#angy paparazzi

[singswan-springswan]

favorite batfam au is Talia Al Ghul Wayne. Shrike. butcher bird. she becomes a cryptid but she is not a poor little meow meow unlike her husband and his furry friend burglar. batfam at peak functionality. Damian is soooooo unstoppable

[gucciwins]

hi angie :) i was wondering whether you could write a little blurb based off an idea i’ve had recently? so harry and (yn) are a new couple and every time they go out (yn) is super conscious of how she acts and what she’s wearing/doing because they’re in public and harry just wants to calm her down :(( i feel like new boyfriendrry would be so gentle and kind :(

hope you enjoy this 2k blurb, sweets 🤍

+

Y/N really liked Harry.

He was funny, charming, and intelligent. Harry loved discussing the books she was reading and, to her surprise, would go on to purchase them so he could also share his thoughts with her. They were introduced by a mutual friend, stating they would get on well because of their love for poetry. Y/N wasn’t one for meeting new people–let alone being set up but Dezzie promised she wouldn’t regret it. Harry was told he’d be meeting his perfect match, and Dezzie was not wrong. Y/N had been someone straight out of a storybook with her perfect hair and a laugh that made his heart skip a beat every time he heard it. Harry was absolutely smitten. 

They started with one date that turned into three, and soon enough, Y/N and Harry were talking every day, trying their best to work their schedule to fit each other in. One time a week was not enough for either of them. With more dates, there was more time together, and before they knew it had been a month of dating. 

It’s not been three months since they met, and they’ve never been happier. Harry feels secure and loved in his relationship. He knows Y/N protects him as he does her. Y/N came in with her heart guarded high, but Harry crumbled her walls too quickly, and she knew she had no chance against him, so she let herself go into this relationship with an open mind and heart. Y/N knew that while Harry shielded their relationship, it wasn’t impossible to stop random fans from taking photos even when Harry asked them not to or to be trailed by paparazzi on a date night. Harry did his best to protect her, and Y/N knew he was doing everything he could. Being a new couple and someone no one knew about, it’s as if everyone was trying to find the skeletons in her closet. They were all waiting for her downfall. 

Harry had promised her it would die down, but it seemed overnight there were articles of her everywhere, from the shops to every social media outlet. Y/N didn’t actively look for them. She knew it wasn’t good for her, and family members would send them her way. Old high school friends who still had her number began asking to hang out with her. Her parents sent her the articles because a nosy neighbor would text them. It’s as if no one was watching out for her. 

She felt it was her against thousands and felt herself beginning to lose. 

Y/N had a bad day, and all she wanted to do was wallow in bed, though she had already planned a date night with Harry. She would hate to cancel on him, so Y/N dragged herself to shower and got ready. While Y/N loved dressing up, the article she got sent today was about how outdated her style was and that it all looked well-loved–which meant worn out. Y/N made a decent income enough to keep a roof over her head and indulge in gifts occasionally, but she was conscious about the clothes she bought. Y/N didn’t support fast fashion; instead, she loved trading clothes with her friends or spending a day at the thrift shops with her grandmother, who always loved a good bargain. Today, all her clothing did not feel good enough, and she decided that her well-loved oversized leather jacket and black flares would do. A simple black top underneath when she got too hot in the restaurant. Y/N was lost in her head that she didn’t hear her doorbell. She broke out of her trance when her phone rang. It was him asking if everything was alright. 

It would be now. 

Time with Harry always healed Y/N because she knew he was worth it. It was still early days nearing the three months of dating, but Y/N knew she saw a long future with Harry. She opened the door and found him with a bouquet of bluebells. Her absolute favorite, she thanked him with a kiss and told him she’d only be a second. 

The drive to their favorite restaurant was quick, the chatter about their day making time go even quicker. Y/N always loved hearing what Harry was up to because their lives were very different. Y/N worked in the publishing industry, where she edited manuscripts daily in an environment she enjoyed while Harry was world-known. He was working on his next album, and with no future tour insight, he was available to spend more time with her. Y/N’s family, specifically her older sister, would ask why Harry doesn’t post her online because, quoting Heather, “if he doesn’t post you, he clearly must not like you.” Y/N would defend Harry to her dying breath. Most of her family didn’t realize how much Harry deserved privacy. Yes, he’s a public figure, but doesn’t owe anyone anything. Harry had told her he would if she wanted him to; honestly, Y/N was fine living in their own world with Harry’s closest friends knowing. 

