#best sign company in Chicago

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How to shatter the class solidarity of the ruling class

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me WEDNESDAY (Apr 11) at UCLA, then Chicago (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Audre Lorde counsels us that "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House," while MLK said "the law cannot make a man love me, but it can restrain him from lynching me." Somewhere between replacing the system and using the system lies a pragmatic – if easily derailed – course.

Lorde is telling us that a rotten system can't be redeemed by using its own chosen reform mechanisms. King's telling us that unless we live, we can't fight – so anything within the system that makes it easier for your comrades to fight on can hasten the end of the system.

Take the problems of journalism. One old model of journalism funding involved wealthy newspaper families profiting handsomely by selling local appliance store owners the right to reach the townspeople who wanted to read sports-scores. These families expressed their patrician love of their town by peeling off some of those profits to pay reporters to sit through municipal council meetings or even travel overseas and get shot at.

In retrospect, this wasn't ever going to be a stable arrangement. It relied on both the inconstant generosity of newspaper barons and the absence of a superior way to show washing-machine ads to people who might want to buy washing machines. Neither of these were good long-term bets. Not only were newspaper barons easily distracted from their sense of patrician duty (especially when their own power was called into question), but there were lots of better ways to connect buyers and sellers lurking in potentia.

All of this was grossly exacerbated by tech monopolies. Tech barons aren't smarter or more evil than newspaper barons, but they have better tools, and so now they take 51 cents out of every ad dollar and 30 cents out of ever subscriber dollar and they refuse to deliver the news to users who explicitly requested it, unless the news company pays them a bribe to "boost" their posts:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The news is important, and people sign up to make, digest, and discuss the news for many non-economic reasons, which means that the news continues to struggle along, despite all the economic impediments and the vulture capitalists and tech monopolists who fight one another for which one will get to take the biggest bite out of the press. We've got outstanding nonprofit news outlets like Propublica, journalist-owned outlets like 404 Media, and crowdfunded reporters like Molly White (and winner-take-all outlets like the New York Times).

But as Hamilton Nolan points out, "that pot of money…is only large enough to produce a small fraction of the journalism that was being produced in past generations":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/what-will-replace-advertising-revenue

For Nolan, "public funding of journalism is the only way to fix this…If we accept that journalism is not just a business or a form of entertainment but a public good, then funding it with public money makes perfect sense":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/public-funding-of-journalism-is-the

Having grown up in Canada – under the CBC – and then lived for a quarter of my life in the UK – under the BBC – I am very enthusiastic about Nolan's solution. There are obvious problems with publicly funded journalism, like the politicization of news coverage:

https://www.theguardian.com/media/2023/jan/24/panel-approving-richard-sharp-as-bbc-chair-included-tory-party-donor

And the transformation of the funding into a cheap political football:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/poilievre-defund-cbc-change-law-1.6810434

But the worst version of those problems is still better than the best version of the private-equity-funded model of news production.

But Nolan notes the emergence of a new form of hedge fund news, one that is awfully promising, and also terribly fraught: Hunterbrook Media, an investigative news outlet owned by short-sellers who pay journalists to research and publish damning reports on companies they hold a short position on:

https://hntrbrk.com/

For those of you who are blissfully distant from the machinations of the financial markets, "short selling" is a wager that a company's stock price will go down. A gambler who takes a short position on a company's stock can make a lot of money if the company stumbles or fails altogether (but if the company does well, the short can suffer literally unlimited losses).

Shorts have historically paid analysts to dig into companies and uncover the sins hidden on their balance-sheets, but as Matt Levine points out, journalists work for a fraction of the price of analysts and are at least as good at uncovering dirt as MBAs are:

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2024-04-02/a-hedge-fund-that-s-also-a-newspaper

What's more, shorts who discover dirt on a company still need to convince journalists to publicize their findings and trigger the sell-off that makes their short position pay off. Shorts who own a muckraking journalistic operation can skip this step: they are the journalists.

There's a way in which this is sheer genius. Well-funded shorts who don't care about the news per se can still be motivated into funding freely available, high-quality investigative journalism about corporate malfeasance (notoriously, one of the least attractive forms of journalism for advertisers). They can pay journalists top dollar – even bid against each other for the most talented journalists – and supply them with all the tools they need to ply their trade. A short won't ever try the kind of bullshit the owners of Vice pulled, paying themselves millions while their journalists lose access to Lexisnexis or the PACER database:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck

The shorts whose journalists are best equipped stand to make the most money. What's not to like?

Well, the issue here is whether the ruling class's sense of solidarity is stronger than its greed. The wealthy have historically oscillated between real solidarity (think of the ultrawealthy lobbying to support bipartisan votes for tax cuts and bailouts) and "war of all against all" (as when wealthy colonizers dragged their countries into WWI after the supply of countries to steal ran out).

After all, the reason companies engage in the scams that shorts reveal is that they are profitable. "Behind every great fortune is a great crime," and that's just great. You don't win the game when you get into heaven, you win it when you get into the Forbes Rich List.

Take monopolies: investors like the upside of backing an upstart company that gobbles up some staid industry's margins – Amazon vs publishing, say, or Uber vs taxis. But while there's a lot of upside in that move, there's also a lot of risk: most companies that set out to "disrupt" an industry sink, taking their investors' capital down with them.

Contrast that with monopolies: backing a company that merges with its rivals and buys every small company that might someday grow large is a sure thing. Shriven of "wasteful competition," a company can lower quality, raise prices, capture its regulators, screw its workers and suppliers and laugh all the way to Davos. A big enough company can ignore the complaints of those workers, customers and regulators. They're not just too big to fail. They're not just too big to jail. They're too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Would-be monopolists are stuck in a high-stakes Prisoner's Dilemma. If they cooperate, they can screw over everyone else and get unimaginably rich. But if one party defects, they can raid the monopolist's margins, short its stock, and snitch to its regulators.

It's true that there's a clear incentive for hedge-fund managers to fund investigative journalism into other hedge-fund managers' portfolio companies. But it would be even more profitable for both of those hedgies to join forces and collude to screw the rest of us over. So long as they mistrust each other, we might see some benefit from that adversarial relationship. But the point of the 0.1% is that there aren't very many of them. The Aspen Institute can rent a hall that will hold an appreciable fraction of that crowd. They buy their private jets and bespoke suits and powdered rhino horn from the same exclusive sellers. Their kids go to the same elite schools. They know each other, and they have every opportunity to get drunk together at a charity ball or a society wedding and cook up a plan to join forces.

This is the problem at the core of "mechanism design" grounded in "rational self-interest." If you try to create a system where people do the right thing because they're selfish assholes, you normalize being a selfish asshole. Eventually, the selfish assholes form a cozy little League of Selfish Assholes and turn on the rest of us.

Appeals to morality don't work on unethical people, but appeals to immorality crowds out ethics. Take the ancient split between "free software" (software that is designed to maximize the freedom of the people who use it) and "open source software" (identical to free software, but promoted as a better way to make robust code through transparency and peer review).

Over the years, open source – an appeal to your own selfish need for better code – triumphed over free software, and its appeal to the ethics of a world of "software freedom." But it turns out that while the difference between "open" and "free" was once mere semantics, it's fully possible to decouple the two. Today, we have lots of "open source": you can see the code that Google, Microsoft, Apple and Facebook uses, and even contribute your labor to it for free. But you can't actually decide how the software you write works, because it all takes a loop through Google, Microsoft, Apple or Facebook's servers, and only those trillion-dollar tech monopolists have the software freedom to determine how those servers work:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/04/which-side-are-you-on/#tivoization-and-beyond

That's ruling class solidarity. The Big Tech firms have hidden a myriad of sins beneath their bafflegab and balance-sheets. These (as yet) undiscovered scams constitute a "bezzle," which JK Galbraith defined as "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it."

The purpose of Hunterbrook is to discover and destroy bezzles, hastening the moment of realization that the wealth we all feel in a world of seemingly orderly technology is really an illusion. Hunterbrook certainly has its pick of bezzles to choose from, because we are living in a Golden Age of the Bezzle.

Which is why I titled my new novel The Bezzle. It's a tale of high-tech finance scams, starring my two-fisted forensic accountant Marty Hench, and in this volume, Hench is called upon to unwind a predatory prison-tech scam that victimizes the most vulnerable people in America – our army of prisoners – and their families:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The scheme I fictionalize in The Bezzle is very real. Prison-tech monopolists like Securus and Viapath bribe prison officials to abolish calls, in-person visits, mail and parcels, then they supply prisoners with "free" tablets where they pay hugely inflated rates to receive mail, speak to their families, and access ebooks, distance education and other electronic media:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch

But a group of activists have cornered these high-tech predators, run them to ground and driven them to the brink of extinction, and they've done it using "the master's tools" – with appeals to regulators and the finance sector itself.

Writing for The Appeal, Dana Floberg and Morgan Duckett describe the campaign they waged with Worth Rises to bankrupt the prison-tech sector:

https://theappeal.org/securus-bankruptcy-prison-telecom-industry/

Here's the headline figure: Securus is $1.8 billion in debt, and it has eight months to find a financier or it will go bust. What's more, all the creditors it might reasonably approach have rejected its overtures, and its bonds have been downrated to junk status. It's a dead duck.

Even better is how this happened. Securus's debt problems started with its acquisition, a leveraged buyout by Platinum Equity, who borrowed heavily against the firm and then looted it with bogus "management fees" that meant that the debt continued to grow, despite Securus's $700m in annual revenue from America's prisoners. Platinum was just the last in a long line of PE companies that loaded up Securus with debt and merged it with its competitors, who were also mortgaged to make profits for other private equity funds.

For years, Securus and Platinum were able to service their debt and roll it over when it came due. But after Worth Rises got NYC to pass a law making jail calls free, creditors started to back away from Securus. It's one thing for Securus to charge $18 for a local call from a prison when it's splitting the money with the city jail system. But when that $18 needs to be paid by the city, they're going to demand much lower prices. To make things worse for Securus, prison reformers got similar laws passed in San Francisco and in Connecticut.

Securus tried to outrun its problems by gobbling up one of its major rivals, Icsolutions, but Worth Rises and its coalition convinced regulators at the FCC to block the merger. Securus abandoned the deal:

https://worthrises.org/blogpost/securusmerger

Then, Worth Rises targeted Platinum Equity, going after the pension funds and other investors whose capital Platinum used to keep Securus going. The massive negative press campaign led to eight-figure disinvestments:

https://www.latimes.com/business/story/2019-09-05/la-fi-tom-gores-securus-prison-phone-mass-incarceration

Now, Securus's debt became "distressed," trading at $0.47 on the dollar. A brief, covid-fueled reprieve gave Securus a temporary lifeline, as prisoners' families were barred from in-person visits and had to pay Securus's rates to talk to their incarcerated loved ones. But after lockdown, Securus's troubles picked up right where they left off.

They targeted Platinum's founder, Tom Gores, who papered over his bloody fortune by styling himself as a philanthropist and sports-team owner. After a campaign by Worth Rises and Color of Change, Gores was kicked off the Los Angeles County Museum of Art board. When Gores tried to flip Securus to a SPAC – the same scam Trump pulled with Truth Social – the negative publicity about Securus's unsound morals and financials killed the deal:

https://twitter.com/WorthRises/status/1578034977828384769

Meanwhile, more states and cities are making prisoners' communications free, further worsening Securus's finances:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Congress passed the Martha Wright-Reed Just and Reasonable Communications Act, giving the FCC the power to regulate the price of federal prisoners' communications. Securus's debt prices tumbled further:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

Securus's debts were coming due: it owes $1.3b in 2024, and hundreds of millions more in 2025. Platinum has promised a $400m cash infusion, but that didn't sway S&P Global, a bond-rating agency that re-rated Securus's bonds as "CCC" (compare with "AAA"). Moody's concurred. Now, Securus is stuck selling junk-bonds:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

The company's creditors have given Securus an eight-month runway to find a new lender before they force it into bankruptcy. The company's debt is trading at $0.08 on the dollar.

Securus's major competitor is Viapath (prison tech is a duopoly). Viapath is also debt-burdened and desperate, thanks to a parallel campaign by Worth Rises, and has tried all of Securus's tricks, and failed:

https://pestakeholder.org/news/american-securities-fails-to-sell-prison-telecom-company-viapath/

Viapath's debts are due next year, and if Securus tanks, no one in their right mind will give Viapath a dime. They're the walking dead.

Worth Rise's brilliant guerrilla warfare against prison-tech and its private equity backers are a master class in using the master's tools to dismantle the master's house. The finance sector isn't a friend of justice or working people, but sometimes it can be used tactically against financialization itself. To paraphrase MLK, "finance can't make a corporation love you, but it can stop a corporation from destroying you."

Yes, the ruling class finds solidarity at the most unexpected moments, and yes, it's easy for appeals to greed to institutionalize greediness. But whether it's funding unbezzling journalism through short selling, or freeing prisons by brandishing their cooked balance-sheets in the faces of bond-rating agencies, there's a lot of good we can do on the way to dismantling the system.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

Image: KMJ (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Boerse_01_KMJ.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[multiversxwhore]

CM Punk x Black!oc

Warnings: Unprotected sex, cheating, toxic relationship/behavior, oral (f) receiving

Word count: 5k, edit credits to @insatiableorsmthn (literally slayed me)

a/n: Well, look what we have here, 'The Best In The World' isn't so tough at the hands of his ex-girlfiriend, but we allll know Punk digs crazy chicks. Listen I know a lot of people aren't too happy that Phil is back, and that sucks for you. Read the tag line guys, we don't wear capes over here. S/o to @sydsaint they’re the ones that inspired me to write for Punk lol so go read their stuff too! Any who lol I hope yall enjoy, like, leave comments, and reblog. More to come.

Sabrina will admit, she was bitter. Not only about Phil moving on from the company, but also moving on from her. She and Phil had known each other since their Ring Of Honor days, but they didn’t become close until they both got signed to WWE. They were friends at first, before Phil finally asked Sabrina on their first date. But when he proposed the idea of a relationship that night on a date he planned, Sabrina froze up and left him unanswered. Phil left WWE a year later, without much word to Sabrina, and as bad as she missed him, his surprise return, almost a year to the day, left her shocked. His gazes lingered on her from a distance; almost every time she looked up, they were locking eyes. She was able to deal with the added pressure at first, until someone would bring up his girlfriend, and ask him how she’s doing just within earshot. Sabrina’s throat would tighten, and her heart ached from how he smiled when the other woman was brought up. Though she knew in her heart, it wasn’t the same as when he used to smile about her, it stung nonetheless. She let a week or so pass before she decided to finally approach him. Gionna had hyped her up all weekend over FaceTime, insuring her that things would turn out in her favor. She wanted Sabrina to show up in a deep v-neck shirt with her cleavage on full display, but she knew Phil better than that. So instead of going full “Hooker Mode,” like Gionna suggested, she kept it simple, with a hint of sexy; a Steve Austin tee she cut into a crop top, jeans that showed off her curves, and a simple pair of black and blue Air Jordan’s. When she caught up to Phil, he had just got done shooting a backstage promo; the camera crew were leaving, so it was the perfect time to grab his attention. Now, they both stood in a deserted hall at the back of Allstate Arena in Chicago – the roar of the fans in the background, but only the two of them existed at that moment. 

She couldn’t help her sour tone when she asked Phil about Alyssa, but to her credit, that was her trying to be mature, though it didn't last long. Sabrina and Phil had begun to bicker back and forth for a moment, it seemed that they were going in circles, until he addressed the elephant in the room. “Don’t be such a brat –  you think I’m just gonna end my relationship because you’re throwing a hissy fit?” He took a step forward, everytime the two of them were in the same vicinity, the tension was thick. No one wanted to be around them when they were both in the room, and it was obvious to everyone what was going on; in this business there were hardly any secrets. It was only a matter of time before it all came to the light. They had too much history, too many words left unsaid, and she wouldn’t be satisfied till she had him back. 

“We both know you’re not happy.” She argued back, noticing how he avoided her gaze, looking at her forehead or her nose, instead of her eyes. Her heart thudded in her chest, she felt nervous knowing this wasn’t even the deepest part of the conversation yet. Truth be told, she wasn’t used to him being this closed off with her, if anything she could be the cold one. She knew she could be difficult and down right sour when she didn’t have to be. Now, Sabrina understood how Phil felt when she acted this way, especially towards the end of their relationship. 

He let out a dry chuckle, a look of realization crossing his face, “you're insane, like you’re actually delusional.” His lips pulled back into a grin, his hazel-green eyes sparkling excitedly, he wasn't sure why he was even entertaining what he felt was a pointless conversation. She didn’t even say what she wanted, she just grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him off in the opposite direction from where he came. ‘I did always have a hard time saying no to you, Sabrina.’ he confessed to himself. 

“And you’re a narcissist, now we both win.” Sabrina argued back childishly, Phil’s face scrunched in disbelief, he’s never been so frustrated by another human being before. 

“No! No, this isn’t a competition, and the last time I checked, you were too chicken shit to commit, so it's not like it matters what makes me happy. Not to you, anyway.”  He bit back in response, his words hung above her head, dense, and dark like the onset of the worst storm ever.

“But I tried!” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a whine. Her bottom lip poked out, and she would have stomped her foot for good measure if it wasn't Phil that was standing in front of her.

“I was in love with you.” He whispered, suddenly so tender,  ‘still am.’ She took the break in his intensity as a reason to take another step forward to close the distance. He was too stubborn to back down from her, and though he’d hate to admit it, he was hoping Sabrina would take it there. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, she missed the softness of his beard, and the way it felt against her bare skin. His breath hitched in his throat, and his tongue tied. He hated the way her lips looked luscious and plump. He hated the way her warm vanilla scent was invading his senses. He refused to unfold his arms, he couldn’t allow himself to touch her, to grab her hips, and feel how delicate she was. He couldn’t allow himself to be reminded of how much he worshiped every curve and dip of her body. Most of all he hated the way he didn’t miss his supposed girlfriend. ‘Fuck, I hate you.’

“Phil.” she called his name, saying it only the way she could, a tickle against his skin. So gentle, so forgiving, so… righteous. He closed his eyes – a last defensive mechanism, as if that’d make all of this stop – and let himself take a deep breath. ‘Do I really want her to stop though? Shit, get it together, Phil’ He internally tussled with himself.

