#oh yes. and taskmaster lives

[trickster-archangel]

Ok, I was trying to add @imomnba-x07 tags

and thinking how possibly fit this guy, who's the perfect choice for the role as an agent on the inside, AND Bucky, because of course @samwontshare is right and they wrote the role then added Bucky because Bucky = screaming fans = 💰💰💰💰💰

And I saw it. Simple. So simple and beautiful.

Look, let me walk you through an hypothetical? Can I walk you through an hypothetical?

So, let's sadly scratch this guy because he doesn't make the ovaries of the screaming fans' explode like Bucky does. Let's stick to Bucky as Congressman. BUT!!

But seriously. Regularly elected, he wants to make a difference from the inside, change the world like Sam said, live a life of peace and abandon war. You know, like he said he would. It's called character development and consistency. He works from the inside with the other side of the government not aligned with Valentina, he talks smoothly, he infiltrates seamlessly, he gathers intel effortlessly....you know, like if he had been some sort of elite spy 🤔 BUT!

When it’s time to ride or die, and go across oceans and continents (how the fuck did he even get to the destroyed base in time, by motorbike, if it was in another continent???) to collect his evidence (the three rats who escaped the ship, minus Bob, plus the alcoholic dad), he stays where the fuck he's supposed to stay, keeping an eye, debriefing his allies, preparing the ground, being a leader...

And he sends on mission the only other one who could subdue those people, his new begrudgingly collaborating ally who has a fierce need to take revenge on Val, and who's already on place, and can operate immediately without unexplained time-and-space-jumps. Who? HER.

THE FUCK YOU BOTHER TO INTRODUCE SUCH A COOL BADASS CHARACTER, A TRAUMATIZED AND ABUSED VICTIM WHO NEEDS HER CHANCE AT REDEMPTION TOO, ONLY TO KILL HER WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES???

Plus, Bucky has already concluded his path of redemption and acceptance, Bucky’s already healing, thanks to Sam and all the friends he's gathered around. He doesn’t need to "redeem himself" or "find a family" because HE'S ALREADY THERE AND HAS BEEN FOR FOUR YEARS!

Antonia needs her arc, though. So let's say she hadn't die, had somehow slipped out of their field of vision while they fought because fuck Valentina, I'm not dying here, and she's well on her way back when Bucky, on Mel's call, reaches her and offers a trade.

Everything then goes as planned, Antonia can totally ride that bike because, you know, Taskmaster....and she's the one facing Sentry, which is even cooler because she can mirror him!! While Bucky looked like a complete and uncoordinated imbecile!! She can save people on the streets, she can tell the others to reach Yelena (whom she knows better than Bucky does!) in the Void, she can faces her demons (Bucky didn’t need it again nor anymore!), and she can finally find her own family in this ragtag team of misfits and start healing.

Cut to Valentina trying to frame them as the New Avengers.....but BAM! Enter Congressman Barnes and Captain America!!! And smooth Bucky just goes No Ms. De Fontaine, WE don't really think so...actually, let me introduce you the first members of the New Avengers team Sam Wilson, Captain America, is already assembling.

Enter Joaquín Torres aka Falcon, maybe Shang-Chi, maybe Rhodey aka War Machine, Scott Lang aka Antman (a two minute cameo for these people wouldn't send Marvel bankrupt right??), the police takes Valentina away live on TV, and Sam turns to Yelena and says So...the Thunderbolts, right? and grins, Yelena groans, Sam glares at Walker, then continues, Guess we'll have to find a common ground if we want to collaborate. We want to collaborate, right? With what is coming, we'll need all the help and the skills we can get. Welcome into the Avengers, if you want. And Yelena, timidly then more confidently, shakes the hand Sam is offering her.

On camera. Live. People boom into applause and flashes inundate them. Bucky smiles. He found his purpose, away from battles.

We can still have that pcs in the Avengers tower, but with Sam puttering around and Congressman Barnes making a mess with the takeout, if you really need to keep that embarrassing scene. But don't worry, Bob makes the dishes so he can take care of the arm and the shirt too!

You know....like A REAL FAMILY.

You could have replaced Bucky with literally anyone and it wouldn’t have changed a single thing about the movie and it probably would have made more sense. 😒

[aeolianblues]

I’ve only just watched the first episode of the new Taskmaster today, and the thing is, everyone’s rightfully cracking up at John’s line about the 2 hours spent working out health and safety and insurance with the producers, it’s very funny, but it genuinely took me a little while to remember how funny it is. It’s the John exposure. As a regular listener to the Elis and John radio shows over the years, you just know that this is genuinely how John is. He’ll mention—and probably even get excited to go over the nerdy details of what counts in the car insurance, I can swear he’s done that on Radio X before. He’s the guy that will do an hour long standup special concerning slotted spoons (with a side of anxiety). He’s wildly funny, but to listeners of the Elis and John shows, this is just Friday afternoon.

[igotanidea]

Boss bitch and a princess: JT x reader

Summary: grumpy and sunshine trope with a little twist :)

***

The sun shining though the windows were quite surprising, if not shocking, occurrence in Gotham. Most of the citizens were used to constant rain, fog and misery surrounding them from every corner of the place. Therefore, the sight of a nice weather, for once was about to make some people content and energetic, finally getting the motivation to do some work and move on in their lifes.

Y/n was not one of those people.

It seemed like everything she did, was thrive in the October like atmosphere. Not because of the charming cosy autumn mood, but because she was cold and ruthless. She didn't give a damn about sun, butterfly, girly dresses and all that feminine stuff. Which obviously didn't mean she was a tomboy. Things like clothes and makeup just didn't took much space in her mind, she was acing them effortlessly and efficiently.

Exactly.

Efficiency.

That was definitely one of her favourite words and most definitely her life motto. Deal with shit, break the obstacles and if you cannot go though the doors, go though a window.

A taskmaster, if you may. A corporate rat. Ambitious, ruthless and unapologetic.

She woke up alone in her bed, just like every morning, immediately starting her routine of a few yoga poses, five minutes of meditation, ten minutes of setting her priorities for the day and getting into the right mindset.

She made herself a healthy breakfast and took a taxi to work.

The second she entered the building, her assistant caught up with her reminding y/n of the daily schedule, meetings, briefings and points on the checklist.

Obviously at the end of the day everything and then some was done. Including reprimanding her subordinates about being lazy and uncompetent.

In a mood she went home.

Opening the door.

"Hi baby." a little hoarse voice came from the kitchen.

"Jason!" she cried out happily, immeditely throwing her bitch boss attitude out the window. "You're back!" in a blink of an eye she was in his arms, kissing all over his face, hugging him and turning into a little ball of fluff, knowing her boyfriend was back.

"Whoa! Easy tiger!" Jason laughed wrapping arms around her waist.

"I was so worried when you weren't here in the morning!" she did not calm down even a notch. "I was thinking that something happened and -"

"I'm almost sure you just went on with your high corporate day and attitude without giving me a second thought, didn't you?" he teased, boping her nose.

"Hey, that's-" she started, his words strking her chords

"True?" he cut her off raising an eyebrow.

"Not fair!"

"But still true?' he pressed further and the roll of her eyes alongside with a pout gave him all the answers he needed. "don't do that or it will stay. would be a shame to waste such a pretty face, princess." he put one finger over her chin and lifter it out so she was forced to look into his eyes.

"You know exactly why I'm blocking it..." she whispered, getting a little nostalgic "I can't--"

"I know, I know. You've said it a million times. Emotions in your line of work are a deathbed." Jason mocked a little, empasising the fact that his beloved girlfriend had a tendency to overreact sometimes.

"It's true! You know it;s true! If any on my employees knew--"

"That you are soft for a guy?"

"That I have feelings!"

"Oh no! Look at you, you;re human and not a robot! How will you live with that?"

"And that's coming from a walking dead." she muttered, crossing arms over her chest and stepping away. "I hate you…"

Not for long though, when he reached for her in a practised move and pressed his lips to her ear.

"No, you don't princess..." his lips ghosted over her temple

"Yes I do...?"

"Really? Do you?" he moved to kiss her neck, softly, but teasingly "Cause the way you shivering right now make me think otherwise."

"Jason--"

"I know, I know... you love me so much my little grumpy." the grip on her waist tightened and he pulled her closer. "You've been lonely and that's the reason for the sourpuss mood, isn't it? Let me make it up to you..." another argument making her melt took a form of running hands all over her back, from the shoulders and down to the rear.

"You know what I like..." she responded with a hint of mischief in her voice.

"that I do..." he scooped her in his arms and carried her to the couch.

***

Half an hour later Y/N was splayed on the couch with the face mask on, hair freshly washed by Jason himself and her legs on his lap, having full control of the remote. In her own belief, this was the greatest torture she could impose on her boyfriend.

Little did she know, that is was his greatest pleasure.

Pampering her in all the million little ways. Using the most mundane, tiniest example of self-care (or rather boyfriend's care) as a way to spend time with her and have multiple excuses to touch and feel her close. Not that he needed excuses, but getting her to agree to this softness was not always easy, given her charcter.

Even that had to be somewhat productive.

But once she did agree?

Hours.

She would be glued to the spot for hours, letting him please her, comb her hair, apply skin care products on her face and body.

Finally sheding her work attitude.

Becoming his princess once more, cause with him - her deeply hidden, secretive sensitive part was safe.

[pandaroboto]

Taskmaster Recording Report

This will be a long post and it has spoilers, so proceed with caution. More after the cut.

I will put in two different sections, what happened on warm-up and between takes and what they cut from the episode and I remember. WARM UP

Greg told people to stop sending sexy DMs because he would disappoint all the ladies/some guys.

He introduced Alex who came to the stage and hugged Greg's...knees?

Greg told the audience Alex was a master and could mimic any animal doing a dance style. He did a guinea pig first and it was the cutest thing, then a wolf (there is a picture of this that was used on a press release) and then a lion. When Greg asked about a dance style I yelled SAMBA with all my strength and then I saw Alex trying to samba as a lion. It was amazing.

Mark Olver asked who came from furthest to watch it and I raised my hand and said Brazil and he said BULLSHIT, you didn't come here just for that. I then explained I also was going to see Tim Key in Cardiff the next day and he was like "Oh..she did came here just for that then"

Again British people can't understand my name so I was referred as "Brazil" for the rest of the afternoon

I was also questioned about how do I watch the show and I quickly replied Youtube .

He made me list my favorite contestants to see if I could stay in the country. I tried to think which contestants were on the YouTube series uploaded. I then said Bob Mortimer, Mike Wozniak and Mark Watson (Alex smiled a bit when I said his name). Olver went " I can't believe someone in Brazil was watching the Woz fart a pile"

When I was telling I am from Brazil Alex waved at me and I was sure he knew who I was because long story short a bunch of friends really made me feel special and got me a signed book by Alex and he knew I was going to be there after travelling for 14+ hours.

At that point Greg said "Did you come for me???" and I pathetically went YES Y ES YES. He waved at me and IDK till today how I survived this.

They joked about a guy being first row and not being a fan,Mark asked who he had to fuck to get those seat and greg was pointing to himself.

They said we were clapping at the wrong places and that would confuse Alex and Greg

After the recording when I got back to London randomly meet Asim Chaudhry on Leceister Square. He was so sweet. We chatted a bit , I talked about how Sandman was big here, and that he had Brazilian fans and he got very excited and telling his mates about it

STUDIO

Sue got a massive round of applause. I think she and Julian got the big whoops from the crowd

The prize task was so much longer. Lucy went for ages talking about the ghost of the dog, and Greg kept asking questions. I knew most of it would be cut, but Greg kept mentioning during the episode and made me question how they would edit the references. They are bloody genius those editors.

Sam's Pinocchio made quite the impression, and Greg had a lot of fun with it. They talk about Pinocchio's penis, there was questions if it grew too with the lies. And Greg kept saying Pinocchio during the recording.

