Tumgik
#pr talks
georgegraphys · 9 days
Text
Why is it important for fans to support GR63's partnerships, campaigns, etc?
Warning: I do not mean to turn a charity or a campaign to an opportunistic marketing situation. I am simply explaining how it works backstage in real life!
George right now is seen as a Key Opinion Leader for The Daily Mile Foundation x INEOS that they hired to promote the initiative. Key Opinion Leaders have a job to build/lead public's opinion on certain things, be it campaigns, initiative, marketing, branding, etc. They are not mere influencers. KOLs are respectable members in niche communities that have credibility to the opinions that they are going to lead. So they don't waffle bullshit and promote fake stuff like what you see some influencers do when they overexaggerates how does aging serums work.
What George is doing right now is build/lead people's opinion to promote the initiative of the Daily Mile Foundation. Why? What credibility does he have? He is a fit and healthy Formula One athlete. He is a global ambassador for Puma and has a history of many other health campaigns, focusing mostly on Mental Health campaigns. That is his credibility as Key Opinion Leader.
You might now ask "Ari why do charities need Key Opinion Leaders? They are already supported by INEOS! They are rich!" Here is the thing : Charities need people's support and acknowledgement in order for them to support others. That is the way it works. It doesn't have to be monetary but support is always needed from the public, from the community. TDMF might have 3M children participating in their initiatives but they aim and strive to be bigger and reach more children out there. That's why they used George to promote their initiative.
Prime relevant examples of that can be seen from other celebrities. Back then, UNICEF supported FC Barcelona to promote their initiatives and campaigns. Using the likes of Lionel Messi for it. Nowadays, you see celebrities doing charities and collaborating with UNESCO, UNICEF, UNHCR, etc. They are not there just to look pretty, they are there to support the organization/foundation as Key Opinion Leaders. The attention they attract for the campaign/organizations/initiative will help the organization in the long run.
So if George does well in his KOL role, this might lead to more similar partnerships and campaigns in the future with brands, sponsors, others. It would also be useful if he wanted to establish his own non-profit foundation one day!
INEOS might be rich enough to support this foundation but you cannot deny that the role of Key Opinion Leaders like George is needed. TDMF is a part of INEOS' Corporate Social Responsibility for the communities and stakeholders. The more positive attention/engagement/interaction this campaign gets will further benefit George in the future to work with sponsors/brands/companies for their other CSRs or initiatives. Not only for himself, but also for the foundation, as the smallest interaction we do with them can bring a positive outcome for the foundation and campaign supported further!
I encourage everyone to support George Russell's campaign and partnership. Profit or non-profit. It will always be beneficial for both ways 🩵🩵
22 notes · View notes
breadandblankets · 11 months
Text
au where the bats manage to stay urban legends, sure other heroes know of them, but they help largely from the shadows, they aren't put on display and they're hardly known at All outside of the strange circle of gotham's goons
that changes when duke thomas stares batman down and says on no uncertain terms that he's working day shift
the signal is Gotham's first confirmed superhero, and he wears a bat on his chest
social media goes Wild fighting over whether the Batman existed all along or if someone finally got the tech and powers to make the bat (or a bat) Real
suddenly the world of superheros feels a lot more real to the citizens of Gotham who got used to horrible disasters being either ignored or neatly cleaned away from the public eye, now there's a guy getting thrown through windows and helping grannies cross the street and the war between gotham and metropolis gets even more cut throat
7K notes · View notes
hyacinthsdiamonds · 2 months
Text
I'm sorry but the irony of Nico calling Max unprofessional is sending me so bad like sir there's an entire garage full of people, who were literally in the trenches trying to survive the Brocedes fallout while just doing their jobs, who might have a few things to say about your (& Lewis') level of professionalism at that time 😭✋️
#f1#formula 1#formula one#max verstappen#nico rosberg#lewis hamilton#brocedes#like niki lauda had to try multiple times to literally parent trap them to try and get them on speaking terms it never worked#because one would arrive they'd see the other and the other would leave#& if i remember correctly the garage crew would swap around from race to race as a like see we aren't favouring anybody gesture 😭#and thats no shade to nico because it was both of them contributing to that environment#his comment re max is just making me laugh#like if i was a part of the pr/media team - which is a part of the degree I'm working on irl - at merc that year i would've lost the plot#like its insane reflecting on it nearly a decade later but the poor souls just trying to do their job in the eye of that storm#truly gods strongest soldiers#ngl the professional comment irks me a bit because its not like max is engaging in inappropriate work place behaviour#he's engaging in another aspect of racing that his involvement raises awareness of & that makes racing more accessible#& we all know how inaccessible not only getting into racing is but also to continue to pursue the further along you go#theres so many stories of 1 sibling giving up racing so the other can keep going because the family can't afford for them both to race#its a huge financial strain & we only see a handful of drivers talk about that & try to do something to change it#and nicos fellow sky sports commentators are routinely unprofessional on so many levels#additionally max had a lot of valid reasons to be annoyed at his team today#but alas he's not english so he's ungrateful#i hate that drivers can't criticise their teams or car without immediately being branded as bratty & ungrateful#ESPECIALLY WHEN THEIR JOB IS TO GIVE FEEDBACK#you can see the double standards from sky when say Lando or George have complaints with their team/car v the likes of Max and Yuki#especially Yuki my god the things i would do to get the British media to leave him alone#this was a jokey post at one point and then became a rant whoops lmao#I'll leave it that before i write an actual essay here 😭✋️
514 notes · View notes
ef-1 · 4 days
Text
Fuck it might as well if there was ever a time to get in trouble 🤷‍♀️ :) but I know a couple of people who work in VCARB and not even they're sure what's happening :))) they've literally said there have been information walls erected for weeks and they keep getting conflicting messages :)))) so they fed him to the media this whole weekend with no clarity with everyone laying into him and now by his own words it's been such an exhausting weekend he just wants to be done with it :)) what an unusual and cruel thing to do
343 notes · View notes
linddzz · 4 months
Text
If anyone was wondering whatever the fuck happened with that "shark-ray or stingray Jesus" pregnant stingray, the answers are:
-That poor thing is STILL "pregnant" 4 months past her gestation time
-they admitted ON THEIR OWN LIVESTREAM that they don't know how to read ultrasounds
-The "aquarium" (which is a non-AZA accredited, privately owned sideshow in a storefront) was blocking aquarium experts, which they deny, but the blocked people gave the reporter receipts
-They haven't given any indication of actually having a vet examine her and get REALLY SHADY if asked.
