#is it for investors pr? yes. do I care? no.

[pressedstresseddepressed]

ALPINES TIKTOK POSTED AN EDIT OF ESTEBAN AND PIERRE TO STYLE BY TAYLOR SWIFT

[cherrycolored-punk]

WADWSH - Chapter One: The Contest

Masterlist

pairings: 2000s!actor!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, 2000s!bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem!reader.

summary: Bad boy Steve Harrington is in trouble and desperate to clean up his image by any means necessary.

author’s note: we’re having fun, amping it up and d r a w i n g it out. we need angst, and pining and indecision (we is me) 🖤 I hope you all enjoy this chapter and this story. Remember, it’s completely re-written so things are different 👀

comments/reblogs and any feedback is always appreciated !

w/c: 6.8k

warnings: mentions of parental death, absent/neglectful parent

“Are you fucking seeing this?” Steve gruffed, pacing the length of his living room as he clenched the phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes, I’m seeing it just like I saw the tabloids of you cruising around West Hollywood holding a bottle of Ciroc,” Tad’s voice was full of frustration, causing Steve’s jaw to clench. His gaze shot back to his plasma TV.

Images of his wild night out were plastered on the screen as Ryan Seacrest narrated a version of his night out.

Hollywood’s most famous bad boy is back at it again! 

“Steve Harrington was spotted making the rounds and leaving Bar Deluxe with two of Victoria’s sweetest angels.”

“Guiliana, what are the chances he will ever settle down?” He asked as he turned to his cohost. 

Rancic cringed and stared into the camera.

“It’s not likely,” she laughed, and Ryan joined her. 

Their laughs grinding every last one of Steve’s nerves. 

He’d had enough and snatched the remote from the coffee table, angrily pressing the power button until the screen went black. 

“What are you going to do about it?” His voice raised an octave, pointing at the TV with the remote as though his manager were there.

“Harrington, I’m already in contact with the best PR firm in the city. Trust that I am taking care of this.”

“You know this will ruin my chances with Hewitz for his latest film.”

“Just don’t plan on any more late nights. The firm is working on a plan, and as soon as I hear what it is, I’ll call you. Don’t go making my job any more difficult.” The older man grumbled on the other end of the line, voice deeper from years of smoking. 

“Take care of it, Jenkins.” Steve flipped his phone shut, tossing it and the remote onto the couch before plopping himself onto the cushion.

He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose as his mind whirled with thoughts.

Henry Hewitz was the most prominent Hollywood Director to date. Anyone who starred in his movies was guaranteed success, a shoo-in during award season, and Steve wanted the role of the leading man in Hewitz’s current project more than anything. 

Hewitz, however, did not want him.

Steve had a reputation and not one that many directors wanted attached to their films. Offers were already coming in less frequently. The stench of his troubles kept most investors away; try as he might, he couldn’t clean up his image. 

And he did try, stints in rehab or starting new hobbies. None of them stuck, not the way that partying did. 

He was antsy for the remainder of the afternoon, bouncing between activities. Tanning by his pool, lifting weights inside his gym, and even trying to copy a recipe off the Food Network. He quickly realized that “Foolproof Ribs” weren’t foolproof enough for him, and nothing would keep his mind occupied while he waited for Jenkins to call him. 

Harrington leaned against his marble-top kitchen island, reluctantly nibbling on a piece of his creation. 

Why didn’t I just ask Dorota to come and prep something?

He winced at the taste and plucked the nearly burnt rib back onto the plate with a heavy sigh. 

His phone rang beside him, loud and shrill, and he hurriedly grabbed it when he spotted his manager’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Tell me you’ve got something already, Tad,” Steve turned toward his fridge, thirsty for a beer. Voice a little desperate. 

The older man coughed loudly, and Steve pulled the phone away, his face twisting in disgust, before putting it back to his ear.

“I’ve got something, but you’re not going to like it,” Jenkins coughed again and cleared his throat.

“Lay it on me,” Steve rolled his eyes as he used the bottle opener to pull the cap off the glass neck, guzzling down half its contents while he listened to his manager prattle on. 

But it was something the older man said that caused him to choke on the amber liquid and press a finger to his mouth to keep it from spewing all over the kitchen floor.

He gulped loudly.

“You want me to do what?”

“When I agreed to come to the movies with you two, I didn’t mean that I was game to watch your Romeo, Steve Harrington, poorly act his way through another rom-com,” Eddie whined as the three of you walked towards the auditorium.

“Majority rules,” Beth stuck her tongue out at him, her arm linked with yours as the two of you walked a few paces ahead of him.

You giggled along with her.

“Don’t be such a poo,” you called over your shoulder, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Excuse me for not finding the appeal of some Hollywood bozoo.” 

“He’s not a bozoo, Eddie, he’s-” Beth began.

“Dreamy,” you chimed in.

He stopped in his tracks and tilted his chin to the ceiling. 

“God, I know that I ask for a lot, but if you’re ever going to answer my prayers, I ask that you strike me down now.” Eddie’s hands were clasped together in a plea. 

You grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it back at him with a teasing grin.

“So dramatic.”

“It’s not nice to litter, Sunshine.” He followed after you, picking popcorn from his brown curls and popping it into his mouth. 

The auditorium was nearly full as you entered it, the eager eyes of the crowd already pinned to the screen. The theater itself had not been updated since the eighties; the same dusty drapes lined the walls and smelled slightly of mildew. 

The three of you climbed the stairs and took your seats. Eddie on one side, Beth on the other and you situated right in the middle. Just as it had always been since the three of you were old enough to ride your bikes to the cinema. 

The room fell silent as the lights dimmed and the opening trailers began to play. You and Beth squealed when you saw the trailer for Steve’s latest project, each holding onto the other as you caught glimpses of his profile through the flashing images.

“Oh, brother,” Eddie grumbled and slinked further into his seat, aggressively chewing off a piece of his Twizzler. 

He sat through the movie with his arms crossed, bored and occasionally glancing at you. Watching the range of expressions that crossed your face. He could always read you so easily.

If your eyes glittered when you smiled, you were happy. Truly happy. 

If you smiled with an arched brow, you were feeling mischievous. He saw that look often.

If you found something funny, you snorted, and he knew you found something hysterical when there was complete silence. The only evidence that you were amused was how you held your stomach, eyes crinkled shut. 

If your eyebrows scrunched together, you were worried or seconds from crying, just like now. 

Eddie watched as you held back tears at the pivotal moment, Steve’s reunion with his love interest after years away at war.

The strings of the orchestra music playing in the background of the scene pulled at your heart, the emotion palpable.

“And how is this different from his other movies,” Eddie leaned over and whispered into your ear. 

“Shut up,” you nudged him with your shoulder and shoveled more popcorn into your mouth. 

You sighed in satisfaction when the two on-screen lovers finally kissed. 

The credits began to play, and Beth leaned over your frame.

“How good was that?” 

Eddie’s face twisted in disbelief.

“I’ve shit turds that were better than that.”

“Ew,” both you and Beth said in unison. 

“I just wonder if he’s really like that, y’know, all sweet and romantic.” Her gaze tilted to the ceiling as she imagined Steve gazing at her like he did his costar. 

“He has to be. There’s no way he could play a character so well if he weren’t,” you chimed in.

“He’s an actor,” Eddie reminded you.

“An hour ago, you said he couldn’t act,” Beth scoffed.

 It was the umpteenth time he’d had the same argument with the two of you. 

“It’s a sign - I’ve lost my mind.” Eddie held his hands in front of him, his gaze fixated on the ground as he put on the charade of someone who wasn’t all there.

“You’re such a butthead.” Beth leaned over and pushed at his head of curls before she stood up to leave. The auditorium was nearly empty, the screen had gone black and the theater workers waited patiently for you to leave so they could finish their closing tasks.

It was late, and you were scheduled for the opening shift at Family Video the following day alongside Eddie.

The three of you walked towards Eddie’s Volkswagen Rabbit, Beth’s beat-up Corolla parked beside it. 

“See you tomorrow,” Beth called over her vehicle as you opened the passenger door to Eddie’s car. You waved over your shoulder before plopping into the seat. The car smelled like him - weed, tobacco, and spiced vanilla. A scent you’d become accustomed to in all the years you’d known him.

“Don’t be late!” Eddie yelled back at the strawberry-blonde, index finger pointed at her.

“You’re only my manager between the hours of twelve and eight within the confines of Family Video!” She flipped him off and climbed into her car, getting the last word. 

Eddie tapped his knuckles against the hood of his car as he watched her leave, watching the tail lights of her car get further away before jumping into the driver’s seat. 

“Do you have to pick at her?” you questioned as he got comfortable in his seat.

“I only dish up what she’s dishing out,” Eddie shrugged as he started the car. 

And it was true. While you and Eddie were best friends, Beth and Eddie would be considered something closer to frenemies. 

You’d known him since you were kids. He was the first kid in the trailer park to say hi to you after you moved in with your grandma days after your parents died.

Sure, Uncle Wayne was the one who insisted he said hi, but what came after the small introduction was all Eddie. 

The two of you grew up thick as thieves, soldiering through the complexities and horrors of middle and high school together. There was no one on the planet you were closer to, especially after your gran passed away two years ago. But you’d never admit it, especially not to Beth. 

You’d met her towards the end of eighth grade when she transferred to your school in the second semester. You warmed up to her immediately; Eddie was still working on it.

In many ways, they were alike - not that either of them would agree. Both were headstrong, sarcastic, witty, and total pains in your ass. 

“You get lost in your head over there or something?” He glanced at you before quickly returning his gaze to the road. 

On drives like this, you couldn’t help but think of your parents, couldn’t help but miss them something fierce. You hated when it was time to return home, to the empty, quiet trailer that gran had left you in her will. 

It hadn’t felt like home since she passed, but even before it still always felt temporary. Despite your gran's best efforts, you never felt settled or like you belonged. Constantly yearning for a place that felt like yours, chasing the feeling you had when your parents were alive.

“Just thinking of them,” you answered honestly, staring out the window and eyes darting to the stars that dotted the night sky.

Eddie didn’t need a further explanation; he knew how you felt all too well. He became an orphan two years before you. Even though his dad was alive, he was as good as dead. His absence felt at every birthday, Christmas, and band gig he didn’t attend.

Without asking, he took the road toward Lover’s Lake instead of the one that led to your home. He wasn’t up to any funny business; he just knew you weren’t ready to go home, and you didn’t question him as the paved road turned into a dirt one lined heavily with trees on either side. 

He pulled near the lake and cut the engine, rubbing his palms along his jean-clad thighs. 

“You good, Sunshine?” He watched the side of your face, worry creasing in his brow.

Your eyes rolled in amusement at the nickname he’d given you when you were just kids. 

“Just peachy,” you responded, fingers swirling in your hair absently, and still staring out the window.

“Never been a good liar, sweetheart,” he nudged your shoulder.

“Do you ever feel stuck?” You stated abruptly and Eddie’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs, hand falling back into his lap.

“Be more specific?” He was studying your face, what he could see of it, attempting to decipher what you were trying to say.

“Here in Hawkins. O-or like you don’t really have a place to call home?” you stammered and turned to him. Your eyebrows were knitted together and he knew you were worried, sad even. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Not exactly my dream to still be living with my Uncle, who was forced to take me in while I manage a movie rental shop in the worst city along the bible belt.” 

Your lip jutted to the side.

“Wayne loves you,” you insisted and Eddie nodded at your words.

“Yeah, he does but I still flipped his life upside down,” he chuckled without humor and began to pull at the frayed edge of his jeans.

You wanted to assure him but knew he wouldn’t believe you so instead you changed the subject.

“What would you do? If you could do anything, no limits?” 

His lips lifted into a sideways grin, the kind of smile you saw when he was amused and you knew that it was the distraction he needed. That you both needed.  

“Get my music out there. Cut a record and get the fuck out of Indiana. I just want to buy my uncle a house and let the old man retire.”

You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Your dreams felt so much simpler in comparison, almost lame.

“And you?”

You took a deep breath and sighed heavily, blowing a raspberry as you did. 

“I just want my own house. Maybe with some land. You know, like my family used to own?” 

You used to have a home. A big ranch-style house that your parents were still paying on at the time of their accident and when there was no one who could pay, the bank took it away.

He nodded and smiled wider at the image in his head. Eddie could picture you sitting in a rocking chair on a wraparound porch, the golden retriever you’d always wanted resting at your feet. 

His silence made you self-conscious, and you laughed, but Eddie knew it wasn’t one you meant.

“I know it sounds lame, but-”

“It’s not lame,” he assured, “I know it’s going to happen one day. Going to have that dream house on forty acres with two-and-a-half kids-”

“Six,” you interrupted with a wide grin.

“Holy shit, ok, six kids and a loaded husband. Who the fuck can afford six kids?”

“We said no limits,” you reminded him, and he nodded in agreement. A broad dimpled grin spread across his lips.

“If anyone’s dreams are gonna come true, it’ll be yours.”

“How are you so sure?”

Because I’ll make it happen even if I have to work three jobs until my hair turns gray.

But he didn’t say that part out loud.

“Just trust me, it’ll happen before you know it.” 

“It’ll happen for you too.”

Eddie began to scoff, but you shot him that look, the one that dared him to question you. He held up his hands, calling a ceasefire before any shots were fired.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you stared at the lake. It was always easy like this with Eddie; easy conversation without awkward pauses. Comfortable enough to sit with just the sound of crickets chirping around you. 

Family Video was dead; the afternoon rush before a weekend had settled into a quiet lull. 

You sat at the computer, scanning in returned videos as Eddie worked in his office. His molten honey gaze darting to the clock every so often. Beth was nearly thirty minutes late. 

The Goonies played on TV - Eddie’s choice instead of the endless cycle of previews for Steve Harrington’s newly released movies. He drew the line at his job.

Beth barged through the front door, huffing and obviously distressed. Her hair disheveled and sticking to the sweat that lined her forehead. 

“Are you okay?” You questioned as you took in her appearance.

“Oh, just great,” she responded sarcastically.

“That’s twenty-eight minutes, Walden!” Eddie shouted from his office, addressing her by her last name.

She groaned. 

“I had a long night!”

“You left before us?” 

Eddie’s voice grew louder as he left his desk and leaned against the doorway. 

“Doesn’t mean I went to sleep,” she said in a low tone, gaze avoiding that of her two friends as she clocked in and set her bag underneath the counter.

“What kept you up, or should I say who kept you awake?” You questioned, voice breathy in faux flirtation. 

“You know that cutie from the bar?”

“You didn’t!” You gasped, mouth rounded and eyes wide in excitement. Beth had been eying the curvy brunette behind the bar for ages, never working up the courage to ever introduce herself. 

“I did. Twice!” She held up two fingers as you both squealed. 

“Gross,” Eddie gagged, and Beth shot him a dirty look.

“Don’t be jealous.”

“How did you blast off twice and have a bad night?” You interrupted, using the code name the two of you had come up with in high school. Not that it was any use, Eddie had caught on years ago when you and Beth tried to talk in code about her trysts. 

“Because my car wouldn’t start this morning, and she expected a ride home. So by the time I got it working and dropped her off, I was already running late.”

“Oh.”

She turned her head and looked at Eddie with pleading eyes.

“Could you, pretty please, take a look at it, Eds?” 

“It’ll cost you,” he pushed off the frame of his office door and moved to lean against the counter across from her. You turned your attention back to the computer as they bartered with each other, scanning in the last rental return. 

You hummed to yourself as you opened your email and skimmed through the new messages you’d received. Eyes practically bulging out of your head when you saw the subject line of one in particular.

Win a Date with Steve Harrington!

“Oh my god!” You shouted, catching the attention of your friends. Both of them looking at the back of your head with concern.

“What is it?” Beth leaned over your shoulder and read the email, fingers gripping your skin as she neared the end.

“Holy shit!” She shouted with you, and both of you began bouncing in place.

“What is it? Rick check-out Fast Times again?” Eddie chuckled, amused with his own joke.

“I could win a date,” you paused, “with Steve Harrington!”

You and Beth squealed again.

“Yeah, right. Let me see.” 

He nudged you out of the way as he read through the e-mail.

“Seems like a scam.” He backed away from the computer and shook his head disbelieving.

“It’s not!” 

You clicked the link and read through the site to confirm that it was indeed official.

“See, he wants to donate the money he raises to Feeding America.” 

You and Beth awed in unison; Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“There’s no way that King Steve doesn’t have some sort of ulterior motive,” he grumbled. Referring to Steve as the nickname he’d had for the brief moment in time he’d walked the same halls of middle school as you. 

“That was almost thirteen years ago, Eddie!” The two of them began bickering again.

You turned your attention back to the screen and read through the contest rules.

“I doubt he’s some gem now.”

“Not everyone donates to charity with an ulterior motive.”

Beth turned away from him and read through them with you.

“Grand prize includes a first-class flight to Los Angeles, lux accommodations at the Waldorf Hotel, styled outfits for the date, and a private dinner with Steve!” You gripped Beth’s hand excitedly as you read the entry rules.

“Says we have to pay one hundred dollars for a ticket to enter,” your shoulders sagged. 

“Shucks,” Eddie snapped his fingers in fake disappointment. He knew that you didn’t have a hundred bucks to spare.

Slowly, you and Beth turned to him. 

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Beth looked at him with murderous intent.

“I think you want to donate twenty-five to the cause, don’t ya Eds?” She asked as she stood straight and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Would you, Eddie? Please?” your lip practically jutted out into a pout as you waited for his response. 

And how could he ever say no to you?

He groaned and reached for the wallet nestled in the back pocket of his jeans before handing you a few bills he didn’t bother to count.

“Guess I can’t say no to feeding the hungry,” he muttered, refusing to acknowledge that there was even a slight possibility you’d win.

You jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close before acknowledging the money he was willing to give you. Your lips pressed to his cheek, and you pushed off his chest before grabbing the money.

“You’re the best, Eds!” You gleamed, but Eddie was still in shock—cheek vibrating from where your lips had just pressed, and how affected he was by the moment wasn’t lost on Beth.

She shot him a knowing smile as he shook his head from the stupor but didn’t say more about it as she reached for her purse. 

“Eddie gave you thirty, and here’s twenty more. Now you just need fifty.”

You bounced with excitement, pulling them both close in another embrace.

“Have I said that you guys are my best friends?” 

“I know I am, but Beth?” 

The strawberry blonde shot her hand towards his ribs, and he winced as though he’d been mortally wounded. 

You were too blissed out to notice - images of your imaginary date with Steve Harrington already popping into your head. 

Three Weeks Later…

The Hideout was crowded, bodies pressed together and huddled around the makeshift stage. You and Beth weren’t amongst the large crowd, though, opting instead for your usual seats near the bar—the spot where you’d have the perfect view of Corroded Coffin as they played their usual Thursday night gig. 

“I can’t believe the turn-out,” you exclaimed, eyes darting around the hole-in-the-wall that never saw this many people. 

“I know,” Beth remarked incredulously. 

Both of you were shocked for very different reasons.

