#it was a surprise and it was stupid from

[swugflower]

I can’t fucking people that in the year of our lord 2023 there are still people out there thinking that it was SANSAs fault that Lady got killed and that STILL blame her for Neds death.

My friends, did we watch the same fucking show???? Because I think the fuck not

[communistkenobi]

The deeply moralist tone that a lot of discussions about media representation take on here are primarily neoliberal before they are anything else. Like the shouting matches people get into about “purity culture” “pro/anti” etc nonsense (even if I think it’s true that some people have a deeply christian worldview about what art ought to say and represent about the world) are downstream of the basic neoliberal assumption that we can and must educate the public by being consumers in a market. “Bad representation” is often framed as a writer’s/developer’s/director’s/etc’s failure to properly educate their audience, or to educate them the wrong way with bad information about the world (which will compel their audience to act, behave, internalise or otherwise believe these bad representations about some social issue). Likewise, to “consume” or give money to a piece of media with Bad Representation is to legitimate and make stronger these bad representations in the world, an act which will cause more people to believe or internalise bad things about themselves or other people. And at the heart of both of those claims is, again, the assumption that mass public education should be undertaken by artists in a private market, who are responsible for creating moral fables and political allegories that they will instil in their audiences by selling it to them. These conversations often become pure nonsense if you don’t accept that the moral and political education of the world should be directed by like, studio executives or tv actors or authors on twitter. There is no horizon of possibility being imagined beyond purchasing, as an individual consumer in a market, your way into good beliefs about the world, instilled in you by Media Product 

[egophiliac]

I love the idea of teenage Malleus hating his new baby brother Silver but slowly falling for him

words cannot express how much I adore that Mal's reaction to seeing a human baby for the first time was "the fuck is this. why does it look like that. gross." (then he immediately got stuck on babysitting duty and the rest is history)

I am SUCH a sucker for that trope of "non-humans being fascinated by normal human behavior", so between that and all the delicious angst going on I was eating VERY well. >:) Malleus being so impressed that two-year-old Silver can walk, because it took him twenty years to stand on two legs! Lilia barging in on the Zigvolts at 2 AM being like "he won't stop crying what do I do"! Lilia trying to feed Silver rats and Malleus being like "...please just stick with what the books say to feed it"! it is all so. chef's kiss.

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Danny is just a kid ya know? Like he is just a little guy. A baby really. 14? Tiny child! Look at him, he needs to be protected. Someone has to help this poor little dude. I mean he forgets to use his own powers to avoid attacks all the time.

Anyway cut to Batfam not knowing all of Dannys power set cause the lil dingus keeps forgetting he can do that stuff in the heat of battle.

Danny uses his invisibility all the time… to avoid being followed. But in a fight? Oopsies hes too busy thinking of funny one liners to realise he could do that.

Intangibility? Give the guy a break. I mean who calls themselves condiment king. Even he was stunned.

He so rarely actually uses his biggest advantage powers that the League doubt he actually has them. He, like any naive child, trusts them and reported fully on his power set. Instead of just asking him to demonstrate his powers they instead start watching him and try to find evidence of his powers.

At least they know duplication was true since they watched him make a copy of himself to go to the bathroom and not miss any of his fav tv show.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

he's in my home he's in my Heart

[bruhstation]

[starschism]

as confirmed by aaron ehasz in the interview by Reel James theyve been playing us since season 2

guys the walls, the floor, the WINDOW. Theyre warped and reflect colors because its pearlescent. The prison is inside the pearl. The window was such a big hint its been in front of our faces the whole time

[aleksanderscult]

[ryllen]

Book 5, chapter 53 - Appreciating Heights

[averydedicateduck]

learn Chinese to open up new communication possibilities and strengthen the mind:❎

Learn Chinese to be able to read gay novels without translation problems:✅

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

Every time I see a post lamenting how Viv used to draw weird furry erotica, or the 2012 ass "pedo bear" style comedy that was always a joke and just fandom bullshit. How Stella obviously was supposed to be fucking her brother but its been pulled back on, or how ValAngel is obviously kink shit(even if we're also taking it very seriously at the same time)

Like, everything about this show was supposed to By Freaks, For Freaks. From the character design, to the edgy humor.

But fandom culture has changed a lot from when Viv first started out in that OC's tumblrina time. Ship and let ship has almost completely died, purity culture and the normalization of second degree murder has resulted in a creative landscape thats so fucking terrified to be seen as "problematic", that art is being pushed aside and sanitized because no one has fucking basic reading comprehension.

I mean, that whole thing where people were telling Bryan Fuller that he's the reason that gay conversion camps are good and should come back full force. The amount of trans women I saw on Twitter become publicly accused of "cp". A youtuber at one point SAVED the "cp" on her computer, edited the "cp" into a cutesy thumbnail, and distributed it. So, either its not csem and she fucking knows it and wouldn't have saved it and reposted it but really wanted to to tell people to kill this one specific woman, OR this is how seriously these kinds of people take things like literal csem.

