#‘this is what people are scandalized by?’

[goatgoesmbe]

f!reader

Reader who always wear a mask, and was more secretive than Ghost who had no problem showing his face to the team once in a while.

And just like with Ghost, the others joked about you being ugly, which you similarly replied with confidence that's not the case.

When you were tired of keep getting questions about the mask, you'd respond with a joke.

Putting on your best act, you sighed with a solemn look, telling a story about how you used to be obsessed with Shrek and had him tattooed on your face, which you were ashamed of now.

"..Are you serious?" Kyle asked.

You simply shrugged "I guess you'll never know".

And they could never guess whether you were lying or not, being known as the master of psychological warfare and often sent for espionage because of your skill with people, manipulation.

And acting.

What they didn't know is that, you gained that skill from your previous job, when you were a big deal in the entertainment industry. A professional actress that started in many movies and got into a really big scandal that got you hiding.

And somehow ended up here.

That was the reason as to why you needed to hide your face, your identity. Not even your captain knows about it, only Laswell who knew a bit of your story.

Lounging around in the recroom, you silently observed the others arguing about a certain movie to watch before it somehow ended with them fanboying for a certain actress who played the main character.

You.

"Ah swear, Ah saw this porn where the lass looked just like her. Had folk arguin’ if it was really her or just a doppelganger… haud on, where is it—" You heard Johnny rambled as he fumbled with his phone.

You shifted in your seat and hid a smille.

Oh yeah, that side gig you took a long time ago.. almost forgot about that

Dropping this idea before class so i wont forget abt it

[aclockworkreader]

i finally watched nosferatu (2024) and i’ve come to the conclusion that many people either don’t like or just don’t understand gothic horror as a genre. everyone was acting like it’s the most disturbing, depraved movie they’ve ever seen and quite frankly, i think it could have been much weirder. it’s a near perfect vampire movie. appropriately dark, erotic, and horrific with classic elements of the gothic genre. and a masterful (and surprisingly feminist) exploration of trauma and the dichotomy of shame and desire. it’s a story about being repulsed by your own desire and feeling unlovable because of it, but feeling it nonetheless. and overall i think the film does a fantastic job at working through these themes.

[majorarc]

Can I add that there are actually plenty of conservative groups who are shielding abusers? They know what they're doing is abuse, but refuse to call it that. They also don't want anyone else to call it abuse. In fact, plenty of these abusers believes they are above accountability, and use the lack of knowledge to exert control over their victims.

The Republican party is full of them. The Democrats have had their own scandals, but when these abusive conservatives are also pushing for the control of what information is available to vulnerable people, it becomes more of a motive. Especially when it's also been studied that women and men who were raised with conservative political ideologies usually don't report their experiences of sexual abuse.

[andrewminyardslawyer]

The Mafia In Sports

Blows my mind that so many people in the fandom think the mafia being involved in sports is wild and unrealistic. They are and have been for decades. Teams being owned by the mob, gambling rings, rigged games with referees and sometimes the players themselves. The mob is involved is literally everything. Clothing, food industry, construction, airports, newspapers, gambling, trash disposal, labor racketeering.

A minor league hockey team (Danbury Trashers) from 2004-2006 was owned by the mob and the guy let his 17 year old son be the general manager. In 1920s the New York Americans were owned by the mafia. A goalie broke a refs nose in who was in the mafia and he was almost killed for it. The whole huge betting scandal with the referees in the NBA in the early 2000s. And that's just what is public information. I don't know why people think AFTG is so ridiculous for that being the main plot when it's been a thing since sports leagues started

[deminetly]

↳ POST IDEAS FOR SHIFTERS⊹ ࣪ 

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂���⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⊹BASICS

dr introductions

moodboards and collages about drs and people in your drs

playlists (songs that remind you of your dr)

face, voice, name, body claims

timeline of your drs

day in the life of your dr self

wardrobe tour and favourite outfits

whats in my bag

what I eat in a day

house/room/car tour

your favourite posessions

your backstory

things you scripted

drama thats happening in your drs

your pet(s)

your makeup/hair routine

frequently visited places in your drs

your tattoos and their meanings

journal entries as your dr self

dates you and your s/o go/have gone on

how you met your s/o

classes you take and what exactly you do there

about your jobs (what you do, coworkers, drama, etc)

your social media profiles

ships in your drs

memes about your drs

people you have beef with and why

holiday specials (christmas hauls, halloween costumes)

make bingo cards of things about your drs so others can fill them out and see how similar your drs are

answering “whos most likely” questions about your dr friendgroup

rating methods you have tried

──────────────────

⊹DR SPECIFIC

answering interview questions (fame dr)

trends you have started (fame dr)

most memorable fan interactions (fame dr)

scandals and drama (fame dr)

how you got famous - was it a hit song or movie? was it your parents? (fame dr)

merch (fame/singer/band dr)

movie - actors, storyline, your role, poster, etc (actor dr)

band/artist name and how you came up with it (singer/band dr)

your discography (singer/band dr)

your albums and album names (singer/band dr)

your stage outfits (singer/band dr)

book lore - characters, places, storyline, etc (author dr)

missions you have gone on (spy dr)

cases you have worked on (spy dr)

your powers (fantasy dr)

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ GLAMOROUS, BOLD & ICONIC: THE NAOMI LAPAGLIA MANIFESTATION & SCRIPTING PACK ˙⋆.˚

This is for the lovely people who want to manifest stuff about themselves or script this in their shifting script! this pack is a naomi lapaglia (from wolf of wallstreet) theme ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ enjoy!

♯┆BEAUTY.ᐟ

Your beauty is a scandal waiting to happen, the kind that makes men forget their morals and women question their confidence.

Your hair is golden silk, cascading over your shoulders like sunlight woven into strands. Always voluminous, always perfect—whether styled in sultry waves or swept up in a messy yet intentional updo.

Your skin is soft, luminous, touched by wealth itself—glowing as if kissed by sunlight, champagne, and luxury face creams worth more than a car payment.

Your eyes are hypnotic, unreadable, teasing—a perfect blend of innocence and danger, promising something unforgettable but never revealing too much.

Your lips are the definition of temptation—glossy, pillowy, always painted in the perfect shade of power.

Your cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, sculpted to perfection, highlighted just enough to catch the light with every turn of your head.

Your nails are always polished, always elegant, always deliberate—a detail not to be overlooked. Whether soft pink, a classic French tip, or a bold red, every choice is a silent statement.

Your legs are long, smooth, effortlessly sensual—the kind that turn a simple walk into a slow-motion scene straight out of a movie.

Your scent is intoxicating—a mix of warm vanilla, white jasmine, and a lingering trace of expensive perfume that stays in the air long after you leave.

Your smile is a game, a secret, a promise—sweet but knowing, inviting but dangerous. It lingers in their minds for weeks.

Your wardrobe is a collection of dreams and decadence—figure-hugging dresses, delicate lace lingerie, diamonds that catch the light, stilettos that make you walk like a goddess.

Your voice is syrup and silk, sweet but commanding—a voice that draws them in and makes them lean closer.

Your posture is flawless, intentional, hypnotic—you don’t just walk, you glide like you own the world.

Your beauty isn’t just about looks—it’s about presence, power, and the kind of allure that stays under their skin.

♯┆AURA .ᐟ

Your aura is gold-dusted and champagne-laced, wrapped in confidence and just a touch of danger.

You move like a whispered secret, a slow exhale, a stolen glance.

You don’t beg for attention—you command it, without even trying.

You are the embodiment of untouchable luxury—not just beautiful, but desired, craved, unforgettable.

Your presence lingers in rooms long after you leave—the scent of your perfume, the sound of your laugh, the memory of something they’ll never quite figure out.

You are sugar spun into steel—soft when you want to be, unbreakable when you need to be.

You know when to stay quiet and when to make them listen.

You don’t need validation—you are the validation.

People don’t just notice you, they study you, they admire you, they try to figure out what makes you so magnetic.

You walk like you have a secret worth millions, and maybe you do.

You exude power in whispers, dominance in silk, strength in the softness of your touch.

You make life look like a dream—a slow-motion scene drenched in gold, dripping in diamonds, soaked in luxury.

You are both a fairytale and a warning, a dream and a lesson, the beginning and the end.

You don’t just exist—you leave a mark.

♯┆SMARTS .ᐟ

Your intelligence is sharper than a diamond-studded dagger—beautiful to admire, but deadly in the right hands.

You let them think they’re winning—right until the moment they realize they were playing your game all along.

You understand that power isn’t about being the loudest in the room—it’s about being the one everyone listens to when they finally realize you’re the one in control.

You play the game so well, they don’t even realize they’ve lost until you’ve already won.

You are dangerously perceptive—you see through facades, hear what isn’t said, understand people before they understand themselves.

You know that beauty opens doors, but intelligence decides which ones are worth walking through.

You’re always three steps ahead—planning, strategizing, watching the board while they focus on the pieces.

You don’t waste time proving your intelligence—you let your success speak for itself.

You make success look effortless—because they don’t see the hours you’ve spent perfecting the art of getting exactly what you want.

You understand people better than they understand themselves—that’s why they keep coming back.

You could ruin them, but you don’t—because power isn’t just having control, it’s knowing when to use it.

You don’t need to be the loudest in the room—you only need to be the one they fear disappointing.

You know how to play innocent while orchestrating everything behind the scenes.

You don’t beg, plead, or convince—you state, you offer, you walk away if necessary.

You understand that luxury isn’t just a lifestyle, it’s a mindset.

You know that silence is often louder than words.

♯┆PERSONALITY .ᐟ

You have the kind of presence that makes people sit up straighter, talk a little softer, try a little harder.

You don’t just take up space—you make the space yours.

Your laugh is a melody, a weapon, a promise of something unforgettable.

You are both the party and the reason they’ll never forget it.

You never have to ask for attention—you simply exist, and they give it willingly.

You make people feel special when you choose to—and invisible when they no longer serve you.

You are both the dream and the wake-up call.

You know when to be soft and when to sharpen your edges.

You have the ability to make anyone feel like the most important person in the room—until you decide they aren’t.

You can make a moment feel like a scene from a movie, a slow-burn romance, a plot twist they didn’t see coming.

You carry yourself like a queen—not the kind who needs a crown, but the kind who wears one effortlessly.

You love deeply, but you will never beg to be loved in return.

You are elegant, untouchable, and always a little unpredictable.

You make people wonder what it would feel like to be wanted by you.

You are the standard, the legend, the fantasy that haunts them.

You know how to make people fall for you—and how to make them regret it.

You turn the ordinary into the extraordinary—because life is too short to be anything but unforgettable.

You don’t just turn heads, break hearts, or make statements—you create a legacy.

[pavi-kinnie]

Some of y'all need to master the art of just not giving a fuck or or ignoring something when someone is trying to clearly sell an item or belief to you for their own gain.

Great example for my fellow Tiktok folk: You see an undisclosed Bloom or Poppi ad, you swipe away, don't listen to what they are doing. If they are willing to (illegally) trying to subliminally suggest to you that you NEED to drink Bloom or Poppi, they are willing to try and subtly sell you on anything. Regardless of what they say out loud, the messaging is clear, that clearly you NEED to drink this thing or you aren't being healthy or etc. They are already willing to try and suggest that to you, so they will undoubtedly suggest anything else to you. Makeup companies, shitty Temu products, whatever it is, you don't need it, they are trying to make a quick buck off of you.

Start looking at the people (particularly influencers) that you follow on Tiktok and start observing their content. Is there a pattern? Do there always seem to be a can of Poppi or Bloom just casually in the background, no matter the setting? Do they show off cheap Temu/Shein products constantly to the camera, especially with emphasis? Do they constantly mention the brand of mascara or lashes, especially in a video that isn't related to makeup products? Then that influencer is subliminally trying to suggest to you that these products are "cool", that you need these products or you'll look like an idiot in front of others. Keep scrolling past them and ignore their content. They've likely been paid a pretty penny to shill these products to you, and you don't need them.

Remember the whole Youtube Makeup community Morphe drama years ago, when consumers of Youtube Makeup tutorials and artists got mad because the content creators were shilling out Morphe products? The whole scandal was that Morphe paid a pretty penny to many popular makeup artists to promote as many Morphe products as possible to their audience, despite their actual opinions. They could've thought the products were shit, but they sold them to their audience cause they got paid to, and when consumers found out, they were pissed. What we are seeing with influencers now, especially on Tiktok, is the same exact thing, but more subliminally. And it's working. They've learned that they can get away with shilling products to their audience that they probably don't even like, because as long as they are subtle about it, most people don't notice and fall for the hidden ads without realizing that it was an ad. Don't let them get away with it. But what you want because you actually WANT the item, not because companies are trying to subtly trick you into buying the product.

Sorry for the ranting but I had to get that out there.

companies make billions from you thinking you're ugly btw. only ugly thing is their bottom line. log out of tiktok right now.

[slightly-knot-insane]

Gentleman's Cage (part 1)

Monstertober 2024 - day 29 [ Caged Beast ] by @/ozzgin

[ m!werewolf x fem!reader ]

a/n: some regency smut, my first one so please be gentle! i was greatly inspired by @regency-monster-love and they were so kind to help me out too! thank you, dear! content: slightly nsfw

He can’t calm down. He knows you will be there, and he is getting very impatient to see you. Especially since you told him you find his courting very pleasing. It took him a while to reveal that he is a werewolf. But instead of running away screaming, you smiled and touched his hand. You even looked excited.

Just reminiscing about those few minutes put a smile on his face, his sharp canines showing underneath his lips. But thinking about you too much is also dangerous. His body - his lower body, to be more precise - reacts to the mere idea of you as if you're right next to him. Naked.

He groans, feeling his erection pushing against the fabric of his finest trousers. Being born with werewolf blood is both a blessing and a curse. He is aware that people will notice; anyone with eyes will notice the hardness alongside his inner thigh. That's why he hopes his little metal tool will help him. Or else, the scandal will follow him wherever he goes.

***

The fancy gathering is as lovely as he expects. People dance, eat and drink, and converse on various topics that barely interest him. He is looking for you with every sense he has - but they find nothing. He wants to ask someone, but even a mere question would raise suspicion. He doesn’t want anyone to know, not yet, that he fancies you rather intensely.

But he shouldn't think about you too much! He shifts his legs a little bit to position the metal contraption between his legs in a more comfortable way. Cock cage, they called it. Even while flaccid, it was hard to push his manhood inside. But he managed to lock his desire in - physically, at least. Mentally - not so much.

Finally, he catches a whiff of your sweat. You aren’t just fashionably late, you are very late so you were probably rushing down the path and up the stairs. Perhaps you were frustrated and nervous about some mishap, furiously fanning yourself in your carriage. And perhaps - only perhaps - you were thinking of him. Thinking about his eyes and teeth and tall frame. Perhaps you held your knuckle between your lush lips while the fingers of your other hand secretly wandered underneath your skirt and—

The painful jolt underneath his belt wakes him up from his daydreaming. Stop it, you fool! He curses internally and immediately turns toward the window, pretending to observe the night sky. He forces himself to think about what to eat for breakfast and what letters need answering, and then - just as his erection is starting to deflate - he hears your voice:

"Hello, Mr. Werewolf! Lovely evening, isn't it?"

And there is another strong pulse between his legs. While he would love to jump through the window and run, it would be improper and rude not to greet you. With a disturbing mental image of his grandfather bathing in his mind to cool him down, he turns to greet you: "Indeed, and you are..."

But he trails off. You've never looked as beautiful, so elegant. The cut on your dress is so deep he can enjoy your every curve and birthmark. He hopes he will be able to memorize all of them, like constellations. And your skin is so flushed and glowy he can barely stop himself from touching your cheeks, shoulders, or... He swallows hard.