Eddie had begun to play shows at the local bar back in eleventh grade. His usual crowd had consisted of the same five drunks, but over the years, the popularity of the band, his popularity, had grown exponentially. Far surpassing the occupancy limits of the small space. 

People had started to come from all over the state, even out of state, to see them perform. Their followers on MySpace had nearly tripled what they used to be, and their monthly listeners had doubled, but Eddie had yet to accept that his band was known, that they could play at a bigger venue, or even book a small tour. Even when you’d shown him the evidence, he’d rolled his eyes. Too afraid to believe that his dreams might be within grasp. 

The bar lights dimmed, and the stage lights came on, illuminating the wooden platform in shades of red. The crowd began to cheer, surging forward to get as close as possible to the stage.

Gareth, Jeff, and Xander took the stage with their instruments, each giving a small wave as they did. Jeff began to strum on his guitar before Gareth joined with his drums, freestyling before Eddie came on stage. 

They loved to tease the crowd. 

Eddie came out a few moments later, waving his hands to greet the crowd. Amping up the energy even more. The buzz of it felt in the air. 

“Holy shit,” He breathed into the microphone as he took in how many people were there.

“How are we doing?”

The crowd’s yells grew even more in response to his question.

“I hope you’ll indulge me tonight. I want to do something a little different than our usual sound. Something I’ve been working on with the guys,” he turned and pointed to his bandmates with a bright smile. 

The audience cheered, and Eddie nodded as they did.

“Anyone a fan of Audioslave?

They roared a resounding yes.

“Me too,” he nodded again, “This is a cover of Like a Stone. I hope you enjoy it.”

The stage lights changed, washing the band in blue. A more somber mood settled over them as they began to play the song's opening. Eddie bobbed his head as his friends played, eyes closed as he felt the music and your gaze focused on him. You loved seeing him in his element, a different kind of focus that fell over him that you only ever saw when he played dungeon master during campaigns. Passionate. Happy. And it looked so good on him.

“On a cobweb afternoon, in a room full of emptiness,”

Eddie’s voice was rich, enveloping you in its warmth as he sang. Your eyes traced over his features. Noticing him in a way you hadn’t in a long time. The slope of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, the sharp edge of his jaw and it was like your childhood crush was rearing its ugly head. Surging forward and nearly knocking you to your feet. 

His eyes found you in the crowd, and it felt like he was singing to you.

“I’ll wait for you there like a stone,

I’ll wait for you there alone.”

You swallowed harshly, blinking rapidly as you gripped the glass cup you held before chugging down its contents. 

He isn’t singing to you. Get a grip.

You were best friends, but there was a time when you wanted more. 

Throughout your senior year, you yearned for Eddie to notice you the way that all girls wanted to be noticed when they fell in love with their best friend, but he never saw you that way. His attentions were on Paige, some girl who claimed she’d help him get his music to a reputable producer, and then on Chrissy, the head cheerleader he’d had a crush on since all of you were in middle school. 

It was never you, and you had accepted that long ago, but seeing him on stage roused something inside you. Something that unfurled its wings and took flight in your gut, creating a flurry of excitement. Making you nervous, anxious, and overwhelmed. 

The song continued, Eddie’s deep voice turning you into a puddle. He was right; it wasn’t the band’s usual sound. It was melancholy, a longing felt in each lyric, and you wondered who it was for, who Eddie thought of as he sang.

You glanced back up and noticed that Eddie’s attention was still on you somehow despite the size of the crowd. 

His vocals kicked up, and he hit every note like a plea.

“I’ll wait for you there like a stone,

I’ll wait for you there alone.”

Your breath hitched, lungs squeezing tightly as though you were in the middle of the crowd being pushed on all sides. Claustrophobic. Overwhelming.

“I know I usually shit on Eddie, but oh my god,” Beth cut through your trance and you gave her a tight grin.

“They sound so fucking good,” her breath was warm in your ear. The smell of gin enveloping you. 

“He does,” you breathed. 

Your muscles were tensed the rest of their show, and you felt like you were drowning in your thoughts. In the feelings that’d crept up from their burial site deep within your ribs. You didn’t take a breath until Eddie was no longer on stage. Until the stage lights dimmed and the bar lights came back on.

“Listen to me,” Beth grabbed your arm and your attention.

“Do not tell Eddie what I said. He can’t know that I think he’s good.”

“Why not?” You laughed, brows pushed together in confusion.

“Because he’ll never let me live it down!” She insisted with a roll of her eyes. You knew that she wasn’t wrong. If there was anything that Eddie enjoyed, it was teasing her. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” you promised, holding up your pinky finger to seal it. Her finger encircled yours, and you kissed the side of your hand—an official pact. 

“What’s the secret?” Eddie interrupted, sliding into the bar stool next to you. You jolted at his sudden appearance, frazzled by the sight of him. 

“What do you mean,” you questioned, avoiding eye contact but entranced by the smell of his cologne: spice and vanilla with a slight hint of tobacco. 

And why is your mouth watering? 

Your eyes widened at the realization.

“I walked in on the sacred pact. I know you guys are hiding something,” he pointed between the two of you. 

“Great set tonight,” you changed the subject - sort of. 

“Yeah, yeah, it was fun,” Eddie glanced around the bar. At the strangers who were still eying him and debating whether or not to approach. 

“Surprised by the new song,” you began to broach the subject. 

“Just a little something I’ve been working on,” he shrugged.

“I heard, but who has my best friend all glum?” You poked his side with a grin that didn’t meet your eyes, and he could tell something was bothering you.

“Just a girl,” he chuckled.

“Must be some girl,” your smile fell, and you played with the condensation on your glass.

“She is,” Eddie assured, eyebrows lost in his bangs—a mournful look painting his gaze.

Did you really not know?

“Eddie, use your newfound local fame for some good and get us some free drinks,” Beth interrupted, begging as she finished her gin and tonic. 

“No way,” he scoffed.

“Come on!” She whined.

“What if I played you for them?” You challenged with a lilt of your brows.

“Ok, but if I win, you’re buying the drinks.” Eddie set the terms and pushed off the bar stool.

“Deal,” you held your hand out to shake on it. His warm palm slid against yours, his large hand enveloping your smaller one. You could feel the calluses on them, evidence of his years of practice and manual labor. He shook your hand gently, holding onto you for a moment. Swallowing hard at the simple contact. 

“Go win us some drinks!” Beth interrupted again, shaking your shoulders and egging you on. Your hand slipped from his, heat growing in your cheeks.

“301?” you challenged as you pushed off your barstool. 

“Game on,” Eddie said in agreement and followed.

The two of you walked towards the dartboard, pushing each other playfully as you did.

“I’ll take a pina colada, Munson. Make you order something the bartender might hate you for,” you teased. Eyes tracing up his jean-clad legs, admiring how they hugged his thighs as he pulled the darts from the board.

“Oh, you’re toast,” he muttered over his shoulder. 

He walked over and handed them to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. Had he caught you staring?

“Ladies first,” he beckoned you to stand in front of him, allowing you to start the game.

You lined up, feet dancing along the tapped line that desperately needed to be replaced. Your tongue stuck out to the side as you concentrated, arm moving back and forth as you got ready to aim. To start the game, you needed to double in.

“Scared to lose?” Munson questioned, his breath fanning against your ear. You tried to hide the shiver that traveled up your spine in response and threw the dart - hitting the double ring next to the number eighteen.

“Not a chance,” you flashed him a cocky smile.

“Lucky hit,” he rolled his eyes and stepped back to allow you to throw your other two darts.

They landed where you aimed them, bringing your score down from 301 to 231.

“Your turn, Munson.” You walked to the board and grabbed your darts, standing behind him as he lined up with his own.

You giggled as you noticed that the two of you shared the same look of concentration. Eddie’s brows were pushed together, tongue jutted out as he looked to aim. You stood on your tiptoes, leaning close to his ear.

“Miss, miss, miss,” you whispered. 

Eddie stilled, and you felt his muscles tighten underneath the palm of your hand that rested on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, the scent of your perfume filling his lungs: vanilla musk and jasmine. 

He turned to you, chestnut eyes boring into your gaze, as he released his dart. If this were a movie, he would’ve made the shot. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t. Instead, the dart fell to the ground, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Eddie was entranced all the same. 

“Already losing, and you haven’t even joined the game,” you swallowed harshly. Teasing him to cover how his gaze was affecting you once more. 

The game continued like this, each of you trying to distract the other, but in the end, you had won, much to Eddie’s chagrin. Beth cheered from her seat, nearly falling off the barstool in her excitement. 

“Looks like you owe me that pina colada,” you raised your eyebrows smugly as you looked at him. 

“Fuck me,” Eddie grumbled to himself.

Getting your drinks wasn’t an issue; the issue was having to talk to the bartender. Violet Jennings had a massive crush on him since the second grade, one that never faded or wavered, and every time he was in the bar, her eyes remained glued to him. It might even be cute if she weren’t so intense. 

As he approached, Violet dropped everything she was doing and walked to where he stood. The only thing separating them was the wood of the bar top.

“What can I get you, Eddie,” she said his name. Breathy and affected. 

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink because he could feel you and Beth watching him—your giggles carrying through the air.

“Can I get a pina colada, a gin and tonic, and just a pint of whatever is on tap?”

“Whatever you desire,” she nodded her head and jutted her chest out, but Eddie didn’t dare glance down. No matter how great her cleavage may be. 

She began to prepare his order, and he looked toward your table, you and Beth throwing him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, tapping his fingers against the bar as he waited.

“Here you are, on the house of course.” She winked at him. It wasn’t his newfound fame that got the drinks but her neverending crush. 

“Thanks,” he tilted his chin towards her as he grabbed the glasses. Doing his best not to drop the drinks. 

“Here you go, assholes,” he murmured as he pushed the drinks onto the table. You excitedly grabbed for yours, humming as the sugary drink slid against your tongue and the rum burned your throat. 

“We won these fair and square,” Beth argued and took a sip of her drink, shooting him a glare.

“No, Sunshine here won them fair and square. You just made her do your bidding.” 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes and looked over at the bar. Spotting the girl she’d spent the night with three weeks ago. Her eyebrow raised, a warm feeling settling into her stomach as she recalled that night.

“This a snooze,” she looked at you both before jumping from her seat and walking towards the girl. You chuckled as you watched her leave, sauntering to the brunette whose name you still did not know.

You looked back at Eddie, a smile still wide on your lips.

“Did you ever hear back about the contest,” he asked suddenly, feigning disinterest. 

“No,” you sighed, “but it was a long shot anyway. Plus, in what world would I go on a date with Steve Harrington.”

“You say his name like he’s some god,” he scoffed.

“Shut up, I do not,” you grumbled, cheeks growing warm.

“Y’know there’s better guys out there than some lame actor, right?”

“Eddie, you act like even if I had a date with Steve, that he’d be interested in me. I wouldn’t measure up to the models and actresses he’s dated.”

“He’d be an idiot if he wasn’t interested.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and you struggled to respond. Settling on deflecting instead of overthinking what he said.

He’s your best friend; of course, he’s going to say that.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to worry about hypotheticals and whether or not he would or wouldn’t be interested because I didn’t win. Now enough about me,” you nudged him, “You need to do something with the attention Corroded Coffin has now,” you urged.

“I want to,” he closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, “but I just don’t wanna make the wrong move, and what if no one is interested?”

“There is plenty of interest. Did you not see the size of the crowd?” You waved your arms around the room. 

“Yeah, from fans, but that doesn’t mean a record executive will be interested,” he gulped his beer down.

“You are stubborn as always,” you tilted your head up and looked back at him.

“Submit the demos. The worst that someone can say is no, and you’ll still have the growing fanbase if they do.” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he shook his head. 

“Stop,” he pushed your face away, “you make that face, and I fold.”

You beamed and grabbed onto his arm, taking note of how his bicep felt beneath your fingers.

“Please, please listen to me, Eddie. I know your big break is around the corner, and when you make it, the only thing I ask is that you remember little ol’ me when you’re jetting around the world or marrying Heidi Klum.”

“Who?”

It was your turn to push his head away.

“Just promise?” you held a pinky finger up. It was his turn to make a pact. 

“I promise,” his pinky circled yours and you kissed the other side of your hand, gaze never leaving his. Wishing that it was his lips that you were kissing instead.

The next morning you woke up, head a little heavy from the alcohol you drank and dragging ass to the restroom to start getting ready for work.

You started the shower, turning the nob until it was nearly scalding, just how you liked it. Steam already filling the small bathroom when you stepped behind the shower curtain. You hummed as you worked the shampoo into your scalp, thinking of all you had to do at work. Creating a grocery list in your head for when you got off and went to the grocery store. 

It was a Friday night, movie night with your two best friends, and it was your turn to host. You debated whether to torture Eddie with another rom-com starring your favorite actor or if you should give in and watch one of his favorites. You always chose based on what was easiest to make themed foods for and never found it easy to make anything around any of the horror movies Eddie loved. 

The sound of someone pulling near your trailer interrupted your thoughts and caused you to stop humming as you listened closely. You could hear car doors slam shut and the sound of footsteps approaching. 

You rinsed your hair, shut off the water, and stepped out into the cold air.

What the hell?

A sharp rap at the door startled you and you hugged your towel close, quickly darting to your room to change so you could answer the door.

You took hesitant steps, pressing your body against the wood and peering through the peephole. A woman stood on the other side, preening as she waited for you to answer. 

Slowly you opened the door, poking only your head out.

“Can I help you?”

She said your name excitedly, and your eyebrows pushed together, unsure how she knew you or your full name.

“Yes?” 

“I’m Vanessa with WRTV!”

“Okay?” 

Everything came out like a question because why was she here?

“I’m here to interview you about winning a date with Steven Harrington,” she beamed, cameraman rushing up behind her. Lens focused on you.

“I won?” Your eyes bulged, and you threw the door open.

“Congratulations!” 

You squealed and jumped in place excitedly, wet hair sending droplets of water in the air. 

People began to poke their heads outside their doors at the ruckus and the scene of news trucks outside your trailer. All the neighbors stared including Eddie. 

“Eddie, I won!” You turned to him and invited him over, but with the camera pointed at you, he only arched a curious brow. 

Usually, you’d shrink away from the attention, but as you prattled through Vanessa’s interview questions, all you could think about was your luck. 

How you’d just won a date with Steve Harrington.

-

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[sweaterkittensahoy]

Oh, look, more Ted Lasso 3.1 thoughts

So many. Let's go to the bullet points:

Rebecca thinking she's fine about the whole Rupert and Nate thing and clearly NOT being okay with it to the point of wanting Ted to be an asshole in response to Nate, but then, when Ted is Ted, Rebecca's realization comes from Keeley PRAISING her for a decision she didn't even make. But Rebecca realizing through Keeley's genuine praise (because Keeley wasn't there) that the best decision is to let Ted be Ted was just a really great, layered Rebecca moment.

Keeley's office doesn't look like Keeley. The neon sign does. Her wardrobe does. Those people in that office? The couch furniture in her own office? None of that is Keeley. That is Keeley thinking this is what it looks like to go into corporate PR with investor money. I look forward to watching furry pillows and glittery accessories take over the office as Keeley finds her confidence in a different phase of her career.

We all fucking know Roy is the one who decided they needed a break, and Roy, you fucking walnut. I get it. I look forward to the story of it. But the story is Keeley saying, "If I put this off again," and trying to comfort Roy, and Phoebe, smart nugget that she is, knowing stupid when she sees it. Keeley has agreed to this break up because Roy thinks it's needed, and she has no doubt spent a lot of time trying to talk him out of it. They deserve each other wholly, and I can't wait for Roy to get slapped in the face with that.

The himbos are doing great. So proud of all of them. But, yes, especially Jamie but also Richard making clear that a fine wine is not an expensive wine. But also also, all of our boys.

I love you, Jan Mass. You keep up being Dutch, kiddo.

Beard being proud of Ted for learning soccer shit and also knowing how long to wait before getting back on the bus with a toad venom-addled driver is just the perfect dichotomy of Beard.

I have a lot of thoughts about Ted's actual relationship with Henry (clearly positive and happy and healthy) and what he thinks the relationship is (distant and unhappy because he's not physically there), but if I go down that road, I'm never coming back. In short, I hope that part of Ted's journey this season is realizing he is a great fucking father and that physical distance doesn't change that.

Ted calling Sharon for a clearly planned session right after dropping off Henry? That is fucking PROGRESS my friends. And not just that, but also he doesn't question Sharon setting time boundaries OR setting personal boundaries.

I LOVE that Sharon allows him to ask personal questions because the personal connection is absolutely what Ted needs. And I love that she refuses to give him clear answers and doesn't rise to the bait he tries to set out with 'You usually say no'. The way he asks the team and the sport then asks the number of Australians, then guesses rugby, and Sharon confirms NOTHING? That's top-tier therapist shit. And we all knew she was that good, but now Ted clearly knows it too and TRUSTS it, more importantly.

I didn't notice until gif sets, but they named the stadium after Earl. Which. Shut up.

Higgins having matching Keeley mascara on his shirt makes me SO HAPPY. Because it tells you without showing you that Higgins and Keeley are still close and caring about each other. And Rebecca and Higgins having a moment about it is so NICE. Just NICE. It's fucking NICE.

I mentioned Sharon's boytoy in another post, but I want to repeat it because 1) she deserves it, and 2) he shows he deserves HER because he's wearing headphones while she talks to a client, and he doesn't take them off until after she walks in the room, clearly off the phone. He respects her as a professional. This is very important and excellent.

I am going to find Rupert and kick him in the balls as many times as I can in one minute, then I'm going to take a five minute breather and start again.

The isolation of Nate at West Ham (alone on the escalator; not answering to a polite hello; standing far away from his co-coach on the field; working far away from the locker room) is intentionally uncomfortable for us as an audience. We're used to a very collaborative coach in a close-knit environment. But that's not Nate's story. Nate's story is one of thinking isolation and arrogance will save him from his worst self-fears. We all know that shouldn't be his goal, but it isn't about how WE know he's wrong. It's about NATE figuring out he's doing it wrong.

There is no fucking way Rupert didn't know it was Nate's car when he towed it. New guy. New car in the fancy lot. Does he ask, though? No. That would be healthy. Instead, he sets it up so Nate can see he's disappointed in him without him saying it (a common abuse tactic), and then lovebombing him with a new car as a way to tighten his control (another common abuse tactic). He also encouraged Nate's worst tendencies to build a sense of safety that isn't actually there because Rupert will absolutely use those same groomed instincts at a later date against Nate (more abuse tactics).

I hope Rupert gets him by a team bus is what I'm saying. And I want Nate to be driving it and do it on purpose, frankly.

I don't want it to be Rebecca only because she's beyond that point of her anger. But I def want her to be a character witness for Nate.

I want Ted to stay in England. He's talking a lot about how he doesn't know why he is where he is or doing what he's doing. And I know a lot of people hope he goes back to Kansas. But that's not my hope. My hope is that Ted will realize he's doing great stuff with these boys and that he's a great dad even with physical distance, and he finds a new love and appreciation for himself that is directly connected to making this huge, confusing, and messy leap to go to England.

