himself with his intrusive thoughts.

“Hey, kid,” Joel greeted. You rolled your eyes at the nickname but greeted him back. He entered the backyard slowly trying to get a feel for the mood. He sat next to you in the extra papasan chair and snatched your beer out of your hands. You glared at him, unable to hold it for long when he shot you that infamous smile. “Everything all right?”

He tasted your strawberry chapstick around the rim of the glass and let the taste linger on his tongue. His eyes fell to your lips as he thought about how the chapstick would taste coming straight from you. Raw and unfiltered.

You held your breath, wishing you had enough courage to ask your father these questions. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your father, you just wanted an opinion from an outside perspective. You were hoping Joel wasn’t as inclined to protect or embarrass you as much as your dad.

“There’s this guy I’ve been dating for a few months now… I…” You sigh frustratedly with the tension surrounding the question meanwhile Joel grew tense and jealous? He asked himself why that was the way he felt about you having a boyfriend.

You apprehensively said, “We had sex a few times before I left and it wasn’t…good.”

“Okay?” Joel asked as a way to tell you to keep going.

“How should I go about telling a guy that?”

He cleared his throat uncertain of how to answer your question. He didn’t want his newly discovered feelings to cloud his judgment as the chances of you two becoming a thing were slim to none. He wouldn’t want to sabotage you or your relationships. Especially when you trusted him enough to ask such a burdening question.

Joel accepted the awkwardness of the topic and put it aside. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed. “Well, have you tried suggesting things that he can do to make you—it feel good?” He asked.

“Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s me,” you admitted.

“Does he do the things you ask him to?”

“Kinda?” Your cheeks flushed and your eyebrows furrowed tightly.

He gave you a look that said come on now.

“He like… Does half of it?” You could just die of embarrassment right now.

“Wh—? How does he do half of it?”

You groaned obnoxiously and chugged some more beer. “I don’t know?! He does what I ask for like five minutes and then just does what he’s used to I guess.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out to pout as you stared into the glass bottle. “I really like him, Joel.”

“Does he like you?”

“Well, yeah,” you said as if it were obvious. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He inhaled sharply through his teeth and stole your beer bottle again. “All I will say is that a man that truly likes you would try harder, especially during sex, and especially if you’ve told him how he could make you feel good.”

“So… What do I do?”

“Do you think he likes you?” He asked again. “Think about it for a second. What does he do for you?”

“Well, he…” Your voice trailed off into silence as your mind went blank. Surely this guy did something for you to make you like him, right? But anything that did happen to come to mind was the bare minimum. You didn’t want to give Joel the satisfaction, so you said, “I think it could work.”

“Who’re trying to convince? Me or yourself?” He saw the frustration on your face and propped a finger below your chin to make you look at him. “If a guy really likes you, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have to ask more than once,” was all he said after he took a sip of your beer.

“What do you mean?”

Joel’s sigh almost sounded irritated. “I mean… A guy that truly likes you and deserves you won’t make you suffer through sex. A real man’ll take care a’you.”

“A real man, huh?” You bantered.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Do you like me?”

Why the fuck did I ask him that?! You thought as soon as the words left your mouth.

Joel didn’t couldn’t answer right away. His voice just stumbled over his tongue and out of his mouth.

“I think you’re a sweet girl,” he finally said, “and you’re smart enough to know who’s worthy of your time and attention. Doesn’t sound like it’s him.”

You couldn’t defeat the growing smirk on your face as he fought the urge to look over your body. He wasn’t so good at hiding it.

You turned your body in the chair slightly and dauntingly lifted your leg to touch your bare toes against his calf. You watched his breath get caught in his throat and your mouth fell open in awe at how easy it was to get him riled up.

He looked at the ground, not moving a single inch of his body. He was overwhelmed by your confidence.

The amount of attention Joel’s given you in the last ten minutes already seemed to surpass the attention your “boyfriend” (can you even call him that?) had given you.

Your foot trailed up Joel’s leg before you rested it upon his knee; Joel’s eyes screwed shut as if he were praying to not get caught like this, but your voice brought his gaze back to you.

“You didn’t answer my question, Joel,” you whispered seductively. Your foot left his leg and you got on your knees in the chair, then you leaned forward, hands around the rim of his own seat, and leaned in devilishly close to his face. “Do you like me?”

He swallowed hard, his fingertips turning white as they pressed into the bottle.

His lack of an answer caused an impatience to grow inside you. You leaned in even closer and strengthened your eye contact with him. Your fingers absentmindedly trailed over his knee to the midpoint of his clad thigh.

His spine shivered and his arms grew goosebumps. “Why don’t you have this attitude with your boyfriend?” He asked lowly in a poor attempt to further evade answering you.

You snickered and looked over his beer-covered lips, craving to taste them. “If I’m being honest he’s technically not my boyfriend… You’re tellin’ me things about men and how they should act. It’s making me feel like… He just can’t handle me.”

He smirked at you, fighting the way his body pleaded to touch yours. “If that’s the case then, sweetheart, I don’t think he’s the one for you.”

“Oh?” You got even closer, your nose touched his and you heard him choke on his breath. “Do you think you could handle me?”

He chuckled rashly and straightened his posture, now sensing you tense up. “I could,” he confidently confessed. “But this ain’t right, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you scoff, “you can’t keep your eyes off of me.”

“If you keep actin’ like a spoiled brat you won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” you retorted, a cocky essence in your eyes.

“That so?”

“Maybe you can show me how a real man should be taking care of me.”

Joel had to stop himself from speaking as it would have potentially led to consequences. His flustered cheeks and wide lustful eyes created a hunger you’d never felt before.

However, you wanted Joel to earn it. Push him to the point of begging for just a taste of you. You needed to know if he craved you. Something you longed for from other men that just could not deliver.

You hovered your agape lips over his so dangerously it tickled his nerves. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek then sat back in your original position.

Joel was both relieved and disappointed with the kiss. Relieved it didn’t end up with his head buried between your thighs, and at the same time disappointed that it didn’t.

For the next few days, you settled into your room as best as you could and got everything how you wanted it to be. Well, almost. You wanted a shelf to go over your closet so that you could display your most prized possessions.

When the idea sparked in your head you remembered that your dad said he was going to be gone for most of the day. You figured you could hold off for one more day. That was until you heard some power tools and heavy grunting from beyond your window.

Joel.

Joel had followed your lead as best as he could and you had to admit that the lack of physical contact was making it harder to resist him.

You felt a bit strange, however. After all, this is Joel. Sweet, caring, next-door neighbor Joel. You and your friends had a crush on him and his brother, Tommy, sure, but this wasn’t that. And you surely weren’t a child anymore. But still, you couldn’t help but think of how strange the dynamic is.

It wasn’t enough to stop you from taking your sweatpants off and changing out of your t-shirt into a stretchy tank top. You poked your head out of your window and shouted Joel’s name a few times until you successfully got his attention.

“Hey!” You said with a proud smile.

“Hey, kid!” He shouted back.

“Can you build a shelf for me? I wanted to get my room done today, but my old man’s gone!”

“Right now?” He tried to seem indifferent.

You just smiled harder and motioned for him to come over. “Please?!”

He huffed and looked at his half-done project, ultimately deciding to help you instead. The sooner he helps you the sooner he could create distance, he figured. Though deep down he knew that wasn’t the real reason.

You patter downstairs to unlock the door for him. He could see from the corners of his eyes that you were half naked, only in white panties and your top.

“Couldn’t a’put pants on?” He asked grumpily as he walked past you, not giving you the satisfaction of staring. You shut and lock the door before guiding him upstairs.

“Yeah, but I figured since you were doing the job for free I could at least give you something to look at,” you flirted. He didn’t even bother trying to stop you.

“What d’ya need done exactly?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I want those shelves to hang over my closet right… Here. I have a power drill here already, I just couldn’t figure out how to get it.”

He was doing a decent job at keeping his eyes anywhere but on your body, but in his mind he had already taken your clothes off and fucked you against the wall.

“S’alright, I can get it for ya,” he said while giving you an earnest look.

“What?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” he answered with a shrug and a smirk. You lightly smack his arm and plop down on your bed.

You lay on your stomach and flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally smelling some of the perfume samples. You snuck glances at Joel’s broad back as he made sure everything could be lined up, smiling to yourself at how efficiently he worked.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Joel randomly asked after about ten minutes. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he peaked over his shoulder. 

You stifled your laugh and began looking at the magazine again before answering him. “He actually ended things with me two days ago. But like I said, he technically wasn’t my boyfriend. He never asked.”

“Oh… You doing okay? Seemed like you really liked him.”

“I like someone else more,” was all you said. Joel took a second, then just nodded even though you weren’t looking at him anymore.

“This someone have a name?” He asked after a few more moments of silence.

Joel’s internal conflict was teetering between giving in and giving up. He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to you, but that’s what fueled his filthy thoughts even more.

“Yep, he sure does.”

Your tone was the exact opposite of what you were feeling. You felt hot and desperate, but you (almost) fooled him by sounding bored. He didn’t want to give into your childish game of beating around the bush, so he kept his mouth shut and began hammering a nail into the wall.

Suddenly you had an idea. An awfully sinister one.

You tossed the magazine on your nightstand and sat up in the bed, leaning into a few pillows and angling yourself so that Joel could get the perfect view if he dared to look.

Your hands traced uneven lines and patterns over your clad breasts and you gasped softly at your nipples perking up quickly. He couldn’t hear you over his hammering.

You rid yourself of your wet panties, kicking them to the edge of the bed. You spread your legs and began working big and slow circles over your sensitive clit. You used your free hand to pinch your nipple over your shirt, the combination of stimuli making you give a more audible moan.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first — he figured you were moving around on the bed to get more comfortable. So when the next moan came and he stopped his work to look at you he was taken aback, to say the least.

He said your name, but you shook your head in protest. “Is this okay?” You asked, innocence spreading across your face.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.

“Joel?” You snapped him out of his daze. “S’this okay?”

He nodded and watched your trembling hands dip down into your glistening slit, collecting your wetness and coating it over your clit. Your body was stiff with anticipation, watching him watch you.

He took in all of your beauty like the way your eyes fluttered halfway shut and how you bit your plump lip to quiet your mewls. One hand cupped your breast so gently and the other rubbing steady, taunting circles over your sensitive bud. He watched the way you pleased yourself and let this picture of you engrave itself into his memory.

One day, Joel thought, I’d be able to make her feel as good as she makes herself feel.

He ignored the hardening of his cock pressing against his jeans, not caring enough to touch himself if it meant he didn’t get to feel you. He found the situation quite sexy and the lack of physical contact made him feel good.

You were showing him that he didn’t need to touch you or talk to you. He didn’t need to do a damn thing. All he needed to do was stand there and let you look at him.

Your moans were quiet and soft, barely heard by him. You squeezed your nipple harshly and jolted at the shock of electricity it sent throughout your body, your eyes screwing shut and your legs curling up into an almost fetal position at the feeling.

He saw you swallow the lump in your throat as you looked into his eyes again, soon scanning over his body and imagining how he would feel on top of you. The imagination was more than enough to get you going.

You imagined he felt strong and heavy above you, trapping you with his burly arms and using his lean thighs to keep your legs open for him as he rolled his hips to meet yours.

You absentmindedly curled your middle and ring finger into your creamy pussy, chasing after the feeling of being stretched out by Joel. Your pussy effortlessly squelched as your discharge poured out of you like a waterfall, coating your plump ass cheeks in your juices.

You got a bit louder but remained mindful of the open windows just a few feet away. You watched the movement in his jeans from his cock that twitched, longing for just some fucking relief. But he didn’t move, he didn’t even adjust his pants. He wanted you to know that you were the one in charge and that he was willing to suffer just for you.

“Joel,” you breathed out in between helpless murmurs.

He almost caved at how sweetly you said his name like you were asking for help. You reached even further into your sex, pressing into your sweet spot carefully. You pretended it was him.

Allowing your eyes to shut and your mouth to open, your mind dove deeper into the fantasies of Joel. You imagined him fucking you slowly, steady enough to not make your bed squeak too loud. Your fingers followed your mind, bumping against your g-spot the same way you wanted him to: carefully, yet forceful.

Joel felt awkward just standing there watching you, but you looked so beautiful. Sprawled out just for him with your fingers dipping into your sopping cunt as if you were made just for him. He saw your shoulders twitch and a hiss escaped your lips.

A ripple of ecstasy shocked your nerves, your walls tighten around your fingers, and your clit tensed up with a tickling sensation.

Your face twisted from the overwhelming feeling that began to encapsulate you from your core to your mind. Your moans became shallow and louder. Your clit throbbing beneath your palm motivated your to work your fingers faster. You fucked yourself with more desire than you had before, still twisting your perky nipple between your other fingers.

You were a lot more gentle with yourself than Joel would have expected. You took your time, didn’t overwhelm yourself.

He knew he loved it when the ever-growing pressure inside of you burst into a million flames throughout your trembling body. He saw that the slower you were with yourself the more intense the orgasm was.

He accidentally groaned at the sight of you: clinging to your bedsheet with the very hand that toyed with your breast, eyes refusing to open from the immense pleasure soaring through your veins, curling up into a ball because your body couldn’t comprehend just how good you were feeling.

He noticed how your cum gushed around and below your fingers creating a wet spot on your blanket. He carefully watched as you opened your eyes, still slowly fingering yourself. You continued to feel your orgasm, exploring how much of it you could endure.

You moved your free hand to your clit and rubbed tiny and fast circles around it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you refused to moan anything but his name.

You shoved your fingers deep inside of you to press against your g-spot relentlessly. Your toes curled at the mix of pleasure.

You knew your orgasm was coming back more powerful than before already, and you braced yourself when your walls flexed against your fingers basically forcing them out; you chewed hard on your lip and laid your stiff fingers flat against your clit to rub from side to side at the arrival of your squirt. You squealed behind your swollen lip and let your squirt splash everywhere.

Joel palmed his rock-hard cock for some relief as he watched in awe at how you came for him. You looked so fucking delicious soaking yourself in your juices. His heart punched against his chest and his mind nearly blank, only filled with you.

Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you eased up on your clit. You let out sweet hums of bliss and you opened your eyes again, carefully analyzing his body language.

He practically reeked of inferiority. He was your marionette, your toy, whatever you wanted him to be. He didn’t recognize you in the best way possible. You were an unwrapped present that he couldn’t wait to open and play with. Your confidence grew at his puppy eyes that were low and dark, filled with a need to serve you.

Your fingers collected some of the creamy nectar between your folds before you brought it to your mouth and darted your wet tongue out to taste it.

