#she was rancid to me for the record

[toopunktofuck]

in retrospect it’s genuinely funny that my grandfather used to rock up to my schools and use his clout as the first person to open an alternative school in our state to demand better treatment for me. it didn’t really work well enough that i was not extremely traumatized by compulsory education but he’d really show up and be like “do you know who I am.” he got my junior year history teacher who had been teaching for like 40 years fired bc he was friends w the school social worker lmao

[dinocanid]

If you read Xem's post, you will see that she states you should know the basics about that animal before confirming it. You should know that a wolf is a canine that is a pack hunter that lives mostly in the northern hemisphere. That they howl and usually hunt deer or some deer relative. The have fur and are pursuit predators. Those are the basics. No one except you and your friends said you're only a real wolf therian if you can name top ten unusual facts about wolves. How can someone confirm a wolf if they do not know what a wolf is? You yourself said that you differ from wild wolf behaviours. So you know you're not a wild wolf because of that. But twist words and play the victim I guess.

The OP claimed, very blatantly, that if you make a mistake about some species fact that someone else considers "basic knowledge" then they shouldn't be allowed to identify as that species anymore and should be gatekept from the label. Said basic knowledge included very common and easy-to-make mistakes. Someone can identify as a hyena without knowing at first they are feliforms and not caniforms, the OP said that they can't. Someone can identify as a wolfdog or a leopard, and mistake a wolfdog for a husky mix or a jaguar for a leopard in a photo. That happens, they can look very similar to each other. Idk how to explain that a hyena looks like a dog(canine), just like a thylacine looks like a dog. You can go most of your life before finding out the former is related to cats and the latter is related to kangaroos. You can put a leopard and a jaguar next to each other and it is difficult as hell to tell the difference a lot of times. Not all wolfdogs look like wolves, some just look like dogs especially if they're low content. Some dogs just look like wolfdogs or wolves without being wolf hybrids. See: the pile of movies and shows with "wolves" in it (it's wolf-like dogs being casted as wolves, lots of people don't notice). It's not common knowledge, it's fun facts you might stumble across in a "10 Things You Didn't Know About These Strange Animals" YouTube compilation at 3am.

The OP was stating very clearly that your identity becomes invalid the moment you fail a game of spot-the-difference. The OP post is capped off with:

"So yeah. You should know a lot about the animal you claim to be. If not? Don’t claim it."

I'm gonna be blunt that the OP had one of the most rancid takes I'd seen in a while. Knowing the creature exists was not stated anywhere in the post to be enough, you have to "know a lot".

Someone might not know that animal's realistic behaviors, or where they all live geologically, or what all of their body language means. Someone can know their theriotype before they figure out that later stuff, it's happened all the time and continues to happen. This also isn't covering non-earthly animal identities and how you can't even do ecological research on those. Someone can't go on wikipedia and read up on the ecology of their specific dragon species that has zero record of ever existing. Plenty of those with non-earthly animal identities are not less real as a result, it is an absolute buckwild take that earthly animal identities are somehow different with a higher bar of entry. That's not even mentioning people that identify as earthly animals with unrealistic ecology, because that's also a thing.

For the second part of your ask, I'm guessing you're referring to this recent one. You missed this entire chunk of the post:

"...I do not know most things about wolves off the top of my head. Don't ask me anything about wolf ecology outside the bare basics, I couldn't tell you. When I was really young I thought my nonhuman identity was a dog until one day I had the epiphany that I was actually a wolf. I didn't have to bury my head in research to figure that out, I just knew for not much reason. Any information on wolves I know today is stuff I picked up here and there over the years, independent of my identity"

To condense all of that into something shorter: I just knew I was a wolf before I knew much of anything about wolves. I didn't know I wasn't a wild wolf because I know a lot about wild wolf behavior. I genuinely don't know how that conclusion was drawn after reading that.

"Wolves are canines that live in packs and eat deer" isn't research, that's "I watched a movie once that had wolves in it", which is honestly the extent of what a lot of people know about wolves unless they're invested or something. That's not enough according to the OP, and if that's not what was meant then the entirety of the post was worded extremely poorly.

And this last part isn't related to anon, but I've seen a lot of responses since yesterday about "but why is research bad"? No one has said that it was, and I scroll the alterhuman tags almost daily. That's not something people are arguing. The point isn't "research bad, grr learning about animals sucks", the point is that this discourse is old. Like, old as hell. We're not gatekeeping nonhuman identities based on if you "know a lot" going in. We're not going to claim someone isn't a "real therian" if they get one thing wrong about their theriotype.

Let's say that someone is a leopard therian and posts a picture of a jaguar in some moodboard or something. You know the decent thing to do? You might let them know one of the photos is actually a jaguar, which will usually get you a "oh huh, thanks. didn't catch that". At no point do you suddenly have imply they aren't a "real" leopard therian. You can ask if they've maybe considered jaguars, but they are fully able to respond "yeah but no, I'm a leopard". And that's fine. Someone can be a hyena therian, accidentally say that hyenas are canines. It is absolutely fine and possible to say that hyenas are feliforms without pointing fingers and going "you're not a real hyena, because real hyenas would've known that already".

It's not 2012 anymore, we've grown past this. It is the strangest thing ever to see in the year two-thousand-twenty-four.

[abalidoth]

sorry I'm not over the concept of otherkin Pete Buttigieg. the discourse would be absolutely rancid and I want to observe it from a safe distance

DNC headquarters, 2031

“Look,” Terry says, and you take a sip of your coffee to avoid bashing his face in. “We���ve got the polling to back this up.”

“Are you talking about the Gallup polls?” you ask. “Because the fucking Gallup polls are too limited.”

“They clearly show a preference for wolf kintypes in Middle American swing states. Wolves are pack animals, dependable.” Terry flips to the next slide. “United Dakota alone is showing an eleven-point swing for wolf in favor of less common therians…”

“The community isn’t going to accept it. We’re going to lose the base. The base wants a fox, minimum.” You didn’t prepare your own slides, because you don’t need fucking Gallup to tell you what you already know. “Darren Gray is going to bore them to tears.”

Rachel’s been quiet so far, but she narrows her eyes at this, and for a sec you think she’s going to honest-to-god growl at you. “What’s wrong with wolves?”

“Nothing’s wrong with wolves,” Terry says quickly, shooting you a venomous look.

“Nothing’s wrong with wolves until the Iowa primaries roll around and your goody-two-shoes awoo boy is trailing thirteen points behind a mermaid catgirl and a sparkledragon.” You set your empty coffee cup down, now that it’s gone from a welcome distraction to a potential blunt instrument. “As of a week ago, Rasmussen is showing “generic fox Democrat” leading over “generic Republican” by…”

“Oh, sure,” Terry says. “You’re going to question Gallup and then throw fucking Rasmussen at me? Look. Darren has an exemplary service record, two tours with the Space Force, active combat, whole family is photogenic as hell…”

“And his fursona looks like a fucking gas station mascot,” you finish. Rachel laughs softly, and Terry looks at her like a kicked puppy. Kitten. Whatever.

“The higher-ups want us to win back the Harris-Greene voters,” he says, after a pause. “We need to project strength, and nothing says strength like an alpha. The primaries don’t matter, we’ll throw PR at it if we need to.”

“Hey, uh,” Rachel says. “This Gray guy. What are his policy positions?”

Terry blinks. “What does that have to do with anything?”

[ailithnight]

After this chapter, I will no longer be doing a taglist. Sorry folks, there's just too many of y'all and I'm on mobile. Please subscribe on AO3 for updates, or follow the tag A King in Arkham.

A King in Arkham

Chapter 4

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Danny. I understand you don't want to go with your godfather. Is there a reason for that?

Can't go with Vlad!

If you know something we don't about him, you need to tell us. Otherwise he will win custody.

It's.. He'll.. he'll make me.. turn me.. his fault!

What's his fault, Danny?

His fault. All his. All.. My.. no, my fault. It's all my fault...

Danny?

IT'S MY FAULT! I KILLED THEM! ALL DEAD! Because of me...

Now Danny, I'm sure that's not true. What happened at the Nasty Burger-

I made it happen.

Corporate negligence-

He knew. I knew. Dan knew what would happen. Dan made it happen. He knew the sauce was gonna blow. He knew Lancer would arrange the meeting there. He cheated. He lured them there. He bound them up so they couldn't escape and ran the time out until they exploded! Dan did that and Dan was me, so I did that.

Daniel...?

I murdered them. I murdered everyone. 

Da-

IT'S ALL MY FAU- *static*

.

Tim started talking after the audio cut to static.

"What you just heard is the last, partially recovered therapy session of Danny's in Chicago. The cameras were beyond salvaging. No one except Danny knows what happened after the audio cuts. What is known is that nearby witnesses heard what they claim sounded like a 'screaming moan' coming from the therapy room. When doctors and staff went to check; the therapist Mrs. Alders was slumped against the wall, appearing to have been forcefully pushed, with minor head trauma. Danny was curled up on the other side of the room, panicking and muttering about a Dan.

While Mrs. Alders mostly recovered from the incident, she does not know how she ended up slammed against the wall. Once this audio was recovered, it was turned over to the police. Given the severity of the... confession... in conjunction with the apparent assault, the courts decided to move Danny to an asylum for the criminally insane." Tim paused in the debrief, letting the information sink in. After a moment, Duke raised his hand. Jason scoffed at the action.

"This ain't kindergarten kid, say your bit."

"I just, that explains why an asylum in general. But why Arkham?" Tim nodded, pulling up a picture of a document.

"Kid's godfather, business tycoon and multimillionaire, Vlad Masters. Insisted that if his godson should have to go to an asylum, he'll go to the- and I quote- 'Best in the country.' Made a deal with the state that he'll foot the bill while he continues fighting for custody. Apparently didn't do his research enough to know that 'Best Known' and 'Best' are not the same." Bruce had the next question.

