#author: pamela anderson

[haveyoureadthispoll]

Pamela Anderson's blond bombshell image was ubiquitous in the 1990s. Discovered in the stands during a Canadian football game, she was quickly launched into superstardom, becoming Playboy's favorite cover girl and an emblem of Hollywood glamour and sex appeal. Yet the Pamela Anderson we think we know was created through happenstance rather than careful cultivation. Love, Pamela brings forth her true story: that of a small-town girl getting tangled up in her own dream. Growing up on Vancouver Island, the daughter of young, wild, and unwittingly stylish parents, Pamela lived a hardscrabble childhood but developed a deep love for nature, populating her world with misfits, apparitional friends, and injured animals. Eventually overcoming her natural shyness, Pamela's restless imagination propelled her into a life few can dream of, from the beaches of Malibu to the coveted scene at the Playboy Mansion. As her star rose, she found herself a fixture of tabloid fodder, at the height of an era when paparazzi tactics were bent on destroying a person's image and self-esteem. Pamela forged ahead with grace, finding sanctuary in her love of art and literature, and emerged a devoted mother and activist. Now, having returned to the island of her childhood, after a memorable run starring as Roxie in Chicago on Broadway, Pamela is telling her story, a story of an irrepressible free spirit coming home and discovering herself anew at every turn. With vivid prose interspersed with bursts of original poetry, Love, Pamela is a pensive, layered, and unforgettable memoir.

[deadboyfriendd]

𝙑𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡. E.M.

Summary: Eddie isn't in college, but he sells drugs at college parties. He usually isn't into these kinds of girls, cokeheads home for the long weekend, but what happens when he meets you?

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, obvs a lil canon-divergent, fratboy adjacent!Steve, wingman!Robin, drug use, angst to fluff, smut included

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 9.1k

Author's Note: This is secretly based off of a Fall Out Boy song. Spear me please.

Also this is 100% for @dr-aculaaa , Drac helped me out with a TON of the dialogue and plot in this and she deserves 100% of the hype for this. PLEASE go read her work.

Eddie isn’t in college, but he sells drugs at college parties. 

He’s overstimulated. Both by the heat of the girl grasping and gripping his arm that was turning it unpleasantly raw and by the lack of anything substantial that he could focus his senses on. He can’t remember her name, and it wasn’t because of the seventeen other things distracting his senses, either. She was inherently unremarkable. Another cokehead from The Hideout. College girls home for the long weekend. Love does not occur in dive bar bathrooms, Eddie knew that much. 

He could tell her apart immediately, a Pamela Anderson wannabe with all of the intuition to sniff out anyone remotely Tommy Lee adjacent. The glorification of hard drugs and dysfunction. This would not go anywhere but possibly the bathroom, where she would emerge with a misty ring of powder white around her left nostril and blown pupils. He would taste the drip on her later that night when she would kiss him in a grotesque masquerade of her own cold comedown, denial dripping from her lips with a sticky sweetness disguised with L’Oreal Colour Riche Rich Brown. There were a thousand more like her, some here at home, others in Indianapolis, even more in Chicago. 

She was pretty for a cokehead, but not nearly as pretty as you. 

He spotted you through past the popcorn ceilings, under the fluorescent kitchen lights that were not particularly attractive for any given reason. You were the only girl here who didn’t know how he was. He had been stuck in the pipeline of town deviant to Indiana’s metal microcelebrity. His eyes locked on the kiss of your lashes as the aforementioned date dragged him through the density of other sweaty, coked-out bodies. You swung your legs back and forth as the scuffed rubber from the heels of your sneakers thudded against the hollow cabinet beneath you, rattling the pots behind it. 

She shrieks your name like a birdsong, and you whip around with wide eyes. She drags him along, pulling uncomfortably at his fingers. She bounces up and down in a way that she thinks is attractive, but to everyone else, the jingle of bangles and sequins and squealing is inherently annoying. 

You are not her friend. 

You had become acquainted with the girl before you in an entry-level introductory course for environmental design. It was offered as an elective across all majors but was also stupidly a requirement for all design-specific majors. And, even more unfortunately, the majority of the class was group work. This is how you met her. And she attached to you like a fungus— roots buried in branches that grasped your bones and made her impossible to remove without the inevitability of spawning again. She was a roach of a friend, not even nuclear warfare could rid you of her. But you were too nice to her, in fact, you were the only person that had given half a shit to include her. 

“Oh my God!” There’s a resonant tenor screech that reverberates off of the tile floors and pitches in your own ears so high that it could shatter any champagne flute within a ten mile radius. The guy— poor bastard– being dragged ruthlessly behind her like a content stray cat that had been claimed by a small child twitched an eye nearly shut at the pitchy shriek that plagues him as much as you. 

She explains how you met in an effortful, but drawn-out and utterly painful, story. It was a class. You were assigned a group project. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. 

But his hand was warm when it encased yours in an entirely professional handshake. You shook the thought from your head before it was even allowed to form. You desperately needed to kick the habit of falling in love with strangers in passing. You would not find the one at a party— at least not this one. 

It wasn’t long until she had gotten distracted, an old friend, as she had put it. There was no friend. Only powder on a mirror in the next room over. You questioned why she lied, because she wasn’t even discreet about it. 

“How can you be a nurse and do so much blow?” He asked, face twisted up in a sickening scowl. She had long forgotten about him and he tried his best to forget about her. 

“Girls like that usually are.” You deadpanned back, your face mirroring his own disgust. 

“Nursing majors?” He questioned, her major the only thing he could remember about her at this point. 

“Yeah. It’s the safest option. It keeps their parents happy while they put their financial aid up their noses.” You watched her try to discreetly gum some remnants off of the mirror sitting on the coffee table, pinkie finger dragging alongside the glass and disappearing behind her bottom lip. 

“I’ll bet she won’t finish off the semester.” You stated bluntly after a few seconds of spectating. 

“What about you?” He asked, in reference to your major. 

“Basket weaving. It’s really not much.” You didn’t want to come off as judgmental, or a prude. Especially not after admitting you were a design major. You cringed at how pretentious it sounded.  

“I like baskets.” He said, plopping himself down on the barstool across the island from you, toe thudding against the exterior to stop him from spinning too much. 

“Design.” You said, more of a mumble than a statement. You felt stupid. People usually thought you were stupid when you told them you dropped out of nursing school to be a design major. He didn’t need to know that part of you. After all, he was just some guy at a party and not the love of your life. 

“Of what nature?” He questioned, laying his head tiredly against his folded arm and looking up you you through thick lashes. 

“Of the graphic nature.” You were thoroughly surprised when he stuck around, head tilting to the side in curiosity — a stray curl bouncing from one side to the other. 

“What, like Chip Kidd?” Your head shot up. Sure, he was one of the hottest names in design this year, but who cared about design outside of designers? Next to no one. You forced yourself to play it cool. 

“More like a Stefan Sagmeister.” You grinned, bringing you knees to you chest and folding your arms over them. 

“You’re a Stones fan?” He questioned, brow cocked. 

“Who isn’t?“

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Well, surprise me, then.”

+

Eddie isn’t in college, but he knows a girl that frequents college parties.

This time it’s at some kickback in the woods, and this time it was to sell drugs— but seeing you was like a reward as you folded and contorted your own softness into comfort in the back compartment of his van, legs leaned against his side in search of warmth against the brisk nip of the reminiscence of winter. He draped his arm over your knees as he stood casually in wait, wondering how women could fold their bodies into strange statutes of comfort in only the ways they know how. 

You were good for business. Everyone and their mother seemed to know who you were. Probably because you were sweet. Especially to him. 

You’ve been casually sleeping with each other for a few weeks now, only when you can catch each other through hushed communal dorm phone-calls or whenever you come home for the weekend. No-strings attached, no commitment. But this outing sure felt like commitment, in the same way it felt like commitment when he held your hand earlier, and the same way it felt like commitment when he pressed his forehead against yours during your last entanglement. 

He leans over to you, alabaster skin of his neck stretching over bone and artery so he could whisper to you, 

“This is kind of lame. Let’s get out of here.”

You weren’t one to refuse him, especially not when he looked at you like that. 

“I’m not losing out on high school drama. I’m down.” You whisper back to him, pulling the end of an unruly curl just to watch it spring back up into place. 

While he’s watching the road, you’re memorizing the features of his face. If he could sparkle right now, he would be, even as the only light catching his face was from the too spaced-out street lamps. He drives in near-silence, whatever cassette buzzing hushedly over the radio but quiet enough that you could hear the vapid spinning of the tires and his occasional slow breath. 

You see the headstones before he has a chance to speak. 

“You’re gonna murder me.” You breathed out, joking mostly. 

“Yeah, right here, in the cemetery. Then I’m gonna bury you in a fresh grave.” He said to you, between eye rolls, getting out of the van to go pull the back doors open and straighten the woolen saddle blankets so you could sit. 

He pulls an acoustic guitar down from a makeshift bungee-cord rack fixed to the sidewall of the interior of the van, This Machine Slays Dragons crudely scrawled across the face to mimic Guthrie’s own. 

“I didn’t know that fascists breathed fire.” You said to him through a halfway-crooked sort of smile, pushing yourself up to lean against the sidewall of the van, facing him. You let one  leg swing back and forth, the rubber toe of your shoe tapping mindlessly against the seemingly useless tow hitch. 

“I knew you were more than just pretty.” He said, mouth turning up at the sides of his mouth. He was pretty, peering at you from beneath lashes before turning his attention back to the tuning knob. He strummed a calloused thumb across the tight string, listening to it upturn until he thought it sounded right.

