#Four Names of Professional Creativity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caraphernellie · 1 month ago

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ephemeral.

for your information: author!abby x editor!fem!reader. professionals with a very strained relationship. abby and reader drinking a little but completely coherent + sober still. haters-to-lovers, semi-public, outdoor sex. bratty!reader. fingering (r!receiving). steamy make out session. clichés ahead. pet names used: baby, good girl, various insults tbh. 2.8K WC.

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑, had this idea for like, a whole year now. oops. just love autumnal/dark academia type shit and abby is my favourite bookworm. abby picture by @/tpicsl on pinterest. MASTERLIST.

Creativity is fickle. Abby knows it better than anyone.

Her mind is her greatest asset. It is a hidden strength; everybody thinks they have her figured out just by glancing at her. The woman is built of brawn and steadily-sculpted muscle, but it is merely a peek into her real power.

Abby's appearance is a reflection of dedication, an application of self-discipline trained over many moons.

Her brain is her might. Her will to excel. It is a library of all the things she has loved, words she has read, stories she has heard.

And the result is an author of applaudable talent. Yet, her reputation precedes her—she is not easy to work with.

Abby has published four books so far in her career, but she's been through twice the amount of editors in that time. Nothing could ever stunt her rise to fame, no matter how many claims were made against the woman's cocky, self-gratified nature. Abby Anderson is a household name.

But as her most long-standing editor, you must agree with the rumours. Working for Abby is a living nightmare.

Creativity is fickle. Abby refuses to let anybody impede on her artistry. If they do not see her vision, she will throw a fit. Writing is her gift, and god forbid someone attempts to critique it. She rejects all common writing advice—should anyone attempt to tell her to 'kill her darlings', Abby will send back a heated, passive aggressive email.

You let her have her freedom. That is the difference between you and other editors. Perhaps they don't see the vision like you do, and absolutely not like Abby does. You will remove what is only necessary, and maybe there are small disagreements every so often, but you have proven yourself to have the wit that matches Abby's perplexity.

You do not leech on her—sucking the life and rareness out of her words, only to brag and drag her name through the mud. Even Abby will admit that you are the most pleasant editor to work with.

But god, she almost burnt you out.

Impossible deadlines, communicating at only the most iniquitous hours. Whether it was a high-priority email at midnight or two-thousand words to be read and fixed by the end of the day, she was a prick. On purpose.

And why? Well, even though your furious emails would raise her hackles, she began to realise she actually enjoyed reading them. You've got quite the attitude. It certainly tickles her dry sense of humour, after all. Everything you say is professional, so as to not raise alarm, but it's laced with just enough venom to sting.

Her personal favourite email, which she immediately starred, is the one in which you were complaining about her constantly quoting you in her own book.

'Miss Anderson, I do not find you as funny as you think you are. I would like to be taken seriously when I voice my concerns about your ill-treatment of my service, as flattering as it may be that I have inspired your work. 'Please see attached the edited draft as requested. 'P.S. I do believe you ought to get some sleep. Sending a draft at 03:30 is not acceptable.'

It's just not fiery enough to halt her efforts.

Somehow, you made it out alive. Pulled yourself out of quicksand with that heavy load on your back. You have lived long enough to be present tonight.

Today marks the highly anticipated release of Abby Anderson's fifth release, her newest standalone title following her critically acclaimed series. Many reviews seem to say she just keeps getting better, while others written in unkempt fury detest her for writing in a way that feels almost pretentious nowadays.

Abby's clearly had a day full of bustling conversation, hundreds of well wishes. She signed so many copies of her book that her wrist aches of overuse. She made it through, thank goodness, and the hour of relaxation has finally arrived.

The release party.

Who doesn't love a party? A warm celebration filled with prideful chit-chat, her family and friends, and competitors masking their envy with tight-lipped smiles and side-eyes.

All that and a splash of champagne to take the edge off.

Your heels crunch flaxen leaves in your path to the door, streams of fading sunlight painting the yacht club in warm golds and gingers. It's a remotely calm evening save for the seaside breeze. The trees whistle and you can hear the faint sound of pastoral waves clashing with the cliffside.

Your inner-voice begs for a few moments more stood outside the party. You could give yourself some grace, a fleeting moment to prepare for the questioning and disrespect you'll receive.

You think back to a charity event Abby hosted once. You met a man who spoke with blatant indiscretion about Abby's writing, and admittedly your ego was bruised as much as Abby's would have been. He had watched you argue your point, and when you finished, the man parted his lips to ask, 'who are you?'

Her fucking editor, that's who. Only one who'll put up with her.

It would help if Abby would stop acting like she doesn't know you.

You don't expect flowers, nor praise. She wrote those books by herself. But a tree cannot grow without proper care. If her words were sowing the seeds, you were watering them.

If only Abby could take the stick from her ass and so kindly acknowledge the sweat and tears you put into dealing with her.

Light disappears into the horizon and the moon has risen. These cocktail parties were never your style. It isn't a wild bender, nor is it a classy and quiet event. It's just somewhere between that.

Networking.

It's tedious, dreadful. If you don't catch their attention within the first seconds of the conversation, you won't make that connection. First impressions are everything, and unfortunately, you struggle to be as charming as the others in this room.

"Well, well, well. Look who showed up."

Her eyes have wandered to you for the past two hours, not as discreet as she thought she was being. It seems Abby has finally found the time to pull away from big-wig publishers and authors to finally seek you out.

"I almost thought you were gonna pull the same shit as last time 'n hide all night."

"You wish." Your voice is dry and quick, always straight to the point. "Makes no difference if I stay in the shadows or hang around the others. You'll ignore me anyway."

"No," Abby murmurs, a scrunched up scowl on her face now. It's far from hateful, and directed more towards herself than you. "I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"

"Mhm."

"You know what I just.. love?" Abby asks, head tilted towards you. You are a thief to Abby's attention no matter where or when, but regret to realise that. "You are just as hard to deal with in person as you are over email. It's really authentic."

"Ah." You give a curt nod, taking a short sip of wine, and notice the way her eyes track the movement. They linger over your lips, struggling to tear away. "I am glad you think so. I like to keep it real."

She scoffs, short and breathy. "Yeah. It's real lovely."

Abby enjoys the way you match her energy. She enjoys it too much.

"So, did you come here to say anything worthwhile, or are you just polite enough to greet all your guests?"

Her face doesn't change—her smile remains intact, but it's the twitch of her eye that forces a soft chuckle past your lips.

"Yeah, actually. You know, I was getting there." Abby's indignant reply is masked with a pleasant tone, one that irks you. She doesn't know how to act any way but sarcastically with you. She could say the smallest thing, but it gets on your nerves. You're not the most proud of how reactive you are to Abby's behaviour. "You know, some sappy shit about how helpful you are. But I might keep it to myself now."

"Makes no difference to me," you say with a shrug of your shoulders. Actually, it would be nice to hear what she has to say. "You couldn't be genuine with me if you tried."

"You know what? Let's go." Abby takes and sets your glass down on a nearby table for you, hand wrapping firm around your wrist. "I have some things to say to you that I'd rather others don't hear."

"Can't wait," you mutter, anticipating what, from past experience, can only be referred to as a sour exchange of words.

Abby drops your hand to get the door with the most cocky grin you've seen on her face in a long time. "Ladies first."

The French doors lead to a round balcony that overlooks the water. As you step outside you feel a wave of relaxation overcome you. The ocean is calm, the breeze from earlier has filtered away into a still, but cold, night. The only sounds you can hear are muffled chatter and music from inside.

"Alright." You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes. "What was it you had to say? Don't forget to raise your voice this time."

"Y'know, I actually wasn't planning on yelling at you," Abby says in a gritty voice, stepping closer. "But if you keep trying to get smart with me, I may reconsider."

"Oh, of course. I hope you do. It's a pleasant sound."

"I— Stop talking."

Without you having realised, she's backed you into a corner. Your hands grasp the stone fence of the balcony tightly, looking away until she tugs your jaw closer.

"I wanted to actually say something nice. You know, a sorry for being a cunt. A thank you for putting up with me. I wouldn't have half the success I have if it weren't for you."

"Oh."

It's simply unexpected. It isn't an out-of-this-world idea for Abby to be sincere, of course not. But her confidence is often mistaken for pure arrogance. You just didn't think she could tone down her ego enough for something like this. Not at a release party, at least—this whole shebang is meant to be celebrating her.

"I didn't know how to show you I actually appreciate your work," Abby continues, "I thought about flowers... a letter... you know, for an author, it was ridiculously hard to put some words down. And I wanted to avoid cliché. So I wanted to personally talk to you about it."

"You know, this is actually leaning further into cliché territory than a letter?" You muse, only with the intention of making this slightly less awkward.

Considering Abby is usually the one to let her eyes wander, right now, you are the one who can't pull their eyes away. Her shirt fits her far too perfectly for your liking. Her eyes, electric blue and staring sharply enough to cut you—they're perfect. And you hate it.

"Oh yeah?" Abby huffs, her palm flat on the fence behind you. She's caged you in. "Why's that?"

"Because you look like you're about to kiss me."

She falters for a moment, sheer surprise on her face. Oh, come on. She can't be that clueless to her own desires, can she?

"You wish."

"Well if you don't kiss me, I'm going to kiss you."

"What? Because I said one kind thing to you? Are you really that easy?" Abby lets out a quiet laugh in disbelief, perhaps a bit of shock too—you've thrown her off balance.

"You are the one who's not-so-subtly stared at my lips all night," you point out. "So I think you need to find your own answer to your question."

Jesus, you make Abby actually think sometimes. Interacting with you is different—her wit is matched for once, you indulge in the same dry sarcasm, you're actually fucking intelligent.

But what irritates her is the way you have such a great read on her.

"What I need is for you to shut up and let me be nice to you for once."

"God, you write your own clichés so much you'd think you would have seen this coming." You meet her eyes with that of a mischievous look in your own, lips curled into a satisfied grin. "Make me."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Screw it.

Her lips are on yours. Her hands settle over your hips. It's warm—incendiary, even. The autumn chill takes a backseat as she kisses you once, twice, and once more.

She stays close enough for your breaths to mingle, lips a hair's breadth away from each other now.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" You murmur. Abby scoffs softly.

"I hate you."

"I don't think that's right."

"No?"

"You're welcome to walk away right now, if you hate me so much."

There is not a chance that's going to happen. Even below the faint blue moonlight, you can see how rosy her cheeks have turned. Not a chance. She's staying right here.

"I thought a kiss was supposed to make you shut up," Abby grumbles.

"Oh, ha, sorry." You aren't sorry in the slightest. That coy smile is going to be the death of her. Who knew little old you would have the upper hand right now? "You can try again, if you'd like."

"Right."

It's as desperate and fiery as before, yet not as ephemeral. She's captured your words with her lips, her hands unceasingly moving along your figure. She touches and grabs everywhere that she can reach. You cup the back of her head and pull her closer as you sit on the balcony fence.

That stresses her out the slightest bit. It's a precarious position, on a high place, no less. But she simply takes it as an opportunity to splay her palm over your ass, 'keeping you from falling off.'

"Here's the deal." Abby attempts to command you, but wandering lips are staining her throat in lipstick and, plain and simply, she whimpers her words. "You're gonna watch that door and tell me if someone's comin'."

"Mhm."

Your mouth seeks her freckled collarbone, so tauntingly visible beneath her shirt. She always leaves the first few buttons undone. You've controlled yourself so well all this time, you deserve to taste the salt of her skin there.

And Abby's fumbling with the button of your pants. They fit you so well. They hug your body just right, flaring at the ankles. They hug her attention, too.

"Coast is clear?" Abby whispers. Her hand is painfully close to where she wants to be, buried into your cunt, but she just can't without the confirmation that you won't be caught in your little escapade.

You peek over Abby's shoulder. The party is still bustling inside, not a soul seeming concerned with the balcony.

"It's clear."

"Thank god."

Abby's hand slides beneath your panties finally. She's amused with the way you spread your thighs wider to accommodate her, your legs wrapping around her waist now.

"That's a good girl," she mumbles, fingers gathering some of your wetness. She nearly shudders at how fucking hot all of this is. You, your stuttered breath, and the thrill of fucking you somewhere so public. "Shh-shh."

Two fingers push past your folds and your hands grip her broadened shoulders. It's a stretch, those thick fingers stuffed pretty inside you, but the feeling is more than welcome.

"Fuck, Abs."

"I know, just be quiet."

Her fingers begin to move, slow at first as she tests the waters, and gradually it reaches a faster pace. Your sounds are even better than she could have anticipated they'd be. Gentle, short moans. So, so cute, and all for her ears' pleasure only.