"So, Master's doesn't have custody yet?"

"Nope." Tim popped his 'p', pulling up more documents. Investigative reports. "Given Danny's reactions to him, CPS started investigating. Found a lot of shady shit. Narcissism, anger issues, control issues, coercion tactics. 

One agent said he tried to bribe her with a rather large sum of money, which she might have taken if she wasn't well enough off from a family inheritance and mostly doing this work for the kids. Of course, same agent also said he had 'Rancid vibes' and 'tried to posses' her, but her 'Grammy's necklace protected her' so her credibility was deemed iffy.

Still, there's enough there that it's unlikely Masters will be able to gain custody any time soon. So if Gotham's favorite serial adopter with a good track record for helping troubled kids, Brucie Wayne, were to step in..." Tim's smirk is infectious and makes its way around the table. Bruce's lips twitch ver briefly into a fond smile, before dropping back into a frown.

"What do you make of the... confession?" Jason doesn't even try to hold in his groan.

"Seriously, B? It was survivor's guilt or some kind of psychotic episode or something." Damian frowns.

"I would not discredit him so quickly, Hood. After all, his ghosts are real apparently."

"Hnn." Bruce gets that look on his face. The almost constipated frown that means he is going to have to do something unpleasant like host a gala or attend a business meeting or, "I will have to call Constantine to verify what the entity we are dealing with is." 

Jason lets out a gleeful snort. "Have fun with that one, B. In the mean time can I go break our kid out yet or what?"

"Actually, Hood," Jason turns a glare on Tim, who is once again holding his hands up placatingly. "That still leaves us with the issue of making him an escapee and you an accomplice."

"Well fuckin Brucie Wayne can't exactly just walk up to Arkham and ask if they've got any blue eyed black haired boys for him to adopt."

"Not exactly what I'm suggesting here."  Batman sighs.

"What are you suggesting." Tim pulls out a case he had tucked under the desk, a truly devious smirk painted across his face.

"Just a little temporary theft. Only long enough to put the kid's face on the news for Brucie to stumble across." He opens the case, sliding it over to Jason. Inside, a replica of a relic from Tim's own past; resized to fit his bigger, broader brother. "You remember Red X, don't you?" 

The green that had been tinting Jason's vision the whole meeting finally subsides, giving way to wicked mirth.

"Oh, hell yes." 

Batman sighs.

.

"You don't get it do you? I'm still here. I still exist. That means you still turn into me."

Another night, another nightmare of a memory jolting Danny back into the waking world. His chest is tight, a high whine suppressing itself in the back of his throat. Danny's eyes dart around his room, searching for the shadowy void of his most frequent visitor. But Spectra isn't there tonight. She hasn't come back since she was seen by Banana Bat. 

It's strange. Danny had gotten used to waking up with her there, towering over him, shadowy clawed hand resting somewhere on his body as she feasted on his misery. He didn't mind, really. He had plenty to give and she didn't even rough him up too bad. Just enough to keep the psyches concerned. The last 3 days without her presence had been... not lonely. Danny was already lonely. But emptier. Like the one good thing his continued existence was doing for someone had been ripped away.

Truly, Danny felt he had nothing left in this world. Nothing to give, nothing to gain. But he couldn't die. Couldn't unleash full ghost Phantom on the world again. That's what created Dan. No, this was what he had to give. All he had to give. To stay human so that Dan never becomes ghost.  To live, as the least burden he could be, so that Dan never died. 

Clockwork must have known what would happen if Danny fully died. That must be why he spared him. The Observants sentenced Danny to death. But Clockwork was smarter. He sentenced Danny to life. And really, it's such a small price to pay for the sins of his other self. 

Despite what the others say, Arkham isn't hell. The only issue Danny's had was the clown and that's not really anyone's fault. It's just, Danny looked at the Joker and he saw Freakshow. And he saw that stupid staff. And he heard that grating laugh. And all he could think about was how that was the only thing that could still turn him into Dan. If the clown took control again. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't! Not becoming a Dan, not becoming a problem; that's all he could do now! He couldn't he couldn't he couldn't...

Danny was broken out of his spiraling thoughts by the now familiar buzzing echoing clanging sound of another break out. He closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. Then, suddenly, he was lifted up, hoisted onto someone's shoulders in a fireman's carry. 

"Damn kid, do you weigh anything?" 

Danny's eyes flew open, his body subconsciously tensed for a fight Danny wouldn't actually fight. The voice, clearly modulated, sounded high and breezy. His head turned to look at the person now forcefully evicting him from his room. Black body suit. White mask. Red slashes in a stylized X. Built like his Dad... Danny had no idea who this was.

For a moment, Danny felt a twinge of fear. He had no idea who this was. They obviously weren't with Arkham. They had just stolen him from his room and, holy shit they were flying now. No. Not flying, grappling. And running. Moving very fast towards the exit. With Danny. For unknown reasons. 

Holy shit, someone was kidnapping a teenager from an insane asylum. That, probably wasn't good. Any normal or sane person would be scared for their health and wellbeing. But, well... Danny was hardly normal. And sane was becoming increasingly questionable. 

And this guy, well he didn't trigger Danny's ghost sense. No chilly breath escaping his mouth. So he was human, not a ghost. It's not like a human could kill Danny. Not with his ghostly healing factor. Sure, they could make his life a living hell. Beat him, violate him, enslave him. But a human couldn't turn him into Dan so... Danny doesn't think he really cares. 

"Um, why are you carrying me?"

"Taking you out of here." 

"Clearly, I meant why?"

"Owe someone a favor." That was mildly concerning. Danny could think of one person who would stoop to this.

"Did Vlad send you?"

"Master's? Nope. He couldn't afford my services."

"Oh. Okay." As long as it wasn't Vlad. They were almost to the main gate now. There was screaming behind them, now. Danny loomed behind them as the person grappled up the wall and vaulted them over. Danny caught the barest glimpse of the twink in a burlap sack mask striding out the door, leaving a noxious cloud in his wake.

Then they're gone, grappling to then moving across rooftops. It's not a bad feeling. Kinda fun even. Flying as a ghost was nice. Really nice. But different from this. Gravity literally didn't touch you if you didn't want it too. But this? Danny could feel the pull of the earth, the force of every swing. Gravity was still there, exerting its influence, but they were defying it. 

For a tiny moment, Danny felt the ghost of a smile on his lips. The good feeling was fleeting, like all his feelings these days. But it was there and it was enough to shock a small "Oh." from Danny.

"Oh what, runt?"

"Nothing, just. Never grappled before. S'nice."

"Oh." It was such a soft thing, Danny once more found himself pondering the intentions of his kidnapper. 

"Do I get to know where we're going?"

"Safe house for the night. I'm your baby sitter."

"And tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

"...Okay."

.

The next morning, Vicki Vale stumbles across the story of her career (so far) sitting dazed and confused in her office. A prepubescent boy in an oversized Arkham uniform? The day after a breakout where Scarecrow and only one other inmate escaped? Oh this is bound to sell.

Okay, I know the show pretty heavily implies that Teen Titans Robin us Dick.

But

What if it was Tim?

[blueberrypancakesworld]

hi hi! can i request a euronymous x reader where they grew up together and were next door neighbors and reader got into the scene with euro and they’re very close friends. and when ann marit is introduced, reader gets jealous and it’s angst to fluff?? ✨🤍

The neighbors

warning : angst, fluff, kiss, jealousy

Info : Of course you can request such thing (always happy if I have something diffrent something other than smut (I like writing smut not to get the wring idea)you know) I like the idea so I hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

masterlist ->loc

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was never anything to do in this sleepy little town. Euronymous knew that and so did his neighbor. The two of them were practically sandbox friends. The parents got on well, often ate together in the garden, went on outings and the two firstborns had fun.

They played in the woods and gave free rein to their fanaticism, even when they were no longer children and their teenage angst made the world a cruel place for them.

Euronymous in particular helped her see her pain and fear and showed her a dark world. A world that was different from the norm of the city, not the stuffy suburbs with old people. but a world of records, dark records that vibrated the walls of her room with the music from the speakers.

They both danced wildly to it and screamed until their necks hurt from headbanging, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter what they both had, it was that when she put on her studded leather jacket, black eyeliner and Euronymous dyed her hair black, they both knew they were simply the new revolutionaries. They had something that the longtime residents of the city didn't have. They wanted to change something, to revolutionize something and that was music.

A resolution they also kept and helped their neighbor and maybe also their secret crush to write letters for a long time. ,,Thank you I mean really thank you for this whole thing...means a lot to me" he had said to her putting his hand on her shoulder and giving her a smile. Then she saw the old him.

That softness before they had both changed and she had smiled back, confident that she would always be with him. But where he had touched her, the inferno of hell seemed to be burning, an inferno she had long since lost herself in. An inferno of love that she had no idea how strongly it would still burn in the black metal.

So strong that it would overcome everything, wouldn't it?

That's what she thought, but when it came to the party at his and Dead's new rancid house, things seemed to be different. The party was good, there was beer, new songs and a bonfire over which they burned things, barbecued and did other things. She danced with the others, laughed, took photos and helped Dead with his make-up.

Until she saw the blonde Ann Marit come up with her friends and Euronymous, who had been talking to her for a few minutes, left her standing there. The fire, it burned, it hurt and it seemed the first time she felt jealousy, she had always gotten along with him, they were childhood friends and even if she wished it, maybe he had felt something for her.

Or was it just one-sided, because the way he looked at Ann made her heart sting. The beer that was still in her hand was thrown to the floor and she went into the house to find something stronger, or something to eat, or new music, anything to take her mind off them.

