#roles: writer; assistant director

[yalecoopersmithwrites]

My award winning one act play, Face to Face! Ira and Amari, best online friends during the pandemic, finally meet in person on their first day of college. But can their friendship survive face to face, and beyond the rift that's grown between them?

[mariocki]

Honor Blackman guest stars as art expert Syd Lewis in Saber of London: Deep in the Heart of Chelsea (1.3, NBC, 1957)

[nanowrimo]

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[my-wild-imagination1996]

Life is Crazy part I

A/N: This is not proofread and I am not perfect. There will be spelling and grammatical errors. I have not written smut in over 6 years, I’m sorry if it’s terrible. 

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON THE AMAZING HUGH JACKMAN AND MY CRAZY IMAGINATION

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, alcohol, oral sex (f & m receiving), song referenced in the story is Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter, swearing, cum in mouth, mentions of anxiety

PART ONE: YOUR BIG BREAK

Being an independent artist had its perks. Most people still didn’t know who you were so you could usually keep a low profile. You were well known enough to make millions but not known enough for paparazzi to give a fuck about. You were thankful given your anxiety, but you always wished you could reach more people with your music, and occasionally you’d wish that you could be more of a star than you were but you figured if it was meant to happen, then it would. You were sitting in your mini studio that you had set up in the spare room of your Los Angeles suburb home. You were waiting for inspiration to hit you while you played random notes on the keyboard. Your watch started to vibrate to notify you of a call coming through from your manager. You stopped messing with the keyboard to grab your phone and answer the call.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey y/n, you’re never gonna fucking believe this but I just had a casting agent reach out to me saying that they want you to audition for a movie.” Your agent stated not continuing to give you more detail.

“What movie is it even for?” You asked, thinking it was weird since you have tons of tattoos and usually movies don’t want that.

“Well, you see, that’s the fucking weird part. Um, it’s for a marvel movie. They only want you to audition so it’s not like a guaranteed thing that you’d get the role.” They told you. 

“Any more information than that?” You asked, trying to understand why you’d be asked to audition for something like this.

“Kevin Fiege wasn’t so open to speaking on the role just that it was for a female anti-hero type deal. Said that their casting director thinks you fit the look of the character perfectly.” 

“Okay. Text me the details and let them know I’m game.” I said thinking that there was no harm in auditioning.

A week had passed since the audition and neither you or your management had heard anything regarding being cast so you honestly didn’t think you got the part which was no surprise to you because of your tattoos. You were having a severe case of writer's block when it came to your music. You were playing Last of Us when your watch started vibrating with an unknown saved number. You hesitantly answered.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, is this y/n?” The man on the line asked.

“This is her?” You responded.

“Great! This is Nathan, I am the assistant to Sarah Finn. She was the casting director of the marvel film that you just auditioned for?” He explained making your eyes go wide with shock.

“Oh great! How can I help you?” You asked, mentally kicking yourself for your word choice.

“Well, we actually wanted to see if you’d be willing to come in again for another audition. We’d actually like to give you more detail about the character and see if you match what we’re exactly looking for regarding this character. If we like it, we’ll be having you do a chemistry test with the character's love interest. How does that sound?” He asked with a friendly tone.

“Absolutely. I’d love to come in again. I just need to know when and where.” You responded excitedly. Nathan proceeded to tell you the audition was in two days here in Los Angeles. They needed you there by 10 AM.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blasting at seven in the morning letting you know to get ready for the audition. You opt to wear a t-shirt and jean shorts with sandals to the second audition. You straightened your hair and applied light make-up since it’s your normal go to look. You weren’t even sure who the love interest was. You loved the MCU and were honored they thought of you, but you were worried about getting your hopes up and what this meant for your music career. You entered the building and were immediately greeted by the receptionist who told you to take a seat and they’d take you back when they were ready. 

“Hi! I’m Nathan. We spoke on a bit about the role on the phone and what todays gonna accomplish.” The man introduced himself as soon as you sat down, making you stand up again to greet and shake his hand.

“Alright so follow me, we’re gonna be going into this room down the hall. No pressure but we do have Kevin there to see if he likes you or not for the role. Now the role is the character Amethyst Santiago AKA Amethyst. Her powers are much like Agatha or even Scarlet Witch. She’s the most powerful one in the Marvel Universe. She has an intense relationship with the like of one Mr. Wolverine.” Nathan said, making you nervous cause if Hugh Jackman was here you were going to lose your shit since you loved the wolverine movies but also he’s hot as fuck so how could you not be excited.

“Now, if you’ll remember, on the phone, I did mention that if we like what we see, we will be doing a chemistry test between you and Hugh.” You instantly fangirled internally but you felt your hands become slightly clammy because of your nerves. 

“Yes, I remember. Let’s do this.” You said as you entered the room where there was a table filled with people, some you recognized from the last audition and some you didn’t. They handed you a script and advised you how to read the role. You did exactly as they asked and stopped when they said ‘end scene’. Then Kevin spoke. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, y/n. I like your look for the character and I love how you’re portraying the character. I think it’s time we brought Hugh our to see if you guys can make this vision become reality, but Hugh’s a pro so I gotta say that I think you’ve got this.” He stated.

That’s when you heard the door open and then you saw him walk in and greet everyone kindly, before finally greeting you extending his hand.

“I’m Hugh, your scene partner.” He said flashing you a smile that made you get butterflies instantly. 

“Hi Hugh. My y/n is name.” You responded confidently until you realized what you said. “I mean my name is y/n.” Making Hugh laugh. The executives gave you both a minute to review before getting into the scene. It was quite dramatic and ended with him inches away from your lips before they called the scene.

“Great. Thank you, Hugh. Y/n, we’ve got some things to discuss but you’ll have a response from us either way by end of day. 

“Thank you so much for the opportunity.” You said before heading out of the room and to the bathroom.

As you were walking out of the building towards your car, you were staring down at your phone while walking when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You looked over your shoulder and saw no one other than Hugh.

“Sorry to bother you, but you’re going to get the role so I thought that maybe I should give you my number so that we could get to know each other for the roles.” He said.

“I don’t see why not.” You said opening up the dial pad on your phone to call him so you’d both have each other’s number. You figured he was only doing it for the role considering you were barely in your late twenties and he was in his mid fifties. You made the assumption he probably didn’t see you like that even if you saw him that way.

“I’ll see you around y/n.” He said before walking back into the building.

A few weeks had passed since your encounter with Hugh. You had actually come to meet lots of the stars of your youth. You ended up meeting Ryan Reynolds who you learned was going to be starring as Deadpool in the film. You ended up in a text chain with Ryan and Hugh which you were fine with but they usually just told stupid jokes. Filming was supposed to start in about a month. As a sort of celebration of sorts, Ryan invited you to his house for a barbeque/pool party that he was hosting with Hugh and other various castmates. You brought a beach bag that had your swimsuit but you were currently wearing a floral sundress with sandals. You pulled up to his house in awe of the mansion. As soon as you walked up the driveway, you heard the door open to be immediately greeted by a smiling Blake.

“Welcome to our home. If you end up drinking or anything, we have spare rooms you can sleep in.” She said in a friendly tone. 

“Um, thanks. I have a quick question. I have a THC cart and I would like to smoke it outside if that’s okay.” You asked.

“That’s totally fine. No smoking in the house but the backyard is totally fine. Hugh smokes one too so it’s all good.” She said shutting and locking the door behind you. 

You followed Blake to the back where the music and people were. You observed your surroundings. Nervous because you didn’t really know anyone but Hugh and Ryan. 

“Y/n!” Ryan shouted. “Come get a drink and some food!” 

You smiled shyly and found your way over to him, wondering where Hugh was. Maybe your crush on Hugh was slightly inappropriate given the age difference but you were well over eighteen. 

“Where’s Hugh?” You asked while you grabbed a paper plate and built your plate.

“I think he went to get more liquor from the basement.” Ryan responded while you went to sit at one of the tables they had in their backyard. 

You kept scanning the entrance to the backyard, waiting for Hugh to appear. Honestly, you’d socialized more with Hugh in person during this whole process than anyone else. You felt comfortable around Hugh. You finally saw him walking from the house carrying bottles of liquor. You weren’t much of a drinker and it worried you how much alcohol was around cause you were a lightweight.

Hugh noticed you sitting at the chair eating your food at a table alone so he decided to join you while everyone was doing their own things.

  “Hey there. Hopefully I'm not interrupting your peace.” He said, food and his drink in his hand.

“Hey. Thank you for coming over here. I feel kind of out of place honestly. Ryan is great but I just, I don't know, feel overwhelmed, I guess. I don’t have many close friends and I haven't been to a party this large since I was like twenty so it's definitely nerve wracking.” You over-explained.

“Listen to me. I've been in this industry for ages. I can show you the ropes. Help you navigate this a bit.” He said, trying to reassure you. 

You took a sip of the smirnoff ice that you grabbed. Surveying your surroundings, listening to Hugh ramble about whatever crossed his mind. You took the time to really look at him. The way light reaches his eyes while he smiles. The kindness evident in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be in awe of his beauty, but you didn’t want to come off creepy so you kept your staring to a minimum.

After a few drinks and a few hours, the sun was starting to set and they turned on their backyard lights and then Ryan said it’s time to really party. You looked at Hugh to figure out what he meant, but Hugh just gave you a smile. You shrugged it off, finishing off your drink feeling a bit tipsy, making you more sociable.

“Y/n!” You hear Ryan drunkenly yell.

“I’m over here.” You said standing up causing at least 20 or 30 people who may or may not be drunk looking at you. It made you nervous cause these were mostly famous faces and you were use to being in front of fans. 

“Heard you’re quite the singer.” Ryan slurred.

“Oh no, I am not.” You responded not wanting to really sing in front of everyone.

“I’m a fan of your music so you’ve got to sing something for us.” Blake said really throwing you under the bus. 

Contrary to popular belief being a singer of sorts, you had stage fright and most nights on stage you were either drunk or stoned. You walk over to where Ryan and Blake were stationed because that’s where the liquor was. You poured two shots of tequila. Downing them both. 

“What am I supposed to sing?” You said feeling the liquid courage kicking in.

“Ooooh, you should do something new.” Blake said with a drunken slur. 

You pulled out your phone cause you usually kept samples of beats you were using for projects on there. You hooked your phone up to the bluetooth speaker. You played one you had titled ‘Bed Chem’. You had written only a few days ago when you were fantasizing about Hugh. It wasn’t finished but you’d figure singing what you had wouldn’t hurt. The familiar butterflies of performing in your stomach. You took a deep breath and started singing.

“And what are the odds? You send me a text

And now the next thing I know, I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

I digress, got me scrollin' like

Out of breath, got me going like, ooh

Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the accent? Like (Ooh)

Maybe it's all in my head

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, that's bed chem

How you're looking at me, yeah, I know what that means, and I'm obsessed

Are you free next week? I'd bet we'd have really good

Come right on me, I mean camaraderie

Said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be

Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?

See it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy (Ooh)”

“And that’s all I got so far for this one.” You said, officially a little drunk. Everyone erupts out into applause, making you flash a smile.

“Who did you write it about?” Blake asked you, making your eyes go wide.

“Um, no one. Just a guy I met a few weeks ago.” You responded.

You glanced at Hugh, who was watching you intensely. You walked over to him and took a seat beside him. 

“So what did you think?” You asked nervously while fidgeting with your hands on the table.

“I think whoever you wrote that about is about to be a very lucky man.” He said while moving his hands to caress yours, staring right at you. Letting you know that, somehow, he knew it was about him. You felt your whole body light up the second his skin touched yours. 

You felt heat flush your cheeks and you felt yourself starting to respond to his touch and you had no idea how this man is affecting you so greatly. You moved closer to him placing your hand on his thigh while whispering that you think that you both should head out.

