#Chuck Cleaver

[spilladabalia]

Wussy - Inhaler

[dubbatrubba]

Good Chuck, Sad Chuck

The guy in the photo above might look like a surly biker dude, but really he’s a sweetheart – one of the kindest folks you’ll ever meet. [photo credit: Anna Stockton] Hi name is Chuck Cleaver. Yeah, I know, it sounds like the stage name of a wrestling “heel” in the WWE. But that’s his real name. And he’s one of the best songwriters in the WWW – the Whole Wide World. Five Saturdays ago, Chuck…

[artjipson]

Wussy: The Best Rock Band in America

Wussy is one of those bands that everyone should know. They are an ongoing musical effort for over two decades with a deep catalog. The band’s lyrics — courtesy of Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker — are inescapable without being cloying or false, and the band’s observations are relatable, accurate, frighteningly honest, and perhaps more than a little sad. Yet, the dark lyrics hold a unique power to…

[drchucktingle]

BURY YOUR GAYS has a whole dang bunch of 'media within media' meaning movies or television that only exists in a fictional timeline. so i have been thinking, what is your favorite metafiction way?

personally chuck has been watching sopranos and i really want to see CLEAVER

also preorder BURY YOUR GAYS for the the scoop on 'devil's due' and 'broken don'

[charliedawn]

I had an idea…

What if the slashers had medieval classes ?

Michael Myers: The Silent Knight (Paladin/Death Knight)

Michael would likely take on the role of a Paladin or Death Knight, a silent and relentless force, protecting or hunting those he sees as connected to his past. His stoic demeanor and indomitable strength fit well with a character bound by a code or curse. Wielding a large, unholy blade or a dark relic, he would move silently through the battlefield, unstoppable in his pursuit.

His nickname: THE BOOGEYMAN

Jason Voorhees: The Berserker (Barbarian)

Jason would be a Barbarian, a raging warrior who channels his deep-seated trauma into overwhelming strength. Unstoppable in combat, his fury would make him a terrifying force on the battlefield. His connection to nature and water could give him druidic or ranger-like powers, drawing energy from the lake he protects. His armor would be rough and battle-worn, a reminder of his tragic past.

His nickname: THE GREAT SENTINEL

Freddy Krueger: The Trickster Mage (Illusionist/Warlock)

Freddy would be a Trickster Mage or Illusionist, using dark magic and mind-bending tricks to torment his enemies. His power over dreams would translate into casting illusions and manipulating reality itself. As a warlock, he would be bound to some dark, dream-dwelling entity, granting him power over nightmares and subconscious fears. His ability to deceive and create horror would make him a formidable opponent.

His nickname: THE DREAM DEMON

Chucky: The Rogue (Assassin)

Chucky would definitely be a Rogue, specifically an Assassin. His small size, agility, and cunning nature would make him a deadly opponent who strikes from the shadows. He’s quick, ruthless, and deceptive, slipping into places unnoticed and finishing his targets with precision. He might wield daggers or short swords, and his roguish personality would make him both deadly and unpredictable.

His nickname: THE CHUCK

Leatherface (Barbarian/Fighter)

Leatherface would be a hybrid class of Barbarian and Fighter, specializing in brute strength and close-quarters combat. As a hulking warrior, he would wield massive cleavers or axes, cutting down foes with brutal efficiency. His knowledge of flesh and anatomy would make him particularly horrifying in battle, and his chaotic nature would lean toward the frenzy of a berserker.

He would also collect the faces of his victims.

His nickname: THE BUTCHER

Norman Bates: The Haunted Scholar (Cleric/Necromancer)

Norman would be a Cleric, but with a twist toward the darker side—perhaps even a Necromancer. His deep-seated connection to his "Mother" would translate into a religious devotion or a spiritual connection with the dead. He’d be torn between his desire to heal and protect and his darker impulses to manipulate life and death. He might summon spirits or act as a vessel for his mother's spirit to protect or haunt those around him.

His first try as a Necromancer was to revive his mother.

It didn’t end well.

His nickname: THE DEATH WIELDER

The Penny Brothers: The Eldritch Jesters (Warlocks)

The Penny Brothers would be Eldritch Jesters, Warlocks bound to some horrifying, ancient force. Their ability to shapeshift, manipulate, and terrify would be channeled through their connection to an eldritch being—Maturin—who would grant they their reality-warping abilities. Their playful yet malevolent personalities would thrive as they toy with their enemies, using their fears and illusions to break their minds before devouring them.

Their nickname: THE HELL BROTHERS

Brahms: The Possessed Doll (Warlock)

Brahms would fit as a Warlock, whose powers come from his pact with a dark or cursed force. His doll-like nature would translate into some kind of possession or spiritual bond that grants him control over objects or people. He would be a mix of stealth and manipulation, haunting his enemies from the shadows, using enchantments or summoning powers to influence others and protect his secretive existence.

His nickname: THE SHADOW/THE DOLL

Bo Sinclair: The Cunning Fighter (Rogue/Fighter)

Bo would be a Rogue-Fighter hybrid, relying on cunning, deception, and brute strength. His charming Southern accent would serve as a disarming tactic, luring enemies into traps, while his fighter abilities would make him lethal in combat. He’d have a natural charisma that draws people in, only for them to realize too late that he’s set them up for their demise. He’d likely wield traps or intricate weapons that reflect his tactical mind.

His nickname: BO THE TORTURER

Vincent Sinclair: The Sculptor (Artificer)

Vincent would be an Artificer, crafting horrific "art" from his enemies. His quiet and methodical nature would lend itself to crafting traps, weapons, and even using alchemy or magic to mold and shape his surroundings. He’d specialize in creating deadly sculptures or golems from the remains of his enemies, fitting with his obsession with artistic perfection. His silence would make him an elusive and mysterious figure in battle.

His nickname: THE ARTIST

Ghostface: The Shadowy Stalker (Rogue/Ranger)

Ghostface would be a Rogue-Ranger, a stalker who uses stealth and precision to track down his targets. With a preference for knives and ranged attacks, he’d be adept at hiding in plain sight and striking from the shadows. His mask would make him a symbol of fear, and his quick wit would give him an edge in both intelligence and combat.

His nickname: THE BLOODY SOLDIER

Jack Torrance (Berserker/Warlock)

In a medieval setting, Jack would be the type of warrior who once upheld order but has now been corrupted by darker forces. His axe would become a symbol of his madness, and his warlock abilities could manifest as hallucinations or eldritch whispers, pushing him further into insanity. His unpredictability and violent outbursts would make him as dangerous to his allies as to his enemies, and his descent into madness would reflect the darker elements of his personality.

