#The League of Gentlemen Are Behind You

[local-blog-for-local-people]

[emetophobiahelp]

Complete Masterlist of The League of Gentlemen (including live shows and radio show)

Hello! My emetophobia is very mild and doesn’t often extend to television, but I have a friend who wanted to watch TLOG with a more severe phobia, so I thought I’d compile this list for anyone else looking to get into their work! I will also probably do one for Psychoville and Inside No 9!

SEASON 1

S01 EPISODES 1-3- SAFE

S01 EPISODE 4- NOT SAFE [FULL VISUAL, AUDIO + MENTION]

[6:30-6:43] Chinnery is brought to a small tent to analyze ‘the beast of Royston Vasey’. The policeman (played by Steve Pemberton) lifts some foil off of the body, and Chinnery v* into his mask, then ducks behind the table. I’d recommend skipping the scene if you’re sensitive.

[24:25-24:32] Later, after Dave, Ollie and Phil have finished their performance, Dave says to ollie that he’s leaving legs akimbo. When Dave walks off stage, Ollie says ‘excuse me a moment, I think I’m gonna be s*’ and runs off stage.

He does not look nor sound ill so hopefully it shouldn’t be too triggering

S01 EPISODES 5-6- SAFE

SEASON 2

For the most part it is safe, the nosebleed epidemic *could* be triggering for some, however, so bear that in mind.

S02 EPISODE 1- SAFE

S02 EPISODE 2- SAFE*

Throughout this season Benjamin appears quite unwell when onscreen, but not at any point does he v*.

[14:50-14:57] However, during the Denton’s house rules song (an absolute banger by the way), when Benjamin is taken to the bathroom, he crawls along the floor to the toilet, and hovers his head over the top before he is shoved in by Harvey. He doesn’t make any gestures or expressions but I thought I’d put it here in case it’s triggering for some.

This is a silly detail but if you’re as a big a fan as me and you’ve bought the script book, on page 216 there is a deleted scene involving Benjamin that could be rather triggering.

[9:10-9:18] Pauline does spit a rather gratuitous amount of saliva onto a burger, just in case anyone finds that triggering.

S02 EPISODE 3- SAFE

S02 EPISODE 4- NOT SAFE [FULL AUDIO, VISUAL (?) + MENTION]

In the opening scene, Hillary takes Maurice into the woods, when they accost the two figures, Maurice sort of doubles over and coughs, no v* though!  

[26:16-26:25] However, after Maurice’s wife mentions ‘compulsory health inspections’ he v*, you see him lean forward with audio, the scene then abruptly cuts to Pop pouring a bowl of macaroni onto his plate. This scene is a bit of a weird one in terms of visual because it’s a match cut, so be wary.

[19:28-19:43] Iris is speaking to Judee and mentions her daughter, Nicola, having bulimia – just something to be mindful of.

S02 EPISODE 5- SAFE*

[10:38-10:45] When the police invade Hillary’s home, they pull a blanket over a mound to reveal a cow, they g* slightly at the smell. It’s sounds more like coughing to me though!

S02 EPISODE 6- SAFE

S02 EPISODE 7 (CHRISTMAS SPECIAL)- SAFE*

[25:15-25:20] I believe this episode is mostly safe, however, when Lottie unveils a plate of German breakfast in front of Matthew, he groans squeamishly and sits back but does not v*.

SEASON 3

S03 EPISODE 1- SAFE*

[15:48-15:57] Carlton takes Gina to his home to stay overnight. As she’s walking along the hallway beside him, she gets a sudden pain in her head and tells him she feels n*, but does not v*.

Although, if you’re going to watch the deleted scenes, be wary of the scenes with Gina. In one of the takes, when she reaches the top of the stairs, she runs towards a drawer and v*s in it, full visual and audio. It explains why she is wiping her mouth in the scene following the one mentioned above.

S03 EPISODE 2- SAFE* [MENTION]

[12:53-13:38] Gatiss’s monologue in the mortuary does mention v* in relation to seeing bodies in a morgue, it might be slightly triggering.

S03 EPISODE 3- SAFE

S03 EPISODE 4- SAFE*

[21:03-21:07] When the bodies Alvin has hidden begin to squeak, Judith coughs slightly as a result of the smell, I wouldn’t call it a g* but better to be safe than sorry if you’re particularly sensitive!

S03 EPISODE 5-6 SAFE

SEASON 4 (2017 SPECIAL)

S04 EPISODE 1 SAFE

S04 EPISODE 2 SAFE*

[13:19-13:26] The Denton twins shove a frog into Benjamin’s mouth while Val holds it open, he g*s slightly as he tries to resist it.

S04E03 NOT SAFE [VISUAL, AUDIO]

[25:00-25:20] Not technically v* but has the potential to be very triggering. When Val exorcises Benjamin (possessed by Harvey), he flings the curtains open and flops onto the couch. He then proceeds to cough up a toad, the visual is just a mucus covered frog but the audio is quite visceral, so maybe skip this one.

Also, earlier in the episode, after Pop pays Ritchie a visit, he comes out looking rather uncomfortable and ill, but he doesn’t v* so don’t worry.

THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN’S APOCALYPSE (2005)- SAFE*

[22:15-22:42] Papa Lazarou begins to g* quite violently, and coughs up a matted ball of hair. It’s played for laughs but be wary if you’re triggered by stuff like that!

[45:40-45-50] Steve’s character spits a large amount of phlegm into a bowl, I found it to be not so much triggering but more gross, but then again, my phobia is very mild so watch at your own risk!

LIVE AT DRURY LANE (2001)- SAFE

THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN ARE BEHIND YOU (2006)- SAFE

THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN: LIVE AGAIN (2018)- NOT SAFE [FULL VISUAL, AUDIO]

(These timestamps are for just the Royston Vasey second part of the show, if you want to know the length with the tuxedo sketches included, just add the length of that show onto whatever timestamp you need!)

[34:23-34:48] I don’t know what it is with Steve and spitting but he seems to do it a lot. In this scene, Pauline spits into a cup for quite a while, again, it’s more gross than triggering personally but just be wary.

[50:52-51:40] Another Denton sketch. They do their typical ‘aquavita’ sketch, but towards the end, after Val comes up from behind the piano, Benjamin begins to g* and walks towards the lamp post. He then proceeds to v* onto Harvey. Both the visual and audio are quite unrealistic (it’s a v* rig so it looks more like a hose pipe with water, and the sound is just Reece sort of yelling) but the g*ing beforehand and the coughing after may be triggering, so be careful!

ON THE TOWN WITH THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN

This is quite obscure but just in case I’ll pop it here too!

EPISODE 1- SAFE

EPISODE 2- SAFE*

There is a flu going around Spent, which as a statement within its self might be slightly triggering, but I can assure you that it is more a cold sort of flu as opposed to a stomach bug. Both Judee and Benjamin contract it but as I said it’s more like a cold.

EPISODE 3- SAFE*

[20:36-20:40] Like the scene from S01E04, Dave tells Ollie that he is leaving Legz Akimbo, and Ollie freaks out. After he says ‘…for our gala performance of everybody out!’ he then asks Phil to fetch him a bucket because he thinks he’s going to be s*, then begs him to be quick. This is only slightly more triggering than the television adaption but I thought I’d mention it.

EPISODE 4- NOT SAFE [AUDIO]

Mike groans all throughout this scene so it’s easy to see it coming. It culminates at about [21:15-21:20], the sound itself isn’t *that* realistic but something to be wary of nonetheless.

EPISODE 5-6 SAFE

HIGHGATE HOUSE OF HORROR- NOT SAFE [VISUAL]

[18:56-19:07] If you’re going to watch the christmas special DVD extra Highgate House of Horror, just be mindful that at 18:56 Reece’s bursts a bag of blood that spouts onto his face, and in response he v*. I actually found the g*ing a little bit triggering but it might have been justt the stimuli from everything else going on in the scene. There is no audio, only music and visual.

