#45 pictures and he gets his own album

[canonickero]

Steve playing table tennis

He’s 5 apples tall

[noramoya]

“I have a story I'd like to share with you all. This is about something I experienced yesterday that speaks to the power of Michael Jackson's legacy within the current generation (Gen Z) and why I firmly feel we have nothing to worry about as a fan base. As with all my posts this is long and detailed, so buckle up lol …

As some of you may know, I am a college English professor. I teach almost entirely first-year composition. Well, this week we are talking about "genre." What is genre? How do we identify genre? How do we adapt to different genres? That sort of thing. Well, I like to kick off this topic with a day spent in deep genre analysis. So for this particular lesson, I bring in tons of my personal belongings that represent different types of written genres. Cookbooks, poetry collections, comic books/graphic novels, miscellaneous items like greeting cards, tarot cards, fan fiction, you name it. Well, I also like to bring in physical media including vinyl records and CDs. I like them to analyze liner notes, visual rhetoric, lyrics, etc. What can they determine about genre and audience by looking at these things? I set these items up around the room in "stations" and they visit the stations throughout class, analyzing a few items from each.

I have about 150+ records. Since becoming an MJ fan, he has pretty much taken over my collection. I spend hours (HOURS) scouring record stores for not only his six primary adult albums, but also the 45s of his singles, and the Jacksons albums as well. I am accruing quite a collection (if anyone is interested, I'd be happy to share it, but it's probably quite small compared to others). Needless to say, when I do this assignment I want to bring in albums they will actually recognize. So I brought in an assortment of records: Queen, The Beatles, John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Bob Dylan, Yo-yo ma, and, of course Michael Jackson. For Michael, I brought in Thriller 25, Bad 25, and Dangerous. I also brought Thriller 40 on CD, the MJ Motown Stripped sessions on CD, and a 45 of "We are the World." What I'd like to share with you all is the reactions from my students. Now, again, all of my students are between 18-19 years old, which means they were 4-5 years old when Michael died. Each of my classes is small, with about 15 students each. Each of my classes is racially and ethnically diverse.

MY FIRST CLASS: As I am unpacking the vinyl I hear "is that Michael Jackson?!" from one of my female students. She is giddy. I explain the assignment and prompt my students to get up and move around. Immediately, half of the class goes to the vinyl station. They are all grabbing the Michael records - the vinyl, the cds, the We are the World 45. They are shocked that I own these. The other albums are almost entirely ignored. Two girls work through Thriller 25, opening it up and gasping at the pictures. One even takes it and shows it to me, "This is amazing. I want this in my collection. I already have three copies of Thriller but not this one!" Two other girls take Bad 25. "This is one of my favorite albums!" one of them says. She and her friend stare at the photography. "I want to find a boy who will wear eyeliner like this." They go back to their seat and loudly discuss Michael. "God, he was so pretty, wasn't he? He was so good-looking." One asks "What genre was he?" and the other says, "he is The King of Pop! How could you even ask?" Another student from across the room shouts, "he didn't have a genre, he wasn't limited like that. Another student takes the "We are the World" 45 and starts singing it. "I love this song so much!" she says.

SECOND CLASS: I begin unpacking the vinyl, "are those all yours?" someone asks. Of course. They are amazed that I would own vinyl records. Once again, I prompt them to start, and half the class gravitates to the vinyl records. They are fumbling through the Michael albums; the rest are mostly ignored. Two girls scream "oh my God, you have Michael Jackson!" they take Thriller and Bad and run to their seats. A boy grabs "Dangerous" and spends the entire class reading lyrics (not the assignment lol). These albums get passed around the class because everyone wants to see them.

THIRD CLASS: I begin unpacking the vinyl," do you have a record player?" Of course. They are amazed that I would own vinyl records and be able to play them. I set them loose and half the class gravitates to the vinyl. Two boys: "Michael Jackson! I love Michael Jackson. This is the greatest album of all time (Thriller)." Another disagrees, "no, this is the one!" (Bad). One starts singing Beat It. A few reminisce about playing the Michael Jackson experience. One is looking at the photos in Thriller 25 and in a (particularly gorgeous) photo Michael is dressed like royalty (of course) and one of the boys says "I would wear this right now, TODAY." Later, a girl comes up and gasps when she sees Michael Jackson albums. She wants to look at Bad because it's her favorite. She takes Queen next. After a few minutes, she raises her hand and asks "did people really like this band?" and I say, "Well yes, they are still very popular." And she huffs and goes, "well, not MICHAEL JACKSON popular." I laughed and said, well no one is. She says, "Maybe Beyonce?" and a male student says, "no. No one comes close to Michael. No one is as popular as him." The girl says, "he just had that aura, didn't he?"

Friends, it is 2023. These are 18-19 year olds. Can I stress that enough? These are kids who perhaps discovered him in childhood through parents, or perhaps through TikTok, but either way, they know him and they revere him. They see him as fascinating and exciting. They see him as current. Last year I did this same assignment and a student wrote in her analysis "Bob Dylan is music for my dad, Michael Jackson is music for my generation." While of course it is possible some of the quieter kids have a negative perception of Michael, there was a class-wide excitement about him in each class that, if nothing else, proves that whatever negative view of him that infected my generation (millennials) is definitely not carrying over to them. It's also showing any kids who have a negative view that there is more to Michael than that. We all know Michael's appeal crosses all generations, but with social media it is easy to get sucked into the negative and believe his legacy is suffering greatly. I truly don't believe it is. I trust the enthusiasm I see, the excitement in my students' voices, and their absolute steadfast understanding that Michael is a legend. This, to me, is something to be excited about heart❤️”

LENA ZIEGLER

#MJis4Ever♥️ #MJPopularityThroughGenerations #EvilMediaAreInsentivatedToDestroyMJ

[drowningindango]

For the ask game! with Madara/Obito

2, 6, 8, 11, 16, 22

If you want to do extras, please pick an OTP of your choice and answer for these

28, 37, 43, 45, 57, 75

have fun!

*rubs hands* thank you for the ask!!!

For MadaObi:

2. Who sleeps in and who is the early bird?

Obito sleeps in, Madara wakes with the dawn. xD

(possibly even earlier)

I see Madara as the guy who jumps right into doing exercises when he wakes up, and drinks a cup of tea to watch the sun rise after.

6. Who holds a grudge the longest?

They could make a game out of it who can do it longer. If they're ever mad at each other, they'll be so stubborn about it. (But Obito breaks first. Out of the two of them, he's more forgiving.)

8. Who’s more likely to cry about a plant dying?

Obito. He put so much work, effort and love into it, and then it just dies anyway? (Because he overwatered it 😔)

It'd probably prod at some underlying issues he's struggling with and then Madara walks in on him cradling the pot in his arms, sobbing.

11. Who’s the most eager to have kids?

Madara.

22. Who gets more easily embarrassed?

Obito. >:3

✨BONUS ROUND✨

...with Itama/Madara :P

28. Who brings CapriSun to a frat party?

Itama. And Madara silently judges him for it at first and makes a few jokey comments, but then Itama offers him a sip and Madara ends up slurping CapriSun for the rest of the night.

37. Who’s more foulmouthed?

Also Itama. Madara is by no means pure, if anything he insults people more regularly than Itama, but he always does it in such an elaborate and flowery way that it almost counts as art. Itama is more straightforward and sprinkles some regular cursed into his everyday language.

43. Which of the two would be more likely to make a family album with physical pictures?

Madara is super sentimental and would like to have as many reminders of his loved ones as possible.

45. Who gets most excited about holidays? e.g. Christmas

Itama.

57. Who’s got the highest pain tolerance?

Madara. Have you seen the guy? Man bites his own arm and licks the blood to feel alive. He has a bit of a pain kink, let's be honest. He endures a lot.

75. Whose I-Hate-Everything-And-Everyone teenage phase was the most intense/lasted the longest?

Also Madara. The real question is if that phase ever ended for him.

[projecthipster]

High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby

(The book, not the movie or the show, but I'm not passing up a chance to post a picture of Jack Black)

“What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"

High Fidelity is a book about (and for?) music hipsters. It’s a pretty lighthearted read about a pretentious dipshit who works in a record store, published in 1995 by British author Nick Hornby. Rob Protagonist spends his days working in his mysteriously empty record store in London and making top-five lists of everything from movies to breakups, and, of course, albums and songs for every conceivable scenario.

Right away this concept starts to show its age - how is a record store, in London of all places, not swarmed? But this was 1995, I guess, before any secondhand record that wasn’t Englebert Humperdink got instantly snatched up by online parasites resellers. But that makes the whole thing shine with a bit of nostalgic fantasy for the modern post-hipster. This is a story from another time. That's not an issue if you don't make it one. More noticeable, though, is that books centred around pop culture tend to fall out of interest as the pop culture does. Book Rob will always be a music hipster looking at music from a 1995 perspective, and what's even the point of a music hipster who chronologically can't know Neutral Milk Hotel?

Fortunately, the book isn't really centred on pop culture, so much as it uses its narrator's pop culture obsession as a mirror for its centre, which is looking at Rob's relationships, outlook, and maturity. As mentioned at the top of this review, he's actually kind of a dipshit, but in a subtle, redeemable, even moderately charming way. The focus of the story, as Rob tries to move on from a devastating breakup that he's trying without much success to convince himself isn't that devastating actually, is his evolution as a character and his learning to value other people beyond their usefulness for reinforcing his own cultural-consumer acumen. This bit is well done and believable, and that's what saves the book.

High Fidelity was adapted into a movie in 2000, which moves the action to New York and casts John Cusack as Rob. I'll probably review the movie separately on this blog, but it's worth mentioning here just because this is one of those exceptionally rare cases where I think the movie is better than the book. For one, the extra five years put it on the other cusp of the millennial indie revolution, so it feels remarkably more modern just for the tip-over into a new century. This Rob listens to Belle and Sebastian! I know them!... better than underground '80s British rock bands at least. A movie also has the advantage of actually being able to feature music instead of just name-dropping it, which can be frustrating when you don't know what the songs in the book actually sound like. The biggest change, though, is that Cusack is just more likeable than Book Rob. Having a bit of distance from the inside of his vaguely misogynistic head makes it easier to actually root for the guy. And the book doesn't have Jack Black. There was also a 2020 Disney+ series starring Zoë Kravitz as a gender-flipped Rob that I haven't seen, but ought to get around to. I've heard it's good. Disney cancelled it after one season, so that's a good sign.

But we were talking about the book. Right. And I'd say the book is worth reading, if only because it's pretty breezy, short, and funny, so long as you don't mind a narrator who rides the edge of likeability.

I give this hipster book three and a half vintage 45s with rare b-sides out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the first list, Hipster Lit: If You Haven't Read 'em, Pretend You Have.

Stay deck.

[musicarenagh]

'You bred Raptors' Unplugged: Humor, Nostalgia, and His Latest Single Picture this: It's a sun-drenched afternoon in LA, and The You Bred Raptors has just dropped his latest earworm "Get There Before Noon (LA Mix)." If you haven't been following this rising star, you're about to discover why he's become one of music's most intriguing voices. Sliding effortlessly between witty wordplay and raw honesty, Nick has carved out his own lane in the industry. His new single captures the essence of Los Angeles life – that familiar rush to beat the midday traffic, wrapped in layers of shimmering synth-pop that feels both nostalgic and completely fresh. We had a chat with the man behind “You Bred Raptors” to unpack the story behind his latest release, diving into everything from late-night studio sessions to the moments that sparked this infectious tune. Between his magnetic personality and knack for storytelling, it's clear why fans can't get enough of his unique sound. Get comfortable – you're about to get an unfiltered look into one of music's most fascinating minds. Listen to Telemarketer Terrorists https://open.spotify.com/album/2mKE3CAdLvngcu8PPFzYnG?si=q4SvKs35Q5G_sX2H4RFK5A Follow You Bred Raptors on Facebook Spotify Bandcamp Youtube Instagram Tiktok   The title "Telemarketer Terrorists" is provocative and humorous. What's the story or inspiration behind this unconventional track? The title “Telemarketer Terrorists” is inspired by an old comedy series by Jim Florentine where he would get Scam Telemarketers to call him, and he’d try to string them along on the phone in funny ways for as long as possible. In one of my favorite sketches by him, a Telemarketer is trying to pitch him Ad Space in a non-existent magazine, and Jim Florentine just keeps repeating “Well, What About The Other Ones?” in reference to Other Ad Size options, over and over. It keeps the Telemarketer talking in circles for 45 minutes, and is something I’ve always thought was hilarious and quote to this day. Your band name "You Bred Raptors" is quite unique. How does this identity influence or reflect the musical style of this single? The band name “You Bred Raptors” is a declarative statement. Kind of like saying “You made this” or “Look what You Built”. The single “Telemarketer Terrorists” reflects a certain similar idea of “These are stories that have been told and situations that have been presented, and this is the outcome of needing to deal with all of that.” Can you walk us through the creative process of developing "Telemarketer Terrorists"? What sparked the initial concept? The song started with a synth track I laid down with my Roland JX3p. it was just the backing horn chords that persist throughout. I then jumped into creating drum tracks with a Roland tr707, and a handful of other percussive software vsts. I then started listening to this basic foundation daily. In my car, on my phone, in the shower. And for some reason, whenever I would get to the end of the song, the line “What about the other ones? Well, what about the other ones?” would always pop into my head. I decided that I had to build the song around that concept of, being told stories, and exaggerations, and create the rest of the song backwards from there. [caption id="attachment_58271" align="alignnone" width="1280"] And for some reason, whenever I would get to the end of the song, the line “What about the other ones? Well, what about the other ones?” would always pop into my head.[/caption] The title suggests a satirical take on a common frustration. How are you blending humor and musical expression in this track? I’m a satirical person. Everything I say and create has atleast a hint of sarcasm attached to it, and can never be taken 100% seriously at face value (look at any of my music videos). This song directly leads in from a song called “The White Zone is for Loading and Unloading Only” and is very much the Response, to the Call of that song. If “the White Zone” is

the satirically pompous and over-assuming Call, then “Telemarketer” is the Jabbing Response, both Lyrically, and Musically, pointing out the flaws in that line of thinking and presentation. What genre or musical style are you exploring with this single? I was listening to a lot of “The Postal Service” and some less-epic B-side “M83” tracks while being inspired to really thin this track down musically. It has Synth-pop and what I would consider Bedroom-Pop vibes for sure. Very Under-produced on purpose. Were there any specific experiences with telemarketers that inspired the song's narrative? I get a LOT of Telemarketer calls. I used to make a game out of it. But, I also get stuck in a LOT of conversations with regular people. Conversations that have storied I hear repeated over and over again, and often start thinking to myself “how true is any of this? Has this story been told so many times that it has been made true?” That’s really what this sing’s narrative is inspired by. How does "Telemarketer Terrorists" differ from your previous musical releases? This song is definitely a musical departure from my heavier Rock-Style releases. “Telemarketer Terrorists” is definitely much more of a Synth Pop, Bedroom Pop, song. It’s also a much more Stripped-down production than previous releases. Can you describe the emotional or comedic landscape you were aiming to create with this track? I was genuinely going for an earnest sense of Longing for Simpler times, when maybe we didn’t know the realities of what “is” and what “isn’t”. While wrapped in an early 2000s Bedroom Synth Bop that makes you want to get up and Wiggle around and Dance and Move a bit. Were there any challenges or memorable moments during the recording of this single? There was a point while making this song that I thought about thickening up the production of the tracks. I thought about laying down a stand alone Bass Line, I thought about adding Electric Guitars, and I really was tempted SEVERAL times to record additional layers and harmonies and “Thickening” of the Lead vocals. I kept deciding against this, as I wanted this song to sound Clear, Precise, and Earnest. https://open.spotify.com/artist/6ca3lT24gzfVPFUBHFS1Vi?si=YIyYyWUnTEKHty_nsPQt-A For listeners who might be new to your music, how would you describe the essence of "Telemarketer Terrorists"? It’s a Bedroom Synth Pop song with a strong lyrical narrative about Questioning things you have been told and previous taken as fact. Did you collaborate with any other musicians or producers in bringing this track to life? No this song was entirely written and produced by myself. I really like the freedom and strange directions that things go in when I have no collaborators. I am in several other music groups with very Heavy collaboration with lots of members, so YBR is a way for me to express myself untethered. I did use New Alliance East Mastering to Master these tracks when I was finished with them. What do you hope listeners will feel or experience when they hear the song? I hope this song gives listeners a bit of a Nostalgic feel. Not that the song SOUNDS Nostalgic, but that the themes, and feelings expressed when listening kind of… make them long for a simpler time. How does this single reflect your broader musical journey and artistic vision? I think this single reflects myself going heavier into Narrative story telling with my songs. I really enjoyed the writing process for this. It made me think about a lot of things, and explore a lot of feelings in more Direct ways that I don’t always do in songs. I’d like to keep this going.

[bullet-prooflove]

Midnights By Taylor Swift Prompt List

Hi guys, 

I have thrown together a prompt list based on lyrics/themes from Taylor Swift’s new album Midnights!

Feel free to request a prompt from the list for any of your fav chars on my list!

1)     He was doing lines & crossing over mine

2)     I broke his heart

3)     I’m falling in love

4)     I remember

5)     Kiss you in a crowded room

6)     It’s weird but fucking beautiful

7)     Your smoking

8)     He was sunshine

9)     I’ll watch as you’re leaving

10)  Laughing with my feet in your lap

11)  The only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife

12)  You wanting me

13)  Good girl

14)  Can’t speak

15)  I hear it in your voice

16)  Midnight

17)  Leaving in the middle of the night

18)  The first night you saw me

19)  Sobbing with your head in your hands

20)  You’re terrified

21)  You and I ended up in the same room

22)  Full of cages

23)  Putting up a fight

24)  In the kitchen humming

25)  Break up

26)  Said too much

27)  You did some bad things

28)  They’re bringing up my history but you weren’t even listening

29)  Peering through the window

30)  You’re on your own

31)  One drink

32)  Break down

33)  Running home

34)  Sweet nothings

35)  Your last lie

36)  What did you do?

