#but like we all know corporately speaking that shit was never going to be done to benefit like the actual artists involved lol

[beepbeepkazoo]

ah so every single digital tablet maker is pro ai im going to kms

[itsdannycragg]

Hi Tumblr!

I logged da fuck off at some point and will continue to be very much so not on social media! Believe me when I tell you life is better on the other side.

I do want to pop in with a life update for the curious!

I'm out here in Durham, NC, and three years after moving here with Shelby and Brian, I can confidently say there isn't a place in the world I'd rather put my roots down.

I never knew what actual community looked or felt like until I came here. I'd made friends in town everywhere I'd lived, of course, and we would go out to eat or on a vacation, visit a gallery or something, but in Durham it's just different. Looking out the window during a car ride, chatting with a stranger in a grocery store, checking out a thrift shop or going to the library, I find myself declaring "I love living here..." the same compulsive way I tell my partners I love them. Durham isn't just a place I live, it's where I belong.

I've been calling myself an ex-cartoonist, and preaching the nightmare of trying to make art for infinite-profit focused megacorps. It's not that I didn't love making cartoons, it's that I did. It may not be that way for everyone, but for me, working a job I loved meant I was working every second of my life. Being an artist is a core part of my heart and soul, and near the end, I had become so burnt out I would spend hours just trying to start doing the work I used to fly out of bed excited to do.

So I did some of this and that, worked a retail job that fucked my hands up so bad that I had to have double carpal tunnel release surgery. 29 years as an artist and I get carpal tunnel from hefting around boxes in a warehouse!

Since then, I've pivoted into building a career as a graphic designer. (And I'm learning web dev too!) I'm getting involved in the local nonprofit scene, meeting so many incredible people and finding so many cool and exciting opportunities to focus my design work on community awareness, nonprofits, small businesses!! I didn't expect that to be so viable for a Graphic Designer. I had the misconception for a long time that I'd have to put my creative sensibilities aside for more dry, sensible corporate phooey. But there's so much more. Graphic design is truly a delight and a challenge! I have always enjoyed thinking critically about all forms of human creation. Why am I so drawn to this book cover? What makes that building so weird? Why do these casserole mix boxes piss me off? Why does that person's outfit look so fucking awesome?

Taking those thoughts and using them to inform how I approach design is an entirely different beast from animating and illustrating. I'm fighting for my life out there formatting text, morphing vectors and and scooting things around a comp until it works. A picture's worth a thousand words, but you don't have space for a thousand words in a graphic design. Condense! Condense! It's challenging, and a lot of fun.

Working as a cartoonist was my dream come true, and I am forever proud of and thankful for the part I have played in the history of animation and queer representation in entertainment. I had the privilege of having the life crisis I had at 21— "I never thought I'd get this far. What more could I want? What do I do now?"

Well, a decade later I confidently know what comes after having my dreams come true. I get older, and I experience new things, meet new people, struggle paying bills, endure all kinds of misfortunes and problems, and come out the other side astounded and proud to have survived it. Grow closer to my family friends and community as the years deepen our history together, and just be amazed and thankful that I made it this far, over and over.

It's funny being called old by my younger friends, because I have never felt so young in my life! I JUST cracked 30. There are so many things I haven't done yet, and so many things I don't know that I don't know yet. And I have the power to take ALL of this and to create art about it. Hopy shit!

Speaking of making art and sharing it, one of the reasons I'm excited to be learning web dev is so I can carve out places online where I can share anything and everything I want to. Media Crit, comics, essays, comics, illos, however I want to present it. I'll share it when I get the site running. Or maybe I wont and you'll have to find it by chance.

And of course, I'm still actively writing Neokosmos with Shelby and Brian, and doing other little things here and there. :) See ya when I see ya, Danny

[wambsgansshoelaces]

hiii could you maybe write something about a first kiss with roman roy? I feel like he’s so unpredictable that it could be fluffy or angsty 💖

Vending Machine Oreos

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

anon I’m so so sorry this is so late!!! I hope I delivered though :( please let me know what you think and enjoy x

honestly I’m kind of worried because I’ve been struggling with life and my writing’s been suffering because of it so I’m really sorry if this seems unrealistic or rushed or just bad. I hope you guys like it anyway!!!

