#jesus christ the precision..... fuck that man in specific!!!!

[hauntingblue]

Bege father and husband of the year

[apocalypticdemon]

so i'm finally reading through the terror scripts and i think this was designed to cause me physical pain.

crozier was supposed to be drinking to schubert..... god

[magpieinthemorning]

(I left out the stupid joke)

[roosterbruiser]

Babe if we can still request blurbs for the sleepover next week I'd love to request an idea before I forget!!! (I hope you'll forgive me for how early this is)

But maybe you could write one adding to Jake interrupted lore? I know you've already written one where Bradley walked in on Jake in ftu which I LOVED!!!! So maybe this time you could write Bob interrupting? Only if you want to tho ofc ❤❤

I would love to add more to the Jake, Interrupted lore!

it's honestly one of the laziest, most random fucks you've ever had with your boyfriend.

Jake, of course, woke up after you and trudged into the kitchen to find you prancing around in an oversized t-shirt and those little panties with the pink bow that drives him wild.

before you even really know what's happening, your scrambled eggs are entirely abandoned on the stove. you're bent over the kitchen table, panties at your ankles, with your cheek pressed against one of the placemats. Jake is behind you, holding the back of your neck to keep you in place, thrusting into you with a rapidity that would lead others to believe he's a starved man.

"fuck, baby," he mutters, watching your back arch in the white morning light filtering in through the back windows. "so fucking tight for me, huh? taking me so fucking good."

you're a mess, clutching the edge of the table, trying to keep your moans at a minimum as an orgasm licks at your heals with a hot, hot tongue.

"Jake," you moan out, eyes fluttered shut in a moment of rapture.

you take a moment to just feel everything: your shirt pooled under your armpits, your pert nipples against the wooden table, your boyfriend's thick cock gliding in and out of your slick cunt, your walls squeezing every vein that makes him up, his warm skin pressing against yours each time he comes flush with your ass during another cant of his hips.

you haven't even brushed your hair yet, but here you are: getting railed in your kitchen at 8am.

"so fucking pretty, baby," Jake insists, leaning down to feverishly kiss the delicate curve of your spine. pleasure is permeating his body like little darts, making his chest tight and red. "can't fucking help myself when I see you. gotta keep you full."

and without another word, he slips his hand between your legs and begins to toy with your clit. it's almost mean the way he's rapidly rubbing you, keening when you moan out and fist the edge of the table impossibly harder.

"ah, Jake--oh, fuck, I'm gonna--!"

that's precisely when one mister Bob Floyd uses the handy spare key under the mat to let himself into your home. usually, he wouldn't do this. but you and him settled on 8:30am for a breakfast reservation at that restaurant you two have been dying to get into--he doesn't want to lose your table.

he should've stopped as soon as he heard the incriminating sounds: skin on skin, table legs scraping the tile, telltale moaning, panting. but he continues, hoping you and Jake are maybe just watching Game of Thrones or something.

but then he finds himself standing in the threshold of the kitchen, wearing his spiffy little button-down he pressed last night specifically for your breakfast reservations. his eyes are wide, his jaw dropped.

"oh-oh God!" Bob screeches, covering his eyes with his hands, dropping the keys he was holding. "Jesus, I--I didn't...oh, Christ!"

Bob, who is trying to run away with his hands over his eyes, bumps into the doorway of the kitchen.

at the sound of Bob, you and Jake halt immediately. your orgasm dissipates with a haste as mortification floods your entire being.

"Bob!" you screech, hastily pushing yourself off the table and scrambling to pull your shirt down.

Jake, who is equally as mortified, quickly pulls your pants up for you and tucks himself into his briefs as Bob scrambles to find his footing in the threshold of the kitchen.

even from where you're standing, you can see how pink poor Bob's cheeks are.

"breakfast!" you gasp, wringing your hands together. "oh, god! Bob, I'm so sorry! hold on, give me like five minutes and I'll be ready to go!"

and with that, you're scurrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs, trying to hold off on outwardly cringing until in the privacy of your own bedroom.

that leaves Jake and Bob alone, Bob still covering his eyes with his palms.

"Bob, I, uh...I'm decent." Jake says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

Bob peeks an eye open as if to confirm this and then swallows hard, clasping his hands before him.

"she told me to use the spare key anytime," Bob says quietly.

Jake nods.

"yeah. yeah, she, uh...she does that."

[batsplat]

do you have any random early 00’s motogp era hot takes you want to share? literally any thing

I do feel like 'hot take' implies that I know what people's takes about this era even ARE, but sure I always have a few!

according to mat oxley's reference book, in 2005 at the sachsenring valentino was planning to make a move at the penultimate corner on the final lap to take the win from sete. now, this didn't end up happening, because poor old thoroughly broken sete crumbled to the pressure from valentino at the start of the final lap, which let valentino through and let him take the victory. so I'd actually had this reference book for a while and flicked through the 2005 pages quite a few times before I realised something. the penultimate corner? that's where valentino took the lead from sete at sachsenring 2003 - you know, the race where he'd been lurking and leaving it until almost the last moment, before taking too much of a defensive line into the final corner and allowing sete to just beat him to the line. the race that made him go off and dye his hair and have a bit of a crisis before showing up at brno and beating sete on the final lap. from here:

I double checked, and he definitely gets the lead into the penultimate corner in 2003. for 2005, the reference book says this: "vale planned to attack into the downhill run to the penultimate corner, leaving his rivals no time counter-attack". which, if this is true, let's just sit with that for a moment. we happen to know for a fact that a counter-attack is possible if you don't get the last corner right since we saw it in 2003. so what valentino was planning to do in 2005 was overtake sete in precisely the same place he had overtaken him two years earlier, and this time make no mistake to take the win. to reverse what had been sete's greatest ever victory over him. can you imagine? isn't that kind of funny? isn't that kind of fucked? valentino can you let this man BREATHE jesus christ

my hot take is that valentino popping his champagne right in front of sete's salad at jerez 2005 was unfortunately pretty fucking funny

the hands on hips when the spaniards were booing?? also incredibly funny

walking out onto the podium like this when the spaniards booed him really does make me think how fucking tragic it is he didn't get booed more often. there are few things I enjoy more in sports than athletes being cunts when crowds are booing them. like it just slaps, what can you say. this slaps. look at how delighted he is to rub it in their faces. valentino rossi EYE will boo you

some other under appreciated bad vibes 2005 photos:

catalunya 2004 is a bizarrely underrated valentino duel, and I cannot for the life of me understand why it's not mentioned in the same breath as the other ones (actually I can, it's because a) people don't rate sete and b) it was twenty years ago)

quick catalunya 2005 tangent: I kind of get 2005 not being discussed so much, even though to me it's an integral part of the season and I think it really works in narrative purposes because it's just like? such a specifically cruel way for the whole race to play out? 2005 as a season is kind of about figuring out every single cruel way you can win a race against a rival and trying them all out one by one. if you're into that sort of thing, like a sicko

but anyway catalunya 2004 is just unequivocally a banger of a race if you love one-on-one duels - from right to the start to the very end (which btw you cannot say of either 2007 or 2016, as fond as I am of them) (I cannot stress enough how much I love 2007 but obviously it does also tell you something about that particular era of racing that we still think of it as one of the two valentino/casey duels). my point is that this race slaps, it's part of one of the best series of three races you'll ever come across, and the way 2004 just gradually ramps up the stakes and tension of the sete/valentino rivalry is ridiculously cinematic

let's go back a few years and talk about alex barros

alex barros was valentino's most significant on-track rival in 2002, not biaggi. and, listen, I'm not saying he's on the level of the five feuds TM, but people do completely forget that rivalry, and, like, they had a bunch of fun battles!

this isn't as much a hot take as just a...? point of curiosity. I feel like by the late noughties, everyone was always talking about how all this in-race pressure he'd exert would break biaggi and gibernau. but relatively speaking, he really doesn't do this that much with biaggi - the main way he 'breaks' him is just like... being way better than him. on-track, relatively speaking he's not spending all that much time sitting on biaggi's rear tyre... of course it happens, but extended duels between the pair are pretty rare. he's using that tactic more often on, well, alex barros. plus, barros had a reputation for being evil on the brakes and he was someone who valentino had a healthy respect of in last laps! helps make it more interesting

I know 'why don't people talk about valencia 2002' is a question that can be answered with 'because it was 22 years ago', and I left out the race from my vale race recs list because... okay, look, I had to draw the line somewhere and felt like 'getting people into a bunch of 2002 races without commentary against a rival a lot of new-ish fans haven't even heard of' was very much where that line should be drawn. but I don't know! it's still weird they fought that much on-track and it just sort of gets ignored, including some notable valentino defeats (or, well, two defeats, that's something)

also flattens perception of valentino I reckon, if looking back your understanding of valentino's prime is 'well his two rivals were biaggi and gibernau and he hated them both' makes it easy to forget that at age 25, he really wasn't seen as like... a nasty competitor, somebody who was constantly picking fights... by this point he's won three premier class championships, and he's really only beefed with the guy basically everyone beefed with. that particular perception really stuck to him post-gibernau! it's casey + jorge who are the first ones to kinda be primed for conflict (especially jorge)

anyway, assen + sachsenring 2002 are both available on youtube, and I did include those in the recs lists in large part because they have commentary... personally, I would've made different choices here from the motogp website, but what can you do. they're both fun races though, I promise! it's really interesting that barros is still riding a 500cc machine at this point, so you kinda get that neat contrast between bikes... it's fun how much you can actually see it, like imagine if you got that with all major technical regulations - and with something this radical even the layperson gets to appreciate it

shout out to alex barros' weird and quirky 2002 season... I won't forget u buddy

also, this is a bugbear in general when people talk about title rivals - but it's not always the runner-up who was the title rival! you have to remember how the season actually unfolded in real time, y'know... events happen in a linear order. if you have stronger results towards the end of the season after you realistically no longer had a shot at the championship, then that's very good for you but you are not the title rival. biaggi isn't the title rival in 2002, ukawa is. dani isn't the title rival in 2007, valentino is. dovi isn't the title rival in 2018, valentino is. unless you are able to mount such a dramatic comeback that you have literally gotten it to a title decider (cf 2006 and 2022) then I will check the standings at the halfway point and listen to what they tell me like a sensible person

come on! this isn't even particularly marginal! some title fights can be described as three way like 2003 2004 2008 2013 and some are five way like 2006 2017 and some occur in the year 2020. some involve the eventual runner up never having really been in championship contention and as a society we just have to accept that

(obviously, only one of these things can really be described as 'a title fight', and even that one is a snapshot at a time that happens to be pretty flattering toward valentino right before it all really goes downhill. but anyways it's the principle of the matter, it's just an inaccurate description of what actually happened that season)

biaggi is more of a title contender in 2004 (and even 2003) than he is in 2002... I do feel like sometimes people act like biaggi disappeared when sete showed up. final results aren't everything - mind you at the halfway point in 2004, biaggi was one point off the championship lead, with sete a few more points off... also biaggi was p3 in both of those seasons. he only dropped off when he got the repsol honda seat in 2005 lol

unfortunately, and with all respect to barros who I've been hyping up a lot recently, the lack of a clear narrative hook and indeed a feud makes 2002 the least interesting of the early noughties seasons. you can't even say it's really that much less 'polished' than valentino's 2005 season... like no offence but this is kind of disgusting, even the dnf was mechanical:

thing is valentino also has the clearest machinery advantage over all his major rivals here, it's more fun if you make these guys suffer a bit imo

that being said, I do find it charming and kinda endearing valentino also found this season boring as shit and desperately needed to change things up. he's so real for that, a true warrior against single athlete domination

btw in 2005 the narrative hook is that he's tormenting sete basically the whole year. that one's also way more impressive since the yamaha is still on balance the worse bike than the honda

like I said here:

I don't necessarily think that sete approaching that valentino rivalry differently would've helped him so much in 2005 (though maybe in 2004), but he could have perhaps preserved some of his dignity. there's something about how valentino really makes sure these feuds are conducted interpersonally on his own terms... and his approach is very much conditioned on whether he's operating from a place of strength or not

I've obviously talked about this more elsewhere, but you've got a real shamelessness differential. and sete continually is too concerned with managing perception of that rivalry. whereas valentino, y'know - I reckon he's quite comfortable with people perceiving him as ruthless. first of all, obviously it works out in his favour more often than not because of the intimidation factor... and secondly, from how he's talked about it over the years, he does know that the rivalries are part of the show and also are something he really does consciously enjoy (obvious exceptions apply). he does like playing the arsehole, and he's happy to do it in front of the cameras... that's really where it falls apart for sete, because it almost feels like presenting this as a very 'respectful' and non-biaggi/vale rivalry was a bit of a group project, something they'd both been invested in during 2003 and much of 2004. and valentino just... throws it away. zero hesitation. such a key turning point in that season and that rivalry but also kinda valentino's career? in a way, it's the natural culmination of how he's taken ownership of his own narrative... from the start of 2003, when he was chafing against the constraints set by honda and is searching to reestablish individuality, to then forging his own destiny at yamaha in 2004 - and now he's even stage managing his own feuds. it's all so much more sudden and deliberate and self-assured than anything with biaggi or his earlier rivals. he's ensuring that this whole story is to be told on his own terms. what a spectacle and all that

whereas something like jerez 2005... obviously you have the spontaneity of the move itself - nothing premeditated about that, which you can tell because he fails to make a move two corners earlier (after having made the mistake to let sete past in the first place earlier that lap). so of course the performance in front of the booing spaniards is also completely spontaneous... dealing such a decisive psychological blow on sete was mostly happenstance, though of course valentino did well to take advantage of the hand he was dealt (setting aside moral qualms for a moment). still, it's revealing in itself that it's a victory he enjoyed so much... at the end of the day, there's no way in which he'd rather win a race, the more brutal for the opponent the better. it's something all his big wins have in common

including welkom 2004 btw!! feel like that's sometimes a bit under-discussed with that race - like, sure, it's switching to the yamaha and winning when nobody else could bla bla, but the fact that his two major rivals had been complaining for the whole last year (and in biaggi's case an awful lot longer than that) about how valentino had the best bike and then he goes out and wins with a fucking yamaha first time of asking??? that's got to STING. the more you can make the opponent suffer, the more fun it is lbr

back to 2005 (you can tell these are real 'hot takes' because none of these are in chronological order and only loosely thematically related)

the valentino/melandri rivalry is weirdly flat given the set-up is perfectly compelling? you've got childhood friends and rivals who used to be a lot closer, and then valentino is super successful and melandri is also there, and then at some point melandri is complaining valentino has switched up towards him and seems kinda resentful towards him? and then a few years down the line he's saying valentino's rivals are using yellow chairs as mind games. which, again, I'm writing it out and I can see the narrative appeal, but somehow it never quite comes together. I don't even mind that melandri isn't that competitive in the rivalry, plenty of fun rivalries are like that, but... y'know. not for me

I do have a theory for why this is but it's a bit rude and quite possibly unfair so let's keep it moving

which is why the main rivalry in 2005 as far as I'm concerned is still valentino/sete... but it's important that rivalry exists, because otherwise it'd be another relative dud of a season. as it stands, it slaps!! prime yamaha valentino is great to watch, and there's like half a dozen performances of his that season I'm super fond of. admittedly most of them are the ones where he's ragging on sete, but donington also slaps!!