And I think that’s it! Sorry if I’ve missed anything I tried to be as comprehensive as possible! Enjoy a safe watch :)

[imisscherryboy-blog]

running back 2 u

enemies to lovers — football player! ajax x sports med! gn reader

part 2 part 3

spotify playlist ★

story: you and ajax have known each other since elementary school. those years haven’t been always the best, as you both parted ways due to your differences in personality. that is, until one hot august night, where the stadium lights illuminate the turf, you find yourself running back to him again.

notes: enemies to lovers, modern au, gender neutral reader, childe is referred to as ajax, last name tartaglia, american football, all characters are 18+ as seniors, highschool setting, use of american education system, reader is in a sports medicine class (if you don’t know what that is it’s basically students that help out at school games, usually water girls/boys/people, assist with injuries) i wrote this with the pov of the reader being a POC but if you’re not just disregard when i say white and stuff lmao + part 1/?, title is an nct reference, debating eventual smut, kaveh and alhaitham are gay

side characters featured: kaveh, alhaitham (alhaitham x kaveh)

warnings: swearing, vivid depiction/description of injury

★ part 1 of an ongoing series ★

you hated ajax and ajax hated you. that much was safe to say. ever since that incident in 9th grade, you never talked to him, let alone acknowledged him. before that, you both had known each other since elementary school. everybody loved ajax, his teachers, his peers, and even you. he just had that personality that made everyone love him; but you knew him underneath that persona. you knew his flaws and he knew yours. he’d tell you things he’d never tell anyone, he trusted you. but, all good things come to an end. in the summer going into your first year at highschool, you found yourself never wanting to speak to him again. he ultimately became the person you two would make fun of together in prior years. a typical, white, football player. but damn was he a good running back. he used to be so charming, but now he was just a playboy that had a new girl in his bed every week. you hated him for it, you hated the person he became, but you mostly hated how he’d plague your mind like a disease.

the day of the game finally came. you and kaveh both wore your school’s varsity jackets and jeans. you guys trudged the god foresaken orange gatorade cooler out to the field for the junior varsity and freshman team. the jv game had just finished, and you began setting up for the varsity game.

“y/n, i can tell you’re scared about ajax.”

“wow kaveh, you’re sooo observant.” you said sarcastically as you both were now in the utility room, filling the water bottles for the players.

“listen, you probably won’t even have to talk to him. as much as he likes to talk behind your back, he’s scared of you. you literally know EVERYTHING about him, you could ruin his reputation in milliseconds.” kaveh had a point. you knew his deepest and darkest secrets, but he unfortunately knew yours as well. you screwed the last lid of the water bottle on tighter than usual as you responded.

“thanks kaveh, but promise me you’ll be the one giving him his water, not me.” kaveh laughed as you said this.

“i’d actually be more than happy too! he’s pretty fine anyways…”

“kaveh— please.” you sighed as kaveh only laughed louder. you walked out to the field, the sky a pretty hue of pink as the jv players left and students filed in the bleachers for the real game. you made your way to the bench, right next to the field and placed the water bottle trays down, as cheering filled the stadium, you both looked behind you.

“ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, our undefeated, five-time league winners, the varsity football team!” the announcer said as the cheers only got louder. the varsity boys ran onto the field, ajax leading the team. you rolled your eyes. you’d admit, he looked good in the navy blue and white jersey, adorning the number 11. ajax was the captain and star of the team, his stats practically outdid any other running back in the county. he ranked first for almost every category, he was a good running back, you’d give him that at least. but at that moment, a feeling came over you. you felt jealous. jealous of the new cheerleader girl he was seeing, jealous of his success, you irrevocably hated him.

“god alhaitham looks good.” kaveh said, very much distracted when they began to sing the national anthem.

“you’re shameless, kaveh.”

“well, the national anthem definitely did not include gay people so…”

the game began, and the annoying and repetitive chants from the cheerleaders almost got stuck in your head. they even had a special one for their glorious star boy tartaglia! you could give zero fucks about him and his stupid chant, but you couldn’t help but notice him staring you down as the rival team took a time out. he gulped his water, sweat dripping from his slicked-back hair, before returning back to the field. as promised, it was kaveh’s job to offer him water, not yours. when one team scored, the other followed suit, the game was neck and neck. watching ajax skillfully receive alhaitham’s (the quarterback) throws and run it was something you could watch all day. but you hated him, so you pretended to look busy every time the home team ran a point. it was halftime now, and you and kaveh hung around the bench. they were up by only two points, it was practically anyone’s game, but that’s what makes the epic highs and lows of highschool football, right?

“swear to god, ajax keeps looking at you.” kaveh whispered to you as you refilled the green water bottles. the boys went into the team room as you and kaveh stayed outside. ajax’s fan girls in the stands had finally calmed down. you just looked at him and looked away as you continued to fill up the water. “like, every time he scores a touch down, he’ll do his stupid little celebration and he’ll glance over here—and then i’d look at you, and of course—‘oh, she’s trying to look distracted and pretend to not care again!’.” kaveh rolled his eyes at you, looking at you for an answer. “you still care about him, don’t you?” this time, you didn’t look at him and just stared at the bottle.

“yeah, like i’d give two shits about the school fuck boy. it’s just, i can’t help but remember how he used to be, that’s all.” it was a blatant lie, and kaveh knew. but he decided to stop pressing where it hurts. and just like that, half time was over and the team looked spent, but they still had 30 minutes to clutch. the cheers started up again. another touchdown, and chants of his name were the only things heard in the stadium. you felt surrounded. you just wanted to go home.

finally, the seventh minute began. the scoreboard emitting a soft glow displayed both home and away teams tied. everyone on the bleachers were all sat for these final minutes. including you. you watched intently with kaveh and your sports med teacher on the bench as they hiked the ball.

“alhaitham, number 9 is going for a throw,” the commentator’s voice reverberated through the field. alhaitham spots ajax, right on the 30 yard line, centered on the field. alhaitham takes a couple steps back and throws, the ball spins with accuracy. the crowd and kaveh all cheer.

“a dot! per usual from quarter back alhaitham, how many yards can their star running back score for the team!” ajax grabbed the ball and went for a right hook, swiftly dodging the defenders. he only got faster and faster as the cheers grew louder. he hooked right, and made his way for that touch down line.

“ajax! ajax! ajax!” the crowd chanted as kaveh and your teacher were now standing. you watched him closely, all of a sudden remembering back to when the two of you competed in your middle school’s flag football tournament. he had signed you up without you knowing, and you both somehow cinched first place.

“oh my god—” kaveh’s gasp snapped you out of your thoughts, as you looked onto the field.

the bleachers were silent now. ajax laid on his side, clutching his knee. the ball was long forgotten now.

“it appears number 11 is down.” the commentator remarked. your heart sank to your ass. you knew that knee injuries could fuck up anyone’s career in seconds. especially a running back’s. before you knew it, you were standing, your teacher yelled something to kaveh as he began running toward him to see what happened, you stood frozen. the cries of his fan girls behind you were the only things you could hear, kaveh was trying to tell you something, but you kept looking at ajax’s writhing body and back to kaveh, and back to ajax, and now at the rival team, and back to kaveh.

“y/n! are you listening? this is serious!” kaveh’s voice was almost a yell.

“i-i’m sorry, what do you need me to do?” you blinked a couple times.

“get the ice pack!” he yelled as kaveh made his way to the scene, the rival team went back to their bench as they were in small groups, most likely talking about what happened. you grabbed the ice pack from the cooler and ran over. his eyes were screwed shut as he cursed loudly, your teacher asking where it hurt.

“ah fuck, my knee! motherfu—” ajax bit back his curses with the back of his hand. your teacher radioed for a golf cart, which made you confused because you’d think someone would be calling 911.

“shouldn’t we be calling an ambulance..?” alhaitham asked, kneeling next to kaveh and ajax’s head. kaveh visibly looked flustered.

“y-yeah. we should! as a matter of fact, why don’t i just call them right—” your teacher cut kaveh off as he interjected.

“it’s a torn acl, if we call an ambulance right now, all they’ll do is give him some ice and painkillers which we very much have. we’re not spending 6k for an ice pack. save that money for the surgery.” your teacher remarked.

“the what..?” ajax looked at him with wide eyes as a campus supervisor came with a golf cart, the crowd was at a stand still.

“kaveh, stay here and take over for me. y/n, come with me.” you knew ajax’s injury was nothing life threatening, but you couldn’t help but worry for his future. you nodded your head as you and your teacher got into the front seat of the golf cart, cursing kaveh in your head, wishing it was him to take your place. ajax’s teammates carefully laid him on the golf cart and he cursed at them to be more careful. you rolled your eyes.

