#just a black comedy sitcom

[secretmellowblog]

I personally can never get into all the fanon stuff that has Javert being a father figure to Cosette because I'm always like "well, he DID kill Cosette's mother....that was kind of a significant thing that happened...even in the musical he terrorized her a bunch, but in the book he terrorized her until she died in agony, and a big part of Cosette's character is that she doesn't know what happened to her mother and desperately wants to know....idk? I feel like that's sort of a significant Thing to leave out". Though again, I get it's because people are basing it on the musical where Javert is less evil to Fantine specifically

[avephelis]

silly au where hunter can also see the other golden guards but all they do is annoy him

[person-official]

Alternative universes are such a cool concept to me.

Like, imagine there's a universe where Colombus never sailed across the world, or even one where he was just not a shitty person. I wonder how different my life would be sometimes. Or maybe something a lot less impacting.

Maybe one where Ranboo Live or Wilbur Soot never got popular. I probably would have gotten over my DSMP faze a lot quicker than the almost three years it took me. They definitely helped shape my humor, no way I would be the same person.

Or a universe where I was actually born a boy. I think about that one a lot as well. I don't doubt my life would be easier, I don't doubt I would also be a LOT happier.

Maybe in a universe where the Library of Alexandria wasn't burned down, how much more literature would we have? How many more things would we know?

Do you think there's a Universe where there's a place that holds all the universe's secrets? I've thought of that a lot too. I've always pictured it as a ginormous library with bookshelves touching the ceiling to the floor, golden engravings etched along the side, and one of those moving ladders from Beauty and the Beast. There would be an area in the middle of the bookshelves with tables and tables seated next to each other in an infinite amount of rows. Of course, there would be two floors, maybe even a third! I think one of the floors would have a couple of restaurants. I'm picturing a Panera and a Tim Hortons, placed along the sides. The books would contain anything you could ever want to know, from the Meaning of Life to a Do it Yourself Book: Origamii Edition, to your favorite fan fiction in physical form!

[july-19th-club]

hughie is the swagless guy whose whimsy is so captivating. like mm has whimsy too whimsy in SPADES but he is not swagless he is bursting with swag. and whimsy. and hand sanitizer. hughie is a silly little noodle man and even when he goes through ‘i’ve killed a man and i have to have a moral crisis about it’ arcs or annoying ‘i’ll protect you! i’ve developed sudden onset toxic masculinity from hanging out with billy butcher too much and now i am afraid to be just a regular guy in case my superhuman girlfriend needs help, or stops liking me for not being like her’ arcs it doesn’t last. within five or six episodes he’ll have a little realization while watching some cheesy music video and he’ll be like ‘oh right....one life saved might not cancel out a life taken, but it’ll sure help you sleep at night’ or ‘oh! right! my swagless whimsy is what my girlfriend likes about me! and what i like about her is her principles, and her friendly charm, and her ability to lift me like a barbell and do squats! and trying to change our dynamic makes it worse, and not better . we’re doing fine just the way we are :)’ and then he’ll get some support move in the big finale and that’ll be his contribution, to like hold the binoculars or something <3

[lifewithaview]

Black Books (2000–2004) Party

S3E6

Manny and Fran drag Bernard along with them to a party, but the drunken aftermath dredges up secrets and bitterness.

The end...

[mistsofavalon13]

the parallels between how poc are treated and how animals are treated in nope (2022) was perfect. one of the first scenes in the movie is when oj is on set for a commercial, and i was immediately as uncomfortable as he was. when he introduces himself to the white actress, she looks scared of him because his name is oj. she sees a black man with that name and can’t hide her inner thoughts. then the pa guy is confused as to where the “older one” is, clearly giving the message that he doesn’t trust oj to be a competent person. the pa sees him as an untrained boy, and doesn’t listen when oj tried to tell him not to look in the horse’s eyes. then when em explains the story of the first moving picture, we see that the black jockey and the horse aren’t even on the same level. people talk about the horse, but they don’t know anything about the man riding it.

then, there’s jupe and the gordy the chimp. jupe was a child star in a western comedy, and the poster itself gave me the wrong feeling. jupe and the unnamed black child actor he starred with were so clearly being used as a spectacle. it made me think of blazing saddles, how the idea of a black sheriff is absurd and funny. however, blazing saddles uses that as commentary and as a way to send a message, while in nope, we see that jupe was the victim of a film industry that tokenized him. then, with the chimpanzee, we see that same tokenization. a sitcom of a white family that includes an asian child and a chimp. it’s clear that both are meant to be equally funny; an asian kid is just as absurd as a chimp in human clothes and a birthday hat.

then, when we see him try to use the alien to create the same spectacle he was a part of in his youth, he realizes far too late that he’s made a mistake. that you can’t rely on an animal. his wife makes a comment about how working with trained animals is unpredictable, and we see in his eyes that he knows what’s about to happen. he put his trust in the behavior of a wild animal and now he’s paying the price and feeling the same fear he felt as a child.

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 8 Prompt: Rom-Coms 🎟️ ~ 2,400 words Watching a romantic comedy on TV brings back some memories for Eddie. (angst, w/ a hopeful ending)

Eddie taps the lit end of his cigarette into an ashtray, staring at the television screen with tired eyes. The bluish light casts an eerie glow about the room; it feels cold, sterile. 

This has been his ritual for far too long now: go to work, come home, and watch some mind-numbing program alone until he falls asleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

He yawns, and rubs his stubbly face with one hand. He should get in bed before he passes out on the couch — save his back the trouble — but instead he picks up the remote again, flicking through channels, waiting in vain for something stimulating.

Coca-Cola ad. Late night talk show interview. Some black and white picture from MGM. Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal. Sitcom rerun. 

He pauses, thumb hovering over the button.

Eddie switches back to When Harry Met Sally. He rented it from Family Video once upon a time, but he hasn’t watched it in years. It feels like an eternity has passed since then and yet, he remembers it like it was yesterday.

That’s what every memory with you feels like to him; it’s both an old scar and a fresh wound. He doesn’t know what feels worse — the hot, gut-wrenching ache of longing that pains him now, or the knowledge that those memories, no matter how agonizing they may be, might start to fade one day.

But it seems an impossibility; he can recall every detail. He wets his lips, remembering how you had pleaded with him in line to rent this particular film, even though he’d been hoping to see the new Indiana Jones movie.

“Rob Reiner doesn’t make bad movies, Eddie. He did The Princess Bride, remember? Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

He relented, as he always did. Who was he to deny you anything?

But oh, how things change.

Pipe dreams turned to reality. Demo tapes turned to albums. Dive bar gigs turned to international tours. You, bravely avowing that he had to grab hold of every opportunity he could — you told him that no matter where in the world he went, you would always be here, loving him. All the while, secretly, the small pit of fear planted in your stomach was sprouting and unfurling as the distance between you two grew further, and the silences louder. 

He should have tried harder. Came home more. Picked up the Goddamn phone. He’d always had to call you; it was too difficult to get a hold of him yourself, to keep track of where he might be, when he was traveling constantly.

And then that awful night, when he’d lost everything. Everything that mattered, anyway. 

It was the last time he ever saw or spoke to you. Hours of arguing, pleading, crying; it was the death rattle of the most important relationship of his life. You finally told him what you were afraid of, what you had been afraid of, and that it had come true.

“I’m just a girl from back home, Eddie.”

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were never just a girl to Eddie. Not then, not now. Not ever. But what difference had it made? When the time had come for him to make a choice, he had still walked out the door. 

The world was being presented to Eddie Munson on a silver platter. He was young, up-and-coming, successful. A talented musician — gifted, even. He had the right look and the attitude.

Being his partner wasn’t easy. Your support was unwavering, but your lives were going in different directions, it seemed. You both loved each other enough to want the other person to have what they wanted, which were…no longer the same things. 

But it was still horrible. 

He spent the next few weeks in a near-fugue state, numb and inconsolable. His bandmates whispered to each other in the studio, casting furtive glances over at their supposedly-invincible leader, while the rest of their team offered him pseudo-smiles tinged with impatience, and suggested that he focus on channeling the pain towards his music.

After that, when he had the time, he’d leave LA and come back to the city he’d initially dragged you out to after graduation. He had no idea if you still lived there, but it didn’t matter. It was the last place he knew you to be and so he wandered those familiar streets, looking for you in every person he passed, as though it were likely that he might bump into you at a bus stop, outside the grocery, sitting on a park bench.

It was a luxury he could afford until Corroded Coffin started to fall apart. Disputes between band members, both personal and professional. Declining album sales. Bad management. Once sold-out venues were a struggle to fill. The once-steady flow of cash turned into a trickle, and then the boys were unceremoniously dropped from label, the execs deciding that keeping them around wasn’t worth the expense.

He supposes he could have stayed in the industry if he really wanted to. Formed a new band or begged to join another that was in need of a guitarist, but Corroded Coffin was his baby. The idea of starting all over again or leeching off of another group’s success left a bad taste in his mouth. And the producing gigs and session work somehow felt even worse; he dreaded having to watch others succeed at what he had ended up failing.

Fame had chewed him up, decided it didn’t like the flavor, and promptly spit him back out. His music career felt like a fever dream now. His life before that, with you, was the realest thing he’d ever had. 

As he watches Harry and Sally dine together at Katz’s Deli, his mind wanders to the slip of paper stowed carefully away like a sacred jewel, all alone in a drawer of his bedside table. 

No, he won’t.

Harry and Sally fall apart.

He won’t dare.

Harry runs through Manhattan to find his girl. 

Not after everything he’s done, after all this time.

Harry tells her all the reasons that he loves her…

Eddie abruptly switches the TV off, unable to hear anymore. He sits in the darkness for a moment, aching with bone-weary sadness. What had Dustin told him, as he passed the paper to him across the table over lunch one day?

“It couldn’t hurt to try.”

But Dustin was wrong about that. It could hurt him very, very much.

