#Genuine Marketing Techniques

[legendarymarketer]

Finding Success - This Will Make A Huge Difference - Warning! SimilarChannels.com 1000 Subs Min

[elsecrytt]

okay NEW curse technique concept: love conquers all!

your technique straight up alters reality. it will heal you or others, kill or harm people in any specific way, you can travel quickly, produce objects/food/etc. out of nowhere, whatever you want.

however. you can only do it if you genuinely believe it will make your loved one happy. otherwise you are just a regular person.

if you're not in love with someone, you're an ordinary person.

thankfully (?) you're a bleeding heart romantic and you fall in love pretty often! you might be shallow at first but your desire to pursue a relationship and get to know your crush is 100% sincere!

for added comic effect, you do not know what curses are and are unaware of your cursed technique. you just know that you're super capable whenever you're doing it ~for love~

unfortunately, when you fell in love with satoru gojo, he pretty much immediately shot you down.

commitment issues, sorcerer problems, yada yada. he could tell that you were genuine with your feelings, too, and satoru does do hookups but he's not a total asshole.

satoru being LITERALLY the luckiest person ever - six eyes, limitless, ridiculously tall and beautiful, talented students and powerful allies - and he's handed an instant win ticket to life in the form of your undying love and devotion and he just tosses it out LMAOOO.

so you go through your heartbreak phase, grieve for a while, and of course eventually get back on the market.

and you find him! the kindest, most considerate, respectful man alive.

he's a bit of a workaholic, but he's unbelievably polite and sincere, and every bit of understanding you show him is repaid tenfold.

seriously. he was late for a date once because of work, texting ahead twenty minutes and apologizing profusely, showing up with flowers and a thousand "I'm so sorry, my superior at work was a bit unreasonable - he works hard, too, though. I'll plan better in advance!"

when you smile and hug him and accept his apologies easily, you can see him holding back tears, a giant load releases his shoulders.

the more you learn about his work, though, the more you realize it's his only flaw. it's not even his fault!

his superior is just this giant asshole. "he works very hard, he's excellent at his job" your fucking ASS, why should your man have to put in constant overtime to drive his ass around?

apparently he had to drive three hours to pick up some sweets. kikufuku, of all things, from this one specialty store in another prefecture, just for his stupid coworker -

it pisses you off!

so when ichiji arrives for your date one day, nervous, with his unreasonable coworker in tow - well, you're shocked to see that you recognize him.

satoru, of course, immediately gloats that he recognizes ichiji's precious girlfriend - she even asked him out, once, before!

internally, he supposes it's kind of nice that you found someone better suited for commitment. although ichiji really doesn't deserve someone as good-looking as you -

SLAP!

he stares, dumbfounded, his cheek red and stinging. something strange curling in his chest at your vicious glare.

"You're Ichiji's shitty coworker?" You growl, "I'm glad you turned me down. Don't ever bully my man again, or you're dead meat."

holy shit, satoru thinks to himself as you snarl at him, ichiji panicking, trying to hold you back.

dead meat. holy shit, he actually believes you.

-

obviously from there the plan would be enemies to lovers, with the requisite comedy and pining on gojo's part about having let you go the first time.

you have a very strict policy of never EVER pursuing someone who turns you down (you don't know this, but it's actually a condition of your cursed technique). but satoru will find out - that doesn't stop him from pursuing you.

unfortunately, you're also unbelievably prideful, and still very in love with ichiji (who himself is struggling with a sense of inferiority which will eventually tank your relationship).

so gojo gets his ass beat on multiple occasions,,, watching in awe as you do thinks even he can't, and doubly flabbergasted when you insist you're not doing anything particularly weird.

you punch through his infinity? "are you telling me you think you're a wizard with an invisible force field around yourself? seriously?" cursed spirits? "is this a cult?? ichiji is your coworker in a CULT?" his hollow purple doesn't leave a scratch "i mean, was it supposed to?"

god i'm just feeling the comedy these days. i need to make fun of these silly little guys in this silly little manga, i love them so much

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day one: daddy kink

>>> welcome to the start of kinktober 2023 with ya girl, kylee. i'm so excited to participate this year, with the following that i have, the friends i've made, and the stories we've all worked on so far. i'm so proud of every writer putting in that work this month!

>>> starring: kento nanami x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: daddy kink-obviously-breeding kink, choking, clit stimulation, marking/ biting mention. creampie, nanami is such a whipped man it's borderline concerning, luv him 5ever >>>wc: 1.6k >>> event masterlist

the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, making you gasp out and struggle for breath. or it was due to the thick hand wrapped around your neck, strong and steady against your jumping pulse. he wasn’t like this often, so pent up with need and frustration that kento can’t help but rut into you like he was told he’d never get the chance to again.  his tanned chest heaves with breath, beads of sweat running in and out of the divots of his body. he looks so stunning like this, the honey blond tresses that you love to tug on so much sprawl in every direction, brown eyes zeroed in on every tick of your brow or ‘o’ of your mouth. his gaze was intense, and even if you wanted to look away, you couldn’t. not with his hand on your throat and every ounce of passion in his body driving into your cunt as hard as he can slam in. 

“you take me so well, darling.” he coos, pulling his hand from your neck in favor of pushing your thighs to your chest. he wanted to get a better angle, smiling to himself with a genuine pride as he watches your pretty pink hole swallow his fat cock, silken walls squeezing down on his lengthy shaft everytime it kisses your womb. he can’t help but draw well-timed circles across your clit, relishing the sweet gasps and moans you cry out with. your hands claw at his shoulders to demand him closer to you, and he hisses pleasantly at the sensation. 

“it’s ‘cause you’re made for me, daddy.” you whimper sweetly in his ear, and he’s almost embarrassed at how your saccharine whisper makes his dick jump, his brutal strokes stuttering a bit. your nails dig into his skin and your pussy clenches down on him again as you say it, and he kicks his pace up impossibly faster. his cock is perfect, hitting every spot just right, his girth stretching you every time, usually abusing your cervix like it is now. 

it was no secret he loved that name. loved it to such an extent that you called him that more often than his real name or any other pet name one would traditionally use for their husband–and it started way before you tied the knot. kento nanami hadn’t ever particularly felt special before in his entire life. not even amongst sorcerers. he thought his cursed technique was decent at best, and hated seeing talented sorcerers like satoru gojo walk around without a care in the world. nanami never felt like he had a role in life, settling to just live and work his life away. he would go home and watch shows or cook or maybe get into music–something mindless and low effort. maybe one day he would meet some average lady, probably at a market or bookstore if he had to say. then he would marry that girl and be happy enough. maybe even have a couple of kids while he works at that same job and does his best to stay out of trouble no matter the part of his rebel soul that desires to be known, to be important–necessary. 

so when he met you, the very personification of trouble, by happenstance, he knew his worldview had changed. you were a light he had never seen before, exquisite beauty paired with a bewitching personality and dangerous wit, he was in love with you before he had gotten your name. it was so utterly unlike him, such a logician and pessimist. he didn’t even know how you had wandered in, this location was veiled to non-sorcerers, but kento knew by the looks of you that you weren’t supposed to be there. so he’s surprised when he finds himself protecting you, knowing such a little thing like yourself had somehow bypassed the veil had him worried about you, and as much as he tried to tell himself he would be this concerned for any regular citizen that had wandered into a cursed trap, he knows it’s because he wants to be your hero, and he wants to matter in your story, maybe even become part of it himself. and you’re sweet. so darling he can’t even comprehend how quickly he’s become entranced by you. you talk to him through the entire mission, unable to see the cursed spirits yourself, you can only follow the tall man’s instructions, and clap whenever he waved you back to his side and straightened his patterned tie. 

