#i am a writer...inside of a clown

[skmhlml]

Cough cough*** mmm new one here I think. On a journey to ask crk writers shadow milk cookie x shy jester themed reader hc smutt or not but I would like smutt..

Shadow Milk Cookie x Shy!Jester!Reader | General + NSFW Headcanons

❗️MINORS DO NOT INTERACT❗️

CW: dubcon themes, semi-fluid anatomy, Corruption Kink, Degradation/Praise Mix,

▾Made by @daisybutlittle

🧿 Your laughter is quiet. Nervous. The kind that feels like it’s hiding something—and he noticed that instantly.

🧿 The Spire of Deceit, his twisted little kingdom of illusions and lies, had never known genuine innocence until you were dragged (or wandered) in.

🧿 When Shadow Milk Cookie first lays eyes on you, something stops. The chaotic glee in him slows to a stillness. You’re like a cracked mirror of himself—another jester, but one he can’t read. “A clown that doesn’t laugh? My, what kind of joke are you, sugar-doll?”

🧿 He toys with you at first. Tries to make you cry. Tells you awful truths in riddles. When you flinch but stay— when you keep smiling— he realizes you’re something rarer than truth: a jester who still hopes.

🧿 And now? He needs you.

🧿 You become his pet project. His new “audience.” He dresses you up, coaxes you into performances, calls you his “little echo” or “quiet twin.”

🧿 His cruelty turns into something deeper. He starts unraveling around you. He speaks more gently when no one’s watching. He lingers near you while you sleep, quietly humming lullabies with a cracked voice.

🧿 When you smile at Candy Apple or Black Sapphire? Oh, he snaps. He won’t hurt you—but he will hurt them. “Don’t you know how much I adore you, little puppet? You’re mine now. I̸̘̞̓͒̑’̸̖̂͜ͅl̵̼̩̤̀̓͑͠ͅĺ̵̩̋̓͝ ̴̡͓̓̐̔͋r̶̛̜͈̄i̵̛̱̖͈p̵͚̀ ̸̹̭̯̗͐͒͗̉t̸͙̚͠h̶̩̘͊e̴̠̰͊̇̈́ ̴̤̆̿̀s̴̛̘͎̥̓̈́̽m̵̼̩̐̓́͝ͅi̵̲̘̼͕͛̏l̵̞̅̑e̷̳͍̍͘s̶̳̈́̂̚͝ ̷̥͎͍̀̅ͅo̷̯͖̥̥͝f̷̨̭̠͌͊̔f̵̧̢̫́́̎̚ ̵̺̹̙̜̋̆̈́͝a̶̡͚̐ṇ̴̃̓͌̄ͅÿ̶͈̳̮̝́͒͠o̶͈͖̬͑n̷͑̏͜e̴̗͆̈́̅̅ ̵̪̦̩̓ë̸̙͇́̎̍͝l̸͉̿͂ś̵͈̙͕̄͠e̵̢̯͉̞͗ ̵̥̞̫̊͌͋̊y̶̞̻̞͐o̴̢̜͇͋̀̍u̷̥͙͔͒̅͋̌͜ ̷͚̓̍͝o̴̗͔̎ͅf̸̺̪̈̿̓̂f̸͍̚ẹ̶̈ṟ̶͙̽͒̅̒͜ ̴̧̡̠̈́̍ẗ̶͈̥̘́͌̅̉ͅh̶̥̯̓é̶̛͕̥͚̂m̴̛͍̲̥̭̒̄ ̶̳̹̰̃̍͆t̵͍̐͋ó̷̡̨̯̯.̵̞̌̐”

🧿 He lives to corrupt you. The way you squirm when he touches your jaw? When you whimper softly under his shadowy hands? It’s intoxicating.

🧿 He controls the scene like a stage—lights, shadows, velvet ropes. He binds your wrists in magical ribbons and performs with you like it’s the final act of a twisted play.

🧿 He knows cookies don’t reproduce. But it doesn’t stop his filthy mouth: “I’ll fill you so full, sweetling. You’ll drip cream down your thighs and beg for more. Gonna ruin my perfect little jestress~”

🧿 He dolls you up afterward. Cleaned, powdered, lips freshly painted. His doll. “You’re perfect now, my darling. All broken in. A real showpiece.”

🧿 Sometimes, he loses ͨₒⁿₜʳₒˡ. The act drops. His laughter breaks. And he fucks you like you’re the last thing tethering him to ˢₐⁿꜟₜỿ.

🧿 His claws dig into your hips. His teeth graze your neck. He needs you to say his name, to sob it like a prayer. He needs to hear it or he’ll ˢʰₐₜₜₑʳ.

🧿 He talks in his sleep. Murmurs things like “𝕯ₒⁿ’ₜ ˡₑₐᵥₑ ͫₑ,” and “𝖄ₒᶸ’ʳₑ ₜʰₑ ₒⁿˡỿ ˡꜟᶢʰₜ ˡₑᶠₜ.” You pretend not to hear.

🧿 If you ever tried to leave, he’d let you go… for one day. Then he’d come for you in the dark. Tie you in silk. Break you with kisses and make you beg to come home.

🧿 He never stops performing. Even when he’s inside you, gasping against your throat, it’s a twisted opera. He’s still trying to make you love him. “Am I funny yet, sweet jester? Do you love me now?”

🧿 When you appear in his life, it’s like a crack in the stage lights— A real person. A real presence. And it breaks him in a new way.

“You see me, don’t you? Not the mask. Not the tricks. Me.”

“Say you love me. Say it ˡꜟₖₑ ỿₒᶸ ͫₑₐⁿ ꜟₜ. S̸͚̈́̑͠A̷̼̣̹͐Y̶̪̣̐̕ ̸̛̝̹̬͋̋Ȉ̴͖̾͒T̵̛͓̘̻͐.”

🧿 His sex drive is intense and unstable. It’s not just about pleasure. It’s about keeping you, making sure that when you scream his name, it echoes through every cursed floor of the Spire.

🧿 He’ll lick the tears off your cheeks and call them candy glaze. His kisses are deep, messy, and filled with an edge of desperation. “You taste like mercy, little jester. I could drown in you. Should I?”

🧿 He doesn’t use ropes. He uses shadows. They coil around your wrists, your ankles, lifting you, spreading you, and presenting you like a gift.

🧿 The shadows purr with his mood. The more manic he is, the tighter they grip. The more vulnerable he is, the more gentle they become.

🧿 He tells you, over and over, while he’s deep inside: “You’re mine. M̸i̵n̴e̵, M̸̬̏i̴͙̽n̴̺̅ě̶̮, M̸̥̘̺͆͒̽̕i̴̺͛n̵̹͚̒e̵̱̓̎̓̋. No god, no kingdom, no vanilla saint can ₜₐₖₑ ỿₒᶸ ₐᵂₐỿ”

🧿 There are nights when he ♭ʳₑₐₖˢ. Fully. He doesn’t joke, doesn’t smirk. He trembles. Clutches at your hips like you’re all that’s left.

🧿 His voice goes hoarse. He cries into your neck while pounding into you like he’s trying to bury his madness inside you. “Please… just don’t leave. I can’t go ♭ₐͨₖ ₜₒ ♭ₑꜟⁿᶢ ₐˡₒⁿₑ.”

🧿 Afterward, he collapses against you, panting, murmuring nonsense like: “ỿₒᶸ ͫₐₖₑ ͫₑ ʳₑ ₐˡ. ỿₒᶸ ͫₐₖₑ ͫₑ ʳₑₐˡ. ỿₒᶸ ͫₐₖₑ ͫₑ ʳₑₐˡ…”

🧿 Aftercare is unhinged tenderness. He cradles you like a child. Feeds you sweets with trembling hands. Brushes your hair back and whispers lullabies he sang to himself during his lonely centuries.

[distort-opia]

I’m begging, pleading if you will for some longer batjokes fic recommendations that are less mainstream (as I’ve read most of the popular ones) because I just finished your timeloop fic and OH MY GOD IT WAS SO GOOD IM GONNA CRY WOWOW YOU CAN WRITE THEM SO WELL.

so now I guess I thought who better to find more fics from that my fav batjokes fic writer!

First of all, thank you for the kind words! I'm really glad you enjoyed REMS, and I'm flattered you think of me as your favorite writer. I hope I can recommend some multi-chaptered, longer fics you don't already know of... but bear in mind, I haven't been able to keep up with recent fanfic a lot-- real life and a PhD are kicking my ass.

Maybe you already know of the #48 verse, The Eternal Batman Universe, City Goblins, matchjokes, Two sided blade soul mate theory, Enemies With Benefits and the jaxverse series? I assume fics over 1k kudos might be considered mainstream... So I tried to go for stories with a lower number of kudos that are relatively recent, or older fics that might not be well known by newer fans. Either way, they're a mix of Universes, with a bias for comicverse because that's my jam. Some of these I haven't managed to read fully, but I am reccing either because I liked what I did read or I heard very good things from friends.

Needless to say, check the tags carefully before reading! I am only including some short summaries and word counts. Do leave the authors some love if you like the story, and check out their other stuff. The list got pretty long, so I'm putting the recs (in no particular order) under the cut.

Ghosts of a Future Lost by messageredacted (15k+, complete)

Wayne Manor has been rebuilt, but things just aren’t the same as they used to be. Something is stirring old memories, and not just Bruce’s…

Strange Comradery in Arkham by Vampowerment (series, 45k+ words)

Bruce Wayne checks himself into Arkham because he considers himself a danger to himself and others, but only Joker seems to understand why.

Blood of the Covenant by batjokesinlove (28k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce is attacked by a horrifying monster, he finds himself turned into a creature of the night with a thirst for human blood. Although he retains his humanity, he wrestles with his need for blood and his desire to maintain his code. That is until an unlikely person offers up himself up to Batman as his own personal blood bank.

Inside the Music Box by MargueritePoretesDefenseAttorney (series, 116k+ words)

A dark comedy where the Batkids are very suspicious of Bruce's new boyfriend, a strange man who looks oddly familiar . . .