Sue's monkey orgy story was longer too.

When they showed Sam getting super closer to Alex, Greg mentioned Alex was very uncomfortable with touch and to prove that he got really touchy. BTW guys the amount of hand touches, and whispers behind the cards...they are insane

After the team task they were basically talking about how kinky it was, and Greg joked about Alex tied up , hogtie style and that he enjoyed. This was the thing I was most excited and I hope they put on the outtakes because I know how the fandom will be mental about it.

Greg is...MAGNETIC! Like the man demands attention and is very hard to not be looking at him. I kept looking at them at the studio and mostly ignored the tasks because I knew that I could see them later.

The live task took ages to set up and to reset after every round, Greg even joked we would spend the night there. It was more or less 3 hours of taping.

Greg interacted with us a lot because they had to reset the seesaw all the time, At one point he asked us to go "oooooh" that was show in the episode but he asked Alex using those words "Do you want the audience to oooh you while you pull it out slowly for me?" and he said with such a voice that...if I were a dude I would have a boner.

There was a point when Alex had to explain the outcome and he got it wrong and the audience corrected him to Greg's delight, he was very giggly. Sue got quite mad at Alex and the chains.

I guess it was this. At least that is what I took from my notes.

[kiwitaskmaster]

Episode review of Taskmaster New Zealand, Season 1, Epsiode 7:

— As per usual, Spoilers! —

> ITS THE MUSICAL EPSIODEEE WHERE WE SING INSTEAD OF TALKINGG

no we don’t.

YES WE DOOO

no we don’t.

YES WE DOOOOO

No. we don’t.

> Capisce?

is that to me?

yes. Capisce?

Yes. Capisce :/

> HE’S SO FED UP

> ANGELLA JUST BROUGHT IN HATE COMMENTS LAMOO

> Jeremy is DOWN for the dick pics

> THREE HUNDRED???? FOSSILISED??? DADDY LONGLEGS???

> omg omg greg davies omg crossover

‘They’re not here to have fun! They’re just comedians.’

>OH NOO SHE FOR ONE POINT FOR THAT DEVASTATING

> ‘Well he’s certainly fucking me that’s for sure.’ - Guy to Jeremy

> ‘i don’t have an internet subscription’

> I just know Guy was ecstatic readying that, a free pass to bully your brother?? no one would pass that up

> yup already threatening to fight him!

> what the fuck was Leigh trying to do there??

> ‘as soon as i get to him with this fucking frisbee i’m going to physically assault him.’ classic brother antics!

> How did i not pick up on the animosity between Jeremy and Guy the first time around omg

> ‘Like strip poker but.. reversed.’

> ‘very pretty boy, aren’t you’ YEHA HE IS

> DQ’ing Angella felt very harsh

> You gotta go to the shid. shed. sorry

> ‘Oi. Shh. One.’ I LOVE HIM HELP

> Guy don’t complain it will only end worse

> I forever treasure the cut from Guy struggling so hard with the suitcase to everyone else opening without a problem

> all holidays are fake holidays now </3

> ‘it’s like sex, is it real, is it not? Who knows.’

> LIVE WHILE WERE YOUNGG

> Angella’s was incredible is jeremy marks her low im crashing out

> 5 points! well done jeremy i agree with your marking for once!

> Guy is NOT liked by the child

> I’d rock this task i’m SO bad at drawing

> ‘I’m drawing a strawberry’ NOT the task kid but rock on!

> oh my god yeah ‘what’s your favourite moana in moana’ LMAO

> where did they get those kids from

> surprisingly good dog sculptures actually

> congrats to Leigh for his first win!

[ahiddenducky]

Oh me oh my time for thoughts on S17×06 of Taskmaster...

Oh how I loved this episode! I really had a good laugh at this one it was just the perfect mix of absurd and chaos, genuinely had me cackling at some points. Steve always goes all out with his prize tasks and I feel like it makes him look like a bit of a try-hard (not in a good way soz steve) but this week I thought it was so clever, might even be one of my fav prize tasks! John's was just...I mean we do love a good top text bottom text meme (and yes i WILL be using the ones he made thank you very much) but 100% Greg was not giving his ass many points for that lol (i appreciated alex being a silly goose tho). The thumb task oh my I think this is up there for one of my favourite tasks just based on how everyone did it, Joanne getting Alex to a) play a silly made up game b) eat something unpleasant and c) put his fingers in his mouth (felt like he broke character a bit during this task always funny to see) was just something that seemed right up Alex's street, and ofc John, absolutely no need for the costume swap but I adored it, this ep just felt unhinged in the best way possibe! (plus it reminded me of series 7 with the 'create a picture' task and the watermelon rings in the live task) The vibes this week were just immaculate both with the tasks and in studio banter, particularly enjoyed the constant jabs at steve's age lol (love me a good running joke). Such a solid ep and definitely one I will rewatch to death :)

[personinthepalace]

#“that fucking baby stole my goddam candy”#will live in my heart forever via @gloriousclio

Please watch Taskmaster: Minnesota to see contestants potentially lose to a baby doll

[thewanderingmask]

oh hey is it time to go watch old media until the writer's strike is over

welp here's my list, i highly recommend adding onto it or making your own

sit-coms

Better Off Ted (office comedy about a pretty decent guy who manages the R&D department of your standard big capitalist (evil) company. absurd, sincere, and blessedly not nihilistic.)

Golden Girls (four older women living together. openly touched upon topics like gay people are human beings actually and so are people without houses. and this was in the 80s.)

Murphy Brown (Reporter/news presenter workplace comedy. i like eldin)

WKRP (set in a radio station, this one is a pain to find unedited anywhere because of music licensing nonsense)

Designing Women (i haven't actually watched much of this yet but i heard it's pretty good so i'm listing it here in hopes i'll remember to check it out)

british panel / comedy shows (ok so they're like game shows, except the prizes range from useless to nonexistent, all the contestants are comedians, and nobody really cares that much who wins. ,fair warning though, these are british. so you're just gonna get a certain amount of jokes that are like "yup an old cishet white dude sure did write that")

Would I Lie to You (contestants make ridiculous claims and the opposing team has to guess if it's real or not)

8 out of 10 Cats does Countdown (not "8 out of 10 Cats". not "Countdown". specifically "8 out of 10 cats does countdown". yes this is important)

Taskmaster (five contestants perform a series of increasingly silly tasks to try to score points)

Big Fat Quiz of the Year / Decade (a series of long quiz specials where comedians often fail, intentionally or otherwise, to answer questions)

crime/detective/spy shows (cw copaganda. bc that's the entire genre)

Columbo (did you know it's ALL on the internet archive? for FREE?)

Simon and Simon (private investigators who are also brothers, a bit more on the fun side. pretty good for the 80s, but be warned you're still gonna get some dopey tropes like ableism in certain episodes.)

Rockford Files (ex-convict PI. doesn't like guns, friends with his dad. cynical but can't help helping people most of the time. we love to see it. like the two above, it's older but it holds up)

Brooklyn 99 (much like columbo, everybody already knows this one)

Burn Notice (recent ex-spy stuck in miami tries to get his job back. an unfortunate amount of ogle-y filler shots. I liked the first 4 seasons and low key recommend stopping after it, but everybody's mileage varies.)

and finally, because i know who i a:

cartoons

Motorcity (what if the only answer to an oppressive conformist society was UNDERGROUND TEENS WITH CARS and it looked AMAZING and it was KILLED AFTER 20 EPISODES BECAUSE THERE IS NO GOD)

Storm Hawks (what if the only answer to a returning evil empire was SKY TEENS WITH AIRPLANE MOTORCYCLES, side note this is like the only time i've ever seen stylized 3D animation in a way that just looks? good?? i would love to see more stuff try this kind of direction instead of aiming for anime or realism)

Generator Rex (a teen with TRANSFORMING MUTANT MACHINE POWERS fights alongside a kinda sus organization to try to save others who have transformed into dangerous mutants. i haven't finished this one and im not a fan of the monkey character but dam this show kinda slaps)

Teen Titans (TEEN SUPERHEROES. i have a soft spot for this show. it was my first superhero show as a kid and still mostly holds up as good fun)

Spectacular Spider-Man (spider-man has a lotta cartoons by now but this is up there near the top i feel)

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (it's PRETTY it's CUTE it's FUNNY and only has a few episodes i would outright skip. i stopped enjoying it by the last couple seasons but i still think it's worth a watch if you haven't yet)

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD WATCH THIS SHOW DEAR GODS IT LOOKS INCREDIBLE IT'S SO MUCH FUN AND I LOVE MY IDIOT SONS SO MUCH AND THEN IT PUNCHES YOU RIGHT IN THE EMOTIONS WHEN YOU AREN'T EXPECTING IT-)

and Bluey. watch Bluey.

AIGHT THAT'S IT FOR NOW honestly i could add more to this but my memory ain't that good

✨enjoy✨

[that-ineffable-devil]

"Oh... This is... This is Hell," you remark, staring at the enormous sign before you that simply states "Welcome to Hell!" in bold typeface.

"Yes, that is correct," the demon replies, not moving their bespectacled eyes from the smartphone in their hand.

"What did I... Why... Was I really so bad to have earned eternal punishment?"

Your tone broke the device's spell and the demon's eyes meet yours. Despite your forlorn shoulder slump, you wear an expression of begrudging acceptance. Of course you belong here. Deep down, you always knew.

As if reading your thoughts, the demon arches an eyebrow. "Actually, you're just on loan."

Well that wasn't what you expected.

"What?"

"You're on loan. We've borrowed you for a special project that requires your particular expertise."

"My particular expertise?" you echo disbelievingly. You've never been especially good at anything, much less an expert.

"Wait... On loan from where?"

The demon tuts and shakes their head, their lips parting in a mischievous grin, their razor-sharp teeth glittering in the dim light. "Ah ah, spoilers."

You let out a frustrated breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Was this your punishment? An eternity of confusion and unanswered questions? This was just like home...

"So, the project," the demon says abruptly, their eyes returning to the phone in their hand as they begin to walk away. You remain rooted to the spot, uncertain of your next move. Noticing your lack of reaction, the demon stops and turns to look back at you.

"Come along, mortal, we don't have all eternity." They click their tongue at you and jerk their head, indicating you should follow. As though pulled by an invisible string at your chest, you move towards the demon and follow at a reasonable pace.

"I am Dantalion, Taskmaster of Particularly Peculiar Punishments. I will be your handler during your stay in the Ninth Circle..."

"The Ninth Circle? Isn't that where..."

"Yes, yes, the home of such entities as Judas Iscariot and Satan himself. But they're not why you're here."

"Oh, right. I mean, of course."

"No, you're here to punish Hell's most heinous denizens."

"More heinous than Judas?"

"Oh yes. Judas's treachery was predetermined and expected. These foul creatures spread immense sorrow during their lives, their hubris and greed encouraging them to betray those who lifted them up."

"Capitalists," you respond. It was not a question.

"Well, yes, they are. But your speciality is needed for this particular subset of Capitalists."

Your curiosity is piqued, and you're surprised to feel yourself grinning as the demon leads you through a winding labyrinth. The air grows colder with each step, but your excitement and anticipation keeps you warm. You've never been a particularly vindictive person, but something about this feels like justice is at hand... And your hand will be delivering it.

Dantalion seems to know their route instinctively, as they never remove their eyes from the device in their hand, tapping away incessantly with a wickedly sharp stylus. Just when you think they will run into a wall, they pivot, leading you down another path.

You had always expected Hell to be wreathed in flames, with halls lit by veins of liquid magma. Or maybe an enormous frozen lake, like the Ninth Circle of Dante's Inferno.

