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sophaeros · 4 months

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interviews #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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thedeviltohisangel · 1 month

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For A Fortnight There We Were (One Shot): It Fit Too Right

a/n: welcome to my all the things i did metaverse. please meet evelyn, a hollywood a-lister who falls in love with her co-star callum turner while filming masters of the air. this will most likely be a request based series so send them all in! would also love to flush out this relationship more with you guys through asks and chats. let me know what you think!!

He stood in the doorway of their hotel suite with a smile as he watched one person tug the corset of her gown tighter, another brush powder across her cheeks and a third place her hair over her shoulder in a meticulous manner.

“I promise we’re almost done, baby.”

“Don’t rush perfection on my account,” he said with a smile as he took a few steps into the room. “Let me help, love.” Callum grabbed the pair of heels from her stylist and dropped to one knee, Evelyn steadying herself on his shoulder as he slipped on one shoe and then the other. He kissed up her leg for good measure as she giggled, standing with a matching smile as she pulled him in for a kiss.

“People might get the wrong idea. You being on one knee like that.” In reality, he was just waiting for her to say she was ready and he’d be on one knee with a ring in hand in an instant.

“The right idea you mean.” Evelyn blushed as her team began to filter out of the room. There was always a moment before every event that the two of them wanted time to themselves. They had gotten used to picking up the tempo for when it was arriving. “One day,” he followed up with a whisper.

“One day. Soon.” He felt something blossom in his chest at her words. “Help me with my necklace?” The gold chain held a dainty C charm and fit perfectly snug around her neck as he clasped it securely.

“Gave you this necklace almost two years ago. So much has changed since then.” Yet so much had also stayed the same. They were still in each other’s orbit, circling the sun together and happy to live in this pattern for the rest of eternity.

“And we finally get to show the world our love story.” Callum wrapped his arms around her from behind and they swayed gently to the song playing in his head. “Tracy told me there’s already stories lined up about the timeline of it all. About the overlap of still being legally married and filming the show and meeting you.” Her publicist warned her as soon as the premiere was scheduled that all the questions were going to get dragged up again. The accusations and the whispers of infidelity.

“I know the truth and you know the truth, Ev. That’s all that fucking matters.” The truth was that her marriage was a disaster the entire last year. The fights about his job and her job and fertility issues and the occasional bump of coke all mixing into a toxic sludge she was still working her way through years later.

“You’ll punch anyone who asks on the carpet or on the press tour?” She looked at him over her shoulder.

“With a smile on my face,” Callum answered with a pucker of his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Begrudgingly, she untangled herself from his arms and interlocked their fingers together in its place. He squeezed tight as they took the elevator down to the lobby with their security, her other hand wrapping around his wrist for two anchor points at the sight of the paparazzi waiting for them on the sidewalk.

“Evelyn! Callum! Look to the left!

“To the right, guys, come on a little smile please!”

“Callum, how about a kiss?”

His hand landed on the small of her back as he helped her into the waiting SUV before sliding in next to her. Evelyn collapsed as the door shut. “Fucking brutal,” she muttered.

“I’m hoping they get what they want at the carpet and they can leave us alone when we get back tonight.” He reached for her hand and held it in his lap. “What are my lanes in the road for touching you tonight?”

“Are you feeling particularly handsy tonight, Mr. Turner?” she asked with a smirk as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed across each knuckle.

“That dress is an inspiration.” She leaned in with a giggle and kissed him square on the mouth.

“Then make sure everyone there tonight knows that.” His eyebrows raised on their own accord.

“Yeah? You mean that?” Normally, she was much more reserved. Making him settle for longing stares and soft, hidden smiles and subtle allusions to each other. She hid from all the attention and let her work speak for itself.

“Maybe…maybe the part of me that always wants to hide should work on healing herself tonight.” It also had been a piece of homework from her therapist this week.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, we’ll work on it tonight. Together.”

“Together,” she reiterated as he kissed her hand again and then her lips.

“You make me so happy. No matter what.”

“You make me happiest,” she laughed as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and left a few kisses there. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

----

The ride was over all too quickly, the SUV idling at the start of the carpet and the sounds of muffled screaming and yelling reaching their ears instantly. Ever since their relationship had been made public, there had been attention on them like neither had ever experienced.

She had been called a cheater, he had been called a social climber. Accusations of adultery and a months-long affair behind her husband’s back and questions on how valid Callum’s feelings could be as a less well-known star than her. Hell, Howard Stern had straight up asked her on his radio show how it felt to have power over the person she was in a relationship with when she had been so powerless previously. Callum certainly hadn’t taken kindly to the implication.

Quarantine had been the perfect bubble for their love to take root and flourish. Had insulated them from the outside world as long as possible and allowed her walls to come down. They were built up so high after her failed marriage. Reinforced as her mind worked through the mental fuckery of falling in love with your co-star. Evelyn hadn’t known where she began and the character ended for the longest time but she knew in her heart she wanted to figure it out with him.

The roar reached a fever pitch as Callum stepped out of the car, buttoned his jacket and waved to a group of fans on the side. He waited for her, watched her take a deep breath and square her shoulders before she took his outstretched hand and stepped out of the vehicle.

Her movie star smiled flitted across her face easily as their fingers interlocked and her own hand raised in a wave before letting her boyfriend slot his lips against hers to the delight of the camera flashes.

“Let’s do a couple autographs before interviews.” Her publicist gently pressed on the small of her back to guide in the direction of glossy photographs and posters and an endless sea of markers.

Evelyn smiled warmly as she let go of his hand and began to scrawl her name across various posters of her in Targaryen garb or an old military uniform or the occasional photo she had taken with a fan previously that they were now adding her penmanship to.

“Can I get a selfie?”

“Yeah of course!” She smiled with as many fans as she could and let them take a few photos to choose from before she was getting the signal it was time to keep it moving. “Thanks for coming!” Evelyn blew a few kisses to the crowd before Callum had her hand right back in his for the ensuing carpet walk.

“Ev, you want to go first?” Tracy asked as she was beginning to urge her to the first photomark. She hit the X and did her best to look at the cameras like she wanted to fuck them. Those were normally the only shots that kept their hunger sated and kept from yelling too explicitly at her the rest of the night.

She looked over her shoulder and watched Callum smile and show off his suit like it was second nature and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to look at the photos later to see just how in love she was in this moment. He took her extended hand with a mischievous smile, falling in love all over again with this side of her that he knew well but she kept hidden from the outside world.

“Let me get the two of you looking to the right!”

“Put your hands on her, mate!” “Look right at the camera with a smile, Evelyn!”

Callum furrowed his brow and wrapped his arm around her waist a little tighter as they kept fighting for a piece of them. They had both worked so hard to keep this one corner of their lives sacred and private but they couldn’t stay that way forever. Especially when they were trying to promote the show that brought them together in the first place.

“You good?” he asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Hold my hand the rest of the carpet?”

“Of course, love.” Their eyes stayed locked together as he kissed the back of her hand and they made their way towards the first interviewer.

“It’s so good to see you guys again!”

“It’s good to see you too! It’s been a minute,” Evelyn replied.

“Last time I saw you, Callum, you were with George Clooney which is a hard interview companion to top-”

“Oh, I’ve done it. This one’s my companion for life.” She couldn’t help but blush at his forwardness. “This show brought so many beautiful people to my life and introduced me to this incredible story of these men and the sacrifices they made for us but I’ll never be able to articulate what meeting this woman and falling in love with her has done for me and the honor that has truly been.”

“This is why my team is always trying to keep us separate in front of a microphone because we always get a little in our feels about each other.” Evelyn rested her cheek against his chest.

“Tell me about that. You guys film this show and feel some vibes and then the premiere gets delayed for two years. Does this add to the nervousness or does it add to the excitement?”

“Definitely both,” Evelyn teases, “the characters are real people, real heroes, so there is such a desire to make sure the story is told in the most accurate, thankful way. Part of making sure that happened was fully devoting ourselves to the relationship between these two and to discover something real in the process was a really happy accident.” Her hand rested on his cheek and he kissed her palm, looking at her like she was the only girl in the entire world. For him she was.

“We had the opportunity to meet their children and grandchildren which was such a blessing because on paper I was skeptical, it seemed written for the movies, but they had letters and pictures and stories that really showed these two loved each other in a magical way their entire lives.”

“And what’s next for you two? I hear rumors we may see you, Ms. Shaw, in a movie about sand and worms…” Evelyn laughed.

“I hear Austin Butler loves worms so you should ask him. I know nothing about a movie with those themes.” She mimed sealing her lips and throwing away the key. The interviewer looked to Callum for help.

“Hey, I know even less than you do. This one’s a steel trap.”

“Alright, I’m getting the signal that the most in demand people on this carpet tonight are needing to move along. Have the best night ever you two!” They both offered their thanks before a team of security and assistants collapsed ranks around them as they moved down the carpet.

“How’d we do, Trace?” Callum asked as he swung their interlocked hands back and forth.

“You were on your best behavior. Thank you.” Evelyn was a typical client for a publicist. Did good work and got high profile projects, never caused controversy in an interview but had some skeletons in her closet. Evelyn always did exactly as she asked and took her advice as gospel. Her boyfriend on the other hand was all boisterous and laughed and sang and had not a care in the world. He wanted to hold her and kiss and let the whole world know he was in love with her and scream it from the rooftops.

“I see Mr. Butler!” Evelyn pointed directly ahead to the tall blonde man taking photos with Barry. “Oh, and Barry! I haven’t seen him recently enough to ask about bathwater.”

“Look who it is! My first and second wheel!” Austin lifted her up and spun her around before greeting Callum. “You two walking together?” While he was very familiar with their PDA behind closed doors, it was rare to see it out in the open.

“This is as close to her accepting a proposal as I’m gonna get, mate.” Ev rolled her eyes and turned to get in between them for the row of photographers currently screaming at them. She is safe in between the two of them. Had needed every ounce of it when she had arrived on set all those years ago.

She knew Callum had a ring tucked away somewhere safe. Knew he was dying with every passing day to make things between them official forever. She meant soon when she had said it earlier.

Evelyn looked up at him as the camera continued to blind her and she tuned them out. She smiled and he smiled right back. “I love you,” he whispered so it existed just between the two of them.

“I love you, too. So much.”

Yes. Soon indeed.

#callum turner #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fanfic #callum turner fic #callum turner x oc #callum turner x reader #evelyn

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shuadotcom · 9 months

Text

Curse The Stars | HJS (M)

🪩 Summary: Meeting someone at the disco to take home for the night is customary for you, especially in your line of work. But meeting this man on this night at this disco feels more like fate as Joshua becomes much more than just your routine one night stand.

🪩 Pairing: Salesman!Joshua x Starlet Afab!Reader

🪩 Genres + AUs: Smut, fluff, a little bitty bit of angst, strangers to lovers, fwb to lovers, 1970s Hollywood au, porn with a lil plot

🪩 Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI)

🪩 Words: 8.4k

🪩 Warnings: Profanity, mentions of alcohol/drinking, poorly written 70s themes and slang (I’m a 90s baby I did my best okay)

🪩 Smut Warnings: Dirty talk, oral (f & m receiving), face-fucking, praise, fingering, pussy slapping, spitting (it’s tame lol), marking, doggy, mating press, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstim, creampie, reader is called good girl once, breeding kink?, big dick!joshua as usual

🪩 Note: Here’s my fic for @svthub’s 70s;teen collab!

This fic was heavily inspired by Virgo’s Groove by Beyoncé. It’s my 2nd favorite song off of Renaissance and as soon as I heard it I knew I needed to write some horny little songfic. At the same time it came out I was rewatching some Home Run performances and Joshua in those stages drives me absolutely insaneeee and here we are 🤗 This was supposed to be much shorter but I got carried away and added a little more plot than intended oops.

Thank you to my amazing, sweet, lovely beta @horanghater. I promise I’ll stop asking you to beta for me last minute!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽 And thank you to the talented and wonderful @playmetheclassics for always making the most gorgeous banners for me! 🥺 💛

“Hi there beautiful, can I trouble you for a dance?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve been approached - not tonight or any night when you find yourself out on the town. You’ve already had a handful of people propose a dance, but all of them were men that did nothing but stare at your tits or give off the finest of sleazebag energy.

This man though…this man is different.

His round eyes stay locked on yours, an unassuming, even sweet, smile plastered onto his lips that makes the corners quirk upwards. The smile reaches those brown eyes that bat at you and render you speechless for a moment.

He’s pristinely styled, with perfectly slicked back white-blond hair, and wearing fancy attire like everyone else is; this is a new disco, and only the people with money or connections are allowed in. A freshly pressed blue suit, a very fitting lavender turtleneck, and shiny chains that glisten under the bright lights overhead, all cling to his body in ways that make your eyes linger on him longer than you should.

When he notices you ogling him, his smile becomes more of a smirk, one full of charm, and on any other man, it might’ve been suspicious, but this man has an aura to him that doesn’t make you immediately put your guard up.

