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[stuckinapril]

megan thee stallion is the perfect example of unbothered energy. nicki has repeatedly vagueposted about her, gone on unhinged rants about her, gone so far as to mention her dead mother (such a classless low blow), threatened her on live, and has now released the tackiest diss track in history. and what has megan done? literally nothing. she straight up ignored her, aside from that one ig story where she posted herself laughing (which was perfect btw). she is the epitome of “i will not dignify that w a response.” i love it.

[to-the-all-blue]

How's a guy supposed to function...?

[endlesslytired]

Penacony.

more from the post looooop:

[coolguycore]

a victor!!

ive been drawing an absurd amount of yes mans.. yesmen... so here is a victor i drew a bit ago!!! i always want to draw him tipping his hat like a cowboy does but that is... Not Possible.. so here is my solution to that problem!!!

i love him!!! he is my favoritest ever i think

[age-of-moonknight]

“Mini Marvels,” Phases of the Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2024), #3.

Writer and Artist: Chris Giarrusso; Letterer: Cory Petit

[muirneach]

convinced that someone at the atp is purposefully choosing the goofiest images of danya possible for every article. i mean i know he’s not the most graceful guy but do you have to do him so dirty every time

[clarionglass]

archangel 2.0 (game master cinematic universe, part 8) | read on ao3

“Absolutely not,” Siobhan said when she rounded the corner to see Sam’s evil doppelganger coming the opposite way down the corridor. “Whatever plans you’re cooking up, I’m not in the mood for them today.”

Other Sam just shrugged at her. “No plans. Perfectly innocent, that’s me.”

“Like hell,” Siobhan replied. “You’ve already fucked with me once, I’m not believing that for a second. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact you shouldn’t be filming today.”

“You people commandeered my home, not the other way around,” Other Sam said with clearly forced patience.

Siobhan just hummed in response, noncommittal and suspicious, and Other Sam tilted his head to examine her closely, then straightened, pleased with what he saw.

“You never really liked me, did you, Siobhan?” he asked, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his lips. “You always had a feeling that something was off. You know, it's funny what the subconscious remembers, even when it didn't really happen.”

“God,” Siobhan bit out with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Fuck. Yes. I know you wiped my memory, well done you, you can stop fucking gloating about it.”

“Aw, you think I'm talking about that? Oh, no. You've seen me before. Trusted me, even.” 

Other Sam smiled, and when he spoke next, his voice was different. “Enough to vote for me, as it happens.”

“What the fuck?” Siobhan asked, genuinely bewildered, because that voice was eerily familiar. Though it hadn't crossed her mind in nearly 20 years, it used to be everywhere, back in her uni days. Political advertisements, news briefings, Question Time; you could barely turn on the TV without hearing it.

“Oh, good,” Other Sam said instead of answering, back to his usual accent and clearly pleased with himself. “I was worried I mightn't have kept the voice.”

“But that was—” Siobhan began, and faltered. It was English, for a start, pitch perfect in a way that didn't feel like a put-on accent. The range, the register, the cadence—they were all slightly different from Sam's, but somehow just as natural. Firm and authoritative, but in a friendly way. The voice of a politician you would be happy to vote for. The voice of a politician she had voted for, in fact, seventeen years ago. 

“That was Harold Saxon,” she said in disbelief. “You can't—no. Do you mimic voices, or—”

“Oh, no,” Other Sam replied cheerfully. “That was me. He was me.”

Siobhan just looked at him flatly. “You can't expect me to believe that.”

“Believe me or not, it's true,” he said. “It's a fun little thing called regeneration.”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “And what's that?”

Other Sam mustn't have been expecting her to call him on that, or had revealed more than he planned to, because to Siobhan's private delight, he looked suddenly uncomfortable. He folded his arms, closing himself off—but even so, was unable to fully hide his unease, fingers tapping out a restless tic on his upper arm. 

“Quirk of Time Lord biology,” he answered shortly. 

“You're not getting away with a half-arsed answer like that,” she snapped back. “What does it mean?”

He paused, weighing his words carefully, even as the jitters in his fingers betrayed him. “We don't die,” he said slowly. “Or, we do, but… it's not permanent death. We change.”

“Change what?”

