#Video Interview Security

[backseatloversz]

Trying to watch panic at the disco behind the scenes but so fucking much of it is zack hall and aside from the fact he is legitimately terrible on his own and also just comes across as really annoying he reminds me of the dad of this one childhood friend of mine who i inexplicably hated and was terrified of for like my entire childhood and i dont know why but i am still uncomfortable around him. so. Thats really awesome& cool

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[thenoticeblog]

HOW I MET HIP HOP'S NO. 1 CHEF | THE NOTICE BLOG | EPISODE 3

Episode 3: Hood Chef Sometimes the journey makes the story, and that's definitely how I felt when thinking about how I met Hood Chef. In fact, his story shows a perfect example of how oppressed communities can create their own cultural capital. 

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

There's a viral video circulating from the Fort Worth Zoo, of two keepers who ended up in a habitat at the same time as a silverback gorilla. Spoiler for good news: neither the humans nor the gorilla got hurt. It's a bad situation that ended extremely well, and that's why I want to talk about it.

The audio for this video is mostly someone praying loudly, so if you need to turn the audio off to watch it, you won't miss anything relevant. If you don't want to watch it, here's the summary: it starts with a keeper running around the corner into the main exhibit, pursued by a large male gorilla. She is quickly able to get into a doorway at the back of the exhibit, but does not completely close the door because the gorilla is standing across from her, watching. He eventually moves off to the right hand side of the exhibit, where we can see a keeper is trapped in the corner at the front. She was trying to move towards the exit as he moved to the right, and she stops, standing very still behind a tree, while he stays along the far right wall. They stay like that for a minute, and then the gorilla runs to the front right corner, and the keeper is able to run to the door in the back of the exhibit and get to safety.

Let's start with basic information. Even though it's just going viral now, this video is from October of 2023. It was taken not by a guest, but by the zoo security officer responding to the situation. Hmmm, seems like he maybe should have been doing something else during that situation, instead of than taking a phone video. It's going viral now because the guy (who is no longer employed at the zoo) decided to post it on TikTok for his five minutes of fame. This guy immediately started giving all sorts of media interviews, answering questions like "why no tranquilizers" inappropriately, making memes out of his own video, generally distasteful shit.

Zoo spokesperson Avery Elander gave a public statement that "thankfully, there was no physical contact between keepers and gorilla, and all staff and animals are safe." A comment from the zoo has also indicated that the incident was due to keeper error. (As opposed to, for instance, something in the fencing breaking.) According to the guy who posted the video, a lock was left unsecured and the gorilla was able to open the door to the habitat. I don't know if I buy it, and again, this just... is probably why he doesn't have a job anymore. By sharing that detail - real or not - he places a ton of public scrutiny and blame on that keeper team. (If that's what happened, I can promise you it will have been dealt with internally.) He also was nice enough to say he wouldn't name the women in the video... but verified they're still staffers at the zoo... which means they're eminently identifiable! Excuse me while I ragequit for a second.

So there's two reasons I wanted to talk about this. The first is to make sure it is well known that this guy is purposefully and intentionally exploiting the worst day of someone's life for media attention. Their lives were in danger, and he's using it for fame. His name is in the media articles - I'm not going to share it because he doesn't deserve that attention. The second reason, though, is because this video is a masterclass on how to survive if you end up sharing space with a gorilla. Every zoo person I've spoken to or seen comment on the video is so, so impressed with how the keepers handled themselves.

The gorilla in this video is 34-year-old Elmo. All apes in AZA zoos are managed in protected contact, so keepers are supposed to be separated from them by a barrier at all times. The zookeepers were in the habitat putting out a mid-day meal when he got out. Watching the video, you can see he's not actively being aggressive towards them - he's not making threat displays or trying to approach them. Mostly, Elmo seems like he doesn't know what is going on and he's kinda freaked out about it. (This is confirmed in the zoo's press statement, too). The staff stayed calm, and importantly, watched and waited to see how he'd move and act.

The zoo did say one thing, though, that's a bit misleading. In one article, their press person I quote as saying “In general, gorillas are considered the “gentle giants” of the great ape species.” Just because this may be true in comparison to other great ape species doesn't meant gorilla aren't still incredibly dangerous. This type of messaging always worries me, because I think it leads people to misunderstand the risks of being close to megafauna. Gorilla are extremely strong animals, and their social norms/behaviors are very different from that of humans. That's why it's such a big deal any time people end up in gorilla habitats, and why sometimes in those circumstances lethal measures have to be taken to protect human life.

These keepers are incredibly lucky to be unharmed. These women stayed safe specifically because they're trained professionals who knew how to act around gorilla, they knew this particular animal well, and they'd learned the escapes from the exhibit just in case this ever happened. We should applaud them for their cool heads and quick thinking.

As for the guy who posted the video? As a colleague put it, may he always step on a Lego.

[inkandapex]

fan favourites

Summary : Fans compiled clips of their favourite moments between Lando and Aston Martin driver!reader.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing

Speculation continues to swirl around McLaren’s Lando Norris and you, Aston Martin’s young star, with many fans convinced there's more than just friendship between the two of you. Though neither you, nor Lando had confirmed anything, and no solid evidence had surfaced—your playful interactions and unmistakable chemistry have only added fuel to the fire.

these moments do not help your case.

The water bottle

It was post-race at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Lando, Max and you, sat slumped on the nearest sofa, drained after securing P1, P2, and P3 respectively. The heat still clung to the air, even off-track, and your race suit stuck uncomfortably to your skin. The podium made it all worth it—but right now, all you wanted was a cold drink and a second to breathe.

You reached for the bottle water baside you lazily, hand sluggish and aching, half-listening to Lando as he answered a journalist's question about race strategy. The exhaustion weighed on your limbs, making the simplest takst of uncapping the bottle feel like such a challenge.

“The team knew what was needed to stay ahead of Max and—ugh, sorry. Here, let me.”

Without skipping a beat, he set down his mic, reached over, and easily twisted the cap open before handing the bottle back to you. You blinked in surprise, lips parting, but all that came out was a quiet, breathless “Thanks” as you took a sip.

Max let out a snort of laughter beside you. “Sorry, let’s pause the whole interview for this sweet little moment,” he teased, shaking his head.

Lando just rolled his eyes and grabbed his mic again, continuing as if nothing had happened. But judging by the grins from the journalists, and the certainty that the clip would be everywhere within the hour—it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

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Champagne problems

Lando is known for his champagne celebrations on the podium. Sure, it looks glorious, basking in victory, champagne flying through the air—but no one ever talks about the reality: it burns your eyes, floods your nose, and leaves your skin and hair sticky.

You stood tall on the top step, your first-ever win still sinking in. The crowd roared as your national anthem played, and you could feel your heartbeat thundering in your chest, pride swelling with every note. On either side of you stood Lando and Lewis, but it was Lando’s cheeky grin that caught your attention just as the anthem reached its peak.

The second it ended, chaos began.

Corks popped. Champagne exploded. And Lando, of course, immediately slammed his bottle down and aimed it straight at you.

You barely had a second to react. The cold spray hit from both sides, soaking you instantly as you struggled to open your own bottle. It poured down your face, into your suit, burning your eyes and blurring your vision. Lando’s laugh, loud, carefree, unmistakable, rang out over the madness.

You blinked rapidly, trying to wipe your face, unable to see a thing. Your expression probably said it all: somewhere between shocked and helplessly amused.

Then, through the chaos, you felt his hands on your face, gentle and steady. Lando’s fireproof sleeves brushed against your skin as he carefully wiped away the champagne from around your eyes, his thumbs moving with a softness that contrasted sharply with the wildness around you.

“You good?” he asked, laughing quietly, his grin now more sincere than mischievous.

You nodded, finally able to meet his gaze again, still catching your breath. “I swear, I’m never letting you near me with champagne again.”

Lando’s smile widened as he gave you a pat on the back. “I had to make it memorable!”

And God, he really had.

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Dinner with the Sainz Family

This video clip sent your's and Lando's shippers into a full-on spiral. After the Mexico Grand Prix, where Carlos Sainz and Lando secured an electrifying 1-2 finish, the pair were spotted celebrating with Carlos’ friends and family over dinner. A few lighthearted posts even made their way onto social media.

But what really caught fans’ attention was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it detail in one of the photos. In the background, seated next to Lando, was someone who sharp-eyed fans quickly identified, you. Wearing the same distinctive sweater you were seen in earlier that day when leaving the paddock, and the unmistakable bracelets you frequently wore throughout the season.

There was no official mention or tag, but that didn’t stop the speculation. For many fans, it was another subtle breadcrumb confirming what they’d suspected all along. The internet lit up with theories, edits, and speculation, convinced that yet another quiet public appearance had just taken place this time, tucked into a cozy moment with the Sainz family.

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daniel.jpg

Lando and you have made several unexpected appearances on Daniel Ricciardo’s iconic JPG Instagram account. While it wasn’t unusual for the three of you to be seen together, given the tight-knit friendship between Daniel, Lando, and yourself—fans didn’t hesitate to dive deep into the posts, convinced they were subtle clues feeding the long-standing theory that there’s more between you and Lando than just friendship.

One photo showed the three of you in a mirror selfie inside an elevator. Daniel, played photographer, camera in hand, while you and Lando stood casually beside him. At first glance, it looked like a typical group pic, until fans zoomed in. Slung over Lando’s shoulder was your bag, resting there like it belonged, as if it had found its place without either of you thinking twice about it.

Another upload showed a moment at a karting track. You were standing beside your kart, preparing to head out, when fans noticed the figure next to you. Though his helmet covered most of his face, there was no mistaking it, Lando. He stood close, hands carefully adjusting your helmet strap, focused and steady. The gesture was small, but intimate, and the natural ease between you didn’t go unnoticed.

Within hours, the comment sections were flooded with theories and heart-eyed emojis. To the internet, these weren’t just photos, they were proof.

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Driver's Parade

The truck moved at a crawl, weaving past grandstands packed with fans shouting your names and waving flags like their lives depended on it. You kept your sunglasses on, smile practiced, waving just enough to look friendly, nothing more, nothing less.

Lando stood beside you, doing the exact same thing. Waving, smiling, keeping the conversation low between the two of you. Like you weren’t both trying not to laugh at the stupid inside joke he’d just whispered about a guy holding a "Marry Me, Lando" sign.

He’d helped you into the truck earlier, hand out like a reflex, fingers brushing yours a second longer than necessary. No one caught that. At least, you thought so.

And then came the moment. You were both waving, smiling, still laughing at something only you two found funny, when Lando’s hand casually dropped to the small of your back as the truck began to make a turn at a corner. Barely there. Light. Familiar.

Too familiar.

It lingered for just a second before he suddenly realized. His hand flew back like he’d touched something hot, and he looked ahead like nothing happened. But you could see the panic flash across his face for a split second.

You didn’t say anything, just smirked.

Unfortunately for both of you, Charles did notice, and so did your fans. From the truck behind, he leaned over dramatically and yelled, “Oooohhh! I saw that, penalty for Norris”

Lando groaned under his breath. You tried, and failed, not to laugh, biting your lip as your shoulders shook.

“Smooth,” you teased him, still smiling to the crowd.

“Tiny slip up, just a friendly hand” he whispered, eyes still forward like a guilty schoolboy.

He glanced over his shoulder, then muttered with a grin, “If this ends up on a fan cam—”

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “Please. They’ve already made ten TikToks about us just from this truck ride alone.”

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Rain

The rain had been relentless, hammering down onto the track, forcing a red flag that left drivers scattered around the paddock like bored students on a rainy field trip. Some retreated to their garages, napping, listening to music to stay focused, while others found creative ways to pass the time. A few were even caught playing football with balled-up tire warmers.

You, Lando, and Carlos had ended up in a quiet corner of the paddock, chatting while waiting out the weather. The broadcast cameras, desperate for content, eventually found their way to your little trio, panning slowly toward the three of you laughing at something Carlos had said.

Then the focus shifted—subtly, but noticeably—to just you and Lando.

Lando stood close, holding an umbrella tilted almost entirely your way, rain spattering off the edges while he stayed mostly outside the shelter himself. His hoodie was already damp, but he didn’t seem to care. You nudged him at one point, trying to shift it so he wasn’t fully out in the wet, but he just gave you a boyish grin and said something that made you laugh.

That’s when the Max Fewtrell, Lando's good friend, side eyes his running twitch stream, knowing full well the moment the camera just caught would send fans into a full blown spiral.

Max paused. Blinked. And then, slowly, looked straight into the camera with the most dramatic, expression he could manage.

“Right,” he said, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth twitching with a grin. “So it’s that kind of weather delay, huh?”

The chat exploded within seconds, fans already reading into the umbrella, the body language, the fact that Lando didn’t seem remotely interested in moving.

Max leaned in, voice dropping and thick with teasing. “Alright chat, calm down—cut our boy some slack and give him a fighting chance.”

Back on screen, Lando caught the camera out of the corner of his eye, shifted the umbrella just enough… and casually rested a hand on your back, if only for a moment.

Carlos caught it. You caught the smirk.

Max definitely caught it.

“Look at these two—already causing more buzz than the race itself.”

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Secret Santa

To this day, fans swear the annual driver Christmas gift exchange was the clearest sign that something more was going on between you and Lando Norris.

It was already suspicious enough that, out of all the names in the bucket, you and Lando somehow ended up picking each other. But what truly sent the internet into a frenzy were the gifts—thoughtful, personal, impossibly specific. The kind of presents only two people who knew each other too well would give.

