#but man i miss this era of television

[ficklepenguin]

god i've been watching house md and they just don't make em like this anymore

watching wilson get pissed at house and yell at him then turn around and defend him and lie for him at the risk of his career

no wonder people are so feral for them

[anitalenia]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 𝐎𝐇, 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋, 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝓘𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 . ♡ 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑢𝑒. 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 ♡ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ dark knight!joker x fem!reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ suggestive content, mature content, reader is spoiled but not a brat, reader isn’t necessarily a good person, joker is lowkey your sugar daddy, inner turmoil and lowkey delusions, joker being manipulative ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ slight dark content, a lot of emotional turmoil with reader, lowkey brainwashed reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ this is actually like my fav. Joker, I miss him 😞 hope you enjoy ♡ also, this isn’t my best merged gif but I haven’t done one since my wattpad days 😫 2017 era 🕺🏻 Sorry this has no smut in it, but this is my first joker fic so I wanted to do something tame. I’m not sure how I would approach writing smut for him 😭 he cray cray. I do like this idea though so I’ll probably expand on it somewhere down the line. ♡

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ♡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍. This was a fact constantly paraded around your face everywhere you went in Gotham City. It was in the front pages of newspapers most often, written in big, black, bold letters that the bad man had struck again. Murder, ruination, destruction, robbery, devil — all synonymous with his name, all written in big, black, bold letters.

It would be written in the same newspapers, more often than not, that were shoved into dingy trash cans and sold at corner stores. A big gray photo of his mugshot plastered right onto the front page of the neatly rolled up papers thrown onto your porch every morning. His face was easily distinguishable and it always made you shiver when you saw it; soulless black eyes topped with a frazzled hair of green.

It was televised in the local breaking news segments almost every day on the hour, when you’d be sitting at your glass table drinking your morning coffee, wearing that grand red robe that was much more expensive than necessary. It was always the same story; the bad man has stolen millions from another major bank and has somehow gotten away with it, whatever will Gordon do?

The joker. His face, those beaming crimson lips, they were plastered on the tabloids and the front pages of magazines and painted across the wanted posters that hung on every light pole installed on every block in the grandest city of grime.

He was everywhere you seemed to be, watching, smiling, plotting. His scarred face a shadow in the back of your mind and his maniacal laugh an echo that lingered behind your every thought.

He was in every reflection and sprinkled around every corner; the yellow tape wrapped around the ruins of a building, the joker playing cards mockingly laid out in the street brushing past you in the soft breeze, the eery quiet after nightfall and the laugh dancing in the empty streets everyone pretends to not notice.

He was like a ghost, your own personal demon you couldn’t just brush to the side and ignore. His presence was constant and persistent even when he wasn’t there, gnawing at your sanity like a feral dog thin and hungry, the memory of his smile found in the cold corners of your house and his sourly sweet musk soaked into every pore of your polished home. His very existence haunted you, as you were sure he intended.

No matter the source the message was always profoundly clear to you; you could never escape him.

You belonged to him in his own possessively twisted way you could never rationalize with a sound mind. You were his and he loved to entertain that notion in front of you as often as he could. He had spared your life that night in a carefully orchestrated plot to ensnare you, wrap you in his shadow and keep you tucked away in the dark.

You were his.

Yes, That was a fact that blared in your mind as loud and as simple as big, black, bold letters.

You were his.

Today was a dreaded day for you for one fatal reason and one reason alone. Today was the first of November, a very dreaded day you had found yourself dreading to face during the whole length of October.

With every beginning of a new month he would take it upon himself to visit you, invite himself into your life once more and disrupt any kind of routine uniformity you had developed. He’d come just to remind you of who exactly you belonged to, of who exactly gave you this life to begin with.

Of course, you would see him sparingly throughout the month when he’d come check up on you unannounced — it was really just a ploy to make sure you were sat put and not planning anything devious behind his back. Those moments were short and brief, sporadic and sometimes only ever occurring thrice within a thirty day period. Those moments were manageable.

He was a busy man he’d always say, too busy to attend to you and your whims.

But now it was the first of the month, the beginning of the month. He reserved those days especially for you, to give you his undivided attention and to ensure you’re properly reminded of your place. Today, Joker was going to come to your door once more with the expectation of you catering to his delusion, with the intention of being with you in every sense of the word.

You had found yourself lingering in bed later than usual, being sure to keep the television off to avoid yet another news story on the man you were going to see later on in the evening anyway.

You had avoided going outside, avoided any newspapers or magazines, completely disrupting your normal ritual in order to remain sane at the expectation of what was to occur later on. You didn’t want to see his face, it only served as a heinous reminder of what your life had become; long fragmented strings orchestrated under his wicked, purple gloved fingers.

You had just sat in your living room for the majority of the afternoon in a sweet green dress with a glass of white wine, reading a thick, verbose book you had no real interest in finishing. It might’ve been a dictionary, but you couldn’t focus on the words anyway to know, your eyes just blindly running over blurs of black ink and dwindling for several long minutes on the same page.

Your fingers trembled and you couldn’t help but gnaw on your bottom lip until it was sore, your wine glass constantly refilled and your throat consistently dry.

A part of you hoped that if you drank enough wine you’d be too tipsy to properly remember your night with him; your efforts were pointless and had been for quite some time. Sadly, your tolerance had heightened many moons ago when you found yourself starting to drink more to abide the anxious time you sat waiting, waiting for him.

These were the tell tale signs of your foreboding nervousness, all attempts of futile idle work to distract yourself from looking at the clock overhead your television.

It was a big flat screen, your fancy television was, with the best surround sound and 4K picture any tv on the market could offer. It was unnecessary and cruelly gratuitous — another flashy thing thrown your away to appease you when all it did was take up space. But, you supposed, it’d be selfish to complain.

As with the tv almost everything in your household had been given to you unmerited by the Joker himself; the diamonds, the fancy silver, the lavish fabrics and the fine jewelry. It was all luxuries you used to admire, now they were nothing but blood money to you. They were all one in the same, all tainted with some sort of sin or another he had committed to get them for you in the first place. You really couldn’t stand to be surrounded by them, to be surrounded by the filth.

But, you supposed once more, it wasn’t necessarily unmerited.

If you were really being honest with yourself he had spoiled you, or better put, he had fooled you. He had dangled all the riches and glamour you could’ve ever wanted over your starved, gaping mouth like a chunk of red meat.

You had been skin and bones before him, suffering, discarded to the side of the road like a diseased dog nobody wanted and he had used that to his full advantage, dangling that chunk of meat in front of your face as a faulty promise to ensnare you in his steel trap.

In your old life — that’s what you liked to call it anyway — before him, you were never able to dwell on superficial things like beauty or fashion. They had no place with you then, no substance, as your life was nothing but a dirty stain smeared in the smallest corner of Gotham that would easily tarnish such superficial things. It was a disastrous life held together by the withered scraps of a run down waitressing job.

You had been poor, incredibly so, hungry for the comfort and wealth you’d only ever see dripping off the fancy ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to in their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You were envious of them, angry, easily able to be coerced into any solution that could fix those feelings.

He had viewed your vulnerability as an opportunity, a moment he couldn’t let pass. He had manipulated you with the hollow promises of a magical land full of diamonds and rubies, one in which you’d never be hurt or forgotten about, one in which you’d get everything you ever desired and all your worries would bleed away, one in which you’d look even better than the ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to with their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You had salivated at the thought.

He knew you had been deprived for so long, deprived of love and care, of the warmth and intimacy only a real home could provide. You had missed that sense of belonging, of purpose, and he knew that in the way he selflessly fed to your greedy jaws of want — you wanted it all. He had shown up like a savior adorned in a purple cloak and green hair, coming to your aid. And despite the terrible rumors you had heard about him, the abominable things you’d seen, you had truly thought he was so for a while.

He had saw your famine, your insatiable appetite, and had raised you prosperity, an abundance of all the food, the money, you could ever want. If only you had seen that his promises were just carefully coated secrets to disguise his true intent, a bountiful paradise concealing the sinister hellscape underneath it.

It all seemed like a dream come true at the time. You had ate the scraps of luxury right out of his purple clothed palm and it wasn’t long before you had realized that you’d ate too much; you’d been spoiled by him, fooled by him, so familiar in the unconventional relationship you had found within him now to ever regret doing so.

You could never go back to your old life now and you knew it, he knew it. You could never go back to the dark, to the sick, to the cruelty of the real world outside of your selfishly curated paradise abundant with food, with money, more than you’d ever had in the accumulation of your whole existence. He had trained you well, fed you so much your teeth were rotten and your belly was full.

If only you had known that there was a price, a trick, before you ever agreed to his terms. If only you had read the fine print in the contract, for there was always a price to pay, a trick up their sleeve, when it came to the matters of a clown.

Yes, you were to be given everything you ever wanted, all the money, the clothes, the makeup, the jewelry, everything, but only in exchange for just one little thing.

Your devotion.

Your devotion to him and to him alone and to only ever him.

It seems meager of course, insignificant and small compared to what you were getting in return.

But no, no you see, because there was so much more to it as there always was to a slippery, two-sided promise. He wanted everything in return for giving you everything in the first place. He wanted your loyalty, your trust, your morals, your essence and your very soul. You were rich in the material sense while he was wealthy in a morbidly different fashion entirely.

He had saved you from the street, gave you food, gave you comfort, gave you a home, and just like a dog you had been blinded by his compassion, too blinded by the glitz and the glamour of his castle to notice the cracks in it’s foundation.

He had saved you, fed you, comforted you, clothed you, his loyal pet, bound to his side forever now with a diamond studded collar, your leash tied to the sinister intricacies of his pale hands.

Now, now you were his in all of your totality, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical bitch dressed up in blood-stained diamonds.

There was no saving you now. You were too far gone, too spoiled by him to ever give up your riches for sanity’s sake. He had filled you with that sense of belonging you desperately craved, your existence catered to him and his needs in exchange for a modicum of companionship.

As time went on you had come to loath your two story home and its white walls, its glass tables and expensive vases, its flower ridden garden and its white oak gazebo. It was too extravagant now, each shiny object digging a hole further in the hollow of your chest where your morals were supposed to be. Now it was all material, all superficial, all things given to appease you yet they only took up space.

But, you supposed for a third time, you could never give it up and go back to the way things were. Yes, you hated this house and its white washed walls that seemed to expand and swallow you whole, digesting your cowardice and greed, but you loved that it was all yours and no one else’s, you loved that he spoiled you and only you and you alone, that in a weird, twisted way you had his devotion just as he had yours.

You hated him and all his complexities yet you needed his company and praise. You were a poor, desolate creature lapping up any semblance of gold and care he spared you. Sometimes you’d wonder if there was better for you outside of your white-walled prison, but then he’d stroke your hair and call you a good girl and you’d wag your tail like it was all forgiven, like you were foolish for even thinking such a thought in the first place.

Yes, you were just as you said, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical, bitch.

You filled your wine glass up once more once the sky had settled into a sheer blue hue, the yellow tainted liquid filled to the edge of the glass as you looked at the clock pasted on the white wall over your fancy television with the fancy surround sound and the fancy 4K picture.

You took a heavy sip of dreaded excitement as the clock struck seven.

He’d be here any minute now.

“So, how ya been, honey? After all it’s been a month since the last time I saw you. I was starting to miss you, ya know. Miss ya real bad. Miss that pretty little smile on that pretty little face…” He drawled out slowly in that scratchy tone of his, his voice gritty and raw, fragmented.

You swallowed nervously as his fingers delicately traced over the skin of your cheek from where he stood in front of you, his black painted eyes looking up at you from the bridge of his nose.

He was hunched over in front of you in the stillness of your living room, amidst the white, both of you stood by the red couch yet he was taller than you as always, clad in his signature purple suit and gloves to match — they were soft on your cheek in the fleeting touch he spared them.

You looked back at him with a measly gaze, breath trembled with the subconscious fear you got whenever he was too close to you. His aura was palpable and dark, and with his irritable tendency to step into your personal space it seemed to swallow you whole and make you uncomfortable (not that he really cared). But you also guessed that if you belonged to him trivial things such as boundaries didn’t really apply.

On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that your body wantonly sought out his whenever it sensed him near — the flutter in your tummy, the tightness in your legs and the excited buzzing in your hands. It was an irritating betrayal to your logical mind, who knew wanting him was wrong yet was left wanting anyway.

You had been steadily convincing yourself it was just the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome, but you were not kidnapped and he was no captor… well, in the literal sense of the word. But, maybe that’s exactly what this was; you doubted he’d ever let you leave him anyway. Unfortunately, you knew your affections weren’t as simple as black and white. Really, your feelings for him were a puzzling paradox locked in a spinning box better left unopened, lost somewhere in the dark abysses of your mind better left unexplored.

You inhaled a soft breath, blinking up at him as time, in your altered perception, seemed to stretch and bend into a warped mirage of endless minutes and infinite seconds as you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, the smell of him tickling your nose pleasantly.

He smelt of smoke and something sickly sweet, scents that reminded you of cane sugar and the residue of a house fire. His hair was stringy and green, slicked back away from his messily painted white face that seemed to bore into yours.

Your body was tense, back straight and chin up, your arms sternly at your sides as you were too perturbed to know what to do with them. You were awkward, more than usual, having not seem him in an uncharacteristically long time. You had forgotten what pleasantries you used to rely on when he was around, any automated responses you were comfortable with using lost in the fluffiness of the clouds where you’d never find them again.

You were clueless as to what to say, not wanting to give in to this odd domesticity he was portraying and actually be nice to him, but you also didn’t want to risk it and be rude either. He was an unpredictable creature at nature, confounding and bipolar so it took very little for his switch to flip completely. You’ve witnessed that first hand and it made you incredibly wary.

Joker hummed at you then, blank eyes staring at you expectantly when a few moments of silence passed following his question — you hadn’t really paid attention, his touch leaving you stunned and his fragrance leaving you questioning. He rolled his eyes at you, big hand curling into a fist and playfully knocking at your forehead.

You grimaced at the feeling, body jolting from his touch ever so subtly as his dark voice rasped in your ears once more.

“Uh, hello, anybody home? I asked you a question, it’d be rude not to answer it. You have better manners than that, my dear. Go on, tell me, I’m curious now…” You watched as his tongue quickly flickered out in that weird way it always did, his jaw clicking in the blink of an eye. It was a tick you had noticed fairly quickly after meeting him. He couldn’t help it but it disturbed you nonetheless, an ode to his insanity.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, head feeling fuzzy as you blinked up at him.

He looked at you with straight lips and bored eyes, already expecting a response you were late saying.

“I-um, I’m sorry I was just distracted. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Nothing new has-has really gone on…” You cleared your throat, releasing a steady breath to calm your buzzing nerves. You looked up at him sheepishly, timidly, as he regarded you clinically, like a surgeon trying to dissect a lie.

You could understand his vexation; you yourself were gradually becoming irritated at your lack of attentiveness. Maybe it was because you hadn’t seen him in so long that was throwing you off balance… or maybe because he seemed much handsomer now than he did then. Maybe your loneliness was making him seem much more appealing than he ever was.

Whatever the case may be, you still felt delightfully anxious, a bubbly sick feeling in your tummy that was oddly giddy yet nervous, like you were talking to your crush for the first time. You hated that feeling but could do nothing to deter it.

He smacked his red painted lips, a low displeased hum sounding from the back of his throat, “Mm, distracted, you say? And what are these… distractions, hmm?” His voice was low and clipped, cocking his head at you as he leaned just a little bit closer to you. It was almost a dare to see if you’d avoid the question altogether, his shadow enveloping you in an ironically terrifying way the back of your mind cringed at.

You were unsure of what to say exactly, crippled under his dark gaze and frowned smile as he stared down at you heatedly. His eyes were always so intense and smoldering despite seemingly holding nothing at the same time, blank and emotionless beads sat in the emptiness of inky black pits.

Your lips parted but no words seemed to sound; you were lost entirely in the ebony abyss of his eyes, not sure what to say or how to respond as you were just spewing sentences you yourself barely understood. You were just too busy talking to appease him that you didn’t even listen to a word you said.

“Well, tik tok dearest I don’t have all night.” Joker said numbly, gravelly, staring at you almost irritably for your odd behavior.

