#maybe not to the pulitzer prize people

[hold-him-down]

Welcome to Belleview - Chapter 1

Notes: ~11 years after the beginning of The Fighter, this is not a Luke/Leo story but is in-universe.

TW: Institutionalized slavery, nonsexual nudity, starvation mention, human euthanasia mention, degrading language, all the things.

✥ ✥ ✥

From the outside, it is a beautiful campus. Elegant in its simplicity, with three brick buildings forming a crescent at the mouth of a long, rose-bush lined drive that intersects wrought iron gates.

Today, police swarm it, more for the optics than anything else. They’re not here to enact change, or to start building moral credit, but they are here, and so he smiles, shakes hands, introduces himself.

He opens the double-paned glass door, which sits just in front of a set of reinforced steel bars, and he’s immediately met with the silence of a reception area from which all of its workforce has been escorted out. 

Almost all.

“Lincoln Prescott?” says a singular man, in his mid-twenties on his best day, peeking around the corner. He’s nervous, skittish even. Fidgeting palms run down his sweater and he smiles, but it’s not the smile of someone who’s happy, welcoming, comfortable, warm. 

Lincoln returns the gesture and nods. He doesn’t extend his hand. Instead, he turns over the key he’s just been handed, and he reads the man’s name-tag.

Jared Fisher, Handler. Level Two. 

Jared smiles sheepishly and takes off the name-badge. “I wasn’t sure if I should wear it. I guess… I guess it’s not really needed anymore.” He holds it out to Lincoln, who stares at it for several seconds, before he sets it on the counter behind him.

“Uh,” Jared says, cutting through the silence of the massive waiting area. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m sure, that you’re not– I get it, I mean. I know I’m the enemy here.” 

Lincoln narrows his eyes, shaking his head once. 

“They said if I– Uhh, they said they’ll take it into c– consideration, I guess. When the trials start. When… whatever is going to happen, happens.” He swallows, and Lincoln feels something that is related to sympathy, but not quite it. He lets that feeling fizzle quickly. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Jared says quietly. 

There’s silence again. Lincoln lets it settle over him, watching the ex-handler’s fidgeting intensify, before he says, “Oh. You’re waiting for me to speak.” 

Jared shrinks.

When the final nail in the coffin of support for the trade and consumption of government-sanctioned slavery had been hammered in, there wasn’t the type of frenzy that anyone expected. That morning, people, by and large, woke up, had their coffee, showered. They caught their trains to work, they read their news and they watched, closely, but there wasn’t an uproar. They stole glances at their phones and monitors for updates, for news, for what happens next. 

Truth be told, it had been heading this way for a while. Within the last ten years, Individual states had begun passing legislation that, in hindsight, paved the path for widespread challenges to the system, led by a few congresspeople who finally woke the fuck up. Things turned violent early, with protests, rallies, boycotts, demonstrations… everything imaginable. 

Videos of workers being tortured, followed by videos of workers recounting their own stories, began making national headlines. Consumers of workers’ labor fought hard to sway public opinion back to the positive outcomes the system had brought the country, but with each passing week, with each new video of a worker strapped to a table being violated in unimaginable ways, it was a losing battle.

As local legislation was passed, certain states became a kind of safe-haven for runaways. And eventually, things started going federal. 

The most significant bill, the one that fully outlawed the use of worker labor and reinstated the ‘freedom’ of current workers, was going to be codified that morning. It wasn’t unexpected, at that point, but still, the infrastructure, the plan, was… well, it had holes, to say the least.

The workers who were deemed functional, by some arbitrary metric, would be relocated to massive government-owned housing units. They would share rooms by the half dozen, be fed, given medical attention, and slowly be reintegrated into society. No one knew exactly how that would work, but it had been successful in the states that had already outlawed worker labor (with some notable exceptions), so the plan, half-assed as it was, was set into motion.

Former safehouses were repurposed as halfway houses for those who were less “independent.”

Individual volunteers were gathered who would open their homes to those who were unable to care for themselves but didn't pose any significant safety or medical risk.

In the days leading up to the vote for reinstatement of worker rights, when it was clear how things were going to go, people did go into a frenzy. Hospitals scrambled to hire, doctor’s offices scrambled to modify policy, the call for volunteers to offer shelter, food, medical assistance, jobs… it was madness.

But that morning, the morning the final nail landed, it was quiet.

Jared leads Lincoln down a narrow hallway, spouting off information as he does. The linoleum tiled floor is clean, but peels around the edges. The walls are white, chipped along the corners and where the doorframes meet the drywall. The ceiling is white, but there’s a yellow cast. The fluorescent lights that line the halls give it a sort of eerie post-apocalyptic vibe, and it’s fitting.

The building, Belleview, is eerily quiet. There’s no obvious screaming coming from within, so it’s already better than he expected. 

Jared slaps his keycard against a box outside a set of double doors, and Lincoln takes a breath. The volunteers are gathering outside by now. His group of nurses, doctors, caretakers. They could be with him, but he wanted this run-through alone. To give him time to make sure the plan that he spent the last week finessing would work.

Jared stops at the first door, and pushes a button outside of it, bringing to life a screen. There’s a name on the top, and Lincoln glances through the information he’s shown. Jared presses another button, and the door unlocks audibly, the light above it turning from red to green.

Inside is a man, with nothing else. Brown hair, blue eyes. He doesn’t look at them. 

“This one can get aggressive.” Jared’s voice is matter of fact, as he points out the information on the tablet. “They come here to… you know, to be of whatever use they can be until they…” he whispers, and Lincoln offers him the briefest of glances. He regrets it immediately. “Expire.”

Lincoln turns his attention back to the screen, and so Jared continues. “We have 21, uh… residents, right now. I think that’s what we’re supposed to call them now. They were… well, you know. They were workers, but the rejects, I guess. They’re in… they’re in various states of um…”

Lincoln clears his throat tersely, throwing a warning glance to the ex-handler. 

“Well, okay. I’m sure you’ve been briefed, and if not, I’m sure you will be.” He begins walking again, letting the last door close without another glance, as he approaches the next. “We tried to take as good of care of them as we could. They’re fed and watered and we tried to... whenever we could, some of us tried to offer them some comfort.”

He stops at the door. “Obviously, they’re here for a reason, so they don’t tend to be super… uh, super cooperative or trainable or anything. They’re usually just… they’re here for a short time, and then–” He stops himself this time, without the warning glance.

“We call this guy Tank, but I think his real name is Tyler, if that means anything to you.” 

Lincoln nods. “Does it say here? Anywhere on here? What his name is?”

Jared fiddles with the screen for several seconds before it comes to a demographic page. It lists 20 inhabitants, and presumably, their room numbers. 

“Look at that,” Jared says then, interrupting Lincoln’s review. “Looks like I was right, it is Tyler. That was a guess.”

Lincoln takes a breath, because there’s no benefit to causing a scene here. If Jared was offered leniency, then he was a handler who, at least on the surface, wasn’t as bad as he could have been. 

“Anyway, this one used to be aggressive, too." The door opens and Jared gestures to the man who lays on his stomach, bandages across his back. "But now? Nothing going on in there.” He points to his own temples, and lets the door swing shut. He switches to the video feed, where Tyler stares into the camera.

Jared continues along to the next room, and Lincoln follows behind him, his thoughts racing.

Lincoln Prescott was already in his car on his way to the site he’d been assigned to oversee before they even finalized things in the White House. It’s a temporary solution to a very serious problem, they said. It would take ten to fifteen days to get those who were in no shape to get to a halfway house the medical attention they needed and find suitable placements for them. 

In the meantime, they were safest where they were. He was needed to help organize the volunteers and medical personnel, and to act as a sort of director of the temporary housing facility.

So he drove. He knew it would be bad, maybe the worst of the worst. He had been briefed. He was given a stack of files of the inhabitants that he would be overseeing. He looked it over that night, and every night since then. He spent the last six days memorizing every face, every backstory.

It was a site to house those that the government had deemed unable to be placed, for one reason or another. Too violent, too unpredictable, too difficult to be trained. From what Lincoln could gather, these workers served any and all purposes. Their primary reason for existence was, it seemed, to trial training techniques, to trial drugs, to motivate the workers who were difficult, to show that there were worse fates.

They ranged in ages from 19-26. None survived longer. 

“Doctor Prescott?” Jared asks, from somewhere far away. Lincoln looks up from the tablet, and Jared is already down the hall at the next door. Lincoln takes a breath, biding his time. They’ve gone through eighteen of the men, with Jared's special commentary on each of them. Twice, Jared had promised that he wasn't a bad person, and that the culture had been one thing, but now it was another, and he was ready to pivot.

Only once had Lincoln felt himself snap, and had to excuse himself before serious harm was done.

Some of the men were given the accommodation of a bed, some of them were given clothing, some had rotten food in their cells, some had broken bones, open wounds. Some slept fitfully, and some slept so completely still that Lincoln thought that they might not be alive at all. Jared had assured him, in those moments, that they probably were.

Jared opens the door to the twentieth room, with a small, “We call this one ‘Felix.’ I think you’ll like him,” as he does. The man, short blonde hair and dark brown eyes and at least forty pounds less than his frame should support, blinks himself awake. He sits in the corner of the tiny room and stares at Lincoln. He tries to smile, but the tremors that rock his body make it hard to buy. He doesn't wear any clothes, and has one of the DLS-issued shock collars affixed to his neck. His ribs shake when he breathes too deep, but again, he tries to smile, even as he backs further into the corner.

Jared is speaking to him, but Lincoln doesn’t clock exactly what’s being said. The man looks so afraid, but still, he lifts his fingers in a sort of wave, shaking as he does. Lincoln waves back, offering him a small smile in return.

“We’re not allowed to euthanize them,” Jared is saying. 

“What?” 

“When they hit the end, I mean. We have to give them enough food, give them enough water. If they choose to stop eating or drinking or… whatever, that’s on them. We can’t assist them. Once they’re too far gone, sometimes we’ll just stop trying to get them to eat, and let them go.”

He thought, by now, that he’d heard it all. His eyes widen. “Is that where we’re at with him?”

Jared shrugs. “He’s sick. The director said he’s gonna go any day now, but it’s better if we don’t directly cause that.”

Lincoln doesn’t attempt to keep the hatred out of his eyes.

“He knows,” Jared says. “They all do. Once we stop pulling them for testing, it’s only a matter of time. He wants you to pull him, though,” he continues. ��He wants to know it’s not his time yet. He wants to show you he can still be of use. He doesn’t really speak anymore, but he tries to be sweet, so we will keep him in rotation.”

“Stop talking,” Lincoln says then, his fist in a tight ball but, remarkably, not around the man’s throat. Jared’s mouth snaps shut. 

“Show me the last one, and then you’re finished here.” 

As they retreat away from the man’s cell, the door closes behind them, and Lincoln watches the hope leave his eyes.

They make quick work of the last door, and the weasley man leads Lincoln back through the main wing, mumbling about how there were several wings they didn’t tour, but he at least got to see all the residents, and how if he has questions, he is more than happy to take a call, day or night, and how… 

✥ ✥ ✥

The volunteers stand in a haphazard group, each with a color coded name-badge to at least give Lincoln a starting point as to their role. He begins by directing the doctors and nurses to rooms, providing instructions on how to access the rooms, providing instructions on how to access the medical files, providing whatever information he can.