His nickname: THE CURSED/FALLEN KNIGHT

[largemandrill]

About those Omen with Cloaks

(I’ve found only two of this enemy variety in the game, if there’s any more of them please tell me because they intrigue me so much)

These specific type of omen are quite a rare find, I’ve only managed to find them in two areas:

Leading a small group of commoners in front of the minor erdtree near the draconic tree sentinel fight in the outer capital

2: Deeply hidden within Azuria Hero’s Grave seemingly guarding the crucible winged talisman

These locations are notably very close to one another, both being a similar distance from the main entrance the Tarnished has to the Capital. The omen in the Hero’s Grave, admittedly, has less implications so I’ll be mostly skipping over him (sorry bud)

Going back to the omen next to the minor erdtree, he’s not the only one in his group with a unique model compared to his enemy type. He is surrounded by commoners (who are normally adorned in a pale cloth) wearing pitch black clothing.

They also don’t throw fire pots like other commoners (think the ones in Fort Haight) Instead, they seem to just be chucking regular stones or maybe a pot with no noticeable elemental damage (I’ll do further testing if needed)

The next question is simple: Why the distinction between models compared to the rest of their enemy variety? The answer to this comes in a few different forms, leading with a fact about the Omen present at the scene: He uses Fia’s Mist.

This is the only spell the Omen uses, all of his other attacks are melee with his cleaver. This leads me to believe that this group not only worships the Prince of Death, but that they have specific associations with Fia herself.

The first thing I wanted to prove is that he was actually using the sorcery and not just spitting it out like basilisks and wormfaces. Luckily for me, the symbol of the Death Sorceries, Godwyn’s half of the Centipede wound, flashes in front of his hand when casted (wasn’t able to get a pic of him casting it sadly)

With this Fia association, we can also put the mystery of the unique models to rest. While much dirtier and more withered compared to her clean and soft robes, it seems like these “cult” members are mirroring her appearance. Wether any of these enemies have actually met her in person is a mystery to me. However, if I had to guess, Fia comforting an Omen isn’t entirely out of character for her. She’s always had a soft spot for those oppressed by the golden order. It also wouldn’t be out of character for Fia to gain some allies from a being that has grown to hate the GO for their entire life. Thus, these omen have pledged allegiance to her cause in some form, and to show this commitment, they adorn themselves with replication of the attire that comforted them

Also notable is the specific tree in which the omen are located. This has been pointed out before in This VaatiVidya vid (along with some of the other stuff mentioned here) is that this Minor Erdtree could possibly be the one that Godwyn himself was buried under.

These two tree’s don’t align perfectly on the map or in world, but their proximity to each other is deeply notable. Maybe there was an intended alignment that was harder to implement due to the locations of the other underground areas, but I’ll bite at the worm anyway that this is supposed to be the same tree. How else could the rotting that is only seen in this tree be explained anywhere else? The trees in the Mountain tops are broken off at the too, but this one is visibly dying in a way unique to itself.

In conclusion (?)

There is a chance that Fia’s worshipping of Godwyn is not only shared by her and TWLID, but by others spurned by the GO and Erdtree. A few Omen found comfort in her and believed that her cause could maybe assist in bringing them back into society as accepted beings. I cannot decide if this possibility is sweet or deeply unsettling.

[dustedmagazine]

Wussy — Cincinnati Ohio (Shake It)

Over the last quarter century, Wussy has quietly built an impressive catalogue, eight albums including this one that span heartfelt alt.Americana, fiery jangle rock and an almost shoegaze-y wall-of-sheen sound. Led by Chuck Cleaver, once of twang punk’s Ass Ponys, and Lisa Walker, the band can sound like Eleventh Dream Day or a Sally Timms-forward Mekons (Jon Langford painted the cover art). In the silvery fog of “Desperation A.M., you might catch an echo of Yo La Tengo’s Georgia Hubley, but in the more strident opener, “The Great Divide” you’re more likely to hit on the Feelies side project Wild Carnation (Brenda Sauter played a show with Wussy in early November). Wussy touches a lot of solid indie-to-country rock bases, while remaining very much its own thing.

The songs vary a good deal depending on whether Cleaver or Walker sings lead. Their voices are very different, for one thing, Cleaver’s a wobbly, weatherbeaten, country tenor and Walker’s a cool, enveloping, faintly disembodied vehicle for dream pop. Both write songs, too, so if the writer is also the main singer, that may account for some of the divergence, too. But in any case, just to take the singles, “Sure as the Sun,” one of Cleaver’s, reels and bucks like a revival tune run amok on a wild horse. His voice is cracked and wizened, but fully capable of conveying both tune and emotion. The guitars crash, the bass thunders, the drums wallop, but an aura of resignation pervades. “And if there is a heaven, I don’t think that’s where I’ll head, I’d rather stick around and hang with you instead,” he sings, linking the mundane and the spiritual in a very Wussy way.

Walker takes the lead in the other single, “Inhaler” a slashing country rocker suffused in clouds of dread. Her voice is clean and dry in the verse, wobbling only a little with vibrato. But it’s in the multi-voiced chorus that she comes into her own. “It’s a swing and a miss and our hero is down today, and I check the brakes, and I fill the tank, his tornado is pulling away,” she trills, the main vocal line crisscrossed with descants and counterparts. There’s something giddy, something a little desperate about how this song hurtles forward, flinging itself off precipices only to be buoyed by clouds of harmony.

The pedal steel is one other factor that nudges these songs away from indie rock and into Americana, and therein hangs a tale. Wussy’s long-time pedal steel player Jon Erhardt died partway through the recording process, having completed just two songs. It’s him you can hear on the bare and ruminative “The Night We Missed the Horror Show” and on “Days and Hours”’ whirling torch song. Travis Talbert finished the job, adding the lovely glow of pedal steel to atmospheric “Desperation A.M.” and playing on three other tracks. Both add density and feeling to the Wussy sound, a subtle but essential. Likewise, when bassist Mark Messerly switches to accordion on “The Ghosts Keep Me Alive” and, later, “Disaster About You,” it tips the sound in a deeper, richer, more countrified direction.

Wussy is a bit of a cult favorite now, and long-time fans will undoubtedly have different reactions to this late period recording. Still, even coming to them fresh and without any prior connection, the sound is wonderfully rich and varied and the lyrics provocative without preciousness. If, like me, you’ve come all this way without running into Wussy, maybe it’s time to check in.  

Jennifer Kelly

[malwaresilly]

SHOOT THE BEE

[GUNSHOTS. MULTIPLE.]

*V.b hisses, chucking the cleaver before running off, no signs of mal...yet*

[jinxedruby]

Ambush at the Bridge: Chapter Three

In which Warriors and Time show up. (Heads up for blood and injury in this chapter as well.)