Word Count: 2.215k

“Roman!”

“What?” he snaps back, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“You’re going to make us fucking late! Come on!”

“It’s not even- oh, fuck, you’re right.” He abruptly gets to his feet, slamming the lid of his laptop shut, and hurries out of his office, you not far behind.

Working at Waystar was certainly an experience. You like to say Logan Roy made you see red, and it’s a sentiment you know Roman shares. When you stop and think about it, you suppose that you’re making way too much money to actually care. Besides, Roman Roy is easy on the eyes. It’s not like all of him was so horrible. If you were honest with yourself, you never really thought he was such a bad person. He was kind to you, in his own neurotic way, and made sure all of his work was done on time. You actually find him kind of endearing, and you both happen to get along extremely well.

“Is the car outside?” he asks, pulling his coat on.

“It has been for ten minutes,” you say back, ushering him into an opening elevator.

“Why do we have to do this again?” he mutters to you in question, glancing at you sideways as you slide into your seat next to him in the car.

“Because your dad wants us to mingle,” you say bitterly. “Some new hotshot piece of shit to impress.” He sighs, turning to stare out the window and watch as New York blurs by.

The event building is large and lavish, the epitome of modern day architecture. The entire thing is floor-to-ceiling windows, and the interior does not let you down. This is the corporate version of a party. You’d spend the night milling about, pretending to listen to half-assed pitches while Roman fucked with all of the corporate jockies he hated. Logan had asked you in person for you and Roman to go. Something about the mind games he was playing with rivals and the fact that a Roy needed to be present at these kinds of things.

You and Roman get your coats checked, and you’re guided into the ballroom. The room is already bustling and half-drunk, and you mentally steel yourself for the next few hours. The two of you get roped into a mind-numbing conversation about stocks and bitcoin, so much so that when you look over at Roman, he’s staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“And what about you?”

You don’t realize the question was aimed at you until after it hangs for a few moments.

“Sorry?” you ask, returning your attention to your peanut gallery of what’s only men. You notice Roman doing the same.

“We were talking about the whore houses,” an older one chortles, immediately causing your face to sour. “We were wondering if we would see you there. What with the job performance and all.” He laughs, a loud, gaudy sound that makes you want to vomit.

All of the heat rushes to your face. You are by no means bad at your job. But despite your confidence and your skill, you can’t help how disgusting you feel.

“I speak for all of us here when I say nobody would really mind if you were,” another, younger one chimes in. You all but gag. You throw a glance at Roman, pleading, but he looks just as uncomfortable as you are. Disappointed, you realize you’re not going to get any help from him.

Without saying anything, you turn on your heel and calmly make your way out of the ballroom. You feel like ripping your skin off. Maybe then the feeling of those eyes will get off of you then.

You stroll through the halls, trying to comfort yourself. You don’t expect it, but after your second lap around the complex, you find Roman at your elbow, reaching out to take you by the arm.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something,” he admits. “That was disgusting. They’re disgusting. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, rather unconvincingly at that.

Roman makes a face at you. “We both don’t believe that.”

“Really. It’s fine. I should’ve just made a scene so we could leave,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, change the tone. Roman gives you his signature pout, refusing to take your word for anything. He’s worked with you for long enough to be able to sense when something’s wrong.

“Oh, come on.” He leans in towards you conspiratorially. “Wanna just ditch? Pretty sure I saw a vending machine while I was chasing you around. You walk way too fucking fast, by the way.”

He sets off down the hall, fishing his express card out of the zipper pocket of his dress pants. You follow, catching up so that you’re walking side by side. “You keep a credit card in your pocket?”

“Debit.” He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it. He pats himself down, rooting through his other pockets. He fishes out some paper money and unfolds it. “Hey, look, five bucks.”

The card is sleek and impossibly expensive. You grip it tightly. Even though you don’t really know how you’d lose it, you don’t think you’ll know what to do with yourself if you do. “Do they even have vending machines in places like these?”