They’re working on finding placements for each of these boys, he tells them. But they all require intensive, specific treatment. As they find placements, they’ll be housed, and once they’ve placed the last boy, the volunteers will be reassigned.

As the last of the volunteers heads inside to get their own bearings, Lincoln takes a step back, regarding the innocuous building. 

“I guess that’s that,” Jared says from behind him, taking a step forward and extending his hand out once more. Lincoln looks down at it, shoving his hands into his pockets, as Jared mumbles,  “Welcome to Belleview.”

UNTITLED SYSTEM COLLAPSE STORY TAGLIST: @pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings

[jew-flexive]

every time i think i’m open to having a conversation about tyrion as a morally gray character who has made many bad decisions throughout the course of asoiaf and is very much not the hero of the story, i see some batshit ableist take and suddenly he can do no wrong in my eyes. actually tyrion lannister has never ever done anything wrong ever in his entire life. he’s going to single-handedly save westeros. he’s going to be the one to kill the night king. he’s all three heads of the dragon. he is actually objectively more honorable than ned stark. die mad about it 💛

[sanguineterrain]

Hi Sanne! I'm not sure if requests are open, but if you're up to it I'd like to request red hood x reporter! Maybe reporter reader is getting too close to a case and is starting to become a target and hood takes her protection into his own hands? ((Including lots of midnight rendezvous and rooftop bump ins))

i love this prompt sm! i've been thinking about a reporter reader ever since i read task force z :) thanks for requesting!

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. tw: reader is attacked (but they're okay), guns, violence, fighting, jason being both a force to be reckoned with and a big softie. 2.5k words

****

"I don't need protection."

The Red Hood crosses his arms. You cross yours right back.

"Yes, you do," he says.

"No, I don't. I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I can take care of myself."

"Living around and being in the thick of violence are very different. You're already chasing this story; they will come after you."

And what a story it is. The story of the decade, at the very least. A task force of formerly-dead Arkham patients wielded against Gotham by a mysterious benefactor.

It's terrifying. It's dangerous. It's sure to win you your first Pulitzer.

And it all means absolutely nothing if the Red Hood keeps wrapping you in red tape.

Your jaw ticks. "This is my story, Hood. You can't turn it in, so I will. And I won't be scared off by some slimeball."

"Oh, please. You wouldn't even have known about this story if it wasn't for me, smarty."

Smarty. His favorite moniker for you because, according to him, you think you know everything.

Working with the Red Hood has been an unfortunate side effect of chasing your prize-winning story. Not only is he wanted in twenty-six countries (you Googled it) and is a ruthless crime lord (supposedly formerly, but you're doubtful), but worst of all, he's got an attitude to match yours.

He's also built like a tank, which is why you can't just. Outrun him.

"I can't just not publish the story," you say.

"I don't want to stop you from publishing the story. Hence the protection."

"I can't afford a bodyguard."

"Well, it's a good thing I already paid my rent this month."

You scoff. "The Gotham Gazette has a strict 'no armed and dangerous' policy. I'm afraid we all have to leave our gun-toting vigilantes at home."

You open the driver's door of your car, ready to end the conversation here and now. Hood calmly closes the door with his hip and leans.

You glare. "Get off of my car."

"Fact." He holds up a finger. "These kinds of people always strike before the story comes out. They know you're scared and stressed, and they wanna do it before the story gets out. Otherwise, it's obvious who killed who."

"And where did you read this fact? Crime Lord's Digest? We don't even know if they know I'm the reporter who broke into the lab."

"Listen, smarty, I've been in this game a lot longer than you. I know how they operate," he says, finally getting off of your car, only to lean on the hood. Jerk. "It's only a matter of time before whoever's behind this snuffs you out."

"I am not letting a wanted criminal nest in my apartment!"

"That's why I'd be there."

"I was talking about you, Hood."

"Funny."

"I'm not joking. Look, I appreciate your... help." You try not to show your exasperation. "But there's no way I'm inviting you over to my apartment. That'll set off more alarms. If anything happens, I'll call you. Until then, stay away. Deal?"

Hood looks you over.

"Hm. You're awfully comfortable with giving me orders, smarty."

Your adrenaline spikes for a second. But it quickly calms. You've worked with Hood for a month now. Sure, you were petrified the first week, but it quickly dissipated. You've fallen into an odd camaraderie with him.

It's actually kind of nice, having him on your side. No one at the Gazette gives you the time of day. You've become used to having a partner. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

"You take orders so well, I can't help but dole them out," you say, only a little smirky.

"Watch it," Hood rumbles, only half-serious. Probably.

You beam and wrench open your car door, sliding into the seat.

"See?" you say, turning the ignition. "No snipers waiting to take me out. I'll be fine."

He shakes his head and slides off the hood. "Ten bucks says they'll try by the end of the week."

You close your door. "You're on."

****

As it turns out, Hood doesn't need the end of the week to earn his tenner. Trouble breaks down your door the very same night.

You're on your couch with some well-earned Lebanese takeout when your door is ripped off of your hinges. You shoot up from the couch, chest immediately tight.

Your assailant is masked and isn't that typical, giving masked men everywhere a bad name.

You run to the kitchen, hoping you can grab a knife. But you're grabbed before you can get there. You slip on the carpet and trip further into your assailant's arms.

"Keep still so I won't make a mess," is all he says.

You start screaming. He covers your mouth and you bite his hand. That earns you a thump on your cheek, so hard your vision blurs.

Bang!

You freeze, expecting the warm drip of blood and the excruciating pain to accompany it. Instead, your assailant falls to the floor, clutching his ribs. You stumble backwards and see Hood at your door, gun still aimed. He stalks over and kicks the assailant in the chest as he does. The assailant groans.

"You okay?"

You're still staring at the man who very nearly killed you a minute ago. Blood roars in your ears. You think you might be close to fainting.

"Hey." Big, gloved hands hold your face. You flinch and hold the owner's wrists. Hood comes into view once more.

"Are you okay?" he asks firmly. "Look at me, look at me, sweet. Breathe. 'S okay. Does anything hurt? Did he—"

Hood cuts himself off as he touches your cheek, where you were hit. He lightly runs a thumb over what is probably a budding bruise.

Hood lets you go and whirls onto your attacker. He hauls him up and presses a gun to his stomach.

"Go ahead, shoot me!" the attacker shouts.

"If I shoot you, it won't be out of mercy. You won't get a quick death. You don't deserve it," Hood snarls, and you suddenly remember all of your good reasons for fearing the Red Hood.

"I ain't telling ya shit!"

"I don't expect you to," Hood says, and fires again.

The man crumples to the ground, but he's clearly still breathing. Still alive. Hood drags him to the door by his collar.

"You go back to your boss. And you tell 'em that they're fucking with the Red Hood now. And, in case I'm not being perfectly fucking clear through all that blood loss—" Hood grabs the man by his hair and wrenches his head back. "If you come for my reporter again, you'll wish I was kind enough to put a bullet in your head."

Hood hauls your attacker outside. You hear a car start a minute later, and it tears down the street.

You look at your guardian angel, spattered in blood.

Not nearly as much blood as I expected, you think manically.

Your body aches and shakes with adrenaline. You can't even get enough control to move to the couch.

"How–how did you get here so fast?" you ask, staring at your now cracked coffee table.

"I've been monitoring your apartment since you got home. One of the traffic cameras picked up a stolen vehicle turning onto your block, so I came here."

You look at Hood. He seems very collected, all things considered.

"You—how did you find my apartment? Have you been stalking me?"

"Please. Lend me a little credit, smarty. I don't need to stalk you to find where you live," he says, holstering his gun.

"Are you insane?!" you burst. "That is such a gross invasion of privacy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hood looks at you.

"What's wrong with me is I just saved your life," he says evenly. "And on that note, you owe me ten bucks. Maybe even fifteen, considering it took less than a day for them to do exactly what I said they would."

Your lip wobbles. You don't know what triggers it; maybe it's your scratched up door or torn sofa or the fact that the Red Hood is in your living room right now with blood on his suit.

The tears form quickly. You can't stop them.

You cover your face but a sob claws out of your throat. Soon, you fall into big, heaving cries.

"Whoa, hey." The floorboards creak under Hood's unsure footsteps. "Hey, I didn't mean that. Shit. I was just kidding about the bet part. Aw, don't cry, smarty."

A hand lightly touches your shoulder. You lean in, but don't dare to initiate more contact. So Hood eases you into a side hug, awkwardly patting your other arm. He's extremely warm and solid with muscle, but his chest is soft enough to rest your head on. He unclips his holster so it doesn't dig into your body.

"I was just kidding," Hood says quietly in your ear. He rubs your arm. "'M sorry. Didn't mean to make y'cry."

You sniff and shake your head. "No, it–it's not that, I'm just—God, I'm t-terrified, Hood. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? They're gonna kill me! I'm gonna die before I win my first Pulitzer!"

You try to suck in deep breath but it's not working. Hood leads your unsteady feet to the couch. You sit, fingers gripping his jacket. Hood carefully loosens your grip.

"They're not gonna kill ya, smarty. I won't let 'em. C'mon, let's have a seat. Where's your kitchen?"

You point, lashes still thick with tears. Hood leaves and returns shortly. A glass of water is held to your lips. You drink it, breathing stilted.

"'S okay. Take it easy. Breathe. That's right."

You swallow half of the water, and he sets the glass down on the coffee table. Hood hands you a wad of tissues.

"This is pathetic," you say, wiping your tears. "Can't believe I'm being nursed by the Red Hood."

"I think nursed is a strong word. But it's more than I usually do for my informants. Then again, they don't usually burst into tears."

"Don't make fun of me. I'm fragile."

"I wasn't making fun of you," Hood says, gentler than you've ever heard him. He puts the tissues aside and rests a hand on your shoulder. You turn into it, appreciative of the weight. "You handled this better than most people would. You didn't even pass out. Hell, I've passed out."

You're sure that Hood is leaving out important details behind that anecdote, like fighting off a hundred men or being swallowed by a whale beforehand. You're grateful nonetheless.

You turn to him, fresh tears in your eyes. "They're gonna kill me, Red."

He shakes his head. "No. Listen to me. Nobody is gonna do anything to you, okay? I'm not gonna let 'em hurt you, smarty pie."

"That's an impossible promise," you say. "One of these days, something will happen. You can't be everywhere at once. Especially not while I'm at home."

Hood tilts his head. "Well..."

"Well, what?"

He rubs his throat. An old injury, he'd once told you. The pain flares up sometimes.

"I could call in a favor. Get you into a safehouse."

"You would do that for me?" you ask. You probably shouldn't ask. Shouldn't look a generous vigilante in the mouth. But you can't help it.

"I can't very well publish the story myself, can I?"

You shrug. "I doubt that. You have your ways. Once you have the evidence, you don't need me."

"That's not true," Hood says fiercely. "I do need you."

Your eyes widen. Hood fumbles for a moment.

"That—I mean for the case. Obviously. I don't have any journalistic links besides you. And I wouldn't want the story to fall into the wrong hands."

