#false shooting reports

[brownbitchshit]

I currently have 700+ followers. And I will urge all of you to read about what is happening in Bangladesh. What has happened in Bangladesh. I am adding irrelevant tags of the fandoms I follow to garner more attention. I apologize in advance.

The government of Bangladesh killed pressumably 950+ people, innocent people, students, all because they demanded a system that will give them government jobs based on merit rather than quota. To suppress the students Sheikh Hasina and its government imposed 5 days of total internet blackout. While imposing this blackout they killed off anyone of the streets. They killed people from helicopters by shooting and throwing grenades. Many kids died in their own homes as the bullet shot them through their window.

Sheikh Hasina and its police took away all the dead bodies and the death registries from the hospital. The official death toll is 200. But various journalistic and medical staff sources confirm the death toll is over 950 in Dhaka alone.

That monster of a PM didn't acknowledge the death of the students. Instead she is crying over the infrastructure vandalism. I request you,rise up and speak out about this. Educate yourself and let other people know. The internet blackout have suppressed the truth at large. The Bangladeshi people are in deep surveillance and the government have made 2000+ arrests on false charges just because they have shared the Information. There is mass fear mongering. I know most of you people are not Bangladeshis and that's why you need to help us and speak up about it. Join your local protests, share the news in your social media, twitter Instagram. I beg you, don't let my people's murderers get away with it. Don't let my people's death be forgotten.

I am attaching some links for you to understand the horror of it all.

This Facebook page Bringing justice to you has documented all the horrors and the massacres that happened on Bangladeshi people. TW : all kinds of blood, gore, death bodies, every single horrible things imaginable but shows what went down.

This ig page is also another page that brings you the horror stories.

https://www.instagram.com/thebangladeshivoice?igsh=YXBpdzQyem54cmZj

Al-Jazeera has been a very credible news source while the Bangladesh was under blackout. They have made several segments. I am attaching the latest one.

UN Human Rights have called out Bangladesh for explanation regarding the crackdown

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by United Nations Human Rights (@unitednationshumanrights)

Amnesty International's report of Bangladesh government using lethal weapon against its people and mass murder

There are many more contents, proof and videos to show you the horrors that was unfolded in the crackdown. Sheikh Hasina killed her people like insects and violated every single human rights imaginable. Please share these. Support us. Help us. I beg you all.

[chaoticwriting]

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4

Part 3

Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.

Trickster: Sure, why not?

???: Thank you.

Trickster: So, what do you want with me?

???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?

Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?

Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.

Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.

Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).

Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.

Clark: Oh? What is it?

Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.

Clark: GIW? What is that?

Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.

Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.

Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.

-1 month later-

Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.

Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.

The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.

But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.

Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.

???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.

???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?

???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.

???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.

???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.

???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.

???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.

???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.

Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.

Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.

Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.

Part 5

[xclowniex]

Lovely, people are already trying to claim that the terror attack at a walk for the Israeli hostages was a false flag operation. Aka Israel was behind it to give the pro Palestine movement bad PR.

I am going to hold your hand as I say this, the DC jewish museum shooting and this most recent attack in Colorado are not the first instances of violence from antizionists. We have been seeing this for months. For over a fucking year already.

These two most recent attacks are simply escalations from smaller attacks. If you were at any of the various college campus encamptments or have seen the official reports, you will know that violence has always been present in the movement.

This does not mean that every antizionist is violent, or that being pro Palestine means you support violence. What this means is violence has always been present in the movement, and those in it have done absolutely fuck all to prevent it. To the point where instead of going "hmmm maybe we should do something to prevent violence", people try to turn around and blame it on jews. This isn't some woke line of thinking. It's the same centuries old "blame everything on the jews" antisemitic rhetoric wrapped with a modern spin.

Attacking jews, jewish events, and walks and protests for the hostages, does not free Palestine. It does not bring Palestinians more aid, it does not lessen their suffering.

Suffering is not some finite resource where if you inflict it onto jews it takes it away from Palestinians. Suffering is infinite and you are just contributing to more suffering existing in the world

[unsolicited-opinions]

You probably heard about the "14,000 babies in 48 hours" thing, but the media is doing a shit job of explaining it clearly.

Here's a recap:

---

The Claim

On May 14, 2025, Tom Fletcher, United Nations Humanitarian Coordinator, claimed during an interview on BBC Radio 4 that "14,000 babies could die in the next 48 hours in Gaza" due to severe humanitarian conditions.

This is Tom Fletcher:

The figure Fletcher gave was based on a "misinterpretation" of a report from the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC).

What the IPC had actually projected was that 14,100 children aged 6 months to 5 years in Gaza were projected to suffer severe acute malnutrition over the 12-month period between April 2025 and March 2026 - not that they were all babies, nor that they would die, let alone within 48 hours.

The malnutrition claim was spurious enough, but claiming 14,000 babies would die in 48 hours was batshit insane.

HOW BATSHIT WAS IT?

Totally, blatantly batshit.

Let's do some math.

14,000 deaths in 48 hours = 291 babies per hour, or nearly 5 babies every minute, around the clock, 24 hours/day.

This level of mass death in such a short timeframe is unheard of outside of a nuclear catastrophe or an active extermination campaign...and no such event was occurring.

You'd think an expert from the UN would know the basic demographics, right?

Gaza has a population of roughly 2.3 million.

About 15% of the population is under 5 years old, or roughly 345,000 children.

Of those, the number of infants (under 12 months) is far smaller - closer to 50,000-60,000.

If 14,000 infants were to die in 48 hours, that would be over 25% of all babies in Gaza. In two days.

No known famine, epidemic, or conflict has ever produced that kind of child mortality in such a short span.

Not even historical attrocities accomplished that death rate.

Anyone with a basic understanding of child mortality statistics, humanitarian logistics, historical precedent, or basic mental math should have been immediately skeptical. The number was a red flag on its face and the claim should have prompted instant demands for sources, verification, and context.

Nobody in the Western legacy media seems to have made such demands.

Beleiving this claim required ignoring basic demographics, suspending disbelief about death rates, and trusting emotionally explosive language over factual scrutiny.

That didn't stop Tom from saying it.

That didn't stop news outlets from reporting it.

That didn't stop people from believing it.

What were the consequences?

Since no correction came from the UN for more than a week and nobody in the media thought to do their jobs and question it, this false claim lived in the world for those 8 days.

The claim was cited in the UK House of Commons during debates on Gaza and humanitarian aid. Politicians referred to the figure as fact, influencing rhetoric and public policy discussions.

The emotional weight of the claim increased pressure on Western governments to take urgent action or adopt stronger positions regarding Israel's actions in Gaza.

The figure was emotionally powerful and l inflamed already-deranged pro-Palestinian camps.

I'd argue it helped fan the flames of anti-Israel sentiment and antisemitism.

The claim circulated widely on the 20th and 21st.

Direct causation between the climate created by this misinformation and the shooting in DC on the 21st is speculative, but I'm seeing a lot of speculation on that. Here's Hen Mazzig:

Just days ago, the UN published a scandalous headline claiming that Israel would kill 14,000 babies in 48 hours. In reality, the report stated: "14,100 severe cases of malnutrition could occur over the next year among children under five, if aid doesn't reach them." See how one year becomes 48 hours? How potential illness becomes certain death? How children become babies? Which headline do you think the antisemitic shooter in Washington DC read, and remembered? Words matter. Blood libels have consequences. They led to the murder of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim.

May their memories forever be a blessing

Because the false UN claim remained uncorrected for over a week, many individuals and advocacy groups based their calls to action, posts, and even protests on a false premise - creating a widespread misunderstanding about the scale and urgency of the crisis.

Finally, today, May 22nd of 2025, more than a week later, the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) is reported to have issued a clarification, stating the claim was a misreading of the IPC data. I can't find any evidence of it, but that's what's being reported.

Tom Fletcher has not issued an apology or public retraction for his statement. It seems there will be no consequences for his incompetence.

[dahmersugoinyakkk880]

! Aiden Hale Info-Post !

(Reposting from old terminated account since I just saw that I had everything saved on my Samsung Notes)

⛔️Warning for those who might need it: this post contains talk of homicidal ideations, suicidal ideations and school shootings.⛔️

-Aiden Hale, better known as Audrey Elizabeth Hale, stormed into the Nashville Covenant School on 27.3.2023 and took the lives of 3 little kids and 3 adults, before getting gunned down by the fast-responding officers: Michael Collazo and Rex Engelbert.

Before entering the Covenant, Aiden sent these messages to a girl he used to be basketball teammates with while he was in middle school:

-Aiden Hale was a 28-year-old transgender male.

-He was born on 24.3.1995 to parents Norma Hale and Ronald Hale.

As a child,Aiden Hale displayed many developmental delays and his mother started suspecting that her child might have autism.

She took him to see a specialist, and while the specialist did note that Aiden wasn't the best at socializing and was quite anxious, there weren't found any signs of Autism Spectrum Disorder.

-In the early 2000s, Aiden attended the Nashville Covenant School, where he felt safe and accepted.

-Starting middle school meant having to switch schools.

Aiden got bullied in middle school and, at first, felt ostracized by others and had a drop in his self-esteem and self-confidence.

-In seventh grade, his outlook on middle school changed, when he made the school's basketball team .His new basketball teammates welcomed him with open arms.

Aiden considered some of those teammates to be his best friends , even had his self-confidence and self-esteem return for a while, until most of his "best friends" went off for high school.

When he transferred to high school, he managed to rekindle some of the friendships with his former basketball teammates, but he wasn't as close with them as he used to be before.

-High school was also the period when Aiden started contemplating commiting suicide.

-In 2011, Hale’s mother again took him to a therapist. A psychological assessment found that Hale “suffered from major depressive disorder, dysthymic disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, social phobias, anger-management issues and was underdeveloped both emotionally and socially.” He began therapy and managed his conditions with medication, for a while.

-After high school, Hale attended the Nossi College of Art & Design at the insistence of his mother. He remained isolated from his former teammates and others.He attended an eating disorder clinic amid concerns over his weight loss.Hale “remained lonely” and grew more resentful of ex-teammates he felt had “abandoned him".

While he was still in college, he had gotten rewarded a few times for showing remarkable progress in certain areas, in a very short period of time.

-Hale had a certain fondness for stuffed animals.He had a large amount of those and went as far as to give them names and their own personalities.

A car full of plushies that belonged to Aiden Hale was found in the school's parking lot, after the massacre.

-The police had recently revealed that the motive behind the Nashville Covenant shooting was "notoriety": in other words, Aiden wanted to be famous

-It has also been reported that Aiden didn't hold any grudges towards anybody in the school/connected to the school, which makes it more likely than not that he was randomly shooting at anybody he came across, not that he had specific targets.