37)  Swept away

38)  Get it off your chest

39)  Nothing was gonna stop me

40)  Too soft for it

41)  Don’t get sad

42)  Betrayal

43)  The stars aligned

44)  Just what we wanted

45)  Looks can kill

46)  I don’t remember who I was before you

47)  None of it was accidental

48)  Postcard

49)  Dressing for revenge

50)  I don’t start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

51)  That night

52)  Anti Hero

53)  It must be exhausting

54)  I told you

55)  One thing after another

56)  Picture perfect

57)  How’d we end up on the floor anyway?

58)  Can I ask you a question?

59)  Thick as thieves

60)  She had the envelop where do you think she got it from?

61)  Sharp enough to kill a man

62)  Peppermint candy

63)  Scheming like a criminal

64)  Ex-wife

65)  Dancing all night

66)  Everything you lose

67)  Too much

68)  Don’t put me in the basement

69)  Diamonds

70)  Now you’re mine

71)  The liquor in our cocktails

72)  The first night I saw you

73)  Miscommunications

74)  The life I gave away

75)  Had to do it this way

76)  He wanted a bride

77)  I made you my world

78)  Had enough

79)  He never thinks of me

80)  Sweet, kind and fun

81)  Does it feel like everything’s second best

82)  You never cared

83)  Do you have a man?

84)  Lost all meaning

85)  Bad surprise

86)  On your mind

87)  Rise above

88)  Wish that you could touch her

89)  Haunted

90)  I’ll run away

91)  I miss you

92)  I polish up real nice

93)  Looks so pretty

94)  Afraid to jinx it

95)  Get it off my desk

96)  Friendship bracelets

97)  Standing hollow eyed in the hallway

98)  I’ll be damned if I do give a damn what other people say

99)  Don’t know what to say

100) The mark they saw on my collarbone

101) I feel you no matter what

102) I gave my blood, sweat and tears for this

103) I wake up with your memory

104) I have this dream

105) A real fuck’in legacy

106) Breathe in

107) Wake up screaming

108) I’m the problem

109) You can face this

110) It only hurts this much right now

111) Waiting patiently

112) Getting over you

113) Perfect kiss

[mickgaydolenz]

here is my dream, madam, please buckle up. it is fcking weird.

I was laying in my bedroom, it was nighttime and all of my lights were off. I was in staring at my ceiling while I picked and the wood of my bedframe and then my door opened and (this isn't even gonna sound real feel free to think I'm lying) Michael Jackson came in. wearing his red thriller suit, and he sat on the end of my bed and smiled at me (I think he smiled I couldn't tell all my lights were off) and he said. "alright, are you ready to go?" in his nic little Michael Jackson voice so I sat up and went to my dresser to and got dressed (JUST NOW REALIZING I CHANGED IN FRONT OF HIM UGH GROSS) and he took me outside to a car full of people and the radio was on really loud (OH WAIT I NEED TO TELL YOU ABOUT WHAT I PUT ON) (it was actual clothes that I own it was my Grateful Dead long sleeve shirt with my Hawaiian lemonade shirt over it and my pants that I painted things all over and I loved it so much I'm literally wearing that outfit right now) but I sit in the passengers seat and Michael gets in the drivers seat and smiles at me🥺like dude this was the sweetest most sincere smile I've ever received I don't even find him attractive but I blushed🥺and then he said "guys! This is Raya! she's gonna hang out with us tonight!" then PUNCHED THE GAS AND WE STARTED GOING LIKE SIXTY MILES AN HOUR IN A NEIGHBORHOOD and I kept trying to get his attention but the people in the back seat were really loud and the radio was still on so eventually I tapped him on the shoulder and told him to slow down and asked him where we were even going, and he said an art show and he was going the speed limit, but still slowed down and then started telling me about the art installments they he did and how excited he was to show me,and when we got there it was the typical thing y'know. all white with weird modern art but whenever Michael showed me one of his it was either super cool or super weird, like the one that I personally thought was cool was his Christmas tree made of recycled milk cartons complete with a soda can grinch, and we eventually lost his friends and it was just him and I wandering the installments and laughing occasionally, but his arm was around my shoulders?? I didn't think anything of it though because I do that with all my friends, I'm very affectionate so I just thought he was reciprocating, then we stopped at one that was that weird space cowboy of Miek Nesmith he did in the 80s or 70s I don't know for sure and we looked at it for a while and I told him who it was and stuff, then we turned around and MIKE was standing there holding a glass of champagne and he smiled and said "I'm glad you like the picture, it was for my album lost in my bathroom, but I never ended up using it. the wives said it sounded weird. have you met my husband?" and Michael (Jackson) and I just froze, uhm. Mike had a husband?? so out of pure curiosity I said I hadn't met his husband. guess who it was. seriously. take a second and guess........IT WAS FCKING RINGO STARR. but like young 20-something Ringo with creepy 45-year-old mike which made Michael (Jackson) and I both look at each other like 👀, because that looked a bit sketchy, but nonetheless introduced ourselves and were polite, but the worst part was when Ringo went to leave Mike grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him THE SLOPPIEST KISS I'VE EVER SEEN AND MICHAEL AND I JUST LOOKED AT EACH OTHER WITH FEAR AND SHOCK, AND RINGO DIDN'T EVEN LOOK LIKE HE ENJOYED IT, BUT MIKE'S CREEPY ASS SURE AS HELL DID BECAUSE WHEN HE WALKED AWAY HE WAS SMIRKING AND I NEARLY FCKING DIEDDDDD. so Michael and I got the fuuuck outta there and just started talking nonstop about how CREEPY that was. Michael said at one point "that Ringo kid definitely isn't there willingly." and I just nodded, then we stopped at a portrait of a naked lady draped across some bed and we giggled, which made old people glare at us, so we left, then when we found his friends we decided to go get some food, and went to a Denny's. and the people who worked there all had blue hair, and Michael held my hand from across the table?? then I woke up

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH RAYA WHAT THE FUUUUUUCKKKK AHAGAGAGAGAHAGAGAGAAGAGAGGAGAGAGWGAHAHAHAH

i’m fucking. crying. sobbing. what the fuck dude 😂!!!!! okay, okay, fuck, mj taking you on a maybe date(?) to a fucking art gallery!?!? incredible, what a guy. BUT!!!!! 40+ MIKE NESMITH WITH 20 SOMETHING RINGO 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 BROOOOOOOOOO 🤮. the horrible. sloppy kiss. really hammered the yuck factor home…..

p.s my twin had a dream with mj once. he was helping them solve a murder….

[gothicchicc]

RECORDING • 00:69 🎥. “ That Boy ”. 𓂅 ⬪ ( الأنشطة )

Tease 001 🎬 00:00:45. tap for more.

Word count : 557 words 3,064 characters

Genre : Smut. Self fuck.

She sat down on the bed of her room, scrolling mindlessly through social media once again. Looking for something or maybe someone? Who knows. The schedule wasn't that hetic since it is quarantine. So here she is, just chilling on the bed with her phone. It's been 3 months since the quarantine starts and she can't do anything except from attending photoshoots, signing papers and albums. As the time passes by, she observed and realized that Instagram was definitely not the app of choice to pass time on. So instead she chose to favour Twitter instead. After 3 minutes of scrolling she finally see what she have been looking for about an hour. A malicious smirks appeared on her lips, bitting the bottom of it as her yes scans every inch of the image. The image of a boy. "How cute." She muttured, her eyes glistening.

A picture of a boy, sitting on the couch with legs spread which meant that his black trackpants that are gorgeously, deliciously stretching over his bulging thighs. By that, she can't help herself but only to cursed out as she felt herself getting wet by just looking over a boy on her phone. Her mind suddenly filled with erotic and dark desires. She wonder how thick and long that boy got. Rubbing my thighs together, she continue staring at his picture. Gazing up to his perfect manly figure up to his strong jaw line and to his plump luscious lips. She arched her back in bliss, unbelievable for her to be like this. How fucker he is, she said on her thought. She's wondering what it feels like to be fucked raw by him. As an idea pop out of her head. She quickly stood up and took her camera, setting it up on the edge of her bed using the tripod and a mini ring light. She's gonna film herself while filling her satisfaction.

After it, she goes back to her bed, flopping herself on. For awhile, she look at the camera, biting at her lower lip as she slowly feathered her one hand on her inner thigh to her now swollen clit, rubbing it with her thumb as she slightly open her legs, ofcourse to touch herself. Continuesly rubbing herself, the heat risen up and she felt like she couldn't take it anymore, she swiftly moves her panty on the side since she can easily fuck herself with her own fingers because she's not wearing any shorts nor pants but only an underwear and a big tee white shirt. She reaches for the bullet vibrator from her drawer that was well placed by her house designer besides her bed, that was the vibrator that she brought before quarantine. Backing up to her sense, the heat between her legs are growing and growing and so for her to insert the sex toy inside her, pressing the highest button as it quickly started to vibrate. Her toes curling incoherently, imagining the boy in the picture eating her out along with his surely slender tongue.

She spread herself wide and without further ceremony, two fingers dipping immediately into her folds along with the vibrator that was still in her. A shiver shot up through her spine, moving her fingers back and forth, deep and rough. Desperately to let out the heat.

[randombtsprincessa]

Brush His Picture

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Words: 12.6k I am sorry for getting carried away...again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst cause it’s me

Rating: General!

Summary: Your job of writing a bio for Kim Namjoon is thrown for a spin when feelings get involved...

Warnings: It’s Namjoon. I have gushed. I am not sorry.

A/N: Firstly a warm and cuddly hug for @wynniewright​ for whom this fic is written. I enjoyed our conversations and look forward to more of those! Secondly a big hug and heaps of thanks to @casuallyimagining​ for the gif banner because I suck at those. Thirdly thanks to @thebtswritersclub​ for hosting the wonderful exchange!

Smeraldo Books, in your opinion, was the best building in the small corporate complex located just a little walking distance from your little apartment. It was slate gray; concrete and glass which gave off a cold, aloof appearance from outside, but when you entered it, it was rich creams, warm browns with tons of plants and flowers. The smell followed you, as you climbed up the floors, multicolored as should be the place where you entered new dimensions via books.

Your own floor was pastel blue, pine wood and deep tones of red and browns sprinkled here and there. If you looked hard, you’d find some pink nestled somewhere too. Today it was on your own desk. You had outdone yourself to be early today. You’d packed up everything you could think of in a sensible tote – notepad, tablet, pens, pencils, heck you’d even thrown in a sharpener and ruler scale. You’d grabbed your hello kitty travel mug, filled it with yummy hot chocolate with a touch of espresso and strode down the street to work.

You would be getting the first assignments of the incoming season today and since it was your first writing assignment overall, you wanted to make a good impression – a very good impression. Your pressed clothes and smart shoes were testament of your frazzled fluttering last night, preparing for today. Making sure you had everything; you took a deep breath and made to enter the conference room at the back of the floor.

Each floor had one, for on-floor calls and projects undertaken by the different subsets of the publishing house you worked for. Yours, in particular, was the same blue and pine, a long oval table in the centre with purple and blue mismatched chairs around it. Light streamed in clearly from the high wide windows, with glass animals on the sill throwing rainbows on the wall. In the very centre of the table was a vase, sporting the very flower that the company was named after. The ethereal blue petals blushing with pinks and violets at their veins curled delicately, recently sprayed to look dewy and fresh.

You adored these flowers; you had three pots of them at home.

***

Rena arrived at sharp 9:45. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek high ponytail that you were semi sure could cut if she – ahem, whipped her hair back and forth fast enough. You’d mentioned that during a drinking night, and had been friends since. She was your mentor in more ways than one, and you relied on her heavily, this being your first year at Smeraldo. Your appearance today would reflect on her too and you wanted her to know that she could trust you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” She smiled at you.

“Good morning, Rena. Any news for the morning?”

She shrugged, unbuttoning her navy suit. She crossed her legs. “I know seasonal meetings are important, but you don’t have to be quite so stressed about them.” She winked at you. “Don’t worry, you’ll ease into it.”

You sighed in relief. If Rena was this unbothered, you had absolutely no reason to worry.

Your steady breathing remained until about ten minutes, when at 9:55, the door was opened and the head walked in with her assistants and the other members of the floor. You shuffled to the front of your chair as the meeting commenced.

As Rena had said, it really wasn’t anything to worry about. Your head was chill enough when she presented spreadsheets, delegating people to watch the stats and curves before the real reason for the meeting was dealt with.

The ‘projects’ were the writing, the works, the foundation of Smeraldo. Every ‘project’ floor had three to four of those. The stars, who would usually grab the opportunity to head out there, do the work your creative writing professor preached about and bring in the digs. The rest of the floor was the sheep, handling excels and graphs – like commoners.

This season began with two fantasy drafts, both quickly given out to the oldest, most experienced Stars, no questions asked. They were to draft first, present later before Smeraldo published them under their banner.

“Right then,” She looked up. “Now, I don’t suppose you need to be reminded that last year we joined hands to collaborate with HYBE. It is an honor that they chose us and we intend to honor them right back, don’t we?” The words were intimidating enough for us to all nod.

“We have already worked with them so it should be easier for us to get going on the contract this time around. Right Kayla,”

We all turned to look at each other while there was silence from where the Head pointed.

***

As a part of the Smeraldo-HYBE collaboration, personal booklets for each member were released along with quarterly albums, as a sort of promotion. Last quarter, it was Min Yoongi. Now the big season project fish was Kim Namjoon. These works were separate from Smeraldo fictions but equally as important, and if the Head was to be taken seriously, even more so.

After all, BTS was worldwide famous. To do them wrong, would mean our name was mud.

Kayla was the third writer on your floor, senior to you and she had handled Mr. Min’s book. It was a given that she would take charge for the other member’s books as well…

…only…Kayla was absent…at a seasonal meeting…

The fuming ears of the floor Head suddenly told you that maybe you did have something to worry about. With all due respect to Rena, you quietly celebrated showing up an hour early.

“Where the hell is she? What’s going on?”

We stared back dumbly.

“She didn’t call in sick or called off today.” One of the assistants supplied helpfully but cowered when the Head glowered at her.

“Well, that’s all very well, but who do I brief now?”

“Not to worry, you can brief Y/N.”

There was a longer pause in which the members of your floor, simultaneously, turned to look at you. Your jaw nearly dropped, head whipping to look at Rena; the picture of ease. She looked at you and smiled.

To her credit, the Head looked equally thunderstruck. “I…Y/N?” she asked.

You looked around meekly. “Yes ma’am.”

She looked at you askance, before resolutely glancing at Rena. “You will watch her, yes?” At Rena’s nod, she turned back to you. “Miss Y/L/N, I won’t remind you that this project is extremely important to Smeraldo. I would expect your utmost best, understand?” You quickly nodded your head.

“You will be meeting with Bang Sihyuk and Namjoon himself in two days. All information about the album and the HYBE workings will be in a dossier in your mail. Don’t disappoint me.” she cast another look at Kayla’s empty chair, sighed in annoyance before swiping her files over to her assistant.

“Until next time, people,”

When the room finally emptied, you immediately turned to Rena, “Why would you do that?” You demanded.

Rena looked exactly the opposite of how you felt. Stretched onto your nerves now lay the weight of the world, your world. You had been thrilled to get an internship at Smeraldo, working your entire life around the business and after scoring an actual job here you had never thought that one day so soon you’d be at the risk of losing it.

If Kim Namjoon’s book tanked – you were dead. Dead, dead and very much dead…

“I told you, Y/N, you worry too much. This job is probably the easiest ever and since Kayla decided not to show up…I mean, come on, you’re one of our writers…the job was bound to come to you. Head madam just needed some time before she came to you. I hurried the process up. Besides, how will you learn if you don’t actually do the work?”

“But…it’s Kim Namjoon…” You mumbled.

“He’s hardly going to bite your head off, Y/N. Chin up and head to the meeting like the champ you are. You’ll be fine.” She tipped your head back with her hand before walking out herself, leaving you to scurry to your desk, feeling nowhere near as consoled as you should’ve been.

***

Two days in and you were getting dressed up yet again. Only this time, your nerves were sparking like a frayed wire no one was paying enough attention to. You chose a simple but professional outfit, worrying if there was any way anyone could nitpick on it. You ended up switching to something much more formal (and in your opinion, stuffy) attire in the wee hours of the morning, unable to get back to sleep.

HYBE’s building was situated in one of the most upscale business locales in the city. You had to take a cab to get there, already deciding that no way would you have enough time if you took a bus or the train. Already the buttons on your top felt like an over-tight corset. Thankfully, you seemed respectful and important enough to the cab driver that he stepped on the gas pedal, having you step out on the pavement in front of the building with almost twenty minutes to spare. You swigged at the espresso chocolate mix in your cup before stuffing it back into your tote.

You could do this. You had all the qualifications…if not the experience.

You could not possibly screw up that bad, could you?

According to the dossier, the meeting was set in the lounge, somewhere comfortable and open, probably a request of Namjoon’s himself. You knew enough about the man to take a guess.

Inside the building, security quickly but thoroughly sorted you out. You were patted down by a friendly lady, who smiled as she scanned you out an ID and rifled through your purse. She spotted your Hello Kitty cup and chuckled, giving you a wink that had you blushing all the way to where you were supposed to meet – directions given very kindly.

Along the way you knew. You knew that if you ever had to change jobs, you would dearly love to take one at HYBE. The place was an eclectic mix of practical and fun. There were artist posters and records and awards sprinkled around, the most prominent being BTS of course. Sunny gold lined the areas, with crisp blues and greens.

You might have even passed a little park arena.

When you reached the lounge, a sprawling area of lush moss like carpets and pink and purple art work on peach walls, there were only two other people in. The ones you were here to meet.

You recognized Namjoon from the door itself.

Insanely tall and thickly built in all the right places, he stood at a window. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his baggy khakis, a thin blue sweater hanging over his frame, hiding just how muscular he truly must be. Your lips twitched at the deep rose pink hue of his hair.

The other man must have been Mr. Sihyuk, grey suited and glasses perched on the tip of his nose, steadily going through sheaves of paper. Both men looked up at your knock on the glass doors.

Mr. Sihyuk stood up first, hand outstretched but his smile looked a little confused.

“Um, Miss Kayla…how nice to see you, again…”

It seemed like a question, his eyes scanning over your face as if trying to place you and you froze. Your hand paused just a little away from his, eyes darting around to the Idol who joined his CEO.

