#it was 2005 for fucks sake

[cassmouse]

I think I might want to write a 40 page essay comparing the representation of female characters in the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels vs the film

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Do you have a list of good sex ed books to read?

BOY DO I

please bear in mind that some of these books are a little old (10+ years) by research standards now, and that even the newer ones are all flawed in some way. the thing about research on human beings, and especially research on something as nebulous and huge as sex, is that people are Always going to miss something or fail to account for every possible experience, and that's just something that we have to accept in good faith. I think all of these books have something interesting to say, but that doesn't mean any of them are the only book you'll ever need.

related to that: it's been A While since I've read some of these so sorry if anything in them has aged poorly (I don't THINK SO but like, I was not as discerning a reader when I was 19) but I am still including them as books that have been important to my personal journey as a sex educator.

additionally, a caveat that very few of these books are, like, instructional sex ed books in the sense of like "here's how the penis works, here's where the clit is, etc." those books exist and they're great but they're also not very interesting to me; my studies on sex are much more in the social aspect (shout out to my sociology degree) and the way people learn to think about sex and societal factors that shape those trends. these books reflect that. I would genuinely love to have the time to check out some 101 books to see how they fare, but alas - sex ed is not my day job and I don't have the time to dedicate to that, so it happens slowly when it happens at all. I've been meaning to read Dr. Gunter's Vagina Bible since it came out in 2019, for fucks sake.

and finally an acknowledgement that this is a fairly white list, which has as much to do with biases with academia and publishing as my own unchecked biases especially early in my academic career and the limitations of my university library.

ANYWAY here's some books about sex that have been influential/informative to me in one way or another:

The Trouble With Normal: Sex, Politics, and the Ethics of Queer Life (Michael Warner, 1999)

Virginity Lost: An Intimate Portrait of First Sexual Experiences (Laura M. Carpenter, 2005)

Virgin: The Untouched History (Hanne Blank, 2007)

Sex Goes to School: Girls and Sex Education Before the 1960s (Susan K. Freeman, 2008)

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex (Mary Roach, 2008)

Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution (Revised Edition) (Susan Stryker, 2008)

The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women (Jessica Valenti, 2009)

Not Under My Roof: Parents, Teens, and the Culture of Sex (Amy T. Schalet, 2011)

Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality (Hanne Blank, 2012)

Rewriting the Rules: An Integrative Guide to Love, Sex and Relationships (Meg-John Barker, 2013)

The Sex Myth: The Gap Between Our Fantasies and Realities (Rachel Hills, 2015)

Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science That Will Tranform Your Sex Life (Emily Nagoski, 2015)

Not Gay: Sex Between Straight White Men (Jane Ward, 2015)

Too Hot to Handle: A Global History of Sex Education (Jonathan Zimmerman, 2015)

American Hookup: The New Culture of Sex on Campus (Lisa Wade, 2017)

Histories of the Transgender Child (Jules Gill-Peterson, 2018)

Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Workers' Rights (Juno Mac and Molly Smith, 2018)

Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex (Angela Chen, 2020)

Pleasure in the News: African American Readership and Sexuality in the Black Press (Kim Gallon, 2020)

A Curious History of Sex (Kate Lister, 2020)

Boys & Sex: Young Men on Hookups, Love, Porn, Consent, and Navigating the New Masculinity (Peggy Orenstein, 2020)

Black Women, Black Love: America's War on Africa American Marriage (Dianne M. Stewart, 2020)

The Tragedy of Heterosexuality (Jane Ward, 2020)

Hurts So Good: The Science and Pleasure of Pain on Purpose (Leigh Cowart, 2021)

Strange Bedfellows: Adventures in the Science, History, and Surprising Secrets of STDs (Ina Park, 2021)

The Right to Sex: Feminist in the Twenty-First Century (Amia Srinivasan, 2021)

Love Your Asian Body: AIDS Activism in Los Angeles (Eric C. Wat, 2021)

Superfreaks: Kink, Pleasure, and the Pursuit of Happiness (Arielle Greenberg, 2023)

[solisaureus]

look this is gonna be a hard to swallow pill for the pjo fandom,

but the sun and the star is coming out at a really important time in the USA -- homophobia is on the rise, books like this are being restricted, and policies are being debated and passed to exterminate queer and trans people from the public sphere. having a positive example of a queer relationship in fiction, especially as part of a mega-popular middle grade series, is going to be important to a lot of the queer 10-14 year olds that make up this book's main demographic.

i have never, ever seen a percy jackson book have such a negative reception online. and it's just a coincidence that this is the first queer-focused installment of the series?

people are seeing the extent of the hate and thinking they shouldn't bother reading tsats at all, that they have already heard enough from people who hate the book. I have had people reblog my positive posts and say "maybe i'll give this book a chance, this is the first nice post i've seen about it." that's really fucking sad yall.

maybe tsats wasn't what you expected, maybe it contradicted your headcanons, maybe you prefer ships other than solangelo. you don't have to like tsats. but the amount of vocal hate for it is ridiculous. other pjo books do not get this kind of hate -- picking apart and complaining about every tiny little detail, ridiculing the writing style of both authors, mocking the attempts at sincerity, even sometimes mocking people who did like the book.

i have never seen this harsh of a response before (and i'm old -- I've been a percy jackson reader since the lightning thief came out in 2005) and especially not from such large portions of the fandom to the point where people who haven't read it are feeling discouraged from doing so.

Please look at the big picture. your opinions don't exist in a vacuum. maybe this is a hot take, but at some point the hate is indistinguishable from how homophobes talk about queer fiction. i'm just saying there are better things to turn your anger towards, and if you hated this book so much just do what the rest of us do and write fucking fanfiction to make yourself feel better. fucks sake

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Semi-Final One

Propaganda...

Colonel Brandon (1995):

Alan Rickman has the sexiest voice. Just listen to him reading poetry to Marianne at the end to witness how hot he is.

Alan Rickman simply embodies the truth of Col. Brandon in a way that no one else every could. It's the perfect merging of actor and role. He brings the perfect combination of honor, decency, sensitivity and passion. He is the ultimate mensch.

Brandon propaganda in which even the film's director agrees that Brandon is sexy.

More Brandon propaganda! This photo could only be published in black and white because it would have been too powerful in color (the original color version is currently being used to provide electricity for a medium sized town in Devon. It's THAT powerful).

The brim of the hat falling over his eye. The casual lean. The hunting rifle slung across his leg. The puppy bestie. The fact you know he could row that boat while you watch and wish you were the boat.

From Emma Thompson's diaries which she kept while they were shooting Sense & Sensibility. Emma Thompson said vote Colonel Brandon.

Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

GIF by sunsetboulevards

Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

GIF by jaeausten

The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

GIF by didanagy

Fencing? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

GIF by didana

Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

GIF by my-little-random-world

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

[nedlittle]

every single explanation for why mikey wasn't decrepit but was covered in blood is insane like

he's a vampire and is draining the other three of youth

it was for his own safety. if he went on stage in all his 2005 scene queen half of jersey all of warped tour glory the seismic shockwave of two dozen nostalgia bait emo bandman dissolving their marriages for a chance with that sopping wet twink would have levelled nevada

bad ending where instead of the band breaking up and mikey getting help they drag the band's shambling corpse around until mikey dies young. pulling back the curtains on how unhappy and unhealthy they all were during the era that wwwyf is trying to capitalize off. you want us to keeping going back to 2005 for the sake of your nostalgia? okay mikey's fucking dead now (makes me unbelievably upset to consider but exactly the kind of shit they'd pull)

he died in normandy

[lenreli]

The Linchpin

[AO3]

For A3 - Time Travel Org for @dreamlingbingo!

CW for a tiny bit of violence at the end!

T, 5.6k. Dream has something life-changing coming up, but it's not what he thinks it is.

-

Dream’s presentation is only a week away, and he may be good with internal workings and hypotheses, with insane ideas (his sister, his siblings), but it’s the speech that terrifies him the most. 

Mostly, he’s just staring at his speech in despair, at the questions and possibilities as he makes a list― 

There's a sound, a crash nearby but he doesn’t pay attention, focus on writing answers down as he thinks them, and suddenly a hand is on top of the papers, a black ring with a red gem on one of their fingers. Blinking, he looks up at the person who owns the hand in confusion. “How did you get into my house?” 

“The same way I’m gonna get out of your house, obviously,” the man answers with a smile, brown eyes crinkling and Dream’s stomach swoops, which feels pretty inadvisable as the man points out the window, “see that van?” Frowning, he stares at the plumbing van, nodding, which he’s sure has been out there for days, “the people inside it want to kill you!” The man says cheerily. 

“Kill me?!” He hisses, “what! You? Or―” 

“Whoa, hey, obviously not―” the man stops and tilts his head as he gapes, still wrapping his head around the news dropped onto him, “listen! I’m Hob, and I’m here to save you from them!” 

“Shouldn’t I―call someone, or,” he frowns, putting the speech into a bag nearby, along with his presentation and Hob sighs. 

“They won’t be able to help. Plus, it’d be easier to show you, I think,” Hob bites his lip and scratches at the greys of his temple. “Dream,” he freezes, phone in hand at the way Hob says his name, “I’m with the authority that can help you,” he says gently―then taps something on his left wrist, something like a watch. 