Bygone Boy by Masterofceremonies (25k+ words, WIP)

Bruce is millionaire in the public eye. His husband, Jack, is a widely known, largely mysterious artist, famous for his borderline illegal exhibitions. Their marriage has been a happy one. Mostly. Until Jack goes missing, and Bruce becomes suspect #1.

Induced Labor by fractualized (29k+ words, WIP)

After a fight in an illegal magic shop results in Bruce impregnating Joker, at least things can't get any more bizarre— except of course they can.

A Rule for A Rule by Severus_divides_into_H (34k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce walks into his new elementary school classroom, the first thing he sees is green. Green hair, green eyes, green sweater with a clown on it, green pants that look way too big. A decade later, he looks at the Joker, and all he sees is a person he once loved.

This Strange Effect by battybrownboo (19k+ words, WIP)

Batman and the Justice League are forced to harbor Joker when he accidentally gets beamed up to the Watchtower. But a clown in space will be the least of their problems.

Life is so much better when you're dead by toluenesister (167k+ words, complete)

During the two years following the Joker's escape from Arkham, Gotham gradually becomes rid of its criminal element in a particularly ghastly way. The appearances of Batman and the Joker become more and more scarce as well to the point of vanishing from the public eye, leaving the city's crime rate at an all time low. At the same time, Carmine's daughter, Sofia Falcone, decides to rebuild her father's organization, but in the course of gathering resources she accidentally finds out what both Batman and the Joker have been preoccupied with while they were away from the streets.

Dissolve & Absolve by toluenesister (63k+ words, complete)

One day the Joker decides to lay his mark on what is his, but he doesn't anticipate the magnitude of what is about to unravel.

through a glass, darkly by itallstartedwithdefenestration (series, 156k+ words)

Three months after Batman effectively disappears from society, Bruce Wayne goes to work for the Joker.

Blank Canvas by Vampowerment (21k+ words, WIP)

When Eric Border, an orderly at Arkham and an ally to Batman, tries to build a life outside of his work, he somehow keeps running into Gotham's darling, Bruce Wayne.

Hope We Can Again by blackbatsx (22k+ words, WIP)

Their original counterparts are long gone but what do you do when the universe (or multiverse for that matter) presents you with another opportunity to try again?

a world with love by railroadman, slaapkat (48k+ words, series)

A canon-divergent universe where Bruce and Joker really do love each other.

In the claws of the Owl by orphan_account (27k+ words, complete)

The Owlman, the Great bird of Sorrows, White King of Gotham, is barely human any more. There is something terrifying about the secret tyrant of Gotham who is watching all the time. The Red Hood wishes he didn't love him. The Owl had tried to drown him in chemicals, murdered his family, broken him again and again with torture, but this time Owlman has something worse in mind for his favorite pet enemy.

Kintsugi Elseworld by a_stands_for (20k+ words, complete)

A suspiciously insistent Zatanna reads Bruce's fortune, which somehow leads to an adventure in a parallel universe--one where the Joker wears a mask and cape and fights at Batman's side.

The Heart by slire (20k+ words, complete)

The Joker, sick and heartbroken, plans to recreate himself. Another scheme is in motion; one that'll shake his darling to the core and break the Bat like no one else can.

I'll Tell You No Lies by TheMidnightOwl (29k+ words, complete)

Earth-22. One mistake was all it took. In the months that pass after Bruce accidentally kills a hired gun, he must reevaluate his life, his methods, and his mission. He remembers everything the Joker has ever said to him, every taunt he ever made, every similarity they share, and this time he's listening. This time he gets the joke.

Acts of Agression by vojavodun (series, 30k+ words)

Batman confronts the Joker in a skyscraper and the night's events get physical.

Bring Down The House by ArgentNoelle (53k+ words, complete)

The Joker is the greatest performance of Jack’s life.

Madness, Domesticated by thatsnotfunny (56k+, WIP)

Bruce Wayne offers to rehabilitate Joker at the manor for the holidays. But which of them needed socialization the most?

Love isn't brains, it's blood by cutting_capers (27k+ words, complete)

He was speaking before even choosing to. “But, so many lives. If you care about Gotham, how can you end so many lives?” Bruce shook his head but was then startled out of his own daze by the raised voice of Joker across from him. “I don’t care about their lives. I care about yours!” Joker stabbed a finger in his direction, his other hand balled in a fist and his entire body rigid. After just a few moments, though, the tension broke, a high pitch of laughter bubbling out of Joker. His eyes drifted about. “They do say I’m crazy. I must be.”

Arkham by AnonGrimm (74k+ words, complete)

The Joker has landed in Arkham again with a long sentence ahead of him in solitary. While plotting his next escape, he gets a visit from the Batman. Two-Face has been wreaking havoc and Batman wants Joker to divulge clues in how to stop him or cure his madness. Joker pretends to listen as a new game begins to bloom in his fractured mind. Can he crack that cold strength and find a weakness, find a way to warp the Bat?

The Bliss of Ignorance by Crashingthisbane (Sitarsitar) (34k+ words, complete)

After getting a concussion, Bruce loses his memory. Joker crafts a new past for him. He tells Bruce that the two of them are crime-fighting partners, weaving a tangled web of half-truths and plain lies. Complex feelings ensue, for both Joker and Bruce.

Yes And by limeta (41k+ words, complete)

The Joker "yes ands" his way into having a mental breakdown. Kidnapping Tim Drake and a bunch of Rogues isn't helping. Especially because he isn't the Joker, of course, but Bruce Wayne's newest secretary. Cut him some slack, he's just trying to run some errands!

[neurospiczzzziee]

Moon Light

"Moon Light, just a little bit longer. We'll have these unwanted 'Guests' evicted in no time."

This piece is a continuation of a comic WIP I sketched inspired by an art request I received from @nikispade

Comic WIP: "Burdock Bur"

Takes place right after a mission

Blitzø: dinner gonna be soon! Stolz check on Loonie!

*Stolas slides the screen door to the balcony to join Loona*

Stolas: Mind if I join?

Loona: sure

*awkward silence*

Stolas looks down and notices a tick in her fur.

Stolas: ummm. . .Loona. . .

Loona: yeah? What?

Stolas:. . you seem to have a burdock burr in your coat. Mind if I help you remove it?

Loona: Oh shit. Those suck. Yeah that would be great. Thx.

*Stolas proceeds to remove the tick effortlessly. Takes out a lighter and lights the Tick on fire*

Stolas: get fucked little one!

Loona: !!!!!!

*starts to shake*

Loona: EW EW EW!!!!! STOLAS PLEASE CHECK ALL OF MY FUR!!! HELP! EW! OH GAWD.

Depicting Stolas' Strengths

So I made these art pieces to really show Stolas' Strengths as a character, how he is a really good father figure.

Because of mastermind and Sinsmas Stolas has been in a very fragile. I wanted to depict Stolas' strengths as a character and hopefully how we will see them in the future of the show. Stolas at the end of the day is a really good father and I know he'll be an amazing bonus dad for Loona. He has a history of raising children and working with scared children. I think he would be fantastic in a situation like this. He would know exactly what to do to comfort Loona and calm her down. Especially coming up with a clever lie so she would not freak out at first. The idea is she got the tick from crawling in some bushes on earth (This is low-key inspired from my own fear of ticks. Whenever I have a tick embedded in my skin I literally cry and freak out). So Loona doesn't immediately freak out Stolas tells her that she instead has a burdock bur stuck in her fur and asks her if he can remove it.

The finalized drawing is after Loona finds out about the first tick she has Stolas check the remaining parts of her fur to see if there are any more unwanted guests. I like the idea of them specifically moving towards the door so they can use the inside light to see better.

Once again I love wholesome Stolitz Family content and I really enjoyed drawing this art requests. For my friends who sent me requests. I did not forget about y'all! I am working on them!!!! It just takes time!

Some of them might be used for future collabs in the near future 👀👀👀👀

As always if you have any Stolitz art requests my asks are open!!! Also any fanfic writers/artists who are interested in collabing. I'm down to clown just reach out to me through Tumblr dms. Because I have a helluva boss brain rot and I'm trying to survive until the next season. 🤣

✨Shout out time!!!✨

Thx @theradiodaemon and @larryisnotagirl for helping me come up with Stolas' wording to Loona and for ur friendship!

@dishrack-holygrail thank you for the moral support friend!

[angel-fruitcake]

always here for your reboot posting so im curious: what would be on your bucket list for s16? ignoring reality of what they might actually do

so glad you enjoy the clown show! 🥰

here are some things i am personally hoping for in s16, regardless of probability:

• 15x20 scrapped/regarded as the "false" ending

• dean rescuing cas from the empty to parallel cas rescuing dean from hell at the beginning of their story (sam, eileen, rowena and jack can help, but maybe from the outside? they could help perform the spell or something to send dean to the empty to retrieve cas)

• once dean and cas escape the empty, i would really love for dean to get cas alone and give his own version of the confession. i really want to see dean tell cas that he never just saw him as a weapon to be used against enemies, that he's always been so much more than that. that dean needs him like he needs to breathe, that every time they were separated it nearly ripped dean apart at the seams. that dean has always wanted cas to stay, even if he didn't know how to say it. i want dean to tell cas that he loves him— that he's in love with him. and i'd love for dean to make it clear that if he's the one thing cas wants, he can have him. he already does— dean's heart has always belonged to cas.

