#one of my friends who was suspended was interviewed

[arctic-hands]

Oh my high school would have absolutely believed this. My sophomore year, a very strict dress code went out two weeks before school started, when most kids had already bought their new clothes, with rules saying things like no stripes, plaid, patterns, mixed colors of any kind. All clothes must be solid color with no decoration of any kind. I was "lucky" to have been in summer school that year so I got advanced notice before I did my clothes shopping, and the experience was entirely frustrating (more than usual, seeing as I was a "tomboy"– i.e. trans–and clothes shopping with my grandmother who desperately wanted me to dress in feminine clothing like I did when I was eight), because my grandmother kept holding up clothes that were seemingly innocuous, like a blue shirt with slightly darker blue sleeves, and I had to keep telling her it would get me in trouble, and she didn't believe me and just thought I was being difficult.

Anyway, come to the start of the year where there was a one day "grace period" where it would be pointed out to students why their clothes were in violation but they wouldn't get in trouble the first day, as long as they wear appropriate clothes after. I must emphasize that most of the kids–in a public school with a sixty percent poverty rate–had already bought their clothes and couldn't afford to get new ones, especially within a day.

Come second day, where my high school suspended over two hundred students for dress code violations, some as small as having a tiny embroidered logo on your otherwise plain polo shirt, or having a jeans back pocket that had diagonal stitching going across it. I saw one kid walking out of school with a suspension slip wearing the exact same blue shirt with slightly darker sleeves that my grandmother tried to buy for me. Kids lost their scholarships after being suspended. The news got involved. Parents and suspended students picketed the school for the duration of the suspensions (I wanna say a week, maybe two). It was so bad the state launched an investigation and I think the school was fined (this was fifteen years ago so I don't remember all the details of what was going on with the admin side of things). It was awful and ridiculous.

And the school's rational for all of this? They truly believed, with all of their abundance of critical thinking skills, that drug deals were being conducted based on the pattern of shirts kids were wearing. That plaid meant they were looking for/selling cocaine, that a floral print meant marijuana, that this pattern meant that drug, and so on. They were completely convinced that all of us students were either looking for drugs or selling them, and they were willing to disrupt everyone's education, ruin scholarships (in many, many cases, the only way students in a very poor public school could have gone to college), be fined by the state, and have the administration blasted by not only the Indiana news media but by nearby Ohio too, than stop for a moment to consider that it's very unlikely that ninety-nine percent of the student body were dealing in drugs.

The kicker? The students that were actually known or suspected to be drug dealers started (jokingly, fueled by the irritation we were real feeling) spreading the rumors that the admins were the ones doing drugs themselves, because it was completely outlandish to think a floral print shirt meant any kind of drug use.

The school never apologized for this, even after the state investigation. The rules stayed in place for as long as I was in high school, which meant every year there were always freshmen being suspended because they didn't understand the very strict rules.

the brightly coloured skinny jeans that Teens wore in the late '00s and early '10s were meant to denote where you stood in gang hierarchy. salmon was the highest rank and meant you had killed someone.

I think the funniest part of this is that, if you'd floated this idea at the time, at least some parents would have believed you.

[fashion-runways]

okay it's been over a year and i keep saying i'm going to make a new post and it's too exhausting to even think about the whole thing so i keep pushing it-- here's the link to the old post if you want a more detailed thing i wrote back then.

anyway, a year ago, out of the blue, our apartment got raided by the police, they broke our front door, they broke a bunch of shit inside, they took a bunch of our stuff, they barely gave us answers or an explanation, they took my dad and made it seem like he would have to sign some stuff and answer some questions and come back, but it's been over a year (since june 2022) and he hasn't come back, and his case is still up in the air. they're barely working on it. they didn't pay for all the shit they broke, they haven't returned all the shit they took, we had to spend a lot of money on that, i had to take a loan to buy a new computer so i could keep working and studying, on top of spending even more money on basic needs for my dad in jail and lawyers, plus blood pressure and anxiety medications, plus he's old and he was scheduled an eye surgery that he obviously couldn't go to so he's like, practically blind in one eye now, also new clothes for him to wear there (there's a bunch of rules for that), honestly i already lost track of how many things we had to pay for. it's been incredibly stressful and it still is even now that we've gotten used to it. he's been detained for a year for something that they still don't even know if he did and the case is barely moving, i don't know if they're like... i don't know, waiting for the man to die in there since he's already old so they don't have to admit they don't have enough proof for all the mess they made? i don't know. like i said back then, please don't ask me for details on the case or show up in my inbox trying to play tiktok true crime and guess what he did/didn't do. it happened a few times and it's extremely triggering, please don't. please.

this blog is basically my job. it's my primary source of income, i don't have anything else, no matter how many interviews i go to, in the country/city i live and in the state our economy is, if you don't have contacts it's impossible to get a job. i'm always signing up to free programs to learn new things while i don't have a job, try to make my cv bigger, but it doesn't matter. if you don't have someone saying “please hire my friend/family member” or you don't have 500 years of experience, they won't. so like i said, donations people make to this blog are how me and my mom (and my pets) stay afloat. it's what we use to pay for food, general groceries, transportation, electricity, wifi, water, gas, health insurance, stuff for my dad in jail, meds for my mom who has diabetes, food and meds for my pets. i don't go out much, i haven't gotten a haircut in a year, i barely spend money in anything that makes me happy except once in a blue moon when i stop feeling guilty lmao i had a redbubble account also that helped a little too, but last week it got suspended without an explanation as i was uploading new designs, so i don't even have that now. i made a new account on teepublic, but all my designs in high quality are locked behind redbubble and i can't even log into because of the suspension. it's... complicated, and it's a lot, but it is what it is.

i'm always keeping an eye out on new collections, new designers, new cool things. like i said, i love fashion, i studied fashion, and i know a lot of you use this blog as inspiration whether it's for yourselves or for your art, so i don't want to post all similar stuff all the time, i want to post all kinds of styles and brands as much as i can. which is why when i say if you like this blog, if you want to support me, sending even the smallest amount of money helps me keep going. living in latin america, the exchange rate is kind of insane, so truly any amount of money donated helps. unfortunately, i never stop needing money to survive and help keep my family afloat, but in the past year more than ever.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my (new) teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. if my redbubble account gets reinstated, i'll add that link eventually too. and as always, thanks for loving this blog and for loving fashion like i love fashion, even when i post crazy looking stuff, and thanks for helping. you have no idea how much your support helps, but it really does, i don't even know if i'd be alive right now if it wasn't for this blog.

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 14 -Shower Sex-Hisoka/Reader

Notes:  k so suspend your disbelief that Hisoka would ever need a roommate, that man is probably rich as hell, but this is my universe and I can do anything I want.

.....

Maybe your decision to get a roommate was a mistake. It had seemed like such a bright idea a few weeks ago, when you had put the last minute listing online. Because you could have a nice, large apartment in a central location and halve the price. And maybe you could make a nice friend out of it. You were even safe, requiring an online form as well as an in person interview. You weren't too worried though, you considered yourself pretty formidable when it came to ability. 

But it was not going as well as you would have liked. You have received plenty of submissions, sure. But each one had something glaringly wrong with it. You shuffle through the forms you had printed out, sighing as each one passes through your vision. These are the better ones, you threw out the worse ones already. Now, only three remain.

The first one is a woman, who after a delightful interview where the two of you got along really well, she had informed you that she had four cats and three dogs, and a cow. And she would expect them to live with her. So she was obviously tossed. The second one had been a rather mousy looking man who had some clear stalker tendencies, and had asked you to compromise on rent. You had told him maybe, and shooed him away. 

The last option was the one you were most hopeful about. It was another man, who was set to arrive any minute now. His answers on the form were promising, of course, but also very general. That was why you had set up the in person interview. To probe people and get their general vibes. 

The doorbell rings, shaking you out of your thoughts. You jump up, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, before moving to the door. This is the last one. You send up a little prayer, begging that this one will be the perfect candidate, and open the door.

The man standing on the other side of the door with his hand on his hip is very hot. It's the first thing you notice, followed very quickly by the odd way he dresses. But have met many a weird dresser in your day so you try not to judge. 

“Are you Mr Morrow?” You question, smiling up at him. He's very tall, looming over you a bit in your own doorway.

“Yes, I was informed you were in desperate need of a roommate,” The man says, offering a hand out in front of him. “You have such a lovely nen, dear.”

You take it, wincing slightly as he shakes it. He's a dramatic one. And probably a pro hunter, given the fact that he noticed your nen. And pointed it out at all. But that doesn't mean anything, not yet at least.  

“I am. Come on in.” You say, yanking your hand out of his tight, cold grip and opening the door wide. The man breezes past you, sauntering into your house with no hint of hesitancy or fear. He shows only blind confidence, accompanied by a smirk tossed over his shoulder. He must be very strong. Or just stupid. You don't know which is better. You sigh, leading him towards the living room where you have your little interview area set up. 

“Alright Mr Morrow, could you tell me why you want a roommate?” You ask, sitting down on the couch of the cozy little living room. He sits down opposite you, in one of the cushy armchairs and crosses one leg over the other. 

“Hisoka is fine,” he says, brushing a hair through his red hair, pushing it back farther. “And it seemed fun!”

You raise an eyebrow. So he's an odd one. 

“Not for a financial need or…” You say, trying to prompt him into a more in depth answer. His smiles, yellow eyes flickering between your face and the rest of the apartment, probably taking it in. It's a nice apartment, and in a central part of Yorknew city. That's partly why you were so desperate for it. 

“Oh no, of course not. I could pay for this entire place if I felt like it.” He laughs lightly, and you chuckle. Probably a bad sign, you muse as he continues. “It's just that the address of my other residence got out and I had the most annoying visitors at all hours of the day.”

You raise your eyebrow high, so high you assume it's going to disappear into your hairline at any moment, and tap your pen. Hisoka shakes his head, pouting slightly and you kick yourself as it occurs to you once again how attractive he really is. 

“It was so inconvenient, I'm sure you know darling. So I had to move.” Hisoka says with a frown, head tilting to the side. “But I soon discovered that I had been put on a no buy list. Like a no fly list? You understand?”

He leans forward, like he's telling some great secret, and you nod with a sigh. This one is a complicated one. No matter how attractive you find his arms as they flex, or his thin waist in that odd outfit he wears, you need to remain rational and not rush such an important decision because you thought this guy was hot as fuck. Hisoka smiles, somehow not disturbing the strange symbols painted on his cheeks. 

“So I figured getting a roomie was the solution to both problems!” He says with a smile, pointing his finger in the air as if he's come up with the solution to a great puzzling problem. “No weak people will figure out my address, as your name will be on the lease. And paying you the rent mitigates the no buy list issue.”

“I see, how interesting.” You say, trying not to sound too amused. He sure is a weird one, alright. “Do you have any pets?”

“Oh no, animals don't like me.” He laughs, passing his hand through his hair again. “I couldn't tell you why, will that be an issue?”

“Oh, no.” You say, a beat of worry ticking at the back of your brain. “I don't have any pets, they make a lot of mess.”

It should probably be a bad sign that animals don't like him, but honestly all you care about is the fact that he doesn't have a pet, not any flags as red as his hair that answer might raise. 

“And you wouldn't object to sharing a bathroom?” You question. The apartment is nice, but it's a two bedroom one bath. You didn't know why, an odd design choice on the part of the former owners. Hisoka chuckles.

“Oh, not at all~” He says silkily, recrossing his legs with a flourish. “I can coexist just fine with someone as lovely as you. I hear that taking showers together conserves water~”

He shoots you a wink, a smirk flashing across his face. You laugh, trying to ignore what he's laying down on the table. It's better not to think of anything like that, lest it urge you closer and closer to just giving up and taking him on as a roommate.

“How environmentally conscious,” You say, appropriately neutral as you continue. “And may I ask what you do for work?”

“Ah work. That's a little complicated, I'm afraid.” Hisoka says, tilting his head to the side with a bit of a frown. “I suppose officially, I would classify as a blacklist hunter.”

Ah, of course. You can't really say you're surprised, but perhaps it's a bad sign for your mental health that his answer doesn't actually put you off as much as it should.

“I see,” you say, noting that down on your little notebook. Hisoka tilts his head, eyes flickering curiously.

“You don't seem at all alarmed.” He questions, yellow eyes staring directly at your face. Not dancing around your face and body, not at the wall behind you. He must be very interested in your reaction.

“It's really none of my business, as long as you don't mess with the apartment,” You explain, running a hand through your hair. “And besides, I'm a hunter as well, and you don't seem to mean any harm to me. Right now anyway.”

Hisoka blinks, letting the silence stretch on for a moment, filling the air of the cozy living room. He seems a bit surprised by your answer, for reasons you can't understand. Maybe he was surprised by your total lack of fear? Or maybe your casual attitude. It was only natural, both your parents were hunters and most of your clientele were as well. You supposed you were a bit dead to what was normal and unusual. You did make specialty weapons for people all over the world. Some of your best clientele were the infamous Zoldyck family. You were kind of used to weirdos dressed in odd costumes who wanted strange things. The only thing you might need to worry about from Hisoka was how attractive you found him. 

Hisoka chuckles. 

“How interesting~” he purrs, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. “What a strikingly brave person you are, doll.”

“I guess,” You say, shrugging off the pet name he’s already assigned you with a sigh. “Are there any questions you have for me? It's better to settle these things before you move in.”

“Ah, so you’ll have me then?” Hisoka asks, all smiles. You nod, shuffling your papers with a sigh. It seems he really is the best option. 

“Questions, hmm.” Hisoka says, tapping his chin. You wait patiently as he considers, a bit worried. Finally, he speaks. “I have an odd friend. You don't mind him showing up out of nowhere do you?”

You sigh. You've been doing a lot of sighing lately. 

“No, not really. Tell him my bedroom is off limits though.” You say, standing to your feet. You've known your share of weirdos, and as long as this one stays out of your private spaces you're fine. Hisoka smiles, rising smoothly to his feet with a slightly unhinged smile. He held out his hand, yet again. You eye it warily.

“So, we have a deal?” He asks, angling his hand upwards slightly, palm pointing into the ceiling. His nails are a bit long, you notice absentmindedly.

You reach out, taking his hand to shake. 

“Yes, for now.” You say, “But we still need to sign the papers.”

“Yes, of course.” Hisoka supplies, mouth curving into a smile as he grips your hand, bringing it up to his cold lips. You push down a flush, biting your lips as he presses a long kiss to the back of your hand. His yellow eyes flick up, meeting your own and pinning you to the spot. Finally, after what feels like an age, he stands up, gently releasing your hand from his chilly grip. It falls to your side, and you clear your throat.

“Would you like a tour?” You ask, proud of how clear your vocal cords remain. Hisoka chuckles, crossing his arms casually.

“Sure.” He laughs.

You fear for your future self. You’ve certainly found an odd roommate. 

