#other times it is just a weird british thing though to be fair

[pseudophan]

sometimes, a lot more often than necessary i would say, dan and/or phil will say something and everyone will go ?? that's how british people pronounce that word ???? and you have to realise that a lot of the time the answer is no. they don't. dan and phil do, because there's many things wrong with them, but that doesn't always mean it's like.. normal

[best-tournament-blog-bracket]

@hot-take-tournament @undertale-ost-tournament

hot-take-tournament propaganda: 

Official tumblr blog of carpreg as analyzed through the lens of both biological and ecological precedent. We also sell Orange Joe for the low low price of just -0.50$!!! No refunds. Orange Joe sold separately, exclusions apply.

This is actually anti-propaganda but if hot-take wins the world will be destroyed because a gimmick blog somehow managed to get into and win the tournement blog bracket.

Honestly I love how crazy it is there I have my very own tag where my insane asks are answered and all the hot takes are even more insane with things like wet bread is good and orange Joe is delicious so it's great here join us join us join us join us join us join us join us join us

Htt tournament fact #disco elysium +1: They are cursed by at least one god of technology. Proof:

please do share all of your tech mishaps ok, here's a little insight into my hell: My laptop doesn't charge unless it's got two chargers a

Mod is British (I think, I just know for sure they are not from the USA), and every time any horrifying USAmerican thing crosses their radar, they say something about being horrified, and they are so adorably baffled, then all of us USAmerican followers add on and we get to see them more and more horrified as it goes on. Sometimes these revelations are from hot takes that have been submitted, sometimes it's from comments on the hot takes, but every time it's reassuring to know that we aren't the only ones horrified.

Their askbox got pissed in (I know this because of reasons), they deserve better.

Vote for htt or we’ll make you drink our patented Hatsune Miku Chicken Smoothie! (Pictured on blog header.)

Htt mod fun fact #(however many have been submitted): They spent an indeterminate amount of time, harboring the firm belief that Disco Elysium was invented by tumblr as a joke and not a real game!! On day six of the blog's existence, before (though not by much) we knew the horrors that could lurk in this place, Hot Take Tournament responded to an ask assuring them that another game existed with, "oh thank god you guys can't play with my heart like that, i thought this was gonna be like the time i found out disco elysium wasn't real, i was devestated" After multiple asks, we had to send them the wikipedia link for the game before they'd believe Disco Elysium was, in fact real and we weren't just fucking with them. ...so yeah, that's the disco elysium thing. This was day 6!! We were still under the impression that the worst we'd deal with were weird food takes!

undertale-ost-tournament propaganda

In a fandom with such a strong appreciation for so many songs in the game’s wonderful soundtrack, undertale-ost-tournament is doing the difficult job of narrowing down the fan favorite for us. I also appreciate its fairness in leaving Megalovania out of the bracket to give the other songs a chance, and how diligent it’s been in keeping track of and reporting stats on the brackets and results. Very well seeded, too. I’m excited to reach the finals soon!

[bloop-bl00p]

Rewriting Sir Pentious justice for the snake boie

Doesn’t anyone find it weird how we’re gonna have the backstory of everyone in later seasons?

Not only do they hardly follow the redemption aspects but they also give us little to nothing about the characters. I can buy that Heaven is corrupt and/or unfair but rather than having Adam throwing curse words and profanities every five seconds, why not show it in elements of the main cast backstory?

Reveal that they were essentially in unjust situations where they had no other choice but sins to survive, the type of stories that’ll make the audience think “Is Heaven fair in its judgment?” then you have the reveal that the system is corrupted. It feels like common sense to me.

Anyway, Sir Pentious wasn’t that much of an asshole in my rewrite, we understand why he acted the way he did but he still fucked up.

Madhav Karmakar was born in 1858. He was an Indian migrant in England who wanted to follow a partnership in engineering. Studying hard and else he worked ten times harder than the other students due to prejudice regarding his origin.

He made his way into a prestigious university and went out with his diploma ready to show off his skill but generally still faced racial discrimination. Throughout his life, Madhav had to do everything in his power to completely suppress anything that tied him to his country, fully adopting British mannerisms and culture, suppressing his accent, and else. At 17, he became an apprentice and started studying Mechanical Engineering, ending officially his studies at 24.

His hardship allowed him to work alongside others to develop steam machines and various ways of transportation. Despite having clearly mastered, and even ameliorated his domain, Madhav still had fewer opportunities compared to his colleagues and was paid less than the other regardless of the amount of work he put in.

What was first jealousy due to the unfairness of his situation quickly became Envy directed at his white counterparts. He started slowly destroying the reputation of his associates mostly by secretly sabotaging their work in various manners, introducing faulty designs, tampering with documentation, sabotaging equipment and tools, and anything really just to make himself feel better.

It lasted for years until one of his sabotages cost him his life. In 1888 at 30 years old, he caused one structure to collapse and the debris fell on him breaking his legs, he died screaming for help under the remains and suffocated because of the dust.

A few years following his arrival in Hell, he used his ingenuity to create steampunk-style machines in order to conquer territory. Problems, most of the lands were already owned by powerful Overlords. Madhav overestimated his inventions a lot so he got his nonexistent ass beaten all the time. He even gained the nickname Sir Pretentious though he still tries and insists on being called by his real surname (nobody does.)

The dude persisted, gaining the reputation of the village fool. Surprisingly for everyone he finally managed to get his hand on a very small portion of a territory… only for it to be snatched away by a punk rookie a week later. It would be easy for any Overlord to step up but they have their own business to take care of and some find it funny to see those two quarrel all the time.

Bit of a fun fact:

→ If I had to redesign him, he’d be fit with a large figure, we’re talking of the man who built this alone…

.. I doubt the egg boys can lift things too heavy considering they are fragile. So yeah, Madhav isn’t a twink.

→ The egg boys aren’t literal eggs just small mechanical robots he built to be his minions, if they were to break they’ll be gears everywhere but he could still rebuild them later. He wishes he could make them a bit smarter.

→ Snakes are very often associated with lies and manipulation and everything related to it. That’s what Madhav has been as a human, an envious liar. But, snakes can also symbolize renewal and rebirth in other cultures, and since he’s gonna be the first redeemed it kinda fits. I don’t know if Viv knew this but shout out to her if she did.

→ Keeping the romance with Cherry, I can appreciate a really good Enemy to Lover but the way it was framed feels like Cherry only got interested when she learned he had two dick, which feels icky and disingenuous.

So, I thought of slowly making their relationship more of a “Are they fighting or flirting” type of thing. That and having Cherry make comments between their fight like “You’re getting better at this!” which flatters Madhav because he never really had recognition for his fighting skills or invention.

He’s still a bit stuck in the old-timey way of courtship, and considering those things could last 3 to 4 years, with him you can expect the slowest slow burn possible. Anyway, he still respects lots of British traditions, being a regular correspondent and sending letters and gifts. I can see him asking to go on a walk or organize Rendez-vous to learn more about Bomb when his rivalry gets more friendly.

→ His obsession with fighting Alastor comes from the fact that he didn't manage to get up the stairs as quickly as the deer did. So he’s envious and seeks to beat Alastor in a battle to prove he’s the superior one, but he loses every time. His last chance is to side with the Vees, but Vox doesn't even bat an eye when he is near. So just imagine how ecstatic he was when Vox proposed to him to be a spy. While the first weeks were fine, he found himself getting attached to the staff more and more. It was a genuine environment where few people actually recognized him as the brilliant engineer he was (I thought he could actually help with the hotel construction since the building is old and all) and they actually called him by his name.

Not siding with Vox will be the first step to his redemption, renouncing to act of his envious feelings and focusing on what he already had rather than seeking to destroy those above him.

→ His lisp gets worse when he’s lying, he obliviously maintains a whole evil British persona in his quest for respect so as he slowly starts to get genius he’ll slowly start to speak with more ease.

→ Regarding how he’ll appear once in Heaven, he’ll be a human. I find it strange that you don't get to get your human appearance once saved. Viv said it herself, the reason why sinners look like that is because their appearance is in correlation with their sins, life, and the ways they die. It’s a way to mock them.

If this dude or girl gets redeemed, they’ll stay on a couch and that’s just sad, imagine you die go to Hell redeem yourself and you're still a furniture. Anyway, Madhav will get his human form back but with hints of his demonic form.

Kinda like Lovesart23 you should go see her videos and rewrite.

[princelylove]

Hi, accidentally stumble in your blog~ I love yandere jojo contents too so I hope to see your content about it :D

I don't know what to request yet but maybe we can talk about type of yandere. What is your favorite type of yandere? Mine is delusion or simp yandere (what characters in jojo you think they will be in this category btw)

Delusional types are adorable to me. There’s just something so charming about someone who’s so bent on being together that their brain skips the entire courting process and goes right into “We’re dating. No actually we’re married and have been married since forever and even our past lives were married. You belong to me what do you mean I have to stop calling for fifteen days.” I think my favored type is protective, but delusionals are too cute to pass on. As for those I think are delusional or simps, off the top of my head…

I’d also argue that Mista’s the type to simp, he’s pretty sure he’ll die if you carry your own shopping bags, but he doesn’t strike me as delusional. Love’s gotta be real to him, you know? He’s the kind of guy that can take a maybe, hell, even a hard no! He knows how to back off, but he’s just gonna keep watch from over here if that’s cool with you. I mean, come on, what kinda “friend” would he be if he let you open your own doors or pay for your own meal? He’s got a job, it’s totally on him! Don’t even think about trying to step over that puddle yourself, he’s already got you up by your legs to carry you across. He’s pretty strong, isn’t he? Oh, he’d die a happy man if you praised him for something like that. He’s like a dog whose tail just won’t stop wagging. You’re his everything, why wouldn’t he try to do things for you all the time? That isn’t weird, don’t shove him into the same category as creepy guys who never give up! It’s like typical hollywood stuff, you know? Romanticism or whatever! 

