#I also marmite and will not be stopped

[emergencysurvivalkit]

Marmite wants to know if you've eaten/hydrated enough today? Have you unclenched your jaw? Have you been kind to yourself? Hmm?

Please tell Marmite. And if the answer is no, try and do a couple of those things. Marmite believes in you

[leikeliscomet]

Who’s Afraid of Tenmartha? - Thoughts on Doctor Who’s Most Hated Ship 

All about attraction and desire, fandom morality and ‘ethical’ shipping, if that even exists.

Intro Chapter 1 - She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Chapter 2 - Bad Girls Club Chapter 3 & Conclusion - All’s Fair in Love and Shipping

Intro

‘Martha deserved so much better than that’

This is the first thing you’ll hear if the word ‘Tenmartha’ is ever typed or spoken out loud. For many, Tenmartha is a problematic ship and one of their least favourites. But Doctor Who’s known for its messiness. The Master with their homicidal tendencies is still a big contender for Thoschei. Meeting River as a literal baby and her brainwashing didn’t stop the DoctorRiver train. There’s people who overlook the platonic bond of Ten and Donna and ship them romantically regardless. People even ship Thirteen and Graham. The ‘normal’ in the idea of a normal ship with the Doctor is doing A LOT of leg work when it comes to this show. But despite all of this, Tenmartha has taken the crown for the worst ship. Or at least, is sharing it with Thasmin. Tenmartha and Thasmin are battling out for the title of ‘worst’ ship but Tenmartha still has the upper (or lower?) hand. Whilst the thassies have built up a small community for themselves with zines and collabs galore, Tenmartha seems to take a beating every week on the tl and even outranking the more ‘problematic’ ships I just listed in most hated ship polls. If Tenmartha’s lucky to rank high you can bet the ‘why would you do that to Martha’ tweets fill the quotes. But on the flipside, we’re also in a Tenmartha renaissance, with Tenmartha archive accounts going viral every other day and viral snippets from series 3 because of how interesting the dynamic was. It seems Tenmartha is a marmite ship; you love it or you hate it. In the eyes of some it’s awful and for others it's Doctor Who’s guilty pleasure.

I don’t ship Tenmartha mainly from the fact I don’t really care about the Doctor’s ships like I did when I was a kid and I care more about companion ships generally (this is strictly a Clani and IanBarbara household only!). But also from the main fact I really don’t like how Ten (and RTD) treated Martha in series 3 at all. But, when you factor in the long-existing Martha Jones hate train, the misogynoir towards Freema Agyeman, the long history of fandom’s hatred of interracial ships, society’s even longer dynamics of romance, sex and how Black people especially Black women participate, or if we’re even allowed to in the first place, plus the concept of morality when applied to Black characters, I can’t say the anti-Tenmartha wave is entirely in good faith. Especially from how I’ve already done a deep dive into how Martha and Freema Agyeman’s treatment was rooted in rampant antiblackness and misogynoir. Is the buzz around Tenmartha fully about her ‘deserving better’ or are there missing pieces of the puzzle? Is Tenmartha even being shipped in good faith? Is there an ‘ethical Tenmartha’? I’m gonna try to unpack my thoughts on Tenmartha, its fans, its antis, everything in between and outside.

It’s time to ask the question, who’s afraid of Tenmartha? And most importantly, why?

Chapter 1 ->

[aziraphales-library]

hi there, happy holidays (i know it won’t be holidays anymore when you see this but still i hope you had a good one haha). do you have any established relationship fics where crowley is very flirty/physically affectionate? preferably in canon universe, non-AUs. feel free to direct me back to a past post if this was already asked and i just missed it. have a great day!

Hello. Here are some non-au, established relationship, flirty/physical affection fics...

Your Love Is Sunlight by Thirdwoman (M)

Just a snippet of domestic life in the Aziraphale/Crowley household. Crowley is a hopeless flirt and Aziraphale hates marmite. That's it, that's the plot.

Demon's Definitely Don't Cuddle by Eve_Applebottom (NR)

Aziraphale and Crowley take turns in who chooses what to do on what is defiantly not 'date night'. Aziraphale doesn't understand this active though. Fluffy cuddles from a Demon who refuses to say he wants to snuggle his fuddy-duddy Angel.

This Precious Life by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

A sudden snowstorm interrupts plans for a date. Can Crowley pry Aziraphale away from his shopping in favor of returning home for lots of warm cuddles?

Five's the Charm by EA_Lakambini (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley challenge each other to not perform more than five miracles in a day. (They’re both also competitive, and may or may not be above sabotage.)

My Fiance, The Mafia-Adjacent Sugar Daddy by WaitingToBeBroken (T)

Crowley finally finds out about all the rumours surrounding the nature of his relationship with Aziraphale. He decides to retaliate the best way he can, by wreaking havoc. Now, if only his angel could stop distracting him.

It's Getting Hard, This Holding Back by ZehWulf (T)

6,000-odd years is a long time to evolve a romantic relationship, but as a near-immortal being, Crowley had patience. True, they had lost momentum right around reaching the Speaking Looks and Meaningful Gestures stage, but at the time Crowley had been more or less content to let things idle. Now, he was determined to shift things back into gear, and that gear was Explicitly Romantic Physical Expressions of Affection.

- Mod D

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not asking if anyone else wanted something I ruined for everyone else?

I (16m) am kind of the garbage disposal of the family. I eat stuff they don't like. Onions, pickles, olives and so on get tossed on my plate. I was also recently handed a bunch of raisins from my younger sister(13) and her friend's(13multiple) traillmix? They were all eating a little bowl of it then gave me the bowl of raisins. It was weird but I did eat them.

Basically my family and I do not agree on what constitues as gross and/or inediable.

Much like the fact that I am obsessed with Marmite. I could live off the stuff. I eat it more than I should but I can't eat it in front of my family. I typically have to hide in my room. The reason for that is that because they hate it so much the can't keep their comments to themselves on how disgusting it is that I eat it. It's to the point that I'm kind of insecure because even just us seeing it or hearing about it makes them go "Look it's that gross shit you like/how can you even eat that/Nasty/for some reason our son is obsessed with that stuff no idea how he even stomachs it he must be an alien" It's not fun. They are also not joking. They look at me with genuine disgust all over their faces and most of the time I have to buy it myself but my dad will sometimes buy it for me because while he does join in on calling it disgusting he doesn't think it's his buisness what I eat. It's actually recently gotten worse and I feel anxious eating in front of them at all. Which has lead to more comments about me not eating with the family, it's annoying but I'll live. That's not the issue here.

Four days ago I did something that while I will admit it was unsanitary and gross, even in the context that I am the only one who eats this, I did not think was a crime. I had a fresh jar of Marmate that my dad ordered for me and when I was putting it on my toast I got some on the rim of the jar and licked it off before closing the lid so it wouldn't get all over the lid. (It was also extra umph concentrated which was funny). My mother flew off the handle at me and asked why I would do something like that because now no one else can use it and called me selfish. I kind of stopped for a second and admittedly got a little smart and responded with something to the affect of "Now no one can use the stuff that I have to use in secret becauss no one in this house can shut up about how disgusting I am for even considering eating it?" She hesitated but then doubled down and said I needed to be considerate of others in the house who might have wanted to use it. I am beyond lost here so I'm asking Tumblr.

Am I the asshole? Willing to admit I'm the asshole and apologize if I'm deemed in the wrong. But I was honestly under the impression that I would never have to worry about my family wanting this stuff.

What are these acronyms?

[lrlamauthor]

So I wrote this weird book about queer dragons. It came out the same day as the other dragon book everyone talks about. It was a Sunday Times bestseller in the UK, though, which was incredible!

However, I'm not sure how to continue to promote this book--people either seem to really like it, or not quite get it. Or it just wasn't what they expected. Which is fine, no book can please everyone, and I knew I'd made some unusual craft choices that was going to make it more marmite. (Or, as my brain tells me at midnight, I'm just a bad writer). However, there's that librarian saying "every book its reader" and the people who love this book REALLY love it, and that makes me so happy. So I decided to write this post and explain its weirdness and lay out what you can expect if you do pick it up. Maybe you're my kind of odd, too. :-)

Short pitch: 800 years ago, dragons and humans were bonded, then humans were dicks, stole the dragons' magic, and banished them to a dying world. But humans have short memories, forgot, and now worship dragons as gods. The dragon "gods" remember, and they do not forgive.

Thief Arcady steals their grandsire's stone seal (which helps them funnel magic) from their tomb. Their grandsire supposedly released a magical plague that killed a proportion of society, and Arcady is locked out of society as a result. They perform a spell to rewrite the seal to have a new identity as they want to go to university at the Citadel and also clear their family's name. Problem? The spell also accidentally calls through Everen, the last male dragon, trapped in human form. Everen has been foretold to save his kind, and now he has a chance: he just has to convince one little human to trust him mind, body, and soul, and then kill them. Then he'll be able to steal the human's magic back, rip a hole in the Veil, and the dragons can return. Good news for dragons, less good news for humans. As you might expect: this does not go to plan. Because emotions.

Grab it now. (Note: there's still a contractual delay so it's not available in US audiobook yet, annoyingly. Hopefully soon). (If you are like "weird queer dragons?! Sign me up" but aren't interested in hearing why the author has made certain decisions and want to go into the text cold, stop here! Death of the author/birth of the reader, etc. Otherwise, carry on.)