Lando was mid-unwrapping, his usual excited grin slipping into a confused frown as he rotated the box in his hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Oh, sh—” His eyes widened. “—Sorry, cut that out,” he added quickly, glancing toward the crew with a sheepish grin.

Inside the box: a 1:1 LEGO replica of Lando’s first-ever karting helmet. Every detail was there—from the exact color scheme to the little decals only a handful of people would remember. Attached to the side of the box was a small envelope. He opened it and read aloud:

“From someone who knows how much this still means to you.”

Lando went quiet. Just for a second. The camera zoomed in slightly, catching the subtle shift in his expression.

“Who do you think your Secret Santa was?” someone asked off-camera.

“Oh, I know exactly who it was,” Lando said, chuckling softly. “Still kinda freaky how she managed to pull this off—I’m guessing my mum or dad helped her out.”

“Did they do a good job?”

“It’s perfect,” he said, smiling as he gently patted the box. “I love it. Definitely looking forward to building it and putting it on display.”

“And do you think the person you got will like their gift?”

Lando laughed under his breath. “I mean… I got her. And she’s already beaten me in the gift department—but yeah, I really hope she does.”

The video then cut to you, sitting just outside Aston Martin’s hospitality unit, carefully unwrapping a paper bag handed to you just before filming began.

“Who do you think your Secret Santa is?”

You glanced up, laughing as you peeled away the last bit of tissue paper. “Charles, maybe? He’s been asking me about my hobbies recently—like, weirdly specific questions.”

Your eyes dropped to the contents of the bag: a vintage film camera and a leather-bound journal. Your race number and initials were engraved on the cover in gold. You flipped it open slowly, revealing a message on the inside page:

For every moment you want to remember, and the ones you think you’ll forget.

You let out a breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “No way. This is so—” You shook your head, smiling. “This is so nice. You guys… best Secret Santa season ever, I think.”

Then you paused, adding with a laugh, “No offense to Alex—he got me that spa voucher last year and it was amazing.”

“Any idea who your Secret Santa was?”

You smiled, chuckling as you hugged the journal to your chest. “Yeah, I do.”

“Still think it was Charles?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he was just genuinely curious about my hobbies,” you laugh.

“Any other guesses?”

You shake your head with a grin. “Nope. I know exactly who it was—and I really hope he liked what I got him, too.”

[thebluediner]

INTERVIEW HOTNESS/ HOTMESS

host! reader x guest! billie

explanation: it's like a video compilation of all the moments from the interview with reader but in words for y'all

"welcome to the hot ones show where we have an even hotter guest, Billie Eilish" you gesture your hands towards billie for the camera to follow.

"you think i'm hot ?" her brows arch in curiosity with a slight grin on her face.

"I think you're pipping hot" you confirm with slight aggression.

"so you wanna kiss " billie asks her shoulders shrugging with a big flirtatious smile.

"fuck yeah" you say leaning in-

#wing 1

you pick the cards with questions on them flipping through them for the right question to ask while eyeing billie.

"should I be scared ?" she asks with suspicion looking around at the cast behind the camera and back to you.

"not unless you have something so hide" you answer her looking at her hard like some detective from a kids show.

"bitch I'm a celebrity I try hiding everything" she bursts out laughing along with you for a couple of seconds before you both calm down.

"alright what something you've hidden from security when you go to events or boarding a plane" you ask her before setting the card down.

"uhm a vibrator, well vibrators cause there was a lot of them " she elaborates while trying her not to laugh.

"should've eaten that wing billie" you crack up in disbelief looking at the cast because they were also giggle behind the camera.

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#wing 2

"your question is a guest who smelt the foulest" billie who immediately takes out her "your turn " perfume and bangs it on the table.

you slightly flinch at the noise before looking closely at what it is. when you finally realise your eyes get bigger before clapping your hands.

"now that's some promo right there" you point at the product while billie waves it in the air.

"now tell us who it is so I can send it to them" she deapans before looking right at you with some pressure to answer.

"oh hell no I'm eating this wing and I'm keeping that for myself thank you very much" you say grabbing the perfume and eating the wing.

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#wing 3

"just eat the wing man i won't even bother asking the question" you surrender pushing the wing closer to her.

"no wait lemme see" she takes the card from you to read for herself. her eyes scan the paper reading what's written in the fine print before her jaw drops.

"you know what you were right" she places the card down and bites into the wing.

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#wing 4

"a celebrity you've hooked up while working with them on a project" the set members let's out little gasps.

"none but you could be the first" one of the set members hollers at your flirting making billie blush and hide it with her question card.

"oh my gosh girl get out" she says pointing to the door.

you who actually stands up and leaves the the set leaving billie in fits of laughter that you actually stood up and left.

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#wing 5

"bro now this wing is so hot it makes me wanna tell you all the people I've hooked up with" billie admits in the midst of drinking ice cold water to put out the spice on her tongue.

"oh don't expose us now" you joke catching billie off guard who then chokes on her water.

"oh my gosh billie don't die " you stand up from your seat to help her out while laughing a bit.

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#wing 6

"fuck my lips are so hot" you blubber picking up blocks of ice and putting them in your mouth.

"you do have hot lips " billie chimes in with a flirtatious smile.

since there is ice in your mouth you point at her mumbling something about how dare she flirts with you while you're suffering which only makes her laugh more.

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#wing 7

"you think if we kiss it'd burn less" billie asks panting with her tongue hanging out.

"that's not you speaking it's the spice right" you narrow your eyes in suspicion.

"I don't know wanna find out" billie leans forward.

"Billie Eilish Baird O'Connell!" you scream backing up because of being flustered.

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#wing 8

" I need to dip my lips in something to ease down the pain of the spice" billie says looking around the table for literally anything even a napkin at this point.

"I know something " your brow arches in mischief.

"oh yeah wh- bro get out! " billie finally catches up to your dirty joke.

"don't act like you wouldn't say that too" you try defending yourself while you double back laughing.

"actually yeah I would " billie admits shaking her head.

[valeisaslut]

any scandals on both sides before they met? (caught with drugs, at a strip club, fucking a higher up, etc?)

oh nonnie. you just know these two have scandalous backstories. before they met? absolute chaos on both ends. ellie was worse tho, but here are the biggest:

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE SCANDALS:

⭑.ᐟ the strip club birthday video leak

ellie’s 21th birthday ended with her in a NYC strip club, only in a sports bra, a dancer grinding on her while she poured some VERY expensive champagne down her chest. dina was yelling in the background. it got leaked on reddit. she refused to apologize.

“i support small businesses.”

⭑.ᐟ caught with drugs… on camera

grainy paparazzi photo of ellie backstage holding what was very clearly a baggie of coke.

she tweeted “it’s powdered sugar. chill.”

it was not powdered sugar.

her label did PR damage control for weeks.

⭑.ᐟ fucked a Rolling Stone writer

like, literally. she slept with a much older female journalist who’d been covering the fireflies’ tour. when the profile came out and was weirdly flattering, fans immediately knew.

you can’t write “her voice sounds like sex and cigarettes” and pretend you’re objective.

⭑.ᐟ got into a fistfight with a sound tech at a festival

apparently he said something misogynistic about her band and she decked him. the festival banned her for a year. she wore the ban like a badge of honor.

⭑.ᐟ hooked up with a married tour manager in berlin

it was a mess. security footage leaked of them kissing in the VIP booth and reddit sleuths figured out the woman was married. four (4) kids. ellie said nothing. the tour manager resigned.

COLLIDE POPSTAR!READER SCANDALS:

⭑.ᐟ allegedly had a fling with a very famous female creative director

she was nearly 20 years older. fans still speculate that your breakout song was about her. when asked in interviews, you just smirk and say “she was inspiring.”

⭑.ᐟ accidentally flashed the crowd during a wardrobe malfunction at a NYE special

you trended for 3 days and tweeted “wow. a woman with nipples. someone call the police. btw. i have great tits”. your streams tripled.

⭑.ᐟ the “i fucked her for the verse” situation

an up-and-coming rapper claimed you slept with her to get a feature. you never responded. the song dropped. it went platinum.

fans still debate if it was true.

you don’t care.

⭑.ᐟ kissed another popstar girl on stage “as a bit” and ignited rumors for months

it was not just a bit. there was tongue. she later told Vogue, “i was the one who caught feelings. she didn’t.”

ouch.

⭑.ᐟ drunkenly called a major pop award show “soulless” on a hot mic

you didn’t win anything that night. but your fans made t-shirts out of the quote.

(ellie would later say that’s the moment she became obsessed with you.)

and then they met.

and all hell broke loose.

together? a PR team’s worst nightmare. and a fan’s dream.

[ryan-sometimes]

A man in Brazil stopped a robbery with a katana.

As a Brazilian person, I feel it is my duty to occasionally bring to you wack news coming from my country. Lucky for me, about 2-3 weeks ago on August 13th, a man in Belo Horizonte stopped a robbery at his building by charging at the thieves with a katana. He has been dubbed “the samurai of Belo Horizonte”.

Here’s some real videos of the incident:

Here’s part of a news report on the incident from CNN Brazil. I did my best to translate it to English:

A man used a katana, a traditional sword used by samurais in Japan, to chase down a group of suspects who were attempting to steal bicycles from a garage in a condominium in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais (a state in Brazil).

Alisson D’jean, who became known as the “Samurai of BH” [Belo Horizonte] went viral when the images won over social networks on Friday the 25th. The robbery attempt, however, occurred on August 13th.

In an interview exclusive to CNN, Alisson says it was his mother who first noticed the robbery, after hearing noises of someone breaking into the garage doors.

The “samurai,” who is a physiotherapist, reported the experience on his Instagram stories, and said he decided to act on his own accord after the military police, according to him, did nothing after three previous break-ins to the condominium [by the same suspects].

After checking the security cameras, the [fourth] invasion was confirmed. The samurai put on some clothes, grabbed the katana, and ran to the elevator, where he met up with the building manager [who was checking the security camera footage on his phone].

“I grabbed this samurai sword, a handmade katana, a weapon of war, really, because I didn’t know what I was walking into, I didn’t know how many [invaders], I didn’t know what kind of weapons they had,” reports the physiotherapist, who says he began using this type of sword almost 30 years ago.

According to Alisson, the decision was taken with the sole intention of protecting himself, his family, and the other building residents. “At no point was I concerned with the bicyles. I don’t even own a bicycle,” he says.

In the images, it’s possible to see Alisson and the building manager in the elevator. After getting out [of the elevator], the “samurai” begins running after the suspects, who, scared, ditch the bicycles and flee. No one was injured. In the days following this incident, no other break-in attempts were reported.

Original article (in Portuguese).

[headdinthewall]

SURPRISING GREETING ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you and george had been friends for a while, albeit mutual due to arthur hill, and being on INSIDE only seems to strengthen your bond. a/n : i did say that i would be willing to turn this into a series and someone requested it be a full series rather than a few odd chapters here and there, so bare with me while i edit the ones i already have uploaded & maybe take them down ALSO pink text = an interview in room 19 content : friends to lovers ,, reader is described to be very feminine & girly (sorry if you don’t like that ): )

─────── IT WAS DEEPLY unusual for you to be involved in a reality tv show where your screen time and presence on set was determined by your personality and like-ability. Being a social media influencer and ex-dancer, you’d faced enough criticism in your life, but now you were getting in face-to-face.

You stood in the elevator, clutching the handle of your light pink suitcase tightly, fingers fidgeting along it and looking around at the bright white rectangular box you found yourself.

“Really making me feel comfortable here guys, like I’m in solitary confinement.” You muttered.

“Hi, my name is reader, I’m 23, and I’m a social media influencer and ex-dancer, I can also sing too, but that’s like . . . back up content I post.” You laughed at your awkward addition.”

Once the elevator doors opened, you stepped into an airport security-esque room. You walked through the metal detectors and flinched as it beeped.

“Yeah, don’t mind me, entering INSIDE with illegal contraband.” You joked poorly, grunting as you lifted your ridiculously heavy luggage onto the conveyor belt.

“I think I’ll be okay about money spending, hopefully anyway. When I do buy things it’s usually impulsively and because I like the look of it … That doesn’t really bode well, does it? I think the main thing for me to get out of this is the experience of … not relying on my phone to do things and reminding myself that although my phone has everything on it, it’s not my entire life. Also I like the idea of doing weird challenges.”

Your white and grey New Balance 550’s shuffled along the floor, the tops of them covered by your flared grey joggers. You pulled the neckline of your baby pink tube top up, nervously running your fingers along it as you heard people already conversing.

“Hello …?” You called out, peeking your head around the corner.

“Oh my God, new person!” A curly haired girl exclaimed loudly as everyone stood up from around the marble table.

“Hi!” You grinned, waving as everyone suddenly surrounded you.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous! I’m Mandi, what’s your name?”

“My name’s reader,I love how you do your makeup!” You complimented her back.

“I follow you on TikTok!” A blonde girl in a coral tracksuit exclaimed, holding your wrist, “Reader, right?!”

“Yeah.” You chuckled.

“Oh my God, I’m Milli, I used to watch all your old dance videos wishing I was you!” Milli said excitedly and you laughed at that.

“You were a dancer?” A dark-skinned girl asked, hugging you in greeting after Milli stepped away.

“Yeah, until I was like 17.” You answered.