Even he seemed to notice your sudden shyness and it was starting to irritate him; you never seemed to have this problem before nor did you ever seem so agreeable. He was greatly familiar with your rude quips and pessimistic sarcasm yet he hadn’t heard a single one out of your mouth tonight.

How odd, not that he was complaining. He preferred you compliant, malleable.

You gulped once more, your gaze flickering down to his flattened red lips then back up to his eyes, hopefully before he noticed the action.

You looked back at him, clearly nervous for no evident reason, “Well I was just thinking about the last time I saw you. It has been a while…” You managed to formulate a legible excuse, voice soft and almost dainty as you looked up at him doe eyed.

You licked your dry lips as you regarded his expression to your statement; it seemed your words flowed easily from the whispers of the heart, ones you weren’t especially keen on sharing yet seemed to share anyway. They just seemed to have spoken themselves before you could stop them… he was just too close, much too close, it was fogging up your ability to think rationally.

His eyes seemed to register your words, brow flicking subtly in interest like you’d caught him off guard — you most likely did as you yourself weren’t even prepared to hear what you just said either.

He stared over your face heatedly, eyes an inky black, prodding with amusement and curiosity yet he just seemed to stare at you. The air shifted then, warmer now, more suffocating, as you felt your heart start to race at the close proximity and eye contact.

You could feel yourself start to panic slightly at the unexpected moment of intimacy you hadn’t meant to initiate, but you were also curious as to what he would say… maybe he’d surprise you. As you said, he was conclusively unpredictable and erratic, always leaving you guessing. Maybe he’d say something a part of you wanted to hear.

He was tall and narrow in the white expanse of your living room, a dark purple blotch stained on cream colored sheets, so out of place and vaguely threatening it made the air feel thick and smothering. You were finding it hard to think clearly with him this close to you, smelling like he did with his proper purple suit and shiny black shoes.

He was more polished today than usual, not so unruly and scraggly as he usually was… you could even make out the muscle sculpted underneath the confines of his purple suit and the way it tailored to his size perfectly and complimentary.

Maybe he tried to look good for you. Maybe just this once.

You couldn’t dwell on that thought however at the sound of Joker’s voice snatching your attention once more.

He seemed to have found your response funny, letting out a wheezy laugh as his smile seemed to stretch across his scarred face for eons. You were too tense to laugh, watching as he did instead, standing idly by in confusion on what could’ve revoked that kind of response out of him (perhaps even slightly offended that he would dare laugh at your showcased vulnerability).

But, you also knew trying to make sense of the Joker’s actions was entirely asinine. His whole being, his whole existence, was made to be senseless and absurd. You’d have to be his crazy to understand his crazy, a level you weren’t quite ready for.

He finally looked at you after his giggles transpired, regarding you with amused eyes and a wide smile.

“Ahh, so what you’re really saying is, you missed me?” He grinned, cocking his head at you animatedly, his yellow stained teeth bright in the dark expanse of his mouth.

You didn’t reply, too stunned he would say such a thing and too frightened by the pumping in your chest and the words caught in your throat. He was bold, brave even, for saying such a heavy thing so simply. You eyed him astounded, opting with your shaky silence as a reply instead.

Joker scoffed at you, rolling his eyes dramatically once more, “Well go on, tell me. Tell me you missed me, say it. It’s not good to, uh, lie to ourselves, is it? Honesty is, and always will be, the best policy.” He grinned sarcastically, his warm hands flinging around his face in a dramatic gesture to emphasize his words, his arms long and not too muscular, adequately thin and yet still capable.

He chuckled darkly, handsomely, now eyeing you in a twisted fashion much different than you did; he wanted to hear you say it, tell him, confess to him, submit to him. And it gave him no greater pleasure than breaking you down to crumbs in his palms… his to use as he pleases and his to do whatever with as he pleases.

But, on this specific matter, he just wanted to hear you say it. He was fully aware of how much of a struggle it would be for you to do so, finding sadistic pleasure in your obvious discomfort.

You gulped again as agnostic revelations pulled at your weak heart once more… had you missed him? Maybe you did, but maybe only in the sense that isolation made you desperate for any form of contact, maybe only in the sense that loneliness made you crave connection. Sure, you’d say you missed him, you’d say you missed him the same way seclusion made you miss anybody, the same way an uprooted flower would miss its green pastures.

However, had you missed him specifically? To be honest, you didn’t want to dig too hard for the answer, entirely too afraid you’d unearth the truth you purposefully buried deep in the dirt a long time ago. Your mind was fragile enough already, deteriorating slowly and gradually the longer you denied and embraced your oddly infatuated companionship with the man in front of you.

You were sure that if you epiphanized to any serious truths you werent sure you wanted to admit your mind would atrophy into a numb, lifeless thing hanging onto the remembrance of Jokers smiling face, left rotting with the harsh witness marks of his perverse adoration.

You blinked at him, mouth going dry and fingertips pulsing as you mumbled out what you only could, “Maybe I did…”

Yes, still the truth — enough so as to satisfy him — but not the whole truth you wouldn’t dare say out loud, not even in the uncertainty of your mind where Joker lurked in the darkest and brightest corners of, easily susceptible to your every thought and feeling.

You couldn’t take that risk of him knowing you inside and out. You needed at least something to yourself, something not shared with him even if it was your own darkest thoughts and desires.

Joker hummed delightfully at your response, giddy at your honesty and the way it made his stomach flutter with black-winged bats.

His eyes closed shut and he seemed to burst into a fit of elated giggles that had his foot stomping on the ground. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed, laughed so much it disturbed you yet you found yourself blushing anyway.

How pathetic could you be? So enamored with the same man you loathed entirely.

Joker seemed to gather his wits after a moment, a grin still on his white face as he approached you once more, but this time much, much closer than before.

“Oh, oh isn’t that just sweet. You missed me, did you? That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He almost growled possessively, his limber arms quickly wrapping around the lower curve of your waist, hastily pulling you into his sturdy chest with a delectable purring noise that shook through his ribs and reverberated onto the palms of your hands.

Your own breath escaped you in a gasp as your hands smacked into him, breathless and shocked at the sudden contact and closeness. You were quite unprepared for this, your heart racing in your ears and your breaths warm and heavy from such close contact after not having any for so long.

As soon as you touched him and he touched you it felt like something inside of you burst, flooded your internal systems with a need so violent you couldn’t pull away no matter how much your frail mind told you to do so.

You welcomed the embrace naturally, disregarding any logical thought as a soft exhale left your shaky lips. Over time you had learned to smother out your inner sagacity until it was just a dull ache in the back of your skull you could easily ignore.

You welcomed the warmth of his chest and the feel of his foreign embrace, enjoyed it even after a month of not a single touch or sound from another human. You really were so brainwashed beyond your own understanding. You sought him out yet desperately wanted to resist him; you wanted him to hold you and appease you yet you wanted him to leave, leave forever and never come back.

Still, you found yourself melting into him against your volition with a stuttering breath, muscles tense as you still considered letting go but knowing you weren’t going to. You felt comforted and safe in the absence of space between your bodies, something contradictory and confusing as he was very, very dangerous and most likely bound to hurt you with any wrong move you made in your shared future.

You were still sane enough to acknowledge at least that…

Again, you smothered that flame of rationality burning in the back of your head and didn’t bother denying him, mind going blank and empty as your manicured fingers tightened around the folds of his jacket. You exhaled with a soft tremble on your breath, slowly looked up at him with parted lips and darkened eyes.

He looked down at you all the same, eyes delectable and merry yet with carefully concealed undertones of something darker, something evil that resounded brightly in the darkness of his eyes. Maybe a flame of his own he was embracing rather than ignoring, something more sinisterly amatory you didn’t dare question any further as he went to lay his down on your shoulder.

“Ahhh, you smell sweet. Deliciously sweet. You wear perfume just for me? Aren’t you a doll.” He chuckled huskily at his own statement, voice muffled and gravelly like stones on rough pavement. He set his head into the crook of your neck, his cold cheek resting on the warmth of your shoulder.

His two hands were snug around your midsection, fingers digging into your skin sharply like you would dare push him away and run out the door. He couldn’t ever let that happen. He needed you here, with him, could never imagine you running away unless you wanted the city to drown in its own blood.

He’d find you of course. He’d always find you even if it meant burning the whole world to do it.

You swallowed thickly as his fingers tightened on you, looking at the plain wall behind him as your hands dug into the velvety fabric of his coat.

This position was oddly intimate yet very much appreciated. He was always a touchy man, never bothered keeping his hands to himself but they were mostly just meaningless touches, touches meant to annoy and distract you, not sweet embraces meant to console you and romance you.

You felt his warm breath caress your neck as a beat of silence passed, buzzing in your ears with the sound of your breaths. It was ticklish and gentle, a pleasant low hum sounding soon after.

You couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose on your skin from the purposeless action, your eyelids fluttering at the pleasant sensation as he breathed once more.

You were completely shrouded in him now; his sickly sweet scent, his hair tickling your jaw, his strong arms wrapped around you, his raggedy breaths soothing the skin of your neck. It was all overwhelming and all encompassing on your senses. All you could feel was him, see him, smell him… it was making your mind drown in its own deranged splendor as thoughts of wisdom and logic seemed to wither away into ash and smoke.

A cruel metaphor simply portrayed for how similar it was to your own real life. Shrouded by him. Controlled by him. All him and only him.

You could feel your sanity literally slipping away from you the longer you tried to rationalize the hunger biting at your stomach. You could feel it sliding down your body and melting at your heels like you were in the dawn of a new age, shedding old skin and starting anew; a catharsis of your own lunacy as you found yourself craving him to be closer, to hold you tighter, to meld himself as one with you so you’d never have to be alone again.

Another beat of silence passed before you spoke once more, something your mind didn’t want to register but your heart seemed eager to scream.

“I wanted to look good for you.” You mumbled quietly in the small space between his ear and your pink painted lips, eyes flickering down to his green hair then back to the wall as the whiteness of it seemed to blur around you so all you could focus on was him, your savior, your capturer, your most abominable admirer; your nightmare living in a daydream.

You don’t know what made you say it, what made you whisper it into the absence of noise, but maybe it was the way he held you against him like he didn’t want to let you go. Maybe it was the way he hummed lowly on the skin of your shoulder pleasantly and soundly, content to stand with you in the center of your white living room and be the only source of comfort and color you could ever have again.

Perhaps it was the sense of belonging you always craved and now felt in the warm crevice between his arms that made you confess it, of that same sense of purpose he had promised you all those months ago.

“Did you now? For me? Well aren’t you a darling.” Joker hissed the word into your cheek, wet lips rubbing against your skin as he picked his head back up upon hearing your voice.

Your eyes closed momentarily at the feel of his lips on you, a burst of tingly sparks pulsing through your entire left side as neediness crept into your palms. You held him tighter when he seperated his head from you, not wanting him to go now, wishing for him to stay, to keep holding you and to never release you into the cavern of cold that was your soulless living room.

His hands stayed where they were much to your enjoyment, his broad chest still pressed against yours as he looked down at you with a dead yet pleasantly satisfied expression. You had been with him long enough to identify the subtle cues in his rather stagnant facial quirks.

He smacked his red lips, releasing a gravelly hum once more as he cocked his head at you. Observing the way you looked up at him with so much… devotion.

It was written all over your face in bold black marker, eyes glistening with vehement devotement that made a wheezy chuckle bubble in his scratchy throat.

He felt ecstatic, warm fuzzy feelings he didn’t know the word for swirling around in his empty stomach and clearing away any cob web stuck to his dark heart.

Yes, yes you were his and you’d always be his no matter what you had to say on the matter. He had decided it a long time ago and will enforce it for the rest of the many lives you’ll suffer through together.

Your head felt fuzzy, eyes heavy and breaths low and lagged as you stared up at him earnestly. You could feel the arousal pulling at your gut, the admiration stirring in your heart as you looked up at him. He was handsome, so handsome even with the scars, even with the paint, even with the villainous degeneracy hidden under the scarred flesh.

You had him, you had him almost as entirely as he had you and you knew it, he knew it… but you could never say it out loud because you fear the repercussions if you ever did. If you ever completely, entirely, unconditionally gave yourself to him in every sense of the word. But, to your dismay, or to your satisfaction, you already did in a lot of ways.

However, admitting it, fundamentally giving yourself to him, you knew that would be the last straw for your dwindling sanity. You were already so severely fragmented, stained with so many cracks and blemishes that just a simple touch would shatter you.

Your mind was all you had left, all that was left of value. Everything else belonged to him. Your soul, your body, your life. But it was really hard to focus on such noble things when he was this close to you; a handsome, devious, shadow glooming over your light and dimming it completely, smelling the way he did and looking at you the way he did with this peculiar act of tenderness.

It did nothing but aid your arousal further, his hard yet gentle touches and intense yet glittering eyes.

Joker regarded you intensely, his own morbid admiration for you leaking through his palms as his left hand started to glide up the curves of your body slowly and meticulously.

He slid it around your waist, his eyes following the motion to gawk at every dip and curve he touched that was masked by your pale green dress. His finger tips pressed into your skin, into your stomach as his palm stretched upwards, feeling you like it was the for the first time, like it was solely done to tease you.

The tingling sensation pulsing through your thighs, tingling pleasurably on your skin underneath his eager hand, it all made your breaths quicken and pulse jump. You stared at him lustfully now, submitting to your own delusion as you found yourself wanting him. Strongly.

Eventually his hand made it to the valley of your breasts but he made no extra moves to touch them directly as he would in the past. He was abnormally patient, not so frantic with his touches almost like he was calculating them, so unlike his usual nature.

His eyes looked at the areas of your chest he didn’t touch though, heavy and dark, stirring with a lust of his own just as intense and passionate as yours as his thumb grazed the skin of your left breast.

Your breath stopped for a moment, eyes boring into his face even though he didn’t look back at you, eager to see what he’d do next. There was a small, very minuscule part of your brain utterly disgusted with yourself for wanting his bloodstained hands on you in the first place.

You did not listen to it, core hot and clenching around nothing as you stared at him, hyper aware of his hand smoothly sliding up your neck now.

A very vulnerable place, exposed to the unforgiving grip of his palm if he so chose to squeeze the life out of you. You didn’t stop him even as that thought crossed your mind, too hypnotized by his essence and touch to deny yourself the luxury of feeling it.

He looked at your face then, black, hungry eyes flickering up to yours as his fingers wrapped around your jaw and pressed harshly into the fat of your cheeks.

You inhaled sharply at the sting, letting out a hiss as your cheeks dug into your teeth.

Still, you found pleasure in the brutality of his touch, fingers digging into his coat so hard the tips of them burned as you stared back boldly into his starved, manic eyes ablaze with something dangerous and predatory.

You felt something similar sitting heavy in the pit of your gut, something untamed and primal that needed him inside you as importantly as you needed food to eat. It was fierce and wild, striking roughly under your skin like whips and rattling like chains for a taste of what only he could give you.

He forced your head back with a gentle push on your cheeks, eyes crackling with the fervor of a black flame as he inched forward… forward… forward, until his scarred mouth was right above your parted lips and his straight nose was tapping against yours.

You breathed heavily now at such close quarters, so pent up and overstimulated you were confused on whether you wanted him or utterly hated him. But with a need so intense it stung your core and shook your soul, with your stomach so tightly wound together and aching, with the space between your thighs pulsing and dripping for something to appease it, you regretfully, indubitably knew your answer.

He was your answer, him and his skilled, frazzled hands and forked tongue; the serpent tempting you to corruption, to rid yourself of any semblance of innocence you had left.

It was the loneliness you told yourself, the loneliness that made you feel such a way for him. Although, it wasn’t loneliness that made you stare up at him like a horny, doting slave bound to his every wish and desire. You made that choice all on your own.

“You know… I always wonder how I found such a sweet thing like you. So lost, so pathetic. I almost pitied you, really I did…” He grunted lowly, voice a gravely, manic hiss that had your skin crawling pleasurably.

You didn’t dare look away from his gaze as his fingers tightened on your cheeks, not even finding yourself capable of being insulted by his words. You were too enraptured by the rasp in his voice, by the way he stared so intensely at you with equal fervor.

He shook your face for emphasis, your cheeks digging into the ridges of your teeth so hard it stung but you made no move to protect yourself.

The pain only soothed you, made you wetter, only made you more greedy for him and his hands, for the sweet release of pain and pleasure only he could bring you. The pain made you feel something, something other than boredom and guilt these white walls seemed to torture you with, something other than self loathing you seemed to be haunted with.

