#intractable hold on me

[musical-chick-13]

Good evening, it is crying over Chloe hours.

[probablyasocialecologist]

The degrowthers are right: There needs to be a lot less physical stuff produced, especially in the way of fossil fuels, and, for anyone with the least sense of justice, this means rich countries consuming less and poor countries consuming more. Such an apparent threat of rich-country austerity meanwhile contains, in truth, the promise of abundance: fewer but more durable goods, less work and more leisure. (Already in the 1990s, the French-Austrian ecosocialist André Gorz wanted to “build the civilization of liberated time” in place of that of wage labor.) The fact that any such global rebalancing of consumption patterns can’t plausibly take place so long as the rich countries of the Global North dictate world history is one more reason that degrowth remains a dead letter under capitalism. It is not, however, the working classes of the Global North that must drastically curtail their lifestyles: The world’s richest 1 percent are responsible for as much carbon emissions as the poorest two-thirds of the global population. Much of the work of degrowth would be accomplished by the dispossession and destruction of the class represented by this sole percentile. As for the idolaters of growth, their god has not only failed but, Cronus-like, has started devouring its children as if these were so many chicken wings. “Growth” fantasizes one kind of fake substance, and “degrowth” another; real intelligence demands attention to how the ingredients of this world are different, not the same. Even so, the advocates of degrowth (a more attractive English word might be Samuel Beckett’s “lessness”) can boast of a sounder moral and political intuition than can the usual apologists for growth: Less stuff, more life! Such an argument may be obviated soon enough, either way, by the specter not of degrowth communism, but of prolonged capitalist contraction. Voters and politicians whistling past the graveyard being prepared for our children may have neglected to consult a recent article in Nature which holds that “the world economy is committed to an income reduction of 19% within the next 26 years independent of future emissions choices” (emphasis mine). Important factors in this bleak outlook include the declining agricultural yields and the massive and unpredictable damage to infrastructure attendant on climate collapse. In other words, even if carbon emissions are somehow reduced through the magic of the market, climate change can be expected to cause about $38 trillion in damages annually by the mid-century, enough to render overall economic growth infeasible. The choice facing the 21st century, then, is likely not between degrowth and growth. It is more likely between a form of capitalist contraction in which prosperity endures for a few but evaporates for the rest of us, and some kind of socialist or communist degrowth in which the well-being of everyone in general prevails over the wealth of anyone in particular. The precise politics of egalitarian degrowth are no more clear to me than they are to Saitō. But universal crisis will license strategies that theory alone could never discover.

26 August 2024

[aryxchse]

hello lovely, loved your jason grace hcs sooo much and wanted to request some hcs for readers first time w him?

americas fav white boy ‼️

romantic hours. / jason grace x female! reader first time headcanons. (aged up!)

a / n : go white boy go!!!

warnings : nsfw stuff and cursing

it was a peaceful day in his cabin. where you sat on his lap and snuggle into him lazily, and he read some book with those hot glasses of his.

you can't help but stare at him and he ignores it at first, but after a few minutes he simply smiles and says "what?"

the way his scar moved with his lips and how that glass looked so hot on his face made you feel hotter and hotter each second

so instead of answering him, you kissed him.

he thought it was just a peck, but oh boy, you had something else in mind

he's thinking 'okay this is it, it's finally happening and i'm so grateful for her being comfortable with me enough to do this.'

but you're just like 'fuckk he's so hot!! i want him like right now!!'

he left the book somewhere on the ground before holding your hips, pressing you against himself

and you knew there was no escape now, like how you want it

jason is very gentleman. he normally is too, but this is a more serious moment so he's extra careful

he knows how to turn you on, he's just talking with instict and it's somehow hot

since you mentioned that you never had sex before (and i like to imagine he did), he's very slow

he doesn't have to rush anything, he wants your first time to be special and memorable

he takes off each of your clothes with permission. like a little eye contact or a murmur to skin "can i?"

and every time you say yes

and every time he smirks when you do

he moves the hair strands on your forehead back to your ear, he kisses the pain away all the time, and he's constantly close to you

after the first entrance, jason had to stop and rest on your neck to calm himself down

he was crazy for you in a good way! and when you both finally intracted like this, he felt like he could explode any second

and he definetly didn't want that

"you okay jase?" you panted

"yeah, yeah baby, jus-just give me a minute to breath okay? oh you feel so good." he murmures to your neck because that's how hot he feels

after that, he's the one comforting you

definetly the guy who cages your hands on bed

with his own hands of course

like your hands resting on the sides of your head, you're a panting mess and he just interlocks your hands and keeps them in place

made you ride his face with no shame

because he wanted you to experience a bunch of things

like this is the last time you'll ever have sex

the moment you got used to the feeling, he cannot stopped himself

and if you gave him permission too? oh boy, you created a monster

not that he's rough of course, he's just everywhere

but the whole time he's so gentle. he smiles at you all the time, he moans softly to hint you that you're doing amazing, teaches you everything and never judges you

because this knowledge isn't something you born with and jason is the guy who thinks the best way to learn is by trying

and believe me, he's having so much fun with your innocence

[whentherewerebicycles]

three quick good things before zzz:

