#heidi the seal

[matbenetti17]

[archives-of-genevieve]

InStyle Magazine | March 2011

Pages 225 - 228

"So, what's your poison tonight?" "Meat." - Tina Fey

[worldnews90]

Heidi Klum Is One Proud Mom as Teen Son Henry Follows in Her Footsteps With His Runway Debut....

Read More

[mancannotlivewithoutpartner]

Vera Wang, 75, shows off her age-defying appearance on the BAFTAs 2025 red carpet

SEE MORE

[seals-4-heidi]

Feelings cute might cause an outbreak of a disease no one has heard of before later 🤞🏼

[yanaleese]

◈ Love Me, Kidnap Me, and Love Me More ◈

Yandere! OC Karma x Calculative! Gender Neutral! MC

VER EN ESPAÑOL. MUY PRONTO

Synopsis: You put blood, sweat, and tears into your work. Little did you know, your secret admirer, Marka does it too.

Content warning: Yandere and literally anything that goes with it, violence, hypnosis (not on reader), drugs (implication), and yes there will be a Part 2

PLEASE SUPPORT PALESTINE WITH MONEY, OR WITH A CLICK

Scores, talents, personas.

THESE are the factors that classify the education system. Although not immaculate, it serves its purpose - to send vulnerable people into the workforce, and devour them whole. Their livelihoods, their time, and the minuscule bits of energy left inside of them.

But there are some who are born with advantages, and some who have to work their ass off for it.

I, unfortunately, have the latter. Things don’t come easy, instant, or perfect. I am actually quite idle, I enjoy the freedom of gaining knowledge and insight. Uniquely, tried and tested knowledge that is critical for survival.

And that, is how I manage my late nights. By listening to “Advice to Survive” with its host, McGregory Callahan.

Back in the 60s, he was a CWO-4 Navy Seal officer, a rank given to an exclusive few. And now that he’s retired, he humbly shares his advice to the community, and showcases guests every now and then to keep the show alive. But majority prefers to listen to his voice, which I strongly agree with.

“And so, ladies and gents…” His voice was smooth and husky. “It’s time to sign off, folks. Stay safe, and always remember…” I chuckled, saying his closing lines with him.

“Live, not die, and try to survive. Thanks everyone.”

As the radio chipped off, the sun poured its rays into my window, as if the heat wasn’t enough. I groaned, my eyes leading me to my collection of “wake-up” capsules. Tempted, and deceived, I slithered my way over to it, dropping another 2 or 3 in my mouth.

I grumbled. Regret seeped into my veins, my body woozy and tense. Once again, I stayed up.

And of course, it happened to be a Monday morning; where I had a morning class. “Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” I began stuffing my bag with my utensils, paperwork, snacks. I could never get used to this shit. “I hope nobody pisses me off for the rest of the day.”

◈

“The bell. Ugh, the damn bell. Never have I wanted to smash that thing into pieces.” You could barely make out the crowd, more or less. Not even your best friend’s face.

“Wait. You had a rough night…again?” Heidi glared, her eyes were practically glowing with concern.

“Maaaaaaybe.” You slurred, taking baby steps to your seat. “Good thing my seat mate is a quiet kid.”

Speak of the devil, Marka entered the room, his footfalls silent as he strolled to your direction. His timing was impeccable.

“Good morning, Marka.” You mumbled, your eyes not meeting his. Besides, there were no eyes thanks to his bangs.

“Heh…” In response, Marka gave an exciting grin, happily waving a good morning back to you. How he could be energized on a Monday morning, was a complete mystery to you.

Actually, a lot of him is shrouded in mystery. Or rather, in suspicion.

Other than the weird name, Marka was supposedly from the countryside of Honduras, Tegucigalpa. His parents were also from Honduras, and he worked as a pizza delivery driver, and stayed at a friend’s apartment for shelter, with the purpose of redoing college thrice to get a degree. While some of this is true, some of it didn’t add up.

For example, his idioms. Sometimes he would say “Puchica” , “Chero”, “Chivo” - and when I looked them all up, the common denominator was El Salvador. He said his parents came from Honduras, so how can this be true?

“[Y/N].”

Then him, being the pizza delivery driver. You don’t often order pizza, but you’ve never thought that pizza could smell so shitty. You could remember him rushing to one of your afternoon classes, and instead of smelling like oil and grease, he smelt like weed. What the fuck???

“Hello? [Y/N]?”

Plus, the fact that he is redoing the course a third time. And yet, every single exam he is perfectly scoring an average mark. He also ends before everyone else, as if he has all the time in the world.

That’s not normal.

Though you’ve never confronted Marka about this, you preferred to remain silent. Times are harsh, and you weren’t willing to stretch out a hand when you could barely help yourself.

But there is NO way that you’re befriending someone as suspicious as him.

“[Y/N]!!!” Heidi whisper-shouted, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“[Y/N], please answer-“ Mr. Dimmy paused, clearing his throat. “Actually. On second thought, please see me after class. Thank you.”

You bit my lip, letting it bleed. Fuck. You spaced out again.

“Sir I-“

“No buts, no coconuts.”

While cursing yourself internally, you decided to take out your vent book out of your bag, only to be stopped by Mr. Dimmy once more.

“[Y/N]. Can you please answer the question on the board for me, please?”

Shit, you just opened your bag.

“Give me a moment-“

“[Y/N].”

Clenching your fists, you gave a plastic smile. It was understandable where he was coming from, since he didn’t want his star pupil to daydream for the second time.

“My bad, Sir. Hopefully I’ll get this right.”

As you were busy solving the equation, Marka decided to do you a favor and close up your bag. So by the time you came back, Marka grinned, hoping for a thanks to come out of it. But you decided to ignore the kind gesture, continuing to pay attention to the board. You had enough attention for one day.

◈

If there was one thing you loved, it was clocks. It was nice to know how the time passed, whether it was rapid or abnormally slow. And of course, it was slow.

“[Y/N], this has happened on multiple occasions.” Mr. Dimmy rubbed his temples, exhausted from having the same conversation with you. “We, as staff, made it clear that you can take days off.”

“I’m very sorry Sir, but I can’t do that-“

“[Y/N], enough with the excuses. You are not enough getting enough sleep, and it’s affecting your concentration.”

Scores, talents, personas: nothing on this conversation applied to that. Kindness was a pain in the ass.

“And so, I’m going to ask the dean to personally give you a suspension. A whole week suspension.”

You had to hold your tongue. Why do you have to do triple the work???

“Sir. I’m behind on what I need to cover. I’m begging you, please just let it slide.”

“But [Y/N], you are three weeks ahead. Taking a week off is enough right now. Trust me.”

You glanced at the clock. It was 9:47, the minute hand approximately reaching the next minute.

“If I see you Tuesday afternoon, I will personally escort you outside. That is all.”

Rubbing your eyes, you ran to the top of the stairs, before making yourself out. You couldn’t believe what just happened.