You never expected it to look so... Corporate. Though the labyrinthine passages provided an instinctually unsettling experience, confirmation of the otherworldly, the walls and floors were clean... Sterile, even. The omnipresent dim light was cold, blue, and seemingly sourceless. The demon's mirror-shined Oxfords clicked loudly on the polished tile floor that seemed to be made of some form of quartz or other semi-transparent stone.

Even more unsettling than their appearance, the halls seemed devoid of any identifying features. Though the walls stretched on into forever, no art, nor windows, nor doors marred their perfectly blank surfaces. And more than that...

"Hey... Where is everybody? Isn't Hell full of demons and damned souls and such?"

"Ha, ask me again at lunch time when it's damn near impossible to reach the sandwich cart before the meatball subs run out."

Too stunned to respond, you follow in silence.

"Ah, yes, here we are. The Ptolemaea Wing," Dantalion says with satisfaction, stopping and staring at an ornate wrought iron door before them.

"Is this where I'll be... Working?"

"Yes and no. The Ptolemaea Wing houses many rooms, but your charges reside in one particular room awaiting your arrival."

"I see."

Dantalion pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter. Some part of you worries that this was all an elaborate trick--a method of pre-torture. But even if it were, what could you do about it? So you proceed through the doorway and are only mildly surprised when Dantalion follows you in without hesitation and closes the door behind them.

Once again, a long hall stretches before you into infinite blandness. But this time...

"Doors," you remark quietly, touching one of doors gingerly. Its frosty surface freezes your fingertips, so you pull away, noting an engraved sign that reads 'Television Executives.'"

"Ah, yes, they do that sometimes. Better to let me..." Dantalion trails off. "We're nearly there anyhow."

You once again follow as a puppet guided by a string until you begin to approach a single door at the far end. Your nerves settling deep into the pit of your stomach. Despite your earlier glee, you know you weren't made to punish people, yet you know you can't refuse. Sensing your hesitation, Dantalion turns to face you, once again meeting your gaze.

"Don't worry, this will be fun. You've been preparing your whole life for this."

"I have?"

"Oh yes."

Dantalion steps away from the door as you approach, its engraved sign finally coming into focus. You grin maliciously.

"Queerbaiters," reads the sign.

Oh yes. This will be fun indeed.

There’s good news and bad news. Bad news, you’re in hell. Good news, you’re not being punished. You are the punishment.

[youngbloodbuzz]

What are your fav YouTube channels in general? Do you have any recs for those?

oh yea for sure i definitely have some favourites. nuke's top 5 is already one of them I've watched every single video on there lmao but there's also

watched walker and wanderizm - both similar channels of the "walking city tour" genre that I put on to relax. both guys live in london and they go literally all over the place in the city, it's a wonderful way of seeing some place new and hearing life on the streets when you're stuck at home. there's so many channels like this in many cities that i def recommend

ur internet mom ash - reaction videos are also another favourite genre of mine, ash is hilarious and sweet with fantastic editing, I'll never forget her hill house and bly manor reactions

ZZAVID - another reactioner, except he's the gayest latino man on the planet with the dirtiest humour to ever exist. both him and ash truly have the best movies+sleepover vibes. i also frequently rewatch his videos

micarah tewers - how do i even begin to describe micarah...weird homeschool girl who makes "low budget costume/fashion tutorials" i say this in loose terms; she's incredibly talented and so fucking funny but her whole shtick is that her tutorials are very unusual and full of off topic rambling. she has a pet bird that she carries everywhere and once had her wisdom teeth removed and proceeded to film herself crying about the fact that she couldn't keep them and then pierced her own lip with a sewing needle while high as a kite on meds. i love her dearly

jenna marbles - self explanatory. god i miss her

julien - but also like i can't forget about best boi julen, jenna's fiance

unusual videos - unusual memes condescend into compilation videos every week. gr8 for a quick laugh to pass the time

taskmaster - british comedy panel show for free. the entire show. it's a comedic masterpiece of watching comedians perform insane demands

baumgartner restoration - both incredibly relaxing and also informative, long videos of a guy restoring damaged/old paintings

be kind rewind - incredibly fascinating documentaries about old hollywood actresses and films

drawfee - professional artists where they "take dumb ideas and turn them into dumber drawings" like drawing pokemon from memory or drawing disney characters as dark souls bosses

lindsay ellis - popular video essayist who reviewed, discussed, and broke down media to their essentials (unfortunately was run off the internet because the internet is terrible). her game of thrones essays are incredible but her duology of the omegaverse lawsuit is legendary

jenny nicholson - another popular video essayist who talks about and reviews garbage media in both a hilarious deadpan but also intelligent way. her takedown of the dear evan hansen movie is godly and yes i did spend 2.5 hours watching her explain the plot and lore of the vampire diaries

girlfriend reviews - wholesome couple makes videos about "what it's like to live with your boyfriend who plays video games." incredible editing, humour, and popular music with original lyrics, but also i respect them so much for their tlou2 video especially (which they unfortunately but predictably got a lot of hate for)

internet historian - what it says on the tin for the most part, a sorta satirical documentary channel but my god they way they do it is incredible. I've watched their "cost of concordia" video at least three times now and it's still not old at all. they've covered the disaster of fallout 76, no man's sky (which was very enlightening), kony, and a satirical covering of area 51 for april fools which was.....indescribable and a must watch

jacob geller - incredible video essays on various themes in video games like fear of depths and haunted houses, horror oriented

shiey - guy backpacks across europe including riding on top of trains and sleeping on roofs to explore abandoned places. he's gone to chernobyl and free climbs so many high structures and has delved into so many bunkers, it's wild

screened - video essays about movies and their themes, and listing them from specific genres, some movies I've never even heard of

lessons from the screenplay - more video essays breaking down themes and scenes from movies

ok i might of........gone a bit overboard lmao

[kyberphilosopher]

Hiss

[Part ii. of Bite] Jason’s been resurrected, only to find he’s been replaced as Robin. Luckily, an old enemy of the Batman has the attributes to help. Word Count: 6465

Warning[s]: guns, crime, language, crude humor, Mitski, non vegetarian reader, age gap, glorified taskmaster ally. Following part i the readers official gender is not disclosed. 

“Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

☈ - ✮ ✭ ✮

Six months. That’s how long it took for Jason to die. Six. Whole. Months. In an abandoned warehouse, in some foreign country that he couldn’t even remember. He’d been fifteen, small for his age but fifteen nonetheless, when that clown had beat him. And what had Batman done? Nothing. He’d let him sit in that warehouse, in that foreign country, with that clown at age fifteen- for six months. And he had done nothing.

Not that it really matters now. It had, at one point, to Jason. He’s in denial that it still does. But to Batman? Oh, it never mattered at all. How long had it taken Bruce to replace his son? A week? A month? No, it had been six months. Barely. And the clown? He was safe and sound, very much alive and loose as he usually was. Batman had put him in Arkham, after a while, but of course it hadn’t lasted for very long. Jason’s death? That was permanent. At least until there was a new and improved and very much replaced Jason running with Batman, six months later. That was permanent too.

So one can imagine the confusion you felt when you opened the door to find a very much alive ex-Robin on your apartment doorstep. 

201 Arkham Street, apartment 317 Gotham City, Gotham County, New Jersey

That’s the address given to him by the Riddler. Putting him in Arkham seemed to be one thing that the Batman had got done during Jason’s little time away. Clearly it had ended up well enough for at least one person. Jason hadn’t even needed to threaten the Riddler out of riddling. In less than ten minutes, Edward Nygma had revealed the Mockingbird’s address, who they like and don’t like, what their suit was made of, and finally their name. Batman had always assumed Riddler and Mockingbird were best friends, birds of a feather with all the times the they’d seemed to make some kind of appearance by the others side. Some friend Riddler was now. 

Jason had snuck into the Batcave recently, and while going through files, decided to take a glimpse into Mockingbird’s just for the sake of curiosity. He wasn’t expecting much. When he was fifteen, it had been near empty. But sure enough, the file had been expanded upon relatively greatly in the past- what? Four years? That sounded right. But one thing that hadn’t changed was your seemingly long standing friendship with Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Still, so much for it. 

Batman had seemingly made a note of allies of theirs, then crossed out multiple names. Poison Ivy, Bane, Deadshot- and yes- the Riddler, stayed. Scarecrow, Black Mask, and Catwoman were all shockingly crossed out. Jason hadn’t expected the last one. Below the allies were the list of crimes. That had changed too. They’d gotten more violent towards the end of the list, straying away from the Mockingbird that the ex-Robin had known. Mockingbird had picked a fight with Dick’s Nightwing enough times for Batman to make a note of too. Before Jason could get to the new pictures of Mockingbird, he quickly closed the file. Didn’t need to see anymore. 

So based on what he had gathered, you should’ve looked different. He’d memorized your face when he was fifteen. Was expecting it to have changed compared to then. But when you open the door and Jason’s face to face with you, Mockingbird, it’s like the first time. Only your eyebrows have gotten slightly darker, and your eyes have rung with dark circles. 

✮ ✭ ✮

The same can’t be said for Jason Todd, however, who you let into your apartment rather quickly. 

You’d done your research on him, too, but only after you’d heard about his death. A death which was confirmed. After locking the door and beginning to turn around, he answers the question before you can ask. 

“Superboy and Lazarus Pits.”

“Ah,” you respond, crossing your arms. The man stands tall in your living room, though it’s not forced. You’ve got no idea what a Lazarus Pit is, but it seems to have changed the Robin you knew before. He was scrawny before. He puffed his chest out before. He had something to prove before. Now his broad shoulders make him look bigger naturally. He could reach up and touch your ceiling with no effort. His face and jaw are masculine and strong, eyes bright green and blue and cyan like you remember. That’s how you know it’s Jason Todd.

“It’s because of the power struggle, isn’t it?” says Harley beside you as you both look over the side of the roof, her flat on her belly and you crouched on the ledge in watch. 

“Hm?” you’d tossed back through your voice changer, not even looking away from the busy street below. 

“Jay killed the Robin,” Harley chirps. “You know- Batman’s little boyfriend? In the shorts and the tights with the flips and the kicks? Oh, that kid went bing, bang, boom. Jay’s been real pumped about it.”

This had made you turn to Harley Quinn. You looked at her over your shoulder, still in position. Though you hadn’t thought about it at the time, it was a good thing she couldn’t see through your mask right about now. 

“The kid?” you say at last. 

“Yeah! Jason Todd! Ya’ know him?”

Harley doesn’t look at you, bubbly as ever in her own world. But you watch her for a moment. Then you turn back around to the direction of the street. “No.”

“Well I’m sayin I bet that’s why there’s so much crime goin’ on now. Old Batty’s got it...”

“I heard,” you tell Jason, before he can go into further detail. He nods once in understanding, in line with a breath, and then looks around the room. Your apartment is small, seemingly in decay, and looks like a shithole. Just like the rest of the building. 

“Mockingbird, I presume,” he offers finally. “Y/N L/N was it?”

You nod once, holding your gaze at the ground in thought before taking a step toward your kitchen. It’s close by to the living room. So close, in fact, that your island counter practically touches the back of your couch. “Robin,” you greet in turn. 

“My name’s Ja-”

“I know what your name is.”

Just then a sprinkle of dust falls from your ceiling, mixing with dirt and shit and pollen. “Nice place,” Jason condescends. 

“I’m sorry,” you put your hands on your counter as you lean in to look at him. “Weren’t you under the ground not too long ago?”

“Weren’t you in jail not too long ago?”

“I never went to jail.”

“But your buddy Ed did didn’t he?”

Your eyebrows crease, and Jason notices you lean forward a fraction of an inch more. He got to you. “How do you know about Edward?”

Jason Todd gives a small smile. His right hand reaches up until it’s poking the side of his head a few times. “Bat knowledge.”

You frown tightly. “Don’t do that. I didn’t like that.”

“You like beating up Dick Grayson?”