You know who’s fully delusional, though? I say this with lots of love, but Diego. He just cannot fathom the idea of someone rejecting him, I mean, what’s wrong with him? He’s the prince of the british horseracing world, how DARE you reject him??? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, don’t play hard to get with him of all people! You should be begging for his attention, not the other way around, but here we are. Diego fully believes that you were made for him, you just don’t understand the gravity (I do think I’m funny for this wordplay) of the situation yet. No matter what happens, you’re always going to be his. As long as he’s got it in his head that you’re more of an object than a real person who has thoughts and feelings like he does, he’s not really going to care about your ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Look, pigeons are just meant to be led, and he’s already somewhat fond of you, so just let him have what he wants. I’m firmly of the belief that if you ever flat out rejected him, he’d just think you were unwell and needed him even more. Be good for him, he doesn’t have the time to play this silly little game of cat and mouse with you right now. 

Joseph is another “You can’t play hard to get forever!” type to me, honestly. He’s persistent like a bloodhound, and is going to get in the way of whatever lover or relationship you’ve got going on right now no matter what. He called dibs on you, so, it’s totally fair. He’ll show up to your apartment or house and completely ignore his training if it means getting just a glimpse of you. So what if he’s got a ring in his throat, he wants to put a ring on your finger! Joseph goes the extra mile for you- literally. If you were to move out of town, he’d walk all the way to your new place if he had to. Joseph won’t be deterred so easily. You just wanted him to get some exercise, right, babe? That’s so thoughtful of you! It makes his day when you look his way, especially if you actually catch him showing off with his training. If you were to actually talk to him, or god forbid compliment him, he’d be reeling for a week. He trails behind you on your errands, taking notes mentally of where you go and what you get. One day he’ll know it by heart, and then you won’t even have to go on errands anymore! Unless you want to go with him, that is. Then he’s totally down for a little couple’s day out. Joseph will buy you whatever you want as long as he gets his fix in. Let him put his head on your lap and just stare, and he’ll be thrilled. I don’t necessarily believe that Joseph would kidnap you if you broke his fantasy too many times, but you’re definitely going to start losing a lot of personal time. It doesn’t matter how he got into your apartment, he made dinner. Haha, ok, you caught him. He ordered dinner. 

I think it’s fairly obvious to say that Yukako is delusional. She has a warped sense of reality. Her crimes really don’t matter to her because she’s making up for it. Look, look, she cooked for you. Stop trying to go for the door or the window. Yukako loves you, so you’re going to be perfect for her, and you’re going to be perfect together. She’s firm about never leaving your side even though she’s already got you all to herself. She sees nothing wrong with skipping dating and going right to locking you up if she thinks you need her for something. You’re failing at that cooking class that school made you take despite your pleas not to? She can do that. You’re awful with directions? She knows every little corner of town. You actually don’t need her and are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? Don’t talk like that. You need her. There’s absolutely no reason to deny her, so let’s do this the cutesy way she wants it. 

[silverview]

🏆 achievement unlocked: ben wheatley feature completist 🎉 i’m not going to rank them but i am going to talk about them a bit!

down terrace (2009) ☕️

v impressive debut. the key pillars of the idiom are already here, and that’s why it’s good. unglamorous low-level organised crime and violence; family dysfunction/parent-child trauma; and – less obviously, but it’s there – folk sensibility. and michael smiley is there. he totally steals the show, as he does every time he pops up in one of these (with one exception obviously). not to get ahead of myself but my main takeaway from this whole exercise is that michael smiley is a genius

kill list (2011) 🔨

like down terrace, but MORE. more violent organised crime, more overt folk horror, more smiley. same amount of family dysfunction. if down terrace is the seed from which you can extrapolate the rest of the filmography, kill list is a perfectly condensed smoothie, all the key themes fully realised but blended together. i love it. i think you can draw a clear line from this to mother's ruin. reece says that after seeing this, he turned to wheatley and asked “why did you make that?” which i think is a fair question. i relayed the anecdote to my bf who spluttered indignantly and said “i don’t know, reece, why do we do anything? why did you black up?”

sightseers (2012) 🚗

all these films are at least a little bit funny, but sightseers is probably the most overt comedy, and it REALLY works for me. alice lowe is fantastic and i wish they’d work together more. her performance suits wheatley’s style. again, gestures to all the key pillars, but none of them actually take centre stage here. it ends up being about… love, i guess. a successful departure. dark, depressing, very funny. the dog lives

a field in england (2013) 🍄

i’ve probably made my thoughts on this one clear enough for the time being. one of the best modern folk horror films, one of reece’s best performances, one of the best british films ever. the interesting thing to note here is that for the first time, wheatley takes one of his key pillars (in this case, folk horror) and runs with it as far as possible, to the exclusion of everything else. he’ll do this again with his other pillars later, and it will be successful every time

high rise (2015) 🏢

i’ve seen high rise twice this year, and the second time i was really hoping it would turn out to be good after all. it’s not, though. it’s a huge mess. the ending is particularly baffling and stupid. some actors are good in it, especially reece, but he’s not even in it enough to make it really worth rewatching. thematically, a huge departure for wheatley, but unlike sightseers, it doesn’t come up with anything else to latch onto. it does have a brief psychedelic sequence which feels very tacked-on and underwhelming. further points deducted for michael smiley not being there

free fire (2016) 🔫

speak of the devil!! who’s that, it’s michael smiley!! and he crushes in this!! as does EVERYBODY in this wonderful cast!! oh man. another exercise in taking one pillar of the idiom and running with it as hard as possible. this time, it’s unglamorous low-level organised crime and violence. and it’s JUST THAT. it’s insane and weird and it rules. it’s also a metaphor for the troubles. i miss armie hammer unfortunately, he was really good at playing total bastards and he looked good in this

happy new year, colin burstead (2018) 🥂

another ‘one pillar to its logical extreme’ exercise, this time revolving entirely around family dysfunction. again, very successful. funny, sad, absolutely wonderful ending. made me think about my sister’s wedding lmao

rebecca (2020) 👗

rebecca is alright, but the fun for me mostly came from looking for little ways wheatley snuck his idiom into it around the edges of the studio. it’s really about gender roles/femininity and womanhood in particular; i’m sure plenty has been written about that wrt the source material and the more famous film

in the earth (2021) 🌳

zach is babie. what else can i say? if he was in this more, and/or if the film was a lot more violent, i would like it more. if it dropped the pandemic angle, i would like it more. it’s not a worthy successor to field, but nothing could be. it’s fine. it’s got some good stuff in it. i like it, and i’d probably like it more if it had no relationship to field whatsoever, or if it leaned hard into being an overt sequel / continuation of that story. can you even imagine? i think my issue is just that it doesn't commit hard enough to being any one particular thing

meg 2: the trench (2023) 🦈

fuck this movie fr. and i’m not saying that because i’m a snob. i actually liked the first one okay! i thought it succeeded on its own terms! meg 2 does not succeed at fucking anything. it has brief flashes of being good, like when that chick’s head implodes, or the shot from inside the shark’s mouth, or when statham kicks a man into a shark’s mouth and says “see you later, chum.” and then for the whole rest of the time it’s complete balls. the dialogue is so clunky. the bits that are just humans interacting with each other about non-shark business should be good or at least NOT SHIT, like… i’ve SEEN happy new year colin burstead i KNOW wheatley can do humans. except he forgot how, apparently. baffling. heartbreaking. i used to work with reality tv ip, and we used to say “just because it’s trash, that doesn’t mean it has to be bad.” meg 2 had to be trash but it didn’t have to be bad. at least, not this bad. rip

[wannab-urs]

Build Me Up Buttercup | Ch. 2

Just to let me down?

Summary: You get a verdict on your essay and have a little run in at the bar

Word Count: 800ish - sorry it’s so short. I couldn’t resist the cliffhanger and had to cut it off.

Warnings: Still none... but we're getting closer!

P.S. I plan on updating this daily but also if I can't get a chapter finished, I can't get it finished, ya know?

You’re sitting in the library, presumably working on an essay for Modern British Lit, but really you’re thinking about Dr. Miller. Yesterday, you had been closer to him than you ever have before. You sit at the back of his class and never raise your hand to answer questions, afraid he’d dismiss your answer outright. 

He’s hot from a distance sure, but up close? Holy shit. The way his curls fell over his eyes as he worked. The way his tongue poked out between his lips. It’s almost cute. And then the way his biceps bulged beneath his weathered band tee… He’s seriously gorgeous. He has to be, what? In his mid 50s? You were used to men that old looking like your granddad… he was far from looking like a grandpa yesterday. 

The sound of an email notification interrupts your train of thought.

See me in my office 

-Miller 

How formal. God damn, he’s an asshole. He’s an asshole. He’s not fucking cute.

You assume it’s about your essay, so you decide to stop by his office after your Chaucer class. That class is a trip. The professor wears these weird ass outfits all the time with vibrantly colored pants and you’re honestly kind of living for it. But he also keeps giving you Bs on all your essays without any feedback as to why they’re not As. You’d take your solid B in that class over your 57 in Miller’s class any day though.

You resolve to go to his office hours again later today and go back to trying to write your essay.

He’s preoccupied again, taking notes on a book you can’t see the name of, when you get to his office. Today he’s opted for a black Led Zeppelin shirt that’s obviously vintage, small holes revealing tiny peeks of his broad chest. His hair is even more unruly today and the disheveled former punk vibes are a really good look on him. Bastard. 

Before you even open your mouth to speak, he does that hand thing, like he’s shooing you away. You decide to just sit down and wait for him to finish what he’s doing. 

After what feels like half an hour but is probably a minute, he sets his pen down in the book and closes the cover. The book is called “Neoliberalism on the Ground” Seems… actually interesting. Your eyes flick up to his face and he’s looking at you expectantly, as if you asked to see him. 

“Well?” You arch an eyebrow at him.

“I reread your essay.” You stare at him waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

 “And?” 

“And it was good.” 

It was good? That’s all?  “And?” 

“And I’ll change your grade to a B.” 

A fucking B? Fine. Whatever. Best you’re gonna get. “Why the change of heart?” 

“Didn’t read it the first time.” 

“Are you serious?” No like, is he actually fucking kidding right now?

“Saw the neo-gothic cathedral on the cover, gave you a D, moved on.” 

