#mother jean bello

[saevus-brutalis]

hi :] 6, 8, 23 and 27

6. do they have pet names for each other? Do they like them?

Ray has an array of italian pet names he likes to use for Vincent; bello or amore being the most common. Vincent likes the sound of them so he doesn’t really mind; besides he loves listening to Ragan speaking italian. he sometimes calls him Elio (meaning sun) or Eli (short for Elijah) - which was how his mother would call him - but uses it very sporadically since it tends to trigger Vincent in a bad way.

Vincent isn’t big on using pet names, the closest he gets to a pet name is shortening someone’s name – in Ragan’s case it’s calling him Ray - and he has exclusive rights to calling him that. he sometimes jokingly calls him his ray of sunshine, but aside from that, he sometimes uses love and very rarely honey. Ragan melts every time Vincent uses one of those, but finds his nickname Ray really endearing as well.

8. what do they find physically sexiest about each other?

Vincent is absolutely crazy about Ray’s lower half. he’s an ass man by definition and would spend hours staring at Ray’s rear end. he’s obsessed with his big strong thighs, the way the muscles dip and curve, how the fabric stretches around them. Ray often uses it to his advantage making sure to sway his hips when waking by, purposefully wearing tight fitting jeans or really short shorts, not throwing away pants with rips, or indulging Vince by sitting in his lap and letting him run his hands down his thighs.

for Ray it’s Vince’s shoulders and neck. he loves how broad he is. his massive build makes him feel tiny in comparison despite being only 20 centimeters or so shorter than him. he liked digging his fingers into his back, hibbing him back rubs and massages, running his fingertips over the defined muscles and textured skin. the burns and scars don’t take away the beauty and only make this part of Vince’s body that much hotter and more unique. he often catches himself staring at Vincent’s back when he’s wearing a tight shirt or it’s clinging to his sweaty back.

23. what was their first impression of each other?

[2037]

to Ragan Vincent came off as textbook example of a NC dweller; rude, selfish wish a sharp tongue and colorful string of curses in his pocket. a rebellious street punk, tall and intimidating, he immediately piqued Ragan’s interest. wearing dark clothes, pale with no kitsch cyberware he stood out from the flashy crowd of NC’s young punks, and was a nice contrast to what Ragan was used to seeing out in the Badlands. despite Vincent’s rather cold demeanor towards Ragan he saw something in him. first impression – cute but a raging asshole.

Vincent was conflicted about how he felt about Ray, at first he hated his bubbly personality and how friendly he was with his friends and with him, but on the other hand - even if he tried - he couldn’t deny the man’s attractiveness. there was something pulling Vince towards Ray – be it his charming persona or a pretty pearly smile and those gorgeous gorgeous eyes. first impression – handsome idiot.

27. what interests do they share? For interests they don't share, do they ever participate anyway?

what started as a remedy for soreness quickly turned into a hobby of sorts - Vincent have been practicing yoga for some time now and it slowly crept into his daily routine, so much so he starts off his day with a yoga and a quick meditation sesh, even if he has to wake up before the break of dawn. Ray sometimes (when he feels like waking up this early) takes part in Vince's early shenanigans and overtime he gets quite good at it as well! however he's more of a passive enjoyer when it come's to Vincent's interest in yoga, he likes to watch him from the distance. it's always quite a sight. one more thing Vincent has an interest in that Ray doesn't share nor participate are chess. after losing way too many games he swore to never play with Vince again. Ray's such a sore loser - just like his input. one thing they do share is watching terrible, cringy or cheesy movies and reality shows. Vince is an avid drama reality show watcher (picture Love Island but make it cyberpunk), he loooves to bitch about the people in it and Ray is right with him on that. they both comment on the contestants’ actions throughout the whole episode and usually end up binging the whole or half a season in one go. Ray loves old cheesy romance movies and old western and forces Vincent to watch them with him. Vince won't ever admit it but he does like the cheesy romance movies more than the action packed westerns. Ray's one interest that Vincent doesn't share but still tries to participate in is old tech. he loves taking apart old cassette tapes, CD players and radios, making his own little devices from parts he finds himself or ones Vincent brings him from the city's pawnshops and vintage stores. Vince can't understand how Ray can be so invested in ancient tech like this, but he himself has his own weird little interests and loves old cars and furniture so he can't really say anything about it.

[jeanharlow1930s]

[ignitification]

Are Heroes Fighting a War so they can be At Peace?

Already in Augustine’s old age (354 - 430 AD) we have the concept of “For every man is in quest of peace, even in waging war” (City of God, 426 AD- if you are familiar with philosophy or jus as bellum/jus in bello), and so I asked myself - isn’t this exactly what is happening (with a margin of error) in BNHA? Isn’t the reason, for the war that is currently happening, peace - or rather, not a status quo ante, but a change in pace, a break from this rose-colored view of rotten and corrupted society for a better (and pan accepting) society and better life standards for every citizen? Arguably, this argument works on every war (but I do have some reservation when it comes to imperialism and colonialism period wars, as the only better peace of these wars was to rob less developed, at that time, countries) but I find it particularly interesting how this works so well when applied to the current situation. I talked extensively about how there is a clear imbalance in current society and how a change is way more than needed, but I’d like to add to these, more or less, set in stone concepts, how the goal in mind for this specific war (which can be arguably framed as good vs evil, but I would rather define old order vs strive for change the old order) is not only a better peace, or the punishment of evil (Aquinas, XIII century,thanks) but reform, a change in the roots of the society that causes the problems - what, in hindsight, is the mother cause of the war. It is better summarized by Hugo Grotius in the sentence “the purpose of war is to remove the things that disturb peace” - and it does not refer to a simple balance of peace, because it would mean that the struggle made by the villains would have been in vain, and to a tentative peace - but to a huge reform of a national (if not international) scale clearly affirming that the status quo is wrong and has to be changed in order to address the problems that have been hidden from the public’s view, fueling the illusion of a this perfect society, which then clearly does not need change (and denies any kind of responsibility for those who have been hurt by it - namely, Quirkless people, Heteromorph Quirk-having people, villains, heroes who understood what was going on).

Currently, the head figure (the martyr, or the Jean D’Arc) of this war is Izuku - which brings me back to the fact that Izuku feels like he is not only on a time limit, but it is his duty to wage and win this war, and yet he feels like the only way to keep people safe is to do it alone (exactly like we saw in the preview of chapter 306 and now confirmed in 320). So, Izuku reasons out that the only way for the people he loves to be at peace and to smile again is for him to sacrifice himself (for a bit, at least) - and go on his mission, even when it means losing his friends, his mentor and somehow himself.

(Notice the use of the singular when it comes to responsibility and the plural when it comes to the outcome - Izuku has to work for EVERYONE ELSE to be at peace. He does not want to put the burden on anyone else’s shoulders, exactly like All Might and the pro-heroes did with him).

The point is, that the introduction to this war has been extensive and long fought, and yet, to this day, there is still reasonable doubt about how exactly this war should go: while everyone agrees that it should end in peace (good always wins), what peace exactly are the other actors looking and striving for?

On one hand we have Hawks - who clearly is disillusioned by the society which held him in shackles, but at the same time still does not know how to let go of the balance and system that shaped his entire life and on the other, we have the LoV, who is clearly disgusted and tired of living in a society, where (like in the AfO’s panel above) individuality, and differentiation have no place, nor do tales which are not conforming to the group narrative the HPSC has shaped the hero-dominated society in.

There is, therefore, little space of argumentation and dialogue in between these two views: one hopeful and the one plainly destructive (and rightly so). This is exactly where, in my opinion, Izuku Midoriya’a character comes into play: from what he saw of Shigaraki in the Vestiges, and then from Lady Nagant’s backstory, Izuku is the only character that has a sort of Omni view on both sides and parties and is trying to break through both the stereotype of the ‘villains are bad and heroes are good’ (the dichotomy of heroes and villains) and his own initial role of a Symbol of Peace. During the last chapters, we slowly saw Izuku descending towards a path that not only looks like a Villainification of his character, but boldly resembles the path that Shigaraki has walked in order to get where he is now (and that’s a good question: where tf is Shigaraki now?).

This not only brings insight to Izuku, but it also warns him that things are not as they seem - and that, is a big red flag when it comes to the current war. Shigaraki anticipated the heroes not understanding their view already in chapter 281, and yet it is only now that the consequences (real ones) of his statement of heroes not being able to understand, are seen: Endeavour is stiff iffy about the plan to stop his own son, while admitting that it is someone his responsibility to; class 1A not being familiar with the danger that AfO poses (+ their lack of insight in the villain’s point of view, excluding Shouto - who at the moment is the closest person to Izuku to actually want to listen what non-heroes have to say on the matter). And this is, arguably, not their fault but as always the consequence of a system which unfortunately has a strong grip on every individual (notwithstanding the current situation of chaos).

Izuku, as the middle man, has to conciliate somehow the old with the new, while fighting a war on his own with both parties - so everyone could have a happy ending. Not only those who deserve it (and indeed, who are these people after all?) , but every individual - because that’s exactly what this discourse in the Vestiges is about:

Izuku sees every cause as a worthy cause, no matter the label of that person or their affiliation. He wants to fight this war to bring peace to everyone (and yet, his self sacrificing spirit is both an asset and a curse). Because after all, that’s what being human is all about.