You should pick up Dragonfall if:

You like experimental narrative positions! It's all collected by an unnamed archivist who has access to both first person narratives (Arcady, the genderfluid human thief, Everen the hot dragon) and can scry into the past and draw out third person narratives (Sorin, hot priest assassin. Cassia, Everen's sister, who is also hot. Spoiler: everyone in this book is hot). Then to make it even weirder, Everen's bits are technically in first person direct address, so he's writing it all to Arcady (the first chapter ends with: "For that human was, of course, you. And this is our story, Arcady.") I ended up writing it this way for a few reasons, even though it probably would have been simpler to just stick to straight up third throughout, like most epic fantasy does. The big one is that Arcady is genderfluid and uses any pronouns (I tend to default to they when I talk about them outside of the text), and constantly gendering them in the text felt wrong whether I used he, she, or they. This way bypasses that a lot in the first volume, so it's up to the reader to make up their own mind. I also just really love first person direct address as a narrative position. It can be a little confronting, and it makes Everen the dragon sound a bit more predatory at the start. But it's also quite intimate. Is he writing his sections as an apology, or a love letter? Both? You find out at the end. So if your green flag books are: The Fifth Season, The Raven Tower, or Harrow the Ninth, this might also be your jam.

You love classic 90s fantasy. This is in many ways an homage to all the stuff I read growing up: Robin Hobb and the Realm of the Elderlings (the book is dedicated to Hobb in particular), the Dragonriders of Pern, Tad Williams, Lynn Flewelling, Robert Jordan, Mercedes Lackey, Tamora Pierce, etc. But I wanted to give it a more modern twist. I'm NB and growing up I didn't see a lot of queerness in fantasy, and I clung to the examples I did find (Vanyel, the Fool). Also, not 90s fantasy, but I also freaking loved Seraphina by Rachel Hartman and Priory of the Orange Tree, so those were influences too.

You're not put off by Worldbuilding(TM) and a slower pace. Probably because I grew up on the likes of Tad Williams, I honestly love slow-paced fantasy. I love to luxuriate in a world and take my time getting to know a made up world. In Assassin's Quest it takes over 100 pages for Fitz to leave the forest. Love it. I have a more lyrical writing style, I guess, and I'm pretty descriptive. My stuff always tends to start off slower, set the stage, and then ramps up the pace as we get further along. So yes, my book starts out with some infodumping, depending on your tolerance level of that sort of thing. I worked with a linguist and they made a conlang for the dragon language (hi @seumasofur). There's a map by Deven Rue (cartographer for Critical Role). I got nerdy.

You love queernorm fantasy! This is set in a world where it's considered rude to assume a stranger's gender and so you tend to default to they/them. If you consider someone much higher in status than you, you'd capitalise it to the honorific, such as They/Them. Once you get to know someone, you tend to flash your pronouns to them with a hand signal, since a sign language called Trade is also a lingua franca in the world. 99.95% of all the dragons are also lesbians, BTW. Everen is the last male dragon.

You like frankly silly levels of slow burn. Everen and Arcady can't physically touch without it causing Everen pain while they're half-bonded. They may or may not find creative loopholes. But it's not mega mega spicy, if you're expecting that. I expect the spice levels will gradually go up as the series progresses.

Alright, I think that's more than enough to give you a sense of what you'd find in Dragonfall. If you're open to sharing this post so it reaches more people outside of my little corner of the internet, I'd really appreciate it. Whenever I do any bit of self-promo, I'm always so anxious and worry it'll get like, 2 eyeballs on it anyway or that I'm just annoying people by mentioning that my art even exists. And if you end up liking it, please tell a friend.

I'm loving the recent dragon renaissance! Long live dragons.

[grace-williams-xo]

Why not

Assigning Bridgerton’s to a level on the Vegemite scale

[For the purposes of this exercise; they are for all intents and purposes Australian, and mentions of marmite will get you blocked. I’m KIDDING. Am I though… marmite sucks]. Also, they all use butter you fucking heathens.

Violet: 2; she just wants a little extra flavour, but she isn’t a complete weakling. Won’t eat it in any context except on toast.

Anthony: 6; he just wants to feel something. Complains cheesymite scrolls don’t have enough Vegemite.

Kate: 3; but rarely eats it with without cheese.

Benedict: 3–4; but with cheesybite. Ya know, that fever dream where they briefly called it iSnack 2.0? Frankly, ahead of its time with that name. Benedict is its number one fan.

Sophie: 0; she doesn’t eat Vegemite. [This was a real deliberation bc Yerin Ha is the only actual Australian but also most of the people I know who don’t eat Vegemite are Asian (not Wasain)]. She thinks Vegemite is the absence of culture, but straight up calls Benedict’s cheesybite an affront to humanity—and she’s doing her part to stop him because she’s certain he’s the only one left buying it atp.

Colin: 4–5; but more than that, he’s the guy putting Vegemite on everything. Steak. With avocado. There’s a recipe on the Baker’s Delight website using broken cheesymite scrolls to crumb chicken, he’s making that too. If Vegemite isn’t one of the first few foods his kids try, he considers himself to have failed as a parent. The Cadbury Vegemite block was Colin’s idea.

Penelope: previously 2, now 3–4; Colin has increased her tolerance but if he tries to sneak it into one more dinner meal she’s filing for divorce.

Daphne: 6; life is a competition and she’ll be damned if she can’t beat Anthony.

Simon: 3/6; if he’s making it for himself or the kids it’s about a 3 (though Daphne always tells him he’s doing it wrong and promptly takes over) (“they’re toddlers Daphne, you shouldn’t give them that much salt” “generations are built on the back of this stuff, Anthony and I have this much and we turned out fine” “did you” “did we what” “nothing dear”) but for himself Simon usually gets all of his Vegemite fix from just taking a bite of a corner of Daphne’s level 6

Eloise: 2–3; but with promite. She insists she likes it but no one really knows if she actually likes it, or is doing it to spite her family who all can’t stand it or the smell.

Francesca: 1; but she doesn’t have a lot because she’s always having it on a dark extra grainy bread that she claims doesn’t need much more flavour.

Gregory: 4; he has a Vegemite and cheese toastie every single day. Also, he was the one who submitted the name iSnack 2.0.

Hyacinth: 7; there is no toast, only Vegemite. There is no Hyacinth, only Vegemite. Violet is very concerned for her health. Anthony is too, but Violet says it’s his fault and influence.

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Liquid Snake x Reader

Warning for language but it's part of the copypasta. Also British stereotypes in case that offends you.

Liquid Snake

You have a thing for bad boys, are attracted to English accents or you just have a massive inferiority complex.

First Date:

You are a soldier working on Shadow Moses Island. Your partner has just taken Solid Snake to a locked cell after bring tortured by Ocelot, now leaving you and the blonde alone together. He turns your way and you try not to shit your pants Johnny style. He looks at you, then places a palm on your shoulder. "Oi mate, I think ell be outta it fo' a while. Care fo' a spot o' tea?" You're not really left with much of a choice so you follow your boss.

You eventually reach a cafeteria for the staff. Liquid dumps all the coffee out of the pot and begins to fill it with earl grey tea. "You hungry?" You shake your head. You couldn't possibly eat after seeing what the man had for himself on a tray. "Nothing like good ol' beans an marmite!" He then grabbed the pot and drank it all, scalding his throat. "That was bloody good, that it was!" Was your superior some kind of freak?

He then went on a long speech about french infants or something? You didn't really care and started to zone out. You didn't realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up to liquids final words. "And next thing I no, the bloke is ripping out me vocal cords. That's wot I get for workin' with a red head who got his fashion sense from a BDSM club." Just then you heard a noise. !

It was none other than Solid Snake, having made his escape. Liquid was furious. "BRUV, HOW DID YOU ESCAPE!" His twin walked closer. "That's not important. I just came by to tell you that you're wrong. You can't download UNO for Xbox." Liquid then felt his veins begin to twitch. "Everyone has UNO dipshit. It came fo' free with your fucking Xbox!" His twin then gave him a smirk. "I didn't get it, I have the oldest Xbox known to man."

"No you don't, I bought mine on day one you fucking tard."

.....

"Well, mine didn't have it." He was determined to prove Solid wrong. The two men soon ended up in a screaming match, various swears tossed back and forth. "I DON'T FUCKING HAVE UNO MOTHERFUCKER!"

"GO TO IT IN THE ARCADE AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO DOWNLOAD IT FO' FREE, YOU DUMB WANKER! IT'S A FUCKING CARD GAME, THEY DON'T EVEN CHARGE PEOPLE FO' IT!"

"I DON'T HAVE TWO, I DON'T HAVE THREE, I DON'T HAVE FUCKING FOUR, I DON'T HAVE SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, OR ELEVEN!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW A GODDAMN BLOODY THING, IT'S FUCKING UNO, IT'S FREE-" Suddenly Liquid stopped. He raised his hand to his chest and gave out a weak cough. He then toppled over, a result from the FOXDIE. "Damn. Never seen someone get so angry that they straight up had a heart attack. Colonel, the plan worked. I'm bringing Meryl back and then we're going to pound town. Just don't expect me to call her afterwards." You couldn't hear the other voice on the codec call but you had a hunch that it was something along the lines of "Wait, what?-"

Shit. Well now you were out of a job. You went to the lab and found a computer already logged in. It was time to start looking for shady jobs on Craigslist again.