You shift. “Yeah. I did.”

“And Catwoman? Huh?”

“Yeah,” you say a little louder. “I did. What wonder boy? You wanna see the scar to prove it?”

“Okay,” Jason huffs. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and then he speaks softer to control himself. “Okay. I’m not Boy Wonder anymore, or wonder boy. Don’t call me that.”

You look him up and down. His eyes, his jaw, his brows. The Robin you knew those years ago. He’d been beaten and blown up. He must’ve cried for help. 

“Okay,” you say, equally as soft. “But just for the record, I haven’t been the Mockingbird for years. Can’t really call me that either.”

“Why not?” Jason Todd questions, turning around so his back faces you while he observes your apartment. You can see his muscles through his shirt. 

Because you were just a kid. Because I liked you. Because you didn’t deserve it. Because Batman didn’t help. Because you were replaced. Because most of my friends laughed it off. Because I couldn’t go after Joker myself. Because I got angry. 

“Just grew out of it,” you shrug instead, turning around. You open your dirty fridge and pull out a bottle of lemonade and two glasses. “What are you doing here, Jason?” you say as you pour the drink, your back now turned to him. 

“I need your help.”

“Whatever with?”

“I’m thinking of getting a little...” Jason’s voice goes low into something like a masculine purr, “...revenge on Batman.”

“You came back from the dead,” you turn around with two glasses of lemonade, “to get revenge on the Batman? That’s your great plan?”

“No,” Jason says simply. He’s since turned around so he’s facing you. “Screwing with the Batman is just a piece of the fun. He’s nothing.”

Jason accepts the glass that you hand to him. You sit down on your couch in front of his figure. That simple motion is enough to bring out some more dust from your walls. “So what’s the revenge?” you take a sip of the sweet, gritty liquid. It coats your teeth strangely in seconds. 

“New Robin. Ever heard of Tim Drake?”

You stop your sip, looking up at the big, broad Jason. You can already tell where this is going. “Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

His brows shoot up. “You hit me in the face with a pipe.”

“I didn’t hit you. You walked into my swing. But you wanna go after the kid, Jason? Really?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms so his forearms flex. 

“Tim Drake?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes in thought. On one hand, you hadn’t been Mockingbird for years. You stopped when you were eighteen, and you’re twenty one now. Not that it’s helped you very much. You’re still struggling in a shithole, broke and unhappy and no longer able to afford school. And Tim Drake hasn’t really done anything wrong. But on the other hand, Batman is a dick, and you really stopped liking him after what happened to the former Robin. You’d wanted to go after him and the Joker for it, but you’re not far enough in the Gotham food chain for that. Trading swings with Selina was as close as you got. 

“Alright.” You stand. You’re not even close to Jason’s height. “Lay out the deal. You got a suit?”

✮ ✭ ✮

And that’s how you and Jason Todd ended up on a roof that night. You, at the crisp age of twenty one, and he at what you suppose is his version of nineteen. Still working on wrapping your head around that one. 

You’ve pulled out your Mockingbird suit from under the bed. It was a bit dusty, but not hard to slip into. Everything seems in place. It’s just old. Your voice scrambler is still working okay and all the eyes light up efficiently. Jason’s got a suit too. 

“I don’t,” Jason answers, his face suspicious. His eyes are twinkling as he looks down at you. It’s so hard to believe he’s just a boy- or was, last you saw him. 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I got you.”

You lead Jason to your room, into your closet, and into a space even farther back where an illuminated glass case the size of several yard sticks stands. It must cost more than your whole apartment. Inside of it is a metal suit like a military uniform, similar to Bruce’s Batsuit but with an Arkham emblem over the chest. 

“Call it the Arkham Knight. You like it?”

“Where did you get this?” Jason steps forward, raking his eyes up and down the design. Bruce would hate it. 

“I stole it from the Batcave.”

“The whole display case?” Jason snaps to you. Then his brows shoot up and he takes a step closer. “How do you know where the Batcave is?”

“How did you know where my apartment is? And yes, I took the whole case. It was just sitting there.”

Jason turns back around to the suit. It’s growing on him. He admires it. It’s perfect. The Arkham symbol will put the Batman into a state of despair. “Hard to believe you and Selina aren’t friends anymore.”

“We never were,” you mutter back. It’s really not his business that you ended so many partnerships because of his death.

“You’re sure this is the place?” you question. It sends Jason into a state of euphoria, hearing the distorted villainy of your voice again. It feels like the first time too, just like when he saw your face again. It feels how it did when he was fifteen and infatuated with the Mockingbird. It’s almost dizzying. It’s just strange to hear it knowing that now you’re on the same side. 

“Yeah,” he answers through his helmet. His voice is distorted too. “This is the place.”

You’re overlooking a Gotham street at night, something you’ve both discovered vigilantes, heroes, and villains do a lot of. Smoke fills the air along with police sirens and building lights. You’re positioned in one of the outer districts though, away from most of the commotion. 

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” you say, half to yourself. 

“I can,” Jason says back. “When I ran with Batman. Last year. I was fifteen.” Jason's voice drops. “Or was I...”

You frown behind your own mask. Of course. Jason died four years ago, and he was fifteen when that happened. He came back- you’re not sure when- older and stronger and behind on the changes of the world. He must not know about social media, or the latest television crazes, or the new roads in Gotham. It makes you sad. 

All Jason sees when he meets your eyes through his visor is several red slanted lines. You’re both unreadable through your helmets. 

“There’s a good restaurant down on this corner,” you both turn back to the street, crouching in wait. “Maybe B-Man likes it.”

“He never eats,” says the ex-Robin. “Never sleeps. Never does anything.”

“You know he broke my buddy Scarecrow’s bones last Halloween?” you scoff. “Literally for not knowing where Black Mask is. Your old boss is weird as hell.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow you can’t see. “Thought you weren’t friends with Scarecrow anymore?”

“Anymore? B-Man keeping tabs on me?”

“He keeps tabs on everyone,” Jason shakes his head. “You’re just a file.”

“Hm,” he hears you say. Contemplate, more like. You speak again after a moment of silence. “Well Scarecrow and me are fine, thank you for asking.”

Jason scoffs. “He your boyfriend or something?”

“My boyfriend’s over in Metropolis.”

Oh. 

“How’s your girl?” Your head snaps to Jason at once, hands twitching around. “Or guy.”

He tosses a look to you that you can’t see, but you can guess at. Somewhere between ‘what the hell’ and ‘why the hell’ and an eye roll with furrowed brows. 

“Come on. Rose Wilson seems your type. Ooh, Artemis?” You suddenly nudge his arm with your elbow. “Batgirl? Is it Dick?”

Another look is thrown your way. This time it feels more angry. “Whatever, Robin,” you offer lightly. 

It dawns on you that perhaps Jason has never had a partner before. That seems more likely, especially after thinking about his situation, and suddenly you feel bad. It’s too late to vocalize an apology now though.

“Fine,” you say at last. “Let’s just stop talking.”

“Let’s do.”

✮ ✭ ✮

It starts raining not long after that. 

The drops bounce off your suits harmlessly. There’s still no sign of this Tim Drake and Batman. 

“Hey,” you break the silence. “Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like a statue?”

“Must be a resurrection thing.”

“Yep.”

The rain falls harsher.

“So,” Jason begins. “I have to ask. How do you do the- the…” he spins his pointer fingers around rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing? What is that? No- what is that right there?”

“The thing that you do.”

“I’ve never done that in my life, Jason. What is that? Finger jiu jitsu?”

You hear Jason suck in a breath as he turns away. “You think you’re so funny.”

“You asked me for help. And between the two of us- who has died here? Not me. I’m hilarious.”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “So hilarious.”

“You seemed to think so. When…” your voice trails off. You almost wanted to mention that night in the warehouse to him. A memory of him looking up at you, his hands bound behind his back as he stares in wonder flashes in your mind. But it doesn’t linger for long. Movement in the street catches your eye. “Jason.”

Both your heads snap down to the place below. Sure enough, after a few seconds, a figure steps into view of the moonlight. A skinny kid with dark hair and a bright red and yellow costume. He looks younger than Dick or Jason.

“That’s him,” your partner says. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a long rod. It unfolds with a click that you recognize- the click of a gun.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Woah- what?”

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Jason tells you casually, fiddling around with the weapon. It’s coming into shape more and more as a sniper rifle.

“That is a child,” you whisper hiss. “He’s like ten!”

“I don’t think he’s ten,” Jason puts his eye over the scope. “This is revenge.”

“Please, do not shoot a child for replacing you in your job of tightie whities vigilante.”

Jason huffs through his mask and looks over at you. “What did you think this was, bird?”

“I thought we were just like, gonna kick him in the balls or something! This is exactly what I meant by ‘we are going to jail’! I told you we should’ve let god fix it!”

“He’ll be fine.”

You knock the rifle out of the Arkham Knights hands with a bang. It clambers across the roof top until it’s nearly over the edge, half on half off.

Jason and you go down at once, shoulder to shoulder in a tackle. Thunder booms overhead. Through his visor, Jason sees you raise a white, gauntleted fist back in a punch, aimed right for his face. Luckily, he manages to catch you by the torso and neck and throw you off.

When he pushes himself to his knee and foot in a kneel, he looks up to find an exact replica of himself. Not literally, of course, but looking at you is like looking into a mirror. Your hand is placed on the rooftop the same way his is. Your knees are bent at the exact same angle as his own. When Jason cocks his head to the side slowly, yours follows him at the same time. So this is what it means to fight the Mockingbird.

He decides to reach for the gun at the side of his leg. He manages to fire once- and miss- a bang going off that he’ll be lucky Drake doesn’t hear over the storm. You knock the gun out of his hands easily, dodging a punch to the stomach before countering with one of your own to his face. It hits the exact same way Jason’s do. He sees your knuckles coming closer to him and almost thinks they’re his own.

Next idea is toss you off the building. Key word: you. Not him.

Jason grips the back of your head through your hood, reaching around. He carries you with him while he stands, tensing his abs as he feels you hammer your elbow away at them. It’s the knee to his crotch that makes him let go and let out a strangled groan.

But before anything else can happen, you spring forward at him in a pounce. Your palms latch onto his shoulders. His feet disconnect from the surface of the roof and the both of you go backwards until neither one of you are on the building at all, over the side.

Jason gets tangled in the emergency stair well. His metal suit clangs against it as he falls and tumbles down, either causing or saving some head injuries. You hit your back on an old street light before landing in a trash bin.

This is it, you manage to think to yourself. Lying in a garbage bin in Gotham at night. And in the rain. This is rock bottom.

I am going to kill everyone on the block for this, thinks Jason.

✮ ✭ ✮

You do eventually get up and remove yourself from the garbage bin. Jason sits at the bottom of the stairs, watching you. You do not exchange words. He does, however, follow you down the street as you essentially stomp.

“Ma’am,” he offers quietly to a gawking older woman.

You enter a small restaurant. More of a diner, really. The door jingles as it opens, and Jason watches you walk to the side until you find a table by the window. You sit down with a huff, tapping one of your helmets red eyes. He shuffles into the space ahead of you, nearly skirting the table across the floor with the bulk of his own muscle and suit. He can feel your judgy eyes on him as he clambers into the seat like a large, run down father.

“Hi there,” a chirpy waitress bounds. She’s a large, redheaded woman in a bright yellow uniform and a hat with a spring connected to a plastic burger on top. It is ridiculous, funny, and you are sadly not in the mood. “My, aren’t you two some interesting looking people! We don’t get a lot of men of metal around here!”

You both look at her silently, masks on but hatred seeping through boredly.

“What can I get you tonight?”

“A gun,” you drawl tiredly, rubbing your palms over your mask.

“We’re not sellin’ those right now, my dear. Something else?”

“Two cheeseburgers would be fine,” Jason speaks up for you.

