REBLOGGING the postings (updates about palestine, links for donations, videos and pictures & many more)
SHARE LINKS such as for donations, ways to help, link to educate people for people who still have zero knowledge about it
TAKE PART IN GLOBAL STRIKE FOR PALESTINE that held in FEB 18 til FEB 25 that is like a few weeks til now and if you’re seeing this in global strike please participate even if you’re few days late, it still counts ! therefore if your beloved author haven’t publish or post fics for you to read, don’t be mad at them but be ashamed of yourself!
there’s a genocide going on and you think about reading smut (or other than that)???
is your fics WAY MORE IMPORTANT than palestine??? if you said yes, i wish you well (in hell ^_^)
NOT BUYING TLOU2 REMASTERED, idc how HOT both ellie and abby are in their skins but you do know that neil is a fucking zionist right? and not forget to mention he donated to israel MORE THAN ONCE. oh i wonder where he got his money from 💭? OH WAIT FROM THE MONEY THAT YOU USE TO PAY TLOU2 REMASTERED!!!!!
BOYCOTTING BRANDS, there are A LOT brands that support israel and donate to them for examples starbucks, mcdonalds, pizza hut and many more. my question is that some of you guys said that starbucks is expensice and the food is not full filling YET you still buy them???
here are some links that could help you guys !!
WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE
WAYS YOU CAN HELP PALESTINE (if you’re a kid/minor!!)
MORE INFORMATION ABOUT PALESTINE
WHY YOU SHOULDN’T BUY TLOU2 REMASTERED
DONATIONS
DONATION (if you don’t have a bank acc / still a student / cant afford donating)
SOME RESOURCES
MORE RESOURCES
WHAT TO BOYCOTT
FOR THE AUTHOR IN THIS APP
EDUCATE YOURSELF ABOUT PALESTINE
i hope this helps even just a little but it still counts, and i wish you use your voice to speak up about this.
Summary: Ellie Williams, a former actress turned maid, is tired of wasting her talents scrubbing floors of mansions in the Hollywood Hills. She knows she is destined for greatness, but she just needs to be given another chance.
Abby Anderson, Hollywoods most in demand actress with several accolades under her belt has a duty to fulfill. She must remain at the top.
Two former best friends cross paths to fight for a role both of them need, but as their rivalry becomes even more cutthroat, there is something that remains constant: their love for you.
Basically Challengers but Ellabs Hollywood AU
Previous Chapter
ELLIE had never been more nervous in her life. Sure, there was that one time she almost threw up before getting on that one roller coaster that somehow was deemed safe enough for people to ride, but nothing like this.
Today is her first day on a film set in over a decade. To make matters worse, she has to face you and Abby, the exes she never thought she’d see again. In a matter of hours, the two of you would be standing before her, probably kissing or doing whatever married couples do.
Just the thought of interacting with the two of you stirred something within her. It was a feeling unlike what she felt the day of the audition, that was hunger, both physical and mental. She hadn’t been able to afford breakfast that morning and was glad that the holding room had a small coffee bar, but that did little to satiate her. When she got the call that she had gotten the part, the mental hunger that had been plaguing her for years had finally been fulfilled. She wanted to prove herself worthy enough to return to the spotlight. She needed this job for the money, yes, but also for herself. When she saw the look on the faces of the people on the panel, she knew she had nailed it. It’s when her eyes skimmed over you that it felt like her heart stopped or exploded, or both at the exact same time.
In pictures and on TV, your makeup? Flawless. Your skin? Smooth. You’re photoshopped in such a way that she can barely recognize you, but in person, oh, in person, you look just like you did when you bumped into her and Abby on your first night in LA. Raw, real, and vulnerable. It’s everything she loved about you.
Ellie felt herself slipping again. Back to a dark time in her life when the only thing that could calm her shaking hands was two bottles of alcohol. Not even the women she loved most could calm her. She was wasted potential, just another actress who sought comfort in a vice. She hated the reputation that she carved for herself. She was fortunate enough to be given another chance. She couldn’t fuck this up. Not like last time.
The hotel room paid for by the studio is grand and lavish. Well, ‘room’ is an understatement. It’s more like a suite Marie Antoinette would stay in if the Palace of Versailles were in Seattle. It is definitely something Ellie couldn’t have afforded herself. The staff treats her like royalty, something she remembers she had to do just a few months ago. Her clients loved it when their staff acted like they were the kings and queens of the world. Ellie would play along, hoping that the little act would earn her an extra dollar or two, and most of the time it would.
A driver waits for her outside of the hotel, ready to escort her to set, and it finally hits her that this is it. There is no going back now. Even if she were offered a billion dollars to back out, she wouldn’t take it. All her hard work, all her dreaming, has led to this exact moment. She was ready to prove herself to the world. She was ready to prove it to her world.
OFFICE buildings are something Ellie isn’t used to. Over the thirty-something years she’s been alive, she has only been inside an office building maybe two or three times. She was never there for any real business, just stuff concerning the show. To be honest, when she was in the buildings, she didn’t pay attention to much detail, just the moaning and groaning of executives saying she needed to get her act together. To which she would never do.
This office building, though, is entirely different than what she was expecting. It had been completely transformed from the mundane workplace she knew it once was to a bustling film set. Being on location for her comeback film was kind of a big deal. This wasn’t some small student film she had done to try and revive her career after she was fired from Eternal Summer. This was the real deal.
She’s escorted to the costume trailer somewhere in a blocked-off parking lot in Downtown Seattle. The production has an entire street to itself, surely inconveniencing the residents of the city, but who cares? There is some serious Hollywood stuff happening right now.
The costumer, a petite French woman named Clara, ushers Ellie into the nearest fitting room. Clara has her try on costumes in every shade of black. Dark fabrics line the clothing rack, creating a giant void of black in the back of this small fitting room. There were pantsuits that looked like an extra would wear them in The Wolf of Wall Street, to dresses Miranda Priestly would nod her head in approval of. Ellie didn’t know where to start. There were just so many options to choose from. She was used to choosing between the few clothing options that she had, so this was all very new to her. In the dimly lit fitting room, she felt lost.
She pushes her hand into the rack of clothes, and the first piece of fabric she touches will be the one she tries on. Ellie pulls out something akin to what a Chanel model would wear on the runway in the 1980s. Gold buttons adorned with a lovely floral pattern secure the blazer closed, and the skirt falls just below her knees. In this suit, she feels powerful. Like a politician getting ready to be inaugurated after winning an election. Ellie looks at herself in the mirror. She barely recognizes herself in anything other than jeans and a band t-shirt. She looks professional, elegant.
Clara knocks on the fitting room door.
“Does it fit?” She asks, her accent thick.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now try on the shoes.”
Ellie looks over at the rack of shoes lined with black pumps and gulps. Never has she had to wear high-heeled shoes. Usually, she could get by wearing sneakers under dresses, and if she had to wear something different, a simple flat would do. Walking in high-heeled shoes was an art she was completely inexperienced in.
Her dilapidated Converse sit in the corner of the dressing room as Ellie slips her feet into leather high-heeled pumps. She walks out of the dressing room feeling like she’s walking on stilts. It has to look silly from Clara’s angle, but the French woman’s face remains neutral.
“You look better,” Clara says.
“Thanks,” Ellie manages to squeak out as she exits the costume trailer.
Around her, the film set is alight with people walking around, trying their best to do the jobs they were hired for. For years, this is all that Ellie wanted. The distant chatter of PAs complaining about whatever bothers them, the faint buzz of talk through walkie-talkies, the sight of expensive equipment being handled by a careless rookie who she’s pretty sure is just in it because their mom is a producer on the project. When she was scrubbing the bottom of rich people’s toilets, all she could think about was being back in this kind of atmosphere, but now she can see you and Abby on the other side of the set, talking with an ease only a happily married couple could have. Her feet are fucking killing her in these heels, and the blazer that once felt like a welcome stranger on her skin is now making it itch like crazy.
Why did she have to do this? The one project that would revitalize her career was sure to cause her to revitalize something else. It was dramatic of Ellie to think about relapsing only after seeing her exes, but for a split second, she thought of doing it. Just one drink. There was a liquor store down the street… The bar in the hotel did look nice… What was the worst that could happen? You could end up back in the hospital where you lost it all, the rational part of her brain thought. That was true. Her reckless drinking was partially responsible for her demise. Everything bad in her life could be found at the bottom of an empty alcohol bottle, but Ellie was a different person now. She was trying to be the best version of herself, and in her mind, that version didn’t reverse years of progress over something so trivial.
Ellie had been so caught up in her mind that she barely noticed herself walking perfectly fine in the shoes she deemed her sworn enemy all the way to the other side of the set. A sneeze somewhere in the distance brought her back to the present, where she was face to face with the two people her heart craved the most.
ELLIE Williams is standing right in front of you and Abby, looking every bit as terrified as you are. All three sets of eyes are wide and unblinking. For a while, the three of you don’t say anything, just standing in a little corner of the set, staring at each other like you’ve just seen the predator crash land onto Earth.
Abby is the first one to say something, “Hello, Ellie. It’s nice to see you.”
It’s a simple greeting, nothing too intense, so why does it make you sad? Before the audition, the last time you had seen Ellie had been one of the most traumatic experiences of your life. Now, here she was in your career-defining film. The Universe works in weird, mysterious ways.
Your heart is telling you to say something, anything, but your mind is completely blank. There’s nothing going on up there.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Ellie says.
“You’re wearing high heels,” is all you can manage to say.
“Yes, I am.”
This conversation is trite. It’s duller than dull. More boring than watching paint dry, but the chemistry that was once rampant between the three of you has fizzled out. Everything that you worked hard to build is gone. Like a house washed away in a category five hurricane. A conversation between three women in their thirties shouldn’t be this difficult, but not all women in their thirties have histories like yours.
You want to say something with substance, you really do, but you don’t know where to start. So much has happened in your life, and you know so little about what has happened in Ellie’s. Maybe that was a good starting point.
“How’s life been treating you?”
“Life has been…good,” she says with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old child receiving clothes for Christmas instead of the toys that they really wanted.
“That’s good.”
You excuse yourself, claiming that there’s a props dispute that needs your expert problem-solving skills, and walk away from the increasingly awkward conversation between old flames. You knew this was a mistake. How in the world were Abby and Ellie going to act alongside each other when the chemistry just wasn’t there? How would you be able to direct her when you could barely get past simple conversation starters? There should have been a chemistry read and an on-screen test before you left LA. That way, when the producers saw how uncomfortable the two of them were with each other, how uncomfortable you were directing her, they would heed your advice and replace Ellie with a better, more quality actress. Preferably one that didn’t have a complicated history with a vital part of the crew.
You spend as much time as you possibly can inside a little antique store down the street. One of the upsides of shooting on location is that you get the opportunity to explore the places that some call home and others can only dream of visiting. The antique store was the first place that caught your attention. A coffee shop was too predictable. There are hundreds, even thousands, of coffee shops in LA. They all sell the same thing, an Instagrammable latte and a buttered croissant you’re pretty sure are from Costco. Antique stores, though, offer the unique. You could buy a little elephant trinket someone procured from their trip to Jaipur or a cute little shawl from a souvenir shop in Miami. To shop at an antique store is to be transported into the mind and life of the average adventurer. Being in an antique store was like exploring uncharted waters in the middle of a bustling city.
Abby finds you an hour later, digging through racks of CDs in search of something new and exciting to listen to. You’re a little annoyed that you’ve been found, but grateful for the one hour of peace.
“How’d you find me?”
“Find my iPhone. They need you back on set. You’re lucky they sent me and not someone else.”
Someone else would have dragged you right back to set and forced you into the director's chair. Someone else wouldn’t have given you a chance to clear your head.
“I-”
“I know,” Abby says.
“How are you so calm about all of this? She hurt you just as much as she hurt me.”