-They called the cops on a reporter and the director tried to have her booked for trespassing and this shit is bonkers!!!!!
-They obviously seriously annoyed said reporter with that stunt and the result is a hilariously scathing article all put in the most professionally journalistic language.
"This was my second dust-up with police in 15 years of journalism. The last one was reporting on neo-Nazis in Germany. This one was about a stingray."
Like you know you really pissed off a journalist when this is the quote they highlight after asking another expert about your shitshow
Tumblr media
401 notes · View notes
introspectivememories · 7 months
Text
too many of you guys think nico is the loser and not lewis for letting the divorce go on for so long. like they're both losers about each other. emotionally constipated idiots who can't talk about their toxic homoerotic friendship that imploded on itself like 8 years ago and are now making it everyone else's problem. yeah nico's on television or in beer gardens talking about lewis all the time but like every other month some reporter is like "lewis, what's your favorite moment in your career?" and lewis no hesitation is like "oh man, karting, y'know? everything was simpler then" and then spends another six months skirting around nico's name. like this whole thing they're doing in the media isn't some kinda extended foreplay for them. they're both still pressing on the bruise to make sure it's still there!!! every few months, they're literally just asking on public television, does it still hurt for you like it does for me? and like clockwork, someone will release new information about them or one of them will say something about each other (in my heart, he's still my best friend/yes... and teammate) and the answer will remain the same, yes, of course, always.
729 notes · View notes
mazzystar24 · 7 months
Text
Being a buddie fan is a roller coaster cos like reading the interviews is like:
🎢📈📈📈friendship is at the core of that coupling
🎢📈📈📈 Eddie is the most important relationship for buck and buck second only to Chris for Eddie
🎢📉📉📉so important to portray men as vulnerable with their friends
🎢📈📈📈this goes past friendship and I love you to the core
🎢📉📉📉they do a good job of introducing Marisol
🎢📈📈📈well there is a lot of change for both of us that’s all I can say
🎢📈📈📈there is a lot of change in that dynamic and how they interact, yeah we’re trying to give the audience what they want
🎢📈📈📈closer than ever
🎢📈📈📈real dad , good cop/bad cop
🎢📈📈📈semi coparent role
🎢📉📉📉uncle Buck
412 notes · View notes
anna-scribbles · 1 year
Text
(12 year old me voice) hey does anybody wanna talk about percy jackson
997 notes · View notes
valyrfia · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
lestappen so sus they're getting hit with the PR relationship allegations
371 notes · View notes
ynbabe · 5 months
Text
Need someone to get in a 2000s style scandal real quick- oh shit some driver got caught smoking? Amazing, Max does coke before every race? Expected, hidden mistress (or mister) and kids? Perfect, another spygate? Absolutely, Fernandos being Fernando? We love to see it, a blonde driver finally broke and is committing war crimes with a queer aura that can only be found in nico rosberg and whatever the fuck is going between Sergio ramos and that blond twink from Croatia? Let me get my popcorn
#MakeF1MessyAgain
197 notes · View notes
starry-bi-sky · 5 months
Text
Childhood Friends Danny and Jason: Ch2 Remastered
-------------------------------------------------------------- late at night when the stars don't look quite right -------------------------------------------------------------- there's something burning in the empty room inside of my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread
Jason nearly falls flat on his face when he sees the photo of Danny. He’s in a warehouse, finishing up with a gang selling drugs on his turf. The guys he’s got tied up are cursing up a storm at him, throwing every insult under the sun his way that he’s all heard before. His eyes drag over to them, and silently Jason adjusts his jacket to reveal the guns strapped to his thighs, his hand hovering over the handle of one. 
They all fall silent, and Jason moves his hand away. His phone in his other hand, texting Oracle to alert the police. Jason hates that he has to; these guys will be out of their cells in a matter of months, and nothing will change. 
But he’ll play nice. 
And then his phone buzzes, and when Jason looks down he sees a banner from Tim. A message he planned on ignoring, but his eyes skim over the text on instinct, and suddenly the air is stolen right from his lungs, and his thumb is hitting the screen before he can really think it through.
[Hey Jason, your best friend just appeared in Gotham for the first time since your funeral.]