"Oh." You have a strong urge to wrap your arms around him. Weird. "Well, um, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me yet. It'll take me a few days to get the safehouse," he says.

You deflate. "Oh. So I have to stay here until then?"

Hood is quiet for a long time. So long, you briefly revisit your original theory that the Red Hood is actually an AI remotely controlled by a billionaire.

"Hood?"

You reach to touch him. He flinches, a tiny movement. You immediately draw back.

Nope. Still a man.

"Sorry," he says, hand slipping from your shoulder. "I was, uh, going over options. No, your place is toast until we find whoever's behind this. But, um, it would be possible for you to—if you want to, 'cause if you don't, y'know, I understand, but I—it would be doable for you to, uh, stay with me. Until I get the safehouse."

"Stay... in your apartment?"

"'S not far from here. And it's a hell of a lot better protected than your place. And, y'know, I'd be there most of the time, so like..." Hood clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. It'd be safe. I promise."

"I wouldn't want to impose," you say, nervously scratching your arm.

"Mm. If you're scared of staying with me, y'can just say so. I won't take it personal."

He does kind of sound like he's taking it personally.

"No, Hood, it's not that. I don't... I'm not afraid of you. That, uh, went away a while back," you say. "I just... I don't want to burden you. After all, it's your space."

He makes a sound that tells you he's rolling his eyes behind his helmet.

"Saving your life is important, smarty. Why you don't think so, I'll never know."

You make a soft, pleased sound. "Got a real bleeding heart there, Red."

He sighs. "Yeah. I'm working on it."

You grin. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Part of the job. If you don't wanna stay with me, I could..." Hood hesitates. "With your permission... I could get the Bats involved. Ask one of them to house you."

"You mean Batman?"

Hood grunts. "Preferably anyone but him, but yeah, if it comes to that. He'll probably get involved anyway. Fuckin' busybody."

"The Bats would protect me? But they don't know me."

"Don't matter. If I asked them to, they would. If that's something you want."

You think. Is it something you want?

Sure, any reasonable person would prefer Nightwing or Batman to protect them.

"I don't want to stay with them," you say. "I'd rather stay with you."

He jerks like you've told him the sky is falling.

"You do?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I know you, Red. And I know you'll keep me safe."

"At any cost," he says.

That simultaneously frightens and thrills you.

"Then I'd like to go home with you," you say. "If you'll have me."

"'Course, smarty. Anything to keep you safe. Go pack some stuff. I'll be out here. You're okay?"

"I'm okay." You stand and turn before he can see what he does to you.

Yes, it's an odd thing, being partners with the Red Hood.

You're starting to fear that you can't have it any other way.

(pt 2)

[risingpilots]

Another reason why this rap beef is so interesting is bc in kendrick's music he's know for using double, triple, and (hell maybe even more than that) entendre. Which honestly is probably why he's a Pulitzer prize winner lmao

One example of this is from his most recent diss "one of us" where he states:

"Tryna strike a chord and its probably A minor."

This can have 3 meanings:

1.) Drake is a musician himself so when he might respond with his own diss track he might write it in A minor

2.) Kendrick references Drake being a pedophile multiple times in not only this song but his other disses as well. So this is making a jab at the fact that Drake is attracted to minors.

3.) When Kendrick says "A minor" he sings it in the key of A minor. Going from three different notes of A, E and C

Anyways there's probably a ton more of these but it is really fun and interesting to see people online break down what Kendrick says.

[deme-real-life]

im so fucking tired of people praising will navidson as if he's some huge hero. like sure he won a pulitzer prize or whatever but that was for his photographs of PEOPLE ABOUT TO DIE. why are we enabling this guy? like he could've saved those god damn people he keeps taking photos of but NOOO he values his career over basic human fucking life. well it turns out he's moved to virginia a few months ago (or maine? idk maybe he's just there on vacation) and that's where i'm located rn (my parents are here on our monthly vacay) and so ive decided to protest in front of his house. gonna be doing some great activism y'all

[martyrbat]

anyways thinking about fat clois and how much added commentary it will give. lois to fight her way up the ranks as a woman, especially a fat woman, and the layering of narrative that'll give her for military sam and his unfair pressuring and expectations and housewife whatever her moms name is and her pressure on lois to be what she thinks is the perfect woman: the ideal housewife and focus on family instead of work, what a woman should look like tension. and my girl won pulitzer prizes, is obsessive over her work and journalism, and has hard deadlines. she isnt a size 2 get real.

and then clark who is greatly overlooked. how hes thrown the insults and people assume stereotypes (lazy, unmotivated, weak willed, that hes just a big and clumsy oaf). how often do you see the hottest person on here and the tags are 'i bet theyre really nice/give good hugs' because theyre fat? how much do people dismiss what fat people say or their presence because they, maybe even unintentionally, just value it as less because of fatphobia?

vs as superman he just. straightens up his posture instead of slouched. he puffs out his chest and holds his shoulders proud and the way hes physically intimidating (think strongman body) but in a larger than life sense makes sense when hes just an actual large aman. people gawk over him. he has muscles, he's doing incredible feats, he's attractive, why wouldn't they? but then the treatment to clark in the office and stark comparison between the two and it makes sense how his disguise works AND is an added commentary.

lois being one of the few that dont merely dismiss him and with something for them to maybe bond over, presenting more opportunities for them to talk or be around instead of just her festering bitterness over him stealing her story? give her a narrative inch and she'll run a mile, it almost seems too obvious if you actually just LOOK at him and talk to him.

also because i think itll be hot <3

[wistfulrat]

・❥・lesbian wangxian reccs ・❥・

ao3topships poll gate made me realize there are hundreds nay thousands of u who dont know abt lesbian wangxian ?? that’s so sad can i proselytize u real quick

mimilamp cinematic universe (the ppl’s mcu) sorry for starting this list with a whole author catalog. as if it's my fault!! these gave me covid. no listen mimilamp fics have feverish lesbian angst levels of hot horny despair that could paralyze a large forest animal. and on a sentence level it's just stunning. messy dykes fumbling toward love confessions while making emotionally insane choices and the sex scenes fuckn bang ??? god is real

good, good - 13.5k E Wei Ying has two broken wrists and now she needs Lan Zhan to help her do stuff (jerk off)

here’s a story - 46k E Wei Ying reluctantly joins her recently-dumped best friend, Lan Zhan, on a couples' holiday retreat. Snow! Drinks! Truth or dare! There's a s-s-s-single bed! You'll never guess what happens next.

out of your system - 20k E “Maybe you should get me out of your system,” Wei Ying blurts. “Maybe that’ll help.” // Wei Ying finds out her best friend Lan Zhan is in love with her and offers a really super solution.

exposure therapy - 14k E Wei Ying clambered up from the floor, put the joint on the corner of the night stand, announced, “Exposure therapy,” and got into Lan Zhan’s bed. // Lan Zhan doesn't like to be touched, Wei Ying likes to touch.

know no one else - 20k E Lan Zhan moves out, Wei Ying's boyfriend moves in. Six months later, Lan Zhan visits, they go to a party, and Wei Ying has something to tell her.

74243 this author should be studied in a lab bc these 2 fics ruined my life. a pulitzer prize short fic with immaculate tone followed by the fuck nastiest shit you will ever read. "wei ying swipes right" still a top 3 bar of all time re: fic summaries. like people died.

chef’s kiss - 6.5k E Wei Ying said, “You know, in some ways I’m kind of depressed. I took your biggest dick on my first try. Now I don’t have anything to build up to.” “There are bigger ones available,” Lan Zhan said lazily. “I can pay for express shipping.” // (Lan Zhan works the late shift.)

pull out game weak - 22.7k E Wei Ying swipes right.

plonk this is the only fic in many ways. dyke nmj's mustache academy award winning breakout role. possessive hot dyke lwj. the sentence "don't knot her you freak." have u ever seen a group chat get rabies in real time. the slut rot breached containment. it was a public health crisis. it brought back horny cinema. cultural reset.

good friends - 11.5k E “I could invite her over for when the game’s done,” Nie Mingjue offers. Lan Zhan hums, considering it. They do that sometimes. Take omegas down together.

occultings will i ever get tired of -wwx thinks she's straight and wants to practice being gay with sadsack lwj who is like sure im in love with u and this will cause me psychic damage but mayhaps that's the cost of being homiesexual--? no i dont get tired of the classics it's called taste

give me one good honest kiss - 25k E The text keeps flashing over and over in Lan Zhan's head like the bulb lights on a marquee. They’d been talking about homework directly before that, swapping notes on music theory in the baroque period. Then, like a fork of lightning out of a clear blue sky: wanna practice kissing? 😚 // Wei Ying suggests an arrangement. Lan Zhan, in love, deals.

saltyfeathers ok so like sure it's ill advised to get your cartilage pierced at claire's but if you wanted the experience of participating in deranged hysteric behavior that kinda bangs in a badgood way? well then.

the mall that has it all - 8k E She introduced herself in the food court, breathless after sprinting across it in Lan Zhan’s direction and vaulting over a table only to crash into the seat across from her, ask, “Can I have a sip?”, spring forward with both elbows on the table to wrap her burgundy lips around Lan Zhan’s smoothie straw, wrinkle her nose, and say, “What is that, kale? Not really my thing, as like, a mall goth. Oh!” A pleased, chaotic exhale. “My name’s Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said, after taking a moment to fully process the last forty-five seconds, “What?” or; mall goth au

[madrigaljail]

Interlude

Would you like some celebrity AU in these trying times? Have some nonsense; don't worry about Eli, he's an OC, it's fine.

*

“Finally tonight, my producers won’t let me end the show without discussing the most compelling story in the nation, a tale of intergenerational drama which begs the question: which speaks to you most? Do you like a redemption arc, recognition coming after decades of struggle? Or a reward for raw, young talent the likes of which has never before been seen? These questions will possibly be answered Sunday night, when the Emmy Awards give a trophy to…a Best Supporting Actor in a Drama.

“On the one hand you have Bruno Madrigal, whose offscreen exploits have overshadowed his work for decades. In recent years, however, he’s become beloved by children as the voice of Hernando the Crab in the animated Shore Thing film series and attracted critical acclaim in indie films such as The Collaboration and onstage in an off-Broadway revival of Endgame. Now he’s nominated for his role as Oscar Ramos, a pedicab driver with a secret in AMC’s thriller Upper West. 

“Then there’s his nephew, Camilo Madrigal, who has veered away from the music careers of his mother and sister to follow - cautiously, we hope - in his uncle’s acting footsteps. He has more than a knack for it, given his star turn as nine different characters…or maybe it’s the same one in different phases, who knows what’s happening on Max’s scifi-horror hit Idle Hands? My nephew’s tried to explain it several times, but I’ve given up figuring it out.

“So, where do you fall: Team Camilo, or Team Bruno? Personally I think we as a society should have moved past these hashtag labels a long time ago, but if I were a betting man? I’d say the Madrigals are going to split the voters and we’ll get the winner we deserve, the venerable J.K. Simmons.

“That’s it for me this evening, stay tuned for the latest headlines on ‘Nightbeat’, and I’ll see you back here bright and early Sunday morning for ‘Mas with Guzmán’. Buenos noches.”