“Two burgers,” the waitress repeats with a smile, writing it down in her burger notepad. Her cheeks are rosy as she beams happily. “And should I be expecting Superman?”

“Die,” you snap to her, watching her hurry off to the kitchen. Then you put your head down in your folded arms on the table.

Jason glanced around. It’s empty except for the two of you and some dumpy guy in a trucker hat with wide eyes. “What’re you staring at?” Jason all but barks. Normally, he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible in public. Not very confident or secure, it seems. But now he’s tired. He just fell down about a million floors worth of metal stairs. It’s late and he lost two of his guns.

“What?” you raise your head, also looking at the trucker hat man. “You’ve never seen two people in superhero suits before?”

“Beat it,” Jason orders.

The man is quick to stand and speed walk away. Still you egg on, “get out of here, bozo!”

“What a fuckin’ prick,” Jason grumbles as he watches the man trip down the street through his view from the window, the door still ringing to signal it’s been opened.

“Yeah,” you agree tiredly.

Your nimble fingers reach up and back to push your white hood from your head. Then they click against the sides of your face and pull the helmet away, revealing your face. You inhale as if you couldn’t get enough air before. Jason watches you, still as a statue, his visor giving him the luxury of being able to monitor your breathing.

“Now what?” you gripe, rubbing your eyes. It can’t be comfortable with all the armor on your hands, but you don’t seem bothered. You must’ve gotten used to it by now.

The Arkham Knight ahead of you only cocks his head to the side slightly. Silent with his helmet. “I’ll help you punch Tim but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Why are you defending this kid?” you hear Jason breathe in return. For a split second, electricity runs through you at the sound of his distorted voice, the way his body looks in his suit of armor and how unreadable he is through the helmet. It shocks you all the the way down to your crotch.

“You know,” you begin, eyes widening and voice quieting with a sudden nervousness. “He’s just a kid. Younger than you were.”

Jason scoffs and turns his head away from you, now looking out the window. Gotham is dark and damp outside. “Bullshit,” he scoffs. Then after a few seconds and continues. “Tim Drake and I are the same age.” His head pulls back slightly, fingers giving a strange, sudden twitch. “Or were. We’re-”

You’ll never know what Tim Drake and Jason Todd were. Jason never finishes his sentence, and only his suit flashes with little codes and details to let you know he’s still alive in there. Besides that, he’s as still, lost in sudden thought. You frown and lean in a bit, tapping your elbow with your fingers while you shift uncomfortably. “You’re nineteen, Jason.”

His head twitches again. Now you know he’s heard you. “I’m two years older than you,” you reason. “You’re nineteen.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Why did you let me go?”

Your eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch. Another wave of electricity shocks down your body, but this time it’s because his voice sounded more like his own. You could hear it under the layers of metal and distortion. But option one is to respond to his question by pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about. That seems like it’s for the best.

“You were just a kid,” you tell him honestly. He silently presses you on. “And I just- I looked at you and I…” I really liked you, kid. Best night I had in years. Made me smile. God, you had to stop working with so many other Gotham city villains just for making jokes about the kid. “You were fifteen,” you say, looking away. “Just a kid.”

Jason watches you. Again, your head turns so you look out the window. He would’ve expected that to be the end of it, but you continue. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Jason’s about to pretend to not know what you’re talking about, because it seems like it’s for the best that way. But then he remembers you can’t see anything through his helmet. “What’re you talking about?” he gruffs.

“You saw my face in that warehouse,” you press. “If you had told Batman, I would’ve been to jail. Maybe Arkham. But that never happened. So why didn’t you tell him?”

I was obsessed with you, Jason’s mind screams. In love with you! It hisses, which makes Jason cringe. “Guess you were a kid too.” That’s right. You were seventeen back then. What is that? Last year of high school? You balanced a criminal career and the required education for a minor at the same time. Where were your parents during this?

Jason bites down on his lip hard. Parents. Should shut up about that, probably.

“I’m uh,” you bite your lip and then lick it. “I’m sorry for pushing you. On the roof.”

He shifts. “It’s nothing.”

You turn back to the window. Your arms uncross from atop the table and go to rest in your lap. This close and this still, Jason can make out all the details in your suit. It’s impressive. Kevlar and rubber and plastic, the Riddler had told him. Not the gloves. That’s metal and plastic. 

“So,” Jason decides. “How do you that?” Your brows crease in confusion. He tries to do the finger motions he’d down before, which makes you cringe. “The mirroring. And the fighting and the…” he goes through the motions again. “It in your helmet?”

Your confusion sinks away. A new expression washes over your face as you lean in. One finger reaches up, poking your temple and you smile softly. “Bat knowledge.”

Just then, the waitress saves the day. “Two cheeseburgers for the scary suit people!” she beams, setting the plates down. For a second, her breasts are pressed into each of your faces. Jason first, who does not move and you can’t see under the helmet. You bite back a snicker but instead seep a childish look. Then you’re next, and you can feel Jason’s silent laugh under his Arkham Knight suit as your eyes go wide. “Enjoy, dears!”

“Boobs,” you shiver. “Just got boobs in my face.” And then Jason watches you carefully pick up the burger in your dangerous gloves, and take a bite.

Indeed, for the first time that night, the man in front of you reaches up and pulls off his own helmet with a click. You watch it be taken into his large, veiny hands and passed to the edge of the table, against the wall of the window. Then your eyes wander up to his face, which makes you chew slower.

A strong face. Sharp jaw, perfectly in line nose. Lips always pulled into a scowl. Bright eyes with tired circles and scars across his skin. There’s a streak of white in his dark hair you hadn’t noticed at all before, though now it’s practically blaring you in the face. Jason Todd is very handsome. 

“What?” he says behind his burger, raising it to his lips but freezing before he can bite into it.

You shrug and focus again on your burger. You hear Jason bite into his own.

“I don’t have any money,” you tell him after a moment, swallowing down a bite.

“Me neither,” Jason answers. He nudges his head towards the window. “There’s an ATM across the street.” You nod in response.

A few bites in you speak again. The minutes have been filled with the noises of chewing and swallowing and yummy meat and cheese. “You ever heard of Mitski?”

Jason swallows his bite, which are bigger than yours. “What?”

“Mitski,” you repeat. “The singer?” Jason shakes his head. “You seem like you’d like her. My boyfriend hates her.”

Jason’s brows twitch.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he questions, taking another bite.

You roll your eyes. “Too expensive. He’s-”

“But he lives there.”

“He just didn’t offer,” you shrug. “I don’t have the money anyway. It’s fine.”

Jason cocks a brow. Your own boyfriend didn’t offer to get you out of this shithole?

You roll your eyes. “We haven’t talked in a long time okay? He’s busy. I’m busy.”

Both of Jason’s brows raise now, almost playfully. “Busy with what?”

You’d be offended if you weren’t busy trying to answer. What were you busy with? After you graduated, money went dry with university. It became less frequent after retiring from the Mockingbird mantle. Most of your jobs were minimum wage and short lived. You’re a bartender now, but not somewhere that’ll keep you going probably. Most days you sit around the apartment or run errands, sometimes hosting Ivy. Last time she’d been over, she’d given you a plant that had quickly died and spoke about Harley quite a bit. And Riddler obviously doesn’t come over anymore. Scarecrow had once but he’s off doing god only knows now. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. “What are you busy with?”

“Controlling crime in Gotham,” Jason takes a bite.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well.”

“You know you didn’t have to ask me to do this,” you say. “You could’ve just asked someone else. There’s a lot of people in Gotham okay with child killing.”

“I wanted you,” Jason explains. He’s quick to speak again to keep you from thinking about his words. “You were the first person I thought of.”

You’re nearing the end of your burger. “How did you find me?”

Jason shrugs mid-chew. He’s almost done as well. “Riddler.”

“Gave me away that easy?”

“Yep.”

You chew your last bite. It was a good and hearty burger, the cheese melting perfectly against the patty and your tongue.

“You want anything else?” Jason asks.

You watch the street outside, eyes squinting on the ATM. “Jason,” you mutter. “Jason.”

✮ ✭ ✮

Three men snicker as they load up dark blue duffel bags. They’re slimey and smelly, like an old sewer. Money falls from the machine like a waterfall.

Their success doesn’t last long.

One of them comes in contact with the Mockingbird’s elbow and slams his head into a brick building. The other two are just inexplicably on the ground, incapacitated while the Arkham Knight stands overhead.

“Fuck,” you breathe through your helmet. “I missed this.”

Jason’s just picked up the duffel bag when the sudden sound of sirens blare through the air. It’s close. Too close.

“Well that’s no good,” you mutter. You turn to Jason, taking a sharp step forward. “Give it to me.”

His brows furrow under the mask.

“I’ll pay the waitress,” you say. “You run.”

Jason reaches behind his belt and shifts the weight of the bag into one hand. A gun appears- a small handgun. You duck down as he raises it at you, holding your head down as the BANG! rings through the air.

You stand back to your feet, bracing yourself at the sudden sight. The Arkham Knight charges you, but only to pick you up like you’re nothing and jump through the glass window he previously shot at. The adrenaline makes things hazy, but you can see the blue and red lights now. It doesn’t matter. The two of you fly across what turns out to be a pawn shop, burst through the back door and back room until you hit the cold outside air of Gotham again. Multiple doors slam shut behind you. You’re both out of breath and panting, and it’s raining again. This time in an alleyway.

But the cops won’t follow you out here.

It’s quiet besides the panting from you two. Jason has more endurance, you’re sure, but you can hear his breathing inside his helmet. He lets the duffel bag slip out of his grasp as you double over. “I did miss that,” you offer. “Running from the police.” The Arkham Knight just continues his breathing.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

✮ ✭ ✮

Two days after the incident, you enter your apartment lazily. Your keys are tossed onto the island counter before you wander through your mail. One of your letters is from Ed in Arkham, warning you about “some big guy asking about you”. A bit late for that now. You haven’t heard from Jason since that night.

It isn’t until you go to sit on your couch that you notice a large, nearly bursting open envelope. Your fingers stretch to reach it, examining it. No return address, but written in pen in sloppy letters is the word “Bird”. Luckily, it doesn’t feel like a bomb. It feels more soft but firm.

You open the envelope. Your breathing hitches, breath slowing when you see what’s inside. Then a smirk comes over your face.

Just then, dust falls from your shitty apartment ceiling.

✮ ✭ ✮

A week after the failed Tim Drake incident, a young man decides to pay a visit to your building. He is tall and strong, with raven hair laced with a white streak at the front. He frowns at everything, ducking his head to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He cares not for being perceived by other people. He’s well aware of how he looks.

The man’s knuckles tap against apartment 317. He shifts, looking back and forth. The man is quite attractive in is casual red hoodie and jeans, but he wants to be out of the open as soon as he can. After a moment, there is no response from inside.

He scrunches his brows and knocks again. When he takes a step closer, he can hear something from the inside. Music. A piano and drums and maybe an organ?

Jason twists the door knob with ease and steps ahead and inside. The apartment is completely and totally empty. The music becomes louder and more clear. It’s a female singer he doesn’t recognize.

Only the bones of the kitchen remain. Counters, cabinets, a sink, and an old fridge. There’s mold in the corner of the space. But in the middle of the floor where the couch and living room used to be is a cluster of things. Things meant for Jason Todd. 

The man eyes the pile for a few seconds. Then he sets towards it. The first thing he recognizes is a CD player with the volume turned all the way up. He still doesn’t know the song.

Besides the player is a suit he’s quite familiar with. It’s clunky, but folded as neatly as it can be given that it’s made of metal. On the top is the helmet that gives it away. The Arkham Knight suit. It sits on a dark duffel bag in front of a small white piece of paper with the promise of ink inside. Jason decides to open that first.