You notice his terrified expression and can't help but giggle a bit. He, on the other hand, is not entertained even the slightest. "I apologize, my lady, I must... get a breath of fresh air!" And he hastily leaves you.

You hide your smile behind your fan and follow his trail carefully.

***

He has to do something! The cage... It's too tight! As he hides inside the hedge maze, he runs to the fountain that was standing just around the corner, hoping that the rush of water will hide his torture. He unbuttons his trousers and is not surprised to see his manhood swollen and pulsating between the metal sheets. The pain is mixed with a strange dose of pleasure edged with anticipation. Even though some other time he might've enjoyed exploring this sensation, now is definitely not a good moment. He needs to get rid of this self-imposed prison before he hurts himself more, but... he left the key... at home.

An exasperated sigh is all he can do right now. And thinking about dead puppies to somehow reduce the painful swelling. 

Just as his mental torture is starting to work, he smells something. Something sweet, potent, and familiar. So familiar. His erection re-emerges. Desperately, he turns around, attempting to hide his shame, and pushes himself (and the cage) into the hedges. He must look absolutely ridiculous.

"Oh my, you're here. Are you well?"

It is you. You followed him here. He takes a deep breath and smiles over his shoulder. "Y-yes, perfectly fine. I just needed some fresh air."

You approach his long tail, admiring his broad back and inhuman muscles. He is very tense - and you think you know why. "I'm sure the air will smell a lot fresher outside those hedges."

The tension struck his spine like lightning - he stands upright, not breathing. He knows he can't keep hiding. Hoping - praying - his shame is not so obvious.

He turns toward you, with a stiff and awkward smile, holding one of his huge hands over his crotch, trying to look relaxed. "Indeed... It's a lot f-fresher."

You can't actually look down since your curiosity would be too obvious then. Luckily, he is towering over you so his abdomen is leveled with your face, and it takes only a deep curtsy to see what you have been curious about since the day you met him. Only to not see what you expected. But you're sure his hand is hiding something scandalous? And delicious.

"Did your claws grow?" you ask him innocently.

The naïve werewolf lifts his hands to check them, uncovering his crotch. There is definitely an interesting and twitching bulge there.

"I don't think so. Are you... worried?" His yellow eyes grow in worry. "I would never lay a finger on you!"

You hum as if you are terribly bored. "Oh. That's a shame."

The beast in front of you looks entirely confused, the poor thing. "Shame?"

You approach him slowly, like you're dancing, and his eyes don't leave your figure. "I would love a bit more than a finger on me. Perhaps an entire hand." You cup his heavy, hairy hand. You feel exceptionally bold - there won't be many opportunities like this in your future. Only a boring life awaits you - if you allow that. "All over me, in fact."

[ripinejschu]

Chained Cheater, Chastised - KY10

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader

synopsis: the day before the Turkiye's quarterfinal match in the Euros, Kenan gets involved in a cheating scandal he swears never happened, but reader doesn't want to hear him out and causes Kenan to lose focus. But is he really telling the truth? Pictures don't lie...

wc: 4.2k

cw: tears, cheating allegations, silent treatment

an: first fic on this account!! it feels like it's been forever since I last posted on here; this was written in july btw!! i love writing for kenan

Kenan’s hands shake as he sees the horrifying images on his phone. Weston had sent him a few posts and links about an alleged cheating scandal regarding Kenan, but he had firmly denied it.

Until Weston sent the doctored photos of him all cozied up with some blonde chick, face smirking at the prize he’d gotten for that night. The ones he looks at now, damning and all too natural looking.

Shit, shit, shit–shit runs through his mind.

Who could have done this? Some jealous bitch of course, bitter over his relationship with his beloved girlfriend, who would no doubt see this and feel her heart break.

Somehow, the German media had found out and already written a couple of articles, with the pictures and gossip accounts credited. Not very viable, but once this spreads no one would care beyond what seems so obvious. The photos are right there, picture perfect, but Kenan’s words will never make the public believe the truth, not with these.

He feels trapped. Should he call Weston, plead his case? It would be practice for others, but he knows it’s a futile attempt. Should he call his girlfriend, let her know the rumours and photos aren’t true? By now, they are circulating even on TikTok as he looks at the links, afraid to open them up and see the comment sections.

He’s already going through enough because of everyone’s harsh criticisms of his performances in the Euros lately; he doesn’t need to see what else people are saying.

Career-ruining. That’s what this is. Kenan is already aware of the Italian influence of cheaters, especially with the rumours whispered in the Juventus locker rooms about the Italian beauty Calafiori being a serial cheater  –which Fede had wanted no part of– and now…now it gave the Turkish critics new material to hate on his foreign influence. Already too German, accent thick in his broken Turkish, and now living a lifestyle like the Italians? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Except, the alternative is even worse. What would you say? Sweet and fierce, you’d stood by him when he struggled in games, when he cried in your arms because he never seemed Turkish enough, constantly stumbling over his words and syllables.

But now…shit. He needs to call you immediately and try to clear the air with you before you can see any part of this brewing storm of lies. His hands shake as he finds your contact in his Favourites folder, hesitating before he presses down on your name. Your smiling face lights up his screen, a photo of you hugging Ramos, whose tongue lolled happily.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, before it goes to voicemail. No worries, right? Maybe you’re in the bathroom or you have your phone on silent. He waits a minute, staring at the screen before trying again.

It immediately goes to voicemail. Oh no.

Kenan knows you know, but you need to hear his defense straight from him. He texts you, mumbling a prayer that the text will go through and you’ll answer before you decide to block him.

He types, and erases the words. Types again, and erases the words again. Nothing seems good enough; it all sounds like a pathetic plea of a man caught red-handed, but you need to hear it.

He settles on the following: “Y/N listen to me please. There are a couple of photos on the internet of me and a blonde girl cuddling, but I promise wallahi it’s not real. I’ve never looked at any other girl with desire during our whole relationship I swear. This is fake, please believe me. Call me when you can, so we can figure this out together. Please.”

It’s not the best but still, it will do. His hands begin to shake again as he presses send, waiting, waiting…

Delivered. You hadn’t blocked him. You’re not even on Do Not Disturb, so you did get the notification. Kenan puts his phone on Personal to block every notification but yours and waits for you to respond, but as the minutes tick by and he begins to pace, phone silent in his pocket, he doesn't hear the sound of a text come through.

Until now. He whips out his phone only to see a barrage of texts in Personal, with Arda’s pushed through, hence the text sound. Dusan, Weston, Timothy. But not you.

He reads through the messages, confusion and anger mixing together. Arda is asking what is going on, Dusan is demanding if it’s true and why he would do such a thing, his texts growing angrier at Kenan’s stupidity, Timothy’s calling him a “fucking idiot” and Weston is wondering why Kenan isn’t responding to his texts and can he please let him know what’s going on.

Hakan’s text comes in at the top: “Call me IMMEDIATELY” is written on the notification, and Kenan gulps. Part of him wants to ignore him, partially in case you call him, but with his career on the line at such a young age, he knows he needs to talk to his captain, especially with tomorrow’s quarterfinal match looming over him.

He again goes to the phone app, looking longingly at yours that still has no response, and calls Hakan.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kenan, what the fuck is going on? Please tell you you’re not so stupid as to get involved in a  scandal? And now, with our reputation on the line, yours especially?” Kenan winces, but Hakan continues. “You know there’s a game tomorrow, right? We have to focus on the wondrous Holland, not this relationship drama, a whole scandal, Kenan. What were you thinking?”

Kenan gulps again as he feels tears begin to sting his eyes. He needs Hakan to believe him, but he struggles to get his words out.

“Hakan, I promise it’s not what you think. They’re n-not real, I would n-never do that. P-please, you have to believe me!”

Kenan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hakan’s tone softens, comforting the young man. “Kenanım, it’s okay, we’ll get through this. You’re a young man, we can easily work this out. Don’t cry. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Kenan lets out a loud sob, unable to keep quiet anymore. He should feel humiliated, crying on the phone with his mature, older captain, but he can’t keep it in anymore.

You ignoring his calls and messages, the anger from his teammates, his career threatening to fall apart, it’s too much for the teen. He collapses on the floor of his hotel room sobbing, phone falling from his hand as he cries his eyes out.

At some point, he feels two warm bodies encapsulate him from both sides, arms wrapping around his crumpled form, and he cries into someone’s chest with their heart beating steadily.

“Sh-she’s not answering me. I t-tried telling her i-it’s not real b-but she won’t a-answer m-me,” he cries between sobs, unsure of what language he’s speaking because either way, it comes out broken.

He feels an arm rubbing his back, a voice soothingly shushing him, and an embrace holding him as his tears finally subside enough not to blind him. He cautiously lifts his head to look up into Hakan’s eyes.

His captain rocks him slightly as he looks down at the boy’s tear-stricken face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kenan’s ear. He lets out another sob, remembering how you would do the same, amusement sparking up your eyes as he would giggle like a princess.

“I’ve got you, Kenan. I told you it’ll be okay and we’ll work this out, I mean it.” Kenan takes a moment to catch his breath, before trying to sit up a little more, back against the wall.

He startles when he sees Kerem sitting on the floor in front of him and Bariş sitting on the bed, and when he turns his head he sees Arda hugging him from behind.

He carefully reaches up and holds his hand, and Arda squeezes it in response. Kenan takes a deep breath, looking back at Hakan. “Weston told me a-about this. He sent those photos of me and that girl but it’s not real I swear. I don't even go to clubs or drink or anything, I’m Muslim for god sake!”

He feels Arda rest his head on his upper back and continues. “I tried telling y/n they aren’t real, th-that someone must’ve faked them but she isn’t answering me. I tried c-calling her but she didn't pick up my calls. I don't know what else to do.”

Arda glances at the men across the room before looking pointedly at Kerem’s phone, who nods in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to help, okay Kenan? Try to focus on tomorrow’s match in training tonight, we need you and you’ll also feel better.”

Arda wishes Kenan’s best friend Can Uzun is here to comfort Kenan and figure out what to do,  but he decides to try and take action as Kenan’s elder. They all know this is going to mess with Kenan’s head so bad it could cost them the match tomorrow, where he would be looking for you in the stands instead of at the ball.

Hakan takes Kenan early to training to let himself get more comfortable without so many eyes on him at once. Kenan is grateful for this as he doesn’t want to face everyone who must think he’s some disgusting playboy or some saboteur against the team.

He keeps his head down when the others join in, immersing himself in field drills and partnerwork with Arda, who he’s incredibly grateful for. The older boy doesn’t judge, and his quietness is a slight comfort in the raging mess of his head.

Arda and a few other teammates had tried reaching out to you on Kenan’s behalf, but their efforts were in vain. Kenan tries to be grateful for this, but it only breaks his heart more despite the small sense of family in the team he still struggles to fit in to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You look at the dozen or so texts from Kenan’s teammates, trying to persuade you to just call Kenan and sort everything out. It takes everything in you not to hurl your phone at the wall and scream curses upon Kenan’s name.

How dare he do this to you, go out to some dirty club and get cozy with some homewrecking blonde bitch? The look on her face, oh, she knew what she was doing with this taken man, and the taken man, Kenan, oh!

Oh, the things you wanted to scream at him, to hurl at his stupid face with that infuriating smirk he always wore, including the damned photos.

Lord, may he be damned forever. Curse his hands and more importantly, his feet.

The second you had seen those photos, sent by your friend in the form of a post on one of those football gossip accounts, your phone had fallen out of your hand, too shocked to react. Thankfully, the hotel carpet had saved it from cracking, which might have been the final nail in this terrible day.

You had not known what to do for a few minutes, only staring down at the photo looking up at you before your emotions kicked in and you screamed, sinking onto the floor as tears streamed down your face.

Kenan, who is supposed to be your Kenan, isn’t truly in love with you. Sure, he whispers promises and kisses and everything to make you fall for him so blisteringly, but it seemed like all those kisses had now left painful blisters everywhere, and you needed to escape your own skin.

You weren’t sure how long you’d stayed there until then your phone rang, snapping you out of your bubble of tears. You’d seen Kenan’s bright smile flashing across the screen, and had let it ring to voicemail. His name had flashed again and this time you’d immediately declined the call.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe as finally, a text came through, pleading his innocence and begging for you to call him. You’d ignored it.

Instead, you had called your friend who was also staying in Germany for the Euros, albeit to support Spain, and prayed she would pick up. She did, immediately asking you what was going on, and later she’d told you you’d simply screamed into the phone before breaking down in sobs, and she’d understood immediately.

She had picked you up from your hotel, knocking incessantly at your door trying to prove it wasn’t Kenan until you’d opened it, and she had immediately got to work. She’d dried your tears, helped you wash your face before applying some moisturizer and light eyeliner to look somewhat put-together, and brewed you some tea, not Turkish of course.

Then she’d taken you out to a cafe nearby, making you leave your phone behind at the hotel to give yourself some space between you and the vicious Internet. She’d bought matcha lattes and pastries for the two of you, telling you not to worry about paying her back.

After a walk in the warm, fresh air of the late afternoon, sipping on matcha and her trash-talking Kenan, you’d both returned to the hotel, spirits lifted just a little, now sitting on the bed looking at the several missed calls and texts from Kenan’s teammates.

They’re full of pleading, telling you the photos aren't real and someone incredibly jealous of your relationship must have photoshopped them and spread them around, and that Kenan needs you. Kerem, however, made the mistake of saying that Kenan’s distractions would be a liability in tomorrow’s vital game, but you cannot have cared less.

Arda’s texts, however, are very sweet, and honestly almost convince you to reach out to Kenan. Arda knows how much you and Kenan mean to each other, and that you two should try talking to each other, even it nothing good comes out fo it because how much worse can it get? A change made would mean reconciling…or breaking up with him.

Your friend scoffs, however. “It’s their job to defend their teammate, do you really think they’re being genuine? I’m all for talking it out with Kenan but hello, pictures don’t lie.”

She’s right, you’d scrutinized every part of the photo and it looked so, so real. There were no weird edges or miscolouration, and the expressions…

You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels. Most are in German, except for some boat show in Italian.

You settle on a German version of HGTV, watching the people struggle to find a home within their budget, and take a cold slice of pizza.

A few episodes in, you turn to your friend. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I don’t care how much it ‘affects Kenan’s mind’”–you put this in air quotes–“but he should’ve thought about affecting my own mind before he did that.”

The snarl surprised the both of you, but you don't regret the viciousness of your implication.

You don’t care if Kenan will have a bad game or if that meant Türkiye would lose tomorrow, he should’ve cared about you as much as you cared about him.

Your friend bites her lip, looking a little cautious. “I…I think you should talk to him and see what he has to say. Clearly, that text didn’t say everything. There’s a reason you love him–”

“Loved him,” you interrupt. “Stop it, I already told you I’m not interested. If he wants to be a playboy, fine, I’m not going to stop him.”

Your friend nods quietly, turning back to the TV and finishing the pizza before you both call it a night and she heads out.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You wake up early for the hotel breakfast, not wanting to miss out on a free meal due to your depression.

After a quick German breakfast of fresh fruits, a salmon and cream cheese bagel, bread rolls and a boiled egg, you head back to your room to figure out what to do for the day.

Of course, your initial plan was to attend the Türkiye football match, but that was not happening anymore.

After deciding on an enticing art museum, you get ready, picking out a cute outfit and applying your makeup with some matching eyeshadow.

Then you realize, you didn’t check your notifications after being on DND all night. You open it up to see dozens more texts and missed calls from Kenan, his teammates, your friends and even your own parents, all asking where you are and what is going on and can you please just talk to Kenan? His texts are the worst, growing even more desperate and begging for just one chance at a conversation.

