#ban dog culture

[stopthewoke]

KEEP YOUR FILTHY MUTANTS OUT OF MEDICAL BUILDINGS!!!!

[superioronion]

seeing people Americans who are switching from TikTok to rednote weaning themselves off the American exceptionalism kool-aid, only to fall hook line and sinker for Chinese exceptionalism propaganda is.... comical.... to say the least

[dykeredhood]

Don’t even try to fuck me if you can’t get me as riled up as the score of Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) gets me

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. three

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄,

𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: A single Instagram story accidentally hard-launches something that isn’t even real. Or at least, isn’t supposed to be. A fake date at an overpriced restaurant turns into a game of push and pull, stolen glances, and tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. You tell yourself it’s nothing, but at 3 AM, you’re alone in the studio, writing lyrics you shouldn’t be writing, thinking about her in ways you shouldn’t be thinking. And then Ellie texts. And suddenly, the lines you’ve been so desperate to keep blurred don’t seem so thin. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 7,5k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: smut, top!ellie, sub!reader, fingering (r!receiving), praise, tit play, begging, edging, being recorded, pet names, fake dating, LOTS of cursing, use of y/n, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N AND ELLIE WILLIAMS HARD-LAUNCH—AND THE INTERNET IS IN SHAMBLES! 🔥🚨

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, besties. If you thought Y/N’s infamous walk of shame was the peak of her chaotic love life—oh, sweet summer child, think again. 👀

Because last night? She didn’t just confirm her situationship with Ellie Williams.

Oh, no.

She hard-launched it with the subtlety of a car crash. A 50-car pileup on the freeway of gay panic.

And it was GLORIOUS.

HERE’S HOW IT WENT DOWN:

At exactly 3:17 AM (because of course, the chaos begins at that hour), our favorite pop star dropped the bomb on Instagram in the most unhinged, beautiful way possible. 

The post? Ellie Williams, peak domestic chaos, sprawled on y/n’s couch like she just got evicted from a frat house. Hair a mess, tattoos flexing, wearing nothing but a tank top and sweats, scrolling through her phone like she’s too cool to care. And the coup de grâce? In front of her—a post-Taco Bell battlefield so disastrous it could get them both banned from the establishment for life.

But the caption? Oh, the caption sealed the deal:

“she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.”

And as if the chaos wasn’t already unhinged enough—oh yeah, they were absolutely high. Very high. The kind of high that makes you think posting your girlfriend looking like a hot human raccoon on the couch is a brilliant PR move. 👀🍃

And you know what?

She was right.

THE INTERNET MELTDOWN, A PLAY-BY-PLAY:

Within seconds—literally, SECONDS—Twitter went into full-blown DEFCON 1 over the fact that two of the most famous musicians on the planet had just hard-launched their situationship like it was a surprise album drop.

Hashtags?

🔹 #YNandEllie → #1 worldwide 🔹 #HardLaunchOfTheCentury → A cultural reset 🔹 #TacoBellSponsorshipWHEN → Officially liked by Taco Bell

Fan reactions? 

📌 Gay Twitter? Collapsed.

📌 Stan accounts? Frothing at the mouth.

📌 The straights? Confused, scared, and overwhelmed.

Meme accounts went feral. In less than ten minutes, there were already:

☑️ Fan edits set to indie love songs ☑️ AI-generated wedding invitations ☑️ A Change.org petition for them to adopt a dog or a cat together. ☑️ The Wikipedia page for “lesbianism” updated with the post

Even Netflix got involved:

“This has more plot than anything we released this year.”

Meanwhile, Taco Bell issued a statement:

“Ellie & y/n—free Crunchwraps for life if you let us cater the wedding.”

BUT WAIT— WHAT ABOUT THE WALK OF SHAME?

Let’s rewind. Less than 24 hours before this nuclear-level hard launch, y/n was caught leaving The Four Seasons at sunrise, looking like she had just gone three rounds with fate itself.

And whose hotel was it? Oh, you already know— Ellie Williams’.

And now, here we are. Less than a day later, and these two have skipped the “we’re just friends” gaslighting phase entirely. No damage control. No frantic PR statements. Just pure, unfiltered chaos.💥

We have never seen a sneaky link accept its fate this fast.

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

Absolute radio silence from both of them. Ellie’s only move? Liking a tweet that said:

“The stages of sneaky links: 1) Deny. 2) Get caught. 3) Accept your fate.”

Meanwhile, y/n—aka the woman who just revealed to the entire world that she is down horrendously bad for her formerly alleged situationship-sneaky link-wife-girlfriend?— Probably just vibing with the chaos she just caused.

One thing’s for sure: this isn’t just a fling anymore.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

🔗RELATED: TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

────────────

❤️ 15M — 💬 525,76k

The thing about PR nightmares is that they don’t wait for you to wake up, brush your teeth, and ease into your morning with a cup of coffee and the false hope that today will be a quiet one. 

No. They come in swinging into your life like a wrecking ball, uninvited and merciless, dragging you out of your peaceful oblivion straight into a digital inferno.

By the time you fully grasp the severity of the situation, both of your faces are everywhere. The internet has already devoured every single detail and spat it back out in the form of conspiracy theories and enough memes to fuel an entire generation’s humor.

Twitter is a minefield of hot takes. Instagram is worse—a visual onslaught of dissected moments, captions teetering between adoration and sheer lunacy.

The gossip pages have lost all chill—headlines range from mildly invasive ("Is This The Couple of the Year?"),  to outright deranged ("Leaked Timeline of y/n and Ellie Williams’s Secret Romance—Are They ALREADY Engaged?!").

And then there are the memes.

Oh, God, the memes. You want to be mad, you really do—but some of them? Undeniably hilarious. The internet, when motivated, can be disturbingly creative. You’d probably laugh your ass off if your life wasn’t currently being sacrificed at the altar of social media hysteria.

You don’t even realize you’ve been doom-scrolling until Ellie’s voice slices through the thick silence of your apartment.

“You look like you’re watching your own funeral.”

You jolt so fast your phone nearly goes flying out of your hands. Spinning around, you find her standing in your kitchen, barefoot, sleep-mussed, and nursing a cup of coffee like she hasn’t just casually walked into the eye of a social media hurricane. The mug in her hands—the one she picked out of your weird mug collection—boldly declares: “Lesbians Fear Me, Bisexuals Love Me, Straight People Think I’m Just Going Through a Phase.”

Goddamn it, that’s one of your favorites.

You groan and collapse face-first onto the couch, voice muffled into the cushions. “Ellie, we are so fucked.”

She snorts, padding over with the kind of calm that only someone who thrives in chaos can pull off. “Nah. We just need to, y’know�� do something before Rachel bursts into flames.”

Oh, right. Rachel.

Your manager has texted you no fewer than a hundred times since sunrise. The last message, sent precisely at 6:12 AM, had been chilling in its simplicity:

Rachel: Fix this.

Easier said than done.

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back, phone clutched to your chest like it might explode. “This is a disaster.”

Ellie, looking entirely unbothered by the world-ending-level of public meltdown currently unfolding, plops onto the couch beside you. She stretches out, propping her feet on the coffee table—your coffee table, in your apartment.

“Look,” she says, reaching over to steal a cold fry from last night’s half-eaten takeout “we only have one option: owning the narrative.”

You press your hands over your face, groaning.

The problem is, she isn’t wrong. If you lean into it—carefully, tactfully—you might actually steer the storm instead of getting swallowed by it.

Ellie, still lounging like this is all some elaborate joke for her own amusement, nudges you with her foot. “We should make a post.”

You blink at her. “Like… an official statement?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. Something like that. Vague, casual. Let people read into it however they want.”

Your stomach twists. The internet already thinks it knows what’s happening—does it really matter what you say at this point?

“And if it backfires?”

Ellie chews thoughtfully. Swallows. Shrugs again. “Then we fake-break up in, like, two months and traumatize the entire internet.”

You snort despite yourself, the first crack in your anxiety. “Jesus Christ.”

She grins, eyes glinting. “That’s the spirit.”

“Fine” you mutter. “Let’s write the damn thing.”

With a sigh, you sit up and pull up Instagram. Ellie shifts closer, propping her chin on your shoulder, watching as your fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard. The warmth of her breath against your skin is distracting.

Ellie reaches over, steals another fry—practically from your lap this time. “Make sure you put something about Taco Bell sponsoring us. I spent more than a hundred bucks last night.”

You roll your eyes but start typing.

OFFICIAL STATEMENT March 10, 2025 Regarding Recent Speculation So, yeah. We’re together. Hope that clears things up. What started as an unexpected friendship has grown into something we both value deeply. While this wasn’t exactly how we planned to share our relationship with the world, we appreciate the love and support from those who have been kind and respectful. As for the rest, go touch some grass. Please. At the end of the day, we’re just two people trying to live our lives, except with a few more cameras in our faces and significantly less chill.  From here on out, we’d like to keep the focus on what actually matters to us: music, minding our own business, and continuing to order unreasonable amounts of (pls sponsor us) Taco Bell. Much love,

y/n & Ellie🤍

The second you hit ‘Post’ on the Instagram story, your phone practically detonates.

Notifications flood in like a tsunami, buzzing so aggressively it might just explode in your hand. Your screen lights up in a relentless cascade of likes, retweets, and absolute chaos. Tweets skyrocket in real-time. Comments pour in at an overwhelming speed. Chaotic posts multiply by the second, some so unhinged you can’t even begin to process them. Already wildly inaccurate headlines spread like wildfire.

Ellie, still beside you, scrolls lazily through them, smirking. “They’re losing their minds.”

You groan, dropping your phone onto the couch and pressing your palms into your eyes. “This is so unhinged.”

Ellie tilts her head at you, the picture of nonchalance. “Eh. Could’ve been worse.”

You peek at her warily. “How?”

Her grin is pure mischief, eyes glinting with the kind of chaos that should come with a warning label.

“We could’ve gone live.”

You roll your eyes and smack her with a pillow.

Ellie was half-draped over her couch, the cigarette dangling from her lips two seconds from ashing onto her hoodie. She was strumming the most butchered, off-key version of Stairway to Heaven the world had ever suffered through—on purpose, because it was funnier that way.

Her phone buzzed against her stomach. She groaned, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly saw last week, took one last drag from her cigarette before grinding it out in an old mug, and checked the caller ID.

Rachel.

Ellie groaned harder, the sound escalating into something inhuman as she debated the pros and cons of throwing her phone across the room. Ultimately, she answered, pressing the speaker button because lifting her arm was simply too much work.

“How the fuck did you both get my number—”

“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. You and y/n. Dinner. Pick her up. Fancy but not too fancy. Cozy but not too cozy. Like honeymoon phase but still fresh. Got it?”

She bulldozed through her sentence like a freight train on a tight schedule, and Ellie hadn’t even had time to think before it was over. She let her head thunk against the back of the couch, guitar sliding off her lap with a lazy thud.

“Rachel.”

“Ellie.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. And even if you did, you’d still be going to dinner with her tomorrow because you both decided to play pretend lovers of the century for the internet three days ago, and now, surprise! You have to commit.”