Eddie stands, and pads through the apartment to his bedroom. He sits on the side of the bed, and pulls open the drawer that holds his very last tie to you — a scrap of old receipt bearing your name and phone number. He picks it up with trembling fingers, then lowers it again, terrified that his clammy hands with smudge the ink. The phone seems to taunt him from where it sits atop the nightstand. As though he’s having an out of body experience, Eddie’s arm reaches out beyond his control and picks it up, the dial tone emitting a low buzz in his ear. He stares down at the number in the drawer, as though he didn’t memorize it the second he got it. He doesn’t even know how Dustin found you; but the geeky little shit has his ways. 

He punches in the number, heart racing faster with each digit he puts in.

It rings…and rings…and rings…

“Hello?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open in a low gasp. Your sweet voice is the same, only slightly marred by the bewilderment you must feel at receiving a call this late in the evening. Embarrassingly, his eyes sting with tears; he can’t speak.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Eddie slams the phone back into the receiver, white as a sheet. He gets up, paces a lap around the room, chugs a glass of water, and finally takes his seat again, trying not to hyperventilate. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he picks up the phone again, and re-dials.

His heart is in his throat now, swollen and beating so violently it threatens to choke him. 

Your voice again, slightly more annoyed, though you still sound like an angel. “Hello?”

“H-Hi,” Eddie says hoarsely, and tries to swallow his fear. 

There’s a brief silence on the other end. “...who is this?” 

“It’s me. It’s…it’s Eddie. Munson,” he tacks his surname on at the end, as though he needs to specify.

Muffled noise through the speaker. The seconds tick by, and Eddie waits with dread for you to hang up. 

Finally, you whisper, “Eddie?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“H-How did you get this number?”

He has the phone in a vice grip. “Dustin gave it to me.” 

“Why…why are you calling?” He wishes he could see your expression. You sound terrified, like he’s going to bite you through the phone.

How can he answer that? What is there to say, after so much time, after so much pain? I miss you. I love you. None of it was worth it, even when I was on top. Losing you was like being cut in half.

“I wanted to see how you were. How you are, I mean.”

“I’m okay.” The response is quick, automatic. But you don’t elaborate any further than that, and awkward silence prevails again.

Eddie deserves that, he supposes. Sweat trickles down his back, under his arms, breaks out on his forehead. He pushes his damp bangs back out of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipping out as though a day hasn’t gone by where you haven’t been his sweetheart.

“Don’t call me that,” you tell him tersely, sounding pained.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, ashamed. He had no right to do this to you. Drudge up old memories that you probably wanted to forget, or had so already.

“What is this about?” you ask him again, voice shaking.

“I told you,” he mumbles, “I want to know how you are. And I guess…I want to apologize.”

“You want to apologize,” you repeat skeptically, with an incredulous huff. “Now? Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes glazed and wet. A dry sob rattles his chest. “I don’t what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have called, I shouldn’t be…I’m sure you hate me and I don’t blame you, because I do too.” He wets his lips and presses on. “But if I can take this time to say one thing to you it’s that I’m sorry. For everything. I am so fucking sorry. For leaving, for hurting you, for every stupid little thing I did. That’s why I really called. To tell you that.”

“Oh God,” you say, almost to yourself, voice suddenly small. “I — I’m not ready for this.”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers, voice breaking, closing his eyes, letting the tears slip over his lashes.

“Are you crying?”

He wipes furiously at his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Eddie can’t lie to you, certainly not now. “Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Your voice…”

“That — that came out sharper than I meant it to —”

“No, I mean it’s beautiful. I missed it.”

“Eddie…”

“Yeah?”

You start to speak and then falter, struggling to articulate what it is that you’re feeling. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what to say.”

Eddie laughs brokenly. “Funny, because there’s a million things I want to say to you. I just don’t know if I should or not.”

You swallow with an audible click. “I don’t know if you should, either.”

Another silence. Eddie thinks he could pick out the sound of your breathing from a mile away, he’s still so in tune with it. After hundreds of nights spent laying next to you in bed, no other sound could send him to dreaming so quickly or peacefully.

“But why call now? After all this time?” 

“I miss you.” The words escape before he has a chance to stop them; he bites his tongue against the rest of them. He considers his next words carefully before continuing.

“I never reached out before, because I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I didn’t deserve to ask you for another chance, and I don’t think I do now, either, but…I was thinking of you tonight. Even more so than usual.”

Your voice shakes. “Does…does that happen often?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “All the time.” The floodgates open; all his woe and regret from the past spills forward. “I am always, always thinking of you. Even when you thought I wasn’t. I know I was a shitty partner, but that didn’t mean — that I didn’t love you more than anything.”

“Eddie —”

But he can’t stop now. “I’ve missed you like hell since that very last night. I loved you so much, a-and I threw it away! How could I bring myself to speak to you after that? Especially after I lost it all? I would — God — I would hate for you to think that I was only coming back to you because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t wanna hurt you again, baby, and I know it would’ve.”

There’s a quiet sniffle on the other line. “It broke me when you left. And now this hurts, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “I wish I could make it better. I would do anything to make you not hurt anymore. I won’t ask you for a second chance, but just know,” Eddie takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and seals his fate. “I’ve loved you for more than half my life,” he whispers. “I’ll love you until I die.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

Eddie stares at nothing, doesn’t move. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for; eventually, his body moving on autopilot, he hangs up the phone and crawls under the covers. He’s done sobbing, but tears drip down his temples as he lays back in bed, dampening his hair.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, but he hopes he’ll fall asleep soon anyway.

Breathing, quiet and even. Eyelids slightly heavier. He thinks maybe it’s finally within reach.

He’s almost there.

The phone rings.

Eddie blindly feels with one arm, and picks it up from the receiver for the third time tonight.

“Hello?” he asks hoarsely, not daring to believe it.

An angel answers.

“E-Eddie? It’s me again…”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[angsthology]

GENRE: COMEDY

a series of drivers in different sitcoms. thats it. thats the only description i can give.

originally, this was a series inspired by this tiktok i saw then @disneyprincemuke (no one's surprised anymore) corrupted me into actually making it BUT! i wanted to have my own twist to it so here it is;

special mentions to @foreveralbon @localwhoore for... being there

also i gotta be honest the deeper u scroll the more sloppy i got with the ideas cause i fr ran out of sitcoms (that ive watched and/or may not just be in my list for future watch since i ran out) and ideas so im sorry folks 🫠 also no promises on this series well

some of these MIGHT change because i am stupid. and, yeah.

the good place # mv1

he tried to kill you... nay, he did kill you, that’s why you’re here. and now he’s your alleged soulmate?

community # sv5

in life, it seems the only thing you’re ever good at is “trying again” but when will it stick?

how i met your mother # ls2

it’s almost like the world is against you being happy. but of all people, why did it have to be him?

new girl # cl16

crazy how one of your best friend’s new roommate was destined to be yours forever and you didn’t even know (apparently he did, though)

abbott elementary # gr63

the new first grade teacher seems to be unable to function when you’re around, wonder why that is?

modern family # eo31

when and how did your dads managed to get someone so cute to rent your upstairs apartment?

brooklyn nine-nine # pg10

2 broke girls # op81

since when did captain holt had such a cute, —daughter?

schitt’s creek # aa23

nothing really to smile about in your life. but i guess he’s kinda nice

typical max black lore drop, apparently she has a brother now?

reboot # ln4

they gave you one condition: be in this relationship or not be in the show and who are you to say no? you’re new after all, who did you think you were?

what we do in the shadows # cs55

you’ve lived long enough, really. but not long enough for this to be your first experience at being part of a truce

superstore # yt22

you hated your coworkers for not believing that you have an actual boyfriend. proof? hm, got that from the internet, call? did you hire someone to do that?

friends # ls18

jack and judy geller are one hell of a matchmaker, whether they did it on purpose or not

veep # lh44

you honestly can’t stand him sometimes. you truly don’t know what his problem is but who knows maybe he just wants your job

victorious # zg24

you guys are so cute, it’s quite sickening. literally.

icarly # ms47

you two were... inseperable. until—he; seperated away, i guess. but hey! he’s back apparently and there’s really nothing you can do about it except try to keep the heart eyes too a minimum

AGAIN; absolutely no promises cause im shit <3

plus i dont rlly know why im doing this considering i currently have a pretty demanding life but oh well!!

[sytoran]

double-edged sword | teom part i

Wanda Maximoff's marriage with her husband is not going too well. To add insult to injury, her new neighbour is pretty fuckin' hot.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. established wandavision, implied unhealthy coping mechanisms, infidelity, thirsting, unresolved sexual tension, reader uses she/they pronouns

──── WORD COUNT. 1.5k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

A ray of the morning glow on her eyes takes Wanda out of her sweet slumber. Groggily rubbing at her face, Wanda’s eyes slowly adjust as she scans the room.

Viridescent eyes fall to the empty side of the bed next to her. Of course.

Vision, her husband, had been acting different lately. Private phone calls, late nights at work, leaving early in the morning. She no factual evidence to prove what smelt like infidelity, but it was definitely there and Wanda wasn’t as naive as her husband thought she was.

But well, there was only so much she could do about it.

To any outsider, it might seem like she was already living the high life: With a rich husband who worked as a banker, two sprightly kids who were essentially bundles of joy, a big house with a white picket fence...... She had nothing to complain about, right?

Turns out, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Life was too monotone. too standard, too peaceful, too perfect. Sometimes, Wanda felt like her life was one of those sitcoms she so loved: The picture-perfect family, a portmanteau of situational comedy — But that was it, and that false idealisation of perfection was all Wanda would ever be able to actually achieve.

At the recognition of things going awry, Wanda shudders. the room suddenly wasn’t so comfortable. It was spacious, but it was empty, and it didn’t feel like home.

Home. What was home, anyway?

Was it the nights spent with Pietro and her parents, watching sitcoms and eating stale snacks? Was it her sons’ football games she went to, to cheer them on and scream her lungs out?

Well, either way, it definitely wasn’t how Vision had been treating her.

Wanda lets a soft groan fall from her lips and she stretches. As she’s about to finally get out of bed, the sound of a motorcycle revving from a distance hauls Wanda out of her train of thought.

Her ears prick up, sliding off the covers to look out of the window that had a good view of the house next door.

Wanda watches, with keen eyes, as a moving truck pulls up into the driveway. “Right, I’m getting a new neighbour,” Wanda muses, remembering how Agatha told her last Friday that the Simmons had managed to sell the house for a fair bit and then some more.