⚀⚀⚀

Hisoka, despite the faults and red flags that constantly run in your vision, isn't actually that terrible of a roomate. He's quite clean, and not very noisy. He does cook at all, but you don't mind cooking for two and leaving leftovers for him as he comes and goes. In return, he cleans the kitchen for you, and often the rest of the house as well. The two of you end up not seeing each other as much as you would like, only meating for meals and the occasional free afternoon of dancing around each other. It's nice, honestly. You can ignore his other faults, like the makeup skin and hair products that are mixing with your own, and the incessant flirting. He flirts so much you assume it's just how he is. Because no matter how much you wanna fuck him, you doubt its returned. Because that's the other problem. You really wanna fuck him, and it can be reliably traced to a combination of a few things. 

One, because of your new roomie, you cant bring men home to fuck anymore. 

Two, He's just insanely attractive and touchy, a hand on your waist here, a brush of your neck there, and you're losing your mind.

And three, the walls are too thin for you to masturbate comfortably. You can only masturbate in the shower now. But that in itself is a problem. You try not to shower for too long because of the water bill and so you can only get yourself off way less than you need.

But it isn't really a big deal, you promise yourself. You don't find yourself spending long bouts of time with Hisoka anyway, so your obvious desire for him isn't on display. You can only hope you can hide it for as long as the two of your remaining roomies. 

⚀⚀⚀

You survey the counters of your bathroom, the white of the countertop slowly being swallowed by skincare. Your own skincare addiction was a beast, but with Hisoka living with you the problem had only worsened. The shelves were covered in various masks and serums, the cabinets taken up by painkillers and mysterious under the counter drugs. The shelves to the side of the counter are laden in your makeup, with a small space devoted to the few products Hisoka used to draw his star and teardrop. 

You shove a couple things aside to grab your hair brush. The mirror is clean, your reflection clear in the glass, a few little sticky notes stuck to one end. You eye them, your messy handwriting noting down the things you were running low on. It was better if you left them in the mirror. You looked at it every morning and night after all when you did your skincare. 

You sigh, running a brush over your scalp in relief. The shower isn't running yet, but you're excited for the opportunity to wash your hair, and of course, to masturbate. Your body is thrumming with pent up energy as you eye yourself in the mirror. Hisoka had been especially annoying this week. It seemed he had nothing to do, so every morning when you left for work you encountered him in the living room, and he was there when you returned. 

Sometimes he was on the couch, watching reality tv in a tank top and sweats, and sometimes he was clearly just coming from the gym with sweat gathering on his arms and face. Each time he was desperately tempting, and much too flirty for your sanity. Be it a wink and a flirty comment, or a brush of your waist and a breath on your neck. He was driving you crazy. 

You sigh, shedding the towel you had been wrapped in and fold it neatly, placing it on the small shelf next to the entrance of the shower. You dig your feet ingo the bathmat, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. And then you see it.

A spider. A nasty, giant spider the size of your palm, sitting directly in the shower. In the path of your feet.

You scream shrilly, jumping backwards dramatically as you run to get as far away from the spider as possible. You hate spiders, more than anything in the world. You scream again, your shrill voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Hisoka!” You shriek, hugging your naked waist in fear as the spider moves a few inches closer. “Come here!”

The door slams open, Hisoka moving with a sense of urgency. His face betrays no emotion besides amusement as he takes you in, shivering and naked, glaring at the spider on the shower floor.

“Can I help you doll?” he purrs, moving closer to you across the bathroom floor. You don't even notice, too busy with your worst enemy, the giant spider watching you from the shower. The shower in the bathroom is only covered with a slight wall of glass, leaving about a space wide enough for someone to pass through comfortably into the shower cubby. It's also enough space for the spider to escape and hunt you down relentlessly. 

“Don't you see it?” You hiss, body trembling in the chilly bathroom air. You shiver, holding your arms around your waist. You seem to have forgotten your nakedness. 

Hisoka chuckles, folding his hands across his chest as his yellow eyes scan your body, pausing on all the parts of interest. He licks his lips, moving towards you across the floor. You don't notice, too busy keeping an eye on the spider. 

“Look,” you whisper. “The spider. In the shower.”

“Ah,” Hisoka says, a slight laugh contained in his voice. “Afraid of spiders, are you?”

You roll your eyes, not happy with his sarcasm.

The spider jumps, moving out of the shower cubby and towards you on the floor. You shriek, jumping backwards and into Hisoka’s arms, clinging to his muscled body as you scream.

“Ugh, it's coming this way!” You yell, hiding your face in Hisoka’s chest as your legs clench around his waist. “Just kill it!”

Hisoka laughs, the sound rattling in his chest as you cling close to him. He has his phone in his pocket, poking against your thighs. It's odd, because you don't remember this pair of sweatpants he's wearing having pockets. The spider sits heavy on your mind though, and you grip his muscled shoulders close with a whimper.

“As you wish.” Hisoka laughs, gripping your thighs and holding your body close to him. Faintly, you inhale his scent, a mix of flowers and musk and the unmistakable faint scent of blood. It turns you on as fear runs through your blood. You hid your head in his chest.

“Is it dead?” You whisper, gripping him tightly. Your heart is beating fast against your chest, begging to escape and run away from the stupid spider. 

“Yes, doll.” Hisoka purrs, other hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, an attempt to calm you down. “Your knight in shining armor has rescued you from the great threat lurking in the depths of the shower.”

You roll your eyes. He's making fun of you.

“Did you throw it away?” You question, not loosening your death grip on his shoulders. 

“Yes, I'm delighted to report it’s out of your sight.” Hisoka says, a chuckle in his voice. You pull your head away from his chest cautiously, pearing backwards and scouring the bathroom floor for any remnants of the spider. The floor is empty, only occupied with the fluffy bath mat. You sigh in relief, your chest heavy distractingly against the black tank top Hisoka wears. 

Then you realize exactly where you are. You're clinging to Hisoka like a tree, completely naked and clutching at his body. You shriek again, almost as loud as you did when you saw that damn spider and fly away from him like you've touched fire. Hisoka chuckles.

“Aw, come back.” he coos, running a hand through his hair. “You were so cute, all helpless and scared.”

You frown and bite back a groan at the same time, covering your tits and pussy with your hands as best you can.

“Get out!” You shriek, fighting back the arousal that leaks in as you take him in. 

“How rude!” Hisoka chuckles, pulling his tank top over his head. “No thank you?”

You yank your eyes away from his pale chest, as your pussy twitches with arousal. He toys with the hem of his sweatpants. As he tugs them lower, and you take in the v line pointing lower and lower, you realize he's not wearing boxers. You yank your eyes away, but it's too late. He's seen your wandering eyes. 

“The water bill is getting too high.” You say out of nowhere, body tingling with arousal. 

HIsoka tilts his head, biting back a smirk.

“Is that so?” He smirks, voice lilting seductively. “You know, I've been told showering together conserves water.”

You bite back a smile. A callback to your very first conversation. You let your hands drop, as you move towards the shower. All pretense is gone, just two people who really wanna fuck each others brians out. You giggle.

“What a clever plan.” You say, stepping into the shower and turning on the water with a sigh. Hisoka crowds behind you, smirking like the cat that got the cream. You suppose that's an accurate description for what's happening right now. 

⚀⚀⚀

“How long have you known,” You whimper, boobs and face pressed against the glass divider. Hisoka chuckles, tick chock drilling your insides as you moan loudly. The steam of the shower floats through the air, obscuring his face slightly. His hair is down, dripping with water and plastered to his face, but he doesn't seem to care. You brace your hands against the glass as he grips his hips, hitting the spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Since your eyes first scanned my body,” Hisoka grunts, hands gripping you so tight you’ll bruise. “You aren't exactly subtle, doll.”

“Ah, how embarrassing.” you murmur, hair falling wet and heavy down your back, tangling in your mouth. 

“Don't be too upset about it,” Hisoka murmurs, pressing his back against you as he drills deeper into you. “Your lustful glances were very mutual. You're simply a bit romantically oblivious.”

You whimper, hands scrabbling at the slick glass. The bathroom is filled with steam, the sound of the shower muffling your moans and the slapping of wet skin. You hope your neighbors can't hear you. 

“Am i?” You whimper, head falling back as his steady thrusts bring you closer and closer to completion. “I thought you were just like that.”

“I am,” Hisoka mutters, sinking his teeth into your neck. You clench down on him, body tensing as pleasure and pain erupt from the bite mark, tangling and twisting into a heady cocktail of arousal. 

“Ah, god.” You moan, nipples rubbing against the glass. “We should have done this sooner.”

Hisoka’s clawed hand reaches down, abandoning your bruised hips to rub circles into your clit. Stars burst behind your eyes, the bubbles and steam of the ballroom only adding to the floaty, dream like atmosphere. Hisoka chuckles, body hard and powerful against your own soft, curvy one. 

“I think we'll be doing this a lot from now on.” He half chuckles, half groans, body pressing against yours, pressing you to the glass.

Your lips part as you cum, screaming his name into the abyss of hot steam and powerful muscles. And as the orgasms overwhelm your body, you smile to yourself against the glass.

It seems getting a roommate was shaping up to be the best decision you’d ever made. 

.....

Endnotes: my sister is terrified of spiders. I channeled her fear for the spider bit. I don't like spiders very much, but she's genuinely terrified lol.

Also, guess who finished this before one in the morning, instead of at like three. Im hella proud of myself for that <3

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Vidas Pasadas (Past Lives)

PART ONE: THE SHOW MUST GO ON

Mini-Series Masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Latina!Reader (Spanish speaking)

WC: 2.5k words

Series Summary: Before the great war, you were an actress—A good friend and frequent co-star of Cooper Howard. After two hundred years in cryogenic stasis, you’re being sent to New Vegas as a performer, but on the way there, things don’t go quite as planned.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, series is 18+, canon typical violence, some angst, friends to lovers-ish?, some miscommunications, eventual smut, chem use, there’ll be some Spanish in there for sure (with translations), cursing, the ghoul being the ghoul, aaaaand that’s all I can think of for now but lmk if anything else!

A/N: This is INCREDIBLY self indulgent, but imagine yourself in these shoes for a moment why don’t you? :) hope you enjoy! pt.1 dedicada ao meu amor @the-devils-littlegirl <33

——————-

The holotape was a little over two hundred years old, but it was in relatively good condition. It contained a talk show interview with two actors who were promoting a Western film. The image was in black and white, fuzzy with time, and the voices sounded tinny. 

“So tell me, both of you, what’s it been like working on so many pictures together?” The interviewer, Holden Boyd, asked. “This must be — what, the fourth one?”

“That’s right. You know, Holden, in all my years in this industry, I have never met anyone more professional,” Cooper Howard, the handsome hero of the film, turned to you, sitting beside him. “But she also knows how to keep things balanced between work and play. We laugh a lot behind the scenes, actually.”

“Really?” Holden asked, leaning forward with renewed interest. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me, you two have some incredible chemistry on screen.”

“Well, gee, Coop, do we really?” You couldn’t help but grin at him, making him chuckle. “Maybe that’s why we keep getting cast together.”

“And how’s his Spanish? Are you teaching him any?” Holden asked you. 

“I’ve certainly tried,” you said, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Say something, why don’t you?”

Cooper’s smile turned sheepish, shaking his head. “Errr… No muy bueno, pero intento.”

His thick southern accent made you and Holden laugh, invariably charmed. In the background, claps and cheers from the live audience, equally smitten. Cooper always knew how to win people over, it was like second nature to him.

“He’s a natural!” Holden exclaimed. “Say the line Coop, you know the one.”

Cooper cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and pretended to point a gun, his expression fully serious.“Feo, Fuerte, y Formal.”

An eruption of cheers, louder than before. You clapped in delight, smiling ear to ear as you bumped your shoulder against his playfully.

“Ah, I see you’ve found our tapes,” the mechanical voice of vault thirty-one’s overseer startled you. 

You looked down at… it, still not used to interacting with a motorized brain suspended in some sort of tank. Bud, you thought it said its name was. Vaguely familiar, but your memories were still hazy, having been in cryogenic stasis for so long. 

“Why do you have these?” You asked.

“Everything pertaining to Hollywood was preserved for archival purposes. Feel free to watch anything you like,” Bud said. “We have all of your films, as well as interviews, press clippings, and pictures.”

You looked back at the screen, crossing your arms over your chest and trying not to shudder. You had me, too. You thought, stomach turning. A shiny toy shelved away for later use.

You’d gotten a spot in vault thirty one in exchange for compliance — after all, the future would need entertainers, right? And the nostalgia factor would just sell so well. You would be totally set for whatever came… or so they’d said.

It hadn’t seemed like a terrible deal at the time, but you hadn’t truly realized how tremendous the losses would be. Or how much things could veer off course in two centuries. 

Cooper was gone, and so was everyone else you had ever cared for. Bud hadn’t said what happened to your former co-star, but it didn't need to. 

 You had entered the vault all by yourself, with no family or spouse to consider. And just a few days ago, you had been greeted by that same loneliness when you’d emerged from the pod. 

Some things never changed, it seemed. Perhaps New Vegas wouldn’t be a terrible distraction, all things considered.

“Feels like it was only yesterday…” you said, keeping the melancholy out of  your voice.

“Doesn’t it? That’s the best part of the stasis pods. Keeps one fresh,” Bud said, chipper. “How’s your head feeling, by the way?”

“Better,” you sighed. “Barely any pain left.”

“Oh, good. You should be ready to travel to New Vegas in a couple more days. I’ve been in touch with a trusted courier that should be able to escort you there safely.”

A tinge of fear in your chest. “How… bad is it out there?”

“Well, er, it’s… not great. But we’ll get there! I’ve heard New Vegas has a lot more going for it than these parts,” Bud said quickly, not wanting to linger on the negative. “Vault twenty one, where you’ll be staying, was turned into a hotel. Lots of people passing by. I’m sure it’ll be easy for you to attract the crowds.” 

Stepping towards the projector, you ejected the holotape, unable to watch any more. The memories would consume you far too easily, if you let them. That life had crumbled to dust long ago, and there was nothing you could do to change that, either.

What other choice did you have but to trudge forward?

“For both our sakes, Bud, I really hope that’s true.”

————————————-

As with most things, Bud had severely understated just how bad things were on the surface. The sight of it had instantly struck you— Nothing was left but ruins and desert plains stretching as far as the eye could see. No one but you and the courier — a weathered, gruff looking middle-aged man — around for miles.

You’d left your vault suit behind in exchange for the clothes you’d worn when you first went in. You were also given a small survival pack, a tranquilizer gun, and a pip boy, but that was the extent of your belongings.

 The courier handed you a hat and an old scarf to cover yourself from the sun and the sand, instructing you to keep close before whirling around and starting to walk.

Did he even say what his name was? You couldn’t recall, but you were too busy being in shock to care too much.

