#Angry Adam Productions

[thebutcher-5]

Firestarter - Tra letteratura e cinema

Benvenuti o bentornati nel nostro blog. Nello scorso articolo siamo tornati a parlare di film in live-action, rimanendo legati alle auto da corsa e al Giappone, recensendo delle opere più folli che abbia visto negli ultimi anni, Speed Racer. Speed è un pilota esordiente di auto da corsa, una passione che fa parte della famiglia, visto che i suoi genitori hanno un’officina indipendente e suo…

[justmywriting1313]

Stupid British Man (John Price x f!Reader)

This is fairly unfinished and an unedited product of my fixation on these stupid military man and every hurt/comfort scenario you can think of but nonetheless enjoy!

PS:- I would really really REALLY love some COD requests since thats where the inspiration for writing is flourishing soooooo yeah please send stuff in thank you<3

Summary: John's a great captain but like all men in love he is also a stupid british man!

Warnings: Talk and direct mentions of smexy times, no aftercare (but not intentional and will come in part 2)

Jonathan Price is a military man...

More than that, he is a captain and a military man...

A captain in the military needs to embody many qualities, one of the most important being the ability to remain strong and stable in the face of adversity, anchored and calm in uncertainty, and always aware of their surroundings, especially when confronted with unprecedented situations that demand logic and rationality.

It's a trait John was not only confident he possessed but one he prided himself on (considering he was the captain of three complete muppets at times). Yet, as he stands there in his flannel pajamas, his member still damp and somewhat aroused from the recent pounding he gave you not five minutes ago, a warm washcloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, John has never been more flabbergasted in his life as he watches you cutely jump to pull your leggings up over your waist.

You had already fastened your bra and were now pulling your old university shirt over your head, a shirt John had previously loved. However, given that he had finally slept with you after a two-month deployment, he would prefer to see you in his clothing or nothing at all. Therefore, the sight of the worn-out piece of cloth offended him, to say the least. Even more so, because neither of you had received a lick of aftercare and the lack of it was making him antsy. Instead of waiting for him in bed like you should have, you were rummaging through your duffel bag for something John couldn't be bothered to inquire about. He was certain that nothing was important enough for you to leave the sheets before he had a chance to clean you up properly. So, with as much calm as he could muster, he said,

"What on fuckin' earth are you doing?

The heavy, accented voice of the captain makes you jump as you straighten up, not having heard him come in. You whirl around to face the man you have been infatuated with since your first meeting, the same man who fulfilled so many of your fantasies over the last few hours and is now standing in the doorway of his room with a flabbergasted look about his rugged face. The tears you had been doing a good job of suppressing so far immediately reappear, though you were adamant about not letting them fall… God forbid you be known on base as the girl who cries after sex. Instead, you give him a smile before turning away as you begin to wrangle your hair into a ponytail and reply,

"What do you mean, what am I doing, John?"

John can only splutter at your nonchalant response, his brain having completely short-circuited… Clearly, something is lost in translation.

You only shrug at his shock before continuing to gather your spread-out things into your small bag, trying your best to curb the small, pathetic whimper that is bound to leave your lips if you spend any more time in this man's room surrounded by so much of him. Instead, in the heavy silence of the room, you mull over the events of what got you in his bed in the first place…

You and John met 8 months ago when you were brought onto his military base as a licensed psychologist specialising in psychotherapy for young adults. Your main job was to work with the younger recruits, which included the ones trained by John's own men. John can still recall the first time he saw you as you came barreling in through his door, your angry voice bouncing off the walls of his office. You were a small thing, barely reaching the bottom of the man's chest, with long hair and high cheekbones. You were dressed in leggings that flared at the bottom and drove John insane, with a striped sweater on top, your soft curves visible through the knitted material.

You were the most tender thing he had seen on base, and despite all this softness, you squared off against the military captain, demanding to speak to his lieutenant and give the man a piece of your mind for traumatizing your recruits more than any battlefield could. John had never been rash a day in his life, and yet he had promised himself he would make everything and anything to do with you a personal matter.

You, on the other hand, had not perceived the butterflies the older Brit gave you until the next day when he had come knocking on your door. Dressed in a tight shirt and his camo pants, he was every girl's dream. It didn't help the butterflies in your stomach when he looked down at you with soft eyes while properly introducing himself. He then led you to the rec room of his task force where his lieutenant was sitting and brooding.

Thus began eight long months… Months of teasing glances exchanged across busy meeting rooms that made him grin and you blush. Soft touches shared either against the back of your hand when you stood side by side or across your cheek as he tucked your hair back. Eight long months of late-night talks where he would seek you out, wherever you were, with a drink of your choice in his hand and an endearing look about him as he let you jabber about how you miss baking and he told you about his parents. Eight months spent with your heart in your mouth as you watched him leave with his team, a desperate prayer for his safety on your lips as he held you against him the night before, limbs tangled together innocently yet intimately. Eight months of yearning that would only grow stronger every time he came back, his eyes finding you in a sea of military personnel and lighting you on fire each time.

And despite all this wanting, two months ago, the night before he was sent out for the longest mission yet, you overheard him with Ghost in the rec room. The box of cupcakes you smuggled into the base held tightly as the tall, rough captain unknowingly broke your heart.

"You say professional sir but everyon' sees the way you look at 'er... the little medic..." "Don't know what you're talkin' about Simon..." Price chuckles and you assume Ghost gives him a look as John continues, "Hell even if I wanted to and I am no' saying I do, I cant do anything about it can I?... she's a kid AND she's military personnel" "Then the late nights in your office are what... just meetings to go over paperwork yeah? Just a little overtime is that it?" "Come on gotta pass the time between deployments somehow" "Is that so then mind if I tell Soap–"

Thats all you had the stomach to hear, although had you stuck around you would have heard the captain confess his love. Instead you made your way to his office where you left the box of baked goods on his table and fled to your room. You spent the night muffling your tears as you came to terms with what you were to John versus what John is to you... The following morning, as you waved some of your recruits bye, your eyes met John's hurt ones, his gaze heavy with questions about where you were last night but you looked away.

Unbeknownst to John his worst worry was coming true when the two months of his deployment gave you enough time to misunderstand your importance to him. That while John was the sun to you, you were a small star in a distant galaxy that had no hope of being anything more than that... And yet you knew you would take anything he gave you, no matter how much it would hurt.

Which is why when he knocked on your room door in the middle of the night, his hair still wet from the shower he had barely managed to squeeze in, eyes tired, lost, and desperate you didn't hesitate. You didn't hesitate when his arms went around your waist drawing you into his chest, head pressed into the crook of your neck as you pressed him into you. You didn't resist or clue him on the turbulence in your head when he pulled away although barely. His hands moving from gripping the back of your shirt to your waist, grip tight as he hefted you into the air forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. Any shock on your part absorbed by his mouth as his lips found yours, your hands coming to hold his face. The kiss was desperate, it was messy. A clash of tongue and teeth as he quickly took control. You hadn't stopped to think or really breath, instead letting John fill the crevices of your mind as he carried you through the empty hallways of the barracks. Somewhere in the back of your head you wondered how no one spotted you but you were quickly distracted by his hand on your ass which kept you pressed up against him. The other on the back of your neck never letting you pulling away long enough and following your mouth as you did so. You never stopped to spill the pent up hurt that had festered unknown to the man as you whimpered into his mouth when his fingers found just the right spot, his muttered praises only getting you to your finish faster...

Your little trip down memory lane as you stuffed another shirt into your bag gave John time to get over his shock, taking a deep breath as he placed the washcloth and bottle on his nightstand. His surprise was now replaced by a desire to fix the situation.

Another aspect of being a captain was observing people, learning to read the little things about how people behaved, and now that the shock had worn off, that's what John set about doing. He watched the tension in your back gather as you stuffed your things into your bag… mementos left over from other nights that John treasured. Things that he would be pulling out of the bag as soon as he had things sorted. He watched with narrowed eyes as your face got redder, the desperation with which you were trying to hold yourself together scaring him…

Something was wrong, and he had been so consumed by his need to see you, to feel you, to know that you were alright, that he didn't stop to consider how things had been left off… To remember that you never came to his room the night before he left and that you didn't look at him at the drop zone. John realized then that whatever had upset you that night had two months to fester in your mind and that he couldn't let you leave in any capacity before everything was laid out.

He shuffled his way over to your figure as you rummaged for your ID card in your bag, needing it to get back to your room. His large hands slid into place on either side of your waist. You jolted at the sensation, registering that his hands were warm while straightening up. John didn't let your tensing stop him as he gently turned you around, his grip turning a little forceful when you tried to resist, but eventually you gave in. Your splotchy cheeks and bitten lips greeted him, and he couldn't help himself when he pressed his lips against your forehead, muttering into your skin as he did so,

"Sweetheart... whats going on?" "What do you mean John?" "I mean whats going on... whats got you packin' up your bag hmmm? Can't imagine you've got an important meetin' this time of the night have you? We also hadn't really finished had we?"

Johns doing his best to catch your eye as he talks but its futile when you keep your gaze steady on anything but his face.

"You wanted to go again?"

John balks at that response. Is that really why you think he wants you to stay? Is that really what you think of him?

"What? No no darlin' I mean you were up before I gotta chance to clean you up... I don't know about the men you've been with before sweet girl but a gentleman cleans up his lady... and of course a cuddle after..."

He pouts through the last part though you don't look up to see it. Your eyes remain trained on his muscular neck and John does his best to remain patient. He knows you, no matter how foreign your apprehension of him may feel right now. He knows you and he knows you're hurting which is why you're avoiding his eyes because the minute he gets you to see him you break,

"Oh... oh you don't have to John... I'm alright I can just go, I'm sure you're tired and want to rest and i don't want to keep you..."

John groans lowly in frustration at you not getting his point, his grip subconsciously tightening as if you would run off the minute he lets go and to his credit thats not a difficult situation to imagine,

"Fuckin' hell, okay sweetheart lets try this another way. Why do you think you have to go anywhere huh? I though' we could lay down and have a cuddle... even took the day off tomorrow to spen' it with you yeah? Want to know what you've been up to? Maybe step off the base and take you out for a proper meal?"