You never broke eye contact once, observing how his body shuddered at the filthy action. His breath was heavy, his chest heaved in anticipation. You stuck your fingers inside of your mouth moaning at the salty goodness coating every single taste bud.

It wasn’t until your fingers dropped back down to your side and you gave him a shit-eating grin that he finally looked away, sighing loudly.

He felt ashamed of himself.

He’d known you since you were a child.

How could he ever look you in the eye again?

How could he ever look your father in the eye again?

You slipped your panties on again while he wasn’t looking and just grabbed your magazine, flipping through the pages again like nothing ever happened though the wet spot on your bed clearly said otherwise.

When Joel saw you had returned to your previous activities he did the same. Drilling and hammering your shelves onto the wall like nothing fucking happened.

“Here you go sir, you have a lovely day,” you chirped at the customer as you handed him his food waiting until he left. You turned around to straighten up the counter behind you when the bell on the door jingled. “Hello, give me just one moment and I’ll be with you!”

You gave the counter a lazy wipe with the wet washcloth before tossing it into the sink nearby and turning around, being met with a smirking Joel.

“My, my, you working at a burger joint? Never thought I’d see the day,” he teased.

You made a face and told him to shut up. You tried not to notice the sheer layer of sweat that coated his partially exposed chest. “What can I get you, sir?”

His face contorted with arrogance and he placed a hand over his chest. “Sir? You callin’ me sir now? Oh, you are just too cute.”

With a roll of your eyes, you huffed out a stream of air, waiting for him to stop fucking with you.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, dropping the act. “Can I get a burger and some fries?”

“You don’t want a drink?” You asked before writing his order down quickly and sliding it through the kitchen window.

“Are you tryin’a make me tip you more?”

You shrugged. “Nah, it’s just that the cola here is really good.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as if he didn’t believe you.

“If you want a cola I’ll make it extra cold for you,” you whispered as if you were telling him a dirty secret.

“Mhm, okay. Fine, I’ll take your word for it. Gon’ and get it f’me then.”

“You can ask that a little nicer,” you scoffed. You walked off, breathing in a gust of smoke on your way to the soda machine. “F’here or to-go?!” You shouted.

“Mm, I was gonna get it to go, but I think I’ll stay and keep you company.”

You could just hear the smile in his voice.

“Awe, how thoughtful of you,” you bantered before rinsing out a clean cup and filling it with ice. The cook called out the order was ready and you thanked him before finishing up with Joel’s drink. You grabbed the tray and walked over to the end of the counter where the stools sat, setting the food in front of Joel with a weak smile.

He watched you closely as you leaned onto your elbows waiting for him to try his food.

“What r’ya doing workin’ in a restaurant? Didn’t you graduate for like… Fashion or some shit?” Joel asked, unable to keep his smile down at how pretty you looked in your uniform: a teal skirt and a mustard yellow shirt, but so, so tacky. You hated the fucking outfit, it was everything you would never wear, but Joel thought you made it look good.

“I did,” you confirmed, “but I wanted a humbling job before I truly entered the world of fashion.”

Joel’s thick and somewhat dirty fingers unraveled his greasy burger after he dumped the fries out chaotically. He took an unnecessarily big bite, not seeing how your eyes watched the trail of juice trickle down the corner of his mouth to his chin before he swept it set with his thumb.

“Humbling, hmm?” He questioned before swallowing his barely chewed bite. “You’re a wise girl, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smugly replied. You stole a fry off of his tray and smiled at his frowning face while eating it before washing it down with his fizzling soda. “Best drink that ‘fore it goes flat.”

You walked away momentarily to help a customer that just walked in; she only wanted a dollar milkshake so you told her not to worry about paying. You took a dollar and some change from your tip pocket and put it in the register before grabbing a styrofoam cup and packing her cup.

Joel noticed halfway through you making the shake that whenever you tapped the bottom of the cup against the counter your breast jiggled against your arm. He felt the lady nearby staring at him so he turned his head just enough to see the mix of disgust and concern on her face.

If only she knew how filthy you were for him just last week…

He didn’t care enough to stop though, he just went back to looking at how your clothes hugged your body.

You finished up her shake and popped a lid on it before grabbing a straw and walking back to give it to her.

Joel heard the lady ask if you were okay, and he promptly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and tried his best to not laugh. You were confused by her question, simply nodding your head and saying, “Yeah?”

She looked at Joel once more, choosing not to say another word before leaving.

“Fuck was that about?” You asked, watching her walk away.

“She saw me starin’ at your tits,” he said between obnoxious bites. “If only she saw—“

Your eyes widened. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Whatever you say, doll,” he teased before taking another bite.

You pretended to be grossed out by seeing the chewed-up food in his mouth as he spoke, swatting his hand gently. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me,” he quipped with a simper. He took a sip of his drink, humming at how refreshing it felt. “This is good,” he told you.

“Told ya.”

“What time are you out?”

You looked at the door when your manager came in, apologizing for taking longer than she expected.

“You’re fine, it’s a slow day,” you told her as she walked to her office. You looked at Joel and slammed your book and pen on the counter near the register. “I’m out now. Why?”

“Your dad asked me to pick you up.”

You felt a rush of worry. “Why? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, honey, everything’s fine. He forgot about pickin’ you up today and got drunk with his buddies and called me—well, he called Tommy. Said he wouldn’t be back home ‘til tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow at the mention of his brother’s name. “Oh? Well, why isn’t Tommy here?” You strutted around the counter and stood next to Joel as he inhaled the last of his food.

“Think you know why,” he grunted.

Anxiety pang inside of your chest, but you convinced yourself it was excitement. You were hoping that he wanted to get you alone somewhere and fuck you into the next week.

But you didn’t want to seem desperate. You kept a straight face, waiting for your boss to come back out before getting your things and punching out.

You followed Joel to his Chevy and thanked him when he opened the door for you. He huffed when by the time he got inside the car himself you were already flipping through his book of CDs.

“I got a good one in already—“

“Is it The Writing’s On the Wall by Destiny’s Child?” You interrupted after you found said CD.

“No, b—“

“Then it’s not what I want to listen to.”

Joel endured your (arguably bad) singing for the ten-minute ride back to your house. He thought about a few things in that ten minutes:

-Sarah wasn’t home, so he didn’t need to worry about food (or getting caught), so this time was optimal to make a move on you.

-If he were to make a move on you, then you two wouldn’t get caught.

-If he were to make a move on you, how exactly would he do it?

Once he arrived in his driveway, you both stepped out of the car and he walked over to your side.

“You not working tonight?” You asked.

“No, we finished early.”

You looked at him with lush eyes and bit the inside of your mouth, a flirty smile coaxing your lips. He looked hopeful for something, anything.

“I was just gonna watch TV all night,” you started, “and maybe make some dinner. I know you just ate, but you and Sarah are welcome to come over.”

“Sarah’s at a friend’s tonight, doing some studying,” he answered. His voice trailed off as if he weren’t finished speaking his thought aloud, but you picked up where he reluctantly left off.

“Do you want to come over, then? Just you?”

He looked around the quiet neighborhood as if he had to think about what he wanted. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

You lead him to your house, kicking your shoes off at the door and he followed. He felt unsure of his decision. He wondered if this night would play out platonically and just be filled with conversation and dinner, or if this was truly the beginning of a secret he’d have to keep forever.

“Spaghetti okay?” You asked him once you both entered the kitchen, decorated with oranges and reds, and yellows, reminiscent of your late mother. You tossed your half apron on the island before making your way to the refrigerator.

You heard his feet patter on the linoleum quickly but before you could turn around on your own Joel did it, pinning your back against the refrigerator and knocking down some of the bottles inside of it.

You gasped when his fingers peacock over the outsides of your thighs, gripping at the hem as a means to pace himself.

His eyes were bright yet lustful as his proximity alone sucked the air out of your lungs. Your chests heaving against each other’s created the only other physical contact you had with him.

He then dropped to his knees before you got the chance to speak; his calloused hands rose beneath your skirt, hiking it up enough for him to pull your wet panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them for him and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder before meeting his mouth to your clit tongue first.

You moaned at how he just dove into it, not bothering with kissing or easing you into it. Your digits laced through his messy curls while his tongue coated itself in your juices.

His tongue did crazy laps around your clit and he smacked a couple of firm kisses in between his licks. You tried to watch his work but your stupid fucking skirt was in the way. You settled, however when his eyes opened, the only visible part of him from your view.

You tasted so good to him, he tasted your day of work mixed in with your salty precum and he couldn’t get enough of it. He moaned when you tugged at his hair, burying his face as deep as he could and closing his eyes.

You let out a stream of obscenities while using your calf to push into his back, afraid that if you didn’t hold on tight enough he’d vanish.

He wrote out his full name over your clit like he was casting a spell that anything you or someone else touched you there you would only think about him.

You were amazed at how good he was eating you out — you didn’t think he’d be bad. You just didn’t know it could feel this good. It was like you felt him touching and kissing and licking all over your body, swimming in an endless pool of dissolution.

His touch was decadent through remembering how careful you were with yourself. He wanted to cater to you and to make you feel as good as you made yourself. And on top of that, he just really wanted to eat your pussy.

Savor it.

Taste it.

Drink you until you fucking ran dry and begged him to stop.

Nothing could have torn his lips away from your pussy. Hell, someone could have walked in and he’d still keep going.

“Joel,” you gasped, throwing your head back and grinding on his face.

He loudly moaned, tightening his grip around your thighs and wagging his head furiously from side to side to provide more stimulation.

Your hips bucked into his face roughly and you screeched, pulling even tighter on his hair.

“Joel, oh—fu-fuck!”

He smirked and pulled at the skirt to unveil his eyes again. His dick angered in his jeans, but he ignored it. He’d much rather focus on the way you writhed from his touch. Your panting growing heavier fueled his already intense movements. He began to suck while still shaking his head earning another screech from you.

You never felt out of control with how loud you were before. Every motion sent a million shockwaves throughout your body. You always did a good job at keeping quiet enough so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but fucking hell was Joel the one to break that evergreen streak.

You felt his hot breath collide with the fluids coating your sex and his nails leave indents on your flesh.

His tongue darted out to collect a stream of your cum, but his nose butted against your clit as he continued shaking his head making your hips buck once more. Then he realized… He got to stimulate your sensitive bud and lick between your folds.

He loved it.

Your moans became more distressed and uneven; he felt you chasing that high. He wanted you to cum so fucking badly. To let all of your pent-up cum pour over him.

You held the back of his head gently and he angled it just right enough for you to ride his face.

“Use my fucking face,” he moaned loud enough between your legs for you to hear. “Use my fucking face to cum.”

Your body gave in finally at his hoarse voice; your hops sped up, still using his nose and lips to overstimulate yourself. The orgasm was forceful, your moans strident.

Joel felt a pool of your cum leak out and drip down his chin onto his neck. He watched you crumble and curl into him and he was attentive enough to hold you steady while your balance dissipated.

Your head was dizzy and your vision blurred. You slowly halted your movements and just stood there being held by him while he placed light, but loving kisses along your dripping cunt.

He finally pulled his face out from underneath your skirt and carefully put your leg down before standing. He tucked some loose hairs back or behind your ears, then caressed your cheek and gave you a peck.

You wiped some of your cum off of his wet chin with your thumb and held it up to his mouth which he gladly sucked on. He grinned at you afterward and fixed your skirt for you.

The silence was soothing because frankly, neither of you knew what to say. It left you speechless, but that could just be the aftereffect of your climax.

The night was beginning to close in sooner than either of you wanted it to. You two just talked, truly catching up on the past four years. He was a lot funnier than you remembered, your cheeks were aching from how much he was making you laugh.

"You are a real gentleman, Joel Miller. What can I say? Dinner and an orgasm?!"

He lifted you up from your spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him. "I don't have to be," he murmured against your lips. His fingers flexed into your feverish skin, holding you upright and close by. He chased you with his lips until you finally let him kiss you. "Be honest with me... Did you really think I was handsome in high school?"

Your face grew warm and you hid behind your hands in embarrassment. "Oh, my God."

"Why are you actin' all shy now?"

"Because you weren’t supposed to know about that."

"Know about what exactly?"

You crossed your arms, deciding to let him win this time. "You want details?"

He smirked and leaned back to get more comfortable.

"Well... I used to lie and tell my friends that we fucked," you admitted.

"Really?" Despite his surprise the smirk never left his face. If anything it grew wider.

You sheepishly nodded. "I used to tell them how good you were. Everything you would do to me."

"What would I do to you?" His cock was already throbbing against his jeans, and just like every other time, he ignored it.

"You would fuck me up against the wall," you explained. "Sometimes, you would bend me over the edge of the bed and spank me for being naughty. Or just 'cause you felt like it. I'd even tell them about how you played with my ass so gently because you didn't want to hurt me."

Every word went straight to his dick, making it jerk and prod your thigh.

"Maybe I do need to bend you over and spank you for all that lyin' you were doin'. Your friends probably think I'm some creep now," he said; his tone wasn’t scolding or cold. He sounded thirsty for more of you. Like his throat had already run dry despite how much of you he drank earlier.

"I'd tell them the truth, but if I were to do that now then I'd be lying again," you whispered against his lips.

"We certainly cannot have you spreadin' no more dirty lies, now. Can we?"

-

Read Part 2 here.

[notrebdomine]

Who was Eric David Harris?

Early life

➜ Eric David was born on April 9th, 1981 in Wichita, Kansas to parents Wayne Harris and Katherine Ann Poole and little brother to Kevin Harris. Wayne Harris was working in the air force as a transport pilot and held eleven different positions at six different bases in Ohio, Michigan, New York, and Plattsburgh New York and finally to Littleton Colorado in July of 1993.  ➜ His father worked with Flight safety services corporation in Englewood, and Kathy got a job as a caterer at Everything Goes.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

In his early childhood, former friends in military towns described Eric as a good kid, smart, and cute, always cute. Eric's fifth grade teacher Bonnie Leach said,

"He was the perfect little fifth-grader. He was an A-student, small for his age. Adorable."

While in elementary school both of Eric's parents would show up for parent teacher conferences and Eric's mother Kathy even helped out when the class made special shirts for Halloween.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Kris Otten became Eric's best friend in Plattsburgh and had sleepovers at the Harris home.

"It was a real comforting house. Everything was neat and organized"

Otten says.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

In Plattsburgh in April of 1993 Terry Condo drafted Eric for one of his dozen Little League teams in Plattsburgh and the coach thought Eric was talented.

Eric and Kathy attended both games and practices. 