It was all so unceremonious, unlike what you’d been used to in the past. No cars or any other mode of transportation, no roads to smoothly cruise on. No kind words offered for your departure, except for Bud’s overly enthusiastic Good luck! before opening the vault’s enormous door. 

“Say, how long do you think the… trip is going to take?” You asked, trying to keep your fear at bay. 

“Around three weeks, give or take. That is, if the weather holds and we keep a good pace during the day,” the courier said. “Can’t be out at night around these parts.”

You swallowed hard, wondering what sorts of dangers lurked out there. You had some stunt training, but no actual fighting skills. Hopefully, the tranq gun would be enough, but you also suspected your companion had far deadlier weapons.

Better to stay on his good side, you thought.

“First stop’s at a town called Filly. Got some quick business to take care of there, so we’ll be spending the night,” the courier continued when you didn’t respond. “Keep your head down and let me do the talking. Don’t want anybody to recognize you.”

You nodded, letting out a long sigh. 

“Hopefully they’ve got showers there,” you said, imagining how calming the hot stream of water might be. 

The courier looked at you over his shoulder, incredulous, and barked out a laugh. Your face heated up at his ridicule, mumbling something about vault dwellers to himself with a shake of his head. 

You walked in silence for the next couple of hours, trying to guess what area you might be passing through. Briefly, you wondered if the ruins of your old house still stood somewhere, and if you’d be able to find them. 

But you reminded yourself not to dwell on what no longer existed. 

Soon enough, you started to see signs of humanity. A few stragglers here and there, but the courier steered you in different directions whenever he spotted larger groups. Raiders, he’d told you, a grim look on his face.

 You hurried your step, wanting to put as much distance between you and them as possible. Bud had given you a very basic rundown of what you might encounter on the surface, but while some of it was hard to believe without seeing it firsthand, raiders did not fall under that category.

Still, despite the danger, at least you were reassured that you weren’t the only people left around. 

Filly was a ramshackle town made up of scraps;  A small testament of humanity’s endurance. Vendors were hawking questionable food and other wares at the outskirts of it, the tight pack of more bodies making you nervous. 

Your senses were invaded by smells and noises and even the occasional passerby bumping into you. Life was still brimming, as chaotic as it may seem. Somehow, it made you feel the smallest flicker of hope.

The courier led you through the crowd and down a rickety stairway towards a small square, where there was a little more room to move. The sun was beginning to set, bright tendrils of orange and gold tinting the sky. 

For a brief moment, you stopped to look at it, moved almost to tears by the simple beauty of a sunset. At least, that hadn’t changed either, and you vowed to never take them for granted again. 

“This way,” the courier said, urging you to move. 

Unbeknownst to you, someone had taken notice of the two of you. More specifically, the courier. A hit had been placed on him, worth three hundred caps. There was no reason given for it, but he hadn’t thought to ask questions, anyway. He didn’t much like meddling unnecessarily.

He surreptitiously followed behind, keeping his distance so you wouldn’t notice him. He already stuck out like a sore thumb, what with being a ghoul and all. But, like any bounty hunter worth his salt, he still knew how to lay low.

The courier led you into a repurposed building that rented out closet sized rooms. You paid with a few of the caps Bud had put in your survival pack, relieved that you wouldn’t have to share a room. 

The courier was curt but prudent, in his own way. You were just a task to him, and you knew he would protect you as best as he could because of it. You had nothing against him so far, but you didn’t want to take your chances regardless. 

“Stay in your room, I’m gonna head out for a bit. I’ll bring back some food,” he said, turning to leave.

“Wait!” You hurried behind him, out into the open, where it was growing darker. “Wouldn’t it be better to, uh, stick together?”

“It’s private business,” he grunted, annoyed. “Besides, you’ll be safer in there.”

“But—”

“Hey, you,” you heard from behind you, followed by a commanding whistle. “Sabinez, is it?”

The courier looked up, his eyes immediately widening. “Oh, fuck.”

You followed his gaze, finding a… cowboy. His face was mostly obscured underneath the brim of his hat, but his lack of a nose was still strikingly apparent. Radiation burns marred what little skin you could see, the rest covered in old, tattered leathers. 

A ghoul, from what Bud had described. The see-it-to-believe-it kind of danger. Your stomach dropped.

He was pointing his revolver at the courier – Sabinez –  finger about to squeeze the trigger.

“No, please!” You exclaimed, panicked. 

Foolishly, without even thinking about it, you stepped in front of him, arms extended in an attempt to further shield him. The ghoul raised his hairless eyebrows, both amused and surprised.

“I need him,” you said, heart beating so fast you feared it might leap out of your chest. “Please.”

“How sweet,” the ghoul said mockingly, one hand on his chest. “But as it turns out, sweetheart, I need him, too.”

Before you could react, he raised the barrel of the revolver infinitesimally and fired. A dizzying moment in which the bullet whizzed by your head, and Sabinez’s body slumped behind you, his blood spraying at your back. 

Any onlookers that had stuck around scattered to safety, not wanting to be next in line for whatever the ghoul had planned. You let out a choked sound, too shocked to even scream. Shuddering, you slowly looked over your shoulder, only to avert your gaze quickly.

“No,” you murmured, horrified. “No, no, no…Fuck!”

It was just your luck, encountering death the very first day you finally returned to the surface. You wondered if you should fall to your knees and beg for mercy, but your body refused to move.

The ghoul’s spurs clinked as he stepped towards you, and you raised your hands in surrender, keeping your eyes down.

“You the cargo?” He asked, tilting his head to one side in curiosity. “Let’s get a better look at’cha.”

You whimpered as he grasped one of your arms, his other hand tugging down the scarf that covered half your face. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes roaming over your features.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice low.

Swallowing hard, you finally dared to look up at him. Tears clung to your lashes, a stray one running down your cheek. He looked more skeletal up close, his eyes sunken in, cheekbones prominent, and of course there was the cavern where his nose would be. 

He removed your hat next, letting go of you and taking a step back. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but you felt a creeping sense of deja vu the longer you looked at him. 

“You…” he said, something like recognition in his voice, as well as disbelief.

“I–Please, I don’t know w-what he did to you but I don’t–” You started to babble, but he interrupted. 

“Where were y’all heading off to?”

“U-um, New Vegas, uh, sir?” You tried to smile placatingly, but it was watery and would slip away at any moment. 

Not only was it strange for him to see you alive and in the flesh, but you were also fearing him. He remembered your earnest smiles, genuinely pleased to see him. Then again, you hadn’t yet recognized who he was. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted you to know, but he also didn’t really want to let you go on your own way. Plus, he’d just killed your only guide, so it was only fair that he took on the job and saw it through.

That way, he could try to find out more about all that had happened, without giving himself away.

“New Vegas, huh,” he mused, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a long ways away, especially if you don’t know where you’re goin’...But it’s your lucky night, sweetheart, ‘cus I just so happen to know the way.”

“R-really? I could pay you if you’d h-help me!” you said quickly, rummaging through your pack to show him some caps. “I’m not sure how much would be enough but… I’ll be making more once I start working.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist now, we can do some negotiating later,” he drawled, lips curling in a smirk as he looked up at the building behind you. “Hope you don’t mind us bunking together.”

Your entire face heated up. “Uh, you can take his room. It’s already paid for.”

“Well, what a generous fella he was,” he said, tossing your stuff back at you. “Jus’ don’t come runnin’ when you get nightmares. I ain’t much of a cuddler.”

----

[adamnablelittledevil]

Only Blood Communion and Interview With the Vampire to go now. I'll make more elaborated posts about my thoughts once I'm done with everything, but here are some of my opinions:

TVA is absolutely my favorite (I've said it before and will say it again: the most purifying cry I had in my life, it destroyed and restored me in the best possible way), TVL, TQOTD and Prince Lestat are also on my top 4, though I don't know where to place the latter on my personal ranking. The others are sort of tied and the order changes according to specific aspects. Like, Blood and Gold covers a lot of eras and places of the world, has multiple interesting characters, so it's fun in the sense there's a lot of stuff to see, even if I'm not a Marius's fan and he isn't the best narrator imo. On the other hand, something like Merrick is more packed, just her, Louis and David (and some Lestat), but I just love her as a character and the whole story of her family. I can't really choose.

Memnoch would be the last because it was the one I struggled with (tho I loved Armand on it), I thought the concept was great and I could've loved it with a more active, intense and eventful execution. Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis is second-to-last because most of the plot was dumb to me, the part that made sense was solved in an unconvincing way, I had to do a lot of suspending disbelief even for a supernatural/sci-fi story... But it was nice to have so many characters I love reunited, even if some didn't have lines, it's nice to know they're around and I enjoy the vampires having sort of a healthy little community.

Favorite character is definitely Armand, then Lestat, then Pandora, Maharet, Mekare, Flavius, Merrick, Bianca, Gabrielle, Mona, Benji, Avicus and Petronia (they didn't appear much and did awful brutal stuff, yes, but having an intersex/gender-fluid character was great and they had so much baggage I could empathize with them). Most after Armand and Lestat are tied. I don't know if I'd call Benedict a fave, but I'm somewhat attached to him (and I KNOW about those spoilers). I LOVE Vittorio and Ursula too and I hope they can appear in some shape or form on the show. I don't looooove Antoine, but he's alright to me. He just seems to be a poor/broke dude who wants to live, have friends and dedicate his existence to his hyperfixations and I can relate because same lol. I get him.

Favorite pairings (either as an OTP or brotp): Lesmand (👑👑👑), Pandora and Flavius (👑👑), Maharet and Mekare (👑, they just don't get more crowns because they don't appear as much as I wanted 😔), Armand and Benji and Sybelle (as duos and a trio), Armand and Riccardo, Armand and Bianca (pretty much Armand and everyone that isn't Marius lol), Lestat and Mona (their childish siblings-coded beef entertains me), Maharet and Jesse and Vittorio and Ursula (👑👑). I wish I had seen more of some characters/dynamics, tho.

MAYBE I could tolerate Marius and even love Magnus (he seems to have a sad and interesting story) if all I'd seen of them had been the content of the last trilogy, but given the previous books, I'm not sure I can enjoy Anne's decisions. I have a lot of mixed feelings about Magnus apologizing and Marius's behavior not even being seen as something to apologize for in the first place, but that's for another post.

Some of the books I would've been able to read and love with or without the show, some I only read to get information, but I'm mostly glad I'm equipped with so much of the lore now. That's not to say there aren't problematic things even for the genre that I need to compartmentalize and ignore (to some extent and not completely) for my enjoyment, because there is a lot of that, but it hasn't been a waste of time. And I'm glad I know what can happen in the future, make silly little fancasts and have events to look forward to seeing on the series. Obviously, opinions can change with the next books, when I re-read the novels or even with conversations and discussions... And that makes me excited as well.

[atinylittlepain]

Tougher Than the Rest

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

wordcount | 5.5K

warnings | smut, angst, the usual

a/n | we have reached the last chapter of this story. thank you to everyone who has followed along with this one, it has truly been a treat working with these characters, so your love for them means a lot. as always i'd love to hear what you think, drop me a line!

...................................

“Ellie, school in thirty! You better be up if you’re catching the train! Sorry about that, my daughter is– well, you know how kids can be. What was the question again?” She hates these things. These fluffy little interviews that her agent forces her into whenever she has a new book coming out. Good publicity and all that. Bullshit, if you ask her. Why can’t the book just speak for itself?

“No worries at all, I was wondering if you could tell me a little about your writing process for this last book, did you have a set routine or any rituals that propelled your work forward?” Rituals, gag her. She tries not to let out a dejected sigh over the phone, settling instead for an eye roll as she attempts to get Ellie’s lunch put together with one and a half hands, her phone settled precariously between her cheek and her shoulder as she puts together a pb and j, except not because Ellie’s school has a thing about peanut butter. So, sunflower butter and organic apricot jam from the co-op down the block that she somehow got wrangled into as a member. 

“You know, I try not to be too precious about routines. I write as much as I can whenever I can. And as a mom, I have to take whatever time I can get.” The interviewer most certainly didn’t like that answer, a long right, okay crackling over the line. But what did he expect? Some sort of meticulous, meditative bullshit no doubt. Sorry, not her style. 

“So, last question here, you have certainly established yourself over the last decade as a prolific writer. What is it that keeps you writing?” Well, that’s simple, isn’t it? If she keeps writing, she keeps herself from thinking about the past, about things she shouldn’t be thinking about. But her agent would probably throttle her for saying that, so something else in its place instead.

“I always wanted to be a writer growing up. It’s just– instinct, maybe impulse, frankly. I write because it’s what I know how to do, it’s how I figure out this world.” She tacks on that last bit hoping it will make up for the entirely unsexy rest of her responses, and judging by the hmm the interviewer lets out over the phone, it will suffice. All the usual niceties and a long sigh when she finally hangs up.

“Ellie, if you aren’t up I’m–”

“Jesus, I’m up, woman.” Her eleven-year-old has developed a new habit of calling her woman like a despondent husband in a loveless marriage, marching out of her bedroom and into the kitchen as she shoves papers into her backpack. 

“Lunch for you, and I will be outside of the school at 3:30 to walk home with you, okay? Do you– I can walk with you this morning too if–” 

“No, mom, I got it.” It stings, just a little, smarting, and then a small swell of pride that her girl is so independent. 

“Okay, okay, let’s get some breakfast in you, huh? Smoothie, that sound good?” Ellie’s face scrunches up, but she doesn’t give her an abject no, and that’s enough for Cherry to get out the blender. 

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s in Texas?” Cherry freezes, her hand holding half a banana (non-GMO, whatever the fuck that means) suspended over the blender. 

“What– where’s that question coming from?” 

“On the computer last night, you had left it open to some construction company in Texas.” Shit, her smart girl. That was how Ellie found out that Santa wasn’t real two years ago, hopping on the desktop and finding the order confirmation for the pair of glow-in-the-dark Converse she had asked for in her letter addressed to the North Pole. 

“Oh, um, that– I have a friend who is, uh, moving there and I’m helping her find someone to do work on her new house, yeah.” Ellie doesn’t seem to buy that answer, brow pinched up, but before she can question it, Cherry flips on the blender, letting it whir just a little longer than it needs to. 

“Alright, breakfast of champions, you can drink it on the train, yeah? You’re gonna be late if you don’t get a move on.” A quick flurry to pour the smoothie into a to-go cup and then out the door, love you, be safe, bye. A big sigh when she slumps back against the shut door, close one.

Yes, maybe, a moment of weakness yesterday. A moment of weakness while she was working over edits for her next book. Somehow, up until yesterday, she had managed to not let a moment of weakness creep in. But before she knew what she was doing, she was googling his name and Austin, Texas. And there he was, with his own business no less.

Yes, maybe, she had left a tab open on the Miller’s Construction website’s About Us page. And yes, maybe, she had left the page zoomed in on the picture of Joel in the top corner. And yes, maybe, none of her edits had gotten done because she was a little busy looking at said picture for the better portion of the afternoon. 