he thought it was adorable, and even though you had no idea what he was doing, quite literally watching him slash through air with nothing but the foreboding sense of evil confirming the things the man named kento nanami told you about citizens and sorcerers and cursed energy and spirits. you praised him after, thanking him for keeping you safe. you bat your eyelashes at him, the affection in your eyes hard to miss. it was as if you thought the world of him, and it put a paralyzing grip on his heart. he had to see you again, and luckily you tucked your phone into the palm of his hand and smiled that same sun-moon-and-stars smile at him before he summoned the courage to ask for it himself. he programs his contact into your phone, but just the number. he hands it back to you, still on the contact page. you giggle and under the guise of flirtatious joking, put him in as ‘baby daddy.’ 

yeah, you were certainly a bundle of trouble. but kento took pleasure in undoing you layer by layer, getting to know you and growing his love for you day by day. the ‘joke’ of calling him daddy became a very real theme inside and outside the bedroom–only paused when in public. he finally had a role in life, the way you shower him in affection and lull that name off your lips is enough to make him feel whole, like every transgression he had experienced up to this point was a destination on the journey to be your perfect man, someone you put all your trust and love into. he felt like the most important man in the world, being by your side was the greatest reward a man like him could ask for. he had more than he had hoped for, but there was still a few goals left on his list, like seeing himself become your real baby daddy. 

with the way your tits bounce as he fucks into you, cunt squelching and leaking all over the sheets, he thinks this is the perfect time to really try. your sultry babblings of his name prickle goosebumps into his flesh��either that or it’s from your nails raking over his chest to pinch his overly sensitive nipples. his cock twitches against your spongy spot again, and a loud moan tears from your throat. he doesn’t repress the grunt that comes in response, nodding his head to the words that had been on repeat since you said them. “it’s ‘cause you’re made for me, daddy.” 

“that’s my girl, are you ready to be my little baby mama? tell daddy what you want, angel.” he says, withdrawing from your gripping walls  and slamming back in so hard your vision danced with colored orbs, mouth unable to form the words you so desperately wanted to say to him. you nod, feeling trails of saliva slide down your chin, drooling as he brutalizes your cunt. “use your words, darling, daddy needs to hear what you need.” 

“i’m ready daddy, please–god, wanna make you a daddy for real, i’ll give you the prettiest family, i swear!” you cry, the rate at which you spasm around him and claw at his chest tells him that you’re gonna cum again, for maybe the fifth time tonight. you’re so lewd; the sounds you make and the pretty white ring being smeared around by your pussy lips swallowing the adornement back up again and the way your doll-like hands fondle your tits all combining perilously to tip him over the edge.

“i know you are, love. i know, i’ll make sure of it, you know daddy’s got you.” he coos, planting his lips along your neck, going back over dark bruises and teeth marks from the night of passion. then  his balls tighten and his release spurts into you in long bursts, and he feels your pussy throbs and let a stream of cum spray from your cunt, coating his abs in more of your essence then he had ever had the pleasure of before. his smile is wolf-like, his cock still plugging you full. he wants to take you up on it, breeding you to be your baby daddy once and for all. you’re fucked out of your mind, legs twitching with pleasure as you continue to whine and catch your breath. he watches you, everything about your post-orgasm glow making his heart swell as always. you were effortlessly perfect, it was maddening. 

he keeps your hole stopped up until his dick softens, and even then he’s pulling your panties back up, kissing your clit over the bundle. he quickly cleans his stomach up and changes the sheets around you, picking you up when need be. he’s still grinning ear to ear from making you cum like that, so many times and so violently. you’re absolute mush, and because he’s such a good daddy, he’ll spend the rest of the night taking care of his baby girl.

[kremlin]

i actually do know who needs to hear this, it’s most people, in fact, it’s likely you, statistically; we are entering the american election campaign season, and there are caveats i’d like you to be aware of, and to that effect, i am cashing in on my many years of demonstrated knowledge about The Computer.

you indeed cannot trust what you read on the internet. someone will, indeed, go on here and tell lies. this is no shocker to you, you know this, i know this, i know you know this, but i insist you think about it.

you must know my beliefs regarding conspiracy theories fall far, far to one side of the spectrum: i do not believe them. i dismiss them out of hand on principle. axiomatically. and i am here today to tell you the concept, existence, execution, and proximity of paid, phony, engagement-manipulated, political advertisement is not only real, it is the status quo.

would you describe yourself to others as:

A.) smarter than than they think you are

or

B.) not as dumb as they think you are

if you responded with option A, you are more than likely to be greatly more susceptible to these underhanded messages than you think. option B respondent’s outlook is brighter, only relatively. to restate this in a more digestible way, there are two wolves inside you, one takes top-voted comments to reddit posts on face value. the other, takes top-voted comments to reddit posts on face value. you take top-voted comments to reddit posts on face value.

those responsible for such comments are effective in their endeavors, because they think about it. they do not approach their work mystically nor inefficiently. they know what to say to you, because they know what language you speak.

a thoughtless individual would read one of the only proper noun phrases in this post, “american election season”, and limit their perspective to exactly two possible entities to watch out for. this individual has, with a pep in their step and a whistle on their lips, stepped directly on a land mine. maybe this individual was you, if so, don’t sweat it, allow me to yank you away at the last moment by your shirt collar. there's tertiary actors at play, and possibly even more, if only we could invent a word that mean's "the fourth thing" and so on

a very large, very easily guessable country has, for some time now, engaged in organized astroturfing or misinformation or disinformation or whatever-you-want-to-call-it campaigns, to great effect, with their angle being to flood the airwaves with so much conflicting information that you, the individual, feel hopeless, and lose your confidence in discerning truth from fiction.

i use this example not because that country or my country or this election or whatever is a key component here, they're not, this applies to everyone using the internet socially, and if you don't think there are disingenuous actors' words appearing on your computer screen at some regular rate, you're also stepping on a landmine.

you just have to think about things, and maybe, from time to time, turn on an electric stove and put your finger on it to remind yourself that there is indeed a very real, objective reality we live in, and that if you find yourself asking, "how can we see if our eyes aren't real", someone has put rats in your head

it goes beyond just politics though, hell, i would describe all of modern marketing to use essentially these same tricks. don't fall for them! my technique is to just approach any written text found online, most especially "comments", with the same utter hater energy as salieri in amadeus.

and hey, while you're at it, pass this thinking along to kids, they're kind-of the first generation that has to deal with an internet that is mostly ingenuine meaningless bullshit, not like we had it, when it was mostly genuine meaningless bullshit.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Sh*t has hit the fan in equestrian sport and I genuinely wonder if this is the beginning of the end of it's social license to operate.

I used to respect Charlotte Dujardin as "one of the kinder riders out there". Sadly it seems like this was all just marketing. She just happened to have a horse like Valegro that tolerated her harsh handling (she described him as "hard mouthed" which is a pretty good indication that he had poor training to start with).

But she was the golden girl of dressage and the UK's darling of the sport. Now the curtain is peeled back to reveal casual whipping of a horse's legs over 24 times, commenting how the whip "doesn't whip hard enough."

Methodical and not at all seeming angry or disregulated while the 15 year old on the panicked horse's back cries out. This is not a one off. It's a technique. I've seen it before. Instuctors that chase after "lazy" horses in riding schools with a whip so that the horse "doesn't get away with it."

