#like… the billionaires are not the only ones buying more than they could ever need or want at those three companies

[lacewise]

Something I don’t see crafters talk about in the fast fashion of crafting conversation (and I’m not interacting with the og post because it’s been hijacked by “individuals have no responsibility” folks, which is frankly a conversation I’m completely unwilling to engage with) is the huge swath of people, especially crafting influencers, who are v clearly (at least) middle class using their disposable income to recreate the fast fashion process at home, making things they will wear once and then toss, making things for photoshoots, and then making more things. They overconsume as much as anyone buying from Shein, using the same materials and cutting the same corners, and are doing it explicitly so their microtrend items are even more unique.

They are spreading dupe culture and misinforming the public on how they “made” something for a tenth the price of the original luxury item (because the luxury item will not shred if you look at it funny) and their platforms rely on people not knowing the difference between materials.

And then it circles back to people saying worse quality materials are *actually better* quality because they’re “more convenient”, which has somehow trickled up to genuine professionals in the fashion and fashion commentary industry.

These influencers cosplay as professionals to their audience but will absolutely *freak out* if you put the professional responsibility of not lying to the public on them and I never see anyone criticizing them because if anyone dares, they’re elitist.

Cannot believe I have to disclaim this but I am not talking about people learning a new craft or people making a normal amount of imperfect or quickly made crafts. I mean, everyone knows exactly which communities I’m talking about, but the internet is dedicated to bad faith interpretations of things already addressed so…

Meanwhile, we will all drown in their “new outfit a day” Shein-quality goods, whether they were made in a factory or a garage.

No matter how you make it, hyper fast fashion is never sustainable or ethical.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[kinopio-writes]

Hi!!!! I’d like to request Vox and a reader who just refuses to get like new technology at all because they’re like “I don’t wanna waste money when it still works!” Like their phone case could literally be hanging on by a thread and they’d still refuse to get a new one

You don’t have to do this request if you don’t want to, take care of yourself and drink water❤️

A/N: Thank you. I keep forgetting to drink water every day. The only time I remember to drink is whenever I eat. Take care of yourself, too. And I’m the same as the reader you’re describing, lol. I still have an iPhone 6 and it’s still working. The battery drains so fucking fast though.

Warnings: None

———

Vox x Reader who’s a minimalist

• while Vox is someone who owns (I think is) a multi-billionaire company and never had to think of not buying things he needed or wanted, he might agree with you about the money part

• he’s like Grunkle Stan from Gravity Falls or Scrooge McDuck (rich as hell but doesn’t like wasting money)

• but the thing is, he owned technology

• if it were any other stuff, he would be okay with it (it’s your money, after all. You do you)

• but it’s literally what his brand is built around

• he could just…give you a new one

• “No! I don’t want a new one.”

• he’d take offense to that

• because he already put all of your personal information in, from the apps you downloaded to your photos and, heck, your passwords, too

• and he did all of that without syncing it with your old phone (yeah, he knows everything—it’s not creepy at all)

• he knew you were complaining about the darn thing and decided to give you one

• so…why didn’t you want it???

• “Because it still works.”

• he’d just give you the deadest pan (not a word) ever

• your phone was old as hell, so the battery is pretty chemically fucked up

• it was also a device that he no longer puts any new updates in (because everyone else already moved on from it), so your phone was pretty outdated

• like, extremely outdated

• all of which meant that there would be some slight difficulty with communication

• and this man thrives from Facetiming you (he’s a busy guy)

• there would probably be more times you Facetime him than actually seeing him in person (assuming you don’t live with him. He probably has cameras there regardless)

• you’d keep complaining about how he keeps bugging out after a certain time has passed in the call or how it’s already gone down to 5% or how your phone is overheating because you’re charging it while calling him or how it’s just searing hot in general every time you use it—speaking from personal experience, lol

• it’s the reason why he decided to give you a new phone (he wanted longer calls without you having to hang up every 20 minutes because you needed to charge it)

• but noooo—your stubborn ass still insisted on using it because ‘it’s still working’

• ...yeah, no, he’s not taking any of that shit

• he’s still going to give it to you whether you like it or not

• his proposition is that, okay, you can use your old phone, but you have to use the new one for calls

• that’s all he’s asking for, really

[asterias-record-shop]

BINGOO! Can you please write a Miguel O’Hara sugar daddy story with prompt 15? I’m not creative enough to write a description for this but could you add a mention of the age gap? Miguel is Like 30 or something. Reader is young and wants money ofc. They met online and are meeting up irl. Thank youu

—𓆩[mi menté, cuerpo, corazón, y alma]𓆪—

I am so sorry anón honey, I got completely carried away!! I hope you enjoy it though!

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Modern AU! CEO! Sugar Daddy! Soft! Miguel O'Hara x Sugar Baby! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.1K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - You loved being a sugar baby. Truly, you did. The only con was the fact that you had to get with someone who was literally a hair away from dying, so when Miguel found you, it was truly a saving grace. After a while, he made you cut off all of your other sugar daddies, easily matching what they give you and more. Things have gotten weird lately, though… and you’re not sure how to take it, even when he says everything is ‘strictly pleasure’.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing and foul language || obsessive behavior || sugar daddy & sugar baby relationship || possessive! Miguel || his wife and daughter do not exist anymore 🤍 like at all || Latina coded reader || featuring Jessica Drew as another CEO because we love her (spider-verse variant) || sugar daddy & sugar baby relationship turned real relationship || i speak rancho spanish so i write rancho spanish, it ain’t google translate so it might not make sense- || miguel is lowkey an asshole so he is an asshole now || fighting || you make him fix himself || i’m ngl, i don’t know what the hell i did but i had fun and there’s smut so enjoy || this is so much more kinky than it initially was going to be- || kinda OOC Miguel || sub turned dom! reader || sub! Miguel || sounding || cbt || slight oral || praise & degradation || riding || non-protected sex || cumming inside || ending is supposed to be humorous I’m not weird ||

Finding a sugar daddy that wasn’t quadruple your age was hard. Very, very hard. What was wrong with men? Couldn’t they just become billionaires at twenty-five?

Bastards.

Oh, but then Miguel O’Hara came along. A man in his early thirties that absolutely towered over you at 6’9”, built like a fucking god with looks to match and wealth to pair.

In the beginning, though, you had your doubts, so many doubts. You didn’t know what made him drawn to you in the first place, mainly because you had over five sugar daddies and he easily matched the prices immediately and made you get rid of them. He easily matched all your prices, doing even more before purchasing a test to make sure you were ‘healthy’.

After that, everything else happened extremely quickly - him buying you a car, jewelry and clothes, but the most recent was having you move in with him in his extremely large mansion. The first thing you noticed was that he had nothing in his home that gave it personality. No pictures, just crazy expensive art and photographs of things that were also crazy expensive.

He didn’t even have plants. Or a dog. Or a cat, something to give him some sort of personality besides that stupidly hot face. And stupidly hot money, but that’s why he was at work while you were at a shelter, promising yourself that you’d take some sort of pet home. You had settled on a kitten, a tuxedo kitten with a little bow tie and a mustache, along with small little mittens on his paws.

He immediately curled in your lap, a giggle falling from your lips as you stroked the back of his head. “I’ll take this one… I’m gonna name him Hart.”

And with that, you took him home. You bought him his own bed and all of the toys he could ever want or need, and you sat in the closet you had made his room as you wagged the cat toy in front of him, Jessica on the phone.

“Y/N, I really think you’re going to kill him bringing that cat into his house!” She laughed, snacking on her latest craving.

“Oh, he won’t! You’re being overdramatic, he’s gonna love Hart,” you wiggle the stick some more, the kitten swatting at it as you heard Miguel’s loud voice yell out for you. “Oh! He’s here, I’ll call you later Jess! Love you!”

“Don’t get killed!”

You giggled as you hung up and quickly stood, running out and fixing your skirt. “Miguel!”

He was tired today, you could tell. His body was more tense than you had ever seen, the buttons at the top of his shirt undone and his tie loose with his blazer open. You paused, his clenched fists making you swallow slightly. You had your share of violent lovers, and you sure as hell weren’t going to have another.

“Hola, mi reina,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he set down his briefcase and his fists unclenched. He softly set his hand on your hip, kissing softly against your temple as he sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day.”

You inhaled as he softly pressed kisses down your temple around your eye, along the apple of your cheek. “Wh-What happened?”

He shook his head, his hands going from your hips to the pretty skin of your thighs that was exposed by the skirt. “Stupid idiots who don’t know how to fucking do their job.”

You hummed softly as you stroked the back of his head, twirling the locks of his hair with your fingers as you kissed his sharp jaw. You were already on your tiptoes, his hands supporting you as he ducked down. “I’m so sorry, Miguel,” you whispered as he let out a soft hum. “I uhm… I got something.”

“Ah si?” he responded, his hands slipping under your skirt to tease your pretty cunt. “Es esto, mi reina?”