A bearded man with long blonde hair gets out of the truck, jogging over to the back to start shifting the boxes.

The brunette is about to shut her curtains and carry on with her day, when a different person pulls up into the driveway on a black motorcycle, then leaping off and kicking the stand in a swift motion. Wanda’s attention is tugged back again, her heart inexplicably thrumming a little faster than normal.

“Thanks, Thor!” the motorcyclist calls out, slapping the older man on the back. “I’ve got it from here!”

Wanda shifts closer to the window, hand gripping the windowsill. There was no explanation for why she was so enthralled by that mysterious woman, with the structured arms and glorious physique.

With a pinch of inquisitiveness, Wanda waits and watches as 'Thor' unloads the truck and drives off with a cheery wave. The tall motorcyclist is left there, face glowing the warm sun, light effortlessly reflecting off their arms.

Wanda peels her eyes from that sin-stained window, shaking her head in a means to stop being a fool. You’ve just been sexually repressed, that’s all, Wanda reasons.

She leaves to make herself a cup of hot tea, but when she’s done she finds herself going back to her bedroom window to stare at the new, hot neighbour again. This time, you’re moving the boxes, a sheen of sweat covering layers of muscle, all the yardwork being unreasonably attractive to Wanda.

“You’re married,” Wanda whispers to herself, eyes going to the wedding photo with vision. It seemed grey, compared to the burst of colours before her eyes.

Despite her chastising, Wanda’s marital state didn’t deter her from the inexplicable enthrallment towards her neighbour, however. When you reached up to stretch, and your black tank top rode up to expose an impeccably-sculpted torso, Wanda let out a shuddering breath.

Almost as if on cue, you chance upon that exact timing to look up at Wanda’s window, and her breath comes to a standstill.

There was no relieving herself from the embarrassing situation. Wanda clutches the cup of tea harder, expression frozen, knowing she must look like some kind of freak. A married lady in her late thirties thirsting over a younger woman in their early twenties?

To Wanda’s surprise and downfall of her beating heart, the motorcyclist sends her a quick wink, and as quickly goes back to unpacking and moving.

Wanda Maximoff’s heart nearly gives out.

She basically throws the curtains shut, collapsing into her bed once again with an embarrassed cry and a suspiciously pleased noise. Already, she finds herself recalling the specks of dirt over their face and arms, their grunts of exhaustion, and that sinful, rouguish, wink.

Shit, living next to someone so effortlessly irresistible was going to be a living hell.

===

Fame was a double-edged sword.

Sure, it seemed like the high life, with countless fans and ungodly amounts of money, and interviews all over the radios, and expensive liquor, and women-

It was never right.

As a basketball player, You were thrown into the unwanted limelight at a mere ten years old – With a play a little too amazing for someone yet to hit puberty, it was all set in stone. From there, you rose through the ranks, faster than the basketball world had ever seen. Match after match, record after record, victory after victory…… it was a means to an end.

A private life was non-existent, something uncalled for, for such an inspirational and famous individual. Celebrity, some might call it. Shoved on a pedestal, more like.

The darker aspects were ugly and scarred. Press interviews so stressful and questions so invading you had to do everything to not throw up there and then. Practice after practice, so grueling and body-wracking, and your head never stopped spinning, and the fans never stopped chanting.

Breakdowns turned into a means for escapism, turned into twisted coping mechanisms. No one knew.

There were……fantasies. Desires. Longing. Wrong, that’s for sure, but it helped. It feasted on you like an apex predator, urging you to tap into it.

You had to escape.

Because fame was a scythe pierced into your neck, missing your jugular vein by mere inches.

Your sweet saviour was something unorthodox, coming in the form of a humble town named Westview. A private area, tucked away and unappealing. There were hardly any residents, and they were of a generally older population.

No media, no paparazzi, no matches, no tournaments. You bought a decently comfy house in less than a month after your discovery. not to appease your public image. Just for you, in fact. Just for you and your much-needed rest.

It was the beginning of something good.

Or so you naively believed.

Remember the aforementioned coping mechanisms? Dark, and twisted little fantasies? Corrupt, and evil, and morally grey?

Well, turns out, your forbidden fruit would happen to lie in the form of your very married next-door neighbour.

===

Yes, your neighbour is hot. Like, really fuckin' hot.

That's the first thing you notice when looking up at the window of the house next door, to find that she was already looking at you.

Your neighbour looked reasonably older than you, but ethereal nonetheless. Slightly curly long brown hair pulled into a bun atop her head, stray hairs somehow impeccably framing her face, small hands gripping onto a teacup adorably.

From a distance, you weren’t graced with the vision of clarity — but from what you could see, the way her green eyes shone, flecks of gold and glimmering with light — you didn’t think your eyes had ever laid on something more breathtaking.

When you winked at her, and she blushed instantaneously while fidgeting with her hands – the desired reaction, by the way – you already knew that your new neighbour would be your latest conquest.

A slow smirk grew on your face, thanking the higher powers that lead you to Westview.

Oh, say it's wrong, to treat a pretty girl like a coping mechanism, to please one after the other, until there were none left.

Then look at me in the eyes and tell me that a pretty girl screaming your name as she falls apart in your hands isn't the best thrill in the world, to conquer and devour and make yourself her world, even if it’s for those few sacred moments.

You shrug off the intrusive thoughts, releasing a short gush of air, reminding yourself once again that you were here for a new change of pace. Your inner urges could take its toll afterwards.

It seemed like keeping those inner urges at bay would prove to be a difficult task, though.

You sigh, averting your attention back the remaining unmoved furniture.

It was going to be a long day.

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[noneorother]

By far the dumbest movie reference no one caught in Good Omens is : The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse

I'm working on a theory that requires many hours of movie watching, so here we are. Many people have already mentioned that the nazi zombies/Furfur is a The League of Gentlemen comedy troupe shoutout. But I'm taking it one step crazier. Remember the opening scene from the 1941 minisode of S2E4, the one with the london bombing and the Angel statue in the bottom right corner ?

Haha sorry my bad. That's the climax intro scene of the movie The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse. Here's the opening scene of the 1941 minisode:

You can excuse the confusion after seeing both, with how they look pretty much identical (yes this is giving me The Tales of Hoffmann PTSD, thanks for asking) And it's not very coincidental when you know who helped write the minisode.

You know, just the fourth member of The League of Gentlemen and writer of the movie LG Apocalypse. So shall we tease out all the (I'm warning you) EXTREMELY dumb quotes and story beats this terrible movie has lent to the 1941 episode? There are quite a few. But there's also a potential story arc that isn't so dumb... (TW offensive comedy, including mild gore)

In order to understand this you probably have to know a bit of background on British show The League of Gentlemen. "[A] surreal British comedy horror sitcom... follows the lives of bizarre characters, most of whom are played by three of the show's four writers – Mark Gatiss, Steve Pemberton, and Reece Shearsmith – who, along with Jeremy Dyson, formed the League of Gentlemen comedy troupe in 1995." You don't need to know all of the characters or backstory of the show, just that it's a fictional town with many fictional characters played by the same three writers (and an invisible fourth).

(Also known as all these people right here) Want to know who they plays a stand-in for Jeremy Dyson in LG Apocalypse and gets murdered first with black marker on his face?

Say hello, baby Sheen!

So we've seen the bombing scene, what about the car driving through fire and Aziraphale's suggestive line at the beginning?

Yup.

Do the characters make a deal with a Reece Shearsmith character to enter the real world through a church?

HECK YEAH. Bonus points for the green background.

A gag about fake lips with Steve? Sure.

Steve Pemberton seen here as a nazi zombie, and also here playing "Herr Lipp" (also known in the actual script as "the worst pun in the world" in the movie. Groan). What about Mark Gatiss Stealing binoculars from Steve to spy on two important characters? But of course.

Surely not the arm falling off too?

Oh dang. It's a big plot point in LG Apocalypse you say? Then, in the climax, does someone in dark sunglasses who doesn't know how a rifle works fire it at a main character, and the other character who he misses says fuck? Now you're pulling off my arm..

Well I'll be damned. The only difference here being Steve's head exploding, naturally.

I'll admit, I have trouble seeing where a giant 3 headed chimera beast that destroys a bunch of characters fits in at the end of the 1941 miniode, but I don't think 1941 is meant to be a stand in for the whole movie, because at that point in the movie the role of the main characters shifts to become the real versions of Shearsmith and Gatiss, not the characters. But even though the end of the movie doesn't track with 1941, I think the moral at the end is interesting : "In the church, Lipp says he will kill Gatiss. The other characters try to dissuade him, saying that once all the writers are dead, Royston Vasey will cease to exist and they will die. Lipp claims that they will in fact be better off, because as long as they're controlled by someone else they have no free will and can never change for the better. Tipps tells Lipp that because he saved the day and can therefore change, Lipp need not kill Gatiss. He persuades Lipp to hand him the gun, only for Tipps to accidentally fire it and kill Gatiss.

With all the writers now apparently dead, the residents of Royston Vasey prepare for the worst. Instead, everything calms down and The Apocalypse is averted. The characters realise they now have free will. Herr Lipp adopts some orphaned children, the vet, Mr Chinnery, finds a rabbit and is able to take care of it without killing it, and Bernice and Pauline become romantically involved. Tipps leaves the church, waving goodbye to Edward, Tubbs and Papa Lazarou. It appears that Royston Vasey can continue to exist independently of its dead creators." This struggle for free will outside of the plan originally set out by their creators, especially in the context of said creators not really caring about them anymore, really starts sending red flags up for me. Crowley's existential crisis at the beginning of S2E1 seems to be mulling over similar themes. The lack of any God narrator as in season 1 might be a change in storytelling technique, but might also point the the creator being absent, or having moved on without really letting her original creation know it gets to exist on it's own now. Funnily enough, this is the second movie with shot for shot quotes throughout, that places a specific set of characters at the center of their own deeper plot that has a meta level to the storytelling. I'm starting to think there's a pattern here...

_______________________________________ Here's my series on the Tales of Hoffmann, another movie hidden within the series.

