#candy-crackpot

[isthenextchapterofdgmoutyet]

these days Nora beats me to the punch but THEY DON'T POST IT ON SMS JUST DISCORD so i just go FINE I'LL LET SOMEONE ELSE DO IT FEELS BAD TAKING CREDIT

anyway yeah, previews are out, go look. 行けぇ。シュー

[kopfkino-o]

hi hello it is me again this time with an acotar crackpot theory poll: halloween edition

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love, part 9 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near-death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

(also on AO3 here)

Steve POV continued

“Sorry.” Lying in his bunk in the gloomy cabin, Steve drags his fingers miserably across his eyes. How freakin’ embarrassing—mistaking his best friend for his parents. “Still dreaming, I guess.”

“How do you feel?” asks Robin.

“Oh, peachy! How d’ya think?” He’s beyond tired of feeling this crappy. What the hell happened this time?

Oh yes. He and Eddie kissed, and then…

“Okay, bad news first,” she says, perching on the bed. “You bled through your bandages again. Got all sweaty and yuck.” He knows this already—from the gnaw in his side, and how he’s sticking to the lumpy mattress. “Good news? The bleeding stopped. The really juicy news—we have a theory about what might fix you.”

She spouts a load of stuff about the water from Lover’s Lake giving him some kind of vaguely defined power. And Eddie sucking it out of him?

He snickers. “Did you get that crackpot theory out of the ‘The Weekly Watcher?’”

“Come on, Steve, this is way beyond a shot-in-the-dark.” He rolls his eyes. Even though he sort of agrees with her. “We need to test the theory. Eddie’s gone to fetch lake water.”

“He’s gone back to Hawkins? Is he out of his mind?” He can’t spare the energy to worry about Eddie. He still does, and it makes him feel worse.

“You all right?” asks Robin. “You’ve gone… kinda gray.”

Yeah, feeling kinda gray. He stops scowling, simply because it’s too much effort. “Is there any non-Fairyland water in this shit-hole?”

“There’s a pump.”

After he’s had a drink and splashed his face, he feels… not much better, actually. He slumps back onto the pillow with a hard sigh. “Robin, I wish it was just us, stuck in this together. You're literally the only person in my life where there’s, like, almost zero tension. I mean, we bitch at each other and all—”

“Never!” she snarks.

“Haha, point taken. It’s about nothing that ever matters, though. I know.... You'll... You know, we’ll…”

“Always be there for each other? I sure hope so.” There’s a quiver in her voice that alarms him.

“You still think one of us might not make it this time?”

“No! I mean... We've gotten through that part, haven't we?”

Sure doesn’t feel like it from here. 

“Listen,” she says, “it doesn’t have to be tense or cringy between you and Eddie, just because you like each other.”

“Yeah, right. We kissed. I passed out! Not cool.”

“Like he’s gonna hold that against you.” She squeezes his arm. He stares at her chipped nail polish, battling a fresh assault from his candy-ass emotions. “As per ever, dates keep belly-flopping into your lap! When we get through this, I swear I'm gonna slap you for—”

An owl hoot interrupts her. She scuttles to the window, crouches down and peeps out. “It’s okay,” she hisses, “It’s Eddie.”

“Your signal is an owl noise? It’s the middle of the goddamn day! Why don’t you wait till dark and send up fireworks?”

Steve grumbles for the sake of it. On the other hand, he wasn’t lying to Robin. He really doesn’t want to handle Eddie right now. He turns his face to the pillow, muffles his ears with the blanket. Someone prods him. “Steve,” says Robin. “We’ve got the lake water.”

He rolls over. Eddie’s there, brandishing a plastic bottle of clouded liquid. He fixes on Robin. “You want me to drink that shit?”

“Not unless you want to die of what half the soldiers in the Civil War did,” says Robin.

Steve shares a moment of bafflement with Eddie. “How am I gonna get shot drinking lake water?”

“They died of dysentery, Dingus! You literally did nothing in history other than crack moronic jokes and eat breakfast, did you?”

“Whatever,” mumbles Steve. He’s not sure what dysentery is. Sounds sucky. “What are we supposed to do with it, super-brain?”

“Erm, try pouring it.” Robin peels off the freshly bloodied bandages from Steve’s side, grimacing as dramatically as ever. “To be fair, this is disgusting and almost as risky. If nothing good happens, though, we can wipe it off. Yay!”

She drips on the water. For a split second, it’s ice-cold, and he hisses. “Ow… Jesus, Robin!”  

“Sorry.”

“Nothing’s happening,” he says. “Oh, hold on. Gnnng, no, no, no, no, no!” 

Steve’s flesh and blood blend into pink froth, sizzling like he’s been doused in boiling chip fat. Robin jolts backward; Steve whimpers, helpless to stop himself. Eddie, meanwhile, grabs Steve’s hand, as the unbearable scalding subsides into a strong but tolerable itch. Steve inhales raggedly, lifts his head to confirm that the bat bites have knitted again, leaving a wet mess of red puckered marks and scars.

“I guess that could’ve gone worse.” Eddie sounds spooked.

“Could’ve gone worse? It hurt like… What just happened? WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” Steve’s got a crazy urge to scream… no… run! Pushing himself up onto his elbows takes everything he’s got. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“Ssssh, it’s okay.” Robin’s now gotten her arms around him, and Eddie’s still holding his hand. “This proves that it’s the water. You’re not flayed, or Vecnad, or Henryd or whatever. Eddie and I discussed it and—”

“What!?!” Steve wriggles free and laughs, because this is hysterical. “You discussed that without including me?”

“We never believed you’d been taken by the dark side,” says Robin, her hand on her breast. “I swear!”

“That’s not the… Ow!”

“Does it still hurt?” asks Robin.

Steve stares daggers at Eddie: “Can you quit crushing my fingers already?”

“Sorry.” Eddie drops Steve’s hand, a little too keenly—leaving Steve oddly desolate, despite his request. Other than that, he does feel better.

And grouchier than ever.

Half an hour later, he’s well enough to get up. He washes himself down at the pump, attempts to salvage his hair, then joins the others in preparing a baked-bean and banana supper. He argues forcefully that both parts can be served together, and it will taste awesome.

Which they do.

Ignoring Robin’s advice, he sips a bottle of bad beer. Eddie is clad in a clean Hellfire Club t-shirt—given to him by Henderson—and regales them with news from Hawkins. This proves depressing, given that Eleven and Hopper are now outlaws too. Then they chat about what hiding places they might move onto next.

“We’re not quite as remote as we thought here,” says Robin. “I found a track that leads pretty close, and you could probably get an off-roader all the way to the camp.” She glances at Steve. “We need somewhere really tucked away, and maybe closer to Lover’s Lake, right?”

“Why are you asking me?” he snaps. “You two seem to have all the answers. I haven’t a clue.”

Steve crawls into his bunk first. For once, sleep doesn’t clobber him instantly. Despite what he said to Robin, he has got theories—stupid though they seem—about the lake, and that time he nearly drowned in it.

He should’ve been terrified of swimming after that. He never was. Plus, he’s been dreaming about that period of his life lately. Dreaming about it a LOT, now he thinks about it.

After a while, he gets sick of his churning thoughts and sits up. Moonlight streaks through one of the high bunk room windows, revealing that Eddie is awake too, cross-legged on the floor. He’s muttering to himself, fiddling with his hair, then his hands. 

On spotting Steve staring at him, he presses a finger to his lips, picks up a flashlight, and motions toward the door. Steve pulls on a sweater and follows him outside. It’s a dry night. Banks of bruise-brown clouds semi-obscure a near full moon and a few hazy stars. It’s cool too, though Steve’s palms are getting clammy.

He tracks Eddie into a nearby cabin, filled with a ton of old rope and lumber-hauling equipment. He then remembers he’s annoyed, and folds his arms.

“Totally love how you two went behind my back and discussed whether I was flayed or not.”

Eddie plonks down the flashlight. “Kinda obvious that we had to. We didn’t tell you, because we didn’t want to stress you out, and… honestly? We never bought it. Dustin was highly sceptical—”

“You discussed me with Henderson too? That’s great!” Steve plants his hands on his hips, growing too hot and bothered to think straight: “Maybe you’re ALL idiots. Maybe I am somehow flayed! Right at the start, that Upside Down thing came through my pool. Possibly. To take Barb. Now the water from near a gate fixes me and—“

“And I make you fix me!” Eddie’s preening grin is vicious. “Perhaps I’m the source of the magical shitstorm? Did that ever cross your egotistical rich-brat mind, Harrington?”