“That’s okay,” Sabrina broke through his thoughts, “you don’t have to look at me, but you can hear me. You don’t have to admit out loud that you’re not satisfied, I know you miss this…us. I know you miss the way I was the loudest cheerleader in your corner, I’m the best pop you’ll ever receive. I know you inside out, how you liked to be touched, and where.” Her minty breath fanned over his face even from a foot below him. Her fingers caressed the tips of his ears, he wanted to bark like a dog, and he would if she so wished it he would; this is when he could feel his facade breaking.

“And you…know how to touch me.” Her hands slid down his neck to his tattoo covered arms, she held onto them and lifted her head to see his eyes were staring back at her. He was frozen…waiting, anticipating. At a single tug, his arms fell apart, she took his hands in hers, and slid them around her waist. Her cropped top did nothing to help cover her midsection, revealing the snake tattoo that he sat through hours of hand-holding with her for. The contrast between her softness, and the roughness of his palms gave her goosebumps all over. She brought her hands back up around his neck, not wanting to give him a second to think as she pressed her lips to his. Their tongues twisted and caressed each other as if trying to re-learn one another. This was absolutely fucking bad, and Phil knew that. What’s worse is that he didn’t care. All he knew was that his mind was empty, she tasted delicious, and he absolutely missed it. He missed her attention, he missed their conversations at 8pm till 5am the next morning, and he missed the way she whimpered his name everytime he stretched her out.

He pushed her against the wall and pinned her hands behind her back with his, a look of frustration passed over her face; her chest rose and fell as she fought to catch her breath. He pressed his forehead to hers and the pit of her stomach turned, unfurling something that hadn’t been disturbed since the last time they ‘talked.’ His hazel eyes looked prettier than ever, and when she glanced down to see how his lips had tugged into a tiny smirk, she wanted to kiss him again. She leaned in for another dizzying kiss, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Don’t.” She breathed, she tried to pull him back to her, but him being the strongest one between the both of them, it was nothing to pry her off.

“Just…just give me a second.” He mumbled, she felt like she lost him the second he looked away from her, and by the guilty look on his face, Sabrina could take a guess at who that call could be from.

‘Little miss perfect timing.’ Suddenly the inside of her mouth tasted like acid. She clammored to hold onto that insatiable feeling, so instead of arguing back, she remained silent. She leaned against the cold brick wall with her head down, pretending Phil didn't just reject her for his girlfriend. His girlfriend, she thought to herself in disbelief, God, when did she become an Ariana Grande song? When he glanced over at her, he couldn't deny how adorable that pout of her’s was and he caught himself smiling.

“Oh uh, yea, I’m happy for you. The promotion is always what you wanted.” He cleared his throat trying to manage a somewhat even tone, he still had the taste of Sabrina’s lip gloss in his mouth. He licked his lips.“Yes, of course I’m listening to you.” Phil could feel his patience start to wear thin already; Alyssa liked to nit pick at every inflection in his voice and it irritated him to no end. Their ‘relationship’ had been on the rocks for a while, they just don't mesh well beyond friends, but they forced it because they both needed to take their minds off their exes. And here he was, being seduced by his. He looked back over his shoulder at Sabrina, at the same time she looked up, and he was frozen again. He didn't realize how long the silence was between him and Alyssa until she called his name.

“Phil, if you’re distracted then I can talk to you later.” She sounded burnt out, like she, too, was tired of holding up this stupid charade, but neither of them ever said it outloud. Too prideful to admit they felt miserable.

“No, I’m…” He trailed off, he felt bad for lying, but how was he supposed to say he wanted to fuck his ex through the brick wall and take her back for a second chance? He couldn’t, so he lied anyway, and told himself he’d deal with the consequences later. “Actually, yeah, I’m sorry. My mind is just on work tonight, maybe I can call you back when the night’s over?” He looked up at the ceiling waiting for a response. He rolled his eyes at how stupid he was being, but who is he kidding? Sabrina was always gonna be his end game.

“Yeah sure, it’s cool, I actually need some sleep myself.” Her voice sounded disconsolate, he winced a little, knowing they should have discussed what was happening currently, but he opted for later, instead. His eyes were still on Sabrina as she fidgeted with her phone, mindlessly scrolling.

“Mkay, I’ll talk to you later, then.” Phil said. Alyssa barely responded before hanging up abruptly, he stood there looking at his phone screen feeling a bit confused for a moment, but Sabrina’s voice caught his attention.

“Phil, I need to go get ready.” She had pushed herself off the wall, and began walking towards him. She grabbed his hand, holding onto his finger tips. He laced their fingers together, then pulled her into his arms, his hand sliding up her neck to cradle the back of her head. He took her by surprise, her lips parted to let out a yelp, but he pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing her voice. She let out a moan, the butterflies in the pit of her stomach stirred back to life. Phil’s other hand wrapped around her waist. His fingers slid underneath her shirt, caressing her skin gingerly, sending a chill down her spine. When he pulled away this time, Sabrina held onto his bottom lip tugging on it with her teeth. Reluctantly she let him go, a goofy smile stretching across her face. He played with her long curly hair with his finger tips; it reminded him how much trouble she got in all those years ago for shaving it off one side, and dying it without permission. Sabrina may or may not have been following a little too closely in Phil’s footsteps back then.

“I’ll see you later?” She mustered the strength to take a step away from him, it was cruel of him to send her on her way like this. Leaving her unsatisfied, and needy for more.

“Knock’em dead, kid.” He smiled, giving her a wink, and watched her gush before spinning in the opposite direction and disappearing down the hall. His eyes lingered on her retreating form, watching her hips sway wonderfully.

Later that night, there was a knock on her hotel door. Sabrina barely checked her phone reading a little after 10 PM before opening the latch. Phil strode in, hands on her hips, walking her back and without a thought, she hooked her arms around his neck, moaning when his lips found hers, colliding in a rushed kiss. She pulled away first, when her breath caught and it hurt to breathe. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but she shook her head, running her hands down his arms, taking him by the hands and leading him towards the bed. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, scared it would resemble something like regret in his decision to come to her tonight. He let go of her hand, bending to pick the small Kumari plushy he had gifted her on her birthday a few years ago. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him with hooded eyes, feeling coy as he held the toy in his hands. His lips twitched up, almost in disbelief as he met her gaze. His smile turned whimsical, “I can’t believe you still have this…” He looked at her dazedly, feeling something in his world shift. He thought she’d have moved on by now, that’s partially why he had avoided her for so long.

He took a seat next to her, but feeling startled by the onslaught of emotions permeating between them, Sabrina stood up, grabbing the plushie from him and placing it on the nightstand. “It was a gift,” she said, snidely, taking care to set it right. She let loose a startled gasp when she felt the rough pad of his finger stroke from the back of her knees and up her thighs. The baby pink nightdress she had on rose as his finger went higher, settling on the curve of her ass. She shivered, letting her eyes flutter as he pulled her closer, settling her between his thighs. His other hand moved over her hips and into the satin of her panties, caressing her slowly. “Phil…” she murmured, her legs feeling weak, but he held her tight as she felt herself begin to slip. He lowered her, having her lean on to him, her head falling to his shoulder as her mouth parted in silent gasps. His fingers spread her wider, feeling heat coat his skin and then he slipped in a finger. He stroked in and out of her slowly, relishing in her breathy little calls of his name, then watched her keen when he added a second finger.

“And after all these years, this pussy is still mine,” he breathed into her ear, feeling that tight grip on his wet fingers. “Did you wear this little dress for me, Sweetheart?” The hand on her ass curved up her thigh and ran up to her stomach, ruffling the fabric as she went, feeling where the short pink nighty had a heart shaped cutout at the center, exposing just below her bust. Of course she’d been thinking of Phil – she’d be a liar if she’d stated otherwise.

“Phil… uh -” she bit down on her lip when his palm reached her breast, squeezing a mound tightly. “Please…”

He tilted his head to the side, nosing her cheek, breathing her in, and he chuckled at her pleads, running the flat of his tongue to the base of her ear. “She’s so cute when she begs,” he whispered playfully. She groaned in protest, feeling so close until he slid his hand out of her underwear, and traced her lips. Her mouth parted, head following his hands as they moved to his own mouth. She watched entranced, as he licked them clean, her mouth slightly agape, and let out a moan.

Sabrina took hold of his face, pulling his lips onto hers, desperate to taste him again. She knew it wasn't right, but she pushed those guilty thoughts to the back of her mind, letting their tongues tangle. He held her hips, leading her beneath him on the bed, as he stood, he used his free hand to unbuckle his belt. He pulled away, standing tall before her, towering in a way that made her feel so exposed and vulnerable, eliciting a feeling only he ever really knew how to uncover. She missed the way Phil could make her feel so dainty one second, and then powerful the next. She missed the way he made her laugh till her face muscles cramped up, and her breathing became unsteady. But most of all she missed the way he could make her feel like the most important woman in the world; he never forgot a birthday, an anniversary, or the way she liked her coffee in the morning. It was all the small things that added up to something unforgettable. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him hurriedly unzip the Avenged Sevenfold hoodie she used to be so fond of. She supposes they had both dressed for each other tonight. He threw it to the floor behind him, and his shirt followed.

She licked her lips, reaching a hand to him. He pulled her up, getting her on her knees, and guided her hands over his shoulders. When they kissed again, it was slower, more intense. Her hands slid form his neck to his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart starting to sync with hers. She rested her palm there, pulling away to press her forehead to his. Phil watched her pretty chocolate colored irises, getting lost in them like he always used to, not feeling an ounce of regret in his actions, in being here with her, where he always knew he belonged. She reached her hand up tenderly, then tugged at his thick beard, lips stretching playfully. The tug of pain was hardly noticeable but he let out a low growl anyways that morphed into a chuckle, watching the mirth in her features.

Her eyes glinted, sparkling like a child in a candy store. She trailed her finger from the scruff on his jaw, down his neck, slowly, trying to mimic the way he had touched her bare legs earlier. Her head tilted down, watching the invisible path she drew, admiring the work of art that was his body. Though he wasn’t known for being the status quo wrestler, he was in immaculate shape. Maybe he didn’t have eight pack abs, but he was far from unfit. His arms and chest were perhaps Sabrina’s favorite feature in him. “What’s my little minx thinking?” he asked. Her eyes cut to his. It’s been a while since she was his.

“How much I want you,” she whispered, not missing a beat. “I need you,” she admitted, daring him to push her away in this moment, daring him to come to his senses and tell her they were wrong for this. He kissed her instead, and she felt the way his lips struggled not to smile. He pushed her down onto the bed, thinking she’s always looked gorgeous, but tonight she was something more. Her eyes gazed down to where his jeans hung low on his hips, and with her feet, she reached and tugged at the fabric, bringing it down. He looked upward to the ceiling, masking the smile that broke out on his face, wondering what he did to earn her sitting before looking like the prettiest present he’d ever seen.

“Phil,” Sabrina called out, voice just above a whisper. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes lidded and her hands holding onto her breasts, pointed and straining against the thin fabric covering them.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “You’re so sexy, baby.” He let his pants fall and she reached for him, pulling him on top of her. He flipped them over so she could be on top of him, and she straddled his waist, her thick thighs fitted on either side of him comfortably. She rocked her hips, the bulge in his boxers almost covered in material too soft for the friction she so desperately needed. She tossed her head back, grinding harder and it was a sight to him. He wanted to see her like this all the time – on top of him all frantic and flustered, wanton and desperate, lips swollen and parted, clothing askew and face fresh, hell he even adored the matching bonnet she had on. He remembered the first time he had her hot and bothered for him; she was a downright mess, nearly close to panic because she almost forgot to tie her hair up. Tonight was planned, he figured the moment the door opened – maybe even before that. “Fuck,” he moaned, “Fuck, baby, I need you – I – God,” he held her hips, guiding her back and forth on him, “ Please,” it was his turn to beg, wasn’t it? “I need to be in you.” She felt heat crawl up her spine and flush her face. He halted her movements, reaching between them to pull his hard length from his boxers. She pulled her panties to the side, guiding herself onto him.

“Phil…” she moaned, hands falling to the center of his stomach, nails digging in as his girth stretched her so deliciously. He held her hips but let her set the pace, only reaching his thumb to rub at her swollen clit. She whimpered and he slowly lifted his hips to meet her movements, “Oh god…” she cried, tightening her muscles around him. “Ah –”

“I know,” he murmured, “I know, baby.” His eyes struggled to stay open; it’s been a while since he felt this good, been a while since it's been her. “You’re so good, princess,” he whispered, feeling flashes of heat run over his body. He sat up, placing a hand to the small of her back, the other across her shoulder blade, and when she cried out, she muffled it against the crook of his neck. “You’re doing so fucking good, baby,” he breathed into her ear, letting their hips crash in a delicious rhythm. She threw her head back, mouth parting and cries of pleasure pouring from her. “That’s right,” he thrusted faster, pulling at the straps of her dress. “Let it out, kitten – don’t give a fuck who hears…” his lips casted down her neck to her breasts, kissing and sucking and biting until blood pooled beneath her skin. “You’re mine,” he nipped into her skin, “always,” he let her know, pushing deep into her, kissing her womb with the tip of his dick.

“Ah!” she cried out, hand in his hair, gripping so tight it stung. He buried his face in between her breasts, inhaling her scent. Heat between them grew incinerating and she held him even tighter. “I’m – ah… Phil – I’m so close,” she begged him to go harder, feeling her vision start to blur, dark spots dance between her eyes, “Right there,” she managed, but he already knew how she liked it, already knew how to get her beyond the help of the god she’s calling out for. She comes before him, in a rush and he pounds into her, sloppily, pulling more and more waves of euphoria from her. He stills when his climax hits, seating it deep inside her, pulling out slowly to feel it all spill between them. Still holding her in his hands, he gently rolled her off of him so that she could lay comfortably while he reached over the nightstand for a few tissues to clean himself off, then went to get a damp towel for her.

They both laid in bed facing each other, covered in a layer of sweat, but Phil didn’t care. He always thought she looked even more gorgeous afterwards in the glow of post-coital, with her eyes all hazy and her lids hooded, like she was drunk off sex, drunk off of him. Her voice, hoarse, and somewhat deeper than her usual octave. “I should have expected a second shower tonight.” Sabrina sighed, she sat up against the headboard, and took the blanket with her, holding it up to her chest. When she looked back down at Phil, he had this goofy grin on his face, like someone had just knocked him over the head with a steel chair.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze, despite the fact that his lips just re-learned every inch of her body. Despite the fact that he has seen her completely naked countless times, and has sent him a hoard of sexy photos before they broke up. The stare he was giving her now was different, and it scared her. This was the same look he had in his eye before he asked her to make their relationship official, and be his girlfriend.

“Relax scaredy-cat I’m not gonna ask you to marry me, ya ain’t ready for that.” He was partly joking, but that hurt her still. Sabrina wasn’t sure if he felt it, but the energy in the room suddenly shifted. Whatever mist that had been covering her eyes cleared, and she no longer felt the desire to be cuddled up with him in bed. She looked over at the clock, it had just struck midnight, and unfortunately her carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. By the time Phil caught the look in her eyes, it was too late, she had already gotten up from the bed, leaving the bedding behind, and made her way to the bathroom.

“Sabrina–” She cut him off by slamming the bathroom door. He threw himself back into the sheets, but the second he closed his eyes, his phone began to ring. Rolling his eyes, but rolling over the side of the bed reluctantly, he reached down to grab his jeans. He felt around for his phone, before looking at the screen. His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion to see it was Alyssa.

“Uh…hello?” He asked, the line was quiet for a moment, and before he got a chance to speak again she blurted out.

“I think we should give each other some space, Phil.” He blinked, staring straight ahead, this was not at all what he was expecting, but here he was feeling dumbfounded.

“I’m not quite sure what to say, uh, are you okay. I mean this—

“If we’re being honest we weren’t built to last, and I’m 100% sure neither of us are actually over our exes.” She said plainly, right on cue, Phil looked over his shoulder at the imaginary cameras, he could barely hold in his laughter, but he did his best. Jokes aside, Alyssa was right about them not meant to be together.

“Well shit Lyssa you seem to always have the best timing, is this official, because after this I don’t plan on going through it a second time.” He says haughtily, Alyssa scoffed on her end of the phone, some shuffling could be heard, but finally it went quiet again.

“I know girls like her, Phil, I was a girl like her, and if it’s one thing I learned during our time together, it’s that you can’t cage a hummingbird.” He was taken aback by her words, he had never even thought about it that way.

“When did you become so wise?” He asked, he tilted his head towards the shower, the water could still be heard running, so he leaned back into the bed.

“Listen, my advice, just take things slow.” It was simple enough, when he reflected back on their relationship, perhaps he was too intense with Sabrina. A weight had just been unexpectedly lifted off his shoulders, that was one problem resolved, but now he had to re-define his and Sabrina’s relationship. If she even wanted a relationship.

Alyssa gave her parting words, “hey, I gotta go, don’t overthink it.” She rushed out, after Phil wished her well, they both hung up the phone. He let out an exasperated breath, before last night he didn’t think there was any way in hell that a second chance for him, and Sabrina would even be a possibility. She already ran from him once, and he thought he was taking things slow before. ‘Well we had only been dating a few months before I decided to move things to the next level.’ Phil pondered on this to himself as he waited for Sabrina.

She was too upset to even think, so she stood under the hot water, letting it cascade down her body. By the time she actually started to shower, her thoughts began to slowly seep in, and soon enough tears began to fall. A mix of emotions rolled through her, and she didn’t even know where to begin. Thankfully tomorrow was her day off, so she didn’t have to be bothered with putting on a brave face for TV. The water began to turn cold, so that’s when she decided to call it quits, grabbing her towel, and walking back into the bedroom. She could feel Phil’s eyes on her as she dropped her towel right in front of him. He had to do a double take, it’s like every time he talked himself off the ledge, she pulled him right back to the edge again, and again.

Rummaging through her clothes Sabrina’s mind went in a spiral about her and Phil. For some reason, she just couldn’t make up her mind about whether she wanted to commit to him or not. It had nothing to do with him – in all their time together, he was a wonderful partner, it was her, she was the problem. While Phil was always the one on the ledge, she was just there, watching him ready to jump off for her, again, and again, and again. For the life of her, she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was as to why she was so damn scared. She pulled on her t-shirt, and a pair of biker shorts, then turned to Phil with determination. He was still in bed, he had his boxers on, and his head leaned back on the pillows with his eyes closed.