“I just have to say bye to some people and then we can go.” He whispered back.

As he walked away from the table, you became anxious. A million things running through your head but you put your brain together enough to go say goodnight to Ryan and Blake, thanking them for their hospitality. After saying your goodbyes, you made your way to your car when you felt a hand sneak around your waist.

“We most definitely are not driving anywhere.” Hugh said sternly. “You are in no condition to drive and neither am I. I live in this neighborhood. We’re a five minute walk.” He said pulling you in the direction of his home. 

The walk was mostly silent. As you pulled up to his large home, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door letting you in first.

As you both entered the living room, the dim lighting and the soft glow of the lamp created an intimate atmosphere. You kicked off your sandals, your eyes locking with Hugh's, both knowing exactly where this night was headed. You had been getting together weekly for the last couple months and your chemistry was undeniable. 

Hugh pushed you onto the couch, his strong hands grasping your hips. You landed softly on the cushions, your hair spilling around your shoulders, and a mischievous smile playing on your lips. He loomed over you, his muscular frame casting a shadow on your body, and you felt a tingle of anticipation run down your spine.

"You look so damn sexy right now," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. His hands travel up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, revealing your skin. Your breath quickened as you felt his calloused fingers brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You were soaked already, your pussy throbbing in anticipation of what was to come.

"I don’t think I can wait much longer." he growled, his eyes darkened with lust. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Your tongues danced, tasting the remnants of the liquor consumed earlier in the evening, but the flavors only added to the raw passion of the moment. Hugh's kiss was demanding, possessive, and it sent shivers through your body.

Breaking the kiss, Hugh trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting gently, leaving a trail of wet marks on your delicate skin. You arched your back, offering yourself to him, your hands threading through his dark brown hair, pulling him closer. You wanted to feel his mouth everywhere, to experience the pleasure he could give you.

He worshiped your body with his lips and tongue, kissing and sucking on all of your sensitive spots. His hands cupped your breasts, kneading them gently through the fabric of your dress. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, urging him on. 

"Please, Hugh," you whispered, your voice hoarse with need. "I want more."

Hugh chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. 

"More, huh? I think we can make that happen." He sat up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. With swift movements, he quite literally ripped your dress open, the fabric ripping easily, exposing your lace bra and the swell of your breasts. You gasped and moaned, a mix of surprise and pleasure rushing through you.

"You like that, don't you, baby girl?" he purred, his fingers teasing the lace covering your nipples. "You love seeing me take control over you, don’t you?" You nodded, your eyes half-closed, your body on fire. You loved the way Hugh was taking charge.

Hugh unhooked your bra, revealing your full, heavy breasts. He bent down, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. You cried out, your back arching off the couch as pleasure spiked through you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing and caressing your curves, driving you wild.

"You're so beautiful, y/n," he murmured between kisses. "So responsive. I love watching you fall apart for me." His words only fueled your desire further, causing you to buck your hips, seeking more contact.

Hugh's hands found the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing. You lifted your hips, helping him remove the last barrier between the both of you. You were completely exposed now, your pussy dripping with your arousal. Hugh's eyes darkened even more as he took in the sight of your wetness dripping onto his couch. If you weren’t so turned on you would’ve been slightly embarrassed of what you were doing to his couch.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard cock straining against his jeans. You reached for the belt on his jeans, wanting to touch and stroke him, but he caught your hands, pinning them above your head. "Not yet, sweet girl. I want to drive you crazy first."

With that, he lowered his head down your body, trailing kisses along the way until his head was aligned with your core, he pressed kisses along your thighs. He blew gently against your clit, making you shiver. Teasingly close to your pussy but never quite touching it. You squirmed, your body taut with anticipation. 

"Please, Hugh, I need you," you begged.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally granted your wish. His tongue flicked out, tasting your sweetness, and then he dove in, lapping at your juices, his tongue swirling around your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking against his face. He held your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he devoured your pussy, his tongue fucking you relentlessly.

"You gonna cum for me, y/n?," he growled against your pussy, his words felt vibrations against you. As though it snuck up on you, your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you as you cried out his name. Your body trembled and shook,your juices flowing freely as Hugh continued to lick and suck through your climax. You had never had anyone work you so expertly on the first try.

As your tremors subsided, Hugh lifted his head, his hazel eyes glittering with satisfaction. 

"You're so fucking beautiful when you cum," he said, his voice rough. You let out a light laugh while out of breath.

But Hugh wasn't done with you yet. He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes, revealing his hard, thick cock. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, your pussy clenching with renewed desire. He was older, but his body was a work of art—muscular and sculpted.

"Now it's my turn to taste you," you said as he sat on the couch and you got yourself off the couch moving to your knees so that you were facing his cock. You took it in your hands feeling the weight and girth. You leaned forward, your eyes locking with his hazel ones as you took the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum, and then you take him deeper, inch by inch, until you feel him at the back of your making you slightly gag until he pulls you back by your hair all while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

You sucked and bobbed your head, your lips sliding up and down his shaft, your hands pumping the base in sync with your mouth. Hugh's breath grew ragged, his hips thrusting slightly. You looked up at him, loving the sight of his pleasure, you increased your pace, wanting to give him the same mind blowing pleasure he had given you.

“Holy fuck, y/n, if you keep going like that I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours." he groaned, his hands tightening in your hair. His words only spur you on and encourage you to suck harder, your mouth slick around him, Hugh's hips bucked as he exploded in the back of your throat with a loud groan. You swallowed, your eyes had never left his but you had tears running down your flush cheeks from taking him so deep. Your eyes never left him as you sucked him dry.

As you had both caught your breath, Hugh pulled you up, kissing you deeply. "That was fucking incredible," he whispered against your lips. You smiled, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction. This night had not gone as you expected it to and you were nervous about what this meant. Now coming to the realization of what trouble this could bring as he was basically your coworker now.

[aquamarixx]

lines we cross

Nirei, your young, charming assistant editor, pushes the limits of your professional relationship when a hotel room with two beds turns into a forced proximity situation—one where he insists on sharing the bed with you and demands a kiss.

pairing nirei akihiko x reader word count 5.1k words contains office AU, slow burn, aged up nirei, afab!reader, 5 year age gap, hurt/comfort, nsfw, sexual tension only navigation

Nirei Akihiko is the kind of guy everyone likes. Cheerful, polite, and effortlessly charming, he carries an almost boyish shyness that feels entirely out of place in the relentless grind of a bustling publication office. It’s annoying, really—the way he moves through the chaos with an easy smile, as though deadlines and office politics don’t faze him.

Unlike most employees—yourself included—he hasn’t yet been consumed by the unexpected tediousness of the job. You are a prime example of what the grind can do: the light in your eyes long extinguished, your voice droning and monotonous, heavy with exhaustion that clings to you like a storm cloud. Too tired, too sleepy, too sad. Nothing in between.

Your dry sense of humor and self-deprecating jokes certainly don’t help much, either.

If someone asked what “office archetype” you’d be, you might’ve once said the office siren or the crush-worthy deskmate. Five years ago, you might have even leaned into being the flirty, fun, girl-next-door type.

But now, at 29—your age skirting dangerously close to the final dates available on the calendar—you know better.

These days, you identify as more of a possum: a little unhinged, fueled by rage and excessive amounts of coffee. Sure, you’re still fun when it counts, but your day-to-day demeanor swings wildly between high-strung chaos and resigned calm.

And yet, despite it all (or maybe because of it) you do a damn good job. For three of the five years you’ve been with the company, you’ve served as managing editor for one of its flagship magazines, the leading entertainment publication in its category.

Now, you’re also acting as the interim managing editor for the new fashion and lifestyle magazine—a title you helped launch from scratch.

Interim, for now.

Your boss has mentioned, promised even, that you’re next in line for the editor-in-chief role for the new magazine.

It hasn’t been easy. Fresh out of a soul-crushing first job making coffee and running errands for sadistic film directors, you’d managed to snag a position here as a researcher and writer, clawing your way up to prove your worth.

Two years later, you landed the assistant editor role, and from there, you worked your way up to managing editor. Every late night, every insane deadline, every coffee-fueled brainstorm session—it’s all been worth it.

Now, you’re the captain: running things, making deadlines happen, and generally keeping the chaos at bay.

Which is why you’re completely thrown off when this guy—this infuriatingly charming, boyishly cute new hire—waltzes into the office as your new assistant editor for the fashion and lifestyle magazine.

The very role that had taken you an entire year of blood, sweat, and tears to earn.

Just. Like. That.

It’s not like he’s bad at the job. He’s decent.

Fine. He’s great at it.

For someone fairly young and new to the role, Nirei handles the work with an ease that’s both impressive and infuriating. And it’s not just his competency—he’s got the kind of personality that makes people like him instantly. He’s calm, friendly, and unflinchingly polite.

His calmness, in particular, drives you crazy. A stark contrast to your own high-strung, caffeine-fueled existence.

Then there’s that fresh, cheery aura of his, like he hasn’t yet been weathered by life’s disappointments or the crushing weight of deadlines. It draws people to him, including your coworkers. They laugh at his jokes, share inside memes, and greet him in the hallways like he’s a celebrity.

And you? It annoys you.

Because even when you’re a bit snobby toward him—though not intentionally, more a byproduct of your constant stress—he meets you with that same warm, disarming smile.

If he was older, maybe you’ve have found it attractive. Maybe you’d have let yourself develop a little crush and enjoy a playful rivalry to keep things interesting.

But he isn’t your type. He is five years younger, a little too nerdy (cute, sure, but still nerdy) and far too young for someone like you, who now valued maturity and independence after enduring a string of disappointing relationships.

Or so you tell yourself.

Yet, over the months of working together, you’ve grown fond of him. Much to your own disappointment.

It isn’t just his work ethic or the way he pulled his weight on the team—it was the little things.

The way he always brought you coffee exactly how you like it without being asked. The subtle glances he thought you don’t notice. The way he stays late at the office to help you, even when his own work was done.

He doesn’t just meet expectations; he goes above and beyond. Wrangling the writers so you wouldn’t have to. Taking on menial tasks so you could focus on the bigger picture—which often involved not letting the department catch fire.

When came the busiest season of the year, with a major film festival looming and deadlines closing in like a noose. The magazine was a mess: neck-deep in paperwork, article revisions, and design work you shouldn’t have been doing because the art director had gone into labor. Manpower was stretched thin, and chaos seemed inevitable.

But Nirei came through.

He didn’t have to stay after hours once his tasks were done, yet he still did. He ordered food for you and the remaining people, checked on layouts, and kept everyone’s morale up. When you fell asleep at your desk, you woke up to find a blanket draped over you, a hot latte waiting by your hand, and a note that simply read: Good work!

It was thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

Sometimes, his shy smiles gives away to something else. A look of quiet admiration, maybe even longing.

You knew that look.

And it’s why you try to keep things as professional as possible, drawing clear boundaries as his senior. You brush off the little things and keep telling yourself the same thing:

A younger man isn’t what you were looking for, no matter how earnest or how irresistible he may seem.

Then came a big out-of-town project. The lifestyle magazine team was invited to a major event featuring big-name brands, luxury labels, and influencers—the type of glossy affair that provided perfect material for your next issue.

As interim managing editor, you are in charge of pulling everything together with a lean team: Nirei who is your assistant editor, a writer, and a designer who doubled as the team’s photographer. It wasn’t ideal, but you were used to making do with limited resources. If anyone could make it work, it was this team.

Accommodation was a headache, though. The event’s popularity had meant single rooms were in short supply, so you ended up with two double rooms. The writer and designer shared one, leaving you and Nirei to share the other.