“Yeah, ’course they do. Saw it with my own eyes, anyway. Just told you,” he replies, letting you press the card back into his hand. He turns it over in his palm absentmindedly, eyes flitting about. “They just charge triple ’cause they know nobody’s checking the price.”

You both walk together for a short while, Roman getting a bit frustrated. He tells you that he was ‘just fucking there’ before a comfortable silence stretches, him focused on finding the damn thing. You don’t have to wait too much longer. “Hey, look, there’s an entire row,” you say, pointing.

“You know it’s fuckin’ crazy ’cause these aren’t even the ones that I saw earlier,” he mutters to you. “You like spicy chips?”

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” you tell him after you process what he said. He sighs, turning back to the nearest vending machine.

“Cool. You’re getting Oreos.” Roman takes the crumpled five dollar bill and tries to smooth it out against the machine’s glass. You don’t think it’s going to help. That thing looks like it’s been through hell.

He presses a few buttons and inserts the bill. The machine eats it, and the small screen above the keypad flashes the word ‘PROCESSING’ in red, blocky text. You watch as the curly thing keeping the treats in the machine unfurls, pushing the sleeve of cookies forward, before it shuts, the cookies hanging on to the gadget instead of dropping so that you could get it.

“I feel like that shouldn’t be possible,” you say quietly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says back. He bangs on the glass, and the sleeve sways. But nothing happens. Roman glances towards you. “Is this real? Are we in one of the most expensive fucking office buildings in fucking New York where the vending machines are holding my fucking Oreos hostage?”

You shrug, then fish out your wallet. “Here, put another five in,” you suggest, offering him another five. He pushes your hand back towards you, making a face, instead inserting his card into the machine. Again, a sleeve of Oreos gets pushed out. The previous ones finally fall from their position, but get stuck on the slot immediately below it. The same thing that happened with the first one then happens with the one just bought.

“This can’t be real,” Roman says incredulously. “Help me out, will you?”

He squeezes himself in between the vending machine and the wall, somehow managing to tilt the entire thing forward. You brace your hands on the front of the thing, keeping it from tipping all the way over. Carefully, you jerk your arms up, trying to shake the cookies free. A couple of tries later, a strange smattering of THUDS sound, spotty and horribly nonrhythmic. Roman peers out at you from his little nook, eyebrows raised.

You manage to get the machine back upright so that he can shuffle back out into the hallway. As you get your first glance through the glass, it’s painfully obvious a lot of what was once in the machine is now at the bottom for you to take.

“All this for only ten bucks is pretty good if you ask me,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

“Thank fuck this company is cheap in their manufacturing,” he murmurs back, grinning. He leans his back against the machine once you both hear footsteps approaching. The young man who’d made that gross fucking one-liner. Even though you have no proof, you get the disgusting inkling he was looking for you. He slows his pace when he sees you, and you do your best to school your face into neutrality. He stops entirely, opening his mouth to say something, look of confidence plastered over his face.

“Fuck’re you looking at?” Roman snaps, arm coming to drape across your shoulders, hand going to cup your jaw. He tilts your head up, quickly crashing his lips against yours. You’re surprised, but not even the slightest bit opposed. You grin into the kiss, and you can feel Roman smirking. He pulls back only slightly, glancing sideways at the other man. “What, you into voyeurism or something? We’re having a moment, shoo.”

You can’t help but laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth to trap the noise, and you watch the guy scuttle awkwardly away. Roman’s fingers stay on your jaw, brushing gently up the expanse of your skin. Without thinking, you lean back in and deposit a peck on his lips. He returns the fleeting kiss as he can, head then following yours back when you pull away to press his lips back to yours.

The kiss is deep, tender, needy. In between kisses, he murmurs praise. “You know you’re thirty times the employee any of those dipshits ever will be, mm?” Another lingering kiss, his hands drifting to your hips to turn you towards him. “And you’re so fucking attractive. Thank fuck this is finally happening. I think my staring at work was getting creepy.”

As his fingers travel to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, you pull back enough to be able to kiss up his neck. You line kisses along the underside of his jaw, and he lets out a strangled noise. His free hand cups your hip, squeezing gently as his face flushes with pleasure.