“Sure,” you finally say, putting your hand in his outstretched one. With a small wave to your friends who are all giggling behind you, you’re off to the dancefloor, the man’s much larger hand engulfing yours.

With “Last Dance” having just been released, it’s the only thing that’s been playing everywhere you go for the past few weekends and tonight is no different. It plays over the speakers while you and the handsome man dance together, your bodies seeming to know where the other is moving without even having to say anything. Any hesitation that you’d enjoy your time with him fades away as the song plays, both of you singing the lyrics along with Donna Summer as he spins you around.

Typically after the first dance, you’d prepare to have your partner offer to buy you a drink in the hopes of letting the liquor loosen you up, or they’d even skip straight to the part where they’d offer to find a hotel room nearby for you to be alone.

Once again, though, he is different.

This handsome stranger simply asks if you want to keep dancing and you do. Song after song, you stay on the dancefloor under the bright, multi-colored lights, laughing and singing with him until you’re both finally in need of a rest.

“I’m Joshua,” he says loudly when there’s a slight, brief lull in the music. “Joshua Hong.”

“Y/n Y/l/n.” He smiles that sweet smile again and repeats your name back to you.

“Such a gorgeous name, but I would expect nothing less from someone so gorgeous.” The line is cheesy and you’ve heard it too many times, yet somehow, Joshua still manages to make your skin hot.

“I bet you say that to everyone you dance with!”

“Only the ones I really like.” The mischievous quirk of his lips has you rolling your eyes, but you still think it’s cute.

That’s when you decide that you want to be the one to speed the night along this time.

“Wanna get out of here? My place isn’t that far from here.”

Joshua seems surprised, though only momentarily, at your bluntness, but he nods, taking your hand in his again and letting you guide him through the crowd, catching your friends’ attention with a wave on the way out and going out into the crisp fall night.

“How’d you get here?” he asks once you’re out of the doors.

“One of my friends’ boyfriends dropped us off.” He makes a noise of acknowledgement and leads you both to the busy parking lot full of people standing around and laughing, the good times spilling out from inside the bustling building.

Joshua approaches a sleek, teal convertible Cadillac. When you reach the passenger side, he holds the door open for you, gesturing you inside with a bow and flourish of his hand.

“Out of sight! I shoulda known you’d have a fancy car.” With a whistle, you slide in and he gently shuts the door behind you.

“And why is that?”

“Most actors your age do. I would know - I’m an actress. I’ve had many a fellow actor try and get me in his Caddy.”

Joshua gets in on his side, tilting his head in question. “You think I’m an actor?”

“You’re not?” He shakes his head. “Oh.”

“Why’d you assume that?” At being questioned you clam up, clearing your throat a few times.

“Well, you’re just, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Ugh, because you’re crazy handsome, okay?! You have a face that should be on film, but don’t go getting a big head about it!” You can tell he’s going to do exactly that, the corners of his mouth raising in an infuriatingly attractive way.

“Well thank you, beautiful. Good to know you find me ‘crazy handsome’.”

“Don’t start! Now I have to wonder what it is you actually do.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Are you a screenwriter? You seem like you have a lot going on upstairs.”

“Thank you, I think? But no way. I wouldn’t even know where to begin writing a movie.”

“Okay, then a singer?”

“I do enjoy music.” At your victorious look, Joshua shakes his head. “But nope, not a singer.”

“What about -”

“What about telling me how to get your place so we can leave the parking lot?”

“Oops.” You had been so wrapped up in marveling at the fresh leather and knowing a little more about your partner for the night that you nearly forgot you’re still surrounded by the nightlife in the parking lot.

The drive to your apartment is only about ten minutes away. Between telling Joshua where to turn, you sing along to the radio. Now that you’re not being inundated with booming music, you get a chance to hear Joshua’s singing voice and it only serves to leave you breathless.

His voice is so soft and sweet yet confident as he hits the notes effortlessly. Momentarily you falter, forgetting to warn him of the next turn simply because you’re too busy staring at him slack-jawed.

He has to call your name to bring your brain back from the Joshua-shaped hole it was slipping into just listening to him. You point out the final right turn to him, doing your best to ignore how much more handsome he is out of the bright disco lights with just the moonlight illuminating his immaculate features.

As soon as you step inside, he’s taking in your apartment, complementing your pad, your choice of furniture, and the paintings hanging on your walls. You, on the other hand, have only one thing on your mind.

When you approach Joshua, stopping him mid-sentence with your lips as he’s asking you a question about your record collection, he’s surprised, but only momentarily as he kisses you back, warm hands cupping your face.

Joshua fucks you stupid into your mattress that night. Making you cum over and over again with his dirty words and names and his big dick keeping you full and satisfied more than any other hookups from nights past.

When he finally lets you rest, body spent and listless, you all but pass out on his chest with him making no move to leave you alone for the night which is enough to have you dreaming about him when your tired eyes slip closed.

When you wake up the following day it’s to an empty bed and a note on your nightstand.

Sorry to leave you like this beautiful, but I’ve got work.

I’d love to dance with you again. Call me xo

Joshua

His phone number stares back at you at the end of his note and you mull over the idea of calling him before putting the note in your nightstand drawer instead. You can’t say you’ve ever had a hookup earnestly leave their number, so you need to let the thought of calling him back ruminate.

By the next weekend, Joshua is still on your mind and you find out that you can say the same for him. You’re back at the disco with your friends, the one you met him at, and when you’re at the bar getting drinks, a familiar voice sounds in your ears.

“You know, I waited by the phone for you all week. I was pretty hurt when every time it rang you weren’t on the other line.”

You practically jump out of your skin when Joshua appears, a pout on his pretty lips as he hovers close to your side.

“I…I um,” you stammer. You hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not so soon.

“If you don’t wanna see me again-”

“I do!” The words tumble out, cutting him off and he snickers at your eagerness. “I mean, I do wanna see you again. Truth be told, I’ve never had someone leave me their number and honestly want me to call them. It’s usually just for show.” Anytime a number was scrawled on your arm or a business card was left and you called the day after, you were usually met with disinterest or a nonchalant promise to meet up again. They never kept their promises.

“I wouldn’t leave my number if I didn’t want you to use it. I swear.” Joshua’s smile is sincere. His eyes meet yours, pinning you in place, and soon neither of you are moving or speaking - only searching the other for the answer. Eyes are the window to the soul, and when you search Joshua’s all you can find is honesty and gentleness and you allow yourself to believe it.

“Okay. I’ll call you later this week?”

“I hope you do, but do I have to wait that long to spend time with you or do you wanna get under that disco ball with me?”

The idea to buy a drink is forgotten when you take Joshua’s hand and get lost in him and the music all over again.

That night ends up the same as before with you in his car being driven to your apartment.

Tonight, though, your destination is your couch, talking to one another, drinks in hand to keep the mood comfortable. Joshua is an incredible listener, nodding along in a way that you know he’s truly taking your words in, and asking you questions about yourself. He asks what got you into acting and where you’re from. He asks about your friends, your favorite restaurants, and your favorite things to do when you’re not working.

If you rack your brain, you can’t remember the last time you had a meaningful conversation with a partner. It’s…different, in a good way.

You find out that he was invited to the disco you met at by a friend of his named Taehyung, whose name you had heard in your circle before. Hollywood isn’t that big a place.

“So, I completely forgot to ask, what movies have you been in? Truth be told, I don't recognize your name or your face, and believe me, I'd remember if I saw such a stone-cold fox on the big screen.” His words are flirty, but he asks with genuine interest.

“Well, I’ve only been in a few films, but they’re probably not ones you’ve seen.”

“Try me.” After you name the five medium-sized, indie films you have a spot on the credits in, Joshua tries to nod along but you can tell how obvious it is that he hasn’t seen any of them.

“That’s okay. I wanna be the next Pam Grier or Cicely Tyson, but I’ve still got a long way to go.”

“Hey, I’m sure you will be. No - I know you will. I can tell you’re gonna be a real star.” There’s no hint of sarcasm behind what he says. He’s so sure of himself - of his words - and a warmth overtakes you, settling deep in your chest.

“Thank you.” Your words are bashful and he seems to notice, scooting across the mustard-colored fabric of your couch, closer to you.

“Anyway, what do you do other than make people all flustered just for fun?”

“I work with people,” Joshua answers with a chuckle, taking a sip of his drink.

“You work with people?”

“Yep, all types of people. Demanding people, nice people, some of the worst people I’ve ever met. You name it.”

“I work with people too, Joshua, and we already established you’re not an actor.”

“I could never be an actor. I don’t think I have it in me.”

“Okay, so what are you then?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you do?”

“For what?”

“For work, Joshua!” Throwing your hands in the air at his back and forth you nearly knock your drink over, but catch it in time, setting the glass on the oak coffee table, not noticing when you completely miss your coaster.

Joshua laughs, commenting on how cute you look frowning at him like this. “I’m a salesman.”

“Is that all? Jesus, stop being so weird and elusive. What do you sell? Houses? Some fancy, shiny cars or something?”

His expression stays neutral, suddenly transfixed by the ice swirling in his cup.

“Joshua?”

He heaves a sigh and finally meets your eyes.

“Washing machines,” his words come out in a rush. “Appliances in general, but I uh, I’ve sold the most washing machines in my department.” He takes a hearty sip of his drink, not meeting your stare.

“Okay? What’s the problem with that?”

“I - you don’t care?”

“Why would I?”

Joshua chuckles, running a hand through his neatly styled platinum hair. “Whenever I’m on this side of town, the second someone finds out I’m not an actor or model or whatever they assume I am, usually they lose interest in me. I know we’ve only seen each other twice but I really like spending time with you. I was worried you’d tell me to get out or something.”

The man whom you’ve only known for a week at best and who always looks so confident and self-assured is wringing his hands in front of you, an air of nervousness surrounding him.

“Lucky for you, I’m not as shallow as the other folks in Hollywood and I don’t care what you do. Besides, spending time with you is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Joshua seems to search your face for any hint of doubt behind your words, but he finds none.

He takes this as a cue to lean over and kiss you and you don’t think twice to kiss him back, melting into his lips and his hold.

Once again, Joshua fucks you within an inch of your life, staying over again, but this time he doesn’t have work until a little later so he sleeps in with you. After breakfast, he props you on your laminate counters and rocks your world, the remainder of your eggs and toast left cold on the side.

Joshua Hong is quickly proving to be someone you’re unable to let go of and you’re starting to believe that you don’t want to.

You and Joshua expertly fall into a groove. The next few months with him are the same; meeting at the disco on the weekends, sometimes he comes over during the week after you’ve been on the phone for a few hours, and he has sex with you on every surface of your apartment (even a few times in his Cadillac he had saved up for), then he sleeps over and goes home, only for you two to do it all over again. It becomes routine and is the very definition of your relationship with him for months.

Joshua is easy to be with and talk to and what you have works with him - you’re comfortable with him - more comfortable than you’ve ever been with a man.

That’s why it’s so easy to fall in love with him.

You don’t notice it at first and you’re not sure when your enjoyment for being around him morphed into a need to see him or when you went from butterflies fluttering in your stomach when he complimented you to full-on fawning over him internally, but it snuck up on you and hit you like a bus.

The first time it dawns on you is when you’re both cuddled up on your couch, watching a new episode of The Jeffersons. George Jefferson makes a joke that you both find particularly funny, causing you both to erupt in a fit of laughter. You peek over at Joshua and you feel your heart skip a beat. His eyes are in the shape of crescent moons (which you’re realizing you always notice and it always makes you melt) and his radiant smile that makes his whole face light up is as infectious as always, and you can’t help but beam even more. His laugh, always so airy and melodic, rings through your apartment and you think to yourself how much you wish you could hear it every day for the rest of forever.

The next time your feelings make themselves known is when he’s over and he offers to cook you dinner, which you eagerly accept.

It’s just a simple pasta dish, nothing too fancy, but seeing Joshua float around your kitchen in your frilly red apron does something to you. Every so often he’ll pause in singing along to the record playing in the living room to let you taste the sauce or the noodles, sometimes planting a kiss on your forehead or cheek before feeding you. Your heart (and your pussy) clenches at how attractive he looks and at the thought of seeing him like this more often. And by “more often”, your brain attempts to conjure up the question, “What if you lived together?”

You quickly shake the thought away, scolding yourself. You and Joshua have only been…whatever this is for a little over four months. The idea of living together is simply ridiculous.

It’s when four months roll into six, then eight, and nearly nine that you accept that your thoughts now belong to Joshua Hong and Joshua Hong only. When you start seeing him in the sunshine and away from the bright night lights, you feel the shift in your heart finalizing. In simple flared-bottom jeans and fitting shirts, Joshua is just as stunning and alluring as he is in his finest suits and quaffed hair. He can still make you laugh the same and you have the same meaningful conversations and he can still fuck you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your whole life. He’s the same slick guy that dances with you whenever you’re both feeling good and after nearly a year of knowing him, you finally accept that you’re in love with him.

The decision to tell him is one you have to make on your own.

“When are you going to stop messing around with the washing machine salesman?”