He was the one that made you feel. He was the one that made you feel like you were still living at all, he was the one that made you feel alive.

He looked over your face intensely, as though inquisitively looking for something beyond it. Picking and prodding at the scattered pieces of your brain for something you didn’t know. His jaw was clenched as he dug his fingers harder into your cheeks, holding your face sternly so you couldn’t do anything but look back at him.

You winced at the pressure, yet your thighs pulsed and fingers tensed for more as your gaze bore into his with sparkling, edacious irises.

“But now I got’cha, don’t I? I have you and you belong to me, isn’t that right, honey? Go on, I want you to say it. Say it now…”

You nodded your head barely in acceptance, eyes glued to him as heavy breathed escaped your lips. You were stuck on him, stuck on the sound of his voice and entirely fixated on his words no matter how deluded they sounded.

“Say it!” He demanded with a rough, agitated voice, tone impatient and thunderous with his demeanor suddenly hostile. He thrashed your face back so hard you yelped.

“Ah! Yes, yes, I belong to you.” You repeated as instructed through clenched teeth, staring up at him with fear blown eyes. He seemed to like your answer as the tight grip around your cheeks dulled slightly.

You panted as the sting throbbed in your cheeks, eyes blown wide and teeth clenched yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He looked crazy but smelt so good, acted like a lunatic but maybe only because he was crazy about you. Crazy about you and only you as his reciprocated feelings seemed to be affecting you the same.

You watched him grin then, something insane and diabolical as giggles erupted from the base of his throat once more.

“Yes, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine, all mine!” He laughed, jiggling your face in his grip as his mouth fell wide open and his scars seemed to stretch and move in the motion of a crazed smile.

You didn’t laugh with him — you never laughed with him — just stared at him with a newfound fright and even brighter yearning, a yearning so powerful that all you could do was stare at his vermilion lips and the jagged scars cut into either side of them.

Once upon a time you heavily disliked them, was rather perturbed by his disfigurement but now… now they didn’t scare you for he wouldn’t be him without them, those same scars that haunted your dreams yet you couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

Joker’s crazed laughter died down after a minute. A quick minute in your perspective because you couldn’t stop looking at his lips, thinking of them finally leaving harsh bite marks into the hollow of your collarbone with blood red paint smeared over the bruises on your soft skin.

It was a tantalizing thought, one he had initiated many times before yet tonight he seemed to be prolonging the agenda. For the first time ever, you were the impatient one, craving his touch to feel you and satisfy that burning bulb of longing shining bright in the pit of your belly.

He looked at you heatedly, dryly, now standing back to his tall, intimidating stature as his hand released your face from its tight grip. You stared back at him unwavering as he slid it down your jaw tentatively until it was around your neck, resting at the base of it.

You swallowed nervously as he stared hard at the area, gloved fingertips pressing into the skin like he was struggling not to strangle you right then and there.

The thought scared you, how easily you presented yourself to him and discarded any self persevering instincts molded into the strings of your DNA over the course of generations. You were going against your very nature letting him touch you like this but you relished in it, let it wash over you like a pool of warm water.

His other hand swiftly came up and to your face, the pad of his thumb softly tracing over the plushness of your parted lips.

You reveled in the soft feeling it arose out of your sensitive body, a breathy sound leaving your chest like the whisper of a breeze between sheer flower petals. Delicate and dainty, rendering you breathless.

Maybe this was what he meant when he said you’d have purpose again, when he’d promised you belonging.

Yes, you’d have purpose in the sense that you had purpose to him, that he needed you in his own sick, self serving ways and everything you could offer him. You’d always have purpose as long as you stood next to him. Purpose to be found when he was buried deep in your heat and cradled in your heart during the cold evenings spent between Egyptian cotton sheets only his lustful animosity could make warm.

Yes, you’d always feel like you belonged as long as you were with him, entrapped in this huge house he graciously gave you with its sickening white walls and disgusting velvety red curtains. Yes, you would always belong to him in the sense that you didn’t have a choice but to be. He has found you and you are now in his clutches, he has found you and you will never be lost again.

You belonged to him. Your heart, happiness, health, and everything else was entirely his. A gruesome sense of belonging twisted in the dire fabrics of his manipulation, intertwined with his body and absent soul. You belonged to him, tethered to him like a ball and chain, a woefully symbiotic bond. 

Even now, with his boney hand around your throat so easily capable of draining your life force you didn’t bother trying to save yourself. Your very existence was interlocked with his and had been since he first laid eyes on you. You didn’t have anyone but him to trust, even if that meant trusting him with your own life and death.

He had the power to let you thrive, as he has proved countless times with his endless money and pointless gifts, giving you a life anyone else could so easily live but he had all the capability of destroying it as well. He was the King of your small kingdom and you were nothing but the romantic whim he could just as easily spare, a victim caught in the crossfire of his demented devotion.

Your life was quite literally in his hands and unfortunately for you he had an unfathomable proclivity to ruin anything he touched.

The thought made you feel shame for yourself, knowing how dumb you were being as drops of lucidity dripped down the cracks in your fried brain yet your lust didn’t deter. You had already acknowledged that you were deranged in your own way, so desperate for connection that you’d find it anywhere. It just so happened you found it here, in his sticky trap you’d never escape from for reasons beyond your own capability.

Joker removed the hand that was on your neck to the other side of your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands with a much more gentle touch than was exhibited before.

“Now, let me see a smile… go on, smile for me. I wanna see a great… big… smile.”

He smiled slightly at that, a dry fleeting motion with no real effort behind it, cradling your cheeks in his palms like delicate birds. His thumbs rubbed the corners of your lips then stretched them into a smile for you. You didn’t resist him, loosening your lips as he stretched them so far they cracked.

You ignored the burn, your eyes showed no signs of happiness as a smile usually demonstrated. Just lustful watery things staring up at him pleadingly, begging for him to finish this act of his and relinquish the pain you were starting to feel in your lower regions.

Your muscles were tense, body longing for him to touch it in the places you needed him most, to carve his admiration into the fat of your hips and apex of your thighs so you’d never lose it. You were dirty with his tainted love anyway, too much to care anymore; could never feel clean.

He stared at your smile with a criminal look in his eyes, a cackle scratching at the back of his throat as your fingers tightened even tighter around his jacket until the edges were engulfed in your own warm palms. You fought the desire to yank his lips down to yours, knowing you should never rush him no matter how impatient you were becoming.

“Ah, ah, ah, there we go. Now isn’t that pretty?” He rumbled fiendishly, satisfied now as his thumbs slid down your cheeks in a frowning motion until your lips gradually reset themselves into a line.

You swallowed once more, staring up at him wantonly as his hands slid down to lock onto your upper arms. Sparks burst where he touched you, your lifeless body abuzz with an invigorating feeling only his greedy fingers could make you feel.

You didn’t say a thing, unable to speak, longing for his lips to touch yours and for his lithe hands to familiarize themselves with the smooth skin of your body as he has so many times before.

You couldn’t imagine how desolate you looked now, so wrecked in the pupils of his glowering eyes as he stared down at you with an intensity you easily recognized, an intensity burning with the promise of wrecking you entirely later on.

“Now, what do you say we go and have a little fun, huh? I’d really appreciate it if you’d do me this little favor. You know I hate to make a fuss but, uh, it’s been a…rough… night.” He mumbled sarcastically in remembrance of something you had no clue of, rolling his eyes at himself as his tongue flicked out of his mouth again, his thumbs stroking the skin on your arms in an oddly patient way.

He hummed with his scratchy voice in the tone of a question, staring down at you blankly in expectation of a yes.

You nodded your head dumbly, so consumed with want that all you could see was him, think of him, him, him, him. Him and his devilish gloved hands and long purple fingers that had killed so many yet only seemed to bring you back to life in the harsh and tender touches they spared you. Blood stained hands, hands tainted with grandeur sin and murder that only seemed to exhilarate and enliven you.

Him, him and his red lips that spoke such curses and cruelty yet kissed you so delicately like a golden star dotted in the blanket of a navy blue sky. Him and his body riddled with scars and imperfections hotly intertwined with yours as he conquered you in a way so similar to how the Roman’s stormed the Greeks. Just as powerful, just as influential, just as legacy lasting.

“Okay.” You breathed out softly in acceptance of his words, of your own delusions, already staring at his lips as eagerly as a lifeless carcass only brought to life by his magical kiss; the most twisted tale of Snow White written in any media.

Joker grinned villainously, cackling at your behavior before his hands tightened their hold on you and he was lunging your smaller body towards his in a messy, much awaited kiss that left red paint smeared over your own lips in the same, wicked smile that he had.

How fitting.

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss @ghostslillady @boobaeri @prayingal (I think that’s everyone, hope you enjoy ☺️)

[leclerc-s]

you're honor, i am innocent. HE is the guilty one!

series masterlist

isabella perez imagine getting called out by jimmy fallon on national television. could never be me.

lando norris fuck you, your third wheel is literally an influencer.

isabella perez YOU LEAVE LARRAY OUT OF THIS CONVERSATION BITCH!

bailey winters listen, nothing will ever beat the grammys

george russell and in his defense he now has a win.

max jones-verstappen he can now enter the reputation era he threatened back in february

ollie bearman rip lando nowins 2019-2024 you will be dearly missed.

gael perez welcome lando onewins 2024-???

lewis hamilton ollie has clearly been spending too much time with the perez siblings. get him away from them.

dulce perez no can do sir hamilton, he's one of us now. white boy is an honorary mexican.

ollie bearman i can't handle spicy food but YEAH!

bailey winters listen, my third wheel is lando's best friend, whom i happen to like more than lando.

lando norris nah, that's some bullshit.

bailey winters max has never sent me away to spend time with carlos.

carlos sainz how many more times do i have to apologize for that? bailey winters so many times sainz. so many.

zoya torres you people are such shit stirrers. i love it.

rhys jones should change the group chat name to that.

fernando alonso i think the one now is more accurate

esteban ocon rip multi-21, you were iconic while you lasted (almost 2 years)

sebastian vettel please don't start this up again.

daniel jones-ricciardo please do, it's been far too long since we've had a multi-21 inchident.

charles leclerc oh my god.

bailey winters pray for lando, we're hanging out with max again.

max jones-verstappen no, we'll pray for you.

baileywinters posted new stories

hanging out with weens are you tired maximus? will never understand brits, especially ones who wear hoodies when it's warm

maximus bailey, please come and get this man.

american (derogatory) i'm in the studio.

maximus that is a fucking lie!

one win wonder carlos wouldn't treat me this way.

american (derogatory) maybe you should date carlos instead.

maximus she is a singer lando, she will destroy you if you piss her off.

american (derogatory) up until a week ago i couldn't of written the alchemy about him because he'd never won a race.

one win wonder BUT I'VE HELD TROPHIES BEFORE

one win wonder and at least i made it to f1

american (derogatory) BOOOO!!! GET THIS GUY OUT OF HERE!!! HE SUCKS!!!

maximus and to think you could've had a win since 2021 but you fucked it up.

one win wonder CARLOS WOULD NEVER!!!

american (derogatory) GO BE WITH CARLOS BITCH!! WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE!!

maximus CLEARLY HE'S THE BETTER FRIEND AND LOVER! GO BE WITH HIM.

one win wonder THIS IS BULLYING!! YOU'RE BULLIES!! MONSTERS BOTH OF YOU

bailey winters i'm giving one boyfriend away to carlos sainz. please come pick him up. let it be known he comes with baggage (his gaming shit)

lando norris I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN IT!!

max fewtrell YOU RAT!

penelope trevino what the hell is going on?

lando norris they (bailey and max) were bullying me so i said carlos would never do that to me and now they're mad.

max fewtrell you're so fake lando.

carlos sainz i would never bully him. i love him.

penelope trevino oh my god. not this again.

lando norris you will never be able to separate true love

bailey winters match made in hell.

penelope trevio soulmates those two.

max fewtrell i have never known peace since they met.

carlos sainz we are not that bad. you people are just haters.

bailey winters famous last words sainz.

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @ijustgomessitupx @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! missed a day because i genuinely had no idea what i was going to write for this part.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[inlandempir]

post on one of the dev forums for disco elysium, titled "THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD". text version beneath the cut

There's been a lot of art and tech talk so far, it's all kinda dry or saccharine. I think it's time to juice it up by throwing in a proper essay.

THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD

The world of No Truce! (we do have a proper name for it, but we’re shy) is not what you’d call “a generic genre world”. It is not pseudo-medieval stasis, as Forgotten Realms was, nor is it Fallout’s campy barbarism with guns. It is also not a Harry Potter/Batman/vampire fantasy world, which is basically “our world with a secret/special world within it”. Neither is it the tech-obsessed ‘punks’ of steam and cyber. It’s a modern fantasy world, a fantasy world in its modernity, which roughly corresponds to the middle part of our XXth century. Now that kind of thing opens up an array of new possibilities. It is a world with a promise of non-staticness, meaning, things appear undecided — they could go one way or the other. It is close enough to our own world for things to have meaning in it, it is a proper frame in which to explore themes relevant to our own society such as bigotry, power relations, politics, bureaucratic apparati, geopolitical relations, philosophy, ideology, religion et cetera. A pseudo-medieval world is not a proper frame for truly exploring themes of, for example, sexuality, for it lacks 1) a proper concept of sexuality, 2) an actual idea of societal progress and 3) a clear ideological dominant, which would be the place where values come from. All you can do in a static, societally unstructured world is give out-of-place shoutouts to present day communities for cheap popularity (“this is exactly my sexual orientation, how did they know?!”).

We find the ideological dominant missing because the western world is traditionally culturally critical of ideological dominants – critical of both state and religion. Anyhow, a classic fantasy world would feature two main ideologies – the “good” and the “evil”, of which the former is selfless and compassionate, but the other one is selfish and cruel. The attempts to overcome that have given us the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is an asshole and pessimism rules the day. Unsurprisingly, Grittywelt is also static as hell and meaningful change is foreclosed from it. It is a “protection from false hopes”. As such, it is heavily unrealistic. Much more realistic would be people living in super gritty conditions, but not looking the part, that is, not really noticing the abnormal harshness of their conditions, because they don’t have much to compare them to, and being hopeful towards the next day, because surprise! This is how you do it. Survive, I mean. Being depressed is a luxury. In a way, I’d say we’re trying to create the obverse of the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is empathizable, sort of a hero of their own story.

The modern era is also a fitting vessel for anachronisms – do we not have actual cyborg limbs and donkey-pulled carts operating in the same world at the modern era? Capitalism can also contain little feudalisms in a way, in which a single man or single family controls the entire economy of a town or a village and profits from it. And at the same time, it can also contain little socialist utopias, scientist villages, in which everything is provided by the State. Aside from being a basic feature of reality (anachronism is nothing more than time failing to fit the stereotype about it), it is also a lovable creative tool, allowing for a plethora of what-if-scenarios. Imagine a modern world, only without television; imagine a modern world in which there never was a global war, imagine a world in which fossil fuels are less available. Now, if you will, imagine one which has forgotten its antiquity, and one, in which there is not just water between the continents, but something worse as well — an anti-reality mass we call “pale” (also more on that later). Now imagine one, which has a legitimate and operative “religion of history” in place, which seeks for people it deems special enough to be the “vessel of progress”. (This is not an alternate history thing, by the way. An alternate history takes place in our world quite recognizably and has no more than one divergence point from history as it happened.)

One might ask, why would we not create an even more modern world, if we wanted to maximise our possibilities? Well one of the answers is that it would have destroyed the necessary element of escapism, another is that we cannot create a good alternate Information Era because we ourselves fail to understand the Information Era (More precicely, we have the information era in its infancy and it works via radio relays). We are too close to it and it is too new to understand it, it is “in progress”. The third reason would be that technology is not a fascinating subject for modern science fiction. It’s become a natural part of our reality. We don’t believe it’s going to save us anymore – it has failed to deliver for too long. I am of the belief that the themes of science fiction today are societal, political and psychological (one could maybe add aesthetical to it, for we also love the world for its beauty). All fantastic or sci-fi elements are means for best exploring those themes.

I have filled my page. That’s all for the time being. Thank you for reading.