“ajax, we’re gonna need you to talk to us, we can’t have you passing out.” your teacher drove the golf cart to the recovery room, making sure to drive slowly over any bumps.

“you want me to talk? well, a torn acl is gonna ruin my goddamn career—fuck!” the golf cart jerked forward a little, making him curse.

“it’s probably not completely torn, ajax. you’ll recover in no time.” your teacher said.

“you’ll probably be out for the season.” you added, you couldn’t help but add a little salt in the wound.

“you’ll be out for the fucking year if you don’t shut the fuck up.” ajax snapped back at you.

“you need some ice dipshit?” you turned around with the ice pack and tossed it onto his knee, making him yell out in pain.

“what the FUCK is wrong with you—” he yelped in pain again, you just rolled your eyes.

“y/n! cut it out! you too, ajax. we’re here.” the teacher took the key out of the golf cart and looked at you. “i need to call his parents and file a report for the insurance, i’m trusting you to patch any cuts and tape his knee for the time being. keep the ice on it—and please don’t assault him.” your teacher was already on their way as they headed towards the office. you didn’t even get a minute to protest.

“no fucking way they just left me with this loser.” ajax scoffed from the back seat of the golf cart.

“at least my knee still works.” you grabbed the key and unlocked the recovery room, it had a couple of medical beds and cabinets filled with all kinds of medical equipment. you turned the lights on as you heard ajax outside yell.

“now you’re just leaving me? jesus, i couldn’t have asked for someone better to help me.” you ignored him as that was not what you were doing. you went to the smaller room in the back to get a wheelchair to get him onto one of the beds. you walked back outside, ajax’s face turned from one of pain to an angered look the minute you stepped outside. you wheeled the wheel chair to him.

“get on.” you said with little to no remorse.

“yeah let me just fly onto the fucking wheel chair why not. can you help me?” ajax yelled as he tried to sit up straight on the back seat. you scoffed and somehow got him onto the wheel chair. you both were silent, but you knew when ajax went quiet, he was overthinking. you knew he was thinking about what he’d do with his injury. you decided to give him something else to think about.

“it’s not that bad ajax. you survived skateboarding into a brick wall, i’m sure you’ll be fine.” you brought up an old memory the both of you shared.

“everyone saw. even the fucking scouters—i’m done for.” your words seemed to fly past his head. almost like he forgot about you and his’ history. you helped him onto the medical bed and made him sit straight so you could tape his knee. you went into the back room to get more ice. from the main room, you heard him start talking again.

“when i ran into that brick wall, you were the only one there. i didn’t have scouters that could get me d1 scholarships.” he remarked. he did remember at least. you came back with a roll of medical tape and some ice.

“you need to roll you pants up past your knee.” you went for the straight forward route as anything else would’ve gotten too awkward.

“yeah no fucking way that’s happening, cut it off for all i care.” you figured getting the leg of the pants over his injury wouldn’t be the most best of things, so you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his pants just above his thigh. he hissed in pain even though you didn’t even touch it. he was always this dramatic, you thought to yourself. you unrolled the pieces of tape and got to work. if ajax was good at football, you were the best at sports medicine. you knew how to wrap an ankle like second nature—a big part of the reason why your teacher asked you to assist, not kaveh. he went quiet again, and you’d much rather have him yelling at you than overthinking the situation after all this.

“how’s teucer?” you asked as he hissed whenever you’d place a piece of tape on his knee.

“w-why do you care? can you be any more gentle?” you looked up at him and kept working. you weren’t any gentler, you just worked slower to make it look like you were. he fell for it easily.

“he’s fine. he just graduated elementary—ow, school.” he responded after a minute passed.

“that’s good.” you said in quieter-than-usual tone. you couldn’t deny it was still awkward between you two. you hadn’t had a conversation like this in practically years, and you never thought you would have to. “so what exactly happened out there? you trip or something?” you knew he didn’t trip. you also knew that ajax had a tendency to overestimate himself, overall causing him more harm than good.

“the turf must’ve been off.” he said looking away. ajax was well aware he let himself get cocky. it was the final minutes of the game and he wanted to end it off strong. in doing so, he got himself a torn acl. good going ajax.

“mhm..”

“what? don’t believe me?” before you could answer the question, your teacher walked in. the first thing ajax asked was if they won the game or not. his “half touchdown” didn’t count, leaving them still tied.

“we won. but it was still a close call.”

ajax looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. he was already upset with his injury, and a loss especially with their title as undefeated would be 10x worse. you tried to look normal, but in truth, you were a little happy for the team. after all, you had some sense of school pride.

“your mom is outside. i’ve talked to her already and explained the injury in length. please focus on resting, then let’s talk about your next games.” with that, your teacher left you both alone again.

“can you walk?” you asked.

“i’ll try.” he said wincing as he got up. you went to his side and put his arm around you. it was silent. you helped him to the parking lot, occasional swears were heard from him. you said his mom waiting outside of the car.

“oh sweetie!” ajax’s mom held him tightly.

“hi mom, i’m fine.” his words were muffled into her shoulder.

“oh goodness, let’s get you in the car!” she helped him into the passanger seat. they spoke to each other in russian, it sounded like he was getting scolded. it was none of your business anyway. after doing so, she came back out.

“y/n? i remember you!” she said, giving you a hug.

“hi mrs tartaglia.” ajax’s mom had a soft spot for you. she’d always pack you extra food, and would never fail to treat you like one of her own, it made you happy. due to the circumstances, you hadn’t seen her in what felt like years.

“how’ve you been? we’ve missed you!” her hand stayed on your shoulder, her voice was genuine. but who exactly did she mean by “we”?

“i’ve been alright, thanks for asking.”

“ajax still talks about you, you should come over some time! teucer and tonia miss you!”

huh?

did you hear that right?

maybe it she didn’t actually mean it like that, why would ajax still be talking about you?

ajax rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

“mom i’m hurting let’s go.” he half shouted.

“alright, alright. i’ll see you soon hopefully, y/n! thank you for looking after ajax!” she said with a warm smile as she got back in the car before you could say a word. you simply waved and smiled back at her. you glanced over for a second, seeing ajax on his phone. you didn’t understand. did ajax really stil talk about you? you’d have a lot to tell kaveh..

the two of them left the parking lot in their black tahoe suv. you just stood and watched. you cursed to yourself. you couldn’t understand why ajax’s words pulled at your heartstrings a little. you were confused. and things would only get more confusing from there.

-> part 2

[theregencywriter]

(1) A Gentlemen's Pursuit - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

~Colin returns from his travels with a new friend many expect him to marry, though he had no intentions of this. His brother benedict however, may need to....~

My Dearest Readers,

Oh, how the social elites continue to delight us with their ever-unfolding dramas and whispers of romance. Today, I bring forth the most intriguing news, for it appears that the charming Colin Bridgerton is about to be reunited with an old acquaintance, one whom he met on his travels abroad, and whose arrival is sure to set hearts aflutter.

It is my pleasure to reveal that she plans to stay in London indefinitely and will soon grace the city with her presence. Yes, my dear readers, the very same Miss l/n who has long been rumoured as the top contender for Colin’s affection.

Allow me to remind you of the history shared between Miss y/n l/n and Mr. Colin Bridgerton. They had first met during Colin’s travels around Europe, where they would frolic about the ruins of cities past, engrossed in the innocence of youth. Over their respective journeys, their paths diverged, and Miss l/n’s star rose within many a country’s social leagues, while Mr. Bridgerton pursued his fair share of less than respectable women. But as fate would have it, their paths are destined to converge once again.

Whispers of their reunion have already begun to circulate, and I can assure you, dear readers, that it promises to be a meeting of hearts and minds. Miss l/n’s wit, intellect, and unassuming beauty have long been expected to captivate the hearts of society, while Mr. Bridgerton's reputation as a debonair gentleman precedes him wherever he goes. One cannot help but wonder if their friendship will blossom into something more.

With Miss l/n's arrival imminent, I can only imagine the delight that will permeate the Bridgerton household. I envision stolen glances, heartfelt conversations, and perhaps even the rekindling of a flame that has smoldered quietly for ages. How thrilling it will be to witness the unfolding of this tale!