As a young child, Eric and his friends would play "war games" as Eric accounts on his own in his class work ⤵

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Teenage (told in a summarized form)

Eric went to Ken Caryl middle school where he met Dylan Klebold in seventh grade.

Sometime during puberty Eric Harris developed a psychiatric problem that lead to him having to take an anti depressant called Luvox. He may have taken this for obsessive compulsive disorder or depression.

Because of the prescription drugs he took he was rejected from the Marine Corps in early April before the massacre occurred. Many think this is what pushed NBK but the reality was that he was already too far gone. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[matan4il]

Happy Pride month to all Jews and our true allies.

On this occasion, as someone who used to volunteer for the Jerusalem Open House (the gay community center) let me offer you a bit of info about our country's LGBTQ history (and correct some anti-Israel distortions).

This is Chaim (Herman) Cohen.

He was born in Germany in 1911, and came to Israel in 1930, to study torah at a yeshiva here. Inspired by his Jewish studies, he decided to turn to the study of law, returning to Germany for that goal and to get married. In 1933, with the rise of the Nazis to power in Germany, he decided to move to Israel permanently. In that sense, he's considered a refugee and Holocaust survivor. His younger brother Leo was murdered by the Nazis.

In 1950, he was appointed Israel's attorney general. In this role, he came across an anti-sodomy law passed by the British Mandate in 1936 (which prohibited all oral and anal sex, including between two men), and which the State of Israel automatically inherited once it was founded in 1948 (source in Hebrew). First he wanted to cancel it, but his jurisdiction fell short of that. As it was within his authority to instruct the Israeli police and state prosecution to ignore it, he did so in 1953. He explained his instruction:

"I thought it was my duty not to uphold a law, which I saw as immoral. [...] And if you should ask, in what is the immorality of the law prohibiting intercourse between men, I will reply to you that such a law against any consenting and private contact between adults contradicts the freedom of man over his own body, and depriving this freedom is a grave infringement against one of the basic human rights."

For comparison's sake, in March 1952, Alan Turing (who saved countless lives for the UK and the allies during WWII) was brought to trial for homosexual consensual private acts, was convicted, and his security clearance was revoked.

In 1978, a special committee of the Knesset (Israel's parliament) recommended several changes to laws addressing various sexual acts, including a recommendation to cancel this anti-sodomy law. In 1980, Israel's first right wing government, under the leadership of Prime Minister Menachem Begin, accepted the committee's recommendations with a corresponding bill (which eventually didn't pass). The bill was presented a second time in 1986, and was passed into law in 1988, decriminalizing same-sex intercourse in Israel (source in Hebrew).

For comparison's sake, in 1990, there were still over 110 jurisdictions in the world criminalizing homosexuality in the world. In the 2020's, RIGHT NOW, there are over 60 that still do.

This is Dr. Doron Maizel (may his memory be a blessing) on the left, with his partner Adir Steiner.

Doron was an army doctor. He was married to a woman with whom he had 3 daughters, before coming out to her in the late 1970's, getting a divorce and eventually openly moving in with his partner Adir. They were together since 1983. Being open about his sexual orientation meant that while Doron was allowed to serve, the same notion that gay men are a security threat (which was applied to Alan Turing), and therefore can't be allowed to serve in top/secret posts in the army, was to stop the promotion that he was about to get. Doron went to visit Ariel Sharon (at the time, Israel's right wing Security Minister, who's in charge of the army) in the latter's private home. IDK what was said in that meeting, but after that, Adir underwent the security check that all partners of a high ranking army officer do, and then Doron got his promotion. When Doron passed away in 1991 from cancer, Adir demanded to be and was recognized as an army widower. Doron's official army commemoration page states, "Left behind a mother, three daughters, a brother and a boyfriend."

Here's Adir with Doron's picture during a 2012 interview:

In 1993, the army order that were meant to prevent Doron and other gay soldiers from serving in certain posts was officially canceled. In 1999, a soldier born as male asked to serve as a woman, because that's what she actually was (this would have made this soldier's service shorter, and in that sense "cost" the army). The request was accepted, and since then, trans soldiers serve in the gender they identify with.

The story of Israel's LGBTQ rights isn't only glitter and fairies. Just like I can talk about a lot of progress that the state made in equalizing our rights in many domains (because I have), I could also talk about the rights we still don't have (because I've done that, too). The situation here isn't perfect (though as far as I'm aware, it isn't anywhere in the world, there are at least a few rights denied to the queer community in every country I know of). But when I look at our history, I feel like Israel isn't just one of the more queer-friendly countries in the world, it was also at certain moments at the very forefront of the struggle to recognizing queer people as deserving of equal treatment.

Which is maybe the most instinctual reason for my fury at the form of the Israel's demonization using the false notion of "pink washing." It is DERANGED to think Chaim Cohen, in 1953, gave his pro-gay instruction in relation to an occupation that Israel wasn't being blamed of until after the Six Day War in 1967, and which didn't gain attention from the regular people (as opposed to foreign politicians, who didn't give a shit about Israel's record on gay rights) until the Derben Conference in 2000. Not to mention how the idea that having a good gay rights record is something a country can brag about is probably even younger than that conference.

The pink washing accusation is de-humanizing. It suggests that it can't be that Israelis simply have a set of values which happens to align with the west's when it comes to the gay community (or women's rights, or ecological awareness, or freedom of speech, or any of the other positives Israel has, which position it high in the Freedom Index, and which anti-Israel activists label "washing" with one color or another). No, the history of these fields in the Jewish state is all about what non-Jews will say about us! It's like you can't fathom that we have an existence of our own, and minds of our own, and desires and wants and struggles of our own, and not everything is centered about what you think of us.

And the source of this self-centered thinking seems to connect with an inability to accept the Jewish state as anything other than the ultimate evil. Because Israel has to be the supervillain of the story, then it can't have a single positive. Everything about it has to be black, otherwise that challenges the black and white narrative that's been developed to demonize the Jewish state. So if it is revealed that there's any domain in which Israel is actually doing good things, reflecting a respect for human rights or a closeness to the values that the anti-Israel crowd claims to uphold, then it must be just a cover up for how Israel treats the Palestinians.

Essentially, the pink/purple/green/whatever washing accusations are as insane and antisemitic, just like claiming that Jews have won so many Nobel Prizes (a reflection of how much our people have benefited humanity) to distract the world from all the non-Jewish kids we kill to use their blood to bake Passover matzos.

But it's actually worse. Because in the process of demonizing Israel, Israeli Arab and Palestinian queers get thrown under the bus, too. As a gay activist, I'm familiar with so many gay and trans Israeli Arabs who get to have a good life thanks to Israel's good gay rights record, who are aware that if the anti-Israel crowd is successful in de-legitimizing and destroying this state, they're fucked as well. I know a lot of gay and trans Palestinians, who only catch a break when they come to the Jerusalem Open House, or generally to Israel, the only place where they can be themselves safely. I know so many queer Palestinians who are scared for their lives because of the violent intolerance of their own families, society and governments. And all the western countries from which the anti-Israel people come from refuse them entry as refugees persecuted for their sexual orientation (yes, I have gay Palestinian friends who have tried, only to be turned down by country after country, no matter how "liberal" or "pro-Palestinian" they officially claim to be).

Meanwhile, gay Palestinians can get temporary asylum in Israel (please don't tell me it's "pink washing" again, when no one from the anti-Israel crowd will even acknowledge this fact) if they fear for their lives, it's just not a proper solution, because just like Palestinian terrorists can get into Israel, carry out an attack and murder innocent civilians, Palestinian homophobes can get inside as well, and murder the queer people who had fled here.

And just to make reality a tad more complex, you know how for the anti-Israel crowd, the worst of the worst of Israeli society, are the religious ("Fanatic! Extremist! Violent!") settlers? I know of more than one case where those religious settlers are the ones who are helping gay Palestinians, but here's one that made it into the Israeli news.

Life is just not black and white, human nature is complex, Israel is a country where human beings are more than just their stance on the conflict and whether foreigners agree with it or not, and the "pink washing accusation" black and white washes all our colors away, trying to reduce us into caricatures that fit into their simplistic, reductive narrative, so they can go on playing "white/western/outsider savior" to the "poor Palestinians" without actually caring about many of the poorest, most marginalized ones.

This vid isn't a representation of all gay Israeli Arabs, but it's def a voice you will not see acknowledged on the anti-Israel side:

Happy Pride to everyone seeing us, all of us, Israelis and Palestinians, queer and straight, with all of our humanity and complexity!

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[xoxorealitygalore]

Nasty Dancer

Summary: Due to her unyielding confidence, Aphrodite earns her spot on the main roster, becoming The Bloodline's manager — or rather, Sefa's Special Counsel. His Wisewoman. But can she maintain her bold, unapologetic style when faced with her greatest challenge yet: working alongside her ex-boyfriend?

Joseph Yokozuna Fatu (born March 18, 1993) is an American professional wrestler. He is signed to WWE, where he performs on the SmackDown brand under the ring name Solo Sikoa as the leader of The Bloodline.

Aphrodite Erykah Caramanica (born February 7, 1996) is an American professional wrestler. She is signed to WWE, where she performs on the Smackdown brand as a manager of The Bloodline stable. She is also a former one-time NXT Women's Champion, one-time NXT Women's North American Champion, and a two-time NXT Women's Tag Team Champion.

noitsreallyaphrodite ✓

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A P H R O D I T E ♥︎

Athlete

@wwe

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noitsreallyaphrodite POP UP GUESS WHO

#RawOnNetflix

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Aphrodite had worked tirelessly to reach this moment. From the moment she signed her contract with WWE in 2020, she knew her journey wouldn't be easy. But she wasn’t the type to shy away from a challenge. Her unyielding confidence had been her trademark ever since she stepped foot into the NXT developmental brand. She wasn’t just a talented wrestler; she was a force to be reckoned with. Two-time NXT Women's Champion, one-time NXT Women's North American Champion, and a two-time NXT Women's Tag Team Champion—her accolades spoke for themselves. Aphrodite was a rising star in the wrestling world, and it was time for the world to see what she was truly capable of.

Her big moment had finally arrived.

It was the debut of WWE's weekly Monday Night Raw program on Netflix, a new chapter for the company. The streaming service had chosen to bring wrestling to the forefront of their programming, and this was the perfect event to launch the next era. The stars of WWE were out in full force, making their way down the red carpet at the Intuit Dome in Inglewood, California. The cameras flashed as each wrestler posed, showcasing their Hollywood-ready looks. Aphrodite stood among them, effortlessly commanding attention in a stunning outfit that was a perfect mix of strength and elegance. Her aura was undeniable—every inch the star she was born to be.

As the cameras captured her every move, she felt a rush of excitement. This was just the beginning.

Backstage, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. The locker rooms were filled with wrestlers catching up, preparing for the night's events, and celebrating their own achievements. But for Aphrodite, everything was about to change. She had been waiting for this moment ever since she signed with WWE, and she had known deep down that her time at NXT wouldn’t last forever. The next phase of her career had been calling to her, and now, Paul Levesque was about to make it official.

Aphrodite stood with Paul in a quiet corner of the backstage area, her heart pounding in anticipation. The words she had been waiting for were about to leave his lips.

“You’ve done exceptionally well over at NXT,” Paul said, looking at her with an approving smile. “But it’s time to make your mark on SmackDown.”

Aphrodite’s eyes widened. She had expected this moment to come, but hearing it out loud made it all the more real. “I’m ready,” she said with a confident grin.

Paul nodded, but the next words he spoke made her stomach drop. “After discussing with the creative team, we believe your next role should be The Bloodline’s manager… Joseph’s special counsel. His wisewoman.”

Aphrodite blinked, unsure whether she had heard him correctly. “Are you serious?”

Paul’s expression was unwavering. “Very serious. Heyman and Joe have been keeping an eye on you for a while now, and they think you’re perfect for the next phase of The Bloodline storyline. You should be honored.”

Her mind raced. The Bloodline? The most powerful faction in WWE. And not just as a member, but as a manager? Aphrodite had built her career on being unapologetically bold, and now she would be standing beside one of WWE’s most dominant forces. But there was more to this than just the role.

“I’ll do it,” Aphrodite replied, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. “I can’t stay at NXT forever, and this could be the chance to prove myself to everyone.”

Paul gave a satisfied nod. “Good. I’ll leave you to enjoy the show. Congratulations, Aphrodite.”

As Paul walked away, Aphrodite stood frozen for a moment, processing everything. Her mind quickly flashed to her past—years of struggle, sweat, and sacrifice to reach this point. Now, here she was, about to step into the most high-profile role of her career.

After the conversation with Paul, Aphrodite wandered through the backstage area, absorbing the whirlwind of activity around her. The stars of Raw and SmackDown mingled, catching up, sharing stories and preparing for the night’s events. It was a celebration of the future, of new beginnings, and of the legacy of WWE’s most iconic athletes.

Aphrodite caught sight of Trinity, one of her closest friends in WWE, who waved her over with a grin. “Hey, Dottie!” Trinity called. “Let’s get some pictures!”

Aphrodite smiled, stepping over to her friend. They posed together for a few photos, laughing and reminiscing. As they were finishing up, Aphrodite noticed a familiar face nearby—none other than Travis Scott.

“Hey, Jacques,” Aphrodite greeted with a knowing smile. She was one of the few who could call him by his real name, a testament to their long history together.

“Hey, Dottie,” Travis said, pulling her into a hug. They had known each other for years, both rising to prominence in their respective worlds—Aphrodite in WWE, and Travis in the music industry. Their bond was strong, built on years of shared experiences.

As they chatted, Aphrodite couldn’t help but let slip the news of her big call-up. “I’m officially on the main roster,” she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Travis raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “That's amazing. I knew you had it in you. You always did.”

He paused for a moment before a grin spread across his face. “You know what? I think I should make your entrance theme song. What do you think?”

Aphrodite’s eyes lit up. “I’d love that, Jacques! Let’s make it happen.”

They exchanged a quick handshake, sealing the deal, before Aphrodite was pulled away by a member of the production crew.

The production crew member led Aphrodite down a hallway, her thoughts still racing from the earlier conversation. They stopped in front of a backstage area where none other than Joseph Fatu—better known as Solo Sikoa, the self-proclaimed "Tribal Chief" of The Bloodline—was waiting. The moment she laid eyes on him, a strange mixture of emotions stirred within her.

“Looks like it’s official,” Joseph said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of amusement. “So, you're my wisewoman now?”

Aphrodite couldn’t suppress a small chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I am, Joseph.”

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ouch. What happened to calling me Sefa?”

Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed as the years of history between them surfaced in an instant. “Ain’t that reserved for family?”

Once upon a time, she had been ready to take that next step with him. But he had ended things abruptly. He’d chosen to reunite with his baby mama for the sake of their sons, and Aphrodite had respected his decision, even if it broke her heart.

Joseph’s expression softened, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. “You can still call me Sefa, Aphrodite,” he said quietly, his tone shifting from playful to sincere.

Aphrodite stared at him for a long moment, the emotions inside her a swirl of unresolved feelings. But she had been through too much to let herself be caught up in old memories. She couldn’t afford to let him get to her, not again. He had broken her once, and she wasn’t about to give him the power to do it again.

She kept her voice calm and professional. “I’ll call you whatever I need to for the job, Sefa. Let’s keep this professional, alright?”

Joseph looked at her for a moment longer, as if weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he nodded. “Alright, Aphrodite. Professional. But just know, I’m glad you’re here. The Bloodline needs you.”

Her chest tightened at his words. The Bloodline—the very thing she was now a part of. But it wasn’t just about the group; it was about proving herself to everyone who had ever doubted her.

With a nod, Aphrodite turned to face the cameras, knowing that the journey ahead would not only challenge her professionally but personally. The eyes of the world would be on her, and she had no intention of letting them down. No matter what happened, she would rise to the occasion, unyielding and unapologetic, just as she always had.

As the segment wrapped, Aphrodite walked off, the weight of her new role settling into her bones. The future was uncertain, but one thing was for sure: She wasn’t going anywhere.

Next: Chapter Two

[natelia-aldelliz]

Ghost : Ok, why do you baby Gaz so much, you do know he's a grown man, right?

Price : Oh come on, first off I don't baby him, second, jealousy doesn't suit you, third, he's the youngest of us, it's only normal that I watch over him a bit more, he's basically a baby, he just turned 27 last week!

Gaz : Damn, don't remind me, I feel old. But also like, maybe it's because he's the youngest sibling, but I do feel older than Soap most days, to be honest.

Price : Well yeah, you two are very close in age, but Soap's actually gonna turn 29 later this year, right Soap?

Soap :

Price : ... Soap?

Soap : Yep, sorry, yeah, wasn't paying attention, sure, I'm gonna be uh... 28? Wait no, that was last year, 29 right, ahah...

Ghost :

Gaz :

Price :

Soap : *avoids eye contact*

Price : How old are you son?

Soap : 29?

Gaz : Aren't you supposed to be 28...?

Soap : Ahah, yeah, that's what I meant, I'm 28, I'm gonna be 29... right?

Ghost : You're lying aren't you. You look like you're lying. Price, he's lying.

Price : What's your birth year?

Soap :

Price : ....

Soap, visibly counting on his fingers : 1994 !

Ghost, staring at Price with his look(tm) :

Gaz : Wait, you don't know your birth year by heart?

Ghost : No, he just doesn't remember the lie he said.

Soap : Come on, LT, what do you mean, a lie, I'm just your average 29 years old man, born in 1994, what do you want me to say?

Ghost : Johnny, you'd be born in 1993 if you were 29, I mean, if you didn't also lie about your birthday.

Soap :

Price, having had enough of today already : Okay, how old are you really. What's your real birth year.

Soap : ..... 1996 ?

Gaz : I'M NOT THE FUCKING BABY ANYMORE THIS IS THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE !!!

Ghost, concerned : You're 26 ?? But your file said you've been in active duty for 10 years !

Soap : Yep 😁👍

Ghost :

Soap : Funny story, I was actually 15 when i enrolled, cause it was before my birthday, but yeah.

Ghost :

Soap : Don't look at Price like that, he knew all about me ~allegedly~ kidnapping a military officer and still wanted me, he's not gonna push me out because my joints are gonna hurt two years later than he originally thought.

Gaz : Wait, no, back up, you did what to a military officer?

Soap : Oh, I never told you? Yeah, he was really pissing me off, you know how it is-

Price : I'm going back to bed.

[spectral-phases]

Okay, so there are two Gotham born and raised bat fam members who are always being said to have grown up in the wrong neighborhoods and it drives me insane. And like, canon is a sandbox and all that and if you want to imagine something different for your goofy scenarios or fan fiction or whatever, that's cool. I just want to set the record straight for anyone who doesn't know the facts first. Know the rules before you break them and all that.

This is the official map of Gotham from No Man's Land, and the updated Post Flashpoint version with the Narrows.

Jason Todd

Always being put in the Narrows. The Narrows didn't exist when he was first introduced. It's a new neighborhood, speaking for canon. I get it. It's a lower income neighborhood with new relevance given that it's where Duke Thomas grew up.

Jason Todd is from Park Row, an area that once had the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor but became known as Crime Alley after the Waynes died outside the Monarch Theater in Park Row and became one of the lowest income and highest crime rate areas of Gotham. Period. Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne meet in Park Row because Bruce parked his Batmobile there, near the theater, on the anniversary of his parents' deaths and Jason stole the tires. He made Bruce laugh on the anniversary of his parents' deaths near the spot where they died. It's very important to his character and his relationship with Bruce that he is from Park Row/Crime Alley.

(Batman 1940 #408)

Stephanie Brown

I see her dropped into Crime Alley or the Narrows a lot as well. I get it. Like Jason, her father is a criminal who did a lot of prison time and her mother has a drug addiction problem. Her similarities with Jason are likely why she was treated so poorly and why not double down and have her grow up in the same neighborhood as him? However, Jason’s father was, for lack of better word, goon for Harvey Dent (the Penguin post Flashpoint) and died in prison by Harvey (or didn't and became...you know what? Nevermind. I disregard all post Flashpoint background for Jason anyway), whereas Stephanie's father is the B-List criminal Cluemaster. She grew up in the Coventry, a suburban neighborhood within Gotham. Her mother worked at West Mercy Hospital. She might not have had a lot of money, but she was never living on the streets and stealing car parts to survive.

(Robin 1993 #60)

And yes, Stephanie was pregnant as a teen, and gave birth to a child she gave away for adoption. She got pregnant by a boyfriend who left her immediately before she started dating Tim, and Tim helped her out through her whole pregnancy. Including taking her to lamaze classes in disguise or disguising himself as a nurse in the hospital when she was in labor. She did not cheat on Tim.

You know what?

Tim Drake

Do I also like to pretend sometimes that the Drakes had the manor next to Wayne Manor for a long time and never sold it? Yes. I understand the appeal. But it's not a fact.

The boy actually never had a stable home his entire career as Robin, and that likely was not a recent trend. His parents had many properties within Gotham City, a penthouse in Robinson Park and so on and so forth. Tim grew up in boarding schools, went to public school while as Robin before being sent back to boarding school by Jack because he kept ditching class for Robin, and then back to public school before dropping out to find Bruce. His housing situation was never much better, as he never lived in one place with his parents for more than 6 months at time. Here, this goes into it better.

[girlactionfigure]

It was a "small" act.

But, at the time, she didn’t realize she was making a life-changing, and life-saving decision, not only for her but for hundreds of Polish Jews during the Second World War, helping save them from Nazi execution.

Only when she died, on April 8, 2022, at the age of 107 did the rest of the world learn of her courage.

She was born Carmen Koppel in Vienna, daughter of Frieda and Emil Koppel. Her father, an opera-loving grain merchant, chose her name after Bizet’s Carmen,” according to The Guardian, “She studied languages at the University of Vienna, taking shorthand to help with her note-taking.”

She said “My mother had insisted that I learn something useful, so I learnt to type.”

“In 1936 she married Josef Weitmann, who owned a curtain-making business in Kraków, and the couple settled there and had a son, Sascha.

“After the German occupation of Poland in 1939, the administration wanted to re-establish Kraków as Krakau, a German city. As Jews, [she] and her husband were forced to live in the Kraków ghetto, established by the Nazis in 1940. Its inhabitants were allowed to leave and return only with special permits. Josef was killed while trying to escape; Sascha was smuggled to relatives in Hungary.”

According to the New York Times, “in late 1944, as a slave laborer in the administrative offices of the Plaszow concentration camp in Poland, [she] typed an important version of the manifest of prisoners bound for [a] munitions factory in the area of the Czech Republic then known as the Sudetenland.”

“It was in those offices” that she also added her name and the names of two friends to the list, indicating her profession as “schreibkraft,” according to writer Alex Mindlin.

By typing that list, she almost certainly saved her own life, the lives of her friends, and many others, according to Mindlin.

That “list” “saved them from the gas chambers of Auschwitz, where most of the other Jews from Plaszow were deported,” according to The Teller Report.

Years later after the war, she would meet again the man who had made that list possible, the man who employed her.

She had a different last name by this time, but he still remembered her by her nickname. [She never liked the name “Carmen”, so close friends referred to her after a character in “La Bohème”.]

'It must have been around 1953,” she said. “I had gone to Vienna and I was walking along a street with an uncle. We were passing a coffee house where there was a group of people sitting. This large man ran across and hugged and started kissing me, saying: ‘Mimi, Mimi…’

“It was then that I realised that it was Schindler sitting with some of the Jews he had rescued.”

“The documents that [Mimi Reinhardt] worked on were made famous by Thomas Keneally’s 1982 novel . . . and by the 1993 Steven Spielberg movie ["Schindler's List"], both of which detailed the extraordinary lengths to which [Oskar] Schindler went to save the lives of some 1,200 of his Jewish workers,” according to the Times.

Other sources cite the number of lives saved even higher. According to AFP (Agence France-Presse) and The Times of Israel, “The lists which Reinhardt compiled for [Schindler] helped save the lives of some 1,300 Jews at considerable risk to his own life.”

“Austrian-born Reinhardt (sometimes spelled “Reinhard), herself a Jew, was recruited by Schindler himself and worked for him until 1945.”