"Open those eyes, baby. You need to keep watch."

You do your best. You force your eyes open and stare at the blurry door behind Abby.

Her digits reach in deep, they stretch you wide, and her thumb laves over your clit simultaneously. She feels the tension build in your body. Your fingers bruise her shoulders, your legs tremble, and you muffle your rising volume by hiding in the crook of her neck.

"C'mon, baby," Abby encourages, her free hand groping and squeezing your butt. "Gonna cum for me?"

She has finally conquered your attitude. Left you unable to do anything but moan, and fuck, your legs feel like jelly now. She revels in your jittering, in the clenching of your hole around her fingers.

"Good girl." The praise, sweetened further by that smooth voice, leaves you reeling. And like the prick she is, she just has to use your own words back at you. "Wasn't that hard to shut up, was it? You did so good for me."

You hum tiredly in response, weak fingers fastening your trousers again. "I hate you."

"Hate me enough to come home with me?"

Ha.

"Of course."

#𖤐 ── petalrambling.#tlou2 x reader #lesbian #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #wlw nsft #abby anderson smut #dom!abby #sub!reader #author!abby #𖤐 ── petalworks.

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sims-himbo · 6 months ago

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THE SIMS 4: BARBIE LEGACY CHALLENGE (BASE GAME EDITION!)

ever since i posted the original challenge, i have been getting asked to come up with a base game version, and it is finally here! i'm really sorry that it took this long but i have no concept of time lol, anyways, i hope even more of you can enjoy it now!

challenge rules below the cut

All heirs must be female and named Barbie. (non-heir children may have any name)

You may use the freerealestate cheat for your first house, but try not to use money cheats after that!

You are allowed and encouraged to use lot traits and rewards to boost skill gain, anything that’s in-game is fair game.

You’ve been raised with traditional values: find a good man, start a family, be a homemaker... But you want your children to aim higher, so you’ll make sure to set them up for success.

Complete Successful Lineage aspiration

Max Cooking and Charisma skill

Have at least 4 kids, each child must complete at least one child aspiration and they must all max out their grades in school

Must have Family-Oriented trait

Your mother was happy staying at home, but not you. You’re ready to fight your way to the top and make enough money to support your family for generations to come.

Complete Fabulously Wealthy aspiration

Max Charisma and Logic skills

Max Business career (Investor branch)

Must have Ambitious trait

Your family is wealthy and you were pretty popular growing up. You’ve always been a trendsetter, pushing the limits and breaking the mold, so now it’s time to take the fashion industry by storm!

Complete Friend Of The World aspiration

Must have Materialistic and Creative traits

Max Style Influencer career (Trendsetter branch)

Max Photography and Charisma skills

Have a gallery wall with all of your friends and family

Your mom has made a name for herself on social media, and she's used her platform to promote your cooking talents! Empowered by this positive attention, you decide to follow your dreams of becoming a world-renowned chef!

Complete Master Chef aspiration (Chef branch)

Must have Foodie trait

Max Cooking and Gourmet Cooking skills

Die by fire, then make Ambrosia to bring yourself back from the dead! (You may cheat for the ingredients, but not for the skills; you may also cheat to add your ghost to your household, here's how)

When you were a lass, your mom made you four dozen eggs every morning to help you get large! Now, you’re determined to reach your full potential in physical performance and become a world class champion!

Complete Bodybuilder aspiration

Max Fitness and Charisma skills

Max Athlete career (Athlete branch)

Must have Active trait

Your mother was physically gifted, but you’re more brainy than brawny. You spend hours at your computer everyday, there’s so much information to absorb!

Complete Computer Whiz aspiration

Max Video Gaming and Programming skills

Win a Professional Tournament in ALL the games

Must have Geek trait

Your family has achieved many, many accolades, and you’ve set out to capture all of it in an epic Tell-All novel that you spend your entire life writing!

Complete Bestselling Author aspiration

Max Writing skill

Write Book Of Life and bind it to your parent, use it to successfully bring them back from a premature death

Must have Creative trait

Being from a successful lineage, people may roll their eyes and immediately write you off as yet another nepo-baby trying to start a music career… So you must prove them all wrong by becoming a proper rockstar!

Complete Party Animal aspiration

Max Entertainer Career (Musician Branch)

Must have Music Lover and Outgoing traits

Max Guitar, Violin and Piano skills

The success of your ancestors has set you up to comfortably follow your dreams. You love the arts, and you want to become an accomplished painter living in a beautiful palace, surrounded by the beauty you’ve created!

Complete Mansion Baron aspiration

Max Painter career (Either branch)

Max Painting skill

Have an Art Gallery and display all of your masterpieces

Must have Art Lover trait

Now that you’ve conquered the world, it’s time to venture out into Space! There’s so much to explore out there, and Barbie must leave her mark all across the galaxy.

Complete Nerd Brain aspiration

Max Astronaut career (Any branch)

Max Logic and Rocket Science skills

Build and fully upgrade a Rocket Ship

Explore Space and bring a souvenir

Try for a baby on the ship!

Must have Genius trait

#sims 4 legacy challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 #ts4 legacy challenge #ts4 #the sims 4 #the sims #sims 4 challenge #barbie #the sims legacy challenge #sims-himbo #sims barbie legacy

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hugheses · 7 months ago

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ellen weinberg

a lot of people online like to praise her because they love her kids, but before she was mama hughes, ellen weinberg was an even more accomplished athlete than her wikipedia page can tell you. well i have way too much time on my hands and an affinity for googling things, so here is a not-so-little primer on the matriarch of hockey who has contributed far more than just her superstar children.

(basically anything not sourced is from the cammi & aj podcast i have a transcript of)

born in st. louis, she was told she couldn't play hockey because girls couldn't play on boys teams in the state of missouri, and there were no girls teams. went to bob johnson's hockey camp in aspen at age 7. moved to dallas at age 8, where she was allowed to play on the boys team. at age 12, is featured in a news clip "girl hockey player" where she says she wants to one day play professional hockey.

at 15, wins nationals with her U-19 soccer team, the dallas sting, and they are sent to represent the US in the first ever FIFA-sanctioned world women’s tournament in china and proceeded to win gold against all expectations becoming the first US team to win any international soccer competition, male or female. also on this team was her best friend, future woso legend carla werden (overbeck). 1, 2

other noteworthy teammates: she played with mia hamm on her state team and was roommates with brandi chastain at her first youth national team camp for soccer.

she was recruited to lots of top schools for soccer, but chose the university of new hampshire because it was also offering hockey. she describes this as "the lack of landscape really drove my next move" because there was only 31 D1 women's soccer programs in the country at the time, and none in the state of texas.

she reached out to the women's hockey coach at unh, russ mccurdy, and told him she was being recruited for soccer but was really coming to unh because she wanted to play hockey, and he told her that it was unlikely she would make the team. so bob johnson called and asked him to give her a shot, and he said ok. he allowed her to have a one week tryout once soccer season was over, and after the first day, he asked, "what size skates do you wear?" and that was it, she was on the team.

the women's soccer coach, marge anderson, was also a lacrosse player, and encouraged ellen to join the lacrosse team that needed more players. so she did. in her own words:

"I wasn't very good. I could run, but my stick skills- and I learned and I did everything, and it was great, and we went to the Final Four, but I was out at that point. So everybody always says I played three sports like, I was on the team. I was, you know, three sports at that level. I was done at that point and I stuck with soccer and hockey after my first year. But it was a really cool experience."

she may have not been very good but she did go on to coach her own kids teams in lacrosse (and potentially owen power, who is confirmed to have played lacrosse with them but it is not confirmed that it was when she coached them)

(she was #21)

she was an elite skater and creative player, and "would often find herself in trouble in Durham for rushing the puck from her defensive post or trying things like a spin-o-rama".

she helped UNH win 3 hockey championships in 4 years, made the all-new england team (soccer) as a freshman, was named an unh athlete of the year finalist after an injury that kept her out for an entire school year, was named to the ECAC all star team, was an ISAA senior recognition award winner, was soccer co-captain in 1990, and then captain of both the soccer and hockey teams as a senior X

in april 1991, she participated in the Eastern Regional Tryouts of the US National Women's Hockey Team

"We've got it pretty good, playing defense," says senior Ellen Weinberg to fellow defenseman Weston. "There aren't as many of us to choose from. But then, when you look at who's there, they're all good!"

she then went on to pursue a graduate degree at UNH where she was an assistant coach for both soccer and hockey for two years, all the while contributing to historical hockey research to the point that she is named in the acknowledgements of Hockey: A Global History by Hardy & Holman

“It was my way of staying involved because I had nowhere to play. Then I participated in the 1992 World Championship, finished my master's degree. Then I really had nowhere to play." (google translated)

The New Hampshire Vol. 83 No. 18 (Nov. 6 1992)

then in 1992, she played for the women's national team in both soccer and hockey.

the soccer team didn't play in any big tournaments that year, but for hockey she went to women's worlds in tampere, finland, where she was an alternate captain. the US won silver, with ellen scoring 3 or 4 assists in 5 games (depending on which source you believe) and ellen was named to the all-star team by the media as the top player in her position.

also in 1992, she was a power skating coach at the summerland female hockey academy, teaching future star hayley wickenheiser.

there was hope that women's hockey would be a part of the 1994 olympics, but when that didn't happen, ellen went to norway anyways to grow the game.

“They were hoping women’s hockey was going to be sanctioned in the ‘94 Olympics and it wasn’t, so the Norwegian ice hockey federation had all this extra funding so they asked USA Hockey for an ambassador to go over and help grow the women’s game,” she said. “We had played in the ’92 World Championships and I was one of the older people and they offered me that opportunity to go over and work with the Norwegian ice hockey federation and what I did was I lived in Oslo. “And I went around to all the little towns and taught the girls how to play. It was awesome. Since Norway was such a small country with four million people at the time, they needed all the buses during the Olympics so everyone went on holiday, so my job stopped for three weeks.” X

ELLEN WEINBERG of Boston and the University of New Hampshire was interested in Coach TIM TAYLOR's tactics at practice. The 25-year-old Weinberg, one of America's best female players, is advising Norway's women's teams. Women's hockey becomes an Olympic sport in 1998. "They complain in Norway that I coach too long on the ice," she said. "They should see this guy, always instructing." X

she was invited to camp in lake placid for the 1994 women’s worlds (which took place every two years then), but suffered a serious knee injury that she believes is because they didn’t have proper support/training facilities

“We didn’t have a gym at the time. It was so different. We just played relying on our athletic instincts. If I got injured, it’s probably because I didn’t have the ideal support,” (google translated) X

by 1996 she was playing for the itech blaiders roller hockey team in NJ (and her then-boyfriend, jim, was coaching the new jersey rockin’ rollers) while also working in broadcasting

she had been considered a lock for the nagano olympics, despite being “old” but that “blown-out knee effectively ended her competitive career” :(

she ended up in nagano anyways as a reporter for cbs, one of her first big gigs in her media career, which i can do a part 2 on if there's interest.

and currently she’s on the USA hockey foundation board and is a player development consultant for the women’s national team

#hopefully this was interesting/helpful #it’s been half finished for so long #ellen weinberg-hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes

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lyssasdrafts · 5 months ago

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★ 𓈒 ݁ STAR—CROSSED (rhysand x reader) ⊹

chapter four: (written) ✧

𓈒 ݁ ✫ masterlist previous next

you never expected to be in the position you were right now.

a part of you considered leaving at the sight of rhysand, dying inside at the possibility that he knew your secret interest. you thought about all the ways he could use this knowledge against you, taunting and teasing you about it in class as usual.

if it weren’t for mor, and if it weren’t for how great of an opportunity this was, you would’ve packed up your things and walked out the door.

you can stood there frozen in place, staring at rhysand and thinking of all the ways this could go wrong when he calls your name again, forcing you to answer him.

“y/n?” he repeats, his voice questioning you.

“rhysand,” you respond with the same tone. “what are you doing here?”

he picks at the invisible lint on his clothing, dusting off the imaginary dirt on his shoulders before he says, “i’m today’s model.” he holds his head up high, still as stuck-up as usual. you didn’t know why you had expected him to be more professional outside of school.

“well, i’m the photographer,” you respond, blinking at how obvious that statement was. you wait a moment in silence before adding, “i guess that means i’m working with you today.”

you expected him to throw his head back groaning or make a retort about your inexperience. instead, a flash of amusement lights up in rhysand’s eyes, he swiftly brushes a hand through his hair while he walks closer to you.

“you must be the photographer that mor was talking about,” he realizes. “it’s your first time working with velaris?”

you nod silently. rhysand seems taken aback, “i didn’t know you did photography.”