You’re coming back… and it’s the end of the world…

Haha! I knew you’d show up!

Jason nearly rolls his eyes at the first sentence.

Thanks for the money. I know it was you. Thanks for the fun night too. Sorry about hitting your balls. They felt really big if that makes you feel better.

It didn’t.

I was thinking of Metropolis, but what do you know, me and the boy toy decided it might be better to hold off on it. I got a bit of dirt on the kid by the way. You’ll find it on the back of this paper. Oh and I hope you like the Mitski soundtrack. I bet Drake’s the kind too. I’m going to keep the Mockingbird suit if you don’t mind. I guess our night of fun kinda reignited an old flame. Don’t even think about coming after me.

Son of a bitch, Jason internally screams.

I have a gift for you though. You get the Arkham Knight. You look good in it. And a little something extra in the bag by the way. 

Love, Mockingbird.

I just need a quiet place… where I can scream, how I love you…

Indeed, inside the duffel bag Jason Todd finds some cash and red fabric with an R emblem over the chest. He doesn’t need to pull the rest out to understand what it is. He decides not to question how you got his old Robin suit or when, but lets himself smile a bit, his chest expanding with his breath. It’s a real smile too. 

You’ve given Jason everything he needs to go after Tim Drake himself.

✮ ✭ ✮

I hope I’ve ruined everyone’s day. You think I would let the reader and Jason be happy together? You absolute baffoon. Maybe I’ll make a part three for gits and shiggles though. I’m not sure about this one. Definitely more based around their interactions than the drama unlike the first one. It was fun though. I hit the paragraph limit. I think I did a good job with the chemistry. I do apologize for giving the reader a real set in stone age though. I don’t like to to that because I think it takes away the point of having a ‘reader’. Also if you’re vegetarian please just eat a cheeseburger it’s so good y’all are weird. Oh and fun fact I just got a Red Hood tattoo on Saturday! Look at me go!

Tagging everyone who asked for a part ii: @yunho-leeknow @fyowyn-writes @martianmilfhunter @beardedfandiplomatprofessor

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

I've studied film and television, so I know a little what I'm talking about.

Mr Beast is those reality TV shows like wipeout, American ninja, taskmaster, but for YouTube.

Finding out that he faked a bit, and actually employed some safe work practices is good. That's literally the bare minimum.

Youtube productions that go beyond "dude & friend in backyard" should be required to follow film set safety.

CGI exists because some things cannot be done in real life either because its impossible or because its unsafe (ignore that film studios are now using it for everything this was the original use for CGI)

So having him use CGI isn't a big thing, lots of people have been doing shit like this for decades.

Tons of "reality" TV is fake or over edited to show a specific thing.

Is it a shit thing to do without a disclaimer? Yes. If someone wins & then you edit it to be someone else, that's a shit thing & the real winner should still get something.

This is not my issue with Mr Beast.

My issues are these:

He has hired at least 2 predators to his company that makes content for children. One was convicted at the time of his hiring. Mr Beast was 19 at the time, which some may say is young but is old enough to know better. Even if he didn't know at the time, as soon as he was made aware of it, "Delaware" should have been out & at least a company wide email like "do not interact with this man, do not let him into any irl events, he was an employee he's now banned". The 2nd wasn't convicted at the time but had a porn image of a Child character out in the open that everyone knew about. It may also be in the background of several shots???? Which means that Mr Beast looked at it & went "yes having an errotic image is ok to have in the background of a video for children & young teens"

He held illegal lotteries on live streams. Live streams directed at children. Gambling is such a big problem everywhere, we do not need it to be a problem children are engaging in as well.

Promoting crypto to kids. Like I get that some people think that crypto is great but like with NFTs, MLMs, & pyramid schemes, it's a scam & it's caused so many people to lose all their money cuz people like Mr Beast promoted it. Crypto bros & even people like Mr Beast know that if the laws had kept up with technology, they'd be in jail for the things they've done with crypto. They created a pump & dump scheme but digital & since the government is terrified of the internet, they probably won't be held accountable for it.

They trial-ran the "30 days of solitary confinement" thing & tortured a man. They committed human rights violations (& def work safety violations) and absolutely destroyed this man. And then they redid the video anyway after throwing this man out. Like even if it was all accidental, what matters is what happens after you make the mistake. In this case, this guy will need therapy for years if not for life. Mr Beasg could easily set him up with some health insurance that would ensure he has tons of therapy options on Mr Beast's dollar for the rest of his life. Or like next 50 years. But Mr Beast just threw him out like trash. And that alone is a reason to hate Mr Beast.

Some more things that I have a problem with but people may see as not his fault or that I'm bring dramatic about it but:

Exploitation of people in need. It's gross & shitty & you can see that a lot of the people didn't want to be there. "Oh but he's helping people he needs the add money to help people". First of all he doesn't need to film them to get the episode. Second of all, he is using the money for himself. It not all good stuff, its a tax write off. & yes, all the rich do similar things, Bill Gates does it as well, they're also trash for doing it

He's normalised exploitation for views & filming people in public & it's gross and stalkerish and its illegal in some places because it's wrong. You may say "well it's not because of him" and no, not fully. But so many young kids are doing it to be just like Mr Beast. And unfortunately, if you market yourself to kids, you have to be a good role model.

He refuses to take criticism. When his videos get any kind of backlash, even from people who know what they're talking about, he acts like some brain-dead, red-pill, manosphere dick going "OOo I've triggered them!! Lol!!" Like bro you exploited people for views, you belittled things like solitary confinement, being forced to brave a boat in a storm like refugees, held a few dollars over people's heads so they'll dance for their dinner.

He doesn't answer to any of the issues. Even if he didn't know about the pump & dump crypto scheme, the predators, how he was doing illegal lotteries, now that they've been bought up he's not saying anything. Not even a "I'll do better"

His food is bad. He markets bad food to kids. Yes, there's already tons of unhealthy food being marketed to kids, so why add more? Lunchly was bad but Mr Beast bars were already a thing & are just as unhealthy & most of the other options even though he claims they're healthier.

Basically, what dogpack404 lied or was misinformed about is the least of the issues with Mr Beast, and the real issues have corroborating evidence even from Mr Beast.

Mr Beast is a POS & has always been a greedy POS

Dogpack404 might've lied like all hell, but there is so much other shit Mr. Beast has done that we can't fucking overlook. He's not out of hot water and we shouldn't help him out of it.

[abyssaldyke]

Thanks for the tag @notasmalltuba, hope everything’s great with you!

Last Song: Not sure about the last one specifically but my song as of late has been Hatef--k by the Bravery. Makes me want to start kicking my legs around.

Last Show/Movie: We watched the new Barry today which owns. Last movie we watched was I think the Princess Bride, but I’d also like to give a shout out to Crash and Crimes of the Future (1970) bc they are living in my mind.

Currently Watching: Succession obviously, also Taskmaster S2. Oh, and Buffy.

Currently Reading: Lots of stuff (plenty of holdovers from last year, even though I promised myself I’d finish all of them this year!!) Right now I’m reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest which is excellent, and then I’m going to try and jump back into Trainspotting.

Current Obsession: Aside from my own silly book? Probably Succession, let’s be honest.

I am possibly coming down with something so mutuals, consider yourselves tagged (yes you).

[copias-thrall]

Would it be alright to request some Papa IV x f!Reader? Like the reader is a very kind and sweet person and she has always supported Copia kind of thing? Maybe they’re having a whole day to themselves to celebrate?

Yes! Let’s get some more sweet Copia 😊 

They made fun of him and called him The Rat.

Terzo made him the butt of all his pranks.

Nihil undermined him at every turn.

Imperator pushed him to the point of breaking.

What you saw a man trying to do his best with his only flaw being an outsider within the Abbey walls, and in a place where actual hellbeasts were basically demon cats, were rats such an odd choice of pet?

You were fairly certain Copia knew the “Squeak if u like cheze” sign was taped to his back, but he just walked down the corridors anyway and let the Siblings and Ghouls chitter at him. You’d seen this man save one of the Abbey mice from a glue trap, and your heart just couldn’t let it continue.

So, you’d approached him and offered to remove the offending paper.

Copia, however, had just smiled at you.

“It is good of you to say, Sister. But let them have their fun, eh?”

He’d given you a slight bow and had gone on his merry way.

After that, however, Copia had warmed to you, often seeking you out so he could sit with you in the mess hall at mealtimes or chat theology with you on lazy Saturday afternoons.

When some of Terzo’s faction had started stuttering to make fun of Copia’s shyness with public speaking, you’d tried to shut them down. Not everyone was good in front of a crowd—especially when that crowd was hostile. All that did, however, was get them to double down and start calling you, "rat lover."

“Doesn’t it bother you, Cardinal?" you'd asked during one of your food dates. "It’s so…petty.”

But he’d just given you a fond look.

“It is of no consequence, dear Sister. Let them be thinking what they will.”

You’d learned all of his rats’ names and started smuggling them contraband from the kitchens.

Copia had you transferred from Imperator’s admin pool to work as his assistant.

“All this new paperwork!” He’s swept his arm across the stacks of his desk. “I thought I could be using a little help from a friend, yes?”

You’d inherently understood you weren’t there to file paperwork—you were there to tell him when to take a break, to replace his cold coffee, and to be a sounding board.

And you didn’t miss the way Copia’s mismatched eyes would look on you with adoration.

Well, you thought he was pretty neat, too.

When he’d been away on his first tour, you’d done your best to keep up with him. You had your other duties and your friends, but you tried to send him a supportive word before, during, and after each performance.

His missives back had grown fewer as the tour had dragged on, but each one had been effusive—if riddled with typos.

After the first tour, things had been different. Copia had come back from the road a glowing success…and in a tight suit that showed off his assets instead of his smothering cassock.

The tide turned, and while there were still his many detractors, gone were the days of “kick me” signs and farces.

You’d noticed a significant pay increase and an extra day off.

“But Cardinal! You need me here!” you’d protested.

He’d simply grabbed your hands and kissed each one.

“I do. And that is why you must be well-rested. Lots to get done. Now, shoo!”

And truth be told, the two of you had worked harder. Copia had spent less and less time in his study and more time attending meetings or at band practice or at weekend symposiums. You’d done your best on keeping his mountain of paperwork down to a molehill, but sometimes the two of you needed to work late into the night to meet seemingly arbitrary deadlines while you put your foot down and told the kitchen Ghoul that making some rigatoni past hours wasn’t going to kill them.

Of course, then you needed to put your foot down about Copia stopping long enough to eat the carbonara. Sometimes he’d growl at you, and you’d have to snap your fingers at him and tell him being hangry wasn’t a good excuse to be snippy with you; he was predictably contrite after he’d consumed a good portion, and you took his apologies as your due.

All of which is to say: you had Copia’s back from the get-go, and he knew you were always in his corner.

When he comes back from Mexico newly ascended, there are dozens of Siblings who want a piece of him. Some—like you—have been in his fan club since day 1; others jumped on the bandwagon during the final tour; while a few just see the razzle dazzle and want to shine too.

You’re in his study because you want to make sure everything is caught up before he comes back to work. You imagine that he’s going to spend a few days reaping the rewards of his promotion, and—while a part of you feels a little let down about not being a part of that particular party—you are genuinely invested in Copia succeeding.

So when the door bangs open, you’re startled to find Copia…er…Papa Emeritus the 4th striding into the room.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency! I was just making sure—”

“How did I be knowing I would find you here, eh? Today is not a day to be working!”

“But you—”

He makes a shushing noise and reaches his hands out. They linger in the air between the both of you until he makes a “come here” motion with his fingers.

Tentatively, you curl your fingers into his gloved ones.

“We are taking the day off, yes?”

“W-we?”

Copia raises an eyebrow at you. “Sí. With who else should I be celebrating?”

You blush, pleased that he seems genuinely baffled.