Which it’s not, clicks and whirs as screens come out of the watch, circling around above the device and Dream’s eyes widen as Hob fiddles with the device on his wrist, the blue screens showing a dizzying blur of images, the text somehow illegible to him but Hob can read through. “What,” he deadpans. 

“Do you―” Hob stops, device still glowing of blue screens as he huffs and takes the phone out of Dream’s hand and puts it in his bag. “No, but just,” Hob sighs once more and grabs his wrist, skin warm. “Now,” Hob barks out― 

-

They’re on a skyscraper. How is he on a skyscraper, plastic sheets hanging from beams, higher levels of it still being made, “how,” he wheezes, brain scrambling as he sits on the concrete floor underneath him. 

“Some place in the American two-thousands,” Hob mutters, sitting next to him, and Dream stares blankly at the screen of the device, Hob fiddling with the device and suddenly Dream can understand it. 18th January, 2005, the screen says, “should be good for a start.” 

“That,” he shakes his head, grabbing his bag tightly as he puts it over his head. “We traveled in time?! You’re a―” 

“Time traveler?” Hob grins and fiddles the device back to gibberish, the blue screens fading away. Dream gapes, head slowly wrapping itself around it, Hob looking at the sky and city underneath them. 

“So. The people who want to kill me,” he states, insides tingling as Hob gives him a soft look, even with the terror of the situation. 

“Also time travelers,” Hob confirms, gentle smile fading into a serious stare. “And they specifically want to kill you before you deliver that presentation,” Hob nods towards his bag. 

He stares at Hob incredulously, “what?! That’s―it’s a nothing, it’s just some useless―” 

Hands gripping his shoulders, warm compared to the cold around them, stops his mouth from continuing. “Actually, it could be the most important presentation in history, considering these people are willing to kill you before you do it,” Hob says quietly, eyes glittering a beautiful gold from the sun and Dream has got to stop thinking that, for fuck’s sake. He shivers and Hob sighs, pulling him up so they’re standing ― and fiddling with the device again, blue screen circling around as Hob ― puts in another time? “We should get out of here. Both to put more between us and them, and to get somewhere warmer.” 

Date apparently set, Hob holds onto one of his hands, callused fingers putting his hand onto Hob’s arm. 

Hob gives him a soft look, half of his face blue-tinted from the transparent screens. “Ready?” Hob asks, and he nods, expecting Hob to shout again, activating it―but this time, Hob pushes a button on the device, the blue screens slowly turning green, and it feels like his insides warp as they disappear. 

-

It takes two more time jumps, which he only calls them mentally ― and them sitting down for lunch at a Chinese restaurant in Quebec, Canada sometime in 2030, when he can finally ask, “and how would they kill me?” 

“They’re time travellers,” Hob points out over a stir-fry, “if I was going after someone and I also had time travel, I’d probably leave them in setting concrete of some building. Drop them in some massive earthquake or something,” Hob says with a shrug, then winces as Dream stares at him, eyes wide. “Sorry. But something like that.” 

“Wonderful,” he replies, tone flat and dull as his brain gives him rapid-fire worst case scenarios. “I could be killed in some famous disaster and I’d never even know.” 

“But you won’t,” Hob says, clacking his chopsticks together loudly. “Because I’m here to stop it.” 

“And why all the ― jumping?” He asks, still feeling a bit despondent as he takes a bite of fried rice. 

“To throw them off the trail really. There’s more of us around, so they’ll have to do some digging before they lock onto us, then they’ll have to do the same thing when we go again.” 

Dream furrows his brows, intrigued, “more of us?” He echoes. 

“We’re a whole organisation. Not for like ― crimes in time, though in your case, very much. But more just ― keeping things on track,” Hob scrunches his nose, “I’m terrible at explaining this. But, you know, very much fate and balance of the time stream! That sort of thing you see in movies, you know? Or nothing like that.” 

“Of course,” he blinks, not mentioning that things like sci-fi or time travel aren’t on his radar. Doctor Who, maybe, but that’s a whole different style of time travel compared to the one Hob has. “And why me? I’m just some ― jumped up 20something!” He frowns, loathe to use one of Desire’s insults for him, but, well. Needs must. He kind of misses when his biggest concern was the presentation, and not this.

Hob laughs, “who knows?” Hob says with a grin, eyes sparkling, like he does know, which ― yeah, he probably does know. 

“Can’t you tell me anything?” He stresses, sighing. 

“Spoilers,” Hob says, grinning even wider. Dream just gives him a flat stare. “Now eat up. We should probably go to my HQ. Need to recharge my watch soon.” 

-

The HQ ― well, the room he ends up in, is ordinary. Aside from Hob muttering to himself as he stashes things under into a drawer under the desk. Dream gets the impression that this is Hob’s room, frosted windows and a frosted door as Hob sighs, resting against the desk. “What about charging your ― thing?” He frowns and Hob huffs, looking up at the ceiling. 

“This whole thing is charging it,” he gestures to the room, or wherever they’re at, “passive charging, built into the walls and floors. Pretty sure I can tell you that,” Hob finishes off to himself. 

Dream nods, looking around at the room, finding history books behind Hob’s desk as he sits down in the chair in front of the desk. “And what will we do about the people trying to… ?” 

Hob sighs and sits on top of the desk, feet occasionally brushing against his legs. “This is more for ― research, than Minority Report! I don’t know,” Hob groans, covering his face with his hands. “I’m not cutout for killing someone, which ― they’re after you,” Hob says, voice muffled and distressed. 

Dream blinks and considers the options, “well, how far in the past could you travel?” 

There’s another sigh, Hob pinching the bridge between his nose, “we’re still working on going into 1889, so there or―” Hob frowns, staring at him, “what? Leave them in the past? Making them age and die before you’re even born?” 

Dream shrugs, “it’s a possibility,” he replies quietly as Hob continues to stare at him, brows furrowed.  “And it’d require no murder. So to speak.” 

Hob nods, looking grim―then there’s a knock on the door and Hob scratches his head. “Stay here,” he says, pointing at him as he leaves the room, and Dream leans over, seeing what looks like the end of a black coat―and gibberish between two voices, one of them Hob’s. 

The gibberish continues, whatever privacy technology being used making him unable to parse what they’re speaking about, or who the other person even is as the gibberish rises in volume, unable to keep the exasperated tone of Hob’s voice hidden. 

After some more talking, there’s a sigh as Hob comes back in, rubbing his forehead. “What was that?” He asks, unable to help himself. 

“That was,” Hob huffs ― and smiles, fond and soft, “my husband being a menace,” Hob says, affection easy to see and Dream’s insides twist in jealousy, in envy at the way Hob still loves his husband, even with the arguing they were just doing. Groaning, Hob sits back on top of the desk, checking the device on his wrist, the edge closest to him steadily glowing more green. 

“You two work together?” He asks quietly, wanting to know more of this ― odd, wonderful man who’s trying his best to keep him from being murdered. 

“For a while,” Hob says, “even when he’s being a ―” Hob huffs and gets out a thing from his jeans pocket, putting it in his ear. Hob cringes as apparently someone talks to him as he nods. “Yes, L, I―what was I meant to do? I needed charge! And to keep my eye on him,” Hob gestures to him. “L! I haven’t told him anything!” He hisses, moving to grip the back of his chair behind the desk. “I―I know, I very much know, thank you for the reminder, I’m just trying my best to keep him safe and well, your boss says to just keep going. So we keep going.” 

Conversation apparently ended, Hob groans and pulls out the ear communications, putting it back into his pocket. “We keep going?” He echoes, glad that Hob’s still―going to help him, that he’s not going to carted off to someone else, or perhaps kept somewhere until the problem’s solved. 

“Yep,” Hob sighs and goes through the drawers of his desk, pulling out various amounts of ― money, different types in cash clips, putting them in the pocket of his blue hoodie. “It should be charged now,” Hob frowns and looks at the device, a glowing green around the edges, “so we should go.” 

-

Sydney, Australia, 2028.

“You’re not what I expect a hero saving me to look like,” he mentions, looking at the various shops lining where they appeared, people milling around them. 

“Sorry, I left my tight, impractical formal suit at home today,” Hob snipes back and Dream’s brows raise. “I’m a researcher, a ― I’m not some―” Hob scowls, then stops at the windows of a store, chuckling. “Nevermind, sure, let’s get some new clothes. May help, or something,” Hob huffs and drags him into the store he was looking at―a second-hand store. 

Hob seems to be on a mission, zeroing in some clothes as he pulls them out, staring in disbelief and muttering quietly to himself. “Put these on,” Hob shoves the pile of clothes ― dark, to his chest and presses past him, and Dream can only blink in bewilderment, before Hob shoos him into a small, rectangular dressing room. 

Dark grey jeans, a black shirt that has spidery, metal-band writing on it ― and a coat, long and black, as he puts his other clothes into his bag. Coming out of the dressing room, he watches as Hob laughs with the person at the till, gesturing to him as he comes up to Hob, who pays for their clothes as he smiles brightly. Hob has a backpack now, hoodie taken off to reveal hairy arms. 

He has a husband, Dream mentally berates himself, swallowing down the want to be held by those arms, to touch the soft looking hair of them, or the scruff on the other’s face. “Thank you very much!” Hob says to the person at the till as they say have a nice day! “You too,” Hob replies, putting an arm through his as they walk out of the store. “Should probably help, considering they’re expecting us to wear those other clothes anyway.” 

Hob frowns, fingers fiddling with the lapels of his new coat, smoothing it out and Dream’s heart rate triples at the touch, light and casual. 