Impossible. He thinks, yanking his phone close to his nose, as if that will make it any less real or fake. Danny hasn’t been in Gotham in years, Jason checked. But then the image loads, and then he’s staring Danny Fenton in the face. And then he’s greedily tracing every minute, new detail he can find. The gang left half-forgotten in his mind.
Danny’s got an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks taller. He’s got piercings in his ears, gold and jewels lining up the sides like a magpie’s find. He’s got an eyebrow piercing. 
Something old, something new; Danny is smiling and it still looks just as Jason remembers it. Crooked, lopsided, warm like the sun and belying the mischief underneath it. He remembers to breathe in that moment, and the sound comes in sharp. Danny’s eyes are as blue as they’ve ever been. 
(“I don’ get why books talk so much about peoples’ eyes.” Danny complains to him one day when he’s visiting the manor, his legs thrown over Jason’s back like an anchor tied to its ship. They’re sunk into the mattress of Jason’s bed, sunlight peering through the windows. “They’re just eyes! I don’t need t’know that they’re ‘as blue as the sky,’ or- or the ocean, or whatever blue thing in the world there is.”) 
(Jason’s smile comes to him like breathing, and he twists around to lay on his back. His arms trap Danny’s legs to his stomach. “Pretty sure it’s jus’ for emphasis on how much they’re noticing the person’s face.”)
(Danny’s face scrunches up, and Jason’s smile splits into a grin, heart swelling three sizes on instinct. “I think it’s stupid, s’just some fuckin’ eyes.”)
(“Eyes are windows to the soul, Dan.” Jason retorts, barking out a laugh when Danny gives him a deadpan look. His hands creep for a pillow, one of the soft downy ones wrapped in silk, and he throws it at Danny’s face. “And besides, speak for yourself! Your eyes are the bluest thing I’ve ever seen.”) 
But most importantly, Danny looks tired. 
Hiding is something that comes free with the purchase of living in Gotham, and Danny’s good at hiding things, he always has, but Jason knows him like the palm of his hands. He looks tired, and Jason wants to reach through the screen and ask him why. There’s an age-worn look there, catching in the flint of his iris, where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 
Jason gets the ETA from Oracle, then leaves as fast as his legs can carry him and his grappling hook can zip through the air. He needs to see Danny with his own eyes, to confirm himself that Danny was here, and that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. Or that it was Tim playing a cruel joke on him — and if it was, he’ll have to rethink his whole killing thing. 
Gotham’s air is warm and suffocating, but her winds bite at him as he soars through it.
It’s second nature for him to find the west end balcony, and Jason finds himself with his feet locked in place on the building beside it. Grappling hook in hand, and a balloon in his lungs, all swelled up and squishing the air out of him. 
It’s just his luck —with whatever he has left— that Danny is there as well. In the same spot he’s always been, with a cigarette caught between his teeth. He’s stuck halfway, head tilting, eyes closed, with the shadows of Gotham on his back and the light of the gala at his front. 
For a moment, for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Jason thinks Danny’s going to tilt himself back off the side.The thought has him blindly tilting himself forward with his heart in his throat. Hands reaching for his grappling hook, swinging down to drop down beside him.
Danny is staring at him before his feet even hit the ground, face nigh unreadable beyond the small, wary furrow of his brows. Danny’s never looked at him like that before, it feels like  stumbling on the last step of the stairs. 
Then, like fire to black powder something flashes and ignites in Danny’s eyes. Mouth curling, eyes burning, for a moment, just a moment, they’re kids again, getting into fights and turning soft hands punch-rough. Danny looks at Jason like he’s going to tear him to shreds.
Jason’s mouth runs dry like a desert in the summer, but his blood chills in fear cold in his veins. Why are you looking at me like that? His mouth opens, but his tongue is leaden in his throat, and no sound comes out. It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?  
Danny yanks the cigarette from his mouth like it burns him, his free hand gripping onto the railing like it’s the tether to a leash, nails threatening to turn into talons. “Red Hood.” He says, voice low and timbre, smoke dripping from his lips like dragon’s breath.  
Oh.
That’s right. Jason suffocates on his heart as it sinks and soars with relief. Danny doesn’t know it’s him. In his tunnel vision, he forgot that simple, easy fact. It’s not because it’s Jason that he’s angry. It still doesn’t explain, though, why Danny looks at him like he ought to sink his teeth into his throat and rip him open. 
He’s half-distracted by that, and then distracted by the need to drink in the sight of Danny again. A photo is one thing; the real person is another, and with his fear subsiding, Jason rakes his eyes over his best friend and swallows him whole. His eyes are bluer in person, his memory and Tim’s photo doesn’t do them justice, and Danny inherited his dad’s height. He’s gotten so tall. They both have. They both used to be such scrawny kids. 
So distracted is he, that he forgets to respond to Danny, to say anything. Not until Danny tries to dismiss himself, and Jason kickstarts into gear. White hot panic fills in his lungs, burning him up like magma. No, no, no, he’s moving without thinking, always when he’s with him, and he nearly latches onto Danny. Nearly wraps his hands around his arm to hold him in place. Don’t leave. You’re finally here; don’t go. 
Danny stays, but he stares at Jason’s reaching hands like he’ll bite them off, stares at Jason with his eyes burning, watchful. Jason’s excuse is lousy and he knows it, but he wants, wants, wants to stay and figure out every new thing about Danny. 
And he feels like he’s losing something. Time bleeds together beside him and Jason feels trapped behind a glass wall of his own making. Something old, something new. The distance of which Danny keeps him at is foreign to him. He hates it. 