[citizenscreen]

Jean Harlow and her mother, Jean Poe Harlow Bello

[jeanharlow-archive]

A portrait of Jean Harlow (then Harlean) and her mother Mrs. Jean Harlow, later to become Mrs. Jean Bello. Taken about 1922 in Los Angeles at the Empire Studio on 427 main street.

[ofzully]

❛ ✶ ( RACHEL HILSON , CISFEMALE , SHE/HER )  —  did you see ZAHRAH BELLO  walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the TWENTY ONE year old SENIOR. from what i know , they are studying POLITICAL SOCIOLOGY and are a part of OMEGA ALPHA PI . they come across as + MAGNETIC but also - UNCONTROLLABLE , which makes sense because on their instagram ( @IHEARTZULLY ) it says they are a SCORPIO . when i see them , i think of BOX RED WINE SIPPED ON CRYSTAL GLASSES , LAUGHTER IN THE FACE OF DETERMINATION , HONEY-DEW GAZES AND GLOSS LIP STAINS  . the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that REDACTED , but don’t tell anyone i told you that . ooc info . layla . 23 . est . she/her .

hi  everyone  ,  i’m  layla  &.  i  think  i’ve  rped  w/  a  couple  of  you  before  but  here  is  my  baby  zully  ! down  below  are  some  quick  tidbits  about  her  !  if  you’d  like  to  plot  w/  her  give  this  a  like  !  i  have  a  few  connections  in  mind  ,  but  if  that  doesn’t  strike  ya’  fancy  ,  we  can  brainstorm  !  

honey  dipped  in  vanilla  ,  she  is  one  of  the  warmest  girl  you’ve  ever  met  .  she  has  kind  eyes  , and  she’s  approachable  in  the  quarter  with  a  smile  and  ringlet  curls  reflecting  the  sun  like  gold  .  many  mistake  kindness  for  weakness  ,  until  you’ve  had  a  conversation  with  her  .  she’s  always  been  extremely  outspoken  about  what  she  believes  in  ,  drunk  ramblings  on  political  views  at  frat  parties  ,  and  long  rants  against  your  professor  --  and  why  his  opinion  is  appreciated  ,  but  nevertheless,  still  wrong --   in  a  shared  class  .  

she  doesn’t  purposely  go  out  of  her  way  to  hurt  people  ,  but  the  sting  of  a  intellectual  comeback  might  sit  on  a  silver  tongue  that’s  mumbled  under  her  breath  .  it’s  the  passion  that  gets  her  in  trouble  ,  and  the  way  it  comes  in  wild  cards  with  people---  subjects ---  and  her  own  morals  set  on  a  ridiculously  high  standard  for  herself  .  

you  pronounce  her  name  like  zara  ,  but  at  the  start  of  college  ,  she’d  gotten  the  nickname  zully  and  it  kind  of  just  stuck  .  it  was  easier  to  pronounce  ,  more  efficient  for  her  professors  to  remember  ,  and  it  became  a  staple  .  the  nickname  was  probably  given  the  start  of  freshman  year  ,  by  someone  on  campus  ---  likely  an  ex  boyfriend  /  girlfriend  ,  or  an  ex  best  friend  .  so  if  you’re  interested  ,  in  that  just  lmk  !

zahrah  is  actually  a  twin  ,  and  her  fraternal  sister’s  name  is  nimah  .  they  hav  always  been  extremely  close  ,  and  look  a  lot  alike  ,  despite  not  being  identical---  you  could  confuse  them  to  be  ,  if  you  didn’t  know  better  .  their  parents  moved  to  cambridge  from  nigeria  when  they  first  got  married  thirty  years  prior  ,  and  her  mother  is  a  doctor  on  a  medical  floor  at  the  hospital  .  their  father  passed  away  when  the  girls  were  sixteen  from  a  cardiac  issue  ,  and  was  a  retired  medical  professional  as  well  .  

when  their  father  passed  away  ,  he  put  money  away  for  the  girls  to  start  their  lives  and  go  to  college  .  however  ,  nimah  had  always  been  more  of  a  reckless  spirit  ,  despite  zahrah’s  freedom  .  nimah  moved  to  new  york  city  the  second  she  turned  eighteen  with  the  money  their  father  left   her  .  this  of  course  ,   causing  a  rift  between  the  twins  and  their  mother---  while  zahrah  went  straight  to  university  and  her  half  of  the  money  dried  up  into  tuition  fees  .  nonetheless  ,  zahrah  has  always  been  in  the  middle  of  a  the  feud  between  her  sister  ,  and  their  mother  .  

zahrah  is  often  misunderstood  ,  and  this  comes  with  the  complexity  of  who  she  is  .  it  wasn’t  a  mistake  that  the  men  around  campus  began  to  notice  her  the  moment  she’d  offered  a  kind  and  inviting  smile  .  though  ,  while  getting  to  know  her  ,  whether  it  be  because  she  was  uninterested  in  them  ,  or  a  personal  hit  to  their  ego---  they  started  using  phrases  to  put  her  in  a  box  .  high  maintenance  ,  uncontrollable  ,  she  wouldn’t  be  the  girl  they’d  take  home  to  their  father’s  in  the  hamptons  because  her  views  and  outspokenness  could  be  a  challenge---  despite  her  kindness  .  she  wasn’t  a  pretty  porecelain  doll  ,  and  she  certainly  wouldn’t  stand  by  your  side  as  a  trophy  wife  ---  to  smile  and  nod  .  

*            PHYSICAL  .  

when  i  say  this  girl  is  tiny  ,  i  mean  it  .  she’s  5ft  even  ----  barely  .  she’s  incredibly  small  built  ,  dainty  shoulders  and  dainty  wrists  .  very  rarely  does  she  wear  heels  ,  so  it’s  noticed---  it’s  probably  the  first  thing  you  notice  about  her  ,  other  than  her  smile  .  her  hair  falls  just  past  her  collar  bones  when  left  natural  , with  dark  ringlet  curls  . vivid  gazes  resemble  stained  glass  ,  the  color  of  honey  dipped  in  sunlight  ,  with  long  dark  lashes  to  match  .  she  has  a  single  tattoo  on  the  corner  of  her  left  wrist  that  reads  :  ignited  ---  in  fine  line  cursive  .  she  wrinkles  her  nose  when  she  laughs  ,  and  she  wrinkles  her  nose  when  she’s  mad  --  her  cheeks  tint  a  deep  red  ,  while  drifting  across  the  bridge  of  her  nose  and  to  the  tips  of  her  ears  .  she  never  stutters  ,  but  starts  talking  extremely  fast  when  she’s  agitated  or  excited  .  

*            HOBBIES  .  

zully  loves  to  read  ,  mostly  fiction  romances  ----  when  she’s  not  being  forced  to  study  .  it’s  a  guilty  pleasure  .  you  can  catch  her  in  between  classes  in  the  courtyard  ,  either  at  a  table  or  on  the  edge  of  a  fountain  .  

she  writers  along  with  it  ,  journal  entries  ,  and  they’re  personal  .  she  keeps  a  leather  notebook  by  her  bed  ,  and  for  the  most  part  just  writes  about  her  day  before  she  sleeps  .  

she  sews  a  lot  ,  mostly  because  growing  up  --  she  could  never  find  jeans  that  fit  right  .  they  were  always  too  long  ,  too  big  ,  so  she  had  to  learn  how  to  inseam  before  she  even  made  it  to  high  school  .  

braiding  hair  ,  where  she  got  good  at  it  mostly  because  of  her  sister--  who  often  liked  to  wear  her  hair  in  protective  styles  rather  than  their  natural  curls  .  it  helped  either  way  ,  giving  the  twins  the  ability  to  be  told  apart  . 

*            CONNECTIONS  . 

ex  best  friend  :  likely  they  pushed  for  zully  to  join  a  sorority  ,  but  they  ended  up  in  different  ones  ,  and  drifted  because  of  it  .  they  don’t  really  get  along  anymore  ,  and  the  differences  in  sororities  probably  has  caused  the  rift  .  they  both  miss  each  other  ,  but  will  never  admit  it   .  (  maybe  the  person  who  gave  her  the  nickname  )  

ex  something  :  whether  it  be  they  were  dating  ,   or  on  the  verge  of  dating  ,  your  muse  screwed  it  up  .  they  got  into  a  fight  and  both  ended  up  drinking  ,  except  yours  woke  up  in  someone  else’s  bed  .  either  way  ,  she  hasn’t  spoken  to  your  muse  since  .  (  maybe  the  person  who  gave  her  the  nickname  )  

best  friend  that  never  got  the  chance  :  male  or  female  ,  they  ran  into  each  other  freshman  year  .  literally  .  they  both  ended  up  in  the  nurse’s  room  with  a  concussion  ,  and  they’ve  been  inseparable  ever  since  .  there  could  have  been  the  chance  where  they  were  almost  something  more  ,  but  it  fizzles  .  there  could  also  still  be  unresolved  feelings  on  one  end  ,  but  unspoken  .  

is  this  chemistry  ,  or  are  we  enemies  ?  :  basically  ,  this  muse  shares  one  or  two  classes  with  zully  and  that’s  how  they  met  .  it  started  with  them  loving  to  get  under  her  skin  ,  riling  her  up  to  see  a  reaction  ----  but  then  they  started  to  enjoy  it  a  little  too  much  .  zully  thinks  your  muse  is  the  thorn  in  her  side  ,  but  your  muse  is  starting  to  get  a  little  too  comfortable  wanting  her  to  notice  .  they  might  have  even  unthinkingly  hooked  up  at  some  point  .    this  plot  is  also  based  heavily  off  this  plot  HERE  .  