“No,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Lemme show you.”

He smiled as you dragged him along, pulling him toward the closet you turned into the kitten’s room before turning around. “You can’t get mad.”

He started to cross his arms, raising a brow. “Why would I get mad?”

“You won’t be mad because you can’t. That’s my whole point,” you say, nodding firmly. “Okay?”

“You can’t say I can’t get mad and expect me not to get mad.”

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed, shaking your head as he hummed softly and leaned down. “Just… trust me.”

He hummed again as you opened the door, the loud mews of the kitten making his eyes widen. You felt your smile disappear as you inhaled, shaking your head as you turned around. “This is Hart! He’s a little spy,” you giggled, kissing the kitten’s small head. “H-He was named after-”

“I know who he’s named after, Y/N,” Miguel growled, glaring at the kitten in your hand. “Why is it in my house?”

“Our house,” you correct him, a scoff falling from his lips. “What?”

“My house,” he basically growled, stepping forward as you started to step back. “Just because I fuck you like a ragdoll and cum inside of you like a cumdump doesn’t mean that this is your house.”

You inhaled as you held the kitten closer to your chest, scoffing. “You’re a fucking bastard, Miguel O’Hara. This is strictly business as always, isn’t it? You fucking asshole.”

He scoffed as you went around him, shaking his head. “This is mine, Y/N! All of it!”

“It might be yours, Miguel, but you don’t want it! You keep this giant house full of nothing that you love, nothing that you care for! You don’t even have a damn plant here!” You yelled at him, inhaling as you sent him a glare. “You’re a self absorbed bastard, Miguel.”

“I have you here,” Miguel spoke, something that completely betrayed his previous words. “You’re… all I could ever need.”

“You don’t need me though. The only thing that you fucking need is a damn whore,” you shake your head, keeping Hart close to your chest. “I will get myself a lawyer to get myself out of this contract, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“Y/N, wait-”

“No! Fuck you!” You were already rushing to your room - which was sadly one you shared with Miguel - locking it before he could come in after you.

“Y/N, amor… mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not!” You yelled, sighing. How could you ever think this would go any other way? “Just… go away!”

To be honest, you weren’t sure what made you think you could love him. Actually love him and have it reciprocated, but you didn’t want to leave. You had worked so hard in this relationship with Miguel, gaining his trust and what you thought was his love, for fucks sake you couldn’t lose it now. What he said just… got to you.

It wasn’t until you heard a soft knock that you unlocked the door, Miguel slowly stepping into the room. “What do you want?”

“I just… look at this,” he gave you the binder, swallowing. “If you uhm… look at it, it annuls our last contract… if you sign it, mi amor-”

“What, are you gonna try and bribe me?” I ask, softly scratching Hart’s ear before he gives you the binder.

“Perdóname, amor,” he whispers, slowly falling to his knees in front of you. You certainly weren’t expecting this. “Read it.”

“Summarize it for me.”

“It says that you own me,” he says, tilting his head. “Everything I own, you own. Everything I am is yours,” he takes your hand, softly kissing against your wrist. “I’m sorry… that it took me so long to see how important you are to me. Soy tuyo, mi mente, cuerpo, y alma.”

You swallow as you stare at the dotted line, looking down at him as he kisses your skin. “Tu cuerpo? Es mío?”

He groaned as your hand shapes his jaw, softly tugging on his hair as Hart jumped down, sauntering out of the room as though he knew what was about to happen. “Todo es tuyo, mi amor,” he whispers, groaning as you pull his hair so he’d stare up at you. “Todo lo que quieras, es tuyo. Nomás me digas y es tuyo. Todo, todo es tuyo.”

You hummed, sighing as you moved your hips to come off the bed slightly. “Show me. Show me that you belong to me and I’ll sign it.”

He hummed, sending you a smile as he started to kiss against your wrist. “Of course, mi reina.”

You smile slightly as he starts to tug off his shirt, carefully unbuttoning and kissing along your calf before slipping off your heels. “If this keeps going, Miguel, you need to know that I’m not putting up with your bullshit.”

“Ya se, mi reina,” he whispers, his tongue flattening up your thigh as he pulls down your skirt. “I’m aware.”

“I’m going to sign that shit in your cum.”

He laughed, nodding. “If that’s what you want to do, mi amor.”

You tilted your head down at him, raising a brow. “That raises no red flags?”

“No, they’re actually green.”

You hold back a laugh as he slowly stands up, already taking off his clothes before you put up a finger. “I’m in charge, right?”

“Yes,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What would you like me to do, hm?”

“Get on the bed,” you say, standing and slipping off your clothes. “Why are you just standing there? Go.”

Miguel smirked slightly, but followed your orders, his bare body looking perfect against the bed. “Well, what do you want me to do next, mi amor?”

You hummed, staring for another few minutes. “Get hard. I’ll be back.”

You go into your closet, but after hearing Miguel’s moans, you knew he listened to what you said. It wasn’t until you went into your drawer filled with sex toys did you know what you wanted to do - oh, you were going to make him sob. You grabbed the small silver toy you had never had the chance to use on him, biting your lip as you finished taking off the rest of your clothes and fixing your bra and underwear.

It was normal to makeup with Miguel with sex, then talk about what happened and why it should never happen again before you fell asleep, resulting in Miguel waking you up with breakfast in bed and another lavish apology gift.

When you walked out, you smiled when you saw Miguel bucking his hips into his hand, his thick cock dribbling precum out of his bright red tip. “Look how pretty your cock is, baby… so, so pretty.”

He lets out a dry laugh, groaning. “Oh yeah? Que vas hacer?”

You giggled, slowly sliding between his legs and taking out the metal sounding rod. “Voy a jugar con lo que es mío.”

He lets out a choked moan as the cold tip of the rod dragged in a circle along the tip of his cock, already lubed up so you wouldn’t hurt him, a giggle escaping your lips as you slowly pushed it into his cock. He lets out a choked moan as you laugh, watching as it slowly disappears inside of his cock.

“Hijo de su pinche madre,” he cursed, groaning as he bucked his hips, stomach clenching as you watched his body slowly fall to your mercy. “Amor, please, please- I'll be good, I just need to fuck you.”

“Cállate,” you ordered, giggling as you pushed it inside until the ring was showing, your mouth latching onto his balls and sucking softly. “Come on, be a good boy and fuck it.”

He cursed as he starts to roll his hips, following the sounding rod as he groaned loudly. One of your hands rubs along his thighs, giggling as you stared up at his face all scrunched and desperate. He really did make a good sub.

“Come on, don’t stop now, Miguel, you’re doing so good,” you move away from his balls but continue to cup them, moving so that his fat cock was settled on his abdomen and you rubbed your now bare pussy against his shaft. “Come on baby, I know you want to cum. As soon as you cum, I’ll put your cock in me and I’ll let you fuck me.”

He groaned loudly, almost growl-like sounds falling from his lips as he forced his hips to go faster, fucking into the sounding rod as he rubbed against your wet cunt. You couldn’t hold back your own moans, the friction of his cock perfect against your cunt and he wasn’t even inside of you yet.

“Amor, please, please!” He was begging to cum, even if he didn’t quite know it yet, a groan falling from your lips as you continued to squeeze and rub his balls. He had never been this quick to cum, and you knew you’d have to try this again soon. “I’m close, chingao, I’m close.”

You let out a laugh as you watch the sounding rod start to be pushed out, pushing it back in as he whined. “Not yet, amor mío.”

“Por favor, mi vida, necesito- fuck!” He screamed out as you continued to hump against his length, pushing and pulling the rod in and out of his cock.

“Say it again. That you’re mine.”

“Fuck, I’m yours! Soy tuyo, mi mente, cuerpo, corazón, y alma, ¡chingada madre!” He yelled out as you finally let go of the sounding rod, watching it pop out of his cock and a perfect, pornographic cumshot follow. You moved your hand from his balls, lifting your hips as you continued to pump his shaft. You watched as the pearlescent liquid spurts onto his toned abdomen, smiling before cupping your hand in front of his tip and gathering his cum.

He panted, watching as you slowly smeared it along your cunt and placed the sounding rod onto the nightstand. “Next time we need to go bigger.”

“Whatever you say, amor,” he whispers, groaning as you pull his cock to push into your cunt, another loud groan falling from his lips. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I know,” you spoke, laughing slightly as you gasped. No matter how many times his cock was inside of you, you never got used to it. “Fuck, Miguel, It’s like you get bigger every time.”

“Maybe I do,” he smirked, offering that playful wording as you finally sat on his pelvis, groaning loudly. “Look at how perfect you look with my cock inside of you, mi reina. Fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, groaning as you started to roll your hips, his cock feeling as though it was deeper than it ever was. “N-No, no.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “No what, amor? Tell me.”

