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#so much propaganda gosh...

thoughtlessthinkythoughts · 9 months

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I think the key to understanding show!Aziraphale is in some lines that are in the book but not the show. Because these lines represent a place that our show Aziraphale hasn't hit yet.

Before I get into this, let me explain why I think things that aren't in the show can be so important to understanding where the show will go.

For another example, let's look at the ending of the book/s1. In the book, Adam is not impressed with Aziraphale and Crowley. There is no pep talk. He actually has a pretty stern message to them about "not messing people around."

A lot of s2 might not have worked the same way if they had gotten that message. It would have cut off room for growth. The whole plotline with Nina and Maggie for one would have been much less likely. So by holding off the stop messing with people message to the end of s2 (and then only giving it to Crowley), it provides more room for the characters to change at a pace befitting a multi-season show.

So what else do I think will end up working this way?

Well, there's a scene I love in the book that hasn't made it into the show yet. It happens after Aziraphale is discorporated. In the show, he goes to heaven, then to Madame Tracy. In the book, he bounces around possible hosts first, including a televangelist. The televangelist is going on about the rapture and such, and Aziraphale cuts in with this:

"Well, nice try...only it won't be like that at all. Not really.

"I mean, you're right about the fire and war, all that. but that Rapture stuff well, if you could see them all in Heaven - serried ranks of them as far as the mind can follow and beyond, league after league of us, flaming swords, all that, well, what I'm trying to say is who has time to go round picking people out and popping them up in the air to sneer at the people dying of radiation sickness on the parched and burning earth below them? If that's your idea of a morally acceptable time, I might add.

"And as for that stuff about Heaven inevitably winning...Well, to be honest, if it were that cut and dried, there wouldn't be a Celestial War in the first place, would there? It's propaganda. Pure and simple. We've got no more than a fifty percent chance of coming out on top. You might as well send money to a Satanist hotline to cover your bets, although to be frank when the fire falls and the seas of blood rise you lot are all going to be civilian casualties either way. Between our war and your war, they're going to kill everyone and let God sort it out-right?

"Anyway, sorry to stand here wittering, I've just a quick question-where am I?"

Because even this more cynical version of Aziraphale is adorable, the scene ends with "Gosh," he said, "am I on television?"

We didn't get this in the show, but I can't help feeling that it might be in season 3, assuming we get a season 3. It might even fit in better there, assuming we are going with a "second coming" plot. In the show, Aziraphale hasn't reached this level of cynicism (yet). I can't picture s1 or s2 Aziraphale giving this speech. Sure, he's seen what a mess the archangels are, he was willing to go against heaven to stop them from starting the end of the world, but I'm pretty sure show Aziraphale still believes in the goodness of God if not the goodness of the way heaven is run. It makes sense that show Aziraphale sees heaven as a fixable mess, an organization that isn't living up to what it should be. Because the show is taking Aziraphale's struggle with morally complex situations and questioning God and making it a longer arc.

My guess it that, as his tenure as archangel is likely to go terribly and not give him any more answers (or at least not answers he likes), he will get to the point where he could give this speech in season 3. My guess is that he's likely to also end up in a horrendous mental state once he reaches these conclusions (a perfect opportunity for some hurt/comfort). He's likely to build himself back up after that, but with a clearer look at the world.

End conclusion: if you are telling a longer story, sometimes you need to hold some things back to give your characters room to grow. So, it isn't a sign something is wrong with a story when partway through a character hasn't hit upon an obvious point.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens season 2

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phoward89 · 14 days

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Series Masterlist

Chapter 5:

Coriolanus is at the PK Base in the communications center, sitting in one of the video phone booths. He's holding the receiver to his ear and watching the staticy small screen; waiting for Tigris to answer. He has so much to tell her. In fact, he's over the moon to tell her all about the love of his life: you. He's absolutely positive that she'll be happy for him.

When the static breaks and then clears slightly to show his cousin, he smiles like a madman. “Tigris, it's so good to see you!” Coriolanus exclaims, so much excitement in his baritone.

Tigris' gentle blue eyes widened slightly at her cousin's chipper demeanor. He was usually sullen during their sporatic calls. “Oh, Coryo, you look so much happier since the last time we talked. Did something happen?” The blonde girl asked, curious to know why her cousin was suddenly in a better mood.

“Yes.” Coryo nodded. Beaming, he blurted out, “I got a girl, Y/N, and she's just a perfect sweet darling.” His baby blues were sparkling with pride as he added in, “We’re serious, have our own place and when I pass the Elite Officer's Examine we’ll be able to leave 8.”

“Oh…” Tigris trailed off, her face full of shock. She wasn't expecting her cousin to be so serious with somebody so soon. Especially after he seemed so heartbroken about never being able to see Lucy Gray ever again.

Was Tigris wrong in her assumption that Coryo loved the songbird? If so, then she truly hopes that he's found love with you. But she also knows that her cousin has the genetics that can easily make him become like his father: General Crassus Snow.

Hearing him say that he's taking an Elite Officer's Exam makes her skin crawl. Tigris knows how cold the officers are in the various branches of Panem's military; she doesn't want her sweet cousin to be turned into a cold, heartless, hateful man to be used as a tool for the country.

A country that kills tweens and teens for entertainment disguised as punishment. Gosh, everything about Panem makes Tigris sick. And to think that her cousin, her sweet little Coryo who's a good person, could be used in a way to support the country's propaganda and skewed outlook bothers her. Makes her blood freeze up in her veins.

“Isn’t it great news, Tigris?” The platinum blonde peacekeeper asked, fishing for praises.

“Yes, yes it is, Coryo.” Tigris replied, her smile a bit too tight, too forced, and her voice a bit flat.

Coryo's face fell at his cousin's overly fake reply. “I thought you'd be happy for me Tigris.”

“I am happy for you, Coryo. I am.” Tigris weakly assured her cousin.

“I've found somebody that makes me happy, who needs me; makes me feel powerful, and I'm one step closer to getting us back home, to the Capitol. But, you don't sound as happy about it as you claim to be.”

“Coryo…” Tigris sighed, trying to find the right words to tell him about the hardships that have fallen upon their family within the last few weeks.

“Is Grandma’am around?” Asked the platinum peacekeeper. “I'm sure that she'd be happy to hear about my accomplishments.”

“Coryo, Grandma'am’s in hospice.” Tigris revealed, her tone sad as her face twitched with sorrow.

“Hospice! What do you mean she's in hospice? She was fine a month ago, what the hell did you do to her, Tigris?!”

“Me? Oh, Coriolanus, do you hear yourself right now?” The blonde aspiring fashionista snipped. Shaking her head, Tigris started to explain, “Grandma’am just shut down and started to wither away after we lost the penthouse-”

Coriolanus icy eyes popped out of his head. “Y-you lost the penthouse?! When were you going to tell me this, Tigris? Huh?”

“The back taxes were just too much to pay, so the penthouse was put on the market. But, Pluribus is letting me stay in the apartment above his club.”

“Okay, but what does any of this have to do with Grandma'am being admitted to hospice care?”

“Coryo, having to declare bankruptcy and sell the penthouse; letting all of the Capitol know that the Snow's are poor just broke her dear old heart.”

“She's dying from a broken heart? Really?” Coriolanus asked in disbelief.

“Yes.” Tigris nods. “The doctor said that Grandma’am lost the will to live; that it'll only be a short matter of time before she goes. And she's already in a catatonic state.”

“Are you still working for Fabricia Whatnot?” Coryo asked, his baritone colder than it had been mere minutes ago.

“Yes, I'm still working for her.” His cousin confirms with a nod.

