#christening favors

[theoldkyokodied]

Uploading all my Tomgreg art at once from the past few week before season 4 hits, who knows in what kind of mental state i'm gonna be once it does :')

[mvthr]

*—𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 + 𝐧𝐚𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐦𝐜𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

manip for @heartcfglass & @dreamgirlevilx

[periwinkleaxolotl]

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Apparently Charles toasted Harry and his family at the coronation buffet and its just, “Whether you are...” He’s acting like Harry and his family just disappeared into thin air when in reality, Harry attended the coronation and quickly left to get back to his family as it was Archie’s birthday, something Charles knew but can’t continue to lead the tabloids to trash Harry and Meghan and their kids if he didn’t continue to do this type of shit...

[endless-resources]

This is a great selection of different themed wooden noughts and crosses games, with the option of creating your very own for an extra cost.

[kayleeds]

https://www.aliexpress.com/item/3256801332113809.html?gatewayAdapt=4itemAdapt

[reasonsforhope]

"Arizona’s ban on transgender athletes has been blocked by the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, which called the 2022 law “the essence of discrimination.”

Supporters of the so-called Save Women’s Sports Act claimed that the law protected girls and women in schools and colleges from “unfair competition.” However, the federal court found that pre-pubescent trans girls and trans girls on puberty blockers have no significant physical advantages over cis girls their own age, The San Francisco Chronicle reported.

“[The law] to ensure competitive fairness and equal athletic opportunities for cisgender female athletes cannot be squared with the fact that the Act bars students from female athletics based entirely on transgender status,” Judge Morgan Christen wrote in the court’s 3-0 decision.

“[The law] permits all students other than transgender women and girls to play on teams consistent with their gender identities,” Christen continued, “transgender women and girls alone are barred from doing so. This is the essence of discrimination.”

Two trans girls, an 11-year-old soccer player and a 15-year-old swimmer and volleyball player on puberty blockers, sued to overturn the law; 18 states signed court arguments in favor of the law, and 17 states signed arguments against it.

A lower federal court also ruled against the law, and the two court rulings against it can now be cited as a legal precedent to help other trans girls play sports. However, Arizona could also appeal the decision to be heard by an 11-judge panel on the appeals court or ask the U.S. Supreme Court to rule on the matter.

“A student’s transgender status is not an accurate proxy for athletic ability and competitive advantage,” said Rachel Berg, a lawyer with the National Center for Lesbian Rights who represented the two girls in court. “Our clients are thrilled to be able to continue to play on girls’ sports teams with their friends while this case proceeds to trial.”"

-via LGBTQ Nation, September 10, 2024

[amartworks]

Elia Martell, princess consort of Rhaegar Targaryen, and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon

I like how while Elia isn’t in the books, she haunts the narrative just as much as her husband – down to her daughter’s kitten literally haunting the Red Keep.

Artist notes below cut for freaks who like that

Oh god this took so long. Oh god why did I let it go this far. Here's the original sketch. Referenced from JookPubStock… I think. It's been so long.

This painting is quite blatantly inspired by Franz Xaver Winterhalter’s The Royal Family. It's decidedly rococo/neo-classical and wayyyy too late for ASOIAF but I don't care.

Elia Martell is described as flat chested and quite sickly. I see her being easily exhausted and therefore wearing dresses that do not weigh much, so as to not put pain on her shoulders and tire her out. I also gave her a strong nose because I am very fond of Pedro Pascal’s Oberyn, Elia’s brother.

Elia is wearing a simple ambigious renaissance dress with small sleeves and a light corset. Kind of cobbled together from looking at Hans Holbein the Younger’s works. The fabric the dress is cut from is however meant to be Dornish – I drew inspiration from this beautiful Ottomanian textile.

Her crown is completely made up. I searched “sun crown” and was greatly inspired by the works of jewelry maker SunFlames.

King Aerys refused to touch his granddaughter Rhaenys because she “smelled Dornish” which tells me Rhaenys probably favored her mother.

Rhaenys was difficult. I looked up what renaissance children wore, and the answer is they wore exact copies of what adults wore. I don’t know how, I feel like the moment you were done with a sleeve the child in question would’ve outgrown it. I decided to freestyle it a little.

Aegon is wearing a christening gown. As far as I can tell the Faith of the Seven doesn’t mention baptisms… but considering the catholic inspiration I think it makes sense. Also I think it's sweet.

They both have deep indigo eyes. My personal headcanon is that Targaryen eyes are purple in the same sense that Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes were purple. Moreover the definition of colors change over time. During the Middle Ages, there was no word for the color “orange” – instead you would say red or yellow. Similarly a lot of languages will use the same word for blue and green.

HOWEVER, this is something that has come with later generations – the first Valyrians had inhumanly violet eyes, which I will be doing concept art for… sometime.

Finally here’s what I know you're REALLY here for, and the part of the painting which I am the proudest of – the 3D model of the chair and table which I made in Blender because I couldn't find a good reference for a renaissance era chair from the angle I wanted.

[sky-kiss]

prompt: Raphael giving a genuine love confession to tav (that is unintelligible due to him being a devil…a too subtle love confesion?… maybe something that sounds like a threat or an attempt for deal for their soul? i just would like if you could show me this clown being a failure at emotions XD)

Raphael kept his word. 

There’s no ambush waiting for her in the House of Hope. It’s only Raphael, resplendent in a black silk shirt. It’s a far cry from the elegant doublet he favors, simultaneously more expensive and relaxed. Relaxed is what she fixates on; a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The devil’s smile could nearly pass for genuine. 

He offers his arm, helping Tav into her seat. Raphael has left nothing to chance: the table is set, lavishly. The wine is rich and decadent, the finest vintages in his expansive cellar. The cost must amount to a small fortune, but the devil spares it no more than a passing thought; what Tav has provided is infinitely more valuable. 

The Crown of Karsus. The key to his freedom and his heart's desire. One thousand years of longing brought to a suitably climactic conclusion. The cambion settles into his seat with a small sigh, massaging his forehead. The nightmare will pass. He will establish himself as Archdevil Supreme. He will…

“You’re more subdued than I would have expected,” Tav says, tracing the rim of her glass. A bruise stretches from the curve of her jaw to the bridge of her nose, splotchy and ugly, a blemish on an otherwise lovely face. It must hurt; when she smiles, she winces. “No theatrics? I’d have expected an impromptu poetry recital if nothing else.” 