“Stop that,” you order, knowing damn well if he kept talking like that you’d soon be on your back begging for him to fuck you. That’s now how it was going to happen, not today. “I’m in charge. Not you.”

“I never said you weren’t, amor-”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips firmly to his as he held your hips, helping you rock onto his cock. “Stop talking.”

He laughs as his other hand pulled you in for another firm kiss, your hands searching for the contract before his hips slam up into you. You pulled away, gasping as he lets out a loud groan, cursing. “Thought you needed some help, mi amor.”

Your hands claw against his shoulders as he keeps your chest pressed to his, using his strength to easily thrust up into you. For fucks sake, he couldn’t even let you have this, but you weren’t complaining as he grunted underneath you and you felt his cock rub against every place you ever wanted him to be. He repeatedly thrusted into you at that perfect rate to hit that spot inside of you that just made your body go limp, stomach twisting and turning.

One of the pros of having a man who knew your body like the back of his hand was that you could always count on him making you cum.

You gasped as his cock finally thrusted against that perfect spot that easily made you come undone, mind blurring as you basically see stars right as your nails dig into his skin. Your cunt clenched and squeezed his cock as a result of your orgasm, a hissed groan falling from his lips as he thrusted a few more times and finally came inside of you.

Your eyes rolled back, the added feeling of his cum spurting inside of you, filling you up as your inner thighs started to register slight heat from the power of his thrusts. You panted as you started to sit up, Miguel letting out a slight laugh before you grabbed the sounding rod and the contract.

“Q-Qué estás haciendo?”

You looked up at him, giggling as you dipped the rod into his cum. “I said I was going to sign it with your cum.”

“Mierda, Y/N, don’t do that!”

“What?! You think I was joking?! I said it was a red flag!”

Thank all of you so much for supporting me!! Even though Bingo requests and Bingo itself is done, I have my next event already planned - please stay tuned!! Requests are closed but they will be open when I clear my inbox, and again, thank all of you so much!!

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© asterias-record-shop

[heyftinally]

Taylor only has one thing when it comes to the opressed olympic. It's the fact she is a woman. And swifties use that for any criticism against her.

" Oh you just hate succesful women."

She isn't black, She isn't gay trans etc.., She isn't disabled, She isn't poor, she isn't jewish, she isn't muslim, etc... etc...

Swifties also need to learn that a black man is not more privileged than a white woman. They seem to think that she is always more oppressed against any other man.

They could literally think that a homeless black man has more privilege than the billionaire white woman. All because he is a man.

🔔🔔🔔 Ding ding ding, we have a winner, folks! You hit the nail on the head.

Taylor Swift has weaponized her white woman tears and "oppression" to her own benefit, and this is exactly how.

None of her fans seems to ACTUALLY understand how oppression works, they just take the pretty little buzzwords that they think are synonymous with "I'm a good person who's right" and parrot them like a $2 children's toy (half the time while sending death threats and racist/homophobic slurs, which makes it even more ironic)

Taylor Swift is not oppressed. She's just not. Honestly, yes, even though she's a woman - and before any feral Swifties come at me, I AM a woman - she's not oppressed, and I'll tell you why.

"Billionare" overrides most (not all) other categories. As soon as you're a billionaire, nothing else matters, because you can buy your way into and out of anything. Combine that with the facade that the entire world worships her, and guess what? Nobody gives a shit that she's a woman. She's not oppressed because a few people she's never heard of make jokes about how much she sucks - she DOES suck, but those comments have zero impact on her life. She doesn't even know they exist. In Taylorland, everyone loves her no matter what she does - even if she's best friends with/dating bigots.

In order for someone to be oppressed, systematic situations have to negatively impact their life on a day to day basis. Disabled people can't get married without losing their disability income. LGBTQ+ people are still getting murdered in the street for just existing and having their right to healthcare taken away. People of a variety of ethnic minorities still get denied things like loans at a higher rate than white people. Women get denied promotions because they're not men.

None of these things will ever happen to Taylor Swift. She can quite literally pay to access a "perfect" world, because she gets to pay her way out of normal life.

If someone makes a sexist joke? She can have that person fired and hire someone else.

She can pay for as much private security as she wants, so being safe is literally never a concern.

She can pay for private travel (and kill the planet every ten minutes), she can pay for private staff to handle her every whim and worry.

Taylor Swift has effectively paid her way out of oppression, because she can simply use her power, her money, and her legion of feral fans to get whatever she wants.

Someone makes a joke she doesn't like? Clearly it's "oppression" and now that person is "canceled" at best, or getting doxxed and sent death threats at worst.

Taylor Swift isn't oppressed because she can pay to fix nearly any problem in her life, so her biggest "problem" is people not unquestioningly worshipping her 24/7, which is what she weaponizes.

And fans will still claim that she's more oppressed than a black disabled homeless man, because they don't understand oppression OR intersectionality - all the know is worship Taylor and harass.

[preet-01]

I've had this idea for a few days. Batman Max/Catwoman Daniel

When Max decided to don the cowl and cape, he’d done it to protect the city he’d grown up in. For the most part at least.

Gotham ran rampant with crime — mob bosses, crime lords, and costumed villains alike ran around causing havoc. The GCPD and district attorneys did the best they could, but corruption was more common than one would think. So Max had become the protector that the city needed.

By day, he was the elusive, playboy billionaire with more money than anyone ever needed. If Max Verstappen wasn’t off doing some rich person extreme sport, then he was believed to be in his empty manor with a new flavor of the week. And by night, much to the chagrin of Alfred, he was vengeance personified. A demon bringing fear into the eyes of Gotham’s rogues gallery.

But for all he caught the Joker, Scarecrow, Harley, Ivy, Penguin, Riddler, and all the various other rogues that weren’t actually deadly but more like nuisances that would ruin a perfectly gloomy day with their antics (particularly Condiment King or fucking Calendar Man), one rogue always seemed to evade him.

Catwoman.

He’d heard conflicting rumors about the cat burglar, but one thing remained consistent — the Cat was drawn to shiny things. And despite all the doom and gloom that Gotham was known for, there were countless shiny things for the Cat to steal.

He gets his chance to catch the Cat when there's a new museum exhibit opening. He doesn't go to the museum, no Catwoman is smarter than that. Well, Max hopes that Catwoman is smarter than that because otherwise, Max has been unable to catch an idiot.

Instead, Max heads over to the mayor's mansion. The mayor's wife had recently been in the news for buying a new diamond necklace. it was ostentatious in Max's opinion, but with the new diamond necklace resting on the mayor's wife's neck, then the rest of her jewels would be back at the mansion.

_____

Max is crouched in the shadows as a man dressed in a black skintight suit and cat-shaped cowl sneakily enters the mayor's mansion.

He doesn't make a move until Catwoman (or is it Catman? He'd only heard Catwoman from other Gothamites and talk about how Catwoman's childbearing hips. He would have to ask about that) leaves the mansion.

With his grappling hook, Max swings over to the roof that Catwoman is using for his escape.

"That isn't yours," Max growls, thankful for the voice modulator he uses these days.

"Haven't you heard, darling, finders keepers," Catwoman drawls. His lips quirk up in a smirk. "I was wondering when the Dark Knight would honor me with his presence," he continues on, raking his eyes down Max's body.

"Honor?" Max questions, no rogue was honored by his presence. Terrified? Yes. Manic? Almost always. But never honored.

"Oh, definitely an honor, Batsy," Catwoman retorts. "And as much as I want to explore this, I've got brand new pearl necklaces to try on."

"You know I can't let you leave with those," Max states. He's got a batarang in hand.

"A shame, darling," he sighs and jumps off the building, "until next time!" He yells. To Max's surprise, Catwoman lands on all fours like an actual cat would.

[bat-besties]

Mia Dearden and Steph Brown Headcanons! 

I’d love for them to meet supporting the Birds of Prey! They would both be about 18 when this happens, so Steph’s new to Batgirl but has been Spoiler, and Mia has been Speedy for a year. 

They both want to have fun and prove themselves, and I think there might be a little competition between them and their mentors over their use to the team. 

Mia is better at long-range combat and undercover work; Steph is better at short-range combat and detective work. 

They both talk. A Lot. 

Steph is very talkative because she’s very extroverted and friendly; Mia is talkative but it’s more of a defence mechanism at first, she’s actually a bit shy. I think that at first Steph can’t work out why Mia gets more quiet as time goes on and worries she’s mad at her, before realising this is a Cass/Tim situation. That’s cool - Steph can manage her introverts. Mia then goes up to being very talkative again, but with quiet stretches between. She appreciates that Steph can match her energy whether it’s a long ramble, a rapid conversation, or just chilling in silence together.

Steph gives Mia tips on using her hooded cape for Maximum Dramatics and Mia shows Steph how to hang upside down (“You’re a bat, right?”)

