#somebody's name is malcolm and i have no idea who

[hopefulstarfire]

So I'm thinking about making a new blog specifically for sims content. See, I'm playing again, but I'm about to do something out of pure spite and frustration and that's namely what I'd be posting.

I don't have an official name for it, but it's like what I'm considering my "fixed lore" save/timeline. What do I mean by that? I mean the sims 4 timeline makes no fucking sense.

Yes, I get it's an alternate timeline. But, Sims 3 perfectly set up for that altered timeline. The time traveling shenanigans of the Goth siblings would have drastically altered the timeline -> Alexander trying to ensure his mother would be safe and not kidnapped by aliens, never to be seen again (bc she died on Lunar Lakes; the Bella in Strangetown? A clone, at least as far as we can tell. And all bc, according to an old "interview", Dina and Nina were after the Elixir of Life) and Cassandra and the other girls sending a whole ass man back in time with no memory? Yeah, it's gonna cause some chain reactions.

And then they ignored it. How do I know this? Because Malcolm Landgraab is the same age as Cassandra Goth in this; even though he should be the same age as Bella and Mortimer. And Holly Alto is a young adult, even though she's a whole life state ahead of those three in Sims 3, and then Dustin Broke and Darren Dreamer, as well as the Pleasant Twins, are all young adults and the same age as people who would have been elders by the time they were teenagers. Not only that, you can tell not a lot of thought went into it originally because they're backpedaling on lore, as we're seeing in the refreshes and that Katrina Caliente is a clone of somebody and not Dina and Nina's real mom, which, yeah, no she's not, but they can't get their real mom's name through the censors on the gallery. But there are things about that that they could have fixed.

And it's not even just 4. Kaylyn Langerak is the same age as Bella and Mortimer? But she should be younger?

Anyways, this save would address that. It would bring back some iconic sims from 2 and 3 (though I probably will keep at least some of the Sims 4 townies bc I love them) and see how their lives playout. Some ideas I already have;

Old Man Don Lothario with kids from different baby mama's. Don Jr will exist, kinda following his Dad's hoe ways.

Olive gets to raise her kid and this time his name is not Nervous Subject.

Holly Alto broke away from her family, married her best friend Bebe Hart, and started her own family. But Vita and Nick had another child and raised them to take over the empire and they, along with the other babies of the game, are all in college. They'll be young adults, like the kids of the game, but early young adults like college age while the kids are like. Late 20s.

A little bit more focus on some supernatural sims, including Bella trying to become a spellcaster.

The Montys and the Capps family feud doesn't happen.

I'm still debating on making the blog but I'm at least excited to make this save.

[polarpal]

Dan green we'll name no gimmicks

So at some point they re-painted it, I’m assuming not to offend African Americans. One block away, there is The Freighthouse, and if you look in front at the main entrance you’ll walk by a fiberglass statue of a Pullman porter, and if you look at it that person’s skin is colored to resemble a Caucasian, but if you take a look, I found original photographs of that, and it was a Black man. And so the Native American Student Association began using it as a gathering point and they would march down here from the university and we would have invited speakers and others who had an interest in changing how we perceive Native Americans and others for that matter.

So the big Indian became this symbol for not only what was wrong, but what to do about it. Maybe these things were supposed to be honoring of Native Americans, and we appreciate the intention, but do we appreciate that maybe that’s not what they resulted in, maybe a mistake was made – well intentioned, but a mistake was made. Well, here is this maybe well intended statue, but what we have to remember is that intentions do not determine consequences. Columbus Day, how we teach about Columbus, we make a hero of this mass-murderer, this initiator of the trans-Atlantic slave trade, did so many things that were just against humanity, and yet we hold him up as a hero. Over the years, the big Indian has become a symbol with what is wrong with our perception of Native America. It was very demagogic, it was all emotion-laden, never an appeal to reason, and that’s exactly what I was trying to do – I was trying to get people to use their head, to make them think and not just react on an emotional level, but it went by a whole lot of people. That was very violating to, in my own home, to have somebody calling me names and never attacking my principles, never even addressing the science of it. So I took that opportunity to write these editorials using scientific principles and concepts as to how we’re influenced by this imagery, and I got hate mail. So I chose the opportunity taking a look around me, not just the colossus of kitsch but The Freighthouse Restaurant right there, and there’s a number of stores just a few blocks away, all with the same archaic imagery – out of date, primitive, savage, Native American imagery out there. So that was my interest, that here it is, in my hometown where I’m raising children that look like me – they’re brown-skinned, they’re dark-haired, we don’t get mistaken for anything but Native American, and here’s something in our hometown reinforcing harmful thinking about us, so I was compelled to do something.īy fortune, in the late eighties I had a friend who was the editor of the editorial page for the local paper and he had a new idea where he would have guest editorialists every Sunday, and he called me up saying that there were no people of color on his list – would I volunteer to do four editorials over the course of the next year? I said wonderful. I traveled to University of Illinois, University of North Dakota, and Cleveland Ohio on a regular basis to demonstrate and to teach about the harms, the largely psychological harms, of this kind of imagery of the big Indian standing behind me. As a sociology student, I had for years looked into the influence of imagery, statuaries, and I was a part of the national anti-Native American sport mascot movement. At the time, the late nineties, the chamber of commerce in La Crosse proposed fifty-thousand dollars into a paintjob on the colossus – something that reinforces stereotypes about Native Americans. That means “the person who paints the sky blue.” You know me as Dan Green – what Malcolm X might call my slave name. I just turned my back, symbolically, on what the UW-L Native American students used to refer to as “the Colossus of Kitsch” or as Riverside Park calls “the Big Indian.”įirst, my name is Kera Cho Mani ga. We’re in the north end of Riverside Park.

[munchmemes]

don’t hug me i’m scared sentence starters

❛  what’s your favourite idea? ❛  now when you look at this orange, tell me, please, what do you see? ❛  take a look at my hair, i use my hair to express myself. ❛  that sounds really boring. ❛  i might paint a picture of a clown. ❛  woah there, friend! you might need to slow down. ❛  green is not a creative colour. ❛  listen to your heart. listen to the rain. listen to the voices in your brain. ❛  now let’s all agree to never be creative again. ❛  that’s not enough time! ❛  there’s always time for a song. ❛  the past is far behind us. the future doesn’t exist. ❛  it’s quarter to nine. time to have a bath. ❛  let’s go on a journey! a journey throughout time! ❛  don’t be stupid, friends! come on, it’s time to go. ❛  time flies fast when you’re having fun. ❛  there’s a time and a place for mocking around. like birthdays. and camping. ❛  i’m friends with my dad. ❛  look, a computer! ❛  look at the time! ❛  there’s fish everywhere. ❛  if we run out of time, then where does it go? ❛  is time even real? does anyone know? ❛  maybe time’s just a construct of human perception. ❛  don’t worry. i’m sure you’ll be fine. but eventually everyone runs out of time. ❛  isn’t it nice to finally be outside on such a beautiful day? ❛  pesky bee! ❛  i wonder what will happen. ❛  you know it doesn’t have to be. that i hate you and you hate me. ❛  you don’t know who i am but maybe i could hold your hand. ❛  that’s love, my friend. and it’s time for you to learn all about it. ❛  no, you’re lonely. i can see it in your eyes. ❛  maybe we should follow them or we’ll get left behind. ❛  i’d like to eat the chicken. ❛  harder! ❛  to love each other is to care. to be kind and to share. ❛  everyone has a special one. ❛  his name is malcolm. he is the king of love. ❛  all we’re asking you to do is change your name and clean your brain and forget about anything you ever knew. ❛  look! we’ve brought you the last boiled egg. to cheer you up. ❛  what is the biggest thing in the world? ❛  i’m a computer-y guy! ❛  i’m a very clever-y guy! ❛  great! great news! ❛  now, before we begin our journey, i just need to get some information from you. what is your name? where do you live? what do you like to eat? ❛  do you like cows’ or goats’ milk? ❛  don’t touch meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! ❛  welcome to my digital home. ❛  wow, look, nothing! ❛  something’s different. something’s missing. ❛  are you hungry? you look to be a bit hungry. ❛  get off me! ❛  you see, the body is like a special house. ❛  something’s wrong. ❛  doesn’t matter, just throw it away! ❛  oh, somebody’s sleepy! ❛  i don’t want to know! ❛  no! no more songs! ❛  can you file these files, please? ❛  i am a file and you put documents in me. ❛  i don’t like it. really not good. it’s not very good at all. ❛  you?! you made me die! ❛  i’ll teach you how to buy a canoe.

[space-city-traffic]

yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends’ days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

[rphelperblog]

Jessica Jones Rp Meme

Part one- randomly chosen-Inspired by @brutalpunch - feel free to change pronouns or edit for rp purposes

"Would you put day drinking under experience or special abilities?"

"I don't flirt. I just say what I want."

"If you even touch me, I'll tell the world about you. There'll be nowhere to hide."

"Am I the only one left who doesn't know karate?"

"If you grab me like that again, I'll punch you so hard, you'll see."

"Well you can't let him live, he's too dangerous."

"Can you punch through a wall? Can you stop a moving car?"

"A slow moving car."

"You are a hard-drinking, short-fused, mess of a woman, but you are not a piece of shit."

"You look like an asshole."

"It's your scarf."

"Are those pork?"

"No, they're shrimp. Oh, this guy's got pork."

"God, your weird."

"Okay, you are the most full of shit lawyer I've ever met, and I think we should stop and appreciate the magnitude of that statement."

"Pain is always a surprise. I try to avoid landmines. Avoid caring. I can even see it coming. But until it hits, you have no idea what pain is."

"That quack that had me reciting street names from back home?"

"A proven method for managing PTSD."

"I could kill you right here and right now."

"But you won't, because you don't know what will happen when I die."

"Two hundred bucks for "Birch Street, Cobalt Lane, Bullshit Drive.""

"You look bad."

"I need money."

"You can have my TV."

"Thanks, Malcolm. You keep it."

"I stole it."

"Yeah and I'm gonna... gonna kill him but she just keeps getting in the way."

"Any other day you would have won this, it's your ribs isn't it?"

"You're on something, you're messed up."

"You could have killed him a dozen times, I'm just doing what has to be done, someone has to."

"I figured."

"You became a private eye."

"You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"Making sure you weren't dead, since you never called."

"In my line of work, you gotta know when to walk away. But some cases just won't let you go."

"It's people like you that give people like you a bad name."

"You're coming across as paranoid."

She's either an idiot in love, or she's being conned. Which amount to pretty much the same thing."

 "Everyone keeps saying that, it's like a conspiracy."

"I am not going to beg you for a case...I will ask you, though, VERY strongly."

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

"This is my apartment."

"Hard day at the office?"

"They're all hard."

"You're still the person who tried to do something."

"Tried and failed. That's what started this. I was never the hero that you wanted me to be."

"Pops always said, if you don't feel good going to work, you should find new work."

"God didn't do this. The Devil did. And I'm going to find him."

"They say everyone's born a hero. But if you let it, life will push you over the line until you're the villain. Problem is, you don't always know that you've crossed that line. Maybe it's enough that the world thinks I'm a hero."

"The big part of the job is looking for the worst in people. Turns out I excel at that. Clients hire me to find dirt. And I find it, which shouldn't surprise them, but it does."

"Looks like you stripped your screws."

"Knowing it's real means you gotta make a decision. One, keep denying it... "

"I just meant if...If he was on our side."

"What side would that be? The side that uses people? Treats them like animals? Just to throw them away like they're garbage? The side that rips your life apart and destroys you from the inside out? Whose side exactly would that be?"