The news program theme music played, and Bruno would have continued mindlessly playing Candy Crush on his phone but-

“You know there’s a rumor you slept with that guy.”

Bruno glanced to his right. Eli was slumped the corner of the couch, smirking, light brown hair tousled and hazel eyes glancing his way with a mischievous twinkle. Bruno scowled.

“You don’t- that’s ridiculous. I can’t help it if people think we had chemistry or there were ‘sparks flying’ in that interview or whatever, but it’s all…fanflick?”

Eli laughed and gently kicked his shin, he retaliated by pinching his knee. “Fanfic, boomer.”

“Everybody really does forget about Gen X,” Bruno muttered, then shook his head. “Anyway. The point is I can’t believe people still think Pulitzer prize winning reporter José Guzmán would risk his journalistic integrity by hooking up with me.”

“Depends.” Eli straightened up to lean closer, waggling his eyebrows. “Is ‘journalistic integrity’ what he calls his-”

“Guys! I’m still right here!” 

They both cringed and glanced over the back of the sofa towards the kitchen, where Mirabel had taken over the island in a flurry of embroidery floss. She’d swiveled around on the barstool to give them a glare, but a smile still tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, Mira.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.” A moment or two slipped by, a perfect pause, before she went on. “But you totally did hook up with him, right?”

Bruno blinked, turned back to the TV, and picked up the remote. “I am changing the channel. It’s a metaphor for changing the subject.”

Shortly after that Mirabel presented him with a baseball cap emblazoned with “#TeamCamilo”, and a black necktie which she’d decorated with symbols representing all of the Madrigal family…and a blue, pink, and white striped heart for Eli. Bruno happily wore both on the Emmys red carpet two nights later.

*

A/N: he did totally hook up with him. Celebverse!José is basically Anderson Cooper. Yes he does get stuck doing New Year's Eve with Andy Cohen still, it's fine. As for who wins the Emmy, it's been almost two years and I am still not sure.

[sunshinebarbie]

only love can hurt like this

pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader x Changbin warnings: mild language, angst, sad bang chan (because yes that needs a warning), heartfelt moments, mentions of physical abuse (it isn't done but it's like implied?), oh and inaccurate wording possibly... words: 5,719 parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | FINAL taglist:@q1sng, @sp00ky-spr1te, @yumiblogs, @muddy-waters, @ilysunki, @qtieskz, @axel-skz-main, @skz-codeeee, @danielle-peaches, @morningstardada, @lizzetmv, @txa-r a/n: it's the final part! i didn't win no Pulitzer prize for this series so idk why i am so emotional! i posted this series' part 1 a while back trying to transition from fictional characters to real people. I honestly didn't know where it would go, would anyone like it? Would it even be good? so many questions clouded my mind but i posted it anyway. The amount of love, hearts, reblogs, comments and requests to be tagged made me feel...idk, i can't even find a word to describe it!! all i know is i felt like i had little purple hearts popping around my head with every notification i got for this series. I really hope this final is worth the build up for the past 5 parts. Thank you all for reading and for enjoying this crazy rollercoaster of a series. I hope to make more including all our favorite Stray Kids. ENJOY!

“are you still viewing?” the TV asked as you wrapped your lips around another spoonful of ice cream. You grabbed the remote and pressed the center button and snuggled deeper into the mound of blankets that covered your legs and tummy. The next episode of the random drama you decided to watch started where it left off in the previous episode. 

You could feel your phone buzzing somewhere under the maze of blankets, your hand dug around trying to find the smooth surface of your phone case or at least where the buzzing was coming from. 

After finding your device you saw it was Felix calling, you tapped the green button and pressed your phone to your ear. “hello?” you mumbled trying to pause your show. “hey, whatcha doing right now?” Felix asked nervously. 

“watching dramas.” you replied and pushed your spoon back into the carton. “what’s up?” you sighed and pressed the pause option. “well, we ordered some sushi for our game night tonight and wanted you to join us.” Felix replied calmly. “uhm-” you looked around at the table covered with candy wrappers and three ice cream cartons. “maybe another time Lix” you smiled against the phone. “I just-” you sighed. “please.” you could hear the facial expression he was likely making on the other side.  

“fine, but I better get at least three of the Tai Sushi” you grumbled and pulled the blankets off your legs. “i’ll be over in about 30 minutes” you promised and hung up. 

“so much for forgetting about them” you thought to yourself as you pulled out some clean sweatpants and a shirt. “maybe I'll just tell them tonight that I think it’s best we go our separate ways” you mumbled to yourself as you pulled your shoes on. “and give them back their phone.” you looked at your default phone screen.  

You called a cab and headed over to the dorms. It looked pretty quiet for a “game night”. You walked into the building and headed straight to the dorms. You knocked the door and waited for a minute. You knocked again and waited with still no answer. You grabbed your phone to check the text message Han sent you about where they were, “we’re at the dorms, just knock” the text instructed. You knocked again and with the sound of the seal to the lock breaking the door opened.  

Chan’s face appeared out of the darkness of the room. “oh-uhm” you stepped back and swallowed the dry lump in your throat. “I was looking for uhmm-the guys” you stammered. “i think I got the wrong place.” you lied and turned to leave.  

“y/n,” Chan called out to you stopping you in your tracks. You felt your heart swell, it was the first time in a long time since you heard him call your name. It still sounded so sweet coming from his lips. You turned to him and saw him more out of the door like he was ready to follow you if you didn’t stop.  

“I don’t know if you are but-” he looked down at the floor of the hallway, “-I'm ready to talk if you are.” he gulped down his nerves. “another time Chan” you frowned and turned away, you took a few steps but stopped again. 

Chan turned to go back inside when you turned back around, “actually” you called out. Chan stopped and looked back at you. “we can talk.” 

Chan opened the door wider for you and let you inside the dorm. You found a spot on the couch, and watched as Chan locked the door behind him. “you want a water or something?” he asked as he entered the living room. “no, I'm okay” you declined. 

Chan sat down across from you on the recliner couch, it was quiet at first, making you feel like this was a mistake. “i’m sorry, for the quiet” Chan spoke up breaking the awkward silence. “i really don’t know how to approach this.” he cleared his throat.  

“it’s okay” you replied. “how are the new songs coming along?” you shifted in your seat. “i don’t want to talk about that.” Chan replied honestly you bit your lip and nodded in understanding. “let me start off by saying-I'm sorry.” his voice cracked a little bit. “for my actions that caused the chain of events that happened since that night.” he sighed.  

“it’s not an excuse for being an asshole, but you know what happens when I get into the music.” Chan added. “yeah.” you nodded. “it wasn’t an issue the previous times, and I guess I'm trying to wrap my mind around why it was a big deal this time?” he sat up straight.  

“because the previous times I wasn’t around to see that angry side of you.” you replied honestly. “i know I seen you upset before and-” “so you jump straight into leaving?” Chan interrupted. You sat in silence thinking over both rational and irrational versions of ways you could have handled it.  

“you really hurt me y/n” Chan admitted. “we used to talk our problems out, no matter how small or how bad.” he reminded you. “i know but-” you sniffled “if you knew then why did you leave? Just walk out?” he interrupted with his eyes now full of tears daring to break free. You stood up and walked over to the window. 

“i’m sorry.” you wiped your eyes. “i was scared. Like I said that was a side of you I never experienced, so I panicked” you added. “then you threw your headphones with a full force and I just kept thinking-” you gulped. “do I have to worry about something being thrown at me?” the tears rolled down your face rapidly that they began to hit the floor. 

Chan’s eyes widened and then the tears began to roll down his cheeks. “i would never physically hurt you y/n you know that right?” his lower lip trembled.  

“i know, but-” you nodded, your face swelling up from the tears that were streaming down your face. You choked out another sob, immediately Chan ran to you and for the first time in weeks, he wrapped his arms around you in a safe and protective way. 

He rested his lips into the crook of your neck, you could feel his soft lips touching your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss, like he was trying to kiss the pain away to make it better, similar to someone kissing your paper cut to make it stop hurting. 

The both of you held each other closely, turning into a sobbing mess from the weeks of bitterness just melting away. Neither of you noticed that the dorm door was open and a figure stood against the frame watching the both of you. Changbin stood by the door silently, he looked down at his shoes and kicked at the specks of lint on the floor. He looked up again and felt he was about to cry too, instead he pushed his feelings down and walked away not trying to ruin whatever was going on here. 

Chan pulled away from the embrace first, his eyes were swollen with tears, as were yours. You both looked at each other before bursting into giggles while wiping your faces with the sleeves of your shirts. “i’m sorry Chan” you looked down at your feet. “for everything I caused.”  

Chan nodded and smiled “it’s going to take some time honestly. to get everything back to what it was.” he looked at the door that was opened suddenly. “but-I'm tired of fighting. I'm willing to move on, if you are.” he looked back at you. “move on?” you looked at him sorrowfully. “yeah.” Chan nodded. “move on.” he confirmed. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you a bit and that it squished any hope of rekindling but you nodded in agreement. “to moving on” you lifted your fist. Chan smiled and broke out into a soft chuckle as he shook his head. “to moving on” he bumped his fist into yours.  

You loosened your fist and Chan did too, instinctively you both laced your fingers together, you took a deep breath and flashed him a weak smile. Chan cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, immediately shoving it into his pocket.  

“well” you sighed and stepped back, “i think I'm all cried out” you joked. “same” Chan teased back. “since there is no sushi party here, I'm going to go and get my own sushi and continue packing” you laughed. 

“packing?” Chan furrowed his eyebrows. “we finally are on good terms and now you’re leaving?” he teased but with a worry in his tone. “don’t worry.” you laughed. “i am moving out of my friend’s apartment, I found a place of my own.” you replied. “it’s time to start piecing my life back together.”  

Chan nodded in agreement, “i think we all need to do that.” he replied. “maybe if you’re not busy tomorrow you can help me move to my new place? I have a lot of stuff and no vehicle” you added. “of course.” Chan replied “i’ll ask the boys to help out too, after our recording session though” he added. “of course, the music must always come first” you shrugged earning a weird look from Chan. “sorry that sounded bitchy” you squeezed your eyes tightly in embarrassment. “yeah, you did.” Chan joked. “but you’re right, the music will always come first.” he teased. “so tomorrow?” you turned to face Chan as you both approached the opened door. “tomorrow.” he confirmed. You quickly gave him your friend’s address and told him if he forgets Felix knew where to go. “okay, got it.” he assured you and leaned against the open door. “Chan?” you looked up at him through your eye lashes. “hmmm?” he hummed acknowledging you. “i’m glad to be back in your life.” you smiled weakly. “same” he replied. 

“well. see you tomorrow.” you mumbled softly and stepped out. This would have been the time when Chan would pull you into his body and press never ending kisses to your face, telling you how he doesn’t want you to go and that he isn’t going to breathe until you’re with him again. Instead, you were sent off with a smile and wave followed by the door closing.  

The next day, Chan was in the recording studio setting up for the group to start recording their tracks. Han and Lee Know were playing some kind of game that required slapping one another’s hands and the rest of the group hadn’t arrived yet. Changbin walked in and dropped his bag on the floor loudly earning the looks of Chan, and the two on the couch. 

