#and hes gonna struggle with modern slang too

[espinosaurusrexex]

Ok can I request a one shot please?? I saw this post of text messages and I can’t stop thinking about it being a conversation between Bucky and reader. You can pick who’s who in the convo, although I like the idea of Bucky being the blue bubble 🫠

New Slang

a/n: Okay, so I had this sitting in my asks for a while, and that was because I had such a hard time figuring out what the dynamic between the two should be. I tried to compare it to similar dynamics in the MCU and I feel like Bucky is definitely in there somewhere (especially the blue would be such a Bucky response in this situation). Also, I’ve never really written such a bold reader, but it was so freaking fun getting to explore her. So please enjoy my take on this really cool ask. Thank you so much @rolcea, I had a lot of fun with this one!

Word count: 3.4k

warnings: some cursing, some inappropriate touching, and some very confusing feelings

↑ This! This right here is the face he would make in the very moment you're gonna read about now.

“What happened?” Bucky asked as he passed by the medical quarters, coming to a stop when he saw Y/N hunched over the first aid drawer.

“Oh, nothing. Just a small cut,” she mumbled. The bloody towel on her hand told him otherwise, though. And as she retrieved the needle from the kit, he stepped into the room.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He nodded towards the stained cloth as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. There were more blood stains on her shirt as well - he hadn’t seen those from the doorway.

Y/N just shrugged and continued (or rather attempted) to stitch up her Hand with the other trembling one. She had cut her dominant hand, so naturally, the other struggled to fulfill its task. But he decided to watch her toil a little longer. Who knows, maybe she’d even ask for his help. 

Well, obviously that didn’t happen, because Y/N could be just as stubborn as him when it came to seeking assistance. And that, for one, was something he could understand. Not like other things...

“Wow look, that’s America’s Ass right there!” It echoed through the halls of the compound as Y/N walked past Steve in the kitchen of the Avengers accommodation. Steve shot up at that remark, turning around to catch the last bit of Y/N disappearing in the door frame. When his eyes wandered to Bucky sitting at the kitchen isle with a cup of black coffee, the concoction of shock and confusion was written all over his face. 

The two old-timers had shared this look on a daily basis. An exchange of horror and confusion and total astonishment for this modern way of communication. And while Steve had a stronger urge to stay true to his values, Bucky slowly found amusement in the situations they were exposed to constantly. He dipped his head down to hide the smile creeping onto his face and shook it slowly. 

“I will never get used to this.” Steve ran his hand through his hair before he resumed unloading the dishwasher. 

Bucky stayed silent. He had the coffee mug in both his hands and watched the reflection of his smile in the dark substance. There was something funny in this situation, and despite the horrible things he had endured in his life, moments like these seemed - as silly as they were - like a tiny escape from his real-life problems.

There was a difference, though: This was real life, too. The new real life, he couldn’t change. A society he had to fit into because it was where he was stuck now. Sure, there were a bunch of helpful things now. The internet - very helpful, mobile phones - also very practical, but weird slang - kind of offensive and definitely not helpful in any way. It just added to the confusion all these new impressions brought to the Super Soldiers.

So in order to not have to deal with yet another aggravation, Bucky had decided to just be entertained by it. And it worked most of the time - whenever those remarks were made to other people, but he still found himself startled when they were directed at him.

After a while, when Bucky had decided she’d struggled enough, he reached out to her with sympathy. 

“Let me help you,” he said steadily. And even though a deep sigh escaped Y/N’s chest at his approach, she handed the needle and tweezers over to him, defeated.

Bucky got to work, concentrating on the task at hand, but savoring the moment at the same time. Because despite the rather unfortunate situation, he enjoyed the times without arguing and witty remarks. Though those little altercations were a habit within the whole team, Bucky acknowledged the days they weren’t as concentrated. He didn’t wish them away. They were part of his relationship with Y/N and Sam, and he knew that they were not meant to harm him in any way. But every now and then Bucky struggled with the way they affected him.

“What was that for?” Bucky scolded Sam who had just whacked him over the head with a newspaper. But his friend just stood there shrugging his shoulders and enjoying the frustration building up in Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed in response. It hadn’t been a great day for the Super Soldier to begin with, as he was woken up from the rarity of sleep by a loud stereo that blasted ‘The newest album from Harry THE ICON Styles’ - he had learned that after he had made the mistake of investigating for the disturbance. So instead of falling back to bed and trying to rest for another hour, he had to sit through the entire Album plus the added information about various ‘fan theories’ as to what these songs could be talking about. Then he had made the second mistake. He had asked who this Harry guy was and that had led to another thirty minutes of lecture about a ‘boyband’ - That was new, too. They didn’t have those in the 40s. - that had split and all the drama that came along with it. But - really - all he took from this, was that Bucky couldn’t grasp why people were so invested in strangers’ private lives and that he didn’t really understand the part with the podcast scandal either.

So the morning had been even more exhausting than normal and getting slapped for no reason just added to the attitude brooding under the surface.

But Bucky decided to let it go. It was only 1pm, so a lot more day to go and if he would let his anger loose now, the rest of the day would be governed by it. He resumed the thing he was doing before the incident, but before he could even turn back around, a familiar voice quipped up.

“Don’t act like you don’t like getting spanked. We all have our kinks, Bucky, it’s nothing to get embarrassed by.” Y/N strode past him to retrieve another cup of coffee, a knowing smirk on her lips as she waited for his reaction.

That was it. That was what had caused the fire because now Bucky just didn’t give a shit anymore. “Y/N, my God. Can you be serious for one second?” It really was enough that he had to deal with the ever so slight remarks about his age and the old school ways he pursued in his daily life, but those were things he could brush off. He was old - so what? It was an entirely different thing, however, when these remarks made him uncomfortable. And since he had yet to cope with the modern openness about various topics, remarks like these usually made him shut up. Right now, though, their aggravation mixed with the tiredness and the struggle to keep his heartbeat steady.

Bucky glared at her, trying to convey how serious he was about challenging his patience today, but Y/N seemed unbothered. 

“Oh.” Her eyes darkened with mischief and her eyebrows raised in a daring matter. “Yes, Daddy.” She pulled her lips between her lips in amusement but Bucky just growled.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” His arms bulged as his fists clenched by his sides in anger.

“Hey, Language!” This was the last straw. He didn’t like acting out like this, but something snapped that morning.

“Steve, I swear to God.” Bucky pointed at his friend with a warning and Sam couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. “And you-” he stopped himself, his head twitching as his lips pressed into a thin line.

Without another word, he sped past his incredibly aggravating coworkers and disappeared into his room for the rest of the day.

Bucky lifted his head to check how Y/N was doing, but she upheld a stoic demeanor. She watched him as he carefully placed the few stitches in the palm of her hand. Sometimes her fingers twitched, though. She couldn’t hide that from him. Other than that, however, Bucky couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

He could never really read her. That was another thing he didn’t understand. There was just something turning differently in that head of hers, and it drove him nuts not to be able to pin it. Bruce always said, ‘It’s just another generation.’ But that didn’t add up. Because Bruce, who wasn't Bucky's generation either, didn’t behave like that; and Peter, well, he was just annoying. So what was wrong with her?

It wasn’t rare that Y/N's unpredictability had gotten Bucky in situations, in which he had quite literally no control over anything. That wasn’t particularly new. But sometimes... well, sometimes she found new ways to shock him into the new century he was in. Like the day Bucky had walked in on Y/N and Sam having a stimulating discussion over some gossip press article. He hadn’t been sure what it was about and really, all Bucky had come into the common room for was a glass of water, but all of a sudden he had found himself attacked by the most horrible scenario he could have ever imagined:

“No, like why should that be a problem? Bucky touched my ass the other day. It’s no biggie.” Sam said out of the blue and Bucky froze in his movements. He turned away slowly, trying to escape this situation without being noticed. But his attempts were in vain as Y/N had already spotted him and jumped up. She took his hand and lead him to the sofa where he sent a desperate look Sam’s way. It was supposed to say “Please don’t let me get dragged into this,” but apparently, Sam was determined to ignore his silent cry for help today. What a dick.

Before he knew it, Y/N had both his hands in hers, facing Sam and guiding them to her breasts. HER BREASTS. HE WAS TOUCHING BOOBS. COWORKER BOOBS. OH MY GOD. This was horrible. Bucky was sure there was nothing worse than this very situation. It was beyond inappropriate and uncomfortable. But the worst part was, that everyone else acted as though it was totally fine. He felt alone with his values and that made the whole situation a hundred times worse. He didn't know where to look and he didn’t know what to do with his fingers. So he decided on no eye contact with anyone and definitely no movements in his hands. One slip of a finger and this could go reeeeally wrong. 

“You see this Sam? This is touching. And this.” She turned around and walked past him, but when she squeezed by him, her palm grazed his butt cheek. Wowwowwow this was so uncomfortable. But despite his head feeling like exploding from embarrassment, Bucky couldn’t move. It was as though he was scared of Y/N at this moment. She was so unpredictable, god knows what would happen if he were to resist. “This is also touching but it’s worse because it’s disguised as an accident when you know damn well it was intentional. That’s coward touching.”

Sam had his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on his hands. It looked like he was taking mental notes of this very situation and Bucky just stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable as his eyes wildly switched from one end of the room to the other. Just no eye contact with anyone was the take he focused on.

“So you’re saying Justin Bieber assaulted a woman because he squeezed by her in a crowded club?” 

“Exactly. He could have at least owned up to it.” She flopped down next to Sam on the sofa again, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a content smirk on her face.

Bucky just stood in front of them, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t know what to do but he knew that he needed to get away from these crazy people. The problem, however, was that he was still scared to move. It was as if Y/N had a weird power over him, especially after what she had just done so shamelessly.

“Can I go?” He asked almost timidly but eager to escape.

“Yes, thank you for helping me prove my point.”

He had just nodded and then he had sprinted out of there, the water long forgotten as his mind had been occupied by a wave of aftermath panic.

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re nice.” Her Statement came out of the blue and ripped him right off his memories, but Bucky decided not to interpret too much into it.

Seemingly ignoring the sudden compliment, Bucky mumbled his next words mindlessly: “What am I when I’m not nice?” 

He threaded the last stitch while waiting for the answer to his question - embracing a casual conversation. What he was about to hear, however, was definitely not the expected reply.

“Hot as fuck.” His head shot up, the movement so sudden that the needle in his hand accidentally poked his skin. He suppressed the hiss in his throat as his eyes were concentrated on her. Y/N’s expression remained unaltered. As if she had said a normal thing just now. But then again, this was normal now - for her at least - he had to remind himself of that. 

Y/N just stared back at him with a total seriousness in her eyes. And Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something hidden beneath her stare. Was she being serious? Or was this just another of her snarky antics? It was frustrating not to be able to tell the difference. This was just something so Y/N that it was impossible to distinguish.

He must have been staring at her for some time because all of a sudden, Y/N hopped off the exam table, picked up the towel with her healthy hand, and shot a casual ‘Don’t worry about it, Bucky.’ at him. Then she disappeared out of the room, leaving a startled Super Soldier behind. He stared at the doorway for a while longer, remaining frozen in his stance, with the needle still wedged between his fingertips and the tweezers in his other hand. 

For the fraction of a moment, he had thought to have cracked through her shell, but in reality, he had just scratched the surface. Bucky liked the soft Y/N better. The calm and serious Y/N. The one he could have a conversation with without fearing a sarcastic attack. And maybe that had shone through for a tiny amount of time whenever situations were serious - like this one - but then she had closed that crack in her shell and Bucky was as clueless as before. 

It took a couple more breaths to collect himself, before he disposed of the items in his hand and left the room as well, still with the ever so slight nudge of confusion clinging onto his mind. And just like every other time, it didn’t let go for the remainder of the day. 

It was late at night now: one, maybe two in the morning - Bucky didn’t know. And he didn’t really care either. He’d much rather get that stupid thought out of his head that led him to toss in his sheets. Normally, after an incident like that, Bucky would get to bed when he was tired, hoping that sleep would finally take over his confused brain and erase the doubts and uncertainty from his body overnight. He just needed to get to the sleeping part, and that proved to be particularly difficult tonight. 

What was so different? He’d gotten into many situations with Y/N he didn’t know what to make off of. Maybe it was the fact that none of them had ever suggested her liking in him - none of them had ever been a direct approach to a topic Bucky hadn’t considered in decades: dating, love, interest in anything other than work and getting by.

Bucky threw off the covers - they were way too hot anyway - staring at the moonlit ceiling and taking a deep breath. He decided to get up. He knew that he would not be able to sleep anymore, there was just too much on his mind.

So about five minutes later, he was on his way to the gym. Maybe a late-night training session would finally tire him out.

With that in mind, Bucky went straight for the punching bag and immediately started hitting it. He went on relentlessly for what felt like hours. Hit after hit landing the bag and drawing sand from the slowly ripping seams. His breaths rhythmically pushed out with every impact of his fists. 

The weird comment, however, never left his mind. 

A right hook. Maybe it was because she had said it so seriously.

Another hit. No, she'd done that before.

A right hook again. Maybe it was the way she had looked at him.

Another. No way, she had looked at him like that a hundred times before.

And another one, this time with the left, pulling the bag off the carabiner and slamming it into the wall. Or maybe it was the fact that her comment had stirred something within him. Something, he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Guess I’m not the only one restless tonight.” Steve strolled into the gym, casually wrapping up his wrists. 

“Why are you up?” Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, walking to the bench to retrieve his water bottle and eyeing his friend.

“Too hot in my room.” He grabbed another bag and hung it on the ceiling. “What about you?”

“Too much to think about...” His voice trailed off, his eyes trained on the floor. 

Steve didn’t ask further, he just nodded and proceeded with his task. He knew that Bucky would talk if he wanted to. And normally, that would be an attribute he appreciated, but right now, Bucky really wished for a nudge. Because he wanted to talk. He wanted to tell Steve all about what was going on in his head, he just needed a little encouragement. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked after some silence and lack of movement on Bucky’s part.

The brunette watched his feet for a couple more breaths and then he lifted his head and looked his friend directly in the eyes. “What does it mean when someone tells you you’re hot when you are mean?”

“What?” Bucky didn’t answer. And apparently, he didn’t need to, because about two seconds later, Steve added scoldingly: “Did Y/N say that?”

Bucky was still mute. His gaze now focused on the mirrored wall behind his friend, desperately trying to avoid his own eyes.

“I thought you wanted to ignore what she’s saying.” Steve stepped further, reaching for his water bottle and unscrewing the cap. 

If only it were that easy. “That’s the problem, Steve. I can’t ignore it anymore.”

There was something different in the interaction he had with Y/N that day. Something had felt altered, and he refused to believe that he was just misinterpreting things. Y/N had meant what she had said, he was so sure of that. But the really confusing part was, that Bucky didn’t mind that much this time.

“And why’s that?” Steve looked genuinely invested by now. He had his hands resting on his hips, watching as his friend paced from one side to the other.

“Because...” Bucky trailed off. Yeah, why was that? That was the whole point of this late-night training session. Bucky didn’t know, and the past hour of incessant punching hadn’t brought any more closure. Who would have thought? He’d actually need to think about his feelings in order to understand them.

There had been this weird thing in his stomach when Y/N had said ‘the thing’. He couldn’t quite place it back then, but right now - thinking about it - it came really close to butterflies. No, could it be? Bucky didn’t get butterflies. He hadn’t felt them in a long time - he wasn’t even sure he still knew what they felt like. 

Bucky remembered, however, he’d gotten them back in the 40s, when his dates would touch his chest while dancing, or when the girls applied those pretty red lipsticks in the tiny pocket mirrors. But after everything he’d been through, he didn’t think things like that would ever happen to him again.