I’ve had a small but significant breakthrough with my most challenging student in the last few days. I have a few theories about why things are going better now but I think the big takeaway for me personally is: if you continue to approach a frustrating student from a place of empathetic curiosity you leave the door open to the relationship improving. if you don’t give yourself permission to write off the frustrating student as intractably defiant or disrespectful or unmotivated or whatever it forces you to keep wondering what’s going on in the dynamic or what’s going on with the kid and what you can do to rebuild trust. I am hopeful that we’ve turned a corner but we’ll see. we have so much work left to do together that it would be amazing for both of us if we could fix whatever had kinda soured there.

my baby is perfect… he is grabbing things and cooing excitedly in his sweet little voice and spotting bunnies across the courtyard. he is one million inches long (longest boi ever) and he’s so alert and he’s working very hard at learning how to sleep. also he recently rolled front to back as you may remember but today he rolled halfway back to front (got stuck on his side but only bc he encountered a pillow obstacle I think). he is just learning so much every day!! I think he’s such a cool little kid and I love him desperately.

I was having a really hard week last week but I feel so much better this week and I just want to hold onto that knowledge. the hard stuff always passes and the joy returns. I want to remember this when I go back to work and am back in a stressful environment too. the stress can feel like you’re just gonna be mired in it forever but that’s not true. it passes. the other related thought I had today was that two(ish) years ago I decided I wanted to change my life in the biggest way I could think of—having a baby—and so I did it. and it was challenging and expensive, and the road to parenthood could’ve been a lot harder if I had had to go the route of adoption or IVF. but I knew I wanted to get here and I got here. so I also want to remember that: you can change your life anytime you want to. it might be hard or stressful and it might take longer than you want and you might not get it in exactly the way you envisioned it, but you can change your own life. you can get from where you are to where you want to be. that rocks.

[notaplaceofhonour]

i know what it is to believe in peace out of naïveté, pacifism out of youthful idealism, wishful thinking, magical thinking, just give peace a chance, all you need is love, if you just believe hard enough, take a leap of faith, let go and let god everything will work out, hold hands and sing kumbayah, to believe martyrdom was the highest honor, to think it’s better to die than to kill.

on the other side of violence & homelessness & bigotry & hate crimes & losing my religion & losing my community multiple times over & multiple instances of being targeted for harassment, i do not believe that. i don’t think i could ever believe any of what i did when i was young.

but i do believe in peace, not that peace is certain or to be expected—i don’t know if it’s even possible. i just know it’s necessary.

i’m not an optimist. i don’t naively think everything will just work out for the better. but i’m going to keep going in hopes that i can help make something a little bit better, if only ever so slightly.

maybe on the macro level it is all intractable, and there is no end to antisemitism or the conflict and it’s always going to be an uphill battle for us. fine. but why should the inevitability of ongoing hate & conflict make me give up the love & peace that is accessible? the conflict kills enough hope as it is, why would i help it kill even more hope by being cynical? that’s just another form of self-harm.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Another snippet. Because I can.

Some terrible, intractable sound grated through his shredded throat. The body holding him was strong, utterly still, and thrumming with blood at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He smelled rich and deep, like wine, fresh rain on turned earth, and something floral. Something sunlit and warm.

Halsin.

“Astarion?” That calm voice came through louder than the others, close along his ear. “Little Elf, do you know where you are?”

Just then, as if in answer to the druid’s question, Cazador’s knife clawed into his back. Astarion dug his nails into the earth. He bit through his bottom lip and felt the prick of blood on his tongue.

“‘M, I’m—“ it was far too dramatic to claim to be fine, wasn’t it? After that little display? “Just leave it.” He managed, all too breathless.

“Astarion, you are bleeding quite heavily from your back. Let me see your wound.”

“Don’t touch me.”

The command was rough, dragged from his lips unbidden. He hated himself for it. After all, what was the point? He didn’t expect it to make anything better— there was no leverage to wager, and he was certainly in no position to be making threats. The hands branding into his upper arms kept him firmly in place. The giant bloody elf holding him was strong enough to do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t as if Astarion could fight back.

So, he had no clue how to proceed when, suddenly the pressure was gone.