“It was wonderful to have you with us again on the bio projects for the albums,” He continued, seeming unfazed by your gob-smacked face. “You did a brilliant job on Yoongi’s. I was sad to be unable to meet with you before.”

Oh…dear…they didn’t know it wasn’t Kayla who was going to be on the job. Suddenly you felt like sinking through the soft carpets, right underground. They probably had dossiers of their own, with Kayla’s name across them. They didn’t know that she had slept in that one day and they didn’t know that they were now stuck with you.

“I’m – I’m afraid there's some misunderstanding, Mr. Sihyuk. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m afraid Kayla was unavailable for the project.”

There was absolute silence on both ends after you finished. Mr. Sihyuk’s shoulders fell at your words, mouth parting as his eyes went scanning you again. This time you could distinctly feel him sizing you up. His eyebrows twitched up just so.

“Well then,” The other man, Kim Namjoon, the one you were supposed to write about, extended his hand. “I suppose we should rehash that welcome. Hello Miss Y/L/N, my name is Kim Namjoon. I look forward to working with you.”

You jolted a little, even stumbling forward to shake his hand, now thoroughly shaken out from your humiliated stupor.

“Forgive us, we must not have read the email citing the change.” Bang Sihyuk continued, spreading his hands genially.

“Don’t worry about it. These things can happen.” You fiddled with your bag strap with a tight smile, ignoring the urge to sway on the balls of your feet. The thick tension had still not dissipated as the three of you stood in a triangle, wondering who was going to make the first move.

It had to be you, shockingly. “So, um, shall we begin?”

You were shown a plush red armchair, Namjoon and Bang-PD taking the matching sofa as you were given the preliminary data. A small biographical book of sorts, more of a booklet if you were being honest; talking about an important segment in Namjoon’s life and his process and journey throughout the inspiration and creative take of the upcoming album. Standard, new age stuff…same as Yoongi’s…you already had Kayla’s old notes on the write up forwarded in your email.

You scribbled in small notes in your notepad while Mr. Sihyuk slid a small calendar across. “This is the tentative production and release schedule that we want to follow. There is, of course, plenty of time for you to follow Namjoon around and get a feel of the work environment, the studio life and of course, Namjoon himself. You’ll have quite a lot of time to write. The book will be issued and launched before the press conference and promotions will be done along with availability of the bio in stores.”

You studied the calendar before slipping it into your bag. “Thank you, Mr. Sihyuk. This is most helpful. We’ll be starting work from next week then?”

You were met with nods.

“Well, I’ll be off. It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Y/L/N. Please, forgive us about the whole Kayla mishap.” Bang-PD stood, you and Namjoon following and with a parting handshake he marched out of the lounge.

You began to slide in your pens and notes back in the bag when you noticed that Namjoon hadn’t followed his CEO out. Instead he stayed back; hands behind his back, watching you pack up.

You glanced up at him in question, meeting his impish small smile with a confused one of your own. “I’m sorry, I just feel so bad about the…thing before.” He said.

“Oh please, really, don’t worry. I’m, like, very new to this so it was bound to happen.” You waved a hand, slinging your tote on your shoulder, preparing to leave.

“Drive safe.” He said, gesturing for you to walk before him.

“Don’t have a car,” You blurted out instinctively before mentally slapping yourself.

“Oh, do you need a car? I’m sure we can get one to take you back to the office.”

“No, no, please.” Your ears burned at the thought of taking one of HYBE’s no doubt lavish company cars to simply take you back to Smeraldo. “I’ll just take a cab.”

You didn’t wait for his reply, shooting a quick smile and wave as you nearly rushed towards the exit.

***

Next week saw a dip in temperature, with you arriving at HYBE wrapped in a coat and scarf. You pulled off your beanie when the kind lady at the desk handed you your lanyard, this time stamped across it were the words EMPLOYEE/ COLLABORATOR. It felt heavy around your neck, the figurative noose as it were, in case you messed up.

Namjoon met you near the reception desk, jogging over from one of the elevators. “Hey!” He smiled wide, rosy hair glinting under the lights. “You’re right on time.”

“Oh,” You wondered if they were watching you for slip-ups and punctuality was one area they were scrutinizing. “On time for what?”

“To meet up; it’s so cold we’re all taking coffee breaks every ten minutes. I thought we could just work in the café?”

Namjoon rubbed his large palms together, drawing your attention to his fingers – soft and perfectly formed. You cleared your throat, shocked at yourself – tightly smiling back.

“Sure, lead the way.” As if you were going to refuse a request from Kim Namjoon himself, you and he walked the same route as you had the first time you’d come here. Only this time, you passed the lounge and followed another hallway which led to what was obviously the cafeteria. The back was lined with counters and serving tables of buffets. There were couches strewn about, booths, and tables. You felt like you were back in school. You hoped the food would be better.

Namjoon led you first to the serving tables. Stirring himself a simple cup of coffee, he turned to you. “Anything you want, you can find here. Sandwiches, subs, ramen, noodles, yeah, we have to go out if you want something more…sustainable.”

“No, this is great.” You gratefully tore open a mixer packet of hot chocolate, bringing out your own mug to put it in. you’d sipped the drink in the journey over, before finally realizing you’d emptied it.

Your new muse raised his eyebrow at the Hello Kitty but didn’t say anything, only suppressing an amused smile. You pretended not to notice that.

Once you were sitting at one of the tables near the windows, you spread your recorder, notebook, pens and cup, ready to work. “Ok, shall we start?”

Namjoon took the final gulp of his coffee, nodding.

“Right so, you’re going to be writing the prologue of the book yourself.” You muttered, flitting through the primary requirements.

“Yep, it’ll be more of a front to my thoughts which you’ll be writing about. It’ll be a personal note to the members, the staff and ARMY from me. Something that is completely mine but it will set the tone for your work.” Namjoon turned his phone to you, tapping a note on it. “I already have the first draft for it. It’ll be revised of course but I’ll email it to you so you can start with that.”

You picked up your pen and then it was only Namjoon talking about how the primary idea for the album came to life and began to gestate in his mind. You found it incredible, how a small incident or a sound could inspire someone like that. You’d never had any experience that moved you like that. You told him as such, wistful of the kind of inspiration that might never ever come.

Namjoon placed an elbow on the table, looking keenly at you. “You’re a writer.” He pointed out.

“Not really; I am working as such, yeah, but I wouldn’t say I’ve been inspired by anything. You have. I think you’ve been inspired since you were…what, fifteen?”

“I had a different beginning than yours, yes. But you can’t compare inspiration with experience. Experience comes after inspiration. Before, there’s only the feeling, the emotion that leads to it. Would you say that you started writing out of just an everyday inspiration, or did you feel something for the craft that drove you to it?”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a fair comparison.” You fiddled with the pages of notes. “I know your beginning, of course, everyone does. I didn’t have that kind of harsh circumstances pushing me to motivation. To be very honest…I’d say I’ve breezed past life. I love my job, but I don’t have much to show in the journey to it.”

Namjoon was silent for a few moments. His tongue poked into his cheek as he regarded you shrewdly. Finally, he gave you a sweet smile, eyes scrunching and dimples popping. Your pen stopped twirling in your fingers, blood easing in your veins at the simple change of expression.

“And that’s okay,” he said, “Not everyone should have to suffer through awful situations to achieve things they aim for. Success shouldn’t be measured in tears, Y/N. The point of life, in my opinion, is happiness and in the end that is what matters; the fact that you end up happy.”

You blinked as Namjoon’s blinding smile dimmed, turning into moonshine as he ran a finger over the rim of his empty cup. The seconds stretched by, you silently removing your gaze from his and taking down everything he had said. Your eyes wanted very badly to return to his face but you kept them firmly on the page, pondering his words, until you realized through your daze that he was speaking again.

“I’m sorry again, about PD-nim and the whole Kayla thing. The email we got was sitting in the inbox but we weren’t informed and neither did we think of checking the company email before the meeting itself.” His voice had softened, turned apologetic that had you hurrying to ease his conscience.

“I already told you, it’s no biggie, really.” You insisted.

“It must’ve been nerve-wracking, especially on the first day.”

You huffed, air whistling from your lips at him, before acquiescing, “Yeah, ok, maybe a little.”

That moonshine smile brightened again, defeating the sun beams that streaked through the windows. “Allow me to make up for it by giving you a tour of our studios. Same time, tomorrow.”

At that time, you were only glad that you could gaze at his face without an excuse.

***

It took you a few days, getting used to the new schedule. You were used to the short walk from your home to Smeraldo. You were used to the morning crispness on your cheeks, the thud of your feet on the pavement and then the warm confines of your office cubicle.

The new pattern involved you having to catch a cab everyday to HYBE. It wasn’t too expensive thankfully, and the hours you spent in the expanse of HYBE, shadowing Namjoon to his haunts and work areas was starting to prove much more enjoyable and rewarding than anything you’d be doing in Smeraldo.

You were drawn into the chatter and gossip of the makeup artists, the lady who intercepted you daily at the desk struck up more conversations with you when you entered. She had a son, you’d learned. Her husband worked away from the city but he commuted every weekend and they found time for getaways whenever they could.

The most jolting experience was meeting the rest of Bangtan.

Namjoon had asked you to accompany him to one of the group practices and when you entered the huge mirrored room, you spotted the rest of the boys sitting here and there, some on their phones, the other stretching.

“Hey guys,” Namjoon slipped the strap of his work out bag over his head, turning slightly to the side to show you standing behind him to the rest of the idols. You raised a hand awkwardly, waving.

“You brought a friend?” One of the men at the back asked – Jimin, with his baby features and an inquisitive smile.

“Actually, this is Y/N. She’s the one doing the bio book for the album for me this time.” He placed a hand gently on your back, pushing you ahead when you failed to step forward.

“Uh, hi,” you mumbled, “nice to meet you all. I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah, Hyung just said.”

Your cheeks immediately heated, helplessly turning to the one who’d spoken.

“Yah, Jungkook-ah, be nice.” A taller man – Jin - smacked the back of the maknae’s head, before smiling at you. “It is very nice to meet you, Y/N. Are you going to be working while we practice?”

The gentle voice of the older man did wonders for you. Reminded of Rena’s composure, you immediately brightened, bowing to them naturally. “Yes sir, I am supposed to be shadowing Mr. Kim so…I hope you don’t mind.”

This made them burst out laughing – Namjoon included.

“‘Mr. Kim’, wow, Namjoon you’ve traumatized the girl. Please don’t be so formal, we’re not used to it.” Jin chortled.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, taking your elbow gently to guide you to sit on one of the cushions against the back wall. “You can sit here and watch. We won’t kick you in the face that way.” He winked and you managed a weak giggle back when you had recovered enough.

Why, oh why did he have to be so attractive? In those loose black shorts, that blasted white tank, you hadn’t been able to quite meet his eyes ever since you’d met him today.

You decided to obey the laws of ‘work’ as BTS practiced their routines. You pulled out your usual supply of pens and your trusty notebook and began to scrawl everything you’d observed, this time the process of choreography and how the dynamics between the group members and Namjoon worked in these hard routines. It took you about five pages, filling out and circling details that you would highlight in the bio.

Soon enough, you ran out of work to distract you. You folded your hands in your lap neatly, simply watching in awe. Each member hit the beat with a different type of attitude. If Jungkook was sleek as a panther, Hoseok was a coiled serpent, but none of them ever missed a beat. There was a tandem between them all, which made you sure that they took this very seriously. After all, they were known for their work ethic and it was their bread and butter.

They couldn’t slack in this just as much as you couldn’t slack in the bio.

Your eyes drifted back to Namjoon. Even though you knew, he wouldn’t describe himself as a dancer primarily, he was no less behind in his steps than his members. He moved with an awkward grace not unlike people of his height. God of Destruction – you remembered – and yet, you couldn’t help but watch when he moved. His chin jutted in concentration and you balled your fist under your chin, chiding yourself.

You were self aware enough to recognize the flow of your emotions and right now, they were particularly worrying. You were in awe of Kim Namjoon, anyone with any semblance of sense would be. He was intelligent, chivalrous, generous, charming, thoughtful, and humorous and in the days you’d worked with him, more than just books and music. He was a fun and charming person to be around and he attracted people like moths.

But…he was way beyond human leagues.

Someone like Kim Namjoon couldn’t be human. He had to be some eldritch being, put together into conception out of pure matter and stardust. There was no way his mind and his soul were meant to be meandering on this planet. And while you were aware he was far from purposeless, you wondered if he would ever be satisfied with his purpose in time.

Maybe…maybe not…

And you, as the self aware person as you were, couldn’t – shouldn’t – be having such tumultuous emotions regarding him. He was pink roses, a dusty shade of gold that had been polished and made to shine from a young age and he basked in the glow of adoration. He was at a peak you couldn’t hope to touch.

Never mind the fact that feelings mixing with work were always dangerous. You had no room for failure if these got in the way. You couldn’t afford to lose your job. You would lose everything you had staked and for what? You couldn’t throw your life away for an unattainable man. You sighed, closed your eyes and ducked your head before any of the men could notice your hard stares.

***

If you had to pick a climax for your journey with Namjoon, you’d pick the day he texted you a weekly schedule filled with interviews and media covered events that you couldn’t shadow him to. What would you do? You couldn’t exactly carry a notepad and pens in your mouth after him like a loyal puppy while he did his job. The interviews were okay, all you had to do was stand at the back behind the camera and note the way he answered his questions and if it was an English interview, the way he deflected stupid and rude questions from his members. Although it was clear by their now unimpressed faces they knew exactly what was going on.

The trouble was the red carpet event that you couldn’t push through. It would be a shame too, since this would be one of the prime times to jot a piece of Namjoon down. In front of flashing cameras, strutting with his head held high, knowing and projecting assurance. It would’ve been a great detail in the bio.

Apparently Namjoon thought the same, because as soon as he saw blue ticks in your text chat, he called you.

“So, what do you think?” He asked.

“About what, the event…? It’s too bad, I’ll watch it on TV and you can tell me how it goes over ice-cream.” You answered, in the face of his snort.

“Or…you could just come with me as my plus one. As a friend, of course, you can sit with that little note of yours and keep writing while people scream in my ear.”

You clutched the phone hard. He wanted you to come with him? He wanted to take you with him to an event? A red carpet event at that…on his arm, with people around…but as friends of course…

“Um…it’s kind of short notice…I don’t even have a dress.” You hedges unsteadily, hoping he didn’t notice the abrupt breathiness of your voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I have a fashion extraordinaire handy. Text me your dress size,”

The next you heard from Namjoon was when a huge, pure white box made its way to your apartment door. The delivery man took your signature on a tablet, wearing a sleek blue shirt and pressed pants that nowhere in the world could be a uniform for couriers.

You carried the heavy box to your couch in confusion, fingers fluttering with the navy blue ribbon around it in trepidation. Should you dare open it? It looked very expensive. Maybe this was a mistake and it got delivered to you in a mix up. But it couldn’t be. The name on the tablet was yours, the address yours…

You took a deep breath and pulled the knot loose.

The ribbon fell away gracefully, the top of the box grasped in your fingers and then you opened it up.

If you weren’t holding your breath…you’d have gasped.

Inside was a gown. Ok, that was a massive understatement. The fabric was thick, layers and layers of silk and glitter draped over each other to make a thing of dreams. The delicate straps of it felt like gauze, slipping over your skin when you pulled it out in pure awe.

You couldn’t possibly wear something like this. You could never pull it off. You glanced at the mirror near your door, the skirts catching the light of your room and sparkling.

You’d be wearing a million stars sewn on your body.

Your phone chimed the very moment your weak fingers were about to drop the dress, a sacrilege that proved you unworthy of it.

Hope you liked it J I’ll pick you up at 7.

And he didn’t take your calls. He didn’t hear you out. He didn’t listen to you list the reasons why you couldn’t do this, shouldn’t do this.

Your heart was already beating drums in your chest, each set letting you know that it was misreading this gesture. Namjoon wasn’t wooing you with this dress. He was simply making sure you didn’t look like a garbage can next to him. After all, red carpets meant celebrities, paparazzi, superior expectations. He couldn’t afford to show up with someone looking like they had barely been able to put together an outfit fit for the walk.

After hours of trying, at five you gave up, beginning to get dressed.

You washed and dried your hair, putting it up in a roll that was easy and you had mastered for your interview. It couldn’t be faulted…maybe it was a little simple but hey, you hoped the attention wouldn’t be on your hair. Not with that dress…

As you had guessed, the dress was heavy, weighing your body down till you had to carefully bunch handfuls of the sparkling skirt just to walk. You paired it with the lowest heels you owned, and a simple silver set – a gift from your parents upon graduating.

The brilliant shade of lipstick applied, you prayed and prayed that Namjoon wouldn’t find you disappointing. Of course, only so; that you wouldn’t be a source of embarrassment to him and HYBE and Smeraldo. It had nothing to do with you wishing you could be swallowed by the earth if Namjoon looked even slightly put off.

He arrived sharp at seven, even climbing out to greet you. Your trip in the elevator had been thankfully solo. No peeking neighbors to comment on your appearance but of course the building manager caught sight of you, gaping through the glass door of his office. You hoped he wouldn’t attempt to raise your rent.

Sleek and pristine in a black suit and silver shirt, open at the throat, your breath did catch at the vision he made. His hair was pushed back now and he grinned when you slowly tottered over. “Hi,” he said simply, eyes glinting in the glow of the dress.

“Hey, you didn’t take my calls.” You blurted out, again wanting to smack yourself.

“Yeah, I’m sorry; I got busy with speech training and fittings. They messed up though; I’m wearing shoes one size big.” You and he both glanced down at the polished black shoes with silver toes. you shook your head at the distraction.

“Namjoon, this dress…it’s too much; I can’t say anything right now but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me – it was Taehyung who picked it out.” His eyes moved down the dress before he looked away suddenly, hand moving to rub his neck. “You look great – beautiful, I mean.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

Namjoon helped you climb into the car, bending down so he could collect about nine drapes and pleats of silk to lay them on the car floor before shutting you in. You glanced at the driver of the Cadillac that Namjoon had brought and decided to stay mum for the drive.