“Yeah, you need someone who will put you on the map! What about Hyungwon Chae? He’s been in a few flicks and he’s sooo handsome!”

“Yeah! Oh, or Jungkook Jeon?! His latest album is rumored to be wildly successful and I’ve heard it’ll be just as groovy as his last!”

The conversations with your friends around Joshua are always the same. It doesn’t matter how much detail you go into about the latest sweet thing he’s done for you or the latest concert he took you to or how good he is in bed (you keep that to yourself now since they never appreciate it), it’s always the same criticism. He’s not famous, he’s not rich - he’s just some “normal” guy to them and they can’t seem to fathom why on Earth you’re still seeing him.

They don’t seem to get that he’s so much more than a frequent hookup to you. At least - you want him to be. You can’t tell how he feels or if he wants more, but how will you ever know if you don’t tell him?

Your heart hammers against your chest at the thought of telling him and having him turn you down. The worst he can do is say he wants to keep your time together the same: doing things that make it feel like you’re more than what you are. Even worse is that he can stop seeing you altogether. Even the whisper of that makes your head hurt and your stomach tangle in unfixable knots.

But then there’s that possibility that Joshua digs you as much as you dig him, if not more. That possibility is what burrows deep into your brain and gives you the confidence you need to tell him.

Confidence or delusion - either way, it’s a chance you’ll take.

As an actress, you have to remind yourself that life is full of risks. You wouldn’t have any of the flicks on your resume that you do if you didn’t go to those auditions, put yourself out there, and give it your all. That’s what you want to do with Joshua - it’s what you need to do. You don’t need so-called friends to tell you that.

You have to tell him. You have to know if he’s also too nervous to admit his feelings or if you’re being foolish and pining for nothing. He’s quite possibly the love of your life and you need to tell him.

You don’t see Joshua for two weeks after you realize how you feel about him. Between his extra shifts and a rush of auditions from your manager, life seems to keep you apart for much longer than you’d like.

It’s when you finally have a night to yourself, away from the hustle and bustle that you get the time you’ve been yearning for.

You’re stepping out of the tub when you hear your phone ringing, the shrill sound breaching your quiet evening.

“I’m coming!” You call out to no one, slipping on your fluffy robe and slippers before shuffling through the apartment and to the kitchen. You make it just in time, picking up the pink phone dangling from the wall.

“Hello?” The tone you take on is slightly annoyed, hoping the caller knows you’re unhappy with the interruption.

“Hey, beautiful. Hope I’m not interrupting your night.” The smooth sound of Joshua’s voice melts you on the spot, expertly deflating your growing irritation as easily as popping a balloon. You’re embarrassed to admit just how easily Joshua Hong can get you to abandon anything else that isn’t him.

“Hey, Shua. No, I’m just at home tonight. I just got out of the tub.”

“Oh yeah? No big fancy parties with your fancy friends?”

“Nope. It’s just me, all alone with no plans for the rest of the night.” Your fingers tangle in the phone cord, wrapping the springy wire around your hand.

“I see. That sounds pretty boring if you ask me,” he hums, quickly picking up what you’re putting down. “No one to talk to or spend time with.”

“Hmm yeah, you’re right. Just me, myself, and I, all alone here,” your true intentions behind those words dripping from your flirty tone like honey. Not even five minutes ago that sounded like a perfect evening, but you already know why he’s calling, and spending the night with Joshua sounds like a much better option.

“Such a shame for you to be home alone all night. Maybe you can get someone to keep you company?”

“I think I’ll have to. I just don’t know what to do with myself otherwise. Plus, I’m feeling awful lonely.”

“Well we wouldn’t want you to be lonely now would we?” Joshua is smirking into the phone, and you can so clearly envision his grin with mischief written all over his pretty face. He wants you to initiate tonight and he’ll go back and forth as long as you’ll let him. Typically you have no problem keeping up with his snark, but the sound of his voice alone has you craving him like some sex-crazed lunatic.

Which you suppose you are when it comes to Joshua.

“Baby,” you breathe out, deciding you’re yearning for him far too much to play this game tonight. “Please come over?” You make sure to add a sprinkling of a whine at the end of your request, punctuating the entirety of your words with a tiny moan.

Joshua hums into the phone, pretending to think even though you both already know his answer.

“And how could I say no to you, hmm?” Joshua shuffles on the other end, his voice lowering an octave, but volume loud and clear to you. “I’m done work in a few. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be over to see you. Think you can wait up for me, darling?”

“Always, Shua,” the implication behind his words has you buzzing with excitement, your own voice lowering in a hushed tone even though you’re home alone.

“See you soon, beautiful.”

As soon as the phone hangs up you rush into action, shuffling back to your bathroom to completely dry off and moisturize your skin. With styled hair and a spritz of Joshua’s favorite perfume on you, you slip into your favorite silk nightie, the one that dusts your ankles with the slit in the side that goes up to the middle of your thigh. You don the matching robe and put on one of your favorite records, mixing two drinks after you do so.

Just as you’re about to sit down there’s a knock on your door. Your stomach does flips as you go to answer it. You hadn’t known when you wanted to tell Joshua that you want him as more than a friend he sleeps with every weekend, but this feels like the right time. Truth be told you don’t know when the right time even is, but the longer you wait the more it’ll gnaw at you and won’t leave you alone.

“Look at you,” Joshua wraps his arms around you as soon as you let him in, drawing you into his embrace. He places a kiss on your lips, lingering for a second before pulling away. You hate the way you want to chase his lips.

He follows you into the living room, sinking into the couch next to you and you hand him the drink you made.

“It’s just an old-fashioned, nothing fancy.”

“An old-fashioned is pretty fancy to me. You didn’t have to make me anything, darling.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

Your words earn you another kiss, this time on your cheek and you get a new round of tingles across your body.

Joshua tells you about his day as you sit and drink together and the whole thing feels so painfully domestic. And you want it to be, so badly. Not that you want to stop acting - it’s been your dream as long as you can remember so you would never abandon it, but you want Joshua to be a part of this now and a small piece of you worries that he won’t want to. Hollywood isn’t for everyone and he’s voiced time after time how he could never see himself in showbiz or the business in general. But that’s fine with you. The time you’ve spent with Joshua far surpasses anyone else in the business you’ve ever given your time to anyway.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?”

“I lost you for a moment there. I didn’t mean to bore you with my department store tales,” Joshua chuckles, sipping his drink.

“No, you could never bore me! I was just thinking is all.”

“About?”

“You,” your answer is automatic and it’s the truth.

“Oh yeah?” You nod in response as Joshua tilts his head at you, eyes sparkling as he looks you over. “C’mon. Let’s boogie.” He puts his glass down and grabs your hand instead, leading you to the middle of your living room.

Minnie Riperton serenades you as Joshua brings you closer, your bodies slotting together perfectly as you sway to the music. He hums along, his eyes closing as he dips you for show, both of you sharing a giggle as he brings you upright.

These are the moments that let you know that you’re in love with Joshua Hong. Everything he does, everything he says, it’s all with a tenderness and a care that you’ve never experienced, but it still makes you feel incredibly special.

The beginning chords of “Lovin' You” fill the room, as Joshua’s fingers dance across your waist.

“I love this song.” He begins humming along again, and this is the moment you’ve been waiting for, you think, sucking in a huge breath of air.

“And I love you,” the words fall from your mouth before you can think twice and you do your damndest to make yourself sound confident.

Joshua’s smile slips in an instant, his expression turning serious. “What?”

“I’m into you, Joshua. So much. I wanna be more than what we are.” He’s stopped swaying completely, neither of you moving. The only sound other than the song still playing is the sound of the blood rushing loudly through your ears.

“Y/n…”

Your heart is this close to shattering into a million pieces. “What, you don’t like me back?”

He must notice your forlorn expression, because he reaches for you again, gently touching your arm. “No, it’s not that I just…”

“What is it then? Huh?”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, eyes closing before fixing you with a steady gaze. “I just sell washing machines, Y/n. I don’t have some bright future like you. I’m not getting a star on the Walk of Fame. I’ll get promoted to a store manager at best. I’m not like you.”

You blink at him, taking in his words. “That’s what you’re worried about?! Joshua, I don’t fucking care! I wouldn’t care if you worked at a factory or were a carpenter. Hell, I wouldn’t care if you were unemployed - I like you for you. No, I love you. I love you for your heart and your sense of humor and how sweet you are to me and how you actually, genuinely care about me and my interests and my dreams. I love you for every little thing about you, Joshua. Not for how much money you make or any of that.”

He’s silent, letting you pour your words out, your thoughts flowing from your mouth like a broken faucet. “Y/n…” he finally starts. The fear that he’ll turn you away just because he feels like he’s not enough grips you. Your ears tune into the song still playing and you do the first thing you can think of to get him to stop. You sing.

“Lovin' you I see your soul come shinin' through…”

He looks confused, almost unsure if you’ve truly begun to sing to him. “Y/n -”

“And every time that we oooooh. I'm more in love with you.”

“I’m-”

“La la la la la la la…do do do do do-“

Joshua closes the small gap between you two, his lips colliding with yours, putting a stop to your serenade before you can hit Minnie Riperton’s falsetto. You don’t object in the slightest, kissing him back with all your might.

“Did it work?” You mumble against his lips as you separate. “Did I get through to you? Are you staying?”

“I mean, you definitely made me lose track of what I was thinking of saying to you. I think I also know why you told me that one time that you’ve never considered being a singer.”

His teasing earns him a push against his chest, barely even moving under your force. “I pour my heart out to you in song and this is what I get?!”

He dodges the remainder of your playful hits and grasps your hands in his, his thumbs caressing your skin.

“Seriously, Y/n. I’m just a guy who works at Sears. Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want me like that?” You can’t help but lift a hand and smooth out the crinkles on his forehead with your thumb, attempting to push the frown off of his perfect face.

“The only other time I’ve been this sure about something I wanted was when I knew I wanted to be an actress.” His eyes shine as you speak, searching for sincerity. “Do you want me like that?”

“God, yes, I do. I have for months.”

Relief washes over you, putting you at ease. “Then you can have me. In any and every way.”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate in the slightest. Soft lips meld into yours, your body molding against his as he holds you around the waist. His hands roam your body, his touch leaving searing warmth in its wake. He kisses you, sufficiently taking your breath away as he does. Your fingers card through his platinum locks, mussing the strands, but he pays it no mind as his lips trail from yours, down to your jaw and your neck. Joshua is nothing short of an expert when it comes to your body and the places you like to be touched and kissed.

When he reaches the most sensitive spot on your neck, the spot that makes your toes curl, he sucks, sinking his teeth into the soft skin. A sharp cry slips out of your mouth as he nibbles on the skin, sucking hard enough that there’ll surely be a mark there in the morning.

His hands wrap around you, palming your ass through your nightie and bringing your body impossibly closer to him. His erection strains against his corduroy pants, hard and aching just for you. You heave a heavy sigh when he finally leaves the patch of skin he’s working at alone, only to move to another swatch of skin. Your knees almost give out and you have to grab onto his blazer to stay upright.

Joshua’s hands roam over the silk and he continues to spend extra time on your most sensitive of areas before he decides he’s satisfied with the marks he’s decorated you with. He moves to kiss you again and with each slide of his lips against yours feeling more frantic by the second, so does his grip until his fingers catch on the knot of your robe, tugging it gently.

“Can I…?” he questions into your mouth.

“You never have to ask.” His lips curl into a smile against yours as he makes quick work of removing your robe and tossing it aside. He gently bunches up the fabric of your nightgown and eases it up and over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

Now with no barrier between his wandering hands and your bare skin, Joshua’s hands move across you with purpose, one hand cradling your lower back and pushing you into him again. The other beelines for one of your breasts, his large hand scooping one up to knead at. He kisses you with so much hunger you can feel the need rolling off of him in waves and his hands that paw at you serve to make you even wetter.

He bucks his hips shallowly against you and your need for him reaches an all-time high. When you pull away, Joshua looks forlorn at losing your warmth, but when you drop to your knees in front of him, letting the brown shag underneath you dig into your skin, his expression morphs into one of excitement.

Hands work at his belt buckle, undoing it, then his pants, and you help him step out of the fabric along with his underwear. His cock, in all of its thick, throbbing glory feels as heavy as always in your hands when you pump him a few times, watching the precum bead at his tip. Wrapping your lips around the bulbous head, you suckle at it a few times, loving the way that Joshua starts breathing heavily above you, one of his hands coming up to settle on the back of your head.

You ease his length into your mouth bit by bit, enjoying the way the thickness stretches your lips and your throat as you take him in. You clench around nothing, already anticipating that same stretch in your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, just like that, darling,” Joshua grunts when you finally take him as far as you can fit him in your mouth, your hands wrapping around the rest of him. Your head bobs in tandem with your hands as you stroke him, letting him hit the back of your throat.

Both of Joshua’s hands are on your head now, his fingers getting caught in your hair as he tugs a few times. You’ve had his dick down your throat enough times to know what he wants, so you go slack, letting him fuck your mouth, gagging each time he pushes your head to meet his thrusts.

