Warnings: explicit language, phone sex, boss/employee, power dynamics, smoking, subby Kate
Description: You've been the voice in Kate's ear for years. Tonight, however, she needs you for more than just dinner reservations.
A/N: You know that time Kate accidentally got sent to Splott? Yeah, that. Set between PoTD and The Giggle.
Word count: 4,422
Whenever you told people you worked in admin, the questions stopped there. It was a mercifully dull mask to pull over the glossy tower in the City and levels of classification that made your head spin if you dwelled on it for too long. And, true enough, even the United Intelligence Taskforce had a lot of administration under the sleek uniforms and persistent, exhausting extraterrestrial politics.
It also made the night shifts easier to explain. Someone was always awake, you’d say. Someone always needed something. Someone always needed you, somewhere in the world. Or somewhere on the top floor.
Most of your day shifts involved chasing invoices, arranging taxis for distances that were quicker to walk, and ordering more hand soap for the executive toilets. If you were lucky, you might get to arrange a meeting or two, but that was usually reserved for the heel-wearing entities sixty floors above.
The night shifts were where things tended to grow interesting. At 21:00 this evening, when you’d slid into your desk chair and ticked off the usual pleasantries with your fellow minions, you were vaguely briefed about a supposed containment breach up in Derbyshire. Middle of nowhere, as was the custom, somewhere that this kind of thing never happened, obviously. You wondered, as you took the first swig of caffeine of the night, if anything like this ever happened where it was expected. Then again, the last time you had silently wished for that, your old office and had ended up blown to smithereens and you were faced with the mourning of a beloved desk cactus and possible redundancy.
Turned out, you were bloody good at your job.
In the windowless office, you watched on the security feed as a sleek black cab zoomed off into the London night, carrying your commander deep into the Peak District to investigate what would most likely be a very vocal sheep or a bunch of kids wearing hazmat suits. She insisted on going to everything in person wherever possible these days. You supposed she still felt guilty about the old HQ, though you wondered how many more of these 30 hour working days she had left in her before something worse happened.
From the first time, years ago, that you’d been handed a headset and instructed, bluntly, to find the commander a direct flight to Uzbekistan leaving within the hour, she had seemed to trust you with navigating the details she was too exhausted for.
The details were what delighted you.
At least, on this night, shit hit the fan after you’d taken your break. As you sat back at your desk and took a final swig from the can that promised you a blend of prebiotics and unmatched focus with a twist of guava, you frowned as you saw the little red dot flashing on the comms screen.
‘Did the boss call?’ you asked over your shoulder to no one in particular. A colleague scoffed through a mouthful of crisps.
‘About twenty minutes ago,’ they shrugged. ‘I would have taken it, but...well.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ you mumbled through gritted teeth, putting on your headset.
The commander spoke to you almost every day. Of course, she’d never seen your face. There wasn’t any need. Your voice in her ear was enough, for the last two years. Or was it three? It didn’t matter, you supposed.
You often wondered how long she’d last having to navigate the world without your department there to arrange every step she took. During the shifts where her voice grew clipped and brash, you fantasised about abandoning her on the Circle line, doomed to tour zone 1 forever.
You fought off a smile as you clicked the flashing dot that seemed to get angrier with every scarlet blink. Immediately, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart's troubles of the day were huffed directly into your eardrums.
‘...and then the taxi driver tells me that not only was he given the wrong address, but the wrong town, the wrong sodding country. Whenever you’re done with whatever business is more important than doing your job, you will call me back and you will find a way to get me out of this damp armpit of a suburb. Now.’
You stifled a giggle as you heard her swear, trying to hang up. When the message finally ended, you swivelled in your chair once, twice. You slowly crushed your empty can of drink as you hit the button on your headset, dropping it into the bin as the dial tone started to hum.
She picked up before the first ring had a chance to end.
‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’
You grinned, landing on the cheeriest voice you could possibly muster.