So the first thing that she does after cleaning up the small cyclone in the kitchen is log onto the computer to delete that tab, not letting herself linger on the photo any longer. But he looks good, she thinks. Doing good for himself, she thinks. Not letting that thought get any bigger, that want crack open any more than it already has, right back to work on her edits. 

But her mind is fickle this morning, still stuck on that photo, still stuck on him in a way she hasn’t been in a while. Maybe it’s because of the appointment she has at noon. An impulsive choice she made and, for some reason, has kept. A way to hold onto something she should have let go a long time ago. But she can’t.

And yes, maybe, her morning is spent in a constant toggle between the open tab of her word doc, and that damn About Us page on the Miller’s Construction website.

…

He’s nervous. And he’s not sure why, because it’s her, right? It’s them. Except this is new. Not something they ever got to do in the past. Not like this at least. 

“Hey there.” She’s in a dress when she opens the door, and his mind has to quickly configure around the fact that this is the first time he has seen her in a dress in two decades, though he probably should have expected that, right? Because people dress up for these things, something that Sarah said to him very slowly like he was an invalid, prompting him into a button-down before he left. 

“Hey, Cherry, you look, uh, yeah– look real good.” She smiles, still leaning in the doorframe, but before she can speak, someone else beats her to it.

“Wow, real smooth, man.” 

“Ellie.” Cherry hisses it over her shoulder, but Joel never sees the kid, just hears her lowly murmured what? I’m just saying, geez. Already off to a great start. 

“Sorry about the peanut gallery, but I’m ready if you are.” 

No more sneaking around, no more questioning if this is real or not. They’re doing the thing that normal people do, normal people in a normal relationship. They’re going on a date. 

“I like this.” She hums it, reaching across the console from the passenger seat to thumb at the collar of his shirt, her palm smoothing down over his chest. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm, you clean up very pretty, Miller.” Just a little snark tinging the end of her words, making him huff as she keeps rubbing distracting circles into his chest. 

“Well, you’re in fine form, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With that, her hand trails up, palm slipping behind the nape of his neck, her fingers threading through the errant curls there while he fights the urge for his eyes to roll back in his head. 

“Sure, Cher, at this rate we’re not even gonna make it to the restaurant.” He regrets saying it instantly, because just as soon as the words leave his mouth, she’s taking her hand away, sitting prim and perfect in the passenger seat where she had been completely turned toward him before. 

“Right, sorry, best behavior.” Her words slant with the simper of her smile, and he has to remind himself that they’re doing this normal thing now. No need to hurry, no need to hide, no need to steal time. Because she’s staying, and so is he. 

By some stroke of luck, they do make it to the restaurant, and it’s right about then that Joel realizes it has been a woefully long time since he has been on a date. He has to stutter himself into all the motions, trying to remember the right moves, opening the door for her, a bit flustered when he pulls her chair out for her and she snorts.

“Well you don’t get this kind of treatment in New York.” To make the matter of his quick creeping flush worse, she presses a kiss to his cheek before she sits down. He gets to have that now, totally normal. He’s still getting used to totally normal.

“So how is the book coming along?” He’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask that, what might still be a sore subject. For a moment, her face falls, fear flickering in his chest that he has fucked up, though she smooths it out, something like a smile still at the edges of her eyes.

“Do you really want to hear me talk about that?” 

“Only if you want to.”

“Can I ask you something first?” He nods, of course, taking a cursory sip of his wine as she does the same. 

“Did you– what did you think? About the other ones?” She asks it shy, her cheek propped in her hand, smile crumpled to one side. His mind reels with what he could say, though he’s not sure if any of it’s right. It’s not like he has some dazzlingly intellectual thing to say. But she’s asking him, she wants to know what he thinks, and he muses to himself that she’s been wanting to know what he thinks for a while. 

“I was amazed by every single one, Cher. And I was proud of you too, even though I had no business feeling that way. It was– I thought about you, a lot, over the years. And getting to read your books, it felt like I could be a little closer to you that way.” He surprises himself with the stark honesty of his words, but how could he offer her anything else when she’s looking at him like that? Smile softening in the dim light of the restaurant, cheeks brimming up with the praise.  

“I always wondered, you know, if you were reading them. I– I guess that’s a little ridiculous.” He’s still getting used to this too, being able to reach out for her, taking her hand in his across the table.

“Not ridiculous, and I’m looking forward to reading the new one.” 

“I sent the second draft in two days ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm, my editor fucking destroyed my first one, so we’ll see how this draft goes over.” 

“You know, I’ve been wondering, Cher, when the hell did you get that trucker’s mouth of yours?” She laughs big and bright, shoulders shrugging up to her ears, a little flail to her hands that makes him laugh too.

“I mean, it’s definitely a New York thing. That, and people just started pissing me off a lot more, so I kinda had to.” 

“I tried to cut back on it when Sarah got old enough to start picking stuff up. She still managed to slip a few fucks into her vocabulary in the first grade.” 

“Oh god, I actually got called into the school when Ellie was in the first grade because she told a boy at recess to leave her the fuck alone. Honestly, I was more proud than anything else, is that bad?” 

“Fuck no, it’s not bad. I’d probably take Sarah for ice cream if she did the same.” She sighs around a smile, and he finds himself doing the same, settling into this ease. Yes, he thinks, it’s going to take some getting used to. But he’s more than happy to be getting used to it with her.

…

“I’d like to get it on my right shoulder, if that works okay.” If her mother could see her now. She doesn’t look in the mirror until the tattoo artist has stamped the stencil into place, a satisfied hum in her throat when she gets a look at the design. 

Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she was going to keep this appointment. She had made it under the pleasant flush of two glasses of wine late one night about a month ago, surprised to receive an email from the artist saying that they loved her idea and wanted to get her on the books. And for some reason, she didn’t say no, didn’t cancel, and is now laying out on a tattoo table and bracing for the first pass of the needle. 

It’s not too bad, a little cringey when the artist is working right over the cap of her shoulder, but otherwise it passes quickly, and before she knows it, she’s standing back in front of the mirror on shaky legs, looking at the twining cherry branch now wrapping around her upper arm. 

“It’s perfect, thank you. I love it.” Ellie has rather different feelings about it, her jaw dropping loose when Cherry meets her outside of her school, still warm enough that she’s only in a t-shirt, showing off part of her still-wrapped ink. 

“What is that?” There’s no playing it off, Ellie refusing to move until Cherry gives her an answer.

“That is a tattoo, and before you ask, no, not until you’re eighteen.” Ellie balks at that, though Cherry is quick to sling her arm around her girl’s shoulders to set them both walking toward the subway. 

“Is it– what is it?” Ellie takes the one leftover seat in the train and Cherry hooks her elbow around the rail in front of her, a perfect opportunity for her kid to get a better look at her new tattoo.

“It’s a cherry tree.”

“I can’t believe you got a tattoo.” She says it with a sigh, like somehow, this is the worst news ever. Cherry has to hold back a laugh, knowing that it will only put Ellie in even worse of a tiff. 

“What’s wrong with tattoos?” 

“Nothing, but you’re my mom, you’re not supposed to get tattoos.” Ellie grumbles out the last words, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff, perfectly petulant. Cherry gives her little episode about twenty more minutes before she forgets all about it and asks what’s for dinner. 

When they do get back to their apartment, Cherry just barely catches the ringing phone, surprised, though pleasantly, when she hears Will on the other end. 

“Hey, what’s going on? Everything okay?” 

“Hey, yeah, I just thought I’d give you a call.” She knows exactly what that means. It’s only been recently that she and Will can talk like this, call like this. She got out, and he did too, and for a while that had to be enough for the both of them, slinking around the past like they could somehow forget it. It was Will that reached out to her first, and she was relieved for it, not sure if he resented her, or even hated her for the way she left. He didn’t, he understood, and he wanted to know how his big sister was doing. 

“Mom?” He sighs over the phone, exactly what she thought. For some reason, their mother still reaches out to him, an errant phone call that he somehow can’t seem to dodge. 

“She called to tell me that they’re moving to Arizona.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“Yeah, so I guess that means Austin has finally been fumigated.” Cherry snorts, trying to let that be funny, though all it really feels is bitter. 

“You’re not thinking about going back, are you?” Because suddenly, she is. An impossibility for so long, now a little more possible.

“Hell no, Portland has been good to me. I only just managed to lose the accent.” 

“I liked your accent, Will. I’m afraid mine has started sounding a little too Brooklyn lately.”

“Yeah, you have that kinda eternally angry thing going on in your voice now.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my eternally angry voice is what gets me book deals.” 

“Sure, that’s what it is, miss New York Times bestseller.” She scoffs, a flustered murmur of yeah, yeah, whatever, always quick to change the subject from anything like that. 

“You’re still coming for Christmas though, right? I’d– we’d really love to have you. I’ve been telling Ellie about you.” Something new, she never thought Ellie would get any kind of extended family. Definitely no grandparents, but an uncle would be nice.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.” He has something else to say, she can tell by the way his words fizzle out. She doesn’t push though, just waits.

“You don’t think about going back, do you? To Texas?” Her throat tightens, a quick glance down the hall to check that Ellie’s bedroom door is still closed.

“No, why would I want to?”

“Oh come on, out of the two of us I’d say you’d have an actual reason to.”

“What are you talking about?” Like maybe she could bullshit her way out of this, but he is her brother, after all. He always liked Joel, definitely looked up to him. And he was also one of the only people that knew about their relationship, always willing to cover for her sneaking around, for the flat rate price of a new comic book. 

“Not what, who.”

“Will, that’s ancient history. That’s– that’s even past ancient history. It was another life.”

“I know, I just– I always thought you two were gonna be it, you know? Even before that summer, y’all were always something else.”

“Careful, they’ll throw you out of Portland for saying y’all like that.” That gets half a laugh out of him, just enough to drop the subject.

“All this talk of Texas must be getting to me. Anyways, just wanted to call and tell you the big news or whatever.” 

“Alright, well, big news aside, it’s always good to hear from you. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” 

“Yeah, sis, love you.”

“Love you too.” That’s new, she’s glad for it.

Afternoons, after school, but before dinner, this is her favorite time. Sometimes, Ellie will still let her help with her homework, or at least allow her presence on the edge of her bed while she works, might even answer a few questions about her day or her friends. Eleven going on thirty, or something like that. By the time dinner rolls around, her girl has warmed up to her enough to sit at the kitchen counter while she chops vegetables.

“So, why a cherry tree?” 

“Oh, it’s an old story, a friend of mine from a long time ago, not interesting. Hey, I saw the email from the school about career day next week, were you gonna tell me about that?” A quick change of subject, two birds with one stone, really. Ellie’s face scrunches up at her question.

“Yeah, but like, you’re too busy for it anyways.” She barely looks up from her math worksheet as she says it, like no big deal, though Cherry’s stomach immediately sinks.

“Woah, woah, babe, I am absolutely not too busy for that. I’m never too busy for you, what– why do you think that?” Ellie just shrugs, still intent on her fractions.

“Because of the new book and stuff. You’re very preoccupied.” One of her new vocab words for the week, preoccupied, right. 

“Els, will you look at me, please? I am never too busy for you, okay? None of that shi–stuff matters more than you do. And I’d really love to go to career day, if you want me to be there.” Ellie seems to consider that proposition, a big burst of relief when she nods.

“Yeah, you’re cooler than a lot of the other parents anyways. They all do boring stuff for work.” She’ll take it, trying to temper her grin at her girl’s small praise as she gets back to prepping dinner. She’ll have to remember to wear long sleeves for career day, not wanting to give the PTA moms any more gossip fodder than they already have about her. Single mom, single writer mom with no family to be heard of. Not a very good look to all those upper-crust types, not that she could give a shit about it. But she doesn’t want her black sheepness to rub off on Ellie, play dates and hang outs to be scheduled and all that, so, definitely long sleeves for career day. 

Much later, Ellie in bed reading, and no impending emails or phone calls, Cherry finally takes another look at the tattoo before getting in the shower. 

If nothing else, ever, at least this.

…

“So.” She says it all long and drawn out, her hands clasped behind her back as she sways a little in front of his truck, sooooo. It’s dark out by the time they leave the restaurant, both of them a little loose, a little languid from a few glasses of wine, though he’s still sober enough to feel a lick of nerves run up his spine as he tries to figure out what’s the right next move, what normal people do on a date like this. 

“Sarah is at Tommy’s for the night, if you don’t have to be home just yet?” No, probably not what normal people do on a first date. But no, not their first date either, not really. And nothing normal about this either, not really. Cherry, smiles, all crooked shadows in the faint glow coming from the restaurant. She really is a sight. He’s been stealing sweeping glances all night, collecting her up in pieces in his mind. The bare skin of her thighs, just a suggestion of it with the slip of her dress. Her dress, he thinks she knows that it’s just a little cruel that she’s wearing that dress judging by the way she moves, shoulders rolled back, always a ghost of a grin like she’s getting away with something. Instinct or just plain impulse to reach out for her, to let his knuckles graze along the neckline of her dress, the smallest shiver when he trails from the sweet plunge up along the slope of her shoulder. 

“Ellie was going to a sleepover, so I don’t have to be anywhere until my chauffeur services are needed tomorrow.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” 

He is trying, all of his effort, really, to focus on the road when they start driving back to his house. But Cherry isn’t exactly making it easy with the way her hand is splayed on his thigh, and he has to clear his throat when her nails graze along the inseam of his pants. 

“Everything alright?” He only glances away for a beat, though it’s enough time to see the smug curl of her smile.

“You– you’re–” His breath hitches before he can finish that thought, Cherry’s knuckles grazing against his already aching cock through his pants, though her hand is gone just as soon, settling lower, just above his knee. 

“What am I, baby?” 

“I think you know what you are.” Her laugh comes in bells, chirping high as she tips her head back, the shock-white flash of her teeth in the corner of his eye. 

“I think you like it.” High, like wings fluttering each word she says. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes still on the road while he reaches across the console for her, his palm slipping from her shoulder up the slope of her neck, fingers curling around her nape and his thumb stroking the hinge of her jaw, his own silent answer, his. 

They’re both quiet stepping inside his house, lights off so the rooms are washed down in dark swaths of shadow. Up the stairs and into his room, she doesn’t look at the books this time, all her attention on him. 

No need to rush, no need to hide, no need to lie about what this really is. A first for two decades later, they can take their time with each other, because there will be plenty more of it to offer, to receive.

“I thought about you, you know.” He knows that she’s talking about a particular kind of thinking about him, her eyes heavy with it. 

“Show me, Cher.” Broken thoughts that somehow still get pieced together, the easy slip of her dress falling around her feet, stepping out of fabric and laying back on his bed. Perfect like this, her knees bent and falling open to the sides. He finds himself sitting down on the edge of the bed, his palm cupping the slope of her calf before sliding down, fingers curling loosely around her ankle. Something to tether him, to convince him that this is real, that all her want is for him. From the start, she was always surprising him, always finding some fresh way to make his head spin. She still is. Propped up on one elbow, her other palm trailing down the center of her chest, pausing there to let her fingers graze against her nipple, the smallest hitch of her breath making his cock pulse. And then lower, his eyes going heavy watching her hand move over the soft clench of her stomach before settling just over her pelvis. Forefinger and middle spreading herself open for him to see, swollen and pearling pleasure, obscene and a little world-ending. 