“[Y]-[Y/N]…” It was Heidi.

“Heidi. I’m done for the day, so I’m going home. Text me later if you’re curious.” Your demands were quick and stern.

Poor Heidi snuggled her books, her expression shaping into pity and guilt. If only you could just take a break.

◈

“Giggles, after giggles. These fucking cuches don’t know when to quit it, don’t they?”

“Markaaaa…” She snorted, sounding exactly just like he called her: a pig. “Teach me a little Spanish, no?~ ❤️”

Marka shook his head, his face clearly showing discomfort.

“Come on, we wanna hear it! Maybe we can fuck it up, you know?”

Damn that Rico bastard. He never knew how to read a room.

“I said no.” Marka ran his fingers through his bangs, revealing the swirling darkness within his eyes. “Now learn to be good little shits, I’m in a bad mood.”

Immediately, the entire group stood completely still. Before seconds later, horrifying shrieks escaped people’s lips. Some froze in horror, sweating profusely. Others just ran away from Marka, while some fought with him. Luckily, thanks to his physique he could handle his attackers pretty clearly.

“Ha…shame…” He continued to hit Rico with every punch, starting to see blood oozing out of him. Marka couldn’t help but grin in sadistic glee. “This hypnosis is always pure luck for me.”

Grabbing the leg of one of his classmates. Marka twisted, fractured, and even jumped on her leg, which was perfectly in sync with his words.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Marka cursed out loud, growling in frustration. Every time he thought about you, the feeling wouldn’t go away. “I just wanted to do a good deed. Why. Won’t. They. Love. Me.”

Hearing the classmate’s sharp cry, Marka kicked the person away from him, heading to your locker. It was encased in a shitload of locks, all of them personally made by yourself. You knew how to be efficient and useful.

Too bad Marka knew lockpicking a bit too well. “It’s been a while since my last rejection…so let’s see what’s here now-“

With a clink, he guided his fingers to first few letters he made….only to find them….

Crushed.

“….”

He should’ve been used to this by now. The dust, the grime, the dead spiders. After finally getting a fresh new locker, it was understandable that you cleaned up the space.

But you didn’t. You decided to make your old locker your new dumpster bag instead - including his love letters.'

His scarred thumb clutched the pink envelope, or the crushed up ball that it was. He could remember the time he had to go off on business, missing college for an entire week. He had to stay low due to a shot out, which resulted him gaining a major injury in the shoulder and his left hand. He didn’t mind the injuries due to past experiences, but he was��depressed. Marka couldn’t see anyone, neither be online lest he got found out. It was a decision that both he and José made for his safety.

And so, to satiate his loneliness, he wrote to you. Even though his left hand was twitching in pain, he wrote. Even though his brain was telling him to stop because of the pain; he wrote. He wrote because he knew that you gave him the happiness, the hope that he needed for this world. Yes, you were flawed…but with each other, the two of you could heal one another’s scars. Right?

“….Ha….”

His hands shook in silent rage as dark droplets dropped on to the paper. I’m sure you didn’t know any better, it was simply a misunderstanding. Yes, yes - it was miscommunication.

It was understandable, since he didn’t make it clear. He didn’t flirt with you since it wasn’t your thing. I guess the letters weren’t either.

Maybe he’d have to try something…a bit more drastic.

“I need to know…do they love me…? Do they not? Maybe….”

Clutching the paper in his chest, he started chuckling to himself. No, grinning madly as he stared at the locker in front of him, his face contorted into something twisted and grotesque.

“Maybe it’s time I should pay your house a visit, hmm? ❤️~.”

NOTES:

Cuche = Means pig in Salvadorian slang. ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ qᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴋᴀʀᴍᴀ, ᴊᴏsᴇ́ ᴏʀ ʜᴇɪᴅɪ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴍʏ ɪɴʙᴏx.

[karmathehalflander]

Self care is finally bringing the Dear Evan Hansen merpeople AU you were obsessed with in middle school into a reality

And here’s the finished pieces for the main five! I absolutely adore them. Sea life is my special interest so I love mermaid AUs

My reasoning behind why they are each animal varys wildly. Some I thought about in depth some are for one stupid reason. If you’d like my full in depth design notes and character details and some lore ideas they’re bellow the cut. Feel free to scroll if you don’t want an in depth hyperfixation induced info-dump.

So starting out with Evan: when I first conceptualized this AU back when I was in middle school all I really had a concept for was Evan who I knew I wanted to be a dumbo octopus. Shy, camouflage to hide from predators, generally just silly little guys it felt right to me. I also thought Heidi should be an octopus for no particular reason and them both being in the same animal family would make sense. (I’ll get around to drawing the parents eventually Heidi will be a blue ringed octopus)

-he can change color and camouflage

- because Evan is only part Dumbo Octopus he’s actually taller than you would expect leaving Jared the shortest (because Evan is on the taller side I’ll die on that hill also Jared needs to be a short king I don’t make the rules)

Conner: so originally he was going to be a stingray like Zoe honestly for no reason other than aesthetic but I didn’t want them to be based on the same animal and I had a strong concept for Zoe already so I decided to change Conner. I originally didn’t want to do shark because it felt to obvious at first but sometimes obvious is the way to go. And now I’m so glad I changed it to great white because I liked the overlap of how sharks are viewed by society and how Conner is viewed by his peers. Violent, evil, dangerous but in reality just doing their best to survive and, yes, they do sometimes hurt people but it’s never done out of malice but out of confusion and a need to survive. (I live morally grey characters) I chose great white in particular because they’re the stereotypical “big scary shark” everyone would think of. I also think the color palette suited him.

- Conner is half stingray but you don’t see it in his appearance at all. He takes after his dad (Larry is a great white and Cynthia is a stingray. I’ll make drawings for them at some point promise)

Zoe: She was the one I had the clearest idea for and I was very excited (I love her) I knew I wanted her to be a spotted eagle ray so I could give her spots that look like stars. There was no consideration of her personality when making her a ray at first but it honestly makes sense. They’re graceful, but ultimately don’t like conflict. I see them as artsy creatures like if a sea creature was to go to play guitar it would be a stingray. Idk it just feels right to me.

-obviously Zoe is half great white but you can’t really tell. She is slightly taller than her mom and has extra spikes on her arms but that’s it.

Alana: I knew I wanted her to be a dolphin immediately. Smart, energetic, playful it just makes sense. Now what species I wasn’t sure of at first but then I thought a pink river dolphin and it was perfect. I associate her with pink for whatever reason. I think she looks nice with it. Her drawing is my favorite of the bunch. I’m most happy with her design too.