“Good, because I won't be sending half of my pay to you anymore. The Grandma’am will be dead soon, due to her own pride and self induced delusions, and my money, honestly, is better suited taking care of my girl here in 8.” Coriolanus told Tigris in a chilly tone. One so chilly that it'd cause hell to freeze over.

“Coryo-” Tigris began, confusion all over her makeup slathered face, only to be cut off by Coriolanus’ icily steady voice saying, “I'm all my girl’s got, Tigris. I have to take care of her.” Looking at his cousin like he didn't even know her anymore, he remarked, “Unlike you, Y/N doesn't lie to me about how bad things are. At least she's honest, but you've had to have known for months about the past due back taxes on the penthouse and you never said a damn word to me about it.”

“Coryo…I didn't want you to worry about us. I was taking care of everything.”

“Time’s about up, Tigris.” The platinum peacekeeper announced, feeling betrayed and lied to by his cousin, who he viewed as more of a sister then a cousin.

“Coriolanus, you sound just like your father right now.” Tigris pointed out, her heart breaking at hearing the frostiness in his baritone and seeing cold deadness in his eyes.

“Well, I am his son. Perhaps I'll follow in his footsteps; rise to military greatness.” Private Snow told his cousin before saying a curt goodbye and hanging up on her.

It's getting close to the time that Coryo usually comes home from work and you're in the small kitchenette making dinner. It's nothing too fancy, just a simple stew. But your platinum peacekeeper never complained about what you made. He always ate his supper with a smile plastered on his face. In fact, he'd usually get seconds; pester you into eating another share too (he always said it was in order to build up your strength so you'll heal faster).

You're stirring the pot, making sure that nothing sticks to the bottom, whenever a faint knock appears at your door. You almost don't hear it over the sound of the radio, that's how light the knock is. Not wanting the stew you worked so hard on this afternoon to burn, you turn off the stove before going to answer the door.

“Ashlie, what're you doing here?” You asked your brother’s former girlfriend as she stood in front of you.

“Some of the girls at the factory are worried about you; I said I'd stop by and check up on you after my shift.” Ashlie answered as you heard the sound of Coryo's boots clambering up the building’s staircase.

Nodding, you simply said, “I'm fine.”

“Are you, Y/N?” Ashlie pressed.

Nice of her to worry about you now, but where was she before?

“There's been rumors that you've taken up with that blonde peacekeeper. That he's been living with you.” Ashlie all but hissed in a shameful tone.

“It's not a rumor.” You told her while noticing Coryo's tall denim clad frame appear at the top of the stairs, right down the hall.

“Look, Y/N, I'm sorry about not being around as often as I should, but if you need help gettin’ away from that peacekeeper I'm sure that Declan can help smuggle you out of the district.”

Smuggle you out where? You don't have any money and you're all alone. How are you going to survive hiding out in another district? Districts you're sure are just as bad if not worse than 8. The poor, lower end districts are all clumped together and, frankly, they seem to get worse and worse as you start going between them.

At least with Coryo your rent's paid, you've got enough food to eat, and you're not cold anymore. He’s decent company, when he's not in a condescending mood, and he seems to be devoted to you despite not knowing you that long. With Coryo you're comfortable for the first time in a long time. For once since moving to 8 you're not tempted to do a swan dive off the bridge into the toxic river surrounding the district.

You'll take your chances with your peacekeeper.

Shaking your head, as Coriolanus trudged down the hall, you told Ashlie, “I'm fine here with Coryo. He takes good care of me, so you don't need to worry.”

“And what happens when he gets bored of you; tosses you aside for another girl?” Ashlie asked as your boyfriend got closer. “Y/N, sweetheart, don't be a fool and trust him. He's a Peacekeeper for Christ’s sakes.” Berates your once sister. “One bred straight from the Capitol as I understand too.” The brunette spat out in disgust, right as your platinum peacekeeper appeared behind the girl that's slandering him.

“Darling, is this ratty whore bothering you?” Coryo coldly asked, his icy eyes narrowed at the girl blocking his way into the apartment, as he came to a stop right by the door.

His frosty timbre startles Ashlie; has her jumping out of her skin. Coryo's tone of voice doesn't bother you one bit. Why should it? His coldness isn't aimed at you.

“She was just leaving.” You assure your boyfriend, only to give Ashlie a look that reads ‘you need to go, now'.

“Well the girls at the factory are worried about you; hopefully you'll be able to return to work soon.” Ashlie remarked instead of leaving, like she should’ve done.

“She won't be returning to work at the factory.” Coryo bluntly announced, pushing himself by Ashlie and literally shoving you inside of the apartment. He blocked your view with his tall, sinewy frame while standing right in the doorway.

The platinum blonde's head lifted up in superiority. His glacier blue eyes bore into the former Seam girl with disdain as he explained, “As Y/N’s man, I take care of her and pride myself in treating her the way a proper Capitol born man treats his girl.” Gripping the door so hard that the wood began to splinter and crack, he barked out, “You're not needed around here. She's got me, so leave or else I'll bring you to base and turn you in as a rebel.”

Ashlie's Seam grey eyes widened in fear and horror at hearing Coriolanus’ words. With the rumors that she's heard about you being kept under lock and key by the platinum blonde peacekeeper, who by now everyone knew was sent from the Capitol; was a second generation military man, Ashlie was starting to worry about you. And when the girls that worked with you on the looms in the PK uniform factory’s weaving room started to express their worries to Ashlie, well she decided to pay you a visit.

Offer you some much needed support. A lifeline out of the predicament you're in.

But the brunette wasn't expecting you to turn down her help, to insist on staying with your oppressor. She also didn't think she'd be threatened by said oppressor, the pretty boy peacekeeper from hell itself. Ashlie feared for both her own safety and yours.

Maybe she should've came around more often, then maybe you wouldn't have become such easy prey for a peacekeeper with a cold hateful glint in his eyes.

“And the next time you show up to my house I'll have you hanged off the bridge’s trestle.” Coriolanus darkly promised, his face a mask showing no feelings, before slamming the door shut in Ashlie's face.

Coryo was quiet as he shed his coat, hanging it up on the hook near the door. “I made stew. I'll go dip it up.” You told him while he began to unlace his boots.

“It smells good, darling.” Coriolanus complimented, slipping out of his black boots, as you grabbed some bowls from the cabinet.

“You say that about everything I make.” You teased, portioning out the stew into a pair of bowls as Coryo pulled off his denim fatigue shirt.

Walking over to the table and laying his denim overshirt on the back of his chair, the platinum blonde simply said, “Because it's true.”

The atmosphere in the room wasn't heavy per say, but it wasn't light either. You felt like something happened today, something to put him in a sort of mood. And not a good one either. You really didn't want to stoke his mood into a roaring fire of unliveable sassy attitude, so you didn't say a teasing word back to him.

No, you just carried the bowls of stew over to the small table as Coryo took his seat at it. You couldn't help, but slip on a smile at the sight of your giant of a boyfriend dwarfing the sorry excuse for a kitchen table you had. Hell, the table looked more like a small school desk as he sat at it.

Silently, Coryo followed your every move with his icy eyes. He watched as you set the food on the table before fetching the bottle of milk from the fridge. Coryo knows how luxurious fresh milk is, so he's proud that he can buy it for you. He himself went without it for so many years in the Capitol.

The Snow family always seemed to go without; to struggle within the safe borders of the Capitol. Something that he was supposed to change. Coriolanus was supposed to dig his family out of poverty, but instead his family's been torn apart.

All because Tigris lied to him about how bad things really were.

Fuck!

He would've found a way to get her the money for the back taxes, to avoid a foreclosure on the Snow ancestral home, if she would've only told him that she couldn't pay.