[justonemorechapternicercy]

Day 13, Eating Ice Cream

I mean, yesterday I wrote about ice cream also, but whatever xD

Percy was a good brother. He loved his little brother and he spent most of his free time with him to make everything easier for his mother. He went to the cinema with him, he accompanied Tyson to and from the school every day, he made playdates for all of Tyson’s little friends.

But there were times when he wanted to be alone. Or – more like – with his boyfriend, without any distraction. He was a healthy teenage boy with a cute boyfriend, of course, he wanted to spend some alone time with him, even if it was only a date in a crowded coffee shop or a few minutes of makeout in an abandoned alley.

He loved his little brother but dating while taking care of a small kid was hard, especially when he had a date and his mother wasn’t home. Percy was torn between staying home with Tyson and going out with Nico, but he really wanted to spend some time with his cute, punk of a boyfriend.

“Hey. So, I know we wanted to go to see the IT, but I have to look after Ty. Raincheck?” asked Percy dejectedly when Nico picked up his phone.

“Hey yourself. I miss you, I really want to meet you, even if with Tyson. Bring him with you! Maybe we could go to a pizzeria, or something?” offered Nico. He genuinely wanted to meet with his beautiful boyfriend, they couldn’t meet for a whole week because of their different schedules. He wanted to hug Percy, he wanted to breathe in his scent, he wanted to kiss him and taste him. It was hard that Percy went to university and Nico to high school, they couldn’t meet enough, but they managed. They were together for one and a half years, and their relationship was as strong as it was in the beginning.

“We could meet at Silena’s?” asked Percy excitedly. He liked that place. It was a bit far from his home, so he couldn’t spend enough time there, but it was an amazing place. The owner was a pretty lady, Silena, who liked to make outrageous desserts, cakes, and ice creams in the color of the rainbow. That wasn1t the only place which offered blue ice cream, but it offered the best tasting one.

“Of course, bello. Ci vediamo!” Nico said goodbye and hung up. Percy and Tyson were soon ready to go but when they arrived at the pastry shop, Nico was already waiting for them. He stood by his black bike, but when he saw them approaching, he pushed himself away from his bike and slowly walked to them.

“Nico!” shouted Percy enthusiastically and jumped into his waiting arms. Percy finally felt home. He loved living with his parents, they were amazing, but since Nico helped him fighting off a few thugs off him, the only place he felt safe was between Nico’s protective arms. “I missed you”, Percy mumbled into the punk’s neck. They were a very strange sight: one of the boys was in full black clothes with skulls and spikes on it, while the other was wearing light grey jeans and a light blue shirt. They were like day and night, but they complemented each other.

“Hi, Tyson” greeted Nico the little boy, when he let his boyfriend go. The boy waved him, but the pastry shop’s colorful offers were more interesting to him. Nico and Percy smiled at each other at Tyson’s behavior and led the kid into the shop, where Percy also turned into an excited child. Nico just rolled his eyes at his boyfriend, but secretly loved the way Percy was able to be happy and childish even with his history.

“I want two scoops of the blue ice cream, one scoop of strawberry for the little one and one bitter chocolate one for that vampire behind me”, ordered Percy teasingly. The girl behind the counter, Piper, just laughed at his antics. They weren’t regulars, but they were recognizable enough to remember the strange couple. Piper gave them the ordered ice creams and after paying, they sat down at a free table.

Percy took his first tentative licks, but it was so delicious, he had to close his eyes to relish the taste as it lingered on his tongue. Nico was mesmerized. He couldn’t care less about his melting ice cream when he had this sight in front of him. He stared at Percy’s mouth, the way it opened to be able to lick the blue dessert once again. Percy looked so cute when he ate the blue ice cream. His mouth was shiny, cheeks pink – Nico wanted to kiss him, he ached for him.

So, he did. Percy tasted like white chocolate, Oreo, and percy. It was the best thing Nico have ever tried, so he continued enjoying it, forgetting the way the freezing dessert melted in his hand or that they were in a crowded place with people around them. For Nico, the only important thing was Percy, his lips, his smell, his warmth.

[silentsunplays]

Blinding Lights Ch. 4

Final part is here! I hope you all enjoyed it! Parts: One, Two, Three AFO3: Here

Warning: NFF

Peter is silent as Tony sets him on the large bed, and moves to the closet to pull out clean clothes. He changes into sweats and a tank top, throwing the blood-covered clothes in the trash. Peter hasn’t moved, and Tony takes a minute to look over his Mate. Peter’s knuckles are white from gripping onto his jeans too tightly, his eyes appear dull in color; not the bright warm caramel that he loves. He’s almost folded in half, and his breath is shakey. Tony sighs softly and moves over to Peter, sitting on the bed beside him.

“Talk to me, Amore Mio,” Tony whispers, grabbing Peter’s hands. The moment tears hit his hands, Tony’s scared. For the first time in a long time, he’s scared. He’s scared because Peter might leave. He’s scared because he might mess this up. Most of all? He’s terrified Peter would hate him. Carefully, Tony crawls back to the headboard, pulling Peter with him. With his back up against the oak wood headboard, he pulls Peter into his lap.

“Bello, please,” Tony says, cupping Peter’s face to make him lookup. The tears are clear in Peter’s eyes. Opening up the bond, Tony allows their emotions to connect. His chest feels tight, making it hard to breathe. The feeling of being underwater comes to mind when his hearing is muffled. Looking over his Mate, Tony notices how pale Peter is. His hands shake, sitting on his lap.

“I… I thought… Thought that you… You were going to die.” Peter whispers, his voice breaking as he talks. Tony’s breath catches, his heart tightening.

“Amore Mio. Tesoro Mio. Cuore Mio. I would never leave you, Bambino.” Tony says, keeping his voice soft. Peter sniffs, tears falling faster. The feeling of fear clouds Tony’s mind, making him block the Mate bond once more. Peter has such a big heart, but it makes him who he is.

“I know… But when Steve and Bucky brought me here… I was so scared… I- I didn’t know what would happen! Tony, I- I couldn’t feel anything! I know.. Know that you explained this. But I can’t… Can’t handle the pain.” Peter cries, his shoulders shaking as the tears fall faster. The shocking moment is when Tony’s own tears start falling. His mAte is in pain because of him.’

“My Love. My Treasure. My Heart. I am so sorry that I made you worry. I am so sorry that I made you stress if I was going to return home to you. That was not my goal, Baby.” Tony croaks, pulling Peter into a tight hug. He cries hard into Tony’s chest, making Tony focus on a soothing rumble in his chest. He combs a hand through the brown curly locks on his mate’s head, rocking side to side.

“Do you know how long I’ve been alive?” Tony whispers, wanting Peter to focus on something else. A soft hiccup is heard from Peter, making Tony look down.

“N-no,” Peter whispers, gripping onto Tony’s shirt. Get Peter to focus on this to calm him down then bring up the next thing.

“I was born in 1870 in Sicily, Italy. My mother and father were told they couldn’t have any children, but when I was born, everything changed. At that time, my parents were already King and Queen of the Vampires. In 1900, I learned what a Mate is. Do you know that I spent every year looking for you? In every place, I’ve lived? Peter Benjamin Parker, I would never leave you because I have waited in the darkness of this world for you. I have fought every day for you. I love you, Cuore Mio. My Heart. I swear, I never meant to cause you pain. I was trying to protect you from everyone there. The moment when they had you? I couldn’t breathe. I- I was scared because I couldn’t protect you.” Tony whispers, letting the tears fall freely.

“Why so long? You could’ve had anyone you wanted? Why wait for me?” Peter asks, looking up from the arc reactor.

“You are my light. You are amore mio, my love. You are my treasure, tesoro mio. You are my heart, cuore mio. Without you? I was blind to color and happiness. Sure, I could have anyone, but they wouldn’t be  you .” Tony states, before pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead.

“I love you, Anthony Edward Stark,” Peter says, sitting up. Tony smiles, cupping Peter’s face once more.

“I love you too, Cuore Mio,” Tony responds before leaning forward and pressing their lips together. The kiss is slow, sweet, and full of love. Peter’s hands move from Tony’s shirt to his hair, while Tony’s hands lay on Peter’s hips. The kiss grows passionate the longer they go on until Peter has to pull away to breathe.

“Mate me. Please,” Peter breathes, pressing their foreheads together. Tony smiles, pulling Peter closer to his body.

“I will make love to you, and claim you as my Mate. I will plan an amazing wedding because you deserve so much.” Tony responds, getting a watery laugh from Peter. Tony smiles softly, kissing Peter’s neck. He easily moves them over and down a little to lay Peter on the bed, his brunette curls standing out against the red silk pillowcases.