Martin Luiga Writer

[eyesteeth]

if they make a modern version of the truman show i think it would be fun if it wasn’t a remake (doomed to fail at capturing the very specific style of the original) but instead was treated like an in-universe reboot that’s been updated for the modern era. other fun stuff could happen such as

fandom commentary: conflating real people with the roles they play, parasociality, etc. there was tackling of that in the original with the people sneaking onto set, but i think it could be modernized for fun. a popular youtuber is allowed to film a vlog on the set and almost gives away the act. people form theories about the “truman” online and then other people go “okay but this is a real guy. you’re theorizing about a real guy’s life. what is wrong with you” and absolutely wild internet drama goes down.

queer characters as commentary. perhaps an in-show character is queer but barely present, and it forms a commentary on tokenism. or an actor character is queer playing a non-queer role and it’s a commentary on censorship. maybe even the “truman” of the show is queer and it causes the studio executives to flip because they can’t have america’s new darling be an icky queer!! no way!! (personally i think trans woman “truman” would fucking rule. such a rich soup of potential there) (there is no fucking way an american movie company would let this happen btw. but it would be cool)

media commentary in general. this would also trend close to og i think because of Hollywood still being suspicious as hell, but it’s still a fun space to play in. “Fifty Years Ago, A Man Was Born On Television. Today, They’re Doing It Again”. a whole media circus about whether or not it’s ethical. protests and boycotts but the showrunners are so overwhelmingly rich that the show stays on the air.

probably too niche but comparisons to “influencer families” could be made i think. putting a child in front of a camera since birth and all the issues that come with that. the surveillance state hell we all live in with a smaller media hell panopticon that’s less universal

it would likely have a bleaker ending though. technology has improved since the original truman show. he got out. he was never meant to get out. this new truman won’t get out. not as long as the show is running. honestly it would be funny if the ending was like. show got cancelled. and they let “truman” out into the world, completely unprepared. but they’d make their way, somehow. they have to.

granted if they do end up doing a truman show reboot it would probably be, fucking awful. but if it was handled by someone who actually gets that it’s a horror movie and not a comedy, i think it could be something special.

now let’s all hope i didn’t speak the most soul-sucking hollywood-missed-the-point movie of all time into being

[dalesramblingsblog]

I know we've been commenting since The Star Beast on the irony of Russell T. Davies taking Disney money and using it to say trans/gay rights as part of one of the biggest British television events of 2023/2024, but I think Dot and Bubble fully opened my eyes to something I've been quietly contemplating since at least the time of The Giggle.

I am genuinely convinced, knowing everything I know about Davies' comments on the state of the BBC and the kinds of art he's been making of late, that Series 14 is a brilliant and purposeful piece of artistic subversion that has taken Disney's money to not just say trans rights, but to actively comment upon the cold, empty yawning abyss that is modern MCU franchisecrafting.

Time and time again, the show has returned to the idea that that sort of "artistry" is completely anathema in a cosmic horror sense to the very fabric of Doctor Who. The Toymaker is an arbiter of rules and continuity, who threatens to turn Doctor Who into a knock-off of The Avengers before everything collapses back into a game of catch with the Doctor in his underwear.

73 Yards is quite explicitly about the loneliness, emptiness and futility that accompanies human beings trying to impose rational, ordered frameworks and narratives on a fundamentally chaotic and strange universe. The very fact that the episode exists in a media ecosystem where hackish YouTubers will be falling over themselves to make "Ending Explained" videos for it *is part of the point*.

And then we have Dot and Bubble, where the modern glut of franchisal/social media (and the two are often close to interchangeable, as proven by this very blog post) is explicitly shown to have an anaesthetising effect that insulates people from real-world suffering. But it's more than that, because that same anaesthesia ties into expressions of actual, direct racism that are so baked into the foundations of that media and who it tends to uplift (white, conventionally attractive and implicitly straight people) that they become indistinguishable from said suffering.

After years of Doctor Who trying its hand at being a generic MCU-esque property and fans creating mockups of Phase-esque release timelines with a million spin-offs focusing on the Wacky Adventures of Miss Evangelista or whatever other bullshit fandom constantly clamours for, here is an era that puts its foot down and says "Actually, the foundational elements of that brand of media consumption are materially connected to the constant racist or sexist backlash you see against the casting of Ncuti Gatwa or Jodie Whittaker or Kelly Marie Tran."

And it is absolutely, positively, 100% correct.

How, then, does Doctor Who resist the creeping power of this monolithic cultural entity? In a world where studios seriously try to argue for the artistic worth of tripe like Morbius or Madame Web or Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania, what is the appropriate response?

The same response that it's always had, the thing that it's been doing for sixty years. Getting people to learn how to run down corridors from hokey aliens, hoping against hope that those people don't turn out to be massive fucking racists and telling them exactly where they can shove it if they are, and instilling the children of the world with a healthy dose of fear and light-hearted humour.

Welcome back, Doctor Who. God, I have missed you.

[storytowrite]

|You will always be mine ~ Lee Minho series|

PART 11

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: smut, angst, university au

Word count: 1089

Warnings: sex, 18+, Minho is a psycho, dom!Minho, sub!reader, abuse, slight BDSM, kidnapping, violence, age gap, Minho is an university professor, Y/N can be hurt physically (and mentally too I guess).

Synopsis: Who knew that accidental fuck in the club bathroom with a handsome man will bring you to a lot of unexpected events.

Author's note: I kept this series for a really long time not sure if I want to post it or not, but I decided to do it anyway, so I hope you'll like it.

——————————

Another body was found this morning, belonging to a young female student. The girl had been stripped of her limbs while she was still alive..., An announcement on television rang out. You were blown away. Another murder. On the TV screen appeared, this time, a photo of the victim. The shock you felt was indescribable. 

The photo belonged to Lisa. You rubbed your eyes in amazement. You didn't expect that the next person to lose her life would be your old friend. But did you really not know? You guessed that, as in the case of Rheena, the perpetrator could have been Minho. But without evidence, you couldn't even do anything or confront him. 

Tears came to your eyes. You didn't miss your friendship with Lisa, but the thought that the girl was dead filled you with sadness. You looked toward your bedroom, where Minho was still sleeping. Why were you actually in his apartment? Why didn't you leave as he slept -  leave him alone? Minho arranged for you to be excused from classes for the rest of the week, but actually why? Why did you even listen to him? 

You couldn't answer your questions. You weren't afraid of Minho, just yet, but you didn't feel safe in his company either. He seemed different from when you first met him. How did you let a one-night adventure turn into something that maybe someone could and would call a relationship... but without love (at least on your part). You didn't know what feelings you had for the man. The whole situation was making you dizzy.  

You suddenly heard footsteps. You quickly turned off the TV and went back to eating breakfast. You didn't want Minho to find out that you were watching the news again. But actually why? Were you afraid of confrontation with a man? Did you have reasons for that? 

“Good morning, kitten.” The man walked up to you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “”Slept well?“” 

“Yes, yes.” You smiled slightly at him. “And you?” 

“I slept like I killed myself.” He laughed and stole one toast from your plate. 

“Hey, that's mine!” You muttered, trying to ignore his earlier words. 

“Not now.” He smiled at you, biting into the sandwich. “Mmmm yummy.” He winked. “What would you like to do today?” 

“I was thinking of going home.” You answered immediately. “I have some study backlogs... I need to catch up on them.” 

“Hm... after all, you can catch up on them here.” The man replied after a moment's thought. “You know, you can actually move in here, your stuff is already here anyway.” 

“I don't know if that's a good idea Minho... You're still my lecturer. If anyone catches us...” You started but he interrupted you. 

“No one will catch us, kitten. My house is your house. Besides, you can catch up on my subject in a very pleasant way.” He started and leaned over you. “You know, last time we discussed nudes...” His hands rested on the armrests of the chair you were sitting on causing you to have no way to escape. 

“Nudes?” You looked at him with doe eyes. 

“Mhm... nudes.” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your neck. “In every... era... they were... painted... differently.” Each word was interrupted by a gentle caress of your neck. You tilted your head back gently, allowing the man more access to your skin. You closed your eyes. 

Minho began kissing you more boldly. He glided his velvety lips along your neck. One of his hands found its way to your leg and gilded gently upward, causing goosebumps on your bare skin. You let out a quiet moan as he bit down gently and sucked a spot on your neck. Your breathing quickened. Minho was already about to slip his hand between your thighs when the phone rang. He sighed heavily and pulled away from you. 

“We'll get back to it, kitten.” He said and went to answer it. You sighed heavily. You got up from the chair after a while and went to listen to what the man was talking about. 

“No, I did everything so as not to leave traces... What do I care if they found her? I don't know Han, okay? You know very well that all that matters to me is Y/N, and that idiot over there had snitches on us... I couldn't let those pictures leak out.” 

You were flabbergasted to hear Minho's words. Did he just talk about Lisa's murder with some Han? Did he actually kill her? You didn't know what to think about all this. All you wanted was to get away from him as soon as possible. 

“I have to go, I'll call you later.” You heard, but before you had time to take a step and return to the living room, the man was already standing in front of you. “It's not nice to eavesdrop kitten, you know?” 

“I'm not eavesdropping just...” You began to stammer. 

“Just what?” He leaned over you. “You haven't been a good kitten lately. I'll have to do something about that fact.”

“I'm sorry Minho, I didn't mean to...” The anxiety started to grow inside you. 

“Of course you didn't mean to.” He snorted, hardly convinced. “Now tell me, what did you manage to hear?” 

“Nothing, I swear!” You replied, taking a step back. 

“Don't lie.” Said Minho a little more sharply, taking a step forward. You stepped back even more, encountering a wall with your back. You watched him, fear beginning to paint on your face. 

“I'm not lying!” You shouted in helplessness. “All I know is that you talked to some Han and nothing else! And you said something about some snitches...” 

“So you heard something after all! And you tried to deny it!” He said loudly, clearly irritated. “I don't like lying, Y/N. And I won't tolerate it.” 

“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to.” Tears appeared in your eyes. Minho looked at you and moved away sighing slightly. 

“I'm a little disappointed in you... But you know very well that I won't hurt you, don't cry.”  He whispered and wiped the tear drops from your cheek with his thumb. “I love you...” 

You looked at him in shock, not expecting such a confession. Time seemed to have suddenly slowed down. Was the man standing in front of you suddenly confessing his love to you, and moments before he was deadly angry with you? How sick a movie did you find yourself in?

——————————

<- Part 10 | Part 12 ->

-> Series Masterlist

Taglist: @yaorzu-blog, @iovecb97, @hpnsfwaddict, @syedazarintasnim, @palindrome969, @biujulia

[gallierhouse]

asking for opinions about armand on a friday night is crazy because ive been terrorizing the people in my life about him for a month and now?? im being asked to talk about him?? anyway so i couldnt get thru s1 back in 2022 bc it felt like a kind of rehash of hannibal (character dynamics wise) in a different setting and kind of bored me. i really liked louis in the pilot and honestly would just watch a historical drama about a black pimp and his gens de couleur family in 1930s nola and that was cruelly ripped away from me and ill never forgive lestat. BUT THEN s2 arrived and i gave it another go and armand just rose out of this show as a character ive truly never seen before?? his identity-lessness, his role as a bad stage director, that eager black hole growing around 500 years of life, its so fascinating. the Moment for me with him is obviously the donor painting seeing the whitewashed beautiful pleading garish (when compared with the real man) painting just shifted something in my soul. and THEN getting hit with the arun/maitre stuff and them the entirity of ep5 directly after? ive literally memorized the loumand argument from listening to it so many times Television of All Time fr. i love failmarriages that rot and decay and are inescapable and loumands whole thing felt so good and fresh and so so tasty. those bitches do not like each other. they dont even like each other and yet theyve stayed together for 77 yrs in a relationship built on abuse, spite, and 24/7 power exchange bdsm and thats CRAZY ! plus ive never seen toxic yaoi executed so well with two nonwhite, darkskinned characters and as a south asian that lowkey made me happy lol. anyway i love armand so much he sucks so bad but i do feel deeply seen and deeply compelled by his little gremlin ass

I miss Louis’ New Orleans era too. I get why Lestat fell in love with him, though, if I saw this beautiful creature pull a knife on his own brother in the middle of the street I’d stop at nothing to pursue him. It’s alluring. I think that’s the part of Louis Lestat has always loved and loathed most, his fierce independence and survivor’s instinct and capacity for violence. I say loathed because Lestat’s always torn between wanting Louis like that and wanting Louis to be his little housewife. He’s stupid like that.

I thought his stage direction was nice. Were his plays “good”? No. But were his notes well thought out? Yes. His notes for the trial were good. So it’s the playwright’s fault the scripts were bad, actually.

Re: his identity, I really think he’s doing fine. Not everyone needs a laundry list of hobbies and characteristics to “have an identity.” It’s true that Armand molds himself into whatever shape that’s required of him and sometimes he makes erroneous assumptions about it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an identity. I think Armand doesn’t perceive himself as having an identity, and it’s obvious that he structures his life around whatever role he’s occupying, and that it’s all very fragmented and difficult for him to see the continuity in it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an identity. His priorities and thought process are fairly obvious to the viewer, so that’s his identity. You can see the structure of his mind. That’s him. Right there. We don’t have to wait for the “real” Armand, he’s already here.

I don’t remember when I started loving him, but it was before the painting. Maybe the hunt, or when he starts participating in the interview. The painting did change something for me, though, and so did the bench scene. But I liked him from the start of season two, really, from the moment I found out he’d essentially been stalking Louis the whole time in Paris. I like him most when he’s got a little bit of edge, but then again, I love him when he lies. I actually have a shirt with their argument printed on it. It’s so fucking funny.

Well, I think there was love, at least before Armand strangled it to death. I don’t know if Louis ever loved Armand again, not after the trial, but I think Armand loved Louis, although not in a way that would really be comprehensible as love to anyone else. Maybe only the way you love something you own. But I think he at least enjoyed the performance of it. Besides, all the best relationships are 24/7 BDSM built on abuse and spite. You don’t agree? I think it’s very romantic.

Yeah, it’s the first time I’ve seen something like that too. And it was the greatest thing ever and I’m really glad we got a South Asian lead, even if I’m unsatisfied with AMC’s promotional strategy. One million seasons of Armand and one million posters of his face splashed across all major cities around the world, please. He’s perfect! More people should see him. More people should be subjected to him.

[earth616variant]

the send-off | s.r ; 4

summary | Being his best friend and assistant, Howard Stark asked you to be the first one to be tested on his time machine project. After some unexpected errors, you ended up stuck in the modern times of the 21st century. Where you meet the man you thought died years ago: Steve Rogers.

pairing/s | steve rogers x reader, avengers x reader

word count | 5k+

genres | angst, fluff, crack, time travel au, unrequited love au

warnings | mention of blood, idiots…

note | after months, here's a new update! finally found the inspiration to write again :)) I apologize for the long delay. anyway, let me know your thoughts on this one. enjoy reading!

series masterlist

 “Ugh… What to do? What to do?” you hummed.

It’s been days since your arrival in this era. And so far, everything is fine. Confusing but fine. You were still having nightmares that always woke you up. But you didn’t bother to tell anyone about it. It’s probably a normal reaction.

Since the superheroes in the compound have alternative schedules for their missions, you found yourself rubbing shoulders with whoever Avenger is in the compound. It’s obvious that they don’t want you to feel excluded and made it clear that they don’t mind you asking questions if you find something puzzling. 

You usually bond with the youngest one, Peter Parker, who is always around since he is, based on what he said, “a friendly neighborhood superhero”. It means that he doesn’t go out of the country, like Natasha or Steve, or even this state for a mission since he still has classes to attend and he explains that his aunt won’t let him go anywhere far and dangerous. Understandable, you thought. The kid is only sixteen. But for now, Peter is staying back with his aunt in their apartment while the others are on their missions. He has a schedule for staying between the compound and his aunt’s place. 

Clint is with his family, who you heard lived in this secret farmhouse. Tony is probably home too. You don’t really know. You kind of feel that he avoids being alone with you. Wanda is resting in her room. You don’t want to disturb her as you saw her coming home earlier, looking really exhausted. 

When he can, Steve also kept you company. Of course, you enjoyed talking to him about his life after the whole defrosting thing. But sometimes, you felt like a disturbance or a burden in his free time. You thought, maybe he just wants to rest. Perhaps he just feels bad for you. So, you try to not stay around him all the time if he’s home.