What about horses getting chased around a round yard with a whip until rearing in panic and lathered up in sweat? I've seen that too, during an equine science program where we were supposed to be learning how to break in weanlings.

It just happens to be a Olympic gold medalist doing it and getting caught.

In the article it says "you can't force a 400-500kg animal to do something." You absolutely can and horses are regularly forced into things they don't want to do. They're flighty prey animals. They say "no" pretty clearly in competition rings but then the whip comes out, the spurs go on and the horse shuts down. Despite the blue tongues from lack of oxygen, mouths strapped shut with tight nosebands, bits that they can't escape from, froth and blood in their mouths, they continue. Because they have no choice.

When your training principle relies on negative reinforcement and positive punishment, escalation like this inevitably occurs. When your training principle is based in domiance, on "not letting them get away with it" and on "making them do it", this is where it goes. The horse's autonomy and feelings diminished into "naughty" or "just trying to be lazy" ... not fear or pain or just a simple struggle to do something they're not physically able to do.

And it becomes normalised, laughed off and accepted, especially when a gold medalist Olympian does it.

The only reason this is a scandal is because an elite rider got caught doing it. But this is not a one off or a "bad apple" this is what the entire traditional horse training model is based on.

The FEI is making a big show of this because they want to look tough on horse welfare so the Olympics doesn't throw out Equestrian sport. But just wait until the dressage kicks off. We will see the same tense, stressed out horses, toe flicking and hollow with hop-step piaffes that are an insult to the Classic masters of old.

The sport of dressage will crash and burn if it continues on its current trajectory. Equestrian sport will follow as a whole when the public realises these are not animals "enjoying their jobs". Unless the FEI allows for a huge paradigm shift where people can compete tackless and use positive reinforcement (actual +R and not the pathetic pat on the neck they pass off as +R), the sport will fall to ruin and the elites will have only themselves to blame.

[ticklystuff]

12-Nov?

a/n: IT'S THEIR ANNIVERSARY

---

"Zhongli, w-wait! Let's talk about this!"

Ajax loves Zhongli, he swears! He loves starting every morning waking up beside Zhongli, loves the way Zhongli's body curls into him at the crack of dawn, loves the touch of Zhongli's skin against his lips as he kisses him awake. He loves the intertwining scents of Zhongli's tea mixing with his morning coffee that fills the little kitchen, loves admiring the precision of his chopsticks at work as he finishes the breakfast Ajax prepared, loves the saccharine feeling that creeps into his head the moment Zhongli's voice begins to ramble.

"A-Ah!" A cracked squeal rang through the room as Ajax was tossed onto the mattress straight out of Zhongli's arms, stunning him for a brief second, only for his senses to snap back to him, gulping nervously as Zhongli towered over from the end of the bed, the smallest he's ever felt under his judgmental gaze.

Ajax loves Zhongli, he swears! He loves Zhongli's smile when Ajax brings his favorite snacks, loves the subtle sparkle in his eyes when Ajax recalls specific Liyue history, loves the way Zhongli will entertain his sparring requests. He loves the endless amount of knowledge stored in Zhongli's pretty head as the two peruse the stalls of Liyue's markets, loves getting to see Zhongli again at the end of a tired work day, loves the genuine elation on Zhongli's face when their anniversary rolls around—

Ah, well, about that...

"I- pfft—!" His red cheeks puffed comically, the curious hand having made its presence against the thin white shirt. Ajax trembled under its touch, feeling the little taps that tested the surface, crafting the next course of action, knowing full well what was to come. "X-Xiansheng, wait, wait!" Bouts of panicked giggles slipped through his mouth as Zhongli's fingers drummed methodically, steadily increasing in frequency as if toying with him and his impotency. "I-I'm sohohohorry! Xiahahansheheheng!"

Ajaz loves Zhongli, he swears, he swears, heswearsheswearsheswears—!

"A-Ah! AhahahaHAHAhaha! No— no! NohoHO! ZhohonglihiHIHIHI!"

"For someone at the peak of their youth, you do seem to have trouble remembering important dates," Zhongli tutted, not that Ajax possessed the bandwidth to comprehend the other's words in the moment, preoccupied with the hands that incessantly squeezed at his sides in sharp precise manner with the specific purpose to drive Ajax up the wall, ungodly squeals of laughter and pleas filling the room. "But rest assured, I doubt you will forget next time."

Because Zhongli loves Ajax, he promises. He loves starting every morning waking up next to Ajax, loves curling into Ajax's body at the crack of dawn, loves the touch of his lips against his skin as Ajax kisses him awake. He loves the intertwining scents of Ajax's coffee mixing with his morning tea that fills the little kitchen, loves watching Ajax prepare breakfast for two, loves the little smiles that Ajax gives him during his rambles.

Becuase Zhongli loves Ajax, he promises. He loves when Ajax remembers his favorite snacks, loves when Ajax remembers specific details about Liyue's history, loves when Ajax remembers certain sparring techniques that Zhongli has taught him in the past. He loves when Ajax remembers the specific stalls Zhongli likes to peruse, loves when Ajax remembers to stay late for him during a tired work day..

And Zhongli loves Ajax, even when he has to remind him of their anniversary.

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

I’m the #1 “Meta Knight can cook” truther btw. Before I even knew that the English dub of the anime changed the scene completely from a serious moment about war making Sword and Blade envious of domestic lives to a scene making fun of Meta Knight’s cooking, I still denied the idea that he is helpless with food.

I like to think that Meta Knight is a alien and (because of implications in the anime) he has visited many, many planets in the past. He has learned the cooking methods and techniques and recipes of ten different alien civilizations. Possibly even more.

When traveling in deep space on the Halberd for months, he does not always got to choose the food he resupplies with. They do not have the luxury of going “oh I want a apple” when visiting a market ten galaxies away from the Gamble Galaxy. ESPECIALLY since many fruit and veg from the Gamble Galaxy is prohibited from trade in fear that blights like Dark Matter will spread through trade. It is VITAL to the survival of himself and his crew to have a expansive knowledge about alien foods.

He is a renowned culinary genius on Bleepy Star because he figured out how to make the Blorpy Blink Fruit edible and it solved world hunger on that planet. This guy has eaten many alien meats and fruits and slimes and he has also figured out how to make the best desserts from those ingredients too.

However. Meta Knight’s VERY alien taste in food and his very, very out of this world method of cooking makes Popstar residents who have never had off-planet food question what Meta Knight is doing. They genuinely think he can not cook. Everyone on Popstar is genuinely convinced he is a shit cook. When they learned that Meta Knight has never seen a humble wooden spoon (wood is a commodity rarer than diamonds in the universe) but he still insists he can cook, they just think it is denial born out of pride.

Dedede genuinely thought Meta Knight had the worst taste in food until he had dinner with an alien monarch who made the king consider that food outside of Popstar exists.

Meta Knight honestly thinks that Popstar residents have a just okay taste in food, and he often misses the taste of food from beyond this star. However, he will admit that the fruit and dessert on Popstar might be the finest he has tried yet.

This isn’t to say that you can’t have hcs about MK being a complete cooking failure, those are great!! I just love to think beyond “haha funny” sometimes, and think about it in relation to my personal world building! Also it’s funny to imagine that Meta takes everyone on a off-planet trip and they are shocked when his signature inedible slop turns out to be a famous dish across several galaxies.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 7: Volunteer

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dieter sat in his car, the engine still running as he stared at the community center across the street. He told himself he was just killing time, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. The last time he’d been here, it was a scheduled appearance, something Honey had set up as part of his image rehab. But today, he was here on his own, drawn back by something he couldn’t quite name. It was quieter this time, the mid-afternoon lull making the building look almost inviting.

