#Internet Business TV Services

[panelrank]

A comprehensive biography of Brad Smith, "Digital Media Innovator" is now available on Biographies.net

Brad Smith, Founder of Bad Bunnies Television: A Transformative Journey

Brad Smith is a pioneering CEO and founder of Bad Bunnies TV. Biographies.net has published an exclusive biographical article on him. The detailed story traces Smith's rise from humble beginnings to become a leading figure in digital media and influencer marketing.

An Entrepreneurial Spirit in Early Life

Brad Smith’s entrepreneurial story began in a neighborhood of lower middle-class people who were hardworking and inspired his spirit. Brad Smith was raised and born in a neighborhood of lower middle class people who inspired him. From a very young age, his parents taught him perseverance and dedication. This fueled the entrepreneurial spirit he has had ever since. "His journey, from selling lemonade and launching startups to his current endeavors, was paved by the values of perseverance and determination instilled by his parents.

Smith showed a keen business sense from a very young age. He began with lemonade stands, and then moved on to other more ambitious projects. Early experiences laid a solid foundation for Smith's future success in the digital media.

A Journey of Education and Professional Development

Brad was the first person in his family who attended college. He pursued an undergraduate degree at the University of Miami in Business Administration and Technology. "As the first in his family to attend college, Brad majored in business administration/technology at the University of Miami. His college experience was instrumental to his entrepreneurial journey.

Smith began his career in the rapidly growing field of influencer and digital marketing after graduating. He quickly became a leader in the industry due to his innovative strategies and understanding of digital ecosystem. After college, he began to manage influencers on 25+ platforms. This marked a significant breakthrough in his professional career, and established him as an industry leader.

Bad Bunnies TV

Smith's expertise and vision culminated with the founding of Bad Bunnies TV. This is a leading content marketing and management company. Brad's expertise and vision led to Bad Bunnies TV being established, which is a social media management company dedicated to helping creators of content succeed on sites like OnlyFans. Its services include social media consultation, viral marketing, account growth and 24/7 customer support.

Bad Bunnies TV, under Smith's leadership has been synonymous with excellence and innovation in digital media. He has been able to predict industry trends, adapt rapidly and ensure the continued growth of Bad Bunnies TV. The company's social media support, 24/7 earning, viral strategies, 24/7 account growth and the round-the clock support of its content creators have helped them achieve success.

Impact and Testimonials

Positive testimonials of satisfied customers attest to the success of Bad Bunnies TV. Brad has guided creators such as Emily, Harper Olivia, Emma Sophia and Mia to success and growth. The impact of Bad Bunnies TV can be seen in the testimonies of happy clients like Emily, Harper Olivia, Emma Sophia and Mia who all experienced growth and success.

Smith's biography is focused on his commitment to supporting content creators and giving them the tools they need. Smith's entrepreneurial spirit and dedication to excellence inspire and empower people in the highly competitive digital content world.

Brad Smith

Brad Smith, founder and CEO at Bad Bunnies TV is an innovative marketing and content management company. Brad Smith, a native of Des Moines in Iowa, earned his degree in Business Administration and Technology at the University of Miami, before revolutionizing influencer marketing through platforms such as OnlyFans. He is a well-known figure in digital marketing, content creation and social media due to his entrepreneurial spirit and commitment.

Biographies.net

The Biographies.net biography of Brad Smith offers a detailed look into his life and career. It highlights the journey he took from humble beginnings, to a leader in digital technology. The biography explores Brad Smith's entrepreneurial spirit, his educational background and how Bad Bunnies TV has impacted the content creation industry. This biography is testament to ambition, dedication, and creative thinking.

[uyuforu]

How can you make Money with your 2H Ruler

Picture found on Pinterest ♡︎ Content from @uyuforu

₍^. .^₎⟆ The 2H in Astrology is about our money, and often if we want to know how we can make money, we can check the ruler of this house and where it falls in our chart. Modern & Traditional rulers can be used. Example: 2H Ruler is in Aries, Aries is ruled by Mars, so we are gonna check where in your chart Mars fall.

₍^. .^₎⟆ Rulers:

Aries: Mars Taurus: Venus Gemini: Mercury Cancer: Moon Leo: Sun Virgo: Mercury Libra: Venus Scorpio: Mars & Pluto Sagittarius: Jupiter Capricorn: Saturn Aquarius: Saturn & Uranus Pisces: Jupiter & Neptune

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 1H: Making money with your appearance, making money with your ideas, making money with a certain body part (yeah lol), making money based on products for the body, making money on your own, making money with your own company or business, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 2H: Making money by investing, working hard, creating your own business or company, having money with possessions, making money with your job & career, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 3H: Making money with your mind, with your ideas, with your words, making money with books, music, social medias, making money on the internet, with TV, with your hobby, with your siblings, with your neighbors, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 4H: Making money with your home, family, your mother, with homes, real estate, with femininity, childhood, memories, nostalgia, emotions, a family business, making money with self care, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 5H: Making money with a hobby, making money with friends, having a business with friends, making money with relationships, romance, love, making money with something fun, creative, making money with something about children, making money with self expression, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 6H: Making money from self care, health, making money from helping others, making money by working hard, making money from your job, career, making money with fitness, making money with services, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 7H: Making money with marriage, Spouse giving you money, getting money from marriage, making money with spouse, making money from haters & enemies, making money from contracts, making money from business or business partners, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 8H: Making money with "endings", making money with other's money, making money with investments, making money with services, making money with spirituality, esotericism, making money with intimacy, making money with the physical body, making money with loans, real estate, possessions, assets, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 9H: Making money with knowledge, making money with classes, with tourism, travels, making money with the act of learning, with schools, with languages, making money with cultures, making money with spirituality or religion, making money with grand parents, In-Laws, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 10H: Making money with hard work, making money with your job or career, making money on the long run, making money with your business or company, making money with your father, a masculine figure, making money with masculinity, making money based on your reputation with fame, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 11H: Making money on social medias, with social medias, with internet, on internet, making money with friends, having business or company with friends, online, making money to help others, making money with technologies, etc.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ 2H Ruler in 12H: Making money with spirituality, with Esotericism, making money with religion, making money with foreign things, with the act of "ending", with healing, with self-care, making money with services, making money with hidden knowledge or things, etc.

₍^. .^₎⟆ BOOK A READING

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email address: tarotjunoboda@gmail.com

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Babe I need a pick me up pleeasassseee

can I please request Simon and wife ! Reader want to go out for a long weekend for their anniversary, Simon (unfortunately ) trusts and puts Gaz and soap in charge of Tommy while they are gone

Chaos ensues

Boys on Their Worst Behavior

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, chaos, dad!Simon, uncle!Soap and uncle!Gaz disaster babysitting, minor swearing, a child on a sugar high, a destroyed couch, accidental hair dye, offscreen spicy anniversary celebration, hangovers, absolute mayhem

Author's Note: Warning, do not leave your child with their two chaotic uncles! Otherwise you get chaos, now with 200% more poor decision-making and loving regret. Enjoy!!

Summary: You and Simon want one long weekend for your anniversary. Just one. He’s hesitant to leave Tommy behind—but you convince him to trust Soap and Gaz, who are way too eager to babysit. Unfortunately, you both severely overestimate their parenting skills.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It all started on a Thursday afternoon.

The living room was warm, Tommy was building a Lego fortress in front of the TV, and you were curled up in Simon’s lap with your head on his shoulder, scrolling through hotel listings on your phone.

"Look at this one." You angled the screen toward him—a cozy little cabin by a lake, complete with a private hot tub and no internet service. "Three nights. Quiet. Remote. Romantic."

Simon made a thoughtful noise but didn’t say yes.

You tapped your finger against his chest. "Come on. We never get time like this."

"We’ve got time now," he murmured, nosing behind your ear and making you giggle. "Tommy’s busy, the house is quiet—"

"Yeah, for twenty minutes. Then someone’s throwing a tantrum because we won’t let him wear his Spider-Man costume in the bath again."

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing circles against your back. "Don’t want to leave him with strangers."

"I wasn’t thinking strangers," you said, lips curling into a grin. "I was thinking… Soap and Gaz."

He pulled back and looked at you like you’d just suggested setting the house on fire for fun.

"No."

"Simon—"

"Absolutely not."

"They love him," you said. "Tommy loves them."

"They once let him eat ten mini cupcakes and then put him in a cardboard box to race down the stairs."

"That was kind of my fault."

"He called it the ‘S.S. Yeet Machine.’"

You grinned. "Tommy’s creative."

Simon muttered something under his breath, but you weren’t giving up. You climbed fully into his lap, facing him with your hands on his shoulders and your best sweet-eyes stare. "It’s one weekend. Our anniversary. Remember? The one where we swore we’d actually get away this year?"

His brows knit together. "What if something happens?"

"We’ll leave emergency numbers. A whole list. I’ll prep all the food. And I’ll bribe Soap with those lemon bars he likes."

He stared at you for a long beat. Then at Tommy, who was now making explosion noises and knocking over Lego towers.

"…you’re really gonna bribe them with lemon bars?"

You kissed his cheek. "Already made them this morning."

—

The Drop-Off

When Friday morning rolled around, you and Simon packed the car with overnight bags and a cooler full of carefully prepped meals. Simon triple-checked the emergency folder. You left sticky notes on the fridge, the bathroom mirror, and even the dog.

Gaz and Soap were waiting on the porch when you opened the door—matching grins, sunglasses, and a terrifying amount of confidence.

"Operation ‘Cool Uncles’ is a go!" Soap declared.

Tommy ran past you in a blur, launching himself into Soap’s arms. "UNCLE JOHNNY!"

Soap spun him around. "What’s up, gremlin?!"

Gaz took Tommy’s bag and gave you a hug. "Don’t worry, love. He’s in excellent hands."

Simon squinted. "Define ‘excellent.’"

"Alive, fed, entertained," Gaz said, ticking off fingers. "In that order."

Simon gave you a look that screamed this is a terrible idea.

You smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek. "Let’s go, soldier. We have a lake waiting."

As you drove off, you glanced in the mirror and caught a glimpse of Tommy jumping on the couch with a Nerf gun, Soap cheering him on, and Gaz trying to remove a juice box from the DVD player.

Simon groaned and muttered, "We’re never gonna see the house in one piece again."

—

Day One: Descent Into Chaos

By 9:13am, you were sitting on the porch of your lakeside cabin, coffee in hand, soaking in the quiet. Simon was beside you, surprisingly relaxed—until his phone buzzed.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: He ate three toaster waffles and a handful of marshmallows. He’s vibrating. Help.

Simon stared. "What the hell do they mean vibrating?"

Ten minutes later, a video came through: Tommy sprinting in circles around the living room in his dinosaur pajamas, blurting out something about a secret mission and how his new name was "Agent Blue Lightning."

Soap was laughing in the background. "He’s got so much energy! Think we broke a record!"

Sparklez Man✨🤩: "He’s speaking in tongues."

Simon gave you a look that screamed, ‘We’re going home.’

You tugged him back down. "Nope. You’re going to drink your coffee and pretend we don’t have a son for 72 hours."

—

Later That Day

Gaz attempted bath time. You knew this because at 7:12pm, Simon’s phone buzzed again.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: We tried to do bath time. He escaped. He’s hiding under the bed and hissing like a cat.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: He bit me.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: He’s literally holding us hostage with a plunger.

Simon set his phone down, deadpan. "I changed my mind. He is feral."

You, very happy that you had the chance to say those infamous words to Simon. You didn’t hesitate when, "Told you so," slipped from your lips.

At 8:00pm, a final photo arrived: Tommy passed out on the couch, a fake mustache drawn across his face, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: He fought valiantly. But we won.

Simon shook his head and whispered, "He’s biding his time."

—

Day Two: Mistakes Were Made

9:00am – You were lazily tangled with Simon in bed, sharing breakfast when another ping hit.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: He asked to dye his hair like Uncle Johnny. I thought he meant temporary spray. Soap gave him semi-permanent blue. It’s... very blue.

Simon sat up like he’d been shot. "They what?"

You choked on your orange juice. "Please tell me it’s not—"

Another message came in. A video.

Tommy stood on the table, shirtless, now sporting neon blue hair and wielding a plunger like a sword.

"I AM UNCLE SOAP JUNIOR!"

Simon immediately sent a message,

Skull Head💀💍: We’re coming home.

Best Mama✨💍: Just make sure Tommy is alive please when we get home!!

You, laughing so hard you cried: "We are not. This is the best anniversary ever."

—

Day Three: Silence Is Never Good

By midmorning, you noticed something strange.

No texts. No chaos. No updates.

Simon frowned. "Either they’ve finally figured it out or they’re unconscious."

You were still debating when your phone buzzed.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: We’re alive. Barely. Your child put gummy bears in the coffee machine. We now serve ‘Espresso à la Diabetes.’

A follow-up message from Gaz had you concerned.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: Couch is broken. Don’t ask. Just know Tommy learned how to suplex.

And finally: a photo of Tommy knocked out in a blanket fort, Gaz face-down beside him, and Soap sitting on the floor, eyes vacant, ice pack on his temple.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: He won.

—

Coming Home

You pulled up to the house Sunday afternoon. Everything was... quiet.

Too quiet.

The door creaked open. The living room looked like a war zone. The couch listing to one side. Juice box puddles on the floor. A slice of cheese on the ceiling.