So, you really have nothing to do. You have books but you don’t feel like reading now. You have this novel that you liked so much, you just finished it today. The compound also has this large, flat television but you don’t feel like watching anything either. It’s not like you’re not used to being alone. You’re always alone before! But at least you have a job to take up all your time. With all this free time, you cannot help but miss doing something in the laboratory. Computing numbers or testing prototypes with Howard. You wondered if your best friend ever finished that flying car he kept on re-working. You figured, maybe not. You see that people in this modern time still use four-wheeled cars.

“Oh, hey, Doctor Y/N.”

Sometime in the afternoon, Bruce Banner went out to the kitchen to get himself something to drink. That is where he sees you, looking all bored and spacing out. You forced a smile at him and greeted him back,

“Hello, Doctor Banner.”

“Bruce. You can call me Bruce.” he smiled as he opened a can of rootbeer.

“Then, you can call me just by my name too,” you replied, tapping on the hardbound book you had with you. You tried not to be obvious as you examined his look. With his eyeglasses and white coat, you know he’s been working in his laboratory. 

After taking a sip from his drink, he spoke, “What are you up to in here, Y/N?”

Hearing that question, you instantly sighed heavily, making your shoulder slump, “Nothing really. I’ve been watching the paint dry, Bruce.”

Thankfully, the scientist caught on to your use of words. He chuckled before asking you, “Do you want to go to the lab?”

You swore you jumped from where you were sitting when Bruce said that. He took it as a yes and you two walked together back to his laboratory. Instantly, you were in awe of the place. There are screens and machinery everywhere. You don’t understand how these new gadgets work but you cannot wait to hear about them. This is like something you dreamed of.

“Here.”

Bruce handed you a white lab coat and you immediately grabbed it, wearing it excitedly. Damn, you missed wearing it. You stood next to him in front of his messy desk, which is pretty normal. Notes were everywhere. Even pens and crumpled papers. You’re starting to miss your own messy work table.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Bruce spoke, referencing his desk.

You smiled, “It’s fine. It means you’re really working hard for something.”

Slipping your hands into the coat’s pockets, you wander around the spacious lab. You try to stop yourself from touching anything, fearing that you might mess something up. So like a little kid, your eyes just show your enthusiasm as you watch some type of liquid flow into a transparent tube.

“What are you working on?” you asked, turning your head to Bruce.

“Something that can help the world, hopefully.” he chuckled. He walked next to you, “It’s a serum that may help cancer patients.”

“That’s nice,” you whispered, eyes still distracted.

“Yeah. But it’s still an experiment. This is the first time I’m working on something like this again after I tried to recreate the super soldier serum.”

Your eyebrows raised as you looked at him, “You tried to recreate that serum?!”

Steve did not tell you about that. No one told you that someone in the compound tried to recreate it. You always wondered what Dr. Ernskine did to that serum since it seems very impossible to reproduce. But now that you’re in this modern era, people have more resources and findings. Maybe Bruce succeed.

Bruce stared back at you with a small smile, “It’s what brought me here, Y/N.”

“Cap. You okay?” 

Tony asked as soon as he made sure the auto-pilot was set on the plane. Instead of answering, Steve grunts while pressing a hand on the right side of his stomach. Blood was gushing out from the stab wound he got from this mission. Bucky, on the other hand, also earned bruises on his face and small cuts on his arm. The two admittedly underestimated this mission. They didn’t expect that a hundred members will show up in this cult-like mob they raided. Thankfully, Tony was able to answer an emergency call.

“Those guys really got you cornered. Whoever stabbed you would probably brag about the fact he got to stab Captain America. Too bad he died.” Tony quipped, trying to lighten the mood. He signaled to Bucky to pass him a bandage.

Steve listened with exhaustion running in his veins. He breathed out as he closed his eyes, leaning his head on the surface behind him.

“You know, you got to be more careful now…” Tony suddenly spoke, sounding a bit serious. Steve opened his eyes and look at his friend who was focused on cleaning his wound. It took minutes of silence– since Tony made sure that his wound won’t get infected– before he continued,  “You have a girlfriend waiting at home.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Tony,” Steve replied sternly.

His best friend still managed to chuckle at that. Steve groaned when Tony slightly applied pressure to his wound. Not that Steve doesn’t like the idea of you as his romantic partner, he just doesn’t want to tolerate this kind of teasing from his friends. They might get used to it and make you uncomfortable whenever you’re with him.

Tony rolled his eyes, “Okay, whatever. But my point is you are Y/N’s closest friend in the compound right now and I don’t think she will like seeing you come back like this. I mean, you already died before and Dad told me a lot of things that happened.”

Steve tilted his head quizzically. He looked at Bucky who shared the same expression on his face.

“What–”

“There.” Tony got up as if he didn’t just say something. He pointed at Bucky. “And you too, buddy. Bring more backup next time. Something worse could have happened. You’re lucky I’m just another country away for a presentation.”

He walked back to his seat as the pilot, ignoring the confusion and curiosity from the two a-decade-old super soldiers.

“That was your last memory?”

Bruce sat in front of you, typing on his laptop as you nodded an answer. A couple of hours after inviting you, you two ended up just chatting in his laboratory. Bruce told you about the time he recreated the supersoldier serum. You learned his history and how he joined this league of superhumans. He was open to sharing his struggle in accepting his power and learning to control himself from being Bruce and the Hulk.

After that, he ended up giving you a tour of his laboratory. You would share how a gadget you had before evolved into what he has now in these modern times. Your curiosity about these said gadgets made his offer to teach you whenever he can and you happily agreed. Although you’re still unsure if you’re staying here for the rest of your life, you think that it will be good to adapt in the meantime.

“The time machine…” your voice trailed off as you brought up the topic. “How did you and Tony make it?”

You’ve been wanting to ask someone about their version of a time machine here. But since Howard’s son was a bit distant, you get to talk about it with Bruce now.

Bruce shakes his head, “It was unsuccessful.”

“It brought me here.” you countered, pursing your lips.

The air around you two was suddenly all serious and Bruce feels it. You were just wondering how they built their time machine. How did they make it work? It was seemingly more successful than Howard’s. Was it because of the current and upgraded technologies? Did they use different formulas than Howard? Did they make their own original version that was way different than what you and your best friend worked on in the past?

 

Bruce looked at you for seconds like he was contemplating if he should tell you. Then, he exhaled, removing his glasses.

“Tony brought the blueprint and basically the whole plan for it months ago. He said he found it when he was digging up in his dad’s office in their old house.”

“Wait.” your eyebrows scrunched together as you paused. You take your time processing his answer. You made sure you understood it by saying, “So… it was originally Howard’s… The blueprint for it?”

He nods, “Yes, Tony found it along with other plans his dad never worked on. We just used other materials than the outdated ones...”

You didn’t really listen to the rest of his words when you heard the first sentence. Your eyes stared at some space. Never worked on? He means, Howard made this plan and never worked on it? Does it mean that if your best friend just worked it, you could have been back earlier than this era? Your hand slowly pressed a hand on your chest and you felt your heartbeat getting quicker Bruce quickly noticed it and you looked up at him with your eyes screaming in confusion and surprise, hurt.

“When did Howard plan it?” you asked. Your voice was weak and you almost said it in a whisper.

Although confused, Bruce replied, “1977. It was written on the bottom of the blueprint.”

Your brain was quick in computing it. It was thirty years after your disappearance. You feel like shaking as you blinked away the tears that were blurring your sight.

“W-Where can I find this blueprint? I want to see it.”

The change in your tone and expression made Bruce ask, “Y/N, are you okay–”

“Where?” you asked again instead of answering.

“Uh, Tony has it.”

You ran your palms all over your face, calming yourself down. You breathe out. You knew you had to stop yourself from crying as you cannot stand doing it again.  It’s pointless. You’ve been tearing up ever since you came here and you have never been this vulnerable. You don’t like it. Before Bruce can repeat a word, you sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “I… I was just surprised Howard planned on building another time machine and never made a move on it.”

Bruce hummed quietly and replied, “It’s fine… Everything must have been a lot to you.”

You chuckled, trying to lighten up the atmosphere, “Yeah, it’s a real bummer and I think it makes me blow a fuse really easily. I swear I was never this emotional.”

If he did it, would I have come back earlier?

The question floats in your head as you set your eyes on the quiet lake just outside the compound. You pulled your knees closer to your chest and rested your chin on your knees. The sky was already dimming down as the sun already set. Nature was quiet and the only loud thing was your brain with all these questions you were asking yourself.

There was a part of you who wished you shouldn’t have just asked Bruce. Maybe you wouldn’t feel this way. But you were always curious about things, so you asked. And here you are, having this moment. As if knowing about Howard’s plans is not enough, you still had thoughts if you can ask Tony about it. You let out an exasperated, hopeless exhale. Maybe not.

“Dr. Y/N!”

You snapped out of your deep thoughts when you heard your name. Turning your head to your side, you spotted Peter approaching with a smile on his face. He waved his hand, and your lips form a small smile.

“Hey… I thought you were staying with your aunt tonight?”

He sat beside you on the green grass, “I’m just staying here until nine. Then, I’ll go back home. I dropped by to see if you’re baking tonight.”

You giggled, “Well, today’s not your lucky day, kid. But I think we still have a few brownies in the jar from the other day.”

“I checked. It’s already empty.” he feigned disappointment, holding his chest, and you two chuckled. “How was your day here, doc?”

“Boring. I haven’t really done much. Bruce saw me in the kitchen earlier and invited me to his lab. I just miss doing something again.“ you confessed with a hint of frustration in your tone. “How about you, kid?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Eh, just school. I and my friend Ned ended up in detention because he cannot stop talking about this new movie during chemistry class. Then, our other friend, MJ joined us since she said she enjoys going to detention. We planned to eat something after but MJ has a part-time job to go to.” Peter shared and you feel that he was pretty satisfied with how his day went.

“Well, at least one of us got to bond with their friends,” you scoffed. “I have to get used to my friends being superheroes.”

“They are usually busy, aren’t they?”

You nod, “Yeah. It actually made me feel jobless.”

You two laughed at that. You resumed, “I can’t believe I finished two books in a short period– Speaking of books, I was wondering if you could lend me a hand.”

“For what?”

“Oh, you know that novel I’ve been reading these past few days?”

“Ah, the one with the whole time machine plot too?”

“Yes. I… I really loved the book. Is there any way I can reach out to the author? Maybe write them a letter? I just really want to let them know that it’s a good story.”

Maybe it’s because of a lot of free time on your hand. But you just really adored the plot and the novel itself. You found it in the new releases section of the bookstore you went to days ago. But the story was set around your time, in the 40s, and mainly revolved around time traveling, which initially pulled you into buying it. It was accurate by the era it was in, and it made you feel closer to where you came from. Now, you just finished it and it was beautiful even though it was left on a cliffhanger. It causes you something to look forward to.  

“We can try to reach out. Maybe they have e-mail. It’s faster than sending them written letters.” Peter suggests.

You cocked an eyebrow, “What’s an email?”

“Oh, it’s electronic mail. It’s like the modern type of exchanging letters with other people. Instead of asking for the person’s home address, they can just give you their email address. Then, you can send them a message with the computer or cellphone.” he explains and you nod.

“How about your laptop?”

He nods, “Yeah, we can also use that.”

You two ended up walking back to the compound. Peter helped you with creating your own e-mail address and typing your message to the author. You wanted to learn and get used to with using this gadget so you offered to type yourself. He was patient enough to teach you with the keys on the keyboard as you type. 

“So, it automatically saves itself as a draft?”

You moved the cursor on the screen as you glided your index finger on the touchpad of his laptop. It wasn’t a long message but it was genuine. You re-read the whole thing again before passing the laptop to Peter.

“Yeah, what’s the name of the author again?” the boy asked before opening a new tab in the browser.

“Oh, wait…” you reached for the book and read the huge, bold name written on the front cover. “It’s… Donald S. Burton.”

“Okay, we can look for his website. Maybe he has his contacts there.”

His voice trailed off when he began typing on the search bar. It never fails to amaze you how fast this thing can give you answers. It’s like all of the books in the library were compiled into this gadget. Peter input the name and a list of information about Donald S. Burton showed up. There were even images of the man. You cannot help but smile when the old guy reminds you of someone familiar.

“Here is his email!“

“I like these. What are these again?” 

Steve smiled at your curiosity, “Chicken nuggets.”

“Okay. Chicken nuggets,” you repeated. “I wished we had these in our time. I love these and these sauces. And of course, this sundae!” you exclaimed before taking a scoop with the tiny spoon.

Just a couple of days after you talked with Bruce in the lab and sent an e-mail with Peter’s help, you found yourself having a picnic with Steve just around the city. It was a quiet park in the busy city. It was a Tuesday so there were fewer people in the place. He invited you with it after he got home from his mission.

“Should I bake or make something?” you asked him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We’ll be ordering food on the way to the park,” he replied.

“Are the others coming too?” you asked again.

He shook his head, “I… didn’t ask them.”

“Why didn’t you ask them?” you raised an eyebrow. 

Steve seemed to be caught off guard. Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and Peter, who were also in the living room when you asked, smirked and looked at each other knowingly when they saw their leader’s frozen reaction. He stood there awkwardly with his hands on his hips. Natasha was the first to break the silence.

“I’ll be training,” she said.

The others caught on to it and spew their reasons too. Peter chimed in, “I have a ton of homework to do, Doc.”

“I’m visiting my sister in Louisiana,” Sam explained with a scoff. That made you squint your eyes at him. Then you looked at Bucky, waiting for his reason. He seemed frozen like the gears in his head is turning.

“I… uhm… I’m…”

“He’ll help me with training.” Nat saved him. “We’ll do some planning with the next mission.”

So that’s how you and Steve ended up alone on this picnic, which you don’t mind. You had a fun ride going here. He lets you play songs by connecting your rarely-used phone to the car’s stereo.

“How did you learn about that song?” he asked when American Pie played.

You smiled, “Natasha. I heard it from her.”

You ordered food from a fast food chain through a drive-thru. It was exciting as Steve ordered meals you didn’t try before. When you arrived at the peaceful park, you insist on helping him with bringing stuff. He just made you bring the blanket while he carries all the other things. When you found a perfect spot, you laid the gingham blanket on the green grass. You sat comfortably in your casual floral dress before you two began eating.

“Thank you for this, Steve.” you smiled.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for coming with me. I haven’t been on a picnic with someone for a while.” he said.

“You know, before I got in the time machine, I went picnic with my neighbors.” you shared, remembering that day with the Smiths.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones?!” he asked with surprise.

Your ears perked when you heard that. The Jones were your neighbors before the Smiths. They are the last ones Steve knew since he and Bucky would sometimes fetch you if you were hanging out somewhere. The said couple was a bit grumpy, to be honest. They can hear even the smallest noise you would make in your apartment and would always let you know they don’t like it. 

“Oh, no. They moved out months after you disappeared. Another family occupied their space. Susan and Robert Smith. They have this little kid named Donny. They are much nicer.” you joked.

“Well, that’s nice. I missed a lot of things while on ice.” 

“It was only two years, Steve. Nothing much happened.” you snorted, finishing your sundae.

“A lot of things can happen. I know Howard found the Tesseract while searching for me on the ice… Share some things that happened in those two years.” 

“Okay…” you exhaled. “I bet you already know that they tried making a series after Captain America vanished. You became an icon. Have you seen it?”

You laughed when you saw Steve hissed, “I didn’t like it.”

“Yeah, it was bad.” you cracked up. You only watched that once. You don’t like how they painted Peggy into a character named Betty who was always a damsel in distress. Peggy had complained about it too.

“Anyway, we– Howard and I– tried for like a year to search for you. But he would usually be the one to go on sites and I would always try to come with him. He needs more convincing but it always works.”

Howard often says that going in the field can be dangerous and you would fight back over and over again. You were glad you did because you were with them when they found the Tesseract.

“What convincing did you do?”

“Well, I would say that I’m his assistant. My job is technically following him around. Then when he says no, I’ll say that I am his best friend. I still do have my last reason if he denies me of coming with him.” you said.

“And what is it?”

You paused and just stared at him. Chewing on your bottom lip, you hmmed. It was like you were thinking if you should tell him the last reason for Howard to let you go with him. Steve waits. He tried to be comfortable as he leaned back with his arms resting behind him. He hoped he doesn’t look much curious or nosy. After what felt like an eternity, you spoke.