And it’s his name. His name that she whispers when she dips two of her fingers into her cunt, his hand curling a little closer around her ankle at the sight and sound. A slick smear of heat, the way the tendons in her hips jump with the effort of staying splayed for him, slack and then tense all over when the pads of her fingers catch against her clit. 

Please, not enough, please, want you. But he wants to see, her preening pleas falling on deaf ears. Because he wants to see how she thought about him all those miles away, years away, and aching for him. And he was aching for her too. Go on, Cher, just like that. She huffs, brow pulling down in a pinch of frustration, but she still allows, the small jump of her wrist, the veins in her hand jittering as two fingers find a stuttered rhythm, her hips tilting into each thrust. And he’s mean for doing this, cruel even, slipping sorry beneath his palm as it skates up her shin, smoothing and soothing. I know, I know, it’s not enough, is it? Never enough he thinks, it was never enough. 

“Stop teasing, come here.” Never saying no to her, and he already knows it, making as quick work as he can of the buttons of his shirt, the warm flush of bare skin against bare skin when he finally settles between her legs, one palm splayed next to her temple and the other bunched in the sheets beside her hip. All brilliant machinery, two bodies moving together like they never stopped, her knee hitching up along his hip as his palm slides down along the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. He rests his thumb over her clit, presence more than anything else, though Cherry doesn’t allow that for long, another huff, another don’t tease that he chases after with a hard stamp of a kiss. 

And when he finally spreads her open with one shuddering snap of his hips, his breath gets caught in his chest, pleasure finally catching up to him and crackling down his spine. His mouth rests open and wanting below the dip of her clavicle, the slight press of skin that comes with each of her inhales, like a bird beating around in her ribs, short and stuttered and certain. 

Quiet whispers, need you to move, baby, that word never failing to snare his mind, all he can do to give her what she wants with a slow roll of his hips that’s already turning greedy in the way he grinds into the plush of her ass at the end, a high sound stopping itself in the back of her throat. 

And no, not taking their time, both of them growing desperate for that tight furl of pleasure settling between them. Just a little obscene in the way the bed scrapes against the floor with every thrust, the sound melding and mixing with the breathy little moans Cherry can’t seem to stop, not that he would want her to. He groans when he reaches between them to thumb at her clit, her cunt dripping around him, a dizzying flutter of heat that he wants more of. And when Cherry says more, right there something snaps in him, animal, incessant in the way he slips his palms under the swell of her ass, lifting her hips up so her thighs rest over his, fucking up into her from his haunches, strong enough that he can do that now, move and make her with his hands like this. Pulled taut, her body one long line of pleasure, he watches the perfect tendons in her throat jump with a whine of his name. 

It’s a devastating heat when she does come, spine arching before she slumps down in his grasp. He stills inside her, a whimper in her throat when his hips absent-mindedly shift against hers. C’mere, c’mere, pulling him down, her palms running up his sides before slipping over his shoulders, mapping him out as she catches her breath.

“I love you so much, Joel.” The sound he makes is pathetic at best, a little broken battering in his ribs. And he should ask if she’s good, if he can, if it’s okay for him to, but he needs it so bad, needs her so bad that he’s already finding that rhythm again, harsh breaths with each thrust. Not far behind her, not with the way she’s murmuring all her want into his ear, something that sounds like love when that pleasure finally snaps and shimmers under his skin. 

Perfect like this in the after, holding onto each other, mouths finding whatever slip of skin they can, kissing it better. 

“It’s you and me, Cher. I love you.” Her fingers still in their gentle sweep through his hair, a little tug to get his eyes up to hers. 

“Plus two.” Confused at first, he has to laugh when his brain catches up to what she’s saying.

“Right, you and me, plus two.” 

…

Her least favorite time of the day, or night, really. Ellie asleep, just her and the blinking cursor in her word document. It’s about this time every night that it settles back in under her skin. She doesn’t know what to call it. Loneliness feels pitiful, and patently untrue because she has her girl, and that’s all she needs. It’s like an ache, like a physical lack that she manages to forget about in all the fret and fuss of the day, still there, still sore. 

Tonight, something particular to soothe that ache. That damn web page, and that damn photo of him. Different, older, but still him. A small part of her, a young part, wonders if he has read her books, if he’s seen her photo on the dust jackets and traced all the small nicks and nips of time the same way that she does now, her face pressed close to the screen of her computer to collect up any new detail. 

She quits while she’s ahead, sigh, shut the whole thing off, rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes to try to stamp out the picture of him. 

An ache, a want, that has been there for nearly two decades. When Will had told her about their parents moving out of Austin, hope had been quick to flicker up and around her ribs, a silly thing. Silly to ache like this, to want like this, to presume that he’s been waiting around for her. 

She’s been waiting for him though, she realizes. Wanting for him. So would it be so crazy to think that, maybe, he’s been wanting for her too?

........................................

taglist:

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[memecucker]

So people protested on the field of a Berkeley vs USC game and it turns out has nothing to do with Palestine (like many assumed) but is instead was about students protesting to reinstate a Berkeley professor who repeatedly stalked and harassed a UC Davis professor (including leaving graffiti at his mothers house) and it’s just so.. bizarre? Like this professor seems to literally have a cult following like she’s doing the generic “I was hacked” excuse and there’s students that just believe her bc they like her?

In an interview with KQED, del Valle acknowledged some of the behavior described in the investigative reports, including keying Clover’s car, vandalizing the area outside his apartment door, contacting his friends, posting an image of his partner online and leaving messages outside the home of his mother. Those messages included one that said “I raised a psychopath,” according to the university’s investigative reports. She has also acknowledged in the report calling Clover’s office phone line at least ten times within 90 minutes.

Throughout each official investigation, del Valle maintains that her actions were the result of being hacked, and that she was not receiving the support she needed.

“I did write outside his door, ‘Here lives a pervert.’ I did that. And again, I’m not proud,” del Valle said. “If I had the opportunity to do things differently, I would do them differently.”

Del Valle said that she regretted visiting the mother’s home, but disagreed that the message towards Clover’s mother was a threat or that any of her behavior was sexual harassment.

Throughout each official investigation, del Valle maintains that her actions were the result of being hacked, and that she was not receiving the support she needed.

She hasn’t even been fired?!? She is choosing to not accept an 18 month suspension and thus would prefer to be fired?? Literally just don’t stalk, harass and vandalize someone’s stuff?

Del Valle said since the suspension in the fall of 2021, she has not been teaching at UC Berkeley and has been living out of two suitcases because of the uncertainty around her future. She said she could accept an 18-month suspension UC Berkeley offered as a settlement, but has no plans to do so. If she doesn’t accept that outcome, the case could instead be brought before the university’s Privilege and Tenure Committee, and she could lose her tenure and be fired.

“My life is completely destroyed,” del Valle said. “I don’t want UC Berkeley to think that they can do this to a minority woman in order to protect a white, senior professor. It’s not acceptable.”

[starryriize]

picture perfect | leehan

part 1- the invite

a/n: the long-awaited release of part one! i have absolutely loved making this and it’s taken me longer than i’d like to admit :( this is the first time i’ve written more than 1k words😫i sincerely hope that you all enjoy this!!

1.2k words

pairing: photographer! Leehan and model! reader

summary/preview , part one , part two

-- ✧ --

"Leehan! Did you see the interview?" He turns to his friend, feigning innocence. "What interview?" Taesan rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue before chiding, "Come now, you saw it!" Leehan did, in fact, see the interview. The one that featured the CEO of Omega Watches shaking hands with some high-ranking representative of a model that Leehan didn't care about. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering why Taesan was so excited about a normal interview. It wasn't anything new for a CEO to have new models for the new collections.

Taesan sighed loudly, plopping onto the couch as he leaned his head back, slightly closing his eyes. If there was one perk to living with Leehan, the furniture was always comfortable and stylish. Interior designers should be glad he took up photography, Taesan thought to himself. Facing where Leehan was sitting, Taesan grabbed a plain white envelope. He took a stray pen from the round living room table, sliding the pen through the seal. Taking the paper out, Taesan went silent. It was an invite to the New Year's Gala hosted by Omega. Every year, this dreaded gold-lined invite came, and every time, Leehan refused to go. Events were incredibly draining, filled with hours of talking to people, and doing so-called “networking.”

“Oh? Taesan, what’s in the letter?” Leehan stood up, leaning against the wall, gesturing toward the paper with a quirked eyebrow.

“The New Year’s Gala for Omega. Apparently, the theme this year is fairytale.” Taesan said while smirking, already planning his outfit to capture the hearts of many at the party. Leehan sighed in annoyance, knowing he’d have to go to the Gala this year. There was no avoiding the CEO, but more importantly, he had to keep good relations with the CEO. 

“I’ll come with.” Leehan paused, “I have to make sure I still have my contract with Omega.” Leehan muttered under his breath, not wanting to admit that he did want to see the newest collection of watches. Leehan, despite all his complaints about parties and not caring, did in fact enjoy the socializing. There was a rush of adrenaline that he got from the flashing lights, the sparkles, the car ride from their shared apartment, and the whole feeling of living life fully. It was the same rush that he got from being in the airport. He loved moments where he felt like time was suspended, as it made him feel like the main character of a New York Times bestseller. 

But Taesan wasn’t stupid, he saw right through his friend. Shrugging, Taesan smiled. Sarcastically commenting, “Sure. You’re definitely going for the contract talks.” He paused before adding, “Also Leehan, I hope you know that the Gala is this coming weekend at 9 pm outside the Omega Pop-up store.” Taesan continued talking about the details of the party, where to park,  who to avoid, and most importantly what to wear. As far as Leehan was concerned, he wasn’t interested in the who’s and what’s of the party. But Taesan was right, they needed outfits, and ones that would fit the theme perfectly. Taesan retreated to his room, spending what seemed like hours, deliberating over which silk shirt looked best. Deciding that he needed his friend’s opinion, he called Leehan to tell him what he thought about the silk.

Leehan sighed for the fifth time, muttering, “I say this with love but the silk isn’t it. You look like a dress up pirate not a fairytale prince.”

Taesan audibly scoffs as he flicks through the various shirts before pulling out a hanger. “Yes. Yes. I’ve found it!” He turns to Leehan, holding a white ruffled shirt with puffed sleeves and a ruffled collar. It was the epitome of a fairytale if he were in Tangled that is. "I think I look good." Taesan smirks at himself in the mirror, proud of the "princely" fit he pulled out of his closet.

"But what do I wear?" Leehan sighed, staring at the rows upon rows of shirts. Flicking through the blues and whites, he stopped, staring at a navy blue dress shirt. Pulling it off the hanger, he placed it down, moving to find a matching vest or jacket. After he finally found a suitable vest, embroidered with white crystals and made of white satin. He figured that would be enough and that he'd plan the rest of the fit later.

-- ✧ --

12 hours away, you'd gotten the same letter. You knew this wasn't an event you could call sick to skip mainly because your face was going to be all over the adverts at the entrance of the party. Glancing down at the letter, you read it out loud, wishing the flight wasn't so expensive and wondering which outfit you could possibly wear.

We cordially invite you to our New Year's Gala. We plan to introduce our newest "Timeless" collection. Our theme this year is fairytale! We hope to see you there. Yours Truly, Omega Watches.

Smiling, you knew you could finally pull out the butterfly top that you'd been influenced to buy when you were shopping with your close friend, Yunjin. Carefully removing the resin-jeweled top from its protective covering, you quickly grabbed your favorite pink satin skirt.

Glancing at the clock, you realized you had less than two hours to catch your flight to Incheon. Gingerly wrapping your outfit in a small carry-on, you grab your mother's Yves Saint Laurent crossbody and begin locking up your apartment, double-checking everything. You knew that your manager had already sent your pre-packed bags to Incheon, so what else did you need? You glance your eyes over your jewelry, stopping at the gold heart bracelet. Deciding you can never have enough jewelry, you grab the bracelet and place it in your purse.

Soon you were on a plane, miles from Incheon with adrenaline filling your veins. Just thinking about finally seeing your adverts in person, meeting new people, and socializing, words couldn't describe how excited you felt.

Upon landing in South Korea, you were taken aback by the stunning views and how it felt so much like home. You had been to Korea once before, but you were so little, that everything was a blur. The hustle and bustle of Incheon Airport made you feel calm, suspended in-between time, where you were neither here nor there.

Taking out your phone, you snap a quick picture of the views from the airport entrance before scanning the taxi lane for your scheduled car. You were told to look for a black Jaguar XKSS, remembering your manager saying that the car was "vintage-looking" and something "out of James Bond."

Some 10 minutes later, you see a car that looks as though it came from the Bond films. Ah, that must be my ride. You thought to yourself. The front door opened and a tall, somewhat American-looking man strode to where you were standing. You glance toward him, analyzing his movements as he opens the trunk for your luggage. The man offered his hand for you to shake, introducing himself as Jaehyun. You confidently shook his hand, introducing yourself as well.

"Let's get you to the hotel." Jaehyun jumped excitedly, placing your luggage into the trunk. The car's capacity was, well, smaller than you expected. You knew it'd be a vintage car, but you didn't think it'd be as tiny as you thought. It was a two-door car, so you had to be seated in the passenger seat.

Just as you were getting comfortable, Jaehyun mentioned, "Going to the Omega Party? Ah, you'll get to meet Leehan and Taesan!" Leehan? Why was that name familiar to you? You tried to remember why he was familiar but then gave up remembering that you'll probably see him at the Gala.

-- ✧ --

For both you and Leehan, the moment you enter the doors of the Gala, lives shall be changed.

[fuckyeah-jessicabiel]

GQ Magazine - July 2007

The Summer of Jessica Biel

To celebrate Biel’s being in a movie actually worth seeing, we sent Adam Stein to play carnival games with her.

When I told various friends I’d be interviewing Jessica Biel, I got the responses you’d expect—jealousy, mild rage, a plea to give her a phone number because she’s the one person that a friend’s wife would give him a free pass to sleep with. The uncanny thing is, when I asked these guys what they thought of her as an actress, most of them drew a blank. They hadn’t seen a single motion picture of hers. Okay, one or two had girlfriends who’d brought them to see The Illusionist, but otherwise, nada. As my friend Taj put it: “I’m obsessed with a girl I’ve never seen move.“

Well, that’s about to change. Later this month, men across America will see Jessica being very good in a very funny movie, and the nature of their love for her will…deepen. She’ll still be inhumanly beautiful, sure, but now they’ll have to contend with genuine talent, too, and that one-two punch can be disorienting. You know what else can? The fact that despite her recent tabloid exposure, she’s actually sweet, funny, earnest, occasionally a little crude, and—if my time playing carnival games with her can be used as evidence—uniquely driven to conquer whatever stands between Jessica Biel and what she wants.