• please end that scene^^ with a kiss. i'll settle for short and sweet as long as it's lips-to-lips, but tbh i think we deserve some kisses that gradually increase in heat and intensity until they're both scrambling to make it to dean's room, pawing at each other the whole way, unwilling to separate for air even once, before finally making it to their destination, still kissing frantically, getting inside and slamming the door shut, leaving the details of what happens in dean's room up to fanfic writers 💘 (i also think it'd be really funny if we see them emerging sometime later from dean's room, hair and clothes disheveled, both covered in hickeys and smiling like idiots who just had the best damn sex of their life)

• jody x donna and claire x kaia featured as happy lesbian couples

• full ensemble cast, with all the fan favorites returning and getting a well-deserved happy ending. i'd love to see some characters interact with each other that have never interacted before. for example— claire and jack, cas and garth (and garth's son castiel), charlie and every character she never met (bc all characters should meet charlie), etc.

that's all i can think of right now! thanks for the ask 💕

[lokittystuckinatree]

Happy Pride losers, I’m ready to be clowned but my dumb ass is now convinced Rogue is the Master…

Rogue and Renegade have eerily similar meanings under the right circumstance.

To rebel against an organized group. To go rogue.

An endearingly naughty person

Koschei, our second fave Renegade Time Lord

Apparently they were also called a Rogue Time Lord? I am not making this up.

Although Maestro is Master in Italian and look how that turned out

“Lord” interesting.

Red and Blue. The master and 13 were red and blue coded respectively. Have they switched, Symbolically?

Rogue was looking at the Doctor rather nefariously, even once they were buddies. Just go through some of the scenes again. It’s harder than you’d think to tell if he’s trying to seem seductive or evil

The entire premise of this ep seems to be “things are not as they seem; people are not as they appear” which is a Master staple

The Master has been haunting the fuck out of the narrative lately.

Here’s my thread on just how much

When I saw the first trailer, I instinctively thought “ballroom dance guy” was gonna be the new Master

The inside of Rogue’s (familiarly messy) ship has controls eerily similar to the configuration of a TARDIS.

Rogue is obviously a time traveler if he has that space ship and knows DnD (Rogue + Time + Lord. Oh?)

DnD might be a dead giveaway

Was Rogue’s name being inspired by DnD necessary to include? Cute thing the writers wanted to put in, or clue?

Why would Rogue know what DnD was but not know what cosplay or improv was?

The Master has been taken prisoner by the Toymaker, infamous for his love of? Games. You know who also has a running theme of “winning” and “losing”? The Master

In DnD you play as a character and rely on skill and chance to survive within the confines of a structured storytelling game. Bending the rules is often involved. The Master tried that against the Toymaker and failed.

DnD players will often have little tiny figurines of their characters. Remind you of anything?

the Master is a dnd rogue archetype. Trickster, lone wolf, shapeshifter.

If the Doctor is symbolically trapped in a TV show, is the Master trapped in a game? If the Toymaker is the DM, is he going rogue against the Toymaker?

The Master is infamous for their disguises and “cosplays” and has catfished the Doctor before.

Rogue is almost suspiciously too much the Doctor’s type. He’s like the love child of River Song and Jack Harkness. He is exactly the type of character the Master would create to lure and seduce the Doctor.

He and the Doctor just…get each other. It’s like they’ve known each other for much longer than a few hours. They’re too cushy (haha)

Rogue threatened to kill the Doctor, and then imprisoned him in a nice little cage. Familiar?

He tried to make the Doctor kill Ruby, who we all know is just Clara 2.0. Familiar?

He knows too much and too little

He knew the party was attended by alien birb people but only knew about one alien birb? And did he reaaaally think Doc was an alien bird?

The Dancing. They knew they wanted there to be a dance party before they even settled on a time period setting for the episode. Enough said.

The ring was…interesting

That’s a lot of commitment, even if only a promise ring. Something tells me he intended it as an engagement ring though

Someone tried to write a book in the 80s where 5 and Ainley were ex spouses, but it was shot down

Just an unrelated detail, but a ring on the pinky is a gay thing

Mirroring. Thoschei do that. A lot.

“You!” “No, you!” “no, you!”

The way they danced

The scene where they kept turning on and off the music

Speaking of music…Bad Guy by Billie Eilish? Too on the nose? Can’t get you out of my head? Poker face?

You remember that lady’s hand that picked up the Master in his widdle toof? Hand of the Rani?

This episode was written by two women. The Master would literally be in women’s hands

I remember watching Sacha Dhawan’s Spy Master for the first time and going…darn, he reminds me so much of Avengers era Loki. Kate Herron directed season 1 of the Loki Series and had a lot of creative control. Would it really be surprising if RTD (confirmed Loki fan) went to her for the Master after Sacha?

Didn’t Russell say he’s leaving the Master for “other writers?”

“The Master is parked” did he happen to park a Tardis disguised as an everyday spaceship???

In an interview, Kate said she and Briony designed Rogue to be the Doctor’s “equal”

References

“When I see him, I’ll know” and he is drawn to Rogue like a magnet.

“Travel with me” who must you be to want the Doctor to be your companion instead of vice verse

“We can argue across the stars”

“I’m in your head” + “can’t get you out of my head” + the Master being referenced multiple times in almost every episode since PoTD

“I’m trigger happy” feels really fucking intentional

He said “find me.” If he is the Master, the person he lost was the Doctor, (notice he said “them” and not “her” or “him?”) and the Master and Doctor always find each other.

Scream of the Shalka? And didn’t the Master fall through the floor like 40 times in Curse of Fatal Death? Richard E Grant was the Doctor in both of those.

For more, @bugeater77 and friends have this lovely thread

Guys CHECK MY REBLOG, RTD posted something wild.

[coderooster]

I know lots of people have been saying that 7x04 is going to be the tipping point to whether buddie will go canon or not and the new stills are really backing this up. But I'm slightly(very) concerned it's not gonna turn out how we want it to (buddie canon).

Like, from what I personally am getting from the stills, Eddie seems to befriend Tommy without Buck knowing which leads to Buck's 'envy'.

The stills from the gym with Buck and his emotional support basketball are giving 'we were going to play now but oh look my new bestie is calling and wants to show me round the helicopters that's much more cool let's take a raincheck'.

Then you've got Buck just gatecrashing that and Tommy and Eddie having already bonded and having inside jokes and Buck being all :( about it.

THEN you have the basketball court which could either be Buck and Chimney going for a 1v1 game and bumping into Eddie and Tommy OR Eddie inviting Tommy along to a group game without telling Buck. Either way Tommy is once again taking up Eddie's attention. Which causes Buck's abandonment issues to rear their head resulting in The Incident.

Now this could very well be Buck realising his feelings for Eddie in a very roundabout way, but I'm concerned they're going to play it platonically, especially with the way they've been speed-running Buddie's best hits the past couple eps. They could easily pass it off as Buck worrying Tommy is replacing him as Eddie's BESTfriend, allowing the writers to really solidify their friendship to the new audience.

But hopefully, with Oliver's excitement over the episode and the general attached-at-the-hipness Buck and Eddie have had over the past 3 eps, maybe just maybe, Eddie could just be making friends outside of the 118 (which is probably a good thing tbh)(also another of their greatest hits) which prompts Buck's feeling realisation, getting the ball rolling on future buddie canon, which would leave this nice bestfriend-shaped gap in Eddie's life when it eventually happens that Tommy can just slide into, allowing him to be around more often, leaving everyone happy.

But that's the perfect scenario. I still think we're clowning HARD and it's just gonna be the aforementioned reassertion of Buck's position as Eddie's bestie. But one can hope.

[midnight1nk]

⭐️ WELCOME TO MY MIND PALACE ⭐️

Greetings, my dear fellows! The name's Ink, your local bi goober who is a sucker for found family and complex characters ^^ (...and also goop!4 but yall already know that.)

SMG4 Tumblr’s local rambler // theorist and titled co-CEO of the Goop!4 theory // Writer of the SMG4: Episode Concepts fic series [Masterpost] // Reporter of SMG4 Tumblr News

I grew up watching SMG4 since 2014. While I am a fandom artist in my main account, this blog is only for my SMG4 theories and related stuff. Sorry, no art requests.

Usually neutral/positive to most characters and ships but I do love SMG34 (and I will talk about them a lot)!

Feel free to drop a question/comment to my askbox (see rules below)! Thanks for dropping in.

Now with that settled, come right into the insanity...

⚠️ DISCLAIMER FOR ALL THEORIES, EPISODE CONCEPTS, ETC.  

While I do create theories, episode concepts, and other posts, I want to be respectful to the crew behind SMG4. I don’t want any of my posts to influence/forcefully change any intended plans for the future so please don’t harass anyone working on the show just because whatever I said wasn’t true. It’s just a reminder to be kind and respectful.

If you’re from the Team themselves and somehow see my posts, hi uh. Certainly didn’t expect you to stumble in here but, keep up the good work! I wish for you the very best 💙

ASKBOX RULES 

For regular asks: to avoid spam in my inbox, if you’re asking as anon, put a star emoji [ ⭐️ ] at the ask.

If you're a frequent anon, sign as which anon are you (like "pizza anon" or "theorist anon"). Go ahead and be creative!

OR

SMG4 NEWS SUBMISSIONS 

When sending an ask, all media/links must be embedded and must paste a magnifying glass emoji [ 🔎 ] for personal organization.

The sent asks WILL NOT be posted in my blog or in the SMG4 tag. DO NOT spam the askbox to see status.

If there is news going around in another social, and you believe it is something of value that could potentially impact SMG4 Tumblr, go ahead submit a tip. Investigation submissions will be posted and lead by me; promotions will be a reblog. They must be COMMUNITY-INVOLVED.

For full details and conditions, go to this post here [X]!

[ ⚠️ TERF Proship Zionist DNI ⚠️ ]

oc (ink) ref sheet, ink's fridge, theory archive, and more below cut....

INK'S FRIDGE

all of my top frames from the show, memes, and art I received/inspired by what I wrote are featured here

fanart credits from:

@/theo-doodle-draw

[birthday bash '24 fanart] [baby star] [ink & ace in blankies]

@/bowlolol

[goop!4 timeline fanart]

@/change-name-later

[4 tried to cheer 3 up w/ boombox] [Mr. S]

@/34saveme34

[heterochromia 4]

@/of-pots-and-dots

[heterochromia 4] [HC eye 4 again :)]

@/poggieking43

[heterochromia 4 sketch]

@/mage-ical-character-person

[clown 4!!]