How could Tigris, his own cousin, do that to Grandma’am; to him? And most of all to you.

You!

Who he promised to whisk away to the Capitol once he was able to. Now where are the both of you going to go when he gets clearance as an Elite Officer to return home: to the Capitol? He sure as hell can't bring you to the above club shoebox apartment Pluribus gave Tigris.

And to think that his Grandma’am's dying from a broken heart because her home was taken from her. Her beloved rooftop rose garden that was her joy is now withered if not destroyed by the highest bidder. To think that the old lady's in hospice, due to no will to live, all because Tigris couldn't be honest about the back taxes.

Damnit, fucking bitch should've worked a few corners to come up with the money. Anything to pay the past due taxes; keep the Snow family penthouse in the Snow family.

Where it belongs.

The sound of the milk glasses lightly clinking against the warped wooden table tore Coriolanus out of his thoughts. Watching you sit down next to him, he grabbed his spoon and told you, “Darling, let's promise not to lie to each other. Shall we?”

Oh boy, something definitely happened to him today. You didn't know what, but his remark about lying to each other tipped you off that he was lied to and he's upset about it.

Picking up your own spoon, you tell him, “I promise I won't lie to you, Coryo.”

“And I won't lie to you, Y/N. Which is why I have to tell you something very unsettling.”

Something very unsettling? What the hell did he do, shoot somebody during target practice? Murder somebody for a spot on the Elite Officer's Examine roster? Hell, the suspense is killing you.

Not literally, just figuratively.

“Today I talked to my cousin, Tigris, on the phone in the base’s communications center and I learned that things are worse than I thought they were back home: in the Capitol.” He revealed in between eating his stew.

Having a bad feeling, you asked, “What's wrong, Coryo?”

“The Snow penthouse has been seized and put into foreclosure for unpaid back taxes.” Coryo spat out, his eyes full of anger, as he held his spoon so hard that it was about to bend between his fingers.

His family home foreclosed due to back taxes. Oh boy… You weren't expecting to hear that. You can only imagine how high priced the taxes are in the Capitol considering how pricey things are in the districts. Capitol City, Panem is full of rich elites or wannabe rich elites, so…Yea…The price tag on things in the Gem of Panem, the Capitol, is surely higher than in the rest of the country.

“Tigris told me that everything was fine, but she lied.” Shaking his head, he tossed his spoon in his bowl, causing a loud clang to ring out. “I've been sending home money, assuming that Tigris was using it wisely, but now I don't even know what she did with it.” Reaching for his milk glass, he dryly added, “She didn't pay the taxes, that much I know.”

Reaching forward and placing your hand on top of his, you gave him an empathetic look. You felt for him, for his family. “Coryo, I'm sorry she lied; made you think everything’s ok when it isn't.”

Your boyfriend threads your fingers together, holding your hand, as he sips on his milk. He can't help, but feel lucky to have you. You're being so supportive and understanding about his family's fall from grace.

About him losing the Snow ancestral home. The home that he was supposed to take you to.

Placing his glass down after drinking from it, Coryo shook his head while gritting out, “And now Grandma’am's in hospice, dying of a broken heart, because she was forced out of her home.”

Poor Coryo…

To lose his home, his grandma, and to be lied to by his cousin.

“Seems like we've got more in common than what meets the eye.” You told him, letting him know that you sympathized with his situation.

“It seems we do, darling.” Coryo nodded. Picking his spoon up and scooping a portion of stew out of his bowl, he repeated, “It seems we do.”

You're washing the dishes whenever you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. Coryo's right behind you, hanging on you, but you don't pay him any mind. You just keep on washing the bowl in your hand with the sponge- a sponge that has seen better days.

Your boyfriend nuzzles his nose into your temple, inhaling your scent. Kissing your cheek, he swears, “I promise, once I'm an officer and get into a wealthy position I'll buy back our home. We'll live in it once again.”

“Don't make promises that you can't keep, Coryo.” You advised him, rinsing out the bowl and setting it aside on the makeshift drying rack (which was a cookie cooling rack resting on a dishtowel).

“I intend to keep that promise, baby.” He told you in between peppering kisses up and down your neck.

“Coryo, stop that. I still have dishes to do.” You sighed, trying and failing to wiggle out of his hold while starting on the second dirty bowl.

“One day when I become President and make you my First Lady you won't ever have to lift a finger to wash a dish ever again.” Coryo smoothly murmured, kissing the sweet spot right below your ear.

“To make me your First Lady you'll have to marry me, Mister President.” You sarcastically pointed out, rinsing soap suds and bubbles out of the bowl.

You're placing the bowl onto the drying rack whenever Coryo spins you around. Tipping your chin up, making your eyes lock onto his baby blues, he seriously tells you, “Once I get my officer’s stripes I'm going to marry you.”

The weight of his words comes crashing down on your head like an anvil in an old cartoon. “You really want to marry me?” You asked, not quite believing the situation to be real.

You're just some district girl that he got into trouble and felt pity for. Yes, he takes care of you, but making you his wife's a whole other story. That's a lifetime commitment considering divorce was abolished in the early years of Panem's creation- which was after the end of both WW3 and the 2nd Civil War, which coincided.

“Yes, baby.” The platinum blonde nodded. A wide smile spread across his face as he cemented his fate with the words of, “I'm going to marry you and give you the life that we both deserve as Snows once I get my officer's commission.”

“You know, people in the districts have different ceremonies then Capitolites do for marriages.” You informed him; knowing that you're going down a path you can't turn off of as you do. “Couples in 12 do a toasting by breaking bread at the hearth over a fire they stoke.”

“Too bad we don't have a fireplace.” Coriolanus seriously pouted.

Oh wow, he's serious about this marriage thing. Lucky you.

“Yes, too bad.” You half heartedly agreed with him. Resting your hands on his chest, you decided to explain what you learned about weddings in District 8. “I've heard that here in 8 most weddings are typically held on Tuesdays and Thursdays in November and December.”

Your boyfriend’s brow rose with interest. “December you say?”

“Yes.” You confirm as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. “The bride sews her own dress, which is typically blue or purple, and makes a large amount of food for the guests who stay for dinner and then a late supper. While family and friends are gathered at the house, the couple’s joined hands are bound by a strip of cloth; then they recite words or poetry to complete the ritual.”

“And this ritual’s binding in the eyes of District 8?” Coriolanus asked, holding your gaze with his icy eyes. Eyes that were filled with both trepidation and hope.

“It's binding in all of the districts. I'm not sure about the Capitol tho.”

Bringing his forehead to rest against yours, he simply said, “Mary me on Thursday. I'll bring Sejanus home with me and we'll do the 8 ceremony.”

Believing it impossible to marry so soon, you react with, “But that's in 2 days, Coryo. I'll barely have enough time to make a dress. Plus I have to cook food.”

Bringing his other hand up to your face, so he was cradling it between his large calloused hands, the platinum blonde told you, “I'll bring home some material for your dress tomorrow and the only guest you need to cook for is Sejanus. You don't need to cook up our entire pantry.” His lips ghosted over yours. “Let me take care of you; marry me, baby.”

If you say yes to this sudden spur of the moment wedding you'll be giving up your freedom. In the districts’ eyes you'll become Mrs. Snow, wife of a Peacekeeper. One who's certain he'll become an Elite Officer. Is that what you want?

Hell…

You honestly don't even know what you want. But you do know that you refuse to go cold and hungry ever again because you're alone and can barely get by.

So, for survival purposes, you give Coryo a smile and tell him, “I’ll marry you.”