He turned off the engine and got out, adjusting his baseball cap to shield his face even though no one here would care who he was. As he stepped inside, the familiar sounds of kids laughing and chattering hit him—a soundtrack of life that felt miles away from the empty echo of his house.

“Back for round two?” Sam, the young volunteer with colorful streaks in her hair, greeted him with a bright smile from behind the front desk. She handed him a volunteer badge without hesitation, her eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and genuine delight. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, well…” Dieter shrugged, sliding the badge over his head. “Turns out I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Sam laughed, a sound that cut through the cloud of self-deprecation hanging over him. “Well, we’re glad you’re here. The kids love having you around. And hey, it beats sitting at home, right?”

Dieter nodded, grateful for her easy acceptance. “Definitely better than that.”

He made his way toward the art room, the familiar hum of activity pulling him in. Maria, the art instructor, was already busy explaining today’s project to a group of kids gathered around her. When she spotted Dieter, she gave him a knowing smile.

“Well, look who decided to join us again,” Maria said, handing him a brush without missing a beat. “Couldn’t stay away?”

Dieter chuckled, feeling strangely at ease. “Guess I missed the glitter.”

Maria laughed, shaking her head. “We’ve got plenty of that. Today’s project is murals—big, messy, and colorful. The kids are painting scenes that we’ll hang in the main hall. Feel like jumping in?”

“Yeah,” Dieter said, looking around at the kids already deep in their work. “Sounds good.”

Dieter settled in at a table with a few kids who were busy painting what looked like a wild, chaotic sunset. The youngest, a girl no older than six, was splattering paint with unrestrained joy, her tiny hands covered in bright red and orange streaks.

“You know, when you do that,” Dieter said, leaning over and pointing at her brush, “it’s called the Jackson Pollock technique. He was this artist who used to just throw paint at a canvas and see what happened.”

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Is that okay? To just throw it?”

“Absolutely,” Dieter nodded. “It’s called ‘action painting.’ There’s no wrong way to do art. It’s about how it makes you feel.”

She beamed at him, flicking more paint across her canvas with newfound confidence. Dieter laughed, feeling a lightness he hadn’t in a long time.

As he continued to paint, Dieter found himself explaining bits and pieces of art history in a way the kids could grasp. He pointed out how to make colors blend softly together, sharing dumbed-down versions of famous artists’ techniques that he’d picked up over the years. He helped one boy, who was struggling to make the sun look realistic, by showing him how to use a sponge to create soft, fading edges.

“This is called blending,” Dieter explained, guiding the boy’s hand. “See how it makes the colors look like they’re melting into each other? It’s kind of like magic.”

The boy looked up at him, eyes bright. “Cool! You’re like an art wizard or something.”

Dieter laughed, the boy’s innocent enthusiasm infectious. “Yeah, something like that.”

Ethan, the freckle-faced kid who had called him out as “that guy from the movies” the last time, sidled up next to Dieter. He held a brush in one hand, eyeing Dieter with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“You’re back,” Ethan said, stating it like a fact rather than a question.

“Guess I am,” Dieter replied, smirking. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

Ethan shrugged, dipping his brush into a jar of blue paint. “It’s just… I thought you were, like, famous. Don’t you have better things to do?”

Dieter paused, considering the boy’s question. “Honestly? Not really. I like it here. It’s different. You guys don’t care about who I am or what I’ve done, and that feels… kinda nice.”

Ethan glanced at him, then nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. We’re just painting. Nobody here cares about all that stuff.”

“Exactly,” Dieter agreed, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. “So, what are you working on?”

Ethan held up his canvas, showing off a messy but earnest attempt at a landscape. “I’m trying to paint a beach, but it’s not coming out right.”

Dieter studied the painting, then picked up a brush. “You ever heard of Monet? He used to paint outside, trying to capture light in different ways. It didn’t have to look perfect—it just had to feel like the place. See how the light hits the water here? Try adding some lighter blues and yellows to give it that shimmer.”

Ethan nodded, following Dieter’s advice with focused determination. As the boy worked, Dieter found himself slipping into a rhythm, his own brush moving across his canvas without much thought. The act of creating, the feel of paint under his fingers—it was like slipping into a familiar old coat. But today, surrounded by these kids, it felt even better. Almost… happy.

“You’re really good at this,” Ethan said after a while, watching Dieter paint. “Like, really good.”

Dieter smiled, genuinely touched by the kid’s sincerity. “Thanks, buddy. I’ve been doing it a long time.”

“Did you ever want to be an artist instead of an actor?” Ethan asked, his voice innocent and curious.

Dieter hesitated, his brush hovering over the canvas. “Yeah. Once upon a time. I just… I dunno. Life kind of went a different way.”

Ethan shrugged, as if that made perfect sense. “You could still be both.”

Dieter chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, you might be right.”

As the hours slipped by, Dieter helped the kids finish their murals, showing them how to add finishing touches and clean up their brushes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light, this connected. He wasn’t just Dieter Bravo, the troubled actor. He was a guy sharing his love for art with kids who didn’t see him as a failure, but as someone who could teach them something cool.

As the class wound down, Maria approached him again, her expression warm. “You’ve got a real way with them, you know? They love having you here.”

Dieter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, well… I like it too. Makes me feel… useful, I guess.”

Maria nodded, her gaze soft. “We could always use more hands. If you want to make this a regular thing, the door’s always open.”

Dieter glanced around the room, taking in the kids’ excited faces as they admired their finished work. For a moment, he let himself imagine it—coming back week after week, being part of something that felt real and untainted by all the noise of his other life.

“Yeah,” Dieter said finally, his voice quiet. “I’ll think about it.”

As he stepped outside, Dieter found himself lingering by his car, not quite ready to leave. He watched as parents arrived to pick up their kids, the joyful reunions filled with laughter and hugs. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years. Watching these families, Dieter found himself yearning for something he’d always been too afraid to admit he wanted—a family of his own. Kids to share his love of art with, to teach about blending colors and painting the world as they saw it.

He let his mind drift, imagining a simpler life. He saw himself finger-painting with a toddler, their hands covered in bright splashes of color, laughter echoing through a sunlit room. He pictured little feet running across hardwood floors, paint-splattered smocks, and the soft, sweet chaos of family life. He imagined a wife—someone to share quiet evenings and messy mornings with, someone to laugh with when the kids got more paint on themselves than the canvas.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter who he had been with all these years, it was still Honey’s face that he saw. Still the only person he’d seriously considered that life with. Honey, with her warm smile and the way she’d always believed in him, even when he couldn’t believe in himself. The vision hit him so deeply, it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Dieter shook his head, trying to clear the daydream. But the ache lingered, a deep, relentless pull that left him feeling hollow. He wanted that life—he wanted it with her, and he’d never been able to replace that image, no matter how many parties, flings, or late-night mistakes he’d made.

The familiar urge to drown his feelings in booze and drugs started to claw at him. The thought of numbing this pain, even just for a little while, felt so tempting. But as he glanced back at the community center, at the kids streaming out, waving their painted hands in the air, something inside him shifted. He didn’t want to run away, not this time.