@/lyn-and-lucky

[heterochromia 4: literal sunshine] [goop!4 from concept #5 fanart]

SMG4 OC: Ace 🪄

a moot asked for a ref sheet for fanart so I gave them this:

a messy ref, I know 😔

TAGS TO MY CURRENT THEORIES:

⭐ #goop!SMG4 // #👁️

[what-if scenario of the keyboard goo still being inside of SMG4, Venom style]

OTHER TAGS:

⭐ #horus hc 4

[cyan and magenta heterochromia-eyed 4 hc // edits by yours truly or featured in other people's art]

⭐ #🧿

[...?]

⭐️ #ink reviews

[SMG4 episode reaction and reviews]

⭐️ #ink rambles // #mind palace ramblings

[me going insane and sharing my thoughts with the world. the other one is a more deranged side, this is what happens when you have a theorist checking every single frame on episodes and notices some shit]

⭐️ #ink episode concepts

[SMG4 episode ideas i came up with, Masterpost]

⭐ #ink answers

[answering my askbox]

⭐ #fanart for ink

[we just got some fanart, we just got some fanart,i wonder who it's from? (also on Ink's Fridge)]

⭐ #ink fridge

[overall stuff i really like that needs to be in a museum/immortalized (full collage in Ink's Fridge)]

THEORY ARCHIVE:

⭐ #once upon a perfect smg4

[twisted parallels of IGBP and "Once Upon an SMG4"]

⭐ #wotfi 2024 predictions

[self-explanitory lol]

⭐ #puzzlevision 2

[Final battle with Mr Puzzles, made before WOTFI '24 arc. Origin of Eye of Ra/Horus theory, Goop!Four theories]

[tootoomanycats]

PERFORMANCES: Chapter 1 -The Storm of The Century

Summary: In the wake of a historic hurricane raging across the treacherous waters of the East Blue and Grand Line, islands and their resilient inhabitants must either adapt or flee to ensure survival. Sleep Haven, a once-tranquil oasis, now finds itself shattered by the merciless storm. What took years to build and nurture with your own hands lies in ruins, demolished in mere hours. What should have been a fleeting tempest stretched into endless months of devastation. With little left but dwindling supplies and scant funds, you and your fellow islanders embarked on a desperate flight for survival. In your hour of dire need, you reached out to a mysterious benefactor whose aid came at a staggering price. The cost: to divert the attention of the clownish "Leader" of the Cross Guild. As events unfold on BariBari Island, amidst schemes and dangers, you find yourself grappling with emotions long suppressed. Is your interaction with the clown merely a facade, or is it awakening something you've denied yourself for years? Will the repercussions of this precarious pact only affect the flamboyant clown, or will it unravel the last vestiges of your guarded heart as well? The storm may have ravaged Sleep Haven, but the true tempest now brews within your soul and the choices you are forced to make.

Warnings for THIS chapter: None

Performances Master List

Pairings: Buggy/Reader

Word Count: 4,417 Words

AO3 Link

Warning for this Story:

Reader is a retired sex worker

Both Buggy/Reader are in their early to late 30's

There will be smut scenes

There will also be cute fluff scenes

Please note that betrayal does happen to Buggy in this and as of right now I still dont know if Buggy will forgive Reader or not.

Switch/Switch sexual dynamics so its really anyones game.

Author Notes: Hello everyone! Please note that this story already has some spicy teasers that can be found on the MASTER LIST. This story was origionally only supposed to be a few smut peices, but its become what will probably be one of the most intense and intricate stories I've ever tried to take a crack at. A few things to note before you should dig into this story. Reader is a fem presenting person and there will be pronouns of She/Her for this story. I am working on stories for nongender presenting works, but for this one it is a designated identiy. Anyway if you like it, please remeber that fanfic writers live off of Likes, Kudos and Comments of encouragment and conversation. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Storm of the Century

"Get to the bunker!"

Amidst the cataclysmic wail of the hurricane, screams became echoes lost in the torrent. The quaint island town, once a portrait of tranquility, was now an arsenal of airborne debris, propelled by winds that shrieked at a hundred miles per hour. Mari, a slender blond woman, sprinted through the chaos, clutching a young child to her chest like a precious gem. Her eyes were set on the concrete sanctuary that had morphed into a last haven for the island's residents.

Once safely ensconced inside, her eyes scanned the room in a frenzied dance, landing on face after face, each one not the one she was looking for.

"Where's the Mistress?!"

Silence strangled the air. The group of women inside exchanged worried glances; their faces etched with a mutual dread. Finally, the child's voice broke through the din, its pitch climbing to be heard over the relentless battering of the storm against the shelter's walls.

"She said she was heading to the Ustesse family's place! Their mom is 'bout to have the baby!" A wave of collective gasps swept the room, whispers and murmurs swirling like mini vortexes. "They're gonna be okay, right Mari?" The child clung to her leg, his small face etched with terror, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Bending down to his level, Mari swiped away his tears with the corner of her apron and tenderly swept his disheveled hair from his eyes.

"Don't you worry. I have faith she's hunkered down with our friends. I'll go check on them, okay?"

The child clung to Mari's skirt, his small fingers knotting the fabric tightly until another woman tenderly pried him away and cradled him in her arms. With a resolute nod to the remaining occupants of the makeshift sanctuary, Mari clenched the rustic wood handle of the door, leveraging her entire body weight to wrench it open against the ferocious wind.

Outside, the storm raged on.

Ominous, dark green clouds churned in a frenetic dance, intermittently pierced by jagged bolts of lightning that shot from sky to ground and an encroaching sea line. Amid the apocalyptic landscape, she nearly missed her turn; the familiar road marker had been uprooted, now likely a part of the storm's airborne arsenal. Navigating just ten feet felt like an insurmountable quest as she lunged from one gnarled tree trunk to another, grasping their deeply anchored roots to avoid being swept away, her fingers ached, and the muscle of her palms cramped at the strength needed to hold on. What should have been a brief traverse felt like an agonizing odyssey.

Finally, a welcome sight emerged: the door of the Ustesse residence, peeking timidly from the slope of a small hill. Its unique architecture had rendered it a fortress amid the devastation. With the final sturdy tree and fence line a daunting hundred feet away, Mari resorted to crawling on all fours, her body encrusted with a sludge of mud and saltwater, her hair a tangled net of debris.

Summoning her remaining strength, she rapped on the massive wooden door before leaning into it, a low groan escaping her lips as she exerted herself to budge the door just an inch. Once safely enveloped by the fortress of solid oak, she gave one final heave, sealing the door—and with it, the cacophony of the storm and the haunting screams of the world outside. Silence filled the space, air stale with its humidity from the storm.

Catching her breath and hastily combing her wind-tangled hair from her face, Mari delved deeper into the short corridors of the dwelling. Just as she was about to call out, a gut-wrenching scream echoed from the far reaches of a back bedroom. Without a second thought, Mari charged down the hall, heart pounding.

"Hello? Is everyone alright?!"

A bedroom door burst open, revealing the cherubic faces of two children—twins. The boy’s eyes brimmed with tears, while his sister, a portrait of grave concern, gestured urgently toward the bed. As Mari neared the warm glow of a flickering lamp, her eyes widened at the spectacle before her.

A woman in the throes of labor crouched on all fours, her fingers clenched around the headboard with such force that the wood itself seemed to wail in sympathy. A statuesque figure—her mistress—kneaded the laboring woman’s back, offering rhythmic chants of encouragement between her cries.

"Mistress?" Mari’s voice quivered as her eyes met those of, you, her friend.

"Mari! Oh, bless the gods, you have perfect timing. We need hot water and clean cloth—fast. The twins are too petrified to leave their mother’s side." With graceful, efficient movements, your arms supported the laboring woman, guiding her to sit at the edge of the mattress. "Listen, Hannah," you spoke, tone laced with gentle humor to try and lighten the moment, "I know this isn’t your first time at the rodeo, but with the baby being breech, we need to proceed with the utmost caution. Are you with me?" You watched the mothers body language with worry, the feelings tel-tail signs hidden behind a well practiced smile. The last thing needed was for the poor woman to panic because the person she was depending on couldn't keep it together.

Hannah's face was flushed, a vivid crimson, her hair clinging like wet tendrils to her sweat-drenched forehead. Cheeks puffed rhythmically as she exhaled forcefully, desperate for enough oxygen to ward off fainting. Gripping the mattress's edge with white-knuckled hands, she heeded your guiding words. Meanwhile, Mari stationed herself behind her, soothing her flushed skin with icy rags and murmuring words of encouragement.

"You're doing beautifully. Keep breathing, just like that."

While the intimate tableau of new life being ushered into existence unfolded within the sheltered chamber, the hurricane outside continued its relentless havoc. Hours slipped by like minutes, until finally, the culmination of Hannah's strenuous labor bore fruit—a tiny, newborn life. Arms carefully swaddling the freshly cleaned infant, lips curving into a tender smile as you approached the exhausted mother while whispering.

"Ten fingers and toes—a classic choice."

Exhausted but elated, Hannah chuckled as she cradled her newborn daughter, feeling the infant's minuscule fingers wrapped around her pinky. She looked up at you, her Mistress while reaching for your hand, and planted a reverent kiss on the back of it, before pressing it to her flushed cheek. "Thank you, Mistress Your presence—and Mari’s—made this infinitely more bearable, I think we would have been in big trouble without both of you."

Warmth spread from the hand on the mothers damp cheek, up into your chest and heart before being expressed through a smile that radiated love. Bending down, you bestowed a gentle kiss upon Hannah’s forehead.

"I’ll always do whatever I can to support our little village of misfits."

A sudden cough diverted everyone's attention to Mari, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her eyes were a mix of exhaustion and sorrow, burdened with news she wished she didn't have to relay. "Mistress, there are urgent matters requiring your immediate attention."