It wasn’t like you had a choice. It was an unfortunate but necessary arrangement, and you’ve assumed Nirei understood that. After all, the room has two beds. No awkward forced proximity, no weirdness—just a simple, professional setup.

Still, the idea of sharing a room with him made you a little uneasy. Not because you don’t trust him. You just don't want to be left in the same room with him. Alone.

The event itself is exactly what you’ve expected: glamorous, fast-paced, and overflowing with opportunities. You reconnected with industry acquaintances, introduced your team to key players, and juggled meetings with PR reps while scouting for stories. Your badge as a managing editor earned you plenty of respect, but it also meant you are the busiest person in the team.

As you move from panel discussions to cocktail receptions, Nirei stayed close, trailing you like a loyal puppy. He isn’t just there for the sake of appearances, though—he listened intently, took notes, and offered subtle support when you needed it. Whether it was carrying your press materials or covering for you in a conversation so you could catch a breather, he was always one step ahead.

Meanwhile, the writer and designer took full advantage of their media passes. They roamed the venue, mingling with attendees and snapping photos for their beats. The designer, Kira, in particular, was in their element, darting from one aesthetic display to the next, capturing the event’s vibe through their lens. The writer, Hachi, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the freedom to explore, chatting with brand reps and influencers while taking notes for their feature.

There was a certain buzz in the air—an energy that came from being surrounded by so much creativity and ambition. Even you, with your tendency to focus on work, found yourself swept up in it. But no matter how chaotic things got, Nirei’s quiet presence anchored you.

When the day finally wound down, you returned to the hotel exhausted but satisfied. The team had done well, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride.

On the last night of the trip, you treated the team to dinner and rounds of drinks to celebrate a successful weekend. These moments were rare for you—letting loose around your team wasn’t something that came naturally. While you occasionally joined post-release drinks or milestone celebrations, it was always out of obligation, never with the ease of tonight.

This dinner felt different. It wasn’t the usual takeout to fuel an all-nighter; it was a step up—a proper meal with cocktails instead of the usual cheap beer (which you detested but tolerated for their sake). The smaller group made it easier for you to relax, to listen and laugh without the weight of work pressing down.

Hachi was thrilled. It was her first big assignment after all. She animatedly recounted her first big assignment, her youthful enthusiasm filling the room. Kira who's been in your team the longest, chimed in with her own take, her wry humor softening Hachi’s giddy energy. You lean back, letting them bask in their hard-earned moment, occasionally glancing at Nirei, who quietly listened with a faint smile.

“You guys really deserved this weekend,” you say, raising your glass. “But come Monday, it’s back to the grind.”

The night flew by, and soon, Hachi is too drunk to stand. Kira sighs but smiles knowingly as she drained her margarita. “You two stay and unwind. Lord knows you need it,” she teases you, hauling Hachi to her feet.

With the two of them gone, the table felt emptier—and heavier. You ordered another round of drinks.

Two mojitos arrives, the ice clinking softly as you slid one across to Nirei. “So,” you ask, swirling your drink. “Did you enjoy the event?”

“It was great,” Nirei replies, leaning back in his chair. His cheerful tone feels forced, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But tiring. I don’t know how you manage to keep going—networking all day, juggling work, and still holding everything together.”

You laugh lightly, though his words struck a nerve. “You get used to it. Call it a survival skill. Shadowing me will probably help fast-track your career if you stick around long enough.”

It was meant to be a joke, but the bitterness in your voice slipped through. His expression shifted—softening, but not in pity. It was something else.

“I don’t need to fast-track my career,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Being by your side all day is already a treat.”

Your chest tightens as he smiles, that boyish charm breaking through his earlier reserve. Then his hand brushes yours on the table.

You flinch. Without thinking, you pull your hand away.

The air between you thickens. His smile falters, replaced by something raw—pain, maybe embarrassment. But when he speaks, his voice steady, almost too calm.

“Why don’t you like me?”

Like a deer caught in the headlights, you only blink at him. “What are you talking about? I don’t not like you.”

“Then why do you act like you don’t?” His gaze was unflinching, his tone quiet but relentless.

“I don’t.” You cross your arms, your voice defensive, your eyes darting anywhere but him.

“You’re a great employee. Competent. Reliable. I like you,” you say, the words clipped, too rehearsed.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

His usual shyness is gone, replaced by something bolder, more vulnerable. “What don’t you like about me? Is it because I’m younger? Or… is it something else?”

The sincerity in his voice made you flinch. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re always guarded around me, like I’ve done something wrong.” He leans forward, his gaze searching yours. “Did I? If I did, tell me. I’ll fix it. Just—tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice cracks slightly, betraying your composure. “It’s just…” You hesitate, scrambling for an excuse. “You—”

“—You think I have a crush on you.” His interruption was quiet but firm, and it left you reeling.

Your breath caught. “I—what?”

“I do,” he said simply. “I like you.”

There was no teasing in his tone, no hint of boyish playfulness. Just raw honesty.

“And I know you know,” he continues, his voice steadier than you expected. “But what I don’t understand is why you keep pushing me away. Is it my age? My inexperience? Tell me what it is.”

The room seemed louder suddenly—the hum of conversation, the clatter of glasses, all of it a stark contrast to the moment unfolding between you.

You shake your head, voice low and firm. “We’re not doing this here, Nirei. You’ve had too much to drink.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “This isn’t the alcohol talking.” 

His brown eyes hold such unshakable resolve that you feel yourself drowning in their depths. But deep down, you know—it’s just liquid courage, letting him say things he wouldn’t dare otherwise.

Neither of you speak. The silence between you is suffocating.

Not wanting to sour the mood any further, you flag the waiter for the bill, finishing your drink in one swift motion. Nirei mirrors you, downing the last of his drink without a word.

The walk back to the hotel is heavy with silence. Each step feels weighted, each glance like a spark threatening to ignite the tension between you. When you reach the door of your shared hotel room, he’s right behind you, close enough that you feel his presence like a magnet pulling you closer.

Once inside, you don’t pause. You make a beeline for the bathroom, washing off your makeup and stepping into the scalding shower to scrub away the heaviness you’re feeling. Even after changing into your soft sleepwear—a worn-out T-shirt your siblings gave you one Christmas and a pair of loose cotton shorts—the discomfort lingers, stubborn and oppressive.

When you step out, Nirei wordlessly slips into the bathroom. You barely glance at him, throwing yourself onto your designated bed and scrolling through your phone in an attempt to distract yourself.

Hachi’s drunk antics flood the work group chat, courtesy of Kira. The photo dump includes candid shots and selfies from the event, many featuring you. Somehow, Kira’s photos soften you—capturing an approachable, almost serene version of yourself that feels miles away from your usual possum persona.

You find yourself smiling despite everything. Downloading a couple of photos, you send a few highlights and cute selfies to your family group chat. Which is just you, your 10 year old brother, the fraternal twins set to graduate high school next year, and your old maid auntie, who held everything together after your parents’ divorce.

Heading back to the city soon. I got souvenirs! Miss you guys. <3

You don’t expect a reply this late, knowing the kids are early sleepers. Still, you like to keep them updated about life.

Fifteen minutes later, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Nirei steps out, towel in hand as he dries his damp hair. His sleeveless shirt clings to his frame, drawing your eyes to his well-toned arms—something you hadn’t noticed until now. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, and when he stretches, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a sliver of his defined abdomen.

You’re staring. And he notices.

Fucking kill me now.

A shy smile tugs at his lips.

You quickly turn away, heat crawling up your neck. “Turn off the lights when you’re done,” you mumble, forcing your voice into a casual tone. “We can sleep in a bit since checkout’s before lunch.”

“Got it,” he says softly.

The light clicks off, followed by the creak of the mattress as he settles into his bed. But sleep doesn’t come—not for you, and you suspect, not for him either.

“Why did you book a room with two beds?” His voice cuts through the dark, low and steady. 

The question feels like a challenge, its edges sharper than you expect.

“Don’t start, Nirei,” you warn, your voice tight.

“Do you hate me that much?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up, heart pounding. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you bite out, harsher than intended. “You know it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” The rustle of sheets accompanies his movement as he sits up. Moonlight slipping through the curtains catches his face, softening the raw, aching expression that’s impossible to ignore.

“Don’t you like me? Even a little?”

“Nirei,” you say, trying to keep your voice firm, but it cracks under the weight of his question. “You’re drunk. This isn’t the time.”

“I’m not drunk enough to forget how I feel about you,” he shot back. 

“I don’t care about the rules, or the age, or whatever excuse you’re going to throw at me. I just… I want you. Isn’t that enough?”

Your chest tightens painfully. Logic screams at you to shut this down,  to draw the line that’s already dangerously blurred.  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Nirei. You’re young, you don’t—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice raw. “Don’t act like you know me better than I know myself. D—don’t tell me what I should feel or… who I should want.”

A heavy silence falls between you. Neither of you speak for what felt like an eternity.

He’s a coworker. For fuck’s sake, a younger coworker. On top of that!

You want to yell, to cry, to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Without warning, your bed dips under his weight.

The scent of his soap is fresh, intoxicating, and he’s too close. “Can I just… sleep here tonight?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, almost pleading as he shifts on the other side of your bed, sitting. “Not like that. I just—” He paused, swallowing hard as though searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

The scent of his soap—a clean, intoxicating mix of citrus and something faintly musky—invades your senses. He’s too close. Too fucking close to your liking.

Your throat tightens. Rationality screams at you to say no, to send him back to his bed. But the vulnerability in his voice—the way his shoulders slump and his gaze softens—makes you falter.

This is wrong. So fucking wrong, 

Indulging him would be the worst thing to do. He’s drunk. You’re not entirely sober either. 

There are two beds in this room for a reason. Sharing one, tangled under the sheets, warm bodies pressed togeth—

No. No, no no. 

But you feel somehow guilty with how you handled things with him earlier. Indulging him is not only weird but also feels wrong. You’re his senior—technically, his boss. The age gap alone is reason enough to keep him at arm’s length.

And yet, here he is, fragile and open in a way that threatens to break every wall you’ve carefully built.

But you hear him sigh, as if you’ve told a kid you’re no longer taking them to the zoo.

“Fine,” you say at last, exhaling a breath that feels more like defeat than consent. “But there are rules.”

He looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes. “Rules?”

“No funny business,” you say firmly, pointing a finger to emphasize your point. “No touching. No... anything. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. Clear?”

He nods quickly, like a schoolboy agreeing to a curfew, and for a moment, you almost laugh at how innocent he looks. But as you both settle onto the bed, lying stiffly side by side, the atmosphere shifts. The tension resurfaces, thick and suffocating like an invisible fog.

At first, he stays to his side, lying rigid as though afraid to move. The silence is deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic sound of your breathing. You shut your eyes, determined to fall asleep and end this strange, tension-filled night.

But then, you feel it—a light brush of his fingers against yours. It was so soft, so fleeting, that you weren’t even sure if it had happened. You open your eyes, glancing down to see his hand resting close to yours, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and hesitant. “I didn’t mean to... I just...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air like a question.

You don’t pull away, though every rational part of you screams that you should. Instead, you stay frozen, your heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears.

He shifts, sitting up slightly, and his fingers brush against yours again—this time with intention. “Is it okay?” His voice is barely audible, the question heavy with uncertainty.

The silence stretches between you. The answer is yes, though not in the way he’s asking. Not in a way that makes this moment any less dangerous. Yet, as you lie there, your yearning for touch—to feel seen, to be held—drowns out the logical protests in your mind.

That’s when it sinks in. You’re touch-starved.

Shit.

The realization jolts you upright. You need to escape this room, this moment, this forced proximity that’s driving you crazy.