Instead of driving to the nearest liquor store, Dieter decided he’d head home and do some art. Maybe he’d paint the mural he saw in his mind—the one with bright splashes of color, little hands, and warm smiles. For once, he wouldn’t try to escape the image of Honey and the life he’d almost had. He’d paint it, live in it for just a while longer, and let it be enough.

Dieter climbed into his car, feeling a strange mix of sadness and resolve. Today had been a small step, but it was something. And maybe that was enough to keep going. For now, he’d let his art be his escape, and maybe one day, it would lead him somewhere that felt like home.

Dieter stared at the half-finished painting in his living room, brush in hand, lost in the muddled colors that had started to take the shape of his earlier daydream. The quiet of his home felt stifling, the only sound the soft scrape of his brush against the canvas. He couldn’t get the image out of his head—tiny hands covered in paint, a warm laugh echoing in a sunlit room. The longing hit him like a sucker punch.

As he painted, his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a text from Honey. He blinked, wiping his hands on a rag before picking it up.

Honey: Hey, are you doing okay?

Dieter stared at the message, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t a question she’d asked casually; he could sense the weight behind it, the quiet concern she was trying to mask. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard before he finally replied.

Dieter: Been better. You free to talk?

Almost immediately, his phone rang. Dieter glanced at the screen, seeing Honey’s name and photo—the same one from years ago, back when things were simpler. He answered, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Honey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was no hiding the exhaustion.

“Hey,” Honey replied, her tone soft and slightly hesitant. “I just… I don’t know. I had this feeling. Mitch told me you’ve been laying low, and I wanted to check in.”

Dieter let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, laying low. That’s one way to put it.”

“How are you really?” Honey asked, her voice gentle but firm, cutting through the usual bullshit.

Dieter sighed, staring at his painting, the colors blending into something both beautiful and painful. “I went back to the community center today. Not because I had to—just… I don’t know. It felt good to be there. Felt like I was actually doing something worthwhile for once.”

Honey paused, absorbing his words. “You went on your own? Outside of our usual PR stuff?”

Dieter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. No cameras, no Mitch, no nothing. Just me and the kids.”

“That’s great, Dieter,” Honey said, sounding genuinely pleased but with a hint of professional detachment, at least she tried to make it sound that way. “I’m proud of you. I really am. This kind of genuine engagement is exactly what people need to see from you. It shows a side that’s not just a headline.”

“Yeah, well, don’t start throwing a parade just yet,” Dieter muttered, his tone half-joking but tinged with sincerity. “It’s weird, you know? Being around those kids. They don’t care who I am or what I’ve done. They just… they just want to paint.”

Honey’s silence on the other end was loaded, as if she was trying to find the right words. “I get it. Sometimes it’s the simple stuff that hits the hardest.”

Dieter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I keep thinking about what it’d be like, you know? Having that... a family. I watched those kids today, and I just… I don’t know. It felt good. And then I started thinking about—” He cut himself off, his throat tightening, he cleared it. “Never mind.”

“No, go on,” Honey urged gently, her voice laced with that familiar warmth. “You can tell me.”

Dieter swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I started thinking about what it’d be like to have my own kids. Like, actually teaching them how to paint, showing them all the art stuff that I love. I know it’s stupid, but… I’ve never really let myself think about it in a very long time.”

“It’s not stupid,” Honey said, her voice softer now, almost wistful. “I think it’s really sweet, actually. I always thought you’d make a great dad.”

Dieter chuckled, but it was tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, you’re probably the only one who thinks that.”

Honey’s silence spoke volumes, and when she finally responded, her tone coming off as a bit nostalgic, almost dreamy in a way. “You remember that time we were in that art supply store, and you spent like half an hour teaching that kid how to mix colors?”

Dieter laughed, the memory coming back vividly. “Yeah. His mom thought I worked there.”

“You were so patient with him,” Honey continued, her voice distant but fond. “It was the first time I really saw that side of you—the part that just lights up when you’re teaching someone about art.”

Dieter let the silence hang between them for a moment, absorbing her words. “I don’t feel that way about a lot of things anymore. But being with those kids today… I don’t know, it felt real.”

Honey’s breath hitched, the sound almost imperceptible. “I’m glad you went back. I think it’s good for you, PR stuff or not.”

“Yeah,” Dieter said, staring at his unfinished painting, the colors blurring together in his vision. “It’s just… it’s hard, you know? Thinking about what I could’ve had. I mean, I wanted that life with… I wanted it once. I thought about it a lot, actually.”

Honey’s end went quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of papers as she shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think you did, Dieter...”

There was a pause, heavy with everything unsaid between them. Dieter took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his confession sink in. “Do you ever… I mean, do you ever think about what might’ve happened if we’d tried harder? Stayed together?”

Honey hesitated, her voice thick with emotion when she finally spoke. “I do. All the time. I think about what might’ve been different, what we could’ve had… but we can’t live in the past.”

Dieter rubbed his temples, frustration bubbling up inside him. “I know that, Honey. But sometimes it feels like the past is all I’ve got left. I’m trying—I’m really trying to be better, to get my shit together, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like I missed my chance.”

“You haven’t missed it,” Honey said firmly. “You’re still here, Dieter… you still have a lot of things going for you, especially what you did today… And that’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Dieter let out a breath, feeling a small, stubborn flicker of hope ignite in his chest. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, neither of them rushing to end the call. It felt like old times, like the nights they’d stayed up talking about their dreams and fears, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It was bittersweet, knowing that those days were gone, but tonight, just hearing her voice was enough. It felt the same way but not quite… but it was enough. 

“Hey,” Dieter said, breaking the quiet. “Would you… I don’t know. Would you wanna meet up? We could grab coffee or go for a walk. No pressure. I just... I miss talking to you in person.”

Honey was quiet for a moment, contemplating his question, then sighed softly. “Yeah, okay. I think I’d like that.”

Dieter’s heart lifted, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “How about tomorrow? We could meet at that little park near the community center. It’s quiet, no one will bother us.”

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Honey agreed, her voice softening. “See you then, Dieter.”

“See you, Honey.”

Dieter hung up, staring at the phone in his hand. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had something to look forward to.

–

The next day, Dieter arrived at the park early, his nerves buzzing with anticipation. He hadn’t seen Honey outside of their work meetings and PR crises in what felt like forever, and the idea of just being around her, with no agenda, filled him with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

He spotted her from a distance, dressed in a simple, casual outfit—jeans, a light sweater, and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and for a moment, Dieter was struck by how much he’d missed seeing her like this, outside the polished veneer of her professional life.

“Hey,” Honey greeted as she approached, her smile warm but tinged with uncertainty. “Been a while since we’ve done this.”

Dieter smiled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Too long.”

They started walking, keeping an easy pace along the park’s winding path. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on the ground as they made their way past a small pond where ducks floated lazily.

“So,” Honey said, breaking the silence. “How’s the painting coming along? You mentioned you were working on something last night.”

Dieter let out a soft laugh. “It’s… it’s a mess, honestly. But it feels good. I’ve been trying to paint this thing I saw in my head yesterday at the community center. Kids, bright colors, just… happiness. It’s not coming out quite right, but I’m getting there.”

“I’d love to see it sometime,” Honey said, her voice sincere. “I mean, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Yeah,” Dieter nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’d like that. You were always my favorite critic.”

Honey chuckled, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. “I was always fair.”

They continued walking, their conversation shifting effortlessly between lighthearted banter and deeper reflections. Dieter found himself telling Honey about the kids at the center, how teaching them made him feel more alive than he had in years.