It was a foreign ritual to you, his own prettiness being the catalyst for your own destruction before his vapid excuse at being a boyfriend ever could. . You watched silken curls slip over his shoulder and brush over the neck of his guitar. You watched as pretty deft fingers strummed a progression you would never understand. You desperately wished it was you, instead. 

It was like you were experiencing him through a macro lens, and it only made him more beautiful. His eyes came up to meet yours, dark and rich in the twilight that fell over you. You couldn’t have stared at him for more than a few seconds, but it was enough for your own giggles to bubble over. 

“Oh god.” You say through cupped hands, burying your face in your palms. You knew he was looking at you like you were crazy– all in good humor. 

“What?” He asked, unable to contain his own chuckle at this point. 

“You are literally the guy at the party that brings the guitar.” You managed through your bouts of giggles. 

“I don’t see much of a party here, sweetheart.” That smile curled again at his lips, this time with more teeth. You didn’t want to stare more, despite his fingers strumming the beginning cord of a song with all of the tenderness he could muster.

“Then who are you playing for? The ghosts?” You giggled again, looking around at the eeriness of the headstones. Had it been cooler, it would have been more off putting, but the swelling heat of summer that had settled over Indiana almost gave it some comfort. 

“You. Five regulars at The Hideout. Any ghost that wants to listen.” He laughed back, stopping his strumming to look back up at you. 

“Are you actually good?” You folded your knees upwards, turning yourself fully towards him. You rested your folded arms on top of them, pressing your chin against them to stare at him. 

“Would you just shut up and listen? I wrote a song about you.” It wasn’t hurtful, never was it hurtful. He said this towards you through pretty lips and even prettier winks. 

It wasn’t anything great. Three cords and two lines, but you wished you could record it and play it on a loop over and over again until your walkman caught fire. His voice wasn’t smooth, but it wrapped around you like a blanket, and, suddenly, it was your favorite sound. There was one thing you knew for certain, you wanted Eddie to sing to you every day for the rest of your life. 

“So you actually are good.” 

He rolled his eyes at you, casting the guitar aside as quickly as he had gotten it down. His lips met yours in a rapid staccato of haste kisses, first long, then followed by the plethora of short. You felt calloused fingers dig into the plush of your waist. 

It usually ended up like this. You’d laugh, you’d fall in love with him over and over and over again. You would have sex, and then it would be weeks. Weeks of trying to get your life back together and weeks of trying to remember yourself before him. But, God, when he kissed you over and over like that you would gladly break your heart for him. You wanted him to break it– if it meant that you could have him for this moment. 

“This technically is a party, you know?” You whispered a breathy giggle against his lips, peeling an eye open to peer at him. 

“What?” He asked, pulling back slightly. His lips were still glossy with the taste of you, but his eyes peered down at you in a way that made your stomach flip. You debated letting him take you in a cemetery. 

“Earlier, you said that you didn’t see much of a party. But we are here… at one, I mean?” Eddie looked around, eyebrow raised in utter confusion before clueing into what you had meant. 

“What with… them?” He asked you from behind the back of his hand, as if the bodies beneath you would be offended if they had heard. 

“Yeah. With all of the people buried here.” You stated, matter-of-factly. 

“I don’t think they’re much partying anymore.” Eddie explained to you, looking around the cemetery with raised eyebrows.

“Look… you know how the saying goes: one's company, two’s a crowd, and three’s a party? Well, this is a lot more than three. They don’t specify if they’re of the living disposition or not.” You argued back, trying your hardest to contain your own smile. 

“I’m saying no one here is having a good time.” He argued back in mock frustration, palms jutting out towards the headstones around you in confusion. 

“Besides us?” You asked him, with wide eyes. 

“Yes, besides us.” He said to you, reaching out to grip the opposite side of your waist and pull you into his side. 

“I can see it now. Here lies Edward— what’s your middle name?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Edward ‘Not a Chance’ Munson. He partied so hard he died.” You said, holding your hands out in a picturesque fashion. You couldn’t contain your own giggles. 

“Are you always a wise-ass?” He said, from behind a forward chuckle. 

“I don’t know, am I?” 

“Yes.” He looked down at you from beneath his shoulder, his eyes meeting your own endearingly. 

Eddie had a really bad habit of completely derailing your life with a single look. Once your eyes met the ambergris bourbon of his, you swore you could see the next ten years of your life. You swore you would ever be domesticated– at least not by any frat guy you met at a party. You hoped you were never domesticated. You hoped you never learned the subtlety of wifelyhood of motherhood. You never wanted to be reduced to that. But Eddie wasn’t in college, and Eddie could reduce you to that with one soft glance. 

“ –What about him?” You asked, averting your eyes from his. You would not let him derail your life again. Not tonight, at least. 

“Who?” He asked, genuine confusion registering across his once-soft features. 

“The guy buried there.” You specified. The headstone read a barely decipherable name, followed by 1902. 

“Was he a wise-ass?”

“No, stupid, how did he die? What kind of life did he live?” You said, bringing up your hand to deliver a soft slap to his chest. He wished you would do it again. 

“Tuberculosis.” You stated, bluntly, looking back down towards you with a smile. 

“Not everyone in 1902 died of tuberculosis.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, but a lot of them did.”

You figured he was right, your microbiology prerequisite failing to regurgitate within your brain. A silence settled over the back of the van, but it was comfortable. You allowed yourself the comfort of leaning your head against his chest, and rested his against your own. You tried to hear his heart from here, wondered if he had one at all. Surely he didn’t, if he could break your heart and put it back together all over again. Part of you hoped he did, and an even bigger part of you hoped that you had a place in it somewhere. You wouldn’t allow yourself to dwell on that fact for long. 

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked, barely above a whisper. Yet, breaking the silence felt like breaking glass. Had you been talking too much?

“Yeah?” He asked, in an equally quiet tone. You wonder if he felt it, too. 

“Why here?” You asked, without needing to elaborate further. 

He thinks about it, silent for a second, and then breaks the glass again. 

“I feel more like a ghost than anything– makes me feel less alone.” He says, finally. He refuses to let his eyes meet yours. It made sense. 

Some of the girls you went to school with still talked about it. Still talked about their friend, Chrissy. You understood that he had been a key suspect in a high-profile murder case. 

Well, as high-profile as Hawkins, Indiana, population: 2000, could get. 

They had found their suspect— apparent suicide. It happened all of the time. Kids try drugs, and drugs end badly. You had seen it before, and you’d see it again. It wasn’t Eddie, nor was it his Uncle– the man with the kind eyes and the gruff exterior that sometimes waved at you from outside Eddie’s van. You tried not to wonder if he thought you were a skank. You should introduce yourself, sometime.

A lot of people forgot about it after the Earthquake, their own lives crumbling enough to where they didn’t have to speculate the downfall of someone else. 

It made sense why he would think that. The same as the ghost that inhabited the loft above The Hideout where he played. 

It must have been exhausting having someone vilify and formulate your existence all the time.  

You decided not to pry. Instead, you read the headstones in front of you, children, the elderly. You focused on one elongated headstone fixated into the ground in front of you. William and Helen Lester. Born in 1910 and 1912, respectively. Died the same year as each other, 

“What about them?” You asked him.

“They were madly in love, they reserved their plots together before they died so when one joined the other they could take comfort in knowing that they would stay together.” He answered, without hesitation. You wondered if he knew them personally. 

“Do you believe that they did?” You asked, instead. 

“Stay together?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that depends on what they believed.” He shrugged, rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder a little bit. 

“Well, what do you believe?” 

He lets out a long sigh, more joking then not.

“Well, way back when my uncle first got custody of me, he thought it would be a good idea to start taking me to church. Save me before it was too late… or whatever.” He raked his hands through his hair, sitting up a little to look at you before continuing, 

“ -Wayne wasn’t much of a church guy, either, but the nice lady that lived next door to us was, so we started going to church with her. They told us that if we did everything we were supposed to do… tried to live by the book, and that we found our person, that it would be an eternal binding after marriage, or something like that.”

“Do you really believe that?” You questioned. 

“If there’s anything from my churchgoing days that I hoped would be real, I hope it’s that.” He sighed, pulling his arm off of you to lean back . 

“Why?”

“I don’t think I could ever stand to be alone like that again.” He shrugged, and you knew you had struck a nerve. 

“Well, what about us?” You questioned. 

“What about it?” 

“Do you think we’ll stay together?”

“We’re not really even together.” 

It was then that you realized that maybe he did have a heart, but you didn’t have a home within it. There was one thing for certain, however, and that was that he had made himself a home in yours like a fungus. It was then that the introductory biology courses you could never remember remained heavy on your brain. 

Mycelium

Mycelium are incredibly tiny threads of the greater fungal organism that wrap around or bore into tree roots. Taken together, mycelium composes what's called a “mycorrhizal network,” which connects individual plants together to transfer water, nitrogen, carbon and other minerals—

Eddie was a fungus in dormancy. He had a mycelial network, and its threads had wrapped and wound their ways through the finest intimacies of your life. Their hairline structure filled their place between any gaps you weren’t careful enough to seal. Even when he wasn’t in your life, he was there. 

You can’t be heartbroken over him if you never had him. 

You know he is talking. You know he continued with a backstory in some form or another. Your guess would be something about spending every waking moment alone after the incident. How no one’s mothers who were kind enough to give him the benefit of the doubt in the first place would no longer let their children— his friends, around him. Something about how he wouldn’t blame them. 