[starythewriter]

kinkmas 11 jack harlow X Y/N a cold night turns into a wet dream

WATTPAD

TW: this is for mature audiences only minors do not read or interact.

it was another day of winter, you had gotten a couple of days, off from fliming as you were fliming a show. it was beyond cold, you make some hot chocolate in a gigantic pot. it felt like there wasn’t enough water to fill the entire pot. there was no way you were going to drink that much coffee without feeling miserable, plus you knew what kind of caffeine would be used for the beverage. so, instead you poured some milk and chocolate powder into the coffee pot. you went back up seeing jack still asleep he was so cute and hot at the sametime. he didn’t know that you were watching him when he slept so it was nice to see that you could sneak up on him without him realising. he also looked really peaceful and relaxed while sleeping, but you couldn’t stay long so your eyes quickly turned away. you decided to switch into a comfy outfit with short shorts. you gave him a kiss, he let out a breathy groan, he was still asleep. you smiled fondly you kissed his cheek before he slowly woke up and smiled.

“good morning,” he mumbled before pulling you closer to him. “good morning,” you said back pressing your face into his chest. you felt him kiss the top of your head. “how long did i sleep?” " a lot jack…" you swirled your figure across his biceps. "i think we need to take a bath Y/N"

you smirked, you got the bath water warm, you added some candles, along with some decor and a nice color changing light. it looked perfect to you. you were ready to enjoy the time together. jack hugged you and whispered "your so sexy" you blushed, you both slowly started to undress. you pulled down your shorts revealing your black panties, which were pretty loose, you also wore white lingerie underneath them. you took off your shirt showing your breasts to jack. he stared in admiration. he had nothing on, you both got into the giant bathtub together.

jack started to kiss your stomach. he gently rubbed your nipples making you moan softly. he continued kissing further down until he reached your bellybutton. he then licked around it. he made circles around it and you let out moans again. he moved lower down to your navel before continuing down your abdomen and legs. he then wet back up kissing your mouth.

you squirmed tightly, you were feeling the strongest bliss ever, he had such a skillful mouth especially when it came to sex. he moved even lower down till his tongue was right on your clit. you cried out his name. you loved when his tongue touched there. you had never felt so good before, you weren't sure whether to push his tongue deeper or pull it out. you chose the former. you pushed against his throat with more force. you kept grining endlessly earning many groans from him "fuck jack you are so talented"

he whispered "in more ways then one" you liked how he would joke around with you, gripped his hair, as you shivered the grand peak was coming. "wait- jack… I want it to last" you said in a soft, lewd voice. he smirked, he kissed your nipples again. he bit them lightly causing you to let out a moan of pleasure. you grabbed his head tighter. this caused his fingers to move quicker. he was doing amazing things to your clit. after a few minutes, he slowed his pace.

before the both of you could hit the peak you stopped, and continued again, but slower, everything in the world including your mind felt like it calmed down. shortly after, you quickened your pace, you both came undone as jack let out a loud groan.

you both sat in the bath rub, as you traced your fingers around his chest to his arms. he did the same planting kisses all over your jaw.

"do you wanna have lunch?" you asked. he nodded "okay" you grabbed his hand and led him out of the tub. you wrapped yourself with an oversized towel. you walked out of the bathroom together holding hands. you sat down at the table eating a baguette with marmite spread over it. jack smiled "your so cute" he said taking a bite out of his sandwich. "and you're handsome" you replied with a smile and a blush forming on your cheeks" the both of you enjoyed the sandwhich along with some ginger lemon tea, it was warm in the house as you had turned on the heater.

you both enjoyed the rest of your day together watching the snow fall.

THE END

[littlestpan]

Service With a Smile

James Potter x Regulus Black (Slow Burn)

A/N: Hello lovelies, here's chapter three! You can also find fan fiction on AO3 if you want to read ahead.

Chapter 2 (here) | Chapter 3 (You're here) | Chapter 4 (here) |

Chapter 3: Admiring the View

The morning sky is dark and dull when Regulus' alarm sounds, a loud and offensive noise. An exasperated expression forms on his face, brows pinched together, peeking one eye open. He rolls over to the opposite side of the bed. Only opening his eyes long enough to shoot daggers at the blasted clock. Its small red numbers blink a repeated six o’clock. He reaches for it, knocking things off his bedside table in the process. He groans in frustration, sitting up halfway, then slams the clock. The sound stops, and Regulus lays back down, throwing the blanket over his head. In his twenty-four years of life, he has never been a morning person, nor will he ever be. He lies for a few moments before pulling the duvet off.

“This will be the death of me,” he thinks, running his hands over his face.

Regulus swings his legs over the bed, wanting nothing more than to curl back into the warmth of his duvet. He stands and stretches, his nightshirt riding up as he arches his back. Phone in hand, he wanders to the bathroom to shower. 

Afterward, Regulus wonders what is considered appropriate attire for kitchen staff. He picks out purple socks with little alien faces, then settles on black jeans with a belt and a simple black t-shirt tucked in. Once dressed, he heads out of his room, down the hall, and around the corner to the kitchen. 

Evan is perched on the sofa, one leg tucked under him, and he has a rather sleepy expression. “Mornin’ Reg,” he greets with a wave. 

Regulus waves back without saying a word as he pops two slices of bread into the toaster.

“Kettle’s hot if you want a cuppa,” Evan informs, holding his mug up with both hands. 

Regulus utters a small "Thanks," pulls his mug from the cupboard, and makes himself some tea.

It’s a simple mug with ‘I woke up this bitchy’ written on the side. Barty gifted it to Regulus a few years back, laughing about, “It’s perfect because it’s literally you.” Which earned Barty the middle finger, but Barty knows it’s his favourite mug, though Regulus will never admit it out loud.

Regulus' toast pops; he butters it with marmite before joining Evan in the lounge. He settles in the armchair to eat his toast and sip his tea. Evan and Regulus sit content in silence until the flat’s door opens, and the pair instinctually turn their heads. They watch as Barty enters, closing the door behind himself and kicking his shoes off in the process.

"Morning, you're home later than usual," Evan greets, placing his empty mug on the coffee table. Evan watches Barty cross the lounge toward him on the couch. 

"Rough shift?" Regulus questions while he finishes off his toast. 

Barty groans as he sits on the couch, "Complete and utter shite; I had to stay later to receive a shipment." Barty finishes as he moves Evan's leg from under him. 

Barty makes himself comfortable with his head buried in Evan's lap. Evan gently runs his hands through Barty's hair, and Barty melts into the touch. 

Evan is the first to break the silence, “Ready for your first day? Are you excited?” He asks Regulus.

“Not really, a little nervous if I’m honest,” Regulus admits around a bite of toast.

“Fair; I can’t imagine it’ll be all that hard, though. It being the first day and all,” Evan continues, mindlessly playing with Barty’s shaggy hair.

"Mhmm, Effie mentioned the first bit will be showing me the ropes. Sirius and Remus will be there; Sirius said they’ll answer any questions I might have. So it's not like I'm going in blind," Regulus supplies while he finishes off his toast.

“Everything will go fine, Reg; you’ve nothing to worry about,” Evan reassures.

“I hope so,” Regulus says as he goes through the motions of getting ready to leave. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, Ev. You never know for sure,” Barty says, lifting his head from Evan’s lap.

His boots tied, Regulus pulls his coat on when Barty draws his attention again, "I mean, come on, I know it’s only your first day, but there's a chance you won’t last long. Especially when they realise your skill level in the kitchen. So, don't go burning any pots now," Barty laughs.

This earns Barty a slap on the side of his head from Evan and the middle finger from Regulus. 

“What was that for? I was only joking!” Barty shouts, rubbing the side of his head.

“Read the room, you tosser,” Evan scolds.