“Nirei...” you begin, your voice trembling. But before you can continue, he turns toward you. His eyes meet yours, wide and searching, filled with a desperation that takes your breath away.

“Don’t you like me?” he asks again, the rawness in his voice more urgent this time. “Even a little?”

You don’t answer, you don’t have to. But your silence speaks volumes. You know he knows it. 

“I like you,” you admit finally, your voice barely audible. “I do.”

Nirei’s eyes widen, hope flickering to life in his gaze, but you quickly follow with a sigh, dropping your gaze to your hands. “But I shouldn’t, okay?”

His brows knit together, and he leans closer, the faint scent of alcohol swirling between you.

“Why not?” he asks, his tone steady but gentle. “I like you. You like me. Let me take care of you. I will. Real good.”

You shake your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve tried before,” you murmur, the weight of old memories heavy in your words. 

“And it didn’t work. It never works.”

“So?” he presses, inching closer still, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “Why does that mean we can’t try? I’m not like them. I’m not like the ones who let you down.”

You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because I won’t risk it, Nirei. Not with you. I work with you, for fuck’s sake. I like working with you. If this goes wrong…” You trail off, shaking your head again. “I can’t afford to lose that.”

Not when his presence at work is of value to you and your promotion. And maybe yes, you like him in ways you don’t want to admit.

He’s quiet for a moment, the conflict in his eyes evident, but then he asks softly, “Is it because I’m young? Is that it?”

You freeze, the question striking harder than you anticipated.

“I’m not like the others,” he insists, his voice urgent, almost pleading. “I know what I want, and I know I like you. I’ve liked you since the moment we met. Please…” he says, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “Give me a chance. Just one.”

His words tug at something deep within you, the walls you’ve built around yourself trembling, cracking just slightly. You open your mouth to protest, to remind him that it’s not that simple, but the words won’t come.

His thumb traces over your knuckles in a soft, deliberate gesture, sending a shiver down your spine.

He leans closer, his frame suddenly feeling so much larger, so much closer, enveloping you without touch. His breath is warm against your shoulder, and you don’t move. You can’t.

“C—can I kiss you?” he murmurs, his voice breaking with vulnerability. “Just once. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. I’ll let it go.”

Every rational part of you screams to resist, but your body betrays you, caught between longing and logic.

You turn to face him, your voice sharp with exasperation. “Fine,” you say. “One kiss. That’s it.”

You let him slowly close the distance between you as he leans closer. 

The warmth of his body radiates in the dark, making you acutely aware of every inch of him. His hands cup your face, holding you delicately—like you’re a fragile porcelain doll he’s afraid to break.

The kiss is supposed to be quick, a simple peck to appease him, but the instant his lips touch yours, time itself seems to pause.

Soft. Warm. A spark ignites, unexpected and sensual, spreading like wildfire through your veins.

The kiss was supposed to be fleeting, but it’s everything—electrifying, consuming.

“Can I kiss you again?” His voice is barely a whisper, his forehead resting against yours, his breath fanning your lips. 

“I told you, just one,” you murmur, though your resolve feels as thin as paper.

“Please,” he says, his lips brushing yours again before you can protest.

“One more,” he murmurs between kisses.

“Please,” he breathes, his lips claiming yours, leaving no room for refusal.

“One more,” he whispers.

“Nirei—” you begin, but he silences you with another kiss, urgent and insistent, his hands cradling your face as though he can’t bear to let go.

We shouldn’t,” you whisper against his lips, but even as you said it, the words feel weak, unconvincing.His kisses unravel you, each one stripping away your defenses, leaving you bare.

Five years.

A five-year age gap shouldn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. And yet, it feels like an ocean between you. You’ve spent your life being the responsible one, the one who knew better, while he still has that unpolished recklessness you’ve long buried—or thought you had.

It’s there in the way he looks at you, not just with desire but with an unguarded awe, as though you’re someone worth chasing.

And it terrifies you. It isn’t fair.

“One more,” he murmurs, each kiss stealing another piece of your resolve. “Please.”

His lips move against yours, coaxing a rhythm that erases all thought—only feelings remain. When his tongue slips past your parted lips, you gasp, the sensation overwhelming, intoxicating. His hands cradle your face, possessive yet gentle, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His fingers trailing to your jaw, down your neck, sending shivers that ripple through your entire body.

You melt into him, your body betraying your mind as your hands find his shirt, gripping it tightly to steady yourself. His kiss is everything—tender yet demanding, as if he’s waited forever for this moment, unwilling to let it go.

One hand drifts slowly to the nape of your neck, the other settling at the curve of your back. When his fingers graze the bare skin beneath your shirt, a spark shoots through you, a soft moan escaping before you can stop it.

The sound startles you both. His eyes meet yours, dark and smoldering, his intensity leaving you exposed, breathless. His lips pause, lingering as if savoring the moment before he pulls back, his breath mingling with yours in the charged silence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, reverent.

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, as if pouring every unspoken thought into the kiss. Each kiss is a whisper, a promise, his hands mapping the curve of your back, his thumb brushing just shy of the edge of your breasts. The teasing touch sends your pulse racing, a heat pooling deep within you.

You try to regain control, pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His kiss deepens, and you moan into his mouth, surrendering to the wave of sensations that drown out your better judgment.

Your grip tightens on his shirt, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest beneath the fabric. His hand drifts lower, drawing lazy circles over your skin, just grazing the underside of your breast—enough to tease, to drive you wild, but not enough to satisfy.

You want more—oh, you need more—but just as the moment reaches its breaking point, Nirei pulls away completely.

His absence leaves you breathless, your chest rising and falling in the stillness. Your hands fall limply to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours and for a moment, neither of you moves.

“We should… we should get some sleep,” he says softly, though his voice wavers as if he doesn’t believe his own words. He lifts your hand, brushing featherlight kisses across your knuckles.

Your lips tingle from his kiss, your thoughts spinning. “O-okay,” you manage, your voice barely audible, confusion coloring your tone.

He guides you to lie down, pulling you close as he spoons you from behind. His arm drapes over your waist, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He presses a lingering kiss there, the warmth of his lips sending a fresh shiver through you.

The warmth of his body against yours should have been comforting, but all you could think about was the kiss—the way his touch lingered, the way his confession affected you.

What does this mean? Was that it? 

Was this moment just a fleeting impulse, something to be left behind in the dark of night? Or did it mean something more?

The questions swirl, but before you could spiral further, Nirei’s hold tightens, grounding you. His presence, steady and unyielding, lulled you into a strange sense of peace. 

And as sleep claimed you, his breath against your skin was the last thing you remembered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Is this really over? Or is it just the beginning?

amari's notes: nirei isn't even my favorite winbre character but i enjoyed writing about him! i feel like he really fits the junior colleague trope who has a crush on you (who can be a bit gaslighty but charming at the same time) and it just feels so right. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

3. A Choice for the Damned

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader / The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch

The sheriff leans over the antagonist with a glare. He backs away, groaning, the first gunshot bleeding out. The damsel is strapped to the fence, a bandana gag around her mouth, and tears in her eyes, “Help me!”

The sheriff nods to her, eyes determined. “Now you just stay calm, honey.” He towers over the injured man. “Please, sir. Please, sir, please.”

The sheriff holds his gun up, “There's an old Mexican eulogy. Feo fuerte y formal. Means he was ugly, strong, and had dignity. Well, Joey, I'll give you two out of three on that front.” Waiting in anticipation for him to pull the trigger, the damsel turns away whimpering.

“Do I really have to kill him?” Cooper’s voice rings out with an unsteady tone. I look up at him, as the loose rope is being pulled off of my frame by an assistant.

“Cut!”

Cooper motions for the director, “Emil, can you come over here? I got to talk to you for a second.” Cooper turns to me, lending me a hand to rise to my feet. “You were amazing, sweetheart. Just like always.” I smile, giving his hand a light squeeze. He had been very open about his concerns with this individual film. He didn’t want to be seen as the enemy. Cooper had a good heart and a strong grasp of the reputation of his characters. He held them dear.

As Emil nears I remove my hand and avert to my set chair. “Listen, I got to talk to you about these, these new pages, you know? I mean, I-I'm the sheriff, right? Well, why can't I just arrest the guy like I normally do? That's what I do.” Emil nods in understanding, “The... The audience, Coop, yeah? They already know you're a good man. They want to see that even a good man as yourself can be driven too far sometimes.” “Yeah, I understand that. But that's not really my thing, you know, Emil, that's not what I do. I mean, Bob, is Bob around here anywhere?”

I pipe up from my chair, where an assistant brushed makeup on my cheeks. “Bob's been fired, Coop.” He turns to me shocked. “What?” “The Studio fired him.” “Why?” Emil sighs, “See, turns out... Bob's a bit of a communist.”

Cooper's eyes widen, “A communist? Cadillac Bob?” Emil nods, hands on his hips, “Cadillac Bob! The very one.”

Cooper shakes his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “Well, what a shame, he was such a great writer. Terrible shame.” “One of the best, but he had to go. Which is why this movie is so important. You see, it's a new kind of western.

The power of the individual when the chips are down. The new America, it's why I'm telling you, so... that's why it'd be really great if you could just... shoot Jorge in the fսck¡ng head, yeah?” Coop lets his head fall at the director's words. The fight was clearly not worth the time for either of them. “Right.”

I sit silently, watching the exchange. Cooper really stressed this change for his role and reputation. He would always be the good guy in my eyes.

“He causing drama again?” I look over my shoulder to see Barb. I suck in a breath composing myself. I smile lightly pretending to now just look towards Cooper. “He’s not too keen on the new ending.” Barb furrows her brow. “They’ve changed it? He didn’t mention that.” My heart tinged in the most sinful way. He shares his thoughts and troubles with me instead of her. Just time was all he needed. He said so.

Cooper stiffened at the sight of the two of us speaking. He excuses himself from the director, “Uh, hey, let's, uh, let's pick this up after lunch, all right?”

He arrives placing his hand on the arm of my chair, force of habit. “I’m just going to have to do it.” His sigh of defeat reflects in his eyes. I frown, patting his hand in support, “it will be fine, Coop.” Barn watches the exchange, brows furrowed, lips in a tight forced smile.

Cooper makes himself drift away from my chair, wrapping an arm around Barb. “Are we about ready to do this thing?” She nods, bilking away any doubt in her mind. “I have both of your clothes right here.” She hands a box to Cooper and a bag to me. The lavish tissue makes it appear as a gift. What a joke.

“They’re both in Cooper's signature colors. Your dress will be the trademark of the bots. If you have any jewelry you’d like to add just slip it on before the shoot.” I smile at her sweetly, “Thank you, Barb. I’ll go change right now.”

As I leave I don't miss the glare Barb sends in Cooper’s direction. She says something causing him to roll his eyes and pat her shoulder. She brushes him off and walks away. My heart feels for her, truly, but in no way was I willing to end my addiction.

I spin in the blue fabric, the skirt of the dress flowing around delicately. The gold piping at the edge of the skirt, waist, and neckline added some extra dimension. It was likely hand-crafted just for me. I looked at my table, seeing the pearls Cooper gifted me poking out from the bottom of my bag. I bite my lip in hesitation before grasping the expensive earrings and necklace and adding them to the outfit before exiting my trailer.

I walk up to the studio doors, meeting Barb and Cooper. Cooper rakes his gaze over my frame with a smile. His eyes lasted a second longer on my jewelry; his smile widened. Barb clears her throat, “Are you two ready to meet the suits?” I nod with a smile, ready to charm and look pretty for the billionaire bastards.