Tell me everything, he thinks, because he can’t find the words to say it. He hands Danny a cigarette instead, and hopes that it’s enough. Tell me everything and more, tell me what I’ve missed. 
In the end, he still feels like he’s losing something, but he also feels like he’s missing something. Answers that are water, and that water is slipping through his fingers. Danny leaves him with more questions than answers; something that’s never happened before, and Jason watches him walk back inside with a spinning mind. 
What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?
I told you that the Joker killed me?
Have I told you anything else? Have I already told you everything I’ve wanted to?
What happened while I was gone? 
Is that why you’re scarred?
Because Jason isn’t blind, he’s never been. Not in Crime Alley, not as Robin, not now. And not when it comes to his best friend. He sees the silver lightning scars ripped jagged up Danny’s arm, sees that they disappear under his sleeves. He saw, faded as they were, invisible until the light hit right, as they spread like tree roots up his throat and across the side of his face.
Scars that Danny’s never had before. Scars he didn’t have when Jason was alive the first time. Scars he didn’t have the last time Jason saw him. Or — what he remembers to be the last time he saw him, because apparently he saw him as a ghost. He sees the curve of his ears and how they point more than a human’s should, he saw the glint of his canines, sharper than they should be; sharper than he remembers. Metaphorical fangs turned real.   
Jason should’ve asked where he got them from, should’ve taken Danny by the front of his collar and stopped him from leaving. Who did this to you? He should have said, a fire burning in his chest and wrapping around his throat, pulling his voice into a snarl. He should have said, his guns weighing heavy on his sides; Who did it. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me who. Tell me everything. 
Instead, something crawled into his mouth and died, and his tongue is glued to the roof of it. And he doesn’t say anything, because saying something means telling his best friend who he is. It means having to take off his helmet and mask. It means telling his best friend that he’s alive, that he has been. That despite being two halves of a whole, Jason spent five years letting him think he was dead. 
He can’t tell him, not when he’s in too deep already. Not when Jason is so unrecognizable to who he used to be that if he told him, Danny would hate him.
And Danny is still grieving him. So plain as day mourning, still angry over his death. Angry enough that he wants the Joker dead, angry enough that he wants to hang the noose and kick the chair out himself. 
Jason wishes he told him that he looks tired. 
Instead he’s standing alone on the balcony, trying to get his thoughts in order as music blares muffled through the gold-light door. He’s left staring at the crushed cigarette laying on the ground, Gotham’s ambience at his back and a poem hanging in the air that he has no words for. It’s already there. Like stars on a painted ceiling.
And there are so many questions he needs answers for. 
Like his ghost. His ghost.
What did Danny mean by his ghost? 
Does he really want to kill the Joker himself? Was it just the grief talking? Jason knows — or thinks he knows — Danny like the palm of his hands. He’s been through everything with him, he’s seen him say something and then immediately follow through with it. He knows when he’s being serious, he knows when he’s not. 
Danny wants to kill the Joker. Stealing is one thing; murder is another. And Danny wore a look on his face that looked like he meant it when he told Red Hood that he wanted to kill Joker. But saying and doing are two different things. Jason doesn’t know what to think.  
Something old, something new. Danny is still the same, and yet he’s changed so much. 
What did Danny mean by his ghost? 
Jason doesn’t ever remember being a ghost. But Danny knows the Joker killed him. He knows how he killed him. Danny’s parents are ghost scientists, and Jason remembers the letter he got one day telling him about the portal they were building in the basement. 
He remembers thinking about telling Bruce — this was something beyond the glowing green samples stored in the fridge, giving life to the food inside. This was beyond the weapons, the inventions they made that only saw the light of day when the Drs. Fenton brought them up to showcase them.
And he didn’t, because if he hadn’t told Bruce about everything before, he wasn’t going to start. He admits, it was part fear that Bruce might intervene and prevent him from seeing Danny that he didn’t.  
Neither of them had expected it to work — but it sounds like it did. 
(Jason has avoided Amity Park for a reason. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going there if he didn’t. But now, he just might have to look into it. He’s missed too much.) 
And Danny wants to kill the Joker, and Jason isn’t sure if he means it or not. Because the look on his face when he said it is oh-so familiar. It’s the one he wore when he needed Jason to distract the clerk while he snuck behind the counter to steal cigarettes from the shelves. It was the one he wore when an older kid cornered them near one of Gotham’s many alleys, threatening them over something Jason can no longer remember clearly. 
(He remembers puffing himself up, rearing for a fight. Danny, with glass in his teeth and blood between his fingers, lands a square kick to the spot between the kid’s legs. His knees hit the ground, and Danny’s hand found Jason’s to drag them both out of there.)
It’s the look of a boy, Gotham-touched grime in his soul, soft fingers turned calloused and scarred, about to do something he’s not going to regret. It’s the look of a boy that has set his mind to something and is going to do it. Some might call it the eyes of a cornered animal, but Danny’s never been cornered, not when Jason’s been with him. 
(But Jason hasn’t been with him. Not for the last five years. So can he really say it wasn’t the eyes of a cornered animal?...Yes.) 
Jason gets off the balcony before he can be seen, and he shouldn’t, but he loiters. He should get back to patrol, the night is never over. Not in Gotham. But he stays, hidden atop the roof nearby.
—---------------
An hour later, Danny walks out the doors with a man Jason recognizes as Vlad Masters — another new mystery for him to uncover. The paparazzi have long since left. Gotham’s nights are dangerous and everyone knows that, not even the vultures would stick around for a scoop, not unless there was something worth seeing. 