He slides his hands under Peter’s shirt, skimming his thumbs over his nipples, smirking at the gasp he pulls from his lips. The shirt comes off before Tony trails kisses down Peter’s neck to his chest. He takes the right nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking on it. Hands tangle in his hair. A soft purr escapes from Tony’s chest, nipping lightly and he pulls off the puffy nipple. A soft blush beautifully covers his Mate, pride swelling in Tony’s chest. He takes the other nipple into his mouth, giving it the same treatment he gave the other. Soft pants fall from Peter’s mouth, and hands tighten their hold.

Tony sits up, making Peter’s hands fall from his hair, then unbuttons Peter’s pants and pulls them off. A tug on his shirt makes him chuckle and pull it off.

“Happy, Amore?” Tony whispers, leaning down. Peter smiles and nods.

“I am, however, I’ll be even happier with us naked.” Peter teases, reaching a hand out. Tony chuckles and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Peter’s boxers, pulling those off easily. He stands up, earning a soft whine from his Mate. He pulls off his sweats and boxers, before climbing back onto the large bed naked.

Leaning down, lips meet once more, hands tangling in his hair and legs wrap around his waist. This kiss is more passionate and a hunger for each other than it is sweet and kind. Tony grinds down slightly, earning a moan from Peter.

The heat from Peter isn’t a big difference from Tony’s colder body, but it’s enough that they can tell. Tony loves the feel of it, it reminds him that Peter is beautiful and he’s here in this moment. This is why he’s stayed alive, for this wonderful human being in front of him.

Tony pulls away from the kiss, smiling as Peter tries to catch his breath. Reaching out a hand, he’s momentarily shocked when the lube comes flying out of the bedside table. A soft giggle makes him look down. His heart feels like its racing.

“Magical flying lube,” Peter states, laughter breaking out. Tony chuckles and nips at Peter’s neck, before pressing a kiss to the Mate Mark.

“Hush, Bello. Laugh at it later. I doubt it’ll be the last of magical flying lube,” Tony purrs, grinding down once more. Peter’s laughter is cut off my his moan. Tony chuckles and kisses down Peter’s body once more. Reaching Peter’s dick, he presses a soft kiss to the head and licks the drip of precum. Going to open the lube, he quirks an eyebrow when it opens on its own. He’ll worry about powers later, right now he’s caring for his Mate. He coats his free hand and circles his pointer finger at Peter’s entrance.

Tony is careful with his movements, opening the Mate Bond and listening to Peter’s body as he slides a finger into his Mate. He slowly pumps his finger and presses another kiss to the of Peter’s dick. When he feels the need from Peter, he adds another finger, scissoring him open. Moans fall from Peter’s mouth, the hands in his hair tightening. Smirking softly, Tony takes Peter into his mouth.

“A-ah! T-tony!” Peter cries out, his pleasure shooting through the bond.

Humming, Tony adds a third finger inside of Peter. The pleasure through the bond spikes when Tony’s fingers touch a bump inside his Mate.

Tony pulls his mouth off of Peter and sits up, still working his fingers. The view that Tony has is amazing. Peter’s eyes are holding a dazed look, his mouth is open, releasing moans. Listening close, he can hear Peter’s heart race, and the blood pumps faster. The pleasure burns through the bond, making Tony smile.

“How do you feel, Cuore Mio?” Tony asks, his voice on the husky side. Peter lets his hands fall from Tony’s hair.

“Good. Really good.” Peter breathes, rolling his hips. Tony looks at the bottle of lube, picturing it floating above his free hand and squeezing out lube into his hand. He grins when it works, coating his cock in lube. The whine he gets from Peter when he pulls his fingers free.

“Breathe, Tesoro Mio.” Tony whispers, lining his cock up to Peter’s entrance. He slowly pushes in, watching Peter grab at the sheets. He looks so beautiful like this.

“You’re so- Ah! So big.” Peter cries out, as Tony completely fills his Mate. The bond holds nothing but pleasure and happiness between the two. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck, pulling Tony into a kiss. The kiss is full of need now, and want.

Tony starts thrusting slowly, purring in Peter’s ear when his Mate pulls away to cry out in pleasure. Hands claw at Tony’s back, but he doesn’t stop. He thrusts faster and harder. The sounds Peter makes fill the room, the smell of sex in the air. The sound of rushing blood fills Tony’s ears as he places a kiss on the Mate Mark.

“Bite me! Please!” Peter begs, tightening around Tony at the comment. Tony chuckles softly but lets his fangs grow. Biting down, blood fills his mouth. Strawberries, that’s the taste Peter gives off. A scream fills the room as Peter cums, his body shaking hard. Tony grunts as Peter tightens around him, milking his cock for his cum. He cums as he pulls his fangs out of his Mate’s neck, the shiver racing down his spine.

Peter’s eyes are closed, his heart rate is returning to normal.

“Zucchero, how do you feel?” Tony asks, running a hand through Peter’s curls. His eyes flutter open, a soft smile on his face.

“Complete, Love,” Peter whispers, his eyes still foggy. Tony smiles and rolls to his side, pulling his Mate with him.

“I love you, Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony says.

“I love you too, Anthony Edward Stark, even if you said the wrong last name,” Peter responds, yawning.

“Wrong last name?” Tony asks, chuckling.

“Yeah. ‘M not ‘sa Parker any’ore. I ‘sa Stark.” Peter answers, his eyes closing once more.

“Peter Benjamin Stark. I like that.” Tony says, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Me… Too…” Peter mumbles, curling close to Tony’s chest.

In that moment, Tony realized something. He had everything he could ever need. He had his clan, his Mate, and his world is bright and colorful. This beautiful male in front of him changed everything. He’s no longer blind, and he’s whole because of Peter. His Mate, his love, his treasure, but most importantly, his heart. He’s lived one hundred forty-eight years, but none of that time can beat the time he’s had with Peter. He’s found his reason to live on.

Pressing a soft kiss to Peter’s forehead, Tony turns off the lights and curls around his Mate. Sleep takes him, allowing him peace for the first time in a long time.

                                                    ***

The whole house is silent that night. Everyone sleeps with their Mate, happy and complete. The clan may not know what is next, but they do know that they are together and that is all that matters. They sleep in peace, knowing that for now, everyone is safe. They sleep well, knowing that their King is fully Mated and whole. In this moment, nothing else matters to them.

***********************************************

Tag list: @taylorrulez @silkystark

[popradar]

PaleyFest 2020 Lineup to Date

**The 2020 PaleyFest has been postponed, due to coronavirus concerns.**

Attention TV fans. Mark your calendars and get your tickets now for the PaleyFest 2020 lineup, running March 13-22. It opens with Modern Family as it continues its final season swan song and ends with the new Disney+ show The Mandalorian. All these scheduled shows and guests are all subject to change, and don’t be surprised if there’s a last minute add. 

Friday, March 13: ABC’s Modern Family (7:30 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Ty Burrell (Phil Dunphy), Sofia Vergara (Gloria Delgado Pritchett), Eric Stonestreet (Cameron Tucker), Sarah Hyland (Haley Dunphy), Ariel Winter (Alex Dunphy), Nolan Gould (Luke Dunphy), Rico Rodriguez (Manny Delgado), Steven Levitan, Creator & Executive Producer, plus additional guests to be announced.

Saturday, March 14: Pop TV’s One Day at a Time (2 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Norman Lear, Mike Roe, Brent Miller, Gloria Calderon Kellett, Justina Machado, Rita Moreno, Isabella Gomez, Marcel Ruiz, Todd Grinnell and Stephen Tobolowsky.

Saturday, March 14: Netflix’s A Special Evening with Dolly Parton & Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings (7 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Dolly Parton, Executive Producer, Sam Haskell, Executive Producer, plus additional guests to be announced.

Sunday, March 15: CBS’s NCIS 400th Episode Celebration (2 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Mark Harmon (Leroy Jethro Gibbs)/ Executive Producer, Sean Murray (Special Agent Timothy McGee), Emily Wickersham (Special Agent Eleanor “Ellie” Bishop), Wilmer Valderrama (Special Agent Nickolas “Nick” Torres), Maria Bello (Special Agent Jacqueline “Jack” Sloane), Brian Dietzen (Dr. Jimmy Palmer) Diona Reasonover (Forensic Scientist Kasie Hines), Rocky Carroll (NCIS Director Leon Vance), David McCallum (Dr. Donald “Ducky” Mallard), Frank Cardea, Executive Producer & Showrunner, and Steven Binder, Executive Producer & Showrunner.

Sunday, March 15: Amazon Prime Video’s The Boys (7 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Karl Urban (Billy Butcher), Jack Quaid (Hughie Campbell), Erin Moriarty (Annie January / Starlight), Chace Crawford (The Deep), Jessie T. Usher (A-Train), Laz Alonso (Mother’s Milk), Karen Fukuhara (The Female), and Eric Kripke, Executive Producer & Showrunner.

Wednesday, March 18: CBS All Access’s Star Trek: Picard (7:30 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Sir Patrick Stewart (Jean-Luc Picard); additional guests:  Alison Pill, Isa Briones, Evan Evagora, Michelle Hurd, Brent Spiner,Marina Sirtis, Jonathan Del Arco, Jeri Ryan, Heather Kadin and Akiva Goldsman.