Mia met Babs at the wedding and is intimidated by her. She was too shy to tell her she’s started hacking herself, but Steph would slip it into conversation and Babs would be excited! Meanwhile Steph is like “you need to STOP me talking to Dinah before I tell her something embarrassing” (and Mia does) 

They both idolise Huntress the most out of the Birds of Prey. Come on, she rocks purple, stands up to Batman and defied her criminal origins? She’s also a badass with a bow? They gush over her together. She is also the only person who can get them to shut up over the comms. 

They love the same teen music and commiserate over Harper and Ollie making fun of it when it is actually really fun and catchy! Mia and Steph fight scene where they take down Riddler to the tune of One Direction’s Best Song Ever. The Birds of Prey record the security footage for them. 

Steph prefers reading classics and Mia prefers YA, so they swap recommendations (Steph recommends Dracula and Mia We were Liars)

However they do discover they’re both Hunger Games fans. 

Mia is a straight-A student and Steph struggles more with academics, but Mia knows more than anyone that intelligence comes in a lot of forms and it’s hard to catch up after a difficult childhood/adolescence. Equally, just how impressive Mia’s academics are (SHE SKIPPED ALL OF MIDDLE SCHOOL) is something Steph can fully appreciate and hype the fuck up. 

Honestly being with someone else from a working class background is nice amongst all the billionaires. Oliver keeps telling Mia to read Marx when she talks about her childhood. Bruce once gave Steph $50 to buy a box of tampons. Yes she kept it.

They do realise that neither man really understands the crucial gap between Steph growing up on the poverty line [under US census definition] with parental neglect and Mia staving off homelessness through survival sex work. The girls are acutely aware that Mia came from a background like Steph’s but had to leave due to abuse, and that their situations could easily be reversed. They could have really nuanced conversations about gender and class. 

Steph makes a joke about being pressured to sexualise herself at 15 and Mia’s like SAME and tells a much more concerning joke and Steph completely cracks up. 

Mia: I’m glad you found that funny because it did make Connor almost cry.  

Steph: Oh yeah, you should meet Cass. Her sense of humour is so dark Signal couldn’t light it.

They’d bond over friendship with Tim! When Steph hears about how chill and accepting he was of Mia’s HIV diagnosis she’s not at all surprised because that’s Tim all over. She tells Mia how when she first met Tim he thought he got Steph pregnant with a kiss and was still reading feminist theory for the first time. That’s her boy! He listened. 

Mia worries that reaching out to Tim or the other Teen Titans would be weird since they haven’t reached out to her and maybe they won’t even really remember her- 

Steph tells her if she rocks up to the tower for a reason other than the world ending and with some snacks, they’ll talk about it for months after. (She knows because she did it). 

Steph offers to introduce Mia to Cass, Kara, Damian, and other heroes she’s teamed up with over the years. 

In turn, Mia realises Steph struggles to make friends at community college despite her friendliness and with Mia actually having friends at high school, she gives Steph tips for “getting close to people authentically when you can’t tell them about the vigilante thing”. We see in the comics how Mia has to work on making friends, so I feel like she could pass on advice to Steph who is more used to hanging around people enough that they become close and being super open. 

Mia tends to get more quiet and passive aggressive, Steph tends to yell and confront rather than letting things simmer. They would struggle to deal with this at first. For Mia, Steph yelling would remind her of Richard and make her feel Steph is trying to intimidate her. For Steph, Mia making mean comments would remind her of Bruce and make her feel that Mia thinks she’s better than Steph. 

However, I think they could communicate to work this out and deal with conflict without yelling and with direct communication. 

Mia makes Steph watch Powerpuff Girls and Steph makes Mia watch Gravity Falls. 

They also have a sleepover involving a ton of snacks and Project Runway

It’s nice to talk about casual things - like how Mia’s boyfriend cheated on her with Emma Watson, Steph and Tim tried to date in costume but not out of it, and how Mia has killed someone and Steph has tried multiple times. Normal teen stuff.  

They end up having some deep chats on stakeout: So how was the realising not all men are evil being deeply painful because it meant your father chose to be like that? 

Mia: Even though he proved he’d never hurt me, Ollie kind of set back my progress in trusting men when he cheated on Dinah. It just felt like even good men would betray women for sex. But he’s grown from that and they’re married now.

Steph: Yeah, Bruce set me back when he had a mafia alter ego and didn’t tell me, leading to my brutal death which he still blames me for to this day. 

Mia: GIRL

Look the two of them have to look after a young girl together and get her to a safe place and use her testimony/skill to take down whoever was hurting her so she's part of her own rescue. They just have to. 

One of them is a natural blonde and one dyes her hair. They know which is which but they’ll never tell.

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

Extended rant about being poor and disabled under the cut, not really worth reading I just needed to get it out.

Hope everyone’s having a decent day

Listen I’m disabled unemployable massively in debt and have exactly $0 in liquid funds and no sizable assets. Unless you count physical assets. Like I could sell my body I guess. Ugh. Anyway throwback to that one time like an hour ago when I at least had a iPad to use. It was from 2013 so I knew this day would come. Can’t believe it lasted this long. And I know I should be extremely grateful to even have a smartphone, but I cannot use my phone as a computer the way most people do. I cannot hold onto my phone that long. I can’t look at such a tiny screen that long. I can’t crane my neck down for that long. I can hold it up level to my eyes but I can’t hold my arm up that long either. It’s not practical or sustainable. Plus my smart phone won’t last forever. Then what will I do? Without access to the internet? Yeah yeah touch grass nobody had internet for millennia blah blah blah okay but now we do. Now it’s a basic necessity. You need internet to do pretty much anything adults need to do nowadays in order to be an active part of society. I agree it’s fucked up but it’s real. I cannot get to a library. I don’t have friends in walking distance (or any distance for that matter) I have no access to using the internet for more than a couple minutes at a time. Im writing this post in segments over the course of a whole day. I keep coming back to it because I can’t think about anything else. I legitimately don’t know how to remedy this situation.

Not that this is a remedy but I want to inflict suffering onto anyone that’s ever said money only causes problems or doesn’t buy happiness or the best things in life are free or any of that classist bullshit. Two hundred dollars is pocket change to so many people but a little refurbished tablet would change my life right now. I hope every billionaire lives long but suffers endlessly and unfathomably until they die.

Also I hope my dad and his wife are really enjoying their fully refurbished three story three bedroom two bathroom home complete with a sunroom a heated deck/screen porch (yes different from the sunroom) heated floors in every room a garage big enough for their two brand new cars a little Vespa & a whole workshop plus a cute little stone patio with a fucking water feature pond fountain thing that they don’t even see that much what with their practically monthly elaborate getaways and international vacations every year. Fuck I hope they are really fucking enjoying themselves. Meanwhile I have to decide if I want to cut back on food and medicine for a while to save up for a device I can access the internet on.

Anyway. Ignore this I’m just really fucking tired, sooooooo unbelievably fucking tired, of being poor and disabled. Big fucking deal I know I’m so far from the only one. I know I still have so much that some people don’t have. And I’m grateful. But…fucking hell. Poor and healthy would be fine. Poor and disabled but still employable would be fine. Disabled but financially stable would be fine. Disabled with adequate support systems would be fine. My piece of shit grandfather finally fucking off and dying and leaving me something to live on would be cool. I’d kill for any of these. But poor and disabled just feels like someone is beating the fuck out of me and every few minutes they stop for just long enough to help me up and let ms pull myself together and there’s a momentary glimmer of hope until they go right back to beating the fuck out of me. I feel like eventually I won’t be able to get up or pull myself together anymore. I don’t fucking know.

Anyway at least I have a place to stay!! At least I have something to eat!! I can make tea if I want!! My eyesight is going slowly enough that my glasses are still usable!! The fact that I even have glasses in the first place!! The fact that I have any clean water at all, even if it only stays hot for three minutes. I can still take a shower. I have books to read. There a lot of ways in which my body and mind have not yet let me down. Honestly how dare I complain about anything I guess??? I don’t fucking know how I’m supposed to feel

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

1.0, Big Brother (0% technophobic)

These are tech bros and billionaire executives, the kind of people who push for AI facial recognition, data tracking, and mind reading technology (metaphorically, until actual mind reading technology becomes viable, in which case, literally). If you give them an email address you haven't touched since 2006, in less than a day they'd have a file full of your personal information thicker than the FBI's and NSA's combined. Down here, you have guys like Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and most politicians (especially after 9/11. Can you say USA PATRIOT Act?)

1.1 - 3.2

Here, you'll find the fanboys of the above. Guys who are really into NFTs and crypto. Influencers and blue checks who crave attention and show off all their 4 figure phones, 5 figure workout equipment, and 6 or 7 figure cars. The kind of rich assholes who think they're tech savvy because every appliance in their home connects to the internet and requires a subscription service in order to not vent deadly neurotoxin through their air ducts. These are all small fish who aspire to be big fish; the 1.Xs will throw themselves under the bus to protect the 1.0s, while the 2.Xs will get thrown under the bus involuntarily.