A black limousine pulls up beside them, and Masters walks around the back to reach the other side. He’s bristled like an angry cat. “I thought I told you not to embarrass me.” He hisses, eyes snake-narrowed.
Danny, for the most part, just looks unbothered, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care. But he narrows his eyes right back, an expression made of stone. “You have a pretty low bar for what you think is embarrassing.” 
Masters just scowls, “I don’t understand you, I would have thought you’d spend the whole time mingling with the Waynes, badger.” He says. Danny ruffles at the nickname, lips curling into a snarl. Jason finds himself unconsciously mimicking him. “And yet, I find you sequestered away in the corner like a little fly on the wall. Were they not up to your standards?”  
‘Sequestered’ Danny mouths mockingly, eyes burning like he was going to claw his hand down Masters’ face. Instead, his hands dig into his arms. “I did talk to them, that’s more than I can say for you. You couldn’t even keep Mister Wayne’s attention for more than a minute.”  
Jason frowns, and Masters scoffs, puffing up like an owl with its ego bruised. “Regardless, I am not the one losing here. Or did you forget what you promised me?” 
Jason’s frown deepens. Danny doesn’t promise anything. At least, he doesn’t promise with just anyone. He deals; he repays; he indebts. But he does not promise. Promises were power, with only one side benefiting. It was trust to promise someone something. Danny doesn’t trust easily, neither of them do.
Something that hasn’t changed. Danny rears up angrily, mouth twisting, teeth baring, snarling out a fury sound. A wire cut live and sparking. He grabs the door handle and yanks it open harshly. “I didn’t promise you anything, Vlad.” He hisses, Jason strains to hear him. “I offered and you agreed. Do not fucking twist my words.” 
There it is. Jason should’ve known better, guilt string-plucking in his chest for his doubt. Danny doesn’t promise things; not to people like this Masters guy, at least. 
Danny grabs something from the car and throws himself back. “Don’t wait up.” He snarls, a wild thing just as Jason is, and yanks on a red hoodie over his arms. It zips up, and hangs off him, smothering the vest and button-up beneath. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” 
Then he slams the door shut, shoulders hunched and with a scowl carved into his face. They’re both made of broken glass; independence — disobedience — and rebellion cut into them from every broken beer bottle shattered on the streets.
(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters — Danny’s never told him about him, so they must have met after he died. The man leaves a rot in Jason’s mouth, and there is a greed festering inside him that Jason knows has left him in decay.)
(He doesn’t like how close Masters acts with him, doesn’t like the affiliations between them both. Masters reminds him of Luthor and every other rich socialite with their hands in something dirty. He hates even more that Danny is making deals with him. What has he missed?)  
Jason follows after Danny, partially concerned that Danny is wandering Gotham alone. Regardless of what he can do, Gotham is still dangerous. It is bone-rotting, lung-choking and unforgiving. Danny knows this, Jason knows he does. He’s partially curious to know just where he’s going, and whether or not it was important enough to visit in the dead of Gotham’s bloody nights.
Danny surprises him — slipping between alleyways, sticking close to the shadows. Someone taught him how to be stealthy — or, at least, refined what stealth Danny already had. More new things that Jason needs to learn. More things he will never get to know. 
Who taught you that? 
Just what, exactly, have I missed?
I want to know everything. 
Five years is a long, long time to be away from someone. If a caterpillar can become a butterfly in two weeks, then what can five years do to a human? It’s a long time to change, to become something else entirely. Jason’s become someone new, and he thinks, so has Danny. 
Dread pools in his ribs, into his lungs, and weighs heavy on his heartstrings. The urge to drop down in front of Danny, to grab him by the arms and ask him to tell him everything, returns with a vengeance. This is why he avoided Amity Park. 
Will I still know you like I used to? Jason trails behind Danny from the rooftops, like a ghost. Do you still love the stars? Do you still take tea over coffee? Will you tell me, if I ask? 
And if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t ask, like he isn’t right now? 
If he doesn’t ask about his ghost — something that still boggles his mind, because it means the Fentons were right and that portal might have worked, and Danny found Jason’s ghost? If he doesn’t ask what his ghost told him, if he told him anything else? Did his ghost tell you that he was Robin, like he always wanted to?  
He will just have to keep his questions to himself. He will just have to tuck them into a folder in his mind, and file it under all of his other regrets.  
He feels like he’s Robin again; keeping secrets and hiding things from his best friend because it simply wasn’t safe enough for him to know. It’s maddening.  
Why has nothing changed since he died? Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive?
—---------------
Danny leads him to the Gotham Cemetery. Jason freezes outside the gates. Oh, he thinks.
Oh.
He thinks back to what he thought earlier. 
What could possibly be so important that he’d go to it in the dead of Gotham’s night? The cemetery. Of course. Something old, something new, something bittersweet sets over his tongue that he swallows down. 
Jason forces himself to follow. 
“Hey.” Danny says as Jason settles behind a tree, voice gentle in foreign familiarity. He’s standing at Jason’s grave, his hands shoved into his pockets. The light is low but it doesn’t stop Jason from seeing the starlight-soft look in Danny’s eyes and his half-tilted smile, the smile that Jason is more familiar with than the wary scowls. “Sorry I’m late.”