Thus, dear readers, I implore you to keep your eyes peeled and your ears open, for it is in these quiet moments that love often finds a way to take hold. Let us revel in the enchantment that surrounds the Bridgertons, for it is a testament to the enduring power of love and the possibility of second chances.

Yours in anticipation,

Lady Whistledown…

-------------------------------------

"Martine, must I endure this uncomfortable posture any longer? My arms are beginning to ache" Y/N pleaded, shifting in her seat while maintaining a firm grip on her fan. Its delicate feathers trembled slightly as she stole a glance through the window, yearning for a moment of respite. With an exasperated sigh, her stepmother’s maid responded, her voice tinged with impatience, "Yes, my dear, you must persist. The eager onlookers outside await your arrival. Remember, tomorrow night is your grand debut; a mere glimpse shall suffice."

The carriage advanced closer to the Bridgerton residence, nestled proudly within the esteemed Grosvenor Square. Y/N's eyes fell upon the grandeur of the house, causing her to lower her fan momentarily in awe. However, her maid's sharp instincts brought it back up. Inside of the home, the Bridgerton children played in the lavish drawing room alongside their e mother, while Eloise and Penelope accompanying them. During their gathering, a butler entered the room, his presence commanding attention, and announced with utmost formality, "Miss Y/N has arrived."

Upon hearing the news, Colin sprang from his seat with an eagerness that did not elude Penelope's keen observation. Since his return, he had not stopped speaking about his and Y/N's journey, leading Penelope to suspect that a proposal might be imminent. Despite never having met Y/N, a hidden resentment grew within her, concealed behind a carefully crafted smile.

The Bridgerton family sat in their residence anxiously awaiting her arrival, anticipation filling the air like a palpable force. Colin, though outside, found it difficult to contain his restless energy. He had spoken of Y/N with such fervour and adoration since his return that his family couldn't help but share in his excitement.

As they gathered near the entrance of the door to gaze down the hallway the Bridgerton siblings exchanged eager glances, their faces alive with curiosity. Eloise held her breath, a blend of sisterly anticipation and genuine interest for the newest addition to their social circle. Anthony, the dutiful older brother, attempted to maintain a stoic facade, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of intrigue. The younger siblings—Benedict, Colin's closest confidant, and Francesca—buzzed with whispers and barely contained excitement.

Their mother exuded an air of quiet authority as she surveyed the scene. A mix of hope and maternal concern danced in her eyes, for she wished nothing more than for her children to find happiness in love.

Finally, the sound of hooves reached their ears, growing louder with each passing moment. The tension in the air intensified as the carriage, adorned with elegant embellishments, came into view. The horses pranced along the beaten cobbled road, their coats reflecting the balmy afternoon sunlight.

With bated breath, the Bridgertons watched as the carriage gracefully came to a stop. The footman quickly descended, his precise movements reflecting the well-honed routines of the household. The door swung open, revealing Y/N, resplendent in a gown that blended sophistication and allure. The light caught her eyes, sparkling with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

As Y/N exited from the carriage, Colin's gaze locked onto her, his heart pounding within his chest. His eyes conveyed a mixture of awe and longing, as though he had found in Y/N something he had been searching for all his life.

The Bridgerton family, like a unit frozen in time, stood in awe of this new arrival. It was as if the world held its breath, recognizing the significance of this moment. Each member of the family had their own hopes and expectations, their own secrets and desires, intertwined with the arrival of Y/N—a figure who they had heard so much about.

After being helped out of the carriage y/n ran up to Colin, who picked her up by the waist and joyfully spun her around. The two shared a laugh that faded into glee as he lowered her down, their eyes still locked. “You’re here.” He spoke.

“I’m here” she returned.

Colin, ever the eager matchmaker, took Y/N's arm, guiding her towards the entrance of the house. His eyes shone with uncontainable delight as he led her through the hallway.

Within the drawing room, the Bridgerton siblings awaited their arrival, their gazes shifting from the entrance to Colin's expectant face. Among them stood Benedict, the second eldest Bridgerton brother, known by y/n for his artistic abilities.

As Colin and Y/N entered the room, the murmurs hushed, and all eyes turned towards the pair. Benedict's attention was instantly captivated by the sight of Y/N, a vision of beauty and elegance. He analysed the delicate brushstrokes of her features, the way her eyes seemed to hold a plethora of colours.

Colin performed the introductions with excitement. "Y/N, may I present my dear brother, Benedict Bridgerton," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of his fondness for both individuals. Benedict stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Y/N with curiosity.

Y/N curtsied gracefully, her movements reflecting a poise instilled by years of social etiquette. Benedict's eyes lingered on her, captivated by the grace and charm she exuded. He extended his hand, his touch gentle and warm as he took hers in his own. The moment their skin met, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between them.

Their first words were exchanged, simple pleasantries that masked the intensity of the moment. Yet, beneath the surface, a silent understanding seemed to grow—a recognition of shared interests and hidden desires.

As she was introduced to the rest of the group Penelope stood next to Eloise. y/n curtsied towards her and smiled. “You must be Eloise. I’ve heard so much about you.” Y/n smiled, and as the real Eloise grinned Penelope struggled to keep composure. “I am not. I am Penelope Featherington, Eloise and Colins friend” Y/n apologised and continued on with her introductions, though she could not deny the burning feeling of Penelope’s eyes as she stared at her.

Colin stood next to Benedict as the other end of the line. “Rather beautiful is she not?” Colin said in passing.

“Yes, she is.” Benedict said as his voice trailed off, eyes fixated on her.

[helenvader]

I am not that thrilled about the football plot of Unseen Academicals, but there are so many gems in the book. Here we have Lord Veterinary 🤣 who did his homework on the subject at hand so well that it makes everybody speechless (no news), and the last part is just... glorious.

--

At which point someone tried to slap Vetinari on the back. It happened with remarkable speed and ended possibly even faster than it began, with Vetinari still seated in his chair with his beer mug in one hand and the man’s wrist gripped tightly at head height. He let go and said, ‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘You’re that Lord Veterinary, ain’t ya? I seed you on them postage stamps.’

Ridcully glanced up. Some of Lord Vetinari’s clerks were briskly heading towards them, along with some of the slurred speaker’s friends, who could be defined at this point as people who were slightly more sober than he was and right now were sobering up very, very fast, because when you have just slapped a tyrant on the back you need all the friends you can get. Vetinari nodded at his gentlemen, who evaporated back into the crowd, and then he snapped his fingers at one of the waiters.

‘A chair here, please, for my new friend.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Ridcully, as a chair was pushed under the man who, by happy coincidence, was falling backwards in any case.

‘I mean,’ said the man, ‘everary one saysh you’re a bit of a wnacker, but I saysh you’re awright over thish football fing. ’Sno future in jus’ shlogging away. I should know, I got kicked inna head quite a few times.’

‘Really?’ said Lord Vetinari.

‘And what is your name?’

‘Swithin, shir,’ said the man.

‘Any other name, by any chance?’ said Vetinari.

‘Dustworthy,’ he said. He raised a finger in a kind of salute. ‘Captain, the Cockbill Boars.’

‘Ah, you aren’t having a good season,’ said Vetinari. ‘You need fresh blood in the squad, especially since Jimmy Wilkins got put into the Tanty after eating someone’s nose. Naphill walked all over you because you lost your backbone when both of the Pinchpenny brothers were taken to the Lady Sybil, and you’ve been stuck down in the mud for three seasons. Okay, everyone says that Harry Capstick is making a very good showing since you bought him from Treacle Mine Tuesday for two crates of Winkle’s Old Peculiar and a sack of pork scratchings, which is not bad for a man with a wooden leg, but there’s never anyone in support.’

A circle of silence spread outwards from Vetinari and the swaying Swithin. Ridcully’s mouth had dropped open and Henry’s brandy glass remained half empty, an unusual occurrence for a glass that’s been in the hands of a wizard for more than fifteen seconds.

‘Also, I’m hearing that your pies are leaving a lot to be desired, such as dead, cooked, organic content,’ continued Vetinari. ‘Can’t get the Shove behind you when the pies are seen to walk about.’