The shooting has been made out to be some kind of "terrorist attack aimed at christians", but this has been proven false. Aiden didn't choose to shoot up that school because it was a christian school, nor did he care much about christians.

He chose to commit the shooting at the Nashville Covenant School because "he wanted to die somewhere he felt happy", but also because he knew that little children wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight

-Hale considered other targets. Detectives found research on four additional schools: another private Christian school, a private school with no religious commitments, and two public high schools. Hale also looked at the possibility of committing a mass shooting at Green Hills Mall, Opry Mills Mall, Belmont Boulevard just south of Belmont University, and several busy interchanges in Nashville and the suburb of Mount Juliet.

-Not long before the shooting, Aiden Hale payed a visit to the Nashville Covenant School.He made his visit look like a "tour through the school fueled by nostalgia", but he was actually carefully inspecting the areas of that school, probably so he could prepare better for his "death day".

-The shooter left behind 15+ notebooks ,which detailed his plan to shoot up a school (with diagrams and timelines) and dozens of videos, too, some spanning up to even 40 minutes in length.

-There was very little mention of Covenant in these journal entries.

What was found instead had more to do with what Hale’s parents said was a fixation with death after the loss of a friend that, "he worshipped his whole life.”

“I know Sydney is waiting for me. My time is coming soon to leave this realm behind. All my pain and all that I have…except you,” Hale wrote.

-In the diary entries, Hale appeared to be filled with self-loathing and repeatedly would state how he wanted to "kill my own race" and “destroy all the white people who are teachers,", “Being white sucks, but being black is so cool. Black people should rule. White people should fall, every white person who lived and died. I hate you all,” Hale, who was white, wrote.

“I hate the American people,” he continued. “America is not the land of the free, it’s a land full of idiots. It will only get worse in this country, not near enough gods like me. America and its people all destined to soon be destroyed.”

-The entries also detailed the gender frustrations Hale, who was born and raised as a female, experienced. “I only wore some nice girl clothes as a cover-up from the truth, which I denied myself all these years. And I hated all of it,” he wrote.

“It was miserable being raised a girl because I had no choice. There was lack of education, research, and medicine to help society or parents better understand transgender," he continued. Hale was angry that he had not been given puberty blockers earlier and feared it was too late to use them.

“I’m mad that no one told me until I was 22. I feel I’m too old and too late to become a man. Now, the process takes months to years. By the time that happens, I’m 30, and then 10 years later I got a bald spot on my head and looked like an old man. Hell no,” he wrote.

-Hale expressed admiration for the Columbine shooters Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, the DC snipers, serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer and Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh, calling them "gods".

“I feel I am the reincarnation of Dylan Klebold. My thoughts of depression are forever linked to his and my experience as well,” Hale wrote.

Aiden purchased a copy of the Columbine Diaries in 2021.(his mom found it)

In his manifesto, Aiden wrote that he hoped to make the Columbine Shooters proud of him.

-Aiden wanted his shooting to be the deadliest in state history.

He stated that he'd be embarrassed if he got less than 10 kills.

-He originally planned for the massacre to take place on 17.1.2023, accoarding to one of his diary entries.

"I didn't mean to plan my massacre on the 17th, going to be a terrible sh** for leaving you. How bad my heart hurts. Tomorrow is my last day on Earth." He then followed the entry with a P.S., adding "not leaving yet. I couldn't do it....I'll wait as planned."

On the same day (Jan. 16, 2023), Hale also provides some context of his emotional state, writing "I can't stop feeling sad, angry, so sad how much, too long," "No one gets me -everyone misunderstands Autism typical" and "I want to die." Another entry in large letters states "I hurt bad enough + low enough that I need to die."

-Aiden Hale was apparently really skilled at making others believe he was "innocent" and "meek".

-He used a great deal of manipulation to convince people around him that he wasn't a danger to neither himself nor others

-Despite his best attempts at concealing his rage,loneliness and low self-esteem, they would all still occassionaly resurface, which led his parents and therapist to seek more intensive treatment for him.

This just made Aiden isolate himself more from others and become more manipulative towards his parents and therapist.

-In 2019, Hale admitted to his therapist that he was having suicidal and homicidal fantasies.

In 2020, he started visiting gun shops and made several gun/ammunition purchases then.

When Norma Hale(his mother) found the wrapper for a gun sock in the trash, that was when Aiden confessed to having bought a gun.

Norma was quick to reject the idea of Aiden having gun ownership, because of his history of suicidal ideation and depression.

Ronald Hale(his father) didn't have any problems with Aiden keeping a gun, as long as he knew how to use it safely.

Norma Hale later reluctantly agreed to let Aiden keep the gun.

-During an interview between detectives and Aiden's parents,Aiden's father told them that "none of the therapists ever felt that they had the duty to warn anybody about Aiden having homicidal ideations". They only felt the duty to warn his parents when Aiden was having suicidal ideations.

A police report summarizing this interview shows doctors told Hale’s parents sometime between five and eight years prior to the shooting that Hale, “needs to go to Vanderbilt Psychiatric Hospital because he is talking about suicidal ideations specifically about school shootings.”

Hale wasn’t admitted to the psychiatric hospital, but parents said Hale did receive some treatment

-Police has concluded that nobody is to blame for the Nashville Covenant School shooting that took 6 lives,because Aiden was constantly manipulating everybody around him.

-The parents of the Nashville Covenant School shooting victims have copyright over Hale's writtings, which is why they cannot be released.

One of the parents said that releasing those writtings would be giving the shooter exactly what he wanted: Immortality (which means that Aiden Hale would basically be able to "speak from the grave")

-Despite this, Tennessee Star managed to get ahold of a "90-page-exclusive" , referring to the shooter's manifesto, and released it in it's entirety.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Epel Felmier: An Apple a Day

… Looking at Epel always makes me hungry cuz I inevitably think of apples 🍎 It doesn't help that his pjs remind me of autumn, the season of bountiful harvest (and therefore tons of food).

Rise and Shine!

“You’ve not risen, Epel?”

One of his roommates asked this from the doorway. His voice, posh and flighty, like some raven flapping away once it was caught guiltily nibbling on the harvest. The mob student was all styled and sleek, having woken up at the crack of dawn—before the roosters back home were awake to crow—to complete his meticulous 20-step skincare routine, gel his hair, iron his uniform, and apply makeup while primping in front of a mirror for no less than 30 minutes.

Four freshmen to the room, and all three of his roommates were like that.

Epel was still in bed. He groaned as he flopped onto his side, sounding like a cross between a donkey with a stomachache and cat hissing at a stranger. Lilac strands stuck up in clumps, resembling a bale of hay moreso than a cap of hair, gunk rimmed his large eyes, and drool crusted the corners of his mouth.

His roommate’s brows shot up. “Oh dear. You’re not presentable whatsoever.”

‘S whatever, worry ‘about yerself, Epel was about to sling back—but he caught himself in time and bit it back. He couldn’t risk being reported to Vil for unruly behavior, not today.

“I’ll be alright. I just need a little extra time to wake myself up,” he insisted, his voice small and soft in the morning, as delicate as the dew drops upon glades of grass.

“You shouldn’t dawdle then,” the mob student said. “It’s rude to keep your guest waiting.”

“My… guest?” The fog of drowsiness immediately cleared from Epel’s head. An exclamation was out before he would wrangle it back in. “Shoot!!”

He bolted up and crammed his feet into a pair of slippers. Epel had stumbled halfway to the door before he remembered his unmade bed. A blanket was hastily thrown over his mattress, the pillows arranged in a row.

Then Epel rushed to greet you, plucking two apples from one of the several large boxes stacked in one corner of his room. (Shipments from Harveston, courtesy of his family.) Using the frilled hem of his pajama shirt, he polished the fruits until they gleamed like garnets.

“Good morning, Epel!” you called out to him as he approached.

“Mornin’,” he replied, adopting what he hoped was a standoffish tone. His voice was still groggy from the night, and he liked that this made him sound gravely and gruff.

Epel inclined by the shoulder, leaning on the doorframe at a slant. This was, he had determined (after weeks of observing his club captain’s lazy yet graceful posture), the “manly” way to stand. Tough, devil-may-care. And, most importantly, cool.

“… Did you just get up?” you asked, gesturing to his bedhead. “Is now a bad time?”

“Nah.” Epel shrugged. He winced at himself, at how easily he slipped back into his usual sound—something softer, lighter, like a dessert full of air pockets. (He made sure clear his throat and force the rest of his breath down, deepening his voice.) “I was about to have breakfast.”

Epel offered an apple, which you happily held out your hands to accept. He tossed it to you. “Catch!”

“You know what they say. An apple a day…”

“… keeps the dorm leader away,” you finished with a laugh, catching it. The apple, you noticed, wasn't quite round, but rather was heart-shaped, with patches of blushing peach and gold--as though he were handing his own heart, ripening with first love, to you. “Thanks.”

He shrugged, acting as if it wasn’t a big deal (it wasn’t) or that he couldn’t care less (false). Epel bit into his own apple, sweet white flesh bursting upon his tongue. A trail of juice dribbled down his chin.

It was then that Epel became acutely aware of the blob in the corner of his vision—the hovering roommate. Eyes sparkling, the mob student covered his mouth and quietly squealed.

“Oh my, Epel!! I had no idea that you were… with them…” Their gaze darted to you, then back to Epel.

“N-No, ‘s not like thatfh,” he said quickly (through a mouthful of apple, which he was certain he’d get a scolding for later).

"I'll give you two some privacy," the mob student replied, ignoring him. "Toodles!"

Before Epel could utter another protest, his roommate had already past him. By the afternoon, word would travel the glittering corridors of Pomefiore, and they'd all be gossiping about it.

"... Vil's so totally gonna kick m'ass for this," Epel grumbled, finally letting his hometown accent--thick like honey and barbed--free.

"He'd kick your ass for saying ass too," you pointed out, fighting a grin.

"Well, what'm I supp'sed ta call it?!" Epel rolled his eyes. "Posterior? Bottom? Rump?!"

A laugh bubbled up from you. Reaching out, you flicked at the bush of tangled lavender that was his hair. "You really should get ready for class if you don't want Vil to kick your rump."

"Yeah, probably." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving his skin there sticky. "... Hold my apple for me?"

You smiled. "Always."