"Do I look like I'm hiding? No. You wanna know why? Because no one wants to know. They want to feel safe. They'd rather call you crazy than admit that I can lift this car, or that I can melt your insides with my laser eyes... which won't leave a trace."

 "Wouldn't be the first time.”

"I don't give a bag of d*cks what kinky sh*t you're into. Just be into it quietly."

"I don't want to shoot you. He said it's not your time."

"You use sarcasm to distance people."

"You know somebody else like us?" "No. Not like us."

 "And yet you're still here."

"Knowing it's real means you gotta make a decision. One, keep denying it. Or two... do something about it."

"Rumors among my new partners? She has her sights on the mayor's office."

"Track, track, more track. Jesus, more track."

"A hero would have you locked up for soliciting murder. A vigilante would beat the shit out of you. Now which one am I?"

"This is my shocked face."

"You think you're the only ones who've lost people? You think you're the only ones with pain? You think you can take your sh*t and dump it on me? You don't get to do that! So you take your God damned pain and you live with it, assholes!"

"You should kill yourself."

"Probably. But I'm the only one that knows you're innocent."

"I know. It's yours. He said you left him there to die. You should have stayed to make sure."

"I hired a private investigator a while ago to start digging. She was worth every penny when she was sober."

"So he's mad. He wants to make me suffer."

"Mmm-hmm. Like he suffered."

"Got anything for me?"

"Thought you didn't like, or trust, me."

"Oh come on, I meant lawyers in general."

"Scumbag henchmen for corporate America."

"We just hired a full-time investigator."

"Whoever he is, he's not as good as me."

"Hence me having offered you the job, which you rejected."

"Wasn't personal, I just prefer a freelance; no ties."

"So you said - with an impressive string of expletives."

"Okay, is being drunk an excuse?"

"You know, it's really about professionalism. You are erratic and you are volatile..." "Effective."

"Every corner I turn, I don't know what's on the other side. I don't know who's on the other side. It could be the cabbie who's gonna drive me into the East River, okay? It could be the FedEx woman. It could be a talk show host who was my best friend."

"Are you a good jumper?"

"Why?"

"He made me jump... for hours, as high as I could. That was one of my events at school. Long jump. I was number two in the state. He said I was never as good as you."

"That accident didn't kill him, but he took a hit. I find his weakness, I find him."

"So you find him. Then what?"

"I don't know. I find him, I prove that girl's innocent, he goes away."

"Or he controls you again."

"I'll die before I let that happen."

"I've never done it with someone else who has, you know..."

"Gifts?"

"Yes, well, you are very gifted."

"Likewise."

"So just how unbreakable are you?"

"On a scale of "I don't know" to... "I'd rather not find out"?"

"So if I were to bite your finger with all of my considerable strength..."

"Depends on how considerable. So don't go getting any ideas about my extremities."

"Jewel is a stripper's name. A really slutty stripper, and if I wear that thing you're going to have to call me Camel Toe."

"Dart gun is accurate up to twenty feet."

"He'll always keep back to a wall, he'll see you coming."

"He won't see me."

"I'll take you out."

"I was going to say dartgun me but sure, shoot me in the head."

"Same here."

"You have often needed protection from your vagina."

"It's insane that that deranged murderer is teaching little kids."

"Insane. Sickening. Rage-inducing. [...] But we found what we needed upstate. We got him."

"All right. Been waiting to hear some good news. When they bringing him in?"

"Not soon enough." "We just keep eyes on him until then." "'We'? Dont you have a job?" "There is what I have to do to maintain a life, and what I want to do, and I need both to stay sane."

"You said your rebound chick took a shotgun at point-blank range pointed it under your chin, and pulled the trigger."

"I still get the occasional headache."

"You probably don't remember me, do you? Your girlfriend had me take care of you when you were brought into the hospital? In Hell's Kitchen?"

"That woman over in Hell's Kitchen snapped a man's neck because he was mind-controlling her."

"Oh my God, this is the dumbest."

"Let's go, Ironclad."

"It's Iron Fist."

"I know."

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (July 14, 1979): 119/?

THE QUEEN BACKLASH ENDS HERE

WITHOUT DOUBT Queen are among that elite number of bands universally hated by the rock press.

The rancour is, make no mistake, mutual which is understandable. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an inveterate dislike at the outset of your career and watch it being nurtured and carefully cultivated over the next six years you’re bound to retaliate.

Queen’s hatred manifests itself by their continued habit of ignoring the music press i.e. refusing to give interviews. There is the occasional token “chat”, pointless as it is innocuous, but in the main it amounts to a blanket “No.”

One of the last interviews Freddie Mercury gave was the last nail in the perspex coffin. Under a headline which boldly asked ‘Is This Man A Prat?’ the king of the leotards was demolished by one of the old school Queen haters and Freddie obviously came to the conclusion, in its wake, that interviews in future would be both superfluous (he was popular enough) and detrimental.

The curtain, velvet naturally, closed.

Roger Taylor, a little wary, a little weary, sits stiffly in an armchair. The juggernauts rattling the Chelsea Street outside create a sonorous buzz bomb hum in the room.

You expect a member of Queen to look elegant. In fact Roger is only wearing a wine colour mohair jacket, black shirt and blue jeans.

He apologises for being a little late and explains how he went to the wrong address. Roger seems to be the only member of Queen left who is prepared, albeit rarely, to open his mouth in the presence of a hack. A question springs to mind . . . why?

“We all sat around a table before I flew over from Munich to discuss the press situation and we agreed I should be the one to represent the band. Freddie is very uncompromising and refuses to have much to do with journalists.

“Obviously, he’s had a few raw deals with them in the past,” observes Taylor.

Roger himself has a rather low view of the music press.

“Most of it is rubbish. There was something I liked recently, a piece on Malcolm McLaren, but in the main I think I’m the only one of Queen to actually read the music papers.”

Why does he think the band are systemically slagged?

“I think it’s because Queen have always come across as being a rather confident band. We seemed, to other people at least, to be very sure of ourselves. I think the press may have misconstrued the confidence, mistaking it for a form of arrogance. Hence they became wary of our motives which bred a dislike for our music.”

Now that’s what I call a neat conclusion.

At the risk of being sent to Coventry by my colleagues I’d like, if I may, to come clean. I love Queen (you’re fired, Ed).

I think it all began with a simple pre-packed but indisposable line – “Dynamite with a laser beam” and has continued uninterrupted (despite the occasional flaw) right through to ‘Queen Live Killers’.

A combination of reasons, Freddie Mercury’s lascivious lisp – the most attractive intonation known to man . . . Brian May’s reel ‘em off rococo riffs that would, in his capable hands, transform the theme music for ‘Waggoners’ Walk’ into a meisterwork . . . John Deacon’s almost stoic stance, incongruous yet integral . . . Roger Taylor’s intense power, so unexpected from one so slight . . . the ability to go over the top without failing into the trap of caricature . . . a desire to give the punters what they want without pandering . . . that cast iron confidence . . . those nine glorious winter weeks of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ which kept the cold away from my soul . . .

Yes, I love Queen.

Roger explains the story behind ‘Killers’ which features just about every Queen classic which ever found its way into a silk lined memory bank.

“We always knew that one day we would make a live album. I think it was well planned. About 90 per cent of our last European tour was recorded on a mobile unit and we then spent weeks sitting through the songs in the studio.

“The result is a 100 per cent LIVE album. Nothing has been touched up in the process of selection, I think that’s pretty rare these days. Many ‘live’ albums are tampered with.”

The choice of single is unusual – ‘Love Of My Life’. “It’s not so unusual when you hear the way it came out. The song seems to have such a wide appeal. Everywhere we go the reaction to it is the same. The audience are just bursting to sing along.”

The result is Queen’s best single since ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ (that was their LAST one crawler, ED)

As I mentioned earlier the band are currently residing in Munich where they are “experimenting” in the studio.

“We are recording in a totally different way for us,” says Roger who speaks with a delicate London accent only typical of cockneys with dramatic training and David Essex.

“Every time we entered a studio in the past we had a good idea of what we were going to do. This time we started from scratch and the result is amazing. The music is nothing like anything we’ve done before, I guess you could say it’s much simpler.”

And this novel approach to their music also extends to their shows. On their next British tour – in the late Autumn – the band will be playing much smaller venues than they are accustomed to.

“In London for example we went to play to audiences of about two or three thousand in different areas. I think it’s much fairer to the fans.”

But won’t this affect their stage show which is after all a crucial factor for any powerpomp outfit?

“Not really. We will just scale down the show accordingly. Besides,” he says taking another bite out of the biscuit, “we haven’t used dry ice in years.”

The monkey on Queen’s back, as corpulent and cantankerous as ever, has been put there by those who firmly believe the band can never emulate past achievements. Roger is cognizant of its presence but refuses to unpeel its bananas.

“That all began after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. When it stayed at number one all those weeks we were kindly informed that we would never be able to make another single to rival it both artistically and from the point of view of sales.

“Yet ‘We Are The Champions’ sold a great deal more and has since become the biggest selling single in the entire history of Elektra Asylum – our label in the States.

“We don’t do the amazingly complex things any more because we’ve moved on from that. We concentrate on the music we are doing now and we intend to do it the best we can, it’s ridiculous looking behind and and what you’ve done.

“There’s nothing like going back on the road to re-unite the bond between the four personalities and strengthening our belief in the band. We are a real working unit and, in my experience of the music business, one of the most democratic bands around today.”

A statement like that cries out to be expounded.

“People think every member of all the bands, not naming any names, are treated equally that is get the same money as their colleagues. That’s rubbish. In many bands there are a couple of guys that get all the money. The rest are on wages. Queen share the profits equally.”

And they don’t have a manager taking his cut either, John Reid departed a couple of years back and now the band themselves make all the major policy decisions. Why did they decide to dispense with the services of a manager?

“Basically because we were fed up with giving other people money. Y’know it never ceases to amaze me how naive those guys are in bands who have just had their first hit. After all this time I’ve forgotten just how naive we must have been at the beginning.

“I mean, everything seems so great when you get into the charts for the first time. You’re living on cloud nine and nothing else matters. But in truth that hit means absolutely nothing. So few people achieve any amount of financial success in this business.

“Oh, you think, you’re really living . . . for a while. Somebody gets you a flat in Chelsea and it’s all free. But one day the rent stops being paid for you and you realise you’re skint.

“Since John Reid has gone the four of us have always made a point of discussing everything together. We have various people working for us but all the important decisions are made by us alone. That way we get freedom of choice – and financial independence.”

My attention is suddenly diverted.

“FORTY-LOVE!” Wimbledon, the Persil White opiate for the hoi polloi squashed in a strawberry crush wrings out its perspiring petticoats on the TV in the next room.  Roger’s girlfriend, an extremely attractive French girl called Dominique, is engrossed. The couple have lived together for two years. Crippled old marriage questions permeate the air.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” says Roger. “It’s simply a contract and the fewer contracts I enter into the better. If you get on well with someone then there isn’t any harm in living with that person – but marriage is something else again.”

They live in a six bedroomed Victorian house just outside London, which is set in 20 acres. Roger has a “tiny” town house in Barnes as well. What’s it like having a bank full of money at the age of 29?

“I don’t hide away from life. Queen have never been one of those ‘being grabbed in the street’ type bands. It may happen when the four of us are together – but when we are out alone we are seldom bothered. That gives me the opportunity to enjoy myself. I go to clubs a lot. I like having a good time. I don’t think you could describe any of the band as leading sheltered lives.

“But I have completely lost touch with how much things cost. When you find yourself living in hotels for so long you never really deal in money as such. Everything is available whenever you want it – but you never see the cash actually being handed over.