The earlier incident showed him otherwise, though. It was like a little hint that suggested: Maybe he wasn’t as corrupt as he thought, after all. And somehow the possibility of that brought a smile to his face. 

Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes wide, but his voice still conveyed a certain calmness - acceptance even. “I think I like her.”

[dialovers-translations]

Which DL character do you find the hardest and easiest to translate? One thing I love about the game is the variation of each characters speech manner which reflects their personality. I really enjoyed reading your translation notes about the slangs and figures of speech they used so thank you very much for adding those!

Level 1

・Kanato: Closest to 'textbook Japanese' you will find in DL. Uses proper grammar and very little to no slang.

・Laito: Not quite as polite as Kanato since he uses colloquial expressions (short forms of verbs/etc.) but he also does not use a lot of slang or anything.

・Azusa: Also uses colloquial/short forms of verbs but his sentence are usually very straight-forward and since he talks so slowly, I can basically just translate while he's speaking. :p

Level 2

・Shuu: Shuu doesn't use a lot of slang or anything, but he's lazy even when he talks, so he uses a lot of short sentences where you - as a reader - need to fill in the blanks. This can be tricky for beginner learners who aren't yet accustomed to the context-heavy structure of the Japanese language.

・Ruki: He speaks very clearly and does not use any kind of slang, but he does use more advanced vocabularly and also tends to...ramble, lol. His dialogue can really feel like it just keeps on dragging on forever, which can be very overwhelming for beginners.

・Kino: Generally Kino is quite easy to understand BUT if you are someone who is not very well-versed on video games/video game-related vocabularly, then some of the things he says may leave you puzzled. He likes to talk about everything as if it's a game after all. :p

Level 3

・Kou: Generally Kou is pretty easy to understand but every now and then he'll throw you for a loop and use very specific terms/slang words. (The kind of slang you'd expect from a Japanese teenager)

・Shin: He has a few quirks to his speech pattern and he also likes to use sarcasm/rethorical questions which aren't always easy to grasp when it's not your mother tongue.

・Reiji: Even though Reiji does use keigo (unlike Ruki), I do find him relatively easy to understand because he also talks in a very calm and clear manner. Keigo is usually something taught in textbooks as well so those who learnt Japanese in a class might actually struggle less with Reiji than they do with Ayato & Subaru.

・Ayato: Even though Ayato has a very crude way of speaking, he is also a big dumb dumb so his vocabularly is pretty limited. With this I mean that he uses the same words/structures/phrases over and over so once you learn those, it gets a lot easier to understand him.

・Subaru: Similar to Ayato. Uses a lot of slang and crude language, but he likes to repeat the same phrases too so once you get a grasp of that, you're good to go.

Level 4

・Yuma: I struggled SO MUCH with Yuma's dialogue when I first got into DL. :/ Whenever I had to translate a drama CD and it had Yuma in it, I instantly broke out in a sweat. This guy not only uses a lot of very specific slang, he also tends to mumble a lot and doesn't articulate the best. ^^;;

・Carla: Complete opposite case here. Carla does not use any 'slang', but his speech pattern is a mixture of modern and old/classical Japanese (kobun). Some of the words he uses (e.g. kisama) have changed meaning over time so this can be very confusing to those who are not aware of their original meaning. On top of that, he also uses a lot of very advanced vocabularly. > < It's especially tricky when translating a drama CD because Japanese is filled with homophones so trying to look up words based on sound alone is very difficult.

---

Gonna tag a few fellow (DL) translators below because I'd actually love to hear other opinions on this as well. :D

@kyouxa @raburabusama @tournesolia @knight-queen

[coollyinterferes]

What would you consider to be one of the most challenging aspects when it comes to writing your muse?

unprompted asks 【always accepting】

//Hi anon! Ahh, that's a really good question! I'm sure this is gonna get long, so I hope that's okay. Also, there will be some salt over some stuff in regards to fanon takes, so... ah, small warning for that as well ;;;

One of the most challenging aspects I can think of right off the bat would be the fleshing out of the different sides there are to Speedwagon, most of which tend to go waaaaay overlooked and even get ignored by a big chunk of the fandom, sometimes in favor of largely detrimental fanon takes that have absolutely nothing to do with his actual canon personality, which is cool as a headcanon, I guess?? but not when that narrative is forced and even pushed as canon and, thus, resulting in people completely misunderstanding and misinterpreting the character to the point where a lot of the things he does as well as his actual impact and the key role he has from the start in the story get completely written off and ignored as if he was just some "filler character" or something.

The challenge, for me, in regards to all that when it comes to writing Speedwagon is probably giving all those "lesser known" sides of his as much spotlight as possible, but without overdoing it and overshadowing those other more known sides of his canon (not the fanon ones, cause I honest to god despise most of the fanon takes on him) and that most people are familiar with, and try to make the character be known for who he truly is, with all his traits and his many flaws, instead of that "perfect uwu boi" image that a lot of people have of him.

I've said this from the start too, but I've always aimed and tried to write Speedwagon as close to the canon as I possibly can as well (minus the occasional crack and ooc stuff that normally goes on in a rp blog, but even then, I try to inject as much of his canon personality into those), so all this stuff I've mentioned is pretty important for me to keep in mind for my writing of him since, as stated before, it's always been my intention to have people see Speedwagon for who he truly is, and not through the "fanon lenses" that more often than not have a completely different, usually distorted, image of him.

The other challenges I still find writing him would be more "technical" ones, as I also favor historical accuracy in my writing, so there will be times when I'll be doing a shit ton of research on stuff from the Victorian era and/or the early-to-mid 1900s in America, sometimes even for the most mundane things too, lol. Same when it comes to gay life and culture of the time, gangster/crime life and slang, and so on. And this also extends to more "modern" verses.

I'm also not a native English speaker, so another challenge for me would be writing in English. I've gotten significantly better over the years (been rping in English for about 12ish years now, rping in other fandoms and platforms before I started this blog years back), but I still struggle with my writing and vocabulary in said language. And even more so with Speedwagon (and the side muses, too -Jonathan and the Ogre Street guys-) due to the many differences between nowadays' lingo and Victorian England's and etc. Add to all this that I also try to translate/adapt the patterns of speech and accents that all four muses have in the original dialogues, too! Lots of work and challenges, but it's truly rewarding at the end of the day, ngl, not only because I love Speedwagon so much as well as Jonathan and the Ogre Street lads, but I also love part 1, and it's always a blast to be able to spread the love while also trying to get rid of some of the many misconceptions around them all and around this part as well and, hopefully, through my writing make people see there's a lot more to these characters than what fanon oftentimes gives them credit for.

[startistdoodles]

I genuinely wonder how long Arceus spoke old English before finally loosing it all together cause picturing him struggling with modern terms if funny

I think he's trying to be hip and relatable but he's using words from the last century. No one else in in the game talks like that, but you can't blame him for trying.

[danteinthedevildom]

So, talkin abt multilingual Mams, 

I was gonna make this post anyway but then I saw @cheerypining​​ put this in the tags of my post re: Mams’ English in his character song:

I would like to hollar out a hell yes! 

The thing with Mams is that he isn’t stupid. He’s smart as fuck, he’s just motivated by self interest and fixation. It’s easier for him to learn things that are of interest to him, or that expand his interests. He’s got that sweet, sweet ADD brain.

So, if language helps him spread out his influence, make money, expand his contacts? It’s gonna be that lil bit easier for him to figure out. It might even be a fixation of his. Learn a language; open opportunities in the place that language hails from. Gain an interest in how language works. Learn other languages bc it’s fun. 

Consider, then, if you will, for some of that tastey lore-building, 

Mams starting out learning the languages of the most influencial/opulent human powers. It’s beneficial for him to figure out how to speak their language if he really wants to get at their pockets, and you can’t really smooth talk someone if you barely understand the way their haggling works. How is anyone going to trust you if their idioms go over your head, or if you miss some slang that marks you very starkly as an outsider? It’s a lot easier if they think you’re like them; if you know the little things that’ll get them lowering their guard around you. 

He’s great with dialects, too. With differences between the upper and lower classes. It only takes one slip-up using court language around the common folk, or using the dialet of the north in the south, for him to recognise how important those divisions are. He works with trust, and the eventual corruption of that trust, and it becomes pretty clear to him pretty quick that trust can only be attained the more like his target he sounds. 

Dead languages still live on in Mammon’s brain. He’s fluent in them, and even though he hasn’t really had to use them in some time, for some reason they’ve just never faded away. You can pretty much use him as a way to track how languages changed over time, how regional variants were influenced by other languages or cultures, when various languages died out and what replaced them. 

It’s not something that he really thinks about. It was beneficial for him, so he learnt it. Beyond that, it was fun, and he enjoyed it. He doesn’t really give himself credit for just how much linguistic history he has stored inside his head, and he really doesn’t put much credit into how goddamn useful it is - or would be - for modern historians. That’s not what he’s interested in. He’s content to leave Satan to the books, to the past; he’s got more of a propensity for the practicality, anyway. 

Listening to him talk is actually pretty astounding. The ease with which he slips into each language, the depth of his understanding for even the slight nuances between regions, makes him seem like a native speaker. The speed, too, is absolutely stunning; you’ve never seen a more baffling sight than Mammon, speaking mild-mannered in Russian to a witch, switching mid-sentence into heavily-flirtatious French to order from the waitress that came to their table. It’s like he doesn’t even stumble between the two, both as natural to him as breathing. 

He has his preferences, of course. When he’s not using the language for his own goals - doesn’t need to, for instance, be careful about his word choice to ensure a bond of trust is made - he quickly slips into a dialect that is most comfortable for him. He might use ‘watashi’ or ‘ore’ when he’s on the job, might tack on the ‘gozaimasu’ to his greetings to make them polite, but when he’s just generally speaking Japanese? That’s when he starts using ‘ore-sama’, when he drops all the humble or stilted phrases; uses ‘ja ne’ instead of ‘sayounara'. That’s when, in English, he stops making sure to enunciate fully; starts shortening ‘you’ to ‘ya’, cuts off the ‘g’ from ‘ing’ words, starts peppering in ‘crap’ instead of ‘stuff’, lets his words slur together to make ‘whaddaya’ out of ‘what are you’. 

He’s naturally an informal guy! It’s just the way he prefers to talk. He hates the pompous lingo, even if it’s usually the most beneficial to learn for what he does. If the language he’s speaking has a way to show belligerent informality, he will absolutely use it whenever he can. It’s a choice, make no mistake; he can arguably speak better in most languages than the stupid high academics. He just doesn’t enjoy that crap when it’s not immediately useful to him. 

(Yes, that does mean he can comprehend even the most pompously written academic papers. No, that doesn’t mean he wants to read them. He would much sooner stab a fork into his giblets than sit down for any period of time and read that wordy bullshit. Same goes for a lot of Satan’s literature; it’s just not enjoyable for him to read, even if he can perfectly understand it.)

Sometimes a word works better in one language than another. It can get extremely frustrating for him, if he has a very specific point to get across; unless someone knows both languages, they’re never going to fully understand. And why use five words in the inefficient language when one in the efficient language would have been even better for his intent? ‘Fernweh’ works much better than ‘imagine being homesick for a place you’ve never been’, after all.  

Mams has a tendency to drop in words he likes from other languages, which makes some of his speech sound a little confusing. He doesn’t think it makes him sound smarter, and he’s not doing it to show off; just, sometimes, he thinks ‘hey’ sounds better than ‘ohayou’, or that ‘ciao’ is cooler and more aloof than ‘au revoir’. Plus, it’s kinda funny when you’re talking to someone Lucifer and you insult them in a language they don’t understand. 

(I mean, in English, we literally say stuff like “it has a little je ne sais quoi,” [it has a little something that I can’t adequately express] so we merge languages into our own in order to better express ourselves. Mams does the same. He just does it with words and phrases that aren’t always naturally used together within that language.)

Do you understand the amount of skill that comes with being able to do this without even stopping to think? He somehow manages to do it in a way that makes each sentence still perfectly fluent and understandable in translation. It’s a little incredible, actually, considering he doesn’t put any stock into this ability. It’s just natural for him. Why’s he gotta think on it more than that? 

(This does mean, the few times someone points it out, that he gets incredibly flustered. Especially if they say it in awe, or in praise. It really is just second nature to him, not even something he’s putting on for show or something that he’s trying to be good at, so being given so much positive attention for it is... well. It’s surprising, and a little nice, actually. But also genuinely embarrasing. It’s perhaps the only time he’ll struggle to find words in any language.)

In conclusion:

Hell yeah I love reinforcin the idea that Mams ain’t stupid and that there’s a lot of goddamn skill that comes with learnin languages and learnin them to such a degree you can accurately pepper their words into your speech without stoppin to think. 

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank  (Ch: 7)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually) 

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk,  spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC 

AUTHORS NOTE: ok so idk how good this is, kinda just word vomited onto the page, tryna generate some emotion in there but lets see how it goes, thanks for reading peeps. I know I said I wasn't gonna post but middle of the night inspiration stuck so imma keep writing this 

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

CHAPTER: 7 OF ?

TAG LIST(OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

The drive to the teams new base of operations was by no means short. While still being on defence land they were nearly three hours away from the main base, located in a flat valley in the hills and surrounded by greenery and training equipment. Ash had been here once before during a cadets course many years ago with her father, but it was vastly different now. The house had changed drastically from what used to be multiple cabins to what was now a single stand alone one story place. However while the accommodation had changed the grounds had stayed the same. There was an assault course set up that flowed into the trees to the south of the house and there was a pool to the west of the house, all in all, it was nothing to complain about. 

The house itself was relatively modern, having been rebuilt within the last few years or so. The entrance was sealed by heavy wooden doors that required a pin in order to access. Upon entry Ash took in the place, it was actually really nice. It was open plan living, the kitchen was directly to the right as you came in the doors, nice wooden benchtops and crisp new appliances. Directly in front of the breakfast bar sat the living room. Three nice couches surrounded a rather large square coffee table, laden with maps. The fireplace that the couches faced was made of a slate grey stone and sat underneath the rather large tv.  To the right of the fireplace was a door that she had been informed led to the only bathroom in the house that held a shower, while to the left of the fireplace was the door to Ash’s room.

Across the small hallway was the Colonels room, which was attached to his office that was on the far end of the house. At the end of the small hallway was an open archway that, from what she could see, led to a gym. Stepping further into the house and left from the kitchen Ash noticed another two sets of doors. One that led to the boys room, containing four single military style pits and separate draws for each of them, while the second door opened up onto the workspace for them all, which had a door in the back right corner that opened up onto Carrillo’s office. All in all, Ash couldn’t find a single fault to the house, okay perhaps one bathroom to share was gonna be a little tough.

She was startled from her thoughts and exploring when Carrillo called out to her while making his way to his office. “There's some food in the fridge and everything is pretty easy to find so make yourself at home, the boys should arrive in around about five weeks. You’ve got the single room closest to the bathroom”  Ash nodded in thanks and watched as he disappeared into the teams workroom, no doubt going to his office to work through the enlistment papers for the rest of the team. Ash didn’t waste much time going to her room, she could eat later when hunger eventually struck her, she was miles too tired from the drive here and sore from moving about so much. Her room was nice. A large double bed sat in the middle of the room encompassed by grey side tables, each sporting a small lamp. In front of the bed sat a tall set of drawers and a small bookcase. Very homely indeed, thankfully, cause god only knows how long the team would be confined to the house doing research and/or planning and training for future raids.

Ash barely gave herself any time to get changed, haphazardly pulling on an oversized shirt and a pair of comfortable gym shorts, before she all but launched herself onto her new bed, grunting in pain when her left side made contact with the bed a little too harshly . She moved onto her back sinking deep into the comfort of the mattress. The bed was like heaven for her after sleeping on either a creaky army pit or the ground for the last twenty some weeks. If this is what she had to look forward to everyday her enthusiasm for work was about to increase ten fold.  The moment her head touched the pillow she was out like a light. Thankful for her own space and a bed big enough to move around on and toss and turn how she used to.