“Loathe as I am to disappoint you, pet, I have nothing to offer.” 

“I understand.” Tav slumps in her chair. The newly christened hero of Baldur’s Gate looks small, hair wild, bags rimming her eyes from too many sleepless nights. “It’s wonderful to reach the end. But…” The smile and its accompanying wince. “I just find myself feeling tired.” 

He dislikes seeing her like this: small, delicate, and yielding. It isn’t his mouse. His pet is fire and drive, her ambition mated to his own. The cambion hums, tapping his jaw. “And still you’d return to the Gate. You’ll play the hero.” 

Tav chuckles and finally sips the wine. He considers slipping a restorative draught into her next cup if only to deal with the damned bruise. He hates looking at it, hates seeing his toys marked by a hand other than his. “Someone has to restore the city.”

“Shall it be redemption, mouse? Striving to set right sins you barely remember?” She doesn’t respond. He knows he’s struck a nerve. In a perfect world, she’d rage at him, all her delicious fury brought to bear. Raphael cocks his head to the side. He speaks the words carefully, slowly, as if tasting a fresh dish and still determining the flavor. “Let it die, hero. Wretched as your mortality may be, it is full of such delicious potential. If you must tie a millstone around that lovely neck…” he frowns. Tav watches him, eyes narrowed, and lips pursed, as if she’s waiting. As if she expects what he’s about to say. He loathes it; the damned little thing should never have been allowed so close. “Let it be mine. Serve me.” 

“Serve you?” She laughs. “Raphael, I’ve only just reclaimed my life. Why would I put it in your hands?” 

“Why not? Have I not been reasonable? Have I not treated you well?” 

“For a devil.” Conditional approval. Fury roils in his belly. 

“You would have power and wealth. Everything a mortal desired. Under my yoke, you will be kept young and beautiful. We will dine like this every night.” 

Tav licks her lips. The House is too warm, and she is so mortal. Her eyes glitter with something. Not desire, not strictly, but something like pity. “And what? I kill your enemies? I run your errands? Warm your bed?” 

The stab of want threatens to choke him. When he speaks, it’s only just above a growl, the words rumbling through them. “Yes. Eternally.”

“Raphael.” she sighs, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Messy, like all her kin. He wants so badly to impose order. If he could only have her if she would only submit. The hero stands, crossing to him. It’s a strange twist. The mouse touches his cheek. Her skin is warm. An inane voice in his head chants to him: take her, taste her. He wants to taste her. “I should go.” 

He could make her stay, could break her. But it would taste like ash on his tongue. He holds his head high, smirking. “You will receive no better offer.” 

She doesn’t backpedal, just presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re probably right. Give them hell, devil.” 

And as is so often the case, he’s left alone. 

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hi! I’m the one who asked about Cat Villain! Reader theme lol. It’s nice to have a person to think as same as me, anyway civilians probably confusing about how all 4 Robins so fond of the villain but they still have that kind of rivalry to them, at least in civilians’ views. STILL

I’d like to add another trailer song that I often use when rotting over cat villain! reader

Eula’s theme is such a good one for heists/a little tango with the bois.

I feel like the general public have a general clue as to the relationship of cat villain! reader and the robins

purely because some of the guys (*cough* Jason *cough*) has fucked them in public, and as much as Gotham is unsafe at night, and no matter how many measures the boys put to protect you, there will always be fanatics that’ll witness everything you guys do.

of course, the damning info is mostly kept in small circles due to the miraculous power of ‘paying people to take shit down�� the Waynes have but a lot of fans have headcannoned and could sometimes build an entirely accurate version of your relationships.

tim was definitely one of your top fansite keepers before he became robin (even though it wasn’t his main focus). he most likely influenced a very uh… ‘sasaeng’ type of attitude in your fandom. which wasn’t regulated well until he realized his mistakes. nowadays, he makes sure your fans are more tamed.

sometimes i imagine cat villain! reader to be a celebrity, less known in america and mostly abroad (bonus if you guys aren’t from there to begin with, so your popularity can just be focused on or around your home country) that is until they were suddenly seen with Dick Grayson in public. you two were very much young and not careful.

people know you as that person that dated Dick, and is now extremely close with his brother, Tim. Definitely scandalous. The only thing stopping Damian from being labeled as one of your conquests is that, dude only realized his feelings recently and he usually approaches your civilian form as Robin. why? Damian’s just a show off, but Robin can be a show off without being seen as arrogant. he’s just doing his job

you have your fair share of villain friends you enjoy hanging out/sleeping with. some of them do you favors in exchange for a night. mostly because they know it’ll piss off the Batboys and throw them off their game though it does come with the risk of being beaten down to death.

i also think it’d be funny if in civilian form as a celeb, cat villain! reader just likes to profess their ‘undying love’ to Bruce 24/7 and how he totally slept with them once and their heart has been taken since. just like to be a menace and cause more chaos with people accusing them of using his kids.

when you found out tim protected your image and generally surveyed posts about you 24/7 you got into a little argument cause you wanted the world to breakdown about your identity and the shit you’ve done

and last but not least, the only reason you haven’t been cancelled to non-existence is cause of your large donations to charity and very humble living. sure, you liked to troll the universe in its entirety but in the end cat villain! reader main purpose is to help the needy. you’re most likely one of Bruce’s biggest investors (again, just to be a little shit)

you’re a little shit yeah, but you’re the batfam’s little shit.

OH! and you like visiting Jason’s grave even after he came back. partly due to missing his old self, but it also assists with keeping his identity unknown with how often you guys are together.

bonus: you’ve interacted a fair bit with the batgirls and duke. by that i mean you’ve bullied them all at some point that it has become almost a christening ritual for you to be a menace to each member.