“you never asked,” you shrug. it was the truth, though you had to admit that you purposefully kept any details about your life outside of academics from him.

“i saw your portfolio,” rhysand says, “it’s… quite good for a beginner.”

you blink at him before responding, “thank you….” staring blankly at what he just said. “is that a genuine compliment?”

“i can recognize fellow talent when i see it,” you could’ve sworn rhysand gave you a wink there, there was that arrogance again, before he continued, “don’t tell me you’re one of those photographers who think they’re better than us models.”

you cross your arms, “well then, don’t tell me that you’re difficult to work with—”

“and what if i was? have you heard what other people at the studio have said about me?” rhysand cuts in, only for you to shake your head.

“it doesn’t matter to me,” you say. you knew plenty about how insufferable he was already, you wouldn’t be surprised if other photographers have felt the same during their much briefer experiences with him.

you expect rhysand to further question you about your photography and working with the studio, but instead he smirks deviously at you, “it doesn’t matter because i am still a great subject model, after all.”

“oh please, you’re anything but,” you scoff.

the hint of playfulness in rhysand’s violet eyes never dulled as he licks his lips before smugly responding, “really? because i could’ve sworn you were repulsed by me until you called my face pretty today.”

“let’s just start the photoshoot.”

rhysand chuckles, but the look in his eyes never leaves his face as he waits for your direction in front of the camera.

“not like that!” you say, correcting rhysand’s pose. he pauses and turns his head towards you frustratingly, “what do you mean?”

“i said to pose like that, not this,” you frown, bringing your camera down to examine the photos. taking a pause from your photoshoot, rhysand walks over to you while you squint at the pixels on the camera screen.

“i never knew your stuck-up self did anything but study,” rhysand huffs from behind you. “let alone anything creative.”

you shoot him a look, “it’s just for fun.”

“whatever you say,” he crosses his arms. “but there’s definitely nothing wrong with the way i pose.”

“it looks awkward in this photo,” you tell him. you hesitant before confining, “…i think it’s better if you pose like this.”

you take his wrist and position his arms above his head. “place your arms like this,” you mumble. then you instruct him to lean back so his posture seems more natural. you had never been this close to rhysand before, even physically touching him. you tried your best to push away the thoughts in your mind, thankful that he had only complied instead of complaining, quietly nodding whenever he asks about your opinion on the slightest movement.

you try your best not to look him in the eyes and focus on his position, blinking when you lingered too long on his raven hair. maybe his stylist did a good job earlier. rhysand looks at you starry-eyed before you clear your throat and move away from him, but his gaze still never leaves you.

“perfect.”

he gives you a sidelong glance while remaining still in his pose that you directed, “you want me to stay like this?”

you nod, moving with your camera to start taking pictures at different angles with this new pose. then you slightly position rhysand differently, with his arms placed over his chest and his head tilted.

“you take everything so seriously, no wonder you’re like this with photography too,” rhysand mutters.

“i think we’re finished,” you say dryly. “i’ll send these to the studio and they can decide which ones are good.”

you begin packing your things as rhysand fixes his hair in the mirror before leaving, you fight the urge to roll your eyes at the sight. this first photoshoot hadn’t actually been half as bad as you expected. while you had put up with rhysand’s humor and remarks, you also noticed that he didn’t seem as unprofessional as you thought he was.

“i guess i’ll see you again next time,” you sling your bag over your shoulder, placing your camera around your neck with the strap. you don’t bother to wave goobye to rhysand and expect that he doesn’t give you the curtesy either. you weren’t nearly close enough for that yet.

he’s still getting ready to leave the studio by the time you’re by the door when you walk out. you let out a deep breath knowing that your nerves about this first photoshoot were for nothing. taking one more look around the lobby of velaris studios, you’re about to catch a ride home before you feel a tug on your arm.

“give me your number, y/n,” rhysand says. “we should keep in touch for the next photoshoot.”

— NOTES

the tension between rhys and y/n 👀👀

cassian and azriel will make their appearances soon 🙏

— TAGLIST

@thelov3lybookworm @starsand @lilah-asteria @therealmoonstone @just-a-social-casualty-1 @ashjade19 @girlontheblock @cherry-cin @daughterofthemoons-stuff @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @sweet-chai-amore @kierramofficial @noelli-smv @c-dizzle99 @littlestw01f @marina468

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malakaie · 6 days ago

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had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.

#malakai black #house of black #<3

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dtmsrpfcringe · 19 days ago

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the definitive dictionary and almanac of Tinhattery

hi, this will be a list of the main misogynistic accounts, definitions people have questions about, accounts you should follow and abbreviations— let’s gooo!! If you’re tagged in this I probably put you on the accounts to follow section. Adding a cut here because it’s long and gonna get longer

definitions!!!!

LCB- Used to stand for letscoffeebreak, she has since changed her username to dejadestalkearmeloser.

NGO- Nightgoodomens

Ingrav, Amy- Ingravinoveritas.

tardisrose- thetardisisblueandroseistoo

Tinhatters- A group of (mostly) tumblr users who think everything in these two relationships are fake and the women are abusive and the men want to run away.

Queeranoners- same as above, my favourite way to refer to them, coined by the amazing @theeminentlyimpractical

sheenbergs- Mix for Michael and Anna’s name

sheenbergnant- the amalgamation of the four bad bitches we love

sheenant- ship name for David and Michael. (Remember kids: shipping is cool but it’s fictional!!)

DT- David Tennant (Georgias husband)

MS- Michael Sheen (Anna’s boyfriend)

GT- Georgia Tennant

AL- Anna Lundberg

PR- public relations

GM- a…delegitimising way of referring to Georgia by refusing to use her last name. Instead use her maiden name. Note how they don’t refer to David as David McDonald

APAT- usually used by tinhatters (stands for Anna Plain And Tall) to refer to Anna Lundberg

PR (Tinhatter definition) - an omnipresent being forcing two rich white men who constantly champion human rights and lgbtq acceptance into a hetero relationship because they just are so oppressed and abused and not because they love their partners!

PR (actual definition) -the professional activities of an agency hired by a person, company, or other entity to shape, create, and manipulate that person/company’s public image. A public relations firm is often useful in helping a company manage its media reputation when a crisis happens, in order to attempt to minimize false information or slanderous statements which could damage reputations.

Shipping- Shipping (derived from the word relationship) is the desire by followers of a fandom for two or more people, either real-life people or fictional characters (in film, literature, television series, etc.), to be in a romanticrelationship. Shipping often takes the form of unofficial creative works, including fanfictionand fan art.

Shipping (Tinhat definition) - NO THEY HATE THEIR PARTNERS AND WANT TO FUCK EACH OTHER LOOK HE BLINKED IN HIS VICINITY THEIR PARTNERS ARE ABUSIVE I SWEAR

GREATEST HITS (posts that killed Tinhatters, feel free to submit your favourites in my inbox)

The breakdown of an anon

tassel jokes

backstreet cringe

Ingravinoveritas admitting it

Laurens amazing fuck off post that snowballed into half the fandom straight up saying fuck you to these people

HALL OF SHAME (Worst of tinhatters, again feel free to submit more)

• Taraiha’s rivals meltdown

NGO hates this fandom for…calling her out

it’s not a choice to be weird and creepy about people’s lives! (Again shipping is fine. This shit is not!!!)

it’s okay if you attack women just don’t criticise Michael Sheen (no idea what she was talking about with David) this same lady had another absolutely dog shit post I guess she removed?!

How dare women…have fun at their birthday parties?? (Part 1)

for a group constantly sexualizing David and Michaels every movement we can’t stand when a woman shows a little chest and has fun

Accounts you should follow!!!!:

@goodomenswarning - same purpose as this account, hilarious, an amazing friend

@badaziraphaletakes - calls out shitty takes in good omens as well, so much more level headed about toxicity than I am but I love talking shit with them. @thegeorgiatennantblog - best Georgia content

@fightingalgth8rs -bad bitches calling out extreme sexism

@phoen1xr0se - one of the best and I devour everything she posts

@davidtennantgenderenvy stands up for what’s right in the fandom, one of my idols and stuck up for me during a vulnerable time.

lmk more I need to add because I’m definitely missing some

THE REPEAT OFFENDERS (booo 🍅🍅):

Ingravinoveritas- one of the bigger ones, refuses to believe Georgia does anything nice for David, or that any of them actually like their partners. Can’t stop fetishizing gay male relationships to save her life. If David blinks he apparently wants to be bent over. Likes to pretend she’s not as bad as the others but has some of the wildest takes and said she felt threatened and scared for her life at someone making a Shakespearean reference. Professional victim

Nightgoodomens- a particularly nasty motherfucker. So toxic she’s quarantined. Misogynistic, ableist, um…yeah not much to say there except for the fact that apparently anything that David does that involves his wife means he’s forced into it. Would rather see them as abused puppies than accept they love their partners. Heavy on the homophobia and bi erasure since yes, fetishization isn’t allyship, it is homophobia. Everything is PR. She doesn’t know what PR means nor that David and Michael are not nearly important enough to have a 24/7 team controlling all social media and personal aspects of their lives. Neil gaiman apologist who blamed his sexual assault revelations on David’s support of trans people. Denies women flirting with each other and boils it to PR friendships??!?

Dejadestalkearmeloser- pretty much the same as nightgoodimens, flips shit when you call her out on it, I mean look at her pinned post about me and you’ll see. Also apparently I’m every account that doesn’t like her. Seems to have a problem with lesbians not liking her (wonder why lesbians don’t like the misogynistic people who only talk about the lgbtq community when it comes to fetishising mlm relationships)

Thetardisisbluesndroseistoo- flips shit at Georgia getting credit for anything, lost her shit on someone saying that Georgia has educated David on lgbtq allyship (he quite literally said himself that she does) later deleted posts when I called her out. Can’t stop laughing at that

invisibleicewands- really, really creepy about Anna, delving into her past and family to try and find…something. Body shaming. Mom shaming. The usual misogyny.

dtmsrpf- I guess a spoof on my name, belongs to one of the others on this list. The usual misogyny with a particular axe to grind against their looks and other things. Definitely a little salty.

georgiatennantunofficial (instagram)- extremely fucking gross. Body shaming and misogyny. Usual. You guys see a pattern yet?

#david tennant #good omens #michael sheen #sheenant #staged #rpf #anna lundberg #ineffable husbands #georgia tennant

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rmstitanics · 2 months ago

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* GENERAL OBSERVATIONS, PART FOUR.

ASTEROIDS

Determine the sign, planetary ruler, and the house that ASTEROID SHAKESPEARE (2985) is in to figure out which genres of Shakespeare plays you might enjoy the most!

╰► Example: My own Shakespeare asteroid is in 5H Pisces, and Pisces is ruled by Neptune. The 5th house is associated with romance, while Neptune governs illusions, mysticism, secrets, prophets, and deceptive idealism. So I would probably enjoy his romances and comedies such as Much Ado About Nothing, Twelfth Night, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

In my natal chart, ASTEROID WASHINGTONIA (886) CONJUNCTS SUN. This asteroid was named after George Washington, and the Sun represents our Ego + Core Identity. Guess whose first ever fixation as a historian was the American Revolution? ✨Me✨.

Look for ASTEROID KLIO (84) in your chart to determine what types of history you should study! For example, I have 11H Klio in Virgo, which is ruled by Mercury. So this means that when it comes to history, I might be drawn to studying the friendship dynamics that existed between historical figures (shoutout to Abraham Lincoln and William Henry Seward as well as Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman my BELOVEDS) as well as public discourses and social movements of a given time period.

PLANETS

9H VENUS placements might be more comfortable with befriending strangers on the internet + having online relationships than they are with developing their in-person connections.

While working on my Famous Individuals With Your Moon Sign post, I noticed that a LOT of authors have ARIES MOONS. This absolutely checks out because Aries Moons tend to be assertive individuals who become pioneers in their fields of interest, which many of these authors were.

If you have difficulty relating to your SUN SIGN or BIG THREE placements, check the aspects in your chart and spend some time researching them! HARD ASPECTS to your personal planets may be the culprits responsible for this.

VENUS rules over the 5H of creativity, so check the house that your Venus placement is in to determine your most prominent sources of creative exploration!

╰► Example: Taylor Swift has Aquarius Venus in the 1H. Her music is often inspired by 1H themes of exploring her core identity, and it is known to have Aquarian undertones of progressivism and rebelliousness. When I saw this placement in her chart, I immediately thought of her songs “The Man” and “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”.

╰► Example: William Shakespeare had Gemini Venus in the 12H. His works are widely known for their explorations of hidden enemies, endings, spirituality, mental health, and loss — and with his Venus being in Gemini, it’s clear that he had a lot to say about these topics.