“Oh, that’s so cool, I’m Whitney.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled.

“Your nails are so cute, wait—!” She exclaimed, holding your hand in hers as she examined the cute acrylics you had done two days ago, “They’re like so different to mine, we can be like opposite besties, ennit?!”

“Yeah, yeah, one hundred percent.” You nodded before moving on to greeting everyone else.

All the girls were really sweet and happy to see you, as you introduced yourself to Farah, Cinna and Mya as well. The guys also seemed really nice but you didn’t get much time to say anything to them as your eyes landed on a familiar face you definitely didn’t think you’d find here.

“Oh my God, George!” You gasped, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming on here!”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me either, that’s kind of the whole point.” George poked fun, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently lifting you off the ground in his embrace.

“Oh, it’s quite nice to see a familiar face, I was expecting to have to introduce myself to ten people.” You laughed, pulling away after a while.

You and George had been mutual friends on Instagram for about five years now, but only met two of those ago due to being invited to a Sidemen shoot.

You got semi-close to him, becoming one of his closer friends and spending a lot of time at his apartment — but that was also credited to you and Arthur Hill being thick as thieves since day one.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Cinna asked, her finger moving between you two.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” You answered, your body still standing instinctively close to him. “For a while now, actually.”

“Ah, that gives you an advantage already.” PK hummed, rubbing his chin, “Lucky, y’know.”

“Everyone seems to be really nice and welcoming, and I’m hoping that they’re not just putting an act up and being fake to win because … mmmm, actually I guess that’s quite strategic. Anyway, yeah, everyone’s…” You held your thumbs up, “Also, it’s nice to see George again.”

After everyone got acquainted with you, the group wandered off to explore the areas, including the bedroom situation, which consisted of eight single beds and two double beds.

People immediately began claiming their beds and sitting on the mattresses, trying to get used to the new surroundings.

“They must’ve spent all their budget on the set, because these mattresses are not it.” You commented, trying to show how not bouncy it was by bouncing on it on your knees.

“No, guys, stop trying to take my bed!” George fake-whined, sprawling himself out on the surface.

You and Dylan laughed at his slight dig towards the girls who were being overly picky with where they laid.

You just chose the bed in the tightest corner so that you couldn’t accidentally roll off in the middle of the night.

You tended to be a fidgety sleeper.

Once you all were content with where you were situated, you returned to the living room and gathered on the sofa to talk about yourselves in more detail.

“So you used to dance?” PK asked as he sat on the other side of the couch, you sandwiched between George and Mandi.

“Yeah, from, like, 2 to 17.” You nodded, smiling as you spoke. “I quit ‘coz I got bored, really. My teacher knew what I was best at and just kept giving me the same choreography to do so I would win trophies and it would look good for her.”

“Well, at least you were getting wins and that.” PK said, arm resting back on the sofa.

“How do you two know each other then? What’s that about?” Mandi spoke loudly, looking at you and George.

“Well, we have a mutual friend, Arthur Hill, don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him—“

“No, never.”

“Oh, the singer?” Cinna piped up, nodding.

“Yeah, so him and George are friends and I’ve been friends with him since I was … 12?”

“Wow, that’s bare time, y’know.” PK huffed.

“Yeah, so we sort of met through him on Instagram at first, and then the Sidemen invited us both to the same shoot, so we met in person. But then, ‘coz I was friends with Arthur and George lives with him, I ended up spending more time at theirs, and … yeah, that’s it, basically.” You summarised quickly.

“And the music video.” George scratched his eyebrow with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah, we were both in Arthur’s music video, too.” You added with a slight blush, the memories of that filming time filling your mind.

“Oh, no way!” Dylan gasped, “That’s awesome, what song?”

“Too Much Ain’t Enough.” George answered. “It was … an experience to say the least, it wasn’t supposed to be me, but the guy literally dropped out a day before, so I had to fill in. Nightmare working with this one.”

He nudged your side and you feigned offence, clutching your chest.

“So, you’re an actor too? Mad, you’re like a double threat.” PK said.

“She sings too, so make that triple.” George bragged for you.

“Yeah, cheers.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your stomach as you leaned your elbows on your knees.

“You sing too?!” Mya sat up straight, shocked by the information.

“Can you give us a little taster?” Farah pleaded.

“No, absolutely not, not unless it’s for a challenge.” You shook your head, laughing.

“So how did you get big?” Whitney asked George specifically.

“Am I?” George frowned, patting his stomach.

“Not like that! Like on social media.” Whitney rolled her eyes.

He laughed, successfully pranking her, “I started on TikTok, um …”

“Do you talk on TikTok?”

“Yeah—“

“Why don’t you talk in real life?”

“— Should I stop?” He joked, making you and Farah laugh.

“But you don’t talk in real life.” Whitney repeated, “I’m like, ‘George’?”

You laughed slightly at his awkward chuckle in response, nudging his shin with your foot, to which he returns the gesture.

There was a silent, telepathically conversed agreement that you and George would stick by each other no matter what, no matter how much the money went down or how tough the challenges got or how much other people tried to pit you against each other.

“Hello …” Toby said slyly as he, and the rest of the Sidemen, rounded the corner into the living area.

“Hello, everyone!” Simon greeted.

Everyone started getting really excited, making funny noises and exclaiming oddly. You saw George visibly relax at the sight of some familiar faces and you smiled softly at his reaction.

“Welcome, to a new series of Inside.” KSI introduced, hands out. The group whooped and cheered, clapping. “You will all be battling it out, for a prize fund that starts out at £1 million.”

“Yep, cheers mate, didn’t know that.” You quipped sarcastically, causing a good portion of chuckles.

The cheers were less enthusiastic but still energetic.

“You’re snarky and I don’t like that.” He scoffed, so in response you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Is that not enough for you guys?”

“They already knew.” Simon tapped his friends shoulder.

“There are going to be challenges that you will all be in every single day.” Vikk spoke, resulting in a few groans, “If you do badly in these challenges, you will lose money from the million-pound prize pot. So just don’t do badly, alright?”

“And as you can see, there’s not much in here because everything costs money.” Harry spoke up, adding his usual dramatic flare of finger waggling and poor posture, which Farah mocked. “But you’ll be glad to know—“ Everyone laughed at the mocking. “You’ll be glad to know, the shop is now open.”

A loud eruption of cheers happened, as KSI said, “Good luck, motherfuckers!”

“What a lovely way to speak to your contestants.” You mumbled.

“Wait, can I ask? When is the first challenge?” Farah put in before the Sidemen could leave.

But it proved pointless as the only response she got was from KSI, in which he stated: “Shut up.”

“Rude boy!” Farah shouted, eyes wide, “What you call this timing?! We were supposed to be collected at 10 AM, brother!”

“We’re not spending any money!” Mandi yelled as you all rose to your feet.

“Let’s go to the shop.” Farah said at the same time.

Quite the juxtaposition of sentences there.

You knew Mandi’s statement of no one spending any money would last approximately … five minutes, especially as you all moved to congregate in the shop area now.

“Let’s try and keep it at half a million, bro.” Farah offered.

This followed in a long winded debate as to what the goal amount of prize fund to have at the end would be. All hands were placed in the middle as you cheered for £800,000.

You shook your head at their naivety and George snorted, noticing your expression and placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to follow everyone as they viewed the shop items.

When you walked into the small room, you took note of the variety of items on show … in words.

“Oh my God, I’m not spending any money!” You cheered, turning around and giving George a solid high-five.

“What? How do you know already?” Dylan asked.

“She has this thing where, as long as the item isn’t physically presented in front of her, she’s not tempted by it.” George explained for you and you nodded in agreement with his words.

“That’s so weird, oh my God!” Mandi gasped, “How? Do you not even like … hear something you might like and think ‘Hm, yeah, I like the sound of that’.”

“Not really, not unless I 100% know what I’m getting, like …” Your eyes scanned the menu and you pointed to the item listed as a ‘golden straw’, “I don’t know what that is. For $2500? It could be anything. Knowing these guys, it’s most definitely just a normal straw painted gold and they’ve thrown it in to make us second guess ourselves. But I’m not tempted because I don’t know and don’t care.”

“That’s crazy, I wish I was like that.” Mya laughed, hand grazing your arm slightly.

“It’s a blessing in disguise.” You shrugged smugly, feigning nonchalance.

As a group, you all decided to purchase a table tennis bat and ball for £2,000, and upon finding out it was only one bat, Milli purchased another.

“I think we should get some snacks.” Whitney proposed.

“Yes, but in groups of two, so whatever you order you share with someone else to save money.” Farah pointed her finger.

“Do you want anything?” Milli asked you, “To share something?”

Your eyes scanned the menu and you shook your head, not entirely thrilled or enticed by the snack option, “Nah, but if you want to buy something I can share with you.”

Milli whined, “Ugh, okay.”

You laughed and squeezed her arm.

You looked back at George, who seemingly shared the same unimpressed demeanour about the menu variety, and took his hand, slipping back into the living room with the table tennis bats and ball.

“I don’t think our promise of 800K will last a week at all. I don’t even think it’ll last a day.” You laughed, “It’s just … everyone says ‘Oh, I won’t spend, I won’t spend’ but they’re already buying unnecessary shit that we don’t need. Like … we do get fed here, y’know that, right? It might not be the best, but I’m sure you can live on … rice and beans, or whatever the fuck they give us, for a week.”

“Whitney, would you share a pot noodle with me?” Milli shuffled into the corridor.

“The thing is, I don’t like pot noodle.” Whitney replied.

“Oh. Reader?”

“Sure, if you’re getting it.” You hummed, biting your bottom lip as you focused on smacking the ping pong ball at George.

After losing the game, you gave up in a fake strop and plopped yourself down in the bend of the couch, and George annoyingly sat next to you.

He slung an arm around your shoulders as you spoke with Dylan and Mandi.

“It’s great that we’re all on the same page, I think.” The TikTok news reporter expressed his opinions.

“It could be somebody else walking away with that 500 grand.” Mandi countered.

“Think about how great your life is outside of this. You only get one week to be put in deprivation, to be hungry, to not be on your phone—“

“For somebody else to win?” She sassed.

“Well, you’re not doing it for that. You’re doing it for the experience of, like, when are you ever gonna have deprivation, like, again? You may never.” Dylan philosophised.

“We had COVID. That’s enough deprivation for me, alright?” Mandi threw her arms out.

“Also, if you think about it. This isn’t really deprivation.” You hummed, looking over the back of the sofa at them, “We have light (natural and electric), semi-descent beds, other people to talk to, and food. Plus, we’re given the option to buy things to keep us entertained. If you want to experience deprivation, you should try solitary confinement or a high risk psych ward.”

After a short while of continuing this vaguely theological conversation, a ruckus began and Farah came into the room, exclaiming that: “PK is not to be trusted! He hid the pot noodle behind the sofa, and I sniffed it out.”

“I tried to order more guys, and then they closed the shop.” Whitney sighed.

“And if we do shit, we need to deliberate with each other.”

As everyone else congregated in the living area, discussing the non-issue, the TV chimed with a notification.

‘Lunch is now ready in the shop.’

There was a mixed variety of reactions, majority being optimistic and jovial, whereas George opted for a fed up approach. “You’re taking the piss. Lunch?”

“C’mon, grumpy bollocks, get up.” You heaved him up off the couch.

“What time is it?” He continued to complain, “Should be dinner.”

“Well, it’s not!”

By the time you’d arrived in the shop, it was already in a shambles, with people spending money on me an upgraded and an endless supply of moaning coming from Mandi and Farrah.

“This is fine.” Cinna shook her head as she ate the rice and beans.

“It’s rice and beans?!” You exclaimed, diving for a pot and opening it with a laugh. “I called it! I called it in Room 19, that they’d be giving us rice and beans!”

“Nah, you defo jinxed it, y’know.” Whitney groaned, cringing at the tastes in her mouth.

You screamed as George flicked a spoonful of rice at you, causing grains to get stuck in your hair.

“George, fuck off!” You cursed, hitting him with a closed fist and glaring.

You shimmied off out of the shop and took a seat on one of the bean bags, preferring to eat your food sat down. George followed you, taking the bean bag and putting it plonk next to yours, sitting and entangling your legs together.

His foot kept sliding up your leg, purposefully pushing your flared leggings up to annoy you.

“Would you give it a rest.” You growled with fake animosity, shoving the cloth back down to cover your shin.

He cackled and shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Guys, there’s food in there that was uneaten.” Cinna announced, coming back in with her arms full of containers. “And, who bought this?” She held up the golden straw.

“Can I have it? I don’t care who bought it.” Whitney reached for it and Cinna gave it.

“It was you, ennit?” She accused, looking at you, “Saying it don’t tempt you and then you bought it for yourself. Clever play.”

“What, no?!” You exclaimed, covering your hand with your mouth as you ate.

“I can— I can confirm,” George held his hand up, “She was with me the whole time and didn’t buy that.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it you?” Cinna walked towards Mandi, laughing and grazing her shoulder, “It was— It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I swear it wasn’t.” Mandi said smugly, not even trying to hide the smirk on her face.

You laughed, slapping your knee, “Your face! There’s no way it isn’t you!”

“Someone did it though!” PK argued, pacing the floor.

“It was me!” Mandi admitted, standing up and flapping her arms about.

“Was it? Was it actually you?” Milli asked.

“Yeah.” She shrugged.

“And you … nobody had any idea.” George joked sarcastically and you laughed, leaning into him.

