ok american arcadia seems to straight up fuck i'm ngl

Can you do a one-shot where the reader was born in 1996 and she’s the daughter of Nikki Sixx and Brandi Brandt and is the bassist and songwriter of Wallows and is best friends with her bandmates Dylan Minnette, Braeden Lemasters, and Cole Preston and she helps 5sos write songs for the album Calm and starts dating Ashton and the fans go nuts (in the good way) with shipping?

Wallowing

ashton Irwin x wallows!reader / masterlist

warnings; references to sex, swearing, threats

“Come in babe.” You opened the door, inviting your boyfriend Ashton into your flat. He had been having a hard day at the studio, and had asked if it was alright if he came over. Of course it was, but he had got a warning prior to his arrival, that they would not be alone, and that if he wanted to clear his head, it was certainly not the right place.

“Fuck you, you’re supposed to be on my side man!” At the sound of Dylan, yelling at whom you supposed to be Cole, you pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you welcomed your partner into your home sweet home. Out of all days, they had to be playing COD in your apartment today.

“Sorry bout that.” A light grimace filled your face, but instead of giving you criticism, Ashton simply laughed, following you through the apartment, as you tried to slowly pass behind your band mates who were occupying your living room.

“Not so fast young Sixx, get your well endowed ass back here.” A sigh fell from your mouth as you rolled your eyes at Braeden, pausing your movements as he turned to lean against the back of your couch to peer over at you. “We need to have a conversation little lady.”

Groaning, you threw your head back, smiling a small apology towards Ash. “We were going to go to my room, I’d rather just you guys play my PS4 without needing to interact with me face to face.”

“Would you rather he FaceTime you whilst you’re getting down and dirty, or stand there like a kid’s doll and allow him to pull at your arm?” Dylan mumbled, as you crossed your arms, Ash greeting your band mates as you moved towards the tv, reaching for the side button and turning it off.

“Y/n what the hell?” Cole half screamed, breaking loose as he was close to finally beating Minette and killing his gamer character. His hands flailed as he expected an answer, raising in the air as he held the remote.

“I could ask you the same thing Preston, so what’s the schtick that’s making you keep me here, in my own apartment?” He gulped as you enquired at him, raising your brow, as you leaned back into your partner who stood awkwardly behind you like a supporting shadow.

“Congrats on the album Irwin, it’s great to see our own band member aiding your band. CALM is sick, and she makes me feel the same, just in a different manner.”

“Stop being a salty little bitch would you?” You asked, smacking him on the upside of the back of his head. He rutted his head back, clasping the behind of his scalp with his palm, firmly turning back to cast an icy glare towards you.

This was the normal behaviour around here, you all enjoyed getting under each other’s skin. It was a sign of true friendship, that whilst sometimes still triggering some real annoyance, that made your bond of being band mates that much deeper.

They were doing the same thing to you now, speaking prolifically showering your boyfriend in compliments, to side swab you with cockblockery. In all honesty, whenever Lydia or another girl was on the premises, you returned the favour, though that did not your pulsating frustration decrease at all.

“I’m going to assume there’s a problem here. Are you sure now is a good time for me to be here?” Ash asked reassuringly, his gentle touch applying a loving presence upon your shoulder, making you smile despite the situation that was running through the discourse of your veins

You craved him, to feel his body atop, or under, or however else against your own. It was infuriating to endure how your band mates dragged their greeting to him out, all you wanted was to discard his and your own clothing, leaving it as a jumble of forgotten material on the floor whilst the pair of you were caught up in mess upon the mattress, limbs inclined to coil around each arch, and breaths long overdue and escaping into the air.

“It’s a good time for you overall pal, considering that your sales are sky high, taller than this one that is practically trying to hump your arm. No problems with your presence, except the fact that it’s turning little Brandi’s baby’s hormones into overdrive.” Braeden spoke, earning a guttural growl out from your throat, as your nostrils flared furiously at his words.

If you didn’t get on with it, then the Red Sea of the month would cause a flood that would stain your underwear. You’d have preferred to take action before that happened. “The work isn’t just on my shoulders loser, if you want a worldwide selling album, put in some elbow grease, instead of playing stupid games.”

“I’m good, and by definition that makes you stupid, because they belong to you.” He remarked, Cole chuckling and offering him a high five.

“I could just kick you out.” You promptly supposed, as Dylan messed around with his phone, surrendering to the game, as he ran his hand to define the ruggedness of his silvery blue locks.

“Band rules say no to that.” Braeden stated. “And Ash, feel free to replace this one, we could do a switch. You’re basically ready to move in together, so we wouldn’t have to go anywhere else to have rapid fire nights.”

“Do I even want to know what that is?” Your boyfriend asked, and you, without any thought or hesitancy, shook your head. He certainly didn’t need to know about that, it was, least to say, a mess.

There would be dares, and drinks, and tattoos put in the most awkward places with that artist set that you kept very far under your bed. It was a shock that Ashton hadn’t seen the word ‘narwhale’ on the heel of your foot, or maybe he did, and decided against saying anything.

“I put up with these idiots.” Dylan sighed, though as you whipped your head around, you saw that he was not speaking directly to any of you, instead, his

“He’s on fucking insta live.” Cole realised, leaving over to get his face in the mirroring of the stream, waving a hand to the fans that spewed hearts onto the corner of the screen.

“Prick.” You called Dylan out, watching as he laughed at your lack of amusement, and poised the self proclaimed camera towards you, also catching the person beside you in the view.

“Calm.” Ashton softly spoke, sending you a small and reassuring smile, which you were defeated to not permit the same in return

“Funny pun Irwin, but shut up.” You laughed, and shook your head, him finally catching onto what he had said.

“Yes that is the incredibly talented 5SOS member Ashton Irwin. I know right, what is he doing with us?” Cole read, watching as Dylan rolled his eyes at his band member’s behaviour, wanting to get his phone back, though his attempts were lacklustre.

“Or more specifically, her?” Braeden asks, walking behind the sofa and grasping him, dragging him closer to where the phone was propped in Cole’s hand, giving the fans a clear image of his face. “Is he joining the band?” He reads from the flood of comments. “I wish, but we don’t draw that much talent.

“Speak for yourself.” You groaned, walking closer, leaning your head over Ash’s hunched shoulder, releasing an awkward smile as he raised it, gently bumping your chin with the slope of his muscle. “Rude.”

“Where are you guys? Well, we’re at y/n’s apartment. She just got back and dragged this old slugger in off the streets. How charitable.” Cole spoke, smiling up at Irwin as he lightly punched his face, already too comfortable with his hovering presence.

“Why is he there? This one makes me laugh, quick shag, ain’t that right buddy?” Braeden thoughtlessly worded, his eyes going wide in an instant as the fans quickly tended to the realisation of what he had meant. “Fuck, oops I guess.”

To say that you were furious was an understatement; you could feel an ache in your hands, wanting to tear the idiot into dismal pieces until there was nothing salvageable left to fix.

“You guess?” Dylan snickers, covering his mouth with his hand whence he saw your murderous expression conquer features. It was vastly more terrifying than any anger you had ever portrayed, and he could feel the couch moving as Braeden turned, and squirmed from the sight.

“Lemasters, imagine your head on a stick. That is going to happen, when I get my hands on you, your gonna turn cold as I strangle the living shit outta-“ Ashton grabbed you, as your arms tried to grasp and throttle your band mate, flopping in the air, intently furious at his revealing slip up.

“I think imma go.” He bolted, and as you struggled out of Ashton’s grip, you ran after him, out your front door and through the modesty of your building.

“She forgot her key.” Ashton noted, coming around and sitting with the remaining pair on the sofa. “How one of you think it’ll take for them to return?”

“As long as it takes for her to kill him.” Dylan grasps his phone back, fluttering his gaze over the comments. “They’re kinda cute together, found my new OTP. Sorry Dylan and Lydia. Oh don’t worry, that’s fine, we gotta take what we get and currently y/n’s not getting any because we have a tendency to cockblock her.”

“It’s our duty as the men of the band.” Cole spoke, a scream reverberating through from the hallway, audible to those online that were watching the two worlds merging.

“I think she got him.” Ash said, smirking lightly, as he heard your voice bellow out in rage against the male. Yep, your band was messy, but his wasn’t much different. He could certainly get used to it.

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 1) John Deacon x Reader Series

I’ve read so many fan fics in the past four months and I thought it was high time to try my hand at it. I’ve created this side blog so that I can 1) Express my love for Queen and 2) Not annoy the randos from high school and college who still follow my main. This’ll be a slow burn folks, so hold on to your hats.

Series summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader (eventually)

Chapter Warnings: Lots o’ curses

Chapter Summary: This is basically just some set up for the series. No Deacy yet, but a meet-cute to happen very soon! I got the band name with the help of some random band name generator so be kind. I’m hoping to introduce in some songs readers may not have heard - I was thinking of “Heart of the Night” by Juice Newton while writing this, hence the single name and album.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

- - - - - - -

Days of Our Lives Documentary Shoot - 2010

(Brian May and Roger Taylor Joint Interview)

“The early 80s were huge for us, for sure. I believe we were at our biggest then, internationally speaking.” Brian states, glancing over to Roger.

“Yes, Another One Bites the Dust really set things a-flame I think. The traveling and playing were constant. The crowds getting bigger by the venue. Parties, hotels, girls, more parties. We were meeting just so many people.” Roger adds.

“And one of those being a certain American female rock singer.” The interviewer adds quietly from off-camera.

Roger glances over to him with a questioning look, but Brian catches on quick, like always.

“Ah yes, that particular rock goddess. We did meet her around then, I believe, yes. Maybe a few years after.” Brian says knowingly, still playing along.

Roger stares into space with a confused look on his face until the realization hits him. “Are we talking about Y/N?” Roger mutters to Brian. “Yes” Brian chuckles, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, what a spit-fire she is! Not back then though. Fred really worked some magic with that one. Almost inseparable those two were.” Roger laughs out, a wave of nostalgia washing over his face.

Brian raises his large eyebrows, “Deacy would beg to differ I think.”

Roger smirks, “Oh, well that’s a whole different story.”

- - - - - - -

1982 - MTV Studios, New York City

You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying to will your left knee to stop repeatedly bouncing up and down. The satin of your pants does nothing for the layer of sweat on your clammy hands. You fold them together in your lap and gaze around the studio instead, taking in the bustling of crew members as they ready for the pre-taped interview. The god-like VJ, Alan Hunter, sits in a chair off to the side as someone artfully pieces his blonde locks into place. He grins over at you with a small wave. You limply lift your hand in a greeting, pasting on a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

You catch your pained expression as you glimpse a monitor off-camera. A friendly woman backstage had painted your face to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Gone was the evidence under your eyes of the restless sleep you’d fought the previous night. They were wide and doed, rather than their normal crescent shape. Your lips full and vibrant, your hair bounced and fanned out around your face. And your skin seemed to be glowing, masking the spots that had popped up overnight from stress. You looked every bit the rock goddess the label hoped to paint you as, and the exact opposite of the nerves currently threatening to overtake your body.