[thescreaminghat]

actually would have loved to see more of elita's introspection after the "sentinel took everyone's cogs" reveal in tfone. like we got some good elita moments (e.g. her speech to orion showing that she too is an optimist despite having built a "tough it out" personality in order to survive the mines; the fact that she immediately turned to helping pax/dee/jazz during the cave-in after evacuation orders didn't work, showing that she's also one to instinctively break protocol if it means saving other bots from harm), but it would have been great to see elita's reasoning and emotions at learning about sentinel's betrayal. like yeah, ig d-16's crashout made sense given that he was physically attacked by darkwing and arguably had a stronger emotional attachment to the status quo/the "heroism" of sentinel prime, but elita is also the one who was insulted/belittled by darkwing for not having a cog and for breaking protocol, and the one who got dumped to waste management despite being so close to her goal (and she probably would have stayed there if she hadn't been on the train with orion and the crew). cave-ins don't seem unusual in the mines (everyone seems familiar with the emergency protocol), and elita as the team lead is probably the one who had to bear the responsibility of reporting dead or missing miners. after finding out that sentinel is the one who created this situation, elita should be seething just like dee: how dare the likes of sentinel prevent her from reaching her full potential as both a leader and citizen? how dare sentinel place the burden of carrying the very lives of other bots in the hands of those who have been rigged to fail? how dare sentinel set her up to chase after false hopes to improve her life and believe that it was ever a "good thing" for her to have wanted to try and "rat out" orion and dee when they first got on the train? who is to say that mechs with existing cogs, like darkwing, won't keep bullying those with newly-given cogs after sentinel is exposed? and elita didn't seem to have anything against dee before they went to the surface--if anything, dee seems to be the more reliable one compared to orion, so it would make sense if elita initially sympathised more with dee's reaction to events.

but she ultimately doesn't side with dee, even though she has a lot more invested in the system than orion. and i think tfone should have shown us more of elita's specific thoughts and reasons for why this didn't happen, to establish her as a major player in the ensuing conflict. the only other series that im familiar with outside of tfone that has elita is g1, so in my mind she's one of the "big three" in that she's established as a leader capable enough of keeping together the only major autobot resistance group against the decepticons after op leaves cybertron. if tfone's story was extended to the civil war, then the foundation for elita's later development should also be well-established.

right now it feels like she was largely relegated in the movie to "punch and get promotion" and while that's cool, i think she should have had more screentime than bee (im sorry but imo elita and bee have become kinda conjoined both in their function within the movie and in fanworks---i get the writers were pressed for time and chose to focus on the orion-dee relationship, which makes complete sense, but elita and bee were just kind of left to stand next to each other and give audience reactions when something happened shocking in the orion-dee dynamic. and elita has become b-127's mom in fan stuff ig. which again is fine and great and i love it, but what about her preexisting relationships with orion and dee? like orion was confident enough to trust elita to have his back when the cave-in happened even though elita tried to keep a hierarchy of sorts between them, dee seems to respect elita's leadership when they're on the surface and doesn't immediately shoot at her when she fights him at the end, elita even seems envious (at least to me) at orion and dee's entry into the iacon 5000---we should have had more of the push and pull among the trio's dynamic, with elita being a sort of "wild card," in that she had valid emotional grievances that would push her to side with dee, but an equally strong set of beliefs that would lead her to side with orion).

anyways more elita character development pls she's such a good character

[femsolid]

I watched the movie Strange Darling tonight. Great rating on IMDB. Positive reviews all around. It was sexist propaganda à la Gone Girl. I'm sure it'll be called a feminist movie.

The story is about a serial killer hunting down his last victim. During the first part of the movie we see a young, skinny, blond woman being chased by the killer, a big man with a rifle. She's in pain and has lost an ear. The man is not hurt and every time he appears on screen, some big scary music plays, telling us "he's the killer!"

Then we see a flashback of their first encounter. They're on a date, drinking in his car, she gives him a lecture about how a one night stand can be a life or death situation for women, so women aren't prudes they are careful, but he can't understand that because he's a man. Unlike in real life, he patiently listens and doesn't object nor scream Not All Men. A little feminist lesson. She then tells him that her "kink" is to be strangled and beaten in bed... okayyyy what was the point of the feminist lesson exactly? He's flabbergasted and reluctantly agrees to indulge her. Because we all know it's women who want to be abused, men are just following our lead and have no sadistic bone in their bodies. She starts crying and tells him to stop during it, she tells him that just because she said yes at the start doesn't mean she can't say no later and he should respect that. He feels bad, and suddenly she starts laughing, she was just messing with him pretending to have boundaries and stuff, what a turn on! She toys with him, keeps inviting him to have sex and then says no at the last second because women are just twisted provocatrice, I guess. What a tease! She's giving him "mixed signals." Then she drugs him and tortures him, and we discover that she's the serial killer, and he's a cop! HA! You thought women were abused by men? You thought her little feminist lessons were sensible? You were wrong! Never trust a woman! Men can be victims, too! The reason we didn't see his injuries at the beginning of the movie was because she tortured him with a knife on his chest. See? Men have hidden scars. Don't assume they are the abusers! Since he's a cop, he has a secret gun and manages to escape her by shooting her ear off. She runs from him, and he chases her, and we're back to the beginning of the movie. He catches her eventually, handcuffs her and calls her a cunt.

She still manages to kill him, right as the police arrives because he called for backup. She puts her pants down and lays on the floor ass naked, crying, pretending that he tried to rape her, and she defended herself. False rape accusations, guys! Don't be fooled by women playing the victims! There are two police officers that arrive: a woman and a man. The woman is immediately sympathetic to the fake rape victim, something her male partner questions. She responds "it's obvious what happened", takes the handcuffs off the killer and helps her get up, while the male cop tells her to wait because things don't look right. Blinded by her female solidarity and her defence of rape victims, the stupid female cop doesn't follow the procedure. She tells the male cop that just because she has a vagina doesn't mean she's wrong, another little feminist lesson rendered voluntarily ridiculous by the fact that we all know she's gravely wrong and will likely get both of them killed. He tells her it has nothing to do with her vagina, he speaks from experience because he's older. Eventually the truth is revealed, the victim is the killer, the male police officer calls the killer a bitch. The killer lets the female officer go because she helped her, and kills the male.

The entire movie had a clear message that we all know too well by now: men are the real victims, don't trust women who report abuse, feminism is laughable. I mean, the propaganda wasn't even subtitle or anything. The killer spends a good portion of the movie in lingerie too. Instant classic. True cinema. Would you be surprised if I told you this movie was directed and written by a man?

[l3tm3kn0w]

CHAPTER ONE: The Wheel of Fortune

jungkook x reader | friends to lovers | spiderman!au — link to masterlist

chapter summary: your mission to get an interview from spiderman reaches a new milestone as the arachnid vigilante acknowledges your presence during your latest chase, and the wheels of fortune are put into motion as you're faced with a devastating turn of events

wc: 8k

warning: explicit language, swearing, sexual innuendos/jokes, one joke about brutally murdering a best friend, mentions of drinking, mentions of kidapping, slow burn that’s burning slowly, jungkook has a crush tho ur just fucking oblivious sorry, other bitches wanting jungkook also deserves a warning i fear

a/n: hello world, hello tumblr!! first time publishing something here (a sister hailing from ao3 speaking) so please bear with me as i try to relearn how to navigate this website from my preteens. i’ve DMs open & believe i also opened asks????? with anon enabled???? (help????) so if you want to holler at me, you may do so there as well :)

aaaaand, welcome to the first chapter, where we’re really just setting the scene for what’s to come, hehe. please know that i don’t have a beta-reader, so please excuse any mistakes i might’ve accidentally left in 😣

hope you’ll enjoy it!! happy reading <3

You watch as the man plummets towards the ground from the 12th floor balcony.

A pretty jammed crowd of bystanders have formed on the street corner you, too, are standing on, watching with bated breath as the suited figure limply approaches the ground. You play with the voice recorder in your hand as parents cover their children’s eyes, and friends tightly grab onto each other in anticipation. The rest have their cell phones’ cameras up and ready, but the focus is not on the falling man.

You take a deep breath.

“C’mon,” you mutter under your breath. A man elbows you in the ribs, but you graciously ignore it in favour of not breaking your focus. “C’mon, c’mon, dude, show up. Show up. Don’t be a false reporting and an unnecessary trauma, c’mon.”

A gunshot is heard from somewhere within the apartment building. A window breaks, but it’s hard to say if it’s because of the bullet or the lean, male figure that jumped through it. 

The crowd gasps as if one person, heads and cameras both immediately snapping towards the new person, clad in unmistakable red and blue. You allow yourself a satisfied smirk. He free falls for a moment, and someone shrieks, and you don’t bother trying to suppress your snort because, come on, it’s obvious that in the very next second, he’s going to— yup, Spiderman shoots a web, as Spiderman tends to do, and swings towards the suited man in a pleasant, even arch. 

OK. Good. So, Spiderman is here. 

Time to get into position.

“Excuse me, sorry,” you mutter as you fight your way through the crowd, trying to secure a nice spot around the edge, towards the closer side. People don’t really mind you, looking awestruck with their mouths slightly open as Spiderman’s hands steadily encircle the torso of the man who was previously plummeting towards certain death, very heroic indeed. And anyways — you’re a native New Yorker. Meaning you’re not above a little elbowing here and there when the situation calls for it. “Sorry, I’m coming through, excuse me.”

The crowd spits you out at the edge. 

After stumbling a little, you huff, fixing the straps of your backpacks on your shoulders, and ruffling your hair. 

You walk a little closer, just in time to hear the crowd erupt in a loud cheer as Spiderman touches ground, the loan shark looking man in his forties held bridal style in his arms. God, now that’s a sight. You should’ve brought your camera — if only you didn’t catch the report on Spidey-Watch so last minute while stepping off the subway.

OK. Approximately 25 seconds, now. That’s what you have.

You lean down to retie the shoelaces of your trainers. Tightly. With a double knot, and all. 

Spiderman sets the man on his feet. Tentatively, the man, too, releases the hold he has around Spiderman’s shoulders. 

He looks shaken, understandably. Face pale, clearly on the brink of vomiting, legs shaking as he takes a few tentative steps. The reality that his bones didn’t end up cracking into a million little pieces seems to sink in for him as he cries, hands flying back to grip onto the vigilante’s shoulders. “You saved me, Spiderman.”

“Yeah.” Spiderman nods. He pats the man’s hands on his shoulders — maybe in a show of comfort, maybe in an awkward attempt to get them off. “Please make more responsible deals in the future. Preferably not with the, y’know, uh. . . the mob.”

“I didn’t know they were the mob, Spiderman.” The man shakes his head, voice very utterly serious, before giving himself away by swallowing. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Spiderman complies.

“Of course I didn’t,” the man affirms. He gasps, taking his hands off of Spiderman’s latex suit clad shoulders to rummage through the inner pockets of his suit jackets. “Wait a second.”

You take the chance to walk closer to the scene on the sidelines while the crowd is busy watching intently as the man produces a 5$ Starbucks gift card. Some gasp, some sigh in awe. Personally, you just think he’s a bit of a cheap ass loser as you grip your voice recorder tighter, fingers hovering ready over the buttons. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—” Spiderman shakes his head as he declines the generous offer, holding out his palms in rejection.