“Phillip!” Sabrina shouted, slowly his eyes opened, he glanced at her wearily. Her hands balled into fist, and her lips pressed together.

“Uh oh, you’ve got that constipated look, guess we mean business now.” He taunted, his lips curling upward into a tiny smirk. His charm usually made her weak in the knees, but Sabrina didn’t falter.

“Shut up. I’ve got something to say, and I need to say it now before I just wither away inside.” She demanded, so he closed his mouth, giving her his undivided attention. She inhaled deeply, held her breath for a ten count, and then exhaled slowly. That didn’t help, if anything it only accelerated her nervousness, so she charged on regardless.

“I’m a coward and I’m selfish. Pretty sure if I sat with myself long enough, there'd be a valid reason I’m so flighty, but I guess what I’m trying to say is…” She trailed off for a moment, she could feel that window of opportunity leaving her mind, entering the territory of personal feelings causing her to shut down, but she willed herself to focus. “I just—ugh!” Sabrina grunted, causing Phil’s expression to soften, talking about her feelings has always been a struggle. They never talked about that, obviously.

“It’s okay–”

“No! It's not okay, because I love you. You’re my first love, and I can’t just let that go. I stupidly did that once already, I practically pushed you into the arms of another woman, and I hate that.” She blurted out. Not wanting to break her rhythm, Phil remained quiet. “I want you all to myself, I want you all the time, every day, every night. I want you, I want you, goddamn it, I want you.” Sabrina unconsciously stomped her foot, her eyes glossy, and all the built up tension from the year they spent apart finally tearing its ugly head. Phil scooted to the other side of the bed where she stood by her still open luggage.

He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes held sincerity as he said, “And you can have me, baby… if you say pretty please.” He whispered half heartedly, to which Sabrina punched in the chest, and though it wasn’t at full force, it was enough impact to sting a little. “Ow, okay I deserved that.” He grunted, overselling the punch more than what was necessary, which got a chuckle out of Sabrina.

“You’re an idiot.” She smiled shakily. Their arms wrapped around each other and Phil pulled her hips closer to him, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“I love you.” He whispered. He pressed a tender kiss to her lips, somehow taking her breath away with such little effort on his part.

Seemingly star struck, Sabrina smiled girlishly, eyes still glistening, “you do?”

“Oh, Sabrina I love you so fucking much, it should be a crime.” Phil confessed, his gaze unyielding, and his stomach tingling from the flutter of butterflies stirring in the pit of his stomach.

The wide grin she donned slowly morphed into a grimace she couldn't help, her heart falling to the pit of her stomach, “Shit, you…have a girlfriend.” She slowly pulled back, he didn’t want to let her go, but he put a little bit of space so he could think straight.

He shook his head, “No - I, ah,” her brows furrowed and he admitted, “It’s a long story - but what if…we take things slow, and keep it casual? Just till I work things out, I know it’s not ideal.” He rushed out not wanting to lose their moment again. But then he began to explain anyway, he too had to wrap his head around their current situation.

“Yeah, no you’re right,” she sighed, “I think we should cool it for a while.”

“Oh, well then…now what?”

“Now…we take things slow…er.” Phil smiled, and unable to stop herself from mirroring him, Sabrina let out a giggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and let him pull her in for a perfervid kiss. She let out a soft moan, pressing herself into him impossibly closer. His hands slid down her thighs, and when he picked her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist like it was always this easy between them. He carried her over to an end table in front of the bedroom windowsill. They could see the whole of Chicago from how high up they were in the hotel. He got into his knees in front of her, putting his head underneath her shirt, and began to kiss down her stomach.

“Phil.” She let out a fit of giggles, it was all fun and games until he stopped at her underwear. Her breath hitched when he slid her panties to the side, and swiped his tongue across her clit making her back arch. With one hand he held her leg up, and with the other he slid his index finger in, and then his middle. All Sabrina had to do was lean back, and enjoy his handy work. If this was them taking it slow, she didn't mind it at all. She let out a sigh, dropping her hand to his hair, weaving her fingers into the tousled locks as his mouth worked her into a tizzy. The closer she came to her orgasm, the more she grinded her hips against his face.

“That’s right baby, use me, please, smother me.” Phil begged. He pulled away, and quickly got Sabrina’s panties down her hips, and around his muscular bicep like an armband. Sabrina did as told without question, and pushed his face between her thighs. His tongue slid into her, tasting everything she had to offer him, and he didn’t want to waste a drop as she came into his mouth. He hungrily lapped his tongue over her, and finished it off with soft kisses until her body finally relaxed against the windowpane. When he pulled his head from underneath her shirt, his face was flushed red, and his lips were stretched into a shit-eating grin.

“Thanks for the ride.” Sabrina leaned forward, and Phil met her half way pressing their lips together. He pulled back, still slightly out of breath, he stood from his kneeling position, and pulled her up with him.

“Anytime.” He turned her around in his arms so that they’d both be facing the view outside, it was the beginning of fall, and all the leaves had begun to turn beautiful autumn colors. As he trailed kisses down her neck, Sabrina humed contentedly, and that’s when she pulls away. “I’m starving.” She moaned, a low grumble came from the pit of her stomach sending them both into a fit of laughter. He grabbed her by the face, pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes shone with adoration for the woman in front of him.

“Alright princess, I’ll go grab some breakfast from your favorite spot, and I’ll be back. How’s that sound?” He reluctantly let go of her face, he knew if he didn’t they’d be naked on the floor next. Sabrina shook her head eagerly, her mouth watering at the thought of her favorite diner restaurant.

“I’ll wait here, I’ve got a free schedule.” She beamed up at him, before he had a chance to step away, Sabrina stole a chaste kiss. After Phil left, Sabrina fell back into the bed, and was already falling asleep before he made it back to the hotel.

p.s Follow my wrestling blog —which is where this was supposed to be posted to but tumblr hates me— @slutouttanowhere ✨

[starcrossedxwriter]

I’m curious have Els and Michael ever done GQs couple quiz? I was just watching them, and I got to wondering about them. Lol 😂, cause Travis and Kylie’s was an absolute mess, but I loved Teyana Taylor and Iman and of course Nip & LL.

I loveeeeeee GQ's couple's quizzes, they are hilarious. They 100% have done it! And here's my attempt cause in my mind, they give a more relatable and fun Ciara and Russell (if you saw their's?) LOL Thanks, Anon!

***

“Hey this is Michael B. Jordan.”

“And Charlotte Elsbeth Jordan, and we are playing GQ’s Couple Quiz.” 

“You ready?” He asked, his hand resting on her thigh. 

“Born ready, I’ll start.” Charlotte lifted up the questions to make sure he couldn’t see them. Little did GQ know, they had a wager going on who knew the other the best and Charlotte was not about to lose. “Ok, this is a soft ball starter, when’s my birthday and what’s my sign?” 

Michael rolled his eyes, “May 4, which makes you a…” he paused. Charlotte knew he had to think about that one because Michael could care less about Zodiac signs and astrology. “I’m 95% sure that’s a Taurus so I’m gonna go with my gut on that one.” 

“Yea, I’m a Taurus… a textbook one too.” 

“I don’t know what that means, Els.” 

“I’ll explain it to you later. Aight, that’s two points for you cause that was two questions. Oh this’s a good one. What’s my dream travel destination?” 

“The Maldives.” He answered quickly. 

“Yep. You know I’m waiting for you to plan that right?” She asked with the sweetest smile that made Michael want to abandon the interview and take her there right then. “I kinda thought that would be our baby moon but no such luck.” 

Michael chuckled and shook his head. “You know I thought about it?” 

Charlotte's jaw dropped. “So where's my proper baby moon at?? Because I haven't to sink a single toe in the sand of the Maldives." Her tone was one of playful confusion. "Wait til he tells y'all where he took me to instead of the Maldives??"

Michael bowed his head as his shoulders shook with laughter. "It's gonna sound bad in comparison BUT I didn't think it was safe to go that far and her doc didn't agree. So we went to a gorgeous resort in Cabo." He raised his hands in surrender. "You already had my nerves shot for those 9 months, wasn't gonna add to that."

She let out a cackling laugh. “I had your nerves shot and you were getting on mine so glad we didn’t add that stress to it. Cabo was a lot of fun though.” 

“Yea it was. Babymoon #2, Maldives - I promise."

Little did she know, Michael already had it planned for her upcoming birthday.

"Well that means I'm never going, I guess," she mumbled. Michael had routinely been talking her ear off about having another baby, as if two rambunctious twin boys were not more than enough for them. But he desperately wanted a baby girl.

"That's a conversation for later but But don’t worry, Maldives are comin’. I promise.” Charlotte did a little happy dance in her seat. “Aight, next question.” 

“What’s a hobby of mine that most people wouldn’t know?” 

“You love to bake. And my training regime hates it,” he joked. 

“Yes! I would’ve also taken crocheting but I haven’t done that in a while. Oh this one is hard. What was the first musical I performed as a lead in?” 

“Ok I gotta work it backward in my mind.” 

“Actually, I’ll give you a bonus if you answer that one and name all the shows I’ve been the lead in.” 

“Okkkkkk. Most recent was The Lighthouse, got my baby her first Tony, of which I know there’ll be more. Before you left New York, you were the lead in Chicago. Then you were in the company of a couple shows. At Juilliard, you were the lead in Oklahoma, one of the few freshman to get a lead in a spring production,” Charlotte did a mini bow to the camera as she laughed. “But you were the lead in every spring show every year so Oklahoma, Funny Girl, Rent, and Kinky Boots. But your fist lead role was senior year as Cinderella in your high school production.” 

“Damnnnnnn…” They shared a high five. “That deserves hella points cause that’s hard as hell. I’ll give you two for that one. What am I scared of?” 

“Spiders and scary movies. Pretty sure if I ever did a horror movie, that’s the one premiere you wouldn’t go to.”

“Correct, you’d be on your own buddy. Ummm, oh this is a good one, what’s my favorite food? You’ve had this question before though.” 

He laughed. “And I learned that it wasn’t my bolognese - utterly heartbroken by that by the way - but it’s still pizza. All the girl eats is pizza.” 

“Correct. Oh this’s hilarious,” she laughed. “Who is my celebrity crush?” 

“Mannnn..." Michael grunted at the mere premise of the question. "Well, obviously me but I will say you went into a deep fan girl space the time you met Denzel and George Clooney.” 

“I mean every woman watching would revert to their 16 year old fan girl self in the presence of those two. But correct. Denzel is actually a friend now, we have him and Paulette over for dinner a lot so I’ve chilled out significantly. Um who’s my favorite actor?” 

“Me.” 

“He’s a bit conceded,” she joked to the camera. “Bonus point if you get whose number two on that list?” 

“Mahershala Ali.” 

“Good job. But you’re number 1 all day, baby.” 

“Oh I wasn’t worried about that at all.” 

“Ok, last one, what’s my favorite sleeping position?” 

“When I sleep like draped across your chest.” 

Charlotte made a buzzer noise and shook her head. “The question was MY favorite, not yours.” 

“That ain’t your favorite too??” 

“Absolutely not,” she doubled over in laughter at the pure look of offense on his face. “I’m sorry, baby but like when you’re at your Adonis or Killmonger weight, you are hella heavy. My side of the bed is basically also his.”

“It’s been 6 years, why you ain’t say shit?” Michael was genuinely surprised. 

Charlotte shrugged. “Cause you sleep best that way and I like that it makes you happy.” Her tone signaled that she was not simply saying that for the cameras but she actually meant it.

“That’s really sweet, babe. So what’s your favorite?” 

“Umm when we’re traveling and apart, I sleep on my stomach with like one leg half out of the covers… and in the middle of the bed so I can like sprawl out.”

“Noted. Ok how’d I do, baby?” 

“11 points… that was pretty good! Pretty sure I’m not gonna do as good but let’s see.” 

“Aight. Oh ok, how many movies have I been in?” 

Charlotte’s mouth fell open. “Ok that’s not fair! Did you pay someone to write these questions?? That’s hella hard. Um… are we counting the ones where you were just a cameo?” 

“Why not and I’ll give you a bonus if you name the first movie I was lead in?” 

“Ok if we’re counting cameos, I’m 95% sure it’s 20 or 21. And your first lead was Fruitvale Station, though you could make a case for Chronicle but that was more of an ensemble cast so I would go with Fruitvale.” 

“Damn you’re good! I don’t even know the number exactly but 20 sounds right so you get both points.”

Charlotte wiped her hand across her forehead and said “Whew. Cause it wasn’t looking good for me for a sec.” 

“What’s my least favorite food?” 

Charlotte laughed. “You have a visceral, and do mean, visceral hatred for Brussels sprouts.” 

“Correct. Hate them so much. Umm in the similar vein, what’s my ideal cheat meal when I’m training?” 

Charlotte smiled. “Whew, ok you got a lot but I feel like it depends on where we are? Like when we’re in Philly, it’s a cheesesteak, easy. But when we’re in New York, it's pizza from Prince St. and those cookies from that bakery in Lower Manhattan… can’t remember the name. And honestly, when we’re home, you love a huge breakfast spread and anything with carbs. Oh and donuts from that spot in downtown.” 

“Damn Els! You get two points for that. Very spot on. Umm how do you know when I’m mad at you?” 

Charlotte laughed. “Well, we don’t really argue much but when you’re upset it’s fairly easy to tell cause you call me Charlotte, which he literally never does any other time.” 

“Correct. What’s my biggest pet peeve that you do?” 

Charlotte grimaced. “Umm when I don’t take my health or safety seriously… or as serious as you would want me to. That causes like 95% of the rare arguments we do have.” 

“Yep. Oh this one is kinda hard because I don’t think you can ever remember the date. What day did I propose?” 

Charlotte leaned into the arm of her chair. “Oof that is hard. Well the world thinks we got engaged in June around the Tonys cause that’s the first time I wore my ring in public. But fun fact everyone, we got engaged in March. That week was a blur of you know… trauma and near death experiences,” she chuckled, her joke falling flat with her husband. “It’s been six years, we still can’t joke about it??” 

“Nah we can’t.” 

“Well, I’m the one that almost croaked so I feel like I can joke about it a little,” she argued with a smile. “But anywhoooo, you proposed on March 5. Wait, no! March 6 because it was like 2 am the Thursday after the premiere of the show on our balcony in New York. Best night of my life.” 

He leaned forward and kissed her hand and winked at her, causing her to blush. 

“Good job. What do I consider to be our first date?” 

She chuckled. “Ok well we have different opinions on this but you consider our first date to be that steakhouse we went to after filming one night in Philly. But I consider our first date to be our actual first date, that art walk in the summer. I don’t think I ever learned why you think Philly was our first date?” 

Michael merely shrugged nonchalantly. “Cause that night made me fall in love with you. From that date forward, my heart was yours. The art walk was just when you finally caught up,” he winked at her, shaking her knee a bit. 

“You never told me that. Stop saying these sweet things and making me want to cry,” she moaned, wiping away a stray tear. 

“She cries at basically everything,” Michael fake whispered to the camera causing Charlotte to playfully scoff. 

“Next question!” 

“What’s my favorite nickname to call you? Bonus question if you tell me which of the ones you call me is my favorite?” 

“Your favorite to call me is honey bee but you call me Els the most, which I love. And umm I don’t know the second one, everyone in the family calls you Bakari so I doubt that’s it. And baby is so basic? I call you ‘love’ a lot but I don’t know… you tell me.” 

“I really like it when you call me ‘Kari.” 

In her utter confusion, for a moment, Charlotte forgot they were surrounded by cameras. “That can’t be right,” she laughed. “I called you that like once in our entire relationship when we wer-“ she stopped herself mid-sentence as she realized he was teasing her and she was about to put alllllll their business on front street. “I really hate you, you know that right?” 

He actually almost fell out of his seat in laughter as Charlotte shook her head and covered her face with her cards in embarrassment. 

Her mind floated back to once years ago when Michael made her squirt for the first time. He had been fucking her so hard and for so long she could barely formulate thoughts, let alone sentences. And as he demanded she scream his name over and over again, she shortened it to Kari out of pure necessity because she could barely say more than a syllable at a time. He teased her relentlessly afterward. 

“Impossible.” He winked at her. “Ok let’s get this back on track. Who’s my favorite athlete?” 

“Forever and always , Kobe.” 

“Right. What’s my favorite thing to cook?” 

“Bolognese… and you got good at some other homemade pasta sauces like pesto during the pandemic that you still like to do.” 

“Right. Aight, last one, oh this is a good one, what has been my favorite role and movie I’ve played in my career?” 

Charlotte mused for a moment. “Oof that is actually hard. I mean the easy answer is Adonis because you’ve spent the longest with him and I think you’ve valued watching your own career and who you are growing and evolving along with him? And you know, you got me outta that deal which is pretty great.” She joked. “But I think Killmonger and Black Panther will always hold a special place in your heart. Not just because of Chad but because that role was a stretch in terms of who he was and the darkness in him. He challenged you in a lot of new ways as an actor, I think And because of the cultural significance of that movie and the bond it created with Ryan and the entire cast. I’ve never seen you or quite frankly any cast with as close of a bond with each other as you all do. I mean I’ve watched you do 100 press tours and that was the first one you were genuinely sad to have end. And you know, while I would love to see Killmonger back, I think even if you never get the chance to pick that character up again, I think the experience of that character will stick with you forever.” 

She rubbed his arm gently as she spoke. 

“Yea you get a point for that. Not sure which of those I would choose either but the reasoning for both is super spot on. I think that’s, you know, what I value most about those two roles and projects specifically. Those are definitely the top two. Good job, baby girl. “That’s it! Who won??” Michael immediately inquired of the producer behind the camera. 

“You actually tied so you both win.” 

They leaned in and kissed each other. “Good job, baby. I guess we both have to pay up.” 

“Fine by me,” Charlotte winked at him. 

“Wanna tell us what you all wagered?” the producer asked. 

The couple laughed and shook their heads. “Nope, nice try though.”  

Michael winked at his wife before the producer yelled cut.

***

Thanks for the ask!! I love these so much lol

[bearsinpotatosacks]

The beautiful thing about the Bear is that it's such a high stress show that you can apply it to other high stress environments and the AU works. I can see some kind of hospital/medical AU, or, in this case, a dancer AU.