With each word out his mouth your confusion and hurt climb reaching a crescendo until your ears are ringing and you need to get away from this sweet talking brit before you crumble. However, Johns a stubborn man particularly when he sets his mind to something so no amount of squirming on your end makes him let you go as you begin to blabber each source of pain out in the open,

"Let me go, let me go, let me go John... You're so mean you know that? So so so mean... You come into my life all soft and sweet and gentle with me calling me pretty things that I've only imagined being called and you came in and made me care about you when I was so happy in my own bubble but still I started to care and then I find out its only for me to be something you pass time with nothing more and then you come back and I love you so much that ill take anything I can get from you even if its one night and then you have the audacity to stand there and be all sweet and caring when you and I both know that this will never be anything more and you know what maybe I am a child because this is too much–"

Your ranting is cut off by John whose own pulse has become frantic at all that you've laid out before him. You love him! Wait why do you think this is a one night thing? what do you means passing the time? One hands grips your upper arm, the other forcing your face up to look at him as your fists continue to push but to no avail,

"Whoa whoa okay look at me... look at me sweet girl... not letting you go until I ge' your eyes on me yeah? You can fight all you wan' but 'm not letting go until you get you damn eyes on me yeah? Come on... there you go good girl now what do you mean something to pass time with huh? What got that daft idea into that pretty head or that this would be a one night thing? Talk to me yeah "

John's barely finished before the words escape you in a breathless sob

“You, you stupid British man!”

Okay I was too excited to post it so here but if the reception to it is you know good ill post the second bit which is already written 👀

As always please reblog yes? yes okaieee byee

[kudouusagi]

Utsumi interview in April PASH

There are spoilers for the OVA so I'm putting it all under the cut

Q: Please tell us any memories you have of the time you were making the character named Shindou Ainosuke (ADAM). Also, did you feel that the character “transformed” as the production progressed? A: When we first started working on the screenplay, I couldn't really picture what his position as a last boss was, and so I felt a bit conflicted about him. After studying other works and adding elements that were unique to him, he became what he is today but I never expected him to become the way he is...... His perversion and violence are his defining features, and I think the decision to include the former was made once the mask was decided. However, if he goes too far, he would become unclassy, so we had to control how much we used it, and I think it's really because Koyasu-san was such a classy Ainosuke (ADAM) that he become the character he is today. Q: What do you think makes Ainosuke (ADAM) so lovable? A: In 3rd place: The fact that when he gets excited, he wants to dance and starts tap dancing. In 2nd place: The fact that when he first came into contact with Langa, he tried not to touch him but that just made it seem like he was too conscious of it and made it seem even more perverted. In 1st place: The fact that when Langa hugged him in episode 5, he malfunctioned and started skating in circles and saying "Love... Love... Lovelyyy~~♡♡♡". It's adorable to think that he was so happy that he broke. Q: What is something you thought was important regarding the interactions between Ainosuke and Kikuchi in the series? A: During the first season I was conscious of the sharp, tense atmosphere between them because of their feud, but in the OVA, I assumed their scenes would take place after the first season ended, so the relationship between them is new. I can't really say what what their relationship is now, but it's definitely not the same as before. Q: Please tell us more about Ainosuke's school days! A: There are a lot of mysteries about Ainosuke's school days, aren't there? We have only determined what we have shown in the story so this is just my personal opinion...... But I imagine that he's able to do everything better than most people and so he probably found his classmates boring. That's why he was so absorbed in skating...... and thinking about that makes me sad so I'd like to see him attending class in gym clothes or a swimsuit. Q: There's just a little over a month left until Ainosuke's birthday (May 1st)! If you were to give him a present, what would it be? A. Huh!? I feel like if I tried to give it to him I'd be hit by a board but.... I'll be brave and give it...... I'll try to give him a giant rice ball made by Langa! I can do it! Let me have a go!!!

To the left, Utsumi wrote a letter to ADAM to celebrate his birthday.

Dear Shindou Ainosuke, Have you been doing well? This might be a little early, but happy birthday. I laughed when I saw that the request from the PASH staff this time was for a pinup of you on horseback. I'm sorry, please don't hit me. This is just proof that everyone loves you. I was happy that we were able to see a peak of various aspects of you in the OVA. When I saw you swinging the board around I got goosebumps. It's a terrifying technique. I'll continue cheering you on from behind the scenes. Sincerely, Utsumi Hiroko March 2025 PS: I made sure to hide your ass in the shower scene so please don't be angry with me.

[theforgottenmcrmy]

For the Love of Candied Lemons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: absolutely none, this is purely fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra's latest craving results in a rather embarrassing incident for you, and a frightening one for Harwin.

A/N: I most fucking embarrassingly am a citizen of the “democracy” that is the US. I hope you can find some enjoyment in this product of my coping, however small. I put enough context in here that you hopefully don’t need to have read it, but this is a one shot idea from a larger story of mine called Growing Strong, the master list of which can be found HERE.

“Seven hells- Princess Rhaenyra’s message said I would find you here.”

Feeling slightly betrayed, but mostly embarrassed, you let out a frustrated huff. “I did not mean for her to send for you.”

“I have no doubt that the Princess’s intent was genuine. She only wants to ensure that you are well,” Harwin placated soothingly. He took another slow step in your direction, glancing about your shared chambers with a look of mild interest as he did so. “Though I am curious as to why you were brought here. Wouldn’t the Maester’s chambers have been more sufficient?”

“Grand Maester Mellos was a rather unfortunate witness to the … incident,” you replied carefully. “He rushed to assist me at once, and our chambers were far closer than his office.”

The maester in question, who had been gathering up the last of his supplies, hummed thoughtfully to himself. Sparing you a small smile, he chimed in, “All things considered, Lady Tyrell, the injuries you sustained could have been far, far worse.”

“But?” you prodded with a smile of your own, not bothering to hide the hopefulness in your tone.

“But, apply this salve a few times a day, ensure the cuts are kept clean, and all shall heal just fine.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Harwin thanked him sincerely. Sneaking in a teasing glance your way, your husband added, “I shall personally ensure that the Lady Tyrell heeds your advice faithfully.”

Grand Maester Mellos bobbed his head in silent acknowledgement, before rising to his feet and leaving the room. As soon as the door your shared chambers closed, Harwin was upon you at once.

“Let me see,” he pleaded, though you knew it was not a demand, but rather a request for your permission. Whenever it came to you, Harwin never acted without it.

You begrudgingly met his inquisitive gaze, and allowed yourself to be subject to his thorough scrutinization of your current state. His careful hand slowly rose alongside your face, and you allowed your head to tilt backward with his gentle guiding, giving him full visibility of the multitude of scrapes that now marred your chin.

After a moment, Harwin dropped his hand, and turned his attention to yours. You presented your palms openly towards him, allowing him to pour his eyes over the additional cuts that littered the otherwise smooth skin. 

Your husband slowly traced one of the more visibly angry gashes, and you flinched involuntarily.

Harwin immediately offered a hushed apology. “What happened, My Love?”

You broke away from his loving gaze, looking down at your palms with shame. “It’s all rather embarrassing… And the truth of it is, I’m still not precisely sure what happened.”

Harwin reached for your hands once more, mindfully grasping at the uninjured sides of them. As you allowed yourself to take some comfort from the gesture, he suggested, “Perhaps it is best you start at the beginning, then?”

“Your sisters and I were strolling the gardens with Princess Rhaenyra,” you recalled. “Suddenly, she wished for some candied lemons.”

Harwin’s expression shifted from one of curiosity to sudden understanding.

As a lady in waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, who had recently discovered herself to be with her first child, you had been adamant in seeing to her every need and whim. While it would have been expected of you, given your official position, Harwin knew that you had placed additional pressure upon yourself to see that Princess Rhaenyra was well looked after. Though your time in King’s Landing had been short in comparison to others, in that time you had quickly developed a genuine kinship with and affection for Rhaenyra, sentiments that Harwin believed were reciprocated.

“The kitchens are so far away from the gardens, as you know,” you continued to explain. “By the time we would have sent word, and then waited for the candies to be prepared… I thought it would have been futile. I volunteered to go to the kitchens myself.”

“And so you did.”

“And so I did,” you confirmed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes once more. “I was on my way from the kitchens, headed back to the gardens. And as I was descending the stairs outside of the Small Council Chambers, I could not see my feet. I think my skirts may have gotten twisted perhaps, and…”

“...And?”

“Before I knew it, my feet were above my head, candied lemons went flying through the air, and I went tumbling down the stairs.”

Despite the situation, you could have sworn the corners of Harwin’s pursed lips flinched upwards.

“I managed to break my fall on the very bottom step with my hands, but not before my chin got a good go of it. Grand Maester Mellos saw everything, naturally. The Seven weren’t so kind as to spare me an audience for this grand mishap. He whisked me away at once to see to these cuts… And, now that things have calmed and some clarity has returned, I believe he also sent a page to inform Princess Rhaenyra of what had transpired. Given your presence now, I assume she in turn sent for you.” You paused briefly, feeling embarrassment overcome you once more. “I still cannot believe you rushed all the way back to the Red Keep from Flea Bottom solely on my account.”

Harwin’s patrols as a Gold Cloak of the City Watch kept him busier more often than not. You had never faulted him for it; copious amounts of your own time was spent carrying out your duties to Princess Rhaenyra.

“Judging by the ominous look on the messenger boy’s face, I did not feel as though I had much of a choice.” Your husband sighed tiredly, his eyes flickering over your various abrasions once more.

Suddenly, he placed a quick, firm kiss on your cheek. You felt them grow hot once more, although this time it was not with embarrassment.

“It pains me to see you injured, even in these small ways,” Harwin confessed. “Though I cannot deny that it brings me great relief to see that these cuts are all you have to show for a ‘tumble down the stairs’... It did not take great effort on my part to imagine the worst.”

You reached for his hands then, ignoring the stinging sensations in them that rapidly followed. “Truly, I shall be quite alright, Dearest. The only thing that was gravely injured today was my pride. A lady of House Tyrell, tripping and bumbling down a staircase like a waddling child? … Gods, I hope my brother never hears of this. He will not let me live this down.”

Harwin rolled his eyes, but the gesture was without annoyance or malice. “Between jousting and tournaments or simply training out in the yard, I am certain Lord Tyrell has taken more than a few falls of his own. An accident was all that this was, My Love. And an accident is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.”

You blushed. “You are kind- too kind, perhaps. While I appreciate your concern, I truly did not wish for you to permanently abandon your post for the day. I will not keep you to myself; go on and return to the city. I shall see you later tonight.”

Harwin scoffed. “Surely you jest. The Commander gave me leave to see to it that you are well. It seems only fair that I should ensure your wellness continues for the duration of the day.”

You smiled. “You wish to spend the day with me?”

Between Harwin’s patrols with the City Watch, and your own duties to Princess Rhaenyra, the opportunity to spend any significant time with one another during the day was seldom found.