“Please, take it,” says the man, pushing the gift card into the vigilante’s chest before swiftly letting it go, so that the other has no chance but to grab it before it falls to the ground. “Let me repay you. Thank you, Spiderman.”

“Thank you, Spiderman,” the crowd echoes. 

The scene is a bit funny. In the same way it’s funny when people clap when a plane lands.

OK. About 10 seconds now. 

Spiderman quickly says his goodbyes to his impromptu audience, throwing up a few peace signs here and there while shooting a web behind him, ready to take off. 

“Goodbye, you people. Drink water and, uh, stay safe!” Spiderman starts walking backwards as he speaks, gradually gaining speed. “Oh, and wear sunscreen!”

The crowd answers, “We will, Spiderman!”

And just like that, Spiderman is off. 

It’s your time to shine. In your comfortable running trainers, you take off on the pavement, right under where he swings, attention divided between evading fellow pedestrians and keeping an eye on the arachnid vigilante. 

“Spiderman! Hey, Spiderman!” you shout. For a moment, you swear you see him teeter. “Spiderman, I’m ___ from the NYU Weekly, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

Nothing. 

Spiderman keeps swinging. So, what to do, you keep running.

“Spiderman!” you continue, “I study journalism with a minor in communications and am writing my thesis on the presentation of superheroes in the media, and I think an interview with you could give great insight on the subject to the academics!”

Spiderman keeps swinging. 

In your heedlessness, you faintly crash into one of the green, metal bins out on the street with your hip, letting out a painful yelp as you press a palm against the most likely forming bruise to soothe the pain. 

But still, you keep running. 

“Miss!” you hear someone shout. Snapping your head up, you see Spiderman looking down on you as he glides through the air, expression hidden behind his mask but voice a bit desperate. “Miss, please stop doing this, it’s very dangerous.”

“Give me an interview?” you try, starting to get out of breath. 

You’ve never gotten this far before. Usually, he manages to shake you off pretty quickly at the first approaching street corner. This is a bit more than what you’ve been working out in the university’s gym for. 

This might just be your chance, though— Spiderman actually acknowledged your presence, it’s been like half a minute and you’re still hot on his trail, and your new running shoes, although very, very fugly, are holding up great so far. 

But before you have a chance to give it another try, a few — unexpected to your calculations — things happen in quick succession. 

You hear Spiderman let out an uncharacteristical squeak, and the next thing you know, you’re falling back on your ass, some of the textbooks in your backpack painfully digging into your back as you collide with a news stand by the crosswalk. 

A few metres from you, cars start speeding down the road as the lights turn green. 

“I’m really sorry, miss!” Spiderman shouts once more. “Soak it in one part water and one part vinegar overnight! And be more careful watching where you’re going, please!”

And with that, Spiderman turns the corner, and away he swings above the New York traffic. 

Well. There’s always next time.

Groaning, you push yourself up into a squat with both hands on the ground, before massaging the strain in the top of your neck where your head has jerked back upon impact with the news stand. 

All over your chest, are slimy, gooey, sticky white spiderwebs. You try not to cry.

The sweater is cashmere.

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

“Where the hell have you been?” Yoongi Min, a short, mint-haired communications major senior with cat-like tendencies and an endless temperament, (and your best friend since the diapers, but that’s worth mentioning only on the margins), whisper-yells as you slide into the seat next to him during the ongoing lecture. 

Eyes on the presentation screen, you pull your laptop and water bottle out of your bag without any haste, trying to get an idea of which lecture of yours you are even sitting in on right now. You catch a few buzzwords like defamation, source credibility, Johnny Depp, and deep fakes on the presentation. 

Introduction to Media Law, is the most feasible conclusion you can come to.

“I had a lead,” you mutter to Yoongi as you power up OneNote on your screen. 

“You mean you stalked him on Twitter,” Yoongi corrects. He drops his stylus in favour of tugging on the sweater you didn’t have time to change out of, curiously touching the gooey remains of spiderwebs before wiping it back into the material from his fingers with a scrunched up face. “Ew. You look as if someone depraved just came all across your tits. What the fuck did you do this time?”

“As you can see, I had an actual interaction with Spiderman this time.” You smirk. Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Details are unimportant. The point is, now I’m sure he knows who I am, and the next time he sees me he’ll—”

“Wait,” Yoongi interrupts. “What do you mean next time? Namjoon told you to give up on the article.”

“That’s only because Namjoon’s been dumped again and became a defeatist.” You shake your head. The lecturer asks a question, so you start randomly typing on your keyboard. Old man Professor Hendersson’s a softie, he wouldn’t call on a student busy in the making of the perfect lecture notes. Some person in the third row answers him, and so you continue to do the same to Yoongi. “Dude’s gonna be kissing my feet when I make him the first NYU Weekly editor who signs off on an Avengers feature.”

“Avengers-adjacent.” Yoongi corrects.

“Spiderman wouldn’t appreciate you saying that.”

Yoongi snorts. “What a relief Spiderman won’t hear shit of what I say.”

“Hey guys,” whispers a third voice. 

Jungkook Jeon — shy, giggly, fellow journalism major junior with a long haircut that makes him look like a triangle kimbap — slides into the other seat next to Yoongi, only a notebook and a branded cup of coffee in hand. 

He looks slightly out of breath, cheeks aflame, and clothes messy, his large black t-shirt hanging inside out on his lean figure. It’s 11:42, which might as well be the ass crack of dawn in Jungkook-terms. He must’ve slept in. 

Jungkook settles in the seat, taking a sip of his coffee with the straw as he turns the pages of his notebook to the next blank. That is when he seems to remember something. 

Before he could even look over and ask, you reach over Yoongi (who scratches your arm that blocks his sight of his iPad, HayDay opened, which is not very nice of him, is it, but see — the aforementioned cat-like tendencies) to hand him the pen you’ve fished out of your bag the moment Jungkook sat down.

You know him too well.

Cheeks going a bit pinker, Jungkook huffs, accepting the pen as he whispers, “Thanks, ___”

“Welcome, as usual.”

Yoongi pipes up, his interrogative gaze turning to Jungkook this time. “And you? Been on a coffee date, debating existentialism and forgot time exists? Why am I the only one taking my education seriously?”

You can’t help but scoff at that. “No offence, dude, but the only thing I see you taking seriously is trying to hack into Seokjin’s farm to sell his raspberry cupcakes to yourself.”

“I need to sell some to Greg.” Yoongi shrugs. “And I, unlike you dipshits, was here on time, wasn’t I?”

“I was at my Stark internship,” Jungkook whispers, before mumblingly adding, “In case it was genuine curiosity.”

You sigh. You look at this boy, with a hint of pity in your eyes. So young, so bright, way too cute for his own good, but just a bit too easy for this big, bad world. “Jungkook?”

“Hm?” he hums.

“Do you think you’ll ever get hired?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?”

“Just that, didn’t you say you’ve been interning for him since junior year of high school?” you continue. In your years of friendship with the guy, steady since the freshmen camp in Upstate NY he ditched after a day and a half, you’ve heard your fair share about this internship at whichever branch of Tony Stark’s company, both from Jungkook and his childhood friends, Jimin and Taehyung alike. “It sounds like the old Ironbag is exploiting your labour for me. Go somewhere you’re appreciated. And is relevant to your studies.”

“Damn, I just realised it.” Yoongi pipes up.

You didn’t dignify him with asking the question. Yoongi’s eyes are screaming bullshit. You’ve known your own childhood friend for a bit too long to fall for an obvious bait like that. 

Jungkook, who has been looking at you with a nervous glint in his eyes, though, is seemingly not as seasoned as you are. “Realised what?”

“Thank you so much for asking, Jungkook,” Yoongi pats the younger boy’s arm, before turning to you. “I’ve realised that you’re exhibiting extreme levels of jobless behaviour and should take your own advice first.” Next, he addresses Jungkook again. “Can you believe she was chasing Spiderman down the city this morning, too? That’s jobless. Jungkookie can at least put the Stark stuff on his resume.”

“I can, too,” you protest. The only reason you’re doing any of this is for the good of your academic advancement, after all. And if you get some brownie points with Namjoon for it, too… well? 

“Yeah, you can put ‘stalker psycho’ as a previous position,” Yoongi says. “Will open lots of doors for you.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when I become the first journalist to get an interview with Spiderman, like, ever, and get hired to The New York Times straight out of college, but you do you, Yoongles.”

“Correction. Put ‘delusional stalker psycho.’”

“I—”

“Why do you want it so bad, anyways?” Jungkook interrupts, quickly averting his eyes when you look over at him again and catch him staring at your chest, and. . .  right. Spider goo on your sweater. As already stated, he interrupted your bickering, but good thing he did, because you already have one hand in the air ready to whack Yoongi, and killing him might not be appropriate behaviour during lecture. Even if none of you are paying attention to it, and skinning Yoongi alive would be much more beneficial to your career in the long run. “You could just get an interview with Daredevil for the thesis. I think he gives out interviews from time to time.”

Yoongi snickers. “She’s scared of Daredevil.”

“I’m scared of Hell’s Kitchen,” you correct. “That’s very different.”

“It’s understandable, though,” Jungkook says, smiling sweetly at you while he doodles on the corner of his notebook. “The crime rate is a bit high there. I get it.”

“Oh, no Jungkookie, you don’t.” Yoongi shakes his head. He has a shit-eating grin curling on the edge of his lips, looking you up and down coyly as he whispers to Jungkook in dramatics. “She’s afraid of Hell’s Kitchen because she used to think Gordon Ramsey was Daredevil. Wanted to avoid him at all costs.”

It’s silent for the while — well, silent between the three of you. Professor Hendersson has started playing some video on the screen and that’s pretty loud. 

Poor man has no clue on how to control the speaker system. 

“I’m… pretty sure he’s not,” Jungkook says tentatively.

“Tell that to an 8 year-old me who was awfully confused by Hell’s Kitchen, the neighbourhood and Hell’s Kitchen, the television show.”

Jungkook looks at your best friend. “You’re right, Yoongi, I don’t get it.”

Yoongi pats his arms. “No problem, Jungkook. Being weird as fuck is her only charm.”

Jungkook looks ready to either confirm or fight that standpoint, but you interrupt.

“Anyways, I want the interviewee to be Spiderman, because… Lots of reasons, actually.” You sigh, thinking about how to put it into words. “First of all, most signs point towards him being young, like, around our age. He’s part of the digital native generation so he probably has different and potentially more complex views on social media and how it affects his job than the old farts and defrosted chickens in the Avengers. We could also assume he’s very media conscious, judging by how extremely lowkey his direct presence on the internet is, and yet he has a very unique relationship with the Spiderheads.”

“And who the fuck are those?” Yoongi asks.