Everything was usually good, with Y/N being in public. She’d order her favorite food, sometimes a burger or pasta. It always filled her up, and she’d take the leftovers for lunch the next day. Y/N never thought anything of it, not even when she was with Harry, but fans of Harry began to take photos of them in restaurants. They criticized her meal choices, how she held her fork and even her posture. It’s as if everything she did was something to laugh at her for. Y/N wasn’t the most confident person growing up, but she learned about self-care and respecting herself over time. Y/N grew to explore her fashion sense, began to speak her mind, and saw life with a brighter outlook. It wasn’t until she had what felt like a million eyes on her that she began questioning her every move. Suddenly, everyone had become someone to be wary of, and she hated thinking like that. 

Their waiter greeted them with a smile, showing them to a table. Y/N frowned because their usual waitress, Karla, was out tonight. Harry squeezed her hand in assurance, and Y/N knew it would be fine. 

“Uhh–I’ll do an iced water,” she smiled timidly at the waiter, not wanting to order alcohol or soda.

Harry looked at her confused but didn’t question it. When they returned to take their order, Y/N ordered a Caesar salad, stating she had a late lunch at work. Harry ordered her favorite pesto pasta and a plate of tilapia for him. Harry began worrying because he noticed she kept looking around and was fidgety with her hands. She kept slipping the ring she wore on her pinky that Y/N got gifted for her fifteenth birthday on and off. It’s a sign she’s nervous. He hadn’t seen her do that with him since their first date; she excused herself to the restroom before he could ask her. 

He sits back in his chair confused, until he sees a quick flash in the corner of his eye. 

A camera. 

It would be minutes before that made its way online. Harry waved down his waiter, asking him to make their food to-go as quickly as possible. Harry stood up to go to the bathroom, needing to check on Y/N.

“Y/N,” he knocks on the door. He hears the sink, but no reply. Harry tries the next one. “Y/N, sweetheart. It’s me.” The lock of the door turns, and she lets him in. He finds her eyes red, but her mascara looks intact, almost as if she had reapplied it. Harry feels defeated. He knows this hurt is his fault, even if partially. “Oh, my love. I’m sorry.” 

She shakes her head, brushing off his words, “what are you on about?” 

Harry places his hands on her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks, trying to comfort them both. “Baby,” he sighs. “Don’t have to pretend with me. I’m supposed to be taking care of you can’t do that if you’re not honest.” 

Those words are enough to break her open. Y/N sets forward and falls into his arms. She forgets everything outside, all those people looking at her and judging her because she knew she’d be safe here with Harry. “It’s been a hard day,” she whispers. 

“That’s okay,” he assures her. “We’ll go home. Make you a cuppa and eat dinner in bed.” 

“But the crumbs,” she mumbles, remembering his dumb rule.

“Fuck it. It was a stupid rule.” 

Y/N giggles, and it lightens the tightness in his chest. She’s calming down and feeling better. “I only got a salad,” she pouts. 

“Got the pesto for you, silly girl.” 

Her eyes lighten up, “you’re perfect, Harry Styles.”

“Only for you.” 

Harry gently kisses her lips, knowing she’s still sensitive. Y/N surprises him by replying eagerly, but he slows her down with a slight nip of her bottom lip, and she moans. A simple kiss wasn’t supposed to get this heated. He pulls away and sees her pout on full display instead of giving in like he usually would; he pecks her lips and guides her out of the restroom after slipping her bag on his shoulder. 

“My bag looks good on you,” Y/N teases quietly. 

Harry smiles at her, “yeah, think I should model for Baggu?”

“Only if they let me take the pictures.”

“No work would get done with your pretty face.”

“What’s that mean?” She looks at him with a sly smile, already knowing his response. 

“That you are a pretty distraction.” 

Before she can respond, Y/N realizes they’ve made it to the hostess stand, where their food awaits them all packed up. Harry slips out two hundred dollar bills and passes them forward. “Have a good night.” Harry walks them to the car, and she’s thankful no one is outside. He opens the door for her and lets her slip in. Harry sets her bag on her lap and reaches around her to buckle in her seatbelt. Y/N softens at his actions because he’s always been gentle and careful with her from the moment she met him. It’s never changed. 

“Harry,” she calls for his name softly. 

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” she tells him honestly. 