Yeehaw ❤️

[ancharan]

no see its the two lines "hold me like a fire / hold me like a river" that are currently fucking killing me because theyre soooo hashimada

how do i even explain this

both rivers and fires will kill you

but the song is a request, its yearning, its an acknowledgement that Whatever Is Going On Here is,  in part, letting itself be swept away by forces beyond its control, succumbing but embracing it

hashirama, in canon, is synonymous with The Will Of Fire, but he's not the fire - madara is the fire, madaras the one from the fire-breathing clan, madaras the one narratively associated with violent, destructive change

like again this just builds off my theory about the Valley of the End because the will of fire wasnt really in hashirama until he killed madara, until "their" dream became "his" dream, until the idea of the village changed from "protect madara and their siblings and everyone they can" to "the village must exist for the villages own sake" - its a key difference, an ultimately nihilistic difference, but its echoed by every pro-konoha actor in the rest of the fucking manga, because it originated with a man grappling with immense, intractable grief, "you've changed hashirama" was the point, he had to change, hold me like a fire, madara was gone and hashirama fucking couldnt do anything but survive

and hold me like a river is the same fucking thing for madara!! how else could you describe his character arc but a man trying to keep his head above the fucking water?? the river represented safety, a place of peace, a place where he and hashirama could be young and stupid and talk about dreams, but its a false sense of security - it always was - their families followed them, and the river is deep and wide, and they were never going to see their dreams realized because true peace isnt possible in this world - but Madara knows the truth - true peace IS possible, there IS a way to reconcile human nature, hashirama is waiting for him at the riverbank and he always was and always will be because nothing is real except the mugen tsukyomi - hold me like a river - and madara sinks even deeper!!!

[equinox-dust]

Eleggtroswing Fan-Made Lyrics

-Intro-

"Hiya best friend!"

"Wouldn't you know it, after all this time, you still haven't survived until 6 AM!"

"But if you ever do, I'll finally let you leave!~"

"Until then, friends...?"

"Let's... PLAY."

-beat drop-

♬Hi everybody!

My name's Flumpty!

Your one and only best friend!~♬

[UNENTHUSIASTICALLY, NOT SINGING TO THE MUSIC]

"... Hey..."

"I'm Blam..."

"My friends and I decided to sing you one final song!"

("I didn't agree to this.")

"Now without any further ado, take it away, Blam!"

-verse 1-

♬Welcome to Flumpty Bumpty's, it's your time:

To beat the egg and leave this place behind.

Your brain is feeling scrambled, the end is out of sight!

But if you hold on longer, you might survive the night.♬

-Instrumental-

[THE GANG ARE CLAPPING THEIR HANDS TO THE BEAT]

-verse 2-

♬Come and dance with me!

No, don't you flee,

why can't you see?

Let's all have fun... in,

Flumpty's jamboree!♬

-chorus-

[THE GANG CHIMES IN]

("What's his name again?")

♬It's Flumpty Bumpty!

It's Flumpty Bumpty!

Oooooh, ooooooh, ooooh!♬

[THE GANG CHIMES IN AGAIN]

("Say that one more time!")

♬It's Flumpty Bumpty!

It's Flumpty Bumpty!

Oooooh, ooooooh, ooooh!♬

[CAM 6 MASSACRE]

♬Come... one, come... all!

For whom... the bell tolls!

Sun... rise... won't... shine!

Now meet... demise!♬

♬Really think that I will let you go?

No escaping your own... Purgatorio!

Once, or twice, or thrice;

Nothing will suffice-

My avarice, for your suffering has no... price!♬

[TIME REVERSES AND TURNS TO FLUMPTY NIGHT]

[TO THE TUNE OF 6 AM]

♬Now you'll face me:

One dozen of us Flumpties!

My, myself, and I are...

Ready to get bloody!♬

♬No sense trying,

I'm time and space defying!

Holy egg divining!

No defining!♬

-Insane piano solo-

♬Impossible, unfeasible,

Impractical, irrational,

Unworkable, illogical

Ludicrous, ridiculous!

Unbearable, intractable,

Maddening, saddening,

Oh, such a buffet of frights,

for you this evening!♬

[DEAD SOULS OF FLUMPTY'S FRIENDS]

♬Come on!

Come on!

Let's end... this show!♬

♬Now just sit still, you will never win!

'Cause this is the Eleggtroswing!

This... is the... E... legg... tro... swiiiiiing!!!♬

[6 AM CHIMES]

[synnthamonsugar]

one-word writing prompts, intractable, mara/eris?

Clad in thermal underlayers and the loose head scarf she wears at rest, Eris regards the Reef-purple skin-pressure suit laid out on the bunk before her in preparation for the day's mission outside the ship. Her eyes linger on its glistening glass dome helmet, boots and gloves that look almost too fashionable to be protective equipment. Next to it, a tangle of harness webbing meant to hold armor plates, supply pouches, and life support units waiting for them near the airlock of the vessel.