Another pause, another careful consideration of how much to reveal; silence, except for that faint, almost imperceptible tapping.

“Everything,” he replied eventually. “Face, body, even the way we think, to an extent. Every single cell, overwritten.”

“Bullshit,” Siobhan breathed. But—it was just something to say. Deep in her heart, she believed him. 

Other Sam just shook his head. “I was Harold Saxon,” he said—not an insistence, but a fact, solid as stone. “You knew me, Siobhan. The whole world did.”

It was too much to be true, but it couldn't be a lie. She felt the disquiet building in the pit of her stomach, felt her own knotted fingers start to fidget, drumming out a quiet rhythm.

“Why?” she asked. “Harold Saxon was PM for a couple of days, then had some kind of mental break and was never seen again. What did you have to gain from doing that?”

“That's only what happened the second time round,” he said softly. “The first time was much more interesting.”

Something didn't feel right. The world felt unstable, like at any minute, the wallpaper that was the backdrop to reality would start to sag and peel. But Other Sam had the answers, it seemed. And there was security in knowledge. 

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“You know what happened,” Other Sam said. “Even if it didn't happen, not really. But I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” she breathed, and Sam's exact double met her eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. 

“Do you trust me, Siobhan?”

And the funny thing was, she did. Despite it all, despite everything she knew and everything he had done, she couldn't help but believe in him. Everything he said sounded rational, reliable, reassuring—a port in the storm. 

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, then, slow and broad, and she trusted that, too. “I'm glad, because this might be… uncomfortable.”

Other Sam pulled out his microphone from inside his jacket pocket and aimed it at her. It made a strange buzzing noise, the tip glowing bright, and suddenly she was bent double, clutching her head as pain a thousand times worse than any migraine she'd ever had splintered through her skull. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't escape the agonising clarity as memories she had previously believed to be whole and solid peeled apart into two mirrored pieces. 

On June 20th, 2007, Siobhan Thompson voted Saxon in the UK general election.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, and the broadcast of an apparent “first contact” suddenly cut to a black screen.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, then looked out upon his domain with satisfaction as the sky opened wide like a mouth, spilling out millions and millions of bladed metal spheres that laughed with the voices of children.

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night partying with friends, ringing in the new year with hopes that 2008 would bring nothing but good things. 

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night tossing and turning in a fitful sleep after another day slaving in the labour camps, producing resources for the Master’s war to come. Her days consisted of nothing but work and sleep, with barely a thought to spare about what the new year would bring, but if she had been pressed to name a hope—it would be for relief. In one form or another.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought about America. It held the promise of a bright future, maybe a career in her chosen field of archaeology, or maybe any number of exciting new opportunities. It would be scary, uprooting her entire life to move halfway around the world, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was jump.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought one word, the one word that united the entire planet. It held the promise of a bright future, the revival of a god and the downfall of a devil, the world unfolding with possibilities outside the confines of the labour camps that were all she’d known for the past year. It was scary, placing her trust—her life—in nothing more than a story, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was believe.

Both timelines were true. One had been reversed when the paradox that sustained it had been broken, but Siobhan couldn't deny that they both had happened. Impossibly, the parallel sets of memories were carved equally deep into her mind and body, the life she knew existing side by side with the ghosts of trauma.

In the present, she looked at Other Sam—the Master—with abject horror.

“You can’t have,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“But I did,” Other Sam replied cheerfully, and god, it was a mindfuck, aligning the atrocities of the year that never was with the familiar face of a friend she’d known for years. The deaths, the labour camps, the slavery, the shipyards, the radiation pits; all to feed a war that would reach across the stars, and all masterminded by the man who now stood in front of her as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“And now you’re here,” Siobhan hissed. “From fucking… god-emperor of the Earth to just working at Dropout, huh?”

“Oh, all of that was the old me,” Other Sam said innocently. “I’ve changed. In more ways than one,” he added, with that little peering-at-his-hands gesture that Siobhan recognised from the Deja Vu recording. 

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to just trust that?”

“You did a minute ago,” Other Sam replied with a faint smile.

Her heart sank. She had. She undeniably had. She’d let him fuck with her brain without even questioning it, because when he asked, she’d trusted him implicitly, even when mere moments before she was questioning him with all the suspicion she could muster.