“Nothing to thank.” Harry presses a kiss on her cheek. Then, he puts away their food and drives them to his house. Y/N turns in her seat to look at him. He sends her a wink at a red light but keeps his eyes on the road. Y/N rests her hand on top of his, resting on the clutch. Harry feels the butterflies return, and Y/N’s touch makes him feel grounded. 

Harry knows what he feels for Y/N is not something he’s ever felt before, which makes him want to protect her even more. His feelings are growing, and it’s why he knows what Y/N is growing through is something they have to deal with together, or he might end up losing her. At the end of the day, he will do whatever is best for her. Even if it means Harry not being in her life anymore. 

He ushers her inside from the clothes, telling her to get comfortable while he gets dinner sorted out, but she tugs on his hand to stop him. 

“Y-y-ou don’t want to talk?” Y/N asked, confused.

“You sure?”

Y/N knows she needs to stop keeping everything tucked inside. She wants to share how she’s feeling because if anyone would understand, it would be Harry. They walk over to the couch and sit next to each other. If Y/N moved another inch, she’d be in his lap. Y/N can see Harry is itching to pull her into him but is holding back. She appreciates it and does the next best thing: hold his hand tight. 

“Being in the eye of the public is something I’m sure no one can prepare for, but right now, it’s all gotten too much. I don’t go online anymore because there always seem to be new photos of me. My phone constantly blows up with texts from people I stopped talking to after secondary school. My family sends me photos of every headline, asking me if they’re true,” Y/N blurts it all out. Harry listens intently as she shares how she only feels comfortable around him and her three friends from university. That support keeps her going, but he knows it will only break her down if she continues to listen to everything around her. 

Harry pulls her into his arms, letting himself comfort her, but he knows it’s also for himself. He repeatedly kisses her temple as he whispers he’s got her. “Sometimes even the people we love hurt it. It’s okay to take a step back from them.”

“But they’re my family,” she defends. “I can’t.”

Harry knows it’s hard, but he needs her to understand she’s hurting more because of it. “Listen, sweetheart. We can talk to them together and set boundaries, but what they’re doing is hurting you. I-I can’t take that.” 

“What do I change?” 

“Nothing, you live normally. You can keep everything online private if you want. You’re allowed to live your life. Not a single person has a say in it. Not even me,” he emphasizes. “Your phone number would be good, though.” 

“Was thinking of that,” she confesses. “Do you think the media will die down?” 

Harry grins, “Of course. We're such homebodies. They’ll forget we even exist.” He kisses her nose. “Together. We’ll do this together if you want?” 

Y/N wants Harry in her life. She never once thought of letting him go. “Together.” 

“Good, now give me a kiss.” He pats her ass. “We’ve got food to eat and movies to pick.” 

[danganronpa-textposts]

Kodaka went unhinged on twitter larping as kokichi ouma describing a potential bad future for all the members of the cast featuring bald kaito, korekiyo with kids, angie being wanted by the japanese government for cult, shuichi being a paparazzi, and more

fascinating. maybe i should get twitter

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

The City Is At War • Guilty Pleasure • One Day, Robots Will Cry • Kiss My Sass • Damn You Look Good And I'm Drunk (Scandalous) • The World Has Its Shine (But I Would Drop It On A Dime) • Smile For The Paparazzi • Angie • Prostitution Is The World's Oldest Profession (And I, Dear Madame, Am A Professional) • My Moves Are White (White Hot, That Is) • Pleasure Ryland

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[ask-modern-patrochilles]

About this blog

Hi everyone! 💜

This is an ask blog for my modern omegaverse Patrochilles AU, which I’m currently writing on AO3 (Link!). Questions will be answered with art and/or text! My name is Angie (24 || she/her), and you can find me over on my main blog @darlingfreddie or my art blog @darlingsart where I’ll be posting art for this AU and my other AU + other random drawings/doodles.

This AU follows Patroclus and Achilles’ lives after meeting at a party and getting together a few months later. In this AU, Achilles is a famous musician, the lead singer of a band named Arete where his bandmates are Odysseus, Diomedes, and his cousin Ajax (referred to as AJ!). Patroclus is on the road to becoming a trauma surgeon and is in his third year of residency. Together, they’re navigating their hectic careers, paparazzi, and life in general while being madly in love.

At the start of this blog, they are still just dating but I'll be moving on to them getting married and starting a family very soon. The About Page will be updated accordingly!