Abby was just as much in the path of tornado Ellie, but somehow she was taking all of this better than you were. She was acting like none of this bothered her. You weren't even picking up any hints of underlying distress. When something bothered Abby, she was upfront and honest about her feelings. Only sometimes would she hide them away, and usually, you could tell that something was troubling her by the distant look in her eyes or when she'd sleep in the guest room instead of your marital bed. Not now, though. If you were the storm, she was the calm before it. She was cool in the antique store, leaning against a china cabinet filled with deformed teddy bears.
“Ellie was my best friend for years. I knew her just as well as I know you. She is getting better. I can see it in her eyes.”
"But what if it happens again?" you ask.
There were stints in which you thought Ellie was getting better, but then she'd be out at a party, and a shot would just magically appear in her hand. Maybe you and Abby were partially responsible for Ellie's downfall. You dragged her to the parties knowing that she'd be around alcohol, but that's something you aren't ready to deal with just yet.
“I think that she deserves a second chance."
You chew on your bottom lip, contemplating Abby’s words. Like always, Abby was right. She was always the voice of reason, the angel to your devil. From the little you’ve seen of Ellie, you could tell that her hands and legs shook less, and she smelled of purple Fabuloso instead of Svedka. If being in the industry has taught you anything, second chances don’t come easy, but the entire reason why you’re creating this film is to stick it to the same people who have deliberately hindered your success. Until now, you didn’t realize that that was exactly what you were doing to Ellie. You were hindering her success because of something that happened years ago. She was trying to be a better person. The least you could do was give her some grace.
Divider by @graphicsbymouse
Tag list: @elliespotion @reneesub @elliespookie @cloudy-fay
Summary: Ellie Williams, a former actress turned maid, is tired of wasting her talents scrubbing floors of mansions in the Hollywood Hills. She knows she is destined for greatness, but she just needs to be given another chance.
Abby Anderson, Hollywoods most in demand actress with several accolades under her belt has a duty to fulfill. She must remain at the top.
Two former best friends cross paths to fight for a role both of them need, but as their rivalry becomes even more cutthroat, there is something that remains constant: their love for you.
Basically Challengers but Ellabs Hollywood AU
Previous Chapter
THE sun is the first thing you see when you wake up. Its blinding rays shine down on you, illuminating you in an almost cinematic way. You’d look beautiful if you weren’t an absolute wreck. Your hair is a mess; it's standing up in ways you didn’t know hair could. Your makeup is blotchy and smudged. You close your raccoon eyes and choose to ignore the imprint of your foundation on the pink throw pillows you spent way too much money on.
You groan and cover your eyes with the back of your hand. There’s a throbbing sensation happening in your brain. It feels as if your brain cells were having their very own rave, feasting on the one too many shots of tequila you ingested last night.
You roll over, thinking you are in your bed, and fall flat on your ass. The vintage Persian rug your mother bought for you does nothing to cushion the fall. You lie there, spread-eagled, waiting for the hangover Gods to release you from their torment, but alas, they don’t let up.
The day passes slowly. One hour after the next ticks by as you lounge around your apartment trying to piece things together. You don’t remember much from last night, just flashing images of people dancing and laughing. You can’t quite make out their faces, but they look happy, content with the life that they’ve chosen to live.
Then, your brain cuts to a memory of you stumbling home in the arms of two people. You can still feel their hands gripping onto your skin as they shuffle you into your apartment. Like the others, you still can’t make out their faces or any distinct trait. They could be the club bouncers escorting you home after they’d scraped you off the dirty dance floor or just two nice people helping a drunk girl home.
Blonde and brunette hair come into view. In this memory, you see Abby and Ellie set you on the couch. That’s all you see before the memories become hazy once more. You think nothing of it. If it were important, you surely would have remembered it.
AS soon as you get off the metro, your palms begin sweating. You clutch your script closer to your chest and adjust the strap of your purse as you cross the street to the studio. Being on set after being told you didn’t have enough chemistry with your co-stars is intense. After your night on the town, there would hopefully be some semblance of chemistry. While you barely remember anything, you can still envision little pockets in which you talked to Ellie about beer pong and discussed sea otter facts with Abby.
You needed this to work. Abby and Ellie’s jobs aren’t on the line. This show is them. You were just a re-cast, a title that screamed one thing: replaceable.
Hair and makeup take less time than they did the first day. You let yourself think that it's because you’re becoming a permanent member of the team, so the artists have learned the contours and crevices of your face and scalp. Not because your character usually wears a natural face and a simple hairstyle.
Your trailer feels like a prison. The off white color of the walls feels too sterile. They are bereft of any personality. No pieces of art, no cheesy signs from Home Goods that say “home is where the heart is,” or “live, laugh, love.” You could really go for some living, laughing, and loving right now. Being in LA has been so isolating. Who knew you could feel so lonely in a place with millions of people around you? On social media, it looks great. Buzzfeed employees posting selfies of themselves and their team cheesing with a funny filter on or influencers vlogging their cool lives and posting it onto YouTube felt like the LA norm to outsiders, but once you’re here, you realize that none of that is real.
In New York, being alone is all you wanted. You craved the feeling of freedom, of a life far away from your mother and father. Now that you have your own apartment in a city you’ve dreamed of living in, you want nothing more than to settle back into the Brownstone you’ve called home for the past twenty-something years. You wanted to hear your mother nagging about your cluttered closet and clashing bedspread. You wanted to hear your mother and father bickering about whose movie pick was better. At the time, those moments annoyed you, but now that you’re on your own, they fill you with so much joy. You have parents who care about you and each other, although they show it in unconventional ways. Your loneliness in LA makes you yearn for the domesticity you once had.
You are escorted onto set in a flash thanks to the golf carts you often see zooming around the studio. The classroom set stares back at you. It looks the same as it did the other day, but the lighting is different. They have foregone a light, making the back of the classroom darker. It used to look fun, preppy, and inviting. Now, it looks like you’re on the set of a horror film.
You sit down at one of the desks like you were directed to and let a strand of your hair curl around your finger. You watch as the crew scramble about behind the camera like tiny little ants passing around a crumb from a picnic. This routine reminds you of high school when you’d go to your favorite cafe with the big windows and indulge in people watching. Watching people live their lives so authentically comforts you. They moved in an uncalculated, mundane way. When one is outside, they are under the impression that no one is watching. Sometimes, they let themselves slouch or take a big bite of a yummy pastry. They let themselves be free. To live as authentically as they can. People watching led you to where you are sitting today. Being creative and participating in making a film made you feel free. Like you were floating on air, doing things that a normal person could only dream of.
Abby and Ellie trickle in, and suddenly, the lighting choice makes more sense. They have this air of mystery around them, as if you’ve just asked them the meaning of an inside joke they share. They glance at each other. Abby’s lips form into a thin line while Ellie gives her a reassuring nod. This trust that they have in one another is charming. You’ve never had the opportunity to get that close to a person, but if someone has spent their formative years acting like they're best friends with someone, they're bound to become close one way or the other.
The director goes through the motions of the scene and retreats to his place behind the camera. As soon as “action” is yelled, you fall into character. You recite your lines and flutter your eyelashes like any good girlfriend would do.
“No, this isn’t working,” the director yells cut.
Your heart drops. This was it. This was the moment that they would fire you. You would have to move back home and never show your face in public ever again.
“I’m sorry-” you start, but the director puts his hand up, effectively silencing you. You frown.
“Not you. Them.” He points at Abby and Ellie, who share the same look of bewilderment.
“What is wrong with the two of you? Did something happen? Is that the reason why you’re acting like two blushing school girls watching an R-rated film?”
“No. Nothing happened,” Abby says.
Ellie gulps, “We’re sorry.”
“Again!”
Everyone resets at the director’s direction, and the scene starts once more. You recite your lines and this time, forgoing the eyelash batting.
“Cut! This is-“ the director sighs. “You three, go home. Together. I want whatever is stopping you three from giving me a believable performance to stop. When we come back tomorrow, I want chemistry and passion, or else we’ll have to recast all of you.”
“You can’t recast us!” Ellie shoots out of her seat.
“Did you even read your contract? I can do whatever I want. I have complete creative control, and if that means recasting everyone, then so be it. I can’t delay production again. Figure it out.”
Your skin feels like the surface of a glacier. It’s cold to the touch. One would have thought that you were a corpse, but the sounds of your heart beating a mile a minute would give them a sign of life. Whatever awkwardness was going on between the three of you needed to be fixed, and fast. No matter how much a part of you craved your life in New York, there was still a big part of you that was hopeful for everything LA could offer. This show could lead you to bigger and better projects in the future, but if you were fired less than a month on set, you’d be toast. You would be effectively blacklisted because the people you were working with didn’t take any of this seriously. You worked and fought too hard to be here, and you aren’t letting these two take it away from you.
THE setting sun looks beautiful through your floor-to-ceiling windows. Tourists and locals go about their day on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, just steps away from your apartment that towers over it. It’s the prime people-watching spot, but you’re too busy staring at the clock on your wall to care.
Abby and Ellie are supposed to be here any minute. It was evident that meeting at a club did nothing for the chemistry between the three of you, so you invited them to your apartment. You hoped that the quiet and sterile environment would encourage them to be open to exploring more modes of communication. Maybe if you went through some acting exercises, the three of you would finally come to a creative understanding.
There’s a knock on your door, and you hurriedly open it. Abby and Ellie stand there, hands in their pockets.
You step aside, letting them into your space. You watch as they look around, taking in all the furniture and trinkets that you and your mother have collected over the years. Abby is fixated on a particularly interesting piece of artwork on one of your walls. A friend in high school painted it for you as a gift for your eighteenth birthday. It’s a self-portrait in the style of Van Gogh, whimsical yet serious. She captured so much of your youthfulness onto the canvas that sometimes you spend hours looking at it, reminiscing on what once was.
“Nice place.” Ellie is the first one to break the silence.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful. Really,” Abby pauses, trying to find the right word. “Chic.”
"My mom would absolutely die if she heard someone call something of mine chic.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“Good. She loves that word. Everything is chic, according to her.”
You smile, the mood feeling relatively lighter with each second. Even if it’s just one snippet of a normal conversation, Abby is talking to you! It’s so much better than the secretive looks she and Ellie shared just hours before.
“So, why don’t we sit on the couch. I feel like the closer we are, the better we’ll be able to get rid of this awkwardness between us,” you say, taking charge in this exchange.
Abby and Ellie visibly gulp at the suggestion of sitting together on the couch, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Seriously, what is up with the two of them? They are both older than you, yet here you are, seemingly the only one in the room with enough balls to set everything that’s bothering you aside and put your best foot forward. Did they want to save their jobs? Or did they just want to sit around with their tails tucked in between their legs?
“Okay, what’s going on?”
“Nothing's going on,” they say, stumbling over their words.
“Something is definitely going on. The two of you have been acting weird ever since you saw me on set this morning. Did I do something?”
Abby and Ellie glance at each other, and you’re about to demand more of an explanation, but Abby beats you to it.
“You kissed us last night.”
You feel your eyes go wide, and suddenly, your memories become clearer. In the style of an old Hollywood classic, you can see Abby and Ellie carrying your drunken body through the streets of Hollywood. Their fit bodies sandwich you as they drag you through your building and into your home. They lay you on your couch, and in a daze, you leave a wet, sloppy kiss on each of their cheeks.
“Oh my God. Oh my God! I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“We’ve been acting awkward because,” Abby hesitates.
“Because we liked it,” Ellie finishes for her.
“We were trying to find a way to tell you.”
“But we didn’t know how to say that we want you. I mean, we barely know each other.”
“Wow,” is all you can manage to say.
This time, you drag yourself to the couch and sit down. This is a lot of information to take in such a short amount of time. This rollercoaster of a day has you feeling a little bit dizzy. Good thing you’re sitting down. You can still feel the remnants of a killer hangover flowing through your body, and now you’ve just learned that two of Hollywood's hottest actresses, figuratively and literally, want you.
“Wait, does this mean that you’re…”
“Together? Yeah. We have been for years, but we’ve never told anybody. It’s fun to see them speculate,” Ellie says.
“You don’t have to give us an answer now. Let’s just see where this takes us,” Abby chimes in.
“Will you two stop being weird around me now?”
“Yeah. We have nothing to hide anymore.”