Chan looked back at his laptop and continued what he was doing. Changbin walked over to the couch and asked the two if they could step out for a minute and not let anyone else inside. “maybe I should stay, for-reasons" Lee Know looked over at Chan not knowing what tension was built up between these two and if it would come to blows. 

“fine” Changbin agreed, “but only you” he looked at Han who sighed and got up to leave the studio. Changbin walked over to Chan and stood behind him, trying to figure out how to get his attention. Chan must have felt his stares and looked up and turned around making eye contact with him.  

“Hyung, can I talk to you?” Changbin cleared his throat, easing the tension by using a less threatening way to call Chan. “sure.” Chan put the headphones he was holding down on the table gently, giving Changbin his full attention. 

“uhm-so you and y/n?” he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. Chan sighed in annoyance. “we are good-just friends but good.” he replied. “is that all?” he picked up the headphones again. “Chan-” Changbin touched his hand to stop him from putting on the headphones which would end this entire conversation. Lee Know immediately tensed up, ready to step in if needed.  

“what?” Chan asked again displaying his annoyance. “you want my permission to date her now?” Chan asked dropping the headphones again on the table. “no” Changbin replied innocently. “then bring the rest of the guys in so we can finish this.” Chan replied and turned away. “There is something I am trying to say can you just listen?” Changbin snapped back. Chan sighed and turned to face him fully. 

“then say it, I'm listening.” Chan gestured. Changbin broke the eye contact and looked at Lee Know before taking a deep breath. “you’re my brother Chan” Changbin looked at him with sympathetic eyes, “you know i would never do anything to hurt you intentionally or unintentionally.” he added. “yes, for a moment, I did have feelings for y/n, but I would gladly throw those feelings away if it means we can get back what we had. I-I miss my Hyung.”  

Chan could feel his face soften and his cold exterior melt away, no longer was he looking at Changbin as the guy who was trying to date his ex-girlfriend, but he was looking at Changbin the younger boy who he befriended immediately when he was putting together the group. He remembered the highs and lows that Changbin stuck through with him, the Changbin that was his little brother, who he picked for this group because he loved and cared about him so much and he knew he would contribute massively to their success. Changbin who helped produce songs to help Chan so he wouldn’t overwork himself. Chan looked away to keep from crying and looked at Changbin and nodded in response he shot Changbin a quick smile. “we never lost what we had.” he assured him. “like you said, we’re brothers. Of course, we are going to fight.” he chuckled to keep his voice from cracking. “even when we do, that doesn’t mean I am going to stop loving you.” he assured him. 

Changbin smiled “i missed my namdongsaeng” Chan opened his arms, Changbin stepped forward with his arms expanded, the two wrapped each other in an embrace and squeezed tightly. “i love you Changbin” Chan patted his back and pressed a firm kiss against the side of his head. “i am glad you are here with all of us, and for what it’s worth, choosing you to be in this group was the best decision of my life” “ah-I love you too” Changbin squeezed him tighter. “I wouldn’t want to be in any other group.” he laughed, he could feel the tears of happiness fall from his cheek and he wiped his face on Chan’s shirt. “let’s never do this again.” Chan pat his head and smiled. 

“now that we are all in love with each other again, can we record this new song?” Lee Know interrupted. The rest of the boys walked in just in time and laughed feeling all the tension in the room clear up, the room was now filled with nothing but pure love for one another. They all gathered closely while encasing Lee Know in one big group hug, pressing him into Changbin and Bang Chan’s embrace. 

After perfecting the recording Bang Chan exited, and headed straight to your friend’s apartment. He walked up the flight of stairs and knocked the door. You were reboxing everything in the next room that you almost missed his heavy knocks.  

“hi, love” Bang Chan smiled as you opened the door to your friend’s apartment. “hey,” you smiled and leaned in to hug him. “so, what did you all need taken?” he asked looking around the living room. “Everything in the second bedroom” you smiled mischievously. “it’s a lot of stuff isn’t it?” Bang Chan sighed. “you’re the one to pout? We moved this stuff already.” Lee Know walked in griping.  

You both rolled your eyes and shook your head, then exchanged smiles. “he doesn’t mean it.” Bang Chan shrugged. “i know” you replied with a smile. “i hope it’s okay, I asked them to follow me to help out.” “you know, I will never say no to them.” you replied “maybe you should one day.” Lee Know shrugged. “just go grab a box please” you playfully pushed him towards the second room. 

The boys worked diligently and quickly clearing out that second room in an instant. Felix carried out the last box, you held the door open and watched him head down the stairs. You turned and took one last look at your friend’s apartment, for a few weeks it was your sanctuary, you cried here, got blacked out drunk here, and spent your worst hangovers here. Now it was time you made a place of your own to do all these things. You texted your friend and thanked her, letting her know she could pick up her key when she returned then locked the door. Locking away a part of your life you didn’t care to revisit. 

You arrived to your new apartment with Bang Chan and Lee Know. The three of you walked up to the door, you looked for your keys and pressed them into the locks, breaking the seal to give you access.  

“wait before you go in” Chan smiled and covered your eyes. “oh you know how much I hate stuff like this” you groaned. “shut up and just follow along” Lee Know replied as he opened the door letting Chan guide you inside. “3-2-1.” Chan uncovered your eyes revealing your newly refurnished apartment. “surprise!” the boys shouted.  

“you’re kidding” you looked around in amazement. “well you can put your junk we brought over, where ever you want but this is from us all.” Lee Know replied. “we’re also not giving you the second key back” Han announced. 

“I have an idea.” you looked at the boys. “we should have game night here.” The boys all agreed enthusiastically and went over who was going to buy what and what time everyone should meet back up at the house. Also, who was going to get Changbin, who for obvious reasons wasn’t there. Hyunjin, Lee Know, and I.N went to get snacks, Seungmin went to get some pizza, Felix and Han went to get Changbin and you and Bang Chan prepared the games.  

“I think we should play monopoly first because Felix and Lee Know will get bored of it when they start losing and we can end it early” you suggested. “but if Lee Know starts winning we will be playing this all night” Chan replied.  

“or” you grabbed the game and slid it under the couch. “we can say we don’t have the game” you shrugged. Chan smiled and shook his head. “okay, and I never seen it.” he added making you laugh.  

“do you think they can convince him to come?” you looked at Chan. Chan shrugged in response. “did he not show up because of a me reason or an us reason?” you asked Chan. “it’s a-you reason” he replied honestly. “figured” you replied and put the rest of the games you were holding on the table. “what about you? Has he talked to you yet?” you asked and sat on the couch.  

“Binnie is my brother” Chan replied. “i’m always going to care for him, I love the guy” he replied and put the rest of his games on table before finding a seat. “so I'm guessing you two made up?” you asked. “like I said, he’s my brother-I can’t picture a life without him.” he added. 

You nodded and looked around at your apartment that was decorated with love by the boys. “can I ask you a question? And can you be 100% honest with me?” Chan sat up straight. You looked at him worried before agreeing. “were you in love with Changbin?” he asked with puppy dog eyes. You felt a light gasp escape your lips, this was the question you were unprepared for answering. “I mean, like before I first asked you out on a date, during the time we were dating, and during our break up...and now?” He shifted in his seat. 

“I-I don’t think it’s best for me to answer” you chuckled nervously and pulled at the ends of your shirt. “so you did?” Chan replied. “Chan.” you sighed. You looked at him seeing he was just as nervous for you to answer. “Fine.” you sighed. “Before you ever asked me out, No. During the time we were dating? Of course not, I only had eyes for you.” you added earning a smile from Chan. “during the break up? Yes, but I didn’t understand if it was because I was mad at you or because he was just there when I needed him most.” you looked down at your feet. “that’s pretty shitty right?” you looked at Chan. “calling it love when it sounds like I was just using him?” 

“as shitty as that is.” Chan replied. “we are our most vulnerable during times like that, but I said I wanted your 100% honesty.” He continued. “did you love Changbin? As more than a friend?” he bit the inside of his cheek. You could feel the heaviness in your heart as you shook your head back and forth with a no. The room was dead silent, just the hum from the fridge in the kitchen. “i loved him, because he was there, but I can’t say I was in love with him to where I could see him and I having what we did” you replied honestly. Chan nodded in understanding and let out a deep breath. “and now?” he looked at you. “no” you whispered and shook your head. “but I do miss my best friend.” you added with a weak smile. 

Just then Felix opened the door using the spare key, Han followed behind Changbin. The look he gave you made you feel like you could shrink into the couch and disappear. “the rest of the guys aren’t back yet?” Felix asked. “not yet.” Chan replied and embraced Changbin by the door. “you excited for game night?” he asked. “sure.” Changbin nervously replied before walking into the living room. Han grabbed the game Uno and talked to Felix about how he was getting better at the game.  

Changbin stood by the door, almost like he would bolt the second someone opened it back up. Seungmin opened the door and left it opened for the rest of the boys who all appeared with their snacks in hand. “i’ll get the kitchen set up, and everyone else pick a game.” Chan announced as he took some of the bags from the boys' hands. 

“Sit down” Hyunjin guided Changbin to the Livingroom to the empty seat next to you. So much was happening, from I.N and Seungmin arguing over which pizza topping was the better choice, and Han and Lee Know fighting over who gets to shuffle the Uno deck, you looked over to Changbin. He stood silently against the wall, ignoring your glances.  

“Binnie?” you spoke up earning looks from everyone except him. “wanna help me pass out some drinks?” you asked nervously. Changbin looked at you with disgust before shaking his head and walking out to the balcony.  

Chan walked back into the livingroom and saw you sitting on the couch in disbelief. “do you want me to talk to him?” Chan offered, looking at you seeing how visibly upset you were. “no.” you replied and stood up. “this was caused by me, I have to fix it myself.” you smiled and touched his cheek gently.  

You walked towards the sliding door and inhaled a deep breath before tapping the glass gently. Changbin was sitting outside on the patio chair looking over the city. “mind if I join?” you stepped out and closed the door behind you. Changbin looked at you, he gestured to the empty chair across from him. 

You sat down and sighed, feeling your breathing get shaky. “Binnie?” your voice innocently called for him. He sat silently still for a good few seconds, eventually he bit the inside of his cheek and finally answered you. “what?”. 

“are we ever going to talk again?” you asked. “we’re talking now.” he replied coldly. “i mean, in more than three worded responses.” you added. 

Changbin shrugged and looked back at the city as the night was consuming the sky. You looked over at the city’s horizon and back at Changbin. “do you remember that night of the TWICE album release party?” you looked up at him from the corner of your eye. 

Changbin shifted his seat, that’s how you knew he knew what you were talking about. “We were about to-uhm-” you cleared your throat. “what’s your point?” Changbin replied annoyed. “well, we ended up not-”you cleared your throat “and do you remember what you said to me when I was half naked crying in your bed?” You looked at him fully catching his focus. He just looked away instantly. “you said Chan was lucky, because he and I had aejeong.”  

Changbin didn’t speak, he just continued to look ahead. “Binnie.” you scooted closer to him. “well, I got curious one night as to what you meant, and I realized something after hours of research.” Changbin looked at you finally. “we always have Jeong.” you forced a weak and unsure smile. “we might not have it anymore but we always had wojeong.” you felt the tears roll down your cheek. “i ruined that because I was mistaking it for something more, when all you were trying to do was be kind to me.”  