                                                            -------

As much as Carrillo enjoyed the rank he was and the respect that followed his name, the paperwork at this level was a nightmare. Especially due to the complaints Sinclair had lodged against him due to the incident  at the base hospital. Having to describe in detail the events that occurred between that despicable man and the young officer a mere few rooms over made his blood boil, yet again. He was starting to understand the warnings that came with being posted here, apparently work affairs between ranks wasn’t a condemnable act like it was back home in Columbia. An odd world indeed. Still, within his team he would not tolerate any kind of fraternization, hence his decision to cram the boys into one room together and give Greyson her own room, partly for her own privacy but also for his peace of mind.

Pushing the paperwork to the side of his desk, he sighed. That damn soldier might well be the best thing for the team but she sure came with some complications. He’d done extensive research into his team members upon his arrival to the base, most came from non-military backgrounds, a solid high school education or higher, and most but not all had been serving for at least four years and had seen some kind of fire fight. Then there was Greyson. Military background with files upon files that had been redacted and unable to be accessed by anyone in the force, no matter how hard he’d tried. Only the most basic of information could be found about the young soldier; graduated school with honors and received many scholarship proposals but turned them down, participated in many extracurricular activities before and after her education, applied to join the army as both a regular soldier and an enlisted officer as her father had served but yet again, any information surrounding him and his career or rank had been redacted. A Lot of mystery surrounded this soldier, a mystery the Colonel found himself wanting to solve, even if it did go against his own rule.

                                                          ------

When Ash awoke the room was bathed in light from the full moon outside, the sounds of the bush were a welcome homely feeling for her, nature was her comfort. She went to sit but was struck with immense pain. Both her stab wound and head injuries were sending waves of pain throughout her body, making her vision temporarily blurry. The need to puke was high but Ash pushed it down as far as she could. She was hungry, in pain and now cranky, she just hoped her medication would be easy to find in the kitchen. Stumbling like a newborn deer she tried to shake the dizzy feeling from her head, this concussion was a pain in her ass, but the medics did say the symptoms should be gone within the next few weeks, until then Ash would have to put up with feeling sick and dizzy sometimes.  Celebrating when she finally made it to the kitchen without falling on her ass, she then struggled to find the lightswitch, now that was one thing she really should have paid attention too when scouting the house when they arrived.

Having located the switch and turning on the lights she winced, they were just that tad bit too bright for a tired concussed brain. It was when she turned to grab a glass of water to quench her thirst that she noticed a glass already laid out on the bench, with what looked like her meds already measured out beside it and a note beneath the glass. Either she was hallucinating or the stoic Colonel had laid this out for her. Gripping the bench as tight as she could as another wave of nausea overtook her sense she moved closer to the glass, there were her meds. Perfectly placed atop a piece of paper that was covered in a rather elegant script. Each pill had the name and the purpose written next to it and at the bottom of the note were the words “Dinner is in the fridge, eat first. That's an order”  

Ash scoffed a little at the note, of course he’d write that, seemed the man was more by the book than she thought. She was silently thankful for his detailed note explaining her meds, if she had to pick them from the bottle she wouldn’t have known what to take. Opening the fridge and grabbing out the only covered plate she was surprised to find that the meal looked home cooked, Did this man really cook dinner? . It was safe to say she was shocked by the thought but proceeded to microwave her dinner anyway, leaning against the bench to keep herself upright, lest the Colonel come into the kitchen later in the day and find her sprawled out on the floor.

Ash all but devoured the food when it was ready, not waiting for anything to cool down, she was far too hungry. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate, or the last time she ate this good. She never would have guessed that Carrillo was this good at cooking, like sure she’d guess he cooked, but this was some next level stuff. Finishing her meal and cleaning up any mess she’d made was an effort at best, the dizzy feeling was getting worse every time she moved. Quickly she gathered the pills from the bench and downed them in one gulp, chasing them down with water, she hoped at least one of them would help with the horrible dizziness and the nausea that accompanied it. The need to sleep was beginning to overtake her again, something she figured would be common while she was recovering, as much as that might annoy her she’d be thankful for the rest.

Like clockwork she yawned, stretching her arms above her head in an attempt to shake the sleep from her body, only to regret the motion a few seconds later. The stitches in her side had pulled impossibly tight at being stretched, her side felt like it was on fire. She reached down to grab her side in pain and pulled her hand away at the warm feeling. Glancing down she noted the rapidly growing red spot seeping into the gauze pad. Of course she had ripped her stitches, she'd been warned by not only the medics but also Carrillo to not move around too much due to her side. Seems she really hadn’t been listening to the warnings. Deciding that she was entirely too tired to deal with the result of her stretching Ash just walked as calmly as she could back to her room and clambered into bed. There was always tomorrow to fix this. And with that, Ash was quick to fall back to sleep, her medication no doubt aiding her plight.

                                                    ------

It was the smell of freshly made coffee that had Ash climbing from her bed and shaking off sleep the next morning. Her medication had definitely kicked in, she could feel no pain from anywhere in her body and the nausea had disappeared finally. To her surprise, Carrillo was standing in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and simple white t-shirt that was entirely too tight, not the Ash was complaining cause the view from her vantage point was amazing. If Ash believed in a higher power she woulda thought that the gods had gifted her with the man standing in the kitchen. No man had the right to look so sinfully delicious in a simple white shirt like that. It was so tight that it clung to his sculpted upper body and left very little to the imagination The thin shirt was stretched thin across his chest, pecs struggling to stay contained. The fabric was stretched tight across his broad bulky shoulders, his biceps straining against the confines of the sleeves that were sure to tear if he were to flex just the right way. He reclined against the bench facing her but was wrapped up with whatever was on the tv. Ash was obvious in her gawking so it was only a matter of time before his eyes fell to her. When they did, his eyes widened comically in shock. Ash wasn’t sure why until his eyes travelled down her frame and landed on her side before a look of realisation overcame his face.  

He took a few quick paces towards her before turning to his right and disappearing into the bathroom with a look of determination on his face. Ash paid him no mind and made her way to the kitchen counter to pour herself a coffee before taking a long pleasant sip. It was a mere minute later that Carrillo was standing in front of her, a med kit laid out on the bench and an expectant look on his face. She looked at him long and hard before realising he was speaking, she gave him a questioning look, tilting her head to the side, before she heard him huff and repeat what he said.

“Greyson, I asked you to take of your shirt”  

It was Ash’s turn to gape at him, the audacity of this man, why would the most by the book man she’d ever met be so unprofessional. “Excuse me?” the disbelief in her words made him roll his eyes, if she wasn’t so confused right now she probably would’ve gone off at him for that.

“I don’t know what activities you got up too last night, but you’ve obviously torn through your stitches, despite the warning from both the medics and myself” He said with a small amount of annoyance while pointing at her side. Now that Ash looked down she realised he was right. Blood had well and truly soaked through her bandage and through the shirt she wore to bed, She was unsure how she didn’t notice this sooner because now that she was seeing it with her own two eyes, it was pretty obvious.

Begrudgingly she pulled the shirt over her head, unsure as to why she had to take it off completely before coming to the conclusion that the shirt probably should be washed. She had a second to drop her shirt before Carrillo was standing a mere few inches in front of her, slowly peeling the bandage from her skin before inspecting her wound, Since when was he a medic?, that thought had her laughing silently, or so she thought. Being this close meant that he heard her laugh so she was met with a raised eyebrow and a bored expression on his face, that surely ended her laughter. She was silent while he worked, wincing occasionally when he prodded a little too hard to see her reaction.

“You’ll be fine if you rest for the next few days, you tore the bottom few stitches. Don’t do anything stupid and the wound will be healed on time” His tone was definitive and the order was clear.

Ash groaned and rolled her eyes, a brave thing to do this close to the man.  He handed her a bandage then turned around to pack away the supplies from the kit. She quickly fixed the bandage and took off toward her room, coffee abandoned on the bench, she was well and truly awake now. New shirt now acquired and covering herself she returned to the main room, Carrillo now vacant from the space and probably in his office working. She snatched up the tv remote and flicked through the channels, settling on an old war movie before curling onto her side to relax.

She woke hours later, the movie long since ended and the daylight now darkness. A blanket had been draped over her in her sleep and her dinner was sitting on the coffee table with a glass of water and her medication beside it. She would forever be grateful for the subtle ways the Colonel looked after her, even if he would never admit to it. She at least knew he cared enough for his team that he’d go out of his way to make her feel comfortable and like she belonged, even if she was new to the force.

                                                                                                                                                                                          -------

Aside from the incident in the kitchen the rest of the week went pretty smooth. They’d developed some semblance of a rhythm. Both woke early, whoever made it to the kitchen first put the pot of coffee on and poured a cup for the both of them, conveniently they preferred their coffee the same way. Black with no milk or sugar. Then they usually sat at the kitchen counter to eat breakfast, cereal for Ash and whatever Carrillo cooked himself for breakfast, Ash really wasn’t one for a big meal in the mornings. After breakfast the Colonel usually disappeared into his office to work and the younger officer would clean up their dishes and then hog the shower for as long as possible, soaking in the opportunity to have a warm shower all to herself without limits. Ash would spend most of the day watching tv or reading one of the many military inspired books that occupied the wall mounted shelves on either side of the tv.

Carrillo would emerge from his office around sixteen hundred hours each day, and proceed to cook dinner for the both of them. Ash had tried once but burnt the steak and been deemed too inexperienced and untrustworthy in the kitchen, something she was silently glad for cause the Colonel was a better cook than she ever could’ve hoped. Again Ash did the clean up, a fair trade off for not cooking, while Carrillo once again disappeared, this time to the gym or for a run around the perimeter of the property along the treeline, a sight Ash loved to enjoy. Only twice  he had stayed to converse or silently watch the news beside her. Then like clockwork they would bid each other goodnight and retire to their rooms.

Everything was going perfect, the routine now something established and easy to work through, even if Ash did complain about being on couch/bed rest until either the medics cleared her or the Colonel deemed her fit enough to begin easing her way into training. It wasn’t until the Wednesday of their second week together that something changed between them, something Ash looked back on with a smile on her face and made Carrillo have conflicted feelings and wish he had just stuck to their schedule they had so easily adapted to around each other.

[unibrowzz]

Mod (finally) reviews all 67 winners of the Eurovision Song Contest Part II: The 1960s

Welcome back! To this...

Whatever you wanna call it, I can barely call half of these “reviews” but ANYWAYS.

The 60s are. Mid-table. Not a tremendously bad decade by all means, but they’re also the only decade to have three songs in my “would refuse to listen to” category, which is an achievement. 

I’m sure you can all guess at least two of those songs by now!

Without further ado, let’s move on to what I think of the winning entries from the 60s.

1960: Tom Pillibi

Country: France 

Artist: Jacqueline Boyer

Language: French

Thoughts: Whenever I was younger and enjoyed singing, I was frequently told that I had a "nasally" voice. I never knew what this meant, and I rarely heard my own voice to hear what it meant. Since people told me I had a nice voice, I continued to sing without fixing it. But now I'm older and know a tiny bit more about music, I can finally hear what they meant. Jaqueline here had a very nasally voice and a very high song to go with it. You can hear the notes being directed through her nose and sinuses rather than up from her diaphragm and mouth, resulting in a voice which sounds impressively high… but also very thin and flimsy. There's no resonance or depth to these notes, she sounds like a kid half her age trying to sing. Maybe that's what she was told to do, but given how this song is about a girl telling us about the shit her cheeky boyfriend tells her, I'd like to think not. Then again, this IS the 60s.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? United Kingdom- Bryan Johnson- “Looking High, high, high”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 54th

1961: Nous les Amoureux

Country: Luxembourg

Artist: Jean-Claude Pascale

Language: French

Thoughts: I know this song didn’t compete for France, but have you ever heard a more aggressively French song than this? This is one of the most sultry, seductive songs in this lineup; like it just feels like the song itself is trying to seduce me and is going to offer me a glass of fine red wine before leading me to a candlelit bedroom and a four-post bed with rose petals scattered across it or some shit. That or it's gonna blow a long stream of cigarette smoke right into my face. One or the other. Going back on track, I like this song. Granted I wouldn’t call it a favourite or anything, but it’s still a Hell of a lot more likeable than most of the other 60s winners, and Hell, you could even argue this one is a lot more admirable given how the lyrics of the song are intended for a male lover of the singer’s. Which, for the early 60s, makes this a bigger deal than it would be nowadays. The singing is buttery smooth, and the song itself has a bit of a skip to it. It’s a very appealing song, and one I appreciate just a little bit more than the other songs from the 60s.

Is this my personal winner for this year? 50/50

If no, what is? France- Jean-Paul Mauric- “Printemps, avril carillon”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 26th

1962: Un Premier Amour 

Country: France

Artist: Isabelle Aubret

Language: French (Translation: “A First Love”)

Thoughts: You know whenever you play a CD too much and it eventually becomes all scratched and worn down so whenever you play it it skips back to the same part over and over again before unsticking to play a bit more of the song, but keeps getting stuck over and over? Yeah, imagine a whole song like that. This song just drones on, with no charisma or vocal animation to break up the monotony. I don’t even think the rule “well it was the 60s” applies, since this isn’t really a song that needs flashy setpieces, costuming, dancing or anything; it just needs a charismatic singer. And, unfortunately, Aubret just isn’t one, in my opinion.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? United Kingdom- Ronnie Carroll- "Ring-a-Ding Girl"

Personal ranking (out of 67):  62nd

1963: Dansevise

Country: Denmark

Artist: Grete and Jørgen Ingmann

Language: Danish

Thoughts: Oh fucking finally, something unique for once. Which is very surprising because, from what I've seen and heard, the early contests weren't all that kind to songs which didn’t fit a certain criteria. If anything, most songs which came off as being unique with different sounds, instruments, and moods compared to the rest of their years ended up pulling up the rear in last place, more often than not with nil points. So it's nice to see a song which not only has unique elements to it (ie, a brooding sultry guitar accompaniment and a steady sweeping tempo), but is also in a stereotypically "ugly" language do well this early on.  Getting back on track, this is one of those songs I find tends to be a cult favourite, especially amongst vintage and retro fans. And why wouldn't it be? It's a breath of fresh air in an era where so many songs sounded exactly the same, just in a different language. This is one of the few fan favourite winners where I can see the appeal myself.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Yes

If no, what is? N/A

Personal ranking (out of 67): 27th

1964: Non ho l’Eta

Country: Italy

Artist: Gigliola Cinquetti

Italian: (Translation: “I’m not old enough”)

Thoughts: If that title isn’t off-putting enough, then I don’t know what is. You’re all probably well aware of this right now, but I don’t like this song. At all. Everything about it just makes me feel creeped out and kinda dirty every time I hear it, which is a shame because the melody on its own is very pretty. It’s the song equivalent of flicking through re-runs of Top of the Pops and landing on a segment where Jimmy Saville is hosting; it just sends a disgusted shiver down my spine and I have to turn it off as quickly as possible.  Which, given the lyrics of this song, is understandable. Think about it; you’ve got this visibly nervous, very young, still-legally-a-child-in-most-countries teenager, singing about how she “isn’t old enough” to be in a relationship with someone who seems to be older than she is. Maybe it’s just because I don’t speak any Italian, and the meaning is all semantic and context based, but this is my personal opinion at the end of the day, and, unfortunately, these lyrics just come off as really creepy to me. This song reminds me a lot of the song “Baby, it’s Cold Outside”, in that the lyrics used to be totally innocent and sweet, but to a modern listener come off as shockingly creepy and off-putting, and you’re not sure if it’s down to a change in slang and colloquialisms or if the past really was that messed up. Just like how in "Baby it's Cold Outside", a line asking "does this contain alcohol" now sounds like "have you spiked this with something", what was once “I’m too young and naïve to be in a serious committed relationship” now comes off as “I’m underaged, please leave me alone”. Doesn’t help that Cinquetti was underaged, hated the song, didn’t want to perform, and only showed up because she was forced to by a pushy manager. Which, for the 60s, was par for the course.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Germany- Nora Nova- "Man Gewöhnt sich zu Schnell an das Schöne"