[elsvenus]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 ✷ 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✷ reaped from district seven - lumber - ellie williams is set out to win the hunger games no matter what cost, regardless of her feelings towards a certain district four tribute ✷ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.7 ✷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: set in the hunger games universe, mixed characters from different media you may recognize, slow burn, eventual graphic mentions of death, blood, murder, assault amongst other hard themes

← (𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞) 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩��𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 →

𝟎𝟎. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆

DISTRICT FOUR

The first thing that had struck you from Abby was her perpetual smell of sea water, as though it’d ooze off her pores at any second, and every whiff, every touch, was a christening of your head, beneath it to rise for a purer soul. Her caress to your cheeks were especially engraved by wrinkled fingertips from ocean exposure and when she’d leave the waves towards the shore of open arms every droplet that slid down her body onto yours was a sacred nature branding, burning itself onto your features until your brain was uncertain whether Abby smelled of sea or sea of her, and you likewise, covered. It was the first thing missing when she came back from her games a victor. Your Abby, scentless. Flowery.

You twist the blonde locks of Abby’s hair between your fingers while she hums impatient. The rose scent of her shampoo fills your nostrils and bleeds anxiety into your chest, quickly brushed off for the continuous motion of braiding, a distracting pattern safe haven. For a moment your lip quirks up, a tease by the tip of your tongue about her Capital perks and otherworldly strawberry scented imported lotions she promised to share and still hid away from you during visits. She would not tell you it was to preserve the same thing from you, the homeliness she’d only find buried deep into your neck, peace she’d never get back as she hoped every night of sleep in your arms awoke nostalgia that’d overpower nightmares of brutal savagery. The Victor’s Village was off limits to a commoner such as yourself but Abby batted her eyelashes and District Four peacekeepers turned a blind eye, or so you both thought.

“I got you something” Abby whispers, pulling away from your grasp as she feels your hands tug the end of her hair into the perfected hairstyle. The blonde leans over the shelving of the house far too big for an orphan in these districts, painted shades of white and blues, hardly decorated by the elite designers assigned, too busy assembling new units in the near invincible districts One and Two, and brings you a small box “It’s your last year at a reaping, so I got it for good luck”

A starfish necklace. You gasp as it lays on your hand delicately before Abby makes the first move of adorning you in it. For the first time since she has been back from her games the blonde takes your face into her hands and presses a kiss onto your lips, so soft it ghosts over them long after she is gone, the missed sensation weighing down your eyelids.

“Do I look pretty?” You twirl around jokingly and Abby can only nod, sucking in her bottom lip between two front teeth “All the odds are in my favor with you, Abs, relax”

When your name is called out during the reaping ceremony all you can feel are the hands of the peacekeepers by your waist, escorting you, and the metal of your starfish by your neck. All you can hear, however, are Abby’s screams.

DISTRICT SEVEN

There is sweat dripping down her forehead onto her eyelids, thick layers coating every inch of skin until it morphed itself a new layer of it, a wet armour. And there’s a moment where the heat and the trees are working together into suffocating her and Ellie thinks she can swing the axe towards herself, spare the wood, and end it on her own terms. Fuck the Capital. Fuck the Hunger Games. Fuck the reaping. Unfortunately, it’s too easy to see through her.

“Ellie” Joel lays a hand on her shoulder and the axe drops on the floor, glaringly close to her own foot “It’s only one more year”

“It’s every fucking year, Joel”

“Yeah, well, that’s someone else’s problem now, all I care about is you staying alive. You just stay alive and don’t be a fucking hero”

When her name is called in front of the Hall of Justice those are the only words going through her mind as to not break the neck of the Capital man in flamboyant clothing that announced her name and stared at her with a toothy grin she mimicked for picturing punching it out his face. But Joel is looking at her. And she knows they win. They win because she will put on a show despite her hatred. Because she doesn’t want Joel to watch her die like he watched Sarah. They always win. She always loses.

[wandasaura]

— 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

🫐⊹ �� . 18+, men dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰🪩꒱ ♡ ･ full masterlist ✧

[ ꕤ ] — ageplay [ ♡ ] — smut [ ✧ ] — fluff [ 🂱 ] — series [ ౨ৎ ] — au

‎ WANDA MAXIMOFF — parts will be added as written

the plan [ 2.1k ] ♡

wanda’s been neglecting you for weeks, it’s only fair that you get back at her when she least expects it

the quiet game [ 3.7k ] ♡

nobody can beat wanda at her own game, but that doesn’t stop you from trying, and roping natasha into your little game much to her amusement

the colors in autumn, so bright [ 3.3k ] ♡

when the weight of your anxious thoughts becomes too much, wanda knows just how to ease all your worries

bent right to your winds [ 2.8k ] ♡

visiting your wife at work has become a normal part of your routine, but when she gets particularly handsy one afternoon, you find yourself christening her office whether you like it or not.

imgonnagetyouback [ 1.7k ] ♡

after you push wanda to her limits at the pumpkin patch, she returns the favor once you get home

goddamn blaze in the dark [ 2.3k ] ♡

when the ultimate arises of being allowed to orgasm or being allowed to relieve your bladder, the only thing you can do is hope to god that you can be the good girl she expects you to be

NATASHA ROMANOFF — parts will be added as written

gold thats in your eyes [ 2.8k ] ✧

you’ve known natasha romanoff since she first defected to shield, but it’s taken you years to realize that you’ve loved her since then too

let me check [ 2.3k ] ♡

natasha just wants to make sure you haven't broken any rules since she left, and who better to help her out than maria

dress [ 1.7k ] ♡

when the dress you wear to wanda’s halloween party catches the eye of a few too many people, natasha’s left with no other choice than to punish you. coming soon.

WANDANAT — parts will be added as written

you’re on your own kid [ 1.7k ] ✧

when boredom strikes in the absence of your girlfriends, you make friendship bracelets that will tether you together no matter the distance

red wine supernova [ 2.7k ] ♡

when wanda first proposed making you cum in front of her friends, you’d thought she’d been joking, but when maria and carol come over for your annual halloween movie night, you realize she wasn’t at all.

delicate [ 2.2k ] ♡

you’ve carefully planned for wanda and natasha’s return, and an abandoned red bra in the living room lays all of your plans on the table for them to bring to life while you sleep peacefully upstairs

you are in love au ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

when wanda and natasha decide to add a third party their marriage purely, they don’t expect to form a romantic connection with you. they especially don’t expect for you to hate wanda.