“Y/N, I can feel you vibrating from here. Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be fine.” Rich commented from beside you. His legs were splayed out, his arms bent behind his head. Looking as relaxed as can be, as if he were on his couch at home catching a movie marathon, about to doze off.

“How can you be so calm right now?” You rush out. “Who knows how many people are going to see this interview. Do you know how many times a day I accidentally let the F word fly out of my mouth?”

Rich lets out a snort. “I happen to know exactly how much you curse, thank you. Yesterday you said fuck 3 times in one sentence. It was charming, my mom loved it.” He moves his right arm to squeeze around your shoulders. Usually, it would be a comforting display of friendship, but you shake it off.

“And look at those three. Already so at home, I see.” You nod to the three other members of the band. Steve is exuding energy like yourself, but it’s excitement that bubbles from him. His eyes flit around the room quickly as he taps out some unknown rhythm on his bent legs. A wide grin permanently fixed on his boyish features.

At the far end of the couch, Eddie and Lawrence are wrapped up in a not-so-silent game of knuckles.

“Son of a-- Will you take off those damn rings? It’s my turn and I’m still getting bruised.” Lawrence huffs. Eddie wiggles his long, skilled, silver-clad fingers in front of his face and raises his eyebrows. “It’s all about the look, baby. Gotta play the part of the guitar god.”

“Will you both knock it off.” You call over to them. “We need both those sets of hands in playing shape for tomorrow night.”

Eddie turns, probably to counter with some playful comment about how you mother them too much, but Alan approaches.

“Alright, guys. And girl.” He flashes his perfectly white teeth your way again. “We’re about 5 minutes out from going up. Anybody need anything? Water, vodka, beer…” He turns his gaze to Steve, who is still tapping lightly on his legs. “A Xanax, perhaps?”

“Waters all around would be great, thanks.” You offer. Alan nods to a twitchy PA waiting to his side and they hurry off.

“Oh wait up, a Bud Light too, if you have any!” Eddie calls after them. The other three boys echo the same as well.

“You can take the boys out of Long Island…” you mutter to yourself. Rich teasingly pokes your side. “And something stiff for the lady!” He shouts out.

“In all manner of ways” Steve giggles. You feign a shocked expression and reach over to place a gentle slap to the side of his head. He looks over with big apologetic eyes and you stifle a laugh.

In record time, the lanky PA rushes back over with a myriad of drinks, all threatening to topple over on the tray they were precariously balanced on. Another PA trails behind, handing you all water, which you’re in desperate need of. They hand the drinks out one by one and stop before you. “Your water, Miss. And I didn’t know what you liked so I have a jack and coke, a whiskey sour, and a gin and tonic.”

“The gin and tonic is great, thanks.” They hurriedly hand you the drink and go to turn away. “Love your hair by the way.” You tell them. “I’m absolute shit at styling mine. Guess I’ll have to learn now.” They smile back at you and run a hand through their short locks before disappearing amongst the rest of the crew.

“Okay, we’re ready to rock n’ roll!” Alan exclaims, getting the band’s attention as he sits down in a chair next to your side of the couch. “We’re going to start off with a few basics on the band. Your lower thirds will have your instruments labeled but feel free to explain how you guys started out, your influences, your process. I’ll prompt you in between and then we'll talk about the album and promote your upcoming tour towards the end. Should take 15 minutes tops, so keep your answers brief. But I won’t say no to any rowdy stories you want to throw in.” He finishes with a wink.

The band nods along as you gulp down a breath, your palms becoming even slicker. The stage manager’s high voice rings out around the studio. “Playback ready! Live to tape in 5.. 4...” Rich places a hand over your knee and gives a squeeze. “Light em’ up, Bun” he mutters in your ear.

“3.. 2..” She holds up a finger and then points it at Alan, a wide smile already set on his face. The camera light flicks red as the MTV open plays from speakers around the room. Alan beings as the song fades out.

“We’re here in the studio and boy, am I excited to get to know this next band. Over at MTV we’ve been watching the steady rise of their single “Heart of the Night” on the charts. And as an added surprise, they’re here to introduce their very first music video. I’m very pleased to welcome to the studio, Lo & The Limbs!”

You try to relax your face as a camera pans across the band and settles on a two-shot of you and Alan. You know your eyes are gleaming with anxiety so you glance down the couch, silently praying for one of the boys to take the lead.

“Thanks for having us Alan, it’s such a trip to be here.” Eddie says with ease, resting his forearms on his knees.

“So, I have to ask. Who is Lo? Is it you Lawerence?” Alan questions the piano player.

“Oh god, no.” Lawrence chuckles. “Our high school was affectionately called Lo High, for Long Island HighSchool of the Arts. So we sort of tacked that on while playing during those years to let people know where we were from. That and well, as you can see we’re all above 6 foot except for Y/N, so a lot of limbs going on here.”

Alan gives a short laugh. “You released your debut album, Quiet Lies, earlier this year to growing success. Why don’t you tell me how you all started out.”

“Well, the boys and I have been together for a few years. We’ve been friends since grade school and we always just used to jam about. As we got older we started playing local bars back on Long Island to mostly middle-aged crowds, trying to break in, but it wasn’t working. Then Rich had the idea to invite Y/N to join up and it’s all kind of all taken off from there.” Eddie explains.

“We needed a pretty face to balance out all these ugly mugs” Steve pipes up.

“It took a while for her to finally concede though. She was off being too studious for the likes of us.” Rich adds on with a smile and nudge to your side. Your eyes grow wide as you feel a question directed at you coming on.

“Is that true, Y/N?”

“I- I guess, I was at NYU studying documentary filmmaking.” You choke out, but continue on. “Love this lighting set up, by the way, it really hides all sins.” That gets a light chuckle out of the crew surrounding you.

“And these sins you’re hiding are…” Alan grins but quickly bounces to the next topic. “Certainly a good call, Rich. Heart of the Night is the only song off the album that Y/N is singing lead on and look how well it’s doing. How did that happen?”

“Most of our songs were already written from before when we finally got the money to record. We wanted Y/N to feel a part of it, so she went on and wrote Heart of the Night and we were all very pleasantly surprised that it’s become such a hit.” Steve explains. “She also directed the music video we’ll be debuting today. I can’t believe she let us do all the things we did in that… well, you’ll just have to see for yourselves. We can be a bit of a handful.” The boys all chuckle.

“That and she plays the weirdest collection of instruments. Rhythm guitar, any type of strings, the saxophone… She's a boss on the harmonica.” Eddie turns to you as he speaks. “You just need to get over those pesky little nerves about your singing, Bun!” He points in your direction.

You feel the heat rise behind your perfectly painted cheeks at the slip of your nickname. You cast your gaze down at your lap. Not liking how the conversation has turned directly onto you.

Alan quirks an eyebrow at you. “Bun?” He teases.

You have yet to lift your eyes when Rich answers for you. “Bunny, an affectionate nickname. It’s stuck around since grade school when she wandered into Lawrence's backyard in search of a rabbit she was chasing.”

“A rockstar called Bunny. There’s a first for everything.” Alan quips, but quickly notices your displeasure in the current topic. Sensing your growing panic, he addresses the rest of the group. “This has been quite the debut album, with more hits sure to come from it. Any bands you’ve taken inspiration from while writing and producing?”

Rich jumps at the question. “Fleetwood Mac would be a big one. The way they layer their sounds is just unmatchable. You catch something new with every listen of an album of theirs.”

“I can’t be a pianist from Long Island and not mention the granddaddy, Billy Joel.” Lawrence adds. “His songs take you on such a ride. They’re full stories, each one of them.”

“And you, Y/N?” Alan directs the next question. “Who will you be drawing inspiration from when you write your next hit single?”

You smile to yourself. “It’s gotta be Queen for me. I’ve loved every one of their albums. I mean, the way they’ve changed their sound just in the past few years alone. They’re always transcending. Never afraid to try out something new or weave a different genre into one of their songs. But you always know it’s a Queen song. I saw them 2 years ago when they played the Garden, and fu--” You catch yourself as you get more animated. “And they were all just so on. Perfectly in sync. There’s something so distinct about their sound, so practiced. I’d love to get to their level, to be able to experiment like that. To give joy in the way they’ve given it to me.” You finish. Realizing you’ve rambled for a bit, you turn your eyes downwards yet again.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since you came into the studio!” Alan laughs. “Well, you heard it here first folks, Y/N L/N is a Queen fan, just like the rest of us. I’m sure you’re just as excited about their new album as well.” You nod quickly as Rich hides a smile. Knowing full well you’ll be first in line to purchase their new album, Hot Space when it drops.

“But before you get off to writing more hits, I believe you have a tour coming up!” Alan states, signaling that the interview is wrapping up.

“Yeah, we have a small American tour starting in February. But until then we’ll be opening up for Hall and Oates during their tour of the NorthEast next month.” Steve says excitedly, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“And with that, I think we’ll roll into the long-anticipated music video and directorial debut for the lovely Y/N L/N. Thank you all so much for coming in today and I can’t wait to see what’s next on the horizon for you. Here’s Lo & The Limbs with Heart of the Night!” Alan keeps his painted smile till the red light vanishes from above the lens on the large pedestal camera in front of him.

You breathe out the breath you’d been choking on as Rich puts an arm around your shoulders. He leans in and whispers lightly, “And only one hint of a fuck, ladies and gentlemen. She might just make it in this business after all.”

- - - - - - -

One Month Later - Veterans Memorial Coliseum - New Haven, Connecticut

The Limbs bound off the stage in full force, glistening with sweat and excitement. It was the largest crowd they’d played for by far. 10,000 people cheered from the audience as roadies and crew moved around them to set up for the main act, Hall and Oates. Rich spreads his long arms and huddles the rest of the group into a family hug, your skin sticking to one another, the smell of sweat filling your noses.

“I just want us to all remember this moment.” He speaks to the group, foreheads touching. “Even if nothing happens past this album. That was insane.”

“Absolutely bonkers, dude!” Steve says and he bounces up and down beside you. You all take a deep collective breath and squeeze.

“Alright, get off of me you fucks.” You laugh, untangling yourself from their vast expanse of limbs. “We all stink and I have to get out of all... this” You gesture to the skin-tight bodysuit your best friend, Dawn, had insisted you wear. Eddie presses a light kiss to your temple as he lets you into the dressing room first to change out of their view.

You close the door and sigh, glancing at yourself in the mirrors that line one wall of the room. Your eyes are bright, your hair is two times the size of when you went out on stage an hour before, and your makeup looks like you’d been in a fight. Grinning to yourself, you start to unlatch the halter top of the bodysuit, excited for the air to cool your skin.

Just as you are about to shimmy out of the rest of the ensemble, the door bursts open.

“Shit! Lawrence, what the hell?!” Scrambling to cover your top half.

Lawrence trains his eyes to the ceiling as he speaks. “Bunny, you gotta… just cover up and get your ass out here. You just... You gotta see, c’mon.”

Flustered, you hurry to redress your sticky body. After making sure everything is properly covered, you step out into the hallway backstage, already glaring at the boys. They’re all tight-lipped, staring at one another. “Okay, someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” You say loudly. “Shhhhh” Rich hisses as he gestures behind him with a shake of his head. You glance over his shoulder to see the backs of two men. John Hall and Daryl Oates.