Guiltish misery wraps its hands around Jason’s lungs. Pin-prickingly, stabbing at his heartstrings, Jason’s mouth moves on its own; “It’s okay.” but no sound comes out. Danny doesn’t hear him, and neither does Jason himself.  
Danny sits down before Jason’s tombstone, groaning low and tiredly as his legs fold beneath him. He’s older than Jason, and immediately his mind switches over to all the jokes he used to lob him with. 
(“Need help crossing the street, old man?” Jason, eight years old, asks with a grin so wide and painful across his face; giggles in his chest. He hooks his elbow with Danny, and keeps him tight against his ribs. “You’ll need all the help you can get in your ancient age.”)
(“I’m not that old.” Danny says, glaring at him before they scurry across the street with the light still green. Traffic laws are a joke in Crime Alley, it’s like a game of frogger as the sound of honking horns and screeching tires follows their heels. “We’re six months apart!”)
(“Six months and four days, actually.” Jason corrects when they reach the other side, snickering as they race down the sidewalk. Drivers lean out their windows and curse them out as they get away, Danny dodges an empty soda can thrown at his head. “Can’t forget the four days.”)
“I would’ve come sooner.” Danny tells him, pulling him from child-fuzzy memories and back into reality. Jason peers around the tree to see him running a hand through his hair, head ducked down. His palm splaying against his neck. “Sorry I didn’t. I got scared.” 
Scared? Jason blinks, he leans against the bark and bumps his helmet against the wood. The thunk is loud in his ears, but Danny makes no indication that he heard. Of what? 
But Danny doesn’t say what, he drops his hand and glances off to the side. He sits like a man who isn’t quite sure what to do, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes scrunched. Grief carves into the lines of his face like a sculptor carving into marble. 
“I was gonna get you flowers on my way here.” Danny continues. His voice cracks, begins to wobble, and Jason sees Danny’s jaw tighten and his eyes close for a moment. When they open, there’s a wobbling sheen on his bottom lashes; tears threatening to bleed.   
Danny flicks at the tears with the nail of his thumb, it does nothing. It just makes his breath hitch. “Um, but they- uh, didn’t have any open on the way here.” He says, giving Jason’s grave a tremulous smile. “Sorry, I’ll make sure to pick some up on my next visit.”   
Next visit. Jason’s heart squeezes uncomfortably, before he reels at the words. Danny’s going to be visiting again, after five years of being out of Gotham? Next visit, why are you visiting again? Was this the reason he came to Bruce’s little charity ball with Vlad Masters? So that he could come visit Jason’s grave?
It couldn’t have been. There are other ways to get to Gotham that don’t require making deals with shady rich men. Danny’s smart, smarter than Danny himself gives him credit for. He’s brilliant. Why did he need Masters’ help to get him to Gotham?
There had to be another reason why.
God, there were so many questions that Jason wants the answers to. He’ll find them, one way or another. 
But, he focuses in again. Danny is only here for the night. One night, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back again. Jason wants to commit every detail of his best friend to memory before he leaves. 
“You like zinnias, right?” Danny pets the grass at his side absently, and yes. Yes, Jason does, and Danny remembers. Even five years from his death, he remembers. Of course he does. 
“Yeah, you do. You used to pick the petals up off the sidewalk from those uh, fuck — the vendors. The Victorian flower language too, I think. Got a book on that somewhere. I’ll get you red an’ yellow ones.” 
Grief traps in Jason’s chest, and he barely tamps down the bitter laugh forcing itself out of the chokehold of his throat. You fucking sap, you big fuckin’ sap.
Red zinnias. Steadfast beating of the heart. The irony. It’s got double the meaning now, now that he’s alive. But Danny doesn’t know that, so the heart that’s beating could only belong to him. But even with Jason alive, he’s hiding. Between the both of them, the only one here with a beating heart is Danny.
(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)
Yellow zinnias. Daily remembrance. Of course. That doesn’t need any explanation, the writing is right there on the wall. Raised, so that even the blind may read it. It doesn’t need to be said what that means, Jason can hear it on the wind, in the grass, in the trees. His heart crumpling like a rag being twisted out to drain the dirty water soaking in it. 
I miss you.
I miss you. 
I miss you. 
I’m right here. Is what Jason wants to say. It’s what he should say. He should step out from behind the tree; should speak up and say something. To announce his presence. To do something to let Danny know that he’s speaking to someone who is more than a ghost (who feels like one anyways) and a corpse in the ground. 
Here I am. Here I am. HERE I AM.
His feet are gravebound to the dirt, his tongue cut out of his mouth and shoved into a jar. He feels, in some way, like he’s clawing out of his own grave again, but the dirt keeps falling and his arms are burning. His lungs are filled with more soil than air. He’s not getting out. 
Shame burns cigarette smoke in the back of his throat, shriveling up what little remains of his tar-filled heart. It should be his lungs, and it’s got that too. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.
Danny’s begun to cry, much to Jason’s horror. It should be more incentive for Jason to step out. He doesn’t. His best friend sniffles and scrubs at his face, soaking tears into his hoodie’s sleeve. “I’m sorry for not visitin’ sooner,” he says, voice spiraling with grief, “I don’t have an excuse. I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 
Don’t be, Jason thinks. Finds himself surprised by the truth of it. He should be upset. Five years and not a single visit. He abandoned him like everyone else. Except he didn’t. 
He’s not upset, he can’t be. Not when Danny’s finally here. Not when he’s still crying over him five years after the fact. Not when he’s going to put flowers on his grave that means he thinks of him daily. Not when Danny knows who killed him and wants him dead. 