“I wanted the straw.” Mandi defended, shrugging like it didn’t matter, because it really wasn’t that deep.

£2,500 of £1,000,000 wasn’t that much at all, but it was the knowledge that every dollar spent would eventually add up that irked the group.

“Why?” Jason questioned in a whiney voice.

“I wanna drink my coffee with it, so I don’t damage my teeth.”

“Babe, I wanted to use it first!” Whitney complained, looking upset.

“We can share!” Mandi took the straw from Jason and put it on the table.

“If any one wants to buy and food from the shop — even if it’s just for yourself — it’s fine, just tell everyone.” Farah reasoned as everyone settled.

“Who’s good at math? Should we have a calculator?” Whitney put forward.

George scoffed and gestured to you, resulting in a harsh glare.

“Reader! Reader! She’s excellent at maths!” He said dramatically.

“Are you actually?” Cinna hummed, arms wrapped around her knees.

You shook your head rapidly, “No, dude, I got a C. I barely passed.”

“Hello, Insiders …” The voice of Tobi rang through the speakers, “It’s time for your first challenge.”

Everyone screamed in excitement, getting up and enthusiastically moving to leave towards the Challenge Arena as instructed. The corridor was grey stone, as was the rest of the set, with purple and dark blue lights shining from underneath it.

You had to credit the Sidemen, it was clear a lot of thought and money had gone into making this a real thing, and now you were living it.

“No pressure, yeah?” George muttered to you, a personal whisper that he shared with no one else as you waited outside the Challenge Arena doors.

“Yeah. Sure.” You nodded, blushing slightly at the close proximity of his mouth to your ear. “No pressure, at all.”

[fawnsuga]

Key Witnesses, Investigators, and Related Individuals Who Died After the Shooting

April 29, 1999

Robert Patterson, a 19-year-old man with a prior incarceration history, was found deceased by suicide at his home in Wheat Ridge, Colorado. His mother informed investigators that she believed he took his life due to fears of returning to jail. (10k, p.21470)

Unknown, May 1999

Antuane Johnson, a close friend of the Shoels family, was shot and killed in a parking lot weeks after the massacre. The case remains unsolved, and it is suggested that Johnson was assisting the Shoels family in their inquiries about the massacre and may have "known too much."

July 4, 1999

Vicki Buckley, Colorado's Secretary of State, collapsed and died at the age of 51. She had a close relationship with the Shoels family and was involved in their quest for the truth regarding the Columbine tragedy.

July 4, 1999

A Jefferson County sheriff shot and killed an unidentified man in Clement Park, adjacent to Columbine High School. The identity of the deceased was never released by officials.

July 10, 1999

Corey Hager, a key witness, died in a car accident at the age of 15. His sister reported to investigators that he was at home having lunch, despite eyewitness accounts placing him with deceased victim Steven Curnow in the cafeteria prior to the shooting. Hager was never interviewed regarding the incident.

May 6, 1999

Sean Brenner, a student from a nearby school, committed suicide. A week following the Columbine shooting, he allegedly confided in a friend about feeling guilty for not reporting a rumor he had heard regarding the attack. (10k, p.24945)

May 8, 1999

Dana Plato, an actress, reportedly died from a prescription drug overdose in Oklahoma, with some speculating that it was murder. Plato had been residing with Rachel Scott's family before her untimely death.

July 10, 1999

Corey Hager, who witnessed the events in the Columbine cafeteria, died in a car accident in his hometown of North Dakota. When investigators attempted to contact him, his sister informed them that he had recently passed away.

October 22, 1999

Carla June Hochhalter, mother of wounded student Ann Marie Hochhalter, allegedly entered an Englewood pawn shop with ammunition, requested to see a firearm, and subsequently shot herself in the head before discharging the weapon into a wall. Despite the presence of witnesses, no one reported seeing the incident. Documentation related to this occurrence has been unobtainable, and her "suicide note" has not been disclosed; she is also not listed in the Social Security Death Index.

February 14, 2000

Around midnight, Nicholas Kunselman, 16, and Stephanie Hart, 17, students and sweethearts, were shot to death at a Subway sandwich shop located two blocks south of Columbine High School. Kunselman was working a closing shift, and Hart had come to give him a ride home.

An employee passing by around 1:30 a.m. discovered their bodies after noticing the lights on inside the shop. Initial reports indicated that the windows had been shot out; however, video evidence contradicted this, showing no bullet holes. The media characterized the incident as a robbery, yet no money was taken from the register, and the security cameras were conveniently off.

Deceased victim Rachel Scott previously worked at that Subway location, and a member of the Scott family (Beth Nimmo) shared a backyard with Hart and her mother, Kelly Grizzell. Hart had once baked a purple cake shaped like a bucket hat for Scott.

Courtney Scott, an 18-year-old cousin of Stephanie, reportedly discovered the bodies. She visited the makeshift memorial in the parking lot. It remains unclear whether Stephanie is related to Rachel Scott's family or simply shares the same last name.

May 4, 2000

Greg Barnes, a basketball star at Columbine, committed suicide in his home by hanging himself while playing "Adam's Song" on repeat. Barnes was one of the students who helped keep Dave Sanders alive during the incident. His struggles with depression were unknown to those around him.

Unknown, 2001

According to the documentary Columbine - What Went Wrong, produced by Phyllis Schlafly, former Columbine student Ben Kuhn died by hanging. Kuhn was a sophomore in 2001 but is not listed in the Social Security Death Index, with records indicating he lived in Colorado and owned property as of 2024.

January 27, 2002

James Springer, Robert Zajac, and Erin Gollas were shot and killed in an AMF bowling alley in Littleton. Eyewitnesses reported seeing an individual wearing a black trench coat leave the area.

December 2, 2002

Key witness Theresa Miller (Theresa Laura) succumbed to cancer at the age of 44. Miller was present with Dave Sanders during the incident and extinguished a fire in the adjacent science office after a Molotov cocktail detonated.

January 27, 2003

Jonathan Ladd, a witness who reported a bomb threat called into the school that morning, died in a mid-air plane crash in Denver. SWAT teams immediately secured the crash site, restricting access to the wreckage.

August 28, 2005

Tiffany Lien, an outside witness and freshman, was shot to death along with her friend by her husband.

On the day of the attack, Lien was having lunch with a friend outside the school cafeteria on April 20, 1999, when they heard shots and witnessed two individuals being shot. They fled to a bathroom and heard a shooter yelling, "I hate you," before managing to escape to safety.

September 10, 2006

Tim Roche, a reporter for TIME Magazine, died from multiple strokes at the age of 38. Roche was the only journalist permitted to view the Basement Tapes.

September 13, 2007

Joe Stair, founder of the Trench Coat Mafia, hanged himself with an extension cord in his grandfather's garage. His funeral coincided with the dedication of a newly built memorial.

September 25, 2007

Charles Luke Milam, a member of the Columbine class of 1999, died in combat in Afghanistan. On the day of the shooting, Milam left the school to eat lunch at home around 11:00 a.m. and was denied re-entry around noon.

June 17, 2007

Sergeant Bill Black, commander of the Littleton SWAT team, died of cancer at the age of 58. He was on duty during the Columbine shooting on April 20, 1999. Black is not listed in the Social Security Death Index.

November 16, 2008

Former Jefferson County Sheriff Russ Cook was found dead in his home from unknown causes at age 59. Media reports indicated he struggled with alcohol addiction, which may have contributed to his death. Cook was elected in November 2002 and resigned in July 2003, subsequently replaced by Ted Mink.

"I still don't know what the truth is with Columbine," stated Cook before his election in 2002.

Community sources suggested that Cook was writing a tell-all book about Columbine at the time of his death and expressed suspicions of foul play.

"He scared the bejeezus out of the powers that be in Jefferson County during his short time in office. For one thing, he spoke with reporters without prior clearance from his handlers, a significant departure from the previous administration's stonewalling. He was determined to uncover the truth about the Columbine incident... He felt pressure and betrayal from those he believed would support him in difficult times. He discussed running for county commissioner and was writing a book about Jefferson County politics.

He faced court appearances and adverse reactions to prescription medications. There was likely more happening than I was aware of. Friends reported similar experiences. Russ was becoming reclusive, they said..." —Alan Prendergast

June 7, 2009

Former Jefferson County dispatcher Cindy Cline died from an unspecified short-term illness.

Cline was the shift supervisor at the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office 911 call center during the Columbine shootings, assisting in managing hundreds of calls on April 20, 1999.

Unknown, 2010

David Caravan, a former member of the Trench Coat Mafia, died from undisclosed causes, with some suggesting it was suicide.

June 15, 2013

Key witness Matt DePew was electrocuted while working on an electrical pole. He had been hiding in the cafeteria with other students and made statements that contradicted the official narrative. For instance, he claimed a suspect had said, “one’s coming in!” DePew also mentioned in a radio interview that his father, Wayne DePew, one of the first officers on the scene, had pursued the shooters and “did what he had to do,” suggesting his father may have killed them. DePew is not listed in the Social Security Death Index.

September 8, 2006

Timothy Roche, a reporter for TIME Magazine, died after suffering multiple strokes at age 38. He was the only journalist allowed to view the “Basement Tapes” and authored a significant article about them, which included numerous quotes. Following the publication, Jefferson County claimed Roche had agreed not to publish a story about the tapes, stating he was shown them solely for “background information.” Roche is not listed in the Social Security Death Index.

November 11, 2010

Former Trench Coat Mafia associate David Caravan died at age 29 from unknown causes. He was described by Columbine’s financial secretary, Ramona Madden, as "strange and intimidating."

May 18, 2019

Key witness and library survivor Stephen Austin Eubanks died of a drug overdose in his home. Eubanks was a recovery advocate, using his life story to inspire others toward sobriety, although he struggled with addiction following the traumatic loss of his best friend, Cory DePooter, during the attack. Eubanks is not listed in the Social Security Death Index.

May 1, 2001

Former Arapahoe County Sheriff Patrick Sullivan died at the age of 78. He served as Sheriff from 1984 to 2002 and was well-respected until his arrest for trading meth for sex in 2011. Sullivan was also tasked with investigating allegations that the Columbine shooters were assaulted during their January 1998 arrest. He is not listed in the Social Security Death Index.

July 22, 2006

Miceal McEwen, a former colleague of the shooters at Blackjack Pizza, committed suicide at age 23. He was reported to have had foreknowledge of the shooting, with a series of “tragic events” eventually leading to his death.

December 26, 2006

Key witness Brandi Jo Malonson went missing after leaving her parents’ house to meet with friends.

Malonson was a cafeteria witness who observed two suspects in trench coats entering the cafeteria and opening fire. She was friends with deceased victims Isaiah Shoels and Subway murder victims Nicholas Kunselman and Stephanie Hart-Grizzell.

"Brandi stated she saw a guy wearing a long black trench coat and a black ski mask inside the cafeteria. He was with another guy who was also wearing a long black trench coat. The first guy had a gun inside his coat." (11k, p.3635)

Investigators indicated that the suspects did not fire inside the cafeteria at that time, and only one shooter was still wearing a trench coat.

Malonson remains missing, and her sister, Monica (class of 1999), also died at a young age.

[please-destroy]

Afterglow

Scarlett Johansson x Reader

Word Count: 4k

.

‘It’s nothing.’ Scarlett defended. Her hand dropped from her lower back. She stood straighter. You dropped your eyes to the floor at her tone, heat crawled up your neck.

It wasn’t nothing. 

You’d only been hired as her assistant a month ago, but you knew it wasn’t nothing.

.

You didn’t meet her in person until after you’d gotten the job. 

At your interview, conducted over zoom, Scarlett Johansson had explained her skin-care line would be launching before the end of the year. She’d detailed the lengthy list of job responsibilities with an edge to her voice. Even through the screen, you’d caught the challenge in the tilt of her chin. 

The unspoken dare. If it was too much for you, back out now.

You only smiled.

‘I’d love the opportunity.’ You told her sincerely.

Scarlett’s eyebrow raised. For a moment, you thought you saw a sparkle of humour in her eye. Then, the tension returned.

‘I’ll be in touch.’ She told you, ending the call before you could respond again.

The job contract, the NDA and the practicalities of relocating for your new job took two weeks. 

.

There was something Scarlett did not mention on the phone. 

You knocked on her door on the first day. 

You’d already been let through security checks at the gate. You knew you were expected.

Scarlett opened the door. 

You were anticipating her to be very tired, exhausted even. Scarlett was currently on a virtual press tour for her new movie. 

You were not expecting her to be so.

Pregnant.

Scarlett’s face was smooth, except for subtle lines of tension around her eyes. She waited, holding the door ajar, daring you to comment. 

You glanced at the cardboard boxes lining the hallway behind her. 

‘How can I help?’ You asked, feeling your senses come back to you. 

You followed Scarlett through to her own kitchen. Even walking behind her, you felt in awe. You savoured the moment out of her sight to let the shock of her pregnancy run through you.

No-one knew.

You’d been watching her press junket interviews for the past few days, calling it work prep. There had been no indication. No hint at all.

You tried to wipe your expression blank again when Scarlett next turned to face you. The same warning was written across her face. You let a belated congratulations die in your throat.

‘I have a busy day.’ She told you in a tight voice. ‘I have video interviews scheduled back to back.’

You gave a silent nod. Scarlett gestured to yet another taped cardboard box sitting on her kitchen counter. 