“Yeah, okay... I don’t get it. We’ve hung out with them like 5 times. Why are we fangirling?”

Rich widens his eyes at you and you glance back at them again. This time they part and you can catch a glimpse of who they’ve been talking to.

The flash of a tight leather jacket, a mustache, and two front teeth shining while laughter erupts from behind them.

You gasp.

“Fucking, fuck. That’s Freddie fucking Mercury.” You say, a bit too loud.

The bold man in question locks eyes with you. Something mischievous dances behind them as he narrows his gaze. Daryl and John move to their roadies to get fixed up before heading out on stage and Freddie lets out a sharp burst of laughter as he makes his way over. Your stomach churns with embarrassment but you can’t tear your eyes from his.

“Quite the redundancy of expletives, my dear. All you had to do was say hello.” he grins at you, all teeth. You’re not one to get too clammy in front of other musicians, but your voice gets trapped in your throat. You pray to whatever gods are out there that your eyes don’t get any wider.

Eddie’s easy charm luckily saves you. “This beautiful songstress right here is Y/N L/N.” You barely lift your arms as Freddie pulls you in for a light hug and kiss on the cheek. “But you can call her Bunny.” Eddie grins. So much for easy charm you think as you stare daggers into the profile of his face.

“Ha! Bunny? Oh my, that is wonderful.” Freddie chuckles. “It sounds as if you’re a socialite... Or a stripper. I can’t tell.” He beams at you. You can’t help but beam right back.

“Come along. Let us watch the show and you can tell me which one it is.” He says with a wink. “And introduce me to these giants you call your band.” He grabs your arm and leads you off, the boys in tow. Bouncing with excitement for what’s to come.

Life in Vivid Color

Life in Vivid Color Hoseok x Reader Soulmate AU

Author: Admin Mo Sequel to Rainbow Connection (Link in Masterlist) Word Count: 2.2k Genre: Fluffy Soulmate Fluff

You fired up your camera and focused the lens on Noodle, your adorable snake.

“Are you ready to meet Hobi today, Noodle?” You asked, reaching out to gently stroke his scaly white head with your index finger. “I think he’s ready. Now, if Hobi will be ready for Noodle is another question entirely. I may or may not have told him about my beautiful baby. But, uh, I’ll edit in the clip of Hobi’s previous experience with snakes later. This won’t be up until he’s here anyway.”

You laughed and turned the camera on yourself. It was obvious you were exhausted, given it was around 4am and you were up for a music video shoot. You checked your phone.

“It is...4:12 am at the moment. I uh, I have a music video shoot today and I have like two hours of makeup because we’re going for a mermaid concept for the Blue music video. Catch me falling asleep in the hair and makeup trailer.” You struggled to keep your eyes open, even standing up. “Stop 1: my coffee machine. Then work. And Hobi is meeting me on set because he may or may not have a teeny role in it. Maybe. Who knows? But yeah, I haven’t seen him since the Disney trip so I really just can’t wait for him to hold me.” You sighed, closing your eyes. “Hobi gives the best hugssssss…I’m so lucky, you don’t even know.”

You made your coffee and scrolled through some of the questions from Twitter you had screen-shotted earlier. “Alright, so a lot of you are asking me if I listened to Hixtape and um, it’s my ringtone, it’s my text tone, it’s my alarm when I wake up. You think I’m exaggerating, but-” Your phone started ringing and Daydream’s chorus started playing. “See? Proud girlfriend.”

“Hey baby,” you answered the phone.

“We’re six hours away. I’m going to sleep but I wanted to say good morning to my rainbow girl.”

“Aww, well good morning, sunshine.” You smiled. “I can’t wait to see you today. I was just talking about you, actually. I’m filming a vlog.”

“Tell your subscribers I say ‘hi’.”

“He says ‘hi’.” You told the camera, causing Hobi to chuckle. “Get some sleep, alright? I’ll see you when you wake up.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” You hung up. “God, I love him so much. Listen, kiddos. Everything your parents and teachers tell you about soulmates that you kind of wave off and go ‘oh yeah whatever’, all of that is true. Seems like BS, but the minute I laid my eyes on him, I knew. Mostly because the world literally burst into color, but, yeah. There is so much love in my heart for this man.”

You finished off your vlog and drank your coffee and got to set in time for hair and makeup. The stylists worked, tying your hair back so they could layer the blue wig over top. Then, they created a scale effect on your face and arms, painted gorgeous silver glitter on your eyelids and cheeks. Next, you got into costume, silver shells and a huge sparkling silver tail. It was quite the look. The stylists layered crystalline jewelry on your neck, wrists, and fingers, finishing if off with a crown made of pretty shells.

You filmed most of the beginning of the video, in which you made a daring escape from a sea witch, whose inky black tentacles threatened to drag you into the deep. An analogy to your Gray Syndrome depression. And once you escaped her grasp, and burst free, so did a wave of color. You went through the ocean, slowly restoring the hues and life to the deep sea that had been darkened by her black magic.

The playback footage was amazing. It really got your message through. You had been stuck in that deep pit for so long that even watching it like this really hit home. It was sure to be even more beautiful and powerful once the effects were put in.

“(Y/N), Hoseok is here.” One of the producers told you. You moved to get up but remembered that you were trapped in place by the large silver mermaid tail currently binding your legs together.

“Can someone bring him to me?” You asked, laughing. The crew laughed too, one of the interns running off to find him. “HOBIIIIIIIII!”

“I’m comINGGGG!”

You heard a call steadily growing louder as your soulmate ran to you. He nearly knocked you off of the fake rock you were sitting on and both of you erupted into a fit of giggles. He kissed your cheeks a million times before his lips found yours.

“There’s my rainbow girl.” He smiled and it felt like you were staring directly into the sun.

“I would get up to hug you, but uh-” You motioned to your tail. “I’m stuck.”

“Then I’ll come to you.” Hobi wrapped his arms around you tight, kissing your temple. “I’m ready to be your handsome prince.”

You reached up and gently stroked his cheek with your thumb. “You already are.”

***

Filming went (no pun intended) swimmingly. Hobi filmed his scene and then you filmed your scene together for the ending, and finally, you got out of the tail and back into your leggings and flowy flowery top. As soon as you were free from the wig and makeup and everything else, you ran to where Hobi was standing and jumped into his waiting arms, wrapping your legs around his waist like a koala.

“Much better,” you whispered into his ear, leaning in to peck his cheek.

Hobi’s arms tightened around your waist and he laughed. “I missed you so much, jagi.”

“I missed you too.”

Once you grabbed your stuff, the two of you went through the Panda Express drive-thru and back to your place. You sat at the dining room table across from each other and ate lunch, talking about all of the little things you had forgotten to mention over the phone or in your texts to one another.

As soon as you were finished eating, you headed out onto the town and picked up some of your other musical friends for a beach day adventure.

“So this is the famous J-Hope I’ve heard so much about.” Your friend Natalia slid into the back seat and finally made eye contact with your soulmate. “(Y/N) never stops talking about you.”

“Really?” Hobi smiled and put a hand over his heart, smiling wide. “Awww! Babyyyyy!”

Your face went red and you hid behind your hands. “Don’t look at me, I’m so red.”

Hoseok gently moved your hands away from your face and kissed your cheek. “A beautiful color for my beautiful girl.”

“Aaaaaah, hushhhhh…” You blushed deeper, laughing as he carefully tickled your middle with one of his long fingers. “Hobiiiiii!”

You picked up three other friends and then arrived at the beach in the middle of a perfect, sun-filled day. After pulling your keys out of the car and getting out, you pulled on your white sun hat and shades. A loose white BTS shirt hid your rainbow one-piece, and on your back, it said ‘J-HOOOOOOPE!’ in bold black letters.

“I like your shirt, jagi.” His finger traced a line across your shoulders and then he wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing your cheek.

“Gotta show the world I’m yours somehow, right?” You grinned.

He laughed and tightened his grip, lifting you off of the ground and into his arms. Hoseok was smiling so bright and the sky was so blue and you swore you had never been happier in your entire life.

Hobi ran over to the umbrella your friends had set up, yelling the whole way while you laughed at him. God, you loved the noises he made. But when he got closer to the water, he ran right past your friends and out to the ocean.

“Hoseok…” You looked up at him with a warning in your eyes. He laughed mischievously. “Hoseok, I swear to God.”

“It’s just water.” He grinned.

You squirmed, trying to escape his grasp before he dropped you into the water, but it was no use. He was stronger than you and determined to put you in those waves.

“You little- aaah!” You shouted as you hit the water. He laughed, getting in the water himself. He didn’t care that his shirt was getting all wet, nor that your sun hat was floating helplessly while you splashed back to the surface.

As soon as you were both above water again, you splashed him, laughing while he did the same. Eventually, you went back to the umbrella and put on sunscreen. Hobi helped get the spot between your shoulder blades and you slathered the thick white cream all over his back, laughing as he squirmed and shrieked at your cold touch.

“(Y/N), did you bring a speaker?” asked Alex, one of your friends from your recording studio. He was the owner’s son, and he and his girlfriend had come to spend the day at the beach with you and the others.

“Should be in my bag. It’s the big Beats pill.”

“Oh, found it.” He pulled it out of the bag and you connected it to your phone through bluetooth.

You clicked on your beach playlist and Katy Perry’s ‘California Girls’ started playing. Hobi began dancing. He spun you around and then pulled you into him. You weren’t all that confident in your dancing, especially compared to your soulmate, who was quite literally a god at it, but you were getting better since you and Silence and Red had been practicing together for a surprise for the boys.

After a while, the six of you started playing a lively game of beach volleyball, and right as you served the ball, a very familiar song started playing. The ball hit the sand on the opposite side of the net and Hobi stopped to listen as Daydream started playing from your speaker. You watched, a grin on your face as he started dancing and excitement spread through him.

“This is your playlist?” He asked.

“Of course this is my playlist.” You laughed, standing on your toes to kiss him. “It’s a bop, babe, of course it’s on my beach playlist.”

“Y’all are too cute.” Natalia turned the volleyball over in her hands. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you.”

“Bring it on.”

***

You went back to your place later that evening sunkissed and tired as all hell. Hobi carried your stuff inside, despite your offers to help him. He just grinned a sleepy grin and took your big bag from you. You unlocked the door and turned on the lights of your large LA home.

“Jagi, where’s your bathroom?” He asked after setting the bag on the dining room table.

“Down the hall, second door on the right.” You pointed, still half-asleep. It didn’t even occur to you what else was down the hall until you heard his blood-curdling scream.

Noodle.

You sprinted to where Hoseok was frozen, horror in his eyes as he looked at the adorable white scaly creature. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s just Noodle.”

“I-I h-hate s-s-snakeu.” He shuddered.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind and pulled him back, further away from Noodle’s tank, speaking softly as you did so in an attempt to calm him down. “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s fine. He can’t get the lid off of his tank. Believe me, he’s tried. And even if he did, he doesn’t have fangs.”