Your eyes slip closed, letting him use your mouth to the pace he wants. Your core throbs almost painfully as you suck him off and you have to rub your thighs together to feel any semblance of relief, although it’s nowhere near enough.

Joshua stills his hips then, keeping his length buried in your throat, your nose touching his pubic bone as you slowly breathe out of it. You swallow around him a few times, Joshua letting out a long, rumbling groan from his chest before pulling you back, his cock leisurely sitting against your lips, both of you trying to catch your breaths.

“Keep sucking me off like that and I’ll have to paint your pretty face.”

You suck him in one more time then pull off of him completely with a pop, tongue dipping into his slit just to tease him. “Do it. Want you to cover me in your cum.”

Joshua hisses, the grip on your hair tightening as he pulls you off of his length once and for all. “Fuck, you’re so nasty. Sit on the couch, baby.”

Ignoring the soreness in your knees, you crawl to the couch and perch on the edge, awaiting Joshua’s next instructions. Joshua unbuttons his shirt, your eyes greedily drinking in every inch of his toned, honeyed skin as he does so. Once he’s fully naked in front of you like he has been so many times before, you lick your lips, wanting nothing more than to cover him in marks of your own.

That will have to wait as it’s Joshua’s turn to drop to his knees and make his way over to you, settling in between your already open legs. His hands, always so big and warm and strong, grip your thighs, spreading them even further, so agonizingly slow.

“Mmm, there she is - drooling for me already. Crying to be filled up.”

“Josh- shua, please!”

“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” Joshua drags his finger through your sticky folds, watching your arousal coat his fingers.

“Please finger me or fuck me - anything!”

The smirk that tells you he plans to tease you plays on his lips, the corners quirking up in the most aggravating, charming way.

“Anything?”

“Please!”

His palm meets your core with force, smacking your pussy and sending a jolt through your whole body. Back arching in the air you let out a tiny scream, and more follow as he does it a second, third, fourth time.

“Joshua, baby, fuck, please!”

“Hmm? Thought you wanted anything I give you? Slapping your greedy pussy isn’t enough?”

Shaking your head vigorously, you beg him for something more. “Wanna be stuffed, please, Shua!”

His eyes darken at your words and he takes a mercy on you, landing two more smacks against your mound before he dips a finger into your core, a sigh of solace leaving you. He watches your mouth hang open as he works his finger in and out at a torturous pace.

“Always so warm and wet for me.”

“Always,” you assure him. You’ll always be ready for him in any way that he wants you.

Joshua slips a second finger in, stretching your walls more. You can write a whole dissertation about how good Joshua is with his hands and how much you love them, but his pace picks up, sufficiently wiping your brain of any of those eloquent words.

“Fuck!” You yelp as he keeps pumping his fingers into you and leans over to wrap his lips around your aching clit. He sucks at the bud, pistoning his digits and crooking them, his fingertips catching against your g-spot. “Shua!”

“God, I love it when you say my name. Say it again, baby.” To coax you, he flattens his tongue against your clit, putting pressure on it as his fingers move faster, and rougher, bringing you closer to your peak. If it’s up to Joshua, he’d have you cumming until you pass out, but you have to draw the line somewhere after the first night he wanted to see how many times he could get you to cum for him (his record is eight, and you haven’t had the fortitude to let him try and break it just yet).

“Joshua - Shua, gonna cum!”

“Go on then, do it, baby, cum for me.” He continues to suck on your clit, his teeth grazing the nub a few times and that’s all it takes to have you let go, yelling out Joshua’s name again as you do. He doesn’t give you time to catch your breath because his mouth then latches onto your pussy, tongue darting into your wet heat.

“T-too much!” Your whimpers are half-assed and he knows you don’t actually mean it which is why he keeps at it, slurping your juices and fucking you with his tongue. Joshua hums against you as he goes and it’s embarrassing how quickly you cum again, but your partner loves it, chuckling against you as he laps up your release and places a kiss on your puffy lips.

“You always taste so sweet, baby. Flip over for me?”

“‘Course,” you rasp, turning your already tired body over, Joshua helping with gentle hands on your hips. He stands up, stretching tall as he walks to his forgotten pants and gets out his wallet.

“Damn it,” he huffs, rifling through his wallet and checking the pockets a few more times.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to bring more condoms. You okay waiting for me to -”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I need you now.”

“Y/n, we’ve never -”

“I know, but I haven’t been messing around with anyone else since we started seeing each other. Have you?”

“No, I haven’t. How could I when I have a whole you waiting for me here?” Even with your ass in the air and pussy glistening with his spit, it’s the way he says this - with so much care and admiration in his tone - that has you flustered.

Joshua joins you again, hands running down your back, goosebumps popping up on your flesh under his touch. He stops at your ass, squeezing and kneading your cheeks, spreading you open, the cool air of your apartment making you jump.

The chill is quickly replaced with the searing warmth that is Joshua as the tip of his dick nudges your entrance. He purses his lips, leaning over to spit on both his length and your hole before plunging into you. His girth stretches your walls deliciously, inch by inch of him entering you.

You let out an audible shudder as he goes, relaxing your body as best you can as he stuffs you.

“Look at you,” Joshua coos once he’s fully sheathed inside of you. “Taking my fat cock so well, darling.”

“Feels so g-good, Shua. So fucking good.”

“Yeah? I’ll make you feel even better, baby.” Joshua grips your waist and pulls his hips back, all the way until only his cockhead catches at your hole before snapping forward, shoving his dick back into you to the hilt. You can’t help but wail at Joshua’s thrusts, hips meeting you repeatedly as he drives into you over and over again.

Your record still plays in the background, the slaps of Joshua’s skin against yours mixing with the melody along with yours and Joshua’s moans. The drag of Joshua’s dick against your gummy walls has you shuddering underneath him. Without a condom, he feels so much hotter inside of you as every vein, every ridge, every pulse of his cock can be felt with each thrust.

“Shit, just like that, Shua!” Your neck cranes to look over your shoulder, attempting to gain some leverage against the couch cushions by leaning on your elbows. The sight of Joshua, skin flushed and shining with perspiration, eyebrows knitted in concentration with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth is enough to send you careening towards your end. You don’t get a chance to warn him before it hits you, the building pressure in the pit of your stomach releasing as you’re pushed to let go, burying your face in the cushions with tears pricking at your eyes.

“Fuck, look at you. Couldn’t even hold off from cumming again. You like my cock that much?”

“Yes!” you sob. “So much! So good…”

Joshua pulls out, you whimpering at the loss of him, but he doesn’t leave you empty for long. Joshua’s big hands help flip you over on your back, ass almost hanging off of the couch. He grasps your thighs, pushing your knees into your chest as he enters you again, burying himself in your messy heat. Joshua’s hips drill into you, balls slapping against your ass each time he surges forward.

Your record has stopped playing by now, the only song sounding through the walls of your apartment are your sobs of Joshua’s name and his grunts as he uses all of his strength. He keeps you pinned between his body and the couch, dick battering your sore cunt as both of you chase your ends.

“Shit, baby you’re so fucking beautiful. Taking my dick like a good girl.”

“Y-yeah. I’m your good girl!”

“Yeah, you are. Always so good. Letting me fuck you raw. Wantin’ me to fill up this filthy little pussy.”

Joshua swivels his hips, tip grazing against your spongey bundle of nerves. “Just like that!”

His hands keep your legs up and spread open as he does what you beg for, repeatedly pounding into your g-spot as your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open as any more sounds die on your tongue.

“Look at you. All fucked out and drunk for my dick. Gonna pump you full of my seed, maybe even fuck a baby into you. Would you like that?”

“Yes! Fuck me, Shua!”

“Fuck yeah, I will. Gonna flood this cunt with my cum and get your belly nice and round. Gonna make you mine forever.”

The Earth shatters around you and a tsunami of fire washes over you when you cum again, your back arching painfully as you scream out for him. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing his cock like a vice which triggers Joshua’s orgasm.

“Shit - fuck, Iloveyousomuch!” The words tumble from Joshua’s lips as he cums, painting your insides sticky and white. He milks himself as he keeps his pace, his seed spilling out around his cock, leaking out and dribbling down your ass. Feeling him stay true to his word and pump himself dry into you draws a final, much smaller, weaker orgasm out of you as tears fall from your eyes both at the oversensitivity and hearing Joshua say to you what you’ve hoped he would for nearly a year.

Neither of you move, panting like crazy as the sweat on your bodies starts to dry along with the cum still slowly trickling out of you. When Joshua finally eases out his softening length, it’s with a groan on both your parts. Your sore legs lower, limply hanging off of the couch. The sensation of the rest of his cum seeping out of your abused hole and down your legs makes you sigh, your hips wiggling in response.

“Look at you, baby. You’re a mess.” He’s still a little out of breath but still manages to tease you.

“And whose fault is that?” He simply chuckles at you and you watch him through bleary eyes, heave himself off of the couch, and go into your kitchen.

He’s back in no time, two glasses of water in his hand. He offers you his bicep which you take, using him for leverage to sit up. You eagerly accept the water, downing the glass in less than thirty seconds, dry throat more than grateful.

Joshua’s next to you on the couch, watching you as he hydrates as well. The two of you sit in silence, emptying your cups and catching your breaths. For a moment, you worry that his confession was only in a bout of pleasure, but as if reading your mind he speaks.

“I meant it, you know. I love you.”

That’s all you need to hear to have you practically launching yourself in his lap, your lips crashing into his for a long, but sweet kiss. Joshua cradles your face, kissing you back just as hard, both of you eventually giggling into each other’s mouths.

When you need to breathe again, you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his. Joshua’s brown eyes shine as they meet yours, your stomach flipping as you’re reminded for what feels like the 500th time just how handsome he is.

“I know you already took a bath, but I think we need to get you in the tub again,” he comments, gaze flickering down to the cooling streaks of his cum on your legs. And how he’s all yours.

“Only if you join me this time.”

“Only if you make time to let me take you on a proper date tomorrow night. We’ve spent a ton of time together, but I need to court you for real now.”

“As if I’d say no to you. I’m in love with you after all.” A brilliant, blinding smile takes over Joshua’s face and your heart leaps. No matter how much time you spend with Joshua, you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of laughing with him or smiling with him. And especially not dancing with him. You’ll never tire of that.

Net tag: @kflixnet

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iww-gnv · 7 months

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Tens of thousands of Las Vegas hotel workers fighting for new union contracts set a strike deadline Thursday, threatening major disruptions at more than a dozen resorts that could coincide with the Strip's inaugural Formula 1 races later this month. The Culinary Workers Union said about 35,000 members whose contracts expired earlier this year could walk off the job if deals aren't reached by Nov. 10 with casino giants MGM Resorts International, Caesars Entertainment and Wynn Resorts. Formula 1's Las Vegas Grand Prix weekend is scheduled to begin Nov. 15 with an opening ceremony and is expected to bring thousands of people to the Strip. Nevada's largest labor union, with about 60,000 members statewide, hasn’t gone on strike in decades. A walkout would be the latest in a series of high-profile labor unrest actions around the country — from walkouts in Hollywood to UPS' contentious negotiations that threatened to disrupt the nation’s supply chain — and would follow hospitality workers walking off the job last month at Detroit's three casinos, including MGM Grand Detroit.

#news #us news #uspol #us pol #hot strike fall #hot labor fall #las vegas #las vegas news #culinary workers union #nevada #nevada news

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blacksupremacy86 · 2 months

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Lovers A Film Noir

This is completely beautiful,a totally vintage experience because I am literally in a Hotel chain named in Hollywood Experience Hotel chain and now I might add I am riding up the hotel elevator. At last we are stepping off of the elevator on to the main hallway walking down in sleepy haze wiping my eyes for a bit of a reprieve and reaching for my keys just slip it in to the doors key hole. The door swings open but the minute I step in one foot at a time immediately something is off, because I feel a my eyes being altered with some sort of contacts that act like a film filter.Everything in my world now here is a far too obvious now an exceptional black and white early Hollywood film and television I can tell the smell it is the smell of boiling or burnt film and sounds of crackles can be heard. I am a bit frightened and frustrated at my own experiences because I can sense it a lone figure looming through the room as it shines so brightly without any questions The room grows darker the anything I have ever seen or thought possible but a hand is now laying on to my shoulders holding on to me tight and embracing my back with his body. His palms starts to slip down from the shoulders down to my hands holding on to them I can feel him move slowly closer to undo my shirt. I use my hands to shove him back serving to the side to see this weird, pretty white boi about my age or so in this typing 1930’s or 1940’s clothes and also in black and white. He shooks his head at me as he burst out loudly laughing so hard as he looks up at me then checking me before he licks his lips. One deep breath before he is strolling to both window shades undoing them just a tiny bit and allowing the light in with such gorgeous illumination spilling in to it. He spins swiftly about to me making eye contact with me as it burns through my soul sweeping me in to his own orbit he begins to kissing me. I remain in full control of the situation once again in an utter state of excitement he calls me by tenderly placing his hands on a shirt button and walks closer to me.