The sprawling expanse of the hall where the gala was taking place sent you into nervous jitters. You touched the edge of the top, wondering if it was tight enough, if the necklace was enough to draw attention away. Of course, the dress was the highlight of your outfit, but suddenly all you could think of were the faux pas that could get you kicked out and possibly fired.

You had no time to turn to Namjoon with these worries, to beg him to allow you to stay in the car when valets were opening the doors.

Flashing lights, camera with too bright heads blinded you momentarily and all you heard was a quiet ‘wait’ from Namjoon before he was exiting the car.

He shot easy smiles at the front line of the media before turning to assist you. Maybe they realized that Kim Namjoon had indeed brought someone with him because the screams increased in pitch and volume, deafening you as well.

You were completely disoriented when you felt Namjoon’s arm go casually around your waist, one hand still holding your skirts so he could walk you at least to the main photo calls and away from the paps.

“Hey, easy, okay, they’re always like that. Are you okay?” Namjoon mumbled in your ear when you were a safe distance away, turning you to face him.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay…I just…wow, it’s a lot to take in.” You grabbed the skirts that Namjoon had let go and began to set them around you properly.

“Okay, all we have to do is walk this bit, get some photos, talk to that man at the end and then we can head in.”

You followed Namjoon's instructions quietly. Smiling lightly, when Namjoon posed in the centre of the carpet with the logo of the sponsors behind you two; Your posture probably wasn’t the most glamorous because the camera man shrugged before letting you pass – to the interviewer.

“Kim. Namjoon.” The white suited man gasped as if Namjoon had just landed from outer space and said something scandalizing.

“Oh dear, should I be worried?” Namjoon laughed breezily but his hold on your back stiffened.

“Not at all, it seems…who is the lucky lady? We’ve never seen you. Are we finally seeing the elusive RM being snatched up off the market?” The man took the time to level a polite smile at you before Namjoon waved his hand.

“Rubbish; I could never hope to snag someone like her. This is my friend; she’s accompanying me as part of a job.”

You noticed he never gave your name, thankfully.

“Ah…just friends? Pity, you look stunning together.”

“She is stunning but I would never claim to be as lucky as that. Do please excuse us, heels and all.” The interviewer laughed as Namjoon ushered you inside the hall.

Your smile had glazed over by now and when Namjoon sat you in one of the chairs next to him, you made sure to not move too much while he had to mingle.

As heavy as the gown was, the weight of it was something completely different now. Your wings had wilted back into nothingness, bringing you down to the earth with a less than pleasant thump.

Here, in the hall with actual stars around you, it didn’t matter if stars covered your body tonight. You couldn’t be part of this. You belonged in your cubicle at Smeraldo with books that had been your lifelong companions.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Namjoon being an idol was a consequence as well as reality. His proximity had blinded you, with those bewildering smiles and irresistible dimples. He’d poetically woven a spell that with him being now gone was breaking.

You were worlds apart.

Maybe this could be a story someday.

But it would never be reality.

***

Your realization couldn’t have come at a more opportune moment. As days went by, time spent with Namjoon waned; instead you went back to your little pastel cubicle, typing away at your laptop, pouring facts mixed with sentiment onto the digital document.

Soon, pages of this would be flying off the shelves along with an album. Your connection with Namjoon would be severed and you both would part ways as acquaintances.

That would be that. You tried not to think too much of it like that. It colored your work a little melancholy and you’d have to go back and redo it so it would be upbeat.

It was one of those days of you clacking away when a shadow fell over your cubicle. You didn’t lift your eyes at first, engrossed in the mild noises your keys made when the presence started to…feel hostile. You glanced up curiously, meeting the curve of an arm first and perched on it, was the weight of Kayla.

She wasn’t looking at you; instead her eyes were on the screen of your laptop, reading your work with a tilt to her head that – to you – was condescending.

“Kayla,” You called in confusion and her eyes flitted to you.

“Carry on, carry on, I’m just going to watch. I want to see how you’re going to do this.” Maybe you were paranoid…but she definitely sounded snide.

“Do what, type…?” you mumbled under your breath, about to turn back to work but she heard you and decided to answer.

“I want to see the new worker ruin Namjoon’s story. That way we can all go back to our normal lives.”

You stopped. Your eyes widened in surprise at the blatant vehemence. You turned to her.

“Excuse me, but I’m not ruining anything. It was you, who decided to sleep in and you who missed the meeting. If anything, you’re the one who ruined your shot.”

“It wasn’t a ‘shot’ for me, Y/N. It was a guaranteed project. I was sick, it happens. I’m just surprised they let the newbie take on such a big collab. But then again, being a lapdog pays in this industry. Connections are more important than talent, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, you definitely would be the one doing Namjoon’s story justice with that attitude.” You snapped back. If there was one thing you wouldn’t stand for, it was her sullying Rena.

She smiled again, removing herself from your cubicle wall. “Petty fights don’t matter to me, Y/N. I’m still your senior and soon enough I’ll be back to doing my rightful share of work.” She walked off in a very final manner, leaving you to stare after her a good while before you could turn back to your screen.

The blinking cursor taunted you, each second that passed without it budging, a point in proving that Kayla may have been right. You growled internally, rubbing your dry eyes.

You needed a change of view.

***

Your laptop was now perched on the same table you and Namjoon had sat on that first day. Your back was to the rest of the café, eyes free to drift out the window. You sipped on a simple smoothie and tapped away, making good progress. At this rate you could hand in the first draft in less than a week. A hundred pages worth of a booklet formed much easier when your mind was clear. You wondered again if you could change places here.

You hoped at least this way you’d be safely out of Namjoon’s path and could also enjoy the lovely environment of the building. After all, one sin didn’t have to equate to ditching another, did it?

No sooner had your mind finished that thought when you heard his voice. Your fingers rattled over your keyboard, printing the stupid version of words on your screen and you had to halt in case he had seen you and was coming over.

When you didn’t hear that cheerful deep voice that was now uncomfortably familiar to you approach from behind, you took the chance to peek over your shoulder, just to see how he was – just that.

He wasn’t alone, thankfully. Next to him stood another familiar figure; much shorter and just as broad. Min Yoongi hadn’t been very verbose with you when you’d been introduced but then again, you knew the man wasn’t a fan of small talk with strangers. He was under no obligation to chat you up and you weren’t expecting him to either.

They finally picked up their orders, sitting at one of the tables in your line - Comfortably far away so that they wouldn’t notice you; but also within earshot of you. You sighed, returning your attention to the document on your screen.

“So, how’s the book coming? Any news yet?” You heard Yoongi’s baritone.

“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s going to come along fast. Give or take a few days maybe,” Namjoon took a loud gulp, scrolling through his phone.

“I hope so. She was new, wasn’t she? I didn’t remember seeing her when it was my turn. It was that other girl…Kayla something. What’s your girl’s name again?”

You silently cleared your throat, expecting Namjoon to snap in that you weren’t ‘his girl’ but he only hummed. “It’s Y/N. We messed up that day, called her Kayla. Guess we must have thrown her off her game that whole day, but she was amazingly professional. It was stupid too, that email was sitting right in the office email, and an intern missed it and didn’t tell us.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t treat your workers right. Even interns are deserving of respect. Maybe if they were catered to the way the company expects them to cater to it, it would -,”

“Hyung, I love your rants – but please.”

Yoongi shrugged, taking a bite out of his sandwich. You cracked a smile, biting your lip to stifle a giggle at Namjoon’s dazed expression.

“So, what’s she like? You hung out with her quite a lot.” Yoongi’s voice dipped, muttering something to Namjoon whose fingers stopped scrolling, a pensive expression on his face now. You glanced back at your screen, frowning, wondering what Yoongi must’ve said.

Namjoon didn’t answer for a long time and you had to keep glancing over, just in case he was actually muttering too and you were just not hearing anything but nope. He remained silent for a good long while, staring down at the coffee cup in front of him.

“I think…I think I would’ve preferred to work with this Kayla.”

You froze, your fingers hovering over the keys, making zero noise. You wished the other people in the café would quiet down and Namjoon would repeat himself but only this time you’d hear something else, something positive, something not so utterly crushing.

“Oh, she’s not up to the standard?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s…its stupid. I know it’s a shitty thing for me to say, but -,” But he was still going to go ahead and do it. He was still going to get those words out, unaware that you were able to hear him and have your gut wrenched.

What was wrong with you? Why were you not good enough to work with Kim Namjoon? Was it the rambling or blurting out thing? Was it the inability to retain composure? Had you messed up during a meeting that he was holding a grudge against? Did you somehow embarrass him during the gala? Had he already complained about you to his management and members, told them that this was the last time you were to work with them?

They had hushed up now, clearly having a private conversation and you were thankful. You didn’t know how you could handle hearing more. And you definitely didn’t want the rest of HYBE staff to hear how pathetic you were to their stars. If word got back to Smeraldo, you’d be fired. You’d lose everything.

You shut the laptop screen quietly, a hand sliding your things from the table top straight into your bag. Slinging your stuff onto your shoulders, you walked out of the room – out of the building – away from anything related to BTS.

***

You were resolute the next day, walking into Smeraldo with no words of greeting spoken to anyone. You got to your floor and then marched straight into Rena’s office, hurriedly knocking the prologue to the urgency of your matter.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Rena frowned, actually getting up from her seat when you stumbled in.

Something did happen, yes. I got way in over my head.

“I…I…need to um, change – the BTS project. I can’t do it anymore.” The words rushed out, thick and unintelligible but Rena apparently got the gist of it because she dropped her shoulders, crossing her arms.

“What happened?” she asked flatly.

I have a crush on my subject and he thinks I’m the worst thing to happen since the rise of patriarchy.

“Nothing serious; I just…I’m not cut out for this Rena. I told you that day of the meeting. It’s too much, I can barely sleep, can’t eat.”

Ok, provided that was only one day because your mind was too obsessed thinking about what you heard but still – you could definitely apply the cases.

“What are you talking about? You just gave me your stats two days ago. You were fifty three pages in and climbing.”

“Yeah well I’m not happy with it. I’ve been writing in a daze. Please Rena.” You begged; you’d have gotten on your knees at that point but mercifully, after about nine seconds of shrewdly eyeing you, she finally sighed.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed – and very, very surprised. You’re one of the better writers at Smeraldo, Y/N; I wouldn’t have pushed you for this if you weren’t. I believed in you. But I can’t make you work if you’re not happy and I certainly can’t let it affect this collaboration. It wouldn’t help anyone – so…fine. We’ll make the change. I’ll have the boss send an email…and you can personally go and hand Kayla all your material on the job so she can start as soon as possible. We still have time to make it up I think.”

You nodded, surreptitiously wiping a streak of moisture that had escaped without notice before you paused. And then you put in a request for Rena to consider before grabbing all your notes, drafts and your work laptop and walking up to Kayla’s more spacious cubicle.

She was reading a magazine when you tapped the side wall, eyes rising up to yours before her eyebrows raised at the amount of things you were carrying. Without preamble, you let them crash on to her neat desk.

“Uh, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not doing Namjoon’s bio anymore. They want you to do it.” Namjoon wanted her, in particular.

Kayla stopped scowling, looking at you in confusion before her face darkened again. “Listen Y/N, I don’t care much for charity -,”

“It’s not. I swear it’s not Kayla. I really, really can’t do it anymore. Please…please just take it off my hands.”

Slowly, her face cleared, eyes still examining yours for any insincerity before she picked up your notebook, carding through the pages.

“It’s a little shocking, I’ll admit but fine. But you…why are you giving it up? It’s BTS. It’s probably the biggest break you’d ever get.”

You shrugged, unwilling to converse more than necessary about this. “I just felt bad…and ill about it.” You didn’t exaggerate and Kayla didn’t ask you to elaborate. You glanced down at the biggest bag which you’d placed under her desk. The box was still exquisitely white and unblemished.

“Can you just do me one last favor?”

“What?”

“When you see Namjoon, can you give that bag back to him? Tell him thanks for everything.”

***

The days passed quickly, each one easier than the last as you decided to stuff your stupid, pointless feelings – hurt and otherwise into one single compartment: DO NOT TOUCH.

Namjoon had had to meet with Kayla quickly, to put in effect the plans that the senior writer was going to play with. She already had your notes, but they would still have to spend some time together just so she could get a feel of his prologue and run with it.

It had taken about two visits from Kayla before your phone started to act up.

He sent a text first. At a decent time…you were at work, taking a small break when the ping came. You promptly slid the notification aside and pushed the nagging in your head to look at it into that one compartment. An hour passed…then another before another message came. You couldn’t help but glance at the words even as you slid it out of focus.

Are you ok? What’s going on?

Namjoon didn’t text again for the remainder of the day and you heaved a sigh of relief. It would be easier to not mess with that box of goodies in your head if only anything pertaining to Kim Namjoon was taken out of your path.

Only…he decided to call you…

As soon as you entered your little apartment and took off your shoes, flexing your toes, the trill of your ringtone made you fumble in your bag. You almost slid the call to accept, catching yourself just in time when you saw the big white KIM NAMJOON flashing on the ID.

You stared at the name, a proverbial finger dancing over the latch of the compartment. But you couldn’t…you couldn’t mope over him again; you had given an entire day of wallowing up to his name.

Again, you heard him preferring Kayla. You placed the phone onto the coffee table and went into the bathroom to change.

Namjoon’s persistence remained impressive though. He called and texted every day ranging from thrice to five times. Almost every time you frowned. You had given him Kayla. What more could he want? He was desperate to know if you were okay, wondering if something had happened to you and that Smeraldo was trying to cover it up but you couldn’t bring yourself to put him at ease.

Also, it was getting steadily difficult to keep his name out of your life. BTS was worldwide, he was a global entity. He was everywhere…the media, the news, there were even fucking standees in malls for them.

But your job was keeping you busy, mercifully.

The day you had gone to Rena to ask her to put Kayla on the bio project and take you off, you’d also asked to be moved to a different section of jobs, just for the time being – till you could come back to yourself, or so you told her.

In reality, the editing and beta reader position that you now held was time consuming and kept you focused and engrossed enough to not think about the idol. Not every piece of writing was amazing, but fiction was fiction and you gladly succumbed to romances and fantasies that were wildly improbable - simply because they were possible in their worlds.

You could not be more grateful to Rena for this. You finished more than your quota of three manuscripts a day, sometimes even staying up at night if one was particularly interesting. You knew you’d have to go back to writing someday but for now, you wanted to do a good job so you wouldn’t let down Rena more than you already had.

You shuddered to think of returning to your laptop. It was a mistake to think that you were cut out for this job. There was a certain level of coldness required to be a writer – the sheaves of paper in front of you proved that. You had none of that ruthlessness in you. You were too soft, too sheltered. You had grown attached to a subject that you were supposed to present as facts. Instead you had painted him in a fantastic palette of misdirected emotions that he was under no obligation to act upon.

And so now you were hurt…and it was your own fault.

To write again, you would first need a spine, one forged in titanium instead of the malleable clay that had wrapped around the fingers of others so easily.

In some days of your ruminations…Namjoon stopped calling and texting and you were then rudely interrupted by Kayla, striding over to deliver news you hadn’t asked for.

“Mr. Kim took the dress back.” she announced as soon as she pressed herself at your desk. You looked up from your fourth manuscript of the day, peering at her through your glasses. Your back was sore and your neck felt lodged.

“He’s asking about you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, clearing your throat before reaching for a bottle of water. “I’m okay.”

“He said he reached out but you never responded. Why don’t you respond? He’s obviously concerned.” She continued, putting an unnecessary emphasis on ‘obviously’. It irked you.

“He was my subject matter. Now he’s not. It’s inappropriate.” You barely kept from snapping, shrugging noncommittally. Kayla was still there, eyeing you in that way, that made you feel smaller than her.

“Well, I don’t think he feels it’s inappropriate. He’s enquiring about someone he considers a friend. He’s been known to care about friends.”

You put the manuscript down finally. You looked up at her blankly but she didn’t flinch. Instead Kayla returned your heavy look with one of hers, raking you down with an appraising look. After a few moments of silence she gracefully straightened and turned on her heel, returning to her cubicle.

You picked up your manuscript again.

***

The cursor was blinking again. The walls of your cubicle needed a wipe down. Some of the pens in your drawer needed replacing. You revolved on your chair once – twice – thrice before facing the darn cursor again.

It had been two days since Rena had asked (basically commanded) you to return to your original post. One because you had gotten through the work she’d set aside for you. Second because Smeraldo’s projects were lining up and they needed their writers to buck up. You being one of them now needed to get in the game.

Or you would lose your job. After all, even though Rena treated you like a sister, it didn't mean she was going to baby you forever. Her own job would be on the line.

So you returned, starting out slow, with slogans and advertising scripts. Only…advertisements meant media research…and you knew what you were going to see the first thing you delved into that.

When your phone rang, you were almost eager to get to it. Namjoon hadn’t called in a while – it was safe again. You glanced at the unfamiliar number once, curious before you pressed the accepted call to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,”

The deep thrum of his voice reverberated in your ear, travelling straight through your heart – setting it to thump unsteadily – and landed deep in your belly, burning uncomfortably.

Your fingers tightened around the device, unable to speak, unable to pull it away from your ear, unable to comprehend simply hanging up. Instead you helplessly muttered his name. The two syllables were heavy on your tongue, some emotion injected in them that you doubted he could sense over the phone.

It irked you that you had so easily been caught unaware. You had paid attention to every text, every call for so long, swiping him out of your sight to avoid the temptation and here he was, smartening up and using another number altogether.

You guessed his IQ really did pay off.

When he spoke again, there was no weight in his tenor, no sense of concern that Kayla had said he felt about your absence. If anything he sounded cold, indifferent – as if you were just another person he was talking to.

And you were...you couldn’t mean anything to him.

“How have you been? It’s been quite some time.” He said, formal, aloof.

“Yeah, I’ve...I’ve been keeping busy. What...about you? How are you?” You mumbled.

“I’m fine. The bio is going on fine, I heard from Kayla.” He seemed to be moving while he spoke, you could hear distinct shuffles around him.

“That’s nice. So, is something wrong? Did you need something? If you lost Kayla’s number –”

“Can I not call you unless there was something wrong?” he cut you off smoothly, pleasant while you stumbled to correct yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just –”

“Anyway, so the boys wanted to throw a party in celebration of the album finalization. It’s a dinner and games thing so be prepared to be bored if you’re not into that. They wanted to invite you because you were part of the bio making process.”