“They don’t judge, you know?” Dieter said, his voice tinged with wonder. “They just see a guy who likes to paint. It’s like... I get to be the best version of myself with them.”

Honey nodded, watching him intently. “You deserve to feel that way, Dieter. And I’m glad you’re finding it, even if it’s in a place you didn’t expect.”

Dieter stopped, turning to face her fully. “You always saw that in me. Even when I couldn’t.”

Honey looked at him, her expression softening. “Give people a chance, Dieter. They’ll see you, too… Not the actor, not the scandals. Just you.”

Dieter’s chest tightened, the truth of her words hitting him hard. He’d spent so much time running from himself, but with Honey, he always felt seen in a way that was both terrifying and comforting.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night,” Dieter admitted, his voice low. “About how we can’t live in the past. But sometimes, it’s the only place I feel safe.”

Honey reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You don’t have to stay there, though. You can look back, but you also have to keep moving forward. And you’re doing that, even if it’s through little things.” 

Dieter swallowed, his throat tight. “I want to be better, Honey. Not just for me, but… I don’t know. I keep thinking about this life I want, and I don’t want to mess it up before I even get close.”

Honey’s eyes softened, filled with a mix of hope and something else Dieter couldn’t quite place. “You’re not going to mess it up. You’ve already taken the hardest step—deciding you want something more.”

They stood there, the moment stretching between them, filled with all the things they couldn’t quite say. Dieter felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance, to hold her the way he used to, but he held back, afraid of pushing too far, too fast.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Dieter said finally, his voice tinged with gratitude. “I know it’s not easy… being around me.”

Honey smiled, shaking her head. “It’s not easy staying away, either. And… I’ll see you at our next PR event, okay? We still have a lot to sort out there, and the world is still watching.”

Dieter nodded, appreciating her ability to bring him back down to earth without breaking the connection they’d just shared. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Promise.”

As they walked back to their cars, Dieter hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing hers lightly. Honey glanced at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and squeezed his hand gently before letting go.

“See you soon?” Dieter asked, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah,” Honey said, her smile soft and real. “See you soon.”

Dieter watched her drive away, feeling a strange mix of sadness and hope. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely lost. He had no idea what the future held, but with Honey back in his life, even in this small way, it felt like he was finally on the right path.

As he got into his car, Dieter glanced at the community center down the street, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d be back. He’d keep painting, keep showing up, and maybe, just maybe, he’d figure out how to piece his life together again—one brushstroke at a time.

Tagging: @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for this update ^_^ if you want to be tagged for the next one, just drop a comment ^_^

[tartanbowtie]

Good Omens Heaven Is a Cult

In Good Omens, Heaven is a cult. A religious cult.

And Aziraphale and Crowley are not on the same page about this.

Crowley was cast out of the cult for (presumably) openly questioning it, and sees it for what it is. He is still deeply traumatised by the experience (we see it with his houseplants, his reactions to rejection, to forgiveness, etc), but he has shed his identity as a cult member entirely. He isn't that angel anymore, nor does he want to be. 

He has been forced to depend on another cult—Hell (which has some elements of a commercial cult, multi-level marketing style)—but very clearly resents having to do so. He isn't a demon by choice, and when Beelzebub offers a deal to welcome the former demon back, he tells them just where they can stick it. 

Aziraphale, on the other hand, still can't admit to himself that it is a cult. He's uncomfortable with Heaven and aware that it isn't nearly as good as it's supposed to be. He has distanced himself from it, but he hasn't left it.

Aziraphale rationalises and makes excuses and uses mental compartmentalisation to deal with the massive cognitive dissonance. While he enjoys the relative freedom he's had after Heaven partly disowns him after Armageddidn't, he is still, deep down, in its clutches. He believes that underneath all the atrocities, Heaven is still "the good guys", and craves being welcomed back, because he still identifies as a cult member an angel.  And he carries his own religious trauma.

This is why he fundamentally can't understand that it is unthinkable for Crowley to return to the cult Heaven, to give up his independence, his identity, and become an obedient cult member angel again. He still thinks that Crowley, deep down, craves to be accepted by the cult again. And he really doesn't understand how hurtful his continued insistence on this is to Crowley. 

Crowley understands all that. He sees it, and he knows that you can't argue with a cult member to make them see that the cult is a cult, that it's toxic. It's something they have to discover for themselves. He knows that trying to force Aziraphale to see is most likely just going alienate him and drive him back into the arms of the cult (although he's so desperate in the final fifteen that he does just that).

He's been trying for 6,000 years to nudge Aziraphale into a position where he can make that discovery and admission, patiently offering the tools Aziraphale needs to get there.

And it seemed he was getting somewhere. Especially after Armageddidn't.

But then the Metatron showed up, expertly using cultish mind-control techniques to reel Aziraphale back into the cult.

Others have described the Metatron's manipulation tactics in great detail (here's a great YT analysis), so I'll just give a few examples here:

"I am your new best friend"; love bombing; threats, over-the-top promises

denigration of the past self; emotional unfreezing; heightened emotion

And finally, information compartmentalization; not letting you see the big picture until you are "ready" to accept it, or it's too late for you to back out (this is where I think the Metatron makes his fatal mistake, but more on that later)

The Metatron skillfully plays on Aziraphale's millennia-long cultish conditioning to sacrifice his own wants and needs for the cult's Greater Good, his inferiority complex, and his genuine desire to protect and make right (he is a guardian angel, after all).

Paradoxically, Aziraphale’s love for Crowley makes him more susceptible to the Metatron's manipulation: He wants to keep Crowley safe, from Heaven (the Metatron's implicit threat), and from Hell's retribution (a danger that was always there, but which has become more tangible after Shax' threats). And as Supreme Archangel, he really believes he would be able to protect Crowley—if they're together in Heaven.

The Metatron's (insincere) offer to restore Crowley as an angel preys on Aziraphale's own guilt at (he believes) having caused Crowley to Fall. He sees a chance to make amends and right a wrong, to restore to Crowley what should never have been taken from him: his rightful place in the cult Heaven. Because as I said, he doesn't understand.

But Crowley doesn't know that this is what's going through Aziraphale's mind. Or, his capacity to understand is effectively short-circuited when Crowley’s own religious trauma makes him think Aziraphale is saying he isn't good enough for Aziraphale the way he is.

Nothing to see here, just an ex-cult member a fallen angel reenacting his religious trauma

Unpacking all the miscommunication going on in the ineffable divorce scene needs its own post or ten, or a hundred. But for the record, I don't believe in the coffee theory, the time-manipulation theory, or the body-swap theory. Or any of the other theories that make this anything other than the heartbreak of two people deeply in love, hurting each other because of a complete breakdown of communication caused by unresolved trauma.

So Crowley drives away, gutted by the experience of laying his heart bare for Aziraphale only to be rejected, and of seeing his life companion choosing the cult over him, of going to the one place he cannot follow. I'm worried for Crowley. Yes, he is, at heart, an optimist. But how will our hero cope?

And Aziraphale is devastated, too, at having his outstretched hand slapped away, at having his own oblique declaration of love denied, at Crowley running away from them, from responsibility, again.

But still, this is where I am hopeful. Because Crowley's patient nudging hasn't been in vain. Aziraphale has already stopped the end of the world once, and he was the one who convinced Crowley to continue fighting long after Crowley would have given up (guardian angel, right?). 