The elegant tech stands in contrast to the rest of the objects scattered on Eris' bunk. She didn't have much time to pack for the journey, but still managed to snag some essentials from Sanctuary. A worn field blanket, hive tablets, a leather-bound journal, dried asphodelia bound together with a string of beads, a rucksack filled with carving tools, ritual objects and mundane necessities. Visible only by its green glow, the ahamkara bone shard is nestled among the folds, and her armor lay in a crumpled heap. In the brief time they've been traveling together, Eris has managed to stake out at least this part of the ship as her own. It's comforting in its familiarity, even if it's a reminder of a place that is anything but.

"Manufactured precisely to your specifications," Mara comments, strolling into the quarters in an identical garment. It's not too different from her usual attire, Eris notes, though she lacks the usual capelette or cloak from her Dreaming City uniform, no fur ruff or badge or sash either. Combined with the tight-fitting hood that flattens out her voluminous hair, she looks distressingly bare, fragile almost, like a bird plucked clean of her plumage. 

She idly picks up the suit. In its inert state, it's stretchy, the densely woven network of wires inside bumpy under her fingertips. It feels pleasantly sturdy despite being so light, but she still puts it down after a moment.

"I appreciate the effort, Mara, but I have ways to protect myself." 

"And they are clever. However, I think it's prudent that your magic be spared for what lies in wait on the approach to the Pyramid."

"You underestimate the reserves of my power. It takes little more effort than breathing."

"We are entering the vacuum of space. Eris. . ." There's a pointedness to Mara's voice that pricks at her ears. She's heard this tone more on this trip than in all their years of work together, though this is the first time on the journey she's felt certain <i>Mara herself</i> is behind it. "In our joint ventures, I've always given you the freedom to operate as you see fit, as you've given me. The mission ahead is dangerous, even by our standards, and harm coming to one of us could spell doom for both. For this reason, I must insist you use the best tools available."

"How are you sure mine aren't?"

"Because mine is made with thousands of years of Awoken astronautical research." 

"I am not one of your people." She makes a sweeping gesture toward her armor and hive accoutrements, "This is what works for me."

Their gazes lock in a tense moment of silence. Eris tries not to feel impressed at how well Mara manages to maintain eye contact despite their mismatched numbers. Her emotions are inflamed enough that conceding even this would feel like a defeat. 

"This isn't about the suit, is it?"

Eris attempts to gather her words and fails because they aren't usually hers to say. To think about saying them at all makes her feel unlike herself, flush with an uneasy, jittery warmth. She may hide from the petty and cruel strangers of the Tower, but among her confidants she's never felt particular embarrassment about her physical condition. Had Asher not dirtied his hands with ichor helping change her bandages in the infirmary? Had Ikora not felt her horns and scales when she washed her hair early in her recovery?

So why was she hesitant to slip out of her veil and bare her face in front of Mara? Why was she self-conscious around the woman with whom she'd shared almost everything else: hope, fears, plans, secrets, even the power of life and death? At the Battle of Saturn, she thought they'd crossed the boundary between their carefully curated personae into something more vulnerable, more intimate, but perhaps she underestimated the elegant wall they'd built, mistaking secrets slid through the cracks for its fall. 

Prompted by Eris' silence, Mara tries continuing. "If you feel shy—"

" — I know I shouldn't be —"

"There is nothing wrong with that, but I assure you nothing you can show me will come as a shock—" 

"I don't want you to look at me and see the face of your killer."

Nary a ripple of surprise across her porcelain face. Instead, she takes a step closer, places her hands loose across Eris' shoulders, her touch cool but comforting.

"Beloved, I could see only you."

Eris feels no need to ask for Mara's word, her promise sealed with a feather-soft touch of lips.

[musical-chick-13]

Day number 43235123501295 of thinking too hard about the line "Revenge is the greatest act of forgiveness."

[langevandreren]

A concern that I have

I have been avoiding this for a while - what does one person say about one of the oldest and most intractable conflicts in the world? But I think it is necessary to write it even if no one reads it or it angers people. Perhaps especially if it angers people.

It is about leftist politics and anti-Semitism.

Both because I have eclectic-left views and because I was raised socialist, my media diet includes a lot of left commentary some on Tumblr, much of it elsewhere. And I am seeing things that make me very concerned about what is in the hearts and minds of people who I generally agree with. Certainly, there is much blame to be laid at the feet of Likud and many elements within Israeli politics. I can understand well-intentioned humanitarian positions and calls for cease-fire. I can understand how hard it is to grapple with the terrible knowledge of what is happening and what will happen to innocent people who have the misfortune to live in Gaza. Our ability to feel for other people is one of the better facets of humanity.

But I think it is worth being very suspicious about the emerging narrative that maps this conflict on to the 'oppressed/oppressor' (or 'colonizer/indigenous', etc) dichotomy that many leftists hold dear.