I know it's mean, but I just have to say again the bit of the brno 2005 commentary where they go (paraphrasing, can't be bothered to dig up my notes) 'it's almost like rossi has a radio with which to talk into gibernau's ear - remember sachsenring, remember how long you led there, remember how you made that final lap mistake' is so wild?? I genuinely don't get how people aren't all over this rivalry (beyond how it's twenty years old, yes yes), like the psychology of this shit is fascinating, the symbolism is incredible... commentators bringing up the idea that valentino can essentially whisper into his enemies' heads, the way they discuss the curse more and more that year... and inevitably, it always does fall apart for sete - remember, brno is the race where his engine!! cuts out!! on the last lap!! that is SO cursed! all kind of creepy, no? in a lot of ways, late 2004 and 2005 is basically an extended horror film. isn't that what everyone wants from their sports...

here's sete after starting on pole at valencia 2005 and suffering a mechanical dnf on lap 3:

[capeline-cutemeister]

OPINIOMS ON GRANBY…..?????

Jesus Christ three of yall messaged me about Granby why does everyone want opinions on him specifically First impression: It feels so long ago but i started the first book like less than a month ago bwahhhhhhh. At first I had mixed opinions on him. I thought he was going to be like Dayes (so cringe), and my opinion of him really didn't change that much until like, he obviously started not being a dick lol lmao. I honestly really like his character arc in the first book specifically because like. Mans got the courage to be like "Fuck im sorry for being rude and uncouth but I *cannot* let things continue this way" and honestly thats a really cool and chill moment. Like i love long and drawn out sentences (i love Jane Austen i love Jane Austen) but also i really like it when a character is real blunt and just doesn't drag it out. That also especially took guts because the last time that he did something like that Laurence threatened to get him in trouble for insubordination (very smooth Laurence)

Second Impression: Thats right baby Granby gets three impressions because hes that cool. This is Granby precisely from the beginning of Throne of Jade to *right* before he gets Iskierka. Just absolutely most badass guy imo. Super reliable. Best friends with Laurence, super competent. This is Granby at his best and treated with the most respect, and I think Novik had to give him Iskierka to nerf him.

Impression now: I feel so fucking bad for Granby. My severe dislike for Iskierka is not really hidden but she has dragged my poor Glorbo through the mud. When I think of Granby now i just think of that cat that had its face in milk and looks miserable and sad. Like goddamn what did they do to you. Hes still a really strong and awesome character, and it was AWESOME seeing him storm up to Poole in LoD; but he gets so much horrible stuff just tossed on him because Iskierka is a petulant child. Genuine princess behavior, hes a tired king.

Favorite moment: Its a tie between him telling Iskierka to fuck off and listen to him for once, and him in a blistering rage and storming up to Poole. Like you cannot understand how much i love those moments. Just Granby finally putting his foot down and going "No. I will not deal with this bullshit any longer, there are going to be consequences now." Of course that doesn't really go anywhere in LoD because Laurence is also a fucking badass, but meh. The heart was there, man was about to commit civil war in the Aviator Corp just for his friend. I really appreciate that <3 But also on the other hand I REALLY like him standing up to Iskierka in Crucible of Gold because HOLY SHIT she was so insanely disrespectful to him. Like I don't *care* that she is 'his dragon', it was like borderline homophobia in my eyes and the fact that it came from someone so close to him and the entire point of his service in the corp just broke my heart. So i'm glad that he put his foot down for once and made her listen to him. Setting boundaries is really important, and I think that he set them quite well.

Idea for a story: Any of them where he gets a better dragon than Iskierka. JKJKJKKJKJKJKJK Nah but fr i think my only real story idea with Granby would be to explore all of the things that he was doing when he wasn't with Laurence. His constant Struggles with Iskierka and having to deal with being friends with someone that committed treason for a cause he believed in. Most importantly how he developed and maintained any sort of relationship with Little. I dont have anything super unique unfortunately, its hard for me to do something that would be in character without getting rid of the things that make his character, if that makes sense?

Unpopular opinion: Hmmmmmmm well I haven't been around the fandom long enough to really see what is and isn't popular opinion with the blorbo, but i think that my most controversial statement about Granby is that I don't find him that amusing. I love and adore him and i think hes great but he is very sincere in my eyes and that leaves very little in the way of him actually being funny. I think there are only a couple of moments where I think hes funny/in a funny situation. But oh well.

Favorite relationship: Finding any non platonic relationship in Temeraire is so hard for me. I want to say my favorite relationship is him and little, but also i dont care about little that much. I think hes cute! But i was given very little to work with in the books in the way of *their* relationship other than that they have fucked. And like, idk. I think my favorite relationship in general though, is probably him with Iskierka, funnily enough. I think it shows the best of both characters whenever its done right, and I think it really let Granby Be His Own Character. Like everyone in the Corp wants a dragon. Duh. But when Granby gets his, she's a nightmare! He has to go through this long and twisting road where he is afraid to take too wrong of a step because Iskierka, and because hes friends with Laurence(traitor adjacent), and because hes always wanted dragon and hes afraid to fuck it up and etc etc etc. And he kinda has to learn to stand up for himself and others in a way that he probably hasn't had to before. Its not really a path that the other Aviators get to take, they just become background characters after they get their dragon. I mean even Ferris just drops off the face of the earth when he gets his Prussian.

And Iskierka is great because despite how horrible she acts she really does care for him, im not blind to that. But her path in their relationship is that she has to learn to stop being so overbearing, so crazy, so difficult to work with. She has to understand that she is not infallible, and that the things that hurt her are not the same as the things that hurt other dragons, and that realization comes at a pretty horrible time in her life. She has to grow up, which while we see other dragons grow up in this series (like mentally i mean), i dont think that theres ever so stark a comparison as with her.

Idk if that makes sense, but I like their relationship the most out of Granby's relationships because its the most unique for both characters, imo.

[dontfeeltoohot]

Barista Steve being a photic sneezer and sneezing maybe once or twice a day? On a bad allergy day, it hits him a little harder and it just so happens to be a day that Eddie stays in and does some work?

Here is part 3 of this oddly specific au! Both Steve and Eddie have the knk, Eddie has a youtube he puts wavs on. His tumblr (if you want to come fangirl with him about Steve finally sneezing, is @thebanishedd ) Enjoy! It's pretty small because I'm still loaded up on meds from surgery but I wanted to get a tiny little bit of Stevie out.

XXX

“Alright Stevie, hit me with something I’ve never had,” Eddie says with a smirk, directing it at the man in front of him. 

It’s a new game of sorts, one that has Steve making ridiculous coffee creations for Eddie to try. They’ve known each other for 3 weeks and yet to the guitarist; as cliche as it sounds, he feels like they’ve known each other forever. Except, of course, there are still things he’s learning about Steve Harrington. 

Yesterday he’d learned that Steve was a jock in high school, and that he was a pretty good one at that. There’s still a photo of him apparently sitting in a trophy case somewhere in Hawkins High. He’d also learned from Robin that Steve was a huge asshole before he’d been given a reality check. 

“Caramel or mocha?” The brown eyed man behind the counter asks, making Eddie smile. 

He wants to lean across the wood and press a kiss to his lips, but he thinks that may be a bit much, especially since he’s pretty sure Steve only likes girls. At least that’s the only gender he’s heard Steve or Robin mention. Another hot guy that turns out to be heterosexual. No surprises there. 

“Mm, surprise me. I like anything,” the musician decides, swiping hair away from his face. 

Waiting off to the side so Robin can take the woman behind him, Eddie watches Steve work. It’s always fascinating, paying attention to how well Steve does everything, like he’s done it a million times. As he drizzles some kind of syrup along the sides of the cup with a precisioned ease, the older man watches. Steve pauses as the sun catches his face, sunlight bouncing off of his freckles, eyes a beautiful brown. They flutter shut and his lips part 

“eHEISHH! Ih-ehhKSHhh!” 

Steve turns away just in time, pressing his arm to his face at the last second, aimed down at the ground. Eddie feels frozen, warmth settling below his belt, fingers twitching. The sound echoes in his head as he licks his lips. It’s harsh but not too loud, wet without being necessarily messy. 

“B-Bless you,” he forces out, and Steve laughs bashfully, waving it away. 

“Thanks.” 

“Does that always happen?” The words fall out his mouth before he can stop them. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. 

“What do you mean?” The other man, who’s pouring ice into his cup, looks at him curiously. 

“The sunlight thing. It happens to me sometimes, is all. Triggers a sneeze, or whatever.” 

Eddie feels like he’s in a nightmare. He can’t get himself to shut the fuck up, and Steve is watching him, and Jesus it’s hot. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, it usually happens,” Steve shrugs, and the long haired man wishes the floor could swallow him whole. 

Who the fuck asks that? Real smooth Munson. He looks away when Steve pours the coffee, unable to keep looking. At the attractive coffee shop owner. 

Steve hands him his drink and Eddie beams, allowing himself to relax. It’s only after he’s said his goodbyes to both managers and is out on the street he sees a phone number written on his cup. Heart in both his throat and pants, Eddie practically skips back to his apartment, excited to tell Chrissy; and tumblr, about the new development. 

[soft--dragon]

Soft Boy

Based off of this prompt here 

Word Count: 1,750

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don't like that then don't read :)

I hope you like this hun! ^^

Wilbur wasn't really sure what would happen when Tommy came to visit him for the weekend. But it wasn't really this.

The boy was spinning in his desk chair, stretched back and arms crossed behind his head. Wilbur sat on the bed across from it, trying to finish some lyrics for his upcoming song. Tommy had been adamantly trying to guess what it was about for almost a full half hour. Wilbur had been trying to keep the song away from Tommy's prying eyes to keep it a surprise, but the boy was incredibly persistent about knowing about it.

"Wilbur" Tommy whined for the hundredth time, slumping back further into the chair somehow. "Can you please just let me read the lyrics already?"

"Tommy, I told you before, it's not happening" Wilbur rolled his eyes, writing down a few possible notes for a specific sequence of the song. "Now be quiet child."

Tommy stopped in his constant turning in the chair, glaring at Wilbur though his head spun. "Prick" he grumbled.

Wilbur sighed. "Tommy, I want you to be able to hear the song when it's actually ready and sounds good."

Tommy gave him a confused frown. "But your music always sounds good?"

Wilbur pursed his lips together to stop a sappy smile forming, desperately trying to ignore the warmth in his chest from the younger's words. "That's from weeks of work."

"You wrote this in a few days though?"

"It's a draft Tommy."

"And you need someone to proofread it to give you feedback! I can do that!" Tommy's eyes lit up.

"Tommy" Wilbur pressed his pencil to his forehead, releasing an exasperated but fond sigh. "Give it a rest won't you?"

Tommy crossed his arms with a huff, slumping into the chair and pouting. There was silence for a moment, the only sound being Wilbur's pencil scratching against the paper then…

"Philza Minecraft wouldn't treat me like this."

"Tommy!" Wilbur threw up his hands, laughing. "Jesus christ man!"

Tommy was smirking from where he was half slouched down the chair, watching Wilbur intensely. "I'm not wrong."

"Phil doesn't write music!"

"If he did it would be awesome." Tommy then put on his best puppy eyes, pulling out the big guns of acting cute. "Please Wilby? At least let me know how the melody goes?"

Wilbur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, okay you know what? Fine."

He set the paper down and stood, approaching Tommy who blinked up at him, surprised that had actually worked.

"Wha-"

Wilbur set his hands down on the armrests and loomed over Tommy menacingly. "You really want to hear the music?"

"I-I mean...yeah, but I was messing around Wil, you don't actually have to show me it if you don't want to."

Wilbur felt himself soften a little at his little brother's sincere words but he quickly reestablished his intimidating image. "No no, you wanted it, and who am I to refuse my little brother?"

Tommy flushed a little, an embarrassed smile lifting his lips. "Shut up…" he mumbled, trying to hide how much joy Wilbur's words brought him. "Just sing the dumb song."

"Oh I'm not singing it, you are."

Confusion flickered over Tommy's face as he lifted his head to look at Wilbur. "Huh? How am I meant to sing it if I don't even know how it goes?"

Wilbur smirked and then without warning he dug into Tommy's sides.

Tommy's eyes bugged out as he was immediately thrown into laughter. "WAHAHahait! Whahahat thahahe fuhuhuhuck Wilbuhuhur?!"

Wilbur placed fast pokes along Tommy's sides, chuckling when the boy twisted away the best he could trapped in the gaming chair.

Tommy shoved at Wilbur's shoulders, eyes squeezing shut. "Stohohop ihihit Wihihil!"

"You wanted to know what the music was Toms, I'm showing you!" Wilbur grinned. "See I'm planning on doing a piano part specifically for the chorus, let me play it for you."

Wilbur scribbling his fingers quickly along the sides of Tommy's ribs. Tommy squeaked and fell back against the chair, squirming left and right for relief from the tormenting fingers.

"Wihihihihil!"

"No no, it's pitched a bit higher than that, hang on, lemme see if I can get the right note" Wilbur gently rubbed the top bones of Tommy's ribs.

"FUHUHUHUCK!" Tommy squealed, trying to shove the hands away from the horribly ticklish area.

Wilbur's eyes lit up. "There it is! That's the note Toms!"

"Shuhut uhuhup yohohou prihihick!" Tommy squeaked, face flushing pinker and legs kicking against the floor.

Wilbur chuckled fondly, smiling down at his baby brother. "Try to hold that pitch for a bit, it stays like that for about fifteen seconds, I'll give you a hand."

Wilbur's fingers scribbled against the tops of Tommy's ribs again, scratching gently close to his underarms. Tommy squealed through his honey sweet giggles, trying to squirm lower in the chair in hopes to evade the maddening sensations.

"Nononohohoho! Wihihihihil plehehease!"

"Hasn't been fifteen seconds yet Toms! You gotta hold that note for fifteen seconds, it's how the song goes" Wilbur clicked his tongue, fingers prodding around the bones lightly.

Tommy shoved at Wilbur's shoulders with shaking hands, laughter still tumbling out of him. "Fuhuhucking- NOHOHO!"

Wilbur's hands had slipped into Tommy's armpits, spidering along the sensitive skin with precise ticklish touches.

