#it's me i'm the tabloid journalist

[olympain]

[nuttysaladtree]

Candidate for FALKIRK SEAT replaced FEET PICTURES on blog with more DEVASTATING photo, calls followers SHAGGERS

[insert weirdly grainy tabloid-esque side-by-side photos with a red circle around subject in question or something i guess]

Active on niche microblogging platform DEFUNCT and MORIBUND since 2013; totally random stranger on street interviewed just for this story calls candidate 'OUT OF TOUCH TUMBLERINA'

Falkirk’s new Labour MP has resigned from his position on Falkirk council, something he’s taken his sweet time to do.

Which means there’s going to be a by-election in my ward. Reckon it will be another labour replacement, but really there shouldn’t be.

I can’t even joke and say AyeforCouncillor because this blog would immediately come to light and I’d most likely be crucified by the daily mail.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Do you think the kidnapping was the last straw for age gap!reader and that’s why she decided to become a housewife??

Not quite.

When you did faint, for real instead of pretending, Clark is not surprised. Your heart had started racing again and you were trying very hard to stay composed and sweet.

He was just glad he was there to catch you and keep you from cracking your head on the pavement when the rookie cop closest to you was too busy being start struck to realize you were about to collapse. EMT's were called and you were taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital.

He only hoped Bruce had a plan. And a damn good one. Because, as he looked at the sad little cell the would be kidnapper planned to keep you in his stomach turned. If it hadn't been for the tracker to put in your sneaker, they might never have been able to find you.

__________________

"Sweetheart," Bruce said, rushing into the room, "My god, I'm so sorry! I came as soon as I got your call."

The nurse taking your vitals again glanced up and sighed internally. She'd HAVE to tell the desk to pay attention. Your Agent, some co stars, managers- jesus a parade of people had traipsed through this room. Even a particularly intrepid tabloid journalist. But- At least this was one visitor that you didn't seem to mind.

"I'm okay, I think," you tell him. "I- nothing really had time to happen. I just have some bruises and a concussion."

"Do you need anything?" he asked, crossing the floor, smiling briefly at the nurse before kissing your forehead. "Are they keeping you or-"

"The doctor is just waiting on some x-rays," the nurse told you when you looked at her questioningly. "Once we have all our tests back you should be good to go."

"Thank you, Nancy," you tell her, "Could I have some more water when you get a second?"

"Absolutely," she answered. Mollified somewhat when Bruce set himself to fussing over you in that endearing, clueless way that men had. Uselessly fluffing pillows and petting your hair.

"What were they x-raying?" Bruce asked, perching on the end of your bed. Between you and the door.

"My abdomen. I had stomach pain and they wanted to make sure I wasn't bleeding or something- I don't know if it was a knee of a foot but-"

"I should have hit him harder," Bruce growled.

"Bruce-"

"I'm taking you back to Gotham tonight," he murmured. "And Alfred is working on your security as we speak."

You blink for a second and bite your lip, "I have work and contracts-"

"Not to stay," Bruce hummed. "But I pointed out that you would need a couple days of rest to recover. And pointed out that making you work would be "a bad look" once the story broke. They agreed. And decided to shoot things you weren't in for a couple days."

You look at him confused and Bruce smiles a little, "I'm having the security revamped in your Apartment while you're with me. And being a little selfish- I missed you."

"Brucie, you don't have to do all that."

"I do though," he murmured. "It scared me, that phone call. And I don't like being scared."

_______________________

That night, in his bed. Finally feeling safe enough to let go, you let Bruce take you. It was tender and sweet- even while both of you were desperate.

Cleaving to each other for comfort. Craving the sense of belonging that you felt joined together. No secrets, no lies, only met desires and realized longings.

Bruce smudged soft kisses on every bruise and nuzzled every sore spot. Lavishing attention on your sore stomach. Careful to read your body language. If you pulled away, he would stop. But you clung onto him. Worldless pleading. Telling him. Don't leave me.

"I'm here, Princess," he breathed. "are you okay?"

You nod and lean up to kiss him, "How do you do it?"

"Do what, beautiful?" he hummed, sliding his cock along your entrance before sliding inside you.

"Make me feel so safe, all the time."

"Is that how you feel now, sweet girl?" he hummed, "Safe? Loved?"

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you.

He smiled and rubbed his nose against yours as he bracketed himself above you, "Marry me?" he blurted, "Let me make you feel that way forever."

"You- Bruce- I-"

"I mean it," he breathed. "Marry me? Let me keep you safe, Sweetheart. Make me the happiest I've ever been?"

"How could I say no to that?" you ask, stroking his cheek as you kissed him.

[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 23. neon escape — ✦ (wc: 0.7k)

You first found this little spot at the end of your senior year.

The untamed greenery yields with a satisfying crunch as you dismount from Scaramouche’s motorcycle. A cool breeze brushes against your face as you eventually arrive at a clearing that overlooks the Inazuman cityscape. Towering skyscrapers command the horizon, windows reflecting the vibrant neon lights that litter the urban skyline. The air here is alive with the hum of insects, replacing the commotion of the city you’ve grown used to.

This view hasn’t changed at all, but you can’t say the same for yourself. Or for the person you’re with.

“You know,” Scaramouche starts, leaning against the railing. “You didn’t need to drag me all the way out here just to ask me how I’m doing.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I didn’t drag you anywhere, thank you. I wanted to go here and you happily agreed.” A white lie. Both of you knew that.

Your gaze sweeps across the breathtaking view from the elevated terrace, catching the glimmer of city lights and distant stars. “Besides, I know you like this spot.”

It’s been a year since the two of you last stepped here. A year since Scaramouche returned to Inazuma.

A year since you asked him to live with you.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess." The words don't feel like a sufficient apology. Even before your deal, he’s been subjected to tabloid gossip and rumors just by being your friend. Now he’s being bombarded by the press more than ever.

Scaramouche scoffs, "Don't be stupid. I was the one who proposed the deal in the first place."

“We could end it early,” you start. “I mean our projects are guaranteed to be published. The two of us could even gain a bit of clout if we time it right.”

“I get that you’re concerned about my safety, but I know how to hide.” he rebuts. To be fair, he does have a point. He and his sister did grow up in the public eye because of who their mothers are. Well-respected journalist Yae Miko and multi-award-winning actress Raiden Ei. Who doesn’t know their names in this industry?

It’s been a while since Scaramouche last spoke with them. Their relationship never really went back to normal after what happened with his aunt.

It was all over the news when it happened. Actress Raiden Makoto dies in fatal car crash — her sister, her nephew, and her niece sustain minor injuries. It made headlines for a month before the world moved on.

You know this. It’s why he hates being in cars, after all.

After a minute of silence, Scaramouche breaks the silence with a voice laced with both determination and a hint of resignation..

“Once our deal is over and everyone mourns the death of our relationship, I’ll move back to Sumeru and we can stay on friendly terms. It’s the best-case scenario for us.”

“That won’t be necessary. But you being harassed on the daily was never a part of the deal.” Liar. You knew from the beginning that this torment would be a part of his life again if he accepted. You even went as far as to warn him.

And yet he chooses to stay with you, even if it’s only because of your deal. Why?

It’s likely due to the potential backlash he’ll receive if the two of you were to break up. You’re not blind to the hate the two of you get on a daily basis. But is this really easier?

“Me going back to Sumeru after all of this is said and done is for the best, and you know it. Rumors would just stir up if the two of us still lived together after we split up.

“And I don’t care about the harassment. I knew what I was getting into when I made that deal with you. I’m not stupid,” he turns to face you, his indigo-blue eyes reflecting fragments of the night sky. “And neither are you. So stop thinking you can get rid of me that easily.”

His words are laced with a gentleness you’re unused to. Here he is, saying he’ll leave while saying he’ll stay with you. What the hell is his problem?

But whether you like it or not, he’s here with you for the time being. And damn it, you’ll cling to every last second with him if it’s the last thing you’ll do.

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

author's notes:

it's been a while ^^ hope you're all doing well

will try to update more consistently but no promises

taglist — currently OPEN:

@aestherin @your-kuya-pogi @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @vxnuslogy @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @fangygf @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @lilybythevalley @one-and-only-tay @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @miaakai @duckyyyx @cinnaniyoom @kgogoma @xtobefreex @mechanicalbeat1 @nordicbananas @feiherp @venturinea @nnasv @retiredmommylover @onmywaytoteyvat @tiredslepz

[shadesoflsk]

MILLION DOLLAR BLOODLINE — Adam & Eve

A political candidate has been found dead and a well known agent is working alongside you. Check my million dollar bloodline masterlist for general warnings.

Chapter 1

pairing: Vampire/Agent Leon x Fem Detective reader

warnings: Rivals to lovers (Kinda one sided at first because reader doesn't get along with men) misogyny, sexism (from the press) gore, violence, death, suicide, blood, mentions of kidnapping and experimentations, fucked up government.

author's note: Hi! So, this took me longer than I expected lol. I had to delete and redo so many parts but at last I'm comfortable with the result. This is basically an introduction to both characters hence the name I gave to this chapter. I hope you guys like it.

Blinded by the constant flashes of cameras, numerous police officers make their way out of the tumultuousness of journalists and reporters who have gathered —in the name of informing— to be the first ones to publish headlines that will surely raise more commotion in the already horror-stuck citizens.

Thank God the scene of the crime is away from those prying eyes that won’t hesitate to snap a picture or two just for the sake of popularity or being contacted by those trashy and shitty newspapers that fall into the sensationalism homicides and crimes attract. 

The eighties are certainly… one of a hell decade to live in. Exuberant neon lights and flashy outfits weren’t enough to silence the crimes that were occurring each day in a city led by white-collared dicks who are ‘better than anyone else.’ The citizens’ words, not yours.

It was easy to despise everyone right now. From those politicians who share their condolences but deep down they have the same fucked up ideal and sentiment—they were happy their enemies keep dying. To the obtuse and short-sighted journalists who kept asking the same questions.

Not even your disdain and witty answers could push them away to the hell hole they came from. Catchy and well-sold tabloids were their objectives and you were the perfect subject to them. A woman in the eighties being the leader of a politic-related case? Oh God, the newspaper loves dragging down women.

Misogynistic terms were chanted even more than the national damn anthem. “God, spare us from a woman leading this case!” “Is this a new gold digger searching for a politician that isn’t dead?” Those were the most ‘tame’ titles they could come up with. However, rumor has it that directors and journalists love calling you names. Ultimately, those whispers die down as soon as the window from your Porsche 959 rolls down and the flashes of cameras turn your way.

“Ma’am we received news that the body you found was in fact, Mr. Clark. Our Major Candidate. Is there any clue this time?” The young journalist asked you. He was definitely a rookie, that ma’am that fell so easily from his lips, and his stance gave it away. Maybe you could be softer with him, aggressiveness was starting to wear you off.

You take out your sunglasses, the snaps of the pictures get harder to bear but for once, you try holding eye contact with this said journalist. In his gaze, you admire his inexperience and eagerness to get something out of this conversation.

Sadly, there’s nothing to offer from a lifeless body and a pool of blood that could flood the entire apartment of the deceased.