The Berzattos run a dance school for kids, teens, and adults. They do different styles of dance, teach according to syllabus and some of their best students, like Carmen Berzatto even go on to become professionals. Syd used to go there when she was a kid until her dad noticed her passion, and worked extra hard to get into the Joffrey Ballet, then the New York Ballet before she got disillusioned and tried to start her own dance company and failed.

Carmy joined the Joffrey Ballet in Chicago, being taught by Andrea, as a child before being picked up by the Paris Opera ballet, before moving to the Royal Danish Ballet in Copenhagen, then moving onto the San Francisco Ballet before finally joining the American Ballet Theatre in New York, this is where David abuses him.

Mikey didn't have as much promise, he was a good dancer at many things, but didn't have the drive that Carmy did, so runs the dance school instead. He met Richie at the school, his mother was a dancer and she noticed his inability to sit still and put him in the dance school, his dad didn't approve at first but he started getting roles in musicals, he's a brilliant tap dancer and could've gone far in musical theatre but Mikey pulled him in. He got roles, worked hard for them but always got brought back to the dance school eventually.

Tina got into musical theatre 'too late', she's been in a local theatre outside of work but after getting fired, she's heard singing to herself at the bus stop outside the dance school, Mikey hears and offers her a job as the musical theatre teacher with Richie.

Mikey dies and Carmy's left the dance school. The place isn't doing well, they could be going out of business. Syd, who's been idolising him since she saw him in the Royal Danish's production of the Nutcracker, starts to work there. Carmy becomes strict on uniform and respect to the teacher, Richie's more relaxed, he's dance teacher but wants it to be fun, not a military school.

She and Richie don't get on, she's used to the skill levels of professional ballet studios, not local dance schools. She starts to see how good he is with the students, he can control the room easier and his students have more freedom and are generally happier.

Carmy decides to up the stakes of the school's usual yearly show, they promise Jimmy a certain amount of profit and a certain number of new uptake of students. They ask Tina choreograph her own section of the show to whatever she wants, she goes with West Side Story.

Sydney looks at some of the previous shows, and some of the previous work of the teachers to see if there's anything they could possibly do and stumbles upon some of Richie's work in musical theatre. She mentions it to Carmy, they talk to Richie, who's unsure as it's been a while.

She's there late one night when she hears something and sees Richie dancing to Singin in the Rain, which he performed on tour. They talk about dreams and goals, she encourages him to perform, but he's hesitant as it's been so long

Syd and Carmy are going to do a duet, but when it comes to the night, Carmy gets locked in one of the dressing rooms getting something for one of the kids. Syd's scared, so Richie improvises and steps in, he's seen them rehearsing and does his best (is this all because I want to imagine Richie lifting Syd like she weighs nothing? yes).

She joins him in doing 'Moses Supposes' from Singin in the Rain (minus the singing), something he used to perform with Mikey, because she makes him feel confident enough to perform again. They get through, make a fair bit of money and get some sign ups. Richie also gets an invitation to audition for another musical, with Syd's encouragement, he does.

Also added on: Eva being in Richie's dance class, Richie and Syd are in suits when they dance together to 'Moses Supposes', Syd and Richie teaching a class together and reluctantly getting along

[peonierose]

Luna Valeria Auclair (OC)

A/N: I wanted to re-introduce my OC Luna. I’ve been thinking long and hard and just wanted to share some more things about my OC. I decided I will not be using a fc for the foreseeable future 🥰

I also included more info on Luna’s family and her triplet cousins as well 🥰🩷

You can also find all my stories on my Masterlist

Full name: Luna Valeria Auclair

Nicknames: Lunes & Lu by Bryce Lahela (OH), Moonbeam (by her grandpa and her dad), Loonsey & Loon-Moon (by her mom & grandma), Sugarplum (by her best friend Maxine), Looney (By her cousins)

Love Interest: Bryce Lahela (Open Heart)

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Birthday: June, 27th

Zodiac Sign: Cancer ♋️

Nationality: American

Born: Honolulu, Hawaii 🌺

Face Claim: none for now

Hair: dark blonde, long and wavy

Height: 5‘0 feet tall

Eyes: Blue-green with a slight aquamarine tint

Education: Luna got her Bachelor of Fine Arts at the University of Hawaii. She specialized in ceramics, drawing painting + sculpture.

She teaches art at the University of Hawaii.

(Though Luna would love to have her own art gallery in Honolulu, Hawaii).

Family: Luna is an only child (for now, though that might change soon).

Luna’s parents:

Grace Amanda Auclair, Luna’s mom is an English teacher at McKinley High (Luna’s old Highschool).

Brian James Auclair, Lunas mom and dad are both from the Chicago area. Brian worked in finance at his father’s company. He comes from a wealthy family- his parents are from new money. They were very strict, and technically he didn't need to work at his fathers company, but he didn't want to be like all the other rich people who lived of off their trust fund. He wanted to earn his money.

The day he met Grace, they were both on their lunch break. Grace spilled her coffee on Brian's shirt and felt so embarrassed. She wanted to pay for dry cleaning, but Brian wouldn't hear it. Later on they kept talking for what seemed like hours. They promised to see each other again on the next day. They met every day for coffee until Brian had the courage to ask her out. They dated for a while before they became official.

Sadly Brian's parents didn't approve of his love with Grace, and they made him choose. Grace wanted to break things off. She didn't want to be the cause of a rift between his parents. But Brian chose Grace and that's the last day he spoke to his parents. They disowned him afterwards.

With some savings they both decided they wanted to make a fresh start. Grace quit her job as an English teacher and Brian quit his job in finance. They packed their belongings and moved to Honolulu, Hawaii. Where Brian opened up his flower shop called »Orchid's Paradise«. He always had a knack for flowers.

They got married and he took his wife’s name (Auclair). He hasn’t spoken to his parents ever since. Though he has a beautiful family now and he couldn’t care less.

Luna‘s aunt, uncle and her triplet cousins:

Joanne Dahlia Auclair (her aunt; maternal side)

Joseph Alexander Auclair (her uncle; maternal side)

Skyler Tristan Auclair (Luna‘s cousin; maternal side)

Soraya Emilia Auclair (Luna‘s cousin; maternal side)

Evangeline Rose Auclair (Luna‘s cousin; maternal side)

Luna‘s cousins have their own wedding planning business called »Sunset Moments«

Luna‘s grandparents:

Angelina Lilly Auclair (Luna’s grandma; maternal side - they share the same birthday - June 27th).

Grayson Oleander Auclair (Luna‘s grandpa; maternal side - a former defense attorney, now retired).

Auclair Family Tree

Auclair Triplets (Luna‘s cousins)

Likes:

- mangos

- cherries

- herb sauce for her fries

- guava

- Haupia (Hawaiian dessert)

- mangas (Bryce loves comics) she would love to do a collab of a manga that features Hawaii

- Luna loves to take old furniture and make it into something new / or restore it to its former glory

- peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with banana slices (Just like Elvis Presley)

Dislikes:

- toxic people

- negative energy

- dishonesty

- liars

- the word »glib« whatever that means

Personality: bubbly and sunshiny. Very open, honest, loyal, generous, a true sweetheart. Though hurt the people she loves? And you should better run.

Friends: She has her best friend Maxine Moore, who’s a tattoo artist based in Honolulu, Hawaii 🩷

Adam Sinclair who she went to school with. They went on one date but found out they’re better off as friends.

Amber Merchant - a popular photographer who took this photo of Luna 🥰

Luna‘s favorite Hawaiian proverbs:

Kahuna Nui Hale Kealohalani Makua – “Love all you see, including yourself.”

Aloha Aku No, Aloha Mai No – (I give my love to you, you give your love to me.)

Ua ola no i ka pane a ke aloha – (There is life in a kindly reply.)

‘A’OHE PU’U KI’EKI’E KE HO’A’O ‘IA E PI’I – (No cliff is so tall it cannot be climbed.)

12 things about Luna:

🌺 plays the ukulele

🌺 her hair was as pale as moonlight and that’s how she got the name Luna

🌺 She got her nickname ”Looney“ from watching Looney Tunes as a kid

🌺 dances Hula

🌺 peonies & lilacs are among her favorite flowers

🌺 she was once stung by a jellyfish and got a tiny star shaped scar from it

🌺 allergic to ginger

🌺 thinks grasshoppers are creepy (though spiders are cute)

🌺 played soccer in grade school and in high school she switched to volleyball and tennis

🌺 was on the cheer squad together with her cousin Soraya (who was the cheer captain)

🌺 Had a belly button piercing but it got infected so she had to remove it.

🌺 Luna struggles with anxiety and can't handle large crowds. She's had help from her family, but also from her therapist. She goes there from time to time. Not as often as she did before she met Bryce. Art is like therapy for her. That's why she likes to paint or create to help her relax. Because some days are harder than others. She quit her job in Boston, because she was bullied by her boss. She didn't feel good to work in a toxic work environment like that. Bryce wasn't really happy in Boston either. They both missed home, so they moved back to Honolulu, Hawaii and Keiki went with them. (I explored that in my story By a Landslide)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Bill Prutt for Slate:

On Jan. 8, 2004, just more than 20 years ago, the first episode of The Apprentice aired. It was called “Meet the Billionaire,” and 18 million people watched. The episodes that followed climbed to roughly 20 million each week. A staggering 28 million viewers tuned in to watch the first season finale. The series won an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Reality-Competition Program, and the Television Critics Association called it one of the best TV shows of the year, alongside The Sopranos and Arrested Development. The series—alongside its bawdy sibling, The Celebrity Apprentice—appeared on NBC in coveted prime-time slots for more than a decade. The Apprentice was an instant success in another way too. It elevated Donald J. Trump from sleazy New York tabloid hustler to respectable household name. In the show, he appeared to demonstrate impeccable business instincts and unparalleled wealth, even though his businesses had barely survived multiple bankruptcies and faced yet another when he was cast. By carefully misleading viewers about Trump—his wealth, his stature, his character, and his intent—the competition reality show set about an American fraud that would balloon beyond its creators’ wildest imaginations.

I should know. I was one of four producers involved in the first two seasons. During that time, I signed an expansive nondisclosure agreement that promised a fine of $5 million and even jail time if I were to ever divulge what actually happened. It expired this year. No one involved in The Apprentice—from the production company or the network, to the cast and crew—was involved in a con with malicious intent. It was a TV show, and it was made for entertainment. I still believe that. But we played fast and loose with the facts, particularly regarding Trump, and if you were one of the 28 million who tuned in, chances are you were conned. As Trump answers for another of his alleged deception schemes in New York and gears up to try to persuade Americans to elect him again, in part thanks to the myth we created, I can finally tell you what making Trump into what he is today looked like from my side. Most days were revealing. Some still haunt me, two decades later. [...]

Now, this is important. The Apprentice is a game show regulated by the Federal Communications Commission. In the 1950s, scandals arose when producers of quiz shows fed answers to likable, ratings-generating contestants while withholding those answers from unlikable but truly knowledgeable players. Any of us involved in The Apprentice swinging the outcome of prize money by telling Trump whom to fire is forbidden. [...]

Trump goes about knocking off every one of the contestants in the boardroom until only two remain. The finalists are Kwame Jackson, a Black broker from Goldman Sachs, and Bill Rancic, a white entrepreneur from Chicago who runs his own cigar business. Trump assigns them each a task devoted to one of his crown-jewel properties. Jackson will oversee a Jessica Simpson benefit concert at Trump Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City, while Rancic will oversee a celebrity golf tournament at Trump National Golf Club in Briarcliff Manor, New York. Viewers need to believe that whatever Trump touches turns to gold. These properties that bear his name are supposed to glitter and gleam. All thanks to him.

Reality is another matter altogether. The lights in the casino’s sign are out. Hong Kong investors actually own the place—Trump merely lends his name. The carpet stinks, and the surroundings for Simpson’s concert are ramshackle at best. We shoot around all that. Both Rancic and Jackson do a round-robin recruitment of former contestants, and Jackson makes the fateful decision to team up with the notorious Omarosa, among others, to help him carry out his final challenge. [...]

Trump will make his decision live on camera months later, so what we are about to film is the setup to that reveal. The race between Jackson and Rancic should seem close, and that’s how we’ll edit the footage. Since we don’t know who’ll be chosen, it must appear close, even if it’s not.

We lay out the virtues and deficiencies of each finalist to Trump in a fair and balanced way, but sensing the moment at hand, Kepcher sort of comes out of herself. She expresses how she observed Jackson at the casino overcoming more obstacles than Rancic, particularly with the way he managed the troublesome Omarosa. Jackson, Kepcher maintains, handled the calamity with grace. “I think Kwame would be a great addition to the organization,” Kepcher says to Trump, who winces while his head bobs around in reaction to what he is hearing and clearly resisting. “Why didn’t he just fire her?” Trump asks, referring to Omarosa. It’s a reasonable question. Given that this the first time we’ve ever been in this situation, none of this is something we expected. “That’s not his job,” Bienstock says to Trump. “That’s yours.” Trump’s head continues to bob. “I don’t think he knew he had the ability to do that,” Kepcher says. Trump winces again.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, “but, I mean, would America buy a n— winning?” Kepcher’s pale skin goes bright red. I turn my gaze toward Trump. He continues to wince. He is serious, and he is adamant about not hiring Jackson. Bienstock does a half cough, half laugh, and swiftly changes the topic or throws to Ross for his assessment. What happens next I don’t entirely recall. I am still processing what I have just heard. We all are. Only Bienstock knows well enough to keep the train moving. None of us thinks to walk out the door and never return. I still wish I had. (Bienstock and Kepcher didn’t respond to requests for comment.) Afterward, we film the final meeting in the boardroom, where Jackson and Rancic are scrutinized by Trump, who, we already know, favors Rancic. Then we wrap production, pack up, and head home. There is no discussion about what Trump said in the boardroom, about how the damning evidence was caught on tape. Nothing happens.

We attend to our thesis that only the best and brightest deserve a job working for Donald Trump. Luckily, the winner, Bill Rancic, and his rival, Kwame Jackson, come off as capable and confident throughout the season. If for some reason they had not, we would have conveniently left their shortcomings on the cutting room floor. In actuality, both men did deserve to win. Without a doubt, the hardest decisions we faced in postproduction were how to edit together sequences involving Trump. We needed him to sound sharp, dignified, and clear on what he was looking for and not as if he was yelling at people. You see him today: When he reads from a teleprompter, he comes off as loud and stoic. Go to one of his rallies and he’s the off-the-cuff rambler rousing his followers into a frenzy. While filming, he struggled to convey even the most basic items. But as he became more comfortable with filming, Trump made raucous comments he found funny or amusing—some of them misogynistic as well as racist. We cut those comments. Go to one of his rallies today and you can hear many of them.

If you listen carefully, especially to that first episode, you will notice clearly altered dialogue from Trump in both the task delivery and the boardroom. Trump was overwhelmed with remembering the contestants’ names, the way they would ride the elevator back upstairs or down to the street, the mechanics of what he needed to convey. Bienstock instigated additional dialogue recording that came late in the edit phase. We set Trump up in the soundproof boardroom set and fed him lines he would read into a microphone with Bienstock on the phone, directing from L.A. And suddenly Trump knows the names of every one of the contestants and says them while the camera cuts to each of their faces. Wow, you think, how does he remember everyone’s name? While on location, he could barely put a sentence together regarding how a task would work. Listen now, and he speaks directly to what needs to happen while the camera conveniently cuts away to the contestants, who are listening and nodding. He sounds articulate and concise through some editing sleight of hand.

Then comes the note from NBC about the fact that after Trump delivers the task assignment to the contestants, he disappears from the episode after the first act and doesn’t show up again until the next-to-last. That’s too long for the (high-priced) star of the show to be absent. There is a convenient solution. At the top of the second act, right after the task has been assigned but right before the teams embark on their assignment, we insert a sequence with Trump, seated inside his gilded apartment, dispensing a carefully crafted bit of wisdom. He speaks to whatever the theme of each episode is—why someone gets fired or what would lead to a win. The net effect is not only that Trump appears once more in each episode but that he also now seems prophetic in how he just knows the way things will go right or wrong with each individual task. He comes off as all-seeing and all-knowing. We are led to believe that Donald Trump is a natural-born leader.

Through the editorial nudge we provide him, Trump prevails. So much so that NBC asks for more time in the boardroom to appear at the end of all the remaining episodes. (NBC declined to comment for this article.) [... So, we scammed. We swindled. Nobody heard the racist and misogynistic comments or saw the alleged cheating, the bluffing, or his hair taking off in the wind. Those tapes, I’ve come to believe, will never be found.

No one lost their retirement fund or fell on hard times from watching The Apprentice. But Trump rose in stature to the point where he could finally eye a run for the White House, something he had intended to do all the way back in 1998. Along the way, he could now feed his appetite for defrauding the public with various shady practices. In 2005 thousands of students enrolled in what was called Trump University, hoping to gain insight from the Donald and his “handpicked” professors. Each paid as much as $35,000 to listen to some huckster trade on Trump’s name. In a sworn affidavit, salesman Ronald Schnackenberg testified that Trump University was “fraudulent.” The scam swiftly went from online videoconferencing courses to live events held by high-pressure sales professionals whose only job was to persuade attendees to sign up for the course. The sales were for the course “tuition” and had nothing whatsoever to do with real estate investments. A class action suit was filed against Trump.

That same year, Trump was caught bragging to Access Hollywood co-host Billy Bush that he likes to grab married women “by the pussy,” adding, “When you’re a star, they let you do it.” He later tried to recruit porn actor Stormy Daniels for The Apprentice despite her profession and, according to Daniels, had sex with her right after his last son was born. (His alleged attempt to pay off Daniels is, of course, the subject of his recent trial.) In October 2016—a month before the election—the Access Hollywood tapes were released and written off as “locker room banter.” Trump paid Daniels to keep silent about their alleged affair. He paid $25 million to settle the Trump University lawsuit and make it go away. He went on to become the first elected president to possess neither public service nor military experience. And although he lost the popular vote, Trump beat out Hillary Clinton in the Electoral College, winning in the Rust Belt by just 80,000 votes.

Trump has been called the “reality TV president,” and not just because of The Apprentice. The Situation Room, where top advisers gathered, became a place for photo-ops, a bigger, better boardroom. Trump swaggered and cajoled, just as he had on the show. Whom would he listen to? Whom would he fire? Stay tuned. Trump even has his own spinoff, called the House of Representatives, where women hurl racist taunts and body-shame one another with impunity. The State of the Union is basically a cage fight. The demands of public office now include blowhard buffoonery.