Which meant, worst of all, that that feeling of trust hadn’t come from her.

“How did you—?”

“The Archangel network,” Other Sam said, not even bothering to hide his smugness. “Remember that?”

Of course she did. It was the best carrier, back in the day, before it went offline—shortly after Harold Saxon was removed as Prime Minister, as a matter of fact. She’d used it. Everyone had used it.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he continued. “A low-level psychic field, moving your thoughts to exactly where I wanted them. And even though the satellites were taken down, that was still nearly eighteen months of conditioning.”

“Fuck you,” Siobhan breathed.

Other Sam grinned. “Can’t do it across the whole planet anymore, but one-on-one, well, let’s just say I have a rather… magnetic personality. So if I give you that same stimulus…”

He began drumming his fingers again, and this time, Siobhan could see it for what it truly was. Not a fidget, but a signal, written deep into her subconscious seventeen years ago—abandoned, forgotten, but never truly gone. And she had echoed it so readily, she realised, had been sucked into the pattern without even noticing. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Trust me, it said somewhere deep in her brainstem, soft and insidious and unable to be ignored. Believe in me. And—

“Stop it!” she snapped, clenching her fists to still her traitorous fingers.

Other Sam raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what,” she growled, holding onto her anger like a shield. “The drumming.”

He laughed, a bitter little huff of a sound. “If only you understood the irony of asking me that. But fine, if you insist.”

As she felt that creeping influence leave her, Siobhan let her hands relax, but not her mind. “Don't you ever try that on me again.”

Other Sam just pulled a mournful face. “But it's so much fun!” he protested.

As Siobhan glared daggers at him, he raised his hands, palms facing outwards in surrender. “Don't worry, don't worry,” he said. “I've got places to be. In fact, you've actually given me a very good idea.”

“No, no—”

“I'm leaving you alone, Siobhan. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No, fuck—”

It was too late. Other Sam was already walking down the corridor purposefully, ignoring her completely. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out her phone and began to write a text. 

---

Sam burst into the editing suite, Siobhan close behind, to see his doppelganger sitting at one of the computers with a look of quiet focus. 

He looked up when he heard the door, and seeing who had just entered, sneered. “Oh. It's the cavalry.”

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.

His double merely gave him a cool look. “Tell you later.”

“Hell no, dog,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Sam's double blinked to see Lou, still breathing heavily from what must have been a jog from the other end of the studio. 

“Tch. You, too?”

“Course,” Lou replied, looking at Siobhan with fierce pride. 

Sam, now fully inside the room, stepped out of the doorway to let Lou enter, which he did with a glint in his eye. 

The Master merely watched, one eyebrow raised coolly as the other man walked close, staring him down the entire time. And when a fist rocketed into his shoulder, hard and accurate, the carefully-cultivated air of perfect nonconcern shattered as he winced in pain.

“That's for Escape the Greenroom, you sick son of a bitch,” Lou said, shaking out his hand. 

Other Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders back with an audible crunch. “Fine,” he shrugged, the lines of pain in his face giving the lie to his nonchalant words. “Fine. Get it out, if you have to.”

Lou smiled dangerously. “Good,” he said, and wound up once again. 

The second punch hit Other Sam squarely in the jaw, and was even harder than the first. 

“And that's for everything you did to the world. And more importantly, everything you did to my friend.” He turned back to Siobhan. “Good?”

“Good,” she confirmed. Her smile faded as she switched her gaze to Other Sam. “Get fucked.” 

“Hell yeah,” Lou said with satisfaction, and turned to go. “Yeah, you can schedule me with him for shit now,” he added as he passed by Sam, who nodded.

With a click, the door closed behind him, leaving Sam and his doppelganger, still rubbing life back into his jaw, alone in the editing suite.

“I can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Sam remarked.

His double merely sniffed, turning his attention back to the monitor.

“So. Now it’s just us, like you wanted, what is it that you’ve really been doing in here?”

“Getting you more subscribers,” his doppelganger replied matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that something you want?”