‘Good evening, Commander! How’s the Peak District?’
‘Don’t even sta– did you even listen to my message? I cannot believe that you couldn’t even lis-’
You rolled your eyes as the insult she’d no doubt prepared was lost in a sudden swirl of bad signal and a sharp breeze. When the line was clearer, you spoke.
‘Weather sounds a bit grim out there, Ma’am.’
Kate only huffed in response. You continued.
‘So, what’s this I hear about a damp armpit?’
‘L/N, stop buggering me about. Get me out of here.’
‘That’s the idea, Ma’am. Where even are you?’
Kate groaned, another blustery gale rippling down the line.
‘Splott.’
‘Bless you.’
‘Stop that. It’s in Cardiff, funny little place.’
‘I don’t know, Cardiff is quite well known these days.’
‘L/N...’
You ripped a post-it note from the pile on your desk and started artfully folding it into an origami lotus flower, still smiling.
‘Well, Cardiff’s not exactly off the face of the earth, is it? Just ask if the taxi can take you back to HQ. I’ll put in on the accounts.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why? Where’s the taxi driver?’
You heard a click of a lighter and a rough exhale.
‘Gone.’
‘What?!’ you sat forward, lotus flower discarded, brow suddenly etched with the first inch of real concern. ‘He left you there? It’s 2am.’
Kate’s cigarette crackled sheepishly.
‘Well, my choice of words wasn’t exactly professional,’ she mumbled. ‘I told him he should engage both sides of his brain before he gets behind the wheel of a vehicle. And that he had a stupid haircut.’
‘Oh, Ma’am!’
‘What?’ she scoffed as her audacity returned. ‘Am I not allowed to give negative feedback anymore?’
‘Ma’am, you have to be careful what you say to people. One day you’ll end up on TikTok.’
‘I’m not worried about that Tickety Clock nonsense. Besides, who confuses the Peak District with Splott?’
‘It wasn’t his fault, Ma’am, the coordinates come straight from HQ.’ you mumbled, typing into the transport database.
‘Well, that’s even worse! When I find whoever’s responsible I’ll...’
You turned your head slightly and looked back at the hapless colleague you knew had ordered the taxi that evening. He kept his head down but peeked up at you like he was concerned a stick of dynamite would suddenly find its way to his desk. Kate hadn’t yet mastered the art of telekinetic dynamite, but it was only a matter of time. You gave him a reassuring thumbs up and lowered your voice.
‘He’s brand new. First week. Not much between the ears, if I’m honest. And they’re quite the ears, too.’
‘I want his name!’
‘Ma’am, there’s no point, you’ll never have to cross paths with him,’ you sighed. ‘Now, do you want to know how you’re getting out of Splott?’
‘Dear God, yes.’
‘You’re not.’
‘What?!’
‘Well, not until later this morning. There aren’t any transports available. Unless you want me to get the chopper in.’
‘Do it!’ Kate guffawed.
You rolled your eyes.
‘Are you sure, Ma’am? Might cause a little bit of disturbance. You know how the press have been since you insisted on building the tower.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, is our new HQ not doing it for you? Would you like to go back to all of us working in a basement?’
‘I still work in a basement.’
‘Hm. Well, the basement at the new tower is nicer.’
You wouldn’t know, you wanted to say.
‘Ridiculous. This is ridiculous.’ Kate grumbled as a lorry swept past and sent a small cascade of puddle water over her Armani. ‘Oh, shit on it!’
You bit your lip despite yourself.
‘More ridiculous than that time you called the coast guard on the Isle of Wight?’
You heard her suppress a snort and knew she’d be rolling her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, but that seagull was enormous. If you’d been called in to investigate what the locals had called a sea monster with wings and came across that, you’d have panicked too.’
‘But calling the coast guard? What were they going to do?’
‘Well, they were very nice about giving me a lift back to shore.’
‘Did you ever go back to the Isle of Wight? I thought Gordy wanted to take you for your birthday?’ you asked, typing Kate’s geolocation into the system.