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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Warriors sliced through some of the bokoblins before him, sword tearing through three monsters of different kinds. He at least recognized the pinkish ones from Sky’s era, having fought them during his journey. But the purple ones with white, mop-like hair and the pig-like ones with large ears were unfamiliar to him. Why there were so many at once and why they were all ganging up on him, he didn’t know. He brought up his shield just in time to block a blow to the side of his head, at the same time keeping the monsters to his left at bay with his sword. A weapon glanced off the back of his chainmail, tearing through his tunic. He gripped his sword and spun in a vicious circle, clearing the immediate area around him. He barely took two steps before the monsters surged forward again, hemming him in once more.

A sharp yelp of pain caught his attention. He cut down the bokoblin before him to get a glimpse of the worn bridge. His eyes widened. Hyrule lay dangerously close to a hole in the bridge, desperately fighting to get a lizalfos and bokoblin off of him.

A cleaver slicing through the crook of his arm forced Warriors to tear his gaze from Hyrule. A quick thrust disposed of the bokoblin that had cut him but another took its place just as quickly. He scowled, parrying one attack and responding with a slash that killed three monsters at once. He barely got a glance at the bridge before more monsters swarmed into the gap he made. A hard blow to his back sent him stumbling forward, right into another monster’s attack. He barely managed to block it with his shield, extremely thankful he had chainmail to cover his blind spots. Another struggled shout from Hyrule. Warriors clutched his sword, adrenaline flaring.

“Out of my way!” he roared. He twisted to one side, readying his sword. Then he unleashed spin attack after spin attack, plowing through the bokoblins. His ears rang from the sheer number of monster screeches as bokoblins fell to his blade. He came to a stop, panting, head spinning a little from the overexertion. He turned, trying to get his bearings.

CRACK.

He whipped around just in time to see a section of the bridge collapse. The section Hyrule was on. He and the monsters on top of him plunged into the frothing river below.

“Traveler!” Warriors shouted. He dashed toward the bridge. Another wave of bokoblins stopped him in his tracks. He cursed, cutting through them as fast as he could, arms burning from the strain.

“I got him!” he heard Wind shout.

“Wait!” Twilight yelled.

Warriors couldn’t see what was happening past the monsters before him. No matter how many he cut down, more would pop up. Why were there so many? If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were in his era. What he wouldn’t give for Legend’s fire rod right then. But he didn’t know where the veteran was. He couldn’t tell where anyone was, with all these damn monsters in the way.

A blade cut through the back of his knee and he yelped. He spun and skewered the offending bokoblin, only for another to stab at him from behind. His chainmail prevented the blade from piercing him, but the force of the blow knocked him forward, a bruise surely developing where he’d been hit. A sword whistled toward his neck. He yanked up his shield, deflecting the weapon upwards, the tip of the blade grazing his scalp just above his ear. His skin prickled as warm blood flowed from the cut, matting his hair. He executed another spin attack, muscles protesting the whole way.

“Captain!”

Warriors turned at the shout to see Time on the other side of the swarm of monsters. The old man held a giant barrel over his head, teeth clenched.

“Heads up!” Time shouted. With a grunt, he chucked the barrel into the middle of the mass of monsters. It wasn’t until he heard hissing that Warriors realized what the old man had thrown. He spun away, cutting an opening in the bokoblins and diving forward, tucking into a roll. The barrel exploded with a deafening boom. A wave of heat blasted past Warriors, knocking him flat. Monsters sailed past him, smoking and not all in one piece. Warriors covered his head as weapons and smoldering bokoblin parts rained down around him. Once things settled, Warriors scrambled to his feet, whirling around to pick off any stragglers. A blur of silver and gold flashed on his right as Time fell into step beside him, cutting down the bokoblins in his blind spot. With one final slash, Warriors cut down the last remaining monster. He turned, sword raised, searching for any he might’ve missed. After a long moment he sighed, letting the tip of his sword fall to the ground. He turned to Time, skin tingling with the dregs of adrenaline left in his system.

“Thanks for the save, old man,” he said. “That was one hell of a bomb.”

A hint of a smile flickered across Time’s stoic expression. “Goron powder keg,” he explained as he wiped the black blood from his sword. “I’ve been saving it for a time such as this.”

Warriors huffed a laugh, glancing at the carnage littered around them. “Well, it sure did the job.” Then his eyes widened. “Traveler. He fell in the river-“ He started forward but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Our sailor and rancher have already gone after him,” Time said.

Warriors shrugged off Time’s hand, ignoring the flinch of pain the motion caused. “Well, we should still go after them. Or find the others. They might need help-“

“You’re hurt,” Time interrupted.

“What? No, I’m fine-“

“Captain.” Time leveled him with a glare usually reserved for the more reckless members of the group. Warriors stared at him for a moment longer, a protest on his tongue. Then the last of his adrenaline burned away. Cuts he didn’t know he had flared up in pain. His muscles ached fiercely, limbs trembling from the exertion of the battle. The side of his head prickled and he reached up to find blood soaking his hair and trailing down his neck. He hadn’t realized how deep the cut above his ear was.

“Ah,” he managed. His knees failed him at that moment and he stumbled. Time quickly caught him, gently lowering him to the ground.

“Easy, Captain,” the old man said, kneeling beside Warriors. Warriors took a deep breath, reaching into his bag for a bandage. His hands shook and he narrowed his eyes, as if glaring would ease the trembling. There was pressure against the side of his head and he winced. He looked up to see Time carefully wrapping gauze around his head, stemming the flow of blood from his wound. Warriors reached up to take the gauze from Time, but the old man just shook his head. Warriors lowered his hand with a sigh.

“Thanks,” he said as Time finished wrapping his head. He glanced around as Time reached into his bag for more bandages. Aside from the sound of the rushing river, the woods sat quiet and still. “Did you see where the others went?”

Time glanced up from the wound in the crook of Warriors’ arm he was wrapping. “The sailor and rancher went downriver after the traveler. Champion went flying into the woods over that way.” He jerked his head in the direction of the trees to their right. “I didn’t see what happened to the other three.”

Warriors arched a brow. “What do you mean, Champion went flying?”

Time sighed with exasperation that said ‘these boys are making me go gray.’ “He used his shield to catapult off a bokoblin’s head.”

“Wh- how?” Warriors spluttered, laughing.

Time heaved another sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Well-“ Warriors coughed in an attempt to reign in his chuckling. “-we should probably go after him, make sure he’s alright. I’m worried about Traveler, but Sailor and Rancher are both helping him.” He bit his lip to keep himself from tacking on ‘I hope.’

Time nodded. Warriors moved to stand but Time grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

“Your wounds, Captain,” Time reminded him.

“They’re really not that bad, old man,” Warriors protested.

“Maybe not.” Time withdrew another bandage and began wrapping it around Warriors’ knee. “But I don’t want you losing any more blood.”