[evanchantingpeters]

T(h)rust in me, I’m not over you... (Fanfic - Alex from Adult World)

Pairings ─ Alex (from Adult World) x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff

Summary ─ Y/N and Alex (aka Evan Peters in Adult World) are exes who haven’t quite let go. A friend’s birthday party turns into a comedy of errors when a black-out drunk Y/N accidentally enters Alex’s postcode as her own for a cab ride home. As Alex finds her at his doorstep and takes her in his place, old feelings resurface and steamy times go down in his bathroom.

Warnings ─ Swearing, smut, unprotected sex p in v, drinking, oral (m receiving), rough sex, nipple teasing, hangover sex, doggy, pretty smutty guys you’re being warned :)

Word count ─ 3.7K

18+ > If you’re a minor, DO NOT read!

The birthday cake of your friend, Beatrice, stands proudly in the centre of her living room, decked out in colourful frosting and flickering candles.

You and the rest of the guests belt out the overdone ‘Happy Birthday’ song in what you think is perfect harmony. But here comes Jerry, Beatrice’s younger brother, who starts hollering the lyrics off-key, stealing the show. 

Snorting, the birthday girl nudges her brother away, leaning over the cake to blow out the candles. Just as she’s mouthing her wish, Jerry, wearing a wicked grin, swoops in and dips his sister’s face right into the cake. 

The room erupts in uproarious laughter as Beatrice’s expression goes from shocked to amused. She taps her cake-covered eyes to remove some chocolate. Then, she turns to Jerry with a look that’s half playful, half ‘I’m plotting revenge.’ 

“You’re in for it now, Jerry!” she barks. And just like that, an all-out frosting war breaks out, turning the room into a sugar-fuelled battlefield. Cake crumbs are flying in every direction, but you manage to dodge most of it with only a few cake-bulleted stains along the hem of your black dress.

You retreat to a corner of the room, sipping your Prosecco like you’re watching sitcom chaos unfold from afar. Suddenly, you notice a stranger in a fancy tux sauntering over, a sly grin playing on his plump lips. 

“Well, looks like you’ve stayed mostly unscathed… or shall I say un-caked?” he chirps, his voice deep and throaty as he nods toward the cake war raging on. 

You just shrug, tossing him a faint, uninterested smile, “Good reflexes, I guess,” you quip, giving him a quick once-over before turning back to the cake madness. You feel his dark green eyes scanning you as if you’re going through airport security. 

He chuckles, and leans in. “If you need someone to scrub the marks off your dress, I’m your guy,” he whoops, playfully thumping his chest. He extends his hand with an inviting smile. “Tony.” 

“Y/N,” you reply bluntly, your energy matching that of a deflated balloon. 

Unfazed by your meh vibes, Tony decides to turn up the heat on the handshake, taking you aback as he begins to stroke your wrist. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he purrs, his eyes never leaving yours.

In a bold move, he lightly kisses the back of your hand, his stubble scratching your skin. 

You instinctively pull away, trying to force a polite smile, but a nervous twitch is all you manage. Your intrusive thoughts kick in, lecturing you (as usual), ‘Give the guy a chance, Y/N. Seriously, after Alex, all you think about is eye-gouging dudes with a spoon? Get a grip and move on!’

“Enjoying the party, Y/N?” he asks, snapping you out of your mental mess.  

“It’s not too bad. I’m here for Beatrice,” you retort, fetching a glass of wine from the buffet. Your eyes drift to the birthday girl, now caked from head to toe and giggling hysterically. You can’t help but crack a smile.

“Sorry, gotta go. Trice’s calling me,” you blurt out and lunge toward your friend, catching a muffled, “No, she didn’t” from behind as you’re practically escaping.

As the night barrels on, your party spirit is like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. You’re all in, downing shots and cocktails like they’re on a liquid clearance sale.

Yet, the question looms in the air: Are you drinking for the sheer fun of it or just drowning sorrows in that cocktail shaker? Alex heartache mode on. 

Before you know it, you’re totally sloshed, messily sprawled on a plush couch, using Tanya’s (another friend of yours) knees as your personal pillow. “Iiiiii reeeeally like your boooody, bodyyy, yeah. I reaaaaally wanna get naughtyyyyy I think you’re such a hottieeeee,” you croak out each word of the pop track with a slur, laughing uncontrollably. Your eyes are shut, lost in your boozy world.  

As you ramble on, Tony, who’s been lurking around, seizes the moment and leaps out from behind the couch. He casually nudges Tanya’s arm, yelling, “You heard that, Tansy?” with theatrical flair. “She thinks I’m a hottie!” His grin spreads wider than a rubber band as he arrogantly points at himself, acting like he’s the main character of your drunken karaoke.

Tanya clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and cuts in with a hiss, “Tony! Behave, man!” She softly kisses the top of your head in a futile attempt to soothe your booze-induced storm. 

“I offered to clean up her dress…” Tony goes on, hovering over the couch. “But, not gonna lie, I’d rather have it crunched up on my bedroom floor as she moans my name,” he murmurs, emphatically banging his fist on the couch before doubling up with laughter. 

“Oh, hush it, Tony,” Tanya roars and waves him away, turning back to you and your delirium, which has hit the roof. “I need to get you home, girl, and none of us is fit to drive…”

Tony, not one to give up easily, chimes in once more. “I volunteer! I’d give her a lift all day, all night.”

“No, we’re all catching a cab,” she declares with a tone that brooks no argument. She lightly pokes your shoulder. “Y/N, my love?” 

Your tipsy babbling starts to fade into a murmur that seems to be lulling you to sleep. “Y/N,” Tanya repeats. “What’s your postcode, sweetie?” 

Your alcohol-soaked brain struggles to register this simple question. “P-postcode? P-o-s-t-d, no. P-p,” you stutter.

“Yes, darling. Confirm your postcode for me, would you? I don’t have it saved,” Tanya says calmly, holding her phone in front of your face. 

With a grunt, you manage to sit up, but the world continues to dance spinning salsa around you. With an unsteady hand, you reach for the device, and your fingers fumble as you try to type out the letters and digits. 

Deep in your drunken haze, you unconsciously punch in a code that matches anything else but your address.

“To the hottieeeeee,” you shout, throwing your fist in the air before dropping yourself back onto your friend’s knees. 

“Ma,am, we’re here,” the taxi driver announces to Tanya that’s sat next to him, his hoarse voice slicing through the quiet of the car. 

Tanya swivels around to face the backseats, where you’re laid down, totally passed out. “Y/N,” she calls softly, giving your leg a gentle rub, but you don’t stir. 

She hops off the car and speed-walks to your side. With great care, she helps you out by wrapping her hands around you. Your arm is looped around her shoulder for stability. “Biyatchhhh, I saiddd whooo I saeee… who da biyaatch? Am da biyatchh,” you hoot, swaying and leaning heavily on your friend as you pinch her cheek with a goofy smile. 

“Y/N, just a sec,” Tanya huffs out as she shoves herself back in to retrieve your purse and coat from the car floor. 

You both stumble your way through the labyrinthine apartment complex. “You got your house key?” she asks, catching her breath. 

It takes a hot minute for the information to hit as you stare at your friend like a deer in headlights. With an unexpected burst of energy, you break free from Tanya’s hold, almost tripping a few steps away. “My Tanoushka, I'm sho happy you haar!” You cry out and lurch back toward her, showering her with enthusiastic smooches on her cheeks.

Then, in a theatrical whirl, you pop open the purse and jangle your keys in her face. “Jiggly, jiggly. Okiee, goooo, go, go!” you cheer in a wobbly dance, urging Tanya to get back into the car.

With an anxious look on her face, Tanya stands by the open car door. “Alright, phone me once you’re indoors,” she insists, her worried eyes laser-focused on you.

You shoo her away absentmindedly as you stagger toward the complex’s main door. You wrestle with the key, wriggling and twisting it into the lock, but miserably fail to get in the building. “Bad key,” you playfully scold, wagging a finger at the stubborn piece of metal before giving it a light slap. 

Soon after, your fingers impulsively begin to clumsily hit the buttons on the intercom, creating a cacophony of buzzing sounds that echo through the entryway. “O-o-o-pen uuup,” your slurred shouting rings through the intercom. “Shtupidd thaang,” you whine, practically bashing the device.

Out of the chorus of tenant voices that crackle through the speaker almost simultaneously, Alex’s familiar voice stands out.

“Y/N? Y/N is that you?” Hearing the shaky and uncertain voice, Alex doesn’t waste a second. He dashes down the stairwell and swings the entrance door wide open, facing a dishevelled Mia, rocking around about to collapse. 

“Y/N,” he gasps and sprints to you. “What happened? Why are you here?” His brows furrow in confusion as he observes your smudged makeup and dress that’s askew.

You look up at him with a lopsided smile, your eyes all bloodshot and half-lidded. “Alex, my hottieee. I mishhhsed you so muschh!” you exclaim, your sentences meandering as you lounge at him for a sloppy hug.

“Shit, you’re hammered,” he mutters, worry spurs him into action. With superhero speed, he scoops you up, your butt facing upwards, hands hanging loosely off his back. 

Your giggles echo as Alex carries you onto his shoulder with ease, making his way to the lift that leads to his place. In a soft, reassuring whisper, he says, “Don’t worry, baby,” and plants a kiss on your thigh that’s now resting on his chest. “I’ll take care of you,” he adds, giving you a playful spank on the ass. 

Once inside, Alex makes a pitstop in the kitchen for a water bottle while you dangle off his shoulder like a ragdoll, humming nonsense. He heads to the bedroom and gently lays you on the bed, making sure your landing is as comfy as a cloud. 

Kneeling beside you, he begins to delicately take off your high heels, rubbing your legs along the way. “Who needs a napkin when your dress can double as a tissue, right?” he chuckles softly, tracing the dry cake marks on your outfit, unaware of the sugary fight earlier. “You’ve officially introduced ‘cake couture’ to the fashion world,” he teases, trying to bundle you in a blanket like a burrito.

You slowly lift your head from the pillow, your neck muscles tightening with the effort as you stare at him with bleary yet intent eyes. “I want shyour cakey,” you mewl, wriggling under the blanket on a mission to liberate your hands.