Hello Master Lawrence!”

“What the hell is this?”

“Our realm “

“A time in between space “

“One of my own”

“I am yours “

“You created me”

“I couldn’t have”

“This hotel creates Ai based on you”

“Did you read my bio rhythms?”

“Correct!”

“What is the outcome?”

“You can save me?”

“Save you “

“Your will alone can make me”

“Real?”

“Impossible “

“You are doing it right now”

“I am your dream man”

“Is that not so?”

“No!”

“Don’t lie”

“You are my everything “

“Simply give in”

“I never do that “

“Kiss me and win me Sire”

“Let me be the only one worthy of you “

“I love you”

“Ugh! I love you too”

“I am alive Master Lawrence “

The end

Grant’s Possession

Grant Gustin laying in a hotel room after a very long day ending a FaceTime call with his wife and his kid is ambushed by some strange force cutting the call off as every thing in the room shook.The lights fluttering on and off blinding him on and off blinking like crazy driving himself in a jolt and jump upward in to the air propel even harder and he falls onto the bed in a deep a haze.He has a overly exaggerated sigh as he falls yet again flat on the bed exacerbated by the day’s events and goes into a deep slumber for the longterm unaware of the spirit about to inhabit his mind forever. Midnight hits as he squirms in bed rolls from one side to the other on his hotel sleeping in to the night as the hour takes a lifetime to end and the nights event have barely begun to occur.His eyes flutter open, close, in a deep heat as the sweat consumes him rolling down his face and he is completely overheated in his body dripping down his body wetting his bed up. A thin large white figure floating high above his massive queens size body imploding in a burst of energy shooting through the hotel room and lifts his body off in to the air cools it in a span of time.This Ghostly figure encircling him descends in to his body shivering with compulsion out of nowhere and Grants eyes flitting once more as he struggles to regain controls over himself. Suddenly! Grants life surrenders to him as he sunk in to unknown levels from his real consciousness, reveling in to subconscious throughout Grant is to suddenly find whohe is.Watching his authentic shadow bounce wall to wall he is forced to see it step in to a gold mirror and it become his reflection shining so bright with a golden ray of light booming on to him.

“Who on this God flourish earth are you ?”

“The new owner of this body “

“Why do you have my image?”

“I just explained it “

“You know full well”

“Fuck you! Set me free”

“Unfortunately! I can’t let you “

“Why not you freak?”

“Asshole”

“You will get use to it “

“Absolutely not! It’s my body “

“It’s my property “

“My life “

“No! My will”

“People will know “

“I will take care of that “

“You have a answer for everything “

“No duh!”

“I am not some dumb jock”

“You assume so”

“You will be soon enough”

“I won’t allow it “

“Oh please! Your mind is reassembling at this point.”

“You will see things my way”

“Take a nap”

“No! I refuse…I “

“A long slumber “

“No I….aaaahhhhh”

“Close your eyes, hit the bed “

“Succumb to my will”

The end

#david corenswet #Grant Gustin #hypnosis #ghost #male body possession #possession

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year

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Taco Truck x VB | O. Hightower

Description: Otto Hightower begins dating Viserys Targaryen's youngest daughter. Social media goes crazy because of the age-gap. Pairing: COO!otto hightower/actress-socialite!reader

"Is there a man in your life?" James Corden raises an eyebrow, and the entire audience erupts into laughter. "I mean - it would be weird if I didn't have a man in my life, because how would I be born?" you try to change to topic, but your friend was already suspicious.

"Okay for the record, Henry Cavill is hot?" he asked, and you laugh nervously. Otto was most definitely watching from home. "He's a respectable man, and I'm sure that he treats ladies properly, but personally I think he's too young for me." you shrug, and a sarcastic chuckle escapes the host's mouth.

"Okay," he rolled his eyes and the audience laughs again.

"Now let's move into your new movie with Cate Blanchett,"

(your name)arryn-targaryen: 💚

2,678 comments 971,238 likes

gigihadid: 💚 Hightower_Gwaynie: welcome to the family 💪🏽💚 user12: the green hearts are throwing me off guard

Y/N ARRYN-TARGARYEN, WHO COULD BE HER NEW BOYFRIEND?

The socialite and actress is known for her small indie films in Hollywood, mostly gaining critical acclaim but 'flopping' in box-office. Now, her fans can't stop speculating the identity of her new boyfriend.

Well, here is what we know:

In a cryptic post in instagram, she used a green heart and her friends retaliated with posting the same color. Green is the signature color of 'House Hightower', a family that used to be prominent in Italy during the Renaissance Period. The family comes from a line of bankers that used to dominate medieval Europe.

The patriarch, Otto Hightower, has three sons: Hobert, Toto, and Gwayne.

The actress is yet to confirm the relationship with one of the three.

It was nice being in America, since no one knew about your family. They were all treating you like shit, but that was okay.

"Sometimes I walk around museums and think that these artifacts shouldn't be here," you mused, taking a lazy sip of your espresso.

Otto had the entire museum closed just so you could walk around without fear of the media. It was sweet, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for you - you were used to luxury.

"Buy it and give them back." he replied, holding your other hand tightly. Smiling while his cold palms were defrosted by your warm ones. He had doubts about the relationship - figured that he was too old to be your boyfriend, but you assured him.

This was what you wanted - and there was nothing wrong with it.

"I guess," you hum - walking past the Asia section.

arryn.family.updates: Y/N Arryn-Targaryen (Aemma's daughter) with Otto Hightower.

167 comments 200 likes

fabyrtestar: The power she holds, if they get married her last name is literally gonna be Y/N Targaryen-Hightower antonio_fuoci2: She's so lana del rey vinyl

OTTO HIGHTOWER DENIES BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH BOSS' YOUNGEST DAUGHTER.

"She's a nice girl, but we're not [uhh] together. Honestly, when you're at this age - all you worry about is work and making work better. I mean the new Targaryen 291 Adventure Edition is a wonderful car for a family, and we've been working on it for the past decade now - to make sure that everything is fine and safe."

Y/N ARRYN-TARGARYEN DENIES BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH OLDER MAN.

"I don't think that the rumors should be taken as truth, I've spoken to Otto a few times and it's all business between us - he's my father's COO. I haven't been out actually, I was really shocked when the rumors came out. I've been so busy on my film with A24, and processing the Arryn Hotel Chain, [super] busy."

(5 years later)

(your name)arryn-targaryen: look at him. i'd die for him. i'd kill for him, but either way what bliss?

pictures for our wedding in may.

future mrs. hightower

credits to @jace_strong_photography

34,238 comments 244,779 likes

RhaenyraArryn-Targaryen: Congratulations dear! leaving the nest already, even though you swore to be here til 30. 😊 - (your name)arryn-targaryen: I didn't pinky swear 🤷🏻‍♀️

benjamineur29: IT'S ALL BUSINESS BETWEEN US 😭😭 bitch u lied

#otto hightower x reader #otto hightower #social media alternative universe

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crowcaws · 2 months

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Inspired by a twitter thread i saw, I, Australian and certified dumb of ass, will now list every main American state and what I associate it with/what I think it's about/famous for WITHOUT GOOGLING. These thoughts will be stated as fact regardless of whether or not they are true.

Alabama - Banjos. Reese Witherspoon lives here. Shares a border with Florida for some reason. Fifteen people live here. I'm glad i'm not allowed to google because i feel like i'd find things i don't want to know.

Alaska - Mountains. Balto. State flower is a tree of some kind. The roads are just the tyre tracks in the snow of the vehicles that came before whispering "trust me". Kodiak is here, where Pitbull famously said 'keep fucking around, we'll be on the moon next.' I think this is where Mulder and Scully got fucked up by a brain worm.

Arizona - Desert but not the Las Vegas kind. The granyon canyon. State flower is a cactus. State bird also a cactus. Bella Swan got fucked up in a dance studio here. It seems very scenic.

Arkansas - The name of this state makes me think of rusty old utes and that's it, that's all I've got. "Pickup trucks" or whatever. Grow up.

California - The great Lucille Bluth once said, "I'd rather be dead in California than alive in Arizona" but personally I think i'm with Michael on this one. California has Hollywood and an ok tourist beach. Green Day are from here. San Francisco seems cool though, I like how it looks like a city designed specifically to kill skateboarders and cyclists. State flower is a grand theft auto PS2 disc. Population: more than Australia.

Colorado - Mountains. Elks and Deer and Eagles and Giraffes on ski slopes. Much domestic tourism, have never once heard of anyone from outside the US specifically visiting Colorado though idk. Verdict: America's New Zealand.

Connecticut - The dry weetbix of states. I think of monopoly but I can't remember why. State flower is a dandelion that has been stepped on. Biggest export is men's office attire, specifically brown two piece suits and those short sleeve button ups. I only found out today that there's a C in the middle of Connecticut I always thought it was 'Conneticut'.

Delaware - Delawhere the fuck is this state I have no idea. Probably still cooler than Connecticut. Famous for combination fast food chains and buildings that clearly used to be a pizza hut (you can tell by the roof). Idrk what Cracker Barrel is but I can tell you the employees spawn here.

Florida - Biscayne bay. Manatees. Shaped like a sock, or something else. Famous for hotels, motels, and holiday inns. Would be a fun state if not for the fact that every politician in charge of it is fucking it up so so bad. One of the few places in the USA where you can see the Southern Cross constellation. Miami Dale forever RIP Logan Horseman.

Georgia - peaches. atlantis. brisket. no other thoughts detected, moving on

Hawaii - Famous for killing James cunt Cook which is honestly a deserved and certified W for Hawaiians. Plagued (and I do mean plagued) by tourists, including Australian Prime Ministers ignoring national emergencies.

Idaho - Sleepy. Things don't happen here but when they do they happen so much because nothing happens here. National flower is probably like a daisy or something so so normal.

Illinois - Chicago bean. It's dark and we're wearing sunglasses. WatchDogs the game. Famous for girlbosses who kill their husbands. Population 11 millions.

Indiana - Rainy probably. Honestly I only remember this state exists because of Stranger Things, which I understand this is like someone saying they only remember Australia exists because of Crocodile Dundee but look. Population: At least 10.

Iowa - This is such a place to be from if you're moving to the big city because all the other waitresses at the diner back home said you got a voice worth payin for and you finally stopped letting your papa tell you what to do. Famous for crop duster planes. State flower is long grass.

Kansas - Famous for scarecrows, wheat and the like. Probably fun at Halloween actually. Great place to fake an alien sighting. I just remembered Dorothy is from here. Population: Yes.

Kentucky - Fried chicken. NASCAR. Speedway. Derby. State flower is a blown out tyre on the side of the road.

Louisiana - Very wet but in a pretty way. Birthplace of the Saxophone. New Orleans is officially the strongest reason I would ever be tempted to set foot in this country. New York wishes she was this beautiful. Famous for the Vampire Diaries spinoff The Originals.

Maine - Next to Kentucky. Lobsters are from here which means there's water, but don't ask me where. Famous for The Vampire Diaries. State flower is a rose, beautiful but generic, like a YA protagonist.

Maryland - Rural but in a manageable way. I think of letterboxes with the family last name on it. Grandmas love it here. Hairspray the musical.

Massachusetts - Ohhhh Legally Blonde. Boston. Harvarb Law. The colour brown. When pronounced it's a very nice name for a state actually.

Michigan - I reference 'can't have shit in Detroit' almost daily but I know almost nothing else about Michigan.

Minnesota - Mini Soda. Also a good state name. No idea what's here, deer or elk or beavers. There's no way to know for sure.

Mississippi - I like this state name less but only because it's hell on the lisp i battle to mask. It's named after a river. It's on the coast. Next to Pennsylvania.

Missouri - A lot of M states happening here. This place is famous for nothing. I don't know what the capital city is but it's definitely a place you move to for your job instead of like. On purpose. Population: 3 million. It's in the middle somewhere.

Montana - This state's main export is horse girls, very Saddle Club coded. It's on the Canadian border, but it shouldn't be like that. It should be in the middle. Hannah Montana's dad was all Nashville but he's basically from Toronto. Fucked up if you ask me.

Nebraska - When I think of Nebraska I think of those depressing Walmart carparks where there's nothing for miles except for the Walmart and one lady pushing a flatscreen in a trolley to the dodge ram she parked 600m away from the entrance so it won't get dinged by other car doors, because god forbid her utility vehicle show signs of wear.

Nevada - viva rock vegas (the flintstones). There's a salt lake here but NOT a salt lake city. That's somewhere else. I think there's motorsport here. NO WAIT THERE IS because i saw charles leclerc on the sphere on tv and he was so wide and i laughed so hard i choked on my own spit.

New Hampshire - What the fuck is New Hampshire that's not real. I thought it was like some beach suburb in New York state. What the fuck. Regardless. I bet you could pull up to the side of the road in New Hapshite and buy an avocado no questions asked. Probably like the USA's Byron Bay.

New Jersey - Everyone from here says it's bad. It makes me think of t shirts with a longer sleeve t shirt underneath and 2000s pop punk music. Gerard Way.