Cooper nods, “I'll try not to embarrass you. No promises, though.” The three of us walk in meeting a man and a woman. “Mr. Howard, Ms. (L/n). It is great to meet you.” I shake the gentleman’s hand with a smile, “it’s a pleasure.” The man proceeds to kiss my knuckle. “I’m a big fan. Saw you in Vegas last year.” Before I could respond, Cooper pushed his hand forward, a fake smile plastered on his face, “Hey, nice to meet you.”

The woman speaks, “On behalf of the whole Vault-Tec family, we wanted to say how delighted we are that Barb could use her connections to get to you and Ms. (L/n).”

Cooper nods, “You know, I've never done an advertisement before in my life.” I lean into his side, prodding my elbow into his side lightly. “Don’t you worry, Cowboy. I’ll show you how it’s done.” Everyone laughs, everyone but Barb.

“Over here?” I ask gesturing to the large Vault Tech backdrop. My heels clicked with each step. “Yeah. Let’s get America’s sweetheart wrapped up first, then Coop can have a shot. Sound good?” The male member spoke. I couldn’t help but look towards Cooper as he called me sweetheart. I was not disappointed to find him burning a glare into the man’s frame.

I stand like a poised housewife, hand on hips and a pearly white smile. “Beautiful!” I turn around, the skirt flowing, placing my hand behind my back. “She’s such a beauty!” They had me pretend to vacuum, hold an apple pie, and eat a fucking cherry like some porn star! Cooper wasn’t wrong about what he had said, they would do some shady shit.

“That’s a wrap on Ms. (Y/n)!” A roar of applause and howls from the men coursed through the set. I bowed slightly, the cheeky smile of a performer shone on my face. “You know what would make this even better?” I stare at the man in confusion, “now how could I possibly make this any better?” Please don’t say more pictures with fruit, I silently beg.

The male smiles widely, hope in his eyes. “If you’d sing.” Several of the men nod in agreement. “Yeah, come on.”

I look over to Cooper and with a nod he tips the final persuasion in my decision. I wave my hand at the group of people, “Any chance one of you might play the piano?” They hurriedly push a skinny man out. He gulps with a smile. “I-I do miss.” I smile at him extending a hand. “(Y/n), nice to meet you,” I drag on with a friendly smile. “Henry. Henry MacLean.”

I motion to the grand piano so conveniently set right next to the backdrop, “if you wouldn’t mind.” Henry’s cheeks turn rosy, “yes, of course. It would be an honor.” He sits down composing his jitters. I lean down in a hushed manner, “It would be perfect if you knew how to play, I’m the one you’re looking for.” If even possible, his smile grows wider and he begins the tune on the piano softly. I pat the top of the piano to the tune beginning to perform.

“I see you lookin' 'round the corner

Come on inside and pull up a chair

No need to feel like a stranger

Cause we're all a little strange in here.”

Cooper smiles as he watches me, he is under my spell. I felt the power of having him at my will with his wife so near.

“Have you got a history that needs erasing?

Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes?

A broken down dream you're tired of chasing

Oh, well I'm just the girl to make you forget.”

And I was the one to make him forget everything that pledged him. He told me his troubles big and small. We shared a heart of the same soul.

“So sit down your pretty face

You came to the right place

Oh, where every night it starts once more

I'm telling you, friend, your search is at an end

Cause I'm the one you're lookin' for.”

I spin around the piano with grace. Lifting myself on top of it. I dramatically cross my legs and lay down flat on the black surface.

Louder applause erupted. You would think it was an actual bought-out concert. I sit up with my hand over my heart and a killer smile.

A hand reaches out to assist. I grab it not bothering to look. “That was remarkable, (y/n),” Henry whispered in my ear. As my feet hit the ground I back away from him. “Thank you, thank you everyone.” Cooper claps with a flat smile, his eyes bore into Henry’s back, watching his every move.

I take a bow before moving off the floor. “Looks like I warmed them up for ya.” I laugh standing next to Cooper and Barb, whose face is fighting to break her picture-perfect smile.

Cooper makes his way into the backdrop. “Hell, I don’t know if I’ll top that.” Cooper begins his work, striking pose after pose. He puts his hands on his hips, and before I stop myself I whistle at him playfully.

Barb chuckles beside me, very gently, loud enough for only my ears. I can feel her eyes burn into my side. I turn to her with a smile. She returns it, her eyes sending silent daggers. Her eyes graze over the necklace. “That is so lovely.” I touch the pearls in devotion, “thank you.” “Where’d you get them?” I look at her without a beat, “it was a gift.” She hums with a sharp nod. I feel the back of my neck heat up as we continue to watch Cooper in silence.

~

Barb and I sat in the car, silent on the drive home. I knew she was angry with me. It wasn’t very discreet how I acted towards (y/n). I just needed time to sort everything out. Sadly distancing myself from Barb was part of the mission.

“Henry and (y/n) would make a cute couple.”

“What?” I almost swerved out of my lane. “That guy who played the piano?” She nods, “They had chemistry.” I grip the wheel, I can feel jealousy in the pit of my chest, rotting from the inside out. “I don’t think so, Barb. He’s not her type.” “And what is her type?” I roll my eyes S we roll up to a red light, taking a minute to look at her. Her arms are crossed and her face looking at me wildly. “I see what you’re doing.” “Then it shouldn’t be difficult for you to admit.” I huff, “admit what?”

The red light makes the car appear in a rose hue as if I’m on fire. I am definitely in the hot seat. “That you have feelings for her.”

The light turns green and Barb begins her accusations. “You look at her like she’s a prize. You’re constantly talking about her. You barely come home at a reasonable hour, and when you are free you make plans with her!” I shake my head, “We’re close Barb, what do you want me to do?” She slumps, crossing her arms, mumbling, “Too damn close.”

I ran a hand over my face, thankful I was pulling in the driveway. “I think you need some rest, Barb. I know I do.” I exit the car not even waiting for her. I didn’t know if I could do it. I knew I had settled on it, but now seeing the consequences at bay I feel torn.

I love Barb. She supported me in my career through the good and bad. She has been a wonderful mother to Janey. She’s a beautiful woman who I care for in my heart. She is my wife, and I should be able to surpass desires, but (y/n)… my fire, my muse, my reason for waking every morning. She is who keeps me alive. I can picture our lives together. I’d purchase that ranch, buy a big diamond for her finger, and fill the house with any furniture she wanted. Janey would stay with us, on a set schedule arranged with Barb. It could be so perfect, and it should be easy to tell her, but that isn’t true.

I pour myself a whisky, going to rest on the couch. Barb slams the door, causing me to look back with a glare. “Janey is asleep.” “What do you care, Cooper?” Barb slams the everlasting files down with force. “I work my ass off to try and get us a spot in these vaults to be safe, and you think you can go sleeping around with that whore?” I sit up, my face growing red. “She’s not a whore, Barb. I think you should go to bed before you say something you regret.”

She smirks, laughing, “You really think I’m that stupid? Do you think I don’t know who comes and goes in my own house? Did you think our neighbors wouldn’t tell me you fucked her in our hot tub?” My face pales as her words cut me down. I sink into the sofa, a shriveled shameful man. “I watched her walk her ass down the street and get into her car. Jone from two houses down has a photograph. Wouldn’t it just be awful for that to be shown to the tabloids?” Barb stands in front of me, arms crossed and her foot tapping. “It’s me or it’s her, Cooper. You make your choice tonight and that is it.” She leaves with a stomp, going up the stairs and into the bedroom.

I sit there for I don’t know how long. Barb was really threatening her career she worked so hard for. I couldn’t let her dreams die because of me. I run a hand over my face with a groan. I only look up from my now-empty glass to see Janey taking a seat next to me. “What are you doing up, pumpkin? It’s late.” Janey has tear streaks painting her cheeks, she sniffles quietly. “Mommy was yelling.” I hug her close, resting my chin on her head. “It’s okay, Janey.”

“Are you going to leave us, Daddy?”

Fuck. There it was. The only reason for staying. I could have her, I could have the life in the hills, relaxing with my two favorite people. Janey would love (y/n).

Janey leans further into me, sobbing now. “Daddy please don’t leave me.” I hug her tightly. I can see the fantasy slipping away, more and more as I sink into the couch.

“No, baby, Daddy’s not going anywhere.” I pick her up carrying her to her room. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

After settling Janey down, I enter the lion's den, my bedroom with the awaiting wrath. Barb lay under the covers in the bed unmoving. I stare at her with sorrow. I had caused much pain, but my heart could never be closed off from feeling the constant ache for her. I lay down with Barb, wrapping an arm around her. “I choose you, Barb,” I whisper before closing my eyes and averting to my only pleasure, my fantasy of her. My mind is now the only freedom I have to picture her in such a manner. Remembering her soft moans and the arch of her back as she released. It was all just a memory now.

[justforbooks]

Teri Garr

American actor who brought superb comic timing to her roles in film classics such as Young Frankenstein and Tootsie

The American actor Teri Garr, who has died aged 79, once said: “I’ve spent a lot of time clawing my way to the middle.” That remark could have sprung from the lips of any of the fizzy, dizzy, nakedly neurotic women who were her speciality from the mid-1970s onwards.

In Mel Brooks’s horror pastiche Young Frankenstein (1974), she was Inga, the bubbly laboratory assistant who, when proposing a roll in the hay, means precisely that and nothing more. She played the wives of troubled men in two very different fantasies from 1977.

In Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, she tries to keep her children chipper while their father (Richard Dreyfuss), a UFO obsessive, descends into madness. In the comedy Oh, God!, in which her husband (John Denver) is visited by the wisecracking Almighty (George Burns), she says tearfully: “I went to empty the garbage and two people blessed me. And then one of them blessed the garbage.” In both instances she invested stay-at-home sidekick roles with abundant warmth, humour and generosity.

Younger audiences came to know Garr as the mother of Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow) in the 1990s sitcom Friends, but her career high point was Tootsie (1982), starring Dustin Hoffman as a cross-dressing actor. Playing Sandy, his sometime lover waiting for her big acting break, Garr was touchingly grounded. She improvised some of her funniest moments, such as being locked in the bathroom and then resolving to use the experience in her acting work, and made comic capital out of the way in which the tiniest knock could send Sandy’s self-esteem plummeting. Most magically, she brought dignity to a part that could have come across as a doormat. Garr was Oscar-nominated but lost out to Jessica Lange for her performance in the same film.

The production was famously troubled, passing through so many writers and potential directors that there were rumours of an “I Also Wrote/ I Almost Directed Tootsie” club in Hollywood. Hoffman and the eventual director, Sydney Pollack, spent most of the protracted 100-day shoot either at loggerheads or communicating only through intermediaries.

Garr found Hoffman exhausting. “It’s not enough to give in to him,” she said. “You have to like what he wants too!” Such off-screen troubles only made the delightful end result all the more miraculous. In the escalating mania of the picture’s final stretch, Garr came into her own with her killer timing and gasping indignation.

She was born in Lakewood, Ohio, to showbiz parents: Phyllis Lind, born Emma Schmotzer, was a dancer with the Rockettes, while Eddie Garr, born Edward Gonnoud, was a vaudeville performer and actor who starred alongside a young Marilyn Monroe in Ladies of the Chorus (1948). After he died when Garr was 11, the family moved from their home in New Jersey to Hollywood, where her mother became a wardrobe mistress for film and television.

From an early age Garr harboured aspirations to be an actor and dancer. At 13 she performed with a professional ballet company in San Francisco. She was educated at Magnificat high school, Ohio, North Hollywood high school and California State University at Northridge before appearing in the West Side Story road show and Donald O’Connor’s revue at the Cocoanut Grove club.

Garr’s earliest film appearances were as a background dancer in Elvis Presley movies; she appeared in nine including Fun in Acapulco (1963), Kissin’ Cousins, Viva Las Vegas (both 1964) and Clambake (1967). She began taking acting lessons and found herself in the same class as Jack Nicholson, who was writing the deranged film Head (1968) as a vehicle for the Monkees. He doled out small parts to his classmates, providing Garr with her first speaking role as a woman who suffers a snakebite. (“Quick,” she tells Micky Dolenz, proffering an injured finger, “suck it before the venom reaches my heart.”)