“What!? I spent hours on that! Days! And you had the audacity to not even fu--- to not even read it? Are you kidding me?” 

“Listen, sweetheart, if you had to read 98 amateur architecture essays, you’d skim too.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Do you want me to change the grade back?” 

“Do you want me to report you?”

“Fair enough.” 

God, you want to strangle him. “Is that all, then, Miller?” 

“Don’t call me that.” Jesus fucking christ. 

You roll your eyes and stomp out of his office.

You’re sitting at a hightop in the bar just off campus with Cooper and your other friend Em, filling them in on the essay drama. 

“So, yeah, he called me ‘sweetheart’ and I left,” you finish. 

“Wait, is Dr. Miller the hot one?”

“Yes, Em, pay attention,” Coop says, rolling their eyes. 

“Yes. He’s attractive. That is SO not the point, though?!” Your friends are ridiculous. 

“So… how did you get him to up the grade? Did you give him head under his desk or something?” Em teases, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“Gross! No!” 

“I would have… I’ve seen him on campus. I’d suck the meat off them bones.” 

“You are absolutely disgusting, Emily. No I did not give my professor a fucking blowjob to get a better grade!” 

“I’m just saying! You could do worse…” 

“I just asked him to show me a modicum of respect. Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Oh my god is that him?” Cooper is staring hard at the back of some dude’s head at the bar. He has curly brown hair streaked with gray and broad shoulders covered in a green flannel. Shit that could be him.

“There’s no way Dr. Miller is here right now. I will literally kill myself.” 

At the sound of his name, Dr. Miller turns and looks over his shoulder, immediately locking eyes with you. 

“Oh shit, that is him,” you say, ducking your head and hoping he won’t see you. Play it cool. There’s no way he actually heard you. 

“Is he still looking?” You ask, peeking up at your friends.

“Um-” Cooper starts.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @wednesdayday, @whoiscaroline, @goldenhxurs, @northernwindd, @djarinxore, @worhols, @amanitacowboy, @silkiers, @4ueijos, @livinxdeadxgrl, @chknikkbxss, @thepriceofpepper, @lexic-22, @sunshinebtrfly, @ccelinea, @harriedandharassed

[bambi-kinos]

i honestly wouldn’t care so much about omegaverse if people were just honest about how it’s a porn genre instead of insisting how it’s queer activism. especially on twitter there’s a weird group of people who think its the pinnacle of feminism to make men suffer through patriarchy but poorly thought out patriarchy and omegaverse sidelines women constantly (though i’ve seen fair share of female centric omegaverse but those don’t seem to push the activism view and feels more like it’s a porn genre, but the dog dick thing is still uncomfortable) another thing about the activism thing people push is about how omegaverse is actually really liberating for trans men or whatever as a blanket statement. don’t care if other trans men like omegaverse but i certainly don’t think omegaverse is reflective of the ftm experience. especially since all the characters are presumably cis in the stories even if they’re sometimes written with vaginas in universe it doesn’t matter! this is why the “if you dislike omegaverse you’re queer phobic” mindset drives me crazy. i’m sorry if this ask is really long i feel vindicated that other people find omegaverse a terrible genre ive disliked it for years, i can tolerate some stories but i can never take it seriously.

HAHA. Yeah this is a good summation of where I am at as well. The thing is omegaverse has always been up its own ass just a little, in Strange Aeons oral history of Dashcon someone at the con had made a presentation about omegaverse that said "omegaverse has six genders, here's what the six genders are" and it was about relating these fictional six genders to the IRL queer experience? Or at least that's how i interpreted it from the video. And the thing is this was almost at the very beginning of omegaverse as a trend and users were already trying to gentrify it into something that it isn't.

IMO omegaverse appeared at the same time that tumblr slacktivism was being heavily criticized. Don't know if anyone else remembers this but there was a viral tumblr post that had British protestors out with placards and signs and they were protesting in favor of gay marriage, and one of the signs said "let John and Sherlock get married." And the tumblr post absolutely exploded because people were mad (for good reason) that someone was bringing their fandom attitudes into IRL activism. And people were mad because gay marriage was something was desperately needed for legal protection and there was a lot of outrage that a fujoshi instead decided to make it about Johnlock, because that was the only way she could relate to gay marriage activism.

The problem though is that this viral post was like, a nuclear bomb in the tumblr consciousness. The website never recovered. That's where the idea of "minority representation" took off, because fujoshis were bullied and made to feel ashamed of liking gay ships and were accused of being "slacktivists" by writing fanfiction or whatever, even when we were not actually interested in doing activism. (I think some poor idiots tried to say that "writing slash fanfic means I'm fighting for gay rights" which got skewered.) So the idea of "representation" was dreamed up as a response to it, because no one likes being accused of being a ~fetishizer~. Saying "well actually me writing this fanfiction is good because I'm being Representational" was a way to politically justify your gay cocks rubbing together fetish. Tumblr was totally overrun with keyboard slacktivists screaming at and bullying each other over gay ships which made the "representation" and "fanfiction as queer activism" thing really take off. It was really just a way to avoid being bullied and in many ways it still is.

And while all of this was going on, omegaverse was born! So maybe in hindsight it did not stand a chance, no one wanted to admit that they just had a fetish for werewolves and noncon because that would get them bullied. Like I cannot stress enough that I was in Ground Zero for this shit so I remember when omegaverse fans were fielding accusations of "fapping to bestiality" and other horrible fucked and untrue things. So they were desperate, absolutely DESPERATE to put a respectable coat of paint on their porn so that Tumblr would stop bullying them for it. (There was a scat component to it as well but that wasn't as prominent as the bestiality themed noncon that came out of it. And I mean...both of those things are fine because it's fiction, so whatever, but it's not shocking that anything that was adjacent to those things would get pushback.)

In a way, fans did not have a choice except to pretend that the porn was actually Queer Empowerment and Feminist Empowerment and how it was Totally Liberating to read about men with dog dicks raping other men with anal fissures. They had to do it in order to protect themselves. This resulted in entire essays being written about how being anally impregnated by a guy with a dogdick who "ruts" like an animal is, like, suuuuuch a female experience you guiz!!!!!!! We gorls have all been there amirite!!!!! And if you didn't take that view and said "who is 'we' in this equation, you're not affiliated with me and I don't recognize these experiences" you received some online hate for Not Being With the Feminist Cause. In time that has metastasized and now there are omegaverse fans who, as you indicate, decided to start bullying other queer people people for not liking it.

(And you know, as I'm editing this, I'm realizing just how insanely transphobic that kind of stance was! Incredible erasure of trans people took place in those "why Omegaverse is the peak of feminism" essays.)

The lesbian omegaverse stuff is basically the purest form of it and hence it's the most tolerable. Yuri fiction gets so little attention anyway, yuri writers basically have carte blanche to do whatever they want. There's very little infighting in comparison to slash fandoms. Funnily enough when women are involved as characters no one wants to read about the Feminine Political Experience and no one cares enough to turn it into activism. It's only slash ships that get that projection and its 100% due to the "oh shit we need to pretend this is Representation so that we don't get bullied for having a fetish" deal. (This has since spread into most aspects of fandom and even IRL discourse! Do what you will with that information.)

Massive +1 to your note about how it affects queer people. I can't imagine what it's like to be a transman and be told "umm ackchually sweaty being impregnated with a dog cock is the HEIGHT of the transman experience and if you don't like it then you can get out." When I was weirded out by the book I cataloged that was an omegaverse romance, one of the rhetorical lines that got flung at me was "straight people aren't going to like you!!! they're always going to hate you!!!! you're never going to not be disgusting to them!!! you have to like it or else you're a bad queer person!!!" Because I had said that I found the material grotesque and I didn't like it being marketed as "LGBT fiction."

But that was never the point, the point was that I, a queer person, do not want this material anywhere near me. Like, why would I want to be associated with bestiality, even if it's fantasy bestiality? This ain't about the cishetties, this is about me, how I feel. I don't want to be told that it's inherently queer fiction and queer romance, because why would I want dog penises and the captivating aroma of poopy buttholes (sorry, "slick") to be associated with my queerness and my sexuality?

But those are the wages of omegaverse being born in the times that it was born in. It's most likely permanently baked into the structure, even when people are just wilding out with their Ids and going "oh teehee I forgot to take my suppressants and now my reproductive anal glands need to be expressed." You are still going to get the "my werewolf themed fanfiction is ACTIVISM, we are HERE we're QUEER and you need to GET OVER IT" even when you yourself are queer and have been persecuted for it in the past. Either jump on the dogdick carousal or you're queerphobic.

I should underline that I understand that this is quite literally a Not All Fans Situation and imo most users in fandom try not to get on each other's cases so much about our preferences. The problem is that omegaverse has been a vehicle for buckwild levels of cope, junk science, SJW themed bullying, and superiority complexes because there are a plurality of fans that are trying to gentrify weird porn. And that's the sticking point in all of this especially if you're someone who doesn't like it and want to stay away from it.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Sussex Vampire pt 2

It took me five times to write the title correctly, so this is clearly going to go brilliantly.

Back to the vampires

Now, my working theory is that the son is secretly trying to off his new half-sibling and frame his stepmother. Mainly I think this because Peru, because British authors in the first part of the twentieth century loved a good untraceable tropical poison from South America.

“She verra ill,” cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes at her master. “She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. I frightened stay alone with her without doctor.”

First... wow. That's some terrible accent work there. Yikes. Second, is she ill because she's been sucking poison out of her baby's neck?

“Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?” “I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor.”

First, all he's going to do is prescribe brandy. And second, it's lucky he's actually a medical doctor (Although I'm not convinced he's ever done much medicine. He wasn't at his practice much before he abandoned it to live with Holmes again.) You can't just go assuming that everyone called doctor such and such knows medicine. I have many friends and relatives who are doctors and literally 1 of them is a medical doctor.

Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitement than of any actual seizure.

Or... an untraceable tropical poison...

“A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with this devil?”

A fiend? A devil? Or perhaps...

(No, she's referring to the son. Definitely because who else could it be. Way too obviously directed at her husband here for it to actually be him.)