“Do you know why they want to―” he frowns, swallowing as he pushes down his yearning, not mentioning the hands on his coat, lest they leave. 

“Going back to HQ did help with that. It’s mere speculation, but maybe they want to steal your ideas, and pass them off as their own.” 

“What? Why would they―” he stares, baffled as Hob only smiles at him, hands settling onto his shoulders. 

“Dream, I’m not going to tell you the future. But perhaps, hypothetically, you help invent something amazing ― and maybe, they want the glory of that. And money,” Hob scrunches his nose. “In fact. Most likely the money.” 

“Greed,” he responds dully, sighing as he considers the speech, the presentation in his bag as Hob pats his shoulder in commiseration, disgust at what might be planned for his scribbles and mad ideas. 

-

Nice, France, 1973.

“Maybe I just shouldn’t do the presentation,” he says once they’ve had a ― lunch, and Hob, in flawless French, books them a room. That Hob assures him will be fine, considering the high level of time traffic to various places throughout this time. And also that his husband has twigged a setting on his device, that’d make them even harder to pin out. “Just. It’d be easier to not―”

“Ah! Nope! Not doing that,” Hob interrupts him cheerfully, knocking against his shoulder as he sits down to him on the sofa. “You are going to do it,” Hob’s voice holds no argument. 

Dream groans, sinking down the sofa, “I don’t even know how to do a presentation. Or how to ― I get so anxious, thinking of doing it, of the questions, of the judging,” he sighs. “Why am I even telling you this.” 

“We are in a pretty crazy situation right now,” Hob reminds him, eyes soft as he smiles, bumping into his arm once again. “I have some pretty good advice for you, I think,” Hob grins and Dream straightens up. “For reasons that are becoming clearer,” Hob sighs, then laughs, “my husband swears by this.” 

“And what is it?” Dream frowns, leaning in as Hob’s smile widens, and his heart skips at the lightest brush of the Hob’s scruff against his cheek. 

“Work with it,” Hob says, voice quiet between them and Dream blinks. “Insane, I know! Counter-intuitive, you’d think, right?” Dream nods, “but, you work with it. Use that anxiety to fuel your presentation. Make an off-hand mention to it, or something. The more you try not to think of it, the more it burdens you. Like being asked to not think of a polka-dot elephant.” 

“Work with it,” he repeats and Hob hums, resting his head on a hand, “your husband is insane.” 

Hob laughs. “Well, you have time to mull that over while I work on dealing with your pursuers.” 

-

Dream, a voice says, lovely to listen to ― could listen to forever as he touches a soft face, scruff scratching pleasantly, fingers going into just as soft dark hair. Dream, the voice repeats― 

A flick against his forehead pulls him back to reality ― “Dream!” That voice whisper-shouts, a rough finger pressing against the spot it flicked as he groans and opens his eyes, Hob leaning over him. Frozen, he considers the dream, hazy and sensation and feels his face heat. 

“Yes?” He scratches out, feeling young and almost like a teenager as he tries to not think of the other man, eventually flicking away the other’s man’s finger on his face as he resists the urge to hide under the quilt cover in embarrassment. 

“Much as I’d also like a full night’s sleep, they’re close,” Hob says, tapping his watch, which is ― pulsing, droning, a warning apparently. Hob pulls back, gathering their bags as Dream yawns and forces himself awake, and out of the warm, comfy bed. “Dream! Up!” Hob ― commands, voice stern and Dream’s face heats even more as he gets up, feet going into shoes as he talks his still partly-asleep brain to not get hard as he picks up his coat from the end of his bed. 

Hob glances at him and mumbles to himself in an undertone, device’s blue screens glowing as he chooses a spot for them to go. “I’m ready,” he whines, pulling his coat around himself as he tries to remind himself that he’s 23 now, and that he’s definitely not a teenager who gets turned on in a second when a beautiful man gives him an order. 

He’s married, he has a husband, he’s at least a decade older than me maybe, or more, Dream reminds himself desperately, and he can feel his ears turn red as Hob holds onto his wrist, hand warm as they disappear.

-

Rotorua, Aotearoa, 2040

“I need a drink,” Hob declares once the device stops it’s droning, and Dream can only follow as Hob stalks off down the road, Dream unable to appreciate wherever they are as he catches up with Hob. Bar found, they walk inside, and Hob sighs, crossing his arms on top of the counter as he motions for two. “Vodka shots, please.” 

Dream blinks, nose scrunching up, “I hate vodka,” he scowls as it’s put in front of him― 

―Then Hob slides it over to him, downing it and the other shot in moments. “I know,” Hob scowls and orders another two, getting out a black credit card and tapping it to pay. 

“Can you even handle your device drunk?” He asks as Hob throws back his two new shots, glass clinking as he stacks the shot glasses. 

“Stop being logical and reasonable,” Hob mutters, crossing his arms and resting his head on them. “Fuck,” Dream hears, Hob groaning as he rubs his face. 

“Are you… okay?” Dream asks tentatively, which isn’t helped with the withering look Hob gives him, bottom half of his face hidden by his arms. “Is this about letting them get close?” 

“All of this,” Hob sighs and massages a temple, “just. Everything. It’s a lot.” Hob sighs, a foot knocking against his, trapping it under the other’s food and the spoke of the bar stool. “Dream,” Hob says, tone solemn and Dream’s pulse skips as hands frame his cheeks, “I’m a historian, not some sort of―and then with the―everything! I’m dying here,” Hob pouts, brown eyes wide and shiny. 

“You’re being very melodramatic, considering they’re after me and not you,” he mentions. Hob just laughs, and Dream tries not to react at thumbs massaging his jaw. 

“Got it from my husband,” Hob mutters into his bicep, hands leaving his face to go back to the counter. “That dramatic bastard,” Hob’s voice is affectionate, even with what he’s saying. “Smug asshole, all cat-got-the-canary throughout all this. I know he is,” Hob mumbles, then sighs wistfully, putting his head on a hand. 

“It must be nice,” Dream says, heart aching with envy and jealousy as Hob makes a questioning sound, “to be loved so much.” 

“I do love him, of course,” Hob bemoans and calls for two more shots, which he thankfully doesn’t down at lightning speed, grabbing one of the shots to slide around the counter. “Arrogant prick,” Hob swallows back the shot and adds it to the small tower of finished glasses, “he’s so mysterious and teasing, when he forgets that I know him too.” 

Dream nods and asks for water, pushing it in Hob’s direction gently. “He sounds interesting,” he says, throat burning with envy as he gets another water, drinking it to get rid of the feeling. 

“You sound jealous,” Hob points out with a smirk and Dream’s insides freeze. 

“Like I said,” he shrugs, looking away as Hob takes a drink of water, throat moving from the corner of his eye, “it’d be nice to have something like that, that’s, it’s all it is.” 

Looking back, he gets the feeling Hob isn’t convinced, an eyebrow raised. “You think that―” Hob scowls and taps the glass of water to his forehead, and all Dream gets from Hob’s quiet muttering is from the past before Hob sighs. “Nevermind. I’ve had my own little meltdown. We should get going.” 

-

Barcelona, Spain, 1993

Dream’s lucky to have a book in his bag before this whole thing happened, since it’s a better thing to try and read then thinking about Hob, in the bathroom next to the bedroom, naked― 

Definitely better to think about the words in front of his eyes, which he has yet to take in. Especially with the way Hob talked in casual Spanish with employees of the hotel, leaving as they got bathroom supplies at a store nearby ― Hob getting many tiny versions, a whole routine apparently. Hob gave him a disgusted look at the 5-in-1 bottle Dream found, but didn’t say anything, the stare speaking volumes. 

While he’s definitely been comprehending his book, Hob comes out of the bathroom with a sigh, flopping down onto the bed near the door. And dressed, which Dream’s not disappointed to see. But also, for the best. “How many languages do you speak?” He asks. 

“Enough,” Hob replies, voice muffled by his face on the quilt. “Go have a shower before you ask more questions.” 

Dream huffs and puts away his book, getting his own toiletries to have a quick shower, at least compared to Hob’s. Refreshed, he gets into the comfy clothes he wore at the start of this, then flops down onto his own bed. “How are you planning to stop them?” 

Hob, who’s been looking at the device with a frown, shrugs. “Deciding the place is easy, as long as it’s in the past. The thing that worries me is you,” Dream frowns, looking at the other man in confusion. “We, or I, would have to get close enough to take these off them,” Hob shakes his wrist, “which would make it easier for them to hurt you.” 

“Ah. What kind of weapons would they have?” He asks, not wanting to think about the pain of ― any of the things he’s thinking about. Knives, swords, guns. 

“Nothing good. Probably a gun, for ease. Carrying around a bazooka or a machine gun would make them too conspicuous,” Hob sighs. 

“None of these sound good,” he groans. Hob frowns at his device, “are we gonna have to charge that again?” 

“Yep,” Hob pinches the top of his nose. “Let’s at least get a few more hours before we go do all that madness,” Hob waves a hand in the air, then crawls over to turn off the light on his bedside table, Dream watching as he crawls under the sheets. “I miss my usual skincare routine,” Hob says, voice despairing and muffled and Dream bites back laughter, keeping the majority of his unnerving sounds inside so Hob doesn’t hear. “Shut up.”  

-

HQ, ?????, ?????