Without warning, Coryo kisses you. His lips hungrily pressed against yours, as if he was a man starved and his only fulfillment came from your mouth. You moved your lips against his, which only caused him to deepen the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your fingers twisted and dug into his white T-shirt as your tongues intimately danced while your lips clashed, pushing and pulling for purchase.

You let out a little breathless sigh as Coryo broke the kiss, pulling back slightly so the two of you could catch your breath.

Coryo's icy blue eyes were nearly black with lust as he looked into the windows of your soul. His large hands still cup your face as he confessed, “I’d love nothing more than to bring you to our bed and fuck you right now, but since we're to be married in 2 days I'll wait til the wedding night.”

“Oh, so you're going to make an honest woman out of me first before you corrupt me?” You asked, your tone a bit light and teasing.

What difference was a couple of days? It wasn't like you're from a rich aristocratic family that needs to see the sheets in the morning for proof of innocence lost and consummation.of marriage. You're a district girl, nobody in the districts care about purity til marriage, etc.

Besides, even before you agreed to marry him you knew you'd be fucking Coriolanus. He's your boyfriend, it comes with the territory. The only question was when.

Now you have your answer: this Thursday night- your district style wedding night.

Leaning his forehead against yours, Coryo steadfastly declared, “You can't corrupt someone who's willing to drink from the silver cup, my darling.”

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

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Propaganda

Joan Crawford (Dancing Lady, Mildred Pierce, The Women)— God, where do I start!!! Her face is so UNIQUE and compelling and stands out so much. I love her thick brows and high cheekbones. She has a school-marmy hardness too her that makes her a little scary and therefore sexy. Her low thick voice also does it for me. Despite being an unusual looking woman with an unusual face, she never loses her glamour. Just a gorgeous talented actress, AND she was some sort of gay!!!

Priscilla Lane (Arsenic and Old Lace, Saboteur, The Roaring Twenties)— I see Priscilla Lane in Arsenic and Old Lace every year during my Halloween rewatch, and I always love watching her. She had a rubber-face for comedy, while still looking adorable no matter what funny face she’s making. She seems to have had a slightly fuller mouth than was the thin-lipped vogue at the time, and every time she pouts at her forgetful new husband, she looks so gosh-darn kissable that you understand completely why Cary Grant is so wild to get her on the train to Niagra for crazy honeymoon sex. No wonder this movie nearly got Hayes coded for the newlyweds being too hot for each other.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Joan Crawford:

I just love women that are very mean.

she was a smoke show in every decade, from the 20s to the 60s.

The classic matronly beauty with amazing eyebrows

of course there's a space for MILF joan but i want to just take a second and say she was so cute in her early movies (like grand hotel and the women)! those parts often get forgotten but her stardom shines in them just as much as in her older #queen #icon roles

Misremembered for wire hanger hatred, this original screen queen mastered the art of the comeback and refused to let Hollywood toss her aside as she aged. The term “auteur” is usually revered for directors or writer-directors, but most critics have one actor they’ll give that title to as well: Crawford—anyone who knows classic movies already has a “Crawford picture” in their head. She knew how to style herself and promote herself. She made herself a star and kept herself fixated in the Hollywood firmament. What’s hotter than knowing just how hot you are?

(don’t think about Mommie Dearest right now) Joan was known for being super nice to all the like crew of the movies she worked on and she’d get everyone gifts. Joan would hold movie nights at her house and knit at the back of her home theater. Joan was sooo obsessed with other women including Greta Garbo, whos dressing room she would obsessively and purposefully walk by. She said that while working on Grand Hotel, Garbo grabbed her face and “if there ever was a time in my life where I would’ve been a lesbian, that was it.” But like Joan also probably did sleep with women including Barbara Stanwyck. Joan was so obsessed with Bette Davis, screening multiple movies of hers in a day at her watch party, constantly trying to spend time with her or do a movie together, insisting on the dressing room next to hers at Warners and sending her daily gifts… etc. Once Bette said that sex was gods joke to humanity and Joan said “I think the joke is on her.” Joan fucked a lot. Joan got caught publicly fucking a man and sent a letter to the woman who saw them basically saying “I bet it excited you” and the woman was like you know what. It did. Joan was best friends with a gay man. Joan was an actually genuinely good actress even though people mocked her a lot for being like cheap and stupid (partially because she never finished school because her family was broke). Joan was so insane and so cool that’s all.

Priscilla Lane:

#priscilla lane #joan crawford #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

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heli0s-writes · 7 months

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forget your perfect offering*

summary: Captain America hasn’t been home in years and it’s turned him into something a little lost, a little broken.

a/n: Hi hi!! Guess who's back on the Nomad Steve angst/smut train after 5 months??? 3k words. Please stop reading if you're not 18+ This is very Clumsy adjacent.

Captain America hasn’t been home in years and it’s turned him into something a little lost, a little broken. Going dark on the United States government when it’s put a price on your head will do that, he supposes. He’s even picked up a new habit of flinching at shadows despite maneuvering in them for eternity.

Not eternity, but he’s dramatic and full throttle. Never once learned that some things can be half-measures, can be compromised on. He’s got his handful of soldiers—friends— and he can’t forget that they’re friends because soldiers are pawns and friends are crucial.

Back then, he was just a newly reanimated statuette, a votive figurine to justice rendered flesh and bone and so damn brittle. And how could he believe it would last? The entire thing fell apart within a few years—a team scattered to pieces; an entire nation’s vision discarded on the side of the road.

A lot of Americans are angry with him for that, and most days he tries not to be angry at himself, which is stupid according to you and Sam and Nat. But being angry at propaganda and history and circumstances is too intangible to do much with, so at least being angry with himself means he can kneel into a fight, leave too little in the tank for the trip back, find a way to be punished for his transgressions.

He’d always been reckless, but it’s becoming a flag much to red to ignore.

You tell him he’s got a death wish. Plain and simple: keep it up and you’ll die, and nothing more, leaving the jet ride in silence, everyone averting their eyes. But he just wipes the blood out of his mouth and says, “Hasn’t seemed to work out for me yet.”

Back at the house—the house, not his house, or anybody’s house, certainly not a home in its unremarkable exterior, interior, living spaces cobbled together with rickety, mismatched furniture and chipped ceramic kitchenware—he returns to his book. Sinks himself into the reading nook and opens it up to a page he’s been pretending to pay attention to.

Natasha showers first, Sam crashes into his bed face-down, and you linger by the old T.V., poking at the adjacent radio.

“Hey, death boy.”

He looks up, startled. “Death boy?”

“Yeah,” you grin, glancing over your shoulder. “Death boy. Your new superhero name.”

You say it breezily, eyes half-mast because it’s been a real dog-shit kind of day and even Steve can hardly focus.

Sam’s dead to the world and Nat’s going on 30 minutes under water, so it’s a fair estimate to say that it’s to the point where he can feel how powered-down his brain is, and that if he tries to speak more than three phrases at a time, it’ll hardly make any damn sense. Or, inevitably, make matters worse.

He tries for controlled, comes out not so much. “It’s a little morbid, don’t you think?”

You gasp, scandalized. “Silly me, you haven’t been morbid at all recently. Gosh, it’s not like you were trying to get gutted—he was swinging so wide and slow, how could I think you’d manage dodging in time?” You clasp your hands over your mouth dramatically, “How could I suggest—”

“That’s enough.” Steve pinches his nose-bridge with one hand and closes the book with the other. He’s going to drown himself in the bathtub when Natasha’s finished—go drama—but he’s grinning a little bit, not dumb enough to hide when he’s been caught out.

You punch a button on the radio, tune it to a station that’s only slightly screeching with interference. There’s a discernible piano melody but he doesn’t know the song. You tap along, feeling out the rhythm, and then you cast your eyes to the reading nook he’s crushed into before pointing at the middle of the floor.