She became a regular in the early and mid-70s on The Sonny & Cher Show – she based Inga’s accent in Young Frankenstein on Cher’s German wig stylist – and appeared on sitcoms such as The Bob Newhart Show and M*A*S*H.

Francis Ford Coppola gave her a small role in his surveillance thriller The Conversation (1974) and she was also part of the ensemble cast in two ramshackle US comedies by British directors: Michael Winner’s star-studded Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood (1976) and John Schlesinger’s Honky Tonk Freeway (1981).

After playing the young hero’s mother in the lyrical Coppola-produced adventure The Black Stallion (1979), Garr became part of the director’s Zoetrope Repertory Company, appearing in other films produced or directed by him.

“Instead of getting a big chunk of money for a movie, I’d take a weekly cheque or a small amount, because we were all going to share the profits later. After a while, even the small cheques stopped coming.” Zoetrope productions in which she starred included The Escape Artist and the stylised but commercially disastrous musical One from the Heart (both 1982). Of the latter, Garr said: “It was over-rehearsed. After you have done a scene 25 times, you have no energy left, you don’t care.”

She was one of the leads in The Sting II, a lacklustre sequel to the 1973 con-artist comedy film. She briefly reprised her role in The Black Stallion Returns and played the wife to a house-husband (Michael Keaton) in Mr Mom (both 1983).

A rare foray into straight drama came as a divorced woman taking up with a cad in Michael Apted’s Firstborn (1984), and she was wickedly funny in Martin Scorsese’s black comedy After Hours (1985) as a Monkees-obsessed, beehive-sporting waitress whose cupboards are stacked with cans of hairspray (a touch that Garr herself suggested).

In Miracles (1986), she and Tom Conti played a couple who reassess their relationship when they are kidnapped on the brink of divorce. Further roles included the gentle drama Full Moon in Blue Water (1988) and the crime caper Out Cold (1989), as well as supporting parts in Dumb and Dumber (1994), the Watergate comedy Dick (1999) and Terry Zwigoff’s wry comic-book adaptation Ghost World (2001).

In 2002, Garr announced that she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Three years later, she published an autobiography, Speedbumps: Flooring It Through Hollywood, which she originally planned to title Does This Wheelchair Make Me Look Fat? In 2006 she suffered a brain aneurysm that inhibited her speech and movement, though she recovered both after months of rehabilitation. Her last film appearances were in two well-liked indie comedy-dramas, Expired and Kabluey (both 2007), made before the aneurysm.

When she expressed her dissatisfaction with the roles that she had been offered, it was sometimes hard to tell if she was being comically self-deprecating. “Directors would tell me, ‘We want you to play a character a little less complex than you are.’ Yeah, sure. What they mean is, ‘You’re playing a dummy.’” No part inhabited by Garr, though, was ever so easily pigeonholed. Her particular talent lay in introducing a sparkling comic complexity far beyond what existed on the page.

She is survived by her daughter, Molly, from her three-year marriage to the actor John O’Neil, which ended in divorce in 1996.

🔔 Teri Garr, actor, born 11 December 1944; died 29 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[nevermorgue]

Nevermore Hollywood AU Part 2

2004, LA Annabel Lee Whitlock is a well known actress known for historical dramas and romances. She always goes viral when she's spotted at an event or a party because of her fashion choices. She always dresses straight out of period dramas with long gowns and intricately crafted gloves and fans. It is as if she were stepping right out of her films and into present day. She does this in fear of being cared about less as a normal person. By being kept on a parasocial pedestal, she ensures that she is always seen as a perfect, elegant actress. She is signed under Spectral Talent, a very prestigious talent + modelling agency with a small talent pool of important, famous names.

Lenore is an actress that was known for always starring in Theo Vandernacht productions. After his sudden passing two years ago, she resorted to doing quite literally everything else but acting. She has done screenwriting, producing, modelling, and even dabbled in camera work. But last year, Lenore Vandernacht left the spotlight permanently. Some say she snuck off to a tropical island to live out an early retirement. Others say she died. In reality, she has just decided to start over under the alias "Leo Vandernacht". She decides to break back into the industry (at her + Theo's old company, Nevermore Co.) as a talented writer and director, hoping to continue her brother's projects that only the two of them ever knew about. Lenore and Annabel meet through the casting for Leo's directorial/writer debut; a period piece with supernatural elements simply called "The Raven". It was Theo's story that he started and never really got to expand on. Nobody was really all that interested until Annabel Lee expressed public interest in auditioning. And from the moment they locked eyes for the first time, they both knew that it were as if they were destined to meet in that audition room. Pluto: An intern that JUST graduated internship and is now a gaffer. Has really nothing else going for him, spends ALL DAY on set if allowed, just doing whatever needs to be dealt with. He really wants to eventually become the assistant art director for Nevermore Co. Duke: Another famous actor, definitely not as easily recognized as Annabel Lee but still VERY well known. He rose to fame after appearing on an AGT-esque show in which he did incredible magic and illusion tricks. He ended up launching a career after that, traveling to perform as well as making cameos in movies and television. These cameos are how he ended up meeting and working alongside Annabel Lee at one point. They dislike each other greatly, but their on screen platonic chemistry is VERY well received. Knew Lenore before her 'retirement' is one of the few people who knows that Leo and Lenore are the same. He's done some modelling and small roles with her (before Theo's passing), despite not being signed under Nevermore Co. His agency, Magie, is a close partner to them and like to share their talent pool. This is how he knows Pluto as well. PART ONE (Prospero, Will)

[maybe-boys-do-love]

The Trainee, Episode 10: Direction

Take a break from the discourse around the couples to appreciate the references to directing in this episode! From the literal meanings to directions in life.

We open on Ryan's dad directing Jane's photoshoot. lol. You fix those clothes, Ryan ;) And Jane, give us a smile like your falling head over heels for someone.

2. Then we get Pah (making friends with every single person at the office, as usual) directing the front desk assistant (I haven't caught her name and she's not on the mydramalist or imdb cast and crew list) to a spot for lunch. Then we have the accounting manager come in and show us how her and Pah's relationship has grown. The scene reminds us that Pah, since early on in the show, has demonstrated incredible relationship building skills--a necessity for any director. And these relationships come to a beautiful fruition in this episode.

3. Tae, on the other hand, emerges as a directionless ghost, jump-scare appearance and all! Heartbroken and provided with downtime by his department for the first time during his internship, he has no idea what to do with himself.

4. Pi and Ryan are seemingly talking about the controversial Todd Haynes film, Joker, from 2019. If you're either knowledgeable about the Batman franchises or interested like me in trying to figure out why the writers chose this film to include as a conversation point, you'll realize that Harvey Dent was not in Joker. He was, however, in The Dark Knight in 2008, directed by Christopher Nolan. This mix-up between the movies seems intentional when we look at the theories of directing and humanity the show is exploring, which I'll expand on in number 5! In Joker, we get a depiction of a single misunderstood victim genius who takes out his suffering and any failures of his art on others and inspires other people who feel hurt and misunderstood to do the same. In Dark Knight, we have the day saved thanks to a collective group of people's refusal to harm others despite threats that others will be forced to harm them, and, as far as Harvey Dent, his reputation is preserved despite his failings because of the hope it can bring others. The comparison sets up a comparison between the individual heroes and villains versus the collective, which is a really important comparison to ideas the show explores about directors (and is just really important in general theories of direction like conversations about auteur theory, etc.). Note that Jane says in this ep that he doesn't like hero movies...

5. We then see Judy directing Ba Mhee on how to correct her typo on a document. She's checking over a draft before it goes out, like a good director ought to, but Judy's direction of Ba Mhee, of course, gets taken up as a motif and major sticking point for their dynamic in this episode as it encroaches into personal time rather than just work. We have witnessed that outside of work, Ba Mhee is actually quite capable and eager to play the directing role.

I want to point to the specific typo mistake that read "God Pick" instead of the company's name of "Good Pick," though, because it seems to refer to one view of a director's role. Alfred Hitchcock explained, "...in fiction film the director is god; he must create life. And in the process of that creation, there are lots of feelings, forms of expression, and viewpoints that have to be juxtaposed. We should have total freedom to do as we like." So this moment of direction gives us two references, for the price of one!

Even more, it presents us with the theory of auteur Directors, that the show has been actively engaging with through the whole series. Does the director have a god-like power to pick and choose what they want their work to be without any input from others? Do individuals, as directors of our lives, get to pick and choose what we create out of them without others' input? To both answers, the show has emphatically replied, no! The studio is not called God Pick, it's 'Good Pick.' The director, just like each of us, is working on communicating with a whole massive team of people to bring a certain vision of theirs' to life within quite constrained limits. From budgets to time, from client desires to our own insecurities, we do our best to be good knowing that mistakes will be made and we can pick up and keep on going.

6. Baimon, the director of the studio, instructs Pie on some of the grunt work of directing. He's been presented as so flighty in the series, so it was nice to see him getting down to business in this fashion. That business, however, was printed upon the backs of some big emotions, which I think, in addition to being a funny little gag about Jane and Ryan's hidden relationship, is a beautiful metaphor about the combination of emotional and logistic work that directors, especially, are tasked with performing. A vulnerability lies under each shot and camera angle.

7. Idk if this was intentional, but the choice to show sticky-notes as the art department's current medium for this scene reminded me of directors story-boarding with sticky notes. It's also the moment Tae is encouraged to make an attempt at directing himself and providing his direction to his relationship with BaMhee in a way that's considerate of her desires.

8. Baimon directs Jane and Ryan in another intimate scene lol. He's staging them, referencing the storyboard, checking the camera, doing all the director jobs! And, of course, instead of a perfect god, he makes a mistake with the very basics of left and right that his intern corrects for him, and this mistake is not used by the show to signal to us as the audience that he's incompetent. It's to show that the people with 'big' dreams, visions, careers, or awards are not more special than those who choose to do the small tasks in life. Directors are the first job Ryan lists to Jane when talking about adults with special talents that he feels like he's supposed to aspire towards. Jane asks Ryan "Why must people want to become something big?"

There's also a development in Ryan and Jane's performance here. They're playing and improvising in the scene. It's a nice development for them as character and a sweet commentary on directors allowing actors to perform with some flexibility. Based on what I've read about Gun and Off's development as actors and a pair, their characters' development in their different stand-in moments almost seems like a commentary on Gun and Off's growth as a performing pairing, but that's just a fun stretch. Really, I'd say it's more representative of the growing comfort of actors in film work.

9. How could I not discuss one of my favorite sequences in the show (right up there with BaMhee's chase scene)?! Pah has been amassing a crew of comrades at the studio throughout the series, and I knew it was building towards something. I stated during the first shoot when he was a part of Unit B that I could see his arc leading him to becoming a director because he was just so good at befriending and organizing people. And here's where he becomes the director! Not through his personal auteur vision, but through his communication with others!

I had been imagining this plot development in some fashion for a while. Getting it would've satisfied me. Great comedy for me, however, is about seeing a well-constructed set-up pay off for a better value than you could've expected. The Alfred Hitchcock quote above comes from a portion of an interview about plausibility in fiction and his films. He ends the quote by saying, "A critic who talks to me about plausibility is a dull fellow." The moment Pah slid off his sling, The Trainee leapt out of the realm of plausibility it had meticulously built to give us a stratospheric pay-off to the joke it had been building for 9 episodes. And it was a joke grounded in the deepest themes of the show, praising every creator and assistant working in the background of this show and all the shows we love. It made my heart so full. It presented a democratic vision of a director's role (in a country where people continue to need to fight for their democratic values). And, it did it all while making me laugh.