Dream stares around at Hob’s office ― at least, something familiar, where he’s been before, considering they’ve been to many different countries in an amount of time. “You said you were a researcher, then a historian, who’s also a polyglot?” He ponders and Hob looks away from his charging device to look at him. 

“I started as one first, which then informed the other, and then well, time travel. And in so many different places, so I just picked things up here and there,” Hob says, pointing a thumb at the bookcase behind him, “here and at home I have so many language books. My husband keeps asking when I’m going to get a PHD in one of the languages,” he smiles, the soft affectionate one when talking about his spouse. 

“Or more.” 

“Or more,” Hob echoes with a nod. 

“So this place is to… research the past in a more concrete way?” Dream asks. 

“Basically, yeah. Though―my husband also loves theatre and I keep telling him that we should go back and record some of the theatre we’ve never seen but had an interest in, or what have you, but he’s all the ethics, Hob,” Hob mimics, voice low. “He didn’t even have any ethics in mind when he started it! It’s very much a scientific approach of we can do it, so why don’t we do it anyway,” Hob stands and gestures and Dream opens his mouth. Hob points at him, “I know, nuance and all that! But you get what I mean.” 

“I for one support you going back to record past theatre,” Dream pipes up, and Hob has a moment of smug happiness before he suddenly scowls. 

“That motherfucker,” Hob mutters, poking at the charging device and Dream’s brows raise at the sudden change, “that cheeky chucklefuck, I’m going to wring that pretty neck,” Hob continues in a growl. Dream tries not to think of Hob’s hands anywhere near his neck, face heating slightly ― and there’s a ping, which pulls Hob out of whatever he’s thinking about as he gets out a phone to read whatever message he’s got. 

“What?” Dream blinks as Hob stares blankly at him before shaking his head and putting his phone away.

“Thank you, Dream, for your support,” Hob says with a grin. 

“It’s not like it means anything,” he points out and Hob huffs, sitting onto the chair as Hob looks at the ceiling. 

-

Cornwall, England, 1890

Dream can see the sea past the trees and rocks of the coast, the sun slowly coming up as Hob turns off the cloaking on his device. “We’re going to hide,” Hob states and Dream looks around, only seeing trees and rocks. “That way, at least the sun may knock them off a bit,” Hob mutters and Dream nods as they hide behind some of the trees, Dream watching as the sun shines onto the water. 

“And how do you plan to stop them?” He asks, a knot of anxiety inside as he considers that soon he’ll see the people who are willing to kill him, Hob’s device starting a slow drone of warning. 

“My usual plan is to not die. Worked so far,” Hob shrugs and Dream gives him a worried look as the drone seems to speed up, the sound of it pulling at his teeth before Hob taps the warning off, quickly pulling the screens up to put something in. There’s only the sound of waves, of birds as they wait, and soon enough two men appear on the dirt road, blue screens flashing off as they talk quietly. “I was always thinking there were three for some reason,” Hob says in an undertone. 

Hands on his throat, fingers going into his hair make his heart pulse race, face heating up under Hob’s hands as he’s stared at, dark lashes reflecting the gold of the sun. He has a husband, he brings up mentally to not do something stupid, like kiss him.

“Stay here, okay?” Hob whispers and he nods, biting his tongue to stop himself from keeping Hob’s hands on him as they leave. 

Heart racing in fear, he watches as Hob shows himself ― in fact, runs straight at them and Dream stops himself from lurching forward by grabbing onto a nearby tree as Hob punches one of them, knocking them to the floor. The other man stumbles back and gets something out. A gun, and Dream’s eyes widen as Hob talks to the man, voice indistinct. 

The man replies in a growl, gun waving around―then there’s a shout of pain as Hob stomps the man’s shin, the gun almost falling from his hand, with Hob grabbing then fun and whipping the butt of it across the man’s face, a cracking sound echoing throughout the area. 

Stunned, Dream slowly walks over to Hob, who’s kneeling on the ground and taking off the men’s devices, “I thought you weren’t the killing type,” he offers and Hob scoffs as he stands up and crushes the other devices under his shoes. 

“Of course they’re not dead. Unconscious and in pain, yes, but not dead,” Hob points out, flicking a switch on the gun before putting it in his jeans pocket. Dream just stares at him incredulously, “what?” Hob shrugs and switches on his device, ignoring his baffled looks, “I know how to look after myself,” Hob mutters in defence. 

“You are―” A sound. A shot. Gunshot. 

As Cornwall disappears around them, Hob’s arms tight around him, he only realises once they fall off him. The masses of people don’t see them, don’t see Hob gasping as he kneels on the ground and once the shock of it all abates a bit, he rushes forward, grabbing Hob’s shoulders in worry. 

“Hob? Hob?!” He asks, frantic as Hob takes in deep breaths. 

“My shoulder,” Hob says, smiling still and Dream’s anxiety lessens a tiny bit. “Hurts like a bitch, but it’ll be fine,” Hob soothes, a hand coming up to pat his cheek. “And look, it’s time for your big presentation,” Hob nods towards the building and Dream only takes a cursory glance, “well, least an hour off, but you know,” Dream lets out a wounded sound, not wanting to leave Hob at all, and definitely not like this. 

“But you’re, I can’t just,” he implores, grabbing onto the other’s wrist as fingers go through his hair. “Hob.” 

“Like I said, I’ll be fine,” Hob’s hand leaves him and Dream helps, Hob wincing as his now injured shoulder moves so Hob can press a button on his device. RECALL, an automated voice says. “Dream. Go,” Hob says and Dream lets out a cry as Hob disappears. 

-

London, England. June 7th, 2022

It takes ten minutes for Dream to enter the building. Then it’s his phone ringing wildly, his sister calling as he splashes water onto his face as he talks to her. As he tries to think about how to spin people were trying to kill me and a handsome time traveller saved me, into ― something, he thinks which ended more like I needed time by myself to go over my presentation. I didn’t mean to worry you, sister, I’ll make sure to tell you next time. 

Sitting in the reception area, there’s another ding on his phone, and he expects his sister again ― but this time a blue screen folds out of his phone, an image of Hob in a hospital bed, grinning with two fingers up in a V, and Dream covers his mouth in relief as the blue screen fades into nothing. Looking through his phone, he can’t find it anywhere and despairs that the photo was more like a phantom text, then something that could stay.

Swallowing, he gets out his presentation and speech, staring down at them ― and decisively, tears up his speech, stuffing the papers back into his bag as he goes over everything. 

-

One Year Later

Work has been going ― well. Increasing exponentially, enough that they’ve had to get new investors and a whole team of people. Lucienne and Matthew he’s particularly fond of. Not that he shows it. 

At least it’s better than his love life. Holding the torch for some married man from the future, and all his latest brief flings never have the right brown eyes of Hob’s, this one doesn’t have the right cadence of voice. That one doesn’t hold him right, fingers in the wrong places, calluses not what they should be. They’re never right, because he’s still pining over that time they were together, even with knowing how futile it is, considering Hob’s happily married. 

Sitting in his office, sketching some new mechanisms, he tells himself to stop it. It’s not like Hob’s going to come back from the future and― 

A laugh stops him, pencil scratching over his sketch as his head jerks up, eyes wide. Hob’s laugh is familiar, having heard a lot of it, and he almost can’t comprehend what he sees. Hob talking with Lucienne, talking and laughing and―

Younger, no greys in his hair, clean-shaven as he Hob gives Lucienne a nod, a hand pointing his way. A hand with no wedding ring on it. Standing up, he walks to the doorway as Hob comes up to meet with him a smile, less wrinkles on his face but still so beautiful. And he has glasses!

“Oh. Wasn’t expecting you to get up to meet me,” Hob smiles and puts out a hand, “Robert Gadling, but you can just call me Hob.”

Dream swallows, standing up straighter as his heart races, still unable to believe his eyes. Rubbing his hand on his black coat, he holds Hob’s hand quickly, and decides that maybe Lucienne deserves a raise for who she chose for this. “Dream. It is nice to meet you,” he states, aloof to hide the hurricane of emotions within him.

[Fin]

Hob: *ranting* Dream (the husband), smug, batting his lashes: Does this mean you're not going to wring my pretty neck?

[mariacallous]

It’s telling that both Dave Chappelle and Ricky Gervais decided to end 2023 by releasing specials in which their comedy pivots to poking fun at the disabled. Could they be more obvious about finding new ways to punch down than targeting people physically unable to fight back?

In a false promise near the opening of his brand-new special and seventh for Netflix, The Dreamer, Chappelle boasts: “Tonight, I’m doing all handicapped jokes,” because “well, they’re not as organized as the gays, and I love punching down.��

Similarly, Gervais decides to have a bit of fun at how we’ve decided as a society to say “disabled” instead of “handicapped” and what that says about us, and suggests further in his special Armageddon, released on Christmas Day, that he’d mock Make-A-Wish kids if given the chance to make videos for them.

And, of course, both men take yet more cracks at the trans community.

Early in The Dreamer, Chappelle tells the audience trans people make him feel like he has to go along with them pretending, as if they’re method acting like Jim Carrey as Andy Kaufman: “If you came here to this show tonight thinking that I’m gonna make fun of those people again, you’ve come to the wrong show,” only to keep going back on his word.

He says he hoped to “repair” his relationship with the LGTBQ+ community – by writing a play for them in which a black trans woman only identifies as the N-word to trip up liberals. He also jokes that if he went to jail in California, he’d identify as a woman so he could tell the other inmates to “suck my lady dick.”