Because the MOON rules over the 4H of home and roots, the house that your moon sign is in can show you where you might feel most at home. For example, I have my moon in the 9th house of higher education, and I’ve always felt the most at home in academic settings.

12H JUPITER placements might do well pursuing an occult career field, such as becoming a professional astrologer, tarot reader, palm reader, or even a past life regression hypnotist.

Going through a period of writer’s or artist’s block? Check to see if your TRANSIT SATURN is in the 5H or if Transit Saturn is aspecting the 5H!

TRANSIT MARS in the 9H is a time of yearning for academic recognition and success. If you have this placement and are currently a student, take advantage of opportunities for class participation, extra credit, study abroad, and extracurricular activities!

ASPECTS

MIDHEAVEN OPPOSITION URANUS natives loathe adhering to social norms and are prone to having unpopular opinions that, if expressed, would drastically alter their social status.

MOON OPPOSITION MARS can indicate strong willed and incredibly assertive personality types that, if caution is not taken, may be viewed by others as “bossy”. They’re the type of folks who like to take the reins and lead the group during a group project.

SUN CONJUNCT URANUS people strike me as the type who enjoys researching conspiracy theories, especially if their Sun sign is Scorpio or Gemini.

MERCURY-URANUS as well as MERCURY-VENUS are the types of people who could be uniquely prone to social media / screen time addiction.

VENUS TRINE SATURN natives are sensitive to rejection, and when rejected, might carry it as a deep wound for a long time.

MERCURY CONJUNCT PLUTO individuals have the potential to be excellent speechwriters, poets, songwriters, and journalists.

#astrology observations #astro notes #astrology aspects #astrology #midheaven #mars #9th house #4th house #astrology asteroids #* astrology

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menofchaos · 8 months ago

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Coco

Note: Third time I'm trying to send this out! I missed sleep to write this, which usually means it'll end up being one of my favorites like the Vegas story. I do have more of this written, so please let me know if anyone would be interested! This is the first installment of Coco x museum! reader. Picture credit goes to @richardcabralofficial on ig & divider credit goes to @spideyspeaches. Enjoy!

Coco lit a cigarette as he walked down the sunny streets of downtown San Diego, Angel and Gilly planning their evening of bar hopping. They decided to head down to the beach for a long weekend, a getaway from the pressures of Santo Padre.

“Damn, that’s a big ass building.”

“Ain’t this the museum you wanted to go to?” Angel asked.

EZ nodded, “Yeah at some point. You guys don’t have to come in.”

The four of them turned down the street toward the entrance and Gilly laughed, “Oh I’m definitely going.”

Angel frowned, “You wanna go to a museum? You good, homie?”

“If all the chicks in the museum look like that? Fuck yeah, I do,” he scoffed and nodded over at the museum steps.

They all looked up to see two men in suits talking to a woman, her long curly hair flowing gently in the wind as she laughed. Coco’s eyes widened when he saw ink covering her throat, bright acrylics on her tattooed hands. His eyes followed her curves, covered up by her professional attire. He licked his lips when he heard Angel mumble, “Damn.”

EZ shook his head, “I didn’t mean we had to go now.”

“What better time than the present, boy scout?” Gilly smirked, “You guys in?”

Angel looked over at Coco, who shrugged, “Why not?”

“Alright,” Gilly clapped, “Think she dresses like that all the time?”

“She’s way out of your league,” Angel snorted, shaking his head as they crossed the street.

“You think you have a better chance?” Gilly arched an eyebrow.

Coco laughed, “You two gonna bet again? Since it went so well last time.”

Both men glared at him before going back to arguing over who would ask her out. The men in suits walked away and the woman turned to see the four of them heading up the stairs.

“Welcome,” she smiled and opened the door, “Ticket counter is to your left, let me know if you have any questions about the exhibits.”

Gilly looked her over slowly, “Thanks mami. I do have a question. Are you the exhibit?”

She laughed politely, “No, I’m not.”

“Too bad, I can’t stop staring,” he winked, heading inside.

“All these artifacts and I can’t take my eyes off you,” Angel smirked and followed him in.

EZ shook his head, “I’m sorry about them, it’s their first day in public.”

Coco took off his sunglasses as she laughed, “It’s all good, I’ve heard worse,” she closed the door behind them, “Enjoy the museum,” she winked at Coco before a younger employee called her over.

Coco watched her walk off, hips swaying. Gilly and Angel were still quietly bickering over her. While they were distracted, he took a few steps toward where she stood with another woman wearing a regular museum uniform. The woman went into the exhibit and she turned to Coco.

“Can I help you?” she asked him.

“Just wanted to apologize again for my brothers,” he told her, “They’re harmless.”

She smiled, “That’s sweet, thank you. Like I said, I’ve had way worse pick up lines than that. I was a little bummed I didn’t hear one from you, though,” she admitted.

Coco’s eyes widened and he smiled, “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, “See if it was more original than your brothers,” she teased.

He laughed softly, “They didn’t exactly get creative, did they?”

“No but at least they didn’t say they’d nail me to the wall,” she shivered slightly in disgust, “That one grosses me out.”

He shook his head, “I wouldn’t have let them get away with that one.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Coco,” he held a hand out to her, “Yours?”

She introduced herself and shook his hand, “I guess you wouldn’t let them get away with that, would you, boogeyman?”

His eyes lit up, “You know that story?”

She smiled, “Of course,” she scanned the patches on his leather. Coco held his breath for a moment, waiting for her to dismiss him, “Santo Padre? What brings you to San Diego?”

“We wanted to get out of the desert for a few days,” he murmured, “Hang out at the beach.”

“That’s why I live here, so I can be on the beach whenever,” she smiled, “How long are you in town for?”

“Till Tuesday,” he bit his lip, willing his heart to slow down.

She nodded, holding his gaze for a moment, “So, you got a line?”

He shook his head, “No lines,” he licked his lips, “But I’d love to take you out later.”

She smiled, “I can’t tonight but I’ll take your number and call you tomorrow?” she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

Coco recited his number to her, smirking when he glanced over to see Gilly and Angel glaring at him. She nodded, “I’ll see you soon?” she took a few steps back, smiling.

“See you soon,” he smiled slowly, his eyes on hers.

She giggled and turned down a hallway, out of his sight. He rejoined the other guys.

“What just happened?” Angel asked, “You get her number?”

He shook his head, “Gave her mine. Thanks for making me look good,” he smirked as EZ handed him a ticket, “Thanks, bro.”

“Motherfucker,” Gilly swore, “You’re such a dick.”

After the museum, the four of them headed to dinner, then a bar on the beach. They stood around a pool table, EZ and Angel against Coco and Gilly.

“I still can’t believe you snaked her from me,” Gilly shook his head.

“You don’t have a claim on her, homie,” he smirked, taking a sip of beer.

“You come on too aggressive, bro,” Angel said.

EZ snorted, “You weren’t much better.”

Angel scoffed, “I wasn’t as bad as him!”

“All I did was give her my number,” Coco watched Gilly take his turn, “It’s not like I stole your girlfriend or some shit.”

Coco was in the middle of his turn when a loud cheer erupted behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a high top all holding their drinks up, laughing.

“Wait, isn’t that her?”

Coco grinned when he saw her sitting at the high top, a pink margarita in her hand and a relaxed smile on her face. She caught his gaze and she smiled wider, waving at him. He held up a finger, turning back to finish his turn, “It is.”

He sunk two balls and missed the third, setting his cue down when he heard, “Lord have mercy. Look at that.”

All thought left his mind when he saw her heading toward him. She had forgone her professional attire, a longer asymmetrical skirt with a button up and blazer, for a tight black and white dress that hit mid thigh. Her long curled were tied up in a ponytail, two braids nestled among the strands. Her darker lipstick made him want to smear it.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hey,” he murmured, “You look beautiful.”

She giggled shyly, “Thank you. This is a coincidence.”

“Your plans for the night?” he asked, glancing at the table that was not so subtly spying on her.

She nodded, “College friends in town for the night. We’re going to the beach tomorrow before their flight leaves.”

Coco smirked, “We’re going to the beach too. The one down the road.”

“So are we,” she laughed, “Another coincidence.”

“Or fate,” he suggested, failing to keep himself from checking her out.

She felt butterflies under his gaze, “Could be. I gotta get back but how about this? If you find me at the beach tomorrow, you can take me out to dinner.”

His eyes lit up at the challenge. Between his military training and club antics, he knew he could meet it, “I’m down. See you tomorrow, ma.”

“See you tomorrow,” she kissed his cheek softly, walking back to her group. He couldn’t stop smirking the rest of the night.

Coco sat down on a lounge chair between Angel and Gilly, “Why the fuck do we stay in the desert when we could be here?” he asked as Angel passed him the blunt.

Angel laughed, “We should convince Alvarez to start a San Diego charter.”

“Coco just wants to be near his new girl,” Gilly opened a beer.

“You still bitching about that?” Coco arched an eyebrow, “How many chicks are out here, go pick up one up if you got that much game.”

“Oh now you got game?” Gilly asked, “With that crooked ass nose.”

Coco passed the blunt to EZ, retort on his tongue when his phone lit up with an unknown number. He opened it to find a picture of her smiling, sunglasses covering her eyes and her long hair tied up in a messy bun. He could only see from her shoulders up, a table with beer pong set up in the background. It was accompanied by a text.

I’m here! Ready for your mission?

He smirked, typing out, ‘Mission accepted’ before standing up, “Well you fuckers can keep playing with each other, I’m going to get a date.”

EZ grinned, “Good luck, bro.”

Coco fist bumped him, “Good luck with these two,” he joked and grabbed his phone and cigarettes, sliding his sunglasses on as he walked up to the top of the sand. He remembered the size of her group the night before and knew they wouldn’t be that hard to spot. He checked the picture again, his heart skipping a beat at her smile. Another text came in as he tried to study the background for clues.

No clues but I do have a drink waiting for you

He noticed rocks behind her and scanned the beach, grinning when he saw a cliff to his left. He walked down to the water, taking his time to smoke a cigarette as he made his way over. A large blue canopy with a long table under it was set up next to the cliff, coolers and bags scattered around towels and blankets set up on the ground. He swore under his breath when he spotted her in nothing but a black and green two piece, a drink in each hand. Tattoos covered both arms and curled around her long legs, a few on her back and sides. She was talking to two other women, one in a pink one piece and the other covered by an oversized white t shirt and men’s swimming trunks. Four guys stood at either end of the beer pong table in different colored bathing suits. He walked up, ignoring the looks the guys gave him as he tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and grinned.

“Coco!” she leaned in to kiss his cheek, “That didn’t take nearly as long as I expected.”

He laughed, “I was a Marine, baby.”

“That’s not fair,” she pouted, “Here’s a beer if you want it. Let me introduce you to everyone,” she offered him the bottle.

“Sure, thank you,” he took it and followed her around the tent, shaking hands with everyone. They all went to college together, getting picked up and invited in by others in the friend group. They used to be a bigger group, she explained, but fights, moves and break ups splintered the group until it was the remaining seven of them. She hung back with him as the guys kept playing, one white boy, Dan or Dave or something, glancing at him often with a glare.

“Your friend in the green doesn’t like me that much,” he teased a few minutes later.

She looked over at the canopy and sighed, “He claims he’s protective, but he’s not like that about anyone else. He’s just one of those white knight guys.”

“White knight guys?” he frowned.

“Yeah, if I do something he thinks could hurt me, he acts concerned for my well being but he just has feelings for me and gets jealous,,” she explained, “He did the same thing in college when he found out I was dancing.”

He arched an eyebrow, “Dancing?”

She nodded, looking up at him, “I didn’t come from a good family or anything, so I had to pay my own way through college. I got some scholarships but it didn’t cover everything so I started stripping to help pay my bills and shit,” he watched her as she spoke, knowing this was a test of his reaction.

“That’s smart, you probably made bank,” he winked.

A smile lit up her face, satisfied in his response, “You know I did. No student loans for me.”

White Knight Dan/Dave called her over for her turn but she declined, telling him she’d play later. His disappointment was visible, tossing another glare Coco’s way as he went back to the game.

Coco smirked, “Damn, I’m making all kinds of enemies talking to you.”

She took a sip of her beer, “Who else?”

“My homie’s still mad,” he laughed.

“Tell him if he can find it in his heart to forgive you, I have a bunch of hot, single friends I can introduce him to,” she offered.

He laughed softly, “That might do it, thanks mami.”