“I’m sorry Binn- Changbin.” you started to twist your fingers nervously. “i was so wrong to use your kindness and lead you to believe that I wanted something more.” Changbin scoffed and shook his head. “I want you to know something.” you touched his arm softly, Changbin looked at you his face softening against your touch. “and I am telling you this because I have never been more certain than anything else in my life, and that is I love you Changbin. You're my best friend, and I shouldn’t have tried to be anything more with the intentions of not pulling through with it, that wasn’t fair to you.”  

Changbin stayed silent, you took that as a sign that the wojeong you had once shared was now replaced with miunjeong. “anyway, uhm-that’s all I wanted to say.” you stood up and hid your tears well. You walked back into the apartment building and rejoined the rest of the group. 

Changbin walked back in and joined everyone a few minutes later. Game night continued, everyone enjoyed being whole again, no drama, no heavy drinking and mostly no arguing, apart from Han accusing Felix of cheating in UNO. 

As the clock turned to almost 2am you stood by the door and waved off Hyunjin and Lee Know, you closed the door and sighed at the mess that was in the living room. You started to clean up by grabbing the glass bottles and taking them to the recycling bin. You started running the water for the dishes and turned to start gathering the dirty plates when you gasped in fright as Changbin stood by the entryway to the small kitchen. 

“i thought you left with Felix?” you sighed feeling relief that it was just Changbin. “Felix decided he was going to jump in with Han, Seungmin and I.N.” he replied and started to gather up the dirty plates for you. “he just left me his keys and told me not to crash it.” “you don’t have to help” you assured him as he handed you the stack of plates. 

“i want to.” he replied and started to reseal the snacks that were open. The silence was excruciating, but you didn’t want to push it. You walked over to the speaker and pressed play on your last playlist you were listening to, to fill the silence of the kitchen.  

The song ended since it was only one minute left, when the next one began to play. Hold On by Chord Overstreet slowly began to fill the quiet space. “let me just change the song” you put the plate you were scrubbing back into the pool of soapy water. You pressed the button and Sasha Alex Sloan’s Dancing With Your Ghost started to play next. “uhm-” you nervously picked up the phone again.  

“It’s okay.” Changbin chuckled. You nodded and turned back to the sink. You were rinsing the plate and turned to grab the next one when Changbin’s hand grabbed yours pulling you into his body. Your eyes widen, “wh-what are you doing?” you stammered.  

“finishing the dance we didn’t get to finish at the release party” he smiled softly and twirled you outward, you slowly rolled back into his body, your back to his chest. You let out a shaky breath as you turned back to him, your arms wrapped around his body as you leaned against his chest. “why are you doing this?” you asked with your eyes closed.  

“aren’t we just repeating history?” you looked at him. Changbin shook his head before leaning his cheek against your cheek. “this is my apology,” he mumbled into your ear and stepped away from you. “i don’t want to lose our friendship, our wojeong.” he stopped dancing enough for the song to finally end. “tonight, I realized that you have jeong with not just me, but with Felix, Han, Hyunjin, Seungmin, I.N and even Lee Know.” he chuckled making you smile for a second. “and I realized it wasn’t fair to hate you for having a stronger version of Jeong with Bang Chan even after everything we all went through.” he stopped dancing with you for a moment, the both of you stood still in one place. “I couldn’t hate you for having it for him when I was wanting that version of it from you.”  

“you’re my best friend, and I really miss my best friend.” he dug in his pocket and pulled out your end of the matching necklace you both had. “you left this in the bathroom that night.” he showed it to you. “When I seen it on the counter, that’s when I knew, my real biggest mistake was pushing you and Bang Chan away.” you looked at the necklace and smiled remembering the day you both seen them at the mall and bought them immediately. “i would really love it if all of my best friends were in my life” he unclasped it a silent gesture of his invisible white flag.  

You stepped towards him and turned around, you pulled your hair to the side and watched as the necklace lowered down in front of you, and turned back to face Changbin as soon as he clasped it shut again. “i missed you too,” you sniffled, you fell into his embrace, you let out a shaky breath as he squeezed you tighter. You opened your eyes and seen Bang Chan standing by the kitchen table looking at the both of you. 

Changbin looked towards him too and stepped away. Fade Into You by Mazzy Star filled the awkward silence of the three of you in the kitchen alone. You turned back to the dishes and started to scrub them again. You could hear Changbin whispering something to Bang Chan, but you just wanted to avoid any eye contact if it would get ugly again.  

Suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Chan standing awkwardly behind you. “uhm-” he cleared his throat. You blushed at his nervousness, and immediately knew what he wanted to ask. You wiped your hands with the dry towel and pulled him to the middle of the kitchen. You draped your arms around his neck and let him put his hands on your waist.  

Changbin nodded in satisfaction and left quietly, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen.  

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into Chan’s shoulder as he tighten his embrace around your body. You squeezed out a soft whimper trying to hold back any sob you felt building up behind your closed eyes. Chan didn’t dare say anything, instead he just held you closer, looking out at the skyline of the city to distract himself from crying along with you. “can I just stay here?” he chuckled while rubbing his hand up and down your back. 

You chuckled and sniffled pulling away to wipe away any fresh tears that slipped down your cheek. “you’re always welcome to stay here.” you assured him and tousled his hair. This time he leaned in and pressed his forehead into the fabric of your shirt, cradling his face into your neck. “i mean forever.” he smiled against the warmth of your skin making you shake your head and chuckle. Chan straighten his neck back and looked at you, this time the sparkles in his eyes were made not from lights, alcohol or tears but from pure love he had in his heart for the people in his life.  

You looked away because it was enough to tear you up again and you didn’t want him to worry. 

You could feel his thumb and finger pinch your chin gently as he tilted your face up, slowly he leaned in and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to your lips. Your eyes were closed, the music was drowned out by a light hum. You could feel him pull away, he wet his lips again with his tongue and pressed his forehead to yours. The song changed one last time, Lord Huron’s The Night We Met softly blurted out the speakers. The both of you closed your eyes and slowly moved to the song, Chan’s arms on your waist pulling you closer and yours still wrapped around his neck. It wasn’t a confirmation but yet it wasn’t a rejection either, maybe it was a sign of hope.  

All you knew was being there in his arms again, nothing else mattered because no matter which side the coin landed on, you knew that as long as you were in his arms, there would be a way the two of you would end up together...one day. 

[cherryxcadbury]

Idk if you write for TAA but I thought in which you’re famous maybe like a writer or idk. Not model or singer, something different because people are delighted that he didn’t choose a “fake” girl, because you’re smart and show in his games every time you can.

this is my oldest request, from almost a year ago. apologies anon.

y/n-your name

2nd person pov

Post match meant time to celebrate and relax. Usually anyways.

It was Sunday, the day after the champions league final, where Liverpool had lost to Real Madrid.

Since then, all the WAGs, players, and coaching staff had made it home from Paris.

And currently, a smaller group of you were gathered around the sitting room of the Van Dijk’s home. Virgil and his wife Rike, stood ready to get whatever anyone needed as hosts.

Captain Jordan Henderson & his wife Rebecca were seated, squished on a small seat.

Andy Robertson, your boyfriend’s best friend was on the floor with a beer in hand, with his wife Rachel seated right behind him on a chair.

As for you and Trent, you two were seated on a slightly smaller sofa, squished, but content.

Usually Mo and his wife, who you’d spent lots of time talking to, managed to find time to come to these gatherings but their daughter had fallen ill.

“I just dunno how the fans will receive us.” Jordan confessed, with his head in his hands.

“If I were a fan I’d want to physically assault myself after yesterday.” Andy groaned.

“I fucked up bad.” Trent mumbled into your ear.

You lightly slapped his knee, telling him not to think such thoughts.

“Heads up guys. We win as a team, we lose as a team.” Virgil comforted everyone.

“You lot have got the FA cup parade tomorrow. That’s something to look forward to.” Rachel brought up, trying to add cheer to the conversation.

“Not the same as a champions league trophy.” Trent groaned.

Rebecca stood up, beckoning Rike & Virgil to sit down.

“We need to change the topic guys. If we keep talking about the defeat you guys are going to moping all the way until next season and into the World Cup.” She suggested.

“So change of topic anyone?” Andy asked, taking another swig of his beer.

“How about that Y/N’s latest book has just won a Pulitzer Prize.” Trent offered the newest bit of information.

You whipped your head in his direction. You hadn’t thought that he’d remember or had even noticed with all of the matches and finals going on.

When your eyes met Trent’s, all you could see in his face was pure love and joy.

“I’m so so proud of you.” He said into your ear.

Your heart swelled with happiness. You felt on top of cloud nine despite yesterday’s events in Paris.

“Y/N that’s amazing!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Was it Life as We Know it?” Rachel asked, referring to the novel of yours which had been an international success in the last year.

You nodded, “Yeah that was it.”

“I need to tell the team.” Jordan got out his phone and started texting rapidly.

You blushed, these very public gestures always made you feel shy. Shy but appreciated.

“This calls for a toast. Let me help with the drinks.” Rebecca, Rike, and Virgil made their ways to the kitchen to get some more wine and beer.

“WOOOO Y/N IS THE BEST WRITER EVER!” Andy’s hands shot up in the air and he started dancing around.

You and Trent looked over at each other. You tried to hide your laughter by snuggling into his chest, but it was impossible.

Andy was Andy. The loud, hilarious Scotsman.

*** “A toast. To Y/N. For making our dark days, brighten with some light.” Trent raised his glass, as the others followed.

You did the same, giving everyone a grateful smile, especially Trent.

You looked at everyone around you, they were happy yes. But as you squinted further you could still see the sad looks in their eyes. The stinging pain of the loss didn’t just go away like that.

“Thank you guys. I appreciate it, I really do. But it’s okay to feel bad for yourselves you know. A champions league final is a big thing. You can’t just get over it in less than twenty four hours. Don’t let me be the reason you have to suppress your emotions.” You told them honestly.

“The channels did say that you guys had quite a few things you needed to work on.” Rike responded.

“The different in caliber between us and Madrid was incredibly large.” Jordan agreed.

“Let’s hear them then.” Trent started.

“Y/N. You go first. You always have the best insight and you never share it with anyone except us.” Rachel began, gesturing to her, Rike, and Rebecca.

Trent shared a knowing smile with you. He knew how analytical you were. How easy it was for you to immediately spot the flaw in the lineup and what’s substitutions needed to be made.

“Well,” You sighed.

This wasn’t going to be easy. There was a lot.

“Your defense was lacking for the majority of the match. When they finally stepped up, it was too late. You guys didn’t press enough until the match was basically over. And essentially, you let yourself be outplayed. It didn’t help that Courtois was a wall of steal either.” You explained.

“You have a good back line for the most part. Just need to strengthen the weak areas, like tracking back. And as for up front, you need to work on converting those shots.” You finished.

“This is better insight than what Klopp gave us yesterday.” Jordan murmured.

“I’m texting everything you said to him right now. Thank you so much YN.” Virgil smiled, his thumbs rapidly moving on his smartphone screen.

Trent drew close to you and pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“My beautiful, intelligent girl. I’m so so lucky to have you.” He whispered into your ear.