He turns his head to take your lips with his again, sighing happily into your mouth between kisses. Your hands are now braced on his chest, and your heart flutters.

“Did it really have to take this to get us to make out?” you ask, smiling giddily, rubbing a hand over his pecs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Another few weeks without you and I probably would’ve lost it, anyway,” he admits to you. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Roman pulls away from you entirely, disentangling your limbs from each other. He stoops down to the output compartment, your previously won treasure forgotten in the heat of the moment. He pulls out a bag of chips, sitting down with his back leaning against machine. You go down and settle in next to him, sitting as close as physically possible. He tears open the bag before winding an arm around you, keeping you close, holding the bag so that it’s easily accessible to the both of you.

“What’re we going to do with the rest of it?” you ask, cheek pressed to his shoulder so you can rest your head against him.

“Planning on taking it with us.” Roman chews a bit, swallows, then dots kisses across your forehead. “Hey, wait, your Oreos.”

He twists to reach into the compartment behind him, roots around for the bit, and turns back around to hand you what got you into this mess in the first place. You tear open the sleeve, then offer a cookie to him. He pops one into his mouth, fat smile plastered on his face. You have to admit, you enjoy seeing him happy. Roman Roy’s smile does things to you. You mirror his expression as you gaze up at him.

He plants another kiss right onto your lips.

It’s a bit of a struggle to transport all of your loot to the car an hour later, but thankfully, nobody’s around as the two of you carry all of the junk across the building.

The drive back, you sit practically on top of each other, giggling and munching all the way.

Neither of you waste any time as the weeks go on. You start going out, and you find yourselves spending more time in each others’ offices.

One morning, a few months after you’ve made things official, you step out of your office to come face to face with a vending machine.

All that’re in it are bags of Oreos, and a small sticky note pasted to the glass with a sloppy heart drawn onto it.

[genericpuff]

Rachel did a live Q&A in the LO Discord server and gave some news about the Animated Series, it’s still happening! (Surprisingly) Any thoughts on that or things you’d like to see from it?

Right, like every other time she's said it's "still happening" with no evidence to actually support it. That's always been the issue and still is.

Sorry, that's not me being snarky at you, I'm more so frustrated and absolutely fucking done with all the empty promises and platitudes.

Best case scenario with what was said during the Q&A was that she said "it's still happening" (worst case was that she didn't address it at all).

Like, how is this:

"I can say that… we are currently doing work on it… and it is going well.. and that it looks really cool and that I wish everyone could see what we’ve done because it looks really really really cool, and it’s happening, but that’s all I can say at this point… I can say, making tv shows takes a really long time, it takes so long" (last night's Q&A)

Any different than this:

Any different than this:

“Um, it’s been really interesting. It’s been educational for me. So, what I—what has been done so far is beautiful. Like, if I could share it, I would. But I can’t. Because it’s very naughty.” - Girl Wonder SDCC (July 2023)

She's been saying this for the last two years since people started getting suspicious it wasn't happening in the first place, and despite all the reassurances that "it's still happening", it doesn't seem to have anything to show for itself. Cast list? Nope. Director? Nope. Writers? Nah. Just a showrunner whose bio still says "TBA" and who, despite having a whole ass 40 minute long interview with Girl Wonder, still didn't have anything to show for what's to come, just more empty promises that it's "still happening" (and a lot of banter about Stephanie's life, rather than her involvement with LO).

In fact, most of what Stephanie talks about in the podcast concerning LO is pitching it, not developing it. And this interview happened just a few months ago. Go listen to it yourself if you don't believe me.

So at this point, I see "it's still happening" as "don't panic" corporate speak for "we're still pitching it and trying to find a network for it so we can actually move onto development." Yes, animation takes a long time, even Hazbin Hotel took about three and a half years to finally release after Prime bought the rights to it in 2020. But LO, again, clearly hasn't even started the animation process yet. And while we're comparing it to Hazbin, note that HH actually had LOADS to show for itself along the way of being developed and did a much, MUCH better job at staying relevant and pulling in new people and hyping it up. Even people who never watched Hazbin before in its indie days on Youtube were hearing about it, it made an active effort to sell itself to new viewers and break out of its bubble on Youtube. Is LO doing that? No, not really. Most of the people who know about it are diehard fans who refuse to read anything that isn't shown directly to them on Webtoons, and diehard haters who are tired of the garbage that gets advertised on Webtoons. Ask anyone who doesn't use Webtoons, and best case, they'll know someone who reads LO, worst case, they won't even know what a webtoon is.