I am waiting for her at the Santa Monica Pier, sitting on a stool next to one of those games where you shoot water from a gun into a clown’s mouth. I haven’t shaved for a week, because I read somewhere that Jessica Biel likes guys with beards. I’m inspecting mine in the reflective back of my iPod when a nice-looking young woman materializes in my view. “Excuse me,“ she says. “Are you Adam?“ “Jessica?“ I ask, ridiculously. Of course it’s her, in wraparound sunglasses, an open gray sweater over a white blouse, and faded jeans. She wears checkered Vans, like Jeff Spicoli. On the pier, no one recognizes her, which I suppose makes sense: There’s little resemblance between the pinup girl and the sneaker-wearing civilian out on a Monday afternoon. She doesn’t stick out as we walk the wooden planks of the amusement park; she blends in. She is, you might say, a very chill girl.

“Can we get a photo next to a star?“ she asks, stopping in front of a booth hawking photographs with huge cardboard cutouts of celebrities. It’s an impressive, eclectic array: Bill Clinton, Mini Me, Michael Jordan, Hilary Duff, Enrique Iglesias(!), Jean-Claude Van Damme, DiCaprio in Titanic. “They’re all kind of old,“ she says. I don’t know if she means the cutouts or the celebrities themselves (because to me, Mini Me will never age). She’s only 25 years old, so it could go either way. I ask her who she’d most want to pose with. She scrutinizes the assembly and makes her call: “I’d probably pick Van Damme, ‘cause he looks the coolest.“ She takes the Muscles from Brussels over Leo—a victory of might over sensitivity. Nice.

Then she decides it’s time for the games to begin. She passes up the Riptide Ring Toss (“That one is impossible,“ she says) and focuses her attention on the Pier Plank Plunge. The PPP is basically a rope ladder suspended horizontally over an inflatable mattress. The trick is to climb, perfectly balanced, to a taunting red button placed approximately ten feet away. Press the button, win the prize—an enormous Sonic the Hedgehog. I ask her if she’s ever Pier Plank Plunged before. “Yes,“ she says, assessing the structure, looking for its weaknesses. “But I’ve never been able to achieve it.“ She begins barraging the bored-looking carny with questions. “Do you have any tips?“ (It’s all about balance.) “Have you done it before?“ (Nope.) “Has anyone ever won?“ (Yeah.) “Has anyone won today?“ (Not yet.) She turns to me, and I have to say she seems genuinely excited. “This is our chance,“ she says. “It’s our chance to win.“ I’m beginning to get the distinct impression that winning is important to Jessica Biel. “Ladies first“ being the imperative, I take the initial go-round. It’s harder than it looks. My arms shake. Everything shakes. I can feel her hopefulness—Do it, get there—but I fall off within seconds. The shame is truly surprising. I wanted to do it for Jessica and failed. She throws me a “good try“ before stepping up herself.

Jessica was a gymnast when she was younger, and the training appears to be paying off as she mounts the unstable rope ladder. (It also occurs to me that the view I currently have is one the paparazzi would kill for.) She deploys a disciplined crawl, gets tantalizingly close to the red button, reaches for it—and loses her balance, flips over, and lands flat on the cushion, laughing. “Holy shit,“ she yells. “It’s so hard. That’s so frustrating.“ The carny asks if we’d like to try again. She pauses for a moment, looking at the button, and then, with obvious reservations, demurs. “You were really, really close,“ I tell her. “I know,“ she says, still staring at it, reluctant to move, apparently, without conquering the damn thing. “That’s how it gets you.“

Next up is something called the Hi-Striker, a game in which you swing a mallet to test your strength. I take three feeble swings, each one less successful than the last. A huge Hispanic man laughs every time I bring the mallet down on the metal block, and when I exit the cage and hand it off to the female attendant, she takes one exhibition swing and makes my emasculation complete. Up goes the projectile. Ping goes the bell.

J.B. watches, rapt. “Look at her awesome stance,“ she whispers, absorbing the details, memorizing the motion. Some actors “find“ their characters via a process of internalization—investigating emotions, plumbing psychology, creating an “inner life.“ This is known as the inside-out approach. Other actors work outside-in—developing a walk, a gesture, a physicality. Look at, say, Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby. Look at Jessica Biel in the Hi-Striker cage.

Mimicking the attendant’s, her first swing easily skunks my best effort. And she improves with each attempt. She’s getting into character. As she exits the cage, there’s a look of satisfaction on her face. She returns the mallet to the attendant, who looks at me and says: “She did better than you.“ As we leave, I ask her: “Is it more technique than strength?“ She shakes her head. “Brute strength,“ she says. “You just throw it up and slam it as hard as you can.“ On our way off the pier, we pass Zoltar, the animatronic fortune-teller who turned that kid into Tom Hanks in Big. Zoltar senses us and speaks: “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved.“ Zoltar makes Jessica smile. She digs his philosophy.

Jessica Biel’s destiny, at least of late, has led her to a prominent place in the trashy supermarket gossip rags. First it was snapshots of social excursions with second-banana studs (Chris Evans, Ryan Reynolds). Then, upping the ante, there was a beach fling with a sports icon (Derek Jeter). And then, in February, she grabbed the tabloid brass ring for reportedly nabbing the world’s most eligible bachelor, Justin Timberlake. Unsurprisingly, it’s not something she’ll discuss.

One thing she is happy talking about, though, is the unladylike girth of her knuckles. We’re getting dinner at an unassuming Italian trattoria across the street from the pier when she flashes those meaty joints and describes her nascent production company. “It was almost called Fat Knuckle Films. Because I have fat knuckles. See?“ she asks. “They don’t really look that way until you start putting rings on them, and then it stops right there.“

I have to say, Jessica Biel’s chunky midfingers are endearing, human, attainable—a word she uses a number of times in our conversation, as if to remind the world that she’s just a regular girl from Boulder, Colorado, who happens to have been called, by Esquire magazine in 2005, the Sexiest Woman Alive.

“At first I felt really embarrassed about it,“ she says. “You know, it’s a weird thing to talk about. Like, ‘Hey, guys. Guess what?’ You don’t just go telling everybody that.“ She shifts her weight forward and goes on: “But after I got over that, I just started to embrace it. I started thinking, If I ever do have kids, and if they have kids, I can tell them: ‘You know what? Your grandma in 2000-and-whatever was the Sexiest Woman Alive. How about that, kids?’ That’s what I started to think about. I’ll always have that picture to say, ‘That’s what Granny used to look like.’ “

Before coming out here to get my ass handed to me at the Hi-Striker, I immersed myself in Jessica Biel’s Collected Works. She got her start in the mid-’90s on 7th Heaven, the WB dramedy that made a splash with the moral-values set, before leaving around 2002 for bigger (and badder) things. It’s been a grim scene ever since: Summer Catch (2001), which starred Freddie Prinze Jr. and stands at number forty-nine on Rotten Tomatoes’ 100 Worst- Reviewed Films of All Time. The Rules of Attraction (2002), notable only for Fred Savage shooting heroin between his toes and saying things like “I can feel my dick.“ (Remarkably, Biel comes across as fresh and charming, despite the astonishing pointlessness and nihilism of the flick.) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), which was Biel’s first top billing and is her biggest box-office performer to date, with a take of about $80 million. J.B. screams her head off throughout the movie and is entirely believable in distress, but you can’t help thinking as you watch her, There’s got to be better material than this. Sadly, no. There was an atrocity called Cellular, in 2004, and Blade: Trinity that same year (in which Biel kicks much undead ass as a midriff-baring vampire hunter). But the nadir has to be London, in ’06, a delusional piece of trash that starts off with a sex scene, Biel on top, saying, “Are you coming? Are you coming?“ before she proceeds to another not-quite-dignified act and then dips out of the frame to, presumably, swallow. Like I said, a grim scene.

And then, just in the nick of time, salvation arrived. A script called The Illusionist, to star Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti. There was a problem, though. The filmmakers didn’t want to give Biel an audition. They weren’t convinced the vampire-hunting Hollywood creation could rearrange herself into the role of a refined fin de siècle Hungarian duchess.

But Jessica Biel has a hard time taking no for an answer. And when another actress “dropped out“ of the film, her tenacity paid off. They finally brought her in. She arrived wearing a full period costume. She made them take her seriously, she says, and three days later, an offer arrived.

The Illusionist wasn’t what you’d call a “hit,“ but it got good reviews, made decent money, and changed the industry’s perception of her. Doors that were closed began to open. They just weren’t opening fast enough for her taste.

She sets down her after-dinner tea and says, “I want choices. I want options. I want to lay out all the directions I could go and have the ability to choose. I’m slowly starting to have that now.“ It’s the “slowly“ that kills her.

One film that will almost surely expedite the process is I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, which will be released this month. It stars Adam Sandler and Kevin James as two Brooklyn firefighters who pretend to be a gay couple in order to receive domestic-partner benefits. J.B. plays the female lead, their hoodwinked attorney who falls for Sandler by the end of the picture.

Chuck and Larry is Jessica’s first real shot at popular, mainstream film success. Unlike her previous big-budget endeavors, it doesn’t rely on CGI or fetishistic weaponry to make its points. It is also—apologies to Freddie Prinze Jr. —her first comedy.

“It was a little bit intimidating,“ she says. “I really admire Adam and Kevin, but then, I didn’t try to equal them or one-up them, and the character I created didn’t have to be that. She’s the straight woman, but very fun and very cool and just—attainable. That’s the kind of part that I’d like to play more. I mean, a vampire hunter? Is that really attainable? I’d just like to play something a little more quirky, interesting, outrageous. And uninhibited.“

“You’re not worried that she can do comedy,“ the movie’s director, Dennis Dugan, tells me. “You can tell she can do comedy. So we just met her and cast her. I really think she can have one of those diverse, Oscar-winning careers. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no horizon to her talent.“

The sun has gone down, and we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the Italian joint, across from the pier. I’m holding a small stuffed Spider-Man doll that Jessica won as a prize back at the amusement park and which she’s given to me to give to my son. I ask what she’s doing tonight, and she says she’s playing chaperone to a girlfriend on a first date. “Basically, I’m her wingman tonight,“ she says. “I’ll probably slip away if it’s rolling along well.“

She graciously agrees to a photograph with me, which I would include except for two reasons: (1) I don’t want to make Justin Timberlake jealous, and (2) you never quite understand how unattractive you are until you see yourself in a picture with Jessica Biel.

I watch her as she walks toward the pier. I know it’s where her car is parked, but I have this image of her heading straight back to the Pier Plank Plunge. The carny won’t know who she is, nobody on the pier will recognize her, and she’ll just hand over her fiver and go at it. That red button, almost within her reach. Attainable.

[natlacentral]

The Actress Who Waited a Lifetime to Become Katara

Kiawentiio talks joining the cast of Avatar: The Last Airbender and playing a character that means so much to so many

The 17-year-old actress Kiawentiio (pronounced gya-wuhn-dee-yo) can’t remember a time when Avatar: The Last Airbenderwasn’t part of her childhood in some way. Growing up on the Akwesasne Mohawk reservation in Ontario known as Kawehno:ke (or Cornwall Island), Kiawentiio—who was born in 2006, a full year after the beloved animated series debuted on Nickelodeon—recalls having older siblings who would have the cartoon regularly playing in the background of their house. Years later, when all three seasons began streaming on Netflix, she revisited the series and developed a newfound appreciation for its narrative ambition.

So, when Netflix first announced that it was developing a live-action adaptation of Avatar in 2018, Kiawentiio told her team to get her an audition for Katara, the 14-year-old girl who is trying to fulfill her potential as the last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe after her mother was killed by the ruthless Fire Nation.

“By the time they actually did start casting, I got the call from my manager that was like, ‘Don't freak out, but we think we have the Avataraudition.’ And obviously, I freaked out,” Kiawentiio tells Harper’s Bazaarwith a laugh in a recent phone interview. Of all the roles she had auditioned for, this one was at the top of her bucket list, because she knew that it could have the same impact on the next generation of Indigenous children that it had on her. “Katara was one of the only people that I could really see myself in. With the role model that she is for young Indigenous women, it's hard not to be drawn to her, especially when the representation is so scarce.”

Kiawentiio got her wish in the spring of 2021. After undergoing an intensive audition process, complete with a seemingly never-ending number of Zooms and chemistry reads, she got the news that would change her life. “They sat me down for another Zoom call, and I was expecting them to tell me it might take a while, but [creator and showrunner] Albert Kim ended up telling me what the project was, who I was auditioning for, and then I landed the role, and I was crying,” she recalls.

Every diehard Avatar fan can recite the basic premise by heart: Long ago, the four nations—Water, Earth, Fire, Air—once lived in harmony, with the Avatar, the master of all four elements, keeping the peace between them. But everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked and wiped out the Air Nomads. A century later, Aang (Gordon Cormier), a 12-year-old Air Nomad who has been frozen and suspended in time in an iceberg, reawakens to take his place as the next Avatar. Feeling responsible for the destruction he was unable to prevent, Aang sets out on a quest with his newfound friends, Katara and her Water Tribe leader brother Sokka (Ian Ousley), to save the world from the onslaught of the power-hungry Fire Lord Ozai (Daniel Dae Kim), who is determined to place all the nations under his authoritarian rule.

Katara, as Kiawentiio puts it, is the heart of the Avatar crew tasked with using their bending powers to restore peace in the divided world. “I think the core factors that make Katara [who she is] are her hopefulness and her optimism, and she's the person in the group that can keep them moving forward in a positive direction, and I think without that, team Avatar wouldn't be able to see the light,” she says.

Below, Kiawentiio reflects on the defining moments of Katara’s arc in the first season (which was shot two years ago in Vancouver), how she has grown alongside her character, and why she feels a new day has come for Indigenous representation in Hollywood.

A lot of the dramatic tension of the first season boils down to Aang’s internal conflict: Does the Avatar need to act alone, or can they afford to have people who help them along the way? In Aang’s case, he doesn’t just want people in his life; he needsthem to help save the world. Why do you think Katara is immediately drawn to Aang and his mission? How do you think that relationship evolves over the course of the season?

I think the reason that she was drawn to him in the first place was this energy of bender to bender, honestly, and I feel like that type of energy [bonds them] not only physically, but just spiritually. It's really intertwined in who they are because Aang plays a huge part in Katara's growth physically with her bending, and I feel like it was just this calling of fate and where you're supposed to be. But in terms of how the relationship has grown, I think it really is just blossoming into a family. Team Avatar is a family in our show. They're not going to leave each other's side; they're always there for each other.

Midway through the season, Koh, the face stealer of the spirit world, temporarily imprisons Katara and her brother Sokka and traps them with some of their darkest memories, which allows us to see, rather than hear about, their backstories. In Katara’s case, she is forced to relive the day she lost her mother. How do you think that loss has affected her in the present day?