“It’s still unknown. We shall wait for the forensic team to provide us with the results of the autopsy.” Your voice is uninterested, an automatic reaction each time a question is asked. 

“So… The police department is once again showing signs of inability to complete a case?”

Fuck them all. All of them.

A few hours ago, you had received a call which informed you about the disappearance of a candidate, a major candidate. Of course, a crime would occur when the elections were just around the corner. A perfect scenario to bring the already most famous and glamorized case in the decade more mystery and gore.

A disappearance meant a homicide, it would take just minutes before you were notified that a body had been found. 

And you were right.

Eventually, a coworker of yours informed you—with an annoyed expression on their face— that a drained body was found in an apartment. 

Working on two cases simultaneously was definitely tiring, and it was starting to show on your face. On one hand, multiple crimes are occurring in Raccoon City, all of them involving people from high society: CEOs, ex-presidents, and candidates. Idle good-for-nothing people who can wipe their asses with a one hundred dollar bill, to put it simply.

Difficult to deal with was an understatement. Everyone at the police station knew one thing though— someone important is leaking information. This said individual doesn’t want to get their hands dirty with blood. Acting like a vendetta, in the darkness, they are cleaning the government in a way.

However, the catch of this case was rather sui generis—not even decipherable. Corruption was the root of all problems and it even showed in various scenes of the crime. Politicians were found dead in certain ways that didn’t match up with their own lifestyles. Suicides, disappearances, homicides without a murder weapon. Someone important must be behind all of this and those victims were merely their pawns.

And on the other hand, a case that seems to get more sinister and fucked up was brimming in the shadows. One that also involved those who justice can’t reach. Besides politicians disappearing, numerous citizens were also missing without a trace. Families were left alone without their breadwinning fathers, without their nurturing mothers, and especially without their loved ones.

The government’s reputation was unmistakable, they didn’t care. Protests were organized without any response or reassurance that a solution would be provided. And then again, the damnation and torment of those who searched through hell and earth was once again brought to them.

Without further ado, you walked out of the police department and embarked on the fantastic journey of seeing another dead body. Not the best sight to see after having your lunch but if you don't go, no one else will. 

You arrived at the scene of the crime and luckily, you didn’t run into any reporters, word hadn’t reached them yet. You showed your ID to the cops that surround the apartment complex, they let you in.

The excruciating silence as you wait in the elevator was always agonizing. It allowed your mind to create the most gut wrenching scenarios. You’re a veteran at this point, you have seen 10 dead politicians over the course of the months. However, it doesn’t get any easier.

The first thing that welcomed you as the door of the elevators opened again was the metallic smell of blood. With a deep breath, you fixed your hair and expected the worst. 

“Good morning everyone.” Your voice rang through the living room of the apartment. There was no trace of violence or self defense, but the rancid reek continued filling your nostrils. Nonetheless, the authority in your voice never faltered, you simply didn’t allow it.

Acting tough was the norm and giving no shit about anyone was the rule that followed. It’s always been like that. You can’t crack jokes or show a smile just like your male superiors can. Bullshit, you thought. People love saying that the 80s are the best, but everyone is fucking misogynistic. 

When you saw that your team had your attention, you proceeded. “Where’s the body?”

“Inside.” A cop said. He was a veteran, the wrinkles forming around his eyes and the one-word phrase told you as much. “There’s a federal agent there, though.”

A federal agent?

It was a matter of time before the government decided to send one of its people. They should have after the first one. But as you already know, they’re scavengers, they don’t give a damn about the country nor themselves. If the death of a candidate could bring more votes to another party, they would close their eyes for the sake of it. 

“Anything I may know before going inside?” You ask. 

“Nothing much. The state of the body is the same as the ones we have found before.” The dull and repetitive tone of his voice was proof of how everyone was getting frustrated with this case. “Although this one really looks like a suicide.”

Interesting, a politician who actually killed himself instead of being killed.

“Thank you.” Your legs worked on their own and strode off to where the body was. The main bedroom. For a moment, you hesitated to turn the knob around. Your eyes were fixated on your red nails —the same color you’re expected to see once you enter the room.

And you were right, your gaze which was now looking at the floor only witnessed the ruby red color that painted the rug. And, as your eyes traveled, you observed the man who was lying lifeless on the floor. 

Your eyes then stopped when you noticed the man who had his back facing you. 5'10 inches with dirty blond hair, black leather jacket that hugged his figure just right. Undoubtedly, the build of an agent yet you couldn’t care less about his appearance right now.

Clearing your throat, you made your presence known. Even though a part of you believed that this man must have heard you as soon as you entered the scene of the crime. 

He turned around and you could see the solemn expression that soon turned into a polite smile. So, the blue-eyed male that was in front of you was the federal agent the government has sent? Interesting.

“Hello. You may be the leading detective of this case, right?” There is no accent in his voice nor a belittling hint in his speech. You were used to being questioned about your position or straight up told not to waste time before you could even identify yourself.

“Indeed.” You nodded before stepping closer and showing him your badge which had your name and occupation there. There’s a moment of silence before Leon speaks again, with a faint smile on his lips. 

“Kennedy. Leon Kennedy.” He stated his name, a muffled chuckle leaving after his phrase. 

At first, you remained expressionless, not expecting this stoic ‘professional’ to introduce himself in a rather comical way. Not when there’s a dead body lying at his feet.

“What are you? James Bond?” You were genuinely dumbfounded. 

“Do I look the part?” He had a hand on his hip, casually standing in front of you. If audacity and lack of decorum had a name, it would have Leon written at the top of a dictionary. “I'd call myself hilarious, though.”

“Kinda goofy, I'd say.” You retorted, walking past him and looking through your pockets to pull out a pair of gloves, the sound of latex being stretched followed your answer. This part was always the hardest, even when the body has been already inspected by the team of criminalists, you ought to re-check.

“Let's keep it at funny.” His eyes darted to where your figure was, the scent of your perfume couldn’t override the constant smell of blood but he could sense the faint aroma of coconut and vanilla.

"So... the government sent you?" You adjusted your gloves as your eyes locked on Leon's. His blue eyes were piercing yet they weren't threatening.

"Yup." Leon crossed his arms as he continued watching you. "Kinda late, I'd say. Mr Clark was... the eighth victim?"

"The eleventh." You corrected him.

"Damn, they keep falling like dominoes."

You crouch down to inspect the body, there’s nothing visibly new compared to the other subjects of the crime. Lifeless eyes, and a nasty open wound on his forehead which resembled a shot. But other than that? Nothing much. 

“Agent Kennedy, I don't think you're being professional.” You absentmindedly trailed off as you checked the candidate’s finger, paying close attention to his nails. Just in case this wasn’t a suicide case and there was DNA left in the victim’s nails.

“You're right.” He shrugged off as he sighed. He had done his part of the job before you arrived, so his presence was no longer required there. However, he stayed. “But then again, do you truly care for that asshole?”

Your ears perked at Leon’s sudden question. Sure, your disdain for politicians wasn’t exactly a secret. Everyone at the station knew about your hatred for the rich. But needless to say, you weren’t expecting the government’s boy to speak in such a manner.

Nor did you anticipate that he knew about you. 

“Careful. Aren’t you supposed to be an agent?” Your demeanor slightly shifted into a more serious one. One that warned him he shouldn’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. And while you were a rightful civilian who actually wanted to restore peace in the city. If this rumor reached the newspaper, it would be the end for you.

“Sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m fond of them.” And Leon wasn’t dumb, not at all. He caught the meaning behind those simple yet blunt words. “Or are you going to tell me you like working for your boss?” 

“I’m the boss here.” Your expression quickly turned sour as Leon expressed his own opinions. You just noticed the tick of a clock, a persistent noise that only served to highlight the already growing tension.

See, you weren’t a bland person, far from that. You appreciate jokes and even engage in light-hearted teasing with your friends. Not with colleagues.

But at that moment, antics and pranks weren’t something you easily accepted. Living to be compared to men who were incapable next to you built walls that made it impossible to reach your core, to your true self.

“See? Maybe your subordinates don’t like you.” 

“You should learn when to stop biting, Mr Kennedy.” 

Leon just laughed and shook his head. His eyes stopped being focused on yours and decided to gaze through the large window the room had. The perfect view of the city was in front of him, a perfectly corrupted place.

A welcoming silence—after their awkward banter— set in. You took this opportunity to ask for more information related to the dead candidate. As you let go of his hand, you got up and took off your gloves.

“So… Agent, any background information the now deceased may have?”

“Besides the obvious? Not really.” A sigh slipped from the blue-eyed man. “He had a beautiful wife and beautiful kids. The white picket fence kind of life.”

“Minus the obvious opulent lifestyle he had.” You said.

“Minus the obvious opulent lifestyle he had, indeed.” Leon replies in tandem. 

He shook his head, letting out a sigh you didn’t know he was holding. A headache was already brewing and you simply massaged your temples. The sensation of running in circles was once again setting and penetrating your mindset—there’s no clue to even pinpoint the cause of so many crimes.

“There’s nothing else here. Maybe your coworkers have something you could work with?”

And while you felt frustrated for not being able to do more, you let your irritation die down as you nodded.

As both of you exited the scene of the crime, flashing lights and camera shutters could be heard around the building as if they were annoying bugs that wouldn’t stop bothering you. Mosquitoes sucking the blood out of your systems.

Between noises and judging stares from the journalists, Leon’s stride led him to his bike that was just parked in front of your car. As you could already guess, the lenses of the cameras were getting the perfect take for tomorrow’s diary, especially since people love to read about the woman of the year being close to a man. To assert their sexist stance. 

“Hey,” Leon called you, his voice barely audible as the constant background noise was still pretty much present. “Take this with you.”

A confused expression set on your face as you eyed the manila envelope Leon gave you. Before you could even open it to inspect what documents were in front of you, Leon’s voice stopped you.

“I don’t think it’d be wise of you to open that here.” Your attention returned to the blond man who was now putting on his helmet. Immediately, you pressed the folder against your chest, protecting the contents inside of it.

“What's it?” 

“You’ll know later.” His hands gripped the handlebars, already turning on the engines. “For now, don’t do anything stupid.”

Haunted by the plethora of degrading terms you were called, your first instinct was to roll your eyes as you watched the agent driving away from the building and from the horde of journalists. 

Nonetheless, a part of you couldn’t help but read between the lines. Leon hasn’t been particularly cruel to you like every other cop or colleague. So, his statement could be related to what’s inside the folder.

For now, you simply walked towards your car. Or rather, tried. Ready to be cornered by the starved media while cops attempted to serve as a protective wall around you.

Who am I if not exploited, abused, and corrupted?

A question that used to haunt Leon’s dreams and nightmares. His life purpose has been nothing but being the Government's puppet. Images and memories of being exploited and destroyed build up the man he is now.

Or rather, the beast.

In the search of the ultimate soldier, who would fight against every adversity. A creature that didn’t belong to this world was created. The once human could no longer be classified as one, and he gained the name of a vampire.

His hunger for food was replaced by a maddening and unbearable desire for the vital fluid of blood and his right to die was robbed from him as numerous experiments proved that, in fact, no human weapon could kill him now. 