When people justify a pogrom as a strike against the 'oppressors', I am concerned. When people claim that Hamas is a worthy organization, fighting for the liberation of indigenous people, I am concerned. When crowds of people chant slogans that are coded versions of 'death to the Jews', I am concerned.

If a person's worldview and politics include support or sympathy for a fundamentalist cult that uses its own citizens as human shields, and that is very clear about its intent to murder every Jewish man, woman, and child it can, that worldview and those politics should give a person cause for self-reflection.

If one does not know where that kind of anti-Semitism leads, it is worth reading the history of Europe. Any time period will do but the 20th century is perhaps the most well recorded.

[headspacedad]

I - don’t think the actors/writers strike is about money.

Hear me out.

It’s about money to the actors/writers.  And it will be decided by money.  But the money isn’t the reason the entertainment companies are going so hard about this and being so tyrannical and mustache twirling.  As has been pointed out on multiple fronts, what the actors and writers are asking for isn’t really going to put that much of a dent in what the entertainment companies have been making.

This is about control.

It’s about control of how the future of the entertainment field will go but even more than that?

I think this is about a very small group of people being determined to keep control of a vast amount of people.  I think this is about that small group of people realizing that if they give in to the demands of the workers, the workers will have taken the control of how the entertainment industry is going to work from that point on away from them.  That small group of people will no longer have a dictatorship position of unchallenged power, able to do whatever they want to whoever they want without consequences.  These are tyrants of companies instead of countries but the core basics in just about every aspect is the same including in some cases the amount of people they have dominion over.  If the CEOs agree to give in to the demands of the workers, they will have lost their power over them and over the future of how entertainment is run.  And I think that’s why this is such a huge deal to them and why they’re being so completely intractable and slamming down every attempt to get them to bend even the smallest amount.  It’s why they’re so vocal about their intentions of crushing this rebellion against their lordship completely.  This isn’t about appeasing the stockholders.  This is about maintaining control so that they can continue to rule like the despots they think they are.

But like I said, I think money will decide this.  Because the shareholders aren’t interested in ruling over the peons.  They’re interested in making money.  And, at the end of the day, the tyrants may be able to convince them in the short term that refusing is in their best interest but once the companies start losing money - or even looking like they’re going to start losing money - the shareholders will force the CEOs to capitulate.  And the CEOs, who like to think they’re untouchable, will have to either do what their masters say or be replaced with someone that will.  So the CEOs are on a time limit, and they know it.  They need to break the unions before the shareholders stop trusting them and start worrying about the companies bleeding money.  If the unions can hold out until the companies start losing money and the shareholders decide that’s not acceptable, the CEOs will have to surrender.  But right now, the CEOs are counting on breaking them before that and they’re doing it, not for the money, but for the control.

I’m not in the entertainment industry.  I sure as heck don’t know any CEOs personally.  I’m just spitballing here.  But the creatives are asking for so little I just can’t find any other reason that the entertainment industries are being so openly brutal and not even trying to hide their villain level approach in such a public venue instead of just quietly negotiating and giving into most of the very reasonable demands that wouldn’t even put that much of a dent in the end profit.  So it can’t be about money.

It’s the control of the future of the entertainment industry and how its going to run.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Assistant Peter or Best Friend's Ex Bucky?

Everybody Talks

Warnings: unwanted touches, suggestions of more.

Please send in feedback if so inclined. Thank you all 💜

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

"Rough night?" Peter sets down a steaming mug of coffee, the aroma drawing a sigh from your lungs.

You look up from your mindless scrolling and hide a yawn behind your hand. He smiles as he slides the cup closer and takes a step back, a portfolio under his arm. His youth irritates you as much as it piques your envy. He's always so chipper.

"Here you go, boss," he puts the leather folder on the other side of your desk, "this is the mock-up for the Winter spread."

"Mmm," you nod but make no move to take the folder, instead opting for the blonde roast with a touch of oat milk. He always gets it exactly right. "Thanks. Again, boss seems a bit... heavy."

"Sorry, habit," he shrugs and you notice the line of his shoulders, the way the line of his throat leads down below his collar, a hint at the broad chest that makes his buttons strain, "my old job was super strict."

"And we're not," you challenge, "Parker, you've worked here two years."

"It's gone fast, what can I say? And I still can't believe how lucky I am to have the best boss in the world."

"Calm down, you'll get a stellar reference you click on outlook and nearly purr as you have your first sip, "what is this?"

You look at the cup and give it a sniff.

"They had a new flavour in the lounge, sugar cookie."

"Ah."

"I know it's not the usual but we all deserve a treat from time to time."

"No problem, it's good," you set the cup down and rub your cheek as you cradle your chin in your hand, "thanks, Parker. You can get back to it."

He hesitates, lingering, "you sure you don't need anything else?"

"You know I didn't hire you to be my coffee jockey, you got enough on your plate."