He was still shaking, but less now. “Sorry, jagi…” he apologized softly.

“It’s okay to be scared, baby. You don’t need to be sorry.” You walked in front of him and reached up, turning his face down towards yours. Your smile was soft, head tilting to the side and looking over him with concern. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm…” He bent down and buried his face in your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist. His arms were still trembling a little bit, but the jitters were slowly seeping out of him as he inhaled your scent and pulled you close. “I’m okay.”

“I’ll make dinner if you want to use the bathroom upstairs instead.”

“I love you,” He whispered, arms holding you just a little tighter.

“I love you too.” You gave Hobi directions to get there and then put a pot of water on the stove.

Around fifteen minutes later, you were sitting at your dining room table, a few candles flickering in the dim room and a large plate of spaghetti sitting between you. Hobi smiled mischievously as he watched the tail end of a long noodle swerve across the plate. While you were distracted by the stars outside, he picked up the end and put it in his mouth. You didn’t even notice until you felt a soft pair of lips against yours and then his large hands framing your soft cheeks.

You kissed him back and both of you stood up from the table, meal long forgotten as you got lost in each other’s touch. It didn’t matter how much you saw him or how often, you realized. You would never get enough of this. You would never get enough of him. 

CALLIEFORNIA is the second studio album by American singer/songwriter Callie Webber. Featuring live instrumentation and whispered verses with distorted belts echoing in the background, Callie delivers a breath of fresh air to the pop music scene. CALIFORNIA SUNLIGHT Old projector spinning film Puts up a picture oh so grim Outcast girl sits with her head down Always the daughter just hanging around Boys outside that window playing ball She wouldn't be caught dead with a doll Did Mom and Dad do something wrong Or will this girl grow up to be strong After being raised in black and white Had to teach myself how to shine Like the California Sunlight Good and evil always fight I'm caught in the middle Of dark and light Had to teach myself how to shine Like the California Sunlight Living scene to scene Playing that same old role Type casted as the heroine "Girl, never touch that heroin" Always played it safe Always kept my cool Now that I'm on my own Left to wonder if I Was the hero or the fool After being raised in black and white Had to teach myself how to shine Like the California Sunlight Good and evil always fight I'm caught in the middle Of dark and light Had to teach myself how to shine Like the California Sunlight Now as these credits roll I'm praying for a sequel Give me one good chance To reinvent This shy girl who don't dance Green light this remake Let me make it right If I direct my own life Then the truth will see the light After being raised in black and white Had to teach myself how to shine Like the California Sunlight Good and evil always fight I'm caught in the middle Of dark and light Had to teach myself how to shine Like the California Sunlight SHAMELESSLY ME In a dog eat dog world I traded one dull life For nine of the curious kind I'm not blind to the Silliness of my mind Never paid attention to the dark Only wandered towards the light While others were blinded And wound up lost I never gave up that classic fight You know good versus evil Sounds so simple But we're all just living Somewhere in the gray I'm me Proud to be The girl next door Got neighbors The world thinks matter More than the rest But that won't change That Classic Callie, she Is the grounded Calm in the storm, I Am shamelessly me I know I never bark And I may not have much bite But it's pretty well known Cats still rule the night When the moon comes up I lurk around in the shadows And everybody knows What it is I seek Prowling for a single spark Someone or something To warm my heart The best inspiration Lies in the dark I'm me Proud to be The girl next door Got neighbors The world thinks matter More than the rest But that won't change That Classic Callie, she Is the grounded Calm in the storm, I Am shamelessly me Smallest kitten in the litter Got one brother That man's a kidder And another has A heart of gold He'll be the first of us That's getting old Still one left, He's in the middle He'll make you laugh, Make you cry They all play domestic games Inside closed doors I'm a proud street cat Always preferred nature's floors I'm me Proud to be The girl next door Got neighbors The world thinks matter More than the rest But that won't change That Classic Callie, she Is the grounded Calm in the storm, I Am shamelessly me WASHED UP A pretty white shell Breaks beneath my feet What was once so pretty Is now so frail Picked up the pieces Put em' in my pale Gonna use what's left To adorn my castle Built from sand So I'm not tied down It made the sea so beautiful It made the ocean a sight to see It made kids happy Be they thirteen or three. It was a wondrous part Of the great big sea Now it's all washed up, Abused by you and me. The cracks in this shell are rigid Tossed aside by water so frigid Was it nature herself that did this Or are we all to blame Guilt weighs more than a wave But they crash just the same Revealing what was once unseen Water and hearts both so unclean It made the sea so beautiful It made the ocean a sight to see It made kids happy Be they thirteen or three. It was a wondrous part Of the great big sea Now it's all washed up, Abused by you and me. Sand between my toes How long have you been dry Shell that broke my skin How long have you been beached Who even knows Your curves used to allow The sound of waves to be carried home Now that you've been crushed By the weight of my blind bliss You can't make a single sound It made the sea so beautiful It made the ocean a sight to see It made kids happy Be they thirteen or three. It was a wondrous part Of the great big sea Now it's all washed up, Abused by you and me. ‪BLUE BIRD‬ ‪Set the sky as the limit ‬ ‪Wings spread to fly‬ ‪Flew over the nicest cars‬ ‪Money can buy ‬ ‪Chirping loudly ‬ ‪This flock's melody ‬ ‪Keeps them together ‬ ‪Cardinals, red birds ‬ ‪Fly across the earth‬ ‪One blue bird ‬ ‪Found itself in their flight ‬ ‪One bad storm‬ ‪And a crash landing later‬ ‪One blue bird‬ ‪Found itself all alone‬ ‪Sing to me, blue bird‬ I will be your tree Sing to me, blue bird And I will set you free Cling to me, blue bird I will be your tree Sing to me, blue bird And I will set you free Wings propel off the wind Crash through the clouds Watch as we descend In a nosedive Scary sight from the ground But we've never felt more alive Red birds all know how to land This blue bird braces To crash in the sand Finds itself in the hand Of a dark feathered bird child Swept her up Rescued her From the villainous wild ‪Sing to me, blue bird‬ I will be your tree Sing to me, blue bird And I will set you free Cling to me, blue bird I will be your tree Sing to me, blue bird And I will set you free Sing to me, black bird Lay my head down in your nest Sing to me, black bird May I finally rest Cling to me, black bird So that I am not alone Sing to me, black bird Thank you for giving me a home ‪Sing to me, blue bird‬ I will be your tree Sing to me, blue bird And I will set you free Cling to me, blue bird I will be your tree Sing to me, blue bird And I will set you free ANGEL WINGS Lightning bolts across the sky Remind me of this guy Who used to paint them on his face Music was food for the soul Of the human race He was completely quirky Some considered that a disgrace I accept this angel That makes the stars look different Every time they take one of us An angel sings We can curse, cry or carry on We all grieve differently Peace of mind knowing They've got their Angel Wings Hallelujah! To the angel in the sky Wish we could've kept you How unfair to you It was your time to fly Don't know what you've got till it's gone I'll still smile when your song comes on Write a masterpiece for your Angelic brothers and sisters now I can smile knowing One day I'll get to hear it And sing along To an angel's song Every time they take one of us An angel sings We can curse, cry or carry on We all grieve differently Peace of mind knowing They've got their Angel Wings If you need me I'll be here, Singin' in the purple rain Ignoring all the pain It just won't stop One takes two takes three takes four This domino game has gone A bit too far Haven't enough humans fallen Tenor section of that choir Is filling up Faster than we can raise more Future angels and get them out the door Every time they take one of us An angel sings We can curse, cry or carry on We all grieve differently Peace of mind knowing They've got their Angel Wings Their angel wings Angel Wings THE KILL Take my wish and grant it  Don't take me for granted  How did shit get so slanted  I'm done with requests  It's time I demand it  Done with I can't  Ready for a new chant  I will! I will! I will!  Not gonna fall victim to  The kill. The kill. The kill.  SIN CITY What happens when an angel wanders Down, Down, Down From the valley Where our Lord watches To man made lights Girls run topless In the streets In the club Make evil decisions Underneath their sheets Am I lost or am I home? I was an angel El-El-El Angel Living under God's wing Crash landed where sinners Praise the devil il-il-il Devil When they dance and sing Can I still call myself a saint If I lay my head in sin city Ity-Ity. Sin City My Father blessed me Back where I come from With sheets of white powder It kept me out of school Gotta similar substance here But it don't fall from the sky Might have the same effect Might even make you die Do I try it cuz I miss the snow? Lord I don't know, I don't know. I was an angel El-El-El Angel Living under God's wing Crash landed where sinners Praise the devil il-il-il Devil When they dance and sing Can I still call myself a saint If I lay my head in sin city Ity-Ity. Sin City BAD GIRL [feat. G-Eazy] Pig tails In my hair and on the farm Cowboys Hard at work and around my arm From the day I turned eighteen They've tried to get me dirty Thought city boy's would be clean They're just as crazy when they're thirty You think cuz I'm a good girl That I do what I'm told to do That's dead wrong, run along I'll never be a bad girl for you Smoke clouded bistro Masks bad intentions Thumb to guitar strings Who knows what that boy brings In that fabric back pack He dresses like me Wants to get me undressed I may not be an angel But my behavior is always best You think cuz I'm a good girl That I do what I'm told to do That's dead wrong, run along I'll never be a bad girl for you You think cuz I'm a country girl That I want to ride on you That's dead wrong, run along I'll never be a bad girl on you Not your legs spread wide Come inside Ready for anything kinda girl Nothing wrong with that But that's not me I'm your stool bound strumming Greyhound riding Earn every dollar shy gal [G-Eazy] Uh She'll ride the metro While you ride ya man Grounded by the system The way only Hollywood can Listen It's a damn shame good men Don't live out in Vegas Getting courted by Gollum When she wanted Legolas Got men snapping nudes I say screenshot and save this Come good girl, Why don't you make me famous It might be the darkside But that spotlight shines bright You think you can do no wrong I'll prove you ain't right Now I don't want to fight With an angel from heaven Baby subtract one from seven Then triple it up Drink that white shit Broke boys shoot into cups Rain drop Drop top We ain't gon' let this track flop Once you go bad The bad things don't stop Take my visa Max it out in the shop Feel tempted by evil Aye girl welcome to pop You think cuz I'm a good girl That I do what I'm told to do That's dead wrong, run along I'll never be a bad girl for you You think cuz I'm a country girl That I want to ride on you That's dead wrong, run along I'll never be a bad girl on you TATTOOED TIARA Who died and made you queen? I'm not some servant On which you can lean I'm not here To keep you clean You want a better life Do it yourself Stop blaming me For your career on the shelf No coronation Just a needle and some ink Right there on your lower back Sitting right above your crack How classy No coronation Heavy eyeliner and that clumpy mascara While you get your tattooed tiara There's sitting on a throne of lies And then there's making a kingdom Out of pure deceit Well I hope you built a moat Because the tide is coming in How long can your castle made of sand Stand up to the industry's demands No coronation Just a needle and some ink Right there on your lower back Sitting right above your crack How classy No coronation Heavy eyeliner and that clumpy mascara While you get your tattooed tiara I'd yell 'off with her head' If I had any spine But I'm just too good To cross that line And I know that you think That you are divine But I'm here to watch Your mortal decline No coronation Just a needle and some ink Right there on your lower back Sitting right above your crack How classy No coronation Heavy eyeliner and that clumpy mascara While you get your tattooed tiara DYE HAIR, DIE Brown haired beauty queen, Why'd they have to call you mean? I guess you did alright for yourself You're the only one here to stay clean. They hated you when you were difficult  But now that you're balding  They adore you. Like a painter made famous  Only after death, It takes a dying woman Just to earn some respect.  Dye hair, It didn't help. Die hair, Only she can define herself. Dye hair, Another color, another criticism.  Die hair, So she can be ready for the fight.  She was a brunette slut, A blonde moron, A red headed devil, How dare she?  Voted for a woman? God she must be lazy. She's got too many thorns To be your beautiful daisy Took a razor to her head Left that pinup girl for dead  Now that her locks don't flow, She just must be crazy.  Dye hair, It didn't help. Die hair, Only she can define herself. Dye hair, Another color, another criticism.  Die hair, So she can be ready for the fight.  Dye hair, die! Dye hair, die! Dye hair, diiiiiiiiiie! Ohhhhhhh Dye hair, It didn't help. Die hair, Only she can define herself. Dye hair, Another color, another criticism.  Die hair, So she can be ready for the fight. 