This is a new story for the Jon S. Randal Peace Page. The Peace Page focuses on past and present stories seldom told of lives forgotten, ignored, or dismissed. The stories are gathered from writers, journalists, and historians to share awareness and foster understanding, to bring people together. And, as such, the stories are never relegated to one single month - they are available all year in the Peace Page archives and on this page each week throughout the year. We encourage you to learn more about the individuals and events mentioned here and to support the writers, educators, and historians whose words we present. Thank you for being here and helping us share awareness.

~~~~~

Reinhardt, then known as Carmen Koppel, “survived the final liquidation of the Kraków ghetto in March 1943, when 2,000 Jews were slaughtered, because the Nazis deemed her language and secretarial skills useful,” according to The Guardian.

At the time, the Red Army was approaching Poland and workers in Plaszow were being sent west to death camps,” according to The New York Times.

Reinhardt was a “prisoner at a concentration camp near Krakow, Poland during WWII in 1944,” according to the World Jewish Congress, when Schindler recruited her for a job in the camp's administrative office.

“Schindler and his Jewish accountant Itzhak Stern, who had helped to motivate Schindler, prepared the 'list' of essential workers - all of them Jews - for relocation to his new factory,' according to writer Peter Beaumont.

As Schindler’s secretary, Reinhardt “drew up the lists of Jewish workers in the Polish city of Krakow to work in the factory of her German industrialist boss”, according to writer Caroline Frost.

“This was a highly risky enterprise but is estimated to have saved . . . [the] workers from deportation and almost certain death in Nazi concentration camps.”

Reinhardt also “added the names of friends and her own married names until Schindler's quota negotiated with the SS was fulfilled: "Weitmann, Carmen, January 15, 1915, typist" is number 279 on the list.

“The rescue almost went awry” according to The Teller Report.

“On the way to Brünnlitz in 1944, the train carrying Schindler’s workers was diverted to Auschwitz,” according to The Guardian. “Death seemed inevitable. But Schindler used his military intelligence contacts to stop the diversion, claiming that these workers were vital for his armaments factory.”

“They had to stay in Auschwitz for two weeks,” according to The Teller Report.

“Mimi Reinhardt later compared the time to Dante's ‘Inferno’.”

“At the war’s end, [Schindler’s] workers were liberated, and Mimi was reunited with Sascha.”

Reinhardt “settled for a time in Morocco and then New York, where she lived for 50 years,” according to The Guardian. “She kept in touch with other ‘Schindler Jews’ whose lives had been saved by escaping the Plaszów camp under Schindler’s protection, but did not speak publicly about her earlier life until she moved to Israel in 2007.”

In Israel, she joined “her only son, Sacha Weitman, who was then a professor of sociology at Tel Aviv University,” according to The Times of Israel.

Schindler died in 1974, when he “was named by Israel’s Yad Vashem Holocaust museum as a member of the ‘Righteous Among the Nations’, an honour for non-Jews who tried to save Jews from Nazi extermination,’ according to Frost. “He is buried on the Mount of Olives just outside Jerusalem.”

The story of Reinhardt’s “small act” came to light when she was being interviewed by the Jewish Agency for Israel. (Note, “Reinhardt wasn’t directly portrayed in the Schindler’s List film,” according to News18.)

Reinhardt “expressed regret that Mr. Schindler, whom she adored, did not become a household name until after his death in 1974,” wrote Mindlin.

“He would have loved it, the attention,” she said.

She added in another interview, "I saw a man who was constantly risking his life for what he was doing. He was human. He must have had a heart of gold."

Reinhardt spent her last years at a nursing home north of Tel Aviv.

She is “mourned by her son and his family, as well as the thousands of people whose parents and grandparents she helped escape certain death,” according to the Jerusalem Post.

She has three granddaughters, nine great-grandchildren and two great-great-grandchildren.

In the image attached, Sasha Weitman, son of Mimi Reinhardt, holds an old photograph of his mother in Herzliya, Israel, (AP Photo/Ariel Schalit).

Of her contribution to history and assisting Schindler in saving hundreds of her fellow Jews, Reinhardt said, “I was just typing the list.”

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page  

[medievalandfantasymelee]

COME ONE, COME ALL to the MOSTE ILLUSTRIOUS TOURNAMENT of the FINEST, the MOSTE PUISSANT and HOTTEST MEN MEDIEVAL MEDIA HAS TO ITS CREDIT.

Be it known that we shall accept submissions of the hottest men OF THE PEOPLES’ CHOOSING from any live-action* TV or movie media property set between the years AD 500 – 1550 (Tudors WELCOME!!), and any fantasy properties which emulate said period!

KNOW ALSO that we, by the grace of this fine hellsite and with the counsel of the moste honorable and illustrious @hotvintagepoll (many thanks), have made

THESE GUIDELINES here given:

ANY HOT GUY who appears in any movie or TV show released in ANY YEAR, from ANY COUNTRY, shall be deemed eligible for entry. Below are listed examples of eligible properties. If YE BE NOT CERTAIN whether your hot guy is eligible, submit him anyway!

Examples of Eligible Properties: The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-03), Game of Thrones (2011-19) House of the Dragon (2022), Wolf Hall (2015-2024), The Tudors (2007-2010), Ladyhawke (1985), The Princess Bride (1987), The White Queen (2013), Rise of Empires: Ottoman (2020-2022), Vikings (2013-2020), The Last Kingdom (2015-2022), Diriliş: Ertuğrul (2014), A Knight’s Tale (2001), BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-3009), The Last Duel (2021), The Story of Minglan (2018), The Borgias (2013), Robin Hood (1939), Outlaw King (2018), Pilgrimage (2017), Legend (1985), Braveheart (1995), The Green Knight (2021), Excalibur (1981), Beowulf & Grendel (2005), The Lion in Winter (1968), Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993), The Black Adder (Blackadder Series 1, 1982), Rashomon (1950)

Remember: This is just a list of examples—WOW ME!

These following titles are examples of properties that do not fall within or emulate the stated time period and therefore DO NOT QUALIFY: The Three Musketeers (Any Version), Pirates of the Caribbean (2004), Barbarians (2020), Gladiator (2000), Ben Hur (1959), Shogun (2024), Elizabeth (1999), 300 (2006), Troy (2004), Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001), Disney's Robin Hood (1973)**, Yojimbo (1961), Shakespeare in Love (1998), King Arthur (2004)***

For the purposes of this tournament, "Man" and "Guy" are defined as any bi-pedal humanoid male character played by a man. As such, characters belonging to non-human races such as Hobbits, Orcs, Elves, Demons, Fauns, Werewolves etc. ARE admissible, and, indeed, encouraged.

If you have propaganda you forgot to include in your submission, just hold onto it and send it in an ask after the Tournament begins.

You may submit as many hot men as you like but please submit only ONE ENTRANT per submission.

Do not hesitate to submit ANY hot guy you think may qualify, no matter how popular he is. There is no such thing as a shoo-in with these tournaments. If you think "Someone MUST have submitted him already!" Everyone else is probably thinking that too and then he may well NEVER get submitted and we don't want that.

Do not worry about how many submissions your hot guy might have had already--I need to get a sense of who the strongest contenders are in order to fairly seed the draws, and the best way to do that is volume of submissions.

We are voting on the hotness of the characters. While the actors who portray them are of course a major factor in this, we are not voting on the actors themselves, therefore propaganda pertaining to the actors real lives (aside from anecdotes relating to their portrayal of the character) is not admissible.

By that same token, in the case of historical figures (e.g. Henry VIII) we are judging hotness based on the fictionalized portrayals of them in these properties, not on historical fact.

Regarding immortal/time-travelling/dimension-hopping/extremely long-lived characters, regardless of when the character was born, the main action**** of the story must take place within the Medieval Period (see dates listed at the top of this post) or Medieval-esque fantasy fantasy realm in order for them to be eligible for submission. As such, characters like the Pevensie brothers (The Chronicles of Narnia) and Ash Williams (Army of Darkness) are admissible, but Asgardians (the MCU Thor films) are not.

I, as the Administrator and Master of Revels of this tournament, am exercising discretion in the admittance of characters from works by Shakespeare, since many of them have no set date.

Re: characters adapted from books/written works - Book quotes by/ about your character are not admissible as Propaganda for their tv/ movie counterparts unless said quotes were also written into the show/movie.

Book illustrations and fanart are not admissible Propaganda

SUBMISSIONS SHALL REMAIN OPEN UNTIL MIDNIGHT, JULY 1st

The Tourney shall begin at a date yet to be determined with the Melee (Qualifying Rounds), wherein the entrants with the fewest submissions and least propaganda will duke it out in a free for all brawl to determine who will enter the Lists.

SUBMIT YOUR ENTRANTS HERE TODAY!!!

-- Master of Revels

*The "live-action" qualification does have a caveat: exception may be made for those CGI films which were all the rage in the mid-00's that used the motion-capture and likeness of the actors; for example characters from, Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf (2007) are admissible.

** this one doesn't qualify, not because it isn't the right time period, but because it falls solidly under the "Animated" category.

***Yes, sadly we are deprived of the beautiful countenances of Clive Owen, Mads Mikkelsen, Ioan Gruffudd et al because the producers of this film in their infinite wisdom and in an attempt to seem "more historically accurate" chose to set it during the Roman withdrawal from Britain, which occurred in the 5th Century (About a CENTURY earlier than Authurian tradition) and is generally agreed to have ended by AD 410. It therefore does not fall under the Medieval umbrella and is not eligible for submission.

**** "Main Action" here defined as "More than half an hour of a movie and more than two episodes of a series"

[offender42085]

Post 1240

Before and After....

Charles Davenport, Jr., South Carolina inmate 378281, born 1993, incarceration intake November 2018 at age 25, scheduled for release November 2035

DUI resulting in Death

In November 2018, a former University of South Carolina student was sentenced to 20 years in prison after pleading guilty in the DUI death of another USC student.

It was one of the harshest DUI-killing sentences handed down in recent years in South Carolina, where drunken drivers who kill innocent people typically are sentenced to six or seven years, said a spokeswoman for the South Carolina Victims Advocate Council.

State Circuit Court Judge George McFaddin handed down the sentence for felony DUI involving death to Charles Davenport Jr., 25, during a lengthy hearing. McFaddin sentenced Davenport to 25 years in prison — the maximum sentence — but suspended five years of that sentence.

In November 2017, Davenport was driving his pickup truck at an estimated 76 mph — more than twice the legal limit — and accelerating on Rosewood Drive when he rammed a moped driven by David Newell, according to evidence. Evidence presented at the hearing showed Davenport had a blood-alcohol level nearly double the legal standard for being under the influence. He also had ingested Xanax — a sedative — and THC, a chemical that produces marijuana’s “high.”

Newell, a 22-year-old graduating senior from Maryland, just had finished his last exam at the School of Business when he was killed.

The combination of drugs and alcohol, along with Davenport’s excessive speed, were factors in Judge McFaddin’s 25-year sentence.

Along with members of Newell’s family, about 40 members of Newell’s Chi Psi fraternity also were in the courtroom and told the court about their loss.

During the hearing, Davenport apologized.

Since Davenport's incarceration he has been described as a model inmate.

4y

[marthastewieeee]

modern alicent hightower au.

head canons.

born september 1st, 1993 (virgo)

high femme lesbian

daughter of otto hightower, head adviser of balerion co.

from oxfordshire but moved to london at age twelve to attend an all catholic girls boarding school.

that is where she first met rhaenyra targaryen, heir to balerion co.

favourite subject: english literature and history

(she get's REALLY attached to her female English teacher)

(and still had no idea she was a lesbian...)

prefect in sixth form while rhaenyra eventually becomes head girl

absolutely adores vintage stores and drags rhaenyra to notting hill every leave weekend they possibly can

(rhae always complains but she secretly adores it)

alicent becomes vegan for a few years

(rhae does NOT like that)

otto does not want alicent to go to university truly but (through rhaenyra) viserys convinces him to allow her to apply.

alicent is allowed to apply to edinburgh and UCL.

(upon hearing that, rhae applied only to edinburgh and UCL).

both decided on edinburgh in the end.

alicent studies english literature with a minor in business.

(no one can really remember what rhae studies, it's an ongoing joke between them)

viserys pays the rent on their flat in the city centre and the two truly become roommates.

(now THAT is a real joke between the rest of their friends)

after a messy, weird, love triangle where they realised they were way more interested in each other than the exchange student (Criston Cole), they finally figured out what all their friends had been joking about.

after graduation, rhaenyra takes over balerion co. while convincing (demanding) otto to allow alicent to get her PHD in classic literature at UCL.

the two move in together in a penthouse in Knightsbridge.

Otto discovers their relationship too late and vehemently disapproves, refusing to pay for the rest of Alicent's education.

rhae murders him (no she doesn't)

rhae threatens to fire him unless he pays for her PHD course.

she fires him two years later, the night alicent receives her PHD.

alicent ends up writing bestselling fantasy novels (think shadow and bone/six of crows) while also being on call as an advisor for balerion co.

rhae proposes the day the book series becomes a New York Times bestseller (the aim alicent was always reaching for).

(Ali said yes).

they are married when they are thirty.

the wedding takes place in lake como.

laena velaryon is rhaenyra's maid of honour and emmeline tully (Alicent's cousin) is Alicent's maid of honour.

Otto refuses to attend.

Gwayne walks alicent down the aisle.

(to the instrumental of this love by Taylor Swift)

alicent goes on to win the Pulitzer Prize for her book on how catholic guilt manifests in the 21st century.

continues to write while rhae and alicent raise their children.

three carried by alicent (aegon, helaena, aemond).

three carried by rhaenyra (jacaerys, lucerys, joffrey).

alicent never allows them to meet otto.

but they have a grandparental figures in corlys and rhaenys velaryon (rhaenyra's uncle and aunt).

and they all live happily ever after <3

wardrobe.

wedding.

[novacorpsrecruit]

To save a metalhead

Somewhat inspired by Totally Killers. Ficlet that word count is 30K in my mind (actual wc: 1,862).

“Is … uh … he here?”

The curly haired boy awkwardly played with the silver rings on his hands, too big for his fingers. He looked anxious standing in front of the scoops counter. Robin was sure part of it was because of the look she was giving him. She’s tired of these kids flooding their work. She sighed. “Steve! Another one of your children is here!”

Steve popped through the double doors, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. His expression was replaced with confusion. “This one isn’t mine.”

“Steve,” the kid said with relief. “Holy shit. It worked.”

“Do I know you?” Steve asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“No. Not yet, I mean —“ the kid’s eyes darted between Steve and Robin. A look of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Holy shit. Robin!”

Robin looked at him with her eyebrow raised. She didn’t know him. He looked familiar sure. His curly dark hair, big doe eyes. His ear was covered in piercings, but he couldn’t be older than 15. He had light freckles spreading across the bridge of his nose. She knows she’s seen that big goofy smile across his face —

“Is Dustin here?” The kid asked. “Henderson?”

“Who’s asking,” Steve asked at the same time Robin called out for Dustin. Dustin came through the double doors.

“What’s going on?” Dustin asked. “I nearly have the code cracked —“ his words dropped, suddenly aware of the new company. “From the cereal box! With the decipher. You know. The children’s toy.”

“Dustin,” the kid said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Who are you?” Dustin asked wrinkled his brow. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, arms crossed. “Deciphering cereal codes.”

“Yeah. Busy,” the kid let out a laugh like he’s heard that excuse before. “Alex. Munson. I’m looking for my da— Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Who?” Dustin asked, brow wrinkled.

“Eddie Munson?” Steve asked.

“I knew I recognized you,” Robin nearly shouted. “Alex Munson. I thought you graduated.”

“No, I —“

“Alex Munson,” Steve repeated, brow furrowed. “Sure, you are.”

“What do you mean by that?” There was a familiar wrinkle of ‘Alex’s face.

“Alex Munson passed two years ago,” Steve said. “He was Eddie’s older cousin. They had a half assed memorial for him at school and showed a video of Nancy Reagan during health class.”

“Two years ago —“ the kid ran his hands through his hair. “No, no, no, no — it’s supposed to be three. What day is it?”

“What?”

“Day and year,” the kid said.

“July 3rd, 1985,” Dustin supplied. Steve elbowed him.

“Shit,” the kid exhaled. “I’m too early.”

“You gonna explain?” Robin asked.

The kid’s eyes darted between the three, before he settled on Steve. “My name is Alexander Robin Munson. I was born in 1993. I’m from the future. I’m here to save my dad.”

“Isn’t this the plot of that new movie?” Robin asked Steve. Steve shrugged. “With Alex Keaton?”