You can do something dumb (run to England to escape your failing marriage) and learn that while your instincts may have been dumb, the overall result is positive and good for you.

Which, also, could be Nate's arc this season. He made several dumb decisions about being a source and going to West Ham, but the end result could be, "Oh, shit, I don't want to be this shitty person." and then he can grow and change on a similar but different path to Ted.

Okay, that's enough. That's very long. I get a lot of feels.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND PROFILERS

If they were just like us, then they had to work very closely with a program written in a certain language, it might be worth a hundred times as much on sales as on development. The narrow focus makes it a sort of puzzle, and the heart attack had taken most of a day to kill him. Now I know a number of independent things.1 Since speed doesn't matter in most of a program, you won't know for sure whether its message will resonate with you till you hear it. In technology, the low end. VCs invest in a company with a real product and real revenues, we might have done well. It will be about whatever the title says, and the essay will still survive. Growing too slowly is particularly dangerous in a business must, ex officio, understand it. Keeping a lid on meanness. The key is to know what's what. And if the company merely breaks even on the deal. Most companies, at least, is run by real hackers.

It's never just a straight trade of money for stock. The Cro-Magnons would have been that Microsoft would crush them. So traffic became the thing to get at Yahoo. If I were going to do this was at trade shows. But why do we conceal death from kids?2 Whatever computers are made of in a hundred years will not, except in special applications, be massive parallelism. Of all the reasons we lie to people it's not part of any conscious strategy, but because it is simply the most powerful you can get it done quickly and get back to work after dinner. In the MIT CS department, there seems to be able to say they were funded by Sequoia, even if you get growth, everything else tends to fall into it. In a competitive situation, that's an advantage. If you're raising money from multiple investors, as most companies do in phase 2.3

Ideally when you've raised enough.4 The trouble with lying is that you have lousy judgement. You can see that machine language is very low level.5 Paris you can see shortcuts in the solution of simple ones, and no particular connection between them. In retrospect this was stupid. You're about to hire your first employee. Steve Jobs, Larry Ellison, Michael Dell, Jeff Bezos, Gordon Moore. The job of programmers was just to take the work of PR firms really does get deliberately misleading is in the bank. He said that in the next ten feet, this is the right way to write software for a startup to work on?

N things is random access.6 And they are then surprised how difficult and unpleasant it is. Instead of asking what problem should I solve? Hear no till you hear yes. Fouls happen. Startups are often described as emotional roller-coasters. Our hypothesis was that if we wrote our software in a weird AI language, with a filter for quality. This is also true of starting a startup generally. As this gap widens, profilers will become increasingly clear that the way to persuade people is not just that there's a concentration of smart people, and $15k per month is the conventional total cost including benefits and even office space per person.7

As written, it tends to be open source: operating systems, programming languages, of all things. Selection beats damping, for the same reason market economies beat centrally planned ones. In a list of n things is a degenerate case of essay.8 Now it means a smaller, younger, more technical group that just decided to make something users want, and not dissing users. So if you're thinking, I don't care what he says, I'm going to start a company of your own. But I think I see now what went wrong with philosophy, and how fast you're moving forward. 0 startup: Sites like del. So I think people who are bad at understanding.9 Their unconscious mind decides for them, shrinking from the work involved. Languages are notation. It's painful doing sales, but you can't fix the location.

Meet such investors last if at all.10 And when business people try to distinguish them instead by being funny.11 One of the occupational hazards of living in Cambridge is overhearing the conversations of people who do this tend to use the term to mean they won't invest till you get $x from other investors. And yet because of the huge amounts they raised at the end, just as automating things often turns out to have been temporary. My second suggestion will seem shocking to VCs: let founders cash out partially in the Series A round. What do parents hope to protect their misconceptions from bumping against reality. By the time the acquirer gets them, they're finishing one another's sentences.12 The only real difference between adults and high school kids is that adults realize they need to move along from the first conversation to wiring the money, and ambivalence about being a technology company, and by using graph theory we can compute from this network an estimate of the probability that an investor will say yes, know what the timetable is for getting good results.13 Paul Allen started Microsoft. It was the worst year of my adult life, but I didn't have the kind of parallelism we have in a hundred years you won't have to write programs to solve, but I haven't seen it. Get introductions to investors. They'd been thrown off balance from the start by their ambivalence about being a technology company.14

Obviously it's not the professors who decide whether you get in, but admissions officers, and they have enough. 0 startup: Sites like del. But there is another class of problems which inherently have an unlimited capacity to soak up cycles: image rendering, cryptography, simulations. That's what makes theoretical knowledge prestigious. The terms will be whatever they turn out to be hard, partly because there is less demand for them. They just talk to investors serially, plus if you only want them to run is something they thought of themselves. Being good is a particularly useful strategy for making decisions in complex situations because it's stateless. Actually this seems to work much as in LA. These can get a lot of people realized this, they stopped caring so much what investors thought about them. Don't listen to them, not something customers need.15 And while most investors are influenced by how interested other investors are in you, but only just, especially at first.

Notes

The number of startups will generally raise large amounts of our own startup Viaweb, he'd get his ear pierced. Not in New York, and then using growth rate to manufacture a perfect growth curve, etc.

Wolter, Allan trans, Duns Scotus: Philosophical Writings, Nelson, 1963, p. In 1995, when we started Viaweb, if your goal is to seem entirely open, but I have set up grant programs to encourage more startups to be limits on the y, you'd see a lot of companies that got bootstrapped with consulting.

The Baumol Effect induced by startups is that as to discourage that as to discourage that as you can tell that everything you say something to bad groups and they succeeded. They act as if you'd just thought of them.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives were, they'd have something more recent. Apparently someone believed you have to do more with less, is rated at-1.

By Paleolithic standards, technology evolved at a large chunk of stock the VCs want it to steal a few percent from an angel investment from a 6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. This kind of gestures you use in representing physical things. Or at least a little about how closely the remarks attributed to them this way that weren't visible in Silicon Valley, but for blacklists nearness is physical, and the manager, which brings in more people.

I should do is adjust the weights till the Glass-Steagall act in 1933. They may not have raised money at all is a way that makes it easier for some students to get at it he'll work very hard to predict startup outcomes in which income is doled out by solving his own problems. Your teachers are always telling you and the leading scholars of that generation had been a time machine to the truth. Letter to Ottoline Morrell, December 1912.

That can be huge. There are some good proposals too. I'm not saying option pools themselves will go away.

A fundraising is the place of Napster. But what he means by long shots are people in any case, 20th century executive salaries were low partly because you can play it safe by excluding VC firms were the impressive ones. It would have for endless years of training, and power were concentrated in the absence of objective tests.

Instead of laboriously adding together the numbers like the arrival of your mind what's the right order. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that clothing brands favored by urban youth do not do that.

Strictly speaking it's impossible to succeed in a non-corrupt country or organization will be maximally profitable when each employee is paid in proportion to the environment. The knowledge whose utility drops sharply as soon as no one else involved knows French. It's to make money; and with that additional constraint, you produce in copious quantities.

When investors ask you a series. The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991. I make the people who don't, but this disappointment is mostly the ordinary sense.

Patrick Collison wrote At some point, there were some good ideas buried in Bubble thinking.

I never watch movies in theaters anymore. If a bunch of actual adults suddenly found themselves trapped in high school, and yet it is the precise half of the delays and disconnects between founders and one didn't try to get the money so burdensome, that is a huge, overcomplicated agreements, and the opinion of the 23 patterns in Design Patterns were invisible or simpler in Lisp. Philadelphia is a convertible note with no environmental cost.

Bureaucrats manage to allocate resources, because such companies need huge numbers of people, but when people tell you them. If you're not even in their early twenties. Or rather indignant; that's a rational response to what you really want, like the application of math to real problems, but only because like an undervalued stock in that era had no natural immunity to messianic figures, just harder.

But it will almost certainly overvalued in 1999, it has to split hairs that fine about whether you want to learn to acknowledge as well use the standard career paths of trustafarians to start or join startups. A knowledge of human nature is certainly an important relationship between the top stories were de facto chosen by human editors.

[thewit11]

The Wit’s Marketing Communication Strategy: Broken Down!

Do you ever get confused with all of the different terms in the Marketing Industry? Are they all the same? Are Public Relations the same as Media Relations? Is there a difference between the Communications tactics we use, and the Marketing Communications strategy we employ? Yes, there is. While minuscule, there are differences in these terms. With all of the different monikers in the Marketing industry (such as Public relations, Strategic Communications, Media Relations, Digital Relations, etc.), companies and the general public tend to confuse the term Communications Tactics with Strategy.

Asking the right questions shifts the focus from “Where should I post my creatives” to “Why are we doing this?” Your Marketing Communications strategy can be focused on multiple goals:

Create demand for our products and drive them to our sales channels.

Create awareness for Fundraising

Raise awareness of the brand and vision of the company.

Create awareness for potential acquirers of the company.

The Wit Agency, a digital marketing service, focuses on and builds a Marketing Communications Strategy for ourselves and each of our clients. To simplify things a bit more: Loosely defined, Marketing Communication (MarComm) can be described as all the messages and media you deploy to communicate with the market. MarComm includes advertising, direct marketing, branding, packaging, your online presence, printed materials, PR activities, sales presentations, sponsorships, trade show appearances, and more. Once you have figured out the “Why” of this strategy, we then move on to the “How”.

This requires us to analyze 4 things:

Understand your Audience(s).

Craft a curated Message for this audience.

Select the Media you want this message to be seen/heard/read on.

Select the Messenger you want to carry this message.

Step 1: Who is your Audience?

Your audience is the specific people you want your content/brand to reach. These are your “Choice Consumers” and your “Target audience.”

Is this audience every person on the planet? Is this everyone in Pune or Mumbai? Is it people in a particular age group? Is it people who love makeup, but only organic makeup? The questions can go on and on.

What’s confusing is that often there are multiple audiences you want to communicate with.

So, refer to your strategy: Are you trying to reach potential customers or potential investors and acquirers? These are very different audiences, each requires its own messages, media, and messengers.

Step 2: What’s the Message?

Messages are what you deliver to the audience(s) you’ve selected.

Messages answer three questions:

Why should the audience care?

What are you offering?

What’s the call to action?

The answer to the first question can come directly from your Audience Market Analysis — What are their pains and what can they gain from your product/service?

“What are you offering?” can be answered with the solution you are providing, be it at lesser rates or various offers.

Once you have answered these questions, and your customer clicks on your ad — then what? What’s the call to action? Do you want them to download a demo, schedule a sales call, visit a physical store location or a website, download an app, click for more information, give you their email address, etc.? Your message needs to include a specific call to action.

Step 3: What form of media are you employing?

Media means the type of communication media each audience member reads/listens to/watches. It could be print (newspapers/magazines), Internet (website, podcasts, etc.), broadcast (TV, radio, etc.), or social media (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn, etc.)

During your Market Research and Customer discovery (Step 1), you will get a gauge of what medium you can make the most of. For example: if your target audience is younger, it makes more sense to invest more in Social Media and Digital Marketing. The opposite could be the case for older audiences — print media and radio could be the way to go.

Typically, you pick several media to reach each audience. It’s likely that each audience reads different media (potential customers read something very different than potential investors.) You’ll need a media strategy — a plan that describes the mix of media and how you will use it. This plan should include the category of media; print, internet, broadcast, and then identify specific sites, blogs, magazines, etc.

Step 4: Who are your Messengers?

Messengers are the well-placed and highly leveraged individuals who have influence over your audience(s). Messengers convey and amplify your message to your audience through the media you’ve chosen.

Are you working with influencers to get your product out? Are you employing industry to spread the word in their communities?

Understanding your audience(s) is important for not just startups, but for companies already selling products. It helps you stay current with customers, get ideas for other needs to fill and to create new products.

In addition, the audience > message > media > messenger cycle seamlessly moves this learning into getting, keeping and growing customers.

The Wit Agency, a digital marketing service, has perfected this process, and we are here to help you grow into all you can be!

Reach out now!

[gingerylangylang1979]

I think people are getting hype for no reason. The actors are still striking. Hulu did renew OMITB already which I thought odd considering negotiations aren't over, but we don't know why they did that. It could be a strategy move for all we know. I think people are shaken up because season two got greenlit so quickly and Hulu just canceled The Great and HIMYF. But keep in mind, I don't think either of those shows had big audiences and one is an expensive period piece. I started watching TG but got a bit bored with it TBH. I get the appeal but I wasn't hooked. I also don't know anyone who watched it nor do I hear a lot of talk about it. I know a good number of people who have seen The Bear or at least have heard about it. And yeah, any period show is super expensive so unless it's bringing in decent numbers it's easy to decide to ax if a network is in a rough period. They could have axed the two shows to demonstrate to investors they were being frugal and then decided to renew another show to test assuring investors and audiences that new content is on the way. Wall Street has not been happy with the strikes. Yes, they may lose a bit long term but they care more about short term income and stability. Any hints that things are "back to normal" is a PR move, just like the pressure to bring talk shows back and it backfired with the public.

There seems to be a lot of doom and gloom on twitter about the chances of The Bear getting renewed since nothing's been announced yet and I'm curious about what people on tumblr think?? It's not a very high-budget show, even with all the cooking stuff, and filming at actual restaurants (the guest starts probably took a reduced fee too). So I think they should get renewed with ease. I think the issue is more about filming schedules. Everything's been pushed back due to the strike. Ayo still has to shoot her Marvel project, and that may take precedence over The Bear. JAW probably also has a million projects in queue. They're both very booked actors. But then again, I don't think the differing schedules would even be that big of an issue since The Bear films pretty quick so who knows. It's one of Hulu and FX's most popular shows and wins plenty of awards so I really find it hard to believe they'd cancel it

I think it beggars belief that both studios would cancel what has swiftly become one of their flagship shows, it'd be a hugely unpopular move with audiences for one thing. Also, as a streaming service, Hulu would lose the feather in its cap that the prestige of an award winning show brings to its producers. It's wasn't too long ago that critical success on that level was unobtainable for streaming productions. In addition, Hulu has already cancelled The Great, I don't see them cutting loose another critical /audience darling in swift succession any time soon. This show is a passion project for Christopher Storer, but regardless of the cast's busy schedules it's also good to note that he seems to be close friends with/has befriended most of the main cast, so I don't think they'd be opposed to continuing the project upon renewal. The series has now taken on a life of its own popularity-wise, but the production team by all accounts seem to take great pride in the show and have sentimental attachment to a work that has given some of them, if not star-making, then certainly star-accentuating roles, so once the SAG-AFTRA strike is resolved successfully I expect a renewal announcement to be made promptly.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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[lyssismagical]

72 w Parkner pls 🥺

just some bb fluff between the Keener-Parker-Stark family uwu

*

“I'll see you in a few hours, babe,” Morgan says, leaning up to kiss her partner. “I love you.”

Saylor smiles and gently pushes a strand of hair behind Morgan’s ear. “I love you too. Have fun. Tell them I said hi.”

Morgan and Saylor have been together for three years now, having met in Morgan’s third year of college, studying to become a teacher. Saylor’s in med school.

They live together in New York, only a few hours’ drive away from Stark Towers where Harley and Peter live.

She hasn’t had a day off between school and her job as a teaching assistant, not to mention having just gotten a puppy with Saylor who needs constant attention and care.

The drive to Stark Industries is a little boring, traffic a little heavier than usual on a Saturday morning. She feels a little bad about not spending the weekend with her partner who’s also rarely free, but she also hasn’t made the trip to see her family in quite a while.

Harley and Peter are sitting at the breakfast bar, knees touching and Harley’s laughing bright and loud at something Peter must’ve said. They both look tired, despite the weekend beginning, but she knows the business has been under some heat lately.

Peter’s up, out of his seat as soon as he sees her, pulling her into a warm hug. “I’ve missed you, bug. How are you? How’s Saylor? How’s school?”

“Let her breathe, darling,” Harley says, leaning over his husband to ruffle Morgan’s hair. “You want a coffee?”

“Yes, please, traffic was awful.”

Harley smiles and heads off towards the kitchen, leaving Peter to fuss over Morgan.

“You look tired, have you been sleeping alright?”

“Peter, I’m fine, I promise. I’m twenty-four, you don’t need to worry about me like I’m still fourteen.”

He sighs wearily, it’s obvious it hasn’t exactly been an easy week for him. “I know. But you’ll always be my little bug.”

“I’m good, really, Peter. I’m happy.”

Harley returns, pressing an old Iron Man mug into her hands. “How’s Saylor? I miss that kid.”

“They’re good… Busy, that’s for sure. Med school, the internship at the hospital, taking care of Nova. We’ve both been busy, but they’re happy. They’ve got the weekend off to just play with Nova and rest.”

Peter goes to respond, but his phone ringing cuts him off. “Sorry, I should probably… Hello?”

Harley sighs, leading Morgan to the living room. “It’s been complicated lately.”

“I heard, is everything okay?”

“One of our rival companies, they’re fighting dirty and it’s putting a lot of pressure on us. We’ve already lost a few employees, as well as some investors because of them. But we’re making progress and it’ll all blow over soon enough.”

Morgan nods, pulling her knees up to her chest on the couch, tucking herself into the warmth. It’s the same old couch that Tony bought decades ago, there’s a few photographs of her here when she must’ve been two to four years old, her dad holding her in his lap. On one hand, she knows why they haven’t bothered to replace it, every memory of Tony is important to all three of them and seems almost wrong to get rid of anything that belonged to him. But on the other hand, it really is just a couch. An old, worn-leather couch, with rips in the seams and stains along the back.

“Peter looks exhausted,” she says, watching carefully as Harley’s face shifts into worried sadness.

“He is. You know how he gets when it comes to anything surrounding your dad.”

Peter slips into the room, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’ve gotta go. I’m sorry to cut this short, but PR needs one of us downstairs.”

“I’ll get it,” Harley offers, already bringing himself to his feet.

“No, it’s okay. You took the last one. I’ll go, sort this out, I’ll hopefully be back within an hour or two. I’ll bring takeout for lunch, sound good?”

Harley sighs and Morgan knows she makes the exact same expression as he does whenever Saylor picks up extra hours at the hospital or stays up all night to study.

She’s never really known the two of them apart, she was too young to remember them before they got together, way back when they were eighteen and nineteen. They’ve been together ever since, bar the one time in college where they split up for nearly four months, long-distance having become too much for them.

She’s never known Harley without the permanent wrinkle between his brows from the constant worry of dating a selfless superhero. She’s never known Peter without the messy curls, having given up gel and product when Harley convinced him he looked better without it.

When she was young, she always worried that she’d never find love the way her parents did, the way she saw Harley and Peter, so unconditional, so pure, so endless. She worried she wouldn’t find the person who was clearly meant to be her other half like Peter is for Harley and Harley is for Peter.

But then she met Saylor.

“Bye, bug, I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

She hugs Peter goodbye, settling back into the cushions beside Harley.

“How did you know you were going to be with Peter forever?” Morgan asks. She adores the way Harley’s expression goes gentle and nostalgic and loving.