10. Despite all the people running this scene and Judy giving Ba Mhee so much direction in the workplace, it's Ba Mhee who finally gets to realize her direction in life here. Notably, she's let go of the big overly romantic dreams and visions. She's come to appreciate and understand the importance of the seemingly mundane aspects of her relationships, the day-to-day jobs of directing one's life, and she's directing Tae to commit to this direction, too. Directing involves paying attention to the small things, the communication, and the people who help make them meaningful.

There's a beautiful transition between Judy's conversation with BaMhee and Tae's where they fade into one another exactly, letting us know in some ways that Judy and BaMhee could've had a conversation and started growing and finding a direction together, too. The problem as BaMhee points out is not finding an exact right fit. She just still has feelings for Tae, which would make developing a relationship with Judy more challenging. It was mature and honest, and that precious little fade let us know the show saw the possibilities for BaMhee to love them both. Has a film cutting choice ever been so bisexually coded???

10. It's a cute little reversal that our final scene is one of the first steps in directing: the concept stage. We also get Jane's appreciation, not only for Ryan's ideas here, but for all the things Ryan does at his family's business that align with the same kind of work happening in a production house. It sets the two of them on equal footing, disrupting this fantasy of the film industry and the class systems that could divide them. And Ryan's other insecurity about feeling too immature and un-adult to compare to the people at the office, which is a another division that might separate Jane and Ryan (HOW OLD IS JANE!?!?!?!) also got a dressing down ;) during this episode. We're getting ever closer to Ryan feeling ready to direct his own life!!!

[chaplinlegend]

" Roland Totheroh was cinematographer on "The Gold Rush", as well as Chaplin's unofficial assistant director. These were the days before computers, and all effects had to be meticulously planned ahead and executed inside the camera. That includes fades and dissolves, such as when the "Lone Prospector” turns into a giant chicken, for which Totheroh filmed the "Tramp", rewound the film inside the camera and then filmed Chaplin inside the chicken suit on top of the previous footage, figuring out precisely how many frames it would take for the dissolve. He also combined two pieces of film inside the camera for effects such as "Black Larsen" running on the snow as the ice breaks off the mountain, and filmed scenes through a glass matte painting, such as the cliff on which we first see the "Lone Prospector". And if all of that doesn’t seem overwhelming, keep in mind that cameras at the time had to be cranked by hand.(...) " (X)

ROLAND HERBERT TOTHEROH, was an American cinematographer, best known as the regular cameraman on Charlie Chaplin's films. He was often portrayed as Rollie Totheroh. He was born in San Francisco on November 29, 1890, the son of John Edgar Totheroh and Emma Gertrude Ashman. He worked with Charlie Chaplin from 1915 to the 1940s on over 30 films. His brother Dan Totheroh was a writer, and his son Jack Totheroh became an actor. Before Rollie became a cinematographer, he drew caricatures and was an amateur baseball player. He had been behind the camera since 1913. Totheroh was one of the collaborators with whom Charlie Chaplin worked the longest.

Rollie Totheroh died on June 18, 1967 in Los Angeles, at the age of 76.

David Duchovny played the role of "Rollie" in the movie "Chaplin".

Roland Totheroh is best portrayed in an article published in The Moving Picture World magazine on August 17, 1918, which I have posted above.

[rotzaprachim]

Works written decades ago, often by female Jewish immigrants, were dismissed as insignificant or unmarketable. But in the past several years, translators devoted to the literature are making it available to a wider readership. -

By Joseph Berger

Feb. 6, 2022

In “Diary of a Lonely Girl, or the Battle Against Free Love,” a sendup of the socialists, anarchists and intellectuals who populated New York’s Lower East Side in the early 20th century, Miriam Karpilove writes from the perspective of a sardonic young woman frustrated by the men’s advocacy of unrestrained sexuality and their lack of concern about the consequences for her.

When one young radical tells the narrator that the role of a woman in his life is to “help me achieve happiness,” she observes in an aside to the reader: “I did not feel like helping him achieve happiness. I felt that I’d feel a lot better if he were on the other side of the door.”

In a review for Tablet magazine, Dara Horn compared the book to “Sex and the City,” “Friends” and “Pride and Prejudice.” Though it was published by Syracuse University Press in English in 2020, Karpilove, who immigrated to New York from Minsk in 1905, wrote it about a century ago, and it was published serially in a Yiddish newspaper starting in 1916.

Jessica Kirzane, an assistant instructional professor of Yiddish at the University of Chicago who translated the novel, said that her students are drawn to its contemporary echoes of men using their power for sexual advantage. “The students are often surprised that this is someone whose experiences are so relatable even though the writing was so long ago,” she said in an interview.

Yiddish novels written by women have remained largely unknown because they were never translated into English or never published as books. Unlike works translated from the language by such male writers as Sholem Aleichem, Isaac Bashevis Singer and Chaim Grade, Yiddish fiction by women was long dismissed by publishers as insignificant or unmarketable to a wider audience.

But in the past several years, there has been a surge of translations of female writers by Yiddish scholars devoted to keeping the literature alive.

Madeleine Cohen, the academic director of the Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Mass., said that counting translations published or under contract, there will have been eight Yiddish titles by women — including novels and story collections — translated into English over seven years, more than the number of translations in the previous two decades.

Yiddish professors like Kirzane and Anita Norich, who translated “A Jewish Refugee in New York,” by Kadya Molodovsky, have discovered works by scrolling through microfilms of long-extinct Yiddish newspapers and periodicals that serialized the novels. They have combed through yellowed card catalogs at archives like the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, searching for the names of women known for their poetry and diaries to see if they also wrote novels.

“This literature has been hiding in plain sight, but we all assumed it wasn’t there,” said Norich, a professor emeritus of English and Judaic Studies at the University of Michigan. “Novels were written by men while women wrote poetry or memoirs and diaries but didn’t have access to the broad worldview that men did. If you’ve always heard that women didn’t write novels in Yiddish, why go looking for it?”

But look for it Norich did. It has been painstaking, often tedious work but exciting as well, allowing Norich to feel, she said, “like a combination of sleuth, explorer, archaeologist and obsessive.”

“A Jewish Refugee in New York,” serialized in a Yiddish newspaper in 1941, centers on a 20-year-old from Nazi-occupied Poland, who escapes to America to live with her aunt and cousins on the Lower East Side. Instead of offering sympathy, the relatives mock her clothing and English malapropisms, pay scant attention to her fears about her European relatives’ fate and try to sabotage her budding romances.

Until Norich’s translation was published by Indiana University Press in 2019, there had been only one book of Yiddish fiction by an American woman — Blume Lempel — translated into English, Norich said. (Two non-American writers had been translated: Esther Singer Kreitman, the sister of Isaac Bashevis Singer, who settled in Britain, and Chava Rosenfarb, a Canadian who translated herself.)

The new translations are stirring a smidgen of optimism among Yiddish scholars and experts for a language whose extinction has long been fretted over but has never come to pass. Yiddish is the lingua franca of many Hasidic communities, but their adherents rarely read secular works. And it has faded away in everyday conversation among the descendants of the hundreds of thousands of East European immigrants who brought the language to the United States in the late 19th century.

The new translations are being read by people interested in everyday life in East European shtetls and immigrant ghettos in the United States as told from a woman’s perspective. They are also being read by students at the nation’s two dozen campuses with Yiddish programs. “Students were often surprised by how unsentimental these female novelists are, how wide-ranging are their themes, and how frank they are about female desire,” Norich said.

With a grant from the Yiddish Book Center, a 42-year-old nonprofit that seeks to revitalize Yiddish literature and culture, Norich is now translating a second novel: “Two Feelings,” by Celia Dropkin (1887-1956), a Russian immigrant who was admired for her erotically charged poems but never known as a novelist.

“Two Feelings” had been serialized in The Yiddish Forward in 1934 and then forgotten. It tells the story of a married woman who struggles to reconcile her feelings for, as Norich put it, a “husband she loves because he is a good man, and a lover she loves because he is a good lover though not a good man.”

One recent volume, “Oedipus in Brooklyn,” is a collection of stories by Blume Lempel (1907-99), the daughter of a Ukrainian kosher butcher. After spending a decade in Paris, she, her husband and their two children immigrated to New York in 1939, where she began writing for Yiddish newspapers.

In an introduction, her translators, Ellen Cassedy and Yermiyahu Ahron Taub, describe Lempel as “drawn to subjects seldom explored by other Yiddish writers in her time: abortion, prostitution, women’s erotic imaginings, incest.” Her sentences, they add, “often evoke an unsettling blend of splendor and menace.”

In promotional copy for the book, Cynthia Ozick called it “a splendid surprise” and asked: “Why should Isaac Bashevis Singer and Chaim Grade monopolize this rich literary lode?”

The recent books have mostly been published by academic presses in small runs, many of them financed by fellowships and stipends from the Yiddish Book Center. Despite the books’ contemporary themes, said Cohen, the center’s academic director, it has been an uphill battle to persuade mainstream trade publishers to acquire titles by women writers who are generally unknown and previously untranslated.

The scholars work independently, though they occasionally meet at conferences and panel discussions. Their life stories offer a window into the evolution of Yiddish.

Kirzane learned the language not in her childhood home but at the University of Virginia and in a doctoral program at Columbia University. Norich, the daughter of Yiddish-speaking Holocaust survivors from Poland, was born after the war in a displaced persons camp in Bavaria and was raised in the Bronx, continuing to speak Yiddish with her parents and brother.

When her daughter Sara was born, she made an effort to speak only Yiddish to her but gave up when Sara was 5. “You need a community to have a language grow,” she said.

These translators believe that the newly translated novels by women will enrich the teaching of Yiddish. Yiddish is, after all, called the mamaloshen — mother’s tongue — and a woman’s perspective, they said, has long been missing.

[rekindlevn]

Weekly Devlog Update! 07/08/2024

*runs huffing and puffing*

WE ARE A DAY LATE! Sorrysorrysorryplsforgiveus

We have had some BIG changes recently that took priority, but rest assured, all this means is we are even more dedicated to bringing you the boys as soon as possible to the best of our ability!

So, what are these updates that we have? Well:

Our very own cozy clothing writer @meowzilla93 will be taking up the position of Co-Director to assist our lovely Director @minthe-drawings with keeping the project going and making sure their vision comes to life!

The red flag enthusiast and writer @differenteagletragedy has stepped up to be the Lead Editor and VA Manager role as their prior and current experience in both fields will be a great asset and help for us

Both will also be assisting with Marketing and continue manning this page to provide updates and sneak peeks into the game development

It is with a sad heart that we announce that one of the writers has had to step down for life commitments, however that has not meant that the flow has stopped – instead Eagle will be taking the helm of writing our resident fluffy route!

All other roles as per credits will remain as per normal!

That is all that we have for now!

So, some big changes, some big responsibilities, but we are even more excited to start seeing all our hard work come together and release to all you lovely souls!!

Keep your eyes peeled for more NPC designs coming soon!