“What do you mean save your dad?” Dustin said. “If your dad died, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Does your dad die?” Robin asked.

“Is Eddie your dad?” Steve asked.

“Yes, no, I mean —“ the kid ran his hands through his hair. “Yes. Eddie Munson is my dad. In March of 1986, something happens. You — he never told me what happened. But you all were there. D— Dustin, Steve, you guys blame yourselves for it. Dad just — never was the same. He’s in a lot of pain. And I thought —“

“If you came back you could help him,” Steve said. “What was your plan?”

Alex opened his mouth, closing it instantly.

“You didn’t have a plan,” Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. You don’t know what happened, other than that Dustin and myself blame ourselves for what happened. But you know that your dad, Eddie Munson, ends up in a lot of pain.”

“He died,” Alex said softly. “You brought him back.”

“Great,” Steve exhaled. “Don’t let Eddie die in 1986.”

“Who the hell is Eddie Munson?” Dustin asked, brow wrinkled.

“He runs the dungeons and doofuses club at Hawkins High,” Steve said. “I’m sure that’s how you’ll meet him. I don’t understand how I’m involved in this mess.”

“I don’t understand how I’m involved,” Robin said. “Look, Alex. It’s July. If that happens in March, then you’re gonna be here for eight months waiting for something to happen. And who knows if you’ll mess up the time continuum or whatever. You need to get back and we need to —“

“Crack a cereal code,” Alex supplied, pushing past Dustin and Steve into the backroom. “Yeah. I heard.”

“Hey!”

“I’m stuck here for 24 hours,” Alex said, taking a seat at the break table, gesturing to the white board where Robin had written out the Russian code and its English translation out for the boys. “Might as well try to crack your dumb cereal code.”

The cool of the porcelain toilet bowl felt nice against Steve’s face. In any other situation, he may have been grossed out about puking his guts out in a public bathroom. But right now, the cool surface was comforting. “Sound off,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing from his split lip. “Steve. Here.”

“Robin,” Robin’s voice weakly carried from the stall over. “Present.”

“Alex?” Steve called over to the stall next to him. A moment passed. Steve sat up. “Alex?”

A soft laugh came from the other stall. Starting as a small giggle before breaking out into a full on laughter fit.

“Alex?” Steve called again, sliding underneath the stall wall to join Alex in the stall. His thin frame was positioned between the toilet and the wall, his head leaning against the wall. He looked worse for wear, a broken nose, bruising underneath his eyes. He had a matching split lip, and by the way he’s wincing while he’s laughing was a sure sign of a broken rib or two. Steve remembers hearing the clanging of metal as his earrings hit the floor, but Alex’s hair concealed his bloodied ears. Steve and Alex took the brunt of the Russian torture. And if Steve feels bad, he was sure Alex felt worse. “Alex?”

“I came here to save Dad,” Alex laughed. “And ended up saving Pops instead.”

Steve wrinkled his brow. “I need you to explain that, Alex.”

Alex’s laughter slowly died off. He looked at Steve, a look that Steve was sure he’s given the kids before. A look that made it all click for Steve. “I have two dads,” Alex said softly. “Eddie and —“ he gestured towards Steve with a soft laugh. “You.”

“Me,” Steve repeated softly.

“Step dad?” Robin asked from the other stall, her voice was uneasy, as if she knew the answer. Steve knew the answer. His heart pounding in his chest.

“No,” Alex answered, his voice shaky. Tears formed in his eyes. “No.”

“Hey, here,” Steve reached out for Alex pulling him into his arms. “You’re safe, okay? I got you. I got you.”

Alex buried his face into Steve’s shoulder, letting out a sob. “I knew — I knew the fourth wasn’t a great memory for you — but I didn’t — I didn’t —“

“There’s a reason you didn’t know,” Steve said, catching Robin as she slid under the stall. “I didn’t want you to know about the monsters. Wanted you to have a normal life.”

Alex let out a laugh. “You know dad. Normal isn’t in his vocabulary.”

Steve laughed. “Kind of. Not — not personally.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Robin said. “But you’re taking having a 15 year old with Eddie Munson pretty well.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, running his hand up and down Alex’s back. “I mean — you’ve seen Eddie.”

“Gross,” Alex said.

“Gross,” Robin agreed.

“What?” Steve said. “You don’t have a crush on Eddie Munson?”

Alex glanced towards Robin. She cautiously looked at Alex, seeing a look of understanding.

“I don’t have a crush on any guy, Steve,” Robin said. “I … like girls.”

“Oh. Really? Good— great!” Steve let out a laugh. “Great. Alex, Aunt Robbie. Robin, Alex.”

“We’ve met doofus,” Robin laughed. She let out a gasp. “Oh my god, you named him after me. His middle name.”

“Yeah,” Steve grinned. “We’re friends. Right Alex? Friends?”

“Right,” Alex smiled back. “Best friends.”

“Holy shit,” Steve said. “I have a son with Eddie Munson and time travel is real.”

“Kind of,” Alex said. “Henderson invented it.”

“Dustin?”

“He was supposed to come back,” Alex said. “I beat him to the machine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said, holding Alex tight. He felt his grip falter against Alex. Steve looked down at Alex as he flickered like a ghost. His body fading into transparency. “Alex? Are you — you’re disappearing. Did we — did we fuck up the time line?”

“I’m going home,” Alex said. “My time’s done. I had 24 hours. I’ll — I’ll see you soon, Pops.”

“Alex —“

“Remember March 1986,” Alex said, fading in Steve’s arms. “Save dad. Keep him safe.”

“Alex —“

“Love you, Pops,” Alex said, disappearing. His voice echoing in the bathroom. “Keep him safe.”

Steve didn’t think much about it when he told Dustin and Eddie to stick to the plan. The whole plan didn’t feel right. As if he was missing something. “Don’t be cute, or be a hero, or something. Okay? You guys are just -- ”

“Decoys,” Dustin finished for him. They’ve been over this a thousand times since they created the plan. “Don’t worry, you can be the hero, Steve.”

“Absolutely,” Eddie said. “I mean. Look at us. We are not heroes.” He gave a soft smile to Steve, trying to calm his nerves. Steve could read past behind the mask Eddie wore. He was nervous.

Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. He still wasn’t sure about this. The whole plan was fool proof… but something felt wrong. Something was missing. He stepped back, turning to walk towards the girls.

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve turned around, Eddie much closer than he was moments before. Eddie mapped Steve’s face, his lips frozen, as if they lost the words they wanted to say. His eyes, big, emotional. Like a baby deer, looking for safety and comfort. Eddie looked away, towards the trailers, before glancing back to Steve. “Make him pay.”

Suddenly, it clicked for Steve. He remembered the same doe eyes on Alex months ago, begging Steve to save his dad — to save Eddie.

Something happens to Eddie here. Something that kills him, and Steve has to bring him back.

Steve has to give Eddie a reason to stay safe.

Eventually, they would get together. Alex was born in 1993, it shouldn’t hurt if they got together a little sooner, right?

He reached forward, pressing his lips against Eddie’s in a rushed kiss. His hands go to the bottom of his vest, zipping it up. “If you’re gonna do something stupid,” Steve mumbled against Eddie’s lips. “Be smart about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie nodded, his cheeks blushing. “Okay, Big Boy, I’ll see you soon.”

If I had time I’d flush this out!

If you want older cousin Alex Munson lore, I have a character study of Eddie Munson on Ao3.

12/16/24 edit: I expanded this ficlet to 13,000 words if you wanna read it on Ao3

[pleasantglitterflower]

Legends will never die (JOE BURROW x COBAIN! READER)

TW: mentions of death, suicide, drugs

I was at Joe's parents' house for lunch to celebrate the birthday of Dan, one of my boyfriend's older brothers. It's been great to be here, I love his family, they've always welcomed me very well, but this happy family moment awakens strong triggers in me and a desire to experience something I didn't have. Seeing Joe talking so animatedly with his father, his brothers and his grandfather, at a certain point my father-in-law hugs him from the side, my eyes instantly water. 

   I quickly excuse myself from the environment I was in, talking to my mother-in-law and my sisters-in-law, and go to the bathroom, where I quickly start crying. Why didn't I have a structured family? Why isn't my father here with me? Why do these shitty drugs and depression exist in this shitty world and affect good people?

  I didn't even see time pass when I heard loud knocks on the door. 

- Baby, open the door - Joe shouts from the other side

I come back to reality and open the door. As soon as Joe sees my swollen eyes, he runs over and hugs me.

- What happened my love? Since the journey you've been quieter and more thoughtful, I didn't say anything before because I knew you'd make up some excuse, but I know you're not well

- Joe, it's not for nothing, you know that I love your family and how you have a great connection, especially with your father, and when I saw you two hugging in the backyard, it was inevitable not to think about my father - I look down embarrassed 

- Hey, look at me - he lifts my chin - You don't need to fake your feelings my dear, I know how difficult it is for you to talk about him, especially since this year it will be 30 years since he died, but know that he is very proud of you wherever he is and that, although his life here on Earth was short, his legacy is eternal.

- It's been very difficult Joe, very difficult indeed. People are putting a lot of expectations on my performance at the tribute, I don't know if I'll want to participate.

- Baby, everything will be fine, you'll do well, I see how much you've dedicated yourself to making a perfect presentation, don't worry - Joe kisses me on the forehead and hugs me tightly

     - Joe, I don't know what I would do without you, I love you so much

- I love you the most Janis - then we kissed.

     In a week's time, the tribute show to my father will take place, in celebration of his 30 years of legacy in music. 30 years ago, Kurt Donald Cobain, my father, left this world grayer, with a legion of fans all over the world in mourning and despair, and an entire family torn apart. I was born on October 27, 1993, six months before his death, and the height of his period of self-destruction due to drugs and depression. Dad fought his demons for years, it wasn't just during that period, and the sudden fame only made these inner demons increasingly present in his life.

  Me and Frances, my older sister, were very exposed to all the scandals caused by our parents, even at our young age, when mom said in an interview that she used heroin when she was pregnant with Frances, she and dad ended up losing custody. However, they managed to recover after promising to undergo rehabilitation. Mom managed to kick her heroin addiction, but unfortunately dad couldn't. When Mom found out she was pregnant with me, Dad was apparently determined to change and be a responsible father to Frances and me, but inside, his demons were screaming more and more, and throughout 1993, Dad tried to commit suicide several times, in addition to intense heroin abuse, until on April 5, 1994, he reached his limit, he could no longer bear to live with that internal anguish that had affected him since he was a teenager.

Even with all the fame, recognition, money and the millions of fans he gained all over the world, Dad couldn't be happy, even though he married the woman he loved and became the father of two daughters that he loved so much, Dad couldn't. he could exorcise his pain within himself, he could no longer stand living in a world in which he could not fit in, a selfish world, full of falsehoods is very cruel. Every year that passes, when I always pick up the farewell letter he wrote, it chills my soul, his anguish was visible in his writing.

  “I had a lot, a lot, and I'm grateful for that, but since I was seven years old I started to hate all humans in general. Just because it seems so easy to relate and empathize. Just because I love and feel for everyone so much, I guess. Thank you from the bottom of my sick, burning stomach for your letters and your concern over the years. I really am an erratic and sad baby! I no longer have passion, so remember, it's better to burn out than to slowly fade away¹. Peace, Love, Empathy.

Kurt Cobain

Frances, Janis and Courtney, I will be at your altar. Please go ahead, Courtney, for Frances and Janis. For their lives, they will be much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU”

It was very difficult for me to accept that my father took his life on his own and that he preferred not to live any longer to be present for me and Frances, but as the years went by and listening to the stories from my mother, Dave, my godfather, , and other people who lived with Dad, I came to the conclusion that he had already given up on life a long time ago and tried to cut it short several times, but it was on that April 5, 1994 that his limit ended, and then he gave a shoots himself with a shotgun. If it hadn't been on that date, it would have been the next day, the following week, my father couldn't bear to live any longer.

   Dave has always been like a father figure to me, he was always by my side for everything I needed and was one of my main encouragers to pursue a career in music, because according to him, I had the same genius to express as my father. feelings in the form of songs. During my adolescence I composed several songs and recorded some demos, but only my family knew about it. I never thought about pursuing a singing career, I wrote according to my imagination and as a hobby, I always wanted to pass on my knowledge to other people, so I studied music in New York, and started teaching music to children in public schools, until I was transferred to a school in Cincinnatti, which is where I met Joe. My class went to do a musical performance at an event for his foundation, and he came to congratulate me on my work, I was super flattered and we became friends, and it didn't take long for us to admit our feelings and he asked me to be his girlfriend in a beautiful sunset  in California.

Joe was always very loving and affectionate with me, and always helped me in moments of vulnerability when I cried in his lap when talking about my father. I've always admired his relationship with his father, how football is a factor that keeps their connection very strong, and I wondered what it would be like for my dad and me talking about music, what he would think of today's music scene, if he Would you be proud of me? 

    When Dave said that my participation would be very important in the tribute to my father, Joe was also one of my main supporters, for him I needed to face my negative feelings and show the world my musical talent, which according to Joe is undeniable that my talent It's genetic. After thinking very calmly, I decided to accept the idea and began to rehearse exhaustively, as Dad deserved perfection.

April 5, 2024- Kurt Cobain Tribute, Seattle 

The big day arrived, if I said I slept calmly I'd be lying, I couldn't stop being nervous for a minute. As the stadium got closer, I felt my stomach drop, while Joe was next to me holding my hand. When we saw it, there were millions and millions of people with Nirvana shirts, with shirts with my father's face, with posters with loving words for him, there were children, teenagers, adults, elderly people, Seattle became small. It's incredible how even 30 years after his death, Kurt Cobain still had a loyal legion of fans, and over the years he gained new fans, many who weren't born at the time of Nirvana's heyday and who had Kurt as an inspiration.

  The tribute line-up was the envy of any other festival, as it had Pearl Jam, Metallica, Guns n Roses, Iron Maiden, Green Day, and the main attraction, Nirvana himself, but this time it would be Janis who would represent Kurt in the vocals. Janis rehearsed nonstop with Dave and Krist, it would be the first time at a festival that Nirvana would make an official performance again since Kurt's death, but this time with Janis paying tribute to her father. Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic always play the songs of the band that made them famous when they get together, but only at intimate shows, so the performance at the tribute would be the band's official return.

Nirvana would headline the event, and it was the most anticipated performance, as Kurt Cobain's daughter would be singing with the remaining members of the band and paying tribute to Kurt.

  The performance was about to start, and Janis was breathing very deeply in her dressing room, until she heard a knock on the door. 

   -Come on

The door opens, revealing the figures of Joe, Courtney and Frances.

  - My love how are you? - Joe questions

- Too nervous, what if I get out of tune? What if I lose my voice? I don't want to disappoint the fans, but especially I don't want to disappoint Dad, no- Courtney interrupts her youngest daughter

- Janis, you will be perfect my daughter, your father is already very proud of you, wherever he is, at this moment he is very happy with the woman you have become - the eldest speaks with her voice choked with emotion

- That's right sister, everyone knows your potential and how hard you work to keep our father's legacy alive to this day, you're going to get on that stage and show those bastards who's boss - Frances shouts excitedly, making the presents laugh 

- My mother-in-law and sister-in-law are absolutely right, you're going to rock my dear - Joe gives me a quick peck

One of the producers enters the dressing room and announces that it is time to go on stage. The tribute to Kurt Cobain is being broadcast online, YouTube went down at certain times due to the large number of hits, and at the time of Janis' performance with Nirvana, 1.5 billion and a half people were online and waiting of the show.

     The band was announced and first came Krist, Dave, and then Janis Cobain, sending the audience into a frenzy. She looked at all the people present in that stadium, quickly looked at the VIP box that had Joe, Courtney, Frances, her in-laws and her brothers-in-law with their wives. Joe was smiling brightly at her full of pride.

  - Good evening - the audience shouts - We are here to celebrate the 30 years of legacy of our dear Kurt Cobain, known as my dear father. Daddy, wherever you are, know that you continue to be very loved and that I'm very proud to be your daughter- I say looking at the sky excitedly- and today I'm going to do my best to give you a great show, LET'S GO MOTHERFUCKERS- I yelled 