Jason isn’t sure of what to think of that still. He wants Bruce to kill the Joker. More importantly he wants change in Gotham. He wants something to be done. He doesn’t know if Danny is being honest or not — and honesty doesn’t mean anything if someone doesn’t act on it.  
Danny continues talking to his grave, his voice full with sorrow. He talks about the gala, about running into Bruce and talking to him again. 
Jason listens in dutiful silence, soaking in Danny’s voice like a sponge. This is what he was expecting on the balcony; this easy conversation. Except it’s not a conversation, Danny is talking and not expecting a response. Jason feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave.He should slink away, let Danny have his peace on his own.
He refuses to move. He can’t bring himself to.
If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him. He can pretend he’s thirteen again, with him and Danny crawled under the bed at the manor and trading all the stories they couldn’t fit in their letters. Danny tells him about another fight he had with Dash Baxter, eyes rolling but smug teeth flashing in a stifled smile. Then he tells him about something Sam and Tucker did; about one of Sam’s protests she led against the biology lab, and Tucker coding his PDA to play Doom. Easy, stupid middle schooler shit.
They’d sneak out to the balcony for their vices, Danny clutching a carton of cheap cigarettes in hand. Alfred always finds the ones Jason hides, so they usually share whenever Danny comes to visit. Jason tells him about Gotham Academy, about the people there and the classes. Prep school is another beast entirely, he likes seeing Danny’s reactions to the politics that goes on inside. 
Or, further back, they’re eight again, climbing a rickety fire escape to the rooftop and hanging their feet over the edge to find Batman and Robin. Danny was in the lead before he left for Amity Park. Jason remembers it clearly; they’d spent all night outside on that rooftop. 
Jason doesn’t close his eyes.
Jazz decided to change career goals; psychology’s become more of a hobby for her, and she’s going to go to med school instead. She’s thinking of doing an internship in Metropolis. Danny says he’s glad that it’s not Gotham, and when he told Jazz this, she laughed at him and told him that she was going to save that for later. 
She’s Gotham-touched too, she knows it’s blood just as much as Danny does. She wants to help the people there, but knows what Gotham’s like. She knows what she can and cannot do. Determination doesn’t equate skill, it just means the willingness to learn. 
Sam is staying in Amity Park and doing online classes for college, but Tucker got a full ride scholarship in software engineering. Danny’s thick with pride as he tells Jason’s headstone. Jason’s happy for him — they weren’t close, not like he and Danny were, but they were still friends. 
Jason soaks it all in; tell him more. He wants to know everything. 
"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says when he’s finally done talking about everyone else, his chin laying on his knees. “S’not like I can be an astronaut anymore, but there’s not anything I can see myself doing.”
The corner of his mouth coils, sardonic. “I’ve had five years to come up with somethin’ new, and I’ve come up with nothin’ at all.” He huffs. It’s a rough, bitter sound. Gotham has been steadily seeping back into his voice since he arrived in the graveyard, and now it comes out thick, like it never left. 
Danny’s face falls slack, like a puppet losing its strings, and he sinks into himself. “I guess I…” He exhales slow. “I’ve just been distracted.” A faraway glaze eclipses his eyes, and before they close, tears begin to bleed onto his eyelids. Again, grief mars the lines of his skin, settling into the curve of his mouth and threading between his brows like second nature.
Fuck, it’d be so easy for Jason to just step out. Move. His best friend is grieving. He could save him the pain of it and tell him now. Move, move, move. 
He doesn’t move.
For a while, there’s nothing but silence, just Jason hiding in his shame; a rat on the street would be bolder than him. Danny’s eyes don’t open. Eventually, his head tilts and slumps into his knees, Jason almost thinks, somehow, that he’s fallen asleep — but Danny’s hand threads into the hair on the back of his head, his finger beginning to tap an invisible beat into his skull. 
It’s the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. Danny’s distracted; lost in his thoughts. He won’t notice if Jason slinks off now. He could go and hide away on a roof nearby, ensuring that Danny gets his rightful privacy without leaving him to the teeth of the streets.  
Jason still doesn’t move. 
Danny begins to hum. It’s a low, breathy sound, and it shakes unevenly. There’s no discernible melody, but a breeze picks it up and travels it through the air anyway, rooting Jason to his spot. His throat swells, and his back sinks into the bark behind him. 
For a full minute, maybe two, Danny just hums. It’s a simple tune, but it fills the graveyard with the sound. When it goes up, he sharpens, when he goes down again, it flats, and sometimes it wobbles.  
When he lifts his head, when he finally opens his eyes, he’s still humming. Soon it dies down, and the next time Danny exhales, it comes out tumultuous and slow. His hand slips heavy from his head and drops into the grass. 
“Where’d you go, Jay?” Danny mutters, and despite his voice coming flat, he still sounds so tired. Danny’s eyes flick up, lifting off the grass to burn into the headstone. He’s not even looking at him, and yet Jason still freezes up, he still feels pinned under the weight of his stare. “I know you’re still out there, somewhere. I know it.” 
Jason breathes in shakily, a sting deep in the back of his throat. He gives no answer; guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows deep into Jason’s heart to make itself a home between the tendons. He’s right here. 
Silence falls over them again, and this time it’s only the sound of the city around them that bleeds into the air. Danny stares at Jason’s grave, staring like he’s expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one. 