3.2, True Neutral (50%)

Because this is a log scale, the actual center is 3.16227766 (the square root of 10). 3.2 represents Average Joe American, the type of guy who doesn't care about the state of technology one way or the other. He probably doesn't own an Alexa or Ring camera, only because he's never thought of buying one (3.1) or thinks it would be too much of a hassle to set up (3.3). If facebook asked him for a 3d scan of his head to try out a new memoji, he'd upload it without hesitation. He thinks cops shouldn't need a warrant to spy on the Bad Guys™, and recently voted for politicians who wrote the Let Cops Decide Who is Good and Who is Bad With Impunity Bill (though he will never connect dots between his actions and their consequences). "Why should you care if you have nothing to hide?" This guy buys his friends and family $100 send-in-your-spit DNA tests for Christmas.

3.2 - 5.0

I'd say most of the people reading this fall somewhere around here, though they think they're much higher. Hell, I'm probably a mid-4, but until I actually started plotting out this scale I would have guessed I was a 6 or a 7. High 5 at least! 3.Xs don't know how to pirate things and begrudgingly subscribe to some or all the major streaming services. 4.Xs don't use facebook anymore, but are still on twitter because that's where all the people they follow post from. These people are vaguely aware of how bad things could potentially be, but have no clue how bad they really are; if you suspect you're in this range, please know that every single service you've ever given your email address to is connected to your name in a database somewhere, even if you faked all the rest of the info you gave out. If you signed up to a grocery store value card, advertisers immediately know every single item you've ever purchased, and can even make assumptions based on the purchases of people you are in close proximity to every day (your phone is close to this other person's phone from 9 to 5, so you're probably co-workers, or they're close from 6pm to 6am, so you live together, etc.)

5.0 - 6.0

A little healthy skepticism to help shield your brain from the fact that you live in an Orwellian surveillance state. You use adblocker and VPNs, you don't carry your phone with you 24/7, you use burner emails for every different website (though it won't make much difference because they're all being accessed from the same device, so it wouldn't take any government entity more than a couple seconds to figure out they all belong to the same person). If 3.2 is blissfully ignorant, 5.2 is in living hell because they KNOW what's up and are powerless to do anything about it.

6.0 - 8.0

These are the REAL tech savvy people who don't use social media, have zero smart appliances in their homes, and rely heavily on physical media. We should all strive to be here. In the upper 7s you get privacy activists who know deep down that the system will never be able to fix itself but still hope against hope that it will.

8.0 - 9.9

These people scare me, not because they actually get shit done but because they have delusions of grandeur and TALK about how much shit they'll get done. Most libertarians think they're up here, but really they're down in the 4s and 5s with the rest of us. Real 8s and 9s are batshit Tyler Durden wannabes who think they can change the world by planning terror attacks "in minecraft." They never do anything because they either get caught or chicken out because it's more fun to plan for the singularity or the collapse of the grid than to actually carry out said plans. These are doomsday preppers and dude-bros who are little different than qanon nutjobs (except that qanon supports Big Brother)

10.0, Full Kaczynski (100%)

You are Theodore John Kaczynski, you live in a shack in the woods and you mail bombs to universities. NEVER GO FULL KACZYNSKI. You'll never succeed in hurting any substantial 1s or 2s, just innocent 3s and 4s. In reality, Ted cared more about industrialization and the environment than computers and the police state, but the internet didn't exist in the 70s. The modern world is built upon man made horrors beyond his imagination.

I guess I subscribe to a lopsided horseshoe theory; instead of both sides being equally bad at the extremes, the lower end is worse because it is much more powerful and influential. There are more 1.Xs than 9.Xs, but you'll hear about the 9s in the news a lot more often. You're more likely to be killed by a cow than a shark, or by a cop than an undocumented immigrant, but we all know that quantity isn't what gets reported on, now is it?

I dunno, take this scale with a grain of salt. It's all subjective.

[hellishattempt]

angst superache songs as relationships with the batboys pt 3

this is the final part of the three !! i decided to try my hand at writing something for bruce and duke, even though both are like,,,, unknown quantities of the dcu. i mean, i know bruce, obviously. i own every batman game / movie and this big ass book on the batman. but duke? duke is a foreign language to me. and i speak a LOT of languages. so bear with me on this.

like before, this is gender neutral reader / no pronouns used <3

you can find part one ( dick + jason ) here & part two ( tim and damian ) here !

footnote - bruce wayne. the billionaire, philanthropist playboy is many things to many people, but to you, he's your childhood friend, and business partner. as the ceos of wayne enterprises and inkling incorporation, the two of you have worked closely, especially as bruce decided to step into his role more. having known bruce for so long, you know all about his public persona. he's a playboy, with extravagant and foreign women on his arm every night, and it's never the same woman. you're close enough with alfred to know all about bruce's "sleepovers". but you'd be lying if you said you didn't have feelings for bruce. it's stupid, you know this, to be in love with someone like bruce wayne. tonight, the two of you are hosting a gala for one of the charities you both fund. and tonight, you've had just a little bit too much to drink. "evening, brucie" you slur slightly, a glass of champagne between your lips. bruce was in the middle of what looked like an intense conversation with lucius fox, a friend and owner of foxteca. bruce looked to you, noticing your drunken state, and apologized to lucius. "we'll have to continue this later," then he turns to you. grabbing you just above the elbow, bruce rushes the two of you to a more private corner of the venue. "are- are you drunk?" he sounds incredulous. "i've never seen you drunk before. you need to sober up." bruce reaches to take the glass from your hands. as he does, you lean in and whisper into his ear "i like you, brucie." a giggle escapes from your lips. bruce's face is serious and stern. "sober. up. now's not the time for lies and jokes." you frown. "but why would i lie, when it's so clear that i'm in love with you?" a tense conversation follows. bruce likes someone else. you say, "if i waited, would that maybe help?" but bruce says patience won't change how he felt. someone calls out to bruce and he's gone in a second, his public mask back on. you're left standing alone. you leave the party silently. on monday, you're sober and yourself again. you play off your confession as a joke and blame it on the alcohol when bruce comes to check in on you. pretending you don't feel anything is easier than him thinking of you as some lovesick girl. you have to stop being pretentious and loathing your friendship with bruce. it's okay, because this taught you a lesson: love isn't precious. it's not like the novels, no pride and prejudice at all. so you'll just take the footnote in his life. he could take your body, your soul, your mind, everything from you. every line that you write for him will never be read or enjoyed, so a footnote will do. bruce, being ever the charmer and gentleman he is, asked to take you to dinner, to make sure you were really okay. friday night, exactly a week from the gala, you and bruce have a restaurant at gotham's own vigilantes and villains, a five star restaurant built by harvey dent after he was reintroduced to society. it's the only restaurant that will cater to civilians, vigilantes and the villains of arkham. harvey said he built it so he didn't have to feel so torn between his personalities. as you and bruce are sat your table, the host says she thinks you two are cute. they think you're a couple, so they buy you some booze. you two share the moscato, and laughed cause it's true to you. and you'd be embarrassed of you weren't so pleased that everyone else sees what bruce will never see. you're perfect together, but you'll never be the one. this teaches you another lesson: feelings are reckless. just like the novels, side characters end up alone. in bruce's story, you are no more than a side character. so a footnote will have to do.

jigsaw - duke thomas. duke is so in love with you, it's obvious. he wants nothing more than to be the object of your love. if changing his clothes would mean you like him more, if changing his hair would make you care, he'd grab the kitchen scissors and cut himself to slivers for you. if being polite kept you satisfied, if being less insane would make you stay, then he'd be more like his adoptive sisters, saying "thank you ma'am and mister," to you, for you. as much as you adore his affection and idolization of you, your feelings for him aren't like that. he's your brother, your best friend. he's the only one of the waynes that you feel like you can really trust, who understands what it's like to be the odd one out of the family. signal and psycho are partners in crime fighting, just as tight knit as duke and you are when the masks are off. you notice his changes, and it doesn't mean much to you. all people mature in different ways, so what does it matter that duke is molding himself to be your ideal partner? he's changed every part of himself, until the puzzle pieces aren't him at all. it's ruined your friendship, and it's ruining him. your relationship is on thin ice, and you pretend not to know it. you like the new duke. he's perfect. little do you know, duke looks in the mirror, and all he sees is a jigsaw. you take every part of him, all the things you need. then the rest. you discard. you make him into something he's not. you don't realize it, but you're the one who's made this version of him. it's like duke is your frankenstein's monster, and you're the crazy doctor. you don't notice this. or maybe you do, but just choose not to care. but duke's family notices it. dick, jason, tim, steph, cass, even damian. they all see the changes you've made. they see what you're doing to their brother, how you're damaging him. it hurts them to see him hurt. "all you're doing to make her happy? and still, she doesn't fucking love you?" tim prods. "you're killing parts of yourself to fit her, thomas." damian adds. to that, jason scoffs. "it's clear as shit you're not the issue." dick takes a seat next to duke, gently draping an arm over his brother's shoulders. "if you made her like you, would you even like yourself?" duke's mind is racing. he doesn't want to believe their words. he knows it's true, though, he just doesn't want to accept it. "pointing out all my flaws doesn't help. i'm fine," he bites out. standing, duke pushes out of the circle his brothers have formed around him, not looking steph or cass in the eyes as he storms past them. slamming the door to his room, duke basically falls into his bed, clutching his soft pillows close to his body. his phone buzzes with an instagram notification from you. you've just posted a new dump of pictures of you and duke. "shoutout to my favorite person and my best friend @duke_thomas_wayne!" he swipes through the post, photo after photo, reading through the comments when he's done. everybody thinks you're a couple. that's all that duke wants. yelling out in frustration, he throws his phone across the room. "why don't you love me?" he cries, fingers gripping the roots of his hair and pulling hard. duke thomas is nothing more than a jigsaw of your creation. but that's okay with him, because you love this version of duke. so he'll change every part of himself just to make you happy, even if it ruins him.