Ellie groaned dramatically, flicking her lighter open and shut. “Well, at least I’ll get a free meal out of it.”

“You’re paying.”

Ellie sat up so fast she nearly rolled off the couch. “Excuse me?”

Rachel hung up.

Across town, you were lying flat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating whether or not it was worth the effort to grab the water bottle sitting a mere three feet away. You had accepted that dehydration might just be your fate when your phone rang. You blindly reached for it, barely checking the caller ID before answering.

“No.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, unphased. “Dinner. You and Ellie. Tomorrow night. Be charming. Look in love. Don’t do that thing where you act like you physically cannot be perceived while eating in public.”

You blinked. “Why would I do that? Why would I ever do that?”

“You did it last time.”

“That was different. That was 2 AM takeout.”

“Regardless,” Rachel pressed on, clearly unimpressed with your excuses, “wear something nice. Order a fancy wine. And the paparazzi will be there, so make it look good.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting being alive. “How good are we talking?”

She hummed, like she was debating how much pain to inflict. “Comfortable. Playful. A couple of lingering touches, a cute moment or two. Laugh at her jokes like she’s the funniest person you’ve ever met.”

“She’s not that funny.”

“Then pretend.”

You scoffed, throwing an arm over your eyes. “Anything else, director?”

“Yes. And please, for the love of God, don’t give the paps the middle finger this time.”

You sat up, deeply offended. “That was one time.”

“It was three times.”

“Okay, but in my defense, they deserved it.”

Rachel wasn’t amused. “Tomorrow. Eight. Don’t be late.”

And then she hung up, leaving you staring at your phone, deeply unprepared for the fact that you now had a very official date. With Ellie.

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed with all the enthusiasm of a medieval poet dying from heartbreak.

“Well…” you muttered to yourself. “A date is a date.”

The restaurant was the kind of place where secrets were whispered over candlelight, and fortunes changed hands beneath the weight of silk napkins. Dim lighting pooled in golden circles beneath chandeliers, casting flickering shadows against dark wood paneling. It was designed for intimacy—hushed conversations, stolen glances, the illusion that the outside world didn’t exist.

But tonight, that illusion was paper-thin.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt it. The shift in the air. The subtle tightening of shoulders at nearby tables. A murmur of recognition stirred beneath the soft clinking of glasses, and just past the curve of the bar, someone’s phone tilted, camera lens catching both of your faces.

Ellie noticed it too. Her fingers brushed the small of your back—light, steady, deliberate. Not quite possessive, but close. Just enough to send a message, though whether it was for you or the watchful eyes around you, you weren’t sure.

“Looks like they already caught on,” she muttered, her breath warm against your ear.

You didn’t turn, just reached for the menu as you slid into the booth. “Let them watch.”

Ellie smirked, leaning back into the seat across from you. The leather creaked under her weight. She stretched, lazy and unbothered, but her gaze never left yours.

“So...” she said, voice edged with amusement. “First official date.”

You snorted, flipping the menu open as a distraction. “Yeah. Fake dating my one-night stand. Super fun. SUPER normal.”

Ellie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to lean in to the chaos.”

You glanced up at her, lips twitching. “Yeah, well. Maybe I didn’t think it through.” 

Ellie smirked, setting her glass down. “That makes two of us”

The waiter appeared before you could argue, cutting through the tension like a knife. Orders were placed. The conversation settled into something almost comfortable—almost. Beneath it, a charge still hummed, too close to be ignored.

You hated how good she looked.

The loose black button-up, sleeves rolled to reveal the intricate ink winding around her forearms. The way the candlelight flickered against her silver rings as she toyed with the rim of her whiskey glass. She looked effortless, unfairly so, like she wasn’t aware of the effect she had on people. The effect she had on you.

She caught you staring.

“What?” Ellie’s lips curled slightly, eyes flicking over your face.

You shook your head, feigning indifference. “Nothing.”

Ellie didn’t buy it. She leaned in, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping into something lower, smoother. “You sure about that?”

You exhaled. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before someone posts a blurry picture of us with a dramatic caption.”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Probably already happened.”

She wasn’t wrong. Your phone, face-down on the table, had been buzzing intermittently all night. And yet, for once, you had no urge to check it. No urge to confirm what you already knew—that the world was watching, dissecting every look, every movement, every stray touch.

But for a fleeting second, you let yourself forget.

The laughter and conversation had faded, leaving behind something heavier—something unspoken. Ellie was watching you again, fingers drumming a lazy rhythm against the table.

You exhaled through your nose, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip. “You’re staring.”

Ellie didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pretend to look away. If anything, the weight of her gaze intensified, dragging over your face, your lips, the way your fingers curled around the stem of your glass.

“Can’t help it,” she murmured, voice low, rough at the edges. “You’re really selling this whole madly-in-love-with-me thing.”

The words sent a sharp jolt through you—annoyance, something hotter, something dangerous. You set your glass down with a quiet clink, leveling her with a look.

“You’re insufferable.”

Ellie leaned in, elbows resting on the table, her smirk deepening. Her voice dropped just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“And yet,” she drawled, “here you are, madly in love with me.”

It was infuriating—the cocky glint in her eyes, the way she was too close and somehow still not close enough.

You wanted to shove her away. You wanted to yank her closer.

Instead, you inhaled, slow and measured, smoothing the irritation from your face. You reached across the table, your fingers sliding over hers—warm, steady, deliberate. Your touch lingered, just enough to watch her expression shift.

Ellie’s smirk faltered. Just for a second.

Good.

You leaned in, voice sweet, syrupy, laced with something lethal.

“Of course, baby,” you cooed, lacing your fingers through hers. “You’re the love of my life.”

Ellie stilled. Her eyes flickered—just briefly, just enough. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, her thumb grazing over your knuckles.

Her smirk curled back into place, but now? Now, you could tell it wasn’t quite as easy as before.

“Damn right” she murmured.

It was nothing. A move for the cameras. A game you’d both agreed to play.

So why did it feel like something was shifting?

Outside, cameras flashed.

Inside, the world felt smaller, quieter, like the space between you had its own gravity.

Ellie never posted much.

Not about herself. Not about anyone. But tonight? Tonight was different.

The Instagram story went up without warning. No buildup, no context, just a single photo.

You, mid-laugh, wine glass in hand, bathed in candlelight. The kind of effortless, unguarded moment that made it impossible to look away. Shadows curled along your cheekbones, the soft glow making you look almost unreal, like something out of a dream.

No tags. No emojis. No overcomplicated caption. Just four quiet, devastating words:

"yeah, i'm done for."

A confession disguised as nothing. A moment so simple, so fleeting—yet it hit like a seismic shift.

The internet, once again, was in shambles.

The studio smelled like stale coffee and old vinyl, the air thick with the kind of silence that only existed at this hour. It was late—too late. The kind of late that blurred the edges of logic, where exhaustion made everything feel heavier, where thoughts you’d spent all day avoiding started creeping back in.

You hadn’t meant to be here. Hadn’t meant to sit in this chair, pen in hand, staring at the blank page in your notebook like it held the answer to a question you weren’t ready to ask.

But here you were.

Another night. Another week. 

Another failed attempt to convince yourself that this wasn’t a problem.

The guitar rested against your thigh, its weight grounding, familiar, a piece of you as much as the heartbeat in your chest. But every chord you strummed felt wrong. Off. Like the melody was trying to tell you something you weren’t ready to hear.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face before picking up the pen. The words came before you could stop them.

It’s 3 AM and the moon looks different Or maybe it’s just my state of mind Tried to leave you somewhere distant But you keep slipping between the lines

You stared at them, heart pounding harder than it should have been.

I shouldn’t be thinking about you

You hesitated, then scratched it out. The fuck was that?

Outside, the city pulsed—neon signs flickering, distant laughter spilling from bars, car horns and sirens blending into the night like white noise. The world kept moving, unaware. Unbothered.

Unlike you.

Because inside this room, in this quiet that felt too sharp, it was just you and the ghost of someone who wasn’t even here.

She was probably asleep right now, tangled in sheets that smelled like her and not like you. Peaceful, unbothered, unaware of the fact that you were wide awake in a room that suddenly felt too small. That you were trying, and failing, to put whatever the hell you were feeling about her into words.

You exhaled sharply, leaning back in your chair.

This is stupid.

And yet—

Your fingers twitched, your grip tightening around the pen, and before you could stop yourself, you wrote.

You leave fingerprints on my skin Like I was meant to be touched by you Like you knew me in a past life And kept coming back just to haunt me

The words sat there, and suddenly they weren't just lyrics anymore.

It was her.

The way she looked at you—too intense, like she saw through every excuse, every careful lie you told yourself.

The way her voice settled in your bones, low and lazy, curling around the edges of your thoughts when you least expected it.

The way she touched you—casual, careless, like she didn’t even realize she was leaving pieces of herself behind. But at the same time, she was taking parts of you too, until you weren’t sure where she ended and you began.

And you hated it.

Hated that no matter how many songs you wrote or how many sleepless nights you spent thinking about her, she still lingered in every corner of your mind. Hated that no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself this was fake—just a fleeting thought, just a name, just a PR stunt—it never felt fake. And even now, even here, your fingers betrayed you against the chords of your guitar, tracing a slow, aching melody.

Something soft and low.

Something that sounded too much like her.

You let the song take shape, let it spill out in half-finished lyrics and messy scribbles, in chords that felt like confessions you’d never say to her face.

And when the song finally ended, it wasn’t careful.

It wasn't filtered through logic or reason or the rules you were supposed to be following.

It was just the truth.

The sharp vibration of your phone against the wooden table nearly made you jump. The sound cut through the quiet hum of the studio, through the half-finished melody still hanging in the air.

You stared at the screen, pulse quickening before your brain could catch up.

Ellie.

Her name glowed against the dim light, as if you had summoned her with thought. An interruption, a warning—an inevitability.

You hesitated, fingers twitching against the notebook, the unfinished lyrics glaring up at you like they knew something you didn’t. Like they were daring you to answer.

A part of you wanted to ignore it. To pretend you hadn’t seen it.

But your resolve had never been strong when it came to her.

Your thumb hovered before unlocking the screen. The message sat there, simple, unreadable.

Ellie: you up?

You exhaled slowly, rubbing at your tired eyes. Of course, she knew. Knew you couldn’t sleep. Knew exactly how your mind worked, how it never let you rest.

Another vibration.

Ellie: don’t lie

A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t a question. She already knew the answer.

You tapped the keyboard, typed, erased, typed again.

You: why?

The ellipsis appeared immediately. Then, a pause. A hesitation.

Ellie: idk

Ellie: just thinking

Your stomach twisted. That was the thing about Ellie—she never said too much. Just enough to get inside your head. Just enough to make you wonder.

Ellie: can’t sleep

You should’ve said something simple. Something easy, something that didn’t open doors you weren’t ready to walk through.

But this was Ellie.

And maybe you were tired of pretending.