“And I'm sorry for kissing your girlfriend on the cheek,” you say, letting the apology hang in the air. Last night, you kissed two women who belonged to one another. It’s confusing and exhilarating at the same time. You’ve never done anything like this before.
“Next time we kiss, it’ll be when we’re all sober enough to walk on our own.”
You snort, a little embarrassed at your lack of restraint last night. Abby and Ellie look at you, their eyes each a different color, but their expressions are the same. Curiosity sparkles in them.
Their intrigue confuses you a little. What was so special about you that they wanted to invite you into their relationship, their sacred space? The bond they shared seemed impenetrable. Yet, here you were, just a little under a month in LA under your wing, and you already have the two of them looking at you like you’re an exotic piece of art.
You clear your throat and stand back up from the couch. Your legs feel a little less shaky than they did moments ago, and you stand a little straighter.
“We should run through the scene.”
Abby and Ellie nod, and it’s clear they forgot why they were invited here in the first place. You assemble your dining chairs in a vaguely similar way to the desks on set, and take your seat. Abby and Ellie sit on each side of you.
With all of the awkwardness and tension worked out, you hope that this next run through will go smoothly.
The three of you run through the scene with ease. It feels so familiar now that you’ve tried to do it two days in a row. When they are relaxed, Abby and Ellie are amazing. They dazzle you and pull you right into the scene. Their chemistry is through the roof, and now that you know just what was bothering them, you can feel yourself being reeled in. Everything about them is so authentic that your lines flow naturally from you.
The scene ends, and the air in your apartment feels better. You all know you absolutely nailed the scene.
“Well, this calls for a celebration.” Ellie claps and gets up from the chair. She points at you, “Do you have any liquor?”
Abby sighs and puts a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. She leans down and whispers something inaudible in Ellie’s ear. Ellie deflates, and the confident woman who was standing before you seconds ago disappears. Their body language is tense. Abby’s hand digs into Ellie’s shoulder, and something about this makes you feel like you aren’t supposed to see this.
“We have to go,” Abby says.
You nod and thank them for coming. Once they are gone, you finally try to make sense of everything that just happened. One moment, passion fills the room, and the next, it’s like a storm cloud flew into your apartment. Even if they did want you to be in their life, it’s obvious that they had some problems that might be too difficult for you to understand just yet. Whatever it was, you hoped that they would be okay.
Divider by @graphicsbymouse
Tag list: @elliespotion @reneesub @elliespookie @cloudy-fay
Author's note: Thank you all for the kind messages and comments. I am slowly feeling a little bit better.
hey everyone, i’m really depressed and i haven’t had the motivation to write anything. college is taking a toll on me, so i have decided to take a break. i don’t know when i’ll come back and i am so sorry for starting fics and taking so long to update in between them. i want to thank you all for reading. it means so so so much to me.
Lesson Learned- Chapter One: The Little Games We Play
joel miller x fem!reader
summary: He was supposed to be just another single father. This was just supposed to be like any other Tinder date, awkward and full of hopefulness, but when you unknowingly match with one of your students' fathers, you are thrown into the most embarrassing situation you've ever been in.
Even if he is a student's father, you can sense that there is something real between the two of you. Will you let this one factor control your happiness, or will you overcome this challenge for the greater good?
LITTLE girls all over the world have one thing in common: they daydream about the day they get to become an adult. When they’re 30, and flirty, and thriving. They think of the kind of house they’ll have, the kind of car they’ll drive, their dream profession, like a doctor or a lawyer, and the kind of person they’ll marry.
For you, you would live in Cinderella’s castle at Disneyland. You would fly around like a fairy instead of driving. Who needs a car when you have wings that shoot pixie dust? You would work as a teacher, inspiring other kids to follow their dreams. As for the person you’ll wed, you would be with someone strong and rugged. Preferably kind and gentle. Like the beast, before he turned back into a prince. You had your future perfectly planned out by the time you were seven.
Then, reality hit you when you turned thirteen. There would be no Cinderella’s castle or flying around like a fairy. The boys who liked you were scrawny and mean. Your future had seemingly been flushed down the drain. Your only saving grace was teaching. Now, that aspiration wasn’t from some made-up fairytale.
You dedicated yourself to school, being so studious that you were awarded over fifty scholarships in your senior year. You attended the University of Texas at Austin and fell in love with the city. Being from a small town in the south of Texas, the idea of a place having that big city feel with southern hospitality made you feel at home. That’s where you remain to this day, in the live music capital of the world.
༄˖°.☕️.ೃ࿔📚*:･
You couldn’t have picked a worse fucking career. After babysitting, yes, babysitting nearly 80 middle schoolers for eight hours, you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was go home, heat up the leftovers from yesterday’s dinner, and watch yet another horror movie. Preferably, one about a teacher getting to yell any and every profanity at her students without being fired.
Teaching middle school is a sacrifice many teachers aren't willing to make. The kids are in that awkward stage in life where they're not a kid anymore, but also nowhere close to being a teenager. That soft spot in the middle is usually characterized by acne, body odor, Bath Body Works body spray instead of deodorant, and terrorizing anyone who isn't their parent. Their lack of enthusiasm for learning scares you for the future. If kids didn't even try to learn about our nation's history, then what makes you think they won't repeat it?
Today, it was as if the entire eighth-grade class decided to refuse to do their work. All your colleagues shared the same story. Students filled into their seats and began to talk, go on their phones, run around the classroom, and pretend like you weren't there. No amount of shouting stopped them from their antics. At least at the end of third period, Sarah Miller, one of the five kids passing your classes, came up to apologize for her peer's behavior. Apparently, it was some trend on TikTok to pretend like your teacher wasn't there. All 80 eighth graders coordinated this "trend" for today without any faculty or staff finding out.
You felt hurt and betrayed. Not because you were just finding out about this trend today, but because these students know how much teaching means to you. You had dedicated your life to getting the best possible education so that you could be a beacon of light for them. You took out loans in order to finish your master's program because you wanted to be educated enough in your field to help these students become better citizens. They used your job against you.
The radio in your car is on some random station. You let it play, too lazy to put any effort into finding good music. Every light you come across is red, making your journey home even longer than it originally is. It seemed like everything was working against you today. Was Friday the 13th actually on a Wednesday, September 17th?
After twenty extra minutes are added to your commute, you pull up to your home. Even if it’s not some mega mansion, it’s a miracle you’re able to afford it on your salary after taxes. A one-bedroom in Austin is a lot more expensive than one thinks.
You’re greeted by the silence permeating throughout your home. After today, it's like music to your ears. You place your keys and purse on the hooks by the door and lock it behind you. The couch cushions adjust to your weight as you sit down, letting your body finally rest after a long, hard day. You blink, and blink again, eyelids feeling heavy. You can’t sleep here. Not when you spent so much money on the bed just a few feet away.
Your stomach rumbles, reminding you of the chicken tikka masala sitting in your fridge. You drag yourself off the couch and make your way to your kitchen. You ignore the dishes piled up in the sink and open the fridge, revealing the Tupperware filled with your favorite Indian dish. You watch as it goes round and round in the microwave for two minutes until you hear that signature beep.
You eat on the couch while rewatching Texas Chainsaw Massacre for the 12th time.
When you were a little girl, you had all these ideas of what your life would look like when you were in your 30s. This is vastly different from anything you could have conjured up. Even if you couldn’t live in Cinderella’s castle, you should at least have a boyfriend by now. This deep loneliness you feel can’t be sated by a dog or a cat. After a long day, you want to melt into the arms of a man who’ll rub your back and tell you that everything will be okay.
Your phone lights up with a notification from Tinder, and you sigh. Was it another man asking to meet up for a quick fuck or a proud conservative man who voted against everything you stood for? You pick up your phone and unlock it, scrolling all the way to the back of an inconspicuous folder, and open up the app. Instead of seeing who liked you, you get sucked into the routine of swiping through the profiles of Austin’s most eligible bachelors. Oh, the joys of modern dating.
You swipe left and then right. Left, and then left again. Most of these men on dating apps are looking for young, impressionable girls, not 32-year-old women with a mortgage and a master's degree. You’re okay with that, though. You’d rather be single than date a man who has to resort to being a creep for a sliver of attention.
You’re about to swipe left on a man, but something about him makes you stop and check out his profile. His name is Joel, he lives here in Austin, he’s 44, and works as a carpenter. His bio doesn’t say much except that he’s a single father. His first picture looks like he took it by accident after getting a new haircut. His salt and pepper hair is perfectly styled, while his forehead creases in concentration. Unfortunately, that is the only picture in his profile. Maybe he's like one of those men who don't take many photos of themselves. The air of mystery around him intrigues you, so you swipe right. What's the worst that could happen?
You close your phone after that, deciding that that was enough social interaction for the night, and turn off the TV. The Tupperware joins the rest of the dishes in the sink that you’ll definitely do in the morning. You go through the steps of your nighttime routine: brush your teeth, wash your face, shower, lotion, pajamas, and then finally, your favorite part, bed.
༄˖°.☕️.ೃ࿔📚*:･
“Come on, Joel. Just do it,” Tommy sighs
“I said no.” Joel throws back the last of his beer and wipes his mouth, making sure to clear all evidence of foam on his beard.
Tommy had recently gone on a date with a girl he met online. He claimed that it was the new way of dating. Trying to meet a cute girl in a coffee shop or at the park was a no-go. The ways of their youth had gone down the drain, and now Tommy was desperately trying to get Joel to join in on the epic highs of online dating.
Joel was too old for all the crap. Between work and taking care of Sarah, he practically had no time for himself. Though when he did, he preferred to spend it at home playing the guitar while he sipped his morning coffee. His life was easy and dramaless, just the way he liked it.
“Come on, Joel. Live a little. I ain’t seen you so much as look at a woman in the past twelve years.”
“That life ain’t for me no more.” Joel rubs his beard, trying to keep calm. Tommy really was trying to push his buttons.
The last woman he ever loved, he had given his all to. Everything she had ever wanted, she got. She was his first love, his wife, and the mother of his child. Then, one night, she vanished, leaving nothing but divorce papers for him to sign on the kitchen counter like he was nothing to her. Sarah wept in her crib for a mother who would never come back. That night, Joel promised never to love again. To open up his heart once more was too great a risk for him to take.
“I ain’t askin’ you to get married again. Just check it out,” Tommy says. “I promise if you download the app, create a profile, and swipe through some women, I’ll leave you alone.”
“You promise?” Joel throws him a skeptical look, and Tommy nods.
“I promise.”
Joel has to put on his glasses for the shit Tommy’s about to get him into. Tommy scrolls through Joel’s camera roll, trying to find the perfect pictures to showcase his older brother's rugged charm.
“These…these are all pictures of Sarah and your goddamn guitar. You don’t take any pictures of yourself?”
“The hell do you need a picture for?” Joel gets up from his chair and tries to grab his phone from Tommy.
“If you’re going to date online, the other person needs to know what you look like.”
Joel scrolls through his camera roll and sighs once more. Tommy was right. All he had were pictures of his daughter and the instrument he loved dearly. Joel wasn’t a big fan of taking pictures of himself. Once his grey hair started growing and his belly started to bulge, he got a bit insecure. He wasn’t his young, fit self anymore. There was no need to immortalize that with a picture of himself.
“I got a picture of me at the barbers. Sarah wanted to see what my new haircut looked like.”
Joel shows Tommy his phone, the picture taking up the entire screen.
“That could work. Though it does make you look like you’re constipated.”
Joel gives him a look, clearly not amused. Tommy takes the phone back and continues completing his profile. After some finishing touches, Joel’s profile is live.
“What do I do now?” Joel asks, gazing at his phone in complete bewilderment.
“Swipe left if you don’t like her or right if you do.”
Joel nods and lets his finger touch the screen. For some odd reason, his hands were shaking. He was nervous, as if the women on his phone would jump out and say that he was too old and too ugly to ever be on this app.
Tommy pats him on the back, a small gesture to let him know that his brother would always be there for him. No matter how annoying he was about it, Joel knew Tommy just wanted what was best for him.