The March air is living up to its reputation, so Copia leads you to one of the sunniest rooms in the Abbey. There, you find a picnic blanket set up with a picturesque spread of food, and Rain helping Mountain to position a bevy of potted plants around the area.

Copia clucks at them good-naturedly to leave. Rain gives you the thumbs up and Mountain just pats you on the head as they leave. (As Copia’s Girl Friday, you’ve had to backmanage his ghoulies as much as you’ve had to organize his report piles.)

When he gestures for you to sit, you arrange yourself comfortably in a big square of sun that’s streaming in from the windows. As you take in the meats, cheeses, sandwiches, and fruits that populate the corner of the blanket, Copia putters around with a bottle of Champagne and two glasses.

The whole thing is a little unexpected, but not unwelcome, and you watch him with fondness as he utters a Whoopsie when the cork goes flying at the ceiling and as he obsesses over making each glass level.

You two clink glasses with a Salute, both taking a modest sip.

“This is lovely, Cop—uh, Papa.” He’s all smiles. “But why me?”

His eyebrows draw together, and he tilts his head at you.

“Mia cara…who else would it be?”

You blush and shrug your shoulders, looking down at your platter. When he takes your hand in his warm, leathered one, you look up and get lost in his earnest, mismatched gaze.

“You are the most important person in my life.”

His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You are too sweet, mia cara. Helping an old man—”

“You’re not old—”

He tsks at you.

“Helping a person I am being. At my side even when you are in the knowing.” He taps his nose and winks. “Our little conspiracy of silence, yes?”

That Copia is not quite exactly the bumbling, nutty-professor he leads the rest of the Clergy to believe he is? Yeah, obviously.

He nods.

“And yet, you are by my side. Keeping my head on straight. Because you are wanting to.”

Because you saw the way he treated his rats, his Ghouls, and even Sister Imperator. He may have a dangerous ambition, but he’s not a dangerous man.

“I believe in you Papa.”

He gives you that fond look again.

“Well. I believe in you too, Sister.”

Copia lets your hand go and claps.

“Now! Let us enjoy this feast! Next up is a movie marathon where we enjoy our food comas, yes?”

You pop a grape into your mouth.

“Of course, Papa.” You give him a devilish smile. “How ‘bout you give the schedule so I can make sure we’re on track, hm?”

He blinks at you for a moment before giving you his little rat laugh.

“Ah, eh heh heh! There is my little taskmaster.”

“What would you do without me?”

He tosses a gape and just barely catches it in his mouth.

“I wouldn’t, cara. I wouldn’t.”

[noel-fielding-web-page]

'Making TV during Covid is like being a hostage'

Noel Fielding on the return of Never Mind The Buzzcocks

As Never Mind The Buzzcocks is rebooted for Sky, returning team captain Noel Fielding reflects on how it – and he – has changed over the years.

What did you think when you heard that they were bringing the show back and wanted you to return as a team captain?

Well, usually I’d be like, ‘Never go backwards. Never go back,’ but I did it for five years and I became really good friends with Phill Jupitus. I love Phill, and we just got on really, really well. So I was half thinking, ‘Should I do this without him?’ I knew he wasn’t doing it. He’s gone back to art school, he’s in Scotland now living his best life.

But the reason I said yes is because I’m such a big fan of Greg Davies and Daisy May Cooper. They’re two of my favourite comedians, they’re two people that really make me laugh. So, I just thought, ‘Well, I know this show and I can’t not do it if those two are doing it, because they’re so good.’

I did Taskmaster, and literally I laughed all the way through it. Greg was cracking me up all the time. I just thought, ‘This is going to be really good. It’s a deadly combination.’

Did you feel any nerves at all sitting back in the captain’s seat?

Not really, but I had to slightly reposition myself mentally, because I suppose when I did it originally, I was much younger. I still feel like I’m 32, even though I’m not. I’m looking forward to the John Cooper Clarke years, where you’re still dressing ridiculously, you’ve got your ski suit on, and your crazy boots, and people go, ‘Oh yeah, it’s him.’

John Cooper Clarke is my hero, he’s still rock and roll, he manages to pull it off. And I saw him on Antiques Road Trip, and I just thought, ‘Well, if you can make Antiques Road Trip cool, that is the coolest thing ever.’

You must miss the social element of the show then?

Yeah, I would love if there was a bit more of a social aspect to it, because I feel like bonding-wise, it’s great if you can all go out and get smashed occasionally, because it just helps.

But I just feel lucky that we can still do television, because of the pandemic, not everyone can do the job they were doing.

You’re up against Daisy, how competitive does it get between  you?

Well, I’ve realised I’m getting thrashed, which is killing me! I think Daisy has a really weird knowledge of Britney type pop music, that I don’t have.

That’s slightly my weak point, is that I’m not big on that kind of pop stuff. I know it, but I just don’t know as much of it.

Daisy seems to know every lyric to every pop act. She knows Bieber lyrics, and stuff like that, which I’m hopeless at. I know Bieber exists, but I know it’s not for me! I think Daisy, so far, has been quite lucky with the guests. She’s had Lauren Laverne, who’s just like an encyclopaedia of music.

But I’ve never been that bothered about winning. I’m always trying to be funny, instead of giving the right answer, or I just have a laugh with my team.

Jamali Maddix floats between both teams, what’s it like having him on the show?

Jamali’s amazing, actually. I’d seen his stand-up and I thought he was really good, but he’s been brilliant on this. He’s quite a good counterpoint to Greg, because he’s coming from such a different angle, of youth, because Greg is always playing the old man card! Jamali is the person that’s going, ‘Right Greg, this is what’s cool. This is what’s happening’, but Greg’s like, ‘I’ve got no fucking clue,’ which is hilarious.

Some people might say that the music scene is not as wild now as it was back in the day. What do you think to that?

I think it’s different. I think that there have been a few guests on who are definitely rock and roll, but in a different way to what was classified as rock and roll, I suppose,. What was quite funny is, there’s a rapper called Aitch, and I don’t know how young he is. He’s very young, 21, 22 maybe. And he was saying that his guilty pleasure was Razorlight, and I was laughing, ‘I used to knock around with Razorlight, wow, my generation are being described as a sort of guilty pleasure!’ It was cracking me up.

The kids are always doing something different, and as you get older, you think, ‘Oh, it’s not as good as my generation,’ but, it probably is, it’s just different. I’m sure I used to say that to my mum and dad. They were very rock and roll, so it was very hard to out-rock and roll my parents. They used to go to see David Bowie, and Led Zeppelin. When I was growing up, the only way I could really rebel was by listening to Adam Ant, and stuff like Duran Duran, which they thought was just pop stuff, because they were the real deal rock and roll.

What’s the vibe of the show this time around?

Well, I feel like because Greg’s in control, it’s a little bit out of control to begin with, and I feel like Daisy’s energy is quite mad as well. And then I’m quite weird! The young pop stars that are coming on, and rappers are going, ‘I was a bit nervous, I thought I was going to get torn to pieces, but actually I really enjoyed that.’

The great thing about Buzzcocks is it’s a place where you can see your favourite bands, or singers, or rappers, or whatever, and you can get to know what they’re like. There are not many programmes where that happens any more.

I feel like we’re giving them space to shine a bit as well. I feel like Greg’s really warm and giggly, but he’s also so funny. Daisy’s a sort of wild card, and I’m quite surreal. And Jamali’s got a whole different thing going on, so I feel like we’re coming at it from loads of different angles.

I feel like the vibe is quite mad tea party. It’s nice, it’s a little bit out of control. I feel like if there were fewer restrictions because of the pandemic, we’d probably be all rolling about together,   where Daisy would be jumping on you, and Greg would be rolling about. I feel like it would be quite a tactile show. One of my big memories of doing Buzzcocks before was being chased around the set by Lorraine Kelly.

I feel like another series would just descend into absolute carnage, definitely. It’s just TV gold, right there.

What have the guests been like?

There’s been some great guests. Obviously, we had Bez and Shaun Ryder, which was fantastic, they’re such a brilliant double-act and such funny characters. There’s been a lot of stuff that we’ve been laughing at, that I’m not sure will make the show. Daisy said to me she really hopes there’s just an extra episode of bloopers and outtakes.

One of the games looks at pre-show rituals, do you have one?

It’s quite difficult now because you’re not allowed to come out of your dressing room until the last minute, so it is like a hostage situation. Then, you do the show, you get bundled into the taxi, and you’re gone. It’s a bit like a dream, it’s like you’ve been kidnapped, and then put in front of a TV audience, done some stuff, shown off for a bit, and then you’re back in the car. You go, ‘Did that happen?’

Apparently, Daisy revealed her obsession with ghosts during filming?

Daisy’s the weirdest person I’ve ever met… She’s so hilarious. I think her cleaner, who came to the show, is a medium as well. You couldn’t really write that, could you?  And, oh my God, she literally loves dancing. She’s always out of her chair, busting moves. I think she’d probably win Strictly if she was ever invited on it. She should definitely do it!

• Never Mind The Buzzcocks returns to Sky Max at 9pm next Tuesday, September 21.

Published: 14 Sep 2021

[x]

[cdyssey]

Exit Strategies

Summary: Before they break Alexei out of a maximum security prison, Yelena convinces Natasha that they should rest, that they need to.

A/N: I finally got the chance to see Black Widow today and ugly sobbed through almost half of it. Natasha and Yelena deserved so much more—oh, my GOD, it's not fair.

AO3 Link

—

It’s only when the gas needle edges precariously below a gallon that Natasha frowns, the stark cut on her lower lip curving like a bow just begging to snap.

“We need gas,” she breaks the long silence between them. Yelena glances over at her sister’s profile, sharp and distinct even in the semi-darkness, slightly tinted blue by the BMW’s luminescent dashboard. Her angular jaw. The ribbon-like strands of red hair plastered to the side of her face. The bruises beginning to feather the column of her neck from their recent fight.

And the purple shadows beneath her visible eye.

The lines.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Yelena quips because it’s easier than being sincere, easier than dealing with all of the effed-up history between them. They used to snuggle in the same bed, wrists crossing wrists. Mere hours ago, they came close to strangling each other to death with curtains. 

“We also need to rest. Can’t go taking down a multinational child soldier complex on zero hours of sleep, y’know.”

“Mmm,” comes a noncommittal reply, short, patronizing. “You sleep. I’ll drive.”

Yelena simply stares at the older woman, searching, incredulous, and frankly, a little miffed. Has she always been this much of a martyr? She interrogates her own memories—the ones from her childhood are the clearest she has—and surprisingly concludes that, yes, she’s always been this way. 

Natasha would get into fights on the playground when older kids tried to bully Yelena.

And she was good with her fists.

She would always win.

“Don’t be stupid, Natalya. You’re not superhuman. Let’s pull off at an exit and get a motel room.”

“We don’t have time for that. My contact’ll be at the rendezvous spot at twelve tomorrow.”

“A few hours tops,” she promises, wheedling, glancing at the car’s central display. It’s 2:07. There’s plenty enough time for them to get some sleep and make it back to Norway, especially with how fast Natasha drives. They’ve never been under eighty-five the entire time they’ve been on the freeway. “C’mon. I stink. You stink. We both need showers and a vodka shot.”

“I don’t stink,” Natasha wrinkles her nose disdainfully. But even as she says it, she lets off the pedal and eases into the right lane. The speedometer slowly sinks from over a hundred to ninety… eighty… seventy…

“You do,” Yelena snickers, mischievous, triumphant, a little kid again teasing her older sister about a hopscotch victory. She arches a smug brow. “You smell like shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

But she watches, with fascination, as the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches, the cut on her lip quivering too.

—

They get gas at a twenty-four hour station and buy a few necessities inside—some snacks, a bottle of cheap vodka, gauze, painkillers, a pack of Skittles for Yelena.