“Hey, are you okay? You went all silent on me there.” He finally asked, tugging on a strand of your hair, playfully. You felt like crying, but you wouldn’t. Not until he was gone. 

“Yeah, just tired I guess.”

Tired of getting attached, tired of derailing your entire life for him. 

“Oh. I guess I should probably get you home, then.” He said, beginning to slide out of the van. 

You were thankful he didn’t pry, but a part of you wished that he would. You had him for weeks, it was commitment-adjacent at the very least. It felt like you had him tonight, and it felt like you had him in all of your spare time. It also felt like you had him in class, doodling his funny little devil horns all over your notes. It was the subtlety of this heartbreak that was the worst– or maybe the fact that it wasn’t really heartbreak in the first place. 

You still let him sleep in your bed. 

+

Robin is a textbook lesbian, which also makes her the best wingman on the face of planet earth. She assessed the situation over a pre-roll, as someone who was both a woman and someone who pleasured women. 

Steve isn’t a frat boy, but his relentless good looks and halfway dumb demeanor are wasted on that fact. He assessed the situation as such. 

Eddie swore they both only hung out with him for the pot. 

It had been weeks since your last call, in which you had mentioned something about a final or something before the line went dead. Maybe you were actually dead. Killed in some freak accident that the news didn’t even know how to cover so they just… didn’t. Eddie’s dignity thought it would be preferable if you were. 

“ — Boys are stupid. Hence why I date women.” Robin stated bluntly from Steve’s bedroom floor, between clumsy, fumbling lighter flicks. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, did he have to do everything? He plucked the lighter from her hands, lighting the pre-roll in one swift motion before looking back at her. 

“Some of us aren’t as lucky.” Eddie said, throwing his body back against the side of Steve’s bed, causing Robin to bounce alongside him. 

“To be of the homosexual disposition?” Robin questioned, turning to face him. 

“To understand women.”

“Again, you don’t need to understand them, You’re just stupid.” She waved her hand, dismissively. 

“God, I know I’m stupid, please just help me.” He said to her, dragging his hands down his face with a vigor. 

“Okay, run the cemetery scenario by me again. Word. For. Word.” She said back, joint tucked between her pointer finger and thumb, elbow rested atop the comforter. 

“Okay—”

Eddie can remember everything about that night. He remembered what you were wearing. He remembered seeing the smattering of new freckles across your shoulder as it peeked out from under your summer sweater– a reminder that the heat of summer was quickly settling over you. He remembered the rhythm that the rubber toe of your sneaker tapped out as he strummed against his guitar. He remembered how you knew Gutherie and batted your eyes at him in that pretty— so fucking pretty– way and how you batted your lashes at him when you asked too many questions that he was suddenly inclined to answer. 

Eddie remembered what he said. 

“And then I said, ‘well, we aren’t really even together-”

“There!” Robin shouted finally, hands splayed out, smoke continuing to roll from between her fingers, 

“What?!” Eddie jumped, running his hands from the crown of his head and down his t-shirt, in search of whatever bug Robin had screamed at him about. 

“That’s where you fucked up!” She clarified. 

“ — really fucked up.” Steve chimed in from his desk chair, sunglasses slipping low on his nose despite the approaching twilight, using the toe of his sneaker as traction in order to spin himself in half-circles from his corner. 

“How?” Eddie asked, raking his fingers through his hair and giving his roots a soft tug. 

“You totally took everything you had with her and threw it right in the dumpster.” Robin continued, fully ignoring him. 

“ — and lit it on fire!” Steve chimed over his shoulder, chair spun backwards towards the wall. 

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Just saying…”

“Anyways, you implied that you didn’t want a relationship with her.” Robin said, finally softening a bit. 

“No, I wanted her to say something like, ‘Well, then can we be?’”  He explained back to her, almost on the verge of tears. 

“That’s the problem, dingus.” She rolled her eyes, delivering a soft smack to the side of his head. 

“Ugh,” Eddie muffled out loudly from behind his palms. 

To him, you were pretty, and smart, and entirely too good for him. You were right for ghosting him, he would never blame you for that. You had all the reason in the world to hate him and you still didn’t— until he gave you one. 

 To you, he was just a boy– one who harbored too much heartbreak that makes him meaner than he anticipates. Eddie wasn’t mean by nature, but right now, he sure felt like it.

He pulls his temples back with the heels of his hands, “She’s just so smart and she has to think I’m the dumbest human being on planet Earth.”

“You are the dumbest human being on planet Earth.” She snuffed out the roach into the ashtray, twirling around for slightly too long. 

“Gee, thanks.”

“But not for that reason.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, turning to face Eddie, “You’re stupid because you expected her to read your mind. You had the upper hand. She was prompting the love confession from you and you probably shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces.”

“Can I even fix this?”

“I’m a wingman, not a miracle worker, dude.”

“Steve? Anything to chime in?”

“You fucked up.” 

“No shit.” 

+

Eddie isn’t in college, instead he plays guitar. 

In the midst of his own suffering, he still has to perform. He isn’t one to pass up the money or the attention— especially since they’re crowds now exceeded into the double digits. They had graduated from the Tuesday-night noisemakers, to the Friday-night headliner, a few people even making their way over to bar-crawl from the next town over. 

Eddie leaned his weight on the speaker, tuning and strumming in a half-assed, absent-minded routine. There was a decent group tonight, people grouped standing in the back once the tables and bartop had been promptly filled. 

Jeff approached him, bass slung heavy over him, “Don’t look now, but I think you might know someone here.” He peered at you over his shoulder. 

Eddie looks anyway, met with your eyes. 

You looked pretty tonight. You looked pretty always. 

You had your toes propped against the bottom rung of the barstool, knees pulled tight together, and a drink in hand. He didn’t recognize the people you were with, but he didn’t know very many people anyway. Not like you did. You were likable, and he liked you a lot. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting you to look like after a month, but he was stupid thinking you’d look dramatically different. You were still soft— still glowed even in this not-particularly-flattering light. You looked happy and he hated it. He hated that you could smile at a time like this. It was selfish, he knew it. He wanted you to be a wreck over him. He wanted the comfort in knowing that you were the same mess that he was in over you. 

Jeff gives him a nudge to say something into the mic once they got the go-ahead to play. He tells Jeff he can do it tonight. The tether that binds you together is made of water— the softest vibration would break the surface tension and it would splash on to the concrete. He wanted to watch you be pretty for just a few more seconds, even if it meant giving up his ego for tonight. He wanted to remain unseen on stage, but the pinch harmonic of his opening riff sent your head snapping towards him. 

Your look made him want to crawl beneath the floorboards. 

Your acquaintance, a girl that was a friend-of-a-roommate who had invited you out, placed a hand on your shoulder, warm and too-friendly,  “This band is really good!”

“I know!” You shouted over the music, too warm already. Maybe it was the bottom-shelf peach schnapps. It was most likely the bottom-shelf peach schnapps. 

“Oh, you’ve seen them before?” She asked, pulling her chair up closer to yours. 

“Something like that!” You had explained, pulling the strap of your purse from your neck where it dug in too harshly. 

You felt underdressed for the occasion. Despite definitely having people to impress, you didn’t feel the need. But now, with Eddie’s eyes that you tried desperately to avert yourself from, you’d felt your skin in a way that you never had before. Maybe you were drunk. 

You were most definitely drunk, enough so that it was teetering off the edge of pleasant and dipping into the waters of uncomfortable. The music was too loud and there were too many people and your purse strap kept digging into the crevice of your neck in a way that was both painful and overstimulating. 

You couldn’t remember how many songs Eddie’s band had played– fuck— you couldn’t remember what they were called. Had been playing for a while, enough for the lines between songs started to blur and it felt like forty-five minutes of continuous time signature. You couldn’t decipher a lot between the hum of the nearly-blown speaker anyways. 

Eddie’s eyes met yours, shiny beneath the bar stage lights. He looked angry. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the genre of his song or because of you. He isn’t insatiable or anything, and he had hoped to God that you were still paying attention. By the look on your face and the way you craned your neck to look at the girl next to you, you hadn’t been for a while now. Your nonchalance had poured the gasoline, your smile lit him ablaze. 

The next line of the song was about you, an ode to the women he’d loved before– which weren’t many– conveniently placed as the last song of the setlist. He wrote it with the fantasy that you would stroll through the doors and hear it, but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the heart to be mean to you. He didn’t want to be mean to you. It was vaguely written enough so that the other girls that looked up towards him would think it was about them, a heartbreak anthem, a sorry anthem. An ode to the cemetery and the ghost that he had become without you. 

You understood it, though you chose not to act like you had. You didn’t think you had been in his life for long enough to warrant a song– at least one with more than three cords and fifteen seconds of play-time. Why would he? You were never even together. Your ears rang with the remnants of sound, yet you watched your party— the greek bar-crawlers, get ready to head to the next location down the block. You couldn’t even remember what bar it was. 

The girl next to you– fuck— you couldn’t remember her name either, was leveling with your tipsiness. Maybe she hadn’t teetered over the edge of drunk like you had. You let her take your hand anyways, pushing through the double doors in your party of eight. 

The familiarity of the van backed in front of the entrance haunted you, like it had brought a ghost back with it from the cemetery. Maybe Eddie was the ghost. Maybe he was haunting you. Maybe you were haunting yourself. 

The party discussed some form of game plan. You thought it was stupid, hockey practice was over. Yet they were drunk, and they were rowdy, and they were a spectacle. Suddenly and all at once, unfamiliar lips were on yours, violent and sloppy. You tasted cherry, sticky against your own peppermint chapstick. Soft feminine hands gripped your jaw, pretty tuberose and jasmine on the girl from earlier filled your nostrils in a way that was not quite suffocating, but all encapsulating. It was an Estee Lauder Eau de Parfum. You recognized it from the yellow bottle you had gotten for your fifteenth birthday. 