"Atta boy Toms, the notes do go a bit higher there, but then they drop again, mind lowering your pitch please?" Wilbur smirked, shifting his fingers down to Tommy's stomach and wiggling at the sides of his navel.

Tommy twisted at the change of spots, hiccups starting to pepper in between his rich laughter. "N-Nohoho Wihihlby! Nohot thehehere-" Tommy squeaked, trying to push Wilbur's fingers from his sensitive midriff.

Wilbur audibly cooed. "Got a ticklish lil giggle button Tommy boy?"

Tommy flushed, shaking his head as his giggles increased. "Wil-Wilbur dohohon't-"

"Don't what?"

Tommy pressed his head against Wilbur's shoulder, his flustered titters making his shoulders bounce. "Yohohou're beheheing mehehean!"

Wilbur smiled, leaning his head on Tommy's. "Me? Mean? I could never be mean to my little brother."

Tommy pressed his face further into the older's arm, hands gripping his yellow sweater. "Doho yohou really mean it when you cahall me that?"

Wilbur paused his fingers movements, confusion crossing his face. "What?" He asked.

Tommy hesitantly lifted his head from Wilbur's shoulder, hands still holding the fabric of his sweater. "When...when you call me your little brother" he said, a bit timidly. "Do you honestly mean it?"

Wilbur took in Tommy's face. His nervous eyes, his small lip bite, his furrowed brows as he waited for Wilbur's response.

"Toms" Wilbur lifted a hand from Tommy's side to gently cup his cheek. "Of course I mean it, why wouldn't I? I'd never lie to you, you're my Tommy, my little gremlin of a brother. You're the kid that encourages me to get up in the mornings, the kid who understands my sense of humor better than anyone, and the kid who accepted my flaws and loves me unconditionally."

Wilbur smiled, warm and genuine. "Of course you're my brother, no one else could ever do it as well as you do."

Tommy lips parted in awe, rendered speechless for the first time in his life. Wilbur pressed a kiss to the boy's hair, then gently ruffled the fluffy curls.

"I mean it Tommy" he repeated. "Every time I say it."

Tommy swallowed after a second, blinking rapidly then groaned, pressing the back of his hand to his face. "You said it would make you cry when I call you my brother, why is it making me cry when you say it to me?"

Wilbur laughed. "Cause you love me."

"Fuck off" Tommy grumbled but the smile on his face took away the heat.

Wilbur held his hands out to Tommy who took them after a second. Wilbur hauled the boy up and pulled him to his chest, squeezing him gently.

"I love you Tommy" he said quietly. "Need me to say it again?"

Tommy smiled. "No, your whole speech told me that-"

"I love you Tommy" Wilbur repeated, starting to place small kisses in Tommy's hair again. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Tommy shoved at Wilbur's chest, laughing as he tried to duck away from the affection. "You're so embarrassing!"

"I'm not gonna stop until you say it back!" Wilbur crowed, grinning ear to ear now.

"Fuck off!"

"Say it!" Wilbur wiggled his fingers against Tommy's back, dropping his head to blow a raspberry on his neck.

"NOHOHohoho! Wilbur! Stohohop!" Tommy cackled, trying to push away from Wilbur but only arching himself into the man's fingers.

"Only when you say it! It's three words Tommy!" Wilbur spidered lightly at Tommy's lower ribs, blowing another raspberry on the boy's skin. "You do can it!"

Tommy's knees had almost given out under him, Wilbur practically holding up the boy. Tommy squirmed, giggling madly at the gentle tickles and trying not to drop to the floor.

"Fihihine! Okay! I lohohove you Wilbuhuhur!" He turned his head away from the older to hide his red face and rapid giggles. Wilbur's face broke into a massive smile.

"Awwww Tommy!" Wilbur lifted the boy off his feet and hugged him tightly. "Thank you!"

"Lemme down you prick!" Tommy laughed, "I'm gonna start stabbing shit!"

Wilbur squeezed him then lowered the boy again. "You wouldn't stab me would you?"

"Test me and I might."

Wilbur chuckled and turned back to the bed where the song lyrics and his guitar lay. "You actually want to hear what I've got so far?"

Tommy's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Wilbur felt his chest warm at the kid. "Yeah, really."

"Hell yes!" Tommy leapt onto the bed, picked up the guitar and held it out to Wilbur. "Lemme hear it Big Dubs!"

Wilbur rolled his eyes and sat on the bed, adjusting the instrument. "It's still not completely finished yet" he said, tuning it a little.

"That's fine" Tommy lay on his stomach, watching Wilbur with his complete attention. "Anything you play sounds great."

'This kid' Wilbur thought fondly. 'What did I do to deserve him?'

"Okay" he placed the capo onto the frets and strummed the tune with calloused fingers. He took a deep breath; "I'm living the dream, it's just one of those dreams where you're losing all your teeth, and if you think that it gets better, darling, take a look at me…"

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 6

Day 6 - When your soulmate is injured you will experience pain in that area

Pairing(s): Analoceitmus [ambiguous, can be read romantic or platonic, or a mix], QPR Royality 

TWs: Injury mention, swearing, Remus being Remus near the end 

–

“I’m going to sue him.”, Logan hissed, attempting to sit up in his hospital bed, “Soulmate or not, how can one man possibly be so irresponsible?! I’m definitely going to sue him.”

He winced as he tried to get comfy, but the tough mattress and uncomfortable bunching of the sheets said suffer. 

And boy, was he. 

Logan Sanders was an immaculate, careful man. Had been since he was a child. A neat and tidy lad who - upon learning of the rules of fate - made it his utmost mission to spare his soulmate any pain or anguish for as long as he could manage. 

His soulmate, however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

From childhood, Logan found himself with sudden knee pains from scrapes he never fell for, abrasions he had caused no friction to gain, and the occasional shoulder or back pain as if he’d been pushed over when he was standing perfectly upright. At least the universe had decided to spare humanity the anguish of leaving soulmates with the physical injuries that came with the pain, but it was only a minor comfort.

Logan couldn’t say he hadn’t expected a lot of rough and tumble from his soulmate after his elementary school years, but really; a broken leg, facial burns, and a splintered forearm? “This is absolute bullshit.”, he bitterly muttered, “Barely hours apart! How is that even possible?!”

His ranting went ignored by the nurse who came to administer his medication; thankfully science had worked out a wonderful little clear pill that could banish the pain from particularly debilitating soulmate pains. The little bastards were expensive - the true pain is always capitalism within the medical world -  but Logan’s job paid handsomely. Say what you will about computer nerds and whatnot, but programming for the right people lets you make some seriously high end bread. None of that homemade farmer’s market shit.

Unfortunately, he’d have to wait about a week for his pains to ebb gently into nothingness until the klutz of a man fate paired him with got into MORE trouble. Thus Logan couldn’t get back to his work. His leg was, for all intents and purposes, broken so the staff couldn’t let him go home. He couldn’t simply drive home himself either, his splintered forearm saw to that. And Logan couldn’t even ask his roommate Emile to bring him his work laptop to try and keep his workload at bay, his left eye was too cloudy and painful to concentrate on a screen. 

Yes; his soulmate BETTER be paying his hospital bills.

Realisation struck Logan; his soulmate is obviously just as injured, ergo it’s a high probability that he could be somewhere within the hospital too. Using his good hand to reach for a pen, and absolutely dreading adding to his pain, Logan poked the tip into his good arm, wincing as he first attempted to contact them with simple morse code, “My/ Name/ Is/ Logan. Who/ Are/ You?”

He waited for a response, fearing he would have to start scratching his name onto his arm when he felt the little jabs in response,  “Janus.” Great. He FINALLY had a name to put on the lawsuit. Logan, already wincing at the bee-sting pain from the pen, he jabbed out another message,

“Are/ You/ Currently/ Staying/ At/ Stokes/ General/ Hospital?”

The reply came cryptically,

“Yes / I / -”

Logan wasn’t sure why his soulmate had suddenly stopped replying. Had a nurse confiscated whatever his soulmate was using to poke himself? Either way, Logan would have to be content with the knowledge his soulmate was at least close by. He truly had no idea how close until two very disgruntled voices were within earshot of his room door,

“Brilliant, I just adore being ousted from my comfortable bed so I could spend even longer looking at your delightful face.”

“Oh, like you’re the victim here, asshole! You’re the one stabbing yourself and fucking up my unbroken arm!”

Logan watched them both argue outside of his room door. Both men were sporting similar injuries to his own; the first one that had spoken, refined looking gentleman with sharp features and neat blonde hair, had the left side of his face bandaged heavily. Meanwhile the other man, sporting raven hair and eye bags that could carry a month’s worth of groceries, was fitted with a cast on his left forearm. Both of them were on crutches, though Logan couldn’t see if either had a genuine cast.

“Ahem. Gentlemen?”

Logan called to them, watching as both turned to meet his gaze. He lifted the pen in his hand and asked, “I take it one of you is Janus?”

The man with the bandages over his eye, Janus, nodded, “That would be me.”

The man with the broken arm looked confused, “Wait, so, you’re the one who was ramming a pen into their arm? Damn.”, he turned, begrudgingly to the first man, “I guess I owe you an apology then.”

“Really you needn’t-”

“Then I shan’t.”

Janus glared at the other man’s snark, but Logan found it rather delightful. Clearing his throat once more, he breached the topic, “I take it that means we three are soulmates?”

“Four.”

Logan and Janus looked to the third man as he explained, “Your leg doesn’t have a proper cast on it, this asshole doesn’t have one either,”, Janus gifted the man a half glare and a middle finger before he continued, “And since I don’t have one, it’s pretty obvious there’s a fourth musketeer.”

Fair to say, Logan was impressed, even Janus was hiding the tiniest hint of admiration as he retorted, “And are we to call you Sherlock or D’artagnan?”

The man rolled his eyes, “Ha ha, fuck you. My name’s-”

“VIRGIL!!”

The man, Virgil, nearly lept out of his skin, jerking his arm and giving the three of them a jolt of pain. Logan felt relieved he’d only have to put up with it for a few more days once the medicine took effect. 

In the doorway stood a man who could only be described as unnecessarily handsome, clad in a burgundy bomber jacket and a Nightmare Before Christmas shirt that seemed out of place on someone who stood poised like the protagonist of a romance anime. Logan noted he and Janus both checked to see if his leg was broken; good to know they had similar tastes even if the man’s lack of a cast dashed their hopes. Said handsome man made a beeline for Virgil, only to receive a swat and a motion to back off, 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Princey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!!!”, Virgil hissed and took a deep breath. ‘Princey’ let out a fond huff, “You should be so lucky, Bring Me The Depression, do you know how worried Pat and I were when we couldn’t find you!? This, dearest Emo Nightmare, is karma at its finest-!”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Roman. Where’s Pat? He’s gonna wanna meet my soulmates.”

Roman blinked, finally registering Logan and Janus just watching the two of them reunite. Clearing his throat, Logan made the introductions, “I’m Logan Sanders, this gentleman is-”

“Janus Delgado. Charmed I’m sure.”, Janus butt in, “Really, Logan, I can introduce myself. Unlike some people.”

Virgil flipped him off just in time for Roman to frown in confusion, “And…. you’re all sure you’re soulmates? I mean, no offense but you don’t...”, he picked his words carefully, his face contorting at the effort, “....act like soulmates?”

The three of them looked between one another and shrugged, “To be perfectly fair - Roman, yes? - we have all literally just met today under…. Less than optimal circumstances. I doubt you and your soulmate, assuming you’ve found them, hit it off instantly.”

Roman blinked, “Kind of, we didn’t have any problems like this, quite honestly...”, he almost sounded guilty at that notion, “The worst we have to deal with is his cat allergies-”

Out in the hallway, a couple of nurses hurriedly walked past and allowed another man into the room who immediately lit up at the sight of Roman and Virgil, “There you both are!!! I got held up at the vending machine, but when I came back you were both gone!”

“Patton! How glad I am to see you once more!”, Roman beamed, pulling the taller man into a hug and planting a dramatic kiss upon his cheek, to which Logan, Janus, and Virgil simultaneously met with an ‘ugh’. Perhaps they were more alike than they first assumed. 

Patton turned to meet Janus and Logan’s gaze, looking back to Virgil who explained, “They’re two of my soulmates, Pat.”

For a moment, the tall excitable ball of sunshine looked like he was about to pop with joy when Roman held up a hand to interject, “Pardon me, but ‘two of’?”, and cast his confusion towards Virgil who explained, “Our last soulmate has a broken leg, it’s the only injury we can’t account for.”

Patton and Roman shared a momentary look, drawing Logan’s attention, “Roman? Patton? Are you both alright?”. The two seemed to play eye contact rock-paper-scissors to decide who would answer, with Roman losing apparently.

“When exactly did you feel the pain in your leg?”

“Couple hours ago” “Around three?” “Precisely 3:27 pm.”

Came the chorus of answers. Janus and Virgil both shot Logan a look, to which he quietly murmured, “It never hurts to provide a little extra clarity.”

“Apparently so,”, Janus began, before shifting his partial gaze to the couple, “So, are you lovebirds-”

“Qpp’s.”, Patton corrected quietly, to which, Janus did apologise, “Pardon me. So, are you queer platonic saps going to clue us in to why exactly you asked us such a specific question?”

Roman sighed, “I ask because my brother, Remus, broke his leg at that exact same time today. Pat and I were going to visit him right after we’d checked in with Virgil.”

The three soulmates shared a collective look, but the first one to pipe up was Virgil, “You have a brother?! Why am I only finding this out now, I’ve known you for 12 fucking years, Roman! What the fuck!?”

Logan exasperatedly ran a hand down his face as he tried to maneuver himself out of his bed and into one of the hospital’s wheelchairs, Janus offering a hand to him, “Virgil, as much as I would love to listen to you and Roman bicker back and forth, could we possibly save such trivialities for after we meet our fourth soulmate?”

This time Patton piped up, “Oh, um, you may not want to do that just yet-”

As if on cue, roughly six or seven medical staff rushed by, causing Patton and Roman to quickly look around the doorway, only to turn back to the others, “Well, no time like the present. Patton, if you help Virgil, I’ll help Janus once Logan can shimmy into that wheelchair.”, Roman assigned as he offered an arm for Logan to hold onto while he got himself in the chair. Noting the context clues, Logan was rightfully worried, especially as he felt a new pain in his hand, only to note that while Roman and Patton helped them move, Virgil and Janus seemed to be experiencing more pain in their legs than before. In the moment, Logan did feel a little bad that the pill he’d taken hours earlier was saving him from too much additional pain. Approaching the hospital room the medical staff had gathered within, the group were greeted with a wild scene.

A scruffy man strikingly similar in looks to Roman - albeit sporting a thin moustache and silver hair streak - wearing a leg cast was holding a crutch in one hand and an honest to god butterfly knife in the other, standing atop his hospital bed, raving like a lunatic and gesturing frantically to an empty space in the room,

“NOW WILL SOMEBODY FINALLY LET ME OUT OF HERE?! ME AND THIS BEAR WANNA GO CATCH HORNY FISH AND SHIT IN THE WOODS!!” 