You: me neither

The words felt like an admission, but it still wasn’t enough. Something about the silence between texts, the space where she was waiting for more, made your fingers tighten around your phone.

The air in the studio felt heavier now, thick with the quiet things you weren’t saying. The song in your notebook was unfinished, just like this—whatever the fuck this was.

You stared at the screen, heart knocking against your ribs.

Fuck it.

Before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—

You: come over

A pause. Too long, too quiet. You held your breath.

Then, finally—

Ellie: omw

The knock on the studio door nearly sent you out of your chair.

3:47 a.m.

Another knock—sharper this time, more impatient.

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the desk before pushing yourself up. You rolled the tension from your shoulders, stepping over half-crumpled lyric sheets.

Ellie stood in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, hands buried in her pockets, wearing that kind of expression that made your stomach clench.

“Wow” she drawled, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. “You look like shit.”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting responding to that fucking text. “Nice to see you too, Ellie.”

“Always a pleasure, sweetheart” she shot back, smirk widening. “You gonna let me in, or should I start serenading you from the hallway? ‘Cause I will. And it’ll be bad.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped aside. “It already is.”

Ellie snorted as she walked in, the scent of her—faint cologne, cigarettes, something familiar—stirring something restless in your chest. She wandered over to your desk, eyes sweeping over the chaos of half-filled notebooks, your laptop, empty coffee cups, and a sad little pile of crumpled snack wrappers.

“Jesus” she muttered, toeing at a discarded water bottle. “You been here all night?”

You ran a hand over your face. “Yeah. Some of us actually have to work.”

Ellie scoffed, dropping into the chair across from you, arms slung over the backrest. “Some of us are also working. I’ve got an album to finish, remember?”

You huffed out a tired laugh, rubbing your eyes. “Oh, so you came here to, what, steal my ideas?”

Ellie smirked. “Maybe.”

“Now” she continued, tapping her fingers against the edge of your notebook, “do me a favor and tell me if this song sucks before I embarrass myself.”

You blinked. “Wait—you’re actually asking for my opinion?”

Ellie placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “I know. Huge deal.”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Ellie grinned, pulling out her phone, scrolling through her files. A moment later, a raw, unfinished melody drifted through the studio speakers—soft guitar, steady beat, her voice coming in a little rough but unmistakably hers.

You leaned back, listening. It wasn’t what you expected. It was slower, almost hesitant, the kind of song that didn’t just sit in your chest—it settled there, heavy, like it wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

When it faded out, Ellie glanced at you, fingers drumming idly against the desk. “Well?”

You exhaled, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s… different.”

Ellie huffed a laugh. “Wow. Incredible feedback. Thank you so much.”

You shot her a look. “No, I mean—it’s great. But it’s you in a way your other stuff isn’t. Feels more…” You searched for the word, something that wouldn’t make this moment feel like a confession.

“Personal?” Ellie offered, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded. “Yeah. Personal. Like you actually mean it.”

Ellie clicked her tongue, leaning back in the chair, stretching her arms above her head. “Great. Can’t wait for the internet to rip me apart for being emotional.”

You snorted. “Oh, please. Sad Ellie is about to be everyone’s favorite genre.”

Ellie groaned, tilting her head back. “God. Kill me now.”

You grinned. “Nah, you gotta live long enough to suffer through your own album rollout.”

Ellie shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Then, her gaze flicked back to you. Sharper now. Intentional.

“So” she said, nodding towards your notebook. “What about you?”

Your pulse kicked up. “What about me?”

Ellie tapped a finger against your laptop. “You working on anything good, or just staring at the screen and contemplating your entire existence?”

You hesitated.

The ghost of the melody still lingered on your fingertips, the kind of song that would give too much away. You could still feel it under your skin—like the ink hadn’t dried yet.

Ellie was still watching you. Waiting.

You exhaled, pressing your palm against the notebook, shutting it.

“Nothing finished.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying you. “That was a suspiciously vague answer.”

“And yet, I’m not elaborating.”

Ellie's eyes flicked to the notebook under your hand. “Must be something good if you’re guarding it like the nuclear codes.”

You exhaled, pressing your palm a little firmer over the cover. “It’s just not finished.”

Her gaze lingered for a beat, unreadable, before she leaned back.

"Fine. Keep your secrets." But her smirk remained, teasing, knowing. “I’ll just wait for the album, then.”

The silence stretched, thick and charged, pressing against the walls of the dimly lit studio. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city outside and the slow, steady breaths neither of you seemed willing to break.

Then Ellie moved.

She stood with a lazy stretch, her hoodie riding up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. It was an afterthought, a fleeting moment—except that it wasn’t. Not to you.

You noticed everything. The shift of her muscles. The way her fingers flexed at her sides, like she was resisting the urge to touch. The flicker of something unreadable in her eyes when she caught you staring.

"Y’know" she murmured, voice dipping low, rich with something that sent a slow, simmering heat curling in your stomach. "This studio’s got some nice acoustics."

Your heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"

Ellie’s smirk spread wider, slow and confident—full of something dangerously playful. “What do I mean?” she repeated, stepping closer. "I mean… it’d be a damn shame not to test ‘em out."

Your breath caught before you could stop it.

“Ellie...” you warned, the sound barely a whisper.

Her gaze flickered, something sharp and amused dancing behind her eyes. “That’s my name” she said, her voice turning husky, deliberately dragging out the words as she tilted her head, clearly savoring the tension she was building.

“Try not to wear it out, yeah?”

You gripped the edge of the desk harder, trying to steady your shaking hands as she closed the distance between you. Like she had all the time in the world. Like she hadn’t just walked in here and rewritten the air.

Then her hands were on you. Her fingertips barely grazed the edge of your shirt, a feather-light touch that was more maddening than anything. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Ellie caught it, of course, the satisfaction lighting up her features.

“You gonna let me play, superstar?” she murmured, voice thickening, growing darker, heavier with something far more dangerous. Her eyes danced across your face, settling on your lips, tracing the way your breath had turned sharp, uneven.

You swallowed, every part of you on fire. "That depends."

Her brows lifted slightly. "On?"

You exhaled, heart hammering, every nerve in your body locked onto the press of her fingers against your skin.

"Whether you’re any good at it."

Ellie’s smirk shifted, something wicked flashing behind her eyes as her hands slid lower, gripping your waist and pulling you against her. The heat between you became unbearable, the space between you vanishing entirely.

“Oh, babe,” she whispered, her lips brushing against yours as she lowered her head, the words dripping with heat and promise.

“You already know the answer to that.”

And before you could fire back, she kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn't careful. It was a collision—desperate, reckless, the kind of kiss that burned straight through you. Her hands tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against her as she deepened it, tilting her head just enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

A low sound rumbled from her chest, vibrating against your skin as she pressed in closer, like she wanted to drown in you.

"Ellie—"

"Shh," she breathed, lips ghosting over yours. "Just let me."

The desk dug into your back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way Ellie’s fingers curled under your shirt, skimming higher, dragging heat in their wake. You gasped into her mouth, and she took the opportunity to bite your lower lip, a smug little hum vibrating against your skin when your knees nearly buckled.

"Fuck," You murmured, fingers tangling in the front of her hoodie, trying to pull her even closer, even though there was barely any space left between you.

It wasn’t a protest. Not really. She heard it for what it was. A warning. A plea. 

Ellie grinned against your mouth, infuriatingly cocky. "Told you." 

Your response was a hand fisting in her hoodie, yanking her back in. The studio air grew heavier, filled with the soft, urgent press of lips, the wet sound of mouths parting and meeting again.

The heat between you thickened, each kiss deeper, hungrier, as if neither of you could get close enough. Ellie’s hands mapped out familiar territory, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine. 

She pushed your back against the desk, her body hovering over yours as a half-empty cup of coffee tipped over, spilling across the surface—but neither of you cared. Ellie’s lips trailed down your jaw, then to your neck, her mouth hot against your skin as she found that sweet spot just beneath your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, your hands fisting her hair, pulling her closer as a gasp slipped from your lips.

Just as you fully sank into the desk, your hand fumbled, accidentally pressing a button.

A red recording light pulsed steadily.

Your stomach dropped. The realization hit like a shock to the system, but before you could react—before you could even think to stop it from recording the audio—she leaned in, voice dark with amusement.

“Oh” she murmured, eyes flicking to the glowing light. “Now that’s interesting.”

She didn’t stop. If anything, the revelation only seemed to fuel her, slow and deliberate in the way she moved. Her fingers traced the edge of the desk, knuckles grazing your skin.

“You know,” she continued, her voice almost thoughtful, almost teasing “most people would just turn it off.” A pause. A smirk. “But you’re not moving.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, each passing second like an eternity. You should’ve said something, anything—but her eyes were already locked on yours, reading you like an open book, watching every shaky breath, every tremor in your body.

“Interesting” she said again, softer this time.

She figured you out. The thought of this moment being recorded turned you on.

She leaned in, mouth just barely brushing your ear.

“Let’s give it something to remember.”

Her fingers skimmed up your thighs, grazing the hem of your waistband, teasing, before slipping beneath to touch your cunt through the damp fabric of your panties. The touch was barely a whisper, just enough to send a jolt of anticipation straight to your core, every nerve in your body lighting up in response.

“Fuck,” she murmured, voice rough against your ear. “Already so wet f’me”

The studio felt impossibly hot. The low hum of the equipment, the distant flicker of the red recording light—it all blurred around you as Ellie’s fingers pushed your panties to the side and brushed against your soaked cunt, teasing. 

You shivered, biting down on your lip as her fingers stroked slow, lazy circles on your clit. You let out a breathy moan, the sound almost embarrassingly loud in the empty room.

She exhaled a soft chuckle, the sound amused, low. “So sensitive…”

Her fingers traced lazy shapes, barely there—enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy. Your head tipped forward, your forehead pressing against her shoulder as you fought to steady your breathing, determined not to let her see you unravel so easily.

Instead, you pressed your lips to the delicate curve of her neck, nipping gently at the skin. The action pulled a breathy, low moan from her throat, followed by a soft hitch in her breath, a dark mark forming where your lips had just been. The sound of her pulse quickening beneath your mouth sent a thrill through you, making it harder to hold back as the tension between you both grew.

Her free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you pinned. Then, with a slow shift of her weight, she adjusted just enough to quicken the pace of her movements, to send jolts of pleasure racing up your spine. Each thrust had you arching, desperate for more as white-hot waves of pleasure surged through you.

A loud moan ripped from your throat.

“That’s it,” she praised, lips skimming your neck, her voice nothing but smoke and heat. “Don’t hold back.”

Your body tightened as she kept up that slow, torturous rhythm. Each stroke was precise—she knew exactly how to break you, exactly how to keep you teetering right on the edge, without letting you tip over.

The tension in your body coiled tighter, hotter, ready to snap—

And then she stopped.

You gasped, hips jerking back involuntarily, chasing the pressure that was suddenly gone. A desperate noise clawed its way up your throat, frustration burning through you like wildfire.