Kissing a woman was a different ballpark, kissing a woman drunk was an entirely different sport. She was softer, less volatile. She had a languid softness to her waist where men were typically more solid. Her hands were more graceful. You relinquished it, both in the spectacle of the others in the group and the fact that she was what Eddie wasn’t.

From behind the van, Eddie watched you. The floral passion in which you sloppily tangled your manicured hand into the blonde mass of the girl in front of you. Isn’t it unfair? He desperately wished it was him. Wanted to be the reason for the surrounding wolf calls. Eddie wasn’t particularly introspective, but he was dying to be her. A notch in your bedpost, a one night stand, a lover. 

Eddie wanted to be her. 

+

Eddie isn’t in college, and it's mostly because he’s stupid. 

Robin let him know it, too. 

There is an afterparty, or, at least, the loose adjacent to one. The band, some friends of the band, and communal alcohol strung loosely across the island at Gareth and Jeff’s condo. Donated pot courtesy of a combined effort of Rick and Eddie. He didn’t feel like partying, but he did feel like getting really, really drunk. Lecture be damned. 

MD 20/20 Red Grape Fortified Wine tasted a little like alcohol and a lot like feeling sorry for himself. 

The grave was already dug, all he had to do was sit in it and wait for someone to backfill. 

Robin stood, arms braced against the island across from Eddie. The fluorescents in Gareth’s unrenovated kitchen burned his eyes, “I can’t help you if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t want it,” He specified, pulling a long drink from the glass bottle, “ –but I have a feeling I’m gonna get it anyways.” 

“I thought you wanted her back, dude.” The fluorescent lights casted a downwards glow across her forehead. Eddie thought it gave her a Kubrick stare. 

“I don’t know what I want, I thought I did but then I got up there and I sang about her and she didn’t even care.”

In one swift motion, she hopped onto the counter, crossing her legs beneath her, “Well, obviously you care.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“If you don’t care about her then why do you lose your shit every time you see her?”

“Because, Robin, who the fuck else is gonna love me after all of the shit we’ve been though?” He slammed the bottle down on the table. It was enough to rattle the cabinets beneath it, “She was the one good thing that’s happened to me in a long fucking time and I couldn’t even let myself be just content with that.” 

He’s angry, suddenly. With himself, with the universe. The alcohol didn’t help. The feigning headache was more annoying than it was painful. Robin wanted to roll her eyes, to call him stupid and dramatic– but she figured he knew it already. It’s not like he wasn’t warranted in his anger, he was, but she wondered why he had been so pent-up lately. Maybe it’s because there was no Eddie way for Eddie to deal with this. After a bleating silence, she spoke:

“Have you even talked to her yet?” She asked.

“No, and I’m not planning on it.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, dude,” Eddie played himself out across the tile island, trying to ignore the way his t-shirt just mopped up the sticky sweet liquid on the counter, “ – you know why.”

Robin did know why. 

“And?” She asked. 

“They were all over each other, like, like…” He was getting frustrated now, unable to string words together in a cohesive sentence. 

Robin finished for him, “Like you were?”

“Yeah. Like she didn’t even care.” He leaned his head down on his folded arms, 

“Maybe she wanted you to think that.” Robin asked him. She thought she sounded more like his mother than a lesbian wingman. This is what he needed. “Maybe she wanted you to chase her.”

“I don’t understand why.” He groaned, “She’s unpredictable. And pretty. And smart. And fun. And everyone likes her. Do you know how many friends she has? How many people like her?”

“Because maybe you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

And he isn’t. Eddie isn’t inherently bad– albeit a little bit dumb. Maybe that just came with age, or the nature of him. Actually, behind the external composite disposition and his defensive nature, Eddie was the opposite of bad.

That first ‘surprise me’ reverberated in his mind like a crescendo. He was feeling brave that night. It was all ego, and most likely a touch of golden whiskey courage. He could still taste it on the back of his tongue when his mouth met yours in a clumsy, quick, spur-of-the-moment kiss. He didn’t have time to be insecure about it, the afterthoughts of gum or mints being pulled from his mind by your fingers as they combed through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. As he moved down to press pillowy-soft kisses in the soft of your throat, he took in your scent– like the citrus groves just outside of town in the spring, when the little white flowers covered the expanse of the rich green rows. 

It was fast and sweet, his hands pushing your summer cotton t-shirt up your waist with warm, rough hands– encasing the ribs where they curl to meet with your spine in a vice. You were eager, not that you were easy– you almost didn’t care if he thought of you that way– in the way you slid his vest off of him. He threw his arms back quickly, shaking it loose from his wrists as he came back up to meet you. The chain of his bracelet was cold against the plush of your stomach as he dragged it down towards the button of your denim shorts. 

“We don’t have to do this now,” He separated from you in hesitation, “I can take us back to my place, use my be—”

“No, ‘need you now.” You insisted, your kiss more pressing than before. You clung to him fervently. 

You aren’t confined to your softness. You are vocal, grip on his shoulders and his heart like a vice. You were soft in the right places though, in your waist and beneath his hands coming undone, soft in the way you spoke to him behind closed van doors. Pillows over sharp corners, a guard to balance your too-loud laugh or the frequency in which you found yourself too drunk. 

You were stone-cold sober that night, and he thanked whoever was up there looking out for him that you were. You wouldn’t have been here, otherwise. 

You were a painting, and not one of those stupid ones that he had to talk about in history class. Like a real, in-your-face, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. Not quite like a centerfold, better than anything he’d counted pennies for at the drugstore, ethereal beyond words. Soft for him and only him, bumps and curves and dips and folds in places you didn’t see in those. Real, right in front of him. His for the taking. 

The night had turned already to that imperceptible pivot where midnight turned to early morning hours. This moment has come and gone, yet you are not yet willing to concede that you have crossed the line beyond which is all gratuitous damage and the play of unraveled nerve endings. 

He plunged his middle and marriage fingers within you with a vapid expanse for pleasure, reaching in deep and curling upwards, gathering slick between fingers and back out again. You could feel every ridge within yourself, your softness pulling him back in once he had pulled out again. 

You allow him, no, encourage him to line himself up within you, and you are warm. Warmer than anything he has ever felt in his life. Tight like a hug. The flavor is vaguely tribal– pendulous guitar-pick necklaces and ritualistic moans of endearance. A gathering drum of heartbeats and a bonfire lit within your core. 

His chest is hard above you, expanding with deep breath and soft cries– the softest cries you had ever heard from a man in your existence. There is a small patch of hair in the center, that follows down his navel in a thin line. You tried to hold it together, but you loved it so much. You could love him, not like the novelty it was right now. Like, really love him. 

If he could tell you he loved you without scaring you away, he would have. Now, he wished he just did. 

Clumsily, almost enough for you to tell he was still new to this, whether the van or women in general, he thrust into you, chasing his own rhythm while still finding your own high. His wrists radiate heat where they brace him on either side of your head, caging you between them. 

“Fuck– I– I,” he begins, looking for his thoughts.

You look up at him through low, sultry eyes. Your own release nearing in moments. “Together.” was what you could manage. 

He cringed looking back, he probably looked like such a virgin. He had been so previously wound with the Pam Anderson wanna-be and the post-show adrenaline that his release was feigning. He took comfort in knowing that you would later find out that he is not that inexperienced. 

It was the after that he remembered. How your little manicured finger traced over the raised ink of the tattoo, now disfigured by the purple fibers of scarring. 

“They’re from the accident.” He explained to you, knowing you were wondering. Everyone wondered. You had been too afraid to ask. 

“The earthquake?” You specified, looking up at him. 

You watched the way his stomach flexed as he pushed himself up, taking your body with him, “Yeah, sorry they’re not pretty.” He sighed, holding out his arms to look at the ones there. 

“You are pretty.” You reiterated, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re prettier.” 

“You wanna see mine?” 

“Your what?”

“Scars.” 

You were going to show him anyway. 

That patch where the hair grew wonky across your eyebrow from where you had fallen as a child. You cracked your eye socket and they had to reconstruct the tendons in your eyelid. 27 stitches including the internal ones. He laughed at how you claimed it like a trophy. 

The small white line on the side of your knee you got trying to pet a feral cat. You wanted to be it’s friend so bad and it didn’t return the sentiment. 

The blown out tattoo on your ankle, done by your friend who worked at the cafe with you. It was the second one she had ever done on another living person. Your mom had flipped when you came home from college that first weekend with it. If you weren’t too old to ground, she would have done it. 

Your stretch marks, in which you didn’t dwell too much on. They started happening the summer you turned thirteen and you remembered the palsy of lotions and topical ointments your mom made you smear over the expanse of your body in order to reverse them when you we’re too young to recognize that there were nothing wrong with them. The scars they left on your psyche. 

The ones on your hands and knuckles, burns from your barista days. He remembered your giggle as he pressed soft kisses to every burn scar. 

Eddie was not bad. 

+

Eddie isn’t in college, but, for you, he’d at least brave the college housing. 

This was also not Robin’s plan, instead devised by Steve while he was crossed— and at his most authentic self. Despite her best efforts, they persisted. You roomed in a smaller house with several other girls in Indianapolis— a three hour drive as the crow flies. All in their girlish forms, all soft skin and little shorts and effortless beauty. Sometimes you wondered if you looked the same way- or if they even knew what they looked like. 