#mayans imagine #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz #johnny coco cruz #coco x reader #mayans mc

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patroxlos · 4 months ago

Text

home base . ch6

"friends who are stuck together" - 5.7k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch5. "friends who fuck things up"

next: ch7. "friends who use their phones in bed"

kenji is confronted with his life abroad, his relationship with his dad, and your confusing back and forth

---

Ken Sato is born during his first week at the private school his mom enrolled him in when they moved to the States.

Being the only Asian kid in his class does not help. He is noticeably more tan than his peers and his angular eyes drew attention wherever he went. He cannot eat any of the hefty, greasy viands without rice— because what do you mean you slather the thickest cuts of beef with the sweetest sauces and expect him to eat it with dry bread?

But what confuses and frustrates him the most as a seven year old boy is how difficult it apparently is to say his name.

Kenji Sato. The most direct four syllables. And somehow they are still mispronounced everywhere he goes.

Ken-jay.

Say-toe.

And when they do not bother, children are surprisingly creative with making racially-motivated nicknames.

Sure, English does not come easy to him at that age. He cannot tell the difference between “knew” and “new”, and he struggles with his letter Ls, but if everyone around him is going to be smart about it then why can’t they pronounce his name? He cannot even recite in class without some little brat at the back named Bartholomew mocking his accent.

Still, Bartholomew shortens his own name to Bart.

And he becomes Ken, because it is easier that way.

Even so, all his awards and trophies throughout his professional career keep the ‘Kenji,’ simply because his mom gave him that name. His dad refrains from using Ken at all to this day, and it is not an aversion born from simple preference. You call him ‘Ken’ and ‘Kenji’ interchangeably, but you use ‘Ken’ the most when you are mad or to simply tease him.

He remembers his mom’s frown when his homework starts to get signed as Ken, and throughout the first year at the States it never stopped coming out to all his little changes. He knows she misses who he used to be; a bright, eager boy is now reduced to a sullen, quiet kid. Admittedly, that time is not filled with his fondest memories— he still remembers the smell of her opening up the spoiled, untouched bentos from his bag at the end of the day.

But, on the plus side, he definitely learns a lot of new English words from sitting outside the school office as his mom meets with just about everyone— the teachers, the principal, the district officer.

Failing.

Bullying.

Discrimination. He is proud when he eventually figures out how to spell this one.

It helps a lot that his mom shouts it out so he can hear it even with the door separating them. Will dad do the same if he was here?

It feels like nothing can make his mom smile during those days.

So he signs up for baseball, and she is thrilled.

He is too, until he meets his minor league team, and it turns out boys are meaner in sports than they are in the classroom.

This isn’t tee ball. They jeer, as he is easily one of the smallest there. He struggles to defend himself, but the only thing he can say are roughly strewn-together syllables. He can feel the bright beam of his mom’s smile being directed at him from the bleachers, and he will not be messing this up for her.

His teammates’ taunts don’t end until they see him swing.

He gives them something else to talk about as he sends the first pitch at practice to the other side of the field. He hears his mom cheering a loud ganbatte! and she is as glowing as ever.

He learns a new English word that day from his coach. Prodigy.

But even more so, he learns the quickest way to shut annoying shitheads up.

Because when he also hears one of his teammates guffawing about his mom speaking Chinese, he delivers another expert swing right at his face.

Despite the lecture his mom gives to him publicly in front of the other well-meaning parents, she still takes him for icecream right after practice.

“Kenji.”

“Yeah, mom?”

“Don’t go around starting fights like that again, but when you do, always make sure you win, okay?”

Ken misses her a lot, especially now.

“Dad, I can’t make more time to help completely change Emi’s potty sched again.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he sits across his dad at the dinner table. Not much dinner was being eaten, as papers were strewn at the center with their meals pushed to the side. Seriously, with all the technological advancements in this house you would expect them to at least use some laptops.

Hayao Sato points more insistently at one particular document. “Please just help me test out this theory, Kenji. Since her diet has increased by a lot now that we are letting her hunt for her own food, most likely her excretion needs have changed.”

“Well I think her poopies are just fine.”

“Kenji—”

“I believe you, okay!” He slumps back into his chair. “Believe me, I really do. But on a practical level, I’m already stretched thin as it is. Those books say that when babies establish a schedule it’s best to stick to it or else they’ll get confused. Now, if you could transform to do more than being a helicopter dad, so we can have at least two Ultramen on the team, then that would be fantastic!”

His mom might have been quick to argue back if she was here, but his dad carries a somber air that permeates into his skin and strikes his heart with guilt whenever he raises his voice against him. Hayao Sato is not the man he used to be— he is frail and feeble, and cannot raise his voice too high without straining his throat.

Even when his dad gets mad now or gives another of his droning lectures, Ken’s subconscious brain tricks him into feeling like the villain for making his dad stress his body like that. A year ago, he will not have cared at all. He might have thought it as reparations for abandoning him.

“You know I can’t transform yet…not right now.” Hayao bounces his leg under the table, an unconscious tick activating from the tenseness of their conversation.

There is a growing silence between father and son, and unknown to Kenji, his dad is also praying at the back of his mind for the grace of Emiko to teach him what to say.

He misses you.

Other than his mom, you will know what to say to his dad. Hell, you’re closer to him than Ken is, given how you regularly visited him while he was alone in Japan. He ignores the bubbling envy as he broods over it. At least you have always been kind enough to never talk about his dad more than he was comfortable with.

Ken leaves the dinner table wishing his dad was a shittier person. He wishes his dad had taken the more traditional absentee route instead of being a literal superhero. It might have even been easier if Emiko actually divorced Hayao, but his mother never fails to remind Kenji that she loves his father very much.

He has always been made to feel like his resentment is more akin to selfishness. Millions of live depend on his dad, so what importance does a little league baseball game have compared to that? What right does he have? His parents make enough for his comfortable life. He is lucky enough to be in his dream job. And yeah, he’s mature enough to admit that he hated the Ultraman gig at first but now he has kind of grown into the service of it all.

So he hates his temper instead, because he does want to get along with his dad. He really does. It has been a few days since they have started tackling Emi as a team, but this newfound bond is not enough to patch the past two decades of empty chairs, curt calls and missed graduations.

He finds himself on a makeup chair the next day for his upcoming motorcycle ad under Motsubishi.

His makeup artist tuts as he looks at Ken’s black compression shirt. “It’s a shame you have to be so covered up for this one.”

From behind Ken, he hears his hairstylist giggle at that. “Motorcyclists have to get all covered up if they don’t want road rash,” she explains. “Of course, our baseball star knows his way around motorcycles.”

“Maybe he should start knowing his way around the ball field as well,” his MUA teasingly comments as he powders up Ken’s face.

He winces at the remark, and he tries not to show too much displeasure. Ken knows that if he blows up at them it will only spread around the industry that he is a sore loser. Which he is, and everyone already knows. He stays still on the makeup chair as he gives a nonchalant shrug. “Unlucky streak I suppose. Working on it.”

His hairstylist playfully swoons as she brushes his hair. “We’re still fans, Sato, don’t get us wrong. Being your fan has been pretty expensive lately though, with the amount of bets we put on you.”

“Hey, thanks for the love,” his media persona turns on with full charm. “I know I’m not supposed to promote any gambling, it’s all just family-friendly fun at the field, but you’ll get your money’s worth soon.”

“Now don’t go making empty promises.”

“My game can still pick up,” he defends himself.

His makeup artist rolls his eyes in jest. “Girl, your numbers aren’t looking too good now. I’ve seen Moneyball.”

“And that makes you a baseball expert? What, you gonna compute my ERA?” Ken flings back, but with an easygoing smirk.

The studio thrums with organized chaos as the entire shoot falls into place. The set managers are shouting out orders to the crew and large boxes of equipment are wheeled across the floor. The commercial director can be seen muttering to herself as the lights crew test out different lighting layouts on the sleek motorcycle positioned in front of a greenscreen. While the noise gives him a headache, Ken still takes the experience as a welcome break from his dad and all that is going on at home. At least, until he overhears a nearby conversation mention your name.

“I heard that she’s stopping by to do an ocular on the shoot.”

“Doesn’t she have a fashion week to go to instead?”

“What is she even going to do here except cuddle up to Sato?”

“I bet she’s only visiting because he’s here.”

“She’s acting as if she knows what she’s doing but all she’s done is fuck up all the current systems.”

“These fucking influencers, man. They don’t know any actual shit about business, and think they can coast by with botox and veneers.”

“If she wants to fool around with her boy toy she should’ve asked her daddy to—”

“Hey,” His makeup artist speaks up before he can say anything. “Do you want to chat louder for the rest of us? We can’t hear you.”

The small group of crew members startle from the sarcastic bite, and hastily, they file away to get back to work. Ken only realizes then that his knuckles were turning white from the grip he had on his chair.

For the world always constricts you to specific S words. Scion. Socialite. Slut.

He notices when he scrolls through social media that it has gotten worse in the past few months when it was made public that you are officially being groomed for your new CEO position. It’s all sinister, from the comments on your body to the tweets regarding your shallowness.

He is pulled out of his thoughts when his makeup artist taps his clenched jaw.

The hairstylist coos at him as he tries to relax. “Aww, it’s okay Sato, we know how much your girlfriend means to you.”

“She’s…a friend,” Ken corrects her uncertainly. His makeup artist snorts in disbelief, but surprisingly does not comment.

The silence is getting a little uncomfortable for Ken. He bites his tongue to prevent himself from saying more.

“Ex?” His hairstylist supplies, hoping to be helpful.

“...no?” He sounds even more unsure now.

The group does not notice how the room goes a bit silent.

“She wasn’t asking a question.” His makeup artist points out as he contours his cheekbones. He cannot keep his curiosity at bay any longer as he continues, “So…baby mama?”

“She wishes,” Ken jokes to try to get them to drop the topic, and it is immediately greeted by a small round of amused snickers between them, including one that makes his stomach flip a bit.

“Do I?”

His hairstylist drops the brush she was holding, and his makeup artist nearly topples over his kit when he jumps back. Ken turns in his makeup chair to see you crossing your arms with a smirk on your face. You naturally draw attention, especially in the bold power suit you are wearing.

You turn to the head stage manager, who is standing near you. “How many minutes ‘til shooting?”

“T-thirty.”

“Thank you thirty.” You give her a glamorous smile. “I’ll borrow our star for a bit until then. I’ll have him back in fifteen.”

Before Ken can tell you to wait, he stumbles out of his chair as you grab his elbow. You escort him out of the studio and into the hallways, all eyes on you both. He regains his bearings, and tugs himself out of your hold to get you to stop your brisk walk.

“I need to get back there.”

You wave at him dismissively. “We have time.”

“You don’t understand,” his words firm up as he grabs your wrist to tug you back in the room. “We can’t be seen out here alone.”

Your attention is elsewhere, and when you spot a supply closet nearby you use his grip to pull him with you inside. He stumbles again as he follows you in, uttering protests when you proceed to lock the door.

The lighting of the closet is dim, and he has to steady himself with one hand against the shelf above your head with how cramped the space was. A mop falls and whacks the back of his head as you two adjust yourselves, and you stifle a giggle as he looks down at you, unamused.

Ken has no time for your jokes. “Do you have any idea what this would look like if people saw us like this?”

“They make stuff up all the time,” your breath hits his face with the familiar taste of your toothpaste. “This is urgent.”

“We can talk after the shoot,” he tries to reason with you. “Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings but I heard them talking shit—”

“—you know that doesn’t matter to me—”

“And they’re saying that you came here just to see me—”

“Dude, I—”

“—so we need to get back as soon as possible before the shoot gets delayed.”

You clasp your hands over his mouth, shushing him to be quiet. Like instinct, his hands reach for you, softly holding your elbows. You look him dead in the eye as you say “But I did come here to see you.”

His stomach does a flip, and he eases closer to you. You rest your back uncomfortably on the shelves of detergent and floorwax.

“Y-you haven’t messaged me since the call,” you stammer, and he can feel from your touch the little anxious tremors that wrought your body. You have always been so confident out there, but just like Ken, you can get so vulnerable when you are alone. “I know this is inappropriate but my anxiety has been acting up the past few days and I can’t stop worrying that I did something wrong.”

He takes a sharp breath as he pulls your hands off his mouth by your elbows. Your hands slide down to the corners of his shoulders. “Oh shit— oh shit I’m sorry. I completely forgot— so much has been happening…And this doesn’t mean that I wasn’t thinking about you. I was. I always do.”

You relax at his rambling, and he struggles to shut himself up before he embarrasses himself.

You gently squeeze his shoulders to calm him down. “Okay, okay…that’s good. I was worried…that you started hating me again.”

“I never hated you,” he is quick to assure, even though deep down he knows that he had moments where he was close to. “I get mad but I don’t…I can’t imagine ever hating you.”