Leon’s spirit was bonded to eternity therefore dying meant nothing to him. He doesn’t belong to life since his humanity was stripped away from him the moment he sold his soul to the nation. But death didn’t want him either, since now mortality runs away from him as the monster he has become.

It was a statement he grew accustomed to. The world was cruel and he was reduced to a simple and mere battle machine. The best weapon the nation had.

Although, he knew he was far from being the best arsenal the government could come up with.

They were greedy. It's always been that way. And the moment the disappearances started, Leon's nature was once again brought to the surface.

It all started when he once switched to a News Channel. The slow and grim music was playing in the background as the headline read: NEWS REPORT: FATHER OF TWO IS MISSING. Followed by another update that indicated he was the third man who has disappeared in May. 

No hell could be hot enough for whoever was behind all of this. However, Leon was terribly sure that this case wasn’t something orchestrated by just one individual. The anger he had so deeply buried now flourished as a flower. Yet this time it came with thorns that would cut and stab those who wished nothing but to set the world in despair.

He didn’t wait. If he stood still more innocent people would pay the price of being victims of the same destiny he faced. 

— August 14, 1987 —

Mr Clark,

I send my most sincere congratulations to you as I’ve come to know that you’re people’s favorite candidate. I’m so sure your image must be impeccable and flawless to reach such level of popularity. 

However, It’s so strange to me that as a public figure, you condemn those corrupted politicians who indulge in nothing but richness, crime, and sinful activities when your past (and present) does nothing but stain your image. 

But, I’m a generous individual. I’ll give you two options which you can choose from. You come out clean, show everyone the type of sick criminal you are or, you simply end your life. Easy, right?

After all, you didn’t hesitate to end someone else’s.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Granted, tumblr’s search function may broken but I can’t find a post on your blog centered on Alya’s writing. As a person constantly on the look out for critical examination of Alya’s role in the narrative and the compromises on her principles, relationships and competences made to artificially engineer the episode’s story, I’d be very interested to see your thoughts

I use Alya's writing as an example of a character done dirty all the time, but I don't think I've ever done a sugar post focused on her and I totally should. Before we get into it, I will openly admit that her bad writing bothers me more than Marinette's or Adrien's because she is best girl and we stan her. What can I say, I'm a writer whose best friend is an artist with a diagnosed anxiety disorder. I like characters who are writers and with artsy, anxiety-ridden best friends. They are my people and that gives us a great starting point for this post.

Marinette is the unambiguous main character of the show, so it makes sense to design both her hero partner and her best friend around balancing her out, giving them strengths to fill out the spots where she is weak. It's how you make a strong cast. When Alya is allowed the shine, she fills that balance role wonderfully and I love it! Some of my favorite moments are when Marinette goes on one of her rants and cool-headed Alya drags her back down to Earth:

Marinette: We're gonna stroll over there real cool as if we just happened to be passing by. Alya: Then what? Marinette: Then? I'll invite him out for a fruit smoothie at the end of the photo shoot! Then, we'll get married! Live happily ever after in a beautiful house and have two kids? No, three. And a dog! Maybe a cat? Nah, forget the cat. A hamster! I love hamsters! Alya: Let's just start with just happen to be passing by and see if we can get to that smoothie.

This banter from Stormy Weather is fantastic. It's exactly the type of thing I want to see from these two as it gives Alya a very different flavor of supporting role from Adrien. While Alya and Adrien are both card holding members of the Marinette hype squad, Alya is more of a voice of reason while Adrien is there to validate Marinette and follow her crazy schemes without question.

This brings us to the first issue with Alya's writing: when the plot demands it, they make her a gullible tabloid journalist even though it goes against everything her character should stand for. The reasons I'm comfortable saying this are many. The first one is that Alya is very clearly supposed to be seen as a serious journalist. That's why you get scenes like this one from Feast:

Alya: Now you know back in the day sculptures were painted, right? Most of the paint vanished over time, but tiny microscopic pigments still remain. Thanks to this special app, witness how it originally looked. But here's the big thing. All these works of art have something in common. It's the same symbol! Look, everywhere. It's like some kind of secret society emblem. As if a kind of Order of the Guardians has been watching over the superheroes since the beginning of time!

This scene would not exist if Alya was supposed to be the kind of person who only cared about getting blog hits because this type of content isn't where the money is. But money and clout aren't what Alya cares about. She's just a passionate reporter (or fan girl) who wants to know everything she can and who is having fun sharing her obsession with the world. This is an extremely important aspect of her character because it brings us to reason two that she clearly wasn't meant to be a clout chaser: if she was a tabloid journalist who only cared about hits, then she should have never been given a miraculous.

I could go on a rant her about how poorly Alya's blog is used after she becomes Rena Rouge, but I'll spare you the word count and just say that, as soon as she joined the team, she should have stopped sharing secrets on the blog. It makes sense that a blog would initially fill her need to share the fine details of her obsession, but once she's on the team, the blog should have been replaced by her teammates. She could still have the blog, but it shouldn't have things like the freaking guide to how the miraculous work that we see in the season four episode Gabriel Agreste:

Alya: The Miraculous are magical jewels that give powers to superheroes, like Ladybug's earrings and Cat Noir's ring. But supervillain Shadow Moth also has two Miraculousbrooches in his possession, and they will give him his powers. We can figure out from this that the Miraculous can either make a superhero or a supervillain. It's all riding on who wears it, which is why these jewels can't fall into just anybody's hands.

Alya, you are supposed to be Marinette's sole confidante at this point. Why are you giving the world this information? The writers are doing you dirty, my dear, and I'm so sorry. The best I can do is to promise to never treat you like this in my stuff.

Now, to be fair, there is some nuance to this. Alya is a human being. She's allowed to have flaws, so I can absolutely forgive her for getting caught up in the moment and posting scoops to her blog without thinking (see: Oblivio). That's honestly a great weakness for her character to have as it makes perfect sense for a fan girl to fan girl. At the same time, if you want to have a fan girl character who becomes part of the things she's a fan of, then you usually need to give that character something that will tone them down and make full fan girl mode something other than the standard setting.

Making your fan girl a serious reporter is a great way to do that! It allows you to have that initial bust of fan girl hype that quickly switches into serious get-the-details mode. Without that kind of complexity, Alya would just be another Wayhem and one Wayhem is already one too many.

While I will give Alya some grace on this topic and even call it a good thing for her character, the same cannot be said for her writing because the writers fail to embrace her hype as an in-the-moment weakness and it ruins her character. To put it another way, a lapse in judgement about posting a photo is excusable as a photo is quickly acquired and posted. A lapse in judgement about a full interview with a total rando who is claiming to be Ladybug's best friend is not excusable (see: Volpina). It's a completely different flavor of poor judgement as - at a minimum - it requires Alya to stand there talking to a person for several minutes and never once question what that person is saying. Those are not the behaviors of a good journalist.

Of course, this brings us to the most glaring example of Alya's character assassination: the Lila thing. Almost everything about this arc paints Alya as a terrible friend, which is a massive missed opportunity as Lila is the perfect antagonist for Alya! Who better to take down a liar than a truth seeker? It's such an easy way to give Alya her own mission to focus on, especially if you make Lila more subtle. You don't even need to have Alya believe Marinette without question. Just have her be an investigative journalist who is like, "You know what, this new girl clearly bothers Marinette and I know Marinette can get caught up in her own head, but it doesn't usually last this long. I think something is up, so I'm going to use my skills to see if Lila is telling the truth that way I know if I'm supporting the right person here." Don't have your character claim that she checks her sources and does research if you're going to turn around and have her believe whatever she hears without checking any of it!

Even outside of the Lila thing, I wish we saw more of Alya's research skills! They were such a good thing to give Marinette's best friend as Marinette is great at focusing on a clear task, but research is the kind of thing that would overwhelm her, so it makes perfect sense to make her best friend a researcher as that lets the team have someone to help track down whatever Gabriel is calling himself this week. The writers even understood this to some extent as we saw in Mr. Pigeon 72:

Alya: Marinette, how long have you been working on this? Ladybug: I dunno, six-seven days, maybe ten. Now that we're on spring break, I finally have time to put my whole heart into it! Alya: When was the last time you worked on one of your own designs? Ladybug: I do loads of designing! Look! (pointing to the contraption at her door) I designed a security system so that nobody can enter my room when I'm not in it. And if I put on this hat (puts on modified hat) I hear everything that's going on in here, even when I'm out of the room. Alya: I'm gonna have to break it to you because I'm the only one who can. THIS IS TOTALLY INSANE! Girl, trust your BFF. When I'm researching something obsessively and I can't think of anything else, that's when my mind can get really blocked. You know what you need most right now? A break! Ladybug: No way! No breaks until I find out how to keep Shadow Moth from reakumatizing people!

Remember who ultimately figures out how to keep Shadow Moth from reakumatizing people in this episode? Alya! Because her creative style is all about researching and looking at the evidence. You know, the classic skill set of a reporter?

I really do mean it when I say that the show has a fantastic setup for telling a good story. Alya's character should have been a perfect addition to Marinette's team. My favorite lineup is the line up from season two with Kagami and Luka in non-love-interest bonus roles that I won't get into here since it's a little too deviant from canon to make sense without explanation. Instead, I'll just give you the clear roles they perfectly set up and then squandered for the original miraculous five:

Ladybug: Battlefield commander

Rena Rouge: Big Picture Strategist (basically Marinette excels at reactive thinking/leading during a battle while Alya excels more at proactive thinking/long-term tactics)

Chat Noir: Peacekeeper/Heart/Hype Man

Carapace: Protector/Stop Button (much like Alya and Marinette, Nino and Adrien should have been two sides of the same coin with Adrien being focused on making everyone happy while Nino focuses on keeping everyone safe)

Queen Bee: Wild Card/Chaos Element (I love a good chaos element who is there to suggest the options that won't occur to people who have been raised to follow the rules.)

I'll also point out that this lineup would show that the characters weren't interchangeable and make the two main couples feel more unique and meant for each other. For example, Nino's tendency to encourage others to stay safe would pair terribly with Marinette's need to not get too caught up in her own thoughts. The second Nino second guesses one of her plans she'd fall apart, so she needs Adrien to be her Chat Noir. Similarly, Alya's impulsivity weakness would make her a terrible match for go, go, go Hype Noir! She needs a partner who makes her take two seconds to second guess herself. There was so much potential here you guys! So much potential! It could have been beautiful! Instead, we got canon...

There you go, my broad love letter to Alya. I could keep going, but you didn't request a specific topic, so I'm just going to end it there. Feel free to ask for more, but please do it in another ask as this is already super long and - out of kindness to my followers- I try to avoid essay after essay on the same post unless they really need to be connected.