- I need a reason for a river dwelling species to be in the ocean with everyone else so idk just imagine she transfered for some reason

- in this AU we’ll assume that fresh and salt water doesn’t effect merpeople

Jared: I drew Jared last because I had no clue what I wanted him to be. I considered a turtle for a bit I think it would suit him looks wise but I also considered otter, clownfish, a crustacean of some kind (the list goes on) then I considered seal and had the thought of a selkie Jared butt naked running through the local village causing mayhem, stealing from convenience stores, dumpster diving outside a fish market, and generally being a menace and I couldn’t resist. This was actually what made me warm up to him as a character because it was so funny to me and I ended up really liking his design.

-seals don’t have paw pads by the way but I couldn’t help myself suspend your disbelief for me

I don’t have a lot of lore or story ideas as of yet for now they just kind of exist in a void. Idk this is so self indulgent I’m just having fun with it.

(As a side note I have not researched which ocean this AU takes place in and I don’t want to right now I’ll do it eventually though I promise)

[amirasainz]

Hello 👋. Just have to say I love the work that you put out. Doing an amazing job. Would you be able to write one if you are free about baby sainz feeling anxious in the paddock and starting you crying because it's too overwhelming.

OMG thank you so much. I included Daniel and Heidi in this story, I hope you won't mind.

Send me some requests and enjoy reading!

-XoXo

La princesa ansiosa

Amira’s life had been a tapestry of praise and confidence. Childhood memories painted in hues of joy—no problems with other children, no sibling squabbles. Everything was perfect. But then, one Instagram comment unraveled it all.

As a public figure, Amira had been photographed since an early age. Her acting career only intensified the spotlight. Tagged on social media, she reveled in positive comments about her personality and style—until now. The words “I don’t know why everyone likes her so much. She’s just a rich girl, has zero personality, is a bitch and has no talent” stared back at her.

At first she didn't know what she felt. She never read such mean comments about her before. However this one comment changed everything. Anxiety surged through her. A thousand eyes seemed to scrutinize her. The influencer’s comment weighed heavily, and perhaps it was her discomfort in that outfit or the fame that magnified it. Her heart raced, and a knot tightened in her stomach. In that moment, vulnerability eclipsed confidence, and Amira wondered how to mend the unraveling threads of her self-assurance.

To make herself calm down a bit, Amira wandered through the nearly empty Pit-Lane, her footsteps echoing against the cold walls. The drivers were preoccupied with media obligations, leaving the space eerily quiet. Perhaps a short walk would ease her restlessness.

Yet, as she moved, an unexpected weight settled upon her—a phantom gaze, multiplied a hundredfold. Fans, invisible but ever-present, bore down on her. Their imagined scrutiny made her skin crawl, and she stumbled, unable to focus on her surroundings. Passing a group of girls, their whispers intensified, their eyes dissecting her.

Overwhelmed, Amira fled. She ran, heedless of direction, until a secluded corner embraced her. There, her legs gave way, and tears blurred her vision. Everything crumbled—the façade of confidence, the armor of fame.

Unbeknownst to her, Heidi and Daniel witnessed her breakdown. They rushed to her side, enfolding her in a protective embrace. “Shhhh, what’s wrong, little kangaroo?”Daniel’s voice was gentle, coaxing. Amira couldn’t find words, but their presence offered solace. Together, they sat in the dark corner, away from the media and fans.

Amira’s vulnerability hung in the air, her tears a testament to the weight she carried. Daniel, ever the gentle soul, cradled her head against his chest, humming a soothing tune—the kind that transcends words. Heidi, with her heart aching, wrapped Amira in her jacket, pressing kisses to her cheeks and forehead. The trio formed an unspoken pact—a refuge against the world’s judgment.

Amira’s confession spilled forth: “They-they hate me. They say I’m just a rich girl. Why do they say that? I didn't do anything to them.”Daniel and Heidi exchanged confused glances until she revealed the Instagram comment—the venomous words that had pierced her armor. And then, the final blow: “And when I took a walk, they all stared at me.” She looked at the couple and asked n a quite voice: "Can you make them stop looking at me?"

Heidi’s silence spoke volumes. She couldn’t fix the world, but she could shield this girl, this fragile soul who deserved better. Her nod conveyed promise“I’ll protect you.”

Daniel’s voice, thick with emotion, sealed their pact. “Always, Roo.” His nickname for her held the weight of a thousand assurances. Together, they retreated to the shadows of the paddock, away from prying eyes. In that quiet corner, they forged a sanctuary—a place where judgment couldn’t reach and where Amira would always find solace.

[groundpear]

Fabric sea animal toys I did for the kids space of a local cultural center 💙

Patterns (if you sew them properly they get way prettier!): hammerhead shark by Cation Designs, seal by Heidi Boyd, manta ray by Choly Knight

🌟 2024 carrd | ☕️ Ko-fi 🌟

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 2

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Part of The Club AU

You’ve reached the next plain of existence. That special level of drunk where you forget just enough of your doubts and problems to truly unwind. You don’t think about your dress riding up or how the strap of your dress slips down your arm. You are free.

There’s only one problem. You have to break the seal. You set aside your empty cup and shout above the remix of Rihanna to Heidi and Faye. Neither of them offer to come with you as they bounce to the beat. Oh well, you can handle a trip to the bathroom.

You turn on your clunky heels, wobbling a little before you get your feet right. You steady yourself and strut between the dancers pulsating around you. You giggle as you see a particularly eager guy grinding on a girl without a sliver of interest.

You mind the step on the way down from the dancefloor. You don’t want to be kicked out for being overserved. Again. 

You stroll past the bar and eye the man behind it as he shakes a metal mixer. You could probably go for another drink once you pee. You just need to clear the way.

You head towards the bright doorway on the opposite end of the bar and as you peer around the line of stools, your eyes meet those of another. You recognise the man from earlier, even as his face is shrouded in shadows. He’s the reason your skin is sticky with vodka and juice. Is he checking you out?

You shrug it off and roll your eyes. That’s the thing about clubs, they’re always full of creepers. If the guy wanted to buy you a drink, he had a perfect opportunity earlier.

You refocus on your destination. Your bladder makes it hard to forget. You sigh as there’s no queue for the bathroom and you quickly dip into the only free stall. You pull down your panties and hover above the seat as you urge yourself to let go.

As the pressure lets out, you hang your head back, eyelids drooping as your vision doubles. You feel good, very good. Why can’t you feel like this all the time?

You finish up and stumble out to the sinks. You blink at your reflection as you wash your hands. A girl comes out of the other stall and wavers up beside you. She looks at you in the mirror and grins. 

“I love your dress,” she chimes.

“Oh, thanks,” you slur, “like yours too.”

You shut off the sink and grab some paper towel. You dry your hands and float out of the bathroom, high on the compliment. The best kind of praise is that from drunk girls in bathrooms.

You fan yourself as the heat of the crowd surrounds you. The coolness of the bathroom makes it even more obvious as you emerge. You should get a breath of cold air, maybe sober up before you get a refill.

You grip your purse, keeping it from bouncing on your hip, and sidle along to the stairs. You go down to the door and greet the bouncer with a smile. You look at your hand and hold it out.