His hands fall from your elbows to rest against the shelf digging into the back of your waist. You loosely hold his biceps as you purse your lips. Your voice nearly cracks a bit when you say “Even after what happened three years ago?”

“Especially then.” He glances the soft bump of your throat as you take a nervous gulp.

“Kenji…” You look up to the low ceiling. “I…I shouldn’t have asked you to come over. It was stupid and impulsive.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed so quickly. I was being impulsive too.” The distant proximity is palpable to him as he counts the inches apart his chest is from your face. His neck aches from hunching over you.

“No, but I knew you would say yes,” you wearily sigh. Your head lolls to the side, still looking away from him. “I’m always the person who sets the boundaries and ends up breaking them.”

His silence says it all.

He agrees.

But it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it when you do.

“I’m just standing by what I promised you,” he finally says. “Friends. We’ll always be that.”

You slowly nod. “It’s for the best. Did you record that call?”

“I was too worried about your arm.” He looks down at the sleeve of your suit jacket. You instinctively cross your arms and he misses the familiar warmth of your palms against his skin. His hand reaches up to touch the soft wool fabric. “Does it still hurt?”

“It’s healing pretty well. All in all it’s just a big bruise,” you shrug. “I’m… I’m glad you didn’t record it. I’m kind of embarrassed by…” You look down to your shoes. “...By what I said.”

There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, he wants to say. But he knows he might be inviting something more, encouraging more in the future.

He changes the subject. “...You haven’t seen my dad in a while. He told me the other day.”

You finally look up at him again. “Been a bit busy, but I’ll make time. He still staying with you?”

“Yeah,” his tired tone tells all.

And he hates the look you put on whenever he mentions his dad— that measured, cautious stare marked by a hesitance to broach the subject. He cannot fault you for it because he never likes talking about his dad with anyone, but he doesn’t like it when you get like this.

“It’s fine,” his words cut through the quiet before you can say anything. “It’s…added company. It isn’t just me and Mina anymore.”

“But you see others all the time right?” You try to cheer him up.

“...What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe like, your other friends?” You explain.

His mouth fills with a bitterness. He has never had any other friends he can say he is any close to. “...right,” he drawls.

“Ken, I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be with you at any moment,” you say it so sincerely he almost winces. “Of course you have friends. You were getting along with the staff earlier.”

“That’s just small talk,” he deflects.

You look like you want to argue more, but you hold it in.

“Anyway, are we done here?” The closet was getting stuffier by the minute. “I don’t want them gossiping any more than they probably are right now. We’ve been in here for a bit.”

“They’re not saying anything new.”

He gives you a sharp glare, mirroring your crossed arms. “I don’t want you getting used to it.”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt,” you snip. “It just doesn’t concern you. I’m doing my best to handle it.”

Now that is the stupidest thing he has heard you say in a while. “By openly pulling me out of the room right in front of everyone? Yeah, you’re doing a great job at handling it.”

“What do you want from me?” Your voice raises higher than you want it to.

“To stop being so confusing with what you want!” He says before he thinks. “One day we’re just friends the next you’re pouting about me being too busy for you.”

“So if we weren’t interrupted by your dad, you wouldn’t have went to me?” You laugh without humor. “You’re the one who always acts like you’re going to die if I don’t give you attention. You haven’t changed in ten years.”

“And who is the one who is risking getting kicked out of the company just to see me for a few minutes? Who is the one who always looks like she’s about to cry over worrying about messing up with me?”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” he towers over you.

“You know, you have a lot to say for a guy who always comes to me when I ask him to.”

He does not flinch.

You stand facing each other, the walls closing into you. Ken can feel the beads of sweat forming along his hairline as the temperature rises inside the closet from the heat of the tension. If he was a weaker man, he might have just closed the seven inches that kept you apart.

“This brings back memories,” he admits.

“Memories we’re not going to repeat,” you finish his thought, trying to take a step back in the minimal space.

“You practically pulled me in here.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to fuck you I would’ve pulled you into the restroom.”

“Like at that gas station?” He relishes in the way your face contorts, and he can’t help it— a chuckle escapes him that has you smacking his chest.

“Okay that was really fucking gross,” you cringe at the memory as he chuckles even harder. “It’s not funny!”

“You were definitely ovulating back then.” He lets you smack him some more, and he nearly bumps into the shelf in front of him as he hunches over even more in laughter. You struggle to keep the smile off your face as you let out your own small giggles.

You take a small step closer to Ken, and your back aches from the posture of having to look up at him. “That was years ago,” you whine but your giggling says otherwise.

“Okay, okay,” He raises his arms up to stop your assault, each hit getting weaker after the other. He cannot help the fond smile he shows when he looks down at you, and as you slowly stop shoving him against the shelves behind him, he lets you bury your face into his chest to hide your mortification.Together, your giggles slowly die down in the warm closet. He ruffles your hair comfortingly.

You mumble nonsense against his shirt. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

“You promised you wouldn’t bring it up again.”

“I never said that.” He tries to peer down to your face but you refuse to lift your head up.

“You deserve to die in a fire.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that, baby.”

You lift your head up to give him a dirty look. “Ugh, shut up. ”

Without ceremony, you both shuffle out of the closet. The stale air of the hall feels chilly as it wafts through you two. Ken subconsciously fixes his hair and shirt even if there is no need to, the muscle memory of being close to you like that is kicking in.

“You better go back. I’ll hang around here for a bit before following so that it doesn’t look like we were doing anything,” you say as you wipe the sweat off your temple.

Ken bites the inside of his cheek. If they would’ve talked about us like that anyway, we should have just done something.

But he respects your agreement.

The shoot goes well and on-schedule. His makeup artist does not question why he needs a small touch-up, his bronzer slightly muddled from his sweat, but all in all he is a professional. The director gushes that he should go into modelling full-time when baseball stops working out. He cannot see you the entire shoot. The studio lights are too bright for him to see anything beyond the cameras pointing at him.

He tries not to make it obvious after they wrap that he searches for you throughout the studio, but when it is clear you have left midway the schedule, he says his polite goodbyes and heads over to the parking lot.

“Mina,” he commands into his motorcycle helmet as he climbs onto his ride. The AI buzzes to life. “I need you to send a quick email.”

Ken comes home to his dad doing yoga with Emi at the center of the Ultrabase. Emi’s large head combined with her tiny little arms makes her struggle with the triangle pose, but she is diligently following her grandfather. She lets out tiny squawks to ask if she is doing it right.

“That’s it little Emi,” Professor Sato encourages her gleefully. “Just stretch out to the sky.”

Before Ken can say anything, Mina flies circles around the baby. “Look, Emi! Daddy’s home!”

The baby kaiju nearly falls over when she spots Ken coming out of the elevator. The floor rumbles with every step as she runs towards him, and he sees his dad struggle to keep himself on his feet from the mini earthquakes. His ears fill with her excited gurgling. The sight of a large monster bounding straight at him does not faze him any longer, and with practiced proficiency he transforms into Ultraman in a blink of an eye and catches his little Emi.

“Hi cutie Emi! You’re bonding with your jiji?” His fatigue melts away when she immediately chirps in response. She wiggles in his hold excitedly. Ken sits cross-legged as he sets her down on his lap, letting her crawl around as much as she likes.

His dad finds his walking stick, and he slowly hobbles towards him. He looks more frail when Ken is in his Ultraman form. “She’s getting more flexible by the moment,” he shouts for Ken to hear. “Emi saw me do some of my physical therapy exercises and she wanted to join in.”

Emi purrs in agreement. He strokes her head as she settles into his lap.

“That’s good. She’s been kind of gaining weight—”

“Kenji, that’s not nice to say about a young girl,” Mina chimes in.

“You know that’s not what I meant Mina.” His bright irises shoot daggers at the floating robot, who only beeps back.

“I understand,” his dad says mirthfully. “Better to keep her in a healthy weight or else she might struggle to hold her head up by herself.”

“Thank you, dad,” He exhales before giving another pointed look at Mina, his emotionless silver face saying it all.

This is the first time they have agreed on anything in the past few days.

“So…dad…I…” It is easier for him to talk to his dad in this form, oddly enough. It creates a good distance, a boundary. It feels less real and intimate.

Professor Sato tilts his head to the side when he hears his tone. “Yes? Did anything go wrong today?”

“No! No, everything was fine today. Great day at work,” he stalls. “Thanks for looking after Emi while I was away.”

“Anytime, Kenji.”

“And thanks…thanks for…sticking around. I wasn’t being fair to you last night and I shouldn’t have gotten mad.” He slumps in his gigantic form, a show of penance.

Professor Sato grips the head of his cane a little tighter, as he looks up at his son. “Kenji, I hope you know I’m proud of you for apologizing like that. You didn’t have to because I know you didn’t mean what you said, but…It means a lot to me that you still took the opportunity to.”

Ken’s shoulders might have sagged in relief if he didn’t hear the words ‘I’m proud of you’ come out of his dad’s mouth. If anything, he freezes up.

“Kenji?”

“...Y-yeah…Um, thanks, dad.” He tolds Emi tighter on his lap, and the baby just purrs more at the added comfortable pressure.

“He got something for you,” Mina tells Professor Sato as she hovers nearby.

“You didn’t have to do that,” his dad brightens up. “What is it?”

He pauses a second too long, so Mina projects a screen showing your calendar schedule for the next day. While the other appointments are censored, at the bottom it clearly states ‘8PM - Meeting with Hayao Sato.’

“I, uh, I know you haven’t seen her in a while so I emailed her assistant to schedule something,” He mumbles, sheepish about doing something nice for his dad for once. “She’s coming here, so you two can stay upstairs while I watch Emi in the basement.”

“That’s…” Hayao is silent for a moment. “That’s really kind of you Kenji. Thank you.”

“No problem….dad…”

Hayao let out a loud sigh, and Mina brings over a stool for him to sit on. “Honestly, I’m glad she still wants to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” He asks, confused. He never hears about you and his dad fighting. He does not think you ever have.

“Well…She must have not taken the fact that you’re Ultraman quite well.”

Now Kenji was fully at a loss as to what his dad was talking about. He leans forward to hear him better. “She doesn’t know. I didn’t tell her. You and mom made me swear not to tell anyone.”

His dad startles at this revelation. “You never did? I…I was afraid of seeing her because I thought she knew.”

“Why did you expect me to tell her?” He is annoyed. Sure, you are his closest friend, but he understands the gravity of concealing his hero identity.

“Because I told her I was Ultraman.”

The revelation shocks him stiff that his colortimer goes off. The sudden shift to his human form causes him to trip over himself and fall on his bottom. Emi cries as she suddenly falls down to the ground as well, but she mitigates her stress to turn to her own daddy to check if he is okay. She squints her beady eyes in concern for him as she crawls towards his smaller form.

But Kenji treads around her to walk straight for his dad.

“What do you mean she knows?! She knew all this time and she didn’t tell me?”

Hayao raises a hand to gesture for him to calm down. “I only told her when I got injured. She was the only one left here that I can trust.”

“That’s still months. Why hasn’t she said anything?” He laughs bitterly. Fuck, you think you know someone.

“I don’t know,” his dad croaks. “And she has her reasons, but that’s not important now—”

“What do you mean it isn’t important now? My best friend knew my deepest secret this entire time! I, I needed someone to talk to about this, dad. You don’t understand—”

“You can shout at me more later.” His dad got up from his seat, impatient. “What I need to know now is if you’ve told her about your ultra.”

“For the last time, no!” He spits out. “I would have, if either of you fucking told me she knew about you.”

“Then you best keep it that way,” his dad grunts, muttering to himself.

Kenji runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Hell no. I’m telling her as soon as I see her.”

“That is a bad idea.” His dad stomps his cane into the floor. “Under no circumstances should you tell her or anyone else that you are the Ultraman. You can let her know that I used to be, but you absolutely cannot tell her about yourself.”

“She’s probably smart enough to have figured out that I am Ultraman! What’s the issue?”

“No, no she wouldn’t think you are…” His dad mutters to himself, and Ken is confused as to why he sounds so sure that you don’t. “She most likely thinks I have taken up a protégé.”

Emi chirps with more worry as she watches them fight. The yelling makes her flinch, and Ken can tell that if this stretches out longer, her fear response will kick in.

He runs his hands over his face, groaning, before reluctantly nodding. “Fine, you win. But I’m definitely asking her why she never said anything.”

“Okay, okay good…” Hayao collapses on the stool, the fight tiring him out. The absolute relief on his face stuns Ken, who takes a step back before walking away without saying anything else.

He leaves the basement angrier than he was when he left the dining table last night, feelings of shock and betrayal coursing through his blood.

His dad is hiding something from him.