‘My ladsh,’ said Swithin, ‘are the besht there ish. It’sh not their fault they’re up againsht better people. They never getsh a chance to play shomeone they can beat. They alwaysh gives it one hundred and twenty pershent and you can’t give more than that. Anyhow, how come you know all this shtuff ? It’s not like we’re big in the league.’

‘Oh, I take an interest,’ said Vetinari. ‘I believe that football is a lot like life.’

‘There ish that, shir, there ish that. You does your besht and then shomeone kicksh you inna fork.’

‘Then I strongly advise you to take an interest in our new football,’ said Vetinari, ‘which will be about speed, skill and thinking.’

‘Oh, yeah, right, I can do all them,’ said Swithin, at which point he fell off his chair.

‘Does this poor man have any friends here?’ said Vetinari, turning to the crowd.

There was some diffidence among them concerning whether or not it was a good idea to be friends with Swithin at this point.

Vetinari raised his voice: ‘I would just like a couple of people to take him back to his home. I would like them to put him to bed and see that no trouble comes to him. Perhaps they ought to stay with him until morning too, because he just might try to commit suicide when he wakes up.’

[theywantedplayer]

could you maybe write something about jack hughes taking yn to the all stars?<3

You and Jack only got to see each other for a little while today since today was the game day for the All Stars. The players were warming and doing on ice interviews, as you found your seat and got comfortable, you watched the players skate around while also looking for Jack. You ended up finding him standing in front of one of the Cameras getting ready for an Interview.

You soon heard Jack's voice come on over the speakers as he was asked some Questions.

“So Jack you're going up against  the best players in the league what are your thoughts on the players that don't make it to the All-Stars that should have?”The interviewer asked

“ well you know it sucks a lot of great players don't get picked to be in the All-Stars like my brother Quinine he deserves to be here a lot of players deserve to be here that aren't here” He respond 

“Do you have any family here tonight?”

Jack chuckled a little as he tucked his hair behind his ears

“Uuh yea I got uh my girlfriends here tonight I invited her as soon as I found out” He laughed

“Oh yes and you two just went  public a couple weeks ago” The interviewer elaborated

 It is true you and Jack only went public a couple of weeks ago but have been dating for about a year. Jack wanted to keep your relationship Secret cuz he wanted no hate or stress to be put on to you. You were looking up at the Jumbotron watching Jack's interview until the Jumbotron showed a camera angle of you.

“Here she is on the  Jumbotron ladies and gentlemen”

 you blushed not knowing you were going to be put on the spot  but you stood up and turned around and pointed at the back of your  New Jersey Devils Jersey. Showing the name Hughes on the back.  you smiled and sat back down in your seat and then the camera angle went back to Jack.

 It showed Jack laughing at what you do

“Do you have any words for her tonight?”The interviewer asked pointing the microphone at Jack 

“Yea I do. '' He laughed “Thank you baby for showing up and Supporting me, I love you and I promise I'll make you proud” He grinned at the camera.

“Thank you, Everybody that was Jack Hughed Assistant Captain for the New Jersey Devils”

Jack thanked the interviewers and skated off back to his bench to grab some water. You smiled as you watched him do this thing on the ice, You always loved watching Jack play hockey. He was in his element. You texted him a quick ‘I love you” knowing he wouldn't see it for a while but you wanted him to know 

[tickle-bugs]

Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough. 

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms. 

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat? 

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles. 

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce. 

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting. 

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne. 

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now. 

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort. 

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite. 

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin. 

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes. 

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.  

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch. 

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry. 

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself. 

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne. 

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“ 

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce. 

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room. 

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense. 

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature. 

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought. 

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?” 

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“ 

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it. 

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne. 

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.” 

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face. 

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him. 

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow. 

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing. 

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs. 

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this. 

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath. 

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat. 

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance. 

“Well, staring isn’t—“ 

Clark kisses him breathless. 

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers. 

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be. 

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there. 

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half. 

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away. 

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table. 

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish. 

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile. 

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up. 

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it. 

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs. 

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’. 

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands. 

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real. 

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart. 

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh. 

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves. 

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash. 

“Why do it then? Why pretend?” 

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes. 

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce. 

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder. 

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns. 

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe. 

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“ 

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.” 

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts. 

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it. 

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun. 

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass. 

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks. 

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night. 

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper. 

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress. 

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze. 

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part. 

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny. 

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare. 

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“ 

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage. 

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space. 

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode. 

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor. 

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down. 

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing. 

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes. 

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back. 

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway. 

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso. 

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it. 

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms. 

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver. 

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.” 

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close. 

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face. 

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.” 

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?” 

Clark tries to summon ‘that’,  whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway. 

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears. 

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets. 

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs. 

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up. 

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths. 

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up. 

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that. 

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs. 

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache. 

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.  

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura. 

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him. 

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket. 

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle. 

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free. 

“No way.” Clark beams. 

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight. 

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort. 

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons. 

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers. 

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms. 

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear. 

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana. 

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune. 

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires. 

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further. 

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it. 

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move. 

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair. 

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp. 

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin. 

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it. 

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right. 

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment. 

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button. 

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat. 

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target. 

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point. 

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair. 

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious. 

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls. 

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror. 

“What?” No going back now. 

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy. 

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done? 

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable. 

“Maybe?” Clark swallows. 

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory. 

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders. 

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists. 

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl. 

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips. 

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide. 

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist. 

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen. 

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself. 

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently. 

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue. 

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own. 

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line. 

[coupleofdays]

This image of what a 1990s American version of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen would look like is awesome for many reasons, of course:

My eyes are of course drawn to the upper left corner, where among other images of possible 80s League members, we see good old Tron. And look who he's hanging out with: None other than Max Headroom!

For those of you who don't know, Max Headroom was a 1980s TV character, who was presented as if he was CG generated, but was in reality an actor (the extraordinary Matt Frewer) in physical costume and makeup made to look as if he was CG. He was intentionally portrayed as often "malfunctioning", stuttering and repeating himself for humorous effect. Here's a collection of funny bits with him, to give an idea of what he was like:

I've always been fascinated by this concept, of using traditional effects to pretend that something is computer generated. And that's why I think Max meeting Tron is fitting. The original Tron film is of course famous for its actual CG elements, but a lot of the film instead uses other special effects, such as matte paintings, cell animation and the lovely backlit animation, to portray the computer world. This feels to me like a variant of the "trickery" behind Max Headroom, a way of filmmaking that was probably unique to that era when CG was just starting to become the hot new thing, and was promising great leaps forward for special effects, but wasn't able to live up to those promises just yet (and some would argue that it still hasn't).

Also, I think a crossover between the characters would be really funny, with the stoic serious warrior Tron having to deal with the joking, self-absorbed jackass Max Headroom.

[scaryscarecrows]

One minute they’re moving, the next they’ve been set upon by ninjas.

That’s the only way Curt Evans can think of to describe the sudden assault; armed men, terrifyingly agile, falling on them before anybody had any idea they were even there.

It’s over embarrassingly quickly.

No one’s dead, though they’re all bruised. Jesus Christ. He’s on his knees, badly winded and yeah, that’s a cracked rib, and all he can think right now is, what just happened? A quick glance around at his squadmates says they’re thinking the same thing.

The ninjas are wearing black and red, with stark white full-face masks and blood-red goggles. Several of them have swords–swords, what the fuck?--but all of them have guns. One of them, smaller than the others, steps forward. They tilt their head, goggles boring into Evans’ eyes, before their hand snaps out and tears his dog tags from his neck.

“Hey-!”

“Shut up,” somebody else–a man’s voice–snaps. “We didn’t ask you to talk.” Then, “We takin’ ‘em back to base, sir?”

The man holding his dog tags doesn’t answer. He just looks at Evans (or, well, that’s what it looks like he’s doing) for a long moment before his arm flies out, swinging the dog tags like a flail. They hit him in teeth (that’s a chip, ow) before the man flips over him (what the fuck?) and–hurk!

Air-air-air-air–

His vision’s just starting to go when the chain loosens from around his neck. He’s still gasping when a boot between his shoulder blades puts him flat on his face and then he’s kicked over, onto his back. A boot’s planted on his chest and a massive sniper rifle that looks leagues beyond anything he’s ever worked with levels itself at his face.

