#[you're quite welcome~]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[iamacolor]

The day when it was Sunjae's turn to be a fan

LOVELY RUNNER - EPISODE 12 +...and a hairdryer

[frankiebirds]

I love this scene a lot and it lives in my head rent-free. I can't really think of another way to interpret it other than that this is elle telling reid that the reason he can't get a date isn't because of something wrong with him that he needs to change but simply because he doesn't ask people out (or, more broadly, lacks confidence).

I have seen some spencelle shippers read this as elle saying "hey. ask me out" but i disagree, not because i don't ship spencelle (i sort of do, elaboration in the notes) but for the following reasons:

I think elle would have realised very early on that if she was going to wait for reid to ask her out, she would be waiting years

i don't think she gives enough of a fuck about gender roles to wait for The Man to ask her out

she generally seems confident

i lean more towards her being very new to the BAU in the early episodes. I don't recall right now if there's an official anti-fraternization policy or if that's a fanfiction trope, but even if there isn't, entering a relationship with a coworker that early on is an easy way to mess up her career.

i think she was waiting until she was more established to start anything, but then, well, everything happened, and she left before becoming established enough to feel comfortable taking a risk like that

[thefabelmans2022]

so like. oliver wants power and privilege, right? we all understand that, okay? good. oliver was born into relative privilege as the son of a middle class family who gets into the most prestigious university in the world. he will probably get a good job and make money and become upper middle class. he'll retain his relative privilege and probably get to exercise power over working class and poor people. but that's not enough. he's not the most privileged, the most powerful. he's surrounded by people who are of a higher social class than he is and they're beautiful and magnetic and they'll never have to work a single day in their lives and neither will their children or their children's children all because their great great great great great great great times seventeen grandfather owned the land where serfs farmed and then his great great something grandkids invested the inheritance in the colonies and the slave trade and now they do nothing but they're always the most powerful person in the room. that's the kind of person oliver is surrounded by at oxford and ESPECIALLY at saltburn, and no matter how much money he eventually makes the only land his family owns is a two storey house in the north of england. he wants that kind of power and privilege and it is completely unattainable except through birth. is that clear now or

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.” 

[queeringclassiclit]

Éowyn

from The Lord of the Rings series by J. R. R. Tolkien (1954-1955)

submitted by anon

[bbnibini]

I wonder if it's a design choice or the devs themselves can't make up their mind, but why did Solomon's eye colour "change" in NB? The chibi sprites in the OG show his eyes are shades of grey to brown/almost gold-bronze.

The NB chibi sprite shows his eyes to be dark blue and brownish-gold.

Don't even get me started with the cards and merch that can't make up his effing eye colour

To my Solobesties (I'm calling Solomon stans this now. I think we formed a strange kinship after lesson 17 even if we never interact lmao), especially artist solobesties, hats off to you and your service to the community.

My personal HC is kinda a spoiler for uhhhh something I'm writing, but here it is:

"It's just…your eyes are like you: I can't figure them out." "MC, I-" "No! No! Solomon, I'm sorry! No…it's not like that, I promise! Look at me, won't you? Please look at me." So he did. His eyes trembled as he met with yours. How could he have hidden this part of himself for this long? How could you not notice? How could you forget? How could Father be so cruel to him and you for simply existing? You traced the corner of his lips with your thumb as you held him by the cheek. He was leaning onto your right hand, unable to maintain his gaze. He was surprisingly bashful. Adorably shy without his facades. But he looked like he would crumble even with a gentle word so you did not say anything. He looked at you expectantly, then looked away as your gaze burned onto him for too long and muttered, "You can't figure me out?"in almost a whisper, after a long-drawn out silence, weighing in his words, watching your expressions and body language. Afraid, so deathly afraid. You smiled. "It's like I'm looking at a mirror. Sometimes it's silver, sometimes it's midnight. When you look at the world around you and then look back at me, I feel like you've captured the sky and the oceans in your eyes. It's beautiful." His face was red all over, even to the tips of his ears. It was such a shame. You haven't even said everything you wanted to say to him yet. That he was the moon and the stars to your daytime; gold and silver gazes, looking after you from afar in the many branches of realities he couldn't be as honest with you as he was now. Ah. What will you do without him now? How can you give this up after remembering everything? You knew it was selfish, but you love him. Both of him. Every part of him just as much as he loved you and every part of you that existed. But now, you had to say goodbye. Again. How truly unfair.