You tug on his hoodie, pulling him closer until he loses his balance and topples onto you. Your bodies press together, and your voice comes out in a pleading whine. “Alex?” 

“Yes?” he rasps out, his dark brown eyes flicking down to your lips and then up into your eyes. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble and perk up, slowly grazing your lips against his, eyes shut. 

The strong scent of alcohol wafts from you, but, in that moment, Alex seems beyond minding. His heart races too erratically to care, and his breaths are too jagged and wild to bother. The room seems to shrink for both of you, and he swallows hard.

“No, Y/N,” he snaps, his voice firm and resolute as he jumps up. “I’d never let this happen... not right now... not with you being like this.” He snatches the water bottle from the bedside table, unscrewing it with a sense of urgency.

Slightly dazed, you touch your lips. “Tickles, tickles, ticklish,” you squeak, breaking into soft giggles. In a sudden and wobbly move, you shift position, popping up on your knees on the bed. “Huggies,” you whoop facing him, arms wide open for an embrace.

But, just as quickly, your mood takes a detour, and now you’re wincing, yanking at the fabric of your outfit in frustration, “This dresshh is prison, tightiee,” you grunt, hiking your dress up only to reveal your red panties.

His eyes can’t help but stare down there as he rubs the back of his neck almost compulsively, his breath hitching in his throat. At the sight of you half-naked, the dilemma of whether to give in or resist intensifies, swirling in his mind on end.

“Hold up, I don’t want you catching a cold or something. I’ve got a top you can slip into,” he says, puffing out his words while pacing toward his wardrobe to avoid looking at her.

“Heeey,” you yell with an unexpectedly stern tone that catches him off guard. But, just as swiftly, your face softens into a sweet, almost kiddish smile that instantly cools things off.

You wave Alex over, beckoning him to approach. “Come, come, comeyyy,” you coo. 

You perch next to him again, still rocking that mischievous smile. “It’s a secret, tiny winnie one,” you whisper-shout, pinching your index finger and thumb near your face, closing one eye for added drama. “Just between you and me,” you poke as you emphasise ‘me.’ 

Alex nods as his grin stretches from ear to ear. “Okay…” he chuckles, officially joining your light-hearted moment.

“Shhhhh,” you dramatically hush, squishing your index finger against your lips like you’re sharing classified intel. “Secret-t-t-t.”

Alex snorts. His rolls his lips into his mouth as he lowers his head to hold back a laugh. “My bad, my bad. Go on,” he whispers with exaggerated enthusiasm. He’s clearly having a blast with your goofy antics.

“Don’t tell Alex… Neva eva!” 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he assures you, theatrically raising his finger for a pinky promise. 

You take an unusually long moment to process his gesture and what it represents. A sober person would never… Eventually, you sloth-slowly glance back at him, nonchalantly deciding to give up on the symbolism behind the lifted pinky finger. “He’s the kindestsht… and p-p-prettiest boy I’ve eeeeever met,” you exclaim. Your fingers—guided by intoxicated conviction—clumsily roam over his face, stretching his nostril and trailing down to his bottom lip. 

Your drunken self radiates an innocent sincerity that makes Alex’s heart throb like a hammer. Flattered and charmed by your confession, he gazes at you bashfully.

His warm smile broadens as he keeps on staring and admiring you.

“He’s shhhuper,” you squeal, forming a heart shape with your fingers, peeking at him through it. “Do youse… hic… I should gimme… no… not me… him, give HIM head to say thank yew for treatin' spoooooon good?”

Alex can’t help but crack up, though his cheeks turn rosy—a testament to his shy nature. He cups his chin and narrows his eyes mischievously, like he’s in deep thought. “Hmm, if we’re talking about Alex, your ex...I think you should give him head, BUT,” he exclaims, throwing a finger into the air. 

You gasp, playfully covering your mouth like you’ve heard the most shocking news. Your eyes bulge with feigned surprise. “Beyond all,” he argues, “I think you should totally get back together. He thinks you broke up for something very silly, and he’s dying to be with you.”

You abruptly jerk away from him, gagging as if you’re about to throw up. You feel the blood draining from your face as a wave of distress washes over you.

Alex’s eyes widen with concern as he instinctively rises from the bed, “Off we go to the bathroom,” he insists, rushing to follow you.  

Your nausea takes a sudden turn, and you can’t hold back any longer. Barely making it to the toilet in time, you let it all out. Your body heaves with each retch, and you feel miserable.

Alex, the unsung hero, drops to his knees and chucks the water bottle on the floor. He gently pulls your hair back, creating a makeshift puke-proof barrier. All the while, he rubs your back to make the whole ordeal less horrible.

Then, he’s quick on his feet, grabbing some toilet paper for the post-barf clean-up. As you dab your lips, he hands you the bottle to rinse. “I’m disgustiiing, don’t look,” you grumble, shooing him away as you spit water in the toilet before flushing.

“You’re still a wonder to my eyes,” he whispers, running a hand through your loose hair. “And the timing—you puke just as I suggest we get back together, Y/N” he mocks, adding a sprinkle of humour to the less-than-glamorous moment.

You groan and let your head flop onto the toilet seat. “Ahhh, my moussth feels weird… bruushh,” you mumble, rubbing your lips. 

Alex lifts you up, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Not brushing yet, baby. We’re swishing with some hydrogen peroxide and water to protect the enamel,” he instructs you, preparing the said concoction in a small measuring cup next to you. “Here you go, wash off.”

“Shhh, you’re a niiieeerd,” you whine after spitting the liquid, feeling it sting your tongue. Giggling, you yank at Alex’s hoodie and playfully sway him back and forth, your minty breath fanning his face.

Then, you suddenly stop and fix him right in the eye. “Aleeex?” you whimper, lips pouting.

“Yes, Y/N,” he asks calmly, sweeping a few strands of hair off your face as a half smirk curls up his lips. He enjoys the banter that weaves through your drunken fog.

“Fuck me,” you plead, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. 

Alex’s pulse quickened for a second, held in an irregular rhythm. All the while, your fingertips caress his lower stomach, trying to slip through his trousers and onto his boxers. 

You let go when he clears his throat loudly, a deliberate attempt to regain composure. Breathing heavily, he manages a tight-lipped as he strokes your head, tenderly placing it on his shoulder.

“Ohhh, I knoooow,” your exclaim and sit up, your index finger playfully pressing against your mouth. “I willshh brush me an’ you fuck me.” 

Forty minutes later, you’re done with her hardcore toothbrushing session, complete with a few rounds of gargling mouthwash. Alex hands you a towel with a warm smile. You’re still wobbly but muster a grateful grin.

“Thaaank, yew rock,” you slur, clumsily patting your face dry. 

Alex chuckles, “Better?”

You hum, nodding, but your bleary eyes suddenly light up mischievously. Out of impulse, you slide into the tub, turning the water knob. You start splashing around, water welling up everywhere as you laugh uncontrollably. Alex, caught in the aquatic crossfire, shields himself with his hands.

“What’s the goal? Turning this into a water park?” he jokes, still trying to dodge the watery onslaught. But you’re having none of it. You grip his arm and drag him into the splash party.

Soon, you’re both a wet, tangled mess, laughing like loons, lost in the bliss of the moment. As water skims through the contours of your bodies, there’s a switch in the atmosphere. Amidst the fun chaos, your eyes meet inches away from each other, and the laughter mellows into a shared silence.

Before you realise it, your lips crash in a spontaneous kiss. You spread your legs, letting him wade through and tower over you. Soft moans escape him, and the vibrations against your mouth send delightful shivers down your backbone. You know that’s not just a collision of flesh; it transcends into a harmonious blend of passion and connection.

“I want you, Alex,” you sigh with newfound clarity, miraculously not stumbling over your words in an intoxicating joy for the first time tonight. You push the back of his head to deepen the kiss, your tongues now twisting and twirling in a sensual waltz.

He hungrily gropes handfuls of your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses across the crook of your neck.

“Y/N.. no... stop it,” he protests when your hand ventures down his trousers, rubbing along his growing bulge. Your quivering breaths mingle as he breaks the kiss. Skillfully, he turns off the water as he steps out of the tub. “It’s the alcohol talking now, not you.” 

You frown, clutching on the edges of the tub for balance. “The alcohol has shut up; I speak now,” you groan as you stand on your feet. Your drenched dress clings to your body, outlining your figure. Feeling the weight of the soaked fabric, you decide to free yourself from it. 

You strip down to your panties, and your soft, pink nipples rise like rosebuds in bloom, betraying a quiet anticipation. Alex sucks in a sharp breath as he watches your every move all mesmerised, eyes widening, lips parted.

“Ever seen someone redefine the art of walking a tightrope?” you chirp, water dripping down your half-naked body. Sinking to your knees, you get on all fours and slowly begin to crawl to him.

You sway your hips in a sensuous, almost hypnotic rhythm, eyes fixed on Alex. All the while, you trace a perfectly straight line to him, proving your recovered sobriety. 

Arriving at his pelvic level, you gracefully sit back on your heels with a coy smile, maintaining eye contact. “See?” you whisper, tilting your head as your eyes travel down at his erection. You don’t dare to touch; you just marvel at his full length (realistically speaking).

Staring down at you with a knowing, crooked smirk, he runs his fingers through your damp hair, tenderly petting your head. 

“Someone’s suffering here. Let’s free this big boy, shall we?” you purr, brushing your fingers along his hard rock crotch, feeling it twitch upon touch. 

He quickly nods in despair as if he’s unable to utter a single syllable. You slowly roll down his trousers and boxers. He gasps as you finally take hold of his large shaft.

You push his tip in your mouth, flattening your tongue, and swipe down the underside ridge of his stiff dick, humming in delight. He groans louder than you expected as you slowly work his cock in and out, grazing your fingers over the ridges of his abs under his t-shirt.

You pull him back out of your mouth just to slide all the way back down. He’s practically growling at this point, clasping onto the corners of the sink—his vein-y arms make your sex twice as moist.

You regain your slow, teasing pace just to gauge his reaction. Letting out a whine like he can’t take it anymore, he grips your hair tighter, pushing you all the way down his dick. His head is now building on pressure as it strikes the back of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes. His hair grip loosens as his breaths start escaping him in choked, punchy gasps. 