Samuel L. Jackson

from Pat Jordan article NYT: Samuel L. Jackson, who is 65, has appeared in more than 100 films since 1972, and moviegoers would be hard-pressed to find in any of his roles someone who was innocently childlike. For the first part of his film career, his characters tended to appear in scripts as Gang Member, Drug Addict, Hold-Up Man. Even after his work in “Jungle Fever” earned Jackson a best supporting actor award at the Cannes Film Festival in 1991 (an honor created for that performance) and his work as Jules Winnfield in “Pulp Fiction” three years later made him world-famous, at 46, Jackson’s roles, no matter how fleshed-out or nuanced, have been far from innocent. Still, even as Jules tossed off vulgarities and obscenities as offhandedly as he shot people, like so many benign terms of endearment, he displayed the greater part of Jackson’s success as an actor — his ability to imbue even his vilest characters, spouting the vilest words, with a touch of humor, intelligence and humanity.

Jules was the moral center of “Pulp Fiction,” Jackson told me recently, “because he carried himself like a professional.” The same can be said of Jackson as an actor. “Before Jules,” he went on, “my characters were just ‘The Negro’ who died on Page 30. Every script I read, ‘The Negro’ died on Page 30.” He thundered in character as Jules for a moment, repeating his point in saltier language, then returned to himself and said: “After Jules, I became the coolest [expletive] on the planet. Why? I have no clue. I’m not like Jules. It’s called being an actor.”

Since “Pulp Fiction,” it seems safe to argue, Jackson has been the busiest actor on the planet too. This year he has four movies — his annual average since 1994 — coming out, including “The Avengers” next month, based on the Marvel comic book. (Jackson has a nine-picture deal with Marvel Studios.) He’s been in big-budget films like “Jurassic Park”; low-budget movies like “Black Snake Moan”; blockbusters like “Star Wars” and bombs like “The Long Kiss Goodnight.” He’s been the star, played the sidekick, filled bit parts (“A Time to Kill,” “Patriot Games” and “Iron Man,” respectively). His acting has been critically acclaimed (“Jungle Fever,” “Pulp Fiction”) and panned as “lackluster” (“Twisted”). But one thing remains constant: Samuel L. Jackson works. It’s all but impossible to turn on a TV set any night of the week without happening on one of his movies (and sometimes two or three). Hence his anointment by Guinness World Records as “the highest-grossing film actor” of all time. His movies have taken in more than $7.4 billion, most of which, he pointed out, “didn’t end up in my pocket.” Maybe not, but the residuals alone earn him about $300,000 a year. “I get paid all day, every day,” he said — “which is almost too much for a sensitive artist.”

Renny Harlin, the director of “The Long Kiss Goodnight,” told me that the secret to Jackson’s success is simple: “He’s the ultimate pro. He’s on time, knows his lines, hits his mark with no drama. He makes the other actors want to rise to his professional level.” And not only do other actors love Jackson, Harlin noted, but so do moviegoers. When Jackson’s character was killed off in a version of “The Long Kiss Goodnight” that was previewed before a test audience, at least one member in the audience yelled out, “You can’t kill Sam Jackson!” Harlin said he learned his lesson. In the released version of the movie, Jackson’s character survives.

William Friedkin, who directed Jackson in “Rules of Engagement,” told me: “Sam is a director’s dream. Some actors hope to find their character during shooting. He knows his character before shooting. Sam’s old-school. I just got out of his way. I never did more than two takes with Sam.” Friedkin said that some people say Jackson works too much, but he dismissed actors who wait around for “Hamlet.” “You take what you can get,” he said, “to keep your engine tuned. An artist doesn’t burn out with age because he works too much. Working hones his craft.”

Earlier this year, before “The Mountaintop” closed, I spent several evenings at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater. One night, I spoke to Angela Bassett, who played the motel maid. Bassett has known Jackson since she was a young intern out of Yale and he was an established theater actor on bus-and-truck tours. He called her “rack queen,” because she was always sleeping, or in the “rack.” “Yes,” she confirmed, “because he made me do all these errands for him.” Bassett didn’t think Jackson was particularly cool then — her expression suggested he was a pain instead, a demanding teacher more than the laid-back dude of popular perception — and she doesn’t think he’s particularly cool now. But then she conceded: “I suppose he might be a little cool. He does listen to that gangsta rap.” She looked up toward the ceiling. “There’s always a party going on up there.”

The secret to his Guinness record, Jackson said when we first met in his cramped third-floor dressing room at the theater, is “longevity.” But there are other reasons, too. He can cross the color line (“Twisted,” “The Red Violin” and “White Sands,” for example, were written for white characters, according to Jackson). Actors and directors like to work with him. “When I yell, ‘Cut!’ Sam becomes Sam,” Harlin told me. “He jokes around, makes a relaxing atmosphere. There’s no weirdness with Sam.” He’s known too for being an actor who’s better than his material. John Lahr of The New Yorker said “The Mountaintop” was “a mess” but described Jackson as “admirable, compelling.” He invests the bittiest of bit parts with something electric to rivet an audience’s attention. And he’ll work cheaply if the role has some personal meaning for him.

As an only child, he went to movies alone, he said, “to be taken out of my place and transported to another world.” Years later, when people questioned why he appeared in one turkey or another, he would answer, “Because it was a movie I’d seen as a kid.” One such dud, a remake of “Shaft,” was so horrible that Jackson was said to have refused to recite his lines because they were written by a white man. “Not true,” he said, when I asked about the incident. “I changed his lines so they’d sound like a black man,” he said. When the author countered that those were the words he had written, according to Jackson, “I said: ‘Yes, and you got paid for them. Now let me make you sound brilliant.’ ” Jackson had to say “the corniest line I ever heard in my life and make it believable,” he told me, and then laughed before delivering it again: “It’s my duty to please that booty.”

Why would he make a movie like that to begin with? “Because I grew up watching those blaxploitation movies. Ron O’Neal, Richard Roundtree, Jim Brown, Pam Grier. For the first time, I saw ‘The Negro’ get one over on ‘The Man.’ ” He assumed the dignified voice-over of a biblical narrator: “Once upon a time, there were these Negroes, and these Negroes could do anything they wanted to.” He went on: “But those movies were not what I was aspiring to. I wanted to be in the highest-quality films.” When quality films weren’t offered to him, he took parts in movies whose characters he had wanted to be as a boy. He is Nick Fury in “The Avengers” because “who wouldn’t want to be a superhero?” He saw John Wayne in war movies, so he signed on with Friedkin to make “Rules of Engagement.” He saw Errol Flynn as a swashbuckling buccaneer, so he took a small (albeit key) role in the last three “Star Wars” movies as a Jedi warrior with a light saber. He always wanted to be chased “by a big monster with jagged teeth,” so he did “Deep Blue Sea” with a shark and “Jurassic Park” with a dinosaur (he is eaten). When Jackson heard about a movie called “Snakes on a Plane,” he called the director, David R. Ellis, and said, “You doing a movie about snakes on a plane?” Yeah. “A plane full of poisonous snakes?” Yeah. “I’m down.” Some movies he picked because they appealed to his adult fascination with costumes or his passion for golf, which he once said allowed him to dress like a pimp and still be respectable at a country club. “I did ‘Formula 51,’ ” he said, “because I got to run around Liverpool in a kilt, with golf clubs.”

Jackson has never been ashamed of his work — “I entertained an enormous amount of people,” he said; “besides, everyone wants to be a movie star” — nor of the money that has afforded him a mansion in a gated and guarded community on a hilltop in Beverly Hills and the free time to play golf with celebrities like his buddy Donald Trump. One day, Jackson told me, Trump said to him, “My friend Bill might play with us next week, Sam.” Jackson said, “Bill who?” Trump said, “Clinton.” Jackson said, “Oh, yeah, I played with Bill last week in the Bahamas.”

He is on location as much as nine months a year — “I love being on the road,” he said — and the first thing he does in a new town is look for the black community. Sometimes people say, “You’re it.” Sometimes they direct him to black restaurants, music bars or, most important, public golf courses. He plays alone or with strangers. One day in Memphis, he joined a group of 12 black policemen who were about to tee off. One cop said: “Hey, man, you’re Samuel L. Jackson. I like your movies. Now here’s the game. We play for a little something.” Jackson smiled, recalling that game. “Before I know it, I got 16 bets with 12 guys,” he said. “I can’t be thinking, Hey, I’m Samuel L. Jackson. I gotta be thinking of those 16 bets.” (He won 10 of them.)

Jackson told me he has never had an unpleasant experience in public like a lot of actors have who go out in public with bodyguards. “I walk the streets, take the train, it’s real simple. Some actors create their own mythology.” He assumed a self-pitying voice: “Oh, I’m so famous I can’t go places, because I created this mythology that I’m so famous I can’t go places.”

Once, while working in Dublin, he had a driver who said to him, “Oh, today I now have the whole set.” Jackson said, “Whole set of what?”

“I had Mr. Freeman in my car and Mr. Washington and now the great Mr. Samuel L. Jackson,” the driver said.

Jackson likes that story because he likes being recognized. Sometimes, “to feed my ego,” he said, he’ll walk around cities looking to be recognized, sign autographs, pose for photographs. He goes to theaters where his movies are playing and sits among the audience “to see myself up there.” His “Pulp Fiction” co-star, John Travolta, told me: “Actors go see themselves be someone else because being yourself in real life is not that interesting. I don’t think I’m entertaining.” But Jackson disagreed. “John’s a genuine gentle soul. I love John to death.” Then, speaking in a falsetto, he mocked actors who say, “Oh, I can’t watch myself on screen, it’s too personal.” He dropped the falsetto and began to fulminate like Jules, in ways that can’t be reprinted here. How could anyone expect someone else to pay $12.50 to watch him on screen if he couldn’t watch himself?