“It’s… It’s that I am the last one you spoke to while you were on that plane.” 

You looked away from him, avoiding his gaze. You tried to just look at the trees and people from the distance than just look at Steve. Your chest felt heavier when you remembered that time Steve fought that skull and had control of that plane. Steve didn’t say a word so you continued to explain more, just to get it off your chest.

“It would always work since he fully knows that I have guilt living in my system after the country lost you.” you chuckled bitterly. “I felt awfully bad that I cannot do anything to help you during that situation.”

When your voice shook uncontrollably in the last words of your sentence, Steve sat back up and you can see the sympathy in his blue eyes. He reached out for your resting hand, instantly caging it in his warm hands.

“Y/N… none of it was your fault. It was already a dead-end situation. I was the one who chose to crash it.” he tried to reassure you.

“I know, I know,” you mumbled, tears slipping from your eyes. “But I cannot stand losing another person in my life that time, Steve.”

Your tearful eyes met his concerned ones. “We just lost Barnes earlier that year. And I really just can’t lose you… I tried to think of something. Howard was in the same room while I was talking to you on the phone. We tried to make a plan but we don’t have any idea where the hell the plane was and it was moving really fast. It was really bad. I felt helpless. I thought I might have been able to do something to help you but we have no time. I hate that all I can do is talk to you on the phone, hoping that you won’t feel alone, while I prayed silently for some miracle to happen. And it was crazy because  I don’t even remember the last time I prayed before that moment.”

By the time you finished talking, you were full-on sobbing. Your chest heaved and your cheeks were damp from your salty tears. Steve held your hand. His thumb drew circles on it as he lets you cry for more. And when he felt you calming down, he uttered:

“Staying in that call with me until the end was enough for me. I appreciate you for handling yourself very well and being calm with me that time. You are amazing. And you don’t know how relieved I am when I knew you were the one who answered the call. Thank you.” Steve said softly, offering a small smile as he looked directly into your eyes. “You already did much more you know for me that time.”

2/19/1945

Y/N arrived with puffy eyes today. I knew it before she even removed the black sunglasses she had on. I already told her the day before that she have the choice of not going to the laboratory today. But she still did. It was quiet the whole day in the lab. We both tried to act busy like nothing much happened. Due to the events of these past two weeks, I’ve been getting telephone calls from a lot of people. I chose to ignore them because I know it has something to do with Rogers’ disappearance and I’d been hearing they want to make the serum like Ernskine’s. I honestly think that it would be hard to “remake” Captain America ever again. She didn’t eat anything for the whole day even a cup of coffee. I insisted on walking her home, saying I have to borrow her old research about the future of computers. She said she’ll just bring it tomorrow but I said I need it urgently even though I really don’t. In fact, I have nothing to do with her research. I just had to make sure she’ll get home safe. I thought it was a good idea to just walk with her instead of asking Jarvis to drive us. But boy, I was wrong. The loss of the nation’s superhero is plastered all over the place. I tried distracting Y/N by telling her about the funny encounter I had with a girl months ago. I never told her about it before because I know she doesn’t like that I cannot commit to a single girl. But I have no more story to tell at the moment. It was a relief that she let out small laughs and smile at it. Although the smiles didn’t reach her eyes, I hope she felt better for a bit. She was about to say some advice or something when she suddenly froze. Her lips formed into a frown and I see tears forming in her eyes. I follow where her eyes lay and it was the newspapers. WE NEED A NEW CAPTAIN. The headline was printed in big, bold letters. Eye-catching. “They cannot just replace Steve like that.” It was a whisper from her. I hate that all I can do is sigh. Two minutes later, we reached her apartment. She handed me her research and thanked me. She smiled. But it was forced, I know.

As I am writing this letter, I am thinking of leaving this city with Y/N for a vacation somewhere away from here. I don’t know if she will like that. Maybe she won’t. Maybe I’ll just settle on walking her home with another made-up reason from the back of my head. I don’t know. I just feel helpless seeing her like this again after Barnes’ and now, Rogers’ death. Even so, I’ll always make sure that she will be alright.

H.S. 

Tony removed his eyeglasses as he finished reading. His index finger traces the handwritten words by his father, sighing in the process. He can hear his father’s voice with each word in it. 

“Tony, we need to go. We should fly at six!” Pepper’s voice cuts off his thoughts.

He stretched his limbs before replying, “Okay, honey. Just getting my glasses.” 

Tony stared at the page again for a second before closing his father’s journal. He slid it onto one of the drawers on his nightstand and left.

THE SEND-OFF TAGLIST

@supraveng @sunflower-golden-vol6 @curi0usc4t @caitlyn-who @bitchy-bi-trash @stilltoomuchafangirl @matisse556 @ladybug05 @sunwoahkim @meanttobea @j69confessional2 @thenyxsky @swthxrry @justab-eautifulmess @7minutes-tomidnight @curlycarley @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @wisepenguin @shatfairy @coffeeshub @stillthatbetch @cosmicgirls-things @mediocre-m @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @mrsjaderogers @themerc-with-a-mouth @slutdreams @royalwritersoftheuniverses @yunloyal @avengersinitiative2012 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @madnessinwrighting @lilizia @saintmagx @saranghaey @elmphoenix17 @animegirlgeeky @t-stark35 @ameliabs-world @seijaelee @sully-stick-together @capswife @katdahlali @avengersgirllorianna

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@rosedpetal

[kolbisneat]

MONTHLY MEDIA: July 2024

I read a lot more than I was expecting this month but I ain't complaining. Here's how I spent the month of July!

……….FILM……….

Evil Dead II (1987) Didn't love Evil Dead (not that it's not good, I just get too spooked by straight horror) but had no idea that this would be what it is. Puppets and stop motion! Looney Tune antics! Magic with rules! This is my kinda movie and I'm baffled the modern films in the franchise don't try for this sort of energy.

Poor Things (2003) It took a while for me to settle into this, but around the time Dafoe's Godwin explains Bella's condition, I was all in. It's a dreamlike movie with dreamlike logic so despite some of the discourse I tried not to take too much of it literally. Beautiful and far funnier than I expected.

……….TELEVISION……….

Columbo (Episode 1.04 to 1.07) Gosh I love the era of television where each episode was self-contained. Episode 7 features Columbo smoking in a doctor's office and I was not at all expecting him to comment on the dangers of tobacco, but he did! I notice this first season only had a handful of episodes with the classic "oh one more thing" schtick so I'm curious if that pops up more in later seasons.

Scavenger's Reign (Episode 1.01 to 1.12) This is a show where I sit down, turn it on, and while the beautiful opening credits play, think, "I wonder what horrifying imagery is gonna f*** me up this episode?" The animation and design are sooooooo good that it made up for the occasionally baffling writing. Please go watch it so a second season can get greenlit.

Bridgerton (Episode 3.05 to 3.08) I missed a few eps there in the middle but it all worked. That final party, and all that went with it (the speech, the bugs, the reveal of who paid for it) was 10/10. Good stuff.

……….YOUTUBE……….

Yoko and The Beatles by Lindsay Ellis Yoko Ono didn't break up the Beatles. And while this video essay expands on the factors that DID split up the band, it's also a really great dive into the weight of fame and the weight of fame on women. VIDEO

Was starting a product business a mistake? by Simone Giertz An honest and detailed insight into the dream vs. reality of small business and internet fame. Looks like it's going to be a full series and I'm looking forward to more. VIDEO

……….READING……….

N or M by Agatha Christie (Complete) Spy Thriller set during the Second World War? With a husband/wife spy duo? Oh heck yeah. Sometimes I find the clues to be a little convoluted/unnecessarily obscure but this one struck a great balance of visible but easily forgettable.

The Knight of the Swords by Michael Moorcock (Complete) Having first read the comic adaptation (penciled by Mike Mignola!) I now realize some of my issues (pacing, understanding the abstract) work better in novel form. An elevated pulp adventure that has some great ironic twists.

Sherlock Holmes vs. Dracula or The Adventure of the Sanguinary Count by Loren D. Estleman (Complete) Thrift find purchased based on the premise alone. Exactly what you'd expect but not much beyond that. It's at its best when you get Dracula directly interacting with Holmes and/or Watson.

Spider-Verse by Dan Slott, Christos N. Gage, Mike Costa, Dennis Hopeless, and many many more (Complete) Really enjoyed reading this but am baffled by its production. Why the issues aren't collected in chronological order, I'll never know. I know the book is over ten years old now but the writing (especially all of the Spider-Women) really stands out as...not great. All but the Superior Spider-Man essentially sound the same (perhaps the point?) but Gwen and Jess and Cindy mostly talk about things like body image and pheromones and it's glaring. I'm curious what I'll think upon a second readthrough (reading in order, and after the first wave of nostalgia has completely rinsed off) but I definitely think this story walked so the movies could break the speed of sound.

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl Beats Up the Marvel Universe! by Ryan North and Erica Henderson (Complete) North's writing and Henderson's artwork are the perfect blend for such a bright and enthusiastic character. Unbeatable Squirrel Girl is such a great series (which I gotta go back and finish) and this is an equally great introduction to the character.

Superior Foes of Spider-Man Vol 1 by by Nick Spencer, Marcos Martin, and Steve Leiber (Complete) I was really excited for this series (the premise! the cover art!) but the pacing, humour, and art just didn't connect. Honestly really bummed that I didn't like this more.

……….AUDIO……….

3D6 Down the Line (Podcast) A nice change of pace from the modern D&D games I play in. They use Old School Essentials for their system (more akin to 2nd Edition D&D) and play with a mindset similar to the 70s style of play (treasure for experience, everything is lethal). I'm still having trouble distinguishing some of the voices from each other, but it's a great listen.

……….GAMING……….

Oz: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) Tuesday crew watched a peaceful inauguration and gained notoriety for saving a neighbourhood from roaming monsters (you can read all about it here!) and the Mof1 crew is dabbling in dangerous contracts with dangerous people (all for a cap that controls the winged monkeys).

And that's it. See you in August!

[coimbrabertone]

Le Mans vs. Daytona, Two Sides of the Endurance Racing Coin.

A bit of a belated blog on the 2024 24 Hours of Le Mans, how it compares to the other major 24-hour race - the Rolex 24 at Daytona - and how IMSA and WEC differ.

First things first, sports car racing in general is at a peak right now.

The largest prototype fields in decades, interclass competition of sorts with LMDh/GTP cars on one end and Hypercars on the other, and equally diverse GT3 fields to go with it. It's not a competition between IMSA and WEC as far as I'm concerned, both series collaborated on these regulations and that has benefitted endurance racing as a whole.

That being said, I've noticed some differences between the two, and I've had some discussions with friends about it lately.

The crux is this: the Rolex 24 at Daytona is the curtain raiser for the racing season, where drivers from every discipline from Formula One to NASCAR to half the Indycar field, plus all the regular cast of characters from endurance racing come to play. It's all within the confines of a 2.5-mile oval with big grandstands and clear sightlines, and the lights are all over the track, meaning you can see all the action pretty well. It's also in Daytona Beach a few weeks ahead of the Daytona 500.

Daytona is a party, a celebration of motorsport to kick off the next season of racing.

Le Mans, meanwhile, is a beacon of history. The start-finish line is where it has always been, the Dunlop Bridge has outlasted Dunlop itself making racing tyres, and it's an old school reminder to when those types of circular bridges were all over racing. Then onto the Mulsanne, the long, dark highway, with bits of civilization interspersed with woods, a theme with continues in the back half of the track. Some corners are named after historic tracks, like Indianapolis, others are named after the marques which defined era of Le Mans history - Corvette, Porsche, and Ford in particular.

Corvette, which has dominated GT racing at Le Mans for decades now.

Porsche, which is the most successful brand at Le Mans, and

Ford, who went back-to-back-to-back-to-back in the late 60s with the GT40, and then returned with the GT1 and GTE models in more recent decades.

That dedication to history shows in the broadcast too, with the broadcast often cutting to Tom Kristensen for interviews or by harkening back to similar events in Le Mans' past. Obviously, that's something that comes up in all racing broadcasts, but it was very apparent at Le Mans this year.

For the record, I'm not saying that's bad, this blog is proof that I'm a massive nerd when it comes to racing history, and I love that, I'm just noting it's a difference.

The crowd burning a couch in celebration after the 12 Hours of Sebring? Fans celebrating the misadventures of the Sean Creech Motorsports American flag Ligier LMP2 with its many cautions at Daytona and now Watkins Glen? You don't really see that at Le Mans.

In fact, there was one very fun thing from the 2023 Le Mans that was missing this year: the Garage 56 NASCAR. Now, i understand that was a one-off thing, and I do get the impression that the hydrogen car they showed off before the race - which was numbered #24, just like the NASCAR had been - was supposed to be a G56 entry for this year but they couldn't quite get it working yet, so I know that it's a bit of an unfair criticism to levy against Le Mans.

Still, 2023 had the big Camaro memes, the V8 sound, all those Freebird on the Mulsanne edits, it made Le Mans more fun.

And of course, Le Mans is fun even without those things - ferris wheels, fireworks, and, you know, the whole twenty-four hours of motor racing thing - all make for appointment television for racing nerds like me, but it is something I've noticed coming out of the 2024 race.

So does Le Mans need to change? No, i don't think so.

I like seeing cars coming down the Mulsanne, I like seeing the Ferrari hypercar racing against Toyota in addition to all the cars that do both IMSA and WEC, I like the announcers getting increasingly delirious as it gets into the night stint, and I like the fact that Valentino Rossi is now a BMW GT3 driver who competed at Le Mans.

The Rolex 24 at Daytona is probably more fun that Le Mans and its position on the calendar probably lets it get a handful of one-off drivers that may not be able to do Le Mans, but Le Mans also attracts plenty of unique talent as well. Ferrari doesn't do IMSA, nor does Toyota, nor does Valentino Rossi.

Would I like them to? Absolutely.

Am I fine with just having two different, successful endurance racing series on either side of the Atlantic? Absolutely. It's like the modern version of CART vs. Formula One as far as I'm concerned, only this time, I'm in a position to enjoy it.

So yeah, there are some things I prefer about IMSA, but there's plenty I love about Le Mans as well.

Hell, the fact that after the sister Ferrari won last year, we got to see the #50 Ferrari of Nicklas Nielsen, Miguel Molina, and Antonio Fuoco win. Both cars have now won Le Mans, and this means that last year's Antonio Giovinazzi, and this year's Antonio Fuoco - two drivers I've followed since the mid-to-late 2010s when they were actively in the open wheel junior series - are both Le Mans winners.

That's cool. I love the fact that drivers can fulfill their dream of winning for Ferrari, not just in Formula One, but now at Le Mans too. It's a great time to see, and between this and Indycar, I'm developing a lot of hope for talented junior drivers without F1 prospects.

Hell, on that very note, Felipe Drugovich raced at Le Mans for Action Express Cadillac this year, which seems to be his first time back in a major racing series since his F2 title campaign. Glad to see him back behind the wheel, just wish it went better for him.

Anyway, this last weekend of racing was a bit of a dud for me and I find myself busy yet again, so I'll leave the blogpost here, but do let you know what you think!

[redfurrycat]

🤠🪅👨🐓Sugar Daddy Fic Recs🐓👨🪅🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. ��

Ao3 Authors: Chase_acow, Ginnydear, Hangmanbradshaw, LulaluzHazel, Mackwinnon, Renai_chan, Thegeckbros.

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world > Daddy Klnk

leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream by ginnydear {E}

“Getting old,” she replies, humming again. “I guess that means you’re entering a new era of hook-ups though.” “What on earth are you talking about?” Bradley asks, turning down the television. “Come on Bradley, you know you’re gonna find some hot twenty-something who wants you to fu-” “Okay!” Bradley says, laughing a bit as Natasha sputters and laughs too. “I get it. You don’t have to continue.” “Don’t be such a prude,” Natasha says primly. “I was going to say ‘fund their grad school dreams’ before you so rudely cut me off.”