Personal ranking (out of 67):  66th

1965: Poupée du Cire, Poupée du Son

Country: Luxembourg

Artist: France Gall

Language: French (Translation: “Wax doll, stuffed doll”)

Thoughts: And now we come to Non ho L’eta’s ugly little sister in that, just like with that song, there’s a weirdly sinister edge to this one that I just can’t shake off. My French isn’t fantastic, admittedly, but every line of this song seems like it has another, less innocent meaning. Like the whole song is one big double entendre. Which, given how this was written by Serge “I made a 16 year old sing about blowing dicks when she thought she was singing about lollipops” Gainsborg, wouldn’t surprise me. Dodgy lyrics aside, this song is just… terrible. Songs which repeat the same motif over and over are a dime a dozen in older Eurovision, though most of them at least spice it up with a key change, adding more instruments to the instrumental, or even just having a nice melody. This? Is just an uncharismatic, uninterested teenager barking the same few notes over and over again ad nauseum. I know it was the 60s and that the contest was way more restrictive in how songs could be performed, but there’s just… no enthusiasm or animation or anything to make this charming or remotely enjoyable. It’s just shouty, unpleasant, and lacking any semblance of charisma. And I don't care if it's "important", it fucking sucks and we deserved a better song as our “first uptempo winner” of the contest.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? The Netherlands- Conny Vandenbos- “‘t is Genoeg”

Personal ranking (out of 67):  67th

1966- Merci, Chérie

Country:  Austria

Artist: Udo Jurgens

Language: German (Translation: “Thank you, my dear”)

Thoughts: I’m so conflicted on this song. It’s very beautiful, emotional, dramatic... BUT. I just find it so forgettable, I’m sorry. I’m struggling to even talk about it right now. Do you know how long it took me to even finish this mini review? Too damn long. I forgot all about this song mid way through it. So at the recommendation of a friend I put this one on so I could review it whilst it plays and… it’s just a very sleepy song. Udo Jurgens is a good singer, I won’t deny that, but, God, he sounds like he’s nodding off as he sings. The first minute and a half of this song sounds like one big yawn. And that’s over half the song wasted just building to a climax, since I don’t think this song has a chorus, and for a song this short and slow I just don’t think it’s wise to put your climax right in the middle. I feel it would be better if it had two climactic parts or just put the climax right at the end of the song so the whole song is spent building that suspense. Shoving it smack in the middle of the song just makes it feel shorter. Also the fact it’s a piano song reminds me of Non ho l’eta and I don’t need to repeat myself to remind you that’s a bad thing, so, moving on.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Italy- Domenico Modugno- “Dio, come ti amo”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 45th

1967: Puppet on a String

Country: United Kingdom

Artist: Sandie Shaw

Language: English

Thoughts: You know, I was pretty shocked to find out this song is a Eurovision song. Partially because I didn’t realise just how old Eurovision actually is, and partially because as somebody who grew up in Britain in the 2000s, I was just bred to believe the UK is inherently shit, has never won ever, and is incapable of sending songs people actually cherish and remember. But that’s a rant for another day. Anyways, this is the song Poupée du Cire wishes it was. It’s charming, it’s bouncy, it skips along so merrily you forget how the lyrics have aged about as well as a pint of milk left out in the sun for too long.  Then again, I think the lyrics were outdated even back then. I suppose what sets this song aside from the other “60s entries with sexist lyrics sung by young women who didn’t want to be there” is that Shaw is a damn good performer, and hides her disdain expertly. If she wasn’t so vocal about how much she hates this song, you’d swear she loves it, her performance is that charming.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Eh

If no, what is? Portugal- Eduardo Nascimento- “O vento mudou”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 24th

1968: La la la

Country: Spain

Artist: Massiel

Language: Spanish

Thoughts: And the award for most creatively bankrupt name goes to…  Granted, 1968 was one of the dreariest years I’ve watched, so it’s pretty easy to see why a song like this would have done well. That said, this is a really bland song, and even in a year as dull as 1968, I still don’t think this should have won. It’s the kind of song which relies on repeating itself ad nauseum in order to get stuck in your head, and let’s be honest here, that makes it more annoying than anything else. There’s only so many rounds of “la la la” you can take before you feel like rupturing your own eardrums with a knitting needle after all. I don’t really have anything else to say about it, it’s just mildly annoying and not that good.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Norway- Odd Børre- “Stress”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 55th

1969- Four Winners, One Contest

France: Un jour, un enfant

Artist: Frida Boccara

Language: French

Thoughts: Well this is objectively the best of the four songs we have here, and it’s also my favourite winner from France, so at least it has that going for it. Though, let’s be real, I’m hardly a big fan of France’s winners, or French ballads in general. So this is… a big emotional ballad. What more is there to say? It’s big. It’s emotional. The lyrics are nonsense because God help us if we have songs with strong emotions this early on in the contest. Summary: Very nice, but lacking substance. Personal ranking (out of 67):  21st

Spain: Vivo Cantando

Artist: Salome

Language: Spanish

Thoughts: I’m not really what you’d call an advocate for bringing back a live orchestra, but, man, songs like this sure turn me into one. The live version of this song is in a whole other league compared to the studio version; like it is just pure, infectious, Spanish cheer. It’s an absolute blast to listen to, and I strongly recommend checking out the live version before going anywhere near the studio. Summary: Infections, but choose live over studio because it’s better okay. Personal ranking (out of 67):  20th

The Netherlands: Der Troubadour

Artist: Lenny Kuhr

Language: Dutch

Thoughts: I mean.... The guitar solo is impressive at least. I’m sorry, I don’t see the appeal in this one. And I feel so weirdly alone in that stance. So many people I know have this song in their top ten best winners list and I just don’t understand it. I just find it very dull and repetitive, and the singer’s voice is definitely an acquired taste. To me she just sounds like she’s forcing her voice lower, like a reverse falsetto or something. And that’s all I really have to say about this one. I just… don’t  like it that much, or at least not as much as everyone else I know seems to. Summary: I don’t “get” it. Personal ranking (out of 67): 53rd

United Kingdom: Boom-Bang-a-Bang

Artist: Lulu

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the forgotten UK winner. Everybody knows Lulu did this contest once, and everybody knows Boom-bang-a-bang was a British entry, but I swear nobody knows she actually won. Probably because she had the audacity to tie with other countries, the horror. And that’s the most interesting part of this song because it’s otherwise  just kind of alright. It’s very twee and sweet, and if I didn’t know that “bubblegum pop” was a genre reserved for one-hit-wonder nobodies and not decade-defining names then I’d say this is a perfect example of it. It’s just a decent-ish fluffy pop song with very saccharine fluffy lyrics. Standard British Eurovision pap, if you ask me. Summary: Cute, but lacking substance. Personal ranking (out of 67): 25th

So who really should have won in 1969? Either Spain or Monaco if you ask me. That kid had charm.

[thefantasygirl3]

Negaverse stories: Megavolt's backstory

Genre/warnings: Comedy, Slice of life, Action, Drama.

Word count: 3 725

Summary: After the events of Darkwing Duck coming to the Negaverse and helping the now called “Darkwing Ducks” save st. Canard, the four heroes decided to adopt the adorable little Gosalyn, buy a house and start a life together. But the little duckling is curious over how all her dads became heroes to start with, so she asks them to tell her that story.

Notes: This is the first of four chapters, for each of the Negaverse’s Friendly four, starting off with Megavolt’s backstory. Link to other parts of the story: 2 - Quackerjack. 3 - Bushroot. 4 - Liquidator.

A hero's backstory is really something else. It is the reason for who they become. For being a crime fighting symbol of justice. And that backstory can be exciting and inspiring, it can be tragic and heart-wrenching or it could just be downright underwhelming. But whatever the tone of the story, it is the most interesting thing a hero got to tell about themselves

In the city of st. Carnard, in the negaverse, night was approaching and covering the city in the pale moonlight. It was about time for all the kids to get themselves ready for bedtime and for the parents to tuck their kids into bed so they can drift off into dreamland. This was the same for the Darkwing ducks' household. After the help of The original Darkwing Duck, the group formerly known as The Friendly Four were able to restore peace to the city, adopt Negaduck's kid and get themselves a house to live in, like any regular family of four dads and a daughter. It was in this house that the very tired looking rat was trying to be like every other parent and settle his duck daughter into bed so she can finally doze off.

Gosalyn was bouncing around in her bed, struggling against Megavolt's attempts to get her into her proper place in bed. Head against pillow, body under the blanket, still and calm. But boy was she making that really difficult. "I don't want to sleep! Not if you're gonna make me go to camp tomorrow!" she whined and clutched tightly onto the bed's bottom railing as her dad was trying to pull her back into place on the bed. "But hun! It is obligatory! You. Have. To. G-go!" he groaned as he tried his best to pry her off of the foot of her bed, but lost his grip and flew back into the wall. While she was free, the duck girl quickly got off of the bed and hid herself underneath the bed, trying to do whatever she could to not have to go to bed. 

As the electrified rodent regained his composure, he spotted his daughter hiding in the shadows of the underside of her bed. He sighed and crouched down beside her hiding spot, looking at her exhaustedly as he was too worn out from her struggling to try and get her back into bed again "Come on, Gosalyn. You can't skip out on the field trip by staying up all night" he tried to reason with her as he sat himself down beside her, showing he was no longer going to wrangle with her. The pair of eyes peering back at him responded with a grumpy "You're just saying that so I'll go to sleep and then you can force me into the forest with all the bugs and bears and snakes and moose!" and then huffed sharply. The rat sighed at her resistance, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to think up something to say. 

"Please, hun. You're only punishing yourself by doing this. Whether you sleep or not, you're going on the field trip" he groaned and sank down further onto the floor. "Papa said I didn't need to go!" Gosalyn pointed out as she crawled out from under the bed to pout at her dad on the floor. "You know very well that Bushroot can't say no to you when you make that face at him! His decision is invalid!" he scowled at her as he sat back up and moved to sit cross-legged in front of her. All she did was puff up her cheeks at him and cross her arms with a mad grunt. Letting out a sigh, Megavolt tilted his head back and stared up at the roof, until an idea suddenly hit him and he lit up like a light bulb. 

"... How about we make a deal then?" he asked and looked over at his daughter, a small grin growing on his face. She just gave him a suspicious look, not sure if she would like this "deal". The adult stood up from the floor, saying "If you promise you will go to bed and go on the field tomorrow, I will give you the best gift I can". Crawling out from under the bed, the little duck looks up at him curiously. "A doll?" she asked. "Much better" he responded to her. "A doll house?!" she then inquired while scuttling up onto the bed. "Even better!" he then told her and sat down beside her on the bed. "A HORSE?!?" she then shouted in excitement, throwing her hands up in the air. "O-Ok. Not THAT good! We're not made of money" he chuckled as he then put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. 

"I'm going to tell you the story of how I became a hero, if you promise me right now that you'll go to bed and go on the field trip tomorrow" Megavolt suggested to her while trying to hide his smug, delighted grin from her. Gosalyn's face lit up and she jumped up on him, gripping onto his arm like a koala. "Really?! You'll tell me your backstory?!" she asked as she stared at him with big, sparkling eyes, full of hope. "Maybe… if i hear those two magic words" her dad said as he looked down at her expectantly. Immediately, faster than a lightning bolt, she let go of him and shot over towards her spot in bed, getting comfy under her blankets. "I promise, dad!" she said and looked at him with her cute, innocent eyes. He chuckled at her and reached out his hand, patting her head before clearing his throat, getting ready to start his story.

So it all started pretty much in high school. I was a very talented and smart teen, my grades very high, just like my ego. I thought so highly of myself, as if no one could be smarter or more successful than me. I was practically the biggest bully in the entire school. Or at the very least… the second biggest bully in the school… no one beat Drake when it came to malice.

"What?! You were a bully?! No way!" Little Gosalyn said in surprise as she was listening to him starting to tell the story. "Yes. I know. I am very ashamed of how I used to act. But let's continue the story, alright?" the rat told her before trying to recall the next part of the story.

I was the smartest kid I knew, with straight A's across the board. I used to hold my intellect above everyone else, especially the sport kids and the kids with average grades. I used to bully them relentlessly, taunt them about being losers, doomed to working in retail and fast food service jobs for the rest of their lives. I'd even make the more timid kids partake in some of my experiments, constantly telling them that that was all they would be good for.

Particularly this one kid. Hamilton Ham String.

He was… the typical stars-in-his-eyes sports fanatic that dreamed of becoming a football player some day. He would partake in every sport the school could offer and would constantly talk about the sports on TV. Now I was never that… involved with him, though it may sound like I knew him well. It's only that after that fateful day… he's been a big influence to me. 

It was the day before prom. I had been working on this machine and I had finally managed to finalize a prototype. All that I needed was for someone to test it out. And obviously that wouldn't be me. So I headed out of the school workshop and took a look around for who would be my… lab rat. And there, down the hallway, I saw him. My favorite victim, Hamilton. He was throwing the pigskin around with a friend of his yelling stuff like "Radical catch right there, Daddy-o!" and "My shots are the most tubular around!"

"DAAAAAD!" Gosalyn whined as she pushed her dad, getting him to stop the story for the moment. "What?" he asked, completely clueless. "No one says stuff like that anymore!" she muttered annoyed and looked at him with an unsatisfied pout. "Really? It was the hottest lingo around when I was just a teen. Everyone said stuff like "Cool beans" and "Funky" at that time!" he said with a confused look on his face while scratching his head. "DAAAD!!" the little girl groaned as she physically cringed at his outdated slang. "Ok ok! Fine. I'll change it to be more modern, for you" he then chuckled at her, continuing on with his story short after.

Hamilton was laughing about his throwing skills, winking at a girl that was walking past. I saw her blush at him as he did, giggling and covering her face with her bag. I remember rolling my eyes so hard at them, finding their flirting so stupid and meaningless. Then again, I thought love was a ridiculous concept anyways.

But as he was giving his girlfriend those flirty glances, I just marched up to him and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. He seemed rather surprised by it and he looked at me, only able to say "Huh?!" as I pulled him down towards me. I could see his face turn into that usual nervousness as he realized just who it was that grabbed his attention, literally. "O-oh! Hey there, Mr. Sputterspark! E-everything alright today?" he asked me with this awkward grin on his face, as if trying to get on my good side. I didn't care, I just dragged him along towards the workshop while ignoring his protests and excuses. I could see his girlfriend across the way, I remember it very clearly, she looked terrified.

As we got inside the room, he kept telling me he didn't do anything and that he's sorry about whatever he did. I completely ignored him and pushed him forward onto the floor. "Shut up, pig" I growled at him as I observed him shuffle back to his feet, now quiet at my request. "I don't care about your low IQ attempts to excuse yourself! Just do as I say!" I growled and walked on over towards my machine. It was a simple treadmill, with a carpet fastened to the running belt and restraints added on to the handles. He just stared at it, confused and worried. Understandable. I didn't have the most promising track record. 