[sgiandubh]

Hi, I'm sister Anon. I'd like to say that I got into a controversy about Sam and Caitríona in an Outlander group a year ago precisely because I responded to someone who was saying it was impossible for them to be together and no one had ever caught them . I always use a pseudonym and gave the example of my sister( I said this was a friend btw) but I didn't go into details. However, let me say a few things: in his family only his mother and ONE sister knew about their relationship. In my family, my parents and I knew. Grandparents, uncles, brothers-in-law and nephews didn't know they were together, for them they were just close friends and work colleagues. The rest of the team at work was certainly suspicious, but nobody dared to say anything, because there is a secrecy clause in the contracts. During this period there were speculations of him with at least two models and some Instagram influencers and they laughed, because it gave them exactly the cover they wanted. Anyone who looked at his social media would see a single guy enjoying life, when in fact he was a committed and passionate guy, living a very beautiful love story.

Dear (returning) Sister Anon,

Thank you for coming back with more. I chose to publish your story since the very beginning, because it sounds completely legit. *urv can troll around all day long, now enrolling that 23 year old Brazilian fan/journalist/writer (who doesn't know the plural form of 'gentleman' is 'gentlemen', not 'gentlemans'), she could never prove anything else than people having lunch, not sex, in Kensington. But for her crowd, that is enough.

Also, the Brazilian girl could have been my daughter. And if she were, I would tell her that people questioning her (obviously doctored) story does not mean they hate her. It simply means we are older, less gullible and certainly able to tell when an immature woman is desperately looking for attention. She will probably understand that... in five years or so, but that is not my problem anymore.

I loved every single thing you shared with us. Drop by anytime, you will always be more than welcome. And you are completely right: social media is not real life. And how could it be? Would you read my blog, if I told you all there is to know about my bunions?

You wouldn't. You want me to tell you about business, legal, travel, foodie and obscure Baroque/Renaissance/classical music stuff, right?

Things like this (what I wanted to be last week's Sunday sounds, but hey - drama, drama), for example:

PS: one of my acquaintances, a rather popular singer, was at one time the lover of a high (very high) profile local politician - a brilliant guy (also a family friend of ours, btw). I had no idea and I kept on teasing her about singing at his party's events, until someone told me to stop, because it made her feel uneasy. The same person was always referring to the guy as 'Michael', when they were talking about him in public (the woman was really smitten, along with tens of thousands of others, nationwide). Michael, my foot and it ended up in the tabloids anyways.

[melanieph321]

If you are still taking requests, could I ask for a Ruben angst to fluff where his daughter is like under 1 years old, but is at Nursery and comes down with a fever. They can’t get through to reader, so the nursery have to phone Ruben instead and he worries about his daughter and also why his wife hasn’t been contactable?! Hope this all makes sense 😅 thank you xx

Ugh, I loved writing this. 😭 Thank you for the request. I changed it up a bit so that the child is old enough to talk.

Ruben Dias x Reader - Daddy of The Day

Enjoy!

"Hello, Mr Dias?"

"Yes that's me. Who's this?"

Ruben thought another journalist had gotten a hold of his phone number again, but it turned out to be the principal of his daughter's day care.

"Why would you need me to come and pick her up?"

Ruben was confused, it was barley lunchtime. He had just gotten out of his physio appointment at the teams training center.

"I'm sorry to bother you Mr Dias but it would be better for your daughter to go home as soon as possible."

"Why?" His heart jumped.

"She has a very high fever and complaining of pain in the rectum. We're guessing the flu."

Ruben nodded. The flu was bad. "I'll call my wife, she's usually the one to handle these things."

"I'm afraid we've tried reaching your wife Mr Dias, several times."

"She's not answering?"

"We've called your nanny and your wifes listed emergency contact, her mother. You're the first person I could get a hold of Mr Dias."

Ruben took a minute to collect his thoughts. It was clear what he had to do. "All right, I'll be there in thirty minutes."

"Again, sorry to bother you Mr Dias. Your wife has informed us not to call this number unless..."

"It's an emergency." He nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be there."

After speaking to his coach and his team, Ruben left Manchester City's training ground. He could imagine the headlines in the tabloids tomorrow, "Ruben Dias out of the squad?". He couldn't care less though. This was a family emergency and to him family always comes first.

"Y/N, please call me as soon as you get this. I'm on my way to the day care now." Ruben left you a third message as he drove to the day care center. He was starting to worry that somthing might have happened to you because this wasn't normal for you not to answer his calls, even during working hours.

"Daddy my tummy." Your daughter groand. Ruben had picked hebrup from the day care and was now rushing through traffic to take her to the hospital. She was too weak to walk so Ruben carried her in his arms to the ER front desk.

"We'll run some blood tests and see what we can do." Said a nurse after Ruben and your daughter was taken into a separate room.

"Daddy what will the doctors do?" She asked. They had her lie in a hospital bed but she quickly became anxious being detached form Ruben. He settled with holding her in his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"They're just going to run some tests baby, draw some blood from your arm.

"Blood?" Your daughter gasped. Then her lip began to tremble. "I want mommy."

"Trust me I want mommy too."

Ruben checked his phone. There was no messages from you. Where could you possibly be?

"Daddy I want mommy!"

It didn't take long for your daughter to be in a sea of tears. Ruben rocking her back and forth was to no use. He felt so hopless without you by his side.

"Okay look." Ruben said, in a tone that startled your daughter. He only ever used this tone with his teammates during half time in a tough game. "Daddy wants mommy too. He really really does. But mommy isn't here right now, it's just you and me. But you and me are also strong. Not as strong as mommy, but mommy has taught us well, hasn't she?"

Your daughter wiped her tears and gave a slight nod.

"Good. Now when the doctor comes in to runs some test, we will show them how strong we are, together."

"Okay."

"That's my girl."

The doctors ran many tests on your daughter and by the time you left your final  meeting at work you realized that your phone had no battery and needed to be charged. Your heart jumped seeing dozens of missed calls from Ruben, the day care and your mother.

"Where is she?"

You made your way to the hospital as fast as you could. Your mother was there to meet you at the entrance.

"She's resting. The doctors ran many test."

"And...?" You were walking with rushed steps down the hospital hallways, thinking that the worst things has happened to your daughter.

"They say she might be allergic to gluten."

You altered your steps. "Allergic to what?"

"Gluten. That would explain her stomach aches."

"Where's Ruben?"

You arrived in front of a hospital room. You're mother gestured towards the door. "In there. I think they're asleep."

It was a peaceful sight, Ruben and your daughter laying on the hospital bed hugging each other.

"Ruben?" You felt slightly guilty to shrugg him awake.

"Y/N?" His eyes flung open at the sight of you. "Y/N, where have you been are you okay?"

"Am I okay? You're the one in a hospital bed with our daughter."

"Right." Ruben looked back to where she was sleeping. "Turns out she's gluten."

You sighed in relief, everyone seemed to be okay.

"I tried calling you and the school tired calling you."

"I know baby and I'm sorry. My phone died during one of our meeting runs and I forgot my charger at home."

"Well after this I'm buying you a box full of charges." Ruben stretched his arms above his head and yawned. He looked so exhausted, you thought.

"I'm sorry you had to leave training to pick her up." You muttered. "It should have been me."

Ruben shook his head and railed you on with his hands on your waist. "We're in this together, you and me."

"And her." You smiled. Your daughter stirred, slowly coming to.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby, I'm here." You caressed her cheek as Ruben helped bring her to sit up. Her arms were covered with smiley stickers and a big bandage where blood had been drawn from her arm.

"Mommy,  I'm gluten." She said.

"So I've heard." You chuckled.

"Daddy says I'm strong no matter what. Just like you."

You looked to Ruben who blushed. You ran a hand through his hair. "Well Daddy is strong too. Especially today when Mommy couldn't be there for you."

"Will you be there for me next time?" Your daughter asked,  tossing and turning in Ruben's lap.

"Of course I will and Daddy too. We will be there for you together, always."

[lfcslut]

golden - part I

pairing: kylian mbappe x female reader

summary: you are childhood best friends with kylian. he grew up to become a professional football player, and you grew up to become a sports journalist. but what happens when outside forces test the limits of your love and friendship?

words: 3.6k

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex

author's note: ahhh! i've always wanted to do a multi-parter like this. i really hope you all enjoy! i'm not sure how long this series will be or to be honest exactly where it's going to go, but i'm excited. face claim is imaan hammam.

“Soph?”

“I’m in here!”

You were in your bedroom, struggling to zip up the sparkling silver gown that you had bought for tonight. You were one of the top sports journalists in Paris and so, naturally, you had been invited to tonight’s gala that Paris Saint Germain was hosting. It also didn’t hurt that your childhood best friend, Kylian Mbappe, was a PSG player. Neither of you had a date tonight, and it was an unspoken agreement that whenever the two of you were invited to the same event, you would go together. As friends, of course.

Kylian had let himself into your flat - both of you were at each other’s places so often that you had decided to give the other a set of keys to your respective homes long ago. You glanced at the clock. 7:03, shit, you thought to yourself. You weren’t even done with your makeup, yet. You should have known that Kylian would be on time. Ever since you were kids, he was the punctual, responsible one while you were the one who was perpetually running late.

“Are you decent?” Kylian asked, knocking on your bedroom door. 

“Yeah, come in,” you said. Kylian popped his head in the door and chuckled at the sight of you still struggling with the zipper.

“Do you need help with that?”

“Yes, please,” you said begrudgingly, annoyed that he was laughing at your suffering. You were facing the full length mirror in your room and watched as Kylian came up behind you. You saw him look you up and down once, before making eye contact with you in the mirror and smiling. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes lingering on yours for a few seconds before looking down to focus on your zipper. With ease, he zipped you up and then rested his hands on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, even though you knew that Kylian’s compliment had been directed at you, not your dress. “Don’t be mad at me, but I still need to finish my makeup,” you said, turning to look at him with an apologetic look on your face.

Kylian rolled his eyes and smirked. “I should have known that 7 meant 7:30. I’ll tell Achraf and the boys that we’ll meet them there.”

You mouthed “thank you” as Kylian got on the phone. You sat down at your vanity to finish getting ready. After he was done talking to Achraf, Kylian plopped himself down on your bed. Though he pretended to be busy texting, he couldn’t help but sneak some quick glances at you in the mirror. He had seen you doing your makeup countless times before, and each time was as mesmerizing as the last. He always said that you looked just as beautiful without makeup as you did with it, but he had to admit that he loved the process of you filling in your eyebrows, smiling when you applied blush to your cheekbones, and making your “mascara face” as he liked to call it. More than anything though, he loved how content you looked when you were sat at your vanity, in your own little world.

“Alright, I just need to find my shoes,” you said as you finished setting your face and started rummaging around in your closet.

“It’s 7:35, Soph. We don’t want to miss the red carpet.”

“I mean, would that really be so bad? You know the tabloids are just gonna explode tomorrow when they find out we arrived together,” you said haphazardly, as you pulled out a pair of nude heels from the back of your closet. 

Kylian frowned. “Since when do you care about what the tabloids think?” 

You paused for a second, realizing how your words had come out.

“I don’t! It’s just… it’ll give more ammunition to all of your fans who already hate me because they think we’re together.” 

It was true, about half of your Instagram and Twitter comments were from anonymous Kylian fan accounts, calling you ugly and saying how you didn’t deserve Kylian, even though the two of you had made it abundantly clear to the public that you were just friends. Though you had to admit, for two people who were trying to squash relationship rumors, the two of you did spend quite a lot of time together.