Eddie might as well have punched him. Steve’s still reeling from the blow, when Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose:

“Look, I’m sorry, man,” mutters Eddie. “I’m pretty stressed, too. Dustin was telling me about how you got sick whenever you left Hawkins as a kid, and—"

“Wow! Good job I’m an EGOTISTICAL BRAT, because I really am a hot topic! Did Nance reel off an article for the Hawkins Post?”

“Uh, Steve?” Eddie takes a step closer then abruptly pulls short. “I apologised, okay? Why exactly are we arguing about this?”

“I… Oh Christ, Eddie, I honestly don’t know.”

Steve’s shoulders slump. How excruciatingly typical! That little egg-head Dustin had a hunch about something that’s only just occurring to Steve, and which… Shit, the whispers in his mind are scary.

This is where you come clean, Harrington. This is where you say: "I almost drowned in that lake in 1978. What if it wasn't 'almost?' What if I died back then, at eleven years old. What if something or someone in that water brought me back, and for good or evil, it's still got a hold of me?"

Does it make any sense? Would Eddie simply think him egotistical again, or stupid? Suddenly, all he wants is to forget the whole wide world, especially the freaky parts. Everything apart from… 

…Eddie.

Who is hunching awkwardly away from Steve, palpably scared to get too near, let alone touch him. The naked longing in those gorgeous brown eyes, however, is reassuring. 

“Look, I'm sorry too.” Steve licks dry lips. “I’ve been a complete asshole today, I know. It’s just… What happened when we kissed is so humiliating.”

“Why? It’s not your fault. Believe me, Stevie, I’d kiss you again in a heartbeat, if it wasn’t for… uh…”

Eddie’s adorable blushes and the silly pet name are invitation enough. Steve closes the gap between them, leans in and whispers:

“You win. Maybe we shouldn’t kiss again till we’ve figured out exactly what’s going on, but… C’mon, man, you’ve touched me plenty without any bad repercussions. I slept in your lap.” We freakin’ spooned! “There’s gotta be something fun we can do.” 

Eddie shakes his head, squirming hilariously. “You take a turn for the worse, papa bear will rip my guts out.”

“What are you talking ab… Oh, Robin? Seriously?”

“Look, I really don’t want to hurt you.”  Steve’s chest pangs, because this could be a brush off. 

Or it might not be.

“C’mon, Munson. Promise I’m not gonna break.” At that, a dirty little smile plays on Eddie’s mouth, which sends sparks through Steve’s veins. “What you thinking?”

The smile evolves into a filthy laugh. “All right, before you get out the thumb-screws—I used to have this fantasy about you. It’s totally messed-up, kinda kinky. I wouldn’t expect you to be up for it, even if we didn’t have our current, uh, issues.”

“Oh!” To be fair, Eddie is right. Steve has never been into kinky shit. That said, before this guy hijacked his heart, he’s never salivated at the mere thought of tattoos. “Um, try me?”

Eddie husks his little scenario into Steve’s ear, and Steve decides he’s totally game. 

“It’s a kook-ball daydream,” says Eddie. “We shouldn’t really—"

“You wanna tie me up, Munson? We got plenty of rope a night to kill.” He slinks his arms up and under Eddie’s t-shirt. “Let’s do this.”

Part 10

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Denial is Strange (Issue 36)

Moon Knight, Issue # 36: Ghosts

Written by  Alan Zelenetz and drawn by Bo Hampton 

Now, I’m a long time fan of Dr. Strange. In fact, he’s number three on my list of favorite comics! (Number two being Scarlet Witch and number one being MK if I even need to mention that). So a Moon Knight with early Dr. Strange cross-over? Yeah, I’ll dip into that no problem! 

The first page is a note from the editor, Denny O'Neil. You see, in previous issues, they had asked where fans wanted to see Moon Knight go. They were running low on ideas and didn't know how they wanted to further develop the character, as it looked like he was going to stick around for a while. 

Since Moon Knight started in a supernatural horror book (Werewolf by Night), it only seemed fitting that Moon Knight continue to carryon his career as leaning heavily on the supernatural side of things. A fist of the moon and Spector of vengeance, they have decided to let Moon Knight continue on his path of walking the line of what lurks on the other side of the shadows. 

"Lots of heroes catch crooks. Moon Knight will be going after a different quarry. We hope you'll go with him." 

Also it's interesting to note that they introduce Zelenetz and Bo Hampton as the new MK team, when they only did three issues before the 1980s series ended and things had to get a re-vamp as MK again went in a new direction. Hmm. (He does come back periodically in later runs, but doesn’t stick around.) 

For those unfamiliar with Dr. Strange, ....things get strange. An original Marvel character from back in the day, created in 1963 by Steve Ditko himself, he embraced the psychedelic comic art style of that time. Let me put it this way, if Dr. Strange gets involved, you know things are about to get colorful, confusing to look at, and WEIRD. 

That out of the way, we open in Nubia, in Ancient Egypt during the twentieth century B.C. 

We see a classic Egyptian styled man about to sacrifice a cat for 'the demons of the dark'. He declares himself Amutef, first among necromancers and worthy to be a pharaoh. 

Okay. That's a start. 

Suddenly a bunch of men run into the room. "Seize him, priests of Khonshu!" 

Yeah, it's illegal to slay 'the holy cat in mockery of the gods.' 

Amutef declares revenge (Mummy style). "On a moonlit night, ages hence when we meet once again." 

Once the mummification of Amutef is done, the head priest prays to Khonshu that 'this enchanted pendant will keep the base Amutef's soul bound within these linen grave clothes for all eternity." 

Amutef's spirit enters into the necklace, waiting for his curse to come to light. 

And right on cue, we head to the present where we see a beautiful blond woman wearing the necklace. 

"I may have been an archeologist's daughter, but these cat mummies can still give me the creeps." 

Aw jeeze. It's Marlene. 

And we see her there with Steven at the grand opening to an Egyptian wing of a museum as a memorial to her father. 

Marlene, why are you wearing an antique Egyptian necklace? 

"It will go to the museum one day, Mr. Director. I'm wearing it tonight for the first time since my father found it in one of the tombs of the Seti Kings." 

Yeah no. 

Their social session is interrupted by a security guard trying to kick out a party crasher. 

"Listen, we get all kinds of crackpots crying CURSE every time we open an Egyptian exhibit--" 

"But I am Stephen Strange, and my conjurations have led me here. I fear that evil will be born this night--" 

(I’ll start by saying the art style reminds me of the comic art from around late 1960s, but I’m also not a fan of how Marlene is portrayed here. She’s too soft and arm candy-esque. I miss the Marlene from Bill’s days where she was capable and intelligent.) 

Also, Steven clearly has NOT heard of Strange fully if he dismisses him after that display. You’d think by now that Steven would be like ‘oh. Right. I’ve fought zombies. This isn’t that odd for me.’

A cat (belonging to the security guard?) breaks loose and instantly goes to attack Marlene. Steven backhands it easily before it can sink it's fangs into Marlene. 

"In the name of the Vishanti! Don't you see? The animal senses evil." 

"Look. How are you at sensing harassment suits, Mister Magic?" 

"Dr. Strange, this is a museum, not a circus show." 

I love how no one ever takes Dr. Strange seriously when they first meet him. Even in today's age, they just write him off as a cheap palm reader. 

Marlene notes she feels terrible and wants to go home. Steven and Marlene head home and Stephen follows above. 

Stephen…This is why no one takes you seriously. I hate to hear how he talked BEFORE he became a sorcerer. Can you imagine him in the ER? “By Gray’s Almighty Anatomy, someone hand me the mighty retractor of Senn!” 

(Stephen what is that pose? Steven…What is that lurking image of you?) 

He scans Marlene while doing what I like to think of as his Vampire flight pose. 

"Yes--But wait, there is a mystic aura about this man, Grant, as well. Then there are occult forces at work here that appear to defy even earth's sorcerer supreme, thus--" 

He lays a protection spell on Marlene that will keep the possession at bay for the next 24 hours then flies home to do research. 

Back in the mansion, Marlene gets into her usual skimpy night gown STILL WEARING THE NECKLACE. 

Look, if I ever go to bed still in a necklace that gaudy, please consider me cursed. 