"Um… wh-what is that, Elmo?" Hamilton asked me while trying to sneak over toward the door. I stopped him by grabbing his ear, saying "This, as simply explained as possible, is a machine meant to power this here light bulb. Through the power of static electricity, the friction against the carpet will generate powers high enough to give power to at least this entire room! Just imagine how much electricity could be generated with a full warehouse of these soft, metallic beauties!". I then turned around to him and started pulling him in close, so close our noses were squishing together. "And I just so happen to need someone to test it out for me" I told him very bluntly before forcing him over towards the machine.

Just as I started doing so, the boy began to struggle against my grip and begged for me to stop. "H-Hey! Let me go! Stop!" he pleaded with me, which I of course ignored, as if it was just hot wind blowing by my ears. But something very unexpected happened. I heard him let out a growl and yell "N-NO! I'M NOT GOING TO BE A GUINEA PIG AGAIN! STEP OFF!!!" before he ripped his arm loose and raised it up out of my reach. I was stunned into silence as all I could do was stare at him. I couldn't believe he told me off! It actually caused me to step back and feel a slight tad of fear stir up in my chest. Only a few seconds thereafter his hand came flying towards me and smacked me back. I was flung back towards my machine, landing on the carpeted belt and grunting in pain. As I tried to pull myself up from the belt, I grabbed onto the handles and the restraints I had built in immediately snapped shut over my arms. "Wh-What the-!" Was all I could manage to say before the treadmill started up and the belt began slowly building up speed. I did my best to pry my arms loose but I had done a little too well when building this thing.

It got faster and faster as my legs were forced to start running. I felt how, for the first time since starting High school, fear was taking over and I was panicking like crazy. I looked up at Hamilton and begged for him "Please! Help me! Hamilton, please save me!". But he just stared at me with this abject horror over his face. I'll never forget the look he had as he then turned away from me and ran out the door, leaving me to try and save myself and my poor poor legs.

"WHAT?!? He just LEFT you to run your legs off?! What a meanie!" Gosalyn said angrily as she stood up in bed, throwing her hands up in frustration. Megavolt lifted her up, laying her back down in bed before tucking her in once more. "You got to understand, sweetie, I was about to force him into the same situation I got myself into. He was probably scared over what I'd do after he just pushed me into my own torture machine" he sighed as he reached out and rubbed her head, smiling sadly as he was thinking about those times. "I kinda think I deserved worse than that. But either way, I'm thankful it happened…" he said softly, transitioning back into the story.

I remember running on that treadmill for almost an hour, my legs being at the brink of death. They felt like if I were to stop, the movement of the belt would pull them right along with it. I was sweating like a melting ice cube and panting so hard I could move a sailboat on my own. I think I even blacked out at a few points, only to be brought back to reality by my knees burning from the friction on them.

But after that painfully long hour, the lamp that was connected to the machine had begun to flicker violently from an overflow of electricity. After it had been unstably wavering for a long while, it finally broke. So did the rest of the lights in the room. I could even tell later that the hallway lights had lost power. Luckily, that power outage put a complete stop to the treadmill and released my arms at the same time, causing me to be flung forward and crash into the wall, covered in loose papers that were stuck to me, thanks to the overabundance of static electricity.

When I came to, I was laying on the floor, homeworks and instructions stuck to my face and making it harder to see. I removed them and saw even less than before, being surrounded by complete darkness. "... Hamilton? Hey… anyone there?" I called out weakly as I pushed myself up and wandered over towards the door. As I grabbed the handle, a sudden shock of energy shot through my body and I was paralyzed as it coursed through my limbs, until I was flung back into the wall once more. I stared at the door in shock as I was trying to come up with an explanation to myself. 

After a few moments of dumbfounded silence, my eyes drifted down to my hands and I noticed slight sparks traveling between my fingertips. I started to panic and shook my hand around, yelling "GET IF OFF! GET IT OFF!" as I stumbled around the room. As I did so, a bolt of energy shot out of my fingers and hit my machine, causing it to fry for a moment, then explode. I just stopped right in my tracks and stared at it, surprisingly calm at that point. All I could think of was what in the world just happened to me. But then feelings of exhaustion suddenly hit me and all I could think to do was go home and crash in bed.

And so I did. I went home and went to bed, ignoring the weird things that happened until the next morning. I did some tests with my newfound electricity powers, after having blown up my toaster accidentally. I discovered that I had the power to store electricity in my body and discharge it at choice. It was an amazing discovery. A breakthrough in science! I had given myself superpowers! It was a revolutionary event! I had to tell someone! I had to go tell Hamilton! He was the one who had caused me to make such a discovery after all. I had been so busy testing my powers that I realized I was going to be late for prom. And prom would have been the perfect place to make this announcement. So I got dressed in the fanciest clothes I got and headed out towards school. 

As I reached the big double doors leading into the gym, I didn't hesitate a second. I busted right through them and yelled "Can I please have everyone's attention!". The band on stage stopped the music and everyone in the room turned their heads to look over at me in shock and fear. They probably thought I was finally going to blow up the school or something. I reached up towards the singer on scene and snatched the microphone from him. "I have a very important announcement to make, everyone! I was involved in a scientific accident yesterday!" I began explaining as I scanned the room. I found Hamilton as I did so and could see the expression of absolute horror on his face, as if he was writing his will in his head already. "But listen! After this failed experiment caused a blackout in school, I discovered that I have gained superpowers! I can produce electricity from my body!" I then continued as I started approaching him and his girlfriend, smiling in excitement about the amazing news. 

Everyone was quiet, just glaring at me as if I had gone mad. Then I heard Drake start to laugh like a hyena, falling over onto the floor from how funny he apparently found it. Quite a few other people joined in too in laughing at me. I started to panic and I could see Hamilton and his girlfriend start to back away from me, like I was a mad man. "N-no wait! It's true! I have superpowers! Look!" I told everyone as I then fired off a bolt of lightning, which bounced off of the punch bowl and fried Drake's back feathers. He looked extremely mad about it. Hamilton shivered while gripping his girlfriend, telling me in a shaking voice "A-alright! I believe you! P-please don't hurt me! I didn't mean to push you into that thing!". "H-huh?! No! Dude! I'm not going to hurt you! I wanted to thank you, actually! If you hadn't defended yourself against me, we might have never made this breakthrough! Do you realize how big this is?! How these powers could be used to help further technology?!" I rambled at him as I was getting myself worked up about all of the possibilities that had opened up to me. 

"Yeah! Just think about all the security systems you could disable. All the cops you could electrocuted! All the electronic stores you could take over!" Drake suddenly spoke up as he stomped over to me and gripped me by my shirt. "W-what?!" was all I could respond with before he continued talking. "Your powers would be very useful. If I had those abilities, I'd be able to rob all the banks in st. Carnard! No…  I could take over st. Carnard!" he started laughing in this diabolical voice, still having a tight grip on my shirt. 

I gasped at his proposition and pulled his hand loose, yelling at him "No! I would never do something like that!". "Bah! What a waste of superpowers. Going to a nerd like you! Maybe it should have gone to the pig!" Drake growled as he poked at my chest, clearly trying to provoke me. But I just slapped his hand away, backing away towards the door. "You… I'll show all of you that my powers will be put to good use! I will use my powers for GOOD! I'll put an end to villains like you!" I yelled and pointed at him. Drake just walked right up to me and grabbed me by my throat, tossing me out the big double doors. "Sure thing, nerd. I'll show you that I'll take over st. Carnard, even if some super freaks try to stop me" he told me as the doors slowly closed behind me.

It was after that day that I decided to change my ways, to drop my bad attitude. I needed to become more like Hamilton. Someone who hoped for a better future, then would do what they could to make that dream a reality. I would become a hero.

"Wow… dad. That was amazing. You were so mean before, but now you're so sweet to my other dads!" Gosalyn muttered tiredly as she gave away a big yawn. Megavolt sighed with a big smile on his face as he tucked in his daughter, who snuggled up in bed. "Yes. I am proud of myself for making that change. And I bet Quackerjack is very thankful for it" he chuckled softly and pat the duckling's head. "Wait. What do you mean by that?" she asked confused as she looked up at him curiously. "Heh heh… guess you'll have to ask for his backstory to figure that out" Megavolt said with a smug voice as he stood up and headed over towards the door. "Now go to sleep. Remember, you promised" he chuckled softly and turned off the lights, closing the door behind him.

[but-the-library-of-alexandria]

I have some thoughts about Good Omens, Crowley and Aziraphale and Change. Maybe all this is obvious but indulge me anyway. 

One of the many ways that C&A are visually presented as opposites - one of the subtler ones, I think - is that Crowley’s appearance changes frequently. Crowley’s aesthetic and his everyday lifestyle is in many ways defined by his changeability. He has a few favourite pieces, but he seems to wake up each morning and find something new and on-trend to wear. He has a new haircut every few years and a few times he(?) changes his gender presentation for a while, too. Sure, he has an old-fashioned answerphone and a vintage car, but those things are pretty on-trend right now, and he also has a smartphone, a fancy TV and a chic, relatively modern home. His modernity, in every era, relies on making frequent changes to everything he owns, and himself. 

Hell, one of the first things we see Crowley do is change: 

The next we hear of him, he’s changed his name. He’s changed it again when we see him in the forties, and both times there’s a whole little dialogue around it, just to make it more conspicuous. 

And Aziraphale? Well, he literally wears the same jacket for over a hundred years. He’s had the same haircut for all of time. Aziraphale’s aesthetic - both in terms of his own clothes and in his home/bookshop/favourite places - is defined by the old-fashioned and preserved. His whole earthly life has been built around preserving antiques - the bookshop, that jacket again:

Aziraphale also never seems to change his name. He presumably has a human alias, but it’s only used once (the Nazis call him ‘Mr. Fell’) and his false forenames are never revealed, except that the initials are A.Z (according to the sign over his bookshop). He generally seems to go by Aziraphale or nothing at all; he doesn’t seem to have given a name at all to Shadwell, while Crowley invented yet another alias to deal with him. 

Doesn’t this reflect their different attitudes to bigger things as well? 

Crowley is all for carving out a new path pretty much the moment the apocalypse shows it’s face on earth, while Aziraphale, the dude who said ‘you go too fast for me’ after 6000 years, waits until the very last minute to give up on going the approved, official route. 

It’s change Crowley threatens Aziraphale with to scare him into helping stop the apocalypse - the loss of his routine, the things he loves, his old things, old books and old clothes. The end of the world would promise an enormous change, even if ‘good’ were to win the war and create some kind of paradise. 

Of course, they’re both in this because they like their familiar lives on earth and don’t want to lose that, but it seems to be lack of change Crowley fears: 

Perhaps progress, new experiences, and constant stimulation are what Crowley likes best about being on earth, as opposed to the timeless stagnation of either heaven or hell. Aziraphale, meanwhile, likes to live in a bit of a cocoon, at least in the modern day: he’s not keeping up with the latest music or technology, just basking in the things humans have already created. 

This isn’t to say that Aziraphale doesn’t change at all. In fact, he adapts his look to the current fashions for thousands of years in episode three: a new, usually quite showy, outfit for almost every era of history.

The moment he startings settling into his Forever Look is sometime during The Breakup - here he is on that day, wearing his soon-to-be signature jacket:

and again, in the forties, in almost the same outfit:

and sporting the same Look for this infamous moment:

And he sticks with it into the modern day. 

He stops changing around the time he starts to get scared about how things are going. Earlier in time - pre-Arrangement and into the earlier stages of the Arrangement era - he seems happy enough to move with the times, fashion-wise and in terms of culture. It’s only when shit starts getting real with this whole thing he has going with Crowley - when Crowley starts asking for holy water and breaking into churches, and making it clear that what they’re doing is dangerous but that he doesn’t plan to let that stop him - that Aziraphale starts looking for more stability and clinging to ‘the old days’. 

That iconic line fits this whole Change theme perfectly: at some point in time,  Aziraphale was happy to be swept along, but when he’s hit with the very real possibility of his and Crowley’s destruction, all of a sudden it’s all about keeping things how they are, or even how they were, in defiance of a future where things look to be getting more and more dangerous for them. Perhaps the sweet spot was right there in the Victorian era, after their formative lunch date in Paris but just before the holy water debacle that made Aziraphale back-pedal - so he wears the jacket that belonged to that ideal time forever. 

Crowley has the opposite approach to being faced with possible destruction: change more! Explore new avenues of self-defence, new ways of living and of being! Get hold of holy water, stop the apocalypse, form a whole new ‘side’ distinct from either heaven or hell! But Aziraphale conspicuously struggles to accept Crowley’s changes, struggling with his new names, getting confused by his new-fashioned music and slang, and of course, his proposed changes to their relationship over the course of the years.

And I think it’s this dichotomy, more than the good/evil, angel/demon one, that causes most of the tension in their relationship. I’m gonna promote this post again for Good Shit relating to this: basically the idea that crowley’s reaction to danger is to commit to your stance and prepare some ways to survive the inevitable consequences, whereas Aziraphale’s reaction is to put the brakes on whatever you’re doing wrong and try not to get into any more trouble. 

Aziraphale’s instinct to hold back, to look back to a time before the trouble started - his instinct to stop things from getting worse, and to keep everything that’s working well, everything he’s comfortable with, exactly as it is, clashes with Crowley’s instinct to keep adapting and moving forward to stay ahead of the game. And isn’t that the real difference between angels and demons: fidelity to the status quo vs. questioning and pushing boundaries?

And I just love that you can see all this in their clothes.   

[spidernana]

Fresh snickered around the stick of what appeared to be a cherry blow pop, twirling the cord of the desk phone set on the corner of his desk. There was little to no reason for the phone to have a cord, as it appeared to be very modern, but that seemed to matter none to the flashily dressed monster, his sunglasses proclaiming ‘SWEET’ across them as he kicked back in his office chair and, with the toe of one shoe, pulled B’s abandoned chair closer to his side of the large desk.

“that might be too much rad in one room, dude~ we’re gonna bring down the hiz house, for real... soon as he shows his radical face, at-” he started to enthuse, his grin broad enough to bare his single gold tooth, but was cut off by all four doors of the building blowing open, a gust of wind rustling the curtains over the windows.

They admitted a moment later, with grandiose, canned applause from an unknown location, a skeleton monster that had never before set foot in the lounge, his ankle length, dark purple trench coat flapping around his ankles and a pair of shades, fashionable and sleek, covering his sockets, one cracked enough to part the bone of his face from temple to lip line.

He held what looked like a large duffel bag, slung over one shoulder, and wore a wide, friendly smile on his face, a half gloved hand rising to shift his sunglasses away and to the top of his hooded head as he stepped inside, the doors shutting behind him of their own accord. He let out a loud, excited whoop when he spotted Fresh seated at the front desk, upon inspection of the room, his single lit socket flaring with both recognition and enthusiasm and his bag slamming into the carpeted floor, immediately forgotten.

“fresh, my bruh-thafucka!” he exclaimed, arms spread wide as he crossed the lobby floor and, with a swift, easy leap, jumped the edge of the desk to land neatly in B’s chair (he held up his own 10, pulled from seemingly thin air), and Fresh, letting out a cry of recognition of his own, set the receiver of the phone down on the desk top and raised his own arms.

“awww shiznit, dawg, ‘s about to get crunk up in here~ lay it on me, young blood.”

The pair immediately devolved into an extremely long, complex handshake, grinning like mad men as it sped to ridiculous speeds, before finally settling into a quick, back thumping hug. The two clearly knew each other, and the new skeleton, releasing his friend and leaning back in his newly acquired seat, plonked his brown, thigh high boots on top of the desk before him as though he belonged there, folding his arms behind his head comfortably.

“what is gucci, famsquad? ain’t seen ya in a hot minute; real talk, figured you were lightin’ it up over in the swapverse,” the new skeleton, apparently named Epic, according to the ‘Hello, my name is:’ sticker that had appeared out of nowhere on one of the lapels of his trench coat, crowed, leaning back far enough in the desk chair to make it creak, and Fresh snickered, plopping back into his own chair and twirling in it.