But it’s all just jokes, right? Can’t we just take a joke? Have we lost our sense of humor? Or have they?

Earlier this month, we lost two pillars not just of the comedy community but of our American community writ, as Norman Lear and Tommy Smothers stood taller than most anyone and everyone else in television, standing up to the establishment and protesting the powers that be for the sake of civil rights and humanity.

Now we’re left with Chappelle and Gervais—two titans in terms of Netflix ratings and paychecks—who are fighting for… the right to utter slurs onstage and tell already marginalized people that their existence is a joke for reasons that are nearly impossible to divine. Especially when there’s so much in the world to talk about right now, that they’ve chosen anti-trans rights as their comedy cause célèbre is dispiriting. As Mae Martin said in their 2023 Netflix special, Sap: “Big multimillionaire comedians in their stand-up specials are, like, taking shots and punching down at a time when trans rights are so tenuous and slipping backwards.”

Lear and Smothers used their clout on TV to speak truth to power about America’s involvement in Vietnam and Southeast Asia, the hypocrisy of religion, racism, abortion, homosexuality and civil rights. While great trans comedians such as River Butcher and Jaye McBride resorted to releasing their stand-up specials straight to YouTube this year, which famous straight comedians can you recall sticking up for the rights of trans people in America?

It feels so frustrating to sit and watch comedians with the stature of Chappelle and Gervais devote so much of their time and energy to bullying the LGBTQ+ community when they could be doing anything else on stage. And then they have the temerity to question us, the audience, for not laughing with them.

For his part, Gervais willingly misdefines and misuses “woke” by suggesting, “if woke now means being a puritanical, authoritarian bully who gets people fired for an honest opinion or even a fact, then no, I’m not woke. Fuck that.” Is Nazism or transphobia an honest opinion that shouldn’t get you fired? He then claims in his closing bit that “all laughter’s good,” a concept that would be news to 2005-era Chappelle when he cut ties with Comedy Central precisely because he could hear racism in the laughs during a taping of Chappelle’s Show.

In his Grammy-nominated lecture to students at his alma mater, Duke Ellington School of the Arts, What’s In A Name?, Chappelle claimed: “The more you say I can’t say something, the more urgent it is for me to say it. It has nothing to do with what you’re saying I can’t say. It has everything to do with my right and my freedom of artistic expression.”

But that’s not comedy, either—much like Gervais’ admission in his special that as a university student, his idea of a joke was calling his mother and pranking her by saying he was hospitalized and potentially blind. Gervais said her mom could’ve had a heart attack, but in his mind, he remembers it now as “they could take a fucking joke, right?”

At least Sam Jay, in her 2023 HBO special Salute Me Or Shoot Me, wrestles with her conscience and moral compass over the use of certain words in her act and concludes that having empathy for others is key. “How do the rest of us get here? I don’t know… I’m not going to pretend that I have the answers,” Jay says, adding: “So we’re doing things like we’re policing words, but we’re not policing behavior.”

Anthony Jeselnik, who has built his comedy career on brandishing himself as an offensive caricature of a comedian, told fellow comedian and podcaster Theo Von earlier this year that too many stand-ups would rather get into trouble by saying the wrong thing instead of focusing on their job and saying funny things.

“People think — oh, as a comic your job is to get in trouble. But they don’t want to get yelled at. It’s like, it’s OK to make people mad, but they don’t want any push back. And I think that’s wrong,” Jeselnik said. “As a comedian, you want to make people laugh. This is a quote attributed to Andy Warhol that I love: ‘Art is getting away with it.’ You know, if you put out a special and everyone’s pissed, like, you didn’t get away with it. You know. You need to make everyone laugh that they’re like, ‘Yeah, he talked about some fucked up stuff, but we’re all happy.’ That’s art. Otherwise, you’re just a troll.”

Kliph Nesteroff, a comedy historian whose newest book is Outrageous: A History of Showbiz and the Culture Wars, similarly told me last month that some while comedians see themselves sometimes as “philosophers” he believes they are “betraying their job description because you’re supposed to make people laugh, and philosophers are supposed to philosophize.”

Comedians may claim they can’t joke about anything anymore, but they joke about more now than ever before. The real problem with stand-up today is that too many comedians would rather kick people when they’re down, then lecture us on how we’re too sensitive for not laughing about it.

When Chappelle, Gervais or their acolytes have to incessantly explain that their jokes are just jokes, then they cease to be great comedians—or even comedians at all.

[postersofleon]

The Undesirable Feeling Of Love

During missions with Leon, every time Ada Wong must always appear, and at first they didn't really mind her. Funny enough, even found her interesting enough to keep her around. But as time passed, they were getting tired of Leon's attitude towards Ada. Always forgetting you and forgiving her sins. After another brutal mission, they finally have the guts to complain about his conduct.

content: angst

warnings and mentions: no assigned gender or race; they/them pronouns used; resident evil 6 kinda mentioned but not really; ada wong isn't the bad guy in this story but she is technically a bad guy; reader and leon fight with words; sexual talk but nothing sexual; the question of what is right or wrong; bad coping mechanism as in sexual; alcohol; jealously from leon's part; bad friend leon; mention of chris redfield; no happy ending

This mission was fucking awful. Fucking awful. Leon wasn't usually an idiot like this, he wasn't usually an idiot, but this time they couldn't deal with it. Oh, this time was full of anger and frustration. They stopped Leon in front of the agency, they were tapping their foot on the ground as they saw Leon approach. Leon immediately groaned, there wasn't peace between these friends since 2005 thanks to Leon's decisions. "What do you want?" He walked back them. He didn't stop to look at his friend in the eye, they followed Leon quickly; their heel turned around and walked with Leon.

"What the hell was this mission, Kennedy?" They glared at Leon, "No offense but not even our last mission with her around got this bad."

Leon rolled his eyes, "Ada died and this is your first complain." The two friends walked down the streets, people ignored them as they began their conversation. "Leon, the problem is you." They stopped Leon with a simple gesture but it didn't last. Leon kept walking.

They groaned, "I know you like her but for fuck's sake," The sun was making this conversation feel even worst, the sun burned on their backs and began to make them sweat. "You fought with Chris to prove a point. You got lucky your point was valid." Leon stopped and looked at his friend, "Are you going to just bitch and moan for what I did? I managed to prove that Ada was innocent all you're doing is complain."

They felt their anger start forming in their cheeks, "That's not my point, Kennedy!"

"What is it then?" Leon clenched his jaw with a grin in his lips, he got close to their face, "Exactly, you got nothing."

They held Leon's forearm, "I got a lot of shit to say, Kennedy." They pulled Leon back, the people still ignored them as the conversation began to get the unnecessary heat. Maybe they should've waited and calm down their anger, but ooh- they absolutely hated how Leon had semi called them a bitch and his stupid grin he wanted to get. "A whole lot of shit to say." Leon glared back at his friend. "What is it, huh?"

They couldn't believe that this situation was forming and it was getting worst. "Fuck, have you been drinking?" They tried to speak calmly.

"No, no, don't try to get rid of this conversation- what did I do to you that was so horrible?" Leon swallowed as his arms crossed against his chest.

"Fall in love with Ada." They replied so simply that it made them feel guilty. Sure, Ada had her horrible flaws but she didn't deserve to get dragged in this conversations. "I don't know how you managed it. But a stupid simple kiss and six years later kept your cock hard for years." Oh, no. They are losing control. They closed their eyes to try to relax, and while they managed to calm down Leon was getting even more pissy.

"My cock hard, huh?" Leon pushed himself back. It was obvious that this fight was getting worst and for some reason no one still didn't see or try to listen to their conversation.

"Yeah, your stupid cock. You are always forgiving Ada's contributions from making the virus worst," They clenched their jaw, "And when you finally actually got the chance to fuck her, you got fucking worst." Their voice didn't shake. They never wanted to be a negative Nancy when speaking about the relationship Leon had with Ada. "I know Ada isn't technically a bad person but she is working against us."

Leon got their face, "Yeah, like all those times she saved us, huh? Did you forget when we were Spain? Do you remember Raccoon City! Even this stupid mission!" His blue eyes looked cruel against their eyes, but that didn't stop them from snapping back. "Forgiving her despite making the virus worst, huh? Right now, I don't give a shit how many times she saved us because all I see you being a moron."

Leon began to walk away, they quickly followed him, "Then, you bitch and moan crying because you hate fighting against the bioweapons your girlfriend caused." They shrugged, "But that's love right?"

He threw them a dirty stare, "You don't know anything about Ada."

"You don't even know her real name!" They exclaimed annoyed.

Leon's face was twitching with anger, his jaw clenched; He stopped rubbed his face.

"When we first met, I actually thought you were an honest man, you graduated the top of your police academy, but seeing a hot woman makes you an idiot." They started to feel more calm. Did they have all this anger inside them without knowing? It didn't matter. They felt tired.

"At least she didn't leave me like you did," Leon said looking back at them, "She actually tried to know the man I was." Their anger was fluttering inside but Leon continued to speak. "What did you do?-"

"Are you a fucking idiot or does the idiot way of thinking appeared since you got pussy?" They snapped back angrily. They glared at Leon, they pursed their lips together, "You were the moron who decide to get missions and vacations without me since Spain. I actually thought we were getting better in 2007, but I was wrong- so painfully wrong." They actually thought they were getting close to Leon, the have been friends since 1998 and apparently they didn't try hard enough for him. Their emotions were getting worst, but in a different way.

