#how to become the tabloid itself

[khruschevshoe]

You know, it's rather interesting to me that Taylor Swift's parasocial relationship with her fans is honestly more akin to a YouTuber than a writer's. When I scroll through her tag on tumblr/Twitter, it's far more regarding the connection to her personal life/relationship developments than the actual metaphors/fictional story she might be telling. Everything comes back to how her songs reflect back on her relationships with Joe/Matty/Travis/Jake/insert ex-boyfriend here. And what fascinates me about it is that even though she complains about it, she leans into that very perception because it strengthens the parasocial bond.

The marketing for TTPD so clearly being about Joe Alwyn and the songs to Matty Healy. The marketing/video for Red TV so CLEARLY being about Jake Gyllenhaal, with so many of the new lines in All Too Well specifically being digs at him (I'll get older but your lovers stay my age, casting an actor that looks like him for the video, specific lines in I Bet You Think About Me). The fact that songs like Getaway Car and Bejeweled and Gorgeous and London Boy and Lavender Haze being picked apart at time of release and long after for signs of relationships crumbling. The way she uses surprise songs in relation to her relationship development with Joe/Matty/Travis. The damn TTPD "stages of grief" playlists where she deliberately undid/changed the meanings of old songs just to keep her audience speculating on her love life.

It's not sexist to point out that her wielding her love life is a marketing tool and that the strongest connection to her audience isn't the strength of her writing/the composition of her music- it's her deliberate crafting of a connection between her music and her personal life, leaving the audience invested in her music as an extension of Taylor the Person/Girlfriend rather than Taylor the Artist.

[reiderwriter]

I’ve watching the episode where Reid kisses the actress. Could you write a fic where the reader is in the BAU and is best friends with Reid but has a secret crush on Reid which is obvious to everyone on the team but Reid and she is so jealous of the actress and the teams teases her about it?

A/N: Hello! Thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy it~♡

Warnings: none, hints of bi-reader, but like...come on.

Masterlist

Your “too obvious, plain as day, nearly embarrassing” schoolgirl crush on Spencer Reid was taking too long to fizzle out naturally. 

When you'd met the man, and your heart fluttered, you knew you'd have to go through the motions: you'd hope, grow fonder of the man, dream about him, then cringe, get ick, and ultimately you'd achieve the ultimate crush death. 

You were stuck somewhere between hope and dream, still, and had taken a wrong turn somewhere leading to nearly Hozier-levels of desperate longing. 

5 months assisting the BAU as a press liaison, working as JJ's assistant on more public facing cases had landed you here. 

And what better case for you to spread your wings on than one in Los Angeles itself, starring the famous Lila Archer. 

When Gideon and Reid had called the case in, you'd been eager not to seem too eager. You'd never been out of Quantico on a case before, usually shacking up in an office to shout down phone lines as reporters on the press room floor telling them they were scum of the earth for sensationalizing murder. JJ had obviously taught you to have a more nuanced conversation that that, but your inner thoughts were still allowed. 

But LA was a different kettle of fish, and Hotch appreciated that. It didn't quite help that you visibly perked up when you heard Reid himself had a hand in calling it into the team. A high-school classmate and a jet ride later, you were excited and ready to greet Spencer Reid. And Lila Archer. 

She was so pretty it was intimidating to even breathe the same air as her, a magnetism that drew everyone in the room closer to her just as Spencer drew you towards him. 

You tried not to see the obvious attraction the two had to each other, but the bile rose in your throat every time you thought about the case. The sour twinge of jealousy became a constant on the case, as your efforts to save Lila from her stalker also pushed her closer and closer to Spencer. 

And that wasn't even accounting for the fact that you'd suddenly become tongue-tied around them.

Spencer had asked you multiple times how you were enjoying your first time out in the field, and the most you could muster was a nod and a stammered “it's been good, I guess.”

With Lila, it was worse. You couldn't even tell her your name, and had overheard her politely asking Reid for it a few times every time you'd dropped coffee off in their vicinity. 

Your school girl crush was hitting the first heartbreak road bump at full speed, and dear god, you were not ready for the car crash. 

You tried to psych yourself out of it, to clear your mind and remain professional, but one tabloid cover after wrapping the case ended that for you completely. 

“Whooo, Spencer, my man! I knew you were a pretty boy, I didn't know you had game like that!” 

The tabloid had been dropped on his desk by Derek loudly and had quickly drawn a crowd when they'd seen the resulting red flush from the man of the hour. 

He'd snatched up the gossip rag pretty quickly, but not before you'd gotten a glimpse of the cover. You recognised Lila’s pool, then Lila herself, then the man she was passionately making out with as you felt your heart crack in two. 

You'd stuck like a fly on the wall and quietly joined in the teasing as you swallowed all of your ugly emotions at once. 

“And in the pool, too, Spencer, that's crazy. Look at Y/N. She can't believe it herself!” You forced a small giggle past your lips and hoped the others couldn't tell how fake it was. You stuck out a few more minutes of conversation before nearly running back to JJ's, thankfully empty office. 

The tears were silent. 

You berated yourself for even letting them fall. An unrequited love wasn't the end of the world - especially considering you had to work with Reid, see him every day. 

It took you months to get over it. Not that you ever fully managed it.

You simply told yourself that you'd never felt that way in the first place, gaslighting yourself into believing there was no feelings and thus no heartbreak. 

After a month of haunting the office with your general gloom, you got into the flow of it and truly convinced yourself you were over it. 

And you were until everyone started talking about it all over again. 

“Spencer, I heard your lady friend is going to be in a real blockbuster soon. Congrats!” Morgan clapped the man on the shoulder as he walked past, discarding his coat at his desk as he arrived for work. 

You gripped your coffee mug slightly tighter as you wished the conversation would blow over. 

“Reid has a lady friend? Oh, please do not spare the details,” Emily jumped in, eager to integrate herself into the team now that she was in it. 

“You know that actress, Lila Archer? We babysat her on a case a couple of months back, and she took quite the liking to our little genius-” 

“Morgan, stop-” Reid groaned, flushing yet again at the mention of the whole scenario. 

“Okay, I'll back off,” the older man said quickly. “If you can tell me honestly, you don't still have that tabloid cover in the second draw of your desk.”

You tried to stand and walk away from the conversation without drawing any attention to yourself, but the tension in your body left you stiff and less than graceful. You tripped on the corner of your desk on your way out but didn't pause to even listen to the others' call after you in your haste to clear the venom burning in your throat. 

You were fine and happy to ignore your emotions, but you realized then that kind of tactics would only work if everybody else managed to avoid them, too. 

You calmed your pace to a wall and took a series of deep breaths, trying to rationalize your departure to yourself. 

“I'm busy. There's some files I need to pull anyway, so I'm just going to file storage. That's why I left my desk. That's all, I'm fine.” 

Your small pep talk didn't rewrite history, though, and you still felt a cloud of envy following you around.

He kept her picture. In his drawer. 

Truth be told, you weren't expecting it to hurt this bad. 

You heard footsteps come up behind you, so you quickly ducked into the empty elevator, not quite ready to face anyone yet. A hand caught it just as you were about to be left alone, though, and Spencer joined you in the elevator. 

You weren't exactly shocked to see him. He'd been just as uncomfortable with the topic of conversation as you had, if not more so. You just wished you hadn't been in the same place now. 

“Sorry, I need some files.” 

Great, you were going to the same place as well. You just nodded slightly and gave him a tight-lipped smile as you travelled down to the place you'd both chosen as an escape. 

“Back there, you left…” Spencer started, fidgeting awkwardly next to you in the elevator.

“You left pretty abruptly.”

“I remembered I needed some files.’

“Right, right…”

The silence that stretched between you was thick and suffocating, and you begged the elevator to move faster. 

“I don't, by the way.” He spoke up again, awkwardly clearing his throat before continuing. “I don't still have that tabloid. There is a picture in that drawer, but it's not…that one.” 

“A different picture of Lila, then?’ You tried to keep your tone light, but even while trying your hardest, you couldn't keep the bitterness out of your tone.

The elevator reached its destination, but you both held back for a few seconds, and neither of you was quite sure what to say anymore. 

“She kissed me, you know.” Spencer said, facing you now, pinning you in place with his attention. 

“Yes, Spencer. Well aware, I saw the photo, too.” 

“No.. no, I mean, she kissed me.” 

“Loud…loud and clear,” you said, raking a hand through your hair as you tried to drown out all of the noise. 

“Y/N, I don't think you're hearing me.” 

“Oh, and I should be paying attention to you recounting the time an actress decided you were worthy of your time and tried to mount you in a swimming pool? I need to hear about how her tongue felt being pushed down your throat?” 

The words jumped out of you, and you had no way to stop them once they started. Instead, you simply shoulder checked your way out of the still elevator and marched your way to the file room. 

“Y/N, I'm sorry, please just hear me out,” you heard Spencer calling out to you, but you didn't stop or turn around. 

“Y/N, I'm trying to explain, please just-” You heard him groan in frustration as you kept up your pace and felt slightly satisfied that he was having such a hard time. A solid hand on your wrist pulling you back wiped any smile you had on your face clean off, especially as you were pulled into a somewhat solid chest and a hand tipped your head up to meet his own. 

To say you hadn't imagined the moment that Spencer Reid kissed you for the first time would be a lie. You thought it would be sweet and small, an awkward peck if nothing else that led to giggles and more innocent chaste kisses and possibly an illusive hug. 

Instead, you were pushed back against the nearest wall, pinned up by your wrists, and robbed of all of your breath as Spencer kissed you until you were seconds from passing out. 

Even after you both came up from air, he released your wrists so he could angle your head back up to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss the second time around. 

Stunned was not the word. 

And though you were completely taken unaware by the kiss, that didn't mean you weren't eagerly reciprocating. 

You kept your wits about you as his tongue parted your lips, leaning into him as you savored the moment. 

It didn't stop the confusion after you finally broke apart, though. 

“What…the…fuck, Spencer?” You said between gasps, chest heaving. He let your wrists go awkwardly, hands trailing down to your waist as you rested yours on his shoulders.

“You weren't…listening. Needed a different strategy.” 

“Well, I'm all ears now.” 

He nodded and then took another moment to catch his breath before relinquishing you from his hold and putting a bit of space between you. 

“I didn't kiss Lila Archer. I didn't particularly want..to?” He cleared his throat and continued. 

“She kinda just grabbed me? And did it? There was a pool too, so I was trying not to choke on water and chlorine and hair everywhere. Like, she just grabbed me-” 

“Like you just did?” 

“Like I just… did, yeah, like that.” 

You weren't sure what to do or say anymore. So you just nodded and stood there, and so did he. 

“That's not to say that I didn't enjoy this kiss. It wasn't just to illustrate the point. It kind of was, in the sense that it helped you understand what happened before, and that I hope it will help you realize the point of this conversation-” 

“Which is?” 

“I like you.” He said, finally pausing his rambling to look you in the eyes. 

“I like you, and I didn't want you to misunderstand.” 

“Oh. Oh right.” 

You both stood there looking at each other and looking away in a loop, neither talking or breaking the silence until you both tried to. 

“What about y-” 

“Kiss me again.” 

Reid blinked at you a few more times, trying to work through your words. 

“Kiss me again” you repeated, stepping away from the wall and closer to Reid as he still just stared at you. 

“We're still working, what if someone walks past?” 

“Didn't stop you the first time.”

“But-”

You cut him off quickly, grabbing his tie and pulling him down to your level, locking lips with him again. 

When you again came up for breath, possibly much longer after the time a second kiss should last, both of you just laughed again. 

“I was jealous.” You said, looking up at him, ready to bare yourself to him now that he'd given a confession of his own. “Of Lila. Of you for being adored like that by someone so cool. But mostly of Lila.”

“Because?” 

“Because I like you, too,” you said, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Nice. Cool, that's great. I like that you like me, too. I like you, hey, I like us,” you cut off his rambling quickly with another small kiss and pulled away.

“So the picture?" You asked, backing away down the hall as he stood and watched you.

"Hmm?"

"The one in your desk."

"Oh," he said, scratching the back of his neck as the tips of his ears turned bright pink.

"Penelope gave me this picture from the Christmas party. It's, uh, me and you."

You smiled brightly before turning to leave, the bile of jealousy that had been consuming you turned magically to butterflies in the space of two kisses.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 40

PREV

The Winter Banquet.