“Thank you for mentioning the Pulitzer Prize. I thought you’d forgotten to be honest.” You confessed.

He rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re too incredible for me to forget anything about you. You’re on my mind every second of everyday.” Trent smiled at you.

“You guys are gross.” Andy furrowed his eyebrows at you and Trent, a small smile playing on his lips.

this is a bit of a mess. thank you for bearing w me

[mariacallous]

The first frame of The Sympathizer reminds us that what is known in the United States as the “Vietnam War,” the Vietnamese refer to as the “American War.” When something as basic as what to call the catastrophe that killed and uprooted millions of people is in such fundamental dispute, it’s clear that nothing about this is simple.

Dichotomies and seeing things from both sides are at the heart of this series, an adaptation of Viet Thanh Nguyen’s Pulitzer Prize-winning 2015 novel. Our hero, the child of a French father and Vietnamese mother, known only as the Captain (Hoa Xuande), spins this yarn as a confession in a North Vietnamese reeducation camp shortly after the end of the war. He was working, he claims, as a deep-cover mole for the Communists with the secret police in Saigon, where he was assigned to a somewhat buffoonish General (Toan Le). Though eager to celebrate the liberation of the south, the Captain’s handler orders him to join the General and his coterie when they flee to America. He was educated in the United States, understands (maybe loves?) the culture, and has an established rapport with the General’s CIA connection. His job is to monitor the situation there and report back.

So how does he end up captured by the North Vietnamese? Well, this is complicated, and the route to get there wickedly lampoons the military, academia, Hollywood, and, perhaps a bit more painfully, the mindset of war refugees incapable of adjusting to new surroundings. The Sympathizer is about tragedy, but, like Catch-22 or MASH, can also be called a comedy. I guess it’s all where your sympathies lie.

One of the bigger gags is the casting, with Oscar winner Robert Downey Jr. hamming it up in several makeup-heavy roles. (This is not an explicit nod to the Vietnam War film spoof Tropic Thunder, but that history adds some extra spice to the stew.) We first meet him as Claude, the gruff CIA man who helped groom the Captain when he was educated in America. (When, specifically, he decided to align with the Communists is unclear, though the real-life spy that The Sympathizer is very loosely based on already considered himself a mole at that young age.) Claude later assumes false identities, just because there’s nothing this story loves more than complications.

Some of Downey’s other roles include a condescending professor of Oriental studies (swishing around in a kimono and demanding his Japanese-American assistant take more pride in her culture); a right-wing congressman (“Napalm” Ned Godwin) who grunts like Clint Eastwood and whose maniacal hatred of Communists helps him overcome his racism, thus aligning him with the General and having an anti-Castro Cuban wife; and an egocentric film director working on an Apocalypse Now-like Vietnam picture, the portrayal of which is a little unfair to Francis Ford Coppola. (Sure, he was and is dedicated to his vision as an artist, but in a mostly benevolent way, not like the snot portrayed in The Sympathizer.)

Mirroring the Captain is left-wing journalist Sonny (Alan Trong), who stayed in America after college. The Captain secretly envies his ability to be open with his Viet Cong sympathies but scorns him for not “earning it” in the homeland during the war. Naturally, they are both sleeping with the same woman (Sandra Oh).

The other key characters who double as big honkin’ metaphors are Bon (Fred Nguyen Khan), which, yes, is French for “good,” and Man (Duy Nguyen), which is English for, uh, “man.” At age 14, they formed a three-way blood bond, but the big secret is that the Captain and Man are loyal to the Communists—indeed, Man is his handler, with whom he corresponds using invisible ink and complex codes. Bon, however, is a defiant South Vietnamese who escapes to America with the Captain and the General, but whose wife and child are killed as they race to make the last flight out. This tense sequence almost one-ups the real-life chaos of the fall of Saigon.

There’s more to the tableaux of characters, especially in the Los Angeles refugee community, and while the series keeps the story moving, a great deal of the clever writing that made the book such a success translates over nicely. There are examples at every turn: The professor teaches Oriental studies at a thinly veiled Occidental College (zing!), and his book of highly influential political theory is attributed to one Richard Hedd. (I’ll let you work that one out on your own.)

That book, Asian Communism and the Oriental Mode of Destruction, is used by the Captain and Man as the foundation of their cipher, but it also contains the line eerily similar to a notorious statement by Gen. William Westmoreland: “The Oriental doesn’t put the same high price on life as that of the Westerner. Life is plentiful, life is cheap in the Orient, and as the philosophy of the Orient expresses it, life is not important.”

That preposterous sentiment is rebuked by the psychologically convalescing refugees—some of whom have turned to alcoholism, defacing property with images of the “Saigon execution” photo, or, as mentioned in one dark moment, “beating their wives just to feel like men.” As the series heads into its final third, the General (backed by the CIA) crews up for a quixotic attempt at a Bay of Pigs-like invasion via Thailand, which, of course, quickly falls apart.

The Captain isn’t just a witness to the scheme; he’s an active participant in two cold-blooded murders. (He’s still a likable guy; Hoa Xuande gives an incredible performance.) The moments of violence, however, are shot through a bleakly funny lens, in the style of the Coen Brothers. One includes a doddering half-deaf granny in the same frame as a life-or-death struggle.

The first three episodes are directed by the series’ co-creator, Park Chan-wook, the South Korean auteur of Oldboy, The Handmaiden, and the recent John le Carré adaptation The Little Drummer Girl. His episodes all contain a noticeable cinematic sparkle, making clever use of match cuts that weave the complex narrative in simplifying ways. The remainder of the series is directed by Brazilian Fernando Meirelles (The Constant Gardener, The Two Popes) and British director Marc Munden (The Secret Garden).

All seven episodes look terrific, from the period automobiles and Budweiser cans to the Vietnamese “hamlet” in both the Captain’s memory and the Hollywood film production where the Captain is acting as an authenticity consultant, blending art and life with helicopter blades. There’s also a keen deployment of fresh music from the era—not a hint of Creedence Clearwater Revival!—but instead tunes like “Dynomite!” by Bazuka (a funky number with a mention of armaments) and fiery free jazz by Ornette Coleman. It all builds to our hero’s tortuous showdown with his homeland, his identity, and himself. Unless you’ve read the book, there’s really no way to predict the ending, and yet once you see it you realize that it’s perfect.

America’s counterculture, instigated significantly by the Vietnam War (but also civil rights and the pill), is just about the most heavily covered topic in movies and television, but there are so few projects from the Vietnamese perspective. Of course, as with any group, there isn’t just one Vietnamese point of view. The Sympathizer, almost magically, is able to fit many in, even if it almost destroys everyone in its path. There hasn’t been a series this complex—and also so funny—in a very long time.

[toomuchracket]

going to an event w matty is such a birthday partyverse thing

oh my god maybe when you get nominated for a big award (booker? pulitzer? nobel prize for literature? aiming high) your publishers host an event in your honour, a fun dinner in a cool venue with all your friends. they put you and matty up in a fancy hotel, and matty's in extra proud simp boyf mode so he's literally documenting every stage of you getting ready (proper "you're doing amazing sweetie" type shit); you're actually almost late to your own event because matty went all steven meisel and made you pose for a whole photoshoot AND couples' mirror selfies before you left (to be fair, you both look hot as fuck so the mirror selfies were worth it). in the car there, he kisses your hand and up your arm to your neck and then lips to tell you he's so proud of you, which is a statement he regularly repeats the rest of the night. and it's so good - your writing friends are there, as well as the boys and their partners, and you and matty's friend group... just a whole host of people you love and want to celebrate with. before the meal, your editor and one of your publishers do a speech about you, which you get a bit shy about and try to hide your face in your hands - matty holds them so you can't, and he kisses your head like "take the compliments for once in your life, baby, come on". it's just a lot of laughs and good food and wine, and then chatting and dancing with your friends. matty continues to take pics because "it's a big night, sweetheart, i need to document it!"; he gets a cute little vid from across the room of you talking to your friend, where you clock him filming and blow him a kiss and grin, that he posts to his insta story with a caption like "loml!" lol. but your mutual favourite pic is from the end of the night, one of the two of you sat outside waiting for the car to pick you up, with you wearing matty's jacket looking sleepily content and him resting his head on your shoulder. v cute <3

[blaqueswanzaghouliishiilikeda]

iwtv ep 1 rewatch thoughts

[i am eating Popeyes right now and i promise didn’t plan it this way, but seeds were planted so here we are.]

first things first we [the viewers] are introduced to our two time Pulitzer Prize winning professor Daniel Malloy. We all come to this course with a variety of understandings of the topic just like in any other course. Right off the bat he’s telling us of his expertise in a pervious recording and at the same time we witness his visible skepticism of his own claims in the more nuanced present setting. if you think he’s the only reliable character it’s very much being challenged in the first few moments, which i’m sure has been pointed out many, many times.

he flips the channel there’s a war happening (clue about where we’re at in terms of timeline?? idk. i’ve only engaged with AMCverse so maybe?) and flips it again and the fantastical is going to become a reality. he just has to put the pieces he doesn’t have together so he sits down to do a puzzle (a devils minion easter egg apparently) and he’ll get those pieces by accepting the extended invitation sent to him by none other than Louis de Pointe du Lac, which picks up from his mail box after trying to fit missing pieces together. very solid intro.

Daniel: Why get any closer to the bug than i need to?

he says before he gets on an international flight and exposes himself to countless risks. It’s what he does tho right? i’ve seen a couple sc of the books where he describes Armand as looking like an insect. he is not put off by getting close to perceived bugs. Its funny tho as he’s asking the question, he’s unboxing the answer—louis’ handwritten invitation—as to what would be worth risking your life for right above the devils minion easter egg.

-bc the bug has been following your career (like the way armand followed him yes?) and you like that

-bc the bug wants you and has invited you and you are a risk taker in the ways an investigative journalist has to be to get to the story/truth. in a way a man who refused to face his mortality chooses to be as pointed out by the lovely tumblr user blueiight here (hope it’s okay that i linked you. lmk)

Louis definitely clinging to threads of the past. in 2020 he’s sending hand written letters (on papers with Lestat’s initials) instead of emails and original cassette recordings instead of digital recordings. A lot if not all of his threads to humanity are threads to the past (“in my day” old headass) since right now he seemingly doesn’t really have any connection to humanity in the modern time. being an out of touch billionaire will do that to you, on top of being a century old vampire.

I think thats another evil that gets overlooked when some of y’all are looking for “he’s just as bad” reasons to pin on him. Instead of the imaginary he bit claudia before bringing her to Lestat…like…in addition to his pimping he’s literally a billionaire. like its right there. that encapsulates the worst ways to exist in this world. he the manpire of humanity as well like…

which i guess is goes into the many faces of violence that fade to the background and don’t get called out enough. violence isn’t alway brutality and i noticed just this past couple of days people only see violence when it’s in tandem with brutality, but im not about to sit here and lecture y’all cause that’s not at all fun. and thats why im doing this. bc its fun. i just think this show does a wonderful job of showing the spectrum of violence and evil and i think you do a great disservice to what they have done here if you’re only seeing those things from one angle. and i think thats one of the reasons why so many people struggle with Lestat and don’t appreciate how masterfully (no pun intended) he’s been crafted bc you don’t recognize those things [violence and evil] anywhere else in the story as being as bad.

if thats Daniels box of the past he doesn’t have much kids stuff, just a pink stuffed animal and a bike helmet, so i wonder how much of his kids lives he’s really missed. Like it doesn’t even seem like there was a joint custody situation where they spent a great deal of time at his home as well. idk maybe he has things in storage. but i’m curious about that and how that parallels with how louis let his own child down as has been pointed out.

ngl he look tf good while he listening back to this tape 😩😅 someone zoomed in on his muscle flexing when he pressed play and i just want to say to you i agree wholeheartedly with you whoever you are.

he mad tho. snatched that letter up quick after pausing the tape. 😂

He dives into the (possible) eternal sunset on a highway that looks like water.