“I’ve forgotten what it was like to be penniless which Queen were for years. I guess that must happen to many successful rock bands.”

Another thing that happens to many successful rock bands – they quit the country. But not Queen it appears.

“We have always based ourselves in England and I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue to do so. We could leave at any time but we choose to stay. People believe we are tax exiles because we spend a lot of the time out of the country recording in studios all over Europe and touring.”

And what will happen when the band finally trudge wearily down the road leading to that  ivory strewn elephants’ graveyard . . . ?

“I know it’s bound to happen one day. I suppose I’d take a long, long holiday . . . and then make a solo album.”

[mcustorm]

In Defense of a Black Cyclops

In case my username didn’t make it clear, the single most anticipated visual project for me is the MCU’s interpretation of the X-Men, which hasn’t even been announced yet [officially]. And ladies and gents, I have found your Cyclops:

Good ol’ Alfred Enoch, who we all know from Harry Potter and How to Get Away With Murder. If you’re not familiar with HTGAWM, know that his character goes from the de facto leader of the ragtag (murderers) and most cherished protege of Viola Davis’ Professor X to taking more of a grimdark turn after his girlfriend’s death. Sound at least somewhat familiar?

Enoch also embodies the physicality of the character well, seeing as to how he’s “slim”, 6′4(!!), black, and notoriously lanky. Wait, one of these isn’t like the others.

In general I hate fancasting. Everyone generally picks from the same pool of about 30 actors (Peeps, neither Taron nor Daniel is a good Wolverine choice. Argue with your mother!), and most all of it is based on physicality, except when it absolutely should be (like say, choosing a ~5′10 dark-skinned black woman for Storm).

And I think there’s some malarkey afoot. I think there needs to be some serious consideration on part of fancasters and actual casting agents alike to rethink race when it comes to the [white] X-Men, especially since they’re the X-Men of all teams. So I’ll make the case for a black Cyclops: 

1. There is no quota on Black X-Men: There’s a bug in your ear that’s been whispering lies to you for years, it says something to the effect of “We need a black person on the team for diversity. How bout Storm?” And you’ve gotten complacent. Storm does not have to be the only black person on your X-Men roster.

2. The X-Men represent diversity: Iceman is gay, Cyclops and Prof. X are disabled (sorta), there are plenty of women, oh and everybody except Storm is white. Of the A-List X-Men, there is only *one* POC character. I’d argue that an MCU X-Men needs to champion diversity like never before.

3. The X-Men represent minority struggle while being mostly white: There’s a cognitive dissonance in the metaphor that has always been there, and for the most part, nobody cares. To appeal to the white readers of the 60′s, the X-Men were all initially white. That way, the message of the mutants could be related to the audience with a familiar face. We don’t need to approach the problem that way in 202?

4. Just because that’s the way it’s always been, doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be: The first line of defense. Sorry, that will never be a good justification for literally any idea. It’s time for some more critical thinking.

5. We don’t all want to be Bishop: So say you’re white and you have a kid who for his birthday having a costume party. You’ve bought some X-Men costumes and you want each kid to pick one. 9 white kids and one black kid show up to your house. As the kids deliberate who gets what costume, be it Cyke or Wolvie or whatever, you yell at everybody to “STOP!”, point to the one black kid and tell him “You’re gonna be Bishop. That’s it, end of story!” 

We don’t all want to be Bishop. The black child could have the best Cyclops interpretation within him, but you’ll never know if you don’t let him try. And that’s no different from the Black actors of Hollywood. There’s no reason why all of the black talent should *have* to compete for the role of Bishop or Storm, which I’ve discussed, while Joe Schmo can walk up and audition for literally anybody he wants.          

Jharrel Jerome is 23 and has an Emmy to his name. He needs to be in the MCU in some capacity, period. Stephan James is another. How bout Damson Idris. Ashton Sanders. But no, no, let’s fancast Dacre Montgomery or Ansel or Joe Keery again as [Human Torch, Wolverine, Iceman, Angel, I’ve literally seen it all.]

6. Nobody wants to see the B-team if it comes down to it. The next line of defense from your racebending naysayers after “That’s the way it’s always been!” is “Well, what about Psylocke, Bishop, Forge and Jubilee?” who are otherwise known as B-tier X-Men. The problem is, we’ve got limited time and limited spots.

So since the X-Men is all about wonky metaphors that make half sense, let me give you another: Let’s say somebody approaches you and says “Hey buddy, I got two free concert tickets for ya! You can either see Michael Jackson Sings the Blues, or you can go see Justin Timberlake. Free of charge!”

Now, are you used to MJ singing the blues? No! Do you have a problem with going to see Justin Timberlake? No, he’s fine on a Wednesday! He had that one little diddy we liked that one time. We’d love to see him eventually! But are you gonna say, “fuck that, I’m going to see MJ Sings the Blues” regardless? Hell yes, because that’s still Michael Jackson. He’s gonna give the same amazing performance he always does, it’s just gonna be the blues. And speaking of blues...

7. Black is not Blue, Brown is not Blue: Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard this one: “I don’t care if you’re black, white, purple, or green, I’m going to treat you all the same!” I will not say all have this intention, but some fancasters have noticed that the racial diversity is kinda low within the A-List X-Men, so they oh-so-generously give the following roles to a black or brown person: Iceman, Nightcrawler, Beast. 

Notice the pattern? It’s a microaggression, and it’s bullshit. What these fancasters are implicitly telling you is that, yes the actors will be black or brown, but when the action starts we can ignore that. They’ll be blue by then. In other words, you in fact do care if they’re purple or green. Nobody will cry foul if Dev Patel gets to play Nightcrawler (because that’s a common one I see), but should Anna Diop be Starfire or Michael B. Jordan be Human Torch, I bet there’d be backlash. Oh wait. If that’s you, please stop acting like you actually value diversity. You don’t want to see black or brown skin, period. Unless of course, it’s Storm (refer to point #1).

But wait, there’s more! When brown characters get whitewashed in these movies, it’s crickets! So eventually it’s revealed implicitly that proclaimers of point #4 only care about it one way.

8. Professor X should not be black if you’re not willing to change anyone else: The next line of defense is that some people say the professor should be black, if anybody HAS to be racebent. Something something MLK Jr., Civil Rights or some shit. Number one, I’m not reducing Professor X to being a magical negro for 9 white people (and Storm!) who for all intents and purposes get to have all the action. Number 2, the Professor X/MLK/Magneto/Malcolm X comparison is an oversimplifying disservice to ALL FOUR of those people. I hate that line whenever I see it, please watch a documentary my friends. 

9. The Candidates for Racebending: For me, the A-List X-Men are Cyclops, Jean Grey, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Wolverine, Storm, Gambit, Rogue, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and Kitty Pryde. Now, who should be exempt from the racebending? Storm, she’s our designated minority. Gambit, he’s Cajun and they’re white (generally speaking, that’s a fun bit of research). Wolverine, Colossus, and Nightcrawler, because their nationality/ethnicity was the whole point of the Giant-Size premise in the first place. Angel, because his character embodies a privileged white male. Beast and Iceman, I don’t care one way or another (Point #7).

That leaves Cyclops, Rogue, Jean Grey, and Kitty Pryde. Now Jean Grey is a redhead, and we all know that every time a redhead is racebent people sharpen their pitchforks (Mary Jane, Wally West, Iris West), so I will cede the ground on Jean if only so that my ginger friends can get their rep. Kitty Pryde is Jewish, but Jews of color exist. Rogue is from the South. And Cyclops is, well, just Cyclops. That makes those three characters good options for more diversity. But allow me to make the case for Cyclops, specifically.

10. It’s not just diversity for diversity’s sake: If you had to pick who the main character of the X-Men is supposed to be, most would say Cyclops. And so in a series that highlights racial discrimination in society, it makes sense that our main character be black. While changing Cyclops’ skin color should not change who he is as a character, it *should* recontextualize it. Now, as an eventual increasingly radical leader of the X-Men, Cyclops would evoke real life figures such as Colin Kaepernick or, shall I say, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Not that most X-Men fans and writers truly think about what it means to be black anyways. Storm’s minority status is almost always put through the lens of her being a mutant and not her being a black woman. In other words, you can’t argue that making a character black will fundamentally change his or her character when you haven’t even analyzed the racial context of the black character(s) you already have. Another concept that the MCU X-Men should tackle: intersectionality.

11. Representation matters: I have to say it: Chadwick Boseman’s Black Panther hit different. And now he is tragically gone. At the end of the day, the MCU moving forward is down its most prominent black male superhero. Which has implications beyond just the movies themselves.

The women are in good hands. Shuri, Okoye, and Nakia are badasses in Wakanda, Valkyrie is ruling Asgard, Storm is almost assuredly on the way, RiRi Williams has already been cast, and Monica Rambeau is here and she’s not even at her most glorious yet. That doesn’t even include variable Δ, or the number of characters who can and will be racebent. And I’ll note again that to me, Gamora doesn’t count, because she’s green (#7 really pisses me off because it’s so blatant. I hate it). Of course from a behind the camera perspective we love black women getting work.

The men are a completely different story. Imma just go out and say it, I can’t stand Falcon and War Machine [in the MCU] because they’re not characters, they’re just two of a slew of MCU minority sidekicks who have essentially been at the beck and call of Captain America and Iron Man, respectively. You cannot tell Falcon’s story without mentioning Cap. The reverse is not true. There’s a whole essay that could be and have been written on “Minorities in the MCU, pre-Black Panther”. Remember, there’s a reason BP made so much noise in the first place.

So excluding those two we have, let’s see, M’Baku, Blade, and Fury who aren’t exactly the most superheroic superheroes, Eli Bradley is proooobably coming, I doubt Miles Morales is coming (because he’s just Peter Parker in the MCU), Luke Cage(?) Bishop(??), Sunspot(???), Blue Marvel(????). Not only are they not A-List, I would not put money on any of them being in the MCU any time soon.

Cyclops is thee Captain America of the X-Men. He’s the frontman. He’s the poster boy. He’s the “boy scout”, which in other words means he’s the hero, if there has to be one. It would mean a lot right now, and specifically *right now*, if he were to be black. The MCU needs it. It NEEDS it.

12. The X-Men is the Summers Story: I’ll even make the case that if just one character needs to racebent, then it should be Cyclops, because that of course implies that other related characters need to be black because half of the X-Men universe is in fact a part of the Summers family. 

So now Cable is black. Corsair is black. Havok is black. And one of the most central stories in the X-Men mythos, the Summers family drama, is now a black family drama set in space or the future or where the fuck ever. The concept is boundary pushing. When white families have drama in the media, it gets to be Game of Thrones or Star Wars, while when black families have drama in the media, it has to be black people arguing in a kitchen or living room about their various earthly traumas (I’m @’ing you, Mr. Perry). I mean, that’s all fine and good often times, but I want my black family drama in space, dammit.

And again, this is the X-Men, the series that’s all about *minorities* and their struggle, so again, why not?

Oh, and I’ll even throw out a Havok fancast for you: How bout Jharrel Jerome?

[deepspacedukat]

I do really want to know your reasoning on the Cardassians because sometimes I just go ✨PRETTY✨ and have absolutely no other thoughts. It’s a little embarrassing.

But also, if you were stuck somewhere for like a year who would you pick to live with from Trek and why? I’m picking Jadzia, Kira, Dr. Bashir, and Rom. Also Garak because then I could learn how to sew better.