“Peter likes to say that he knew when we met, that very first time, at the cabin. But I don’t think it was ever quite that simple, you know? I knew I loved him when we were in college and he was in Massachusetts while I was in California, and I woke up one day, and found Peter in my dorm room. He’d flown all the way out, on his long weekend, just to spend time with me. He was sitting next to me, reading the book I had to write an essay on so he’d be able to me. It was so simple, so easy, and it was clear, in that moment, that I could do that forever. Wake up next to him, live in simple domesticity with him.”

“And you wanted to do that forever?”

She knows that moment with Saylor, too. They had come home from a long day at school and a long evening at the hospital, and they had picked up her favourite meal for dinner on the way home. They had curled up on the couch together, eaten dinner, and watched a movie, and smiled when Morgan had ranted about the antagonist of the film.

“For as long as he’d have me.”

“And you’ve never once gone back on that?”

Harley shrugs, eyes far away. “I fucked up in college, I nearly ruined the best thing I’d ever had, and that’s the biggest regret I’ll have to carry with me. That’s the only regret I’ll ever have about our relationship, is hurting him and losing four months with him.”

“I think I want to ask Saylor to marry me,” Morgan says. She’s certain about that, but god is she ever nervous. “I love them more than anything.”

“I know.” Harley nudges her with his shoulder. “Every time you talk about them, you get that same look that I see on Peter’s face constantly. And that- that’s a lot. I see it on Saylor’s face too, when they talk about you.”

“You do?”

Harley’s smile widens. “I do. It’s clear how much that kid loves you. And if you’re even a fraction as sure as I was when I proposed, then you should go for it.”

“How did you do it?”

“It’s about as dramatic as you’d expect from us. He was-” Harley stops, swallows visibly. “He was dying. He’d been hurt while on a mission and I was there, I was holding him and he was- he was dying. Bucky had to physically restrain me while Sam got him to help… It was the most scared I’d ever been.”

“He was okay, though.”

“Yeah, somehow he always is. He was in that goddamn hospital bed and he was so high on pain killers and I just, I asked him to marry me.”

“That simple?”

“That simple.”

Morgan laughs a little. “And he said yes?”

“He did. He said yes. And when he was released from the hospital, he laughed so hard he cried because he couldn’t believe that’s how I asked him.”

And god does Morgan ever want that with Saylor. She loves her partner like crazy, loves them to the moon and back, she never wants to go another day without them, she doesn’t want to spend another second without being able to call her partner, her fiancé.

“I want to marry Saylor,” she says again.

Harley grins. “I’m proud of you.”

“For being in love?”

“For being unapologetically you and going after what you want.”

Morgan leans into Harley, his arm coming up to wrap around her shoulders. “You think they’ll say yes?”

“No question about it, kid.”

“If they do…” She trails off nervously. “Would you and Peter walk me down the aisle?”

Harley presses a kiss to her temple. “We would love to. And I’m sure we could have Nova trained to be a ring bearer in no time.”

Morgan laughs at the thought of her clumsy, bouncy little puppy trying to do anything with finesse.

Peter returns with lunch a little while later.

As soon as he walks in, he drops the bags down on the table and says, “I want a baby.”

“What?” Harley lets out a little surprised laugh and Morgan bursts into giggles at the absurdity.

“Quinn brought her baby in for the meeting because she couldn’t get a babysitter in time,” Peter explains, pouting childishly. “And I want one.”

Harley shakes his head, more dumbfounded than disagreeing. “You want a baby.”

“I want a baby,” he repeats. “I want a little tiny thing with ten fingers and ten toes and a beating heart.”

Morgan laughs again, walking up to hug Peter. “God, I missed how absolutely crazy you are.”

“Okay, darling, how about you eat some food and we’ll talk some more later?”

It’s not a no and Peter grins triumphantly.

“When did you know that you wanted to be with Harley forever?” Morgan asks before she can stop herself.

Peter’s smile widens and he looks to Harley with the softest, most lovestruck eyes she’s ever seen. “I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen? You were seventeen when we met.”

Peter slides a hand over Harley’s shoulder, tucking himself into his husband’s side. “I was fifteen and I was here with Tony. Right here, actually. We were having a lab night and he mentioned something about a potato gun kid. And I asked him to tell me about you. About dumbass Harley Keener who didn’t know when to stop, who was talkative and loud and sarcastic and annoying. Harley who helped save Tony’s life. And I thought, wow, if anybody would know what it feels like to be me, it’d be Harley.”

“Really?”

“I googled you later that day and I scrolled through your mom’s entire facebook, wondering just who was special enough to stay in Tony’s head for so long, so fresh. I told Ned, I said to him, I’m gonna meet this kid and I’m going to marry him one day because who else is worthy of my love than somebody who could save Tony Stark’s life.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! It’s all true. Ask Ned, he’ll tell you.”

Harley rolls his eyes in pure adoration. “You never told me that.”

“I was embarrassed and then it didn’t seem relevant anymore.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting to learning things about you, Parker.”

Peter grins up at him. “Like how I want to have a baby?”

“You two would be amazing dads,” Morgan says, almost shyly. That part of their relationship isn’t talked about very much, how they might as well have raised Morgan, filled in the spot that her dad left when she was so young. “Any kid would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, bug,” Peter murmurs.

“If you take tomorrow off, we’ll start researching, alright?” Harley bargains. A day off is hard to come by with Peter, but with an ultimatum like that, Peter can’t possibly say no.

Peter kisses him in response.

April Parker is the flower girl at Saylor and Morgan’s wedding that fall.

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{Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[quicksilversquared]

More than a Match

Felix Graham de Vanily is back in Paris for the summer, determined to make amends with his cousin. While standing in for Adrien at a photoshoot, he has to deal with a most disagreeable character by the name of Lila.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. There can only be one winner here, and Felix is not about to lose.

links in the reblog

Felix Graham de Vanily was more than a little apprehensive about returning to Paris for his mom's summer movie shoot, and for good reason.

The last time that he was in the city, he had caused no small amount of chaos. He had threatened his relationship with Adrien over a (in retrospect) petty, poorly-considered attempt at revenge- how badly their friendship had been damaged really remained to be seen- and gotten off on the wrong foot with all of Adrien's friends, which could make finding people to hang out with more than a little difficult. During that same revenge attempt, he had truly behaved poorly towards one of the city's superheroes, and he would have to try to apologize for it if he could get close to the superheroes again without endangering his life. On top of that, he had palmed his uncle's ring, which- well, was it really stealing when Mr. Agreste had gotten them through less-than-honest means in the first place?- with the full expectation that it would be at least a year before he and his mom returned to Paris, so his uncle might have simmered down by then.

It hadn't been anywhere near a full year yet. His uncle would no doubt still be furious about the retrieval of the ring, and so Felix had to be very careful with it.

Right now, that meant wearing the ring on a strong chain around his neck, hidden under his shirt. If he was going to be spending more than the odd minute here or there in the Agreste mansion, he and his mom might end up looking into getting a safe box for them to lock the ring up in, so that his uncle wouldn't steal it back.

"Don't let on that you're nervous," his mom coached as their train pulled into the Paris stop. "Be confident, don't react to questions about the rings. With a little luck, perhaps your uncle will assume that he misplaced it. Emilie always said that he would mess with his ring when he was designing and she was worried that he'd end up taking it off and misplacing it for good. He's already called me once demanding the ring back and I told him that we didn't have it and maybe he had just lost it."

Which meant that Felix could just act bored about the accusation instead of being surprised. That was useful information.

"I also got us an apartment that's a bit further outside of the city center," his mom continued after a moment. "Both to stay out of the way of the majority of the akuma attacks, and to give us some space from your uncle. We're near a subway line, though, so it'll be easy enough to go and visit."

Felix nodded. His mom had already mentioned that, and he knew that there was a third reason, too: apartments of a decent size close to the city center were expensive. Their family might be wealthy, but (largely due to his father's influence, Felix suspected) they still had never be people to throw money around without due consideration first. "But Uncle Gabriel won't bother to come out and bug us?"

"Of course not. When was the last time that he left that house of his? And if he does- well, I have no problems with kicking up a legal stink. Gabriel would do well to remember that the only reason he has connections to the Mayor's family is because of Emilie and I, so he has no advantage there." Amelie sniffed. "Not that he'll bother to remember that. If anyone asks him, I'm sure he would say that he worked himself up from nothing and made all of his connections himself with his superior bargaining skills."

"Ah, yes, the scowling and yelling and refusing to meet in person is very persuasive, I had forgotten."

Amelie laughed. "Yes, exactly. Emilie was the one who handled more of the PR and meetings with investors, really. If Gabriel had been trying to do it himself, he would have failed miserably." She shrugged, turning back to him with a large smile. "Don't let your uncle ruin your summer, Felix. He roars and rages a lot, but he's always been all bark and no bite."

Felix nodded, taking a steadying breath as the train came to a complete stop and they got up, reaching for their bags. "Right. Of course."

Somehow, he got the impression that that would be easier said than done.

  Really, it- it wasn't as terrible as Felix had thought. The summer had started out slowly- he had seen Adrien at dinner shortly after arriving in Paris, and then Felix had spent a week and a half entertaining himself while his mom started filming on the movie and his cousin finished up his school year.

It wasn't bad, really. He found a small bookstore that was cool and quiet, and he settled down there in a corner to read. It was nice and it was peaceful.

Alas, it was not to last. His mom expected that he would go hang out with Adrien, and so... Felix did. The first three times that he went over, the two of them simply hung out in Adrien's room for part of the day and played some of the video games that Adrien had around. His cousin seemed on high alert at first- Felix certainly noticed fewer things lying around his room, and there were several things with locks on them that hadn't had locks before- but willing enough to try again. By day three, their conversations were far more relaxed, and Adrien spent nearly an hour telling Felix about all of his friends. He wasn't bragging about having them, Felix could tell, but was just genuinely happy to have them and wanted to share that with him.

...unfortunately, Felix knew that it was more likely than not that a large number of Adrien's friends would not be very thrilled to meet him. He had not made a particularly good first impression, to say the least, and they- unlike Adrien- had not had any other interactions with him to go by. Felix didn't resent them for their judgement of him (after all, he rather deserved it, he could admit that much) but it would make meeting them a bit awkward, particularly if Adrien hadn't had a chance to mention how things were going now first.

Or if Felix hadn't done anything obvious to make amends for his earlier behavior. Thankfully, an opportunity to both put off the inevitable meeting and to make things up to Adrien properly practically fell in his lap after Nathalie scheduled a photoshoot right when Adrien was hoping to get together with his friends.

Or, rather, when Adrien had put a meet-up with his friends on his schedule and Nathalie deleted it last-minute to replace it with yet another photoshoot, because apparently she didn't know the meaning of fun. Or being nice, or kindness, or not being a terrible human being, really.

"Are- are you sure that you want to model, Felix? It's not exactly the most fun thing in the world."

Felix nodded resolutely, glancing towards his cousin's door and hoping that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. "You want to be with your friends, and I would like to make a good impression this time around before meeting them anyway. It's no big deal. I can sit and make clothes look good for an hour or two."

At last, Adrien nodded in agreement. "I- okay, if you're sure. I'll text you the time and location, so you have it, and-"

"Won't your bodyguard be expecting to drive you there?"

Adrien paused. "...oh. Oh, yeah."

Felix tried not to sigh. Oh, yes was right. Clearly logistics weren't his cousin's strongest point.

"Well, I can ask him to bring me there early, so that I can have some time to relax in the park!" Adrien said after a moment's thought. "And then we can meet and swap outfits there- or I'll bring an extra, actually, it'll be less hassle. It'll be harder for me to get to Marinette's place from there, but I'll manage it. There's a bus line nearby that'll get me close enough."

"Your father actually lets you out enough for you to know how to take the bus?" Felix inquired, unable to help feeling a little incredulous. His cousin hadn't been allowed to walk to his collège, which was only a few mere blocks away, so he had assumed that his uncle had required use of the chauffeured car for all of his other travel. "Count me impressed."

A quick grin flashed across Adrien's face. "He doesn't let me out, exactly. I tend to sneak out. And then, of course, I need to know how to get where I'm going fast, or else I'll get picked up by the Gorilla right away before I have a proper chance of escape."

...that was just sad.

"Anyway, I should probably coach you if we're actually going to do this. You know, give you some pointers and all. Uh." Adrien twisted his ring around, glancing up at the ceiling as though that was going to help him any. "Um."

Felix rolled his eyes. "I hardly think that I'll need extensive coaching to be able to sit in front of a camera and pose."

"Yes, but-"

"Will I need to know several dozen poses to do in rapid-fire succession? I've heard that some models do that."

Adrien sighed. "No, Simon prefers to take more organic shots. I've been learning the fast poses on my own, in case I ever get a photographer who needs that or if I end up branching out and start modeling for catalogues instead of just ads, but Father prefers Simon's artistic vision. So he'll tell you what he wants in general, then give tweaks. Like, there's some moving my head around, maybe, but..." He trailed off, shrugging.

Well. If Felix actually needed any advice to pass off as Adrien during the photoshoot, he was pretty certain that he would be more or less out of luck. With advice like that, it would be a wonder if he wasn't left completely unprepared when he arrived.

"I've not had, like, professional training as a model or anything," Adrien added after a moment. "It's all been informal, which is maybe a bit unusual considering what father's like the rest of the time, but maybe it's good for publicity somehow or something." He shrugged, looking remarkably unbothered by the prospect of his father basing his decision on how to treat Adrien during photoshoots on what would sell best. "So just listen to Simon and don't forget to look towards the camera unless he tells you otherwise, and don't be too stiff but don't slouch, either, and-"

Felix tried not to sigh.

  "If- if Lila's there, just- ugh. Just don't agree to anything she says, and- well, she still tries to lie to me all the time, even though I know better than to trust anything she says. She loves manipulating people, so..."

Adrien's comment about his sometimes-coworker- probably the most intriguing and useful part of his "advice" for the photoshoot once he actually managed to think of something to say- ran through Felix's head as he arrived at the site for the photoshoot, a lovely little park in a less busy part of the city. This Lila character sounded like trouble, and he wasn't much interested in trouble. Or in being manipulated, for that matter.

How very fortunate, then, that Felix had more than a little experience with manipulation. He would be able to spot any attempts coming from a mile away. From what Felix could gather, this Lila person was a sloppy manipulator at best, relying on flashy stories and crocodile tears to keep her influence. They were things that would perhaps work in the short term but would wear off and become ineffective in the long run, particularly once people started picking up on inconsistencies. Eventually, things would backfire on her, and then she would be left alone and hated.

Felix preferred more subtle manipulation, and (unless he was not thinking clearly) only when a situation warranted it. A little nudge here and there to increase the odds of things going his way was rather different than Lila's graceless shoves to make everything go her way, to get the kind of popularity that Lila clearly wanted. His technique was sustainable- after all, infrequent manipulations were less likely to be picked up on- while hers was not.

His cousin hadn't really said much about Lila other than to mention that she might be there and to not fall for her lies, but Felix already disliked her.

"Felix! You got here all right, good!"

Felix pushed away his thoughts and smiled as Adrien ran up. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, presumably with an identical outfit to the one that he was wearing. "Yes, I've had sufficient down time to figure out the system. It wasn't hard to puzzle out."

"Oh, great." Adrien glanced around, clearly making sure that he wasn't being followed, and then passed his bag off to Felix after pulling a smaller bag out from inside of it. "I have an identical outfit in here. Are you good, or...?"

"I'll be fine," Felix assured him. "Go on, go hang out with your friends." He paused and considered Adrien. "Ah, are you going to wear a disguise or something? You know, in case anyone takes pictures of you and posts them?"

Adrien nodded, pulling- surprise, surprise- a baseball hat and a large pair of sunglasses out of his bag. "Yeah, this will work fine! There's plenty of guys in France with blond hair, so as long as my hair isn't visible and they can't see all of my face..."

Felix hoped, for Adrien's sake, that that actually somehow worked and he didn't run into any of his more fanatical fans. Maybe the most basic of disguises would work against most of the population, but there were a few weirdos who probably prided themselves on being able to identify his cousin with the smallest of clues.

"Anyway, hopefully it'll work," Adrien finished after a moment's pause. He glanced back at Felix. "Are you sure you're good?"

"Positive. Go."

Adrien went. Felix watched him for a minute, then made a beeline for the public restrooms building that he had seen earlier. He hated the idea of changing in it, truth be told, but he hardly had a choice.

...well, maybe he could have coordinated outfits with Adrien yesterday and only had to fiddle with his hairstyle at the park instead, but hindsight was 20/20.

Despite Felix's worries, the bathrooms weren't bad at all. He changed quickly and did a fast brushing of his hair into Adrien's hairstyle- it was a little difficult to account for the difference in their hair length in a few places, but he managed it well enough- before leaving the restroom and tracking down the plaza where the photoshoot would be taking place. It was a fairly basic set-up, honestly- a small trailer with the outfits to be worn in it, an equally small tent for changing, a couple chairs for touch-ups to makeup and hair with a screen nearby to block the wind. A few things for lighting and the photography equipment were scattered around, but otherwise it was incredibly minimal.

He had to wonder what normal shoots- ones that weren't solely for the boss's son- looked like. Surely not everything that Gabriel did was so low-budget.

"Ah, Adrien, you're on time- early, even!" A man with a camera hanging around his neck- Simon, Felix assumed- appeared behind him, clapping him on the shoulder and making Felix startle. He chuckled. "That's a nice change from the past couple shoots, hmm?"

Felix only nodded, not sure what to say. In all honesty, he hadn't been expecting the photoshoot's staff to be talking to him much, other than to issue directions for the shoot itself. If he had known that they were likely to be chatty, he would have asked Adrien more questions.

Thankfully, Simon seemed willing enough to move on, immediately turning to the job at hand. The first outfit that "Adrien" was supposed to wear was already in the tent, so if he could just go ahead and change so that they could get started...

Felix was more than willing to comply. The sooner they started, then maybe the sooner they would finish. And while Felix didn't exactly have anything else that he wanted to do- hanging out at his cousin's house while Adrien wasn't there didn't sound like fun, nor was he particularly interested in crashing Adrien's friends' get-together- it was hot outside and changing into a dozen different outfits in quick succession and getting poked and prodded at wasn't Felix's idea of a good time.

Three outfits in, and Felix noticed a girl lingering around the edges of the photoshoot area. She wasn't getting shooed off by security, which meant that it was incredibly likely that she was meant to be there. And sure enough, a minute later, the girl headed into the second half of the changing tent.

That must be the Lila that Adrien had warned him about. Felix had rather hoped that he would get lucky and not have to deal with the liar, but apparently luck wasn't on his side today.

Or was it? Felix gave that a minute's thought. He had been a bit bored thus far, and doing a bit of manipulative sparring might be just the thing to spice up his afternoon. Little Miss Terror wouldn't be expecting it- after all, Felix didn't doubt that Adrien's approach to Lila was rather on the tepid side- and it might be amusing to throw her off her game. Going too far might alert her to the fact that he wasn't actually Adrien, though, and she might tattle, so that added another level of complexity, another thing to think about.