So far no brandy though. Watson must have lost all his medical knowledge since he left his practice. Woe.

“He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love him even to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That is how I love him. And yet he could think of me—he could speak of me so.”

Lady, I get it, I get it. You don't want to tell him his son is a murderer. But given the evidence you've left the poor man with, what do you expect. You think he'll just be like 'well, she beat my son and she keeps chowing down on our baby's neck, but I trust that she knows what she's doing?'

...a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale-faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward and threw his arms round his neck with the abandon of a loving girl.

The child is evil.

Although I kind of dislike how they're using his 'excess' of emotional response to show this, especially with the comparison to a woman. There's a distinct undercurrent in this description that sparks of him 'showing too much emotion for a boy' and therefore being othered.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into things in order to support my own hypothesis. Am I altering data to suit my story? Am I the misogynistic one reading too much into this.

Although it literally says in the text that his father 'gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some little show of embarrassment.'

Like, tell me that isn't outright supporting my reading.

Presently he returned, and behind him came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child, dark-eyed, golden-haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and the Latin. Ferguson was evidently devoted to it, for he took it into his arms and fondled it most tenderly.

Watson out there refusing to apply gendered pronouns. How very modern of him. Lol.

It is a bit weird to see a baby referred to as 'it' so consistently, though. Not even 'them'. Reminds me of the baby object in the Sims.

Then he smiled, and his eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there was this small puckered mark. Without speaking, Holmes examined it with care. Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front of him. “Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life."

Holmes being very nice to a baby. Actually interacting with... it? when he really doesn't need to. Not like the baby knows what he's saying. Just taking the time to be nice to a baby. Super heartless and lacking in empathy, that man.

“Do you like her, Jack?” Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. His expressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his head. “Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes,” said Ferguson, putting his arm round the boy. “Luckily I am one of his likes.”

On the one hand, perfectly reasonable to dislike the woman who beat you. On the other hand, maybe the father knows his son is capable of terrible things.

The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him.

Oh my god, he's a kid. Let the boy have a hug. Even if he is a monster-child, this is probably why. Though I have a sneaking suspicion the story is going to try to tell me it's the exact opposite.

"Now, Mr. Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, and my methods have to be short and direct. The swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let me first say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good, a very loving, and a very ill-used woman.”

And your son is a murderer.

“I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you deeply in another direction.” “I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth is insignificant compared to that.”

People really need to think before they make statements like this. I understand that he is unlikely to consider that his son is trying to murder his other child in a fit of outraged jealousy over having to share his beloved father, but still... famous last words.

"The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England."

The specficity of this is very bizarre. Do they happen in other kinds of practices in England?

"Was there not a queen in English history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?”

Was there?

OK, apparently this refers to Queen Eleanor, who sucked the poison from Edward I's poisoned knife wound in 1272. A story that has, sadly, fallen out of vogue in the English educational system. Probably because we don't really like to discuss the crusades except in a very general, distant sense. Or... y'know... any of the other times we invaded people. There are a lot of gaps in English history lessons.

“A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of those weapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have been other poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that little empty quiver beside the small bird-bow, it was just what I expected to see. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in curare or some other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom were not sucked out."

Curare, that was the name I've been trying to think of. Very popular for a while in literature.

“I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed a background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as I have seldom seen in a human face.”

Sometimes it does suck to be right.

Suck... heh. Pun wasn't intended, but I'll take it.

“I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jacky,” said Holmes.

Like... they're making him work on a ship? I know therapy isn't really anything at this point in time. But would-be murderer child gets sent to sea?

I doubt he'll be killed in a mysterious shipwreck off page, like so many others have been, but really... how is sending him to sea going to help literally anyone? Surely it'll just make him angrier and more resentful.

Victorian parenting was super weird.

Is this to 'make him a man', because we've seen him being compared to a woman? Is this some sort of misguided restoration of the gender binary to save him?

"There, now,” he added as he closed the door behind him, “I think we may leave them to settle the rest among themselves.”

Also Holmes reading the room well enough to know husband and wife need some alone time?

(One last vampire gif there that I don't know if anyone but me will even recognise. Josef, you almost made me understand the vampire thing...)

[darsynia]

Sneak Peek: Shipping and Handling Ch 1

SERIES MASTERLIST | HAND(S) OFF MASTER | STORY LINK

Story Summary: Whether it's fair or not, you and Steve are chemically linked. The circumstances may have been unusual, but they aren't impossible to replicate, meaning there could be other couples going through the same thing. Dr. Bruce Banner has asked the two of you to submit to a series of tests over a period of weeks, tests that are meant to keep the side-effects you're experiencing at a minimum, but which also mean you'll be seeing more of each other.

As the days pass, two things become clear: proximity doesn't lift the ardor as much as Banner expected... and though you try to keep it to themselves, both you and Steve feel just as emotionally drawn to each other as you are physically. Are those feelings also prompted by Mistress? Is there any way to figure it out ethically? Will the new way you're both seeing Bucky make things worse... or better?

Length/Warnings: snippet is 530 / this is a horny (but not sexual) snippet, minors DNI

The guy at the security counter calls the apartment with a dubious expression that makes you worried about just how much like a vagabond you look, but eventually nods and directs you to an elevator.

“He’ll meet you in the hallway,” the man says, leaning into the elevator car once you’ve boarded to call out a code phrase you don’t recognize. He gives you one last once-over and adds, “It changes every week.”

When the door closes, your imperfect reflection in the silver coating has you scrambling to adjust the moist cling of your blouse on your breasts. Unkempt twists of hair are glued to your cheeks and forehead with perspiration, and you’d completely forgot that for an easy ego boost, you always apply performance-quality red lipstick for final rehearsal.

In short, the security guy had a point.

The doors open before you get a chance for a last once-over after your adjustments. The best you can do is a weird crossed-arms stance with your hands spread wide to obscure just how lovingly your damp red top is cupping your assets.

Thankfully, the man standing in the hallway is Bucky Barnes.

You rush out, dropping your hands to gesture at yourself with one as you laugh into the other. “Do you see this?” you ask, eyes wide. “I guess I’m lucky the guard downstairs didn’t call the cops instead of the apartment!”

Bucky trails his piercing blue eyes along your outfit, his expression impassive. For the first time ever in his presence, you feel a little objectified, but you shake that off. After all, you told him to look-- and given the growing appreciation in his gaze, he’s at least giving you a bit of a self-esteem boost. When Bucky’s finished, having followed through by taking in your pencil skirt and crimson sandals with his head tipped to the side, he finally looks you in the eyes.

“Nice toenail polish,” he smirks.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you gripe under your breath. “Please tell me you have a shirt I can borrow? They still have the heat on at the venue, Babs is tearing out her hair. If the forecast is right about how hot it’ll be tomorrow night, we’ll have to hand out free cups of ice to keep an audience.”

“Yeah, but we got a gauntlet to run before that,” he tells you. The apartment door’s open, and he stands to the side, gesturing for you to precede him.

“If it’s related to another set of metal doors and a scary British man telling me to hide, I’ll just walk home, spring heatwave or not.”

“She’s here?” Steve says from inside. He comes out right as you walk over, and both of you stop within inches of each other. “You’re late,” he says-- but the tone of his voice is the exact same stressed, desperate, needy one you’ve tried not to fondly remember. The words, ‘Oh, Steve, if you’re going for ‘stern,’ be careful! hover up as a possible response, but you can’t imagine saying them in anything other than your flirty lounge singer persona, and that would cross too many lines, especially today.

[sesamestreep]

Taylor Swift prompts: Matt/Foggy, 13

13. hands around a cold glass (from the SECOND Taylor Swift prompt list) I was struggling with some writer's block a few weeks ago and my dearest Zainab was kind enough to give me permission to write a tiny Matt/Foggy-centric one-shot set in her Great British Bake-Off AU and I absolutely leapt at the chance, because I love this 'verse and I've been bothering her with texts about what these two would be up to in that AU since like January. I think this makes sense without reading her previous entries in the series (which focus primarily on Sam and Bucky, with an ensemble cast of other MCU characters), but you should read them anyway because they're very good and they will make your life better! Cross-posted to AO3 here (with more notes) if that's your jam 🍯

Even though they’ve set aside their evening for the express purpose of making a decision, Foggy waits until they’ve finished the takeout they ordered to the office (neutral ground, so no one has home field advantage) and cleaned up all the various cartons and silverware and settled back at the conference table with each of their second beers of the night before he brings up the thing they’re supposed to be talking about.

“Okay,” Foggy says, setting his beer down firmly and flipping a page over on his legal pad to find where he scribbled some notes earlier. “Reason number one that you should move into my apartment: you love me.”

“You can’t use that as one of your reasons,” Matt replies, tapping a pen against the table in a fidgety gesture that’s unlike him.

“Why not?”

“Because you also love me, which means you should move into my apartment. They cancel each other out!”

“Oh, my bad,” Foggy says, as he crosses it off his list. “I didn’t know we were playing by Boggle rules…”

Matt scrunches his nose in confusion. “I’m not familiar.”

“Really?” he asks. “You don’t know Boggle? It’s like a classic word game, you have these little cubes with letters on them that you shake and—you know what, saying it out loud, it makes sense that you haven’t played it. I understand that now. It would be impossibly boring even if there was a braille version. Moving on! Reason number two that you should move in with me!”

“Okay…”

“I’m super handsome.”

“Foggy!”

“What?”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m also handsome,” he says, quietly, after a minute.

“Damn, that’s true,” Foggy says, as if it had never occurred to him.

“Please take this seriously!”

“Fine! Reason number three: I have a lot more stuff than you do. It will take me so long to pack and it will probably make me cry and possibly throw up. You, comparatively, would have a much easier time packing, because you live like a weird, sad monk.”

“Hey! I do not! Just because I don’t like clutter…”

“Until we started dating, you owned one singular blanket,” Foggy points out. “It was a blanket for your bed and your couch that you moved back and forth as needed.”

“It was a perfectly good system,” Matt grumbles.

“Right, but isn’t it better now that you have a bed blanket and a couch blanket?”