Bill Pruitt wrote in Slate that Donald Trump used the N-word on the set of NBC's The Apprentice in 2004 when referring to a Black contestant (Kwame Jackson)'s chances of winning the competition by saying "would America buy a n***er winning?"

This is yet another example of Trump's long record of anti-Black racism that dates back to the 1970s.

[memaidraws]

Gentle reminder to fellow artists to please Glaze or Nightshade your work before posting online. Glaze even has a web browser version for those who do not have sufficiently powerful PCs or who work on mobile devices like iPads.

You can find it as “WebGlaze” from the University of Chicago, though you may have to sign up with an email address before you can use it.

There isn’t a lot we can do when companies make a target of our output, the best we can do is protect our work with watermarks and tools like Glaze. It may not be a perfect solution, but it at least prevents genAI from mimicking your style (which is the big selling point of these scummy generators)

[sweaterkittensahoy]

hellooo mota prompt if this floats your boat:

demarco/macon practically together in every scene in the stalag is very much thought provoking, maybe some postwar getting together? I firmly believe benny was Enamored by macon!! benny swinging by macons base/flight school to introduce meatball after months of back and forth letters is suchh an image.

if this doesnt spark anything for you thats completely alright too, i love your prompt fics and vibrating with the thought of reading your rosielemmons!!

[Oh, I got thoughts right away! Love this idea! NOTE: Oh, this one got away from me.]

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH COMPANY

RECIEVED AT Birmingham, AL

Via CHICAGO, IL

R: Leaving Noon. Chicago. Stopping just in KY for the night. Back on road 6AM tmw. C U in the afternoon. - BD&M

Richard reads the telegram twice, just because he can. It's just after two o'clock now, the humidity really digging into the air. He'd mentioned it to Benny a few letters ago, warning him to make sure Meatball had extra water for the trip.

It feels odd that it's finally happening. After months of letters and cards, Benny's coming to Alabama to see him. To see the flight school he's setting up. To meet Richard's family and friends.

Like that's something a white boy does.

Richard puts the telegram on his desk and walks outside, looking up at the sky. He thinks about the Stalag more than he'd like, but this time, it's on purpose. Strange way to make a friend, bunking together at a prison camp. But they are friends. Richard's sure about that.

He thinks about Benny's smile and his laugh. The way his handwriting gets messy when he writes a funny story. Richard turns his gaze to the hanger he's nearly finished building. There are two planes in there, a third on the way. It's due to get delivered while Benny is here. They'd planned the trip on it.

...I'm happy to help with whatever you need while I'm there. I haven't flown a Cessna since training, so maybe don't put me in the pilot's seat, but I'd love to see a plane get delivered. You'd think they'd fly it in, but I guess a truck delivery makes a little more sense. Guy's gotta get back home somehow...

*

Benny pulls up to the little house by the airfield at four o'clock the next day. All the windows of his car are down. Meatball's got his head out of one of them, panting like all get out.

Richard steps out the front door and waves hello, then walks towards Benny, hand out to shake.

Benny's handshake is as firm as Richard remembers. His smile is brighter, but they're not worn out at a camp anymore. They're men who survived and came home. Who wrote each other the first letter on the same day by accident.

Richard's not one for signs, but he holds that fact close to his heart. That they wrote each other that first letter on the same day, neither of them truly doing it first. The friendship they'd built in the Stalag had simply done the work when it was time.

"Look at you!" Benny says. He grabs Richard's shoulders and squeezes. "You look like you get three meals a day!"

"Sure do," Richard replies. "You're about as skinny as ever."

Benny grins. "My ma's trying her best, but I've always had a hollow leg, you know?" He turns and opens the back door of the car. Meatball jumps out, sniffs, and immediately pees on the driveway.

"Is that approval or disapproval?" Richard asks.

"Think it's just urine," Benny replies.

And it's Richard's turn to grin. Meatball walks over and sniffs his hand, and Richard pets him. "Never actually seen one of these in person before," Richard says to Benny. "Huskies don't do great down here."

Benny wipes his hand across his temple where sweat is beading. "Yeah, I can tell. Chicago gets warm in the summer, but we get the lake breeze."

"Well, come on inside. It's a little cooler."

Benny grabs his suitcase from the trunk, then lets Richard lead the way into the house. Meatball walks next to Benny, snuffling every inch of yard he can.

Benny sighs in relief when he steps into the house. "Oh, yeah, this feels much better."

"Built it to let the heat out in the summers," Richard says.

"Those plans you sent me don't do it justice," Benny replies, looking around in the living room. "But I think I remember where everything's supposed to be. He points to the door at the left. "That's the dining room."

"It is."

He points right, "And that's the hallway with two bedrooms."

"Yes."

"And on the back, you've got the kitchen on the left, and your office on the right, with the bathroom tucked in between."

"Yup."

"Did you paint the bathroom blue like you planned?"

"Find out," Richard says, gesturing that way.

Benny walks that way, and Richard watches him move. He bounces on his toes a little. He didn't do that at the camp. Richard likes it.

He likes a lot of things about Benny.

He sometimes thinks Benny likes a lot of things about him.

But they've only had letters since the camp, and some things a man does not write down without surety.

"It is blue!" Benny calls from the bathroom. Richard listens to him walk towards the kitchen, then turn and walk to the office. "Oh, this turned out real fine," he hollers. "Those bookshelves are beautiful. You hand-carve the curve?"

"Yes, I did," Richard says. He walks into the office himself. Benny's looking at the built-in shelves with a smile, leaning in to read a few book titles. Meatball comes in, sniffs a leather chair, then climbs up and lies down.

"Meat--"

"He's okay," Richard says. "I don't mind dogs on the furniture."

"My sister doesn't let him in her house anymore. He shed all over the baby."

Richard laughs, picturing it. "Bet the baby loved it."

"He was climbing all over him. Meatball was delighted."

"Must have been a little rough for him, going from a whole base full of people giving him love to just you."

Benny's face changes, his smile turning smaller, but not in a bad way. More like he's having a private thought he likes a lot. "It's not so bad," he says. "Sometimes, you just need one person to love you the right way, you know?"

Richard swallows hard, nodding. He thinks about his first few days at the camp, the pain from his broken neck, and the frustration and rage about being a prisoner. Locked in a bunkroom with a bunch of white boys he didn't know and couldn't bring himself to trust.

And then when he'd been struggling to sit up one day, Benny had leaned over from the next bunk and held out his arm. Richard had stared, waiting for him to say something, but Benny had just sat there, arm out. The offer plain as day.

Richard had grabbed his arm and managed to sit up.

"We don't have much for pain around here," Benny had said once Richard had breathed through the spike of agony in his neck. "But I could make a fire, if you wanted. Heat some water. Get something warm on your neck."

Alex and Robert aren't there to help. They'd gone with a few of the other men to learn where to scrounge up supplies. Richard considers his options, then nods.

"Something warm might help," he'd said.

And that had been the start of it. Benny made a fire and warmed up some water and soaked some rags. He'd laid them over Richard's neck and sat next to him, asking him about himself like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Where you from?" Richard had asked.

"Chicago," Benny had replied.

"You know any black people there?"

Benny had thought a moment. "My neighborhood's mostly Italian and Jewish," he'd said. "But I talked a little with a couple of fellas at work."

The answer had felt honest, and Richard had liked it. "Yeah, don't know a lot of white boys myself. Are Italians white in Chicago?"

Benny had laughed. "Mostly, I think," he'd said, and then he'd gotten up to get another cloth out of the water.

Richard looks at Benny, looking at his books in his office. Remembering the layout of the house in a way that tells Richard he's re-read his letters.

Richard's re-read Benny's letters, too.

"You got anyone loving you the right way these days?" Richard asks.

Benny bites the corner of his mouth. "Maybe," he says. He shuffles his feet and takes a step forward. "I, um, I wrote you a letter yesterday. Before I left Chicago."

"What's it say?" Richard asks.

"Nothing much," Benny replies. "But it didn't feel right to miss a week, you know?"

Richard takes a deep breath and a step forward. "I know," he says. "I usually write you on Wednesdays."

"Yeah, I've noticed." Benny leans against the bookshelf and looks up at Richard. His face is different than in the camp, more filled out. He's still skinny, but there's a glow of health to him now. They're doing all right, the both of them, Richard thinks.

"Richard."

"Yeah?"

"You wanna be loved by just one person in particular?"

Richard thinks of Benny making that fire. Warming up those rags. Thinks of Benny telling him terrible jokes and asking him about books and chemistry. Telling Richard about his family and asking about his. Playing cards side-by-side, where they cheated by showing each other their hands. Walking side-by-side during that whole long march, Benny checking every now and again that Richard was doing okay.

And then letters. Letters upon letters. All the devotion and care Benny had shown before shining through in a different way. Richard had read them in disbelief at first. Devotion and care like this, in this world. From a white boy.

"You got anyone in mind?" Richard asks.

Benny takes one more step forward, and Richard dips his head down. Benny touches right where his neck used to hurt the most, and Richard holds his wrist, and the kiss is just a little thing. Brief and a bit dry. But it's a promise. An agreement. A start.

*

Richard:

Just a quick note this week. I'm about to get Meatball loaded into the car and start driving. With a little luck, I'll beat this letter to Birmingham. Won't beat the telegram I'm sending, though. But it didn't feel right to go a Saturday without a note.

I'm writing this down so I don't chicken out: Ask me if I'm seeing anybody, will you?

Yours,

Benny

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hold on, anon. Someone will get you a explanation (maybe future me) but for now have mine of random ones because I am tired, so sorry if I miss anything/if these aren’t the best explanations

Teddy!verse: Jason’s a single dad after someone close to him dies, leaving behind her son, Teddy. Jason takes in Teddy who’s a fan of Reader. The boy very much chose his mother. Reader is a voice actress who runs her own podcast company. Her ex is a jerk, that used to work with Reader. Jay and Reader end up together and expand the family. She’s very much a mama bear.

rabies!verse: Werewolf Reader, who helps Bruce, triggers something in Jason and he just suddenly gets “baby rabies”

Thirst Trap Thursdays: Ari just write thirst on Thursday sometimes.

BFF!reader: Bruce’s BFF gets pregnant and the dad isn’t really the best so Bruce steps up. Little Dick is also here. Said BFF eventually gives birth to a little baby girl named Emma.

hotmess!Jason: This verse is dead, so don’t request anything from it. Jason and Roy are stupid and upset Reader. That’s all you need to know honestly.

apprentice!reader: Reader is John Constantine’s daughter and he’s forced to take her in and he trains her. She shows up in place of him one day for some magic issue Bruce is having and Jason’s also there and ends up falling in love with her.

Internet friend!reader: Tim and Reader are online friends and are a popular duo honestly. They fall in love at some point and start dating. Don’t remember if that was before or after they met up irl. I think before?

softdom!Diana: What it says on the tin.

sugarbaby!Jason: Jason is Reader’s sugarbaby. He’s a pianist, she has a thing for artists. He gets nice things and so does she, they’re both less lonely, it’s good for both of them.

cowboy!Jason: Reader runs a farm after her dad passed and looks after her three younger sisters. Jason’s supposed to just be laying low after some trouble with Black Mask and passing through. After Reader gets a lift from him and lets him stay in the barn she ends up capturing his heart and vice versa though which makes things so much harder.

AI!reader: Reader dies and Tim tries to recreate her as an AI to cope because he’s Tim. But the AI and Reader are different in some many ways and he’s not very happy about that either.

teacher!Jason: Reader is a single mother and a college student, Jason’s her professor. Sometimes she brings her daughter, Lena to class. Jason doesn’t mind and she’s thankful for that. Jason’s also kind of into Reader.

werewolf!Jason: Reader and Jason both get taken and experimented on. Both of them get turned into werewolves. Reader used to be a kindergarten teacher in Chicago. Also both of them are now connected to each other for werewolf instinct reasons and keeping each other company during capture.

handyman!Jason: Jason leaves behind Gotham and the vigilante lifestyle. Instead fixing up random things in a specific area, including Reader’s Aunt Maggie. Maggie’s tries to set them up and succeeds quickly honestly.

circus!Reader: Dick’s childhood friend that comes to visit occasionally. They grew up in different circuses. They’re currently on a road trip together.

-signed, that one person who’s read most of Ari’s verses completely and occasionally re-reads some

Blessings on your house.

I hope you find the perfect pair of jeans in your exact size. On clearance.

[between-myself-and-me]

It seemed only a matter of time before Julien Baker would combust. Monday at the first of a sold-out three-night residency at Thalia Hall, the singer-songwriter performed with the kind of extreme intensity that can be difficult to watch and feels both thrilling and draining to witness. She made it impossible for anyone to look away, and matched the fervor of her lyrics with spontaneous body language and unfiltered banter that underlined her tightly wound passion.

Raw and unscripted, the 90-minute concert marked a memorable way to start a tour, Baker’s first headline outing in two years. Aside from sticking to an apparent setlist, the 28-year-old approached the show by refusing to trade in predictability or artifice. Backed by a five-piece band amid a spartan stage setup, and venturing deep into her catalog, she stood as the antithesis of most peers and predecessors with her degree of success.

Nervous, excited, jittery, sincere and occasionally unable to keep her focus, Baker operated on a wavelength that brought her to an eye-to-eye level with fans and established her as a relatable person rather than an untouchable, unknowable celebrity. That didn’t mean she didn’t take her craft seriously. Indeed, Baker’s recurrent concerns about getting everything right, her admitted apprehension over remembering words and playing tunes alone, demonstrated a heightened conscientiousness and unguarded honesty few entertainers openly share.

Yes, Baker and company erred at several points, though her worries about the hoarseness of her voice — she said she overtaxed it in rehearsals — largely proved unfounded when she opened her mouth to sing. The various missteps and imperfections felt as if they belonged and, oddly enough, enhanced the fearlessness and courage with which Baker addressed harrowing topics ranging from mental illness and violent abuse to debilitating doubt and loneliness.

For all the pain and anguish in her songs, Baker continues to enjoy an ascent that a majority of burgeoning musicians would envy. Her still-developing career is evidence that listeners can still suss out singular talent even in a pop-culture landscape overstuffed with countless options and here-today-gone-tomorrow hypes vying for attention.

A decade ago, using studio time given to her by a friend, Baker recorded what became her debut in just three days while studying to be a teacher at Middle Tennessee State University. Though she didn’t expect many people outside her immediate orbit to hear them, the songs became a word-of-mouth sensation. After an indie imprint signed her and formally released the material as the “Sprained Ankle” LP, Baker landed on record-label radars and major media outlets’ best-of-year lists.

Virtually overnight, the Tennessee native went from pursuing a college education to headlining a national tour. She shared a compelling backstory that included candid details about her evangelical upbringing, battles with addictions and decision as a teenager to come out as queer to her parents. Baker’s critically acclaimed sophomore album (“Turn Out the Lights,” 2017) further expanded her profile and, the following year, she formed Boygenius with Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers.

Despite releasing just two EPs and one full-length to date, Boygenius has won three Grammy Awards and cultivated enough interest that it finished touring last fall with a capacity show at the Hollywood Bowl.

Who knows, Baker’s own material might work in such settings, but its personal intimacy and intricate architecture — moody violins, atmospheric keyboards, spare guitars, chamber-inspired orchestrations — are better-suited for halls and theaters. Her three solo turns on Monday, which included the disarming “Guthrie” and a searing rendition of “Something” during which every utterance of the titular word registered as a self-inflicted gutpunch, benefited from the coziness of the mid-sized venue.

Wearing a white button-down shirt and jeans, with her hair pulled into a ponytail bun, Baker, too, appeared comfortable in an environment in which she could forge a close bond with the audience. Having previously dealt with stage fright, she revealed she no longer enjoys playing without a support band and encouraged anyone who knew the words to sing along. With rare exception, the latter request went unheeded. The hushed crowd treated Baker’s emotional outpourings with reverence of scripture.

During the faintest moments, the faint hum of amplifiers framed Baker’s delicate vocals. Expressed as whispers, asides, exhales and shudders, her gentle singing confirmed quiet moments can have as much volume as full-throated cries. Well-placed screams and howls also figured in Baker’s repertoire. She frequently delivered loud passages when standing feet away from the microphone stand or shifting her stance.

The movements altered her words’ pitch, and instilled the sensation that she was either trying to flee a bad situation, engaged in a heated confrontation or yelling into an abyss. Even with a guitar or keyboard shielding her rail-thin physique, Baker couldn’t disguise the physical impact the songs registered on her body or the anxiety they triggered in her mind.

Pointing at her temple, running her hands through her hair, covering her mouth with her forearm, shaking her head, squeezing her eyes shut, unconsciously transferring the weight from one leg to another: Baker looked as if she’d pull the bones out from beneath her skin as she chronicled traumas, faults and hurts with unsparing conviction. Far more dynamic live than on the studio recordings, the taut rhythmic structures of the songs accentuated the struggles with faith, forgiveness and optimism the singer explored via bruised, bloodied narratives.

Baker’s music is not generally fun or always easy to digest, particularly given the explicit references to suicidal thoughts, toxic relapses, self-destructive behaviors and all manner of failures. Yet it often sounded momentous and freeing — the balladic frameworks of fare such as “Crying Wolf” and “Funeral Pyre” beautiful and melodic, the crashing urgency of “Tokyo” and “Hardline” effervescent and cathartic — and spoke to vital issues without coming across as self-serving.

“I’m so (expletive) happy, you just can’t (expletive) tell,” Baker announced, typically subdued and aware of the irony, as she explained how much playing matters to her. She later gave a few clearer signs of her temperament. Baker climbed atop the drum riser to bash out punk-style chords on her electric guitar; stomped around and double-over her instrument during another explosive sequence and, ultimately, let her hair fall over her shoulders.

That, and led the band through two live premieres (the obscure seven-inch B-side “Conversation Piece,” the brand-new and unreleased “Middle Children”) and waged a conflicted war for snatching some semblance of goodness out of the jaws of despair. In the fractured episodes of “Ziptie,” “Appointments” and “Ringside,” Baker didn’t identify fixed solutions or guaranteed redemption. Still, the songs hit on the potential of mercy and hope, and of trying against all odds to conquer sensations of dread, sadness and emptiness.