You shook your head, attempting to quell your rising hopes. “As much as I love the thought, Dearest, I did promise Princess Rhaenyra those candied lemons…”

“I would not keep you from your duties, either.” Harwin held out a hand to you, standing fast; he was not going anywhere. “Mayhaps you will allow me to accompany my Lady Wife to retrieve more candied lemons from the kitchens?” 

Grinning, you took his hand. As you carefully rose to your feet, you offered him a teasing smile. “How could I ever refuse such a generous and noble offer?”

Harwin winked. “I was hoping you’d be agreeable to it.”

“And why is that, Dearest?”

You intertwined your arm with his, daintily resting your scraped hand on the crook of his elbow. As you leaned into him, and rested your head on his upper arm, Harwin gently turned and began to lead the two of you over to the door. The pace was leisurely, the moment calm and intimate. The realm existed outside the closed chamber door, but for now, the world was comprised entirely of just the two of you.

As Harwin reached for the door handle, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Lemon candies are replaceable. But you, My Love, are not.”

[sun-snatcher]

May i have a blurb of Haytham Kenway… a taste… pretty please…

( all credits to @giffedit for this incredible gifset! )

✠ | insufferable ; haytham kenway

summ. Bickerings oft lead to equally heated conclusions. a/n.  A TASTE you say? Here’s 1k of an angry, enemies-to-questionable-allies makeout. No actual smut, but NSFW themes, ofc.

YOU CAN’T RECALL how you got here.

Here, by way of meaning: 

Pinned against Templar Grandmaster Haytham Kenway’s paper-strewn work desk, inkpot spilled over and staining the cuffs of your sleeves, with his hands roving down your sides and your hips pressed hard against his.

“You,” he rasps, bordering a growl. “Are an insufferable woman.”

The proximity, the heat of your panting mingling with his�� it’s blistering. Feverish. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him. 

You tighten the bracket of your thighs around his waist, tip the tricorn hat off his head with a defiant scowl. “You should’ve never inducted me into your Order, then, Master Kenway.”

Right. Yes. You vaguely remember now. It’d been yet another typical heated argument; another disagreement and row borne from dredging up old wounds of your ex-Assassin history, of Haytham’s present and obvious distaste of it, despite the fact you’ve proven yourself worthy to the Templars more than once alongside Shay.

Earlier, you’d barely finished your tirade (“You and your dastardly cloak make me so—!”), hands thrown in the air when the ironclad grip of Haytham abruptly circled your wrist.

The others had known better than to interfere when you’d practically been yanked into the Grandmaster’s study for an upbraiding. 

Or, well, what they thought would be an upbraiding.

“Then let us be free of this months-long tension,” Haytham had hissed, instead. “More productively.”

So here you are. Rough-housed and man-handled. You hitch at the bumps and the scolding nips he makes, try to return the same wanton fervor to his jaw and his Adam’s apple, but to no avail. Haytham is a looming shadow, greater than you not just by rank and experience but by sheer, dizzying strength— 

The vicious kisses he bullies against the bitten-red of your lips are charged and ardent. Meant to force you into some semblance of submission; to be docile. Has you gasping for air and resisting him the satisfaction of a moan when he gropes at the flesh of your thighs. 

“Master Kenway,” you choke, nuzzling into the slope of his neck, unable to stop yourself from indulging the heady, masculine, salt of it with an eager tongue.

He groans at the high and tight way you address, call, plead for him, sounding like prey at the mercy of an untamed, starved beast. 

It makes you grin when you realise. Coy as a fox and full of guile. Haytham can feel it curl across his cheek, in your slow languorous tease as you snark, “And here I thought you hated me.”

“Hate is an inadequate term,” he censures, mouthing hot and humid against your skin. “There are no words in any bloody language that can encompass just how— you make me feel.”

It’s a raw confession, as mean and as bitten out as it is. A honeyed, double-edged sword. You make a mental note of it anyway, and try not to contemplate the fact that you have this much power over the Grandmaster Templar, nor let it get to your head— whatever he means by his words. 

“And what, exactly, do you feel?” Your hand expertly wanders past his belt. The innocent petal-touch strikes a lightning bolt of want surging through him. Makes him twitch. “This?”

Haytham doesn’t deign to give you an answer, unsurprisingly. He hates not being in control, after all, and so he makes quick work to put you back in your place: below rank, through yet another savage kiss, a guttural warning nosed on the scant space just below your ear that leaves you subconsciously keening closer.

It does poorly to satiate him. The dangerous yen for something more brutal still burns molten in his stomach; something that tastes warmer. There’s still the bitter anger and bruised pride he holds from the arguments before, and for the ones that’ll surely come after. The blatant disrespect you show whenever you bare your teeth at him, as if he isn’t your superior. 

He wants— no, needs— to sink into you, to see you shut up and aching to be ruined with the thick of him—

“I’ll make you wear nothing but this ‘dastardly’ cloak of mine one day,” Haytham grinds out, voice rough-hewn from his wet and growing appetite. “And then spread you out and take my time with you.”

He greedily licks a stripe up your throat as he says it, carves the whine that escapes you into his memory.

“One day?” Your scoff is breathless and stilted. The feel of his teeth grazing your jugular is intoxicating. “I reckon you’ll— hah— hardly deliver now, Master Kenway, to— warrant another chance after this.”

(Regardless, you entertain the idea. Have entertained, to be more specific. You’ve imagined what it’s like on lonelier nights.

To have him hike your legs up his broad shoulders, tangle your fingers through his perfectly kempt hair. Catch the flash of his wry, canine-sharp smile, rare as they are; face soaked and telling over his nose and down his lips from where you’d have shut him up by forcefully burying him between your thighs and cushioning into your—)

You expect the usual blaze of anger. A challenging snarl. Instead:

“Oh?” Haytham laughs.

Laughs.

And Christ alive— that dark, daring and depraved rumble huffed at your sweat-slicked nape shouldn’t have made you more pliant; more eager for him, but it does. It feels like the damning prelude of an already losing war, now, the way he’s forced your full weight down with such frightening ease onto the desk to look up at him. 

There’s an ominous calm before a storm, brewing frostily in his dilated eyes. He’s conceding, you realise.

And then—

“Tell me to stop,” Haytham breathes. 

It’s the least insulting tone he’d taken with you yet since you’d first begun arguing. A fragile moment of clarity. 

In uncharacteristic tenderness, you feel him thumb gently at your cheek. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, “You have my word.”

Something soft unfurls deep in your ribcage. Takes flight.

“Don’t,” you whisper, trying not to shudder at the English gentlemanly-ness he so likes to wholly fashion himself with to hide his wild, beastly nature— that you’ve so liked to repeatedly claim you found irksome. You tighten your grip reflexively.

(Darling, dearest, dove. You never admit it, but the classy posturing has always been an attractive feat of his. Something about wolves in sheep’s clothing, you think. Something about being rabidly taken for his own animalistic pleasure—) 

“Don’t you dare, Kenway.”

And so the delicate moment passes. Haytham surges his head forward to steal a kiss from you again, inhales a lungful of your cloying scent that’s mixed with the sea-winds from the weeks of sailing aboard the Morrigan.

“Mh,” he hums in assent, nosing his way from your hairline down to the juncture of your neck; letting his calloused hand mould wide around the thin, bare skin of it to feel your bated breath and rapid pulse. He could snuff you out like a light in an instant. (And he supposes you like the thrill of that as much as he does.)

“Then I believe I ought to teach you a lesson or two about respect, dear.” 

Haytham pulls away and cocks his head. As if thinking. As if he hadn’t imagined this a hundred times over since he’d met you, in the darkest hour of every restless night when he’s alone with nothing but his fist jerking between his legs.

“How about we put that smart mouth of yours to good use first?”

[anghraine]

The Memory Alpha wiki is helpful at times, but also really frustrating, because yeah, it's a wiki, and it's limited by its users like any wiki. But I've got two major issues with it, one really major and one ... sometimes a big deal and sometimes minor, but annoying at best.

1— The big issue: the wiki tends to whitewash the production histories of the show while also providing the most convenient and broadly detailed histories of each episode's production. So it's easy to rely on their versions, but if you do so, you're going to miss some really important things. For instance, Memory Alpha mentions that Shimon Wincelberg, the writer of "Dagger of the Mind," used "S. Bar-David" as a pseudonym, and that he was Jewish (his family fled Nazi pogroms in the 30s) and that:

He incorporated several references to Jewish parables into the screenplay.

There's no explanation on either the episode page or the page for the Bar-David pseudonym as to why Wincelberg used a pseudonym, or what the Jewish references in the episode even are. But if you go to Wikipedia, the plot thickens:

Shimon Wincelberg originally wrote a reference to Hillel the Elder's "Torah on one leg" parable, but Roddenberry mandated an attribution to "the ancient skeptic." Wincelberg, incensed by Roddenberry's rewrites, requested a name change to S. Bar-David for the airing.

If you go back to the aired episode, the villain (Dr. Adams) specifically dismisses Kirk's (entirely justified) skepticism in the context of "the ancient skeptic who demanded of the wise old sage to be taught all the world's wisdom while standing on one foot." The line about "all the world's wisdom" is "the Torah" if you check the source of this, and "the wise old sage" is either Hillel or his rival Shammai. So Wincelberg's script explicitly associates the Adams-Kirk conflict with a very major Jewish figure whom Adams evidently expects Kirk to know about, and Wincelberg was angry enough about Roddenberry's excisions that he wouldn't put his own name to the script. But the reference to a science lab Christmas party on the Enterprise is allowed to remain, and Helen's surname Noel is an unsubtle reference to Christmas.

If you follow the Wikipedia citation from that discussion, you get a whole article from 2015 about the tension between Roddenberry's intense antisemitism and the influence of Jewish culture on Star Trek. The article includes a discussion of a conversation between its writer and Leonard Nimoy himself:

"Gene was anti-Semitic, clearly," Nimoy replied as my heart sank. "Roddenberry had Jewish associates; Bill (Shatner) and I were both Jewish, as were others. To be fair, Roddenberry was anti-religion. And apart from being a ethnic-cultural entity, Jews, to him, were a religious group. But I saw examples not only of him practicing anti-Semitism, but of him being callous about other peoples' differences as well."

The article's ultimate conclusion is not remotely "fuck Star Trek"—it deeply loves it, in fact—but the legacy is fraught and complex. So that seems rather a lot to just breeze past, and Memory Alpha does this pretty regularly (the references to Grace Lee Whitney's ouster are often incredibly vague, for instance).

2— A sometimes lesser but still significant issue with the wiki is that it takes a very contemporary, Wookieepedia-style, canon-welding approach to very different, not-especially-cohesive ST projects that ... I don't like as an approach to Star Wars, either, but which feels particularly egregious for Star Trek, which I think has traditionally taken a looser, healthier, less continuity-obsessed approach to storytelling.