-Horta-in-Charge

Look, honestly, sometimes the ✨pretty✨ reaction is all I have too lol. Okay, so for the placement reasoning:

Fuck: Garak - The man would absolutely know what he was doing, but I feel like because of his Obsidian Order past he wouldn’t necessarily feel comfortable with something as traceable as a marriage record revealing that he had a weakness (aka his s/o). The sex though...the sex. Not giving that up! Dukat - I mean, the man would know his way around, if you know what I mean. The guy has multiple children so obviously he knows what he’s doing. Might not be smart to marry a villain, but to be his good little slut...? *nods head sagely* Madred - Look, he’s evil. He tortured Picard. But...also...I would let him rail me till I couldn’t stand. No logic on this one. Just ✨dirty thoughts.✨

Marry: Macet - He doesn’t seem as bad as his cousin, and he’s still got the sexy voice, so um...Yeah. Not really any logic with this one either. Just would absolutely take pretty lizard’s last name. Daro - I mean, this one to me is obvious. He seems like he’d be sweet and protective and just perfect husband material, so...yep. We don’t even have an official first name for him, but I’d take his last name. Damar - Ok, so...no logic for this one either...He’s a big, pretty, square lizard. And I’d go there. Tekeny Ghemor - He’s a widower and he’s a very sweet man. 10/10 would call him daddy in bed and take his last name. He also feels like the type of person who would be v protective of the person he loved and since he’s obviously had a kid, he knows what he’s doing in bed...

Kiss: Telle - Tbh, he wasn’t my favorite Cardassian, but he was still cute and rather square. 100% would give this lizard a smooch. Boheeka - Look. LOOK. This man deserved better than the Order making him disappear for Quark’s requisition code. Add that to his slutty little comment about a Dabo girl almost bankrupting him, and I’d definitely kiss him. Also, he’s pretty, so... Ari - This good boy just wanted to protect Iliana!Kira and for Cardassia to have a better future. HE DESERVED BETTER. 10000/10 would smooch. Entek - Bad Lizard™ but would I let him pin me up against a wall and kiss me like a back alley whore? Yes. No logic. Only ✨pretty✨

Hug: Mavek - He was on Terok Nor during the Dominion’s occupation of said station, and he was sweet enough to bring Major Kira her coffee every morning. Look. Any guy who remembers AWAKE JUICE for somebody EVERY DAY has EARNED a hug. At minimum.

Kill: Evek - Look. I have strong feelings about Cardassians. For some reason, he evokes a very visceral reaction. Also I’m convinced he’s one of the ones who suggested the Central Command try to blame Dukat for the weapon smuggling in “The Maquis” Parts 1&2. R.I.P. Danar - Idk why I have this reaction with him?? So many of Vaughn Armstrong’s characters are calming or just give me a different reaction, but with Danar, I...I don’t know. Confusion lizard. R.I.P.

As for your second question, oooooh, I love that idea! I’ll do 5 people since you chose 5.

If it can be anyone from any Trek series, I’d say... Shran, Julian Bashir, Spock, Malcolm Reed, and Dukat (for chaos and laughs). Would we survive? Probably not. Would it be fun? Yes (for me; I guarantee nobody else’s enjoyment but my own).

If it can only be DS9 characters...Bashir, O’Brien, Martok, Garak, and Dukat (again, for chaos and laughs). 

Are both those sets reverse harem situations in my brain? ...Perhaps...

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)

Read on AO3

Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.

He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.

Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.

And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.

The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”

His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.

Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.

“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”

“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.

Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.

“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.

“That’s too many names.”

“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”

“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”

She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.

“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”

“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.

“Not enjoying it so far?”

“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”

He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.

“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”

He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”

“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”

“And what would that be?”

“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.

“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.

“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”

He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.

“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.

“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”

“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”

His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.

“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”

That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.

“Bad date, was it?”

Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”

“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.

“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”

“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.

“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”

“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”

“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.

She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.

Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.

After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.

“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.

“I dinna think so.”

Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”

“Then they’re eejits.”

A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.

“Eejits, huh?”

He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.

“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.

“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.

“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”

Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”

“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.

“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”

Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”

Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.

“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”

By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.

They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.

Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.

“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.

“Aye?”

“Can I…?”

An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.

A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.

He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.

[kirkwallgremlin]

Memories of a Little Boy

1873 words, Carver & Malcolm Hawke featuring his relationship with Hawke and Bethany. Brothers can be a pain in the ass, especially when you're the one that always seems to get in trouble. Carver talks about the latest problem his brother is causing with their father.

[read on ao3]

“Go away,” Carver shouted, kicking the sticks he’d been building with aside in frustration as the entire thing crumbled to the ground again. Garrett just poked his tongue out. “This is why nobody likes mages.”

“Carver!” he heard their mother snap and he spun in alarm, not realising she had exited the house, let alone moved close enough to hear them.

Of course she’d heard him and not seen Garrett being a pest. It always happened like that.

“Apologise to your brother,” she told him, the look on her face telling him that he was in big trouble. But Carver stood silently looking at her, his fists balled defiantly by his sides. His lip wobbled but he clenched his jaw, determined not to let any of them see it.

Garrett should be apologising to him. He was the one using his stupid magic to make things impossible for Carver for absolutely no reason except to be the most annoying person in the world.

“He deserved it,” he said, watching his mother’s frown deepen. He knew he was in trouble, knew he’d only get in more trouble by refusing to apologise, but he couldn’t. Apologising was like admitting he was wrong and he wasn’t.

Tears burned in his eyes, threatening to fall and he tried to blink them away. The effort of holding them back made his throat hurt.

Garrett folded his arms, standing beside their mother. He poked his tongue out again and Carver stamped his foot, frustrated.

“You always take his side,” he yelled. “You like him better because he’s a mage. But I’d be happier if the Templars came and took him away.”

He knew he’d gone too far but he felt like sometimes it was true and the words were out there now. Determined not to let either of them see him cry, he turned and ran, heading away from the house, hoping he wouldn’t run into anybody else.

“Carver Aristide Hawke!” he heard their mother yell after him, the full name further compounding evidence that he was in Big Trouble. “You come back here right now.”

Maybe by the time he came back, she’d be less mad and he wouldn’t be in as much trouble.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. That’d show them.

There was a rocky hill near the lake outside the village and Carver found himself there, tucked in behind a boulder where he could keep himself slightly hidden from the main road. He didn’t know how he felt, really. Angry yes, at Garrett, at their mother, at himself. Upset. Frustrated. He felt like he was shaking.

A tuft of grass grew nearby, almost out of arm’s reach and he scowled at it, imagining it was Garrett’s head. If he focused hard enough, maybe he’d be able to do something magic to it. Set it on fire. Freeze it. Shake it out of the ground or suck the life out of it like mages could apparently do.

Nothing happened.

Nothing ever happened when he tried. Not like the others. Not like Garrett or Bethany.

He ripped the grass out of the ground instead, flinging it away as hard as he could.

“Whoa there,” somebody said and Carver curled in on himself, legs tucked up against his chest. “Careful, Junior. You’ll take somebody’s head off.”

His father came into view beside the rock. He didn’t look angry but Carver didn’t want to take any chances. If he was here, then Mother must have told him that something had happened. He just hoped she hadn’t told him what Carver had said.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

The urge to cry was still there and Carver didn’t trust himself to answer. Instead he just shook his head. He really wasn’t sure if he was saying no, I don’t mind or no, you can’t, but his father sat beside him anyway.

“Want to talk about it?”

Carver just pulled out another tuft of grass, throwing that one away too. It didn’t go anywhere near as far as he hoped, the weight of the plant not enough to stop it from falling frustratingly short.

His father pressed something against his hand and he took it silently. A rock, one of the small fragments broken from the larger rocks around them.

“This one’s a bit heavier than grass. Might travel a little further,” he said as Carver wrapped his fingers around it. Carver glanced at him quickly, looking away when he thought their eyes might meet, pulling his limbs tighter around himself. “Just aim that way, away from the path. We don’t want to be responsible for any injuries.”

The edge of the rock was rough under Caver’s skin as he ran his thumb along the broken edge. He finally gave in, releasing himself slightly from the ball he’d curled into, pulling his arm back as he threw it as far he could, the distance much more satisfying than the grass had been. Before he even had time to lower his arm, another rock was being offered.

“Think you can make it all the way to the water?” his father challenged him, lifting his own rock. “I bet I can.”

None of their rocks made it even close to the water, but Carver didn’t really care. It felt good to throw them, like he was throwing parts of his anger and frustration away with every pebble.

“Hey Junior, this one looks like a heart,” his father said, holding the rock up to Carver. Carver did his best not to smile as he took it.

“Can I keep it?” he asked shyly and his father laughed, nodding as Carver slipped the rock into his pocket, flipping it between his fingers. It was the perfect size to hold.

“So Junior, ready to tell me what happened yet?”

“Garrett was using his magic on me,” Carver said, still fiddling with the rock in his pocket, trying to stop his mood from dipping too much again. “I was trying to build a wall so Bethany and I could be knights attacking a castle and he set one of my sticks on fire. And then he kept making the ground shake so they’d fall over. And he wouldn’t stop even though I kept telling him to.”

“Ah. We’ve been practicing that one,” his father said. “I wondered why he was so enthusiastic about practicing it. I’ll talk to him about that.”

“He always does things like that. But then I always get in trouble. Mother didn’t even want to hear what happened. She just yelled at me when he was the one who did something wrong.”

Carver’s lip wobbled as he gripped his new rock tightly. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, rubbing circles against it.

“Must have been frustrating,” he said and Carver sniffed, trying to stop his nose from running like it was threatening to do. He nodded.

“I didn’t mean what I said though. About nobody liking mages or the templars taking him away. I’d miss him if that happened.”

“I know. And I’m sure Garrett does too. ” His father wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in for a sideways hug. “It’s easy to say things you don’t mean when you’re angry. But it’s important to be careful. You can’t always take things back once they’re said or done.”

“I know.” Carver looked down at the ground. He’d felt guilty about it ever since the words had left his mouth. “Why do you all get to be magic though? Why am I the only one who isn’t?”

When he and Bethany were younger, they’d pretend to be mages like their father, bravely casting their spells in the privacy of their own homes, with nobody around to wonder how the Hawke children knew so much about magic. Then Garrett had discovered his power and the twins had been fascinated, wondering what it was like, wondering if they would be magic too or if they’d be like their mother.

They shared so much that they always imagined they’d share their magic or lack thereof as well. But then Bethany had thrown somebody across a field trying to protect Carver and now he sometimes felt like he was losing her. Instead of the two of them playing together, she’d disappear with Garrett and their father to practice, doing Maker knows what, while he was left behind.

Now, instead of Carver and Bethany, a united force against the world, against Garrett, he was the one on the outside.

He’d tried so hard to make something magic happen, so that he could be like his sister, practicing with his father and his siblings, but no matter how hard he tried, how hard he’d practiced, nothing had ever happened. Bethany had told him how it felt, tried to teach him, but he was starting to lose hope.

“I don’t think anybody really knows how it works,” his father said. “It’s not always a blessing, Junior. It can be scary and dangerous and it’s forever. You’d always be looking over your shoulder, forever.”

Carver couldn’t help but think he didn’t care. He could face that danger with Bethany, both of them together. It wouldn’t matter, not if they were together. But instead, she was facing it alone.

“You have an important job too, Junior,” his father said. “There’s lots of ways to protect people without magic. Things you can learn to do when you don’t already have magic. Maybe we can practice those some more if you’d like to learn to fight.”

Carver looked at him, nodding with wide eyed enthusiasm. They’d done play fighting before but never proper teaching, and he liked the idea of that.

And what use would magic be against a sword? Maybe he’d finally get the upper hand on Garrett.

“Alright, tell you what, kiddo,” he said, ruffling Caver’s hair. “We head back and I’ll see what weapons I can find for you some time. You ready to go?”