Where the Spring Championship announcements happen for Collegiate Exy. A formal event meant to allow the ERC to showcase how their stars weren’t just brutes on the court. Look at how beautiful and handsome they all were. Look at how they danced together. Look at the smiles and laughter and-

Wait.

No.

Put that down.

Who had the great idea to put the Jackals next to the Terrapins? Things have been tense between the teams since the Captain of the Terrapins stole the Captain of the Jackal’s date during the Fall Banquet!

I thought we all agreed that there would never be any more steak knives! What was the point of paying for all the pre-cut tenderloins if we’re just going to give them steak knives?! 

Really gotta find an intern to pin this fiasco on.

Oh great the Foxes are leaving! Did we even get a picture of Kevin Day in his suit? Fuck it’s going to be a two intern firing kind of day isn’t it.

Someone get an eye on the Ravens before they try and grab some hapless idiot and sacrifice him to revive Riko Moriyama. If there’s even one more damn tabloid with a blurry photo of ‘Riko Moriyama’ to prove that his death was faked then heads will roll.

Honestly, the biopic that some Edgar Allan Film student is making about him seems pretty interesting. The ERC just wishes people would stop taking pics of the ‘lead actor’ and sending it to tabloids as proof that the King hadn’t died.

Fuck, the Foxes left before we got any decent pictures.

Well just great.

You’d think that after all these years of the Foxes leaving early they’d have learned that getting pictures as they arrive is the most important thing. 

Oh thank god it looks like the Trojans are starting to mediate the fight. You can always count on good ol’ Jeremy.

Fuck.

A Raven got too close to Jean Moreau and now Jeremy Knox has punched a Backliner. Great. The Trojans have formed ranks around Moreau but the kid’s just too damn tall. Someone has hit him in the head with an especially saucy meatball, he’s not injured, just confused. The Trojans are acting like it’s a gunshot he just took to the head.

The refreshment table just seemed to collapse in on itself and god wasn’t that just an allegory for this entire damn evening.

Anita Flores sighs as she watches yet another banquet go down in a riot. Honestly, she doesn’t know why they think these will end up differently. She finds herself often missing when she used to coordinate banquets for football teams.

She sighs and thinks about her least favorite interns.

Alex had been getting a bit too cocky lately. He’d make a good sacrifice.

***

(Three hours earlier)

The Palmetto State Foxes were on their way to the Winter Banquet. From what FF understood it was categorically always a 90% chance of a shitshow. Honestly FF was surprised that the percentage was that low.

There was a general tenseness in the air surrounding it that went beyond the Banquet’s propensity to become a fight. 

This year the Winter Banquet was going to be held up at the Binghamton Bearcat’s stadium. The nation knew the story from the news and FF knew the story from both that and from the Foxes themselves who were there at the time in bits and pieces.

Captain Neil had been kidnapped from this stadium and then he’d been tortured. FF hadn’t even been on the team when it had happened and he was anxious about Captain Neil going anywhere near the stadium.

“He was just…he was just gone.” Matt had said, “Neil was gone and Kevin said that he was probably dead when Andrew got back with his phone.” He continued as the two of them sat up late in the living room of the dorm one night back in early October.

“I thought Andrew was going to kill me y’know.” Kevin had said bottle in hand as FF tried to help him up the stairs because apparently he would 100% guarantee vomit if he was in the nausea box. “I thought that maybe I deserved it, since I didn’t help Neil. I just let him walk to his death.” He said and despite assurances that he wouldn’t puke FF’s shoes did not make it through that journey unscathed.

“We called…we called everywhere.” Nicky had stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room, “Andrew was adamant that he was still alive even though Kevin kept saying he was dead and that dead was the nicest thing he could hope for. I thought that was a terrible thing to say.” Nicky curled up closer to him.

“I told you, Andrew dragged me like I was nothing to get to Neil. I don’t think he even noticed the guns.” Wymack said to Abby as the two sat on the back porch during Aras’ going away party. “His eyes were on Neil.” he gestures towards where Andrew was watching Captain Neil wrestle with Matt.

“He looked like shit.” Aaron had said unable to stomach a diagram of different degrees of burn in his medical book. “At least he was alive.” He adds.

“A hero.” Andrew’s voice had been what could be considered teasing from Andrew, “Someone who looks like her.” he had said touching Captain Neil’s burn scars as they drove away from the stadium after coming back to pick FF up.

Captain Neil had come to him the day before they were set to drive out, “Take me somewhere no one will find me for an hour.” FF hadn’t quite understood what Captain Neil meant, he never hid anywhere. People just failed to realize where he was.

“Ok.” he says instead of trying to explain because being unnoticed means no one hid codes from him.

The roof of the Library wasn’t that much different from the roof of the Tower, only that it was taller and bigger. Captain Neil had shut his phone off after texting something, likely to Andrew, and then put it into his pocket.

FF settled on the roof, sat with his back against a heating vent to stay warm. Captain Neil settled next to him and they sat in silence. It felt like back at the start of this where Captain Neil and Andrew would come find him and just sit in silence. 

It was nice. He had missed-

“They act like the stadium is the thing that kidnapped me.” Captain Neil says.

Oh okay, quiet time is over apparently.

FF doesn’t say anything, figuring that nothing he could say right now would be the right thing and maybe Captain Neil just needs to talk through some stuff.

“That stadium is where I thought I’d have my last good memory.” Captain Neil explains, “I’m not scared of it and yet Andrew’s acting like I’ll die if I’m left alone for more than 2 seconds while we’re there. Every time we go there they all act like the most important thing in the world is that I get on that bus at the end of the night.” Captain Neil explains.

FF does remember how Andrew had grabbed Captain Neil after their October game up in Binghamton. How Captain Neil had complained bitterly but had gone after looking at Andrew.

“He’s dead!” Captain Neil exclaimed and FF couldn’t help but look over at the entrance and hoped no one heard them. “He’s dead! I watched him get shot! He can’t kidnap me again!” Captain Neil continued to yell and FF couldn’t help but worry that they’d be heard below, or worse bother a student trying to study below.

FF reached out and touched Captain Neil’s arm and bright blue eyes turned to him, “We’re on a library. Don’t yell.” FF said and Captain Neil looked at him incredulously.

Then he laughed. He laughed and laughed and FF was worried that he’d gone and broken his Captain.

He suddenly felt bad about his own bout of hysterical laughter a while back.

“Thanks Smith.” Captain Neil had said with a smile.

They had sat up there until it was dark and Andrew had started calling FF’s phone and Captain Neil took the call to say he was coming back.

Now they’re on the bus, dressed nicely, and on their way up to Binghamton’s stadium. Captain Neil and Andrew are hidden in the far back of the bus with Andrew looking far more like a watchdog than anything else the closer they got to their destination.

Captain Neil had seemed largely resigned to this treatment at this point. Eventually they were at the stadium and shown to their seats. They were sat across from the Trojans and it seemed like the rest of the team was quite pleased with that.

“Smith!” Captain Jeremy Knox is smiling at him, “Nice to see you again bud, nice name change too.” he says.

“It’s nice to see you too, Captain Jeremy.” FF says and doesn’t notice how Captain Neil’s head whips around to look at him.

“You two know each other?” Nicky asks looking between the two of them with excitement.

“Of course! We offered Smith a spot at the USC Trojans.” Captain Jeremy says and FF feels his stomach cramp at the memory.

That had been terrifying.

Coach Rheman and Captain Jeremy wanted to sit down to make their offer with his parents. He was still 17 and unable to sign anything legal without their permission. He’d tried to decline and move past them and Captain Jeremy had put the final nail in the coffin at the time for any thought that he could go to college on the power of his apparent Exy capabilities.

“I saw in your file that you have brothers! USC always gives a second look at student applicants who already have siblings in the university. You could go to school with your brothers!” he had smiled brightly like he wasn’t issuing FF one of the most terrifying threats he’d ever heard in his entire life.

He had given the firmest ‘No thank you, I’m not interested in playing Exy in college.’ he could and was running to his Grandma’s to breath into a bag for twenty minutes.

“I see you changed your mind about playing Exy in college.” Captain Jeremy said with the same smile that still feels like a threat.

“Coach Wymack and Captain Dan were convincing.” he says and looks to see if there’s any way he can move further away from Captain Jeremy’s attention.

“Can I ask what convinced you to be a Fox?” Captain Jeremy asks, “I’m always trying to see what support we should be offering. I found out last year that we missed out on Andrew because we didn’t offer spots to Aaron or Nicky. I thought since you had brothers that’d be the thing that got you.” Captain Jeremy leans across the table but stops when he notices the Foxes all tense. “Whoa, what’s up?” he asks.

Jean Moreau sighs from next to Captain Jeremy, “Not everyone wants to go to college with their family, Jeremy.” Jean says, “Did it not cross your mind that he changed his entire name?” he asks with a raised brow.

Jeremy blinks, “Oh,” he looks at FF, “I guess that wasn’t the right thing to offer.” he says leaning back in his chair.

“I guess I should thank you for offering that?” Nicky says wryly before turning to look at FF, “You look better in orange anyways.” he says.

“Thank you Nicky.” FF returns loyally.

The banquet gets started shortly afterwards. Food is served. The bar is opened. People are talking. FF finds himself relaxing the longer the conversations around him go on. Matt is talking with a backliner on the Trojan line named Todd in good cheer. Captain Neil, Kevin, and Jean are all talking about the latest updates with Ichirou in French with the occasional gesture towards FF. Jean Moreau looks at him with a raised eyebrow but gives him a single nod when Captain Neil explains what happened.

Jeremy is chatting with Jack and even Jack was finding it hard to maintain his usual level of rudeness in the face of such unbridled positive energy. Nicky was talking with Katelyn and Alvarez. Aaron was chatting with a fellow med student college athlete who was an offensive dealer. 

It was shaping up to be a good night.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[sweetracha]

First Sleep Over with Stray Kids

Goodnight Moon: Lee Know

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (Smut), Sugary Sweet (Fluff), Sour Sweet (Mild Angst)

Allery Warning: Idol Member, Secret Relationship, Lowkey Unhealthy Relationship, Possessive Minho, Dom Minho, Nicknames (Kitten, Princess, Master, Sir), 'Public' Intercourse

The Sweetest Treats: @cr4ziee0szn

Confectioner's Note: This is my first time actually writing smut. While I read it, it was definitely different to write it. Hope you all enjoy!

Amber glows through the cracks of the log as embers burn out into a dark night sky becoming the stars. The moon chandeliers above as the subtle fog surrounds the venue. The world became the stage for lovers, dancing as if a part of nature itself.

Minho held you close. His hold was gentle as if he'd shatter you but secure as not to let the soft breeze take you from him. Nothing will take you from him again. 

All Min knew was flashing lights, tabloids, gossip, packed stadiums, little sleep, and dancing. That was his safety in this all. When he danced he was able to block out the whole world around him. It didn’t matter if he was one of the biggest idols or an absolute nobody, dancing was his lifeline. Then he met you. 

You were working at a small cafe located in the heart of Seoul. Patrons easily missed the quiet escape amongst the hustle and bustle of the city. Music played over the speakers in a low hum. Almost unconsciously you swayed along. Slowly you began to lose your mind to the calm melodic tunes. DING! You snapped to attention as the little sliver bell rang, alerting you of a customer. There you were met with a different Lee Know than the world knew. No longer was he the confident, cocky, stone-cold idol. Instead, he was a shy captivated boy who now knew what his childhood storybooks meant by love at first sight. Sweet as the sugar you baked with, you greeted him. 

The next year went by like a flash. Two comebacks, a world tour, hosting, and everything else that took him away from you. As an idol, he was not allowed to date, especially a nobody like you. He hated how the company described you that way after finding out. JYP himself organized a meeting to discuss "outside influences" affecting the team. Minho's blood boiled when he saw those words. The boys loved you! Chan saw you as a gift to them. The maknaes came to you for comfort most days. Even Changbin admitted on more than one occasion that he would protect you from any threat. To imply you were hurting the team made Minho want to quit altogether.  But he knew that wouldn't be what you wanted. You told him one night after a tearful confession that he was not allowed to pick you over his career, you made him swear by it. 

So without much of a choice, he had to break your heart. He showed up at your apartment and delivered the bad news then left. The staff made him delete all your information and scrub any trace of his once beloved sweetheart from his life. 