“Washed my stamp off,” you chirp, “please and thanks.”

He doesn’t say a word as he presses another inky smear to the back of your hand. You wink and go out onto the street. The line is all but gone as the early hours tick by. Last call soon. 

You lean against the brick and look up at the starry sky. Ugh, you’ll have to pay for a cab home. Or maybe you can crash at Heidi’s, she lives only a block away. That’s the thing about her, you always end up at the place closest to her apartment.

Another figure emerges from the club doors. You don’t look over as it blurs the edge of your vision. You push your head back and blow out a vodka laced breath. The man passes by, only then catching your full attention. 

He turns and stops, leaning beside you against the wall as he tucks his hands in his pockets. You peek over at him and sneer. It’s the same guy.

“What do you want?” You snarl.

“I should ask you the same,” his voice is rocky, timbre so deep it rolls through you.

“What’s that mean?” You ask and quickly seal your lips against a hiccup.

“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself,” he remarks, “I got something that could make it even better.”

You squint and shake your head. “I don’t wanna suck your dick, dude.”

“Not exactly what I’m offering but you might change your mind once you get a hit.”

“What are you fuckin’ rambling about?” 

You push yourself away from the wall and grab at your purse. You flip the flap up and fish around inside. You ground your heel into the pavement and pull out the pack of smokes; another careless purchase. You only really smoke when you’re drinking.

“Shit’s bad for you,” he tuts as he watches you. You meet his gaze and almost dissolve at the intensity. He slips his hand out of his pocket, giving a peek of a small baggie of tablets, “wanna roll?”

You keep from flicking on the lighter as you consider his offer. You don’t really have the money to be spending on pills. Besides, you’re already pretty fucked up.

“Shit in there is watered down” he tucks the bag back in his pocket, “This stuff’s pure. It’ll get you goin’.”

You let the cigarette dangle between your lips as you stare skeptically.

“I owe you a drink, right?” He smirks.

[matbenetti17]

Heidi's Moodboard

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Your characterization is so good, it honestly feels like I’ve known them for more than 18 pages. If you still want to, I would love to read more about them! No pressure, of course.

Thank you, I'm flattered you think so! I used more exposition and tell, rather than show--I was trying to ape a certain period of straightforward, gritty 70s-80s pulp novels. Here is another subsequent scene under the cut for you.

***

Randy was perversely happy when he saw the blonde girl's–Sarah Lee? Jenny Jane? No, it was Heidi Lou–belly resting against the slack fabric of her gray cardigan. She had stopped covering herself in thick wool blouses and dresses, and no longer cared that her bastard pregnancy was out in the open. Now as he took her wrist and led her up the steps to his apartment, she was wearing a modest white button-up shirt and knit cardigan, over a pair of jeans that had at one time ridden high on her hips, but now dipped low below her swollen belly.

She'd all done away with her swishy seductive lace dresses, and dressed like a proper woman now. But Randy still might make her wear those dresses in the bedroom. Yeah, even when her belly got too big from the kids and she started wearing those dowdy sloppy dresses old housewives like his mother wore. But he'd still make her wear lace when he had her bent over his bed and fucking her with her swollen stomach hanging beneath them and that little lace dress hiked up above her waist. That lace dress would always remind him of that fated day when he pinned her to the floor and fucked all his rage into her, and fucked every last remnant of superciliousness out of her. It would always remind him of her blue eyes staring blearily up at him, with her legs spread and his hatred leaking out of her.

It had taken a while to get to this point, but Randall was a patient man. A few times each week–"dates" he liked to call them to her face as she dissolved into sobs. Often it was under the bushes near his newest job site, with his hands pinning her arms to the ground as he hammered her from behind and muffled her screams with his arm.

Sometimes it was at night when he threatened his way into her bedroom, climbed into her window in the sea of faceless moonlit suburban houses, and forced her to run her soft fingers across his hard body as they laid beside each other and his prick jutted into her abdomen. He loved the way he could force her to take his length of cock in her trembling hands and guide it to her terrified clenching pussy.

Once or twice, he'd even snuck her into his rented room while his roommates were raucously partying next door. He'd fucked her against the wall then, warning her that each sound she made would lure them over to take their turn with her. He adored the way she tightened up inside with fear. She really was the perfect woman. He thought of his mother, that fucking fishwife with her dull, shiny hair tied up with a scarf and folds gathering on her waist, always nagging his father to throw his beer bottles away. Heidi was a real wife and mother, someone you could show off to your golf club, someone who kept a tiny waist and pert tits even after she'd birthed five kids.

After a month or two, the hatred he'd pumped into her had made a little tyke swell in that flat belly. Randy had been doing her from behind in his apartment bed when he noticed it. One of his arms had been scrabbling for her breasts and the other looking for purchase on her hips as the girl instinctively tried to buck him off from behind. His hand had gripped onto her stomach for a second to steady himself, and the small pooch below her navel fit perfectly into his palm. That was when he realized.

Randy stood still then, trapping her squirming body between his strong, tense legs with one hand sealed over her womb like a knight's iron greave. He was frozen as a statue, then started to fuck into her harder and harder. The thought that there was a baby inside her excited him immensely–a tiny thing that was half of her and him, the living proof of his final domination over her. A little Randall Puchalski junior that he could teach to fix cars and teach to ride a bike– something that his own father had never bothered with–and that he could send off to school with the brand new fire engine red lunchbox that he had always wanted. A kid he could teach to be a man, who could scrape the serial numbers off a gun and sweet-talk a woman and lie with a smile.

Randall fucked himself deeper and deeper into her twitching canal, his heart thudding spasmodically between her shoulderbones. He came longer and harder than he ever had before, so hard he gasped as every bit of energy sapped out of him into her womb–even if it was fruitless to release his seed in her now. When Heidi Lou rolled over sobbing on his moldy mattress, face flushed and hair messy, he batted away her flailing, pushing arms and pressed the side of his greasy black head into her tummy. He could detect only the slightest curve of her midriff as she laid flat on her back, but it was enough. 

You start moving around soon and kicking, son. You're gonna be a tough little guy. You'll give your Mom no end of trouble when you're inside her, just like your Dad.

"Heidi," he told her dispassionately, "you've got a bun in the oven."

The girl wept and wailed and went into hysterics about that, but a few punches to the face–not the belly–quieted her down immediately.

Heidi Lou sat with one arm around her folded leg, the other on her bruising face, staring blankly at the floor as Randall pulled his weathered jeans above his limp cock. "Go tell your parents about it. Right now. Get out of this apartment and march right into your daddy's law office–or wherever that rich cocksucker works–and tell him some dirty trainhopping tramp knocked you up."

"I don't–I can't–"

He slapped her open-palmed, feeling merciful enough not to punch her this time. Her face was constantly puffy with bruises, and he wondered how she kept explaining it away to her parents. Soon, she wouldn't even have to.