For Baker, and everyone now struggling to reconcile the notions of kindness and decency against the evils that humans continue to do to one another and the planet, it’s a start to a long-overdue conversation.

[looselipssinkships-x]

fall out boy lyrics that make me think of the places i grew up

this town is wasted and alone -- death valley -- when i visit, if I'm lucky i get to drive around, and the nothingness is crushing. You go to school, you graduate, if you're upper or middle class you go to college, probably the local one an hour away. You have to drive an hour to get to the good grocery store, twenty minutes to the shitty one. You marry your high school sweetheart, or someone you met in college, you settle down and have kids. You have at least one family member who works for a company you're pretty sure is still just a factory, even though they have fancier names for it now. I look out the window of my parents' house and i can barely see the neighbors' house.

you were the last good thing about this part of town -- grand theft autumn/where is your boy -- i left my best friend in the city i moved from and god i miss her so fucking much. Every time i visit it's like we were never apart. Every time i leave we both wonder if we'd have made it had i not moved away.

i can't remember the good old days -- 27 -- your parents' house is supposed to feel like being a kid, running around carefree. I have not lived with my parents for eight years but every time i visit i wake up with that same chest crushing anxiety and it does not go away. Even when i get back out east it takes me days to feel like a person again.

every pane of glass that your pebbles tap/negates the pains I went through to avoid you/and every little pat on the shoulder for attention/fails to mention I still hate you -- chicago is so two years ago -- i did not visit for almost two years, and then only did so because my grandmother was dying. Had she not been, it would have likely been so much longer. I spent those two years hating that small town, because i thought if i hated it i wouldn't miss it, and it all hurt so much that it wasn't hard to try to hate it. (that didn't work, because even though it hurt, it was still home)

I know I should be home/all the colors of the street signs, they remind me of the/pickup truck out in front of your neighbor's house -- chicago is so two years ago -- it's the little things that get me, the parts that weren't so bad, the parts that were even good, the parts that killed me to leave behind. The first dance class i took out east i sobbed the entire two mile walk home.

whoa, can't do it by myself -- reinventing the wheel to run myself over -- this one gets me because every time everything just feels like too much, it's amplified by the fact that i did this to myself, i chose to move away from everyone and everything i ever knew, and it's therefore my responsibility to indeed, do it by myself

we're the kids who feel like dead ends//and the poets are just kids who didn't make it -- i've got a dark alley and a bad idea that says you should shut your mouth (summer song) -- literally all of my friends from home don't quite fit the midwestern mold, and we're all mentally ill creative types. We're in our mid twenties now and have felt like burn outs for years

I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light -- sophomore slump or comeback of the year -- the same best friend from earlier. I worry the small town is crushing her and she's so, so bright.

the best way to make it through with hearts and wrists intact is to realize two out of three ain't bad -- i'm like a lawyer with the way i'm always trying to get you off (me & you) -- you make sacrifices to survive. Mental, emotional, physical, everyone's sacrificing something just to make it through.

it's all a game of this or that, now versus then/better off against worse for wear/and you're someone who knows someone who knows someone/I once knew, and I just want to be a part of this -- hum hallelujah -- the duality of living in such a small town where everyone knows everyone and still feeling like you have no place to belong

literally all of g.i.n.a.s.f.s. but especially: everybody wants to drive on through the night if it's a drive back home//things aren't the same anymore, some nights, they get so bad//i sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house//it's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you, I'm supposed to love you//I've already given up on myself twice third time is the charm//threw caution to the wind, but I've got a lousy arm -- ioh was my first fob cd, and i listened to it on repeat the summer i spent commuting from my parents house to the hospital in the city to camp until i finally got an apartment. This was also the year i spent coming out to myself, terrified of the future and expectations i knew I'd never meet. I was also in love with one of my best friends and god it hurts so much for your first love to feel so wrong

I will never end up like him/behind my back, I already am -- headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet -- when i first moved to the east coast i swore I'd assimilate and no one would know where i came from, but the second I'd open my mouth it would be "oh what part of the midwest are you from?" Over time I've learned to make peace with the parts of myself that are so unavoidably rural and midwestern, but there were parts i resented for a long time, because it felt like I'd never be free from where i grew up

I don't know where I'm going/but I don't think I'm coming home -- alone together -- i remember driving home from a college course i was taking my senior year of high school and just, dreaming of driving on, starting somewhere new

and in the end/i'll do it all again -- the kids aren't alright -- if things had been different, if i'd grown up differently, i wouldn't be who i am today. Also i almost got these lyrics tattooed on my thigh. Still might tbh

you were the sunshine of my lifetime/what would you trade the pain for?//and I just about snapped, don't look back//what would you trade the pain for? I'm not sure -- love from the other side -- leaving was, and is, so goddamn hard. Every time i visit my best friend, my grandparents, i have to remind myself why i left, and why i can't go back, and so much of that focuses on looking forward because if i look at the past too much i begin to romanticize the pain

scar crossed lovers, forever -- heaven, iowa -- i am so inexplicably, irreversibly bound to the people i grew up with like some sort of fucked up trauma bonding. Out here on the east coast, in the cities, it's just different. Even people who grew up east coast "rural," it's not the same. It's strong with friends from the city i moved from and even stronger with my friend who grew up in the same county.

[have-a-hiddles]

Happy Birthday to me!

Here’s some (mostly positive) stuff about the year I was born:

Chinese Year of the Horse

United States Senate proceedings are broadcast on radio for the first time.

The People's Republic of China lifts a ban on works by Aristotle, William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens.

The first global positioning satellite, the Rockwell International-built Navstar 1, is launched by the United States.

The first radio episode of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, is transmitted on BBC Radio 4.

San Francisco's City Council signs the United States's most comprehensive gay rights bill.

Dallas debuts on CBS, and gives birth to the modern day primetime soap opera.

At the 50th Academy Awards, Annie Hall won four Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Director (Woody Allen), and Best Actress (Diane Keaton). On the other hand, Star Wars won six Oscars, including Best Film Editing, Best Visual Effects, and Best Art Direction. Finally, Madame Rosa (France) won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.

Izhar Cohen & the Alphabeta win the Eurovision Song Contest 1978 for Israel with their song A-Ba-Ni-Bi.

The Bee Gees' album, Saturday Night Fever, went #1 for 24 weeks.

Sarajevo is selected to host the 1984 Winter Olympics, and Los Angeles is selected to host the 1984 Summer Olympics.

Mavis Hutchinson, 53, becomes the first woman to run across the U.S.; her trek took 69 days.

The Dallas Cowboys won the Super Bowl, the Washington Bullets were the NBA champs, and the Montreal Canadiens clinched the Stanley Cup.

Garfield's first comic strip, originally published locally as Jon in 1976, goes into nationwide syndication.

Charon, a satellite of Pluto, is discovered.

The rainbow flag of the LGBT movement flies for the first time (in its original form) at the San Francisco Gay Freedom Day Parade.

Louise Brown, the world's first test tube baby, is born in Oldham, Greater Manchester, UK.

Pope John Paul I succeeds Pope Paul VI as the 263rd Pope.

NASA unveiled the first group of women astronauts: Shannon W. Lucid, Margaret Rhea Seddon, Kathryn D. Sullivan, Judith A. Resnik, Anna L. Fisher, and Sally K. Ride.

Pope John Paul I dies after only 33 days of papacy.

United States President Jimmy Carter signs a bill that authorizes the minting of the Susan B. Anthony dollar.

Pope John Paul II succeeds Pope John Paul I as the 264th pope, resulting in the first Year of Three Popes since 1605.

Abolitionist Harriet Tubman became the first African-American woman to be honored on a U.S. postage stamp.

Chicago serial killer John Wayne Gacy is arrested.

Cabbage Patch Kids are first created.

The video game Space Invaders launched a craze for computer video games.

The first email system was created at University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in Newark, N.J.

The first spam email was sent by Gary Thuerk, a marketing manager who was promoting a new model of computer. Thuerk sent the correspondence out to about 600 prospects via ARPANET, and “complaints started coming in almost immediately.”

Illinois Bell Company introduced the first-ever Cellular Mobile Phone System.

Pulitzer Prize was awarded to Carl Sagan for his book, The Dragons of Eden.

 At the 30th Primetime Emmy Awards, All in the Family (CBS) won an Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series, and The Rockford Files (NBC) won an Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series. Carroll O’Connor (All in the Family) won an Emmy for Outstanding Continued Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Comedy Series, and Jean Stapleton (All in the Family) won an Emmy for Outstanding Continued Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role in a Comedy Series.

At the 35th Golden Globe Awards, The Turning Point won a Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture Drama, and The Goodbye Girl won a Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture Comedy or Musical.

Actor Ashton Kutcher was born on Feb. 7, 1978 in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Actor James Franco was born in Palo Alto, Calif. on April 19, 1978.

Actor Jason Biggs was born on May 12, 1978, in Pompton Plains, N.J.

Actress Zoe Saldana was born on June 19, 1978.

Singer Nicole Scherzinger was born on June 29, 1978.

Actor Josh Harnett was born on July 21, 1978.

 NBA star Kobe Bryant was born on Aug. 23, 1978.

Singer Usher was born on Oct. 14, 1978.

Actress Katherine Marie Heigl was born in Washington, D.C., on Nov. 24, 1978.

Popular movies included: Grease, Saturday Night Fever, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Star Wars (the first one), Superman: The Movie, and Halloween.

 The most popular baby names for boys were Michael, Jason, Christopher, David, and James. 

The most popular baby names for girls were Jennifer, Melissa, Jessica, Amy, and Heather. 

[chrisbitchtree]

Hello to all my Harringrove friends! I’m sorry that I’ve run off and spent the last couple months inhaling Lokius content like it’s air, but I swear I’m still around!

Please accept this ficlet as a sign of life! 💕💕💕

***

It all started with a lemon and a bucket of tears. After he and Nancy had split, amicably, after finally both admitting that they were better as friends, Steve had needed a change.

He’d been with Nancy for almost fifteen years, since his junior year of high school, started bus job at his father’s company fresh off his graduation, and living in the house his parents had set them up in after Nancy graduated the next year, so he had decided that a move to California was the best way for him to get a fresh start.

He was going to be doing the same job at the San Diego office of his father’s company, but he’d refused the offer of a sleek, shiny downtown apartment, and had instead opted for a tiny, cottage style home nestled beside a citrus farm.

The first month, he’d been pumped full of adrenaline, riding the high of being on his own for the first time in his life. The job was going well, his new coworkers were friendly, and he found a little coffee shop that he liked to frequent before work and after running errands on weekend afternoons.

But then December hit and Steve realized that he’d be alone at Christmas for the first time ever. Sure, he could have gotten his dad to pull some strings, get him the time off, or he could have caught a flight on the evening of the 24th, but he was trying to be more independent, do his own thing for once, so he decided to hang out by himself in the little cottage.

But one Saturday afternoon in early December, he’d been mowing his lawn when he noticed a bright yellow lemon nestled against the fence. This wasn’t out of the ordinary, considering that the property next to him was covered in lemon, lime, orange, and grapefruit trees, but now, cradling the lemon in the palm of his hand, all Steve could think about was his mother’s famous lemon meringue pie.

It may not have been a traditional holiday dessert, but every single year, without fail, it graced their dining room table at the end of their Christmas feast, ending the meal on a bright note.

That’s when the tears started. Steve wasn’t a cryer. He hadn’t cried when he’d broken his nose while playing hockey sophomore year of high school, or when his beloved grandma Joan had died, or when he’d been a hair’s breadth away from flunking out of high school senior year, or when his childhood dog, Frankie had been hit by a car in front of his eyes. He wasn’t a robot, he had emotions, he just didn’t express them through tears.

But once the tears had started, they wouldn’t stop. He had to sit down the catch his breath, the lemon still clutched in his hands. What had he been thinking, moving so far away from home? From his parents, his best friend, Robin, who’d previously been so close by in Chicago, from his favourite diner that knew just how he liked his eggs, and Mrs. Smith, the owner of the local creamery, that still, even as Steve was approaching thirty, would give him an extra scoop of ice cream with a wink, telling him it was there little secret? Another stupid decision made by Steve Harrington, the idiot.

He was finally just getting himself to calm down, the tears turning from an ocean to a trickling stream, when he heard a voice through the trees.

“Hey,” the person said, hesitantly. “Are you alright, man?”

Steve turned his head, startled. He’d met one of the owners of the farm, a young, redheaded woman named Max, when she’d brought over a welcome fruit basket the day after he’d moved in, and she’d mentioned that she owned and ran the place with her brother, but Steve had never met him. Was this him?

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he told the disembodied voice as he tried desperately to wipe the tears from his face. “I’m just feeling a little homesick. It’s stupid, but I found a lemon on my lawn, and it made me think of this delicious lemon meringue pie that my mom makes at Christmas and then I thought about how I won’t be there this year, and I won’t get to see my parents or my friends, and I won’t get to have the pie, and it was just a lot hitting me at once.”

The voice made a humming noise. “I get that. My mom died when I was young, and I don’t keep in contact with my dad, and I know that’s not the same thing as what you have going on, but my point is that I know what it’s like to be lonely around the holidays. Do you need some company? I could use a break from picking fruit.”

Steve was tempted to say no. He didn’t want anyone seeing his tear streaked face or puffy eyes. He just wanted to cry in peace and get it out of his system. But the voice sounded nice and emphatic, so he accepted the offer. “Sure. The gate’s unlocked.”

Apparently using doorways wasn’t this guys style though, because a minute later, he landed with a thud on Steve’s lawn, having climbed the eight foot fence separating their properties.

The guy stood up and dusted himself off, and oh wow, he was beautiful. He was about Steve’s height, but had a completely different build, thick and muscled, where Steve was slim, with a swimmer’s build. He had shiny blond curls, all piled atop his head in a bun and held in place with a scrunchie, and he had on denim overalls that were ripped at the knee, a threadbare tank top on underneath. And his eyes. They were bright blue and shining like the ocean, and the crinkled at the corner as he smiled at Steve.

Steve suddenly felt hideous, his shirt soaked with tears and sweat from the yard work he’d been doing, and he knew his unwashed hair was sticking up all over the place. Not to mention his eyes that were probably rimmed in red, or his cheeks that were properly a similar shade, burning from embarrassment.

“Billy,” the man said, sticking out his hand for Steve to shake. His hand was dirty, but it was warm and dry, and it was the most human contact Steve had had in a month, so it was perfect.

“Steve,” he replied. “I’m sorry that you had to take time out of your busy day to console me. I don’t even cry. I never cry, and now I’m crying about a stupid lemon pie.”

“It’s ok,” Billy said, getting down on the lawn and taking a seat beside Steve. “Like I said, I needed a break, and I know where you’re coming from. Do you have the recipe? Maybe you could try to make it? I know it won’t be quite the same as seeing your family, but maybe it’ll help a little?”

Steve laughed. “I can’t bake. At all. I might just make things worse by fucking it up.” It was true. He couldn’t bake, and he was barely any better at cooking. He’d only passed Home Ec. senior year because of Robin, his partner. That’s how they’d met, working together begrudgingly at first, but then bonding over a chocolate soufflé that Steve had somehow managed to set on fire inside the oven, both of them cackling with laughter as they tried to remember how to use the fire extinguisher that they’d been given a lesson on their first day of class.

“I could help you.” Billy replied. “If you’d like, that is. I don’t want to pressure you into it if it’s just going to be upsetting. But I’m a pretty good baker, and I can supply the lemons if you want to bring everything else and the recipe over? Tomorrow, if you’re free? And if it turns out well, we could maybe make it again, for Christmas, if you’d like to come over? It’s just me and my sister, Max, I think you met her? at Christmas, so the extra company would be nice.”

Steve thought about it for a minute. It would be upsetting if he fucked up the pie, but Billy seemed nice, and capable, and something made Steve feel like he could trust the other man to make sure everything turned out ok. “Ok,” he nodded. “You’ve got yourself a deal. And to thank you after, I could make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner? It’s the one thing I can cook well.”

Billy agreed, smiling.

“Oh,” Steve said, as Billy was about to return to his yard. “Will Max be there tomorrow night?” He suddenly realized that that might make it sound like Steve hoped Max would be there. She was nice, but she wasn’t who Steve was interested in.

“No, it’ll just be you and I. Will that be a problem?” He raised an eyebrow at Steve.

“No, no,” Steve said quickly. “Just the two of us is perfect.”

So it started with a lemon and a bucket of tears, but it ended with a lemon and the possibility of something great. Maybe Steve should cry more often.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

#Sydcarmychefskiss

In order to be part of the judging panel for the new Masterchef Celebrity edition, all the chefs had to undergo a psychological pre-screening and pass the assessment due to a tragic event related to a previous Masterchef Celebrity season where one of the contestants quit the show due to the pressure she felt from the judges and committed suicide shortly after. After such a devastating turn of events, the production team tightened their belts and decided to be more thorough in the psychological pre-screening of both contestants and judges during the selection process. Plus, they added an eliminatory instance in which those who made it to the semi-finals were going to be also judged by some viewers who would literally pay to eat at their pop-up restaurants for a whole week, and those profits were going to go straight to the International Association for Suicide Prevention, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and the Alliance of Hope for suicide & Loss Survivors.

Carmen Berzatto was invited to be one of the judges, but Syd was not, because at that point in the show's pre-production, she was only a James Beard Award runner-up, and even though The Bear was the talk of the town, and everyone in the business knew that it was being considered for its first Michelin star and that it was the strongest contender on the Chicago shortlist, that star was still a dream, not a reality for them.

So Carmy was quick to respectfully decline the offer unless Syd was also invited.

That was arranged and eventually, she was, but not because of the condition he put forward, but because a few weeks after Carmy made it clear to the Executives and Producers that he was not interested unless Sydney was part of the panel of judges too, she actually won the James Beard Award, so both signed their respective contracts with Masterchef's production company and off they were to L.A. to shoot the final 3 episodes of the show and decide with their palates and delicately curated criteria, which Celebrity was going to be the new Masterchef and take home 500K. Since the prize was half a million dollars, which was the highest prize ever, in the history of the show, the showrunners decided to divide the final challenge into 3 parts aired in 3 separate episodes: The entrees, the main courses, and the desserts. Each participant was going to accumulate points and the one who got the best score took it all. The other 2 were not even given a diploma for having participated in the competition. It was brutal.