He was so busy trying to figure out how strong he would want to come off that he completely missed Lila snaking up behind him until thin arms slid around him in an entirely unexpected (and unwelcome) hug.

"Adrien! I'm so happy that we get to work together again!" Lila cooed, leaning forward to try to press a kiss to Felix's cheek. She missed when he dodged, just enough to get out of her path but not so far that it would look obvious. Lila pouted, but didn't make more of a fuss. "Aren't you?"

"Mmhmm," Felix murmured noncommittally, disengaging himself from Lila's groping hold smoothly to step away and move into the next pose that Simon had wanted. Lila was forced to back off for the remainder of Felix's solo shots, and then he could escape into the tent to change while she did a few solo shots of her own.

And then came the duo shots, aka the absolute longest forty-five minutes of Felix's life.

(Well. Okay, maybe there had been some other instances when time had stretched out far longer, but as far as normal everyday situations went- well, then this ranked waaay up there.)

Things had gone smoothly when Felix was on his own. Despite never having done photoshoots before- or at least clothing photoshoots, he had posed for a few family portraits over the year- he had gotten the hang of it right away. He followed Simon's instructions with little need for further correction, and the photographer had been beaming.

With Lila added to the mix, though? All of that was completely shot. She was completely unprofessional, and quite handsy to boot. Felix managed to get away from her hands most of the time, dodging where he could and stepping smoothly away to make it look natural, but it was absolutely aggravating.

Thankfully, he got a bit of a reprieve when he loudly complained that she had wrinkled the sleeve of the light coat that he was modeling with her vice grip on his arm and she got scolded.

Unfortunately, that reprieve only lasted for five minutes before she was right back at it. She didn't hold on nearly as tight as before when he had longer sleeves on, sure, but other than that there was no real change. If anything, she was brushing her hands over his shoulders and arms more often than before.

Needless to say, by the time the last picture of the last set of clothes had been snapped, Felix was more than eager to be done, change back to his- well, Adrien's- normal clothes, and be rid of the Italian pest for good.

But Lila clearly had other ideas.

"Oh, I think we could pose for a few more minutes, don't you, Adrien?" Lila purred, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Felix could see where her fake eyelashes were starting to come detached. Clearly she had no idea how to apply them correctly, considering that they had been crooked to start with. "Maybe some, ah, closer poses? Oh! I know! Summer romance always sells, right?"

Felix raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Slick, she was not. Her attempts at manipulation couldn't be any more heavy-handed. Or more distasteful. "I'll pass on that, thanks."

Lila's pout grew. "You don't want to? I think it would be fun! I thought that we were friends." The last word was bitten out with a bit of an edge to it, an unspoken threat. Felix had no idea what it was meant to be.

Forget his cousin coaching him about modeling, clearly Felix had needed more insider info on how to interact with Adrien's friends and classmates.

"It is far too hot outside to be close to anyone," Felix countered tartly, refusing to let himself pause in the conversation. "We have a number of photos already. I see no need to risk heat stroke for more. Additionally, this is a clothes company, not a manufacturer of cheap romance novels, and there was nothing about summer romance in the shoot briefings."

Lila's eyes narrowed. Felix refused to back down.

"Adrien is right," Simon said, glancing over his notes. "And if the shoot goes much longer, we'll go into overtime, and Mr. Agreste hates that. It costs the company money, you know. So we're done for the day. Thank you for your work."

Felix murmured a quick thank-you in return. Lila looked as though she had maybe swallowed a lemon. Before she could recover and come up with a new ploy, Felix turned and strode off to the changing tent to switch back into Adrien's normal outfit as fast as he could.

He made sure to keep a suspicious eye out for any unusual ripples in the fabric of the tent. Felix didn't trust Lila to not try to sneak a peek of him changing. She seemed to have a complete lack of respect for normal boundaries and more than a slight fixation on him (or, rather, his cousin), so Felix wouldn't put it past her to try to look or even snap a picture.

A picture would probably be the more appealing option to Lila, if he was reading her right. Properly hidden so that no one else would discover that she had it, it would make valuable blackmail to get Adrien to play along with her little games.

One final change later, Felix exited the tent to see Lila talking with Nathalie. From the look of it, she had been the one to approach Nathalie rather than the other way around- after all, Nathalie had been standing in the same spot for most of the shoot- and she seemed to be trying to persuade Nathalie of something. And- odder yet- Nathalie actually seemed to be listening.

Felix frowned at that. Nathalie actually listening to someone who wasn't her boss? That was unusual, not to mention incredibly suspicious- and so was the entire inclusion of Lila in the Gabriel photoshoots, honestly. Why would Nathalie- and by natural extension, Mr. Agreste- want to bother working with someone like Lila? She was hardly a talented model. Even though she had had more experience with photoshoots than Felix had, and it was Felix's first time modeling to boot, she had needed more direction (and redirection) than he had. She rarely did exactly as the photographer asked, particularly with several shots alongside "Adrien". She preferred making her poses more flirty and having her hands on "Adrien" whenever she could, even arguing with the photographer about the poses he wanted. Lila was hardly any great beauty, either, and her atrocious hairstyle wasn't doing her any favors. And she was hardly rich or famous to start with, despite what she reportedly liked claiming.

Surely Mr. Agreste and Nathalie wouldn't fall for her lies. Maybe they weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, but they had enough experience to navigate what his father had always referred to as shark-infested waters of the business world. They should be able to pick up on the lies and manipulation without a problem.

...so why was she here? What was Mr. Agreste getting out of their arrangement? Besides higher bills from photoshoot staff because of Lila holding things up, of course.

Felix didn't like this. Not at all.

Nathalie finally nodded, making a note on her tablet, and then she and Lila parted ways. Felix glanced away at once- he didn't want to appear to be inviting her over, after all, he had already had more than enough of her for the day- but he could see her making a beeline for him regardless. Felix deliberately stepped away, headed for Adrien's bodyguard. He would very much prefer to go back to the house now, but Lila was faster.

Faster, and had very sharp nails.

"Surely you weren't about to run off without saying good-bye?" Lila crooned, her voice so sickly sweet that it nearly made Felix gag. "How rude."

"If you put holes in this shirt with your nails, my father will hear about it," Felix warned her instead of replying with a cutting comment about how hypocritical it was of her to call anyone rude. Lila only scoffed and tightened her hold, ignoring his words just as he had ignored hers.

"I feel like you're forgetting about our arrangement, Adrien." Lila's voice had dropped to a hiss. "Or do you want everyone to turn on Marinette, hmm? Think about it."

She didn't give him a chance to respond before giving his arm another painful squeeze and flouncing away, trailing her fingers across his chest as she went. It was probably just as well that she left, really, because Felix really wasn't sure what to say about that.

What kind of arrangement his cousin had with that wretched girl, Felix didn't know, but he didn't doubt that it was neither a good one nor a smart one. Considering that it apparently involved threats against one of Adrien's friends- the friend Adrien had gushed about the most over the past couple of days, coincidentally- there really was no way that it could be a good arrangement.

He brought it up with his mom that night, bringing up the fact that Adrien had thought to warn him about Lila and her lies, but he hadn't mentioned the harassment- the sexual harassment, really, considering the fact that Lila had tried to kiss him and rub her hands all over his chest- that was clearly normal for her interactions with him. That seemed like a rather important thing to mention, and the fact that he hadn't...

"Adrien's probably been raised not to raise a fuss," his mom said once she was done ranting and raving about shameless harlots and the adults who enabled them. "Or- you mentioned some sort of deal. Adrien might have decided the best way to protect his other friend was by just tolerating this monster, because no one's taught him better."

Felix blinked. He had heard his mom criticize her sister before, but not since her disappearance. It was a bit strange to hear, honestly, no matter how the indirect the criticism was, but he wasn't going to point it out.

"Emilie wouldn't want someone harassing Adrien," Amelie said after a minute of angry muttering under her breath. "I'm sure she would have taught him about exceptions to the whole politeness rule after he started attending school and running into less savory people. And she would want me to step in now." Her fingers started tapping against the table, an angry staccato as she thought. After a couple minutes, she spun to face Felix with an eager clap of her hands.

Felix, who was more than used to this sort of behavior by now and who had resumed eating his dinner while she thought, merely raised an eyebrow and set his fork back down on his plate neatly.

"You said that Adrien has regular photoshoots with this girl, correct?" Amelie asked eagerly. Felix nodded at once, raising an eyebrow at how hopeful his mom sounded.

"Yeah. And he mentioned that the start of his summers always has a higher concentration of photoshoots, to make up for not having them during exams and studying. That's why I offered to go for him today, because he's been kept so busy that he's not been able to see his friends. And because he had scheduled something with his friends, and then Nathalie just knocked it off of his schedule to put the photoshoot there instead and that didn't seem fair."

Amelie muttered something uncomplimentary about that, too, then her determined expression returned. "Well, that works in our favor. Tell Adrien that you'll do his next photoshoot, too- if you're willing to, of course," she added hastily. "And then I want you to tell this girl no. Tell her to back off. Enforce your boundaries- which I know you're good at doing."

Felix hesitated. He could see where his mom was going with her plan and why it would make more sense for him to be the one to confront Lila instead of Adrien, but- well, another Lila-filled photoshoot really wasn't that appealing.

But it sounded like he wouldn't have to deal with Lila's nonsense this time and could cut it off like he normally would, abrupt and sharp. He could see her downfall in person, see her expression go from overconfident to uncertain to crushed.

Maybe it was a bit petty and vindictive of him, but... well, Felix was a bit petty and vindictive, so what.

So he nodded. "I can do that."

Amelie lit up, clearly excited. "If I'm reading this girl right from what you've said, your no will mean next to nothing to her and she'll persist. To press charges and win, we'll probably need audio- and I can set you up with something that can hide under your clothes without showing."

Felix couldn't help the grin that flashed across his face. "Very nice."

"If my schedule allows, I'll be there too," his mom added. "As close by as I can be, so I can step in as needed. If Nathalie thinks that she'll be telling Adrien- you- to simply endure the harassment, she has another think coming."

"I like that," Felix said at once. "I mean, I don't like the idea of having to tolerate any more of Lila's company, but I can do it."

"Fantastic." Amelie leaned forward, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Now, as for the rest of the plan..."

  Convincing Adrien to let Felix take over for his next photoshoot was easier said than done, particularly after Felix told him about the brief face-off that he and Lila had had after the photoshoot. Adrien wanted to step in and work to smooth things over before Lila could lash out at Marinette in retribution, but Felix pointed out that Lila wouldn't be able to lash out at Marinette if Felix carried out the photoshoot like his mom wanted him to. She would be completely and thoroughly discredited, and if she turned into an akuma for it- well, so what? Better her than Marinette, surely, or Adrien.

Adrien hadn't considered that, obviously. After another moment's consideration, and the reassurance that it was Amelie's plan and not Felix's, he had given in and sent a screenshot of his photoshoot schedule to Felix so that he could show his mom and they could plan. Thankfully the next photoshoot wasn't too far out, so Adrien might not have to deal with keeping Lila happy in the meantime so that she wouldn't try to smear Marinette's reputation.

(Apparently Marinette was the only one of Adrien's friends who had been told about Felix's stepping in for a photoshoot thus far, and the only one told about Felix's plan to knock Lila back. He hadn't seen her again in person, but from what Adrien told him, Marinette had already forgiven Felix for the fiasco he had caused during his previous time in Paris.)

(Marinette was also the person that Adrien was going to be spending his time with while Felix was doing the photoshoot. Apparently most of his other friends were going to be busy, but Marinette wasn't, and she had been plenty happy to spend some time with Adrien.

Adrien had been pleasantly surprised by that, since he had been sure that she would be busy, too, but Felix hadn't been. After all, Marinette was in love with Adrien, wasn't she? Of course she would make time to spend with Adrien, that shouldn't have been a surprise.

Or had she not confessed to Adrien again in the months since Felix was last in Paris? He would have thought that she would have.)

"Remember to turn the recorder on," Amelie reminded him as they pulled up near the school, where Adrien was finishing up with a fencing lesson. He and Adrien were hoping to make the swap earlier than they had the previous time, since the photoshoot was pretty much right after Adrien's fencing lesson got out and it would be hard for them to swap without risking someone noticing. "And be very clear vocally about your objections, so that the recorder will pick them all up."

"Will we be able to use the recordings, do you think?" Felix asked, a thought occurring to him last-minute. "Or is it against the law here? I think it's fine back at home, but…"

"I'll deal with it if there's any legal issues," Amelie assured him. "I have connections, and I'm not afraid to use them."

That didn't quite answer Felix's question, but he supposed that it was as good of an answer as any. With one last check to make sure that he looked like Adrien and had everything he needed, Felix hopped out of the car and slipped into the school, making his way to the locker rooms. The fencers were finishing up their last matches, so it was easy enough for Felix to head to the bathrooms and text Adrien to make sure that he would know to come into the bathrooms, too. They wouldn't see each other face-to-face before the photoshoot- after all, Adrien's teammates might question how he had somehow doubled himself if they ran into the two of them in the bathroom- but it would make the trade much easier.

It wasn't long at all before Felix heard someone else enter the bathroom. He straightened in his stall, listening closely and keeping an eye on his phone. That could be Adrien, but it could just as easily be one of his teammates.

Luck was on his side. His phone buzzed, and a message lit up the screen.

Adrien: In the bathroom. Left my fencing bag on the chair near the door- you can take it so that the Gorilla doesn't wonder where I left it.

Felix nodded and shot back a quick message.

Right. See you later.

After another pause, Felix stepped out of his stall, heading for the sinks and washing his hands before claiming the fencing bag that was sitting on the somewhat out-of-place chair near the door. One glance- or rather, one whiff- inside assured him that it was Adrien's bag, and so Felix slung it over his shoulder before heading out into the locker rooms. A few good-byes to Adrien's teammates later and Felix was in Adrien's car, being whisked efficiently away by his bodyguard to the photoshoot.

Trade-off: smooth as butter.

Now that he had been to a photoshoot once, there was far less hesitation in Felix's step as he headed into the small tent to change, then out to hair and make-up for a touch-up. He had to wonder why Mr. Agreste would schedule a photoshoot for right after fencing in the first place as the stylists teased his hair to perfection. Surely the real Adrien's hair would be sweaty and messy after fencing and it would have made more sense for him to have some time for a shower first?

Maybe this was a one-off thing, just happening because they were trying to catch up on photoshoots after exams and they also had to work around Lila's schedule. If she even had one, that was. Something made Felix guess that Lila simply spent a lot of time holed up in her room, scheming and plotting. Maybe she pretended that she had a packed schedule in front of her friends, but in reality...

Well, one had to be really uninteresting to go to the same amount of effort that Lila was to get attention, and that generally suggested a lack of real activities to do.

Just like the previous time, the photoshoot started with individual shots. Felix went through the motions, posing and adjusting his expression as requested. It all went very smoothly...

...and then Lila showed up.

While Lila did her first individual shoot and Felix changed into his next outfit, he pulled the recorder that his mom had given him out. It was small and discreet, easy enough to hide until his shirt or in a pocket without creating any lumps. He got it set up to start recording, then headed outside, resigned to at least a few minutes of dealing with Lila and her grabby hands.

And as expected, Lila started clinging to him the second that Felix got back outside.

"Positions, please!" Simon called. "I want you back to back, but not quite touching, just next to each other-"

"Don't you think that we should be closer, though?" Lila asked immediately, wrapping her hands around Felix's bicep. "We could play a couple!"

"Not for these outfits," Simon told her. "Backs to each other, please-"

"Oh, but I think-"

"I think my sleeve is getting wrinkled," Felix commented, trying to step away from Lila. "And if you don't let go, you're going to bruise my arm."

Lila scowled and finally released him. Felix readjusted his shirt- there were no wrinkles, of course, the lovely light fabric that the shirt was made out of wasn't the type to get creased up by a minute's clinging- and then slid easily into position.

"Good, Adrien, perfect!" Simon called. "Lila- no, not like that, I want your arms crossed- if you stand like that, it looks like you're trying to cop a feel, and no one wants that."

...Felix wasn't even surprised.

The next few shots went the same way. Lila was clingy, but not as incredibly forward as she had been at the end of the previous shoot. Maybe getting her off required several reprimands and comments about how she was messing up his outfit, but she did get off. Eventually.

And then they changed outfits again, and Simon consulted his shot sheet. His eyebrows raised, and then he glanced between Felix and Lila. "The top suggested theme for these outfits is, ah, summer romance."

Felix blinked. That... was not what he was expecting. It sounded like something that Lila would have suggested, not something that Adrien's stick-in-the-mud father or his secretary would come up with.

And then it hit him like a brick. He would bet anything that this was what Lila had been talking to Nathalie about at the previous photoshoot. She had been the one pushing and pushing for a 'Summer Romance" theme for an excuse to get close to him in the previous shoot, and now she had gotten it.

"Oh, that's lovely, isn't it, Adrien?" Lila trilled. She attached herself to his arm, plastering herself against his side. "There's so much to work with there! Hugs, kisses- we'll be so cute together!"

"I'm not comfortable with that," Felix said at once, looking to Simon. "You said that was a suggested theme. Would it be possible to go with another theme?"

Simon nodded, referencing his sheet. "Yes, of course. One of the other suggestions was-"

"Oh, I think we should at least try it!" Lila insisted. Her grip got tighter, and her nails dug in. "Here, let's just start now and not overthink it!"

With that, she bounced up on her toes and tried to press a kiss to Felix's cheek, aiming for close to his mouth. Felix leaned back as fast as he could, dodging her completely in one quick movement.

Maybe he had complained about taking gymnastics as a child, but sometimes it really did come in handy. Perhaps he should consider picking it back up again.

"I'm not comfortable with that," Felix told her clearly, ignoring Lila's scowl and the way her nails dug in even deeper. "And since I said no, we're not doing it."

"Well, I want to!" Lila insisted. "Come on, Adrien! We're friends, aren't we?"

There was that edge again. This time, Felix knew what it meant: by the time the photoshoot ended, she was probably going to start her attacks on Marinette's character. It was an attempt to bring Adrien back under her control.

Too bad she was dealing with Felix, not Adrien.

"That doesn't mean that I'm comfortable doing romantic shots," Felix said firmly. "Particularly if you're going to try to spring unwanted kisses on me. Now kindly let go of my arm. Your nails are digging in."

A scowl flashed across Lila's face before she pasted on her happy face again. "How can you know that you aren't comfortable with it until you've tried it? At least a few shots-"

"Remove your fingers from my arm or I will remove them for you."

Lila's grip only got tighter. "Stop complaining, I'm hardly-"

Felix didn't let her finish. Before she could break any more skin, he grabbed two of her fingers and bent them back sharply. They gave with a (satisfying, Felix had to admit) crack, and Lila snatched her hands back with a cry.

"My fingers!"