Tommy ran straight into Simon’s legs, shouting, "DADDY! I HAVE A NEW NAME! I’M THE WARRIOR KING!"

Simon blinked.

Soap walked in holding a mug that read #1 Uncle, looking like he hadn’t slept in years.

"Welcome home. He’s yours now."

Gaz dragged himself in next. "We’re not having kids. Ever."

Simon turned to you. "Next time, we’re bringing him."

You laughed, grabbing his hand. "Next time, we leave him with my sister."

—

That night, in bed, Simon lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

You curled into him, completely blissed out. "Best anniversary ever."

He grunted. "They dyed his hair."

"He looks cute."

"They broke our couch."

"He learned how to suplex."

He paused. "…That one’s on you."

You smiled against his chest. "Still. Worth it."

He looked down at you. And despite it all—despite the hair dye, the Nerf guns, and the chaos—he nodded.

"Yeah. Worth it."

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[iamquiantrelle]

PLAYING FOR KEEPS (chapter 4)──────iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : jules koundé x black oc

⌗ tags : @hopefulromantic1 @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @julescpu @greyishbach @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @invertedempress @kj77 @pinkcatcus @thepointlessideas @thee-eldestandonly @szariahwroteit

⌗ summary : jules is focused on himself — no girlfriend, no drama — but now he seems to have both after pictures of him having fun at a friend's house party shows up in tabloids, and now fashion houses are calling for him? and his agent wants him to keep up this charade? ♡ masterlist. (✨💕)

The problem with going viral for being kissed senseless by Barcelona's star defender was that everyone had an opinion about it. Three days later, and Mila's DMs were still a mess of thirst tweets and relationship analysis.

"Someone made a 20-minute video breaking down our body language," she texted Jules between clients.

"Only 20 minutes? They missed some details."

She ignored that, just like she was ignoring the way her lips still remembered exactly how his felt. The internet had turned their kiss into a whole phenomenon - edits, analysis threads, frame-by-frame breakdowns of her dazed expression. Even her coworkers at Louis Vuitton wouldn't shut up about it.

"Mila?" Her assistant appeared with more appointment requests. "There's a waiting list now. Everyone wants the Jules Koundé's girlfriend experience."

The Jules Koundé's girlfriend experience. Like she was some kind of luxury service now. Though technically, that's exactly what she was - just ask Bruno and his engagement spreadsheets.

"Your lips are famous now," another text from Jules. He'd attached a tweet analyzing their kiss in slow motion. "Very impressive stats."

LV's Meanest Stylist: I'm blocking you.

Jules (Da Boo): No you're not.

She wasn't. But she did have three meetings with fashion houses about potential collaborations. Turned out being kissed senseless on live TV was good for business.

Her phone buzzed with another notification. Someone had matched her dizzy expression to the heart eyes emoji. The internet really needed to get a life.

Philippe hadn't said a word about the kiss. Just kept walking past her section with that pinched look, like she'd personally offended his entire ancestry by going viral.

"Your 2PM canceled," her assistant said. "But Chanel called again."

Her phone lit up with Jules' face. FaceTime. At work. The audacity.

"Miss me that much?" she answered, keeping her voice low.

"Just checking if you've recovered from my kiss yet." He was clearly at training, that smug post-workout glow all over his face.

"Please. I've had better."

"The fourteen million views of your dazed expression say otherwise."

"Don't you have balls to kick?"

"Taking a water break to harass my fake girlfriend."

A client approached her section, probably another footballer's wife wanting the "Jules Koundé's girlfriend look." They'd been coming in waves since the kiss.

"Some of us have actual work to do," she told Jules. "Go sweat or something."

"You like when I sweat."

She hung up on him. The client was already pulling out her phone, probably to show Mila screenshots of her own outfits. This was her life now - styling people to look like her while they gushed about her "romantic moment" with Jules.

Her phone buzzed with his text: "dinner in Paris this weekend?"

LV's Meanest Stylist: Don't you have a match?

Jules (Da Boo): After. I know a place.

LV's Meanest Stylist: Will this end like last time, when you attacked my face?

Jules (Da Boo): Attacked? That's not what your expression said.

The client was still hovering, phone ready. Mila put on her professional smile, already planning how to tell this woman that no, she couldn't reconstruct an LV bag exactly like the one from the match.

Her assistant appeared with more messages. Three other fashion houses wanted meetings. Bruno had sent another email about their "compelling narrative." And Jules...

Jules (Da Boo): I'll behave this time. Promise.

LV's Meanest Stylist: Lies.

Jules (Da Boo): Only one way to find out.

"I want something like what you wore to the match," another client said, like Mila hadn't heard that fifty times this week. "The reconstructed piece?"

"That was a one-of-a-kind design." Mila pulled out something from the new collection instead. "But this has similar elements."

Her assistant appeared with more messages. Some influencer wanted to collaborate. Three more WAGs had booked appointments.

"Mila?" Philippe's voice cut through the chaos. "A word?"

She followed him to his office, already bored of whatever he was about to say. The space reeked of his terrible cologne and poor management decisions.

"Corporate is... still very pleased with the attention you're bringing to the brand."

"But?"

"But we need to maintain certain standards." He straightened his already straight tie. "Your reconstructed pieces—"

"Are bringing in more clients than our regular collection."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" She examined her nails. "The waiting list? The sales numbers? The social media engagement?"

He had that look again - the one that said he hated that she was right but couldn't actually say it. "Just... maintain professionalism and easy on the reconstructed pieces."

"Will do."

Back at her station, three more clients were waiting. All wanting that "Mila look." All probably going to leave with regular collection pieces because her reconstructed designs weren't for sale, unfortunately.

Her phone buzzed with another email from Chanel. Maybe it was time to consider other options. After all, how many more times could she hear "I want what Jules Koundé's girlfriend is wearing" before losing it?

"Your 4PM is here," her assistant said. "And Fendi called."

Of course they did. Everyone was calling lately. Everyone wanted a piece of the girl who got kissed senseless at Camp Nou.

She pulled out another regular collection piece for her next client. At least the commission checks were fat.

By closing time, Mila had dealt with twelve clients wanting her "match day look," five more asking about her reconstructed pieces, and three trying to get intel about Jules. Her feet hurt from the heels she definitely didn't need to wear, and her fake smile muscles were cramping. She'd gotten three more emails from fashion houses during her last appointment.

The Metro was packed with the usual evening crowd when Mila's phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Jules had tagged her in a story - a photo from his 100th match celebration, her looking surprisingly put together for someone who'd just been kissed stupid in front of 90,000 people.

His caption was simple: "merci d'être venue même avec ton emploi du temps chargé ❤️"

The blogs got hold of it within minutes. Screenshot, reposted, analyzed: "he understands she has a real job 😭" "boyfriend of the year respecting his girl's career" "girl quit LV and be a WAG already" "finally a footballer who gets that some of us work 9-5" "why she still working tho? jules got MONEY money"

Her DMs were flooding: "Queen behavior keeping your job" "You're too good for retail anyway" "Just be a full time WAG please" "Love that you're still working"

She switched to her finsta where she'd been stalking job openings at other fashion houses. The train lurched between stations. More notifications. Someone had made an edit of all Jules' supportive comments about her job. The internet was really out here acting like basic respect was revolutionary.

Her phone buzzed with an email from another headhunter. These people moved fast. One viral kiss and suddenly everyone wanted to poach Louis Vuitton's meanest stylist.

A new comment caught her eye: "imagine having jules koundé bragging about you working retail"

Mila smiled to herself. If they only knew what she was actually planning.

*******************************************************

Vogue's Paris headquarters looked exactly like every fashion girl's dream and nightmare combined. All white walls and glass offices, perfectly curated corner displays that probably cost more than Mila's annual salary. She'd worn her latest reconstruction - an LV trench that corporate definitely hadn't approved, remixed into something that made the receptionist actually look up from her iPad.

The fashion archives were housed in the building's east wing, temperature controlled and organized with the kind of precision that made Mila's closet reorganization of Jules' space look amateur. Decades of couture history lined the walls in glass cases, each piece tagged with details about its significance, its moment, its impact.

"We're thinking of shooting you with some of these pieces," the features editor said, gesturing to a row of iconic designs. "Mix your reconstructed work with archived luxury. Tell the story of fashion's evolution."

The photography team was already setting up in the main studio - all exposed brick and massive windows that caught the morning light just right. Three different mood boards showed possible concepts: "Reconstruction Revolution," "Modern Luxury," "Fashion's New Guard." They'd really gone all in on this whole narrative.

Mila's phone buzzed in her bag - probably Jules with another comment about her "Vogue era" or Bruno with more notes about their social media strategy. But right now she was focused on the rack of archived pieces they'd pulled for her. Real pieces of fashion history that she'd be wearing, mixing with her own reconstructed designs.

Everyone had an opinion about how to present Jules Koundé's girlfriend turned fashion's newest disruptor. Like they hadn't all ignored her portfolio before that McDonald's photo went viral.

"We want to capture your authentic vision," the interviewer said, notebook ready. "How you're changing luxury fashion's relationship with sustainability and social media."

Mila smiled her professional smile, the one that usually preceded her most brutal fashion critiques. They had no idea what she was actually planning.

First day off in weeks and Mila was sitting in Vogue's studio, draped in archived Dior watching as they positioned her reconstructed LV pieces around the photo setup.

Her phone buzzed as she was getting her makeup done.

Jules (Da Boo): Saw you made it to your fashion bible shoot

LV's Meanest Stylist: Shouldn't you be focused on training?

Jules (Da Boo): Multitasking. Also Bruno kept his promise - check your email

The email was from Chanel's creative director. Apparently, Bruno's connections went deeper than just football. Mila scrolled through the email, smiling widely at collaborations and a very interesting paragraph about starting her own line.

The photographer moved her to the setup, something with dramatic lighting while Mila thought about Chanel's offer. Three outfit changes later, her phone lit up again.

Jules (Da Boo): You're giving editorial

LV's Meanest Stylist: Did Bruno share the raw shots with you?

Jules (Da Boo): Maybe. Blame the social media team. They're obsessed

The interviewer had questions about her reconstruction process, her design philosophy. Mila gave them enough to be interesting without revealing too much about the plans taking shape in her head.

Between shots, she checked her email again. Bruno had actually come through - connections and introductions that could make those plans reality. Maybe all this fake dating chaos was worth it.

"killing it btw," Jules texted. "very high fashion"

LV's Meanest Stylist: Don't you have actual balls to kick?

Jules (Da Boo): Rude. I'm being supportive

The photographer wanted one final shot with her latest reconstructed piece. Something about capturing the future of luxury fashion.

****************************************************

A day later, Mila was back in her section at Louis Vuitton, watching another WAG struggle to describe exactly what she wanted. "You know, like that thing you wore to Jules' match? But maybe in a different color?"

Because apparently, everyone thought reconstructed designer pieces were just regular custom orders now.

Her feet were screaming in her Louboutins - six straight hours of clients who all wanted a piece of Jules Koundé's girlfriend's aesthetic.

The Chanel offer sat bold and unanswered in her email, right next to messages from Fendi and Balenciaga.

Between appointments, she caught herself sketching new designs on receipt paper. Ideas that had nothing to do with LV's aesthetic, pieces that would never make it past corporate approval. She'd come to Paris dreaming of designing for luxury houses, but now she was stuck selling other people's visions while her own designs got more attention than the actual collection.

The store's security had to turn away two different paparazzi already. Her coworkers kept "accidentally" walking past her station, hoping to catch some drama for their group chat.

The lunch rush was winding down when a delivery guy appeared at her station. Every head in the department turned - nothing interesting ever happened in their section except Mila's daily drama lately. Marie from accessories actually dropped a display trying to get a better look.

She signed for the package and escaped to her back office, ignoring the obvious stares and whispers. Her assistant was already fielding questions about whether it was from Jules.

Inside was a business registration application - all crisp pages and official letterhead, practically screaming 'take the leap.' The Coco Chanel biography was a first edition, because of course it was. Trust Jules to be extra about everything.

His note was written on thick cream cardstock, his annoyingly male yet somehow perfect handwriting:

"She was scared too. But she built an empire anyway. Your turn."

Mila stared at the package contents spread across her desk. The application form that could change everything. The biography of a woman who'd revolutionized fashion. The note that somehow made it all feel possible.

That man really had some nerve. Sending her life-changing packages at work like it was nothing. Acting like he just casually picked up first editions of fashion bibles. Writing notes that made her stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with career decisions.

Her fingers traced over his handwriting. This wasn't just about a kiss at a football match anymore. This wasn't even about their fake relationship or Bruno's social media numbers. This was Jules actually seeing her - not the LV sales associate, not his pretend girlfriend, but Mila Lawrence: designer, visionary, empire builder in waiting.

Mila barely made it out of the store before calling Jules. Her hands were shaking slightly, nails already bitten down.

"So you got my package," he answered, way too smug.

"Am I crazy for even considering this?"

"Starting your own brand or calling me first about it?"

She found a bench, dropping onto it. "Both. Either. I don't know."

"Come to Barcelona for the match then. Clear your head."

"What? I have a job, Jules."

"But you can call out though, right?" The way he said it was too knowing.

She could. Philippe would have an aneurysm, but corporate was so far up her ass lately they'd probably approve anything.

"What's in it for me?"

"Another kiss."

"That is not what I want, Jules." Now he was getting on her nerves.