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen (completed)

call it what you want ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

nobody really knows what to call your relationship with wanda and natasha, but it doesn’t matter, your happy to be theirs and they’re happy to be yours

one | two

little dove au ꕤ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

the sweetest thing that had ever stumbled into their lives was you; their innocent little dove.

one (discontinued)

its all my love [ 114k ] ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

when you start to develop feelings for your strict slavic language professor, the relationship doesn’t come without strings… or another woman

MARIA HILL — parts will be added as written

i cant promise picket fences [ 2k ] ✧

maria’s always been married to her job, but lately she’s been married to the idea of a future with you

even statues crumble [ 2.7k ] ✧

when exhaustion creeps up on you after a long week, you find yourself coming undone quickly. luckily, maria’s there to hold you close and put all of your broken pieces back together

mastermind [ 1.8k ] ♡

halloween night was always hectic at shield, maria’s lucky enough to come home and release her frustration on you.

let me check [ 2.3k ] ♡

natasha just wants to make sure you haven't broken any rules since she left, and who better to help her out than maria.

WANDANAT X CAPTAIN HILL — parts will be added as written

know my place ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

you spend your nights wrapped up in four different sets of sheets, but graduations approaching, and what you have won’t last forever

one (work in progress)

COLLECTIONS

spring fling

kinktober

ASKS/DRABBLES

[ m ] — asks

[ ꔫ ] — asks — [ ꔫ ] — drabbles

[ ⧗ ] — asks — [ ⧗ ] — drabbles

[ ➳ ] — asks

[ ⧗ꔫ ] — asks — [ ⧗ꔫ ] — drabbles

[adh-d2]

All in favor of christening that maneuver the Phee Fall say 'aye'

[tigertan]

neighborly favors and chicago cigarettes.

uhh late to the bear party but eat up anyway .

probably part one of a slow burn fic im writing .. lmk if the public wants more :3 CONTEXT } you recently moved to chicago with the help of your friend syndey, who's boss-slash-friend-slash-business partner had an open apartment across from him. [word count ; 4k] [ mentions of alchohol, cigarettes, cursing. ]

;; all fluff. awkward first meetings. a lot of fuckin' tension and shared cigarettes.

the blackened mac and cheese in the pot bubbles vengefully on the stovetop and you curse it right back with a hissed out, “fuuuck.”

you’d left the stove on for a bit too long when you went to hop into the shower. as a result your mac and cheese became charcoal black and smoking. it’s a wonder how the fire alarm didn’t go off as you grab the handle with a stained rag and toss it into the sink. 

the hot pot emits a dying hiss as it hits the water, and red whines from under the couch. “yeah, i know.” you respond to him, standing square in the kitchen and staring at the pot of your former dinner. “that was the last box too, shit.” you groan, finally stepping forward to peer over the sink edge and now you were staring at the guttering pasta and dairy mixture with furrowed brows. “fuck.” you say once more. instead of red’s usual whine in response your phone buzzes on the countertop and you received a text from sydney. she’s down by the bear if you wanted to stop by and maybe grab dinner with her and some of the staff since closing is in 30 minutes? you respond to her with a swift hell yeah. you didn’t dress up much. neat white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. afterall, the bear was a walking distance of four to five minutes. and you throw on a black puffer jacket, for chicago wasn’t christened the windy city for nothing. again, an entire scene change from the warm, near stagnant winds of southern california.

leaving red in the bedroom as it’s way past his bedtime, you grab your phone, wallet, and keys before stuffing your hands in your pockets and stepping out. but as you do there’s a rustling of paper against polyester and a crumpled sheet inside your left pocket. you already know what it is before pulling it out and every fiber in you wants to throw it away. it’s a photo roll— from last winter— of you and your ex-boyfriend, lucas. you sigh, stuffing your bottom lip between your teeth as you stare at the once over the moon you and him. it seemed so long ago, before he started drinking. you clench your jaw. you’d moped around enough in the past three months. this was a fresh start that everyone said you’d deserved, and it would not be ruined by him. nothing would ever be ruined by him again. a spike of anger wedges between your ribs, familiar and fucking ugly. you heave your chest once, exhaling it out along with the paper roll, tossing it to the floor. you jet down the stairs two at a time and step into the windy streets of the windy city, smelling the air. it smelled of petrol and cigarettes, but you didn’t outright hate it. it smelled like l.a. but then again, every big city probably smelled like gas and smoke.

the walk was quicker than you expected, as you strode down the street, you took in the street signs and flashing lights and other lone passerby who shared the sidewalk with you. a peaceful time of stressful pacing, for many a person walking the streets so late at night. 

the bear was an elegant place, with a contemporary touch to the furnishings and finishings that you could see from the outside itself. you stepped inside, warm smells of food filling your nostrils and teasing your tastebuds.  

it was beautiful, the ambiance had an aura that screamed both family and stress. but such was to be expected from a place that was aiming for a michelin star. you spotted where staff filtered in and out from the front of house and back of house and was beginning to make a line towards it when you were stopped by a very tall man— in his forties most likely— standing behind a lectern at the front who slid his hand between you and your goal. he wore a crisply pressed, all black suit and a buzz cut. “reservation ma’am,” he asked, a cocked brow as he took in your simple attire. you suddenly felt extremely self-conscious of your sweatpants and plain shirt; probably stained as well. “ah— well, i’m friends with sydney,” you reply, hoping it gets you past him. he doesn’t seem to be budged and you get nervous, even a little pissed from the way he’s looking at you. you’re a decent height, but he’s tall. that makes you shift on your feet. “i moved in next to her uh, friend-slash-buisness partner-slash-executive chef? does that— does that ring any bells?” you add on, shrugging. the big puffer you have on probably is not helping your case. “uh-huh.” he nods over another waitstaff, whispers in their ear and sends them off. you two then stand there for a bit, his blue eyes seeming staring directly into you and you shuffle a bit on your feet. you introduce yourself, guessing that maybe reducing the barrier of strangers would ease the tension of this encounter. telling him your name, you hold your hand out. he looks at it then back up to your face before taking it with a grip like iron. “richard. richie. nice to meet yo’.” “nice to meet you too, richie.” you nod shake his hand. at that moment the wait staff is back and whispers again in richie’s ear. he nods and they go back onto the floor and richie nods towards the back. “guess you’re free to go sweetheart.” he gives you a wink as you pass and you give him a scrunched up side eye. what a weirdo. the kitchen is fast. fast isn’t even the best way to describe it. just standing in the doorway had your palms itching to jump in and help, although you wouldn’t be much help, being a preschool teacher. a waiter was coming at you in long strides, an expensive dish in their hands and you immediately stepped to the side, not wanting to be the cause for someone missing their meal. you spot sydney, at the front of the line and constantly spewing out order after order after order, each one responding with a, “yes chef!” from the cooks in the kitchen. 