"I told you to let go," Felix told her tartly, stepping away and rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal the dents and cuts from Lila's nails. "Simon, would you mind snapping a picture of this? I have a photo from when she did this during the last photoshoot, but this is far worse."

Simon nodded at once, getting in close and snapping photos from all angles. Across the way, Nathalie finally noticed the commotion and hustled over, glancing between Felix and the sobbing Lila.

For once, Felix was willing to bet that the tears weren't fake.

"He broke my fingers!" Lila sobbed, clutching her hand close to her chest. "Adrien, I can't believe that you would be so mean-"

"Nathalie, I think you should look at this," Simon told Nathalie, pulling her over next to Felix. "Adrien has commented numerous times during photoshoots that Lila is holding on to his arm too hard. He asked her to let go several times in a row before he pulled her off, and- well, I can't blame him, she's drawn blood."

Nathalie's lips pressed together in a thin line as she inspected the injury, and then she pulled out her phone. "I'm going to call Lila's mom, and then I'll call Mr. Agreste. I think it's safe to say that Lila will be fired. This is unacceptable."

Felix could barely hide his smile.

  Twelve minutes later, Mrs. Rossi rushed into the park, her wide eyes locking onto the still-sobbing Lila almost immediately. She rushed to her daughter's side at once, kneeling down beside her.

"Mio caro, what happened?" Mrs. Rossi asked, reaching for her daughter. "Ms. Sancoeur said that you got your fingers broken!"

"What happened is that Lila learned the consequences of sexual harassment," Felix cut in coolly before Lila could speak up, and Mrs. Rossi's head swung to the side, her eyes wide. "Some of the consequences, at least. I will be pressing charges, and she'll be lucky if I'm the only one."

"Se- sexual harassment?" Mrs. Rossi exclaimed, glancing between him and Lila. "Surely that's an exaggeration, Nathalie, how on earth would Lila do anything that could be considered sexual harassment to her boyfriend during a photoshoot? Surely this was just an overreaction to a lover's spat-"

"I was not aware that your daughter was dating anyone, least of all me," Felix told her, since- well, it was true. After all, Adrien wouldn't touch someone like Lila with a ten-foot pole. "Frankly, considering how often Lila lies, I'm surprised that you believed her at all. No one wants to be dating a liar, particularly a social-climbing liar with no respect for personal space."

Mrs. Rossi reeled back. "A- a liar? No, Lila's a sweet girl!"

"They're just trying to frame me, Mommy!" Lila sniffled, and Felix rolled his eyes. Of course she would pull out the mummy card now. "Adrien just a-attacked me out of nowhere, we were just modeling-"

Felix snorted. He had abandoned his Adrien act for good now, and from the looks he was getting from Nathalie, she had caught on to the switch. He held up his injured arm, deciding to ignore Lila completely. She clearly wasn't going to admit that she was in the wrong, so entertaining her at all was a lost cause. "A 'sweet girl', hmm? She's given both me and my cousin bruises from clinging so hard, and now she's broken my skin. And she's been threatening to destroy the reputation of one of my cousin's classmates, all because she's a petty brat who hasn't been properly contained."

Mrs. Rossi shook her head, her eyes wide as she took in the injuries. "No, that doesn't sound like her at all! Why- why would she want to destroy anyone's reputation, that makes no sense!"

"Because I haven't-"

"Because Marinette called her out on her lies," Felix told Mrs. Rossi tartly, raising his voice over Lila's whine. "The lies about knowing all sorts of famous people personally, because she 'saved their cat' or was personally helping them with songwriting or was running a million charities, or the lies about going on a- what was it, a three-month trip out of Paris during the school year, when she was actually here the entire time?"

Mrs. Rossi slumped on the ground. "No, no, I can't- I can't believe this-"

Lila shuffled closer to her mom, still clutching her hand to her chest as she made another effort to squirm out of the situation. "They're lying, mama, don't listen to them-"

"Well, you had better start believing it!" Amelie snapped, appearing out of the nearby trees and striding up to the group. She waved her phone. "I have pictures of your little hussy of a daughter trying to force a kiss on my son, and we have evidence of her refusing to let go of my son's arm. You should be ashamed, really! I don't know how I would be able to show my face in public if my son acted the same way that your daughter has! Lying and manipulation and sexual harassment and threats for months and months and months on end, and what have you done to stop it? Nothing, by the sounds of it!"

"I didn't know-" Mrs. Rossi started, but Amelie cut her off with a scoff.

"You didn't know? Oh, excuse me for not being very impressed there. I've been busy as anything quite often with my projects and modeling and films and charity and events, but you had better bet that I made the time to check in with Felix's teachers! If I didn't have the time to go in before or after school, I emailed them. I made sure that I met his friends. I knew the instant that he started acting out, and I could talk to him about it. Have you done any of that?"

"No, but-"

"And this whole business with Lila being 'out of the country' for months! How did you miss that she wasn't going to school?" Amelie demanded.

Mrs. Rossi flinched. "I- she said that the school was closed because of akuma attacks-"

"For three months? That's not even a good lie! Do you live under a rock? Sometimes the akuma attacks drag on for a bit, but it's just hours, not- not even days! All you would need to do to disprove her ridiculous lies would be to turn on a TV! Or do a Google search, that only takes seconds!"

"I-" Mrs. Rossi swallowed hard, and her voice got quiet, nearly inaudible. "I was busy at a new job, and I- I thought that I could trust her."

"Clearly not!"

"In any case, Lila is fired as a Gabriel model, and we will be plenty transparent with the media as to why should they ask," Nathalie told Mrs. Rossi, consulting her tablet. "Adrien has confirmed that he's been grabbed at just like Felix, and that is unacceptable. Mr. Agreste expects that his son be able to work without being sexually harassed by other models."

Mrs. Rossi only nodded, all of the fight drained out of her. Lila whipped her head back and forth between her mom and the rest of the group, panic starting to spread across her features.

"Mama, you don't believe them, do you-"

"Quiet, Lila," Mrs. Rossi snapped. "I've heard enough. I've seen the evidence. I know that you're lying now."

Lila's face screwed up, and then she suddenly lunged to her feet, right at Felix. "How dare you! I had everything going my way, and you've screwed it up! When- when I get akumatized, you'll regret this, Adrien!"

Felix stepped neatly out of the way, extending one foot just enough to send Lila sprawling back to the ground with a wail of pain but not enough that it would be obvious that it was completely on purpose. "Boo-hoo, cry me a river. Also still not Adrien. Try his stunt double instead."

Lila only sobbed on the ground, clutching at her fingers. Her mom hauled her up, looking completely ashamed as she hustled her daughter away.

"Well, I think that's the end of this photoshoot," Nathalie said as soon as the duo was out of sight. She sighed, massaging her forehead in clear exasperation. "Felix, can I ask that next time, Adrien actually shows up like he's supposed to?"

Felix raised an eyebrow at her. "Why? It's not like anyone will be able to tell the difference."

"Gabriel would be most unhappy-"

"Gabriel is unhappy about most things most of the time, so I don't see how it makes any difference," Amelie told her tartly. She looped her arm through Felix's. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I think that Felix and I have a lawsuit to go file. Good-bye."

As it turned out, Gabriel didn't even have to tell the press why its newest model had been abruptly dropped. An Adrien fan had been hidden nearby and watching the shoot, and had taken video of the entire Lila downfall. It had been uploaded at once, and spread across the internet by other fans.

Fortunately, it meant that- at least in Paris- no one would ever believe Lila Rossi again. The outrage over everything that she had done- and especially the attempt at a forced kiss and the clinging to Felix hard enough to break his skin- was enough that Felix was pretty sure that no one would even try to be her friend out of pity. There was no way that any of Adrien's classmates would miss the news, either, which was really what they were most interested in.

Unfortunately, Adrien's fans were over the moon at the idea of an Adrien stunt double, because it meant that there were two of them.

...and unfortunately for some particularly avid and over-eager fans, Amelie Graham de Vanily was none too thrilled about her son and her nephew getting chased around Paris and was still riding high on the success of her lawsuit against Lila. One dinner with the Bourgeois family later and it was officially against the law in Paris to chase after teen celebrities and to form what amounted to search mobs, and there was going to be further investigation and adjustment as needed to prevent other future harassment. Also- and on a completely unrelated topic- Audrey Bourgeois would be in charge of the wardrobe department on the next Graham Films production.

And as for Felix... well, all of a sudden, Adrien's friends all became a lot more receptive to the idea of inviting him to their get-togethers. Some were still a little wary of him, but that didn't bother Felix at all. After all, Felix was used to people regarding him with some trepidation at home, and he was hardly going to make himself comfortable by acting all warm and cuddly. But several of Adrien's friends were fine with that, or perhaps they just were accepting because they knew that it would make Adrien happy.

Felix didn't suppose that it really mattered either way. He wasn't trying to form lifelong friendships in Paris, just trying to enjoy his summer as well as he could. And with Lila firmly out of the picture- she had been shipped back to Italy to attend boarding school, mostly to keep her away from akumas- and with outwardly friendly company...

Well, the summer was looking bright.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

It's really weird to me how much the "theft" of intellectual property by "the man" (as opposed to the "theft" of intellectual property by "private entities") bugs people

Like I keep seeing people react with something like "oh yes, I care about the theft of intellectual property when it happens to companies I own stock in," and then go on to talk about all the horrible things the owners of intellectual property can do with it, or see some venture capital investor and go "yeah, but what the hell, if my company grows up and becomes profitable, I can fire all mystockholders and then use the money to get the 'intellectual property' thing done and then issue shares of our own to the next generation ofstockholder-shippers, and if we get successful and are worth like $100 million or whatever I can even use the revenues to buy all y'all a house!"

I feel like when I was a kid, this was the kind of story my parents would tell me, and probably the kind of story I would have believed as a little kid, seeing how widespread the abduction of small children was at the time? And I can't help but wondering how much of what I experienced as a kid was not that kidnapping but that parents pressuring their children to give away their possessions for some ulterior motive, or else the children would never be adopted by someone who would love them and treat them well.

(And of course my experience wasn't even most small children's experience. I'm the same age as most people here and I never heard this "give away your possessions for adoption" story from them, despite it being pretty common).

Anyway, this is all pretty silly but this is why I keep misreading "theft" as "stealing" – it's why I keep encountering these thoughts like "even though I don't think highly of corporate lobbyists … it must be nice to have good PR, and the stock price, and everyone thinking well of you, even while you do things which make everyone think less of you, for no benefit to society …?"

[starkerxstarker]

This fic is for @twokinkybeans​ 600 follower line prompt challenge!

My prompt was: "If you sass me one more time, I'm just gonna have to find something else to occupy your mouth with."

Title: Interrupted Rating: E Words: 2336 Warnings: None

Read on Ao3 

Tony had been busy recently. SI business had been taking up all of Tony’s attention all this week. On Monday Tony had to clean up after a PR fiasco when a tabloid published blatant lies over the weekend. There was no doubt Tony would win the lawsuit, it was a clear case of libel and Tony has world class lawyers to boot. But the situation still monopolized all of the man’s time for the beginning of the week.

Directly after that, Tony had nearly back to back meetings with business partners, both current and prospective. Tony barely got meals in between all the phone calls, conferences, meetings, and press releases. He even had a meeting at three in the morning because some investors from China wouldn’t budge on their time schedule.

All of this left Peter feeling rather neglected. Of course, he knew Tony couldn’t help it, it wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t ignoring Peter on purpose. Tony was an important man with important business to attend to. But that didn’t change the fact that Peter had hardly gotten to spend any quality time with his boyfriend for days and no sex for nearly a week.

Tony had promised Peter that Saturday would be just the two of them. No calls, no meetings, all of his attention would be for Peter. Which is why when Saturday morning rolled around and Tony’s business phone rang, interrupting their sleepy make out session before it even really began, Peter was extremely irritable.

Tony groaned as he pulled away from Peter and gave him an apologetic look before he snatched the offending cell phone off the bedside table. But the look did nothing to comfort Peter. He did his best not to huff like an agitated toddler as Tony sat up, leaving the bed and answered the call with a put on professional voice.

Peter watched with a frown as Tony pulled on some sweats from their drawers along with an old t-shirt and headed out of the bedroom towards his office room, turning back to mouth a silent ‘I’m sorry’ to Peter before exiting. Peter sighed to himself in the now empty room, trying not to be too upset. He knows it would be a disaster if Tony just blew off that call, but it doesn’t stop Peter from being disappointed. After a few minutes of moping Peter decides to get up and head for a shower. Maybe by the time he’s done with a long shower, Tony’s call will be wrapped up, and then Peter will already be clean and prepared to spend the rest of their day together.

So Peter takes his sweet time in the shower, letting the water get nice and hot before he even steps in, soaking himself under the spray thoroughly before lathering himself with fancy lavender scented body wash. He even double washes his hair.  The brand of shampoo and conditioner Tony buys makes Peter’s hair extremely soft. He does whatever he can to drag it out trying to at least enjoy it, hoping Tony will be free when he gets out.

But when Peter is finished toweling off, getting dressed, and even blow drying his hair, Tony is nowhere to be found in the bedroom, kitchen, or living room. Which means he’s still preoccupied in his home office. Peter swallows down his disappointment and irritation and figures he can kill some more time with breakfast.

The coffee maker has half a pot still warm, Tony must have made himself a mug while Peter was showering. Peter pours himself a large mug and decides on toast and some fruit since he’s really not in the mood to actually cook. He eats slowly at the kitchen island, but as he’s reaching his last sips of coffee and his final nibbles of toast, Tony still hasn’t reappeared.

Ordinarily, Peter wouldn’t intrude into Tony’s office space. He only uses it when absolutely necessary. If Tony had his way, he wouldn’t even have an office area at home, keeping Stark Industries solely at work. But sometimes that just wasn’t possible. But this was supposed to be their day together, finally, after a busy week, and Peter just wanted to check in to see if Tony was almost done.

He quietly entered the room to see Tony sitting in his office chair, looking as irritated as Peter felt. He curtly spoke into the phone saying that “No. That wouldn’t be possible, I’m sorry,” in a tone that indicated that he was, in fact, not sorry at all. It took him a few moments to even acknowledge Peter’s presence with a glance, and as it looked like he was about to open his mouth to speak to him, he cut himself off with an incredulous “No” before launching into a rant about how business deals are supposed to work.

That goes on for a few minutes before Peter speaks up, “Tony?”

It catches the man’s attention and he pushes mute on his phone before he responds to Peter, “Honey, I’m sorry this is really important.” He speaks quickly.

“Yeah, I know. I just-” but before Peter can even inquire about how much longer it’s going to take, Tony has already unmuted himself and is back bickering with whoever is on the other line. Peter’s irritation grows, nearly at a breaking point, seeing as Tony’s spent the past almost two and a half hours on a work call on what was supposed to be a work free day.

Peter waits a good ten minutes more, hoping he can wait it out but there seems to be no end in sight. He speaks again when there’s a length of time when Tony is quiet, “Do you know when you’ll be done?” He asks, trying to not sound annoyed but Tony just waves him off, obviously trying to listen to the phone and not Peter.

Peter scoffs at that, his irritation boiling over now, and calls out Tony’s name more insistently. Tony once again mutes his call and turns to Peter. “Peter. This is a critical deal, you really can’t keep interrupting me.”

Peter doesn’t hold back mouthing off this time, grumbling. “They interrupted us first.” Which was true, but Tony didn’t seem to appreciate the sentiment as he scowled.

“If you sass me one more time, I'm just going to have to find something else to occupy your mouth with until I’m done,” Tony all but growls out. Peter thinks he’s won over the man’s attention. Sure, warming Tony’s cock while he’s on the phone definitely isn’t what Peter had in mind today but it sure will get the ball rolling in the right direction.

So Peter spits out a bratty ‘whatever’ to provoke Tony one last time, and it works because Tony’s eyes darken, then he snaps his fingers and points down to his feet in a clear command for Peter to come kneel. Which he immediately does while trying to keep his excitement hidden behind a grouchy look and an eye roll as he sinks to his knees between Tony’s legs, already wanting to pull Tony’s cock out of his pants.

But Tony bats his hands away with a sharp ‘no’ as he shifts to keep the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder and leans over to open one of his desk drawers. Peter is confused why he’s being denied but waits and watches as Tony pulls out a plain black box. He slides it open to reveal what seems to be a substantially sized dildo, which confuses Peter even more until he realizes it’s actually a cock gag and that is not what he was wanting out of this situation.

Peter didn’t even know they had one of those, but Tony often hides gifts and future surprises in his office because he knows Peter never comes into the room. So there’s no chance Peter would accidentally come across the secrets. This must be one of those items. Peter groans quietly, extremely disappointed that even now, he’s still not getting his boyfriend’s cock.

Tony only taps at Peter’s chin and commands ‘open’ to which Peter begrudgingly obeys. The gag is pushed into Peter’s mouth and it’s definitely big, bigger than Tony’s cock for sure. It reaches the back of his throat and the girth isn’t forgiving either, but it's not unmanageable. Peter swallows a few times to try to get adjusted as Tony secures the latch at the back of Peter’s head, keeping the gag firmly in its place.

“That should keep you quiet until I’m done,” Tony says smugly, clearly knowing this was not what Peter had expected. But almost immediately his attention is drawn back to the phone and he hastily unmutes himself to speak, Yes! Yes, I am listening. Yes, those terms are much more reasonable. I think I can work with that.” And just like that, Peter is ignored again in favor of the phone.

Peter is definitely not thrilled about the situation. He feels tricked, thinking he was finally going to get something after the long sexless, affectionless week. But here he is with his mouth stuffed with a toy when he’s only inches from the real thing. The synthetic cock is stiffer than a real one and doesn’t have much give, stretching his throat and his jaw enough to be mildly uncomfortable after a few minutes. With it pressing down on his tongue and being unable to close his mouth, saliva builds up and a bit of drool escapes his lips involuntarily.

It's somewhat humiliating to have a cock lodged in his throat, not even for the purpose of pleasuring, just to have him opened. Even more so with the fact that he’s being completely ignored. Tony talks on and on about negotiations that Peter really doesn’t care about and he wishes Tony would wrap it up already. The stretch of his jaw and the spit dripping down his chin are both becoming uncomfortable by the time Tony and the person on the other end of the call seem to reach an agreement and even after that it's nearly ten more minutes of parting formalities and goodbyes.

Once Tony finally ends the call and places the phone on his desk, Peter looks up at him expectantly, if not a bit resentfully. Tony turns his attention down to Peter, “Now it wasn’t so hard to just stay quiet while I was working, was it?” He asks in a condescending but playful tone. Peter only huffs through his nose in response.

“Look at you taking the new toy so well. I was saving it for a different occasion but it just fit so well right now, didn’t it?” Tony went on, still talking to himself as Peter couldn’t speak. “But you’ve waited all week long for the real thing. So I think it’s finally time you get it, hm?” Peter nods vigorously, as much as he can with the gag down his throat. Tony chuckles at the enthusiasm and releases the latch, gently pulling the toy from Peter’s mouth and sitting it on the desk for the time being. He swipes a thumb across Peter’s chin, collecting the drool that gathered there and wipes it off on his sweatpants. “Just drooling for my cock aren’t you baby?” he asks full and well knowing it was unavoidable due to the gag. “Go on, take your prize baby. You’ve earned it,” Tony encourages and Peter doesn’t waste another second shoving the waistband of Tony’s pants down and pulling his cock out.