“naaaaahh, homes- been hangin’ out, makin’ some green, stayin’ clean, checkin’ the scene, all that jazz.”

“facts? b did say this place was the goat... figured i’d check it, but i didn’t know my real ones was chillin’. i am stoked as hell, bruh.”

Fresh held a hand to his chest, his sunglasses flashing the word ‘D’AWW’ across them.

“bro...”

Epic shrugged his shoulders, winking his uncracked socket at his longtime friend, before holding up both of his hands, silently calling for order.

“aight, aight... tea time, bruh. deadass, cross finessed my stash before i blasted off, and i am low-key trippin’,” he complained, throwing an arm across his face and pulling the lever on the side of the chair to lean all the way back dramatically, and Fresh raised both of his bony brows in surprise.

It did sound like something Cross would do... he was still salty that he hadn’t been invited, he knew that for sure. Supremely uncool to take it out on Epic, though. Wasn’t his fault... it was B’s rules.

“for real? wack. no big, we’ll burn some dubs... but broseph, i got ya one better. check it: got an anon on the line, lookin’ for a good time on the chiller thriller with only the dopest of the dope... you and me, g. you down?” he supplied, wagging his raised brows and jerking a thumb at the phone chilling on the desk top, and Epic shot back up in the office chair so quickly his sunglasses launched across the lobby, surprising Gaster, where he stood chatting with Comic beside the coffee stand, into nearly spilling his tea all over his sweater.

Comic chortled at that, over the rim of his mug, and tossed the glasses back with a flick of his finger. Epic caught them with an unapologetic smirk, saluting the pair with them before stowing them in an inside pocket of his trench coat and turning back to Fresh with a wide, excited grin spread across his clever face.

“count me in, my guy, sansy fresh and your bruh epic’ve got this on lock, no cap,” he enthused, scooting his chair closer to Fresh’s side of the large reception desk, and the bodacious skeleton beside him smirked broadly at that, making to pick up the phone receiver before spotting, on the edge of his desk, a paper plate covered with seran wrap.

“suh-weet, let’s rock the heasy- oh, hol’ up, bro. b madeja your fix, wanted to welcome you to the lounge. classic’s got her on lockdown, so she couldn’t slide ‘em your way herself, but i promised i’d getcha your rocks.”

He slid the plate across the desktop, knocking a few balled up post it notes to the ground at his feet (joining a rather large gathering of them already beneath his desk), and Epic, plucking the wrap away from the top with one neat motion, let out an exaggerated gasp, snatching up one of the sweets within with almost worshipful awe.

“i... can’t even, bruh. this is so SICK! best. boss. ever. makes me cookies, lets us chill here for free, and pays us for knockin’ one out? i am shook, fam. these digs are on fleek,” he enthused, stuffing the cookie he held into his mouth and groaning in absolute ecstasy, and Fresh snickered, knocking his shoulder against the other monster’s.

“it’s a tight gig, broseph. now let’s hit it~”

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

Gaster, blowing over the steaming amber liquid in his tea cup from his seat in the kitchenette area, lowered his cracked brows over skeptical sockets, watching the pair of ridiculous skeleton monsters crowd around the phone receiver.

“...I have no idea what either of them are saying. Is this some kind of secret code?” he asked of the monster beside him, indicating the scene with a nod of his skull, and Comic, diverted from pouring himself a second cup of coffee, sent the pair a glance before snorting through his nasal cavity.

“’s slang, dad. generational stuff. you missed the bell curve on both of them, big time,” he explained, sliding the coffee pot back onto its warming plate, and the ancient monster brightened, turning to his companion with an excited spark of recognition in his gaze.

“Oh, I know some slang! It’s the bee’s knees~” he said confidently, holding his chin high, and Comic only raised his brow bones at him, smiling in silent, pained pity. Gaster deflated at that, his broad shoulders lowering.

“...out of date?”

“by about eighty years.”

“Drat.”

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

The moment the receiver left the surface of the desk, Epic leaned into it, mouth still full of cookie but enthusiasm unable to be held in check a moment longer.

“eyyyyo~ what is goooooood, bruh?”

You snickered, telling him you were well, and Fresh reached out to pull his hood over his face playfully before leaning into the receiver himself.

“thanks for waitin’, my rad little g. epic just slid his way onto the scene, though... the gang’s all here,” he revealed, snatching one of Epic’s cookies while the chuckling monster struggled with his hood, and you laughed along with them, your mood instantly boosted by their energy.

This was just the pickup you’d needed, and you told them as much, as well as inquiring after their well being. Epic made a soft sound of appreciation as he finally managed to wrestle himself free of his hood, smacking Fresh on the shoulder with a rubber chicken he pulled from the inside of his sleeve.

“aww. we’re good, bruh, too blessed to be stressed. way i hear, quarantine won’t be lasting too much longer on our end.”

Fresh nodded in confirmation of this, summoning a orange foam sword to bop his friend back with.

“good thing, too. things’ve been getting dicey, keeping all these uncool brosephs cooped up with no cute humans to screw.”

The fights had been getting more and more ridiculous, and were starting to add up. They could only be glad that Error and most of the more destructive monsters had decided to leave to attend to business in their own universes, totally uncaring of the plight of humanity.

Fresh really didn’t want to think about the tantrums Nightmare would be throwing, being ignored for so long. Last thing they needed was a hole in reality to deal with.

Epic made a sound of understanding, throwing a curious look at the closed and roped off double doors that led into the lounge, and then hummed beneath his breath.

“bet b’s ready to fly the coop,” he surmised, squeezing the chicken in his hand at the same moment to make it squawk, and Fresh snorted, his sunglasses shifting to read ‘HELLA’ across them.

“big time. she never was one to like just sitting around.”

Epic nodded sagely, sneaking another cookie from his plate (he admired it with a clinical but lovestruck expression on his face before popping it into his mouth), and Fresh, waving away the conversation, turned back to the matter at hand... specifically, their waiting customer. His smile twisted at one edge, his posture reclining back in his office chair comfortably.

“but speakin’ of cute humans and knocking boots... here we are, dropping your sweet line, on the dl. were you just down for a chat?” he queried suggestively, arching a brow bone high, and Epic, catching on to his game, shared a sly smirk with him, brushing crumbs from his pants and leaning into the phone speaker.

“heh... or were you jonesing for a epicly fresh time?”

You flushed, flustered and overpowered by their change in tone, but admitted that yes, you’d been looking for something a little more intimate than a conversation. Their unified chuckle only darkened your blush. You could practically see Fresh’s grin stretched across his face, knowing and provocative in his satisfaction.

“figured. can’t blame you though... i know i’m a tough slice to resist. epic here, though, i dunno...” he teased, and Epic scoffed in affront.

“bet, bruh! i could out bang you any day of the week,” he bragged, then turned his attention to the phone again and sent it a wink.

“though you rang for the twofer experience, huh~ needed both of our radical attentions... the most lit kind of sandwich. go off, bruh, we stan a thirsty human.”

Fresh’s smile only widened, his phalange curling into the phone cord again idly.

“you came to the right place, awesome possum. subway isn’t the only one selling five dollar footlongs~”

Epic attempted to hold back his hilarity at that, but nearly fell from his chair when he failed, roaring with laughter and almost crying in his amusement. Fresh looked overtly pleased with himself, crossing his legs and grinning broadly.

“just give a sec, g. we’ll be back to your regularly scheduled boning after these messages~”

It was extremely difficult to keep them composed enough to make it through your call without them busting out laughing every two minutes, and though it honestly wasn’t very sexy, you still had the best time you’d had in ages, listening to their banter and their jokes and laughing until your abdomen ached.

[biznichwrites]

Consider the following: our demon boy meeting a lady so in the modern era?

Points for originality bb :)

In a separate ask anon added details that the reader be American or European, have a defining feature seen as negative (I chose a scare because it's sad boi Sabito hours), a the reader in her young 20s

He's been alive for 100 or so years, so he's not the oldest demon out there but he's not a baby either

He's gained his human memories back fully but feels as if they are like an old dream or memories formed by stories someone told him. It's not like they are his own at times

He's seen a lot and the world has changed so much. He decided to wander the world and see beyond what he thought was possible. Eternity was going to be a sad, long forever if he didn't do something to entertain him

He met you in passing, actually while you were at work/running errands. Something about you made him take interest, particularly a scar across your cheek. It reminded him a bit of Sabtio, even if it wasn't in the same place

You happened to fumble what you were doing and were struggling to fix it, but he helped you. The first thing that struck you were his eyes. You'd never seen someone with such blue eyes in your life and mindlessly told him so before curling in on yourself in embarrassment. You gave him your number and ran off to regret your whole life somewhere else

He made his way into your life slowly, coming to visit and hang out with you. Sometimes he stressed about you finding out his secret or growing to hate him for what he is

So when he teased the subject of demons, specifically the type he is, you jokingly said it sounded like a vampire or something from Tokyo Ghoul. He didn't know if he even liked being compared to that subconsciously but he wasn't going to breathe a word of that to you. However it seemed the folklore of demons in your culture was focused around angry red beings with horns and a tail, poking people with a pitchfork after they died, so you didn't even consider demons real. 

Some things he did seemed off, but you assumed that it was because he wasn't from the same place you were. Probably the joys of a new culture and language right? Still, that didn't ease the weird feeling in your gut when he would show amazing strength. 

He goofed. He goofed so bad, but for a good reason. You were on a date, walking through the streets at night. He didn't think much of you having a few drinks but a stumble into the street was a problem. A car was coming and he had seen since their creation what they could do to someone if hit.

He snatched you up but the car hit his side. But he is a big boi and that bitch CRUMPLED UP big time. Like that car is totaled and at worst the both of you had some scratches. 

He prayed that you had drank too much to remember the next day but after a few days you brought it up, saying you KNEW you hadn't imagined it, after all you had bruises where he held you but he was fine. 

He had to admit what he was and it was an all day experience trying to pry it out of him. 

Demon boy didn't want to look in your eyes. It was going to be trouble. You were going to hate him or try to find a way to kill him. 

"You've never eaten anyone, have you?" 

That shocked him. But you explained your logic that if he wanted to hurt you, he could have done so a long time ago. And you dying that night would be an easy way to excuse your death. But he protected you. 

Over a few months he explained his old human life to you and to his surprise you were all ears. Every little thing he brought up interested you and he couldn't deny how happy it made him. 

You accepted him for what he is! And when you tell him you love him after everything he feels like he can die of joy

 He takes you back to his village, he shows you his old sword and everything he kept from his old life. He even puts his haori on you. 

Okay but since you're not Japanese he totally enjoys how much you struggle to put on a kimono. But before you get frustrated he will place and tie it correctly. And boom, it's old haori time and he loves it

Tbh he's gonna take you where his sister was supposed to be wed and ask you to marry him

He's busting out the sister/Sabito haori for the wedding and he's not even a little bit sorry. If finding someone else he loves so dearly isn't the occasion, then when would it be?

He never looks down on you for not having life experience. He's willing to teach you anything as long as you're willing. 

He's like an old man texting. He doesn't get it. In fact he will call you to reply to a text. He can't even believe phones work, much less cell phones, especially when you can send pictures. The internet is a scary place for him. It's pretty overwhelming and he find himself going down rabbit holes of information that just wasn't discovered before. 

He thinks the new generations are amazing. Look how much all of you have discovered! And how smart people are! So young! He's so proud of all of you. 

The moon landing rocked his world and he will tell you about it all the time. And medical cures, too. He gets pretty happy thinking about how humanity has helped itself so much. 

He doesn't really know how to drive tbh. He just never learned. You have to teach him technology, or how to best use it. He will grumble when he thinks it makes no sense and nope out if he can. Don't let him. 

Call him grandpa Giyuu, it'll motivate him to get "lit" with the new times. 

Giyuu using slang. Wrong. Every damn time. "It's litty 5000 in here". He's trying to say it's hot. "Dunk on the haters, drip drip" means don't let them talk bad about your clothes. It's a fucking comedy show. There's a theory he does it bad on purpose to make you laugh but it's not confirmed. 

Calls Twitter "Twatter" with a straight face

He thought that thots were animals. He was wondering why it's always breeding season for them. 

He can speak many languages but he mixes then together because he didn't use anything but Japanese for so long. Every time he says "nein" for no you play the Inglorious Bastards clip. 

One last thing for sad boi hours: as you get older he will use what powers he has to age with you so you don't feel bad. He really does want to grow old with you.

[the-ship-sails-itself]

The Ennui of Writing

Weirdly enough, have been writing quite a bit for being someone filled with something like ennui in regards writing.

I don’t feel like writing.

But I am in fact writing.

I dislike almost everything I’ve written.

Also, still grappling with wordcount envy.

On a good day I struggle to make a chapter hit 1000 words.

Have come up with a number of new ideas.

They all sound either too stupid or too exhausting to write.

Multi-chapter, multiple installments in a series... ugh.

Every idea I’ve had recently devolved into them banging when I started writing it out.

Even the ones I didn’t intend to go higher than a T-rating.

Don’t feel like posting anything saxy at the moment.

As in I feel more than reluctance.

Almost like I feel... disappointed in myself for writing the way I do.

I feel like there’s plenty of that content up as it is.  I don’t feel I need  to be contributing atm.

I have this weird suspicion that folks out there might be wishing I *wouldn’t* contribute so much smut.

I don’t even like how i write that stuff most of the time.

I get concerned that my smut writing is trite.

Reads as unrealistic.

Reads as unsexy

Reads like it has no understanding of human anatomy much less the anatomy involved with such activities.

Reads like maybe I’m failing to grasp either of the characters’ voices.

I seem to be in the minority when it comes to like 90% of my opinions regarding the characters I write about.

Based on all the fic I’ve read.

Am I really getting them *that* wrong?

My dialogue sounds different.

Do I just not know how people talk?

Do *I* not know how to talk?

jfc do I sound like some weird ass robot when I talk irl???

My motivations for the characters re: plot and sex sounds different.

Am I writing either or both characters as too soft?

Would Macy actually be that soft or caring towards Harry?  

Is she even the comforting type?  

Am I just projecting what I want her to be vs how she’s actually portrayed in canon? 

(Macy at the end of 1.10 makes me wonder)

Too angry? 

Too uptight?

Should Macy have a looser voice and use more modern-ish slang?

Not uptight enough?

Do I write Harry as not formal enough in the way that he speaks?

And back to the dialogue: How shitty am I at making Harry sound British?

Am I using slang wrong?

Is there any native UK English speaker out there that can help a shitty fanfic writer out?

Most of the time I just can’t find a properly british way to have Harry get angry at himself and call himself terrible names.

I’m not trying to be competitive but I feel like even If I did want to write smut I’d have to up my game big time given what’s already been posted.

And just don’t have it in me to even go looking for my A-game, much less bringing it anywhere...

god, just the idea of trying to come up with a satisfying/original way to write vanilla sex just fills me with dread and a need for a sad panda nap.

I had this whole saga planned that was almost all kink/fet/smut but now I’m just like...

I feel like people are tired of me writing this stuff.

That could be a projection.

Maybe I’m just tired of me writing this stuff...

There’s already way better and wilder stuff out there. 

Me adding to the pile... 

(yes, i’m aware of the Two Cakes argument)

I want to work on my WIPs

All the next chapters of all my WIPs have mature content.

I don’t feel like posting that kind of content right now.

Like there seems to be a lot.

And, yes, I’m aware I contributed quite a bit to that number

But for some reason, while I don’t care if the numbers continue to go up, I, just for right now, don’t want to be the reason they go up.

I don’t want smut to be my main thing.