“I guess,” Matt admits, as though he’s being tormented. “To be fair, it would probably take you at least a week just to pack up all of your cookbooks.”

“I don’t have that many!”

“You bought three new ones last week! That’s already three more than I own!”

“I can’t help it that my friends keep writing cookbooks,” Foggy objects. “What was I supposed to do, Matt? Not buy Daisy’s book?”

Matt crosses his arms, irritably. “No, but you didn’t know the authors of the other two books you bought. You could’ve skipped theirs.”

“Cookbooks make me happy! I don’t tell you not to…go to the gym!”

“You do, in fact, tell me that all the time.”

Foggy makes a hand gesture that’s meant to convey the sentiment of duh, except that such things are generally lost on Matt, for obvious reasons. “Yeah, well, usually it’s because I want you to stay in bed longer.”

“And I want you to own fewer cookbooks so that there’s room in the apartment for us to actually have a bed.”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “Give me one of your reasons, then.”

“I know where everything is in my apartment,” Matt says, simply, “whereas at your place, I’m always looking in the wrong cabinets for stuff or tripping over things.”

“That’s just because you’re not as used to it. I’d go through the same thing if I moved to your place!”

“You’d still have an easier time of it than me.”

“That’s…fair,” Foggy concedes. “I can’t really disagree with that without being an asshole.”

“My favorite way to win an argument,” Matt replies, with a smile. “Playing the blind card.”

Foggy shakes his head. “You devious son of a bitch.”

“Also, my apartment is closer to the office and my rent is cheaper.”

“I’ll give you the cheap rent thing, though it is only because of that terrible billboard with the crazy LED lights that come through your windows at all hours, which does not bother you but would definitely bother me.”

“I remember you sleeping through three separate fire drills in college. I think you’d somehow manage to deal with the unique lighting situation of this apartment.”

“Fine,” Foggy admits, begrudgingly. “But I absolutely contest it being a mark in your favor that your apartment is closer to the office. I think it helps with work-life balance that my place is a little farther away.”

Matt thinks this over for a moment and then nods. “Okay, fine. We’ll call it a draw.”

“Good. Moving on, then. Reason number…whatever that my apartment is better: I live right next door to that bodega with those amazing breakfast sandwiches and the good, cheap coffee you love.”

“Fuck,” Matt says, with feeling. “That’s a really good point.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Okay,” he says, in the tone Foggy’s been hearing him use in court and mock trials and even drunken debates for over a decade now.  It means Matt is currently running through his rebuttal in his mind, devising the best and most efficient way to win this round. Foggy loves that tone of voice, and the expression of intense thought that always accompanies it, even if it usually means he's about to lose whatever argument they're having. He really should be more immune to it by now, but love has made him weak and he's truly not even mad about it.

“My apartment,” Matt says, finally, “has an in-unit washer and dryer.”

That’s a solid point, but Foggy is not going to admit defeat so easily. “Okay,” he says, “but—counterpoint—mine has a dishwasher!”

“I don’t mind hand washing dishes,” Matt replies with a shrug.

“Wait until you live with me to say that,” Foggy says. “I bake all the time! It’s a lot of dishes!”

“It’s still not as bad as having to go to a laundromat and pay whenever you need to do laundry!”

“Well, my landlord says the machines in the basement will be fixed soon, so my laundromat days are numbered.”

“I will believe that when I see it.”

“You can’t see anything, sweetheart.”

“Exactly,” Matt says, smugly. He may have a point. Foggy’s landlord has been saying the washing machines will be fixed “soon” for six months now.

Foggy blows out a breath, making as much noise as humanly possible to express his frustration. “So, where does that leave us? Is somebody winning?”

Matt laughs and distractedly runs a finger through the layer of condensation on his beer bottle, dividing it down the middle with a thick line. “Honestly, I don’t know. It feels like we’re even, at this point.”

“In the spirit of honesty, then, can I ask you something?”

Matt shrugs, the gesture completely at odds with how tense the rest of his body became at the question. “Sure.”

“You do want to move in with me, right?” Foggy asks, hating himself a little for even needing to. “I know we’ve discussed it, and you said you wanted to, but it’s okay if you’re not ready yet or you changed your mind. It’s a big step—”

Matt leans forward to cover Foggy’s hand with his own, letting his fingers, still cold and damp from holding the glass, brush over Foggy’s wrist, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Of course I want to! Does it seem like I don’t?”

“No, it’s just—I know you like your space and that you value your independence a lot, and I get that but I also don’t necessarily relate to it on the same level. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into doing something that’s going to make you miserable.”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not pressuring me and living with you is not going to make me miserable. It will do the opposite, in fact.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not even going to be our first time living together, dumbass,” Matt says, fondly. “You do remember college, don’t you?”

“Very little of it, in fact,” Foggy quips. “I think I was drunk for most of Spring 2010. It’s more or less a blank spot.”

“Still, we didn’t hate living together then, did we?”

“No,” Foggy replies. “One could even argue that we loved living together.”

“And that was with us sleeping in twin beds. Imagine how much better it will be, uh…not in twin beds…”

Foggy stifles a laugh. “Matt, did you seriously get all blushy at the idea of a queen sized bed?”

“No,” Matt says, tipping his chin down to hide his face. "Shut up!"

“You’re so cute. I want to have sex with you immediately.”

“No! No sex! In fact, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you’re not! You love me!”

“Yes, I do,” Matt says, sullenly, “And for what it’s worth, I only got embarrassed because it felt like I was implying that we slept together in our dorm in college, which obviously wasn’t true and I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to admit how big of a crush you had on me back then, I get it,” Foggy says. “Oh, wait, sorry! That was me!”

“Again: shut up!”

“Okay, but now you’ve got me thinking: maybe we should do twin beds…”

“Foggy,” Matt groans.

“I don’t want our relationship to be in violation of the Hays Code, Matt!”

“Well, we’re both men, so that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid…”

“I’m just saying: if it’s good enough for Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke, it should be good enough for us!”

“To each their own, I guess, but I sleep better when I share a bed with you.”

“I’ll pretend your reasons are romantic,” Foggy says, aiming for sarcasm and missing by a wide margin, “and not just because you turn into a koala when you sleep.”

“Have you considered being less huggable, maybe?” Matt asks, with a straight face.

“That’s like asking the sun to be less radiant! It is counter to my very nature!”

He smiles. “Fair point.”

Foggy leans back in his chair, making sure to keep his fingers tangled together with Matt’s as he does. He sighs, closing his eyes, and tries to come up with an answer to their problem. It’s a big step for their relationship and huge life changes tend to require sacrifice or compromise on some level, but it’s difficult to think of an option that doesn’t require much more of that from one of them than the other. Except…

“I have a very stupid idea,” Foggy announces. 

“Okay,” Matt replies, warily.

“And I know it’s stupid, okay? I just said that, but I want to be very clear that I’m aware of it. I’m just going to say it anyway, to put it out there.”

“Okay…”

“Should we just look for a place together?”

Matt furrows his brow, puzzling through the implications of this option. “As in, we both leave our current apartments for a completely new one?”

“Yeah. That way we both have to pack, and move, and get used to a new space, instead of only one of us having to do it. I know it’s more expensive and more trouble, so—“

“Is it weird that it makes me feel better?” Matt asks. “The idea that we’d both have to be inconvenienced, equally?”

“No,” Foggy admits. “It makes me feel better too. I want it to feel equal. And we could find a bigger place, maybe with an extra room.”

“For an office?”

Foggy laughs. “Honestly, it’s a sign of how low my standards are that I’m just relieved your mind didn’t go immediately to an in-home gym.”

Matt’s eyebrows lift, excitedly. “We could find a building that has a gym, though.”

“Like you’d ever cheat on Fogwell’s like that.”

“I meant for cross-training…”

“Of course you did,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “We could make a list. Things we need—“

“Close to the bodega with the good coffee,” Matt interjects, smiling.

“And a functional laundry room, somewhere on site,” Foggy adds, nodding. “And then a list of things that would be nice to have, like a gym or no nearby billboards that will fry my retinas in the middle of the night.”

“So, you’re saying we’d get to debate and write out two more lists?” Matt asks. “Are you trying to seduce me right now? In our office? Where solemn attorney-ing is done?”

“No, it just comes so naturally to me,” Foggy replies, running his thumb over Matt’s knuckles affectionately. “Though it sounds to me like that’s a yes?”

Matt gives him a surprised look. “Yes to…?”

“God, keep your pants on for two minutes, Murdock! I’m talking about the plan!”

“Oh, yeah. The plan. I mean, I know it’s more work for us and more trouble, but…”

“I’d go through a lot more trouble for your sake, if it means making you happy,” Foggy says, simply. It’s the truth, and he tries to make it a habit to say what he means, especially with Matt. It took them long enough to get here. What’s the point in hiding how he feels now?

Matt rests his chin in the hand that isn’t holding Foggy’s. “You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it before, once or twice.”

“I don’t know what I did to get so lucky.”

“You smiled at me once when we were eighteen and it was all over for me. And then fifteen years later, you got jealous of a woman I met on a reality show and finally fell in love with me.”

Matt turns an adorable shade of pink and takes his hand away to cross his arms petulantly over his chest. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, so it didn’t take me going to a wedding with one of my best friends under completely platonic circumstances for you to admit you had feelings for me?” Foggy asks, grinning.

“I don’t recall, actually,” Matt says, primly, as he reaches for his beer again and takes an uninterested sip. 

“Speaking of Daisy,” Foggy says, enjoying this way too much, “I should talk to her. She and Daniel said their realtor from when they moved was great. They might be able to put us in touch with someone.”

“We could always use the realtor who rented me my place,” Matt suggests, in the neutral tone of someone who definitely wouldn’t rather eat glass than ask Daisy for help with anything. “She was very helpful and I remember she gave me her card. I could probably find it.”

“Yeah, she gave you her card because she wanted to sleep with you,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “Pass.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Foggy,” Matt replies, with an evil smile. “She showed me the apartment under completely platonic circumstances.”

Foggy rolls his eyes at that. “You’ve never been in platonic circumstances with anyone, Matt! Every person who meets you wants to sleep with you immediately.”