[pseudophan]

I wonder how people coming to see your Tumblr for the first time bcs of that post on twitter feel seeing toenail discourse

it's actually a bit of a curse that any time a post of mine gets likes on twitter the topic currently being discussed on my blog is just absolutely fucked. though i suppose it may just be that most of the topics on here are a bit fucked

[theangel-aziraphale]

It's not that I mind all the fun... but Michael has a specific way of making things feel very unsexy.

[songofwizardry]

Ok I'm out of the UK and meant to be on an organising break so I don't even know the worst of it, because I'm off all my usual networks and chats, but here's a long post, because I'm angry: in the last few days, across the country, there have been (halal and Muslim owned) businesses burnt down and attacked including cafes (1 and 2) and a supermarket in Belfast; a Muslim cemetery was vandalised; multiple hotels housing asylum seekers or said to be housing asylum seekers were set on fire sometimes with people inside. And that's just what's on the news. The stuff coming out anecdotally, from the people I'm talking to, is even worse. And again, I'm not hearing the worst of it right now.

The rhetoric is blatant and obvious: the leaked list of targets for Wednesday evening that's going around explicitly says they won't stop coming until we make them. It explicitly targets immigration support, immigration lawyers, and asylum seeker and refugee support centres; and just because you think you live in a diverse area does not mean it’s not a target and that numbers aren’t needed. By virtue of it targeting immigration support (and by design!!!) they’re targeting areas with large Brown, Black and immigrant populations. Particularly Muslim populations.

I don’t want to fear monger, bc where communities have been showing up, the fash are being driven out. But like. I will not lie. It is terrifying to see blatant far-right, Islamophobic, explicitly anti-immigrant and anti-asylum rhetoric so openly on our streets, days on end. It makes me incandescent with rage to hear about mosques across the country issuing warnings and shutting down events, and to hear about my friends outside London whose families haven’t been able to leave their homes in days, to hear from my friends who are or support asylum seekers about how terrified they are. It infuriates me to see, even at this point, the language and reporting, because to make the news we have to step out of a mosque being targeted and offer the fash food and a tour of the mosque; because they're still talking about how much we "contribute" to this country and that's why you shouldn't target us; becaus there's still people pointing out super "reasonably" that this is a natural response of the white working class to unchecked immigration or our terrible crimes or the violence of Muslims or those fucking savages or because there's too many goddamn people crossing the channel or. Whatever new bullshit. Genuinely, this is still turning up in the reporting, and on socials, go look on twitter and you will be utterly horrified at the shit that's being said. I'm seeing it on tumblr too.

It makes me so fucking angry and yet I am unsurprised, because Nigel Farage is an MP and can still say that this is a “response to unchecked immigration”, because the shadow Welsh secretary can say there is “political justification” for the far-right action on our streets, because my friends who are asylum seekers have seen years upon years of being blamed for every ill and failure of the social safety net that the government has been responsible for. This is where we end up after years of talking about “no-go zones” in Muslim areas of cities, after “Stop the boats” (full of terrified people who are escaping unimaginably bad circumstances) becomes a reasonable political chant, after we had a prime minister whose blatant islamophobic comments were just… ignored for years, after years of newspaper front pages demonising us.

This isn’t just about the stabbings. (Tommy Robinson was in London leading a fash march before these stabbings. This has been a long time coming.) This is the result of years of this shit. So yeah, we are scared, and concerned, but also angry (maybe that’s just me; I am always angry). Look out for your friends. Check in on people, particularly if you know PoC and people targeted by Islamophobia (misplaced or otherwise, our Sikh friends get a lot of this shit as well), immigrants, and asylum seekers and refugees.

Numbers have been key to keeping the fash down. Counterprotests are happening everywhere—if you can get to one SAFELY (being the key word here—if you’re visibly going to be a target, there is no shame in staying home and staying safe) please do, don’t go alone under any circumstances, take the GBC number, don’t split off from the group, etc. Repeatedly, we have been the ones keeping each other safe. Counter-protests are being called by Stand Up To Racism (which is a SWP front), but particularly within London, BLMUK and LAFA (the London Anti-Fascist Assembly) are also coordinating responses—you can see stuff on the BLMUK instagram. Do what you can to help, but if you’re going out there, do it as a group and do it safely.