She laughed, low and smug, her breath ghosting over your skin. “Patience, baby.”

Fingers tangled in your shirt, swallowing your sharp inhale with a kiss that left no room for hesitation. It was frantic, untamed—teeth scraping, tongues tangling, breaths ragged as she pressed herself flush against your legs, completely between them.

Hands gripped your thighs, rough fingertips tracing slow patterns against your heated skin, dragging the anticipation out until you were squirming beneath her, hips canting forward, seeking friction.

Her smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and dominance as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear.

"You’ll have to beg for it, pretty," she purred, her voice low and rough, each word a silk-wrapped snare. "Tell me just how badly you want it."

And you were already too lost to even think of denying her.

"Please, Ellie" The words tumbled out, a raw, desperate plea. "I need you... so fucking much..." The vulnerability stung, but it felt right, like a surrender you couldn’t fight, even if you wanted to.

Her lips grazed your jaw, teasing with a scrape of teeth. "Fuck..." she hummed, savoring the way you shivered.

"It's impossible to say no to you," she breathed, her mouth trailing down your throat. "Why would I even try?"

Her hand moved, slipping beneath fabric, slow and unrelenting, fingers pressing into your clit in one smooth, devastating motion again. Your head fell back, a broken moan breaking free, and that was all the encouragement she needed.

The red light kept blinking.

The track kept recording.

And neither of you gave a fuck.

Two fingers eased their way inside, stretching you open, curling just right. It dragged a choked gasp from your throat, the pleasure overwhelming as she finally gave you what you wanted.

A quiet hum of amusement left her lips. “That’s it, baby,” she murmured, her voice all smoke and satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Like you had a choice.

Your breath hitched, another moan slipping free as she picked up the pace, slow and devastating. The studio air felt stifling, thick with heat, with want, with the unbearable tension that had been simmering between you for weeks.

And now it was spilling over, consuming both of you whole.

Her free hand slid up your side, tugging your shirt upwards, fingertips ghosting over your ribs and stomach until they found your breast. Her fingers squeezed, kneading, rolling your sensitive bud with so much lust it made your breath hitch.

Ellie’s hands pressed your breast up, and you gasped from the intensity of her grip.

“Easy, Ellie... please,” you breathed, eyes shutting.

“Stop whining” Ellie muttered, slapping your breast.

The unexpected sting sent a rush of heat through you, making your hips instinctively rock against her fingers. Ellie was in cloud nine, watching the way you unraveled, addicted to the way you loved being under her mercy.

Ellie’s eyes darkened, her hand gripping your breast harder and pinching your nipple in a way that made you whine. She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.

“You want more?” she purred. “I can give you fucking more.”

Her fingers went even faster and deeper inside you, wet lewd sounds filling the room. You felt a fresh wave of heat through you, your stomach tightening, thighs clenching around her. You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function with the way she was ravishing you.

The sound of your own incoherent babbling—wrecked, desperate, breaking on every inhale—echoed through the studio monitors, looping back at you in real time. It was sinful. A record of your undoing, caught on tape, permanent.

And you both loved it.

“Bet you’ll listen to this after we are finished.” she teased, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice pure arrogance.

You wanted to tell her to shut up.

Wanted to wipe that cocky expression off her face.

But you couldn’t.

Not when she was this deep inside you, not when your entire body was trembling, not when she was driving you closer and closer to the edge with every relentless movement.

"Ellie! Fuck! Ah! I'm—I'm gonna!—"

Her grip on your thigh tightened, keeping you steady, keeping you exactly where she wanted you. “C’mon, babe” she coaxed, her voice dipping lower, rougher, sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. “Let go for me.”

You had no choice.

With a sharp inhale, your body seized, pleasure crashing over you in a dizzying, uncontrollable wave. Your fingers clenched in her hoodie, pulling her closer as the world around you blurred, fractured.

She didn’t stop.

Not until she had wrung everything out of you, not until your legs shook, not until your nails dug half-moons into her shoulders, not until your breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.

Only then did she slow.

Only then did she press a lingering kiss to your jaw, her touch finally easing, the weight of her body grounding you as you came back to yourself.

The dim glow of the studio monitors casted long shadows over your hands as you hovered over the trackpad, hesitating. The screen in front of you flickering with waveforms—familiar ones, yet impossibly intimate.

The remnants of last night. Of her.

Your body still remembered. The way she pressed against you, the roughness of her hands on your skin, the way she took and took without hesitation. Your thighs still trembled if you thought about it too long. A dull ache pulsed deep in your muscles, in the places her fingers had left their mark, in the places where heat still lingered, ghostlike.

And then there was this.

A single, unnamed audio file.

Your cursor hovered over it, pulse thrumming, heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

But you clicked play anyway.

The second the sound filled your headphones, your stomach clenched. 

Fuck.

It was devastating.

The track captured everything—the sharp intake of breath when her hands disappeared just to return, the way your voice wavered between restraint and surrender, the quiet, broken whimpers that she’d dragged from you, each one edged with desperation. And beneath it all, her.

Her voice—low, teasing, soaked in dark amusement.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You swallowed, but your mouth was dry, your fingers hovering over the delete button.

You should delete it.

You should.

But a wicked idea curled in the back of your mind, taking shape, sinking its claws in.

One particular song of yours was already finished—a sensual, slow-burn of a track, thick with sultry melodies and lyrics soaked in want. It was about sex, no subtlety, no metaphors to hide behind. This was the kind of song that slipped under skin, the kind that made people blush when they heard just how explicit it really was.

And now?

Now, it was going to be about her.

You dragged the unnamed file to the song, heart hammering as you isolated the breathiest, most wrecked parts—the ones that made your thighs press together, the ones that would make her smirk so damn cocky when she realized what you’d done.

You worked methodically, layering them just beneath the chorus, weaving them in so delicately they almost melted into the beat. Almost.

And then, the final touch.

You scrolled through the file, fingers trembling just slightly as you plucked the words you knew would drive anyone crazy.

A soft, broken whisper—"Fuck..."

A cocky drawl—“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.” 

The one that made something deep inside you clench—"Tell me just how badly you want it."

And then, the final touch, almost at the end of the song. A phrase that made it unmistakably clear where all those sounds had come from. Low and rough, a whisper edged with recognition so distinct that anyone who had heard it once would know—those were your moans, and this was Ellie fucking Wiliams voice.

“Bet you’ll listen to this after we are finished.”

You pressed play, listening to it slip seamlessly into the bridge, into the build-up, the anticipation tightening, tightening, until goosebumps prickled along your skin.

A slow, wicked smile curled at your lips as you saved the file.

Two months.

That was all the time you had until the album dropped.

Let’s see if she notices.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaii @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE THAT MOANING IN THE BACKTRACK OF A SONG PARTTT OMG . OMFG. its not my fav chapter, but here it its ig, and its so long im sorry lmaooo. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[chiaroscurryy]

The excessive amount of symbolism in Kendrick’s super bowls halftime show:

A rant because I like king Kenny.

(I promise I’m still making this first video guys🙏🏾)

Our introduction:

Should be long known that Kendrick didn’t do all of these disses towards Drake just as some feeble rap battle. He started it to bring his LA peers together. Which he did at a concert where both crips and bloods danced together on stage. Blue and Red finally made purple. Now Kendrick uses this power he was given to lure in his audience yet again. With subtle hints and jabs telling us that the time for revolution is now. We move on to the show.

Performance:

“The revolution bout to be televised you picked the right time but the wrong guy.”

Meaning the government, manipulating and controlling its people and the people eating it up like stray dogs and raw meat. Chose the ”right time” but with Kendrick multiple times saying that he has the power to “press the button.” meaning Kendrick at any time or place could tell his followers and fans to strike whatever spot, place, or event he pleases and without the power of manipulation or lies. We’d all do it no questions asked. Hence him being the ”wrong guy” Kendrick has too much love from fans to die of vain, or be silenced without squalor.

The dancers:

Being colors of red, white, and blue. They all leave the same car yet end up split half and half. Not only talking about what Lamar usually talks about (blacks separated by higher ups) but America as a whole is separated through pure manipulation, propaganda, and hatred.

Going into his not like us performance:

he starts with “40 acres and a mule this is bigger than the music.”* 40 acres and a mule is what was promised to over 1200 black people after the civil war to repair a fraction of the damage caused during slavery. And over 1200 black peoples property was relinquished and taken back so the blacks could work for the previous white property owners. Setting the entire deal back two steps ” 40 acres and a mule.” this meaning that we can’t always trust what the rich say. Even when it’s temporarily in our grasp.

Uncle Sam:

Samuel Jackson, posing as *”Uncle Sam”* a literal metaphor of America, constantly bashes Kendrick during the performance. Saying things like “too LOUD. Too RECKLESS. Too GHETTO” how many white directors and music labels tell black creators and actors how they sound to ruthless and cruel when truly they only speak words with no meaning but love and fun behind it. “See you brought your homeboys with ya, the old culture cheat code” banning together as a community of color and truly working together, which every time has bring us success and victory without fail. Just like putting in a “cheat code” automatically makes you stronger. “Score keeper. Deduct one life.” Now this one has an incredible amount of meanings that all correspond with eachother. Divide and Conquer. Kill just one of the countless people in the community and the entire thing could fall apart. Deduct one life also meaning video game wise they lose the amount of chances to appease higher ups and satisfy them. Deduct one life ALSO meaning and the most noticeable one is that higher ups. The government. White men of power. Despise and hate when their slaves and submissive people come to peace with each other and become a team. Because they can’t fight hundreds. Not even tens. Seeing us together is a fear injector for the rich.

What it all means:

This entire thing together is Kendrick telling us to squabble up. Prepare ourselves for battle and revolution. And I don’t think it’s in the ways of the civil war. But in the ways of Martin Luther king. Except the dream will be fulfilled. And the consequences for pulling the trigger will be much heavier than a peaceful protest. Our time approaches. Do not be late.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Peter, Peter

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Implied Smut)

Summary: Season 2 Spencer and his girlfriend host a Halloween party and their couple costume causes some confusion

Note: Inspired by the scene in which Spencer doesn't recognize the kissing in a tree rhyme

Spencer loved Halloween. I knew that my boyfriend was a massive nerd. Honestly, it was a plus. With Spencer, I could be myself. He wasn't the type of man to raise his voice at a football game gone wrong. He wasn't the type of man had some weird purity culture blocks on me reading steamy books.

He was the type of man to passive-aggressive judge Jeopardy clues with the slightest inaccuracy. In my opinion, Spencer got a perfect score on the Jeopardy application which retroactively banned him from any type of game show in the franchise.

He was the type of man that encouraged enthusiastic and unabashed interest in things. Spencer had his old Russian novels and I had my novels with plenty of euphemisms for penis and good girl in Russian.

Compatibility, right?

Spencer had volunteered us to host team party. They spent the day hoping from grocery store to craft store to liquor store for various things they needed. The fall had finally arrived; and I welcomed the crispiness in the morning and the chill in the evening. Spencer wore a forest green and deep khaki sweater that complimented his eyes. He blushed when I told him, the tips of his reddened cheeks reached the bottom of his glasses.