The first woman comes up, or should he say girl? He swipes left. Eighteen was way too young for him. He knew some men back in the day who loved to talk about how much they loved younger girls. Every time one opened their mouth, it took everything in Joel not to snap. Each little syllable out of their mouth was like nails on a chalkboard. It filled him with rage.
It got so bad one day that he punched one of the guys for whistling at a girl walking home from school. It was evident that she was younger through her frilly socks and the backpack slung over her shoulders. Her blonde hair was done up in pigtails, similar to the ones he had done for Sarah that morning. To see a grown ass man act that way towards a child made him snap. It took four people to get him off that guy. That man's jaw never snapped back right, and Joel was grateful that he would never whistle again.
“Wait, let me fix that.”
Tommy plucks the phone from Joel's hands and adjusts the age settings. Now, Joel had an entire catalogue of age-appropriate women to choose from.
The profile that comes up first is you. You are beautiful. Most certainly too beautiful to be on an app like this. You’re 32, have a bachelor's and a master's from the University of Texas at Austin, and you are a middle school teacher. You seem passionate about your job from the many photos of you dressed for spirit days. Thrown in there are some photos of you out of your usual teacher garb. A photo of you at the park wearing jeans and a simple blouse. There’s another of you at what he assumes to be a wedding, dressed in a floral dress that clung to your body like glue to paper.
You must know a lot about glue, being a teacher and all. Here he goes. Even his internal monologue was awkward.
“A bachelor's degree, and she wasted it on middle school education,” Tommy tsks from behind him.
Joel turns around, “Your niece is in middle school.”
Tommy puts his hands up in surrender while Joel keeps dissecting the profile in front of him. Your bio says that you’ve been teaching for ten years, but it feels like twenty. Joel cracks a small smile. He, too, knows what it’s like to have a profession pass you by. Being a carpenter wasn’t his first career choice, but it’s what made the money. Forget your passions and dreams; money is important when you have someone depending on you.
You seem cool and interesting. He especially loved the picture of you dressed as Pete the Cat for a school event. He had read those books to Sarah when they had first come out. What better way to share his love of music with his daughter than with a children's book of a cat with an electric guitar?
He swipes right.
His heart is racing ten times faster than it was seconds ago. The adrenaline he caught from being able to control his future with a swipe of a finger was dangerous. He didn’t regret his decision. He was just scared.
“Aww, hell. What did I do?”
Tommy looks over Joel’s shoulder and lets out a laugh of delight. The two of your faces are framed by hearts, your beaming one and Joel’s constipated one. “It’s a match” is displayed on the screen in fancy block letters.
“That means she likes you back.”
Joel’s heart nearly drops out of his ass. You liked him back? What the hell did you even like about him? He looked like he was about to shit himself in his picture, according to Tommy, so what could have possibly made you attracted to him?
“What do I do now?” Joel asks.
“Well, you text her. Keep up the conversation, and maybe she’ll ask you on a date.”
“Date” was a word Joel never thought he’d hear again. The last time he went on one was when he was freshly 18 and his ex-wife was still with him. He had been out of the game for far too long. If you asked, would he agree to go?
Sarah opens the sliding door to the backyard, where Joel and Tommy were sitting, bringing him crashing back down to reality. He couldn’t date other women. Not when his number one priority was staring at him right in the face.
“Daddy?” Sarah yawns.
“What is it, baby?”
“There’s a spider on my wall and I can’t sleep until it’s gone.”
“I’ll be right there,” Joel nods at Tommy, his own little way of saying goodnight.
Tommy shoots up, putting his hand on his older brother's shoulder. “Before I go, you need to promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll give this a shot. I don’t want you living the rest of your life alone.”
“I got Sarah,” Joel says.
“You know what I mean.” And with that, Tommy walks off into the darkness of the night.
Joel follows Sarah up the stairs with a piece of old mail and a glass cup. He learned the hard way that smashing it will just make her upset, so he has to be friendly to the insects when she’s around.
He carefully scoops the spider into the cup and lets it back outside. Maybe it would return to its family, or maybe it would go home alone. Does it stay up at night thinking about all the possible ways its life could be different? The constant replaying of where exactly in its life it all went wrong.
His phone dings, most likely a text from Tommy notifying him that he made it home. Joel took that as a sign to also hit the hay. He had an early morning tomorrow anyway, so he made the trek up to his bedroom. He followed the routine he did every night and finally crawled into bed. The sound of crickets chirping eased him into a deep, restful sleep.
authors note: let me know if you’d like to be on the tag list. i’ll try to update every week or every other week!
Summary: Ellie Williams, a former actress turned maid, is tired of wasting her talents scrubbing floors of mansions in the Hollywood Hills. She knows she is destined for greatness, but she just needs to be given another chance.
Abby Anderson, Hollywoods most in demand actress with several accolades under her belt has a duty to fulfill. She must remain at the top.
Two former best friends cross paths to fight for a role both of them need, but as their rivalry becomes even more cutthroat, there is something that remains constant: their love for you.
Basically Challengers but Ellabs Hollywood AU
Previous Chapter
SOME people argue that fame and fortune are the best parts of being paid to be creative, that the words and actions that flow from their brain can buy them whatever their hearts desire. Sure, that's nice, but there is no real value to consuming just to consume. A Birken bag and Miu Miu ballet flats won't provide experiences that'll last a lifetime.
That’s why traveling is your favorite part about making movies. You get to visit and exist in spaces different from what you’re used to. The change of scenery is inspiring, calming even. Being in a new city is grounding. In Rome or Brazil, you aren’t an actress and a director, you’re just another pesky tourist waiting to be pickpocketed.
Your wife, on the other hand, cannot stand traveling. On top of her having a crippling fear of heights, she hates the airport and balks at the price of a first-class seat. Even though the two of you can afford seats for the entire plane, Abby hates spending her money, which is unheard of for a multimillionaire. Having a financially astute partner is both a blessing and a curse.
You carefully slide open the window shade, and you’re greeted by the orange and yellow rays of the sun rising over Seattle. The plane glides over the city like a bird flying over the ocean. Across the aisle, Abby is still asleep, high off the Ambien her doctor prescribed her.
The first time the two of you traveled together as a couple was when she brought you along to a shoot she was doing in Cape Town. She took a melatonin gummy and accidentally woke up when the pilot announced that the plane was cruising at an altitude of 41,000 feet. Once you landed, your hand was numb from how tightly she held onto it throughout the rest of the flight. Ever since then, you have always made sure she takes her pill thirty minutes before boarding.
The fasten seatbelt sign comes on, and you reach over the aisle, gently shaking Abby awake.
“Put your seatbelt on. We’re about to land.”
She groggily follows your instructions and buckles her seatbelt. In a matter of seconds, she’s nodding off.
The landing is smooth, and for the first time since you left LA, you feel excited. The reality of your situation washes over you. You have finally been given the chance to chase your purpose in life. In a new city, you get to discover your true strengths and weaknesses. People flew from all parts of the world just to work on your movie. With all the diverse paths in life, you just know that being on set will be a collaboration between all types of creatives. Their visions and aspirations for this film will be listened to. They won’t be cast aside like you were. You know you’ll embrace their ideas and turn this project into something magical.
Like any other airport at 12 in the afternoon, the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport is crowded. A sleepy Abby trails behind you as you try your best to navigate through your new surroundings. It seems like everywhere you turn is either a souvenir shop or a restaurant instead of the exit.
“I’m hungry,” Abby says in the middle of a yawn.
She eyes the panini shop nestled into the corner of the terminal. From over here, you can hear the sizzle of the panini press and smell the cheese, meat, and vegetables becoming one in the middle of two slices of bread.
It seemed like her catnap made her work up an appetite, but no matter how much you also wanted to bite into a caprese panini, you needed to get out of this airport first.
“Once we get out of here, I promise I’ll feed you.”
A tiny pout forms on her lips, but she nods nonetheless.
After what feels like forever, you finally see the signs leading you towards the exit. You join the people rushing out of the cool air-conditioned airport into the breezy Seattle weather.
In the Uber, Abby rests her tired head on your shoulder. Your hands are entangled with her own as the two of you watch the scenery pass you by. The green foliage soon turns into tall buildings, coffee shops, and vintage stores. Seattle is just like any other major city with a cluster of people trying to live their lives. People walk hand in hand, they talk on the phone, some sip coffee on the patio of an overpriced cafe, and others daydream of a quieter life outside of the city.
Your mind wanders to what a quiet life would look like for you and your wife. A month ago, Abby had brought up retiring and moving back to Salt Lake City in order to be closer to her dad. Jerry Anderson was a wonderful man and an amazing father-in-law, but you’d rather get kicked by a horse than let Abby move back to the town that ostracised her for loving differently than they did.
Instead of the Mormon capital, maybe you’d sell your Hollywood home and move to the witchy town of Salem, Massachusetts. You’d buy a home built in 1882 and watch from the porch as the leaves on your trees turn brown. Little rain droplets would dribble down as Abby raked the fallen leaves. Her hair would be in a bun instead of a braid, a symbol that she had left her Hollywood self behind with the palm trees and sandy beaches.
Maybe you’d adopt two kids and raise respectable, creative, and intelligent children. They’d go off to college, and you’d grow old with the blonde-haired love of your life.
It would be quiet. Simple.
The funny thing about dreams is that they’re just that: dreams. They’re fantasies that your mind conjures up to soothe you. No one ever really leaves Hollywood. There’d be blurry paparazzi photos of you wherever you go. “Where are they now?” articles written about you and Abby while you desperately try to live quiet lives.
This predatory industry leeches off the lives of people who just want to create. There are so many responsibilities and sacrifices you make the minute you sign that contract, but you can’t see yourself doing anything other than making movies. That astronaut shit died as soon as you stepped onto your first soundstage.
The Uber pulls up to your new home for the next few months. It’s nothing like your house in Hollywood, with its view of the LA skyline and the infinity pool that’s seen more action than your bed. It’s dark, sleek, and sexy. Like the perfect slickback bun.
It stands thirty-seven stories tall with floor-to-ceiling windows and a killer view of the rest of the city. It’s the definition of luxury and opulence, something your mother tried desperately to emulate. Unlike her, it doesn’t try too hard.
Abby grabs your purse and her own and joins you on the sidewalk.
“Are you ready?”
At this point, that question could mean anything. Are you ready to go inside? Are you ready to embark on an artistic journey? Who knows what the true meaning behind that question is, but you nod nonetheless.
The elevator ride up is long. Your wife, who has a fear of heights, finds herself staring out of the window as the elevator rises to the top floor. You can tell that the Ambien has worn off through the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her wide-eyed expression, and the fact that her grip on your hand is bruising.
“Stop looking,” you say.
“I can’t stop.”
“You’re going to spook yourself to death.”
Your free hand covers her eyes, effectively shielding her gaze from her fears. For a moment, all is good. Then, with her own free hand, Abby moves your hand away from her eyes. She blinks, letting her eyes adjust to the light, and turns away from the window.
“Take deep breaths in and out,” you remind her.
The elevator comes to a stop on the 37th floor, the penthouse suite. It’s two sizes smaller than your permanent home in California, but ten times bigger than your parents' brownstone in Manhattan. With the entire floor to yourselves, it is the perfect place to spend the next nine months working, creating, and doing anything else that comes to mind.
Two months ago, you hired an interior designer to make your new space feel like home. On the website, the building looked cold and bland. Black walls, marble floors, and a spiral staircase serve no purpose without furniture to match. The interior designer did a great job at bringing out the personality of the place, but you feel like something is missing.
This feeling is akin to walking into a room and forgetting what you’re doing there. You’re in Seattle to film a movie. You are here with your wife, whom you love very much. If that’s it, then why do you still feel like this? Your mind searches for the answer, but nothing is coming up.
Abby puts the purses on the kitchen counter and joins you in the living room. She rests her hands on your hips and squeezes them, effectively breaking you out of your trance.
“I believe someone promised me food.”
“We’ve lived in this city for five minutes. We don’t have any food,” you chuckle.
“Then let's go get some. Let’s go do touristy things in Seattle before we start work tomorrow.”