Warriors sighed but didn’t argue any further. He knew the old man was right, he just hated the idea of taking time to tend to himself when the others might need help right now.

“You won’t be much help if you’re stumbling around from preventable blood loss,” Time said, as if reading Warriors’ thoughts. At the captain’s stare, he looked up with a half-smile. “Heroes’ minds think alike.”

Warriors huffed a laugh. “You got me.”

It only took a couple more minutes for Time to finish dressing the worst of Warriors’ wounds. The cut in the crook of his arm was the deepest and responsible for the tremble in his hand. The large bruise on his back protested as he stood, chainmail rubbing uncomfortably against it. Time glanced at him when he winced but Warriors just flapped a hand.

“I’ve had worse,” he said. Then at Time’s look, added, “I won’t do anything I can’t handle. I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

Time watched him for a moment longer before nodding and turning away. “I’ll hold you to that.”

They started in the direction Time had seen Wild go. Slowly at first, as Warriors had underestimated the pain from the cut in the back of his knee. Pain rippled through his skin with each step, and he did his best not to limp too heavily. Time offered him an arm for support but Warriors shook his head.

“I’m not so fragile, old man,” he said. To his surprise, Time actually chuckled.

“No, you’re not.”

Warriors blinked. He opened his mouth to rib the old man about giving him what sounded suspiciously like a compliment. A gut-wrenching scream cut him off. His eyes widened. Without a word, he and Time broke into a sprint. Warriors ignored the spikes of pain driving into his knee with each pound of his boot on the ground. The scream sounded dangerously like Wild. They ran blindly through the forest, tearing through the underbrush. Warriors looked around wildly, searching for any sign of the champion. Another strangled cry came from somewhere to their left, much closer and much weaker than the last one.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Another voice carried between the trees as Warriors and Time changed direction. “I have to stop the bleeding, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

Warriors recognized Four’s faint voice. He slowed and turned, Time slowing with him, trying to pinpoint where his voice had come from. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Smithy!” he shouted, words swallowed by the trees. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” Four screamed, desperation thick in his voice.

Warriors took off in the direction of Four’s voice, Time close behind him. He spotted a blotch of colors between the trees and sped up, a new wave of adrenaline muting the pain from his wounds. Four spotted them crashing through the underbrush, his eyes wide in panic. He knelt over Wild who lay on the ground, hardly moving.

“Help!” Four yelled. “Captain, over here!”

Warriors and Time sprinted over, the sight becoming clearer as they approached. Four’s nose twisted in a way it probably shouldn’t, dried blood coating his upper lip and chin. He held his hands tight against the area between Wild’s left shoulder and chest. Blood soaked his hands, the fluid pooling around his fingers. Warriors fell to his knees beside them, yanking a wad of bandages from his bag.

“Move your hands,” he instructed. Four pulled back to reveal a horribly deep stab wound. The moment the pressure left, blood spurted from the wound in force. Warriors cursed and stuffed the bandages into the wound before pressing down with his hands. Four put his hands back as well and Wild whimpered, head rolling to the side. The movement caused the blood pooling in his collar to run down his neck, soaking into his hair splayed out on the ground beneath him. Warriors pressed all his weight into Wild’s wound, the flow of blood only barely slowing. Time knelt beside them, brushing Wild’s bangs from his face, strands sticking to his skin. Wild’s eyelids fluttered open, clouded blue eyes darting around with little recognition.

“I’ll find a fairy,” Time said before jumping to his feet and charging into the forest.

Wild’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. All color had drained from his face, lips white. Sweat beaded on his brow, trailing down his temple and mixing with the blood on his neck. Warriors had seen wounds like this before. In soldiers whose limbs had been severed or cut so deeply that the artery broke. He’d watched men die within seconds that bled like this.

“Smith, do you have any bandages?” Warriors asked, forcing his focus on the present.

“A- a few,” Four stammered, face pale.

“Whatever you have, put it in his wound.”

Four reached into his bag and Warriors doubled the pressure he put on the wound, desperately trying to keep as much blood from escaping as he could. Four held out a small roll of gauze and Warriors snatched it, packing it in beside the other soaked bandages. He and Four replaced their hands and Warriors glanced around, searching frantically for Time. Fingers grasping at his hand brought his gaze back down. Wild clawed weakly at him, hand closing around Warriors’ wrist and limply hanging on.

“Stay with me, Champion, c’mon,” Warriors said, voice pinched with what he refused to admit was fear. Wild’s grip on him loosened, breaths shortening even more. “The old man’s on his way, just hold on, please.” He frantically looked around, hoping for any sign of the silver and gold armor but there was nothing except trees swaying gently in the breeze.

“Captain.”

Warriors looked toward Four at the smith’s raspy voice. The little hero stared down at Wild, face white. Warriors looked down. Wild’s chest spasmed as he struggled to breathe. His movements slowed and his hand slipped from Warriors’ wrist, sliding off himself and to the ground.

“No,” Warriors breathed. His hands clenched around the bandages in Wild’s wound. The kid didn’t even flinch. He’s just unconscious, he told himself. He just passed out from blood loss, that’s all. He’s… he’s not… Wild lay horribly still. His face relaxed, still terribly white. Warriors pressed against the wound even harder, muscles cramping. Blood still flowed from it, which meant Wild’s heart was still beating. Even if the flow was slowing. Even if his chest barely moved with breath. Even if the involuntary twitches of pain had stopped. Even if… even if…

“I found one!”

Warriors’ head snapped up. Time crashed through the underbrush, twigs and leaves stuck in the joints of his armor. He burst into the clearing and ran faster than Warriors had ever seen him move. A pinkish light zipped after him, darting past him once Wild was in view. Warriors couldn’t breathe as they approached. Couldn’t breathe as the fairy landed on the back of his hand, glowing more fiercely as it pushed magic into Wild’s wound. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Time’s low, rumbling voice thrumming in his ears. You can move your hands, Captain entered his brain but he shook his head, staring at the fairy. Four hadn’t moved either, eyes flitting between the fairy and Wild’s face. Something pressed back against Warriors’ palms. The fairy hopped up and down on his hand and he blinked confusedly. Hands closed around his wrists.