Surprisingly, it’s not you, but Jungkook who answers for him. “His fans.”

“Please, not you, too,” Yoongi sighs, looking at Jungkook in horror.

The younger boy is very quick to shake his head. Vehemently. “Nah, nah, it’s not like that, I’m just very. . . uh, chronically online, you know.”

“You might wanna fix that, then.”

“Also,” you butt in. If you’ve started explaining, you want to finish explaining. Men, and their short attention span, God. “He just seems like a genuinely nice guy, you know? Other superheroes tend to end up in all sorts of scandals, and despite being high-profile and being around for years now, Spiderman’s slate is spotty clean. So he either has a killer PR team or he’s really just, like, a really nice and responsible guy, y’know? But it makes him a bit. . . well, impersonal when it comes down to it. I don’t wanna do an exposé or anything like that, of course, but I think people would like hearing his thoughts on stuff.”

“And you have the hots for him.” Yoongi adds.

Jungkook squeaks, and your hands shoot out to smack Yoongi on the chest. It’s a reflex, at this point.

“I do not have the hots for him,” you protest.

“Jesus Christ, how did I not realise,” Yoongi bemoans. “You so wanna fuck him, you samaritan-sexual freak.”

“You say that like being attracted to good people is a bad thing,” you hiss.

“Okay, here we go.” Yoongi points at you with his stylus. “Fuck, marry, kill: Hulk in Hulk form, Gordon Ramsey, Spiderman.”

“Dude, that’s so rigged!” you object.

“That’s what you get.” Yoongi shrugs.

“Kill Gordon Ramsey, fuck Hulk Hulk, marry Spiderman.” You give in, listing them on your fingers. “Obviously.”

“Knew you were a monster fucker. Freak,” Yoongi says delightedly. You hit him in the chest again, but he pays you no mind — probably has a dent in the shape of your fist on his chest at this point to soften the blows — as he turns to Jungkook. “Okay, let’s move on. Jungkook. Fuck, marry, kill: Megan thee Stallion, Rihanna, and ___.”

Jungkook looks at your best friend with wide eyes, cheeks already aflame a deep scarlet as he anxiously chews on his now soggy paper straw. 

“C’mon, Gigi, don’t tease him,” you scold him.

“What?” Yoongi protest. “It’s a good line up.”

“Ignore him, Jungkook.”

“— could give us an adequate answer to that, right, Mr. Jeon?” Professor Hendersson’s voice breaks through your little bubble as the rest of the heads in the auditorium turn towards your little trio in the back in unison. 

Uh oh. Busted.

Jungkook gapes a little as his eyes flit between the presentation and his blank notebook, swallowing nervously before clearing his throat. “Um. . .” 

“You might wanna answer him, though.” Yoongi mutters. Utterly, utterly unhelpful. 

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

Hari’s playlist of 5 Seconds of Summer — a nostalgia mix, strictly made up of their first three albums’ repertoire — is blaring through your student apartment. 

Sitting in front of the mirror in your room, you can hear them singing along in the living room as Hari carefully braids Piper’s hair, and you have to stifle a smile during their terribly off-key high notes as you perfect your eyeliner. 

Half an hour ago, all three of your cell phones pinged in unison while watching Love Island on the couch as Seokjin messaged the big communal group chat a simple, ‘seoulite @ 9? who in?’ and a quick follow up of ‘reply or like this at least if you coming fuckers’. 

Which brings you to the current scene: quickly getting ready as you wait for Taehyung and Jimin to pick you guys up since they live in the same off-campus student apartment complex you do, and Taehyung doesn’t drink, but drives. (Like a maniac, really. He drives as if he did drink.)

The quickly getting ready part elongated a little bit somewhere between Hana settling on the green corduroy flares and you brushing your teeth as your phones lit up with a short additional message in the thread. 

Jungkookie [20:34]: me too ^^

To his credit, Jungkook is a pretty faithful lecture-goer, and due to some cosmic coincidence, semester after semester, you guys end up in almost all of the same classes, so you, who is enrolled in the same programme he is, cannot complain about a lack of Jungkook in your life. 

That cannot be said about the others, though. Piper, for one, is pretty fond of complaining about a severe Jungkook deficiency. 

To put it fairly, Jungkook is not the most. . . reliable guy you know. Lacks a little bit of consistency. Too scatter-minded. 

Because sometimes, the man cannot be shaken off for days on end even with some super high-tech Stark Industries scraper (for the hyperbole to work properly, please imagine that they’re producing handy tools instead of, like, weaponry). 

Then, there’s the other times, the admittedly much more frequent times, when there’s just simply no sight or sign of Jungkook until he conveniently decides to pop up out of the blue again. 

But to be honest, it’s the dynamic your little group always had since forming. 

The first time it happened, you were worried, though. Mostly because the two of you were partnered up for a group project that was rapidly coming up all the while you couldn’t get a hold of this guy you’ve known for like three weeks at that point, but the worry, of course, extended to his person, as well. 

Although, after some time, seeing how nonchalant Jimin and Taehyung — friends who have known Jungkook since the dawn of time and are thick as thieves with him — are when faced with worries over Jungkook’s where- and howabouts (‘He’s just home tending to his aunt,’ / ‘He had to travel for the Stark Internship, happens sometimes’ / ‘He sprained his ankle in the gym, no biggie’ / ‘He’s probably helping out his aunt at their restaurant for the week,’ / ‘He just travelled back to Korea for Chuseok with his family to visit relatives,’ / ‘He’s fostering a stray cat, can’t leave her alone,’ and such) you decided there’s surely no reason for you to sweat about it too much.

(And anyways, Jungkook made it up to you tenfold for that one instance. He showed up to your dorm one night with two bags of takeout from their family restaurant — amazing jajangmyeon — and braved through the assignment with you in one sitting on your shitty, spring mattress. Volunteered to hold the Q&A segment following your presentation, and stayed over late into the AMs to watch the first two Star Wars prequels with you. It really solidified your budding friendship.)

It’s probably not that easy to be all cool about any of it when you have a big fat fucking crush on the guy, though. Like Piper does, for example.

These past few weeks were also ones that have seen very little of Jungkook, so the excitement bubbling in all three of you at his message is quite understandable — it means all ten of you in the groupchat have RSVP’d Seokjin’s invitation, after all. And it’s been way too long since a get-together with everyone present. 

The levels of excitement only differ where Piper got struck by a desperate need to change into a tighter pair of jeans, put on some highlighters over her eyelids, and braid her blonde hair into something called a waterfall braid.

But it’s okay. After finishing your own makeup and jumping into a looser pair of pants, you gladly join Hari and Piper in the living room to line the latter’s lips with a dark red colour. Her crush is cute. 

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin and Taehyung blast up Hari’s phone with announcements of their arrival and even more messages urging the three of you to make haste. They throw in a few threats of leaving you guys to fend for yourselves in a cab if you’re not down in 10, as well, but after all this time of being friends with them, you know they’re just shooting blanks. 

Grabbing your coats for the chilly September nights, the three of you lock up your apartment and make your way down from the fourth floor, and into the waiting Hyundai by the sidewalk in front of the complex.

“6.34 after the first message.” Taehyung turns to Jimin who’s sitting in the passenger seat as the three of you file into the back. “Chim, can you believe that?”

“Can’t say I do, babe. It has to be a new record.”

“Do you know who edits the Guiness’? I’m gonna call them on the way.”

“Har-har-har, hello to you, too, brothers and in-laws,” Hari chirps, poking a finger through the gap between the seat and the headrest to prick the back of Jimin’s neck with her acrylics. The boy yelps, trying to snatch his younger sister’s hand, but he’s too late. “Nice evening we have here.”

“Yeah, yeah, nice evening, pleasant breeze, picturesque light pollution,” Taehyung drones on, one hand on the steering wheel while he fiddles with the radio with the other. “Let’s get a move on, are you guys ready? Have everything, all in one piece, et cetera? I have serious business to deal with Jungkook.”

“Yeah, we can leave,” you answer him, while Piper pipes up:

“What’s up with Jungkook?”

“Got a new dog,” Jimin supplies.

“And the asshole refuses to send me a picture of him,” Taehyung huffs as he drives out of the parking lot, before pointing a thumb at Jimin. “And this asshole refuses to hack Kookie’s iCloud gallery for me.”

“After all these years, which part of ethical hacking do you still not get?” Jimin sighs.

“What kind of dog did he get?” Piper follows up enthusiastically, and that conversation entertains the three of them for most of the ride. 

(Jungkook got a doberman.)

Sitting by the window on the driver’s side, you drone out their conversation and occupy yourself with the city view and your thoughts.

You’ve washed your sweater. Spiderman’s washing tip has, surprisingly, worked. Which could be a nice opener for the next time you see him. 

It’s been a few days since there was any sighting of him that you could catch, though. 

Two days ago, Reddit was buzzing with a store robbery the vigilante has managed to stop while you slept, and yesterday, you got an alert from a Twitter account you follow called the Spidey-Watch while eating lunch in some burger joint close to campus with Seokjin and Hoseok, but it was on the far edge of Queens and you doubted you’d even get there in time to witness anything. 

But never mind. Ever since you took this on the mission at the beginning of the previous spring semester, there’s one very important lesson you’ve learned: serious journalism requires patience.

And hell, if you’re not the epitome of patience by now. (Yeah, there might’ve been some problems with your inner zen in the past, but you took up yoga over the summer).

Even if just unwittingly, you lose track of the conversation in the car as you drive through Queensboro Bridge, but then a few moments later, it’s the radio playing faintly in the background that inadvertently gets your attention.

The music on the station ends in favour of the 8PM evening news, a female voice with a bit of an irritating intonation covering a few economic and political reportings your brain doesn’t quite retain, before — “. . . so with the disappearance of Amanda Porter, we urge the young population of New York City to be particularly cautious in the upcoming weeks as the number of missing person cases increases all over the city. Especially people in their late teens to early twenties are advised to avoid remote areas and travelling alone at night. The New York Police Department’s Missing Persons Unit has yet release a follow-up statement since their press conference on —”

“Jesus Christ,” Taehyung mutters as he quickly turns the volume down, sharing a concerned look with Jimin from the corner of his eyes.

The rest of the ride over to Queens passes quietly.

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

The Seoulite is a small, Korean hole-in-the-wall type of bar, except it is not as much of a bar as just the owner, an old woman commonly just called Auntie Aecha’s street-front apartment with a second-hand bar from Ebay dumped into her kitchen in the place of an island, and a couple of tables and chairs scattered around her entrance hall and living room. 

Don’t ask. You’re not quite certain of its legality, either. 