"And that's why you went crawling to Chris?" Leon gritted his teeth, "Because I had a life without you?"

They began to let tears go, "Because you were my friend." They whispered. They didn't care if Leon was with Ada, but the way Leon just decided to act that their friendship meant nothing. They cleaned their tears away from their face, but something appeared in their mind... They looked at Leon and shook their head, "I don't love you anymore." It came from their soul. It was the most fragile thing that wasn't suppose to come out, but now Leon heard it. Leon's face soften, "What?"

They didn't know either, was it the romantic way or the platonic way? They shook their head as they repeated it again, "I-I don't love you anymore." Their voice stuttered. Leon wasn't the same Leon they grew to love, he was different and mean- they slowly began walking back to the agency. Leon didn't try to follow them because he was stuck with those words. They once loved Leon.

Leon tried to look at them but they were gone; All Leon had were the people walking around him. They were on their phones or talking with each other. Leon stood alone in a crowd.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

this is such a tired and done take done by z*tara shippers so i'm not exactly asking for your thoughts cos you've probably seen this shit before but god. I need validation why are these people so fucking stupid it's pissing me off so bad like you can't understand a 2005 KIDS CARTOON???

https://www.tumblr.com/ladyemberswrites/741266860189892608/for-a-guy-thats-supposed-to-be-sympathetic-and?source=share

"For a guy is SUPPOSED to understand what's like to have your loved ones taken"

He does. He literally said "How you do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people? Or about the sandbenders when they stole Appa?"

Aang understands rage born from grief. He also knows it can lead to some horrible mistakes that cannot be taken back - for fuck's sake, Katara had to help him snap out of the Avatar State more than once because in, her own words, SEEING SOMEONE SHE CARES ABOUT IN SO MUCH RAGE AND PAIN HURTS HER TOO. He's just trying to be there for her like she was there for him.

"Even Sokka is ambivalent"

God forbid he doesn't want his 14-year-old little sister to kill people. CLEARLY that's the same as not caring that his mother is dead.

"She probably even saw her mother's body! Aang could never understand that!"

Gyatso's corpse that we know for a fact Aang saw and completely shattered his world: Am I a joke to you?

"He even says he's proud of Katara for supposedly forgiving that guy"

And he is still proud when she says she actually didn't. Because what mattered to him was Katara HEALING. In her own words, confronting the man who killed her mother, letting her anger out, and then letting it go, so it wouldn't consume and destroy her.

Literally the only valid criticism of Aang in that episode would be that Katara COULD refuse revenge AND forgiveness at the same time - which he canonically realized and fully accepted by the end of the episode.

Anything else is pure bullshit.

[takeomurasaki]

Hey takeo! How’s everything? Welcome to Tumblr and to the writing community. I read your post and I was hoping if you could write something for Izuku’s birthday? Maybe reader organizing a surprise party for him without him knowing? (Only if you want to that is)

And I can’t wait to see you grow here! I was once a small writer here (kind of still am) so I get how you feel about being on such a popular platform. And remember: writing’s supposed to be fun, not tiring. Post whatever’s on your mind.

Take care and stay safe!

Hi Moonlight, Thank you so much for the request and the kind welcoming message! I'm really grateful for your kindness and hope you grow even more as a writer 🙏🏻

I adore this idea and hope I could interpret what you had in mind, hope you enjoy this 🩵

" Perfect Birthday for Him 💚 "

Izuku Midoriya x GN!Reader

Type: Romantic, Fluff, One-shot.

Summary: Surprise party for Izuku's birthday.

Word Count : 2005 words

You put your hand on your hip, the other on your forehead. The cake was finally in the oven.

"I can't believe I beat the squad to it! It was exhausting but everything's ready cake wise."

"Could you help me clean now? First you kidnap me from my morning training to bake a fucking cake for Deku and now you won't even clean. Damn extra!" Bakugo screamed-whispered in your ears. It was still early and if the both of you woke the others up, Izuku might wake up, and that's a no-go.

You weren't the best at baking, that was a flaw of yours but you always tried your best at it. That failed this time around, though. You had tried to prepare a cake for Izuku's birthday but you mixed the cake mix with too much olive oil and it was ruined and smelled terrible. Thank God you knew just the right person to help you: Bakugo. He might be a douche, he was the best at baking so you asked him regardless. The blonde wasn't dumb, he saw in your eyes that this cake meant a lot to you, and he sure could see you wanted to impress his childhood friend. Your eyes were shining and a deeper colour than they used to be, your cheeks were tinted red and sweat dripped from your forehead. Your hair was messy from the rush you had been in for the past couple days preparing the perfect birthday for Midoriya.

He found that funny and laughed at your face, but followed through with your plan anyway. He's not a monster, why wouldn't he help his nerdy childhood bestie get game?

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming. You're going to wake them up if you keep speaking so loud Bakugo please.." You sighed in complete despair and closed your eyes. He sure could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

As you were washing the dishes and Bakugo finishing cleaning the countertop, he spoke out of the blue.

"Say professional simp, why'd you stress so much over that birthday party anyway? You know damn well he's gonna enjoy it if it's you preparing it for fuck's sake." He said rather loudly, grinning like a mad man, he REALLY was a pain in the ass today.

"Bakugo I- He- What? Oh my God" you facepalmed, your face so red your ears began to redden too. You gritted your teeth, this guy was gonna ruin the plan it he keeps at it. "Shut the fuck up and don't speak so loud! Get back to cleaning." You got back to cleaning the dishes, furrowing your brows still red faced. You did hope he was right, that Izuku was gonna like it and actually realize you liked him bad, like bad bad !

Let's not forget who Midoriya is, he gets quite oblivious when it comes to love. Random people were hitting on him at least once a month in the most random places ever and he never suspected a thing, he thought they were just being nice.

That made you fall deeper for the green haired boy if you were honest, you found that just so cute. He always was but his oblivion to others' perception of him added to his natural charm.

You could not mess today up, you were a compassionate and thoughtful friend who always went above and beyond to make your loved ones feel special. You have a knack for creating unforgettable moments and ensuring that every detail is perfect when it comes to showing someone how much they mean to you, mostly Izuku.

It was your chance of getting him to be aware of himself and his attractiveness that you admired deeply, too.

Later on, you went to Mr. Aizaiwa. He wasn't your teacher, you were in class 1-C, but he was Midoriyas and he was helping the whole plan happen out of sheer boredom. He was indeed the weirdest teacher you'd ever met.

It was lunch time, the perfect timing to meet him and discuss today's matter. You knocked on the almost empty classroom's door and entered slowly.

Internally you were an absolute mess. Trying to keep your composure wasn't easy as a swarm of butterflies filled your stomach to the brim, the anticipation was overbearing. The party was getting closer.

"Hello Aizaiwa sensei. Do you remember about Izuku's birthday party perchance? Do we have permission?" You managed to smile somewhat normally with sweaty palms.

He looked up from his spot, tucked in his sleeping bag about to fall asleep from the bags under his eyes. "Hello Y/N L/N, I do remember problem child's birthday party... Principal Nezu is okay with the party being held in the dorm's common room. You will have to mark out the things you're using from the school on a paper though so we know what you took. Dismiss now, I'm sleepy, kid." And with that he just fell on the ground and closed his sleeping bag further, till we couldn't see his face.

You did a little happy dance, how could you not? You had everything planned out perfectly. You rushed out of the classroom to prepare the decorations and the organization.

You were by yourself to prepare the room and all. The others were still in class. After class was done everyone has to come here and finish preparing everything with you, excluding Ochaco of course. She was his current best friend and was tasked to keep him occupied for sometime so we could all hide and all. Honestly your excited was making you go faster than you anticipated, your breath was warm as you were going up and down chairs to be tall enough to reach the ceiling and put the All Might banner and balloons you managed to obtain.

You carefully placed the plates and cups, All Might themed of course, on the table. Each plate and cup with a name on it so no one would get mixed up, that also prevented you from forgetting anyone. You prepared the soft and energy drinks you had brought the day before and put them on the table alongside crackers, chips and nerunerune kits. Candy for the sweet guy, you were proud of the connection you had made at the supermarket. You even got to use UA's party things, so you had confetti on the table, on the ground and even found a red carpet to put at the door leading to Midoriya's chair. Oh his chair, you took an extra time on it. It had little All Might stickers on it you brought for this special occasion, an All Might cushion sitting bare seemingly waiting for Izuku to sit down on. You were overjoyed it was so perfect and turned out how you imagined it.

After the bell rang, the others rushed to the dorm and were surprised to see you had done everything. You took the paper hats, All Might themed why wouldn't they be, and ended one to each and everyone. Mina insisted on having colorful streamers, you couldn't disagree it was a great idea for sure, the clean up was going to be a nightmare but that's for later.

You all got in your hiding spots and turned off the lights, Ochako texted you and said she was near with Midoriya. Your heart was racing, your face red. Barely hyperventilating at this point, you brushed your palm against your chest to contain your excitement. The door clicked open.

"Ochako-san? Why is it so dark in there?" Midoriya was intrigued and turned on the light. Seconds after, you all jumped up and screamed happy birthday to the birthday boy. Midoriya was surprised, his eyes wide and sparkling as he scanned the place and everyone in the room. He smiled brightly, showing his pearly white teeth. His cheeks tinted pink at this point. He thanked everyone, one by one, until it was you left. He approached you, he seemed excited from what you could tell.