All of whom were gathered out the window, ogling at a relic unknown to you. 

A familiar face, the hometown heartbreaker, Steve Harrington himself stood in your freshly mowed grass, boombox held over his head like an idiot. Slovenly waving at the girls through the window. You sighed, palming your face tiredly. You knew who he would have in tow. He is a shadow of either Eddie’s best self of his worst self, you couldn’t tell which quite yet. You are awed by his strict refusal to acknowledge any goal higher than the pursuit of his own pleasure, haphazardly balancing the expensive boombox blasting Head Over Heels on a loud, obnoxious loop. You wouldn’t have been more annoyed if Roland Orzabal was here playing the song himself. Robin stood at the entrance of the small white picket fence, face in hands. 

When you meet with the man that has not quite et. cetere’d you, you are slumming the door open, visiting your own 7:00 A.M Lower East Side with your soul on a lark. He is stepping nimbly around gardenia pots and little happy concrete garden gnomes as if they will bite his ankles if he gets too close– if only you’d trained them sooner. More un-nimbly, he trips up the stairs, and you’ve caught him red handed. He stands there wide-eyed and apologetic, a dog kicked. You lean against the frame, nonchalant, unimpressed, arms crossed. 

“Ew. You like Tears for Fears?” You speak before he can. He seems taken aback. 

“I should have played The Cure.” He speaks truthfully, rubbing the skin on the back of his neck where an itch did not occur. 

“That was my second choice!” Steve called from the one-man show happening on your lawn. You feared if it went on for longer, it would turn to a strip-club.

“Shut up, Steve.” Eddie barked towards him. 

The tension feels like being at the bottom of a swimming pool. Eddie’s drowning in the deep end but the bowl’s empty. He drained it himself. He doesn’t know quite what to say to you. He didn’t think it would get this far. 

“Come on, please just hear me out–” He starts, yet it’s overused. You decided then to drown him in the pool yourself. The door closes in his face. 

Almost immediately, the knocking persists. Your roommates watch from beside the door, half still fixated on Steve, the others watching you ascend the stairs towards your bedroom. You choked down your embarrassment, suffocated in it. You needed to be alone. 

“Ladies.” Steve nods from the front lawn, watching his friend scale the old lattice attached to the stucco on the front of your house. 

“Ladies.” Robin parrots, coming to watch with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. 

There is a commotion down the stairs, a door opening and footsteps quick. You don’t get the chance to look because there is a body, an apparition of scarecrow limbs and embarrassment parallel with your second-story window. You might be mad, but you definitely aren’t heartless. 

This isn’t what he expected your room to look like. In his wet dreams, he pictured more pink. More coquette lace abundance and stuffed animals. Save for the raggedy menstrual bean-bag bear, it’s relatively neutral. In hindsight, every girl’s room is pink coquette in a wet dream. This felt more like you, the twinkle lights, stacks of old books holding plants, moroccan-patterned pillows lining the daybed. Plush, white bedding. It’s natural, like you. 

Your glare is like a mother’s reproach. He doesn’t know how to react. He didn’t have a mother. Only Wayne and only teachers, the latter of which he had a certain amount of push before they let him do whatever he wanted. You, he could not push further. 

“Please don’t kick me out,” He begs, hands together like a prayer. It’s cheesy, you avoid laughing. 

“I’m waiting.” You say. It’s rude. You sound like a bitch. He thinks you’re warranted. You try not to think of the ears against your bedroom door. 

“I love you.” He said it like a plea instead of a declaration. It was the first and only thing that came to his mind. 

Of course he did.

You rolled your eyes at him, folding your arms and jutting your hip, “You don’t love me.” You corrected, “You just think you do now that you’re lonely.” 

He takes a few more pacing steps towards you, frantic and panicking “Jesus Christ– Yes, I do. I could’ve slipped and broke my neck trying to climb up here for you.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you to climb up here,” You placed your hand over your chest, then turned your finger towards him, “You don’t love me, you love this version of me that thought Tears for Fears would work.”

He stared at you with wide eyes, pleading and sad. 

“ —For once in your life think, idiot. What song would I have really liked?” 

“I– I don’t know.” He said. It came out like a whimper. He was more broken now, softer, yet still desperate. 

“Exactly. You don’t love me.”

“You know what? You’re right.” He stood, closing the gap between your bodies in a few strides. He wanted to touch you, but was too afraid to ask, “I don’t love you.“ 

“I hate all of your stupid questions.” He started, and you didn’t speak, “I hate how all of my clientele comes from you now. I hate that I only get you when you’re home for the weekend. I hate that stupid little scar on your eyebrow. I hate the way your hair gets in your mouth when you laugh. I hate that dumb little scar on your forehead. I hate that you’re so goddamn perfect for me and I hate myself for letting you walk away like that.” He finished, breath heaving. 

You felt the tears pull at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t warrant them to spill. 

“I hate that you’re a grown man with fucking bangs.” You said, unable to finish. You felt stupid, two stupid little tears slipping from your eyes and streaking down your face.

He opened his arms to you, prompting, and you took it. Part of it so he couldn’t see you crying, the second part of you desperately needing to feel him. 

“I’m so mean.” You wailed into his chest. You felt the rumble of the laugh he couldn’t suppress. 

“I know, so mean.” He said, not as an insult or an agreement, but in endearment. He pressed a sympathy kiss to your crown. His hand was warm as it pulled up the expanse of your back. 

“I’m sorry.” You pulled away, wiping your face furiously with the heels of your palms. 

“No- no. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in my hot and cold like that.”

Your feverance prevails, “I should have asked what happened.”

“I should have asked you out.” He counteracts, pulling back to smooth down the wiry hairs at your crown, his hand heavy against your skull. 

“Can you do it now?” You plead, and he laughs. 

“Will you stop crying?”

“Yeah.” 

He pulls away from you for a second, you want to whine at the loss of contact. He crouches down on one knee, keeping your hands squeezed tightly in his calloused palms. 

“Then will you do me the tremendous honor of being my girl?” He runs his hand up the back of yours, trying to feel for an electric pulse of an answer. The seconds that you take nearly kill him. 

You stare down at him, eyes still red and puffy, but wide, “And not just like at parties?” 

“No, like the full weekday thing.” His smile is warm. You take great comfort in it. 

“Yeah.”

You think you look stupid, crying in your bedroom while he holds you like this. But he burns this memory in his mind. Even when you’re crying, you’re still the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

[gemma3536784]

Vegan

A Vegan is a person who does not eat or use animal products, such as meat, fish, eggs, cheese, milk or leather.

Even though vegans are generally healthier people it also also possible for vegans to be overweight.

Vegan Beliefs

Preventing the exploitation and cruelty to animals.

Going vegan is a great opportunity to learn more about nutrition and cooking, and improve your diet.

Getting your nutrients from plant foods.

Lower their carbon footprint

A plant-based diet requires only one third of the land needed to support their diet than what is required for a meat and dairy diet.

Vegan Population

Around 1% of the worlds population are Vegan.

Around 79 million people are Vegan World Wide.

India has the most Vegans at 9%.

Slovenia has the lest amount of Vegan at 0.5%.

America (USA) has only 3% of their population are Vegan.

Oldest Lived Vegans

Loreen Dinwiddle - 109 years old

Ellsworth Wareham - 104 years old (American Surgeon)

Mable Cluer - 103 years old (Founding Member of the Vegan Society)

Catherine Nimmo - 97 years old (Co-Founded the U.S. Vegan Society.

Overweight Vegans

Lizzo - American Rapper and Singer.

Gillian Fisher - Arts, Culture and Lifestyle Writer.

Famous Vegan Deaths

Zhanna Samsonova - Russian social media influencer on Instagram dies aged 39 years old from starvation from being vegan.

Some Vegan Celebrities

Billie Eilish - American Singer and Song-Writer

Evanna Lynch - Irish Actress and Activist

Stevie Wonder - American Singer, Song-Writer, Musician and Record Producer

Lewis Hamilton - British Racing Driver

Ricky Gervais - English Comedian, Actor, Writer, Producer, Director and Musician

Pamela Anderson - Canadian-American Actress, Model and Media Personality

Fearne Cotton - English Broadcaster and Author

Leona Lewis - British Singer, Song-Writer, Actress and Model

Natalie Portman - Israeli-born American Actress

Romesh Ranganathan - British Comedian, Presenter and Actor

Will.i.am - American Rapper, Singer, Sing-Writer, Record Producer, Entrepreneur and Actor

Bella Ramsey - English Actress

Sam Ryder - British Singer, Song-Writer, Producer, Composer and Social Media Personality

Lee Mack - English Comedian, Actor, Podcaster and Presenter

Ariana Grande - American Singer, Song-Writer and Actress.