A few things to know about Auntie Aecha:

She’s a compulsive hoarder, and the decoration (or maybe, at this point, with its excessiveness, the lack thereof) proclaims it loudly. The place is packed with rugs, vases, paintings, magazines, lamps, biblical figurines, blankets, pottery and a wide array of trinkets laying around everywhere. 

She has three cats, a dog, and a parrot freely roaming around the place. You’ve never learned their names, but that’s because their names keep changing every time you're here and not because your lack of trying, even when Auntie Aecha, despite her impressive age of 70 and some mystery as she says, doesn’t display any of the typical symptoms that usually come with old age, like forgetfulness. She just simply keeps calling them different fucking names, so you’ve stopped trying to keep up. 

And lastly included in this list that obviously lacks completeness — she’s a self-proclaimed psychic. No other comments on that. 

Namjoon found this place accidentally (distraught from heartbreak, he was trying to go over to Jungkook’s — the only problem with that plan was that this is not the area of Queens Jungkook lives in) last year after getting dumped. 

Ever since Auntie Aecha has personally nursed Namjoon’s broken heart into beating again with imported peach soju, your little group took up frequenting this bar/apartment any time the urge to get together somewhere arose. (And that was only partly because Auntie Aecha gives alcohol to those of you — Piper and Hari — who are twenty-but a little short on-one). 

By the time the five of you get in tonight, everyone else is here, already sitting around your usual table by the decorative fireplace. 

There’s a bit of commotion as they all stand up and everyone tries to greet everyone, before you file back into your seats. Somehow, you end up on the bench seat with Jungkook — even if you distinctly remember seeing him in the armchair, the most coveted seat, by the other side of the table — and shoot Piper an apologetic look as she dejectedly takes a seat on the puff between Namjoon and Hari. 

“Congratulations on becoming a father,” you mutter to Jungkook, playfully elbowing the guy on his side.

He shoots you a confused look, eyes impossibly bigger as he peers down on you. Sitting on the small bench just enough for two people, your shoulder is pressed against his biceps. The material of his large, black hoodie is nice against the bare skin of your arms.

“Don’t look so scared, I meant your dog,” you scoff at him, teeth biting into your bottom lips as you smile. Jungkook’s gaze wanders, and you wiggle your eyebrows, “Unless there’s something else I don’t know about?”

“No, no, no, there’s… there isn’t. No,” he protests, shaking his head as spots of red freckle his cheeks. 

It makes you giggle — Jungkook is rather easy to fluster, despite the many eyes that follow him around hungrily anywhere he goes. As it seems, he’s completely unaware of his own allure, when objectively speaking, Jungkook is one of the prettiest guys you’ve ever met. He has these huge sparkling eyes, an elegant nose, an endearing smile overflowing with teeth, and freckled smooth honey-skin with beauty spots to kill for. And that’s just the outside.

All in all, let’s just say that you’re not entirely blind to what captivates Piper so much. 

“He’s. . . Bam,” he continues. “That’s his name. I. . . um, y’know, found him a few days ago. A stray.”

“You’re sweet, Kook,” you tell him. Seokjin with the help of Hoseok has arrived back at the table with drinks, and places your usual orders — a whiskey coke for you and wheat beer for Jungkook — in front of you guys. You quickly thank them and take a sip, fiddling with the straw as you ask, “Bam. Anything particular behind the name?”

“Yeah. It means ‘night’ in Korean,” Jungkook tells you, reaching for his own drink. “My aunt named him. You, um, you wanna see pictures?”

“Sure.” You nod, and hold your drink out of reach when Jungkook leans a bit into you to fish his cellphone out of his jeans pocket. 

With two fingers, you pick the lemon out of your drink to chew on it — you’re between friends with no one to impress, so if you want to rather unflatteringly suck on the garnish, you will, thank you very much — while you watch from the corner of your eye as Jungkook unlocks his phone and starts scrolling through his gallery.

He freezes, and scrolls up and down for a long moment, before hesitantly handing over his phone to you. “This is, um,” he eloquently mumbles as a description to accomapy the picture. 

You take the phone from Jungkook that’s opened on a selfie of him and a dark brown doberman in bed. The focus is clearly on the dog, given that the picture cuts off somewhere above Jungkook’s chin, and you recognise the location as his bedroom, a few Star Wars and Overwatch posters on the wall in the background giving it away. 

He’s a cute dog, Bam. He looks into the camera, deep dark eyes looking weirdly intelligent, his mouth open and tongue lolling out as he’s laid back against Jungkook’s naked torso. That has abs. Like, a fucking six pack. Wow.

You know Jungkook frequents the gym, he has even accompanied you to your treadmill workouts in preparation of chasing Spiderman from time to time, but in the oversized clothes he always wears, it’s easy to forget he's not actually scrawny. Still, wow. So he has abs. Yeah. Good to know.

Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, so you make the executive decision to zoom in slightly on the dog as you comment, “He’s really cute, Kook. Bam looks like a smart boy.”

“Yeah, he. . . yup, he really is, very smart.”

“IS THAT BAM??!” 

Suddenly, you have a Taehyung-weighted mass thrown across your lap, and two hands wrenching Jungkook’s phone out of your hold. 

Caught off guard, you let out a yelp as you fall slightly over Jungkook, and you would’ve been about to spill your drink, too, if it weren’t for one of Jungkook’s hands fixing around your wrist, while the other balances both you and Taehyung by wrapping itself around your back. Quick reflexes.

“Hey, shithead!” you snap, slapping a palm over Taehyung’s back.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this cutieful little cinnamon roll from me, dude!” Taehyung cries, zooming in and out of the picture with two fingers like a boomer. “Look at Bamie! So, so adorable, look at his ey— wait. Jungkook Jeon, is this a thirst tra—”

“Tsk, children,” an accented voice chides. “Behave.”

You peek your head out behind Taehyung’s shoulder to beam up at the woman who has walked over to your table. “Auntie!”

Alerted to her presence, Taehyung assumed a position with a degree more of civility (he’s now sitting perched on your legs, back straight and legs thrown over your thighs on one side) looking up at Aecha with a toothy grin, telling her something in Korean.

The woman snorts, retorting in the same language. Jungkook fails and tries to stifle a giggle beside you. 

“I brought you children a little something,” Auntie Aecha says, setting a plate of cookies on the table. 

Another thing to know about Auntie Aecha: though she would never admit it to your faces, too big on that tough love shtick she has going on, it’s an open secret that your ragtag group of ten are her favourite customers.

Expressions of thanks echo around the table as all of you latch onto the cookies, Seokjin standing up to offer his seat, but Aecha denies, “No, no, sit back, sit. I won’t stay to bother you young people for long, this old lady just wanted to say hi.”

“You never bother,” Namjoon says between two bites. “Stay, Auntie, please.”

“You kids are too sweet,” she smiles, patting the boy’s shoulder with ringed fingers. Auntie Aecha has the most exquisite collection, full of emeralds and intricate silverwork, unique enough craftsmanship to match her generally eccentric style. Right now, too, she’s dressed in an elegant white blouse and a long, navy blue skirt covered in detailed patterns and a beaded shawl tied around her waist. 

The conversation picks up around the table again, but Aecha lingers. “___?”

“Yes, Auntie?” 

“Have you had your fortunes read lately?”

You smile at her, breaking off a piece of the cookie in Taehyung’s hand. He looks about ready to protest, if only Auntie Aecha’s presence wasn’t holding him back from whining publically. But he decided he could share your seat, so you might as well share his cookie, right? Simple and fair.

“You know you’re the only one who does me readings,” you tell her. 

Sometimes when the group is fewer in numbers, or when you visit in the afternoon for a cup of coffee, you entertain her charade from time to time. You think it’s rather silly — yes, you live in a world with Scandinavian Gods and purple evil aliens, but no way in hell a random old lady in Queens is, like, an actual psychic. Who tells the future from tarot cards, of all things. Right. . . 

Aecha hums. “Right. . . The Wheel of Fortune. What does it mean?”

You’re unsure whether the question is directed on the card’s meaning in general, or on its possible effect on your life. But regardless, the answer to both scenarios is:

“I don’t know.”

She does that thing. The thing that chills you to the bone sometimes, the thing when her eyes seem to dim, like there’s no sight or soul in them, and her face looks paler for a moment under the lights. She fixes her gaze on you, before it slips over to Jungkook.

You feel his fingers, that are still splattered across your back, tighten as he stares back.

“So soon?” Aecha mutters, then: she snaps out of it. A smile is back on her face, a bit weaker than before, as she says. “Very well, then. I’ll leave you kids to it. There’s a clue in the night, ___.”

And with that, she walks off.

Slowly, Jungkook retracts his hand from your waist, while Taehyung’s head whips around towards the two of you. “So, that was weird as fuck, huh?”

“Right. . .” Jungkook and you both mumble. 

You break a bigger piece off of Taehyung’s cookie, and then break that into halves again before offering one of them to Jungkook. He seems spaced out, but readily accepts it.

That’s another thing to know about Auntie Aecha: she says weird, cryptic shit sometimes. But that’s how you love her.

“‘There’s a clue in the night, ___’,” Taehyung repeats in a deepened, mysterious baritone. He wiggles his fingers in your face, which you promptly swap away. “Any clue what that might mean?”

“None.” You shake your head.

“Anyways.” Taehyung shrugs, picking Jungkook’s phone back up, and giddily scrolling through his gallery. “Let me look at more of these Bam pictures.”

You sigh. You’ve long since stopped whacking your brain to figure out what Auntie Aecha’s off handed comments might mean. They’re usually just similar nonsense.

Suddenly, Taehyung is yanked off your lap just as abruptly as he came, before Yoongi’s fingers latch onto your forearm next. “Bitch, I need you at the table soccer, pronto.”

“And that’s my cue, guys,” you sigh, before standing up.

After ruffling Jungkook’s hair, you step over Taehyung who’s now splattered on the floor, then take one last sip of your drink, and leave it besides Jungkook’s beer on the table. 

He’s the only motherfucker here you can trust not to drink it while you’re away.

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

The following Thursday evening finds you tucked away in one of the public libraries of Queens, sharing a table with Hoseok who quietly types away on his short story, while you add the finishing touches to your article for next week’s newspaper before sending it over to Namjoon for editing. 

Originally, you guys came over to the neighbourhood because you accompanied Hoseok to pick up these sneakers that he found on Facebook Marketplace, which turned out to be a total scam, unfortunately.

So, in Queens and awfully unaccomplished, the two of you tried to ring up to Jungkook’s (his aunt answered the intercom, Jungkook’s apparently out) and to Namjoon’s (where you guys actually got in, but were promptly kicked out at 6PM because some show Namjoon’s grandmother is obsessed with like a teenager was starting on the telly, and she doesn’t want you kids around to make a rattle) so without any idea of what to do, the two of you decided to retreat to the next best option of a free shelter in Queens, since you’ve already made the commute here. That’s the library. 