suddenly another chef bursts into the kitchen from the front and his pale brown hair is flying at the ends, although it looks like he’d tried to slick it back it obviously failed; his eyes are a striking blue and widened, the irises eating away the white sclera. but even though he seemed a tad shorter than you, he was pretty fuckin’ cute. that was, until, he opened his mouth and his voice climbed to a screaming spiel at sydney and anyone who was around, really. rounding the large table of food and preparation in the middle of the kitchen, he grabbed two trays and shoved them at the waitstaff. while you didn’t understand most of it, kitchen lingo was incredibly confusing— why was everyone chef? how do you know who was talking to who?— you could tell that he was practically bursting in anger, the bridge of his nose bunched up with the t-zone of his face. 

it was a sight really. a perhaps five seven man in a pressed white chef outfit screaming like all hell was breaking loose. maybe a little scary, but you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. from whatever dramas you’ve seen on chef life and the such— take marco pierre white, for example— head chefs were incredibly demanding, seemingly downright arrogant.

you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, being a prime target for your un-chef-liness in the midst of a busybodied kitchen, so you ducked into what looked like an office, one wall plastered with a ceiling-to-floor bookshelf and a framed picture of a baseball stadium. hopefully you were safe in here. you sighed. 

but it turns out you weren’t, because that same short angry chef came barreling into the office area and stopped short when he spotted you, the scream dying on his tongue. there was the thick and familiar air of awkward tension and you fiddled with the material in your pockets, swallowing. “hello.” you break in and he blinks. his eyes are huge, you realize. “are you— are you going to yell at me too?” “uh. i’m– i’m sorry, wh—” he replies, brows furrowing as he looks you up and down.  “CARMY!” sydney followed in closely after the chef, cutting him off. she looked at you, doing a short double take before looking back at— carmy? “can you just— can you calm down? you’re scaring everyone again.” she sighed, obvious exasperation on her face. it flicked a switch in carmy and he turned to her, all the anger filling his features in an instant. “no syd, the fucking fish is cold again. we have a vip up there and the fish is cold and—” he was like a candle wick, you realized. exploding now and then in violent, flashing flames, only to get doused out with a simple thing or the other. 

this time it was sydney circling her heart with a closed fist. and he stuttered, swallowing harshly before doing the getsure back to her. “i’m sorry.” she says, “i was caught up again and it all got fucked. i’ll fix it.” unsure of what to do, you debated doing it too. but maybe that would be weird. so you instead shoved your hands deeper in your pocket and thinned your lips. “uh. sorry,” you shot a look to carmy. “should i go?” you asked sydney. “i thought you guys were uh. done so i like— came over here.” 

sydney chuckled lightly, though it sounded more tired than anything. “no, no you’re fine. it’s just the dinner rush. it’s dying out, the kitchen closes in like— fifteen minutes. i didn’t realize you’d get here so quickly.” “well, it’s like a five minute walk, so.” you explain. “i would’ve hung out with red,” you joke. sydney grins. “yeah, he would’ve liked that a lot more.” “okay, who is this?” carmy interjects, hands splayed in front of him as if he tried to physically stop the conversation between you and sydney. your friend nodded as if to say oh yeah, and gestured to you, telling carmy your name. “she’s the one who moved across from you. that’s why i asked you for that apartment information.” 

he just nods, then hands you another look before turning on his heel back into the kitchen. 

sydney watches him walk away and then turns to you. she shrugs in apology and you dismiss it with a wave. “i’m. so sorry. i genuinely thought you’d take longer. just… hang out in here, i guess.” you laugh and take a seat— gingerly— in the office chair. “yeah, i’ll just hang out in here.” sydney nods then jets back to the chaos that is the kitchen after flashing you another one of her signature smiles. thank goodness you’d downloaded that mind-numbing mobile app on the flight here.

-- you could hear the unwinding of the kitchen from the office. it was evident; the defeated hiss of fired pans falling into a sink, stoves clicking off, and the urgent yells of the staff had reduced to inaudible chatter. carmy walks back into the office, and he seemingly forgot you were there, from the way he stopped in his tracks and blinked at you. he was no longer in a chef uniform, eight sets of buttons across his chest were swapped out for a plain white t-shirt and black jeans that were too tight around his calves. the shirt also was fitted around his chest despite the bagginess it held around the rest of his frame. did he have a thing for too-tight clothes? you looked up, and immediately stood from the chair, apology written across your face. “ah. sorry. syd said i could wait in here after… all that.” “yeah, no no, it’s… it’s fine. i just need, uh,” he pointed to the jacket hanging on the seat of the chair. the one you’d been half sitting-slash-leaning on, and had noted mentally that it was a pretty ugly shade of brown. “oh. yeah.” you fumble the pickup, fumble the fucking delivery, but the jacket ends back in carmy’s hands and he slides it on. only then you realize he had tattoos. all over his arms.

you’d always wanted a tattoo, maybe one of red. you’d seen other dog obsessed people on tiktok get tattoos of their dog’s paws and noses. carmy’s ink peered out from his jacket, littering his left hand in numbers and other stray marks. you sort of stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do until he speaks, “are you um— you’re sydney’s friend?” he asks, blinking voraciously. you nod. “yeah. that’s me.” theres a bit of a chuckle to it, in the hopes of the labored tension between you two will dissipate.

unfortunately it doesn’t. 

you’d heard many things about this guy, everything but his name, surprisingly. sydney had raved about him being named the ‘best chef’ in the ‘best restaurant’ in america. in socal, with the budget you had, the best you’d get was souplantation. it’s a shame they shut down. 