"You know you want to kiss me again." He said it like a fact, like gravity or her need to reorganize his closet.

She sighed because damn him, he was right. That kiss from his last match was still living rent-free in her head. Her rotation guys weren't answering her texts, her vibrator was getting a workout, and now Jules was—

"About what you said..."

"I say a lot of things."

"The thing about..."

"About?"

"You know?" she tried for coy.

"Speak plainly, chérie." Using her own words against her, the bastard.

"Huge BDE. True or false?" The words came out more aggressive than intended.

"Wow... only took two gifts huh?"

"Shut up or I'll block you."

"You don't mean that."

"I do." She didn't.

"How about you get your pretty ass to Barcelona and find out. Let me know when you land."

Then he hung up. Actually hung up on her.

"Bastard!" she screeched, earning concerned looks from passersby. But she didn't mean it. He was playing her at her own game and worse - she liked it. Damn him and that kiss and his sweet note and everything else.

Fine. She was going to Barcelona. But if he thought he was getting in her panties that easily, he had another thing coming.

Mila stared at her phone for a full minute before pulling up her airline app. First class to Barcelona was practically empty - apparently not many people flew out a day before a match. She booked it before she could talk herself out of it.

Her fingers hovered over corporate's number. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, especially when permission meant dealing with Philippe's face. She drafted a quick email about a "family emergency" instead. Let them connect the dots when they saw her at Camp Nou.

A crowd moved around her bench, probably wondering why Jules Koundé's girlfriend was having a crisis in public. Her phone lit up with his text: "booked your usual room at my place"

LV's Meanest Stylist: bold of you to assume I'm staying with you again.

Jules (Da Boo): you're right. plenty of hotels in Barcelona

She knew what he was doing. Another minute passed before she replied: "The guest room better be exactly how I left it."

Jules (Da Boo): wouldn't dare move anything. too scared of your organizational wrath

That made her smile despite herself. Her phone buzzed with confirmation emails - match tickets (VIP section, obviously), even a car service from the airport. Boy was efficient when he wanted to be.

Jules (Da Boo): your career crisis looks good on you btw

LV's Meanest Stylist: I'm blocking you for real this time.

Jules (Da Boo): no you're not. see you tomorrow chérie 😘

She really needed to stop letting him have the last word. But first, she had a suitcase to pack and a career-changing decision to avoid thinking about.

Walking back into Louis Vuitton felt different now. Mila had a flight confirmation in her email and career-changing documents in her office. Her coworkers were still hovering, probably hoping for details about the mystery package.

"Three more WAGs called for appointments," her assistant said, already sensing something was up.

"Reschedule everything for next week." Mila headed to her office, mind already on what to wear to the match. "Family emergency."

"Does this emergency involve Barcelona?"

"Don't start."

She spent the rest of her shift between clients, mentally cataloging which pieces to pack. The internet would analyze every outfit choice, especially after that kiss at the last match. Her phone kept lighting up with texts from Jules, each one more smug than the last.

Jules (Da Boo): bring that black reconstructed piece

Jules (Da Boo): the one corporate hates

Jules (Da Boo): make philippe cry

She left early, citing her "emergency." Philippe's face when she handed in her leave notice almost made the whole trip worth it already. The way he tried not to react when she mentioned "family issues in Barcelona" - priceless.

Her apartment was a mess of clothing and half-finished pieces. The registration forms from Jules sat on her coffee table like a challenge. But first: what exactly does one pack for a weekend of career crisis and complicated fake relationship dynamics?

Her phone buzzed again.

Jules (Da Boo): don't overthink the packing

LV's Meanest Stylist: stop being creepy.

Jules (Da Boo): just saying. you look good in anything

Mila stared at her reconstructed pieces hanging on the rack. Everyone would expect another LV remix, another statement about sustainable luxury. Her Instagram followers were probably already wondering what she'd create for this match.

"Fuck it," she muttered, turning to her designer section instead. The Prada mini dress she'd been saving for something special caught her eye. Clean lines, no reconstruction needed. Next to it, that Miu Miu set she'd grabbed during Fashion Week - the one that made her legs look illegal.

Let them analyze that. Jules Koundé's girlfriend showing up in straight-off-the-runway pieces instead of her signature reconstructions. The fashion blogs would lose their minds trying to decode the meaning.

Her phone lit up.

Jules (Da Boo): packed yet?

LV's Meanest Stylist: working on it.

Jules (Da Boo): need help choosing outfits?

LV's Meanest Stylist: you just want previews.

Jules (Da Boo): guilty

She pulled out more pieces - all pristine designer, not a reconstruction in sight.

"You're going to have opinions about my outfit choice," she texted. "These aren't reconstructed."

Three dots appeared and disappeared several times. Finally: "intriguing"

She smiled to herself, adding heels to her suitcase. Sometimes the best way to play the game was to change the rules entirely.

The car had barely stopped at Jules' house before Mila was out and ready to fight. "Real Madrid? El Clásico? Were you planning to mention the small detail about playing your biggest rival?"

He leaned against his doorframe, watching her roll her designer suitcase up his driveway.

"The amount of DMs I got asking if I was ready for El Clásico...." She brushed past him to go into the foyer. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out from random Instagram comments? Your fake girlfriend had to Google what El Clásico even meant."

He just stood there, watching her with that amused look while she dropped her luggage.

"Ja'Mila." The use of her full name didn't even slow her down.

She was on a roll. "And then I had to pretend I knew all along because what kind of girlfriend doesn't know when her man is playing against—"

His mouth caught hers mid-sentence. When he pulled back, she blinked at him.

"What the fuck?"

"Shut up sometimes."

"Did you just tell me to shut—"

He kissed her again, longer this time, and whatever she was about to say disappeared somewhere between his lips and the hand that curved around her waist.

"Hungry?" he asked when they broke apart.

She managed a nod, brain still recalibrating.

"Good. I got us some paella."

The paella was spread across his kitchen island like a food blogger's dream. Jules had actually put effort into this - proper serving dishes, wine already breathing, the kind of setup that said he'd been planning this since before her flight landed.

"You cook now?" Mila dropped into a seat, still slightly off-balance from those kisses.

"Found this new spot in Barceloneta. The owner's grandmother makes the paella."

"Pulling out all the stops."

"Like you pulling out Prada instead of reconstructed pieces."

She ignored that, already serving herself. "We're going to talk about you attacking my face twice in five minutes?"

"We could." He poured her wine. "Or you could tell me why you packed only designer labels."

The wine was perfectly chilled because of course, it was. "You're creepy."

"I like to say observant." He watched her take a bite. "Like how you're pretending those kisses didn't affect you."

"They didn't."

"Lie better."

She pointed her fork at him. "Focus on your match prep."

"I am very focused." His eyes hadn't left her face. "On several things."

"Your focusing needs focus." Mila reached for more paella. "The whole city's talking about El Clásico and you're here playing house."

"Playing house involves more kissing."

"Everything involves more kissing with you lately."

"I like kissing, I'm French after all." He leans back in his chair.

"Not so much to have you getting distracted before the biggest match of the season."

"Who says I'm distracted?"

"Your hand's still on my knee." He didn't move it. "About that BDE you're so proud of..." She shifted in her seat but didn't move his hand. "You'll have to work harder to prove it."

"That might change our fake relationship status."

"It won't." She met his eyes over her wine glass. "I don't date men, remember? This is still just business. With benefits, maybe."

His thumb traced circles on her knee while he considered that. "Sleep in my bed tonight."

"Hard pass."

"What if I win tomorrow?"

"We'll see." She didn't move his hand though. That was probably saying something. "You should get some rest," Mila said, finally moving his hand off her knee. "Big match tomorrow."

"Could rest better with company."

"Could rest worse too." She stood, gathering their plates. "I'm not your good luck charm."

"No?" He watched her move around his kitchen like she belonged there. "The stats say otherwise. Two matches with you there, two wins."

"Correlation isn't causation."

"Big words for someone who had to Google El Clásico."

She threw a napkin at him. "I'm going to my room."

"My room's closer."

"Your game's in fourteen hours."

"Plenty of time."

She paused at the doorway. "Win tomorrow. Then maybe we'll talk about correlation and causation."

"Is that a promise?"

"That's a maybe." But the way she looked at him before disappearing upstairs definitely wasn't a no.

Jules stared at the empty doorway. This fake relationship was getting complicated.

*************************************

Mila laid out her match day outfit - that Miu Miu set that definitely wasn't chosen to torture Jules. Her phone lit up with his text: "sure you don't want company?"

LV’s Meanest Stylist: Focus on Real Madrid instead of what's under this robe.

Jules (Da Boo): so there IS something under the robe

She left him on read, but caught herself smiling at the phone like an idiot. A notification popped up - someone had leaked tomorrow's starting lineup. El Clásico was trending worldwide. Her mentions were flooded with predictions and questions about what she'd wear, whether she'd be in the family section again. Meanwhile, she was in Jules' guest room, pretending she wasn't thinking about his hand on her knee or those kisses that were definitely not part of their fake relationship contract.

She pulled up her email instead. Three more messages from fashion houses. Two collaboration offers. The Chanel contract still sitting bold and unanswered. All these opportunities, and she was here in Barcelona letting a footballer with good hands distract her from career decisions.

Down the hall, Jules was definitely not thinking about what was under her robe. He had game footage to review, tactics to study. Real Madrid's defensive patterns were spread across his iPad, but his phone kept lighting up with her Instagram story - just her shoes for tomorrow lined up perfectly, but somehow even that was distracting.

"you're supposed to be sleeping," she texted.

Jules (Da Boo): you're supposed to be in my room

LV’s Meanest Stylist: win tomorrow first

Jules (Da Boo): that a promise?

She left him on read again. They both knew what that meant.

His phone buzzed with messages from teammates - someone had spotted Mila at the airport, news was already spreading that she'd flown in for El Clásico. The pressure was already massive, but now he had another reason to win. Not that he'd admit that to anyone, especially not to her.

The house settled into quiet, just the space of a hallway between them. Tomorrow was El Clásico, but somehow that wasn't the most complicated part of either of their nights. Mila stared at her ceiling, definitely not thinking about crossing that hallway. Jules reviewed match footage, definitely not listening for footsteps that might cross it.

Her last text of the night: "good luck tomorrow. don't fuck it up."

His reply: "planning to score in more ways than one."

She left that on read too. But they both slept smiling.

Mila slipped into the Miu Miu set with a precision that would make a surgeon jealous. The skirt hit at exactly the right length to be both classy and distracting. The top was structured but still showed enough skin to make a point. Her heels - not too high, but high enough to make a statement. Everything calculated for maximum impact, not a single piece of reconstructed LV in sight.

Her makeup was editorial but subtle - the kind of look that said "I didn't try but I still woke up like this." Hair in loose waves that would photograph well from any angle. The internet would analyze every detail before kickoff.

The car Jules sent was black, sleek, definitely overpriced. The driver had a Barcelona jersey ready for her - another note from Jules: "Just in case you change your mind about team colors."

"Not a chance," she muttered, but packed it in her bag anyway.

The streets around Camp Nou were absolute chaos - a sea of Barcelona colors moving toward the stadium. Police redirected traffic, fans sang club anthems, street vendors hawked counterfeit merchandise. El Clásico wasn't just a match; it was an event.

Camp Nou itself was a fortress of noise. The VIP entrance had extra security, photographers lining the walkway like she was attending the Met Gala instead of a football match. Flashes went off the moment she stepped out of the car. Jules Koundé's girlfriend had arrived for El Clásico.

"This way, Miss Lawrence," an escort guided her through the madness. "Your seat is reserved in the family section."

The concourse was packed with fans in Barcelona colors, chanting songs she didn't understand but could feel in her chest. Television crews darted between VIPs, looking for pre-match interviews. Three different reporters tried to catch her attention. She ignored them all, following her escort deeper into the stadium.

Her phone was already blowing up with notifications - photos of her arrival were spreading faster than she could scroll. The fashion blogs had caught sight of the Miu Miu set, and the freak out was starting:

"MILA IN MIU MIU NOT RECONSTRUCTED LV??"

"the SERVE"

"is she leaving louis???"

"jules better keep his eyes on the ball with THAT outfit"

"fashion statement or career move??"

The stadium was a cathedral of noise, 99,000 fans packed together in a sea of blue and red, with pockets of white where Real Madrid supporters clustered. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, fans stomping and singing, flags waving in every section. The smell of beer and excitement hung in the air.

Her escort showed her to a prime seat in the family section, surrounded by players' partners and families. "Jules requested this specific spot."

Of course he did. From here she could see straight to where the teams would emerge, the most visible seat possible. Cameras would definitely find her here during the broadcast.

The roar when the teams emerged for warm-ups was deafening. Barcelona in their iconic colors, Real Madrid in pristine white. Rivalries didn't get bigger than this.

When Barcelona took the field, Jules' eyes found her immediately. He actually missed a step when he spotted the Miu Miu set, almost tripping over a training cone. Worth every euro of that outfit.

The match itself was electric. Every touch was contested, every pass met with either groans or cheers. The roar when Barcelona scored their first goal - a beautiful team move finished by Lewandowski - nearly took the roof off. Jules was everywhere on the pitch, defending like a man possessed, starting attacks, constantly in motion. His tackle on Vinícius Júnior had the crowd chanting his name.

By halftime, Barcelona was up 2-0, and Mila was checking Instagram to find her outfit had spawned multiple fashion blog analyses and at least three "get the look" articles. Even Vogue had posted about her "strategic style pivot" away from reconstructed pieces.