So, for instance, in TOS, the conflict between the Federation and the Gorn is a tragic misunderstanding; the Gorn are defending themselves against colonization. The twist the entire episode is built on is the revelation that the Gorn are the injured parties and aren't monsters at all (when the Gorn is winning the combat, he tells Kirk things like, "Wait for me. I shall be merciful and quick" and "Captain, let us be reasonable"). The Federation erred in colonizing their homes. The culmination of the episode is Kirk's defiant refusal to kill his Gorn opponent, or have the Gorn ship/crew destroyed when he has the chance; he instead chooses to try and talk to them and negotiate peace. SNW has, let's say, a rather different take on the Gorn. If you project SNW!Gorn backwards onto "Arena" to weld it all into one canon, you basically have to sacrifice the whole sense and point of the original episode (which was criticizing colonialism!) in the interests of some forced, anodyne continuity.

Memory Alpha sometimes notes continuity "issues" like these, but is never really willing to treat different projects as distinct narratives apart from the alpha/beta distinction. If you look at the citations for various statements about "canon," for instance, you'll see TOS, the original movies, TNG/DS9/VOY, AOS, SNW, and others all thrown in together into some kind of canonicity blender, without it even being clear which statement belongs to which canon. And that approach to ST is especially hard on Trek that had something important to say that's been smoothed away in the modern era of glossy but often much less ambitious Paramount productions.

[simkoos]

in between building and trying not to drive myself crazy with my indecisiveness, i've been populating my save with men™

adam bardot, 27: local fuccboi, usually spotted at the boba shop shooting his shot with the vendor

barry king, 72: self-made millionaire (or so he claims), owns the 'kingpin gentlemen's club' in del sol valley. he's lowkey forcing his son to take over the business after his retirement

bryn chamberlain, 22: youngest of 4 siblings. he makes bank on simhub but his parents believe he's simply tipped well at the fancy seafood restaurant in downtown san sequoia 🤷

houston morrisey, 26: lowkey has anger issues and denies it while being argumentative and angry... an amazing photographer, loves media production and any music genre as long as it can be played loudly. always in competition with his best friend shayne

jaxon guzman, 31: kinda unhinged, you just don't know what goes on in that mind of his. freaks out customers works at a marijuana dispensary in del sol valley and has a gf that's equally unhinged

kevin offerman, 25: studies early childhood development at ubrite, loves 2000's pop music, green tea and cozy video games. he's also hope and jamison's nanny 🤍

kieran panzacola, 33: looks tough bc he is. definitely the strong and silent type but has a super soft spot for his puppy maddie ;-;

kristian wang, 21: lifestyle influencer from san myshuno, rarely interacts with sims not in his social circle. claims to be humble and down to earth while bragging about purchasing his first home at 19

myles cook, 26: has tons of friends, the guy to go to if you wanna know where the best parties are. lost count of the amount of piercings he has but wants more smh (if you can't tell i love my alt boys sm)

noel easley, 20: lives solely on ramen, granola bars and mcdonald's french fries. very easy going, is absolutely loved by his friends and peers. he's also an expert at crochet and sells his creations on plopsy! (pls buy a hat he needs more fries)

prof. cliff woodruff, 55: foxbury's renowned robotics professor, divorcee, father of 2 and sugar daddy. 👀

shayne goins, 25: friendly but mysterious, wants to be a rockstar when he grows up, has 3 unrequited love interests bc of his fear of vulnerability and commitment :((( always in competition with his best friend houston

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: I'm sorry for misleading everyone, Vexi hasn't been licking actual doorknobs in the airport. She drank at a airport bar- I'm sorry, lounge- and biologically that's the same thing. And what did it get her?! What did it get us?! Angstmas dressed up in a Smutmas hat!

Summary: You had a simple request for Adam- All you wanted for Christmas was a new charger plug for your tablet. It was a small, simple request, something well within his powers even with the household's limited financial budget. When he fails to even get that right, you have a gift of your own to fill his Christmas stocking... (Guest starring Vexi's BLT sandwich)

CW: Dub con, strap on, unprepped anal sex, vibrator, dildo, angry spouse, hand jobs, Anal as punishment

You sat at the table, the tablet, leaning against the vase of long dead flowers, glaring back at you. It wasn’t, not really at least. It didn’t have eyes, but the reflection of your face in the cold black glass did the job just as well. 

You were angry. So angry, in fact, that you were shocked that your reflection didn’t actually have steam pouring from your ears. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Adam hardly looked over at you from where he leaned against the counter, shoving what should have been your magnificent BLT into his gullet. “Fuck, this sandwich is dry as hell.” 

“Like I will be the next time you touch me,” you grumbled under your breath. 

“What was that, babe?” The dryness of your perfect sandwich- which, for the record, had the perfect amount of mayo and juicy tomato, topped with crisp fresh lettuce and most certainly was not dry as fuck- did not slow him down in the slightest as he polished it off. 

“Nothing,” you answered in a singsong voice, not really having it in you to fight him today. 

It wasn’t worth it. You knew he wouldn’t get you the right charger for the tablet. You had set him with a picture of the fucking thing. You told him the model number. You had the barcode written on a scrap of paper- not that it had actually made it in his pocket even though you physically put it in his goddamned hands as he put his shoes on. There was nothing you could have done to make it clearer which one you needed in an effort to try to avoid getting the wrong charger out of the hundreds of slightly different, all unique chargers VoxTek used for their marid of products. 

It didn’t matter. All your efforts were for nothing. Adam got the wrong charger. 

“You sure you’re not mad?” Adam spoke through a mouth of crumbs. 

“Nope,” you answered, voice clipped as you stood, chair scraping harshly against the scuffed, peeling floor. “I’ll just go out and get the right one.” 

“I really tried,” Adam said, following you, looking very much like a kicked puppy as you stepped into your shoes and grabbed your wallet. It was too late for those big, brown and red eyes to dump water on the embers of your anger.

“I know.” You rose up on your toes as you and placed a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek, small, leathery wing twitching at the feeling of crumbs under your lips. That was as close to eating your BLT as you would get once again. “Enjoy your new VoxPlay.” 

“I will,” Adam said as the door shut behind you. 

You knew he was already setting up the newest handheld gaming system. He didn’t need it. You couldn’t afford it. That didn’t stop him. He found a way to afford, fucked if you knew who he begged, borrowed and maybe fucked for the funds. 

That was Adam’s secret power. He could afford anything if it was for himself. He could remember anything, if it was for himself. 

If it was for you, though? If it was something you asked for? If it was a gift for you? 

He forgot. He got the wrong thing. He couldn’t afford it. He didn’t try. He never tried. 

You would find a way to make him listen.

The display of sex toys in the window of a store across the street caught your attention. Large dildos promising to split open even the hardest nut to crack. Adam’s nuts were far from hard to crack open, but his brain? Ha! That was a different story. 

It seemed, no matter what you did, you couldn’t make Adam listen to your words. Why? He was too busy looking at your tits or thinking about what he’d like to do with his dick. 

Maybe if you had a dick bigger than his, he would listen to you… 

And if not, at least he was sure to remember for a few days. 

You were laying on your side, tucked into bed already, waiting for Adam. In the living room, his boisterous laugh carried easily as he played the game he had purchased earlier. It was his third new game today alone for that fucking VoxPlay. 

That was alright, you would stay up as long as it took for him to join you in bed. You were far from an impatient demon. You had waited all of your life and into your afterlife to have anything resembling the tenuous security you had now. 

Until then, you would wait. You were just fine waiting for him. 

Absently, you ran your hand up and down the long, thick shaft that extended from you. It was already coated in lube, ready and waiting for you to have somewhere to put it. Your fingers struggled to wrap around its girth. Thick, plastic veins traced the path up to the wide, tapered glans. 

You were used to taking cock, growing accustomed to and even craving Adam’s intimidating size. The monster you had secured between your legs was thick enough that the idea of having it inside of you made your knees weak. It would take time, stretching, and effort, but you could accommodate it… probably. 

A soft buzzing sound was nearly inaudible as the plastic pressed against your clit rumbled softly, providing just enough stimulation to keep you entertained as you waited, teasing you slowly closer to an orgasm. The getup you wore wasn’t cheap, but every time the harness shifted slightly, the dildo lodged inside your body stirred your insides, pressing against your fluttering walls. 

“Adam, baby,” you called for him sweetly, running your lube free hand over your breasts. You intended to wait for him, but the constant low stimulation was getting to be too much. If he took much longer, you’d abandon your plan and just fuck yourself. 

“What do you need?” Adam answered from the couch.

“You,” you whined just in the way you knew would have him up off the couch and crossing the apartment. 

He didn’t come. The couch didn’t even creak. 

“Please, Adam,” you moaned as you rocked the harness, thrusting the large dildo lodged inside you slightly. “I need you.” 

“Oh fuck,” you heard it in his voice. Adam got it now. “Hold on.” 

Hold on? Hold on?! He didn’t get it well enough, clearly. 

“Please, Adam.” You softly pinched your nipple, waiting in the dark. “I’m so ready to fuck you.” 

Adam all but flew into the room, crashing into the bed with a thump that had you bouncing, hand wrapped around the thick shaft of the dildo jerking, thrusting the one inside you. 

“Why are you in the dark?” Adam asked, slipping under the covers. “And hiding from me?” 

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss Adam while keeping your lower body at a distance. “Roll over. I want to rub your back.” 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Adam asked, rolling onto his stomach and thrusting his hips lightly into the bed on reflex, seeking some stimulation for his already hard cock. 

Adam was always quick to get hard and ready to fuck at a moment’s notice. 

First, you turned on the music before you straddled his back, careful to keep your hips high enough that he wouldn’t feel the harness. The last thing you wanted was for Adam to hear to soft vibrator working against your clit or feel what you had planned for him. 

He moaned, rutting slightly against the bed as you rubbed down the soft skin of his back and shoulders. With a bit of pressure, you could feel the strong muscle that existed, hidden just under the softness of Adam. He was deceptively strong, something you had always loved about him. 

You worked lower and lower until your hands dug into the muscles of his lower back. He was moaning now, clearly in a happy place from your pampering, thrusting weakly into the mattress. Your smile twitched, knowing he was smearing precum onto the sheets you didn’t have money to take to the laundry matt to wash. 

“Fuck, babe. What’s up with this?”

“I wanted to thank you,” you said as you worked your hands over the muscles of his ass, taking the time to spread his cheeks as you worked. “Get on your knees?” 

You asked the question sweetly, hoping he wouldn’t question it. 

“Why?” 