Matt shrugs, like this means nothing. “Too bad for them. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Foggy laughs. “Is it serious?”

Matt nods, and his smile isn’t evil at all anymore. “Very,” he says. “We’re moving in together.”

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "Odd Ones In" Episode Followup, Part 5

Part 5, end of the line!

Only a few stray images left in this one, plus some credits discussion and final thoughts. Let's go!

M' boy's an Investigation agent, finally! Though really, after seeing him in his Department of Help uniform for so long, it's jarring to see him in an Investigation department uniform. Something I'll have to get used to.

Either the girl thinks this is Blue's Clues and she can skidoo into that basket, or she wants to bring back all the Mystery Box idents PBS Kids had.

Could go either way. I won't get mad either way.

Okay, look, son, you can at least crack a smile. A bigger smile. I can't not smile at Orli's pure elated happiness. Pure Olympia energy.

"You used to run your own Odd Squad..."

I'M SORRY WHOT. PLAY THAT BACK BITCH???? HE WAS A DIRECTOR AT ONE POINT IN TIME????? THE FUCK KNOCKED HIM OUT OF THAT SHIT, OHLM AND HIS CRONIES?????

(In all seriousness, though, it's been so long that I forgot about the obligatory backstory-hinting that goes on in first episodes. Which means I'm due at the local Wallfart for some memory pills.)

Okay, so if I have this straight...Ozzie was a Director in the Management department at one point, but something with the Terrible Three made him quit and become the sole employee of Precinct 97531's Department of Help, which either is a fake department that doesn't exist or is a department that was created just for him by Captain O herself.

So here's my theory: the Terrible Three are agents that used to work under Ozzie, but turned evil for some reason or another and retaliated against him. He couldn't take it, and/or got beaten badly, and eventually quit.

If PBS had the decency to dump all the episodes on their video app, I could actually check that theory in the span of a few weeks when I get through the Seren's Study followups for the other episodes. But alas, I'll have to wait to see if it's true.

Either way, I like the unique direction they're going with for the story arc this time. Whether it's executed well in the span of 12 episodes is another story entirely. If you were there for the Olando disaster -- I still have nightmares, don'tcha know -- you might already have an idea of how this one's gonna go. But hey, things could change. Who knows. We got new writers this time around, presumably with more beefy resumes and more experience.

*deep inhale*

And maybe some weird infatuation with old age and pain. I mean I'm in my mid-20s, but if I had to flail and scream about my pain, no one in the fandom would hear the end of it and I'd be labeled the Fandom's Greatest Annoyance™.

Durapractic bar. Thank me later.

One more shot of Fireball for "O is Not For Old". I don't care if it's her lower legs and feet, it still counts, shut the up hell.

Something I forgot to note, but Captain O also has juice boxes as a signature drink. However, unlike Oprah, she goes for the more exotic flavors, like hot chocolate.

Which only lessens the alcohol symbolism by a mere few points because it's not juice. It's still there. Trust me. It's still there.

And now, let's pick apart the credits for this episode.

Ah, so the creator credits are at the end this time. Aside from Asha and Alexander, we have Shelly Lagodinsky as Captain O...

And we have the cast list for the rest of our colorful cast of characters. I'll have to go back and see who Agent Onit is, because it's 5AM and I am tired as tennis balls.

Also of note: the tube animation for the credits got a hell of an upgrade as well. It's more prismatic now!

...Nope, I don't recognize this name. Though to be fair, like I said, there's a mix of British staff and Canadian staff here, so not recognizing some names is going to come with the territory.

Goodbye Christine Toye, hello Sally Campbell! I haven't really seen enough of her work to make a solid opinion yet, unfortunately.

And your music composers for this series/season! As I noted, Paul Buckley is no longer involved -- instead we have a whole team of composers, plus a person composing all of the songs in the series!

As much as I love Paul Buckley and his work (on both Odd Squad and Tiny Time Travel), this team definitely surpassed him by miles. The music is more dynamic, fitting the scenes appropriately and adding extra tension to scenes that show agents in combat against an oddity. Honestly, the music is one of the best parts of the entire series/season so far! Hoping that, if there's a Season 2/Season 5, they come back as composers. I need them.

...Huh. I take that back. Christine Toye is in the credits, credited for agent designs seen in past seasons.

Something something eligibility determined by how many British terms you drop. I dunno. Give me a bit to work something out.

Oh, I'm gonna make so many "UK tax credit" jokes throughout all these episodes, believe you me.

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

And that's it. Whoo, it's...wow. This is gonna be so disorganized...fuckin' 5:30 in the morning and everything.

But I'll give you my sleep-deprived thoughts anyway. Keep 'em for posterity. I'll keep 'em to show the doctor in 3 months at my next appointment.

So as I pointed out before, the audio balancing is a huge problem. I made note of it in my followup on the first gadget competition video, but apparently it's just as bad in future episodes as it was in this one. It might not be as noticeable if you play it on TV, but I have yet to test that out for myself, and even then, the TV I'll test on in question is from the late 2000s and on its way out speaker-wise.

But moving on from that: the pacing. It felt...a little all over the place at times. Not exactly rushed, but more like it's a ping-pong ball on a string. For 22 minutes, it could have been written to be smoother, but I do enjoy what we got and I'd say it's fairly better than "Odd Beginnings" and "Odd Off the Press" was.

As for the characters, I...don't have a good grip on them yet after one episode. I can sort of grasp their personalities, but not all too well. Ozzie, especially, was a worse offender -- I got that he was a helpful guy, but that sort of fizzled out after the first quarter. Maybe his tragic backstory might have had something to do with it, but I can't say for sure whether that's a factor in it or not. I do enjoy Onom, though. Onom supremacy. (With apologies to Manatsu Natsuumi and Komugi Inukai. I love you both too.)

With that being said...I'm tired, eyes need rest, and my entire body needs to sleep otherwise I will plop front of body on sidewalk while carrying garbage to curb and sleep on asphalt.

The plot was pretty solid for a season opener, though I'd enjoy if it were more epic in nature. Felt more like it was trying to copy the aesthetic of "First Day" but not quite working out in its favor.

Overall, it's already a lot better than the slop I was fed that was Season 3/Odd Squad Mobile Unit. And even when not comparing it to that, it's very enjoyable. Looking forward to seeing what silly antics these seven (and more) get into.

The next followup I will be doing is for "A Dish Served Odd", so I'll see you all around for that one. (Being an 11-minute episode, I'll know what I'm getting into with time. Hopefully.)

Seren out!

[enchi-elm]

[Thank you to whoever made these stills available, link here.]

I was rewatching S01E04 Eternity How Long and I remembered having the same slight cognitive dissonance the first time I watched this episode:

[Spoilers!]

"Is this presumably religious man really going to use headstones from consecrated ground to fortify a barracks?"

As a piece of writing, getting the Loyalists to dig up the headstones to their own ancestors to help fortify the barracks is brilliantly inflammatory. It's a real crisis of faith for Judge Woodhull, who so far hasn't paid any personal price for his loyalty to the crown. No, indeed, he's been profiting left, right and centre, both from his own estate and the estate of people like Selah Strong, whose crop he's selling before the estate it's on has even transferred ownership.

But it always struck me as just a bit too... cruel. Especially coming from Hewlett, who so far has been the model of discipline and what he considers fair-minded decency. Sure, he's nettled by Caleb's escape but still. A desecration like this? As a shield for cannon fire?

So I looked it up.

And was surprised to discover a number of things, including that there was, in fact, a Lt. Col. Richard Hewlett stationed at the church at that time, only he was from Long Island, with a family established there for generations. (Also, apparently those white wigs were out of fashion during the American Revolution?? News to me, I wonder what they would have looked like, then!)

And though he didn't repurpose the gravestones as barricades, here's an account from Zechariah Greene, one of the raiders from the Continental Army at the Battle of Setauket:

The tombstone of Rev. George Phillips and those of many others were destroyed by the British army, who built a fort around the church and cast up the bones of the dead. They destroyed the pulpit and the whole inside work of the church. Colonel Richard Hewlett commanded this body of men.

So the show took a bit of license as no headstones were used as barricades. However, constructing earth-works definitely destroyed the churchyard and disturbed bones. Oof. No win for consecrated ground here. (Ironic that in the show, Major Hewlett specifically assures Judge Woodhull that he won't be exhuming any bodies. Probably the sound judgment of one of the producers.)

So alright, I'll concede that narrative point.

One thing that definitely didn't happen, though, was the conversion of the church into a stables (sorry, Bucephalus). This has always struck me as a bit weird but I didn't know any better at the time so I figured, "historical people doing unhygienic things, whatever". But no, sensible minds have always existed and there's no earthly reason you would put a stable in a church. And they didn't, we know they didn't, because at the Battle of Setauket, the Continental Army stole a few horses that were tied up outside upon their retreat. Horses they could not have stolen had they been in a stable inside the church. (Although, if anyone's going to steal a horse from inside a church behind enemy lines, it would probably be Caleb who was, in fact, there that day.)

[justtellher]

Stupidly Lovely Human Traditions (A Good Omens Fanfic)

A/N: Felt like writing something fluffy for our ineffable pair this Valentine’s Day as a little break from my current WIP.  So please enjoy this little fluffy one-shot that was loosely inspired by @gleafer’s adorable little comic that delighted my brain and spiraled out into it's own story from there.  You can also read on ao3 here.

It’s a stupid holiday, he thinks as he passes by yet another gaudy chocolate-and-heart window display and weaves through the crowded Soho street filled with both shops and people dressed in their Valentine’s Day finest.  

Humans had always had a weird sense of logic though for the organization of their holidays: from celebrating the birth of Jesus five months early so as not to lose the opportunity to decorate trees to the strange British tradition of random bank holidays with no assigned meaning.  So really, naming a holiday of love for a man who was gruesomely martyred and buried on the Via Flaminia wasn’t that far of a stretch. 