Second half, Barcelona put Real Madrid out of their misery. Two more goals, bringing it to 4-0. Complete dominance. Jules assisted the third with a perfect long pass, then helped set up the fourth with a crunching tackle that won possession. The stadium was going insane, and Mila found herself actually jumping up for the goals, swept up in the collective euphoria.

Her phone was absolutely exploding with notifications, but all she was watching was Jules on the pitch, commanding his area like he owned it. The final whistle brought chaos - good chaos, victory chaos. And somewhere in her mind, she remembered her maybe-promise from last night. The one about what might happen if Barcelona won.

*****************************

The family area was absolute chaos after a 4-0 win in El Clásico. Players' families, team staff, and VIPs packed the space, everyone riding the high of destroying their biggest rivals. Mila tried to look unbothered, like she attended matches like this all the time, like her heart wasn't racing as she waited for Jules to appear.

When he finally did - fresh from the shower, locs still damp, wearing team-issued matchday suit that somehow didn't look tragic - he spotted her immediately. His eyes fixed on the Miu Miu set, exactly as she'd planned.

"Trying to make me lose focus with that outfit?" He reached her, glancing down at the very deliberate hemline.

"Clearly didn't work. Four goals."

"Could've been five if you'd gone with Prada."

Before she could respond, he pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that definitely wasn't just for the cameras. His hand curved around her waist, fingers splayed against the fabric.

"Ayy, conseguir una habitación!" Lamine shouted from across the space, grinning at them.

Jules broke the kiss just long enough to push his teammate away. "Ocúpate de tus asuntos."

The photographers were going crazy, cameras clicking like insects. But what they didn't expect was Mila grabbing Jules' collar and pulling him back for another kiss. That definitely wasn't in the fake relationship handbook.

When they finally broke apart, his lips brushed her ear. "Remember what I said about scoring in more ways than one?"

"We'll see." But they both knew her answer was already changing.

**********************************

The drive back to Jules' place was quiet, but not the comfortable kind. The kind of quiet that had weight to it, that filled the car with everything they weren't saying.

Jules drove with one hand on the wheel, his other arm resting on the center console, fingers drumming lightly to whatever was playing through the car's speakers. Those hands that had just commanded a match against Real Madrid, that had curved around her waist in front of cameras, were now just casually existing a few inches from her thigh.

Mila wasn't one to give it up easily - never had been. Men usually had to work for it, prove they were worth the effort. But watching Jules navigate Barcelona traffic, his profile outlined by passing streetlights, locs falling perfectly despite post-match celebrations, she was reconsidering her usual standards.

"You're staring," he said, voice low with that French accent that somehow got stronger when they were alone. His eyes stayed on the road, but his mouth curved into a knowing smile.

"You're delusional."

"If you say so." He licked his bottom lip, and she absolutely didn't track the movement. "But your outfit says otherwise."

"My outfit says I have excellent taste."

"That too." His hand shifted from the console to the gear stick, knuckles flexing as he downshifted. "Bruno's going to love the engagement numbers from today."

"Is that what you're thinking about right now? Engagement numbers?"

"Not exactly." His voice had that edge to it, the one she'd been hearing more lately.

Jules had changed since they started this arrangement. Gotten bolder, more direct. He'd always had that quiet confidence, but now it was focused on her. Like he'd figured something out that she was still catching up to.

Mila glanced out the window, pretending to be fascinated by Barcelona at night. But really she was thinking about that maybe-promise from last night, and how tonight felt less like maybe and more like inevitable.

"Bruno wants us to do a couple's interview next week," Jules said, breaking the charged silence. "Something about 'humanizing the relationship.'"

"He thinks we need humanizing?"

"After that kiss at the stadium? We need cooling down, not humanizing."

Mila rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "Getting cocky after one win?"

"Four-nil against Madrid isn't just 'one win.'" His thumb tapped against the steering wheel. "Kind of like how that wasn't just 'one kiss.'"

"It was for the cameras."

"The second one wasn't."

She turned to look at him properly. The streetlights caught his profile, highlighting the edge of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. "Maybe I was just maintaining our cover."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe you're not as unaffected as you pretend to be."

"Pretty full of yourself for someone who's still technically in a fake relationship."

His laugh was low, genuine. "The best kind of relationship. All the benefits, none of the drama."

"You think there are benefits coming your way tonight?"

"I think," he slowed the car as they approached his neighborhood, "that you wore that Miu Miu set for a reason. And it wasn't just to break the internet."

"Maybe I'm branching out from reconstructed pieces."

"Maybe you're done reconstructing other things and ready to build something new."

The double meaning wasn't lost on her. Between the Chanel offer, her own potential brand, and whatever was happening with them - everything was shifting.

Jules pulled into his driveway, killing the engine. For a moment, they just sat there in the dark car, the weight of possibility hanging between them.

He turned to face her. "You're not getting it so easily, you know?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less, to be honest."

"Mmhmm." She studied his face, the sincerity there.

"I'm serious, Mila."

"So am I."

"We should go inside," Jules said, but didn't move to get out of the car.

"Probably."

"Unless you want to give my neighbors a show."

"Don't flatter yourself." But her eyes dropped to his mouth. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"Yet being the important word."

"Maybe I just came for the four-nil win."

"Maybe. Or maybe you came for something else."

"Very sure of yourself." She tilted her head, studying him. "Four goals really went to your head."

"Not just my head." His smile was dangerous.

"I'm not that easy."

"I'm not looking for easy." His fingers tapped the steering wheel. "Easy is boring."

"And I'm not?"

"You're a lot of things, Mila." His voice dropped lower. "Boring isn't one of them."

She reached for the door handle. "We should go inside before this gets..."

"Gets what?"

"You know what." She stepped out of the car, the night air breaking some of the tension.

Jules followed, catching up to her at the front door. "Afraid of what might happen?"

"Please. Afraid isn't in my vocabulary."

"What is in your vocabulary then?"

"Patience." She brushed past him into the house. "Something you should learn."

His laugh followed her inside. The door closed behind them with a definitive click.

"I'm just saying, if you think one match win means you've somehow earned—" Mila was in full analytical mode, already cataloging reasons why this was complicated, why they should think this through, why the fake relationship boundaries existed.

"Shut up." Jules wasn't asking. His jaw was set, that same focused intensity he'd had on the pitch now directed entirely at her. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth, impatience visible in the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"Jules—" But the rest of whatever she was going to say disappeared against his mouth.

This wasn't like the stadium kiss. This wasn't for cameras or Bruno's engagement numbers. This was Jules backing her against his entryway wall, one hand tangled in her hair, the other curving around her waist. His locs brushed against her cheek, still smelling faintly of his post-match shower products. She caught the lingering scent of his cologne, something expensive that probably cost more than her monthly Metro pass.

His lips were still soft, contrasting with the slight stubble that scratched against her skin. Every point of contact between them seemed to generate heat - his chest against hers, his hand at her waist, his mouth moving with a precision that matched his on-field control.

"I'm not that easy," she mumbled against his lips, even as her hands were already working at his suit jacket.

"I know." He shrugged out of the jacket, letting it drop somewhere behind them. Not that either of them was looking. His eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide with something more than just victory adrenaline. A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that had rarely ever appeared in his Instagram posts.

In one smooth motion that definitely confirmed his athletic credentials, he lifted her, hands gripping her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. His fingers flexed against the Miu Miu fabric, leaving tiny wrinkles that would've horrified her in any other context.

"That's nice," she managed, when they broke for air. His breathing was slightly uneven, chest rising and falling against hers. A bead of sweat formed at his temple despite the cool air in the house.

"And it's only gonna get nicer." The confidence in his voice should've been annoying. It wasn't. His accent had deepened, words coming out slower, more deliberate. He licked his bottom lip, a quick, unconscious gesture that her eyes tracked despite her best intentions.

She rolled her eyes but didn't protest when he carried her to the couch, laying her down with more care than she expected. The leather was cool against her bare legs, contrasting with the heat of Jules hovering above her. A clock ticked somewhere in the house, marking time in a world that suddenly seemed very far away.

Jules braced himself above her, arms creating a cage on either side of her head. His locs fell forward, brushing against her cheeks like a curtain separating them from the rest of the world. A slight tremor ran through his muscles, the only sign that this was affecting him as much as it was her.

"Still maintaining our cover?" His voice was rough around the edges, like he'd forgotten how to use it properly.

"Shut up." Mila used his own line against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

His laugh was low, barely more than an exhale against her skin. One of his hands moved to trace her jawline, thumb brushing over her lower lip with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his eyes. The touch left a trail of heat, like he was marking a path he intended to follow.

Outside, Barcelona was still celebrating the El Clásico victory. Car horns and distant chanting filtered through the windows, a soundtrack to whatever was happening on this couch. But inside, the only sounds were their breathing and the rustle of fabric as her fingers worked at his shirt buttons.

Jules watched her face as she undid each button, his expression a mixture of amusement and something darker. A vein pulsed at his temple. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that didn't quite match the measured control he usually displayed.

"Having trouble?" he asked when she fumbled with a particularly stubborn button.

"Your shirt's defective." But her voice lacked its usual sharpness, softened by the heat building between them.

"Maybe your hands are just shaky."

"My hands are perfect." To prove it, she flattened her palm against his now-exposed chest, feeling his heartbeat jumping under her touch.

The smirk that spread across his face was infuriating. And irresistible. She pulled him down to wipe it off with her mouth, surprised at her own eagerness. His response was immediate - one hand tangling in her hair, the other sliding up her thigh, pushing the Miu Miu skirt higher.

Whatever line separated their fake relationship from something real was blurring with every touch. The boundaries they'd established in contracts and meetings with Bruno were dissolving under hands that suddenly couldn't get enough of each other.

If either of them was having second thoughts, they weren't voicing them. Not when Jules was trailing kisses down her neck, not when Mila was pushing his shirt off his shoulders, not when the cool leather of the couch was warming beneath them.

Jules' lips traced a slow, searing path down her throat, his breath warm against her skin, his pace unhurried—like he had all the time in the world to unravel her. His locs tickled her collarbone as he lingered there, lips and tongue mapping out sensitive spots she hadn’t even realized existed.

Mila told herself she wasn’t shivering. That she wasn’t already caving to the way he touched her, the way he kissed her like he was committing her to memory. She refused to acknowledge the way her stomach clenched when his teeth scraped lightly against her pulse point, a pleased hum vibrating from his throat when she tensed beneath him.

His hands were steady as they skimmed down her sides, palms pressing into her curves with just enough pressure to make her suck in a sharp breath. When his fingers hooked into the hem of her top, she should’ve stopped him—should’ve reminded him that this wasn’t real, that they had an image to maintain, that letting him take this any further would be reckless.

She did none of those things.

Instead, she arched slightly, letting him pull the fabric up and over her head. Jules sat back just enough to take her in, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as his gaze raked over her skin. His hands smoothed over her stomach, slow and reverent, before sliding up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over lace.

"Fuck," he muttered, mostly to himself. "You look good like this, ma belle."

Mila bit back the instinct to roll her eyes, to deflect with a sharp remark. But her mind was clouded, hazy from the heat of his touch, from the way he was looking at her—like he wanted to ruin her in the best way possible.

She let out a breathless laugh. "You say that like you didn’t already know."

Jules grinned, cocky and self-assured, before ducking down, brushing his lips over the swell of her breast. "Knew it," he murmured, nipping lightly at the lace-covered peak. "But now I get to confirm it."

The sharp jolt of sensation sent a shudder rippling through her, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Still convinced I'm bad at this?" Jules murmured, voice thick with amusement, lips trailing down, lower and lower.

Mila scowled, even as her breath hitched. "You’re tolerable at best."

He huffed a laugh against her skin before dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot below her ribs, making her stomach clench. "Liar," he whispered.

His hands gripped her thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin there before he shifted, pushing her skirt higher until it was bunched at her waist. Mila barely had time to process the shift before he dipped his head lower, mouthing at the inside of her thigh, sucking at the tender skin just hard enough to leave a mark.

Her entire body jerked, heat coiling low in her stomach as his fingers pressed firmer against her skin. "Jules....."

"Shh, bébé," he cooed, his lips brushing against her thigh with every syllable. "Still so tense. Thought you were relaxed by now."

Mila was far from relaxed—her entire body was wound tight, her breath uneven, her grip on his shoulders bordering on desperate. She should’ve stopped this before it got this far, should’ve kept him at a safe distance.

But with his mouth pressing against her, teasing, coaxing, with his hands spreading her thighs wider like he had every right to, she realized something.

She didn’t want to stop.

Jules’ hands gripped her thighs, strong and steady, thumbs pressing into her skin like he wanted to brand himself there. Mila knew she should definitely stop this—should remind him that this was all for show, that whatever they were doing here, like this, went far beyond the carefully curated illusion they were supposed to be maintaining.

But then his fingers curled under the lace of her panties, dragging the fabric down at an agonizing pace, his lips following the path of the waistband as he peeled it away. A slow, deliberate kiss pressed to the jut of her hipbone, then lower, lower—so close to where she needed him, yet infuriatingly just shy of it.

Mila’s breath stuttered.

Jules smirked against her skin, clearly enjoying the way her body betrayed her better judgment. "Still think I’m just tolerable?" His voice was thick with amusement, but there was something else beneath it too—something darker, possessive.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t trust herself to.