Before Barty could say another word, Regulus slipped his headphones on and walked out the door. 

~~~

Today is by far the warmest it has been in about a week, and for that, Regulus is grateful as he walks the ten minutes to the bus stop. When he arrives at the bus stop, he stands under the metal awning waiting for the bus. While he waits, he pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through his social media. 

The bus stops, Regulus steps through the door, and scans his travel card. He sits in a window seat towards the middle of the bus. The route number 10 travels across the city and toward Diagon Alley.

Entering the Marauders' compound once again left Regulus a bit taken aback. The gate was drawn fully open, and there were several cars parked within the fence. It's not as though Regulus expected it to be empty, but he definitely didn’t anticipate this many cars. He heads to the door like he had the week before. 

Inside the kitchen is already buzzing; it takes a moment before anyone notices Regulus' presence. Regulus stands near the kitchen’s entrance watching all the staff move about the space. Each member of the crew is dressed in a uniform with some small variations. 

Peter is hiding in the back corner near the dishwasher station. He’s sitting on the workstation next to the sink with his phone in his hand. He has on a red t-shirt with a Marauders logo. Remus is standing in front of the ovens with the door propped open. His chef coat is black with short sleeves that come to the elbow. “Remus” is embroidered on one shoulder and “Moony” on the other.

Effie enters the kitchen through the same door she had the day of the interview. She’s carrying a clipboard. This time her hair is pulled high in a clip with a few face-framing pieces. She’s dressed in a deep red, flowy blouse with her sleeves rolled to the elbow, black slacks, and a white apron with the Marauders logo. Sirius enters the room close behind Effie as though he is trying to keep up with her. He has a long-sleeved black chef coat with “Sirius” embroidered on one shoulder and “Padfoot” on the other.

Effie notices Regulus; first she greets him, “Regulus, morning dear.” She stops in front of him, talking a mile a minute, “Perfect timing. We’ll give you a quick tour, then we’ll get you settled into some work. Sound good?”

Regulus looks to Effie, “Morning, Effie, yes, that would be lovely.” 

Effie turns to Sirius. “Mi Estrellita, would you mind doing the introductions and then showing Regulus around?“ She asks. 

She taps her clipboard. “I need to discuss some things with Remus before I forget. Oh, maybe get him settled with his uniform; I didn’t get a chance to last week,” she informs. Without another word, she’s walking over to Remus.

“Mm-hmm. Of course, Effie,” Sirius responds with a smile.

Regulus turns his attention to his brother. “Morning, Sirius,” he greets. 

“Morning, Reggie. Glad to have you here, shall we?” Sirius responds back with an excited smile, and Regulus nods.

Sirius leads the way to the Dutch door closest to the entryway; opening the door, the brothers poke their heads in. Several long shelves line the outside of the room; each shelf is labelled and stocked with food.

“This is the dry storage room; anything nonperishable is stored here,” Sirius explains. 

The boys move from the room and close the door behind them. Sirius then pointed around the room clockwise. 

“The two workstations side by side are Effie and Monty; madly in love they are. The corner station is Marlene's and sometimes Lily's if she’s in,” he says as he points around the room. 

“They’re not in today, a bit of a skeleton crew. You'll get a chance to meet the others at some point,” he admits with a shrug. 

Sirius points at the tables in the centre of the room where Remus and Effie stand in front of the ovens. “Then we have Moony’s station; he’s in charge of the hot food. That’s why he likes the workstation in front of the ovens; it’s easier.” Sirius explains, and Regulus nods along.

“I’m next to Moony. I was next to James, but apparently, I’m a distraction. So, Monty separated us,” he continues as Regulus gives him a knowing look.

“That’s because you are, Padfoot,” Peter shouts across the room with a chuckle.

Sirius gives Peter the middle finger before using it to point at him, “The arsehole behind me, Wormy, in the dish area. You’ve met him.” 

Regulus suppresses a laugh, but his shoulders shake slightly.

“Prongs is across from Moony,” Sirius points, then walks over and pats the table in the spot across from his workstation.

“Which means this is your station, across from me. You get the best view in the house, Lucky you,” Sirius smiles.

Regulus moves to stand next to his brother, “Lucky me,” he deadpans. 

“Har har,” Sirius says before moving along with the tour. The interaction earns a laugh from Peter.

Sirius opens the walk-in cooler right behind James' station for Regulus to look inside; it has metal racks with all kinds of vegetables and produce. “Cold storage, fresh foods,” he continues to the next door. 

Sirius opens the second walk-in cooler right behind Regulus' station; it has metal rolling racks with hotel pans and metal chafers. “All the cooked food goes in here to cool, most of our food prep too,” Sirius says before closing the door.

“Come along; there isn’t much left now,” Sirius tells his brother before exiting into the dining hall. 

Regulus follows him, “I’ve been through here, the dining hall. Banquets, weddings, and whatnot.” Regulus supplies. 

“Yeah, mostly,” Sirius nods, passing through the dining hall into the warehouse. “I suppose Effie told you about this stuff?” He asks.

“Sort of,” Regulus admits. 

Sirius gestures to the walls of stuff, “Most of this stuff is used for serving or storing food. There’s also a freezer in the corner.” Sirius points off in a random direction. 

“Have you been up to the staff room yet?” Sirius asks, and Regulus shakes his head ‘no.’. 

Sirius leads the way up a long staircase that ends at a closed door. Regulus follows his brother up the loft’s staircase located above the office. “This is the staff room,” Sirius begins, propping the door open with a doorstop.

“We watch rugby matches here sometimes while we wait for the larger meals to cook. On the long shifts, we eat here as a family, the whole crew. It’s not much, but the couches are comfortable if you need a nap,” Sirius offers.

There’s a circular table with a few chairs, a simple flat-screen TV attached to one wall, and two comfortable leather couches. Two doors lead to the staff bathroom and the locker room.

“This building used to be a factory at one point, which is why it’s fully equipped with lockers and showers. When Effie and Monty started renovating the building, it was easier to keep them,” Sirius explains, handing his brother a locker key.

Sirius points to a door. “In there, you’ll find your locker already has your name on it,” Sirius smiles as he finishes.

Regulus takes the key, looking around, “Thank you.”

“You’ll find your uniform in there; get changed, then come to my station,” Sirius finishes over his shoulder as he heads back to the stairs.

Without another thought, Regulus heads to the locker room. He pushes the door open and lets it close behind him.

The room is lined with full-length lockers on one side and showers on the other. Regulus walks along the lockers searching for his name, “Marlene, Peter.” 

Marlene’s locker is decorated with stickers from top to bottom; only the name is visible. Peter’s locker had his name crossed out with a single line in a Sharpie marker. Under his name, “Wormtail” is scrawled in bold, and under that is Sirius' pretty handwriting; it reads “Aka Wormy.” A comical drawing of Remy from Ratatouille is drawn underneath it with an arrow.

Regulus skips a few lockers, then reads as he scans, “Remus, Sirius.” 

Remus' locker has his name also crossed out. The name “Moony” is written below, the same as Peter’s locker but in rather messy penmanship. A full moon is expertly drawn around his name, clearly Sirius' handiwork. Sirius' is similar to the other two lockers before. Sirius is now “Padfoot,” with the paw prints of a dog running vertically up the locker. Lastly, “James” is no longer James but “Prongs,” with a massive pair of stag horns drawn onto the locker.

The last locker in the row has Regulus' name on it, and it seems as though Sirius has already defaced his as well. Regulus' name is also crossed out, and “Reggie” is written under it. Under the name is a drawing of the constellation he was named after, Leo. Regulus would be annoyed if it wasn’t done as a loving gesture from his brother to make him feel included. 

Regulus unlocks his locker, pulls off his coat, and hangs it on the hook. Inside, as his brother had said, are his work shirts. A classic black dress shirt, two red football t-shirts with the Marauders logo on the chest in gold, and three simple black t-shirts with the logo in red. Each of the T-shirts has “Regulus” embroidered on the sleeve. Lastly, hanging in the back of the locker is a crisp white apron with the Marauders logo on it, the same one he saw Effie wearing. Regulus runs his hand over the clothing with a smile; it's a nice gesture that makes him feel welcome. Barty’s comments from that morning no longer weighed on his mind. 

Regulus faces the locker room door, glancing around once more before he begins to pull his black t-shirt over his head. It isn’t until the shirt is over his face that he hears the door to the locker room open and he freezes. A feeling of dread washes over him; for a second he pauses. A part of him prays it's his brother coming to hound him to ‘hurry up,’ but another part knows it's not Sirius; he can feel them staring. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue if it wasn’t for his nipple piercings on display for the mystery individual. He quickly resumes undressing himself, feeling a little embarrassed. His tongue piercing pressed between his lips as he chews on the bar.

This wasn’t how he wanted to start his first day working here.

Once freed of his shirt, Regulus made eye contact with the man standing in the locker room doorway, who was definitely not his older brother.

Looking back at him is none other than the elusive James Potter. James is even more fit in real life, tall, tanned, and dreamy. His glasses are simple, circular, and gold; he is wearing a red hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and red Converse. His hair is soft and curly, his expression is a little surprised, mouth slightly agape, as though he didn’t expect another person in the room.

James stands there for a moment, looking Regulus in the face until—he’s not. Regulus can feel his eyes track down from his face to his chest with an unreadable expression on James' face. A kind of heat behind his gaze. Regulus clears his throat as he attempts to cover his chest with his shirt. As though a spell had been broken, James' eyes snap back to Regulus' face once again, James jumping into action.

“Uh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you; I’m James,” he says, oozing with charm. James approaches Regulus with his large hand outstretched with the intent to shake his hand.

Regulus does his best to hold the shirt over himself with one hand, reaching back to shake James' with his other, “Regulus,” he greets back.