For all his miserable ruminating he always forgets to account for you at the end of the day, standing there and waiting for him like he’s got any choice. He declares all sorts of bullshit about how making the right decision can feel like no decision at all when it’s inherently justified; reason should feel like reflex, ethics an extension. But lately, the only reflex he’s felt is closer to vanishing.

He’s disappearing from view a little more each night, reduced to a crumbling idol of an endangered faith because humanity’s stopped believing in him and part of him is following the same course. He’s become an old relic chipped away in the flow of time, and some days he’d rather just be good and gone.

Keep it up and you’ll die.

Part of him already has. Part of him’s already in the ground.

“Come on,” you say with a surprising amount of patience, eyes soft and hand extended. “Are you gonna get up or am I gonna have to drag your ass again?”

The song is plunking away, cutting in and out intermittently, notes quivering on scratches of static. Nat’s started to dry her hair, the sound like a tornado alarm trapped in a bathroom but it’s persistent, fighting the wailing blow-dryer for an audience. She’s probably freezing cold because the house’s water heater is shoddy at best and Sam can fix that but he’s been exhausted lately and no one’s going to complain because they’ve never complained about their situation-- not once.

He bites down, frowns a little deeper, but then he’s on his feet, giving chase like you could take him somewhere whole and unbroken. Somewhere he’s been craving for. His hands around your waist are careful, resting his chin on top of your head as you nuzzle in.

He asks through gritted teeth, “Listening for a heartbeat?”

“I know where your heart is.”

He’s so goddamn maudlin, can’t stop the bitterness from lashing out. “Where’s that?”

“With us, death boy. With me.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, dismissive and very, very rude of him, but he’s on a roll and won’t be appeased. You lazily read the lines of his face with stunned eyes, then touch your nose to his bearded chin as you lean up.

You stroke his scalp, spinning the feathery ends of his long hair. “You want to be hurt so bad, don’t you?” Your nails rake down the length of his strong neck. “Is that what you’re used to? Is it more comfortable that way?”

“Enough,” he murmurs faintly, but makes no move to push you away, only stepping in time, rocking along. When your hand tightens into a fist to pull at him, he bites down, shuts his eyes. You do it again, harder, and then let go, letting your fingers spread at the base of his skull, cradling it like a child.

“You want to be beaten within an inch of your life, want to be pried open so you can check if you’re still capable of dying.” Cold words, but your breath is hot, and he’s starting to feel it—that telltale shiver at the base of his spine at the way you won’t break eye contact.

“I know, I know,” you coo, “it hasn’t happened yet.” You move away, smiling big and dark and glistening with promise. “But listen, Steve, all you have to do is ask.”

He can’t tell what expression he’s making, only that your pupils open to swallow him. You’re staring at him, not through him. Taking in his flesh and the warm blood cascading down his face.

The night is taking its toll, it seems. Collecting on long, hard hours, making the both of you reckless.

He thinks about months ago, and the complication of ethics in the way.

Not sleeping with teammates, not losing the fucking plot no matter how much he craved losing it for a couple of hours. There were several weeks before it went sideways, before Bucharest and the Accords, where he spent doing nothing but dedicating himself to daydreaming. He sank into the quiver of his own body as he imagined you and everything he wanted to know by touch.

There were dances, like this. Swaying back and forth in Sam’s backyard and gala celebrations, onlookers getting a few ideas about what his eyes were communicating when he’d trace the curve of your shoulders or the delicate insides of your wrists. How everyone else might follow Captain America into the jaws of death but he’d follow only you, headlong, beyond, and into the goddamn afterlife if you asked him.

But there was a line he couldn’t cross. A soft, tangerine horizon much too far out of his reach when the dark was at his back, beating him to the ground. Making him flinch from warmth because entanglement was too complicated and love was too kind.

Tony asked him what it felt like to fuck up so astronomically. Nat only clucked her tongue, more disappointment in a single sound than Steve had heard from many grand lectures.

Because you would have been vibrant and glorious, damn it. You would have giggled— giggled— when you made love, crooned his name like a songbird and touched him everywhere, all at once. You would have kissed fire back into him, licked your way into the center of that votive figurine and traced his broken heart. You would have excavated him, clawed him out clean, led him into the light.

So, he knows. He knew then, knows now, knows for the rest of his days when he’s let a beautiful thing slip through his fingers.

But sometimes, this happens and his hands feel like they’ve still held on despite his attempts. Sometimes you brush his knuckles, smile at him small and sweet and come into his makeshift room, sit on the side of his bed and exist side by side. Sometimes there wouldn’t even be conversation.

But when you linger by the door, gaze slowly raking down the length of his body and his throat, his mouth, all ten of his fingertips—god, what he wouldn’t give then, to take you to the floor and declare fuck it.

Fuck ethics and fuck his entire life, if needed, because there was only you, only what he’d been needing for ages, only that brilliant and terrifying afterlife awaiting him.

The reflex, then, is not to disappear anymore, but to kneel in.

You say, both hands come to rest around his throat— because you’ve seen him now, seen him the entire time, “If you want it that much, Steve, I can give it to you. A hundred tiny deaths, so sweet and good, until it hurts so bad you really do feel like you’re dying.”

He gulps, Adam’s apple catching each of your fingers on the way up and back down. Says, “Yeah,” before he even registers it. He blurts, going cold and hot and shell-shocked, “I’d let you do anything you want.”

Just then, the bathroom door clatters open and Natasha steps out, towel wrapped around her as she pads across the living space toward her room.

She looks from you to Steve, briefly studying the single foot of distance between your faces, the forgotten music, the way he can’t seem to keep his breathing in order.

The way you’ve got his throat in your hands.

She doesn’t even stop as she passes by, carding her fingers through her hair for a final act of detangling. “Wilson sleeps heavy,” she yawns, which implies, I don’t, so keep whatever the hell it is you two are doing down.

Then she’s gone with only pressure left in her wake. Only his breath fighting with his lungs, his belly tight and hot and his flavorless mouth so fucking starved for yours.

You raise a judgmental eyebrow after he does nothing for a beat too long, too lost in potential backpedaling to advance the plot. “That’s not asking, Steve.”

He’s stupid, dizzy, like he’s been dropped on his head, but not that stupid. He can’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Doesn’t even know if he says it, but tries anyway, “Will you please,” and the rest goes out the window. You lean in. You kiss him better than he could ever have imagined.

He’s living the teenage years he never had.

You kiss him like you’ve got all the time in the world—like it isn’t past four in the morning and the both of you are one silent minute away from slipping into unconsciousness. You kiss lazy and slow and sublime. You press a thumb at the corner of his mouth, touch inside of him, and he wants to do it back. But he wants it right.

“This,” he starts, almost whimpering when you run your teeth beneath his ear, molding your body to his, the two of you staggering into the wall and the end table and poor Natasha across the house must be digging up her earplugs. “I’m not good with—casual—”

“Yeah, you don’t think I know that?” You only pause for enough air to hassle him before taking his hands, your own so small over them, so much power over him, and place them on your waist. “You don’t think I know you’re an all-in kind of guy?”

Of course, you know. Of course, anyone who’s ever heard of Steven Grant Rogers can figure it out. It’s always going to be full throttle for him. Casual isn’t a word that exists in his dictionary, and he won’t compromise on that. He couldn’t do this any other way because now he wants to do it all—to feel you, inside out, across time and the universe and infinity.

He shucks off your clothes, doesn’t mind the grit of the day on your skin, wants it even, to know what you’re like every hour of every day. He tears off his own tac gear, can’t keep his mouth off yours for even a second as he stumbles across the floor.