“Captain, move your hands,” Time said, firmly pulling his wrists away. Warriors fought against him instinctively before realizing what was happening. The gauze and bandages he had stuffed into the wound began pushing up out of it as the fairy knitted the flesh back together. He sat back and could nothing but stare as the fairy moved from his hand to hovering above Wild’s wound, flying in quick circles above it. The bandages pushed out further and Four quickly swept them away as the fairy worked. Warriors stared. Did it always take this long? It felt so much faster when he was on the other side, when he was the one being healed by a fairy. He stared as the fairy zipped around Wild’s chest. Some of the blood flooding his collar began trickling back into the wound. Droplets raced back along his neck, leaving red tracks on his skin. The fairy slowed and came to a stop on Wild’s shoulder. It paused as if inspecting its work before darting over to Time. He held out a hand, the other still holding one of Warriors’ wrists, and the fairy landed on his finger, whispering something Warriors didn’t understand. Numbly, instinctively, Warriors reached out and placed two fingers on Wild’s neck. His skin was far too cold, clammy with sweat and coagulated blood. Then he felt it. A weak pulse against his fingertips. He laughed, weak and breathy. Four gasped, snatching up one of Wild’s hands in his own and watching the champion’s face.

Time sighed in relief, head drooping. “Thank you,” he breathed to the fairy. The fairy made a sound like a quiet chime. It flew in a quick circle around Time before flitting away into the forest.

“Cook?” Four said, rubbing Wild’s hand between both of his own. When Wild didn’t respond, Four’s movements became more frantic, leaning closer. “Come on, Cook, please.”

“The fairy said she tried to give him back as much blood as she could,” Time said, placing the back of his hand against Wild’s pale cheek. “So much of it soaked into his clothes and the ground, though. He… he’s lost a lot.”

Four took a shaky breath, continuing to rub Wild’s hand. Warriors had no idea why and he suspected Four didn’t either. Warriors gently felt at where the wound had been. All that was left was a shallow cut in the flesh, shaped like a thin diamond. A sword, then. He glanced around. There were no monsters or weapons lying around aside from Wild’s sword laying in the grass beside him. Black blood decorated the tip and Warriors’ eyes narrowed. He looked to Four, opening his mouth to ask what happened.

Wild’s groan interrupted him.

Warriors’ gaze snapped to Wild, question forgotten. The champion stirred weakly, head rolling from side to side. He seemed to register Time’s hand on his face and turned his head into the touch, eyelids fluttering. His blue eyes blinked open, gaze sliding around before loosely landing on Time. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a weak croak with a hint of words. Then his eyes started to slide shut again.

“Champion!” Warriors called as Time and Four also exclaimed. Wild blinked slowly, meeting Warriors’ gaze. “Cough, I need you to cough.”

Wild squinted in confusion but complied, weakly coughing. Warriors gently encouraged him as he did, rubbing the kid’s arm. The coughing grew stronger and Wild opened his eyes wider, growing more alert. He took a shuddering breath and got a better look at the three heroes surrounding him.

“Champion, can you hear us?” Time asked, leaning into Wild’s field of view.

Wild slowly nodded, eyes darting over Time’s form. Then he looked to the side, gaze landing on Four.

“Sm… smith,” he croaked, voice crackling. “Are you o… di’ you… is ‘e…”

“It’s okay, he’s gone,” Four said as Wild struggled to string together a sentence. “Everything’s fine.”

Warriors glanced at Four, trying to catch his eye. Four glanced up and shook his head slightly. Later, he mouthed.

Wild suddenly tried to sit up, groaning.

“Easy there, Champion,” Warriors said, he and the others all reaching out to support Wild. “You lost a lot of blood, be careful.” Wild nodded clumsily, blindly reaching out and grasping onto the first thing he felt which happened to be Warriors’ scarf. Warriors could feel the champion’s hand shaking as he struggled to get a grip on the blue fabric and pull himself all the way up. Time placed a hand in the center of Wild’s back, gently pushing until he was seated upright. Wild took several deep, shuddering breaths before promptly tipping over. Warriors caught him as Wild collapsed against him, eyes squeezed shut.

“Why’m I… s’ dizzy?” Wild murmured, words slurring together.

“You lost a lot of blood, kid,” Warriors told him again.

“Did I…? Oh… yeah, th’ rancher… st…”

Warriors went stiff at Wild’s words. The rancher? Was Wild going to say that Twilight did this?

“Shapeshifter,” Four said quickly upon seeing the expressions on Warriors’ and Time’s faces. Warriors’ gaze snapped up to Four but the smith didn’t elaborate, watching Wild with a pinched expression and continuing to hold his hand. Warriors’ thoughts spun. A shapeshifter? One that looked like the rancher had attacked Wild and nearly killed him? Warriors needed the full story, but a glance at Four and Wild told him it was going to have to wait.

“I don’t want to rush things,” Time began. “But we should move. We need to find the others so we can regroup and get somewhere safe.”

Warriors nodded and carefully shifted Wild into a comfortable hold. “I’ll carry him. Should we head back to the bridge?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Time said. “Hopefully the others have had the same thought.”

Warriors began to stand, Wild’s form gathered in his arms. But in the chaos, he’d forgotten he was injured. His wounded leg trembled and he bit his lip, trying to force through it. Then Time was there, gently taking Wild from his arms.

“I’ve got him,” he said gently. Warriors felt like he should argue, but something about how small Wild looked in the old man’s arms stopped him. So he simply nodded as Four helped him to his feet. He thought Wild had fallen asleep until the champion grasped at one of Time’s hands, looking around blearily. Time ducked his head and said something in a low voice. Wild nodded after a moment, settling back in his arms, head resting against Time’s chest. Four retrieved Wild’s sword and the three began making their way through the forest, heading roughly in the direction Time and Warriors had come from. Time led the way, Warriors and Four close behind him. Warriors cast a glance at Four, eyeing the way his nose twisted and how the purplish-black bruise enveloped the smith’s nose and stretched out beneath his eyes.

“I can straighten your nose once we get back,” Warriors told him.

Four shot him a grateful look. “I’d appreciate that,” he said. He stumbled suddenly, Warriors darting forward to steady him.

“Smithy!” Warriors exclaimed as Four righted himself, using Warriors’ arm as support. Time glanced back over his shoulder at them, concern filling his eye. “Not hiding an injury from us, are you?” Warriors asked.

“No, I’m alright,” Four said, pushing away from Warriors. “Just exhausted. My limbs feel like the cook’s egg pudding.”

Warriors chuckled at that, some of the tension in the air lifting. “I can carry you, if you want,” he said, only half joking.

Four snorted, shoving him playfully. “I can still walk, Captain.”

“Only a suggestion!” Warriors replied, holding up his hands in a harmless gesture.

Four smirked. “Maybe I ought to carry you, given your limp of drama.”

“Hurt! Ful!”

The two laughed, continuing to rib each other as they followed Time back to the bridge.

[cupcakes-made-of-flesh]

"Hello?"

ooc under cut

This blog WILL contain themes of cannibalism, self harm, child abuse, human/child trafficking, drugs, dissociation, and dehumanization

THERE MAY BE MORE THAT I MISSED OR FORGOT, all triggering posts will be tagged appropriately

Name: Ame Guro

Pronouns: any, they switch between various pronouns to refer to themself

Age: 16

Height: 5' 3"

Ability: Tender is the Flesh - if a person consumes the user's flesh, however small an amount, they will enter a trance-like state similar to psychadelic drugs, though they will lose their humanity until the effects wear off, focusing on their single most important goal until it does. This also applies to the user, should they eat their own flesh.