Marlene is worried about the curse. She feels terrible and she's a little spooked. 

Steven Grant feels differently. 

"That black cat at the museum has got you all strung out. You'll sleep it off. As for curses... You should know better than anyone, Marlene, that these days--for sanity's sake, I like to keep a cool distance between myself and thoughts of the supernatural." 

Steven no… 

Jokes aside, we must remember that DID is a form of self preservation, protection, processing, and denial. When it comes to their DID, Stephen has ALWAYS been the first one to go "Nawh. I'm fine." and then try to strong arm his way through every situation. Marc is the first to go "May as well die" and throw himself head first into a dangerous situation, and Jake is the first to go "It ain't my problem. I'mma chill here with my buds." 

Here is classic Stephen Grant, fresh off his most recent run of self doubt and slow crawl into a mental break (for the third or fourth time) and he's living in denial land and choosing a path that he feels is the most conducive to compartmentalize and keep his distance from their trauma. 

"I try to forget that the ruthless mercenary I once was--Marc Spector-- apparently died and was reborn in a desert tomb years ago... 

Under the gaze of a cold white statue of Khonshu, God of the moon... Whose spirit I use to believe reanimated me." 

And yet you won't shut up about it. (I kid, but seriously, Steven.) 

"Believed only too well. I relied on that superstition until I'd almost lost my mind --Forgot just where Khonshu ended and Spector or Grant began." 

Why does he always forget about Jake? 

"But you helped me see that I derived my strength and abilities from my own will and commitments, not from some long-dead mythology. You redeemed my soul and my sanity, Marlene...

And I'm not about to lose either of them again. So no more talk of witchcraft, okay? Just sleep tight while Moon Knight makes the rounds." 

Steven sure is in a mood. I don't blame him. 

(I also love how depending on who tells it or remembers it, we either see bloody beaten up Marc at the foot of the statue or we see a gently and sexily sprawled out Steven rendition with a gently weeping Marlene memory. I’d love to see how Jake remembers it.) 

Moon Knight takes off and a clearly possessed Marlene mutters a classic line about “After thousands of years we have met once more, fool Thosbi. Now Amutef’s spirit, given voice by inhabiting the mortal frame, shall utter incantations of revenge.” 

Classic. 

Meanwhile, Stephen Strange is doing his own thing. 

Stephen is...wordy. I'm going to summarize the WALL OF TEXT that is his ramblings and chantings. 

Marlene is possessed by an ancient sorcerer. Steven Grant has been mystically endowed with the spirit of an ancient priest of Khonshu. 

Meeting up on this moonlit night spells trouble with a capital T and now the curse is real. 

He must get Steven Grant to cooperate with him or it will spell doom for them both. 

And then we cut to Moon Knight, still angry about the implication of something supernatural happening to him. 

"Steel and glass and concrete. There's reality for you. No room in a city like this for superstitions." 

He spots some thugs assaulting a couple and he decides to glide down to intercept. 

Yeah that…that seems about right. 

He barely manages to dodge a gun shot, his crescent dart whacks a guy right in the face and cuts him, and he barely manages to catch up with the other two fleeing villains. 

And of Course Detective Flint arrives to drive in the nail. 

"Say, everything okay? Not like you to lose your wind over a trio of amatures." 

"Just an accident, Detective--Cape got caught, you go on and treat the punks to a night in the slammer. Put it on my tab." 

And to make his night even better, Stephen Strange shows up. 

"It was no accident, Steven Grant." 

"YOU again!? Am I supposed to admire your persistence or--Wait, you called me Grant?"

"Yes, it was Steven Grant I sought, and I'm afraid your costume does little to disguise HIS psychic aura. But, that is inconsequential--It is your life, not your identity, that is in jeopardy." 

I...Could have SO much to say about breaking down that statement and we'd be here all night as I talked about the psychic aura of Steven vs. the others, his life vs. his identity, and all that fun stuff... But I have a feeling the writer wasn't aiming for that line...sadly... SO I'll leave it alone....this time. 

He tells Steven that he's in danger and Steven demands to be shown the demons after him. 

Stephen tells him that they were the ones that grabbed his cape, but he banished them before they could destroy him. 

Moon Knight still isn't buying it. 

I swear, half the Dr. Strange cross-over comics are spent with Stephen trying to convince everyone that magic is real and that he isn't full of it. 

"I have learned that you are endowed with the spirit of a priest of Khonshu whose mystic powers are needed to save Ms. Alraune from the evil spirit which possesses her." 

Honestly, while this isn't the first instance of the OG comic showing the cult of Khonshu and the priests, this is the first time someone has considered Moon Knight to be imbued with the spirit of a priest of Khonshu. 

As many of you may be aware, the current run with MacKay pushes heavily into the Priest of Khonshu plot line, which has often been dropped and lost by subsequent writers after this one. 

However, Strange is insisting that the priest himself is inside Moon Knight, while it's long been determined that Khonshu himself has imbued Marc and the others with his own power to make Moon Knight his own sort of priest. 

Let's see how this issue plays it out. 

"I would have mesmerized you without asking in order to summon the Ancient Priest within your being... But even your unconscious will is incredibly strong and I could not break through it." 

I'm cackling about this. Imagine Strange trying to get in there and just being met by a really pissed off Jake Lockley. 

"Bet on it, Mister." Steven is thinking the same thing. You know it. "My will's like granite, because that's what holds the real world out there together for me. It's my sanity." 

Oh Steven... 

Moon Knight calls Khonshu a myth and make-believe. "Do you think I'd ever embrace that madness again?" 

He calls for Frenchie. He's done with this. 

"If the spirit is not exorcised from Ms. Alraune by tomorrow night, she will be the one who knows true madness. Without the mystic aid of KHonshu, my spells can protect her no longer than that." Stephen Strange calls after him. 

Moon Knight calls him a "blasted Looney" and takes off. 

The next evening at Grant Mansion, the doctor informs Steven that he can't figure out what's wrong with Marlene. 

Steven tells her that he'll cut the Moon Knight patrol short and be back before midnight. 

(She's still wearing the necklace). 

As Moon Knight leaves, Marlene sits up, possessed again, and sending the evil spirits out after the Khonshu priest Thosbi. 

This time they attack the chopper. 

Oh no. Not the chopper! 

While the possessed Marlene chants of vengeance from the balcony, cats start to gather in the nearby tree. 

Dr. Strange arrives to the chipper and starts to fight off the invisible demons that only he can see. 

Frenchie tells Moon Knight to glide to safety. The chopper is going down. (My dear Frenchie always looking out for his friend.) 

Moon Knight refuses to jump and the chopper starts to function again. 

A particularly nasty demon shows up to fight Strange. 

"Begone, Mage, for my chaotic powers are summoned by a spell more ancient than any your mortal lips can utter." It taunts him. 

While Strange battles the demons, Frenchie manages to land the chopper. 

Side note, I do love the way they draw Moon Knight’s costume. This is the start of the era where his shorts start to actually look like shorts and not underwear outside his outfit. You also see more black mixed in with his top and leggings. While you see the muscles, he isn’t drawn HUGE and ridiculous. It’s believable. 

Also behold Strange before the goatee! It looks wrong… 

Anyways, Moon Knight is not pleased to see Strange again. 

They argue and give me my most favorite image of Frenchie EVER. 

This man. I love this man. 

Look at it. The moon hat. The lighting on his face. The relaxed sit. The smoke rings. Not one not two but THREE pens in his pocket. The gloves. The match book in his other hand. This is just another day for him. 

The copter nearly crashed for unknown demonic reasons and his BFF super hero buddy is outside arguing with a wizard about being possessed by an ancient Egyptian priest. 

Jean-Paul Duchamp I love you. 

Strange tells him that if they don't contact the priest of Khonshu within the hour, Marlene is going to be lost to them. 

Moon Knight concedes. He jumps in the chopper and they follow Strange back to the mansion. ....Why he doesn't let Strange fly in his chopper but makes him fly...You got me? 

They arrive to find the mansion crawling with cats and Marlene in a trance staring contest with one of them. 

Moon Knight decides to take a short cut to get to Marlene as fast as he ....OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. THERE ARE SO MANY Other WAYS TO ENTER YOUR MANSION! YOU BUILT IT! 

(Adds another hash tag to the list) 

Moon Knight crashing through his own window with his nunchucks out in a room full of cats. I just... He is the ultimate catboy. 

They send away the cats, who were apparently there to attack the evil. 