“People will always talk. You’ve never let that stuff get to you before, so why are you worrying about it now?” 

It was a good question. You had never been one to be bothered by media and public speculation. As a female in the sports industry, you were more than used to people saying negative things about you. You had gotten used to ignoring what others had to say. So why was it different now?

You hesitated for a moment. “You’re right, Ky,” you finally said, smiling up at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Let’s just go and have a good time.”

Kylian grinned at you and the two of you headed out the front door to Kylian’s car.

While you were in the car on the way to the gala, your mind couldn’t help but wander to Kylian’s question. Why were you suddenly so weary of what people thought? Was it because of a certain someone at work who had suddenly started to take an interest in you? You and Kylian had been friends since you were in primary school, and so of course both of you had dated other people before. Almost all of your exes had been suspicious of your close friendship with Kylian - some had just been more vocal about it than others. You never really cared about what they thought though because, to be honest, you hadn’t really been serious about any of them. You had never been in a serious relationship, and while that had never bothered you before, you had recently started to wonder if perhaps your friendship with Kylian had contributed to that. After all, what guy would want their girlfriend to be spending more time with the Kylian Mbappe than with her own boyfriend? That was until last week, when a new intern at your TV channel named Lucas had caught your eye and asked you out. You had said yes, and the two of you had been texting almost nonstop since then. Lucas didn’t know about your friendship with Kylian, and Kylian didn’t know about Lucas. You almost always told Kylian when there was a new man in your life, so you weren’t sure why you were so hesitant to tell him this time around.

As soon as the two of you stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet, the flashing lights from the cameras blinded you. If it weren’t for Kylian reaching his hand out to help you out of the car, you were certain that you would have fallen flat on your face.

“Kylian, over here!”

“Kylian, who’s your date tonight?”

“Please could you sign this, Kylian?” 

Of course, most of the crowd had been waiting for Kylian all night, and so their attention was on him. There were a few people, though, who were calling out for you. Kylian continued to hold your hand to guide you through the crowd and onto the red carpet. Once you had made it through the sea of paparazzi and onto the carpet though, you promptly let go of his hand.

“Sophie, you look stunning!” An interviewer called you over, and you took this opportunity to step away from Kylian to speak with her. You could feel Kylian’s eyes on the back of your head, surely confused as to why you had left his side so quickly.   

After you were done with your interview, you headed into the hall while Kylian stayed behind to continue posing for pictures. You found your assigned table, where Achraf, Sergio, Neymar, and their respective dates were already seated. 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” said Achraf jokingly as you sat down. “Where’s Kyks?” 

“He’s still outside,” you responded, suddenly feeling very hot from all of the bright lights in the hall. You reached for the glass of water in front of you as Kylian made his way towards your table and sat down next to you.

You could tell that something was wrong with how quiet Kylian was all night. He chimed in from time to time during certain group conversations, but he didn’t say a single word to you, and he wasn’t his usual perky self. No one else seemed to notice, and you didn’t want to draw attention to it, so you waited until everyone had left to go and mingle before pulling Kylian aside.

“Alright, spit it out. What’s wrong?” you asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Kylian, and his inability to meet your eyes confirmed your suspicions that he was upset with you.

“I can tell that something’s wrong. You’re being weird,” you said.

“I’m the one who’s being weird? What about you?” Kylian asked, still not making eye contact with you and instead flashing a quick smile at one of his teammates who walked by. “You’re the one who suddenly doesn’t want to be photographed with me.”

So he had noticed when you had let go of his hand on the carpet. You were silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Ky. I don’t know what to say.”

Kylian’s eyes finally met yours, and you could tell that he was hurt by what you had done. “You’ve been distant recently, too. Don’t even try to deny it. What’s going on?”

Lucas. Lucas was what was going on. You hesitated, contemplating whether or not you should tell him. You knew that you weren’t going to be able to keep this a secret from Kylian for much longer.

“There’s someone at work. A co-worker of mine,” you mumbled, so quietly that Kylian had to lean forward to hear you over all of the chatter and music. “He asked me out and… well, I like him.” 

“And you don’t want him to see you pictured next to me in tomorrow’s paper?” Kylian asked.

You nodded sheepishly.

“Got it. Well then. You have fun.” Kylian walked away from you, and all you could do was gape after him. Kylian had never before walked away in the middle of a conversation like this. You could feel your eyes start to well up with tears, and for a moment you thought about calling a taxi to take yourself home, but you quickly snapped yourself out of it. You weren’t going to let this night go to waste. This was your opportunity to mingle with some of the biggest names in sports, and you were going to take advantage of it, with or without Kylian Mbappe by your side. 

As the night went on, you attempted to make conversation with various of the other attendees. Your sadness about Kylian quickly turned to anger though as you saw Kylian walking around, making his rounds at every table, laughing and smiling as he rubbed shoulders with players and managers. So what if you didn’t want your new crush to think that you were dating Kylian like the rest of the world did? What was so wrong about that? And the nerve of him to say that you were distant, when he was the one who had a habit of kicking you to the curb whenever he found a new girl to mess around with. Like an idiot, you kept running back to him when he called, listening to his problems and giving him advice. But now that you were the one who had found someone, you were the bad guy? 

“Hey, what’s going on with you and Kyks?” asked Achraf, coming up to your table and sitting down across from you. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” You had dozed off, busy staring off at the corner where Kylian was laughing and joking around with Brice and some of his other friends, and hadn’t even noticed Achraf coming up to you. 

“Usually the two of you are attached at the hip, but I haven’t seen you say a word to each other all night.”

“Oh. We just had a little argument, that’s all,” you said, finally taking your eyes off of Kylian across the room and reaching for your drink.  

“Did the two of you finally admit that you like each other?” Achraf asked casually, and you almost spit out your drink.

“What?! What makes you say that we like each other?”

“Oh come on, Soph. I’ve been telling Kylian for ages that you two are gonna get married one day. I mean, look at you. I tell myself that I’m Kylian’s best friend, but we all know that it’s actually you.” Achraf spoke casually, as if he was telling you something as simple as how the sky was blue.

“Well, I don’t like him as more than a friend, and I highly doubt that he does either,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “In fact, I’m not sure if I even like him as a friend right now.”

“Ouch. That bad, huh?” 

When you refused to elaborate further, Achraf shrugged his shoulders and got up from the table. “Well, if you ever want to talk about it, you know how to reach me.” 

He walked away, and once he was out of earshot, you scoffed. As if you were going to be talking to Achraf Hakimi about your problems with Kylian.

Even though Kylian was supposed to be your ride home tonight, you decided to catch a taxi. Despite your desire to mingle with as many people as possible, you just weren’t in the mood tonight, so you headed out a bit early. As you walked out the door, you spotted Kylian sitting in a corner, laughing with his hand on the thigh of a beautiful blonde you didn’t recognize. You rolled your eyes and kept walking. 

When you got home that night, you kicked off your shoes and immediately fell down onto your bed. You picked up your phone and noticed that you had gotten a text. You secretly hoped that it was Kylian, apologizing for his behavior. When you opened up your messages though, you saw that it was actually from Lucas.

How was the gala? Bet you looked amazing x

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked down at your phone. Suddenly, you had an idea. You went to your bathroom and hesitated for a moment. Fuck it, you thought to yourself, and you pulled down the top of your dress so that more cleavage was visible than you would typically be comfortable with. You snapped a picture and, before you had time to think about it, sent it to Lucas. 

Had the best time :) Wish you had been there!

😍😍😍 you’re absolutely gorgeous. Wish I was there with you right now x

You smirked and put your phone away before you got yourself into any more trouble. 

When you woke up the next morning, much later than you normally would and with a raging hangover, you saw that Lucas had already sent you a Good morning, pretty girl text message. You grinned, responding back with your own good morning, and then opened a text that you had gotten from your friend, Lila.  

Did you see this? I thought you went to the gala together?  

Confused, you clicked on the link that she had sent you. A tabloid article popped up with a picture of Kylian and the blonde girl you had seen him with last night. The two of them were in the car together, both attempting to hide their faces from the cameras but doing a pretty poor job at it. 

KYLIAN MBAPPE SEEN LEAVING PSG GALA WITH MYSTERY BLONDE 

You scrolled through the article. There was another picture of the two of them walking arm in arm out of the hall where the gala had been held. You went down to the comments at the bottom of the article.

What’s her name? 

Kylian has a girlfriend?!?!?!?! 

She’s so pretty!

Wow, I always thought he was dating that journalist. 

Your heart began to beat fast and rage filled your veins. So this is how he was going to respond to your confession? By hooking up with some random girl and making sure all the tabloids knew about it? Kylian could be a player sometimes, but you had never known him to hook up with a girl he had just met, and he certainly wouldn’t let the paparazzi see him doing it. You knew that if he had wanted to keep this a secret, he could have, but he clearly hadn’t put any effort into hiding this. You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone to the other side of your bed. 

Well, two can play this game, you thought to yourself. 

You got out of bed and went to the bathroom to freshen up. You then changed out of your pajamas and into a pair of high-waisted jeans, a crop top, and your favorite black ankle booties. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked tired, and you hadn’t bothered to do your makeup, but who gave a shit. You picked up your phone and texted Lucas, asking for his address, which he immediately responded with. You grinned at his eagerness. You picked up a quick bite of breakfast from your kitchen before heading to your car and driving towards his place. 

Lucas only lived about a ten minute drive from you, and on your way there, you thought about what you were doing. You barely knew Lucas, and you were already sending him skimpy selfies and spontaneously driving to his place for your first real date? You cringed at how you were reeking with desperation. But Lucas was cute and available. And you were mad - really mad.

“Hi,” Lucas said with a smile when he opened the door. He was dressed casually in shorts and a t-shirt. Even when he looked like he had just gotten out of bed, he was still incredibly handsome. 

“Hi,” you said back. 

“Come on in.” 

You entered his flat, and you were immediately taken aback by how clean it was. Everything seemed like it was in just the right place. You had never seen a guy with such an immaculate place. You wandered around the living room, looking at the pictures of Lucas with his family and friends that lined the mantle.

“Wow, your place is beautiful,” you said, as you turned back around to look at him.

“Thank you! I’ve been here for ages. Can’t imagine living elsewhere, to be honest,” he answered, taking a seat on the sofa and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Sorry for dropping by unexpectedly. I thought I’d finally take you up on that offer for a date,” you said, smiling shyly. 

Lucas grinned. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about that.”

“Unless you have other plans today, of course,” you added quickly.

Lucas shook his head. “Today, I’m all yours. Where do you want to go?” 

“I’m not sure. You pick,” you said. “Surprise me.”

“Alright, I see how it is, putting all the pressure on me,” Lucas chuckled. 

After a few more minutes of back and forth, the two of you headed out. Lucas took you to one of his favorite lunch spots across the street, where the two of you swapped stories about growing up, your favorite sports moments, and your lives in Paris. 

“So, what made you want to become a football journalist?” asked Lucas, as the two of you made the short walk back to his apartment after lunch. 