"Can't what?" Randy taunted. "Are you gonna flit around like the airheaded cunt you are and pretend everything is hunky dory until you're ready to pop? Denial is a river in Egypt. 'Oh, muddah and faddah, it was just a one-night stand'–but you don't have those. You're a GOOD girl. 'It was just my old boyfriend'–except you don't have a boyfriend either, because you're a GOOD girl. You only have me."

That sent her into another full-blown sobbing fit, and Heidi Lou wailed as she grasped and tore the sides of her ragged red hair. He helped her along by gripping the back of her scalp and yanking her face to meet his.

The black coins of his irises met her disintegrating, disbelieving blue eyes.

"I don't think your mom and pop are too big on bastards, especially when it comes out of their perfect golden child. So I think it would be better if you told them now you've found a man to shack up with. I don't give a shit how you explain it to them. Tell them I helped you look for your dog and we got busy in the bushes. Tell them you met me at the mechanic's and we did it in the back seat. Tell them I raped you on the floor of your house. I don't care. You're going to walk down the aisle anyway."

"I'll get rid of it," Heidi Lou hissed in a sudden display of defiance.

Her words made Randy freeze still. Heidi Lou's eyes had hardened into chips of ice, and she drew her legs back and tucked them under her to lean forward on her wrists and look him in the eye. "I'll get an abortion. It's gonna be legal soon anyway, with that woman's case making its way through the Supreme Court. I'm not going to have your disgusting child. You can shove your filthy cock as many times into me as you want, but I'll never birth whatever degenerated thing you force into me. I'll do whatever it takes to rip it out of me–it will be like squashing a tadpole underneath my heel, do you hear me?" He had never heard such hardness and cruelty in her voice before, and it shocked him into an uncomfortable silence.

Back in Chicago when his parents still dragged him to St. Stanislaus Church, he remembered the priest telling him something very clearly. Father Janek with the mole on his cheek, and his whispery voice that made the hair on his arms stand up, making him shift and fidget in the pews until his mother whispered he would be sorry when they got home. It was just after the little M's died, when he had approached the priest to ask if his little siblings were in heaven.

“Randall, I am sorry,” said the stern little man. “When babies die before they have a chance to receive God's eternal light, they cannot come to heaven, or know the light of God's love. You see, they have not been freed from original sin--they haven't been baptized. So they… they live in limbo. It's not a good place, or a bad place. They're not hurt–God would never do that to a baby–they just… exist.”

That stunned Randall and haunted him for weeks afterward, listening to his mother sobbing over his little brother and sister that had died before they were born. Their rooms had been right beside each other, and Randall had stayed awake for hours listening to his mother crying and praying. Why did little Mark and Mary go to limbo? He had wondered as his brother snored beside him. They're just little babies. Why can't they go to heaven?

Randy thought about a piece of him, a part of his body, his blood. He thought of his frown and lips and cheeks, floating forever in purgatory and crying alone into a vast dark space. Something that belonged to him; something that was she was predestined to carry inside her womb as a woman should. But this woman was spitting bile, denying her natural place in life and threatening to send his child–that part of him– to a thankless, godless place forever.

Randy didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

He reached down beside his mattress, into the pocket of his green army jacket, and took out a rusted revolver. He leveled it against Heidi's sobbing crinkled forehead.

In a quiet voice, he said, "If you get the scrape, I'll fucking kill you for it. I'll put a bullet into your empty blond head and you'll go to hell for it. You'd go to hell for killing your baby."

"If I go to hell," Heidi said quietly, "Then I'll meet you there. And you'll never meet your child there either."

His words sent him into an internal spasm. He remembered the streets of Chicago, the Rican kid gurgling on his blood, the dago's face puffed and purple until it looked like a Halloween mask as he dealt the finishing blow to his neck with his boot, the lady at the shop who screamed as he pulled the trigger in the midst of a robbery, and the old black man crumpling facedown on the street when he took too long to get his wallet out, his blood spreading in a pool over the concrete. He thought of his baby torn so soon from Heidi's womb, those genes that were his, that belonged to him. Never being able to hold it in his arms.

This was his last chance, and he had no other choice.

In a roundabout way, Randall's cold, self-centered mind realized that this was his only chance at salvation and a normal life. Cheating and crime were second nature to him, and he would never take an honest way if there weren't a quicker and more illegal one. Ironically, that was the reason it made so much sense to him to do what he realized he would have to do. Becoming a hard-working man, contributing to his community and living an honest Christian life would ensure his survival. Fire and brimstone lit up in his mind again, like he was back in St. Stanislaus Church with Father Janek.

Neither did she.

He lovingly rubbed the barrel of the gun against her blond head. "Are you sure, honey? You sure you want to die? I've killed a lot of people. You would be just another tally on the board. Imagine… a little blond woman found in a flophouse with a hole in her head leaking blood over the floor and a cunt full of cum. What would such a good girl be doing there? Obviously she'd come to sample some working class dick and paid the price for it. The Sherriff would seal your file, especially if he knew your daddy. Everyone would quietly brush your life under the rug. Aunt Heidi? She died before you were born. My daughter? She died unexpectedly. You would be a black mark on your whole family."

Randy pressed the barrel harder into her crying face. "Would you rather die than have my kid?"

In a fraction of a second, he jerked the gun to the side and fired once. A bullet buried itself in the thin plywood an inch beside her head.

Heidi stopped crying abruptly, her high-pitched sobs ceasing with an eerie finality. She looked into his eyes with a dead understanding–the same look she had given him on the floor of her kitchen that one fateful day. She said nothing, but he knew her decision had been made.

He cupped her face between his calloused hands and kissed her gently on her pursing, twisting lips. His tongue slipped between her wet lips to lave softly at the inside of her spasming mouth. He tasted the salt of her tears, and it made blood pump through his dick.

"Go and let your parents know, and your preppy brother, and your pig uncle. You're gonna marry me and have my baby. And see if you can convince them soon enough so that you won't have a bowling ball for a belly as you walk down the aisle."

[mancannotlivewithoutpartner]

Vera Wang, 75, Shocks with Dramatic Short Hair Transformation and Skin-Baring Outfit at 2025 BAFTAs

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[yanaleese]

◈ Ámame, Secuéstrame y Quiéreme Más ◈

Yandere! OC Karma x Calculadora! Género Neutral! MC

ENGLISH VER. HERE!

Sinopsis: Pones sangre, sudor y lágrimas en tu trabajo. Lo que no sabías es que tu admiradora secreta, Marka, también lo hace.

Advertencia de contenido: Yandere y literalmente cualquier cosa que vaya con ello, violencia, hipnosis (no en el lector), drogas (implicación), y sí habrá una Parte 2.

POR FAVOR APOYA A PALESTINA CON DINERO, O CON UN CLICK

Puntuaciones, talentos, personas.