[spoopydooblr]

For a blurb, can I request Stella and Kendall being parents?

ugh i love this too much. im serious.

i think, though they desperately wanted kids, twins was a huge surprise. ken was going to be a father of four, and stella growing two entire humans inside of her. it was terrifying, but they decided to jump in head first, knowing they had all of the resources to be good parents at their fingertips. they hired the highest-rated doula and rented out a special hospital room. the doctors and nurses knew their case by heart. kendall made sure of it.

(if you want me to get more into the actual pregnancy i can do that in another post !)

that being said . . .

when stella's water breaks at 38 weeks, everything she learned in the last nine months goes out the window. after this long of a wait with not one, but two kicking babies inside of her, she thought she would be happy to get them out.

but it hurt. so bad.

they had planned for this, but in reality, it was so much worse than she could have imagined.

kendall's at a loss when she's hunched over the hospital bed, moaning in pain. he had forgotten how bad it was. he and rava had only done it once before, 18 years ago when iverson was born.

she refuses the epidural for at least an hour, waiting on a yoga ball, trying her absolute best to stay calm. but a contraction hits her so hard she whimpers kendall's name and he calls a nurse.

a few hours later she starts pushing but it's her first baby and her body isn't used to it all.

and now she has to do it not once, but twice.

it doesn't necessarily hurt, but the pressure is intense and after some time, stella is frustrated and exhausted. kendall's by her side the entire time, wiping away her angry tears.

it's a little scary at some points, even with the best doctors in the city. stella's terrified of a c section but her body is getting worn out. the threat of surgery, though, wakes her up.

once she starts getting into a rhythm, kendall cheering her on, their first daughter is born. she's bloody and wet and screaming when she's put on stella's chest. kendall cries harder than he ever has in his entire life.

fifteen minutes later, their second daughter is born and stella feels like she can breathe again. there's a bit of tearing that needs stitches and baby #2 is a little underweight, but she doesn't mind. the worst of it was over.

parenting is definitely hard. stella and kendall grew up in very different circumsntaces so i think it's hard for them to agree on some things. especially when it comes to gifts, because i can see kendall buying the girls wayyyy too many things that they don't need. stella's more of a hard ass and wants them to earn what they want, but they both know deep down that they're raising a pair of ultimate nepo twins.

i think there are full-time nannies and quite a few weekends at nana's house (stella's mom, not caroline) for the girls because of stella and kendall's jobs. though she never wished to raise her children with a billionaire, stella eventually gets used to the fact that their family will always be in the public eye.

the girls are extremely bright and have a million activities like dance and tennis and swimming. they learn to swindle their parents of course, like all rich kids, but they're well behaved and turn the charm on when they need to.

lmk if u want more !!! this was so fun

[sy5starplaty]

Ted Lasso 3.10 live blog...

Ooh, I knew Nate would lose something with that choice to defy Rupert... has he departed on his own terms or was he fired?

Love Sky Sports doing the exposition, though.

Ted: "Bumbercatch, you're Swiss?" Moe: "Yeah, look at me."

"Godspeed, or whatever your deity chooses to self-medicate with." - I'll have to remember that one.

LOL... Dani is a completely different person when he's playing for his country. Love it.

tedbecca... NOT talking about periods. :D

Oh, there's added Trent, who is excellent at girl talk.

DON'T BE INVOLVED IN A SUPER LEAGUE! IT'S WHAT DESTROYED AUSTRALIA'S RUGBY LEAGUE CODE!

Rebecca has Rupie down as "The Devil".

Nate: "Am I an idiot?" Jade: "Sometimes, yes."

Oh, he quit. Good.

And... yep. Jack's revenge or something. This has been a let down of a storyline for Keeley. Only good part of it is Barbara.

Why you wearing red again Ted? Is it another String of Fate episode?

Go away, Rupert!

YAY PHOEBE'S MOM IS THE SAME DOCTOR AS FROM "MAN CITY”!

And... wait, Jamie's here? Oh, Roy talks about him all the time?

Wait... the shirt is tiny. Did Roy just fill out more? Or was there laundry-related shrinkage involved?

Honestly, I do love seeing Roy dumbfounded.

Jamie: "Your sister is fit." Roy: "I will cut your eyes out." *Jamie laughs*

Edwin Akufo does revenge too.

Billionaires be crazy.

Aw, Keeley... going through the motions of losing your job. 

Higgins with the hot tea in his lap again... I don't think he's having any more kids.

A Mae & Keeley scene. We've never had one of those before, have we? Ooh, this is quite interesting. And informative... and this is the last season or is a 4th likely? Because I needs me some more Mae&Keeley time.

LIGHTNING, YOU SAY?

ROY'S WALKING IN WITH HIS SHIRT FROM PHOEBE, ISN'T HE? BRILLIANT.

Laughing Liam!

Text from Rebecca: "Are you alive? Text 'no' if dead." IDK but that sounds like a thing Ted might say.

Mexico vs Canada... Dani, wow. I hope you're super apologetic later.

WELL... THERE'S THE CLEAREST SIGN I'VE EVER SEEN. GREEN MATCHBOOK AND GREEN SOLDIER. I think we were right tedbecca fandom... *squees*

Roy's had enough of the tie-dye now that Keith is sporting one too.

Hey, now. You don't just ditch a Phoebe present. There's a good lad. Come back for it.

Rebecca gearing herself up for this meeting, and... little girl! I wonder if that's the "Dutch girl" from the callout being re-used for a much better purpose.

Roy wearing Phoebe's shirt at her school.

Ms Bowen: "I like cleaning up a mess. Hope it didn't cause too much damage." Roy: "Fuuuuuudddge."

Barbara in casual wear. "Juicy"... Now I really want my crackship of Jamie/Barbara.

60 quid snowglobe? Keeley.

Nate's... searching for who he used to be?

And Roy's buying something?

Oh... violin, Nate? I could never do the shaky hand thing. I was in an orchestra that had concerts - I was in first violins too! But I grew to hate playing it, so I stopped at 13yo. Moved onto clarinet... which was tough on my lips & lungs more than my arms & neck. Now can't play any instrument due to my disability. Piano maybe, if I had the energy.

Yay, Rebecca, with the voiceover! Also, she's completely right.

And... she somehow got through to Rupert. On this matter, anyway.

And... thank you Mr Shelley for FINALLY apologising. Nate'll be able to talk to Ted properly now (but I also need him to make amends with Will).

And... I knew Rupert would try that, but Rebecca has well & truly moved on from you Devil.

FINALLY ROY&KEELEY TIME.

Lovely apology letter, Roy. But, yeah, your hand-writing is... way too tiny.

Wait, Keeley's walking out of frame... to Roy?

Happy Shelley Family Time.

Change of outfit... who's at Keeley's door? REBECCA!

They talking, and talking, and... oh, Roy's there in a dressing gown. Guess they're back on.

Will! And... he's walking in to find everything's already done. I HOPE that's because Nate's done it for him & is making amends... But also, how did he get in there?

A bit of lavender on the note.

I understand he can't quite face him yet (or Ted for that matter)... but THANK YOU NATE.

AND BARBARA'S BACK!

And everyone's back... and Dani? Ok. No apologies there. He's just one of those Jekyll/Hyde characters.

Is that Keith's shirt, Roy?

AND... MORE TEDBECCA!

Sitting very close... and she's wearing PINK!

And then blasting tea at Ted's face like he did with the sparkling water at the end of s1.

Y'know, this means they've basically kissed now.

[reinarandraw]

“It’s in my wikipedia page. Sam Bellamy’s special talent; singing.”

OFMD Rare Pair Week 2023 @ofmdrarepairweek

Day 06:   Music / Magic / Fake Dating [Art + Fic 1,7k]

This belongs to the Billionaire AU that I wrote for Day 1 Prompt. The link to AO3 post for the oneshot  is [AO3 HERE]

You can click read more and read it here!