Or at least that's what the company believed.  After the meeting concluded Chan pulled Min swiftly into a supply closet, sporting looks of confusion from other idols. Christopher laid out the plan in full. Lee Know was to remain single and tell the public the reason why he frequented the bake shop was upon staff's request. However, Lee Minho would be fully committed to his blushing love as long as he kept it hidden. That meant no photos, no open lines of communication, and no more visiting his favorite Cafe. Everything began to weigh on you two until a little chicken came up with an idea.

"Why don't you two go camping?" Felix stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We can't 'just go camping' Felix, it's not that easy" Minho snapped back, he hated talking about you in this way. "Why? Chan only stated that you two can't be in public or visit each other's places…the woods are pretty private if you ask me" Lixie said with a hint of suggestion and a wink in his eye. He was right though, camping had been another escape for Minho before his life became crazed. Maybe it could be an escape now for the two of you? A place where he can have you all to himself, where no one can get in the way.

“I need you” he stated bluntly. His sudden words shook you out of your trance. With a giggle you responded “But you have me”

Long slender fingers tilted your chin upwards, making you stare into Minho’s now possessive eyes. “Kitten I need to show the world you are mine. I need every single living thing to know only I can have my kitten.” You nodded and he approved of your now redding complexion. 

Minho laid you down on the previously discarded blanket you two used for dinner. Soft fabric barely protected you from the rough ground but you didn’t care, not with how Min is feeling you up. He groped and grabbed as if he needed to know this wasn’t a dream. The now naked beauty in front of him was too good to be true.

“Minho touch me, please” You pleaded as he took his sweet time savoring your skin under his lips. You tasted as if you were created in that little cafe he loved so much. “Please sir” your weak little voice lit a fire in him.

“Look at you begging for me darling. Your sweet little moans are so tempting kitten. We are alone you know? Finally alone…and I am going to give you so many reasons to scream” His eyes went dark.

Minho lowered himself down your body as he slowly spread your legs. His grip was enough to tell you not to move them. While you both knew you were more than capable of being a brat, the way he was acting tonight told you that you better behave. A gentle test lick was given to your clit not long after a confident stripe followed. 

“You taste fucking delicious kitten, and you sound even better” he continued with his actions upon hearing your cries of pleasure. Once he felt you were wet enough, Minho easily slipped in two fingers. “I haven’t had time to fuck you properly baby, You've gotten so tight on me again. I need to prep you isn’t that right pretty girl?” His words were sweet but laced with a mocking tone. You were drunk on him. All you could do was cry out incoherent statements as Minho felt you clench around his digits. “Come on baby, you know what to do. Show the stars just how good I can make you feel.” With one final thrust, he felt you convulse through your orgasm. Min helped you down from your high but in your foggy state, you didn’t notice him pull his cock free from his sweats. It wasn’t until you felt the tip pushing through your entrance did you realize.

“I can’t it's too much” Your oversensitive mind took over. “You can princess, you are going to lay there like a good obedient kitten and take what I give you. Got it?” “too big” “I said ‘Got it’” Minho emphasized with a hand to your neck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you whined out in satisfaction. 

He wanted to start slow, he really did. But with the way you were looking at him, glossy-eyed and innocent as you babbled away he had to ram into you. Quickly he sent a hard and steady pace that made you scream out. It was when you went completely silent, face contorting in pure ecstasy that he knew he found it. “Does that feel good kitten, did your master find your sweet spot?” he asked rhetorically as he slammed into that spot over and over again. With the way you were clenching around him, he knew he wouldn’t last long. He doubled his efforts if that was even possible.

“PLEASE” is all you could get out before you constricted again. “Cum for me pretty kitty, fucking cum” and with that you did. Shortly after Minho followed with a rumbling growl of your name. He fell next to you on the blanket, heart beating rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. A warm soft feeling came over him. Looking down he found a sleepy kitten curled into his chest. He knew he needed to clean you up and take you into the tent…but that can wait for a few moments. Right now he just wanted to be with you. He wanted to spend time with his true escape. 

Sleep Over Series Chan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, I.N

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟓   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   THE DEN & NAKAWE PALACE, AUGUST 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  She’ll be here any minute.' Arnaut proffered yet another empty explanation to fill the silence. The premier granted forty-five minutes, but he had already spent fifteen giving intermittent assurances that Leonor was en route, delayed in some unpreventable way. Although known as gregarious and energetic, Premier Eladio Guillen sat across from Arnaut this entire time with a small, static smile. The anticipatory silence that dragged on seemed not to faze him. Waiting grated Arnaut’s nerves, meanwhile, as did attempting to puzzle out Guillen’s thoughts. Every minute of quiet that passed constituted some kind of failed test, he was certain. Yet, he exhausted his list of aide-approved topics within the first three minutes, and Guillen resisted his efforts to sidetrack the stillborn conversation into small talk. It could only be taken as a clear, loud message that the premier preferred to sit in total silence than humor Arnaut’s attempts. 

❧ important psa: leonor is her grandmother's granddaughter; additionally, i did not proofread much and should've so sdjfsdf if you notice anything off, no you didn't !!!

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

In fact, Leonor was due to be there any minute. She was in the parking garage of Nakawe Palace's complex, and she had arrived there just ten minutes past the appointed time. What kept her was the newspaper she’d snagged from a stand on Oceanside Avenue. It wasn’t a respectable publication, certainly not Nakawe’s paper of record, but its headline for the day caught her eye. That was rare. Even if tabloid chatter affected her subliminally, she wasn’t one to read the stories or pay much attention to the headlines. The newsstands she passed in the course of daily life were easy to ignore; someone delivered her preferred papers and magazines each morning, whether or not she planned to open them. This paper’s claim cut through the inane, sensational fabrications about her body, her love life, the silly woes with which some two-bit copywriter claimed to empathize.

It was almost certain that her having bought a copy of the day’s paper accusing her drug abuse would become tomorrow’s headline. At any rate, the shocked vendor stared. So too did other pedestrians as they passed. The speculation wrote itself. Why, after all, would she have bothered if there wasn’t something to it? Incensed, morbid curiosity wouldn’t do. There had to be a more salacious explanation; it was the one that argued her interest was somehow proof of guilt. But, the simple truth was that she had gasped at the sight of it: a grabby headline, juxtaposed photos innocuous on their own but damning in this contrived context, an authoritative quotation of concern from some anonymous acquaintance. The front page promised a full story unfurled inside, and Leonor, who had never been accused of wrongdoing in her life, became consumed with the need to know every lie printed within the pages. 

As she sat in the car, reading about how her alter-self had become obsessed with benzos and tried heroin with a hard rock band, she knew there was no recourse. The Crown wouldn’t respond. These papers could publish whatever they liked, and they weighed that freedom against the constriction of access it only sometimes engendered. Leonor’s people had been silent and inflexible since winter—a moribund policy rolled over from before, when she was an off-limits teenager regarded as inseparable from the entity of her mother. Perhaps that was why she became fair game once the mourning moratorium lifted. More likely, the press’s the dark underbelly dwellers knew the larger apparatus of the royal family saw value in any public discourse about its members. Individual reputations were less of a concern, especially when the Crown itself and more reputable papers churned out flattering, factual stories to complicate any emerging narratives. For some time, gossip and relevance went hand-in-hand. Beatriz’s vision of the monarchy was increasingly a flirtatious one, winking when provocation paid off and demurring when it didn’t. Leonor had never needed to think too hard about it. Her mother went through the grinder time and time again, but her popularity remained intact, and she hadn’t ever let on, at least to her daughter, how terrible it felt. 

It was within Leonor’s power to huddle her team and insist they at least pretend to respond. Her little household was hardly autonomous, but it didn’t need to be. Leonor complaining to her grandparents about rude tabloids would get her nowhere; a conversation among aides about public relations, on the other hand, at least created an official paper trail of bureaucratic value. Yet, that was why she found herself frustrated. This paper she held in her hands trumpeted glaring, clumsy lies. Those lies, however, didn’t need to be rooted in fact if they had been planted in a context that made them feel plausible. For the average Uspanian, the takeaway wasn’t in the details. Most people cast idle glances at the newsstands, noticing ugly candids and buzzwords, passively gleaning less of a coherent story and more of an ambient sense. Leonor’s new friends and hangouts weren’t the kind of blank slate she had been. They came with their own public associations, jumbled facts, wild fabrications. These particular details were false, and The Den remained a locked vault to the public, but it wasn’t outlandish to imagine her as part of the scene if ample photographs and videos suggested she was. 

Leonor closed the paper and laid it on the passenger seat. It sat there, folded, for just a few seconds before she snatched it up again. Quickly, angrily, she tore at it. It wouldn’t rip down the middle, so she yanked out the pages instead. They shredded into scraps as she pulled wildly with haphazard, hurried fingers. Almost as fast as the impulse struck, it ran out of steam. Leonor stopped what she was doing and, feeling satisfied but far from content, tossed the mangled paper into the backseat. 

When Leonor entered the premier’s sitting room, Arnaut watched with disbelief. She strolled in appearing unperturbed by her tardiness, and the apology she offered to Guillen as he rose to clasp her hands was simple at best. It didn’t bother him. His reception of her made his demeanor toward Arnaut earlier that afternoon seem lukewarm—unwelcoming, even. They interacted like people who were well-acquainted; Guillen’s famed charm leapt out as he kissed her cheek and made a joke about Nakawe’s drivers, and Leonor took up space in the room with ease.

Arnaut knew, in theory, he had received an upbringing not dissimilar from hers. They learned the same rules of comportment, and they learned the art of politics from the same teachers. In preparation for today, they had received the same briefs with identical preparation from the same team of aides. Yet, as Leonor settled into the sofa beside him and suggested with unimpeachable authority that they get to work, Arnaut felt the distance between them stretch to its true size. There was no substitute for experience, and there was no hiding its absence. Arnaut had been on the periphery of Uspanian public life for over a decade. Everyone remembered him as the immature, troublesome spare he had been. They viewed his life abroad as suspect. Worse, each day brought a litany of small reminders that no one much cared about who he was now or who he intended to become. 

The television summarized it well just a few nights prior. These days, Arnaut watched news broadcasts as if it were a ritual, often doing so with a pen and pad that Lorraine politely ignored. USB’s evening news hour aired interviews with passersby on the streets of Nakawe as part of its programming. One elderly woman, prompted for an opinion on the crown prince, had furrowed her brow deep and hard. ‘Well, I think he is in for the most tragedy,’ she said finally. ‘People don’t change at forty. They just don’t. I lived long enough to know. You grow up right into who you are. So, what Uspana needs, he isn’t.’

Arnaut had been so immediately agitated by despair that he leapt from the couch and began to pace, talking aloud of how easy it would be to identify the woman, to find out where she lived, to go there with a box of sweets and get on his knees and beg her to change her mind. ‘Let me prove it to you,’ he would plead, holding her frail hands. Perhaps he would cling to her feet and even  pepper the crooked toes peeking from her sandals with supplicatory kisses. ‘Give me a few good years to show you that I’m different.’ That was how he would frame it, too. She was right that it was a fool’s errand to prove he could change. What he hoped—the hopes that were, almost daily, dashed to dust—was that someone different lurked under the surface, suffocated for too long but real enough to show his face if Arnaut somehow found a way.

That way was elusive, although Arnaut knew he would never find it if he capitulated so easily. Today’s meeting felt bungled already, but he pushed himself to see Leonor’s arrival as a reset, as a reinvigoration, rather than a performance of naturality that he could never possess. He struggled to believe in his heart that the ability to rule flowed through his veins as much as hers, but it was more compelling to remind himself that he had been trained for this, too. Had he been as serious about it as she had, that deceptive distance between them would be more of a trench than a canyon. What mattered now was exactly that: he was serious now and, if the unexplained absence meant anything, perhaps even more serious than she was. 

As the conversation turned to business, Guillen let out a sigh. “Fast-tracking legislation when there’s a passing is no way to run a government,” he explained, his tone light and wry even as he regarded them both with an earnest look of condolence. 

“We’d be doubling offshore drilling in memory of Mario Esparza,” Leonor quipped. The comment prompted a laugh from Guillen, who pointed at Leonor and nodded emphatically. 