And, again, I’m not even sure if I do it well or how I could improve.

I’m kind of scared to think about it.

Probably in the same vein as an actor that doesn’t want to be pigeonholed as a sci-fi baddie or girl who gets kidnapped or hot guy who is also an unlikable douchebag or lady cop/lawyer/doctor who is always wrong or mistaken despite heart being in the right place.

Even the unpublished WIPs I started last year are languishing in the shame folder due to my sudden smut writing related reluctance.

I’m being unreasonably picky with my pre-writing requirements

printouts of outlines

hand written outlines

snacks and beverages

just the right music

etc

I want to write fluff

Sadly no fluffy ideas come to mind.

Hacy week prompts are giving me ideas but again...

those ideas are mainly awful and/or y’know...

I’m just making myself sadder and more annoyed with myself.  

Good gravy this was a long ass pity party.

I’m gonna go to bed.

I hope you all don’t find it too annoying if I start posting stupid little single or double drabbles in the next few days.

(gonna assume it’d be pretty hard to write people banging in less than two-hundred words or even a hundred.)

[beautymercurydragon]

Learning Lesson - ML One-Shot

“Okay, students, line the heck up,” Kara Lahiffe, daughter of Alya and Nino ordered. “You’ve all got a lot of learning to do. Also, raise hands if you have any questions, please!”

Chloe raised her hand in the air, getting a small nod from Kara as approval. “Why are you teaching us about this?”

“Because,” Kara began to explain. “If none of you got the online definition, you should get the explanation on what shipping is from a person who ships people in real life!” she exclaimed, wearing her own Uncle Adrien’s shit-eating grin.

“I have a feeling something’ll go horribly wrong,” Kagami whispered in Rose’s ear. “This is Kara, after all.” that was indeed true, as her scenario with telling some rather insulting humor about everybody the night before the talent show that resulted in her being kicked out of the Agreste, Couffaine and Couffaine-Lavillant, and Kim houses. It was safe to say that with her history in giving everyone’s parents her ‘learning lessons’ and telling jokes, Kara wasn’t the most trustworthy person in either field.

“So, shipping has two definitions,” Kara started, stating the obvious. “The first is the acts or the businesses of a person and/or thing that ships. The second one, however, is a modern slang of the word ‘relationships’ and is used if you think two people would make a good couple.” she explained. “Anyone else get it?”

Luka and Juleka were next to raise their hands, but before Kara could give them her approval, Juleka already began speaking. “So, shipping is basically what Luka and Kagami did with me and Rose?” she asked.

“From what Lilli and Viveka have told me, 100%,” Kara nodded. “Nice job, Uncle Luka and Auntie Kagami. You really know both your facts and your ships!”

And with her very words, both Juleka and Rose’s faces burned bright red at the somewhat-compliment-and-roast she’d made towards them. “She’s evil,” Juleka hoarsely whisper-coughed into her wife’s ear.

“Now, there’s also a song example of shipping, titled the ‘I Ship It’ song -” Kara said again, getting cut off by a chorus of people screaming ‘No!’

“No!” Alya, Marinette, Adrien, Nino, Alix, Max, Chloe, Kim, Kagami and Luka all screamed, getting up and putting their arm out in hopes of stopping her.

“That song is horrible!” Alix cringed. “My niece plays it for me. Thankfully, she’s too innocent to understand most of it.” 

“You think that’s bad?” Kagami challenged. “When nobody else in the house will get up, Jade blares that and forces us up.”

“Students, like Teacher Kara said, no talking during class!” the fifteen-year-old scolded. “Speaking of which, is beginning up again... now!”

“I ship people both in my real life, and in my books, TV shows, movies, and most of all, my magical girl anime!” Kara smiled, “Speaking of which, there’s another subject we’ll go to for a minute before moving back to this one.”

Her mother was next to raise her hand, Kara shooting her a thumbs-up so she could ask. “What subject?” Alya asked.

“OTPs!” Kara answered.

“Oh, no,” Chloe began to whisper to Sabrina. “Shit’s gonna go wrong starting just about... now.”

“This phrase is an abbreviation for One True Pairing, which is one ship above all of the others for a single person.” Kara explained. “Like how Mom’s OTP was Adrienette, I have mine too!”

And now, it was Adrien and Marinette’s turn to be embarrassed, as they face-palmed themselves violently and blushed a million shades of red. “When did she start doing this, and what made her this way?” Marinette asked her husband.

“Two words: Middle school,” Adrien responded. “It turned her from a friendly joker into a quirky, overbearingly irritating comedienne.”

“You’ll survive, Sunshine,” Juleka assured Adrien as she rubbed the back of his shoulders comfortingly. Both him and Marinette gave her a weird look in reference to his nickname, so she thought it’d be best to explain. “Got it from Alya.”

“Damn you, Alya and Kara,” Marinette muttered under her breath, looking over to her longtime best friend and giving her the ‘I’m watching you’ signal along with a threatening death glare. “Matchmaking, insult humor, and weird nicknames galore.”

“Question of the day, students; what’s your all-time OTP?” Kara asked. “Let’s start with.... Chloe!” Kara spun around, arm out as she pointed to her arch-rival’s mother.

“I have a good one,” Chloe smirked. “Lila’s face x a rolling pin.”

The other parents began to mutter to one another, all nodding about Chloe’s answer/choice.

“Great choice, Chlo,” Kagami whispered in her ear. “I have a different one in mind, but that one is a solid ship.”

“Next student is... Mister Luka Couffaine, father of my shortshit BFF Jade who is a genius cinnamon roll but still could kill me if she tried, as well the one who made us all go as the Sailor Guardians for Halloween!”

Jade was hiding in the hallway with the others, so she’d overheard it and defended herself. “I am not short!” she pouted.

“You’re only 5′0″,” Maddie, Adrien and Marinette’s fifteen-year-old commented. “Not to mention your cousin Viveka makes jokes about whenever you say you look up to her all the time. You’re short as hell.”

“Now that that’s over,” Kara said loudly as Jade and Maddie quit their arguing. “Luka, who exactly is your OTP?” she asked.

Wearing the world’s biggest shit-eating grin on his face, Luka glanced over to where Juleka and Rose were sitting, giving his sister and sister-in-law a smug smirk. “JuleRose.”

Marinette and Alya burst out laughing at his answer, while Adrien and Nino tried to hide their snickering but failed. Chloe, Sabrina, and Kim shook their heads and blinked, Alix and Max looked at each other in shock, and Mylene and Ivan face-palmed themselves while muttering things under their breath that nobody else could quite make out.

Which left Juleka and Rose to blush with embarrassment yet again, struggling to make eye contact with one another and Luka.

Kara smiled and spoke again, dragging on the question even farther. “Nice choice,” she whispered in Luka’s ear, shaking hands with him. “Also, Juleka and Rose, we all know you two shipped yourselves with one another when you were teenagers. Just admit it.”

“It has been confirmed,” Mylene whispered to Alix. “Alya and middle school have officially corrupted Kara.”

“100% probability rate,” Max confirmed, Alix gently elbowing her husband in the chest. “She’s long gone now.”

“Now, let’s all say our OTPs on the count of three, and stand up,” Kara ordered, all of the adults standing up onto their feet to answer. “One... two... three and go!”

“Maddie and Hugo!” Marinette answered, 100% confident in the statement she’d made clarifying that she proudly shipped her fifteen-year-old daughter with her crush. And so did everyone else, even Tom and Sabine.

“Dammit,” Maddie muttered from the hallway, Jade rubbing her back gently.

“I ship Emma and Rebecca together!” Adrien admitted. Ever since they’d teamed up together during the time that Marinette was villainized into Fashionista and taken her down, he’d admittedly shipped his thirteen-year-old daughter with Chloe and Kim’s fifteen-year-old.

And as for what he thought about their ages? Screw their age difference.

“I ship Maddie and Hugo too!” Rose exclaimed, leaning over to give Marinette a high-five.

“Same,” Juleka nodded.

“I used to ship Max and Alix together,” Mylene admitted. “I’m still proud all these years later that Marc and Nathaniel set them up.”

“I ship Nathaniel and Marc with each other,” Ivan said. “It’s great that they’re finally together.”

“Me too,” Sabrina nodded. Even though she was quite depressed when she and Nathaniel had divorced five whole years ago, she hoped that one day, he’d move on and get with Marc.

It was safe to say that Sabrina approved of NathMarc becoming canon.

“I shipped Chloe and Kim together,” Max answered. “I was thrilled 100% when they began dating.”

“I ship Rebecca and Emma too,” Chloe interrupted, trying to take the focus away from what Max had just said. “Adrien is correct, they are my new OTP. LilaRollingPin who?” she nervously laughed, giving a Marinette-style grin that showed all of her teeth.

“So do I,” Kim agreed.

“Ready for who I ship?” Alix said in a sarcastic voice, everyone else nodding and speaking that they agreed. “I ship... Lila x a boxing glove with a spring in it!” she exclaimed.

“That’s a solid ship,” Kagami nodded. “Well done, Alix.”

“I ship me and my pillow,” Kagami answered. “I’m tired from all of Jade’s waking us up with her I Ship It song and the 2:00 AM study sessions.”

And then, there were two left to answer: Alya and Nino. Kara trusted her parents more than anyone and was confident they’d have great answers, but little did she know it would humiliate her to the extreme.

“Well, what about you guys, Mom and Dad?” Kara glanced to where Alya and Nino sat, Nino on a floor pillow with Alya sunk back in the bean bag.

“Well...” Nino smirked.

“We actually used to ship you with your boyfriend before you two were even dating right now,” Alya blurted out. “Whenever you two would do school projects together, one could see that you two were crushing hard on the other.”

And on that day, Kara Christine Lahiffe lost her shit and become incredibly embarrassed, all because of her trick backfiring on her.

“Yep,” Nino nodded, high-fiving his wife. “In fact, when he came over to our house the day after your show premiered, I spoke with him in the car about how I shipped you two together.”

Upon hearing that, Kara ran away quickly from her house’s living room, into the hallway where Jade and Maddie where, zooming past them and heading into her room to die of embarrassment, all curled up in a ball.

“Called it.” Jade smirked.

“Me too,” Maddie seconded. “Karma’s a real pain, ain’t it?”

“To be fair, my OTP is Kara x Karma,” Jade admitted, joking to Maddie, who snickered. “Aren’t they just the most perfect match you’ve ever seen?”

“Indeed, Jade,” Maddie slowly nodded. “Karma is truly a beautiful thing.”

A/N: So... this was really funny to write XD. I will be posting more of my next-gen ML one-shots to here soon, and for those who would like to know, the main story is up on fanfiction.net under the username SwagaliciousWillowbrook and will be cross-posted to AO3 soon under the name RaeOfSunshine738! Also, if there’s any questions about my ML next-generation children, please, ask away in my Ask Box! I love answering questions. Whether it be about the kids’ personalities, their relationships with family members, friends and crushes, or the parents and how they are now, I accept anything and everything.

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

chapter three. mdzs scum villain au. read on ao3 + end notes.  credit to @lee-luca, esp as another bit of the comic is mentioned here.  previous | first | next 

One hour, thirty minutes and two hundred rules into his punishment, Jingyi is as bored as he’s ever been in this life. To top it all off, the System isn’t responding to any of his pleas for company, only responding with oops ): something went wrong when he tries to ping it. Back home, this is about when he would have given up on homework and started scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, but there’s not much he can do without his phone.

Ugh, he’d kill for one of these crappy McDonalds games. Even a Kinder toy would make him happy right now. Instead, he doodles on his torn-up first drafts, on which the ink made blots from his clumsy first attempts to imitate the original text’s elegant calligraphy.

He silently adds bic pens to the ever-increasing list of modern appliances he misses.

When badly-drawn stickmen get boring as well, he starts to think about the original Lan Jingyi in his life. Maybe that’s how it works, after all. Mom sure would love someone who’d actually go to bed early when she tells him to. On the other hand, once he got over the initial shock of modern Jingyi’s life, he’d probably find it pretty dull. High school isn’t about to compare to flying swords and cultivation, that’s for sure.  

Opposite him, Sizhui is bent over his own stack of scrolls, poring over rows and rows of tiny characters and absent-mindedly running his fingers along the lines. From the way he hums to himself when he thinks Jingyi is too busy copying to care, he guesses they’re music sheets of some kind. Unlike Jingyi, he looks like he’s actually engrossed in what he’s doing.

Too bad. Jingyi’s reached that point of boredom at which he needs to talk to someone or else he’ll implode. ( Still, he promises himself he’ll stop if Sizhui shows even a hint of genuine annoyance. )

“Hey, Lan Sizhui ⎯ can I call you just Sizhui? Um, sorry I got you stuck here.”

To his relief, the other doesn’t look irritated, just surprised. “Sizhui is fine,” he ventures after a few seconds. A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good. I was afraid you were still mad me, you’ve been so awkward all day...”

Wait, what? Who’s angry at you? Someone who kicks kittens for fun, probably.

Oh right, me. Maybe he’s the one whose brain needs a reboot. How does he explain that it’s not him who’s mad? Hell, he doesn’t even know what the original is supposed to be mad about. For some reason, it feels weird to ask, just because it seems important enough that admitting he forgot would be insulting.

“Anyway,” Sizhui continues after coughing into his sleeve, “it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve got to go over these before tomorrow’s lesson anyway, I might as well do it here.”

“Inquiry?” Jingyi ventures, maybe-maybe-not because it’s the only title he clearly remembers from the ones canon mentioned.

“Oh, no. Asking very specific questions is still a bit out of my reach, but Fa...Hanguang-jun wrote down a list of phrases for me, so we’re going to try them tomorrow.” His face softens at the mention of Lan Wangji. If this was a fic, this would be when Jingyi keels over and presses his face into a pillow for a little while.   

The chat devolves into musical cultivation. Jingyi muddles his way through it the best he can, feeling like he’s bullshitting an essay out loud, but Sizhui doesn’t seem to find his vague answers all that off-putting. He still pointedly glances down at the stack of unfinished notes on the table from time to time, but since Jingyi’s calligraphy has been getting worse and worse the less attention he pays to it, maybe it’s for the better.   

When dinner time rolls around, they eat their bowls sitting on the steps leading up to the Library Pavilion, after Sizhui rightfully points out Lan Qiren would have their skins if they spilled even a drop of sauce on the sect’s precious texts. Gradually, Jingyi feels himself relax.

“So, are we chill?” he asks between two mouthfuls of rice.

Sizhui just stares at him.

Right. No slang. “...I mean, we’re doing good, right? We’re friends?”

Something complicated passes over Sizhui’s expression. It’s too fleeting for him to catch more than a glimpse of it, especially as it’s overridden by his usual calm smile before Jingyi can shove another rice ball into his mouth, but he could swear the other winced.

Well, ouch. It must show on his face, because Sizhui suddenly looks alarmed and adds : “Yes, yes, we are!” Another smile. This time, Jingyi can definitely see the strain. “We’re friends. You don’t have to doubt that.”

“Oh. Great!” Jingyi resists the urge to reach out and gently punch his shoulder. Who knows how it’d be perceived. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, if I’ve got to keep copying rules, so...I wanted to make sure.”

【OOC behavior detected : contradiction of backstory despite hints : -20 points. Current balance : 65 points. 】

Shut up! I want him to like me!

“We’re friends,” Sizhui repeats one last time, like he’s trying to convince himself. Then he reaches for Jingyi’s shoulder and gives his robes a tug. “We should get back in there. Two more hours before curfew, you can still get a few lines in. I won’t distract you.”

“Ugh.”

Jingyi makes a face. Sizhui laughs, and the tension from earlier dissolves. “Come on. The more you get done, the faster it’ll be over.”