They...they were inviting you, not him. It seemed silly, to be stung by such a tiny little detail but you couldn’t help the down-turn of your lips, the frown settling upon your brows. “What about Kayla?”

“I don’t know, maybe one of the boys will get to it. So, do I count you in?”

“Why me, Namjoon, I left the project, didn’t I?”

“Is that a no?”

You sighed, annoyance surging at the way he deliberately ignored your pointed remarks. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

“See you at 7. You know where the dorm is. Just tell the front desk you’re here for BTS and give them your name.”

He hung up before you could spill out another question, pose another objection. You looked irate at the blackened screen, feeling used and mocked yet again. He had reached you so long after you cut him off and he had had the gall to sound miffed with you? You stuffed the phone back into your back.

The evening would last long. You vowed that this would be the last time you would have anything to do with Kim Namjoon.

***

You had been intimidated by the idea of BTS before. After spending a few days with Namjoon, you could appreciate them being normal men, seven men who just wanted to make music, who were young, a little dorky but overall just themselves.

Coming here, standing in front and looking up at the gigantic building that housed the dorm of BTS and their separate private apartments, you could only feel the previous nerves spiking again.

Your fingers were shaky as you pushed open the heavy glass door, thick enough to stop bullets and made your way to the marble front desk.

The concierge, decked out in a cream vest outfit, politely smiled at your approach – too professional to not rove his eye critically over your modest dress. You were at the dorm of BTS, after all. You couldn’t show up in jeans for a dinner party.

He nodded when you relayed your name, giving Namjoon’s reference which had them flurry to get you an elevator. Once trapped in the sleek metal box, the chiming numbers indicated your rising panic.

What were you doing?

Why were you here?

You had cut them out of your life for a reason. Why would you willingly show up again? Inside, of course, you knew the reason. You had unsettled issues. You wanted to talk this out with him. But you couldn’t – which again, added to the question as to why you would accept his invitation in the first place?

There was no way you were brave enough to stand in front of Kim Namjoon and ask him to explain himself.

When the doors opened; the wide hallway only led to one set of double doors. You looked around once; just to make sure that you were on the right floor and not about to barge into some unwitting souls’ suite.

Walking to the etched wood, you knocked a hurried patter that sounded abnormally loud. You didn’t even have to wait long. The door swung open almost immediately, as if he was waiting right inside for you.

Namjoon stood in a simple black long sleeve, rolled up till his elbows. His jeans stretched tightly along the length of those legs. Huh, he was wearing jeans...go figure...

“Come in Y/N.” He said, walking back into the house. You followed, slower, clutching your bag strap like the first day.

It was...relatively clean, being the house full of men. It was also too big for you to take in everything. You supposed they needed the space, each one with a personality of their own but together all the time. You wondered if they had studios in the two storey house too.

You focused on Namjoon, who had by now moved to the sitting area, flicking through some pages, not paying any attention to you. There was no sound. No one came to greet you, not even Jin who you thought was the actual host.

It was...suspiciously quiet.

“Namjoon,” You called. “Where is everyone?” 

The man only shrugged his shoulders for a second and it seemed that he wasn’t about to answer your question at all. However, at the very last moment when you were about to repeat yourself unwillingly, he muttered. “They went out to eat.”

What?

They were out to eat? After calling you over to have dinner and play games? 

“So...we have to go and join them or something?” you asked.

Namjoon sighed painstakingly, as if you were disturbing his peace but he finally dropped the papers onto the coffee table and stood up, hands in his pockets.

“No, Y/N, we’re not going to join them.”

What the hell was going on here exactly?

“We’re going to talk.”

You had opened your mouth when he finished his sentence, pausing in contemplation to what he could possibly want to talk about. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I want answers, Y/N. Why did you stop coming over all of a sudden? Why did you stop working on the bio and give it to Kayla? Why didn’t you pick up your phone when I called you? Why didn’t you answer my texts? What the fuck happened?”

You blinked, once, staring at him in shock mingled with annoyance. There was a lot to Kim Namjoon; you would be the first to admit it. But you never took him to be this cruel.

“Why are you even asking me these questions? I wasn’t competent enough for you. So I did the right thing, I gave the work to someone who could match your standards. End of story; I don’t understand why you had to bring me here.” Your vehemence faded by the end of it, leaving you to drop your head and mumble half the words at your shoes.

You kept staring down when Namjoon didn’t say anything in retaliation. Seconds ticked by and finally you had to glance up to see Namjoon’s face tight, jaw clenched and he drummed his fingers over crossed arms. 

“Unfortunately,” He began when your eyes met. “Doubt and Insecurity are two things that every artist struggles with in their line of work. There are no ways around them; you simply have to push through them. Work through them, Y/N; but you can’t let it take you away from your passion. If you felt doubtful of yourself, you should’ve talked to me, or any of us...you didn’t have to brand yourself incompetent and give into this negativity.”

If you had two cents of courage you would’ve screamed at him. Indeed, Kim Namjoon was a cruel man – a blind man.

And your nerves had finally grown into something more ferocious.

“I gave in? I’m sorry, Namjoon, but when your client is the one that ‘brands’ you incompetent, you kind of have to give in. You are the one who said you preferred Kayla. So I gave you exactly what you wanted. So stop pretending like you care about my insecurities and my doubts.”

Namjoon gaped at you like a fish, eyes wide and thoroughly confused. He held up a hand immediately. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

You snapped. “I heard you, that day, talking to Yoongi about how you would’ve preferred it if it was Kayla who was working on the bio rather than me. If I was bothering you that much or if you found me – I don’t know, not a good writer, you could’ve at least been professional about it. You could’ve emailed the company and asked for a switch, instead of bad-mouthing me to your damn members!”

Both of Namjoon’s hands were up in the air now, defensively. His eyes flickered around his house as he attempted to place the scenario you were describing to him. You saw the light bulb go off about a few seconds after. His demeanour changed immediately. His hands lowered, face cleared and his eyes scrunched before he did the worst thing imaginable that he could’ve done at that moment.

He laughed.

His body bent forward, hands clasping his stomach as his shoulders shook. His head dipped, chortles echoing around you as you stood rooted to your spot, stricken by his mirth.

In the moments that he managed to raise his head, he caught sight of you and laughed again, eyes watering.

You were seeing red. His frame lit up in flames in your head, fuelling you to whirl about on your heel. You marched away, almost at the door when fingers wrapped around your elbow, stopping your next steps.

You turned, seeing Namjoon already there, still smiling.

“Let me go.” You said firmly.

“I didn’t say I would’ve preferred Kayla to you because I thought you weren’t a good fit for the job, Y/N.” He said instead, hand loosening on your arm but not quite letting go. “I said it because...well, I was afraid I would be breaching our contract. Since...I kind of wanted to take you out.”

You stood there, watching Namjoon’s eyes flicker between yours, waiting for a reaction. His hand was still loosely cupping your elbow, fingers warm and splayed out over the skin. His thumb briefly brushed over the bone as if checking that you hadn’t frozen over.

But you had...you were standing stock still, staring up at the idol, uncomprehending the words that had spilled out of him. He had just said something very controversial, very brave...and very confusing.

You thought back to all your hangouts. The long talks that you scribbled down with your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth, the walks that you took, sometimes huddling together with shivers due to the cold weather, sharing hot coffees and chocolate ice creams. Telling him about yourself when he wanted a break and needed to listen instead of supply conversation. Then they changed to his texts, the good morning or good night texts that he would send, the occasional music recommendations and book suggestions.

And then the night of the Gala...that stunning dress...his behaviour...

Nowhere in any of these cases had you seen anything that spelled anything other than friends being friends. He had never flirted brazenly with you, simple banter being the only form of cheek you could recall. He was after all; your client and anything that could offend or upset him would result in your suspension.

“That’s...that’s...impossible. You never – not even once – I didn’t ever get the idea, not ever,” You fumbled over your words, pulling away or trying to once again but Namjoon shrugged, smiling sardonically.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly come out and say it, could I? You were working with me, for my company. I know the kind of pressure you must’ve been under. If I did say something, you’d have been obliged to agree because you’d think you owed it or something, just to keep the job. I didn’t really want to put you in the spot like that. The night of the gala I got carried away. I had a plus one and if I had to take someone, I wanted it to be you. I begged Taehyung to put the outfit together because I’m shit at high end fashion but you looked absolutely gorgeous and yeah, I owe Tae a thousand favours now but it was worth it.” He took a breath.

“I was waiting for the project to be over so I could actually, properly ask you out but well, I guess you heard me being an idiot that day and...” he waved his free hand vaguely.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your eyes leaving him and travelling back down to the floor. What else could you say? Sorry, I was eavesdropping on your conversation and got my feelings hurt and acted like a child? Yeah, you didn’t think that’d go over well.

“Which brings me to the question, why did you stop?” His thumb brushed over your skin again, prodding your attention to him and you shrugged like him, mumbling something about doing right by the client.

“Bullshit, if you wanted to do right by the client, you would’ve waited for me to say something. Changing people like that could’ve resulted in a breach lawsuit and I doubt you’d have risked that.”

You looked up at him again, irritated. Why did he have to poke holes in your admittedly stupid story? Hadn’t he shaken your world enough by telling you that THE KIM NAMJOON wanted to ask you out?

“You hurt me.” You hissed. “You made me think I was inept and it hurt my feelings because I’ve been attached to you and this book since day one. I finished the bio at home, for fuck’s sake. I lost objectivity when it came to you because you’re adorable, scary smart, caring, generous, a total goof and it doesn’t help that you look like a damn sculpture all the time.”

You yanked your arm one last time, successful this time around because Namjoon smiled widely, shyly, deep dimples poking into his cheeks that had you internally melting from how cute he was.

“I want to kiss you.” he said simply. “May I?”

What were you going to do, say no?

Instead, horrifyingly you started to sniffle. “You better, because I’m really ashamed right now and I will start crying.”

Namjoon was quick to cup your face, cooing over your squished cheeks in his large palms and he brought you closer, closer and closer to himself. Your hands clutched at the sleeves of his shirt while he pecked you lightly, dropping a flurry of equally soft and fast pecks on your cheek, the tip of your nose and chin before returning to your lips, delving deeper, testing the waters.

Your eyes fell shut, revelling in the plumpness of his lips as he delicately trailed them over yours, smacking kisses over you till you let out a giggle.

“Finally, she smiles.” Namjoon beamed at you, leading you back until you were gently propped against the door, your head comfortably resting on the wood and he deepened the kiss, bowing and moulding his body with yours.

“Should we be doing this here?” You asked nervously, when his lips began to travel over your jaw.

“The boys won’t be back for a while but we can head to my room if you want?” He wriggled his eyebrows at you, heat pooling into the skin he still held between his hands.

“Uh, I’m good here.” You muttered to his amusement. His eyes travelled back to your mouth, eyes hooding and then he was slowly leaning in again. You met him halfway and his mouth opened with the barest brush of tongue when loud pounding sounded right on the other side of the doorway, laughter and footfalls sounding the arrival of the rest of the band.

You moved away just as the door flung open, six boys piling in, “Can you believe none of us thought to grab our wallets, we have to go back and tell manager-nim to get the car again –” Jin grumbled with the boys stopping to gape at you in Namjoon’s arms as the two of you blinked at them like deer in headlights.

Then chaos erupted.

The whoops and cheers of ‘finally’ made you drop your head in a shy grin with Namjoon groaning behind you.

“Namjoonie finally got some!”

“OH SHUT UP!”

[whenyouknowyouknow]

Harry the Womanizer

 This thing started because I find the whole womanizer image of Harry absolutely disgusting and wanted people to see how utterly bad and wrong it was.

Please be aware that the following does not reflect Harry’s personality but it shows us the image their label wanted him to be seen as.

Some disclaimer about where the data comes from

written, digital coverage (no print,  1-2 videos, no radio)

google search “Harry Styles”, I looked through the first 20 hits each month but didn’t read all of them ( headlines usually are a dead giveaway if an article contains a new “conquest”)

I did not list every woman that was mentioned in the same article as Harry. Also not those that showed interest in him. But most of those that were said he showed interest in (I might have skipped a few in the worst years just bc it was so freaking disgusting)

Often articles contained offhand comments about his pulling power or unrelatedly recounting his latest conquests in any given article to enforce the womanizer image. These did not make it into the list.

Deleted articles are of course not included (as of Aug 2020)

Some of the women turn up again for a round 2 (or 3 or 4), I only mention them once a year tho

I put the women into the list on the date the news coverage happened/started because many articles date back things by saying  “pics have circulated since…” “They have been reportedly seen together since…” or simply tell a story that supposedly happened a few years prior

Some dates overlap. Thats either bc they pushed several woman at once (very effective to drive the whole womanizer image home) or its bc one woman was seeded in while the other was happening.

Because this is a freaking long post, I’ll put it under the “read more”

About the list

split by years

each year has Harrys age for that given year in brackets

each data set has in brackets the age, occupation and date of news coverage for the woman (if available)

winter gf get their own category as they sometimes overlap with other woman

Some of the woman get brought back up (not just mentioned in passing), those are listed at the end of each year with the dates when they where brought back up

“again” is for those who dated him again

Women linked to Harry

2010 (16)

5(?) girls from bootcamp

Cher Loyd (17, txf fellow contestant, Oct)

unnamed girl fan (13.11.)

2011 (17)

Adele (23, singer, 27.09.)

Sarita Borge (record executive, 29.11.)

2011-2012

Caroline Flack (31, txf, 23.10.-27.01.)

2012 (18)

Pixie Geldoff (21, 09.02.)

Alexa Chung (28, model, 16.02)

Alexandra Burke (23, txf, 20.02.)

Jo Wood (56, ex of Ronny Wood 21.02.)

Denise Welch (54, actress, 21.02.)

Georgia May Jagger (20, Mick Jagger daughter, 21.02.)

Sarah-Louise Colivet (24, photographer, 11.04.)

Lily Halpern (19, singer, 11.04.)

Jillian Harris (32, reality TV star, 13.04.)

Emma Ostilly (18, actor for Gotta be You MV -  22.04.) 

Ellis Calcutt (18(?), friend, deniedm, 30.04.)

Emily Atack (22, TV star, 20.05.)

unnamed girl (Article about her one night stand with H, 06.06.)

Lucy Horobin (32, radio presenter, 24.06., dated back to Aug-Oct 2011)

Caggie Dunlop (23, TV star, 12.07.)

Allyssa Reid (19, singer, 23.07.)

Blond girl with pink bag (from a night out, 26.07.)

Cara Delevingne (19, Model, 05.08.)

Natalie Imbruglia (37, singer actress 28.09.)

 2012-13

Taylor Swift (22 singer 19.10.-07.01. (fling dated back to April 2012 then getting back together)

2013 (19)

Hermione Way (27, reality star, 08.01.)

Millie Brady (18, actress, 24.02.)

Shaniece Nesbitt (fan, 11.03.)

Yvette Fielding (44, TV presenter, 11.03.)

Fia Litton (niece of Preston Mahon (security), 14.03)

Chelsea Ferguson (25, stripper, 14.04)

Kimberly Stewart (33, confirmed by Rod, 27.04.)

Camilla Foss (18, fan in oslo, 09.05.)

Kara Rose Marshall (22, model, 03.07.)

Alexis Allen (19, fan, 21.07.)

Cara Delevingne (20, model, 11.09.)

Paige Reifler (17, model, 30.09.)

Sjana Earp (18, model, 25.10.)

Samantha Armytage (36, TV presenter, 27.10.)

Daisy Lowe (24, model, 01.12.)

Caroline Flack (brought back up, 01.02./11.09.)

2013-14

Kendall Jenner (17, model, 21.10. - 23.02)

2014 (20)

mystery brunette (20.01.)

Alison Mosshart (35, singer, 07.03.)

Daisy Lowe (25, model, 11.04.)

Larissa de Macedo Machado (21, brazilian popstar, 08.05.)

Lou Teasdale (30, hairdresser, 26.05.)

Sinitta (45, Smons ex, 22.07.)

Paige Reifler (18, again, model, 25.07.)

Meghan Trainor (20, singer, 27.08.)

blond woman (at Coldplay concert, 18.09.)

Katy Perry (29, singer, 01.10.)

Erin Foster (31, 08.10.)

Kate Moss (40, model, 03.11.)

two blond woman (leaving a club in LA with H, 30.11.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 12.02./02.03./20.08./14.10./04.12.)

Emily Atack (brought back up, 23.03.)

Caroline Flack (brought back up, 26.03.)

2014-15

Nadine Leopold (20, model, 20.12.- 12.03.)

2015 (21)

Emma Watson (24, actress, 14.01. dated back to 26.12.14)

Suki Waterhouse (23, actress, 05.04.)

Joy Muggli (23, talent agent, 12.05.)

Sara Sampaio (23, model, 15.06.)

Georgia Fowler (22, model, inspiration for Kiwi, 15.10.)

Nicole Scherzinger (34, singer, 17.10., dated back to 2013)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 15.01./13.02./10.03./08.05./13.10./28.10.)

Caroline Flack (brought back up, 24.05./11.10.)

2015-16

Kendall Jenner (again, 30.12.- 31.01.)

2016 (22)

Pandora Lennard (28, model 31.01.)

Lindsay Lohan (30, actress, 10.03., dated back unspecified)

Kendall Jenner (again, 05.09.)

Kara Rose Marshall (brought back up, 07.10.)

Suki Waterhouse (again + dated back to 2013, 11.11.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 01.02.)

2017 (23)

Tess Ward (26, food blogger, 09.05.)

Townes Adair Jones (20s, 17.05., dated back to 2014)

Camille Rowe (31, model, 31.07.)

Sjana Earp (22, again, 05.12.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 18.04./12.05./03.09./09.11.)

Kendall Jenner (brought back up, 31.01.)

2018 (24)

Delta Goodrem (33, voice coach, 27.04.) 

Camille Rowe (ends 31.07.)

Kendall Jenner (brought back up, 15.07./12.12.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 21.03./)

2019 (25)

Kiko Mizuhara (28, denied by K, 12.01.)

Camille Rowe (brought back up, 22.11.)