The show was perfect, Dave and Krist gave me a lot of support and security, and I felt more and more free. I didn't stop feeling emotional during the most emotional songs, but the important thing is that I had managed to honor my father in the way he deserves. After the show, Joe came running over to hug me.

- I knew you would put on an amazing show love, I'm so happy for you

- Joe, if it weren't for you, maybe I wouldn't be here now, thank you so much for always being with me my love, I love you - I kiss him

And in the depths of the sky, Kurt Donald Cobain smiles, very happy for the happiness of his beloved daughter and very satisfied with the honor, he knew that his daughter was very talented, it was no wonder that she is a Cobain.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Got Ink? 💉 | Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of TGM

TGM masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x tattooed model!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of pain as a result of tattoos. Slight suggestive content if you blink | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Art comes in many different forms. And when you technically think about it, your body is a canvas that can be become a mural if you find yourself drawn to the beauty that tattoos bring. For WSO Bob Floyd, he appreciated art in every form and loved how patterns and colors could create something beautiful. When his sister invites him to a party for her job shortly after returning from a special mission with the Navy, Bob meets a woman who was the perfect canvas he’d ever seen.

Note: I cannot tell you how much I loved doing this request. As soon as I got it I was like, ‘I’m gonna love this,’ especially as someone who has tattoos and wants to have a lot (I have at least twenty planned) this was feeding my love for tattoos. To the anon who sent this request I hope you like it, I really enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you’re okay with me choosing Bob since you said you wouldn’t mind if it was him or Jake—since I just did a Jake imagine I wanted to give Bob some love 🥹 Also I made it where reader was born in 1989 so if we were to go by Bob being born in 1993 like Lewis then she’d be about four years older since the events of TGM take place in 2019.

——————————

They often say that when you get your first tattoo it will either be the one and only time you subject yourself to the temporary pain of permanent ink…or it becomes one of many.

“It’s an addiction”, people defend, though they should probably look up the term addiction before using it in such context.

For many it’s the appreciation of art. Whether expressing it by becoming a tattoo artist or wanting to capture the beauty by etching it onto their skin like they are its own personal canvas.

Tattoos come in many different forms. There’s the traditional/old school style that is very recognizable with its bold black lines outlining bright colors. People in their old age, having grown up in the 60s and 70s, are the ones usually seen with these types of tattoos. Neo-traditional is not that far off from traditional, just the lines are not as bold. Delicateness is seen with fine line tattoos. In recent years it’s become popular amongst the younger generation—not just because they are pretty to look at but if one has a job that’s strict on policy then they can hide them better.

The oldest style would be the tribal tattoos. Beautiful elaborate patterns in various sizes, they represent the culture one comes from. Like fine line, watercolor tattoos have become a popular style—taking away the traditional black ink used as an outline so the colors have the spotlight. No color in a piece is blackwork and then there’s realism where it’s pretty much a picture that was printed onto the skin. Go on Pinterest and you’ll find multiple images of patchwork style where a collection of pieces put together can be any style already mentioned.

Japanese style, patch, geometric, black & gray, anime, portrait, the list goes on and on. So many ways to put a design on one’s body where it will remain until they go to the next life. Some people stick to pieces that represent sentimental value, like family or childhood nostalgia, others will simply see something they like and go, “I think it looks cool.”

When looking at Y/n’s tattoos, both aspects were seen in the array of artwork coating her body. After getting all the pieces that represented a person, place, or thing that impacted her life, Y/n started to get whatever the hell she wanted—not having an explanation for anything other than, “it looked badass so I got it. No value behind it, I just wanted it.”

Like many newly turned teenagers itching to get their first tattoo, Y/n was bold and got an intricate design on one of the most painful spots. Her reasoning was if she did it, then any other place in the future wouldn’t be as bad. All through college whenever asked what she wanted for her birthday or holidays the answer was always money to get a tattoo. An artist herself, she majored in drawing while attending Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York, also taking on an apprenticeship for a local tattoo artist. There she would get to work on her skills and tattoo people, progressing to doing tattoos on her legs and non-dominant arm. Anytime she traveled to a different state or country during the semester she studied abroad, Y/n got a new tattoo, wanting to have an array of styles from different artists on her body.

By the time she was 26, she had accumulated over 50 tattoos and still had room for more. From her neck down, artwork ranging from fine line to bold and traditional decorated her skin. Both her arms were half sleeves, ending just above her elbows with patchwork along her forearms and hands. The only place free of ink on Y/n was her face, though she did have her inner lip tattooed. If you asked her, it’d be the only place she regretted getting ink because it faded so quickly. But then again, she could get it redone if she really wanted to.

There were looks from people anytime she went out. Y/n loved dressing up in little black dresses and two piece sets to unapologetically show off her tattoos. Older, conservative couples or people who thought tattoos looked trashy on women would look down upon her. Getting hit on was normal, though she never gave the time of day and sending one look that read, ‘get lost’ had men scurry. Sometimes she'd be approached by teenagers asking about certain pieces, saying they wanted to get tattoos once they were of age and were looking for advice. Biker bars were a place she felt comfortable in, Y/n even taking a part-time job as a bartender so make some extra cash. People from all ages—well at least 21–were covered in tattoos like her.

In 2014, shortly after her 25th birthday, Y/n noticed an inbox notification in her instagram. She was used to getting messages on occasion. Being featured on the bar’s and tattoo parlors business instagram pages and accumulating her own following of potential clients had Y/n reach up to 80 thousand followers. The tattoo artist she worked for was very popular, having done work for celebrities and being featured in Inked Magazine.

Speaking of Inked Magazine…..

When Y/n clicked on the icon to open the message, the first thing she spotted was the blue checkmark. Then beside it was in bold lettering inkedmag. Coffee nearly spilled onto the floor when her grip faltered, gasping lightly at the name. She didn’t even realize the page was following her, confirming this by searching herself under their following and found her username staring back at her.

Heart pumping, Y/n opened the message. “Hi, Y/n, my name is Manda Williams and I’m a representative at Inked Magazine. We’re a fan of your profile and would love to work with you on our upcoming campaign. Would you be interested? Please email me at mandawilliaminked@gmail.com, I look forward to talking with you soon.”

Never did she think she’d become a model, let alone a tattoo model. She was taller than the average woman, standing at about 5’10 and strikingly beautiful. On countless occasions family members would say, “if you didn't have all that on you maybe you’d been discovered. You’ve got the height, the style, and high fashion look. Plus you’ll never get a well paying job with all those tattoos.” All they were met with was a roll of the eyes from the woman, annoyed with the constant nagging.

“I’m an artist,” she would defend. “I got accepted into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country and I work for a very renowned tattoo artist who has had Snoop Dogg, Angelina Jolie, and Lady Gaga as clients. Not to mention I work at a biker bar where the people there love me. Want me to go further?” the look on their face would read they didn’t but Y/n would put the nail in the coffin with, “Let me point out the fact I get paid more with both those jobs combined than you working a nine to five in your little office job. Also you should educate yourself. Tattoo models do exist.”

If only those family members could see her now. Posing on a motorcycle in nothing but a bra and booty shorts as the camera flashed in front of her.

“You’re a natural, Y/n,” the photographer complimented, making her flustered.

She adjusted her position, running a hand through her hair, “If you think so I trust your judgment.” Being in a studio felt very different than when she would set up her phone on a tripod in her apartment. It took many tries for her to capture the perfect angle, often deleting fifteen out of sixteen photos. Here with this guy calling out movements, “a little to the left,” “bring your hand up—just under your chin, perfect,” “Now act like you’re suntanning on the beach—tilt your head back as though the sun is in your face,” Y/n felt what it was like to be a model.

Not many tattooed individuals got the chance to sign with top agencies like Ford and IMG. Very few were recruited so it came as a big surprise when an agent from IMG Models contacted her following the release of Inked Magazine’s issue. When she took the job she thought it would be a small section in the magazine itself. Instead, she was on the cover.

“You don’t have an agent?” Bonnie’s tone was confused, staring back at Y/n from behind her desk as they sat in her office at the IMG headquarters. Bonnie had seen her cover on Inked, immediately going to Y/n’s instagram where she contacted her though the email listed on the tattoo parlors page. From there she asked the artist to bring a portfolio, which she was shocked to find out wasn’t much. “That was your first model job?”

Y/n shrugged, making a face like it was obvious, “Unless you count the dozens of comments I get on instagram beggin for my next post, yeah it was. I’m a bartender and tattoo artist, modeling wasn’t something I thought was in the cards.” She refrained from adding, “also didn’t think IMG scouted people like me.”

It was safe to say Y/n was unlike the typical runway model. Every now and then a high fashion show would hire a man with tattoos to walk for them. Very rare would you see a woman on the runway. For Y/n, that seemed to be the case in the beginning of her career. She did walk in the Marco Marco show that year which was the highlight of her life. Inked Magazine got so much response on her first feature that they made her their staple girl. Y/n worked with them the most on campaigns and even got to do a cover shoot with celebrities like Travis Barker and Kehlani. Those features got her a lot of recognition to the point she hit one million followers on instagram.

It wasn’t until Y/n went viral on the internet for her Sports Illustrated cover and becoming the first inked model to be featured in a Victoria Secret campaign that the top designers were booking her. Before long she was auditioning for brands during fashion week, securing Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, and Oscar de la Renta. Due to her tattoos being the star of the show, there were hardly any clothes on her save for tiny tops and skirts or dresses with intricate cutouts. She didn’t mind of course. After all, her tattoos were a part of her and the reason she was getting the opportunities of a lifetime.

Milan, Paris, London, New York. Fashion week was gonna have to get used to a new face in town.

Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Inked. Pick up an issue and you’d find Y/n on at least one page, if not the cover.

Every now and then she’d get asked to appear in music videos for bands. The Weekend once asked her to be the cover art for one of his singles, bringing her more attention as "The Inked Beauty from Blinding Lights cover art.”

She appeared on the Inked Magazine YouTube channel several times. The most popular video being when she did a Q&A released shortly after walking in the last ever Victoria Secret Fashion Show in 2018, becoming the first inked model to walk the VS runway. Though it had low ratings, Y/n’s bit was plastered on every social media site, many tweeting: “the best thing VS could’ve done for their final show was put Y/n L/n in it. She carried the damn thing.”

“Hello, I’m Y/n L/n,” she smiled shyly at the camera, her agent Bonnie and publicist giving a thumbs up. “I’m a tattoo and high fashion model from New York City. You may recognize me from the cover of Inked Magazine, or discovered me through some of my other projects over the last couple years—hell maybe I even tattooed you at one point,” chuckling as she feels her nerves slowly evaporate. “Today I’m here with Inked Magazine, the owners of my heart and career, and I'm gonna answer some questions sent in by you guys about my tattoos and career.”

The producer gives a nod, “Ready, Y/n.”

“Let me hear them, sonny boy.”

“What was your first tattoo and at what age did you get it?”

Thankfully she was wearing a tube top beneath her jacket, removing the clothing to reveal the many inked designs on her chest, and stomach. Pointing to the one just below her ribs, Y/n says, “So this was my first one—as you can tell by how faded it is compared to the others. I got it when I was eighteenth birthday, literally wasted no time and my family is actually who inspired it.”

“As of right now, how many tattoos do you have?” The question has Y/n think for a moment, tilting her head back slightly.

“I counted just the other week and I think it was close to…. seventy,” nodding she adds, “yeah I think that’s right. I know I had fifty when Inked contacted me four years ago for my first feature. So I’ve added twenty to the collection since.” She made a mental note to count again when she got home that night.

“Do you have any tattoo regrets?”

A nervous chuckle escaped, “Fuck, uh….yes,” she looks down shamefully, but gives a shrug like, ‘I can explain.’ Lifting her head back up, Y/n takes her two index fingers and gently pulls down her bottom lip to reveal the messy smudged ink that once read, ‘baby girl’. The camera zoomed in and once they got a good shot of it Y/n let her lip fall back into place, “I don’t know if you were able to read that but when it was freshly done eight years ago it said,” she pulled a face showing she was too embarrassed to say it. “It said ‘baby girl.’ I got it when I was twenty on a dare and frankly I thought it would be hot, but it faded so quick—which,” she raised a finger, “that’s the one place I would say don’t get a tattoo. Even though it’s technically temporary…you’ll end up with a blob of ink like mine and it’s not cute.”

“Where were the most painful spots you got tattooed?” Immediately she lifted her arms to show she had ink on her armpits.

“These basterds right here,” the producer and crew laughed, nodding along with her. “You feel me? Yeah, I thought the ones on my stomach and ribs were bad. Those were a tickle compared to my armpits—-oh and my elbows. I think I actually broke a sweat when I got those done. It’s why I have yet to conquer my knees,” patting the covered area, Y/n shakes her head, “I don’t know If i can do it. But funny enough, these tiny little hearts on my palms,” Y/n flashed her palms up, the camera focusing on the two red lined hearts in the middle of each hand. “These hurt so bad. Thankfully I’m not putting anything else here because I strictly wanted the hearts, so I’m sparing myself.”

“What do they mean?” The producer asked, taking a pause from reading out the next question. The little smile Y/n gave was shy.

“I was told a lot growing up that I keep my heart in the palm of my hand,” while she explained Y/n kept glancing at the hearts, “kinda like the saying, ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve,’ but with me it’s literally in the palm of my hand. So I got these little hearts on my palms—that way when I hold someone’s hand, they can feel the love and care I have for them,” sending a wink to the camera she finishes with, “because my heart is in my palm.”

“Have you ever dated anyone with more tattoos than you?”

“Noooo,” she snorts. “Not because I’m not open to it—I’m very attracted to people with tattoos. And I have dated people with a lot…it just seems that anytime I do get into a serious relationship, I’m the one who has more than the other. And if you’re thinking about who I think you are—,” Y/n points directly to the camera, like a mother scolding her child, “the answer is no, he did not have more than me. Louis has thirty-three, I believe, since the last time he and I talked—which was,” she pauses to think, “I think around New Year’s.”

“Do you find yourself enjoying campaign shoots or runway shows more?”

“That’s hard,” Y/n pouts, causing her agent to chuckle since she knew the answer first hand. “Both are fun in their own way. I love being able to come into a studio or go out on sight and do a photo shoot—except in the fucking winter because I’m usually half naked freezing my ass off.” She pauses to laugh with the crew before continuing. “And then there's this feeling of ‘wow, that just happened,’ when I step off the runway. Getting to work with designers I’ve idolized since childhood and being the face of Mugler is a dream come true. If I had to choose…..it would be campaigns and photo shoots. There I can express myself more freely.”

“Do you see yourself still modeling in ten to twenty years time?”

There was a question she had to think about, taking a moment before answering. “I sure hope so. I love my job and definitely see myself continuing in the future. As long as my agent Bonnie and Inked don't get tired of me,” she laughs, winking at the woman who blows her a kiss. “But honestly I have experience as a tattoo artist so I could see myself opening my own parlor. I’d love to start my own blog or get other tattoo models into the industry. There’s a lot to think about what the future holds, but for right now I’m gonna have fun in the present.”