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't.

nothing’s good until it hurts by thegeckbros {E}  

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve)

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?” “Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.” Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

you do it all your life and you never get through it

The silver lining, if there is one to be had, about watching his dad die in front of him is that the worst thing to ever happen to Bradley is over before his life has really begun. Every shitty breakup or spectacular fuckup, every broken bone or missed flight. None of it will ever come close to even touching the worst day of Bradley’s life. And then, 15 years after the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, it all happens again. Or scenes from bradley's life, before and after jake

We're Crashing Like Waves by Renai_chan {M}

Jake is a movie star looking to get some surfing lessons and Bradley is a surfer living a quiet life in Hawaii. Like the land and the sea, they come together on the edges of O‘ahu.

Sugar Daddy Bradshaw by chase_acow {E}

Cutting to the Chase

“I’ll agree to pay for one semester if you make me look good and let me touch your ass. I suppose I’ll have to live with the disappointment of no blowjob,” Bradshaw sighed, his shoulders slumping as he adopted a hangdog expression, for exactly five seconds before he grinned again. “But think about it. I can’t be your sugar daddy if you don’t give me the sugar.” “You’d be interested in something long term?” Jake asked doubtfully, wondering if he’d somehow been involved in a terrible accident and this was all a hallucination from his desperate brain low on oxygen. “Based on what I’ve seen so far, you might be sweet enough to pay through to your doctorate,” Bradshaw said with a shrug of his shoulders as if he didn’t care one way or another about throwing a hundred thousand dollars at someone he just met.

Party Favor

Bradley needed him to go to New York on a business trip, but first Jake had to have a suit that wouldn’t make the people they were meeting laugh. So Jake spent a very uncomfortable afternoon at the tailor playing a life-sized Ken doll while Bradley and the old man with too many straight pins talked about him like he wasn’t there. The suits he ended up with each cost more than his car. The bruises he ended up with when Bradley pulled him into the changing room and lifted him up to wrap his legs around his waist had faded by the time Jake got on the private plane for the trip. Earning his membership to the mile high club was kinda cool, too.

Ride 'Em Cowboy

Bradley had some work to finish, but he joined Jake in time to start the football game. As the Longhorns ran out on the field, Jake found himself sitting pretty in Bradley’s lap. His skin felt a hundred times more sensitive after staying naked and having Bradley prime him for so long. The mustache at the nape of his neck made him shiver. “Do you think you can come once for each quarter?” Bradley asked, hands on Jake’s knees to situate them to his liking. He licked his palm and then took Jake in hand, “I think you can do it.” * “Your team’s winning, baby. What do you have to cry about?” Bradley teased after they’d watched more of the game. One hand pet across Jake’s belly while the other twisted Jake’s head around so he could lick at Jake’s tears. “Is it too much?”

Know Better

“You can come, but I am not fucking you in my mom’s home,” Jake said, leaning into his stern voice. He’d learned enough about how to wrangle the older man in the last couple of months to know he had to start out solid and then stick to his guns. “And we don’t have time to fool around now. So repack, and you’d better pick at least one shirt that isn’t going to blind everyone with the print.” Bradley smirked, and Jake should have known better.

that little farm where every wish comes true by hangmanbradshaw {E}

Jake's only wish that holiday season was simple- to keep his family christmas tree farm. He never expected that wish would be granted via a man with deep pockets, an amused smile, and commitment issues a mile wide. He never expected to like him. He definitely never expected to love him. Hell, he never expected Bradley Bradshaw. Or Hallmark Christmas Movie but make it sugar (daddy) and spice and everything nice.

Serendipity by LulaluzHazel {E}

During his second year at university, Bradley found himself with no room or a place to live. Venting to his co-worker, a handsome customer overheard his problems and offered him a sweet deal: to stay at his flat in exchange for looking out for his cat. But why did his new landlord have to be a naval aviator of all things? Couldn't he just be a regular rich kid?

[etherealspacejelly]

I watched two more episodes of Star Trek as part of movie night and now I fear that I'm in The Hole.

AND I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND THE SHIPPING NOW. The first time Bones and Kirk showed up on screen my romance-repulsed aromantic brain actually went 'Woah there!' like WHAT. That HAD to be intentional on SOME level. WHAT!

And then they started talking with Spock together and I realised that they really are in a polycule because who acts like that around their friends. Come on. Come on. My literal monkey brain went 'ooga booga they have feelings that I don't like' like come ON.

Anyways yes that's all. May redraw a screenshot because I so miss the era of television where they'd use all the differently coloured lights that they owned at once

JSBRJWIWHBW YESSSS YESSSS❗️❗️❗️❗️ A NEW MCSPIRK TRUTHER❗️❗️❗️❗️

join the fucking club bud they drive me insane lmaooo

the hole only gets deeper from here babygirl you're gonna love it

man im so excited yippee wahoo yippeeee

[doverstar]

reading your posts about your time watching doctor who reminded me of the first time i discovered doctor who, mainly, the eleventh doctor. i was going through such a tough time, and one day i just decided to watch doctor who to see what all of the fuss was about and started 'the eleventh hour.' it was pure magic to me. everyone has their doctor, and matt smith will always be mine. he was great! i loved how eccentric and warm he could be. i loved how he was just so sweet and kind to all of his companions, and i loved that undercurrent of darkness that was always bubbling under the surface of his character. matt smith was brilliant and i really, really wish they'd bring him back as the doctor in some way. i miss him so.

I so enjoy your blog and I was delighted to get this in my inbox. I loved reading this and picturing how you discovered the show; if anyone else wants to share their own DW experience with me, please take this as a sign! Commiserating over loving and missing the Doctor, feeling like he really is your friend (silly but true), is very cathartic to me. Nine was my first, and so was Rose. I didn't know anything about the show at all when I started in that basement bedroom, went in completely blind. I know what you mean by pure magic! I thought Christopher Eccleston would be the Doctor forever, and I was totally in love with him. I thought he was the reason everyone loved the show (I hadn't even seen Matt Smith's face yet, that's how in the dark I was at the time!). When he changed into David Tennant, I'll never forget how strong my feelings were. The revulsion and despair were huge. I was a lil teenager wrapped up in a zebra-patterned blanket downstairs, outraged that the 40-something with the big ears had transformed into hot young hair man. When Harriet Jones pleaded for the Doctor's help and Rose started crying in the kitchen, I was a mess. No television show that I can recall inspired in me such realistic emotions before Doctor Who, not like that! It took me so long to get used to Ten, and even now I still look at him and remember how hard it was to get used to him. Felt like someone had forced me to move homes or something. And when I finally got caught up to the show on live television, Matt Smith was finishing off his first season, and oh, he was so easy to love. Even as an adult now, his variation feels so safe. I love everything about him, the childish energy, the old man movement, the rhyming way he talks, and when he's angry, he reminds me of Eccleston. I'm like, That's him! That's the Doctor! I rewatch that era for Matt alone. When Clara looks at him regenerating and whispers "Please don't change," I cry every time. She's right. We were all saying it. Also reading your I miss him so totally made me stop and actually get emotional too - that says it all about the Doctor, about that time in my life (yours too, sounds like!) Eccleston to Smith. I miss him so.

[amnestria-the-elf]

I had a dream that my 77-year-old mother was isekai'ed into BG3, so of course I had to write a small little ditty about it.

To be clear, my mother would make a terrible Tav. She has no interest in fantasy or sci-fi and spends the majority of her time on Facebook. Being outside is her least favorite activity. Her favorite TV show is one of the Sunday morning news programs (I have no idea which, because I have not watched broadcast television since 2012, but she definitely tells me about the stories they have on that show all the time.) She is not a decisive person; she was raised in the toxic traditional gender role post-war Boomer era, and is perfectly fine to let others dictate how her life turns out.

Having said all of that, she'd make a decent Bard. For a sweet-looking older lady, she can come up with some surprisingly sick burns. Probably all of that repressed rage that she refuses to get therapy about. Anyway.

*~~~*

Linda was far too old for this shit.

Other women her age spent their time knitting, or going to their little exercise classes, or watching their soaps, or swapping stories about their grandchildren, or writing interesting Facebook posts. God, she missed writing Facebook posts.

But not Linda. Oh, no. Linda had somehow gotten pulled into a horrifying universe and had some kind of parasite inserted in her head, and now found herself surrounded by an unlikely band of misfits who shared the same affliction.

Perhaps she was having a psychotic break. Maybe she was really back home and her daughter had placed her in some kind of institution because she was entirely unresponsive. Honestly, she hoped that was true, but her back hurt like hell and every wound she sustained bled real blood, and that odd little Goth girl had to heal her every time, so she was reasonably certain that what was happening was real.

She was getting better at not getting wounded as often, at least. She learned that she was of better use to the group when she stayed in the back and just yelled insults at the enemies while everyone else did their thing. The angry alien lady seemed perfectly happy to take her rage out on anyone in her way and that disturbingly pale elf did well with his little bow and arrow. He really needed to get some color into his cheeks; he’d never find someone to be with looking like that. If only she could go to Walgreens and get him some bronzer. It would do him a world of good.

The magical bearded man did a surprisingly good job of cooking their meals. Linda tried to help but quickly realized she had no idea how to cook over an open fire. She longed to be back in her newly-remodeled kitchen, with the induction cooktop and smart fridge that automatically reordered her groceries for her. How did any of these people even function without wifi? They would never get to see the funny cat videos that she sent her daughter every day. Such a shame.

The most helpful companion was the heroic young man who had jumped down to fight the goblins in front of the Grove. What was his name? Will? No, Wyll with a “Y.” She remembered the odd little Goth girl teasing him about it. He had been so good with those little horned children after the fight. Her granddaughter would love playing with him.

Tears stung at her eyes as she thought about her granddaughter. Would she ever get to see her again? She sighed heavily as she stared down into her bowl of porridge.

“Are you alright?” a kind voice asked.

Linda looked up to see Wyll coming to sit down on the log next to her with his own bowl of porridge.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about my granddaughter,” she said.

“Oh, you have a granddaughter?” Wyll asked. “What is she like?”

“She’s about the same age as those kids you were training back in the Grove. I think she’d like you, actually. She’s very active. She tears around the house as fast as she can, slaying imaginary dragons or pretending to be a lion.”

Wyll laughed. “A courageous heart, no doubt. I hope I can meet her someday.”

Linda sighed wistfully again. “She lives… very far away from here.”

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You must miss her very much.”

“Yes,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes again.

“Istik, enough sniveling,” that angry alien lady interrupted. “We must find the creche today. Purification cannot wait.”

“Give her a break, Lae’zel,” Wyll said. “She misses her family.”

“Tch,” Lae’zel said with an eye roll, but walked away.

“We don’t have to listen to her, you know,” Wyll said when Lae’zel was out of earshot. “You can choose what we do today.”

“I don’t know what we should do,” she replied. “You decide.”

Wyll frowned. “Well, the area where the githyanki were spotted is not far from a little settlement, Waukeen’s rest. There might be a healer staying at the inn there. It’s a longshot, but…”

“That sounds fine,” Linda said. “Lead the way.”

*~~~*

The burning building put Linda over the edge. No way could she handle rushing into flames and smoke to save somebody. Let the young people kick in doors and risk life and limb. Wyll seemed very proud of himself as he rushed in, so Linda just sat down on the edge of the fountain with a soft groan. Minutes passed; she started to worry that perhaps they weren’t going to come back out when a group of sweaty, sooty people stumbled out, coughing. 

When it became clear that Wyll was actually the son of a Grand Duke, Linda’s mind was made up.

“That’s it, Wyll. From now on, you’re in charge,” she said.

“I’m… what?” he asked, bewildered.

“In charge. You make the decisions. I’m done,” she said.

“Um, you’re sure? I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes…”

“I’m sure. I don’t think any of the others can handle it. Magic man talks too much–”

“Magic man?” Wyll asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m not good with names!” Linda snapped. “The pale one is too whiny and these two–” she gestured to Lae’zel and Shadowheart– “won’t quit fighting. That leaves you. Help me. Please.”

Lae’zel and Shadowheart both started to grumble, but Linda cut them off with a withering glare honed by years of experience taking care of children and a husband. Wyll eyed them, then nodded and took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll take charge. And make sure everyone gets what they need,” he said pointedly towards the others.

Good. Let Wyll do whatever needs to be done. From here on out, Linda was staying at camp.

[timeagainreviews]

Up the Killjoys!

Growing up in a flyover state, I got used to missing out on a lot of events. Bands would skip the City of Fountains in favour of St Louis or Denver. Road trips were necessities among my friends. When David Lynch’s Inland Empire came to theatres, I was already saving up for the trip to Denver. I had never seen a new David Lynch film in the theatre, and I wasn’t going to miss my opportunity. You can imagine my relief when a tiny ad in the local paper announced Inland Empire would be playing at the local arthouse for one week. In my excitement, I may have overdone it. Over the course of that week, I saw that impenetrable enigma of a three-hour film three times! A bit much, I know, but give me a break. I was in my twenties and used words like “cinema.” It’s ironic then, that watching the Criterion Collection’s recent digital upscaling of the film on my laptop helped me connect with the movie on a deeper level than three viewings on the big screen could manage.

There are purists out there who say that digital upgrades of old material are blasphemy. The Star Wars special editions remain a sore spot among old people like myself who wish they would continue offering the original versions. But in the case of Doctor Who, these digital updates can help stories rise to the greatness of their writing. While the quaint effects of classic Doctor Who are charming, they can also be distracting. Simply put, “Snakedance,” is far more engrossing when the snake doesn’t look like shit. I can suspend my disbelief, but I connect to the material so much more when it’s not necessary. “The Happiness Patrol,” is one of the latest stories to receive such an upgrade, and it’s the one I’ve been most anticipating. If ever there were a story that could benefit from widening its scope, it’s this one.

The “Doctor Who: The Collection,” series has been a must-buy for me. I’m not being a shill, it’s simply the truth. They announce them, I pre-order them. However, season 25 is a unique moment in the collection as it marks the Seventh Doctor era as the first completed era of a single Doctor. It would have been Colin Baker, but “The Twin Dilemma,” remains unreleased as it was still a part of season 21. It’s not surprising that Seven’s time in the TARDIS should be the first completed. It’s only three seasons, and it’s also very beloved. Many consider the Seventh Doctor era as a turning point, where Andrew Cartmel’s role as script editor started to pay off. Although the show was never able to regain the audience numbers lost during the hiatus of 1985, the show was something of its old self again.

Despite the reappraisal of the Seventh Doctor era, “The Happiness Patrol,” remains controversial among fans of the fuddy-duddy variety. Alright, maybe some of them have a point. After all, I did say I was anticipating this release, and not without reason. Three of the most common complaints revolve around the poor use of soundstages, the Kandy Man, and the Pipe People, in that order from most egregious to a minor quibble. It’s lucky then that the soundstages get the most attention, which lends credence to the other two.

As settings go, Terra Alpha is like many other Doctor Who planets- an entire planet with a theme and one language and government (other than the native Pipe People, of course). However, we receive very little in the way of establishing shots. There are no scale models of the city, no model of the planet itself. Instead, we open on soundstage dressed to look like a city street at night. Were it not for the street lamp, you could be excused for mistaking this as an indoor location. While it may have looked acceptable on a 1988 television, on Blu-ray, the illusion is lost. However, through the miracle of digital compositing, the new special edition opens up the skyline a bit. So when the camera pans down from the neon-signed horizon to the street level, it feels like a natural extension of a cramped city. The geography of Terra Alpha demands to be understood better as it can be rather confusing with little to no establishing shots. Even still, there are moments where the city feels shunted together. There’s even a moment where Ace casually wanders into the Kandy Man’s “Kandy Kitchen,” laboratory because why not? Why would a totalitarian regime lock the doors of its evil torture lab?

The government of Terra Alpha has outlawed feelings such as grief and anguish in favour of happiness and smug superiority. Led by a Thatcher cypher named Helen A, the Happiness Patrol roam the streets in golf carts whilst armed to the teeth with pink weaponry matching their hair and uniform. Nothing and no one is allowed to be blue, not even the TARDIS which they partially paint pink to bring it up to code. People vanish after Routine Disappearances where undercover agents pose as sympathetic ears to the plights of the downtrodden citizens of Terra Alpha. Muzak pours from tannoys on every corner in an attempt to liven up the city with cheeriness. The effect, however, feels more like Eraserhead or Auschwitz, where music fails to cover up the misery and danger permeating the atmosphere. Despite all of this, a resistance pocket of Killjoys put on demonstrations protesting the forced frivolity. Cutting through all of that muzak is the soulful harmonica of Earl Sigma, an outsider turned reluctant resident. As a visitor to Terra Alpha, Earl is given the designation of Sigma to indicate his outsider status.