“What touristy things do you want to do?”
Abby shrugs, “I don’t know. We passed by an aquarium earlier. We can go there.”
An aquarium? For some reason, visiting an aquarium seemed very juvenile. Like going to Disneyland without children. There was simply no point in visiting a place like that without someone young and impressionable, but the look on Abby’s face persuades you. She has this glint in her eyes that could be hunger or the possibility of doing something mentally stimulating. Maybe visiting the aquarium would do you some good. It’s been a while since you were able to turn off your brain and just take it all in.
The Seattle Aquarium is four blocks away from your penthouse, giving you a perfect excuse to experience the city before you dedicate yourself to this film. When you were in your early twenties, Seattle was where hipsters came to thrive. According to the first man bun you’ve seen in years, that still reigns true to this day.
You walk hand in hand with your wife, who is practically bouncing with excitement at the thought of going to the aquarium. Her love for the aquatics came from one of her old relationships. She never quite said who this person was or what caused their relationship to end, but she assured you that it was over. It has been over for quite some time, but the ghost of a relationship never leaves. It presents itself in different ways: through music, art, literature, or sea otters.
The distinct scent of freshly baked pastries travels through the air and fills your nostrils. You can make out the citrusy smell of a lemon meringue pie and the sweetness of brownies. You round the corner and come across a cute little bakery with hardly any business. The walls are pink and inviting, so you step in.
The woman behind the counter offers you a smile as sweet as the pastries on display. You smile back and zero in on a platter of jam-filled puff pastry. It’s something simple and light, perfect for the current sunny weather.
You get two puff pastries for yourself and a dark chocolate brownie for Abby. As she got older and the superhero franchise she was in ended, the demand for Abby to keep up her physique lessened. While she still enjoyed lifting weights and being active, her diet was less strict. Her weekly meal prep stopped, and she joined you in cooking your fun and somehow edible meals.
The lady bags up your sweets that were a monumental $35 and wishes the two of you a good day. You take Abby’s hand once again and drag her out onto the small patio outside the bakery.
You take one of the jam-filled puff pastries out of the bag and bite into it. As soon as it hits your mouth, you know exactly why it was so expensive. It practically melts into your mouth.
“Try this,” you say as you hold up the puff pastry to Abby's mouth. Her lips close around your fingers, and she eats the rest of the jam-filled puff pastry.
Her actions leave you stunned. There’s a heartbeat somewhere other than your chest. Before now, you haven’t realized just how long you’ve gone without sex. You’ve dedicated yourself to this film so much that you breezed through pre-production without so much as a thought of an orgasm, but now, neediness is building up inside of you. While Abby’s actions were innocent enough, your thoughts aren’t.
Your eyes flicker to your wife sitting right across from you. She watches people whizz past as she munches on her brownie. All of a sudden, it seems as if the world is in slow motion. Abby licks and bites at the piece of chocolate heaven in her hands. It’s unintentionally provocative. Intoxicating, even. You start to wonder if this unassuming little bakery in downtown Seattle is actually one that sells aphrodisiacs in the form of jelly-filled puffy pastries.
“Are you ready to go?” Abby asks over her shoulder. She had finished her brownie a few minutes ago, but let you continue to stare at her as if she were a piece of meat. She quite liked the way you stared at her. Your heavy gaze made her feel warm inside. It was a reminder that you not only loved her but also desired her.
It was now Abby’s turn to drag you along the streets of Seattle. Even with the busy foot traffic, no one had noticed the two of you. People had their eyes glued to their screens and headphones covering their ears. They were essentially dead to the world around them, which served you both some good.
The Seattle Aquarium wasn’t as busy as you anticipated. It was the middle of August on a Tuesday, so of course, children would be in school and their parents would be at work. It was practically a ghost town. Nearly every exhibit you and Abby walked through was empty, save for the one or two people leisurely walking around.
Schools of striped fish dance around their tank as you pretend to read the sign in front of you. You’re trying really hard to control your mind and your body, but Abby had just decided to take her hair down. She claimed that it was because her head hurt from it being in a braid all day, but you knew it was because she wanted to get under your skin. The hair falling in perfect waves down the slope of her neck and resting at the top of her back does nothing to ease the burning sensation inside of you. Your hand involuntarily squeezes hers a bit tighter, trying to keep yourself from running your fingers through it.
She’s your wife. It’s okay for you to feel this way, you tell yourself. Still, you’re in public, where anyone can walk in at any given moment. You need to control yourself.
You let go of Abby’s hand and walk to the next exhibit to clear your head. It’s a gigantic underwater dome, completely submerging you under its aqua glow. You have seen this exact dome in hundreds of pictures online, but it’s even better in person. Fish happily swim around you while healthy coral and seaweed move in tandem. Just watching them exist in their own watery world is calming. You nearly curse yourself for equating this experience to being childish. There is nothing childish about lusting after your hot wife so much that you have to hide away in a dome just to calm yourself down.
The sound of Abby’s footsteps could be heard coming down the hall and into the dome.
“There you are,” she says. “I could have sworn one moment you were holding my hand and the next you were gone.”
She throws her arm over your shoulder as you take a deep breath in through your nose, inhaling her scent. Clean, fresh, and citrusy with a hint of pine. It’s so outdoorsy that if you didn’t know she was an actress, you would have thought that she was a lumberjack.
Fuck , now you’re thinking about Abby in nothing but a sports bra and a flannel, chopping wood. Muscles rippling under soft fabric and tartan sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she swings an axe, butchering the wood in front of her.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go get food,” you say. Hopefully, a full stomach would ease the burning desire inside of you. You were starved in more ways than one.
You don’t quite know how long the two of you spent in the aquarium, but it must have been quite some time. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the city in a soft orange hue. Pier 57’s iconic Ferris wheel glows in the sunset. The pink lights blur as it continues to go round and round.
You drag Abby to the seafood restaurant on the pier. It's unlike something the two of you would usually eat at. It’s messy and greasy, but the best part of exploring a new city is trying new things.
Unfortunately for the new city, both you and your wife are picky eaters. Abby orders shrimp tacos, a close second to her favorite food ever, burritos. You, on the other hand, stick to something classic. A ceaser salad would satisfy your cravings and was cold enough to put out the fire raging inside of you. It had only grown hotter when Abby pulled out the chair for you to sit down, ever the gentlewoman.
You wonder what you did in order to be able to call a woman as brilliant as Abby your wife. You were a total mess after everything with Ellie. Crying and throwing up after your ex nearly killed herself wasn't sexy. You felt like everything was all your fault. That Ellie's drinking and partying were because of the countless fights the two of you had, but Abby was always there to pick up your broken pieces. She reassured you that nothing was ever your fault. She had been there the moment you landed in LA, and she continues to be there for you.
You take a bite of your salad and close your eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the housemade croutons. You imagine the chef in the kitchen cooking up your salad. Expert hands chop and toss the lettuce, chicken, and croutons into a bowl. They squeeze lemon and drizzle the dressing. Every move is calculated and precise, like they’re being evaluated for a culinary school final.
Your mind wanders to what the chef might look like. You can make out her blue eyes and the freckles adorning her tan body. She’s in nothing but an apron, and her hair is down, which is a health hazard, but in your fantasies, your wife can do whatever she wants.
You open your eyes and set your fork down, too full to finish another bite.
“You’re done already?” Abby asks. “We just got our food. You only took one bite.”
“I’m not hungry,” You shrug.
“You’re the one who said she was hungry.” She sets her taco down on her almost-empty plate. She reaches over the table and takes your hand in hers. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Tell me what’s wrong.”
You love Abby so much. She is such a loving, caring, and attentive partner. While here you are, acting standoffish because you’re horny. At 34 years old, you’re still as awkward as you were when you were 20.
You take a sip of your water, the condensation around the glass making your hands wet. Everything around you is taunting you, mocking you because you refuse to say three simple words. The devil on your shoulder is whispering into your ear, urging you to spill your guts. The angel is nowhere to be found, so you take the advice of the horned demon.
“I need you.”
Abby’s furrowed brows drop as she nods her head in understanding. “Let’s go.”
You both reach for your cards to pay for the meal, but she shoots you a look, and you retreat. She never lets you pay, claiming that since she’s older, it’s her duty to provide for the youth. If she still considers you “youth” at 34 years old, then you’d let her pay for anything.
When she's determined to do something, Abby’s strides are long. She weaves through crowds of people with your hand in hers. The determined look on her face never wavers, feeding the desire coursing through you.
A few blocks away from the penthouse, she takes you in her arms, effortlessly carrying you. You laugh and throw your head back, your eyes making contact with the stars. They sparkle in the night sky, as if they’re winking at the two of you.
In the elevator, she doesn’t put you down. You endure the ride in her strong arms, preparing yourself for the night ahead. You pass each floor, slowly climbing up to the top floor. Five, six, seven, thirteen, eighteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty-two, and finally the magic number. Thirty-seven.
It’s dark inside, the only light coming from the buildings around you. Abby treks up the stairs to your new bedroom and drops you onto the bed. You barely have time to admire the plushness of your new mattress before Abby cradles your face. Her hair flows like water over her shoulder as she asks if this is what you want.
“Yes,” you say in a breathless whisper.
You’ve wanted this for minutes, hours, days, months. Your body feels like it’s close to finding its missing puzzle piece. If only she’d just- Her lips brush against yours, teasing you. This was her favorite game. Get you so worked up that you’d come undone in seconds. No matter how hard you tried to beat it, you always lost, but it was the one game you were okay with losing.
She gives in to her own desire, and her lips meet yours. The kiss is as soft as she is. Slow and steady, like she’s trying to study every ridge on your lips. Her tongue licks a stripe along the expanse of your lips, and you take the hint, your tongues meeting like they’re old lovers reunited for the first time in years.
Abby’s hands knead the flesh of your hips as she claims your lips. Your own hands find themselves entwined in her hair, and you do something you’ve wanted to do all day. You pull her hair, causing her to moan out in surprise. She might have been the one in charge, but you knew just how to push her buttons.
She liked it, and the look in her eyes makes your claim evident. She pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, the bottom part of your body supported by her two strong hands. She takes your pants off slowly, trying to drag this out as long as she possibly can. Your heart's racing as if you have just run a mile instead of tongue wrestling with your wife. Your entire body is sensitive, each nerve alert and attentive.
Your pants are flung across the room, hitting the floor with a soft thud. It’s completely silent, save for the sound of your heaving breathing. You and Abby stare at each other with looks of pure lust. You’re lying in front of her, pants off and cunt glistening. It wasn’t a lie when you said you needed her. You had been ready since the moment you stepped off the plane.
She kneels in front of you and throws your legs over her shoulders. She rubs her nose along your mound in a teasing act and places a small kiss on your thigh. To add insult to injury, she winks while you're practically dripping for her. You teasingly kick her back, urging her to give you exactly what you need.
She licks a fat stripe along your sensitive clit, shutting down every thought of misbehavior running through your head. Her thick fingers prod at your entrance, slowly stretching you out. You welcome her in with ease as she sucks, licks, and fucks you. This feeling is euphoric, like you’re high on the love drug. There’s nothing quite as freeing as having a woman eat you out after months of being devoted to your art.
Abby’s fingers tease your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. She’s building up your orgasm, and she’s doing a fine job. The slow and deliberate circles get tighter and faster, trying to coax you towards release. Her other hand resumes where the other left off, fucking her fingers into you. You moan at the sensation of both of her hands working you.
You’re on the tip of your release. You’re so close, you’re sure you’re going to explode. The tingling sensation deep within your body spreads all over. Abby’s mouth finds its way back to your clit, sucking on it like her life depended on it. Her eyes meet yours, and the sight of her on her knees fucking you with her tongue is so erotic. Your body convulses, and before you know it, you’re riding the waves of your orgasm. Abby coaxes you through it, ensuring that she milks every drop from you.
“How was that?” she asks, a smug smile teasing her lips. The moon casts down a soft glow, lighting her like she’s an angel sent from the heavens to fuck you.
“It was okay,” you shrug.