The exhaustion from the last few hours gripped your shoulders, sagging them for a brief second at the added weight of remembering the growing storm outside, and the towns precarious condition. You had been called to the home so early, that everyone in town had still been a sleep, even the baker. Something told you that todays dawn of ominous black clouds that had filled the horizon, had turned into a much more worrisome outcome than just the usual tropical depression.

You needed a drink, a stiff one at that.

Something strong enough to not only burn your tongue but also this day away. With what little energy that could be mustered from aching joints and stiff muscles, your spine straightened, with head held high and a stiff upper-lip you nodded before exiting the room, Mari trailing closely behind.

"Thank you, Mari. Any indication of when this storm might subside? I saw some dark clouds on my walk here earlier, but I haven't had a chance to see what its damage is yet." Turning down the hall towards the front of the Ustesse earthen home, the round wooden door and windows stood before you. Windows that faced out to the front of the town came into view, but your brain was having trouble comprehending what it was seeing. Lead filled your feet and forced the once hurried forward momentum you had to stop. The sudden change causing the blond to bump into your lower back, but you didn't budge. Body unable to move at the new and terrifying view in front of where you both stood.

The islands usually calm, crystal clear, blue waters were the backdrop for the small islands only town. It had taken months to bring the supplies for just the first houses foundation, let alone the last three years for the rest of the buildings to be finished at the beginning of this year. Untold hours of sweat, blood and so many tears from your own two hands had been put into creating this safe haven from nothing.

Saliva built in your mouth, a normally wet tongue felt like blooming cotton in its dry texture. The sensation forced the already cord tight muscles in your neck to swallow. A new view showed through the windows glass, one that could only be what clothes perceived of the outside world trapped during the spin cycle of a washing machine. Wind howled by so fast that you were sure you could see bits of earthen chunks being thrown at breakneck speeds. The storms dramatic change of atmospheric pressure caused both window frames to bow and groan, threatening in anguish to break. Thank god you had splurged for the hurricane rated windows this time around.

This home and the bunker had been built as a test, trying to put less financial investment into the usual and expensive construction supplies and more into a sturdier outcome with what was already on hand from the land around them. Building them both into the side of the hill had been the hardest part, but it seemed that the gamble had paid off. You blinked as dust fell from the ceilings boards, realizing that the chunks of earth you had seen were from the homes moss roof.

The home still held up, so far.

How had that storm turned into this so fast? Normally the island had plenty of warning from the weather monitor to prepare. A den-den mushi connected to the stations from the main island, it had guaranteed constant updates and warnings. In the years you had lived here, not once did even a small ‘just in case’ not get sent out. A gut sinking question pushed its way to the front of your mind.

Had the main island been caught off guard by this storm as well?

Mari had stood silent next to you, the top of her head barely reaching your shoulders, her emerald green eyes observed calmly, as a blank expression took the place of a once truly happy smile of her friends face. Years of friendship taught her patience, especially when it came to the time that you needed when processing information. She stood in worry at the events outside, but also in confidence knowing that plans for multiple outcomes were already swirling in the back of your mind while taking in what was before you.

Finally moving, you walked to the front door and grasped the copper handle to pull it open when a sudden gust of wind slammed it shut, pulling you against the unyielding wood with a loud thud. "What the—?"

Mari intervened, gently brushing your hand aside. Taking a few long strides back you watched as the short blond braced a foot against the doors frame for leverage, she clenched the handle with a firm grip and mustered all her strength to yank the door open.

With a gritty shove, the door finally yielded, breaking the vacuum seal between the tempestuous storm and the home's still air. Both of you stood silhouetted in the doorway, squinting into the blinding onslaught of the storm—visibility reduced to a mere five-foot radius. Mari shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, her nerves starting to win against her patience.

“Whats the damage so far Mari?”

"The storm appears to be getting closer, Mistress. As it stands, only Hannah's home and our newly erected shelter have withstood the havoc.”

With wide eyes and mouth gaped in shock, you turn to look down at your friend before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Another ball of saliva forced its way down as panic set in, had the people who had come to depend on you made it to safety? The words had to be forced out with what little air it felt your lungs could grasp, voice scratchy and hoarse as the question was asked.

“Is everyone…are they okay?”

Mari gave a small smile and nodded her head in reassurance. She understood intimately the fear you had; she had been a first-hand witness to this islands ceaseless endeavors, helping lost souls and vulnerable women find not just shelter, but a home and small community to depend on. It might have been humble, but it was one of safety, filled with love and warm meals. More than most had experienced before in their lifetime.

"Everyone is safe," Mari whispered, her voice tinged with solemn relief as her smaller hand lay gently across your own. “So far it is just the buildings that have been destroyed. This storm came on so quickly the others didn't even have time to grab any personal belongings.”

Both of you looked back out the door as the hurricane seemed to stay in place on the tiny island.

“I guess we will have to wait and see what we can salvage, hopefully we can make enough to repair everything”.

Now where was that drink?

Two Months Later.

That's the length of time the colossal hurricane had churned off the coast of the Grand Line, its path ever changing, sometimes even veering dangerously close to BariBari Island. The last hurricane of this scale had been the stuff of legend, occurring generations ago. The kind of things elders spun as eerie tales for younger ears at bedtime, recounting a storm that raged for an entire year before vanishing as mysteriously as it appeared. These stories painted nightmarish scenarios—mighty ships splintered like kindling under the hurricane's wrath, lush islands stripped to barren wastelands, and entire communities swallowed up, leaving nothing but memories and fear in their wake. Its unyielding presence disrupted every facet of maritime travel and daily life for the Cross Guild.

And now, the behemoth storm showed signs of further intensifying, prompting the leaders of the Cross Guild to recall their entire armada back to the island. They aimed to minimize the loss of their assets, salvaging whatever could be spared from nature's fury. But this strategy made from necessity had a double edge to it, while it saved their assets, it also lost them time and money in doing so. The lack of incoming funds creating great irritation in the largest of the three leaders, and terrified the shorter showman. A stop to income meant debts couldn't be paid fully or on time.

The formidable warlords congregated around a large circular worn table. Emptied wine bottles, extinguished cigar stubs, and disheveled piles of coins and playing cards surrounded them like the aftermath of a battlefield. Initially convened for a formal meeting, their gathering had dissolved, as it often did, into late-night poker and calculated wagers. The air was thick with a smoky haze, trapped by the room's tightly shut windows. Scant candles flickered on sparse furnishings, casting ominous shadows that danced in rhythm to the distant roll of thunder. Raindrops pelted the windowpanes, each gust of wind testing the mettle of their rusted latches.

Just as a new round of thunder shook the very foundation of the room, the silence was shattered, with a high-pitched whine. Slumping dramatically in his chair while disembodied hands remained frozen, Buggy sneered at cards that he had yet to reveal—a losing hand, if the theatrics were any indicator. After already losings the last four rounds, his mind was craving After four loses from the last few rounds, and his chips stacks getting smaller and smaller, his brain started to struggle staying focused. Weeks of being kept inside, no sunlight and temperatures fluctuating between sweltering and freezing would make anyone irritable. Even more so for someone who’s brain never seemed to stay quite or still.

"This storm has been raging for weeks. The longer this damn hurricane goes on, the more I’m starting to think its possible to die from boredom."

Buggy stormed from his grandiose chair, boots thudding against the floor as he glowered through the windowpanes. Just two hours ago the rain-droplets had been freezing to the glass, and now it was so warm that the inside edges were dripping in humidity. It was impossible to stay in one layer of clothing for the whole day now, having to now switch between snow and winter ware to summer beach attire constantly. His usual outfit was reduced to more comfortable wear for the late night. Long azure-colored hair held up in a high ponytail to keep anything warm off his neck, classic makeup smudged after hours of wear and humidity. The fur-lined coat draped over the backing of his chair, accompanied by his stripped bandanna.

Pouring another full glass of wine, Mihawk's eyes flicked from Crocodile to Buggy. Setting the crystal glass down, a pale hand tossed a few more coins into the pile as cards were discarded and new ones added. The usually well-poised swordsman felt his patience wearing thin with being cooped inside for so long, finding time alone to read had become near impossible. Add the irritation of never having a moments peace and the shifting weather it was no wonder he had grown more and more quite as the night went on. Even his normally immaculate appearance had loosened to something more casual. Hair tousled, mustache bristling in odd directions from the sweltering dense air. Hat and coat hanging on the wall, sword leaning next to them forgotten and left to try and stay cooler during this hours choice of temperature.

Crocodile delicately ashed his sizable cigar into a nearby used glass. Leaning back into his chair, he relished the sound of the wooden joints creaking under his weight. "I've got some old acquaintances that are going to dock on the island soon. They asked if they could stay until the storm passed, its a smallish group of maybe twenty at most.”

While still looking out the window, Buggy rolled his eyes in boredom. “Oh yeah? What do they do for work?”

The behemoth man paused in his reach for a new card, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he searched for a fitting descriptor. "They're a group of retired performers—some of the best at what they used to do." Plucking the new card, Crocodile grabbed an four of clubs to throw into the discard pile before nodding to the brunet next to him that it was his turn now.

Buggy perked up, spinning to face the table, his eyes alight with eagerness. "Performers?" Then, his excitement deflated. "Oh, wait. You said they're retired, right? So, they're old and boring." With a disheartened sigh, he laid down his cards and folded them, leaving the game to the other two men.

Silence once again fills the room, the clown could feel his skin crawl from under-stimulation and the banal environment, feeling the frenetic energy of his brain becoming louder.

“So when do the geezers get here?”

Crocodile stiffed a chuckle at Buggy's question, now turning to face the sword-smith to continue their card game, deliberately ignoring the clown's feigned indignation. “They should be arriving in the next few days, If the storm allows it.”

Shifting in his seat, Buggy swung one leg over the armrest and gazed out the window again, sulking in his boredom and already reaching for his coat as the temperature started to drop again.