He barely manages to swing out of the way in time to avoid taking a dozen roses to the face as a flustered florist bustles by with a frankly ostentatious arrangement balanced precariously in their hands, and Crowley grumbles under his breath as he brushes a few lost petals off of his jacket.  Yellow roses, he notes amusedly, denoting jealousy.  He hopes the recipient isn’t well versed in the language of flowers.   

Few humans were anymore though, a loss of knowledge which greatly entertained Crowley anytime he passed by a stand selling rather confused messages of bouquets.  Now, it was simply roses, roses, roses for romancing one’s partner.  If you bought into that sort of thing, which Crowley absolutely did not.  Why did one need generic gifts given on a randomly appointed day to prove love for their partner?  To be fair, he’d spent most of his existence without having (or at least pretending not to have) any romantic feelings of the sort.  But even now that he and Aziraphale had finally gotten on the same page post the Second Coming of it all, he still didn’t see the point.  It felt cheesy and trite. 

Not to mention the utterly ridiculous levels of sappy, corny adverts, gifts, and romantic drivel that seemed to pour out of stores and his favorite television show breaks as soon as New Years ended.  Torturous and hellish it was. 

Which meant that naturally of course, humans had invented it entirely on their own. 

He shifts the bottle of wine he’d just purchased to his other hand and crosses the road at a light jog to avoid the Valentine acapella service currently delivering a pitchy serenade to a young woman seated outside at Marguerite’s.   Normally, he wouldn’t leave his flat on February 14th, much preferring to sleep through the nonsense, or he would slink over to the bookshop to badger Aziraphale into letting him lounge idly on the sofa.  The latter of which he had been successfully doing until said angel had suggested the possibility of a bottle of wine, the type of which did not exist in the cellar and just had to be procured by Crowley from the local shop.  

“Y’know, angel, you can still miracle things,” Crowley had protested when Aziraphale had looked over at him imploringly from his latest binding repair work.  

A put-out sigh escaped his partner’s lips, “Well, yes dear, but,” the angel’s lips formed a soft pout as his eyes sparkled at Crowley over the rims of his glasses, “it’s never the same.” 

And so off Crowley had gone to the wine shop, cursing his inability to resist Aziraphale’s pleading blue stare.   

Speaking of said angel, Crowley belatedly notices him exiting the shop just as he makes it to the door with a huff, unable to stop his brusque forward momentum quickly enough to avoid their small collision.  He slams into the angel with a small grunt, Aziraphale’s hands shooting out to grab his waist in an effort to steady them both with a small chuckle, 

“Careful, dear,” those troublesome blue eyes glint up at Crowley, and the angel leans up to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek in greeting.  “Just stepping out for a quick moment, but you should go ahead inside.”

Crowley feels his cheeks heat slightly.  He’s still not quite used to this ease of unguarded affection they’re afforded now.  It feels surreal still, being able to love him openly.  He slides his own hands around the soft curve of Aziraphale’s waist and returns the greeting with a kiss of his own to the angel's upturned lips.  Aziraphale hums contentedly against his mouth, and Crowley’s heart gives a soft skip.  

It feels surreal still, that Aziraphale loves him back.  

“More miracle-less shopping, angel?” Crowley teases against his lips.  

Aziraphale pulls back, face flushed prettily as he smooths his hands up Crowley’s chest to give a gentle tug on his lapels (which absolutely does nothing to the demon’s ability to breathe deeply).  “Something like that,” he replies with an unfathomable smirk. 

“You do realize that’s almost as infuriating of a response as wait and—”  A sharp whack to his back cuts off his retort as another petite florist murmurs, “Terribly sorry!”, and scurries around them carrying a somehow even larger floral arrangement than the last one he’d been accosted with.  

Crowley groans, “Ergh, bloody ridiculous holiday this one.”  He gestures broadly, “Can’t even walk outside without being assaulted by sodding rose bushes.” 

Aziraphale regards him with an amused smile and an affectionate roll of his eyes, “Yes dear, you were very brave to go out at all.”

“Bastard,” Crowley mutters lovingly, and the smirk returns to Aziraphale’s lips as he leans in to press another kiss to the demon’s mouth, 

“So I’ve been told,” he whispers lowly against the corner of Crowley’s lips, and dammit that had no right to pulse heatedly through his veins the way it did.  He tilts his head slightly to capture Aziraphale’s lips properly again, but finds that the angel is already pulling back and out of his arms.  Crowley staggers slightly at the unexpected movement as his partner gives him a gleeful smile,

“I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tale.”  And then he’s disappearing around the corner, leaving Crowley to stare after him as his heart rate struggles to even back out at the abrupt change in tone.  

The doors to The Dirty Donkey open with a sudden bang, flooding the street momentarily with the blaring notes of “My Heart Will Go On”, as a raucous group spills into the busy street, and Crowley finds his earlier annoyance return to him with a start.  Groaning in disgust, he fumbles for the door handle and throws himself across the threshold and into the respite of the bookshop, flinging his glasses off as he steps down the entry stair into the shop and sets them along with the wine bottle down on the nearest table.  Sighing in relief, he takes in the familiar setting around him and freezes, mouth parted slightly in shock. 

This is not the same bookshop he left earlier. 

Tables have been shifted around so that they line the shop entryway more purposefully; Aziraphale’s prized gramophone sits on one next to two stemmed wine glasses, the gentle lyrics to I’ll Be Your Mirror filtering softly through the air from its speaker. Crowley swallows thickly against the sudden lump that’s formed in his throat.  He doesn’t remember ever telling Aziraphale that’s one of his favorite songs.  

Or that the angel even knew how to find a record he considered “bebop.” 

The rest of the tables are covered in vase after vase of flowers. No one had ever actually bought him flowers, he realizes idly, as he moves regard the tables more closely. Pristine cuttings in a riot of colors fill the space, and Crowley struggles to take them all in as his lungs make a valiant attempt to remember to take shallow breaths.  Because, oh, these flowers are not just roses; his eyes burn slightly and his chest feels tight as he takes note of the various arrangements. 

And unlike most humans, Aziraphale had not forgotten the meaning of flowers. 

He trails a tentative hand over a delicate blue hyacinth. Your loveliness charms me.  Fragrant apple blossoms–I prefer you before all–fill his senses and compete with the gentle undertones of a nearby bunch of yellow honeysuckle: Devoted affection.  Muted surprise catches his breath as he notes a stunning group of red tulips–I declare my love–and he can’t control the embarrassing stutter of his heart as he moves along the series of porcelain holders to admire the pure white bouquets of lilies and daisies.  My love for you is pure and true.  A selection of elegant dahlias sends a soft shudder through his spine–Eternal commitment–as the shop door opens and shuts softly behind him. 

“I do hope it’s not too much,” Aziraphale begins nervously.  

Crowley whips around to stare openly at his angelic counterpart, a small “ngk” escaping his mouth which makes the angel smile tenderly.  Aziraphale stands before him, evening light catching softly on his white blond curls, velvet vest shimmering slightly in the sunset, blue eyes regarding him with so much overt love and adoration that Crowley finds he temporarily forgets to breathe.  

Sometimes it still surprises him.  That someone can have that much love for him.

“Just one flower was missing,” Aziraphale continues, crossing the space between them to stand in front of the still wordless demon.  The angel chuckles lightly, “Luckily it's still very popular in human traditions.”  He reaches out a hand, and Crowley finally looks down and takes note of what the angel had stepped out to buy.  

A single, perfect red rose.  Ardent love, passion. Love found at first sight.   Crowley inhales shakily as he accepts the flower with a trembling hand, and he glances back up to meet his partner’s waiting stare. 

“Aziraphale…” he manages to whisper past the torrid of emotions swirling through his chest.  He clears his throat thickly, tries to find some combination of words that will appropriately convey the overwhelming affection threatening to burst through his ribs at this unexpected gesture, “I don’t k–”

“I know it’s a silly holiday,” Aziraphale interjects anxiously, tugging at his vest as he glances down at their feet. “It’s just…,” blue eyes look back up to meet Crowley’s with a determined sincerity, “we almost didn’t get this, and I think we deserve to celebrate these little, human moments.” A hand darts out to clasp the demon’s free one with a firm squeeze.  “You deserve lovely traditions, and—”

A loving ache tears through Crowley, overriding his overwhelmed thoughts as he leans forward and captures Aziraphale’s lips in a searing kiss. Releasing the angel’s grasp, he brings his hand up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek and deepens the kiss as his partner releases a surprised breath, parting his lips under Crowley’s with a small whimper, and the demon focuses on pouring every feeling of gratitude and love that he can into brush of his lips, the sweep of his tongue.  Words were overrated, he decides as Aziraphale clutches at his lapels in response and sinks his teeth gently into Crowley’s bottom lip, sending a flood of liquid heat up the demon’s spine and pulling a low moan from his throat .  

Maybe this holiday wasn’t so stupid after all.  

Aziraphale breaks the kiss on a shaky breath, pulling back slightly, and Crowley blinks dazedly at him as the angel’s lips quirk into a self-satisfied smile, “So, I take it no need to return everything then?  Because I can always throw it all away…”  Blue eyes twinkle in mirth, and Crowley chuckles exasperatedly.  Bastard.

He’s ridiculously in love with him. 

Leaning forward once again, Crowley presses his forehead against Aziraphale’s, “Shut up, angel.” He places a firm kiss on his lips. “S’Perfect.”  Another kiss, and then he tips his head back to meet the angel’s now soft gaze once more, “I love it,” he whispers, emotion filling his voice; he smooths a thumb across Aziraphale’s cheek and watches the swirl of gentle emotions the action evokes in it’s owner’s blue eyes, “I love you.” 

Aziraphale face alights at his words, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his mouth parts in a radiant smile.  “I love you too, my dear,” his voice trembles slightly in a kind of disbelieving wonder that causes Crowley’s heart to thump painfully in his chest. 

Maybe it still surprises them both sometimes. That they finally made it here. That they no longer have to pretend not to be a pair. 

An idea surfaces in his mind suddenly, and he reaches over to lay the rose on the closest table, giving a small flick of his wrist toward the player to restart the record with barely a skip.  Aziraphale’s eyes follow his movements curiously as Crowley takes the angel’s hands in his and pulls him gently toward the center of the floor, “You deserve lovely traditions too, angel.”