-

It turns out they’re both severely underestimating the number of rules Jingyi can break without realizing, and therefore the amount of time they’ll be spending here.

Despite these setbacks, over the course of the next handful of weeks, Jingyi adapts to his new life the best he can. He finds out, with much relief, that even though he can’t access the original’s knowledge and memories, training since childhood pays off even after a body swap. He doesn’t have to think too hard about sparring, just keep a firm grip on his sword, and his muscles can apparently do the rest with minimal effort on his part.

It only works with the actual fighting, though. After going to bed feeling sore all over for a week straight, Jingyi gives up and gives the cold springs a shot. It freezes his limbs off, but the ache gets better after that. It even gets him about a dozen points, which he adds to the rest, gained through menial tasks across the Cloud Recesses and some well-timed mischief.

He also likes to think he gets some progress done with step one of his grand plan to survive this novel. There’s no undoing years of being a pain in everyone’s ass in a matter of weeks, but Jingyi still gives it his best shot - peppered with tasteful cursing at the System when it deducts points for actually following the rules or, you know, not being a dick to everyone he talks to. As a result, he goes from mostly being avoided by the other disciples to tolerated, even if no one but Sizhui goes out of their way to talk to him or invite him to join in on...whatever fun they have.

Jingyi doubts he’s missing out on much, at least where the Lans are concerned. But rumor has it some of the guest disciples snuck out into Caiyi to try some of the local wine, and he’s jealous of that, which is kind of irrational. He doesn’t even like the taste of wine that much, and besides, that may be too much of an infraction for a raised Lan, however prone to rule-breaking said Lan is supposed to be.

( He really can’t afford to slip up again. When he dared chop a solid forty centimeters off his hair after struggling to run a comb through it for the fifth time that week, the System’s alarm blared so loud he almost had an out of body experience. He’d felt the hundred points shaved off his score, though, even if he’d managed to negotiate half of them back. That was the spiritual equivalent of having a car zoom past right as you were about to cross the street, and Jingyi’s in no hurry to do it again...but with that said, it feels great not to have to deal with a bird’s nest every time he wakes up. )

-

Of course, he can’t just get comfortable with his new daily routine. Something has to happen. This time, said something takes the shape of a summon from Teacher Lan. Jingyi drags his feet over from the Library Pavilion and away from his sixth copy of Gusu Lan rules. His wrist is still complaining every time he bends it a little too far. Fuck corpse powder, it’s carpal tunnel that’s going to do him in.

Speaking of copies, maybe he shouldn’t slump this much. He’s fairly sure there’s a rule for that somewhere in the two thousand and nineties.

Given the circumstances, Jingyi fully expects another lecture from Lan Qiren the moment he sets foot in the communal hall, but quickly readjusts his expectations when he spots the small crowd of disciples gathered around their teacher. Most of them are familiar faces by now, except for the girls, who for some reason live in a completely different part of the Cloud Recesses. Still, he recognizes Lan Fan, the shimei who looks like she could bite your head off but actually gave him some pretty helpful tips on sword stances the other day, Tao Ming, the boy who’d seemed vaguely suspicious of him that first day, and of course, Sizhui in the forefront.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him as he hastily joins the rest of the group. “Late again, Lan Jingyi.”

“Sorry, Teacher. This disciple was busy copying rules when he heard.”

A few of his companions snort, the noise quickly disguised as a sudden and collective bout of coughing. Jingyi can’t blame them ; if he’d heard the same words everyday for weeks on end, he’d be laughing too. Lan Qiren gives a long-suffering sigh, but whatever he’s about to tell them must take precedence, because Jingyi gets away with what might otherwise have been considered cheek.

“Madam Mo of Mo Village has sent us a request for assistance.” Given their teacher’s expression, he might as well said that she’d beaten down their door in the middle of the night and let a donkey loose in the courtyard. “From the servants’ description, it shouldn’t be anything more than a few walking corpses. Nothing a group of juniors cannot handle.”

Yeah, right. Despite knowing he’s supposed to let canon run its course, Jingyi still feels a twinge of apprehension. Why, you ask? He can answer that in two points.

Things Jingyi knows : mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Things Jingyi doesn’t know : how to kill zombies with swords.

In theory, he did spend the last few weeks training, and he didn’t slack off either, thank you very much. Doesn’t mean he’s ever gone up against a corpse before. He’s a coward, okay? Horror movie night was hell, back in his own world. He’s in no hurry to experience it in real (?) life.

“Lan Sizhui will lead the group,” Lan Qiren continues. “I expect all of you to keep your behaviors appropriate and not bring shame onto our sect.” To no one’s surprise, Jingyi thinks, and throws the interested party a small smile. To his surprise, Sizhui blushes and looks down at his boots, looking both embarrassed and pleased. It’s an unfairly cute look on him, but again, most of his looks are.  

Right on cue, the System wheezes to life like it just crawled out of a computer from the nineties.【Beginning stage checkpoint mission assigned. Destination : Mo Village. Mission : ensure the protagonist, Wei Wuxian, makes it to Mount Dafan to meet love interest Lan Wangji. Please click to accept.】

Jingyi mentally slams the Accept button.

Ding!  【Mission successfully accepted. Please read the file carefully for mission details and make appropriate preparations. We wish you success. 】

OOC function, here he comes!

[theonceoverthinker]

Art should never try to be popular. The public should try to make itself artistic. - Oscar Wilde

EDIT: This was not referring to the film nor my posts, but given how it relates to a sentiment antis are using against the movie, I decided to keep it up in its original state.

So I’m not entirely sure what this is about, but given that I’ve been talking a lot about the new Kim Possible movie these days, I’m going to say it’s about that. I’m also going to go out on a limb and say that this anon message is a reaction to my posts about how a lot of the adaptational changes made in the movie were made to speak to a new demographic. (If not, this is gonna be both awkward as hell and funny).

And I say that there’s a big difference between making changes for purposes of narrative shorthand and speaking to a new generation and making changes to be “popular.”

Let’s discuss the first of these. The fact is that Kim Possible hasn’t aired a new episode in twelve years (”Graduation” aired in 2007). It’s probably been roughly ten years since there has been a steady run of reruns on the main network (One can’t guarantee access to Disney XD, but even in that case, that’s still probably about eight years without Kim Possible). That means that one really can’t nor should expect children of this generation to be familiar with the old series. More over, there wasn’t a way they were going to get new audiences familiar with the old series in a timely manner. A full series marathon would conflict with school schedules and a once-a-day or once-a-week showing would take too long and take up a spot of newer original content of the network’s. It’s not as feasible of a decision as one would think. 

So yes, adaptational changes are necessary to introduce core cast members and concepts and sometimes, they can best be communicated through narrative shorthand. The opening of the film shows Kim’s abilities so we see what her normal is so that we can get right to the story of her struggling. Bonnie’s age change takes the place of the longer explanation of Bonnie having more power and influence because Kim is always on missions. Rufus being introduced during the lab scene is narrative shorthand for why he’s able to be so intelligent and command a droid later on. Athena herself has a narrative purpose in Kim’s story. A lot of this stuff in the new series was able to be communicated through several episodes worth of establishing normality, but this film doesn’t get that luxury. Because of that, it just makes sense to change things.

And as for reaching a new generation, this is why works are remade. An old story can be re-told in a new way that speaks to the climate of a changing time. In 2002, Kim Possible spoke to our audiences in that girls could not only do anything, but everything! And they still can. 

As a matter of fact, they are. 

High school kids these days are put under so much stress. They’re expected to have high grades in school, prepare for tests that are given a great amount of weight, look into colleges, be involved in at least one or two regular extracurricular activities, and sometimes even work jobs – and that’s not even getting into the research and effort to research and apply for scholarships. AND at the same time, they’re expected to remain mentally stable by dealing with high school drama and the changes in their hormones while working under a schedule that doesn’t afford them the sleep that they are supposed to need at that stage in their lives. 

In effect, a lot of them ARE already the 2002 Kim Possible.

And that’s why this movie’s message is so important. Kim – for as talented, smart, careful, and kind as she is – has a rough transition into high school – as rough as it gets. All of her planning amounts to nothing due to forces she can’t control, she’s having an identity crisis upon meeting her literal match, and EVERYONE is picking up on this. And the narrative says that this is okay, normal, and something that can be overcome with patience with yourself and help from others. THIS is the kind of message that can speak to a new generation. THIS is the kind of message that will make Kim Possible a hero again to a new audience. 

As far as the second point that I spoke to – making changes because they are “popular” – this isn’t even in the same STRATOSPHERE as what I said above. A change made for popularity would involve changing something superficially in hopes of getting more viewers. With Kim Possible, it’s a little bit harder to pin down a concrete example of this because as Kim is a modern teenager, the typical examples of her using more modern slang and modern technology doesn’t apply (This is why the oufit change doesn’t count as much – it’s narrative shorthand so that the Kimmunicator is still something cool and futuristic without erasing smartphones and smart watches exist). The closest the movie comes to that is MAYBE the change from cheerleading to martial arts, but I wouldn’t even say that because martial arts is more touched upon in the film than cheerleading. In a meta-sense, MAYBE the re-created Naked Mole Rap could count, but even then, it’s outside the film.

Do you see what I’m getting at here? There is a difference between elements that make a movie relevant and accessible to another generation and changes that are made simply to increase viewership. It’s a nuanced topic to be sure, and I hope this made sense as a way of exploring it.

[jenniferstolzer]

Time to begin a long overdue education

I have never seen Buffy before. I traded @bewareoftrees​ ... I would watch all of Buffy and she would watch all of Babylon 5. So here I am!

I won’t liveblog summaries, but I will give jokes and guesses and observations so if you want to come along (or not) the tag is going to be #jen watches.

ep1 Welcome to Hellmouth

I like that this is picking up where the movie left off, although I believe these people are 16 like I believe this “authentic teenage slang speech.” Ah the late 90s...

Tony Head! My bro! My favorite Night Surgeon. I was biased from the start but I’m gonna guess he will PROBABLY by my favorite character. This will be cemented if he ends up knocked out at any point.

I do come with some knowledge of this show, unfortunately as much as I like Willow already, I’m gonna brace myself for impact. Joss has slain my heart before. 

David Boreanaz is still hot but I’m sorry dude, you are way too puppy dog to be menacing and your dialog is atrocious. All the vampire dialog is atrocious. I’m gonna believe this is b/c it set a standard. Can’t forget this show is a milestone for modern fiction writers. 

oh crap this dvd is old enough yo have to pick episodes individually. The past sucks. 

2, The Harvest

Angel starts what I’m gonna guess is an illustrious career as a sad, cryptic puppy. 

Was 90s fashion ever attractive?

Holy crap the show just used the “jumpscare” sound from Illbleed and everywhere else. I’m recognizing all these sound effects. Someone bought the classic horror kit I think. 

a dudebro who can’t close his mouth swings in from the side in computer lab and I laugh and laugh. 

I didn’t see Jesse becoming a vampire coming, perhaps I should be paying closer attention. He of course gets super sexual assaulty when he’s a vampire and Cordelia is totally into unhealthy relationships so she’ll let him touch her hips and inhale hissing breaths in her ear. No problem. 

“Bring me the first” says Luke. //other vampires bring out an innocent black man. Me: uncool.

“Jesse is dead. You have to remember, when you see him you are not looking at your friend, you’re looking at the thing that killed him.” - Giles

Willow saved him from a vampire! These two are the best. Tag team it awkward booknerds.

The Vampire growl sounds like they’re burping really loud. Glad to know the evil vampires are still stupid enough to get faked out. 

3 Witch

Giles is so offended that Buffy wants to be a cheerleader. How is it that he is more accurate to me in highschool than anyone else. Good news... as a grownup I’m totally on Buffy’s side. Let her cheer. She’ll be a smash at the gymnastics. 

AND we begin with body shaming. Cordelia is talking to Willow now which is weird. And Willow herself I think either got skinnier between episodes or they were dressing her in liek 10 layers of clothes in the two opening eps. Then this other girl comes in and Willow is like “You lost a lot of weight” and the first girl is like “Had to.” Ugh. How about I just grate my spare tire off with an industrial file. 

Hooray for Buffy putting out the fire and saving the girl :) Doing something is so against the teen girl stereotype. 

Amy just exposition barfed all over Buffy about the huge crush she has on her own mom. I’m glad they’re highlighting this body weight thing as an unnatural fixation but that’s just for the crazy witch mom, not for the universe which is who is usually concerned with how girls look in cheerleading costumes. (forgive me, I have a stink about body standards)

“It’s so cool! You’re like a guy! My guy friend who knows about girls stuff!”

I like barbies as voodoo dolls. And I love the twist that Amy is super totally evil.

Ah! Xanders “you’re a guy” got turned around on him. Hurray!

OMG BODY SWAP! It’s the worst Freaky Friday but I approve of them surprising me with it. Great job Buffy!

You punched Willow out you bitch! Oh and Xander too but You PUNCHED her OUT. She’s so evil! OH CRAP NOW SHE HAS AN AXE!

So cute shy Giles so embarrassed about his first spell casting. Then Willow runs in with a bat. Yeah, I’m going to like this show I think. 

and ep ends with psychological horror

4, Teacher’s Pet

Xander is struggling with his toxic masculinity standards. Apparently how many times he’s scored is up for debate so he has to go pretend to threeway to regain status in his alpha male society. Gag. 

Meanwhile Angel is over here being perfect boyfriend material, super hot, wearing a white tank with blood all over his arms. He gives her his coat. Gag again! Lol. We’re hitting a very wide gamut here. 

Xander falls for a woman who looks weirdly like the mom from the last episode. 

Blane just sexually harassed his substitute teacher. I’m convinced now that last ep was fatshame episode, this ep is sexual aggression the episode. 

“I’m gonna carb up for my one on one with Ms French this afternoon.” Ick gross much?

Evil sexy woman ate Dr. Gregory’s head b/c she’s a preying mantis. Being sexually attractive is a weapon women possess against men so desperate to fork a fertile woman that one of the characters is literally called the “fork guy” in this episode. 

Someone give an emmy to the random bum. 

Giles is not immune to sexy substitute, but he’s got enough sense to appreciate without turning into a blithering idiot. 

Oh wait, Cordelia is still here for the body image hangups I see. 

By the way, all this crit about alpha male/ femme fatale nonsense is not a crit on these characters, it’s a writing hangup. Plots, tropes, and cliches are those things b/c they’re over used and this is the late 90s after all.

“I understand, I met someone and you’re jealous.” Xander is projecting so hard as he’s on his way to fork his teacher, just saying. 

Even if she wasn’t a praying mantis this woman needs to be arrested. She’s sexually harassing the hell out of this 16 year old boy as he stumbles all over himself trying to prove his societal preconception of masculinity. He was a half second away from doing the right thing and saying no to the hot woman b/c it’s bad touch 101 but then he got drugged and passed out. Close but no cigar, X.

Willow has had a crush on him this whole time. It wasn’t subtle at all. 

I’m glad that Blaine is rightfully horrified by the concept of being raped and murdered. That’s the correct response. Write men who can think with more than their dicks. Men are well-rounded people too. 

Mantis affects are “awesome” lol. Looks like someone I know. 

(apparently it’s more than just a joke. That’s the same costume used for both shows. I snarked about it looking like Na’Grath and it actually IS Na’Grath. And the actress was in B5 as well... omg the blending of universes is starting. @bewareoftrees did I give you Babylon 5 or did you give ME Babylon 5? HAAAAH)

Willow talks about how nice it is that the boys are being conscious with their bodies and continue to proves that she’s the best. Also Dr. Gregory was a virgin I guess. Thank you, show, for not making a joke out of that. 

Disk 1 Summary

It’s a fun show. It’s got some kinks to work out still but I can def see the promise. Will def keep watching.