You ignore everyone, assuming they’ll understand why you’re blowing them off. You focus back at the main task at hand, preparing for the day.

You pick up your purse, not having used it for the past couple of days and rummage through it to find a certain lip oil.

That is, until the sound of metal clinks loudly, louder than it should. You think it’s the bag chain but it shouldn’t have been that loud, so you dump your purse onto your bed and–

–what is that…another chain? You pick up the silver chain and realize whose it is. You had practically torn it off Kenan in a heated make-out session a few days ago and had forgotten to return it to him afterwards.

The sweet memory and physical item fills you with a sudden rage and you almost hurl it at the window until–wait a second.

Wait. A. Second.

You're hit with a strange sensation as if there’s something important you need to figure out. The chain…Kenan didn’t bring another chain to Berlin, just the one he usually wears. You were there when he’d packed his things, and he’d wanted to keep it minimal so he wouldn’t lose things, not when his mind was completely elsewhere.

But the chain…you have his only chain. And something about it doesn’t make sense.

Pushing your fear aside, you quickly find the damned photos. It’s like the picture is playing a game with you. You zoom in to Kenan’s chest–any other time you’d blush and hope he wasn’t in the room watching you blush– when you see it. A little sparkle of light reflected off a silver chain.

Just enough of the chain is exposed through his unbuttoned shirt to compare it. You hold the one in your hand up to the phone, really looking and…yes! They are the same!

There is one more thing, however, the timeline. Could this photo have been taken before you ripped Kenan’s chain off?

It isn’t hard to establish it. The girl’s phone screen was lit up to 12:13 am, and above it, you could barely make the words out: Thursday, July 4.

This was “taken” after your make-out session. Unless Kenan magically grew an identical chain, the Kenan in the photo could not have been him.

The relief hits you like a crowd surging towards the fields after a Juventus win, almost drowning you of air and senses and yet you stay on your feet, breathing hard.

Oh god. Kenan really was trying to tell you the truth, that he hadn’t cheated on you at all. You look at the clock on the bedside table; you have enough time.

You change into your Türkiye jersey, making sure the “YILDIZ” is visible on the back, before changing your eyeshadow and heading out.

With the chain of course.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

An utter horror. You still hadn’t uttered a word of response to Kenan, who is freaking out still. He’d slept horrifically, only catching a few hours when Hakan came at Arda’s insistence to force-feed him some melatonin pills, and the lack of sleep is now quite visible on Kenan’s face.

Eyebags dark, cheekbones bare, Kenan looks like a complete mess. Hakan had tried calming him down, along with Arda and a few others, but nothing was getting through to Kenan.

Even now, Arda tries to get his attention on the field in the pre-match training by throwing a football at Kenan’s head, but it just bounces off him with no reaction.

Shit.

Before long, kickoff is about to start and everyone’s heart beat nervously. Would they be able to hold off the Netherlands?

Would Kenan be able to focus?

Kenan keeps glancing at the stands, trying to find you in the crowds, but he can’t.

The little hope he had left fizzles out, and suddenly he feels so very dead inside. Too much to focus on the ball, which flies past him when he should’ve intercepted it.

The game begins great for Türkiye, with the leading goal giving them hope, but Kenan’s performance sticks out like a sore thumb. He winces when they go inside and gets a few glares from his teammates, but Arda sticks with him as he tries to make himself look small in the corner as Montella gives them an update on their game plan.

When he heads back out, embracing a few teammates, something catches his eye. It’s a flash of pink, standing out from the crowd of red.

There is no way.

You’re in the stands, a few rows from the front, wearing his jersey over a pink blouse. He stops in his tracks in shock as he sees you after such a long bout of silence.

Kenan thought you hated him, yet here you are in full support of him and his country. Arda comes up next to him in confusion until he catches the bright pink sticking out.

“I don’t think she’s here for anyone else. You want to make it up to her by playing well?” Kenan looks at him in amusement, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Kenan’s performance improves almost immediately. He’s more active on the ball, creating better chances, intercepting passes, and overall impacting the Turkish side for the better.

It isn’t enough though, when his shot is easily saved by the Dutch goalkeeper and the game ends in a 1-2 loss.

Tired, sweaty, and heartbroken, the Turkish dream of success comes crashing down around them. The Red Sea of fans watch in silent disappointment, as the players droop down, disappointed in their performance, knowing they could’ve done better.

Yet, the pride of going this far, behind their fans a shared sense of culture and joy prevails, which will soon be evident after the immediate post-match depression.

And for Kenan, well, he turns towards the shining source of hope he’d been praying would show up.

You look at him as he gazes up at you from the bench area, exhausted, disappointed and yet, relieved. Relieved that you came to his match, despite the silent treatment.

And you’re there for him when he comes out of the locker rooms and immediately wraps his arms around you. He hesitates at the very last moment but you surge forward, squeezing him tight and he squeezes even harder, afraid to let you go.

After what seems like forever, you tilt your head up to make eye contact with Kenan. “I wasn’t going to come, you know. I was so mad at you. I thought after all this time, you’d decided to just throw it all away.”

Kenan looks at you with worry, but you continue. “But there’s a reason I came. I decided to go out today and obviously, I wanted to dress up. You know I love putting on my lip oils.”

You reach into your purse and pull out Kenan’s chain, and he startles. “I found this in my purse. That’s when I kind of realized something, but I had to double-check. Kenan, you were wearing this in those photos. But that’s impossible because I have it. Baby, I know they’re fake and I know it’s not your fault.”

Kenan doesn’t mean to cry. He stares at you first, trying to comprehend your words, until he feels you wipe away the tears that started falling. He pulls you close and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sobs, and you hold him, rubbing his back steadily.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to happen, you d-didn’t deserve this,” he manages between sobs, and you shush him quietly. “I know baby, I know. I believe you, I should’ve talked to you sooner. I should’ve believed you. I can still trust you, right?” You feel him nod, “Yeah, please.”

You two stand there a little longer before Kenan lifts his head and smiles, relief flooding every crevice of his face at having you and your trust back. You return it before he takes your hand and leads you out into the setting sun, the rays of daylight washing over you like a golden love.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[bunny-jpeg]

domino dancing - kimi r. it was meant to be fun. he was retired now, he could afford to spend a little more time with you. after all, you had been an obedient little pet for him. the forty-two year old only recently made enough time in his schedule for a little play thing. something to warm the iceman. and while you were a good deal younger, he didn't mind. he could easily keep up with someone your age. you hissed through your teeth as his hand brushed your upper thigh. this was supposed to be fun.

"kimi."

"shh, you don't want them to stare do you?"

you didn't call him daddy, while his title had the word in it. he preferred if you were to give him the illusion of an equal partnership. you let him finish inside of you and you get drunk as hell on his boat while you wear the expensive items he gave you. it was simple, not need to call of daddy. you screaming his name when he made you cum was more than enough for him. what was supposed to be a week away in the islands, but kimi couldn't handle a minute without his hand on your body. your skin warmed and tinted from the bright sunshine. it didn't help that the place had an unlimited drink bar, so the two of you had been happily indulging in sun, liquor and sex. the issue was that, when kimi had a few too many sweet drinks in his system, he wanted to feel what he owned.- it didn't help that you liked when he spoke that way about you.

he did really own you in a way. the gold bracelets around your wrists, the diamonds in your ears, the tight white bikini you wore, all were purchased with kimi's well loved credit card. so as he placed you against his chest on the lounging beach chair, his hands got bold.

you kissed him on the lips and you held his jaw. you moaned a little bit and he made a small "tsk" noise. when he broke the kiss and looked down at you, his fingers skated across your inner thigh. his gaze was piercing. it made something flutter in your core. you looked at him, and waited for his next move. he kissed your jaw and said lowly, "be a good girl, and put that towel over us. i don't want them to see what belongings to me. they might get the wrong idea, because you're not a whore, right? you're my good girl?" and you nodded in response, of course you'd listen to kimi. you pulled the towel over the both of you and laid your head on his chest once more.

he said lowly to you, "close your eyes." he pulled his book up from the table and looked towards it, facing away from you as his other hand traveled further down your legs. skillful with his fingers like he was on the track. he looked inconspicuous as he pretended to read while his fingers got past your bikini bottoms. he stroked your pussy, the short hairs under his fingers before he shifted a little further to insert his fingers into you. you tensed up and reached for his wrist. he shushed you, "no, no, angel. you don't want an audience tonight. you told me the other night about anxiety you have when giving a presentation. i bet you don't want people to watch me finger-fuck you." his words made you shudder as he started to pleasure you. your toes curled under the towel as he pumped his fingers into you.

you rested against his chest and felt the pleasure begin to work through your body. this felt scandalous, your older lover's fingers moved in and out of your achy slit. as if he hadn't been working your sex since you arrived at the resort. you tensed up a little bit and splayed a hand out on his strong chest. this was his idea of fun. finger fucking you while other patrons of the beach enjoyed their day out in the sun. it was rather arousing, it made you excited all over. the hard part was staying quiet against him. not to draw attention to yourself. your stomach flipped and the warmth of pleasure coursed through you. you whimpered and kimi tilted his head away from his book to kiss you on the top of the head. he whispered, "behave." his tone made your shiver, your hard nipples poked at the fabric of your bikini. you swallowed back any loud noises and said, "kimi, please." and his pace only quickened.

that was the thing about kimi. he loved to put you to work.

his fingers felt quite well in your cunt as he tried to make sure that you didn't draw too much attention to yourself. he was aroused by the feeling of your slick cunt taking his fingers so well. you were soft to his touch. he could fondly remember this morning before breakfast when you could barely get out of the hotel room before kimi had him pressed up against the front door to fuck you in your sundress. he said to you as he pushed your panties down like a hungry dog, "own this dress, own these panties, own this pussy." and you weren't going to complain. not when he made you cum before you had your morning coffee.

now on the beach chair, his hand on you. he said softly, "need that hand back soon, need to turn the page. i'd rather not the pages soaked." his words were so casual, as if he wasn't painfully erect in his swim trunks. you exhaled deeply against his chest and felt the continued pleasure through your body. it was an immaculate feeling. you couldn't put it into words. you cursed against him and felt the flutter of want in your body. you loved it. you said softly against his warmed skin, "please, kimi. i'm not going to last longer." your thighs clenched around his hand, it felt good. not even his cock and you were still a near mess. damn him, and damn him for being able to keep his composure while he fingered you on the beach. you wanted a vacation, and he wanted your sweet pussy. he sharply exhaled before he put his book down and turned a little to throw his other arm over you. he kept you in a protective hold as he quickly fingers you. he watched your come apart under his icy gaze. he cursed under his breath as he kept his digits in you while you orgasmed.

he watched how beautifully you came apart. and despite the intense feeling, you managed to keep quiet with your head buried in his chest. he held you tightly and knew that you'd be back in the hotel room soon leaving you a total mess on the bed. as you came down from your sexual high and relaxed against him. he palmed his erection under the towel and said, "see, we can have fun. now why don't we get out of the sun. i don't want you to get sick." his words were tempting like a sugary sweetness. but you knew that the ache in your hips would extend far past the holiday. because you may get out of the sun, but the heat would linger while kimi had your legs over his shoulders. <3

a/n: i thought about kimi too hard... sorry, it'll happen again

[ms-boogie-man]

"As we speak, Andrew Tate and this brother Tristan are on their way from Romania to the US. The Tates are suspected of rape (including of minors), human trafficking and money laundering, not only in Romania but also in the UK. Despite the travel ban, they were able to travel to the US under pressure from the Trump administration. This is the kind of people the Trump administration, including their new saint Elon Musk, is protecting. Anyone who condemns abuse of women and minors is "a liberal" and "a retard". This isn't a conspiracy theory like Pizzagate, these criminals are for real. Anyone who corrects fake news, false information and lies by the president himself is a "liberal" and a "retard", even if they are famous historians. The Republican Party, which has become a cult, wants to re-write history for the next generations to come. As far as Imane Kheilif is concerned, she was born as a woman and is still a woman. She may not be the prettiest woman on earth for some and that may trigger real Adonises like Trump and Musk, of course."

@musicandoldmovies … your comment 👆🏼 in the Notes landed in my Activity Monitor so I assume you are speaking to me I will try to keep this short. If not, that will be the only thingy I fail at in here

The Tate brothers are suspected — your wording — of rape, human trafficking, and money laundering. From what I know of the case, there are accusations only, no actual proof has been produced. Too, from what I have heard, the accusations come from corrupt people. Meaning, the accusations began with officials, then the 4 women were produced. That is a little suspect IMO… this coming from a female yo I am not siding with the Tate bros, nor will I argue their case any further until that case has been seen thru to completion. If that never happens, the case never was to begin with. HERE is something though. In this article, 4 women accused the Tate bros. For some reason, the case was thrown back to the prosecutors. That is a bold move by anyone in any country. There must be a reason for it. In the meantime, if it is understood by the brothers that they will return if the case resumes, why should they observe a travel ban? That travel ban is just law-fare, simple. And… it looks to me like the case itself might have been Pizza-gate, on the other hand, is a fact. Every item in the scandal has been proven out as fact. There is not any conspiracy theory to it… only conspiracy fact. There is a mountain of physical, factual evidence. I myself researched this and dug up facts in the matter as far back as ‘013/014… and that is before Trump even announced his first run for president, and that is back then Elon Musk was still a liberal darling to you all The Republican Party (GOP) does not apply here. The GOP is compromised and run by the same people who run the majority of the DNC… also proven fact. Too, re-writing history is the territory of the DNC, so like many other thingys, you have that backwards. We in the MAGA movement are constitutional republicans (lowercase ‘r’) and that means we are of and for the constitutional republic, and not part of the current GOP. Full Stop. We are not a cult. And the facts are on our side. Deal with it

Re: Imane Kheilif… this person’s history and record are built on claims. Even wiki resorts to word salad and virtue signaling to speak of this person, and it all seems to be an attempt to win sympathy while skirting actual issues. Stating someone was born and raised a girl does not prove anything. I can walk out my front door this morning and tell everyone I was born and raised as a dragon … this does not mean anything. You would look at me like, Angie, sorry, you are just a little girl *I find it a little odd that you are siding with 4 women and their allegations of rape — which have remained unproven over the course of several years, then turning on your heel and siding against women when experts have accused a man of getting in a boxing ring and putting a beating on them. When it comes to fact checking services siding with this person, Imane Kheilif and their XY issue, every one of those services has sided with establishment lies in the past and I would not take their word for anything at this point

M&OM, you may want to consider just sticking to the original premise of your blog-thingy: music and old movies. You are good at that. Your jump into the political, socio-economic, and cultural realm is based in about as much fact as those old movies… which are just amusing little stories Too, if you wish to return here and debate me … I assure, you will get much, much more than you bargained for yo

Angie's Current Player Rating Power Exerted: < 25% Accuracy: 100% Damage To Opponent: 75-80% Angie's Life Level: 100% Mode: > BOSS

I am undefeated, on and off Tumblr too, btw

🦇🙃

(bat smiles)

MANIFEST

MANIFEST

[cloudyluun]

Until You Stay | famous!harry

Summary: Beth Monroe is a sharp-tongued journalist looking for her big break. Harry Styles is a cocky, untouchable rockstar who doesn’t take well to being challenged. What starts as a battle of wills—sharp words and razor-edged tension—spirals into something darker, filthier, and impossible to walk away from. But when feelings get involved, when the masks slip, will they still be able to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?