ÉSTOS son los factores que clasifican el sistema educativo. Aunque no es inmaculado, cumple su propósito: enviar a personas vulnerables al mundo laboral y devorarlas enteras. Sus medios de vida, su tiempo y los minúsculos retazos de energía que les quedan dentro.

Pero hay algunos que nacen con ventajas, y otros que tienen que dejarse la piel para conseguirlo.

Yo, por desgracia, tengo lo segundo. Las cosas no vienen fáciles, ni instantáneas, ni perfectas. En realidad soy bastante ocioso, disfruto de la libertad de adquirir conocimientos y perspicacia. Conocimientos únicos, probados y comprobados que son fundamentales para la supervivencia.

Y así es como gestiono mis trasnochadas. Escuchando "Consejos para sobrevivir" con su presentador, McGregory Callahan.

En los años 60, era un oficial CWO-4 Navy Seal, un rango dado a unos pocos exclusivos. Y ahora que está retirado, comparte humildemente sus consejos con la comunidad, y presenta invitados de vez en cuando para mantener vivo el programa. Pero la mayoría prefiere escuchar su voz, algo con lo que estoy totalmente de acuerdo.

"Y así, damas y caballeros…" Su voz era suave y ronca. "Es hora de despedirse, amigos. Manténganse a salvo, y recuerden siempre…"

Me reí entre dientes, diciendo sus líneas finales con él.

"Vivir, no morir, e intentar sobrevivir. Gracias a todos".

Mientras la radio se apagaba, el sol derramaba sus rayos en mi ventana, como si el calor no fuera suficiente. Gemí, y mis ojos me llevaron a mi colección de cápsulas "despertadoras". Tentado y engañado, me deslicé hasta ellas y me metí otras dos o tres en la boca.

Refunfuñé. El arrepentimiento se filtró en mis venas, mi cuerpo mareado y tenso. Una vez más, me quedé despierto.

Y por supuesto, resultó ser un lunes por la mañana; donde tenía clase por la mañana.

"Pues fóllame suavemente con una motosierra". Empecé a llenar mi mochila con mis utensilios, papeleo, bocadillos. Nunca podría acostumbrarme a esta mierda. "Espero que nadie me cabree el resto del día".

◈

"La campana. Ugh, la maldita campana. Nunca he querido romper esa cosa en pedazos". Apenas podías distinguir a la multitud, más o menos. Ni siquiera la cara de tu mejor amigo.

"Espera. ¿Has tenido una noche dura… otra vez?" Heidi miró, sus ojos prácticamente brillaban de preocupación.

"Quizzássss..." Balbuceaste, dando pasos de bebé hacia tu asiento. "Menos mal que mi compañero de asiento es un chico tranquilo".

Hablando del diablo, Marka entró en la habitación, sus pisadas silenciosas mientras paseaba en tu dirección. Su sincronización fue impecable.

"Buenos días, Marka". Murmuraste, sin encontrarte con sus ojos. Además, no había ojos gracias a su flequillo.

"Je…" En respuesta, Marka esbozó una emocionante sonrisa, devolviéndote alegremente los buenos días. Cómo podía estar lleno de energía un lunes por la mañana, era un completo misterio para ti.

En realidad, mucho de él está rodeado de misterio. O más bien, en la sospecha.

Aparte del nombre raro, Marka era supuestamente del campo de Honduras, Tegucigalpa. Sus padres también eran hondureños, y él trabajaba como repartidor de pizzas, y se alojaba en el apartamento de un amigo para refugiarse, con el propósito de volver a estudiar tres veces para obtener un título. Aunque parte de esto es cierto, otra parte no cuadraba.

Por ejemplo, sus modismos. A veces decía "Puchica" , "Chero", "Chivo" - y cuando los busqué todos, el denominador común era El Salvador. Decía que sus padres venían de Honduras, así que ¿cómo podía ser cierto?

"[S/N]".

Entonces él, siendo el repartidor de pizza. No suele pedir pizza, pero nunca pensó que la pizza pudiera oler tan mal. Podías recordarle llegando corriendo a una de tus clases de la tarde, y en vez de oler a aceite y grasa, olía a hierba. ¿Qué coño…?

"Hola? [S/N]?."

Además, el hecho de que está rehaciendo el curso por tercera vez. Y sin embargo, en cada examen saca perfectamente una nota media. También termina antes que los demás, como si tuviera todo el tiempo del mundo.

Eso no es normal.

Aunque nunca te has enfrentado a Marka por esto, has preferido guardar silencio. Los tiempos son duros, y no estabas dispuesta a tender una mano cuando apenas podías ayudarte a ti misma.

Pero de NINGUNA MANERA te harías amigo de alguien tan sospechoso como él.

"[S/N]!!!" Heidi susurró, sacándote de tus pensamientos.

"[S/N], por favor contesta…" El Sr. Dimmy hizo una pausa, aclarándose la garganta. "En realidad. Pensándolo mejor, por favor, ven a verme después de clase. Gracias."

Me mordí el labio, dejándolo sangrar. Joder. Te has vuelto a despistar.

"Señor yo…"

"Sin peros, sin cocos".

Mientras te maldecías internamente, decidiste sacar tu libro de ventilación de la mochila, sólo para que el señor Dimmy te detuviera una vez más.

"[S/N]. ¿Puedes responder a la pregunta de la pizarra, por favor?"

Mierda, acabas de abrir tu bolso.

"Dame un momento…"

"[S/N]."

Apretando los puños, esbozaste una sonrisa de plástico. Era comprensible de dónde venía, ya que no quería que su alumno estrella soñara despierto por segunda vez.

"Culpa mía, señor. Espero hacerlo bien".

Mientras estabas ocupado resolviendo la ecuación, Marka decidió hacerte un favor y cerrar tu bolsa.

Para cuando volviste, Marka sonrió, esperando que saliera de ella un agradecimiento. Pero decidiste ignorar el amable gesto, continuando prestando atención a la pizarra. Ya tenías suficiente atención por hoy.

◈

Si había algo que le gustaba eran los relojes. Era agradable saber cómo pasaba el tiempo, si era rápido o anormalmente lento.

Y por supuesto, era lento.

"[S/N], esto ha ocurrido en múltiples ocasiones". El señor Dimmy se frotó las sienes, agotado de mantener la misma conversación con usted. "Nosotros, como personal, dejamos claro que puedes tomarte días libres".

"Lo siento mucho señor, pero no puedo hacer eso…"

"[S/N], basta de excusas. No estás durmiendo lo suficiente, y eso está afectando a tu concentración".

Puntuaciones, talentos, personas: NADA en esta conversación se aplicaba a eso. La amabilidad era un coñazo.

"Y por eso, voy a pedirle al decano que te suspenda personalmente. Una semana entera de suspensión".

Tuvo que morderse la lengua. ¿Por qué tienes que hacer el triple de trabajo?

"Señor. Estoy atrasado en lo que tengo que cubrir. Se lo ruego, por favor déjelo pasar."