Stephen sets the room up for the ritual and Steven carries Marlene to a chair. "Save her, Strange... Even if it costs me my mind." 

We get some interesting art here... They made Steven look like a bad anime magical girl transformation reaction or something. I can't even begin to describe this. I apologize for what I’m about to show you. 

Flew too close to the sun with Frenchie. Now we must all pay the price with anime boy Steven Grant. 

So Strange does his thing and forces the demons to show themselves. 

"Do you think to conquer Amutef with glibness of tongue, mage?! I who was first among necromancers, who dared blaspheme the names of Khonshu and Osiris.." He summons his own demons to battle Strange. 

He summons the priest of Khonshu through Moon Knight and we get some CLASSIC Dr. Strange art. We got the symbols, we got the squiggle lines, we got the colors, we got the eyes, we got the floating heads and we even got the floating hour glass. 

As much as I love Dr. Strange, it takes me a while to read his old comics. My processing skills can't handle the barrage of EVERYTHING on every page. I’m glad it’s just a little in this comic. 

We watch the two men do battle through time and space and in King Arthur's backyard for some reason... We see the great pyramids and some temples that my geographically challenged mind does not recognize... 

Just as the battle is picking up...

"What?! I sense emotions of abnormal pitch. No! They flow from the mind of Grant. The strain on his will is too great! But he can't succumb now---!" 

We see chanting and...wait... those words... They sound familiar...

"Khonshu, Nehem kua her entet ari-na maat! Amutef, thosbi! Affirms thee no longer to be!" 

Parts of that sound suspiciously like something Harrow chanted from the MCU show. HMMMMMM....

Yeah, the battle is over and Marlene and Steven come out of their trances. 

"You've survived, Steven Grant, and your mind is whole, stronger than before. You have experienced life AND death, the natural and supernatural. You have mastered your will and become a complete man." 

Then Strange essentially does the "I must go now" thing and zips away to fight the occult forces of evil elsewhere. 

We are left with Steven thinking things over. 

"Occult forces. Like Marc Spector's dying and being reborn through the ghost of an ancient priest. You know, Marlene? I believe him. I don't for one minute like the idea...But I believe him." 

The End! 

Okay you guys… This was a wild one. It was a disaster start to finish but it did what comics are meant to do and it made me laugh and it was fun. 

The art was…all over the place. It worked for an issue with Dr. Strange, but they made everyone FAR too baby faced and pretty. What’s weird is that the next issue is the same artist but he gets his shit together and it’s back to Moon Knight nitty gritty. What the hell happened? Let’s blame Dr. Strange on this one. 

But….

Can you imagine THIS being the face of Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and slap a mustache on that and you got Jake Lockley!? THIS?! 

He’s so judgy! 

I’m dying out here you guys. Someone draw a mustache on that and I’ll love you forever. I think this broke me. 

So… Aside from the… What ever all this was… It reminds me of the issue recently with Mackay. Where we got to go into Moon Knight’s mind-scape and we got to see Marc, Steven, and Jake all work together to defeat outside forces. They worked as a team and it was their special weapon. Going after Marc? No you aren’t. You’re gonna get punched in the face by Jake and Steven (steven gonna look at you like a highly disapproving father). In this early run, we don’t have the wonderful understanding and research into DID to fully comprehend or experience this, but looking back, I like to imagine it’s there under the surface. 

I also look at the priest as not being the one that revived them. Again, I cite Khonshu himself. The priest issue can be folded into current and then building lore of the Priesthood of Khonshu. This was an early and powerful priest that happened to have a grudge against this particular bad guy. Perhaps this is where Mackay starts taking his ideas and lore from. We’re already seen other ideas from the OG run that he’s explored. If this is the case, it’s nice to see him doing his research and getting back to basics. 

So what did you guys thing? Did it make you laugh too? Are we all cursed by the Magical Anime Steven image? 

Next time I’m dipping back into the past to cover some of the issues I skipped. We’re getting to the home stretch you guys. 

[cdyssey]

Heavenly Moments

Summary: Unable to sleep at the Franklin Institute, Barbara searches for Melissa. [2.22 Spoilers]

CW: Emotional Infidelity; Alcohol Mention

AO3 Link

—

Barbara startles awake around two that morning, having nightmared about candy colored galaxies and the aliens who populate them. Nasty, little green creatures chased her around the moon at some point, jabbering away in some unknown tongue.

Children were screaming.

Ava was trying to get phone reception in the vacuum of space, apparently hellbent on calling an Uber.

(“Nuh-uh, I ain’t gonna get Tusken Raided by those green dudes. Not today!”)

And Melissa was also there, as sturdy as ever, wielding her pink-tipped baseball bat like a pro, and reassuring her, in that warm, husky voice that Barbara knew and loved so well, “Don’t worry, hon. Me and Edith Houghton have got ya.”

And in the blurry edges of that dream, in the fantasy and the strangeness and the utter unreality of it all, her very best friend in the entire world grabbed her hand, their ten fingers interlinking, and it was somehow the scariest moment of them all.

It was the only one that felt plausible.

That touch.

Her hand.

Their mutual and perfect accord.

Barbara knobs her C-PAP machine off rather violently and just as forcefully hoists the restrictive mask over her head, breathing hard as she reorients herself.

In and out. 

She’s at the Franklin Institute for the overnight field trip.

It was just a bad dream—no doubt engendered and provoked by Ava’s crackpot conspiracies that she’s been forced to listen to all evening.

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

She is safe.

She is married.

(These variables have always been one and the same to her.)

In and out, inhale, exhale.

The air is mercifully cold—she’s right beneath a vent—and yet, her insides continue to seethe so hotly. Her stomach. Her cheeks. Her tightened chest. She unconsciously twists the elegant band on her fourth finger and decides that what she really needs to do is go splash her face with some cold water. 

That’ll make her feel better.

(She clenches and unclenches her hand once, a vain attempt at exorcising its unsummoned ghost.)

Quiet and careful, every movement nothing less than deliberate, the kindergarten teacher apprehends her phone from where it had been nestled beneath her pillow, slips from under her blankets, and straightens up into the coolly lit room, using the conveniently placed trunk next to her for support. Her bones ache. Sleeping on the floor is going to probably end up being murder on her back, but standing at least helps. Moving around is even better.

And so she tiptoes through the neon twilight—through the electric blues and the pulsing purples—and between the curled up forms of her precious children, glancing at their faces to ensure that they’re actually sleeping, sometimes bending down to adjust their blankets. When she’s satisfied that her students are alright—notifying a night security guard to keep an eye on them while she’s away—she finally passes into the big room where the other classes have bunkered down for the night. 

It’s darker in here and certainly much louder, humming with snores and heavy breathing, all of it a vibrating symphony that echoes off the tall ceiling. Barbara smiles fondly as she picks out familiar faces in the crowd, even as she’s eager to light upon just one in particular. But in the meantime, there’s Ava in a glittering sleep mask, her mouth wrenched open mid-snore; Jacob with one bony leg out of the covers; sweet Janine folded in on herself like a child; and Gregory with his hands beneath his head, long elbows extended.

But scan the place though she does, combing it over intently, there’s no telltale mass of auburn hair.

There is no Melissa Schemmenti.

In fact, there’s a gaping absence where she absolutely should be. 

Barbara stops short, her breath hitching.

Last she had seen, the second grade teacher had been in the middle of all her students, homely in an Eagles hoodie, striking even without her bold mascara, but her sleeping bag is empty now. And yet, Edith Houghton is still there, a watchful guard dog at the head of the younger woman's pillow. 

That fact alone vaguely alarms her. She knows just from years and years of having been Melissa’s stalwart companion that she doesn’t go anywhere without her baseball bat at night anymore—paranoid of possible intruders, hypervigilant even when it is more than permissible to be vulnerable.

She once admitted to Barbara at a PECSA conference—maybe four, nearly five years ago now—that it was a habit that had only started in earnest after Joseph had left. They were in their shared hotel room, winding down for the evening, tequila-tipsy and loose-lipped, exchanging secrets like they were pieces of candy.

Wonderful to chew upon.

“I guess I felt safe when he had his arms around me,” she had shrugged, not quite looking at Barbara as she squirmed a little beneath her sheets. Edith Houghton was the woman of a baseball bat who divided them, propped against the nightstand between their beds, and Barbara had felt her presence keenly. 

So she had asked about her—it—and the ensuing answer landed in her stomach like a blow.