Shit, even the new upcoming Zelda movie has names attached to it, including Avi Arad, Wes Ball, and Derek Connolly. And my god, it's gonna SUCK DICK with that bad of a line-up (the guy who ruined the OG Spiderman trilogy and created Morbius, the guy who directed the Maze Runner films, and one of the leading storywriters behind Rise of Skywalker, fucking YIKES) but hey, at least it has more than one name attached to it.

But okay, if we're gonna play the comparison game, let's be fair and compare LO to some other works in its own lane. Let's Play announced last year that it would be getting an animated adaption, and it already has a studio backing it that is FAR more suited for it than JHC is to LO - OLM, the same studio whose animated for massive franchises like Pokemon, Yo-Kai, and Gudetama. JHC meanwhile has animated... motion capture kid shows like Word Party. Because that's the only kind of animation they actually specialize in when it comes to their in-house services. Sure, they also have Harriet the Spy, but that wasn't animated by them, that was animated by Titmouse Inc (heh sorry).

I'm the Grim Reaper recently had its own animated adaption announced, and who's in charge of it? Oh, only SAM FUCKING RAIMI-

And look, maybe the Let's Play and I'm the Grim Reaper adaptions won't happen either. I just think it's ironic that they both have more to show for themselves in terms of credible names attached to them than what LO has managed to scrape up after five years of promising that it's "still happening" (especially when one of those series is nowhere near as big as LO and the one that WAS as big as LO walked away from Webtoons entirely). For Webtoons' own "worldwide phenomenon", they sure have given LO the shit end of the stick by pairing it with a family-with-kids-under-10 production studio that doesn't specialize in animation and a showrunner who got her start with the Cosmopolitan (weird how LO has so many plugs with Cosmo, huh? Why is JHC producing the show again?)

At the end of the day, nothing's changed. It's still just the ole' "it's still happening" record on a loop, while the comic itself falls further out of favor with people. And it's likely gonna be going behind DailyPass soon, so just think about what that's gonna do to its relevancy after it gets sent away to the equivalent of the Webtoons graveyard.

As I've said countless times before every time this topic comes up, at best, if it is still happening, and I'm wrong about all of this, they are doing the worst job I've ever seen at hyping people up and keeping them informed. It is NOT a good thing that people have to keep asking Rachel if it's still happening.

As for worst case... you wanna know what other projects come to my mind that have fallen into the same state of development hell and decay as LO's TV show? YandereSim and Cryamore. What do you think the popular opinion is about those works and their creators now? Because if you don't know either of those names and are about to google them, let me give you a heads up warning - it's not positive.

If it happens, it happens. It will hopefully be before I get all the therapy I need to undo what LO has done to my brain so that I don't have to make repeat visits LOL But if it's after, hey, maybe the show will be good! Assuming Rachel doesn't, y'know, E.L. James the whole thing. Because frankly, the show will need to cut and rework a LOT of stuff to be any good IMO and I don't think that will be possible if Rachel gets directly involved. But I'm not even hoping for that scenario because there's literally NOTHING to give me that hope, "it's still happening" is nothing more than "don't panic" corporate speak to me at this point. It's cynical, but I just can't waste my energy caring about it anymore.

[youvebeenlivingfictionalnbcyoa]

It'll Be Fun

Notes: This is the first post of the Nathan Bateman Choose Your Own Adventure for the Youvebeenlivingfictional 5k Follower Celebration! Just a heads up about a couple of things:

All CYOA paths are complete. If you hit the gif that says it's the end, it means that it's the end.

There is one (1) spicy chapter within one of the paths. If you cannot see the chapter, you need to update your content settings. Find the instructions to do that here.

This is not beta-read. As always.