FAQ:

What are their secondary genders?: Achilles is an omega and Patroclus is an alpha.

How does this omegaverse work?: So, I've made this AU by pulling a number of ideas from different fics and resources since this is my first time handling omegaverse! Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics in this AU are more non-traditional than in some other AUs, alphas are frequently in relationships with other alphas, omegas with other omegas, etc. I'd like to think that there aren't any rules or much stigma around that.

How old are they?: Currently, Achilles is 26 and Patroclus is 27.

How long have they been together?: About three years at the start of this blog. They are currently still dating.

Family members?: Achilles has a close relationship with his father, Peleus, although he and his mother Thetis had a falling out when he was 17 and haven’t spoken since. Patroclus is very close with his adoptive father, Chiron.

Friends?: They share a mutual group of friends including Odysseus, Diomedes, AJ, Penelope, Briseis, and Automedon (referred to as Auto!). Patroclus is closest to Briseis and Achilles is closest to Penelope. Achilles is also friends with Helen, a movie actress he met a few years ago.

Education?: Patroclus is in his third year of residency after finishing med school and Achilles left high school before he could finish.

—This list will be updated as questions are answered/fics are written!—

[danggirlronpa]

🍑 Komaru/Sayaka, Chisa/Hiroko and Sister/Angie

Sayaka/Komaru: Hell yeah. Everyone loves a ship where you can imagine an AMV set to a Lady Gaga song (in this case, Paparazzi)

Chisa/Hiroko: Neat. Hard to see happening because of the stupid decisions about Chisa's age, and really only around because they're the only two adult women we see other than The Toxicandies, but points because it's so rare to see either of them in a F/F ship in general

Sister/Angie: Neat. If Korekiyo isn't wrong about the whole "Sister wants sacrifices" thing, they've got a real nice system going where they can get double the benefit from a single sacrifice (blood AND friends!)

[thekidsarentalright]

gonna switch it up from fob and ask for viva la cobra for the albums thing 😈

ooo love u switching it up, havent listened to viva la cobra all the way thru in a While but these are my top 5 i think:

one day robots will cry

the world has its shine

smile for the paparazzi

angie

kiss my sass

Send me an album and i’ll give you my top 5 songs!

[skippyv20]

Julie Burchill Spectator

10 Dec 2022

Coffee House

Julie Burchill

Harry and Meghan want to destroy the House of Windsor 

10 December 2022, 7:53am

Text

Comments

When I coined the phrase ‘The Grabdication’ in The Spectator two years ago, I had no concept of exactly how grasping the Duke and Duchess of Sussex would turn out to be. Having found Frogmore Cottage insufficiently close to California even after £2million of public money (since paid back) was spent on renovations, I still imagined that Meghan would eventually settle for a few tiaras and some voice-over work. I had no idea that what this grim pair were actually seeking was the destruction of the House of Windsor, ostensibly on the grounds of racism, but actually because this was the one chance two mediocre people would get to feel mighty.  

It’s unnerving that she calls him ‘H’ which is slang for heroin – and also the campest member of  Steps

People always say ‘soulmates’ like it’s a good thing, but such relationships can easily turn toxic. Individually Harry and Meghan seemed happy enough, neither of them too bright, but both living lush lifestyles they didn’t have to break sweat for. Then they met – and it was attempted murder of the reputation of the Royal family. As a life-long republican, I’ve been surprised to find myself on the side of an institution I’ve never liked. 

Considering the flight of the Sussexes, it’s easy to draw a parallel with another American divorcee who turned the head of another weak prince and led him by the genitalia away from his family. But while Edward and Mrs Simpson peregrinated around the elite watering-holes of twentieth century Europe, Meghan had one distinct destination in mind – her hometown of Los Angeles, where she had unfinished business with the entertainment industry, having ‘peaked’ while simulating fellatio in a car in an episode of the re-booted Beverly Hills, 90210 in 2008. Hollywood was done with her – but she wasn’t done with Hollywood. 