Kendall Jenner (brought back up, 11.12.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 23.08./04.11./13.12.)

2020 (26)

Daisy Lowe (brought back up, 20.06.)

Taylor Swift (brought back up, 02.03./24.07.)

data from here on is not included in the graphs, I will keep adding when things happen

Tracee Ellis Ross (48, actress, 28.10.)

The age differences

The graph shows clearly how

the age gaps are very big in the beginning, likely to attract an older audience in addition to the usual target audience of teenage girls

the amount of woman linked to Harry gets smaller each year because in later years, articles could just reference his history with woman

the amount of woman linked and mentioned in regards to Harry gets significantly lower after hiatus started

A rough timeline of women that where connected to Harry over the years

Why give Harry the womanizer image?

Would the image of a womanizer not damage the image of 1D?

If they’d portrait him as a sleeze it would have surely damaged the overal image of 1D. But Harrys image portrait him as charming, a bit quirky and overall an airhead that likes people and doesn’t want to be tied down. Thus giving the illusion of being potentially available to every woman and showing them a good, no strings attached, time. Which is a massive selling point for boybands to increase the age range of their fans.

In addition, all his conquests would be used to stir up drama or simply generate attention at crucial times to get 1D in the press without mentioning their current promo focus in every headline.

The winter girlfriends had a special role as they were the only ones actively worked as continuous dating. To build some attachment, have a continuous storyline that could be tied to the just released album and bridge the holiday pause, and when the relationship ended generate more drama to be used for promo.

Harry did keep on using his womanizer image to promote both his solo albums but in a very controlled manner. The numbers of new woman linked to him declined to 1 in 2019, for now we are at 0 (1) in 2020

HS promo used 3 woman as inspirations for songs (Towns, Fowler, Swift) and a tour gf (Rowe)

FL promo only uses the previous tour gf as now ex to push the storyline of a breakup album

He is very visibly changing his image while still maintaining a level of connection to his old image. Whether that's due to contractual restrictions or a strategy to not alienate to many fans is unclear

Jeff Azoff

For what I’ve seen Jeff and Harry seem close (the Azoff family having him on family pictures, posted by Jeff’s brother)

Looking at the timeline of Jeff and Harry

2014-03-25 first mention of Harry at Azoff family home in an article about Irvin

2014-04-23 first pics of Harry and Jeff at a sports event (Jeff named as a friend, no name or position yet)

2014-12-22 Jeff not named yet but identified as his agent

2015-01-10 first time Jeff being named and being the link between Harry and a woman

2016-03-07 Jeff leaves CAA as a music agent and launches his own company Full Stop Management

2016-03-11 Harry confirmed to have joined Full Stop Management

Jeff likely took over as Harry’s agent in early 2014. In 2015 Harry’s image change starts to become aparent and changed drastically after hiatus.

Harry choosing Jeffs management firm as soon as he left Modest is a clear indication that he feels Jeff will represent him how he wants

The Timeline - Women connected to Harry and Promo

I started the visual timeline in end 2011 when his womanizer image started to take off

The instances before where likely used as seeding for this image (first instance was a segment in txf where he was linked to 5 of the girl contestants and funny enough one older guy)

purple - women from the entertainment industry

pink - fans/no-names

lilac - winter gf

dark burgundy - thos who date him again

dusky pink - brought back up

light blue - single release

royal blue - album release

mid blue - other releases

dark turquoise - tour legs

Adendum: a few numbers analyzed,

[superbabetotherescue]

Thanks, Brucie-Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1840

Summary: You reminisce on your childhood with your best friend

Warnings: some violence, none really described in detail except reader getting punched in the face (as an alternative to getting teeth pulled), do teeth need their own warning bc they might, probably swearing but idk, kinda sad but don’t worry it’s fluffy, Bruce is a lil bitch but isn’t that kinda par for the course?

A/N: Once again this is just an old oneshot I have that I like a weird amount for no reason. You can read it as platonic or romantic it’s up to you idk but I’m lowkey thinking of making it into a series as platonic best friends so idk. I mean you’re reading it if you want it to be romantic that’s fine lmao I don’t care

Growing up one of Gotham’s elite may be a charmed life, but that didn’t mean that it was without its faults. You had spent your time being ignored by your parents, and your best friend, Bruce Wayne, became an orphan during a back alley robbery when the two of you were kids.

Or at least, former best friend.

In truth, you hadn’t seen Bruce in a while.

Well, you saw him constantly on the news and in the papers and just existing in Gotham in general, but you never got to see him face to face anymore.

Not for lack of trying, either. You sat down one night, the fifth time that Bruce had blown you off to meet for dinner in the past month, and pulled out your old photo album.

There was your fifth birthday party, a year or two after you had met Bruce in mega rich kid preschool, and there the two of you were, sharing a chair and staring at your huge birthday cake.

And the next picture, your favorite, the two of you covered in said birthday cake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Brucie,” You had cried,  whispering to him frantically, “Brucie, I got frosting on my dress!”

You were wearing a frilly pink dress that your mother had forced upon you, and in a moment of excitement you had leaned forward a little too far, and now the pale buttercream frosting covered your bodice.

“Uh oh,” Bruce breathed out slowly, adjusting his tie, pink to match your dress, and looking down at his own tiny three piece suit.

You were panicking, breathing heavily, “My mom is gonna be so mad!”

With a quick tug to your pigtails, Bruce shook his head, “I got this, Y/N.”

He reached forward and scooped a large chunk of the cake out, turning to you and smashing it against your chest quickly.

“Ah!” You jumped backwards, “Bruce!”

“Come on, hit me back,” Bruce hissed, grabbing another handful of cake and smushing it into your face.

As his plan dawned on you, you nodded, getting your own chunk of cake and throwing it at him, laughing delightedly as it landed in his hair.

“Bruce!” Mrs. Wayne scolded, running forward and crouching next to her son, who was currently trying to wrestle you, “You’re such a mess. Ms. Y/L/N, I’m so sorry for my son’s behavior!”

Your mother merely shook her head, smiling pleasantly, “Oh please, don’t worry about it, Martha. Those two are always getting into trouble.”

Victory!

You leaned over to your best friend with a wide grin, wrapping him in a tight hug, “Thanks, Brucie!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flipping a few pages, you chuckled at what you saw.

Your face and Bruce’s fist matching in bloodiness, and a huge gap where your teeth were missing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were twelve years old, and you had five loose teeth. Your last five baby teeth. All in a row next to each other.

And, like most twelve year olds, you had a healthy fear of the dentist.

“They want me to go to the dentist tomorrow to get the teeth pulled!” You complained to Bruce, the two of you laying in his living room under the guise of studying.

He shrugged, “You just have to get them out before the dentist, right? Just keep wiggling.”

“I’ve been wiggling!” You sat up, shaking your head, “It’s not working. I need a new approach.  Maybe Alfred can make something sticky for me to eat and the teeth will get stuck in it. Like that toffee your-”

You froze, not looking at Bruce anymore.

His hand touched yours gently, and you turned to see a small, sad smile on his face, “Like the toffee my father used to make at Christmas? That would be good. But Alfred’s working on something, I think.”

Nodding, you hmm’d quietly to yourself for a moment, “I just don’t know what to do. I can’t let the dentist pull my teeth. I just can’t do it, Brucie.”

“Don’t call me Brucie,” He scowled, but you knew he didn’t really care.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, pushing your teeth back and forth with your tongue as the two of you thought.

“I have an idea,” Bruce stood, extending his hand out to you, “But it’s a little unorthodox.”

If he hadn’t been offering to help you, you would’ve rolled your eyes at the way he spoke.

You rose next to him, nodding, “Anything! Anything that keeps me out of the dentist’s chair.”

He took a breath, deep, slow, thoughtful. His hand reached out towards your face, thumb stroking your lips, palm cupping your jaw and cheek.

What was he doing?

And then he reared his fist back, and punched you in the face.

It hurt, that was for certain, but it was well concentrated in one place, and you coughed as you choked on the teeth, spitting them into your hand.

“There’s only four,” You frowned, counting them quickly.

“Sorry about that, Y/N,” He held his fist back out, and you saw the fifth tooth embedded in his knuckle, “You can have it back.”

With a chuckle you plucked the tooth out and pulled him into a hug, “Thanks, Brucie!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfred had a field day with that one, you remembered, but it was still better than going to the dentist.

With a few more flicks of pages, you felt your heart catch in your throat.

Prom night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:30.

Your date was supposed to come meet you at Wayne Manor at 5:30 so that you could go out with Bruce and his pretty blonde arm candy.

And now it was 6:45, and he still wasn’t there.

You’d been pacing the parlor of the Manor for two hours. Bruce and his date kept disappearing to make out in various rooms, and Alfred had stopped standing at the front door and had instead begun to busy himself in the kitchen.

And you were crying.

“Shit,” You hissed, wiping a tiny smear of eyeliner out from under your eye.

You weren’t going to cry over him. Especially not after you’d spent three hours on your makeup. You couldn’t do it.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just leave her,” You heard The Blonde complain to Bruce in the next room over, “She’s totally bringing down the mood.”

“Hey, back off,” Bruce sighed, “She’s my best friend. I’m not leaving her all alone on prom night. Maybe she can just come out with us.“

“I’m not spending my prom night with some loser who got stood up by her own date.”

You bit your lip, swallowing back a sob and then speaking loudly enough for them to know they were meant to hear you, “Hey, Bruce? I think I’m just gonna go, okay? Sorry for holding you guys up.”

“Wait,” Bruce opened the door to the closet he and his date were in, running a hand through his hair, “Y/N, don’t go.”

The Blonde gasped indignantly, and you shook your head, “No, seriously Bruce, don’t worry about it. I’m just-”

“Don’t leave, Y/N,” He said again, and the solidness of his words, the complete authority in how he said it, was enough to freeze you, “I’m taking you to prom. You can’t leave me.”

What?

“What?” The Blonde shrieked, stomping her heel on the ground, “You’re not taking her, you’re taking me!”

Bruce gave her a rather pleasant smile, “Actually, I’m not. I think you’re a stone cold bitch and if I look at you for any longer than fifteen more seconds, I think I’ll vomit. Now get out of my house,” And with that, waving a dismissive hand at her, he turned to you and grinned, “Now, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, would you do me the honor of being my date to prom?”

A burst of energy running through you, you sprang forward and wrapped him up in a hug, “Absolutely. Thanks, Brucie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing your photo album, you sighed.

It felt like just yesterday in so many ways, and yet a million years ago.

What had happened between you two? What had you done to drive him away? Maybe a walk would clear your head.

You grabbed your keys and left, walking the streets of Gotham and thinking of your younger days.

There was a playground where you and Bruce would sometimes sneak off to play, halfway between both of your houses. It was where you had taught him how to throw a punch when you were six, where he had taught you how to cartwheel when you were eight, and where you two had shared your first kiss when you were ten.

You laughed at that memory too, wishing you had a picture in your album of that day, when the two of you had decided to be each other’s first kiss just so you’d know what you were getting yourselves into.

You’d sat on top of the monkey bars, staring into each other’s eyes as you came to your solemn decision, and leaned forward to give each other the briefest of pecks on the lips. And then you’d both fallen off the monkey bars, wiping your mouths and gagging dramatically.

Standing by those monkey bars, you ran your hands down the side with a smile.

And then you felt the cold barrel of a gun press into the back of your neck.

“Give me all your money, and get on your knees,” A dark voice growled.

Crap.

How could you let yourself be taken completely by surprise, in Gotham of all places?

Shaking, you tried to speak, your voice catching in your throat, “I… I don’t…”

“Hey!” A familiar voice sounded through the air, cutting you off, “Back off!”

You felt the  rounded metal leave your skin and let out a sigh of relief.

Spinning on your heel, you watched as your attacker, a large man with a ski mask pulled over his face, so cliche, got the crap beaten out of him by…

“Batman?” You gasped.

Of course!

Batman wrapped an arm around you, scoffing at the thug on the ground, and shot a grappling hook into the air.

As you felt yourself fly your head spun, trying to wrap your mind around everything.

So this was why he kept standing you up. Why he always came up with some flimsy excuse. He couldn’t just tell you he was the Batman, and besides, the mystery of it all was surely an ego thing for him.

You landed outside your house a moment later, the dark suit encompassing Batman just intimidating enough for you to almost take a step back as he rumbled, “You should be more careful. Especially at night.”

But you couldn’t take his warning seriously.

Your best friend wasn’t avoiding you, he didn’t hate you, he just had a secret!

You were too ecstatic to pay his advice any mind.

And so you simply wrapped him in a hug, your arms erupting into goosebumps against the cold armor that he wore, “Thanks, Brucie.”

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

---

Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

-

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

-

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

-

@berrynarrybanana​

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,912 Words

Summary: The Todoroki family drama yet again.

Warnings: Cursing, Caps, Food Mention, Abuse Mention, Teen Pregnancy Mention, Arranged Marriage Mention, Forced Marriage Mention, Forced Pregnancy Mention, Blood Mention, Near Death Mention, Death Mention, Pregnancy Mention, Secret Pregnancy Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Usernames: Area 51   Aoyama: bonjour je suis Dora, Ashido: aggressive chicken dance, Asui: wut, Iida: Human Porche, Uraraka: Fuck Gravity, Ojiro: ceouolo, Kaminari: pikachoo, Kirishima: ordained, Koda: the muffin man?, Sato: dammit kevin, Shoji: pIaNoMaN, Jirou: neko neko kneecaps, Sero: wine and cheerios, Tokoyami: brb drowning, Todoroki: daddy issues, Hagakure: oreosandpussy, Bakugo: mother i crave violence, Midoriya: mistakes were made Mineta: Mineta, Shinsou: its a mental breakdown, Yaoyorozu: single braincell

Usernames: Emo Sanctuary  Jirou: tell tale heart, Tokoyami: eldritch peep, Todoroki: i love you 3000, Bakugou: knife tag, Midoriya: bitchasaurus, Shinsou: unhappy meal, Kuroiro: meth and deadamine, Shigaraki: depresso extra shot, Dabi: *sad kazoo*

Usernames: I Hate This Family  Shigaraki: I'm A Duck Now, Dabi: Unidentified Flaming Object, Toga: Mothman's Descendant, Twice: Car's Extended Warrantee, Compress: Communist Propaganda, Magne: Sir This Is A Wendy's, Spinner: I Taste Like Chicken

Usernames: Endeavor Hate Chat  Fuyumi: coconut cake, Natsuo: lemon cake, Shoto: red velvet cake, Haruhi/Dabi/Touya: chocolate cake, Bakugou: carrot cake, Shinsou: strawberry cake

Into The Group Chat We Go: Chapter 5

12:35 PM

Area 51

daddy issues: He looks like my oldest brother, Touya. he disappeared after I was born. But he looks just like him from the picture albums, but, you know, taller...and happy?

mother i crave violence: Ask him.

daddy issues: He looks so happy with Shinsou. Maybe I should just leave it. He doesn't need to be burdened with the family he left behind.

mother i crave violence: I'll fight you. Get downstairs, we need to make lunch for ourselves anyway and I won't have you trying to cook in your room.

Aizawa: No fighting, you two. But no cooking in your room either, Todoroki, that's dangerous.

daddy issues: Fuck both of you. I just won't eat then.

Aizawa: I hate children.

daddy issues: And I hate you, so we're even.

Aizawa: You can't push away every father figure in your life, kid. It won't work on the stubborn ones like me.

daddy issues: If this is your way of saying you want to steal me from my father and keep me as your own son, I won't object.

Aizawa: Alright, that too. Now come eat. You don't even need to talk to him.

daddy issues: I hate this fucking family.

daddy issues: Fine.

12:45 PM

I Hate This Family

Unidentified Flaming Object: I think we miscalculated. Don't address it, this is my problem, @I'm A Duck Now.

Mothman's Descendant: What happened?

Unidentified Flaming Object: I forgot a family member of mine goes to UA and he might knows what I look like since I look like I used to before the accident and my family might still have some pictures of me around for him to recognize me.

Sir This Is A Wendy's: YOU'RE BLOWING OUR COVER!?

Unidentified Flaming Object: He doesn't know I became a villain. To him, I'm just a "sibling" he never met. Unfortunately, I'm actually his mother.

Communist Propaganda: Do you think he knows by now?

Car's Extended Warrantee: Oh shit, man. You gonna be okay over there?

Unidentified Flaming Object: He probably doesn't know. The old man never even told Fuyumi that I was Shoto's mother. He probably didn't even tell him he had a different legal name on his first birth certificate.

I'm A Duck Now: Maybe call him by the name you named him?

12:55 PM

Area 51

oreosandpussy: Haruhi asked if someone named Akimitsu wants any plum kitkats.

fuck gravity: Isn't that your favorite candy, Todoroki?

daddy issues is now offline

wut: I feel like that's a bad sign.

oreosandpussy: They both just stared at each other and left the room!

its a mental breakdown: sibling bond telepathy.

wine and cheerios: No because none of my siblings and I can do that. That's not fair.

ceouolo: you have siblings?

wine and cheerios: yeah, I have nine siblings, man.

ceouolo: Sero wins that bet. He has the most siblings. I thought Hagakure would win with five sisters.

oreosandpussy: We're getting away from the point here. Haruhi and Shoto just disappeared after Haruhi said the name of someone who isn't here.

fuck gravity: Todoroki is probably back-alley dealing him use of Endeavor's credit card for the kitkats knowing him.

2:25 PM

I Hate This Family

Unidentified Flaming Object: So I told my kid that I'm his mother. He took it better than I thought and he wants to call me Dad now and I think I'm going to cry tonight.

Mothman's Descendant: Good job, Touya!