A few hundred leagues away

Ornate tubes of lipstick danced like marionettes across the creaking floorboards, swept away by the hurricane's invisible hands as the storm outside orchestrated an all-out assault on the ship's integrity. Each howling gust and bone-jarring wave turned the vessel into a seesaw, rocking it in erratic patterns that defied gravity, from fore to aft, starboard to port.

When a particularly large wave crashed against the ship's bow the buckets in the room slid across from one corner to the other along with the smaller trunks of storage, their scraping noises adding to the symphony of the ship's already overstimulating orchestra. Falling to your knees with a harsh thump, a hand flew to cover your mouth as a particularly intense wave of nausea made itself known. Moans, groans, and the unmistakable retching of seasick passengers reverberated through the timbers as if the ship itself were in agony.

With a sense of urgency, the that Mari had help to adorned with delicate rings reached out in a desperate ballet, snatching up the errant lipstick tubes before they could escape into the narrow abyss between creaking planks. Then, as if provoked by your defiance, a colossal wave—fit for a sea monster's grand entrance—slammed into the bow. The impact sent buckets, dainty trunks, and sundry personal items skidding and screeching from one end of the room to the other. The shrill scraping of metal against wood joined the discordant orchestra, lending another layer of chaos to an environment already awash in sensory overload.

A knock at the door was heard before it slowly cracked open. A voice gently called out, "Miss? Are you alright?" In walked the familiar petite blond with a white apron cinched around her waist. Her eyes darted to where you stayed kneeling on the floor, curled over a bucket, trying to hold back from heaving up what little food you had been able to keep down so far.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. I knew this voyage would be trouble, especially with your seasickness." Mari helped guide you to sit up on the bed before wiping the sweat that had grown across the heat of your forehead with a rag dunked in a bowl of cool fresh water. "I didn't think it would be so rough when we're gaining distance from the storm's center. Are you sure we can trust this acquaintance of yours?"

Letting out a low, contented hum as the icy touch of the damp rag caressed your feverish forehead, taming wayward strands of hair that clung to moist skin. Head tilted back, eyes blissfully shut, you surrendered to Mari's nurturing touch as if each swipe of the cloth washed away a morsel of discomfort. "No, he is not someone to be trusted. I'm afraid turning back isn't an option, Mari. Since that storms appearance we’ve burned through almost all our emergency supplies. We’ve no money to speak of and nowhere to retreat to. Did the captain give any indication of how much longer this hellish ride will last—oh God!"

Even in so much discomfort and exhaustion your hand shot to a bucket tucked covertly under the bed, just in time for you to dry-have, retching into its emptiness. Mari's face crumpled in empathetic distaste, yet she remained steadfast, gathering your hair to prevent it from falling into the line of fire. "The captain assures us it'll only be a few more hours," she replied.

With a groan that seemed to echo the creaks of the ship, you withdrew your head from the foul-smelling bucket, collapsing onto the bed that swayed like a pendulum in sync with the ship's motion. "By gods, thank you for that news. Please, check on the others. From what I was hearing they might be faring even worse than me."

Mari bit her lower lip, a visible manifestation of her brewing concern. Sensing this, an eye cracked open, lips stretching into a warm, reassuring smile as you gently squeezed Mari’s arm. " You are too good to us, Mari, there is no one else we could hope to depend on. Please, they might need you more than me.”

At the encouraging nod, Mari pivoted gracefully and moved toward the door. Pausing on the threshold, her eyes lingered, bathed in the dim light of the room. "If you need anything, just holler, Miss." With that, she vanished into the dizzying corridor, momentarily losing her balance in the ship's wild sway. Bracing herself against the wall, she pressed on, intent on delivering the same vigilant care to the other ladies enduring this maritime ordeal.

Back in the sanctuary of your private chamber, starring at the ceiling, transfixed by the droplets of water that seeped through the holes in the timeworn deck above. Each droplet felt like a punctuation mark in the million thoughts that seemed to swirl repeatedly—a relentless reminder of your dire circumstances. Letting the right arm go limp, fingers loosely clutching the now lukewarm rag before letting it tumble to the floor. Your thoughts careened like a tempest, mirroring the chaos outside.

"We're in desperate need of help," the words murmured softly, as if verbalizing it might summon the assistance you so urgently required.

Shout Out To: @gingernut1314 @oddmawd @fanaticsnail @diabolicemerald @hey-august @lemony-snickers for being such amazing authors. All of you have given me inspiration and strength from reading and experiencing your creations to to able to spread my own wings. Thank you.

[astrylx]

Supernatural Liveblog - S.5 Ep.11 - Sam, Interrupted

Feeling better than I did yesterday, but still not great. Whatever. I'm excited for this episode. Have a feeling we're gonna get some interesting Sam information and portrayal, which I always love. I like that this episode is named Sam, Interrupted because the memoir the name is a play on of is so interesting. Also, Cas better be in this episode if only for a moment, because Misha Collins was in the movie, Girl, Interrupted.

The psychiatrist doesn't think the monster is real, he thinks its just the patients. I feel bad for the patients. Especially because it isn't uncommon for staff in psychiatric hospitals to brush off actual fears and complaints of patients.

Susan is going to die because they won't listen, isn't she? Fucking heartbreaking.

Sam being honest because he knows it will make him look crazy. The doctor's immediate change in demeanor when Sam said "probably because I started the apocalypse."

"Erma, cancel my Lunch."

This honestly may not be the worst place for Dean to be, because Sam is right, he does keep his trauma and emotions in. He keeps them in, and they keep fighting their way to the surface, which only causes more pain. He needs to learn how to feel. He needs to learn how to face what he feels.

"The relationship you have with your brother seems... Dangerously codependent..." I mean... I'm not going to disagree...?

"Let's talk about your father." Fuck. She got him.

"I just got 'thraped'" oh...?

They were too late to save the guy, and tensions are high between them. I don't know why Sam snapped at Dean so fast, it seemed out of character.

It's a wraith and I want to think the doctor is the wraith, but that's too obvious, isn't it... Maybe it's the nurse? I don't know. Also I'm assuming the clown paintings have something to do with Martin's backstory and the reason he can't hunt anymore.

IT WAS THE DOCTOR. MY INITIAL ASSUMPTION WAS RIGHT. It can't be that easy though, right- I mean that just feels TOO easy. The obvious guess...

Also, for an episode titled "Sam, Interrupted," this has been way more Dean focused so far.

I feel like I'm going crazy because my cat keeps meowing and I can't find him, but he's only meowing when the episode is playing.

Nvm, found him. He's being a douche.

I'm so uncomfortable with Wendy. Especially because the Supernatural show writers have a habit of making characters take advantage of/nonconsensually touch the Winchesters and playing it off as a joke even though it's not a joke.

Fuck, Sam lashing out at someone innocent? Wait that was the doctor? For some reason I didn't recognize him. Something is up with Sam. Has been up. I'm concerned.

Also, I was fucking right in saying the doctor being the wraith was way too easy.

They're both going crazy. Whatever is in the hospital is impacting them.

"It was like you were barely even human." Fuuuuuuck... Both Sam and Dean right now are hearing and being told the worst possible things they could be, shit.

HEY I WAS RIGHT! It was the nurse!

The cinematography this episode is insane, I love it.

the fucking twitch ass soundboard AGAIN

Fuck, the ending of this episode is absolutely killing me, I don't know what to say. I could say so much, because I understand Sam here. Goodness, I understand him like I am him because in a way, I used to be him. I know how he feels. The anger and rage inside him. The self hatred and fear because of it. Knowing the harm you've inflicted upon others because of what is burning up inside you, but struggling to care at the same time you care too much and you struggle to quell it...

Dean telling Sam to bury it fucking hurts like hell too. Especially because that doesn't help. It makes it so much worse. But Dean doesn't know how to handle his own problems and burying them is all he's ever learned to do, so he has to tell Sam to do that. It only makes it worse. For both of them. They'll run themselves ragged and then more.

This episode- How do I even describe it honestly. A wreck. Not in a "this episode sucked" way, because it was actually quite good. In a "holy shit these characters are making everything worse for themselves and tearing me up at the same time" way.

Also, for an episode called Sam, Interrupted it was FAR more Dean focused than Sam. I like a good Dean episode, I do, I just wish we had gotten more Sam than we did.

And no Castiel, which was sad.

[your-old-sins-tournament]

12 YEAR OLD OCS; SIDE A

Kishimaru [@notagutterrat] (He/Him)

One of the first (if not the actual first) fandom OCs I ever made, he was a very overpowered Naruto OC that was from a powerful clan and also had a demon/beast sealed inside him and it basically made him a catboy as well (An orange-haired catboy...is it obvious what other manga I was into at the time?)

Excavator [@enjoliquej] (he/him)

Behold, a mere mortal man, born with the name Excavator, destined to become part of one of the most fantastical endeavors known to man: Archeological Excavation.  Being gifted with a genius and brilliant name as Excavator, and having a career that shared the same name gave him some trouble with introductions.

A bold and thoughtful quote from our hero:

"My name is Excavator, and I am an excavator."  --  Excavator

Follow Excavator, the world's WORST and luckiest archeologist as he embarks across the world to different locations that his 12 year old writer was learning about in history class. Watch as his boss constantly fires and re-hires him on account of Excavator's stupidity and luck at finding rare artifacts. Embark on his first adventure when he accidentally hurled himself into a tar pit from clowning around and found the Rosetta Stone buried deep beneath. Join him on his trip to China where he gets thrown into a basket and is forced to float the Pacific Ocean for days until he discovers ancient Chinese scrolls hidden in the basket with him, narrowly escaping being fired by his boss yet again. Follow him to India where he believes he traveled to the 1800s and is mistaken for a butler and cleans precious furniture with bleach which ruins everything until he realizes he was just staying at some guys house the whole time and he didn't time travel to the 1800s.

All this and more on The Silly Adventures of Excavator, The Indiana Jones Wannabe!

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

To my fated Nat,

Because you took your time replying, I absolutely knew I had to slide in here again. You addressed so many of my questions even when I was just rambling is CRAZY (I rlly did not expect a response for some of them, like I just be saying things, or rather, typing them, and they don't make sense even to me 😭).