With her recent podcast Archetypes, Meghan finally started to show talent as a thespian – and to remind one of a certain legendary actress. Acting is, after all, merely playing pretend – that her wedding was celebrated in the streets of South Africa, that her baby’s nursery caught fire, that she is a victim rather than a vastly privileged woman living in a house with circa 19 toilets. Sadly, the iconic actress she is beginning to resemble is Norma Desmond, the tragic heroine of Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard, who shares her vast mansion with a devoted retainer who discovered Norma, married her and made her a star and now acts as her servant, humouring her deluded fantasies of a comeback. If Archetypes was the opening act, then the Netflix series – this bouncing hundred-million-dollar baby – is the main attraction, if ‘attraction’ can be used to describe a pair of multi-millionaires taking the best part of six hours to gossip about imagined slights from their families and congratulating themselves on being non-specifically Special.  

Appropriately for a pair who have a nodding acquaintance with the truth, even the trailers were false, showing paparazzi pursuing not our humble heroes but rather Katie Price – if I was her, I’d issue a statement expressing my outrage at being linked with these publicity-seeking shysters. Then there was another monstrous regiment of view-hallooing hacks – at a Harry Potter premiere years before H&M ever met. And more paps chasing Trump’s lawyer Michael Cohen from a courtroom. For a pair so savagely harassed, they don’t appear to have any footage of themselves being harassed savagely – where’s a bunch of bloodsucking hacks when you need them? 

Billed as A NETFLIX GLOBAL EVENT, I must say I felt a tinge of nostalgia as I settled down to watch ‘Volume One’ – AKA the first three episodes, if you’re not a jumped-up half-wit. In this age of atomised entertainment, it was a lovely feeling to be involved in a televisual milestone that would surely bring a fractious nation together, like Angie and Den’s divorce in EastEnders but not as subtle. Warnings of LANGUAGE, DISCRIMINATION flash up, with a soundtrack from an afternoon TV funeral plan commercial; we’re aware straightaway that we’re watching the world’s most expensive home movie, with the texts and the Facetimes and the photo-booths snaps, the pair snogging, snuggling, hiking, biking and being ‘goofy’. Meghan reminisces about her lovely life as a mid-ranking actress in a Canadian cable show; ‘Then came H – talk about a plot twist.’ (It’s unnerving that she calls him ‘H’ which is slang for heroin – and also the campest member of  Steps. He calls her ‘M’ like James Bond’s scoldy boss-lady, which seems somehow appropriate.)  

‘This is a great love story’ Harry smarms, but it’s far more like a surreal rom-com – When Harry Met Wally (Simpson). M’s girlfriends are dragged out as a geek chorus assuring us of the loveliness of Meghan – that old ‘I’m a girl’s girl’ shtick that some females use. It was, H affirms, pretty much love at first sight – ‘Everything I’ve been looking for’. That’ll be her wearing your mother’s favourite perfume. Diana is the third wheel in this marriage; knowing how strong public affection is, the Sussexes have cynically hitched their wobbly wagon to her dead but still somehow dynamic star. ‘I am my mother’s son’ Harry proclaims 17 minutes in, ’Meghan is so like my mum…the same compassion, the same empathy…’ Archie is held up to touch a framed photo of Diana? ‘Who’s that?’ coos Meghan. She should know, as she was obsessed with her according to her best teenage friend Misha Nonoo, despite her protestations to the contrary. 

It probably wasn’t such a great idea, at 23 minutes, to have footage of the shy young Elizabeth the Great vowing to give her life in service; the two women are so unalike that they barely seem the same species. Never mind, here’s Harry doing his feminist thing, murmuring sadly about ‘the pain and suffering of women marrying into the institution’ over a photo of Kate and Sophie looking sad – but they’re pictured at Remembrance day, of course they look sad! Should they be high-fiving each other? Both H&M take swipes at their families; H mentions that his friends in Botswana ‘brought me up’ – take that, King Dad! – while M seeks out her bete noire sister Samantha’s abandoned daughter to testify that the only child’s (as M claimed to be) only sister is a wrong ‘un.  

‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go’ sings Harry, which seems like epic trolling, considering he seems to spend most of his time swanning around on private jets and playing polo. He has the shiny-eyed zeal of the newly-converted preacher in a religion of two – fine when talking about human dignity, but a bit weird when talking about hummingbirds. Moaning about how they’re both children of divorce, M reads a self-pitying poem she wrote as a girl about having two of everything and wishing she had only one. Then why has she got so many toilets? Her ‘confiding’ style in particular gave me the ‘ick’ as the kids say – like an actress in a tampon commercial reassuring the audience about absorbency. At times there’s an ‘Uncanny Valley’ feel to the thing – like the protagonists are actually playing themselves in a Hallmark Channel biopic. 