The expected death doesn’t come. After two minutes of staring into those red goggles, his assailant scoffs and steps off him, snaps his fingers and jerks his head. The man from before nods.

“Yessir. Get up, assholes, we’re goin’ for a ride.”

* * *

The ride is twenty minutes. It’s a quiet twenty minutes, but it ends when they pull up to a massive military compound. High walls ringed with razor wire, security guards, and cameras. Big gates that look like something out of Jurassic Park. And an entire army’s worth of men inside, from the looks of it; trucks, tanks, the whole thing.

What the hell?

The little man from before hops out before the car comes to a stop. Striding across the compound is a giant that looks like he could snap Godzilla in half. He stops, though, when the littler guy whistles, puts his index fingers against the side of his head, and salutes*.

“Think he and Antoine had a TC,” the giant says. “They should be done soon. Why?”

A thumb jerks back towards the jeep.

“Shiiit,” the giant says appreciatively. “He’s not gonna like that.”

Who’s not gonna like that?

The small man laughs. Not totally mute, then, and clearly not deaf. Impediment? Just an asshole?

“I don’t think it was supposed to take–there he is.”

Oh.

Oh, good God.

Evans’ first, crazy thought, is that Gotham’s Bat has gone off the rails and set this up. Then the…thing…gets closer and he can see that it’s not quite the same. No cape, for one. And the full-faced helmet. It looks more like a cyborg than anything, but it’s coming this way.

“Riley brought ya a present,” the giant calls. The cyborg stops, looks at the blond man trotting behind it, and shrugs.

“Something tells me it’s not Reese’s.”

The voice is heavily filtered, sounding more demonic than human. The smaller man–Riley (huh, he knew a Riley once)--nods and erupts in a flurry of gesticulations. The cyborg tilts its head, sun reflecting off that blue visor, and remains quiet until Riley stops moving.

“Good call,” it says, and then it’s stalking towards them. Up close, it’s big. Well-armed. The insignia on the armor is unfamiliar and the armor itself is hard and sharp, almost medieval. “Well, gentlemen. What brings you out this far?”

Nobody answers. Then, quick as a snake, the cyborg lunges and pulls Evans away from the rest of his squadmates.

“Curt Evans,” the demonic voice growls. “You’re in charge of…well, that’s interesting. Operation Pleasure Time? Thought that was a soda.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says immediately. “Who the hell are you?”

The cyborg chuckles.

“The Arkham Knight.” What the hell? Some freak escaped from Gotham? Evans has never set foot there, but one of his old squadmates had been a local. That guy was fucked up. “Don’t play coy with me–well, well, this is interesting.”

It plucks the small body camera from his vest and kicks Evans’ legs out from under him, lets him fall to the dirt in a heap.

“Drouot.”

“Yessir.”

“Tell Rogers to get into their camera frequency and run a cover-up.” It–he?--pauses. “Not that ridiculous jungle monster cryptid, something practical. Crocodiles.”

“Aw, you’re gonna break his heart, boss,” the blond says. The Arkham Knight scoffs.

“He’ll live.”

“Yeah, but he’ll be annoying about it.” 

The Knight tosses the camera over and the blond disappears. Evans swallows.

“That’s recording already,” he says, willing his voice to be steady. “It doesn’t matter what you do now, it’s been viewed.”

“Nah.” The Knight sounds incredibly entertained. “We have a scrambler. All that’s been viewed is static.”

“We’re not telling you shit.”

“I really don’t care what you’re doing out here. I just care that you keep your mouths shut, and you know what they say about dead men.”

“What the fuck–”

“Get rid of them.”

“What, you won’t even do the job yourself?” Rodreguez shouts. “Fuckin’--”

BLAM!

“There. I killed one of you.” The Knight reholsters his gun. “Happy? Now. Get rid of them. Unless…” He turns to look at Riley, who shakes his head. “Never mind. Just get rid of them. I want to see your squadron in two hours; see what you’ve learned, huh?”

*Riley actually has two ways to refer to Jason: one is the shorthand symbol for crazy (index finger spiraled near your head) followed by ASL for knight. Crazy Knight=Arkham Knight. The other is this one–Evans may not know the Family Politics here, but Riley respects, and thus salutes, very few people. So this is the more affectionate one he uses to Jason or with the Squad.

[adgp35]

Miss Scarlett, the Lady in Red

“You cannot treat us like this, my lady!” cried Paolo Missilini, the Fascist Italian diplomatic liaison officer to Paris. “What about your democratic principles? What about the League of Nations? What about the Geneva Convention??” The distraught Minister of Culture in the Vichy French government, M Pierre Pautain, joined in the Italian’s chorus. “Indeed, Madame!” he exclaimed. “Such treatment by a female English spy, humiliating the representative of the nation who shared trenches with your countrymen just twenty years ago, shames the United Kingdom!”

Miss Scarlett turned to look at her two raging male prisoners, bound to an upright in a cellar far below the Elysee Palace and smiled, her blue eyes twinkling behind her black mask. “Gentlemen, you must remain here until your mutual military aid treaty fails for want of your signatures.” she told them. “Call it your contribution to making the world safe for democracy!”

“Putanna! ….mmmmmmmph!”

“Chienne! …..mmmmmph!”

“Now, now gentlemen,” smirked the Lady in Red, surveying her newly gagged captives, “whatever happened to old-fashioned European courtesy?”

With thanks to Vikings2win for providing me with this wonderful image of wartime female espionage, generated by Ideogram.

[local-blog-for-local-people]

"Anyway, I didn't get the gig"

[thotsforvillainrights]

Hi I know you've done a few like this before, so I'm here to request more HCs for a thicc!s/o. This time with Spinner and Twice please, because they both seem like fine gentlemen who would be absolutely normal about huge titties. Thank you for your time.

(I'm sure they're both very normal as well *me when I lie*)

~Spinner/Jin have an S/O with Large Chest~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up|drabble

-I know we can play around all day about this but in all honesty I do think he'd be a little normal at first. That's probably because he's not making eye contact down there just yet. He's caught a glimpse when you first joined the league but he battles with his daily demons to keep his eyes on yours. That's probably why you didn't have any feelings for him right away. He likely weirded you out a bit with his direct and intense eye contact. You swore he hadn't blinked in 10 minutes since the conversation started.

-Even now that the two of you are dating he still tries to keep his eyes up rather than down. His resolve falters when you start to experiment with him. Yes you respect him and you love him so you're not pushing for bedroom time together until you know the both of you are ready. However, you take some time to tease him just to play around and hint at your intentions. Also this can be true considering you enjoy seeing his reactions to you.

-Said a millions times before and will be said a million times again: he's going to blush up a storm over you. How could he not? Even if you weren't well-endowed in the chest region, he'd still blush for you. Do you know why? Because he'd be attracted to you no matter what you looked like. No matter how you were, you'd always be his one and only person. He loves you and naturally he's attracted to you.

-Speaking of blushing, hugs can be an intense experience for him. These can bring about a lot of reactions from him. He might scramble to get out of your arms if you're around the others since he doesn't really want to be teased about how red his face is. Despite this, he always craves your hugs not just because of your chest but mainly because of how sweetly your tend to hold him close. makes him think the world isn't all that bad.

-That internal battle with himself is very present in the way he reacts to you. He prays you don't think he's trying to purposefully objectify you or anything like that. It's difficult because he knows deep down he's gonna think you're hot regardless of the situation. It's just that he wants to try and control himself a little more when you're around. He's secretly worried you'll try to leave him if he gets on your nerves too much. You can reassure him to help with these feelings of course.

-If the two of you engage in bedroom activities (depending on reader) then you can bet he's going for your chest first. His hands, his eyes, his mouth. Hell, all of him if you'll allow it! He throws away almost all restraint in bed so be prepared for a lot of flip-flop chattering. You might end up laughing or maybe you'll need to throw yourself onto him and shut that mouth of his for a bit. Depends on the mood and the time. And aside from all of that, he'd also pay attention to all of you not just your chest. It's just your chest that gets the initial attention first.