“My whole family’s huge football fans. I grew up watching the sport everyday,” you answered casually. This was a frequent question that you got, and your response had become almost second nature at this point. It wasn’t common for a little girl to want to grow up and become a sports reporter, so people often had a lot of questions about it. “I always wanted to play professionally, but I busted my knee pretty bad when I was a teenager. I took journalism in school and was pretty good at it. I love talking to people, as you can probably tell.” You chuckled. “So, I decided, why not become a sports reporter? That way, I get paid to talk to people about my favorite thing in the world.” 

Lucas smiled at you. “And look at you now. You’re one of the top sports journalists in the country.” 

Your cheeks began to flush. “I don’t know about that. I feel like I still have a long ways to go.” 

“Well, if I know anything about this business, it’s that passion is everything. And you sure have a lot of passion.” 

The two of you headed into his apartment, where you spent the rest of the evening watching movies and cuddling on the sofa. Cuddling quickly turned into something more, and before you knew it, you were waking up the next morning in bed with Lucas.

Shit, you thought to yourself as you woke up that morning, realizing where you were and who was in bed next to you. It was early, and Lucas was still fast asleep next to you. You grabbed your phone - and, in the process, realized that you were completely naked - and began texting Lila. 

You’re never going to believe what happened last night.

[queenmelancholy]

Guys, I have written my first fanfic ever! And it’s about Thomas Barrow! Yayyy! This is the AO3 link. Please read it if you have time and tell me what you think :)

Title: "I'm Home."

Summary: It was July 1930 and Thomas was revisiting Downton Abbey. He had been homesick for a while in America under the pressure of being half exposed to the limelight and found himself missing his family back at Downton. He dealt with his belonging issues and nostalgia during the journey.

Characters: Thomas Barrow, Guy Dexter, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes, Beryl Patmore, Daisy Mason, Anna Bates, John Bates, Phyllis Baxter, Mary Crawley, Robert Crawley, Cora Crawley, George Crawley, Sybbie Branson

Word count: 2807

Thomas wasn’t sure about how he should feel as he walked down the stairs to the servant’s hall for the first time in two years. He wasn’t wearing his livery anymore. Deep down he was thrilled to tell everyone how much he had seen in America. But he felt ashamed of boasting to those who used to work alongside him. After all, he was the most bitter about Branson and Gwen when they found happier lives with their socially superior partners. Thomas knew that Guy saw him as equal, but still, the similarities laid bare. He felt awkward about this. 

Guy repeatedly told him not to worry. They were his family and there was no reason why anyone would not be happy for him. But Thomas reminded himself that it was not true. It couldn’t be. How could Mr. Carson give him a warm smile he so craved like he wanted from his own father, when this man thought Thomas deserved to be horsewhipped? How would Mr. Bates congratulate him, when he violently smashed Thomas against the wall and called him a filthy little rat? How could Mr. Moseley care a bit about how he was doing now, when he seemed so annoyed by Thomas when he was struggling to even face himself? People just wouldn’t be easy on him, even after all these years. And Thomas knew himself was the one to blame. 

Although people said they were his “family” for twenty years, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He owed them a heartfelt apology for what he had said and done. They owed him their apologies, too. Thomas didn’t know why he couldn’t just say sorry to them the day he left the house. Things would’ve been much easier if he did. But he wasn’t sure whether they’d do the same if he had said then - it was probably why he didn’t say it in the end. Deep inside, he was still angry with them. He had been angry all along. 

Perhaps some things were just destined to be wrong and left unresolved. Why would he expect anything different now? 

During the two years in America, Thomas had followed Guy everywhere to film and do publicity. Guy’s friends were all very nice and welcoming. Thomas got close to a few of them through their cricket matches every week. He enjoyed spending time with this small circle of friends as well as his private time with Guy in their house. 

Nevertheless, Thomas was very much aware that the journalists had suspected his relationship with Guy from the start. It was true that America was an open society and most people were friendly towards them, but Thomas wasn’t very comfortable with being in the limelight. Newspapers would make up fake stories about him and Guy for gossip, and he disliked it. Every now and then, he would see his face in some local tabloid, and passers-by would sometimes give him the side-eye. He felt judged all the time, like his private life was put on the table for everyone to see, and they only saw him as that. Thomas found himself in this peculiar situation where he had to keep his mouth shut about an open secret, one that was known by millions of people. He didn’t even know how to behave in public anymore. 

Surely he loved Guy a lot, and he knew Guy loved him as much, if not more. But sometimes he just felt a bit tired of hiding behind the name of a dresser. And all these people who didn’t really know them would talk about them behind their back, saying things that weren’t true. Although he had Guy with him, Thomas just felt more lonely being surrounded by all these strangers in the strange city.

Thomas’s depression was slowly taking over him again. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep at night. He missed home. He wanted to talk to Mrs. Hughes about the things that were troubling him. He knew she would pat him on the shoulder and say no worries, all things would be fine. He wanted to open up to Phyllis about his insecurities and she would give him the wisest advice; he wanted to chit chat with Daisy about the silly little things, argue with Mrs. Patmore, play with the children, and many more things. He even missed Bates as his sparring partner. Thomas just needed someone who actually knew him, from when he was that spiteful young boy and watched him grow into this mature man. 

He knew the people back at Downton wouldn’t hurt him, not anymore. They were his family. He was safe with them. He knew it at last, but it might be too late to admit that. 

One day, Thomas just couldn’t hold it in anymore. In tears, he told Guy he was homesick. Guy was very worried if he was not doing enough to make Thomas feel at home. But Thomas reassured him that it was not his fault - in fact Guy was the only reason why he hadn’t fallen apart till now. Thomas blamed himself for being a coward who just knew how to run away from his problems, like he did during the war and many other times. He didn’t even have enough determination and perseverance to make a new life of his own. 

“That’s not true,” Guy told him, “Look how far you’ve come already. You have been through a lot. I know. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. If anyone had told me that there’s this nice bloke named Thomas Barrow who had been put through the wringer like this, I would think they were writing the protagonist for their upcoming production.” Guy laughed a little and pretended to contemplate, “Hmmm… if so, that character would be so challenging to play.”

Thomas kept looking at the ground. He blinked his eyes in silence before he mumbled, “Then that film would be a blockbuster. But I bet you couldn’t play the role.” He slowly smiled, “And you’d have to be really lucky to get a ticket for it.” They looked at each other and giggled.

“Yeah, that character would certainly be a legend. And I’m glad to know him,” Guy replied satisfyingly.

Finally, he persuaded Thomas to go back to Downton for a week to catch up with the Crawleys and their staff. Guy’s filming schedule was packed so he couldn’t travel with him. Out of guilt, Guy offered to pay for the travelling expenses and bought Thomas his commercial plane tickets. Thomas was reluctant at first but he eventually gave in to the temptation to fly for the first time in his life. Before he boarded the plane, he once again thanked Guy for what he did for him and promised to get better soon. 

As he flew across the Atlantic, Thomas couldn’t help but think about Richard’s words, “Fifty years ago, who’d have thought man could fly?” Well, he was flying now. And he felt simultaneously happy and sad about it. What would Richard be doing now? Did Jimmy finally get settled down? Was Edward watching from heaven and being happy for him? Thomas looked out the window and tears ran silently down his cheeks. 

Soon he arrived in London and travelled north to Yorkshire by train. The scenery gradually changed from city to countryside, and Thomas became more relaxed as he was surrounded by nature. The wind blew through his face and loose hair. He could smell the freshness of the grass and see the blue wide sky. It was a beautiful sunny day.

Once Thomas planned to visit Downton a month ago, he wrote to Mary as a courtesy. He didn’t want to make it a big deal to the downstairs lot so he kindly asked Mary not to tell anyone else. Mary understood that and agreed to keep it secret. Thomas knew that in fact she was excited to see everybody’s surprised faces when he appeared out of the blue. Yes, Lady Mary would be so. Thomas thought to himself and smiled a little. 

His ride back to the Abbey went smoothly and everything along the road was familiar, only that he no longer needed to walk the long way on foot. Time seemed to have paused in the village. Thomas could almost see his younger self stepping out of the post office after sending that telegram to Philip. It was like yesterday. How could these places still look the same while so many things had already changed? He thought of William and Matthew, as well as Ethel and Lady Sybil. He felt sorry for them. “I’m the one who got away.” “Gives hope to us all.” The days when they were here were long gone, but had they ever really left? Thomas suddenly felt overwhelmed by his complicated feelings towards this place he called home. Perhaps part of him had never left, too. 

When Thomas arrived at the Abbey and rang the bell, it was Mr. Carson who opened the door. They were both stoned and stared at each other for longer than usual. Thomas surely expected Carson, but he wasn’t prepared to see this tight-lipped wrinkled man with a head of grey hair standing in front of him. Was Carson this old when he left? He couldn’t remember clearly. Carson was equally shocked. The troubled man that he once supervised suddenly turned up as a guest to the house he managed. Didn’t he finally get rid of Thomas after he met the movie star? Carson shrugged as he recalled that. But he had been reminiscing about the downstairs life with Thomas’s cheeks lately - it was too peaceful without the naughty boy in the servant’s hall. It was somehow boring. Carson was surprised that he would find himself missing Thomas Barrow - like a strict father missing his difficult son. At times he would tell himself that maybe Thomas had found his happiness out there, so there was no need to worry. 

“Mr. Carson, it’s nice to see you.”

“You never fail to surprise us, Mr. Barrow.”

They stood at the front door, both a little unsettled. “Who’s that?” Asked Lady Grantham from inside. “We have been visited by an old friend, My Lady.” Carson raised his eyebrows as he couldn’t believe these words came out of his own mouth. Neither could Thomas, who remembered clearly how he was greeted last time he entered through the front door as acting sergeant. Carson and Thomas nodded politely at each other before they went into the house. Thomas exhaled a deep breath of relief. 

Both Lord and Lady Grantham were very much amazed by Thomas’s visit. They were eager to know how their former footman-turned-butler had been doing these two years. So they had a short conversation about Thomas’s life in America, and Robert seemed a bit too excited as he told Thomas about how it reminded him of his Eton days. Carson couldn’t control his eyebrows, while Mary cheerfully watched on and gave Thomas knowing looks at certain points. 

It was afternoon, the servants had been working on their chores at different corners of the house. So Carson went off to summon them all before Thomas entered the basement. He wondered what Carson would have told them.

Meanwhile, Thomas used the time to revisit his old room in the attic. No one used it after he’d left. He noticed how humble his room was compared with the luxurious room he shared with Guy. The furniture was still in place but it had lost its warmth as there were no traces of living any longer. A layer of dust had formed on the surfaces of his old cabinet and desk. Thomas felt strange. He remembered Dryden Park, the run down estate of Sir Michael Reresby. Would this room ever be used again? Was he its last occupant? What would it become in a hundred years’ time? Thomas sighed and took a last look at his room for eighteen years. He said goodbye to it and closed the door lightly behind him.