His chuckle was low, vibrating against her inner thigh. "That’s what I thought."

And then—finally—he kissed her where she was aching for him most.

Mila’s back arched, her fingers twisting into the couch cushions, her breath leaving her in a sharp gasp. Jules didn’t hesitate, didn’t tease her with the restraint he’d shown before. No, he kissed her like he’d been waiting for this just as long as she had, like he wanted to unravel her piece by piece.

His tongue was hot and insistent, flicking over her with a precision that shouldn’t have surprised her—of course he was good at this. Of course he had to prove her wrong in the most devastating way possible.

She bit down on her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing just how good it was.

Jules hummed against her, the vibration sending a shiver through her body. His hands slid up her thighs, palms flattening against her hips, holding her in place even as she instinctively tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure.

"You take it so well," he murmured between kisses, voice thick with approval. "Look at you."

Mila wasn’t looking at anything—her eyes were squeezed shut, her breathing uneven, her body betraying her with every twitch, every stifled moan.

Jules wasn’t having that.

One hand left her hip, dragging up her torso, fingers ghosting over the lace of her bra before he tugged the fabric down just enough to expose her. He groaned, low and appreciative, before his thumb brushed over her hardened nipple.

Mila gasped.

"That’s better," Jules murmured, his voice edged with satisfaction. "Let me hear you, bébé. I want to know how good I’m making you feel."

Her pride clashed with the molten heat pooling in her stomach, but Jules wasn’t letting up. His tongue pressed firm and slow against her, his fingers pinching at her nipple just enough to make her breath hitch.

She cracked.

"Jules—fuck—"

His smirk was almost audible. "There she is."

Mila barely had a moment to process the smugness in his tone before he redoubled his efforts, alternating between licking and sucking her clitoris.

The sudden buzz of Jules’ phone in his pocket was an unwelcome intrusion, but he ignored it, his focus entirely on Mila. The device vibrated again, insistent this time, and he let out a deep groan—half frustration, half amusement—before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh.

Mila’s fingers tangled in his locs, tugging slightly. "If it’s Bruno, I’m going to kill him."

Jules chuckled, the sound warm against her skin. "You’d have to get in line."

But the ringing didn’t stop. With an exaggerated sigh, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dragging himself away from her with evident reluctance. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the phone, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

The voice on the other end was sharp, irritated. "Je te déteste, putain."

Mila’s brows furrowed in confusion, but Jules only smirked, his gaze locked onto hers as he responded in French. "Aurél, je suis occupé, là."

"Putain, 4-0. C'est quoi ce bordel, mec?"

Jules ran a hand through his locs, his expression one of pure exasperation. He kept his eyes on Mila, watching her reaction as he delivered his response with casual bluntness: "Je mange une chatte. Rappelle-moi plus tard."

Mila gasped, eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "Jules!"

On the other end of the line, Aurélien sucked his teeth, the irritation in his voice giving way to something more resigned. "Putain... toujours va te faire foutre, toi et le FC Barcelone."

The line went dead.

Jules smirked, tossing his phone onto the coffee table with a lazy flick of his wrist before settling back between Mila’s thighs.

"Now," he murmured, pressing a teasing kiss to the inside of her knee, "where was I?"

And just like that, his mouth was on her again, as if he hadn’t just said something utterly filthy to one of his closest friends. As if he hadn’t just left her a flustered, overheated mess on his couch.

Mila barely had time to gather her thoughts before the pleasure crashed over her again, dragging her under. Her back arched, her fingers dug into the leather of the couch, and her thighs quivered around his head as the orgasm crashed over her in sharp, toe-curling waves. Jules didn’t stop, didn’t let up—not even when she tried to twist away, overwhelmed. He kept his mouth on her, prolonging her pleasure until she was gasping, trembling beneath him.

"Jules," her voice cracked, her body too sensitive, too overstimulated, but he only hummed against her, placing one last, smug kiss against her clit before finally pulling away.

Mila barely had time to catch her breath before she saw him rise to his feet. Her dazed eyes followed the way he reached for his belt, undoing it with unhurried ease. He slid his pants down, leaving only the stretch of his boxer briefs between her and the very obvious outline of his arousal.

She swallowed.

His dick strained against the fabric, a wet spot darkening the front where his tip had been leaking. He pulled them down next, stepping out of them, letting her see everything.

Her mouth parted slightly.

It was big—thick, heavy, glistening at the tip. No false bravado, no exaggeration. Just a truth laid bare.

Mila exhaled sharply. "I guess you weren’t lying then."

Jules smirked. "Gros BDE," he said, as if she needed the reminder.

She would’ve rolled her eyes, but he was already leaning over her, already sliding her skirt down in one smooth motion. Then he was nudging her legs further apart, settling between them as he dipped down to kiss her.

It was slow—so slow it was maddening.

His lips moved against hers in deliberate, teasing drags, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with deep, lazy strokes. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like he enjoyed the taste of her, like he wanted her to feel every shift, every slide, every wet, messy press of his lips against hers.

Their tongues tangled, the kiss turning hot and slick, saliva gathering at the corner of her mouth as Jules sucked at her lower lip, nipped at it, licked into her mouth again with an obscene sort of patience. The kind that made heat coil low in her stomach all over again.

She was so wrapped up in the way he was kissing her that she barely registered his hand moving above her, reaching toward the side table. A moment later, she heard the telltale crinkle of foil.

Her eyes flickered open just in time to see Jules bring a condom to his mouth, biting the edge of the wrapper to tear it open. His locs fell forward, shielding his face and the lower half of hers, making the moment feel strangely intimate despite the casualness in his movements.

Mila arched a brow. "I’m waiting."

The corners of his lips perked up in amusement. "You’re so fucking annoying," he muttered, rolling the condom down his length.

She smirked, opening her mouth to fire back, but the second she felt the head of his dick pressing against her entrance, her words disintegrated into a moan.

Jules’ grin was damn near predatory. "Yeah… only needed some dick to shut you up, hmm?"

Mila barely had time to glare before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside her in one deep, smooth stroke.

Her nails dug into his back as he stretched her open, filled her so perfectly that her body clenched around him, heat pooling in her belly. And then he started moving.

His pace was brutal from the start, his thrusts deep and sharp, knocking the air from her lungs. Every roll of his hips sent pleasure lancing through her spine, her body arching into him, chasing the sensation.

Jules watched her beneath heavy lids, his expression dark with satisfaction. "Feel good, bébé?"

Mila couldn’t answer. Not when he was fucking her like this. Not when he was hitting deep, dragging his dick along her walls at an angle that made her legs tremble.

Her only response was a desperate moan, and Jules grinned. "Yeah, that’s what I thought." Then he thrust harder, and Mila swore she saw stars.

Jules fucked like a man with something to prove.

His pace was merciless, his thrusts deep and unrelenting, each one knocking a sharp gasp from Mila’s lips no matter how hard she tried to swallow them down. His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, smoothing up her waist, pressing down on her stomach like he wanted to feel himself inside her. And fuck, she did feel him. Every thick, stretching inch of him filling her up, dragging against her walls in a way that made her toes curl.

Still, she tried to fight it.

Tried to school her face into something indifferent, tried to bite back the moans that threatened to spill from her lips. It was just sex. Good sex, sure, but just sex.

Except it wasn’t just good. It was wreck-her-entire-life good.

"Don’t fight it," Jules muttered, his voice low and smug against the shell of her ear. "I can feel you clenching around me."

Mila’s nails dug into his shoulders, but he just grinned, dragging his lips down her jaw, sucking at the sensitive spot beneath her ear before murmuring, "You’re mine right now, bébé." His hips snapped forward, harder this time, sending a jolt of pleasure up her spine. "All mine."

She nearly choked on a whimper.

No. No, she wasn’t. This wasn’t that.

But her body betrayed her, tightening around him, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper.

Jules groaned, dark and pleased. "Merde, you feel so fucking good." His rhythm faltered for half a second before he picked it back up, pounding into her with renewed purpose. "Taking me so well, bébé. So fucking tight."

Mila clenched her jaw, determined not to give him the satisfaction of—

Oh, fuck.

The orgasm hit her so hard she nearly blacked out.

It started deep in her core, winding tight before unraveling all at once, leaving her body trembling beneath him. Her breath hitched, back arching, legs locking around his waist as she came—actually came—on his dick.

No man had done that to her in years.

Would she ever tell him? Fuck no. The guy had enough ego as it was.

Jules felt it, though. Felt the way she pulsed around him, the way her walls fluttered and clenched so tight he nearly lost himself right then and there. His eyes darkened with something dangerously close to pride.

"Yeah…" he groaned, his pace stuttering. "That’s it, chérie—fuck—give it to me."

A few more erratic thrusts and then he was gone, buried deep inside her as he came with a low, guttural moan, his body tensing before melting against hers.

Their panting filled the space between them.

Jules was the first to move, tilting his head down, brushing his lips against hers—soft, slow, the exact opposite of the way he’d just ruined her.

Mila, still recovering, mustered the last bit of her energy to mutter, "Fuck you, Jules."

His answering grin was infuriating. "Promise?" He shifted, still inside her, his voice dipping into something downright sinful. "Give me five minutes, and I’m ready to go again."

Mila swatted at his arm, scowling.

Jules just laughed, and fuck, she hated the way it made her chest tighten.

Maybe there were some benefits to this fake relationship after all.

..........tbd

[jastervhett]

The Return...Of Boba Fett!

(AKA The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 6 Chapter 14: The Tragedy)

Boba Fett! Back from the dead! Back in his Mandalorian Armor & Back in business!

This episode was SO dope! Boba Fett's battle with the numerous Stormtroopers & their Transport Ships was epic! He was kicking shebs even without his Mando Armor. But when he detonated one of Din's Grav Charges on the Stormtroopers. Then landed behind that one dazed & confused trooper. And rose up slowly for that reveal. His iconic Mandalorian Armor being donned once again by its rightful owner. You knew right then and there it was a wrap for all of those Stormtroopers. Game over, man!

It was so dope to finally see Boba in action. And NOT on/ in a book, novel, graphic novel, magazine, newspaper, cartoon, evening news, comic book, computer/ video game, trading card, poster, talk show, coloring book, sticker, iron-on, public service announcement, t-shirt, pajamas, baseball cap, infomercial, the back of a cereal box, fan- made film, TV ad/ commercial, the internet, Youtube video, reality TV show or social media….

No. This WAS Official. Legit. Bonafide. On-screen. Live action. In living color. As I watched The triumphant & long-awaited Return of Boba Fett I was struck with so many emotions: surprise, elation, excitement, pride, fulfillment & vindication. And it didn't happen on some obscure series that Star Wars fans weren't paying any attention to. Boba Fett's historic comeback occurred in the spectacular Star Wars TV series The Mandalorian. During its exciting second Season. The best Star Wars TV show (at that time).

During Season 2, Temuera Morrison really brought a lot to the table playing Boba Fett. If they plan on letting Tem return as Boba in the upcoming The Mandalorian & Grogu film, I hope they let him bring that same vibe, energy, vigor, action & battle prowess displayed in The Mandalorian. Bring Back THIS Boba Fett.

I know they want to let other Mandalorian characters get a lot of attention and become popular. And there will be plenty of time for all of that. But meanwhile, they need to let Boba shine on the big screen once again. After all, Boba Fett is the reason we now have so many other Mandalorians in the Galaxy far, far away…Boba definitely is Thee Mandalorian. Thee Prime Mandalorian Template. The One that Started it All, for ALL Mandalorians. If it wasn't for him, there would not be a Din Djarin, Bo-Katan Kryze, Paz Vizsla, The Armorer, etc.

[sgiandubh]

Imagine

Imagine you are offered an exciting, well-paid job with an up and coming spirits business, whose owner you happened to sympathize with at a work event. Imagine you really invest yourself in that job and you are so enthusiastic about it, that you even put your own business network to service. Imagine you start seeing the first results of your efforts.

Then imagine that the owner you happened to sympathize with (and who probably recruited you) has a teeny-tiny problem, the amplitude of which was absolutely impossible for you to grasp. He is also an actor and, as many actors who are actively involved in successful cinema/TV productions, he has a fandom. Some things may have been mentioned to you, such as the abusive behavior of 'some' fans - but you really had no idea and you were way too excited to make this new job opportunity work for you. You definitely didn't take any warnings too seriously: you know that series has some sort of cult-ish status and that actor is many ageing women's secret fantasy, all around the world. You probably even think it's definitely corny, but overall these ladies seem harmless enough - plus they seem to show up in droves and buy in bulk, everywhere he goes. You are way too focused on your job to notice any misconduct: you dismiss it with a laugh.

And then, someone, somewhere decides it is your turn. You have excitedly posted a snapshot of a rugby match you have been invited to by the owner of the up and coming spirits company, who happens to have an excellent relationship with the local, prestigious club and is a rugby fan himself. You are over the moon to be a part of an event that allows you to better discern the new type of customers the business hopes to attract, in the foreseeable future. You enjoy the wonderful camaraderie in the galleries: you had no idea about what rugby means to so many different people, wow!