And please please push back against the anti-immigrant rhetoric, against these prevalent ideas (even) amongst “polite” middle class white liberals about Muslims who refuse to assimilate, about the “state” of “those” areas of Birmingham and Manchester and London, against the good immigrant narratives and the blame we get for everything from inflation to overcrowded classrooms to NHS underfunding, against the fucking vile way people talk about asylum seekers and people crossing the channel.

I am tired and sick to my core of the myth of “polite” British racism. I am tired of being told that things like that don’t happen here, of the shock I get anytime I describe the Islamophobia and racism that people (that I) experience. I’m actually very very tired full stop, and I don’t know how to end this paragraph.

Fuck the fash. We keep ourselves and each other safe. We need each other to keep our communities safe. Organise. And for the love of god, listen to us.

[lauronk]

random recs on a friday

here i am with yet another futile attempt at catching up on the gazillion amazing fics in this fandom. taking a writing break for a couple days to reset my brain, so this is a long one. recs under the cut 💗

(this isn't even everything i still have so much reading to do this is a herculean task and you can expect more recs in a couple days probably)

move so quickly (it can't catch me) by @howtotrainyourdoofus - BALLET ELLIE ugh so phenomenal

next of kin by @probssomethingorother - oh my GOD? joel & sarah & sarah's mom prequel that had me IN TEARS

gasping at glimpses of gentle true spirit by @flowerpetvls - i am just setting out to hurt myself with these apparently?! oh my god?!

just babes being dudes by @ciaconnaa - ellie & jesse bromance, i die for you

magnetic susceptibility by @penandinkprincess - bye i loved this whole thing so much we all know how i feel about outsider POVs of joel & ellie

he shall provide by @bumblepony - joel taking care of ellie after silver lake, my one true love

midnight in texas by @boopernatural - astronaut ellie and i don't think i'll ever recover jesus FUCK

[o-wyrmlight]

“I take it that you’re Plaisance?” Harry asked, pulling out his slightly-damp ledger from the safety of his coat. Kim didn’t know how he failed to notice before, but a piece of toilet paper was clinging to the back of the ledger for dear life. His fingers itched to pull it off. “Plaisance Pontier, Annette’s mother?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Her voice took on a quivering quality, looking between Kim and Harry from behind her cat eyed glasses uncertainly. “Did something happen? I don’t want any trouble, officers. I’m just a simple businesswoman running a bookshop! I don’t want any bad publicity going on around here…”

“No, no trouble at all,” Harry reassured with a slight laugh, hunching his shoulders with a grimacing grin. “It’s just—well. Let us introduce ourselves. I’m Para-Natural Detective Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau from the Para-Normal Investigations Bureau. This is my partner.” He gave Kim a nod and a smile. “Para-Natural Officer Jimothy Kimothy.”

What the fuck was happening?

Plaisance gave pause, squinting between them suspiciously, fingers fiddling with the medallion hanging from around her neck. “The… Para-Normal Investigations Bureau? I’ve never… heard of such a division in the RCM before.”

“It’s not a part of the RCM, ma’am—the Para-Normal Investigations Bureau is a separate entity that works the underground of Revachol to resolve para-natural disturbances that threaten Revachol’s livelihood. If Revachol is the body we all live within, then we are her antibodies.”

Having some fun writing the Doomed Commercial Area for my fanfic, A Toast To The Pigs--a Martinaise retelling where Harry wakes up in #1 Whirling-in-Rags with his memory in-tact and still has to work with Kim to solve the case. Check it out if that's of interest to you! Typical Disco Elysium themes and warnings are to be expected.

[future-crab]

Thinking about MAG 154 again... pain suffering etc

[retributory]

i would write layclive for clive day but i don't think the public is ready for the butch4butch realness i'm peddling

[khaire-traveler]

I'll be so honest and say that it can be extremely hard to post devotional art. Sometimes people think it's the greatest thing since sliced bread, and other times, they could give less of a shit. Honestly, it's so discouraging that every time I've posted devotional art, only, like, ten people seem to care. It makes me not want to post devotional art, and I can't imagine that I'm the only one who feels this way.

Let's just be more supportive of the artists in the Helpol community in general because I'm starting to think the reason we may not see devotional art as often (I don't, at least) is not due to a lack of art to see but due to a lack of support for those artists and their work instead.

Posting devotional anything is scary, sharing your personal practice or feelings with random strangers online. It honestly makes it so much worse when no one seems to give a shit. So, if you see a small artist or beginner artist posting their devotional art, please give them a like and reblog. You could make their whole day.

[notquitedeadpod]

ep 31 will have you yelling i am like 80% sure