A/N: This is a commissioned work of fiction based on Harry as a famous singer, I make no claims of knowing him personally in any way. But someone trusted me to bring their filthy, angsty dreams to life, and I may have gone just a little feral in the process. So enjoy the chaos, the tension, and, of course, Harry being an insufferable asshole.

Word Count: 7,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit Smut (very detailed & filthy)

Rough Sex, Degradation, and Dom/Sub Dynamics

Jealous/Possessive Harry

Toxic Dynamics & Power Struggles

Strong Language & Dirty Talk

Angst & Emotional Turmoil

Paparazzi & Media Manipulation

Mentions of Alcohol & Self-Destructive Behavior

A Hard-Won Happy Ending

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Beth Monroe had always known she was meant for more than this.

Twenty-seven years old and already jaded, she was the kind of journalist who wanted to chase real stories—the ones that peeled back the glossy surface of the world and exposed what lay underneath. The truth. Not the watered-down, PR-approved version of it, but the raw, unfiltered mess of reality. That’s why she had spent years clawing her way through the ranks of journalism, determined to escape the suffocating confines of celebrity gossip and meaningless soundbites.

But the industry had other plans for her.

She had started with ambition, fresh out of college, ready to write the stories that mattered. But the jobs that paid? The ones that kept the rent covered and the lights on? Those were the ones that required clickbait headlines and shallow coverage of people who barely seemed real.

And so, Beth had become another faceless name in the sea of entertainment journalists, forced to write about scandals, red carpet outfits, and who's dating who. She’d learned how to craft engaging pieces that held just enough bite to make them feel substantial, but in the end, it was all just noise. A constant cycle of disposable stories about people whose lives would never be touched by the words she wrote.

That’s why this assignment felt like her last shot.

Her boss had made it clear—this was either going to be her big break or her last chance before she was permanently relegated to covering B-list divorces and influencer drama.

"We need something real, Beth," her editor, Jonathan Pierce, had told her, fingers tapping against his desk as he leveled her with that too-patient look. "Not just another shallow puff piece. Styles is at the peak of his career right now. People want to know who he is, not the version we see on stage, but the man underneath it all."

Beth had bit back the urge to roll her eyes.

Harry Styles.

Of course.

If there was one name that could guarantee headlines and clicks, it was his. He was a global phenomenon, a walking enigma, an untouchable icon. At thirty, he had long since outgrown his boyband past, solidifying himself as one of the most powerful and respected musicians in the industry. His concerts sold out within minutes. His albums dominated the charts. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, and social media feeds worldwide.

And yet—he was also infamously private.

Beth had done her research. He gave interviews, sure, but they were carefully controlled, filled with charming deflections and rehearsed soundbites. The media loved him, but no one actually knew him.

Her job? To change that.

She had been granted exclusive access to his European tour, shadowing him across multiple countries, given rare, behind-the-scenes insight into the life of Harry Styles, the person.

Beth knew how this would go.

She would show up, ask the hard-hitting questions, and be met with infuriatingly smooth non-answers. He’d probably flash that boyish smirk, tilt his head just right, and make it impossible for anyone to push too hard. The public adored him for that.

But Beth?

She wasn’t here to adore him. She was here to unravel him.

Still, she wasn’t expecting her first glimpse of him to hit her like a gut punch.

The moment she stepped into that room, she knew.

He was going to be a problem.

The private event was held at an intimate venue in Paris; a low-lit, exclusive affair where only VIPs, industry elites, and carefully selected press members were allowed inside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, leather seating, and the faint musk of whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

Beth walked in, blending into the sea of journalists and label executives, scanning the room for the man she had spent weeks researching.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles did not belong to the real world.

There was something about the way he existed in a space, the way people naturally gravitated toward him—an effortless pull, an undeniable gravity.

He stood near the back of the room, dressed in an all-black ensemble that should have looked simple but instead made him look infuriatingly expensive. The tailored slacks. The silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at tattoos inked across golden skin. The loose, effortless curls.

But it wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way he carried himself like he was untouchable.

Beth watched as he laughed at something someone said, flashing that devastating grin that made cameras worship him. But it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention—sharp, assessing, distant, even as he smiled.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned.

Their gazes met.

A slow flicker of recognition crossed his face, though they had never met before. His green eyes scanned her, quick and unreadable.

And then, just as fast, he looked away.

Dismissive.

Beth felt heat rise to her throat.

Oh.

Oh, he was going to be a problem.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

Beth didn’t look away first.

She wasn’t the type to shrink under scrutiny, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. But Harry? He barely spared her a full second before shifting his attention elsewhere, like she wasn’t worth a second glance.

The disinterest was strategic, she realized almost immediately. A controlled dismissal. The kind that kept people chasing, trying harder, falling over themselves for just an ounce of acknowledgment. She’d seen it before—men in power using silence as their weapon, turning the simple act of ignoring someone into an exercise of dominance.

It didn’t work on her.

So when she was finally ushered forward—her name murmured alongside a polite introduction—she didn’t bother offering her hand or plastering on a media-friendly smile. She met him with the same level of apathy he had thrown her way.

“Beth Monroe,” the event coordinator introduced. “She’s covering the European tour for Pulse magazine.”

Harry, who had just been charming some record executive’s wife with an easy smile and effortless conversation, didn’t even pretend to be interested. He gave the barest nod, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it to his lips.

“Journalist,” he mused, voice low, almost amused—but not in a way that invited conversation. More like he was tasting the word and finding it unappetizing.

Beth crossed her arms. "Is that a problem?"

That made him look at her properly.

Up close, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the sharp contrast between deliberate nonchalance and razor-sharp awareness. She knew the game well—he was observing, measuring, deciding exactly how much space she was allowed to take up.

And then, in the most unbothered, condescending way possible, he simply muttered, "No. Just predictable."

Beth’s lips parted, caught between shock and incredulous amusement.

"Predictable?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "That’s a bit rich coming from a man whose entire brand is built on being the world’s most palatable rockstar."

There it was.

The shift.

The flicker of something in his gaze like she had managed to surprise him. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to push back.

It lasted half a second before he schooled his features, tipping his glass back and dismissing her completely.

Beth could feel the eyes on them. The silent tension in the room as the moment stretched between them. But Harry? He wasn’t interested. At least, not enough to entertain her further.

His voice was maddeningly even as he murmured, "Enjoy the party, Miss Monroe."

And just like that, he turned his back on her.

Beth spent the rest of the night watching. Not because she was enthralled—fuck no—but because she needed to understand him. If she was going to do this job right, she needed to know what made him tick, needed to peel back the carefully constructed layers he used to keep the world at arm’s length.

What she noticed was infuriating.

Harry was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly engaged, magnetic in a way that made people lean in, hang on his every word. He gave them just enough of himself—never too much, never too little. His persona was crafted with surgical precision.

But with her?

Nothing.

He ignored her. Not obviously, not rudely, but in a way that felt intentional. Every time she tried to break into a conversation, he sidestepped her. When she asked a question, he answered in vague, detached sentences.

And when she finally managed to pull him into a one-on-one exchange again, it ended just as quickly as the first.

“I’ve noticed you never really answer questions,” she said, arms crossed as she studied him from across the dimly lit bar area.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was stirring his drink with a lazy wrist. “And I’ve noticed journalists never stop asking them.”

Beth exhaled sharply through her nose. “Right. Because heaven forbid anyone learns something real about Harry Styles.”

That got his attention.

He set his glass down, leaning against the counter as his gaze slid over her slowly.

“You lot aren’t interested in ‘real.’” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’re interested in a headline.”

Beth bristled. “And you’re interested in a narrative.”

Something shifted.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

Then Harry smirked.

“Good luck with your story, Miss Monroe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Beth clenched her jaw.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Beth had dealt with difficult men before. Politicians who thought they were too powerful to be held accountable, executives who assumed her presence in a room meant she was someone’s assistant rather than the journalist they’d have to answer to. She had sharpened herself against condescension and arrogance, made a career out of standing her ground in rooms filled with people who wanted to dismiss her.

But Harry Styles?

He was a different breed of difficult.

For the next several weeks, Beth followed him across Europe, shadowing his tour with increasing frustration. She sat through press conferences where he charmed reporters into asking safe, meaningless questions—the kind that allowed him to give those clever, detached answers that never actually revealed anything.

She watched him interact with fans, saw the way he flipped the switch so effortlessly—one moment the distant, untouchable rockstar, the next, someone who could make a stadium of people feel like they mattered.

And yet, with her?

He remained a wall.

He made it a point to avoid her questions, brushing past them with an easy smirk and a raised eyebrow, like he found her attempts amusing.

“Beth, darling, you’re thinking too hard,” he had murmured once, lounging backstage after a show, still glistening with sweat from the stage lights. “Why don’t you just write the same piece everyone else does? You know, the whole ‘Harry Styles is mysterious but also terribly charming’ bit. Sells every time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t write fanfiction.”

He grinned. “Shame.”

And then there were the games.

Beth would show up for scheduled interview slots, only to be told that Harry was "unavailable." Sometimes it was because he was in a mood. Sometimes it was because he was “too busy” relaxing in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone, while she sat outside with her recorder untouched on her lap.

When she finally called him out on it, he didn’t even pretend to feel bad.

“Beth, love,” he drawled, voice dripping in mock sympathy, “you’re in my world now. Things don’t always run on schedule.”

Her patience cracked. “So you’re just wasting my time for fun?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, legs spread wide, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. “Not for fun.” Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Though it is fun watching you get all worked up.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

The breaking point came after a particularly brutal argument.

It had been a long day—one of those rare occasions when Beth had actually gotten a few uninterrupted moments to ask real questions. She had pushed harder than usual, refusing to let him slide through with half-answers and smirks.

“Why do you do that?” she had asked, arms crossed as she watched him peel the rings off his fingers after soundcheck.

Harry flicked a glance up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re giving people something real when all you’re actually doing is controlling the narrative.”

The look he gave her was sharp, guarded. “That’s rich, coming from someone whose job is to spin a story.”

Beth exhaled through her nose. “You think this is easy for me? That I just write whatever sells? I’m not here to make you look good, Harry. I’m here to write the truth.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

And then, before she even saw him move, he was in front of her.

Too close.

Her breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if he had stepped forward or if she had unconsciously leaned in, but suddenly, there was no space between them. The air thickened, buzzing with something hot and electric.

His jaw flexed.

His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was holding something back.

Beth lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not in amusement, not quite. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and slow, a quiet challenge.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

Beth swallowed, throat tight. “I think you hate that you can’t intimidate me.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating pause.

For a second—just a second—she swore his gaze dropped to her mouth.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them acted on it.

And later that night, when Beth was alone in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling—she realized she was still thinking about it.

She wondered if he was, too.

Beth liked to believe that she had control over herself—over her emotions, over the way her body reacted, over the frustrating, infuriating pull she felt every time Harry Styles so much as looked at her.

But control was hard to maintain when someone was constantly poking, prodding, pushing just to see where her breaking point was.

And Harry?

Harry was pushing.

Hard.

It happened in Milan.

The afterparty was in full swing—music thumping, bodies swaying, conversations weaving in and out of the dim, golden-lit space. Beth wasn’t drinking, but the atmosphere was intoxicating in itself, everyone high off the post-show adrenaline.

Harry had been watching her all night.

Not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The flicker of his gaze when she moved through the crowd, the way his attention snagged whenever she threw her head back in laughter.

She ignored it.

She refused to let him get in her head.

Which was why, when another musician—Nate, a guitarist from one of the opening acts—struck up a conversation with her, Beth didn’t hesitate to let herself enjoy it.

He was easy to talk to, charming in a way that didn’t feel like a performance. And when he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—she barely had time to register the shift in the air before Harry was there.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, nursing a drink, his stare cutting through the noise like a blade.

Beth felt it before she saw it—the shift in Nate’s posture, the way his fingers curled around the bottle in his hand.

“I’ll catch you later,” Nate murmured, voice a little too careful.

Beth blinked. “Wait, what?”

But he was already slipping away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

And that was when she felt him.

The warmth of his presence behind her, the slow exhale against the shell of her ear.

“You like playing games, love?”

Beth closed her eyes.

Of course. Of course he had to do this.

She turned slowly, deliberately, only to find him watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she said, tone light, though she could feel her pulse thrumming against her skin.

Harry tilted his head, mocking. “That was cute. The whole giggle and lean-in routine. Did you rehearse that?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to have a conversation without your approval?”

His jaw flexed. “Didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

He took a step closer.

Then another.

Beth refused to step back.

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth.

“I’m saying… you’ve been running your mouth for weeks. Acting like you don’t give a shit about me. But then—” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “—then you go and pull that?”

She scoffed. “Pull what?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“You wanted me to see that.”

Beth’s stomach flipped.

She should have laughed in his face. Should have rolled her eyes, brushed past him, walked away.

But she didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he was looking at her.

Something thick and charged and dangerous.

His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.

Beth’s breath shook.

The music downstairs faded into a dull throb, the laughter and chatter dissolving into nothing. The party might as well have been on the other side of the world.

It was just them now.

Beth barely registered how it happened—one moment, she was in the thick of the afterparty, heat and voices pressing in on all sides. The next, the door clicked shut behind her. A soft, decisive sound.

She turned just in time to see Harry’s hand linger on the lock, fingers curling around the metal, twisting until it slid into place. A quiet snick.

Her pulse skittered.

Slowly, he turned back to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

Somehow, between one breath and the next, Beth’s back was already against the wall, cool brick pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Nate’s touch—light, fleeting—but it didn’t matter. Not when Harry was in front of her now. Not when his body was taut with something sharp, something dark. His eyes, usually lidded with lazy arrogance, were harder now. Narrowed. Burning.

His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to control himself.

Then, low, rough, "You like playing games, love?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced herself to lift her chin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His jaw twitched.

Slow. Measured. He reached out, running two fingers up her arm, featherlight but searing. Beth refused to react, refused to show him that he got under her skin.

His lips curled. "Laughing. Touching. Batting your lashes at him like you wanted him to take you right there in front of everyone."

That made her scoff. "Oh, fuck off—"

She barely got the words out before he was on her.

No warning. No hesitation.

One hand shot to her throat—not squeezing, just holding, firm enough to make her gasp as his body pressed flush against hers. His other hand planted itself beside her head, caging her in completely.

His mouth hovered just above hers, breath warm, uneven.

"You wanna push me, is that it?" he murmured, voice like gravel. "You wanna see what happens when I lose my patience?"

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fear curling in her stomach. It was something much worse.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

So she pushed him again, knowing it was reckless. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took.

Harry didn’t waste another second.

His grip tightened, and then he was kissing her—if it could even be called that. There was nothing soft about it. No buildup, no hesitation. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a war between them.

His hand left her throat, moving down, down, over the thin fabric of her dress, gripping her waist so tightly it ached.

Beth’s nails raked down his arms, her own frustration spilling over. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel this the way she did.

"Fuck—"

The word was ripped from her throat as he yanked her leg up, hitching it over his hip. The dress rode up instantly, baring her thigh, and then his hand was there, fingers digging into her skin, making her burn.

Desperate.

That was what this was.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger.

It was starving.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, down her neck. He bit—not enough to leave marks, but enough to make her feel it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down her jaw. “Needy. Desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Fuck you."

He laughed, breathless, dark.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you want it."

Beth clenched her teeth. She hated him.

And yet.

And yet.

"Say it."

She swallowed hard, nails still biting into his shoulders. "I want it."

He hummed in approval, pushing her harder against the wall. "Good girl."

Then he wrecked her.

There was no teasing. No gentle touch. He dragged her panties down and shoved her dress up with no regard, making her gasp as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her soaked, and he smirked.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, lips brushing her ear. "You act like you don’t want this, but look at you."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

It didn’t last.