Likes: Soft things, bows, candy, herself, the color of her hair

Dislikes: The sound of bells, knives/meat cleavers, their tattoos, adults

A childish, naive teen escaped from a human trafficking ring. From his garbled, terrified rants, we've managed to get that the ring was planning to sell their meat like a cow, and that there were 'others just like him.' His body is covered in tattoos marking out his body parts like a cow- chuck, sirloin, brisket, etc.

The art is a picrew I edited!

this blog is owned by @sugarthebee

[stedefxckingbonnet]

requests info/intro!

hi, everyone!

i thought i'd take a quick second to introduce myself and to also formally open up requests. i'm already working on a few things, but requests really do always help and feel free to submit them at any point--but, we'll get to all of that in a moment!

my name is lavinia, and i am a uni student studying both theatre (dramaturgy specifically) and creative writing! i love to sing, act, write (obviously haha), read (i am a huge fan of classic literature, as well as donna tartt, mona awad, sally rooney, elif bautman, and ottessa moshfegh's works), go to concerts, go to the movies, style/design clothing, paint, collect records/cds, and so much more! this barely scratches the surface really but, if any of you share these interests, always feel free to reach out!

anyhow, as i said, i will officially be opening requests, and at the moment here is the media and the characters i will write for:

Our Flag Means Death

Izzy Hands (my BELOVED)

Ed Teach

Stede Bonnet

Lucius Spriggs

Jim Jimenez

Oluwande

Mary Bonnet

(more available upon request! these were just sort of my first instincts.)

Gilmore Girls

honestly, i'm pretty open to anything unless it's dean. just request and i'll see what i can do!

Gossip Girl

Blair Waldorf

Serena Van der Woodsen

Dan Humphrey

Nate Archibald

Chuck Bass (like sometimes)

Rufus Humphrey

more available upon request.

The Fosters/The Good Trouble

Callie Adams Foster

Mariana Adams Foster

Brandon Foster

Jamie Hunter

Gael Martinez

Dennis Cooper

Malika Williams

more available upon request.

Select Wes Anderson and Tim Burton characters. just ask!

Enola Holmes

Enola Holmes

Tewkesbury

Sherlock Holmes

Little Women (2019)

Jo March

Amy March

Beth March

Meg March

Laurie

Friedrich Bhaer

Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Anakin Skywalker

Padmé Amidala

Luke Skywalker

Han Solo

Leia Organa

Kylo Ren

Finn

Poe Dameron

Ahsoka Tano

more available upon request!

Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Basically me just saying I'll write Mr. Darcy. but more characters available upon request, of course.

Community

Abed Nadir

Troy Barnes

Annie Edison

Jeff and Britta I'm a little iffy on but with the right request, maybe. don't hesitate to ask!

The OC

Seth Cohen

Ryan Atwood

Summer Roberts

Marissa Cooper

The Umbrella Academy

Klaus

Viktor

Ben

Five

Diego

Allison

Luther is like, not preferred for me but if you feel strongly about him and have a good request, i’ll consider it but don’t get your hopes up too high!

Once Upon a Time

Emma Swan

Regina Mills

Killian Jones

Neal Cassidy

August Booth

Jefferson (The Mad Hatter)

Mulan

Ruby Lucas (Red Riding Hood)

Belle French

Mary Margaret Blanchard (Snow White)

David Nolan (Prince Charming)

Peter Pan

Robin Hood

Any others, feel free to ask! I know I left Mr. Gold (Rumple) off, but that's only because it depends with each request. Also, please specify if you want it to take place in Storybrooke pre or post curse, or in The Enchanted Forest.

Merlin

Merlin

Arthur

Gwen

Morgana

Nimueh

Lancelot

any others, feel free to ask. i am just starting S2, keep that in mind.

The Holdovers

Angus Tully

Dead Poets Society

Todd Anderson

Neil Perry

Knox Overstreet

Charlie Dalton

Steven Meeks

Love Lies Bleeding

Lou Langston

Jackie Cleaver

i'll just start there for now, as honestly it's been a bit since i've written an x reader and i don't want to overwhelm myself much! but please, feel free to request at any time! I will update this frequently, as I am always either getting into new things or remembering things I already love. I am mostly dedicated to OFMD right now, but you may also leave requests for other fandoms and I will keep them on file, or who knows, perhaps even get to them sooner than you may imagine! Have a wonderful day (or night!), and don't forget to request!

yours truly,

lavinia

me filing through all of your requests (hopefully!)

[tarnishedinquirer]

Case: Morne Massacre (Conclusion)

Unsurprisingly, there were more gallows in back, but they didn't have corpses stacked up under them like the gallows on the ramparts. So this is where the other gallows came from. Nobles get locked in cages, soldiers get hung, and commoners get tortured. All die to the Confessors in the end.

I jumped down to the shallows below. The entire area was filled with purple-black spirit jellies. They were different and somehow more solid than the blue-white ones I've seen elsewhere, but no idea what that could possibly mean yet.

The grace pointed towards a gate sitting alone on a sandbar, obscured by golden fog. Whatever answers I was looking for were here, and the fog told me that I'd have to kill someone to get them. I summoned Edgar and without a word, walked through the gate.

One of the chimeras, bigger than the others, and with a wild mane of red hair. The voice called it "Leonine Misbegotten" which I guess is what the chimera are actually called. Its chosen arena was a small spat of solid land on the sandbar, packed with grave stones and with bodies piled high beside them. It fought with both ferocity and surprising skill, but we had numbers and magic. It fell, and I claimed the sword it was guarding.

There are advantages to my prison mask. It means that Edgar could not see the anger in my eyes as he left to go rescue his daughter. He let me keep the sword, though it was useless to me and unsightly to boot. I briefly considered chucking it into the ocean out of spite, but I'm above such things.

I sat down to compose myself and focus the facts. The voice said this place was called the Moangrave, which seems a bit redundant. Unless... if you consider the root of the word, it could refer to a complaint or accusation. Therefore, this could be the Grave of Accusation, or maybe The Accused.

Is this what Grace wanted me to see? This strange keyhole grave?

I turned to the sword, far too heavy for me to ever use, to see if the voice could provide answers. It said

The storied sword of Castle Morne. A revenger's weapon, it is burdened with oceans of anger and regret. One of the legendary armaments. A lone surviving champion from a country now vanished was so determined to continue fighting that he claimed the swords of an entire clan of warriors.