Arnaut, meanwhile, sat bemused and wearing a vacant smile. The name didn’t ring a bell. He knew enough about the politics to understand why the policy idea was ridiculous, but he wasn’t privy to the personal backstory that gave it flavor in this context. Arnaut had once believed the capital to be a slow-paced, change-resistant bastion of tradition. The monarchy was sometimes accused of being arrested by its reverence for the old ways, and the legislative assembly had its own superficial but no less real way of doing things. People were the backbone of that. Perhaps naively, Arnaut had expected to find the same names in circulation a decade later. He hadn’t accounted for the turnover, but he also hadn’t accounted for how poorly acquainted with those people—with them, with their place in politics, with their connections to others, with the culture that glued them all together—he had been. It was difficult to insert himself now, knowing he had passed up the opportunity to belong as intuitively to this world as everyone around him did. 

Having noticed Arnaut’s expression, Guillen asked, “You remember Mario, right? You’ve met Paula?”

“His wife?” Arnaut, with the urgency of panic, responded.

Leonor snorted, and Guillen raised his brows before clarifying, “His daughter. She’s filling his seat until the provincial election is held, so I assumed—”

“Forgive my uncle,” Leonor said, casting a look his way. “He’s not in the know about any of this. Good thing it’s not his job to be, huh?”

It was clear Guillen wanted to chuckle, but he remained quiet with his lips quirked in a smile that Arnaut found somehow just as offensive. He looked away from the premier’s expression to regard Leonor with quizzical eyes. 

Apparently not finished, Leonor added, “You haven’t asked yet, but I’m going to assume Diago Tegridia has been talking to you. He’s never been a fan—especially not of the part about funding students’ studying abroad. My mother planned to massage him on it, but he won’t take any of my uncle’s calls, so—” 

Arnaut, growing nervous, laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“No? I suspect it’s because he offended him during a hallway chat,” Leonor said with a shrug. “Like with Paula? Similar misstep. If you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, that makes it hard to do business, doesn’t it?” 

“That’s not relevant, Leonor, is it?” Arnaut asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Guillen sitting with the same amused, forbearing smirk on his face. “This meeting has nothing to do with Representative Tegridia, and definitely not a casual conversation we might’ve had.”

With an eyeroll, Leonor laughed, “There, see?”

Guillen nodded and offered Arnaut what was, it seemed, his best attempt at a placating smile. “I’ll admit,” he began, looking from Arnaut to Leonor, “Diago does have strong opinions, and I’ve been inclined to hear him out where he has expertise. But, alright, why don’t you walk me through the particulars again—to save time, just make the counterargument to his?” 

Leonor turned more fully to face Arnaut, her expression expectant. They stared at each other for a long moment while he assessed the challenging look in her eyes and what she wanted from him,. He remained all too aware that Guillen was staring and judging, too. More than a challenge, Arnaut saw mischief in her eyes. Leonor was unwilling to look away or say anything. The corners of her lips were curled—not altogether a smirk, perhaps something more predatory, as if she intended to bare her teeth instead of break into a smile. The more seconds passed, the more pleased she seemed. 

He turned back to Guillen with a sigh, concluding, “… I’ll let Leonor take the lead.”

TRANSCRIPT:

RENZO | Have I see you in blue? In person. LEONOR | Maybe once?

RENZO | It looks good. Black is better. Brown. White, whew. LEONOR | It’s for work. Work! I’m going to be late. Poor uncle.

RENZO | He’ll be alright? LEONOR | He’s a big boy. RENZO | Stick around a little longer? LEONOR | Nice try.

ARNAUT | She’ll be here in a minute.

GUILLEN | [Sighs] Fast-tracking legislation when there’s a passing is no way to run a government.

LEONOR | We’d be doubling offshore drilling in memory of Mario Esparza.

GUILLEN | You remember Mario, right? You’ve met Paula? ARNAUT | … His wife? [Leonor snorts] GUILLEN | His daughter. She’s filling his seat until the provincial election is held, so I assumed—

LEONOR | He’s not in the know about any of this. Good thing it’s not his job to be, huh?

LEONOR | You haven’t asked yet, but I’m going to assume Diago Tegridia has been talking to you. He’s never been a fan—especially not of the part about funding students’ studying abroad. My mother planned to massage him on it, but he won��t take any of my uncle’s calls, so— ARNAUT | Well, I wouldn’t say that—

LEONOR | No? I suspect it’s because he offended him during a hallway chat. Like with Paula? Similar misstep. If you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, that makes it hard to do business, doesn’t it? ARNAUT | That's not relevant, Leonor, is it?

ARNAUT | This meeting has nothing to do with Representative Tegridia, and definitely not a casual conversation we might’ve had. LEONOR | There, see?

GUILLEN | I'll admit, Diago does have strong opinions, and I’ve been inclined to hear him out where he has expertise. But, alright, why don’t you walk me through the particulars again—to save time, just make the counterargument to his?

ARNAUT | … I’ll let Leonor take the lead.

ARNAUT | Where are you going? We’re debriefing upstairs in five minutes. LEONOR | Clocking out early. ARNAUT | Did you let Central know? It’s a weekday. You can’t leave the premises without giving them notice. LEONOR | [Chuckles] No, you’re just not supposed to.

ARNAUT | You don’t think anyone will notice the … slacking off? Talk? LEONOR | What, are you going to tattle on me? ARNAUT | I don't have to. I’m just saying it’s a bad look. Trust me.

LEONOR | You should worry about yourself, uncle. Trust me.

[jnnul]

lowkey

gif credit: @chwerity

genre: FLUFF, action if you count the amount of running they do 😭, jaemin being stupid <3

word count: 0.8k

type: drabble

a/n: hehe welcome to my first official post! i guess the other two were just timestamps to kinda get a feel for tumblr lol. let me know what you guys think! the comments/reblog tags are so cute and i keep rereading them <3

+++

you had never expected that you would spend your friday night running away from daily mail.

quite frankly, you didn’t expect that you would be running at all on a friday night, much less from tabloids. you prided yourself on how lowkey you lived your life. you made few, but diehard, friends. you had no enemies. you had a well-paying, stable job and you were working towards buying your own apartment soon. but for all of your attempts to stay absolutely average, your superstar boyfriend had to go become famous and propel you to stardom with him.

“oh my god, jaemin, if i have to work out every time we go on a date, i’m literally never seeing you in person again,” you gasp as your boyfriend tugs on your arm to make you run faster - as if that would mean that you would lose your paparazzi trail.

you still don’t know how you ended up like this in the first place. pulling na jaemin, the center of nct dream, was a small miracle in itself. but regardless, you were well seasoned veterans of the dating scheme now. after dating for three years, the two of you were really good at hiding from the public about your relationship.

it definitely helped that you were a run of the mill citizen (as opposed to, say, a world renowned singer) and the fact that jaemin was a homebody until he died so being in this situation was a little foreign to you. you weren’t sure if you had gotten into a scare like this since the first two months that you and jaemin were dating.

“i thought we would be safe in fucking london!” jaemin hisses back as the two of you weave in and out of the stumbling bodies exiting suspicious looking clubs. “it’s two in the morning and people still recognized me wearing a sweatshirt, mask, and sunglasses.”

you stop in your tracks at that, gaping at jaemin’s ‘foolproof’ disguise. the sweatshirt he mentioned? neon green. you mentally face-palm as the two of you start running again, hearing the incoming mob of people.

they definitely had done this before, you think. you were way too tired and they looked like keep tailing the two of you for another couple hours for sure.

“you cannot tell me that the sweatshirt the color of a traffic suit was your way of escaping paparazzi,” you deadpan. looking back on it, the last couple years worth of dates were done where you were both wearing clothes that were almost at the level of national espionage.

you and jaemin would always wear varying shades of black and the two of you would always choose the most hole in the wall places you could find - or some of the industry safe places, such as the locations in itaewon, where you could easily blend with the foreigners. even some of the veterans of the industry were known for letting idols into their establishments in discrete ways so that everyone could act normally for a few hours.

the two of you had gotten careless this time. thinking you would be safe due to the far away location, as well as the late timing, you had grown lax and comfortable due to the lack of scandals for the past few years. rookie mistake.

“this way! if we get off of peter street, we should be able to dodge the tabloids,” you stage whisper, tugging your boyfriend so that he would be by your side as the two of you dash into the nearest adjacent street that you can.

you’re affectively pressed up against jaemin’s chest as you rest your head against the crook of his neck, trying to conceal both of your faces so that you look like any other drunk and enamored couple. you would tell jaemin to take off that stupid neon green sweatshirt but the space to move is a luxury you haven’t been awarded. 

you and jaemin hold your breaths, hoping that the less noise you make, the less the gods are compelled to send the tabloids your way. it seems your vehement prayers (and perhaps the fact that the alleyway was so dark, it muted jaemin’s sweatshirt color) have paid off because the mob that was following you run right past the alleyway you’re hiding in in a cacophony of “this way!” and “we’re gonna make front page!” that lets you know that you’ve successfully escape them. 

the two of you shimmy out of the alley when you’re positive there’s no one left and breathe in the air that was much too hard to breath in the cramped alleyway.

you look at jaemin, who’s already looking at you with a stupid grin on his face as he presses a kiss against your cheek.

“so much for lowkey, huh?”

“na jaemin, i swear to fucking god, if you don’t throw out that sweatshirt right now, i’m breaking up with you!”

“but...but it’s the nct dream sweatshirt.”

“...i’m gonna kill jeno.”

[toowildintheseventies]

Trade Mistakes

chapter two: strangers

A/N: slow beginnings here, but trust me, okay? i’m trying to tell a story here. i’m hoping that this chapter has enough little hints of despair, angst and love to keep you all satisfied. next chapter should pick up a bit and give us some sweet, sweet slow-burn romance.

Pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You’re a woman with many vices. Smoking, drinking, spending time in shitty clubs, and your undying love and obsession with your ex-boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. You had spent your entire adolescence with each other, until he had unexpectedly broke your heart and disappeared. For the last few years, you two had lived separate, mysterious lives. Until you are reintroduced under strange circumstances and fictitiously rekindle your relationship.

Warnings: alcohol use, drug use, implied drugging, possible attempted sexual assault, violence.

Tag list: @midnightmystic @doetic

— —

You don’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore.

You first notice when you’re getting ready, late for your evening at Iceberg Lounge — so late that your roommate had already left you behind over an hour ago. It was between coating your eyelids with dark eyeliner and fixing a long, pink wig over your natural hair when you saw an unfamiliar, dull look in your eyes. Your face seemed foreign. Completely unrecognizable.

You realize that you’ve muddied your personality for so long, changed so many aspects of yourself to fit into whatever glittering society or dull evening party you find yourself in, that you’ve completely lost the hold on yourself you once treasured.

It’s something you try not to think about for too long, though. There are more critical things to dread and worry about. Your existence is, unfortunately, last on the list.

In between taking a confidence shot of vodka and stumbling around your apartment looking for your keys, you realize that this loss of complete self must have happened after your breakup. Seven fucking years ago. Truthfully, in the time of becoming somewhat of a tabloid icon and the beloved girlfriend of Bruce Wayne, you never felt more like yourself. Even if it was all an act. Now, you feel much less polished and refined. Instead, your existence is only for survival, not the false concept of love and future security.

The thought follows you all night. You notice it during your drunken, stuporous walk to the club, catching your reflection in the dark-tinted windows that follow you down the long path toward the Lounge. That dead, lifeless look in your eye is ever-present and mind-consuming. It’s so obvious to you, even with the layers of makeup and your messy wig. You start to wonder how long you’ve looked like this, and how long it took you to notice.

It only takes a flirty smile and a flash of your ID to get access to the underground bar. Everyone who works at the Iceberg Lounge knows who you are, and understands how well your presence is beginning to be for business. It doesn’t take much for the security guards and club bouncers to bend to your will and give you access to almost everywhere. You’re rarely spoken to, but everyone’s gaze follows you as you walk past crowds of drunken dancers on the floor and dropheads strung out on the staircase.

It’s loud and numbing inside the lounge, drowning out all of your previous worries and self-hatred. The music nestles itself inside of your brain, silencing your thoughts and floating you towards the dimly lit bar in the corner where your roommate stands behind the counter, pouring liquid haphazardly inside of cheap glasses and yelling at customers over the chaos and noise.

Her face instantly brightens when you walk towards her and sit at one of the vacant bar stools in front of the counter.