maybe he should win an award for most awkward man ever, you thought with a bitter edge, swallowing hard. “are you going to the bar too?” you ask. he seems almost surprised you decided to continue to talk to him and he looks behind him then back to you in rapid succession. “oh. yeah. just for, for a few.” he replied. you nod back, and jump at this newfound opportunity. “how far is it?” “huh? oh, like, a ten minute drive.” carmy responds, taking out a rung of car keys from his left pocket. perfect. you think. “do you think—” you begin, on the path to ask him for a ride, maybe you’d break the awkward silence between you two and you’d be friends. but it never happened on account of sydney walking back into the office, changed into her large trench coat and grins at you as she calls your name. “you ready? we’ll take the subway,” she nods to the door, and waits as if you were to follow. you sigh internally. oh well. maybe he’d drink enough and they’d loosen up and you could ask him if his name was really carmy and why the hell he was so mad earlier. you side step carmy with a muttered, “excuse me”, and follow sydney out the back and around the corner and to the subway. —

the bar is quaint, some local pub with local teams and references plastered from wooden mahogany wall to wooden mahogany wall. it smells strongly of beer and grease, so thickly it lays gently on your tongue and makes you immensely hungry.

sydney walks to a table in the far right corner. a tall man and very short woman sit side by side, joking as the woman grins widely. a pudgy guy with a braid sits beside— great. richie is here too, you realize with sullen realization and swallow the sour bile in your throat. he just radiated a terribly immature aura. the other side of the table were four seats, the two on the right side filled by another tall man in a beanie and beside him sat carmy. you wonder in passing how he got here so fast. “sydney! you’re late,” richie booms, beer glass in his hand. the image is crude and you cringe by the slightest. sydney scoffs playfully, rolling her eyes. “shut the fuck up richie,” she retorts. you sit on the side next to carmy and sydney takes your right. he raises his hands in mock surrender, and passes two untouched beer glasses to you and sydney, you take it slowly. you hadn’t drank since— well, since you realized why lucas acted the way he did. so you held the beer glass between you hands on the table and watched the witty banter of the staff members unfold, so natural and so familial it felt warm and fuzzy— for lack of a better, less cheesy term— in the deepest parts of your heart.

but it was broken, momentarily, by carmy standing up in a bit of an abrupt manner and muttering something along the lines of “smoke break,” and you watch him leave with some sadness. he hadn’t talked much, during the whole show, whenever he did it was a sideish chuckle or a shut the fuck up to richie. a lot of people were saying that, you realized. the break let everyone take a hearty swig from their glasses, and the silence brought the attention to you. tina— the short woman with an underlying spanish accent— asked you where you were from. “california,” you replied. “it fucking sucks out here,” you joke, and feel a sense of social accomplishment when the staff laughed alongside you. it grants you that moment of courage for you to take a sip of ‘liquid courage’. you hadn’t drank in so long. you were never a heavyweight, but the long gap between your last taste of spirit let the alcohol in the drink go immediately to your head and opened the metaphorical floodgates of your surprisingly dirty mouth and quick whips that were always the highlight of your college party experience. 

“so why’d you move out here, then, sweetheart?” [“you can’t just call people sweetheart, richie,” sydney scolded almost subconsciously, but was brushed off by richie with a wave.] you held the beer glass in both your hands, a brow lifting with the side of your mouth in a half-disgusted-half-scorned look. “um. california’s too fucking expensive?” you offer in a ploy to change the subject but he shakes his head as he follows through with his question, staring at you. “don’t believe that.” he retorted almost immediately in between a swig of beer. you glared at him. “okay, fucko. i needed a new job.” “and what are you?” “... a preschool teacher.” “not with that mouth!” ebra interjected with gibelike laughter, the other members of the beef chiming in. you had to admit, that was true. you’d always had a bit of a sailors tongue, something your fellow teachers berated you on during your days as a TA. 

“okay, okay, yeah, i have a filthy fucking mouth, but i’m still a preschool teacher.” you shrug, taking a sip with a snarky smile. “okay, but preschool teacher pay is worse in illinois.” richie pressed you. he knew there was something, you knew he wanted it out of you, like the nosy fuckin’ bitch he was. “okay, but—” “come on, what is it really?” he interrupted you with a plaguey tone of voice that made your stomach curdle and your mouth twist in an annoyed grimace. “you fuck the wrong principal? buy the wrong drugs? bad fuckin’ boyfriend?” when your grip on the glass tightens, the beer sloshing the sides at the miniscule impact, richie knows he’s won. and like the loud mouth he is, he makes it known. “oh HO, so that’s your fucking pandora’s box. come on, what kind of asshole was he? the tight assed asshole? the—” 

he doesn’t get a chance to finish because you slam your beer glass down onto the honey-washed wooden table and it spills, getting your hand and the sleeve of your puffer damp. you glare daggers into richie, the familiar javelin of rage fitting in your chest almost familiarly. “do you fucking mind? ever hear of privacy, you washed up gossip whore?” you damn near snarl, shoving the chair back as you stand and cock your head to one side. the bar had quieted; curious, nosy bystanders had taken an interest in the sudden spike of aggression and noise that radiated from you. sydney gingerly tried to lay a hand on your arm, but you pulled away from her as the pressure fell on your bicep. you didn’t mean to snap at her, but as of that moment, you’d snap at anyone. you felt cornered, like a wild animal being poked through the bars of a cage by jeering children. the teeth in your jaw ground together, and you pushed the chair back further with your legs to untangle yourself from the situation, taking long, deliberate strides to the back door, the one carmy had gone through. shoving through the heavy metal door, it didn’t take you long to find carmy. he stood a few paces away from the door, under a flickering street lamp that flirted with various winged insects. it splayed over him, illuminating the chef in harsh yet complementary light.

he looks almost surprised you’re there, a cig pursed in his lips, the case in one hand with the lighter in the other. “uh. hey,” he nods to you. was it routine for these awkward silences to find a home between you two? you nod back, the flush in your cheeks hopefully falling out. then you nod to the cigarette case in his hands. “enough to share?”