“What’s another word for ‘motivating’? As an adjective,” you ask Hoseok, taking a sip of water.

“Duh. ‘Inspiring’,” Hoseok says without even looking up from his laptop. Or stopping typing, for that matter.

“It makes me so happy that you hold my intelligence to such high regards, friend.” You kick his shin under the table, but it does little to deter him. “I meant besides that and ‘encouraging’, obviously.”

“‘Impelling’, ‘propelling’, maybe ‘provoking’ depending on the context,” Hoseok lists like the walking thesaurus he is — the pros of having a friend in the English major.

“Thanksie yousie.”

“Bless you.”

You finish typing up the article, and send it over to Namjoon’s school mail inbox. Without anything to do now, you immediately fall victim to boredom.

Hoseok seems to be in the flow, though, fingers rapidly flying over the keyboard as he mumbles under his breath, so you scroll through your newsfeed for a while — someone won the lottery this week, a politician is under suspicion of tax fraud, wow, who would’ve thought, another disappearance happened in Manhattan, a baby giraffe was born in the zoo, nothing about Spiderman since you’ve last checked — before opening up a Watermelon Game with cat pictures on the web to occupy yourself with for the time being.

Some ten minutes pass with that before the silence is broken again. 

“So how’s the Spiderman thing coming along?” Hoseok asks. 

After combining two large, yawning cats into an even larger, screaming and wet one, you meet his gaze over your computer screens. 

“Steady,” you simply say, and it’s vague enough not to constitute a lie. You let another baby kitten fall from the metaphorical sky. “Why?”

“Yoongi told me about the spider cum on your sweater.”

“Ew, it’s not fuckin—” you shriek, earning yourself a few ‘ssh’s and a dirty look from the librarian. You nod your head in apology with an awkward smile. Bending your laptop’s screen slightly, you lean in closer to hiss, “It’s not fucking spider cum.”

“Think about it,” Hoseok argues. “It’s his bodily fluid.”

“Actually, a few people on the forums think it might be synthetic,” you tell him.

“You’re just gonna have to ask him that, too.”

Humming, you take your phone out to make a quick note of it. That’s actually a pretty relevant question — for science. 

“Yoongi also told me that you left class early to try and catch him again yesterday and just ended up falling into Meadow Lake,” Hoseok continues.

“So why are you asking me then, if you already know everything?”

“I’m just curious. Unlike the others, I do kinda think that you’re gonna get somewhere.” Hoseok shrugs. He continues typing as he adds. “All this embarrassment without some sort of a pay-off? Nah. Karma is kinder than that.”

That’s. . . wow, that was actually pretty nice to hear. Impelling, if you will. 

Even if it was a little — a lot — backhanded. 

“Aww. Hobi. . .” You pout, kicking his leg under the table playfully. “My only fan.”

“Lukewarm supporter,” he corrects. 

“Whatever,” you brush him off. “Actually, nothing much happened besides those. Taking the subway back home drenched and stinking was a humbling experience, but I’m just gonna have to keep going. For the pay-off, like you said.”

Hoseok just hums again, and turns back to his writing, his curiosity seemingly running dry. Whatever.

For the next twenty-something minutes, you occupy yourself by playing round after round of Dress to Impress with Yoongi (later joined by Seokjin and Hari, as well) and you have lots of fun downrating each other’s outfits, so you don’t really accomplish anything. But who cares.

‘ur ootd look like smthng drawn on a deflated balloon lol ugly butt @ yunkiboongi’ you type in the chat, whipping out the lame PG-13 insults in consideration of the fact that, you know, Roblox is for middle schoolers, when Hoseok unceremoniously snaps his laptop shut, standing up from his seat.

“I’m perched. A quick drink at Seoulite before we leave the ‘hood?”

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡

After consulting Google Maps, the two of you make the twenty-minute walk through Queens to Aecha’s. Sharing Hoseok’s Airpods, you listen to Epic Sax on repeat on the way, while you try to bring up the topic of Namjoon as subtly as possible.

See, you and Jungkook have a running theory. 

It’s not long — it’s just that Hoseok and Namjoon are in love with each other, possibly secretly dating already (this is the point where you guys usually lose the rest of your friends when trying to get them onto the bandwagon, and to be honest, your faith has wavered at this point too, but then Jungkook raised a good point: for the past six months, you haven’t even seen pictures of these people, let alone meet them, that Namjoon is apparently getting dumped by biweekly. Jungkook thinks keeping up the pretence of Namjoon being an unlucky serial dater is part of their elaborate cover-up plan) so Jungkook and you are trying to get any sort of hint or confirmation on the matter, like the nosey little bitches you two are. 

Whatever. You come up empty. After droning on about Namjoon’s chest, like ‘He has really nice tits, doesn’t he?’ and ‘You kinda just wanna suffocate buried between them, am I right?’, which are not at all subtle, you admit, you come to the conclusion that Hoseok must be either oblivious, a damn good liar, or not in love with Namjoon, which you personally refuse to believe. 

When you round the corner to the street of the Seoulite, the two of you step into the flashing of red and blue police lights in the pitch black night. Confused, you hand the borrowed half of the earbuds back to Hoseok, furrowing your brows as you two keep walking closer.

A smaller crowd has gathered around the block that you know houses the Seoulite, some clearly passersby and others most likely denizens of the neighbouring buildings, clad in their pyjamas and a coat in the evening hours. 

“What the fucks going on?” you croak, grabbing onto the arm of Hoseok’s coat with two fingers as the two of you squeeze into the crowd.

The pavement in front of Auntie Aecha’s door is railed off with a police line, officers moving in and out of her apartment through the opened door. 

No. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

Hari and Jimin were here just this morning. 

A weak rumble befalls the crowd as people whisper to each other, too quiet and too much for you to overhear anything. 

You rummage through your backpack, taking a deep breath before noticing two officers engaged in conversation by the police line.

“Excuse me?” you call out.

One of them turns, sparing you a look over his shoulders, before saying. “Not now, kid. Please wait for the official reports.”

“I’m ___ from NYU Weekly News,” you continue, flashing him the press card you have procured from your bag.

“School paper’s covering crimes now, girl?” The officer sighs, but walks closer to inspect your ID nevertheless.  

“Always did,” you reply. It’s a bit of a stretch. 

The most illegal activity you’ve written about was someone stealing a piano from the music room. Which was a fun one, by the way, because how the fuck do you steal a piano without anyone noticing, and yet. . .

“Okay,” the policeman says, not entirely convinced. “The owner’s kids from Kentucky requested a wellness check. We did it. The apartment shows clear signs of struggle, and the owner couldn’t be reached, so the NYPD is opening a missing person’s case, suspecting kidnapping. And that’s all I can tell you, kid.”

You swallow, grip tightening around Hoseok’s wrists, who has gone just as rigid as you did. 

“Thank you, officer.”

The man nods, and leaves the two of you alone as he walks back to his colleague. 

Hoseok looks at you, expression baffled as he reaches for your hand. His tight hold is welcome. You feel like you’re about to vomit.

“Auntie Aecha’s missing?”

NEXT CHAPTER

[andscene-if]

AND SCENE—an 18+ slice of life plunges you, a nepotism baby, into the major spotlight as the lead in a highly anticipated movie, navigating swarms of hate, swirling scandals, dating rumours, false tabloid reports, and invasive paparazzi.

Breaking news—the love interest role in Claire White's latest blockbuster finally has a star, and it's none other than [MC], pictured above, the youngest offspring of Hollywood moguls. Brace yourselves for a wild ride as [MC], usually seen in their parents' flicks, takes on a meatier role in one of next year's most hyped movies.

But hold the popcorn—whispers on the red carpet suggest [MC]'s previous filmography is more "meh" than marvellous.

Is this casting coup the pinnacle of Hollywood nepotism, or will [MC] flip the script and prove they're a force to be reckoned with? Love them or hate them, one thing's for sure: this star-studded spectacle is about to kick off, and only time will spill the juiciest deets straight from the set.

So, grab your shades, folks, because this Hollywood rollercoaster is just getting warmed up and PinkCelebTea will report every step of the way—you know how it is!

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NEXT UP: Our insiders spill the tea—L Alvarez ain't exactly doing cartwheels about acting alongside what they're dubbing an 'untalented and undeserving' co-star. Trouble behind the scenes already?

# Choose the movie genre & title + those of your previous 4 films. # Customise your MC & public persona. # Navigate drama in front and behind the screen. # Shoot the movie cover & go on press tour. # Prove you're more than just a nepo kid...or don't. # Romance one out of four love interests. # Maybe even snag a few nominations by the end!

THE CO-STAR [M/F]—Louis/Luana Alvarez.

Appearance: 6'0. Brunette with curly hair (short for m, chest-length for f), pale skin and dark brown eyes. Signature style includes a white shirt/blouse, top buttons undone, and loose pants. Always impeccably dressed, with a flair for full-on glamour on special occasions, such as the red carpet. Personality: Reserved and quiet. While not everyone can pull off that demeanour, they do it flawlessly. Fans absolutely adore their composed exterior, noting, "it adds to their mystique."

THE MAKEUP ARTIST [F] — Red.

Appearance: 5'7. Long ginger hair, tanned skin adorned with freckles, and green eyes. Often dressed in skintight black or dark attire, with a scarlet shade coating her lips. Personality: Red exudes calm confidence with a soft-spoken demeanour, yet she's not one to be underestimated. She holds herself in a thoughtful, sensual, and quick-witted manner.

THE BARTENDER [M/F] — Zayn/Zara Lao.

Appearance: 5'11. Brunette with wavy hair (short for m, just below shoulders for f), tan skin, brown eyes, and a distinctive left brow slit. They've also got tattoos all over their body. Since the club gets hot quickly, you'll usually find them in something small and non-constricting, like a vest top and a pair of jeans. Personality: Unapologetically outspoken, they don't hold back. Blunt yet surprisingly charming, they've become somewhat of a local favourite in the area, rubbing shoulders with the right kind of people.

THE RIVAL [M/F] — Phoenix Ryder.

Appearance: 5'11. Black tightly curled hair (short for m, long for f & often styled differently), dark skin, and brown eyes. They sport a 90s-inspired style—often seen in loose-fitting denim jeans, a breezy shirt/crop top, and adorned with silver rings. Personality: Suave, charismatic, confident, and a touch cheeky—checking all the Hollywood boxes. As noted by many, "a legend in the making."

++contains mentions of alcohol and drug use, violence, explicit language, and optional sexual content++

DEMO TBA | CHARACTER INTROS

reblogs are appreciated :) thanks for reading!!

[chondrichthyes-x-mantodea]

A post of unfiltered hatred: how my day went

Wake up.

See videos of women in Afghanistan crying due to being told they can not go into the medical field and help women.