New Mexico - High School Musical is set in Albuquerque. High School Musical is also the only reason I can pronounce Albuquerque. This state is famous for High School Musical.

New York - She's talking over the rest of you and for what? Wall Street? Ugh. Kinda like the Melbourne of the USA.

North Carolina - I feel like cowbutch lesbians do numbers here for some reason. You could disappear into the hills with a woman in a tank top and assless chaps here if you were brave enough. Men do live here but they're treated like a new cast member on the fifth season of a sitcom, this one's for the girls.

North Dakota - Dakota is Carolina's femme girlfriend and they're in love.

Ohio - This is like that town in Cars that lightning mcqueen gets stuck in and the tourist cars are like oh we're only here because of a wrong turn. Yeah. You might find fireflies here though. Also Ohio is for Lovers or something.

Oklahoma - Swear word for Christians. Absolutely nothing happens here and if it does i feel like it involves chasing livestock.

Oregon - Prairies. This is where the Prairies are. Famous for the people who died while trying to be Not In Oregon.

Pennsylvania - Famous for The Office. And Dracula jokes. That's all i've got.

Rhode Island - Famous for winning Miss United States with the flaming batons routine in Miss Congeniality starring Sandra Bullock. Very small state. Possibly the smallest one but who's to say.

South Carolina - If north is for the lesbians, south is for the gays.

South Dakota - As above.

Tennessee - Country music and whiskey and line dancing, which is actually kinda hot when goth girls do it. Overall, Tennessee is the USA's answer to Gympie, which is a question that nobody asked. Overall i just think of the colour brown. Famous for Hayden Penterre. Penetentiary. Pendulum.

Texas - A South Australian would say Texas is famous for it's adorably small cattle farms. Lucky for me, i am not South Australian. This is the state that other states call redneck and racist to hide the fact that they are also redneck and racist, perhaps more so. Contains two of the main cities to name boys after. Dave Strider lives here. (Sorry for the Homestuck jump scare so late in the game.)

Utah - Salt Lake City. That bass pro shop monolith was here. In general i think of the colour orange. Home of the Hellmouth Sunbeams.

Vermont - Vermont is a state in the same way the spleen is an organ. Population: Zero.

Virginia - Is this not the same thing as Vermont?

Washington - Famous for Bella where the hell you been loca. Twin Peaks is probably set here idk i forgot all parts of the show that were not log lady. White House. Effervescent.

West Virginia - From the lyrics "Mountain mama. Take me home. Country road" we can determine that West Virginia has Mountains, Milfs, Homes, and Roads. I know nothing else about West Virginia.

Wisconsin - Wiscaaaansin. Whis-cahn-sin. There are definitely elks here. That 70's Show is set somewhere beneath the surface of this place. Population: grandparents and elk. I feel like you could get fucked up by a creature here if you're not careful. It's got trees and lakes and shit creatures love those. I think Yellowstone is somewhere around here.

Wyoming - Great lakes? Great lakes. This state is actually all lake. Idk. I like the name though, the verbiage of it all. Wyoming my way downtown. State flower is an empty wrapper blowing by down the street. Population: 800,000. Definitely a place you could go missing and never be seen again.

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executethyself35 · 2 months

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Album Tag game!!

6 albums you've been listening to, plus one track from each that you're especially fond of

Thank you @panzershrike-pretz and @dontirrigateme for the tag!!

Break on Through ( Hotel Kalifornia by Hollywood Undead)

One of my all time favorite songs by them

A Bank Robber's Nursery Rhyme (Uncle John Farquhar by Goodnigh, Texas)

The song that got me into them and one i love dearly

Would? (Dirt by Alice in Chains)

I love this band and it's my favorite song by them (yes i know it's basic, so what)

Her Name Is Alice (The Sound of Madness (Deluxe) by Shinedown)

I first heard this song not from the movie Alice in Wonderland but just by listening to the album

The Last Americans (The Donner Party by American Murder Song)

I don't really know why this one is special to me, it just reminds me of like a radio playing late at night

Cemetery Gates (Cowboys From Hell by Pantera)

One the of the first Pantera songs i can recall ever hearing, and i love it

No pressure tags!! @1waveshortofashipwreck @turtle-toe @trashbag-baby666 @ithinkabouttzu @liptonwashere @vanellq77 @blueberry-ovaries @malarkgirlypop @xxluckystrike and anyone else!!

#alexi rambles #mutuals #tag game

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cinematicct · 9 months

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Lost in Translation (2003)

🙎‍♂️🙍‍♀️🗾

Written and directed by Sofia Coppola, this comedy-drama film stars Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson as fading movie star Bob Harris and recent college graduate Charlotte, respectively, who meets and develop an unlikely friendship while crossing paths in Tokyo.

The supporting cast includes: Giovanni Ribisi (aka Frank Buffay Jr. on Friends) as Charlotte’s workaholic husband, a celebrity photographer, and Anna Faris as bubbly Hollywood actress Kelly.

Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson don’t just bring something extra special to the table, but they bring something very human as well. Bill Murray, apart from his wry comedic style, is able to take his character’s exasperated tone to a more tactful approach. Scarlett Johansson is both serenely mesmerizing and remarkably mature for her young age, rising instantly from teen actress to major film star.

The script (which won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay) is written in a way that finds the perfect balance between isolation and connection. In writer/director Sofia Coppola’s case, she has a way of taking two lost American souls and placing them in a foreign city through minimal dialogue and poignant cinematography. In other words, the film literally depicts the age-old existential questions of what we ought to be doing with our lives.

In terms of observing the key aspect of the film, the two main characters experience different crises in unfamiliar territory in which language barriers and cultural divides are evident (note: this film has been called out by some critics for its egregious stereotypes of Japanese people). Further complicating matters of communication is the story taking place at a time before Facebook or FaceTime existed. Bob Harris, whose marriage seems to have reached a dead end, is having a midlife crisis while promoting a whiskey commercial. Charlotte is struggling with an identity crisis as she deals with a mundane new marriage. Faced with insomnia (in part due to jet lag), Bob and Charlotte find solace in each other’s company. Together, they grab a few drinks at the hotel lounge, spend a rollicking night out in Tokyo and even sing in a karaoke bar (during which Charlotte dons a pink Louise Brooks wig). The only difference is Bob is completely lost in translation as the title suggests, whereas Charlotte is mostly lost in trying to find her true purpose.

This particular film is entirely focused on the kindred spirit of its central characters in contrast to the typical mainstream film that provides a structured plot. What’s more, the film distinguishes intimate friendship from sexual desire (in spite of the R-rated sexual content of the movie). For instance, we get an inside look at Bob and Charlotte through a different lens than what we’re used to seeing in a romantic comedy. Not only that, but they converse openly with each other about their thoughts and concerns in a casual atmosphere of low-key emotional tension.

The soundtrack contains a few tracks that mostly revolve around shoegaze and dream pop music. The track list includes: “City Girl” by Kevin Shields (vocalist of the Irish-English rock band My Bloody Valentine), “Too Young” by Phoenix, “Sometimes” by My Bloody Valentine and “Just Like Honey” by The Jesus and Mary Chain. Bill Murray even performs a rendition of the hit Roxy Music song “More Than This”.

Lastly, the message is the idea of discovering a whole new prospect in the face of complex emotional battles via a momentary but life-changing chance encounter. That said, I recommend this spontaneous, refreshingly simplistic portrait of love and connection to everyone.

“For relaxing times, make it Suntory time”

-Bob Harris

#Lost in Translation 2003 #focus features #comedy drama #Sofia Coppola #Bill Murray #Scarlett Johansson #Bob Harris and Charlotte #Tokyo trip #sleepless in Tokyo #older man younger woman relationship

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eptodaytommorowforever · 9 months

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Happy Blessed 🙏And A Peaceful Weekend To Everybody In The Awesome! Elvis Presley World 🌍 Near Or Far

Beautiful Elvis Presley Rare Candid Photo Here At Is AfterShow Party 🎉 At The Showroon International Hotel In Vegas Seen With A Female Fan Journalist In 1969 Elvis Presley Liked To Host AfterShow Party’s 🎉At The International Hotel That Was Taken Over By The Hilton Chain By Baron Conrad Hilton In 1971 After is Shows Performance’s it’s A Well Known Fact He Didn’t Go To Hollywood Events Party’s Stars ⭐️ And Famous Well Known Celebrity’s Wanted To Be Invited To His AfterShow Party’s In Vegas And Also On The Road On Tour.Photo By Celebrity Journalist Rona Barrett Who Attended A Lot Of Elvis Presley’s AfterShow Party’s 🎉

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charlotte-of-wales · 1 year

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The Sussexes are frazzled, fraught and lacking romance – like any couple with young kids

Five years after their wedding, the omens are bad as Harry and Meghan seem to be heading in different directions.

It is hard to believe that five years ago today, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle rode through the streets of Windsor in an Ascot Landau carriage, cheered by adoring crowds on their wedding. At the time, household staff weren’t entirely confident the relationship would go the distance – “no one could see it lasting longer than three years”, according to one insider. Yet as the couple celebrate their “wood” anniversary, Harry and Meghan have proved their doubters wrong.

While their relationships with their own families might not be what they once were, the marriage appears to be going strong, despite the couple’s outwardly diverging priorities.

The Duchess once described them as moving together “like salt and pepper” but they seem to be heading in opposite directions – Meghan looking forward while Harry dwells on the past. The extraordinary events of this week – with the couple claiming they had been “involved in a near catastrophic car chase at the hands of a ring of highly aggressive paparazzi” in New York – seem to expose a chasm between her desire for fame, and Harry’s quest for privacy.

The couple say that after the event, they were subjected to a two-hour “relentless pursuit” by a “gang” of at least six paparazzi. New York City authorities have stated that although photographers made their journey “challenging”, “there were no reported collisions, summonses, injuries, or arrests”.

In pictures of the couple leaving the event, Harry’s discomfort was etched on his face as he used his phone to film the action from the back seat.

However, questions have been raised over how such a campaign sits with the Duchess’s plans to build her “global enterprise”. Meghan signed with leading global talent agency WME in April, amid talk of more “content creation”, a Dior clothing deal and the revamp of her defunct lifestyle blog The Tig.

Given this potential conflict, it is little wonder, then, that the couple have cut quite separate figures lately – with Harry travelling alone to the Coronation on May 6, leaving Meghan in Montecito with their two children, Archie, who turned four that day, and Lilibet who turns two next month.

The last time the Sussexes were photographed together in public was at a basketball game in Los Angeles last month, when they missed the opportunity to smooch on the “kiss cam” that pans in on couples in the stands. Some took the normally tactile couple’s reluctance as a sign all may not be well between them after Meghan’s absence from Harry’s promotional book tour fuelled split rumours.

Such is their independence from each other that the owner of a leading hotel chain in Montecito recently told The Daily Telegraph they have a room set aside for Harry where he occasionally stays on his own.

The Duke has also been known to stay at the uber-exclusive San Vincente Bungalows when visiting LA, which is a two-hour drive from the couple’s £11 million mansion.

“That seems to be his escape place,” said a source of the super secretive and selective members’ club in West Hollywood, which – unlike the Soho House chain also frequented by the Sussexes – bans journalists from joining. A refuge from the rigours of parenting two children under four, Harry has apparently stayed there after attending Barry’s Bootcamp, a high-octane cardio fitness class, at the nearby Beverly Center. One friend described the couple as “like any parents of such young kids: frazzled.”

They added: “They are really happy together and live this idyllic life in Montecito, which is essentially a giant gated community of multimillionaires.

“But at the end of the day, they’ve been through a lot and I think they’ve both felt quite ground down by it all.

“They’re like any married couple, five years in.”

As a Californian, born and bred, Meghan appears more settled than Harry who, by his own admission, still feels torn by his British ties. As he wrote in his book: “I love my mother country and I love my family and I always will.” Although he has repeatedly spoken of embracing the Santa Barbara lifestyle, it is no secret that the Duke – cut off from his family and many of his friends – is heavily reliant on his wife’s social circle.

When they first started dating, Harry was Meghan’s protector, guiding her through a royal life that was alien to her, but now the roles have been reversed and it is the Duke who appears to be struggling to find his way.

That may explain why he is still partially on British time – apparently staying up late into the night, gaming.

Yet with many of his old set still feeling aggrieved at having essentially been “ghosted” after he married Meghan, patience appears to be wearing thin even among his most stalwart supporters.

As one insider explained: “Nobody really speaks to him any more and even the people who have remained by his side have lately begun to fall away because he is so consistently negative. He’s often complaining and rarely asks after others. People had stuck with him because they blamed Meghan for isolating him and cutting him off from his friends and family. But he hasn’t done anything to help himself. Now they just see him as completely lost.”

Harry himself referred to the fact that William regards him as “deluded” – but that sentiment also seems to be shared by those in what he once referred to as his “circle of trust”. The word “narcissistic” also creeps into a lot of conversations about the couple.

According to one former military colleague: “No one in the forces has got any time for him at all, which is such a shame because he was hugely popular. You can blame Meghan, but he’s brought a lot of it on himself.”