"Ooh! We should use the pumpkins as a pitch for my Faerie Brew." I suggested, sizing up a rather large and lumpy orange pumpkin.

Spencer cocked his head. "What were you thinking of making?"

"Personally I think a pumpkin sangria would be revolting..." I sighed, thinking, "probably I'd do an apple, cranberry, lemonade sangria."

"Sounds like you and Penelope will be the ones to enjoy that?" He teased. Penelope was the first of the team to know. Spencer had a hard time hiding the reason as to why Penelope had caught him a florist near their apartments. I had met Penelope a couple weeks later and in the eight months since, we've become close friends. Mostly because I've grown to hate nights alone in our apartment. It's not the same without Spencer.

Spencer lifts the pumpkin and places it into the cart, waving off my insistence on helping. "Are you going to tell me what the costumes are? Derek really thinks he's slick doing what he's doing with his date."

"You'll see."

"Tell me, Y/N." Spencer pushed the cart along, stopping as I toss a packet of orange jello.

"I've never done jello shots." I claimed. "I was too serious and nerdy in college." Spencer gave me an amused look.

"I'm sure between the two of us, I was the nerdiest one back in college." He retorted, a look a smugness colored his face.

"You were twelve in college, Spencer." I countered, smiling when the tips of Spencer's crooked smile reached the part where his cheeks tinged red. "And you're lucky you're cute." I said. "But I want jello-shots."

"I'll get the sleeping bag out for Penelope. And we'll swing by the drinks aisle for some electrolytes."

---

Spencer had gotten stuck planning a seminar at the Academy so Penelope had decided to come over to help me the finishing touches. She was dressed as Hedy Lamar, the scientist/film star. The 1940s style suited her. Penelope had a bright red lip and perfectly curled blonde hair. Her dress with fitted at the waist and flared to the knees.

"You're a pumpkin?" Penelope's eyebrows were raised. She had begun organizing the jello shots tray into something resembling a pumpkin. "I would've thought you'd having the most creative costume."

I plated the mini-hot dogs into warming trays, trying to hide my thrill. I knew that Penelope would love this costume in its entirety. Spencer...he'd either love it or not.

"You'll see!" I said. Penelope had roped JJ and Emily into dressing up like the Powerpuff girls. Penelope, between the trio, had taken it the most seriously.

The rest of the team had arrived, except for Hotch who had simply shaken his head at the thought of trying Penelope's Franken-Punch. I poured the sparkly green liquid into a plastic pumpkin as Spencer walked into our apartment.

"You're the cutest pumpkin in the patch." Spencer said softly, his playful tone making me smile. Penelope pretended to gag into the kitchen sink at Spencer's sickly sweet affection.

"Usually I'd think you two are adorable, but tonight I am preoccupied." Penelope claimed. She had set her sights on one of Derek's gym buddies who was coming to the party. Much to Derek's chagrin. "Anyway, Reid. Go get your costume on." She insisted.

Spencer kissed the side of my cheek and made a face at the concoction. "You know calling this Franken-Punch isn't very accurate. The doctor is the one named Frankenstein." Penelope gave him a look. And Spencer threw his hands up, "All I'm saying is that if we're going to pay homage to the mother of science fiction we shouldn't be so cavalier with references."

Penelope huffed in faux annoyance as I kissed Spencer's face. "Go get ready, honey. JJ and Emily should be coming soon. And I think Derek and Danny are parking." I handed Spencer the bag with his costume in it and Penelope and I continued to get the apartment ready for the party.

It was hard to decide if Penelope was more enamoured with Danny or if Danny was more enamoured with her. It would be hard not to find someone who wasn't taken with the tech genius.

I sipped the drink Penelope had made. It tasted as good as it looked. Derek stood at my side, scooping some dip, chips, and a slice of pizza on his plate. Spencer came from our bedroom, a confused look on his face.

"And now what on Earth do you have him dressed as?" Derek smirked, as he noticed the text on Spencer's shirt.

Peter, Peter

"It's not anything that's not true." I shrugged, my bright orange cheeks smiling as I winked. Spencer hurried over, still confused. Penelope, JJ, and Emily took pictures together but instantly understood Spencer's confusion.

"Too much for me to know," Penelope said, groaning, "Now I see the creativity in this costume." She gestured to my pumpkin outfit.

Spencer appeared at my side, still confused. "Are you sure this isn't a mistake?" He asked, looking down at his shirt and then at me, "It's supposed to be a couple's costume, baby?"

Derek chuckled, offering to clink his and Spencer's glasses in cheers, "My man. Who would've thought."

Penelope giggled as she and the girls filled their plates and exchanged looks of both surprise and amusement. Spencer, however, remained confused. Danny, Derek's friend from the gym who wouldn't leave Penelope alone, joined in on the clever costume.

"Peter, peter, pumpkin eater. Good man," He said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder.

When the guests had gotten their food and drink Spencer and Derek stood together chatting about the results of the latest case. Gideon, who reluctantly donned a witch's hat, offered a curious glance at Spencer's shirt and then scanned his eyes towards me. He nodded, looked at Spencer and then shook his head in disbelief.

"That's enough." Spencer exclaimed. "Explain it to me." He grabbed my hand and I smiled. He always told me that my grins were infectious and just by looking at me he'll end up smiling. "Please. Derek won't stop congratulating me and I'm lost."

I chuckle, kissing Spencer on his cheek. "You're brilliant, baby." I said. "You're Peter, Peter and I'm the pumpkin. And you're a pumpkin eater." I explained.

"Oh." Spencer said cocking his head. "Makes sense. You're very sweet and I do like-" I clapped my hand over Spencer's mouth before he can continue. Sometimes that mind works too fast for the other parts of him to keep up. He kissed my palm, breaking my resolve. I laughed wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.

"Y/N!" Penelope called out, clearly more than inebriated, "We want to play some games. And don't worry Dr. Reid, no bobbing for apples. We'll by the looks of it, you'll be bobbing for someone's pumpkin later." She smirked.

We divided into teams three, with Spencer and I on the same team. We shared the armchair and Spencer's had wrapped themselves around my waist. Penelope, in all her drunken glory, explained the rules. Just as she was going over the rules, Spencer gasped and called out.

"Oh! You mean like...cunniligus. Well then yeah, I guess it works."

tagging some friends bc i don't have a taglist anymore

@reidsbookclub @reidsbookclub @reid-ingandweeping @foxy-eva

[red-garden]

Scum Villain characters based on their social media habits

Shen Yuan- niche forum lurker, he has an active Reddit but all his other accounts are derelict (most active on r/Proudimmortaldemonway, r/Antiproudimmortaldemonway, r/Luobinghe, r/Zerowaste, and r/askecologists)

Shen Jiu- secretly runs two tumblr accounts; a femcel aesthetic blog and a dark academia classist literary snob blog. Has made 100,000 sock puppets to cyber bully Binghe

Luo Bingge- has a mostly unused TikTok that he posts a wildly popular thirst trap to maybe twice a year

Luo Bingmei- tradwife influencer

Yue Qingyuan- doesn’t have social media

Liu Qingge- doesn’t personally have social media, but lets Shen Yuan post travel/wilderness content on an Instagram account that was made for him

Mu Qingfang- does medical disinformation debunking across multiple video platforms

Wei Qingwei- has a Facebook he posts pictures of his kids (disciples) on along with minion memes. The leader of a very popular metallurgy facebook group.

Qi Qingqi- publicly the queen of Linkdin. Secretly has been creating twitter accounts for years that tell Elon Musk to kill himself every day until she gets banned

Shang Qinghua- a lurker on every platform; he only posts web novel but he stays abreast of culture

Mobei Jun- has an Ao3 account. That’s it.

Tianlang Jun- has a Facebook that’s mostly shitty AI propaganda, also a prolific wattpad author

Zhuzhi Lang- TLJ forced him to make a wattpad account to follow him. Made a Reddit account on his own in secret to follow what Shen Yuan posts.

Sha Hualing- has a popular Instagram/TikTok to drive traffic to her Onlyfans

Liu Mingyan- used to be very active on twitter until the buyout. She is a staple account of Tumblr and a wildly popular Ao3 author

Ning Yingying- has an obscure Instagram account that blew up after she started filming with Sha Hualing

Ming Fan- makes aesthetic study motivational content on TikTok to middling success

Gongyi Xiao- made an Instagram for his dog if that counts

[a-very-tired-jew]

So we all saw the MIT sukkah and how bad that was.

Are you ready for NYU’s?

Because not only is it bad, but the persons behind it are either Jews with no connection whatsoever to their culture and can’t be bothered to do a basic fact check or it’s goyim who can’t be bothered to do a basic fact check.

That’s right. It says “l’chaim intifada” on their post. Yes, the structure is made out of wood. Good job for not using an event tent as the base like MIT. But you've built it under a tree, a no-no, and just said “To life intifada” on your “solidarity” sukkah poster.

That’s as bad as the backwards Hebrew.

It’s a nonsense phrase and makes no sense.

So what else is in the post?

Points 1 through 3 are standard for these organizations. Others that have more experience regarding the legalities of these asks have broken down why it won't happen for 1 and 2.

Point 3 is just xenophobic and discriminatory, and shows the hypocrisy of these orgs. I hate whataboutisms, but this same academic boycott is not being held for other countries that have committed or are committing comparable or worse actions. I have not seen calls to boycott Russian, Chinese, or Iranian academics and condemn research alliances or remote campuses.

Why is it only Israel?

(we know why)

Points 4 and 5 are what we expect as well. But here's the thing. Point 4? So much research and innovation comes through military contracts and funding. Medical entomology alone is reliant on massive funding from the military and was actually established by the US Military as well. The break throughs in treatments for vectored diseases typically come from their projects.

This is going to piss people off. But cutting funding projects that are associated with our military industrial complex is actually really bad for innovation, research, and scientific advancement.

"They can get the funds elsewhere".

No the fuck they cannot. Tell me you know nothing about research in academia without telling me.

But sure, cut funding to things associated with the MI-complex. I'm sure the DHS and DOD projects that are working on medical innovations will definitely help "Free Palestine".

Point 5 states it is "No Normalization", but the text reads more that they want to undo the Find Out portion of the Fuck Around they've been doing all year. As well as redefine antisemitism the way they want so that their dog whistles can be allowed and then it gets to the normalization thing. Which is just a way of saying they don't want peace. I'm not surprised as normalization processes lead to peace, and these groups don't want that. We've seen them eschew peace repeatedly and endorse violence.

But they'll tell you they're a peace movement.

Point 6 is just odd to include. 1 through 5 are standard, but 6 gets into the academic pay scale and structure and that just feels tacked on. It's trying to put a rider to ban abortion at the back end of the agricultural bill. It's trying to say "while I have you attention, also this."