But she hadn't seen the pair of eyes she had been watching. Slamming the door behind her, she made her way into the kitchen, ripping open the cupboards, looking for something to distract her when she didn't notice the wooden crack behind her.

,,Are you looking for the offering or can I help you?" she heard Euronymous's voice standing at the doorframe, looking at her with a slight smile. But this grin only made the pain in her heart greater. ,,You...go back to her near the door...I can do this," she hissed at him and slammed the door of the cupboard shut so that it almost fell down.

Her eyes closed and she sighed strainedly as he suddenly approached her, his hand slowly but suddenly placed itself on hers. ,,But she's not you...and she never will be," he began and she raised her eyes slightly hopefully, confused. His expression didn't lie, he was serious.

She would never be Ann, she couldn't be. ,,I don't want you to be like her, you're you and...and in all this you've always been there for me," he continued, his gaze moving slowly from her hand up to her cheek, seeing the hope in her eyes, the tension between them.

As she gripped his hadn tighter, she couldn't believe that this hope, the hope she had had since she was a teenager, might have a chance after all. ,,Euronymous I was afraid...afraid that you-" she was interrupted by him when he suddenly kissed her. gently, intimately and lovingly.

He pulled her close, his hands embracing her in a hug as he had always been there for her. ,,Afraid I wouldn't love you?" he asked with a grin, which she returned and kissed him back, something he returned with pleasure.

,,I love you until the inferno of hell devours us, my dark princess," he winked and put his hand back on her cheek, letting her snuggle against him, knowing that perhaps a little gentleness in the darkness could create a love that would last forever since they were neighbors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[alex99achapterthree]

Once upon a time, there was Columbia House...

Back in the day Columbia House ads like this were in all the major magazines, and they also did direct mailings. The offer seemed too good to be true... ten albums for ONE PENNY!!! Of course it was too good to be true. What you were getting roped into were future albums being automatically sent to you (along with a bill) each month unless you answered an earlier mailer to refuse them. Even albums you wanted were much more expensive than you could buy locally, and you were required to buy so many over the next year.

Enter me, a 10-year-old kid.

One day we get this mailer with all these albums depicted as little stamps. Just paste your choice of ten stamps to the card, tape a penny onto the indicated spot and return in the postage paid envelope. Cool! I didn't really know music so I just picked 10 (including one I'll talk about in a minute) that looked interesting and mailed it off. Of course, it never occurred to me to ask my parents.

A box of records soon arrived and the other shoe dropped when MORE records began arriving... with bills. The parental explosion was epic. I spent months cutting grass and looking for odd jobs a 10-year-old could do to pay my way out of this, and forget about my allowance, that was garnished instantly.

Anyway...

One of the albums I picked was this one...

Even as a ten-year-old I was noticing girls so no wonder it caught my eye. It turns out it was a pretty good album and I enjoy Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass to this day.

About that album cover photo...

Meet Dolores Erickson. Now 86, back then she was an Eileen Ford model who appeared in all the ladies magazines of the day.

In 1965, she got a call from her agent to fly to Los Angeles for a photo shoot for A&M, a new label started by Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss. The photographer was Peter Whorf, with whom she had done other covers. Payment would be around $1,500 ($11,000 in today’s dollars), plus expenses.

The shoot lasted the better part of the day. Wearing a bikini with the straps pulled down, Dolores, who was three months pregnant at the time, sat on a stool and was wrapped in a white blanket that was covered in shaving cream (real whipped cream quickly melted and went rancid under the hot studio lights). An epic image was born.

A Taste Of Honey indeed...

[nyaagolor]

Very silly chart about the sv characters and weed

Protagonist: your mileage may vary but mine only befriended Koraidon because she was high as shit and thought it was a really big wingull

Nemona: She took those anti-drug PSAs to heart. Not only does she think marijuana will kill you and has never smoked before, but if she saw someone else smoking she would put out their joint and give them a stern lecture. She's still student council president at the end of the day and she will NOT tolerate la hierba diabla

Penny: Being a stoner transfemme catgirl furry is basically a prerequisite to being a cybersecurity expert at this point. This woman has DEFINITELY played Minecraft while high out of her mind

Arven: He is completely unfamiliar with weed outside this one weird brownie recipe he saw online once, but good lord he needs some. Get this man an edible immediately he needs a nap and a release from the cruelty of existence

Sada and Turo: Got the idea for the time machine while high, this is a hill I will die on

Jacq: He has enough cortisol in his bloodstream at this very moment to kill a small mammal, I think he needs something to chill him out. He's so air-headed that it probably won't affect his outward behaviors anyway

Miriam: Medical marijuana was getting popular so she got curious and tried it, telling absolutely no one. She hated the cotton-mouth feeling, so she hasn't touched it since, and says she's never tried it when people ask

Dendra: She's an athlete and they drug-test so she couldn't try it even if she wanted to (and trust me, she wants to)

Saguaro: He was never interested in it because it smells bad >n<. Try as he might to hide it, he's a bit sensitive and didn't want to be around something so stinky

Salvatore: He was in the poke-netherlands once on a study abroad trip and rolled the worst blunt of all time. He was so thoroughly humiliated that he didn't even end up smoking and was asked to leave. The memory still haunts him. He doesn't like to talk about it

Tyme: Smoked a few times when she was a teenager and hanging out with Ryme-- ironically in their youth, it was Tyme who was the rebel! She hasn't done it in a few decades though, it's not really her thing anymore

Raifort: She'll try anything once, but didn't like the feeling of being so sluggish and tired so she didn't do it again

Clavell: You know that video with Clavell as Dwight? "Clavell finding marijuana is more dangerous than most people smoking it"? Exactly that

Katy: Smells too bad for her to even think about trying it. Also she's petty and too many people asked her if she can bake weed brownies, so she avoids it on principle now

Brassius: He's a grass gym leader, what do you think. Also I hc he has a chronic illness so he takes it medically to help with the pain. His studio smells downright rancid

Iono: Got high on a since deleted stream. She ended up staring directly into the camera for like three hours and falling asleep drooling, which was so embarrassing that she erased all records of the stream from existence and swore never to touch it again

Kofu: This is a man who looks like he would make MEAN cannabutter. He just has the vibes

Ryme: Smokes sometimes at parties and other social events, but not all that frequently. Grandma's still got it, plus it helps calm her down before a seance

Tulip: Tried it once after being offered it at an afterparty, but didn't like how it made her feel. She likes to be at the top of her game At All Times and this was not the way to do it

Grusha: Takes it medically for his chronic pain, but that's about it. Wouldn't use it otherwise

Rika: Just look at her.

Larry: Tried it one (1) time and didn't like it. Prefers regular cigarettes

Poppy: She's four.

Hassel: He ran away from home to be a musician he definitely had a stoner phase. Also he's besties / husbands with Brassius, so he's more than familiar with weed. I think because he's a schoolteacher and works with kids he doesn't do it much anymore though

Geeta: I'm honestly not sure how she fits into this, only that she's on the Nightmare Blunt Rotation of every Paldean

Giacomo: He can pretend all he likes but he's still a student council president at heart, he is mortified by the very concept of smoking weed. Someone offered him a joint at a rave and he lectured them for a half hour on the importance of caring for your body. He may look like a stoner but do not be fooled

Mela: Acts tough but she's kinda scared of the prospect of smoking weed. Don't tell anyone though

Atticus: He heard about this ancient Johtoian technique of ninja relaxation and tried to hotbox his room once. This resulted in an academy-wide fire scare because he set off every smoke alarm in his hall. The director was less than thrilled about this. Rumor has it the smell from Atticus' homemade herb and weed blend still sticks to the walls

Ortega: His opinion on weed is irrelevant because no one in their right mind is going to deal weed to a 14 year old nepo-baby in a pastel pink suit

Eri: Actually shockingly responsible and healthy at the end of the day-- illicit substances aren't part of her workout routine. Will probably give you a look of disapproval if she sees you smoking, but ultimately that's your business

[infamous-if]

Hey, Is our bands name "Infamous" or can we choose ourself? I really like the idea of naming a Band "OverRated" just imagining going on stage and screaming "WE ARE OVERRATED!!!!" and everyone cheering. It's the kind of thing I find funny.

Anyway I like the characters so far, they have me all intrigued, I marked Seven with a big X bc I'm a sucker for enemy to lovers trope. Do you have any fun facts for our bandmates?

lol thats so funny and yes, you can choose the band name yourself. My friend has plans to call them "THE BAND"...just the band. So when they get introduced, "give a round of applause to the band!"

fun facts...

G: has a tattoo on the bottom of their foot of a cartoon cat sticking the finger lmao they also have one in the inside of their bottom lip that just says their name, they're very unserious (shouts to my sibling who has a tattoo in her inner lip lol)

G is also banned from a bar called Peekmans because they kept jokingly (and drunkenly) suggesting putting glory holes to the boss and the boss got so irritated by their persistence (they would find a way to slip it in any conversation. literally every one) that they just told them to never come back

August: August finds comfort in their headphones and they've had it for years and it only barely works. There's been multiple instances where someone walked in on them slamming their headphones against the wall and being like "???" only for August to put it to their ear and say "yeah, works now" and walk away

Victoria got scouted to model when she was getting groceries with her mom. She was around 16. At first she thought it was a scam but went through with it and the rest was history.