Summing up, I speak very much as one who had the typical Meghan ‘journey’ (to use a word she and ‘Haz’ probably favour) starting out making a drooling fool of myself over her (see Spectators passim) and then going off her when her entitlement and hypocrisy became evident. I expected to despise this documentary series, but it’s actually a little scary too. Seeing that the pair are so interested in mental health, I wonder if they understand that they may be – in my layman’s opinion – suffering from both paranoia and persecution complex, and that it might be wise to seek professional help? After all, Meghan allegedly not being allowed to access psychiatry was one of the things which turned them against the Firm in the first place. Now they can do it to their hearts content. 

Looking back, Meghan may well treasure this documentary as her optimum moment, her place in the sun, with the eyes of the world on her at last; I can imagine her watching this in a darkened room, her beauty fading, like Norma Desmond in her lonely Californian chateau. For Harry, it may be the moment when he lost his family for good, and so cause him increasing sorrow. In the future it’s likely that – like every toxic couple from the Macbeths to the Depps – they may turn on each other, heightening the performative aspect of their relationship even further. There is something of a Red Shoes danse macabre about this now – neither can ever go home again, and neither can appear to help themselves. 

But on the other hand, it is amusing. Most character-driven humour is alchemised in the gap between what people think they are and what they actually are; writing in The  Spectator in October in the wake of M’s Variety interview, I advised, ‘If Meghan can provide “content” on this level – creating a character we love to hate on a level with an Alan Partridge or a David Brent, or a deluded show-business buffoon comparable with Count Arthur Strong – throughout the coming winter of discontent, maybe we should at last just cave in and award her the applause she craves. Because comedy gold such as this does not come knocking every day.’ Like a pair of lap-dancers accusing people of looking at them, in a vehicle so cheesy that it makes Richard Curtis look like Jean-Luc Godard, they are the natural heirs to the Kardashians – the Carcrashians. And though I blush to admit it, I can’t wait for the next ‘Volume’ to drop. 

WRITTEN 

Matthew Parris

Lady Hussey and the truth we dare not speak

Brendan O’Neill

When will Harry and Meghan leave us alone?

Sadie

Great article! Thank you❤️

[afterlifeoftheparty]

hi <3 viva la cobra for that album ask game? or folie a deux if you’d rather

okay i'm gonna do viva la cobra :)

one day robots will cry

prostitution is the world's oldest profession

smile for the paparazzi

kiss my sass

my moves are white (white hot, that is)

guilty pleasure

angie

the world has its shine (but i would drop it on a dime)

damn you look good and i'm drunk (scandalous)

the city is at war

pleasure ryland

send me an album and i'll rank the songs!

[hazardsoflove]

viva la cobra for album rank?

thank fucking god

one day robots will cry

prostitution is the world’s oldest profession (and i, dear madame, am a professional)

the world has its shine (but i would drop it on a dime)

smile for the paparazzi

my moves are white (white hot, that is)

the city is at war

guilty pleasure

kiss my sass

damn you look good and i’m drunk (scandalous)

angie

pleasure ryland

send me an album to rank!

[hazbinned]

Plotted starter for @angie-long-legs ! - Verse: Clipped Wings

"Angel! CON-GRAT-U-LATIONS, old pal!"

It was Alastor— victor of the day. His years' long battle with Vox (and the rest of the Vees, by proxy) had come to a grinding conclusion early that morning; Alastor miraculously victorious, to the disbelief (and dismay) of many.

How had he done it? How had the Radio Demon single-handedly toppled the Vees, three of the most powerful Overlords in all Hell? The answer was something only he knew— powers borrowed from the one who owned him. In true Alastor fashion, he was adamantly denying all inquiries on the topic, and when he was not in the mood for denial, he opted for dismissal instead. All that was needed was chuckle and a vague quip of a response that would pry the paparazzi off his tail; "Oho! Just doing what I do best!"

... And so on, and so forth.

Velvette had been first. And then Valentino. And then Vox. Should he spare them, or broadcast their screams on his radio show? It was something Alastor had fantasized about for years, especially pertaining to the two men of the group... but now that he was actually able to do so, he felt himself being held back. The tug of guilt at his chest, or something like that-- primarily at the prospect of torturing Vox if Vox was already down and out. Which he was.