“Nice to finally put a face to the name,” James smiles, and Regulus can feel himself melt slightly. 

James turns to his locker, unlocking the lock and stripping his hooded sweatshirt over his head. Underneath, James has on a navy blue Spiderman t-shirt with the logo on the chest. James' t-shirt rides up his body with the motion; dipping down into the front of his jeans, Regulus can see a hint of black tattoos on his hips. Regulus doesn’t quite get a good look as he watches James adjust it back down and straighten his glasses. Before James can see him, Regulus turns his attention back to the shirt he folds and places it inside the locker. 

James breaks the silence as he lifts his shirt over his head, as Regulus had done moments ago. “Sirius was chuffed all week waiting for you to start,” James muses.

Regulus then pulls one of the black work shirts from the locker and then turns his attention back to James. 

“Don’t know how you managed to survive that; my brother can be a lot at the best of times,” Regulus replies as his grey eyes wash over James' half-naked form.

“Of course, James had to be proper fit,” Regulus thinks to himself. 

A toned chest and stomach with broad, bronzed shoulders. Regulus can now see the tattoo resting along his inner forearm, a tattoo of a daisy and sunflower. On his shoulder, James has a tattoo of a sun with designs that radiate outward from the centre. He has multiple small gold hoops in his ears and a single gold hoop in his left nostril.

Regulus has always been a huge fan of tattoos; however, he’s always found them more attractive on other people. He does have a few well-thought-out pieces of art on his body, a constellation tucked behind his ear, and the planets down his spine. Another that was a little less thought out is the matching snake curled around a skull on his inner forearm, which he shares with Barty and Evan. Regulus is no stranger to the sharp end of a needle; his ears have multiple piercings, his septum, his tongue, and his nipples. The nipple piercings were something he got somewhat as a spur of the moment. Yet another brilliant decision egged on by Barty and Evan. However, they’ve grown on him since, and he now loves the look of them.

Regulus turns away to pull the shirt over his head; once on, he unbuckles his belt, unzipping the fly of his jeans to tuck the shirt in as he did this morning. 

James laughs, “You’re not wrong; Sirius can be a handful. But I’ve heard my fair share of stories about you too, baby Black.” 

Regulus listens to him; glancing over his shoulder, he watches James.

As though James can tell Regulus is watching, he makes a show of flexing slightly to pull his Marauders shirt over his head. 

“Cheeky bugger,” Regulus thinks. James is hot; he knows it, and that fact makes Regulus annoyed.

Regulus closes his locker door, slipping the key into his front pocket; he starts, “I wouldn’t really consider Sirius an expert; there is plenty my brother doesn’t know about me.” 

Regulus then crosses the room to the door. James follows the movement as he pulls his chef coat from his locker.

Once Regulus opens the door, he turns to James again, “Oh, and James.” He pauses. 

Giving him a once-over, Regulus makes eye contact with him one last time, “It’s also nice to put a face to the name too.” Then he smirks as he leaves, the door swinging closed behind him.

Honestly, how stupid can Regulus get? James is the son of his boss's, not to mention his brother’s best friend. Regulus has no idea what he was thinking, flirting with James Potter on day one. He wasn’t thinking; that was the problem. James Potter simply checked too many of his boxes not to at least have a little fun. He mentally scolds himself as he walks from the staff room down the stairs, hoping that James will forget the whole thing. Very unlikely, but Regulus can still hope.

Regulus can’t help when his mind wanders back to the black ink peeking from the hem of James' jeans. Who could blame him when James looks the way he does? 

Regulus isn’t certain why there is a no-dating rule in the kitchen. He only vaguely remembers his brother whining about how ‘fit’ Remus is and that it's against the rules for him to pursue the spark he feels for Remus.

Like a child in a candy store, Regulus has never liked being told he couldn’t have something. Regulus always found himself drawn to the taboo, and if James was one thing, it was forbidden fruit—the juiciest and richest kind of forbidden fruit. 

“Then again, James is also nice to just look at,” Regulus thinks to himself. “There’s no harm in admiring the view, right?” He flicks his tongue piercing inside his mouth as he feels a hint of anxiety.

Completely lost in thought, James' unreadable expression and his gaze flash through Regulus' mind as he turns into the dining hall. Upon rounding the corner, he knocks directly into someone. Before he can catch himself, he’s ass over tea kettle and on the floor. 

Looking up, he sees an older man still on his feet. He’s tall, almost as tall as James; as a matter of fact, this handsome man looks a lot like an older James. That’s when Regulus deduces that it must be Fleamont Potter. 

Fleamont is in his early 50s, with glasses and facial hair. His hair has a slight wave, and a large mix of salt and pepper with most of it concentrated at his temples. He’s wearing a Gryffindor jumper and dark-wash jeans. If this is a preview into what James will look like in twenty-odd years, the man will age like a fine bourbon. This family must have amazing genes, Regulus thinks. 

Regulus begins to apologise, “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” as the man offers Regulus a hand up. Regulus takes the hand.

“No, sorry, that was on me; I was checking my emails,” the man supplies. 

Once he’s stable on his feet, Regulus dusts himself off. “You must be Mr. Potter; it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Only when my wife is cross with me,” Fleamont chuckles. 

Fleamont extends a hand out again, this time to offer a handshake. “You’re Sirius' little brother; it’s very nice to meet you, Regulus. You can call me ‘Monty,’” he finishes. 

“Monty, of course. Yes, that’s me,” Regulus replies, shaking Fleamont’s hand.

“Love to chat, but I don’t want to keep you; your brother is waiting in the kitchen. You know how impatient that boy can be. Apologies again for knocking you over; I hope you’re alright,” Monty informs with a smile. 

Regulus smiles back, “I’m okay, thank you.” 

“Cheers, off you pop,” Monty tells him as he rounds the corner towards the office. 

Regulus tries to clear his head, but he can feel his anxiety rise again as he heads towards the kitchen through the dining hall. He rounds the corner and walks through the dishwashing area to his brother’s workstation. Regulus stands behind his brother waiting for him to notice; he clears his throat when he doesn't. 

Sirius turns to look at his brother; placing his hand on his shoulder, he says, “Tu es beau, Regulus. Ça te va bien.” 

Regulus makes an annoyed expression. “Tu m’énerves,” he responds, shaking Sirius' hand off his shoulder. 

Sirius laughs, “Don’t be rude now, Reggie.”

Regulus has a look on his face, a cross between worry and annoyance. Noticing the tone shift, Sirius gives him a sympathetic look. "Regulus, dis-moi ce qui se passe."

Regulus' eyes soften; he looks around the room, and he replies, “Je vais bien.”

Regulus gives his brother a pleading expression, “Not here, Sirius. Can we just focus on work?"

Sirius knows better than to push, especially when Regulus tells him otherwise. 

“Alright. So, today we’ve got a handful of small boxed lunch deliveries. We build the lunches here; everything goes in a box, and we deliver it where it needs to go. There’s also prep for tomorrow and then clean-up,” Sirius explains.

James arrives in the kitchen while Sirius is walking Regulus through the steps of boxing lunches. Regulus probably wouldn’t have noticed James' presence if James hadn’t been watching him. It’s hard to focus on his brother’s explanation when James' gaze is as warm and comforting as the sun. Drawing his mind from James, Regulus runs through the motions in his head: place the brisket sandwich into the box, then add chips, side salad, dessert, and utensils. Close the box and repeat. It's simple work but painfully repetitive. 

Regulus' motions are clunky and slow compared to the other staff. He looks to James' station beside him and watches James' hands for a moment. Confident, swift, and smooth, James closes the boxes with ease, the number of open boxes decreasing rapidly. His disappointment must be painted on his face. Because when he looks down at his less-than-adequate box and a large number of open boxes, James is now stepping over to his station. 

“Here, let me help. It can take a little practice to get the hang of it,” James says.

“Um, thank you,” Regulus says, trying to sound a little less flustered. 

With James this close to him, they’re brushing elbows. The warmth rolling off James raises goosebumps on his arm. Regulus glances at James' face, then down at the man’s hands, and tries to mirror James' motions. Regulus' boxes begin to look neater with each one he finishes. With a focused expression on his face, Regulus mindlessly plays with the ball on his tongue. After a short while, Regulus breaks his quiet concentration; he turns toward James.

“Look, I think I’ve got it,” pleased with himself, there’s a hint of a smile on Regulus' face. 

Then he realises it; James couldn’t have been more obvious, his gaze flicking from Regulus' lips to his eyes. For a long while, James had been staring down at the metal ball that poked out from between Regulus' lips. He had been caught in the act; Regulus had caught him. He watches James realise he’s been caught. 

“Uh, yeah. It looks that way,” James responds, trying to look anywhere but at Regulus. 

James rubs the back of his neck before he turns his attention back to the boxes, his cheeks dusted with the slightest rosy hue. The softness of James does something to Regulus that he can’t quite place. It seems Regulus wasn’t the only one guilty of admiring the view.

Translations “Mi Estrellita." - "My little star." “Tu es beau, Regulus. Ça te va bien.” - "You look handsome, Regulus. It suits you." “Tu M’énerves.” - "You annoy me." "Regulus, dis-moi ce qui se passe." - "Regulus, tell me what's wrong." "Je vais bien." - "I'm fine."

[nonbinary-sticks-the-badger]

the OFFICIAL sonatchet propaganda post from the REAL ceo of sonatchet

are you a fan of sonic the hedgehog? perhaps ratchet and clank is more your style? or maybe you like both? well, have I got the ship for you.

now, why should YOU ship sonatchet? it's simple: the franchises have so much in common. now, sonic fans, when i say, an anthropomorphic creature has to stop the evil capitalist baddie from taking over the world with his little buddy, smart as a whistle. along the way, he grinds rails, he follows his own path, not exactly good, but certainly heroic. he does this all with an absolutely brilliant soundtrack. and yeah, maybe the more recent games haven't been so good, writing and gameplay-wise, but hey, we're getting back on track.