Charming. 

Logan glanced over at Patton and Roman, the question clear on his face just like their answer. That was Remus alright. He watched Roman talk with a nurse trying to calm Remus, “We gave him some painkillers to ease his leg pains, but it shouldn’t be affecting him this much!”

“Oh, Remus has always been like this with medication, I should’ve warned the nursing staff.”, he groaned, “But that doesn’t explain-”

“He must’ve pushed the blue button behind his bed,”, Logan sighed, already anticipating Roman’s question, “The medical staff likely assumed Remus was coding and thus went into action. That’s why they’re here right now.”

Roman’s expression confirmed that was indeed going to be his question. As Roman went to help the nurses tranquilise Remus’ wild flailing, and while his other two soulmates stood by to watch the chaos - in varying degrees of worry and strange admiration bordering on attraction for his disregard for social norms - Logan tried to come to terms with the facts.

He had three very different soulmates, and by the looks of it? He’d have to get used to frequent hospital stays….

--------------

This one’s probably on the weirder side, but uh, yeah, I hope it’s still a good read! [Also sorry these have been a little late lately TTvTT] @tsshipmonth2020 Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses

[deadddoves]

                           [ Amphierotic Bloodlines & Kuebiko ]

CHAPTER LV

“Cissy— Narcissa, fucking stop; you’re making more of a goddamn mess of this place and we don’t have your bloody elf to clean it up this time,” Bellatrix snapped in exasperation as she watched her sister drop Peter’s wand and hurl into a potted plant, no doubt looking like a replica of twenty goddamn years ago.

God, she hadn’t— she hadn’t meant to kill him. Narcissa knew Peter was going to die, but Bellatrix was supposed to do it, not her. She could have dealt with being implicit in his death, with smoothing things over with Cassandra if she ever found out, but now that Peter had died by her hand and not her sister’s, Narcissa felt lost. She hadn’t emotionally prepared for this. She hadn’t fathomed this, even though this wasn’t the first fucking time she had accidentally killed someone.

Maybe she should have seen her own idiocy coming. Who the hell uses someone else’s wand when they have their own in their pocket?! Narcissa knew she had just panicked and did the first thing she could think of, but she should have been more aware of the consequences; the entire reason she was here was to make Bellatrix aware of her own consequences so that they could walk out of here cleanly, but now Narcissa had fucked the plan all to hell and it made everything far more complicated.

“Cissy! Jesus, take a breath; it’ll be fine— I’m sure me torturing the fat fuck exacerbated his difficulty breathing, okay? It’s not just your fault, although…” Bellatrix glanced at Peter’s body, her gaze fixated on the man’s overly large tongue. Her brow knit. “What the fuck were you trying to do, exactly? Did I not say let me handle the torture? This is precisely fucking why.”

The flat of Narcissa’s palm was pressed against the wall, her face ashen as she tried to get a hold of her nausea. “I didn’t— I didn’t…”

“Mean to? Usually,” Bellatrix responded in an exasperated tone, looking at her sister like she didn’t know what she was going to do with her. Narcissa retched again, but as the contents of her stomach had already been emptied, all she was able to make was pathetic gagging sounds. “Alright, alright— Narcissa… enough! Christ, you’re acting like you didn’t fucking come here specifically to kill him. Nothing’s changed; the plan is still the same. Well…” Bellatrix reevaluated, looking at the state of the body, “maybe we should just make it look like the fat fuck ate something he was allergic to instead of doing the whole stairs thing. You know if he’s got any allergies?”

                                    ► READ MORE: AO3 ◄

[imasimpforstevengrant]

Why do we like this clown so much?

Change the "we" for "I" and you get an usual tag I use whenever I post my content in Tumblr. And it sounds funny at first but whenever you start diving into that phrase, the deeper it becomes. So, I finally have decided to share my thoughts about this strange but wholesome attraction to this deeply flawed character. It's not something I usually do since I don't know how to write down my feelings properly and also in english so please forgive any typos (I'm from Chile so don't be surprised lol).

So...Why do we like this clown so much?

Why was it that a character precisely designed to scare and to disgust the fuck out of us ended up unchaining a series of feelings that shouldn't have taken place in a beginning?

Let's take a look at the background: Joaquin Phoenix was cast as Arthur Fleck/Joker in 2018. The first image of him as the aforementioned character revealed a deeply disturbed man. We knew the plot. A man driven to insanity after a brutal history of abuse, creating concern in people if the upcoming film would inspire real life violence. Incel violence and mass shootings, more specifically.

(the image in question)

As 2019 arrives, the two trailers generated so much hype that media needed to fuel its concern about it. Since it wasn't your typical comic book film, media basically bombed our minds making us believe this film was going to be a total disaster, an excuse to cause harm to others among other nonsense, as if the film would justify everything Arthur would do in the film, eventually. As the release date is closer, the film receives thunderous applause and unanimous praise from critics. At this, fans rejoiced and expressed impatience to watch the film.

October 5th.

People left the theaters amazed, shocked and genuinely moved by the inhuman treatment Arthur received in the film. The fear media tried so desperately to infuse in us with all the incel bullshit and such turned out to awake one of the most positive, best feelings in humans:

E M P A T H Y

The word that so gloriously cleared away any dark thoughts or actions not only proves media was wrong but it turned out to ridicule it in way nobody will forget: Hundreds of people advocating for mental illness, calling out to the kindness that could change a person's bad day and questioning how politicians and rich people are indifferent to social problems proved how much as a society we have changed in comparison with the one shown in the film.

However, since we are on Tumblr, I'll get straight to the point and try to explain why the fuck does this clown has us dying out of love and compassion (and lust).

I. Background.

As nurturing as we women are for a biological matter, we see a man deprived of a good job, is on seven different medications, working like a slave to sustain his ill mother, putting aside his own health and well-being to look for her, struggling to make his dream of being a comedian despite everyone stepping on him, underpaid and treated like a freak for a disorder he did not ask to suffer, which makes it impossible to be indifferent to all the horrible ordeal that eventually will reach the limit of what he can tolerate without going insane. It is impossible to not say or think, at least, that someone (even if it's just one person) should stand for him just as it is impossible not to feel the need to throw ourselves at him to shield him from people who hurt him or simply offer him our shoulder whenever he has had a bad day, specially when he learns he was sexually assaulted by his step father.

This horrid behaviour terrifies newer generations because they get a taste of what being a social outcast was like more than thirty years ago in comparison with today, where there's more acceptance and treatment for mentally ill people like Arthur. We see in him someone who could have been saved with a proper education and emotional support instead of descending into madness as a criminal. Others simply saw themselves being treated like him at some point in their lives and couldn't help but put themselves in his shoes.

II. Personality.

TRUTH BE TOLD:

There's something called "attraction by proximity". It is the explanation to the eventual love you feel whenever someone doesn't catch your eye at first terms of physical attraction but his/her personality does attract you. This happens to be the base of this situation. His shyness, introverted nature, tenderness and innocent desire to make people laugh and put on a happy face awake some kind of tenderness we cannot resist. This combined with the gloomy background increases our understanding (but not justifying) of the bad decisions he'll eventually take during the course of the film. This traces a line of harsh, almost hurtful contrast of the violence he shows later on the film. Once again, it is not justified in any way but it is certainly understandable.

III. Appearance.

Arthur Fleck is unconventionally attractive.

This happens to be a plus for most women. He is out of the male beauty standards (no abs, not too muscly or particularly tall), which makes him even more unique. It is precisely the fact that he's not a model one of the reasons women love him. He could easily be your man next door or your colleague or the guy you always see but never dare to talk for fear to bother him Because it's about proximity. Arthur looks like your common neighbour. He's not meant to be your typical desirable male protagonist at all.

... And yet.

Jesus Christ, he's so fucking hot I can't even---

It's not about how beautiful his green eyes are, his long slender fingers, his hair or his smile only. It's the charm behind it.

Another "magnet point" is the way he dresses. I know he's impoverished and his wardrobe tend to be repetitive but it is so unpretentious, so simple that is hard to not fall for. The modesty of the shirts, ironed trousers reminds us of a mature man deeply withdrawn into himself, love starved and longing to be seen and loved by others, like a war veteran who still fights the most important war: with himself. Is someone who needs to be listened and understood.

AND OF COURSE WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE ABOUT IT?

He's also brought back the old gentleman outfit, white shirts, red/yellow vest, red suit and elegant dancing moves and the retro style of the film boosts this attractiveness.

People keep comparing him with the previous interpretation of Joker (Leto's) whose costume appealed to young women with a tattooed, gangster, mumble rapper crazy-guy wannabe which didn't connect with the audiences (young people in general). This supposedly was to match or even have a sexy, tormented and desirable villain like Marvel's Loki. We all know how that story ended but it's the link for the next point below.

IV. Transformation

This is a particularly strong point considering how much we loved to watch the process of this weak, powerless, forgotten caterpillar into a beautiful and visible butterfly that will gracefully stir its wings for everyone to see its colours.

When Arthur transitions to the Joker, it's so cathartic to see taking revenge on those who wronged him (even when we're not supposed to root for him) like seeing his shyness fading away into a vivid confidence when dancing half naked in the bathroom, or witnessing him making way to make his name known to people in Murray Franklin's Show:

Adding to this newly gained confidence, there's another turn on: the way he walks.

At the beginning, his pace is hunched and limping, displaying his submission to violence, which makes the viewer more satisfied to see his broken yet beautiful soul turning the past pain of his existence into art: he lets music guide his moves as a way to tell the world he's a new man by cutting most of the sick, evil roots that harmed him, that he's invincible, that no one can stop him. Watching this cathartic display of euphoria was the most iconic scene in the film, following his speech at the TV and the inevitable meltdown that caused Murray's death.

Going to further appreciation, even his clown make up is beautiful. Why? Simple. The combination of colours, shapes and the intimidating glare just embellishes even more the character.

The dark blue triangles in his expressive eyes makes the light green colour to highlight, specially in dark backgrounds, giving the impression he's piercing your soul whenever he stares directly at the camera. Same can be said about the red smile and emerald green hair. They boost an already intimidating look.

The cold and warm colours paint a picture of a man full of intense emotions, mirroring it in a simple yet masterful artistic way.

Another interesting point is the way Joker dresses. Usually we had almost every single live adaption of this character in purple coat, hat, etc. But this particular version is not following any comic, which gives more freedom to creativity and once again, out of the standards of what we could have expected.

Red is a colour related to passion, action, love, strength, motivation and excitement. As for yellow, it indicates freshness, happiness and enlightenment and finally, green. Green is renewal, growth and regeneration. Colours that represent a new stage in his life, a mirthful chapter at last. We finally get to see our battered, always humiliated protagonist (or hero) descending into madness, but finally free from his repressed man who held his soul captive like a bird to fly away, to never come back. An insanity that despite being his downfall, turned out to be his ticket to freedom as he walks to the light in Arkham Asylum dancing at the end.

Ladies and gentlemen: behold the film nobody asked... But the film we fucking deserved.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

❤️💚💛

[billdenbrough]

hanbrough + soulmate au

Bill’s staring, he knows he is, he fucking knows it and it’s embarrassing and he wants to stop, but he can’t, not when the most beautiful man he’s ever fucking seen is in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered with eyes so warm that Bill feels like someone struck tinder in his heart and lit him up, and he has Bill’s words splashed across his collarbone, Bill’s thoughts—-not the clumsy stuttering that Bill thinks he’d choke out if he could bring himself to speak right now, but the way Bill is in his head, words running wild and twisting over and around themselves, bold and clear and true in a way he still struggles to be out loud.

Specifically, Bill can see his own current thoughts about the man—tall and strong and so fucking beautiful — eyes like a tree in summer, warm and solid and gold on brown — jesus christ he’s the fucking hottest person i’ve ever seen (he’s not… quite as proud of that one)—scrawling across said collarbone, and he’d wonder if it hurts, but then there’s a familiar burning blooming across his left wrist, and he glances down.

There’re words coiling there, in the same script as always, precise and steady, like every word it holds in its grasp matters, but this is the first time that Bill’s been able to guess why the words are coming, because even though it’s smaller handwriting than his across the other man’s collarbone, some words jump out—blue, blue blue blue god they’re so blue & he’s looking he’s looking right at me—and Bill’s breath just fucking hitches, and he glances back and he’s lost in those eyes again, and he’s not actually sure he’s even breathing—is this how Eddie feels, like, all the time?—but then there’s a smile stretching slowly across the other man’s face, bright and steady and so fucking golden that Bill thinks he could die of it, and somehow the sight sends the breath all the way back into his body, and when he tastes it on his tongue, he thinks maybe it tastes like the start of forever.

send me a pairing & au & i’ll write you a three sentence ficlet!

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - John 15:15

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: A good chunk of what happened in this chapter was not planned. I am really bad at planning.

***

“All right, let’s see - three options, no?”

“Yes. Owen Brown, Lawrence Brown, and Rusty Brown. According to the information--”

“It’s Rusty,” Crowley spoke up, causing both Gabriel and Aziraphale to fall quiet and turn to look at him. Gabriel was utterly confused; Azirapale just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain that knowledge. The demon shrugged.

“I refuse to believe any parent whose surname is Brown would willingly choose to pick Rusty as their child’s name, unless there was a demonic intervention. It’s a bully magnet. Must have picked it himself when older. The man’s got a sense of humor.”

A chuckle. “We raised a child whose mother named him Warlock,” Aziraphale reminded him, causing Gabriel to blink. 

“You did-- what?” he asked. To his knowledge there were a lot of things an angel and a demon were not supposed to do together - they were supposed to do nothing together, really, except trying to thwart each other at every turn - and Gabriel suspected that ‘raising a child’ came rather close to the top of that list. Maybe slightly below ‘stopping the Apocalypse’.

Crowley ignored him, rolling his eyes. “You know the Satanic nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl must have had something to do with it.” “The who and the what now?” Gabriel tried again. This time, it was Aziraphale to ignore him.

“That is… fair. But we cannot rule out the possibility his parents did pick the name, and that therefore he is not our man. May I remind you we once knew a lady called Farting Clack?”

Crowley chuckled. “Ah, Victorians. That was a fun time. Except when we argued because you wouldn’t give me holy water.”

“I did eventually, give it a rest.”

“You did what!” Gabriel exclaimed, outraged. Only to be, again, ignored. 

“Took you a good while, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, excuse me for worrying you might accidentally--” Aziraphale trailed off like something had struck him, and Crowley flinched. They both turned to Gabriel at the exact same time; Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, Crowley’s were hidden behind glasses. 

And Gabriel was very, very confused.