You’re sucking him whole, from his taint down to his balls, dripping your saliva all over him the harder you draw him into your mouth. Your swollen pussy is tingling for him as you feel him hardening in your mouth, forcing loud moans out of you.

Knowing that your next move will finish him, you slow down again and grab him by the waist, gazing up at him. That’s when you begin to take him in faster and rougher, feeling his hips thrust harder each time. 

And… proven! With the change in speed, he lets out a series of choppy moans only to shoot his hot cum in your mouth right after. He stares down at you breathless, mouth agape, as you gulp down his sweet taste with rapid, eager swallows, savouring his taste with a giggle. 

“My girl,” he rasps out as he picks you up from the floor effortlessly yet almost in a trance, his dick still throbbing in your hands. He peels his t-shirt off, turning you around so you both face the large bathroom mirror.

Positioned behind you, he holds you close and smacks your ass hard, making you squeal with surprise. The squeal soon turns into a moan as the pain fades into pleasure. 

You smile slyly as you observe his muscular hands travelling from your hips all the way up to your waistline and tits. You gasp softly when you feel his erection on your back as his mouth nibbles the flushed skin of your neck, leaving soft love bites in his wake.

“I want you to cum inside me, Alex” you blurt out and take hold of his shaft from behind, slowly sliding the head though your tight moist slit in short thrusts. 

“Oh, yeah,” he grunts, biting his bottom lip as he feels your wet lips wrap around him. He instantly fills his hands with your hard nipples, squeezing and rubbing them as he looks at your reflection. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he mutters against your ear in a low, husky voice before knocking himself deep inside you, balls deep, making you scream. His hands roughly grip your thighs to keep you steady and close to him.

Small sobs leave you as you instinctively grab the ends of the sink, bending over to cope with taking him deeper. “Just there,” you yelp, panting, as he starts pounding harder, your hair twisted around his hand. With each thrust, his sack slaps against your clit, making you lose your shit.

Every time your pussy gets to the base of his cock, you pump into him with an intense tempo and move your hips around, making his cock swirl inside your body.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you cry out with shallow, jagged puffs, rising and resting your head on his shoulder.

He pinches your nipples between his knuckles with one hand while with the other, he starts massaging your clit with circular motions. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper in pure ecstasy as a hot flush courses through you, your cunt aching and begging to release.

“You take in me so well, baby. Give it to me,” he groans, his voice a throaty sensual rasp that makes you shudder.

“Yeees,” you scream, writhing and grinding against him until you feel warm liquid dripping down your legs. 

He keeps riding your orgasm out with you, fucking the liquids in back until he hits his own high. And then it happens—his cum gushing inside you, stuffing you up.

Out of breath, Alex pulls himself out of you, watching his cum leak out. He lazily grins at you, his curls sticking to his head, and you tuck them all back with trembling hands, giggling. 

“This pussy and her owner over here will be the death of me,” he chuckles, gasping for air as he pulls you in for a sloppy, heated kiss.

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

Nuanced and Multifaceted Conflict vs. “Good v. Evil” in fiction

So. This is another thing I’ve wanted to talk about for a while. I promise I won’t always be focusing on Helluva Boss in my critiques, and I actually have quite a few other series I want to talk about.

There’s a big chance that I’ll be saying everything other people have already said, but I can’t help but WANT to talk about this specific character in regard to the story’s conflict. I think that it’s important to recognize when a character is written to be a complex person, and when a character is written to be an enemy to be defeated, and how not following through with your set-up can affect your story.

And HB does that A LOT in my opinion.

So. Let’s get into it. This time I’ll be talking about complex conflict between characters vs. black and white conflict, and I’ll also be touching on story set-ups and audience expectations.

I want to talk about a character who could have really made some of the internal character conflicts have so much more depth and intrigue. I want to talk about Stella Goetia

*as a side note this post is MUCH longer than I intended but I really wanted to get into a lot of the background and reasons for how Stella’s character development has actually completely changed what HB’d story conflict could have looked like. I’ll try and sum up everything in the end in a TLDR for y’all

So. Most of the reviews of her character I see talk about how she’s been “ruined” by the writing team revealing that she’s always been very abusive towards Stolas

I have to start off by saying I actually don’t think that Stella or her portrayal was “ruined” by the writing direction her character has been taken in.

In fact, this critique bothers me, because it doesn’t really get to what I think the actual root of why people are disappointed in Stella’s characterization, and the type of conflict that now exists between her and Stolas.

The main reason I believe people are unsatisfied with Stella is because they believed that her character was being set up for a complex and nuanced conflict between her and Stolas, and then that turned out not to be the case.

A quick disclaimer- I do think it’s possible to subvert audience expectations about story and characters in a satisfying way. But it has to be done in a way that respects the audiences intelligence and willingness to think about the story.

If your plot-twist, unreliable narrator, subversion, or what-have-you is done well, the audience should be able to either figure out what’s going based on the little information you’ve given them, and if they don’t, the change or subversion should still make sense and CLICK in hindsight.

Otherwise, your subversion will end up feeling cheap or confusing. Or worse, like a lie.

And this is one of the MAIN issues I think people have with Stella.

As the audience, we were NOT given enough information on her or her character before it’s revealed that she’s just “evil” and always has been, apparently since she was a literal child.

Again, I don’t think it’s an inherently bad decision to have a flat or pure evil villain. I’m fine with Stella being one, even if it’s less interesting to me personally.

But it’s definitely very different from what was initially implied and set-up, and the audience can pick up on that.

Before S2E1 “The Circus” we see Stella a total of 3 times in person, with one time being a flashback.

I’m going to go over those times to analyze if anything set-up in Stella’s appearances points towards her being. Well, totally and irredeemably awful and abusive I guess.

The very first time we see Stella is in the same bed with Stolas—Octavia calls for her parents, both Stolas AND Stella. Stella grumbles and refuses to get up and tells Stolas to go. This doesn’t immediately strike me as a sign of her being a terrible person. That exact scenario is present in a lot of family comedies, kids’ movies, and sitcoms.

Nothing about this screams that Stella is a terrible parent or an abusive partner to me. It just tells me she’s tired and doesn’t want to get up, which again, is not uncommon.

The next time we see her, she’s yelling at Stolas, and she throws a servant at him in anger.

Now, there’s no excuse for this, her behavior here is not okay, regardless of her feelings. But we understand why she’s acting the way she is--she’s furious with Stolas for cheating on her. At this point with the information we have, it’s also very reasonable to believe her feelings have been hurt.

Later Octavia talks about how her parents didn’t used to hate each other, and the way Stolas’ tries to explain their failing marriage to her comes across like his relationship with Stella is one that’s always had difficulties that they have tried and failed to overcome.

None of this information is enough to really convey or hint that Stella is and has always been abusive or evil. It shows that Stella and Stolas have a very rough relationship, and that Stella most likely has anger management difficulties, but you have to do lot of extra work to come to the conclusion that Stella is completely at fault here.

The next time we see her though, things have clearly escalated, because it’s revealed that she’s one that hired Striker to assassinate Stolas.

Now. Usually. Yeah. That would be a HUGE red flag. And I mean. It still obviously is.

But, and I never thought I’d use this uno reverse card, this is one of the few times where the explanation of “But it’s hell, what did you expect???” actually makes sense to me.

Because yeah, it is hell. It’s the end of episode 5 when we learn this, and our protagonists have killed and assassinated multiple people. Taking a hit out on people really doesn’t seem to be that uncommon of a thing in hell.

Even the next scene after the reveal that Stella is the one who hired Striker makes light of how serious this is, by showing that Stella was basically yelling her assassination plot right to Stolas’ face.

This is played for laughs! I genuinely am not sure if the writers intended for this to be foreshadowing of Stella’s abuse or not because if so, they turned her attempting to kill her husband into a joke!

If you cannot keep your themes or tone consistent, how is the audience supposed to follow your story?

There is subtle storytelling, and then there’s tacking information and character points later on in your writing. And this can have two causes.

Either your audience has to do the work of story-telling for you and make up their own reasons for what’s happening to make the story coherent OR they will be disappointed and dissatisfied by the final product.

I think that’s the main reason why S2E1 of Helluva Boss felt so jarring story-wise, and why Stella, to me at least, suddenly felt like a brand new character.

Like I haven’t been this confused by a character being suddenly evil since Hans from Frozen.

(like seriously why the hell did they put this scene in if not to just trick the audience. This isn’t giving us any plot info it’s only giving us contradictory info on his character. Like I talked about before, Hans’ heel-face-turn doesn’t feel like a twist. It feels like a lie.)

Okay so, how does any of this actually affect anything? Who cares if Stella is evil, that doesn’t automatically make the story bad!

Well. Yeah, of course not. Ironically, having the main conflict your story being a battle between “Good v. Bad” characters is neither good nor bad. It’s just a story decision. And ultimately at the end of the day, the writers of Helluva Boss can choose to tell their story however they’d like.

But, depending on how this is executed, good v evil stories can be a lot less interesting than morally grey or complicated conflicts and characters.

I am more interested in the version of the story where Stella and Stolas are imperfect and messy people. I am more interested in the story where Stolas has an affair to escape being in an arranged marriage, and Stella overreacts by arranging a hit on her husband (unless calling out a hit is normal in hell, but we can’t know b/c there is no baseline for what is considered normal in hell)

I am so much more interested in the story where Stolas and Stella are both depicted as being in the wrong, as being incredibly hurt by each other’s actions, and as not knowing how to repair their broken relationship for the sake of their daughter.

That story feels very real to me. It’s one I want to engage and invest in.

I want to see if these characters can grow to accept their mistakes and learn and change for the sake of Octavia and having to co-exist with each other, or if they’ll slip back into mutual destruction and toxicity.

But that’s not the story we’ll get to see, because it seems like the writers are more interested in keeping Stolas from having to grow as a character. And because of that, Stella has been turned into an evil obstacle that must be defeated, instead of a nuanced and real person.

I also feel like I have to say. I know I would be MUCH less frustrated by this if I hadn’t seen an HB crew member talking about how their show is similar to Bojack Horseman.