After Alastor had defeated the Vees, he had taken their souls (he had threatened to kill them, but the threat was empty. Luckily, they were too worn down to figure that out). It was a safety-measure, in all honesty: while he deliberated on what to do with them, they would be his. If he actually decided to kill them, then he could do that (this was the second idea he had considered and pulled away from— he had access to Angelic weaponry via the gun of the defeated Valentino, but the thought of bringing about a permanent end to his once-friend, Vox, had burrowed its claws into him and again saved Vox from that fate. The others were safe, too, because he could not put that kind of grief upon Vox— to spare him but snuff the lights of his life partner as well as his boyfriend would be a new kind of cruel.) Alastor couldn't do it.

He feared he was getting soft.

That lead him to the following hours, in which he mulled over what to do with them. Hell would riot if he did away with television as a medium, so Vox could be useful within his own sector, just demoted while someone else oversaw the programming— perhaps he would have Vox and Vox's assistant swap jobs. There was a certain comedy to that, and the assistant seemed like the kind of person who would allow Alastor to provide input into what should and should not be aired. Maybe they could bring some tact back into the elegance-starved field of entertainment.

Velvette, whom Alastor had the least anger towards, could continue to oversee the fashion end of things without her Overlord status. He would push for a vintage flavor in trends, but he felt little need to touch on it otherwise.

She was the expert there.

That left only the elephant (say, moth?) in the room— Valentino. Scum like Valentino tainted Alastor's mouth with a particular flavor of sour that even Vox's frivolous obnoxiousness could not touch, which did have Alastor circling back around to the notion of murder... but he came to the same conclusion as before, in spite of himself.

He loathed how much Vox cared for the lust-crazed Overlord, but he would not hurt the television demon in such a personal way. Even if Vox deserved punishment, he did not deserve that. Neither did Velvette.

Alastor was no stranger to loss.

What, then, could he do with the pathetic insect he held on a leash? Some thinking had lead him to an idea that he was surprised he hadn't conjured up earlier (too excited by his victory and the overwhelming amount of change he could inflict, was he): he could pass Valentino down to Angel Dust. It was perfectly karmic; without promoting the spider to Overlord, bestow unto him the soul of the one who had drowned his afterlife in such poison.

Cut to the now: it was evening. Alastor had instructed Valentino to dial Angel's number at his behest, and then he had seized the phone, and purred into it requesting that Angel hurry to the Penthouse. Sure enough, the surprised star had shown, wide eyed and confused, but curious.

Alastor was his ally, after all.

Angel believed he could trust him.

The stag had invited the arachnid inside and explained this part of the situation (if Angel had been watching the news, he would certainly know of everything else!)— Valentino lingering in silence behind them the whole of the time. There was something horrible radiating from his vicinity; anger, fear, loss, maybe even shame-- an amalgamation of negative emotions, all mashed together in an aura powerful enough to taint the moods of everyone around him.

But not Alastor's.

Alastor was pleased.

What would happen was this: Angel Dust would be given charge of Valentino's industry, because Alastor did not want to face the wrath of millions of angry sinners should he wipe the genre clean.

He also did not want to touch the industry with a ten-foot pole.

On top of that, Angel Dust would be given charge of Valentino himself.

Presently, they were in the final act; Alastor handed Valentino's contract off to Angel, and then the leash that had been wrapped around his palm. Red eyes widened as the chain changed colors— Val truly was Angel's now.

Hilarious. Oh, the Radio Demon wanted nothing more than to tip his head back and cackle in delight at the poetic justice of it all.

So he did!

"Oh– Oh, I should be going!" Alastor finally managed, wiping a tear from his eye. "I have a lot of work to do, things to sort out... hm. You know!"

Black tendrils warped their way out of the ground, a sure sign that he was leaving before either of them could get another word in wayside— but that didn't mean he wasn't going to!

"My, this must feel like a FEVER DREAM to you!"

It was unclear whether he was talking to Angel or to Valentino.

And there was not a trace of him left for them to ask.

Uncomfortable, chilling silence settled in, Val and Angel alone together now. Valentino swayed a little bit, avoiding eye contact with Angel in favor of glaring daggers at the floor— it wouldn't have kept Angel from noticing his scuffed-up state, though.

The moth's fur was unkempt and crusted with blood, and his one intact antenna could no longer bear that title (though it was still in better condition than its charred-looking companion). The brim of his hat had nicks taken out of it, like on a cat's ear, and his wings (which he still wore as a coat), were bruised and scratched up. The right lens of his heart-shaped glasses was completely missing, granting him a view no longer tinted by rose. There were faint streaks of pink that ran from his eyes to the base of his chin. Other than surface-level things, though, Valentino seemed fine; most of this trepidation coming from a compromised emotional state.