We heard from a little birdie that Markus needs his band sorted out 0.0

[benzgarfield]

Bbenzalert IG update August 26, 2024

Good time becomes good memories 😊🍳🌿🌶 Family: Thank you, Mae Chod, and Paw S, for giving me a good opportunity, trusting and believing in me to play the role of Methas, a person who is honest to his heart and is very rich. 🙏🏻 Thank you for taking care of me and paying attention to the details, giving me encouragement in every scene during filming, staying until the set ended at 4 or 5 am like we were real family. 🙏🏻 Thank you very much 😊 Writer: Thank you, Mr. Pinta, for writing a novel with a strong but well-rounded flavor through the writing, which impressed everyone. Teacher Chell: Thank you, Teacher Chell, very much for helping to bring out my acting potential and helping to create the character of Methas, analyzing Methas from every angle until it came out as Methas, who everyone says is mischievous and irritating, but we can't help but fall in love with. Thank you, teacher. 🙏🏻 Director: Thank you, Phi Nui, my super cool director, and Phi Sim, the talented assistant director, who are very kind to this young man, helping to design each scene perfectly. No matter what you suggest, I listen to it all the time. It's so much fun. I hope we'll have the chance to work together again. Love you so much. The whole behind-the-scenes team: Hair and makeup team, clothes, props, lighting team, sound team, location team, welfare team, blocking team. Thank you for making Khun Methas handsome and rich in every scene. 😆 I really respect and honor all the teams in "Love Without Long Beans". The cast: I really can't leave anyone out, Phi Sai, Pon, Belle, Aon, Asre, Tiger, and KleKle. Everyone is so talented. With the rush, we may have little free time, but it's 100% fun. I love you so much, the Kaprao gang!! My Buddy: Thank you, Garfin, everyone's lovely cat. Thank you for being the best physical therapist for Methas. I'm glad we got to work together. It wasn't easy for us to have each other like this. Thank you so much for being ready to move forward together. I love youuuuuuu. Khun Methas: Thank you for making me realize that dedicating yourself to the people you love makes us happy. That is priceless 😊 and really makes us a better person. I am glad to convey the essence of Methas for everyone to hate, complain, cheer for, and love. Benzalert: Thank you for seizing the opportunity and doing your best to make Methas in everyone's hearts. I am very proud of you, Benzalert 🤍 The most important thing is the lovely FC & viewers for everything that you do, supporting, encouraging…making "Love Without Long Beans" go far. I receive every message that you send. It is the driving force that makes me want to do better. Thank you for helping to be "Alert's Battery" 🥰. Let's stay like this for a long time. 🦊

[kayfabesource]

* BACKSTAGE ROLES MASTERLIST !

because there's so much more than photographers and makeup artists. jobs on this list can apply to most any wrestling promotion, so you can find something fun and unique for your oc. i found many of these by searching job titles on linkedin, so they're very much real! if you found this at all helpful, please reblog / like.

(keep in mind many of these titles can have intern, junior, associate, senior, & director titles ahead of them – based on experience. for example: associate producer, or senior producer)

creative.

art director

motion graphics designer

graphic designer

music producer

videographer

photo editor

photographer

costume / gear designer

marketing / pr.

project manager

marketing manager

marketer

social media specialist

social media manager

branding and communications specialist

content manager

media relations

public relations specialist

human resources / talent relations.

human resources coordinator

recruitment manager

hr operations specialist

talent operations

talent relations

travel and logistics coordinator

manager of talent appearances

payroll & benefits manager

personal assistant

production.

producer

production assistant

director

writer

live events.

athletic trainer

lighting designer

live event production specialist

retail

merchandise coordinator

carpenter

broadcast engineer

editor

sound/av engineer

administrative.

information technology (it)

logistics supervisor

administrative assistant

globals sales & partnerships

attorney

[ridenwithbiden]

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Teri Garr, the quirky comedy actor who rose from background dancer in Elvis Presley movies to co-star of such favorites as "Young Frankenstein" and "Tootsie," has died. She was 79.

Garr died Tuesday of multiple sclerosis “surrounded by family and friends,” said publicist Heidi Schaeffer. Garr battled other health problems in recent years and underwent an operation in January 2007 to repair an aneurysm.

Admirers took to social media in her honor, with writer-director Paul Feig calling her “truly one of my comedy heroes. I couldn’t have loved her more” and screenwriter Cinco Paul saying: “Never the star, but always shining. She made everything she was in better.”

The actor, who was sometimes credited as Terri, Terry or Terry Ann during her long career, seemed destined for show business from her childhood.

Her father was Eddie Garr, a well-known vaudeville comedian; her mother was Phyllis Lind, one of the original high-kicking Rockettes at New York's Radio City Music Hall. Their daughter began dance lessons at 6 and by 14 was dancing with the San Francisco and Los Angeles ballet companies.

She was 16 when she joined the road company of "West Side Story" in Los Angeles, and as early as 1963 she began appearing in bit parts in films.

She recalled in a 1988 interview how she won the "West Side Story" role. After being dropped from her first audition, she returned a day later in different clothes and was accepted.

From there, Garr found steady work dancing in movies, and she appeared in the chorus of nine Presley films, including "Viva Las Vegas," "Roustabout" and "Clambake."

She also appeared on numerous television shows, including “Star Trek,” “Dr. Kildare” and “Batman,” and was a featured dancer on the rock ‘n’ roll music show “Shindig,” the rock concert performance T.A.M.I. and a cast member of “The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour.”

Her big film break came as Gene Hackman’s girlfriend in 1974’s Francis Ford Coppola thriller “The Conversation.” That led to an interview with Mel Brooks, who said he would hire her for the role of Gene Wilder’s German lab assistant in 1974’s “Young Frankenstein” — if she could speak with a German accent.

“Cher had this German woman, Renata, making wigs, so I got the accent from her,” Garr once recalled.

The film established her as a talented comedy performer, with New Yorker film critic Pauline Kael proclaiming her “the funniest neurotic dizzy dame on the screen.”

Her big smile and off-center appeal helped land her roles in “Oh God!” opposite George Burns and John Denver, “Mr. Mom” (as Michael Keaton’s wife) and “Tootsie” in which she played the girlfriend who loses Dustin Hoffman to Jessica Lange and learns that he has dressed up as a woman to revive his career. (She also lost the supporting actress Oscar at that year’s Academy Awards to Lange.)

Although best known for comedy, Garr showed in such films as “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” “The Black Stallion” and “The Escape Artist” that she could handle drama equally well.

“I would like to play ‘Norma Rae’ and ‘Sophie’s Choice,’ but I never got the chance,” she once said, adding she had become typecast as a comic actor.

She had a flair for spontaneous humor, often playing David Letterman’s foil during guest appearances on NBC’s “Late Night With David Letterman” early in its run.

Her appearances became so frequent, and the pair’s good-natured bickering so convincing, that for a time rumors cropped up that they were romantically involved. Years later, Letterman credited those early appearances with helping make the show a hit.

It was also during those years that Garr began to feel “a little beeping or ticking” in her right leg. It began in 1983 and eventually spread to her right arm as well, but she felt she could live with it. By 1999 the symptoms had become so severe that she consulted a doctor. The diagnosis: multiple sclerosis.

For three years Garr didn’t reveal her illness.

“I was afraid that I wouldn’t get work,” she explained in a 2003 interview. “People hear MS and think, ‘Oh, my God, the person has two days to live.’”

After going public, she became a spokesperson for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, making humorous speeches to gatherings in the U.S. and Canada.

“You have to find your center and roll with the punches because that’s a hard thing to do: to have people pity you,” she commented in 2005. “Just trying to explain to people that I’m OK is tiresome.”

She also continued to act, appearing on “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit,” “Greetings From Tucson,” “Life With Bonnie” and other TV shows. She also had a brief recurring role on “Friends” in the 1990s as Lisa Kudrow’s mother. After several failed romances, Garr married contractor John O’Neil in 1993. They adopted a daughter, Molly, before divorcing in 1996.

In her 2005 autobiography, “Speedbumps: Flooring It Through Hollywood,” Garr explained her decision not to discuss her age.

“My mother taught me that showbiz people never tell their real ages. She never revealed hers or my father’s,” she wrote.

She said she was born in Los Angeles, although most reference books list Lakewood, Ohio. As her father’s career waned, the family, including Teri’s two older brothers, lived with relatives in the Midwest and East.

The Garrs eventually moved back to California, settling in the San Fernando Valley, where Teri graduated from North Hollywood High School and studied speech and drama for two years at California State University, Northridge.

Garr recalled in 1988 what her father had told his children about pursuing a career in Hollywood.

“Don’t be in this business,” he told them. “It’s the lowest. It’s humiliating to people.”

Garr is survived by her daughter, Molly O’Neil, and a grandson, Tyryn.

(She was great in Martin Scorsese "After Hours" too.)

[emma-dennehy-presents]

Celebrating Black Queer Icons:

Tourmaline

Tourmaline (formerly known/credited as Reian Gossett)is a trans woman that actively identifies as queer, and is best known for her work in trans activism and economic justice. Tourmaline was born July 20, 1983, in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Tourmaline's mother was a feminist and union organizer, her father a self defense instructor and anti-imprisonment advocate. Growing up in this atmosphere allowed Tourmaline to explore her identity and encouraged her to fight in what she believes in. Tourmaline has earned a BA in Comparative Ethnic Studies, from Colombia University. During her time at Colombia U, Tourmaline taught creative writing courses to inmates at Riker's Island Correctional Institute, through a school program known as Island Academy. Tourmaline has worked with many groups and organizations in her pursuit of justice. She served as the Membership Coordinator for Queers For Economic Justice, Director of Membership at the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, and as a Featured Speaker for GLAAD. Tourmaline also works as a historian and archivist for drag queens and trans people associated with the 1969 Stonewall Inn Uprising. She started doing this after noticing how little trans material was being archived, saying that what little did get archived was done so accidentally. In 2010 Tourmaline began her work in film by gathering oral histories from queer New Yorkers for Kagendo Murungi's Taking Freedom Home. In 2016 Tourmaline directed her first film The Personal Things, which featured trans elder Miss Major Griffin-Gracy. For the film Tourmaline was awarded the 2017 Queer Art Prize. Tourmaline served as the Assistant Director to Dee Rees on the Golden Globe nominated historical drama, Mudbound. Tourmaline has co produced two projects with fellow filmmaker and activist Sasha Wortzel. The first was STAR People Are Beautiful, about the work of Sylvia Rivera and Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries. The second was Happy Birthday, Marsha, about Marsha P Johnson. Happy Birthday, Marsha had all trans roles played by trans actors. Tourmaline's work is featured or archived in several major museums and galleries. In 2017 her work was featured in New Museum's exhibit Trigger: Gender as a Tool and a Weapon. In 2020 the Museum of Modern Art acquired Tourmaline's 2019 film Salacia, a project about Mary Jones. In 2021 the Metropolitan Museum of Art acquired two of Tourmaline's works for display in Before Yesterday We Could Fly: An Afrofuturist Period Room. Tourmaline is also the sibling of:

Che Gossett

Che Gossett is a nonbinary, trans femme writer and archivist. Gossett specializes in queer/trans studies, aesthetic theory, abolitionist thought and black study. Gossett received a Doctorate in Women's and Gender Studies, from Rutgers University, in 2021. They have also received a BA in African American Studies from Morehouse college, a MAT in Social Studios from Brown University, and a MA in History from the University of Pennsylvania. Gossett has held a fellowship at Yale, and currently holds fellowships at Harvard, Oxford, and Cambridge. Gossett's writing has been published in a number of anthologies and they have lectured and performed at several museums and galleries of note, including the Museum of Modern Art and A.I.R. Gallery. Gossett is currently working on finishing a political biography of queer Japanese-American AIDS activist Kiyoshi Kuromiya.

I originally intended to do separate profiles for Che Gossett Tourmaline, but could not find sufficient information about Che Gossett, beyond their credentials and current academic activity. That means that this will be the last of these write ups for a bit. I plan on picking it back up in October for the US's LGBT History Month and UK's Black History month. With time to plan ahead and research more I hope to diversify my list geographically and improve formatting. I plan on starting to include cis icons as well, like Rustin Bayard. If you come across this or any other of these posts Ive made this month I would love feedback and suggestions for figures you would like to see covered.