what i have just described to you is ratchet and clank. initially created a year after everyone's golden child of sonic games, sa2, by ex-members of sonic team, ratchet and clank has been a vital part of my upbringing, more so than sonic has. for me, sonic is a more recent thing. i've been a fan since i was 5. when did i become a fan of r&c, you may ask? well, my first memory is my dad playing it in front of me, to give you an idea. i couldn't walk or speak properly, sat in a high chair, presumably eating soggy toast, one half marmite and the other of bovril. but, by that point, i was used to the experience - i can't even remember the first time i watched him play.

for any sonic fans who havent yet got the gist, imagine shadow the hedgehog (2005) with good writing that sounds like how actual people speak and less goofy weapons. edginess for the sake of humour rather than for edginess. oh also there is actual genocide in r&c1 quick heads up.

so, r&c fans, with it being far more mainstream, you're probably well aware of the overlap between the two franchises. hell, most of you reading probably are sonic fans. so, of course, i probably wont have to explain sonic in ratchet and clank terms. i want to but i wont. at the end of the day, all you need to know is that sonic is a hedgehog who runs fast and is kinda like ratchet.

THE SIMILARITIES

quickfire round! if it's in blue, it's headcanon, if it's plain text, it's canon!

transmasc and bi

somewhat morally grey, however definitely on the good side and classes themself as a hero

has a younger brother-figure/best friend who's good with electronics and can let him fly

has to fight robots

the biggest baddie is usually capitalism or actual cosmic horrors

space is vaguely related

sci fi

both quite calm and laid back but can get very serious and angry if you let them

adventurous travellers

fairly flirty but never seem to settle down (aroace reference?)

from what ive heard stc sonic is basically slightly angrier 2002 ratchet (i havent read stc though)

both almost the exact same age, with ratchet being 14-16, depending on which game, and sonic being 15

THE DIFFERENCES

ratchet LOVES weapons, with the vast arsenal being one of the main selling points of r&c1/sonic is known for spin dash

ratchet canonically has negative rizz (though i believe has had canon love interests iirc?)/sonic is attractive to almost everyone

ratchet has explored multiple galaxies/sonic has only explored a single planet and the odd space station

sonic is probably more likely to do the right thing

sonic is a giant environmentalist, literally has befriended nature/ratchet cares more about saving people than planets, unless it's an actual planet blowing up. like, the planet will cease to exist from quark's super laser piss or something

all of this ties together to create the wonderful ship we call sonatchet, a real and true yearning across franchises. truly, god made them in different game studios because he knew they would be unstoppable as canon lovers.

for any sonic fans wanting a really good comparison, id say the best i can give you is sonadow with a sonknux dynamic? though, not entirely. obviously, if there were a comparable ship, i wouldn't bother tagging in another guy from a completely seperate franchise, so please, please, understand the joys of sonatchet.

[leonawriter]

It's fascinating and kinda funny to me how P4 is one of the only ones where I'm like, "yeah sure I get that the developers may have intended a certain route more than others, but I simply cannot see any that would actually stick or work."

If we just go with the girls (putting Yosuke to one side, and treating Naoto as one for the sake of "well, the canon game does, and gives her a romance route"), then we have - from the party members, at least, who Yu wouldn't be literally lying to by omission about the existence of the TV world - Yukiko, Chie, Rise, and Naoto. Marie is also added in Golden.

(bear in mind this isn't that serious, and even on the ones I don't really agree with, if I think there's potential I won't outright dismiss it.)

Just going with the base game?

Yeah sorry but I cannot see Yukiko or Chie as anything other than lesbians. Like - even if we ARE just going with the basic Japanese societal read on this, it isn't even that far fetched for them to see girls fooling around with those sorts of feelings as kids. Yeah, it's something they see kids "growing out of" but it Exists.

Another point against Yukiko is, to me, that she's kinda... the story ties her down. She is stuck in Inaba. Her SL even has her choose this, in that once she finishes high school she'll go into learning how to run the inn properly.

Personally, I find it difficult to imagine Yu being "the Inn Manager's husband," although that's just me.

Chie... same as above, tbh. Although, ironically, I can see them working out better due to Yu being canonically a mystery solver, and Chie joining the police, under Yu's uncle. it's not... an infeasible match.

Rise is one of my preferred ships for Yu, but the thing is? In spite of how much she flirts with him, the moment she goes back to her Idol lifestyle, that kinda... all goes down the drain. Being an idol means having absolutely zero private life, or personal life, and there's no space for a boyfriend (or girlfriend). Anything they might have would have to be put on hold for her career, until either her publicist figures out a way to sell it, or until she stops being an idol altogether.

Naoto... uh... is to me a big "not interested" and "does not work out" because a) her "romance" route sucks from what I've seen, and b) the game heavily implies she and Kanji have a Mutual Interest, so my perspective is that when the player has Yu romance Naoto, you're breaking them up before they could even get started. How cruel.

Marie... well. I'm gonna be honest that when I went through the P4G playthrough I watched, I didn't really like her, but that's because she reads as the kind of emo scene kid that she really kinda is. But, like... she effectively fits with her contemporary (2011 and thereabouts) age group, and she's literally got the appearance of a 15 year old (give or take a godly length of lifetime for erased memories). Sure, she's a... massive spoiler, but you can take the way Yu acts in bringing her back to her senses to mean that feelings might be returned. Doesn't stop her [redacted] spoiler nature, though, and it doesn't stop people from treating her like marmite, because you either love her or hate her.

So, basically? To me? We have two lesbians who are Orientation Incompatible, one teen idol who will have to pretend nothing's happening in public, someone who's currently interested in someone else, and someone who was originally a resident of the Velvet Room he wasn't in a lot of contact with after he left Inaba, iirc.

That SURE IS an eclectic bunch of misfits, most of whom are gonna have a hard time dating him. And that's with me playing devil's advocate for a few!

After all that, and if you decide you don't want to just push past the issues they'd have or come up with your own way it'd work, you're left with either the non-party members (and remember: Yu does not tell them about the TV world, as far as I'm aware) and the guys.

Kanji is interested in Naoto. Like, canonically still blushes around her in the January/February content. I'd say not impossible but you'd have to compete with Naoto in his head.

Teddie is... well... he's Teddie. Mentally closer to Nanako's age - and that's based on how they act around each other, as much as anything. He's more the little brother of the group.

And then. Then, there's Yosuke. Yosuke "Hey, Partner, remember my scrapped romance route" Hanamura. Who seems to understand Yu and is the first to go to him most of the time, who came from the city so they can bond on that, who gets Yu. Which isn't even me trying to just go "Yu/Yosuke propaganda!" but I am just looking at them and being like. "Wow. That sure does work out nicely if you ship 'em."

All this because I'm sure I've seen two different people at totally different times suggest that Yu's "intended love interest" was Yukiko when... my gut reaction was just "what? what? no. absolutely not." And yet when I'd try and think who would be (at least in the base game), I'd come up a blank.

If it's not a teammate and we're excluding the guys, I'd actually go with Marie. Although I wouldn't say that's because I believe in the ship, so much as "well, there's objectively nothing wrong with it, or that I'd say would get in the way." Which. Well. Is more than I can say for a lot of the others. Plus, even though I don't ship it, the idea of a guy whose Persona even in future instalments is basically a nuke with Myriad Truths pairing up with someone like her, does have a certain "battle/badass couple" vibe to it.

[whitegoldtower]

Things I think would break Ancano’s brain:

- me. I’m like marmite; he’d either love me or hate me. Probably the latter. I’m the Mort to his King Julian. I cannot be killed. I will not leave him the fuck alone. Yes I leave flowers in his room and yes I got rid of the courier’s body in his wardrobe. I single-handedly both enrage him and cover his tracks for him because I don’t want him to die/get caught. I tidy up his books and also mess up his desk in the same sitting. I turn myself into a cat with alteration and illusion magic specifically to make him pet me and then turn back into a mer and watch him freak out when he looks down and sees my nasty little face in his lap, grinning up at him. I am a planetary level threat to all of Skyrim but I have chosen to spend my time following him around as his number one hype man. I cannot be stopped.

[schumigrace]

so sorry about the anon hate; i feel like it happens whenever slight criticism/not overwhelmingly positive opinions are aired. it's happened to me with various other drivers, too :/

but anyway! i have two fairly expansive points for you! and some extra bits of discussion, too :) <3

a) the "lando paydriver" thing seems to have originated from a singular article written by a quasi-"journalist" fan on a fan-based journalism site, with no real evidence and, probably more importantly, hasn't ever been corroborated by any of the actually trustworthy, legitimate f1 publications. it's also been propagated by those who don't particularly like him who've just seen that his father is wealthy and have made assumptions.

he talked his dad's wealth in a quite measured way on a podcast a year or two ago; he essentially had his dad's backing through the junior series (rather than academy or just sponsor funding) which let him be more flexible with what, where and how he was competing (mainly being able to nope out of the general vicinity of helmut marko), but he set a boundary with his dad that f2 would be the last thing he paid for.

lando won the autosport brdc award, which was affiliated with mclaren at the time, which lead him down the path of simulator tests and eventually signing as a junior with them, which lead to the simulator, test and reserve driver roles he had in 2017-2018. which lead to him signing for his debut f1 season in september 2018, when he was still 2nd in the f2 championship.

the paydriver moniker is a strange one nevertheless; as you say we've seen a good number of actual paydrivers and sort-of paydrivers and even not-even-really paydrivers prove themselves to the point where there is no point or even merit to bring up how they got into the sport in the first place. and so at the end of the day... if you had the money, why wouldn't you?! i know i would lmao