You are hiding something from him.

And this definitely goes beyond regular superhero secrecy.

A/N: okie fun stuff abt the process of writing this chapter

- i actually wanted to write an entire fic exploring and showcasing my character analysis of kenji sato especially centering on his relationship w his dad, but i was worried that it was going to be boring lmao since last chapter that him sucking faces with u so i decided to stagger it throughout the rest of his story. it's bc i saw some ppl online saying like "others only care about kenji bc hes hot but they mischaracterize him bc of it they dont know him like i do." and when i saw that i went. "hm this definitely isnt abt me...maybe it's u who doesnt know him like i do" so i feel the need to prove that i understand hes sexy but with layers lmao so that i can have the license to slut him out as much as i want !!! it's because it is really important for me that the reader in the story feels like an actual character who contributes to the plot as opposed to just being tacked on the movie, and with that, it means figuring out what you can do for kenji.

- a lot of the comments tell me that i characterize kenji well and i feel like it's because i relate to him so much? it feels like his spirit possesses me when i write for him lmao he and reader werent actually supposed to fight in the closet but while i was writing the dialogue i felt him being pissed off by what u r saying and i just went w it.

- "thank you (time)" is actually a time-keeping courtesy during productions because it shows that you are aware of the time! not everyone does it but it's fun

- moneyball is a really popular baseball film that uses baseball as a backdrop for us to explore the human experience of being undervalued for who you can be. u should watch it!

- i will write the gas station scene and it will be explicit. >:) . yes it's as gross as it sounds but in a hot way.

finally, i want to give you a warning: the next chapters might be lighthearted, but soon i will be delving deeper into kenji's insecurities and abandonment issues, coupled with the situationship. if you have ever been in a situationship or seen one happen, you know that shit qualifies for a veteran discount due to all the horrors you witness. dare i say it is worse than testicular torture. What makes a situationship so devastating is when both people involved bring in their insecurities with them. i need to give the reader a solid amount of flaws for this to work.

u may hate urself and what u will do. (i doubt it's anything new lmao)

#ken sato x you #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #cross posted on ao3

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vintagegeekculture · 10 months ago

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So even though it's kind of the Marvel line, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby didn't really quite reignite Superheroes, the Flash was around a good bit before. But nothing would have been the same without Marvel breathing new life into the genre. What state do you think comics would have been in if instead of writing the Fantastic Four Stan Lee had quit to go sell used cars? Was it inevitable someone would have paired with Jack to do it? What would comics and pop culture look like now instead?

I'm a Marvel True Believer first and foremost, but I think you're underselling how enormously successful Justice League of America was from 1960-1969. Marvel books, especially Fantastic Four (at the time, the "flagship" Marvel comic of the 1960s) regularly topped the polls as favorites for the serious fans in 60s fanzines like Alter Ego, but they were not top sellers until 1970, when Marvel acquired their own distributor. Prior to that, Marvel published their books through DC, who made sure Marvel's runs were lower. They also limited the amount of books that Marvel could print, which is why books like Tales of Suspense had two characters in them (Captain America and Iron Man shared a book). As soon as Marvel got their own distribution, they pushed DC out of the top selling lists.

Justice League of America was a huge success when it came out, for a reason that may surprise people: nostalgia. Essentially a revival of the 1940s heroes, it was a huge hit because the adult audience bought it.

It's interesting how nostalgia itself as a cultural concept with actual power is a kind of recent phenomenon. Prior to the 1980s, there were huge volumes of books aimed at old people like Hallmark's "Remember When?" books.

I do think the single greatest what-if of the Marvel Age is one you didn't mention: what if Joe Maneely had lived to work on the Marvel Universe?

Whenever Stan Lee was asked who the greatest artist he ever worked with was, his response was unexpected: Joe Maneely, a name that even some serious fans of the Silver Age may find unfamiliar. But Joe Maneely worked with Stan extensively in the 1950s in Marvel's non-superhero comics like Black Knight and Yellow Claw. He was a beautiful artist, a professional who was always punctual, and even more so, he understood and developed the "language" of comics, and had an even better relationship with Stan than Jack Kirby did, who, by all accounts, was a genius artist but was, interpersonally, a difficult, sullen wound collector who had difficulty keeping friendships (as his Captain America co-creator Joe Simon can attest; he and Jack had a "breakup" long before he ever met Stan).

Meanwhile, contrast all those interpersonal problems with the difficult to get along with Kirby, with how Joe Maneely used to draw him and Stan holding hands and walking through the park together and so on.

The downside is that Joe Maneely died at a young age, 1958, in a tragic accident where he fell between railway cars, all 3 years before Fantastic Four. He was the biggest Atlas-era Marvel artist to never work on the Marvel Universe.

A Marvel Universe with Joe Maneely as the major creative force alongside Stan Lee is a change so deep and fundamental I have no idea what it even would look like.

#marvel #dc #silver age #1960

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victusinveritas · 3 months ago

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Writing advice from Nick Mamatas.

Some science fiction/fantasy creative writing students I have encountered, a field guide

1. World-Savers: these are generally older students, have no real interest in SF/F, are writing a book to express political or metaphysical ideas they consider to be radical and necessary for the future of life on Earth. In reality, they're writing long Platonic dialogues about their ideas, and authority from various culture and pop culture tropes (aliens, noble savages, fairies, resurrected presidents)–to the extent that their work has a plot at all, it involves a Christ figure transforming the world via a sacrifice. The ideas aren't very radical either: "pollute less" and "love your neighbor, unless they're a dick" are common. Occasionally the message for the world has to do with something more prosaic: reverse budgeting, the evils of Affirmative Action, the importance of installing solar panels, how dare Eileen divorce me and fuck like three guys in the six months after she moved out, etc. These students are utterly confused by actually existing SF/F stories they read, and often interpret them in bizarrely sexual ways. They don't believe in numbering the pages of their manuscripts, and often attempt to submit work in PDF so it won't be stolen.

2. Children with Money: recent college grads, or drop-outs, these people have read Harry Potter, Twilight, and perhaps three or four other best-selling young adult series and nothing else. They are easily upset, especially when someone suggests reading more. Their main interests are YouTube personalities, video games, and a sort of Puritanical pansexuality that actually makes smut boring. They often "forget" to read the work of other students, and have no idea how to use a printer. They warn the other students that their story might be "too intense" because it contains, for example, a depiction of a car accident. Their stories are routinely awful, and always contain a character named "Aidan." Sometimes their parents come to class to make sure I am "not a serial killer", as though they could possibly tell from looking at me. (Oh, "Mamatas" IS a white person name...I guess?)

3. Anointed Ones: They contact me, or the people running the workshop, beforehand, to make sure that "the class is right" for them. They have file cabinets full of their stuff, and after many decades of toil, they are ready to reveal their work to the world. They just need a mentor, and an ally—could I be the one they've been searching for lo these many years? Prior workshops were full of callow teachers and jealous students. Why they were only allowed to submit ten pages a week! Some of them have actually read fairly widely, but you wouldn't know it from their work: three adjectives per noun, a fetish for speech tags other than the word "said" or no tags at all. Often these stories include as characters philosophical prostitutes with very sensitive nipples. They never miss a class and often show up more than thirty minutes early. One time, I had to hide in a closet to avoid an extensive pre-class conversation with one.

4. Frightened Proles: These have read Stephen King and Dean Koontz and sometimes even horror writers from this century. They generally have working-class jobs and write about working people who encounter the supernatural on the late shift. They really hope they can sell their novel soon, but they know it'll take a lot of work. (Ten more drafts oughta do it!) They wear baseball hats to class and look like enormous eight-year-olds. They get very excited when I mention professional wrestling or do a taiji move in class. Their significant others are often nameless—"my girlfriend" "my wife." They buy my books and bring them to class for autographs. Some of them get published after, especially flash fiction.

5. Repairables: decent writers, often involved in the SFF "scene", who need to be fixed after a bad experience with Clarion or another workshop or an overeager editor at a semipro magazine who told them some idiot nonsense they decided to believe because they were told it was "unprofessional" not to consider editorial feedback. These either get published...or lost to MFA programs, video game jobs, fandom, podcasts, or other writing-shaped pursuits. Most of them are ferocious name-droppers; the ones who heard of me beforehand know to keep quiet though.

#writing advice #sci fi writing #sci fi #fantasy #writing workshop

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consultingsister · 1 month ago

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The isolated ski resort, La Montagne Solitaire, caters to an elite clientele. Known for its pristine slopes, luxurious spa, and breathtaking views, the resort is nestled high in the Swiss Alps. Guests arrived just before the season’s first major snowfall, excited for days of skiing and nights of decadence. But after an avalanche hits the night of the murder, communication with the outside world is cut off—there's no signal, and the rescue team is delayed for three days. Panic slowly sets in as the guests realise they are trapped with a murderer among them. The resort's staff, led by the mysterious concierge, have locked down the hotel in hopes of protecting the guests. But with tensions rising and secrets starting to surface, it’s only a matter of time before someone else gets hurt.

This is a group murder mystery verse created for independent OCs and canon muses. Tumblr + discord based. More info under the cut.

Meet our murder victim, Étienne Lacroix. A fifty-four Art Dealer and Antiquities Collector.

Étienne Lacroix is known for his impeccable taste and shady business dealings. A well-established art dealer, he has amassed a fortune brokering high-stakes deals between powerful clients in Europe and beyond. He moves in elite circles, yet his reputation is tainted by whispers of illegal trades and stolen artefacts. Despite the luxury of his life, Étienne is a man with many enemies, and the world of art is more cutthroat than most realize.

Étienne presents himself as cultured and refined, the perfect dinner guest who can speak at length about art, history, and travel. But beneath the surface, he is ruthless in business and personal affairs alike. He has a long history of broken promises and ruined reputations, and few truly mourn his death—many at the resort even consider it overdue. He’s made plenty of enemies, from jealous competitors to clients he's double-crossed.

Unbeknownst to most of the guests, Étienne had a past that was darker than mere art fraud. His dealings in stolen antiquities had connected him to dangerous circles, including criminals who would stop at nothing to recover their stolen treasures. Recently, he’d been involved in a deal that went sour, where a priceless artefact vanished—leading some to speculate whether he was hiding it or, worse, had already sold it to another bidder.

Your Character

Please submit your character sheet.

Name:

Age:

Occupation:

Faceclaim:

Short Description: Provide a brief overview of your character’s personality, and any quirks that make them stand out. Think of this as their first impression on the other guests. Are they charming, eccentric, or perhaps a little too quiet?

Secret: Every character in this story has a secret. What are they hiding from the other guests? It could be something from their past, a shady business deal, or a personal vendetta. Be creative—this will add layers to their interactions and might tie into the larger mystery.

Motive for the Murder: Why might your character have a reason to want Étienne Lacroix dead? It could be personal, professional, or even incidental, but give your character a clear reason why they might be a suspect. This is where the fun starts!

Connections to Other Guests/People: Does your character know any of the other guests at the resort? Are they friends, rivals, or complete strangers? These relationships can create interesting dynamics and give your character more to play off of. If they don’t know anyone yet, that’s fine too—they’ll make connections as the mystery unfolds.

Once accepted you will be added to the discord server. The server will act primarily as a place for updates but there will be a chance to chat ooc and there will be ic chat rooms for one-liners/dialogue.

Role Assignment and Killer Selection Once 6-8 roles have been filled, each member (myself included) will be assigned a number. I will use a random number generator to determine The Killer, who will be notified privately by me. IMPORTANT: The Killer’s identity must remain a closely guarded secret. Under no circumstances should this role be revealed, either in or out of character. Doing so will spoil the entire game (and result in removal from the group—so let’s keep things fun, yeah?).

This roleplay is meant to unfold gradually and organically. You can join as long as you're committed to contributing regularly to the story. It’s open to all fandoms, canon characters, and OCs, but inactive players will be replaced to ensure the narrative keeps moving.

Group Etiquette

OOC drama will not be tolerated and will result in immediate removal from the group—no exceptions.

Duplicate face claims won’t be allowed to avoid confusion.

The group will be relaxed but do stay engaged. This is a collaborative mystery, and silence disrupts the fun for everyone.

Plot Progression Throughout the roleplay, I will introduce plot points to guide the narrative and provide opportunities for character interactions. These events will unravel over several days of in-story time, encouraging your characters to collaborate, investigate, or accuse one another. These will include key moments like:

The Discovery of the Murder

An Avalanche that Traps the Guests

Plot point 1

Plot point 2

The Final Showdown

Expect the unexpected, and use these plot points to deepen your character’s story while piecing together clues.

Keep an eye on the group’s tag: *s(no)w escape murder mystery for updates and threads.