Miley Cyrus - American Singer, Song-Writer and Actress.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

A Reference to Megan in the book: Married. With Children vs. the World: The Inside Story of the Shock-Com that Launched FOX and Changed TV Comedy Forever by u/gwhh

A Reference to Megan in the book: Married. With Children vs. the World: The Inside Story of the Shock-Com that Launched FOX and Changed TV Comedy Forever Season 9 would also be the takeoff point for another unknown actresswho, at age fifteen, appeared as a non-speaking extra in a scene withChristina and David in the episode “The Undergraduate.” Onscreen for just a fleeting moment, you’d have to freeze-frame the tape to recognize her, butthis budding artist went on to a career and life filled with such fame and notoriety it would surpass Pamela Anderson, Matt LeBlanc and KeriRussell, appearing in Beverly Hills, 90210, Suits and, most recently, as asubject of the blockbuster Netflix docuseries Meghan and Harry—yes, Meghan Markle. post link: https://ift.tt/aOXE3RY author: gwhh submitted: May 03, 2024 at 12:20AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[comicsart3]

Barb Wire, otherwise known as Barbara Kopetski, is a skilled bounty hunter working in an alternate or future reality, depending which canon you follow. She operates in the American city of Steel Harbor, which has been overrun by outlandish criminal gangs and makes her living taking down the most outrageous offenders on behalf of the beleaguered city authorities. As the USA collapses into civil war, Barb begins works closely with a more ethical criminal group called the Wolf Gang, administering her own rough justice, more as a semi-criminal vigilante than a legitimate bounty hunter and often finds herself on the wrong side of the corrupt police. She is also aided by an ethereal female entity known as The Ghost, who will often pull Barb’s fat from the fire and help her track down her quarries, although her motivations are not always clear. Barb Wire is a genuinely interesting character, being an intriguing mix of Huntress, Batgirl and Catwoman along with any number of hard female characters from the 2000 AD franchise. It is a shame she has, to date, not continued in print, but she perhaps she is considered too overtly sexualised or even fetishistic for these judgemental times. In the panel above, Barb, having made a capture, is in a typically unsatisfactory conversation with Ghost, characteristic of their ambiguous relationship.

Barb first appeared in Comics’ Greatest World: Steel Harbor in 1993, published by Dark Horse Comics and was the creation of Chris Warner. She graduated to her own title in 1994 which ran for nine issues, followed by a mini series in 1996. That was the year that the Barb Wire movie came out, starring Pamela Anderson. Although the film captures the feel of the disintegrating world that is Steel Harbor and Anderson absolutely looks the part, it does not reflect the depth or subtle politics of the comic, majoring instead in the character’s “kick ass” qualities rather than exploring the personality of Barb herself. There was also a 2015 comics reboot which sadly only lasted eight issues.

With thanks to Mats Karlsson for the panel and to Wikipedia for some of the factual detail.

[baronessblixen]

I mean….Gillian had so much more vulnerability and complexity in her performance than Pays, I think. Maybe even because she was so young. Thank god there were writers who got her and the situation. I think (of course this is all speculation) Mulder paired with Pays would've been so much more "by the book" in terms of "two opposites", even though it was a twist on the gender clichée. "The emotional dude and the cold blooded scientist". Maybe CC thought that Pays had more of a natural authoritative charisma. But that's exactly what I feel would be "by the book"-thinking. Because Gillian brought so much more to the role. A depth and a mystery and possibilities in terms of what you could do with Scully. And most importantly probably a sense of "curiosity" not "dominance". I mean...I'm randomly mixing the character and aspects of her performance now...but: I think that curiosity is something that sets the Scully/Mulder relationship apart from the usual bickering "opposites attract" couple-constellation. Maybe life and humans aren't "by the book" ... ;-)

She did. It would have been a completely different show. I know Fox was aiming for that "Pamela Anderson type" but Amanda Pays wasn't even that? So what was the thought process there?

I agree with you on Gillian and that complexity in her acting. That's probably what CC saw, too, and why he fought for her. They probably didn't think so at the beginning but casting someone was green as Gillian was brilliant. She started out just as Scully did in her new job. You can see them grow (up) so much over the years.

Amanda Pays did have that more authorative charisma and with her, it probably would have been that typical cop show. X-Files had so much more depth and nuance. In part because of Gillian and David.

Life and humans definitely aren't by the book 😁 I stand by my opinion that the show wouldn't have been as successful had it not been for that casting. One different actor - or two - and it would have been a different show.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Alrighty, this week I’ve decided to load the poll with less obvious and more obscure picks so that I get to watch something new for a change! As a trade off, the next IIRTB will be picked from some more obvious and popular choices.

Since these movies are less well known than your Emoji Movies or Battlefield Earths, I will give you all brief summaries!

1. One of the biggest animated bombs ever made; they tried to sue Cameron’s Avatar for ripping them off, so you can assume the plot probably has mild similarities.

2. Rom-com buddy cop movie set at an S&M resort. Rosie O’Donnell and Dan Aykroyd are there. Delicious.

3. An incoherent, psychedelic trip of a film that is absolutely despised by literally everyone who made it. Sure to be a good time!

4. A sex comedy film about ugly British potato delivery men trying to get pussy.

5. Adam Sandler’s first ever movie role, and one he refuses to list as part of his filmography. Think about that for a second.

6. Based on the gross out collectible cards, no less an authority than Doug Walker has declared it to be indefensibly awful.

7. I don’t know how to sum this one up. Its an insane foreign vanity project by the looks of it.

8. Ever wanted to see Casablanca except starring Pamela Anderson and based on a comic book? No? That’s because you’re a normal person.

9. It’s A Hard Day’s Night, but with the Spice Girls!

10. Charlize Theron stars in a an adaptation of a hard to adapt MTV animated series. What could possibly go wrong?

[maxdibert]

Hi! I know this isn't a question about any fandom, and I would understand if you didn't want to answer it, but I’ve been studying spanish for a year now, and my teacher is from Málaga, so we study european spanish. Could you recommend any spanish music groups? It would really help me improve my listening and also for translating the lyrics. I'm not sure if you respond to these kinds of requests, so it’s fine if you don’t want to. I love your blog, by the way. I've been following you for a couple of weeks, and I really enjoy your character analyses <3

Hiiiii! Of course! No problem, I mean, it’s fine if I get questions that aren’t about fandoms, I’ve answered some random things before, so no worries at all. Instead of groups, I’ll give you some songs. Keep in mind that Spanish music has a lot of slang, set phrases, and typical filler words from here. There are also different accents. I guess it will be helpful for improving your Spanish, but I mention it so you know it’s not academic Spanish at all. I’ll leave you some songs I really like, some older ones and some more modern. Sorry for the delay in replying, but I haven’t had time to sit down and look them up recently. I hope this helps, and if you want any recommendations for series or films, feel free to ask as well! This is the last song from Rigoberta Bandini, she's awesome, all her lyrics had a very feminist background. You can check all her music because is pretty good. I like her a lot, btw this is her latest single is about empowering Pamela Anderson's figure and against the slut-shaming she suffered in the past. And it's a total boop!

Entre poetas y presos by La Raíz, an alternative rock band i used to listen a lot during my university years. They were very political and this song is a critic from the right wing people and talks about some spanish political issues. By the way all their songs are about political and social issues so if you want to research more i think it's a good way to understand the culture too

Joaquín Sabina is a classic, one of the most relevant authors of the last century. His lyrics are literally poetry. One of my oldies faves, all his songs are beautiful written and a piece of arte but i always choose this one because reminds me my chilhood and because is astonishing to be honest.

Spain is a place full of street parties and a street party isn't a proper street party without the legendary group Extremoduro. If you come here and attend a street party, knowing this song is a must:

Another classic. This song is amazing. Lucha de gigantes by the master Antonio Vega

This is from "El ultimo vecino" kinda indie spanish pop. I like him pretty much.

Another indie singer, "La bien querida" i'm very into indie music so... hahahah The song is beautiful btw

Amaia is a well knon pop singer who went to Eurovision but in the late years she opted for indie instead pop and we love her for that. This song is basically me in many ways

And for the last one but not the less important... El Pucho, El Madrileño, the one and only CTangana aka Rosalia's ex boyfriend aka one of the best producers nowadays. He mixed modern rythm with classical flamenco and old spanish sounds. He uses a LOT of slang in his songs but well i can't no put him here

And well that's all for the start i guess. I hope it helps you!

[alexan-fr]

rating 10 books i've read with a yes or no (part 1)

Love, Pamela by Pamela Anderson - YES (feeling ko parang naging bff ko si pamela)

Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid - YES (my love for camila is eternal)

Drive by Kate Stewart - NO (mehh slow paced, medyo boring)

Twisted Games by Ana Huang - NO (spicy scenes are like a teenage boy who's never been intimate and babad na babad sa degrading p0rnography that makes him a bit stupid)

Twisted Love by Ana Huang - NO (same as twisted games)

It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover - NO (i don't understand the hype of this book, it's awful)

It Starts With Us by Colleen Hoover - NO (it felt like people really liked 'it ends with us' and the author just wants to throw something together to make the people happy)

The Serpent and the Wings of Night by Carissa Broadbent - YES (but i wish there was more spice)

Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton - YES (i don't know what this says about me but it's a big yes)

Hunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton - YES (darker than the first book but still a yes)

[descubredonostia]

Stars at the 2024 San Sebastián Film Festival: All Celebrities Confirmed

The San Sebastian Film Festival 2024 will bring together some of the greatest stars at the film festival from all over the world. This prestigious event, held annually in the Spanish city, stands out for attracting both filmmakers and internationally renowned actors. In the 72nd edition, the festival will feature the participation of multiple stars at the film festival, who will present their latest films, participate in tributes and get closer to the public in a week full of cinema and glamour.

Donostia Awards 2024: The Big Stars at the Film Festival

The Donostia Awards are one of the most anticipated moments of each edition of the San Sebastián Festival. This year, three world-renowned figures will receive this prestigious award, consolidating themselves as the main stars at the film festival. - Pedro Almodovar: The acclaimed Spanish filmmaker, author of films such as All about my mother and Return, will be honored at the festival for his vast and successful film career. Almodóvar is one of the stars at the film festival most influential in the industry, and their presence will add a special touch to the event. - Javier Bardem: The Spanish actor, winner of an Oscar award for It's not a country for old people, will finally be able to collect the Donostia Award that was awarded to him last year. Bardem is one of the greats stars at the film festival of this edition, with a career that has transcended borders and has made him one of the most respected actors in the world. - Cate Blanchett: Australian actress, known for her role in Blue Jasmine and Carol, will receive this year the Donostia Award, being one of the main stars at the film festival. Her career, full of iconic roles, has established her as one of the most important figures in contemporary cinema. These three giants of international cinema are some of the most anticipated figures of the event, and their appearances in San Sebastián will, without a doubt, be one of the highlights of the festival.