Speaking of outsiders, the Doctor and Ace are questioned upon arrival due to their lack of badges. They’re designated Sigmas and told to stay within visitor boundaries, but the Doctor presses the matter of their lack of documentation as a means to get captured. I rather liked watching the Seventh Doctor purposely getting himself arrested. While McCoy’s portrayal as the Doctor in season 24 was whimsical and clownish, season 25 introduces a more Machiavellian side to the Seventh Doctor which lends him a far more nuanced quality than a man who purposely hangs himself off a catwalk from his umbrella. Now I say arrested, but nobody is actually arrested on Terra Alpha as there are no jails. At least, not by their definition. This is the waiting area. Don’t let the armed guard or the booby-trapped escape vehicle fool you.

Wordplay is a key aspect to Graeme Curry’s script. The Happiness Patrol finds inventive ways to redefine the world using language. It’s a chilling reminder of the ways our own government can redefine what a person is, what legal immigration looks like, or even where a country's borders begin and end. It’s impossible to get ahead when they keep moving the goalposts. Throughout Terra Alpha, Helen A’s propaganda can be seen far and wide. She transmits video feeds addressing the city directly through fruit machines with “jokes,” meant to undermine and dehumanise Killjoys. What is a Killjoy exactly? Well, anyone who disagrees with Helen A’s myopic view of the world. Anyone who might make Helen A feel sadness. Anyone who might make Helen A feel alone. Anyone who might make her question her moral code. While Curry’s messaging isn’t exactly subtle, it never winks and nods at itself. It strikes a balance of obviousness without insulting the viewer’s intelligence. Instead, Curry saves the groan-inducing dialogue for puns, of which there are many.

While in holding, the Doctor and Ace witness a public execution of a Killjoy. Some sources have claimed that the executed Killjoy is a queer-coded individual, but I fail to see it. I’ve seen people claim he is wearing a pink triangle, but thanks to the miracle of 4K digital restoration, you can see that the pink triangle is actually the result of a pink shirt under a partially zipped jacket. The only other pink triangles are the flags hanging from the cheery bunting. Don’t let me yuck your yum though. If you prefer the gay allegory, don’t let me stop you. What’s super weird about this scene, however, is the means by which the man is executed. A large metal tube is lowered over the man’s body and a deluge of liquid strawberry fondant pours into the chamber. It’s hard to tell what exactly kills him here. Does he drown in the fondant? Was the liquid scalding hot? Was it diabetes? It’s not entirely clear, but it is most definitely bizarre.

Bizarre and surreal are two words I would use to describe this serial. Perhaps the most surreal aspect at the chewy centre of this story is the Kandy Man himself. Full disclosure, but the first time I watched the Happiness Patrol, I had a hard time with the Kandy Man as a concept. I didn’t mind that he looks like Bertie Bassett as it fits Helen A’s bizarro brand of cloying cuteness, but the fact that he is made out of actual candy is baffling. Sure it’s weird to make a kill bot that looks like candy, but using actual candy is just poor craftsmanship. Call me crazy, but I feel like one of the first rules of building a robot is that its components should be non-perishable. They do mention the sugar beet fields of Terra Alpha. Perhaps sugar is easier to source than metal? No, there’s metal everywhere in the city. It’s just weird.

The Kandy Man’s body does seem to have a bit of reasoning to it. Gilbert, the Kandy Man’s assistant/creator mentions that the Kandy Man must keep moving or he will solidify. It seems like a design defect, but it really just makes Kandy Man more relatable. I too turn into a brick of toffee when I become too sedentary. What’s that? He’s also a moody artist forced by the government to use his talents for evil? Literally me. It reminds me a bit of how our own bodies are constantly warding off disease and decay. In a way, it makes the Kandy Man more than a machine, but something living. That and his human mouth painted blue which I had never noticed before seeing it in hi-def. Thanks to the Blu-ray upgrade, you can see the Kandy Man’s metal grill as clearly as Ace’s Batman earrings.

After watching their fellow non-cellmate get murdered by Helen A, the Doctor and Ace defuse the armed golf cart and escape. However, during the chase, Ace and the Doctor are separated. The Doctor is almost caught by an undercover agent named Silas P of the Happiness Patrol only to be rescued by Earl Sigma who knocks Silas P unconscious. When the patrol find their way to Silas’ whistle, they assume he’s the target and kill him, reminding the viewer that there is no safety under fascism. There is no way to be the perfect citizen. We will always fall short of unreasonable expectations– even you. Free from immediate danger, the Doctor and Earl make their way to even more danger. The Doctor wishes to find the Kandy Kitchen so that he may confront this confit hatchetman. Meanwhile, Ace ingratiates herself with a sympathetic member of the Happiness Patrol- Susan Q.

Susan Q, or Suzie Q as I like to call her, is disillusioned by Helen A’s vision for Terra Alpha, illustrating how even the converted can see the cracks forming. She was even demoted from Susan L to Susan Q after she was caught owning a blues record. She didn’t revel in the shooting of civilians and she expressed sympathy for the Killjoys. Because of this, she attempts to help Ace with her Happiness Patrol auditions, lest she becomes the next victim of the Kandy Man’s fondant surprise. Upon realising Ace couldn’t fake happy even when her life depended on it, Susan allows Ace to escape, thus endangering her own life. We stan Suzie Q in this house. She’s a good one, our Suze.

The Doctor and Earl get captured almost immediately. Gilbert and the Kandy Man tie them up in barber chairs in preparation for experimentation. The Doctor questions the Kandy Man and learns that the fondant tubes can be redirected. Remember how I said it’s weird that the Kandy Man is made of real candy? I believe this scene is why. You see, to trap the Kandy Man, the Doctor tricks him into knocking a bottle of lemonade to the floor. As the lemonade mixes with Kandy Man’s sugary feet, he’s locked into place and unable to move. The Doctor and Earl use this as an opportunity to escape into the underground of the city. The Kandy Man can only call out to Gilbert to come and set him free.

I’ve heard that the scenes within the Kandy Kitchen were originally supposed to be black and white with the Kandy Man in colour. Think Pleasantville but with a killer candy robot. However, the effect was scrapped most likely due to the limitations of technology and/or budget. You can see the concept of the idea in the black and white painted backgrounds which evoke a sort of “The Cabinet of Dr Caligari,” vibe. Part of me was hoping they would attempt this effect with the special edition, but I understand why they didn’t. It probably would have upset more people than it would have made happy. Even still, it could have been a cool extra to throw in.

As special editions go, the Doctor Who upgrades are usually very clever. While they do occasionally take a perfectly serviceable model shot and render it into an unnecessary CGI shot, they usually make good decisions. You younger people won’t really get this, but there was a time when special effects in television changed dramatically. After Jim Henson realised you could use latex skin over an animatronic to achieve Yoda, the industry standard for puppets and makeup changed overnight. Ten years later you started to see aliens and monsters in Doctor Who that were starting to look fairly believable. Sure, the concept of the Kandy Man is weird, but he never doesn’t look like a robot made of candy. And while not the most impressive puppet, Helen A’s pet Stigorax “Fifi,” was completely serviceable. Even the Pipe People look great. This is all to say, I am glad they didn’t try and change things for the sake of changing them.

While traversing the underground, the Doctor and Earl discovered Chekov’s sugar avalanche built up in the pipe. One wrong toot on Earl’s harmonica (Do you toot harmonicas?) and it could all come pouring down. They also meet the Pipe People who realise fairly quickly that they are allies through a mutual love of the blues and Ace. Throughout the story, the Pipe People do a lot of spying from manholes. Ultimately, however, they do very little. They’re a bit of an afterthought. While I do like their makeup, I totally forgot they were even in this story until they showed up. This is a fairly common complaint about them as many people forget about them. I chalk this up to Andrew Cartmel’s inexperience as a script editor. The Pipe People could just as easily have been rolled into the Killjoys for as much development as they get. I understand Graeme Curry’s desire to introduce a native species to Terra Alpha, but for as much impact as the Pipe People leave on the story, they may as well have saved the money from the makeup budget and put it into building better sets. However, they have a handful of fun moments like when they think Ace’s name is Gordon Bennett or when they orchestrate the Kandy Man’s death.

Sadly, one aspect of soundstage that can’t be improved with CGI is the frequency at which they reuse locations. Had they been able to shoot a story on location, they could have found numerous spots and angles to keep things fresh. Instead, the story reverts to a lot of the Doctor or Ace getting captured and escaping. It all sort of starts to blend together. It’s weird because they have to be so economical with the shortened time of a three-parter, and yet they have to keep coming up with new reasons to reuse a set. It’s possibly one of the messiest aspects of the story. The only workaround I can see if if they had scouted a location to stand in as Terra Alpha’s streets while maintaining the interiors on a soundstage. That or do a different story all together. But then we wouldn’t have this unique adventure.

The Pipe People help Ace escape, once again. Oh, did I not mention Ace got captured again? Only this time in the waiting zone, Ace is joined by Susan who has been discovered as a sympathiser. Their cruel jailor, the sadistic Pricilla P relishes the idea of their upcoming executions. Ace is sprung out of jail by one of the Pipe People and she absconds to the underground, sadly leaving Susan Q behind. But don’t worry, Ace is going to get captured again. I know you were concerned about that.

At this point, the story is all over the place. Helen A sends Fifi into the tunnels to hunt down the rebellion while the Doctor meets a census taker named Trevor Sigma. Because, sure, why not? The scenes between the Doctor and Trevor, while entertaining, are another addition to an already overstuffed story. I even took an inventory of the characters with my boyfriend and he had completely forgotten the existence of Trevor after having seen the story only two days prior. The Doctor then takes another excursion to stop a pair of snipers from taking fire on a group of Killjoys. It’s odd because the story is already experiencing bloat but I wouldn’t delete this scene for a few reasons. Firstly, it’s actually on theme. The Doctor is taking the time to humanise the dehumanised by closing the gap between sniper and target. It’s easy to take a life from a distance, but can he shoot the Doctor at point-blank range? It’s also great because it’s such a badass moment for Sylvester McCoy. There’s something about the Doctor begging to be annihilated that just gets my jollies. It’s truly one of his coolest moments as the Doctor. And lastly, at least they’re shooting a different set, or at least another angle of the same set. I’ll take a win when I can!

Ace stops Fifi with Nitro 9 only for Fifi to die later by sugar avalanche. It’s an odd choice when you consider the fact that they could have killed her with the Nitro 9 and left out the entire avalanche aspect altogether. I get that it’s a cool idea for Earl to resonate the sugar crystals until it caves in, but maybe pick one? I will say they did a good job on the puppeteering of Fifi running. I did giggle a bit at the way it was shot. They use such a wide angle that it makes Fifi appear very small inside that giant pipe. It undercuts her ferocity when you’re like “Awww puppy!” Maybe they were going for more of a scurrying look than a lurching look. Either way, I love Fifi’s mournful howl. I like that it evokes wolves or cats, but also sounds like its own creature looming in the distance.

Sheila Hancock dazzles as the contemptibly cheery Helen A. In just three short episodes, she sells herself as one of the 7th Doctor’s most memorable enemies. And as he would say- "You can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies." Doctor Who has had its fair share of evil men and women giving edicts from behind a desk, but there’s something about Helen A that sticks with you. She’s up there with Graham Crowden, Beatrix Lehmann, and Trevor Baxter - single-story actors who leave their mark in big ways. I love a Classic Doctor Who actor who throws themselves into their role. She’s having fun, and by extension, so are we. I also like that Helen A appears to be the only one allowed to wear red. That’s toxic girlboss energy and I love that for her.

Having the Doctor waltz into Helen A’s office is an unexpected pleasure. I like the way the Doctor is playing with the artifice that is Helen A’s rule. There are no prisoners on Terra Alpha. Why wouldn’t the Doctor be allowed in Helen A’s office? She has nothing to hide, after all. And he’s not an enemy of the state. All is well! Eat sugar, paint yourself pink, and carry on. The Doctor also learns of Helen A’s soft spot for Fifi. This somewhat ties back to my comments about Nitro 9 vs Sugar Avalanche. They establish Helen A’s love for Fifi to both the audience and the Doctor on numerous occasions. I may be wrong, but Helen A’s doting over a wounded Fifi undercuts her shock over Fifi’s death. I find it hard to believe she would send Fifi out again after such a close call. Then again, Helen A probably doesn’t love Fifi more than she loves herself. One thing I did find interesting about Fifi's bandages is that they seem to heal her. I wondered if these weren't maybe the same healing bandages the First Doctor wore in "The Edge of Destruction."

Having helped Ace escape, Susan Q is sentenced to death by fondant surprise but the Doctor stops the execution by trapping the Kandy Man with lemonade yet again. Worried that his insides will solidify into toffee, the Kandy Man releases Susan from her sticky fate. Once again, I am baffled by the Kandy Man’s design. He’s like one of those fish that stops breathing when it stops swimming. Or maybe it’s like how God gave me combined ADHD because he knew I would be too powerful without it. Gilbert’s little failsafe he built into the Kandy Man just in case he ever reached beyond his station. The Doctor unfreezes the Kandy Man and the Kandy Man stays true to his word and spares both Ace and Susan. What a day everyone is having.

One of the strengths of Graeme Curry’s script is that he’s able to keep all of these different balls in the air, with set-up and call-backs repeatedly paying off. Sure, there are moments when the Doctor feels like he is teleported from one location to the next, but everything has its place. Take Trevor Sigma, for example. I mentioned earlier that he’s yet another element in a fairly stacked narrative, but he turns out to be one of the most pivotal characters in the entire story. Due to his thorough census, there is now a paper trail for every person Helen A has disappeared. The holes where they used to exist paint the real portrait of a murderous despot. The paintings of Helen A plastering Terra Alpha are but a facade on her factory of death.

The death of the Kandy Man, brought on by a truly surprising wave of fondant, is the beginning of the end for Helen A. The remains of the Kandy Man flush down the tube like a blasting cap in sugar water. She had the sugar, the power, and the women, but she lost it all. What’s worse is those bloody Killjoys learned to beat her at her own game by adding cheeriness to their demonstrations. The Doctor, Earl, and the rest of the Killjoys disrupt Ace’s sure-to-be-fatal audition at the Forum with a public outcry of joy and merriment. Rubbing salt in her wounds, Helen A’s husband Joseph C and Gilbert M have stolen her ship presumably to open a bed and breakfast. I wish them both many years of happiness together. With uprisings all over Terra Alpha breaking out, the walls are closing in for Helen so she begins packing. However, while absconding, she is stopped cold by her beloved pet Fifi. Cradling her in her arms, Helen grieves while the rest of Terra Alpha laughs.

The special edition's ending differs from the original broadcast version's ending in a very simple yet effective way. As the TARDIS dematerialises, the camera now pans up to a neon sign that says “Keep smiling,” which then goes dark, implying the end of Helen A’s reign and the Happiness Patrol’s stranglehold on Terra Alpha. It’s such a better ending and so on theme that I don’t even care that the font they chose looks like it says “Keep sniling.” It’s a great example of how digital compositing can be more than set extensions. They don’t shy from making creative choices. The term “LOL,” was not heavily used in the 80’s, but having a sign that says “LOL POPS” makes the story feel retroactively modern, which feels wibbly wobbly timey wimey. And if you don’t like that, then just chalk it up to a burned-out “I” in “lolipops.” And then chalk it up to the signmaker not knowing how to spell lollipops. Maybe it’s the same guy who made the “Keep sniling,” sign.

If you’re a fan of the Seventh Doctor era, you owe it to yourself to check out this boxed set. It’s worth it for the special edition of “The Happiness Patrol” alone. Sure, sometimes the digital effects sit weird next to the video footage of 80’s Doctor Who, but you’ll soon forget that distraction a lot sooner than you would forget the distractingly tiny sets. It’s obvious this was a labour of love. They went big on this one and I appreciate them for that. But the real heroes are the original cast and crew for finding such an entertaining way to deliver some hard truths. Politicians who smile while stripping you of your rights are as relevant today as ever. It’s important for us that fiction be allowed to explore concepts like dehumanisation. If our politicians have more enemies than policies, maybe they’re only out for their own selfish means. No matter what happens, we all have to find our own happiness. Stay safe, and keep sniling.