The links to other paths are at the bottom of posts

If there are any broken links, please let me know!

Warnings: Cursing; angst; fluff

Summary: You’ve heard stories about how Bateman…Operates. You’ve only met him in person once, shortly after you’d been hired as Chief Knowledge Officer. It had been brief, perfunctory: Hi, how are you, happy to be here, love it, thanks for the money, enjoy your plane and helicopter ride back to your fucking remote, subterranean, in-fucking-sane facility you billionaire hermit whackadoo—

You had an idea of what this would be like, of course, but the reality is…Absolutely insane. You’re tired, you’re sweaty, and you are so, so happy that you fucking packed light. You shift your bag on your shoulder, glancing around. Follow the river. Follow the fucking river? You’re not a goddamn girl scout. You pull in a deep breath, then let out a relieved sigh as you finally spot the house…Up a rather steep incline. Son of a bitch.

You puff out an irritated breath as you bend forward a touch, resting your hands on your knees.

“Ohhhkay. Okay,” You mutter, straightening. Fuck, you hate team building. Hell, you hate it even more when it’s in such limited quantities of people—this way, there's nowhere to hide, you're easily missed. It’s barely half the C-suite: just you, Bateman, the CFO and the CMO.

It’ll be fun.

Bateman had slurred that across the phone on a status nearly two months ago. It’ll be fun.

The CFO and CMO had signed on enthusiastically; you’d been a little more hesitant to speak up, but had reluctantly agreed—and been met by an cheery, Yeaaah! from Bateman. Maybe that should’ve spurred you to be just a touch more excited, but you’ve heard stories about how Bateman…Operates. You’ve only met him in person once, shortly after you’d been hired as Chief Knowledge Officer. It had been brief, perfunctory: Hi, how are you, happy to be here, love it, thanks for the money, enjoy your plane and helicopter ride back to your fucking remote, subterranean, in-fucking-sane facility you billionaire hermit whackadoo—

Beyond that, you’ve hardly interacted with him outside of meetings, briefings, emails, what have you. You do a good job. You get your shit done. He doesn’t call you out because you've never given him a reason to.

You huff softly as you begin a long hike up the fairly steep incline. Alright. Pace yourself. No need to fuck your knees or ankles or anything up right before you meet your boss—

You wince as your foot slips, your knee skimming against a sharp rock. You groan, looking down and eyeing the throbbing spot. It hasn’t torn your leggings, but you’re willing to bet the skin’s a little torn under there. Damnit. You push on, righting your footing. Come on. Arrive in one piece. You don’t want the fricking sun to go down before you get there, and you really don’t want them to have to come looking for you.

(Though if you’re being honest, you’re not sure that Bateman would go out of his way to send out the search party. You can see the article on Wired now—BlueBook Chief Knowledge Officer Gets Eaten By Bear On the Way to Corporate Weekend Retreat. Said Bateman, “She knew she’d have a hike through challenging terrain. She should’ve brought her bear repellent. Frankly, we can’t tolerate that kind of narrow-minded unpreparedness at BlueBook. We’re already looking to hire her replacement. Our front-runner has climbed Everest.”)

You snort to yourself at the thought. You can practically hear Bateman saying it—with that damnable smug curl to his lips; you can see his hand drawing out of his pocket to adjust his glasses; to pass his hand over his closely shaved head, his palm loosing a rasping little shush against his cropped hair; his shoulder shrugging dismissively before he impatiently waves the reporter on to their next question. Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t put it past him. You’re only useful to Nathan as long as you suit his needs. You’re certain that if your visions for the company didn’t align with his, if you didn’t fall in line with what he wants for BlueBook, he’d drop you without a second thought. 

It would only be right, of course. It’s his company, not yours. 

You come to another stop once you reach the top of the hill, bracing your hands on your lower back and giving it a bit of a stretch. Fuck. You need a shower. A long, hot shower. You straighten up, and are set to go full steam ahead to Bateman’s when you hear your name called. You go still, dread trickling into your chest, your eyes squeezing shut. Maybe you can pretend you didn’t hear him? 