She drops everything, ignoring the other customers and the cocktail she is currently making, and turns towards you instead, “Are we drinking tonight?”

You hum happily, pushing the faux, pink bangs out of your face, “Yes, please.”

It only takes a few seconds for a drink to appear in front of you, and you pull it towards you quickly, drinking through the straw as you look up at your roommate through your lashes. The drink is strong, almost too strong, and you push it away from you once it’s halfway empty.

She glances at your drink in between grabbing cash from customers and handing out a dozen shots to a drugged-out politician that you recognize from the news, “Rough day?” she asks.

You sigh and pull the drink back towards you, “You have no idea, Bella. He was everywhere today.”

The use of he tells Bella everything she needs to know. Bruce Wayne has become somewhat of a constant concept between the two of you, especially since his face and image seem to be following you even more aggressively since his appearance at the Mayor’s funeral months ago. All of the things that happened after the funeral were unimportant to the tabloids and scummy magazines, which were more focused on gthe one-time appearance of Bruce Wayne in a public place, notably the first time he appeared at a crowded event since your mysterious breakup.

You had mentioned your relationship to Bruce Wayne only a week after moving in with Bella, over a bottle of wine as the two of you sat in your empty, unfurnished living room. It was a casual, drunken mention – when you were still grieving the breakup and still begging for answers. Bella, whom you previously hadn’t spoken to since your Freshman year of high school, was unsurprisingly shocked and obsessed. Obviously, Bella hadn’t been following the drama and tabloids that have circulated throughout Gotham during your five-year relationship. That night, you had shared every detail and story you could think of. You cried and complained next to her on your cheap couch, and she held you without judgment. You’ve been good friends ever since.

Typically, Bruce rarely comes up in conversation. You do your best to forget about him and pretend that you’re not still hurting, almost seven years later. But some days, it’s more difficult than most. Especially since you continuously deny any attempt to date again, and instead you stick to flirting with shitty, older rich men for money and attention.

Today has been an especially bad day.

“Some Wayne executives had lunch at the bistro today,” you explain between sips of your drink, “I kept hearing his name as I took their order and gave them their check. They paid with the fucking company credit card, Bella. With that ridiculous Wayne crest on the front. I sincerely doubt they didn’t recognize me. I heard them whispering.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Bella whispers, leaning towards you across the bar counter. Most of the customers have wandered away from the bar, leaving the two of you alone, shrouded in the loud music of the dance floor to talk openly, “What else happened?” she asks.

You sigh, “Another letter from Alfred. An invite for breakfast at Wayne Manor and a little bit of money. I know he means well, but I don’t think he understands how much it hurts me. I hate the reminders. I doubt Bruce knows he’s speaking to me. I hate the idea of him keeping it from Bruce like I’m some sort of terrible, hideous secret.”

For the last seven years, you and Alfred still kept in contact, for the most part. It was something he promised in between your continuous calls to Wayne Manor in an attempt you get you to shut up and stop knocking at the door. Alfred played a huge role in Bruce’s upbringing, and you knew Aflred became somewhat of a father figure to him, something you entirely envied. Alfred was good to you, too. He was kind and respectful, always making sure you were well taken care of during college and your weekend trips to Gotham. In all honesty, you think he adored you. Alfred believed you were obviously good for Bruce, and that you kept him grounded.

You were grateful for his unfaltering support, including the money that was stashed away in unmarked envelopes. He never left you. It would be cruel to ignore that very obvious, painful truth. Though his existence in your life, even limited, still burns and scars you. You wish Alred never needed to take care of you. You wish your quick meetings and unsigned letters weren’t in secret – and instead, you still saw him across the breakfast table, or watched him as he adjusted Bruce’s suit before the two of you walked out the door. You wish nothing ever changed.

“Are you going to go?” Bella asks, “To see Alfred?”

You shrugged as she poured you another drink, “I don’t think so. I’m tired of hurting myself just to have some sort of connection to him. It’s too painful.”

Bella nods, “I think that’s the smart choice, honey. After all, you have a lovely life without the two of them, don’t you? You don’t need to keep reopening old wounds.”

The bar becomes busy again as the night grows longer, and Bella is forced to move away from you to finish drinks and break up fights happening at the end of the bar. To keep yourself busy, you continue to sip on your drink and watch as people pass through the bar. Many of them are smart, influential men who control Gotham, who haven’t been deterred from visiting Iceberg Lounge by Falcone’s death and the mysterious attacks from the Riddler. Instead, the underground of Gotham is more alive than ever, and a thousand times angrier and vengeful. There are others finding a home at the bar too, including familiar faces that tend to keep your bills paid and your drinks full and strong. Mixed in with the miserable and corrupt men are the bar showgirls, who basically hate you for stealing away their attention. You ignore their vengeful side eyes and sly remarks of greeting, instead focusing on the drink in front of you and the memories of Bruce Wayne that have unhappily infiltrated your thoughts.

Bella eventually comes up to you again with the fourth drink of the night, handing it towards you with a quick, giddy comment about it being sent to you by a man at the end of the bar. Before she walks away again, she leans towards you across the counter, so close that you can smell her cheap perfume and see the flecks of glitter in the corners of her dark, brown eyes.

“You have to face it eventually, she whispers to you as the music grows louder, “That fucked up ex-boyfriend of yours owns this city. He’s Gotham’s prince, and you’re bound to be reminded of him everywhere. But here’s the good part: you own this fucking scene. Something that is completely untouchable, and completely yours. I doubt you’re going to see any marks of Bruce Wayne here.”

You smile as you pull away from her, ignoring Bella’s use of the word prince when describing Bruce Wayne – knowing that if you recognize the metaphor your heart will burst and you will begin to feel like you are absolutely drowning. Instead, you direct your smile towards the direction of the bar Bella came from as she walks away from you towards the back.

You make eye contact with a middle-aged, slightly ugly man in an ill-fitting suit across the bar. He smiles as you scan him up and down, and doesn’t hesitate to get up from his barstool and walk towards you. As soon as he stands up, two other men appear from the dark shadows around him and walk behind him as he makes his way towards you.

“Enjoying your drink?” the man asks as he sits down beside you, reaching for your exposed thigh.

You shuffle away from him, instead reaching to place your own hand on his, “You bought it for me?” You ask, answering his question with another.

He nods, and you smile with false happiness, “Then of course I do,” you answer.

The flirting is nauseating. You like to pretend it is something you can handle, and something you even enjoy. But ultimately, it makes you sick. You can’t deny your skill and experience by pretending to be someone you are not, or pretending to play a part – but it doesn’t make it any easier. Each night, you question your own choices that brought you to sitting at a disgusting, secretive bar smiling at cruel men. Though when the money falls into your hand at the end of the night, you’re entirely pleased. At least you don’t fuck them. They just want a smile and a kind word from you, and the men fall at your feet.

The rest of the night becomes a nonsensical, confusing blur. More drinks are brought to you by a different bartender, Bella disappearing into the back as her shift begins to end. The man and his two mysterious shadows stay close to you for the rest of the night. You’re eventually dragged away from the barstool and into the crowded sweaty dancefloor, and then to a darkened, worn booth in the back of the lounge. You let yourself get dragged along, smiling, dancing, and sweet-talking your way into the night, halfheartedly dreaming of your bed at home once the night is over. You once catch a quick glimpse of yourself in the dirty mirrors that line the walls near the booth you lazily lounge in, and you can still see the glimpse of unfamiliarity in your eyes, even though the glassy, drunken gaze. You do your best to ignore it, and instead, bring your entire focus to the constant chattering of your unbearable companion. Your constant, girlish attention is the way you make your money, anyhow.

Some sort of chaos in the middle of the night strips your focus away from the man sitting beside you at the bar, and you hear the distant screams of anguish and ricocheting gunshots. As you turn toward the man next to you, you notice that his face becomes pale and his palms sweaty. He stops speaking and instead moves away from you silently, staring straight ahead towards the disruptions. The two other men who have been following you all night like coked-out bodyguards become rigid and stoic, and begin to run in unison towards the sound of the chaos and fight.

You stare at your drink, noticing the way everyone around you suddenly grows incredibly quiet out of fear and confusion. Suddenly, you’re beginning to feel much more drunk than usual.

You attempt to take a deep breath, but it feels as if each time you breathe your vision becomes more blurry and unfocused. Your mind becomes foggy and unreliable, and you can barely make out the vision of the man in front of you. You study the drink that had been placed in front of you and watch as the drink bubbles and foams in a deeply unfamiliar way. Something is very, very wrong.

Bella is gone from the bar, which is usual for this time of the night. Everyone else around you is unfamiliar and seemingly unkind, too wrapped up in their own shady, terrible business to pay you any mind. You’re completely alone, forced to escape the man next to you on your own.

As soon as you begin to recognize your dangerous situation and move towards standing up away for the man, his two bodyguards reappear, one of them reaching for you. You’re too slow with your reaction time, and he grabs your forearm forcefully and pulls you towards him.

You watch as the other bodyguard leans towards the man sitting in the booth and murmurs something only the few of you can here, “He’s here,” he whispers, “It’s time to leave.”

Suddenly, you’re getting pulled away towards an unfamiliar door and pushed into an alleyway. You can feel the man gripping onto your arm, so tight that you are sure his grip is going to leave bruises. The longer you stay standing the more confused and lost you become, which only solidifies the actuality that something is very wrong with you and your incredibly unfortunate situation.

The three men are walking you through the alleyway as you attempt not to trip over the holes and trash that litter the street. You can feel your heel breaking and every muscle in your body throb as if you’re about to completely collapse onto the hard, concrete ground. You can see a parked car in the distance with its headlights on, and you watch as one of the bodyguards motions towards the vehicle, signaling for the car to move closer toward the four of you. Your whole body seizes with panic as you dig your heels into the ground, pushing and shoving the man away from you. He roughly grabs at your arm again and pulls you forward in protest. You’re too exhausted and spiked to fight back for too long, and eventually, your body begins to give out as you are pulled closer to the car.

Footsteps come up from behind you, causing the three men that surround you to freeze in place, the two bodyguards with their hands on the guns hung on their waistbands. You attempt to use this moment to break free of the man’s hold, but his grip only grows tighter.

The footsteps move closer to you, and you hear the fearful, angry grunts of the men that surround you as they cock their guns and point toward the vision in the shadows. In a quick moment, the attacker is terrifyingly close to you, and the two men are pulled into the shadows in a violent, quick moment.

Everything’s happening too fast. You’re drunk, tired, and maybe drugged. You can’t tell. Either way, you think you black out for a moment. Everything goes fuzzy and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, almost drowning out the sounds of the fight. Your vision falters, just for a moment, and the chaos around you disappears into a drunken, confused nothingness.

You hear everything. The breaking of bones, the powerful grunts of the attacker, the screams and shouting of the others. You can make out quick glimpses of awkward limbs flailing and powerful punches — but you aren’t all there. It’s as if you’re watching from far away, like a dream. You're not entirely convinced that this is actually happening, that what you’re experiencing is grounded in reality. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t make out the body of the attacker. Instead, all you see is a figure of shadow, as if he’s shrouded in the darkness of the alley.

When you regain a bit of awareness, the man who had an aggressive hold on your upper arm is on the ground of the alleyway, bleeding and sputtering for help. The other two men are running down the street, and you can faintly make out police sirens that seem to be following behind them.

You back away from the man on the ground, and you feel your whole body shake out of fear and confusion. When you look up, you see the shadowy figure step forward towards you, and the panic fully sinks in.

You don’t know why you do it or why you think it’s a good idea in the haze of anxiety and drunkenness. But in a quick moment, you make the decision that you need to fight, and that you need to get away.

You pick up the first thing you see. Which happens to be an old, rusty pipe near your feet. You grip it with both hands and swing it rapidly around you, like a warning shot.

“Stay back,” your voice shakes, “Don’t come any closer.”

Your fragile warning and ridiculous weapon do little to keep the shadowy figure at bay. Instead, he steps closer.

His hands are at his sides, his walk gentle and careful. A fleeting thought of calmness and security comes over you, and you start to believe that maybe you aren’t in danger.

After all, the men he attacked and scared away were awful. Drop dealers, corrupt politicians, or simply evil men with terrible agendas. Even if they weren’t any of those things, they were still pulling you, drunk and drugged, down an alleyway into darkness. Not a good look.