Thursday, March 19: Starz’s Outlander (7:30 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Caitriona Balfe (Claire Randall), Sam Heughan (Jamie Fraser), Sophie Skelton (Brianna Randall Fraser), Ronald D. Moore, Creator & Executive Producer, Maril Davis, Executive Producer, and Matthew B. Roberts, Executive Producer.

Friday, March 20: HBO’s Curb Your Enthusiasm (7:30 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Larry David (Larry David)/Executive Producer, Jeff Schaffer, Executive Producer, Jeff Garlin (Jeff Greene), Susie Essman (Susie Greene), Cheryl Hines (Cheryl David), Richard Lewis (Richard Lewis), plus additional guests to be announced.

Saturday, March 21: Netflix’s Dead to Me (2 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Christina Applegate (Jen Harding)/Executive Producer, Linda Cardellini (Judy Hale)/Producer, James Marsden (Steve Wood), and Liz Feldman, Creator & Executive Producer.

Saturday, March 21: Netflix’s Ozark (7 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Jason Bateman (Martin “Marty” Byrde)/Executive Producer, Laura Linney (Wendy Byrde), Chris Mundy, Executive Producer, plus additional guests to be announced.

Sunday, March 22: Pop TV’s Schitt’s Creek (2 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Dan Levy (David Rose)/Creator & Executive Producer, Eugene Levy (Johnny Rose)/Creator & Executive Producer, Catherine O’Hara (Moira Rose)/Consulting Producer, Annie Murphy (Alexis Rose), plus additional guests to be announced.

Sunday, March 22:  Disney+’s The Mandalorian (7 pm)

Scheduled to appear: Jon Favreau, Creator & Executive Producer, Dave Filoni, Executive Producer, Pedro Pascal (The Mandalorian), Gina Carano (Cara Dune), Carl Weathers (Greef Karga), Ming-Na Wen (Fennec Shand), Ludwig Göransson, Composer, and Rick Famuyiwa, Writer, plus additional guests to be announced.

Tickets start at $35.

[tetrakys]

La mattina dopo

I never wrote a fanfiction in italian before, and I was kinda curious, so I said fuck it let’s give it a go. I decided to rewrite episode 12 initial scene in Castiel’s apartment my way and, while doing it, I found out that “my way” actually means “fucking dirty”. This is the closest thing to nsfw I’ve ever written in my life so it’s kinda poetic that I did it in my mother-tongue. I may translate it in English if anyone is interested because I ended up quite liking the end result.

Edit: I did translate it in the end, you can find it here.

Riaprii gli occhi con difficoltà. Non sono mai stata una persona mattiniera, ma in quel momento mi sentivo particolarmente intontita e spaesata, e per pochi secondi mi guardai attorno senza capire esattamente ciò che vedevo e dove mi trovassi. Poi misi chiaramente a fuoco ciò che mi circondava.

Il divano dove avevo passato la prima parte della serata tra chiacchiere, musica e carezze rubate.

Il tappeto che avevo probabilmente finito per parzialmente rovinare quando, poco più tardi, ci avevo affondato le dita strappando parti di tessuto.

I miei vestiti sparsi sul pavimento in vari punti della stanza, che disegnavano un percorso preciso fino al letto.

Il lenzuolo nero che circondava il mio corpo nudo.

Il mio sguardo si posò finalmente sulla figura stesa accanto a me. Castiel stava ancora dormendo profondamente, e per qualche secondo rimasi lì immobile ad osservarlo.

Era bello da togliere il fiato.

Certo, questa non era una novità, non ero mai riuscita ad essere completamente indifferente al suo fascino. Persino al liceo, quando non era ancora ancora un cantante famoso ammirato da tutti, quando era solo un ragazzino sarcastico e sfrontato, capace di mandarmi in bestia ogni volta che apriva bocca. Persino allora, bastava uno dei suoi sorrisi maliziosi per farmi perdere la testa. Ogni suo sguardo, ogni sua espressione, era capace di colpirmi dritto al cuore.

Ma il suo viso quando dormiva… era qualcosa di speciale. La fronte distesa, l’espressione serena, nessuna facciata, nessuna maschera da persona forte che non ha bisogno di niente e di nessuno.

È questo il tuo vero io? Quando abbassi le difese e non senti il bisogno di doverti proteggere dal mondo intero.

Sentii il bisogno improvviso di toccarlo, baciarlo e stringerlo a me. Ma erano le 7 del mattino, e non avevo dimenticato il nostro accordo.

Solo una notte… fino all’alba.

Con una piccola fitta nel petto, mi alzai dal letto e mi diressi verso il bagno in punta di piedi, fiondandomi direttamente sotto la doccia.

Lasciai scorrere l’acqua bollente sulla mia pelle, era una sensazione bellissima, sentii il mio corpo intorpidito finalmente iniziare a svegliarsi. Mentre massaggiavo i miei muscoli indolenziti, non potei fare a meno di ricordare la sensazione delle sue mani sul mio corpo.

Avevamo cominciato in salotto, dove primi baci timidi si erano subito trasformati in qualcosa di più primitivo. Dietro ogni sua carezza, ogni suo sguardo, ogni suo bacio, c’era una fame e voglia di possesso che mi avevano fatto completamente perdere il senno della ragione, ed avevo ricambiato ogni tocco delle sue labbra, della sua lingua, e delle sue mani con altrettanto fervore.

Ricordai il momento in cui mi aveva aiutata a stendermi sul tappeto ed aveva cominciato a baciare languidamente il mio interno coscia. Il suo respiro sulla mia pelle mi aveva fatto impazzire, e la sua lingua tra le mie gambe mi aveva regalato sensazioni incredibili.

Dopo ci eravamo spostati a letto, dove avevamo passato buona parte della notte a baciarci, ad accarezzarci, a���

“Guardami Candy…” mi disse ansimando con voce roca, mentre continuava a muoversi ritmicamente dentro di me.

Ero vicina… così vicina… il peso del suo corpo duro e forte che mi schiacciava deliziosamente contro il materasso, con una mano mi afferrava un seno con possesso, con l’altra mi accarezzava una gamba con gentilezza… Sentii le sue dita risalire lungo il mio corpo e posarsi sulla mia fronte, allontanando una ciocca di capelli dal mio viso con dolcezza.

Aprii gli occhi ed i nostri sguardi si incontrarono. Appariva completamente rapito, come se tutto ciò che avesse mai desiderato fosse adesso tra le sue mani.

“Sei bellissima, cazzo.”

 Era decisamente arrivato il momento di uscire dalla doccia. Quello che era successo la sera prima… era stato bellissimo, ed avevo ancora i brividi al solo pensiero, ma dovevo andare via al più presto. Fargli capire che questa notte per me aveva significato ben più di quanto era disposto ad offrirmi non era un’opzione.

Uscii dalla doccia e mi avvolsi in un asciugamano che trovai appeso lì accanto e che mi copriva a stento dal seno a metà coscia. I miei vestiti erano ancora sparsi in giro per la stanza, dovevo rivestirmi in fretta se volevo andare via prima che si svegliasse.

Immediatamente mi resi conto che il mio piano era fallito in partenza. Castiel era sveglio, seduto a letto con indosso solo un paio di boxer neri, era una visione per gli occhi… fortunatamente ebbi modo di riprendermi in fretta, perché aveva la testa abbassata verso il telefono che stringeva in mano.

Quando però rialzò lo sguardo e mi vide lì sulla soglia del suo bagno, bagnata e con indosso solo un asciugamano… capii che la maschera del solito freddo Castiel era tornata a posto. Il suo comportamento indifferente, però, non riusciva a nascondere il calore del suo sguardo.

“Dormito bene?” mi chiese con uno dei suoi soliti sorrisi strafottenti.

“Sì, certo, e tu?”

“Diamine… devo essere allo studio di registrazione entro dieci minuti.”

Vero o no… era chiaro che stava cercando di liberarsi di me. Lo sapevo benissimo che questi erano gli accordi, ma dentro di me ero delusa. Però… non gli avrei mai dato la soddisfazione di sapere quanto questa situazione mi toccasse davvero. Se uno dei due doveva sentirsi deluso qui non dovevo essere di certo io, ero decisa ad assicurarmene.

“OK, va bene, mi vesto e torno al campus” risposi con indifferenza.

Lasciai cadere l’asciugamano e rimasi completamente nuda davanti a lui.

Qualche volta giocare sporco è divertente.

Castiel non reagì, ma vidi le sue pupille dilatarsi ed i suoi pugni stringersi nervosamente, mentre cercava inutilmente di distogliere lo sguardo dal mio corpo. Sorrisi soddisfatta tra me e me, ed iniziai a muovermi tranquillamente nell’appartamento, recuperando i miei vestiti qua e là.

Cominciai dal reggiseno, che indossai aggiustandomi con cura. Poi, mentre gli davo le spalle recuperando le calze, lo sentii alzarsi e cominciare a vestirsi. Con la coda dell’occhio lo vidi afferrare i jeans ed infilarseli con un po’ più violenza di quanta fosse necessaria. Ero di fianco mentre, con un piede sulla sedia, infilavo una calza e la facevo risalire lentamente fino al ginocchio, praticamente accarezzandomi la gamba. A quel punto non fingeva neanche più di vestirsi con disinteresse, mi osservava immobile appoggiato contro un muro, fuoco nei suoi occhi grigi.