One of her biggest and most consistent rumors is that she isn't a natural redhead? She's threatened to show them the carpets match the drapes but obviously her team is like "absolutely not" (G finds the prospect and the fact that it bothers her that much hilarious))

Sebastian: Sebastian failed his driving test 6 times. cried actual tears of joy when he passed on his 7th. Also, he and his girlfriend at the time conceived Maya the same night he lost his virginity. talk about bad luck. (the fact that he had a baby before getting his license is a reoccurring joke between him and Maya)

Seven: Seven's favorite bands are Rancid and The Clash (they also secretly love like top 40s pop but their mUh ImAgE). When Seven was in the band with MC, they sucked really bad at the guitar. Now, they're pretty good in their new band, but they still don't do it often since their guitarist is miles better.

they can also play 'twinkle twinkle little star' on the piano and they're very proud of that

Orion: Orion used to work for a very popular record label before he saw MC's band and quit on a whim after the record execs said MC's band doesn't have the 'it-factor' Orion believes otherwise. He's very athletic and wakes up at five for a run and drinks those nasty egg yolk and blended food shakes. Terrifyingy disciplined man.

[the-fabled-geedis]

One week on testosterone.

Today marks seven days on T. No changes have made themselves known quite yet. Each morning post-shower I have been following the ritual of rubbing the acrid-smelling gel into my upper right arm and shoulder until it dries, dragging the excess across my chest, and finally wiping my sticky hand across my stomach. It has the exact consistency of hand sanitizer, and I have to remind myself that it isn't, and to scrub my hands vigorously after each run-in with the gel. I can't get it on my partner or my cat, because that's bad I've been told. It'll make my cat grow a beard or something.

A few times since starting T, bouts of fear have gripped at my stomach. The same fears I've had since the beginning, kicked into overdrive. What if I regret this. What if I'm wrong. And I breathe. And remind myself. I can stop if I see fit. It's not as if there is no turning back now. And I am on a low dose. I will not be doing any transforming into a lumberjack overnight. It is ok. I am ok. And then I remind myself why I wanted this in the first place. And I am calm.

Christmas has come and gone. I did not mention this newest life change to my family when visiting. I consider it less of a matter of when I WANT to tell them, and more of a matter of when I will HAVE to tell them. Once it is too obvious to be concealed, or once they decide to ask me first, "has your voice changed?". I know they will not have a poor reaction. But I also know better by now then to let them in on things without caution. I also failed in my mission to assert myself when my parents got my pronouns wrong, when they clearly are not trying in that regard.

But my mother did surprise me in a very welcome way. She made me a new stocking, with my new name. This means a lot, and it stays with me.

Today I will record my "one week on t" voice progress video. I look forward to hearing the progress after 2 weeks, 4 weeks, one month, three. I wonder what rancid comments I will get on tiktok.

I concluded sessions with my therapist this week as well, for reasons outside of my control. If I have my way, I will continue sessions with them in the future, as I have made personal progress during my time with them that has been invaluable. It has led me to where I am now. They are the best therapist I have ever had.

Thanks for reading :)

-Geedis

[ggomos-maribat]

Secrets, Thrice Divulged

Part 4 of Heirs Apparent | AO3

Masterlist

Words in bold italics are spoken in Arabic. CW: mild blood, violence, vehicle accident

Danny didn't believe in luck.

He'd grown up in the League, where he had been waltzing with death, where he had close calls and near-misses. Where he was taught that one slip-up, one gap in his skills made him doubt he was going to be alive in the next morning. He didn't entertain the idea of luck, not when he found his passion in astrophysics. Things didn't happen by mere luck; there was only probability and chance. Even in his transition into a halfa, he knew it wasn't completely random, not when his family had an entire ghost portal situated in their basement.

But if luck truly did exist, he knew he had the worst one.

"I can't believe they left us here, in a different city, just because they caught a strong ecto-signature in Gotham city in the middle of the night!" His older sister's voice of complaint pulled him out of his thoughts.

Danny only smiled wryly as he watched her scowl at the two bus tickets they had to purchase themselves. Origin: Atlantic city. Destination: Gotham. What could they expect from their parents except last-minute ghost-hunting trips?

"And it's not like there are tons of ghosts in Gotham---" Jazz stopped to look at him. "Are there a lot?"

"Considering that it's a breeding ground of death, emotions and obsessions, plus it's the home of one of the oldest ghosts out there, I'd say yeah," he replied, aimlessly noting the growing gray color of the sky. He recalled the rare times he was in Gotham; in terms of ectoplasm rancidity, it was just second after Amity Park.

"Still! They left one text! Didn't bother to wake us up or wait until morning." Jazz hiked her bag up her shoulders. People started to crowd around the bus in hopes of getting a decent seat. They followed along the back slowly.

Danny gave her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it's a direct trip to Gotham. As soon as we get there, we'll find Mom and Dad, take a tour, and meet one of the Rogues or something."

Jazz said nothing but offered a weak smile, an attempt to assure him that she was trying to look at the positive side.

He looked around the area. Not a lot of buses seemed to be stopping by Gotham, so their ride seemed packed with passengers. The station was filled with the chatter of the crowd, and the air buzzed with a certain chill that made his core thrum.

Core . . . thrumming?

Danny whipped around the second he felt goosebumps trickling down his neck. His eyes met blue ones that mirrored his but he let his own gaze pass over her to avoid prolonged eye contact.

What is she doing here? Four thousand miles away from Paris? A quick discreet glance told him that she was with her friends.

His fingers twitched inside his hoodie pockets. A million questions flooded his head, but he knew he couldn't move or say anything.

Because around all these people, they weren't supposed to know each other. They were supposed to be strangers.

Before he could rearrange his thoughts, his attention zeroed in on familiar voices to his side, plus the large stocky figures brushing past him in the line.

"Take the B-mobile for a ride, he said. It'll be fun, he said."

"Okay, for the record, it was Jay who told us to take it out of Gotham---"

"Wow, selling me out right away, Dickie? Who was driving and crashed the car again? It wasn't me."

"Fools, I repeatedly said that this was a horrible idea." A huff. "I will make sure to tell Father that I had no part in this."

"One word out of you, Demon Spawn, and we're leaving you here."

Danny's mind blanked out again. His subconscious wasn't as clear-cut as his Ghost Sense, but he knew it was warning him of danger. All three of them somehow boarding one bus screamed capital D-A-N-G-E-R to him and he wanted to run, tell his siblings that this was asking for trouble.

He stepped one foot up the bus platform, holding onto the handle. What should I do? Should I turn back now? Catch the next bus? Send a signal to Akhi and Amira? Is there an assassin on the bus? His eyes darted over to the pair of tickets Jazz held. No . . . I can't do that to Jazz without a proper explanation. Not when she bought the tickets with her own money. That's not fair.

"Danny?" Jazz gazed up at him.

He swallowed, climbing up the bus. "Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out for a sec."

When they took their seats right behind the driver, he pulled up his hood to mask a part of his face. Tucker had once pointed out his resemblance to Damian Wayne but it had only been a passing comment that Jazz never heard. He didn't need her or the Wayne brothers noticing that during the bus ride.

He made a quick sweep as he noticed Marinette enter the vehicle, with a blonde boy holding her by the hand. Two of their friends followed behind with one prattling rapidly in French. Damian and his brothers were seated an aisle away from himself and Jazz, while the Parisian group took their seats at the middle of the bus.

No suspicious entities, living or otherwise, were in sight.

Danny clenched his fist inside his pocket. Both Damian and Marinette should know that the three of them were in the same ride. He figured they were trying to lay low and act normal while remaining vigilant for potential threats. Like he was.

He let himself recline on his seat as the engine revved to life and the doors folded closed.

He could only hope for the best.

---

Marinette followed behind Adrien as they walked to their bus seats, with Chloe and Alix trailing behind them. The blonde girl hadn't stopped cursing a certain classmate to hell since they found themselves stranded in Atlantic city. 

"That witch! How dare she pull off something like this?" Chloe spat out. "And Bustier! How will she take responsibility in case something happens to us? Huh?" 

Alix wrestled her down to her seat before she could alarm the other passengers. Meanwhile, Marinette tried to soothe the stirring feeling in her chest. Ever since she saw her two brothers in the station, her attention had been divided. 

"Chloe, save that energy for later when we arrive in Gotham," Adrien said calmly. "We're fine, we're not in danger, and we got our tickets. Then we'll make sure our class will face the consequences." 

He squeezed Marinette's hand as he said the words. She smiled softly in return. 

Chloe folded her arms with a defiant huff, turning her head towards the window. Alix only side-eyed her, settling on the sear beside her as a silent promise to the other two that she'll keep Chloe at bay. 

Adrien motioned to the seats in front of them. "After you, my Lady." 

"Sorry—um," she cleared her throat. "Can you take the window seat instead?" 

In case an emergency happens, a voice inside her uttered, in case I need to jump into action immediately. 

She shook her head slightly. No, Mari, don't think like that. Nothing is going to happen. 

Thankfully, Adrien let her sit near the aisle without question. He undoubtedly sensed her uneasiness but was opting to talk about it later. 

"Comfy?" He squeezed her hand again. 

Marinette scrunched her nose. The barely-cushioned seats and torn leather barely matched up to the luxury bus their class probably rode earlier that morning. Nonetheless, she didn't want to complain. 

No, I'm worried. "Yeah, comfy," she mumbled. 

Adrien hummed—bless him, he was still the sunshine he was even in the worst situations—and unzipped his bag to bring out snacks. "I bought these while you were lining up for the tickets. Eat up, princess." 

Marinette's lips parted at the gesture. Princess. It had taken her a while to warm up to the nickname since it hit too close to home. But she grew to love the endearment. 'Amira' to her brothers and mother, 'princess' to her love. 

With a small 'thank you' she accepted a packet of biscuits from him while he passed a couple snacks to Alix and Chloe. The biscuits placated her rumbling hunger but not her paranoia. Her gaze strayed towards the seats in front of them, spotting Damian's head lowered, seemingly occupied with his phone. Straight ahead of her, Danyal was buried in his hoodie, perhaps to draw less attention to himself.

No matter how badly she wanted to talk to them, she resisted the idea. If it really was a coincidence that they ended up in the same bus, she'd be exposing the three of them in more danger if she tried to communicated with either.