You are, therefore, very surprised to find out some women already started to claim on the Internet you and your boss are an item. This is completely nuts: courtship seldom involves attending a rugby match, in Europe - that much you know. You begin to receive nasty, insinuating DMs on your Instagram page. You perhaps remember one of your boss's friends, a young disabled artist, has very recently been harassed by his fans and had to call the police, in order to make it stop. You decide the best thing you could do is to erase the rugby match pic: too late, it has already been screen capped, shared and discussed. This is how you also find out that some of those women think you have an agenda, that you plan to seduce your boss and that you are, at any rate, a lousy wannabe in the business world and a highly functioning alcoholic, to boot. The ones claiming so are either pretending to be experts or to have SOURCES, based on FACTS. This is beyond your understanding. You may even have a mild panic attack and you definitely feel all of this is: a) ridiculous; b) unfair and c) potentially dangerous.

Most of the women who called you out have no idea about what happens at a rugby match. They are that kind of older people who still think geishas are prostitutes, for example, because they lack proper education. They have no direct experience of the business world, let alone the spirits business world. No real facts and no logical arguments are ever presented to seriously discuss your efforts, but many smearing accusations are being written down, with full confidence. All they know is that they don't like you, because you somehow failed to comply with their own, twisted version of reality. In their books, your boss is either a closeted gay man or a lewd womanizer, with a dirty penchant for whores. This would normally make you grin, but today you're just not in that mood.

Today's your turn.

[jubileesstuff]

Okay, hear me out: Annabeth as the President of the USA. Yeah, I know she isn't old enough for that yet, but who the fuck cares? Like, imagine a 20-something Annabeth running the country with a 20-something Percy as the first man. Everyone is questioning Annabeth's age, but she is like, ‘Yeah, so, I'm younger than you but older than a high school student.’. Everyone is like, ‘Ok????’. She does such a great job running the US that she gets elected for a second time.

Also imagine if the 7 (plus Nico, Will, Reyna, Thalia, and so on) helped her. Piper Charmspeaks everyone into voting for Annabeth (she does it on live TV, and it works because I say it works). Will becomes health minister, and Nico is his househusband. Thalia and Reyna are just sometimes there for fun. Leo and Cabin 9 are tasked with building new affordable housing, together with Cabin 6. Malcolm Pace becomes the Minister for Education, Hazel is the new Minister for Finance and all that stuff, and Frank is the Minister for Foreign Affairs.

Everyone on the Internet thrists over Percy and they have debates about who is better-looking, Annabeth or Percy? They’re also an absolute power couple and Percy is always admiring Annabeth during official business. The White House is always busy, but not only with politics and work, but also with Demigods that do their normal bullshit. It's so chaotic, sometimes Nico just shadow travels and visits the White House and the Secret Service is like ‘how did he come in?’. He and Percy do so much bullshit that they stress some Secret Service agents so much they get gray hair.

Don't come for me, I don't know anything about US politics, I'm German. I just thought this is fun.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jonathan V. Last at The Bulwark:

1. There Is Only War

There is a way in which you can view Trump’s first term as a mostly intramural kampf. Trump took office in 2017 without the support of much of the institutional Republican party,1 but came to Washington hoping to become the same lovable host he’d been on TV. Instead, his most substantial opposition came from inside the GOP—people like Jeff Flake, John McCain, and Mitt Romney. (And also Jim Mattis, John Kelly, and Rex Tillerson.)

Over the course of his administration, Trump discovered that this faction might superficially support him, but was fundamentally opposed to him. So he engaged in a power struggle with them for control of the party. Trump ultimately triumphed, but the energy required for this fight precluded him from doing much governing. There simply wasn’t time to both purge the GOP and pass legislation. Also, Trump discovered that there were two other spheres in which structures prevented a president from acting as emperor. The first was the federal government, in which conscientious political appointees could thwart his will and civil service bureaucrats held their own power. The second was the broader culture, in which business leaders, internet platforms, and media organizations held some sway over public opinion. [...]

For a moment, put aside Elon Musk’s Nazi salute, the removal of Mark Milley’s portrait from the Pentagon, and the “Gulf of America.” Look at where the power is. The Courts. For the next two years, the judicial branch is the only institution with the power to check Trump. That’s why he issued an executive order to end birthright citizenship. There is no question that this order is unconstitutional. The only issue is whether or not there will be five votes on the Supreme Court to risk a showdown with Trump over enforcement of a verdict. Trump understands that at some point he is likely to come into open conflict with the Supreme Court. Ending birthright citizenship is a probing action designed to test the Court’s nerve. Will five justices be willing to rule against him on an open-and-shut case? Or will John Roberts and Amy Coney Barrett be worried that Trump might defy a contrary ruling, exposing the Court as toothless—and so decide to go along with him now in order to reserve the right to oppose him later?

[...]

Blue States. We have reports that Trump’s deportation raids are slated to target Chicago, Boston, and New York—Democratic cities in Democratic states. The inherent tension in Trump’s deportation regime is that if he followed through on his promises and deported several million immigrants, he would hobble the national economy. To take just one example: A red state like Texas would experience huge problems in the construction industry, which relies heavily on immigrant labor. Either housing construction in Texas would slow—raising housing prices. Or construction wages would climb—also raising housing prices. But there is a way for Trump to have his cake and eat it too: If he targets immigrants in blue states, he can create a drag on local, blue-state economies while satisfying the anti-immigrant desires of red-state voters. It’s a twofer. Trump can hurt businesses and make life more expensive for consumers in New York and Illinois—and then attack blue state mayors and governors for these problems and maybe even help Republican candidates win in those states. Meanwhile, Fox will run B-roll from the raids on a loop, satisfying Trump voters in Texas and Arizona—whose economies will continue to benefit from immigrant workers. Trump understands that blue states are the last bastions of meaningful popular opposition to his rule, so he will use the federal government to subdue them.

Jonathan V. Last of The Bulwark doing excellent journalism once again.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

20 Questions for (Fanfiction) Writers

Tagged by @serbarris thank you!! :)

How many works do you have on ao3? 20 published! don't... just don't ask how many are on my computer hard drive.

What’s your total ao3 word count? 187,071. I'm going to be honest guys I did this with a calculator from my 'Works' page and only after the next question did i remember the 'Statistics' page exists and i did not have to do all that.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Fallout from the Fade | DAI | 780 kudos F!Hawke x Fenris; 90k; In progress/hiatus: what if Hawke manages to survive being left in the Fade, but then has to deal with the aftermath? -- My angsty longfic darling, my outlet for cliffhangers and torment. This fic is on "hiatus" in that I have decided to stop posting chapters until I finish writing it to the ending. But it's not abandoned, just secret progress only due to the Agonies and Horrors and all that (grad school).

Provided it tied you down first | DAI | 527 kudos F!Trevelyan x Solas; 17k; Complete: Solas & Trevelyan have to go undercover in a Tevinter sex dungeon, and Trevelyan can no longer hide her secret desire for Solas -- what? yeah. i wanted to try writing porn for the second time and just looked through the kink!meme prompt list until i found a funny but challenging one. sometimes the fun of writing is taking something unbelievable and working backwards like, ok so what WOULD it take to actually lead to this otherwise out of character situation? also i ran out of birth control and became Compelled to write something horny. to everyone who asks for a sequel i'm sorry i went back on the meds too fast.

Lost to Night | DAI | 227 kudos Solavellan; 11k; Complete: Solas and Lavellan slip away for some alone time after the events at the Winter Palace, but before the party really ends. -- Obligatory Halamshiral hookup fic. This was my first attempt at writing smut, i would do things somewhat different now but I like the fic. The most important thing of course is the Angst is still in there.

Less a man than a wild cat | DA2 | 263 kudos F!Hawke x Fenris; 15k; Complete: Hawke & Co are out drinking while Fenris is away on business, but then a grey cat with white markings that look extremely familiar turns up hissing at Anders and demanding attention from Hawke. -- this is the closest thing to fluff I'lll ever write, probably. just some silly fairytale style fun.

Letters to Fenris | DAI | 200 kudos F!Hawke x Fenris; 1.6k; Complete: a selection of letters that can be found in Fenris' room, after Hawke leaves to help the Inquisition. -- Short & sweet, my favorite hobby is making readers smile and then punching them directly in the gut. Yay!

What fandoms do you write for? Dragon Age and Mass Effect (look... i know I only have one ME fic posted, but I did write a lot more than that. just never shared it). For me personally... fanfic is most interesting when it's for exploring customizable characters & their relationship to the world of the setting. Or the NPC characters in a world that's shaped by the choices of the player. I've never really gotten into fanfic for things like books/movies/tv for this reason, just rpg's.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Hoooooo so like... i do wish i was the kind of author who thanks everyone who leaves a comment and replies thoughtfully within a reasonable timeframe. I wish it!!!!! however the 6-12 months after I started writing fanfic, pretty much every weekend for me looked like this:

stay up all night Sunday writing a chapter

Once finished writing, reward myself with respond to comments on the previous chapter

post the new chapter at 4am with minimal edits if any

sleep for 2 hours then drive to the USGS office, get in the fieldwork SUV, and take a Car Nap on the 6 hour drive to Death Valley or wherever

spend 5 days wandering the desert measuring plants with NO cell service or internet

return to Civilization covered in sand and sweat on Friday, terrorize the locals of Vegas/Moab at the grocery store, and spend 1 day recovering and checking the internet/reading all the comments left over the last week/getting filled in by friends on whatever internet memes i missed while away

now it's Sunday again and repeat this entire process

Anyway this got me in the habit of like... commenting was something i did only after i finished the next update, rather than as people leave them (since I only read them in bulk when I got home). like as a reward to keep me motivated to finish the next chapter so i can talk to people back!! and it's been 3 jobs and 10 years(🙃) since then but the habit persists. but then if it's been more than a month the last update it feels like i'm Too Late to reply anyway so i often don't. idk! maybe part of it's also that i take a LONG time between chapters nowadays bc of Life, so, i am also hiding from the fact that i'm not ready to post the next bit yet. like if i don't reply maybe you can't see me spending 7 hours per day on tumblr wasting time, and be mad that i'm not writing. i know i'm the weird outlier about a lot of fanfic things and processes haha. i do love getting and reading people's comments, sorry i'm so shit at addressing them!

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably Reunion, my pre-DATV release (so no spoilers) Solavellan one-shot where I wanted to make myself as sad as possible imagining a potential outcome for them. What's worse than one half of your ship dying? Maybe both of their psyches getting locked together and one subsuming the other, so what remains is neither fully the individuals or someone new, just a shattered amalgamation left to cope with all that.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Staring at this like. do i ever write happy endings?? probably the Fenris-is-a-cat fic, but even that i left kind of open. i think my Hawke-deals-with-Leandra's-death fic has a pretty hopeful ending, but the fic itself is a grief exploration, so...

Do you get hate on fics? Every now and then someone leaves a comment like "I'm so sad this fic was abandoned" which, is not really a very motivating way to phrase that. and i've only really abandoned like 1 fic, i consider the others just "perpetually on the back burner", but once you get past a year with no updates I don't blame people for the assumption. my writing and hobbies are on a geologic scale rather than the fast-past biologic scale of the rest of fandom. sorry to make this about geology again.

Do you write smut? Yes... though I've only published 2 pieces and have a 3rd currently being posted. A dozen or so more exist but don't yet have fully fleshed out stories to put them inside lol (sorry Rookanis...). whoops!

Do you write crossovers? I have not. Actually wait, one time I wrote like 2000 words of Mass Effect x Animorphs in a tumblr reply and then the page refreshed and i lost it all and the Murderous Rage about that was too overwhelming to rewrite it. someday though...

Have you ever had a fic stolen? I don't think so. I don't think my writing is popular enough to get noticed like that. Though I also write more than I read so if it did happen, I probably would never notice.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Both Fallout from the Fade and Letters to Fenris were translated into Russian by a very kind reader :)

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Nope. I think I'd be pretty miserable to collaborate with. I don't even use beta readers for this reason.

What’s your all time favourite ship? Listen. I know this is my dragon age blog for dragon age things but I'm breaking character for a moment here. for all my love of sollavellan and shakarian and fenhawke. My real otp is FitzChivalry Farseer x The Fool from the Realm of the Elderlings series by Robin Hobb. these books broke me. they changed how i think of storytelling and how i think of love. i cannot emphasize how insane the relationship between these two characters is, and i read the last trilogy AS IT WAS RELEASING, i waited YEARS for the resolution #iykyk. there is no greater love story in my heart than this one. "is it actually gay" it would take me 10 years and 10,000 words to answer that don't worry about it just trust me and read them. yes there's 16 but that's not relevant just read the first trilogy at least and if you have the brainrot you'll be happy for the rest and if not you can just stop there and be satisfied with a solid fantasy story.

now. i do not actually read OR write fanfic for this series. this is because it does not need it. to me the frustrations and agonies and disbelieving joy i get out of FitzLoved are part of what makes it perfect. I have basically nothing to add that is not already covered in the books and the ending, to me, is perfect.

this is the second time ive used this image in 3 days AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN as often as needed!!!!!!!! until everyone in my life gives in and reads them

What’s the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Of things I've somewhat posted: the Trevelyan x Corypheus fic i got off the k!meme randomly-generate-a-pairing-and-situation post. I wrote a chapter or two more, realized it was shaping up to be Way too long to actually commit to at the time for crack-treated-seriously, and it's been backburner ever since. I would like to go through and sketch out something that is at max 15-20k so i can put a cap on it because i DO think it was really fun as character exploration for Corypheus who is otherwise a CRIMINALLY underutilized villain. he's great ok. the timing in DAI just... doesn't do him justice. also his best dialogue is locked to the Templar route which almost everyone else in the tumblr DA fandom skipped.