"My raitō! Everyone told me you planned all this and I could never thank you enough!" He engulfed you in his muscular arms.

Your eyes widened, he had just called you his precious and on top of that he was hugging you. Heat rushed to your whole face and ears. Your pupils dilated, you inhaled his sweet scent that filled your lungs to the brim. You giggled finally hugging him back.

"It was nothing Izu, nothing is enough to compare to you." You admitted, a knot forming in your throat as the words spilled out your mouth. Izuku instantly lifted his head up from the hug and he was scarlet red at this point. He started stuttering and muttering, you couldn't really understand what he was saying so you just laughed. With the courage you had managed to form you gave him a small peck on the cheek and went to Todoroki to get the gifts out of their hiding spots in his room.

Izuku was frozen in place, his chin trembled as he tried to process what just happened. His hand trailed slowly to his cheek and realization hit him straight in the face. He had not studied them enough, that wasn't in his notes.

The time for the gifts came, everyone hurried at the table as Izuku sat down on his custom chair. He was so nervous, that was a lot of attention on him at once and you were still there, sweetly grinning at him. He opened each gift gently as to keep the All Might merched wrapping paper and thanked everyone for their gifts. The last one was yours and he was absolutely thrilled, his palms shaking and his heart racing. He opened the box hidden under the wrapping paper and lifted an eyebrow, the box was empty.

"Is- is this normal Y/N ?" He said scanning the box, flipping it upside down and shaking it.

You were freaking out. Everything was perfect but this. The gift wasn't in the box. Without even thinking, you screamed, terrified and hurried to Todoroki's room, it must still be there. Izuku followed you and motioned the others to stay put in their place.

"Where the fuck is it!? I swear it was just there!" Your eyes scanned every corner of Todoroki's room in desperation. You were moving every single piece of furniture trying to find the gift for Izuku, you rambled on about where it could be and didn't hear it feel Izuku's presence in the room. His brows narrowed and he stepped towards you. He placed his hand on your shoulder stopping you dead in your tracks. You were crying, the frustration was too much for your poor heart and soul to handle.

He opened his arms and smiled at you,

"Y/N please calm down, I don't need a material gift it's all fine I promise. We can have fun with the others and we'll search for the gift after the party how does that sound to you? Is this ok?"

You accepted the embrace, slowly nodded rubbing your eyes. "I guess this is. I'm so sorry Zuku it was meant to be a perfect birthday. I was so focused on you and your birthday party I even forgot to put the gift in the box." You managed to trail out between small whimpers and crys. Izuku gently rubbed your back as you confessed to him, he was happy you trusted him with your emotions. Seeing you vulnerable like this comforted his love for you, if you could break your outer walls down for him, he could do the same for you.

"I understand the struggle, it was the same to me when it was your birthday honestly. You're just so mesmerizing I lost myself for a moment." You looked at him with mouth agape, face redder than it had ever been. He chuckled and pecked your forehead, just as red as you were.

"Your presence and attention towards me and my birthday is the greatest gift you could have given me, Aijin."

Takeo.

[centrally-unplanned]

As I normally do, I very much enjoyed Folding Idea's latest video, an interpretative discussion/cinematography flex about James Rolfe aka Angry Video Game Nerd. Anyone treating the history of the internet with the depth it contains, as a culture & medium unto itself, is gonna get a win in my book.

It also hit on a point I find myself always coming back to in cultural history; how often people confuse chronology & causation. The Angry Video Game nerd is, of course, one of the most influential "Youtubers" to ever exist, by virtue of being one of the first ever do, in video format, media reviews via a comedic lens. There are years where you can say he was the center of the whole genre. He inspired legions of imitators, some incredibly directly referencing him in their identity, and when you talk to a ~30 year old online creator today who does things adjacent to that space, you can bet good money they watched AVGN when they were a teen.

(I didn't - my stereotypical influence is the Red Letter Media Prequel Reviews)

But is he that influential? Depends on your meaning, of course. Because when you ask people what that influence is, they say something like "pioneering comedic, caustic, hyperbolic review video essays". Which, he did, but he invented none of those parts. As the above video outlines, caustic, exaggerated reviews of media have been around for about as long as reviews have existed as a consumer product; making them entertaining for their own sake is an incredibly logical leap to take. AVGN was coming around in a time where slapstick violence and faux-rage was entirely the vibe of the internet; Penny Arcade had been doing its thing for over half a decade before AVGN's first video was published.

And more importantly, video content in those days was obviously going to lean towards things like comedy and "skit" styles compared to say text reviews, because it complemented the medium better. It takes a lot of niche craft to make a rage speech pop on text; it's much more accessible to just be a good actor and be visibly raging. Going even more downstream, the "media mix" of people consuming content about the art they like or engage with was so old hat by the 2000's that consumer brands were using it as fucking jargon in marketing meetings. There isn't a world where this kind of content would not have appeared. It had to, the culture demanded it.

This is no grand dig at AVGN of course - this is to some extent true of all artists. As Olsen's video notes, what set AVGN apart was that James Rolfe was not a game reviewer; he was a filmographer, he had gone to film school, he was trying to make movies. Which in 2004 meant that he had a ton of cameras and lighting and equipment to make viable content in a way others did not. He had a technological advantage in exploring a new medium, one that would fade as webcams and lighting rings became as cheap as dirt, or shift as markets for crazy stuff like vtuber rigs would evolve. And of course the specific way he went about his content did imprint itself on the medium.

But not thaaat much; I think time has not been kind to AVGN. The humor is of course dated to its time, the MTV's Jackass of video game reviews. And as the medium of self-published video essays has evolved, the medium discovered approaches far better than comedic skit shows. Much longer content is possible, you can ride on parasociality and authenticity instead of endless "joke moments" (Or go the reverse - every comedy video from the old days is too long, a tiktok-level joke stretched over 5 minutes). Some of this was tech dependent as well, of course - youtube had duration limits on uploads in 2005! Making 4 hour Star Wars Hotel videos was not possible outside of stringing "Part 1 of 37" video playlists together. But time and culture marches on as well, and I don't think the average creator today is pulling from 2005 Youtube much at all, really. They are different eras.

As mentioned, if you ever deal with doing causation in cultural history, you run into this all the time - people essentially going "work X was first, and therefore invented the genre and influenced all after". And I don't think it really works that way - establishing causation just takes far more detail than that.

[the-expatriate]

((It's Pari's birthday on the 23rd of this month, it's my birthday on the 25th and Pari's been floating about in my head since 2005. She's been there for nearly 20 years fucks sake lmao 🤣))

[reinvent-and-believe]

7 for Roy x Jamie. Also, I adore your writing! ❤

7. love at first sight

--

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Georgie says, looking at the pair of them from across the dinner table with a crooked little grin that means trouble, a grin Roy’s intimately acquainted with on a slightly different face. “Love at first sight, weren’t it?”

“Mummy.” Jamie is the palest Roy’s ever seen. “Do not.”

“Don’t be rude to your mum,” Roy scolds, his full attention fixed on that familiar grin. He rests his arms on the table and leans in. “What were you saying, Georgie?”

“Well look at you, coming to my defense,” she teases. “Can you believe it, my Jamie ending up with such a gentleman?”

“It’s lovely to see,” says Simon, setting a tray of fresh cookies down on the table and giving Roy a genuine little smile.

Roy doesn’t know much about Simon; Jamie’s not talked about their history, other than to hint that a teenage Jamie Tartt was as much of a fucking terror as one might imagine and Simon was a prime target. But Roy likes him. Likes how he looks at Georgie like she hung the fucking moon. Likes how easily his love extends to Jamie.

“Mummy.” Jamie’s blushing now, a deep, fast-spreading red. It strikes Roy, not for the first time, that Jamie’s fucking gorgeous when he blushes. 

“Love at first sight? Is that what you said?” Roy asks.

Jamie elbows him. “You ain’t helping.”

Fuck football, this is Roy’s favorite game now. “Who says I’m trying to?”

“Right then.” Georgie winks at Roy as Jamie rubs his forehead. “It must have been, what? 2006? When did you move to Chelsea, Roy?”

“2005."

“2005.” She nods. “Chelsea were here playing City, so of course we had it on telly. And all the announcers could talk about the whole game was the new hot player at Chelsea, making quite a name for himself after only a few games. So of course the camera cut to him over and over, I swear half the game was a closeup on Roy Kent.”

“Mummy, you have got to stop,” Jamie groans.

“This one,” she reaches across the table and pats Jamie’s hand, even as he scowls, “was all of eight years old. You might be a gentleman, Roy Kent, but you’re also a bit of a cradle robber, aren’t you?”

It’s Roy’s turn to freeze. “Right.”

“I’m 25 years old, Mum, I’m fucking grown,” Jamie huffs in an exasperated voice that sounds suddenly 15.

“Of course you are, love.” Her smile loses its bite, fond and soft. “I think you’re lovely together and I’m thrilled for you two, swear down. But I am gonna give this one shit about the fact that he and I would have been in school at the same time and you were eight when he got his big break.”

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says as Roy says, “Fair enough.”

“So Jamie was just a tiny thing, sat in front of the telly as close as he could get, eyes wide. After the first half, he stood up and looked at me with that little look he gets. You know the one. When he’s made his mind up about something and you’ll be wasting your breath if you try and stop him.”