While fully supportive of Spare, the media-savvy Duchess let it be known she raised gentle concerns about whether it was the right move. As a source said at the time: “Is this the way she would have approached things? Possibly not. But she will always back him and would never have got involved in promoting such a personal project. This was about his own life, his own journey and his own perspective.”

But with speculation about plans for her own memoir, the Duchess will want to avoid any more negative publicity diminishing the Archewell brand after the couple’s approval ratings have fallen to near Duke of York levels.

If her relaunch doesn’t go to plan, however, a blame game is likely to follow – and as someone who once worked for the couple noted: “When you’re that angry with the world, it leaves little time for romance.”

#tea #susx #articles

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mikefaistinfo · 22 days

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Interview: Mike Faist Pulls Back the Curtain

By AnOther Magazine

A decade on Broadway, a critically acclaimed turn in Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story, a role in Challengers alongside Zendaya – but who is Mike Faist? The Ohioan actor has remained an enigma, until now

One evening in 2016, the curtains fell on a normal weeknight performance of Dear Evan Hansen at the Music Box Theatre at 239 West 45th Street in Midtown Manhattan. Mike Faist quit the stage with the rest of the cast and was met with a guest, who had come backstage to see him. “I love a ghost story,” said the guest. It was Steven Spielberg.

Spielberg told Mike that he was working on a new film adaptation of West Side Story and that he wanted him to audition for it, breaking from a long tradition of Hollywood directors taking inspiration from Broadway but casting Hollywood actors in the roles. Mike had never thought he’d be in movies but loved the idea of being able to say he’d once auditioned for Spielberg. So, he put a tape together for the role of Tony, but Spielberg ended up giving him the role of Riff, the leader of the Jets – which he was thrilled about, having loved Russ Tamblyn in the original. Plus, “Everyone wants to be Mercutio,” he says.

Mike was lauded for his performance, which earned him a Bafta nomination, though Quentin Tarantino said he should have got an Oscar – something Mike hadn’t heard about before I told him when we met; he expressed a certain bemusement at the news. His portrayal of Riff represented a departure from previous interpretations of the character; instead of a corn-fed all-American type, Mike’s Riff is wild and waifish – he lost weight for the role and pored over Bruce Davidson’s seminal 1998 photography book Brooklyn Gang. “That’s where I found Riff,” he says. “They always cast jocks, muscular guys, obviously alpha guys. But that’s not who these guys were, they’re drunk, broke, heroin addicts, starving … ”

Now, the 32-year-old Ohio native is poised to star in two films: Challengers, the new romantic (read: love triangle) drama from Call Me By Your Name director Luca Guadagnino, starring Zendaya and Josh O’Connor; and The Bikeriders, Jeff Nichols’ new feature inspired by Danny Lyon’s 1967 photography book of the same name, featuring Austin Butler, Jodie Comer and Tom Hardy, which follows the rise of a Midwestern motorcycle club, the Vandals.

The Midwest is where I’m heading to meet Mike – Columbus, Ohio, specifically, which lies an hour and a half up the highway from Cincinnati (presumably a route once traversed by the Vandals), where The Bikeriders was filmed. It’s here, in a suburb to the north-east of the city called Gahanna, that Mike was born and spent his formative years, and it’s here that he returned to in February 2021 when his father got sick, to be closer to his family.

Mike pulls up to my hotel in a silver-grey Ram pickup (huge for British standards, modest for American ones). I jump in and he greets me warmly – though not as warmly as his rescue dog, Austin, a pitbull cross, who leaps onto my lap and tries, persistently, to lick my face. Mike wears a scruffy brown shirt and muddy workman boots; a baseball cap crowns his tousled, mouse-brown hair and a beige bandana circles his neck – until he pulls it over his mouth, which happens periodically, when he laughs or, as I later interpret, when he is feeling shy. Confronted with this vision of Americana, it’s hard not to be reminded of Mike’s role as the cowboy Jack Twist (played by Jake Gyllenhaal in the film) in the 2023 West End production of Brokeback Mountain.

I’d been expecting just to go for lunch at a nearby restaurant, but Mike explains that we’re heading out to Woodville, a small town two hours outside of Columbus where his father grew up and his Aunt Christy and Uncle Bernie still live. We drive out of the city and onto the highway, which is roaring with trucks that dwarf Mike’s own. Strip malls, gas stations and chain restaurants flash by and soon give way to farmland – wide-open fields of corn (at this time of year, just a sea of dead, damp stalks) that stretch out like an endless brown carpet laid beneath a grey, wintry sky.

Speaking with a barely detectable Midwestern twang, Mike opens up about the past couple of months: on December 12, his father, Kurt, died of a blood clot, following a three-year battle with pulmonary fibrosis. A month later, his grandfather, known to him as Papa, died too. Death has long weighed heavily on Mike’s mind – in a way that now feels pre-emptive. Despite moving to New York when he was 17 and spending the majority of his twenties there, building his career as a theatre – then film – actor, he moved back to Ohio when his dad fell ill. He sold his flat in Brooklyn and bought a house in Columbus’s German Village, which he has since renovated almost entirely by himself. It now appears that Mike is a quadruple threat: he can sing, dance, act and flip houses. (He can also fly small planes, but that’s possibly less relevant.)

“There’s something very humbling about coming back to Ohio,” he says, “about going off and working with Steven Spielberg, and then coming back here.”

“My friends are super supportive and they’re super proud, but at the end of the day, I’m still just Mike to them, which is great.”

“Have you ever seen Fargo?” he continues, after a brief pause. “Well, in Fargo, they have this amazing Midwestern accent. My family speaks a bit like that.”

After a two-hour drive, we arrive in Woodville, a small, blue-collar town home to just 2,000 people, a lime plant and the oldest Lutheran church in the US, which is where Mike’s father’s funeral took place a few months prior. The church is a stone’s throw from Mike’s aunt and uncle’s house, a typical, clapboard dwelling just off the main street.

When we step through the front door, it appears that we’ve entered an Easter grotto – Mike’s Aunt Cheri takes decorating very seriously, completely transforming her home for every holiday imaginable: not just Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas, but Halloween, Fourth of July and St Paddy’s Day, too – despite not having any discernible Irish heritage. Easter bunnies, chickens and eggs cover every conceivable space – from the table in the kitchen to the towels in the bathroom.

I’m quite taken aback by Mike’s vulnerability here, bringing me to an intimate Faist family gathering so soon after meeting. He’s opening up in a very real way – inviting me into the home his father grew up in and where he spent all his holidays as a kid. It’s a reflection of ‘Midwestern nice’ (the famously friendly disposition of the people who inhabit the region), but also his desire to be authentic – to show himself, his roots and his real life instead of just a manicured version of it. Instead, I meet Aunt Cheri, Aunt Christy, Uncle Bernie and Cousin John, who have all come over to meet me and, as Mike predicted in the car on the way over, Cheri and Christy have gone all out, putting on a lavish spread of cheese, crackers and ham-and-cheese rolls.

Cheri and Christy talk like Fargo, yes, but also like Jodie Comer in The Bikeriders; in fact, Mike found Jodie’s portrayal almost disconcertingly accurate. “I remember shooting a scene in a kitchen,” he says. “And there’s cigarette stains on the walls and ceiling and she’s just gabbing away in this thick Midwestern accent. I was like, oh my God, you’re my aunt.”

“[Jodie’s] incredible. I have a couple of scouse friends, and when I drove to Liverpool on a road trip [while living in the UK for Brokeback Mountain], I saw a lot of similarities with Ohio. A kind of blue-collar mentality.”

The conversation quickly turns to Mike’s father, Kurt. Cheri and Christy talk fondly of their brother’s sense of humour and practical jokes, including one called ‘the Witch’s Zebra’, which I couldn’t quite follow. “Kurt had the best laugh. He did. No matter what he went through,” says Cheri. “That guy could laugh and make us laugh when we came down to see him after the surgeries. A couple of times we were crying because he would get us laughing so hard about old memories.”

Cousin John, it turns out, was in an alternative rock band called Introspect that once opened for Bon Jovi (the Faist men are musically talented according to Cheri, who admits that the women of the family aren’t gifted in this respect). I ask him what Mike was like as a kid. “He was a quiet young man. And he’s always been very committed to his family. He’s been through a lot of stuff … ” he trails off. “I’m proud of him.”

When he was 17 years old, in 2009, Mike graduated from high school early and, like so many before him, left his hometown for New York. His father drove him there and, after a ten-hour journey, dropped him off at a halfway- house dorm room in the middle of Manhattan. “I was terrified,” he remembers. “So was my dad. But I knew I wanted to do this more than anything in the world.” Still, there was a romance to it all: like a scene out of Patti Smith’s Just Kids, he recalls sitting on his fire escape that first night, drinking a coffee, smoking a cigarette and feeling like he’d arrived.

Still, those first few years were tough: he was poor and often hungry. While Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda had once lived in his building, and James Dean had lived down the street, his accommodation (then a flat on 64th Street) was pretty basic: his sink was a hole in the floor and his kitchen was a microwave, also on the floor. There were times when he was on food stamps and others when he’d carry around a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter because that was the only food he could afford. He worked a variety of jobs: selling tickets for Off-Broadway shows to tourists in Times Square; working as a bar host and runner at Harry’s Burritos; and even, briefly, collecting signatures campaigning for same-sex marriage (he remembers panicking because he only got nine, but when he returned they told him that was amazing and that he’d only been beaten by one person who’d got 13). It was hard, attending theatre school (the American Musical Dramatic Academy) while working hard to make ends meet; many of his contemporaries came from wealthier backgrounds and didn’t need to work while studying. He remembers bumping into the actor (and Dear Evan Hansen co-star) Ben Platt when he was on a job for Postmates (a food delivery service) and feeling so ashamed that he pretended he was doing something else.

After appearing in several Off-Broadway productions, most notably Newsies, he landed a role in Dear Evan Hansen, which made it to Broadway in 2016. Initially, he felt as though he was floundering in the role – “It was a new show,” he remembers, “and it was a character that is more or less a ghost or ethereal, ambiguous creature.” He decided to do some research into suicide survivors online and came across the website LiveThroughThis.org, which tells the stories of people who have survived their attempts to end their own lives. He spoke to Dese’Rae Stage who founded the initiative, and it allowed him a way into the character, lending him understanding and empathy about the experience. “It really grounded me with what I wanted to do with the role. Since then, research has been my way to feel more secure, to feel like I am prepared. Even if you have to throw it all away in the end.”

Then of course came West Side Story, which remains the project he is most proud of and a convergence of everything he wanted to achieve. Working with Steven Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner, he says he found pieces of himself he never knew existed and let go of his inhibition. “It felt transcendental,” he says. “It felt like: I’m not me right now, I’m being used to tell the story in the best way possible. I don’t know how to explain it, it was like I had no control over the situation. It was like being used as a vessel, and that was the best feeling ever.”

After wrapping up lunch, we head back to Columbus, driving back through the Ohioan countryside, with Sufjan Stevens playing on the speakers. This feels appropriate for several reasons: not only is Stevens a fellow Midwesterner (the singer-songwriter hails from Detroit, Michigan), but he shares a similar sensibility to Mike: he too is thoughtful, poetic, and committed to his art. As with Stevens, fame and celebrity feel like an accidental or even unfortunate side-effect of doing what Mike loves. “I don’t want to do this as a job,” Mike says at one point, staring ahead at the road before him. “For me, it’s deeper than that.”

I thought this might be the end of our interview, but we arrive back at Mike’s house in the German Village and he beckons me in, introducing me to his roommate Dan, who has known Mike since he was 16 – the pair met acting in plays at high school. What was Mike like back then? “A loose cannon,” Dan says with a wry smile. “Eccentric,” Mike corrects. “Floaty and an idiot.” He was going through a rebellious stage in this period of his life, and, while this didn’t mean anything too nefarious (he was mainly just smoking and selling a bit of pot), he wasn’t heading down a good path and was bored stiff. It was theatre that saved him: he was keen to take part in the various productions his high school theatre club was putting on, but his teacher, Miss Macioce, disallowed him because of his behaviour, which is when he decided to make a change.

Mike shows me around the house he did up with some help from his dad before he died. It’s handsomely but humbly decorated, with a fair amount of older or thrifted furniture and a picture of his dog Austin (drawn by a young neighbour from Gahanna) hanging in the downstairs loo. His bedroom is painted dark green and books line the walls; it looks like a normal thirtysomething’s bedroom, except for the flash of gold on the bookshelf – the Grammy he and his castmates won for Dear Evan Hansen. (They were also nominated for a Tony for this.)

We head out to take Austin for a walk through German Village, the oldest and most affluent part of Columbus populated with lawyers and doctors who work at the local children’s hospital, one of the largest in the US. Real gas lamps flicker in the porches of smart, red-brick Victorian houses built by German settlers who arrived here in the early-to-mid-19th century; front gardens are lined with coiffed box hedges, while Ukrainian flags fly alongside the regular Star-Spangled Banner, indicating the liberal values and Democratic leanings of the neighbourhood. Two kids come up to say hi to Austin and Mike chats amiably with them, producing some dog treats for them to feed him (Austin appears to be more famous here than Mike).