Carmy had donated part of his paycheck to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, without telling a soul about it.

That Masterchef Celebrity edition was the most watched to date. And the "hot Chicago chefs" broke the Internet. Apparently, not only was Carmy a hit with the ladies, the bisexuals, and the gay demographic, but so was Syd, with pretty much anyone with a pulse, and on top of that, social media was all about the Masterchef Sydcarmy shippers. They had come up with a hashtag and everything: #Sydcarmychefskiss where the masses shipped them and demanded that they kiss on camera, which they never did because they were not romantically involved and made that clear over and over again when asked. But nobody seemed to believe them. In fact, these statements caused even more frenzy among the shipper fans, who further plagued the trending topics with the Sydcarmy hashtag, saying that the sexual tension between the judges was more interesting than the food on the table. Shippers went crazy every time Syd and Carmy shared a look to come to a non-verbal agreement about the dishes they were tasting. Their feedback was always like a mutual copy-paste, Syd loved what Carmy loved and hated what he hated, and vice-versa. They were always on the same page.

About 6 months after the show ended, Carmy got a strange email that he completely ignored for weeks until he got a call from one of the executives to be part of the next Masterchef edition, this time it didn't involve celebrities, just next-door amateurs, and Syd was also invited. Not because of her accolades, which now included a JB award and 2 Michelin stars she had recently won as The Bear's CDC, alongside Carmy, but because the showrunners had read the room and wanted to continue milking the Sydcarmy shipping cow till the last drop. They were by now fully aware of Syd and Carmy's chemistry and rating-boosting superpowers. So they were offering them a generous amount to be permanent judges of the show, from episodes 1 to 14, the whole season.

Carmy said he would have to think about it. He wasn't too crazy about the exposure he got the last time he was part of the Masterchef universe, and back then he had only done it to help the suicide prevention cause the show was dedicated to, but this new edition had nothing to do with the philanthropic cause that had piqued Carmy's interest before, So he didn't feel like it, even though the money was more than tempting and Masterchef was proving to be great for The Bear as the restaurant was not only always full, but had a waiting list that spanned the next four months since Syd and he stepped into the TV spotlight and became an instant hit, he still wasn't convinced. His hesitation was largely based on the Sydcarmy hashtag and all the hype the Sydcarmy shippers caused the first time around. It got really awkward and he was sure Syd wasn't thrilled either. He had seen the "fanart" online and boy those artists sure had a very vivid imagination when it came to what was underneath her Thom Browne custom-made jacket!

The guy on the phone, one of the Network's big hotshots, told him that he had sent him an email a few days ago with a new and better offer that he wanted them to consider. He said that he had also sent it to Syd, and hadn't heard back from her either, as of yet. Carmy admitted that he wasn't the best at checking his inbox and that he would have a conversation with Syd soon about the offer, where they were going to decide what to do about it and get back to him by next week, tops.

"That's not the kind of decision I made unilaterally, Mark. Um... I'll circle back soon, after Syd and I talk about it. K?"

"Sure, Carmy. Sounds good. Just give me a call, and if you need more time, let me know. I just want to make sure you're aware of what's on the table for you, guys. I think the offer we're making is obscenely good, really…"

"I'm sure it is, Mark, I'm sure it is. And thank you so much for pinging me. I'll get back to you soon with a final answer, you can count on it. Alright?"

"Alrighty then, Carmyman! Can't wait, take care, man. Talk to you soon."

"Um... Sure, sure thing, Mark. Thanks for calling. Talk to you soon!"

Carmy ended the call and finally felt at ease. He couldn't stand the phony friendly tone of voice those professional asskissers used every time they wanted to get something out of someone. It repulsed him. Mark Cronenberg talked to him as if they were lifelong friends who had matching tattoos, when in fact they had only met twice for less than 5 minutes each time.

He proceeded to look for Mark's email by filtering by keyword because he didn't remember Mark's email address. The keyword was 'Masterchef' and that search returned 8 emails. One of them from several weeks prior, with the subject: "Masterchef Celebrity Season 20 team confirmed". It contained a detailed profile of all the judges who were part of the previous edition and the episodes assigned to each. He didn't pay much attention to it and focused on the next 2 emails instead, from just a few days ago. Those were the ones that contained the actual offers. Carmy wondered what would happen if he declined. Would he be offered an even juicier amount or were they going to move on and leave him empty-handed? Carmy was curious as to how far could he push. It wasn't greed that moved him, just curiosity.

He needed to know what Syd thought but he had a pretty good idea already, she was CCed in the last 2 emails and Carmy was positive that if she hadn't touched the subject, it was because she simply wasn't interested.

Either way, he vowed to run it by her after service and talk long and hard about the pros and cons of accepting the 7 figure offer the network and the production company were making them.

The hours passed and 11 pm was the witching hour. They wrapped up the cleaning tasks and by a quarter to midnight, everything looked pristine and ready for the next day's service. That was when Carmy called Syd to the office where Nat still was and all three of them talked about it. By 1 am it was settled: They were going to sleep on it.

Nat was all for it, Carmy was against it and Syd was hesitant.

Nat was sure that Carmy was going to do whatever Syd said so she didn't even try to convince her brother. Syd could not be convinced, and she made a very strong point when she said that if it weren't for the Sydcarmy troupe she'd be up for it in a minute because that offer was a no-brainer but the shippers made her extremely uncomfortable. What she kept to herself was why the shippers made her uncomfortable and both Nat and Carmy wrongly assumed it was because she was not into Carmy at all, so to have half the country and millions abroad trying to pair her up with her business partner was irritating. Well, that couldn't be further from the truth, but she let them think that.

Carmy openly told her that he was going to do whatever she felt comfortable with so, seeing as she was not on board, his decision was made.

Nat was the one who pitched the idea of "running it by the pillow and not making any rushed decisions". It was Friday, and the next day was going to be manic, as all Saturdays were, so they agreed to talk about it on Monday again and come to a final concurrency by then. All 3 parties were A-OK with that plan and went home.

Carmy couldn't sleep, so he started playing with his phone. His fingers had a mind of their own and before he knew it, he was literally checking his email. This was a first for him. He had never proactively checked his emails before, not even when Syd was taking her sweet time signing the docu-sign so that "she could push him and he could push her".

What caught his eye this time were not the emails he had been carefully reading in the office, but the ones he hadn't paid much attention to before.

"Masterchef Celebrity Season 20 team confirmed". Carmy read each profile of all the other judges and made mental notes, even though he already knew them all. Nothing too impressive or that couldn't be googled. And then he noticed there was an attachment that contained a folder called: P.R. Inside the folder he found multiple files on each judge. One of the PDF documents was called: Confidential-P.R. brief on Carmen Berzatto. There was another one about Sydney and every other member of the panel. He thought P.R. stood for Public Relations. What struck him was that it was the only email with attachments, not that it seemed to contain P.R. information. He went straight to the confidential file with his name on it, and what he found there profoundly changed him on an intrinsic level. Nothing was the same for him after that reading.

It was a 34-page document on him, that included a detailed account of his feelings for Syd, which he read as if he were reading the diary of James Beard.

"Carmen has no idea what he feels for his business partner. He is in complete denial, based on a deep state of confusion rooted in the fact that he had never fallen in love before he met her. So when it happened, he couldn't really understand it or call it what it was: Love. He didn't recognize the feeling and therefore couldn't categorize it. It confused him too much and so he decided to deny it outright. That was the safest thing to do.

His confusion increased when his frustrated high school sweetheart reappeared in his life. He mistook what he began to feel for her for love, but it was actually the nostalgia that an old crush ignites when given a new chance to experience what was once stonewalled.

This wasn't love at all, but again, the unsuspecting Carmen had no way to tell the difference for the reasons mentioned above, and so he decided to take the chance to make up for the missed opportunity of the past. When he finally came to the conclusion that it wasn't love and neither was it worth the disruption that this relationship was causing in other aspects of his life that were much more crucial to him, he ended the only romantic relationship he had ever been involved in and focused on the woman he loves but can't understand why or admit that he does because he can't deal with love due to a traumatic upbringing and past traumatic experiences, all related to his family and especially to his mother. In previous sections of this dossier, the subject of her alcoholism and its effect on Carmen has already been explored. The same analysis has also been made regarding Carmen's deceased brother in another section of this document. (pages 8 and 13, respectively).

It's safe to infer based on his description of how his perception of his partner has changed over the years that his attraction to Sydney was physical at first but quickly evolved to love when she impressed him in the professional realm, which is something he is not used to feeling either.

Love and admiration go hand in hand for him.

He can’t love someone he doesn’t admire.

Which fits the profile of any overachiever, like Carmen Berzatto.

That overachieving facet of him is associated with his own addiction. He’s a workaholic, perfectionist, obsessive, overachiever, burnt out, and overcompensates with work the void that his personal life is, as has been previously detailed on pages 1 to 7 of this brief.

He fills his life with work so he doesn’t have to deal with his problems like his feelings for Sydney. He sublimates and transfers his real feelings because coping with them is counterproductive for his ulterior motive of being the best for Sydney. Even when the definition of best he has in mind and hers are quite different and she already feels he is the best as he is.

Carmen developed his workaholism after a falling-out with his brother Michael, suggesting that this is one of the issues he is trying to bury under all this compulsive behavior. The trigger was the feeling that he had to prove himself to be independent and better than his brother. Prove him wrong and show him what he was really capable of and after that stopping was simply not an option for him until Sydney came into his life and his focus shifted to a higher set of emotions, including but not limited to love.

In conclusion, his caretakers: his mother, and his brother, both mother and father figures respectively are the reasons why he developed an addictive personality and an addiction.

Unlike Carmen, Sydney is a Type A, and while she is a perfectionist through and through, which is one of the many things Carmen finds attractive about her, she is not a workaholic and does not have an addictive personality. That's why she enjoys what she does, it's not a compulsion for her and she's not trying to compensate for anything. More about Miss Sydney Adamu in her own section (pages 20 to 30). And in her own exclusive dossier."

The brief went on to conclude he was suited and cleared to participate in Masterchef Celebrity by Dr. Paula Ridderkerk Ph. D. in Psychology and Master in Criminal Psychology and Victimology.

Carmy didn't sleep that night at all. He continued reading and re-reading Sydney's 29-page dossier where Dr. P.R. assured his business partner shared his feelings and that it was a matter of time for them to be on the same page and quit the denial.

When the sun came up he texted Sydney to ask her if she had received an email with an attached folder. She replied: "Nope". She lied. He heaved a sigh of relief.

On Monday he convinced her to accept the offer by promising to give her full liberty on the spring menu, her favorite.

By the end of episode 14 of Masterchef, the Sydcarmy shippers got their wish granted. Carmy and Syd kissed on camera and admitted that things had changed between then and that they were now in a relationship, very much in love and very happy but that they preferred not to talk about their personal lives.

The hashtag #Sydcarmychefskiss became a trending topic on every social media platform imaginable for weeks, and the ratings were once again the best, historically.

After that Masterchef edition Syd and Carmy were offered just about a dozen shows, they respectfully declined every single offer, no matter how many zeros it had. They had a wedding and a honeymoon to plan.

And then came the best-seller books and the Culinary Academy: "Fifth Taste" and then the "Adamu Foundation " which gave scholarships to those students who couldn't afford the Culinary Academy and then the new addition to the family: Bernard or "Jr." and then the baby-food brand: "Bearnie" and then Thom Browne's campaign for his new uniform collection that featured Syd and Carmy in costume Chef whites and then Syd's headscarves’ line: "Sheridan" and Carmy's Professional knife brand: "Bear" and the dreams come true kept pilling up for Sydcarmy.

Dr. P.R. followed them on social media and kept thinking: "I KNEW IT!"

She was yet to fail a prediction based on her profiling skills. Syd & Carmy were no exception.

A/N: This fic was inspired by a great convo I had with @only-one-brain-cell this AM and by my obsession with cooking contests.

Also, it's loosely based on a true story of Masterchef Celebrity Spain that you can read >>> here.

You can also find it on AO3 >>> here.

Thanks for reading! 💋

[mr-styles]

Harry Styles and Everytown Partnership Gets Young People Involved in Gun Violence Activism

“He’s using his platform to help save lives," one Everytown organizer says.

BY RACHEL JANFAZA for Teen Vogue | FEBRUARY 27, 2023

Mia Tretta was 15 years old when she was wounded in the Saugus High School shooting in Santa Clarita, California. On that day, a student opened fire on the campus quad, killing two students, one of whom was Tretta’s best friend, and wounding three others, including Tretta.

Just months after the shooting, Tretta, who is now 18, joined Everytown for Gun Safety’s Students Demand Action, a network with more than 500 groups of student activists across the country committed to ending gun violence.

As a survivor and activist, Tretta has advocated for gun safety, met with members of Congress to push for gun violence prevention methods, and introduced President Joe Biden at an event that celebrated federal action to help prevent the sale of ghost guns. She is also part of a group of Students Demand Action organizers who, over the past year, worked to engage other young Americans in the movement for gun safety via a partnership with Harry Styles’ Love on Tour.

Just days after last spring's tragic shooting at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas, Styles announced his plans to team up with Everytown for Gun Safety. At the time, Styles said he was “absolutely devastated by the recent string of mass shootings in America,” up to and including Uvalde. 

Beyond the partnership, Styles and Live Nation — the entertainment company that produced his Love on Tour — donated $1 million in proceeds from the tour to the Everytown Support Fund, the group’s education, research, and litigation arm.

In cities such as Los Angeles, Chicago, and Austin, gun safety advocates and gun violence survivors with Students Demand Action met Styles’ fans at 44 shows. Whether handing out Students Demand Action wristbands to fans in line or setting up Student Demand Action tables in the concourse and encouraging fans to text "LOVE" to 644-33 — a system that connects interested folks with Students Demand Action staff who help them get plugged into local work — the organizers worked to spread their message and reach Styles’ fans, most of whom are young people.

Beyond engaging young people, the Styles and Everytown partnership inspired corporate engagement too. According to Everytown, the Moody Center in Austin donated $100,000 to the organization and put custom T-shirts on every single seat in the stadium for concert attendees.

The Styles and Everytown partnership was recognized by the concert industry as a success, winning a Pollstar Award for brand partnership/live campaign of the year.  

Tretta, for her part, spread the word about Students Demand Action at a Love on Tour stop in Los Angeles in November. “People walking by were just so happy that we were there, happy that we were fighting for this cause, and really eager to sign up and learn more,” Tretta tells Teen Vogue.

She says fan reactions ranged from, “something as simple as, ‘Oh, my God! I'm so excited to use this hashtag, #endgunviolence, on my post later today with this backdrop,’ to ‘I'm going to sign up, I'm going to start a chapter in my school.’”

Tretta's been in touch with one group of fans from a nearby school, she adds, who want to start their own Students Demand Action chapter to help them with that process.

“It was great seeing how eager people were to kind of fight for what we believe in, what I've been fighting for for three years," she recalls. "And then, of course, we got to see the show, which was amazing.”

Tretta says she is grateful to Styles and his team for championing this issue and highlighting the role of young people in the fight for gun safety. And, she continues, the people she spoke with at the concert also appreciated Styles’ decision to get involved in the fight against gun violence. 

“Obviously, most of the people going to Harry Styles are around my age — not everyone, but a good majority. I think hearing from other people your age is much more powerful than hearing from someone older or just reading a tweet or seeing a post about the next shooting," says Tretta. "I think it’s so much more powerful to have someone standing there in front of you who is doing something about this problem and realizing that you could too.”

Chloe Gayer, a Students Demand Action volunteer and fellow with the Everytown Survivor Network, decked out her car with information and drove roughly six hours from Iowa to Chicago to attend a Love on Tour show — her first concert ever.

“I got the text that asked if I wanted to go to Harry Styles, and I think my entire dorm building could hear me scream at the top of my lungs that I was very happy about it,” recalls Gayer, a student at Drake University. Of the partnership, she says, “It was amazing to be able to have an artist that I love as well as something that I am so passionate about.”

As a student survivor fellow, Gayer, who tells Teen Vogue she experienced abuse in a relationship that “involved firearms as a means of control,” shares her experience of domestic violence to empower other young people affected by gun violence and show her peers they’re not alone. She says she started advocating for gun safety when she was in eighth grade, after the mass shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. And she’s been involved with campus initiatives to prevent teen dating violence and advocated for the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act, which was signed by Biden last year.

Says Gayer, “It’s really powerful” that Styles decided to partner with Everytown. “He obviously knows who his audience is. The majority of us are Generation Z, a generation that has grown up surrounded by gun violence. I am a survivor of gun violence, but I also take into account that pretty much everyone in my generation has been affected by gun violence. We all grew up surrounded by mass shootings. I was eight years old when Sandy Hook happened, and so many others as I was growing up."

Gayer continues, "It’s very powerful to know that an artist who has an audience like he does, who has the standing that he does — and he isn’t even from the United States — is taking the time to stand with us. Even though it’s a very controversial issue, he’s using his platform to help save lives.”

Justin Funez, a national advisory board member with Students Demand Action, tells Teen Vogue that he is originally from Honduras and grew up around gun violence there and in Compton, California. He tabled at two Love on Tour concerts in Chicago, where he attends the University of Chicago. Many of the young people he spoke with at the concerts, he says, shared their own experiences of gun violence.

Says Funez, “Because it was a young audience, using the fact that gun violence is the number one killer of kids and teens in America, a lot of young people actually related.”

Though Styles isn’t from America, Funez says, it’s powerful that the pop icon is engaging in work to prevent gun violence here in the US: “It’s important for him to engage with these issues because it’s his fan base that this issue affects.”

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

killer frequency

based off of this idea i had

1 2 3

ao3

words: 3.8k

The pristine BMW looks out of place among the company of the beat-up sedan and the rusted van in the parking lot, but that’s par for the course, honestly. Steve’s only parked here once when the parking lot had been full—noon on a Wednesday for his reluctant not-an-interview with Owens, who runs the radio station in this backwater town—but it hadn’t been much different then, either. Hawkins is full of cars that don’t hold a candle to his beautiful baby, full of people that, quite frankly, are only slightly weird on the best of days and outright give him the creeps on most others.

Steve sighs and glances down at his too-expensive watch, a gift from the station in Chicago, back before he’d been unceremoniously fired, and he’s incredibly dismayed to find that he’s here a whole twenty minutes early. Though, he supposes, it’s not as if there’s much else to do in Hawkins. Especially not this late at night, not so close to midnight.