It’s been a long time since she’s had Skittles.

They’d once been her favorite candy.

Natasha had always preferred chocolate bars.

And behind their mother’s back, their papa would indulge them. 

Hush, my little kittens. He would raise a conspiratorial index finger to his mouth. Don’t tell Mama now.

“Jesus hell,” the clearly sleep-deprived cashier says, taking in their haggard, bloodstained appearances.

“We just got back from fight club,” Yelena supplies cheerfully.

“Do you got change for fifty euros?” Natasha asks.

—

At 2:40, they finally pull into a motel, a dingy, little dump far away from the main part of the city. The stolen BMW looks out of place against the worn-down building, all sleek and shiny and new. This is the kind of establishment that most people settle for, not actively choose—unless, of course, said people are two Russian killers trying to evade detection from a militant Taskmaster.

Yelena and Natasha are silent as they creep into the motel room that had been designated theirs by the scruffy faced twenty-year old working the night shift at the front desk, handguns drawn as they flick on lights and canvas the room as they had both been trained to do.

Two queen sized beds.

A boxy TV that looks like it could have been at home in the nineties.

A musty smell in the air.

A spluttering air conditioner in the window.

A framed painting on the wall of something that looks vaguely phallic.

“Clear in the bedroom,” Yelena calls after she checks under each bed. 

No monsters under there.

“Bathroom’s clear too.” Natasha walks out of the side door, replacing her Glock in her thigh holster. “If the front door gets blocked, our exit strategy’s the window in the bathroom. Leads out into some woods. We can climb a tree and pick threats off from a decent vantage point.”

Again, Yelena stares at the woman in front of her, trying to reconcile her bruised and scratched face with the kid from twenty-odd years ago, the one who used to make shadow puppets on the wall for her to laugh at, who’d comb her wet hair at night when Mama was working. 

There’s so little light in her eyes left, the particulars of her voice perfectly calculated to be distant.

Yelena wants to pull her hair out, wants to stomp around a little, wants to throw a tantrum and scream.

They lived together for three years.

They were sisters.

And Natasha… Natasha is distant.

“Do you always have an exit strategy?” Yelena blurts out a little stupidly. Of course she has an exit strategy. They’re trained fucking spies for God’s sake! Hell, Yelena even has a tentative exit strategy! 

(She's just gonna crash through the window and start shooting.)

But she is and really isn’t asking about exit strategies. 

Even as her lips formed the words, she knew this. Even as the words fell from her tongue, she felt their insufficiency and knew the depths of her own vulnerability.

Is that all you can look me in the eye and talk about, Natalya?

Exit strategies?

This is our first night together in twenty-one years, and you can stand here and tell me that the trees are the best place for blowing people’s brains out?

Natasha shrugs a single shoulder before limping over to the side table, where they’d placed their singular grocery bag.

“Go take a shower, and make sure you get all the dirt outta your wound.”

Yelena’s eyes flick downwards at her bandaged arm and then back to her sister again.

“You’re such a mom,” she repeats herself numbly as Nat draws the vodka bottle out of the bag, untwisting it with a deft motion and taking a long, practiced drag.

“Shower,” she exhales once she’s done, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “We’re leaving in six hours.”

—

Yelena takes a quick shower, ten minutes to the dot, and feels a little like a human again, even though the water was only lukewarm at best, and she has to put on her sweaty clothes from the day before. At least her hair and face are clean, the grime beneath her nails all scraped off, her wound cleansed of dirt. After she towels her hair off, she doesn’t put her jacket and tactical vest on just yet, remaining stripped down to just her undershirt and pants. 

She’s slept with her gear equipped before.

On most nights, really.

Tonight, though, just for a few hours, she doesn’t want to.

(She knows she doesn’t have to—her older sister is here.)

As she hangs her damp towel on the nearby rack, she notices that the window behind the dinky toilet has been cracked open about an inch, propped up by one of motel’s washcloths.

A handgun has been strategically placed on the back of the toilet.

A Glock-22.

An exit strategy.

When Yelena enters the main bedroom again, she sees that Natasha is sitting on the bed closest to the window—(the most vulnerable position, she briefly thinks to herself)—shirt off, tenderly probing a nasty-looking laceration just below her ribs.

The dried blood blooms across her stomach like a flower.

Crimson.

Replete with thorns.

“Damn,” she breathes, and Nat quickly looks up, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“It’s not deep,” she says immediately. “Just long.”

“It’ll scar,” Yelena shakes her head.

Wounds like that always scar.

“I’m no stranger to scars.” A proffered grin—slight, elusive, wry. And no sooner than she says it, Yelena spots the long, telltale surgical incision where the hysterectomy had been performed, and to the left of her belly button, there’s a scar that had once clearly been a bullet’s entry point. “I collect them everywhere I go.”

It’s an innocuous enough statement, but the contents of it jog her memory.

She's reminded of what that their mama said long ago in a military camp somewhere in Cuba.

Pain only makes you stronger, remember?

Yelena has always drawn vague comfort from the words—usually when she’s nursing her own sundry wounds, doing her best to recover from them.

But tonight, looking at Natasha’s body—which surely mirrors her own—she can’t help but think that those words might’ve been bullshit said by a poor, dying woman.

Sometimes, pain can only hurt.

“Your turn to shower,” she says, jerking her thumb emphatically at the bathroom door.

A half-smile.

Her lips are dry and cracked.

“Make sure you get the dirt outta that wound.”

“Asshole,” Natasha chuckles, the sound low and hoarse, and maybe even a little painful because she winces at the end, her bloodied fingers involuntarily drawing themselves up her ribs. 

“сука,” Yelena returns, throwing herself unceremoniously onto her bed, hiding her own laughter in a pillow.

Bitch.

—

When Natasha returns some thirty minutes later, she’s already twisted her damp hair into a messy plait, and she’s fully clothed, dressed like an armed gunman is going to burst through the curtained window at any moment.

Yelena had already flicked off the lamp and bunched the stiff blankets up to her nose in an attempt to get comfortable… but she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

Waiting.

She watches, ever observant, as her sister lithely winds through the room without making so much as a sound, the graceful ballerina that the Red Room tortured her to be. She’s similarly silent as she slowly lowers herself onto the other bed, gingerly propping herself up against the headboard, angling her torso towards the door.

But this is apparently too sudden of a movement for her body to currently handle.

A hissing noise escapes past her clenched teeth.

“You should sleep,” Yelena croaks aloud, having seen enough, having heard more. “I’ll take the first shift.”

Her sister’s hawklike stare finds her in the darkness. 

“What? No. Go to bed,” she snaps, obviously annoyed. “You were the one who wanted to stop for the night.”

“Yeah, because I looked over and saw that you looked like death warmed over!” She retorts haughtily. “However much you might pose otherwise, you’ve gotta have needs too.”

This quiets Natasha.

At the very least, it makes her look away.

She shifts (very incrementally) on her bed.

She plays a little with the end of her braid.

“An hour,” she says, so quietly that Yelena almost thinks she’s saying “an oar” for some bewildering reason.

“Чего?” What? 

“An hour,” Natasha repeats emphatically. “Wake me up in an hour. It’s… all I need.”

“Okay.” Yelena sits up abruptly, eager to please, desperate to show that she still cares.

It’s a bit sickening, really—the woman practically abandoned her.

She got out and never looked back…

“I mean it.” Her sister doesn’t quite lay down, but she does slouch a little more comfortably against her pillows. “An hour.”

“Yah.”

—

Yelena isn’t a woman of her words, though.

She lets her sleep for two.

“Dammit, Yelena,” Natasha groans, pulling her fingers hard over her eyes. “You told me you'd wake me up."

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natalya,” she yawns, finally slumping her head against her pillow. "It didn't kill you to get a little more beauty rest."

"Asshole."

As the dark takes her away, she smiles.

Bit—

—

A soft hand on her shoulder, a gentle shake. 

Yelena blearily opens her eyes to see Natasha standing over her, staring at her with that same inscrutable expression—complicated…  and utterly unreadable. It gives her the impression of being pierced through all over, analyzed and deconstructed.

Even though she’s quite clothed, she feels naked.

Seen.

“We gotta get moving,” she says matter-of-factly. “There’s coffee on the nightstand. Once you wash your face, I’ll change your bandage again.”

And then, stepping away, she disappears from view. From the sounds she’s making, she’s clearly cleaning the room, thoroughly removing all traces of their less than six hour presence in this motel in the middle of practically nowhere. In mere minutes, it will be like they had never been here at all.

And so it goes for Red Room operatives.

So it went in Ohio.

When Yelena sits up to stretch, blankets that she hadn’t fallen asleep under cascade heavily to the floor.

She glances to her left.

Sees a bed that’s been all but stripped clean.

—

In the bathroom, the gray light of dawn leans against the partially opened window. Yelena sits on the side of the half-bath as Natasha makes quick and expert work of cleaning her wound and bandaging it up again, snipping the excess gauze off with her penknife.

“Looks better today,” she simply comments as she replaces the knife in her utility belt. “Might not scar if you’re lucky.”

Unspoken between them but nonetheless understood, neither of them have really been lucky.

They were orphans abandoned by their mothers.

They were children who were trained to kill.

And now they have so much blood on their hands.

Red dripping from their ledgers.

Scars on their bodies, so many wounds on their souls.

Yelena’s not even thirty yet.

(Her life has given her plenty of reasons to suspect that she might never be.)

“Pssh,” she snorts derisively as her sister finally yanks the washcloth out from the window. 

It closes with a smart snap.

A decisive finality.

Yelena is just bending down to lace her boots up when Natasha suddenly speaks again, apropos of absolutely nothing.

She could have just left.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Gripping the washcloth loosely in one hand, she stays.

“There was... this S.H.I.E.L.D. guy,” she says, her voice reluctant, full of clear misgivings, “who used t’complain all the time that I never had an extraction plan. No exit strategies either. I’d just go in… complete my mission… and it’d be up to my enemy’s aim if I made it out intact.”

Yelena looks up to see that her sister’s back is turned to her, her back stiff, the sharp ridges of her shoulder blades jutting visibly through the black fabric of her shirt.

Somehow, even in a bathroom barely big enough to admit the both of them, she seems strangely small.

Young even.

She curls her fingers around the nearby towel rack like a kid gripping the monkey bars.

“I used to think that maybe that was the best way to atone for everything I’d done,” she continues, her voice ever distant, so perfectly controlled. “To be so reckless with my life that if I died during a mission, someone might actually call it heroic.”

A laugh, short and humorless, entirely disaffected from the horrible words that the same voice just spoke.

Yelena wraps her arms loosely around her stomach.

And represses the primal urge to shudder.

But wish though she could, she can’t look away from Natasha Romanoff.

Mesmerized.

Horrified.

Concerned.

She should hate this woman.

For all of these many years, she has loved her unconditionally.

“But then I got with the Avengers, you know, and I was suddenly in the public eye, tasked to save people, to try and protect my team…”

A violent pause. 

Natasha lets go of the towel rack rather abruptly but neatly folds the rag over the top of it.

“It’s different when you’re on a team,” she finally shrugs. “You start making exit strategies because it’s not just your life on the line anymore.”

“So that’s what we are, huh?” Yelena can’t stop herself from asking. Her voice drips its own sarcasm; it relishes in mockery; she hopes it’s enough to hide her hurt. “A team?”

They’d once been family.

Every night, Natasha told her that she loved her.

Every night, Yelena replied just the same.

And in all the years afterwards, there was always a small part of her that hadn't lost hope that her big sister was going to come back for her one day, that she was going to bring the Avengers and rescue her—rescue all the Widows—from Dreykov.

She got out.

Thousands of girls didn't.

“For now,” comes the quiet reply. “C’mon. Finish getting ready.”

Natasha doesn’t look behind her when she walks out.

Yelena is starting to think she never does.