2:25 PM

Area 51

daddy issues: I'd like to announce I have a shiny new father who doesn't come with abusive tendencies and is actually my biological parent.

its a mental breakdown: I'm so proud of you!

daddy issues: I just realized I got a two for one. I just got a real dad and an adopted brother all in one.

its a mental breakdown: still supportive but what? please explain.

daddy issues: Haruhi's legal name is Touya and he's my biological mother. Enji forced him into a very young arranged quirk marriage at 12 for more spawn to train because Rei became infertile after Natsuo due to the emergency hysterectomy they performed on her to save her life because she was hemorrhaging. I was the sole result of that marriage before Haruhi ran away but wasn't able to take me with him since Endeavor passed me off as his own child with Rei after paying the doctors that did her hysterectomy not to talk.

fuck gravity: Sho, Haruhi's a guy.

daddy issues: Yes, he's transgender. So he's my biological mother but he's my Dad.

oreosandpussy: Does this have something to do with the 'Akimitsu' thing?

daddy issues: Actually, my birth name was Akimitsu. He named me and Natsuo used to call me that when Enji wasn't home because he'd heard Haruhi call me that once before he ran away. Endewhore and Rei renamed me almost immediately on a second birth certificate they'd had made as if I was Rei's son.

mother i crave violence: Technically, you got two adopted brothers. Me and Shinsou.

daddy issues: And you two got another brother too.

aggressive chicken dance: dumbass trio.

mother i crave violence: I'm oldest, I automatically win.

its a mental breakdown: Ask Haruhi what kind of quirk your sperm donor had.

daddy issues: He says it was a mental block quirk. Oh my god, the dude had blue hair. Hitoshi, blue fucking hair with Haruhi's red hair.

its a mental breakdown: Are we sure he's not my real parent?

mother i crave violence: Toshi, your birthday is in July. He couldn't have had you five months after he had Shoto.

daddy issues: Well, actually, that's technically possible, in a longshot kind of way since he was about seven months when he had me.

its a mental breakdown: Regardless, I say we claim we're triplets and Haruhi had the two of us after he ran away.

daddy issues: He says that's a funny idea and he's absolutely going with it.

daddy issues: I'm also adding all three of you to our family's group chat once I can go Endeavor's home and grab my legal documents and the rest of my things tonight. So that'll be fun.

Aizawa: I and Present Mic will go with you.

pikachoo has changed Aizawa's name to Mom

pikachoo: Because you're basically our mom.

Mom: You may live because I'm busy.

8:00 PM

Endeavor Hate Chat

red velvet cake: I'm heading home tonight to grab things with my two friends, two teachers, and someone else. Is Enji there?

coconut cake: No, he's out patrolling and all.

red velvet cake: Good. Would you like to help me move all my stuff out, including my legal documents?

coconut cake: Wait, what!? Why!?

red velvet cake: I would like you to remain calm, alright? Enji isn't my father and you aren't my sister, nor Natsuo my brother. I'm not the child of Todoroki Enji and Himura Rei.

coconut cake: Shoto, I know you hate being part of the family but you can't disown us! I love you! I'll change, I promise! I'll finally cut Enji off, just please keep me in your life!

red velvet cake: That's not it, Fuyumi. I'm saying these things because Rei is not my mother, she's my grandmother. Enji is my grandfather, You and Natsuo are my aunt and uncle. I know about Touya now and I know what happened now.

lemon cake: Akimitsu?

red velvet cake: Yes, I know about the Akimitsu situation. Probably more than you do, actually.

lemon cake: What else is there?

red velvet cake: One minute. Let me just.

red velvet cake has added Haruhi, Hitoshi, and Katsuki to Endeavor Hate Chat

coconut cake: Who are they?

red velvet cake: Hitoshi and Katsuki are my brothers. Haruhi is my Dad. You two probably know him better by the name Touya.

lemon cake: You're fucking with me. Stop it, Shoto.

coconut cake: Shoto, this prank or whatever isn't funny!

red velvet has started a video chat

Dad, say hi to Fuyumi and Natsuo. -red velvet cake

Hey, there guys. Long time no see? -Haruhi

Oh my god, you're really here. I thought you were dead, Touya. Can I still call you that? -lemon cake

I go by either Touya or Haruhi, I don't mind which. -Haruhi

We're visiting the house with my teachers, Eraserhead and Present Mic, to move the rest of my things out of Enji's home and into my dorm room. -red velvet cake

That sounds like a plan. I'll be over in about ten minutes to help them, Fuyu. -lemon cake

Oh yeah, and what are you guy's favorite cake flavors? Which one do you like the most? -coconut cake

Chocolate. -Haruhi

Carrot. -Katsuki

Ew, Kats. Strawberry. -Hitoshi

Yours are both gross. But I'll bear it because you're my sons. -Haruhi

Oh my god. -red velvet cake

red velvet cake has ended the video chat

coconut cake has changed Haruhi's name to chocolate cake

coconut cake has changed Katsuki's name to carrot cake

coconut cake has changed Hitoshi's name to strawberry cake

10:50 PM

Area 51

daddy issues: I am now 100% moved out of Endeavor's house and I found my original birth certificate listing my birth parents.

daddy issues: I also found some hidden documents and medical records. Turns out me and Shinsou really are brothers and Haruhi had no fucking idea because he didn't even know he was still pregnant when he had him.

brb drowning: What the fuck?

neko neko kneecaps: How would he not know!?

daddy issues: He went to the hospital and the doctors took Hitoshi away from Haruhi because they found out he was a homeless kid so they sedated him, must have cut Toshi out, and left Toshi on an orphanage's doorstep.

daddy issues: But they tested Hito and still sent Enji his birth certificate, so I don't know why they lied to Dad.

its a mental breakdown: So I guess you could say I was a secret during the pregnancy even from my own mother?

fuck gravity: But he had you in January, Shoto? And then he had Shinsou in July five months later?

Human Porche: Hold on, Shinsou is 14 by that math.

its a mental breakdown: Actually, the nuns who raised me lied about my birthday to only me so I've been mistakenly putting my birthday down as July 1st on school forms for the last ten years. They did it just so I wouldn't find my mother. Which, again, doesn't make sense. Maybe someone wrote it wrong? But I was actually born on January 12th. Technically me and Sho are fraternal twins with different birthdays.

mother i crave violence: So I'm Haruhi's only not biological son.

is a mental breakdown: We love you, Katsuki.

daddy issues: We love you, Kats.

neko neko kneecaps: They're twins, your honor.

pikachoo: You two are cute being twins.

mother i crave violence: This is creepy. The twins are creepy.

mistakes were made: Next we'll find out Kirishima and Tetsutetsu are twins or something.

ordained: We are. Mom got me, Dad got him. Our Mom has Diamond Skin and Dad has Dermal Armor. We're twins, I'm about an hour older than him and our parents separated and remarried before our quirks even came in.

mistakes were made: Oh my god.

daddy issues: I'm adding that to my conspiracy board and nobody will stop me or they will get pinned to the conspiracy board.

Taglist: @lgbtforeverything @rin-tanaka @everythingisstardust @paint-in-flames @t4t-ummiurk

[unholyhelbig]

We Sold Our Souls | Chloe

Read Beca's Chapter Here | Read on AO3 here

Summer 1985

The Diner on 10th and Jefferson was not an inhabitable establishment. The floor was once a glimmering white that had faded to a musty brown. You could see where the tables had been situated because underneath was still the original color- not the dingy, ketchup-stained mess. A window unit sputtered as it pulled in hot air and the sound of sheets of meat sizzled and popped on day-old grease.

There was flypaper tacked to the ceiling and they spun as the warm air shifted it. It wasn’t brown, not like the floor, it was black with squirming legs and tired wings. Chloe watched, sweat dripping from her nose, as one particularly large one tested his luck and failed.

The boombox in the corner crackled and competed with the sound of two number sevens being placed on the counter. The antenna was stretching to the sky and they only got a slight signal for KWBT, the best Rock music in the county.

Chloe perked up, her spine straightening as Brock Argent’s rumbling voice filled the small area behind the counter. She ignored the way the cook stared at her, sweat beading against his greasy forehead, as she shushed him and turned the dial. She knew what he was going to say, and he didn’t push any more than he already had.

She hadn’t stopped talking about ‘The Ramones’ New Album. It was advertised with neon yellow and orange posters all around town. No one could tell if it was from the record label or some die-hard fans that had too much time on their hands. Either way, everyone knew about it, and that everyone included Brock Argent and the KWBT team. They had made a big deal about getting their hands on a copy.

“Alright you crazy people, I know we’ve been teasing this one for a long while, but we’ve got a good one for you today!” Brock’s tone was so deep that it shook the upturned milk glasses on the counter.  “Here’s Pet Cemetery by the Ramones. Some seriously creepy stuff!”

Chloe felt the greasy diner and the sharp scent of fry oil leave her all at once. The second the first guitar chord struck the airwaves she had fallen so contently into the melody. Joey Ramone’s deep growl hissed and churned and made her stomach feel like soup. Johnny pressed down hard on the guitar strings and Tommy backed him up with a solid beat on the drum kit.

She ignored the way the cook eyed her cautiously as the steaming food on the counter attracted one of the flies that the paper hadn’t attracted. He was growing impatient as the lead belted out words about pets with their ribs crushed and their hearts gnawed pulling from the dirt. It mirrored that horrible book by Stephen King, the one that the schools banned, and the PTA moms fussed about until their veins splattered.

Finally, the song faded out and Chloe gave a grateful smile to the man in front of her before palming the cold plates and taking them to the couple that sat in the back booth. The woman slathered her pile of fries with a generous helping of ketchup and the man seemed to hate the idea of eating altogether.

Chloe didn’t’ notice when the cook turned down the radio for the rest of her shift. She was sore from mopping and wiping down all of the tables that were still sticky despite how much elbow she put into it. He watched her mount her bike and flick on the light that dawned its front despite the sun not fully being down, before he backed out of the parking lot himself and left their second lives behind, at least for a few hours.

She was mostly tipped change today and it rattled in the pockets of her apron as she took the side streets back to their run-down home. It had been nice once- at least that’s what the pictures tacked to the stained green refrigerator portrayed.

She shoved cake into her face with her vibrant mother holding her close. They all looked so clean despite the mess of pastry. There was light in their eyes and sugar in their systems and the old polaroid was a constant reminder to Chloe of the way things had been. The way she wishes they were.

The thought pulled at the back of her throat as she slowed her bike when the front tire met the Mitchell’s driveway. It gave her just enough speed to get over the dip on her own and pull the old blue contraption next to the garage. She could sandwich it between the trashcan and the side of the house. No one would take it, not in their small, rundown town. She flicked off the front light, reveling in the darkness for a few moments.

It was never silent, not here, not this close to the front door where the screen kept the lightning bugs out but no sound in. Her three younger brothers were blasting the television, all of them with their noses pressed to the static screen as MacGyver got himself out of whatever situation he was thrown into.

But over that, she heard her parents.

Her mother and her stepfather screamed loud enough for the whole block to hear them. It made Chloe’s jaw ache- how much they hated each other. They lived together out of spite, and because the boys needed a good role model.

But Rick, Rick hated Chloe just as much as he hated her mother. She wasn’t his and that had ebbed some deep resentment in him that she didn’t understand, nor did she care to. Not as she snuck in through the front door and trudged to her room. She was careful to toe her shoes off by the door, despite the pungent smell the house admitted.

It was considered rude to track mud, though no one had vacuumed in months at this point. No one had changed the lights or addressed the water stains that browned the ceiling above them. There was food on the table, most of the time, and hot water in the lead pipes. So Rick was doing his job and from the sound of the screaming match, Lauren was not.

Chloe tuned it all out.

She focused on the rifts she had heard this afternoon at the diner, and the satisfaction she got when she pulled the jar from the back of her closet, behind her 45’s and an old rolled poster of the Bay City Rollers that she had scored at an old thrift store and hung because the colors were vibrant.

As soon as Chloe could, as soon as she blew out the candle on her cupcake for her 18th birthday in front of that stupid polaroid and that puke green appliance, she would leave this tiny town. She would leave her brothers, and the dirty carpet, and stupid Rick, and even Lauren.

She would meet Joey Ramone, they would get married and she would never have to hear muffled screams and broken glass again- not unless it was at a concert that she was playing.

There was a glass of water on the table in front of Chloe Beale, but she hadn’t reached for it. There was some sinister part of her that considered it a test; there wasn’t a pitcher to refill it or anything else on the stark white surface. Just one singular cup that was free of any blemishes and water pushed to the near brim.

She was on a sofa that matched the rest of the room, stark and unfeeling. There wasn’t personality here; other than her and that stupid taunting glass, there was nothing. It could have been the waiting area in a place that detailed cars, but it wasn’t. She didn’t’ know what it was and she didn’t’ know if the water was a test- so she left it.

Her boots were the blackest thing, sharp like the night, against the white carpet. She got the sinking feeling that she should have taken them off by the door, though the secretary that lead her in here hadn’t told her to do so. Chloe wasn’t a child, not anymore, and Chloe could make her own choices. Like taking a gulp of water to quench the dry heat in her throat or taking her shoes off.

Rick would have made her take her shoes off.

Rick had killed her mother when she was at a concert in Orlando. She had saved up to get the tickets and she had had a fun, normal, road trip with the girls. They ate terribly and broke down in Georgia where they baked in the heat and splurged on ice cream cones that turned into a soupy mess in a matter of seconds. Chloe was happy then, and she had the polaroid tacked up on the corner of her apartment.

Thought the lights had been shut off a few times, and she and Beca had to eat all the ice cream and leftover pizza, and milk each time they did fade away, she kept it there. Her stomach would ache and her brow would sweat but they would fall asleep on the floor and the picture of her last happy moment would gape down at her- not mocking, but reminding.

They saw the yellow tape when Beca pulled the Monza to the edge of her driveway. Chloe let the rubber tire hit the corner of the driveway first, just like she used to do with her second-hand bike. Beca protested as she pushed the door open and flung herself towards her own home. A cop that shadowed his eyes with a large cap grabbed her by the middle and stopped her.

“That’s my house!” She had shouted, letting herself be lowered to the wet grass. “What happened? That’s my house! That’s my house!”

It had stopped being her house a long time ago when her father died of cancer and her mother met Rick, the anesthesiologist with the calm temper and the two boys from a previous marriage, and the one son that they shared together.

Chloe had spent most of her free time in Beca’s room now, staring up at the posters that weren’t of the Bay City Rollers on the ceiling. They both laid close to one another and she had memorized the features of Metallica and Stix and Beca’s breathing patterns, and the way the Charvel rested in the corner, with its off-white color.

Beca’s mother always had dinner on the table and always had enough for all three of them. Beca’s mom was interesting and kind. She was still alive when the summer of 88’ came to an end. She hadn’t heard the gunshots but she had smelt the blood- she said she was a nurse and she knew the scent of decay anywhere.

Rick shot Chloe’s mom in the head while her back was to him, and Chloe had always said he was a coward. He killed the boys too, straight shots with a gun Lauren had purchased him for Christmas because his new hobby would be hunting. As far as Chloe knew, the only shots he fired were that day, and the last when he ever did tore up his throat and painted the wall behind him.

She should take her shoes off and drink some water while she waits and wishes for wine. The secretary told her that he was running late and that she was welcomed to anything. But she didn’t’ feel welcome to the water, and really, she should have taken her shoes off, because the carpet was pristine, and the bottom of her boots were anything but.

Winter 1994

Snow fell in thick, wet drops against the pavement. It had barely started but picked up by the time Chloe ascended the stairs of the venue and tracked down Beca. The girl looked ragged, worn down, and thick with sorrow. She was moving her tongue against the edge of a cigar she had sliced with the pocket knife clipped to her jeans.

The sickly-sweet scent of weed followed the sparking of a lighter and the cold breeze that edged the nearly empty street. She leaned against the side of the van, next to a sizeable dent that had been there when they purchased it. When we’re famous she had said this won’t matter and we’ll be able to afford a van that isn’t half-totaled.

Beca pulled in a hot breath of marijuana, the tip burning hot and fast. She pushed the smoke through her those and passed it to Chloe who took it wordlessly and revealed in the sour film that coated her tongue and her teeth and her throat. A few more of those and she would be able to forget the disaster of tonight.

“Maybe I should have gone into accounting,” Beca said.

“You hate math.”

“That wasn’t my point,”

“I know. I just think that If you want to go back in time and choose MIT over your garage in the winter you should pick something you like. Not math. You’re not even good at math.”

Beca frowned and snatched the joint back. She wedged it between her teeth and gave Chloe the finger, the tattoos against her knuckles catching the red glowing light of the sign that hung above them. It buzzed like the flies Chloe had always hated- for some reason, more than spiders and moths, but she couldn’t’ recall now.

“Aubrey would have had a million things decided by now, you know? I don’t’ even need to prompt the woman before she brings up Julliard. Next thing; she’s going to be bitching about her back hurting from carrying the band.”

Chloe laughed sadly at that because she knew it was something Aubrey would say with that docile fire in her eyes. But through all of this, Aubrey was the best bass player that she had ever met and Beca had the right voice for them- but none of them ever said it. None of them ever dared that she would be better suited to part her ax down and grip the microphone instead.

“Are you?”

“What?”

She hadn’t noticed Beca was staring at her expectantly. Not only holding out the blunt, which she took and sandwiched between her lips, but with a question. Beca’s stare was dark, shaded in crimson, and glazed over because something was hitting; be the alcohol that she had consumed during the show or the slow crossfade that was humming happily through her now.

“Are you ready to give up?”

“Beca, this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She swallowed hard and tried to dull the pain of the flames at her throat. Red and hot and a lot like the stories plastered on the news not too long ago. Her stomach felt fuzzy and her brain did too and she suddenly felt like following Beca out here was a bad idea. A terrible idea, really.

Chloe let the end of the roll hit the ground. There was no need to stomp it out. The color faded away in the puddle of dingy water that had collected as they talked. She didn’t’ mind the cool embrace of the large drops that felt more like snow and stung like an insect bite. It kept her steady and grounded.

“I heard what you asked, and I told you this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Chloe sniffed, “I don’t’ care how long it takes to get there. It’s me and you, kid.”

Beca’s clouded stare softened, and she laughed loudly because at this point- standing in the rain, the two of them, she didn’t’ know if they had much longer at all. Not as a band, not as friends, not as that odd drunken mess they escalated to when they weren’t.

The scent of weed mixed with the wet odor of Portland and beer. Chloe curled her fingers around Beca’s, both cold and clammy, and the gesture hurt. It stung the bandages wrapped around Beca’s fingers and hummed at the pain in the back of Chloe’s head, where she figured a scar would be one day.

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Peter Fonda who Died: August 16, 2019 in Los Angeles, California.