While home in New York when not booked, Y/n continued to work part-time at the tattoo parlor. She left the bar shortly after signing with IMG, but still visited whenever she could. There was even a picture of one of her Inked shoots framed above the bar.

With her new found fame the parlor had little to no openings each month. Regulars and new clients had to call in to reserve an appointment the second the schedule was dropped, which was sometimes weeks in advance. Several of the friends Y/n made in the modeling industry would get tattoos from her, though they always tended to go for the fine line style. More celebrities booked with her boss, adding Cardi B, Rihanna, and Louis Tomlinson to the list. The latter whom, as mentioned, Y/n actually got romantically linked to in mid 2017. It only lasted a few months, but the photo of the two on the Inked instagram was the most liked on their page.

Louis wasn’t the only high profiled person Y/n was involved with. Unfortunately the downside to fame meant her personal life was to be blasted on every inch of the internet. From starting her modeling career in 2014 to spring of 2019, she’d been spotted with actors Michael B. Jordan, Tom Felton, and fellow model Vladimir Ivanov. Like Louis, they only lasted a couple weeks to months—save for Vladimir which lasted almost over a year—and ended on good terms where they remained friends.

Frankly when it came to settling down Y/n hoped to find someone who was sweet and down to earth. Who was a hard worker—passionate about what they did for a living and wanting to share that with her. Someone who could make her laugh and feel like she was the only girl in the world. It was hard finding someone like when the spotlight follows you around. Y/n had been in the public eye going on six years and due to her connections with big named people she never seemed to catch a break when it came to romance.

All those qualities she desired in a life partner came to her in the form of the adorable weapons system officer she met at a party in November of 2019. The poor guy felt so out of place. From behind the bar Y/n could see him at the corner glancing around like he was searching for someone. Only getting a glimpse at the side of his face, she didn’t recognize him. The party had many from the fashion industry to celebrate Anna Wintour’s 70th birthday. What was ironic was Y/n took up the task of working the bar, kicking into her skills from when she was a bartender at a popular biker club in Manhattan. With her view she was able to see the entire floor as people entered.

The man she’d been eyeing must’ve come in when she was busy making the Hadid sisters their drinks. He wore a white dress shirt with some slacks and a matching blazer. His glasses reminded her of the popular style from the 80s. Come to think of it, they were probably the aviator style. He was tall, roughly six foot so she’d be eye level with him considering she was wearing two inch kitten heels.

Seeing his flustered demeanor and the fact he looked like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing there—not to mention he was handsome from what she could see, Y/n waltzed over, “May I get you anything?”

When he spun around she was met with the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes staring back at her. They blinked rapidly, like they were trying to decipher if she was in fact real. Then they snapped straight to her neck, following the ink of the exposed skin on display from her red latex mini dress—which his face mirrored the color of since he was making it quite known he was checking her out. He had a baby face to him, which was kinda adorable, and Y/n assumed he was maybe a year or two younger than her.

Offering a smile Y/n said, “So what will it be?”

“Huh?” He said confused before remembering what she initially asked before he got distracted. “Oh uh, just water please.” Still smiling, Y/n took a clean empty glass and filled it with ice before adding the water. Finishing it with a straw she placed it on a napkin in front of him.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he took the glass, glancing around briefly before letting his shoulders drop.

“You seem a bit out of place,” Y/n wiped down the countertop, catching his attention again. The man nervously laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A bit,” she teased, nodding her head to the crowd in front of them. “All these people walk around like they own the place. You’re the first person I’ve seen tonight who doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing. Are you here with someone?” Part of her was hoping he’d say a friend invited him, feeling a sudden rush of butterflies at the way he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“My sister dragged me along,” he confirms, the model mentally sighing in relief. But she couldn’t get her hopes too high. For all she knew he may have a partner back home. “I was visiting her this past week and she begged me to come. I told her it was a bad idea since I’m not….part of this crowd.”

“Ah,” she hums, biting back a grin at the way he described the industry. “Not a model or influencer, I take it?”

“Nooooo,” his laugh filled her stomach with butterflies. “Not at all. I don’t know how to work social media. Are you?”

Y/n refilled a guest's drink and handed over a beer to another, “I dabble here and there,” it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t familiar with her work. Usually at events like the one they were at she had people coming up to her already knowing who she was. “You’re probably like, ‘thought she was just a bartender,’” she giggled at the flustered look taking over him. “I was one before being discovered. I’m doing this for fun honestly—-and because Anna likes what I make her.”

His eyes went to her neck and collarbones, lingering on the ink. She assumed he’d never seen a model with so many tattoos before. “You can look,” she smirked, when he glanced away from being caught staring. “You’re only seeing a small portion of the canvas,” his eyes went wide at her words, making her giggle, “these babies are the reason I’m in this business.”

“You're a tattoo model?”

Y/n raises a brow at the surprise in his tone, “Didn’t know they existed, handsome?”

“No-no,” he quickly apologizes, “sorry I meant no offense. I knew there were models with a lot of tattoos. My sister told me that the industry was starting to expand by signing more people with them.” His words have Y/n intrigued. Obviously his sister was someone in the business, she wondered if she knew her.

“Is your sister one?”

“No, she’s an agent,” Y/n stops what she’s doing, towel long forgotten.

“For a modeling agency?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?” Just as the question left her lips, Bonnie’s voice interrupted the two, “Bob, there you are! Oh good—,” she grins wide when she sees who he’s talking to, “You guys met!”

Snapping their heads toward each other, the two have the same expressions of, “wait what?”

Bonnie claps her hands, coming beside Bob at the bar and motioning between the two, “Y/n, this is my brother, Robert—the one I was telling you about last week,” mouth slightly agape, remembering the conversations the two had about Bonnie’s brother—in which the agent suggested setting up a date between the two—Y/n watches Bob react the same when Bonnie then says, “Bob, this is Y/n L/n. One of my clients at IMG—I know I’ve mentioned her before to you.”

Not knowing what to do at first, Y/n extends her hand to formally introduce herself, “So you must be the famous, Bob,” butterflies swarm her stomach again by the warmth of Bob’s hand when he goes to shake it. “I’m Y/n. So nice to finally meet you—Bonnie’s told me a lot about you.”

“W-wow,” Bob stutters, mentally hating himself when he does. “It’s really nice to meet you too, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight, but now I see why Bonnie was so adamant I come.” A pointed look is thrown at Bonnie, who shrugs with a smile like she did no wrong.

“Well seeing as you two found each other without me, I’ll leave you both to it. Bob, let me know if you plan on riding with me back to the house or if you catch a ride. And Y/n I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” Winking, Bonnie takes the Cosmopolitan Y/n made for her and scurries off, leaving the two alone.

“I should’ve known,” Y/n laughs lightly, topping off Bob’s water. “Your sister has brought you up the past couple times she and I have gotten together,” lips curl into a smirk, “she wasn’t lying when she said you were a cutie.”

Bob turns red, smiling shyly, “when she told me about the inked beauty she worked with, she left out the fact you’re a walking piece of art.” His boldness impressed her, Y/n leaning closer to him against the bar top, resting her elbow on to so she could lean her head on her hand.

“How long are you gonna be in New York?”

“Till Wednesday,” part of her was disappointed that it was only four days away considering it was currently Saturday. But it was enough time for something to blossom.

“Tell me about yourself, Bob. The night’s early and I could listen to you talk for hours. Let’s see if Bonnie was psychic when she said we’d be quite the puzzle when put together.”

Ever heard of the type of couples where the girl radiates black cat energy and the guy is a literal golden retriever?

That was Y/n and Bob to a tee.

Out in public they stood out—even in a city like New York. Then when Y/n went to San Diego to meet his friends for the first time after four months together—which also resulted in her being stuck in California due to lockdown from the covid pandemic—it was like everyone couldn’t believe someone like Bob was with someone like Y/n.

He was a quiet, reserved naval officer and she was a sharp-tongued, world renowned tattoo model. They were the definition of the couple in high school you’d never expect would hit it off.

When Bob introduced Y/n to the squad, they instantly knew who she was, but had different ways of discovering her. Nat saw her walk in the VS Fashion show, Mickey and Reuben recognized her from The Weekend’s cover art, Javy remembered her from an episode of Ink Master she appeared on, Jake saw her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and Bradley actually got a tattoo from Y/n when he was in NYC.

The entire period Y/n was in San Diego she grew close to the squad, even Maverick who had a lot of questions about her work and tattoos. “You think I’d look good with them at my age?” Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the question, ensuring the Captain with a pat on the back.

“Some of the sexiest men I’ve met have been your age with ink more in than me,” she giggles when he goes red. “I worked at a biker bar in New York City. Believe me, Pete. Anyone can look good with some ink.”

Needless to say when it came time for Mav to get a tattoo, Y/n was the one doing it.

A lot of the squad ended up getting work done by her. Jake, Mickey and Rooster had a few already so they were familiar with the process. Nat only had one from a drunk night in college, which Y/n redid on her behalf since it had faded. Payback was a man who liked bold, meaningful tattoos so sometimes Y/n had her work cut out for her but she always came through.

“Yo is this gonna hurt bad,” Javy was practically sweating as Y/n removed the stencil from his shoulder. The design was a geometric sun about the size of an airpod case.

“It’ll sting, but this area generally isn’t too painful. If this was your bicep then it’d be a different story.”

Javy didn’t look convinced, turning to look at the guys while the stencil dried, “How was it for you guys?”

“Didn’t hurt at all for me,” Rooster shrugged, “my bicep was worse—like she said.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Payback waved a hand. “You see how tiny it is? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Going over the details once more to confirm the colors and shading, Y/n moved her chair closer after turning on the tv to an episode of Chopped. “You ready, Jav?”

“Ready,” he didn’t really sound like it but it was too late to back out. The buzz of the needle filled his ears and soon the stinging sensation they all said had him clutching his first.

“Try to relax, man” Bob sat on the chair next to Y/n, “being tense won’t help.”

After over a year of dating Bob had his fair share of tattoos. His were mostly small and easily hidden by his uniform. When they first got together, Bob loved learning about her tattoos. When she got them, why she did. If there were any meaning behind certain ones and if she planned to get more.

She was like a walking art gallery. So many colors and styles. Large and small. Y/n told him stories about almost every one—even if they were embarrassing like the inner lip tattoo.

“Biggest mistake,” she wiped a tear after she was done, the two laughing so hard. “Not only did it hurt but it faded not even a year after I got it. Now it looks so bad—I should get it redone but what’s the point when it will just end up looking the same.”

Bob hated when people would give her looks of disproval when they’d go out, usually from those who were unfamiliar with Y/n’s work. One time he nearly got into a bar fight with a older gentleman who thought it was okay to call Y/n a Jezebel. Rooster and Mickey had to hold him back, but Y/n simply looked at the guy and said, “Baby, I’m a fucking millionaire because of these bad boys. While you’re about to kick it the dust I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue magazine next month. So eat shit and die already.” The man was left speechless, making her and the squad smirk in victory. The equally tatted bartender who knew of Y/n whistling and even given her a free round.

“That was so fucking hot,” Bob pulled her into a searing kiss when they left the bar moments later, Y/n smirking against his lips, “You think that was hot? I’m a mess under these pants from seeing you so worked up, baby. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Whenever he and Y/n would cuddle she’d trace the raised ink with a finger, Bob doing the same to hers and committing them to memory. He loved to kiss the ones on her neck and collarbones, but his favorite were the tiny hearts on the palms of her hands.

“What do these mean,” he asked one day during the early days of their relationship. They were laying out on the hammock, taking her hands to admire the collection of small tattoos along her fingers and wrists. He hadn't even realized she had any on the palms until he flipped them over. There his thumbs traced over the red outline of each heart.

“If you ask any person I’ve ever loved or cared for they’d tell you I carry my heart in the palm of my hand,” she flips her hands so they are holding Bob’s, the tattoos against his skin. “So when I hold people’s hands, they know a piece of my heart lies with them.” Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Y/n shifts so her lips are against his jaw. “And I’m kinda hoping you’re the only one who gets to hold them from here on out.”

Anytime after that Bob would press a kiss to the hearts whenever he held her hands. Then when asked about what tattoo of Y/n’s was his favorite his answer was always, “the hearts.”

His family adored her. At first they were put off by her striking image but learned quickly Y/n was perfect for Bob. The children of his siblings loved taking washable markers to color in the tattoos Y/n had that were black and white. “Can I draw you a tattoo someday?” Little Emma asked shortly after the couple celebrated one year. She was a little artist who loved asking questions about the pretty pictures on Y/n.

“Of course, my love,” she promised. “Draw me whatever you desire and I shall get it done.”

The first fashion show Y/n booked after the pandemic Bob had front row seats. With his phone out he was the ultimate cheerleader, though he refrained from whistling or making noise so as to not embarrass the model, but would be in absolute awe when she strutted past him. It was the Tom Ford show, Y/n had walked out in a long black trench coat, coming to the end of the runway first before removing the item to reveal a silk dress underneath. It was spaghetti strapped with an open back, thigh slit to compliment her legs and the cameras loved it. She walked a few steps back up and turned to strike one last pose before making her exit.

Bob was mesmerized. It was the first time he’d seen her walk the runway and my God if he wasn’t already a simp he sure was then. A photographer captured his reaction to her discarding the coat and it went viral on Twitter.

@ inmyreputationera: if my man doesn’t look at me like @inkedbyY/n bf at NYFW then I don’t want it.

@ Inked✔️: We’re all Bob Floyd when @inkedbyY/n steps onto the runway.

When it came time to pick out her wedding dress Y/n was unsure of the route to go. It’d been five years the two were coming up on, one year of being engaged with the wedding to take place in North Island. A beach wedding in the late fall, Y/n wanted to look elegant and classy.

“Whatever you choose you’ll gonna look amazing, darling,” Bob kissed her head after she sighed when shuffling through bridal magazine pictures of dresses she’d cut out. “You know I love your tattoos—they are a part of you and I don’t want you feeling like you have to cover up for the sake of pictures. Baby, you’re one of the top models in the world. Like you told me when we first met, those babies are what got you discovered. Show them off.” Rubbing her shoulder exposed from her tank top, his lips pressed to the ink covering the skin. “But if you like this,” he pointed to the dress she kept going back to in her pile, it was elegant and pretty with neckline that fell just below her collarbones. “Then you should get it because you love it.”

The ceremony dress ended up being the one with a high neckline. It had open back with Y/n deciding on a her veil cascading down to the floor to become a small train rather than having the dress itself have it. Lace covered her arms, the ink peeking out from beneath to make the material stand out more due to the contrast.

She was stunning. An actual goddess that had Bob’s jaw drop the second his eyes landed on her. For the reception Y/n changed into a white two piece set that showed off her legs.

And you best believe she hired local tattoo artists to do a ‘spur of the moment’ tattoo booth at the party.

It didn’t take long for Inked Magazine to want to do a bridal shoot with Y/n. And if you look at it one way, it was a full circle moment. The issue marked ten years since they discovered Y/n and blessed her with the career of a lifetime that led her to meeting the love of her life.

All because she had a knack for getting ink.

……………..

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