"Okay, I'll bite," Adrien whispered beside her, "What are you thinking about?"

She forced herself to look at the stretch of road becoming a blur as the bus sped. "Paris. I shouldn't have agreed to go on this trip . . ."

"You know Luka and Gami have it covered, right?"

"I know but," she let out an exhausted sigh, "I haven't been this far from home for this long, you know?"

His thumb traced the back of her hand. "What about that time an akuma trapped us in a pocket dimension for three days?"

She laughed. "You know that doesn't count."

"Does too." A teasing smile graced his lips which faltered when she yawned. "Hey, you can rest your head on my shoulder if you want to sleep. The ride will take a while."

Marinette rubbed her eyes. "I'll live, don't worry. I overslept this morning, remember?"

She was about to grab her water bottle when the bus suddenly lurched to the side. Her head snapped up to witness two things happen at the same time: the bus driver had slumped, unconscious, and Damian jumped to catch the man; and at the same second, Danyal himself slid to the front to steer the wheel himself.

Shouts and sounds of surprise echoed around her, but Marinette could only focus on her brothers. The bus was moving erratically, which meant that there was something wrong with the controls. She watched Danyal struggle to keep the vehicle in its lane, knuckles whitening and jaw clenched tightly. Damian was checking for the driver's pulse; his mouth was moving but she couldn't hear him over the commotion.

She had moved to the edge of the seat without her notice and the bus lurched again, this time throwing her forwards.

"—brakes! Step on the brakes!"

"I can't! It's not working!"

"Was it tampered with? Where's the emergency brakes?!"

Marinette caught her breath as she composed herself. Around her, passengers had been knocked from their seats, clinging to whatever they could get their hands on. She barely registered Adrien trying to reach for her arm—

"Shit!"

A loud screech rang out as the bus tilted, skidding through the road at an angle only to be stopped by the rails on the side of a cliff. A high-pitched scream sounded as she saw a toddler slipping from his mother's grasp, falling through the unhinged doors, leaving him to dangle at the edge.

The bus teetered a little.

Marinette released her breath, freezing in her position. She saw one of the Wayne brothers shuffle towards the child when he was stopped by Damian.

"Don't." Damian glared. "Don't or else we'll fall."

The hand was retracted. Marinette's pulse sped up as she heard the mother's whimpering sobs. Damian was still supporting the unconscious driver. Danyal had the dysfunctional breaks pressed to the floor as he desperately kept the bus in its balance.

Without thinking she spoke out loud in clear English. "I'll go."

Adrien gasped sharply. Chloe hissed her name. Her brothers turned to stare at her, along with some other passengers at the front.

"I'll go get him," she repeated in a louder tone. "I'm light enough—I think. I should be able to get him."

A soft sniff pulled her attention back to the dangling child. She was met with no disagreement (except from her friends), so she slowly began to make her way to the front, careful not to disrupt the bus. Marinette knew her actions were watched by piercing eyes and bated breaths but her instincts ignored the distractions.

The bus creaked and shook again the moment she stepped near the front doors. With one hand, she gripped the handle while the other reached for the little boy.

Marinette clenched her jaw. I can't reach him. She braved another step closer, making the bus tilt a little again. The boy's fingers were starting to slip. She took a deep breath. I have to get down there.

In one swift move, she swung herself down to hang from the bus, catching the boy at the waist before he fell. She lifted him back to the vehicle and he ran towards his mother, sobbing. 

The passengers screamed as the floor shifted again. Now it was Marinette who was at the edge of her death and we she looked down, the fall did seem unforgiving.

She bit her lip.

Any longer they stayed there, the rails were going to break.

Her head snapped up, meeting her brothers' eyes. "Drive," she commanded. "Steer the bus back to the road."

Danyal was first to speak up,, his hands tightening on the wheel. "No . . ."

---

Danyal's response was faint, but was clearly heard by Jasmine behind them and Damian's brothers, who were now staring holes to the back of his head. 

He knew it was uncharacteristic of him to jump to help in that emergency—it was more of Grayson's thing. But he'd seen Danyal rush to the wheel and he had felt himself jump into the action at the same time. 

He looked at Marinette, feeling utterly helpless as he saw her hanging. Yet her eyes told a different story, passing on a message that said 'trust me', like she'd always silently say during their missions together.

And Danyal seemingly got the hint.

Damian watched as his brother floored the accelerator this time, directing the wheel to the far left to swerve them out of the edge of the cliff. Marinette had flipped with the perfect timing, propping herself back on the bus as the doors closed. The wheels were still moving erratically, but he could tell that Danyal had better control this time.

The bus jerked from side to side this time, rattling every passenger on board. Finally—finally—Damian saw the lever for the emergency brakes at the bottom of the dashboard. He leapt, pulled on it, and sent the bus skidding before it slid to a halt.

Damian released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

---

With the Wayne boys' help, the bus passengers immediately filed out the beat-up vehicle. Damian himself had help from Jason carrying the unconscious driver over to the side of the road while Dick and Tim checked the civilians for injuries. 

If Jason kept burning his gaze into Damian, he pretended not to notice. Dick joined them not long after to help look over the driver. 

The eldest Wayne put two fingertips at the man's neck. "Poison?" 

"Possibly," Damian replied, "but no warning signs before the trip began." 

"If he was poisoned during the ride, we would've noticed that," Jason said. 

Damian looked back at the bus. Obviously, the accident was deliberate, one targeting him and his siblings if he could take his best guess. But knowing the League, the incident could only be the beginning. He forced himself to be more aware, observing each detail in his surroundings. They could be anywhere. 

As his eyes scanned the people around, he caught sight of the mother of the child earlier, profusely thanking Marinette. In another spot, Jasmine was talking to Danyal, perhaps scolding him for the rash action while tapping through her phone to find another way to get to Gotham.

"What was that?" Jason's voice cut through his thoughts. 

He raised an eyebrow. "What was what?" 

"You know what." 

His brothers' curious eyes told him of every unspoken question. Why'd you jump into danger like that? Who was that boy you looked like? 

Why did it seem like you knew him and that girl? 

"I do not know what you're talking about, Todd," he lied. 

"Damian, is there something you need to tell us?" asked Dick. 

Damian's jaw tensed. Can they not tell that I cannot talk about it at the moment?  "There is nothing," he answered brusquely before walking towards the bus. 

"Where are you going?" Dick called out to him. Damian saw no need to reply, picking up his pace towards the vehicle. 

If it were the League that was after them, it was most likely the opposite faction. Talia's way of communicating was more discreet if she wanted to bring them back to base. So it was safer to assume that they were dealing with hostiles. He stepped into the bus, first inspecting the driver's side.

As he expected, the brakes had been tampered with, along with the other controls. Movement caught his periphery and he turned to see both Danyal and Marinette checking on the perimeter as well. He was about to join them when he heard a click and felt something cool pressed against the side of his head. 

 From the reflections on the windows, he could see his siblings in the same predicament, cornered by assassins. He made a quick check. Civilians were still in the area and they couldn't make the scuffle too loud. Not to mention, his brothers were probably headed that way. 

But the three of them didn't need seclusion. They could make it swift and clean. On the right timing, Damian swung at the arm holding the gun as the others did the same. He quickly disarmed the man and kicked him out of the bus, immediately going for the other attackers. He didn't need to look to know that his siblings were retaliating in sync—with Marinette wielding her pocket knife and Danyal reusing the same gun he took. 

Damian steadied his breaths as he spotted more assassins come their way. Where did they all come from? Slowly but surely, the three backed up against each other. As Damian blocked an incoming punch, he swiped the spare knife his sister offered behind him while she jabbed her own knife into an attacker's shoulder. He tsked, knowing their goal was to tire them out rather than actually harm them. If they didn't finish up on time, there was trouble waiting. 

And his siblings knew that. 

"We can't stay here for long," he whispered. 

"No shit, Sherlock." Danyal leapt and kicked another assassin. "Should I overshadow them?" 

"You know you can't," Marinette hissed, propelling another to pin down another. 

"Stop!" 

Damian whipped around at the harsh Arabic tone and they all halted. Approaching them slowly were their companions held hostage by one assassin each. His brothers were held at gunpoint while the others—Jasmine and Marinette's friends—had knives pressed to their throats. Simultaneous clicks echoed around. 

He couldn't meet their eyes. 

He shouldn't have gone on that bus.

"Let them go." Danyal's jaw clenched, looking at his adoptive sister. 

"Drop your weapons," the same assassin ordered. "Hands where we can see them." 

Slowly, Damian set his knife on the ground and raised his arms. Danyal dropped his gun and kicked it away. A livid Marinette threw down her blade. 

"Now let them go," Danyal repeated calmly in their mother tongue. "Release them and you can take us." 

"Quiet!" 

"You only want us—" 

"I said quiet!" 

A gunshot sounded. 

"Akhi!"  "Danny!" 

A second later, Danyal was clutching his side where the bullet grazed him. Jasmine was trembling with unshed tears as the knife lightly swiped her skin when she tried to move. Marinette, on the other hand, looked just about ready go pounce. 

Damian stilled.  

He hadn't seen Danyal bleed in years. 

He hadn't seen Danyal bleed in years. 

Of course he would let the bullet hit him. He couldn't turn intangible in front of their enemies. 

"All of you will follow us," the assassin commanded. "Make one move and we kill one by one."  

Dread gurgled at the pit of Damian's stomach. He could only guess where they were being taken to. He hated nothing else but having his hands tied in that situation. If their friends and family weren't held captive, the three of them would've obliterated the group in minutes. 

Marinette moved towards Danyal and the gun raised again. She leveled the assassins with a glare rivalling that of Bruce's, spitting out, "Where is your respect to the amira and amir? He needs medical attention." 