‘No chance,’ Kate fizzed around another drag. ‘That seagull might still be there.’
You smiled, scanning through information on the immediate area. Several chain hotels appeared, a 24-hour convenience shop, a local museum that was only open on Tuesday.
‘Well, you’re in luck tonight, Ma’am. There’s a fine looking establishment called The Sunshine Express about two streets over.’
Kate sighed. ‘And they have a room?’
‘Already booked it,’ you said lightly, clicking ‘confirm’ on their website. ‘It’s under the usual name.’
You sat back in your chair, swaying slightly as you listened to Kate grumble a bit as she stubbed out her cigarette beneath her boot.
‘Well, good, good. You’ve got my location?’
‘Of course, Ma’am. Go get some sleep.’
‘Hm.’
She hung up.
It wasn’t the first time you’d found Kate a hotel and it wouldn’t be the last, of course it wouldn’t. If it wasn’t an emergency summit in Geneva where everything but the public toilets were fully booked, it was a pitstop in Brooklyn to see an old friend who couldn’t possibly have Kate stay at her apartment, not with her husband there, oh no, that would be crossing a line.
It wasn’t just hotels, either. It was a late-night diner in Tokyo with only two options on the menu that Kate went back to every time. A wine bar in Nuremburg with the Riesling she liked and a garden that caught the last rays of the September sun. A restaurant right by Piazza San Marco that, somehow, wasn’t obscenely full and brought her a bottle of Barolo without being asked.
When she’d called from Prague and asked for something discreet, you’d told her about a speakeasy you’d discovered a few years ago on holiday. Kate listened attentively for as long as she could muster before admitting, coyly, that she was looking forward to bringing a guest along with her. You’d felt your stomach twist and the professionalism that so often evaded the pair of you suddenly drenched you like a storm as you made your excuses to end the call.
Late into the night, you indulged in the blackhole of ethics this job granted you, and accessed the CCTV from the speakeasy. Unable to stand looking at the grainy image of Kate sitting in a booth with a woman about your age with smoky eyes and sin in her smile, you shut down your computer and washed your hands in the staff toilets as if the hot water and soap could burn away what you knew was growing.
The thought of her pressed against someone, tasting of the absinthe you recommended, had you tossing and turning late into the day. The following shift, you’d forwarded all her calls to your colleagues and focussed on balancing the Geneva accounts. Kate never spoke about her dates again, but whenever she asked for a dimly lit bar in a new city, you were sure to turn off your headset early so you didn’t have to hear the husky drawl of her anticipation for a body that would never be your own.
After all, she’d never seen your face.
You didn’t take it personally. If anything, you wondered if Kate even realised you had a body attached to your voice, or whether she just assumed you were built into the walls of wherever UNIT occupied.
As for you, you’d only seen her in passing. A blonde head behind a misted glass door, a click of heels disappearing down a corridor you didn’t have clearance to enter. A few months ago, she’d stepped into the lift with you.
She didn’t look up from her phone, didn’t register anyone besides her own to-do list. You had eyed the shape of her shoulders and the well-tailored suit that hugged everything just enough to make you dizzy when you remembered it in the shower later. She'd tucked her hair behind her ear, offered a glint of a jewelled earring and a fine gold chain around her neck. When she reached her floor she left a faint cloud of magnolia and blistering reality behind.
Your headset buzzed again.
‘Ma’am?’
‘I made to the hotel, if you can even call it that. Nearly got into another altercation, mind you,’ Kate said breathlessly, fabric rustling softly as she removed her coat. ‘And the lift isn’t working!’
‘What altercation?’
‘Oh, the teenager behind the front desk. Told me she recognised me off the telly. Then she looked closer and said I thought you’d died.’
‘Who on Earth did she think you were?’
‘God knows. Anyway, this place has a bed, thank the stars.’
You rubbed your temples.