It devastated her, simply ruined her, to know that her closest friend was so lonely and scared at night.

“Havin’ someone there… even if it was just that old bastard—that made a difference to me, y’know?”

“I know,” she croaked softly and suddenly yearned to not be where she was at—merely seven feet and some change away from Melissa Schemmenti, so alone in her own queen-sized bed. She wanted to wrap herself around her friend’s curving form. She wanted to provide that essential kindness for her, wanted to make her feel safe.

It was almost a maternal impulse, and yet, it really wasn’t.

(That was the lie she told to rationalize herself, to justify her keenest and innermost desires.)

“It’s dumb, isn’t it?” Melissa laughed hoarsely, the sound throttled.

So broken.

“Not at all,” Barbara had returned—perhaps a little more fiercely than the moment required. “You want to be protected, sweetheart. That’s only the most natural feeling in the world.”

And so, she stares at the abandoned baseball bat uncomfortably, knowing what it means, well-aware of the totemic abstraction it has become.

It’s insurance for a woman who doesn’t feel like she has any at all.

“Barbara.” 

She looks up hastily at the sound of her whispered name, proffered across the rustling dark. Gregory is sitting up in his sleeping bag, and there’s a tension in his wiry frame that lets her know that he hasn’t been asleep this entire time.

“She went that way,” he says, pointing in the direction of an archway that leads to the institute’s space exhibit. 

Barbara supposes she should be concerned that the young man immediately intuited what—or rather whom—she is after... in fact, she should probably be terrified that her dearest secret has possibly been sussed out—her irrational heart understood—but in the midst of such a long night, all of her bones so desperate and weary, she can only find it in herself to be grateful. 

Besides, if there's anyone at Abbott Elementary who gets wanting someone they probably shouldn't, it has to be Mr. Eddie.

She nods once and smiles at him sadly.

“Thank you,” she mouths silently, and he gives her a thumbs up before resuming his former position, statue still. 

As she heels across the room, skirting around the mass of sleeping bodies, she wonders if he has a lot on his mind too. Maybe she’ll ask him tomorrow. Meddle a little. Intervene. It’s how that she shows that she cares.

She proceeds through the arch and down a narrow corridor, only marginally aware that she shouldn’t be wandering through a museum at night, grown adult that she is, though frankly a little too absorbed by her mission to properly care. A younger, more sanctimonious version of her would have cared, of course—the her that she was before she had known Melissa to be exact.

She had been a more righteous woman then—absolutely, beyond a shadow of a reasonable doubt—but she had also been a profoundly sadder one too.

The hall eventually opens up into a stunning spectacle, one that Barbara had eagerly taken her children through just hours earlier. The space exhibit has well-earned its name, a cavernous room with hundred thousands of stars projected all over its concave walls. These artificial lights twinkle and slowly swan through a sea of black, cycling in an endless rotation. A spray of asteroids occasionally spirals in the digital aether. Neon lights suspended on iron rigs above bathe the entire chamber in alternating blues, purples, and magentas, everything lush with magical color.

Strewn throughout the room are nine gigantic models of the eight main planets in the solar system, as well as one of the sun, each encircled by steel railing, each carefully revolving on its mechanical axis. She hadn’t attempted to explain the effects of gravitational pull to her five-year olds, knowing it was far from the time; it was more than enough to watch their round faces light up as they grappled with the fact—possibly for the first time in their entire lives—that the universe is so much bigger than their home and school.

It is infinite.

And therefore extraordinary.

In the midst of all this beauty, this vast wonder and this precise, scientific joy, Barbara finally spots what she had been looking for—that telltale spray of red hair—in the very center of the room, illuminated, quite fittingly, by the sun. Melissa is leaning against the railing surrounding that colossal star, her ankles crossed, one hand rubbing the skin just above her right hip.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She rumbles somewhat loudly in a vain attempt to not startle her.

But Melissa still jumps anyway, swearing violently.

“Jesus, Barb,” she shakes her head as she turns around. “How d’you manage to always sneak up on me like that?”

“I’m just stealthy, I suppose,” she teases, closing the untenable gap between them, sidling up to the other teacher's side, where she should be, where she utterly belongs. “A veritable ninja as my children would claim.”

“Hardy har, asshole,” Melissa rolls her eyes, visibly fond. 

And they both laugh then like the little girls that they most certainly aren’t. It’s delicious and lovely and just a little bit illicit, as though time has opened up and made an impossible pocket of childlike tenderness for just the two of them.

Barbara revels in the moment. 

She dares to brush her shoulder against Melissa’s and imagine that it’s home.

“Nah,” her friend eventually circles back to answering her original question. She’s stopped laughing—they both have—but the crow’s feet edging Melissa’s eyes still pitter-patter in playful motion. “My hip couldn’t take much more of that floor, so I flirted with a security guard. Asked if she’d turn on this display for me for a little while.”

“Girlfriend!” Barbara lightly smacks Melissa’s arm in faux-offense. Or what she tells herself is just faux-offense anyway, firmly ignoring the fact that something in her sulks at the idea of Melissa ever flirting with a woman who isn’t herself. “Aren’t you still seeing Gary?”

This makes her frown too—this self-inflicted reminder of her friend’s total unavailability.

And besides, it’s Gary, and he’s nice enough, certainly, but in her humble and completely unbiased opinion, he doesn’t inspire much confidence as a potential life partner for Melissa.

Nice enough is fine for a little while, a good palate cleanser after a bad meal, but it’s not any foundation to build a stable future upon.

“What?” Melissa snorts, entirely unbothered, tossing a hand through her vivid hair. “No harm, no foul, as long as I’m not crossin’ any lines I can’t come back from, right? And besides, can you deny me this view?”

She gestures happily to the nearby model of sun, golden and spectacular, spinning so perfectly on its motorized stand, but Barbara never takes her eyes away from Melissa: her shimmering hair, her light-flecked eyes, the delicate shaping of all her curves.

A view indeed.

“No, I suppose I can’t,” she murmurs, and she can hear it in her own voice—how reverent that she sounds without ever meaning to. She coughs into her hand and briefly looks away, feeling the same heat in her gut that she did upon waking up and trying to untangle herself from the phantom of Melissa’s hand.

Of course that gesture had been plausible.

Somehow, in real life, they’re always maneuvering themselves into moments where they’re just mere inches and moral compromises away.

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Melissa asks sympathetically, nudging her arm, bringing her back. She peers upwards at Barbara through long, dark lashes. “Back troubles?”

“That,” she acknowledges with a grim smile, “and nightmares about aliens pursuing me all about the moon—likely inspired by our principal’s cockamamie shenanigans, I'm sure."

They both chuckle at this, exasperated and simultaneously fond. Barbara’s beating heart violently surfaces to her throat when Melissa unexpectedly places a hand on her lower back and begins kneading slow circles into it.

She’s apparently an expert at this.

She dips her knuckles hard in to the sensitive tissue, and the ensuing ache is absolutely glorious. 

Oh, Almighty God in Heaven, it feels so good.

“You were there,” she chokes out in a constricted voice, biting her lower lip in a desperate attempt not to make some kind of noise that could be construed as inappropriate. “You had your baseball bat.”

“Was I goin’ all Rambo on those little suckers?” Comes a facetious reply that doesn’t exactly match the serious expression on the younger teacher's face, nor the way that her tongue gently flirts across the pink line of her closed lips.

Barbara swallows thickly.

“No, but you were absolutely, positively threatening to,” she responds before finally forcing herself to shrug Melissa’s intimate touch away, smiling painfully, ignoring the injury that briefly flashes in the other’s eyes.

“Sorry, sweetheart, that hurts a little too much.”

Yes, that has always been true between them.

And it's had nothing to do with a damn massage.

“No need to apologize,” Melissa returns, already recovered, or at the very least, doing a wonderful job of pretending to be so anyway, a grin languishing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not in the business of giving you hell.”

And this has also been historically true.

Even in her dreams, Melissa has never sought to hurt her.

“Hey!” She interjects with sudden eagerness, and this is penitence, maybe. Atonement. It usually tends to be with her. “What do you say you and I go raid the vending machine in the atrium? I’ll split a Kit-Kat with you.”

“At”—Melissa squints at her Apple Watch rather skeptically—“2:30 in the morning?”