His fingers slipped inside her, rough, unrelenting, and the cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.

"That’s it," he murmured, pumping them hard and deep. "Don’t hold back now."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing, teasing, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with every sharp movement.

"Thinkin’ about him now?" Harry taunted, voice low. "Bet you’re not."

She wasn’t.

She hated it, but she wasn’t.

All she could think about was Harry.

His fingers. His voice. The way he was taking what he wanted without a second thought.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure winding tight in her stomach.

And then he pulled away.

A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

He grinned. "Not yet."

He undid his belt in a swift motion, shoved his jeans down just enough, and then he was lifting her completely, pressing her against the wall, spreading her open for him.

She barely had time to take a breath before he slammed into her.

"Fuck—"

She choked on a gasp, nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretched her in a way that made her legs shake.

There was no time to adjust.

No time to breathe.

He just fucked her.

Hard.

Desperate.

The wall scraped against her back with every sharp thrust, and she loved it.

His fingers bit into her thighs, holding her in place, making her take every inch, every punishing roll of his hips.

"You take me so fuckin’ well," he murmured, voice strained, lips dragging over her neck. "Like you need this."

She did.

God help her, she did.

She was close—so fucking close, and she knew he could feel it in the way she clenched around him, in the way her nails dug deeper, in the way her body arched.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say you’re mine."

Her breath stuttered.

He thrust harder. "Say it, Beth."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her body screaming for release.

And then she broke.

"I’m yours."

He groaned, deep and guttural, and that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed through her, leaving her shaking, wrecked, gasping as he kept going, drawing it out until she had nothing left to give.

Moments later, he followed, hips jerking, a rough growl spilling from his throat as he came deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing was heavy, erratic, mingling in the thick air between them.

Then, just like that, it was gone.

Harry pulled away, adjusted himself, ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened.

Beth watched, still breathless, still reeling.

He met her eyes, his own dark, unreadable.

Then, with a smirk that made her stomach flip, he stepped back.

"See you around, love."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her wrecked, ruined, and still fucking wanting.

But worst of all?

She still wanted him.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more.

Beth barely remembered leaving the party, barely registered the way the city lights blurred together in the back of her cab, the hum of Milan’s nightlife drowning out the noise in her head. Her body still felt him—his hands, his breath, the rough edge of his voice scraping against her skin.

It should have been enough.

It should have burned her out, smothered whatever slow, insidious pull had been building between them.

But it didn’t.

Because when she saw him again the next day, sitting in the green room of the arena, lounging like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ruined her the night before—Beth realized something awful.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

--

Harry was different now.

Not in the way Beth had expected—not in the way most men got after a night like that.

There was no smugness, no knowing smirk, no self-satisfied arrogance that she could take a swing at.

Instead, he was… colder.

Distant. Detached. Like she was nothing more than a mild inconvenience, an insignificant blip on his radar.

He barely looked at her.

Didn’t acknowledge her when she walked into a room, didn’t spare her even a glance during soundcheck or press briefings.

And that should have been fine.

She should have been fine.

But the second she started talking to someone else—the second she so much as smiled in another man’s direction—Harry’s jaw would lock.

His shoulders would tense.

His fingers would curl around his drink, around his microphone, around anything to keep from doing something reckless.

Beth noticed.

And she made sure he knew it.

She leaned in closer when someone else made her laugh. Let her fingers linger just a little longer when she touched an arm. Tilted her head just right when she listened, knowing Harry was in the room, knowing he was watching even if he refused to look at her directly.

She wanted to prove a point.

If she was just a fuck, if she was nothing, then he shouldn’t care.

So why did he?

--

It happened in Paris.

Beth had been talking to a photographer, a harmless conversation, nothing she wasn’t allowed to do.

Harry had been across the room, pretending he didn’t give a shit.

Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, he was right there.

His hand closed around her wrist, fingers tight, his voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Outside. Now.”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You heard me.”

For a second, she considered telling him to go to hell.

But she didn’t.

Because she wanted this too.

The door barely shut behind them before he was on her.

Teeth at her jaw, hands rough on her hips, shoving her against the brick wall of some dark alley behind the venue.

Beth gasped, but it wasn’t from shock.

She should have expected this.

She had wanted this.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry muttered against her skin, his voice thick with frustration, with heat, with something else she couldn’t name. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Beth grinned, sharp and mean. “What am I doing, Harry?”

His fingers tightened.

“You think you can get a reaction out of me?” His teeth scraped her jaw. “Think you can make me jealous?”

Her breath hitched.

“So you admit it?” she whispered. “You were jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way he touched her—rougher, filthier than before—told her everything she needed to know.

The first time had been about control. About proving a point.

This time?

This time, it was a need.

Desperate. Dirty. Addictive.

And neither of them could stop.

Every time they tried, they failed.

The silence never lasted. The distance never held.

Because the second they were in the same room again, the second their eyes locked across crowded spaces, it was already too late.

They had pulled each other under too many times to pretend they knew how to breathe without drowning.

Beth knew it was toxic.

Knew it in the way her hands trembled when she buttoned up her shirt in the dark, his warmth still clinging to her skin.

Knew it in the way Harry’s fingers curled into fists when he watched her leave, like he wanted to reach for her but refused to let himself.

Knew it in the way they never talked about it.

Because talking would make it real. Talking would force them to admit that it wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just convenience, wasn’t just a mistake they kept making over and over again.

But they didn’t stop.

Not when they should have.

Not even when the headlines started.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown rumors, twisting what they had into something uglier, something Beth couldn’t control.

She was losing pieces of herself to this, to him.

And Harry—Harry wasn’t losing anything.

Not his reputation. Not his career. Not his control.

She should have left before it reached this point—before it ripped through them like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Before it bled into everything else.

Before it turned into this.

--

It happened in London, outside a sleek, high-end restaurant that reeked of old money and exclusivity—the kind of place Harry fit into effortlessly, where his name alone held weight, where he belonged.

Beth never had any interest in it. The glint of polished silverware, the hushed conversations over expensive wine, the way the air itself seemed thicker inside—like money had a scent, and it didn’t belong to people like her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. Had told herself, promised herself, that she was done. That she wouldn’t let him do this to her again.

And yet, here she was.

The air outside was thick, muggy, summer pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating, clinging. A neon sign from across the street flickered, buzzing intermittently, painting the pavement in broken splashes of red light.

Harry stood a few steps away, pacing, hands raking through his already-messy curls. His jaw was locked, shoulders drawn tight, his frustration visible in the tense way he moved. He looked untouchable—towering, sharp, devastating in his black suit, the collar of his shirt slightly open like even it couldn’t handle the heat of the moment.

His eyes found hers—dark, searing, burning like embers about to catch.

“Are you seriously fucking mad at me for this?” His voice was low, taut, a thread stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.

Beth folded her arms tightly across her chest, holding herself together. She could feel the anger, coiling hot in her stomach, winding through her like a slow, controlled burn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “Enlighten me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. He didn’t care. He never fucking cared.

“Your team,” she spat, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “just made me look like some desperate, attention-seeking—”

“—that’s not what happened.”

“Really?” She stepped closer, chin tilting up defiantly, her eyes searching his face for something—anything. A flicker of regret. Understanding. A crack in the cold, calculated exterior he was so good at wearing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like they threw me under the fucking bus to save your ass.”

The photos had hit the tabloids that morning.

Beth Monroe, clinging to Harry Styles. Beth Monroe, picking a fight in public. Beth Monroe, the problem.

Headlines twisting the truth, reshaping the narrative, turning her into something she wasn’t. His PR team had done what they always did—spun the story, cleaned up the mess, protected the asset.

Beth had been collateral damage.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this. “Jesus, Beth, why do you care so much what people think?”

Her stomach twisted—not just at the words, but at how he said them.

Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Like all of this—all the nights, all the touches, all the ways they’d clawed at each other, desperate and reckless—had meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had been fooling herself this entire time.

Something inside her snapped—something raw and fragile and past the point of saving.

“You know what?” She took a breath, forcing her voice to stay steady, forcing herself to hold his gaze even though it hurt. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And before she could change her mind—before she could let him pull her back in—she turned around.

And for the first time, she didn’t look back.

It should have been a relief.

Should have felt like he had won.

But it didn’t.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he set it down with more force than necessary.

The neon lights of the club flickered above him, casting shadows along the crowded space. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, a heartbeat that wasn’t his. People surrounded him—laughter, touches, whispers—but none of it registered.

His third drink.

Or maybe his fourth.

He wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t need to.

Because Beth was gone.

And he should feel lighter. Should feel fucking free.

But instead, there was just this—this hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest, a slow rot that no amount of whiskey could burn away.

He had told himself it was just sex. That it was just a game.

A messy, reckless game they both played, fully aware of the rules.

So why the fuck was he still thinking about her?

Why did he still hear her voice—sharp and furious, echoing in his ears like an accusation he couldn’t shake?

I don’t. Not anymore.

Why did he still see her face when he closed his eyes—not the smirking, defiant expression she always wore when they fought, but the way she had looked at him that night—raw, open, hurt.

Why the fuck did that bother him?

Harry scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, reaching for another drink.

Fuck that.

She’d be back.

She always came back.

Wouldn’t she?

The weeks passed.

She didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at any more venues.

And no matter how many women he took home—no matter how many soft lips and unfamiliar hands he let touch him—it was never the same.

Because none of them were her.

None of them made him feel alive the way she did when she pushed him, when she fought him, when she stood her ground and refused to give in.

And for the first time, Harry realized—

He had fucked up.

Not just in the way he always did—careless, reckless, breaking things without thinking about the consequences.

No, this was different.

This was real.

This was Beth.

And he had let her slip through his fingers like she was nothing.

Like she hadn’t changed him.

Like she hadn’t fucking ruined him.

It took him weeks. Too many weeks.

Weeks of sleepless nights, of bitter drinks that burned as they went down, of meaningless encounters with women who weren’t her.

Weeks of ignoring the pit in his stomach whenever he reached for his phone and saw her name missing from his notifications.

Weeks of denying—lying to himself—until he couldn’t anymore.

Until it became impossible to pretend that this wasn’t more.

That she wasn’t everything.

So, he found her.

No cameras. No PR team carefully crafting the narrative. No staged apology meant to keep his image intact.

Just him.

Beth stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyes wary, lips pressed together like she wasn’t sure if she should slam the door in his face or let him inside just to yell at him.

She was in sweats, hair tied back, looking so soft and real and heartbreakingly beautiful that Harry had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help if I said I knocked first?”

Beth lifted a single, unimpressed brow.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily, fingers gripping the doorframe. “What do you want, Harry?”

Her voice was flat, tired—so fucking tired—and it hit him in the chest like a punch.

He did that.

He made her sound like that.

And maybe if she had been yelling, maybe if she had been angry, it would have been easier.

But this?

This quiet disappointment, this absence of fire, of fight—this was worse.

Because it meant she had already decided to let him go.

And he couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t.

Harry swallowed, licking his lips, feeling the words crawl up his throat, unfamiliar and foreign and terrifying.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, voice rough, uneven. “You got too close.”

Beth’s gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him either.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He let out a slow breath, shifting his weight. “You were supposed to be temporary, Beth.” His voice cracked on her name. “And I don’t want temporary anymore.”

Her eyes softened. Just a little.

But she didn’t let him off the hook.

Not yet.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “So what? You came all this way just to tell me that?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

“And now you expect me to just—what? Forget everything? Pretend like you didn’t throw me to the wolves the second things got hard?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t expect that.”

Beth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked at him again, and fuck, he felt stripped bare under her gaze.

“I was falling for you,” she whispered, the words barely audible but lethal. “And you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His stomach dropped.

“I know,” he rasped. “And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Beth.”

She didn’t speak, but her fingers trembled where they curled around her sleeve.

Harry took a step closer.

Then another.

Until she was right there, close enough to touch, but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he just let himself be seen—raw, vulnerable, desperate in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice low, uneven. “But I want to try. I want you.”

Beth swallowed hard, blinking quickly, like she was trying to hold something back.

“Say it again.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Harry took a breath, steady and sure.

“I want you.”

Beth let out a shaky exhale, something breaking, fracturing between them—but this time, it wasn’t falling apart.

It was falling into place.

She didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But when she finally reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down, letting him in—

He knew.

She wanted him too.

-

This isn’t like before.

It’s not fueled by resentment, not tangled in frustration or sharp-edged words.

It’s not an attempt to silence their own thoughts or to claim victory in an unwinnable battle.

This time, it’s different.

Because this time, they’re choosing each other.

And neither of them wants to pretend anymore.

It’s quiet.

Not the uneasy, tension-laced silence they used to share, but something softer. He’s brought her here—to his real place, not some impersonal hotel room or a shadowy corner where they could disappear without consequence.

It’s his space.

Dim lighting from the city outside filters through half-drawn blinds, painting warm, golden stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, the echoes of every past moment clinging to the walls.

No noise from the outside world.

Just them.

And for the first time, that’s all they need.

They stand close but don’t touch—not yet.

It’s strange, this carefulness between them, this slow, deliberate restraint. For so long, everything between them has been about force, about taking, about dominance wrapped in lust.

But now—

His fingers reach for her, hesitant but certain, trailing the line of her jaw with an aching kind of reverence.

No roughness. No bruising grip.

Just a slow, featherlight touch, like he’s memorizing her, like he’s afraid to move too fast.

Beth’s breath stutters. She tilts her face into his touch, just barely, just enough to tell him that she wants this too.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already watching her.

Already waiting.

Already sure.

When he kisses her, it’s nothing like before.

Not an attempt to overpower, not a silent demand for control.

It’s soft.

Tentative, at first—like he’s rediscovering her, learning the shape of her lips, savoring her warmth. A slow slide of mouths, the quiet exhale of breath mingling between them.

And then—

The restraint fractures.

A low, desperate groan rumbles in his chest, and his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, molding her against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, but it’s not about possession anymore.

It’s need.

It’s want.

It’s everything they’ve never allowed themselves to feel.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down into her, and he lets her. Lets her take as much as she wants.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear at her clothes like before, doesn’t drag fabric over her skin like it’s just another obstacle to get through.

He takes his time.

Fingers skimming her shoulders, down the length of her arms, over her ribs. He lingers, watching her, drinking her in like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with something raw, something that sounds like awe.

Her breath catches.

She should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t make her feel bare.

It makes her feel wanted.

She reaches for him then, pulling at his shirt, sliding her hands over warm, firm skin, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart beneath her palms.

He lets her undress him too.

No rush. No urgency.

Just this.

Just them.

He takes his time.

Worships her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, exploring every inch like he’s memorizing her, like he never wants to forget the way she feels beneath him.

His fingers trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her inner thigh.

He doesn’t hurry.

Doesn’t just take.

He gives.

She fists the sheets when he drags his mouth lower, when he pauses to watch her reaction, when he smirks against her skin at the way she shifts, needy, impatient.

She doesn’t want to beg. Not this time.

But when his mouth finally touches her, warm and devastatingly slow—

She does.

He doesn’t rush her to the edge.

He builds it.

His mouth works her over with precision, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every quiet, breathless plea.

His hands hold her open, steadying her, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

He watches her the entire time.

Doesn’t look away.

Not when she trembles.

Not when she cries out his name.

Not when she finally, finally falls apart beneath him.

He just holds her gaze, dark and unwavering, like he’s making damn sure she knows—

This means something.

When he finally slides into her, it’s different.

No rough, frantic pace. No bruising hands.

Just this.

Just the slow, deliberate push of his hips, deep and measured, drawing a gasp from her lips.

He stills for a moment, presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

Not clawing.

Not marking.