International Actors Who Will Visit Us: More Stars at the Film Festival

The San Sebastián Film Festival will not only award filmmakers and actors with the Donostia, but will also welcome many others stars at the film festival who will present their new films. Among the most notable names are: - Pamela Anderson: The iconic actress of Baywatch will be one of the great stars at the film festival when presenting your film The Last Showgirl. Anderson has been a prominent figure in popular culture, and his participation will generate great excitement among the media and the public. - Monica Bellucci: The renowned Italian actress will be one of the stars at the film festival when presenting Maria Callas: Letters and Memoirs, a documentary about the legendary opera singer. Bellucci, with a career that spans both European cinema and Hollywood, is one of the most anticipated actresses in this edition of the festival. - Johnny Depp: American actor, known for his work in Pirates of the Caribbean and Edward Scissorhands, will present his second film as a director, Modi. Depp, one of the stars at the film festival most anticipated, is famous for his versatility and his ability to embody unique characters. - Andrew Garfield: Oscar nominated for Tick, Tick... Boom!, the British-American actor will be one of the stars at the film festival responsible for closing the event with the projection of We Live in Time. Garfield has captivated international audiences with his charisma and talent. - Lupita Nyong'o: Winner of an Oscar for 12 Years a Slave, the Kenyan-Mexican actress will present the film The Wild Robot. Nyong'o will be another of the stars at the film festival that will attract all eyes. - Isabelle Huppert: The famous French actress, known for her work in films such as She and The pianist, will also be present at the festival, consolidating itself as one of the stars at the film festival most important. With a lineup of actors of this caliber, the San Sebastián Festival will become a meeting point for stars at the film festival most recognized on the international scene.

Directors and Filmmakers Present: The Stars at the Film Festival Who Will Present Their Films

In addition to the actors, many internationally renowned filmmakers will be present at the San Sebastián Festival to present their latest works. These directors are authentic stars at the film festival and they stand out for their innovative cinematographic proposals. - Jacques Audiard: The French director, winner of the Palme d'Or for Deepan, will be present to present his new film. Audiard is one of the stars at the film festival who has marked a generation of filmmakers with his unique visual style and his ability to tell complex stories. - Leos Carax: The French cult director will be another of the stars at the film festival, with a cinematic approach that has captured the attention of critics and film buffs alike. Your movie Annette was acclaimed in Cannes, and its presence in San Sebastián will be one of the most anticipated moments. - Paolo Sorrentino: The Italian director, known for his Oscar-winning film The great beauty, will present his latest work, Parthenope. Sorrentino is another of the stars at the film festival whose aesthetic and narrative vision have established him as one of the great filmmakers of our time. - Audrey Diwan: The French filmmaker, winner of the Golden Lion in Venice for The event, will be in charge of opening the festival with her new film Emmanuelle. Diwan is one of the stars at the film festival that is giving the most people to talk about in the industry. These directors will bring their artistic vision to San Sebastián, and their presence will raise the level of the festival, making them authentic stars at the film festival.

Featured Films and the Film Festival Stars That Accompany Them

The San Sebastián Film Festival not only attracts big names, but also films that are highly anticipated. These productions will be accompanied by important stars at the film festival, who will attend screenings and events related to their films. - "Emmanuelle": The opening film of the festival, directed by Audrey Diwan, will have the presence of Noémie Merlant, who has earned the respect of the public and critics for his work in Portrait of a woman on fire. Will Sharpe and Jamie Campbell Bower They will also be present, being great stars at the film festival. - "We Live in Time": This drama, starring Andrew Garfield, will be one of the most important films of the festival. Garfield will be one of the greats stars at the film festival in charge of closing the event. - "The Last Showgirl": Pamela Anderson will present this film with the director Gia Coppola, both key figures in the event. Anderson and Coppola are two stars at the film festival that will provide glamor and style. - "The Last Breath": The director's film Costa-Gavras will feature the participation of Charlotte Rampling and Angela Molina, two iconic actresses who will be some of the stars at the film festival most acclaimed of this edition. - "Hard Truths": Directed by Mike Leigh, this film will also appeal to stars at the film festival, highlighting the presence of Marianne Jean-Baptiste, known for her role in Secrets & Lies. -

Ticket Sales Information

Tickets for the 2024 San Sebastián Film Festival will be available on different dates depending on the programming. Pre-sale will begin on August 20, with special sessions such as those at the Antonio Elorza Velodrome and the Culinary Zinema themed dinners. Tickets for the opening and closing galas and the Donostia Awards will go on sale on September 3. From the September 15, staggered sales will be opened for the different days of the festival. As for prices, tickets for the opening and closing galas have a cost that varies between 80 and 95 euros, while the afternoon and evening sessions range from 8.75 and 10.50 euros. In addition, discounts apply 25% if you buy 10 or more tickets in a single purchase, and there are additional benefits for those who have the GAZTETXARTELA card or the Donostia Kultura card. To secure your ticket and check all the details about the sale, visit the festival's official website: San Sebastián Festival Ticket Sale.

Conclusion

The 2024 San Sebastián Film Festival will be one of the most memorable editions in recent years, thanks to the presence of the biggest stars at the film festival. With the attendance of figures such as Pedro Almodóvar, Johnny Depp, Cate Blanchett and Andrew Garfield, the event will become the center of attention of the global film industry. In addition to renowned actors and directors, the festival will offer a selection of films that will leave their mark, making this edition one of the most anticipated by film buffs and critics.

FAQs

- What is the Donostia Award and who will receive it this year? The Donostia Award is the highest recognition granted by the San Sebastián Festival. This year, it will be awarded to Pedro Almodóvar, Cate Blanchett and Javier Bardem. - Who will close the San Sebastián Festival 2024? the movie We Live in Time, starring Andrew Garfield, will be in charge of closing the festival. - What figures from Latin American cinema will attend the festival? Among the most prominent Latin figures are Maite Alberdi, Diego Lerman, Nahuel Pérez Biscayart and Úrsula Corberó. - What Spanish films will compete at the festival? Some of the most anticipated Spanish films are The sparkles by Pilar Palomero, The crying by Pedro Martín-Calero and I'm Nevenka by Iciar Bollaín. - How does Basque cinema stand out at the festival? Basque cinema has its own section, Zinemira, where films such as The Williams, starring footballers Iñaki and Nico Williams. Read the full article

[ulkaralakbarova]

Slacker duo Beavis and Butt-Head wake to discover their TV has been stolen. Their search for a new one takes them on a clueless adventure across America, during which they manage to accidentally become America’s most wanted. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Beavis / Butt-Head / Tom Anderson / Mr. Van Driessen / Principal McVicker (voice): Mike Judge Muddy Grimes (voice): Bruce Willis Dallas (voice): Demi Moore Old Woman On Plane And Bus (voice): Cloris Leachman Agent Flemming (voice): Robert Stack Agent Hurly (voice): Jacqueline Barba Flight Attendant / White House Tour Guide (voice): Pamela Blair Old Faithful Ranger / White House Press Secretary / Strategic Air Command Lieutenant (voice): Eric Bogosian Man on Plane / Man in Confession Booth / Old Guy / Jim (voice): Kristofor Brown Mötley Crüe Roadie #2 / Tourist Man (voice): Tony Darling Airplane Captain / White House Representative (voice): John Doman French Dignitary (voice): Francis Dumaurier Petrified Forest Recording (voice): Jim Flaherty TV Thief #2 / Concierge / Bellboy / Male TV Reporter (voice): Toby Huss Limo Driver / TV Thief / Man In Confession Booth / Forest Ranger: Sam Johnson Mötley Crüe Roadie (voice): David Letterman Tour Bus Driver (voice): Richard Linklater Flight Attendant #2 (voice): Rosemary McNamara Indian Dignitary (voice): Harsh Nayyar Announcer In Capital (voice): Karen Phillips President Clinton (voice): Dale Reeves Hoover Technician / General At Strategic Air Command (voice): Mike Ruschak Flight Attendant #3 / Female TV Reporter (voice): Gail Thomas ATF Agent Bork (voice): Greg Kinnear Additional Voices (voice): Tim Guinee Film Crew: Screenplay: Mike Judge Executive Producer: Van Toffler Author: Joe Stillman Animation Director: Yvette Kaplan Original Music Composer: John Frizzell Line Producer: Winnie Chaffee Executive Producer: David Gale Background Designer: Michael Rose Layout: Maurice Joyce Animation Manager: Mike Baez Art Department Manager: Bill Schwab Animation: Eun Sook Song Animation: Ilya Skorupsky Animation: Eugene Salandra Additional Writing: Brian Mulroney Layout: Dan Shefelman Visual Effects: Eric S. Calderon Art Department Manager: Brian Moyer Storyboard: John Rice Storyboard: Ray daSilva Animation: Yong Hwa Seo Background Designer: Edward Artinian Animation Director: Tony Kluck Layout: Meika Rouda Layout: Bill Moore Layout: Gloria De Ponte Animation Director: Chris Prynoski Art Department Manager: Jody Schaeffer Special Effects: Normand Rompré Layout: Siobhan Mullen Animation: Doug Crane Animation: Ben Price Editor: Dave Hughes Producer: Abby Terkuhle Producer: Michael Blakey Co-Producer: John Andrews 3D Supervisor: Claudia Katz 3D Animator: Scott Vanzo Sound: John Benson Sound Editor: John Bowen Supervising Sound Editor: Randle Akerson ADR Mixer: Bob Baron Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Anna Behlmer Sound Effects Editor: Ed Callahan Foley Editor: Linda Di Franco Foley Recordist: Neil Cedar ADR Editor: Joe Dorn Foley Artist: Ken Dufva Foley Artist: David Lee Fein Sound Recordist: Eric Friend Sound Editor: Scott G.G. Haller Sound: John Lunn Sound Effects Editor: Susan Kurtz Sound Effects Editor: Chuck Michael Sound Editor: Tony Pipitone Sound Recordist: Michael Ruschak Sound Recordist: Philip Rogers First Assistant Sound Editor: Paul O’Bryan Foley Artist: Sarah Monat Foley Artist: Robin Harlan Foley Recordist: David Jaunai Assistant Sound Editor: Dana LeBlanc Frankley Art Direction: Kye-Jeong Ahn Art Direction: Jeff Buckland Editor: Neil Lawrence Editor: Terry Kelley Editor: Gunter Glinka Director of Photography: David J. Miller Movie Reviews:

[wutbju]

Wait for it....