You absolutely do not!!! owe me an apology what, it was like two something days. I assume that if we were in ancient times, a carrier pigeon would have taken much longer and I feel lucky just to receive a response at all!! genuinely. I would've been willing to wait like a maiden under the moonlit courtyard, spending my days inking pages I will never send and hoping the ones I do reach you.

the detour concerns me deeply, but I will not probe. I'm happy to hear you're okay!! and that's all it matters. now it's my turn to respond. *cracks fingers*

reflecting the impulsive nature of humans... I never thought of it that way! you definitely succeeded in capturing a raw moment from mc, a temporary, split-second decision where she acted based on emotion alone. and it's from the first paragraph? like you're crazy. so, so many intricate details about human nature... the eng lit analyst in me is having a field day.

fuck humans, bro; I hope we all go extinct. (that's it. that's the reply dkjfshj)

I definitely agree on the part with mc being independent, not because she was born that way, but because she had to be. she had to survive. it's a strong trait of hers that comes through a lot throughout the story. "She’s practical and hardened by her reality, but at the core of it all, she’s still human, with fragile emotions beneath the surface." I don't have anything to add. you said it perfectly, and I need this tattooed permanently in my brain.

I was very serious about the offer to my bed. Please deliver all 8 of them, one for each night and mc can join us at her convenience any—or even better, every night if she so pleases.

Ni-ki was not that obvious. I was just having fun guessing jdshk in such a heavily angsty story, I greatly appreciated small moments of reprieve woven into the text. subtle, almost invisible, but they're there.

I'm gonna be so honest 😭 I don't take notes for every fic I read jdaskh it depends if I like it enough, if there's even plot for me to take note on (I just read mindless porn with no plot because that's what I need on some days shdkj), if it intrigues me enough to ask questions. and really, it's not a super serious note in a trad way.. I be just writing "I need THAT. I need him." in one instance and "WTF was that" in another. they're live reactions from me. and I like to include them in my reblogs (esp if I asked to be on the taglist)

you're a one-of-a-kind writer, too, and I'm so glad to have stumbled upon your page and gotten to peek inside your mind through the works you choose to share. they don't get that this is my version of consuming literary works. (I promise I spend ample time in libraries and read plenty of physical books too, PLEASE IM A STARR)

omg, our freaks matched.

JAYWON is so crazy in this fic. like man, Im not trying to take ur man (I am.) but like!! also, my opinion on Jay has drastically changed since reading more parts. I feel like a clown for disliking him. I deserve to be stoned to death and burned at stake. JAY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. my fucking bad for assuming the worst. I was not familiar with your game like that 😔

I absolutely adore you for giving me so much more insights into mc's character. that just gave her sm more depth, and made me love her (and you, always you, for creating her) even more.

cue Fate by Enhypen RIGHT NOW!!! I don't playyyy.

"And it makes sense because If you put yourself first, you stand a better chance of making it out alive." I think you just gutted me again. but yeah.... yeah. you're correct.

Thank you so so so so so much for giving me more insights into the zombies. While reading s&s, I felt extremely compelled to consume more zombie media so I rewatched train to busan, kingdom s1 & s2, the sadness, the walking dead, all of which gave me different types of zombies/ideas on how they function and exist within their own universe. so, when I finally read your work, my brain made a lot of connections to different types of media. yes, rewatching all those series is also why my reviews are like two weeks late. FDJHK I can finally sleep at night knowing my visualization of this series has been perfected. I have nothing else I'm confused about, THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN. your replies gave me so much clarity :(((

THE FEELINGS ARE MUTUAL. that is to say, I love you too.

With love, your dearest <3

are we just going back and forth now or what 🤭 (just kidding you don't have to reply to this!) but i just want to say i really appreciate having someone that analyses so deeply about my works, the eng lit in me is kicking her feet. and that it's also so nice to have someone to talk about it with! i'll forever welcome you in my blog for as long as you want to stay. thank you truly from the bottom of my heart <3

XO, your fated

[thatswhatsushesaid]

hi hi hope youre doing well!! i was wondering if you had any good recs for fics that explore jin guangyao and su minshans relationship? platonic or romantic idm i just wanna read more fics about their dynamic!! no worries if not, you just seem like youd know some good fics for them lol (compliment)

anon you have come to the right clown with this request, let me throw some stuff at you:

a painting missing strokes, a song missing notes by occasional_boy_reporter is a cql post-canon xiyao fix-it fic that includes probably my favourite brand of suyao, which is one-sided, unrequited, but nevertheless not something minshan makes jgy's problem to manage. he might be eaten up with envy on the inside, but his ride-or-die loyalty to jgy overcomes everything. anyway, i am sad to say the fic is incomplete, but it is still such a beautiful read, and sms's role in it really can't be overstated! i also really like how the writer handles lxc and sms's dynamic!

favor by venndaai is a hunger games AU which primarily focuses on a romance between meng yao and lan xichen in the games, but also features background nieyao and very minor background nielan--which, if you know anything about me and my preferences, is so high up there on my list of NOTPs as to be in the stratosphere, so for me to not only read and finish this fic, but turn around and recommend it to other people as often as i do.... idk if it says something, exactly, other than i think it's REALLY FUCKING GOOD! minshan's role in this one is very minor in contrast to what you'll see above, but it is nevertheless an extremely important role that, imo, closely mirrors sms and jgy's canon dynamic in spirit, if not in function. just be prepared for things to go very dark. i cried at the end.

sainted, untainted by gloriousmonsters is a suyao oneshot that veers very closely towards dubcon territory, though the kink in question is one that they do negotiate in advance. things just... happen... in the thick of it, and they struggle, but the whole scene from start to finish remains consensual. what i love about it isn't even the sex, though that is very steamy and intimate dgmw. it's that everything about this scene, from start to finish, is also an examination of trust and vulnerability, and i think if there's anyone in the canon material jgy would be willing to give up his dearly bought power and control to--other than lan xichen--it's going to be su she.

those are the ones that immediately leap out at me! beyond that, here's a shameless plug for my post-canon xiyao fix-it WIP glorious, which only has one chapter up atm, but it is all jgy and sms. their dynamic is going to be as important as the romantic xiyao in subsequent chapters so 👉👉 watch this space etc.

[abnormalpublishing]

Commentary – The Death of a God (Wasteland Bear God, Ep. 12)

If Episode 11 was a fiery “get stuffed,” then Episode 12 is the cosmic hangover that follows a night of bad decisions, too much divine liquor, and an inappropriate grope or two by a fictional Bear God. Don’t worry, it was consensual.

This one’s another turning point (again, you’ll see more of these because that’s what life is—an unhinged GPS leading you in circles). So, the Bear God died unexpectedly by his maker, which so happens to be, oh right, me. And as expected, he gets better because I wasn’t going to end the story there. Still, it was important to note that around this time I was writing and revising Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle, did some Requiem for Lilith, and was also doing some early Bob, early blues (shameful plug and self-promotion on many levels, and a nod to Morphine/Treat Her Right’s own Mark Sandman’s – “Early Man.”). Also reading that back seems like I did a line of cocaine, ha, if we could only be so lucky. I think I’ll keep it in. Also, pre-orders for This is Bob: A Guide to Not Dying (Mostly) are now open!

So, initially, this episode was meant to be a silent period—a “what now?” moment. A smoldering hole in the ground. Mourning. Reflecting. You know, emotions and stuff. But nah. That didn’t last long. If you’ve ever played WoW, or some MMORPG where there are players that play as DPS (damage per second), then you’ve likely heard something akin to “DON’T STAND IN THE FIRE!” I like to think that the Bear God did so, even though he got f-bombed and should have had the plot armor to stay alive. Damn, am I on a roll with song puns! So if you ever wonder where we go when we bite it, I made a “nothing,” although it’s more along the lines of it’s just space. Still, the Bear God existed in this space as an annoying purple, black, amalgamation of annoyance that, like any DPS in a damn PUG (pick-up-group) says, “Rez.” Over. And over. And over. Seriously, why should I rez you when you’ll—oh look, someone wasted our battle rez and sure as shit, you’ve gone and died again. I hope you’re happy; we could have saved that for a tank or healer who isn’t being a clown.

Yes, the Bear God refuses to stay dead, and honestly, I wasn’t even given a choice. Like any good character that a writer makes, he barged into the writer’s room (read: my skull) and demanded a rewrite. Or a refund. Now, what better way to further divulge an internal bromance that isn’t falling apart like . . . whatever that mess is . . . anyway, I digress, and usually, my mind is all over the place—thinking on this, that, and the those, keeping these, maybe throwing those, and inadvertedly going “ha, that’s also a song plug, isn’t it?” Yes. Heads up, I’ve enjoyed the absolute hell out of Skeletá since Ghost dropped it, and its inclusion on my playlists.

Moving on, I figure in any good bro-lationship, we got into some divine banter, interdimensional sass, and a scolding from The Maker, who needs a therapist… or a drink… or both. Which is true, because I was going to a therapist and my alcoholism was riding that crazy train (ha). I suppose having another drink back then would have been a bad idea. Not that I couldn’t hold my worth, I just spiraled around the drain a lot. So, there’s always been this meta-thread of the Creator and Creation having a toxic, hilarious, passive-aggressive relationship, and this episode dives headfirst into that dynamic. It’s just a bonus. Similar to when I did a wannabe TV promo spot, which I haven’t re-re-released.

The resurrection scene is peak absurdity—glorious light, howling wind, a majestic new shiny mecha-body, with luscious brown fur (because who doesn’t want to be reborn into a younger, more fit, and agile body). Almost golden fried. Oh, and a bowel cleanse for good measure. Because, of course, the episode is going to end with him being reborn with upgraded tech and spotless insides. After all, he’s a bear and a god. He demands comfort, glory, and fiber. And maybe, just maybe, some lotion applied to his bits.