Like, is Vivziepop annoying? Yeah, kinda. Is she not necessarily the best writer in the world? No, not really. But she's not a pedophile or some serial abuser because she's a furry. I'm genuinely so baffled by people watching a Furry Show and then being like, "omfg......she drew.........furry porn?????". I wouldn't be surprised if at least some of the reason Hazbin/Helluva turned out so wonky(outside of amazon)is just, Viv didn't feel safe or comfortable actually expressing her art and telling her story. There's so many people who would jump for joy if she killed herself, because they think snakes are a good enough reason to kill someone. Not to mention, the baseless accusations about stupid and meaningless things muddies the waters of actual abuse or things that could be legitimate problems. There's a 50/50 chance the thing Viv did that was problematic will be "drew pictures" or "has bad working conditions" and both of these tend to be held to the same standard of shit we need to take her down for.

I hate how you can't critique anything anymore, because saying you're "critical of the media" is more often then not, just a fucking dog whistle for "omg pls pls give me the opportunity to harass someone for not giving in to the thought policing I PERSONALLY have made up." Instead of someone who actually likes analysis and media criticism.

I'd love to complain about Hazbin/Helluva, I think it kinda sucks!!! I'm genuinely heartbroken that something that was obviously meant for Weirdos has been appropriated by puritanical babies, like they're horny housewives ashamed of themselves because they like 50 shades or whatever.

[evilfloralfoolery]

Love Bites: A Tale of Indulgent Preternatural Fuckery

I was going to wait until morning to post this, but fuck it. I make my own rules. Please enjoy some poncy ass fetish fuckery between 324 year old French vampire Lucian d'Alarie and his far more modern 82 year old, tattooed werewolf lover, Marrok Rafe.

Guess which one has "the thing."

*This story already has multiple parts that I may or not post. It depends on a few factors.

_____________________________

“Lucian?? Lucian!! Where are you hiding??”

Somewhere from the other side of the ridiculous estate, his beloved is bellowing in a manner that would wake the dead.  Or, in Lucian’s case, the undead. 

- I am not hiding.  You are simply blinded by whatever rage has a hold upon you. -

He bursts through the door.  The balcony door.  From outside of it.  Marrok never did appreciate the simplicity and ease a door offered.

“Get out of my head.”  Marrok’s voice is a flat growl, a rumble far too low to be human.  

Because he is not.  

“And how else would you hear me, hmm?  With all of your grandiose nonsense.  Mon dieu, Marrok.  I realize that we have no neighbors, but–” 

“What. Happened.”  Again, not a question.  A demand of sorts.  

Lucian does not grant him an answer at his impatient behest.  Instead, he takes a moment to appreciate the feral being before him.  Lean and well-muscled with shoulders even broader than his own, skin bronzed from the sun, and adorned with a myriad of tattoos, Marrok looks every bit the part of the apex predator that he truly is. The topmost portion of his rather absurd length of jagged jet black hair is pulled tight by some manner of elastic, revealing the tips of his pointed ears and the shaved sides of his head beneath.

There was a time when Lucian found such a thing appalling.  But it suited Marrok on many levels.

“I am not certain.”  Lucian sinks down into one of the wingback chairs near the now flung-open balcony doors, just beyond the reach of the sun’s rays.  “I feel . . . strange.  Like a mortal does when nursing the beginnings of an illness.”

Marrok folds his arms with a disgruntled frown, the permanent artwork that resides there flexing with the movement.  “That doesn’t happen to your kind or mine.”

“Not necessarily.  We do not know everything, you and I.  Perhaps–”

“No.” Marrok cuts him off.  “It’s not fucking possible.” 

Lucian pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers with a wince.  Not only is his head pounding like a drum, but an incessant prickle also resides there.  The nuisance saw fit to surge to a burn at times, causing a far greater inconvenience, one that he rarely dealt with, unless too much sunlight were involved.

Which was not currently the issue at the moment.  However, that knowledge did little to placate the persistent tingling itch.  After several attempts at fending it off, Lucian resigns himself to his fate, tugging a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and making good use of it.

“HhhehISSSSHHIIU!” 

“ExcusehhhISSCH! ISSCHHuh!---hhhuuh . . . !  Hhhh . . .!”

Ungodly, wretched misery of a—

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and exhales a slow, steadying breath.  “Très désolée.  I . . . have not the control to manage this.” 

“This is bullshit!”  Marrok looks as if he would rather cast himself in the confines of the fountain from the third story balcony than exist in this current shared space. “You can't be–” he gestures with an exasperated flurry of fingers “--that!”

Lucian arches an eyebrow. “Unwell?”

“Don’t.” Marrok tears away the band holding the layers of his thick hair with a snap of elastic.

Sprigs of haphazard darkness jut from his scalp in an almost comical defiance and Lucian morphs a laugh into a cough on purpose. 

“This isn't funny, Lucian.” The words are more of a growl, rumbling and full of an intent to intimidate. 

If anything actually served to intimidate Lucian. 

“And yet, here we are.” 