“Can we start now?” asked Carver, still full of enthusiasm as he bounced to his feet. The rock in his pocket bounced against his leg as his father laughed.

“Maybe not today,” he said. “It’ll take time to find something and I’ll have a think about the best way we’re going to practice. I’m a little rusty with a sword, haven’t needed one much. But we’ll find something, won’t we, Carv?”

Carver nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Maybe he couldn’t do magic but he could protect his family in another way. Maybe he could be the best warrior in the Hawke family.

“You’ll still need to apologise to your brother and mother though.”

Carver frowned, his lower lip stuck out.

“Fine,” he said.

But even the idea of that, of admitting that he was wrong even though it was definitely Garrett’s fault, wasn’t enough to outshine his new excitement as he took his father’s hand and they headed home.

If being a mage was so dangerous, then maybe the reason he wasn’t one was because it was his job to keep his family safe instead.

Maybe he wasn’t ever meant to be Carver Hawke the mage.

Maybe he was meant to be Carver Hawke the warrior, protector of his family instead.

[11037-378-kohl]

Fazbear Frights sexuality

Sorry for grammar and spelling mistakes

(This will only be for that FF characters that are important to my AU and that I feel like I should do their sexuality)

Disclaimer: this is my opinion and if you are homophobic please get out. We don’t tolerate that behavior here

To Be Beautiful

Sarah: Straight

Though she has thought she may have been a lesbian or bi because of her observations on other girls. Then she remembered she’s never been romanticly attractioned to woman.

Abby: Questioning

Abby doesn’t have an interest in dating, though she has had a crush on a girl in 1st grade once, though she doesn’t think she’s lesbian. Abby thinks she might have a small crush on Sarah’s brother.

Mason: Bi

Mason has dated a couple girls but he’s also dated some boys. He decided to go to a psychic and ask what’s his sexuality, told them about the dating, they said that he was Bi so—

Lydia: Lesbian

She does have a boyfriend but they are both just faking it. Lydia has a crush on Tabitha her boyfriend is chill with that, we stan Lydia’s boyfriend for in my AU.

Tabitha: Bi (prefers girls)

Tabitha does have a boyfriend, who she loves, but also has a small crush on Lydia. She doesn’t like boys as much as girls. When she does like a boy it’s genuine.

Jillian: Straight

Jillian really only like boys romanticly. Though Jillian may be a bitch but she’s no homophobe. Jillian fully supports Tabitha even though Jillian wants to murder her.

Emma: Bi (prefer men)

In fourth grade Emma had a crush on her best friend Valerie. She did once had a crush on Abby, but Emma usually dates/crushes on boys.

Count the Ways

Millie: Bi

This one is self explanatory.

Dylan: Straight

Dylan is convinced he is straight. He has never liked a boy romanticly. Though he still loves going to Pride Parades with Brooke and Millie. He is very supportive of the LGBTQ+ community even though he isn’t in it.

Brooke: Pansexual

Brooke, though never said anything in the book, feels like the kind of person to love somebody based on their personality.

Hannah: Omnisexual

I- I have no idea how to explain why. I just don’t know how sorry

Lonely Freddy

Alec: Straight

Alec once did have a crush on a girl named Alyssa (not canon). His parents told him to ignore her. spoiler alert! He didn’t. He’d always stare at her during classes they shared. Never dated though-

Hazel: Lesbian

When Hazel got to age she wanted to start ignoring romantic feelings she only seemed to have romantic feelings for girls. After a while she developed a crush on Charlotte (it was after they both changed their names to Vanessa).

Charlotte: Pansexual

Vanny likes people based on personality, it just feels like it’s canon to me. Charlotte in highschool would get crushes on people who had attractive personalities male, female, nonbinary, Charlotte doesn’t care about gender.

The New Kid

Devon: Straight

C’mon not even Devon could convince himself he liked a girl that much. After death he’s still in love with Heather.

Mick: Pansexual

You all have to understand this one.

Kelsey: Bi

At some schools Kelsey likes a boy at school. Usually he doesn’t like someone romantically at school, but sometimes it happens.

Heather: Straight

Heather likes boys! She usually doesn’t realize she likes a boy until it’s too late. Either get taken, go missing or they move. She realized she liked Devon romantically too late.

Gabriella: Straight

She canonly straight.

Valerie: Pan

Valerie is the over energetic friend most people (who actually has friends) have. Shes too energetic and bubbly to care about things like gender.

Juliet: Lesbian

No explanation, sorry.

Quincy: Straight

Another canon sexuality!

Step Closer

Pete: Questioning

He loved Maria but Pete wasn’t sure if he’s completely straight, he knows that he’s Bi or straight.

Maria: Straight

She’s a fucking cheerleader and her crush was on a American Football team, of course she’s straight (I known that it’s stereotypical but it’s true). It’s just like Teen Beach Movie but not.

Bunny Call

Tyler: Gay

Fourteen y/o Tyler realized this is ten year old Tyler. Yup a high schooler in the 1980’s is gay in my AU. Tyler and I died because we had to gay forbidden love from a disapproving world.

Hide and Seek

Toby: Straight

He just seems like he’s straight. He’s also was raging because his minecraft girlfriend broke up with him two years ago.

Tabitha: Bi

Are you going to look at me and tell me she isn’t completely straight?

Reggie: Straight

He had developed a crush on Tabitha in the five minutes she was there.

The Breaking Wheel

Shelly: Straight

Reed: Straight

Pickle: Straight

Julius: Straight

(No comment on these ones)

He Told me Everything

Chris: not into relationships

He only likes science. Like to the point it’s unhealthy. He hasn’t even thought of crushes since kindergarten.

Brooke: Bi (prefers woman)

She just gives that vibe.

Sanjeet: Straight

This nerd in my HTME rewrite is obviously crushing on Brooke. Like he used a completely different tone talking to Brooke then anyone else.

Malcolm: Straight

Malcolm doesn’t usually think about crushes and dumb shit like that. Though he’s convinced he’s straight.

[dadsbongos]

Brother’s Keeper

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: idk The Veldt spoilers if you’ve never read it (it’s really fucking good), the parents suck and they’re emotionally manipulative Summary: Brahms likes to play with his baby sister. ~~~

“What a pouty little face you have,” Mrs. Heelshire pinched at her daughter’s cheeks, stretching them upward, “Come on, let me see a smile.”

(Y/n) swatted at her mother’s hands, “I don’t want to.”

Brahms adjusted his tie as best he could for the family picture, letting his father take over after a minute of fumbling, “She’s not going to smile; little brat.”

“Hey!” the three-year-old girl whined, lips pulling into an even deeper pout, “You can’t be mean and the birthday boy at the same time, it’s not fair!”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You’re just upset your birthday isn't for five more months.”

~~

“I’m seven, I’m too old for dolls,” (Y/n) muttered, not wanting to mention why exactly she didn’t want the porcelain doll, “Besides, he’s too fragile, if I drop him he’ll die.”

Death was a new fascination with the young girl after the incident. Though, to be fair, most fascinations didn’t last four years nor did they start with the horrific death of your older brother.

“Nonsense,” her father grinned, taking the doll from his wife and holding it out to his young daughter, “he was Brahms’ favorite.”

Brahms was a word that had become similar to “fuck” in the parents’ minds. Off-limits by the punishment of spanking or grounding unless you were one of them.

“Oh,” she murmured, carefully taking the toy and holding it to her side, “I never saw him play with it…”

“Too scared to break the poor thing,” Mrs. Heelshire reasoned easily enough, “Named after him.”

(Y/n) looked at the glassy object, “Why do I need to have him?”

“You’re going to take care of him, Brahms would want you to,” Mr. Heelshire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead before leaving a small kiss to the patch of skin, “Be good to him, sweetheart, won’t you?”

Mrs. Heelshire nodded from behind her husband, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Brahms, would you?”

She glanced between her pleading parents and the doll, pursing her lips before hesitantly nodding, “Alright, I guess…”

~~

By the time 1999 rolled around and the only living Heelshire child was to turn eleven, there were no more friends to play in the house with. Emily, who in many ways had been an older sister to the girl, was murdered by some sick monster who lit the playhouse she was inside on fire. Well, maybe the killer didn’t light the playhouse on fire.

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?”

Instead, (Y/n) was left to play with her doll. With a party hat on her head, courtesy of the new grocery boy, Malcolm, she wandered aimlessly through the halls. Birthdays were no longer a celebration in the manor; unless it was Brahms’, of course. She held the doll to her hip, looking at the series of paintings decorating the wall; most of them portraying her big brother.

She frowned, settling a hand on the wall just below the largest mural in the hall. Her fingers brushed upon a small crevice dip in the split of colors in the striped wallpaper, brows furrowing at the ledge. She curled her fingers around it, beginning to pull when suddenly it popped apart from the wall. A panel opening up in the middle of the hallway, she looked down each end before climbing through.

Her eyes adjusted quickly enough, arms squeezing Brahms tighter to her form. She began creeping down the secret passageway, not noticing the sounds of her parents screaming her name.

A sudden turn and she took it. A curve in the path and she rounded it. Losing herself in the hidden walkways within her home. It was only when she realized how lost she was that panic settled in, “Mama…?”

She held Brahms even tighter, freehand leaving the doll to bang on the interior of the wall, “Papa! Mama?!” 

It was half an hour before the panicking parents found their weeping little girl hidden behind a panel close to the fireplace. She was crying into the sweater on her doll, cheeks heated in the force of her tears. Not even Mr. Heelshire’s gentle hugging and cooing could relieve her of the emotional aches.

“You’re to never go in those walls again, do you hear me?” her mother grit through clenched teeth.

Never? As much as (Y/n) wanted to be on board with the idea, she wasn’t sure about never being able to go in again. Maybe… maybe she just had to be older, more mature - yeah - that sounded about right.

“Just once more,” she immediately calmed down, now speaking through a raspy, whiny post-crying voice, “I won’t get lost this time, I promise.”

Mr. Heelshire looked over to his wife, “Just one more couldn’t hurt, she should learn about the walls, shouldn’t she?”

As soon as the words left her husband’s lips, Mrs. Heelshire shook her head, “Not a chance. Haven’t you read The Veldt? That’s how the parents die.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, glancing between her parents as tears began springing into the surface, “You guys will die if I go in the walls again?”

Neither parent confirmed it, though they didn’t deny it either, before sending her off to bed with Brahms. Leaving her to question what the walls were in the dark solitude of her lavish bedroom; empty winnings for a girl who felt guilty enjoying them.

~~

By fifteen, there was an influx of nannies coming in and out of the Heelshire home to care for a supposedly haunted doll. She wasn’t sure if she believed it but the messes and thumping and flickering lights were beginning to be too much to ignore. They all started after the wall incident - the second incident she could add to her fault - and she was forbidden from going back inside.

Panels were left open and soft, high-pitched whines ringing from behind them; it was more terrifying than alluring. 

With no more Brahms by her side, in the real body or in doll form, (Y/n) was left to wander aimlessly down the halls thinking about how unfair it was of her parents to rip the doll away from her. All due to the walls’ tunnels.

They handed her a memento to her older brother - they used her guilt; her fault against her - just to steal it away eight years later. She hated her parents for it, no, not her parents. Her mother. Mrs. Heelshire barely even let the nannies do their job half the time, she just wanted Brahms all to herself. She gave that doll a surplus of her attention and countless replacement caretakers and never even gave (Y/n) the acknowledgment of their shared grief.

Barely gave her the mind to say, “It’s not your fault.”

Whipping around at the frail whisper, (Y/n) peeked around every visible inch of the hallway to see if one of the nannies was following her or her father was finally ready to free her of guilt. Yet nobody was there, no mouths to whisper and no audible drafts to blame.