So. It belonged to the nameless revenger. He claimed the swords of an entire clan—perhaps his own fallen, perhaps a rival's—and forged them into this massive sword. He assaulted this castle and fell at the hands of Godfrey. However, he gained enough renown that they were forced to build a monument to his courage.

And perhaps, buried him with honors... on a sandbar. So that one day his body and his legend would be washed away.

It felt right.

Only the grave had persisted. They built a gate to bar access to it, maybe even tearing down the outer wall's gate to rebuild here.

The only other thing I could glean was the crest on the grafted blade. It looked like a heraldic wolf, or perhaps fox, with a bushy mane. Was this the symbol of the nameless revenger and his clan?

Maybe it'll make sense one day, when I have more information.

Thoroughly grounded, I teleported away to check on Irina. Maybe her father had found her by now.

Unfortunately, he had. Irina was dead.

Edgar was inconsolable. He cursed the Misbegotten and vowed revenge. Said he would hunt down every last one of them for taking his daughter.

My grudge against Edgar aside, this hurt. Irina had done nothing wrong. I could have joined him in his vow and revenge, but instead I retreated into cold, hard reason. They had ignored her last time I was here. Her blood was fresh and wet, and her body hadn't even cooled yet.

Her killers ignored her until they knew that Edgar was on his way. Whoever killed her wanted him to find her body fresh. They wanted him to see the cleaver, stained with her blood. Perhaps if I had arrived earlier she would have been able to choke out last words, but no, that would've been too unpredictable. No way they could control what she said.

It occurred to me just now that Irina had described a "frightful howling from all around."

Misbegotten don't howl.

Conclusion: There were forces at work beyond my knowledge. Someone wanted to break Edgar. They wanted him to suffer. For his crimes? For the wholesale slaughter at behest of the Confessors? No... even that felt like a means to an end. So many, dying in suffering, seeking to purge some heresy or infection, creating the very environment for the sickness to spread... it feels ritualistic.

The Misbegotten rose up, perhaps to stop the slaughter, perhaps to purge the infection in their own way. They let Irina leave because she was an innocent, not knowing she could also serve as a capstone to the ritual. A final sacrifice.

Somehow, I know this ritual.

Questions

Why would Grace point me towards the revenger's grave?

Why did the red-maned Misbegotten seem to revere his sword?

Why must Edgar protect it at all costs, and why was it okay that I carry it instead?

What is the symbol of the maned wolf?

Who was howling?

What was the purpose of the ritual?

Who really killed Irina?

[burlveneer-music]

Wussy Duo - Cellar Door (Official Lyric Video)

I love the sound of two singers singing different lines simultaneously, but I have trouble making out lyrics even with a single voice, so a big THANK YOU to Wussy Duo for putting the lyrics in the video (and for the wonderful found footage from the 80s) (and the nice song!)

The A-side from Wussy Duo's CELLAR DOOR EP, out Nov 15 on Shake It Records. Chuck Cleaver - guitar, vocals / Lisa Walker - guitar, vocals, synth, beats, production Recorded and mixed by Lisa Walker at Pompatus of Sound. Mastered by Anna Bentley.

[fuckyeah-jessicabiel]

Jessica Biel for Elle USA - June 2007

From the moment she appears, Jessica Biel is gracefully deflecting the attention of men. Wearing Roger Vivier white pumps and snug True Religion jeans, her hair tightly pulled back in a ponytail, she walks out of the elevator in the Hotel Gansevoort in New York City's Meatpacking District at a rapid clip, shedding two young men who had the incredible good luck to have ridden down with her. She nods them off nicely as they walk away grinning and no doubt mentally compiling lists of buddies who'll be receiving the following text message: "DUDE! I WAS JUST IN AN ELEVATOR WITH THE SEXIEST WOMAN ALIVE!"

Next in the gauntlet is a Moby-looking scenester with a paunch who descends upon her in Ono, the Gansevoort's bustling, dimly lit Japanese restaurant, introducing him- self as if he's an old friend. The fact that he's wielding a Treo device like a video camera goes unnoticed by Biel, who later refers to said implication as "creepy." She dis- patches him into the darkness with a tight smile and walks through the large restaurant to a back booth, caus- ing a ripple of chopsticks to go still as heads turn.

If the rhythms and rotations of the mass entertainment media complex are to be trusted, we are currently living in Jessica Biel's Big Moment. After getting her foot in the door in 1996 on the show 7th Heaven, the now-25-year- old actress won the hearts and minds of the boys with her badass ability to wield a meat cleaver in the 2003 remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and a bow and arrow in 2004's Blade: Trinity. Her turn in 2005's Stealth, which bombed (literally), may have gone largely unnoticed, but the trailer highlighting Biel under a waterfall certainly didn't. Then in the fall of 2005, Esquire bestowed on her the magazine's "Sexiest Woman" honorific. Last summer, she deftly skipped over the threshold from hottie to respectable actor with her supple performance as an early-twentieth-century duchess opposite Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti in The Illusionist and since then has become a red-carpet flashbulb magnet, wearing Valentino to the Golden Globes and, to present at the Oscars, a fuchsia halter-top Oscar de la Renta dress that strikingly revealed her toned shoulders.

And yet "it's still a struggle," Biel says, sitting up straight with the alertness of a ninja. Her tan sleeveless Preen turtleneck highlights her muscular arms. "I thought the Esquire cover was going to be really positive for my career," she says. "But it wasn't, really." Biel recalls being told by one director, "I'm not looking for the sexiest woman; I'm looking for the girl next door."

"Parts that I really want aren't going to me," Biel says. "Like The Other Boleyn Girl with Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman." But she stops herself. "I don't want to say that there's nothing I love that I can have. But there's still the occasional script that the director doesn't want to see you for. They want that top tier of girls."

So how does she go from Big Moment to top tier? Gaug- ing from her acting heroes-Meryl Streep, Cate Blanchett, and Annette Bening (with whom she will costar, along with Sean Bean, in a screen adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play A Woman of No Importance)-it seems she has good taste. And in addition to working with Nicolas Cage and Julianne Moore in the recent thriller Next, Biel is finally getting a turn at comedy-something she's been longing for-opposite Adam Sandler and Kevin James in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, due out next month.

"Jessica is a great actress who also happens to be smart, sweet, and funny," Sandler says. "But the best part of working with her was watching her beat Kevin James at arm wrestling." Not that the movie, about two firefighters who pretend to be gay in order to claim domestic-partner benefits (Biel plays their lawyer), refrains from reveling in her sexiness-she sheds her clothes for a gawking Sandler, and when his character first sees her, his world goes into super slow-mo.

"She's capable of attaining the Julia Roberts crown," says Chuck and Larry director Dennis Dugan, referring to Biel's healthy-American-girl vibe and comic timing. The actress herself is wary of such pronouncements.