When he reaches the bed, you climb on top, warm between your legs and so perfect over his thigh. He’s rocking his hips against yours, mouthing at your breasts, grabbing your ass and waist and snarling into your neck like an animal. Lazy and slow twists into frantic and desperate, him throbbing and throbbing against your skin.

He leans back, takes you down with him, bra strap limp at your elbows, panties to the side and he wedges back between the space of his thigh and your sex. He wants—wants.

“You’re warm,” he breathes.

When he pulls out, there’s a sloppy noise following your moan and he rubs his fingers together, awed at the glistening web slipping down to his palm.

One finger becomes two, the coat of slick up to his knuckles and he’s using too much tongue when he kisses you but you don’t mind that at all.

He’s not any kind of virgin but he really feels like one. In the sense that he’s turned on by everything. Too much stimulation. On his skin, in his brain, he’s immersed in one second while predicting the next, seeing the possible ways it could go. Too much pent-up desire swells up the length of his cock as he palms and presses it against the underside of your thigh for contact. His chest is heaving, breath stuttery, eyes wild and unfocused.

You grab his face, pull him away from your collar. You’re only a slight mess, but Christ, what a sight. He must be about fifty times worse because you’re grinning wide, looking him up and down as he arches forward to get you back.

You tut, “If I really wanted to kill you,” you say, “I’d leave you right now.”

“Please don’t,” he manages hoarsely, the fire in his belly lashing out.

“Because I’m so nice.”

“Yes.” And suddenly, his sunny face turns overcast, all the joyful cacophony from before muting. “Yes, you are.”

“Steve,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead with your hands for something to do with them.

He hauls himself up on his elbows, starting to feel upset.

You lean back on your palms, head lolling between your shoulder blades, aggrieved.

“Sorry,” he recants.

“Steve.”

He can’t make eye contact, but you don’t ask him to again, only touching his jaw with a finger and erasing the last few minutes with a nuzzle of your nose to his, like saying don’t worry about it, it’s okay.

Then, more kissing, more of that touch he dreamed about and he wants to kick his past self for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

The night melts away, each hour lasting a blink or an eternity—he can’t be bothered by it now. He figures the sun’s coming up, though, because there’s that haze of early morning past the gauzy, frayed curtain.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage each time you grind down, each time you swallow him back inside of you. You push, like an act of resuscitation— one, two, one, two— a rhythmic, electric, life-giving staccato beat that has him gasping for air, has him keening and groaning without any thought to how loud he might be.

And, fuck it, fuck it all. He is, admittedly, loud.

Sorry, Nat, he winces mentally before his brain’s wiped clear of all thought.

There’s nothing but you, and you, and you.

And that poor, broken heart inside of him, crushed to fine powder, being reworked into brilliance.

He lies there afterwards, gazing into the ceiling as he breathes back down to calm. There’s the thrall of exhaustion behind his eyes but it’s being overridden by a terrible, traitorous voice that’s telling him how he can’t seem to stop fucking up.

He can’t breathe suddenly, the room collapsing into a pinhole, darkness threatening the edges of his sight.

And then you say, because you always know what to say, “It’s okay to be a little broken,” you stroke his chest. “Baby, that’s how the light gets in.”

And the morning is breaking through fully now, streaks of it clearing up his eyes, cutting him to pieces beneath you.

“Yes,” he agrees and meets you for another lengthy kiss, every shrapnel inch of him raw and searing hot. All his exposed parts—the grief and agony and self-hatred—turned to gold. You touch his dark edges with your fingertips. You trace a new dawn’s light in his hair.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut

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milgram-tournament · 5 months

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MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 1, Match 6 ALL KNOWING AND ALL AGONY vs. TEAR DROP

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for AKAA:

"AKAA is wonderful song with such bitter irony, bc that doesn't look like song someone who was voted inno… And we know more about Haruka! we see his mother! AND "MAKE MY DREAMU COME TRUE"??? NO I AM NOT CRYING YOU ARE CRYING (also I should say this is first song i heard and I love AKAA so, so much <3 let's do it <3)"

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1. It establishes so much of Haruka's character and backstory that was omitted from Weakness!! It helps shape Haruka's character so much and really helped with voting.

2.THE VOCALS OH MY GOD. This song really lets the voice of Haruka's VA shine!! It has some really nice growls but also has that soft part in the bridge!!

Overall it's just really good I love Haruka Sakurai

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Propaganda for AKAA:

Definitely one of the most hype songs from T2

The vocals are Banging

Absolutely love the taxidermy symbolism

Haruka is a sad little puppy

Everyone stand for the Mommy Issues Athem 🫡

Propaganda for TEAR DROP:

"yuno kashiki enthusiast here anyways tear drop propaganda WE BALL

let's start off with the lyrics! holy fuck, i'm so glad yuno finally got to say what she's wanted to say!!

and she fully shows the fact that she does compensated dating through the lyrics ("the wanted wanting the wanted")

and even if it sounds like she's scolding the audience for the song, she's also scolding her clients! they only perceive her as a certain type of character and deciding that's all she is. She's upset that we decided based on how "naïve" she looked instead of her actual crime (to be honest, I could write a whole analysis into why her murder is perfect for her character anywa) and she doesn't care what will happen to her, she needs her opinions heard

also kinda rap section?? banger fr

THE VISUALS!! GOOD LORD THE VISUALS!!! THEY ARE SO BANGER!!! they're really pretty and gosh i literally don't know what to say, the scene where vampire is in the background and it transitions to yuno sitting on her bed... the pink tinted glasses (YES FUCK I LOVE THAT MAN!!!!) THE COAT!! THOSE INBETWREN SCENES i'm obbing

AND THE INSTRUMENTAL!! PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU ALL LISTEN TO THE INSTRUMRNTAL OF HER SONG THERES SO MANY SMALL DETAILS!! SIRENS, TEAR DROPS RAHHH THE CLAPS/CLICKING TJE TECHNO PIANO GUITAR??? THE INSTRIMENTS I CANT NAME I THINK THEY ALL HAVE SOME READON OF BEING IN THE SONG AND I WILL FIND OUT IN AN ANAKYSIS POST I JUDT LOVE IT AUEUEU

literally tear drop is the banger ever i listen to this shit religiously thank you for listening to my tear drop propaganda"

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-Yuno’s voice. Enough said. -The imagery in the MV is brilliantly used, and doesn’t shy away from the horrors of Yuno’s line of work. -Vampire cameo!!! -Almost Lo-Fi vibes to the instrumental?? I can’t really explain it but it’s a vibe and I’m 100% here for it,

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"For teardrop: The pink aesthetic in the MV as a whole makes it super nice to look at :D"

#milgram #milgramtournament #yuno kashiki #kashiki yuno #haruka sakurai #sakurai haruka #sorry for the delay!

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mcyt-trios · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA:

Architechs:

they're just. incredibly fucking stupid when they're together. it's like they lose every single skill they've ever had once they see each other. there's not a single interaction without giggling and you can tell they're genuinely having a great time which leads to AMAZING VIBES.

made SAHARA, played gold together in skirts, awesome dynamic, iconic, fought side by side, fought each other.