If not for their predicament, Damian would've laughed at how their captors shivered involuntarily. These assassins who belong to the other faction are not new, he pondered, they know us as the heirs. 

He could only watch as Marinette tore a piece of cloth from her jacket and wrapped it snugly around their brother's wound. It was a practiced action, almost reminiscent of their childhood days. Danyal muttered a soft thanks, squeezing her hand after she finished up. 

Damian only had a few seconds to glance at his brothers' reactions before the hostages were blindfolded, roughly led by the assassins. 

Somehow, only the faces of hurt and betrayal were seared into his mind. 

Support me through Ko-fi :)

[plethomacademia]

company party 👀

Rancid modern Maevetash when she goes with him to a company party. They have had a fight the day before and she has decided to spend the entire night making him pay for it. Sadly, they actually do love each other in their fucked up way, so it ends with him convincing her to come home and give it all another shot. (For the record, that also doesn't go well lmao).

I plan to add some parts where one of the board members is looking down her shirt and some sweet moment because I think there is this kernel of love deep underneath 15 years of them just not being the right person for each other.

IDK what these are for, mostly myself, but this is the beginning

Maeve tips the wine glass to her lips, lets the rich flavor of it cascade over her tongue. She moves the liquid over her taste buds, opens up the flavors with air, giving her mouth something to do while she looks across the room. The man sitting at the table is doing his best not to look her way, and Maeve licks her lips as she waits for him to make a mistake.

She feels a hand come down on her left. She looks at it, watches as strong fingers stroke across her own. One catches on her engagement ring and she feels the weight as the diamond shifts off center. It was alway too heavy to be practical.

“Don’t,” says the owner of the hand and she moves her eyes up to meet his. Enver Gortash is looking at her, the picture of marital devotion to anyone else in the room.

She, on the other hands, sees daggers.

“Don’t what?” she asks.

“Don’t say whatever horrible thing that you are thinking right now.”

She feels eyes on her again and looks back just in time to catch him. The man turns away quickly.

Maeve smiles, looking back at her husband. “You mean you don’t want me to ask if you fucked that one? I assumed I didn’t have to ask with the way he keeps glaring in my direction.”

“You truly cannot help yourself,” he says.

“I mean, he has to know you have a wife and kids. I assume our picture is still on your desk when you —“

He squeezes her hand. “I get it.”

[winkle-pickers]

Character bingo: ANZU ANZU ANZU 😎

ANZU ANZU MY DARLING MY BELOVED JOCK BALLERINA WHO PROBABLY KILLED A GUY IN S0 I will put this on the record for all to see, when I checked "Literally I would kiss them" on all the other character boxes I meant "I would tenderly smooch their forehead and hand them some werthers candy" but with Anzu literally I would kiss her <3

Damn I wish I didn't have to check the "everyone else is wrong about them" and "fandom is so mean" boxes about Anzu because people really have come around on her quite a bit since the Dark Days of Early YGO Fandom, but I still see enough rancid ass takes about my sweet baby angel on Al Gore's Green Internet that it shocks me. I think the most shocking thing is that a not insignificant amount of her behaviour maps 1 to 1 with Kaiba (roasting people with snappy quips, solving problems with violence, putting oneself in grave danger to see one's ghost pharaoh crush, etc etc) and yet Kaiba gets to be the Fandom Meow Meow and Anzu still. STILL!!!! Gets the 'bitch' label slapped on!! You're all WRONG!!! KAIBA IS THE BITCH. IT'S KAIBA.

ALSO P.S. IF YOU COUNT THEM, JOUNOUCHI & ATEM GIVE MORE FRIENDSHIP SPEECHES THAN ANZU DOES. BY FAR. IT'S JUST THE NUMBERS. Anzu is an amazing friend and we love that about her, but she is out there beating up the guy who made fun of you behind the lockers and then offering you a half crushed granola bar out of her purse for comfort and you take it because you just watched her beat someone up and you're not arguing with her. Jounouchi is the friend making earnest sappy declarations of eternal friendship and probably crying at the end while you awkwardly pat his back. Atem is the friend making earnest sappy friendship speeches that veer off into extremely questionable metaphors and uh oh now he's talking about something that sounds suspiciously like organized crime in the name of friendship, but it's okay, go off king. Honda is the friend making sure you wear a jacket and giving you a non-crushed granola bar out of his bag plus a Gatorade too because he thinks you look a bit dehydrated. Get Yuugi's entourage straight y'all!!!

(Also I desperately want Anzu and Kaiba to be friends and roast people together, but also in the friendship Kaiba gets roasted most of all, and he kind of respects it so he keeps hanging out with her.)

[hawkfawun]

choose violence: 3, 19, 24, 25

This one is so salty. I'm sorry. I don't know how to make it less salty.

3. Screenshot or description of the worst take you’ve seen on tumblr

bad take. SPEEDRUN!!!! (mostly) Griffith addition.

1- "Gennon is the victim and not Griffith in their encounter. Griffith is cruel for killing him." I get that you don't like Griffith, that's fine. You are saying the pedophile who took advantage of him when he was 12-14 is in the right though?? Also when he killed him the guy was actively trying to kidnap him to be a sex slave.

2- It is "disrespectful to Miura" to ship griffguts. Miura has expressed interest in queer themes and basically said Griffith is gay before. I don't think the man was a pearl clutcher.

3- "Guts should have just killed Griffith when he was disabled." Guts would NOT have done that.

4- Age gap discourse. All the main adult characters are supposed to be roughly the same age. I have no interest in debating if adults fighting the horrors are allowed to have 3 year age gaps lol.

5. "Griffith is Jeff Bezos" ?? Ah yes free education and housing. What Jeff is commonly known for. Not that I love calling him a communist either. I could write a lot on this but. Eh.

19. You’re mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

WELL. I am pretty damn shameless on here. A lot of people don't like my ships and thats fine. Best to block me though.

I'm not mad exactly but I do think it is surprising I ship Judau/Casca a bit! Normally dislike that kind of ship but I think there's a lot of room for it to be done in a compelling way. The way his insecurities play out is super realistic and interesting to me. I do think he seriously puts Casca above himself and loves her for who she is not who he wants her to be. Also, I just want nice things for them both. ^^

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse?

Casca. Literally anything about Casca. You can be like "Wouldn't it be fun to draw an apostle casca" and people will act like you committed a real actual murder. Never mind if you have some criticism of the eclipse rape or Elaine.

I STILL get asks. btw- if you make sock puppets to harass people for being "too sensitive about rape" that makes you look like a creep fullstop.

Also anything with Griffith but that's a given.

25. Common fandom complaint you are sick of hearing.

Hmmm... anytime anyone has an even mild critique of berserk everyone complains you are literally "spitting on a dead man's grave." It is rare fans complain about the manga itself.

Also rare they complain about Miura. Berserk fans would rather send death threats to fans posting interviews than believe their made-up image of him is wrong.

for the record, I obviously love berserk and think very highly of Miura in a lot of ways. I get why people are defensive of it but phew. Berserk fandom is a little too defensive!

thanks for the questions!

Choosing violence ask meme

[ms-nesbit]

Sleepless In Seattle (chapter 5 of Empire Records)

Summary: Y/n has a guest at her place, and things go better than planned.

Rating: 18+ (minors, fuck off)

Warnings: smut, FINALLY smut, masturbation, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), swearing, trauma

Note: this is the final chapter of Empire Records. Lmk if you like it or if you want a different fic or some kind. I enjoyed this.

Previous Chapter

ao3

It was winter now - clouds loitering in the sky, over welcoming their stay, bringing grayish drab to the rancid city below them. Gothamites acclimated, as always - they were, after all, residents of Gotham, one of the most dangerous places in the world.

Y/n left her window cracked, welcoming the cold breeze as she lit her carefully placed candles. The wind tickled her skin, and she smiled when it did - her loungewear was underwhelming considering the climate, the band tee and black track shorts failing to cover what was now being touched by the cold air.

And she cleaned her apartment to prepare for company. Jason visited y/n’s flat before, usually to stop by for a chat (which turned into hours-long debates or dabbles), but in their exchange, it was clear this time was different. Her boyfriend hadn’t explicitly stated this, but given the tone of his voice and counsel provided by her horoscope reading, Jason was going to sleep over and - sex or not - it was important for y/n, who otherwise would have left her habitat a comical mess.

The apartment doorbell buzzed, followed by a static-distorted voice: “Hey, y/n? Could you, uh, buzz me up here? I got my hands full.”

Complying, y/n shook her head and giggled, pressing the button on the intercom. She wiped off her kitchen island, half-surprised by the spaciousness of it. She forgot the material of her countertop, and she reminded herself to look elsewhere for an apartment when her contract ended.

Then, a knock in the form of words. “Y/n?”

Jason. Y/n unlocked each lock before opening the heavy door to find the tall man grinning down at her, his arms holding a couple of vinyl and a reusable grocery bag, its contents unknown to y/n. Was this his sleepover bag?

It seems not, based on Jason’s answer after y/n’s thought. “Sorry for the wait. I brought some albums we could listen to, and some ingredients to make food in case we get hungry.”

He stepped in, and y/n closed the door, eyes on Jason’s ass in his dark jeans. She relocked the doors - a move critical to Gothamites - and pointed him in the direction of the island, where a pair of chairs were pulled out. Jason commented on the cleanliness of the apartment with a zest, “Oooh, dressin’ this dump up for me?” And y/n, too proud to admit she was falling in love with the ex-Robin, she quipped easily.

“Why did you bring food, anyway?” Y/n questioned when Jason was removing the ingredients, each in their own container, bagged or rigid. She noted the eggs and paprika first, then the bagged fresh cilantro, onion, spinach, and…cheese? Bagged cheese, at that? “Jason, do you have the rest of Whole Foods in here? I didn’t think there is one in Gotham.”