“No, there you are. We are not doing this.”

“You speak as if I had some choice in the matter.” 

Marrok is two centimeters from his person in half as many seconds. “You did this to yourself. I don't know how you did it, but you did.” 

Lucian rises to his feet with an almost bored aire. “Accusational hysteria does not suit you, mon cher.” 

Clawed fingers snatch at the lapels of his shirt. “Don't patronize me, you French fuck.” 

“Is that what you desire, then?” Lucian slides his hands to cup the snarling visage between his palms. “Some French fuck?”

He casts the other “man” a smirk that  promises seduction, but not without a staggering dosage of smug upper handedness.  And clearly, Marrok isn't entertaining anything of the sort. 

“Get off me.” He gives Lucian a rough, but far lighter shove than anticipated. 

The werewolf stalks over to the ornate bookcase, scans several titles, and swears when he realizes whatever he desires is near the topmost part of it.  Not that this hinders him in any way.  Marrok simply jumps, snatches his preferred literature from its resting place, and rebounds off of the wall to land effortlessly back onto his feet.

“Whatever are you doing?”

“Research,” Marrok grunts.  

He flops down into the chair formerly occupied by Lucian and begins leafing through the text while Lucian has a seat upon the bed.

“Marrok.” Lucian gestures with one hand. “Come to me.” 

The werewolf doesn't look up from his reading. “No.” 

“S’il vous plaît, mon cher.  I am so very cold.”

Marrok turns a page. “You're dead. Comes with the territory.” 

“Do you not think that I am incapable of feeling a draft simply because I am no longer mortal?” 

“That’s right,” Marrok says.  “And you know that shit.” 

Well. One had ways of changing that type of attitude, especially with the omnipresent twinge dwelling deep within his sinuses. The simple act of breathing would be enough. Not that one such as Lucian needed the trappings of this rather human inconvenience, but even the undead still functioned in a similar fashion, needed or not. 

He allows his breathing to slow, for his breath to hitch, and makes a show of fumbling for his handkerchief as his expression dissolves into abject helplessness.

“Hhh-hiiih. . .! HiihhISSSSHU–ISSSCH! . . . HhIKGSSCH-UUH!”

He buries his nose in the crumpled fabric, shoulders shuddering, unbound hair curtaining his face.

The book snaps closed. Footsteps that are more of a marching stomp approach. 

“You did that on purpose.” 

Judging by how much of that sentence is coated in the most inhuman of growls, Marrok is more than merely ruffled. He is infuriated beyond measure. 

“I assure you that I did n–”

Marrok is atop him, pinning him to the mattress. 

“You did.”  The werewolf snarls against his mouth and fangs graze his lips. “But I'm fresh out of fucks.” 

“Mmm, are you?” Lucian reaches between his legs with a most uncouth clenching of fingers around Marrok’s most sensitive attributes. “What a shame that would be.” He snatches handfuls of the thin, black cotton shirt Marrok is so fond of and jerks him against his chest hard enough to elicit a grunt from his lover. “Je veux te baiser.” 

“Hope you don't like these pants.” Marrok's nails slash the well-stitched fabric to indecent ribbons before Lucian can answer.

“Such violence in you.” Lucian flashes him a hint of his own fangs, different from that of a werewolf, but equally as lethal. “It is a quality I find most captivating.” 

The dark yellow of Marrok’s eyes is near amber. “Stop talking.”

__________________________________________________________

(TBC or no?)

[arklayraven]

Okay who reached them about this? lol

[wonder-worker]

"[Elizabeth Woodville's] piety as queen seems to have been broadly conventional for a fifteenth-century royal, encompassing pilgrimages, membership of various fraternities, a particular devotion to her name saint, notable generosity to the Carthusians, and the foundation of a chantry at Westminster after her son was born there. ['On other occasions she supported planned religious foundations in London, […] made generous gifts to Eton College, and petitioned the pope to extend the circumstances in which indulgences could be acquired by observing the feast of the Visitation']. One possible indicator of a more personal, and more sophisticated, thread in her piety is a book of Hours of the Guardian Angel which Sutton and Visser-Fuchs have argued was commissioned for her, very possibly at her request."

-J.L. Laynesmith, "Elizabeth Woodville: The Knight's Widow", "Later Plantagenet and Wars of the Roses Consorts: Power, Influence, Dynasty"

[absurdumsid]

yall im sobbing ?? a girl asked me out to prom but i alr asked my crush please what the fuck wha thwyagbdbfnd

[enchantrum]

Dragon Age fandom had its problems but at least almost everyone understood the usage of tags like "character critical" "character hate" etc and didn't just throw big tirades against characters in the public tags where their fans obviously hang out. and when they did do that even people who also hate the character told them to stop

BG3 fandoms treatment of tags is like "fuck around and find out" and then when OP finds out they cry that everyone is so rude and unfair. like bro you did the equivalent of walking into a clubhouse and telling everyone there you hate the thing the club is about????

yeah people are gonna call you dumb and tell you to fuck off