If someone told Izzy that he would date one of the richest man in the world five months ago, he would tell them to shut the fuck up. What a fucking joke. Just because his cheating ex-husband was now dating (and also cheated) a rich entrepreneur Stede fucking Bonnet, it didn't mean he needed to find himself a wealthier boyfriend just to piss Edward. He was just the owner and manager of Queen Anne's Coffee, a small coffee shop in London. He was too old to use dating apps like tinder or Grindr or whatnot. How could he find himself a rich boyfriend when he was trapped in his cramped office almost all the time? Izzy didn't have the time to entertain that bullshit so shut up.

Of course the world decided to conspire against him and brought Samuel Bellamy to his shop aka the 6th richest man in the world.

He wasn't sure how they ended up dating for real. One coffee led to the most romantic dinner date Izzy had ever had. A casual hook up led into a romantic relationship that was surprisingly normal, except maybe the occasional gifts he received from Sam. When Sam wasn't in London, they video called everyday, just to say hello and catch up with life. And then there was a full month where they didn't see each other at all because Sam was going to Australia for business. The timezone made it tricky for video calls. They tried to video call at first, but Sam looked so utterly exhausted and Izzy didn't want him to get sick.

Izzy won't lie that he was afraid at first with the fact that he's dating a billionaire. At the beginning of their relationship, the only rich person he knew was Bonnet and Bonnet was a twat. Izzy was delighted to find out that Sam is modest for someone who has a 63 billion net worth. Sure, he lives in a far better neighborhood than Izzy and has assistants and also wears designer suits, but he was very down to earth. He only wears expensive suits to dazzle his business partner. Aside from that, he likes to wear t-shirts and jeans. He doesn't really eat in Michelin restaurants because 'you can get delicious food with affordable prices in the deli'. His gifts to Izzy are all practical things that Izzy needed for his coffee shop or flat. He never looks down at Izzy or assumes he knows what's best for Izzy. Izzy has visited Sam's flat in London and New York and it's hard to believe a billionaire lives there.  Maybe it's all because Sam came from a blue collar family and grew up poor. It's great to see money doesn't really change him. 

"Money can make you happy," Sam told him one day when Izzy asked him about his modest lifestyle. "It seems ignorant to say 'money can't buy happiness' because money can bring you comfort, which is crucial for your physical and mental health. What people fail to understand is there's a certain threshold where money stops bringing you that sense of fulfillment and happiness. It can lead you to the urge to gain more money and reputation to fill that void or you can say some bullshit like 'money can't make you happy'."

"Is that why you reject the rich man stereotypes?" Izzy asked him.

"Having enough is the key to my happiness." Sam smiled at him. "Especially when I have someone like to share it with me."

Izzy still remembers the slow love making that followed that conversation.

And now five months later, Izzy and Sam's relationship is still going strong despite the distance, time zones, and social status. How do they make their long distance relationship work? Two words; mutual devotion. Izzy came from a relationship where he was the one who devoted his life for his partner. Having someone eagerly devoting his time for him is great. Sam is super busy but he always has time for Izzy. 

"Ooh, someone is missing his boyfriend," came Lucius' annoying voice.

Izzy turned to glower at him. He regretted agreeing to Fang's request to hire Lucius. He already works for Bonnet at Gentleman's Dining, but he needs more money this month to fix his boyfriend's PC. He's super chatty and nosy and he pissess Izzy off. His friendly charm is good for the business though.

"Shut up, Spriggs," Izzy grunts while keeping his eyes fixed on the coffee shop's visitors.

"I'm going to shut up if you tell me who's your boyfriend," Lucius says.

Izzy doesn't know how Lucius found out he had a boyfriend. Thankfully, Lucius doesn't know who he is - he  needs to thank Ivan and Fang for keeping it a secret. He and Sam are both private people. And considering Sam is a public figure and one of the most influential men in the world, it's safer for them both to keep their relationship a secret.

"Can you show me his picture?" Lucius tries again. "Come on, I just want to know. If he's hot I'll tell Stede and Ed so they're going to be jealous."

"It's not your business," Izzy grumbles. Hearing those names still makes his blood boil.

Lucius rolls his eyes. "You're not fun."

"We're here to work. We're not supposed to have fun."

"Ugh, I bet your boyfriend is as boring as you."

Boring? Sam Bellamy is far from boring.

"Oh my god, did you just smile?" Lucius teases him. "I really need to know who he is now!”

Speaking of the devil, his phone vibrates, notifying him of a new message. Izzy takes his phone and smiles when he sees a message from Sam, asking if it’s ok to do a video call now.

“If you need me, I’ll be at my office,” Izzy tells him while walking away.

“Ooh, are you going to call your boyfriend?”

Izzy flips him off before he disappears behind the back door.

Once he’s finally alone in his office, he plugs his earphone then presses the video call button. It only takes three rings for Sam to answer his call. His irritated mood is gone completely when he sees Sam’s face. It seems he’s fresh from the shower, considering his hair is all wet. Sam looks a bit tired though. Despite all that, Sam still looks so breathtaking.

“Hello, darling,” Sam greets him, “how are you doing?”

“Lucius has been a twat all day,” Izzy tells him. “How’s the flight to New York?”

“The flight itself was great. The actual city though.” Sam gave him a thumbs down. “Traffic is bad. It’s cold.  I can’t believe I miss Melbourne just because it’s warmer.”

Izzy chuckles at Sam’s misery. “Man up, Bellamy. You just need to wear more layers.”

“Screw you, I’m a Southerner. Thirty degrees is too cold for me,” Sam complains.

Izzy does a mental calculation to convert Farenheit to Celcius. American and their imperial unit. “Does it mean you’re going to wait until Spring to come here?”

“For you, darling? I’ll go through a snowy mountain if you need me,” Sam says. 

That was so cheesy. Izzy should cringe at how bad it is, but he finds himself smiling. Fuck. He’s really smitten with this utter buffoon. “You better be. You’re the one who can afford a plane ticket from London to New York.”

Sam chuckles, warm and low. It sends a pleasant tingle to Izzy’s entire nerve. “I’m going to London next week. I should be there for 2 weeks, if Paul can help me with my schedule. Why don’t we do something fun together? What do you want to do?”

Sam always asks him that when he’s in London. He always asks, ‘what do you want to do’ or ‘what do you want to eat’ or ‘where do you want to go’. It really feels nice to be someone’s priority. Izzy tries to balance it by giving all his best to Sam in return.

“You twat, you’ll be here for work,” Izzy reminds him. “You won’t have time to have fun.”

“Correction; I’ll be there for business and pleasure,” Sam argues. “Why don’t we watch a concert? Will there be any good concerts next week?”

“I’m too old to go to a concert,” Izzy says.

Sam is giving him an unimpressed look. “I’m older than you by three months. Stop making me feel so ancient.”

Izzy takes a deep sigh. He really doesn’t fancy the idea of going out. Sam is an extrovert who thrives in public places. “Can we just spend our time together quietly?”

Sam nods his head. “I guess we can spend our time at your place.”

“Let’s just go to yours. Your flat is better than mine,” Izzy says. He then remembers something. “You promised to play your piano for me the next time you’re back in London.”

“Oh, right! I need to prove to you that the piano is not a decoration,” Sam says. “I can give you a mini concert. How about that?”

Izzy smiles at the thought. “A private concert from Samuel Bellamy?”

“Your man here is a singer. Don’t you know that?” Sam teases him back. “It’s in my wikipedia page. Sam Bellamy’s special talent; singing.”

Izzy laughs again. “Didn’t you pay people to make your wikipedia page look good?”

“I did but the singing part is true,” Sam insists. “I’ll show you.”

Oh, this is interesting. “You’re going to sing now?”

“Hey, I sing every time I have a shower,” Sam says.

Before Izzy can say anything, Sam starts to sing.

Holy fuck, Izzy isn’t ready for that.

Unforgettable that's what you are

Unforgettable though near or far

Izzy is not ready for Sam’s bass voice. It’s so warm and rich and it’s just incredible. Izzy has suspected that Sam can sing judging by how he talks, but he didn’t expect him to be that good.

That's why darling, it's incredible

That someone so unforgettable

Thinks that I am unforgettable too

There’s a period of silence when Izzy is trying so hard to process what just happened. That voice is just so… good. And that song combined with his intense eyes? No wonder his cheeks are flaming hot right now.

“How is it?” Sam asks with a smirk. Oh, he knows e

“Fucking twat,” Izzy murmurs. “You better do that private concert once you’re here.”

Sam beams at him. “It’s a date.”

[batbeato]

How rich do you think the Ushiromiya Family is (at least, as a front)? From what I can tell by the power of the internet, one of the wealthiest men to exist in the 1980's (to '87) was Yoshiaki Tsutsumi with a net worth around $20 billion.