Fuck, his question left you scrambling for an answer that would make sense. 

“It’s a new message technique I read about.” The lie almost made you feel bad… Almost. 

Adam climbed up on his knees, ass facing you. His heavy cock hung down in front of him, twitching with the beat of his heart. What would he do if you reached around and squeezed his shaft, yanking down in an attempt to milk him like a cow? 

Nevermind, that wasn’t his lesson for the night. 

You made a performance out of rubbing his lower back, then the back of his thighs, moving higher and higher as you spread his ass cheeks apart. 

Part of you knew this was wrong. You and Adam had never really discussed this, though you knew he wasn’t against the idea. That didn’t change the fact that you were not warning him, nor were you prepping him. 

What little guilt you felt died as you heard the sound of the video game, still turned on in the living room. The pause music continued to play, showing you he had every intention of fucking you then returning to the game. 

“Come on, babe.” Adam whined as you admired the way his balls and cock hung. This wasn’t an angle you looked at the man you hadn’t intended to end up with as your unofficial partner from. “You said you wanted to fuck. I left midway through a fight.” 

That killed any remaining guilt.

You grabbed ahold of the shaft of your slicked up cock and placed it against the puckered ring of his asshole. Adam’s whole body tensed at the contact. A wicked smile stretched across your lips, sharp teeth reflecting what little light filtered into the room.

“Babe?” Adam looked over his shoulder at you. “What are you doing?” 

“Well, Baby.” You pushed forward, speaking in a high, singsong voice as the head of the artificial cock breached the tight ring of muscle. “I thought if you wouldn’t listen to me half a damn because I don’t have a dick, I’d get my own.” 

“What the actual fuck?” Adam snapped, only to choke on his words when you pushed the head of the artificial cock deeper in the tight ring of his asshole. 

You pushed forward, slowly and steadily, as he gasped for air, sounding very much like a fish out of water. Deeper and deeper, you pushed on as Adam started trembling. 

You knew everything he was feeling, in theory at least, from the times he had convinced you to take his cock up your ass. 

You slowly filled him, gripping his hips as he would you. You moaned as the dildo inside you shifted, pushing against your walls. You closed your eyes, focusing on the feeling of the vibrator as the distance between your hips and Adam’s ass closed. 

His arms gave out, and he collapsed in a heap onto the mattress, ass in the air. Each tremble of his body shook the dildo moving deeper into him, moving through the harness to shake the dildo inside you. You paused for a moment, letting him adjust. It was a small mercy.

“It’s bigger than you,” you told Adam as your hips kissed his ass. “How’s it feel?”

“Holy fuck, babe.” Adam’s voice carried the same tremors running through the rest of his body. “Too much.” 

“Is it?” The hum between your legs increased as you fished the remote out from where you tucked it in the back of your panties. It wasn’t the sexiest storage option, but it worked. No woman was immune to using creativity to manage storage, anyway, since fashion designers long ago decided women were not worth of the simple joy of pockets. 

“I thought maybe if I had the bigger dick,” you punctuated your words with shallow thrusts. “You would finally listen to me.” 

“Fuck,” Adam moaned, body chasing the dildo as you pulled back. Sweat gathered on his body, sparked by the intensity of the sensation as you filled him again and again. “Fuck, fuck.” 

“Feel good?” You asked as his cock jumped between his legs. 

Each thrust into him pushed against the harness, ensuring you never could forget about the fat dildo shoved deep in your own cunt. 

“Fuck yeah,” he admitted, swallowing thickly as he struggled to breathe through the sensations. “Fuck.” 

“Do you want to cum?” Your voice was a tempting mix of sinfully sweet and heavy with your own lust, the powerful vibrations and fullness in your cunt tempting you closer to your orgasm. 

“Please?” Adam whined, his ass bouncing slightly against your every thrust. 

“I don’t think you deserve to,” you hummed, much like the vibrator did against your swollen, sensitive clit. “You couldn’t even get me the right fucking charger.” 

“I’m sorry,” Adam whimpered, fingers digging into the bedding as you fucked into him. “I’m sorry, please- I want to cum. I’ll be good for you. I won’t fuck up again. I promise, please.” 

It surprised you how well he submitted, how quickly he submitted. He hadn’t once reached for his cock, though his hands were free to do so. You didn’t have to tell him not to. Was that a side of your partner you didn’t know about or was he so overwhelmed he simply forgot he had to ability to use his hand?

“Will you?” You reached around, wrapping your hand around his cock. Pre-cum wept from the head, falling in drops from his tip. You ran your fingers over the soft bulbus head of his cock, smearing the slick fluid over his skin.

“I’m sorry. I will. I will. I promise, Babe. Babe, I��ll be better. I’ll do better. Fuck, please?”

You wrapped your hand tighter around his cock, pumping it slowly. Every babbled pea that fell from Adam’s lips made you feel powerful. Is what he felt when he made you dumb, mindless, and desperate for his cock? Was this what he liked so much about making you dumb for him?

His cock was heavy in your hand as you pumped his length, working him in time with your thrusts. Each pathetic sound he made was a thrill down your spine, tightening the spring in your core, independent of the vibrations. 

Who would cum first, you or Adam?

You rocked your hips, working the dildo in and out of him mindlessly, fucking the vibrator in the harness more than you were fucking him. Your hand pumped Adam’s shaft as you fucked him and yourself. 

Your back arched as you felt your walls grip the dildo inside you. Each thrust rubbed the vibrator against your clit as you pounded the up button, seeking more and more until it couldn’t give you anymore. The vibrations were so powerful that Adam could feel them every time you bottomed out the dildo in his ass. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he clawed the sheets as he tried weakly to thrust forward, still taking the hard cock as you rode out your orgasm, deep, gasping moans falling freely from your lips as your walls tried to milk the dildo inside you. “Fuck, Babe. Babe. Fuck. FUCK!” 

He came, screaming your name as his load shot onto the bedspread. You fucked him through his orgasm, riding the waves of your own as it tapered off. A dull ache settled into your thighs, ass and abdomen as you stilled.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled the dildo from Adam, falling back on your sore ass as you gasped for air. “Fuck, that’s hard work.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[itgomyway]

some of my favorite quotes about non dualism !

"I am real for I am always now, in the present, and what is with me now shares in my reality. The past is in memory, the future in imagination."

- Nisargadatta, I Am That, Chapter 3

"All these years you've been searching & looking, & trying to change things, trying to add things onto yourself, trying to acquire things when you have been the source of everything to begin with. Everything you've been looking for has been within yourself, you have been that. Begin to surrender everything to yourself. You surrender all of your thoughts, all of your feelings, you surrender all of your desires, all of your wants to the Self. You pull it in all inwardly."

- Robert Adams

"It is the nature of the mind to wander. You are not the mind."

- Ramana Maharshi

"Anything that you respond to is a product of your mind. It is your mind that becomes angry. It is your mind that becomes stubborn. It is your mind that wants to get even. It is your mind that is hurt. But if you subdue your mind, tell me, where is the anger?"

- Robert Adams

"Free yourself from the illusion of good and bad days. Labeling time makes us nostalgic of the past and demanding of the future. There is only here and now. Let it be."

- Ram Dass

[libby-for-life]

Adam yelling at Lucifer over something stupid and Lucifer just looks unimpressed. He finally stops him by grabbing the collar on his shirt and pulls him down.

Lucifer: If you could just stop yelling at me for one second, I could show you a much more fun and productive use for that mouth of yours~.

Alternative response:

Lucifer: I can't believe I never noticed it before, but you're adorable when you're angry. I guess that's why I like pissing you off so much.

[gingerlee-holds]

Ok ok so and idea for a fic: Alastor broadcasts one of his frequent tikl attacks on Vox so everyone in hell knows about his weakness (any length is fine)

oh!!! thank you for the idea and request anon/lovebug!! i hope you enjoy this!! its not directly related to the series im currently writing about ler!alastor, but its related, so maybe its on the same storyline just in the future- enjoy!!

aaaa i absolutely did not proofread this so ignore the terribleness xD

Tune On In

Words: 2228 Warnings: not proofread lmao- also mentions of alastor's violent tendencies but its offhanded

Pentagram City, among the only metropolitan areas in Hell, was bustling. Cars honked in endless traffic, clubs blared out noisy music, guns were fired, and demons screamed in agony or ecstasy, often both. There were a few moments when the city was blissfully serene, though these were rare occurrences accompanied by tragedy. For instance, after the formerly annual Exterminations, the entire city held its breath for the toll of the clock tower to signal that they were spared. These minutes of agonizing silence were rarely enjoyed, though.

There was only one other time when Pentagram City was so quiet: when the Radio Demon made a broadcast. Each radio and speaker in the city played the single, agonizing transmission. The hair on the neck of every sinner rose in fear, and every overlord held their breath. The terror and respect Alastor garnered by broadcasting the suffering of his victims made him the second most feared being in Hell, second only to Adam. Now, though, the commander of the Exorcists had been disposed of, meaning Alastor now had the top spot. And when the speakers across Pentagram City suddenly became overwhelmed by static, the Radio Demon smiled to himself, knowing he had the rapt attention of every demon in the Pride ring. 

"Testing, testing~! Is this thing on?" Alastor's voice echoed through the now-silent streets. “Salutations, sinners! Thank you all for joining me on this lovely morning! The temperature today is a downright balmy eighty-six degrees, and we're getting reports of a chance of acid rain in the southside around ten o'clock, so keep those umbrellas ready, folks! Now, I'm sure you're all wondering who I have with me as today's special guest on the program, and I'm thrilled to introduce him~!" 

Alastor spun around in his chair, grinning with delight at his victim, who lay on the floor of his recording studio, bound by magic tendrils. The businessman glared up at him, mouthing, "Don't you fucking dare," to no avail.

"Yes, it is my absolute pleasure to welcome everyone's favorite wannabe, the overrated picture box himself~! Everyone give a hand to Vox, CEO of VoxTek Enterprises and peddler of the same useless trinkets and gizmos corrupting today's youth! Yes, a big hand for the pixellated prince!" Alastor pressed a button on his soundboard to play a recording of raucous applause. 

Velvette looked up from her phone, blinking with realization. She cringed and looked over at Valentino, who looked like he was about to throw another tantrum. "How was he stupid enough to get himself captured?" she mumbled as she ran to the security cameras. Alastor continued his monologuing as Velvette watched, dumbfounded, the recording of Vox reading a letter before storming into a power outlet. She looked behind her as Val grabbed the letter from the table and began to read it silently, fuming.

Alastor wanted to prolong this as much as possible. "How have your stocks been doing, old pal?" he asked innocently, extending his microphone staff for his guest. 