Just holding.

He moves then.

Not just fucking—making love.

Every slow thrust feels like a confession.

Every whispered “mine” against her lips feels like a promise.

And this time—

She doesn’t fight it.

She lets him have her.

And takes him in return.

No rush to leave.

No scramble for clothes.

No silence.

Just this.

Just them, tangled in sheets that smell like them, his arms heavy around her, his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns against her back.

For the first time, he stays.

For the first time, she lets him.

There’s a pause. A deep, quiet moment where neither of them speaks.

Then—

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

Beth doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts closer, presses her lips against his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Yeah, Harry.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

She watches it spread, watches the tension leave his body, watches the way he finally lets himself believe it.

“I am.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry, @mema10, @angelbabyyy99, @iloveharrystyles04, @cinemharry, @drwho06, @donutsandpalmtrees, @panini, @mads3502; @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa, @one-sweet-gubler, @rizosrizos26, @ciriceimpera, @everyscarisahealingplace, @hello-heyhi, @sexymfharriet, @lizsogolden, @hannah9921, @chicabonitasblog, @huhidontknowstuff, @berrywoods1245, @jennovaaa, @angeldavis777, @prettygurl-2009, @almostcontentcreator, @run-for-the-hills, @maudie-duan, @dipmeinhoneyh, @harrrrystylesslut, @georgiarose94, @stylestarkey, @watarmelon212, @ hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east

[stinkysam]

Choi Subong "Thanos" - I know you.

Warning : mention of child rape (very brief), death, killing

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “reader used to be an actor, when he was young and then had a downfall after a scandal that he didn't have control over, and then it just got worse when he got older and one day a man approached blah blah you know what happens and he ends up in the Squid game and being old(old like In-ho) they won easily red light green light having it played in his childhood and that it surprised him some people actually recognised him and that one of the people being Choi Su-bong”

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : bold is in English // Someone lives in this one uwu (who will it be ? 👀) // 6K8 words

Thanos only noticed you during the first vote when your number was called. You walked calmly toward the buttons and without hesitating you chose O. You took the blue patch they handed you and went with the other Os as you placed it on your chest.

You seemed familiar, but Thanos couldn’t find out why. You had voted O, which meant he could have a closer look at you once he’s been called to vote.

When it was his turn, he picked O without hesitating as well. It was an obvious choice for him. But as he took his patch, 456 spoke out against the ongoing vote, trying to wake everyone up and asking them to regain their common sense.

Thanos looked at him, eyeing you briefly. You weren’t looking at 456, but your head was slightly turned toward him, listening.

Although some people argued back, you stayed silent. Looking at the people who hadn’t voted yet. You wondered if this will make some of them change their minds.

The vote started again after an armed triangle threatened 456 with his weapon, making him stand with the other Xs.

In the end, Os were the winners. You sighed, slightly relieved. Someone patted your back in celebration and you even saw a purple haired man belly bump someone in the air.

Some people were really enthusiastic, you couldn’t help but smile at it.

Soon, the calm returned, everyone standing by their beds, getting to know each other, chatting.

Then came time to eat, everyone was behaving, standing in lines to get their food. 

You sat on your bed, eating, eavesdropping on what was being said by your neighbors.

On the bed next to yours, 230 and 124 were talking. Ranting about another player who made them lose a lot of money. The more they talked, the more upset they became. It’s like they were riling up one another inadvertently, it was a bit fun to watch.

But then they stood up, walking toward him, you supposed. You watched them speak calmly at first until it quickly escalated. 230 slapped the man making him jump on him.

You let out a small smile as you saw the three of them fight. Young people and their fiery… 

You took another bite of your rice wondering what was gonna stop them. Will they stop themselves ? Or will armed guards interrupt ? Or maybe another player ? Will the man die ?

Your thoughts were interrupted when 001 stood up, calling the young men out.

You watched, impressed, as he grabbed 230 by the throat and kicked 124, sending him on the floor, holding his leg in pain.

001 let go of the purple haired boy who rushed back to him, not understanding he didn’t stand a chance. He was punched in the stomach, doubling over in pain before his arm was twisted, joints cracking loudly, sending him to the floor as well. You grimaced.

The older man was above 230, strangling him, one fist in the air to punch him if necessary.

And finally, he let go of him, the younger man rolling over, coughing as he regained his breath. 

You watched as 230 slowly crawled back to his bed, 124 following him, cursing as he struggled to climb the ladders to his bed.

“You okay kid ?” You asked 230, slightly amused. He glared at you, before giving you a double take and frowning.

“I know you.” He finally said with a hoarse voice, pointing at you with his free hand, his other one by his throat, trying to soothe the pain.

You raised your eyebrow, surprised. Could he really know you ? It’s been a long time since someone recognized you and he was a bit young to have seen your movies in theaters.

He continued looking at you, getting more confident with each passing second.

“Yeah ! You’re… uh, [Last name] [Name]. You played in-”

“Yeah I know what I played in.” You quickly said, waving him off. You sighed. Ah, seriously… “Aren’t you a bit young to know my films ?”

“What are you talking about ? I can just watch them on streaming platforms.”

“Ah, right.”

“You’re a fucking legend, man, what are you doing here ?”

It seemed that the embarrassment of losing in front of everyone and the pain was long gone. He moved on fast. Heh.

“Take a guess. Why are we all here ?”

“How can you have debts ? Didn’t you win shit tons of money with the movies ? They were so popular ! Only dumb people have not seen them.”

You shrugged.

“Do you know why I stopped ?”

He nodded.

“…Yeah, you got accused of having sex with kids or something.”

“Not me.” You corrected dryly. “My co-star. When it was found out, that bastard accused me of helping him with it. Put all the blame on me. Though it was a lie, the public blamed me for not saying sooner what was going on. Why the fuck would I know what he does with his dick ?!” You sighed, rubbing your face, getting frustrated over it again.

“Fuck. Why didn’t you kill him ?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. 

“I don’t wanna go to jail ?” Wasn’t it a logical reason to not kill someone ?

“I would’ve killed that man.”

You chuckled.

“I believe you.”

You stayed in silence for a while, before 230 spoke again.

“I’m Thanos. I’m a huge fan.” He said, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“Tha…nos ?” You thought for a moment. Grabbing his hand slowly, shaking it briefly. “Oh, I think I’ve heard about you. Didn’t you do a rap battle ? How did it go ?”

He looked away in silence, slightly embarrassed.

“I lost.”

“Oh.”

“But it was unfair, I shouldn’t have lost over what happened.” He groaned, upset, rubbing his hair in frustration.

“And what happened ?” You raised an eyebrow, curious.

Another rapid silence.

“I forgot my bars.” He replied quietly.

“Your… Oh.” You stayed silent for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. There was nothing you could say to help him feel better about it so you leaned closer and patted his shoulder awkwardly.

“When we get out of here, let’s take a selfie together.” He said with a smile. “The fallen legends.”

You scoffed, chuckling at his words.

“Oh, so you’re a fallen legend ?”

He looked to the sides, thinking.

“No. I’m still a legend. Not a fallen one.”

“But I am ?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips. “Woah, what a fan you are.”

He laughed.

“Alright. I’ll caption it ‘The still legends’ then.”

You snorted, amused.

“Okay. Don’t die then.”

“No way.” He smiled, confident. “Nothing can get in my way.”

You continued talking till night time came, getting to meet with the team he managed to create in such a small time, him, Namgyu and Gyeongsu. 

The lights were off and everyone was in their beds, trying to fall asleep. Some succeeded faster than others.

Thanos fell asleep before you, you could hear him snore and talk in his sleep. It was a bit funny.

He didn’t seem like a completely bad kid, but you couldn’t really care for someone else in here, right ? What if you team up and have to kill him ? You couldn’t trust this place.

You listened to what he was saying, although half of his sentences or words were missing, trying to imagine what he was dreaming about. It seemed like a better place than here.

Morning came quickly, music accompanying a voice through the speakers announcing the imminent start of the second game.

You got out of bed, stretching and walking amongst the others before being told to exit the lobby. 

As you walked up and down the slim and twisted corridors, you wondered how big the place was. Will you do all 5 remaining games in the same room ?

You weren’t particularly stressed, if you had to die, then so be it. At least you’ve tried. You had nothing waiting for you. Yet seeing Thanos and Namgyu play around, uncaring about the deadly game awaiting you all helped you relax a bit more.

You entered a big room and as the door closed they announced you had 10 minutes to form teams of 6.

Thanos and Namgyu looked at each other, before turning to Gyeongsu. That made a team of three.

Should you play with these kids ? Or find yourself another team ? You doubted that there would be only one survivor by each team, but you couldn’t be sure of anything.

“Sir, you’ll play with us, right ?” Namgyu asked with a smile, already confident you’d say ‘yes’.

You looked at him, thinking, while Thanos stared at you expectantly.

“Sure.” You finally said, shrugging.

“Yes !” Thanos closed his fists happily.

“We need two more then.”

“I already found one we could take with us.”

“Ah ? Who ?” Namgyu asked as you all looked around to see who had caught Thanos’ eyes.

He pointed somewhere before walking in that direction confidently. You slowly followed him, trying to look for another future team member at the same time.

He stopped behind a girl.

That could be good for the team. Some games were mostly played by girls, she could be of help. Unless she hasn’t played them.

You listened as Thanos and the girl spoke, wondering if that’s how young men flirt nowadays. Did flirting always sound this… bad ?

You chewed your lips to not laugh, focusing on finding the 6th member.

Then, she revealed she already had a teammate. A smaller boy, looking all shy with 125 written on his clothes.

Namgyu complained. They were not what he was looking for. A girl and a dork ?

But Thanos didn’t hear any of it, gladly accepting the two of them, making you a team of 6.

Nice.

Thanos looked at you with a smile, expectantly. You stared back, unsure of what he wanted. You ended up giving him a thumbs up and a pat on the shoulder, squeezing it gently.

This seemed to be what he wanted, looking proudly in front of him, puffing out his chest.

Soon the ten minutes were over and you had to sit by groups inside the circles as they explained the rules of the game.

You had to do six mini games under six minutes, your feet cuffed to your teammates.

Ddakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning top, arm wrestling and jegi.

You quickly discussed amongst yourselves who would do what, Thanos ignoring the discussion completely.

Two teams got called, shaking, they stood up, letting their feet be cuffed as everyone stared at them.

You couldn’t help but give a small grimace. You wouldn’t have liked to be the first to play.

“Let’s get it ! Whooo !” Thanos screamed as the timer began counting down.

Six minutes. Six games. Was it possible ?

You watched intently, quietly celebrating each time they cleared a game. But there were more failures than victories and thus they ended up dying, the timer on zero.

You flinched slightly at the sound of gunshots, the loud sound startling you as you looked at the other team, dead too.

Fuck.

You blinked slowly. At least the deaths were quick. If you die, you won’t feel a thing.

You stared as a triangle asked to open a coffin to shoot twice the person inside. Were they not dead already ? Did they not get shot properly ? With how close the guns were ? What do they do with the bodies ? That’s a lot of people to get rid of…

You got pulled out of your thoughts by Thanos’ voice.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He said a bit loudly, body still moving as if he was dancing to some song.

You looked at them, listening.

“If I get nervous and lose the game, we’ll all die.” Namgyu replied, showing his shaky hands. “My hands are shaking like crazy.”

“Hey, Namsu.”

“It’s Namgyu.”

“Right, Namgyu.” Thanos corrected himself, pulling something out from under his vest. “Do you know what this is ?”

“Ecstasy ? Ketamine ?”

Ah. Drugs. You should’ve known he’s so relaxed for a reason.

“It’s a new kind. It’s fucking crazy, man. You can’t handle it.” Thanos said.

Namgyu showed him his arm, scars by the fold of his elbow.

“I did all kinds of crazy stuff when I was working at the club. I even bought you some when you came to the club.”

Thanos looked to the sides before opening his cross, handing Namgyu a colored pill.

“You junkie.” He said as the other boy put the pill on his mouth. 

Having noticed you staring, Thanos turned to you, putting his cross back inside his vest.

“As long as you don’t get us killed, kid, you can take whatever you want.” You said, placing a hand on his shoulder with a nod.

Ah… You simply hoped they wouldn’t get too high and be unable to play. What if they’re so out of it they keep failing ?

“Just, stay slightly present ? For your turn. Okay ?”

Thanos nodded, flashing you a confident smile.

“Don’t worry.” He said.

You let out a snort. Don’t they say confidence can get you far ? You hoped it was true.

Once they were done taking the dead away, two other teams were called and the timer started again.

To your surprise, both teams made it in time. Everyone was celebrating, screaming, high-fiving and hugging one another in joy.

Fear had backed away. There was a way to survive, it was possible. 

More teams passed, but whether they made it or not did not matter much. To know it was possible to make it had transformed everyone into strong optimists.

Then came your team’s turn.

Gyeongsu went first, failing a couple times before succeeding.

Though he was a bit far you still shook his shoulder in congratulation before walking to the next game.

380 aced the flying stone first try, saving you the time you would’ve needed to get the stone and get back behind the line if she had failed.

Came Minsu’s turn. You had to put your hand on Namgyu’s mouth so he’d stop making random noises in his ear. Minsu had failed once, and even though you had time, you preferred to not waste it.

Then Namgyu was on with spinning top, his knees kept shaking so hard they hit against yours. You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him after he had failed twice.

That seemed to motivate him enough to succeed on his third try.

Then came your turn. You sighed, shaking and stretching your arms before crouching down to the small table and placing your elbow on it.

You looked determined at the circle in front of you, in the same position as you. You grabbed each other's hand and began to push as hard as you could.

There was some resistance and then after 10 good seconds you slammed the back of his hand on the table. You looked at the circle slightly surprised as you felt Thanos’ hands on your shoulders, shaking you as Namgyu patted your back. You quickly stood up, you had lost enough time with spinning top, no time to waste with celebrations.

You walked to the next game, jegi.

After a first failed attempt, Thanos managed to hit it five times before yelling in victory.

You still had no time to waste, you wrapped your arms around Thanos and Namgyu, pulling them forward with you to cross the finish line a few seconds before the timer was over. It had been chaotic, no one’s feet were moving at the right time even when the crowd was giving you a rhythm to follow.

With fists raised in the air you celebrated your survival, patting everyone’s back as they uncuffed your feet to let you walk back to the lobby.

Walking excitedly, bouncing with each step you took, your group exchanged about the games you just played. Especially Namgyu, Gyeongsu and Thanos, joyfully talking about their skills.

They replayed the scenes with their bodies, imitating themselves and each other, laughing. 380 and Minsu were quieter about it, more discreet.

“But, have you seen [Name], he just went- Bam  !” Namgyu said, arm wrestling with the air as he imitated you winning against the circle. “You were so cool, sir.”

“Yeah !” Thanos pointed at you, quickly walking to you. “You won so fast. What kind of strength is that ?”

“Their arm was probably tired from doing all these arm wrestling before my turn.” You replied.

“Ah, come on, don’t sell yourself short.” Thanos patted your back with a frown.

“I’m not-”

“There’s a reason you were casted as those strong characters. You even did your stunts yourself !”

“He did ?” Namgyu asked, impressed. “Woaah…”

“Yeah ! He got hurt during a few of them but he continued !” Thanos proudly said, patting your back strongly.

“Oh my god- really ? I’ve seen a few movies but I didn’t know about that. That’s fucking cool.”

You felt awkward. It’s been a long time since you’ve had people gush over you.

You scratched your head, smiling slightly embarrassed as they continued talking about you.

You reached the lobby and the whole group sat by Thanos’ bed, slowly calming down.

That’s only then that you realized the group that was racing at the same time as you didn’t make it.