-Hugs used to be an exciting thing for him. They used to be sexy but now they're not. That's not necessarily a bad thing either. In fact, he means it in a good way. Because now when he seeks you out for a hug, he's looking for your comfort and your love...not just lust. There's a real connection there between the two of you. He knows no matter what kind of day he faces in this big cruel world, he can always return back home to you...to your shoddy little shared apartment. He can open the creaking main door, shut and lock it behind him. He can seek you out in the kitchen, seeing the food prepared or purchased just for the two of you to share over an episode of your favorite screen. He can settle into you on the old couch, be held close and be told all will be okay. He can look at you and know it's the truth, as he falls asleep in your arms, his face nuzzled into you and inhaling all of your perfect smell. You take the weight of the world off this man's shoulders.

[faggotmox]

title: little league series: briar patches rating: pg i guess for some swearing pairing: Jon Moxley/Bryan Danielson, background Claudio Castagnoli/Wheeler Yuta, Eddie Kingston, William Regal word count: 1182 warnings: adults being shitty to kids from afar summary: The whole family shows out for one of Briar's first baseball game in the national little league (you know the league that does the little league world series). There's a few parents on the other team that don't have much nice to say.

[link to ao3]

There was nothing better than the hot summer days spent watching little league to Bryan and Mox. Of course their son had been a natural athlete, and Briar had gravitated towards sports on his own. To make things even better the whole family liked to show out. Briar had a lot of uncles. Claudio and Yuta sat together happily while Mox and Eddie sat one bench below them and on the other side of Bryan was Regal.

“Ha. Look at this kid.” A parent from the other team piped up as Briar walked out to bat.

“Pip Squeak.” Another one chimed in.

Bryan glanced over his shoulder before trying to shake it off. The words did sting for Bryan specifically. Instead he focused on how cute his son was as he walked up to the plate. Briar glanced up to find his family and smiled. This was their son’s first year playing in an ultra competitive league, after two years with his previous coach Briar was recommended to play on a serious team. Bryan worried it would take the fun out of everything but Briar was having a great time. At this age Briar was still small too, much smaller than his teammates.

“Strike one!” The ump called out as the ball went past Briar.

“Shake it off, pal!” Eddie shouted over everyone else, clapping his hands.

Bryan smiled at that. Uncle Eddie was Briar’s number one fan in every walk of life. They had a special connection that Bryan was happy about even though he didn’t really care for Eddie much before his son was born. The nice moment was interrupted by the snickering parents behind him.

“How did this fuckin’ kid make the national team?”

“Does he even meet the height/weight requirements?”

“Strike two!” The ump cut through the chatter. The parents behind them cheered.

“Embarrassing. Swing at something at least.”

“Imagine getting that kid on your team? Like damn. It must suck for the coach.”

“So true.”

“Hey. I know y’all ain’t talking about my nephew?” Eddie looked back between Regal and Bryan to level them with a look.

“Tiny Tim’s your nephew?” One of them cracked and that made both Mox and Bryan jerk to get up. Regal kept Bryan seated while Eddie put a hand on Mox’s shoulder. Yuta and Claudio were glaring at the other parents now too.

“I suggest you keep your comments to yourself, gentlemen. We’re not the family to fuck with so shut the fuck up and watch the game.” Eddie squeezed Mox’s shoulder and nodded towards the field.

“Ball one!” The ump called out. “One ball, two strikes.”

“C’mon.” One of the other parents groaned again.

“Focus, Briar!” Regal called out, shifting in his seat from annoyance at the still snickering parents.

“You’ve got this, son!” Bryan shouted out, also trying to distract himself.

“Ball two!” The ump’s call again.

“Does he even know how to swing the damn bat?” One of them snarked again.

Before anyone had a chance to react there was a loud crack from the field. Briar’s perfect swing propelled the ball high and far. The ball soared and soared through the air as Briar watched with a huge grin as the ball dropped behind the fence. The bat was carefully sat down before Briar jumped up and down, his feet starting to carry him to first base as he turned towards his family to wave.

Everyone on Briar’s team was on their feet. The cheers from the stands were louder than the boo’s as Bryan watched his son round the bases with triumph. The announcer took to celebrating the achievement.

“Number 7 Briar Danielson has hit the first home run of the season for the league. It’s worth noting that this is Briar’s first year participating in the national little league, and is also our youngest member. Congratulations, Briar, on hitting the first home run in this national league season!”

Briar decided to add a little flair by doing a cartwheel onto home base, making sure his hand hit the plate.

“Show off! Boo!” The parent behind them called out again.

“What a jerk doing a cartwheel.”

Everything calmed down in the stands and the dugout. The next batter came up to start things going again. Bryan glanced down as he felt Regal knock into him. The other man was pulling out the pair of brass knuckles from his pocket and nudging Eddie with his foot. The pair stood up.

“Gentlemen.” Regal addressed both men and their group of fellow parents as he put one foot on the bleacher and leaned against his knee. “You’ve been saying some rather rude things about my grandson. Even after we told you to shut the fuck up.”

“Told you we ain’t the family to fuck with.” Eddie reaffirmed. “I think you owe us an apology.”

“Seriously? Just watch the game.” One of them started sitting up straighter.

Regal allowed the brass knuckles to dangle from his hand on the inside of his knee. No one else could see as Regal started to shake out his hand like he was about to put the knuckles on. Claudio took that as his cue to stand up, using his height and build to scare.

“What’re you gonna do? Beat us up at a little league game?” The nervous laughter made everyone on Bryan’s side of the dispute smirk.

“No. We’ll just wait to jump you in the parking lot, and I’ll let my son kick your fuckin’ head in.” Bryan was on his feet now as well.

“Who the fuck are these guys?” One asked, somewhat quietly as he tried to gauge how real they were all being.

“I’m not trying to get involved.” One of the parents from Briar’s team spoke up, having walked up on the scene unfolding. “But you should know all of them are professional fighters. Like…they’re serious.”

“Oh…” One of the parents looked around nervously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He nudged his friend.

“I’m sorry too. We’ll shut up.”

“Thanks, Gene.” Mox grinned up at the other man as he held up his hand for a high five. “I didn’t want to spend tonight scrubbing their blood out of our clothes.”

“No problem, Mox.” Gene smiled, always somewhere between nervous he’d be murdered but also has a huge crush on Mox.

“I’ll buy ya a beer for that, Gen-o.” Eddie settled back in his seat.

Bryan went back to watching the game for a while. Everyone else settled back in. Briar went back out onto the field, making sure to wave at his family as he went.

“Mox,” Bryan nudged his husband as he leaned in. “Briar’s going to think this was funny.”

“We should definitely tell him about how his grandfather just flashed his brass knuckles because some dude made fun of him.” Mox chuckled, then put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“I’ll kill a motherfucker for looking at your kid wrong. You’re lucky I didn’t lose my temper.” Eddie grumbled as he watched Briar make a leaping catch. “Atta boy!”

[male-reader-haven]

Heat, Rubber and Hope

🏁*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ🏎️

Been forever since I've done anything with Hobi... But I've had this gem in my mind for longer. Illegal street racing romance? Yes please.

Chapter 1: Winners and Losers

Y/N tries his luck at racing for the big leagues as a rookie and meets an underground star, and he certainly leaves a first impression.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x male Y/N

TW: Illegal activities (oh dear), cops

Word count: 1268

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"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The voice grates across your mind as it ejects from the man holding the megaphone, but it doesn't distract you from the growling of your engine. You flex your grip on the wheel, feeling the vibration through your whole body.

"We won't waste your time any longer, and these boys sure don't want to wait a second more. Place your bets now!"

There are 4 other drivers, but none of them are on your mind. All you can think of is the rush. You've never raced in the ranked ones before. Sure, you'e played around with your modded chrome green mustang in your spare time with your racing friends, but this is the big leagues. By winning this one, you'd get your name out there. The neon lights of 'open' signs on the lesser/known bars and streetlights in the alley glow against the freshly damp pavement from the light rain.

"Alright boys, get your engines hot!"

The alleys surrounding the street erupt, echoing the roars of the brightly colored and modded vehicles. The crowd that had gathered behind the startup roared in response.

This is what you live for.

"On your mark..."

You inhale, the sounds around you meshing into white noise as you focus.

Breathe.

"Get set..."