She playfully pushes your shoulder, and the two of you share a laugh.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too."
Divider by @graphicsbymouse
Tag list: @elliespotion @reneesub @elliespookie @cloudy-fay
Summary: Ellie Williams, a former actress turned maid, is tired of wasting her talents scrubbing floors of mansions in the Hollywood Hills. She knows she is destined for greatness, but she just needs to be given another chance.
Abby Anderson, Hollywoods most in demand actress with several accolades under her belt has a duty to fulfill. She must remain at the top.
Two former best friends cross paths to fight for a role both of them need, but as their rivalry becomes even more cutthroat, there is something that remains constant: their love for you.
Basically Challengers but Ellabs Hollywood AU
Previous Chapter
THERE was always a first time for everything. There was the first time you tied your shoe, the first time you traveled to a new country, and the first time you lied. Having a first time is always a diverse experience. What an immense privilege to be in a position where you can keep experiencing things for the first time.
Today is your first day on set. All the build-up and preparation, the fittings, rehearsals, and makeup trials were all leading up to today. You would finally get to experience the world of entertainment that you spent so many years dreaming about.
The ride to the studio was about as long and monotonous as it was last time. The same old patrons came and went as you stared out into the abyss of darkness that is the underground subway system. Through the glass, you could see your reflection. The person who stared back at you was someone you didn’t recognize. She was content and finally happy with how things were going in life.
Up until this moment, stress consumed you. The worry lines beginning to etch on your face were almost a dead giveaway. The same insecure thoughts swam around in your mind. What if you aren't good enough? What if you get on set and they replace you with someone more talented? What if everyone hates you?
You had to remind yourself that you are here for a reason. They picked you because they loved you. What you brought to the character was fresh and creative. They saw something within you that no one else had.
You exit the train car and walk up the hundreds of stairs leading outside the station. The fresh Universal City air and the distant screams of pleasure from the amusement park nearby greet you. You trek to the studio entrance, only a few feet away. The kind security guard from last time smiles at you as you walk by.
As soon as you enter the studio, a man driving a golf cart pulls up next to you. He introduces himself as the first assistant director while he navigates the narrow roads of the lot. He’s sort of handsome if you squint your eyes, but you guess that the name Owen suits him.
Owen drops you off in front of the hair and makeup trailer and then speeds off, nearly hitting a girl carrying a pretty heavy prop.
Inside the trailer, women and men fuss over actors, trying to get the perfect winged liner and the best up-do. You take a deep breath in and out before you sit in the chair. There’s no need to be nervous , you tell yourself. They’ve done this look on you a hundred times.
And truly, there was no need to fret. You looked just like the girls in the magazines with their perfectly coiffed hair and the makeup to match . Your character was supposed to be the girl everyone wanted to be. She was bright and naturally beautiful. She spoke her mind, but understood that she wasn’t always in the right. Like Rory Gilmore but better.
You’re escorted to your trailer by a shy and mousy little PA who never gave you her name. Finally, after being surrounded by so many people all morning, you finally get some time to yourself. You dip into the snack basket sitting on one of the counters and lounge on the couch.
You really can’t believe that you’re here. Your mother always said you would make it in Hollywood, mostly because she wanted to live vicariously through you, but still. Her positive words of encouragement did little to sway you, though. Growing up with a mother who valued looks wrecked your self esteem . It made you feel weak and less than. Like any other person could swoop in at any moment and take everything you’ve worked hard for. It’s not a foreign concept in the city of angels. Once a bombshell turns 30, a new one comes onto the scene and claims the top spot.
Being a woman is exhausting.
Your costume is hanging nicely on a hanger in the closet. The final season of Eternal Summer takes place in the fall. Despite being 99 degrees outside, your costume consists of blue jeans, a brown top, and a beautiful Penny Lane coat. They have you wearing a pair of Converse shoes that look very well-loved.
You observe yourself in the mirror, but unlike in the subway car glass, you don’t recognize the person staring back at you. The person staring back at you is named Alana Grace. She attends Wellmount University. She’s president of the debate team , and she is incredibly in love with her girlfriend, Summer, who so happens to be played by Ellie Williams.
That night in Hollywood keeps replaying in your head. Abby and Ellie may have been the ones to knock you down, but they also helped you back up.
You hadn’t exchanged a single word in all the times you’ve seen them. When you were getting a tour around the studio and they just so happened to be riding together in a golf cart, or when you three were scheduled to have a wardrobe fitting at the same time . It’s not that you don’t want to talk to them; you do, but they’re just so intimidating. They’ve been all over the news as the it duo of 2012. They’re practically inseparable, and to comein between that would be pretty difficult .
The shy PA from earlier knocks on your trailer door and escorts you to the set. The ginormous sound stage has been transformed into a simple college classroom. The set designers and decorators did a fantastic job, as it looks and feels like you’re in a liberal arts college classroom. It gives off the illusion that if you sit at one of the desks and look outside the window, you’ll see the leaves turning orange and brown as they glide in the midwestern air.
You scan your surrounding areas, coming across hundreds of different faces. These people are the real stars of the show. Without them, there would be no sound, or lighting, or artistic camera work. The entertainment industry relies on the backs of the people whose names are usually at the bottom of the credits.
The sound of shared laughter trails in from behind you. The laughs are melodic. Like they’re playing a flute and an ocarina at the same time. You don’t have to turn around because you already know who those laughs belong to.
Abby and Ellie walk in like they own the place, but their demeanor isn’t arrogant. It’s friendly and welcoming. They take their places, and the director motions for you to join them.
The walk to your mark feels grueling even though it's three tiny steps away. Your heart is racing as you realize that this is it. This is your chance to show everyone that you are ready to become their new Alana Grace.
THE scene didn’t go well. While you were a good enough actress, the chemistry wasn’t there. To be fair, you hadn’t known Ellie or Abby very long.You had heard about them, but you didn’t know them.
The director demanded that you get to know each other better. When you were dismissed , you walked back to your trailer with your tail between your legs. You knew you could do better. If you still wanted this job, you would have to pull your act together. Not everyone gets a second chance, and you’re lucky that they didn’t recast you right on the spot.
There’s a knock on your door, and you open it, expecting to see the PA from earlier, but she’s not there. Instead, there are the all too familiar faces of your co-stars.
“Were Abby and Ellie, ” they said at the same time.
You smile and roll your eyes playfully, “I know who you are. All of America knows who you are.”
“Do they really know who we are?” Abby asks.
That makes you pause. The entire reason why the scene didn’t work today was because you barely knew them . You knew of them, but you didn’t know the real them.
“You must hate that, people thinking they know everything about you.”
Ellie shrugs, “It’s something you get used to.”
There’s something about their demeanor that reels you in. Their nonchalance presents them as the cool girls everyone thinks they know. You want to learn more. No, need to learn more, not for the benefit of a magazine or an online blog, but for your knowledge. To know what it’s like to be genuinely authentic.
“Since James thinks we don’t have enough chemistry yet, we considered inviting you to the Jungle tonight. You in?”
You gulp to ease the dryness in your throat. You have just been invited to the hottest nightclub in Hollywood by two of the hottest women you have seen in your life . You try your best to hide your excitement, but you fail. All of your teeth shine as you smile and accept the invite. Then, suddenly, reality hits you, and your smile falters.
“I can’t go. I’m only 20.”
Abby and Ellie give each other a look and then burst out laughing.
“You don’t need to worry about an ID when you’re with us,” Ellie said.
Something about this seems dangerous, but not the kind that might end in someone losing their life. The type of danger that turns people on. The rush of adrenaline from doing something others might deem bad, dangerous.
At home, settling on an outfit was easy. You knew just about everyone would wear a peplum top and a pencil skirt. You wanted to be different from all the rest of the women in attendance, so you went with your mint green bandage dress and your favorite pair of black high-heeled pumps. Tonight was your first night clubbing in Hollywood, so you had to look your best.
You meet Abby and Ellie at the Jungle, which is thankfully down the street from your apartment. Music is pouring into the streets as you walk to the front of the line. The line in question is filled with people shoulder to shoulder as it wraps around the corner. People shout at you for cutting, but Abby and Ellie explicitly told you to go to the front of the line. One look at you, and the bouncer lets you in.
Inside the club is entirely different than what you expected. It looks as if Rainforest Cafe and Studio 54 had a young, hip baby. There were flashing lights, vines hanging from the ceiling, and various animal animatronics moving their robotic limbs. It all felt surreal that you were invited to a club at 20 years of age by your two co-stars.
Abby and Ellie spot you idling by the entrance and call you over. You barely manage to hear them over the music pumping in your veins. There are a few others huddled into the booth with the three of you, but you pay them no mind. Your focus is on the fact that you are sandwiched in between the two of them. Their bodies are warm, but that does nothing to ease the goosebumps prickling at your skin. The sensation of being this close to the two of them ignites something in you. It’s akin to the feeling you first felt when watching The Pirate : desire.
Ellie offers you a drink. You take the glass and inspect the clear contents. You give it a sniff and deduce that it’s tequila.
“You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” Abby whispers into your ear .
You turn to her, and in the blink of an eye, take back the shot and swallow like it was nothing. This isn’t your first time around alcohol. Just because you were wary about being in a club underage doesn’t mean that you’re a total virgin. You’ve been to the parties in suburban homes with the alcohol and the drugs.
“I stand corrected.”
Ellie, on the other hand, has probably had her fourth shot of the night in the span of twenty minutes. You have never seen someone as small as her have such a high alcohol tolerance.
“Here, have another,” Ellie hands you another shot, and another after that.
Soon enough, you feel yourself float to the dance floor with two people in hand. You don’t quite know who those two people are, but they are nice enough to play along. Your body moves to the music. Your heart beats with the bass of the speaker. You feel alive and free, like a bird flying over a beautiful landscape. Something about this feels natural. Being drunk out of your mind, dancing with strangers. Are they strangers or do you know them? You don’t know. Everything right now is a blur.
One hour blends into two; before you know it, it’s one in the morning. The bartender announces last call for drinks, and while you’re walking to the bar, two hands snake around your arms and pull you back.
A distant voice tells you, “You’ve had way too much tonight.” While another says, “Let’s get you home.”
The alcohol still hasn’t worn off after hours of dancing. You still feel light and airy, like a fairy gliding in the wind.
Abby and Ellie guide you back to your apartment. They take your keys from your purse and unlock the door. They take a second to marvel at the beauty of your home before depositing you on your couch.
The movement is fast and unexpected. You bring both of them in for a hug and kiss them on the lips. They break away fast and look at each other, perplexed. You’re drunk out of your mind right now, and you just kissed them. It doesn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t mean anything.
They leave your belongings on your coffee table and rush out of your home. The taxi back home is silent as they try to forget the feel of your lips on their own.
Divider by @graphicsbymouse
Tag list: @elliespotion @reneesub @elliespookie @cloudy-fay
Author's note: genuine question, do you guys loose interest since I update kind of slow?
i think i’m going to update callback every three weeks. i’m sorry it’s not more often, but this is just the schedule that works best for me. especially since i am going back to uni next wednesday. thank you so much to all my readers!
Summary: Ellie Williams, a former actress turned maid, is tired of wasting her talents scrubbing floors of mansions in the Hollywood Hills. She knows she is destined for greatness, but she just needs to be given another chance.
Abby Anderson, Hollywoods most in demand actress with several accolades under her belt has a duty to fulfill. She must remain at the top.
Two former best friends cross paths to fight for a role both of them need, but as their rivalry becomes even more cutthroat, there is something that remains constant: their love for you.
Basically Challengers but Ellabs Hollywood AU
Previous Chapter
ABBY was nervous. No, nervous was an understatement. She was freaking the fuck out. Her blonde hair, which is usually in its signature Dutch braid, now falls loosely, framing the remarkably gorgeous face that you’ve come to know and love.
You’ve tried calming her down, but the sound of your tired voice does nothing to coax her to sleep. Not only do you need to rest your mind for what tomorrow has in store, but so does Abby.