"Just fine." The mic was sensitive enough to pick up Vox's angry sparks and glitched voice as he spoke, struggling to seem level-headed now that he was being recorded. 

The Radio Demon giggled. "Any new products you'd like to promote?"

"No."

"Ah, but enough of business. Let's get on to business!" Alastor laughed at his pun, standing up to walk around his victim. "You're very nervous, chum!"

"Get real. This has got to be the trashiest- ACK-" Vox froze mid-sentence as Alastor pressed the tip of his cane on one of his antennae. 

"Careful. Don't forget whose guest you are~!"

Vox growled in annoyance and squirmed a bit in Alastor's magic. He hadn't even bothered to wear his suit before running over, which he regretted as he lay on the floor in a button-up shirt and slacks. Looking down, his heart sank further: he was still wearing his slippers. 

Alastor removed his cane, walking towards those slippers. "Still pissed I almost beat you that time~?" 

"Uh… fuck you!" Vox snapped. 

"Just saying~!" Alastor grinned. 

Val looked up from the letter. "He stole my line. That bitch! He stole my goddamned line! I swear, I'm gonna-" he growled before storming off, leaving the paper on the table. 

Velvette quickly ran over and skimmed, murmuring to herself. "'To whom it may concern,' blah blah, 'scheduled for a meeting,' yada yada, 'meet an associate at 6 to…'" She stopped and squinted at the page. "Hell does 'vouchsafe' mean?" Her brows furrowed as she connected the dots. Alastor must have sent this letter to lure Vox out, and Vox, thinking he was late for a meeting, ran from the tower without telling anyone. "That idiot!" she yelled, punctuated by Val throwing a wine glass against a wall two rooms down. 

Alastor let a sinister chuckle escape his lips. "I think you have some things you should share with our dear audience! For instance, what exactly did you suggest I do seven years ago?" He waited patiently for the question to sink in.

"I- what?" Vox raised an eyebrow, not seeming to understand.

"Seven years ago, you came to me with a proposition. What exactly was it?"

The question finally clicked for Vox, but he scowled at the Radio Demon. He'd die before he gave that prick the satisfaction. He stayed silent, sparks shooting around his body. 

"Suddenly, the chatter-box is quiet~! Such strange times we live in. Don't worry, folks, I know how to make our guests talkative~!" Alastor quickly used his cane to flick away Vox's slippers. 

Demons looked away from their radios, wincing preemptively at the agony they were about to hear. Overlords felt beads of sweat rolling down their faces. Velvette leaned closer to the radio, pursing her lips, nervously fiddling with the pens on the table. Vox squeezed his eyes tightly shut, expecting Alastor to break his toes any moment now.

The moment stretched on. Vox tried to hold his breath, but when he couldn't, he finally exhaled slowly, and when he did, the Radio Demon struck.

“H-heehee- n-nohow wahahait, hohOld oHon a sehhec-!” Vox shot upward, looking down to see Alastor lying on his stomach, his legs swinging behind him as he gently traced one claw up and down Vox's sock. “T-theheere’s n-noho wahahy youhuhu're- c-cuhuhut ihihit ohuhut!”

"Hm, feeling a bit bubblier, are we~?" Alastor grinned impishly, slowly adding the rest of his fingers to scribble over Vox's feet. Now realizing what the Radio Demon had in store for him, Vox clamped his mouth shut, every muscle in his body straining to contain his laughter. An electric current had formed between his two antennae with the effort he was using.

Suddenly, Alastor's voice appeared next to his ear. "Go on, you little gigglebug, let it all out~!" Vox shot a glance sideways to see Alastor's shadow whispering to him. "Besides, we both know you're far too ticklish to resist~!"

"F-FuhUhuhUCK! YoUhuHUHU oHohOLD-TihIhIMEy PRiHihiHICK!!!” Vox snorted and arched his back as much as he could. Teasing was just too much!

Velvette's shoulders relaxed a bit. It didn't seem like Vox was in trouble… However, when she double-checked her phone, she saw that social media was blowing up about the CEO of VoxTek being tickled, which had unfortunate results on the company's stocks. At least she could rest a bit easier knowing that her friend- no, business associate was in no real danger. She was shaken out of her thoughts by another staticky shriek.

"Come now, I know you wanna tell all our lovely viewers about how you-"

"NoHoHOHO!" Vox shook his head, but his eyes bugged out when he felt tendrils squeezing at his hips. 

"And now~? Let's change that channel~!"

"OKAHAHAY!! OKAhAhahAHAY! FuhUhuhUCK!!" Alastor slowed down but didn't stop the gentle tickles to keep Vox in a giggly state of embarrassment. 

"Go on~! What did you propose to me all those years ago~?"

“T-thahat… thahahat youhuhu chahahange youhuhur nahahame tohoho Vahalahastor-!” Vox’s screen turned red as he remembered the thought.

Alastor cued the laugh track again. "That's right! Since you wanted me to become a member of your polycule so much-!"

“IT’S NOT A POL- EEHEHEHEEEK!” Vox's indignant shout was cut off by a squeal he couldn't contain when he felt Alastor's claws scribbling against his shoulder blades. 

"Now, next question!" Alastor pretended not to hear the squealing mess on his recording studio floor. "When we fought those years ago, who won~?"

"NEhehHITHER!!" Vox desperately tried to weasel his way out of the question and his tickles, but with both, Alastor kept him pinned. 

"Technicalities!" Alastor smirked and added shadowy tendrils to the back of Vox's knees as punishment for his insolence. "Nobody technically won, but only because…?"

“THEHEHE VEEHEEHEES!!!” Vox bluescreened as electric shocks flew off in every direction, making Alastor step back a bit and slow down again. “Theehehe Veeheehees cahahame in ahahand sahahahved meehehehe!” 

"Right, since I was about to win~!" 

Vox growled in frustration, trying to get his composure back. "Yeah, but how about that fight with Adam? Talk about- ACK-!" Vox was again cut off by the cane on his antennae, and he looked up into the face of the radio demon, with eyes in the shape of dials and horns extended. A radio hiss filled the studio, echoing out across the city. 

Alastor waited a few moments before responding. "Many nasty rumors are going around about me, Vox, mostly thanks to you. Only one is completely and wholly true, and it's this." He bent down close to Vox's face, making him flinch away. "I do have a special appetite for the flesh of other demons. Vox, my good old friend, I need you to know I am famished at the moment."

"Y-yeah-? W-well-" Vox tried to think of something clever but came up short. "Y-you're not going to eat me, Al! I'm all wires. Wouldn't taste good!" 

Alastor hummed in thought. "Perhaps you're right. I have a refined palette, and junk food would just ruin my mood." He smirked at the insulted stammering Vox let out before continuing. "However, I just can't resist a little taste~!"

"What? WaitwaitAlasTOHOHOHOR!!!!” Of all the things Vox expected from his worst nemesis, nothing could have prepared him for when Alastor bent down and began gently nibbling his teeth over Vox's ribs through his shirt. Oh, he would never hear the end of this from anyone. 

"Final question," Alastor chuckled. "What is your biggest weakness~?"

'Oh, fuck, no, please don't make me say it!' Vox's mind raced. Was Alastor seriously going to- 

The Radio Demon let out a raspberry on the middle of his ribcage, sending him into silent hysterics. Yep, Alastor was going for the kill… metaphorically. 

"IHIHIHI'M!! IHIHIHIHIEAHAHAHAHA!!! AHAHAHAL!!!" Vox tried getting the words out, the words he knew would spare him from this hellish tickling. Alastor, mercifully, stopped and let Vox catch his breath, pointing the microphone on his staff to Vox's face. Vox sighed, feeling the built-in fans on his head whirring crazily to cool him down. He whimpered softly, defeated and made into a giggly mess, so he mumbled pathetically, "I'm deathly t-tihihicklish…"

"Yes, indeed he is, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you so much for joining us today. I hope it was as enjoyable for you as it was for me! Although, I know Vox appreciated it the most~! Tune in next time for another exclusive interview~! Vox, will you be coming back on the show?"

"N-nohohoho…" Vox tried to hide his face in the tendrils but wasn't very successful. 

"What a shame! We have so many more laughs to share, don't you think~? I'm sure we'll all hear from you again soon~!" With that, Alastor flipped a switch, and the studio's large 'ON AIR' sign turned off. Across the city, speakers began playing their regular music again, and the city's noise returned in all its chaotic, messy beauty once more. 

The radio demon released his tendrils, and the businessman slowly and wearily rose to his feet. Every muscle shook, and he leaned against the wall for support. "This… This isn't over. You won't get away with this." He turned back and glared daggers at Alastor, sparks shooting off his hands.

"I have! Now, don't dawdle! You need to address the media~!" Alastor pointed out the window, and Vox turned to see a gathering crowd of reporters and camera crews assembling around the front of the hotel. 

"F-fuck." 

"Off you go~!" With a gentle push, Alastor sent Vox on the most embarrassing walk of his life as he stumbled through the hotel, his slippers in hand. 

Charlie, face glued to the front window nervously, whirled around when she heard footsteps. "Oh! Please, come again soon!" She smiled and waved at the demon, who simply huffed.

"I won't," he said under his breath, pushing open the doors to be greeted by reporters shouting and snapping pictures. What a mess. 

When he finally got back to V Tower, he got quite the earful from both Velvette and Valentino. However, when they were alone together, Velvette grinned and scribbled a hand over Vox's ribs to make her friend giggle. It was cute, and goodness knows she needed a stress reliever now and then. Maybe she had to thank Alastor sometime for unintentionally gifting her such precious information. At least Vox didn't lose a limb in there: only every last shred of his dignity.

[sir-adamus]

I feel like Rwby having a linear plot/story that's mostly focused on that is what causes a lot of people who are used to shounen or other media pieces with"filler" or one off episode with the characters just existing and doing little side adventures to be angry. Early Rwby had mire episodes like this but even then it was more linear than most series like it. Idk I understand wanting more moments where characters are just going on side quests or having fun, but this just isn't that type of show, Rwby feels more like your watching a storybook playout, think like how stageplays function, with a beginning middle and end. and I think some miss that point

honestly it always reads to me like "how dare they not include this - they should have included it and had it to even better quality than it is and delivered it in the same time for the same budget but they didn't because they're bad writers/animators/producers, i, an armchair critic with no practical experience in any of these fields, could have done it way better"

there's a complete - and fully intentional - disconnect in understanding how show production works because complaining and making the lives of everyone involved as miserable as possible (thinking back to the flash freeze in Texas when the last few chapters of volume 8 had to be delayed so RT employees could prioritise not freezing to death and some terminally online dipshit started harassing Kerry and saying he was bad at his job for not already having the episodes done - deliberately ignoring the concept of post-production - because it was absolutely vital that the episodes come out on time so the dipshit in question could continue his rewrite/fix fic. which is a. just unfathomably rude to say, especially to someone that heavily involved with the show - especially when the 'fic' in question was just a bulletpoint list of 'and then Adam says something cool. and then Blake stands there and does nothing.' or whatever, and b. fucking ghoulish and callous to say to people who are trying not to die)

[newx-menfan]

Please, don't take this personal but why do you hold all modern X-Men titles to really high, unrealistic standards? You know Kyle, Yost, DeFilippis, Weir and others are not coming back to "fix the damage."