If this is a way to get Lestat’s attention, which I think it can be said is a part of why this second interview is happening given the papers Louis chose to write the invitation on, I think its very pointed that Louis is introducing himself as a keeper of knowledge considering one of his (possible*) final moments with lestat as pointed out here.

one of the last things Lestat ever did before he was poisoned, had his neck sliced, and was dumped in a garbage yard to feed on rats, was humiliate Louis about his love of books and claim the role of the knowledge keeper in their family. I think its a very pointed message that this is a book (especially with all the mediums available in 2020), of course Louis loves books, but also Lestat has beef with books lol (Between Gabrielle and Louis). If there’s anyway to get a rise out him (hehe) its a book where Louis is identified as the knowledge keeper of the immortal life Lestat gave to him. and it’s written by a savory inferior as well. louis could have written the book himself. God knows he has the skill, time and the access to do it so that was intentional. Lestat gone drop through the ceiling of the dubai penthouse in a rage.

*possible final moments bc we don’t know yet if Louis has seen Lestat since Paris etc. etc. which i think he will see him in paris bc of Rolins “can’t burn him twice” comment, but i’m open to being wrong.

i haven’t pointed out anything that hasn’t been discussed extensively, but this is a verrryy solid opening introduction to the show. right off jump they established this to be a well crafted episode.

i need yall to know right now that as we go forward in this episode i cannot be held accountable for who i become when faced with brown eyed louis’ fine self. you’ve seen it yourselves please don’t hold this against me!!!! i am not god’s strongest soldier! i am weak at the knees! i will buckle! i will fold!

[the-bjd-community-confess]

I'm in a nice little discord for a local bjd group and it's nice but I just have to vent about how one person in it acts. We all love to share our photos and most of us have some flavor of cheap DSLR, but theirs is one of the super expensive high end ones. They take really good pics and have a good sense of composition and general photo ideas and I like seeing their pics and what a high end camera can do for dolls.

But man. I wish they weren't such a snob. The way they talk about their own photos is demoralising at best and obnoxious at worst. 'Ugh the colours in this look disgusting, it's completely unuseable' 'the lighting was unsalvageable so I only have this hideous mess.' 'Didn't save any of these because they look like shit so I just deleted them all. Every last one of those photos was something way better than me or probably anyone else in the group could do. For the life of me I can't even pick up the differences in the photos they're proud of vs the ones that are 'shitty and unuseable'. I think most people probably can't. There are also photos they're proud of and put up on their Instagram that I think look 'worse' than ones they complained and complained about and said can't see the light of day, (not that any of them are truly bad) so I can't even grasp their own criteria of good vs bad.I know being a perfectionist turns you into your own worst enemy, but it's really uncomfortable.

When they're trashing and insulting these amazing photos for not being Pulitzer Prize worthy it just makes me feel like they must think mine and everyone else's are even shittier and not worth sharing whatsoever. It almost makes me not even want to post photos where they can see so I don't have to worry about how they might feel about whatever minuscule error is in the picture barely perceivable to the naked eye but I also cant bring myself to care that much when I'm taking photos of my dolls for fun because I enjoy it.

Honestly if you're being this hard on yourself over doll photos of all things maybe you need to reevaluate what you actually want out of this hobby. It's meant to be fun. Photographing dolls is meant to be fun. If you're constantly beating yourself up over perfectly fine, regular photos then I really don't think you're having as much fun as you say you are, not to even mention how your constant negativity brings others down.

~Anonymous

[flaneur001]

Yandere! Male Writer x GN Cop! Reader (Headcanon)

CW- murder, manipulation, gore, mild swearing

Yandere! Writer Is a famous crime thriller novelist. A recent Pulitzer prize awardee. His fanbase only grows each day, with everyone commenting on how real his writing sounds. His novels are written as a diary of his main character who is the protagonist of all his novels. The diary of a serial killer.

Yandere! Writer is very active in the writing community and is popular for his charming personality and witty retorts. With multiple tv show appearances, he is so admired and respected that everybody in the film industry wants to adapt his novels into series or a movie, only for him to refuse. Success comes easily to him, in a manner that he is perpetually bored.

Yandere! Writer is one day approached by the local precinct on an urgent matter. There is a new cop in the violent crimes department who needs his assistance.

Yandere! Writer who is initially wary about getting involved with such business easily complies when he meets you. You are a new cop. Fresh out of training and full of gusto. It almost makes him amused to see you show that naive hopefulness. You have caught his attention. Enough for him to feel that tingle of excitement again.

Yandere! Writer is a little surprised when you tell him that some seasoned criminal has taken a liking to his writing. They believe the killer is actively copying the murders as described in his novels, down to the minute details. You believe that the killer is maybe obsessed with the idea that he is the protagonist of these novels.

Yandere! Writer although apprehensive in the beginning, eagerly agrees to help you with the case. You want him to stay in the precinct and help the cops catch the killer. Because you think that only the writer seems to think how the killer thinks. Hence helping you understand the mindset and probably the next move of the killer.

Yandere! Writer is warned by his publicists to not get his hands dirty and stay out of police business, but he is stubborn. He has taken a weird liking to you. He sticks by your side day in and out, even when you are pulling all-nighters. He is practically shadowing you at this point. He has finally found his muse. You don't know but in his new novel he has already made you the love interest of the protagonist, cementing his growing little obsession with you.

Yandere! Writer is perplexed when he realizes that he not only likes you, but has this overpowering urge to keep you to himself. Hell, he didn't feel this satisfaction when he sat knees deep in warm blood oozing from a fresh corpse he just slaughtered out of sheer boredom. Instead his heart thuds wildly in his chest when you simply hold eye contact with him for longer than a minute.

Yandere! Writer loves how you have begun to trust him. Rely on him so much that you are okay with sharing your problems and worries with him. He is making sure that nobody can step in this tight circle that he has managed to ensnare you in with himself.

Yandere! Writer takes a sick satisfaction, almost getting off on that fact that how these foolish people haven't been able to connect the dots already. He began writing about his “incidents” like some sort of memoir of his killings. It's true he killed those people to feel something. To make his usual stone cold pulse, race like it does around you. He isn't ashamed to admit he’d kill again. But this time only for you. He doesn't want this adventure with you to come to an end.

So when he has you in his embrace, after you discovered the corpse of your best friend, he has to stifle a wide grin from splitting across his face. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, while your body is wracked with sobs. This is it. You need to learn that no matter how hard you try, this is where you will always return. He’ll make sure of it.

“Shh, darling its alright. We’ll find the bastard who did this. I'm here now, don't worry. I'll take care of you”

[otrtbs]

Nat is back with thoughts™️ on the Van Gogh soup incident and now the Monet 'Mashed Potato' incident.

I know some of you have already asked me what I thought about the protesters throwing soup on the Van Gogh painting, but I am back with more coherent thoughts in light of the new but similar Monet incident.

I was reading a post by Pulitzer Prize winning NYT Art Critic, Jerry Saltz (which I will quote from frequently in this rant of mine) and wanted to further comment because I'm just so frustrated and need a place to vent.

First to talk about setting a bad precedent, this is exactly what I was worried about back in May when climate protesters threw cake on the Mona Lisa. Then the Van Gogh incident earlier this month and now the Monet incident a few weeks later.

If the first two 'protests' proved anything, it's that these forms of activism are not successful nor remotely beneficial to the cause.

"They're gaining exposure! The point is global attention and they got it! It's successful because everyone is talking about it!"

I think it's important to focus on what exactly everyone is talking about. The art. Obviously the art world is focused solely on the art, but every media outlet is focusing heavily on the painting and possible damage and adds the protesters message as a byline, if they add anything about what the protesters hope to achieve at all. All it takes is one scroll through twitter to see that the general public sentiment is outrage towards the protesters and even, towards the cause at large.

It paints climate activists in a negative light. As destroyers of culture. As people willing to turn to iconoclastic methodologies of the past to prove a message. In this case, all media attention isn't good. Furthermore, outrage has gone so far that other climate activists on social media have accused the women who threw soup on the Van Gogh of working for big oil companies. (If this is true, I wouldn't be surprised. If it's not, their message was utterly lost by the actions of their 'protest' and there is minimal public support to be found on either side of the climate issue.) The general public knows about climate change! These forms of activism only serve to paint those working to fight climate change in a negative light.

This is because, as Saltz says, the general public is:

"...against this form of protest. I am against the destruction of the Earth. I am for all forms of beauty. Two things can be true at the same time."

Secondly, we have to consider what the rise in these forms of protest mean for museum and gallery spaces! It means more distance between you, the museum goer, and the painting. You'll have to stand farther away than before. It means more preemptive protective glass casings and screens over more works of art (Inhibiting your view of the meticulous paint details even further). It means more extensive and harsher policing of museum patrons in gallery spaces by security which is already a significant contributing factor in keeping POC and the younger generation out of art museums. Our access to art will be hindered and reduced out of fear of damage and destruction. That is the impact these protesters had/have with this particular form of activism.

Thirdly, we have to think about what happens when the art that gets damaged by these protests is art that isn't protected by glass. Or when protest measures go a step further to actually destroy and maim a piece of artwork. To quote Jerry Saltz:

"I believe that this will inevitably lead to the actual destruction of art. Iconoclasm in protest is as old as our species. Maybe 1% of 1% of 1% of 1% of all the art ever made survives. All the plays of the Greeks- except the few we have- were destroyed as Pagan."

It is possible that we are witnessing a rebirth of an iconoclastic era that future generations will discuss. The impact of these protests have the potential to be catastrophic for art and cultural history and past iconoclastic movements in history have proved that multiple times over!

Finally though, Saltz talks about something I think is really important to remember. We are all at the hands of banks and oil companies, and governments, and industries in power that destroy the Earth. He says:

"These entities tell us to compost, save the environment, don't use straws...while their own ways go unchecked as they make more profits."

These powers that be want us fighting amongst one another. They want public outrage and backlash against these protesters because as long as we continue pointing fingers at one another, no one will point fingers at them. Which is maybe why so many headlines are focused on the shock value of destroying art. We are not any different than the protesters at our core. We're all suffering under the same system that is causing harm. I think it's important to remember that while we shouldn't condone the protesters actions, it's easy to be extremely harsh on powerless people trying to lash out at a suffocating system of power.

I agree with Saltz in that both lines of thinking can be true. You can disagree and be pained by their methods, while understanding to a certain degree why these forms of 'protest' keep happening.