It's just painful and that is the point of Koh, right? It is to weaken his prey with their own pain and their own memories. The way I see it is she probably feels helpless. She can't do anything, and that's really what has held her back. What has stuck in her mind is the fact that she couldn't do anything [to save her mom], and to be stuck in that painful loop definitely puts a damper on her confidence that she's been working up this entire season.

That memory of the loss that she went through is a roadblock, and that's something that she has to try and overcome as we go through the series because it really is the main reason that she can't get to that next level [of waterbending]. In the episode with Jett, after he shifted her perspective on how she was thinking and how her memories were acting up, she really unlocks that good energy that her mom was trying to leave her with.

It's impressive how together Katara actually is, especially in our season, because the flashbacks and her memories are so brutal that it's like, "Wow, I can't believe you are still normal." [Laughs.] But that goes to show how resilient she is and how strong she is. I think that was one of the things I took away from her while playing her. I tried to implement her message in my life more to be more optimistic and to have that hope and strength.

When she arrives in the Northern Water Tribe, Katara realizes that the women of this tribe aren’t allowed to fight, which comes as a bit of a culture shock for her. But it’s moving to see how she is able to mobilize the women of all ages when the tribe is under siege by the Fire Nation. At the end of the day, they are the ones who helped defeat the enemy.

Arriving at the Northern Water Tribe was something that she was looking forward to all season, and I think in her mind she had this image of like, "I'm going to get there. I'm going to meet a master, and he's going to teach me everything I need to know, and I’ll finally be able to reach that next step [as a Waterbender]." And getting there and being told basically all your work is not going to be paid off [because you’re a woman] was, in my opinion, devastating. That devastation leads straight into anger, which I relate to. I feel like I get the same waves of emotions, and then that leads to wanting to prove them wrong, wanting to change things [like Katara does]. Honestly, that scene with the women [Waterbenders] is just so beautiful, and it was one of my favorites to film. But I think in her mind, she was just reality checking Master Paku: "We are literally in a war. We are not going to make it. Just use your resources." And not only was that the realistic thing that needed to happen, but the change that she's been fighting for [all season].

I read that you trained for six months ahead of production to commit Katara’s waterbending motions to muscle memory. You spent that time going over forms of tai chi and getting strong enough to handle the action sequences.

Boot camp was intense for me personally, just because I'd never really gone through that before and I don't have as much or any experience outside of the show with martial arts. But it was really helpful to be in the same boat as my character, training-wise. At the start of the show, she really doesn't know that much about bending. As we go along through the episodes, we could see her get more comfortable and more confident in her bending. As we watch Katara gain her confidence, I feel like off-screen I was also gaining confidence with those movements, getting stronger as we go and just getting more comfortable in general.

With the critical success of many Indigenous projects in recent years—Reservation Dogs, Rutherford Falls, Killers of the Flower Moon, The English, Dark Winds—it feels like we have reached an inflection point when it comes to accurate depictions of Native American communities. As someone who is part of this growing movement, what is your take on the state of diversity and inclusion for Indigenous communities? And what do you think is the next step that needs to be taken to move the needle even further?

I think we are making huge steps in the industry. I love being able to look around more and more and see more of our faces, and I do think that there's places that we could improve on for sure. But thinking of how far we've come, even from when I was younger, Katara was one of the only brown people that I saw on my TV, so it's really special to be a part of this generation that's being able to do these things.

I think the next step could be just normalizing things, like it doesn't always have to be an Indigenous story to have Indigenous actors, writers or directors. I think that's one of the things that can get touchy in this industry because we want to include everybody of course, but it doesn't have to be so specific. Why does the doctor have to be [only] the Indigenous doctor that came from [this tribe]? Why can't he just be a doctor that happens to be Indigenous?

Indigenous people or actors can be the main character. Obviously, our culture is always a part of who we are, but it doesn't have to be that the reason we are in this role is because we are Indigenous. We can tell our story as a person and still value and venerate our culture without that being the only reason that we're in the story to begin with.

With big blockbusters, I feel like it ends up being like, "Oh, the lead is white, the other lead is white, and then everybody else is a person of color." I feel like that's a theme that we end up seeing a lot. But another really good way to improve [on that] is supporting Indigenous storytellers. We have so many stories, and [telling them] is one of the things that is keeping our cultures alive, and there are so many stories that could be told from our perspective.

[theearlgreymage]

I AM READY FOR SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY FOR ONCE!!

I may have taken some mental health days this week and spent all of my free time writing.

Worked a lot on May Their Blood Boil -- I have officially finished the first arc of this beast of a fic!! It's sitting just shy of 80k (and now I have to edit it and I do not want to in the slightest.)

And a bunch of silly little one-shots. So I actually have WORDS for everyone today.

6 Sentence Excerpt from Chapter XXII of May Their Blood Boil

It didn’t work last time.  When I took the [redacted] down to the heart of Eldia - nothing happened.  It should have bound him to the palace. Tied him to the land. Let the soil feed off of [redacted] until it was sated.  But it didn’t work. 

6 Paragraph Excerpt from Untitled Reincarnation One-Shot

Things weren’t perfect. Levi still found himself suspended on occasion, mostly for fighting or being disrespectful to his teachers. But he got away with more than he should have as everyone in the school quickly learned that Levi would do anything for Erwin.  Most of his fights were over Erwin.  Smacking someone’s lunch tray out of their hand for calling Erwin a teacher’s pet. Kicking someone in the back of their knees for insinuating that Erwin was a nerd. Pushing someone against the chain link fence behind the school for stealing Erwin’s notebook.  It didn’t take long for Levi to gain a reputation as Erwin’s guard dog.  Erwin, meanwhile, was more discrete in his defense of Levi. Pinning a boy against the stall of the restroom and threatening him with a cold voice for spreading rumors about Levi. Quietly telling a teacher that someone who had tried to steal Levi’s jacket in gym that they were cheating on a test. Tripping someone and sending them flying down the stairs for insulting Levi while being sure to leave no witnesses.  By the end of Levi’s first year at Trost Middle School, the duo had a reputation for being an inseparable pair that shouldn’t be trifled with. 

6 Sentence Excerpt from Untitled PWP One-Shot that I fully blame @ic3-que3n for

Grabbing at the lapels of Erwin’s canvas jacket, Levi’s words are slurred as he tries to find feeling in his mouth. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some kid.”  Erwin spins them suddenly, pinning Levi against the edge of his desk with a tone that’s meant to be playful. “Then don’t act like one, boy.”  The tremble of pleasure that causes catches Levi entirely off guard. Never having thought about, considered even, the prospect of Erwin talking to him in such a way. 

However Many Words I Fucking Feel Like Excerpt from Untitled Client & Secretary One-Shot

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Three concise buzzes that tell me that it’s from the dark little app that I indulge in late at night.  Normally, I wouldn’t check it during the work day.  He’s too much of a distraction. But I need a distraction right now. And I did tell him to tell me about his job interview - which was … today.  No.  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see the 1 Unread Message from Levi across the top of my screen.  It couldn’t be.  Pressing my thumb on the sensor to unlock my phone, I tap on the message notification.  Levi [3:42PM] : You said you wanted to hear how my interview went. I got the job on the spot.  It’s just a coincidence.   I type out my reply as I walk back to my desk. Not wanting to ignore the man that has captivated my every thought outside of work.  The Commander [3:43PM] : That’s wonderful news!  This could be terrible news.  Grabbing the folder that Hange left for me, I throw it open. Scanning the top of the page for the name of my new secretary.   Levi Ackerman.  Fuck. 

Hello's to all my online friends who I am terrible at staying in contact with below the cut.

And apologies for still being on my AOT bullshit. I swear I have outlines for CO fics. Swear. Promise. I'm just chasing the dopamine and serotonin lately.

@ic3-que3n @shrekgogurt @artsyunderstudy @krisrix @stardustasincocaine @upuntil6am @buffy @raenestee @aristocratic-otter @aroace-genderfluid-snake @bazzybelle @bookish-bogwitch @captain-aralias @confused-bi-queer @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @foolofabookwyrm-activated @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @larkral @martsonmars @mostlymaudlin @onepintobean @skeedelvee @stitchyqueer @theimpossibledemon @wellbelesbian @whogaveyoupermission @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @thewholelemon @yellobb

[mingtinys]

For Lovers Who Hesitate

pairing : jeong yunho x f!reader , (no gendered terms used)

angst , hurt / comfort , bittersweet ending , nonidol!au

warnings : language , mentions of alcohol

word count : 1.7 k

requested ? yes

a/n : this was written with the intention of a f!reader as per the request, but i think i actually ended up writing it without any use of gendered terms

Love, show me love If I can, if I only can I will shine a bright light on you

Yunho loves you. He always has.

He loved you hopelessly through childhood. From the moment you moved in next door to the day you held his hand at your high school graduation.

He loved you unapologetically throughout university. Through all the long nights you spent studying in the library. Through every gross, smelly, frat party he rescued you from after having a little too much to drink. Through his lowest points and his highest moments, his memories are filled with nothing but your comforting words and cheers for his achievements.

When you drunkenly kissed him at Hongjoong's New Year's party, he swore he loved you more than ever.

Yunho loved you selfishly through your first relationship and quietly through your first true heartbreak. He loved you recklessly and impulsively when your lease ended and he suggested you just come live with him. Even if he knew it was a bad idea.

And Yunho, unfortunately, still loves you the night his world crumbles.

You're still drunk, clinging tightly to Yunho as he struggles to hold you upright while fighting with his key and the lock. You groan out something about your head hurting. It makes Yunho laugh.

"Yeah, well that's what you get for challenging Jongho to a drinking contest." Finally, the key slips in and he's able to drag you over the threshold and onto the couch for the time being. "I don't think I've seen you drink that much since our sophomore year."

"I've learned my lesson, now please stop talking so loud," you whine, throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the harsh lights of the living room. Yunho forgoes mentioning that his voice is merely above a whisper and flips off all but the standing lamp in the corner.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"You've got ten minutes here before I'm dragging you to sleep in a real bed." He teases, knowing too well your habit of just knocking out on the couch and waking up the next day with complaints of your neck hurting.

"I really didn't mean to get this drunk, but Jongho just kept going. That guy is insane. You gotta admit though, I held up pretty well there for a while. . ." Yunho takes the end of the couch and lets you ramble. Finding your inability to filter out any thought before it reaches your lips rather entertaining.

"Not to mention I got five–" you hold up your palm with fingers splayed for emphasis –"bucks off of Mingi. Pff, asshole seriously thought I'd tap out after the fifth shot." Yunho bites back a smile, remembering the look on his friend's face as he begrudgingly slapped a five in your palm.

"–And I really just wanted to have one more memorable night with all of you before I leave–"

You keep going, but Yunho feels his world stop on its axis. The words "before I leave" are suspended in the air and making it heavier. He nearly chokes trying to take a breath only to find the air has left his lungs.

"W-What did you say?"

Your words taper out, and you lift your arm to peek an eye out at him. "Wait, which part?"

"What do you mean before you leave, Y/N?" The question comes out more desperate than he intends.

Your head pops up, and Yunho watches realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. Leaving you sober and wide-eyed. "I didn't mean to say that. . ."

Yunho so desperately hopes it was a slip of the tongue. Just your alcohol-laced brain mixing up your words. But the look on your face and the weight in the air snuffs out that last ember of hope. The conversation of what you told him last week about being interviewed for an internship resurfaces. The tab you accidentally left open on your laptop with price estimates for flights to Europe. Yunho can feel every single year of missed opportunities crash down on him in full force all at once. The tears well up in his eyes before he can stop them.

"I um," your voice wavers. "I was going to tell you. I just couldn't find the right time."

You give him a pause to respond, but Yunho doesn't speak. He can't speak.

"Do you remember the internship I applied for? They want me to take up my dream position at their office in France." Yunho's breath hitches at your words. You reach for his hand, taking it in both of yours, but Yunho finds it hard to take comfort in the gesture. "It wouldn't be forever! Three years max, two if it goes really well, then they'd transfer me back to Seoul for a permanent job."

"How long?" When he finally gains the courage to look at you there are glistening streaks down your cheeks. "How long until you have to go?"

"A week."

A week? A fucking week?

Yunho doesn't know how he should feel. Which emotions he should let bubble to the surface and which he should bury deep inside for your sake. Anger. Hurt. Despair. It's all too much.

"I haven't decided yet." It should make Yunho feel better, nothing is set in stone quite yet, but it doesn't. Because he has this sickening feeling you're about to ask him if you should go and he isn't positive he can give you a selfless answer. The answer he knows he should give. The answer that will simultaneously rip his heart into shreds.

So he speaks first, voice quiet and unsure. "It sounds like a really good offer. I'm not sure why you'd say no–"

"I would if you asked me to."

Time freezes the moment those words leave your lips. And it's in that lingering state that Yunho realizes he's waited too long. That maybe, just maybe, this whole time you've loved him just as much as he has you. That all those times he's convinced himself out of saying those three simple words were nothing but opportunities wasted. The regret of never being brave enough, of hesitating for reasons now null, is so overwhelming it nearly drowns him.

Yunho isn't sure if you remember anything you said in the morning. Because you tell him the news again over breakfast and it hurts even worse the second time around. But this time he's prepared, so he slaps on a mask of excitement and holds back the bitter taste on his tongue as he congratulates you.

Even as you ask him that question he's been dreading, he keeps the façade.

"Really? So you think I should take it?"

"It's been your dream since forever, it'd be pretty stupid to pass up something like this."

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Yun, for everything."

In fact, he keeps up the façade of selfless excitement for his best friend until the night before you depart. Until you seek him out in his room just past eleven.

"Could I stay with you tonight?"

What's he gonna do? Say no? When has he ever been able to deny you? So he nods and pats the spot next to him and sits with you until you're ready to talk.

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

You sigh. "Who wouldn't be? I'm leaving everything– everyone I know and love behind."

"Just for two years," Yunho reassures. Though the phrase is more for himself. It brings no comfort.

A silence falls, and in it you’ve drifted closer, knees bumping Yunho's and hand clasped in his. He feels your breath on his face before he registers what's happening. Your fingertips against his jaw, your nose brushing his, his heart violently slamming against his ribs. Yunho can feel every minuscule sensation like a storm brewing on the horizon and it nearly sends him spiraling.

But then, your lips press against his. The bed creaks under your shifting weight. Your touch is anguish and mercy all in one. Yunho's hand finds its place on your hip, anchoring him, and the rainclouds dissipate before they can pour down from above. Parting so that a bright light may shine down on you.

Yunho loves you. Always has. Always will. And as hard as he's tried, for your sake and his, for as long as he has, he can't hold it back anymore. Yunho's resolve is nothing but a shadow of what it once was. Even if you leave, even if you stay; in spite of it all, he will not delay the dream he's dreaming ever again.