“... What?” he asked. The demon’s expression stayed unreadable, but Aziraphale’s anxious one melted in a smile. A very nervous smile. What in the--

“So, three options,” Aziraphale exclaimed, clapping his hands together with exaggerated glee. “Best to start looking into them, no?”

“Er… yes, I suppose. I do need to figure out where they live, at least. Then I suppose I can go by exclusion, visiting each of them.”

Crowley nodded. “Well, good thing we have an expert in tracking people down right here,” he said, and turned to Aziraphale. Gabriel followed suit, only for Aziraphale to blink at both of them like a particularly confused owl. 

It… didn’t give Gabriel much confidence over his supposed expertise in tracking down people. 

“I am-- no expert in tracking down people.”

Crowley’s turn to look confused. “You tracked down the Antichrist.”

“I had a book full of prophecies to give me pointers. I suspect that counts as cheating.”

“Or as an intelligent use of available resources,” Gabriel suggested. Aziraphale chuckled.

“That does sound better.”

“Ah. Right. We sure could use something like that now,” the demon muttered, and pulled out a phone from the… frankly ridiculously tiny pockets of his trousers, where no phone would fit unless there was a literal miracle at play. “... But at least we have the names and birthday, so there’s that. All right, first one, Owen Brown…”

***

“You’re shitting me.”

“Mr. Brown, I can assure you angels do not do that, either.” Uriel’s voice was calm, but her hands did grip the clipboard a little harder. She had hardly ever visited the lower spheres of Heaven where mortal souls resided before that ordeal, and now she was beginning to see why. “Please, do try to control your language.”

“Right, right, sorry,” Daniel Brown waved his hand, leaning back on his seat. “Not in front of a lady. Got it.”

“... I am an angel, Mr. Brown,” Uriel pointed out flatly just as the man’s wife, sitting by him, raised an eyebrow. 

“Since when do you try not to curse in front of ladies? Because I can’t recall you holding back much in the twenty-something years we have been married.”

“You’re not a lady, you’re the wife. You knew the cussing was part of the package by the time we got to the altar, shouldn’t have married down,” Daniel Brown pointed out, and smiled. “Still not a clue why you gave me a chance when we met.”

She smiled back. “One too many drinks.”

“Ah, a drunken mistake, then.”

“The second best  mistake of my life.”

“... Wait, what’s the first--”

Uriel held back a sigh. “Yes. Well. Regardless, what I have told you is true. You do have a brother as opposed to a sister as you believed.”

Daniel Brown rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I repeat, there is no need to involve him,” Uriel droned. Mortals were a lot more difficult to deal with than she remembered, but then again last time she had directly dealt with any had been a few millennia earlier, when the trend was showing up with several pairs of wings, a few heads, wheels of fire and a handful of eyes here and there. They would occasionally die of fright but for the most part, once the screaming had ceased, they were cowed enough to politely listen.

And never did accuse them of, quote, shitting them.

“Right, I-- sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I just-- it’s a lot. First I die, it’s kind of, I mean, new. Then I met my wife again - wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I thought I had lost her for-- well, it is a lot.” He cleared his throat again; Liv Brown reached to take his hand and squeezed it. He held it back. “Then, turns out the slightly weird but not-bad-at-all guy who helped me land a job and befriended me was the literal Archangel fuck-- the Archangel Gabriel in exile. And now you’re telling me that Alison is not… Alison anymore, and that I wasted over a decade searching for her-- him-- on wrong information.”

Well. Perhaps it was, indeed, a lot to deal with for any human mind. Uriel made an effort to smile. “Gabriel is currently working on locating him so he can give him news of your passing. If there is anything more specific you wish him to know, within reason--”

“Within reason?”

“Except letting him know you’re sending this message from beyond death. That, I am afraid, is forbidden by current guidelines.” Uriel took a blank piece of paper she had on her clipboard and placed it on the table, along with a pen. “It will be given to Gabriel, and he’ll relay your message once your brother is found. It’s what he does best, after all.”

“... Heh. From announcing the birth of Christ to telling my brother I’m sorry I was a dick. Bit of a downgrade, but life is shi-- crap, anyway.” Daniel Brown chuckled and took the pen, but didn’t start writing yet. He looked at her questioningly. “… Why was he cast out? What happened?”

He’d asked before, and Uriel had told him it was none of his business, if not precisely using those exact words. When that had happened, her memories of Gabriel were few and in-between, and she was no longer sure the events had been precisely as they’d remembered and recorded for future reference. 

Now that those memories were back - only of Gabriel, none of them had dared bring up the possibility of trying to remember other angels who were no more - she could tell him the details, if so she wished.

She did not, in fact, wish to. But it was not for her to decide.

“... I will ask Gabriel whether he wishes us to share that information with you,” she finally said. Daniel Brown seemed to realize it was the most he could hope for and he just nodded before he looked down, swallowed, put the pen to the paper, and began writing.

***

“He’s writing back!”

“Is he?”

“Yes. That’s what the dots mean. He’s typing.”

“This was… surprisingly easy.”

“Oh, I know. Whatever demon worked on Zuckerberg got a promotion, I heard. Got to admit, that Cambridge Analytica affair was a stroke of genius.”

“Ah, so that was Hell’s doing.”

“I’m amazed you doubted that for even a moment.”

Gabriel supposed he might have guessed what Aziraphale and his demon were talking about if he focused, but he did not: all he could do was stare at the screen of Crowley’s phone, at those dots as the man at the other end - Rusty Brown, a man with rather debatable taste in t-shirts who, according to his profile, had indeed been born in Plymouth seventy years earlier but did not resemble Daniel in the slightest - wrote his response. 

Maybe it is him, he thought. It would be a stroke of luck for Daniel’s brother to turn out to be the only man they’d been able to find and approach through social media; an easy way to deliver a message if there ever was one. That would be good. Too good, given Gabriel’s recent luck. 

And, within moments, a message came to confirm as much.

“I’m afraid you got the wrong man, I have two sisters and no brothers,” Rusty Brown had written. “Sorry - best of luck with your search.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Ah, I supposed that would have been too easy.”

“No such thing as something too easy. I like it when things are easy.” Crowley frowned at his phone. “And here I thought he was the most likely candidate. Let me see…” he mumbled, and began typing. Gabriel craned his neck to see the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if his sisters are among his friends.”

“... Why?”

“If their parents went and named him Rusty, I’m curious to see-- ah, Scarlet and Sandy Brown. Not sure I want to imagine what grade school was like for them,” he muttered, and blocked the screen. “Well. One’s out, two left.”

“And we did find one Owen Brown on the electoral register whose age fits,” Aziraphale added glancing at Gabriel. “If only we could figure out the place of birth, we’d know if he’s the Owen Brown on our list. But it’d be quicker to go speak to him, he lives in Luton. No phone number - probably no landline.”

Gabriel, who had only a very vague idea of where Luton was, nodded. “I’ll go find him, then. I took the rest of the week off specifically for this,” he added. What he was doing for Daniel was of paramount importance, of course, but he was also needed at work and disappearing with no warning would have been extremely unprofessional.

Aziraphale waved a hand. “It won’t take long. Crowley and I can take you--”

“Absolutely not," Crowley declared, cutting him off. Aziraphale turned to glance at him. Crowley crossed his arms and tilted up his chin, clearly ready to stand by what he’d said.

A sigh. “Crowley, it wouldn’t take more than--”

"We're not going with him. We'll put him on the first train, give him a map, and good luck to him."

"Now, dear. Luton is not that far, it would take less than a hour with the Bentley and you wouldn't even need to take the M25--"

"It’s not the M25 that’s the problem,” Crowley replied. “After driving down it while on fire, I don’t think it’s going to ever feel like a problem on a normal day again. Luton is the problem.”

"... Something in particular about it that I don't know about?"

"Last time I was there, I got stabbed."

"Oh. That does sound bothersome,” Aziraphale conceded. “What did you do to--"

"I walked in a pub."

“And then?”

“Nothing. I walked in a pub and got stabbed by someone who decided he didn’t like the way I was looking at him.”

“Were you not wearing sunglasses?”

“Of course I was.”

“Then how would he know--”

“He didn’t. He just was in a stabby mood.”

“Charming,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Luton,” Crowley huffed. 

“Well, it was probably quite a while ago--”

“The Nineties were not that long ago.”

“I… can go on my own,” Gabriel dared intervene, trying not to sound overly worried by what he was hearing. “I’ve taken trains to come here, after all. It wasn’t difficult.”

Aziraphale seemed a little concerned regardless, but in the end he relented, and Crowley did drive him to the station the next morning, to catch a train for Luton. With that, the address and money for a cab, Gabriel was rather sure he was at no risk of getting lost. 

And he’d make sure not to step in any pub, just in case.

***

“... Not the bloke you’re looking for, no. Sorry, mate.”

“Ah-- well, I suppose it was worth a try. I’ll be on my way. My apologies for the intrusion.”

“No, wait - I was about to go have a pint with some mates, come with us. It’s on me.”

“Really, I cannot accept--”

“You can, young man. Won’t let you go your way looking like someone kicked you. A pint or two always makes it better - just a quiet night out with the lads.”

“Well…” Gabriel hesitated a moment, then relented. A pint or two was nothing he couldn’t take - he’d had nights out like that in Southampton, first with Daniel and then with other colleagues. And besides, the man was in his late sixties; surely, things wouldn’t get too out of hand. In the end, he smiled and nodded. “... Only if you let me pay the second round,” he said.

He did pay the second round. Owen Brown paid the third. A friend of his paid the fourth; Gabriel insisted to pay the fifth. 

Afterwards, he wouldn’t be entirely sure any of them was paying at all.

***

Ever since regaining his memories of Gabriel - and before then, really - Sandalphon had wondered what meeting him face to face again would be like. Last he’d seen him, Gabriel had been terrified of him, hiding behind Beelzebub of all beings; it was not a pleasant thought.

He could speak with Michael without fear now, at least, and Sandalphon hoped it was only a matter of time before he would willingly summon him, too, so that they could talk. Clear up, if possible, even if it would be a difficult conversation. 

What he had not expected was for Gabriel to summon him by drunkenly shouting his name in the back of a pub in Luton, England, before the eyes of a group of drunken humans who cheered at his appearance like it was a magic trick while someone from inside yelled about not firing fireworks close to buildings. 

And Gabriel looked… almost more dishevelled than he’d been when he had been cast out of Heaven, except that now he had No blood on him and a smile on his face almost too wide to be physically possible. 

“San-dal-phon,” Gabriel had slurred, throwing an arm around his shoulders before he could say a word and turning to the humans. “This is my friend, guys!”

“I, uh…” Sandalphon had blinked as the humans raised their glasses and cheered. He chose to give a polite smile. “Greetings,” he said. Some responded to his greeting, some just drank, someone put a glass in his hand, and he stared at it for a few moments before realising they expected him to drink. 

“Good,” Gabriel was muttering, arm still around his shoulders. Strange as his behavior was, it was… nice to see he was not afraid of him. “Good stuff. Try.”

Ah well, Sandalphon thought, may as well do as he asked. It wasn’t like a glass of whatever concoction the humans had offered him could hurt an angel, anyway.

***

“Uuuugh.”

“Owww.”

“Head hurts.”

“Where are we?”

“... Earth?”

“This isn’t Heaven for sure.” Gabriel sat up, fighting back a wave of nausea, and blinked blearily to put his surroundings into focus. They were in… someone’s back garden, it seemed, on what looked like a semi-inflated camping mattress. “Probably still Luton,” he muttered, rubbing his face, and turned. Whose house was that? He’d only seen Owen Brown’s home from the front, so it was hard to tell. God, they must have been blind drunk to crash like that. The sun was just rising, and he barely remembered a handful of moments from the night before.

Behind him, Sandalphon was struggling to sit up as well, his suit all wrinkled; Gabriel suspected his own suit looked about as much of a mess, and went to uselessly smooth down the front. “You… miracled the glasses full a few times, didn’t you?”

“I think? I-- ah, yes. Yes I did. In front of witnesses.”

“Drunk witnesses. They will either forget about it, or think they dreamed it up.”

“God, I hope so. If Michael finds out, I’m going to be in trouble.”

“You can sleep on my couch if they cast you out,” Gabriel tried to joke, trying to brush back his hair and entirely missing the uncomfortable look Sandalphon gave him. “Agh, my head…”

“Wait, I can fix that.” A touch on the back of his head, and the pain was gone - as was the hangover as a whole, the unpleasant taste in his mouth and the ache in his lower back. Gabriel stood, glancing down - his suit was once again clean and pressed, too.

“... Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

He heard Sandalphon standing up as well, and turned to look at him as he miracled his own clothing back in pristine condition. He adjusted his collar, and cleared his throat. “Well, that was… an unusual evening.”

“It was,” Gabriel agreed. “Er… why are you here in the first place?”

“You summoned me?”

“I did?” Ah, he probably had. “... My apologies. I was intoxicated.”

“I could tell. But-- still better than having you scream and hide behind the Prince of Hell, no?” Sandalphon added, clearly trying to joke. His smile froze when Gabriel flinched - at the mention of Beelzenbub, namely, but Sandalphon couldn’t tell. “I mean-- sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up. I know you have… good reason to want us to keep away.”

A sigh. “Do I?” Gabriel muttered, turning to face him fully. “I knew you wouldn’t have harmed me again. And I knew you didn’t have a choice when you did."

“But we sort of did,” Sandalphon said, meeting his gaze. “We could have refused and-- gone with you.”

“Rebelling to God on my account?” Gabriel repeated, and found himself unable to contemplate the thought. “You’d have found yourselves in Hell, and not Earth, for something like that. It doesn't bear thinking about,” he added, realizing the truth of it only as it passed his lips. Say that Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon had indeed refused to carry out God’s order - what then? They would have faced God’s wrath, probably thrown down in Hell, while Gabriel was stripped of his wings and cast down on Earth anyway.

And Gabriel found he couldn’t bear the thought. 

“We… we should have--”

“It doesn’t matter. The outcome wouldn’t have changed,” Gabriel cut him off. “It was… out of your hands. No point thinking about it now.”

A long breath. “All right. But I am-- glad we still remember you.”

Something about those words warmed up a spot in Gabriel’s chest. He smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad I never forgot you.”

“If there is anything you need-- anything at all--”

A sudden whistling noise caused Sandalphon to cut off, and Gabriel to pull out his mobile phone from his pocket. The battery was still full - a little miracle by Aziraphale ensured it never ran out - and there was a flashing icon on the screen, that of a text message. The number was not among his contacts, but Gabriel suspected he could guess who it came from.

He simply didn’t really know anyone else whose number could possibly be 666-666-666. No one he was on speaking terms with, anyway. 

Are we still on speaking terms?

Gabriel forced himself to ignore the thought, and opened the text message. There was a name, an address, followed by only three words: it is him.