‘Are you needing anything else, Ma’am?’
‘Well, I was wondering when I can leave.’
You sighed, clicking through the database.
‘I can get a driver to come and get you at 07:00. Though I could make it later?’
‘Why on Earth would I want that?’
‘Possibly more than 4 hours of sleep?’ you ventured.
Kate let out a bark of a laugh before composing herself and clearing her throat.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’
You rolled your eyes as the line went dead.
After making yourself a coffee, you went back and looked over some images of the hotel that the database had thrown up. The expected faded sign, the complaints of duvets that sagged in the middle, rooms that were baltic in the winter and melted you alive in the summer. You pictured Kate trying to step into the limescaled shower cubicle, one long leg extended before thinking better of it and shrinking back. Hanging up her suit in a wardrobe with one hanger and a broken door that squeaked on its hinges, peering at herself in the mirror, running her hand through her hair as she wiped a streak of mascara from under her eye. Looking at her body in the half-light granted to the room from the street outside, slender hands roaming across her stomach, to the hem of her knickers. You sipped your coffee and let the thought hover, disappearing like steam.
You’d barely finished your drink before the headset buzzed.
‘Ma’am?’
‘I can’t sleep.’
You closed your eyes, gently clenching and unclenching your fist.
‘Right. Have you tried?’
‘Yes! Bloody hell.’
‘Alright, don’t bite my head off,’ you snapped.
You heard her pause, sighing softly.
‘Apologies, L/N. Turns out, when you get used to not sleeping, your brain decides to forget it entirely.’
You hummed, tracing the rim of your coffee mug with your index finger.
‘It’s like that for me sometimes, too. Night shifts. It’s hard enough trying to sleep in London when everyone else is, yet alone when they’re all awake.’
Kate murmured in agreement.
‘I often wonder how all of you manage,’ she simpered thoughtfully. ‘Does it get lonely?’
The question shot straight to your throat. You swallowed it down, ignoring the ache.
‘No,’ you said, too quickly. Kate was silent.
‘Well,’ she said, finally. ‘That’s good, then.’
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.
‘Ma’am? Just lay down. Turn off the lights. Close your eyes. If sleep finds you, great. If not, at least you’re still resting.’
Kate snorted softly.
‘That advice sounds like nothing but empty air.’
‘Try it, you’ve been in worse places than this,’ you smiled. ‘Remember when you had that 15-hour layover in Beijing?’
‘I do, funnily enough,’ Kate purred. ‘You tried to get me to do that guided meditation bollocks, didn’t you?’
‘It’s not bollocks!’ you guffawed. ‘You were just closed minded.’
‘Or I was in a crowded airport on an empty stomach, still reeking of extraterrestrial fluid, being told to say three things I was grateful for,’ she chided. ‘Like I said, bollocks.’
‘Do it now, then. Three things you’re grateful for. Go.’
Kate laughed, and you heard the bed springs creak as she shifted herself on the mattress.
‘Alright, then,’ she sighed finally. ‘Three things. Hm...’
You waited, eyebrow arched, twisting slightly in your chair.
‘Oh, come, Ma’am,’ you pressed. ‘A roof over your head? A booked taxi in three and a half hours?’
‘Yes, I’m very grateful for put up in The Shitshine Express with another day of motorways and small talk ahead.’
‘Alright, then,’ you said, her tone only making your heartbeat faster. ‘How about...being a natural blonde?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Blue skies?’
‘It’s night time.’
‘Dogs?’
‘I prefer cats.’
‘Hot baths?’
‘Takes too long, showers all the way.’
You laughed, pinching the bridge of your nose.
‘God, you’re a walking test of patience. Okay, how about...me?’ you uttered lightly.
Silence. It hung heavily on the line, crackled momentarily before giving way to Kate’s half-hearted scoff.
‘Goodness, we’re not getting sentimental, are we?’
Your stomach dropped.