Danny sighs out low, and stands. His knees tremble slightly, and he rubs his sleeve into his eyes, catching the stray tears falling from his lashes. Like breaking a spell, Jason jolts from the fog of sorrow hanging in the air. 
“I’ll see you later, an’ I’ll make sure to bring you those flowers you like.” He tells him, and miraculously, a shadow of a smile flits over Danny’s mouth. “Y’better be here when I get back, alright? I’ll kick y’fucking ass if you’re not.” 
Jason bites back a huff, his mouth upturning in a wobble. I will, he thinks, and watches Danny trail out of the graveyard with his hands in his pockets. He waits until he’s disappeared behind the gate before following.   
Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with it eating his tongue. But he makes sure Danny gets back to his hotel safe before he slinks back to Crime Alley; he might not be a ghost anymore, but he can still trail behind Danny like he is. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ayy i finally got chapter 2 of CFAU/TMWS edited/redone! It had to get rewritten because a lot of stuff became obsolete in the wake of the new chapter 1. and also it just kinda. fucking sucked imo lmao
(you can also read it here on my ao3!)
180 notes · View notes
georgegraphys · 1 month
Text
Let's talk about M A R K E T I N G hereeeee
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You might ask "Where is the advertisement part of this?" (aside from the 'official team supplier' part and the copywriting)
Here.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The shorter the words/sentence is, the more "expensive" and "classy" it is. Because these types of campaigns are not meant to hard sell but soft sell. They don't do a "GEORGE RUSSELL BRAND AMBASSADOR OF PUMA WINS blah blah blah", they don't even say George's name or mention his win. They do this. It's because words carry the most power when they come in small amounts. People don't remember paragraphs or even a sentence but they will remember these short iconic copywritings that has TONS of weight and meaning
Not to mention the picture selections also features the Puma logo 👀👀👀 even if it's small or just subtle. That's also a selling part.
11 notes · View notes
catdadeddie · 4 months
Text
The day ABC puts a social media ban/embargo on journalists that get 911 screeners will be the happiest day of my life.
169 notes · View notes
bixels · 4 months
Note
What did/do you like about Pharah?
Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.
Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).
But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.
There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.
Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.
#i was a diehard pharmercy shipper back then btw#the inherent homoerotic experience of pharmercy gameplay.#the homoerotic experience of looking to the skies to fly to safety under the protection of your knight in shining armor#the homoerotic experience of feeling white hot murderous rage at an enemy trying to pick off your pocket mercy#i still kinda despise gency lmao. you cannot convince me mercy would be in love with genji. at all.#he'd make her feel so uncomfortable and guilty. in my head. the canon is obviously different#gency is sexless. absolutely zero bite or tension.#i could go on about mercy and how her character has so much missed potential#i'm no longer in my overwatch fandom phase but#i still think about that new flirty line they added in ow2 where mercy goes “ahh you're like my knight in shining armor!”#and pharah goes “that's what i'm goin for ;)” and i sigh dreamily#really happy that pharah outright says she's a lesbian too but it's hard to feel good about rep when you know blizzard uses it for pr#to be honest i'm willing to bet cash that blizzard's keeping pharmercy in their back pocket as ammo for the next controversy#last year we already saw logs about pharah fretting and taking care of mercy and the two talking about how good it is to see each other#tbh pharah has the same energy/demeanor as applejack. cheerful and competitive in a can of whoopass#but yeah overall pharah's a pretty shallow character. i have IDEAS on how i'd go about deepening her but. whatever#that's sorta what happens when you have to juggle a cast of 40 characters. a lot get left with the bare minimum#ok so i wrote this entire post up saying that pharah isn't in ow2's storymode when she is. she's in the story i just. forgot#because she doesn't do or contribute anything interesting#ok i'm stopping here. overwatch's story is such an interesting narrative mess i could go on for hours#i dunno how you come up with such incredible character designs and give them such an unincredible story#it's also so so so interesting seeing the conflicting takes on characters the writers have#mercy in gameplay and voicelines is peppy and cheerful and optimistic#but mercy in the storymode journal logs is tired. jaded. a total shut in who forgets to leave her room and social#and YES! THAT'S WHAT I WANT!!! THAT'S MERCY TO ME!!! THE DOCTOR WHO FORGETS TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF#ask me#anon
123 notes · View notes
hyacinthsdiamonds · 4 months
Text
Charles is never beating the "reverts to petty & competitive twelve year old when losing" allegations after going back to calling Max by his last name on the radio yesterday because Max lapped him lmao
107 notes · View notes
gayofthefae · 1 day
Text
Did y'all notice that Mike telling El he loved her was intercut with a bunch of people dying? Because I noticed. And then we even check back in with him, something done to remind us that the timeline is simultaneous and the deaths didn't happen after but during.
OH MY GOD AND
Tumblr media
Do you know what this implies?
He continued talking and it continued to not work.
He didn't continue a full speech, but he didn't stop either. He was still begging her to come back from "fight" to "come on".
And do you know the shot RIGHT BEFORE this one?
Tw: sfx
Tumblr media
THIS. THIS IS WHAT WE CUT FROM.
Reminds me of when they cut between the cute m&m olive branch scene and dead bodies scattered as Jonathan and Nancy fight for their fucking lives with a close up on a random dead body initially right after Mike and El, just for good measure.
JESUS, editors. As I say, the people behind this show hate this ship more than I ever could 😭.
66 notes · View notes