Gabriel read the message again, then put the phone back in his pocket. He briefly touched his breast pocket, where the message Daniel had written was. He had memorized it, of course, so he could relay it to his brother, but what he hadn’t thrown it away; the reason why he had not were a few brief lines Daniel had written on the back of it that were not addressed to his brother.

They were addressed to him.

Thank you for doing this for me. Sorry I didn’t believe you when you said who you were but, I mean, come on. I miss having you around. You’re a good man, what does God know anyway? Hug my brother for me and give the guys at work a pat on the back. PS - Fabrizio was right, putting cream in carbonara does land you in Hell. Warn Łukasz to stop.

“Gabriel? Everything all right?” Sandalphon asked, and he looked up. 

“... Yes. I do need a favor, though.”

“Anything.”

“Could you give me a lift to Devon, by any chance?”

***

In the end, Lawrence Brown hadn’t moved too far from his old home in Plymouth. Or maybe he had, and made the decision to return to Devon in his later years; not something Gabriel could blame him for. Built by the sea, Paignton seemed a good place to live.

The house Gabriel found himself looking at, too, seemed the perfect place to spend one’s retirement; a small white cottage with flowers in the garden, and a tree for some shade. However it seemed that no one was home, which was not something Gabriel had really prepared for. After knocking the door a few times to no avail, and briefly considering writing a message with his phone number - not viable, as he didn’t have a pen - he decided it would be best to try again later. Before he went, however, he tried to glance in through the window, just in case--

“... May I help you?” 

A voice called out behind him, causing Gabriel to flinch and turn. He found himself facing what, for a moment, looked very much like a cloud; a very white and very fluffy cloud, with four legs, black eyes and a lolling tongue. A-- yes, a dog. Gabriel had been long aware of their existence, of course, but would never cease to be perplexed by the sheer variety of shapes and forms within what was essentially the same animal. 

He’d never really wondered how humans had achieved that, but then again, humans were capable of more than he had thought possible for a long time - up to looking at some of God’s most efficient killing machines on Earth and somehow deciding they were going to make friends out of them, tying themselves to said killing machines with a length of rope. Or leather. Or fabric. 

In this one case, it was leather specifically that tied that giant, smiling cloud of a dog to its human. A woman, somewhere between sixty and seventy, with gray hair pulled up in a bun, a rather oversized jumper, and thick black-rimmed glasses. She was looking at him questioningly, and Gabriel cleared his throat, giving his best smile. 

Come on, he told himself, you’re the Messenger. You have delivered far odder messages than this one. Just don’t start with ‘do not be afraid’. They always freak out when you do.

“I think you may, yes,” he said, still smiling. “My name is Gabriel Archer. I’m looking for Mr. Lawrence Brown. I understand he lives at this address?”

“Oh,” the woman said, “I’m afraid my husband is out for some errands, but he should be back shortly. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she added, not stepping closer. A little wary of a stranger she found peering through her window - Gabriel supposed that was normal, even if he hadn’t showed up in the midst of golden light with a vast array of otherworldly and, he could see it now, frankly unnecessary features for the task. 

The fluffy white cloud made a boofing sound, just kind of smiling at him, and Gabriel could see why she wasn’t counting too much on it being of any protection should he turn out to be… what did humans seem to fear again? Axe murderers? Gabriel certainly hoped he didn’t look like one.

“No, we have not,” he said. “Nor have I had the pleasure to meet your husband yet - I have… a message for him. From his late brother,” he added quickly. 

Whatever she had been expecting, that was not it. She blinked, recoiling a little. “... From his brother?” she repeated.

“Yes. Daniel Brown,” he said, and saw some recognition in her eyes. 

“He… talked about him, a few times, but not much,” the woman muttered, and it was easy to tell, from her expression alone, that it had been a sore spot for Mr. Lawrence Brown - the brother who had rejected him so long ago. She finally took a step forward, clearly reassured he was someone with an actual reason to be there that did not include mugging or violent murder. “Late-- has he passed away?”

“... I am afraid he has. I am sorry,” Gabriel murmured, and he truly was. It felt wrong, on every level, because it should have been Daniel to stand where he stood, to finally see his brother again after so long. He was meant to be a messenger but ah, he wished he didn’t have to be now. “I am here on his behalf, or… at least I picked up the search where he left off.”

“Are you his solicitor, or…?”

“Only a friend. Daniel had been looking for your husband to make amends, but he didn’t know… his current name.”

A sigh. “Of course, he would not,” she murmured, and finally stepped closer, holding out her hand. By her side, the cloud-dog kept wagging its tail, tongue still lolling. “I’m Berenice,” she said. “Lawrence’s wife, though you gathered that much. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Archer. ”

Gabriel smiled. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, shaking her hand. When he let go of it, it immediately went to rest on the dog’s head. 

“Well, it is awfully rude of me to keep you standing at my door like a salesman. Do come in. Lawrence should be back soon, or else he would have taken his walking stick. I still would very much prefer if he took it for short walks as well. He has a bad knee and I always tell him that his stupid kneecap doesn’t give a toss how long or short the walk is, when it decides to give in it gives in and he’d be in for a nasty fall without the stick. But he’s a stubborn old goat, of course. Pushing seventy and still acting like he’s twenty.”

Gabriel smiled, thinking back of the numerous occasions Daniel had insisted on picking up more weight than he could reasonably carry in the warehouse, just to show off, only to spend the entire evening complaining about his back ache… and then do it all over again the next day. “Seems stubbornness ran in the family.”

A chuckle. “I am sure he’ll be glad to hear more about what his brother was like,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. Gabriel hoped it would help, although nothing could change the fact he was there to inform Lawrence Brown of the untimely death of his younger brother.

“... I do hope I can give him more than bad news,” he said, and followed Berenice inside, daring to pat that dog-shaped cloud on the head to receive a soft boof and a very pleased look.

Maybe, Gabriel reasoned, the humans were on to something when they took killing machines and chose to make friends out of them.

***

"I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." -- John 15:15

***

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[hellzyeahwebwielingessays]

Superior is INDEFENCIBLE Part 2: Odds and Ends

Part 1

As a little follow up to this post I want to wrap up some defences I have encountered for both Superior #2 and the Superior storyline in general.

To start with we have more hypocrisy from the man I once admired as he tried to defend his position on Superior.

He was challenged on his primary argument that Peter and MJ’s separation justified her obliviousness now that they are back together; for further details see the above linked post.

In response to this challenge he said:

“I think there is more to my argument then "They've lived apart for a year" and her relationship with him during that time doesn't have to hold relevance to their relationship after being apart.”

Like…this guy was for fucking real.

OF COURSE their relationship back then is going to hold relevance to their relationship after being apart.

Obviously with the benefit of hindsight Nick Spencer’s run proves this to be the case. And you can refer back to my prior post where I dive deeper into the topic.

However, in that post I was talking about the specific nuances of Peter and MJ’s relationship.

What’s mind boggling is that in the above quote he’s making an even bigger reach. Jesus Christ OF COURSE their past relationship is going to hold relevance for their then-current one.

That’s how relationships work!

FFS, romantic or otherwise everyone’s relationship with everyon else is shaped by the past. This is like arguing Peter hating Norman for killing Gwen Stacy doesn’t have to be relevant to their relationship after his return to the Clone Saga.

I mean shit dude, Peter’s high school romance with Betty Brant was relevant to their romance after he graduated college!

This is how all types of relationships work. You don’t just jump in after awhile, start fresh and then nothing from the past has any bearing on the present. Even in the most positive of scenarios the fact that you are getting together again  would still be shaped by the fact that you liked each other in the first place.

And for the life experiences those two shared that’d go a thousand fold.

Now let’s move on to some over miscellaneous comments sent to me a  looooooooooooong time ago.

I’ve had this stuff in my drafts for years! 

For the sake of catharsis I’ve decided to clear it out. It revolves around Superior Spider-Man and the comments I’m responding to were made before the original volume ended in 2014.

“Rob Wrecks wrote:Why would Aunt May even react to it? She doesn't even know the identity of Spidey now.”

In Civil War she was able to tell that the Chameleon, a MASTER of disguise who was being more subtle than Otto was, was not her nephew.

Whilst she might not know he is Spider-Man she knows her nephew so she should react and become questionable regarding his change in demeanor and behavior. What’s the old saying ‘A mother always knows’.

“As for MJ, they aren't even married anymore either. Sure she remembers who is under the mask. But I doubt she's gonna bring trouble on herself for prying.”

I address a lot of this in this  post.

Basically, not being married anymore has nothing to do with it. This woman lived with this man for years (five to be precise) and had a very close relationship with him which involved countless tragedies and traumas. That doesn’t just go away. This is to say nothing of the fact that she has known this man for about 10 years and has been his friend and girlfriend during that time. In fact in Stern’s run when she knew who he was but didn’t let him know, she was depicted as knowing him better than anyone and was able to read him as a book. This was back when they weren’t as close as they are now, hadn’t known each other for as long and she didn’t know him as intimately as she would later come to down the road. In ASM #290 Peter himself says MJ knows him as well as he knows himself and this was before the marriage.

Even in Slott’s run this depiction of Mary Jane knowing Peter better than anyone else was highlighted in various stories like Spider Island, a time travel arc, Alpha, and a Lizard arc at HORIZON labs. 

In JMS’ run Peter and Mary Jane were shown to be somewhat in synch even though they were separated at the time and had been for a long while going back. This was showcased in ASM V2 #50 and they had been effectively separated with minimal interaction as far back as ASM V2 #13; arguably even issue #1.

And yet she understood him and knew him very well, falling back into synch with him when they reconciled. Yes there was some awkwardness and them getting to know each other again but it was not on the same level of Otto guzzling champagne, creating spider bots, talking in a manner which was unlike the way he’s ever spoken before and MJ just wondering passingly then dismissing it. This woman has lived through the Chamelon, robot parents and clones and lives in a world where friggin Skrulls have invaded.

This out of character behaviour should send off alarm bells. She DOES clock something is off in Superior #10 but only when he says a phrase she’s never heard him say before. He was doing shit MUCH more out of character before then and she was dismissing it.

Later she was STILL dismissing the notion that Peter wasn’t himself as merely crazy on her part.

Again this woman knows Peter can be/has been cloned  repeatedly. This woman even for awhile believed Peter himself was a clone so she knows even memories can be replicated. But Peter is acting so obviously NOT himself that it’s practically SCREAMING at her that she should get this. In fact Peter’s ghost point this out which is Slott lampshading the situation. That doens’t make it good writing that’s just pointing out how bad your story is.

“Hasn't she (I'm guessing he's referring to Aunt May?) been focused lately on her new marriage though? I don't read enough of Spidey these days so I'm only going with bits and pieces I've read about here and there.”

What does being married recently or focusing upon it have to do with anything?

In Civil War she was focused upon not dying because Peter’s ID reveal had upended her life.

If you are someone’s MOTHER and have raised them all their life you will absolutely  be able to tell when something is wrong, when they are in fact not the real deal.

“As for MJ, who would she go too? Not like anyone would likely believe her unless she had a telepath scan her mind.”

Who would she go to? I dunno maybe the fucking Avengers or Fantastic Four who are Peter’s friends and team mates. Or maybe not go that far why not go to Black Cat, Human Torch or Daredevil . These are all people whom she knows (at least vaguely in regards to Daredevil) personally and have access to technology that can prove things one way or another.

Even if you argue that it’s not fair bringing in the wider Marvel Universe, Black Cat, Carlie, HORIZON labs, the Bugle staff and Scarlet Spider are all Spider-Man franchise characters.

“Now there could be a possibility she's making a list of his behavior and the like and is just waiting for the right time to say something when she knows she's less likely to die from it.

Maybe Slott's just got something going that'll eventually be revealed? Who knows.”

Oh boy, that didn’t stand the test of time did it?

This is just shitty analysis on principle. It hinges upon blind faith and writing stuff in your head about what characters are doing behind the scenes.

There was NEVER an indication MJ was doing anything like that and her actions actually contradicted event he idea of her doing any of that stuff.

The net responses are to the statement that Doc Ock was a gentleman who would treat women with respect.

“Keyword there, 'was' a gentlemen. I can imagine after years of defeats at the hands of Spidey, certain habits would change and he wouldn't care anymore.

It could have just been a subtle change that no one really noticed. He did try and end the world before #700 if I recall right.”

You need to SHOW those habits changing. The last major Doctor Octopus story before BND was in JMS’s run when he was very much a gentleman. You can’t just say his illness and defeats suddenly transformed him into a would be rapist. It’s utterly out of character for him. It’d be like bringing back Ben Reilly and making him a mass murderer. WHY is he a mass murderer.

(Fun fact. The stuff I bolded about Ben Reilly was something I wrote at the time. I kept it in because of how sadly ironic it wound up being…fuck Clone Conspiracy seriously)

Ending the world before #700 is one thing IN Doc Ock’s character. He is egotistical and wants acknowledgement of his genius.

Superior depicted him going against a character trait he’s always had. In his origin story, when he was ‘courting’ Aunt May, when he was involved with Stunner and Lady Octopus and the like he has always been show to have a respect for women and not had to resort to cheap ploys to woo them.

In Superior he was trading off of MJ’s relationship with Peter and Peter’s memories to basically abuse this woman. That is beneath Doctor Octopus. He is an intellectual a man for whom such actions are debase, the realm of the common thug whilst he is much more he is DOCTOR OCTOPUS.

BTW in Web of Death it was established that Doc Ock probably would not target MJ or Peter’s family even though he knew Peter’s identity.

So for him to suddenly switch to ‘I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend to get one over on him” is again utterly out of character.

‘Web of Death’ was co-written by Tom DeFalco btw, who established Otto’s origin. Thus the argument is flying in the face of someone who helped define the character with no explanation at all.

Slott had done this with other characters like Ashley Kafka.Suddenly the most naively compassionate woman in the world who believed she could redeem CARNAGE is saying this lesser serial killer is a complete monster. That is piss poor writing.

Even if Slott WERE to establish and show how Ock went from one extreme to the other it doesn’t make it a good idea. Doc Ock would be rapist is a lot less interesting than Doc Ock the lone super villain who is part gentleman and part humanitarian with a respect for women. If this was Norman Osborn in Peter’s body, or Electro, or Shocker I’d believe these actions.

The topic then changed to Carlie Cooper’s depiction in Superior as a goddam idiot who isn’t even telling MJ Peter might  be evil. “Red Hood wrote: Carlie and Wraith followed Ock’s paper trail because she knows for fact that peter parker doesnt have the money to fund his own private army, the reason she hasnt said anything is because it's not such a good idea to go pointing fingers without absolute truth, remember eddie brock and how he was so sure about the sin eater?”