Let’s unravel this mystery together!

#*s(no)w escape murder mystery #( i. ooc )#haha who do i think i am #NO BUUUT BUT IT WILL BE FUN #this could be very au for your character or like a main-ish thing so #totally up to you.#also pls ask if i have forgotten anything!!

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lightofraye · 3 months ago

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All About E

More self-torture. I don’t know why I do this.

Oh wait.

Yes I do.

It’s because the person I’m writing about is being praised and supported when she shouldn’t be. Shall we begin?

Elta Danneel Graul was born in Lafayette, Louisiana, and raised in the small town of Eunice. Her father, Edward, is a practicing ophthalmologist, and her mother, Deborah, is an interior designer. She was named after her great-grandmother. Legally her name is still Elta, but she professionally and personally goes by Danneel. Supposedly she was given the middle name, Danneel, after a street in New Orleans.

She moved to Los Angeles because, according to her, she knew she wanted to live in California. She moved there and lucked out with modeling. How did she luck out? Her now-ex-boyfriend, Riley Smith. His mother was a modeling agent in Chicago. She flew home with him for Thanksgiving and his mother made the phone call with the agency.

(How did Elta afford to live in Los Angeles without much work? Her parents paid her way, so she basically lived in an apartment on her own, didn’t share with anyone, and got to be lazy.)

Supposedly Riley’s mother also helped Elta with a nose job and breast implants (the first time around).

Elta liked to claim she worked and supported herself, but her beginning modeling jobs didn’t pay very well. She also didn’t get nearly as much work, so her parents supported her.

Elta proceeded to segue into television with the help of Riley to do auditions. She had a few guest spots on MadTV, Amanda Bynes’ What I Like About You. Then she had the audition with One Life To Live.

Because One Life To Live was filmed in New York, Elta had to move there. Again… her parents helped, because a starting actress on a soap did not pay well. She also had bit parts in Love House.

Eventually One Life To Live ended and Elta got guest spots on One Tree Hill, Joey, JAG, Charmed. Supposedly it was because she did well in auditions, but those rumors of her doing the casting couch with Mark Schwan persist.

After One Tree Hill, she had more guest spots on How I Met Your Mother, NCIS, and other shows.

She appeared in a few small roles in movies as well.

Supposedly, Elta is skilled in gymnastics, can sing and play piano.

Given how badly she moved as Rachel in One Tree Hill, I call false in the gymnastics claim. We’ve heard her sing—she can’t sing, period. Never seen her play the piano.

There have been claims that she has a degree in beat-poetry from University of Louisiana. She is not listed as an alumni and the timing does not work. I also call false that.

Elta has tried to create a jewelry line with Limbo Jewelry to create a line called Link. Near as I can tell, that jewelry line has never sold out and has not sold well. Supposedly it was meant as a benefit for Creative Action, an Austin-based charity aimed at foster youth-development projects. It has barely raised much, only $30,000.

Elta has four tattoos. A matching tattoo with Hilarie, which says “Mischief”, that she got at Hilarie’s wedding. A shark tattoo on her butt. An arrow on her left arm in honor of her children, and some kind of “robe-woman” who resembles a muse on her right arm.

She photographed for Maxim’s “Hot 100” list several times.

Supposedly, she is still friends with Hilarie Burton Morgan and Bevin Price.

She claimed she fell in love with Jensen during filming of Ten Inch Hero. They apparently drove back and forth, car pooled, really, to and from set and struck up a deeper conversation. Jensen once claimed he gave her a note that said “Not now, someday” as by that time, Elta was engaged to Riley Smith, Jensen’s friend.

Evidently, she didn’t even tell Riley what happened. She just packed up her things and moved out from their shared apartment, no break-up talk, nothing. Riley is now very happy she did that, given the crappy way she broke up with him. The best thing he got out of that relationship, he once claimed, was the guitar he was gifted with.

Jensen kept mum on the relationship for a long while. He had dated Joanna Krupa at one point, and Tania Saulnier. He was rumored, at one point, to have been with LeAnn Rimes (she herself said that was false) and Jessica Simpson (never been mentioned).

His revelation that he was dating came as a surprise—and almost no one knew who she was. When his engagement was announced on JustJared, no one knew he was dating or still dating her. The timing of said engagement had always been suspicious, given it was practically a week after Jared proposed to Genevieve.

Jensen claimed later that Elta gave him an ultimatum and that she hadn’t known he was going to propose.

I believe it was because seeing Jared get engaged meant the gay rumors would focus solely on him and he didn’t want to deal with that. Plus, suspected he had to “settle down”, so Elta was his “Okay, I guess she’ll do” girl. Not the girl of his dreams.

She likely tailored herself to what he wanted as she knew him for years prior to that.

Not to mention a rather quick engagement to wedding (six months; most usually do a year! Perhaps because Jared’s was set and they wanted to compete—or rather, Elta did).

Oh, Elta’s career kept puttering along. Some attempts were made, and all failed. No, I don’t think it’s because she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom either. Her career just didn’t take off; she’s a horrible actress with a childish voice that is clearly faked.

Her most recent role was a ‘gift’ from Hilarie. A pity gift.

And honestly, she’s not even a stay-at-home mom. She has nannies, a housekeepr, a gardener, possibly more help than most single parents or stay-at-home parents have. She’s unrelatable. She’s achieved nothing beyond being Jensen Ackles’ wife.

I’d pity her, if it weren’t obvious Jensen is scared of her. (He’s said: “I’m not suicidal, I’m getting out of her way”; called her “Scary Spice”; has stated more than once that he defers to her because he has to; said their marriage works better when they’re apart.)

#anti danneel #anti elta

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zombiipcps · 3 months ago

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( layout ib : @/stcpidcupid )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . MEET THE MEMBERS OF ZOMBIE POP !

Are you a new Survivalist who wants to learn the Zombie Pop members? Are you trying to pick a bias? Well, you're in luck! Here is where you can learn about the prettiest brainless boys of STARBORN CREATIVE and CULT CREATIVE!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . ETHAN LEE, known professionally as ETHAN, was born as the oldest of three brothers on January 14th, 1997. Growing up, he and his younger brothers developed a love of music through his parents, who were both music historians at a public university in Boston, Massachusetts. In 2014, when he was seventeen, his family moved back to South Korea after his mother was invited to be a guest speaker for a music course at a university in Seoul, giving him and his brothers a chance to audition for entertainment companies, and they were accepted by STARBORN CREATIVE in 2016. Ethan trained for two years before he debuted in Zombie Pop as the main rapper of the group.

STAGE NAME › Ethan

FULL NAME › Ethan Lee

KOREAN NAME › Lee Woosung

BIRTHDAY › January 14th, 1997

BIRTHPLACE › Boston, Massachusetts, USA

NATIONALITY › Korean-American

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Two years

POSITION › Main Rapper

FACE CLAIM › Kim Hosung / Lou (VAV)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . KIM SEUL-KI, known professionally as SEULKI, was born September 2, 1997 as an only child in Busan, South Korea. Growing up, Seulki was influenced by his father’s intense love for music, something always playing in their home.

With his parent’s support, Seulk started his trainee career at Cult Creative Records in 2014. He was added and removed from serval group line ups throughout his time as a trainee, he was added to his final lineup in 2017 — debuting in 2018 as a main dancer and sub vocalist of the co-managed boy group ZOMBIE POP.

STAGE NAME › Seulki

FULL NAME › Kim Seul-ki

BIRTHDAY › September 2nd, 1997

BIRTHPLACE › Busan, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Four Years

POSITION › Main Dancer, Sub Vocalist

FACE CLAIM › Yoo Taeyang (SF9)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . NATTHAWUT SANGSINGKEO, known professionally as DEAN, was born as an only child on January 8th, 1998. He grew up in a small town, where everyone knew everyone and everyone in the town was deeply religious. Growing up, he had traditional religious beliefs shoved down his throat since he could walk and talk, which did not hinder his love for songwriting. Despite his parents' protests, in 2016, as soon as he turned eighteen, he traveled to South Korea by himself, having been inspired to start his songwriting career thanks to watching BTS and EXO content. He was quickly picked up by STARBORN CREATIVE, and trained to become an idol for two years before debuting in Zombie Pop.

STAGE NAME › Dean

FULL NAME › Natthawut Sangsingkeo

BIRTHDAY › January 8th, 1998

BIRTHPLACE › Phuket, Thailand

NATIONALITY › Thai

ETHNICITY › Thai

TRAINING PERIOD › Two years

POSITION › Main Vocalist, Composer

FACE CLAIM › Boun Noppanut (actor)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . HONG INSEO, known professionally as INSEO, was born March 23rd in 1998, as the youngest and only boy of four. Inseo grew up around the arts; his sisters all taking part of some form of dance, while his father taught piano. It was his mother who pushed him to become a singer, she’d signed him up for vocal lessons at an early age. It, too, was her idea for him audition for music labels.

After a short stint at Cube Entertainment in 2016, he began training at Cult Creative in 2017; debuting not long after he joined. Inseo debuted as a sub rapper and composer of the Cult Creative and STARBORN CREATIVE boy group ZOMBIE POP in 2018.

STAGE NAME › Inseo

FULL NAME › Hong Inseo

BIRTHDAY › March 23rd, 1998

BIRTHPLACE › Seoul, South Korea

NATIONALITY › South Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Six months

POSITION › Sub Rapper, Composer

FACE CLAIM › Ji Changmin / Q (The Boyz)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . CHA DONGYOON, known professionally as ECHO, was born as the middle child of three siblings on April 18th, 1999. Growing up, he didn't see his parents often, as they focused more on work and relied on babysitters and relatives to raise their children as they went to work long hours, leaving him and his older brother and younger sister to rely on everyone but them. He grew up as a shy kid, finding solace in music — more specifically, the orchestra. He quickly developed a love for the violin while in school, eventually moving to Seoul with his aunt and siblings and busking with his siblings in the streets of the city with the violin he received as a birthday gift from his paternal grandparents. They were eventually scouted by STARBORN CREATIVE in 2016, and Dongyoon trained for two years before debuting as the lead vocalist and dancer of Zombie Pop.

STAGE NAME › Echo

FULL NAME › Cha Dongyoon

BIRTHDAY › April 18th, 1999

BIRTHPLACE › Gumi, North Gyeongsang, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Two years

POSITION › Lead Vocalist, Lead Dancer

FACE CLAIM › Kang Yeosang (ATEEZ)

( tw. mentions of drugs + alcohol, implied child abandonment + abuse )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . YANG HYUNWOO, known professionally as NOIR, was born as the middle child of three brothers on September 15th, 1999. When he was four years old, his father walked out on their family, leaving him to fend for himself as his mother had become addicted to hard drugs and alcoholism and did nothing to care for her three young sons, going as far as to taking out her anger on them daily.

In 2017, Hyunwoo was accepted into STARBORN CREATIVE after he and his younger brother Hyunjae applied in secret. Both were accepted, and Hyunwoo trained for one year before debuting in Zombie Pop.

STAGE NAME › Noir

FULL NAME › Yang Hyunwoo

BIRTHDAY › September 15th, 1999

BIRTHPLACE › Daejeon, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › One year

POSITION › Main Dancer, Lead Vocalist

FACE CLAIM › Yeo Hwanwoong (ONEUS)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . HARANO AKIRA, known professionally as AKIRA, was born on August 8th, 2000. Growing up, he was a lonely child, relying only on his mother for everything, and vice versa. His only solace throughout life was music, as he picked up piano, cello, and violin, among other instruments. He also took up songwriting, oftentimes writing more song lyrics than notes in school. In 2016, he and his mother moved to South Korea, and he went to live with some of his friends who ran away and had reunited with him. There, they all shared an apartment together as they looked for jobs, and Akira ended up auditioning for STARBORN CREATIVE to be a composer. The company was more interested in his ability to dance, however, and was accepted as a trainee. He trained for a year before debuting as Zombie Pop's maknae.

STAGE NAME › Akira

FULL NAME › Harano Akira

BIRTHDAY › August 8th, 2000

BIRTHPLACE › Sapporo, Japan

NATIONALITY › Japanese

ETHNICITY › Japanese

TRAINING PERIOD › One year

POSITION › Maknae, Lead Dancer

FACE CLAIM › Kimata Syoya (JO1)

# ⠀ ❚ ⠀ … ⠀ ( good boy gone bad! ) ⠀ —— ⠀ profiles #idol!au #idol!oc #idol!addition #oc!kpop #oc!group #oc!soloist #oc!idol #kpop oc #oc kpop #oc kpop idol #kpop oc idol #oc kpop group #fictional idol community #fictional idol oc #fictional idol group #idolverse

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