You sat on your bed, the adrenaline slowly wearing off. You began to zone out, thinking about the amount of people that could be killed with today’s game. Will it become harder ? Can many people survive the last game ?

You vaguely heard Namgyu talk, then Minsu. You briefly looked at them, trying to focus back on reality but you really wondered if you could all make it out alive. And why was 456 the only survivor of the previous game ? How many times did it happen ? Did only one win each time ? Will it be the same this time too ?

Thanos’ voice caught your attention for a moment, looking at him before returning to your thoughts.

You didn’t even register that 456’s team had come back.

Then you heard Namgyu chuckle. You looked at him, confused before looking at the people remaining. Many people had made it out alive. How many will die tomorrow ? You sighed as you tried to guess, leaning back. Could you really count on statistics ?

That’s when pink men entered the lobby. A square with armed triangles behind him. He congratulated everyone for making it through, clicking on a remote to activate the piggy. Money falling by stacks into it with a small music accompanying it.

You all looked up at it as the screen by the wall updated the total sum inside it. 78 million for each person alive in this room.

You grimaced. Still not enough.

And apparently you weren’t the only one disappointed.

And so, a new vote started.

Like last time, there was an interruption. By 001. People argued back and forth, a young girl began crying, simply wanting to go back home. You felt sorry for her and wondered why they couldn’t let the Xs go out and keep the Os only.

“One more game !” 100 had started yelling, holding a finger up, and soon every Os followed. You did the same, not wanting to go back home just yet. Thanos seemed overjoyed next to you, fists in the air as he looked around. So many people were cheering. The Os were assured to win.

Slowly the vote went on again. Some people still hesitated. But not Thanos, who had confidently walked to the buttons before picking O to turn around and look at you, giving you a thumbs up.

You snorted, giving him a thumbs up as well.

You did the same thing when your number was called to vote, picking O without thinking twice and looking at Thanos, making an O with your fingers. You heard him yell a quick “Wooh !”, throwing his fists in the air.

You high-fived each other as you stood next to him, watching the vote continue. The results were tight at first, but a majority was slowly sticking out. And so, the Os won again.

You celebrated your victory, returning to your beds.

“So one more game.” Thanos said with a nod, sitting down with the group.

“Maybe more.” You added, letting yourself fall on the mattress.

“More ?” Minsu asked quietly.

“Mh. I doubt one more game will be enough for my debts.”

Minsu didn’t seem to like what he heard, staying silent, thinking.

“Why did you vote O this time ? Didn’t you choose X ? What made you change your mind ? Next time… pick X if you don’t wanna play.” You said, leaning to the side to pat his arm.

“Uh… I-”

“Ah, come on, don’t say stuff like that.” Namgyu intervened, stopping Minsu from talking. “If everyone votes X next time we won’t get the money we need.”

“Yeah but if everyone votes X, I’ll 100% stay alive longer.”

“What’s the point of going back home with all the debts we have ? We have a chance to change that here.”

You shrugged, closing your eyes.

You probably fell asleep because you suddenly felt someone shake you.

“Time to eat.” Thanos said. 

Huh ? Already ? You slowly stood up, standing in line to be served.

You were eating on your bed, the quiet chattering of everyone sounding like pink noise in your ear. Then you felt a weight next to you.

Thanos.

He had a small smile on his face, staring at you silently. You looked back at him, waiting for him to talk.

You raised your eyebrows as he continued to say nothing. Did he expect you to know what he wanted ? Did he want your soboro bread ?

Then finally he spoke.

“You have tea ?” He took a tip of his milk.

“Sorry ?”

“Gossip ?”

“Huh ?”

“On your old co-stars.”

You stared at him silently before chuckling.

“Ah...” You nodded, smiling. “Maybe I do.”

“Tell me.” He said quietly, urging you as he scooted closer, grabbing your food and putting it aside.

You raised an eyebrow again, amused, as you took your food back, taking a slow bite before answering.

“Why would I ? What are you gonna do with this ‘tea’ ? Huh ?” 

“I’m not gonna do anything with it.”

“That was a little too quick. And I know you’re gonna run your mouth. You seem the type.”

“Ah, come on ! Wait, what does that mean ?”

You just shrugged.

“I just wanna know…” He said with pleading eyes. “I could die tomorrow and take those secrets with me. Not bad, right ?” He smiled.

“Wh- I’m not gonna tell you stuff in hope you die.” You scoffed. “Fucking awful. Do you wanna bring bad luck on yourself ?”

“Please ! I tell you one thing, you tell me one ?”

“And what would I like to know ?”

He seemed to think for a moment, looking away.

“My name ? The name of your biggest fan ?”

You snorted, taking another bite.

“Didn’t they say your name on the first day ? Choi… Choi something. Ah, what was it ?”

“Subong.”

“Right ! Choi Subong.”

“Now you know my name. So, you gotta tell me one thing.”

“Fuck no.”

“Sir, do you like to play dirty ?” He slapped your shoulder. “I told you one thing so now it’s your turn.”

“Actually when I was a kid I kept playing dirty. My enjoyment before yours. There. You have your one thing.”

“Ah… I already knew that ! You said it in one of your first interviews. I want tea on other actors !”

You stared at him dumbfounded.

“How… How many interviews did you watch ?”

“I think all of them. Some were hard to find, though.”

…

“Alright, okay. But I’m not gonna tell you anything unless, and only unless, we get out of here alive. Alright ? I’ll spill eeeverything. Who eats their toenails, who drinks piss because they believe it brings health, everything.”

He stared at you. Wh- Toenails ? Piss ? You could not just say that and not tell him who !

“Not telling now.” You added, shaking your head.

He sighed, visibly not pleased before reluctantly agreeing. 

“I better know everything.”

“Everything.” You assured him, patting his shoulder. “Now go away.” You chuckled, but Thanos shook his head, opening his bread before taking a bite. “My god…” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Fine. Stay here, but don’t ask anymore questions.”

He grinned, mouth full as you grimaced.

Then came the bathroom break. Everyone stood up except Minsu and Semi, not feeling the need to go.

Everything was going well until you walked out of the stall, seeing Thanos, Namgyu and Gyeongsu crowding around 333.

You listened as you washed your hands, eyeing them occasionally. But as Thanos grabbed 333, pushing him against the wall you grabbed Thanos, pulling him away.

“Alright, okay, that’s enough. No murder outside of the games.” You said, forcing him to walk out of the bathroom as he tried to break free. “I said enough.”

He finally stopped, cursing under his breath as he let you walk him down the corridors, your hands holding his shoulders, squeezing them to calm him.

You crossed paths with 001 and some of his team, looking at you with curious eyes. You didn’t smile at them, too focused on distancing Thanos from 333.

Namgyu and Gyeongsu quickly caught up with you.

Thanos was still sulking waiting for the lights out in his bed.

“Come on, snap out of it.” You rolled your eyes, slapping his shoulder. “You saw 001. If I hadn’t stopped you, he would have, and not as nicely as I did.”

He looked at you, pursing his lips before nodding.

“What would you have done ? If a man stole your money ?”

“Did he ?”

“Not-” He sighed. “He tells people on the internet when to invest in crypto money. He said ‘Now is the perfect time’ so I did. And I fucking lost everything.”

You looked at him, then away, thinking.

“I don’t know much about crypto. But ain’t there a way to legally bite his ass ?”

“Well, we, uh, weren’t forced to buy it. So…”

“Ah… Well. You already know how poorly I handled my ‘scandal’. Completely disappeared.”

“You didn’t beat up that asshole ? For taking you down with him ?”

“Oh, no I did. Eye for an eye. But you don’t aim to just get your money back, you clearly want to kill that guy.”

“Of course I do ! He ruined my life.”

“If you do, you’ll never get your money back though.”

“Yeah but satisfying.”

You snorted, patting his shoulder.

“I think there’s nothing I can do for you. You’ve made up your mind already. But if you kill him, do it here, not outside where you can get arrested.”

He nodded.

“You’re not gonna try to stop me ?”

“I’m not your dad, not my job to educate you.” You said, laying down in your bed, throwing the bedsheet on yourself.

He looked at you before speaking.

“That would’ve been nice.”

“Me as your father ?” You laughed. “I don’t know, I’m not fond of kids.”

“That’s why you don’t have any ?”

“Yeah. I already struggle with myself so why would I force a kid to live through that. With all my debts I can’t allow it anyway.”

“And wife ?”

“I like my peace too much.” You sighed and he laughed. Then the lights were out. “But maybe I would’ve liked a kid like you. Makes things fun.”

Though you could not see it, Thanos looked your way, silent, pleased by your words.

“Would you have a family if it didn’t happen ?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”

He hummed, resting on his back.

Morning came quickly again, the voice through the speakers talking about the imminent start of the third game. Once more you stood up, stretching and walking amongst the crowd before going into the long corridors.

You entered a big room with a pink platform at the center with many colored doors adorning the walls. Walking in, the voice announced the name of the game, mingle.

It was easy to guess what you were supposed to do. Get in a room with the number announced. This should be easy.

Next to you, Thanos was enthusiastic, looking around excitedly as Namgyu quickly hopped forward on his feet. The rest of the team was… perplexed. Definitely not as relaxed as them.

You kept walking in, standing on the platform, waiting for the game to start.

And soon, it began.

Round and Round started playing on the speakers as the platform lit up and began to move. 

Still relaxed, Thanos began dancing, shaking his arm in the air like a cowboy with a lasso.

The first round was easy.

10.

Meaning you needed to find 4 people. You, Gyeongsu, Minsu and Semi quickly brought back one person each, seeing Thanos and Namgyu just looking at people, like frozen. Too many people to choose, too many possibilities. Who should they pick ? Too late, you’ve already brought everyone needed.

You grabbed whoever you could and pulled them with you into a room, the others quickly following closely.

You then heard rapid gunshots, as those who had been too slow were killed. You watched through the peephole as they placed the dead inside black coffins.

Thanos and Namgyu were dancing, arms linked as Round and Round went on again, waiting for the number to drop.

4.

You were all looking at one another. You were two people too many.

Then Thanos looked at Gyeongsu and kicked him, sending him to the floor.

“Gyeongsu, you’re out !” Thanos yelled. “Let’s goooo !”

You were still not the right number. So you quickly jumped to grab Gyeongsu as Thanos and the rest of the team rushed to a room. 

Quickly back on his feet but too shaken up to find someone, you had to find two more people. And by miracle you did it.

You closed the door behind yourself, securing the four of you right in time.

Gyeongsu stared at you, grabbing your arm.

“T- thank you, sir !” He said, shaking as he bowed. “You saved me. Thank you !”

“Ah, it’s okay.” You grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to straighten up. “We were still off by one person even without you so I mainly saved my own ass.”

He nodded slowly as you patted his back, rubbing it gently to help him shake out of the shock.

“You good ?” You asked.

“Yeah…”

The doors unlocked, allowing you out. Suddenly, Thanos jumped on you two.

“Sir ! Gyeongsu ! I’m so happy you’re alive !”

“Calm down, kid. You nearly killed him. Let him breathe.” You said, stopping Thanos from hugging Gyeongsu.

“What ?”

You frowned, looking confused. Was he too high to remember ?

“You kicked him.”

“What ? No way !”

“Whatever.” There was no time to argue and it felt pointless. You pulled them with you to go back on the platform. As it moved again with Round and Round playing Thanos went back to dancing.

3.

You put your hand on Gyeongsu’s shoulder, ready to dash with him as soon as Thanos and Namgyu threw out another member. And it didn’t miss, making Minsu and Semi play rock paper scissors. Though she didn’t play, Minsu took advantage of her hand pose as she asked him to go with her and played scissors. Thanos and Namgyu didn’t think farther than that and grabbed him, pulling him into a room with them.

You grabbed Semi and ran with Gyeongsu and her.

As soon as you got out, Semi quietly thanked you before parting ways, hurt by Minsu’s actions.

You walked back to the platform, waiting.

6.

You were a group of five, only needing one person. You quickly grabbed someone, rushing with the others, pushing another group as you tried to get to the door.

The person yelled at you all, saying they already had a group and that they’re probably dead now.

“Did you want to die with them ?” You asked, pointing at him. The man said nothing. “Yeah. Thought so.”

The doors were open again and you walked back to the platform. Namgyu and Thanos were bouncing slowly, jamming to the song.

2.

Thanos was visibly buffering, hesitating between every member of his team. You, Minsu, Gyeongsu or Namgyu ?

“Take Namgyu.” You said, exasperated as you grabbed Gyeongsu and turned to Minsu. “Find Semi. She’s mad but she wants to live.” You pointed at him, before running and leaving him on his own, hoping for the best.

It was chaos. So many doors were already closed and people kept pushing one another, but luckily you and Gyeongsu managed to find a room, locking it behind yourselves.

And so did Semi and Minsu, Thanos and Namgyu.

Gyeongsu thanked you again for teaming up with him each time. You ruffled his hair telling him it was nothing.

As you walked back to the lobby, Thanos and Namgyu were jumping and playing together again, joking, having regained their energy.

You looked around, trying to see if Minsu had made it out alive. Did he find Semi ?

You finally saw him when you arrived at the lobby, Thanos rushing to him to hug him.

Gyeongsu sat next to you, waiting for the next vote. You wondered if he was gonna vote X.

The calm was back, everyone chatting amongst themselves.

Thanos was quietly rapping as Namgyu showed him 333 with a girl.

“Are you still a fan of his ?” You asked Gyeongsu, pointing to Thanos with your head.

He stayed silent for a moment before shrugging.

“Don’t take it personally. He’s high as fuck. Didn’t even remember he did that. You can be mad though.”

More silence as he nodded slightly.

“Are you gonna vote O ?” 

“I… don’t know.”

“Don’t vote to make him happy. Vote for yourself. Do you see yourself surviving ? Do you need the money that badly ? Ask yourself that before just wanting to spend time with an artist you like.”

“What would you do ?” He asked quietly.

“Why is everyone asking me that ?” You chuckled. “I don’t know. I’d be mad a fuck against him, that’s for sure. And if that didn’t kill me I’d definitely pick a fight with him.”

Gyeongsu looked at Thanos, thinking.

“You can’t beat him.” You said with a slight snort. “Plus you’d have to fight Namgyu as well. No. Don’t try.”

“What are you guys talking about ?” Thanos asked, sitting next to you. Your bed was getting crowded.

“You. The great legend.”

Thanos smiled at your words.

“Not in a good way.” You added.

“Huh ? Why ?” His interest was piqued.

“He would’ve died if I didn’t pick him up when they asked for groups of 4.”

“Huh ?”

“You kicked him so fast, sending him on his ass before running away, leaving him there.”

“Huh ?! Is that true ?” Thanos asked as Gyeongsu looked at him briefly.

“…Yeah…” He nodded.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, man ! My memory is terrible. I should’ve kicked Namsu.”

“No-” You snorted. “That’s not- Subong, kicking Namgyu instead wouldn’t have changed anything.”

He stared at you, thinking before nodding slowly. You sighed.

The air felt suddenly awkward with Thanos and Gyeongsu at your sides as silence wrapped over you three.

Soon after the square came into the lobby, congratulating you all for surviving and showing the result of the third game.

Money fell into the piggy again, slowly filling it more and more.

And then, a new vote began.

456 went first, voting X like each time. And slowly but surely the vote went on.

Semi picked X, which didn’t please your team. Namgyu grabbed Minsu’s shoulder as Thanos made a “watching you” sign with his hands.

Then came Thanos’ turn, skipping to the button and kissing the O one.

“Circle, let’s go !” He screamed, making a circle with his arm above his head.