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” There is doubtless truth in the poet's assertion, but it is also true that many readers of good poetry and prose gain a great deal from hearing literary works read well. The gain is both aesthetic and intellectual as the listener appreciates more clearly the rhythm, tone, and emphasis of the work he is listening to as well as reading.

The belief that excellent literary recordings offer the student both aesthetic and intellectual stimulation has led to the establishment this year of a listening room for Bob Jones University literature students. Recorded works available include dramas, narrative and lyric poems, short stories, and selections from novels.

Authors represented in the present collection include such poets as Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, Dryden, Coleridge, Browning, Keats, and Wallace Stevens; playwrights like Euripides and Shakespeare; and prose writers Poe, Hawthorne, Crane, and Hemingway. The recording artists are among the best interpreters of the present age.

Michael Redgrave, John Gielgud, Anthony, Quayle, Basil Rathbone, Judith Anderson, Pamela Brown, Edith Evans, and many others.  The listening room is equipped with four large study tables, each of which has eight stations. At present there are two turn-tables; eventually two tape recorders will be added to the facilities, making it possible for four recordings to be playing at one time.

The room is intended primarily for students to use during their study time. It will, however, be available for teachers to use during class periods when they wish to lecture on works included in the record collection.

This was not-at-all used by the time the 80s rolled around. But this? ...

It is estimated that the male population on the BJU campus gets at least 25,000 haircuts a year in Greenville. At the rate of $1.75 per haircut, some $38, 750 will be spent at local barber shops by students this school year.

Like this?

[readitreviewit]

Get ready to dive into the world of Pamela Anderson like you've never seen before. In her latest book, "Love, Pamela," the former "Baywatch" star opens up about her life beyond the tabloids and takes control of her own narrative. But don't be fooled by its serious tone – this book is as fun and fierce as its author. If you grew up in the '90s, you are likely familiar with Pamela Anderson's iconic blonde hair, beach babe persona, and her numerous appearances on Playboy magazine covers. But "Love, Pamela" isn't just a retelling of her rise to fame. Anderson takes us back to her childhood, growing up on Vancouver Island as the daughter of young, unprepared parents. She shares stories of creating imaginary friends and finding solace in nature, which ultimately shaped her into the woman she is today. As she got older, Anderson's life took a drastic turn when she was discovered in the stands of a football game and immediately became famous. She was no longer in control of her own life, as the media portrayed her in ways that weren't true to who she really was. But after years of being in the spotlight, Anderson decided to take the reins and reclaim her life on her own terms. "Love, Pamela" is a combination of storytelling and poetry, making for a unique reading experience. Her writing style is raw, honest, and powerful. Anderson isn't afraid to speak her truth and address her mistakes, but she does so with grace and an underlying sense of humor. One of the standout features of the book is the accompanying PDF that comes with the audiobook. As you listen to Anderson narrate her own story, you can follow along with photos from her childhood, modeling photos, and even handwritten notes. It's a multimedia experience that adds even more depth to an already engaging book. Another aspect of "Love, Pamela" that readers will appreciate is Anderson's dedication to her children and the causes she cares about. She doesn't just talk about her love for them, but she also shares how she uses her platform for good. From environmental activism to animal rights, Anderson proves that she's more than just a pretty face. Overall, "Love, Pamela" is a must-read for anyone who wants to see Pamela Anderson in a new light. She's vulnerable yet strong, fun yet introspective, and most importantly, she's a survivor. Whether you're a fan or not, this book will leave you cheering for the woman who finally takes control of her own story. "Don't miss out on the opportunity to expand your mind and discover new perspectives. Buy our book now or get a 30-day free trial of Audible and experience the power of transformative storytelling today!" Price: [price_with_discount] (as of [price_update_date] - Details)

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Why arent the Harkles part of the LA expat community? by u/Lensgoggler

Why aren’t the Harkles part of the LA expat community? I watched Robbie Williams’ documentary and afterward a few interviews he has done over the years.In an interview 3 years ago he mentions during Xmas, his house is the haunt for British expats & friends, they have a big party, and how they pranked their American friends one year with a fake British Xmas tradition (Breaking The Bread). Anyhoo. That video was 3 years old. Robbie Williams lives in LA - where the Harkles constantly want to hang out. So, I wonder why the Harkles, especially H, haven’t been included in that expat community I wonder. I had no idea there even is such an expat community. But if they were, we would’ve heard. 😀 Robbie & wife attended Eugenie’s wedding, their daughter was a bridesmaid, there definitely are contact points. I have lived abroad and I think all kinds of expat communities are rather accepting - you will hang out with people you normally wouldn’t back home, unless you’re a prude or a total idiot. So, I have questions!On the other hand, Robbie Williams doesn’t seem to suffer fools gladly, and isn’t afraid to say what he thinks (which is why many think he’s a twat). He’s met many kinds of people along the way. He also deeply loves his home country. Elton John got him into rehab back in the day. I also think hos documentary along with Beckam & Pamela Anderson’s do a lot more to make press better than Harold with his stupid court cases & whingefest.So, any ideas why the Harkles aren’t included in that expat circle? post link: https://ift.tt/QZBoEXe author: Lensgoggler submitted: November 17, 2023 at 01:41PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[katareyoudrilling]

I DID IT!!!!

I finished Book Riot's 2023 Read Harder Challenge!

I've never done one of these before and I'm glad I did. It definitely pushed me to read some books and some formats I might not have otherwise. I will probably just pick a few categories to complete next year. Between the challenge and my two bookclubs, my own reading for pleasure took a bit of a hit.

I've listed the prompts and what I read below the cut if you're interested!

Feel free to ask or DM me if you want to know which of these I'd actually recommend (spoiler alert: it's not all of them lol)

Read a novel about a trans character written by a trans author.

"For the Love of April French" by Penny Aimes

Read one of your favorite author’s favorite books.

"We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves" by Karen Joy Fowler

Read a book about activism.

"How to Do Nothing" by Jenny Odell

Read a book that’s been challenged recently in your school district/library OR read one of the most-challenged/banned books of the year by a queer and/or BIPOC author.

"All Boys Aren't Blue" by George M Johnson

Read a completed webcomic.

"Check, Please!" by Ngozi Ukazu

Finish a book you’ve DNFed (did not finish).

"The Warmth of Other Suns" by Isabel Wilkerson

Listen to an audiobook performed by a person of color of a book written by an author of color.

"The Warmth of Other Suns" by Isabel Wilkerson

Read a graphic novel/comic/manga if you haven’t before; or read one that is a different genre than you normally read.

"Adulthood is a Myth" by Sarah Anderson

Read an independently published book by a BIPOC author.

"Heartbeat Braves" by Pamela Sanderson

Read a book you know nothing about based solely on the cover.

"Just As You Are" by Camille Kellogg

Read a cookbook cover to cover.

“Go-to Dinners” by Ina Garten

Read a nonfiction book about BIPOC and/or queer history.

"The Warmth of Other Suns" by Isabel Wilkerson

Read an author local to you.

"You Could Make This Place Beautiful" by Maggie Smith

Read a book with under 500 Goodreads ratings.

"Viviana Valentine Gets Her Man" by Emily Edwards

Read a historical fiction book set in an Eastern country.

"Celestial Bodies" by Johka Alharthi

Read a romance with bisexual representation.

"Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute" by Talia Hibbert

Read a YA book by an Indigenous author.

"Warrior Girl Unearthed" by Angeline Boulley

Read a comic or graphic novel that features disability representation.

"Invisible Differences" by Julie Dachez

Read a nonfiction book about intersectional feminism.

"This Will Be My Undoing" by Morgan Jenkins

Read a book of poetry by a BIPOC or queer author.

"Call Us What We Carry" by Amanda Gorman

Read a book of short stories.

"You Think It, I'll Say It" by Curtis Sittenfeld

Read any book from the Ignyte awards shortlist/longlist/winner list.

"Light From Uncommon Stars" by Ryka Aoki

Read a social horror, mystery, or thriller novel.

"Killers of a Certain Age" by Deanna Raybourn

Pick a challenge from any of the previous years’ challenges to repeat!

"Ship Wrecked" by Olivia Dade