Considering Kinzo was renowned for both wealth and business acumen, it could be somewhere around there - not including the ten tons of gold, since that's a mere rumor for the public. I think at some point Eva mentioned several ten billion yen (so 20 billion or upwards) in assets, even if said money wasn't actually liquidized and just on hand to draw out of a bank (a.k.a Krauss probably hadn't gotten the chance to spend it all away yet). Not sure exactly how that converts to dollars, but Kinzo would be at the very least a millionaire?

I read somewhere that he made a lot of his money via investments in post-war industry and ferrying supplies to...someone(pretty sure it was the US, since Japan was still under occupation?) in preparation for the Korean War.

On wikipedia, this time period (1940's to the early 1990's when Japan's economic bubble popped) is known as the Japanese economic miracle. Wikipedia isn't the best source to look at, but it's a start on researching it and pondering the growth of Kinzo's wealth.

Likewise, how wealthy do you think the branches of the family (Eva, Rudolf, and Rosa) are, even in the face of their financial struggles?

Since, I don't think we ever get numbers on the money Rudolf needs for the lawsuit, or the amount Rosa needs to pay the loan and possible interest - I'm not sure about the other aspects of her business, since she did have the money to have vacations with various boyfriends, so it may have been doing well? Just not well enought to handle the loan?

And Eva + Hideyoshi really only need to worry about buying stocks back, not their finances. Similarly to Krauss and the embezzlement of Kinzo's money but not all the assets, they don't have the liquid cash / assets on hand to pay off the various issues they're dealing with.

Hm... To be honest, I've just never really thought about it much. Trying to fathom the level of wealth they have is tough. I feel like Kinzo's kids come off as millionaires, where they're very wealthy but not about to commission private jets for what would be 3 hour drives - that sort of super excessive expenditure you get when you're so wealthy money no longer has meaning. They're wealthy, but not so much that they can do whatever they want (as evidenced by all of them Needing Money Right Now).

Rosa in particular feels like someone who... doesn't have that much money on hand. Her business also isn't doing that well. She does spend a lot on Maria sometimes, and also spends for her getaways with boyfriends, but she's in debt. Also, she... doesn't hire someone to just, look after Maria? It could be a pride or secrecy thing more than a financial thing, though... But considering that Jessica probably had private tutoring, George had tons of tutoring and special programs, and Ange is also mentioned to be in cram school (she knows division. she is SIX.) and Maria seems to have none of that... It could reflect on Rosa trying to raise Maria as a "normal child" with less of the pressures that her siblings put on their children, but could, again, be financial hardship preventing her from doing that.

I guess when you add a bunch of millionaires together, plus the incredible amount of money and assets that Kinzo has put together over the years, you end up with billions. At the very least, post-1986 Eva comes off like a billionaire, especially with how she recklessly does the same stuff Kinzo did to put together vast amounts of money and wastes it on pretty much whatever she thinks will make her feel better (it's mentioned that she got into sketchy new religions/cults/whatever). I wouldn't know nearly enough about the Japanese economy to be able to put together any sort of ballpark estimate, though.

[studywgabi]

My Family

Papá: The coolest person you'll ever meet. You'll be like, "hey, have you heard that new Natalie Merchant song?" And he'll be like, "no, I'll totally check it out though, you have the best taste in music. I went backstage and took ecstasy with Natalie at her concert in 1999." He doesn't wear shoes at work. He's a professor and he has to keep tissues stocked in his office because he has a perfect record of at least one student having an emotional breakdown in front of him every quarter in his 20 years of teaching. Is from Colorado, automatically awesome. In classic Dad style, casually drops deep traumas into everyday conversations. Just the other day, we were shooting the breeze over danishes and I found out my parents almost got divorced 3 years ago when they didn't talk for 3 months and my father spent every night on the couch. Who knew?

Mamá: One time almost drove a surrey into the Pacific Ocean. Stays up until 3 A.M. every single day watching T.V. shows about child molesters, is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed next morning at 8:00 A.M. for swanky gov't. job. Drove me at 60 mph on the highway to the late shift at work one time after the sun had set and halfway there realized she forgot her glasses at home. Comes into the bathroom while I'm in the shower to use the toilet or just talk.

Hermano: Practically a billionaire at 32, but would rather wear the threadbare clothes he's had since middle school, cut his hair himself, and live off the popcorn he gets for free at work then spend a single penny. Except on my Christmas presents, which took him three trips from the store to get home. The first time he was high, ate 5 edibles in one sitting because he thought that would be a good starting point. The best storyteller. Won't always respond when you ask him a question, and if he does reply, will most likely not be to the question you asked.

Canela, A.K.A. The Bean: So named because of her gorgeous cinnamon coat and for pioneering her iconic sleeping position: snout tucked deep under her leg and body curled into the shape of the legume. The most enchanting beauty. Has natural eyeliner and, of the 3 varieties of tail (curly, swishy, and thunky), is blessed with the latter. If you shaved it, would most likely be covered in bruises due to overuse and constant whacking on any and all 2-ft. objects, including my sensitive calves. It is an honor to pet her.

Simon: One sheddy boy. You could only scratch his chin because literal clumps of his hair would come off in your hand if you touched him anywhere else. Fiercely protective of his family, but a little sleepy and up in his years.

Chewie: A pure-bred Pomeranian adopted when my mother was 8 and 1/2 months. He needed a baby monitor more than I did, since he cried and woke my parents up far more often. Attempted escape multiple times- was quite actually speedy for being so small.

My Girl Gma: Bakes amazing cinnamon rolls, but just recently stopped saying "Oriental." Has crush on Pa from Little House on the Prairie.

Grandpa: "Adopted" a lost dog that belonged to someone else, moved the dog to a different state twice, then sold it. Bought my seven-year-old aunt a goat to teach her responsibility but sold it back when he found it standing on his Cadillac. Always had Cadillac and mansion, but refused to buy ham because baloney was a few cents cheaper.

Abuelo: No one, including his own children, actually know how old he is, and he likes it that way. Openly states Hermano is his favorite out of 12 grandchildren. You gotta appreciate his honesty.

Tiá: Came to stay with us when I was little; sweeped the leg by pinching other children at the Easter egg hunt to make sure her niece went home with a full basket. She didn't come to the park to make friends.

[heyftinally]

Hi there. I wanted to pick your brain about something. A critique I often see of Taylor is that she's greedy, which is something I would agree with. My issue is that her being an a-hole is often conflated with her being a capitalist, that's where my objection comes in. I'm the daughter of a bank manager, I studied economics, I've been investing my savings since I was a child, and I make more money than most people my age. Here's something I learned about making money, after you buy a nice home and a nice car, and have money stashed away in case your investments blow up in your face, any money you make above your monthly expenses, is actually money you never see. They're just numbers on a paper, they have no perceivable value in your life due to the fact that they'll never be spent. What I'm trying to explain is that I believe what makes rich people a-holes isn't that they're good at making money, but rather, that they don't give away/set up funds and allow others to benefit from that money. Taylor selling 10 different versions of the same album and crazy people buying them? Good for her. But Taylor not paying for Ana Clara's funeral and the parents asking for donations? That's what makes her an a-hole.

So, here's my hot take: yeah, her being obscenely wealthy is part of the problem.

1. Nobody needs to be a BILLIONAIRE. No one. They're inherently unethical. Whether you actually have that much cash in the bank or not is irrelevant. Taylor swift has two private jets that she uses like bicycles just because she can. That's unethical. Not only is it killing the planet needlessly, but the money spent on those could be better used being donated to those in need. Her fifty bazillion dollar outfits for tours don't need to cost as much as they do, especially when half the time they look like they're only worth about $100. She over spends just to flex how rich she is, and that money could be paying for the dinner of a needy family or getting a Palestinian family to refuge from the genocide instead of buying Taylor Swift a new shiny thing to flaunt.

2) the way she markets her music is absolutely an asshole move. She creates (often faux) scarcity with five different "limited edition" version of an album, then acts like they're all THE most incredible thing ever. She's convinced her fans that she's some kind of impossibly intelligent god that can only create perfection, and luers them into buying 5-10 copies of the exact same damn CD for not reason. That's predatory. Put the one singular bonus song on each CD all on one with five bonus songs and call it the deluxe edition or whatever like EVERY OTHER musician does. To do nothing but add a single different song is nothing short of greedy. Same with randomly releasing a single of Fortnight SOLELY to try and beat out Espresso on the charts. Everyone already has the album, WHY do they need a single with no other added extras? To stroke Taylor's over inflated ego?

An example of an ethical rich person is Abigail Disney, daughter of Roy Disney (Walt's brother). She donates exorbitant amounts of money to various charities, has started some of her own, and actively fights for more equality between economic brackets. She'll always have more money than she needs, much like Taylor. The difference is Abigail actively seeks to even the playing field - Taylor wants to be the queen bee on top.