Peter Henry Fonda (February 23, 1940 – August 16, 2019) was an American actor, director, and screenwriter. He was the son of Henry Fonda, younger brother of Jane Fonda, and father of Bridget Fonda. He was a part of the counterculture of the 1960s. Fonda was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay for Easy Rider (1969), and the Academy Award for Best Actor for Ulee's Gold (1997). For the latter, he won the Golden Globe Award for Best Actor – Motion Picture Drama. Fonda also won the Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actor – Series, Miniseries or Television Film for The Passion of Ayn Rand (1999).

Fonda was born on February 23, 1940, in New York City, the only son of actor Henry Fonda (1905–1982) and his wife Frances Ford Seymour (1908–1950); his older sister was actress Jane Fonda (born 1937). He and Jane had a half-sister, Frances de Villers Brokaw (1931–2008), from their mother's first marriage. Their mother committed suicide in a mental hospital when Peter, her youngest, was ten. He did not discover the circumstances or location of her death until he was 15 years old.

On his eleventh birthday, he accidentally shot himself in the abdomen and nearly died. He went to the Indian hill station of Nainital and stayed for a few months for recovery. Years later, he referred to this incident while with John Lennon and George Harrison while taking LSD. He said, "I know what it's like to be dead." This inspired The Beatles' song "She Said She Said".

Peter attended the Fay School in Southborough, Massachusetts, and was a member of the class of 1954. He then matriculated to Westminster School, a Connecticut boarding school in Simsbury, where he graduated in 1958.

Once he graduated, Fonda studied acting in Omaha, Nebraska, his father's home town. While attending the University of Nebraska-Omaha, Fonda joined the Omaha Community Playhouse, having been recruited by Marlon Brando's mother.

By the mid-1960s, Fonda was not a conventional "leading man" in Hollywood. As Playboy magazine reported, Fonda had established a "solid reputation as a dropout". He had become outwardly nonconformist and grew his hair long and took LSD regularly, alienating the "establishment" film industry. Desirable acting work became scarce. Through his friendships with members of the band The Byrds, Fonda visited The Beatles in their rented house in Benedict Canyon in Los Angeles in August 1965. While John Lennon, Ringo Starr, George Harrison, and Fonda were under the influence of LSD, Lennon heard Fonda say, "I know what it's like to be dead." Lennon used the phrase in the lyrics for his song, "She Said She Said", which was included on their 1966 album, Revolver.

In 1966, Fonda was arrested in the Sunset Strip riot, which the police ended forcefully. The band Buffalo Springfield protested the department's handling of the incident in their song "For What It's Worth". Fonda sang some and in 1967 recorded "November Night", a 45-rpm single written by Gram Parsons for the Chisa label, backed with "Catch the Wind" by Donovan, produced by Hugh Masekela.

Fonda's first counterculture-oriented film role was as a biker in Roger Corman's B movie The Wild Angels (1966). Fonda originally was to support George Chakiris, but graduated to the lead when Chakiris revealed he could not ride a motorcycle. In the film, Fonda delivered a "eulogy" at a fallen Angel's funeral service. This was sampled by Psychic TV on their 1988 LP recording Jack the TAB. It was later sampled in the Primal Scream recording "Loaded" (1991), and in other rock songs. The movie was a big hit at the box office, screened at the Venice Film Festival, launched the biker movie genre, and established Peter Fonda as a movie name. Fonda made a television pilot, High Noon: The Clock Strikes Noon Again, filmed in December 1965. It was based on the film High Noon (1952), starring Gary Cooper, with Fonda in the Cooper role. However, it did not become a series.

Fonda next played the male lead in Corman's film The Trip (1967), a take on the experience and "consequences" of consuming LSD, which was written by Jack Nicholson. His co stars included Susan Strasberg, Bruce Dern and Dennis Hopper. The movie was a hit. Fonda then traveled to France to appear in the portmanteau horror movie Spirits of the Dead (1968). His segment co-starred his sister Jane and was directed by her then-husband Roger Vadim. For American television, he appeared in a movie, Certain Honorable Men (1968), alongside Van Heflin, written by Rod Serling.

Fonda produced, co-wrote and starred in Easy Rider (1969), directed by Dennis Hopper. Easy Rider is about two long-haired bikers traveling through the southwestern and southern United States where they encounter intolerance and violence. Fonda played "Wyatt", a charismatic, laconic man whose motorcycle jacket bore a large American flag across the back. Dennis Hopper played the garrulous "Billy". Jack Nicholson played George Hanson, an alcoholic civil rights lawyer who rides along with them. Fonda co-wrote the screenplay with Terry Southern and Hopper.

Fonda tried to secure financing from Roger Corman and American International Pictures (AIP), with whom he had made The Wild Angels and The Trip, but they were reluctant to finance a film directed by Hopper. They succeeded getting money from Columbia Pictures. Hopper filmed the cross-country road trip depicted almost entirely on location. Fonda had secured funding of around $360,000, largely based on the fact he knew that it was the budget Roger Corman needed to make The Wild Angels. The guitarist and composer Robbie Robertson, of The Band, was so moved by an advance screening that he approached Fonda and tried to convince him to let him write a complete score, even though the film was nearly due for wide release. Fonda declined the offer, instead using Steppenwolf's "Born to Be Wild", Bob Dylan's "It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" sung by The Byrds' Roger McGuinn, and Robertson's own composition "The Weight", performed by The Band, among many other tracks.

The film was released to international success. Jack Nicholson was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar. Fonda, Hopper and Southern were nominated for the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay. The film grossed over $40 million.

After the success of Easy Rider, both Hopper and Fonda were sought for film projects. Hopper directed the film The Last Movie (1971), in which Fonda co-starred along with singer Michelle Phillips of The Mamas and the Papas. Fonda directed and starred in the Western film The Hired Hand (1971). He took the lead role in a cast that also featured Warren Oates, Verna Bloom and Beat Generation poet Michael McClure. The film received mixed reviews and failed commercially upon its initial release, but many years later, in 2001, a fully restored version was shown at various film festivals and was re-released by the Sundance Channel on DVD that same year in two separate editions. Fonda later directed the science fiction film Idaho Transfer (1973). He did not appear in the film, and the film received mixed reviews upon its limited release. Around the same time, he co-starred with Lindsay Wagner in Two People (also 1973) for director Robert Wise, in which he portrayed a Vietnam War deserter.

Fonda starred alongside Susan George in the film Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry (1974), a film about two NASCAR hopefuls who execute a supermarket heist to finance their jump into big-time auto racing. The film was a box-office hit that year. It led to Fonda making a series of action movies: Open Season (1974), with William Holden; Race with the Devil (1975), fleeing devil worshippers with Warren Oates; 92 in the Shade (1975), again with Oates, for writer-director Thomas McGuane; Killer Force (1976) for director Val Guest; Futureworld (1976), a sequel to Westworld (1973), financed by AIP; Fighting Mad (1976), a reuniting with Roger Corman, directed by Jonathan Demme.

Outlaw Blues (1977) was a drama, with Fonda playing a musician opposite Susan Saint James. After some more action with High-Ballin' (1978), Fonda returned to directing, with the controversial drama Wanda Nevada (1979), wherein the 39-year-old Fonda starred as the "love" interest of the then 13-year-old Brooke Shields. His father, Henry Fonda, made a brief appearance as well, and it is the only film in which they performed together.

His final portrayal was in the Vietnam War movie The Last Full Measure. The director of that film, Todd Robinson, has recounted that Peter Fonda was able to view that film in its entirety, and got emotional upon viewing it.

Fonda died from respiratory failure caused by lung cancer at his home in Los Angeles on August 16, 2019, at the age of 79.

Following Fonda's death, his sister Jane Fonda made the following statement: "I am very sad. He was my sweet-hearted baby brother. The talker of the family. I have had beautiful alone time with him these last days. He went out laughing."

[kitty0boy]

Marichat May Day 9 prompt: Blanket

As per my usual fics, Marinette is 17, Adrien is 18. Nothing smutty, just goofs being goofy.

—————————————

It had been a long ass day.

5 am photo shoot, 6 am akuma attack, 6:30 am back to the photo shoot because they “couldn’t seem to capture his likeness today”, 7 am they gave up, 8:45 am rushed off to school, 12 pm another attack, 3 pm photo shoot.

Now finally, at 5 pm, he was back home and able to take a break. Much to Plagg’s disappointment however, Adrien didn’t feel like sitting around at home.

“How is it that you have so much energy? I’m exhausted and I’ve been sitting in your bag all day.”

Adrien laughed at this remark, “I’ve had to sit at home and do nothing for 14 years of my life, I’ve got time to make up haven’t I?”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Time that can be made up after I eat my well deserved camembert, go and shower or something. Listen to the, what was it you said? ‘The model in you’.” With that he flew into the smelly cupboard by his desk.

He did have a point. The hairspray from this afternoon made his hair stick up in odd angles. Today’s theme had been, ‘Punk Rock’ for the Agreste, Jagged Stone collaboration. His father and Jagged teamed up for his new album debut to create a new clothing line of merchandise and stuff like that. Adrien hadn’t really been paying much attention to that bit.

His attention was drawn towards his cute little classmate who, by personal invitation of Jagged Stone himself, had helped his father design Jagged’s on stage looks.

Marinette was involved for the sole purpose of “a youth opinion” which meant that she did most of the designing herself while Gabriel’s company did all the handy work by making all the garments. Of course she was supervised by Gabriel when it came to the concepts, but as his father had admitted over dinner, “She didn’t need much of my help. Audrey was right in saying that she has potential. Possibly, more potential than myself.” To which Adrien had beamed, proud of his princess.

By the time Adrien had finished in the shower, Plagg had completely emptied the stock of camembert for the next month. “We need to start limiting you camembert intake. I can hear my bank account screaming.” Plagg burped “You’re famous and rich, as long as you keep that up you’ll be fine.” Adrien crossed his arms, “I might not be rich and famous forever you know. How old is Master Fu now, 190? You might not have unlimited camembert when I get into the 70s.” Plagg smirked. “You will when you defeat Hawkmoth and people find out who you and Ladybug are. The pair of you will be rolling in riches for life.” Adrien shrugged. “Maybe I’ll refuse to take them, being the humble hero that I am.” Plagg frowned.

He laughed, “Well Plagg, how about we go check in on your favourite mouse hmm?” Plagg bolted out of the cupboard and shrieked “Hurry up and transform Adrien.” He blinked. “Wow Plagg, I didn’t know you could actually like a person more than cheese.” Plagg crossed his little arms. “Well the sooner you and Marinette get together, the sooner I’ll have pastries with my cheese. Besides, you already know you’re my favourite stinky sock.” Adrien’s face contorted in gratitude at hearing his approval of Marinette, and slight disgust at being called a stinky sock. “Thanks Plagg, Claws Out!”

The journey wasn’t far. A hop, skip, and a jump later he landed on Marinette’s balcony. He stomped on the floor to get her attention but he didn’t need to. The second his hands touched the balcony railing, something heavy came crashing down, pinning him to the floor. He thought it might have been Marinette at first, but she wasn’t wide enough to cover his entire outstretched form. He looked around and saw her peep out from behind her lounge chair with a great “Surprise!” He smiled

“Hello there purrincess, fancy seeing you here.” She strode over to him and kneeled down behind his head. “I had a feeling that you might pawsibly show up.”

“So, this is a nice blanket you’ve chucked on me, did you make it?” She shook her head, “I bought it. It’s a weighted blanket.” He laughed, “Yes I could tell, I’ve never had one before but it feels heavy.” She stood and pulled the blanket off of him. “Imagine if the news saw this. Paris’ superhero, defeated by a weighted blanket.” He propped himself on his elbows. “And Paris’ prettiest girl. Here we quote him.” And he stood to continue, despite her pink face. “I simply couldn’t resist her charms.” He dramatically draped the back of his hand over his forehead. “I fell under her spell and she trapped me, I’m sorry that I’ve let Paris down but I would do it again.”

Marinette seemed to have taken his word to heart, she threw the blanket back towards him with strength he never knew she was capable and he got hit square in the chest. He fell to the floor again. “Even see how, how her grace wounds me, a fatal blow to the chest.” She huffed and, it seemed despite herself, she smiled. “Oh come on Marinette, just teasing. No need to get huffy with me.” She crossed her arms and turned.

He pulled the blanket off and snuck towards her while her back was turned. In one swift motion, he wrapped the blanket around her front and behind his back so the were both wrapped up. She gave a startled “What?” Before he fell backwards making her fall with him. She squeaked as they hit the floor, making sure she didn’t get hurt of course.

His arms had remainder outside of the ‘purrito’ so he placed them on her stomach. “Chat Noir!” She huffed and squirmed under the blanket. He laughed. “Heavy, isn’t it little lady.” She turned over inside so she could look at him, which made him also squirm because it was kinda ticklish. “Foul play kitty.” He ruffled her hair.

“So, how’s the collaboration going? Gabriel Agreste’s little assistant, big big oppurtunity.” She beamed at him and went into full detail. How Jagged Stone had come to her house to ask, how Gabriel had an interview with her and how pleased he was to work with her, how she and Adrien worked on concepts after she took his measurements, how they played UMS after, how she and Gabriel went over the concepts and gave her tips. He of course knew all of this but she was so excited about it. “I’m proud of you little mouse, this is a really big achievement. Next thing you know, you’ll be strolling down red carpets to your own fashion shows.” She flushed and thanked him.

“Anyways, how do you purrpose you’ll get out of this one?” She smirked, “You gave that away while I was turning,” he felt her fingers on either side of his ribs. “I didn’t know cats were ticklish.” He tried his hardest not to laugh as she teasingly poked him. Then she went for it, he squirmed and giggled until he snapped back to his senses and rolled them over.

He grabbed both of Marinette’s wrists and held them above her head with one hand. “Payback time princess.” And he started tickling her. She shrieked, squirmed, and kicked under him. “C-cat!” She tried to protest and bargain with him but to no avail. It wasn’t until he heard a gaps from the trap door, that he stopped.

Who should intrude but the entire gang of secrets. Rose, Juleka, Mylène, Alix, and Alya all stared at their very suggestive position.

Chat Noir had her hands pinned above her head and was straddling her. Her hair was messy and her shirt slightly crumbled and exposing part of her stomach. His face went pink as he looked from a laughing Marinette, to her friends who were taking pictures and cooing at the pair of them.

Unbothered, Marinette turned to her friends and said “Help me out girls! He’s ticklish!” To which he was tackled by all five of them, he howled with laughter. “S-six against one! That’s unfair.” Then they scattered as Marinette flopped on him, blanket in hand, and wrapped him up. She sat on his back and held the opening of the blanket closed. “Good work girls. Cat’s in the bag.” He turned his head to look at them, his cheek against the floor of the balcony. The six of them were high giving and shooting Marinette suspicious looks.

“So Marinette, care to explain this?” Alix crossed her arms. Marinette gave her a quizzical look. “Explain what? Why me and Chat Noir are having a tickle fight on my balcony?”

Alya approached her. “Well to start, your lip gloss is smudged, your hair is a mess, your shirt is crumbled and we found you and Chat Noir in a very suggestive position when we came up.”

Marinette went slightly pink before recalling what had happened. Rose chirped “Oh, that’s so romantic.” And Juleka, who had become more outspoken with the help of her girlfriend, crossed her arms and smirked. “Maybe we should give them their alone time.” Mylène piped up. “We do have to proceed with celebratory girls night though. After all, Jagged Stone and Gabriel Agreste, that’s a crazy good achievement.” Chat Noir smiled, “That’s what I was saying!” He panted slightly, recovering from the laughter.

“Do you want to stay cat?” Marinette asked. He looked up at her. “Well I’d love to but I don’t want to intrude on your celebration.” All at once the girls protested and encouraged him to stay, declaring that he wouldn’t get in the way and that they’d love to have him join in the celebration. He wouldn’t fall for this though. He had the nagging feeling that the girls would turn Marinette’s celebration party into a Chat Noir interview night, he didn’t want the attention pulled away from his princess.

Marinette hopped off him and helped him go his feet again. He brushed dust off of his suit while Marinette held his hand. “No seriously girls it’s alright. My Kwami is bound to be starving by now.” Marinette shot him a sharp look. “How long have you been transformed?” He raised his hands in surrender. “Not long, not long. I transformed and came straight here. Besides he was really eager to see you Mari.” She gapped. “He was? But he’s only worked with me once.” Chat chuckled. “Not sure, you must have left a good impression on him. Besides,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “he says that the sooner we get together, the longer he gets to enjoy pastries with his cheese.”

He stood straight up and stared at her. To his surprise she wasn’t flustered in the slightest, in fact she started to laugh. “Well then kitty,” and before he had time to think she pulled him back towards her so their noses brushed, “we shouldn’t keep him waiting.” His face went scarlet. He never thought a whisper could make his face burn. He considered teasing her back, but before he could straighten his expression, there was a cough beside them.

“So should we leave and come back later or..” Alix stated. She already knew Adrien’s identity and was sure she would tease him about this later. He grinned seeing Marinette’s face who was an identical shade of scarlet that his had been seconds before. “Well I’d better be of then.” He wrapped an arm around Marinette’s shoulder and bent over so his face was sideways in front of hers. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “We can celebrate alone later.” Her face flooded with more colour than he thought possible and she buried her face in her hands.

He smiled and gave her a peck on the forehead before addressing her friends. “It was lovely to see you all again, I’ll be taking my leave now. Enjoy your little party.” The he leapt onto the railing, gave a salute, and jumped way.

-

“Kid, if you want to visit your princess undisturbed, then do it on a day where her friends won’t show up.” Adrien crossed his arms and smiled. “Well we’ve agreed on your pastries at least.” Before the two could settle in, Adrien’s phone chimed. “Oh Plagg, looks like we can’t relax at home just yet.” Plagg groaned. “Not another akuma, I’ll go kill Hawkmoth myself if he doesn’t stop taking away my free time.”

“Nope, not Hawkmoth this time. Girls night has turned into a party and Adrien just got an invitation.” Plagg groaned again. “Can’t we just skip this time?” Adrien shook his head and transformed for the fourth time that day and made his way back to the bakery, where he detransformed and saw his princess again.

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That’s all for day 9. I think you’ll notice that the prompts aren’t the entire focus of my stories but they are a part of them. I like them better this way.

Thanks for reading!