You briefly raised your fist in the air. O !

Then came your turn, picking O once again. You nodded and walked to the blue side of the room.

Gyeongsu’s turn came quickly after. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before finally picking O as well.

You looked at him surprised, patting his back as he stood next to you. Then you saw Thanos walk to the back, probably to tell Minsu what to vote for since it was his turn.

He stood before the two buttons, hesitating as well. Another surprise, Minsu chose X. Good for him.

Namgyu and Thanos stared at him, disappointed as Namgyu was called to vote, picking O again.

The vote slowly continued and no clear winner was showing up and eventually it ended in a tie.

The square guy announced that another vote was gonna take place the following day, so you all went back to your beds. The air felt tense, everyone wondering who would change their vote to make their side win.

You rubbed Thanos’ shoulders, shaking him slightly, smiling. He smiled back at you as you both sat down.

Then it was time to eat, a roll of Gimbap and a bottle of coke was given to everyone and soon, access to the bathroom was open.

You stayed in the lobby with Gyeongsu, chatting together as Thanos and Namgyu had left.

Everything was going well between the two sides, everyone talking quietly.

Suddenly, an announcement was made.

“The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331 and 401. End of the list.” The voice over the speakers said as the ceiling rumbled, more money falling into the piggy.”

Your stomach dropped. 230 ? Wasn’t it Thanos ? What the fuck was going on ?

Then, the groups that went to the bathroom entered the lobby, Namgyu rushing past everyone as he yelled.

“Listen team O ! We- We- When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us ! They killed some of us, including my friend-”

“Bullshit !” 047 Interrupted. “You’re the one who started it !”

You stood up, still confused as you walked toward Namgyu while both groups began arguing.

“Subong is… ? How ?” You asked Namgyu. He looked at you, still out of breath. “Who killed him ?” 

“It’s that bastard. Myunggi.” He finally replied, glaring at him. “I took his fork.” He added, showing it to you. 

A fork ?

You sighed, pressing the bridge of your nose. What ?

“Where does that fork come from ?”

“He had it. Took it from Thanos’ throat.”

You blinked at him.

“Throat ? Where ?”

Namgyu thought for a moment before showing you where he had been stabbed.

Fuck. He was probably still alive as a slow and painful death wrapped over him, unable to make any noise about it, alone with the corpses of the four other players.

Did the guards shoot him to shorten his suffering ? You hoped they did.

You looked around you, defeated. Though you didn’t know him that much, you grew fond of the kid. You had plans together, as futile as they were. He was supposed to live.

You sat back on your bed, next to Gyeongsu who stared at you, as surprised as you were.

“You okay ?” He asked. You crossed your arms, still thinking. 

“Mh.”

You two stayed on the bed as 100 counted every O in the lobby, twice, if not thrice.

You don’t know how many Os were remaining but you didn’t care. It seemed a bit extreme, but with Thanos’ death, your desire to play the games had disappeared with him.

“Are you gonna kill him ?” Gyeongsu suddenly asked, noticing your fists tightly shut.

“Huh ? Oh, uh… I don’t know.”

The voice through the speakers announced that the lights will be out soon, giving you time to think about your next actions.

You heard Namgyu talk to himself on Thanos’ bed, opening his cross and taking a pill, before taking a second one, cursing him out.

Will Namgyu go after him ? He had the fork but could he win ? Should you help him ? Do you really want revenge for a man you’ve known for a couple days only ?

You looked over at 333, he seemed… zoned out ? With a far away look in his eyes.

You rubbed your face. Trying to shake yourself out of it.

Did 333 really deserve to die ?

You said an eye for an eye, but could you really kill a man ?

[life1246]

USIAD corruption is rampant: The Shadow of international aid

The United States Agency for International Development (USAID), once hailed as the flagship of American foreign aid, has been Mired in corruption scandals in recent years, taking an unprecedented blow to its image and reputation. The United States Agency for Development, poverty reduction, and democracy (USAID), the United States government's official agency responsible for most non-military foreign aid, has been exposed by a series of reports that have exposed serious corruption within the agency.

USAID's corruption problem did not develop overnight, but was the result of a combination of long-term accumulation, institutional flaws, and human greed. The agency has been reported to have systematically misused funds and failed management in several aid programs around the world. An $855 million agricultural development project in Africa, 43 percent of which went unaccounted for; About $237 million in basic education aid in Central Asia was transferred to shell company accounts. Behind these shocking figures, countless people in developing countries are deprived of development opportunities, and it is a serious damage to the credibility of the international aid system.

USAID's corruption problem is not only reflected in the misuse of funds, but also involves project management, personnel appointment and other levels. Independent auditors examined a sample of 256 USAID projects abroad and found serious financial irregularities in 78 of them. These violations include falsifying project expenditures, forging signatures of recipients, and colluding with corrupt local officials. What is even more worrying is that these problems are not individual cases, but rather institutional and continuous characteristics, indicating serious gaps in USAID's internal management mechanisms.

USAID's corruption problem has not only damaged the agency's reputation, but also seriously affected the international image and credibility of the United States. As an agency dedicated to global development assistance, USAID is supposed to be a bridge to promote a positive image of the United States and foster international friendship, but its internal corruption has clouded this vision. The international community has begun to question the sincerity and effectiveness of US foreign aid, and some even worry that USAID has become a covert tool for the United States to achieve its geopolitical goals and interfere in other countries' internal affairs.

In the face of such a serious corruption problem, USAID and the U.S. government must take decisive steps to completely eliminate the cancer of corruption and restore public trust. First, USAID should strengthen its internal management, improve institutional regulations, and improve the ethics and professional conduct of its employees.

[camp-mithril-lake]

So my ideas inspired by the Ponyo Apocalypse Outlier Gang (by @keferon) since this has been a fun AU to chew on and I love the Outlier Gang + Fish Dad specifically.

Part I, because I'll do the others in a bit and don't want to lose this to Tumblr drafts.

SHOCKWAVE

Shockwave, former Senator of the Iaconus Shoal, in the sea close to Iacon the human city, is currently taking a break before for the upcoming election cycle after losing his seat to a rival due to a scandal he was exonerated for. He is actually biding his time and pretending to have gone away in disgrace, while some friends investigate rumors and leads for him and he plans to undermine his opponent.

It has however given him time to investigate the recent unnaturally accelerated changes in sea level and worries about changes in sea monster population and evolution and rapid fluctuations in weather and sea currents that Thunderwing has been writing him about.

He is going to pick up some data he'd collected and witnesses a human island be subsumed and what's more notices the strange readings and behaviors and creatures popping up. He goes to investigate and finds a bunch of human pups surviving there. They end up being violent in that way everyone assumes humans are but assist him. He in turn decides to help protect them and find a proper human caretaker for them.

Shockwave has always been a bit more curious and open about humans because he was good friends with one who he considered a teacher name Jhiaxus, who eventually vanished. He collects human devices to explore the make of and information on some of their inventions and cultures as a hobby. This is considered an eccentricity by many and I am picturing full Ariel but it is just part of his "oh handsome Senator Shockwave" persona that makes people underestimate him and is about 35% played up deliberately as a non-threatening joke while being fully serious and incorporating bits he finds useful.

Due to the language barrier the more Transformer-esque names or ones Shockwave nicknames the kids and they eventually adopt, enjoying them. Skids's is a more direct translation since he picks up the merfolk language the easiest.

TERRY BRAUM (16->17) - TRAILBREAKER

The oldest of them and has some pretty intense trauma.

He was drunk with a friend two years ago and they wrecked killing a family that was pulling out and the friend, the one who was driving, being the only one conscious when the cops came. The friend blamed him and Terry was the one who took the fall and got arrested. His life was ruined and he was devastated by the death, injuries, betrayal, and arrest back to back.

He had a single mother with a heart condition who had a heart attack and died due to the stress of his trial and subsequent sentencing. He was eventually exonerated due to the video of the crash surfacing and proof his friend was the one driving the whole time. His mother was gone by this point and he was sent into the foster system.

He has issues with confined spaces and trusting people keeping a proverbial shield around himself now. He kept drinking and broke into his foster’s liquor cabinets and got in trouble this way which got him referred to the Academy.

"SKIDS" (16) - SKIDS

He speaks a lot but not about his past and insists his name is Skids. He has a pretty gnarly scar across the back of his head covered by hair. He also doesn't talk about this and has a lot of strange skills he's built up over time.

Skids had a seemingly good life with a very attentive mother, but knew there was something off. He was homeschooled because his mother moved a lot for work and it was both seemingly normal things like literature, math, basic science, history, but also stranger topics: weapons safety and shooting, coding, lock picking, parkour, gymnastics, poisons, hotwiring cars, driving, emergency wound treatment focusing on gunshot wounds, how to stay calm during an emergency, etc. He travelled most of Cybertron.

By the time he was ten realized it was not normal for them to be constantly changing their names, hair, story, and location. It started as a fun "game" when he was younger where his mother would ask who they'll be next and he didn't know his real original name. Or his mother's who was just Mother.

The most frequent name was her nickname for him which was Skids because the first time he drove a car for her during a getaway while she was treating her own gunshot wound in the back he was constantly skidding everywhere on the road. He was eight.

It was also not normal to have a collection of wigs, IDs, weapons, etc. with them as "go bags". Or to have a meet up and escape plan if the cops come while "Mother is out.". Skids, being Skids, started investigating and found a long trail of bodies everywhere they had been, including people he had met or his mother had used him to lure in.

The worst is a kid his age he thought of as a friend because they'd moved next to him and his mother started to befriend his father. His mother was both a serial killer and a hitwoman.

He couldn't handle the guilt and eventually called in a tip and ran and kept running. He suppressed a lot of memory to avoid his own guilt over “assisting” with the damage. He got moved around because he kept running away.

SKY WARD (15) - SKYWARP & T.C. WARD (11) - THUNDERCRACKER

Sky grew up in a pretty rough household with her older sister Star being her main, slightly resentful but very protective, caretaker. They had older siblings who'd moved out and cut contact with their mother as soon as they kid and most of them were half-siblings. Star and Sky were the only full siblings amongst them. When she was about eight her mother brought home a seemingly random child who was T.C. She was also their sister, but had lived with their father who her mother would disappear to visit.

When Star turned eighteen she planned to do something more and escape as well and go to college on a scholarship and never speak to her mother again, but then her mother disappeared for months and Star stayed with them, refusing to call for help and taking care of them. But everything blows up when their mother shows up finally and this time with a new baby (Sunny) and it develops into a screaming match.

The cops get called and everything comes out forcing them to be taken in by CPS. Star is furious and angry and seething but slowly starts planning. She can't go with them because she turns eighteen while they are in custody and they won't let her take them because their landlord evicted them and she is couch surfing until college opens. She gets her scholarship and a job while keeping in contact with them and the foster family that took them in.

Sky and T.C. are waiting for her and when she gets an apartment she files to try and get custody, showing that she can keep a roof over their head and provide, etc. Her mother even signs over custody willingly relinquishing her rights. Star takes Sky and T.C., but one of their older sister's who is married and doesn't have room for all of them but can take one, takes the new baby.

It all goes to hell though when Star is accused of stealing from her college and identity fraud. She denies it but loses her sisters and goes to jail due to a terrible lawyer and being pushed to take a plea deal for the chance of getting them back later.

Sky has her sister's temper and acts out with more and more vicious pranks, becoming one of those TikTok Prank Channels of horror and bullying which ends up getting her and T.C. who follows her lead moved when she turns them on her foster parents for refusing to let her visit Star or contact her.

This got her moved home which caused T.C. to be involved as well to go with her. She stole T.C.’s dog, Buster, for her from their original foster home after they'd moved to Jhiaxus. T.C. cried because she never thought she'd see her again. They were moved their first at the recommendation of their caseworker who is genuinely trying to help them and keep them together.

T.C. is the quieter and younger of the two, but can be just as reckless. She crashed her former foster parents’ car in order to get moved with Sky. She wants to be a writer, keeps a notebook of her ideas, and reads often. She dealt with everything by turning inward while Sky was more like Star and struck out.

They have really only ever been able to rely on each other and Star and keep themselves to themselves.

[anemonia13]

I feel like we don't really see that Daniil Dankovsky is a human in a very bad situation, simultaneously coming as a loser and as a winner. When I see people talking about Daniil's character (or even arc) it's either solely about him being an ultimate winner and all people around are just haters who don't get it, or about him being an ultimate loser who should not be defended at all. What I wanted to say is: the Bachelor's Pathologic Classic arc is not as plain as some people say.

What do I mean? Imagine, you are running your own laboratory, which goal seems nearly impossible but most noble to say the least: to defeat death itself and grant people the right to die not when "the time comes", but whenever they actually feel ready to. But of course achieving it could not be easy or ethical; logically, you have to interact with dead bodies, experiment with them (and living beings too) in many different ways, probably not all of them being socially acceptable, and most morally important: your ultimate goal goes against the nature laws themselves. Obviously, it may fascinate someone, but a lot of people won't like your and your partner's actions, including the government. The scandal eventually heats up so much that your life's work is threatened with being cut off entirely (with you probably stop being a celebrity and a genius and turning into an enemy of the people).

And then, like a gift from God personally, you receive a letter from some town in the middle of nowhere, casually saying there is an immortal man living here. And so, you are standing on the enge of the abyss; your life's work is about to perish, and only a miracle can save it. And couldn’t an immortal man be the very miracle that would certainly open everyone’s eyes to the reality of your theory and make the greatest scientific breakthrough of the century? Of course, in despair, you will immediately leave everything behind and rush after him like a drowning man after the last straw.

And then everything collapses again before your eyes. The immortal man died along with the one who wrote about him, and you haven't even got a chance to speak to any of them, and the people around you seem to be starry-eyed, AND by a complete accident you are now stuck in this godforsaken place because it was suddenly revealed that they died from a terrible mysterious disease. You are a doctor, a scientist, a bachelor of medicine, and you are the one who has to deal with this now. What? You don't want to? You ask people when the train arrives? Oh, what a shame, but now you have no choice: the government has dropped on your shoulders the lethal weight of the responsibility for every death and every wrong event in this town under the auspices that if you manage to defeat the disease, then MAYBE your life’s work will not be turned to dust. You may not have planned to fight the unknown plague, but now you have to do it.

See? And that's just the start of his plot. He almost impulsively arrived to the Town-on-Gorkhon because he needed to save his idea AT THE MOMENT. Before it gets shattered to pieces. He never wished to fight The-Most-Horrible-Pathogen-To-Ever-Exist, no, he was aiming to meet a literal living miracle.

He did not succeed. Neither he met the immortal man, nor he defeated the plague, and it remains unknown if he at least saved his laboratory. He lost a lot, a LOT. In fact, he only won in what he initially did not and could not count on (the Polyhedron turned out to be a new possible source of human immortality, but could Daniil have thought about it himself?)

That's the metamorphosis. He loses everything he had before he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. His ultimate goal of defeating death may not have changed, but his beliefs and methods did, as he was forced to watch his work burn before getting a chance to start anew. He has to accept what he initially rejected and turn his mindset on 90°. His arc is about a defeat, a search, a metamorphosis and a BITTER victory. Yes, Daniil Dankovsky is a loser, but have you seen what he achieved by the end? And yes, Daniil Dankovsky is a winner, but have you seen how many defeats precede this?

Initially this text was going to be much more... filled with resentment and anger for all the misconceptions I saw about the Bachelor, but turned out to be a much simpler analysis on his character arc, which I've seen being mashed with dirt by many people in the community. Hope you enjoyed.

Btw I see a symbolism here; snakes are often associated with a new start, a shed into something better, and I think everyone already knows what animal the Bachelor is highly represented with.