"Yes, bo--" he stops himself and uses your name instead, "you know where to find me."

"Sure do," you say as your phone screen lights up and draws your attention. Another call from your husband. He can wait. Or rot for all you care.

❤️‍🔥

"Norman, I don't care-- No, no, I'm not one of your cronies. Or your son. Don't start that with me," you huff into the speaker, your screen saver bouncing against the walls of your monitor, "we talked about this already. You want to go, go. It will be alone. You've known about Paris all year. I can't miss it."

"Darling, you really are intractable. It's an anniversary gift and again, you want to work--"

"Yes, I do. It's my job. It's the same thing every year, Norman," you snap, "and don't begin to lecture me on work trips and family obligations, alright? How many nights have I slept alone while you're out schmoozing your business partners or late at the lab. If you want to talk about this, call Dr. Suzanne and I'll be happy to have her advise."

"Ugh, I do love your fire, dear, but it burns hot," he snarls.

"Oh shut up." You hang up and toss your phone on your desk and lean back in your chair with a growl. You don't know why you don't just go to the lawyer already. Well, you know, the same excuse as always. You're too busy.

You shake your head and roll forward, swiping away the idle screen and setting back to your itinerary. Before Norman, you weren't like this. You liked being home but he made work your only escape. It was an easy excuse not to be entirely alone.

❤️‍🔥

You're barely away as you slowly flip through the pages of the portfolio. The blue-tinted lighting of the editorial is lackluster. You don't recall giving Seasonal Affective Disorder as a theme. You scribble in your notebook and chew the end of the pen. You really don't want to have a whole new shoot but some of these photos are lit like shit.

There's a gentle knock and you lurch back in your chair. Most of the office is gone by now.

"Come in," you call over your desk as you rest your fingertips on the glossy page.

A bouquet of flowers enters. For a moment you don't notice the body on the other side. Peter holds the huge basket of petals in his arms as he angles through, his reddish hair barely visible over the top. He puts them down on the round table by the window.

"These came for you," he says as he faces you, giving a sniff to his shirt, "they smell nice."

"I can only imagine who sent them," you grumble, Norman's oldest trick. You're well past him buying forgiveness. "If it wasn't such a hassle, I'd have you dump them in the bin."

"If that's what you want--"

"Parker, no," you scoff, "what are you still doing here."

"I got a bit carried away planning for Paris. I didn't go last year so... I'm kinda excited."

"Yeah, I... guess I take it for granted," you roll the pen between your fingers and put it down, "you need to go."

"And what about you?" He counters.

"I'm headed out," you say as you close the portfolio, "promise."

He nods, his brown eyes warm and placid as he watches you stand. You give an awkward smile as your knee gives a pop. You're really starting to feel the long work days. He looks down, you assume because of the noise and you do too. Your wrap skirt exposes more than your knee but the top of your sheer stocking. You fix it quickly.

"Uh," his throat bobs, "yeah, I'll get going, boss."

You want to correct him but you're too embarrassed. You wait for him to go before you give yourself a thorough lookover. Everything else is exactly where it belongs. Great, just the young assistant seeing the grumpy old lady's thigh, no big deal.

🤛

It's rainy in Paris.

It hardly matters to Peter as you cross the airport with bags in tow and he babbles on about all the things he's read about. Lindy delayed her flight at the last moment and Howard always came early and left sooner. You try to be patient, try to remember when you were an intern in New York for the first time, but you're drawn thin. Norman didn't even say goodbye.

You get a taxi and give the Hotel's name. It's more expensive so the driver needs no direction. You tip him and Peter follows you out. He follows you up to the grand archway entrance and gives a noise of awe as you cross the lobby. You decide to give him Lindy's suite since she won't be there.

He gleefully takes his keycard and you check your phone. Yep, nothing. Norman's past hounding you. You're as infuriated as you are relieved.

"Here," Peter grabs your suitcase before you can, "I got it."

"They have bellboys--"

"I'm stronger," he winks as he wheels ahead of you, "this way, mademoiselle."

You could laugh at his little act. You trail behind him to the elevator and he lets you in ahead of him. The ascent has you slightly dizzy and you step off thankfully. You check your keycard and point him in the right direction.

You thank him, almost reaching for a bill from your wallet to give him, and catch yourself.

"Anything else?" He asks as he rolls your suitcase to stand against the wall.

"No, Parker, that's fine. Thank you."

"Peter," he says, "two years and you still call me Parker."

"I'm... sorry," you say softly, realising how you reproached him for simply calling you boss. "P- Peter, if I've been rude these last few weeks, I apologise. I've had a lot going on and it's not an excuse to take it out on you."

"Rude? No, like I said, best boss I've ever had."

You nod and let out a sigh, "well, I'll... see you tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early, mademoiselle," he grins, "have a good one."