‘I need to move him out.’ She continued. 

You kept your face frozen. Colin Jost, your mind supplied helpfully. You’d been researching your boss, more work prep.

‘I need you to move him out.’ Scarlett corrected herself. She gave you an assessing look. Disappointment swirled in her eyes as she took in your stunned reaction.

You snapped back to the moment. 

‘Of course.’ You murmured, trying to calm your reeling mind. You moved over to the kitchen counter and the box.

Scarlett stepped away from your advance automatically, heading over to the door. 

The distrust in her body language trickled over you. You blushed in embarrassment.

‘The NDA.’ She reminded you bluntly, voice rasping. 

‘The iron clad one I signed?’ You asked, voice too innocent.

For a moment, a hint of humour sparkled in Scarlett’s eye. Exhaustion cut through it quickly. 

‘I’ll be back later.’ She told you evenly, before she left the room.

When she was gone, you nearly had a panic attack. 

Standing alone in her kitchen, staring at a box of her ex’s belongings. 

Scarlett Johansson was beautiful. You closed your eyes and knew she was embedded in your brain. 

It didn’t matter. 

The box was heavy as you lugged it through to sit with the others in the hallway. You walked through her house numbly, searching out more cardboard boxes. You avoided only the room that you could hear her laughing in. You found half a dozen more heavy boxes. 

Back breaking work on your first day should have been a red flag.

Still, you’d never had a pregnant boss before. You found yourself grateful that you’d been designated the task. You didn’t like to think of her doing it herself. 

You spent the next half hour pacing unsurely around the kitchen. At last, Scarlett came through at lunchtime. 

There was nothing subtle about her exhaustion or tension now. Her hair was tied back, it made her look drawn. 

A buildup of questions fell from your mouth before you could help it.

‘Can I get you something to eat? Who should I call about the boxes? Is there anything else I can do?’

Scarlett stared at you for a moment in the doorway. You watched her exhale in frustration. Alarm flared inside you.

‘I don’t have time for lunch. I have back to back interviews.’ She told you, voice simmering. ‘If it’s not in front of me right now, I don’t have time to eat it. I assumed that was clear.’

An apology caught in your throat as she unlocked and slid her phone across the now bare kitchen counter. 

‘He’s my last missed call.’ She told you bluntly. ‘Tell him to pick the boxes up.’

You nodded nervously, searching for the contact hurriedly. 

Scarlett moved to the fridge.

She stared at the contents with a kind of misery that told you how hungry she was.

Her expectation that you’d have known to prepare lunch was unreasonable, but you still felt awful.

‘I’m sorry.’ You squeaked out before she left again. 

Scarlett gave you a wry smile, it didn’t meet her eyes. 

‘I’m fat enough already.’ She shrugged, nodding down at the bump.

Your chest felt hollow with her joke, her final acknowledgement of the pregnancy. 

Colin Jost answered the call immediately. This was not surprising. There were fourteen missed calls from him on Scarlett’s phone. 

‘Scarlett.’ He sounded relieved. 

‘This is Scarlett’s assistant.’ You cut in immediately, not wanting there to be any confusion. 

You arranged for the boxes to be collected that afternoon by his own assistant. 

Impossibly, Colin had sounded tenser than Scarlett had. Guilt had dripped from his words and you didn’t want to imagine why.

.

You were dismissed when Scarlett next left her office. 

This time, you hovered at the foot of the stairs. Scarlett was notably ungainly as she walked down them, hand gripping the railing. 

Your heart caught in your mouth with a panicked premonition of her falling. Scarlett was very pregnant. Her centre of balance was clearly off. 

You moved to climb the stairs, ready to help before you could think it through. 

Scarlett froze midway down. 

Her eyes flashed dangerously at your presumption.

Cautiously, you backed down from the stairs.

‘My daughter will be home soon.’ She informed you, in the same blunt tone as earlier. ‘You can go now.’

You nodded silently, not admitting that you’d snuck a look at her schedule whilst her phone was unlocked. 

Scarlett gave a careful sigh then. You glanced up at her, still several steps above you on the staircase. 

‘I should have been more prepared for today.’ She admitted suddenly, shifting slightly with the discomfort of standing. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’

‘Okay.’ You said simply, not sure where you stood at the end of your first day.

You left the house. You ignored curious texts from friends wondering about your new mysterious job. You ignored the fact that, all things considered, your new boss had not been fair to you at all.

Instead, you wished desperately that you’d been brave enough to insist on making her dinner.

That night in bed, you stared up at your ceiling, trying to imagine what the next day would bring.

The next morning, with not nearly enough sleep, you found out.

.

It did not take you long to become good at your job. If you were being honest, this was because you thought of little else.

Your job had two main parts. 

The things you were asked to do. 

The things you were not asked to do. 

You excelled at the first but you lived for the second.

Scarlett’s calendar was colour coded within the first week. You parsed through various scheduled appointments, altering as many as you could so they didn’t overlap with her time with her daughter. 

You didn’t expect recognition for it. You lived for the small smile Scarlett gave when she checked her phone and saw the afternoon clear yet again.

Her favourite lunch was chicken salad. Soon enough, you could’ve prepared it in your sleep. 

Scarlett never thanked you directly. 

You didn’t need her to. Her voice softened towards you. You thought about it at night. You thought about a lot of things you shouldn’t.

.

You never touched Scarlett. 

Not that you were expecting to. 

A flush crawled up your neck every morning just from looking at her. You couldn’t get used to being close to someone so beautiful.

But, you didn’t even touch Scarlett in passing. You brought her lunch up to her office every day. Every day, she would lean subtly away from you as you put the plate on her desk. 

You would hear her breath catch in discomfort. She radiated tension at your proximity.

You tried not to let it bother you. You hoped desperately that she couldn’t see your crush, even though it felt painted on your skin.

.

And then, one morning, Scarlett met you impatiently at the front door. Her hair was tied back neatly. You understood the visual clues immediately. She had a professional meeting scheduled soon. You remembered her talking about potential investors the day before.

‘I have a call this morning.’ Scarlett confirmed, matter of factly. ‘I’m already late and I need you to take notes.’ 

You nodded, eyes widening in surprise. This was not usual. Scarlett’s office door stayed shut for most of the day, and you didn’t disturb her when it was closed.

Scarlett turned to hurry up the stairs, making you immediately nervous. Your hand hovered secretly at the small of her back as you walked a half step behind her. 

She handed you a notebook when you reached her office. Her fingers dragged over the back of your hand. Scarlett went very still. You forgot to breathe. 

She turned back to her desk and you caught the pink flush to her cheeks.

Longing burned in the pit of your stomach. The back of your hand was seared with her fingerprints. 

When the call began, you sat to the side of her desk, just out of sight.

You realised quickly why Scarlett had implored you to sit in. Distracted didn’t cover it. She couldn’t sit still. You watched her fidget in her seat for thirty minutes, barely remembering to nod at the right moments. 

Your attention stayed on her as you wrote out your notes. 

Discomfort was to be expected. You tried to remind yourself that it was inevitable. Scarlett was only becoming more pregnant. 

You watched her subtle winces as she continued to readjust herself in the office chair. 

There was an inevitable date approaching that neither of you had discussed. Scarlett hadn’t confirmed a thing, but you were sure she had entered her third trimester now. 

The call ended at last. 

Scarlett’s focus turned to you immediately. 

‘I’m hungry.’ She informed you pointedly. Her words took you by surprise. She never acknowledged the meals you were preparing for her. She’d never commented about the dinners you’d begun to leave stacked in her fridge before you left.

‘Okay.’ You agreed, waiting for her to stand first. 

Scarlett looked back at you, impatiently. 

There was an awkward silence before you realised she wanted you to leave first. You exited quickly, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

.

It didn’t take long to prepare a snack in the kitchen. 

You focused on the task angrily, wishing you were brave enough to ask the questions that were burning inside you. 

You’d been in this job long enough now and still every conversation was stilted and formal. 

Scarlett was very cautious about what others could see. Nobody in her family even seemed to know she was pregnant. Or at least, no one was checking in. 

You could see the cracks in the cold facade of it all. The brief pain on her face when she rejected an incoming call. 

You wished you could see all of her, not just the cracks. 

The obvious discomfort you’d noticed today felt like the final straw.

.

Still, you watched her descend the stairs surreptitiously.

Every few steps, Scarlett paused and her eyes squeezed tight with pain. Once, she pressed her knuckles hard against the small of her back. 

You didn’t say anything when she entered the kitchen. 

Her eyes were determined, the challenge in the tilt of her chin always present. Her hands were carefully at her sides. She walked straighter than ever. 

You didn’t move away from the counter, blocking her path to the plate you’d prepared.

You tilted your chin in an imitation of her own expression. Irritation crossed Scarlett’s face as she met your gaze. After a moment, her hand moved subtly to press against the small of her back again. 

‘How can I help?’ You asked, quietly but firmly. Scarlett startled at your question.

You looked pointedly down at her hand.

‘It’s nothing.’ Scarlett defended.  Her hand dropped from her lower back. She stood straighter. You dropped your eyes to the floor at her tone, heat crawled up your neck.

It wasn’t nothing. 

You were getting sick of this. Renewed strength brought your eyes back up to meet hers. 

‘How can I help?’ You repeated your words to her calmly. You tilted your chin again in defiance, it was more demand than question.

You stared at each other for a long time.

Scarlett’s attention flitted to the snack that you’d prepared. Suddenly, it was her who was looking down at the ground.

You watched as the cracked pieces of her broke entirely. 

She stretched her hand out, leaning against the counter and relieving the pressure on her back.

‘Please.’ She whispered, admitting everything. 

You stepped forward. Your hand touched her back gently, unsurely. Scarlett’s breath hitched.

‘Lower.’ She whispered, something almost humiliated in her tone. 

You moved your hand obediently.

Scarlett moaned between clenched teeth when you found the spot.

Slowly, but surely, you pressed the heel of your hand against her back. 

Scarlett gave a strangled whimper, leaning automatically into your touch. You moved the pressure in a slow circle, trying to ease out the pain. 

Scarlett covered her mouth with her hand, muffling the noise. Her eyes were closed, but you saw a tear slip down her cheek.

When Scarlett turned around a few minutes later, she did not look like the woman you’d been working for. 

Defeat tangled with embarrassment in her expression. 

You watched her unsurely, not knowing what to say. 

Her voice cracked. 

‘I’m just so tired.’ She admitted, purposefully avoiding your stare.

.

Touching her now was easier. 

You took her hand, soft and warm in yours. It felt perfectly weighted. Gently, you led her to the sofa. 

Scarlett had never sat on it. Not whilst you were here. She gripped your arm suddenly as she lowered herself carefully down onto it. Shame tinted her cheeks pink. You understood abruptly that she would need a hand up from it too. 

Annoyance flared at her relentless stubbornness.

Scarlett exhaled shakily at the relief of a comfortable seat.

She looked over and caught the frustration written across your expression.

‘Y/N’ She murmured lowly, uncertainly. A shiver went down your spine at the way she said your name. 

‘You’re still hungry.’ You said quietly, getting back to your feet. Scarlett’s face burned with embarrassment as she watched you leave. 

When you returned, she was sitting as straight as she could on the soft sofa. Despite your frustration, it made your lips quirk upwards. 

You placed her plate down on the coffee table. 

You didn’t speak as she ate. Instead, you played nervously with your fingers. You tried to find the right words. 

You waited until you heard the plate thud back against the table. 

‘I want to take care of you.’ You whispered at last, staring at your hands. ‘I know it’s my job. But, I want to do it too.’ 

Scarlett didn’t speak. Your strange confession hung in the space between you.

Your skin tingled and your heart jumped erratically in your chest. You took a chance, glancing over at her. Scarlett’s eyes closed for a brief moment. You recognised the expression on her face. She was also trying to find the right words.

‘It always.’ She started unsurely. ‘It always goes wrong.’

Your head tilted in confusion. Scarlett gave a sad smile. 

You looked down at her belly and she followed your gaze. 

‘I’m sick of being disappointed.’ Scarlett’s voice caught, tangling with a raw pain. Her hand curved across her front. The action was stilted, as if her stomach was still unfamiliar to her. 

‘But, it’s me.’ She whispered, voice cracking open now. Her eyes glanced up at the ceiling, and you watched them fill with tears. ‘It’s always my fault.’

You wanted to help. An ache rippled through you.

You touched her leg. Scarlett froze.

She caught your gaze, and your intention too. 

She shook her head suddenly, you saw the tears slip down her cheeks.

‘Don’t pretend.’ She whispered now, almost begging. ‘Just, please, don’t pretend to care.’

‘I don’t know how.’ You murmured.

You leaned closer, giving yourself up to the want of her. 

Her lips were fuller than you expected. You could taste the salt on them.

Scarlett’s fingers were shaky as she touched the nape of your neck. 

Shivers rippled down your spine.

You kissed her harder and she responded in kind. 

Scarlett’s fingers tangled in your hair now. Her grip was sudden and tight. You felt her desperation in the curl of her fingers.

Blindly, you searched for her other hand, resting at her side. Already, the warmth of it was familiar. You held it tightly in yours, Scarlett exhaled slowly.

You leaned back to look at her. The flush of her cheeks doused you with affection and arousal. 

‘Scarlett.’ You said unthinkingly, enjoying the sound of her name on your tongue. 

She didn’t look up at her name, still focused on your lips. 