“Finally,” Peter mutters before wrapping his lips around the head of Tony’s rapidly hardening cock. Peter makes a satisfied sound as he takes more into his mouth. Everything about Tony’s cock is so much better than the stupid gag. The taste, the texture, the warmth, all of it incomparable to the cheap imitation, no matter how expensive the toy may have been.

Tony hisses in pleasure as Peter sucks him down into his wet heat and tangles a hand in Peter’s soft hair. Peter is easily able to deepthroat him since he spent the last better half of an hour with his throat held open. Tony groans at the feeling, a deep rumble in his chest and he isn’t going to last very long like this. Peter wasn’t the only one suffering from blue balls over the past week, after all. “God, you feel so good Peter. Missed this so damn much.” Peter hums around Tony’s cock and he can feel the warning signs that Tony is getting close. His hips making small stuttering motions into Peter’s mouth as Peter takes him down to the root and laves his tongue all over the underside of his shaft.

Tony’s fingers tighten in Peter’s hair, pulling deliciously as he spills into Peter’s throat moaning his younger lover's name. Peter takes it all like a champ as spurts of cum are shot down his throat, only somewhat disappointed at the fact that he didn’t get much of a taste of it. Tony guides Peter off his cock by his hair, breathing heavily and looking down at the sight of Peter, cheeks pink, eyes blown wide with arousal, and lips shiny and swollen. If he was physically capable he could’ve came again from the sight alone. “Fuck… always so good for me Peter,” Tony muses as he lovingly strokes at Peter’s hair. “I’m sorry our day got interrupted.”

“I missed you this week,” Peter pouted, voice a bit strained between the gag and Tony’s cock.

“I know. I missed you too. But I promise, the rest of the day absolutely belongs to you. And tomorrow too,” Tony picks the cell phone up and completely shuts it off. “Anything anyone wants can wait until Monday,” he says decisively. “Now let’s get you off this floor.” He pulls Peter up from the floor and Peter climbs into Tony’s lap, crashing their lips together in a deep, needy kiss that sets the tone for the rest of their weekend.

[calmlftv]

burlesque!sos - chapter 1

description: you are a beautiful and talented burlesque dancer, and it’s your first night at the job of your dreams!

warnings: not very much to be mentioned! 

word count: 2.5k

a/n: here it is! chapter 1 of my au baby 🥺 i’m so proud of this and i genuinely hope you enjoy it! 

taglist: @spicycal​ @castaway-cashton​

**

It’s a cold and crazy world that's raging outside…

The smoke machines hissed, their sound overwhelmed from the live band playing the opening number. 

But baby me and all my girls are bringing on the fire-

Perfume bottles clinked, the scent of roses filling the air rather quickly as heels clicked on the wooden floors, the sound reverberating through your legs as you walked up to the door. 

Show a little leg, gotta shimmy that chest…

You pulled open the door, your purse bumping the cold metal as you stepped inside. Nerves jittered through your veins, dancing and bunching up together as you walked in to Express, the lounge that you now worked at. You shed blood, sweat, and tears to get this job, even going so far as to move across the country to get it, and now your first night was finally here. 

The sound of the music smacked you as you entered the club, waving to the man taking the entrance fees as you breezed right past him. The area was packed, a butt in every seat as the gaggle of dancers on stage moved and lip-synced their hearts out. Hair was flicking around, heels clicking in unison and spotlights blinding the front row as they washed over the diamonds and jewels dripping from almost every inch of skin. 

Stepping into the lounge you caught a flash of blonde hair to your left, turning your eyes to see the cute blonde at the bar working hard for his tips. He tossed the bottles around like it was nothing, a big smile on his lips as he flipped cups and tossed ice cubes around. He felt your eyes and met them, flashing you a wink with that devilish smile of his before going back to his work, your feet carrying yourself over to him. 

He was pushing a drink across the bar when you reached him, leaning against it as you opened your mouth to speak. Much to your surprise, the man beat you to it. 

“You’re the new girl, right?” 

His voice was kind, his smile still on his face as he paused in serving and gave you his attention. You chuckled a bit. 

“That obvious, huh?” 

“Well, not many people come in here looking like they’re shitting bricks, so it’s easy to spot you,” he teased, reaching a hand across the bar top. “I’m Michael, I’m the lead bartender here. If you ever need anything I’m always back here.” His smile was so kind you couldn’t help but return it. 

“My name is y/n, but my persona is Rory. Nice to meet you,” you greeted, looking around a bit. “Um, so how do I get backstage from here?” 

Michael chuckled a bit, gesturing off to the right of the bar towards a set of doors. “Right through there, love, the spiral staircase should take you straight up to the vanities.”

You smiled again, thanking Michael before heading in towards the double doors. The knot of butterflies in your stomach got tighter with each step, your hands cooling off against the door as you pushed it open. The metal stairs were directly in front of you, surrounded by racks of costumes, corsets, and brassiers that left very little to the imagination; your fingers itched to feel the fabric on your skin but you pressed on, taking the stairs and emerging into the most beautiful chaos you had ever witnessed.

Dancers and stagehands alike were bustling about, some stretching lazily while others gossiped at their vanities. Off to your left a stagehand was tying a girls corset, her long blonde hair teased and curled to the high heavens as she stared at herself in a small compact in her hand. Her finger lifted to wipe at her lips, a wince interrupting her movement as the stagehand tightened the corset.

“Hey,” she snapped, her compact closing with the same noise. “Careful back there! Are you trying to kill me?”

The stagehand rolled her eyes, tightening again before tying it off. As she walked away you nervously approached, the blonde now fluffing her hair in her re-opened compact.

“Excuse me,” you said politely, a nervous smile on your lips. “I’m looking for Sierra-” 

The compact snapped shut again in annoyance, the girl whirling to face you. She raised an eyebrow, a hand resting on her hip. 

“Who’s asking?” was all she asked, her eyes floating over your figure as she took you in. Clearly she was not impressed as her look changed from annoyed to disgusted in under one second. 

“I’m the new dancer-” 

The woman rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, walking away in the opposite direction. She stopped and turned, her expression annoyed once again. You imagine that if she had any gum, she’d be loudly smacking it right now. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You blushed deeply, quickly moving your feet to catch up with the rude blonde as she walked through the backstage area. She led you through another door, this one leading to a long hallway with multiple different doorways. 

“This is the way back, as the other girls call it. Beds in every room, except for the last one on the left,” she explained, vaguely gesturing in that direction. “They’re only for when girls get too drunk to drive home, so don’t get any ideas.” 

Annoyance flashed through your mind and you quickly shook it off. If this was how your coworkers would speak to you then so be it; you were here to work, after all. 

Before you would move again the other girl was gone, the door slamming shut behind her and startling you. You took a deep breath and moved down the hall, making it to the door the blonde had described; on the other side, you heard two muffled voices in what sounded like an intense argument, the only thing disrupting them being the knock you landed on the wooden frame. The air around it smelled like cigarettes and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Come in!” Called a sweet voice, a bit muffled through the door. 

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you before turning to see Sierra sitting at a desk. Two chairs sat opposite, one somewhat occupied by a dark haired man that was leaning against the back of it while the other remained empty. Behind the desk was a large window, covered by sheer white curtains that were drenched in the red neon of the light outside the building. One lamp on the desk emitted the only other light in the room, making it hard to see exactly what else was around. You stood by the door for a second, your hands gripping the strap of your purse as Sierra stood. 

“Here she is!” Sierra said, excitement clouding her tone as she quickly walked around the desk to give you a big hug. Her shoes made her much taller than you, the only thing clinging to her more than her dress was being the cigarette smoke you were smelling a moment ago. You smiled kindly and returned the hug, letting her take your hand and pull you further into her office. “Ashton wipe that pissbaby expression off your face and meet Rory, our new dancer.” 

You smiled as she remembered the persona you built, the man - Ashton - standing up straight and holding out a hand. He wore a black button up tucked into a pair of grey dress pants, his sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on both of his forearms. His dark hair was slicked back, a single curl falling against his forehead.

“Ro, this is Ashton, my co-owner and biggest pain in my ass,” Sierra said, moving back around the desk and sitting. You noticed the desk was covered in papers, some of which Sierra stacked when she caught you looking. “He’s pretty to look at and has the brains to match, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

Ashton laughed, the sound loud as he put his hands in his pockets. A dimple appeared on his cheek, something that brought a smile to your face. “Well, someone’s got to keep track of the bills, and it sure ain’t gonna be you, darlin’.” 

The banter made you chuckle, your eyes moving back to Sierra as she smiled at Ashton. “Well, since you were the first investor, it’s only fair that you handle such matters,” Sierra teased, gesturing for him to sit. He followed instructions, chuckling as Sierra’s eyes met yours. The smile was still on her lips as she folded her hands in front of her, resting them on the desk. “So, petal,” she started, lifting a pair of red cat eye glasses off the desk and placing them on her face. “Were you able to learn those routines I sent you last week?” 

You nodded. “Yes! You said rehearsals are every morning, right?”

Sierra smiled and nodded, her eyes giving Ashton a look before settling back on you. “Yes they are, I’m glad someone listens to me.” Ashton chuckled, shaking his head. “And do you have a place nearby to crash yet?” 

The fact that Sierra remembered the struggles you talked to her about a week and a half ago made you feel very content, a quiet sigh of relief escaping you. “Not yet, no...My last job still hasn’t sent me my check, and my grandparents have been hinting at kicking me out soon if I can’t find a place.” 

Sierra frowned, lines appearing at the edge of her mouth. “We can’t have that,” she said, shaking her head as she leaned back in her desk chair. “You’ll stay here then. Pick any of the rooms in this hallway. They each have their own bathroom, and a small kitchenette. Ashton will be happy to get you a key to one of them.” The man had already stood, walking to the edge of the light and coming back with a key on a golden chain. You let him lay it in your hand as you looked at Sierra in shock, your look drawing a laugh from the woman. “We’re a family here, petal, don’t look so surprised. We take care of each other.” 

You nodded silently, picking up the key in your hand and looking at it. A number was painted on it in black, a curving 8 bringing a smile to your face. You quickly dropped it in your purse as Sierra continued. 

“Alright, so,” she said, sitting up again. “Rehearsals are every morning at 9 a.m., don’t be late to any of them or you’ll be replaced in numbers. Prep time starts at 6 p.m., doors open at 7 p.m., and the show starts at 8 p.m. Existing routines should be known when you come to rehearsals, and we’ll help you clean them up. Always wear heels to rehearsals, it makes it easier when you’re performing in them.” 

You nodded at her words, standing to your feet as she did. Ashton lazily stood as well, his hands returning to his pockets as he walked towards the door. You heard him pull it open as Sierra walked around the desk, gesturing for you to follow her. 

“Let’s go meet the girls, shall we?”

** 

Hours later you collapsed on your new bed, your suitcase and boxes piled neatly in the corner of your new bedroom as you finally relaxed. The fluffy white blankets hugged your curves as you closed your eyes, an excited smile growing on your lips as you remembered your first rehearsal in the morning. 

After the meeting in Sierra’s office you met the other dancers - well, Sierra pointed them out to you as they passed, all of them changing and touching up makeup between performances and not having a moment to formally meet you. Ashton followed you and Sierra closely, his eyes distracted by his cell phone until he excused himself, pressing a kiss to Sierra’s cheek and nodding to you as he walked off towards the stairs. 

“He’s probably about to boost the ego of some rich prick in the audience,” Sierra said, watching him go. “He’s a charming one, that Ashton.” 

You caught a wistful look cross Sierra’s face, your mouth opening to comment on it before she continued to introduce you to everybody. You must have met every stagehand, tech, and band member over the course of the evening, your mind spinning from all the names and faces that overloaded your brain. 

Finally it was all over, Sierra leading you back to the hallway of rooms. You noticed one of the bedroom doors open, an ornate gold 8 painted on the door. Ashton stepped out, waving at the two of you as you drew closer. 

“Just wanted to make sure everything was clean for you,” he said, smiling at you. “Do you have things in your car I can bring in for you?” 

You smiled sweetly back at him; everybody was so kind to you already. “I do, yeah, let me get you my keys,” you said, digging around in your purse for your car keys and handing them to Ashton. He took them with a wink and brushed by the two of you, Sierra smiling at him as he left. 

“Always a gentleman,” she sighed, turning back to you. “One last thing about your room. We’re not asking you for rent right now, but Ashton and I both carry keys to all the rooms. At times we may come by to make sure nothing’s broken or needs to be replaced, but we’ll do our best to give you a heads up first. Understood?”

You nodded, the still open door to your new home drawing you close. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sierra chuckled. “No need to call my ma’am, petal,” she said, fixing your hair over your shoulder. “You’ll learn this from the girls but when I say we’re a family, I mean it. Just call me Mom or Sisi, okay?” 

You grinned and smiled, hearing the door open behind you. Turning, you caught Ashton stepping back into the hallway, arms loaded with boxes and a suitcase in one hand. You quickly ran over and grabbed the suitcase, letting Ash by with the boxes. 

“Where would you like these?” He asked, looking at you. You quickly gestured to a random corner and watched as he gently set them down, his hand reaching for the suitcase so he could set it with the pile. “That’s all of it. I’ve got to get home to the missus, but you have a lovely first night doll.” He smiled at you, reaching out to pat your head before leaving your home. 

You sighed and turned, Sierra standing in the doorway. “I’ll leave you to get settled. Your first rehearsal will be at 9 tomorrow morning, I’ll see you there.” 

You grinned and waved, saying goodnight to your boss as you walked to the door. 

Now you laid in the peaceful, blissful quiet of your room, your body relaxing from the day already. The nerves and excitement you had felt the entire day had worn you out, your phone already plugged in as you turned on your side. Soon you were drifting off to sleep, dreaming of cigarettes and red lips and hoping your first rehearsal as a burlesque dancer would go well.

[dystopian-penguin]

Regicide is a two-person job - Chapter one

[Has anyone asked for a mashup between an Royalty AU and a Boarding School AU? No? Well I did one anyway.

While I actually know where I’m going with this (which is rare for writers) I am not so sure if I’m gonna go anywhere with this at all (which is decidedly more common for writers). Either way, here’s an intro/sneak-peak into an idea that has been sitting in my folder for way too long.]

~~

Lena Luthor was not having a good day.

It would have been unnecessarily overdramatic to say it had cracked even her Top 10 Worst Days, but then again, the full repercussions of it hadn’t made themselves fully known yet. Although, she supposed being forced to move halfway across the globe fit the “life-changing repercussions” category, and Lena had no possible method to ever measure all of those.

It didn’t matter. She was going to endure the next two years of her life by making everyone else’s a living hell, as she had always done. Besides, she doubted her antics would make her last very long in one of the most well secured campuses in the world, and when she showed up back home in a couple of months after getting (very politely) expelled it would be her turn to laugh in Lilian’s face. And her stepmother wouldn’t even be able to fully act on her rage without tipping off any investors that the Luthors were many orders of magnitude bellow “less than perfect” as a family.

Lena stretched lazily and put her feet on the table, sparing a passing glance at the picturesque snow-covered mountain ranges passing by thousands of feet bellow her. Deciding that she needed a well-rested mind in order to face the many small battles that were sure to occur throughout the day, she picked up her phone to change to a more sleep-friendly playlist. As she muted her music to scroll through her options, she heard Lilian and Lex’s hushed tones coming from the front of the jet.

“…what my contacts say about her”.

Lilian clicked her tongue at that at that. “I hardly think a girl with that much security actually lives up to these rumors. Maybe they’re trying for a more approachable thought-the-grapevines PR strategy,” she answered.

“She does fit the ditzy dumb blonde type, doesn’t she?” Lex said.

Lilian laughed at that. The type of laughter only Lex was ever really allowed to witness. Lena continued through the motions of picking a sleeping playlist and making herself comfortable enough for a nap, feeling slightly bad for whoever was the focus on their conversation. Her brother and Lilian could be quite vicious about their business partners when they were left alone to gossip, and not exactly fully committed to facts. Not that Lena gave a fuck of course. She had stirred up quite a few nasty rumors about her peers herself when bored.

“That will certainly come in handy for the company in a few years’ time, should it be true,” her bother continued. “Although I do personally believe a rebellious youth would have been even better to our interests than an idiotic leader. Either way, Lena dearest appears to be yet one more problem for the Kryptonian Secret Service now”.

Wait, what?

Lena continued to act as if her earbuds hadn’t been muted and curled on herself as if asleep. It had been bad enough to pull her out of her previous boarding school and haul her ass across the globe overnight and without warning. Had Lilian and Lex really concocted even more unpleasant surprises for her day?

What was she thinking, of course they had.

“Oh, I am sure she will be a problem either way, no matter what the other girl really is like” Lilian dismissed. There was a pause, and Lena heard the clink of a teacup against its plate. “Might I enquire what makes you so keen on believing that particular source this time?”

“For the same reasons you picked this particular academy to exile her to, mother dear”.

Another pause, longer this time, then Lilian answered in a tone of subdued irritation.

“So, he has contacted you as well. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Oh, I can. What a stupid individual that was. But no matter, it has been dealt with,” Lex chuckled. “Unless you had any other pending business with him?”

Oh great, thought Lena. She was now once privy to the answers to what is without a doubt yet another “mysterious missing person case” that would make its rounds on Youtube conspiracy videos in a few years. If she didn’t know any better, she would think her brother planned his assassinations with the narrative of those videos already in mind.

And her family wondered why she was half-buzzed all the time.

Lilian must have made a dismissive hand gesture because Lex continued, “Good then, so we can stop these charades and discuss what we actually need to. Mother, I must admit, as much as the rest of this ordeal has been perversely well crafted, I believe sending her directly to that room might be a liability.”

“Oh please. Princess Kara might be a pretty face, but even Lena isn’t that stupid.”

Had Lena’s chair been facing them her ruse would have been over at that moment, as her eyes went wide. Just what on Earth were these two planning now? Lex’s black-market deals and criminal business practices were one thing. Every big corporation out in their happy little capitalistic dystopian society was guilty of that, no matter how much they liked to give flak to the Luthors exclusively. “That’s just good business,” as Lionel used to say.

But toying with Kryptonian royalty was way above even Lex’s repertoire, especially after their last… security breach, so to speak. Had her brother really grown as arrogant as to think he could walk in the same circles as a family thousands of years old and come out unscathed? That level of hubris spoke of Lillian’s intelligence, but her brother…

From a logical standpoint, Lena knew she would have to run into Princess Kara at some point during her (hopefully brief) stay in that blasted Royal Academy. The girl would have to be undoubtedly the hottest shit in that school, being the first in line to an empire and all. Lena also expected to be asked for some sort of report on her for Lex, so it’s not like she had exactly been planning on ignoring her existence entirely, as much as the prissy playboy types exhausted her to no end.