Abby Anderson is a household name. She was one of the stars of the TV show that shaped an entire generation. That TV show then catapulted her into a highly respected career in film. She starred in over 30 films at just 35 years of age. After Eternal Summer , she never had to audition once, but of course, she had to audition for the lead role in her wife's directorial debut film.
“Everyone has to audition. It wouldn’t be fair if I just gave you the part because you’re my fiancée,” you had told her over lunch a few months ago. That was before you were legally married, so now that you two are officially bound together by the rings on your fingers, it would be even more of a scandal.
“People do it all the time. Leslie Mann is in basically every Judd Apatow film.”
“This is different, Abs.”
You fought for this moment for basically your entire career. Your mother tied your worth to the features on your face, the way your hair looked after hours of grooming it, and how clothes fit your frame. Casting directors and studio executives loved putting you into any and every position just to sell a few DVDs or magazines. In front of the camera, you had no real creative pull. The most input you had was what color your character wore on Sundays.
The work was monotonous, uninspiring. The right side of your brain wasn’t stimulated enough from following simple directions. Five-year-old you was right, pretending to be someone you’re not was horrible. Maybe if the higher-ups had given you even an ounce of creative freedom, you might have fallen in love with acting again, but after a few months in Los Angeles, your rose colored glasses were off, broken on the piss stained streets of the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
When they weren’t filming your scenes, you’d stay on set in the shadows of the sound stage. Hundreds of crew members ushered props, costumes, and equipment around while make-up artists did little touch-ups on the actors. Acting might not have been your one true calling, but being in this environment was. And when the commotion stopped, the boom mic went up, and the lights shone bright onto the fresh faces of the people in front of the camera, you knew you were in for a treat.
If a film set were a circus, the actors would obviously be the performers, but the ring leader, on the other hand, wouldn’t be the billionaire studio executives or the producers funneling money into the project. The director, the person specifically hired for their creative vision and talent, would be the one running the entire show. The way they envision the production would be at the forefront of everyone's mind. They had a say in almost every aspect of a project's conception. People did their best work at the sound of their voice. That kind of power, in the hands of someone like you, someone fresh and inspired, could mean the difference between truly meaningful work and slop created for nostalgia geeks. When you finally came clean to the director that you were interested in directing, you were shut down.
He laughed in your face, his hideous silver tooth on display as he said five words that would never leave your mind: “This is a man’s job.”
As that sentence came to a close, the pang in your heart was nothing like you’ve ever felt. It felt as if someone had ripped through your flesh and bones and grasped their big, meaty hand around your heart. They squeezed and squeezed until the muscle that kept you alive burst into a million tiny, bloody pieces on the sound stage floor.
One of the only things your father taught you was to never let others see you cry. Once someone knew just how to push your buttons, they became a liability. Your tears would be used against you. So, you did what any other person would do in that situation. You turned on your heel and went to your trailer to let it all out.
“A man’s job,” my ass. After the last tear slid down your cheek, the initial sadness you felt was replaced with rage. It was 2012, the year of “Gangnam Style” and peplum tops. Women were more than capable of becoming directors.
You continued to act like the good little girl you were. You rehearsed your lines and regurgitated them for the camera. You attended parties and social events, keeping up the act of the former Manhattanite turned Los Angeles party girl, but in between scenes, you’d scribble down notes on words you didn’t understand and would look them up in a dictionary. You’d watch as the director interpreted his creative vision into words. He was good, but you knew you’d be better.
Every project after Eternal Summer, you learned something new. This voracious desire to direct consumed you. You spent hours watching films, dissecting the creative choices the directors took. Once you had some pull within the industry, you only accepted projects that had a strong female presence. On those sets, you weren’t just another pretty face. You had substance and a voice that needed to be heard.
All those obstacles that you faced led you to where you stand, directing your first feature film. You didn’t just want to direct a movie. You wanted the project that you chose to be relevant to the current climate. The script needed to move you, to make your skin prick with goosebumps with how clever it was. That’s why you chose Moonlight Ridge. The film follows a recently divorced woman who moves to Seattle and falls in love with her boss. It’s romantic, angsty, and incredibly lesbian, which happened to be exactly what you were in search of.
Abby finally gets into bed, her body finding your own in the darkness. Her soft hand trails up and down the exposed skin of your arm. The feel of it is comforting; the soft organ brings her down to earth.
She’s Abby Anderson, she’d nail any audition blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back. She didn’t need her wife to book a project. She could do this. She could do this. She could do this, and before she knew it, she drifted off into a restful sleep.
BEING behind the table at an open casting call was not what you were expecting. You were expecting the chaos on the outside to bleed into the room, but so far, everything was running smoothly. You had been in here since six in the morning, running off the coffee made with your Nespresso machine Abby insisted on buying.
Your PA, Dina, who was the sweetest thing to walk this earth, ushered in actors and actresses one right after the other. She had been here since five, making sure that everything was in order. You would offer to buy her a coffee, but she hated black, and everything else wasn’t kosher.
Sitting at the table and observing the array of talent laid out in front of you made you feel proud. You had to stop yourself from smiling as people laid out their hearts and souls to you. The stars in their eyes and big dreams in their hearts. Hollywood had come a long way from dismissing an actress if she wasn’t fuckable enough to including every actor regardless of race, disability, sexuality, or looks. If you had the talent, you were in.
The door opens like it would for any other person, and your wife's familiar frame nearly dwarfs everyone in the small 8x8 room. She slates, and the way she says her now hyphenated last name makes a shiver run down your spine. She was your wife. She now bore your last name and you, hers. The natural swagger she possesses fills the room, making everyone sit up straighter. Their bodies lean forward instinctively, ready to witness whatever the actress in front of them has to offer.
Abby is a masterclass in acting. She’s graceful yet pointed in the way she delivers her lines. Chemistry connects her to any person she comes across, which doesn't intimidate you. She’s an attractive woman, but you know she only has eyes for you.
Her eyes flick between each person sitting at the table as she delivers the last emotional monologue. It’s electric the way her words slip out like she wasn’t just shitting bricks the night before. When she’s done, you clap like you do for everyone, but the grin you have on your face has been reserved for her.
Dina comes in and ushers Abby out of the room, leaving you, the casting director, and one of the executive producers alone to talk.
“I think she was phenomenal.”
“Of course you do. She’s your wife,” the producer scoffs.
“I have to agree. It’s a well-known fact that Abby hasn’t had to audition in years. The performance she gave today was unlike anything I’ve seen in her previous work,” the casting director says. You had come to learn that when her arms were crossed, she meant business.
And she was right. The performance Abby had given couldn’t compare to what the public had already seen. She wasn’t Jo in the Little Women remake or Red Rover in the five superhero movies she had done after Eternal Summer. It’s like she had transformed into Donna Check, a recent divorcé having a homosexual crisis in her mid-30s. It’s as if she knew she had to step up her game if she even wanted a chance to be in this film. Your wife had done something unexpected and completely nailed it.
Dina knocks on the door, signaling that another actor is ready to perform. Once we give her the okay, she opens the door, and you nearly choke on your water. Ellie Williams was standing in front of you for the first time in thirteen years. She’s skinnier than the last time you saw her. She had always been naturally skinny, but this just looked unhealthy. Your heart clenched, and then that familiar feeling in your stomach started to bubble up.
You spent Ellie’s entire audition just staring at her, static filling your ears as she spoke. You can’t make out a word she says or distinguish between the cup full of pens and your water bottle. You don’t even know her audition is over until thunderous applause breaks through the static. Your shaky hands come up to clap, but you feel miles away from your body. Like you’re floating in space while some foreign alien takes control of your physical form.
The door closes with a bang, leaving the three of you to discuss.
“I think she was great. Imagine Ellie Williams making a comeback in our film. The tickets we’d sell,” the producer trails off as he looks into the abyss. Of course, he’s going to get hard at the thought of how much money they’d make.
“I have to agree. I think she’d be great as Stevie.”
“No!”
Stevie Grant was Donna’s boss. The woman she’d ultimately come to love. The actresses who played Donna and Stevie needed to be intimate. Their chemistry needed to be hotter than the sun. If Abby were to play Donna, and Ellie were to play Stevie, the entire city of Seattle would no longer be a metropolis. It would quite literally be the deepest pit of hell.
“Ellie can’t be Stevie,” you said. Your voice was sharp despite the fact that your entire body was shaking.
“She can. We just saw it.” The casting director crosses her arms.
Fuck.
“That woman has dollar signs written all over her.”
Fuck!
“I need a break.”
You rush out of the room, ignoring the protests of the producer and casting director, and find yourself in an empty parking lot in the studio. You think this is where they might have filmed a scene in MaXXXine , but that’s neither here nor there.
You take a deep breath in, hold it for two seconds, and let it out. Your therapist had recommended that you exercise whenever you felt like disappearing forever. She’d said that it calmed down the enzymes that spiked anxiety. To accompany it, she had recommended that you close your eyes and go through the movements.
You close your eyes, your long lashes tickling the top of your cheeks, and go through the movements. In for four…hold for two… suddenly, memories flash through your mind. The way Ellie held you after your first time together, her soft, tender kisses on your cheek after a job well done. The way she acted when you found her passed out on the floor after having one too many drinks. She had nearly died from alcohol poisoning, and she blamed you for it. You remember her shouts. How she nearly busted her voice from how loud she was.
Abby was the one who found you crying in the waiting room of the hospital. She took you home and just held you as you let it all out. That night was the night you had truly lost Ellie, not to the ether, but spiritually. The woman you knew who loved comic books and collecting trading cards had been lost to the high of partying in mansions so high above Los Angeles that they could have been on Mount Olympus.
Now, she was back and looking even worse somehow. Even though the hurt she caused broke you beyond repair, you couldn’t help but worry. Was she eating enough? Was she getting enough sleep? When was the last time she bought pants that actually fit her? All these thoughts and questions swarmed your head. What if she needed this job and you were withholding it from her because of some feud 13 years ago?
Up until today, you had almost forgotten all about Ellie. You had your wonderful Abby. She is vibrant, charismatic, and charming. The flower that bloomed after the thunderstorm. You loved her. You really did, but now this feeling of dread fills your heart. Abby was perfect for Donna, and according to the casting director and the executive producer, Ellie was their number one choice for Stevie.
Ellie and Abby hadn’t so much as bumped shoulders while walking down the street in the past 13 years. The night at the hospital, Abby swore she’d never let Ellie hurt you ever again. The way she whispered it into your ear filled you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. When Abby promises something, she sees it through.
“What are you doing out here?” Abby asks. The sudden sound of her voice doesn’t make you jump. In fact, you find the deep rumble that her vocal chords make to be quite refreshing in your time of need.
“Needed some fresh air.”
Abby comes up behind you and wraps her strong arms around your shoulders. You feel her chin settle onto the top of your head. You melted into her embrace, letting your bodies become one under the California sun.
“You saw her, too, huh?”
Your heart drops as you break away from her embrace. The seconds of solace you felt have moved on, and in their place is an overwhelming sense of dread. Your wife had been faced with a ghost of the past all alone.
“How’d you-”
Abby cuts you off, "I was waiting for you to get off so that we could go home together, and then I saw her walking out of the audition room. I haven’t seen you this shell-shocked since that night in the hospital.”
“Abs, they were considering her for Stevie. They weren’t listening to me! You two can’t work together again,” you said.
“Work together? Does that mean I got the part?” she smirks, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.
“That’s not important right now. What’s important is that if you’re Donna and she’s Stevie, the two of you are going to have to pretend to be in love. Can you pretend to love someone like her?”
“It’s called acting for a reason, honey.”
She was right. The reason why you hated acting was the reason why Abby loved it. Pretending to be someone she was not gave her the chance to try on different skins. To let her experience tiny pockets of the world in other people's shoes. It gave her experiences she wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere. Acting is what led her to you. If she weren’t acting, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.
If the others were seriously considering Ellie for a role, she couldn’t let you be on that set in a completely different city by yourself. Even if she didn’t get Donna, she’d still drop everything to follow you to Seattle. She made a promise to you all those years ago. She’d keep you safe. She would protect you, and if you got hurt again, God help the person who messed with you.