“Well—”

“Sam,” came the cool response. “Come on. I know how much you stress about those budget meetings, because you say it’s part of my penance to pretend to be you in some of them.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “I’ve been so good about it, too. Haven’t murdered even one of your board, and it’s been incredibly tempting. But you need the revenue, you need the profits, you need the subscribers.”

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I’m doing you a favour,” his double said softly, seeing the light of resistance fade from his eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone, it’s just a low-level psychic signal that nobody will notice. Subconsciously prompting social media viewers to actually subscribe, if they like what they see. And share it with their friends, and so on. It’s all for the benefit of Dropout, I promise.”

“You know I’ve gotta suspect you’ve got an ulterior motive, right?” Sam asked.

“I know,” his doppelganger replied. “But even if you don’t trust me, and you think I’m up to something—well, whatever that is, it’s a problem for later, right?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, please don't ask me to trust you. Siobhan told me what you did.”

His doppelganger just shrugged. “That was then.”

“She also told me what you did about ten minutes ago.”

“Like I said,” his double countered. “That was then. But I’m grounded, remember? I have to use my talents, brilliant as they are, for good. Or whatever you call good, anyway. The good of the company, maybe, and it’s definitely that.”

“Look. I’m only agreeing because I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial,” Sam said slowly, after a few moments’ thinking time, and he watched as a grin spread like oil across his double’s face. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Cross my hearts,” the Master replied.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x brian and other sam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): x part eight (archangel 2.0): you are here!

[virto-the-weirdo]

Me when I realise I have to wait another month for the YouTube release of an episode which everybody else saw already:

Please mark your posts with new content as spoilers for the sake of everyone who can't watch the newest episodes ToT.

[pencildragons]

i cant help but wonder if john is going to use his newfound projection abilities to save arthur next episode??? like we have only seen him use it the once, and while that was rlly draining on arthur's body, he was also kind of mirroring the kiy. i do think it would be interesting narratively if john Did have this ability but couldnt use it without the threat of mutual destruction (arthur's life and john's humanity) HOWEVER it would be fascinating if john, fuelled by much more selfless reasons than a power grab or protecting just himself, was able to project in some manner to help. because god knows an evil knife to the chest is NOT within your average medieval english barber-dentist-doctor's skillset

[cowboy-robooty]

good evening. instead of writing 1000 words of futanari on male smut tonight to settle in, i shall add "homophobic gay man" to my laundry list of allegations (gaslighter, manipulator, thumb rhythm game player, the stealing candy from babies incident, etc).

guys imma be so ngl rn i #won because they took the bl tag off the summer hikaru died 😄

MY LEGAL NAME IS FUDANSHI SUPREME BUT THE SUMMER HIKARU DIED IS MILES BETTER WITHOUT THE BL TAG BECAUSE WELL..... ITS NOT REALLY ABOUT BOYS LOVE LIKE OBVIOUSLY ITS SO INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT HOW YOSHIKI WAS IN LOVE WITH HIKARU BUT LIKE JUST BECAUSE ANNA BEING MADLY IN LOVE WITH TANUKICHI IN SHIMONETA IS A MAJOR PLOT POINT THAT DONT MEAN SHIMONETA IS A ROMANCE ANIME.