b) i don't think i can ever begrudge lando for what can be interpreted as only ever talking about mental health when it pertains to himself. precisely because it does pertain to himself; lando opening up about the doubt, the anxiety and his mental health being at its worst in his rookie year is incredibly brave, and quite frankly inspiring to me. i know it lodged in the back of my mind when i eventually had to stop bottling everything up and talk to my family and eventually go to therapy/counselling for my anxiety. he might not always be the most eloquent about it but it will always be a point of admiration for me.

for everything else i feel that's just up to a lot of interpretation; i think he does genuinely struggle when it comes to packaging his non-driving related press into a way that is understandable or even palatable to those who aren't fans of him, and sometimes he doesn't always hit the mark; he's by far not the most eloquent driver on the grid.

there are nuances to everyone in the paddock, and i think we sometimes forget just how much scrutiny all these guys are under and how much the quotes used in articles can sometimes really miss a lot from the context of tone, be cherry picked or twisted. and even after all of that, lando arguably gives over more of himself to public scrutiny than anyone else with all his streaming and other social media activities.

and, i almost always hate this reasoning but it does have to be said, we forget how young he was coming into f1, just freshly turned 19. and already with a big social media following even then; the maturing you'd go through over 5 years would be very strange and not always linear. it's a weird one.

overall while i do hold lando quite close to my heart (as you could probably tell) he can be marmite-y to those who don't "get" him. and that should be okay, too.

and anyway f1 is just a game of picking your favourite fallable tax dodgers! people often take anything and everything much too far to heart for these 20+ "some guys".

hope you have a lovely day/night anywho, and apologies for the long message :)) <33

hey nonnie. thanks for this! I really appreciate your take on this (and thanks for being so respectful about it!)

I should clarify, I also admire lando discussing his own mental health. The issues I have come from his apparent reluctance to speak out when it comes to the abuse other drivers face, again - I'm only basing this off of what I've seen, and I've personally never seen him go to the defence of anyone else. It only makes me uncomfortable because as an ambassador of a mental health charity I'd just, idk, expect more ? I guess. But like you say, they are at the end of the day just "some guys", and we probably shouldn't expect a lot from any of them.

Anyway. I don't really have much else to add to this, I think you've made some good points

[osterby]

I'm so glad there was a "more than one" option, because nothing here is something I actively dislike, and most of this list is just this is a list of a lot of foods I really like.

Foods which are among my favourites: Sparkling water Marzipan Blue Cheese Olives Oysters

Foods that I enjoy but probably wouldn't sell my siblings out to a witch for: Turkish delight Eel (caveat that I've only had eel a very few times, and only ever as sushi)

Foods I haven't tried but would probably enjoy: Marmite -- I've had vegemite, though, and have warm-to-neutral feelings on it. It's a lot like miso, which is good, but I generally prefer sweet spreads for toast (with avocado being the one savory outlier) Black Pudding -- I've never had it or anything else with blood as a primary ingredient, but from what I can tell I would probably really like it

Foods that are not on this list that I particularily enjoy: Calamari Anchovies Sardines (Actually, I have never met a seafood I didn't like. Strong and fishy is good. Stronger and fishier is better. I am definitely not a cat IRL, meow.) Haggis Marrow Avocado (controversial for other reasons, but one of my lifelong favourites. I was literally weaned on avocados and I've loved them ever since, so could we stop being weird about them kthnxbye) Candy corn Pretty much any "gross" cheese; blue cheese is a starting place for babies when it comes to weird cheese Anything tannic: I like black tea and red wine specifically for the tannin

I could probably think of more, I like weird food.

Also, the list of foods I utterly detest is mostly comprised of very normal things, with lettuce, whole grain baked goods, and carraway seeds topping the list.

No, pineapple pizza isn’t on here. It gets too much publicity and I’m bored of it. Pick one of the other ones. (If it’s more than one thing or something else feel free to put in tags)

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager-Ch 6

This 1990s pre-antichrist through the ages story follows Crowley through an unexpected loss of powers due to the accountability project of a new manager. Crowley and Aziraphale work the system to the best of their abilities to help Crowley through.

Chapter 6

Jingle, jingle, jingle.

Aziraphale leaned out from behind a bookshelf to greet the new customer, calling, “Let me know if there's anything in particular you're looking for,” after taking in the newcomer, he offered helpfully, “The ‘Outlander’ books are in Science Fiction/Fantasy over there.”

“Angel!” Crowley snapped.

“Oh, it’s you!  This is a different look,” Aziraphale turned and tilted his head thoughtfully.

“You gave me these clothes, angel!  Yesterday!”  Crowley said, marching over to Aziraphale wearing the heavily soled boots and kilt the angel had adjusted for him yesterday, but with a glint of metal that resolved into a hand-crank tucked into his belt.

“Yes, well, technically I  was ‘clothing the naked’, which is allowed!” Aziraphale said with a little flourish of one hand while he finished shelving his last book. Turning back to Crowley who was simply staring at him, Aziraphale asked, “Have you looked at yourself recently?” pointing the demon to a mirror set in the stacks (arranged so the angel could see the front of the shop when he was shelving.)

Looking in the mirror, Crowley saw the jaw drop on the young man with the tousled red hair and barely there beard wearing the same kit he had on.

“I didn’t do that!” the young man pointed to himself in the mirror.

“Really?” Aziraphale gave him a more thorough look over. 

Crowley looked at himself critically in the mirror, “No wonder Dave called me a ‘lad’ and those coeds chatted me up.  I look like I’m barely out of my A levels!”  Rubbing a hand over his jaw, Crowley muttered, “This ridiculous excuse for a beard has got to go,” he made a little miraculous movement.

Nothing happened.

Crowley dropped his head and clenched his fists.

“Still no miracles?” Aziraphale asked solicitously as Crowley ground his teeth.

“Apparently not,” Crowley grumbled.

“Well, do you know how to use a cut-throat razor?” inquired Aziraphale.

Crowley thought about it, “Of course I know how to use a cut-throat razor!”

Tipping his head to the side, Aziraphale inquired, “For shaving?”

Mouth open and finger raised to reply, Crowley stopped, “Uh, no.”

Closing up the shop with a gesture, Aziraphale merely said, “Come along, then.  I’ll teach you.”

Crowley hung back, “How much will this cost me?” rapping out the old ‘Shave and a hair cut’ knock on a bookshelf, “Two bits?”

“No.  No cost.  I’m teaching you a valuable skill, after all!” replied Aziraphale ushering the reluctant demon upstairs.

Shaving was harder than either of them expected.  Crowley because he’d never done it manually before and Aziraphale because Crowley’s corporation seemed to be trying to shift between his old familiar form and the cheeky youngster.  Luckily, the styptic pencil worked regardless. But the time spent so close to the demon gave Aziraphale a better read on the situation.  

Once all the bleeding was stopped, they went back downstairs where Crowley followed Aziraphale into the kitchen.  

“I’m just going to make some tea,” Aziraphale said.   Noting Crowley’s unexpected interest in the kitchen, the angel offered, “Help yourself,” expecting the demon to make a coffee, watching in wonder as Crowley rummaged in the ice-box then ate his way through a plate full of cold cuts, a custard, a loaf of brioche with marmite, a quart of milk, and an apple.

After tidying away the plates, Aziraphale said mildly, “Feeling better?”

“Yes, that hit the spot,” Crowley sighed, drinking the last of the milk out of the quart bottle, “But, also, no.  Why am I eating?  I’ve never needed to eat before, but now…”

“Do you need to sleep, as well?” Aziraphale asked curiously.

“Yes!  I fell asleep last night.  I couldn’t keep my eyes open,” complained Crowley.

Aziraphale looked to the side and pursed his lips.

Crowley pointed at him, “You know something, angel!  I recognize that look.”

“I think it’s some sort of camouflage.  You weren’t like this when you left yesterday, but after working at the Dirty Donkey, you look like, well, like a cheeky youngster who’s trying to make his way.”

“Why would that be camouflage?  Why not look like a tough, or a rich businessman?”

“Maybe because people tend to give youth a bit of grace,” Aziraphale said to Crowley’s sneer. “Don’t grimace like that!  It got you the job at the Dirty Donkey,” pointed out Aziraphale.

“Whatever.  But why do I have to eat and sleep? I can do those things, but I’ve never had to do those things.”

“Yes, that’s a puzzler.  Either it completes the disguise, or you’ve been cut off from your resources so thoroughly that your corporation is giving you the appetite of a young man to try and compensate.”

Crowley looked aghast, “I have to requisition energy to run a body!?”

“It’s that or eat, apparently.” said Aziraphale, pushing over the plate of Eccles cakes he’d picked up at the bakery.

“This is mad.  How’m I supposed to do anything, if I’m spending all my time earning money to feed and cloth and house myself!?” Crowley said between absentminded bites.

“Humans manage it,” Aziraphale said, dryly.

“They’ve had more practice!” Crowley shot back.

Pulling a large stack of papers out of the small of his back, where he’d stashed them, Crowley started to flip through them. “Usher’s bloody denied nearly all of my requests!”  Crowley shook a paper at Aziraphale, “And he wants me to resubmit if I want to appeal the denials?  There’s hundreds of them!  How’m I to keep up with this!” he fumed, shoving the sheaf of papers into the angel’s outstretched hand and throwing himself back in his seat.

“If you could respond as quickly as he can make denials, you might be able to wear him down.  But, that would take more than just you, Crowley, even working all hours,”  Aziraphale flipped through the requests, denials, and counter requests.  “You’d need a whole office full of clerks to keep up with this, and you don’t have the money for one,” said Aziraphale, regretfully, then looked over at Crowley after an unexpected lightening of mood.

A beautific, wicked grin had settled on Crowley's face.  He’d just caught sight of the angel’s computer.

“How much to use your computer and printer, angel?” 

“I honestly don’t know,” replied Aziraphale, “It’s never come up before.”