“Why not?” Barbara challenges, feeling a little reckless at the younger woman’s visible resistance. It’s a role reversal between them. Usually, it's Barbara pulling them away from hot pretzel stands and cinnamon roll displays. “It’s not like you and I will be sleeping much anyway.”

“Ha,” the second grade teacher snickers, scratching the skin below her ear. “I guess that’s true.”

“Come on then, silly,” Barbara cajoles, lightly bumping her hip against Melissa’s. “A little nighttime adventure for Mrs. Howard and Ms. Schemmenti. It’ll be fun.”

She smiles innocently, with childlike glee, and she somehow knows, from the momentous way that Melissa exhales, that she’s hooked, magnetized, caught, and completely undone. Fie the planets and all their collective moons. Whatever celestial pull exists between them is far more potent, all of their atoms longing for each other, impatient to so totally collide.

“Oh, what the hell?” She finally huffs, grinning, radiant in the starlight. “Let’s flippin’ go, Barb.”

And she fulfills the prophecy then.

That ridiculous nightmare.

Her most tantalizing dream.

Melissa grabs Barbara’s hand, their ten fingers interlinking, and drags her forward through the solar system, past Mercury and Venus, Earth and rusty Mars.

And Barbara, suspended in this heavenly moment as she is, laughing, floating above it all, frankly doesn’t remember it's her matrimonial duty to let this happiness go.

[shiroganeryo]

I got tagged by @ofdemonsandangels, thank you for the tag, Violet!

Rules: List five things you never get tired of writing. it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. then tag five people!

Describing eye colors while likening them to something (a gemstone's name, a flower or a fruit of the same color, etc)

The way a character's fingers tread lovingly through the hair of their beloved, or the way they affectionately caress their face (sometimes, both!)

Describing the scenery the characters are seeing, where they're at and how the world is behaving around them while they're in silence/alien to it because their attention is somewhere else

Canon references! Many of my ideas stem from things the characters did or said in canon, so I create a bridge between their 'real' self and their depiction written in my work

The way a person watches their beloved laugh with genuineness and feel their heart swell as if they had fallen in love with them all over again

As always I'm TERRIBLE with tags, so I won't have 5, but I'd love to hear what @moonlight-blue-rose @candy-crackpot and @dollxhime have to say if they feel like doing the tag!

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "A Tour of Odd Squad" Episode Followup, Part 1

Newbies to the fandom might not remember this, but a long long time ago, as part of a charity event for Make-A-Wish Canada, the people behind Odd Squad held an auction for various props used in the show. With it also came a tour of the set, which is how we got the infamous "Walmart canon" bit between Joshua Kilimnik and Olivia Presti.

This...may or may not serve as a continuation. Hard to tell from teaser images and a synopsis. But the vibe is very much the same.

So without further ado, let's get "A Tour of Odd Squad" below the break.

Your writer for this e- oh God.

Well that opening blurb just got yoted into the fire.

Hey, remember when "Off the Clock" established that Odd Squad has Timekeepers that are in charge of all time in the world? Remember how nonsensical that was?

Hahahahaha...ha...aah...

*low pained groan*

And your director, a newcomer to the franchise who...has only done the franchise.

Once again, I will repeat: a 10-year-old franchise is not the best place to start for amateur writers and directors, and please keep them away until they have some good experience.

He went from an agent to an advertiser within the span of one gadget zap.

'S what happens on the job. Your brain gets fried sometimes. That's why lobotomies are handed out like candy!

This...okay, it was fine when Ozzie did it, but now it's just getting stale. We got 11 minutes. Let's hurry this up, please?

Going to set aside Orli's comment (which should be answered with "how do you know they aren't clients?") to discuss something.

See, I want you guys to look at this group. Really look at it. Sweep your gaze all around. Watch the scene itself if you have to.

You will notice...you will notice...there are no children.

Now, this is very much a crackpot theory, but I'm going to pose it based on scraps of previous evidence: this is a jab at older fans of Odd Squad who may or may not have children of their own.

Making jabs at adult fans, and those outside of the demographic in general, is nothing new. Tim himself remarked a long time ago in an interview about the show regarding wearing Odd Squad costumes that "when a kid does it, it's cute. When an adult does it, it's creepy." And no, he's not talking about parents -- parents dressing up in matching costumes with their kids is normal and not creepy. He's talking about the people who don't have kids in the family but watch the show anyway and dress up in agent attire. (I can't say for certain whether those outside the demographic but are under the age of 18 fall under this branch. I wouldn't think it does, but he hasn't said anything official regarding that and I'm not sure if he's even aware teens and young adults who watch the show actually exist in the first place.)

Given how this episode is about two villains one villain joining this superfan group in disguise...it makes me wonder if this episode is some kind of "take that" at adult fans who watch the show, since adults in this franchise are often villainized.

...Ahh I dunno. Maybe it's just me being more cynical than usual. But whether my theory is farfetched or not, you can't deny that there are a couple layers of metaness to it.

Let's move on.

More fake than the smile Oscar put on at the end of "Ms. O Uh-Oh", and with none of the charm and all of the creepiness.

Smile 2's lookin' great.

THE SCOOTER'S BACK!!!! IT DO BE BACK!!!!!! AND I THINK HE DO BE RIDIN' IT!!!!!

...I'm starting to think this is the modern version of that Segway Oscar once drove.

Might as well lay down the one thing I don't like about Orwell: he needs to be stoic all the time. Real calm, like Ocean, but a lot more stoic. This line? Should be said entirely deadpan. Take a few cues from Oksana.

That's what I like.

But that's not what he is. And I'm not too keen on what we're getting.

*long sigh*

Girl with the red hair.

Pack it up, next episode.

"Just avoid taking them anywhere of interest or telling them anything interesting."

Heh...ha...yeah, I dunno, that might be hard to do. It's Odd Squad. Everything is interesting.

Well, your cousin got paired up with a chipper helpful guy.

You, sir, are paired up with an idiot.

These tours will not be the same.

Wh- lmao what is this, Owen and Ohio Mk. II?

What's more offensive: the fact that these villains talked loudly during the movie, or the fact that this Security agent recorded them during the movie?

Both are very sinful and go against theater etiquette. Recording someone without their consent also goes against moral standards.

Ohhh...so it's like "Good Egg Bad Egg" but more meta...

I'd like this math lesson in anything that wasn't meta, in all honesty.

Ohhh...y'see that's how you know they're fancy. They got swivel chairs.

I can see Otis toppling out of them every minute.

"Nine of these people aren't villains, and they deserve a good tour!"

And all of those non-villains...have children.

They can't say it because it makes no sense in the context of the episode, but you know the thought was running through Rob's mind in some capacity.

...

Fine. I will go get the tinfoil hat. Leave me alone.

take criminals to gun range

"hey, anyone wanna shoot some targets with fancy small handguns?"

It is.

The same.

EXACT.

THING.

And this guy was clearly made in my image.

Gadgets, and what they have are blue Macbooks.

I mean...to some degree, they are gadgets, so I can't complain too much...

Osgood better watch out. Man's got competition.

"Hate to say it, but this tour isn't as much fun as I thought it'd be."

Because you're adu- okay, that's a stretch. That's really a stretch.

For about half a second, I thought her name was "O'Crap", but I think it's actually "Okra" and I'm reading too much into it.

If Odd Squad got a parody, though, you know "O'Crap" probably would be one of the names of the agents.

I would have also accepted "DoorDash Danielle", because that's exactly who this lady works for.

...Look at it. It's red. It's DoorDash. Don't fight me on this.

I can already see where this is going.

The guy who got all excited about gadgets is the villain.

...Pack it up, next epi-

Ah, I see Opie's whipping out her hidden sarcasm.

*long deep sigh*

Halfway into the goddamn season and all they can think of in terms of references is to reference a mere two of the thirteen living-legend agents.

I'm not even mad. I'm not even surprised. I'm just sorely disappointed they'd slip a reference to Oscar into a meta episode.

They massacred my boy and now he looks unrecognizable because sounding unrecognizable was not enough.

Security agent

scared of the dark

Sucks for a man who has to "secure the perimeter", huh?

I...okay, but aside from him showing off his scooter...why not just give Opie the earpiece to begin with?

...FUCKING ROB.

(On to Part 2!)

[askmadcomcrew]

whats everyones favorite hard candy flavor? if any of you say cherry or grape youre wrong btw <3

Hank: Don't care. Food is food.

Sanford: I'm a root beer kinda guy. You'd think root beer in candy form would be kinda gross, but it ain't bad.