"The scary thing about having this opportunity is that if it's 'your moment,' that eventually disappears," she says. "I think about reaching for 'the moment' but never really achieving it. That way, I'm always striving."

BIEL CARRIES HERSELF WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A DANCER OR AN ACCOMPLISHED JOCK-BOTH OF WHICH SHE HAS BEEN.

When Biel walked onto the set of The Illusionist, director Neil Burger was impressed with her athlete's readiness and resolve. She carries herself with the confidence of a dancer or an accomplished jock-both of which she has been. "She completely gave as good as she got" with her Oscar-nominated costars Norton and Giamatti, Burger says. "That's a testament to her poise and her talent."

Early in the production, Biel had a scene with Norton that put the two of them in a stream in the Czech Republic in March. "It was essentially liquid ice. It was like an elec- tric shock, and it knocked the breath out of both of us and Jess turned blue," Norton says. "When we watched it back on the monitor, you could see it hadn't played out exactly right. Neil and I both wanted to do it again, but some- times you have to give up perfect for safety, and we were hesitant to ask her to get back in that water. But she said, 'It wasn't right, was it? Let's do it again.' And I thought, All right, she's a pro."

"She doesn't take herself too seriously," says her friend and producing partner Michelle Purple.

Stephen Collins, who played Biel's minister father on 7th Heaven, agrees: "She has an incredible goof-off, tom- boy streak," he says.

So what was a tomboy doing in the front rows at fashion week in Paris early last March? ("An intimi- dating and overwhelming environment," Biel says.) Scoring some clothing, including the Preen number she's wearing now, and also celebrating her twenty- fifth birthday. "Someone said, 'You have five years till 30.' I started to think, Wow, over the next five years, my life could really change personally," Biel says smil- ing, with a slight squint of her catlike eyes.

When the tabloids started spotting Biel with Justin Timberlake in January shortly after his breakup with Cameron Diaz-the two were seen snowboard- ing together in Park City, Utah, during the Sundance Film Festival; sharing a glass of champagne at Prince's Golden Globes party; and backstage at Timberlake's concert in San Diego-her personal life suddenly became of great interest to the public. She dodges a probe about her relationship with Timberlake while knocking back shrimp tempura with aplomb, saying that she was in Park City with girlfriends and holding

"WE DIDN'T LOCK OUR DOORS," BIEL SAYS OF HER COLORADO CHILDHOOD,

meetings for her production company, Iron Ocean Films. Nor does she want to discuss her past relation- ships with actors Ryan Reynolds and Chris Evans, or Yankee star Derek Jeter, "for no other reason than I can't even go to the dry cleaner by myself anymore," she says. "You're seen in public with anybody that you might not even know, and you're speculated about."

Asked if the constant attention makes dating hard, she says, "It makes everything hard because you can't even go to pick up a prescription without somebody trying to snap a photo of what you have in your Longs Drugs bag. Thank goodness I'm a nice person," she says. "Thank you, Mom, for teaching me that.

"The day after Biel was born, in Ely, Minnesota, her parents took her to a dogsled race; it was 30 degrees below zero. By age one she was in a canoe. Her mother, who is "New Age," grew up in Colorado, hunting for arrowheads as a child; her father was a "mountain man" who ran an Outward Bound school and worked as an international business consultant. His career took the family (her brother, Justin, is three years younger) from Texas to Connecticut and, finally, to Boulder. "We didn't lock our doors," she says. "We snowboarded, hiked, climbed, rafted. We grew up without a fear of the world."

Although Biel thrived at athletics, she doesn't remember a time when she wasn't dancing or sing- ing. At age 11, she signed up with a talent agency in Denver, which got her to the International Modeling and Talent Association convention in Los Angeles, which in turn got her into meetings with managers and agencies.

"I wanted to be Whitney Houston for a long time. I would be onstage and I would just come alive," Biel recalls. "I begged my parents to let me go out for pilot season."

When she was 14, she landed her central role in 7th Heaven, playing the oldest daughter of seven kids in a wholesome Christian family. But after a few years, she wanted to mix things up personally and professionally. At 17, Biel posed seductively for a Gear magazine photo shoot, topless with scant bottoms. It was a clear sign that she wanted to be off the show. "I was all over the place," she says now. "I was being a rebellious teenager." She feels that she was exploited by the magazine, but 7th Heaven's producers cut her out of the series. (She eventually returned in a more limited role.)

"The Gear thing, while embarrassing, wasn't exactly bad for her career," Collins says. True enough, in that between Gear and Esquire Biel worked on seven major films. But none of those movies had anywhere near the impact that taking off her clothes did . Julianne Moore says that Biel's "extraordinary" beauty appears as if "she were carved from marble," but she also has a body that you'd think only a comic book artist could draw-curvy in just the right places-and yet still healthy. 

"WE SNOWBOARDED, HIKED, CLIMBED, RAFTED. WE GREW UP WITHOUT A FEAR OF THE WORLD." 

Biel works out three times a week, primarily heart-rate training, doing fast-speed soccer exercises, squats, and running. She also does yoga regularly. Still, she feigns dismay at the suggestion that she looks buff.

"What do you mean? This is the thinnest and the least muscular I've been in a long time," she protests. "I'm so lean and feminine!"

As we order tea after dinner, the large party of 20 at the banquet table perpendicular to ours has mostly disbanded, allowing four of the men left at the table to reshuffle themselves so that eventually they sit on one side, facing her. It's as if they're at dinner theater. Biel may feel she has yet to land the role that breaks her out, but until that time, she has no shortage of fans who will be happy to watch her along the way.

When asked to go bowling two days later, after her ELLE photo shoot, Biel scarcely raises an eyebrow. She throws on a black ensemble and arrives ready to roll at Chelsea Piers between two lanes of bouncy seven-year-old girls. Despite doing pretty poorly, losing for eight frames, she pulls a spare, a strike, and two nines at the very end to win the contest. "I was really sucking, but I'm a closer," she says gamely. "You should see me at beer pong."

[inkformyblood]

Nearly there!! This will be posted tonight I am Manifesting

“Ready to head out, Johnny? Any other injuries?”

“Just the one, LT.” Johnny grins and something in Ghost’s chest relaxes, the air tasting of smoke and blasting powder. There’s an undercurrent of iron there too, a scent that hadn’t gone away when Ghost had moved into the room, and he looks over Johnny closely.

When Simon had been a butcher, he’d been trained to start at the joints, slam the cleaver down like he means fucking business if he didn’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon practicing after hacking into a prime piece of meat, and then he could move onto the detail work, carve the meat into chuck and sirloin and every other distinction. Ghost breathes in deeply, swallows against dust and grit and blood. “What aren’t you telling me, Soap?”