What Jackson loves most about acting, though, is the process, the satisfaction of taking the job seriously. “I was raised by my grandfather, a janitor,” he said. “As a boy, I went with him to clean offices. I learned a man gets up in the morning, he goes to work.” Before shooting, Jackson reads his script a dozen times, sometimes memorizing all the other characters’ lines as well as his own. Jackson is almost pathologically meticulous about hitting his mark, picking up a prop, say, on the same word, take after take. “That’s called playing the movie game,” he said.

And he expects the same level of professionalism from his colleagues. Scarlett Johansson, who worked with Jackson on “Iron Man II” and “The Avengers,” told me he can get angry “if someone doesn’t do his job correctly — he does not suffer fools.”

When Jackson was making a filmed version of the play “The Sunset Limited,” with Tommy Lee Jones, the play’s author, Cormac McCarthy, complained about his line readings. Jackson said: “It sounds better my way. I’m not trying to make this [expletive] worse!”

Before visiting with Jackson one night, I called his wife, LaTanya Richardson, who is also an actor. I told her I had a fascinating conversation with her husband. “Of course you did,” she said. “Sam loves to talk about himself.” Richardson met Jackson in Atlanta in the ’60s when he was a student at Morehouse and she was a student at Spelman. “Sam was not part of my circle,” she said. “I was a theater snob; he loved movies.” But she said they did get him to do plays at Spelman.

She described Atlanta of those days as a mecca for African-Americans demanding racial justice. Jackson would eventually become one of those angry revolutionaries, but when Richardson first met him, she said, “I never saw anger in Sam.” After a long courtship during which they dated others, Richardson decided it was time to marry either a rich boy or a smart boy. “I married the smart boy,” she said, and they’ve been together ever since. But it hasn’t been easy. She’s passionate and outspoken, and Jackson is, in her description, “emotionally disconnected.” When she would call him on a movie set and ask him if he missed her, he’d say no. “But he’s changing,” Richardson said. “The other day I cut my hand, and he took me to the hospital. Years ago, I’d have to go by myself.” There were long absences during which “I felt abandoned,” she said. “It was easier in the earlier years when we sometimes acted together onstage.” But when their daughter, Zoe, a freelance film and TV producer, was born 30 years ago, Richardson stopped working regularly, because, she said: “We’d vowed to be an intact revolutionary black family. But it was very, very hard.” After Richardson stopped traveling a lot, she served as her husband’s acting critic. She once told him that his acting was “bloodless,” that his meticulous preparation hid the fact that “he didn’t infuse his acting with anything that grabbed you.” She told me: “I was trying to help. He said I had no filter in me.” When I asked her the secret to their 40-year relationship, she said, “Amnesia.”

Jackson was born in Washington. He saw his father twice in his lifetime. Before he turned 1, his mother took him to Chattanooga, Tenn., where his grandparents and aunt lived, and returned by herself to Washington. For the next nine years, he saw his mother sporadically. His aunt, a performing-arts teacher, put him in her school plays beginning when he was a toddler. “She was the reason I became an actor,” Jackson said. She also helped cure his debilitating stutter by taking him to a speech therapist. “It manifests itself more when I read than when I talk,” he said. “I have no idea why. Denzel stuttered. James Earl Jones stuttered. There are still days when I have my n-n-n days or r-r-r days. I try to find another word.”

He grew up in a poor black neighborhood, “but everyone had shoes and food,” he said. There were “two white houses of prostitution” in the neighborhood, and three other houses sold moonshine, and a fourth belonged to a “P.W.T. family. Poor White Trash. Their house had no running water, so they only took baths when it rained. They called me nigger boy and my grandmother Miss Nigger. It was always ‘Miss,’ as if a term of respect. When my grandfather took me to work with him, the whites there would rub my head, affectionately. I’d [expletive] look ’em in the eye to make them uncomfortable. But it was nothing to be angry about. Segregation was just a way of life.”

Jackson relates the details of his childhood without inflection, emotion, affection or resentment, as if reading from a grocery list. The black movie theater played the same movies the white theater did — except when a black actor slapped a white actress, he said, that slap “was cut out of our version.” One day he asked his mother, “Why does the black man always die in movies?” Her response: “Because the black man can’t win, he always gets killed.”

Throughout his childhood, Jackson said, he never really had to interact with white people. He went to black schools, black fairs, black theaters, black churches. “I still do,” he said. “A black church in L.A., maybe once a year. I’m solid with God.”

He grew up with the attitude that it was “me against the world,” he said. “Oh, and I was a selfish kid. When my mother made me share a piece of candy, I threw my half away. If I couldn’t eat the whole thing, I didn’t get any satisfaction out of it.” His pleasures were solitary. He listened to “Sergeant Preston of the Yukon,” “The Shadow,” “Amos ’n’ Andy” on the radio, which taught him how to tell stories in his head. Later, in his 20s, TV and movies made the biggest impact. “Shaft” and “The Mod Squad,” big Afros, cool shades and an attitude that “blacks could be black, proud and beautiful. That wasn’t what I’d been taught in school.”

Left to his own devices, Jackson learned to be content with himself, “to sit alone for hours doing nothing and not to have separation anxiety. I would see my mother maybe two times a year. She’d leave, and there was nothing I could do about it. I learned to accept it. If a person leaves me, I immediately forget them. I don’t dwell on people who leave.”

Jackson describes his college-freshman self as a “straight arrow” who was on the cheer squad and swim team and aspired to be a marine biologist. Like many students in the ’60s, he spent his time drinking, playing cards, dabbling in drugs. Then he noticed a group of older black students, who didn’t look like any other students. They had big Afros, wore black twisted braids of rope around their necks and had an aura of genuine menace about them, unlike the make-believe movie menace of his later blaxploitation heroes. At first Jackson didn’t know what they were about. “I only knew they were pretty much angry all the time,” he said. “They took studying seriously.” When Jackson and his classmates cut up in the dorms, these scary guys snapped at them: “You wanna flunk out and go to war and get killed?” Jackson asked them, “What war?” It was 1967. They said, “The war in Vietnam.” Hard as it is to believe, Jackson’s response, he said, was, “Where’s that?” They said, “Get a map and find it yourself.”

“These were serious guys, returning war vets going to school on the G.I. Bill,” he said. “They were articulate about war, racism, the C.I.A.” Jackson began to realize that once he left Morehouse, he would leave the last vestiges of that black cocoon that had protected him all his life. After Morehouse, he’d be thrown into that bigger world dominated by whites. He remembered how blacks were treated on those rare occasions when he’d stepped into the white world as a boy. He decided he, too, would get involved in the racial struggle. “I wasn’t gonna let people spit on me and go to jail,” he said. He started hanging out with those former G.I.’s, which led him to H. Rap Brown and Stokely Carmichael. “It was my ‘kill whitey’ period,” he said. “I really thought there’d be an armed struggle between blacks and whites. So we began to collect guns.”

Then one day the F.B.I. appeared at his mother’s door. They told her that if her son didn’t quit his radical lifestyle, he’d be dead within a year. So, in the summer of his junior year, he said, “she shipped me off to L.A.” He worked there as a social worker for two years, then returned to Morehouse, joined a theater program, forged a relationship with Richardson, got his degree in arts drama in 1972 and “put my politics away.” On Halloween night, in 1976, he and Richardson arrived in New York City.

During the next 15 years, Jackson performed in plays at the Public Theater, Off Broadway, Off Off Broadway, the Yale Repertory and on traveling tours, while waiting for the call to Hollywood. “I acted, made costumes, worked the lights, built the sets, everything I could do in a theater. I was making a decent living. I had a good reputation. If Hollywood never called, I could still work in the theater.”

It wasn’t a bad life with his fellow actors Denzel Washington, Laurence Fishburne, Morgan Freeman and Wesley Snipes. They went to auditions together, and if one didn’t get a part, he recommended his friends. They went to the unemployment office together, partied together, pooled their money, fed one another, spent Christmases together, appeared in plays together. Jackson did “A Soldier’s Story” with Washington and was Freeman’s understudy in “Mother Courage” at the Public. Freeman, 10 years older and wiser, told him once: “I don’t know why you’re working so hard, boy. You got it. Just don’t quit.” When I called Freeman to ask why Jackson got his call to Hollywood so late in his career, Freeman said: “He got it earlier than me. Others went to Hollywood on their own. My agent told me, ‘If they want you, they’ll call you.’ ” The Jackson he knew, Freeman said, “was not cool like Jules — Sam was earnest.”

Washington was the first of his friends to be called to Hollywood. Then Fishburne, then Snipes. Jackson “wouldn’t go unless they called me,” he said. He stayed in New York and asked his agent every day, “Did Hollywood call?” No. So he continued doing what he always did — work, try to take care of his family but also drink and do drugs — until 1990.

For years, Jackson insisted, “I was a great alcoholic and drug addict like actors of old.” He could come offstage between acts, have a drink, go back on and perform well. “That’s how we learned to do it.” In 1990 he got a part in “The Piano Lesson” at the Yale Rep that had been earmarked for Charles Dutton, who was on location filming a movie. When Dutton was available and the play moved to Broadway, he would assume the role, and Jackson would become his understudy. “I was O.K. with it,” Jackson said, “until it was time to do it.” When Dutton took over on Broadway, Jackson didn’t like it. “I rocked that play,” he said. “Charles was great, but I was better. I began smoking coke and getting crazy, then smoking crack to level out.” One night, he passed out on the kitchen floor, and the next day Richardson checked him into a rehab facility. “I threatened to leave him if he didn’t see the rehab through,” she said. “I knew I couldn’t leave this boy I admired so much. But I resented him too. I hated it when he slurred his words. A wife hates to see her husband be weak.”

“I did the 12 steps, yada, yada, yada,” Jackson said. He went through rehab, grudgingly, because “I was tired of the way I felt on drugs. My worry was, ‘Would I still be fun?’ ” He was also worried how being sober would affect his acting. He felt he was smarter, more charming, more talented when he was high. He remembered what his wife said about his acting being “bloodless.” As an addict, “I said all my lines with the right inflections, but there was nothing here,” he said, tapping his heart. “I was always watching people react to me rather than my being inside the character.”

Just before he left rehab, Jackson called his agent as he always did and asked, “Did Hollywood call?” His agent said, “As a matter of fact, they did.” Spike Lee wanted him to play the addict Gator Purify in “Jungle Fever.” Jackson said: “Why not? I already researched the part.”