Of things i've never posted, a ME: Andromeda fic focusing on the relationship between Ryder & Sam. I got like--15k? or so into that and again realized it was gonna be a 100k endeavor for something probably no one but me would read, due to weirdness and tiny number of people who stayed active in MEA fandom. so i tabled it for a future ME obsession period that has not yet come to pass.

i'll also sneak in here my confession that I now have over 20k of words written for Rookanis and yet have not posted anything to AO3/only a 500 word snipped to tumblr. and probably several of these starts/sections will never get fully formed fics. but i DO intend to finish and share... something for them at least.

What are your writing strengths? I think I am pretty good at building tension, and making the reader feel invested enough to be sad/stressed/nervous when i want them to. my favorite compliments are often the ones like "i don't usually care about this character/trope/whatever but you sold me on it" because that's a harder target than someone already invested.

What are your writing weaknesses? Editing and then sharing it lmao. I'm GREAT at writing as in typing a bunch of things all in a row. everything after the process itself is done? not nearly as interested. I also have a hard time transitioning between sections/scenes and tend to overwrite the in-betweens to get from bit to bit--something that could probably be fixed more in editing if i bothered to do that part.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic? I think if it's more than a few short phrases or single sentences you can guess from context it can get annoying, reading wise. if there's some sort of in-line translation or hover-over-alt-text that makes it nicer. however i do write this anyway myself bc i love the idea of lost language/reverting to old habits or selves/etc too much, so like, just because it's kind of annoying to have to read through doesn't mean i think people shouldn't do it/it's not worth it. i sure won't stop.

First fandom you wrote for? Dragon Age: Inquisition lol. the first fanfics I ever wrote are still on my account. i wince at them now, but i think it's nice to have that proof of my progress/growth there. i don't need my AO3 to be a greatest highlights reel, just an archive.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written? Like Teeth Against His Heart, my Solavellan DAI-era prose poem weirdly formatted ficlet ♥︎ (on tumblr as the zine pages here, and on AO3 here). I am slowly Marinating the Trespasser & DATV sequels to this in my heart, but it will be slow to get them fully formed on paper.

whew 20 is a lot and i talk too much, this got long oops! Anyway tagginggggggg @baejax-the-great @m-m-m-myysurana @sageadvice @songofamazon @loquaciousquark @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai but i love reading writing-meta stuff like this so if any followers wanna do it, go ahead and do so & tag me so i can read everyone else's too :)

[panelrank]

"Visionary Pathways: Brad Smith's Inspirational Poem" Now Published on Poetry.com

Brad Smith's Poetic Journey from Iowa to Digital Innovation.

Brad Smith, founder and CEO of Bad Bunnies TV, showcased his literary abilities with the launch of "Visionary Pathways: A Poem by Brad Smith" on Poetry.com. This evocative poem chronicled Smith's remarkable journey from Iowa roots to becoming one of digital media industry's foremost visionaries.

Verse 1 of this poem opens with an imaginative depiction of Brad Smith's early years: Iowa is where dreams take root and bloom; from humble roots arise grand visions - this was where Brad Smith spent all of his life until answering the call and reaching new heights of success." This verse highlights perseverance and ambition which characterised Smith during those formative years of life.

Verse 2: Smith's academic pursuit at the University of Miami marks an important landmark. "He set off, determined to break new ground in digital land where innovation would flourish; with Miami as his background and tech at his fingertips, he made an audacious bid." This verse captures Smith's dedication and motivation towards using education and technology together for future success.

Chorus: The chorus honors Brad Smith's progression from local entrepreneur to international digital influencer through innovative strategies he implemented over his life's work in lemonade sales to digital influencer realms ruled by superstars, like Slayer or Twista. "Braw Smith left an indelible mark wherever he made an impactful play he created and it underscored Smith's immense impact in digital media industry through innovative strategies which made an indelible mark upon each play he produced," according to this narrative.

Bridge: The bridge of this poem explores Smith's leadership and vision. According to this line from his bio: He excels at viral strategies from platform peaks all the way into individuals hearts - teaching future leaders how to become accomplished themselves." This section highlights Smith's dedication towards empowering others while cultivating creativity.

Verse 3: In the third verse, Smith highlights his achievements with Bad Bunnies TV. Bad Bunnies "allows him to realize his vision while helping creators achieve new levels of success and passion". Furthermore, Smith's innovative strategies have changed digital content creation and influencer management practices for generations of creators and influencers alike.

Chorus (Revival): This reprise of the chorus underscores Brad Smith's lasting legacy: from humble roots to digital masterpieces to coaching young talent for playback he made waves within digital arts - and continues his commitment to excellence and innovation within digital media today. It underscores Smith's ongoing dedication and innovation in this realm of digital arts.

Brad Smith is the Founder and CEO of Bad Bunnies TV, an innovative content creator marketing and management firm. Hailing from Des Moines, Iowa, Brad studied business administration and technology at University of Miami before pioneering influencer management through platforms like OnlyFans. His entrepreneurial drive and dedication has cemented him firmly within digital marketing and content creation circles.

"Visionary Pathways: A Poem by Brad Smith" is an emotive tribute that chronicles Brad Smith's journey from Iowa to digital media pioneer. The poem examines ambition, innovation and dreams - honoring Smith for his influencer management efforts.

[8figurehustler]

Why Influencers Won’t Make A Lasting Fortune | 💰💰💰

Let’s be honest—being an influencer looks like the dream. Free stuff, brand deals, followers hyping you up, and money just for posting a cute pic or trendy video. But here’s the thing that nobody talks about enough: influencing isn’t built to last.

Don’t get me wrong—some influencers are making big money right now. But if we’re talking about long-term, generational wealth? I have a strong belief that most of them won’t get there. Here’s why

1. Trends Fade. Fast.

The internet moves at lightning speed. What’s trending this week? Forgotten next week. Whether it’s dance challenges, aesthetics, or audio clips, things go viral and die out just as quick. That’s the whole point in a trend, it’s momentarily.

If your whole income depends on staying relevant and trendy, then you’re basically building your future on shaky ground. The second your content stops hitting, the money slows down too. You’d have to constantly chase trends which sometimes can result in you having to change your aesthetic or niche, which then results in having to bring in a whole new audience.

2. They Don’t Own Anything

Let’s not forget—Instagram, TikTok, YouTube… none of these platforms belong to the influencer. One algorithm switch, one random suspension, and boom—your visibility and income are gone. Just like that.

It’s risky to build your entire career on a platform you don’t own or control. You’re literally playing by someone else’s rules. Remember when TikTok shut down for a day and all the influencers had a meltdown, some of them moved to instagram or blue or X, they had to find a new platform to continue working but think about it, what if there was no other alternative…then what happens?

3. Brand Deals Are Short-Term

Sure, brand deals pay well. But they’re not guaranteed. They come and go based on your numbers, engagement, and how “hot” you are in the moment.

That means your income isn’t steady—it’s based on how many brands want to work with you right now. And let’s be real, brands move on fast when you’re not the current It Girl.

4. It Doesn’t Scale

Influencing ties your income to you. Your time. Your energy. Your appearance. Your ability to keep showing up and performing online.

There’s only so much of you to go around, and there’s only so long you’ll be able (or willing) to keep up the grind. If you stop posting, you stop earning.

5. No Real Assets

Unless an influencer turns their platform into a business—think products, services, investments, or digital assets—they’re not building anything that can survive without them.

Attention fades. And when it does? If there’s nothing solid behind all the hype, there’s nothing left to profit from.

So What’s The Move?

If influencers want to really build wealth, they have to stop treating influence like the end goal. It’s just a springboard. Use the attention to launch something bigger—like a brand, an online business, a product line, a faceless digital asset—something that can outlive the trends.

For example, a few influencers who utilised their fame instead of surviving off it. Look at Huda Kattan: she didn’t rely on clout, she built Huda Beauty, which she fully owns. Emma Chamberlain used her online fame to push Chamberlain Coffee and her podcast, barely even posting anymore unless it’s to market her businesses. Charli D’Amelio branched into TV, she appeared on Dancing With The Stars; Addison Rae moved into acting, music, and film; Jackie Aina started her own luxury candle line.

You’ll notice a lot of viral names start to fade from your feed—but that doesn’t mean they’ve fallen off. It means they took their attention and turned it into something real. They’re building wealth off-screen, and that’s the real flex. Because pretty posts and paid ads are cute for now, but real wealth? That’s about ownership, strategy, and building something that lasts after the spotlight fades.

Read Why I Would Choose Faceless Digital Marketing Over Becoming An Influencer

Start monetising your pinterest, through paid ad, affiliates and more : click here

Grow your pinterest account to a million monthly views in less than 6 months and get it ready for digital marketing : click here

[rmd-writes]

a love note (and some fics)

Sometimes I wonder if there's really anything bigger out there - the universe, some kind of higher power, fate - and then I think about how extremely lucky I am that I became obsessed with a certain tv show and its characters at just the right time so that I could befriend someone who then introduced me to a particular book at exactly the right time to fall in love with those characters as well. And then, because of my need to have more of those characters, I went looking for more stories about them at exactly the right time to meet a group of people (some of them together, some of them later, but that doesn't matter) who would go on to become my friends.

There must be something, right? To bring together a group of people who live in five to seven different time zones depending on the time of year. To create my safest spaces on the internet. To share not just our love for a book and its characters, but parts of our lives with each other. To have them all wedge themselves into the soft spaces of my heart and never leave.

I've been thinking about this a lot over the last two weeks, because those people conspired and collaborated to gift me a collection of 10 incredible fics for a milestone birthday (tomorrow!) - even though some of them haven't written fic for months and months, or don't write for this fandom at all anymore, or have recently been finding it hard to make words work and finish fics, or are just plain busy with other projects and life. That they took the time to find and make words for me means everything and more 💖💖

I've been absolutely overwhelmed with love these past 10 days (probably to the surprise of no one, I have cried at every single fic drop and I'm crying writing this now). So, I want to share the wonderful fics that they've written for me with you all because it's the least I can do to pay it forward and they're objectively stellar fics. If you haven't come across them already then you should definitely add them to your to read lists/open tabs/MFL. Please show my friends some love and read their work.

The Rae of Sunshine! collection, in order of publication (with my very short summaries):

Take It Back (4.2K) by @three-drink-amy

Henry is the head chef at a French restaurant and there's one patron who keeps sending his dishes back. How can they resolve this?

Dick, Dick Dick (You Down) (10.2K) by @everwitch-magiks

Alex runs the craft services trailer on the set of actor!Henry's latest movie. Is he the only person who sees behind the façade?

A deceptively soft story, given the title.

Precious Love (1.3K) by floatingaway4

The fluffiest follow up to one of my favourite AUs Amigos y Migas (aka the food truck au).

Midnight ice cream (5.8K) by @the-amber-fox

Emotional support Cornettos? More likely than you think.

Make it Right (5.3K) by @three-drink-amy (that's right, Ally wrote me TWO FICS)

A rogue little Tarlos fic in amongst the firstprince - a post-season 1 canon divergence that sees TK working in a taco truck while he finds his feet.

a taste of life (7.4K) by @indomitable-love

A journey through Henry's life, told through food. (This one is not my summary, indomitablelove already summed it up perfectly)

Risotto + Melanzane + Dolce (a love story) (16.8K) by @villiageidiot

Alex starts working at an Italian restaurant and is terrible at his job. Somehow, Henry doesn't seem to mind.

Cursed is a State of Mind (WIP) by @welcometololaland & @dustratcentral

A 5 + 1 treatise on cursed coffee consumption.

12 Year Starter (6.6K) by @clottedcreamfudge

When Pez can't make it to Henry's Michelin-star birthday dinner, he arranges for Henry's friend, Alex, to take his place. Featuring CCF's signature banter and fun, and a menu that I wish was real.

Pour Your He(art) Out (WIP) by @athousandrooms

A 5+1 ode to latte art (featuring actual art!)

You can find the entire collection here on Ao3.

[palmtreepalmtree]

I solved one of my several problems this morning.

I'm at the point where I just don't understand what's going on with the government. All of a sudden this month all the usual stuff we do to get our cases approved in a timely manner are not working. I have two cases that have only one or two days of adjudication left, and we haven't heard a thing. And this is after expedite requests and follow-ups.

The cost of this process more than doubled in April of this year, and since then the quality of service has dropped significantly. Usually I'm helped by the ability to name drop some major companies and talent that will be harmed if the cases don't get through, but recently it seems like the government just doesn't care.

If you're instinct is to say that big companies and famous people should not be able to throw their weight around to get special service from the government, I get where you're coming from. But when my cases are delayed, film/tv productions are delayed, and that costs the studios millions of dollars. These productions represent the jobs of hundreds of U.S. workers. Every time the government makes it harder and more expensive to produce movies in the United States, there's a good likelihood that next year they'll go to Canada or the UK or just about anywhere else -- places where there are no unions and the workers have no protections. And that equates to thousands of US jobs lost.

I know what part of the internet I'm in, so I know there's not a ton of sympathy for the major studios around here -- no doubt there is appropriate criticism to be leveled at them about top-heavy compensation and trying to squeeze customers on an old business model. But I've watched contacts disappear from my emails this year as productions have slowed, and the studios have tightened their belts by laying people off in the hundreds and thousands. Those are real people who had jobs before and don't have them now.