‘You’re perfect.’ She murmured, trailing a finger along your cheek and down the side of your neck. You wondered if she could feel your jumping pulse. ‘You’re not going to stay.’ 

Anger flared through you now. Indignity at being judged by other people’s mistakes.

You moved to kiss her collarbone harshly. Your teeth stung her skin as you nipped and sucked. Scarlett moaned into your ear. She fidgeted on the sofa as you left wet marks across her exposed skin. She grabbed at the sofa cushion to the side of her. 

‘I just want to help.’ You murmured determinedly, planting one last kiss just below her ear. Scarlett whined, her head tilting back.

You moved to kneel on the floor. 

You settled between her legs, fingers tugging down her pants. Everything felt predetermined. Maybe because you’d dreamed it. Maybe because it was always going to happen.

You looked up at her as you spread her legs. Scarlett was looking down at you, her pupils had dilated entirely. Everything felt right. You had wanted to be here for so long. 

You dragged your nails up her bare thighs. 

‘Thank you.’ Scarlett rasped and your heart clenched at the strange insecurity of it. You wanted to be here, you didn’t know how to tell her again.

Instead, you licked along her cunt. You could taste her already, coating your tongue. Scarlett couldn’t reach you from around her stomach. Your eyes flitted up to see her nails digging into the sofa cushion. Her head tilted back against the sofa, eyes closing.

She mumbled something quietly to herself. Annoyance continued to flicker inside you. You wanted to hear her.

You pressed your tongue hard against her clit and made her scream instead. 

When you were done. When she’d fidgeted against your wandering tongue. When you could taste the sweet tang of her in your mouth. When you would never think of anything else ever again. When she was trembling. You looked back up at her.

Scarlett’s hair was mussed, her mouth was parted as she panted. 

Scarlett was undone. 

You kissed her clit lightly, giving her one last aftershock before you slid her pants back up her legs. She acquiesced limply, still not quite in the room.

You sat beside her on the sofa, enjoying the weird domesticity of her afterglow. You rested your head against her shoulder feeling her chest move with each ragged breath. 

Your heart was still pounding beneath your ribs, trying to adjust to the new way the world was hung.

After a minute, you felt Scarlett tense again. You knew she was going to speak. 

‘What now?’ She asked bluntly, words purposefully calm. You lifted your head and read the challenge in the tilt of her chin. You knew instinctively that she was daring you to leave, readying herself for it even now. A strange, soft affection built in your chest. You realised that you would always win her dares.

You took her hand in yours. You weaved your fingers together and held tight. The warmth of her skin trickled inside you. 

You didn’t speak. Neither did she. 

You watched her thumb rub circles against your knuckles, enraptured.

.

(Some time later)

.

‘It won’t stop.’ Scarlett looked down at her phone cradled in her lap. Her voice was tight.

The phone buzzed in her hand, over and over as the news stories rolled in. You sat next to her, on the edge of her bed. You touched her very rounded stomach, still covered by the dress she’d worn to the earlier meeting. 

Even now, you found yourself hesitant to touch her, for so long she’d been your boss. 

Scarlett gave you a searing look. You weren’t sure if she regretted it. The public announcement of you. The personal assistant turned girlfriend. The implications for her, her sexuality, her career, her expected child. 

Her phone kept buzzing as more implications rolled in. You watched the headlines appear on the screen, one after another.

You watched Scarlett’s forehead crease with worry. Your stomach clenched, the moment felt unbearable.

You touched her shoulder, your fingers slipping under her sleeve. Her skin was warm. Scarlett’s breath caught. 

‘You’re all I think about.’ You told her, letting your mind cloud with familiar want. 

Scarlett’s lips parted. She watched you, something still unsure in her eyes. You scratched her skin lightly. Her eyes closed.

Her phone slipped in her grip and the buzzing became louder. Her gaze returned to it.

‘I can’t ignore everyone. It’s not polite.’ She snapped suddenly. 

With confidence you rarely had, you moved to stand in front of her. You pulled at the phone in her grip, Scarlett released it with unexpected obedience. Maybe she could see your mood better than you could feel it. 

You let the constant tug between your souls pull you forward. You leaned down, letting your lips find each other. You pressed yourself against her front, feeling her bump brush against you. 

The air was thick with anticipation. You slipped the vibrating phone beneath the skirt of her dress.

‘I have no interest in being polite or heterosexual.’ You whispered against her ear. Scarlett gave a soft cry and her hand twisted the fabric of your shirt.

You pressed the phone higher, letting it sit against the familiar cotton of her underwear. Scarlett moaned. She gripped your shoulder with sudden fierceness, holding you in place. 

You moved your fingers over the elastic of her panties, desperate to feel her. The vibrating phone stayed cradled against your palm, pressed to her.

Scarlett was slick against your skin. She started to whine, her neck falling back as she held you tighter. You kissed her neck, letting your teeth graze her skin.

Your fingers moved inside her with every vibration, Scarlett jolted against you. Her eyes were screwed tight, her cheeks flushed. She called your name, over and over. 

Her walls tightened around you at last and she screamed into the room. 

In the moments after, she lay back against the bed. You slid the dress up to kiss her exposed stomach. Scarlett’s breathing was still heavy as she reached for your hand, slipping her fingers between your wet ones. 

You kissed damp cotton and whispered a secret there, just to make her body twitch.

[andmaybegayer]

Rambling: So much of this is just like. It's all the money, you can't get around the money. Engineering is primarily a cost optimisation problem, so is business, where do you buy your parts, how much do you pay your labour. The companies can make equal quality goods cheaper in China because of the industrial base. Western workers don't want to work in manufacturing because it doesn't pay as much or as reliably as other jobs.

I like reading articles and watching videos about factories and a thing you find with a lot of American factories is they're often highly specific niche industries where they don't have much competition or they're really low volume where less intensive manufacturing processes still work or they have big military contracts that give them their base income. Really it's wild how every little engineering shop in the US requires base level security clearance because they make the cable harness for the Hornet or whatever. And crucially, crucially: they employ 100 people. Planning to work for one of these companies is like planning to be a pro baseball player but you make $35/hr.

I studied in South Africa, and I studied electrical engineering, but like. That was my fifth or sixth choice from a personal interest perspective? As a teenager I was really into biochem. I really wanted to work on like. Bioreactor stuff. South Africa has okay industrial chemistry but not that much biochem. So why would I go spend five years getting a biochem Masters and hope I could find a job at one of like six companies. It's a bad move! Once again, baseball player odds! Mostly if you're lucky you'll get to fuck around in a half-related field for a few years and then you'll wind up with some office job that you found because it turns out running tests on paint shearing isn't personally fulfilling enough to make you stay in a lab job.

Hell, even taking the Good Hiring Engineering Job market, it's a goddamn pain in the ass to find any actual engineering work. I applied to dozens of internship positions every semester at engineering firms and workshops and never so much as heard back, whereas I could go to the software job fairs and get two offers and several interviews for a vacation job in a couple weeks. You can swim upstream to get in there but even if you're willing to take the pay cut, engineering jobs are slow moving and slow hiring, and in small departments your professional progression is often gated behind someone retiring or dying.

A while ago someone (was this Reggie? sounds like him EDIT: YEP) was talking about how part of the reason why no one in the US for the past 20 years can do like, epitaxial growth optimisation isn't because there's some philosophical or educational divison, but because anyone committed and driven enough to spend months optimizing that would just put that energy and commitment into going into software or becoming a quant or some other higher yield option. Meanwhile if you're a driven and focussed ladder climber in China there's dozens of factories looking for someone to do exactly this. The people in the West who are so into this that they still do it are often in academia, not industry, and that's an even more competitive and impenetrable sector to get into. Getting a PhD grad job in academic chip manufacturing is miserable, it's basically a six year long interview process that costs you hundreds of thousands of dollars that has a 0.1% chance of panning out.

Actually, I did once do a factory internship, it was my only nepotism internship, at a construction materials factory where my dad was a manager, and it was really interesting work! I had a lot of freedom in a small engineering team and I spent a while understanding a bag filling machine and reading manuals and tuning the control process and talking to floor workers and designing sheet metal parts to improve their jobs. And when I talked to the engineer supervising me I found out he was on a six month contract that wasn't getting renewed and he would be leaving the company basically the same time my internship ended. That company hadn't hired a full-time process engineer in ages, and probably never would if they could avoid it. Not encouraging!

People often say you should get into the trades because they pay well and are material fulfilling work. This is like. It's an elision. Successful tradespeople are in very high demand, but becoming a successful tradesperson is very, very finicky. I worked with a lot of electricians and millwrights and technicians, and for every tech who was successful and running a roaring business there were five guys stuck in eternal apprenticeships or struggling to make a name for themselves in the industry on their own. Some trades are great for this, other trades are 90% training scams where you spend nine months and five thousand dollars on a course that gives you a certificate almost no one cares about.

Every now and then I talk to an installation tech I used to work with who has a bunch of CCTV and security certs he got in the DRC, and he is just absolutely struggling to get by. There's already enough successful companies to serve the demand, why would you take a risk on this fly-by-night? He could find a technical job, and he does, but it's a dead end, everyone wants a base technician forever, they don't want you to upskill and move on. They hire in an external electrician to come in for an hour sign off on your work, and that's all you need.

You can't develop an industrial base unless it's appealing to work in the industrial base. If you're an industrialising nation, the appeal is "It's not farm work and you might get some real money instead of a sack of barley" but in a modern society you need to pay at least as well as the office jobs. If your industrial sector is small it can afford to only hire the most qualified people because it's a labour buyer's market, and that's how you produce a massive knowledge gap.

[cindol]

can you do brat reader x bodyguard mikasa w smut 🌚

brat taming with mika’ . . ݁𖦹₊ ⊹ ♱

mikasa Ackerman x black fem reader

cw + — mikasa is a bodyguard (obviously), reader is a pop star, brat taming, smut, modern au, pet names(sweetheart, princess), half baked bad plot kinda, consent given before hand, reader is cocky and witty,

wc : no idea because i decided to say fuck it and write on here instead of google docs .

a / n : just a warning 😭! there’s like six dividers/ time breaks because i fucking yap sometimes. also cliff hanger because im not the best at smut srry 😕

mikasa usually is just your good natured protective bodyguard, always making sure you safely get into your pink honda safely after being at some bustling club with paparazzi surrounding the area. She listens to your complaints about some asshole paparazzi getting too close for her liking and is quick to shove them back but a shove that won’t make them have some major injury.

mikasa’s always at your beck and call, feeding into your bratty popstar personality of wanting any and everything but she doesn’t tolerate disrespect. In any videos you’ve posted on tiktok she fed into the silliness of you wanting to be carried and she even tended to you orally on her own liberty. But don’t be mistaken, mikasa didn’t appreciate disrespect.

anybody who personally knew mikasa knew that she could only be so sweet and serene before she had enough of the bullshit and you learned that on a particular night.

it was a usual sunday night for you at your favorite night club, mikasa at your side in your private section with you as you partied with your girls and poured shots of tequila with the bottle and shot glasses you were given.

it really only took three shots of tequila like usual to get you tispy but bolder than usual tonight. Dancing on tables and singing, then getting some real audacity to sass at her. Mikasa only smiled at her first and brushed it off as you having more fun than usual.

but again, her patience only went so far, even for a pop princess like yourself.

once it was eleven pm the clubs was getting emptier and emptier and mikasa knew you’d soon be tired. You were so tipsy still, just giggling now sitting down with your two girlfriends now that the other three had left. In your section you noticed mikasa getting up and grabbing your pink shoulder club purse.

“whatcha’ grabbing my purse for?”

mikasa just made a simple smile at you.“well i think it’s about time to head out isn’t it? You’ve got a date with a vanity interview tomorrow and i’m sure you wanna be early and awake for that, so cmon.” she lent her hand out for you expecting you to take it like usual but you did the opposite.

instead you giggled and just put both your feet on your section’s table.“hmm, how’s bout nah? I think me and my girl’s can handle just one night without some curfew.”

“not curfew, just a appropriate time that you’ve set for yourself to not be grouchy when morning time comes, sweetheart.”

there were some giggling from your two friends at the petname she used and it made you laugh along too.“sweetheart isn’t making me leave this here seat till it hits midnight, mika and i don’t think you’ll make me even get up from here.” you stating that really just invited mikasa to teach you a lesson with her nerves being pushed with how cocky you sounded.

and thats exactly what broke her.

everything moved so fast, one minute you were giggling and teasing your bodyguard then the next in your bedroom with your clothes discarded and mikasa’s security suit done the same in the corner of your room. The only thing mikasa had on was some grey boxers and a white long sleeved blouse while her palm slapped onto your bottom again and again with you spread on her lap.

this time you had a different tone than your teasing one, now just making out whines and moans at the sensation of her hand against your bottom.

when mikasa had enough of berating your ass she smiled and soothed your cheeks with her hand then pulled your black lace wig to see your usual smiley face have a pout with your mascara running down your face.

“it makes me sad to see your pretty face so sad but you’ve brought me to this point but i have to sweetheart.”

you scoffed with a cheshire cat like smile.“at least it’ll teach you not to be such a softie, mika.”

mikasa let out a breath of air and brushed one hand through her hair at you saying that.“then i guess my work isn’t done if the bratty popstar is still mouthing off even when i spank her.”

abruptly she shoved you off her lap and onto your bed on your stomach before she went to search in your closet where you stored all your toys.

you turned your head to see her searching.“what? Finally decided to get rid of that bad medieval fashion taste and pick something of mine up?”