look the summer hikaru died is absolutely fucking fantastic it is incredible the story is gripping the characters are wunderbar the art is gorgeous i think that the yokai elements are wonderfully mixed in and you feel a genuine sense of fear and unease at times imagining yourself living in this town thats slowly unravelling at the seams. theres no debate about how fucking amazing the summer hikaru died is okay genuinely it rises above the rest but also i think that taking off the BL tag was such a win because yoshikis ongoing mourning of hikaru is literally the main plot focus and its so much more interesting when you can see it as more than just "doomed yaoi". yoshiki obviously regrets never being able to tell hikaru his romantic feelings and definately mourns the boy he loved but its so much more than that because more than missing his crush he misses his best friend. hikaru was yoshikis best buddy they were for real best friends and people tend to always act as though romantic feelings are superior in depth to platonic ones when thats not true at all. if anything i think yoshiki misses "hikaru my best friend" more than "hikaru my crush" because he had two sided best friendship and they were eachothers player one and two. Sometimes your crush will move away and its heart breaking but when its one sided you can endure, but a best friend? Your best friend is the shoulder you cry on. the guy you give the other half of your popsicle to. the guy who remembers you prefer extra ice in your drinks and dislike cola for the weird feeling it leaves on your teeth. Hikaru was yoshikis right hand man and now hes been replaced by someone who looks and walk and talks and has all the same facets of hikaru except his soul. In fact I think the only reason Yoshiki can't accept Hikaru *IS* because he was his best friend. Because despite the fact that this "Hikaru" is exactly the sams to Hikaru in practically every single way; yoshiki still can't accept him because his best friend can't be replaced. This manga has put Yoshiki is such an interesting and complex deliemma. Because yoshiki is stuck in this strange mix of convoluted feelings where he begins to love "Hikaru" as a seperate entity from Hikaru, but it feels as though this love is being pried out from a sticky sludge that is his original love for the real Hikaru. Yoshiki initially could only go through all of this out of his internal desire to cling to Hikaru, despite the fact he bears the knowledge everyday that he's just spending time with something that just reminds him of his best friend. And his care + empathy for the "Hikaru" next to him is something that originally was only a by product from his love for the original goods, but by now in the story he literally has admitted that he has grown to love "hikaru" seperately. When I started writing this post it was April lol and then this sat in my drafts forever, so now this got said out loud, but before it got said out loud you really could feel the jumbled and confused emotions Yoshiki was enduring regarding "Hikaru". It's something I don't even think I can put into words, but it was communicated so well through the author's story telling abilities. All these feelings can't be summed up in just Yoshiki having a crush on Hikaru. He feels so much more than that. To me at least, I think that this story is elevated by Yoshiki having a crush on Hikaru, but could still have happened if he didn't. While the vice versa could not be true. It makes me upset when this story gets boiled down to toxic yaoi and everyone ignores the fact that their best friendship is so deepy important (if not MORE important than the romantic intentions) when it comes to Yoshiki's emotional strife regarding the original Hikaru.

[dennisboobs]

charlie day & that one pair of black jeans

[to-the-all-blue]

On my walk home from the cafe I was thinking about Sanji (as one does) and how every influence in his life for 19 years screamed at him to hunker down, stay silent, and never appear weak.

As much as I love Zeff and know he loved Sanji, it's clear he has such a straight-laced and unflinching view of masculinity and what it means to be a man. The environment on the Baratie was an extension of that.

It was a machismo world where affection was hidden behind kicks to the head and insults. The kind of environment where cutting your hand or something gets a response of "what? You call that an injury? Don't cry over nothing". Where outright kindness has to be dragged out of people, and then immediately covered up with a half-baked insult.

Throw into that environmemt a little boy who is desperate to prove he's not the failure he was told he was, and out pops a man who wears his heart on his sleeve for "acceptable manly emotions" but who hides real emotions behind anger, and hides pain (physical or emotional) altogether so as not to seem weak.

Tack onto that the idea that the only surefire way to show love is through self sacrifice (his mom + Zeff), then of course Sanji will be all sorts of jacked up.

We see throughout the series how Sanji is so unwilling to be vulnerable or to even admit he's feeling hurt at all. Plaster a smile on, make some comment about loving women, and voila! He's the man's man everyone expects. No need to worry about him. After all: he's strong.

...🥺

[evilkaeya]

holy fuck I just had a thought ok hear me out what if it's nikolai who saves dazai from the falling elevator? what if he gets him out and puts him in a room with chuuya who's still a rabid vampire, separating them from fyodor and sigma, to see what'll happen. yk with the entire if I cut off the one I feel the most gravitated towards will I finally be free? silliness he's got going on, it's only natural he'd want to see it happen to others. Will you be able to kill your prince dazai? Now that he's trying to kill you, really kill you, will you be able to pierce his heart? And chuuya? What will he do when he comes to his senses and sees that he'd killed the one he gave his heart to so many years ago? How will he feel? Will he go feral or will he collapse entirely?

[eggsploded]

ONE whole yi sang

[age-of-moonknight]

“Khonshu: Strikefile,” Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu (Vol. 1/2024), #0.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[muirneach]

spending 15 minutes telling your non tennis friends about the state of tennis is actually the most fun you can have as a tennis fan. they do not like this as much but at least im enjoying this