‘N-no, obviously not. Christ,’ you chuckled shakily. Kate hummed, the reverb making the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention like her soldiers.
‘Not a bad option, though,’ she mused. ‘If I was really scraping the barrel.’
‘That’s me, down with the splinters,’ you mumbled. ‘Don’t get me under your nails.’
‘Then I’d have you there as well as in my ears,’ she chuckled.
‘Hm,’ you paused. ‘Me, all over you. How tragic.’
Kate took a sip of water. You heard her lick her lips, swallow, clear her throat.
‘Absolutely,’ she said, voice suddenly dry. ‘Well, this has been enlightening. I’m sure I can sleep now.’
‘Hope so. Goodnight, ma’am-’
The line went dead, again.
You pushed yourself away from your desk, grabbed your coat and made your way out of the office. The lights in the lift were oppressive as you pressed the button for the ground floor, rolling your shoulders back with a click as the box guided you upwards from the depths.
The summer night was still warm despite the deep indigo hue, and you leant against the wall at the base of UNIT tower with a cigarette between your lips simply staring at where the stars were hiding behind the layer of light and fumes. Around you, hired bikes clattered with beer-slick laughter and blended with taxi playlists and clarion calling sirens.
You thought of Kate in her awful hotel room, and your thighs clenched. Smoke slid lazily over the curl of your lips and drifted into the din.
In your bag, your headset buzzed. Your hands froze, watching the little light flash, heart suddenly hammering with what you realised all at once was frustration.
Back firmly pressed against the cool stone of the wall, you put on the headset and answered.
‘Yes, Ma’am?’
Nothing for a moment. You frowned, adjusting the volume.
‘Ma’am?’
‘L/N, I...’
You waited, bringing your cigarette to your lips and arching an eyebrow at the discovery that Kate could be hesitant.
‘I...I really don’t think I can sleep,’ she said, at last. You exhaled loudly. She let you wrap around her with your silence.
‘What would you like me to do about that, Ma’am?’ you broached coolly after a few ripe moments had gone. She swallowed.
‘I don’t know, L/N. I don’t bloody know.’
‘Lay down,’ you said suddenly. ‘Close your eyes, do it now.’
‘I beg your par-’
‘Close your eyes, and touch yourself.’
Your heart thumped harder as you realised what you were saying, fingers shaking as you held your cigarette tighter. Kate’s breathing was laboured.
‘I...’ she tried to hold her tone. ‘That is not...I...’
‘It works for me,’ you said. ‘Those mornings where I can’t sleep. Where I come home from another night of getting you onto another plane, into another bed. Where I hear your voice in my ears no matter what I do. I close my eyes and I touch myself. I fuck myself so I can sleep.’
Kate let out a shaky exhale.
‘Go on,’ you continued, matter-of-factly. ‘Just get on with it, it’s okay,’ you lowered your voice to barely a murmur that made Kate clench.
‘I won’t tell.’
A rustle of bedsheets, movement of a head on a pillow, turning it to the cool side. The snap of an elastic waistband. And silence.
‘Will you...stay on the line?’ she whispered. You tilted your head back and let the velvet of her voice wash over you.
‘L/N?’ you pressed, more urgently now. ‘I don’t think I can...not on my own...I...’
‘Sure,’ you said lightly, stubbing out your cigarette on the wall and taking another from the crumpled box. ‘I’ll help you come.’
Kate choked.
‘I didn’t mean...’
‘Yes, you did. It’s okay,’ you lit up the fresh cigarette. ‘I’m in your ear enough of the time anyway, hm?’
Kate swallowed hard.
‘Have you thought about this before?’ you grinned.
You heard her wet her lips, the duvet moving gently as she shifted her body.
‘Have you?’ you pressed. ‘In those beautiful cities all over the world, did you ever think it would come to this? Did you hope it would?’
A soft moan left Kate’s lips and slipped down to your core.
‘Tell me, Ma’am,’ you purred. ‘Have you ever dreamed of me fucking you?’