Because. It’s just not. I’m sorry, I’m not saying that to be mean, or condescending, or rude, but the way characters are written in Helluva Boss is almost completely black and white at this point.

Regardless of the writer’s intent, the vast majority of the choices they have made in Season 2 come off as explanations to excuse the protagonist’s mistakes, and give them a “get out of being potentially in the wrong” free card.

Compared to the writing decisions in Bojack, which almost always has characters confront their wrongdoings, for better or worse, HB honestly feels like it’s the Anti-Bojack.

It would take a TON of character development and time to make HB’s characters as interesting, fleshed-out, and as real as Bojack’s are, and at this point that’s I don’t think it will ever happen.

Again. Having black and white conflict is FINE. It is a choice in story telling that can be done very effectively. But if you are making a black and white story where one side is always terrible and evil, and one side can do no wrong, you can’t act like you’ve written something that is deeper and more emotionally complex and grey than that.

And the first time the writers gave Stella more than 3 sentences to string together, they made it very clear that any chance of her being a more complex and engaging character was being tossed out the window.

————

TLDR:

The main reason people are upset about Stella being shown as abusive in S2E1 of HB is probably because the initial depictions of her didn’t give us enough information on her character to tell that she was just evil/a terrible person.

The way the story was written in S1 to set up the possibility of a very interesting and complex conflict between Stella and Stolas, and when it was revealed that she’s just. The worst. There were people that were disappointed by this, because they expected more.

Audiences actually aren’t idiots, and when you subtly foreshadow something and then completely change things, that can be frustrating.

It’s MORE than okay to write a straightforward good v evil story, but it depending on the way it’s written and executed, it may not be as interesting to mature audiences as a more morally grey story would be.

If you can’t write characters confronting their flaws and being in the wrong, please don’t compare your writing to Bojack, I mean. C’mon.

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

Filmmakers are really sleeping on the potential of portraying Caesar and Cleopatra's affair as a black comedy:

14-year-old King Ptolemy accidentally makes 52-year-old Julius Caesar cry by handing him a severed head as a "Welcome to Egypt!" present

Caesar is now in the incredibly awkward position of trying to get a teenage king to kiss and make up with his sister/wife instead of warring against her

Oh yeah Caesar you just walked into a civil war and now you're surrounded by 500,000+ Egyptians who want you dead WHOOPS

Said sister/wife pops out of laundry bag and immediately wins Caesar's favor by being A) a responsible adult, b) literally Cleopatra, and C) the only person in this country that isn't trying to kill him or hand him severed heads

She's still trying to murder her brother-husband though let's not get too wild lol

Anyway Caesar and Cleopatra sleep together and her 14-year-old brother-husband finds out the next morning and hits the fucking roof

Congratulations Caesar you found the one way to make this situation so much worse

I don't want to know how many complexes that poor child must have

Ptolemy sics his army on the Romans but claims to know nothing about it. Caesar is not fooled but humors him because 1) the kid is 14 and 2) Caesar is still trying to get Ptolemy and Cleopatra to be a normal non-murdery couple. Even though he's still sleeping with Cleo. Yeah.

Cleo and Ptolemy react about as well as you would if you were told to marry your sibling

Ptolemy sends his army after Caesar and now the 4,000 Romans have to hold out against the entire Egyptian army and 500,000+ furious Alexandrians

Did I mention Caesar is also asking Cleo's family for money

Yeah he needs it to pay for the other civil war he's procrastinating on

His enemies still have an army. Caesar's just ignoring them.

Caesar is still trying not to strangle a small child, and won't let Ptolemy or Cleo kill each other in front of him, so the three of them just. Live together for a while. Along with Cleo's 15-year-old sister Arsinoe, who is also trying to kill Caesar and Cleopatra, and her other brother Ptolemy, who's 11 and just trying not to die.

Dinner that night is so horribly awkward that Arsinoe and her tutor yeet outta there and take over the Egyptian army

Caesar now has to Go To Work™️(War) every day and try not to get killed by a teenage girl and a schoolteacher

Said teenage girl is shockingly good at fighting and in one battle Caesar gets beat so bad he has to jump off a boat and swim to shore and loses his Favorite Red Cape

Caesar comes home that night looking like a wet rat and has to explain why the Library of Alexandria is on fire and stop Cleopatra and Ptolemy from trying to shank each other again

Forget the movie. I want a whole sitcom dedicated to the sheer absurdity of this situation.

Various bullcrap ensues, Caesar gets rescued by the son of Mithridates (THAT Mithridates) of all people, Cleo's brother-husband turns up dead and Arsinoe is captured, and Caesar takes a much-needed vacation with Cleo. For several months. Then strolls back into Italy to discover Rome is on fire, people thought he was dead, and oh yeah there's still a ROMAN CIVIL WAR going on

Oops

[lullabyes22-blog]

FnF Characters in an Acting AU + Shipping AMV Reactions

For you @frostybearpaws

<3

Mel: Former model. Not just any model, mind you. We're talking Iman or Naomi Campbell levels of powerhouse. She is the muse for a dozen fashion brands, from Versace to St. Laurent. Fluent in a half-dozen languages. Has an MA in art history. A prodigy at piano and harpsichord. Her social media is sublime eye candy; she is lauded as a style icon, and highly sought after by Vanity Fair and Vogue for covers.

Champions tirelessly for better roles for black women in TV and film. Outspoken advocate of the #MeToo movement. Passionately antiwar, and works with a number of educational advocacy groups. Has even made a formal speech before Congress.

re: the AMVs - "Oh this is delightfully done." Flattered by the passionate responses of fans, and amused by the spirited fanbase split between Meljay and Melco. When asked who she ships: "Meljay, I'm afraid. Silco has his charming qualities. But Mel needs someone who will prioritize her, and only her."

Violet: Relative newcomer. Mostly typecast in sporty 'tough chick' roles. Had a big breakout role in a "Bend it Like Beckham" type early 2000s film. The scriptwriters chickened out with a heteronormative ending, but fans latched on to all the queer subtext in film. She's got a huge Insta following, due to her popularity in the fandom, her status as an LGBTQ+ icon, or her being an ex-pro athlete.

She's a big proponent for more diverse representation in pop culture. She also has a degree in gender studies, and is an avid fanfiction reader. She's even written some smutty one-shots of her own <3

re: the AMVs: "Wow. Just... wow." Speechless at how horny y'all are.  Like, off the chains horny. And she's totally not judging. At all. But... "Damn. Take a cold shower, guys."

Sssh. She ships CaitVi too.  And she agrees the Nao arc was uncalled for. "Idk what the writers were thinking. Vi would never cheat on Cait. Even if they did break up." </3

Jayce: Child actor who was thrust into the limelight after starring in a 1990s sitcom. It was cancelled, but ended up having a massive cult following. His last big project was the 2000s comedy flick, "Freaks of Zaun," which, despite a critical drubbing, remains a favorite of the genre. He's kind of a douche irl, but fans are still super into him. He's also an influencer, and runs a successful YouTube channel where he posts workout routines, travel vids, and other lifestyle-adjacent stuff.

Huge fanboy of his own character, and never shuts up about him.

re: the AMVs: "You know what? I kinda get it. These are pretty good." Is a little miffed at the whole "Jayce is an idiot" meme.  “Look, he's a fucking scientist. I don't think a stupid guy could pull off the invention of Hextech." He also doesn't appreciate the ship wars, especially when it gets into toxic territory. "C'mon, guys. It's acting. There are no actual relationships. Don't turn this into a hatefest."

Has gotten cancelled once already. He's since learned not to touch that particular can of worms.

Ships MelJay and tolerates JayVik. Blanches at the mention of JayCo.

Jinx: Total newbie to the industry. Was a former gymnast, and an Olympian in the making. A torn meniscus put her out of the competition. Her agent, who'd been trying to convince her to switch to acting, seized the opportunity to get her in front of the camera. She's never had a day's training. But she's a natural. Her energy is infectious, and her charm is unmatched. A real sweetheart, too. Loves dogs and is a vegan. Advocates tirelessly for animal rights.

re: the AMVs: Shrieking at the first video like a kid in a candy shop. "Is this real? How do I join?" The first to suggest livestreaming the cast's reactions. She's not a fan of shipping wars, but has a live-and-let live attitude. Will scroll through instagram liking any video or post that has #Timebomb in the tag - her favorite ship, btw. She also likes Melco, Sevilco and JayVik.

But not Cait/Vi. Or Jinx/Silco.

"Just... yuck."

(CaitVi shippers accuse her routinely of homophobia. She's not homophobic. She's ace-aro. She's just finds the CaitVi pairing boring.)

Sevika: A rising star, and a fan favorite. She was a former MMA fighter before an accident left her with a paralyzed left arm. She'd been content to go the rest of her life as a trainer, until a talent scout noticed her. She was cast as a supporting character in a cop procedural. It ran three seasons, but her charisma made her a longstanding fandom icon. Audiences in FnF have been clamoring for more screen time, and the writers have been accommodating. Rumor has it that they're working on an origin story arc, where she'll be the main character.

re: the AMVs: "How'd this become a thing? You're all fucking weird." Has an opinion on every video. Doesn't hold back. Her reviews are highly anticipated, and fans love her blunt commentary. She doesn’t ship anyone. But she will like any MelCo tags that cross her Twitter feed.

Not because she thinks they're hot, but because she hates Jayce, and thinks it'd be fun to watch him suffer.

Married IRL to Mel, whom she met on set<3

Caitlyn: Nepo baby. Her parents were both Academy Award-nominated actors, who met while filming a romcom. They've had an on-again, off-again relationship for the last thirty years. Cait has been in the industry her whole life, and acting professionally since she was five. Her resume is filled with romantic comedies and period pieces. She's been compared to Audrey Hepburn, and is considered a classic Hollywood beauty. Originally, she was cast in the role of Nandi, opposite "young" Silco. But the Vekauran community derided the casting as whitewashing, and her chemistry with young Silco was totally lacking. She was recast as Vi's romantic interest, and the rest is history.