After a while, Thomas found himself descending the stairs to the servant’s hall. He felt his heart beating faster as he got closer to the bottom. When he was almost there, Thomas caught a glimpse of the framed writings hanging above the entrance to the servant’s hall - “Watch and Pray.” He was relieved that it was still there. He changed it when he was the butler. Thomas remembered how for fifteen years he walked past the former one every day that said “Trust in the Lord,” and couldn’t help but feel betrayed by God and everyone. He was furious then. But now Thomas was glad that he had grown into a better man and there was no need to be bitter anymore. 

Suddenly Thomas heard Anna’s voice from the servant’s hall, “Be quiet! Mr. Barrow might hear.”

“Oh, I can’t wait! Mrs. Patmore, just come and sit down!” Daisy was apparently in an exciting mood, and what on earth was Mrs. Patmore doing?  

“I just want to make sure it looks perfect.” 

“It’s very beautiful, Mrs. Patmore. I’m sure Thomas will appreciate it.” It seemed even Mr. Bates was here to welcome him. Thomas thought for a moment about what snarky things he could say to Bates. No, he wouldn’t do that, not today. 

“Mr. Barrow may be here any time soon. You get ready now,” Mrs. Hughes said softly. Who was she talking to?

Thomas had anticipated this moment for a month. He kept thinking of his guilt and how to make apologies. Things might have improved, but at the bottom of his heart he still thought they didn’t like him as much as other servants. And he could not fully embrace them for how they treated him in the past. Their misunderstanding towards him could perhaps never change. How could he truly belong here? Or anywhere? But the strange conversation just now might hint that things were not as bad as he’d thought. After all, they were the only people in this world who really knew him. So Thomas plucked up his courage and stepped into the servant’s hall. 

Three shadows rushed forward and hugged him around the waist. “Mr. Barrow!!!” The children shouted with joy. “We missed you a lot,” little George said softly as his big blue eyes looked up at Thomas. Oh god, these children had grown so much. George was almost reaching Thomas’s shoulders. Sybbie was already a young lady and Thomas could see Lady Sybil in her. Marigold was with her parents in London, but Thomas missed her nonetheless. The third little one was Johnny, who was always joyous and nothing like his father, much to Thomas’s delight. It was great that the children had not forgotten him. In fact, they couldn’t be happier to see him. 

Thinking of it, Thomas’s eyes began to well up and his face turned red. “Alright now,” Mrs. Hughes said to the children, “let go of Mr. Barrow or you will choke him out.” They laughed and Thomas noticed something on the dining table. It was a beautifully decorated chocolate brownie cake - Thomas’s favourite. “It was intended for the family’s afternoon tea today. But I asked if we could use it instead and Lady Grantham kindly agreed,” Mrs. Patmore explained. 

Thomas couldn’t believe it all. Why? Was this their apology after all these years? Had he been wrong about them all along?

He couldn’t look up at them but smiled shyly, “Thank you very much. Thanks for this warm reception. You don’t need to do this. I’m not worthy of it.” 

“Don’t say that, Thomas,” Daisy said, “We’ve all missed you. And your mischief, of course.” 

“I really don’t deserve any of this…” Thomas could no longer contain his tears and started to cry. The children couldn’t understand what was happening. They grabbed his hand and looked with worried eyes. “Why are you sad, Mr. Barrow?” Sybbie asked, “Tell us and we will find ways to help you.” Thomas cried even harder. He couldn’t control himself. 

“Mr. Barrow is just too happy,” Phyllis tried to explain it for him, “He has missed us as much as we missed him. So he is very happy to see us all at once now. Aren’t you, Mr. Barrow?” She approached him and offered him her handkerchief. 

“Yes, I am,” Thomas said as he wiped his tears, “I’m just too happy to see you all again.” There was no need for other words. 

Everyone’s eyes slowly turned teary as they smiled with contentment and joy. One thing was sure - Thomas was very much missed and loved here around the servant’s table. They didn’t know it before, neither did he. But now the big boy had come home.

“Welcome back, Thomas.”

Thomas smiled and replied softly, “I’m home.”

[transandrobroism]

Are you a transmed?

this must be what it feels like to be a celebrity and have tabloid journalists yell random questions at me while i'm minding my own business

[yuukei-yikes]

i hate that Jin decided Kano would be a cop in the future, my man is not racist or a straight up psycopath (i'm talking about you Military Police in Brazil and USA) so here's something i cooked up: Kano being an left wing sympathizer (mostly anarchist honestly) and throwing himself headfirst at the first squatting (occupying abandoned buildings) or demonstration/riot he sees because he's just that kinda guy

dont get me started on jin's comments about the mekadans professions like 😭😭😭 WHATS WRONG WITH HIM. kano By Far got the worst one.

here's a list of potential jobs i actually see kano doing:

hairstylist (personal hc and fave)

some sort of tabloid journalist i think him chasing ppl for stories would be funny. also back in the day idk why it was so popular to hc kano as a photographer so him walking around with a big camera seems a little fitting as an old kagefan. i remember there were memes about him wanting a camera of the brand canon and was always trying to get seto and kido to buy him one

him as a teacher would be cute. maybe a teather teacher or something, i think he'd get along really well with teenagers and somehow manage teen drama really well and make it work for the best of the class

server. just rly thriving off of tips too and cuz of his power he's really great at handling conflicts with difficult clients.

idk i think kano would work a job that involves a lot of talking to people, not bc he particularly likes people i actually think he's a very solitary guy, but he's...good at it? he gets what he wants from people definitely, he always knows what to say!

[hannahssimblr]

Where u? 

I text Jen from the lonely beach house, Saturday night, the last weekend of the summer and she’s not responding. I give her five minutes and then text again. 

I glance at the clock. It is close to midnight now and she’s been gone all day. Ivy and my parents are sleeping, but I sit fidgeting on the couch, trying and not succeeding to watch a DVD I rented last week and forgot to return. 

I text Shane. 

Five, six minutes, no response, so I try Joe as a last resort. 

Silence. I groan with frustration and open the contacts menu on my phone, the clunky buttons clicking furiously as I scroll to Jen’s number. I can’t believe she’s reduced me to this; to calling her like some relic of the 1990s. I jam the phone up to my ear and listen to the dial tone, leg shaking, teeth worrying at my lip.

And the call is dropped. 

“What the fuck?” I mutter in outrage and navigate to Shane’s number. Hey, man. I imagine myself saying as it rings. I know it’s so weird to call you but I was wondering if you’re with Jen. See I’m just stressed about it in case she’s gone to Joe’s weird brother’s house again. Last time things got a bit weird and I wanted to make sure that-

Shane rejects my call. 

This time I spring up from the couch and start pacing the room, circling around the coffee table, from the bathroom door to the stairs. 

Phoning Jen. Call rejected. 

Phoning Jen. Call rejected. 

Now I'm panicking. I’m imagining her passed out at some heinous house party in a pile of broken glass and blue absinthe. Actually, she’s dead. She’s died and it’s all because of me. Or there’s a creepy guy, maybe-

“Hello?” Her voice finally comes over the line and I almost fall to my knees with relief.

“Oh my God, Jen!” I cry, only then realising how insane I sound. She, however, sounds pissed off. “Why did you ring me like seven times?”

“You weren’t picking up.”

“I’m busy, we were watching a film.”

“What? Where?”

She hesitates. 

“With who?”

“Um,”

“Jenny!”

She lets out a hassled sigh, “Look, Jude-”

“Are you three hanging out without me?” If my entire family wasn’t asleep I would be yelling, but they are, so I am hissing into the receiver, incensed. How could they do this to me? “Wait, you’re planning a surprise party, right? Something I can’t know about, isn’t that it? My birthday is in November though, you’re a few months early but I appreciate the thought, really. So kind.”

“C’mon, Jude.”

“Where are you?”

“Well, I went outside to take your call…” She says vaguely, and I hear the chirping of grasshoppers in the background, nothing specific enough to give her location away. 

“You’re at Joe’s caravan.” I surmise.

“No.”

“Shane’s?”

“Here, look, I-”

“You’re at Shanes! Aha! I caught you out, you little sneak!” And I grin triumphantly until I remember that I am offended, actually, and what they’ve done is hurtful. Sorrow takes hold of my heart, “Wait, why are you hanging out without me though? Why are you hiding this from me?”

There’s a few seconds of silence on the line, and I'm only certain she is still there because I hear Joe’s distinct laugh muffled somewhere in the distant background, “I’m sure you kind of know why,” she says eventually, “you know, with it being Shane’s place and all, it’d just be a bit awkward.”

“Awkward? How?”

“You should probably sort this out between the two of you but-”

“This is about Clóda.”

“Clóda? Um, no, it’s not about that, that’s not what he said anyway.”

If I keep interrogating her I’ll get answers, because Jen is easy. She’s about as good at keeping secrets as a tabloid journalist and she never keeps things from me, at least not for long and I can sense the cracks forming, perfect for sticking my prying fingers into. “Oh?” I say, “Well if it’s not about her then what is it?”

“Really? You can’t think of anything else?”

“No, seriously! Just tell me.”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“What? No, you tell me-”

“It's none of my business!” 

“Jen!” 

She hangs up. 

I curse and stare down at my phone for several long moments, my heart is pumping in my chest. What the hell? I open up a message to Shane and type frantically. 

I delete it. Asking him to meet me somewhere implies that I want to fight him, which I decidedly do not want, because he’d pummel the absolute shit out of me and walk away with half my front teeth lodged in his knuckles. 

As though possessing some telepathic connection with me, Jen sends me a text. 

I slump onto the sofa and stare vacantly at the TV screen and think about all of the things that I have ever done wrong in my life. The time I went to a theme park and shot repeated water cannons at that couple until their inflatable boat capsized. The time I broke my wrist while riding a wheelchair down the travelator in Tesco and got banned for life. The time I drew a giant dick with weed killer on the lawn of the catholic girls school near my house, and so many more things. Smashing flower pots, throwing stones, accidentally breaking vending machines, but I never did anything to intentionally hurt my friends, not really, not maliciously. Everything I’ve ever done has been in the pursuit of entertainment, something funny, something memorable, something to beat back the boredom like encroaching nettles that will sting and blister my ankles. 

Yet it’s not really a voice of reason I can hear in my head now, it’s my fathers, a disembodied head floating by my ear. 

“Why do you act like this?” He scolds, “you’re not a child anymore, we shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of behaviour. Can’t you just sit still? Can’t you just be calm? See this is it, this is how you are, you don’t think before you act. You know, other parents don’t have kids like this. Other parents have kids that do as they’re told, who don’t cause trouble, who don’t get phone calls from the school reporting of yet another problem, another detention, and you’re-”

I jump as my phone springs to life on the cushion beside me, buzzing obnoxiously and hopping toward the edge of the seat. I’m certain it’s Jen again, so I snatch it up in a fury.

“Look, Jen, you were right, it’s not a good time to talk. I actually think I just want to be on my own and…” I trail off when I realise it is not her on the line. It’s someone else, maybe someones. All that I can hear is giggling. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

Only a pretty thing

Work in progress

Soon on AO3, the complete fic. I hope you enjoy the preview.

-------------

So, here's the thing. Johnny had a reputation. The tabloid newspapers loved to put him on the front page after a night of excesses, treading on the rumours of his alleged affairs, sometimes more than one simultaneously, even when he was married.