‘Yes...’ she gasped. The word hung in the air before you caught it between your teeth.
‘Good,’ you said dryly. ‘Spread your legs wide.’
The bed creaked as she did as she was told, your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought of her blonde head laid back so callously on the pillows.
‘Are you wet?’ you asked, your voice softening an inch. ‘It’s alright, don’t rush this.’
‘I...oh, God, your voice...’ she breathed. You heard her hand move down as the other held her earpiece steady, moaning gently as she ran a finger through her folds. ‘I couldn’t sleep...knowing you were...right here...’
‘Oh?’ you shook your head to yourself at the audacity, the slick rawness of those tiny hours. ‘Well, here I am. Right here, like you said. Listening to you fucking yourself imagining it’s me.’
‘God...’ she sighed.
You clenched as her words slipped into mewls and you remembered that magnolia scent, how it had carried a hint of her cigarettes. Her tobacco was richer than yours, sharper, like a cut across the jaw. You inhaled your smoke and let the burn linger in your throat.
‘I bet you taste sweet,’ you mused. ‘I’d press my tongue to your cunt until I could taste you for days.’
Kate moaned louder.
‘You’d leave your mark on me that way too, hm?’ you continued. ‘I’d have to leave you a mark of your own. Right on your thigh. Or your neck. I’d want everyone who sees you to know you’ve been fucked properly.’
You ran your fingers over your collarbones, across your neck, just behind your ears, and you shivered.
‘Your fingers are mine,’ you said. ‘Fuck yourself the way I’d fuck you. Feel how much your cunt wants me. Every throb, every pulse. I did that to you. Don’t waste it.’
‘God, L/N...’
‘You can’t even use my first name?’
‘I...oh...’
Your gaze hardened, eyes blazing with a new fire.
‘You’re about to come for me and you don’t know my name. Look at you.’
‘I want you, L/N, please...’
‘If you didn’t sound so desperate I might believe you, Ma’am,’ you smirked, shifting yourself so the wet fabric of your underwear grazed deliciously over your clit.
‘Fuck, I’m close!’
‘Move your hand away,’ you said lazily. ‘Now.’
Kate made a startled sound, the creaking of the bed stopping suddenly. You closed your eyes.
‘Please, I’m so close...’ she mewled. You shook your head.
‘No. You don’t get to come until you fully appreciate it. Fully appreciate the fact I’m in your ear, at your command.’
‘I do! I do, I truly do...please...fuck...’
‘You know you’ve got me on a leash, hm? You’ve got me on such a tight leash the only thing left for you to do with me is let me take over,’ you said. ‘All those beds you’ve claimed, but the one you’re in right now, that one belongs to me.’
Kate let out a shaky moan that was almost a cry, a plea for something you knew you couldn’t deny her for long.
‘You’re going to come, and you will thank me when you do it, and you will never, ever forget that you asked for this,’ you growled.
Kate could only whimper, breath ragged and bursting with need. You took a deep breath.
‘Feel how wet you are.’
Kate moaned as she obeyed. ‘I’m so...oh, please, L/N...’
‘Come for me,’ you said, your voice clear on the near-deserted city street.
Kate’s breath increased once again, her moans lost to shaky whimpers and iterations of you, as her fingers circled her clit maddeningly.
‘Come for me, Kate,’ you said, softer.
With a guttural moan of spun sugar, she spilled into the night and echoed through your head as you pocketed the sound.
She stayed silent save for her quiet panting for a long time. Your heart beating in your ears was louder. When you found your words, they didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Your phone buzzed. A message from your colleague: where are you?
‘Shit,’ you mumbled.
Kate stirred on the end of the line. You cleared your throat.
‘Ma’am? I-’
Nothing. The line went dead.
You stood frozen, heart still paying homage to a jackhammer, the swirl of the city keeping you centred like the eye of a storm. You blinked, removing your headset and placing it back into your bag.