Camminai decisa verso di lui e, quando gli fui di fronte, gli posai una mano sul petto, e la feci scendere dolcemente, sfiorando i sui suoi addominali, fino al bottone dei suoi jeans.

“Candy…” disse con voce roca.

“Mi dispiace Castiel” risposi con un sorriso malizioso, infilando la mano nella sua tasca “ma devo riprendermi queste.”

Recuperai i miei slip dalla tasca dei suoi jeans, dove li aveva messi quando me li aveva sfilati la sera prima. Senza distogliere lo sguardo dal suo li infilai, facendoli risalire lentamente lungo le mie cosce.

Non avevo più motivo di perder tempo, ero sicura di averlo fatto innervosire abbastanza. Mi girai, afferrai il mio vestito che era a terra lì vicino e lo infilai velocemente, le scarpe seguirono subito dopo.

Borsa in mano, mi diressi verso la porta. Appena prima di afferrare la maniglia mi girai appena e dissi “Alla prossima allora.”

Senza dargli tempo di riprendersi abbastanza da rispondermi, uscii dall’appartamento, profondamente soddisfatta di me stessa.

[filmstruck]

Jean Harlow: Five Facts by Jill Blake

Of Jean Harlow’s 22 credited feature films, FilmStruck has 15 starring the Platinum Blonde, including the steamy RED DUST (’32), alongside frequent co-star and close friend Clark Gable; the insanely funny BOMBSHELL (’33) alongside Lee Tracy; and the underrated melodrama WIFE VS. SECRETARY (’36), directed by Clarence Brown and starring Gable, Myrna Loy and James Stewart.

As you explore these and other films starring Harlow, here are five facts about Hollywood’s original Blonde Bombshell:

The Baby

Harlow was born Harlean Harlow Carpenter, on March 3, 1911 in Kansas City, Missouri to parents Mont Clair and Jean Carpenter, who were united in an arranged marriage by Mother Jean’s wealthy parents. Harlean was the couple’s only child and they called her “The Baby,” which would be her nickname amongst family and close friends for the rest of her life. The marriage between Mont Clair and Mother Jean was an unhappy one, in part due to Mother Jean’s lofty aspirations of becoming an actress. While Mother Jean and the young Harlean were very close (remaining so until Harlow’s death in 1937), Harlean adored her father. Unfortunately, after the couple divorced in 1922, Baby rarely saw her father.

Harlow’s Loves

Harlow had her share of love and loss to last several lifetimes, and yet she experienced it all within a tragically short 26 years. In 1927, at the age of 16, Harlow married the wealthy Charles McGrew, who was heir to a vast fortune. A year later, the couple moved to Los Angeles and fell into the socialite scene of Beverly Hills. On a bet from a friend, Harlow took a stab at acting, working as an extra in movies—just for fun, mind you. But when her marriage to McGrew disintegrated, Harlow moved in with Mother Jean and her new husband, Marino Bello. She then turned to acting as means of support. In 1932, Harlow married MGM producer Paul Bern, who convinced head producer Irving Thalberg to put Harlow under contract for the studio. However, just a couple months after they married, Bern was found dead under mysterious circumstances (and still debated today), although his death was ultimately ruled a suicide. Bern’s death was a monumental scandal for both Harlow and MGM, as well as the source of numerous theories as to the cause of his bizarre death. In the wake of Bern’s death, Harlow married cinematographer Harold Rosson in 1933, divorcing a few months later. Harlow would not marry again, but did find love with fellow MGM star William Powell, who remained with her until her death in 1937.

Hal Roach and Howard Hughes

Before Harlow signed on with MGM in 1932, she was under a five-year contract with Hal Roach Studios. Initially working as an extra, Harlow was cast in three short films alongside Roach’s top comedic talents, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. In these shorts, DOUBLE WHOOPEE, LIBERTY and BACON GRABBERS, all released in 1929, Harlow had larger, credited roles. Just as her career was starting to take off, her marriage to McGrew was ending and Harlow walked away from her contract with Roach. Several months later, Howard Hughes signed Harlow to another five-year contract, casting her in HELL’S ANGELS (’30), which catapulted her to stardom. While audiences loved her, critics were not kind in their assessments of her acting talents. Hughes put Harlow on numerous publicity tours to bolster her image, but it wasn’t until Thalberg and MGM bought out her contract with Hughes (at the insistence of Paul Bern) that Harlow was taken seriously as an actress.

No, It Wasn’t the Hair Dye or Her Christian Scientist Mother

Jean Harlow died on June 7, 1937 at the age of 26 of uremia as caused by chronic renal failure. At the time of her death and decades after, rumors circulated as to the cause. Two of the main theories pointed to the harsh dye routine she maintained early in her career to achieve her trademark platinum locks, and also the influence of Mother Jean’s Christian Scientist beliefs. While the dye routine did damage her hair, it was not the cause of her kidney failure. As for Mother Jean, she was no doubt an overbearing and oftentimes negative influence on her daughter, but her religious beliefs in the Christian Scientist faith (which questions the need for medical intervention) did not kill Harlow either. The most likely explanation of Harlow’s death is due to the severe case of scarlet fever that she contracted as a child, which can cause lasting damage to the kidneys. In the immediate years before her death, Harlow experienced poor health and fatigue which was often misdiagnosed as influenza or other curable ailments. The sad truth of the matter is that even with an accurate diagnosis, there really was no treatment for kidney failure at that time.

Harlow is Ageless (and yes, that is a fact)

Part of Jean Harlow’s lasting appeal is no doubt due in part to her tragic and untimely death. She was at the height of her stardom and was just coming into her own as a serious actress. It’s terribly sad that we didn’t get to see the truly great things that she was destined for in her career, but we still have the image of her as she was. We never saw her grow old. Her youth is forever preserved in celluloid where she will always be beautiful and mesmerizing and alive.

[jeanharlow1930s]

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

A history of tennis fashion and skirts: Why are they still such a must?

Serena Williams competing at the U.S Open 2018. (Photo: TPN/Getty Images)

On the first night of the U.S. Open, Serena Williams took the high road and responded to her catsuit ban by wearing a fabulous black tutu.

The French Tennis Federation president, Bernard Giudicelli, recently said Williams’s Wakanda-inspired catsuit (her words) “will no longer be accepted,” during an interview with Tennis magazine. “One must respect the game and the place.”

Discussion soon erupted on what type of tennis attire is considered appropriate or not. Tennis legend Billie Jean King chimed in on the conversation, slamming French Open officials for the ban. “The policing of women’s bodies must end,” she wrote in a Twitter post. “The ‘respect’ that’s needed is for the exceptional talent ⁦@serenawilliams⁩ brings to the game. Criticizing what she wears to work is where the true disrespect lies.” 

Williams didn’t let the controversy deter her from winning her first U.S. Open match against Magda Linette on Monday. For the occasion, she paired her black tutu with an edgy leather moto jacket, asymmetrical leotard, and white sneakers. The look is part of the new “Queen” collection inspired by the tennis star and made in a collaboration between Virgil Abloh, the acclaimed Off-White designer, and Nike.

With this look, the 23-time Grand Slam winner continues her stride as a statement-making fashion star on the tennis court, and, as history shows — she’s not alone. Anne White was the first player to wear a catsuit on the court, which caused quite a stir at Wimbledon in 1985. Unconventional tennis fashions have been worn by male players too. A notable example is Andre Agassi, who wore denim shorts to the U.S. Open in 1988. Serena Williams longtime rival, Maria Sharapova, explored creative fashion as well, wearing a tuxedo-style blouse at Wimbledon in 2008.

Despite these fashion-making moments, the iconic tennis skirt continues to be the key sartorial piece in the game. Above, a look at how tennis fashion has changed over the years and why the skirt endures.

Players in the Pavilion in University Park, Oxford, circa 1900. (Photo: Past Pix/SSPL/Getty Images)

During the 1900s, long-sleeved blouses and long maxi skirts were the style of choice for tennis players. “Tennis started out in the Victorian era in England as a lawn sport for the aristocracy,” said Ben Rothenberg, author of The Stylish Life: Tennis, on CNN.

Modest tennis fashion dominated the era, as seen below on a tennis player who wears a pussy-bow blouse with ballooned sleeves, long white skirt, and white sneakers, all covering up nearly every inch of skin.

Female tennis player circa 1900. (Photo: Getty Images)

The 1920s saw a loosening of dress codes with the introduction of sleeveless blouses and higher hemlines. Pleats also became a popular stylistic choice.

Here, Olympic and Wimbledon champion Suzanne Lenglen wears a knee-length pleated skirt. She accessorizes the look with a soft head wrap.

Suzanne Lenglen (Photo: Hulton-Deutsch Collection/Corbis via Getty Images)

In the 1930s, skirts and hemlines continued to hit the knee, but pantyhose was no longer required in the dress code. Women began to wear polo shorts or another alternative: drop waist dresses or those cinched at the waist.

Cilly Aussem, left, after defeating Hilde Krahwinkel for the women’s singles title at Wimbledon in 1931. (Photo: S.R. Gaiger/Topical Press Agency/Getty)

By the 1940s, women embraced shorts for greater mobility on the court, but they still kept them classy (of course). Here, American tennis player Pauline Betz wears a short-sleeve blouse tucked into her high-waisted, soft pleated shorts and a belt to tie it all together.