But you’re not on some crowded city street, or office hall, and you’ve stilled for too long. You turn, slapping on a smile at the sight of the CFO, William Ellis, at the bottom of the steep hill. You force a smile, raising a hand to wave. You’re fully intent on turning back around and heading toward the house, but he calls out, “Mind giving me a hand with my bags?” 

Yes, you do mind. You’re not a fucking bellhop. You don’t want to help him with his bags—you don’t even want to be here. You want to stomp back to that field and camp out until that helicopter comes back to take you home. 

Instead, you turn around, measuring and bracing your steps as you trudge back down the hill. 

-- 

“Damn good luck running into you.” 

It's the third time he says it, though he’s run out of breath more and more as he did. Ellis is a short, stout Englishman. His typically fair, clear skin is ruddy and red from exertion. It probably doesn’t help that his voice seems to come from his nose, and is pushed out of the narrow purse of his lips with his rarefied Oxbridge snobbishness. “Sure,” Is all you offer now. The first time, you’d said Isn’t it; the second, you’d chuckled lightly, offered, Guess so. Maybe if your responses become monosyllabic, he wouldn’t bother. You shift your bag on your shoulder, moving Ellis’ duffle bag from one hand to the other as you deftly avoided the rock that you’d slipped on before.

“Nice of Bateman to have us along,” He adds. 

“Yep.”  

“Don’t get to see much of the old sport these days.” 

The Old Sport. Christ. This man is one off-white jacket, gin rickey, and Dead Man’s float away from being an F. Scott Fitzgerald character.

“Well, that’ll happen,” Is all you offered in turn. You fight the urge to drop William’s duffel on the doorstep as you approached the house. Instead, you still, watching William approach and draw his phone out to check the instructions. 

“Now let’s see…” He mutters. “The instructions did say that the…Keycard pad was around here…Somewhere…” 

“William Ellis.”

You glance over as a robotic voice draws your attention to a keypad.  It's just another moment before it instructs:

“Please approach the console and face the screen.”

William wanders closer, eyes still set on his phone. You bite your lip, choking down a laugh as a light flashes, taking a picture of the top of William’s head. 

“Take your keycard.” 

You step closer as William took his, and the same robotic voice said your name. You step in front of the camera, forcing your face into a neutral expression. 

“You ought to smile a bit,” William chuckles. You tighten your hands on the straps of his duffel as irritation pulses through you. You have half a mind to drop this duffel bag right on his foot—knowing full well that his work and personal laptops are in here. Instead, you reach out, taking the card from the slot. 

“You may now enter the residence.” 

William doesn’t hold the door open for you. He doesn’t even gesture for you to be the first one in. You’ve already had enough of this man’s shit—and you haven’t even seen Bateman, or the CMO. You don’t want to see them in this state anyway. The CMO, Dan Marshall, is one of your better workplace friends. And Bateman—well. Either way, you’re not sure you’re ready to see him yet, for all of the hell he’s already put you through with this little hike. 

“So? Shall we?” William nods down the hall. 

Shall you? 

Go With William to Find Nathan and Dan

Go Off On Your Own and Find Your Room 

[ask-shane]

this has already probably been asked, but what's yor opinion on the other bachelors and bachelorettes in town? (you don't have to do ALL of them! just do a few if you want!!)

i'm not one to usually talk aloud about my neighbors, but let's give this a shot. for all intents and purposes.

might as well go through the whole list while we're at it. and hey, just a fair warning: my opinion is always subject to change. i'm just speaking based on what i know for now.

alright. prepare for some blabbing. if you're not interested, there's your cue to bounce.

alex: alex is complicated. he's a little self-absorbed. and arrogant. but he's also not as mean as he seems. he just has this whole "bad boy" image he likes to put on for whatever reason. at his core, i think he's actually a pretty nice guy. we both like gridball and can chat over that so i can't really complain too much. sebastian: i hardly see this guy around. maybe during town festivals or at the saloon playing pool, yeah, but i can count on my fingers the amount of times we've talked one on one. it's possible he's just not much of a talker. i can't figure out if he's reserved or just doesn't have a lot to say. dude's doing his own thing most of the time and that's fine by me. elliott: his speech and outlook on life can come off as kinda pretentious or egotistical, though to be fair... if i were him, i'd be the same way. he's done well for himself. he's a little hard to catch since he never leaves the house, but if you get him talking about books, his passion is pretty admirable. it's just hard to connect with him because he always seems to have this "mysterious elusive writer" image up.