“Too much crime.” Jason smiled wickedly at y/n. “And no, I want to make something good. You said you’ve never had shakshuka, and that was almost a dealbreaker until you sent me a pic of your tits-”

“Ah, yes, the notes of true love.”

“-and I thought, ‘Well, I can just make them for y/n.’ And we can turn it into a date or something.” Jason finished, varieties of tomatoes in hand.

Y/n read the labels of cheeses. “I thought there wasn’t cheese in shakshuka.”

Sneaking a bite of spinach, he replied enthusiastically, “There isn’t! But I think I could use the remaining egg to make you a quiche in the morning.”

In the morning. Y/n was right, and she made a mental note to thank her astrologist later. She would be lying if she wasn’t excited - she tried some of Jason’s creations on their picnic at the cemetery, and wondered why he decided to pursue sexwork and not cooking - he was a rebel, one after y/n’s heart, at that, and y/n kissed him after that.

She walked across the island to meet Jason, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss. “Thank heavens for my tits.” Y/n remarked after they broke the kiss, her face still inches from his.

His stormy hazel came to a tranquil green, the branches of a tree swaying to and fro. It wasn’t that he intended for the storm to brew - it was in Mother Nature’s hands indeed - but something in him stirred, something y/n spotted on their previous dates. Either way, she was thankful for Jason, and his arms securing her body close to his was a reminder.

“I love you.”

The words left Jason quicker than he wanted them to… or so y/n thought judging by the remorse-ridden expression he wore. Y/n’s eyes darted, the first time since their first date that she did so out of avoidance, and she opened her mouth, but nothing came of it.

Did she love him? Wasn’t it too soon to love someone? And if she did love him - theoretically, of course - why would he say it while she wore her period outfit (it was laundry day, an unfortunate time for y/n)?

Certainly, y/n loves Jason. But the hope in his eyes dropped, and the storm reeled back in, this time in full swing. Y/n hesitated.

“I love you too.” Y/n pushed out, her hands clinging to Jason’s shirt, praying to Aretha Franklin that he wouldn’t slip away from her. The sincerity in her eyes were burning, far greater than any hatred she felt, and Jason knew.

It was all he needed to calm the thunder in him, and the corners of his mouth twitched, turning into a grin, one that…it was endearing. Reassured, at ease, as if he avoided a nasty collision at a traffic stop. His arms loosened around her waist, unafraid of losing her. He has her, in his arms, and she wanted him.

Y/n wanted Jason, too, in a way that was softer than the sumptuous comforter she slept in, and quieter, her shouts and anarchistic demeanor maturing, aging into a keened elder, empowered by the experience in her wrinkles.

It was love that brought them to each other, despite the miscommunication; it was love that brought Jason’s hands underneath y/n’s band tee, his cold hands causing her to shiver; it was love that allowed Jason to remember y/n’s scent, her smile, her signature cackle; it was love that y/n chose when her hands instinctively traveled south, just above his jeans, all while staring at him for approval.

Jason nodded, a thousand proclamations of love in a silent room. He hissed when y/n hooked her index fingers on either hip under his dark jeans, and hauled them, revealing his erection. Having been familiarized with his line of work, y/n knew how he looked nude through a screen, but when Jason threw his shirt behind him, and presented himself vulnerable to her in her apartment, she teared up.

Still clothed, y/n guided them back to her bed, and laid him down, before removing her band tee, exposing her breasts to Jason. He shifted, cock filled with blood, and it twitched with each inch he allowed his eyes to wander. Instead of removing her shorts, y/n laid beside him, and threw a leg over his toned waist, burying her head in his chest.

Affirmation. It was validation he needed most of all, that he wasn’t an object to be used, and tossed into a closet, thrown with other forgotten memories webbed in ultraviolet tragedies - y/n told him she wanted him, not his body, all with a motion. She could have easily stripped herself completely and ridden him, no matter how tempted they both were, but she chose him.

Again and again.

Jason bit down on his lip at the sight before him though, and he was the one who broke the wholesome intimacy, darkening the mood into an amber as he lowered a hand to y/n’s chest and began kneading her breast. He heard a stifled noise from y/n, and she ground down on his waist, face still buried in his chest.

He chuckled. “Really, Princess? This is your weak point?” he pulled at y/n’s nipple, causing her to lift her face from him, as she yelped in a mix of pleasure and pain. “You look so much better in person, too. Feel incredible.”

Closing his eyes, Jason focused on the softness of her skin, and the suede, perked bud aching for attention. He wondered if her clit was the same.

“Sit on my face.” Jason blurted, both hands on y/n’s breasts as she leaned toward them, welcoming the attention.

“Come again?” Y/n asked.

“I didn’t come yet.” Jason joked, voice low in lust. “I want you to sit on and ride my face.”

Y/n processed his request quickly, and kicked her shorts off just as much. Before settling on his face, y/n eyed Jason’s cock - neglected, dripping with pre-cum - and gave his head a lick, causing Jason to moan loudly in surprise. He bucked his hips and groaned, annoyed by the tease. 

“I hate you.” He said while y/n was positioning herself over his face.

“No you- oh.” Y/n lowered herself, her snide comment cut off by a moan as Jason anchored her legs with his arms, which gripped her thighs. He lapped at her wet cunt impatiently, tongue searching for the right pattern to set y/n off.

Y/n was in such a state of bliss that it took her a moment to realize Jason was spelling his name against her clit, her hips shaking when Jason signed a ‘J’. She looked down and saw Jason’s eyes, pupils blown in filth, as he ate her out, signing his initial over and over, until y/n met the constellations.

And she spotted the Big Dipper behind her eyelids when she shut her eyes, orgasm rapidly approaching. “Just like that, Jason!” she gasped, gripping his hair and riding his face. Y/n reached behind her with a hand to jerk Jason off, and when her hand grasped his cock, the moan he let out into her pussy sent vibrations of pleasure that drove her over the edge, her climax hitting her recklessly.

Jason guided her through it, stifling his moans despite y/n’s hand pulling at his needy erection perfectly, and he felt his balls tighten before he met y/n in the deep space, eyes screwing shut as senseless curses and explicit, long groans left his mouth.

Still straddling his face, y/n looked down at Jason to see how his face looked. It was so much different in person, the hues of flesh on his skin so tenderly painted with the cascade of the lighting and euphoria he experienced. “So beautiful…” doesn’t even cover what she stared at in the moment, and although it was inappropriate and greedy for her to remain, pussy hovered over his face, like that, she didn’t want to move.

Until, with his inhuman strength, Jason did, slipping out from underneath y/n so that he could sit beside her on her bed. Instead of rushing to get dressed, he laid her down, kissing her shoulders as he did so, and after y/n’s head hit the flat pillow, Jason pulled a comforter over her, excusing himself to the bathroom to clean himself off. In that time, y/n blinked at the ceiling, plucking thorns in the rose of their relationship and cutting herself, so nervous about what would become of their relationship after this shared experience. She feared she would be disposed of, so awkward in her own mattress.

“Here.” Jason returned and kneeled beside the bed, taking y/n’s hand in his. “How about I make you something to eat? Like that shakshuka, if you’re willing?”

The sharp prick of the thorns at her sides eased with Jason’s healing touch, a superpower he could never bring himself to see. Y/n nodded, grinning weakly at the handsome man tending to her.

She sat up and watched Jason as he whisked away in the kitchenette, involved in the meticulous cooking. “You know, you can take a picture. It’ll last a lot longer.” Jason leaned over the island, cutting board in hand, and winked at y/n, clearly calling her out for staring too long at him.

What could y/n say though? She loved it. She felt the comfort that only domestication could bring, something she believed, until this very moment, she was allergic to. And to be proven wrong by a twenty-something-year-old man with the body type of a linebacker?

Y/n had to be dreaming. Either that, or the fairy godmother enriching her Gotham experience was soon to be waving her wand and pulling the rug from under her.

“Depends. If I put music on, would you shake your ass for the camera?” Disney princess or not, y/n wouldn’t dare to lose her sharp tongue.

Jason stopped his chopping and stabbed the cutting board with the paring knife, walking over to the threshold between the living space and kitchenette, hand on his naked hips. “Darling,” he began with a long, dragged out Southern drawl, “you know you don’t have enough money to afford that.”

Y/n giggled, the first time she did that night, and watched as Jason dramatically swayed his hips as he strut his hips back to the cutting board. She shot up from the bed with a grunt, stretching her arms overhead before she walked to her record player, fingering through her stack. She picked one from the stack and carefully placed the vinyl on the platter, gingerly setting the needle before flipping the button to ignite its power.

A series of percussion and guitar immediately began playing through the speakers, the distorted voice tying the sounds all together. Y/n walked to the kitchen and rested against the wall, waiting for Jason to finish placing the eggs on the skillet so she could invite him to dance with her.

After washing his hands, Jason offered his hand, immediately pulling y/n close to him as they held each other. In a space where she usually felt like a stranger, Jason was the key piece to make her feel at home. “How do you get all this music, anyway? Employee discount?”

“Used to steal from FYE before they fired me.” Y/n replied without missing a beat, a shameless smile rising on her face.

“Fuck, I love you.” Jason cupped the back of y/n’s head and brought her to a deep kiss, their lips tangling.

And that was how their night was spent - bodies intertwining in an attempt to display affection in various ways. Y/n hummed along as she kissed along Jason’s torso, her lips wrapping around the head of his dick before swallowing what she could of it, pulling her head back with a pop;

Jason scooped up a forkful of shakshuka, feeding it to a sleepy y/n. He lowly sang Nancy Wilson as he did so, the voice warmer than the spiced tomato sauce, and smoother than the cashew milk Jason brought to wash down the meal with (so considerate, y/n purred after Jason slid his cock into her cunt, walls pulling him in deeper).