I know, I know. Aziraphale didn't listen when Crowley told him "When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it." But that's because he didn't know, then, what Crowley knew: that this was what Heaven was already planning at that very moment, and that the reason Heaven went after Gabriel was that he tried to stop it (Aziraphale probably still thinks it was for loving a demon, which further colours his thinking). Crowley never had the time to tell him. The Metatron saw to that. It's always too late. 

Or is it?

The Metatron has just told Aziraphale about the Second Coming, sure in his belief that he is "ready" to accept it. But Aziraphale isn't ready. He is appalled, shaken to his core. I think this is the moment the scales fall from his eyes, and he finally allows himself to see that Heaven is a cult. A destructive religious cult. And now, everything clicks into place for him. At last, Crowley's words and actions make sense. And our determined guardian angel starts making his plans.

I don't know what Aziraphale is planning, if he's going to tear down the cult from within. But I think the Metatron is about to find out that evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction.

[lonelychicago]

queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ+ representation.

that's the definition of queerbating. can 911 be called out for queerbating when we have hen and karen? which also they have a whole episode dedicated to them? two black queer women in love?

not to mention that we used to have david and michael as a couple too and even if he barely is there, we also have josh— who's... an openly gay man??

like, i love buddie as much as the next guy but can we genuinely say that 911 is queerbating us?? i'm genuinely asking here, for real.

[campy-mccampface]

Bus Pass: Chef Heimlich McMuesli

Why are you like this.

Name: Heimlich McMuesli

Age: Early Fifties

Residence: His camping edition Volkswagen Bus

Origin: California, USA

Occupation: Chef, also grows fruits and veggies for farmers’ markets on the side

Orientation: Pansexual

Significant other(s): None, but several free love associates

Heimlich McMuesli is the resident cook at Camp Kidney. He’s a self-proclaimed vegetarian and his tendency to push this onto the scouts makes him unpopular at meal times. That said, he seems genuinely to care for them and only wants his idea of what’s best for them, (for better or worse.) He also doubles as a guidance counselor to them, utilizing New Age child therapist techniques and going to admirable pains to help campers such as Edward and Gretchen find peace. Per his own admission, he was an angry child and wants to put that behind him. He is however still short on patience at times, holier than thou, and very judgmental.

Biography: Canon and Headcanon

Heimlich was born to veteran hippie parents in California, not far from Prickly Pines. They ran a little farm and also sold art, clothing and handicrafts for income. He was an only child and thus was kept very busy by his parents helping them with their work. This lack of free time and constant delegation of chores made him very sour for a few years, but he mellowed out and quickly became a little clone of his parents, fully embracing hippie life and abstention from meat by the time he entered middle school.

As an adult, Heimlich began backpacking more often, especially in Peru, and his means of transport, a Volkswagen Bus fitted for camping, became his steadiest home. His parents passed away back in the States while he was away, (though he had been regularly in touch and visited plenty,) and he was for a while very aggrieved, but recovered. Still, the old McMuesli Farm made him mournful just thinking about it, and he was increasingly interested in his own mobility. He sold the farm shortly after inheriting it and didn’t look back. Heimlich took several odd jobs as he went up and down the country, never staying rooted in one place but making many, many friends, (and free lovers too.)

His travels brought him back where he started in California, and his newest gig was the chef for a summer camp belonging to the Bean Scouts of America. His ideas of sustenance were… very untraditional for a crowd used to canned pork and beans, but no one else was applying for the job, especially due to its pittance salary. McMuesli, who was frugal, adept at self-support and needed no room and board, was able to make it work, and so he was hired (with much grumbling and mockery, to his face) by Scoutmaster Lumpus.

By the time of the show, McMuesli has been the camp cook for five years or so. This is far and away the longest he’s stayed in a single place since the sale of his parents’ farm, and although he has yet to say so aloud, he probably plans to stay even longer. The Bean Scouts of America, who are chronically cash-strapped, are now his biggest backers; any replacement would surely want a raise. This newfound sense of tenure-esque invincibility has affected Heimlich profoundly; whereas before he would serve meat at least three times a week in return for… being allowed to complain, he’s completely remade the food curriculum to what he sees as fit. He also has a megalomanic penchant for confiscating junk food contraband, complete with security CCTV and a bank vault. He’s… a character.

Not long after his arrival, McMuesli started his “Temper Tee-Pee” program. Slinkman, who we’ve seen is chronically overstretched, no doubt was thrilled at the prospect of some of his counseling duties being shouldered. He and McMuesli generally get along well, though the former can find Heimlich grating in his worst moments. McMuesli tried once to confiscate Slinkman’s usual diet soda, and only once. I won’t go into detail, but if you watch Slinkman “go ballistic” in “Slugfest” it was more or less a repeat. After which, Slinkman’s necessary daily caffeine was left unmolested and the two agreed never to speak of it again. (Where was I? Oh yeah, the tee-pee.)

The Temper Tee-Pee program, if you haven’t seen the eponymous episode, is basically a child therapy program run by McMuesli. Campers who have outbursts are issued “temper tickets” and join McMuesli in a bespangled, hippie-dippie little tent that reeks of incense, is full of Native American paraphenalia that comes off as a bit tacky in retrospect depending on McMuesli’s heritage, and has beanbag chairs that suck you in like quicksand. (No, it’s not considered a punishment. Officially.) Here, Heimlich does… pretty admirable work of trying to understand campers’ pain and resolving it. His methods are unconventional, (“and he smells it, too,” says the little Edward voice in my head,) but they work and aren’t patronizing to a scout. (Granted, Edward and Gretchen found the peace he wanted them to find by fantasizing about running him down with a roadroller, but the end justified the means: they chilled out and learned to vibe.)

Again, though, he’s not a pillar of nirvana himself. While trying to teach the Jelly trio how to make tofu frankfurters, he leaves in a huff to backpack in Peru, and leaves the whole camp chefless. This would be unacceptable anywhere else, but as has been said, McMuesli’s just that untouchable. Another occasion sees him get VERY worked up and out of line when the Jellies insinuate eating broccoli is like cutting down trees. And, when Scoutmaster Lumpus reminds him he’s trying to gain weight, McMuesli flees in hysterics, exclaiming that the moose is “not of this world.”

He’s something else. But then again, so’s everyone in this show.

[legendarymarketer]

Hey there, it's Anders Larsson and today's video is an essential guide to making an informed decision in the world of affiliate marketing. So why am I sharing this? Because, as a digital content creator, it is important that you know which affiliate marketing platforms can pave the way for sustainable streams of passive income. The video discusses CPAGrip versus CPAbuild—two giants in the affiliate marketing industry. If you're feeling lost or overwhelmed with the numerous options out there, don't worry; I've done the research for you. Today, we'll be taking a look at how these platforms differ in terms of monetization tools, CPA offers, real-time tracking, and especially user-generated templates. Watch the video to know the full story....

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Dndads friends, speeches (and maybe some news 👀) will come for you soon lol bear with me. @sexiestpodcastcharacter Well, first and foremost, congrats to the Night Vale/Carlos fans! And also to the vengeful Lovelace fans 😏 (meant teasingly but affectionately), you guys' memes genuinely got a good laugh out of me and plenty of the other glennfuckers, so thank you lol. And genuinely, best of luck to you next year! (oh mod if you wanna share the captain poll again when you rb this you may- she has my vote lol)

OTHERWISE- TMA FANS DO NOT DESPAIR I will *probably* still complete the compilations I mentioned even though Glenn didn't reach the goal, because you guys were very nice and I think you're cool haha (and I want the compilations too lmao). You are not immune to propaganda, and I am not immune to compliments on my marketing techniques. Peace and love! ✌️

Of course a HUGE thank you to everyone who supported Glenn throughout the entirety of this journey, whether it's because he's the hot sexy demon dilf who transed your gender, because you were successfully bribed, because you didn't want your character's loss to be in vain, because you saw how *damn* hard we were trying, because you clicked the poll on accident, or any other reason! It's been a wild ride, and we couldn't have gotten as far as we did without all of you!!!