They are sososososo iconic. They were the best of buds during S6 and S7, they did so many shenanigans oh my gosh!!!!!! They are besties (S6-S7 is where you can see it the clearest, but also Iskall helped them cover up the Perimeter with Grian and Mumbo and a lot of other hermits, that has to count for something) They are business partners (Sahara, //which they made actual IRL merch for as well//) They perpetuated a running gag throughout the entirety of S7 (“get good lol” “I Got Good!” “OK LOL” “Get Gorgeous LOL” “FOR THE LOLS” <- all excerpts -the first one from their video titles) They fought on the same side of the Prank War together (Team-G, with Molebo Gumbo as a double agent against Team STAR) A ‘harmless’ curse of binding dragon head prank by Grian on Iskall caused the formation of the Dragon Bros. So many shenanigans. Hermit Challenges is the tip of the iceberg. I love them so much, they are my comfort trio PLEASE THEY ARE SO INCREDIBLY ICONIC LET THEM WIN. *cough* I mean, I am extremely and utterly normal about them :D

3 Heart Trio:

theyre soo silly theyre just silly little guys who do things like mining an entire chunk in the center of the server's spawn for their own entertainment and to annoy everyone else

They are PATHETIC. They are ANNOYING. They are PERFECT. They are playing on three hearts and they die so much. They have a specialized raid platform that is NOT a raid farm. They are a team against exploits! Their base has 3 hearts above it representing them

these guys decided to put love and fun above all on the killing-lying server. while watching other teams betray and fall apart they have stuck with each other till the very last day of the server and never doubted one another. they worked like a clockwork, they knew they could only rely on themselves and at the end of the day, they didnt mind that it was that way

these guys got the short end of the stick time and time again throughout all of lifesteal s4, they were the targets of so many traps and attacks for no reason other than they were weak and always around. and despite it all they never wanted revenge and never held grudges! they cared about fun and friendship more than anything else, and while all the other teams ended up falling apart or betraying each other, these three stuck together from start to end. they didn't care about how many hearts they had, how much gear they had, or how powerful they were, because in the end all they needed was each other <3 i miss them so bad btw

#mcyt-trios #mcytblr trio bracket #polls #round 3 #mcyt

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mcyt-builds-contest · 2 months

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Scarland

Builder : Goodtimewithscar

Series : Hermitcraft Season 9

Propaganda : With the mascot being our lovely Queen Jellie, Scar's beloved pet and winner of Mojang's contest to get her into a part of the game, Scarland incorporates the whimsy everyone wishes Disney still had. The strip is populated by guests (including the hermits and default skins, inclusive of races and disabilities) making it lovely with flashing fake-creepers and even a street performer playing the drums. There are even cameos from the Empires crew and the infamous hero HotGuy! Feel free to visit the Trading Card Game arena, any of the stores selling snacks and drinks, and take pictures with the mascots distributing cute hats and balloons. At dawn and dusk, our lovely CEO of Scarland, Scar himself, welcomes guests and sends them off in the evening. You, too, can download the Hermitcraft map and visit Scarland yourself with any friends you would like to bring with you.

La Cité Médiévale

Builder : Aurelien_Sama

Series : Holycube Season 5

Propaganda : I love that fucking village so much everyone need to see it. Look at the way the streets flows between the houses, this thing is so well constructed it looks like it could be an actual medieval village, a problem a lot of builds have that this one doesn't, it's believable! All the houses are able to coexist while not being copies of each others, but variation, so when you look at the build from an outside scale, it seems like a city, but the details make it that when you are exploring it on ground level, it become an adventure! And that castle and Montains are just so cool looking! | everyone should go and check out aurelien_sama holycube season 5 vidéo "une saison en timelapse" or at least the start of it, it's a timelapse of all of his builds in the season, including La Cité Médiévale (you can even see the flags change from belgian to french since they had a little prank war going on with those)! Everything in the image was made by him and a few friend, its no just a village, but also two castle and a full montain range, the build itself took almost a year to build and was made in survival, and how gosh does it look amazing

Taglist!

@10piecechickenmcnugget

@choliosus

@biro-slay

@betweenlands

@xdsvoid

#mcyt base contest #polls #hermitcraft #holycube

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ungodly-amounts-of-godly-trauma · 8 months

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wotw round 1

propaganda under the cut!

connor mckinley:

okay so basically prev propaganda but the part i wrote about the song where they repress their trauma. connor leads that song. so anyway connor is the district leader of the district nine mormons in uganda. during his song he talks about how he is gay and represses his gay thoughts forcibly (religious trauma wooo) but ANYWAY. so long story short post canon everyone characterizes him as some feminine gay twinkboy who is incapable of doing anything whereas people characterize kevin as some big strong alpha male who dominates him. its terrible. kevin is literally the one who has no special talents unless you count evangelizing which yes hes good at but only in america, once he gets to uganda he fails. CONNOR on the other hand was appointed a district leader position which means that he has a strong sense of leadership and is able to control a bunch of nineteen year old boys which takes a lot of mental strength. he also dances/takes dance class so you KNOW hes fit/athletic and you KNOW hes lifting the girls for routines so if either of them were going to be strong it would be connor. JUST BECAUSE HE WEARS PINK ONCE AND HAS A PART IN HIS SONG ABOUT BEING GAY AND SAYS "OH EM GOSH YOU GUYS" DOESNT MEAN HE IS INCAPABLE OF ANYTHING AT ALL!!!!!!! HE IS SO CAPABLE!!!!! DUDE REPRESSED EVERY NEGATIVE FEELING HE HAD AND HAD SO MUCH INTERNAL HATRED AND DEALT WITH HELLDREAMS EVERY NIGHT AND STILL TOOK LEAD OF A DOZEN 19 YEAR OLDS IN UGANDA. HE IS VERY VERY CAPABLE.

white:

ok since his twin is like the super edgy anarchist biker guy, people then go "okay and this is the sweeter softer one of the two <3." it doesn't help that like his story arc is him going from like a socially liberal centrist who doesn't understand systematic inequality to eventually you know, being an official part of the anarchist biker gang, because that means at the start when the gang was doing some more morally dubious things he went "guyssss we shouldn't do those things" and then people stuck with that and forgot that his opinion on such things changes. like his whole thing is being strategic and subtle while Black, his twin, is about dramatic public actions. like by the end he doesn't disagree with Black's methods, he just thinks manipulating things in such a manner to raise public support that doesn't alienate their cause from more moderate folks is important. he has diplomat training and cares about pr, he's not a pacifist.

also I feel like people erase his bisexuality a lot too because he's endgame with Sean and then also go and make him the uwu innocent one in their relationship. like babes are we forgetting the opening scene of him as an adult is after he hooked up with his girlfriend in Russia (that he might have been living with? unclear, it was only one scene). also don't forget that he made out with Eugene. he didn't have to do that. anyways he's not an uwu so innocent gay boy who has never progressed pass kissing before.

#tournament #connor mckinley #bomm #book of mormon musical #white #not me #wotw #round 1

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cheesecake801 · 2 months

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IT IS TIME ! It is finally time to show you my Valentine's day artpiece !! (Wdym it was a month ago ? Nonsense ! I totally did NOT take a month to finish this)

For those who don't know, this is Volkner, I just HAD to draw him for Valentines day haha ! Have more nice sketches (and me chatting a little) below cut !

First lemme show you those self indulgent Valentine's day sketches

It's fun thinking Volkner would receive chocolate from random peeps (not surprising, boy slays in pink !) but the true canon stuff in my head would definitely be Volkner staying home or at the gym tinkering with machines and stuff, completely forgetting about Valentine's day haha !

(gosh I really treated myself with this one alslskd, also yes I'm that ghost leaving the grave)

I sketched this Pachirisu in a magma session with friends, I think it would follow Volkner around for some reason, much to Volkner's delight, this Pachirisu is a real cutie !