They exchanged vows in forms of stolen kisses and laughs, Jason falling asleep first on the brink of their honeymoon as the sun shone through the gaps between the curtains. Y/n didn’t want to fall asleep; her boyfriend was gorgeous even in his sleep. Gracious was how she felt as she gazed upon the beauty.

The darkness suited him, moon reflecting in his werewolf face (a daunting secret eating at him, only to be exposed by the climax of the lunar phases); however, the sunlight, when he was fearless enough to immerse in the innocence of it, called to him. It was a dear old friend of his, surely, as they reconnected with such familiarity: the warm colors of the bright sky dyed his hair, its ethereal tones complimenting the cool brown, green, and gray hues in his eyes (when he did wake up).

“I love you.” his mouth moved, voice sleepy and hazy, plump lips moving to a grin, the stretch of his lip curling up enough for her to feel its embrace. And if it wasn’t for the formality (curse those - who hadn’t heard of a morning kiss?), y/n would have reached over and connected their lips, united them by a twizzler of wanton and affection.

Yet they sat, eyes fusing in a tunneled stare. Y/n didn’t want to look away; Jason was afraid this was the dream, and falling back to the sheets would snatch him back to the nightmare he lived.

The indie mix sounded in the background, blended together with the chitchat of the Gothamites rising in the dangerous world just outside of y/n’s and Jason’s, and the everything they didn’t care about in that moment. Y/n now comprehended the campy cheeriness of Peter, Bjorn, and John’s hit - I only care about you and me. You and me.

[punkrockmixtapes]

For Anon : Ten Albums

So actually putting together 10 albums that I'd consider my favorite of all time is super tough but here are 10 that I still go back to a lot or were influential to me.

The Clash - The Clash Song: Police and Thieves

Rancid - Life Won't Wait Song: Leicester Square

Refused - The Shape of Punk To Come Song: New Noise

Chixdiggit! - Chixdiggit! - Song: Shadowy Bangers From a Shadowy Duplex

The Postal Service - Give Up Song: Such Great Heights

The Murder City Devils - In Name and Blood Song : Press Gang

Samiam - You Are Freaking Me Out - Song : She Found You

Jimmy Eat World - Clarity - Song: For Me This is Heaven

Dear Landlord - Dream Homes - Song : Whiskey and Records

The Menzingers - After the Party - Song: After The Party

I could really go on for a long time and this feels like a kind of bland list but these were the first 10 that popped into my head. It feels odd to put anything by the Misfits or KISS or more emo... I don't know... I hope this answered your question....

[lastweeksshirttonight]

A few months ago, I was talking with @tellthemeerkatsitsfine and brought up the casual idea of rewatching Last Week Tonight in its entirety and blogging about it. She told me she thought that would be a great idea, and thus, my brain immediately started panicking. "People will SEE your LONGFORM WRITING! You might have to be VULNERABLE and OPEN and people might see you as more than a Pez dispenser for John Oliver content!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!!!" My anxiety is clearly very fun and very logical.

Anyways, the idea lay dormant, held at bay by anxiety, until recently - I have a brand new computer, free time, and a real desire to try and write something more substantial than "i cannot" on this blog. For real, my longform writing is not that bad! I hope.

With that context out of the way, here goes a new experiment for me - revisiting every past episode of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. Will this be any good? Who fucking knows. But we're doing it. Strap in.

Last Lee Tonight (wherein Lee rewatches Last Week Tonight for an undetermined and probably nonexistent audience) Season One, Episode One

(original air date: 4/27/2014) Major topics covered: POM Wonderful vs. Coca-Cola; the 2014 Indian election; the NSA

"Welcome, welcome, welcome... to whatever this is."

My enduring memory of Last Week Tonight starting is my mom calling me and angrily asking me why "that guy you like" was on a billboard, like I'd personally been responsible for him getting his own HBO show. I don't know why she was so angry about it, I just remember responding with something along the lines of, "maybe other people think he's hot too?"

Going back and watching this first episode now is extremely weird. As you can probably tell from the list of topics covered above, the show hadn't yet settled into its now famous format, and instead bounced from topic to topic like an R-rated Daily Show. It's not a terrible idea for a show structure. There's some clunkiness to this early iteration of LWT because of it, especially given that there's no commercial breaks to aid with transitions, but it's perfectly watchable. Its weirdness lies almost entirely in the fact that I (and everyone else watching it now) know it's going to become something very different very quickly.

It starts like most LWT episodes start now, with a recap of random shit that happened last week. There's a lot going on in this section - John talks about the banner week for "unrepentant racists and recording devices" as he briefly covers Donald Sterling and Cliven Bundy, multiple popes being canonized as saints, and Obamacare websites failing to meet demand. This is a very 2014 series of headlines and they are blasted through in about 5 minutes. Weirdly, John doesn't devote any space to what Cliven Bundy actually said to piss people off that week (and if you aren't familiar with Cliven Bundy, the man is rancid so it could have been a lot of different things), but does show a clip of him being introduced on a morning show holding a dead cow. As you do.

The breakneck speed of this episode is startling coming from our current LWT state. The Obamacare website bit, which takes about 3 minutes in total including the Lisa Loeb cameo, is the kind of thing that they would spend 20+ minutes on in future seasons/episodes. I do love Lisa Loeb and forgot she sang a song on LWT telling Oregon how much their Obamacare website sucks. (One of my favorite songs of all time is "Falling in Love". You should give it a spin.)

From there, we go into the 2014 Indian Election (and, briefly, the 2016 Presidential Election, which, at the time, was 926 days away. JEB!), which had only been discussed on the McLaughlin Report at the time despite being the biggest election on the planet. Its primary focus is the two leading candidates, Rahul Gandhi, described by John as "wow that guy is handsome", and Narendra Modi. John does something intriguing with this piece - it starts very jokey and surface-level before taking a hard turn into discussing Modi's potential involvement in a literal massacre of thousands. I wish John did this more often nowadays. I get that it's probably hard to execute when everyone expects LWT to be the most depressing 'comedy' on television, so a sudden swerve like that is far more expected, but it was a really deft turn that clearly left the in-studio audience unsure of how to react. Moments like that are worth seeking out.

A moment that has occupied my brain since I saw this nearly ten years ago - "how dare you say I take money? How dare you say I take money? How dare you say I take money? How -"

Our first "And Now This" is John McCain telling the same joke about Russia over and over and over again. Repetition is a secret theme of this episode.

We now move on to Pom Wonderful vs. Coca-Cola, or "why two beverages are fighting each other in the highest court of the land". I'm calling this segment Pom Wonderful vs. Coca-Cola bc of its Wikipedia designation, but this segment is far more about food labeling, a subject near and dear to my celiac-ridden ass. Pomegranates, as it turns out, cannot help you cheat death, and Minute Maid has less than 1% pomegranates in their pomegranate juice. The kind of health claims companies make with their foods are still batshit, and it's wild that I have to struggle through reading whole lists of ingredients to try and find gluten while companies pretend their Pop-Tarts are actually beneficial to anyone. This also gives us the first instance of John Oliver urging the audience to do random acts of social vandalism, by definitely not advising them to put fake health claim stickers on food products. I wish I could find the "contains 4 whole pomeranians!" sticker, I definitely used to have that.

A second "And Now This" is a taped segment about cheerleader mistreatment in the NFL. This is also infuriating to behold. I hope things have gotten better for cheerleaders, but given that this is the NFL, I doubt it.

This feels the most like a modern LWT segment, in that it could easily be retitled "How is This Still a Thing" and would only need minimal changes to work. Seriously, pay cheerleaders the money they deserve, they're athletes too.

Finally, we move to the NSA, and John interviews General Keith Alexander, the former head of the NSA. It is obviously important for me to tell you that John is in a different suit for this.

(Is there some sort of discount store for weird orange vases)

Information security and privacy was a huge cornerstone of the early years of LWT, and yet I'd somehow totally forgotten about this interview. This is basically a TDS field piece, as John questions General Alexander about what the NSA is actually collecting from the US public. He's pushing Alexander hard, and this makes a great companion piece to his later interview with Edward Snowden. There's even insets of reporting on NSA wrongdoing! It's almost indistinguishable from the things he did on The Daily Show, and since I've been in a very nostalgic headspace for that show, I appreciated it.

John admitting he'd abuse the hell out of NSA clearance is hilarious. As is John saying the Washington Football Team is a slightly less tainted brand than the NSA.

As a collective experience, I stand by saying that it's very weird to watch this now. At the time, though, this was exactly what I wanted out of a John Oliver-led show. It'll be interesting to see how this show shifts into its current form over this first season - since I haven't rewatched these episodes in ages, it'll be a "new" experience for me too.

Random notes:

Lee obviously focuses on important things corner: Light blue checkered shirt with blue solid tie and gray jacket is a solid look for John. He also is between bangs and no bangs, giving me a brief period of time to mourn the loss of #bangsappreciationhours. 8/10. Interview suit is more staid but blue is still a nice color on him, 7/10.

It's funny to see the pop-in social media boxes being used for their actual purpose of sharing links, and not for John randomly calling something "#feminism" or being mad about Fifty Shades of Gray. The show has evolved in ways both big and small.

The parts of this episode I was able to find on YouTube are so bizarre. Neither of the main segments seem to be there, but LWT's YouTube channel had the portions embedded above, which, aside from the interview, are such WEIRD things to highlight. I know a lot of these used to be on YouTube, too, but it looks like they've been culled.

Christ the Tumblr post formatter on desktop really hates when I try to click around to edit long ass posts.

Please let me know if this is actually any good or interesting, I truly don't really know if this is of value to anyone.