It was after “Jungle Fever” that Jackson began to see scripts that no longer had him wondering “which page I was killed on.” Most of those scripts “had Denzel’s fingerprints on them, but I had no issue with that.” Some (“White Sands,” “Amos & Andrew”) led to feature roles, but most ended up with him playing Sancho Panza to a host of white stars like Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis and Geena Davis. The secret to playing these sidekicks, he said, was to approach the part “as if I was the audience member hanging out” with the star — a selfless job, but he didn’t mind. Sometimes the sidekick role was written for a white character, and Jackson played it without color; other times he played the white role as a black man. And sometimes those sidekicks were black characters, like Zeus Carver in “Die Hard: With a Vengeance,” which he was able to embellish with his electric flourishes. “Zeus Carver was the most like me of any character I ever played,” Jackson said. In an early scene, Willis is forced to stand on a street corner in Harlem wearing a racist sandwich board. A group of black men see him and approach in anger. Across the street, Zeus Carver emerges from his small shop, sees what’s about to happen and comes between the men and Willis. After he saves Willis, he berates him for being such a crazy white racist. It’s obvious that Zeus Carver is a racist, too, but it’s persona for show, worn on the outside like the pimp suits on Jackson’s blaxploitation heroes. And it’s a pose that the fundamentally fair and humane Zeus Carver is unable to sustain.

When Jackson had starring roles in two Tarantino movies, Jules in “Pulp Fiction” and Ordell Robbie in “Jackie Brown,” it did not play well with some black directors like Spike Lee and the Hughes brothers. According to Jackson, Lee told him he used too many “niggers” in “Jackie Brown.” “Spike thinks he’s got the pulse of the whole race,” Jackson said. “I think he was having this thing with Quentin.” When the Hughes brothers, who cast Jackson in “Menace II Society,” complained that white directors didn’t have the right to use black street talk in their movies, Jackson said, he asked them, “How many times I say ‘nigger’ in your film?” In Jackson’s view, “You can’t censor another artist because you say he’s the wrong race.”

Jackson also has no patience with those who put down early black actors like Hattie McDaniel, Butterfly McQueen and Stepin Fetchit, whose work reinforced demeaning racial stereotypes. “If you wanted to work in film in those days,” he said, “that’s what you did. They were proud of who they were, which gave them a nice life in the black community of Beverly Hills.” Then he told me a story he heard years ago from a gaffer about Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry, a k a Stepin Fetchit, the first millionaire black film star, whose roles as “the laziest man in the world” have been so reviled by African-Americans that they seldom appear on TV anymore. Perry, who made 54 films between 1925 and 1976, presented certain problems on a set. The light used to illuminate the faces of white actors didn’t fare as well with black faces. So a new, smaller and more intense light was developed to illuminate black skin. One day, Perry took his place for a scene, and the director called for “the nigger light.” Perry walked off the set and refused to return until the name of that light was changed. It has been known ever since as the inky. (Until he heard this story, Jackson said, he always thought “inky” was short for “incandescent.”)

Jackson went on to ask me if I knew that at the ceremony at which Hattie McDaniel won her Oscar for “Gone With the Wind” she was seated by the door to the kitchen. “We had people who were pioneers, and I appreciate what they did for me,” he said. “They paved the way for guys like Sidney Poitier to let his dignity show through. I’m not some guy who doesn’t know who Jackie Robinson was.”

After “Pulp Fiction” made him “the coolest [expletive] on the planet,” Jackson said, “it was no burden to be cool. I just present myself as I am.” When I asked him if Tarantino was cool, he laughed. “Quentin’s a movie geek. He sucks the air out of a room until Bobby De Niro mumbles something to upstage him. Now that’s cool.” I said that a friend of mine who worked for the Coen brothers told me Jackson was cool mostly to suburban white boys. Jackson shrieked: “Then why don’t those [expletive] white-boy Coen brothers give me a job?”

Jackson went on to talk about people he considers cool. Tommy Lee Jones, because he’s authentic and smart. Scarlett Johansson, because she’s haltingly honest, always struggling to express her thoughts precisely. (“I love Sam Jackson,” Johansson told me. “We’re the Bogart and Bacall for a new age.”) Guys who don’t get ruffled in life-or-death situations, like James Bond, are cool. “Me? I’m not like that,” Jackson said. “I shoot first, then say” — he assumed a shrill, panicky voice and added an expletive — “ ‘It looked like he had a gun!’ ”

Clint Eastwood is “emphatically cool,” because he plays characters whose moral code is outside the mainstream of conventional society. Sometimes it’s cool to laugh at yourself, as John Wayne did when he got old and parodied his younger cowboy self in “True Grit.” Jackson can laugh at himself, too. When I asked him whose idea it was to dye his hair red in the film “The Negotiator,” he said: “Mine. I was feeling Aboriginal!”

When I left the theater after our last visit, it was raining outside, and I had forgotten my umbrella. I went back up to his dressing room. Jackson was still on the sofa, now thumbing his BlackBerry. I said, “Forgot my umbrella, Sam.” He did not look up. “A senior moment,” I said. Nothing. I shrugged and departed a second time, realizing that Jackson cut me out of his consciousness the moment I left him. His “emotional disconnect.” Jackson has an inability, or maybe a refusal, to show emotion easily in his life, which is curious, since he invests so much passion in the characters he plays. Maybe it’s as Travolta told me: Actors like himself and Jackson go see their own movies to see themselves invested onscreen with all those human qualities they fear they don’t possess themselves.

Pat Jordan is a contributing writer for the magazine.

Posted by yausser on 2014-12-02 06:46:25

Tagged: , Hollywood , Walk , Fame , Christoph , Waltz , Musso & Frank , Samuel , L. , Jackson , Samuel L. Jackson , Samuel Jackson

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Video Game Artists/Graphic Novelists Arey & Fy

Alejandra Green and Fanny Rodriguez are casually known as "Arey and Fy." They are the authors of the popular webtoon-turned-forthcoming graphic novel Fantastic Tales of Nothing, in which a vast continent with ages of lore, traditions and conflict plays host to the adventures of an unlucky boy as he travels from the Mourning Prayers to the Courts of Power and probably gets in more trouble that he can handle. Katherine Tegen Books/HarperCollins will be publishing. Alejandra "Arey" Green is a concept artist and animator from northwest Mexico. Arye likes to think of herself as patience in the flesh, a lover of the sea and surfer of whales (although she'll deny that). Fanny "Fy" Rodriguez is a user interface designer and illustrator from northeast Mexico. She never sleeps, is a mountain enthusiast, and has weird taste in music (she won’t deny that).

What initially attracted you both to the comic book arts medium of storytelling? Do you also feel that the fantasy genre affords a vast canvas for storytelling?

AG: Working on a comic format for storytelling pretty much conveyed what we both enjoyed doing- both graphic and written ideas.

I thought about working on a short film of sorts as a personal project around that time. However, animation is both resource and time consuming for only one person to work on. Funny enough, I had never been attracted to comic books up until now! The idea of trying out a new medium for me to explore was too exciting to ignore. This is honestly a new world for me and I cannot be more grateful to Fanny for dragging me in.

Either be fantasy, science fiction or any other genre; I believe any subject can be explored into an endless road of possibilities for storytelling as long as the characters, their actions and growth appeal to the audience.

FR: I’ve never gave much thought about it until now, I have notebooks from 7th grade where I did some comic panels and a friend did the next and so on. I guess I’ve always been attracted to the idea of telling stories through pictures more than only words, you not only tell the story you give the reader the idea of what you imagine creating it.

Definitely, fantasy and other fiction genres are only limited by the creator (and sometimes, the page limit marked by the editor).

Having worked with animation studios, what has been each of your favorite projects to work on and why?

FR: We didn’t work in big animation studios, but for my part I’ve been more involved on web design and development until I met Ale. We met in a video game outsource studio, where we worked on concept art and design for mobile, PC and console video games. You can even find our names in some credits (as an outsourcing studio, sometimes there’s only the mention of it and not the artists) like Heroes of Dragon Age, Plants vs. Zombies, Agents of Mayhem, Darksiders 3 and Prey 2. More than a project, my favorite part was when I got to be the leader of the 2D art team, working with a lot of amazing and talented artists and learning from them and the process of creating assets for video games.

AG: What a dream it would have been! Although I don’t think I would’ve had the opportunity to work on Tales of Nothing if I ever worked for those companies. (Or even meet Fanny)

I did however, worked with a small animation team for a feature film project in which I had the pleasure to meet amazing artists and friends within the industry. Visual development has always been my favorite part when working on the animation field, which I learned a lot from.

During my time there, we had the opportunity to work on a short film for a national contest (we made it to the finals!) and I have to admit, working on the credits illustrations/design was my favorite part!

“...you can’t rely on the platforms alone to get your work known.”

Your forthcoming graphic novel, Fantastic Tales of Nothing, began as a popular webcomic. Do you now regard publishing online via webtoon sites such as Tapas and Line Webtoon to be a springboard for discovery and success? Are there any limitations to staying within the webcomic ecosystem where one is published only digitally?

AG: Tapas did made it easier for us by promoting Tales of Nothing through their app and webpage’s Spotlight sections. However, when using such tools one should be careful and keep in mind their terms and conditions, and how your work can be affected by it.

Most webcomic authors I know use such platforms as a segway to self-publishing through funding campaigns, once the project has reached a popular audience on its own, especially when starting a new project.

FR: Both platforms are great ways to publish if you can’t create your own website, and make your work accessible to their the public that it’s always looking for something new to read. However, you can’t rely on the platforms alone to get your work known. As Ale said with Tapas Spotlight with Fantastic, we were lucky on that.

I don’t think there are limitations, if you want to continue publishing your comic online for free there are paths you can take to support you, like Patreon, Kofi, Kickstarters for publishing, Gumroad, etc. More than a limitation, you gotta know it’s big work what you going to do, constantly and that’s something some new artists and readers don’t grasp sometimes.

I'm reminded of Nimona, Boxers & Saints and Anya's Ghost when I look at your graphic novel Fantastic Tales of Nothing. Are there any comics or graphic novelists that have influenced your work, or are there any comic creators you both just read for pleasure?

FR: I’m more a video games than a comics/graphic novel person. I grew up (and still are) playing video games like The Legend of Zelda, Final Fantasy and more, they became a big influence for me to start drawing and writing. Art-wise I look up to a lot of artists, maybe all artists is a better statement. When we started Fantastic Tales of Nothing I took a lot of influence from Mary Blair, Eyvind Earle and Vincent Van Gogh for painting the backgrounds. On writers, maybe I can say Espido Freire and Douglas Adams.

I read for pleasure, a lot of things! Started a compilation of short stories by Ursula K. Leguin, a couple of friends gifted me Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones and The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang that I already binge read past week. I’m also following/reading some comics like Saga by Brian K. Vaughan & Fiona Staples, Coda by Simon Spurrier & Matías Vergara, and Isola by Brenden Fletcher & Karl Kerschl.

AG: I’m fairly new to this whole graphic novel/comic world, so my collection isn't as big as Fanny’s. My all-time favorite author has been a manga artist, Hiromu Arakawa on Fullmetal Alchemist and Silver Spoon. Last year I had the pleasure to meet both authors Ale Gamez and Axur Eneas through their latest novel Mas Alla de las Ciudades. I also bought Nimona after you, Mark, mentioned it to us, lovely stories worth checking out!

“...it was so amazing seeing all the work we have done finally take form.”

It's hard enough writing a story...does telling a story with illustrations add more work and present its own set of challenges, or do you each find it to be liberating?