"Pero [S/N], llevas tres semanas de adelanto. Tomarte una semana libre es suficiente ahora mismo. Créeme".

Miraste el reloj. Eran las 9:47, el minutero aproximadamente alcanzando el siguiente minuto.

"Si te veo el martes por la tarde, te acompañaré personalmente fuera. Eso es todo".

Frotándote los ojos, corriste hasta lo alto de las escaleras, antes de hacerte a la fuga. No podías creer lo que acababa de pasar.

"[S]-[S/N]…" Era Heidi.

"Heidi. He terminado por hoy, así que me voy a casa. Mándame un mensaje más tarde si tienes curiosidad". Sus demandas fueron rápidas y severas.

◈

"Risitas, tras risitas. Estos putos chuches no saben cuándo dejarlo, ¿verdad?".

"Markaaaa…" Resopló, sonando exactamente como él la llamaba: cerda. "Enséñame un poco de español, ¿no? ~ ❤️"

Marka negó con la cabeza, su cara mostraba claramente incomodidad.

"¡Vamos, queremos oírlo! A lo mejor podemos cagarla, ¿sabes?".

Maldito sea el cabrón de Rico. Nunca supo leer una habitación.

"He dicho que no". Marka se pasó los dedos por el flequillo, revelando la oscuridad que se arremolinaba en sus ojos. "Ahora aprended a ser buenos mierdecillas, estoy de mal humor".

Inmediatamente, todo el grupo se quedó completamente inmóvil. Antes de que pasaran unos segundos, gritos horripilantes escaparon de los labios de la gente. Algunos se congelaron de horror, sudando profusamente. Otros simplemente huyeron de Marka, mientras que algunos lucharon con él. Por suerte, gracias a su físico podía manejar a sus atacantes con bastante claridad.

"Ja…vergüenza…" Siguió golpeando a Rico con cada puñetazo, empezando a ver como la sangre le supuraba. Marka no pudo evitar sonreír con sádico regocijo. "Esta hipnosis siempre es pura suerte para mí".

Agarrando la pierna de uno de sus compañeros. Marka retorció, fracturó e incluso saltó sobre su pierna, lo que estaba perfectamente sincronizado con sus palabras".

"Joder. Joder. Joder. JODER. JODER". Marka maldijo en voz alta, gruñendo de frustración. Cada vez que pensaba en ti, la sensación no desaparecía. "Sólo quería hacer una buena obra. ¿Por qué? No. Ellos. Me. A mí".

Al oír el agudo grito del compañero, Marka lo apartó de un puntapié, dirigiéndose a tu taquilla. Estaba rodeada de un montón de cerraduras, todas ellas hechas personalmente por ti. Sabías ser eficiente y útil.

Lástima que Marka supiera forzar cerraduras demasiado bien.

"Ha pasado un tiempo desde mi último rechazo… así que veamos qué hay aquí ahora…". Con un tintineo, guió sus dedos a las primeras letras que hizo….sólo para encontrarlas….

Aplastado.

"…."

Ya debería estar acostumbrado a esto. El polvo, la suciedad, las arañas muertas. Después de conseguir por fin una taquilla nueva y fresca, era comprensible que limpiara el espacio.

Pero no lo hiciste. Decidiste hacer de tu vieja taquilla tu nueva bolsa de basura - incluyendo sus cartas de amor.

Su pulgar lleno de cicatrices aferró el sobre rosa, o la bola aplastada que era. Podía recordar la vez que tuvo que salir por negocios, perdiéndose la universidad durante una semana entera. Tuvo que permanecer agachado debido a un disparo, que le produjo una importante lesión en el hombro y en la mano izquierda. No le importaban las heridas debido a experiencias pasadas, pero estaba… deprimido. Marka no podía ver a nadie, ni estar en línea por si le descubrían. Fue una decisión que tanto él como José tomaron por su seguridad.

Y así, para saciar su soledad, te escribió. Aunque le dolía la mano izquierda, escribió. A pesar de que su cerebro le decía que parara por el dolor, escribió. Escribía porque sabía que tú le dabas la felicidad, la esperanza que necesitaba para este mundo. Sí, teníais defectos… pero el uno con el otro, los dos podíais curar las cicatrices del otro. ¿Verdad?

"….Ha…."

Sus manos temblaron con rabia silenciosa mientras gotas oscuras caían sobre el papel. Estoy seguro de que no sabías nada mejor, simplemente fue un malentendido. Sí, sí, fue un malentendido.

Era comprensible, ya que él no lo dejó claro. No coqueteó contigo, ya que no era lo tuyo. Supongo que las cartas tampoco lo eran.

Tal vez tendría que intentar algo… un poco más drástico.

"Necesito saber… ¿me quieren…? ¿No me quieren? Quizás…."

Apretando el papel contra su pecho, empezó a reírse para sus adentros. No, sonreía como un loco mientras miraba la taquilla que tenía delante, con la cara contorsionada en algo retorcido y grotesco.

"Tal vez sea hora de que haga una visita a tu casa, ¿eh? ❤️~."

NOTAS:

Cuche = Significa cerdo en el argot salvadoreño. sɪ ᴛɪᴇɴᴇs ᴀʟɢᴜɴᴀ ᴘʀᴇɢᴜɴᴛᴀ sᴏʙʀᴇ ᴋᴀʀᴍᴀ, ᴊᴏsᴇ́ ᴏ ʜᴇɪᴅɪ, ɴᴏ ᴅᴜᴅᴇs ᴇɴ ʀᴇᴠɪsᴀʀ ᴍɪ ʙᴀɴᴅᴇᴊᴀ ᴅᴇ ᴇɴᴛʀᴀᴅᴀ.

[shadowknightapologist]

okay i've decided to make all of the ro'maeve brothers afab bc i'm just in love with the idea...

CONTENT WARNING FOR: deadnames + misgendering, but only bc this is referring to a time prior to transition!! only bringing them up for the character's history :3 (since it'll come up in upcoming writing/art). also garte being an icky man >:(

garroth = lennon (meaning lover): zianna always wanted lennon to have a strong heart, to maintain kindness in a world that would seldom extend grace to her. she considered her to be the heart of her children, the one to soften zane's bitterness and guide vylad with things other than anger. it's tragic that someone named "lover" is doomed to so much tragedy.

zane = cassidy (meaning clever): for her mini me, zianna prayed that cassidy would be leagues smarter, slicker, and bolder than her. and indeed, cassidy proved to be a very bright young woman at the time. her intelligence made her cynical at times, but it also kept her and her sisters out of a lot of trouble. zianna couldn't give zane much, but at least the ravenous fire of his mind will keep him warm when he pushes everyone else away.

vylad = heidi (meaning noble and kind): the only one of her children with a name that doesn't properly reflect what she wanted for them. as heidi was a bastard affair child, her fate was mostly sealed as soon as garte found out. but zianna, with her foolish heart, had already gotten attached to the baby in her belly. she gave her a german name in hopes it would appease garte, that maybe he would see some value in her even though she wasn't his... garte, of course, did not, but a part of him was amused with his usually-obedient wife's misstep, so he let heidi live. zianna put her entire soul into trying to mold heidi into a proper princess, believing it'd keep her safe—when heidi's soul is condemned, zianna's will go with her.

garte let zianna name them because, well... he doesn't give a shit.