–

you two stand; around a foot or two apart, cigarettes in your mouths. one looked up and the other looked down. the sky was shittily pretty, you noted. city pollution obstructed the sight of any stars, but the neon glows of various billboards and street signs rose into the air and tinged the edges of the purple-black canvas. 

you exhaled heavily, the smoke burning your nostrils on the way out. it’d been, what— two, three months?— since you’d “quit” smoking. it didn’t fit with the whole preschool teacher-esque you needed. but tonight was just getting worse and worse and you wanted to go bash your head against the brick alleyway until god herself would come down and take you away. “richie?” he speaks, and it startles you. the cig nearly falls from your mouth, but you take it away between your index and middle finger. you look back at him, blinking then nodding slowly. he nods back in acknowledgement. “what uh– what he’d do now?” “other than be a big fucking nosy bitch, nothing, really.” you reply, taking a long drag on the cigarette, the spike in your ribs chipping away with each wash of nicotine. 

carmy makes an o with his mouth and nods again. he looked like a bird, you realized. but not in a bad way, or anything. like a flighty falcon, the kind you saw on those nature rehabilitation shows on animal planet. you just needed to hold them the right way, maybe say the right cooing words. maybe find something in common if you did that right.  you give a slight look to him from the side. the cigarette was cushioned in his lips, and while they weren't very large, from here alone you could tell they were plush pink and soft, from curve it held around the butt of the cig.

“why’d you come out then?” he asks another question, snapping you out of your creepy lip-admiration. the fact that he was asking you more questions made you think this was either progression or unsettling, but it was hard to decide. you shrug in response, however. “i was hungry, actually. burned my mac and cheese.” there was another few moments of silence, filled only with the city life of chicago and your noisy exhale, blue gray smoke tendrils curling in the air.

“i could make you somethin’.” he offers, his voice nonchalant and passive, even though his big fuckin’ eyes stared at you like he was some lost puppy.

it was kind of endearing, actually. no one had ever cooked for you. why'd it make your chest tighten pleasingly?

you laugh. “sure. one day, when you can, neighborly favor of sorts if you’re into that.” you jest, unaware he was being serious. you take another lung filling puff of the cigarette, nicotine thick in your senses. “chicago cigarettes are strong,” you remark.

he nods. “like em’ better than the new york ones.”

you raise your brows in acknowledgement. he swallows some air, not for the cigarette, you realize as he begins to speak.

“i was, uh, being serious, by the way. i fucking hate mac and cheese.”

you grin, looking over at him, the dim glow of the cigarette hanging from your lip. “me too.”

...

for more / updates go check out my ao3 !

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What do you think is the nature of the relationship between Tyler Perry and Meghan? Friends or just business? I thought it was weird he didn’t appear in the teaser for her new show. He still might be in it, who knows. What are your thoughts?

Just business.

Tyler Perry is someone who’s very much of the mindset that “black people lift each other up because if we don’t do it, no one else will.” This will upset some people, but that mindset is really fair and very accurate about American society.

From what we’ve heard about how he came “into” the Sussexes’ space, it’s via Oprah. Meghan fretted to Oprah, Oprah fretted to Tyler, and Tyler - with “if we don’t help each other no one will help” mindset - offered to help. The Sussexes accepted.

And while Meghan couldn’t read a room if her life depended on it, she can absolutely read a person. I think once they were here and living in Tyler’s world, Meghan read Tyler Perry so perfectly that she knew exactly how to exploit his compassion for her situation to her own personal advantage insofar as racism, race-based criticism, and harassment.

I do think Tyler Perry wised up to her game sometime in 2022-2023 because he’s distanced from Meghan. Yes, he appeared in Netflix and yes, she was at the Paley Center thing, but I’m betting he recorded for Netflix before he wised up and I’m betting Meghan just threw money at the Paley Center and Tyler didn’t actually have a say in Paley taking her check.

So I guess this is a long roundabout way of saying I don’t believe they were ever friends and this is/was all business.

There are a lot of rumors about Meghan and Tyler, though. YMMV on the accuracy or credibility.

Meghan allegedly pushed one of Tyler Perry's staff into the pool during an argument.

Sussex fight at Tyler Perry's house where Meghan told Harry he'd never be bigger or better than his brother if he didn't do what she said. Tyler Perry overheard and it immediately chilled his friendship with Meghan.

Meghan will be sued by Tyler Perry over alleged treatment of staff.

Tyler Perry has never met and does not know Meghan and Harry. His connection to them is through Oprah, who was using them for money and the interview.

When Meghan and Harry first moved to the US, they stayed in a cottage on Oprah's estate before moving into Tyler Perry's home, which Oprah brokered for them.

Tyler Perry being Lili's godfather was allegedly a peace offering and a bribe to keep him from speaking the truth about what happened at his home.

Lili's christening on 3/3 was allegedly to solidify and permanentize relationship with Tyler Perry.

Meghan to allegedly call in favors with Tyler Perry as Lili's godfather to protect her/them during fallout in divorce or public reckoning.

Meghan to use Tyler Perry to push Lili into acting

Meghan allegedly has gossip/dirt on Tyler Perry that could end his career or result in scandal, discovered while snooping and used this to blackmail him into being Lili's godfather.

Tyler Perry allegedly walked out of Lili’s christening when he discovered it wasn’t real and isn’t really her godfather.

Lili’s christening pics will never be released because neither Tyler Perry nor Harry are in them and she isn’t wearing the BRF’s christening gown.

Sussexes working with Tyler Perry on new content deal/upcoming projects.

Tyler Perry allegedly pays for Lili’s super-expensive private preschool.

Tyler Perry allegedly put up the money for someone to hack Kate’s medical records.

Meghan’s connection to P. Diddy and his freakout parties is allegedly through Tyler Perry and they are both freaking out.

I know this is rotten of me to say. But I don’t think Meghan knows true friendship anymore. Most of her relationships these days seem based on quid pro quo or they’re very superficial - look at how she approached friendship with Kate. She went into meeting her with an expectation of “I’m here, I’m your new bestie, I’m all you need” and when Kate rejected that, well, it turned into a dumpster fire.

[woso-fan13]

Whumptober 2023: 23 (uswnt)

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

It’s a Monday night when it first began. You were where you normally were on a Monday night, crashed on Preath’s sofa while eating take. It was your favorite tradition, and it was being interrupted by your phone buzzing constantly. 