FR: Yes definitely! Trying to communicate the actions and moods we are thinking about certain scenes it’s a big challenge but it’s great at the same time. I’ve learned so much because of it and still am. When we finished the rough version of the whole book to send to our editor, I contained my tears; it was so amazing seeing all the work we have done finally take form.

What do you find that working in a collaboration offers that working as an individual storyteller cannot offer?

FR: There are so many things. First, you’re not alone; you’ve got another person’s point of view that helps you see things that you wouldn’t have noticed if you were working by yourself. When you have troubles, or are stuck trying to illustrate/write something, the other can help out by guiding or giving advice. Working with Ale, it’s the absolute best, and I’m not saying it only because she’s my best friend, both of us are very different in the way we solve problems, paint and think. I’m very emotional and impulsive; she’s more centered and practical. I like to think we complement each other and that makes our work easier for both of us.

How did you find your current literary agent and go on to get published with the Katherine Tegen Books imprint of HarperCollins? How exhilarating did it feel to learn that you'd be getting published?

FR: Okay, this one is a funny story: we thought you were spam, Mark! When I got the notification and saw the big box of text I was about to delete it, but then noticed it wasn’t like the usual spam we got. I shared the comment with Ale, both of us being very skeptical about it. So, before answering you we did a little digging about you and Trident Media Group. It took us a moment to think about it, but at the end we said, “Why not?” We weren’t expecting such a quick reply, either.

When we finished our first call with you, we were blank, in a good way. Imagine when you called us, I think it was a month later, telling us Katherine Tegen was publishing us; we were blank again! Looking at each other in disbelief with a dumb smile on our faces, quite nervous of overreacting with you on the line. After we finished the call with you, both of us began to laugh. I think we didn’t do anything else other than smile and worry for a bit, then smile again. Nothing was done that day (no pun intended).

If you could each be any character in any fantasy or comic book world, which character would you be and why?​

FR: I can’t decide. Not because I would like to be on many worlds, mostly because I kind of like it here. But if I have to choose something, maybe I’ll be the Doctor, just to be able to travel through space in time. Explore the universe, meet historical figures and just experience ancient times for a little bit. Oh, how I would love to see what a dinosaur really looked and sounded like.

AG: Most of Arakawa’s female characters have a strength to strive for, I’d definitely choose Riza Hawkeye and her will to give all her best to achieve her goals in supporting the people she cares for.

“The right literary agent can help you take strides of progress when seeking publishing opportunities...”

Do you have any advice for unpublished graphic novelists hoping to get their work published?

FR: Don’t hold yourself back because you don’t know this or don’t know that. You will only learn to improve if you do the thing, instead of having it as an idea wandering in your head. And share your work! Yes, there’ll be mistakes and critiques, learn from them instead of letting them get you down. How else will someone know you got this great story on your hands?

AG: Just do it! Keeping your work out there will open up possibilities for your growth as an artist and as an author. The right literary agent can help you take strides of progress when seeking publishing opportunities—don’t give up, be patient and keep on working ideas that can get you where you aim for.

What can we expect next from the world of Fantastic Tales of Nothing?

FR: Well, if everything goes alright, maybe more stories of the past and beginning of the world, also more adventures! Maybe outside Nathan and friends.

For now, in Fantastic Tales of Nothing, you got to pay attention to the little things; there’s a lot behind the world our characters known as "Nothing," about the people living there to their historical figures. That magic is simple but makes a lot of mess, that’s for sure. And definitely bad jokes, I hope to get better in time with my puns for the second book.

JAPAN- May, 21st, 2017 Let me just start with what I'd consider a highlight of Japan, something I need to get out of the way...TOILETS. The toilets were a definite highlight of the trip for me and no other toilet will ever compare. In fact in these two years of toilet hopping I could probably write a small novel about global shitters I've experienced. Now these white, porcelain oases come with a menu of controls located on the right hand side. They heat the seat, play rainforest music to muffle the sounds of your bodily functions and some even disperse a clean airy scent when you finish. Did I mention there's a series of jets, spray nozzles that clean your ass and they're so accurate, like a sniper. I'd sometimes go to the bathroom even if I didn't have to go. After 5 months of planning and saving I'm now waiting at Cairns international airport about to embark on yet another Asian adventure. Located on an island off of the eastern coast of mainland Asia is Japan where I'll be travelling across country with my partner in crime. Over the top fashion, over crowded streets, overly welcoming locals and exquisite food, Japan is at the top of the bucket list for myself and most people. After exiting the plane at Narita Airport we immediately were thrown into the rushing crowds of Japan. Train systems seem to be the main type of transportation in Japan and we booked quite a few. After hopping two trains we arrived to Kanda where we spent one night at an all male capsule hostel. A capsule is a tiny slot in a wall equipped with bedding, tv, radio and charging outlets all put into this 6x3 foot capsule. We only spent one night here in financial district, where like most financial districts, things close early. From morning to night all you see are a few restaurants and bars filled with your regular 9-5'ers in black and white suits. I must say the Japanese are very neat and tidy. Trains, restaurants, parks and accommodation everything is clean, sanitized and disinfected. You take your shoes off before entering certain public establishments and you bath before you bath. By this I mean the following morning we had to strip down, enter a public shower room where you sit down in front of a mirror naked and shower yourself down before entering an 8 man bathtub. Do what you gotta do! We had an early morning of signs in Japanese pointing us in every direction but we made it to Tokyo Central Station. After sorting out our tickets and fighting the rat race I'm now seated on the bullet train to Osaka, Japan. Flying at a speed of 350kph the bullet train is the quickest train in the world taking us from Tokyo to Osaka in just 3 hours. Looking out the window are mountains, rice fields and cities rushing past the window at high speed. It's amazing being able to zip across a country at such a speed and in such short time. Finally OSAKA! So far Japan has been a whirlwind experience of train hopping, getting lost, waiting in cues and loads of walking. Dropping our bags off in downtown Osaka we immediately took transit to one of Japan's largest aquariums. Located next to an enormous ferris wheel over looking Osaka is the aquarium. Otters, penguins, dolphins, manta rays, whale sharks and seals were just a few of the mass variety of sea life this aquarium contains. That evening we ventured through downtown Osaka night markets which is an amazing maze of alleyways and streets completely action packed. The markets eventually led to Dotonbori River which is a popular area packed with crowds of people, neon lights, food stands next to food stands, casino games, arcade games and clubs. The next morning we found our way to Universal Studios (Japan) and even though I've been to the Universal in Orlando (Florida) this was much different. The staff were just so much EXTRA, by this I mean enthusiasm, phenomenal service and so FREAKING HAPPY! That's just the park staff, the visitors to the park even dressed up too. Families and locals arrived in groups wearing matching outfits dressed as Snoopy, Cookie Monster and most of all Minions. After a wild, sunburnt day of riding the jurassic park ride, jaws and many more we spent the evening walking in circles... not by choice. After walking Universal all day, we walked all night in search of Dotonbori River for food but got lost yet again. The silver-lining was we got to see a larger part of Osaka and burnt some calories off at the same time. Day 3, we took the JR line to Kyoto and made a visit to two of the most popular shrines in Japan called, Fushimi Inari-taisha and Todai-Ji. Fushimi Inari-taisha was amazing! Following hundreds of bright Orange gates, we climbed 12,000 steps, 4 kilometres up a mountain, past a total of 16 shrines to the main shrine. Each shrine you can find statues of the fox with a key in its mouth. The fox symbolizes the messenger or gate keeper, known as Inari. I prayed for health and happiness at the top of the mountain at the main shrine before heading back down. We later travelled further into the city Nara to a temple called, Todai-ji. This is the second largest wooden structure in Japan built in the early 8th century. We took our shoes off, entered the hall and took time to just appreciate all the architecture and design that went into this amazing wooden structure. After a fulfilling day we went back to Osaka for our final night. We met a few travellers from around the world, had some drinks and made gyoza (fried pork dumplings) at our hostel. Andy had an early night but I went out with this group of randoms to a small underground karaoke bar. Singing my heart out on top of the bar at 4am I felt like I was a temporary karaoke legend, a star in Japan as a result of heavily poured cocktails. Kind of an oxymoron wishing for health on sacred ground and later drinking cocktails at a karaoke bar. LIFE! 🙈. The next morning was a bit of a slow start but we managed to catch the bullet train from Osaka to our next destination. With a population of 13 million people, Tokyo was where we spent the next few days. Tokyo is made up of many districts and we chose to stay in the middle of all the commotion. Shibuya (entertainment district) is one hectic place, Shibuya is known for the Shibuya Crossing the busiest intersection in the world. Each street corner piles up with heaps of people, then when the little red man turns green an all-way-cross begins and a sea of black haired Japanese people walk in every direction. It was cool just standing in the centre of the crossing and feeling like a stone in a rushing river. We booked an Airbnb 500 meters from this intersection because the areas surrounding is action packed with clubs, food and endless shopping..... ENDLESS. Each district in Tokyo is practically a city of its own and we spent the next day walking around Harajuku (fashion district). We walked the main shopping strip, Takeshita Street, where you can find younger apparel that's pretty avant-garde. Wigs, eyelashes, glittery boots, contacts, leather outfits, tutus and more, the fashion is over the top and never ending. On this street Andy and I went for coffee at a very cool café. Downstairs we got to hang out with a variety of owls at the owl café and upstairs we got to play with bengal cats as we enjoyed our coffees. From there we strolled down the wide, intersecting pathways lined with very tall, lush green trees at the famous Yoyogi park. Later that evening we strolled through Akihabara also know as electric town, located just a few station stops from Shibuya. The strip is lite up with so many lights that it's a must-see at night to really take in the visual experience and appeal to this district of Japan. 8 story Sega buildings full of video games, gizmos and gadget stores, huge Apple stores and anything electronic you could ever imagine is found in this part of Tokyo. After spending the morning roaming the chaotic streets of Shibuya we later spent the evening in the gay district of Japan. Shinjuku is another awesome district of Japan and the gay friendly area was a fun night out hosted by our local friend Ryoko. Andy got picked up twice, I started to feel like chop liver. One gay guy said, "he'd pick him out of the two of us" and another commented on his shirt. The little green monster in me peered at him and said, "It's from H&M, no big deal!" After a night of dancing and Andy swinging from stripper poles the following day Ryoko took us out of Tokyo to Yokohama. In Yokohama we ventured through the very funky China town in Japan. Later we stumbled onto dragon boat races near a marina and a garden festival. I've never seen such an enormous rose garden before amongst the many other floral species. It was a beautiful day. Yokohama has such a nice vibe and balance between nature and city that the following day we returned. We went to Tokyo Metropolitan Towers where you'll find breathtaking views and on a clear day you can even spot Mount Fuji. We spent our last night hanging out in Shibuya before heading home. On our last day we took the train to Ueno zoo which is an extremely affordable zoo that inhabits the widest variety of animals compared to any other zoo in Japan. We took the Skyliner back to Narita airport and had one last experience on the toilet before heading home. We really only grazed the surface of Japan and I'll be sure to head back and explore a little further. Definitely the type of vacation that needs to be somewhat organized prior but it's a destination that's up there in my books. Overwhelming and Unforgettable! ✌🏼️