“Let’s call that new cybercafe and ask what they’re charging.  I’ll pay you that. Deal?”

Glancing between the pile of reports and the computer, Aziraphale nodded consideringly, “Certainly.”

Crowley planned to swing into the Dirty Donkey well before his shift having successfully set up a spreadsheet on the angel’s computer with all the requisitions.  He’d set up a word processing document with ‘Standard Daily Requisitions’, so that when Usher required verbiage changes he could make them and print out the back dated and forward dated requisitions.  He’d taken the angel’s advice and requisitioned ‘Standard Daily Requisitions’ for two weeks in advance.

“Usher’s sure to deny advance requisitions, angel.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale, “But it shows upper management what you actually need and starts to lay the groundwork defense for when your productivity starts to flag.  Productivity has started to flag?”

“You bloody well know it has, angel!  Don’t look so smug!” Crowley shot back while programming the computer for the functionality he needed.

Peering over Crowley’s shoulder at the computer screen, the angel suggested, “If the Dirty Donkey job doesn’t work out, perhaps you should look for something with computers!  You’re very good with them,” the angel said soothingly.  Crowley just grumbled, but a tad less irritably.  

The angel noticed Crowley was less irritable with regular snacks, and kept bringing them by the desk.  The only humans he’d ever seen eat like this were young males, especially the active ones.

“Do take Dave up on meals, I’m afraid I’ll have to do some grocery shopping before I see you next!” Aziraphale said as Crowley stepped out of the shop with thick stacks of computer paper.  Crowley hadn’t pulled the punched hole sprocket feed from the sides of continuous stationary.  Stopping by the Bentley, he fed it all into the glovebox, his office away from home, direct Inbox/Outbox to Hell.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fanfic and would like to read more, here is my Master List

[the-almighty-gob-john-langley]

#Bristol_Election_2024.

Someone once described me as being about as subtle as a chainsaw because I've always spoken my mind, regardless. Having spent many years living up in the Northwest where speaking one's mind is pretty much de rigueur, speaking openly may ruffle many a feather or two, however, there is also an amount of respect given for people being honest with one another, and someone would have to have exceptionally weak back vertebrae to be as ready to take offense as southerners would. I guess that's always been one of the main differences between what was very much the industrial north, and the white-collar south.

I'm one of those marmite people, so, you'll either take to me, or you won't. There's no in-between at all. Am I bothered either way? Absolutely not, because none of us can be all things to all people, and, quite frankly, you don't pay for the roof over my head, my bills, or the food on my table, so, why should I even care? I own myself 100%, and that's what matters to me more than anything else. Take it, or leave it. Like it, or lump it. Your choice entirely. I will still be my honest self, and speak my mind.

Therefore, when it comes to the bullshit I read and hear it will be unsurprising that I pass comments, as my social media and blog site respectively reflect. Take, for instance, the splash headlines regarding the Royal Highmesses William, and Kate. Actually no, I'll take that back. It's the two ex-pats that are Highmesses. Never mind, the point being a bloke of royal personage visits his wife in hospital and it's reported as being something groundbreaking for him to do. He'd better watch it or he'll be starting a whole new trend before we know it, and Okay magazine will be heralding the royal prince as the next best thing to the second coming. Utter bullshit! Ah, well, I suppose on the brighter side it makes a change from stories such as Wolverhampton's Sandra, who had her toenails clipped by a gorilla while on safari at Whipsnade.

Of course, if you really want the real deal where bullshit of the highest possible level is concerned, look no further than our politicians, the grandmasters of it. If there was ever a Nobel Prize for bullshit, Britain would probably win time, and time again. Did that seem at all biased, by the way? Okay, so maybe it'll be between us lot on this side of the pond, and Trump on t'other. You know what I mean. Anyway, sticking to this side of that great divide known as the Atlantic, right now we have a choice between Titchy Suitsize in number ten, and Schizoid Starmer in wait, and not in number ten. I won't even bother mentioning the Postmasters/Mistresses all-time favourite, Second class Davey who, despite recent revelations of him being perhaps, one of the all time great political bullshitters, isn't worth any further tapping of the keyboard. Oh yes, let's not forget the Greens, but there again.

So, moving quickly on, is there anyone actually out there with a beating heart who still, and wholeheartedly believes in our politicians, I wonder, or is that pig I see flying past my window as I type going to stop and ask how my day is going? Maybe Red Rum will resurface as the winner of this year's Grand National, who knows? For sure, I don't. That's why, for the most part, I let it all drift by as being potentially harmful to my chakras - wherever they are! You see, I did once, possibly twice, and potentially three times take an interest in politics and being elected on both a local and national basis, and, perhaps more surprisingly, without the intervention of a psychiatrist - despite my neurodivergency diagnosis.

Although, and it's a big ALTHOUGH, I have to declare my surge of interest towards standing again, and I'm almost convinced it has nothing whatsoever to do with the medication I'm on. In fact, I've taken great lengths in doing my research as to potential side effects, and so far, there are no contraindications that in any way suggest the manifestation of political hallucinations when digesting pills for a malfunctioning pancreas, arterial sclerosis, and emphysema. Although there's still time yet, and who knows, I may well be on morphine by the time the next election, and if I am, then this is likely to be an election no one in Bristol will forget! It'll either be the best or worst ever, so, if I were you I'd begin crossing my fingers, revert to your by now dusty rosary beads, start going to whatever place of worship takes your fancy, or, keep both legs crossed and hope you don't start a leakage pattern anytime soon.

I'll have you know I've spent a great many seconds giving thought to why I should stand again, sometimes even minutes - spaced out of course. No, I'm not saying I've been spaced out, fool. Just that the opportunity is being considered as to what I would have to offer as a potential candidate, other than a much-needed sense of humour to deal with all the crap that would come my way, given my well documented, and superbly, illustrious past. Perhaps I should ask myself again. So, please hold, and enjoy the ambient sounds of subliminal whales in mating season against crashing waves while I check. You'll feel so much better in yourself for doing so. I can almost, but not quite guarantee it as you begin to breathe and relax.

Have you breathed? Excellent, it does help. Especially as I may require you to still be around with functioning lungs whenever the election is in progress. Please remember, at all times that votes are counted as null and void when you're six feet under.

That said, I have now fully consulted with myself, and adjudication was deemed unnecessary on this occasion.

Of course, it goes without saying that I also have a very serious side, and this is where I segue into questioning where the real people are in politics. Now, when I say 'real' I'm referring to ordinary folks, like myself. Those who haven't benefitted from a university degree, or a cosseted upbringing. Not that I have anything against that, of course, as everyone has their part to play. Or do they? Where's the roadsweeper who made his way up the ladder to become a director of the company? Where's the care home worker who, after years of wiping backsides enters politics because their experience gives them something to offer that's based on hard work? Where's the bus driver who climbed that ladder over many years to reach a senior level within his company, or the postman who, just like former MP Alan Johnson, entered politics? Where are these ordinary, working-class people? More importantly, where in parliament is there a balance between those who have had the benefit of university degrees and those who have not?

To me, this present system feels somewhat elitist with, in general, people who have never had to live through the voracities of life, and who don't know what hardship really means because it's never been part of their journey, and, to Labour's credit, at least they have names such as Angela Rayner, who was brought up on a council estate and began her working life as a care worker. Using a well-known saying - she literally is "one of the few, not the many" in politics today. Again, Raynor is one of those typically down-to-earth northerners who speaks her mind and tells you what you need to know, rather than what you want to hear - in no uncertain terms. You get the cake with no icing, unlike just about everyone else within the higher echelons of frontline national politics.

There's a class war within politics I don't resonate with, perhaps even a certain snobbery regarding the selection process for those we elect, of which I go against the grain. I'm an outsider who has never toed the line of life, as most people would know it, they find it uncomfortable. There is little they can relate to about my life because few have done the things I have. Am I about to change in a way that would please others? Absolutely not, because I am not a people pleaser As I said before, I am my own person, and therefore presumed to be a danger to the status quo. Which, of course, is total bullshit. Besides, as I've also said before, we cannot please all of the people all of the time, and who would want to anyway?

So, I would stand for election as an independent, simply because, to my mind, it is fairer to the electorate by not being bound to a party whip, not playing the favourites game, and being freely able to decide in my own best opinion and based on the evidence presented, what provides the best possible and fairest outcome all around given the circumstances laid out before me at that time. I've seen how Bristol has declined faster than a Japanese kamikaze pilot over recent years under Labour's Mayoral leadership, and it concerns me that the council may be teetering on 'special measures' - even though it may well be regarded by some as a bit of a stretch. I don't know what it is, or where it comes from, I just have this acute gut feeling that all is not well concerning the city's finances, and whatever's there and amiss will become apparent following the departure of our current elected mayor.

In my honest opinion, the administration of Bristol will require exceptionally long bootstraps to pull itself up by, and I have some continued hard thinking to do.