He probably could’ve gone to that diner that’s open twenty-four hours for a shitty cup of coffee, but they’re starting to know him by name there now, and not in that starstruck, wow, it’s Steve Harrington, from the radio! way that he’s used to. It’s the same at that Rise & Shine coffee place across the street from the KFAM building. Honestly, he could’ve probably done with a cup of coffee to warm him up. It’s a cold November night, and Steve shivers, feeling the breeze through his jacket.

Awaiting him in what’s probably the only up-to-code building in Hawkins is 189.16–The Scream.

The only station that would hire him after his on-air disaster in Chicago.

What a joke.

“What the hell are you standing out in the cold for?” someone yells from the front doors, and Steve looks up to see Robin, the station’s late-night phone-in show co-producer and one of the few people in Hawkins that makes this damn town bearable. He can see the scrunch to her nose from all the way across the parking lot, and he can picture the way the path of her freckles distorts.“Get inside, dingus!”

Steve sighs and locks his car before heading in after her, sunglasses flicked up to sit pretty in his hair when she snorts at the sight of them. “So, what’s on the docket for tonight?” he asks her, glad that the station is always at a decent temperature, that Owens has the decency not to skimp on heating.

Robin pulls a clipboard out of seemingly nowhere and pouts thoughtfully, humming as she taps her pen on the edge of it. “Walk with me,” she tells him, like she’s a big radio exec in a suit with too-large shoulder pads and not a producer of a tiny radio show in a tiny town in the most oversized men’s blazer Steve’s ever seen. But he walks with her anyway, because he thinks Robin is easily the coolest person in town, and she starts heading up the stairs, towards the door with the currently inactive On Air sign hanging above it. “So, we’ve got ‘Guess that Scream’ up first, then some tunes, take a couple of callers, then a paid promotion, yadda yadda, you get the gist.”

She’s practically frog-marching him into the studio, and he’s not fighting her on it, which has become a daily—or nightly, Steve supposes—occurrence for the two of them. “Alright,” Steve says, “is that segment another—”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite radio host,” a teasing voice says over the speakers, and Steve preemptively rolls his eyes.

Eddie, while generally a pretty nice guy and very easy to bounce banter off of during these long nights, just loves to push Steve’s buttons. Not to mention, he doesn’t even know what the guy looks like, considering he’s in the booth by the time Steve gets here, no matter how early Steve gets here. Part of Steve wonders if Eddie just…lives in the booth or something. He’s the show’s other co-producer and hasn’t made any mistakes as sound engineer yet, which gives him points in Steve’s book, because his last sound engineer somehow screwed up so royally during a show once that Steve’s mic had been muted for half an hour.

But as good at the job as he is, Eddie also gets a kick out of Steve’s disgraced career, and he tends to joke about that more than anything else, just to get a rise out of him. Steve’s, like, half-tempted to strangle the guy most nights.

“Hi, Eddie,” he greets in the direction of the mic with a sigh, and there’s a slight snicker over the intercom before it gets cut off. Steve turns to Robin. “Any new records I should be aware of?”

“A couple,” Robin says with a shrug. “We finally got Love Shack, and that redheaded kid, the one that’s friends with our intern, brought in two Kate Bush singles at around…noon, I think. Said you might as well play some good music for once.”

The intercom crackles. “I’m still of the opinion we should have Owens shell out for—”

“No one in Hawkins wants to listen to Iron Maiden other than you, Eddie,” Robin cuts in, rolling her eyes at Steve, who grimaces sympathetically. She clears her throat and runs a hand through her hair. “Do you guys care if I take tonight off? I mean, you’re all set up, and me and Chrissy were hoping to watch a movie when she gets back from her jog, so…”

Steve shrugs. “Not like the station’s ever busy enough to need both producers,” he says, and that earns him a laugh. “Eddie and I will be fine.”

“You won’t drive each other up the wall?” Robin asks, eyes narrowed in the direction of the booth, and she receives a silhouetted thumbs-up as an answer. Robin gives Steve a bright grin and a pat on the shoulder. “Right, well, cover for my ass if Owens asks, m’kay?”

“You got it,” Steve tells her. “Go home, have fun with Chrissy.”

She squeezes his shoulder and gives both him and the tinted window to the booth a wave before heading out, shutting the door behind her. “And then there were two,” Eddie drawls over the intercom, and the feedback squealing a little makes Steve wince. “Sorry! Sorry. Bumped into the mic, that’s my bad.”

Steve shakes his head and hangs his jacket up on the coatrack, rolling his sleeves up just past his elbows and heading over to his not-so-organized work station. He tucks the headphones over his ears, lamenting the way it squishes down his hair, and he adjusts some of the settings on his soundboard until they’re just right. There’s very few other radio show hosts in Hawkins, and Keith, the guy who hosts a movie critic segment a few hours before Steve’s call-in show, often screws with the settings when he’s done, just to give Steve a hard time.

“You with me?” he asks, hearing an affirmative hum through the headphones, and Steve grins, flicking through the selection of vinyls that Robin’s prepped for tonight. He’s about to say something else, but something cuts through the air, some muffled sound. Even lifting his headphones off his ears, he can’t quite make it out. Maybe…a yell? A shout? A stray dog howling? He shrugs, settles them back on his head, but he’s still kinda concerned. “You, uh…you hear something, Eddie?”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, his voice much clearer over the headphones than over the intercom. “Hear what, exactly?”

Steve glances up to look at Eddie’s silhouette. Even shrouded in shadow, another person’s presence is somewhat comforting in the eerie hours of the night, especially in a town like Hawkins. He plays it cool, though, because he’s not about to admit that some weird noise outside has him paranoid. “Thought I heard someone yelling, or—I dunno, maybe howling?”

Eddie snorts. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Steve, because your jokes aren’t very funny,” he says, and Steve frowns.

“No, I—Eddie, I could’ve sworn I heard something,” he insists.

He can practically hear Eddie rolling his eyes amongst the slight shuffle over the mic. “Jesus H., I almost thought you’d ease up a little,” he mutters. “You probably just heard some cats or something.”

Yeah, whatever that noise had been, Steve is certain it hadn’t been a cat. “Cats?” he scoffs, utterly unamused.

“You know, four legs, whiskers, tails?” Eddie teases, and Steve clicks his tongue. “Uh, not dogs—”

“I know—! I know what a cat is, Eddie,” Steve says. “But, I mean…does Hawkins have, like, a stray cat problem or something?”

Eddie laughs. “Not since those rats moved into the abandoned ironworks building,” he says, so casually, and Steve is so horrified, because he drives past that place literally every night to get to this godforsaken radio station. “Anyway, you ready for the pre-flight checks?”

Ah. This bit. Not one of Steve’s favorites—one of the more annoying bits Eddie does, in fact—but he’ll deal with it over Robin’s microphone dinosaur bit any day. “Do you have to do this every night?” he sighs.

“Every night for the rest of our lives, sweetheart,” Eddie croons, and Steve makes a face at the insinuation he’s going to end up stuck in Hawkins for the rest of his miserable life. “Besides, Owens is paying us to check the equipment before each show, which means you get paid to put up with my pre-flight check bit. But if you’re sure you don’t want to…”

He trails off with a lilt in his voice, as if the offer isn’t supposed to be enticing. Steve just pinches the bridge of his nose, though, because he does want to make sure all his sliders are in the right place before they start. “Alright, alright, fine. Let’s…get through this,” he says.

“Alrighty! This is your captain speaking—”

“Eddie.”

“C’mon,” Eddie whines, “just let me have my fun! My bits aren’t hurting anyone.”

“They’re hurting my sanity,” Steve tells him. Eddie does a few melodramatic sniffs. It’s stupid, but it’s kind of charming nonetheless; that’s what most of Eddie’s antics are like. “Fine. Go ahead…captain.”

There’s a delighted cackle filtering in through the headphones. “Buckle in, folks! My co-captain’s about to spin some painfully vanilla hits—”

“Eddie,” Steve warns.

Eddie sighs over the mic. “Fine, fine. My lovely co-captain—whose incredibly pretty face is utterly wasted on radio—is gonna make sure our record player’s in tip-top shape,” he says, and Steve’s cheeks burn as he slides out a vinyl from its sleeve and lets it play for a bit. “Alright, that’s good. It’s working. Hit stop?”

Pulling a face, Steve does just that. “That’s gonna damage the record, y’know,” he warns, and Eddie blows a raspberry.

“Yeah, well, it’s on Owens’ dime. I don’t mind spending his money,” he says dismissively, and Steve snorts. Eddie’s pretty funny when he’s not poking fun at the worst experience Steve’s had in radio. “Alright, up next—phoneline buttons! Your captain will be waiting to take your call on line one.”

“Thought we were co-captains,” Steve says, trying not to sound like he actually cares that much about a slight at his imaginary status as co-captain in a remarkably stupid bit.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Semantics, my dear Stevie, semantics. Now hit that button,” he says.

With a sigh, because he refuses to let this go on without forcing Eddie to acknowledge his annoyance, Steve hits the button. “Alright, Eddie, ready for you on line one,” he drones.

“Who’s Eddie? This is Captain Donald Key calling. Call me Don,” Eddie says, voice lilting up the way it does when he’s making a stupid, stupid joke, and Steve kind of hates that he knows the shifts in Eddie’s voice well enough to recognize that. Then again, it’s not like he can see the guy’s face, so voice is all he’s got to go off of. Eddie snickers. “Get it? You get it?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Don Key. It’s a riot,” he says flatly. “Anything else?”

“Well, button two’s line two, it works the same. But let’s move to the Eddie button,” Eddie says.

Steve rolls his eyes, because he knows exactly which one of Eddie’s dumb jokes is next in the lineup. “The producer line,” he corrects, though it’s fruitless. There’s no stopping it.

“Like I said, it’s the Eddie button. You know the drill, press it if you need my help during the show, yadda yadda. But for you, pretty boy,” Eddie drawls, and Steve sees his silhouette toying with something behind the window, “you can push my button anytime you want.”

Of course. Steve hums. “Is there an Eddie mute button?”

“They haven’t invented it yet,” Eddie says, deadpan. “Go on, Steve. Gotta press it. Gotta test to see if it works.”

There’s a tiny little post-it that’s always on the third button—the Eddie button, but Steve’s not calling it that—and it says Press 4 Eddie. The adhesive’s definitely worn by now; Steve is half-certain that Eddie keeps taking it off after they’re done with the show and re-sticking it whenever he gets in the next night.

It’s kind of charming, though. That Eddie goes through all that effort for a dumb little joke between the two of them.

“Press ‘four’ Eddie,” Steve sighs.

“This is your brain, Steve,” Eddie says in a lofty, snooty voice, dragging the vowel sound in Steve’s name out. It sounds like he’s doing an impression of Steve with a sitcom rich guy accent thrown on top. “Sorry I made you such an un-fun turkey.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m a turkey now? What happened to the airplane—you know what? Don’t answer that,” he says. “We almost done? It’s getting close to time.”

Eddie tuts. “Sound blaster,” he reminds Steve, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

“Can you be normal and call it a soundboard like literally everyone else does?” Steve asks as he hits a button at random. It’s the womp-womp horn. It’s dumb, but it’s good for a cheap laugh.

“Nope. Sorry, sweetheart, you’re stuck with me, and I happen to enjoy fun. Go ahead and check those volume sliders for me,” Eddie tells him.

Steve cranks the volume of his mic up all the way, leans as close to it as possible, and grins. “Hey there, Eddie,” he says, and he watches the silhouette in the booth jump a foot out of his seat. He laughs, and there looks to be what he’s pretty sure is Eddie’s middle finger joining the usual shape of his silhouette. Steve slides the volume back down to a decent level. “I get you with that every time. We done, captain?”

There’s a bit of rustling as Eddie settles back down again. “We sure are! Coming in for landing, local time—”

“I should not encourage you,” Steve groans.

“I knew you had a fun side, Stevie,” Eddie coos, and Steve balls up a wad of legal pad paper to throw it into the trash can across the room. He makes it. “He shoots, he scores! And with that, why don’t we get our show started, tiger?”

Steve raises a brow, even though he’s pretty sure Eddie can’t make it out from all the way in the booth. “‘Tiger?’ That’s new. Thought I was a turkey,” he remarks, playfully snide. “Alright, introduction first—”

“Then it’s Guess That Scream!” Eddie whoops.

To be perfectly honest, Steve had thought that had been part of Robin’s ongoing joke of telling him outlandish fake segment names. A couple of times, she’d even gotten him to announce them on air before Eddie had been forced to correct him. “Uh, was that not part of Robin’s bit?” he asks, genuinely confused.

There’s a long, dramatic sigh blowing through his headphones. “Nope! This one isn’t even my fault, it was Owens’ idea. He insists we do it tonight. Play a scream, they call in,” Eddie tells him. Owens is a weird guy, and an even weirder boss. He’s nice, sure, but he’s also barely ever at the station. He’d showed up for Steve’s first show and has been in the wind ever since. Eddie clears his throat. “Okay, Steve, you’re live in three, two…”

The ‘on air’ sign above the window to the booth hums to life, the neon buzzing just loud enough to be heard through the headphones. Steve thinks it’s a wonder it can’t be heard on the actual broadcast. He presses the button on the soundboard for the station’s jingle and takes a deep breath to get himself focused.

“Good evening, Hawkins, Indiana,” Steve says, and he admittedly puts on a voice for radio, one that’s much smoother and slightly lower than his natural speaking voice. Robin pokes fun at him for it after every show. “This is your host, Steve Harrington, and you’re listening to 189.16—The Scream. Before we start taking your calls tonight on Hawkins’ only late-night phone-in talk show, I need to let you all know about a special competition we have for you this evening. It’s”—he barely holds back a sigh, but he’s a professional, goddammit—“Guess That Scream.”

“This is actually one of our station manager’s better ideas,” Eddie adds, and Steve’s noticed that Eddie puts on a voice for their shows, too. Steve’s not used to his producers being performers; Robin doesn’t put on a voice, and his producers back in Chicago hadn’t either, but Eddie’s honestly not half bad at it.

He adjusts the headphones a bit. “Here’s how it works, folks. I’m gonna play you a scream, then you call in and…Guess That Scream,” Steve explains, and this is such a dumb premise for a segment. It’s not like he’s above this kind of stuff anymore, though. “We need you lovely people at home to guess why they’re screaming. Did they stub their toe? Maybe…cut a finger off while chopping vegetables? Or discover the corpse of a loved one?”

“Ooh, good one, Steve,” Eddie says. “Now hit ’em with the tape!”

“We’ll play that tape in just a second. Alright, Hawkins, listen close, and then call in to…Guess That Scream,” he says. He’s sure that, judging by the way the sign has switched off, Eddie’s playing some jingle on his end and has their mics muted while Steve looks around for the tape. This is bullshit. He used to have a guy playing tapes for him back in Chicago. He glances up. “Eddie, where’s the tape?”

There’s an annoyed sort of grunt from his headphones. “I gave it to you yesterday, Steve. You could not possibly have lost it in that short of a timeframe,” Eddie says. The tips of Steve’s ears start to burn in embarrassment. “Steve, seriously?”

“Eddie—let’s face it, Guess That Scream is a terrible idea anyway,” he says, and he can sense the irritation in the silence that follows. Steve winces. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t have the tape.”

Eddie sighs. “Well, it may be a stupid idea, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun. We’re gonna need a scream tonight, Stevie,” he says, clearly building up to something. He hasn’t dropped the performative voice. “And, uh…you’re the one at the mic. So…”

Oh, he’s gotta be joking.

“Really, Eddie? You want—you seriously want me to scream? You know this show depends on my voice, right?” he huffs.

“Just do it! We’ve had enough of this stupid jingle, just think of a scream and let it rip,” Eddie tells him, and the sign switches on again.

Steve scrambles to think of something. “Sorry about that! I’m back. Had to step away there for a second. Listen close, and then call in to Guess That Scream,” he vamps, and he settles for what is definitely a terrible idea. He starts off pretty close to the mic and yells out, leaning back from it and going quiet in a poor attempt at mimicking someone falling off a cliff. Cheeks burning, Steve leans back in. “Well, folks, there you have it. Call in with your guesses, and if you get it right, you could win…two tickets to the Amazing Maize Maze, held at the Hawkins Fairgrounds, and one free fried…dough. Fried dough? Uh—just call in at 555-239-KFAM with your guess. Now, here’s some music while you get dialing…this is ABBA’s SOS.”

He slides the vinyl out from its sleeve and replaces the one on the turn table, setting it to play and putting the other one back, and his shoulders slump in relief when he sees the sign turn off again. “Oh my God, Steve, that was…surprisingly adequate. Didn’t take you for a big improv guy. I cannot wait to hear what people think that was,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “How the hell did I get into this mess?”

“Uh…by freaking the hell out and berating one of your guests live on air because he pissed you off,” Eddie snickers, as if Steve needs the reminder of that mortifying day. “Never actually heard that broadcast, but I did hear it was worth listening to. But lighten up, Steve! That Looney Tunes scream is gonna be the highlight of my week.”

Steve balls up another piece of paper and tosses it. He misses. There’s a long couple of minutes of silence before Steve actually gets the balls to say something about it. “Yeah, well, if you don’t actually know what he said to me, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Oops,” Eddie interrupts, and the sign glows once again, “you’ve got a call coming in. Line one, sweetheart. Fade the music out for me and take the call, will you?”

Of course. Steve gradually slides the volume of the turntable down before turning it off and taking the call. Showtime…again. “Welcome to 189.16—The Scream, caller. You’re talking to Steve Harrington, what’s going on with you tonight?” he asks, trying to keep the tones in his voice as dulcet as possible.

“Steve! Thank God I made it through. My name is Joyce Byers,” the caller says, a little urgently, and Steve wonders if Eddie and Robin know her. In a town as small as this one, they probably do. “I’m the 911 operator and police dispatcher for Hawkins.”

Weird details about her job, but alright. “Welcome to the show, Joyce. Are you calling in to Guess That Scream? As a 911 operator, you probably have an educated guess, right?” he jokes, and it’s a little morbid, sure, but it’s not like he’s raking in ratings anymore. No public opinion to worry about now, really.

“What? No! Look, I found a body, and I need your help.”