[cleverhottubmiracle]

Benjamin Barron and Bror August Vestbø, the designers behind the womenswear label All–in, never intended to launch a brand. “We didn’t start out thinking this would be a business,” says Barron, surrounded by racks of clothes in their studio in Paris, where they’ve lived since 2021. “We’ve just been taking it one step at a time.”In 2015, after graduating from Bard College, in New York, with a degree in photography, Barron launched an annual indie fashion publication called All–in. “The magazine was an outlet to start conversations with other artists,” he explains. “The collaborative process—that was exciting to me.” He met Vestbø, a Norwegian designer who had just moved to New York, at the magazine’s crowded East Village launch party, and they began dating. Within a few years, they were working together.Sold in numbered, limited-edition runs, each issue of All–in is printed in a different format: loose-leaf papers bound by artfully ripped pink plastic seals, or tech pack envelopes tied up with ribbons. The issues have explored themes such as fast fashion and the demise of magazines, calling on collaborators who are both established and rising talents, from the stylist Haley Wollens to the writer Natasha Stagg and the young stylist Bianca Raggi. Willem Dafoe was on the first cover; Lily-Rose Depp is on the latest.From left: Models Yura Romaniuk, Lamich Kirabo, and Lou Seriot and hairstylist Franziska Presche. Presche wears her own clothing and shoes.The magazine rarely has advertising, so Barron and Vestbø feel free to use thrifted and upcycled clothes in editorials. “We’re always looking for things that attract us and that we find a bit challenging in some way,” says Barron. A shoot from an early, Italy-themed issue featured a haul of refashioned vintage pieces—a bodice with gloves sewn on like a tutu, a knitted vest worn as a skirt. They sourced the garments, all of which cost one euro, from the Porta Portese flea market in Rome. “When you see something you do or don’t like, it’s because you have an idea of what it represents,” says Vestbø. It’s “an exciting challenge to see beyond an accepted idea and create something new.”That project inspired them to make more artisanal pieces constructed from thrifted items, and in 2019 they officially started selling clothes. They displayed their first collection on a rack in a makeshift showroom: an Airbnb in Paris. Designer Maryam Nassir Zadeh, whom the pair met through a mutual friend, was so excited by the designs that she hosted their debut show in her downtown New York store; the clothes sold directly off the runway. The Paris-based stylist Lotta Volkova, who has collaborated with Vetements and Balenciaga and is currently working with Miu Miu, was among their first customers.Seriot, with Vestbø at work in the background.Every collection is based on a storyline featuring an uber-feminine protagonist, from a prom queen to a pop star to a businesswoman who grapples with the status quo. “We’re always inspired by characters who are at a heightened moment of representation or trying to achieve something,” says Vestbø.Fall 2023’s heroine was a fictional pop star called Allina; her rapid rise and even faster fall was inspired by the 1995 film Showgirls and the reality TV star Heidi Montag. The 33-look collection was shown in the basement of Paris’s Montparnasse Tower—the steely lone skyscraper in the 15th arrondissement and one of the city’s most detested buildings. (For Barron, it felt as close to his native New York City as he could get in Paris.) Tube dresses, lacy tank tops, and skintight denim gave way to draped and deconstructed lingerie-like dresses with sequins. As the show went on, the clothes seemed to unravel.Top: Kirabo and Romaniuk.Their latest outing, titled “Uptown Girl,” was presented on the 40th floor of the same tower—a literal ascent inspired by Melanie Griffith’s ambitious character, Tess McGill, in the 1980s rom-com Working Girl. Unmistakable codes from the decade, such as a reconstructed leather trenchcoat, padded shoulders, bulbous pearls, and Flashdance-esque athleisure, were mixed with twisted silk blouses, draped minidresses, and deconstructed denim pieces. For the latter, Barron and Vestbø collaborated with Guess U.S.A. and were given full access to the jeans giant’s archives. The designers reconfigured denim jackets and jeans into pencil skirts and jackets that appear to be layered upon themselves.It’s not the first time the duo has had their way with fashion archives: In 2019, they mined the work of Italian designer Romeo Gigli for an editorial featured in All–in’s fourth issue. They’ve worked with the 1990s fashion and art collective Bernadette Corporation, as well as with seminal aughts designers Miguel Adrover and Ann-Sofie Back. The dream, Barron says, is to get their hands on Cristóbal Balenciaga’s archives.While the pair tries to work with vintage and deadstock materials as much as possible, the challenge has been to parlay that into a scalable fashion brand. (“The quality of vintage pieces is so different,” says Vestbø. “You can tell that something is from the ’90s or ’80s.”) About half of their runway designs are produced and sold at stores such as Dover Street Market, 10 Corso Como, and Ssense, as well as through their growing direct-to-consumer business.Especially popular are their accessories and shoes, like their double pump, which looks as if a strappy sandal had collided with a classic pump. The level boot—a pointy-toed shoe with eyelets and leather lacing that comes in ankle, knee, and thigh-high lengths—is a hit with both men and women. They’ve also introduced bags, including the Carrie (as in Bradshaw) and the Dolly (as in Parton), which they make by collaging together a trio of vintage clasp purses.All–in designers Benjamin Barron (left) and Bror August Vestbø.While Barron and Vestbø usually create just one collection a year—a spring-summer one, presented in a show staged outside the official Fashion Week calendar, and often very late at night—they are currently working on their debut fall-winter capsule collection. “We’re interested in exploring garments that are not summer clothes,” explains Vestbø. All the while, they’re at work on the eighth edition of the magazine, which is set to be published in April. “Maybe the clothing can make us some money, and the magazine can stay totally free,” says Vestbø.Growth is happening in the same way their debut did: organically, driven by a fan base of insiders who recognize and prize originality. Take Volkova, who has gone from a customer to a collaborator, styling All–in’s runway shows for the past two seasons. The partnership is so fruitful because “she has a way of seeing our clothes,” explains Barron. “It’s pushing it even further.”Hair by Franziska Presche for Oribe Haircare at The Good Company; Makeup by Thom Walker for Shiseido at Art + Commerce. Models: Lamich Kirabo at Select Model Management, Lou Seriot at Elite NY, Yura Romaniuk at The Industry; Casting by Ashley Brokaw Casting; Produced by Producing Love; Photo Assistant: Erik Casla; Production Assistant: Remi Amuah; Hair Assistant: Yuri Kato; Makeup Assistant: Martha Inoue. Source link