Carlie’s investigation was going incredibly sloooooooooooooooooowly. Not only was it dull reading, but it made her completely unsympathetic. Why not warn Mary Jane by saying “Look before he died Doc Ock told me he and Spider-Man had swapped bodies. I’m not saying Peter IS Doc Ock but just....be careful MJ”.

Or why not inform the Avengers or Fantastic Four about this. Sure the Avengers gave him a physical but they wouldn’t know what to look for. And why is Carlie Cooper all of a sudden saying “Wait I KNOW Peter doesn’t have this kind of cash so this is a big clue that he isn’t himself.” When her first big clue should have been that time Spider-Man SHOT SOMEONE IN THE FACE!

“also peter and mj arent married anymore.”

See above.

You don’t just suddenly fall out of knowing someone if you’ve been THAT close to them and known them for that long just because suddenly you are not married anymore. She has deduced subtle differences in the Chameleon and clones before this but Ock is NOT being subtle whatsoever. He isn’t even talking the same way he normally does. And Mister Red Hood even says so himself, Carlie can tell right way. His co-workers whom he’s known for LESS THAN A YEAR can tell something is up. But the woman who’s been closer to him than ANYONE in his life, she can’t tell. That is bullshit of the highest order.

“1. mj and peter arent married anymore, idk if they were married in identity crisis but remember how after the deal with mephisto they were separated for x amount of years before she even came back to new york, i can see her not being able to tell peter is acting different at that point. aunt may and the avengers though don't get a pass especially when carlie who knew him the least could tell right away.”

See above.

You don’t just suddenly fall out of knowing someone if you’ve been THAT close to them and known them for that long just because suddenly you are not married anymore. She has deduced subtle differences in the Chameleon and clones before this but Ock is NOT being subtle whatsoever. He isn’t even talking the same way he normally does. And Mister Red Hood even says so himself, Carlie can tell right way. His co-workers whom he’s known for LESS THAN A YEAR can tell something is up. But the woman who’s been closer to him than ANYONE in his life, she can’t tell. That is bullshit of the highest order.

When you separate from someone you’ve been that close to those feelings don’t just disappear. This is especially true of people who’ve been through immensely traumatic events together. Soldiers often find that only fellow soldiers, specifically ones who were with them in combat, can truly understand what they went through and how they felt. It creates an emotional/mental bond. Same thing here. Peter and Mary Jane went through Venom, Kraven’s Last Hunt, the death of Harry, Gwen, aunt May, Ben Reilly, the clone saga as a whole, Civil War, Peter’s OWN death, Maximum Carnage and so on. They’d have that kind of connection I was speaking about, you don’t just forget it to the point where you let MASSIVE differences in behaviour slide, especially massive differences in behaviour which are different to the way he was acting LAST WEEK!

“3. Also i don't think his  [Doc Ock’s] actions are entirely out of character, i mean he was dead, then revived, beat down for several years into a dying body. given time to think about all the things you would do if given another chance i dont think its out of the question for doc to say "great, second chance at life with a movie starhottie gf". also if you'll threaten the city, then the world, then mind swap with someone i dont think having sex is that big a stretch.”

See my comments above why this IS out of character for Doc Ock. Again this isn’t just him wanting to get laid this is him potentially date raping an innocent woman. You need to SHOW the progression of that change

And rape in comic book fiction is understood to be worse  from the reader’s POV than the various Saturday Morning Cartoon style crimes he’s pulled.

The next comment was in response to the public’s indifference towards Spider-Man shooting Massacre in the face! “7. As far as no one caring about massacre, didn't he break out a few times and inflict his namesake? no one is going to care that a killer like that gets shot, humans aren't dignified at all. i can see aunt may saying something but no one else is going to be like "oh great that killer is back in jail, too bad all criminals break out" no they're going to be like "finally someone put down this thug, maybe my life or someone i care about will be spared from him at least in the future" and maybe it was caught on security cameras or phones but maybe they deleted it, i mean spider-man just shot a dude in the face and if he wanted there would be nothing anyone could do to stop him from putting the hurt on someone else”

This is just rubbish.

No one is going to care? For God’s sake the police in real life get reprimanded for using unnecessary force.

The law is the law you CANNOT publically execute an unarmed man. And my point was no one, not even Mary Jane or Jonah, were reacting to this mind-blowingly out of character action on the part of Spider-Man. Maybe they do not care that Massacre was killed but they should be wondering “Jesus that’s not like Spider-Man at all”. This was Spider-Man becoming absolutely EVERYTHING Jameson ever falsely accused him of and no one reacted. And I am sorry but the attitude of ‘human’s aren’t dignified so they’d react like THIS” is extremely broad and generalised. This would be a major talking point and a major issue. This is EXACTLY what the entire ‘Civil War’ debacle was about. Super heroes running unchecked doing as they pleased. It’s been what, a year tops Marvel time since Civil War? If that stuff was deleted YOU NEED TO SHOW IT. The cover story is that EVERYONE in that massive crowd covered for him. That is in no way shape or form how humans actually act. And who would there be to stop like a teenager or a kid or a lone person in the crowd from tweeting “OMG Spider-Man just shot this dude” or uploading a video or picture. They were CHEERING him on they wouldn’t be afraid of him being reprimanded. Once something like that hit the internet it’d spread like wildfire, it wouldn’t be something that if immediately taken down would die away, especially when THE NEWS was stating Spider-Man had ‘neutralised Massacre’ and then Massacre shows up dead, WTF would the public THINK happened?

“Aaron Alexander Luthor wrote: Superior is an excellent title, but I feel you approached it having already made up your mind. Doc Ock NEVER attempted date rape, and I don't know where you get that from”

Boy, I wonder where I got the idea of Otto trying to rape MJ from? What an obviously ‘excellent’ title.

Trying to sleep with Mary Jane whilst tricking her into thinking he is Peter Parker then that is categorically trying to date rape her. He didn’t go through with it because he discovered he could just wank off to her memories (I can’t believe I wrote that) but that is exactly what he was trying to do. Maybe to HIM he didn’t think of it as rape but yeah that’s exactly what it was.

“He ripped off his own shirt, not hers.”

I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about here btw.

“Mary Jane had/has mentioned several times that there is something wrong with him and that she thinks there is something strange going on, he also hasn't spoken to her in weeks in the time frame of the comic.”

Yes MJ has noticed passingly things are wrong but then he feeds her a line and she buys it or otherwise she dismisses it herself. This in monumentally out of character for her given her history and makes her incredibly stupid, which is the ONLY way this title could have worked out. Again, she lives in a world of Skrulls, clones, LMDs and shape shifters one of which is literally an enemy of Peter’s and has tried impersonating him multiple times (targeting her specifically twice). But she either doesn’t clock anything is wrong or doesn’t really react when she does. And he HAD spoken to her within weeks by the time or Superior #2.

“Same goes for Aunt May, he visited her the first few weeks as Parker, and hasnt spoken to her since. He is basically ignoring the people in Peter's life, and they have taken notice.”

See my response about Aunt May not knowing. Again, this woman RAISED him and she could tell when the master of disguise who was being a lot more subtle about impersonating Peter was not her son/nephew.

Also he wasn’t exactly ignoring  the HORIZON labs staff was he?

“When he killed Massacre, some of the civilians were shocked and appalled, but when the police investigated all the officers on the scene lied for Spidey, because they think he did the right thing. That is why the only officers still interested are Carlie Cooper who does know, and is ACTIVELY trying to prove it isnt Peter, and Captain Watanabe aka The Wraith”

My point about NO ONE taking photos, tweeting, facebooking or whatever still stands as does the security cameras thing and the fact that Massacre was TRYING TO GET PUBLICITY. Again with Carlie why is she not warning SOMEBODY at this point. It isn’t like they wouldn’t believe her after Massacre. It isn’t like Spider-Man isn’t acting weird. It isn’t like body swapping is a legit THING in the Marvel universe. For God’s sake this happened to Captain America!

Kaine, the CLONE of Peter Parker with identical memories and everything. In the Sibling Rivaly crossover between Scarlet Spider and Superior Team-Up even HE couldn’t tell that Peter. Was an imposter This guy doesn’t just know Peter well, he IS Peter. And Otto was ranting none too subtley about how Kaine has bad blood with HIM. He doesn’t say he’s Doc Ock but he’s conveying unsubtly to Kaine that he is not Peter Parker and he is not TALKING like Peter Parker either. When his CLONE is still operating under the delusion that he is Peter Parker that’s put it beyond doubt this was ridiculously contrived.

“BTW, Carlie and MJ have talked about the suspicious way Pete has been acting, Carlie just hasnt told MJ directly.”

WHY didn’t Carlie tell MJ! And WHY were she and Peter noticing Peter’s different actions yet being totally blasé about them.

FFS in ‘Kraven’s Last Hunt’ MJ and Peter had been married for just 2 weeks and in that time she was able to deduce from his actions that the guy in the Spider-Man suit was NOT Peter. In the Mark of Kaine an identical clone of Peter approaches her and she is ultimately able to tell (twice) that he is not her husband. And she did this whilst pregnant and stressed out from a life or death situation to say nothing of the fact that Aunt May had recently died which would be weighing on her mind. Yet in Superior her mind was clearer and she was still buying this was Peter. This is enormously bad out of character writing for her

“As for the Avengers scans, it wasnt that no one could read them, its that they all came back NORMAL.”

No, the scans DID NOT come back normal at all. Doc Ock looked at the scans and could TELL something was not normal because he saw ghost Peter was in his mind. Yeah there was a tiny inconsistency in the brain waves but why the heck weren’t there people on the Avengers team that day to take note of stuff like that. Cap, Wolverine, Black Widow and Thor are obviously NOT going to be able to properly read this scientific equipment like Iron Man or Hank Pym or the Beast. ANY of those guys would’ve been able to tell but no only the Avengers who categorically would not be able to properly read the brainwaves were there. Why? Why get the unscientific Avengers? Because of plot contrivances is why.

And where were the telepaths? One telepathic scan from SOMEBODY should have told all. And again these tests come back normal....no one thought he could be a clone? Spider-Man has joked to these people about his clones, they know about them. Correct me if I am wrong but at the time of the Avenger’s physical of Peter wasn’t there a character involved with the Avengers who was supposed to be the living universe? SHE couldn’t tell Doc Ock is Spider-Man? The universe literally didn’t know this?

“Even Dr. Strange and Wolverines tests all came back regular.”

If Dr. Strange with all his power wasn’t able to deduce the truth that’s even MORE contrived!

And what the heck were Wolverine’s test? That he smelt the same? Of course he would.

“There was a tiny inconsistency in the brainwaves, it wasnt that no one could read it, its that it was so small that no one would even take notice of it, except for Peter or Ock if they were to look for it.”

See above for why this is bullshit.

“And the Avengers are STILL very suspicious, if you read the current titles.”

At the time a ‘current title’ was  Superior Team Up #1.

In it the Avengers told him they were wrong to put him in probation and are still just ‘suspicious’ when he INVADED SHADOWLAND WITH AN ARMY!. Because THAT’S so usual for Spider-Man right?

“You're entitled to your opinion, but you cant just make up facts and call it a discussion. I get the impression that you a)Havent read the whole series; b) Had already made up your mind before reading the issues you have read; and c) Havent read the companion stories (i.e. Avenging Spider-Man, Superior Team-up, Hickman's Avengers titles). If you look at the story as a whole, its actually quite good.”

Said the guy who got all the above information I outlined WRONG.

From a technical point of view it doesn’t make sense, it uses contrivances and out of character writing to keep it going. You want to write Doc Ock as Spider-Man. Okay then don’t surround him with people who should be able to figure this out. Or say there is some kind of device redirecting their attention.

Don’t have Doc Ock not act like Doc Ock because that defeats the point of the exercise. Don’t go for deliberate sensationalism or crass storytelling which was essentially everything revolving around him hooking up with Mary Jane and then the oh so lovely page of the Superior Spider-Wanker.

That issue in particular even resolved itself in a contrived manner. Doc Ock begins uttering gibberish which recalled One Moment in Time about “we cannot be together because it’s an unsolvable equation blah blah blah”.

Basically he is saying “I can never be with you because of the danger I put you in”; which is Slott using the character as a mouthpiece.

In the next issue Otto began courting a student at his college because consistency rocks. Even Ghost Peter is out of character at this moment “WOW Ock you did the one thing I could never do and walked away from Mary Jane”. Peter is right he probably can’t walk away from Mary Jane but...does he WANT to? Where the heck is this coming from? What is worse is that it’s so unnecessary. There was a MUCH better explanation for Ock breaking up with MJ. If Ock were in character he could just come to the conclusion that sleeping with MJ under these circumstances would be wrong and beneath him hence he wouldn’t go through with it. If Ock was out of character as he was in their issue but still vaguely in character he could just come to the conclusions that since accessing Peter’s memories he’s begun to have genuine feelings for MJ and doesn’t just want to fuck her, it would involve him having a relationship with here which at this point in time he is incapable of, he doesn’t know how to handle it. I will wholeheartedly admit I was not jazzed about the concept of Superior from the outset. If nothing else I want to read about Peter Parker not Doc Ock and if I did want to read about Doc Ock AS Doc Ock, not as Spider-Man and not as an rotting body.

An arc in a comic is one thing doing this long term all the problems I foresaw have come up as well as some I didn’t even predict. This could have worked if Doc Ock was separated from Peter’s supporting cast who should be able to tell something is amiss but then that defeats a lot of the point of the story. It was a lose-lose situation.

People can enjoy garbage if you want but don’t call it gold.

Part 1

[yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere]

THIS SCENE in IMAGINE ME

“I will only ask you one more time,” Anderson says to his son, his voice trembling as it grows louder. “What did you do with her?” Still, Warner stares impassively. He’s spattered in unknown blood, holding a machine gun like it might be a briefcase, and staring at his father like he might be staring at the ceiling. Anderson can’t control his temper the way Warner can—and it’s obvious to everyone that this is a battle of wills he’s going to lose. Anderson already looks half out of his mind. His hair is matted and sticking up in places. Blood is congealing on his face, his eyes shot through with red. He looks so deranged—so unlike himself—that I honestly have no idea what’s going to happen next. And then he lunges for Warner. He’s like a belligerent drunk, wild and angry, unhinged in a way I’ve never seen before. His swings are wild but strong, unsteady but studied. He reminds me, in a sudden, frightening flash of understanding, of the father Adam so often described to me. A violent drunk fueled by rage. Except that Anderson doesn’t appear to be drunk at the moment. No. This is pure, unadulterated anger. Anderson seems to have lost his mind. He doesn’t just want to shoot Warner. He doesn’t want someone else to shoot Warner. He wants to beat him to a pulp. He wants physical satisfaction. He wants to break bones and rupture organs with his own hands. Anderson wants the pleasure of knowing that he and he alone was able to destroy his own son. But Warner isn’t giving him that satisfaction. He meets Anderson blow for blow in fluid, precise movements, ducking and sidestepping and twisting and defending. He never misses a beat. It’s almost like he can read Anderson’s mind. I’m not the only one who’s stunned. I’ve never seen Warner move like this, and I almost can’t believe I’ve never seen it before. I feel a sudden, unbidden surge of respect for him as I watch him block attack after attack. I keep waiting for him to knock the dude out, but Warner makes no effort to hit Anderson; he only defends. And only when I see the increasing fury on Anderson’s face do I realize that Warner is doing this on purpose. He’s not fighting back because he knows it’s what Anderson wants. The cool, emotionless expression on Warner’s face is driving Anderson insane. And the more he fails to rattle his son, the more enraged Anderson gets. Blood still trickles, slowly, from the half-healed wound on his neck when he cries out, angrily, and pulls free a gun from inside his jacket pocket. “Enough,” he shouts. “That is enough.” Warner takes a careful step back. “Give me the girl, Aaron. Give me the girl and I will spare the rest of these idiots. I only want the girl.” Warner is an immovable object. “Fine,” Anderson says angrily. “Seize him.”