Also I reached 100 followers today !! Thank you everyone, I hope you'll continue enjoying my art ✨️You know so far I always posted submas related stuff but.......THIS GUY ! This guy has been living rent free in my head for more than 2 months you have no idea. He's not nearly as popular as submas around here so I've been content starved lately, it's hard finding art of him and his best bud Flint ! So I got no choice but to make my own food !! It is only the beginning of the Volkner propaganda hehe ! I hope you'll enjoy the Volkner stuff I'll post from now on !

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lavendarlily · 1 month

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yeah of course my first fic for @phicphight is gonna be crack

for the prompt that wasn't a prompt by @faeriekit

am i doing this right?

prompt: PR096 - No prompt, just a note; I can't guarantee I understand the format of the prompts required here.

words: 777

click here to read on ao3

jack stumbles across something troubling, but finds the light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally. He had the house to himself. Jazz was at a study group, Maddie went to test some weapons in the field, and Danny… well, all Jack knew was that Danny wasn’t home.

Jack loved his family - so incredibly much that it was a miracle you could fit all that love into one man (even one at Jack’s size). Yet between the needs of his children and assisting his wife with her inventions, it was difficult to find a moment for himself. Believe it or not, Jack Fenton did in fact have interests and hobbies outside of ghosts. It was just hard to make time for them, and boy was that new yarn burning a hole in his crafts closet, just waiting to be used. First, there were a few techniques he wanted to research before really digging in.

He fetched the laptop from the basement, and grabbed a soda from the fridge on his way to the living room. Jack settled in, feet resting on the coffee table since Maddie wasn’t home to tell him otherwise. He opened the computer, and groaned to himself when a myriad of open tabs took over the screen.

He’d told the kids so many times! Close your tabs after using the computer! He was always afraid of accidentally closing or deleting something they needed or hadn’t saved. There was also a sense that looking through their history was an invasion of privacy, but whoever had used the computer last would have to give up that privilege. He carefully clicked through the tabs, making sure there wasn’t anything potentially important before exiting out of each one. At least his kids had been doing their homework - Shakespeare analyses, essay writing tips, and hey! They’d found a tutor through some site called ChatGPT that was helping them with their assignment.

He was almost done, ready to dive into video tutorials on achieving the perfect cross-stitch, when he paused. Though Jack tried not to linger on a page longer than he deemed necessary, this one caught his attention. An all too familiar face stared back at him - multiple faces - arranged against a blue background. Jack squinted his eyes at the search bar, reading it aloud.

“Tum-bl-er,” he said slowly. What the hell was this? Jack was certainly concerned at the amount of Phantom propaganda on the screen, leading to an even more troubling question: Which of his kids had fallen under the ghost boy’s spell to have ended up on a hell-site like this?

He scrolled through post after post of photos taken by Amity Park locals, elaborate drawings of the ghost kid, musings of his origins and whereabouts and… oh gosh… love-life. Who were these people worshiping Phantom like this? And why was Jack still looking at it?

It was like a car crash - he couldn’t look away. However, this led him to one post that finally gave Jack a semblance of hope.

Phic Phight.

Jack knew he was no genius, but he side-eyed the misspelling and continued to skim through the rest of it. Fighting was all he needed to hear, especially if there was a group of people who idolized Phantom like… this. The ghost kid needed to go. These people needed to be saved from his manipulation! The words “Team Human” jumped out at Jack from the text, and without needing any more convincing that this is where he needed to be, he clicked the link that led to where he could sign up.

He skipped through all the boring information and went straight into entering his information. There were a few questions he didn’t know how to answer, but he was Jack Fenton! Anyone who was organizing against the ghost problem that plagued Amity Park knew where to find him.

There were only a few questions left, labeled as “Prompts”. Jack wasn’t too certain what it meant, but he could only envision it as where to leave suggestions for the best ways to defeat and capture Phantom. He entered the words electrocute, net, and Fenton Bazooka. He felt a little guilty for not understanding the entire gist of what was going on, so he also left a quick note for the organizer in hopes they would be forgiving.

Jack clicked the submit button at the bottom of the page and smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to meet all these other folks interested in the well-being of their town. Team Human. It had a nice ring to it. He’d be sure to let Maddie know when she returned - who wouldn’t want the Fentons on their team?

And maybe… he could even get his boy Danny in on it too.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2024 #lavswordvomit

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brasiliangp · 1 year

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gosh the super bowl would be so much more enjoyable if america didn’t shove their military propaganda down my throat every two seconds

#try not to bring up the army for one minute I dare you #super bowl #nfl

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nitewrighter · 25 days

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Do you have any headcanons about d.va's relationships with her fellow MEKA pilots? Tbh your hcs are way more fun and well put together than actual blizzard canon.

Oh gosh I posted a bunch of Meka Squad headcanons back in the day... and I've got DvaMon headcanons here and here but if we're talking specifically about *D.Va's* relationships to the squad...

>While initially the whole squad was kind of artificially propped up as celebrities as part of propaganda for the MEKA program to drum up funding and international support, it soon became clear that D.Va's level of popularity with the crowd vs. the rest of the team's popularity was very much an Eric Clapton vs. The Yardbirds situation, and the Meka program was forced to lean into that more and more, putting more and more pressure on D.Va.

>There were several reasons for D.Va becoming the most popular member, and they're not all 100% good. D.Va gained a prominent following not only for her prodigy level video game skill, but also for her looks and age. Frankly, she was popular for a lot of the same creepy reasons she's popular with the Overwatch fandom as a whole. She was also seen as "less of a bitch" than D.Mon.

>Out of all of them, Casino is probably the one who comes close to D.Va in terms of fandom, and that's due to significant efforts on his end. It's partially selfish self-promotion, but a lot of it is also taking the focus off of D.Va because he's older and feels responsible for her as a teammate.

>In that regard the whole team has a kind of protective sense toward D.Va even as they're kind of forced to step back from her to let her take the spotlight. D.Va herself feels largely guilty because like, even if she's the all-rounder flying ace of the team, she still needs her team and it's really hard not to feel like an asshole when people are only ever asking about you. It's also hard not to look like an asshole when you're saying, "it's a group effort" when you were basically carrying the team at the bottom of the fourth quarter.

This picture says so much to me.

#overwatch #meka squad #headcanons #hana song

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blond-jerk-tourney · 2 days

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Blond Sweetheart Tourney: Round 1, Poll 19

Propaganda from submitters Under Cut

Nazuna Nito

He's the big brother of his unit Ra*bits!! He's always kind and uplifting to them, and would do anything to help and protect him. He dotes on them and is super caring and is just ADORABLE!!! - In the story Human Comedy, he makes cookies to give to the other members of Ra*bits for White Day. - In the story Frozen Ice, his friendship with Mika is strained, but he still goes and buys candies and ice creams he thinks Mika will like to bring him while he's in the infirmary. - Even his official introduction is super cute and sweet.. "Hello, I'm Nazuna Nito, a member of Ra*bits! All the members of Ra*bits are younger than me, but they're all hard-working and have their own unique personalities, so they're all very cute. I'm a nii-chan, so I have to do my best so that everyone can rely on me for help. When in doubt, it's up to each other, and the four of us will help each other grow as Ra*bits ♪" - Nazuna's solo song 'Niichan Ouen Dan' or 'Niichan Cheer Squad' is an adorable song of him cheering on his juniors, and GOSH ITS JUST SO CUTE AND SWEET AND UPBEAT!!!! I LOVE HIM!!! (link to give it a listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQ0sIeRFB4Q) - He just has a very sweet and warm and comforting vibe and I love him so much.

Tenma Saki

she's so kind to everyone and she cares about her friends and her brother so much and i love her <3

#blond sweetheart tourney #round 1 #polls #tournament polls #nazuna nito #ensemble stars #enstars #saki tenma #project sekai

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