You exhale, letting out all feelings of anxiety. Worrying about getting caught can come later, after the race. After you win.

"Go!"

As the announcer shoots a blank into the night sky all you can smell is burning rubber as you and the other racers tear across the road, leaving the audience in clouds of smoke, screaming with excitement. You end up near the rear, not as much acceleration as you had hoped, but with a quick push of the gas you're back in the race.

Rough start... but I've got time.

You know the course. A simple loop, 3 laps without getting caught by the cops, or obviously, without crashing. It's rare, and these cars are too sexy to be smashing for sport, so the drivers don't usually take risks... But you aren't other drivers.

As you ride the rear of the white and blue R34 Nissan GT-R, you jerk the wheel and take a sharp left into one of the tight alleys. A moment later you find yourself intercepting the two front runners, a neon pink corvette and a yellow and black Camaro. You catch a glimpse of the man in the corvette as he swerves to let you in. He shoots you a glare and flips you off. You smile and wink as you pull ahead of him. You tear past the crowd of people at the starting/finish line in second place, barely hearing the crowd cheer.

Lap 1 done.

The next lap goes off without a hitch, staying at the front and slowly gaining on the fire red dodge challenger in first. You end up at a steady pace, directly next to him. You make eye contact through the window. He smiles wide, shoots you a finger gun. You both tear across the line again.

There went lap 2... just got to get the best of him.

You smirk back at him as you pull forward, taking first place.

Yes! Come on, so close, just gotta keep this momentum...

The seconds seem to fly by as you reach the final curve, the finish line in sight. You check your mirrors only to see to your surprise that the red dodge is no longer behind you. Suddenly, from the corner of your eye, you see the bright red and smoke from burnout as the dodge drifts in from a side alley, spinning out in front of you. Everything is in slow motion. Out of panic, you slam on the brakes as he spins backwards, your windshields facing each other, and he is grinning at you widely. The man waves to you before tearing off... in reverse.

No way.

The crowd goes wild as the dodge screeches to a halt at the finish line. You instantly regain your composure and pull in second, the other three cars coming in behind. You sit there for a moment, bewildered and gasping for breath.

"We have our winner!!"

The announcer walks in from the crowd as the door swings open from the dodge. A slim but lean man walks out, black hair and wearing a shit-eating grin that you will never get out of your head. He wears a racing suit, skin-tight, white, red and black. He looks like a professional in NASCAR.

"Unconventional as ever, but what else would you expect from our one and only, Seoul's finest and certainly fastest, J-hope!"

With that, the crowd screams and he raises his hands up in celebration. You step outside of your vehicle, staring at the scene before you.

J-hope turns around and meets your gaze. Still smiling, he makes his way over to you, outstretched hand.

"Hey rookie, I don't think we've met. I'm-"

"I know who you are." You cut him off. J-hope is a name that every underground racer knows. Known for his crazy maneuvers and lively spirit... and his popularity with both men and women.

"I'm Y/N." You shake his hand. Though frustrated at your loss, you can respect him for living up to his legend. "That was crazy back there, going in reverse? Never seen anything like it."

"Haha, yeah, the first time I did that it was a complete accident. And a total disaster." He laughs, and you notice how his lips are slightly heart-shaped. His eyes are lit with excitement and almost smile on their own. He really is easy on the eyes.

"Why are you here? I'd think someone of your reputation would be racing more.. mainstream, I guess?"

"What can I say, rent is due." He winks, as the announcer brings over a duffel bag with the prize money. "Hey, that move you did at the start was pretty god, for a rookie. Want some advice? Save that for the end of the race. Leaves the norms guessing." He adjusts the strap of the bag around his shoulder, then looks you up and down. "How about I give you a few pointers sometime, maybe over a drink?"

You can't help but feel your stomach flip at his flirtatious remark.

"What, so you can charm me into going easy next time? Sorry hotshot, but it's gonna be harder than that to beat me. I'm not like your usual fanboys." You cross your arms defiantly.

"All that bark, but I can't help but wonder.." He steps closer to you, getting close to your face. "Do you bite, puppy?" His cool smile ends shivers down your spine.

"Maybe. Get too close and you'll find out." You flirt back, narrowing your eyes and giving a slight smirk.

"Ooh, careful what you ask for, baby." J-hope whispers and cocks his head. Before you can respond, the faint whine of sirens hits the air.

"Cops! Scatter!" Someone from the crowd yells, and people start running off to alleys and cars, taking off. J-hope chuckles.

"Looks like that might have to wait." He runs to his car and throws the bag in his back seat, then opens the door to his driver seat. Before hopping in, he runs over to you, handing you a piece of paper. "There's this place, like 45 minutes outside Seoul. Address is on there. Tomorrow night, 2 am. Be there, rookie." He winks, then hops into his car and peels off into the night.

You hate to admit it... but he's hot. Plus, you've got nothing going on tomorrow.

—————————————————————————————————-

More to come of course, he is my bias after all :)

Stay tuned, Jae loves you <3

[moomin279]

pLease kick off about bcdr/tommy and len 👀🙏🏼

ok i saw this last night and fell asleep but now i am here and fully insane about reece shearsmith

so

best episode of the show by a mile (christine will never ever be bcdr)

i doubt that its one that they considered coming back to but it's the one i would be most interested in (the years they were performing, the years after where they miss each other)

DID TOMMY DIE HIS HAIR? bc hes blonde in the ep but in the posters hes brunette. was this to help him get over Len? was it to signify a new era of his life?

The parallels between bcdr and plodding on ended me - the voice crack on 'You nearly died Len' and 'I thought you were going to die and i was going to lose you' (screaming)

But also like the pain of when len says 'no tommy please dont go, I haven't see you for thirty years' and just the quiet loneliness/desperation in how steve delivers it

OH AND THE SONG AND DANCE AT THE END IS SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SPECIAL TO ME - also the way that they sung it on the book tour with the insiders guide to in9 (i think thats what it was called i should know it's on the shelf behind me)

but then also how steve starts singing it in plodding on at the end had me a little🥹

the way they used old league of gentlemen flyers for the pictures was so so so so so—

also the paralells to reece and steve and how they just wanted to do a two hander (which it wasn't in the end) but also how they originally wanted to slow dance to neil sedaka (they're not beating the allegations) and the way they used old league of gentlemen flyers for the pictures was so so so so so-

anyway literally best episode (alongside plodding on)

[chernobog13]

R.I.P CARLOS PACHECO

What a crappy week this has been, and I’m not talking about the election results.

First I got news of Kevin O’Neill (Marshal Law, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) passing a few days ago.  Then I learned that Carlos Pacheco Perujo passed away this morning.

Carlos Pacheco, a Spanish artist, spent a long time working on this side of the Atlantic for both Marvel Comics and DC Comics.

Although he had been doing work for Marvel since 1995, the first book I remember seeing Pacheco’s work on was the 12-issue Avengers Forever.  I initially picked up the book because it was written by Kurt Busiek, who was doing a bang-up job with George Perez on Avengers at the time.  I liked the story, and was very impressed with the artwork.

This was also the first time that Pacheco worked with inker Jesus Merino and - like Kirby & Sinnott, Swan & Anderson, Adams & Giordano, and Byrne and Austin - it was a match made in Heaven.  Merino would continue to be Pacheco’s regular inker for many, many years afterward.

Pacheco also had runs on Fantastic Four and X-Men.

Of course, with me being a DC guy, I was very excited when PAcheco moved to DC tin 2003 to draw a 96-page JLA/JSA crossover, Virtue and Vice, wherein he depicted the entire roster of each team.

Pacheco also drew covers for several issues of the JSA’s own book.

He then teamed with writer Jeph Loeb for a few issues of Superman/Batman.  

Then he joined up again with Kurt Busiek for (most of) a year-long run on Superman.

Busiek and Pacheco teamed-up again for their creator-owned series Arrowsmith.

Arrowsmith: Behind Enemy Lines, the second volume in the series, finished up earlier this year.  The trade paperback collecting the series was released in September, at around the same time that Pacheco announced he was retiring from comics due to being diagnosed with ALS.

Despite the dire news, I was hoping we’d have more time to spend with him. As is always the case with someone you love and admire, they always pass away far too soon.

Rest in peace, Carlos.