"I love you."

For a moment, Yunho isn't sure if the words actually left his tongue. The only indication he has of their existence comes seconds later with a small gasp that leaves your lips as you pull away. Your eyes bore into his like you're searching for something in them. Yunho isn't sure if you ever find whatever it is you're looking for. Or perhaps you do, because your lips part and you whisper that same sentence that can make his heart stop in an instant.

"Tell me to stay. I will."

He wants to. You've no idea how badly he wants to be selfish. To utter that one simple word and have you in his arms forever, here, just like you are now. But he knows he can't.

It's unfair to you. To hold you back from your dream just because he was too cowardly to do something he should have long ago. Because he hesitated for too long. Because he was too stupid to see what was right in front of him all along. So instead, he bookmarks this moment. Takes note of the way you fit in his arms, the warmth of your lips on his, the moment when his heart finally felt full. He jots it all down under the chapter of things to never forget. And when the lingering feeling you leave becomes too much, when his lonely heart can't be soothed, he'll open this page and read it. Over and over. Until the day you return, he'll recite it like a poem.

"I'll wait for you," he says, with more certainty than he's ever felt in his life.

Then, when night comes  We will carve our own secret  I place a bookmark on the night that will become memorable, and open it up without anyone knowing 

[peppermintquartz]

Because I know pro wrestling to a small degree...

AU time!

--

The promotion is run by Bobby Nash and Athena Grant. They used to be wrestlers themselves but now they just wanna help uplift indie wrestlers. They have lots of independent wrestlers who want to come and work with them.

Hen is their women's champ and her longtime rival was "Rocket" Karen. Storied rivalry, with vicious promos and even more vicious fights. They're equally matched in championship reigns too. So when Hen came out with Karen as her wife, it was a huge deal and gave them lots of coverage. Karen soon retires from wrestling to pursue her rocket scientist career and take care of the kids, but she always gets a huge reaction whenever she shows up for Hen on pay per views.

"Chimney" Howard Han first trained in Japan and is beloved by fans. His manager-girlfriend of that time "betrayed" him (didn't wanna leave Japan) and after that, his long-time partner and best friend Kevin Lee suffered a career-ending injury, so now Kevin works commentary in a larger promotion. So Chimney now works solo, and is a veteran cruiserweight. He does the circuits of different promotions, and whenever he's where Kevin is, the fans lap up any interaction they share. One iconic moment is when Kevin reached under the announcer table to take out a barbed wire bat, handed it to Chimney, and never stopped his commentary throughout as Chimney rained hell on Doug.

Maddie and Buck join the promotion at the same time. Maddie does backstage interviews (she's actually in the PR department) and no one misses how she and Chimney have really intense chemistry. Buck makes fun of it a few times too in his promos but cried the most when his sis and Chimney had their wedding

Buck and Eddie started as singles competitors but they never really sparked a connection with the fans until they fell into a tag team. Then suddenly they're insanely popular, Eddie's snark matching perfectly with Buck's sunshiny persona especially on interviews and promos. Think "Someone is going to die... of fun!" kinds of iconic.

In the ring, Eddie's the athletic technician, Buck is the one with the power moves. One local show, some arrogant rookie decides to mock Christopher's disability in his in-ring promo without clearing it with Eddie and Buck prior, and Christopher is present. Rookie nearly gets beaten to death for real by both of them. Buck and Eddie get fined and suspended, but the message has been sent: Christopher is off-limits. When they return to in-ring action, they're welcomed as heroes.

Tommy used to be with Bobby's promotion, but he's been in a bigger promotion for a bit teaming with Sal. After the strain of traveling almost 300 days of the year, he wants to take it easy for a bit, and when he comes back, he gets wildly extreme reactions (some say he sold out back when, some are just elated that he's back). He starts again as a singles competitor, works his way through the midcard, wins a challenge to take on the champ. It's all scripted but the older Tommy has the look and the attitude to be one of the faces of the promo. He takes on the Hurricane (top dog in the promotion) and wins, and when Buck congratulates him backstage, Tommy (kinda high from the fan reaction and the win and the trust the promotion is putting in him) kisses Buck. Buck is stunned. But then he just. Kisses. Back.

Eddie is like. Is my tag partner gonna leave me? (Turns out no, Buck will only partner with Eddie, Tommy's working his own storylines as singles competitor.)

Tommy and Buck come out as gay and bi after, Eddie is the token straight man, but in a few house shows' where they are a three men team, they play doing kiss-tag, where they kiss instead of tapping hands, and there's always the loud roar of approval whenever Tommy kisses Buck (because they go full tongue since they can) and whenever it's Buck and Eddie, or Eddie and Tommy, they play like they're embarrassed or shy, but they always plant at least one big fat smack.

[azraphels]

I found the title for my Thiam! is a College Au!!!

It will be called: Fall In Love With A Kiss

Theo Raeken thought his life was just a standard book with no plot, flat and insignificant, he had never had anything to make that book vibrate and turn it completely upside down, or at least that was what he thought.

Suddenly, his life changed completely and hopelessly. He found himself having to hold up a fucking drunk kid with deep blue eyes who kissed him like it was nothing, moreover forgetting about it! How could he forget whose nose he broke! Or how could he forget whose nose he had broken!

Theo didn't believe in many things like God, Love, the moon landing in '69, the insistence of the paranormal, the fact that Stiles was a good driver or that Peter could shut up for one fucking minute, but most of all he didn't believe in the slightest that he would take the blame for something he didn't commit.

Just like now, at that exact moment, when the world was spinning going forward and Theo could only stand still.

Just like now, when he took the blame by ending up suspended from extra activities for five weeks together with Liam, followed, as if they were prisoners, by poor Parrish who wanted to quit to seek his fortune elsewhere.

Theo did not believe in love at all, but as soon as he met Liam Dunbar....

Could one fall in love with a kiss?

The main premises of this Thiam/Sterek are:

-Theo is in his fourth year doing Economics and is the assistant to the Director of the University as well as Peter Hale (since Peter has taken a liking to him he wanted to give him an important job in his firm, but to tell the truth Theo will want to interview in the Geyer Law Firm).

-There will be no style drama: asshole boy Theo who is the enemy of the whole McCall group indeed! is best friends with Stiles and Scott! And they literally love each other like brothers!

-Liam is a sophomore and has already decided on his major in History to become a professor and researcher at the University.

-There will definitely be a lot of Sterek, they are the second leading couple!

-Stiles is in his fourth year and is doing criminology and since Theo took responsibility for what he had done with Liam, Stiles ended up having to be Peter's assistant!

-Derek works within the university as a professor of Mechanical Engineering (fixing cars!) and well, there are always lots of family dinners, between Peter and Malia and Derek and also Peter's assistant.... Stiles.

-I will go into a new genre, where there will be lots of sex! It's not just going to need the "Explicit" sticker but it's going to need like in every chapter so many warnings!

-Ah! Theo and Scott are part of the Football team! (With Jackson, Isaac, Brett, Gabe and Ethan!)

-Lydia, on the other hand, is a fourth-year physics major and Theo's best friend! (I always wanted to see their relationship as best friends! I swear!)

BEFORE LONG I WILL PUBLISH THE FIRST CHAPTER!

STAY SYNCHRONIZED!!!!

[cheshire61]

K I'mma go on a rant about this because it is extremely fucked up

Okay so I don't know much on this situation with Nex Benedict(rest in piece 🕊) but I can say that it is extremely messed up with the fact that Nex told their mom about them being bullied they had also told the school but yet much like other schools, they didn't do Jack shit about it which also ADDS TO THE FUCKED UP METER. Nex was in the bathroom with their friends (one being Transgender), Nex basically was Jumped in the girls bathroom (due to the fact the school they went to does not allow students to use the bathroom of the preferred gender) by 3 girls, the three girls repeatedly slammed Nex's head into the ground, the friends got the school nurse who basically said "just come to the nurses office whenever you want" which Nex went home after the school suspended NEX FOR NO DAMN REASON, their grandmother took them to the ER and Nex was discharged later on, the next day Nex Collapsed and by time the Emergency Medics arrived to the location Nex was no longer breathing. SO THE MAIN IDEA OF THIS RANT IS... the three girls that jumped Nex Should be in juvie for attempted murder along with being expelled from the school, the nurse should have her license REVOKED because the first thing she should have done was keep Nex laying down on the ground and then call the ER. the principal should have done something to the three girls who jumped Nex along with the fact the principal should have lost their Job because of Negligence. I believe Currently people are trying to interview the school staff, again this is beyond fucked up, Nex was most likely around my age either being 13, 14 or 15, Nex was still young and most likely had their life ahead of them, Nobody of LGBTQ+ nor Anyone in General should be harmed like that. If you want more info research it. The school tried to lie saying that what happened was not the cause of Nex's death when it very obviously was. That is the end of my rant, if I missed anything feel free to reblog this post to add onto it or correct it, please don't be rude about it.

Rest In peace & Fly High Nex Benedict🕊

[mariacallous]

Italy is, notoriously, not a nation of readers, with Italians spending on average far less time reading books than many other Europeans. Yet, lately, a book has monopolized the nation’s political conversation. The author, Roberto Vannacci, is an army general whose political thoughts lean reactionary, to say the least. In the past year, he has become one of Italy’s most prominent right-wing figures. Indeed, he has come close to eclipsing Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni in domestic media coverage.

Vannacci, 55, also happens to be the star candidate of the anti-immigration party the League in the upcoming European Parliament elections. He was picked as a candidate by party leader Matteo Salvini—despite the opposition of some League officials, who viewed the general as inexperienced—in an attempt to regain the visibility that the League has lost since its main ally and rival, Meloni’s Brothers of Italy, usurped Salvini’s support base and rose to power.

Only a year ago, Vannacci was completely unknown to the wider public. Throughout the first half of 2024, one could hardly turn on the TV or open a newspaper without bumping into his name. It seems almost as if every week the general is at the epicenter of a new media storm: the most recent one about an interview he did with La Stampa in April, where Vannacci declared that “Italians are white, statistics say so,” and accused gay people of “showing off as exhibitionists.”

As soon as his candidacy was announced in late April, the progressive Democratic Party rushed to issue an (inadvertently counterproductive) statement urging Italians to ignore him.

Born into a military family (both his father and grandfather were professional soldiers), Vannacci served in Italy’s special forces in Iraq and Afghanistan in the 2000s, then led the army’s prestigious Folgore battalion, took part in the nation’s anti-Islamic State task force in 2017 and 2018, and served as a military attaché to the Italian Embassy in Moscow in 2020-2022. Yet fame came, unexpectedly, last August, when Vannacci was holding the not-so-glamourous position of head of the Military Geographic Institute in Florence.

In his free time during his service at the institute, Vannacci had written and self-published a book titled Il mondo al contrario (“The World Upside Down”). “I wrote the book for personal satisfaction. I thought it would be spread among my friends and would sell 300-400 copies,” Vannacci said in a phone conversation with Foreign Policy. But, to its author’s own surprise, the book became a huge success—the fifth-bestselling title in Italy in 2023—making Vannacci a better-selling author than Ken Follett and an instant celebrity. Despite being self-published, The World Upside Down had sold 200,000 copies by early 2024. (Italy’s publishing industry is small. By comparison, Prince Harry’s memoir, Spare, which was the country’s top seller, sold just over 300,000.)

The views of the book were so extreme that even Italy’s defense minister, Guido Crosetto—who co-founded the Brothers of Italy with Meloni—had to reprimand him: Vannacci was first replaced as head of the Military Geographic Institute and then suspended from the military for 11 months.

Organized into chapters, each dedicated to a specific theme, from environmentalism to multicultural society up to LGBT-related issues and animal rights, the book is a compendium of ultra-conservative personal philosophy, in which Vannacci sees the West threatened by feminism, environmentalism, the LGBT community, and animal rights.

His tirade rests on what he frames as buonsenso (“common sense”), the belief that all these modern ideas are insane, with little need for explanation: “Normality is heterosexuality. If everything seems normal to you, however, it is the fault of the plots of the international gay lobby.” Same-sex marriage or adoption? Come on, it’s just nuts—it’s common sense that a family is husband plus wife. Women want to work outside the house? Nonsense, “even if they work, they don’t feel fulfilled.”

Vannacci presented himself as the voice of the silent majority, which is hostage to some noisy minorities—and he was in some ways proved right. The message resonated with many Italians, who found in his book a manifesto for their own thoughts.

In an interview, Vannacci described himself as a “patriot.” He added that he views his literary endeavor as a defense of “our culture, our traditions, our roots, if only for the respect of our ancestors, our fathers, of our grandparents.”

In his book, the general exalts Italy’s greatest historical figures—going back to Aeneas, Julius Caesar, Dante, Galileo, and Garibaldi—and takes pride in having, supposedly, their glorious ancient blood in his veins, a staple of Italian nationalistic nostalgia.

Political scientist Mattia Diletti, who teaches at Rome’s Sapienza University, notes that his nostalgic discourse echoes Donald Trump’s “Make America Great Again” rhetoric.

The success of The World Upside Down lies in the portrayal of a world that, being “upside down,” one must “overthrow this morally, socially, politically corrupt elite. We must return to the ancient values that are within Italian society,” Vannacci writes.

This type of rhetoric resonated with Italian conservative voters, especially since Meloni, the head of a party that has its roots in postfascism, ended up being more moderate than her fanbase expected. For instance, she sided with the United States and European powers in supporting Ukraine, despite pro-Russian and anti-European Union sentiment enjoying some popularity on the right. On LGBT rights and abortion, Meloni’s reactionary rhetoric was never followed by major action: LGBT rights (or the lack of thereof) have remained unchanged since the pre-Meloni era, and the country’s abortion law has remained unchanged.

“Vannacci is a sort of rebellion against the thinking of the current times,” said Francesco Borgonovo, the deputy director of the conservative newspaper La Verità. The cultural battles waged by the suspended general, Borgonovo noted, are precisely the same cultural battles that right-wing parties had waged during the electoral campaigns but then did not deliver after they came to power.

“He puts together ideas in a somewhat bar-room way,” appealing to “right-wing people, who now feel betrayed by the parties that are now governing Italy, which they helped to elect,” Borgonovo said.

Diletti of Sapienza points out that part of Vannacci’s success is precisely that of presenting himself as an outsider who tells things as they are. In a country where the political class is widely discredited, Vannacci succeeds by presenting himself as “the non-politician who speaks the truth to politicians.”

Today, Vannacci is at the epicenter of Italy’s political debate, not only due to his EU candidacy. After his first book’s success, he recently published an autobiography.

Paradoxically, being elected to the European Parliament could dim his star: As an MEP, Vannacci’s image could be downgraded from “firebrand general” to mere “politician,” a term many Italians have come to loathe.

Although Vannacci’s fame might be transitory, his message will likely last: According to Diletti, “He put his name and face on them, but the ideas he expressed are part of Italian society.”