You groan dramatically, picking it up. Scrolling on your Lock Screen, you can see that they’re all notifications from Instagram. It wasn’t uncommon for you to get a rush of notifications, but it was unlikely that you would get one now- you hadn’t posted in a week. 

Shaking your head, you look at them briefly. The first is letting you know that you have a new follower, the username a seemingly random array of letters and numbers. The dozens of notifications that follow are from likes and comments on your previous posts, including those from years ago. They’re all from the same account.

“Everything okay?” Christen asks. 

Turning your phone off and tossing it to the other end of the cushion, you nod.

“Yeah, totally fine. It seems like someone just found my Instagram. Anyway, what movie are we watching?”

This restarts the heated discussion, all arguing in favor of your choice. You won. 

—-

You forget about the sudden influx of notifications after you post a new photo and your entire feed becomes an influx of notifications. It seemed like a one off deal, nothing to worry about. 

It’s not until you’re leaving practice one day that you remember it. As you’re exiting the building, your phone dings repeatedly. A half dozen Instagram notifications, all from the same account as before. They’re liking and commenting on a picture that you had posted from practice earlier that week. Understandable, you looked good in the picture. 

Walking to your car, you notice a paper stuck under your windshield. Confused as to who was leaving flyers in the carpark, you grab it and toss it on your passenger seat with your kit bag. 

You’re out of the parking lot and halfway home before you’re stopped at a light. Curious, you decide to look at the flyer. Unfolding the paper, you’re met with a print out of your Instagram from earlier that week. 

An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, and you move to a different lane of traffic. You were going to see Tobin and Christen. 

—-

The women were worried about it, but it’s nothing that hasn't happened before. It’s a given that when your life is on display, people are going to watch and respond to it. It’s weird, but it’s something you’re adjusting to. 

You join them for dinner anyway, staying after to talk until it becomes late enough that you decide to spend the night. 

It was better that way. 

—-

You decide to take a break from social media after this event, posting on your story to inform the fans. You just needed a few weeks to yourself to get your head back on straight, then you would be back. 

You log out of the app after this, wanting to avoid all the notifications as everyone sees and responds to this. Your phone is quiet for the first time in awhile. 

Later that afternoon, a call comes through from an unknown number. You answer it, a short greeting falling from your lips. The only response is silence. A few seconds later, you hear the beginning of an inhale before the line disconnects. 

Blocking the number, you go about your day.

—-

You get a text later that week. You’re in Preath’s living room, having basically moved in recently. The three of you are all working separately together, laptop keys clicking. The chime of your phone breaks the monotony. 

I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. 

A text from an unknown number. You immediately show the phone to the two women, all of you deciding that this had gone on long enough and calling the police. 

Officers arrive within the hour, questioning you about all of the events. They take your phone as evidence, and for this you are grateful. By the time you’re finished with everything, you’re ready for bed. You get ready quickly, creeping over to the door of Christen and Tobin’s room. Not even asking, you crawl into the middle of their bed. 

—-

Logging into your laptop in the morning, you yawn as you check your email. Nothing that exciting- updates from the club, minor changes to a brand deal, countless emails from companies that somehow have your contact information. 

You’ve almost cleared out your inbox when you notice one without a subject line. Opening it, you see minimal text. 

I said I was sorry.

—-

It’s almost a month until the next time you have contact with this person. The silence had made you hopeful, hopeful that the police had caught the person. Hopeful that it had at least made them stop messaging you. 

That last part was true, you were no longer receiving messages from this person. And, while you didn’t know it, the email you had received that sucked the air from your lungs would be the last you would receive from this person. 

—-

After playing 90 minutes, you were exhausted. You never let this stop you from signing jerseys and taking pictures, though, and you start making a lap around the stadium. You’re almost finished, really only a few yards from the tunnel, when it happens. 

A hand latched onto your wrist as you moved away after signing a poster. You try to tug it away, but the grip tightens. 

Looking up, you’re met with an exceedingly average looking crowd. Until you lock eyes with one person and all of your blood drains to your feet. It’s him. 

You’re frozen, unable to speak. People are laughing and shouting all around you, but it feels like the two of you are trapped in a bubble. 

“Y/N,” he says, “I’ve missed you.”

“I- I- I don’t know you,” you say breathlessly. 

“Don’t be silly,” he says, tightening his grasp, “of course you do. Remember, you signed my poster at the San Francisco game last year.”

You shake your head. 

“Yes, you did. I told you my name, and you spelled it wrong on the poster. We laughed about it for ages. And, when you signed your name, you drew a heart. No one else got a heart, I checked. That was special, just for me. You remember that, don’t you?”

He hadn’t blinked the entire time he was talking. He was staring directly at you- directly into you- and you could feel it. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t pull yourself from his grasp. It’s the two of you, alone in a packed stadium. 

“Don’t you remember?” he pries. 

For whatever reason, you nod. It seems like it would be easier to agree with him. 

“I do, I remember. We took a picture after that,” it was probably true, you took hundreds of pictures after games. You probably took one with him. 

His grip relaxes slightly, eyes softening, “you do remember.”

You made the mistake of becoming confident here, going further with your lie, “it’s impossible not to remember you. What we had was special, that’s why I signed your jersey. I drew the heart so you would know you were special.”

The previously loosened grasp retightens, fingers clenching your wrist. 

“No,” he shouts, anger evident, “no. You’re lying, you don’t remember.”

The man continues ranting, one arm flailing wildly as the other keeps a firm hold on you. You can’t look fully at him, directing your gaze to the seats behind him. Only a few seconds later, though, the grip dropped suddenly. You look up. 

The man is now on the floor, pinned by a security guard as another puts handcuffs on him. Bystanders are watching, multiple phones out to film the scene. 

You don’t care about that right now. Now that you’re free, your fight or flight is finally able to allow you to take the choice you want- flight. You turn towards the tunnel, and you see a comforting sight. 

Your teammates are huddled, watching. Clearly, they had been aware of the situation. That’s not what matters though. 

You see Christen and Tobin in front of the group, hurrying to you. Running, you meet them halfway. You crash into their embrace, sandwiching yourself between them to hide yourself. Finally, you let the tears fall.