She turned back around and continued walking down the hallway, not as alone as before.

~~

“I’m nineteen, don’t you think I should, I don’t know, explore the real world?”

Mrs. Heelshire simply shook her head, “You can’t leave us!”

“I won’t be leaving!” (Y/n) tossed her arms out in a display of exaggeration, “I just can’t be in this house for the rest of my life!”

“So you will go eventually,” the older woman huffed, crossing her arms, “Brahms and now you.”

That made the teenager freeze. Nothing like the mention of her dead brother to make her question herself. She pulled back from the yelling match to judge and critique every inch of herself. Her leaving the nest wasn’t comparable to dying - and Brahms didn’t abandon them, he couldn’t control the flames. It wasn’t like he purposefully lit the playhouse on fire at his own birthday party.

No, but she could’ve stopped it. She knows she could have.

“That’s not fair,” (Y/n) muttered, though it sounded less like a genuine response and more like she was trying to point it out to herself.

“You know what else isn’t fair?”

“Don’t.”

“Having two kids and the only one alive wants to abandon you.”

Mr. Heelshire watched from the kitchen table, sipping on his afternoon tea quietly to give more space for the sound of his wife and daughter’s argument to permeate through the room. Through the room and into the walls where even the biggest rat hiding inside could hear.

(Y/n) rubbed at her arm, regretting her decision to even bring the topic up, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Heelshire cooed, cupping her daughter’s cheeks and pulling at any fat her fingers could get to in the pockets, “It’s okay. Don’t be so pouty, it’s alright.”

She didn’t bother pushing her mother’s hands away this time.

~~

(Y/n) silently dipped her paintbrush into a dollop of vibrant, cherry red on her palette, glancing over her canvas to the muse every so often.

A house can appear incredibly eased and soothed from the frontline and nobody would ever know that inside a family of four was being murdered. They wouldn’t know until the corpses were discovered and the extended family was beating at each other. Vultures flocking to the values left to them by death.

Maria, the newest in the line of nannies, was holding position rather well for somebody who’d never modeled before. Clutching Brahms to her hip with a bright, pearly-toothed smile.

“I saw a few of your works around the house earlier,” the black-haired woman spoke, “Impressive for only twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” (Y/n) strained a grin, she didn’t necessarily prefer silence - you could hear the walls whispering when it was silent - but sadly, her focus wavered with noise, “I just like to paint the nannies; don’t like to forget them so quickly.”

“Oh,” Maria awkwardly chuckled, “well, that sounds nice of you…?”

“Just a personal thing,” the young woman shrugged off before catching something in the frame of her eye, “You’re about to drop Brahms.”

“Shit!” the other woman murmured, readjusting the doll in her arms, “Thank you so much.”

“My mom will go crazy, I don’t want to watch her yell at somebody over nothing,” she pursed her lips, “Not nothing; just something small.”

~~

“Are you serious?” (Y/n) narrowed her eyes at her mother, “You and Dad are leaving for a two-month vacation right before my birthday?”

“You’re turning twenty-eight, dear,” Mrs. Heelshire smiled faintly, “I think you’ll be fine, now if you don’t mind, I’ll go downstairs and teach the new nanny how to properly care for Brahms.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms, watching her father continue to pack his bags, “You’re really just letting her drag you out of town right now?”

“She didn’t drag me into anything, honey,” he sighed, whether he knew how much it hurt her feelings to hear that or not didn’t exactly matter.

“Fuck you,” she grumbled, rushing out of the room and down the stairs, the twenty-seven-year-old woman went into her bedroom, fully prepared to ignore her parents and the new nanny. Blissfully unaware of the pest in her walls, watching with sad eyes and wanting to see her smile.

~~

“Knock it off!” (Y/n) cried out to the man swinging the doll around - a protective instinct burning at her gut as she thought of him breaking it. She immediately regretted the harsh tone when Cole’s furious gaze snapped back to her, “Please… just give him back…”

“Watch it,” Cole threatened, holding the doll further away from her than before, “Pull any funny shit and I’ll break in your pretty little face.”

Yet another mistake against the brute, not that anybody but the secret rat was counting. The first, of course, being his arrival. The last, naturally, was bashing the doll’s head against the lip of a seat.

(Y/n) hiccuped wildly, her burst of tears nearly choking her as Cole shushed the room during one of Brahms’ fits. She’d experienced countless ragers with that doll to blame but this was the worst. Cole put a finger to his lips, commanding the people behind him into silence as he went to the wall, knocking a few times with his ear pressed to it. He went to the mirror next, grinning slightly, “There’s something- “

Before he could finish his sentence, the glass burst apart and forced him onto his back.

As Greta screamed and (Y/n) held her head in her hands in the midst of her hysterics, Malcolm called to the two women.

Large hands pulled onto the mirror frame first, then out came a fully grown man. Brahms Heelshire was alive - and he was big.

(Y/n) fell onto her ass, watching as her previously dead big brother stabbed Colt in the neck with a piece of his broken doll. Brahms lunged for Greta only to be beaten down by Malcolm and when the two were away; (Y/n) did not leave.

She crawled over to his sprawled out form, taking his shoulder into her hands and shaking him slightly, “Brahms…?”

He jerked once - then twice, then pushed himself up, taking a moment to look at his little sister before standing. In a fashion similar to when they used to sneak around the manor as children, he pressed a finger to his mask’s lips before running off.

~~

“I came back for you, Brahms.”

(Y/n) fiddled with her fingers as her older brother was swept upstairs by Greta, following after them like a lost puppy. As Greta pulled back the covers, (Y/n) felt her heart thump wildly in her chest.

Of course, it never helped when he threw a woman across the room.

“Brahms!” (Y/n) shrieked, latching onto her brother’s back and attempting to pull him off Greta, only succeeding when he fell back from his own stab wound.

Greta stopped at the doorway, turning to watch as the Heelshire girl cradled her big brother’s head in her hands in her panic-rich state, “(Y/n), come on. We have to go.”

Looking between Greta and her brother, (Y/n) felt the memories creep back up from the dip of her spine.

“Is that Papa’s lighter?”

Emily nodded slightly as Brahms watched the flame flicker, the little boy speaking up first, “I was interested in it, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

(Y/n) clutched at a lock of her own hair, “You better give it back or I’ll take it myself!”

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?” he scoffed before shooing her out of the playhouse, “If you tell Dad, I’ll break all your toys and cut up your dresses.”

She hadn’t told Father - she didn’t take the lighter.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) looked back to her older brother, burn scars on the visible half of his face and suddenly the guilt was rising to her throat again. Her hands smoothed over to the clasp of the mask, carefully unclipping it as Greta ran off to find Malcolm. A wicked sob racked her throat, her voice squeaking up soft and whiny, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

A hand came up to brush her tears away, Brahms watching his little sister continue to cry, a small, childlike voice peeking through his lips, “Please don’t cry, (Y/n)… I don’t want to see you cry…”

Calming down only slightly, (Y/n) helped her brother sit up, “I’ll stay, I’m sorry.”

Brahms continued to watch his sister’s tears spill, “You’ll stay.”

It wasn’t a question, he barely even bothered to disguise it as such.

“I’ll stay…”

She didn’t really have a choice, not when her parents kept her under lock and key so strictly. But maybe they anticipated Brahms coming back; maybe they wanted her to have no independence so she wouldn’t leave her big brother.

Not that she’d be able to ask them.

[notgonnarememberthis]

Murphy’s Law

Hellooo. This has been sitting in my drafts for a minute and right now I think everyone needs a little break from the stress. The idea for this fic is the missing scene from when Jessica pulls Gil out of the trunk to when Malcolm gets to the hospital because it’d take 2 hours. I hope y’all enjoy this little exploration it was a lot of fun to write and plan this out with my best friend. The title is based on literally murphy’s law where “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”

Jessica tries her best to keep her breathing steady, to not focus on what happened and put all of her attention into driving.

God when was the last time that she’s driven a car at all?

15 years ago, maybe. Ainsley had a fever, she was alone. Malcolm was at Gil’s, she didn’t have a choice. She was so scared…

It’s the closest she’s ever come to calling Martin, herself. The thought fills her mouth with disgust and she has to shake her head to force the memories away. For the slightest moment she’s thankful for Gil’s taste in old cars. It’s similar to the one she was taught to drive in, it feels more automatic than she would know what to do with in a much newer one, one that she might own. Her hands clench even tighter around the steering wheel.

This was so much worse than a fever.

It’s the sound of Gil’s breathing, as labored as it is that keeps her tears from falling. As long as he’s still breathing she still has time. The smell of blood is overwhelming, all of her senses are so damn overwhelmed.

She almost cries in relief at seeing the hospital.

She pulls in quickly in front of the giant emergency room sign. She spares only a moment looking around, pleading that she sees some doctor or nurse on a break. With no such luck she runs back over to the other side of the car pulling the door open.

Her heart drops when she sees his eyes are closed. “Gil,” She calls to him softly. The tears come down in full force when she sees his chest rise and fall. “Come on,” She reaches in pulling him out of the car but he’s a dead weight against her. “Gil please I need you to wake up.” She sobs. “You need to help me, come on.” He doesn’t wake, he’s completely unconscious either of blood loss or pain.

She pulls on him but stumbles backwards. She loses balance in her heels under the weight of the two of them. Her ankle twists painfully before she hits the pavement with him in her lap.

“Somebody help me!” She screams in desperation. Sobs wrack her frame as she holds her hand over the wound trying to stop the bleeding. Her head bows as she hears the doors slide open, three sets of feet racing towards them. A fourth comes wheeling a gurney and just like that he’s lifted off and away from her.

A man helps her to her feet and she’s back into action once again. “What’s his name? What happened?”

“His name is Lieutenant Gil Arroyo with major crimes. He was stabbed and dragged into the back of a trunk. I wrecked into the car to get him out.”

The man nods his thanks, turning his full attention to Gil. “Lieutenant, we’re going to do our best to help you.”

“His blood type is A positive, he has no allergies, and he’s on no medication.” She follows the gurney along until a hand stops her, grabbing at her elbow.

“Mrs. Arroyo, you can’t go in. You need to let the doctors do their work.” She turns to the voice. A much younger blonde woman looks at her with a softness that hurts so badly. That’s the kind of compassion that this world tears apart. She would be eaten alive.

“I’m not-” She tries to correct the girl, but sobs take over once again. “I can’t leave him.”

“I need to get you checked out, okay?” She asks. “You said you wrecked the car, correct?” Jessica tries not to let her irritation bubble to the surface with a sigh.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s only procedure ma’am.” Jessica looks down at her again. Her eyes, they remind her so much of Ainsley. “Let me help you.” She nods following her to a spare bench.

“What’s your name?” She asks weakly.

“Tiff.” She smiles gently. “Yours?”

“Jessica, Jessica Whitly.” Realization settles over the girl’s face.

“Oh. I’m sorry I assumed you were married to Lieutenant Arroyo.” Jessica swallows the guilt at the back of her throat. Maybe, once upon a time, that could’ve been a possibility. She’s almost relieved when the girl doesn’t seem to recognize her. “Can you tell me, completely, what happened?”

“Depends, would you believe me?” Sarcasm, her best defense, coats her tongue. 

“I’ve seen a man who lived through getting rebar through the skull and make a full recovery. Try me.” Jessica sighs, detailing the horrors of the night to this poor girl as she checked on her. She winced slightly when the girl grabbed the ankle that had twisted but otherwise, she was unharmed.