He stood there, stewing for a few moments longer, and pressed his teeth together. This was the worst day of his afterlife by far— but maybe it was just a dream.

So, he pinched himself. And winced.

Damn.

It was not a dream. It was real, and he was just experiencing a suffocating disconnect in regard to everything around him.

Wonderful!

One of them had to break the silence first-- because even in Valentino's agonized state, he couldn't stand it. If Angel wasn't going to do it, he would take it upon himself.

Val thrust himself back into reality by way of anger. Pink eyes glowed red behind broken glasses, sharp teeth reflected the warped light of damaged bulbs— he loomed over Angel, three hands extended like claws on all sides of him while one on the bottom reached out to grab the chain.

Never again, he'd promised himself, decades ago.

"Let me go, Amorcito..." Pheromone-dyed spit trickled down his jaw. "Or I will escape you."

[genderqueer-hippie]

Tagged by the wonderful @ineffabildaddy to do a thing 😁

Pick a song for every letter of your blog and tag that many people

G: Goodbye Jimmy Reed by Bob Dylan

E: Everyday by Buddy Holly

N: Non-stop Violence by Apoptygma Berzerk

D: Deathwish by Christian Death

E: Ever and a Day by AFI

R: Red Red Wine by Angie Stone

Q: Queen Bitch by David Bowie

U: Under Pressure by Queen

E: Erotica by Razed in Black

E: (Everything I Do) I Do It For You by Bryan Adams

R: Round About the Mountain by Rhiannon Giddens

H: Hangover Blues by Amythyst Kiah

I: I Am In Love by Ella Fitzgerald

P: Play Dead by The Birthday Massacre

P: Paparazzi by Lady Gaga

I: I Am Not Drunk by Benny Benassi

E: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears

I'm going to be lazy and tag anyone that wants to do this. It was fun, a touch challenging bc brain scramblies, and thank you for tagging me!!!

[onesonghastogo]

viva la cobra by cobra starship

[saintsinthecity]

¡viva la cobra!

oh hell yes. oh fuck yes

1. my moves are white (white hot, that is)

2. one day robots will cry

3. angie

4. guilty pleasure

5. prostitution is the world's oldest profession

6. the world has its shine

7. the city is at war

8. smile for the paparazzi

9. pleasure ryland

10. damn you look good and i'm drunk

11. kiss my sass (i want to like this song so bad 😭 maybe one day. i like travie's part but not the rest of the song)

thank u!!

send me an album and i’ll put the tracks in order from most → least favourite

[redwinesupernova]

brand new eyes + viva la cobra for the album ask game :)

thank u 4 the ask ‼️ i also feel the need to clarify that all of these rankings are usually based on what i listen to from most to least i dont mean to be a hater or anything

brand new eyes

turn it off

brick by boring brick

playing god

ignorance

careful

the only exception

misguided ghosts

feeling sorry

looking up

where the lines overlap

all i wanted

viva la cobra

one day robots will cry

angie

prostitution is the worlds oldest profession

guilty pleasure

kiss my sass

pleasure ryland

the city is at war

damn you look good and im drunk

the world has its shine

smile for the paparazzi

my moves are white (white hot that is)

name an album and i’ll rank songs from most to least favorite

[fucksmiddleagedmen]

my cats ranking of viva la cobra:

this city is at war- he was mildly taken aback, 7/10

guilty pleasure- tolerable and tried yo lick the phone. 10/10

robots will cry- he moved to the other side of the room. 4/10

kiss my sass- got his ass back up and is now looking at me with a weird look after i paused it. 10/10 (heavily enjoys travies part)

damn u look good- he licked his ass but pawed my hat. 7.5/10

world has its shine- licking his leg insead. moved away halfway through. stratching his shoulder. 5/10

paparazzi- hand cleaning. he’s interested tho. moves back at the end for patrick’s little moment in there. 8/10

angie- layed back down. sniffed. 9/10.

prostitution- completely neutral but positive. 7/10

white hot- once again neutral yet positive. 7.5/10 (the end was an intresting twist he was not expecting)

pleasure ryland- curious but rubbed his face on the phone. also rolled over. 8/10.