Pauline Betz of the United States at Wimbledon in 1946. (Photo: Central Press/Getty Images)

In the 1950s, when Marilyn Monroe’s famous windy skirt photograph became an iconic moment in film history, tennis players like Lea Percioli bent the rules of traditional tennis fashion.

Her style on the court was often featured in the press, where Percioli embraced short skirts and dresses, even if that meant showing more than she planned on.

Glamorous Italian tennis star Lea Percioli in 1955. (Photo: Getty Images)

By the 1960s, mod fashion was front and center. Women took a more playful approach, embracing sleeveless tops and shirts with stripes, gingham, and other graphic prints like those seen here on  Virginia Wade and Lorna Greveille-Collins of England and Marlys Burel of France.

From left, Virginia Wade, Lorna Greville-Collins, and Marlys Burel. (Photo: George Freston/Fox Photos/Getty Images)

The 1970s was all about psychedelia. Colorful prints and patterns dominated the fashion scene, and this influenced tennis fashions, too, as exhibited here in a look worn by Martina Navratilova.

Martina Navratilova at Wimbledon in 1977. (Photo: Tony Duffy/Allsport)

The 1980s witnessed a controversial look by American player Anne White, who wore a white spandex catsuit by designer Ted Tinling during her first match at Wimbledon. Little did she know that Serena Williams would sport a similar catsuit at the French Open more than 30 years later.

Anne White in her revolutionary one-piece. (Photo: Getty Images)

The 1990s were all about bright colors, loud prints, and plenty of scrunchies on the tennis court. German champ Steffi Graf wears a colorful floral skirt with a matching polo shirt and white scrunchie in her hair at the French Open in 1995.

Steffi Graf (Photo: Clive Brunskill/AllSport)

By the 2000s, brands like Adidas and Nike were emblazoned on tennis outfits of the top athletes. Here, Russian player Anna Kournikova wears head-to-toe Adidas.

Anna Kournikova (Photo: Al Bello/Getty Images)

In 2008, tennis champions Serena Williams and Maria Sharapova pushed the envelope of traditional tennis attire at Wimbledon, a bastion of traditionalism. Williams opted for a white trench coat, while Sharapova wore a tuxedo-style pleated blouse tucked into white shorts — and both looks were designed by Nike.

Unfortunately, Sharapova wasn’t able to wear her new look for too long, as she was eliminated in the second round. Her winning opponent, Alla Kudryavtseva, had this to say of Sharapova’s look, “I was pleased to beat her: I didn’t like her outfit.”

Serena Williams (Photo: Ryan Pierse/Getty Images)

Maria Sharapova (Photo: Clive Brunskill/Getty Images)

In 2010, tennis fashion took a more scandalous approach when Venus Williams wore a lingerie-like, sheer black-lace dress with red piping, designed by Williams for her fashion label, EleVen.

Venus Williams (Photo: Clive Brunskill/Getty Images)

In 2011, Venus Williams continued her fashion stride, sporting atypical tennis attire.

At the Australian Open, Williams sported a yellow woven, cut-out tank with a splash of color.

Venus Williams (Photo: Julian Finney/Getty Images)

In 2015, Maria Sharapova traded in her 2008 tuxedo shirt for a classic stripe shirt over what would become known as the “Nike Maria Paris dress,” an adjoining white racerback tank top connected to a pleated navy mini.

Maria Sharapova (Photo: Clive Mason/Getty Images)

In 2016, Serena Williams sported a classic all-white look in deference to Wimbledon’s all-white policy.

Serena Williams (Photo: Lindsey Parnaby/Anadolu Agency/Getty Images)

In 2017, 24-year-old Sloane Stephens won the U.S. Open women’s singles competition wearing a sherbet-orange tank dress and matching visor and shoes by Under Armour.

Sloane Stephens (Photo: Al Bello/Getty Images)

In 2018, Serena Williams debuts her Wakanda-inspired black catsuit at the French Open, which was designed to help prevent blood clots, a health issue she has been prone to.

The catsuit came under scrutiny by French Tennis Federation president Bernard Giudicelli, who recently said the style would “no longer be accepted.”

Serena Williams at the 2018 French Open. (Photo: Xin Li/Getty Images)

In the wake of this controversy, Williams debuted a brand-new look for the U.S. Open on August 27: a black tutu skirt, made by Off-White and Nike.

Serena Williams (Photo: TPN/Getty Images)

Read More from Yahoo Lifestyle:

• Did Meghan Markle inspire pal Serena Williams’s $90 ‘Royal Duchess’ hoodie?  • Serena Williams inspires mothers to share their parenting stories ahead of the U.S. Open  • Venus Williams expands fashion label into plus-size: ‘Representation matters’

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[jean--harlow]

Happy Mother's Day Jean with her mother Jean Bello

[newstechreviews]

August 2020 saw no soca floats sliding along West London’s Ladbroke Grove. No pink feathered wings or giant plumes of headwear. The Notting Hill Carnival was canceled, like all mass gatherings in late COVID lockdown, the streets still spare, the air still choked with grief. No curry goat or jerk pan smoke rose up into the city trees. And the music, the great churning music of the Caribbean islands, of Black Britain, of Africa and the Americas, did not thump to the foundations of the neighborhood terraces, making them tremble.

All of this would have been part of a normal summer for Edward Enninful while growing up in the area in the 1980s. His mother Grace might look out of the window of her sewing room in their house right on the Carnival route, and see some manifestation of Trinidad going by, or a reggae crew, wrapped in amazing sculptures of bikini and shiny hosiery. Edward, one of six siblings, would stay out late and take it in, all that sound and spectacle, which for decades has been the triumphant annual pinnacle of London’s cultural and racial multiplicity.

It was this world that nurtured his creativity and helped shape the vision he has brought to the pages of British Vogue since being appointed editor in chief in 2017. “I was always othered,” Enninful says on a nostalgic walk through the streets of Ladbroke Grove, a much gentrified, still bohemian part of London, where he moved with his family from Ghana at the age of 13, “you know, gay, working-class, Black. So for me it was very important with Vogue to normalize the marginalized, because if you don’t see it, you don’t think it’s normal.”

Today, Enninful is the most powerful Black man in his industry, sitting at the intersection of fashion and media, two fields that are undergoing long-overdue change and scrambling to make up for years of negligence and malpractice. Since becoming the only Black editor in history to head any of the 26 Vogue magazines—the most influential publications in the multibillion-dollar global fashion trade—he has been tipped as the successor to Anna Wintour, the iconic editor of American Vogue and artistic director for Condé Nast. The privately held company is navigating, on top of an advertising market battered by the COVID-19 pandemic, public controversies around representation both in its offices and on its pages.

Wayne Tippetts—ShutterstockEnninful at London Fashion Week on Feb. 16, 2019.

Enninful’s vision for British Vogue comes at a critical moment for the international publisher. “I wanted to reflect what I saw here growing up, to show the world as this incredibly rich, cultured place. I wanted every woman to be able to find themselves in the magazine.” He chose the British model Adwoa Aboah to front his first issue, in 2017: “When others took steps, Edward took massive strides, showing the importance of our visibility and stories,” she says. Covers since have featured the likes of Oprah Winfrey, Rihanna, Judi Dench (at 85, British Vogue’s oldest cover star), Madonna and soccer player Marcus Rashford, photographed for this year’s September issue by Misan Harriman, the first Black male photographer to shoot a British Vogue cover in its 104-year history. While other publications, including American Vogue, have reduced frequency during the pandemic, British Vogue has remained financially stable and is still producing 12 thick issues in 2020.

Under Enninful, British Vogue has morphed from a white-run glossy of the bourgeois oblivious into a diverse and inclusive on-point fashion platform, shaking up the imagery, tracking the contemporary pain. Its shelf presence is different—more substance, more political—and perhaps in part because of it, the shelf as a whole looks different. No more do Black women search mainstream newsstands in vain for visions of themselves. Now we are ubiquitous in my newsagent, in my corner shop, and it really wasn’t that hard; all it took was to give a Black man some power, to give someone with a gift, a voice and a view from the margin a seat at the table.

“My Blackness has never been a hindrance to me,” Enninful says. Yet he is no stranger to the passing abuses of systemic racism. On a Wednesday in mid-July, while entering British Vogue’s London headquarters, he was racially profiled by a security guard who told him to enter via the loading bay instead. “Just because our timelines and weekends are returning to normal, we cannot let the world return to how it was,” he wrote on Twitter. This summer, in the wake of worldwide Black Lives Matter protests sparked by the killing of George Floyd, we are seeing a seismic reckoning across industries, scrutinizing who is doing what and who is not doing enough to bring about real change in equality and representation. “My problem is that there’s a lot of virtue-signaling going on,” he says. “But everyone’s listening now, and we need to take advantage of that. This is not the time for tiptoeing.”