Just then the doors burst open and they wheeled Gil quickly out of the room. She stood up, ready to follow when the girl puts a hand on her shoulder. “They’re taking him back to the operating room. He just stabilized enough to move him.” The girl’s eyes fall to her hands, still stained a deep red with blood. “Other than a sprained ankle I think you’re perfectly fine. We’ll need to do an x-ray for confirmation but that can wait. Let’s get you cleaned up, ok?”

She nods, numbly following the girl to the nearest bathroom. She washes her hands wishing that she could get rid of the smell burning her nose. She knows it’s stained her dress and the shoes, even though they’re black she can still smell it.

“Does he have anyone you can call? A wife? Next of kin?” Jessica almost laughs.

“I’m his emergency contact.” She sighs. “His wife died three years ago. No children.”

“Well he was very lucky you were here. Not many people would know that much information. It was very helpful.”

“God, I need to call my son.” She looks around for her purse, surely she must have had it. Maybe she left it in the car. “He’s like a father to him he’s-” Oh god, Malcolm is probably on a plane by now. She’d given Gil the money to get him out of the country until his accusations cleared up. She needs to try. “Did you see my-”

Her question stops in her tracks as she remembers what happened again. She’d left her purse behind when she smashed the plate into Nicholas’ head. She stashed her phone inside when she tried to call 9-1-1.

“I lost my phone.” A bitter laugh escapes her. Tears fall all over again, ones of frustration at the world.

“You can borrow mine.” She makes a mental note to look into the girl later. Truly pay her back for the help that she’s given. “I can bring you to the waiting room if you’d like, maybe I can wait with you until your son comes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” She smiles sadly. “You shouldn’t have to be alone right now.”

“Thank you.” She whispers.

Her fingers shake as she dials Malcolm’s number. She bites her lip as the phone rings twice, trying to think of what the hell she was supposed to say to him.

“Mother?”

She almost cries with relief. “Malcolm,” She sighs.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” She can almost see him sitting up, looking around in a panic.

“Gil’s in the hospital. He was stabbed.”

“I’m in Connecticut, I’ll be there as soon as possible. Don’t leave, it’s not safe. I’ll call Dani and JT so they can come to the hospital. They’ll sit with you until I can get there. Where’s Ainsley? Where’s your phone?”

The rapid fire statements throw her off as she catches up Malcolm on what happened. She almost loses all sense of where she is until she feels something heavy settle on her shoulders. The blanket is a welcome warmth against the frigid hospital air. 

She calls Ainsley too but she’s stuck in the office until she can get out of the emergency press meeting. She promises to pick her up some clothes from the house before coming over after she gets off, though. It will be a welcome relief to get out of the dress that feels like it’s suffocating her. The intern, Tiff, has to leave shortly before either Dani or JT arrive, but it’s not without her having the ability to thank her for her kindness.

She will feel better when Malcolm and Ainsley both are there. Until then, she holds desperately onto what little control of her life she has left.

After all, it couldn’t possibly get worse.

[daredevilexchange]

Do you like Daredevil (this event is team Red compatible!), The Defenders, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist and/or the Punisher, in their comics or TV (or, in some cases, cinema!) versions?

Then, get ready for the new DDE event!!

Jan 3 to Jan 9, get ready for a FANWEEK!

One set of prompts per day (extra tips: see below, under the cut!)

Monday 3: Free Prompts 1 (or here) and/or The City Tuesday 4: Free Prompts 2 (or here) and/or The Season Wednesday 5: Free Prompts 3 (or here) and/or The People Thursday 6: Free Prompts 4 (or here) and/or The Mood Friday 7: Free Prompts 5 (or here) and/or The Tools Saturday 8: The Fights Sunday 9: Free Prompt / Amnesty Day !

What types of fanwork? Here’s what you can do: Gifsets, Fanfic, Fanmix, Fanvid, Graphics / Fanart, podfic ( @daredevil-podfic-community ) ...

Where to post? Tumblr, AO3 (Exchange collection name: dde2022NY / DDE 2022 NY Fanweek)… if you’re posting elsewhere let us know so we can share the links here too!

AO3 can’t host video or graphics, but you can still put them up on the Archive as long as they’re already publicly online somewhere else like Instagram, DeviantArt, Discord, YouTube, etc. Get in touch if you have questions about posting on AO3!

Posting guidelines are here (the link will only open in a separate browser tab, NOT the app) or here, please take the time to read them! You will find more important information there. If you do not have an AO3 account and want one, please get in touch with the blog.

Aaaand... if you create something for all seven days, you can grab a Badge of Honour ;-)

**Spread the word!**

Banner by @wellofhavoc !

[ID: "A movie theater full of various characters from the Marvel Netflix series in a dark theater, every character colored in various shades of blue except for the defenders, who are bathed in orange where they sit in the middle. Along their cups and drinks is written "DDE 2022 NY Fan Week"" - Row One: Dinah Madani, Betsy Beatty, Melvin "The Gladiator" Potter, Bobby Fish - Row Two: Jeri Hogarth, Malcolm Ducasse, Patricia "Hellcat" Walker, Elektra Natchios, Misty Knight - Row Three: Coleen Wing, Danny "Iron Fist" Rand, Jessica "Jewel" Jones, Matt "Daredevil" Murdock, Luke "Powerman" Cage, Claire Temple - Row Four: Brett Mahoney, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page, Frank Castle, Turk Barrett. End ID]

And finally, Prompts tips: see under the cut for some ideas!

1/ The City Roofs / rooftops, sewers, Josie’s Bar, Luke’s bar, The City in relation to the characters - how the heroes are perceived, etc, Shelter (yes, it can be a dog shelter), Window, The river, Home, Courtroom, Dojo, Columbia, Gym / Fogwell’s, St Agnes, The church, Jess’ Alias Investigations office, The subway, Liminal spaces: bus stops, subway stations, doorways, alley entrances, taxi, Bridges...

2/ The Season First signs of spring - snowdrops etc, Snow, Snowpeople, Huddling for warmth, Snow storm, Sledding, Ice/Icicles, Frozen Hudson, Making snow angels, Snowball fight, Snowed in (at the office? the courthouse?), Storm knocked out the power (possibly trapped somewhere like an elevator?) (could be high wind so also works for other hemispheres), NYE party, office party, New beginnings, Somebody gets Matt a SAD light (... not that his is seasonal)...

3/ The People Our Heroes, Defenders team bonding, Supporting characters (Melvin, Betsy, Brett, etc), Kingpin, We The People, Homeless, Visiting people (+those no longer with them)...

4/ The Mood Always get back up, Dumpster party, Protectiveness, Faith (not necessarily in a religious sense), Heart, That feeling after the holidays where you're relieved it's over but also maybe a little let down (I am a ray of sunshine) (is there a word for this?)...

5/ The Tools Secret Identity, Mask, Suit (legal, clothes, costume…), Weapon, Camera, Batons, Hoodie, Guns, Cane, glass(es), Journalism / news...

6/ The Fights D-list Villains (ex: Stilt-Man) (it’s ALWAYS Stiltman) :D (could be the frog dude) (Mr. Fear if we’re feeling special), Stitches, Ninjas, Sword / katana, Blood, Boxing Dragon, Between friends...

[ayankun]

WandaVision episode 6

FIRST OFF

Whenever I go back to pause things for clues, and find exactly what I’m looking for, I don’t feel justified, I feel that much more insane:

It’s really hard to make out, but I had an alright look at it on my folks’ QLED, and it’s definitely a flying saucer doing an alien abduction on what looks to be a person inside an old CRT TV (with some kind of robot head/boombox on top???)  There are secret aliens in this show, you guys, the facts don’t lie.

HmmmMMMM I wonder if Agnes is as innocent as she looks:

Also, I didn’t see that she was wearing the brooch in this ep, and I was majorly disappointed in that.

Two things here:

No, that’s not a twins joke.

Another Moonmen Confirmed

I know green is his color or whatever, but that hat is literally 10 years ahead of its time

Also, I took the playing-DDR-at-home scenario at face value, and only on the first rewatch did I realize it was a very pointed turn-of-the-century reference.  I am an Old.

There’s a good, subtle Rule of Threes in this ep.  The Setup:

The Sokovian Halloween flashback works on so many levels.  It’s so funny:

The fact that they went trick-or-treating at all

The “speaking Sokovian”

The treat being a fish

They have to share the fish

The concept that this event gave them an infectious disease

“You probably suppressed a lot of the trauma” -- it’s a good sitcom joke but.  the trauma is the joke.  The joke IS THE TRAUMA!!!

Elizabeth Olson is a dream with all her wonderful faces she has this ep.

Vision’s unsettling passive-aggression-sitcom-cooperation whiplash is WOW, consider me unsettled!!!!!!  “Be. Good.”  UGH.

(Just noticed one here, but there are a number of continuity errors in this episode, enough to be distracting later on, and is this a deliberate choice?  Please let it be deliberate.  I didn’t watch a whole lot of Malcolm in the Middle, is it known for its continuity errors?

)

“It’s their first Halloween.” LOLOLOL they are TEN YEARS OLD and this is their FIRST halloween I LOVE IT

DOUBLE RED HERRING CONFIRRRRRRRRMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Agent Jimmy Woo accidentally identifying himself as the sassy best friend added 20 years to my life.

Found.  FOUND.  Not “created,” “manifested,” “willed into being using my insane witch powers.”  Third Party Confirmed.

I like that it’s the 90s and we can swear on TV now.  “Hell” “kick-ass” “damn it” “fu---dge”

I think the most biting part of Vision finding the whacked out folks is that the soundtrack just kind of ... ignores that anything’s wrong.  Yeah, it’s kinda-spooky Halloween music, but it’s still 100% in-world kinda-spooky-sitcom-Halloween-episode music. 

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE AD:

As a 90s child, let me tell you, this is a blisteringly accurate representation of children’s marketing from the period.  The shark is wearing sunglasses AND he has a surfboard!!!  And he’s selling you yogurt of all things!!!!!  This is the supreme distillation of what being a child in the 90s was like.

How disappointed I am that they went with crab instead of lobster.

Heard it through the grapevine that this is a representative of Wanda’s imprisonment on the Raft.  That happened in Civil War, right?  So the next ad is The Snap?  We’re running out of iconic decades, too. so, hold on, new thought.

90s: Civil War

00s: Infinity War

10s?????: Endgame???? or?????????

??: Whatever happened between Endgame and WandaVision, given that the ads are stepping forward through Wanda’s IRL life events!!

I don’t want to know how many episodes are planned/announced, but I don’t know what to expect from the format after they run out of decades from which to draw.  Maybe there are only one or possibly two “sitcom” episodes left.  Maybe after that it just breaks down and they can pick and choose from the worlds/styles we’ve already established.  That’d be p neat.  A very unique kind of chaos.

god she’s so cute

Okay, somebody explain to me Pietro.  I honestly walked away from last week thinking he was just some townsperson chump, but then I was reminded that this is the Quicksilver actor from all those X-Mans movies I never watched, soooo people are saying Multiverse Confirmed?  But, if this is X-Mans’ Pietro, then why did he die the same as MCU Pietro?  Or is he literally MCU!Pietro’s corpse, given that he looked all dead same as when she saw Vision’s corpse?  If MCU!Pietro, then why different face???

????????????????

Also I found him highly suspicious, what with all the questions he was asking.  But the only sort of person who would truly want to know the answers to those questions would be someone who already had them ... so I think he was just asking on behalf of the audience, and the delivery was all wonked out.

Rule of Threes - The Reference:

Ok, real talk, whenever computers/networks/data/encryption/servers/mainframes et al come up in mainstream media, I just look away.  I don’t need the kind of psychic damage that comes with such egregious mishandling of the topic.