In one way, didn’t the men get what they deserved? They were terrible men who had horrific intentions. In that way, it was hard to imagine them being victims. The attack and brutalization was simply an action of justice.

It was the word justice rattling around in your head that snapped you back to reality and forced you to look up at the figure in front of you.

The figure hidden in the shadows wasn’t a pissed-off drug addict, or some crime goon who got power-hungry like you initially believed. This wasn’t an inside attack or some type of blind vengeance. It had been Batman, the hidden antihero who had become a ghost story within Iceberg Lounge, and who was now standing in front of you, still and frozen as if he was attempting to make some type of serious, terrible decision.

You lived in Gotham, so you knew of Batman. You remember the terrible chaos and destruction that happened months ago during the Riddler’s attacks. You remember hearing about his appearance at Iceberg Lounge and his presence during Falcone’s arrest and murder — which failed to make anything change within the hidden world of Gotham. His name and the fuzzy, shapeless photos of Batman around the dark city were front-page of almost every newspaper, he was spoken about on almost every Gotham news channel. He was whispered about at the bar, and you heard the ridiculous, terrifying stories of his encounters every day. He wasn’t a secret, even if no one knew who he truly was.

But, his existence meant very little to you. You had more important things to worry about, like getting to work on time and paying the bills. You didn’t think you’d ever come into contact with him, and at a certain point, you chose to ignore the stories as if they were some narrative of fiction.

He brought some sort of justice to the streets of Gotham, a silent, violent protector. He wasn’t in the business of hurting people who didn’t deserve it. The worst he’s done is disappear without any regard for others, which is what you expect him to do now.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he makes another step closer, and you panic once again.

You’re still not in your right mind. Something is still wrong, something unfamiliar is still coursing through your veins that steals your vision and makes everything feel more confusing and dark than it already is.

You continue your grip on the pole, swinging it wildly in his direction, which he ignores. He just moves closer, reaching for your arm. You hear the sound of the pole making contact with his suit, which results in a soft, low grunt from him. He makes no move to fight back.

You scream. It’s not a noise you knew you were capable of making, shrill and terrifying and more loud than you’d ever been before. You’re quickly silenced by a large, leather-gloved hand that covers your mouth. In your shock, you drop the pole to the ground and shut your eyes, your scream still muffled. You hear him speak, in a low, deep voice, and it sounds like your name.

He backs you up against the wall, and when you eventually stop trying to resist him, he slowly removes his hand from your mouth.

He hesitates. You watch his eyes as he scans your face, and you can see something similar to panic and worry flashing in his eyes. He seems unsure of his next actions, unsure of what to do with you.

It takes all of your strength not to pass out as your vision continues to blur and your mind continues to run away from you. He seems to be keeping you still and steady, with a firm grip around your waist that stops your knees from completely buckling.

It’s silent for a moment. You continue to follow his gaze, watching his face as he seems to fall through different emotions. And that’s when you notice him.

After all, you always believed you’d recognize blind and deaf.

You know those eyes. The same eyes that have haunted you for over a decade. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love. They were unforgettable. Even before he left you, his eyes tormented you. They always left you uneasy, a little fearful.

You were too enamored that he stood before you to concern yourself with the unfaltering consequences of recognizing Gotham’s darkest hero. You didn’t care.

“Bruce?”

You felt yourself smile when you spoke his name, without even meaning to. It was so natural to you, that even all these years later you still reserved such a specific smile. Always a little seductive, or playful, with a hint of condescending admiration. A smile just for him.

You probably looked terrifyingly broken. Dazed, bruised, and barely able to hold yourself up against the wall. You can feel a bruise formulating on your upper arm, where the man had held onto you tightly, but it feels like a lifetime ago. You know you must look unrecognizable, so far away from the young girl he once loved and adored. Now, the two of you were strangers. More than strangers.

You watch him for a response. His face continues to contort through a thousand different, little emotions. He’s angry and fearful, his eyes focused and pupils blown with ridiculous terror. For a moment, though, you watch his eyes soften into something akin to goodness. He looks more familiar than ever now, with his eyes gentle and mouth slightly open in a confused, terrified stupor.

Bruce’s hands tighten around your waist, his fingers digging into your side. You know he can recognize the way your knees weaken with terror and blind confusion. Like everything, Bruce can recognize things happening to you before you can. Years after seeing each other for the last time, he still knew more about you than you ever learned about yourself.

The unfamiliar, drugged sickness was back, alongside the confusion and fuzzy thoughts. Somehow, you begin to convince yourself that you are about to die, huddled in the darkness of an old alleyway. It almost becomes a comforting, mind-numbing thought. Of dying in his arms, in a twisted, terrible way.

Finally, Bruce opens his mouth to speak. Moments before you can make out what he said, you slump against the wall and pass out in his arms.

[tgm-zeej]

Love that 2023 is becoming the year of ‘actually? fuck this.’

WGA, SAGAFTA, and UPS have come across my dash today, but there was the Canadian Federal Worker’s Strike earlier this year and the various ongoing airline strikes in Europe too. Granted that I don’t know a lot about those last two in particular, but I find it somewhat telling that many of the industries whose workers were particularly abused during the pandemic are now striking. And they should. They did their jobs to pull people through the most strenuous parts of lockdown and got dumped on for it, both by their higher ups and the worst parts of the general public. 

Big changes move a little slower than we’d like sometimes, but one bright spot in the abyssal pit that was the pandemic is a rather urgent sense of working class unity. It’s not universal, obviously—bootlickers have always and will always exist—but the pandemic really spotlighted how much being working class sucks and how needless that suffering is. You used to have a blue collar vs. white collar animosity running through any discussions about stuff like this, and that has taken a very firm backseat post-lockdown.

A lot of it is down to the fact that a lot of people had time to sit around and learn, even if they weren’t actively trying to. They saw it. They saw people being treated like garbage by their jobs in every sector of employment. They experienced—in a very personal and organic way—the soulless indifference to human pain that we’ve allowed to become the accepted norm in businesses across the world. 

That kind of injustice puts resentment in your chest. So deep you can feel it at your spine. You can’t do much about it at first, but the next time you encounter a similar injustice, you won’t have indifference or a passive hope that kindness will win. Often, it’s something that would alone be somewhat inconsequential. A lit match has very different effects on concrete and gunpowder, after all. All the same, that event can often serve as the starting pistol for societal change bubbling beneath the surface. 

I feel like the WGA strike is that event. It’s a very publicized strike, mostly because it’s headed by a group that knows how the media machine works. They have connections and skills within that area; they don’t have to explain their grievances to journalists who may or may not be receptive. It’s pushed worker’s rights up to a profile that ensures they’ll be covered in tabloids as well as op-eds and financial columns. That is very much a good thing.

It’s not the first one. It’s not the hardest fought. It’s not the most important by itself. But it is a fight worth having, and a signal that better things are to come. As long as we win, of course.

[altocat]

Shinra forces Sephiroth to go on a date with some hot super model just to get media attention. What does the media see/how does it go?

This is probably the single most anticipated event in recent Midgar history. The paparazzi is absolutely AWASH with excitement. Many suspected that the two were already dating, given how they're both the most eligible people in Midgar respectively.

As for the date itself, it's pretty uneventful. Sephiroth is seen to be drinking more wine than is probably good for him, not making small talk, not really looking terribly happy either. His date is equally unimpressed, playing with her food, looking bored.

BAD ENDING: Another long string of guilt and unhappiness on Sephiroth's end, giving stilted interviews the next day pretending to be invigorated about the affair when he's actually completely apathetic and miserable. All the while sadly watching Genesis mouth comments to him from behind the flashing cameras.

GOOD ENDING: The model grows fed up with this bullshit and covertly mutters to Sephiroth that SHE doesn't like this any more than he does. Her girlfriend will probably see it all over the tabloids the next day. This piques Sephiroth's interest and things actually become a lot friendlier from here, with some private confessions shared behind closed doors that people completely misinterpret. The next few days, Sephiroth is seen in casual clothing at the Midgar planetarium with two women in tow, arms linked and looking genuinely relaxed and happy. There's speculation afterwards on whether or not this means Sephiroth is some sort of womanizer. And when a very surprised and smug-looking Genesis joins them on a similar outing the following week, subsequent speculation grows all the more intense.

[howlingday]

swashbuckler au pyrrha flashback episode where she is saved by the long blade and swears to marry him when she was a few years younger with jaune having no idea she was serious or who she was .... why does that make her more interested!?!

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Aquadian Romance

It was supposed to be a simple tour. The rising star, Pyrrha Nikos, would tour across Remnant with her friends and rivals in order to maintain favor in her coming years. "Nothing would go wrong," she'd told her worrying mother.

But it did go wrong. Her team was trapped inside their room as the hotel was locked down by a roving gang of thugs. When they were denied entry, they got violent. When the guards came to apprehend them, they were beaten back. Suddenly, she was held against one of them, a knife to her neck.

She tried to be strong, but she couldn't help but cry. She saw cameras within the crowd and everyone could see her tears. The tabloids would eat this up like the vultures they are. Once the guards backed away, she was tossed away and the hotel was shut and locked.

Nothing happened for the rest of the week. Food was getting scarce, and she noticed her captors staring at them longer each day. She'd tried to maintain her exercise routine, but the reps lessened each passing day. Until...

"Psst!" Came a hiss. A hushed whisper. "I'm gonna get you out!" A hopeful chance. She made her way to the door, rousing the others on her way.

"Wh-Who are you?"

"I'm..." The voice trailed off before returning with confidence. "I'm La Lama Lunga."

The Hero of Aquadia?! Pyrrha had heard the legends, but to hear his voice was shocking! There was so much she wanted to warn him of, but his footsteps had already moved swiftly away from the door.

Thirty seconds passed. Nothing. One minute. Still nothing. Time slowed and Pyrrha's heart thundered. Could this be it? Could she be saved at last?!

"Look!" One of the girls whispered. Outside the window, a segmented rope softly swayed in the night air. Arslan took hold and gave it a few, firm tugs. With a nod, she bravely climbed outside. Slowly, one after the other, the rest of the athletes climbed out of the roof.

Pyrrha was the last woman out. Halfway across the room, the door exploded into splinters. Fear made her look back, and fear made her slow. She was pinned down, a weight placed hard against herbody.

"HELP ME!" Sobbing out as she tried in vain to be hear. A strike to her head made her quiet, though she continued to sob. Moreso when she saw the rope retract to the heavens.

She'd been abandoned. A casualty of a horrible circumstance. She alone was left behind. She could hear cries of rejection, though they were din to the agony she had felt. She was betrayed by those she'd called friend, and by the Hero of Aquadia.

"Oh, don't feel so bad." The voice said with sick intentions laced over it. "We don't need them. Long as we got you, we can have all the fun we want." She wanted to scream, but a roving hand to her chest choked the air out of her lungs. Hoisted to her feet, she was dragged to the window. "C'mon, let's see the pretty sights and get to know each other."

Pyrrha shivered. Was this how her life would be? Trapped in a foreign hotel, her dreams of becoming an international athlete as well as her dreams of maintaining her chastity to one she truly loved both quashed in a single, horrible night of abhorrent circumstance? Now, she was alone, and it was thanks to the Hero of Aqua-

"YIPPIE-KI-YAY-MOTHER- OH SHIT, DUCK!"

Pyrrha leaned forward, freeing herself as the rope returned, carrying a masked hero on the end of it. Boots pointed like a spear, the hero thrust into the room, heels cracking in the face of her captor. She was freed! Her life itself saved by this hero of insurmountable bravery!

"Um, a little help?"

She looked up to see him dangling, his boot caught on the balcony frame. She hurried and carried him down. When he was brought down to the floor, she gazed into the eyes behind his mask. They were as blue as the waters of Aquadia, and twice as kind.

"Th-Thank you..." She whimpered.

"Don't thank me yet." He said, taking hold of the rope. "Here. Climb up to the roof. Your friends, and the real heroes are waiting for you up there."

Pyrrha began to climb when she heard shouting. She looked down to see her hero nearly fall out the window. She wanted to call out, but he shouted over her voice.

"PULL UP THE ROPE!"

Pyrrha ascended, much to her dismay. Before she knew it, she felt arms grab hers, and she was lifted into sobbing hugs. On the roof, she was met by her friends and rivals, the city guards, and... the Hero of Aquadia?