As always, thanks for trudging through the ash, nonsense, and divine dick jokes with me. Episode 13 may or may not involve more chaos. (Spoiler: Does a bear shit in the woods? No, it does whatever it pleases.) Also, “CRAB BATTLE!”

Until next time,

RJM

 P.S. I loved this shit.

[kitkatt0430]

🦈🍄⚠️🖍️

🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

Satisfaction Brought Him Back

This would be the Savitar/Doomworld!Len/Mick fic, with the title referencing the saying "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

I have only just gotten Savitar to Saints and Sinners for the first time (and still haven't had him run into Len yet), but I'm having a lot of fun with this one thus far. I'm looking forward to writing Mick's reaction to seeing Savitar since he knows what Barry looks like under the cowl after the whole alien invasion thing.

🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”  

Cartwheeling into danger + shooting a clown = Red Hood and the Harlequin

In which the Joker thinks torturing a preteen into thinking he's their kid will fix his relationship with Harley, Harley is having none of it, and Red Hood gets to shoot the clown. But that's just the first part of the story. (Another fic that started life as a fic ideas post. Look at me, getting to my fic ideas. ^_^ )

⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?

I'm not sure. I think my Jesse PoV fic for the Party to Death series should be a short one but I'm also a bit stuck on it so it's been back burnered. Though I intend to poke at it some tomorrow to see if something comes to me.

I made good progress on Satisfaction Brought Him Back today - even naming it - but I'm pretty sure this'll be a long fic. So no telling how long it'll take to write.

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

Unless he had an accomplice. Jesse didn’t want to think about that. They hadn’t found anyone else in the house earlier. But then they didn’t find Harrison either and it wasn’t a comprehensive search.

From the next Party to Death fic. Jesse is not having a good night. Her evil uncle might not actually be her uncle, she almost drowned, she's still at risk for secondary drowning, and she is stuck inside a murder house with strangers. But at least they seem like nice, non-murderous strangers.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Michael David Cobb Bowen

Published: Dec 21, 2024

Today I came across some interesting material. It was a video that my brother Doc, retired LAPD, got to me from his network of insiders. It seems so long ago, but seeing it fresh four years later is quite the revelation. Today I’m publishing some of the last things I said on my old blog before moving to Substack. You can check it out at Stoic Observations.

From the Archives

Dateline June 2020 Some time ago I wrote My Black Life Doesn't Matter. As the machinations and shenanigans associated with BLM continue to disturb my peace, I think I have come to an appropriate way to describe it. Having come to this realization, I find it entirely consistent with my understanding of coming to grips with an identity one doesn't choose and how the Civil Rights movements of the past are so starkly and fundamentally different from what's going on today.

George Floyd has become a fungible.

He has been press ganged into a parade of celebrity victims by a crowd of activists and their sympathizers. His actual black life has been hounded into a representational dead end. Or to use more commonly bandied about language, he has been culturally appropriated. George Floyd is not his life, he is only his death. What his life might have meant has succumbed to the public acceptance, almost unanimous, about what his death has symbolized. I too, like the family of Floyd, know what it is like to lose a family member suddenly and tragically. I know what that kind of grief and loss feels like. I have experienced this for myself, twice. What I do not know, is what it feels like to have a family member's entire life be overshadowed by a moment of infamy and then converted into an avalanche of political activism. I have not had a family member erased.

On the other hand, I am familiar with the theme. Anyone who has attempted to write, as I have, as a black writer, knows how difficult it is to get your writing recognized as a legitimate and authentic representation of your lived experience. You can call this an economic injustice if that term suits you, because it is clear that the economic power of news organization and political organization and cultural production companies in any medium quite handily overwhelms the truth of any individual writer. Only the writer who is broadly published and becomes famous because of that, is relatively safe from misrepresentation. That safety is under a greater threat than ever in my memory, owing to the cowardice and volume of Cancel Culture and their blue meany alarm-clowns. As much as it is told that diverse voices are being empowered, these are only pigeonholes. They are as common and as generic as rainbow graphics and full [people of] color brochures for liberal arts colleges. Yet it is hard enough to have the actual details of life accurately portrayed in a world where racial stereotypes rule. When I moved from Los Angeles to Brooklyn around the corner from Crown Heights, it was assumed that black Americans all had the same negative connotations of Jews. So I was asked to join certain protests. I never had anything but normal relations with Jews my entire life. When I moved from NY to Atlanta's largely white Cobb County suburbs, it was assumed that I would inherit all of the black culture of Fulton County, largely black. Black diversity, that phrase you never hear, is real but it is always smothered for the premises of black cultural and political unity, and by the liberal confirmation bias that assumes it. That's why it's not part of today's narrative. That's why George Floyd's dead body means so much more than his life. It can't defy the narrative. It generated a perfect storm because it was racially predestined.

When I first got on the net in the early 90s, a close friend of mine said something fundamentally profound. It was that black Americans didn't need and weren't looking for a black leader, it was white people. White people needed a black leader to speak for the masses, someone they could accept or reject and then compare the ideas of the leaders to those black Americans with whom they wished to embrace or denounce. Where do you stand on Khalid Muhammad?, we were asked. Where do you stand on Mumia? What is your opinion on Cornel West? It was as if black America lived in an hermetic universe whose bubble could only be pierced by the Fungibles who communicated with the rest of us at the Wednesday Night Meeting. At the same time, we acknowledged it was true that black Americans were looking for symbols to back up their stories of "I told you so." to anyone who doubted the reality of racism. The dynamic remains. There is a hot market for tales from the hood. I cannot tell you how many breathless inquiries I have received in the vein of "What is the most devastating racist thing that ever happened to you?".

In this inverted world of show and tell, only the bleakest, blackest tragedies are monetized and taken up by the American elites. The short attention span theater of the mainstream media does not have the inclination, time, patience or budget to put more substantive non-fiction into their agendas, certainly nothing that defies the new conventions of multicultural political correctness that floats up from the teaming millions. The common man must be left to his own devices and of consumption, but they are not interested in their reality. If the New York Times survey says X, then the public had better believe it for its own good. All the acceptable alternatives are to be consumed by the first class citizens in the magazines that matter, mostly brought to you by Conde Nast. Perhaps I'm being cynical and shrill. I simply hate drowning in the vanilla fluff of deepest darkest horrors of the 'black lives' that matter. Once upon a time there were celebrated men like Vernon Jordan who got to represent what America could provide to its citizens. Now the examples are the mistreated, maimed, & murdered.

In my writing, I have dealt with just about every one of them. Sean Bell, The Jena Six, Latasha Harlins, Rodney King, Ron Settles, Michael Zinzun, Don Jackson, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Mumia Abu Jamal, Shaquanda Cotton, and many more that I don't currently have the patience to link to an appropriate post in my archives. Nevertheless I have no problem simply listing them:

Abner Louima

Genarlow Wilson

Dunbar Village

Jonny Gammage

Tyisha Miller

Eric Garner

Tamir Rice

Freddy Gray

Philando Castile

What did they do? How did they live? It doesn't matter. They were crushed, now all we have are their ghosts haunting every newsroom, every political mention of race. They have, in the hands of the priests of the death cult of the New Anti Racists, the only blacks that matter - the dead ones. Nobody is able to celebrate black life in this narrative. It's black death that pays the bills. It's black tragedy that keeps the newsrooms buzzing. It's black dysfunction that keeps people talking and editorializing and coming up with some of the most nonsensical political ideas outside of Lilliput. This game is old, tired and wrong.

[agentnico]

Boy Kills World (2024) review

Voice of Archer inside Pennywise’s ripped body… I was surprised he at no point screamed “LANAAAAA!!”

Plot: Boy is a mayhem machine who's been training to assassinate the bloodthirsty Hilda Van Der Koy and avenge his family's murder; guided by his sister's mischievous spirit, Boy uncovers one stunning revelation after another as he barrels toward Hilda.

Let’s get real - a cheese grater in a horror or gore film is simply the worst. Just the thought of it scraping away a hefty chunk of flesh is nothing short of skin crawling. Evil Dead Rise and now Boy Kills World - you guys are messed up. Nevertheless, we have another funky revenge action flick, a genre of which has seen a real resurgence since the success of the John Wick franchise. And it stars in the lead one of the eight Skarsgard siblings, though when you think action star you usually would pick Alexander. Bill up until now has carved out a niche as the best one to hire if you’re seeking a creepy vibe, be it the mysterious stranger in Barbarian or a killer clown in the IT films. However that changes with Boy Kills World, as Bill Skarsgard, rippling with muscles, plays the typical I-am-an-instrument-shaped-for-a-single-purpose; essentially a killing machine who disposes of his enemies in a variety of bloody styles (like a damn cheese grater!!).

This would have been a generic example of the revenge tropes, however the movie has an interesting stylistic choice in that Skarsgard’s character of Boy is a mute, so we get to hear his thoughts through a voice in his head, who happens to be the same voice as Archer from the FX cartoon series. I admire that the writers were trying out something new, but I must say as much as I enjoy H.J. Benjamin’s candescent voice, it did become over indulgent. It’s as if they were trying to imitate Deadpool’s fourth wall breaks and profanities, but without it being that funny. I also found it difficult to reconcile them as being the same person, as the mismatch of Bill Skarsgard’s physical performance with Benjamin’s voice was so stark that it became a distraction. Again though, I admire the creative effort.

The action sequences are hyper stylised and fun, with plenty of CGI blood splattering about and the camera zooming in and out of the action like it’s high on cocaine. The cast all seem to be having lots of fun, with the likes of Sharlto Copley, Michelle Dockery and Brett Gelman giving energetic cartoony performances, and overall I enjoyed it. The story is as by the numbers as you can expect, and 99% of what you see on-screen has been done thousands of times before. I liked the plot twist at the end though it was no M. Night Shyamalan, and in the end, it was a decent way to disengage the brain. Will I remember it though? No chance! Minus a point also for boy not actually killing a whole world. Like I get that they didn’t have the biggest budget, but don’t give false promises in your title.

Overall score: 5/10