Work on my history class where I read about the mistreatment of women. Impressive women who know 3 languages are reduced to beautiful wives.

See I have a reply to my comment from one of the vomit inducing remains of what we used to call men. To preface the post was about self reported data from women, essentially mocking female voices (and I said "remind me how male emotions aren't taken serious").

In its comment, it starts crying about "male emotions ARENT taken seriously by EITHER men or women 🥺😢 I'm tired of women acting like they're moral and empathetic when they only care about THEMSELVES".

I remember how how liberal feminism is massively catered to these sperm donors. I remember seeing those women crying. I remember the content of the post that he decided to call WOMEN selfish bitches on....

Oh, it's all very poetic yet terrible. The sheer volume these things cry and moan about not being cared for while they constantly shoot women in the leg. No dipshit, you, of whom you title the "provider", are just angry you aren't the SOLE DEFAULT anymore. That's the whole reason humans made up this false nature. Can we PLEASE kill these pests? I'm actually so serious. Their vocabulary must be drastically different than human vocabulary. I guess in this species, leech translates to provider?

My Tumblr has seen me become gender critical and join the 4b movement. It's funny how quick things change when you stop deluding yourself. I unapologetically hate these bloated, unsatisfied black holes. Disgusting pieces of shit. And the fact they can see women being raped and dismembered and have the NERVE to get mad at me more than they get mad at THAT proves how serious their emotions are.

[xclowniex]

Hasan Piker is temporarily suspended from twitch for trying to spread a conspiracy theory about the DC jewish muesum shooting.

In a a recent stream talking about the incident, he said (paraphrasing not a direct quote) "I'm not saying it is a false flag, but if you look at what he (the shooter) said when he was caught, you could not have designed a better false flag"

It's clear that he opened with the "I'm not saying" to try to cover his ass as he still says its a flase flag in the same sentence.

Essentially what he is claiming is that Israel organized the shooting to cause bad PR for the pro Palestine movement.

In response to the suspension he said the below

It wasn't critical examination, he literally tried spreading a conspiracy theory that da joos did it, by using the manifesto as evidence. That's mishandling if I've ever seen it.

Also the thing with press freedom is its on a government level. The press should be able to report on anything which is public interest without government interference or censorship. Twitch is not the government. They can not want conspiracy theories spread on their platform if they don't want them spread on their platform.

It is also incredibly disrespectful to the victims and their friends and family to use a tragedy to further your own agenda.

Hasan will likely only be suspended for 24 hours, maybe 48 max, however I hope twitches uses this as a step in the right direction.

[fatuismooches]

Idk if this had been done yet but Dadtorre having a son that looks exactly like him that people mistake his son for a segment?

His lover finds it hilarious, they had their suspicions when their son first came to the world, which grew stronger the moment the infant could open his eyes, showing that red they so loved. Surely, the kid wouldn't be the spitting image of his father—

But then he reaches toddler age and he has the same hair. He's literally Zandy 2.0

His lover would be giggling at him, especially when Dottore has a faint hue of pink embarrassment dusting his cheeks. Damn it, who knew his genetics would be this strong?! Now everyone thinks he'd made a second child segment!

He's not getting 'Congratulations!' He's getting: 'Doctor, why have you made a second segment of your youth...?' from his colleagues!

Things get especially awkward when their son reaches around Alpha's age, people start mistaking him for the segment and give him reports unprompted.

A researcher could spout at him about his father's latest project, and the son would go: "Okay, I'll be sure to tell my father that :D" cue in the horrified look of that poor researcher. Does this count as dissemination?!

While their son inherits his father's face, he did not inherit the personality. Which means they now have a boy who looks exactly like Dottore, but has his spouse's personality running around the place. So people mistake him for this particularly bubbly and chatty segment (he definitely got his father's intelligence though so him tinkering with stuff in the lab doesn't help)

Oh, and for a tinge of angst :3

He inherits the illness.

There would be days when he can't get out of bed at all, pain shooting up all through his aching joints, making every twitch agonising.

This fuels Dottore to find the cure even more, for a memory haunts him. That night where he found his spouse comforting their child all those years ago, cradling his little body close to their chest, on their lap as the child sobbed, begging for this terrifying persistent ache to stop. Dottore could only stand by the doorway of his son's room as his spouse gently hushes him, false reassurances falling in abundance from their lips, promising that they will teach him how to deal with the pain for they have it too.

Dottore swears that he will save them.

Before your son was born, you had always teased your husband about the possibility, to which he scoffed at. (Perhaps a part of him wasn't sure what he'd do, knowing they'd bear such a resemblance to him, a monster.) Of course, you end up being right and you have laughed about it multiple times, much to his dismay. (Despite his kid's resemblance to him, his ever-observant eye still manages to pick out your features that had passed along to his son. The more his kid grows, the more he notices them both physically and in his personality, and he notes them all down, not wanting a single one to slip by him.)

Although the comments he gets are a nuisance, he supposes they aren't unwarranted. After all, it's still probably more believable that he made another segment rather than him having a child. A lot of times he brushes these questions off and said colleague doesn't find out until you break the news to them. They go so pale you think they may collapse in that instant (flashbacks to the time they provided him information, and wondered why he seemed much sweeter than he usually did.) It's probably so unnatural for others to see - the poor agents are getting whiplash from dealing with their boss's coldness and then being greeted by the child smiling widely at them. They watch as his son and you tease the Harbinger in front of them with no remorse. It's a bit scary, to be honest.

Your son inheriting your illness is no doubt your worst nightmare. You would think that Celestia punishing you would be enough, but no, they have to hurt your child too. You have to watch as he relives everything you did, watch as he's robbed of his childhood and so many memories and experiences. You resort to sleeping with him in case he's woken up from his pains and cannot sleep, your only remedy being to hold him and usher him back to sleep. Ignoring how your own body shakes as he cries. Promising that he's going to be okay (even though you're still not.) You can only look at Dottore with an exhausted smile before tucking your son in again.

You believe in him, if only for your son.

[absynthe-mind]

Western PA Anon here

It's been a very interesting couple of weeks, but hey I'm allowed to use my electronic devices. Wanted to let you and anyone else who saw my post know that I'm alive and O.K. Also ensconced in the Ultramarine Quadrant of the Greater PGH Loyalist base at the moment.

You were absolutely spot on about having a Primarch move into my house. I was pretty much on lockdown with him. At least until a few days ago. Apparently the various bases check the various astartes tags periodically. Primarch sightings are looked into but taken with a healthy dose of salt unless there's corroborating evidence. Like someone reporting the charred remains of what was left the ECs warband in my general vicinity. Since that matched with my post, it bumped investigating the post up to the top of the priority list.

To give scale of how important Primarchs are, Greater PGH apparently rounded up the highest ranking Astartes from their chapter and successor chapters from the North American continent. I kinda gather that he's some kind of Father-King of his Legion and their off shoots.

So yeah... let me know if you want more updates because that was an experience and a half.

(First Part)

Woo hoo! You’re alive!

I was beginning to get a little worried for you (well more than I already was), so it’s great to hear an update, make sure to keep them coming, yeah?

Hopefully being ‘secured’ by the Ultramarines hasn’t been too harsh on you mentally, I can imagine it’s a lot to take in. At least you’re probably getting the best treatment they can offer considering you have in fact bonded to their primarch.

You’re pretty spot on about him being a big-shot of the legion and of loyalist space marines in general really.

I can just imagine the reactions you got when they came over to check out the scene, what with all the false primarch sightings they probably thought it was a routine visit to a primaris like I did at first (at least I can say ‘I told you so’ to my flatmate, he was convinced it was just a primaris - plus since we bet on it he has to do dishes for a week >:D ). 

Must be crazy meeting all the high ranking astartes especially since you came from an area without a big space marine presence - have you had any funny or weird encounters you can share with us? How’s the big guy himself acting now he’s had a chance to settle in and have stuff explained to him?

Once again thanks for stopping by and updating us, be sure to keep us in the loop :p

[i-am-aprl]

Two years ago, Palestinian journalist Shireen Abu Akleh, and one of the purest souls alive, was murdered by Israeli forces while she was reporting in Jenin in the occupied West Bank. A couple of days later they attacked her funeral, violated her coffin, and beat up the mourners.

Initially, then-Israeli Prime Minister Naftali Bennett falsely accused Palestinian fighters of shooting her – an allegation that was quickly disproven by independent reports. Eventually, Israel admitted that its soldiers killed Shireen and dismissed the incident as an accident, refusing to open a criminal investigation.

Immediately after Shireen’s killing, the administration of US President Joe Biden called for accountability, saying that “those responsible for Shireen’s killing should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law” (Shireen was a dual American citizen). By September 2022, the US dropped its demand that the perpetrators be prosecuted.

Accountability, officials said, could instead be accomplished by Israel changing its rules of engagement — a demand that was openly rejected by Israeli leaders. Washington has also rejected calls for an independent probe into the incident, arguing that Israel has functioning institutions capable of investigating the case.

The truth is, Israel almost never investigates, let alone prosecutes its own soldiers for abuses and should not be trusted to investigate itself. Only one Israeli soldier in Israel’s history has ever been charged for murder on the job, and that was the soldier who killed British photographer and activist Tom Hurndall. He only spent 6 years in jail.

The lack of accountability in Shireen’s killing helped pave the way for the rampant Israeli slaughter taking place in Gaza today, where over 120 journalists have already been killed.

[cavalierzee]

It's A Killing Field"

“We fired machineguns from tanks and threw grenades,” one soldier told Haaretz. “There was one incident where a group of civilians was hit while advancing under the cover of fog.”

One of the authors of the report, Nir Hasson, said that the Israeli directive to fire on civilians is part of a method to “control” the aid seekers.

“It’s actually a practice of … controlling the crowd by fire, like if you wanted the crowd to run off [from] a place, you shoot them at them, even though you know they are unarmed … You use fire to move people from one point to another,” he said.

“[There are] more and more people who are asking themselves if this war is necessary, but also what is the humanitarian price the Gazan population is [paying] for this war,” he said.

“War crimes” are taking place at GHF aid distribution sites in Gaza, the enclave’s Government Media Office said in a statement, referencing “the shocking confessions” published by Haaretz.

“The report’s direct military orders to fire on unarmed civilians who pose no threat, and the use of heavy machine guns, artillery, and shells against peaceful gatherings waiting for food, are further evidence that the Israeli occupation army is pursuing a systematic policy of genocide under the false guise of ‘relief’,” the statement added.

“People in Gaza have said these distribution centres have now become a death trap for Palestinians,” Salhut said.

“Aid groups have said that Palestinians are left with no choice – to either starve to death, or die seeking the very little food that is offered in the distribution centres run by the GHF.”

Source: Haaretz/Al Jazeera