This one, however, was completely different. He was much taller, more muscular, and had a pointed beard. He looked like he was in his 30s or 40s, whereas the man who saved her was closer to her age. He walked over to the rope and released it with a swick of his blade.

Pyrrha thrashed against those around her, but it was too late, and the rope lay helpless on the ground.

"But what about-?!"

"He's fine." The timbred voice waved off. "This was his idea, so he should know how to get out of it."

At this, Pyrrha finally freed herself. She marched up to him, jabbing a finger at him. "AND WHERE WERE YOU?!" She screamed, feeling the others hold her back. Tears filled in and flowed from her eyes. "WHY WAS IT ONLY HIM WHO SAVED US?!" In response, the supposed hero made a face of mild discomfort, like a cat that ate bad fish.

Before this could go further, there was cheering from the ground. Everyone leaned over and saw the real Hero of Aquadia walk out of the hotel. From the roof, he didn't look bad, but in the papers the next day, you could see the battered hero as he was.

The next few years that followed, Pyrrha went on to win regional and even Kingdom championships, lucrative sponsorships, and even a scholarship into Beacon. She was going to become a huntress, and hopefully, meet her hero again one day. The tabloids noticed her increased perserverance and tenacity, calling it, as they put it, "like she was steel to be tempered." Though this angered her that they would make light of and even glorify her trauma, she chose to ignore it and swallow her pride.

A buzz from her scroll caught her attention. It was from her friend, Ruby. And it would be the call she had been waiting for her entire life.

[sugarywishes]

How did the Aftons react to Evan's death via the bite?

About time I get an angsty question, let's dive right in!!

The Afton Family (we'll get into specifics in a minute)

- Well, it was a death in a established/popular entertainment location. Not to mention a gruesome death, so obviously everyone and their mother not only made several tabloids and news reports, they also interviewed/interrogated EVERYONE AT THE PARTY

- so what a joy it was to not only have the company's name slandered, but your family was constantly harrassed about the whole situation too!!

- Michael and Elizabeth's classmates would always ask them about the incident, to the point where William pulled them out of school for a while

- Their neighbors became extremely nosy abt it as well (asking about funeral plans, if they were gonna have Michael arrested etc) and the family itself was already pretty isolated, so they basically became antisocial afterwards and avoided talking to people

- I briefly mentioned this in the Charlie post, but William was kicked out of the company shortly afterwards (my version of Henry was originally kind of a self-centered, prideful man before Charlie...yk ☹) bc of the bad publicity towards him and the fact it was fucking up the business now (I'll list more reasons in a bit) so now the only friend the Aftons had was giving them the cold shoulder and cutting ties with them to avoid affiliations

Okay specifics time!! (This might be a long post so grab some 🍿)

Michael Afton (not the Michael color, I know, there's no gray!!)

- All Mikey wanted to do was just prank Evan, teach him a lesson for getting him in trouble more than usual.

- Nice going, Michael.

- Oh boy. This guy went to a literal state of shock (I'm talking HE FROZE IN FEAR KINDA SHOCK) as soon as Fredbear's jaw closed

- He didn't even manage to 'wake up' until they were already in the hospital (Lizzie dragged him there)

- and of course Mike was scared and remorseful, his prank was quite literally meant to be a funny haha moment which ended up as him technically becoming a murderer 😭😭

- He nearly vomited and passed out as soon as he heard Evan died

- When Michael returned to school, best believe he lost all his popularity, now everyone knew him as the guy who killed his brother (the other kids involved in the prank distanced themselves as far away from it as possible) and so he became a friendless outcast :(

- Even Jeremy stopped talking to him, mostly because of what Jeremy's mom said about them for clout

- which totally didn't help his now declining mental health

Elizabeth Afton

- Lizzie was actually hanging around the bathroom area talking with Charlie when the bite happened, she would've been too late to stop it anyway

- She literally lost her twin. It's not the best feeling in the world.

- Of course she felt terrible about the whole situation but also,,,a sense of liberation??

- like, the one person who stood in the way of her gaining her father's love is dead. Mike doesn't give 2 shits about Will, and Clara is already in a loveless relationship with him. So now it leaves her as his new favorite

- she surprisingly was able to move on faster than the rest of her family (at least on the outside, as I said she did lose her baby brother)

- but it's not a fun life afterwards, considering she no longer had friends at school now since Will pulled her out quickly (and plus, Henry started cutting ties with the Aftons so now she couldn't hang out with Charlie!!) And again, she started losing her mind just like the rest of the family

Clara Afton

- Girly was just tryna to find a camera in the car outside, she didn't see or hear the bite thankfully (she did have to see the image of her bleeding son being carried out by his father though)

- Evan's death is truly what got her motivated enough to actually start fighting against Will's constant mistreatment of her and the kids

- but of course that doesn't last long. (Guess who ends up in Ballora?)

- because of the news (and more specifically, one particular news article made by a Mrs. Helen Fitzgerald, mother of Jeremy Fitzgerald,,,👀) she was now labeled a neglectful, hosebag mom who was probably in it for those Afton bucks 💸 which ruined her relationship with her neighbors and friends

- Remember, EVERYONES reputation was terribly slandered by the bite (and by the media wanting to cause more drama)

- She was already a stressed out, meek person because of her marriage with William, she got a lot worse after her baby died

William Afton (his is the LONGEST sorry for the text walls)

- He was just about ready to carry out Evan's birthday cake as soon as he heard the screams of terror

- He reacted almost instantly. William is not a very physically strong looking man, but he is powerful enough to break a robot's jaw open.

- He pulled Evan's body out (as best as he could, he was rushing to save him so who knows if some...chunks were still left inside 🤢🤢 sorry for the mental image)

- He didn't acknowledge ANYONE else in the room. And he didn't even have the rest of his family get into the car, he placed Evan in the back with a blanket wrapped tightly around his head and drove off, leaving the rest of the family to find another way to the hospital

- but of course his efforts were all for nothing.

- Everyone kinda expected him to become deranged and violently (publicly) abusive but for a while he was just...numb. and detached from everyone and everything. He wouldn't talk to a single person and would isolate himself in his workshop/basement to grieve

- (he didn't even bother punishing Michael for the accident, which set off a lot of red flags for Mikey who knew that something would snap inside his father soon)

- His already inconsistent sanity started cracking when his name and family were considered pariahs now (thanks a lot Helen for further spreading rumors about them)

- it became even worse when Henry kicked him out (According to Henry's excuses, he knew Will was likely never going to recover from the bite so he might as well give him an 'early retirement')

- (Basically, Will wasn't coming to work at all and wasn't making them money, his damaged reputation would ruin the now shitty rep of the diner more, and bc of the Aftons now being associated with the words 'horrible' 'neglectful' and 'irresponsible' , Henry just decided to tie up loose ends and get rid of him to save face) (Remember that Henry was an asshole and only got to his redemption journey once his daughter died)

- So, great. But what's this?? The closed Fredbear's Family Diner Fredbear animatronic is acting?? Off?? Sort of seems...alive??? You bet it is!!

- And of course, we all know what happens from there.

Thanks for asking! If you want more just ask!!

[shallow-seas-we-sail]

“Miss Luthor, your two o’clock is here,” Jess’s voice chimes from the phone's speaker on her desk, “Should I send her in?”

Lena smiles and presses the intercom button, “Please let Miss Arias know that I am sending security to escort her off the premises.”

The line is quiet for a moment until Sam’s voice chirps up, “Let me in, you beautiful bitch or I’ll send Jess home. We both know who does all the heavy lifting around here.”

Lena rolls her eyes and cuts off the call as Sam pushes through the double doors of her office, “Slut!” her friend chides, playfully, “You are on the cover of every major publication in the country.” 

Lena lifts her eyes from her computer screen, narrowing them at Sam and cutting them towards Jess, who is trailing (and maybe cowering just a little) behind the CFO.

“Excuse me?” Lena asks, arching an eyebrow

Sam takes a seat across from Lena’s desk, and lifts her messenger bag to her lap before rummaging through it to retrieve her iPad.

“Miss Luthor, I assure you that we have a PR team on stand-by to spin this any way you’d like.” Jess raises placating hands as though Lena is going to hurdle the desk and throttle whomever comes close enough.

“What are you talking abo-..” but Lena snaps her mouth shut as Sam turns her iPad towards her, showing the photo of Lena bathed in blue and red light outside the CatCo gala, tucked and fitting perfectly in a bridal hold in Supergirl’s arms

And they look completely enamored; certainly not like Lena had just thwarted another assassination attempt.

No, they look like stupid teenagers in love.

“Luthor and a Super? The Sapphic CEO and Superhero appear cozy after a disastrous CatCo Correspondents Dinner” the headline reads and Lena squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose before pulling in a deep breath.

“The story itself is pretty benign,” Jess cuts in, “They’re really just trying to sell it with the photo. It’s tabloid fodder.”

“It’s on the front page of the Washington Post,” Sam says out the side of her mouth, “and on the homepage of TMZ and D-Listed and Perez Hilton.”

“Perez Hilton? Is he even still a thing?” Lena waves off their concern. “There is nothing to spin, Jess. Tell the PR team to stand down. Supergirl rescued me and brought me back here. She was professional and cordial. That can be the press release.  Nothing more, nothing less.”

Jess nods and turns on her heels towards the door, “Yes, Miss Luthor.”

“Professional and cordial?” Sam says flatly, her eyes narrowing towards Lena as the double doors click shut behind her.

“Mhm,” Lena hums noncommittally, sliding the iPad back across her desk towards Sam, but she can feel her friend’s eyes on her.

“She just dropped you off.”

“Yup,” Lena pops, and suddenly becomes very interested in rearranging a stack of papers, and one pen in particular on her desk. Lena trains her eyes back to the computer screen in front of her and absolutely ignores how her friend stands slowly and presses the palms of her hands onto the edge of her desk, towering over Lena.

“Was it tragically sexy, again?” Sam nearly purrs.

A small smile pinches at the corner of Lena’s mouth. Oh, quite the opposite actually.

“I knew it!”

(Oh shit, she said that out loud.)

Lena can feel the flush that creeps under skin, and she is hot. Very hot, and when she finally dares to look in her friend's direction she can tell by Sam’s face that she is absolutely the darkest shade of red. There is a smile just itching to break across Sam’s face and Lena opens and shuts her mouth, trying to remember the finer mechanics of speaking, but the line between her brain and mouth seems to have been severed.

“We have these quarterly fiscal reports to go ove-..”

“I can’t believe you kissed Supergirl,” Sam cuts in, “did you slide immediately off the couch? Did she put up a ‘slippery when wet’ sign in the center of your office to save you from yourself?”

Lena barrels on, unsure how to keep the very sexy thoughts in her head from slipping out of her mouth, “R and D have some amazing new project in the pipeline that we could be launching in the next eighteen months-..”

And Lena must be doing a terrible job rambling, because suddenly Sam’s expression shifts from cheshire cat to full on shit-eating grin as her eyes widen and she nearly dives across Lena’s desk, swiping at the air in front of her face.

“Oh my god,” Sam nearly chokes on air, “you fucked Supergirl.”

“Miss Luthor, your mother is on line two,” Jess’s voice chirps up the intercom on her desk, and Lena isn’t sure she has ever been as grateful as she is at this moment to speak to Lillian.

“Where did you do it?” Sam is nearly giddy now, and Lena cuts her gaze down to her desk where her friend's hands are, fingers tapping impatiently and then back up to Sam with an arched eyebrow. Sam pulls back her hands with a huffed ‘ew’ as Lena picks up the phone and sinks back into her seat.

“Hello, mother,” she says cooly.

“You and that alien are plastered all over the news.”

“On the desk?!” Sam mouths and Lena shoots up a middle finger, pressing it against her lips in a plea to table the conversation until she is off the phone, or until they are interrupted by some CADMUS drone strike called in by her mother because every morning talk show across the country is running the photo of her in Supergirl’s arms. Lillian must have been climbing the bars of her cell this morning.

“So what now. Are you and the Kryptonian in love?” 

Lena clears her throat and shakes her head. “Wha-..? No. We’re not in love. Just another run of the mill Luthor assassination attempt. Thank you for that.”

Across from her Sam rolls her eyes and makes a jerk off motion with her hand, “You’re in love.” she mouths, and Lena presses her hand over the receiver.