An ENORMOUS thank you to everyone who joined our cause by offering art, or pet photos, or music, or heartfelt speeches, or punctuation hehe, or anything else!!! This competition brought a ridiculous amount of cool stuff into the world, and I think that's fucking sexy as hell. People who literally don't know who Glenn is but urged people to support him anyways out of respect for the grind or anything in that vein, I love you???? Thank you!?!?!?!?

And most of all, thanks to you mod, for running this entire circus, >:] and putting up with us little troublemakers for so long ("troublemakers" not including the people who actually said or did genuinely offensive things throughout the course of the tournament, yikes! Fuck that!)

Cheers to all of you! 🍻

[theamityelf]

You’re Undead Au has captivated me. Anymore to share?

Thank you!

Let's see. In the notes of that first post, @suitov brought up the idea of Makoto Skyping Matsuda while all this is happening, and I love that. Matsuda is part of the efforts to find a cure for the virus, and Makoto checks in with him (or vice versa) every now and then.

This also opens the door for him to just be regularly contacting his family, which I also find very funny. But I imagine Hope's Peak is trying to maintain the image of the Ultimates, so Makoto's communications are being heavily screened. He's allowed to email his family, but he has to be really vague about what's going on. Absolutely no Skyping them.

As for his classmates, Mukuro keeps having weapons! No matter how many he takes away from her (and she always lets him take them away without a fight), she somehow keeps having weapons. The students are fighting and Mukuro just pulls out a knife and Makoto runs over like "NO! Give me that!" She doesn't bite pretty much at all, but that might have something to do with all the knives she apparently has. Fortunately, no one has been stabbed yet.

Byakuya has a stash of food that is steadily growing. He saves some of his share of every meal, and it accumulates quickly. The only problem is that it's raw meat and there's no refrigeration and it's rancid but he won't let Makoto throw it out. Makoto has to trade him fresh meat for his rancid meat- at a loss, because of course Byakuya makes sure the exchange rate favors him, because of course he's identified that Makoto feels strongly about getting that smell out of the classroom and makes use of that desperation.

Also, Makoto has to sleep in Byakuya's section of the room. He isn't sure why (because of course he isn't), but Byakuya acts really posssessive towards him. The first night, he tried to pick his own corner of the room to sleep, but Byakuya dragged him over to his section and wrapped his arms around him so he couldn't escape. He genuinely thought he was going to eat him for a second.

When he brings this up to Nagito, Nagito just strokes his chin and goes, "Maybe it's because you're the one providing the food. The Ultimate Affluent Progeny must have a highly adept sense of resource management. Claiming you means controlling the market, as it were."

"Oh, yeah! That makes sense."

Sayaka can still sing. Well, she can still vocalize. Most of them can't say words (The Ultimate Imposter generally chooses not to speak, but he can imitate words perfectly when he wants. It's very eerie.), so she's not singing lyrics, but she still has perfect command of her voice and a great sense of what sounds good. She's singing or humming to herself almost constantly, almost as a kind of self-soothing technique, so if she ever sneaks out of the classroom, she's not hard to find.

[yourlocalegotisticalqueerishere]

💖❤️💚

Hello there!!! Thanks for the ask!!! (Ask game questions here)

For Supergirl right?

💖what is your biggest unpopular opinion about the series?

Don't hurt me, but I'm not 100% certain that Super corp was intentional queerbait until like, right at the end? Or in season 5? Like in 2 3 and 4 I think it could have just been that they were genuinely supposed to be besties but then it all went off the rails. This is not to say that I don't find them compelling (I am fully on board), I just don't think it was a deliberate marketing technique or anything until later

Edit: tbh I'm not entirely sure it fully counts as queerbait in the later seasons either, just because they weren't really marketed in a deliberate way

❤️which character do you think is the most egregiously mischaracterised by the fandom?

James. People are really fucking horrible in some fics and not in the usual "man in the way" kind of horrible. I mean in the "this was written by a white person" kind of horrible.

💚what does everyone else get wrong about your favourite character?

This took me forever to pick a character and then something that people do wrong

Anyway Kara may not be my favourite character but I am bringing up my pet peeve that she's hyper innocent

Or maybe that Lena would ever change her last name (my besties in Christ that is her name)

[porcelainpistol]

hey! you're super cool and i wanna know: how to find cool scene clothes and where to look :3 im in the uk and a beginner in scenemo style (i listen to the music too :3)

aw, thank you honey!

my number one suggestion is thrift/charity shops! you can find genuine pieces from back in the day, and more modern pieces for cheaper than brand new. it's ecologically sustainable by keeping less clothes out of landfills, which is super punk. you can also find a lot of accessories this way as well

i think it can also depend on your sub-style. are you a layered cami with a ton of chunky necklaces and skirt layer over leggings scemo? a band tee and shutter shades scene kid? a hoodie and skinny jeans emo? a kandi crazed scenecore raver? all of the above? you can find a lot of basic pieces (solid colored tops, jeans, hoodies) for any sub-style thrifted! it doesn't have to be things with prints or patterns!

of course, for really niche things, pickings are a bit more slim. but the good news is a lot of mascots, media, and bands that are popular in the scene have either stayed relevant, or have had a comeback! so it is possible to find things like hello kitty and some band merch thrifted. (a lot of cute mascot and "girly" stuff ends up in womens/teen girls sections, and a lot of band merch and "masculine" stuff ends up in mens/teen boys sections. i also find patterns like leopard, star, and skull prints can end up in either section)

i wouldn't say there's a "technique" to shopping, but by color/pattern for some pieces like tank tops i find works. by cut for dresses, such as if it flares in a tutu-like manner if you vibe with that for example. i often just look at all the tshirts because you never know what can be screenprinted on them unless you look!

there's also the resale market, like depop and ebay. i find those are hit and miss because oftentimes they inflate prices, especially for really sought after brands (tripp fairy shirts or bondage pants as an example.) i also find it less appealing that there's no fitting room to try things on in, and often you have to pay shipping. i personally recommend it most if you have a very specific thing you're trying to find, or for accessories since they're pretty much one-size-fits-all or hard to get one that won't fit, like belts

if you can't find things thrifted, a lot of brands still sell merch new for reasonable enough prices, and a lot of them sell to different retailers. i'm in the us so i'm not as familiar with uk retailers unfortunately, but i know a lot of brands and retailers also ship internationally

truffleshuffle is a retailer i've ordered from in the past based out of the uk, and i believe they carry some brands that i even wore back in the day, such as loungefly

for other accessories, this may sound ridiculous, but sometimes childrens' sections may have things, like cute bows in a girls section, or hats in a boys section. for some jewelry, plastic and gaudy is popular in scemo style, so fake plastic jewelry in cute colors could work! that's also a section to look for things like cartoon merch, if there's anything you can find in your size

you could also franken-style, say if you find a shirt that's too small but has a print you like; you could cut it out, and sew it onto another shirt, maybe jazz it up with studs or safety pins? sewing bows and applying studs to pieces is a way to make basic pieces more scemo too

i hope any of this was helpful ;w;