We meet at Ladbroke Grove tube station in a late-summer noon. When anticipating an interview with the leader of a historic luxury fashion bible, it’s tempting to have inferior thoughts about your Nissan or your Clarks boot collection or your latest unlatest something, but Enninful, 48, is unassuming, arriving in a loose navy suit, pale blue shirt and shades, the only giveaway to his sartorial imperium the no socks with his brogues. He is warm and relaxed, bearing the close-shouldered tilt of the lifelong hard worker; he rises at 5 a.m. most days to meditate before work.

I-D: Nick Towers; Vogue Italia: Steven Meisel From left: a Fashion Week report by Enninful in I-D’s January 1995 issue; Naomi Campbell on Vogue Italia in July 2008.

These days he resides toward Lancaster Gate, on the posher side of Ladbroke Grove, with his long-term partner the filmmaker Alec Maxwell and their Boston terrier, Ru Enninful, who has his own Instagram account and whose daily walking was a saving grace during lockdown. But the London Underground is where Enninful’s journey into fashion began, one day on the train in a pair of ripped blue jeans, when he was spotted by stylist Simon Foxton as a potential model for i-D, the avant-garde British fashion magazine. Being only 16, a shy, sheltered kid who grew up in a Ghanaian army barracks and who was less than four years in the U.K., of course he had to ask his mother. Albeit a clothes fanatic herself, a professional seamstress and regular rifler (with Edward) through the markets of Porto-bello and Brixton for fabrics, Grace was wary of the hedonistic London style vortex, the enormity of the new land, and reluctant to release her son into its mouth. He begged. He wore her down: “I knew I couldn’t just walk away from this, that something special was going to come out of it.”

He never had the knack for modeling, he says with characteristic humility. “I was terrible at it. I hated the castings, all that objectifying. But I loved the process and the craft of creating an image.” He soon moved to the other side of the lens, assisting on shoots and assembling image concepts and narratives, a particular approach to styling that impressed i-D enough to hire him as their youngest ever fashion director at only 18, a post he held for the next 20 years. Without the courtesy designer clothes later at his fingertips, he would customize, shred, dye and bargain for the right look, using the skills he’d developed at home in the sewing room. “I realized that I could say a lot with fashion,” he says, “that it wasn’t just about clothes, but could tell a story of the times we’re in, about people’s experiences in life. And that freedom to portray the world as you saw it.”

What was innate to Enninful—this blend of skilled creativity with the perception of difference as normal, as both subject and audience—was relatively unique in an industry dominated by white, colonial notions of beauty and mainstream. Legendary Somali supermodel Iman remembers a 2014 W magazine shoot in which she, Naomi Campbell and Rihanna were cast by Enninful, the publication’s then style director, wearing Balmain, designed by Olivier Rousteing. “Until Edward appeared, no one at the mainstream fashion magazines would have cared to commission a portrait exclusively featuring three women of color, and furthermore who were all wearing clothes designed by a person of color,” she says. “He’s an editor in vocation and a reformer at heart, compelled to spur woefully needed social change.”

Courtesy Jamie Hawkesworth and Condé Nast Britain Train driver Narguis Horsford, on British Vogue’s July 2020 issue.

He shows me his various old haunts and abodes, the top-floor bedsit where he used to haul bags of styling gear up the stairs, the Lisboa and O’Porto cafés of Golborne Road—or “Little Morocco”—where he’d sit for hours chewing the fat with people like makeup artist Pat McGrath, Kate Moss, Nick Kamen and photographer David Sims. Name-drops fall from his lips like insignificant diamonds—stylists, photographers, celebrities—but he navigates his domain in a manner apparently uncommon among fashion’s gatekeepers. Winfrey says of him, “I have never experienced in all my dealings with people in that world anyone who was more kind and generous of spirit. I mean, it just doesn’t happen.”

Her shoot for the August 2018 cover of British Vogue left Winfrey feeling “empress-like,” and she ascribes his understanding of Black female beauty to his being raised by a Black mother. “Edward understands that images are political, that they say who and what matters,” she adds. Enninful’s father Crosby, a major in the Ghanaian army who was part of U.N. operations in Egypt and Lebanon, had thought that his bright, studious son would eventually grow out of his fascination with clothes and become a lawyer. But three months into an English literature degree at Goldsmiths, University of London, studying Hardy, Austen and the usual classics, thinking maybe he’d be a writer, or indeed a lawyer, Enninful quit to take up the position at i-D. His father did not speak to him for around 15 years, into the next century, until Grace suffered a stroke and entered a long illness. “Now that I’m older, I realize he just wanted to protect us. He’s come to understand that I had to follow my heart and forge my own path.”

He credits his parents for his strong work ethic—“drummed into you from a very early age by Black parents, that you have to work twice as hard”—and his Ghanaian heritage for his eye for color. His approach to fashion as narrative comes from the “childish games I would play with my mother,” creating characters around the clothes, sketching them out. “I can’t just shoot clothes off the runway,” he says. “There always has to be a character, and that character has to have an inner life.” Since Grace’s death three years ago, his father has lived alone by the Grand Union Canal and is very proud of his son, particularly of the Order of the British Empire awarded to him by Queen Elizabeth II in 2016 for his services to diversity in fashion. The Queen, incidentally, is high on Enninful’s list of Vogue cover dreams.

The British Vogue Enninful inherited from former editor in chief Alexandra Shulman three years ago was starkly different from today’s rendition. During her 25 years in charge, only 12 covers out of 306 featured Black women, and she left behind an almost entirely white workforce. Now the editorial team is 25% people of color—“I needed certain lieutenants in place,” he says—and similar shufflings are being called for over at Condé Nast in New York. Enninful is reluctant to tarnish names any further, maintaining that Shulman “represented her time, I represent mine,” and declining to comment on the U.S. headquarters.

Courtesy Edward Enninful A Polaroid of Enninful in the 1990s from his personal collection.

Enninful’s rise is particularly meaningful to people like André Leon Talley, former editor at large of American Vogue, where Enninful also worked as a contributing editor. Talley describes the new British Vogue as “extraordinary,” and was joyous at Enninful’s appointment. “He speaks for the unsung heroes, particularly those outside the privileged white world that Vogue originally stood for. He has changed what a fashion magazine should be.”

“I’m a custodian,” Enninful says of his role, sitting in a sumptuous alcove of the club bar at Electric House. “Vogue existed before I came, and it will still exist when I leave, but I knew that I had to go in there and do what I really believed in. It’s our responsibility as storytellers or image makers to try to disrupt the status quo.” Ironically, though, he does not see himself as an activist, rather as someone who is unafraid to tackle political issues and educate others, while remaining firmly within the Vogue lens. “They said Black girls on the cover don’t sell,” he says. “People thought diversity equals down-market, but we’ve shown that it’s just good for business.” British Vogue’s digital traffic is up 51% since Enninful took over. He previously edited the 2008 Black issue of Vogue Italia, which featured only Black models and Black women and sold out in the U.S. and the U.K. in just 72 hours.

Since the incident with the security guard in July—which Enninful reveals was not isolated and had happened before (the culprit, a third-party employee, was dismissed from headquarters)—building staff have been added to the company’s diversity-and-inclusion trainings. Enninful would also like to see financial aid put in place for middle management, “because we forget sometimes that the culture of a place does not allow you to go from being a student to the top.” In 2013, he tweeted about another incident, where he was seated in the second row at a Paris couture show while his white counterparts were placed in front. “I get racially profiled all the time,” he says, going right back to his first experience of being stopped and searched as a teenager, which “petrified” him. “When I was younger, I would’ve been hurt and withdrawn, but now I will let you know that this is not O.K. People tend to think that if you’re successful it eliminates you, but it can happen any day. The difference now is that I have the platform to speak about it and point it out. The only way we can smash systemic racism is by doing it together.”

Campbell Addy for TIMEBritish Vogue editor in chief Enninful in Ladbroke Grove, London, on Aug. 31.

Activism, then, is intrinsic. Fashion is altruism, as much as story and craft, as much as the will to capture beauty. For Enninful, there is no limitation to the radicalism possible through his line of work. Rather than the seemingly unattainable elements of style (the £350 zirconia ring, the £2,275 coat) obscuring the moral fiber of the message, the invitation to think and see more openly, the style instead leads you to it, perhaps even inviting you to assemble something similar within the boundaries of your real, more brutal, less elevated existence. “Relatable luxury,” he calls it, and though it’s difficult to imagine exactly how one might evoke a £2,275 coat without his customizing skills and magical thinking, I am inclined to accept the notion, partly because I saw soul singer Celeste in a £1,450 dress in the September issue and think I might give it a try. Anything is possible. “I still feel like I’m at the beginning,” he says with palpable optimism. “I feel the fire of something new.”

—With reporting by Cady Lang/New York and Madeline Roache/London

Evans is the author of Ordinary People, The Wonder and 26a

Cover photo: Styling: Susan Bender; Suit, sweater, shoes: Burberry

[twixnmix]

Jean Harlow and her husband Hal Rosson at home with her stepfather and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Marino Bello in Los Angeles, September 1933.

In September 1933 Jean Harlow (1911-1937) married Hal Rosson (1895-1988) in Yuma, Arizona. This was Harlow’s third marriage. Rosson was fifteen years older than Jean and a highly regarded cinematographer on most of her MGM films. It was a union that would only last eight months. Jean announced plans to divorce him on May 7, 1934, but Rosson fell ill of polio at that time and she deferred her divorce action until he recovered in 1935.