“if your taste mean a glittery pink dildo with a strap? then i guess pink is the new white for me, princess.” she turned around to show the dildo’s seven inch glory, ready to attach it to her waist, humming just looking at the seven inch silicone dick attached onto her.“but if it teaches you how to behave and not be so mean to the woman who protects you, i guess i’m okay with the sparkly dick.”

you were giggling still, but mikasa was gonna completely rock your shit.

by this time your glossy smirk was gone from your face, instead your eyes were rolled back with your mouth wide and drool seeping from it and moans pouring out.

On the other end of you, mikasa was repeatedly thrusting into you, her right hand holding both your wrists in one and her left hand on your hip to steady herself from the rippling effect your brown ass had at her thrusting.

“mm-mmph! too rough mika!” your hands attempted to break free and slow her rampant thrusting against your sweet spot. That only encouraged her and made her groan with a grin, smacking your flailing hands and continuing to thrusts deeper and deeper and bending her neck down to whisper in your ear and grab a hold of your hands.

“i think not even a minute ago someone was telling me i should toughen up, so i don’t wanna hear any complaints. i’m sure you somehow planned this in your little pink sparkly decorated head to rile me.” she gave a sharp thrust making you gasp out to keep you wide and alert.“so don’t give out just yet, pop princess.“

just to keep you wide awake mikasa made a shift of positioning you and turned so you were now on your back with one leg down and the other laid on her shoulder. Both of you face to face with you seeing mikasa’s pale face have a slight blush and damp here while she had the sight of seeing your face with smudged makeup and a black jet lace wig that just refused to let go from your head.

mikasa had a rare beaming wide toothed grin at that as she looked at your wide eyes and wider mouth while continuing to feed your sopping cunt more thrusts.“whatever hairstylist you paid must’ve used some life binding glue for it to stay this long.”

“guess i should send her another text if it’s being well received then.”

mikasa just hummed.“i think i can sweat it off in half a hour from here.”

mikasa would prove herself right, even if you doubted that with a small eye roll. She knew what made your body tick and your weaknesses. It didn’t take her eons to find what the female g-spot was again and again, with how she repeatedly thrusts into your woman hood she would have your climax coming early.

and she wasn’t hesitating to stop there either.

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

part three Reader's nickname can be everything that involves honey, if you have a suggestion to stay fixed I will be happy to receive :) WC: 1 606

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If Aaron said he didn’t Google your name when he got home, it would be a lie.

He didn’t just do a cursory search, he dove into your chaotic universe of interviews, albums, music videos, awards shows, and conspiracy theories—which he concluded people just need therapy for.

He’d heard some of your songs in passing before, some on the radio on his way to work, some in commercials when he watched TV with Jack, he just didn’t know it was, well, you.

There was good, great, excellent, and then… you.

Aaron can’t remember ever seeing anything that came close to you. You sang and danced without missing a beat, your stage presence, the way you moved, no one would guess you were performing to a packed stadium—were you really human?

He feels like a moth being drawn to a light, unable to resist. Absorbing each performance and interview like a sponge.

The clock was two in the morning, he wasn't sleepy. Aaron never cared about celebrities, at most he sympathized with some, he was never the type to research their lives on the internet or in magazines.

His world was made up of reports, investigations and horrendous crimes, always keeping the focus on what was real, on what needed to be solved. The idea of ​​following the pop universe and celebrities in general seemed distant – even superfluous.

He liked movies, he could appreciate paintings, but music? It wasn't something he cared about, music was like background noise that fulfilled its purpose, filling the environment creating a pleasant atmosphere without standing out completely.

But watching your creative process in your documentary,– he wasn't joking, he almost called Garcia to get more information – he wished he could get inside your mind and see music the way you do. Renowned and new artists citing you as a reference.

It was fascinating.

You are fascinating.

He took the card with your number out of his pocket. And for a moment, he actually considered sending a message.

He knew that if he took this step, there would be no going back. The weight of real life was falling on his shoulders again, the pressure of his profession was like a bee buzzing in his ear, a reminder that things weren't so easy.

You on stage, in the spotlight, were an easy target.

The thought paralyzed him.

Someone like you should never get involved with someone like him.

It's better to live with the thought of what could have been than to live with the guilt of having brought danger into your life. He can deal with it, maybe in a few years he'll tell Jack that he met a famous singer.

He can deal with it.

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What he didn’t know was that you were extremely stubborn.

You waited patiently for a week for any sign. A text, a call – even a smoke signal would do, but you received nothing.

Great, if he wasn’t going to look for you then you would find a way to find him. All you had was your first name and a dream.

But you like a challenge.

Your first thought was to type his name into Google, but there are too many Aaron’s in the area, that wouldn’t work. You sighed, without a last name the search would be useless – Aaron was a very common name.

But you have something in your favor – influence.

“Hey, I need a favor.”

“This smells like trouble.” Chris – your security guard – stopped near the door, crossing his arms. “What is it?”

You smiled, this poor guy really deserved a raise.

“I met a guy and I wanted to find him, but all I have is his first name, Aaron.” You paused, trying to remember the details. “He was tall, had black hair, wore a nice suit, his posture was firm and he had a serious look, he probably has a position of authority, a lawyer perhaps?”

He looked at you as if he were seeing a unicorn, the crease between his eyebrows deepened as his mouth opened in disbelief.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to find someone you saw once in your life, and you don’t even know their damn last name?”

“Well, that’s basically it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know either.”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair in a clear sign of frustration.

“I should be immortalized as a saint.” He rolled his eyes and picked up his phone to make a call. You watched as he muttered something under his breath to someone on the other end, his expression hardened, he sighed and hung up right after.

“This will take a while but maybe we can get something done”

You smiled, he always found a way.

“Thanks, you’re awesome.”

“I know, next time maybe you can remember that when you decide to go out alone”

“I already apologized, it was stupid, I know”

“What did you want? If you intended to die, couldn’t you kill yourself like a normal artist? Drugs, alcoholism or something?”

You snorted in amusement.

“Shut up.”

He just rolled his eyes, returning to his attentive posture.

While Chris dealt with the impossible mission of finding Aaron, you focused on work, with the tour approaching there were many details to be worked on. You spent the entire afternoon making adjustments to the sequence of songs, the position of the dancers, the light show. The worst part of being a perfectionist was this: everything had to go through you.

At the end of the day, when you were finishing up with the team, your cell phone vibrated on the table. Picking up the phone, you answered quickly when you saw it was Chris.

“Peaceful house, who’s disturbing you?”

“Ha ha, funny girl, are you done? I’m waiting in the parking lot.”

“I’m going, did you get anything?” Holding your phone with your shoulder, you said goodbye to some people who were still in the warehouse before heading towards the parking lot.

“You’re going to sing at my wedding, for free.” He expected a protest, but you just nodded in agreement, so he continued. “Your mystery man’s name is Aaron Hotchner, he’s been the leader of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for the past 5 years. He used to be a lawyer – congratulations, you guessed right, maybe you should ask him for a job. I’ll send you his office number.”

You walked into the house in silence, absorbing the new information. Now you had a full name and a profession.

Aaron Hotchner, FBI agent.

You chuckled to yourself, you had just stalked an FBI agent – ​​that didn’t get you arrested, did it? The idea of ​​looking for him again – this time in a more direct way – seemed like a crime you were willing to pay for.

But how? You couldn’t just show up at his work – that would be too weird. It was time to plan calmly, you didn’t want to scare him.

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Aaron Hotchner was a man of routine.

He liked predictability when he had the chance to experience it, which was why he tried to keep his mornings calm; any unexpected element was viewed with suspicion.

So when he walked into his office that morning and found a huge bouquet of flowers on his desk, he stopped. His brow furrowed automatically, studying the bouquet as if it were a crime scene.

Flowers. For him.

He began to run through all the holidays quickly in his head; it wasn't his birthday or Father's Day. What was this?

Silently, he closed the door and approached the desk, finally noticing the card carefully placed among the flowers. He picked up the card and opened it calmly – almost as if he were defusing a bomb.

“Aaron

I appreciate the way you tried to inspire me artistically by not texting me and breaking my heart – it was innovative, to say the least. I would almost say poetic – but sad songs are not my thing, I prefer romantic ones.

Before you think it's weird that I know where you work, let me clarify two things:

First, I'm not dangerous – unless you consider smash as a threat.

Second, this is your fault.

If you had texted me like a normal person would, I wouldn't have to do this.

I'm joking (or not).

Anyway, when you receive these flowers, take it as a thank you for saving my skin that day.

Note: I loved your last name, did you know that you can't spell Hotchner without Hot?

With love, Q Honey.”

He finished reading and couldn't help but smile, you're definitely crazy, he thought. He didn't know exactly what he expected when he opened the card, but it certainly wasn't this.

Before he could decide what to do with the flowers, the door opened without warning.

“Hotch, could you reconsider a new chair, the leg of mine is wobbly and I almost fell again today. Just letting you know that what kills old people is a fall-” Rossi stopped talking as soon as he saw the flowers on the table.

“Is there something you want to share?” he asked, his tone full of amusement. “Wait, is that a card in your hand? Did you get that?”

He could have ignored it and gone back to work until he had a good enough excuse, but the shock prevented him from thinking straight, how the hell did you find out his name?

“I..um, I guess so..?” His voice came out more like a question than a statement.

“Who’s the secret admirer?”

“Someone with a lot of determination.”

Rossi laughed, clearly interested in his friend’s reaction.

“That’s one of mine, whoever it is I think you should give her a chance since she’s so determined.”

Yeah, maybe he should.

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English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel, I'll be happy to hear them :)

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@midnghtprentiss, @jazzimac1967

[starkwlkr]

cherry flavoured | sebastian vettel

sebastian vettel x reporter!reader

based on the video of iker casillas and his gf during the 2010 world cup

she’s a long one <3 this was finished at 2:30 AM so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes (please do not request for part 2)

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2010

It was the last race of the season and you were nervous, especially for Sebastian. It was down to Fernando, Mark, Sebastian and Lewis, one of them was going to be them champion. It was your job to cover the race and conduct interviews before and after so this gave you a chance to speak with Sebastian and wish him luck. The media didn’t know about your relationship that had just become official a month ago.

Sebastian had asked you out before the Japanese Grand Prix. That day, you decided to make a deal with him. If he won, you would go to dinner with him. After 53 laps, Sebastian secured a win and a date with you.

While you finished up your interview with Lewis, Sebastian stood patiently to the side. He kept his eye on you, staring at how you talked with such confidence and passion. He loved how expressive you were, sometimes talking with your hands. After letting Lewis go so he could prepare for the race, it was Sebastian’s turn. He happily joined you.

“Hello Sebastian, how are you?” You asked, knowing already how he felt, but you had to do your job. The night before, you stayed in Sebastian’s room, that’s when he told you how nervous he was feeling.

“Good, excited, happy.” He replied, smiling at you.

“Well I won’t keep you here for very long—”

“Why not? I enjoy talking to you.” Sebastian interrupted. His smirk was making you weak and all you wanted was to drag him into a room and let him have his way with you, but you couldn’t at least not now.

Several questions later, Sebastian was still giving you that look making it hard for you to concentrate. It was the same look he gave you the night before when you and him were in his hotel room ripping each other’s clothes off.

“Alright, good luck Seb . . astian, sebastian sorry.” You apologized.

All Sebastian did was laugh at your mistake. Since nobody apart from Mark knew about your relationship, you couldn’t call him Seb. He nodded then mumbled an ‘I love you’ and left. You really hoped nobody could read his lips since you were still live.

You understood that Sebastian needed to concentrate before the race so you didn’t bother him. Soon, the race had started, almost instantly on lap 1, a crash happened. After the race restarted, you watched Sebastian keep his p1 position. When it came to the final lap, everyone was silent in the Red Bull garage where you were watching the race from. Sebastian crossed the finish line, but you still had to wait for the other four cars.

Lewis came in second then came Jenson. After confirming, it was clear that Sebastian had become world champion.

You and the team members of Red Bull made it to the podium ceremony. The German national anthem played as Sebastian soaked in the moment. He had made history by becoming the youngest world champion. After the national anthem finished, he tried to look for you in the crowd. When he finally did, he winked at you. Again, he was making you feel all sorts of emotions.

After the podium celebrations and posing for photos, the three drivers had to do threat post race interviews. You were in charge of being the first to interview the new world champion.

In the media pen, Sebastian spotted you getting ready for your interview. When you were done, he walked up to you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Congratulations Sebastian. How was it up there on the podium?” You asked.

“It was a dream, but now it’s reality.” Sebastian replied. “I just wanna thank all the people that supported me and you of course, you’ve been there for me.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Was Sebastian about to reveal your relationship?

“Well congratulations again, go celebrate this historic win—” Before you could finish your sentence, Sebastian placed both of his hands on your cheeks and brought you closer to him, placing a kiss on your lips. You could taste the champagne that had been poured of him by Jenson and Lewis. From the distance, Jenson cheered, making everyone turn their attention towards you and Sebastian.

Sebastian didn’t care that you were still live. All he wanted was to celebrate with his girlfriend. “I love you.” He mumbled against your lips. When he finally pulled away, he licked his lips. “Cherry, my favorite.” He smirked.

“You’re the worst.” You laughed. “I love you too, champ. Go, I’ll see you soon.” You practically had to push him away from you so you could continue with more interviews.