“I know the one.” Roy puts a hand on Jamie’s knee and squeezes gently.

“He turned to me and said”—she pauses for dramatic effect before starting the recitation—“‘when I grow up, I’m gonna be a pretty footballer like Roy Kent.’”

Jamie buries his head in the curve of Roy’s neck. “This is not a cute story,” he insists.

“Keep telling yourself that, love,” Georgie coos sympathetically. “And so began the Roy Kent years. What does he ask for for his birthday? A Roy Kent poster. What do we have to get when we check out at the shop? That magazine with Roy Kent on the cover. What’s he want for Christmas? A Chelsea kit, for Christ’ sake.”

“Now, Georgie, you’ll embarrass him,” Simon chides mildly.

“Yeah, that ship has fucking sailed, man,” Jamie pouts. “When Roy leaves me because he thinks I’m a fucking stalker, it’s gonna be all your fault, Mummy, is that something you want to live with?”

Georgie shakes her head, laughing. “Roy, you’re not allowed to leave Jamie over my cute story. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, sitting back and looking at her son with a love so palpable it makes Roy ache, “it’s not like this is exactly a surprise. If anyone knows how to go after what they want, it’s my Jamie.”

It’s fucking weird, hearing about little Jamie’s crush, but it's not like he didn't know most of it, and it's not like they’ve ever really had the most normal of relationships; Roy accepted that pretty early on. He puts an arm around Jamie, smiling when he immediately curls into Roy. “Well, I think you set your sights too low,” he says with a gentle brush of the lips against Jamie’s temple. “You turned out to be a way prettier footballer than Roy Kent.”

“Uh, yeah, obviously,” Jamie scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches towards a grin as he pulls Roy into a kiss.

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Quarter Final One

Propaganda...

Edward Ferrars (1995) :

Edward gets a bad rap because he's quiet and the whole lucy steele situation but he doesn't get enough credit for how honourable he is! It's easy to have honour when it costs you nothing he knows he'll be miserable with lucy but he knows it's the right thing and to do so he sticks to his guns and does it anyway despite the opposition from his family and to me that is hot! Also yes he makes mistakes but his family are vile - he grew up with Fanny and Robert and is still a good man! Also he looks like hugh grant and plays fun games with Margaret and he understands Elinor in a way no one else does - Hot!Hot!Hot!

Mr Darcy (1995) :

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

GIF by sunsetboulevards

Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

GIF by jaeausten

The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

GIF by didanagy

Fencing? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

GIF by didana

Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

[textfromthelookout]

Did you hear of the news?

I have. :(

Everyone else has their tributes so, here, a summary of my experience with Dragon Ball.

I was in fourth grade art class. A kid had the February 2005 issue of Shonen Jump, back when Shonen Jump was still physically printed here. I recognized Atem on the front cover because the Blockbuster around the corner from our house had DVDs (I think they were DVDs and not VHSs then since I distinctly remember it having a menu and special features) of some of the later episodes of Duelist Kingdom and my brother and I watched them on repeat. So I was like oh, hey, what's this? They make books of that stuff? I don't remember the conversation but the kid ended up giving me that issue, and I took it home with me.

There were a LOT of significant, groundwork things happening in that issue, now that I think about it. We were just beginning to see Sanji truly in action against Pearl. The Dark Tournament was in it's early stages still with Roto fucking around and finding out against Kurama. Sakura shears off her hair in a move that rearranged sexualities the world over. The reason Atem was on the cover was because Yu-Gi-Oh Millennium World was just debuting its first and second chapter. Bleach wasn't even serialized yet. And Dragon Ball, of course, was also there, about a hundred and fifty chapters ahead of everybody else.

Keep in mind that this was my first experience with manga, period. So my very first experience with Dragon Ball opened on this:

and ended on this:

Yeah. Truth be told, at the time Yu Yu Hakusho piqued my interest more than Dragon Ball (a guy fighting with plants? how creative!) but I never did forget these chapters. I thought the art style was so different from the others.

At some point after this, probably between several months and a year and a half, the TV happened to be on one evening when Toonami was airing Dragon Ball Z. Oh hey, I said, I recognize that art, I know those characters. So I hung around and watched some of episode 281. Two things about watching that episode stick with absolute crystal clarity in my mind to this day. Firstly: Buu choking Vegeta out with his arm freaked me the FUCK out as a child. I could not tell you why I had a fear reaction to it but hey, there you go. The second is this:

Specifically I remember 'You died once. If anything happens to you now, you won't exist anymore. There'll be nothing I can do to bring you back.' Not precisely word for word over the years, but Schemmel's tone of voice on this particular lineread. If I had to guess I'd say it was because at that point in my life, uh, death was kinda permanent? So wait, what do you mean died ONCE. Doesn't that apply to everyone?

This still wasn't enough to get me super invested in it though, it just didn't seem like something that would appeal to me that much. So a couple years go by, I don't think about it all that much, and then of course, TFS hits the scene and drops DBZ Abridged. So you know. As a shithead middle schooler with a shithead sense of humor I thought it was the best damn thing since sliced bread. (My biggest character flaw is that I still think a lot of Season 1 is genuinely funny)

And that was really the extent of my interaction with the franchise for the next several years. Say what you will about DBZA but they did manage to put it all together such that someone who had a nonexistent concept of what the original context was could grok it with not a lot of effort. Some time in high school, I think I was around 15, I decided to bite the bullet and read all the manga, as much to increase the funny factor of DBZA as sheerly for the sake of being able to say I had. Stick it to the other weebs, y'know. Now they can't say I didn't know anything about good anime. This was unfortunately at a time when all that was available online were dirty poor-quality scans and questionable translations, but read it I did. I went 'yep, that sure is about what I expected', and proceeded to get on with my life. GT came and went, I looked up and saw Battle of Gods coming out and went 'oh hey that's still a thing huh', kinda was peripherally aware of all the divisiveness of Super as it was happening, didn't really pay it much attention, just stuck to DBZA and quite a lot of wiki-ing.

And then, this time of year about three years ago now, in the middle of conversation with @prophecydungeon, Dragon Ball somehow came up. Something to do with 'Even though I'm not hugely into DBZ's story or whatever Toriyama does have some great character designs' (yes I was referring to Vegeta and Future Trunks at the time, no i will not stop being predictable, yes i am a parody of myself). They eventually brought up the DBS Broly movie and said, and i quote: 'that was a solid 1.5h of unbelievably fun and wacky animation'. Having seen the Gogeta vs Broly part of it on twitter and been like 'damn that animation's kinda off the hook actually, good for them good for them', my response was to be like. Oh word? I've got a spare hour and a half to kill, sure, fuck it, why not, time to watch DBS Broly.

I think that movie was precision crafted to hit me in the hyperfixation, if we're being honest. Opening on a solid 20 minutes of Lore and Worldbuilding and then having most of the rest of the runtime being mindless slobberknocker fun by way of some of the hardest animation flexes ever? I was done for.

In summation. I have been aware of Dragon Ball for a lot of my life, in that its presence was pervasive and enduring as I grew up. I may have been late to the game of actually wholeheartedly enjoying it, but enjoy it I do. Dragon Ball is the roots of a vast tree of anime, and in reading it I began to understand why that is. I respect it for that, and I love it for that. My current fixation may have shifted, but as far as time devoted to one individual thing goes... it took me a year and a half to watch my way through all of the anime and read all of the manga. ALL of it. So there's something good in there, I'd say.

[metacrisisdoctor]

i truly keep getting the most horrendous takes suggested to me in my for you page this week.

seeing a post about how rose is bad working class representation because she ended up with a rich father is absolutely ridiculous to me.

firstly, by journey's end rose is 24. she is an adult. the idea that she just sits down and takes pete's money is ridiculous to me. not even because that would be inherently wrong, but because this is not who rose tyler is. she is not automatically "mega rich," especially considering she was not even planning for on returning to pete's world until tentoo offered to spend their lives together. if anything i imagine she kept a rather safe emotional distance from pete those years because it would have been so painful to leave her family behind.

if you understand anything about rose tyler you should know that would probably not accept his money, and you should know that she would want him to redistribute his wealth to people in need. rose always, always asks people if they are being treated and/or paid fairly. this is a constant part of her character. her being on the so called "other side" in pete's world gives her access to make changes in an unjust system, to make things better for everyone because that is what she and the doctor would do.

they all work. for fucks sake, in the tentoo big finish audios jackie is a dinner lady at unit. she speaks at length about how hard it was to raise rose on the estate, how she and rose were (and continue to be) looked down on because they're "chavs." the importance of pete has absolutely nothing to do with money, jokes jackie made aside. it's about the emotional aspect, it's about second chances, it's about how different things can be (for better or worse) when you have different chances presented to you.

all of this is made more frustrating when people pull rose's importance down to raise another's. was rose perfect representation? no. was the representation she gave working class people important, especially in 2005? absolutely. writing a character off entirely because they weren't as good representation to live up to your standards of what "real" people go through unfair and narrowminded at best.

and honestly the idea that rose ended up happy and secure and loved is wrong reeks of misogyny and jealousy. the fact that rose has not been on doctor who in fifteen years and people still feel the need to drag her through the mud after all this time is appalling but it also proves how important she is to the show's legacy.

you're thinking about her. she hasn't been on screen in fifteen years and you're foaming at the mouth about her. wow.