I'll be the first one to say the academic pay structure is fucked and needs to be overhauled (The Cali University system has had multiple protests because Professors can't afford to even live in the cities they teach in). But putting pay structure issues onto this is just "everything relates to Gaza!" nonsense. We've seen countless occurrences of these activists trying to link any and every movement and concern to I/P throughout the year and it's just ridiculous.

Also note the text "expanding further into the city and across the globe" makes it seem like they view the university they are attending as a colonizer as well. If such is the case, and they're against colonization as vehemently as they attest to, then why are they still attending as their tuition is funding colonization? Yes, this is a "why don't you leave" argument, but they have the option to drop out or transfer. It's not leaving the USA, it's leaving or changing schools (and that's much more doable).

Point 7 isn't really a point. It's the same thing we've seen from anti-Israel groups across college campuses in the USA a long time. The problem is that they deny Zionism/Zionist has become a major dog whistle that has a history of being one ever since the Soviet era. Is every instance of anti-Zionism antisemitism? Of course not. But because major antisemitism groups, militias, and governments have used it for decades as a cover it is often viewed as such.

There's no denying that.

The problem is that you have college kids who are earnest in their beliefs that they don't see how they're being manipulated to use said dog whistles. It's especially worse when it comes to anti-Zionist Jews because they will say/endorse absolutely horrendous antisemitic rhetoric while justifying it through "Don't worry, I'm a Jew".

Unfortunately the sukkah they've built and the "L'chaim Intifada" brings in to question how Jewish they are. Even secular Jews would know that L'chaim means "To Life" by simply existing within our culture. So they're either extremely detached and didn't fact check, they're religious Jews who don't know enough Hebrew and didn't fact check, or they're goyim who are cosplaying as Jews and didn't fact check.

Initially I was leaning towards the detached as being behind this as I personally know several detached Jews who are using their ethnicity to defend antisemitism in NYC and by these groups. And because this is NYU it's more than likely that detached Leftist Jews are behind this with support from goyim than simply goyim alone. Which shows how little is know of our culture in general and means they really shouldn't be relied upon as arbiters of what is offensive to Jews and what isn't.

However, there is nothing Jewish about what they post. They even have photos of them in the sukkah and there's not a single kippah in sight. It's all keffiyehs. You'd think that if they wanted to show solidarity there'd be some variation in garb. You'd think that if they wanted to show that Jewish religious traditions and culture are welcoming that you'd have some visibly Jewish persons in your sukkah sitting side by side with keffiyeh wearing activists in this "solidarity sukkah"

But there's not.

Now this isn't to say I know who is behind this group, who the members are, or what the agenda is.

But this organization has only existed since November 2023, regularly cross posts with NYU SJP, and endorsed/justified 10/7 as well as the anniversary events celebrating it.

Come to your own conclusions as you will, but I know what I think.

[creature-wizard]

Some antisemitic dog whistles to watch out for

Because overtly hostile antisemitism is difficult to sell to people, and because it often gets people banned from media platforms, conspiracy theorists rely on other terms to get their ideas across.

Note that people will sometimes use these terms without understanding their connections to far right conspiracy theories, and some of them have legitimate uses outside of far right conspiracy theories. Don't assume that everyone who uses them is a secret Nazi or something. However, do pay close attention to what else they're saying and who they're getting their info from.

Banker/International banker: references the conspiracy theory that Jews control the banks.

Cabal/Kabbalists: references the belief that the Jewish conspirators are into Kabbalah (which is sometimes claimed to be satanic).

Globalists: references the conspiracy theory that Jews are working to create a one world order.

Talmudists: Literally just means Jews.

Marxists/Cultural Marxists: references the conspiracy theory that Jews created communism.

Leftists: references the conspiracy theory that progressive/leftist politics are a Jewish conspiracy.

The elite/elite bloodlines: references the conspiracy theory that most wealthy/ruling families have Jewish blood.

Khazars/Khazarian mafia: references a debunked hypothesis-turned-conspiracy theory that Ashkenazi Jews are descended from a group of Khazars who converted to Judaism. (Conspiracy theorists often claim that this means Ashkenazi Jews aren't "real" Jews - which is nonsense from every angle because Judaism does not measure Jewishness through genetics.)

Generational Satanists: references the 13 Illuminati bloodlines conspiracy theory, which is basically a knockoff of the material in The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion combined with blood libel and the anti-Catholic conspiracy theories of Alexander Hislop. Conspiracy theorists often claim that it isn't about Jews, it's about powerful families who sometimes just happen to be Jews, but like... c'mon, it's an obvious Protocols/blood libel knockoff that also happens to demonize a few more people. You're not slick.

Lizard people: references David Icke's assertion that the world is under the control of blood-drinking reptilian aliens who created Judaism to enslave humanity. Some people literally believe in Icke's lizard aliens; some just use the term as a dog whistle for regular Jews.

[stopthewoke]

Are these people sacrificing their babies on purpose? Don't they watch the news, where you hear of mutts attacking children weekly?

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Day to Day

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“So what sort of ghosts are you looking for?” Sam asked, they were sitting at their usual table at lunch. Damian was outside with Jon somewhere, they hadn’t really stuck together much past their first year at school, when they both found their own places.

“I don’t really know exactly. Old ones? Not ones from western culture, those are all so well known and passe,” Danny said with a dismissive gesture. “Ones from the Middle East or East Asia, ones closer to home.”

“Trying to get back in touch with your culture?” Tucker asked with his moth full of whatever stew he’d selected from the lunch menu.

“Gross,” Sam drawled. “No one wants to see what’s in your mouth.”

“Nah not really,” Danny cut in before they could start arguing again. “Just looking for some decent scary stories that aren’t so overdone. Maybe I’m trying to write a scary story of my own and want something interesting.”

“Oh if you are writing a scary story you have to let me read it!” Sam said enthusiastically, sitting forward on the bench and leaning towards Danny who leaned back a bit in turn.

“I will if I like how it turns out! But first you’ll help me research, won’t you?” Danny asked.

“Course I will! Do you want to come back to my place after school tonight?” Sam asked tilting her head. “You know my parents are always thrilled.”

“I’d love too but I have plans with my family. How about tomorrow?” Danny asked. There was a big bust that night, they’d need Danny in the chair and on the coms to help coordinate and get whatever information they needed.

“Sure tomorrow works,” Sam agreed.

“Wait no it doesn’t!” Tucker interjected furiously. “Danny, you promised to come to anime club with me tomorrow!”

“Oh shoot I forgot,” Danny admitted, smacking his own forehead. “Can I rain check that Tuck? I promise next week.”

“No! You remember how long it took me to talk you into coming along?! You’re not getting out of it again,” Tucker said, pointing his fork at Danny accusatorily.

“Hey we can do it Friday, maybe then you can even stay the night,” Sam said with a shrug.

“Ooor you could come with us to the anime club and I could come back to your house after,” Danny suggested, giving Sam his best puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not, have fun with your nerd club boys,” She said, twiddling her fingers at him with a smirk.

Danny groaned and dropped his head to the table as Tucker started arguing furiously that it was not a nerd club. Maybe Danny could talk Damian into coming along, he did like manga and it could be fun to judge together if anything was really bad. But that might hurt Tucker’s feelings and that was the last thing Danny wanted to do really. Still… more time with his brother. Well he’d just ask and not push to much if Damian said no, which he probably would, depending on how desperate he was for time with Danny. They hadn’t spent a lot of quality time recently.

Danny tuned out of Sam and Tucker’s argument, he knew this was fun for them and they’d only get annoyed if he got between them. Their voices became a pleasantly familiar background noise as he finished his lunch. At least going to a fancy school like this the food was pretty good.

He glanced up in time to catch Damian’s eye as he came back in with Jon and nodded to him, right on time for the bell to ring so they could go to their next class together. Danny said goodbye to Sam and Tucker and got up, returning his tray going to fall into step with Damian. They had arranged it so they had most of their classes together, accept gym which Danny took with Sam and Tucker, and Damian was banned from for unnecessary violence. Next semester Danny would have science while Damian had advanced history.

As they got into more electives they’d probably be separated more as they didn’t have that many interests in common. That would be fine though, they were their own people after all. And besides it was possible that by the end of high school, by the time Danny finished his experiments, they might not even be in each other’s lives anymore. He hoped that wouldn’t be the way things went but it was an outcome he had weighed and considered. Or at least he thought he had, he was still so young perhaps he’d look back in a decade and regret it, but hadn’t they all started young? And he couldn’t know how he’d look back on it now.

Then again he thought he was smart enough to figure out time travel if it really came down too it. So if no one was coming back to stop him then it was probably fine.

Danny and Damian sat next to each other as they always did, Danny slouching in his seat. Something Damian had long sense given up on judging him for given that any time he brought it up Danny only slouched worse out of spite.

Bruce came to pick them and Tim up from school so that he could brief them on the advancements in the case that had taken place while they were at school. They went over the plan and the small ways that it needed to be tweaked in light of those developments on the way home. Alfred wouldn’t allow talk of work at the dinner table and they would need to get to their ‘battle stations’ immediately after the meal so everything had to be settled now.

Tim and Damian were visibly excited for the big bust and Danny was happy for them! But he was less excited. After all he was just bracing himself for a long night and cramps in his fingers and a sore ass as he stayed glued to the bat computer till past midnight. He paid as close attention to the plan as anyone else though, ready to play his part perfectly. He needed to know the plan to properly direct them, he was NOT going to be the reason any of his family got hurt.

Babs joined in the conversation through the speaker in the car as well, thankfully. Since she and Danny would be working together it was most important that they be on the same page. Danny followed Babs leave mostly but the less she had to be in control of everything the better, especially when they were working with many of their family members at the same time. No matter how skilled Babs was she couldn’t be in two places at once.

When they arrived at home Cass was already there, and Harper, Kate, and Steph were there waiting for them as well, along with Barbra. Dick wasn’t going to be joining them tonight because he had his own work to do in Bludhaven which was fine, they had more then enough people for this. As soon as they were in the door Alfred shooed them all into the dining room cutting off any talk about work. It was early for dinner but that was the point, it gave them time to talk about life while he brought them tea and some snacks, and he finished preparing dinner.

Steph asked Kate about her new girlfriend, Bruce asked Tim about how he was getting on with the report he was writing for his new pet research project, both Damian and Danny were asked about school. It was really nice to get to bond with their family like this, to forget how fucked up they all were for a little bit. Because they were fucked up. Had anyone at this table besides Bruce not killed anyone? He, Damian and Cass definitely had, he thought Harper had, he wouldn’t put it past Kate. They were keeping secrets from each other and the world too, but just now, for a couple hours they could pretend to be normal.

They were all talking and laughing in no time and Danny noticed that whenever he had a chance Alfred would just linger in the doorway watching them with a slight smile on his face. So much fond warmth for the family who loved him just as much. Danny didn’t understand why Alfred insisted on keeping this distance between them when he was already such a key member of their family, but that was his choice, he seemed to like it this way. Lingering on the edges.