Because the writing and art has been cheapened post 2011.

The reason people objectively loved comics in the first place is because of writers like Steve Ditko, Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Chris Claremont, George Perez, Marv Wolfmann, ect…

They were character driven stories and visually interesting with art like John Byrne, Bill Sienkiewicz, Neal Adam, Jim Lee, ect…

It the 2000’s, I would say that was still going strong- you had writers and artists like Craig Kyle, Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely, Greg Rucka, Skottie Young, Peter David, ect…

Much like my criticism on the MCU- the problem is Capitalism overtook the quality of the product.

There’s little to no emotional attachment to the characters. Writers focus on powerups instead of real character work. The art is often boring and forgettable. The stories and dialogue are poorly written. It’s literally event after event and “special galas”, to cover up for the lack of real depth.

Why isn’t there any real attachment to any of the new or recent teen X-Men post Academy X? I would argue because writers don’t do the same level of character work.

I can describe Hellion as a character- ambitious. vain. elitist. chivalrous. empathetic. power hungry. At times verbally cruel and engages in bullying behaviors.

We know details about Julian, like he grew up with wealthy parents and has an older brother named James, that was obviously favored by his parents.

What can you really say about Valentin? Axo? Trinary? Transonic?

NYX #8 was a good comic, despite having little conflict (all the conflict was internal!)- because of the character work. Because there were complex emotions driving Julian, Laura, and Kiden.

People CARED about the conflicts- did Julian really go bad? What’s Laura’s reaction going to be? Who will win this emotional chess- Laura or Hellion? Is Kiden in love with Laura? Is Laura still in love with Hellion?

Julian WANTS to be good… but he also is angry about the violence he has faced… which is a compelling tension!

The Phoenix solo title is a great example- would anyone actually care about Jean… if they hadn’t read prior comics? I don’t think they would.

Jean is basically one big power up in this solo- all the things people LOVED about Jean… aren’t really there. Jean’s arrogance. Jean’s perfectionism. Jean’s cruelty. Jean’s quiet hunger for power.

The character dynamics…the plotlines…the visuals… much like the MCU are BORING now.

What MADE these products popular in the FIRST place- was the character work artists and writers DID. Now it’s all about profit.

[7grandmel]

Rip of the week: 23/12/2024

PRIMEneria

Season 8 Featured on: Thickmas

Ripped by Yassir F.

I don't know if words could even begin to describe the emotional rollercoaster I have been on since December 19th, 2024.

It's such a funny thing, following this channel for so long. Throughout the early days in Season 1, the team would cobble together ideas for rips, events, and story in mere weeks' time, seemingly just to get reactions out of the fanbase. Beyond the inherent lunacy to The Reboot and I Saw a Brainwasher Today, this was also the year where one contributor just decided to tell a storyline about the Australian rental service Mr. Rental's titular mascot and his hatred for mashups back on Mr. Rental [B Side] ~ Out of Options; this was the year where legendary folk singer Bob Dylan became a reoccurring joke on the channel, just because PinkieOats was on a voice call and sung a cover in a captivatingly shoddy impression back on Can't Say Goodbye to Yesterday - as performed by Bob Dylan; this was the year where the termination of the original GiIvaSunner channel was explained in-universe as being a scheme by Angry Joe, in a slapdash meme tribute to Baneposting in the one year that it was relevant on the channel. It was a mess we all adored following due to the clear passion for entertainment that lay underneath; and when Season 2 returned with an unbelievably explosive bang and showed just how much could be made with this chaos of a story being told, I was more excited than I can put into words. As said back on ULTRA S+G, Season 2 was when it felt as if EVERYONE was aboard the ride that the SiIvaGunner team was promising; shooting for the stars for quality and evolving the lore into something shockingly compelling despite its absurd origins.

It's hard, especially as someone who hardly ever lost their passion for the channel in the first place, to pinpoint exactly where things started to lose Season 2's momentum. Perhaps it was the two years spent covering Season 4, with all the focus spent on an event of unprecedented scale that all ultimately was an aside from the channel's typical mold; during the production of which many core team members wound up leaving to never return, including channel founder Chaze the Chat. Perhaps it was Season 3's more low-key format and direction, one that Chaze the Chat himself appeared adamant to steer away from when Season 4 Episode 1 first began; or perhaps it was all inherent to Season 2's overambitious nature, with the Christmas Comeback Crisis episodes growing ever more vast in scope, eventually resulting in a 6-year long gap between Episode 10 to 11. Perhaps it was later, perhaps it was sooner; nevertheless, its undeniable that the wait occurred, and the driving narrative that had enamored us all throughout Season 2 was left on ice, forever frozen in time on December 2016.

Yet it felt, in a way, inevitable that things would grow in this way. The SiIvaGunner team was growing, its members maturing, its worst influences leaving; and most important of all, their creative juices were flowing like mad. To be confined to one 12-episode run of a fake visual novel couldn't contain the ambitions this team have; even before the CCC began, the aforementioned Mr. Rental and projects of its ilk show just how hard it is to keep SiIvaGunner's contributors from doing what they want. Gradually, it felt as if both the team and us in the audience came to accept that inevitable constant – that the only predictable thing about SiIvaGunner is its unpredictability – and so the side projects grew to the scale of main projects. We'd see experimental projects still hinting at the main story such as The Lost Rip and The Life and Times of Wade L.D.; not long therafter, we'd get everything from the King for Another Day Tournament and NIGHTMARESCAPE ~ Unrestrained Hypercam 2 ~, to The Disappearance of Super Mario and Your Best Nightmario, to entire festivals containing their own events, art direction, and self-contained storylines. SiIvaGunner was no longer just on one lane, but doing so many different concepts and events and journeys with such excellent finesse; even though many had given up on the return of the Christmas Comeback Crisis itself returning, it was impossible not to be impressed and enamored by the effort put into everything that was, effectively, taking its place.

I've made it no secret that Season 5, despite having events I greatly enjoyed such as the aforementioned Mario incident and everything discussed on Epic Rap Battles of History: Funny vs. Funnier, was the time at which my interest in the channel (particularly from a narrative perspective) felt more muted than before. Especially without the behind-the-scenes knowledge I know now of the team's troubled state, it to me was the year when I began to feel as if the channel was forever going to drift along in this excess of creative endeavors. Past an incomplete Christmas Comeback Crisis now filled with sideshoot stories, we still had Mr. Rental left unresolved, now had an AI running the channel that we knew next to nothing about, had a gigantic cast of 32 characters left from the King for Another Day Tournament that each seemed to be prodding at some sort of developments of their own, had Nutshackwoodman34's unexplainable cacophany still up in the air, had everything relating to Astronaut in the Ocean and Yankin', and a multitude of audio dramas with a canonicity that, at the time, felt largely up in the air. I'm well aware of how bizarre this all sounds and I want to clarify that I've long since accepted and adore just how much SiIvaGunner team have been able to do; but back then, I couldn't help but feeling as if things had steered out of control for the lore. In essence, I had to accept that SiIvaGunner was now primarily focusing on its rips, events, and quality; long-time followers of the channel's lore were becoming vastly outnumbered by a growing audience of KFAD kids, Friday Night Funkin' fans joining through excellent rips like Satinpanties Symphony, and those simply here to enjoy what the channel could offer.

This, then, brings us to Season 6 and Season 7. Despite not technically continuing those stories that I was longing after, throughout almost every corner of Season 6 I got the sense that the team was eager to make some genuine change to their status quo; as expressed back on Bramble Blast Collab and I've won, but at what costI've won, but at what cost, there's a solemn feel that underscores the season, the realization that one can't stay hung up to the past forever, which all culminated in its beautiful season finale. It felt as if the SiIvaGunner team had themselves realized just how large their world had gotten and were beginning to grab their many bulls by the horns; and, once grabbed, Season 7 felt like a year-long celebration of each and every facet of the channel's long life. With a series of tribute beautiful enough, as said on The Paragoomba and the Wiggler one whole year ago, to bring me to tears, paired alongside the unbelievable return of the core series Christmas Comeback Crisis with an eleventh episode freed from development hell; I felt as if I was finally, completely on track with everything SiIvaGunner could throw at me. The past was the past, its many endeavors had been celebrated; and now, everyone was caught up and ready to finish that story started so many years ago.

I never quite knew what to expect from Season 8, aside from an understandable sense that the team needed plenty of rest and time after having just finished up the biggest story-related release in the channel's entire history. And so, after just a few events of time to get to know our lovable new channel host Joke-Explainer 7000, I labeled this the "silly season"; a year for a new character to bring back some lower-key whimsy to the channel after the prior two seasons had so expertly reminded us of how much the team genuinely do care about the world they've (almost inadvertently) built. I had no qualms; Joke-Explainer 7000 was hilarious to follow through rips and events such as Super Ludacris JB World, the rips have been higher quality than ever through efforts like Wake Up! It's Friday! and no more nuzzles in my skin, and we were all on the same page in knowing exactly what would come next, eventually. The conclusion to it all.

Yet once again, history repeats itself; the only predictable thing about SiIvaGunner is its unpredictability.

On the train to my family home for a Christmas weekend, I check my phone to see a server-wide ping within the SiIvaGunner discord; was this related to that Direct that I'd told myself to watch after the fact? I shrugged and checked it out althesame, only to be met with an ominous link and a wish of good luck; https://hwcinternaldb.highquality.rip/. A portal into an in-universe file directory divided into five intriguingly named folders, collections of confounding yet alluring files. I return to the Discord server to confirm my suspicions; sure enough, for the first time in 7 years, the SiIvaGunner community is tasked with solving an ARG; a quest across websites, image files, encrypted text, file formats and high quality rips to uncover a truth buried deep within the channel. Yet to say it was only one truth would be misleading; with five folders came five separate branches, five separate community subsets, and five different endpoints.