He spins on his heel and strides out lightly. You close the door behind him and groan as it clicks, the hours in a plane seat twinge in your hips. You have to try to enjoy this trip, if only to spite Norman.

❤️‍🔥

"You can have Lindy's seat," you say as you lead Peter amid the crowds, "wouldn't look good to have an empty seat with our name on it. Especially in the front-- Maria!" You interrupt yourself as you great the silver-haired designer, "so wonderful to see you again. Thank you so much for the gift basket."

"Thank you for the editorial," she says in her lilted baritone, "oh my, have we traded in the old model?"

She tweaks a brow in Peter's direction and his cheeks redden as you peek over at him. You give a soft laugh, not enough to embarrass him.

"This is my assistant, Peter Parker. He's a photographer as well."

"Peter Parker," Maria drawls out, "what an... American name."

"I do happen to be American," Peter says dumbly.

"How absolutely adorable, I could spoon him up and eat him with a nice sorbet."

"Uhhh," Peter gives a squint.

"Don't let us keep you," you gently touch Maria's elbow, "we should find our seats."

She passes on as another voice calls out her name. You continue on to the crowded runway and edge along the front row. You sit and smooth your skirt, a vintage designer piece chosen deliberately for the event. An editor-in-chief can't look a mess even if they feel one. Peter looks good enough in a Gucci button up and slacks, hair tidy enough to seem as if he belongs. You can't help but notice the Louis Vuitton loafers.

"Are those new?" You ask.

"Oh, uh, have a friend who tends to hoard nice things," he shrugs, "and that dress?"

"Not new," you assure him.

"Still, it looks good."

"Comes with the territory. Everyone's here competing and in the front row, the press will be sure to get a couple snaps."

"Wow, is that Shaq?" He looks across the aisle, "I didn't think he'd be into fashion."

"Like I said, people come to be seen and they are seen," you say.

"Oh, right," he looks around and his eyes round. There's already a long lens aimed in your direction, "it hasn't even started yet."

"Yeah, there's really no start or end, it just happens," you say, "last year wasn't particularly great for us. Howard got a bit... tipsy so he's skipping it this year."

"Ah," he nods and smooths his shirt. You try not to pay attention as the fabric draws taut over his chest.

Another guest claims the chair next to you and you greet them, another editor, and settle in as seats begin to feel. The anticipation builds until the room grows dim. The runway lights up with shades of rose. The crowd quiets and Maria comes out to introduce her collection.

As the first model comes back, you make sure to keep your posture straight. You've done this enough times to be aware of every tick and move you make. You have a magazine to represent and right now, it's the only thing going right in your life. You watch the designs and give a thought arch of your brow, the colors are interesting but the cut doesn't quite fit.

You feel a tickle on your leg but keep your focus on the runway. Then the warmth spread across your leg and squeezes you through your skirt. You flick your lashes in shock as Peter leans over as he feels your thigh, "I like the colours..."

"What are you doing?" You withhold your chagrin as you move your lips subtly, focusing on keeping your composure.

"Just wanted to get your attention..." he whispers, "and the press. Imagine what they'll say."

"Peter, get your hand off me." You warn under your breath.

"It'll definitely piss Norman off, won't it?" He snickers as he leans even closer, retracting his hand, only to drape his arm over your shoulders, "an editor-in-chief with a younger man, too? The scandal."

"Parker--"

"This isn't appropriate."

"Don't worry, boss," he brushes his nose along your cheek, "it's not all for the press. I really am going to fuck you."

[zot3-flopped]

The people who see PR in celebs’ love lives got to this point because they hold certain very childish beliefs about relationships and about what pop stars feel about their fans, and also about paparazzi.

So first of all they have an incredibly simplistic view of relationships, which is that a couple should be visibly a couple or else it there is something wrong. Imagine a young teenage girl writing to an agony aunt: ‘My boyfriend won’t hold my hand in public: doesn’t he truly love me?” only there is no agony aunt to tell them to get a grip and that people use different levels of affection at different times - you know, normal stuff that people usually learn really young but these chumps have somehow not. This is where all the ‘he never claims his women’ crap comes from. I suspect they are growing up in really conservative, perhaps very Christian, families where landing a good husband means you have won a prize in life. They need to perform the role of girlfriend as a warning to others to back off, and they need their boyfriends to perform their roles as protection.

Secondly, since they are stunted emotionally, they believe that “the fans” actually have some real measure of control over what pop stars do - in 1D’s case, they fully encouraged this. All the praise of the fans, all the effusive thank yous, all the acknowledgement that the fans know everything - this is what some simple-minded fans cling onto, not the other stuff about boundaries and personal lives etc. It means that they think on some level (of insanity) that the fans and the pop star are working towards the same goal, namely a sort of shared friendship where the fans can advise the star, and he will do what they say. So when the pop star doesn’t share stuff, doesn’t let them IN, they feel a psychological wound, and go on the attack. Sometimes the man gets it; always the woman gets it. (Women are a natural threat: see above.) This is where management fill a role, too: they take the pressure off the need to blame the star himself for rejecting the fans’ clear wishes. Double points if management can be in cahoots with the woman.