Dinner was light that night to make sure they didn’t over exert themselves on an full stomach, not that the bats leaving the roost wouldn’t end up eating some heinous takeout at some point. It was practically tradition at this point, even though it stemmed from practicality about what was open and fast at 3 am it had become a familiar pleasure. Not getting to join in on that was just about the only thing that Danny disliked about staying home to coordinate on nights like these. Still Alfred made up for it with regular deliveries of hot tea and homemade snacks.

With dinner finished and cleared away he followed  the family down to the Batcave. As the capes suited up he and Babs booted up their stations and made sure their headsets were sitting comfortably. They both pulled up their half of the cameras, divide and conquer right? Better then ending u accidentally watching the same ones and missing something. He also pulled up his own little cheat sheet, his memorization skills were not as strong as Damian’s so he needed a helping hand in the form of some notes for more complicated plans. Of course written in his own code so that if someone somehow managed to hack him they’d be useless.

With everything ready and confirmation that 'Oracle' and 'Mystic' were online he watched as his family left the cave and immediately switched to watching the cameras to track their motions through the city. He liked watching, they were so graceful and sure of themselves, it was really beautiful. And the rare times when they fucked up and slammed into something made excellent blackmail! Tonight they were peek performance, the city of Gotham embraced them as they flew through her streets and it made Danny smile.

-------

Hours later Danny sat back from his keyboard, noticing for the first time just how tense his shoulders and back were. He stretched and groaned blinking his eyes rapidly, things had gone wrong about half way through the mission and it had taken all his focus to keep everyone alert to incoming threats and on the right track. He saw the cup of tea Alfred had left on the desk for him for the first time, it was cold by then, but he drank it anyway because he was thirsty.

He got up and stretched, from the other side of the room he heard a groan which echoed his own, glancing over to see Barb stretching as well. He sighed, rolled his neck and wandered over to her. “Well that could have gone better,” he commented. Everyone was on their way home now, though they’d probably stop for food and be late.

“Could have gone a lot worse too,” She told him, turning her chair away from the desk to face him. “They’re all okay.”

“Ya, ya they are,” Danny sighed, his shoulders slumping with relief. “God I’m starving.”

As if on queue Alfred wheels a trey full of sandwiches, a plate of cookies, and a fresh pot of spiced tea. “I thought that now that the danger has passed you might want something to eat,” Alfred said in his usual polite way. Danny had wondered before if Alfred might be a meta, it seemed like he always knew everything that was going on with the family even when it didn’t seem like there was any way he could know. It scared Danny sometimes, but he figured it was just like how people always said moms had eyes in the back of their heads.

“You’re a life saver Alfie!” Danny cheered bounding over to grab a sandwich. Alfred gave him a small fond smile and poured him a cup of tea as Danny wolfed down his first sandwich, mumbling thanks through a full mouth as he was handed a cup of tea.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Alfred said without any real feeling as he poured a cup of tea for Barb as well and passed it to her.

“But I didn’t want to wait to thank you,” Danny groaned, swallowing to quickly before carefully blowing on his tea as he grabbed another sandwich.

“Then you should have thanked me before you began to eat,” Alfred said with subtle amusement. Danny couldn’t argue with that so he just groaned dramatically and took a big bite of the new sandwich.

“But I was hungry!” He complained with his mouth full again, receiving a disapproving eyebrow raise which made Danny smirk. He would listen and respect his grandfather-figure when it mattered but he also liked to tease and play. His family knew that by at this point, that Danny dodged rules as much as he could get away with with a charming smile. Tonight Alfred simply sniffed and ignored Danny’s antics in favour of going to prepare the med kits to care for any minor wounds the family got tonight.

Once Danny had eaten he realized he was exhausted! No doubt the capes were still full of adrenaline and would need to stretch and unwind before they headed to bed but Danny barely managed to wait until they were all home and congratulate them before bowing out to go to bed. Leaving them to celebrate however they chose, and try to throw out their fast-food wrappers without Alfred noticing.

He fell asleep quickly, but his sleep was no where near as restful as his fatigue had promised. He dreamed of an intimidating figure in dark armour commanding an army of skeletons, and as people fled in fear he stood frozen to the ground and useless. He woke with his breathing ragged and sweat on his brow just as the sun was rising and got up rather than try and fight against the feeling of unease to go back to sleep.

He took a long shower to wash away the feelings and then went to see if Alfred was already up, and if he was what Danny could do to help. He was relieved when he found Alfred in the well-lit kitchen, his shoulders releasing tension he didn’t know they were holding as he stepped into warm, welcoming presence that made him feel safe. He had wondered sometimes when Alfred found time to sleep given that he was up when the other bats got back from patrols and yet always seemed to be up whenever Danny’s nightmares forced him out of bed. He tried not to worry for Alfred though, just because he didn’t think the older man would appreciate it.

“Ah, a capable helper,” Alfred said with a fond smile when he spotted Danny, stirring a little of the delight Danny had felt when he first found out most of the family was banned from using more then the microwave.

“Indeed, what can I do to help Alfred?” Danny asked happily, going to grab the apron Alfred had gotten him for his and Damian’s last birthday. Alfred didn’t hesitate to put Danny to work helping with the muffins and danishes he was making and by the time Danny’s hands were covered with flour he had forgotten all about his nightmare.

--------

He was tired at that school and ended up avoiding his friends at lunch in favour of having a nap in the library, but he should have known better then to think he could avoid anime club. Of course Tucker cornered him and Danny only complained jokingly as he was dragged off to watch cartoons with Tucker and his other nerd friends (as if Danny wasn’t a nerd himself). It was fun though, once Danny got over his impatience that this club was holding him back from choosing his new ‘villain name’. In the end Danny had to admit that he had a good time, and say that he might come back some time, when he felt like it this time! And maybe drag Damian which Tucker was thrilled about, any excuse to pester Danny’s more standoffish and elusive twin. Danny only slightly regretted not finding time to ask Damian this time.

Damian had already gone home by the time Danny got out of the club. For their first year Damian would have waited but now they were used to living in Gotham they were far more independent, more like they had been before leaving the LoA. Before Jason showed up in town Danny would have said that he was sad about that, and he missed the closeness but now he was just relieved that the space would give him places to hide his activity. Damian was too loyal to father to be allowed in on Danny’s plans no matter how much he hated keeping things from his twin.

That night was a quiet one in Gotham and Danny took the opportunity of the smaller, leisurely family dinner to ask father about going for a sleepover with Sam. He dodged the sharp look and the questions about being safe with a girl, understanding implications and all that. He joked about taking after Brucie and working on his playboy reputation which got Tim and Cass teasing their father instead and took attention off Danny. In the end it was easy to convince Bruce he had already agreed and it was no problem at all!

School the next day dragged as he waited for the sleepover and finally Danny and Sam were leaving the school together as Tucker groused at them about being left out. They were laughing at him as they piled into the back of the car, Sam’s family’s driver greeting them politely before rolling up the screen between front and back seats so they could talk in peace. It was a short drive but Danny appreciated the privacy anyway so he didn’t have to put on the face he showed strangers.

“Sam there you are, what are you wear- Oh! Danny!” Sam’s mother said, the sharp tone she started with melted the moment she saw Danny and she seemed shocked. Danny repressed a laugh as he realized that Sam hadn’t bothered to tell them he was coming since there was no way they’d turn away Bruce Wayne’s son anyway. No doubt surprising them with someone they desperately wanted to impress was pay back for something and Danny would find out what later.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Manson, I hope you don’t mind me coming over tonight. Sam and I have a little interest-based research project we wanted to work on together.” Danny said putting on his charming smile.

“No, no of course not,” Mrs. Manson assured, clearly flustered. “Please call me Pamela Danny, you’re my daughter’s best friend there’s no need for formalities. We’ll prepare something special for dinner, I hope it’ll be up to your standards.”

“Thank you Pamela, I’m sure whatever you make will be lovely,” Danny assured before Sam started shoving him towards the stairs to her bedroom before her mother could start monopolizing Danny’s time asking about Bruce.

“Thank mom, that’s great, we’re going to go start researching now, see you later,” Sam said without hardly pausing as Danny laughed and bid Sam’s mother goodbye before letting himself be herded upstairs.

Sam slammed the door shut behind them and breathed a sigh of relief making Danny snort as he went to flop in one of her beanbag chairs, dumping his bag next to him. “So, what did they do to warrant the surprise?” He asked with dry amusement as Sam shed her bag and jacket and went to sit cross legged on the bed.

“Are you sure you want to know? It’s particularly gross,” She asked wrinkling her nose.

“Well now I have to know,” Danny prodded with some trepidation.

“Well, they just gave me the talk recently. As if I didn’t already know what sex is and where babies come from,” she said rolling her eyes. “I’ve had unfiltered access to the internet since I was 8! Anyway, as they were impressing on me the importance of not ending up pregnant and stuff they managed to slip in that if I somehow had to be a teen mom I should make sure You were the father.”

Danny was sure the face of disgust she pulled was mirrored in his own horror. “They really tried to suggest you should baby-trap me?” He squeaked indignantly, not a very dignified tone by any means but he was trying very hard not to shout.

“Essentially ya,” Sam sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “I hope you don’t mind I told them we were dating just so they’d finally shut up about it. But if they pick this as their new crusade cause I’m going to tell them they freaked you out to much so we broke up,” She said vindictively and Danny exhaled slowly.

“No I don’t mind, but Jesus Sam,” He said softly, getting up from the beanbag chair to go sit next to her instead. “That’s not okay.”

“No I know, but I’ve also known for ages they care about money and status more then anything else. I don’t put much stock in what they think or say anymore,” she said with carelessness Danny knew she didn’t actually feel.

“Why don’t I ask Bruce if you can come over for a sleepover next weekend? Maybe you can join in on family movie night?” He suggested rather than calling her on it. Getting her away from her parents and into a more supportive environment for a bit was more important, actions over words, always.

“That sounds great Danny,” She said, neither of them commenting on how her eyes had gotten a little misty. “Now!” She said deflecting from the emotional conversation right on queue as she leaned down to grab her laptop from her bag. “Why don’t we get started on that research you wanted to do?”

[k-s-morgan]

I in no way mean to be disrespectful, I hope you and your family are doing well and I’m so sorry for the recent attacks. I’m just ignorant and want to know what would happen if Ukraine surrendered to Russia?

I hope you are safe from bombing and air raids 🙏🙏

Hi! Thank you <3 And don't worry, that's a good question.

What I'm 100% sure would happen in case of Ukraine's surrender, even under the most optimistic scenario:

We'd have to give up the entire country, not just a part of it. Russia always comes back for more. It's been following the same pattern with different countries forever. With Ukraine, it got a pretty decent chunk back in 2014. That land continued to belong to Ukraine on paper only - in reality, it was fully under Russian control, and no one really fought for it any longer. Was Russia satisfied with it? No. It kept preparing and then attacked to overtake even more land. It will never have enough, so to give up now means to acknowledge that the entire Ukraine will cease to exist as a country, whether right away or after Russia starts another war against us.