Really, according to Vanity Fair, he should have enough free time to have an orgy a week or two. Newspapers liked to exaggerate. It was true that he had problems with alcohol – when your life is falling apart, with no real friends and with your wife hating you, what else could you turn to? – and that every now and then ended up in the middle of a fight.

He was never the first to start, let's be clear. But he didn't shy away from provocations, so it may have been a bit of his fault. Relationships? All bullshit.

Johnny was outgoing and liked to flirt, but he didn't sleep with just anyone. Not even when he had a void to fill and sex would have been so easy to make him feel whole, at least for a few hours.

He couldn't do it. First, he was faithful to Cristina, even though she had never been faithful to him. Second, even though he was on the decline, he was a celebrity and couldn't risk his partners going to tell a few journalists for just a million or two dollars.

So thanks but no thanks. Until further notice, it will be just him and his hand. Therefore, he was not surprised when, after a particularly hard workout, after leaving his room to go for a well-deserved bath, he overheard a conversation about him.

"I hope his flirts aren't distracting you too much," was Raiden's voice. "After all the sacrifices we're making, going to Outworld and getting kicked in the ass because you were distracted during practice, would suck."

"I'm fine," Kenshi's voice barked, and perhaps it was that tone that prompted him to stay hidden, not to intervene with a few jokes. The tone was so provokes me and I will tear your throat with bites.

Yes, he may have gone overboard with his teasing, and slamming in his face that Sento was still in his hands had been a rather asshole move. As always, Kenshi had started, and Johnny had never been the type to shy away from a challenge.

Well, almost always. Now he was too tired, too bruised to end up in the middle of a fistfight, and perhaps it was better to wait for them to leave so that he could continue on his way.

At least, those were the intentions. "It doesn't look like it, dude. You could kill someone with that look." "It's none of your business. You wouldn't understand."

"Listen," Raiden said, patiently. "Being knocked out by someone like Cage must be a wound to pride. But it doesn't mean you're not strong."

Someone like Cage. Aka a spineless hedonist with so many problems that not even a year in Rehab could have solved. He knew the script by heart. Kenshi will agree, insult and curse him, then go about his day, perhaps devising a plan to steal Sento from under his nose.

Johnny will outsmart him again, and their rivalry/maybe friendship will continue like this until they participate in the tournament.

Except that Kenshi had never been good at following a script. "I could accept defeat," the Japanese said. "If the man in question were an honourable man, and not a who prostitutes himself for a quarter of an hour of fame or to feel less pathetic. Cage is nothing more than a spoiled brat with a propensity to open his legs to get what he wants, and he doesn't know what sacrifice and duty are. It's no surprise that his wife has grown tired of him, a totally useless and worthless man. If I had less self-respect, I would pretend to be seduced to get Sento back, but I'm not that type, I'm better than him and I'll prove it by getting Sento so that my ancestors are proud of me."

"This is… Don't you think it's a bit harsh?"

A laugh,"We are talking about Cage. He's too stupid to take anything to heart. He…"

There was a limit to everything. And Johnny had surpassed it. He left. Forget the bath, needed a drink. And a lot.

It would mean that his first reaction was to let people know he was there and to say ''oh don't worry, a fuck with you isn't enough to get Sento back'', and then punch the asshole.

Instead, he had felt empty, as if a small black hole was now between his chest and stomach.

It's no surprise that his wife has grown tired of him, a totally useless and worthless man. A spoiled brat who does not know the value of sacrifice. He is not an honorable man.

He knew the truth. He wasn't what Kenshi had said. He was better, he knew that.

But the fact that it was Kenshi who said it, a person for whom, despite himself, he felt a kind of connection and that a part of him believed it, silenced his most belligerent part, making him feel tired of everything.

He needed alcohol. He wanted to forget, at least for one evening, and pretend that he had not been hurt. No one will have to know. There was no need. Why make a drama out of it? Especially when there was truth in what Kenshi had said.

The salvation of the world and of some alternative dimension was more important than his poor wounded pride.

Johnny could handle the contempt on his own. That, after all, he was used to.

[imzsuzsis-blog]

We are here with Loki for a few days, he is not really enjoying it, he says he can hardly breathe and it is too much for him.

"Lando baby? When do we leave here?”

"I don't know, and it's not from here, it's Singapore, better enjoy it."

I showed him the view from the hotel which was beautiful.

"I don't know, I don't take it. It's hot and I can't breathe, I'm suffocating, I'd rather be here."

"Can we cancel the date? Loki…Huh?”

"It depends on where I would go..."

"Surprise"

"Bass, don't play golf. You know I hate golf.”

"Relax, it's not.”

My fingers played a game on him face and when I reached him top I dragged him to the bed with me.

,,So...”

,,Yes, this is the date... A little sex, I know for you, and I was told to wait six months, but I can't wait that long. I want you now, and I want sex.”

But in the end, again what they said there prevailed and I took Loki off me again and sat down on the edge of the bed and started to cry. Why wait so long, right? How much for them? I really want a little baby, but now from a fixed relationship and not from the previous one, from which it turned out that the mother-in-law is a cheater and he was the first to sign the paper because he himself is an irresponsible mother-in-law. I assumed I was pregnant from him, a big dick Ollie.

"Good, good, I won't..."

"I know the fuck!!!"

I got up and locked myself in the bathroom, I didn't care what was written on the sedative, I got three more, I'm so used to it since the girls were adopted and not by my will. Some time ago, I was on the verge of suicide again because of this, I would rather be one of their fathers than to do this to myself.

"Lando? Hello? Are you okay?”

"You're not an idiot, you're a race winner."

"Okay, I'm a race winner, but I'm not stupid."

He started the fight all over again, as he had done in Holland. I went over to him and stroked his hair, but he turned his back on me again, and I saw his fingers beating again.

"Lando, what the hell are you doing?"

"This, this is not that, I just fell on the golf course and the grass injured it."

"Even you don't buy this story, do you?"

"Fuck Oscar if this was once the case. Carlos accidentally pushed me up.”

“Translated, you went to him and got angry again."

"Stop saying it was an accident with this shit!"

I went to Oscar and pushed him against the wall, I didn't dare to hit him. I turned my head to his side and ran my fingertips over his face, then I looked deeply into the brown eyes and didn't notice myself. I kissed his violently and began to roughly strip his of his clothes in the open street.

"Lando!!!! What the hell are you doing!!!!!"

I kicked him in the ass, I know that's not what you should do at this time, but I slapped him afterwards.

"No, I don't know, I swear!!!!"

Burying my face in my hands, I started sobbing. I wasn't drunk or anything like that, just to tell him the truth that Ollie is a scoundrel and cheated on me even while we were together.

"Lando?"

“Yes?"

"Did they want to rape Oscar?"

"Um, I don't remember that I wanted this."

I looked at him in shock after what Bia the eyewitness told me. Before that, Bia, frozen, told Pietra what Lando had done with Oscar.

"Do you know that Bia saw the whole thing?"

"That's your mother!!!! I say that I don't know why I did it!!!!"

"Calm down, okay? You just had a bad day. Just because you can't fuck for six months, don't do this."

"Shut up Max!!! Is it a crappy day? So what? Don't give a shit, you dick!”

He looked at me sobbing and leaned against the wall and slowly sat down, turned him face to him side, and I could see him very tearful eyes.

"I didn't know it was so stupid."

"Then learn what the patience game is."

I sat down next to him and our faces touched, he bit his lower lip and started to cry again.

"Nobody sees the truth."

I knew he was right, they see my showcase life on the internet, as well as him, but he doesn't take it well, he would smash all the tabloid journalists in his heart, and it wouldn't bother him that he would be arrested and go to prison.

"I cheated on you... When, Lando??? Is the rest of your common sense gone??? Bullshit!!!!!!!”

I slapped him. The one who clenched his fists and punched me in the face so hard that my mouth was split open.

"Lando, is that it?"

"You slapped a dick hat."

"Do you think I'm going to fuck you now?"

“Because? What did I say?”

"That I cheated on you."

I held my forehead and shook my head at the Bullshit he was saying again.

"But, but if it's true."

"I'm saying that it didn't even cross my mind."

I hit him in the back and together we watched the heavy rain that caught us very suddenly and almost everyone was stuck here in the pit lane. They didn't let us out, we were all fools here.

"Leave it Ollie, I admitted that you did that. But now it's my fault.”

"Well, at least you admitted that you messed up."

We looked at the ducks that his team floated outside with the same name. We started to laugh at this because they started to make them compete, but both were overwhelmed and ran after them and the poor people were burnt to the skin.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Clark and sister reader having a moment where he warms up to her.

"Mr. Kent," you say by way of greeting, before kissing Alfred's cheek. And Clark smiled a little when the dignified British man blushed, just slightly. "Has Bruce come up yet?"

"Not yet," Alfred said easily, handing you a cup of tea. "I'll just go set another place- I didn't think you were coming, Miss Y/N."

"I didn't call?" you ask, looking confused, "I could have sworn-"

"Whether you called or not it's a pleasure to have you home this evening," Alfred said, unperturbed.

"But you don't have to-"

"Nonsense," Alfred scolded. "As if you'd ever be turned away." He scoffed and patted your shoulder as he passed. And before you can protest or offer to go, Alfred slips out of the room. Leaving you to entertain your brother's guest.

Clark shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat, "Thank you, Doctor-"

"Y/N is fine," you tell him, feeling too warm. When he was scowling at you he was very nice looking.

"Y/N," he said. "Without your help-" Clark broke off and shook his head. "I'm just sorry I was so rude to you. I shouldn't have believed-"

"It's alright," you sigh. "Bruce and I have apparently been taking turns going to rehab for years-"

"But you don't-"

"No, we don't," you snort. "Alfred would have killed us. Rehab wouldn't have been necessary."

Clark smiled a little, "Do they ever get anything right?"

"My last boyfriend was secretly gay- but it wasn't a beard situation. He just wanted good connections for his tech start-up. And to try and blackmail me for having dated women before- just not publicly."

"Ew-"

You half-shrug, "What he didn't count on was Bruce's protective streak. And someone else forcing me out of the closet at the same time on social media."

"The horror stories I have from their teens," Alfred said, shivering. "Rehab, partying, constant speculation about them sleeping with someone inappropriate- it's appalling. Nothing was private."

"How many times was I pregnant?" you muse, "I feel like that was a couple times a year. At least for a week or two."

"I lost count," he snorted. "About the time you and Bruce got bored of keeping a tally of who had a drug problem."

"So much for journalistic integrity," Clark scoffed.

"Tabloids don't need integrity," you snort. "They just need to entertain."

"That must have been very lonely," Clark said, blinking. He couldn't imagine being a kid and trying to navigate the awkward, painful landscape of romantic feelings while under constant scrutiny. And suddenly, the way you kept to yourself made sense.

Bruce had a crafted public face. One to deflect from his identity as Batman. But you weren't- you weren't a vigilante. You were a doctor.

"It could have been worse," you shrug. "Alfred could have believed them-"

"Never," he snorted. "You spent your weekends volunteering and on the off chance you DID go out, Bruce and Oliver would have never let you get into trouble. Not that sort of trouble any way."