Thirdly, they hold intractable beliefs about how the paparazzi industry works, and they cannot be shaken from these. It’s useless to explain that paps have gone on record saying that stars at the very top don’t tend to call them unless they have a very, very specific job that needs doing (I saw a good example of Rihanna announcing her first pregnancy, bump out, head-to-toe Chanel). What paps say is that people calling them for promo are usually at the low end of the fame spectrum, and they have a brand endorsement to do. But because some people call them sometimes, in their simple minds that means all celebs call them always, and every shot that ever appears now is called a pap walk. Half the time they’re just fans with iPhones. It doesn’t help that Backgrid have a couple of times accepted these photos onto their database, from where they’re purchased and published. The ‘low-rent celebs doing a brand endorsement’ might explain why some people are convinced he is actively promoting Lime Bikes. He’s worth £175M but yeah he’s a public bike influencer as well (rolling my eyes).

Here are some truths about Harry: he hates being photographed - according to paparazzi! -so when he looks miserable, it’s not because he’s being forced to be with a particular woman against his will. He doesn’t talk about his relationships and I have absolutely no doubt that every person he’s been with has for a long while been on the same page. He knows how to do PR and he always works hard at promotion so it doesn’t take a genius to work out that if (in an alternate universe, presumably) he ever did do a PR relationship (as if) he would do a good job at it and not scowl at the cameras in sweaty gym gear. He is rarely photographed by fans with Taylor, and currently is rarely photographed by himself as well, so either he’s setting boundaries (good) or he’s not going out as much (not good).

Harry and Taylor being spotted in a bakery or whatever is not going to sell theatre tickets in NY but that’s what those childish nitwits are angling for. It’s pathetic.

It’s cathartic to let all this out but I understand if you prefer not to publish my essay. Thank you.

👏👏👏 So many excellent, perceptive points. You are right about these PR types being childish and inexperienced. There was a poll on @apolladay with about 1k votes and 60% of Tumblr bloggers have never been in a relationship.

Here's a more recent poll with over 1k votes. 54% still live at home with their parents.

https://www.tumblr.com/apolladay/741515281930780672/who-do-you-live-with-alone-with-parent-or?source=share

[h0t-p1nk-ch33tah-pr1nt]

After watching the clips, it kinda made me think of the paper cut outs of like Hobie's earth, the tick tock on the big Ben, the obey, and peace lettering on the buildings,

Ik I've brought this up before of Kath having the same style as him, but what if it was like intractable? Hobie is like squinting at her.

"Is there something in my hair? Wha-"

"I'm readin' the paper, hold on."

[junypr-camus]

Lightning Heartbeat

I count the space between the flash and the boom by heartbeats.

one. electric-charged late night texts, frantic breathing as we listened to the rain past the window curled up in bed, I wrote a letter: love is a house we build with the one loved --- I didn't know. did I mean it? said I love you because you did

two. you painted rose-gold visions of marriage, but wouldn't hold my hand threw me out of the car into the pouring rain without a goodbye then came begging on your knees for forgiveness, told me I love you over and over 'til the words tangled into intractable knots because you were just the boy who ran from the storm to spare his plastic armor from rust, and you sacrificed me to the goddess of blind hope

three. endless summer nights pining writing before the sun caught up to my darkest secrets dancing in the soaking rain 'til I shook in the shock of the hazy scent after the storm love blurred with lust 'til I couldn't draw the lines straight under starless skies I traded the king for a pawn

four. when you denied your wooden words I realized I had forgotten how to speak. for you, I tamed your insecurities, but you dismissed my fears, painted over my dreams with your prophecies, told me my problems were imaginary, said I was loved as I was lost, bound my wings to a cage that I told myself felt like home

five. thought I'd miss you in my month away but I couldn't bring myself to yearn for you when I found freedom in solitary sunsets, in stranger-filled subway rides, in hands warmer than yours, in rain pouring down the gorge through whitewashed towns you couldn't name nor remember washing away the dust, for once giving me clean air to breathe

six. lightening strike

maybe it's just my mind regressing memory under reconstruction of once-perfect moments staring into your eyes under your sheets by the creek, hands on my skin now I wince at the cold your hearth scorches your shelter from the storm became a prison you forgot to wear gloves when you caught this falcon her claws draw blood her heart yearns for the skies

So forgive me if I no longer respond if I can't tell you that I love you I've shredded the love letters burned the past swept the ashes into the street let the the rain wash it away the water set me free