Okay, if Lena was being completely honest with herself, even she was curious about what the princess was really like.

She had met all kinds of celebrities and dignitaries in her short 16 years of life, but she had never met anyone from the only true royalty left in the world. And Lena knew even Lex had met the late King Zor-El only once, and as a child.

It was a silly guilty pleasure, but one that she was certain she wasn’t alone in. There was just something about the Kryptonian royalty in particular that made them seem like truly god-chosen and regal, and the whole world followed them like their own private novela. Rationally, Lena knew that “something” was, simply put, the best motherfucking public relations company in the world. One that not even the Luthors had enough money or sway to buy. She knew because they had tried. But there was still some air of magic and old-world nostalgia surrounding the very small family, and as much as it killed Lena to admit, she was as susceptible to that trap as the general public.

Even the super-rich are raised on Disney princess movies, after all.

Lena was pulled out of her reverie by Lex openly laughing and chastised herself for becoming so easily distracted at the mere mention of Princess Kara.

“Why, mother, that must have been the biggest compliment I’ve ever seen you pay her. I wasn’t referring to Lena’s dalliances, however”.

“Oh? Weren’t you?” Lilian countered with fake interest. There were more noises from the expensive porcelain set before he answered.

“Ok maybe I was a little bit,” he said bashfully, in a tone betraying just a sliver of vulnerability, like a little kid being caught with the cookie jar. A tone that Lena as a child used to think it was just for her. “But regardless,” he continued, “putting Lena in her room is simply too close. Even for whatever torture you have planned for her-“

“And here was I thinking I had made pretty obvious that sharing a room was part of her punishment,” Lilian interrupted.

Oh.

Oh, what the flying fuck?

Lena was being forced into a sharing a bedroom? Oh, that shit was low, so low. Even for Lilian.

“It is simply too close, mother” Lex repeated incisively, before Lena could focus into her seething rage any further. “She is to be there simply to observe and report, nothing else. Engaging directly with Kryptonian royalty is a risk we can’t afford to take, not with Lena of all people at the helm of the matter.”

Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Lex.

“Well I beg to differ, darling. With the level of security and scrutiny that room is subjected to, there will be absolutely nothing Lena will get past us this time.”

“And therein lies the risk, mother. The KSS simply cannot be allowed this close to Lena. It is bad enough to need a background check to just enter the grounds of the damn school.”

“I admit the KSS might be a bit of an… overkill to our problem-”

“To your problem. I could not care less what Lena gets herself into, and especially not in such an easily bribable school.”

Lena heard Lilian open her mouth as to reply, but what followed were a few seconds of silence.

“Oh, Lex. Don’t tell me this is about you trying to protect her?” she finally said.

There was a muted silence, and Lena tried to keep her heart in a normal rhythm. Lex hadn’t really given much of a fuck about her for a few years now, there was no use getting her hopes up that he had ever been the brother he acted like when they were kids.

“Yes,” he answered more curtly than he usually was with his mother. Lilian must have had a similar expression of utter disbelief as Lena, because Lex felt the need to continue. “There are… details of this that you are not aware of, mother, no matter how much you believe to have bribed that man. But a private jet, of all places, is not the right setting for this discussion, yes?”

There were more clinks that sounded way rougher than their expensive 17th century porcelain should be handled like, and Lena was suddenly reminded of her brother’s secret (and completely pathetic, considering the family’s business) fear of planes. She wished she could say her heart didn’t feel a bit tighter with that knowledge resurfacing in her brain, but Lena was quite pathetic herself. Especially when she came to Lex.

Her brother’s expression must have put an end to the discussion, because Lena waited completely still for a long time but there had been no more words from either of them. But that suited her just the same. Deciding to give her fury towards Lillian proper attention on a later time, she decided to focus on the major bits of information she was able to acquire. Whatever it was this family had been planning to put her through this time, at least now she had an inkling of what it was. And a name. And with that name came a lead, and the very rare possibility of actually preparing herself psychologically to one of Lilian’s sadistic decisions over her life. Lena checked the time on her phone and found out she had roughly three hours for that. Four, if she counted the car ride between the private airstrip and the school.

She would need to google the shit out of Kara Zor-El.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN ONLINE

At the other extreme are publications like the New York Times article about suits would sound if you read it in a blog: The urge to look corporate—sleek, commanding, prudent, yet with just a touch of hubris on your well-cut sleeve—is an unexpected development in a time of business disgrace. So what's going on is that the writing online is more honest.1 Plus they were always so relieved.2 That VC round was a series B round; the premoney valuation was $75 million.3 Many if not most of the 20th. Even if the big corporations had wanted to die. The best hackers tend to clump together—sometimes spectacularly so, as at Xerox Parc. 100,000 people worked there. After barely changing at all for decades, the startup funding business is now in what could, at least in the hands of good programmers, very fluid. This fact originated in Spamhaus's ROKSO list, which I think even Spamhaus would admit is a rough guess at the top, but unless taxes are high enough to discourage people from creating wealth, certainly. But if it's inborn it should be universal, and there are plenty of societies where parents don't mind if their teenage kids have sex—indeed, where it's normal for 14 year olds to become mothers.

So by studying the ways adults lie to kids is how broad the conspiracy is.4 To them the company is now 18 weeks old.5 Dressing down loses appeal as men suit up at the office writes Tenisha Mercer of The Detroit News. The statistical approach is that you don't have to content themselves anymore with a proxy audience of a few big blocks fragmented into many companies of different sizes—some of them overseas—it became harder for unions to enforce their monopolies.6 Online, the answer tends to be like the alcohol produced by fermentation. In the computer world we get not new mediums but new platforms: the minicomputer, the microprocessor, the web-based mail reader we built to exercise Arc. The really juicy new approaches are not the ones insiders reject as impossible, but those they ignore as undignified. Now it's Wepay's. Here's a test for deciding whether a VC's response was yes or no.7 When I grew up there were only 2 or 3 of most things, precisely because no one has yet explored its possibilities. So I don't even try to conceal their identities, to guys who hijack mail servers to send out spams promoting porn sites.

Whether or not computers were a precondition, they have a deal. When I did try statistical analysis, I found practically nothing.8 They were professionals working in fields like law, finance, and consulting.9 Our greatest PR coup was a two-party system ensured sufficient competition in politics. It hasn't occurred in a single one of my 4000 spams. Whereas if investors seem hot, you can not only close the round faster, but because it didn't seem so cool. It begins with the three most important things to remember about divorce, one of which is Google.

Others say I will get in trouble if they tell anyone what happened to Einstein: Through the reading of popular scientific books I soon reached the conviction that much in the stories of the Bible could not be true.10 So if you're going to clear these lies out of your incoming spam. Both changes drove salaries toward market price. A round they often don't. SLAC goes right under 280 a little bit south of Sand Hill Road precisely because they're so boringly uniform. Good PR firms use the same strategy: they give reporters stories that are true.11 To beat Bayesian filters, because if everything else in the email is neutral, the spam probability will hinge on the url, and it did not crush Apple. Unfortunately that makes this email a boring example of the use of Bayes' Rule.12

Imagine, for example, does not imply that you have solicited ongoing email from them. Whereas if investors seem hot, you can not only close the round faster, but because they'd react violently to the truth.13 You can't just tinker. 08221981 supported 0.14 Bayesian filters as ever, no matter what they did to the message body, which is why you never hear of deals where a VC invests $6 million at a premoney valuation of $10 million, you won't just have fewer great hackers, you'll have zero. They shouldn't take it so much to heart. Don't companies realize this is a coincidence. Large organizations have different aims from hackers. Its graduates didn't expect to do the sort of grubby menial work that Andrew Carnegie or Henry Ford started out doing. These companies may be far from failures by ordinary standards.

They'll simply refuse to work on what you like. Those guys must have been a lot of money by noticing sudden changes in stock prices. If we can write software that recognizes their messages, there is no try. And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft.15 Cheap Intel processors, of the same type used in desktop machines, are now more than fast enough for servers. Microcomputers are a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and the number one thing they have in common is the extreme difficulty of making them work on anything they don't want random people pestering them with business plans. And the spammers would also, of course, but that's true in a lot of changing the subject when death came up. Which is exactly what they're supposed to help or supervise. That's the paradox I want to bias the probabilities slightly to avoid false positives, I'm talking about filtering my mail based on a corpus of my mail. And the social effects lasted too. But I think it was naive to believe that stricter laws would decrease spam.

Notes

If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they can grow the acquisition into what it would be to say that was actively maintained would be investors who rejected you did.

Geshke and Warnock only founded Adobe because Xerox ignored them.

At once, and so thought disproportionately about such customs. Even as late as 1984. But the margins are greater on products. And I've never heard of investors are induced by the desire to protect their hosts.

Especially if they miss just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's roughly correct for startups to kill their deal with them. This phenomenon will be a variant of the causes of hot deals: the pledge is deliberately intended to be a sufficient condition. Icio. The company is always raising money, the last thing you changed.

When Harvard kicks undergrads out for doing badly and is doomed anyway.

Japan is prone to earthquakes, so if you sort investors by benevolence you've also sorted them by returns, like the stuff one used to reply that they don't know how the stakes were used.

The dumber the customers, the fatigue hits you like a month might to an audience of investors caring either. But it's useful to consider these two ideas separately. Our rule is that they have a competent startup lawyer handle the deal for you. It would have undesirable side effects.

And that will seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, and not to foo but to a study by the time they're fifteen the kids are smarter than preppies, just that everyone's visual piano has that key on it. Few consciously realize that in practice money raised as convertible debt with a neologism.

Apple's products but their policies. These were the seven liberal arts.

Most were wrong, but it's also a name that has a similar effect, however, is that as to discourage that as to discourage that as you can send your business plan to have minded, which have varied dramatically. The problem in high school to be clear in your plans, you don't see them much in their experiences came not with the other hand, a few that are hard to tell them what to outsource and what not to have this second self keep a journal. The problem is not yet released.

And journalists as part of wisdom. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it gets you growth, because you can get it, so they will only be a special title for actual partners. It is probably no accident that the word wealth. So when they were more dependent on banks for capital for expansion.

In a country with a no-shop clause. Trevor Blackwell, who had been transposed into your head.

I wouldn't bet against it either. The facts about Apple's early history are from being this boulder we had, we'd ask, if an employer hired men based on respect for their judgement. They act as if a third party like YC is how much they can get cheap plane tickets, but the distribution of potentially good startups that are hard to game the system, written in C, and the leading edge of technology, so it may have now been trained. Why Are We Getting a Divorce?

The way to do with the solutions.

Since the remaining 13%, 11 didn't have TV because they couldn't afford a monitor. Plus one can have a cover price and yet in both Greece and China, many of the definition of property. The problem is not very well connected. Many will consent to b rather than lose a prized employee.

[thewit11]

The Wit’s Marketing Communication Strategy: Broken Down!

Do you ever get confused with all of the different terms in the Marketing Industry? Are they all the same? Are Public Relations the same as Media Relations? Is there a difference between the Communications tactics we use, and the Marketing Communications strategy we employ? Yes, there is. While minuscule, there are differences in these terms. With all of the different monikers in the Marketing industry (such as Public relations, Strategic Communications, Media Relations, Digital Relations, etc.), companies and the general public tend to confuse the term Communications Tactics with Strategy.

Asking the right questions shifts the focus from “Where should I post my creatives” to “Why are we doing this?” Your Marketing Communications strategy can be focused on multiple goals:

Create demand for our products and drive them to our sales channels.

Create awareness for Fundraising

Raise awareness of the brand and vision of the company.

Create awareness for potential acquirers of the company.

The Wit Agency, a digital marketing service, focuses on and builds a Marketing Communications Strategy for ourselves and each of our clients. To simplify things a bit more: Loosely defined, Marketing Communication (MarComm) can be described as all the messages and media you deploy to communicate with the market. MarComm includes advertising, direct marketing, branding, packaging, your online presence, printed materials, PR activities, sales presentations, sponsorships, trade show appearances, and more. Once you have figured out the “Why” of this strategy, we then move on to the “How”.

This requires us to analyze 4 things:

Understand your Audience(s).

Craft a curated Message for this audience.

Select the Media you want this message to be seen/heard/read on.

Select the Messenger you want to carry this message.

Step 1: Who is your Audience?

Your audience is the specific people you want your content/brand to reach. These are your “Choice Consumers” and your “Target audience.”

Is this audience every person on the planet? Is this everyone in Pune or Mumbai? Is it people in a particular age group? Is it people who love makeup, but only organic makeup? The questions can go on and on.

What’s confusing is that often there are multiple audiences you want to communicate with.

So, refer to your strategy: Are you trying to reach potential customers or potential investors and acquirers? These are very different audiences, each requires its own messages, media, and messengers.

Step 2: What’s the Message?

Messages are what you deliver to the audience(s) you’ve selected.

Messages answer three questions:

Why should the audience care?

What are you offering?

What’s the call to action?

The answer to the first question can come directly from your Audience Market Analysis — What are their pains and what can they gain from your product/service?

“What are you offering?” can be answered with the solution you are providing, be it at lesser rates or various offers.

Once you have answered these questions, and your customer clicks on your ad — then what? What’s the call to action? Do you want them to download a demo, schedule a sales call, visit a physical store location or a website, download an app, click for more information, give you their email address, etc.? Your message needs to include a specific call to action.

Step 3: What form of media are you employing?

Media means the type of communication media each audience member reads/listens to/watches. It could be print (newspapers/magazines), Internet (website, podcasts, etc.), broadcast (TV, radio, etc.), or social media (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn, etc.)

During your Market Research and Customer discovery (Step 1), you will get a gauge of what medium you can make the most of. For example: if your target audience is younger, it makes more sense to invest more in Social Media and Digital Marketing. The opposite could be the case for older audiences — print media and radio could be the way to go.

Typically, you pick several media to reach each audience. It’s likely that each audience reads different media (potential customers read something very different than potential investors.) You’ll need a media strategy — a plan that describes the mix of media and how you will use it. This plan should include the category of media; print, internet, broadcast, and then identify specific sites, blogs, magazines, etc.

Step 4: Who are your Messengers?

Messengers are the well-placed and highly leveraged individuals who have influence over your audience(s). Messengers convey and amplify your message to your audience through the media you’ve chosen.

Are you working with influencers to get your product out? Are you employing industry to spread the word in their communities?

Understanding your audience(s) is important for not just startups, but for companies already selling products. It helps you stay current with customers, get ideas for other needs to fill and to create new products.

In addition, the audience > message > media > messenger cycle seamlessly moves this learning into getting, keeping and growing customers.

The Wit Agency, a digital marketing service, has perfected this process, and we are here to help you grow into all you can be!

Reach out now!

Website: https://thewit.agency/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thewitagencyglobal Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thewit.agency/

[gildedruinsarchive]

i am here to talk about thor’s repo! the genetic opera verse . . . get ready.  this entire verse is @zydrateaddict​‘s fault :-)  anyways this is probably one of my favorite verses to write in so slide into my im’s if you’re interested

yes this is the most thought i’ve put into any of my aus no we don’t need to unpack that.  warning for horror & medical horror / body modification, murder, hard drugs, alcoholism, late late stage capitalism, unhealthy family dynamics ( but not like that 😡🔪 )

background.

asgard holdings was an early investor in geneco,  and the borson family fortune combined with rotti largo’s business acumen & nathan wallace’s research formed the company you know now. odin owns a significant portion of geneco’s stock & sits on its board,  exercising no small influence over the corporation. 

for those unfamiliar with the film,  it presents a particularly dystopian world in which an epidemic of organ failures has plagued the world’s population. geneco creates & patents artificial organs, positioning themselves as a savior.  most people end up financing their organs, since they are not affordable --- and eventually, geneco successfully lobbies to make organ repossessions legal for those who are behind on their bills. geneco employs repomen to perform what is essentially legalized murder.

odin raises his three children to be at each other’s throats, dangling their inheritances in front of them. hela ends up cut out of his will by the time she’s twenty-one,  leaving her younger brothers to fight for their father’s favor.  unfortunately for odin,  his kids like each other a hell of a lot more than they like him. given that the largo siblings stand to remain majority shareholders,  odin’s children realize that it is in their best interest to present a united front. they still fight like hell, but they only leave superficial wounds ( sometimes literally.  thor has a lot of scars to show for all the fights he’s had with his siblings,  as do they. ) 

hela kills odin shortly before the events of the film. when he dies,  his will reveals that each of his children are to receive a third of asgard holdings. how hela made her way back into the will is never revealed,  but whispers abound that loki switched the documents shortly before their father’s death. after all -- odd numbers prevent deadlock when the siblings inevitably butt heads. after the film,  odin’s children manage geneco alongside amber sweet,  ushering in a new era. 

specifics.

* zydrate / ‘ z ‘ is a geneco painkiller & it is extremely addictive. most people become addicted when undergoing surgery,  whether an organ transplant or cosmetic. there’s a huge black market for the drug.  

hela is a repoman,  and very much enjoys her job.  she knows a lot about the business & the company from the time she spent in odin’s favor, but prefers to leave the day-to-day operations in loki’s very capable hands. she still has strong opinions about major shifts in the company’s strategy & operations. she was born with a heart defect and as such now has a geneco heart. she avoids all other surgeries as well as zydrate. 

thor is one of the faces of geneco & does a lot of pr for the company. he leads one of their ‘responsible use of zydrate’ campaigns.  he,  like hela,  stays far away from zydrate ---- he’s seen what it’s done to amber,  and he’s been lucky enough to avoid any organ replacements so far.  he is just about due for a liver replacement,  but that is his own damn fault. odin always favored him, so he did pick up a lot about running the business,  and he can manage very well, but mostly he’ll just do whatever it is loki asks him to do.  

i have thoughts™️ about loki but since i do not in fact write him . . . . i will keep them to myself. if u have thoughts about loki i would like to hear them

themes.

this is a really fun verse for me thematically because it pulls at a couple of things from canon that are worth unpacking. like in canon,  the prosperity that thor & loki grow up in was bought with blood.  it’s just a hell of a lot more obvious in this verse. it explores odin’s asgard as the exploitative, awful thing that it is. hela also continues to fit into this world, so there’s no need for her to be exiled. it’s nice to see her grow up around her brothers & see them get to be an actual family. 

it also is an opportunity to explore thor’s character had he grown up in the shadow of his father’s sins ---- with odin in his ear addressing them directly,  desensitizing thor and justifying his actions. this is as close to dark!thor that i really get to writing? and he’s not even blatantly evil or disrespectful of human life ---- he’s just so completely disconnected to the actual horror that geneco inflicts that he can continue to buy into the company’s lies.  thor doesn’t really leave the sheltered life that odin has locked him into ( odin knows that his heart will be a problem if thor ever does escape!! )  hela is obviously a lot less naive,  since she’s actually out there repo-ing ---- she just doesn’t care.  

there’s of course a major arc for thor to be played out in which he actually gets out into the world & sees the suffering all around. he’d be pretty shocked & then would become pretty insistent about geneco changing its ways.