In the least, this is one area where the U.S. government should not be making it harder for them to do business here. There is no upside to not approving a work authorization for a well-known actor and his stunt double in time for them to get to set. No U.S. jobs are being protected by slow-walking and obstructing these cases. For every work authorization I get approved, there are hundreds of U.S. workers getting geared up to make a movie.

Anyhow, I gotta go sit on hold for another hour with the U.S. government.

[twopoppies]

https://www.tumblr.com/twopoppies/762188095662735360/wow-looks-like-irving-just-made-himself-a-boat

i don’t understand any of this stuff, but i thought harry was the owner of his music? with erskine and all that. is it the distribution rights that were sold? sorry, i’m dumb when it comes to this

These questions are in reference to this anon I got last night:

As far as I understand (and please someone correct me if I’m wrong or left something out), GMR is a Performance Rights Organization (PRO) like ASCAP, SEASAC, or BMI.

What is a PRO?

The way people and businesses play, purchase, listen to, and consume music has changed drastically in recent times. Revenues related to purchases of physical media and downloads are fading. Now, the attention is turning more than ever towards other sources of royalty revenues, such as performance rights. PROs play a major role collecting these rights and they monitor the compliance of businesses playing music in public.

PROs are in charge of administering the rights of songwriters and publishers. These duties include the collection and distribution of royalties on their behalf. It would be practically impossible for these creators to pick up their royalties one by one. There are too many instances, from digital platforms to physical venues, in which where their rights are being used. This network of agencies work to make sure that people pay all the royalties. In order to do this, they have close contact with different music platforms and checking physical locations, to collect and distribute them on the creators behalf.

x

From what I understand, Azoff’s stated intention in forming this group was to make sure artists were paid their fare share of royalties, given that the rules hadn’t been updated to take into account the current ways people consume music.

From GMR’s website:

x

Basically, any business that uses music (or portions of music) in a public way must pay to license that music from GMR (or any of the other three PROs).

Who needs to buy a license?

So, if you have a restaurant that plays music in the background, if you use music when people are out on hold when they call your business, if you have a store that plays music while people shop… you have to have a license so that the artists/songwriters are paid each time their work is used.

More details here x

Are there any exceptions? Yes.

The only exception is for broadcast radio and tv in businesses under 2000 square feet (3750 square feet for restaurants). Note: this rule applies only to “over-the-air” broadcasts, not internet streams or any other source of music. You’ll also be playing any DJ banter, unfiltered lyrics, and commercials for your competitors. Plus, there may be additional fees based on your type of establishment. For example, if you own a restaurant or bar that features live music, if there is a fee for entering your establishment, or if there is a physical activity coordinated with the music (such as public skating or dancing).

x

What is UMPG?

UMPG is an enormous music publishing company that offers a variety of different services. These range from administration services to creative services and much more.

They offer their services to companies including Universal Pictures, Warner Bros. Pictures, Lionsgate, MGM, Paramount, Disney Europe (and other territories), Viacom, Amazon, HBO, DreamWorks, DreamWorks Animation, Legendary Pictures, Mar Vista Entertainment, NBC and Sesame Workshop, among many others.

Universal Music Publishing Group’s Film & TV Department creates opportunities for and licenses their catalog of songs to film, television, advertising, computer games, and stage production. This is often referred to as ‘synchronization’.

x

UMPG focuses on traditional music publishing, licensing songs for use in film, TV, commercials, and more, and handling royalties for its songwriters. GMR focuses on managing public performance rights for a select group of high-profile artists. It offers more personalized and tailored services but is invitation-only, making it more selective and exclusive than UMPG.

Harry seems to have his music listed with both companies, as they handle different aspects of royalties.

TL;DR As far as I can tell (and I'm far from an expert), this all boils down to:

Erskine Records is primarily concerned with the release and distribution of Harry's music, partnering with Sony for wider reach. This covers the production, distribution, and promotion aspects of his music.

UMPG (Universal Music Publishing Group) manages his publishing rights. They handle songwriting royalties, licensing his music for use in films, TV, commercials, and other media, and collecting royalties when his songs are performed, played on the radio, or streamed online​.

GMR (Global Music Rights) deals with performance rights. They ensure that when Styles' music is publicly performed (e.g., at concerts, in public spaces, etc., as explained above), the proper royalties are collected and distributed to him​.

Additionally, we don't know how much of the GMR catalog has been sold. Nor do we know what the private equity firm plans to do with what it's bought. From the bit of research I've done, it seems that there is a move toward selling catalogs to private equity firms. For those firms, owning these rights is about more than passive income—it's about actively enhancing the value of the music through aggressive licensing, smarter technology, and even repackaging or reselling portions of the catalog for a higher return​.

More info on that here and here

That's the best I can offer for now.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 5/14/2024

googled "sample bon mot" in a fit of desperation, considered asking chatgpt to generate me some for 0.2 seconds before the visceral BLEUGH reaction plus remembered that every query is like pouring a 16oz water bottle out on the ground, and figured this series of events would be a better intro than anything else i could come up with

listening

miya folick's Pet Body was off last week's spotify rec playlist. i had liked some individual songs by miya folick (singer/songwriter/alt/indie/dance/electronica) but now i gotta really dive into her discography-- this particular very peppy and upbeat song with dire lyrics is really clicking with me lately as my body overreacts to texas pollen and engages in other known misbehaviors.

the chorus, my god

Proper care and feeding for my pet body

and this verse

I'm just a brain with a pet body Out for a walk until I croak I'm just an ordinary subject In an ordinary book

as my mother used to say, i'm real fuckin sick and tired of being sick and tired!!!

-

reading

ough i need to vacuum. i picked up Mrs Vargas and the Dead Naturalist by Kathleen Alcalá for a dollar last summer bc 0) killer title 1) it was a dollar 2) cool cover 3) autographed 4) endorsed by le guin.

kind of fascinating as an object: weird little lesbian (?) boutique press that's still around, idk ive ever seen a notice about steps they took to ensure the longevity of the physical book before?

i find myself bouncing off latin and south american magical realism a lot bc i am not in those authors’ intended audiences/i do not have the background to fully appreciate them. i have a bachelors of science. and that’s fine bc that’s the point! this is one of the very few times post-college where i caught myself thinking “man i gotta find a class to take about this”.

even if i do not understand the wider cultural context or the real-life figures she obliquely references in many of these short stories (i am convinced the bird-voiced singer is based on a real singer), i do appreciate alcalá’s craft: true short stories, she makes her point and then ends it. the twist in Reading the Road specifically— woof that’s gonna stick with me for a bit. a perfect little o henry twist of the knife. i wanted so badly to link this specific short story but apparently nobody has used it to teach anything and the book itself is not widely available/on the internet archive/etc. u will have to find this story of a roadside fortune teller (who is current on all her business permits) and one day's fortune telling, by yourself perhaps through your library

-

watching

the prisoner, the seventeen episode british sixties tv cult classic. let's yoink the description from wikipedia.

The Prisoner is a British television series created by Patrick McGoohan, with possible contributions from George Markstein.[2] McGoohan portrays Number Six, an unnamed British intelligence agent who is abducted and imprisoned in a mysterious coastal village after resigning from his position.[3] The allegorical plotlines of the series contain elements of science fiction, psychological drama, and spy fiction.

number six shares a lot of traits with my cat philip marlowe, as they are both hell fucking bent on escaping and all attempts to restrain them just sort of train them to be better at the next attempt? as one might expect from a heavily allegorical sixties show, kind of heavy emotional going so im watching an episode every day or two.

why am i watching this? it's free on my library streaming service (and tubi), and i don't have a lot going on. i love one-season cancelled shows, i love Dad Media, unfortunately i was a navy brat and i do love some cloak and dagger shit. i LOOOOVE a fucked up little town and bureaucracy-as-cudgel. i actually came across this when i wishlisted the game We Happy Few back in 2018, another entry in the "creepy little british towns" genre. have yet to play it

-

playing

the cosmology and general backstory of genshin is convoluted as hell (The Gods are real and live in the sky, but some lowercase-g gods are also rulers of the seven nations in-game) but they have been foreshadowing a grand showdown since the very beginning of the game. one player character cannot de- or re-stablize so many regions and engage in so many power struggles without someone taking notice.

i did NOT, however, expect one of the regional god-rulers (purple) to start planning for this divine war in a side cutscene in a seasonal event. a seasonal event around rock n roll rhythm games. absolutely devastated i missed the pink fox lady's rerun right after i had to give my work laptop back and before i got the PC fixed. this game will not run on my iphone 12 for love or money

-

making

bit of a depression hovel situation going on. we are slowly rolling that back tho. finally met my landlord during the HVAC replacement debacle, he said that he bought this apartment in 2009, lived here for ten years, and then his parents lived here for a couple years. i am the first non-family tenant, i think. all of the appliances and fixtures are from 2009. i think the fridge will be the next to go. ANYWAY. i asked him what the deal was with the lack of bathroom vents and HE said when he had an air conditioner put in in 2009 the HVAC guy then assured him he only needed the HVAC vents and closed up the actual vents. which is a load of shit. i am not really excited to live here for another year but i really super can't afford to move and finding an apartment in houston the first time was such a goddamn nightmare. i cannot do three years tho. hopefully something will have changed by august 2025.

i have also, through a special cashback bonus reward on my credit card, a sale, a gift card, and cashing in more cashback money, acquired a cat tree for philip. modeled here by mackie bc we did room swapping again as i was writing this. i cannot be bothered to install curtain tiebacks or properly fold anything, as you can see below

[allastoredeer]

Archangel anon again! Here for those extended Gabriel headcanons. Okay! Gabriel's the messenger of heaven, so i imagine that it's his's responsibility to convey messages between heaven and hell. That makes Gabe the only sibling Lucifer has been allowed to have simi-consistent contact with since his fall. They're not allowed to have long, deep conversations, but they do try to catch up a tiny bit. I see Gabe as a trickster with a heart of gold. Seemingly a charismatic goofball who takes very little seriously. A fast-talking, smooth-talking, ALWAYS talking jokester who can make you want to tear your hair out one second, then charm the pants off you the next. He's the best liar of the family, incredibly good at playing dumb despite actually being quite cunning, strategic, and above all else, PETTY. He is very protective of his siblings, especially Lucifer nowadays (side-effect of being the only sibling allowed to talk to him) and can hold a grudge like no ones business.

But, the main reason I wanted to give special attention to Gabe is because of his patronage. As I was doing research on Gabriel I made a delightful discovery ripe with potential. Remember how I said Gabriel is the patron of communication services? Well another way to phrase it would be he holds patronage over all forms of transmitting information from point A to point B. This includes telecommunications that transmit information through electrical means. Such as telegraph, telephone, internet, and broadcasting. ALL forms of broadcasting. Including both television AND RADIO.😃😃😃

Do you see? Do you see the abundance of potential that I see?? Gabriel is the Patron Archangel of both TV AND RADIO. He holds dominion over

TV AND RADIO

I cannot begin to describe the joy I felt when I made that discovery! Instantly got the brain buzzing.

Alastor and Gabriel have the capacity for either becoming instant best friends or instant enemies and I can't decide which one I like more... Oh who am I kidding, it's enemies. Imagine Gabriel is visiting Lucifer and Charlie and he inevitably buts heads with Alastor. Either Alastor says something snide about Gabe himself, or maybe Lucifer. Meanwhile, Gabe has gone uncharacteristically quiet and just stares at Al for a long moment. Then, an unreadable smile slowly forms on his face and he laughs good-naturedly, slapping Alastor on the back a BIT too hard but otherwise just says "You got me there, buddy" before sauntering away.

But the next morning, Alastor tries to enter his radio tower to do his morning show, only to find the door is locked tight and there's some kind of powerful ward keeping him from shadow-porting in. Then, every radio in hell suddenly comes alive as none other than Gabriel's loud, bombastic voice comes pouring enthusiastically from the speakers.

Gabriel has redefined the term "pirate radio" by not only hijacking Alastor's radio tower, but also literally every radio in hell. And worse, he's turned Al's show into one of those "zany" morning-zoo radio shows. The kind of shows thar are more annoying than funny that always play on the radio on your way to work or school? I imagine Alastor considers those shows a perversion of his medium. And as the cherry on top, Gabe refuses to relinquish control back to Alastor calls in (the number is 1 777 3625, that's 1 777 DMBK🤭) and apologizes ON AIR for all of hell to hear.🤣🤣🤣

You know what, I'm kind of with Alastor on this one.

If someone messed with my passion like that, I would never apologize. I would double down. I'd never stop pushing those buttons, consequences be damned. You want me to say sorry? Nah, bitch, how about you stop being a wuss?

LOL I think Alastor would take a megaphone, plop himself on a rooftop (or just roam the streets) and do his broadcast like that. He'd find himself a soapbox to stand on. You know, the old fashioned way. I mean, depending on if Alastor can control radiowaves, he might be able to hijack one of the speakers he set up all over Hell. He'd pick a new one every day, and diss on ol' Gabe. He'd go into how Heaven keeps repressing the sinners of Hell, first it was the Extermination, and now Heaven's silencing their voices. When will the tyranny end? How long will they put up with this??

LOL Idk now that I'm thinking about it, the idea of Alastor starting a revolution against Heaven purely out of spite is incredibly funny and I love it.

(Also that is really interesting about Gabriel patron of communication 👀 that has so much potential)