That being said, does Hayward having eyes through the barrier mean that he could possibly be involved in getting it set up?  Because look.  If Hayward-after-Hayward’s-Villianous-Ends is one antagonizing force, then is there really room for the Third Party (Confirmed) antagonizing force that’s lurking in the negative space silhouette of the Inciting Incident?  With Wanda as the Red Herring antagonizing force, that’s just.  There’s just too many villains, alright?  We gotta start merging these plotlines.

(then again, when I just said “eyes” I realize probably understanding the true nature of his new secret “CATARACT” project will clear a lot of things up.  I’ll wait for enlightenment)

Agnes’ license plate in this episode is 0A1-B2C, which I think is a reference to the way reality is getting pared down to bare bones at the edge of town.  Note that this is not the same license plate number as seen last ep.

ALSO, I drove home behind a NJ plate just an hour ago, and was staring at it for a long time, trying to fit it into the puzzle before A) realizing that this was Real Life and not part of the show and B) WTF is a NJ plate doing in front of me in California.  In any case, I can confirm that NJ plates do not appear to have this number-letter repeating format.

So let’s talk Agnes.

Demonstrated knowledge of the situation in ways others haven’t (”There’s the star of the show” “kids, you can’t control ‘em”)

Shows up when needed most (explained as being Wanda’s doing, but is it)

When Wanda was having her babies, though, who was trustworthy enough to be summoned?  Was it Agnes?

Wanted to babysit REAL BAD

Was in the opening credits framed possessively with the twins

Doesn’t appear to have an IRL identity according to Jimmy’s crime board

Keeps talking about her husband but we’ve never seen him.  Highly unlikely that he’s real

Was the one to find Sparky “dead” - internet thinks she was lying to Wanda about how or possibly if he was dead (I’m trying not to read the theories, so idk exactly what the angle is there)

In an episode where everyone is wearing their original comic outfits, Agnes is dressed as (and laughs like!) a witch

She name-drops Wanda as the one controlling everyone; Norm (or the guy playing Norm) only said “she” and “her” -- meaning Agnes?

Naughty

So we’re 99% sure Agnes is Agatha Harkness, right?  I never read no comics, so I’m taking the internet’s word for it, but from what I can tell, I think we must be right.  If that’s the case, then I’m thinking it’s not impossible for her to be pulling some strings around here (giving Wanda a justification for her “that wasn’t me” doorbell ring, for example, and pulling a double red herring on the fact that she shows up whenever the narrative Wanda her nefarious scheme calls for it).

To devil’s advocate myself, though, we also have Monica’s word that it was Wanda in her mind, lessening the impact of Agnes falsely confirming what Norm only implied.  Also she’d have to be acting for Vision’s sake (and ours) and, if so, then what did Vision’s brain-touch really do, and how did she know he’d find her there, and what did she intend as the result of that interaction etc etc.

If Wanda’s (or Wanda + Third Party Confirmed (Agnes??)’s) powers aren’t enough to sustain the simulation of life on the edges of town, how much worse is it going to be now that there is even more area to try to control???

I don’t know if this is strictly an intended read, but the idea of Halloween as a fun, scares-for-entertainment’s sake type holiday, the rounding off the edges of concepts like “skeletons and ghosts are what people are after they die, let’s decorate the town with them and have a good time” kind of is a haunting parallel to the nature of Wanda (et al) covering up the horrible truth of the situation with this happy-go-lucky sitcom glamour.

How much does one hate seeing Vision giving his life for the greater good (the greater good) for the second time?  In other news, I think I’m seeing some specifically Mind Stone type energy-colors coming off of him, and very little Wanda type energy-colors.  Third Party Confirmed.

Also, I was thinking from last week that perhaps Hayward’s Villainous Ends included capturing the reanimated Vision to be one of those Sentient Weapons his organization is all about, but I Do Not Think his reaction to seeing that sought-after prize disintegrate in front of his eyes really matches up with that theory.  Again, will be patiently waiting for Jimmy to check his email to see what CATARACT is all about!

Rule of Threes - The Payoff:

Also, anyone ID the movie playing in the background?

Ok, final thought.  I watched this about four times today, and on the big-ass TV at my parents’ house finally paused and got up close to see what that white shape is in the reflection.  Thought it might be a skull, but, it’s worse.

These caps do not contain enough data to verify my claim, but I PROMISE YOU it’s a TV

A square old thing with a round screen and antenna on top. 

I SWEAR to you, when I looked into the TV, into Wanda’s eyes, only to see the reflection of a TV, of her looking at me looking at her I had a visceral fear reaction.  Like.  LEGIT nauseous skin crawl.

(All the other episodes have ended with our POV as the fourth wall, from the general (or exact!!!) position their household TV is known to be.)

This is my favorite show Of All Time.

[what-a-messsss]

1x9 rewatch

Yeeeee, this has Jacob and Mathias.  Good good.  ...It bothers me faaaar more than it should (which is to say, at all) that the episode title “Dogs, Horses and Indians” doesn’t have an Oxford comma.  Like, a lot.  o.o

Aaaaaahahaha, and here is Mathias being sneaky, sending Walt and Vic off to the northeast quadrant!  And I am once again confronted with my own double standard.  Because Mathias doing this has me kind of proud of him, but if Walt did it, I would be loading the solar catapult.  Hm.

Henry gives Walt so much leeway.  Mathias’ little dig at Henry about living on the Rez his whole life makes more sense to me now.  After all, Henry and Walt worked on oil rigs up in Alaska for at least part of their 20s according to later info.  That and him living above the Red Pony now, in Durant, make sense that there might be some added friction.

Wooooow.  Vic repeatedly said how weird it was that Mathias was being agreeable, so she just takes it upon herself to be even more of a jerk to balance things out?  Which... the heavy irony being that her “Maybe they didn’t want you running the investigation” crack is right, but also super wrong.  

Haa, the campaign advisor running “joke.” And Henry’s smiiiiile.

Oof.  Walt does not know the meaning of “tread lightly,” but again, he’s not wrong about this one.  Mathias did massively mess with the crime scene and muddle the investigation to a spectacular degree.  But Mathias is wily, and far more savvy about politics than Walt ever chooses to be.  And he’s right that he’s in an incredibly tight spot, and it’s not like he could have just asked for help.  Even if Walt had been inclined to help (haa), doing so would have totally undermined his credibility with the force and the tribe.

“Come on, Sheriff.  Can you look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never broke the law for the right reason?”  Matty, that’s his whooooole modus operandi.  As I think you well know.

I do wonder how long it’s been since Cady got her own place.  No judgement on her credit card statements still going there; one of my bills still ends up going to my mom’s despite attempts to change that, and it’s been over 5 years since I’ve lived with her.  But I do wonder.  

GOLF.  Baaahahaha, golf.  Of course the Connallys golf.  Barlow is suuuuuuuch a piece of shiiiiiit.  And of course he’s already leveraging favours and keeping track.  Oooo, but they do make it delightfully easy to hate him, and very satisfying, too.

NO, Walt, somebody being your deputy does not make their personal life your business.  Even when it involves your daughter.  Until either of them make it your business, it sure fucking isn’t.  And then the look on Branch’s face when Walt goes, “You... that’s a different story.”  Aaaah, back when Branch was vaguely sympathetic sometimes.  Ish.

Why... why does Walt charge in with no backup so often?  I guess just general self-destructive tendencies and all, but ffs.  He takes on a biker gang in their home territory with no back up.  On purpose.  He has no idea that the deputies have figured out where he is and are coming.  He just goes charging in and does some impressive damage, but if they hadn’t showed up when they did he’d be in traction or just flat out dead.  Exhausting.

I cannot for the life of me remember the actor’s name, but he’s in my head as Gabriel from the bit of time I did watch Supernatural.  He’s so squeaky new!  He’s such a rube.

I wonder how many ‘excessive force’ charges have been filed against Walt.  Probably not one in 20 times they could have been.  Ruby is not impressed.  And Vic is, as ever, an enabler.  Oooooo, Ruby just called him Walter.  She means business. Too bad he doesn’t give a shit about anything but what he wants.  ...I think I just figured out part of why Walt pisses me off so much.  That entitlement to do whatever the hell he wants and bother the rest rings really familiar from my dad.  Womp womp.  That can go on the list of things to talk about with the therapist.

Awwwww, Cady’s graduation photo on Henry’s desk!  He’s such a good second dad.  

I hadn’t thought about it the first time around, but @cminerva said something in one of our musings (that I think went into our joint fic) about Walt making Mathias come to him for things.  And here we are in the Red Pony, with Walt having had the Tribal Council brought to him, all 10 or so of them, rather than to go to them.  Which... that’s some fucked up power dynamic bullshit right there.  And they’re all sitting in a semi-circle, with Walt and Vic standing.  This is... so uncomfortable.  Crusty old white man scolds Tribal Council, literally standing there with his hands on his hips.  WITH HIS HAND ON HIS GUN--I fricking swear to gods, Walt, what the flaming hell.

Yeeeeeee, Jacob.  He’s so fluffy.  The sides of his hair are so long.  This is a delight.  Ok, but can I just take a moment with the fact that Jacob bought Eaglestar’s debt?  From a cynical point of view, it could be to make sure that he had the president of the tribal council effectively in his pocket, and there was probably an element of that.  But I do genuinely believe that as much of a pragmatist as he is, Jacob is a thwarted optimist.  When he says, “Because I bought his debt.  ...I wanted to make sure no one could influence his decisions, no one could force him to act against his own judgment,” that he’s telling the truth.  “He may have had demons, but he was his own man.”  I think that he probably hopes the same for himself.

Cady’s faaaace when Walt gets back and is ignoring the excessive force charge.  Officially one of my favourite moments of the whole show now.  Yus.  The sheer lack of respect that Walt has for his daughter. Blatant lack of respect for her and her expertice.  Yeet him into the sun, I’m telling you.

Who she sleeps with is not about you, you jackass.  This is such a good scene for her as an actor.  And such a bad scene for him as a dad.  He’s such a bad father.  Which makes me about 400x more grateful that she basically has Henry as her Other Dad.  Who does not suck as much.  Damn.

Mmmmm, Henry’s glasses make a return.

Vic’s “don’t shit where you eat” is pretty rich, considering her multi-year boner for her boss, and then actually getting together with him.  

I’m pretty ridiculously gone on Jacob.  He walks back in at the end the ep and my sad little heart just goes pitter patter.  I’d sort of forgotten that he doesn’t meet the blood-quantum requirements.

“Not cynical.  Just suspicious.”  No, no, suspicious aaand cynical.  You’re mighty good at multitasking on the shitty stuff, Walt.  The accusations he levels at Jacob are so utterly circumstantial, so completely without any shred of proof to back them up, but we’re still in the early days of the show, where we’ve seen him spin these “here’s what happened” things had seen them pan out, that the audience is inclined to believe him.  Walt also has a tendency to complicate things.

If Jacob was setting up dominoes behind the scenes, the convoluted mess that Walt postulates still doesn’t really make sense.  It would make more sense for Jacob to buy Malcolm’s debt in the hopes that he would possibly feel indebted or otherwise favourable towards him to not pass the blood-quantum resolution in the first place.  Arranging a convoluted murder to get himself a place on the council when there are clearly election anyway is just... not clean, not smart, and too liable to go wrong.  Jacob is careful and while he prefers delegating, a total wild card like Mika would be a huge risk for something that could blow up in his face so spectacularly.  Walt, you make no sense.  Como siempre.

This scene at the end with Branch and Cady reinforces my theory that Branch desperately wanted anything positive from Walt.  “He’ll get over it.”  “Yeah, with you.  You’re his daughter.  But me?”  And that’s kind of gutting for him.  So he squares up and off he goes.

“And I’m no quitter.”  No, you’re a drama llama.  Sheesh.