You looked up at UNIT Tower, monolithic and illuminated against the inky sky, breathing the night into your lungs before you descended back into the basement to be a voice and nothing more.
sometimes it's less like there's masculine and feminine things and gender neutral things, it's more like. there's gendered things and there's ungendered things. masculine things are ungendered feminine things are gendered. masculinity is the default and femininity is the abberation, the Gendered Experience. pants are for everyone skirts are for girls. suits are for everyone dresses are for women. you know
and can we maybe think of why a lot of historical feminist pushes to make masculine things gender neutral worked and now in the current modern day nobody bats an eye if women wear pants, but men wearing feminine things is still a hot topic of debate at best and grounds for violent assault at worst? is there maybe a word for this phenomenon?
it's almost like there's. a male default. activities deemed masculine have a value considered self-evident. and also considered default experiences. a desire to participate in those is considered natural. and everything outside of that is considered "gendered" and therefore Marked, as like, lesser, unworthy,
i think the simplest example of this is things are nearly always a he at default, if it’s a fantasy creature *he’s* doing something, if it’s an inanimate object it’s often a *he* - everything must be attributed masculinity because that is a societal default and unless something explicitly preforms and acts out femininity in its entirety (and even if it does, that isn’t often enough as is the case with transmysogynists) it is a he in some way and even if *he* isn’t used it’s dude or bro or any other thing that can be dismissed as something other than male defaultism. That defaultism is a reward that can be seen when something is explained not to be a *he* when a fantasy creature is explained to be aligned with femininity or androgyny it’s no longer annoying or a fucker or anything it’s a bitch it’s a cunt it’s a whore it’s any misogynistic comment possible because the lack of maleness makes something lesser and require some kind of societal punishment
“my father is a boy and my mother is a girl so i’m mixed” is the funniest possible response to someone asking your gender and it came from 6’5 Viking footballer and notable weird little guy Erling Haaland on a Snapchat
"i know this show was made for children but i enjoy it too." > awesome and cool. watch whatever you want forever.
"i know it LOOKS like it was made for children but its SECRETLY for us. calling it a kids show is an insult cause kids could never understand these THEMES and EMOTIONS. we're the TRUE fans." > i dont think i trust your opinions. you seem lame as fuck.
Having your interests mocked as a kid and general low self esteem will have you insulting the things you like even when they're generally considered very good. Because you like it, and historically when you like something it's stupid and not worth anyone's time. So you will say nonsense like "I recommend this book/game/film, but it's okay if you hate it, it sucks, I really enjoyed it but that's because I'm an idiot" and you are recommending them the Citizen fucking Kane of that particular media type. And importantly: you need to stop doing this it is killing you
The Doctor when the shady guy that knows a suspicious amount of secret information that's stalking them and being flirty while also leaving cryptic riddles about world conquest turns out to secretly be the Master
This comment was left on a post about making the most of the Libby app. "Excessive use of generous lending policies" is the most absurd phrase I've ever seen anyone use to discuss libraries.
this gag NEVER fails to make me laugh. watching them all file in one by one and collectively laugh harder every time the next guy walks in…i could watch videos of this practical joke all day
whenever people say “it’s just a prank” about minor cruelty, remember: the people laughing hardest here are the people being pranked. you’ll notice that they aren’t hurt, or upset. they’re enjoying it. they feel loved and included.
everyone post your biggest hear me outs my friend just showed me two conventionally attractive white men in a row i need to teach him what a real hear me out is
I don't understand how cis people obsessed with gender norms think trans people are the weird ones. they're going around believing that your name has to correlate to your genitals. your fashion has to correlate to your genitals. your behaviours have to correlate to your genitals. your hobbies have to correlate to your genitals. who you date has to correlate to your genitals. whether you can put sparkles on your eyelids or not has to correlate to your genitals. and then people like me go "hmm. I might not do that. maybe I'll just do what feels fun and okay instead" and they LOSE their MINDS
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