Ukrainian language, culture, and heritage would be destroyed completely in the coming years. Our history - and the history of the world children are taught - will be re-written. There is a reason why the majority of countries that were a part of USSR speak primarily Russian. Russia keeps carefully erasing other languages and culture, it's been doing it for ages. It's doing it right now on the occupied territories.

Pro-Ukrainian activists and people of note would be persecuted, kidnapped, tortured, and killed. This is also a pattern, it happens everywhere Russia invades. I know many examples personally.

We'd be gradually cut off of the outside world. Like, Russia has banned major fanfiction sites; it's trying to block YouTube and other platforms. The transformation into a semblance of North Korea would be inevitable.

Ukrainians would be treated as third-rate non-humans on their own territory. Again, it's been happening everywhere Russia barges into.

Ukraine would be used as a military base to attack other countries, and Ukrainians would be forced to become Russian soldiers.

As for the rest, it could go in several ways. Maybe Russia would want to show how 'amazing' it is, so it'd turn Kyiv into a second Moscow, creating different well-paid positions and opportunities to suck up to Kyiv residents and to prove its hypocritical benevolence.

On the other hand, it could just as well turn the entire country into a concentration and extermination camp. Russia has been torturing, raping, degrading, and murdering our people everywhere. Stealing their homes, kidnapping children, etc. and etc. I have a huge number of friends, people I know, or their friends who shared their stories, and each of them has been absolutely horrific.

My Mom's colleague, for example, used to live near Bachmut. When Russians came in, they immediately began to hunt down anyone related to the police and the military and killing them or actually demanding ransom for them. They kidnapped this colleague's friends, a married couple, kept them in a dog's kennel, pissed on them, beat them up, and raped the wife repeatedly. At that point, the colleague managed to flee the area, and she has no idea as to what happened to them afterward.

This could very well be the fate of our country in case of our surrender since the world obviously doesn't care and wouldn't bat an eye at the millions suffering and dying, kind of like it's happening now.

So surrendering is dangerous because we might cease to exist, but perhaps we are just prolonging the inevitable. A tiny country with a pathetic level of support cannot win against a giant that has a ton of everything and whose allies keep sending it even more weapons of destruction. Oh, and let's not forget how Russia keeps producing more and more weapons because the US and EU keep selling it the parts it needs for missiles and other stuff, and how Ukraine, after seemingly getting help from these US and EU, is forbidden to use it to strike Russia back.

It's all a joke to everyone but us, so I honestly don't envision a positive outcome at all. In the end, as long as our heroes are determined to defend Ukraine, we'll keep trying to hold on. The future will show what it'll lead us to.

[aeolianblues]

I saw this company that sells like Bluetooth vibrating air drums or whatever you want to call them, and it’s so obvious what their purpose is that it makes me really sad. We went from drum kits to those black/deadened practice kits for practising at home, to eventually having people in rented accommodation being so worried about noise complaints and/or losing their place of living that they’ve had to create drum-less drums. 100% the reason for this is not wanting to get evicted. Living in matchbox houses with paper thin walls of cheap and in-no-way soundproof material, packed so close you’re a stone’s throw from your neighbours, you’ve silenced the drumkit entirely.

Is it any surprise then that people aren’t forming bands? Is it a surprise that artists moved from bands rehearsing in basements and garages in houses, to samples, electronic drumkits, midi, solo ‘bedroom’ stuff, even as we lose more and more rehearsal spaces, and schools stop offering kids musical lessons because they must be inferior to subjects that lead to a job in IT or finance? We lose youth centres, community spaces, musical spaces, and everyone’s world gets a little quieter.

Gentrification. People move into the ‘fun’ parts of town and then file complaints against all the ‘fun’ stuff. Bye bye La Tulipe, they gave a developer a building permit in the fucking downtown culture and entertainment district and now the residents are filing complaints. City councils are so afraid of the word 'rave', they don't know what it means but they think it means 'illicit drugs-taking event' and want to ban any instance of it. The raves move out of the city, to a little space under the national highway, or leave the city entirely.

I wanted to take a walking tour of historically important music sites in London, such as important venues, clubs, studios, the Blitz where the New Romantic kids first congregated for their David Bowie nights, the café where all the musicians including the Beatles would go down to to meet people when they decided the only way to make it in the music industry was to move to London. 3/4 of that tour involved looking for ghosts: empty spaces, corporate offices and residence buildings sitting on the burial grounds of moments of cultural significance. I didn’t do the tour, I don’t think I could bear to look at these places, to try and imagine what they once were and what their neighbours were.

It’s the same with these drums too. I know the makers only want to do good, bless them for that, and I don’t doubt a lot of people will find this a better practice solution than midi because it still sort of has that unquantised feel of a real person hitting sticks— although I suppose if you really think about it, it still is just a midi controller but with a vibrating haptic response. Next you’ll say drums can be done on AR or VR I suppose. It will still make me sad.

It saddens me that we lose so much of the spirit of art and culture to dilution. People trying to make the music quieter so as to not offend the neighbours, even as their spaces get slowly choked out. Writers being unable (/less freely able) to explore darker themes so as to not set the dogs of the ‘problematic writing police’ on them. Artists presenting as less dramatic so as to not appear ‘weird’ to an uninvested audience; TikTok’s obsession with their straitjacketed definition of ‘authenticity’. Making fun of anyone who dares to dress weird, look different, say something new. I see it everywhere. Art gets diluted to become palatable, and in doing so it loses its ability to express itself and say something that needs to be said.

I don’t know. Some could look at it as the weird, twisted, fucked up plant growing through cracks in the pavement, doing what it can to reach the sunlight. Art surviving despite everything, somehow being more poignant and having more important things to say as a result.

But even a 22h candle has an end. We’ve got to do more to protect our artistic spaces and outlets, and the ability to create without fear, or ae risk losing it forever. It takes just one generation to train out habits; we see it with other obsolete things, let’s not let art be one of those.

[olderthannetfic]

I had a fantastic moment in a Pokemon Unite Discord server today. This one anti was upset that the outfits for some Pokemon are dresses, because that's "pedophilia coded" and "too sexual not to be on purpose" and ". Before I could even say anything, this one dude, who is in his 50s and not fandom involved outside of Pokemon and so oblivious to anti culture, went off. "That's really disturbing that you see dresses and think of sex, even when it's on an animal. But that you think of LITTLE GIRLS AND SEX is UNACCEPTABLE! What is WRONG with you?! You need to be on a registry!" He pinged the mods. "This person SEES DRESSES and thinks of LITTLE GIRLS having SEX! PLEASE BAN THEM! This is an all-ages server! There are kids here!"

And since a lot of the people who are mods are gamer types in their 40s who are also not knee-deep in fandom discourse, and most of them are parents regardless of age? They banned this anti in under a minute.

It turns out that if you see a dress on a fictional dog and think of children having sex, normal people do not think you're a safe person to be around.

I really hope this makes that anti reflect on what she's saying and thinking and gets her to snap out of it. But even if it doesn't, it was really nice to see a glimpse of what life must've been like before people would agree in most situations that something normal was creepy.

--

[covid-safer-hotties]

There's something Mugen says in the Beatbox Bandits episode of Samurai Champloo that has stuck with me my whole life:

It don't matter how many dogs you got here if they don't have enough courage to bark when they're by themselves.

If I seem "rude" or "dismissive" to people who want me to be "nicer", it's because they value the façade of politeness over combating covid misinformation and making the world a safer place for everyone. I'm out here *fighting* for people like me who want to make the world a safer place, and these people want me to put down my sword because it's "uncouth" to carry one. I ain't even using it half the time that people accuse me of being "rude".

Also, there's socio-cultural context that makes things rude or polite. In Japan, it's polite to slurp your noodles to let the chef know you like the meal. In France, it's a polite greeting to kiss people on the cheeks or lips (depending on closeness). In America, it's polite to leave a server a big tip. None of these "polite" things are universal. Focusing on what you believes is "politeness" in the face of rising eugenics and medical fascism is about as useful as using a thimble to bail out a leaky lifeboat. And I refuse to be the cowardly dog that doesn't bark just because she's alone.

Sorry for harping on this, I'm just really sick of people commenting on my behavior when it is well within the acceptable limits of normal human behavior. Aggression isn't the moral failing you think it is, especially when it's coming from a woman fighting for marginalized (and maybe soon to be criminalized in many places with mask bans) people.

[worlds-worst-ships]

Do you ship it? ((C*nt of the month edition) trying not to get banned)

Hi Matt! Since I know comedians these days love googling themselves and finding things about them that piss them off so they can whinge on stage about it, I have something to show you. Here's a list of people in history with disabilities who made more of an impact on the world than you could possibly imagine;

1: Michael Bisping, professional MMA fighter, had multiple fights at the highest level on the trot with an impressive win ratio with a missing eye, unbeknownst to anyone but him (would love to see you make fun of him)

2: Albert Einstein, most famed and celebrated professor of the 20th century, was on the autistic spectrum. Gave more to the world in a year than you did in your life.

3: Tim Burton, among the most famous directors, producers and animators in history, revolutionizing goth culture in his long career, is also autistic. He put in far more work than standing on stage and being a dick.

4: Stephen Hawking. Even an idiot like you knows this one. I'll leave it at that.

5: Hellen Keller, was literally deaf and blind for most of her life and was still a famous author. So whats your excuse for writing such shit, tasteless jokes?

6: Zack Gottsagen, an actor with down syndrome, became the first actor with down syndrome to present an Oscar.

7: Stevie Wonder. I imagine even he could see how utterly insufferable modern comedians are.

Nooooow then, lemme guess, "yOu'Re jUsT a PiSsEd oFf TrAnS pErSoN gEtTiNg OFfEnDeD" lemme tell everyone something about myself.

I'm not trans.

I'm straight.

I have no physical disabilities whatsoever.

I actually don't get along with a lot of lgbt people because they're, guess what, PEOPLE, very few of whom I get along with anyway. Its never once been to do with their identities or rights, but purely because, as is the case with every demographic, most of the ones I've met are pricks.

"BuT ThEy GEt OFfEnDeD-" yes, when you deliberately scroll twitter looking for offended lgbt people, you tend to stumble across them. Wouldn't ya know it?

Anyways. Comedy is dog shit. Getting up on stage and deliberately being edgy because you've lived no sort of life away from people who you know you'll offend is not talent. Its something a 14 year old with an inferiority complex would do. Thanks for being another nail in the coffin of actual, watchable comedy.

Oh yeah, and if you want an example on how to actually joke about domestic violence, cross-reference the name "Wilbur" on my blog. See, its funny when you're making fun of the abuser and the fact that they do these things, but not when you mock a victim and make fun of them for having these things happen to them. Never once do I mention his victims, its purely making fun of him and the sheer absurdity of his behavior in the scope of who he is. And we're on Tumblr, literally the symbol of people getting offended, and never once have I gotten backlash for those jokes, so you, as a man with a Netflix special, have no excuse for such lacking creativity.

One last thing, for my readers... anyone wanna bet some petty cash that a woman or three from his past are gonna come out with a few tasty bits of drama about ol' Matty boy, if you know what I mean?