Deimos: I usually go for the fruit flavors like lemon or watermelon.

Doc: I find myself looking for cinnamon flavored ones, although I cannot remember the last time I had a hard candy.

Tricky: WHAT'S WRONG WITH CHERRY FLAVOR!?!?! ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU DON'T LIKE THE DELICIOUS ARTIFICIAL CHERRY FLAVOR!?!?!? WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KINDA FREAK!?!?

Jeb: Hmm, it has been a long time since I even had any form of candy. I suppose licorice, or apple.

Sheriff: I usually go 'fer horehound. It's kinda like root beer 'n licorice mixed together. Sounds gross at first, but I like it.

Crackpot: Eugh, hard candies. I don't like any of 'em!

Auditor: Caramel.

Phobos: Candies aren't good bulk food, I try to cut such sugary things out of my diet. That being said, there is nothing wrong with a perfectly good grape flavored candy, and due to me always being correct about everything, it is you who is wrong.

[grandhotelabyss]

You know, until I saw that clip I'd never seen Paglia in action- I suddenly understand completely why you've so persistently said that Trump is spiritually italian! I get why Paglia saw herself as the next Susan Sontag, but imo it's apples and horseradishes really. Sontag was a proper philosopher-thinker in the official vein, Paglia is something more like whatever we want to call Jung- this is why I don't think the right sort of people will ever necesarilly accept her, even posthumously (hell, I don't entirely accept her, although as with Jung anybody who throws sweeping and striking images around like she does is like candy to a writer, and I'm certainly not immune.) What would a publically-assimilated Paglianism even look like?

Yes, this is why I think elite revulsion at Trump's person is an esoteric form of racism. Anyway, though, Paglia might have been more influential than Sontag in the long run. The brand of European high culture Sontag championed no longer commands the respect it once did in American mainstream publishing, and she herself has been posthumously canonized by means she would have found despicable, namely, by stressing her gender, sexuality, and life story. It's not as if she couldn't have published a volume of feminist essays while she lived; but she didn't, and she didn't even keep writing them past a certain point (another kind of female intellectual of her generation would have written—or did write, like Audre Lorde—a book about breast cancer per se, but she wrote the exquisitely impersonal Illness as Metaphor). Sontag has left us no one thesis, since she took everything she ever said back at one time or another, while Paglia has what every thinker wants, namely, a concept attached to her name (i.e., the chthonic, which is her dialectic, her will-and-representation, her dasein, her différance, her power, her rhizome). I don't know what "the right sort of people" will do in the future, or if (since I think you mean academics) they'll even exist, but she's not anymore of a crackpot than Deleuze or Bataille or Bloom or Frye or other people who still get read in English, French, and comp lit departments. (By this I don't mean she's not a crackpot; I mean they all are, and I am too.) Even Paglia's brand of multiculturalism looks more prescient than Sontag's Beckett-in-Sarajevo Euro-universalism—and this I think is probably a dangerous development on balance, for reasons illustrated by the breakup of Yugoslavia itself. Writers and artists read her, and movie directors; if enough people like that pay attention, it doesn't matter what professors do. I think she'll last.

[placegrenette]

so here we have an entire mini-album and it’s sponsored and all the songs are based on Abay poetry.

like, that’s it. that’s the band. throw in some Naruto references and Bala playing to the camera and/or swearing for comic effect, and you know everything you could possibly need to know.

let me elaborate further: Abay is not a Kazakh poet, he is, from everything I can gather, the Kazakh poet. He is credited with not only jump-starting Kazakh poetry but, via his translation work, vastly increasing the accessibility of leading 19th-century texts to Kazakhs. His reputation is so large that you can actually find a multi-part essay along the lines of, “Are we sure this guy existed, or were his accomplishments actually the collective creation of a group of literary Kazakhs wanting to build up their then-colonized country’s cultural capital and pride?” I have no idea how crackpot that theory is, by the way; I bring it up not to endorse it but to give you some idea of how large Abay seems to loom in Kazakh and Kazakhstani mythology. I’m hard pressed to think of an American or British equivalent. Shakespeare, maybe? But neither Shakespeare nor Chaucer, as much as they meant to the development of English literature and poetry, have the same kind of national meaning that Abay seems to have. The British (or English) just didn’t need that kind of symbol. Alessandro Mazoni may be a better comparison.

Now, one thing I don’t know is how reverently Abay and his works are treated. There’s a possible context where invoking his poetry in the context of shilling for a candy-peddling multinational corporation would be disrespectful at best, bordering on sacrilegious. Or he really could be the Kazakh equivalent of Shakespeare, in which his expressions are so woven into the fabric of public life that you could use them in this context and no one would bat an eye. Or the reception could be somewhere in the middle. This is one of those questions you need years’ worth of experience with Kazakhstani society to answer, and as y’all full well know, I don’t have that.

I am willing to guess that Ninety One is not only very familiar with Abay’s works but influenced by them. For example: “Morality and languages take paramount part at Abay's universal system. He considered that language opens a window into the vast world. Humanity and liberality oblige learn languages of other nations, as only in this way for human-thinker can feel a connection with the geniuses of the spiritual world.” (I’m pretty sure, based on that website’s praise for then-president Nazarbayev, that it was government-sponsored.) Like, if that’s not ZaQ’s philosophy in a nutshell I don’t know what is. More broadly, the idea of Abay as a nationalist who elevated his people through poetry, communication, and contact with the outside world is absolutely in Ninety One’s wheelhouse. I’m not sure if I can think of any place where they’ve invoked the example of Abay directly to talk about what they want to accomplish, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it existed and just hasn’t been translated (or I missed it).

After we did our podcast together, Filmi Girl watched Men Sen Emes / Face the Music and wrote about its central conflict being not solely about gender roles but about what a modern Kazakh / Kazakhstani identity should look like -- “Kazakhs should be modern,” as ZaQ said in his Zhas Otan speech. (I tried to get at this earlier, in my OWOB mall essay.) Whether or not other Kazakhstanis would find Ninety One’s invoking Abay in the context of candy shilling offensive -- like I said, I really don’t know -- I’m confident that Ninety One doesn’t find it offensive at all, and not just because it’s in their financial interest to be cool with it. (This is an aside, but McDonald’s having to pull out of Kazakhstan right after the guys started appearing in McDonald’s commercials must have thrown a nasty wrench into their P&L calculations for calendar year 2022.) But I could see them saying that making multinational business connections and working to increase their own profile and financial growth would meet with a twenty-first-century Abay’s approval. How else are you supposed to help Kazakhstan, and the Kazakh language, and the Kazakh (and Kazakhstani) people, grow and prosper?

I have not actually heard the mini yet, by the way. (I will post reviews here when I do. Be warned that currently I have a marker down that (a) I won’t like it and (b) I especially won’t like anything Ace co-wrote.) I just wanted to point out that my faves’ sponsored Valentine’s Day-themed mini-album (Махаббат сөзі means “The word of love,” sez Google Translate) comes with a side of thought-provoking national-myth-making literary-history invocation. Which is not the sole reason they’re my faves, but it definitely doesn’t hurt.

[axvoter]

Blatantly Partisan Party Review XXI (Victoria 2022): Australia One

Prior review: federal 2022

What I said before: “In general they articulate a sense that the country is being, or has been, stolen from them and they want to take it back. Some of it is quite dangerous, most of it is utterly delusional.”

What I think this time: As if there weren’t already too many anti-vax and covid conspiracist parties on the ballot, the unregistered party Australia One is endorsing six independents. This party is completely cooked, peddling covid conspiracies, antivax campaigns, sovereign citizen bollocks, and claims that a shadowy cabal of elites, freemasons, and the Chinese Communist Party have enslaved Australia. The leader of Australia One, Riccardo Bosi, is one of the most extreme of the “freedom” conspiracists. It takes effort to stand out as unhinged within that crowd, and Bosi has assuredly put in the effort.