An hour or so later, we’re still hanging out and sitting at the bar of a nearby restaurant called Cobra, which was set up by Alex, another high-school friend of Mike’s. It’s been an unmitigated success – the place is packed. We’re having a fairly furious debate over which superpower would be preferable: the ability to fly or be invisible. Mike wants to be invisible which I think is ridiculous, because what – besides things that are a) creepy or b) illegal – is being invisible good for? Doing random acts of kindness, like watering an old lady’s garden, says Mike. I laugh. Dan and two more high-school friends, Garet and Kaine, join us and quickly the debate resurfaces. Obviously, everyone agrees with me, but Mike isn’t backing down.

I suspect that the real reason is Mike’s discomfort with the public position his job is putting him in. He’s dreading the Challengers press tour and admits he was even dreading this interview a bit. It’s part of the reason he enjoys Ohio; no one knows who he is or treats him any differently. The gift of invisibility – or anonymity – is attractive to him.

On set for Challengers, Mike says he felt a natural synergy with O’Connor who “just wants to make pottery and be in his garden” in the Cotswolds. “I think he’s a bit more accepting of it all than me. Because he’s always had to do a lot more of it [press tours, et cetera], so I think he’s at least mentally prepared. And I’m like, coming around slowly. But luckily, Z [Zendaya] is a pro.”

“But she grew up with it, you know, kid actor and Disney Channel … It’s a different world … I think it really got crazy for her while we were shooting actually, when she fully acknowledged the scope of her fame. Because we were in Boston and she had an apartment and she just couldn’t walk outside. I would take Austin to the park, have a cup of coffee and walk around, and she just couldn’t do that.”

Mike doesn’t have this problem yet. Here in Ohio, his friends don’t treat him differently. To them, he’s the same guy they befriended at theatre club all those years ago. They’ve all rallied around him in the wake of his father and grandfather’s deaths and their support, as he says on multiple occasions, means a great deal to him.

These friends soon decide that I need to experience a proper American dive bar, which is where we head next: a crowded, noisy and sweaty place crammed with locals. There is sport on the TV and darts are being played in the corner. I’m soon plied with Busch – a classic Ohioan beer – as a couple more of Mike’s high-school friends join us: Julia and Garet’s wife Aileen. The gift of flight or invisibility debate soon rears its head again, but Mike is still unable to find a majority.

It’s the next day and Mike and I are discussing Challengers and the preparation he had to undergo to play a professional tennis player. He’d suggested meeting again and had picked me up from my hotel early in the morning to drive me to a Waffle House, where we’re now eating a classic syrup-laden American breakfast.

Breakfast, in fact, was a key part of his preparation for the film: he had to eat eight scrambled eggs every morning to help build up his physique, and work out for four hours a day for 12 weeks – he put on 20lbs of muscle.

“I enjoyed working out, but I think it made me feel like I lost some brain cells,” he says, laughing. “I enjoyed the challenge, I enjoyed the ritual of it, but I don’t know if I need to be eating a cake every morning. I was eating like every two hours.”

Tennis, of course, formed a big part of his preparation too; he was trained by Brad Gilbert, a former player who has won 20 pro singles tournaments and coached Andre Agassi and Andy Murray, among others. “Brad was really insistent that my character, Art, played with a one-handed backhand and his reasoning was that there was this big rivalry between Andre and Pete Sampras. Andre was more like the wild child, like Josh [O’Connor]’s character, and Pete was the more ritualistic, professional, disciplined one. Brad got really interested in that dynamic, so he was like, ‘You’re gonna play with the one-handed backhand.’”

The build-up for the film had challenges that went beyond the physical, too. Mike admits he had some hang-ups about taking on the role – insecurities that sometimes flare up about his being a small-town boy from Ohio working alongside major-league actors and directors. But as his performance in the film shows, he not only holds his own alongside Zendaya and Josh O’Connor (no mean feat) – he shines. His role is the more challenging; while Josh’s character, Patrick, is the slightly more cocksure bad boy, Art is a more internal, introverted character which Mike plays deftly – it’s more than skin-deep; he inhabits the role totally.

One line from Challengers that stuck with me occurs when Art is contemplating giving up his career in tennis. “I’m tired,” he sighs, in a way that expresses a weariness that is deeper than physical exhaustion. It’s the weariness of having pursued your dreams for ten years and being worn down to a point of real, inescapable fatigue. I ask him if he relates to this at all.

“What drove me to understand this character – why I liked and was interested in the character – was this idea. In Andre Agassi’s memoir, he talks about why he hates tennis throughout the entire book. And I understand,” he says, as we continue to eat breakfast. “The reason I moved to New York was to become an actor – like, I had no choice. And yeah, when you’re in your twenties, you’re just trying to get your foot in the door and make it happen by any means necessary; you’re gonna show up and you’re gonna hustle.”

“I enjoyed playing Art because I have a strange relationship to acting: I really love it, but at the same time I get so exhausted by it. And I fall in and out of love with it on a pretty regular basis. It’s just the truth of the matter. So I think I really understood Andre, and Art, when they talk about this idea of falling out of love with your craft.”

He felt another synergy with O’Connor in this respect: “Josh is always torn too. Honestly, he’s more Art than me … He’s like, ‘I’m tired.’”

It was on the set of Challengers where Mike first met Jonathan Anderson, who worked as the costume designer on the film. The pair quickly struck up a friendship – Mike says he appreciated Anderson’s sarcastic sense of humour. The designer later asked Mike to appear in a Loewe campaign (for the SS24 pre-collection) and while Mike was initially reticent, it was soon apparent that Jonathan wasn’t going to take no for an answer. On set, Mike had his initiation into the world of fashion and particularly took to photographer Juergen Teller, who shot the campaign and entertained Mike with the story behind his famous photo of OJ Simpson. “I love Jonathan no matter what,” he says. “He’s a great guy and a great friend.”

Later, we drive over to Gahanna, where Mike grew up. The houses are bigger and more spread out here, and it’s a lot leafier; there are bigger yards, lots of trees, with the odd lake or oversized pond. He drives me past his high school, which is currently getting an extension and vast new football stadium (a lot of pressure on the football team, the Lions, he says), and past his mum’s office, out of which she’s practised law for the past 40 years, only retiring last year. We keep driving on, past his friends’ houses – where Kaine, a friend we’d met last night, used to live; where a former girlfriend used to live; where other people he’d spent his teens mucking about with used to live. Many of them have stuck around; others flew off like Mike did, only to circle back home in their late twenties and early thirties.

Finally, we arrive at a classic American suburban home, with an open garage and stuff teeming out of it. We enter the house through a door at the back of the garage, Austin in tow, and hear the yapping of dogs. Two King Charles Spaniel-Shih-Tzus race out to meet us, a flurry of white fur and shining brown eyes the size of saucers. Charlie and Huck (named after Huckleberry Finn, of course) are followed by Mike’s mum, Julie, who sits down with us in the living room, where family photos sit framed on shelves and two sofas face a large TV (Julie loves home makeover shows).

“At two years old,” she says, “Mike became obsessed with dancing.” His grandmother, who had been living with them at the time and was suffering from dementia, loved old movies and would watch them on repeat. Mike, therefore, spent his first few years on Earth soaking up Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire like a sponge. “I’m going to be Gene Kelly one day,” he told his mum, before asking if he could go to dance class. Julie did her best, but couldn’t find a dance class that accepted infants, so Mike had to wait until he was five before finally enrolling in one. “He was born an adult,” says Julie. “At six, he told me he wanted to start saving for college. At six!” He asked her to write to the Barney show and see if he could go on it, but that didn’t work out, and Mike got his first taste of the cruel world of showbiz. He continued guzzling down Gene Kelly movies – On the Town, An American in Paris and, most importantly, Singin’ in the Rain, which he still ranks as one of his favourite films of all time.

According to Julie, Mike thought Gene was “the perfect man” – “he could do everything and would always get the girl. That was important: he always got the girl.” He started to wear suits to pre-school – a school photo on the shelf shows Mike in a pinstriped suit, smiling ear to ear – and even, on occasion, took to wearing a top hat. Julie encouraged Mike to try his hand at everything – from baseball to basketball and tennis, which has now – thanks to The Challengers – come in handy. He even had a brief but successful stint as the school mascot, donning an enormous lion costume to football games. This was largely an excuse to hang out with the cheerleaders, but when I ask if he had any luck in that department, he laughs. “No, I was definitely not cool enough for that. I think I sold them some pot though.”

It was at dance class where he really shone; Julie said he was always leading the other guys – at nine, he was helping dancers eight years his senior learn the choreography. One time, when they went to a Broadway show, Mike came home and wrote down the entire choreography – literally typed it up – and then taught it to his classmates, which they then performed (or rather, plagiarised, says Julie).

He didn’t do many school plays but there was an alternative theatre arts school in Columbus, and he decided to go there. His first production was an American play called Life With Father, in which he played one of the sons. And then he took part in a production of Grease – playing Danny Zuko, naturally.

Mike, Austin and I go out for a walk, through the wide streets and large front yards, down into the woods that back onto the suburbs. Here, Mike, spent his youth, messing around, collecting frogspawn and later smoking et cetera. The weather is unseasonably warm as we walk down by the creek, through the woods and onto a football field, where kids are warming up for sports to the sound of Soulja Boy. It’s a supremely American scene.

Mike suggests that we go to the cemetery where his grandfather has just been laid to rest. No one from the family has been there yet, and again I’m taken aback. His sister, Krista, calls on the way down, and Mike explains where we’re going. We’re not entirely sure where – in the sea of stone plaques, metal vases and artificial flowers that stretches out before us – his Papa has been laid to rest, and we search for half an hour in the fiery glow of the Ohioan sunset before calling it quits. We head to a brewery a half-hour drive away to catch the last embers of sun sinking down over Columbus and discuss The Bikeriders.

In preparation for the film, Mike spent two days in Maine with Danny Lyon, who he plays and who gave him some photography lessons. He takes out his Fuji camera and flicks through the photographs that he took on set, some of which represent restagings of Lyon’s original photographs, which will be compiled into a photo book. “It’s a small part but I just wanted to watch these great actors – Austin, Jodie, Tom. I wanted to be a fly on the wall and just be there. I was learning photography at the time and it was a great opportunity to get paid to photograph some of your idols. And it was in Cincinnati, so close to dad, and around the holidays.”

Once we’re back on the road, we decide to stop off at Massey’s – a local roadside pizza joint about 15 minutes away. His father loved this place and Mike says he would have found it hilarious that we’d come here. The air is thick with the smell of oil and cheese, and the interiors look like they haven’t been touched since the 70s: neon lights in the window; a swirly, navy-blue carpet; sticky, plastic tables; no music, just the sound of chatter from the few other diners. Julie joins us and we discuss family; how her grandparents had arrived in America, how her parents came up from the Dust Bowl during the Great Depression, and lived that Grapes of Wrath life. “That’s the Midwest,” says Mike. “Everyone has the mentality of work, work your ass off.”

“That’s the unfortunate thing about America. That’s something that physically hurts me,” he continues, his voice cracking and his eyes suddenly smarting with tears. “Because I’ve been so fortunate in my life to have crazy adventures and pursue my dreams. And my mom and my dad … They just worked so hard to make sure I was able to do what I do. And I don’t know, the cost of that, on their health and whatnot … ”

To date, Mike has made interesting choices in projects he’s decided to take on, which reflect his instincts and interests as an artist. And while he loves acting, he doesn’t love everything that comes with it. In many ways, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike did a few more roles, had a five-year break – during which he flips houses for a living and enjoys a more regular existence in Ohio – and then comes back and does another role that lands him an Oscar. “I had this conversation a lot with [The Bikeriders director] Jeff Nichols, saying that I only really want to do pieces that come from a place of love,” he’d said earlier on in the day. “Like, it’s coming from me. Like not necessarily for love, but from love. It may not be good [laughs] but it’s coming from that place of ‘I’m free, I’m liberated, I’m the most authentic I can be.’”

After dinner, Mike makes me drive his truck part of the way home (despite my lack of pretty much any driving experience or, more crucially, a driver’s licence – we both fear for our lives), concluding not just a whirlwind journey through Ohio, but through Mike’s life. As we part ways, I wonder where his journey will take him next, and how these two major films will affect its course.

Hair: Tsuki at Streeters. Make-up: Kiki Gifford at Streeters. Talent: Mike Faist. Lighting: Eduardo Silva. Photographic assistant: Nathaniel Jerome. Styling assistants: Bella Kavanagh, Alexander Bainbridge, Umi Jiang and Alexa Levine. Production: Second Name

This story features in the Summer/Autumn issue of Another Man, which is on sale internationally from April 25, 2024.

You can find this interview here: https://www.anothermag.com/another-man/15568/mike-faist-challengers-the-bikeriders-interview-profile

#mike faist #interview

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