“I’ll wait for you!” He yelled as he walked away.

Then Jenson made his way to you since you were going to interview him next. “Do I get one as well?” He teased.

Of course you and Sebastian celebrated, how could you not? He had made history. After the famous kiss, you were sure that you were going to get fired, but nothing ever happened. You did get a warning to not do it again, which Sebastian reminded the FIA that it was his idea not yours resulting in him getting a warning too.

Over the years, you were there when Sebastian won, when he lost, when he moved to Ferrari. You comforted him when he realized he would never win a championship with Ferrari.

During the summer break of the 2019 season, you and Sebastian decided to get married. It was an intimate wedding with only close friends and family attending. The night of your wedding, Sebastian promised you that he would take you anywhere for a while so you could spend your honeymoon. Of course being an F1 driver and a reporter, it didn’t go as planned as a global pandemic hit. You assured Sebastian that you weren’t mad, you had traveled almost everywhere with him anyway.

After the 2020 season ended, Sebastian was now with Aston Martin. He had only secured one podium finish with the team, but you were still more than happy for him.

One day after media day had finished for the 2021 French Grand Prix, you and Sebastian were in the Aston Martin motorhome having lunch. You were talking about a new piece of furniture you wanted when your phone vibrated. You checked it and saw a picture of your friend’s baby that she had sent you.

“Look, remember my friend Jane? That’s her baby girl, aw she’s so adorable.” You showed Sebastian a picture of the baby. “I need to tell her to stop sending pictures or I might get baby fever.”

“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, right?” Sebastian asked. “We’ve been together for eleven years, married for two.“

“I did always dream of being a mother. It would be fun to play dress up with our daughter or play with your toy cars with our son. Can you imagine that? They would call me mom . . holy shit.”

Sebastian thought about it. He was in his mid thirties, he already won four titles, that was enough for him.

“I guess this plays into what I’m about to talk to you next. . . I didn’t renew a contract for 2023 with sky sports.” You said.

“Are you going somewhere else?” He questioned.

“No, I didn’t sign anything with anyone. I just thought that it’s time for me to step back. Give someone younger their moment.” You replied. You made the decision a while ago even before the 2021 season started.

“But you love your job.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Seb.”

All day Sebastian had thought about your words. He couldn’t stay in formula 1 forever either. The younger generation had to have a go too.

At the end of the 2021 season, Sebastian had told you the news that he would be retiring at the end of the next season like you. You were sure him retiring was the result of your conversation, but he assured you that even before that he had considered retirement.

“So when are you going to announce it?” You asked.

“Soon. I want to enjoy winter break with you first.”

You and Sebastian spent the holidays in your home in Switzerland surrounded by family and friends. You weren’t even sure how it happened since you and Sebastian spent most of your time at home, but both of you ended up testing positive for covid. You assumed you contracted the virus when you went out for groceries.

The 2022 season had started and you and your husband were stuck at home quarantining. It wasn’t bad, it was just a normal day except you had medicine and empty tissue boxes scattered around the floor.

“Do you need another blanket, liebe?” Sebastian asked you. He touched your forehead feeling it not as hot as before.

You two were in your bedroom watching the Bahrain Grand Prix. You didn’t expect this to be the start of your last season, but at least you were with Sebastian.

“I’m okay, I’m thirsty though.” You sat up as Sebastian walked to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. Once he returned, he saw how sad you looked as you watch the race.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss it, but I’m happy that I get to be home with you.” You smiled weakly at him.

“We can visit whenever we want, liebe, and then one day we can visit with the kids.” Sebastian replied. “Here, drink.” He handed you the glass of water.

Soon enough, you and Sebastian were good to return back to the paddock. You felt refreshed and ready to officially start the season. You did your interviews, greeted your colleagues and then made your way to the Aston Martin garage where you were going to watch the race.

By lap 24, Sebastian was out. It broke your heart to see it, it was his first race back and he didn’t get a chance to finish it. He arrived back to the garage in a Marshall’s scooter making it a funny moment despite his dnf. He looked for you first.

“Are you okay?” You asked, running your hand through his messy hair.

“Good.” Was all that he said.

After doing some post race interviews, Sebastian waited for you in the Aston Martin motorhome. When you arrived, you noticed a plate of fruit and berries on the table. “I figured you didn’t get a break all day so eat. I made sure to get plenty of pineapple and strawberries.” He moved the plate closer to you.

“Thanks, it wasn’t that stressful today. Hopefully the next race is better for us.” You said once you sat down and started to eat the fruit. “No cherries today?”

“You and your cherries. Not today, liebe.” Sebastian grabbed a strawberry from the plate.

Eventually it was time to announce to the world of motorsports and media that Sebastian and you were retiring. You announced it first with a lengthy post on instagram with pictures of when you first started to now, you even posted the famous kiss that Sebastian gave you in 2010.

You received lots of comments and messages from family, friends and colleagues. It was nice to feel loved by them. The next day, it was Sebastian’s turn to announce his retirement. It started with him making an Instagram account then posting a video.

“I hereby announce my retirement from formula one by the end of the 2022 season.”

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2022

You felt a giant wave of deja vu. Here you were back in Abu Dhabi only this time it would be the official last Grand Prix for you and Sebastian. You would still visit like Sebastian mentioned, but it wouldn’t feel the same.

You walked into the paddock with Sebastian holding your hand. You were greeted by photographers, fans that wanted to get pictures with Sebastian and several members of other teams that wanted to congratulate you and your husband on retirement.

First you went to the Aston Martin motorhome again since you were a bit tired. You sat at a table in the corner. For a couple of weeks now, you were keeping a secret from Sebastian. Your friend, Jane, was the only one who knew since she had gone through a similar experience.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sebastian asked as he noticed the tired look on you. “Want something to eat?”

“No I’m okay, I promise. It’s still too early for me to function I guess.” You dismissed it. “I’ll catch up with you later, I’m sure you have lots of people waiting for you.”

“They can wait. If you need me here then I’m staying, end of discussion.” He was about to sit down next to you, but you stopped him.

“Seb, no. I mean it, I am fine. Go.” You demanded.

Before he left, Sebastian placed a kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, he frowned. “Is that coconut? I thought you were going to wear the cherry one.”

“Change of plans.” You smiled. “Go, the team needs you.”

“Be careful, I’ll see you later.” He placed one more kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You reply as you watch Sebastian walk out. “I can just imagine how protective he’s going to be about you, baby.” You spoke to yourself as you looked down to your stomach.

You found out you were pregnant when Jane was visiting you in Switzerland. You had gone out to eat for brunch at a nice little restaurant. Immediately after arriving, the smell of eggs made you run to the nearest bathroom and vomit in the toilet. Jane had ran after you making sure you were okay.

“Fuck . . It’s the smell.” You confirmed.

“Babe, when was the last time you had your period?”

Jane’s question made you think back to your vacation with Sebastian a couple months ago. You and Sebastian couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

After taking a pregnancy test, it was confirmed that you were pregnant. You called your doctor to schedule an appointment. Sebastian wasn’t home so you didn’t have to worry about him walking in on you holding a pregnancy test. You weren’t sure how you were going to tell him, but you knew that he would be the happiest man on earth.

You were assigned to interview Sebastian immediately after the race while on the track. You were told that it would be a special moment for you two seeing as you were both leaving. Apparently Sebastian didn’t know this so that was another secret kept from him.

Sebastian stood beside you as he got ready. You held his helmet, your name printed on the side in a small font. “Remember when I won back in 2010?”

“No, remind me again?” You joked. “Of course I do. It was the night you kissed me in front of thousands of people on live tv.”

“It would be a shame if we didn’t recreate that.” He teased. “You know . . . for historical reasons.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble on my last day.”

“You’re no fun.” Seb rolled his eyes playfully. “Kiss for good luck?”

You then kissed the top of his helmet and shoved it in his hands. “Good luck.” You were about to leave, but Sebastian grabbed your hand and brought you back to him. “Fine.” You kissed him as if your life depended on it.

“I was hoping you changed your lipgloss to cherry.” Mumbled Sebastian after pulling away from you.

“You’ll live.” You gave him a chaste kiss then waited for him to put his balaclava. “I love you and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Soon, the race was starting. Sebastian had started from P9. It was an exciting and emotional race for you and Sebastian. You didn’t want it to end, but you knew that Sebastian’s time in f1 was over.

By the end of the 58 laps, Sebastian had scored his last point in formula 1. You were content with the result even if he only scored one point. You were then directed to the track with a camera man and microphone in hand. As Sebastian did donuts on the track, you took your phone out to record his last moments. When he finished, you put away your phone. You didn’t even notice you were crying until a marshal gave you a tissue.

You thanked him and cleaned up as Sebastian made his way out the car to wave at the fans. Eventually Sebastian made his way towards you without his helmet and his racing suit hanging from his waist. You couldn’t start the interview without hugging him first so that’s what you did. Like in 2010, the camera filmed you and Sebastian as you embraced. You could hear the crowd cheering.

“You did so well. You made me cry.” You mumbled as Sebastian kissed your temple.

“You look pretty when you cry.” He let go of you since you needed to start the interview. He fixed your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“Sebastian, wow, first off congratulations on your incredible career.” You began.

“I don’t know what to say. I feel a bit empty to be honest, it’s been a big weekend.” He looked at the crowd who were sad to see him go. He gave a speech that made you cry even more, which you blamed on the hormones. “I can say that you were always with me in the bad times and good times. Thank you for sticking with me.”

“Always.” You said, completely forgetting you were holding the microphone so the whole audience heard you.

Sebastian then thanked the fans for the messages and support he’s been receiving. It only made you want to cry even more so thankfully your interview was coming to an end.

“Congratulations, Seb. You deserve it.” You said and with that you and your husband hugged once more. “You’re coming home.” You sighed.

“You don’t sound too happy.” He teased.

“I am, trust me. That means you can help move some stuff around and redecorate the guest room.” You let go of Sebastian, but you still held his hand.

“Why would we need to redecorate the guest room?” He questioned.

“Because that’s our baby’s room.”

“Our baby? Really? You mean it?” His lips turned into a smile that he couldn’t wipe off. “When did you find out?”

“Weeks ago. I’m letting you know right now that if you ever make eggs around me, I will vomit so let’s not do that.” You laughed as Seb brought you in for a kiss.

Again, Jenson was cheering in the background like he did in 2010.

When Sebastian pulled away, he smirked. You had changed your lipgloss after all. “Cherry, my favorite.”

[ukrfeminism]

Women in prison are resorting to self-harm because of “astonishing gaps” in basic services including strict time limits when contacting their children and bans from using washing machines for dirty underwear, according to a watchdog’s report.

A survey of women in prisons in England found that “the frustrations of day-to-day life” and a “lack of basic care” were driving many to hurt themselves.

Women offenders were struggling to keep in touch with loved ones with a third receiving no face to face visits at all, a report released by HM Inspector of Prisons said.

A “basic lack of decency” compounded these challenges, inspectors found. Women were given ill-fitting prison-issue men’s clothes, while “a bizarre rule” prevented them from laundering underwear in a washing machine.

Charlie Taylor, the chief inspector, said: “Disappointingly, this report highlights a lack of basic care to help women cope day by day which, for some, is then a cause of self-harm.”

There are more than 3,600 female prisoners in England, held in 12 prisons. More than half have children under the age of 18.

In three of the four prisons surveyed, about a third of the women were more than 50 miles from home and at one of the sites it was over half of women.

None of the prisons provided transport to and from nearby train or bus stations. Inspectors said that the prisoners’ families were often unable to afford expensive taxi fares to get to the prisons and often attended “short, inflexible” visit sessions.

Secure video calls were available at all four sites, but the women were often frustrated by a limit of one call a month.

“The calls were not being used creatively to support women, for example in enabling them to read a bedtime story to their child, or to facilitate attendance at parents’ evenings,” the report said.

It found 84% of women felt unable to cope at some point in prison, and that the needs of women in prison exceeded the capabilities of prison staff and their environment.

None of the prisons allowed women to wash their underwear in a washing machine and instead they had to wash it by hand in a small bowl in their cell, a policy not found in men’s prisons.

One offender told the inspectors: “I wash all my socks and underwear in the same bowl, but you only get one bowl and on a weekend, you get your razor. So, you got to do everything [referring to shaving, washing up and cleaning underwear] in that same bowl … its unhygienic.”

Another woman described arriving with only one pair of knickers. She was forced to hand wash them every night for months as no spare pairs were available, the report said.

Women, in particular those remanded into custody, often arrived with few belongings and relied on what the prison could provide.

In one prison there was no footwear available in sizes four to six, the most common sizes for women, the report continued.

“It was astonishing to find that most sites were not issuing prison clothing designed for women,” inspectors said.

Across women’s prisons, the self-harm rate is 5,785 incidents per 1,000 prisoners, which was more than eight times higher than in men’s prisons – 664 incidents per 1,000 prisoners.

In an interview with the Guardian last month, the prisons minister, Lord Timpson, said the government planned to reverse the increase in the number of women being sent to jail. Instead, hundreds of female offenders could be tagged and sent to addiction and rehabilitation centres, he said.

Shabana Mahmood, the justice secretary, said the report was “shocking” and “a wake-up call” for her department.

“We must do things differently which is why – as part of our Plan for Change to make our streets safer – we have launched a new women’s justice board to reduce the number of women in prison, and better support those who must still be imprisoned.”