Anyone affiliated with Australia One should be avoided at all costs:

Bendigo East: James Laurie (appears to be a sovereign citizen; he signed his name “all rights reserved” on his AEC candidate form for the federal election)

Frankston: Darren Bergwerf (he and his supporters run a fake Frankston council that disrupted the real council last month, calling it “a corporation” that will be “found out”—video here)

Mildura: Sonia Brymer (who, among other conspiracies, endorses the very niche and very misguided paranoia about digital property deeds that so animated Len Harris at the federal election)

Monbulk: Craig Cole (who has said that if elected, instead of giving a maiden speech he would murder politicians)

Oakleigh: Dominique Murphy (besides everything else, she’s a TERF who talks disingenuously about “the integrity of women’s sport”)

Polwarth: Denes Borsos (anti-vax doctor who was suspended after word got out that he dispensed covid vaccine exemptions like candy)

My recommendation: Put candidates endorsed by Australia One as low as possible. You have to number every square in the lower house, so if any of the above six people appear on your ballot, put them at the bottom—or as close to the bottom as possible, if you’ve got another even worse crackpot in your electorate.

Website: https://australiaoneparty.com/vic-independent-candidates-nov-2022-election/ (which links to individual pages for each person)

[crossyourheartspreparetodie]

Allen draws this, what do you do

Me: Wow uhh...thats a real...thats really something ya got there huh buddy.

Junior: Why are their eyes bleeding?

Allen: :D it's make up. It's a picture of one of the ghosts that haunts our house

Junior: *Turns pale* W-What!? *Turns to me* You said that was all in my head! There's ghosts here.

Me: Hnnn...yeahhhh uhhhh I don't wanna deal with this.... *grabs a spray bottle labeled holy water, unscrews the lid, and dumps it on top of Allen's head*

Allen: *shrieks like a banshee*

Me: Let the purity of Christ and ladi-da Christianity bullshit flow through you. *flicks excess water at Allen's face with my fingers* *mumbles half heartedly* The power of Christ compels you

Allen: MY EYESSSS MY EYESSS

Me: Its just water, calm your shit

Junior: Wahhhhh there's ghosts here!!?!?!? I'm gonna die

@candy-crackpot

[shrimplymoray]

full simp list?

oh boy, it's so long and a bit of it changed as i changed interests (i dropped completely any interest in Demon Slayer so i don't really feel they deserve their place there anymore). SO far the ones that are still intact are

Madcom 

1-Hank 2-Deimos 3-Sanford 4-Doc 5-Tricky 6-Jebus 7-Sheriff 8-Auditor 9-Phobos 10-Crackpot 11-Hot dog vendor 12-M.D. Skinner 13-Mag torture 14-Burger Gil 15-Pank 16-Wank 17-Skittles 18-Quartermaster Bert

Osomatsu-san

19-Karamatsu 20-Ichimatsu 21-Jyushimatsu 22-Osomatsu 23-Todomatsu 24-Choromatsu 25-Kinko 26-Atsushi 27-Yanagita

FNAF

28-Sunrise 29-Moondrop 30-Montgomery Gator 31-Glamrock Freddy 32-Michael Afton 33-Funtime Foxy 34-DJ Music Man 35-Vanny 36-Roxanne Wolf 37-Funtime Freddy 38-Foxy

Cookie Run

39-Espresso Cookie 40-Eggnog Cookie 41-Almond Cookie 42-Madeleine Cookie 43-Alchemist Cookies 44-Vampire Cookie 45-Rye Cookie 46- Moonlight Cookie 47- Prune Juice Cookie 48- Peach Blossom Cookie

Creepypasta

49-Ticci Toby 50-Ben Drowned 51-Eyeless Jack 52-Masky 53-Hoodie 54-Bloody Painter 55-The Puppeteer 56-Laughing Jack 57-Jane the Killer 58- Jeff the killer 59- Homicidal Liu 60- Jason the toymaker 61- Candy Pop 62- Nathan the Nobody 63- Sully 64- Clockwork 65- Judge Angel 66- Nurse Ann 67- Nina the killer 68- Hobo heart 69- X virus 70- Kate the chaser 71- Rouge the proxy 72- Laughing Jill 73- William Grossman 74- Herobrine 75- Kagekao

Charisma House

76- Ohse Minato 77- Tendou Amahiko 78- Terra-kun 79- Iori Motohashi 80- Fumiya Ito

Other

81-Intruder Mandela Catalog 82-SCP-049 plague doctor 83-McCree Overwatch 84-Mollymauk Critical Role 85-Niko Nambaka 86-Uno Nanbaka 87-Howl Pendragon Howl's Moving Castle 88-Dr venomous Ok Ko 89-Kedamono Popee the performer 90- John Doe John Doe Game 91-Pink Addison Deltarune 92-Eddie Munson Stranger things 93-King Sombra MLP 94- Caleb Widowgast Critical Role 95- Kinger The Amazing Digital Circus 96- Mr. Wolf Bad Guys

Twisted Wonderland

97- Jade Leech 98- Floyd Leech 99- Lilia Vanrouge 100- Dire Crowley 101- Ruggie Bucchi 102- Cater Diamond 103- Azul Ashengrotto 104- Che’nya 105- Sam 106- Malleus Draconia (?) 107- Vil Schoenheit 108- Baul Zigvolt 109- Melleanor Draconia 110- Levan 111- Silver 112- Leona’s Tits

[archipelagoofliterarynonsense]

This reminds me of my new theory about Trey Parker and Matt Stone

So basically what south park started as vs what it is currently is soo far different it might as well be in another galaxy

They started as crazy kids just making it work with endless poop and fart jokes and oh boy did it work.

But over time it evolved more into offensive humor with them pushing the envelope on just HOW offensive they could get.

And boy did they push. And that ALSO worked so damn well wouldnt ya know? Its one of the hottest IPs in known existence

And current south park? It literally feels like they are screaming from the rooftops that they dont want to make it anymore- even made it a plot point in a later season to #cancelsouthpark

That though- did NOT work- people ate it up even more

And basically these guys who just started out some crazy kids with a nifty show idea turned out to be genuises.

Because- (& my theory is basically this:) that they were just like "fine. You want more south park so bad? Then you get absolutely any crackpot ideas we come up with and every season we air the more we are going to double down on our complete audacity and its not like you can say no anymore- because it was our willingness to try to push societal boundaries and take risks that got us all this attention in the first place."

So basically Matt and Trey are kids in lifes candy store- they won. They are absolutely allowed to do whatever shenanigans they come up with because- its what brings in the big bucks.

So now we have just borderline masterpiece seasons/specials and to say that these guys havent had a big hand in our political landscape is foolish- because it absolutely has as SP gets brought up in almost all social circles during political conversations now

These ragtag guys- didnt even realize they were playing a long game til half way through

And I could not love it more.

honestly, you gotta love/hate how much every major popular series has some hint of its creator begging to stop, like half the smash games were made solely because nintendo wanted them, against the wishes of sakurai. like it obviously sucks that these series are being forced to continue, and that even when they make it super upfront and center (dark souls 3 you are screaming please we get it) people will ignore the messaging and keep asking for more. but theres a bit of interest in seeing how far these things can be stretched out, how far the story and the messaging can go before finally snapping and becoming something completely different.

The “problem” is that those few true creative visionaries who create New Art will… want to keep doing that? Of course they want to keep creating new art. That’s what they do. But capitalism requires that once you find something that works, you exploit it for all it’s worth. The creative has no place in capitalism. Only the one-hit wonder does.

[viothecrapbot]

You want my hot takes? Here's a hot take. The mimic IS literally Gregory. It is the body that William built to house his dead kid, it is the stolen tech from Henry he is using to put the pieces back together MXES was HIS design to keep him there. That's why its a rabbit.

He is still not ready, he doesn't understand he's a boy. THAT is what B-7 is about, it's telling us this. He's to be kept in a game except he's the kid who learned the lullaby in Candy Cadet's story. THE LULLABY IS GAMES. HE LEARNED GAMES.

ARE YOU HAVING FUN YET? Games. Vanessa was Vanny, she came into his game to check on him and to try and stop him when he (and Freddy) went rogue.

I think there is so much more to this story than what we are given and I'm not about to give up on it yet.

And I think he will come back. He always does.

I always welcome hot takes!!

I love the insanity of this and you've damn well nearly convinced me of this crackpot theory. This litterally explains a whole bunch of random little details that no one's really addressed, like what the hell is the deal with Vanny being so playful. In a series where every detail matters at some point, this theory does provide an explanation for a bunch of them.

Now, do I believe it likely or true? Not really. But a good theory does get my gears churning in the best way and now I will obsessively think about this as I finish up my workday.

Anyway thank you for the ask anon! I look forward to hearing from you more!

[cascading-colors]

Allen the bum for @candy-crackpot

I dunno know why but, the idea of Allen in a box had me giggling while sketching this