Six supreme guards begin advancing on Warner, and he doesn’t so much as flinch. I exchange glances with Winston and it’s enough; I throw my invisibility over Winston just as he throws his arms out, his ability to stretch his limbs knocking three of them to the ground. In the same moment, Haider pulls a machete from somewhere inside the bloodied chain mail he’s wearing under his coat, and tosses it to Warner, who drops the machine gun and catches the blade by the hilt without even looking.

A fucking machete.

Castle is on his knees, arms toward the sky as he breaks off more pieces of the half-devastated building, but this time Anderson’s men don’t give him the chance. I run forward, too late to help as Castle is knocked out from behind, and still I throw myself into the fight, battling for ownership of the soldier’s gun with skills I developed as a teenager: a single, solid punch to the nose. A clean uppercut. A hard kick to the chest. A good old-fashioned strangulation. I look up, gasping for breath, hoping for good news— And do a double take. Ten men have closed in on Warner, and I don’t understand where they came from. I thought we were down to three or four. I spin around, confused, turning back just in time to watch Warner drop to one knee and swing up with the machete in a sudden, perfect arc, gutting the man like a fish. Warner turns, another strong swing slicing through the guy on his left, disconnecting the dude’s spine in a move so horrific I have to look away. In the second it takes me to turn back, another guard has already charged forward. Warner pivots sharply, shoving the blade directly up the guy’s throat and into his open, screaming mouth. With a final tug, Warner pulls the blade free, and the man falls to the ground with a single, soft thud. The remaining members of the Supreme Guard hesitate. I realize then, that—whoever these new soldiers are—they’ve been given specific orders to attack Warner, and no one else. The rest of us are suddenly without an obvious task, free to sink into the ground, disappear into exhaustion. Tempting. I search for Castle, wanting to make sure he’s okay, and realize he looks stricken. He’s staring at Warner. Warner, who’s staring at the blood pooling beneath his feet, his chest heaving, his fist still clenched around the shank of the machete. All this time, Castle really thought Warner was just a nice boy who’d made some simple mistakes. The kind of kid he could bring back from the brink.

Not today.

Warner looks up at his father, his face more blood than skin, his body shaking with rage.- “Is this what you wanted?” he cries. But even Anderson seems surprised. Another guard moves forward so silently I don’t even see the gun he’s aimed in Warner’s direction until the soldier screams and collapses to the ground. His eyes bulge as he clutches at his throat, where a shard of glass the size of my hand is caught in his jugular. I whip my head around to face Warner. He’s still staring at Anderson, but his free hand is now dripping blood.

Jesus Christ.

“Take me, instead,” Warner says, his voice piercing the quiet.

 Anderson seems to come back to himself. “What?”

 “Leave her. Leave them all. Give me your word that you will leave her alone, and I will come back with you.” I go suddenly still. And then I look around, eyes wild, for any indication that we’re going to stop this idiot from doing something reckless, but no one meets my eyes. Everyone is riveted. Terrified. But when I feel a familiar presence suddenly materialize beside me, relief floods through my body. I reach for her hand at the same time she reaches for mine, squeezing her fingers once before breaking the brief connection. Right now, it’s enough to know she’s here, standing next to me.

Nazeera is okay.

We all wait in silence for the scene to change, hoping for something we don’t even know how to name. It doesn’t come.

“I wish it were that simple,” Anderson says finally. “I really do. But I’m afraid we need the girl. She is not so easily replaced.”

“You said that Emmaline’s body was deteriorating.” Warner’s voice is low, but clear. Miraculously steady. “You said that without a strong enough body to contain her, she’d become volatile. You need a replacement,” Warner says. “A new body. Someone to help you complete Operation Synthesis.”

 “No,” Castle cries. “No— Don’t do this—”

 “Take me,” Warner says. “I will be your surrogate.”

Anderson’s eyes go cold. He sounds almost convincingly calm when he says, “You would be willing to sacrifice yourself—your youth and your health and your entire life—to let that damaged, deranged girl continue to walk the earth?” Anderson’s voice begins to rise in pitch. He seems suddenly on the verge of another breakdown. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? You have every opportunity—all the potential—and you’d be willing to throw it all away? In exchange for what?” he cries. “Do you even know the kind of life to which you’d be sentencing yourself ?”

 A dark look passes over Warner’s face. “I think I would know better than most.”

 Anderson pales. “Why would you do this?”

It becomes clear to me then that even now, despite everything, Anderson doesn’t actually want to lose Warner. Not like this. But Warner is unmoved. He says nothing. Betrays nothing. He only blinks as someone else’s blood drips down his face.

“Give me your word,” Warner finally says. “Your word that you will leave her alone forever. I want you to let her disappear. I want you to stop tracking her every move. I want you to forget she ever existed.” He pauses. “In exchange, you can have what’s left of my life.”

Nazeera gasps. Haider takes a sudden, angry step forward and Stephan grabs his arm, somehow still strong enough to restrain Haider even as his own body bleeds out. “This is his choice,” Stephan gasps, wrapping his free arm around a tree for support. “Leave him.”

 “This is a stupid choice,” Haider cries. “You can’t do this, habibi. Don’t be an idiot.” (..)

 “I will stop fighting you,” Warner says. “I will do exactly as you ask. Whatever you want. Just let her live.”

 Anderson is silent for so long it sends a chill through me. Then: “No.” Without warning, Anderson raises his arm and fires two shots. The first, at Nazeera, hitting her square in the chest. The second— At me. Several people scream. I stumble, then sway, before collapsing.

Shit.

“Find her,” Anderson says, his voice booming. “Burn the whole place to the ground if you have to.”

The pain is blinding. It moves through me in waves, electric and searing. Someone is touching me, moving my body. I’m okay, I try to say. I’m okay. I’m okay. But the words don’t come. He’s hit me in my shoulder, I think. Just shy of my chest. I’m not sure. But Nazeera— Someone needs to get to Nazeera. 

“I had a feeling you’d do something like this,” I hear Anderson say. “And I know you used one of these two”—I imagine him pointing to my prone body, to Nazeera’s—“in order to make it happen.” Silence. “Oh, I see,” Anderson says. “You thought you were clever. You thought I didn’t know you had any powers at all.” Anderson’s voice seems suddenly loud, too loud. He laughs. “You thought I didn’t know? As if you could hide something like that from me. I knew it the day I found you in her holding cell. You were sixteen. You think I didn’t have you tested after that? You think I haven’t known, all these years, what you yourself didn’t realize until six months ago?”

A fresh wave of fear washes over me. Anderson seems too pleased and Warner’s gone quiet again, and I don’t know what any of that means for us. But just as I’m beginning to experience full-blown panic, I hear a familiar cry. It’s a sound of such horrific agony I can’t help but try to see what’s happening, even as flashes of white blur my vision. I catch a mottled glimpse: Warner standing over Anderson’s body, his right hand clenched around the handle of the machete he’s buried in his father’s chest. He plants his right foot on his father’s gut, and, roughly, pulls out the blade. Anderson’s moan is so animal, so pathetic I almost feel sorry for him. Warner wipes the blade on the grass, and tosses it back to Haider, who catches it easily by the hilt even as he stands there, stunned, staring at—me, I realize. Me and Nazeera. I’ve never seen him so unmasked. He seems paralyzed by fear. “Watch him,” Warner shouts to someone. He examines a gun he stole from his father, and, satisfied, he’s off, running after the Supreme Guard. Shots ring out in the distance.

My vision begins to go spotty. Sounds bleed together, shifting focus. For moments at a time all I hear is the sound of my own breathing, my heart beating. At least, I hope that’s the sound of my heart beating. Everything smells sharp, like rust and steel. I realize then, in a sudden, startling moment, that I can’t feel my fingers. Finally I hear the muffled sounds of nearby movement, of hands on my body, trying to move me.

 “Kenji?” Someone shakes me. “Kenji, can you hear me?” Winston. I make a sound in my throat. My lips seem fused together. “Kenji?” More shaking. “Are you okay?” With great difficulty, I pry my lips apart, but my mouth makes no sound.

Then, all at once: “Heyyyyybuddy.” Weird.

 “He’s conscious,” Winston says, “but disoriented. We don’t have much time. I’ll carry these two. See if you can find a way to transport the others. Where are the girls?” Someone says something back to him, and I don’t catch it. I reach out suddenly with my good hand, clamping down on Winston’s forearm.

“Don’t let them get J,” I try to say. “Don’t let—””

[allyouhavetodo]

Let’s Watch The Twilight Zone: Episode Twenty-Two

The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street

Welcome to Maple Street, USA, you guys. It’s a summer Saturday in suburban splendor over here. When m, precisely at 6:43 pm,something with lots of flashing lights that’s making a whoosh whoosh whooshing noise, passes over head (unseen by the audience, but definitely seen by everyone on Maple Street).

That was weird, everyone on Maple Street concludes. But it was probably just a meteor. Extra weird that it came so close and yet we didn’t hear it crash. Oh well.

But not oh well, as Rod Serling pops in to inform us. “This will be the last calm and reflective moment before the monsters come.”

And, yeah, pretty soon after the “meteor” passed by overhead, the power goes out on Maple Street. The phones go down on Maple Street. The radio stops working on Maple Street. Strange things are afoot on Maple Street.

And everyone is puzzled about why all these things would happen at once. One old man sets off to a neighboring street to see if they are also having these problems. And defacto street leader Steve and his chubby Hawaiian shirt wearing side kick Charlie decide to go check with the police to see if they know anything about what’s going on.

Except they can’t go to the police station, because the car won’t start. But that’s okay. It’s the 60s, we can walk to the police station, if we want to. At least until intrepid teen Tommy warns them they “better not.”

What gives, Tommy? What’s your problem?

Well, it turns out Tommy has read a lot of sci fi and has a very specific theory about what’s happening here. It’s probably aliens, you see. And they don’t want us to leave. That’s why they shut everything down. The only “people” who will be able to leave are the ones the aliens sent down ahead to assimilate and trick us. They’ll look just like us. That’s how they always do it.

The adults all try to shout Tommy down at first. It was probably the meteor interfering with radio signals or something, just like sunspots. But by the end of his speech they’re all looking around at each other like they’ve got a confirmed case of The Thing and they don’t know how to go about testing one another.m to see who’s infected.

Meanwhile, another neighbor, Les Goodman, goes to try to start his car. And, guess what, it won’t. Until it does. All by itself. And then stops again. And then starts again. And then all suspicion turns to Les. Les is very calm about it all at first. Like, “gee, I dunno what’s going on,” “y’all know me, I’ve lived here for 5 years.” Until a woman claims she’s seen him outside standing on his lawn in the middle of the night staring up at the sky. At which point he starts yelling about having insomnia and advancing on the crowd, who hilariously back up every time he takes a step toward them.

Les gets it. He thinks you’re all being paranoid. “You’re letting something begin here that’s a nightmare!” he yells. Just what an alien would say!

By nightfall everyone is still standing around outside Les’s house, not sure what to do if he does turn out to be an alien but not satisfied to leave without knowing for sure.

Steve turns back up to try to be the voice of reason. Are we really turning on each other so easily? Is anyone with any kind of idiosyncrasy automatically suspect? This is some kind of madness.

Until someone else calls out of the crowd that actually Steve’s own wife has been going around town blabbering about his particularly suspicious idiosyncrasies. Particularly the weird radio device he’s got in his basement that he’s never invited anyone in the neighborhood over to see. Who you talking to on that thing, huh Stevie?

Steve yells at them all sarcastically that duh he’s spending all his time talking to little green men, when his wife turns up to proclaim that it’s just a stupid ham radio and she wasn’t trying to sell her husband out as an alien, you losers.

At this point someone starts walking down the street toward the mob. They can’t see who it is in the distance but they are pretty convinced it’s “the monster” (a monster they, again, have seen no evidence actually exists), and someone goes to get a shotgun, which Charlie (paranoid in chief) quickly takes possession of.

With the walker still far enough away that no one can see who it is and without anyone even attempting to call out to them, Charlie blasts away with the shotgun. Turns out it was that old man from before who went off to see if anyone else had power. And now he’s fucking dead. Jesus Christ, Charlie! What’d you go and do that for?

And just when everyone’s already getting mad at Charlie, the lights go on in his house. And you know how we feel about one person’s something working when noone else’s is! Everyone turns even harder on Charlie who hilariously backs himself into a bush before people (not hilariously) start throwing rocks at him.

But Charlie’s not just going to stand here with his head bleeding and let you call him an alien. In his opinion, terrible teenage Tommy must actually be the one at fault. He’s the one who started this whole thing! How come he knows all about what the aliens would do!? (A+ theory, Charlie.)

But before anyone can kill this teen, the lights start going crazy all over the street. And the residents start going even crazier. Everyone grabs a weapon! Everyone starts throwing things and breaking things! Gun shots start going off everywhere!

And the camera pans out to reveal pure chaos. People running around everywhere. Screams and bangs. All the way out to two (alien) dudes talking about how easy it is going to be to get humanity to destroy itself. Literally all we had to do was make one person’s car act weird and soon Maple Street will be no more. And, don’t worry, there are Maple Streets all over this stupid planet. All we have to do is go from one to the next, putting in minimal effort wherever we go and soon the planet will be ours.

Pan now to the sky as Rod Serling returns to remind us that the tools of conquest don’t always have to be bombs and guns. That paranoia and prejudice can kill and destroy even unborn generations. And that, unfortunately, these concepts are not confined to the Twilght Zone.

Be careful out there folks!

—

I had heard of this episode. At least by name. And I don’t think this is what I was expecting. It’s a good one, though. People lose it extremely quickly. Which is a great Twilight Zone hallmark. And the concept still works. Timeless stuff here for a bunch of human idiots.