“I’m not!” she hisses, leaning forward in her chair.

(She’s not, but she is absolutely teetering on the edge of Cupid's warm abyss.)

“Oh please. You’re never going to be able to part with this desk now that your betrothed railed you on it,” Sam whispers back.

Lillian tsks over the phone, “Don’t be so dramatic. They weren’t going to kill you. And besides, I was bored. Just keeping you on your toes.”

Lena bares her teeth at her friend and sits back in her seat, “Well, you should be. You’re in jail.”

“Yes. Thirty to life. Thank you for reminding me, dear.”

Lena hums, “Did you get the chess set I sent?”

“I did. Not that it matters, none of the ingrates in here know how to play anyway.” 

Lena can hear the disgust in her mother’s voice, “Well, perhaps you can do some community restitution and teach them.”

Lena can hear some commotion over the line and an officer shout “TWO MINUTES, LUTHOR.”

“Anyway, I’m calling to ask if you can replenish my commissary account a little early. I’m low on funds.”

Lena flips over her hand, and curls her fingers, examining her nails, “Your account automatically renews the first of the month.”

“I’m asking nicely, Lena.”

“And I’m telling you nicely, mother. Your account balance will renew on the first of the month.”

Lena glances up at Sam, whose eyes are wide, “She’s going to kill you.”

Lena waves off her friend's concern, and covers the receiver, “I’ll be fine. I’m two for two now with this Luthor civil war bullshit. Plus, I have a Supergirl,” Lena adds coyly and winks.

Sam shrugs her shoulders and relents at that. The line is quiet for a moment before Lillian speaks again, “You could be a little more grateful.”

Lena rolls her eyes, dropping her hand from over the receiver, “Oh, here we go.”

“I could have had you killed. But I didn’t.”

“How considerate of you. And how brave of you to admit on a federally recorded line,” Lena snaps back, “Anyway, as much as I love our chats, I do have some glass to chew on so I won't be able to finish the next forty-five seconds of this conversation.”

“You better not be fucking that ali-” Lena drops the phone back the phone into its cradle, and looks up at Sam.

read the first chapter here 

or continue chapter two on ao3

[brujitaadinbo]

Hello to all those who read me and have interacted with me. I come very upset to expose the FARCE that is the SCREEN RANT site a whole garbage tabloid site that has been harassing Din and Bo's relationship since the beginning.

Pure garbage that they upload, as well as those that share everything they upload, without first investigating, like Mando updates.

Yesterday on this podcast they interviewed Brendan Wayne and from minute one, SCREEN RANT changed everything that Brendan said, everything, to their own convenience, making a trash and yellowish note, about how "Din and Bo don't have a future Romantic.

Thanks to my friends from the "Bokadin witnesses" group, we saw how this mediocre site has dedicated itself to uploading FALSE AND MODIFIED INFORMATION from interviews like the ones they "supposedly" did with Katee, which practically changed everything she said, to only expose with great lyrics "that there is no romance between din and bo" which, it has been said It was not a romance as such, because it is impossible to skip steps to make a love affair, but there was romantic interaction and winks.

Now with Brendan's interview they did practically the same thing. I'm not going to share anything from this trash site because it's like giving them publicity BUT I'm going to leave the link to the original interview so you can see that those who lie are those from SCREEN RANT

I thank Julieth for passing on the sensational story so we could address it and dispel the myth. And I thank Morita Moraima, a great writer from Bokadin and an important part of "Witnesses of Bokadin"

Technically Brendan in the interview; He talks about how Din Djarin has become a more human, more open and expressive person, that in the boat scene, when he swears loyalty to Bo katan, they wanted to leave that in print, that thanks to Grogu that change is taking place.

That the romance was not planned but it came to light and he pushed harder for the moment to happen, that he wanted to knock out Bo Katan with his own feelings, that she knew them; that there were several shots where Din is crying with the helmet on, then you can see the intensity in the air of a Din in love with that woman and who does not want her to be depressed or lost in her misery and then another shot where Din is angry with her and disappointed (and in the end we are left with that precious oath he made towards her and that is there, only to her)

And that Brendan expresses what he feels to Bo, as if he were talking to his wife.

And they are not my lies, it is in the interview. They want to provoke hate, they can go to hell because there is something very important IT IS CAPTURED IN SEASON 3 Bo Katan at that moment on the ship feels excited and surprised and with no other character that has been sent to her, she has seen herself like this, with none. only with Din djarin.

I can only tell you; Stop giving credibility to hateful, tabloid and lying sites like ScreenRant… disgusting pages. And stop sharing information that is not confirmed by tabloid and clickbait sites like Mando Updates. I don't care if it bothers you. It is more annoying and hateful to profit from people with gossip and lies.

This is the way…

[blorbocedes]

omg sorry i’m just hyperfixated on the politics of this crazy ass sport 😭 i’ll give it my best shot!

the FIA (Federation Internationale de l’Automobile) is essentially the highest umbrella of authority, they oversee all sorts of different car racing series, including F1. the stewards and race director are employed by the FIA. max mosley (of fascist father and nazi bdsm orgy infamy) was the president for a long while. ben sulayem is the current president, aka he technically has the most authority.

buuuut not necessarily, because this sport is an eternal power struggle between the FIA and F1 itself. i’m not the most qualified to get into the history of it all! but the most basic info is that FOM = Formula One Management, which manages F1 more directly, especially re: commercial rights. FOM used to be controlled by the insane ultimate boss bernie ecclestone but was bought by liberty media in 2017, who is directly responsible for f1’s newfound popularity with netflix, america, etc. it was FOM who organized las vegas, not the FIA. and FOM is currently led by domenicali, former ferrari TP.

FIA/FOM tensions have generally been better since liberty media took over, but they’re flaring up again. this is most visible in the new teams debacle - ben sulayem made a really radical statement in openly courting new teams at the beginning of the year, which FOM has been very loudly opposed to for a while (because of greed). so while the FIA has already approved andretti, FOM will almost certainly reject it whenever they do finally vote on it - which will cause an even bigger mess and probably become an expensive and entertaining court case.

in this case - susie wolff is employed by FOM, not the FIA. so the investigation statement, while likely based on nothing more concrete than that sexist tabloid and rivals complaining, is a way for FIA to assert its power over FOM. in my opinion, it’s not about mercedes, or lewis, or susie herself - it’s about the steadily escalating war between the FIA and FOM.

of course, i’m coming at this from the perspective of a non-merc fan and i understand that AD 2021 is forever gonna haunt every inch of discourse in this sport, but this is my take 😅

messy! informative but thank you, so FOM is essentially Liberty Media. toto seems close to FOM considering how he defended vegas gp

I do think there's grounds for investigation re; Sheila Rao situation which showed toto is willing to trade in his relationships for personal info, and while I think susie has integrity and hasn't done that + rightfully earned her place, just the fact they're in The Position to trade info is a conflict of interest

being said I have no stakes in this, FOM and F1 and Toto should bite each others dicks off

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

How did Bruce and Batmom! become a thing?

It was times like this, Bruce wished he drank. He didn't know why he was nervous.

For All Alfred's complaining about 'mail order brides' and whatever else he was too dignified to mutter under his breath- it was a perfectly reputable matchmaking service.

It matched men with means but no time to women that had the requisite skills they desired in a spouse. It just so happened that they had to cast a much wider net in order to find him, someone.

At the voices in the hall, he took a deep breath and glanced at the clock. He didn't have much time. If he didn't get the over with before Dick was home from school, you'd probably not take ANY of his offers.

But. He doubted it. You knew the score. AND you had secrets of your own- Things that hadn't been in your dossier but he HAD managed to find on his own. You were formidable, a little fragile, and looking to do SOMETHING that didn't involve helping a government fight a shadow war. That in itself was something. At least he wouldn't have to waste time training you.

Alfred ushered you into the study and quirked an eyebrow at Bruce as he came around the desk to greet you, "Miss Y/N," he said, taking your hand. "A pleasure."

And when you regard him, coolly, as if he'd interrupted your conversation at a club before giving him a small smile, he wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

"Mr. Wayne," you answer, "Are you looking for security or-"

"I'm looking for a wife," he said exhaling slowly. "And I'm afraid I don't have much time. The tabloids are getting... out of hand."

If you're shocked it doesn't register. He could have told you it looked like rain for all the expression on your face. And he really, really wished that his decanter had something stronger than colored water in it.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Hi Daisie, sorry if this is hard to understand as English isn't my first language. This is just theorizing and I'm not saying it will happen. If Harry ever decided he wanted to stop having beards and doing the stunts and to just live his life as a gay man but without making an announcement about it, like a glass closet basically... and I know some say he is in one but I disagree because he still has beards. If he wanted that for himself... to be 'out' but without announcing it, whether that is being seen in public with Louis or with another man if they're not together anymore, possibly referring to a boyfriend in interviews or music, or even just being publicly single and keeping his private life private but wanting people to know he is part of the lgbtq+ community.... how would any of that be possible when fans, tabloids, gossip pages like deuxmoi are constantly making up lies about him? Sorry if that's confusing. A glass closet basically. But that seems impossible for him because if he is publicly single then the tabloids and deuxmoi constantly make up lies about him hooking up with every single woman, even if he's never seen with them. Is it possible for any change now?

Hi dear,

Regarding your question about whether it would be possible for Harry to live as a gay man without making a public announcement, it is technically possible. He is already sort of doing that. We've seen him express his queerness more and more over the years. And he's said he wants to keep his private life private and that he has shared his sexual orientation and relationship status with his close friends and family. He's also said he doesn't feel the need to share that publicly at this time. And that's what he's comfortable and happy with right now.

As for the gossip and rumors, that just comes with being a celebrity. It will never stop because it is a caveat of being in the public eye. But also, the rumors ultimately don't matter. They may be annoying, but Harry himself has said he's chosen to ignore those types of things so that they don't impact him or his mental health negatively.

All he can control is himself, not the stuff that happens around him, and from what he's said over the years I think he's made peace with that aspect of fame. So if he gets papped laughing with someone and the gossip circle spreads the rumor that the person is his newest girlfriend, then so be it. He knows who the person is, and the tabloids ultimately don't matter to his every day life and his true self.

But in regards to him mentioning a boyfriend or being seen with a boyfriend in a manner that makes it clear they're dating - that in and of itself would be him coming out, even without a statement, and the media would go absolutely nuts regardless of him speaking on it or not. Again, that's the nature of being a celebrity, and specifically Harry Styles. The biggest aspects of his image are his dating life and sexuality speculations, so there is no way to keep something as monumental as that quiet. It would turn into a huge media news cycle, everywhere. With the general public and in all levels of fandom.

So really, there's a fine line between his queer expression right now and a more outwardly expression of it like you described. Right now his actions can still be straight-washed. Hets can still ignore the gay pride, gay sex innuendo and queerness. But even then, it's becoming harder to. Now there's 2 sides to it: one in which his gay pride gets erased, and one in which he's condemned for the gay agenda he's spreading with his rainbows. It's an amazing exercise in willful ignorance.

Of course, him being a queer man has been slowly more accepted tho. Even 2-3 years ago we would get laughed at for thinking he's queer. Or before that, called homophobic names for suggesting THE Harry Styles would *ever* touch a pride flag. So things have changed. The conversation regarding Harry has become more open to his queer expression, even in the gp. So that is progress. Even if the tabloids continue to run with made up hookup stories.

In terms of beards, I don't think he'll be able to entirely stop that unless he's getting ready to make a public statement about his personal life. But, in my opinion, it doesn't sound like it's something he wants right now. It's obvious he enjoys his privacy, and wants parts of his life to remain private. And that includes his sexuality and his partner. This is what's safest and best for him at the moment. For *many* reasons.

We can't forget the current world we are living in. While it may seem accepting of the queer community compared to 5, 10, 20 years ago, we are seeing our rights stripped away every day. No joke, every day. Rights that we fought years to have. Just taken. In 2023. Homophobia and transphobia are being normalized again. Homophobic and transphobic legislations being accepted in all levels of government. In the US, gay marriage is at risk, just 8 years after it was legalized in all states. And while the entertainment industry may look like they celebrate the LGBTQ+ community, it is still a cruelly homophobic institution that will crush a queer person, even if they are at the top right now.

This post is highly relevant.

Ok, this turned out to be super rambly. Hopefully I addressed what you were thinking about.