Inexperienced as I am in ARGs to begin with, I was sadly also too occupied with the holidays to partake in these great mysteries being solved. Yet at every moment I had to myself, I would refresh myself on everything being discovered across all three branches, gradually growing more and more amazed at what I'd called the "silly" season was delivering. More than just providing further teases toward the finale to the Christmas Comeback Crisis, each path was addressing its own loose end from those intermediate years that I'd been so divided on. The FOOLS path explored the aforementioned The Lost Rip duo of NutshackWoodman34 and his best bro and actual brother Jerome, connecting their absurdist videos and reality-bending powers to the Fool's Spirit teased back in Season 7's April Fools event covered back on Christmas Spirit [FILE-07] (Beta Mix); The AIRTH path, meanwhile, uncovers buried logs, thoughts and feelings of the SiIvaGunner AI across all five years of its time spent as host of the channel. Most surprising of all to me, the BLACK path covered something I never thought I would see revisited; Season 2's alternative "Genocide ending" to the first-ever SiIvaGunner storyline, The Reboot, wherein Chad Warden instead chooses to take immediate control of SiIvaGunner for himself rather than sacrificing himself for the greater good. The release of Nice, Slick, Blackness was one of my most treasured memories in all my time following the channel, and seeing its events ACTUALLY explored so many years after the fact – alongside loose ends that I had long since given up on knowing the resolutions to – felt genuinely unbelievable.

I understand that, to even a lot of the channel's biggest fans, being as invested in its lore as I am may come across as a little ridiculous. But to say that this ARG was an absolute dream come true for me was an understatement; as if Seasons 6 and 7 weren't enough affirmation in themselves, as if the SiIvaGunner team hadn't already matched and exceeded all of my expectations with the treatment they gave CCC Episode 11 last year, the ARG and its revelations exceeded every expectation and idea I could have ever had for tying these eight seasons of the channel together. A Visual Novel, an Undertale fangame, an all-new KFAD Mojo! site, a Mr. Rental Choose-Your-Own Adventure game, the best-yet episode of NutshackWoodman34's escapades, and one more as-of-yet unrevealed reward to close the entire season with, a grab-bag of reveals unlike I could have ever thought of...

...all happening while the SiivaGunner YouTube channel itself – along with all the people blissfully unaware of the ARG happening – was uploading rips almost exclusively using hit YouTuber KSI's awful hit song Thick of It. Yeah, remember? PRIMEneria is what this blog post is meant to be about! Cast like a veil over all that's transpired since December 19th, the YouTube-only audience continued to blissfully truck along with one of the most obnoxious-yet-funny rip trends we've had in recent times.

The juxtaposition between the insane lore and fanservice being delivered behind the scenes versus the YouTube channel providing what may be the funniest possible stretch for Winter-themed song to base their event from is genuinely still making me giggle even days after the event's all wrapped up, and the best part is of course that the rips themselves were genuinely really good. Given my track record of covering Jake and Logan Paul rips like Logan Paul's Shop and It's Everyday Lake and last week's post on If Air Man came to life, that would be creepy, it should perhaps come as no surprise that awful YouTuber music is a pet favorite rip source of mine; yet the sheer quotability and horrendous flow of Thick of It makes rips like PRIMEneria special even by those standards. The change in pitch (key?) to the song itself sets it off on such a strong foot immediately, and though the initial 20-seconds or so of the rip are already a really funny mashup, it's what happens therafter that really makes shit funny. Toward the end of the first loop, and for the entire rest of the rip, KSI's vocals are pitch-shifted for specific segments to follow Corneria's punchy hi-octane melody in a way similar to something like no more nuzzles in my skin; and it's arguably even more funny given the song used.

The fucking gall of the SiIvaGunner team, man. The sheer audacity to make my every possible dream for the channel's future and legacy come true practically over the course of a week and to pair it with rips of KSI's Thick of It happening at the same time. Perhaps I wasn't so wrong after all; Season 8 may well still be the silly season, and PRIMEneria is the clearest, funniest showcase of that there could possibly be, capping off the year in unabashed style.

Rock the fuck on, SiIva team.

[notmorbid]

the golem of brooklyn.

dialogue prompts from the golem of brooklyn by adam mansbach.

i'm a terrible judge of reality.

i don't think dolphins are primates.

let the medicine do its work.

you can't end a movie like that.

what's the last thing you remember before all this?

i wouldn't be here if it wasn't important.

there are many ways to be a learned man.

if you're not angry, you're not paying attention.

it's good to see you motivated, at least.

if swedish prison cells were in brooklyn, they'd rent for more than my apartment.

how do you know who i am?

you fucking millennial.

we should get off the grid for a while.

i'll eat anything. except arby's.

i kind of almost burned down the house.

i don't talk when there's nothing to say.

this is the first time i've ever been out of the city.

i need some action. i've been sitting on my ass all day.

is that bigfoot?

it's been a labor of love. and hate.

you, my friend, are a miracle.

nobody remembers who we used to be. including us.

how many times have you read that book?

is this what it's like to be young?

that was just drunk talk.

i'm feeling a lot of fomo right now.

i don't feel great about it, to be honest.

more than one thing can be true.

are we going, or are we talking?

i have no money, by the way.

what are you imagining?

why does everybody but me have a secret agenda?

remind me to never take you to a comedy club.

let's get out and stretch our legs, okay?

i want the world to know about you.

it's their turn to be afraid.

should i make up a name?

maybe safety is always an illusion.

i'm sorry, but i can't do this. i won't.

i'm sitting as tight as i can.

you were in my dream.

you're a weird kid.

tell me a story.

i am a being of pure spirit and pure disobedience.

we are opposites, you and i.

how would you stop me?

_____ is just the kind of thing i love to hate.

productive day in the woods?

i personally don't give a flying fuck.

i never was much for religion.

'what is hateful to you, don't do to your neighbor': that's the torah. the rest is just commentary.

i'm a little confused about your attitude.

you have no respect for anything. no culture at all.

a braid is six times stronger than the pieces you make it from.

you better have a really good story to keep my mind off the pain.

this is not a story i normally tell. it makes me look incredibly bad.

that was my first kiss.

do you want to come up to my room?

i was trying to be a whole new person.

you made up an evil twin?

you didn't say you were a cop.

not everybody's into subtlety.

a disguise might come in handy.

you okay? you having trouble breathing?

it's a lot to process all at once.

bet you feel pretty stupid.

that would fuck anybody up.

this is your chance to tell your side of the story.

it really is a fantastic time to go some place the fuck else.

it's all gonna get worse.

you sound like a fucking idiot.

[determinedowl23]

ohhhhhmy god oh my god guyssjsjaidbwisjsis IT HAPPENED I SAW IT AND IT WAS AMAZING

Notes:

Act I

I NEED TO MARRY ALFIE BOE SOOOOO BAD BRUH YOU DONT EVEN GET IT

Alfie’s so short I forgot about that lmao he’s so baby

I do really really really love Michael but I can already tell that Javert is not exactly his thing. He’s too whimsical- too Marius. Super glad he gets to do something with Alfie tho <333

Jeremy (I think) rocked the bishop omgggggg

I WAS NOT EXPECTING KATIE HALL TO BE HERE CHAT- soprano Fantine is such a foreign concept to me but she was gorgeous 

THANK YOU BOEBALL VALVERT FOR BEING THERE FOR ME I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND AND HIS BOYFRIEND

THENARDIERS ARE SO FUNNY I’ve never seen funnier thenardiers. He called Cosette Baguette when Valjean took her away

Also at the beginning of the bargain when Alfie started singing Madame T went “oh he’s got a lovely voice tho”

COSETTE NEW PINK DRESS IS SO PRETTY!!!!! It matches Marius’ bow :))))

Ok both Eponine and Cosette were mixed bags for me- I liked them most of the time, but there were a couple times their voices felt a bit… nasally? They were both very pretty tho :)

James D Gish is beautiful. My dad says he’s the second coming of Ramin Karimloo and im inclined to agree

Gavroche is king shit as per usual

They had stars in stars omggg. ALSOOO at the end the lights make it look like he has wings. Probably unintentional but he’s soooooo fallen angelcore 

As much as Michael doesn’t fit Javert, his Stars really is amazing

WE GOT ENJOLTAIRE CRUMBS 👏👏👏 The entire pause between ABC Cafe and Red & Black they were just looking at each other forever

As much as I do love enjoltaire, im an even bigger fan of Gavroche and Grantaire’s dynamic. It was the main thing I noticed about R’s character (even with Kyle Adams playing him) and I’m so happy that it’s in other productions

No Javert barricade outfit in one day more :(

Three flags??? In this economy????

Act II

Okay I did genuinely forget about the barricade outfit but it did come back! It’s different from the Staged Concert, more greenish-black and I think he has his hair down- there’s at least some strands loose on the front

OKAYYYY IM REALLY SURE TGAT BEFORE R STARTED HIS SOLO IN DRINK WITH ME HE WENT AND HELD ENJ’S HAND FOR A BIT- and after he sang and Enj left Gavroche ran over and gave him a hug it was so sweet

Alfie Boe Bring Him Home is still my favoritest thing in the entire world. I owe him my life im so serious he was my top artist for a reason

Enjolras did the Aaron Tveit “until the earth is free” opt up it was amazing

They cut Gavroche’s individual death scene which was either for better or for worse because that’s the one that always gets me crying, so I just teared up at the end

When Javert let valjean and Marius go from the sewers he turned around as if he was gonna follow them, paused, screamed, and put his head and his hand

Dude michael ball does the best suicide scene he’s so unhinged and skdjaidhaisjsj

EMPTY CHAIRS BRO. At “phantom faces” the Amis all stood up in their places in their seats, with Enj, R, and Gavroche on the center balcony right by the conductor. Also at this point he begins to scream with anger at his survival. I’ve never thought about angry Empty Chairs, but it works so well and I need to see it more

Valjean in AHFoL Reprise made me so sad bro. Insert my post about him and Donna Sheridan but add that they’re so attached to their daughter (Amanda Seyfried) and kinda don’t want to let her go to get married

The audience clapped along to Beggars at the Feast. Don’t know if we were allowed to, but we did anyways

When Marius tells Cosette her father is a saint Valjean just shakes his head no oh my god 😭😭

HE DID THE NICK CARTELL NOSE BOOP WITH COSETTE

THE BISHOP COMES UP BEHIND VALJEAN WHEN HE DIES AND VALJEAN GIVES HIM THE BIGGEST HUG EVER OMFGGGGGG

During bows when Michael came up to bow with Alfie they had to switch sides so that Michael could be on the left and Alfie could be on the right. Order has been restored to the world

In summary: Amazing show god I love Les Mis!!!!! Alfie Boe is the only one who can save me <3333