Divider by @graphicsbymouse
Tag list: @elliespotion @reneesub @elliespookie
Author's note: So sorry this took so long to get out.
i just wanted to let you all know that i am still writing the third chapter of Callback, but i work 12 hour shifts most days so i’m trying to find little pockets of time to jot down a few words. i should hopefully have it out by the end of this week.
Summary: Ellie Williams, former actress turned maid is tired of wasting her talents scrubbing floors of mansions in the Hollywood Hills. She knows she destined for greatness, but she just needs to be given another chance.
Abby Anderson, Hollywoods most in demand actress with several accolades under her belt has a duty to fulfill. She must remain at the top.
Two former best friends cross paths to fight for a role both of them need, but as their rivalry becomes even more cut throat, there is something that remains constant: their love for you.
Basically, Challengers but Ellabs Hollywood AU
Previous Chapter.
LOS Angeles was not kind to those who were different. You learned that the first night alone in the city of angels. Your big puffer jacket did shield you from the cold back home, but in Southern California, it just made you look stupid. The coldest it got at night was a breezy 59 degrees. Women wore small cardigans and running shorts while men sported thin t-shirts that showed off their impossibly chiseled physiques. People on the sidewalk glanced at you, enveloped in the big blue puff, their expression anything but warm.
You gave the jacket to a homeless woman who was only clad in a small tank top. She needed it more than you did after all, but as you were browsing the H&M on 7th and Fig, you felt a pang in the bottom of your stomach. That puffer jacket might have been one of the last things tethering you back to Manhattan. Sure, you still owned the clothes you wore in the crowded streets and dirty subways, but that puffer represented New York. The eyesore of a color that was turquoise paralleled the bright lights of Times Square. The uniqueness of it in a city that strives to have everyone blend in was the principle of New York. Nobody gave a fuck if you wore a thong and sat your bare ass on the subway seats because there would always be someone crazier, but in LA, you were the crazy person.
Your parents weren’t impossibly rich, but you grew up comfortable. A brownstone in the Upper West Side, summer vacations in the Hamptons, and the occasional lunch with a Hollywood producer. During a five-year period that she likes to recount fondly, your mother was a model, the picture of beauty and grace. She had many lovers, but none that stuck, until your father. He was poorer than the rest, but was still wealthy compared to the general population. A year later, they were married, and two months after that, they had you.
During that period, your mother connected with some of the most influential people in the entertainment industry. It was inevitable; she was a beautiful young woman addicted to glitz and glamour. She saw a little bit behind the curtain, but not enough to alarm her. She was coked out of her mind half of the time, blinded by the disco balls and lasers bouncing off the walls of dingy New York nightclubs. Even after she had retired, she still held onto the phone numbers of those she deemed important. She brought you around them, exposing you to the industry at a very early age. Film producers and casting agents pinching your chubby little cheeks as your past self had absolutely zero clue just how powerful those fingers were.
Acting never really interested you. The thought of regurgitating someone else’s words while pretending to be someone you’re not made you feel sick. Not flu levels of sickness, but maybe a minor stomach bug. You wanted to be an astronaut, soaring above the Earth in a ship built on the backs of some of the world's smartest men and women. The stars would be within your reach, the sun just a few light years away. Golden hour would be taken to the next level.
Then, math got involved. The subject with useless letters and numbers was the vain of your existence. Hours spent crying over your homework because finding the sum of 3 plus 7 was too much for your five-year-old brain. Finding out that you would have to become a master in the art of math was like a stab to the heart. Everything you had ever dreamed of was turned into dust within seconds.
Your mother always said that you were too pretty for math. She always did see a little bit of herself in you. Having inherited everything from her: face, body, and a need for attention, she liked to live vicariously through you. Her days as a model were long over, having traded the runway in for a vacuum and countless PTA meetings.
You were too gangly and ungraceful for the runway. They would eat you alive, and your mother knew that. If not a model, then an actress would surely do.
You didn’t want to admit it to her at first, but the more you attended acting lessons, the more you fell in love with it. Movies used to be something your mother put on when she wanted to go outside and smoke a cigarette instead of eating lunch, but they soon turned into something useful. They gave you insight into what you should and shouldn’t do. Every single DVD in your house was scratched from how often you were watching them. The Pirate, starring Judy Garland and Gene Kelly, was among your favorites. There was something so inherently sexual in both of their performances that made your thirteen-year-old self sizzle with both intrigue and desire. Some might call it a bisexual awakening, but for you, it just felt natural. To be attracted to both men and women felt as if that was the way the world was supposed to work. You could choose either a phony pirate or a sassy dame, but why stop there? Why not have both?
Soon after The Pirate incident, you found yourself doing better and better with each acting lesson. Your joints loosened, and your speech was clearer. You were reciting each line and monologue with your own unique twist. It was as if you were born for this. To be among the stars in a completely different way than you once intended. Instead of soaring high above crowds, you’d be right below their feet, the pavement cementing your legacy for generations to come.
Fast forward to now, you’re 20 years old and in a completely different city and state than the one you grew up in. There are no bodega cats roaming around the little liquor store on the corner of the street. The people in the apartment next to you fight every night over who’s going to do the dishes, and the one thing connecting you back to your hometown is now in the possession of someone else.
The metro ride back to Hollywood from Downtown is long, and the music flowing from your iPod touch to your earbuds does little to calm your nerves. Your bottom lip has already been through enough, having almost chewed it raw with anxiety. You have your first-ever audition tomorrow at noon. You should be asleep right now, letting your mind rest so that in the morning, you’ll wake up rested and ready to ace the audition, but self-sabotage is your best friend.
You walk up the stairs of the subway station and into the darkness of the night. The Hollywood Walk of Fame is lit by the lights from the shops still open even this late into the night. Club goers and others still roam the streets, bumping alongside you as Lana Del Rey croons into your ears. You saw her perform live on SNL earlier in the year; her infamous performance was authentic in your opinion. Not everyone was able to be a great vocalist like Beyoncé, but Del Rey possessed the ability to artfully create songs that were perfect for any situation.
Two solid bodies bump into you, and you stumble backwards. You fall flat on your ass, a sharp pain traveling from your bottom to the top of your shoulders. You sit there awkwardly, letting the embarrassment settle into your system. You look up at the two figures standing regretfully above you. One of them, a bulky blonde, and the other, a skinny brunette, extend their hands and help you up off of the floor.
You barely have time to ask them their names before they bolt once more, leaving you standing there dazed and confused. Seconds later, paparazzi pass you, cameras in hand ready to get the perfect shot. You’ve never seen them in action before and you’re glad you haven’t. The determined glint in their eyes is anything but positive. It’s predatory and disgusting.
You dust yourself off and continue the walk back to your overpriced apartment. It’s right on this famous strip, giving you the perfect view of the traffic down below. For $2,000 a month you’d hoped for something a little bit more artsy, but at least you had a roof over your head. Not everyone had that same luxury.
Once back in the solace of your apartment, you cleanse yourself of the dirt from outside and collapse onto your bed, falling into a restless sleep. The image of the two women standing in front of you haunts your dreams. The memory of their calloused hands makes you clench your own, trying to replicate the same roughness.
THANKFULLY, you wake up the next morning two hours before you have to leave. Thanks to your mother, it doesn’t take long to get ready. She drilled you early on how to do your makeup in a way that accentuates your natural beauty. Your hair is a different story. It’s one of the only things you inherited from your father. Every morning, you have to wrestle with it and pray to whatever higher power is up there that you’ll have a good hair day.
You settle on an outfit your mother would approve of. Even at 20 years of age, you can’t get rid of the nagging voice in the back of your head. It has the same cadence as your mother, and you’re sure that if it were somehow able to magically take form in front of you, it would have your mother's long legs and her signature '50s pinup curls.
On the metro to your audition, you sit next to this lanky fellow with what seems like a penchant for creeping women out. Any other day, you would pay no mind to him, but today, your anxiety is through the roof. Your heart is racing, your knees are bouncing restlessly, and you really need to pee. Thankfully, your stop is the next one, and once the train does come to a stop, you bolt out of your seat and exit the musty train car.
There’s a big yellow barrier in front of all the escalators that makes you halt. Big black letters form the worst three words you’ve ever read in your life. “Out of Service,” glares back at your trembling exterior. Of course, this would happen to you. Out of all the days for the escalators to be out of order, they just had to stop working on one of the most important days of your life.
You take a deep breath in, count to ten, and take a deep breath out. If your therapist were here, he’d tell you that everything is going to be fine. That it’ll always work out in the end, but he’s never been a girl stuck in her own mind thinking of scenarios in which everything could go terribly wrong. Just like the one you were currently in.
You brace yourself to walk up the stairs. You’ve walked everywhere in New York, so a few stairs shouldn’t hurt, right? Wrong. You counted 467 steps until the subway station spat you out onto the street. Thankfully, the Universal lot was right across the street. The sweat already caked onto your skin couldn’t possibly get worse with simply crossing a street.
So, you crossed the street and talked to the lovely security guard posted at the gates. He must have been the nicest person you have met since you arrived in this city. He led you to the building you needed to go to, wishing you good luck.
The Universal lot was everything you’ve ever imagined. Golf carts whizzed past you, massive sound stages towered over you, and you’re pretty sure you saw Kristen Stewart come out of a trailer. In the distance, you could hear the pleasant and awed conversations as a studio tour tram drove by. On Broadway, the theater world felt accessible to its fans. Despite its grandeur, New York was a small city. You could wait outside the stage door and greet your favorite stage actor or run into them getting lunch after a matinee performance. Los Angeles, on the other hand, felt like an entire continent and each movie studio was its own little state. The gates kept the common people away from the stars.
The audition room was cold, making the dropplets dripping down your skin freeze in its tracks. Your skin was sticky with sweat and you’re sure your mascara is already starting to smudge. You look around the room, eyes meeting a dozen other hopeful actresses that all look the same. They’re beautiful. You have to be in this industry or else you get passed up for someone else the producer wants to fuck. The thought of being leered at by men who are in positions of higher power makes you shudder. There are so many problems with this industry, but thankfully as time goes on, it gets better.
A PA calls your name and on shaky legs, you get up and follow her into the tiny casting room. You look like a newborn fawn just learning how to walk. Four people sit at a table on the opposite side of the room, their eyes laced with intrigue the moment you walk in. You keep yours trained to the floor until the very last moment. You summon all the courage you know that’s inside of you and pretend. Today, you are going to pretend your ass off.
And you pretend like you aren’t completely dumbfounded by the two people sitting at the end of the table in front of you. The blonde and brunette are the same ones from last night. The image of their solid bodies running from the paparazzi suddenly flashes through your mind. You were so frazzled when you fell flat on your ass that you didn’t realize who knocked you down.
Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams, Hollywood’s hottest duo, stare back at you. They both wear the same expression you are now, realization. It’s at that moment do you realize just what this audition is for.
Everyone across the country loves the show Eternal Summer, led by the two actresses in front of you. Their characters, Summer and Callie, warm the hearts of millions with their representation of what it’s like to juggle college while also exploring the complex realities of finding everlasting friendships and relationships. The queer representation is handled with care and consideration by the writers and the actresses themselves.
In the show, Summer, played by Ellie, has a girlfriend. The actress who played her girlfriend had recently been arrested due to tax fraud. Instead of writing the girlfriend off, the producers decided to just recast her.
This role was highly sought after, and it would be yours.
You slate, and begin acting out the scene you’ve studied for months. Everything flows out of you perfectly and authentically. You’re emotional and witty, mixed into a single body. As you go into a small monologue about needing to feel wanted in a relationship, all your prior nerves and anxiety slip out of you. It’s as if you were cool as a cucumber all this time.
Once you’re done, they clap. They clap like they haven’t seen anyone perform this well since Audrey Hepburn passed away. You bask in the praise, bowing like you’re a prima ballerina taking her final bow.
A week later, your agent calls you with the best news of your entire life.
You got the part.
Divider by @graphicsbymouse
Tag List: @reneesub, @elliespotion
Author's Note: Can you tell that everything I know about New York is from TikTok and my two-day trip back in 2022?