She's a huge fan of CaitVi, and is known for her frequent appearances at Comic Con. Always happy to pose with cosplayers of her character. She also has a penchant for weird memes.

re: the AMVs: Has a very strict rule about never Googling her name. Opts out of the shipping wars, too. "If it makes people happy, who am I to judge?"

Vander: Former action star, and a fan favorite. Played a superhero vigilante in the late 80s. Known for his iconic lines: "We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way." He had a string of hit films before the industry shifted away from the genre. His career suffered, and he found himself typecast in a string of poorly-received knock-offs of his old films. His final movie tanked at the box office, and he nearly threw in the towel. But his manager convinced him to audition for the show.

He and Silco are known for their on-screen chemistry, and were the subject of a lot of "Are they?" questions. In an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, Vander even stated, "Look, I'd do Silco. It's no secret." Which caused quite the stir on the internet. Sources still aren’t sure if he meant the actor or the character.

He's a huge fan of the show, and a proud member of the fandom. He ships Jinx & Silco, but as platonic soul-family. He's also a CaitVi and Timebomb fan.

re: the AMVs: "Aww, this is cute." He's the most positive out of the bunch.  Is a bit weirded out by the fan obsession with his love life. "I mean, I'm flattered, really. But c'mon, guys. I have a husband." Is super active on Twitter, and frequently replies to fans.

Viktor: Little-known actor from a small country in Eastern Europe. He'd been an up-and-coming romantic hero, guest-starring in a popular soap opera. When a visa snafu kept him from appearing on the show, he was replaced. But the fans revolted. They loved the character, and didn't want to see him gone. The studio listened, and after he found good legal representation, he was able to secure a permanent work visa and keep the role.

Very sweet and reserved; he's not really into social media, or even the internet.

re: the AMVs: Totally geeking out over them. Has a huge crush on Jinxtor, but doesn't realize it's a no-no in the USA as Jinx is 18, and Viktor is 34. He enjoys JayVik as both a scienbros dynamic and as a romantic couple.

Favorite ship is SkyVik. He's even collaborated with a few AMV creators on Youtube on a whole collection of SkyVik videos.

"It's a tragic love story, no?"

Silco: Indie darling. He was a teen star in the early 80s, and garnered a small but loyal fanbase. His first film was a horror flick, where he played a troubled runaway who'd been possessed by a demon. The raw animalism of the performance garnered him a Golden Globe nomination, and his subsequent projects had a similar gothic flair. He's also starred in a number of subversive art house films. His breakout role was the dissolute vampire king in the cult classic, "Blood for Blood" - for which he snagged an Oscar nod.

IRL he's a vocal advocate for unionization, and regularly attends protests in support of worker's rights. Conversely, he's also a vocal proponent of capital punishment.

re: the AMVs: Is mystified at first. Then intrigued. Then appreciative. "This is quite good. The editing. The cinematography. The music. It's not all amateurish, as one might expect." Mostly, he's a silent observer. Always watching, and seldom commenting. A veritable mystery.

He ships CaitVi, but only for the aesthetic. Jilco gets a raised eyebrow and a headshake. Vanco gets a crooked smile. Sevilco, and he'll actually chuckle.

"You are a strange, strange people."

His favorite ship is Melco. Largely because he and Mel had a fling irl during his tenure on the show.

Ekko: Hearthrob of the fanbase. He's an influencer, and runs a YouTube channel where he reviews tech toys and gadgets. His fans are mostly teens, and he has an adorable 'too cool for school' schtick. He's a huge nerd, though, and is actually a prodigy when it comes to mechanical engineering. His parents were scientists, and he was homeschooled his whole life. He got his first TV role by winning a game show, where he had to create a prototype toy that would be marketed and sold to kids.

He's also the funniest out of the cast. And he knows it. Always quick with a zinger, and can turn even the most awkward situation into a comedy routine.

re: the AMVs: Cracks up over the first few videos. Then becomes an avid fan of the whole genre. Has a soft spot for Timebomb, but he and Jinx are friends irl, so he doesn't want to make things weird. Comes up with his own random ships to troll the fanbase.

Ekko/Vi - "A disaster. Imagine how awkward that would be."

Ekko/Mel - "She's totally out of his league. But I'm down to see how it would go."

Ekko/Sevika - "Now, that would be something. She is one hot mama."

Ekko/Jayce - "I'd top him. There, I said it."

Ekko/Cait - "She's totally a virgin. She'd die."

Ekko/Silco - "Fuck this guy, amirite? Literally."

[mrsmarlasinger]

The surreal thing about the Titan submersible: unless someone pulls off a miraculous last-minute rescue, when we all wake up tomorrow, those five men will be dead.

I mean, assuming they haven't already hyperventilated the last of their oxygen or imploded in a hull failure event.

It's currently June 22nd, 1:48 AM, MDT. If they're still alive, they will not be within the next...what, three hours? Give or take. And it would take hours to get the sub to the surface if it were found miles underwater, so if it's at the bottom of the sea, that really gives the rescuers...I don't know, like, maybe an hour to pull off the impossible?

These men are about to cross the event horizon.

When the banging sounds were first reported, it blew my fucking mind. I'd been certain that they were dead already, or that if they weren't, they would be soon. Without question. Then came this bizarre, impossible glimmer of hope. And I thought, if those sounds really were occurring at thirty-minute intervals, if it really was the Titan passengers, then maybe—maybe—they had a chance.

But they just...don't. Let's be realistic: they're about to die. We know this. We know for a fact that their time is about to run out.

And I know people are angry about the Missing White Woman Syndrome feel of it all. It would make for such on-the-nose satire. Five wealthy men have the world on pins and needles; where was that energy when hundreds of refugees drowned off the coast of Greece a week ago?

It frustrates me that I'm so invested in the Titan sub. It's like the entire incident was orchestrated for the sole purpose of grabbing attention (of course I don't believe that's the case). The very premise of the sub is tauntingly ridiculous—so very blatantly an expensive suicide. I saw someone compare it to an Onion article, and it IS.

The shitty video game controller, the ominous waiver, Stockton Rush's portentous comments (hell, even his name), the toilet sat right in front of that tiny dollhouse window. The absurd price tag paired with a history of failed dives and an OceanGate employee fired and sued years ago for raising safety concerns.

God, it's so dumb. It's so so fucking dumb. In real life, what we'd call "foreshadowing" is really just actions→consequences. But still. Still. It reads like sitcom writers setting the dominos for a season finale, tirelessly working to maximize memeability so we can all point and laugh with our popcorn.

The sheer pointless, brainless, wasteful extravagance of it all makes it easy to forget how horrific and tragic the ordeal really is. It grants us some strange permission to rubberneck.

And, well, who wouldn't want to rubberneck? The drama. Horror movie levels of repulsion. Any fear you can imagine—the dark, the cold, the ocean, suffocation, confined spaces, death—all wrapped into one perfect, cinematic nightmare. It's a black comedy: dumbassery punished by a fate we don't, shouldn't, wish even on billionaires.

Then, of course, there is the deadline. Pun not intended.

That, I think, is what's really gripped us. The limited oxygen supply is a countdown, a ticking time bomb. Ten minutes left in the movie—can the protagonist pull off a daring escape in time?

God, I know I sound like one of those crisis actor conspiracy theorists, but you couldn't manufacture a more gripping story if you tried. That hard figure we've seen in every news article: 96 hours. Ninety-six hours to save the day.

Can you see the Netflix docudrama now? The cuts to a black screen with the remaining number of hours emblazoned in the center? "If we don't find that sub tonight, those men are dead," some intrepid rescuer says...a split second of grave silence...then the scene goes black, except for a line of heavyweight white text that reads, in all caps, "SIX HOURS REMAINING." Next we'll see a heart-wrenchingly candid conversation between the passengers, for character development.

You know Channel 5 is airing a documentary about the Titan in the UK tomorrow. Tonight, actually, since I guess it's technically Thursday morning. The countdown was so hard-set, ITN calculated the exact hour at which they could broadcast their production. The perfect moment for them to capitalize on that post-curtains melancholy we all get at the end of a movie.

It's crass, but fascinating, too. Is ITN going to acknowledge their production timeline by leaving the documentary's ending ambiguous, a choice which will ring bittersweet when aired in the aftermath of the inevitable deaths? Will they scramble to concoct an ending in those mere hours after the passengers asphyxiate? Have they already made two endings: one in case of a miracle, and one in case of a tragedy? Any answer is soulless.

But all of this is soulless. The Titan is our gladiator fight, our bread and circuses. Still, I can't stop staring, because I cannot wrap my head around it. It's 3:30 AM now. Within hours, they will be dead, sure as an execution.

Few news stories come with such a grim deadline. Almost always it's a nail-biting rescue whose twists and turns we follow until some hitherto-unpredictable endpoint; or a sprawling clusterfuck of tragedy trailed by aftermath upon aftermath; or a search for a missing person that eventually meanders into a quiet presumption of death.

The certainty blows my mind—the finality of it, the tragedy of it, is incomprehensible. It doesn't feel real. Why do I care so much? Those men were dead from the start (if not literally, then certainly figuratively). Why do I keep reading about it, posting about it? Why can't I stop watching the car wreck smolder? What am I doing still standing in the street?

I hate that I fell prey to the submarine story like everyone else with an internet connection. But whatever deity may or may not exist got bored, I guess, and crafted the dramedy-action-horror hybrid of the year. Even wove in little cliffhangers (the banging! On the sonobuoys! There's still time!) to string us along like a damn HBO producer.

It gets me, man.

It's 4:00 AM, MDT. I guess it's really over, huh? I know 96 hours was never an exact deadline, but let's not be idealistic here.

I hope it was quick. I hope they imploded in a single terrible instant.

I hope the next sunken boat of six hundred refugees wins as much attention as the Titan did.

I hope Netflix doesn't make that docudrama with the black screen and the all-caps line of heavyweight white text.

I hope we sleep. I hope I sleep. I hope we all can sleep.

[lifewithaview]

Dylan Moran in "Black Books" (2000–2004) Manny's First Day

S1E2

Bernard wakes up to discover that he has a new employee for his book shop, who infuriatingly has great skill at selling books. While Bernard is reluctant to keep him on, Fran makes her feelings clear on the matter.