Aziraphale blushes lightly as he stares at the demon who places one arm around his waist and raises their other joined hands to shoulder height. 

“Dance with me?” Crowley asks earnestly.  Aziraphale laughs with a surprised delight and places his free hand gently on Crowley’s shoulder, stepping close to him with an affectionate press, 

“I’d love to.”

Crowley smiles openly at him in return and begins to spin them slowly around the room.  

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale inquires as they move, “Saint Valentine?”

“Hmmm, don’t think I was actually in Rome at the time, you?”

“No, I believe I was somewhere in China during the 3rd century…”

One song fades into another as they continue to sway in each other’s arms; soft laughter and easy conversation echoing through the shop and filling Crowley with the peaceful, warm fondness that’s been permanently etched into his soul for the many millennia he’s known Aziraphale.  A love returned and cherished now.  His gaze catches on the myriad of flowers surrounding them, each one a love note, a card written in floral script, and he smiles broadly as Aziraphale says something unintentionally witty before leaning in to meet his grinning lips with his. 

They were rather lovely after all, Crowley decides, some of these silly, human traditions.

[victorluvsalice]

Merry Christmas Newt!

@dont-offend-the-bees Sooo, you had no specific prompts for me, which opened the floor for me to write something -- weird. Something that combined a couple of things I know you're interested in, because I've seen them on your tumblr. Something that, specifically, crossed over your new obsession with the Saw movies...with a certain British gameshow hosted by Greg Davies that I myself rather like. I actually came up with this idea a little while back and meant to message you about it, but forgot -- and I'm kind of glad I did, because that allowed me to write this ridiculous thing as a surprise. XD Hope you find it funny!

Tasksaw

“Well – we’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t we?”

“I’d say it’s more than just a pickle,” Josh snapped back, tugging on the chain attaching his leg to the wall to test its strength. Depressingly, it seemed to be pretty damn well bolted in there. “Or do you get drugged and wake up in moldy old bathrooms with your leg manacled to the nearest wall often?”

“I can’t say I have,” the other fellow – who’d introduced himself as James – admitted, giving his leg a cursory kick. The chain attached to it rattled, snaking across the filthy floor. “Though I have been in my fair share of shitty bathrooms before.”

Josh squinted at him. “Was that an intentional pun, or. . . ?”

James just gave him a smirk – which was quickly replaced by a frown as he looked around the room again. “It is a very odd place, though. You have any idea why we’re here?”

“Not a bloody clue, mate,” Josh said, letting his chain slip from his hands. “I mean, obviously we pissed off somebody, but I don’t know who or why.”

“Yeah, me either. The guys in Pindrop weren’t that upset about us breaking up,” James muttered, scratching his head. “Which was actually a bit insulting, if you think about it – oh! Hang on!” He snapped his fingers, pointing frantically at Josh. “We need to check that our kidneys haven’t been stolen!”

“Our – our kidneys?” Josh repeated, baffled.

“Yeah! That’s the main reason people get kidnapped, isn’t it?” James said, rolling up the side of his shirt to stare at his abdomen. “To get their organs harvested? And I rather appreciate having my kidneys inside my body!”

“You’ve been reading too many conspiracy theory sites,” Josh said – though he did slip a hand under his shirt, just to feel for any new scars. “Besides, I think we should have woken up in a bathtub full of ice if that was the case.”

“Nobody said our kidnappers had to be good at harvesting organs.”

“Excuse me!”

Both men looked up as the door on the far wall, just out of reach of their chains, opened, admitting a rather awkward-looking man with a scruffy beard and gapped teeth, dressed in a smart black suit and carrying an iPad. “Hello,” he greeted them, with a smile that didn’t seem entirely natural. “Would you like to play a game?”

Josh stared for a moment, trying and failing to come up with an appropriate way to respond to this. “Um. . .”

“What game?” James said, rolling his shirt back down and giving the newcomer a suspicious look. “Who are you?”

“Right, right, let me just. . .”

The man did something on his iPad, then held it up, displaying an image of a rather portly and extremely tall late-middle-aged man in glasses, sat upon an ornate golden throne. “GREETINGS, PEONS!” a powerful voice rang out from the tinny speakers. “Allow me to introduce myself – I am THE TASKMASTER! Your one true love, your reason for getting up in the morning, your NEW GOD AND MASTER! Over the next few days, I shall set you a series of tasks, overseen by my admin and general puppet-man Little Alex Horne! I shall score these tasks according to my whims, and at the end of our time together, whoever scores the most points wins the most valuable prize of all – THEIR LIFE! The loser will be killed in an appropriately ironic fashion. So play well, and amuse me. Puppet-man, I leave things in your hands. DON’T SCREW THIS UP!”

The recording ended in a burst of simulated static. The man – Alex – immediately pulled a piece of paper, folded and sealed with a red wax bearing a “TM” logo, out of his jacket and delivered it to Josh. “If you could just read that aloud, please?”

Completely and utterly baffled, Josh broke the seal and unfolded the paper. “‘Clean your half of this bathroom,” he read out. “‘Cleanest bathroom half wins. You have one hour. Your time starts now.’” He blinked, then looked up at Alex. “Clean – what? How?”

“All the information’s on the task,” Alex replied calmly, starting up a timer on his iPad.

Josh facepalmed into the paper. “Seriously? You’re going to be like this?”

“Well well well – looks like we’re going head to head on this one, Josh!” James said, with perhaps more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. “And I plan to win – puppet-man! Get me a cabbage and a red dress.”

[dtmsrpfcringe]

Hi, so I was aware of the account around the same time that I think you were told about it in your anons - they started following me. I didn't think much of it when I looked at it (I tend to check followers for bots etc), other than 'christhs1' potentially being his middle name, and it kind of having the same structure to his old account, 'mchshe1'. But for a time, I just dismissed it.

Anyway, the account then updated, and added the dog/meme pfp, the pronouns, and then the name. The name especially threw me for a loop, a) because it's Sheen's middle name, and b) Thomas is his mother's maiden name. Then when they rb'd your anon, and I thought 'okay, this could potentially be him, that'd be fair enough because that anon seems the most likely (and level-headed) explanation to the whole Michael/David thing, rather than "secret relationship being kept hidden by PR" shtick'. This is the point where I wanted to keep an eye on the account, because if it /was/ him, lol that's brilliant. I followed, thinking that if the guy just wants to lurk, good for him.

So then the pfp changed to one of him in a pub, and I couldn't find it or trace it back to /anywhere/. Which doesn't necessarily mean much, but if someone was impersonating him, I thought, it seems weird that they'd use a 'rare' pic, when there are others on his Twitter etc that they could have used instead. Why would they go to the effort of deep-diving for a specific image, and tbh - /how/ did they managed to find it? Again, I therefore thought that it could potentially could be him, using a picture only he would have.

I then noticed that they had been commenting on igv's posts, but even then it seemed plausible, if a bit bold, that it was him. Then the @ngo callout post, which was even bolder. Then they posted a meme/image post yesterday, having deleted the @ngo post, and /then/ they deleted that one (the 'x' they put on the end of it was interesting, though!), and posted this new callout one directed at @igv.

In between all this, they've changed the pub pfp back to the dog one a few days later, and then a few days after that (a couple of days ago, I think?) changed it to an image of his eye.

The @igv one is the post (that, and the new pfp) that has swayed me to thinking that it isn't him. It /could/ be that he's now read through all the posts they've made, especially the ones where they're ripping the shit out of Georgia and Anna - and ultimately fabricating a whole story, contrived from the very limited things that have been posted by media and on social media - and he's lost his temper about it. Plus, the spelling of 'socialise' and 'behaviour' support it - British spellings. Even 'fantasying' (sic) could be that he wrote 'fantasy' first, changed around the wording of his post, added on 'ing', and didn't quite proof-read properly.

But the issue for me is how the post describes the rumours of him being queer. The language comes across as .. well, to be honest, a bit derogatory; describing the /possibility/ of him being queer as disgusting and vile and nasty lies. Speculating about his sexuality is a horrible thing to do, no question about it; it's his business and his alone (whether he's straight, bi, pan or anything else) and he may not want to come out if he /is/ queer, or! Actually may not feel that it's necessary/that he needs to - that previous Tweets/interviews he's done speak for themselves.

But the way "a queer", and "SUCK DICK????" is also worded seems... Idk. Whilst obviously you can never know someone - especially a celebrity - from their interactions on social media, it just appears so far removed from how he's spoken in the past on social media, even when he's been pissed off at people.

So, despite all the other things that made me think 'Ha, would be cool if it were him! Also - mortifying!', that one post has put me in two minds; either a) it's not him, and just someone messing about impersonating him (at which point... Ok), or b) there's the very slim chance that it /is/ him, and he's understandably lost his rag... but at which point the wording of it is rather poor, in my opinion, even if that's not at all how he intended it to come across.

For my money, right now, it's the first explanation - that it's/not/ him, and was doing a good job of impersonation (being a bit mysterious, rare picture, using a pseudonym, using 'x' etc), but if they want to drop a selfie in my inbox or something lol, I'm more than happy to change my tune.

this!!!! This is what I was saying

[microknifeyuri]

I saw ur post about lightbrush and mischaracterization for them but I wanna ask, how do they get mischaracterized? Cause like, I dunno half the time I look at lightbrush it seems fine so like, please enlighten me!!!

Oh, no, it's actually unusual for them to get mischaracterized, they're pretty simple characters in their own way so people don't mess them up at all. But I have seen some people, just like in every fandom, who tend to turn the character with anger issues (that has their reasons) on an spiteful and somewhat jealous in a toxic way. It is somewhat easy to mess up when it comes to an character that is tough/not that chill to be fair, but yeah, I just really don't like when it happens, luckily it isn't that common with Lightbrush. I've seen some people say that Painty hated Testy because they went on that multiversal thing with Lightbulb, which is pretty weird cuz like, can't you see those two?

They were probably kissing /j

So yeah, I think that's the way some people do it, but it's not that big of a problem

the wildcard and the british taco on the other hand though...