sam: i don't mind this guy, actually. he's my co-worker too which i guess is a good thing. he's laid-back and doesn't sweat the little stuff. super easy going, just wants to chill out and have a good time... we're not close buddies or anything, but from our short break room chats, it's clear he's pretty passionate about music. almost reminds me of myself when i was younger. he's got a good head on his shoulders. harvey: what can i say? he saved my life when i was at my lowest. i've got a lot of respect for the work he does and for taking me in that night. sure, he's dorky, but he's way smarter than i could ever dream of being, so who am i to judge? he's like the dream kid every parent wishes theirs could be. hope the guy's not overworking himself. knowing him though, he probably is... emily: she's one of the closer friends i have in this shitty town. she's been incredibly optimistic for as long as i've known her and normally that'd piss me off, but i actually find her tolerable. maybe it's the way she accepted me and stayed kind even when i was being a piece of shit. i gotta appreciate her for that.

abigail: i know she's pierre's daughter and that's about where my knowledge stops. like sebastian, i hardly ever see her, let alone find a reason to chat. she's a mystery to me. i do wonder if she has any hard feeling towards me, considering my job at joja right across from her dad's store. knowing the trouble that corporation's caused them, i'm not sure i'd forgive me either. hopefully she gets that it's not my call though.

haley: i never thought i'd say this out loud, but she's kind of the stereotype for spoiled city girl. she thinks she's all that and you just get the sense that she thinks she's better than you. she probably sees me as nothing more than dirt beneath her shoes for all i know. although honestly, i think it's just a defense mechanism for some deeper insecurity. i can see right through that.

penny: she's jas's teacher and also the only teacher for the kids in town. that's gotta be a handful. thankfully it seems like she really loves what she does. i have a feeling she just wants to do the right thing, which is hard to find in people these days. she also has to deal with pam's alcoholic instability at home but never gives up or lets herself become hopeless and i admire her for that. good for her.

maru: while i don't know her personally, i know she's accomplished. from what i've seen and heard from her proud dad, they work together on science research projects and whatnot. with a strong support system like hers she's set up for a future making headlines as an astronomer or something like that. she strikes me as someone who struggles to take things easy but that's pretty normal for goal-oriented people. i don't have much to say about her aside from that. leah: she's my neighbor, if you can even call it that. every time i see her art in the town square, i've gotta admit, it gets a nod of approval from me. i try not to knock other people's art, but every now and then i see these abstract pieces going for a million g that make me think i could've made them at home for a buck or two. so i gotta hand it to her. her craft is impressive.

[strangefellows]

Okay this is gonna be a long post but I figured why the hell not throw my absolute fucking lunatic conspiracy board Limbus Company theory out there, because I’ve had four people tell me it makes sense when I’ve brought it up to them, so! Here we go. Theory: I believe that Dante is Ayin (a main character of the first ProjMoon game, Lobotomy Corp, for those who don’t know). There’s a metric asston of evidence in just the first few chapters alone that keeps making me lie on the floor and scream, so let me document it! 

We’re going under a cut for length, let’s get started! Heavy spoilers for Lobotomy Corporation and Ruina under here, be warned.

The Song: First of all, just looking at the lyrics to In Hell We Live, Lament has me absolutely losing my fucking mind. We’re looking at insane lines like “I walked down a path / Leading to the past / Stole from the tree's hands / A regretter's friend / The forbidden fruit” and “If you wanted me to speak / If you wanted me to think / If you wanted me to carry on our dreams / Each loop we live through / The standards inside me / Thе line I drew for me / Lowers to the earth” and “Why'd you make my voice stutter? / Why do truths never matter? / Why'd you curse me with "you're a natural born genius"?” and “Replayed thoughts / Forget me not / I'm inside the empathic light / I bite off your skin / Exposing the angels on your ribs” and just...the repeated mention of loops. The song basically reads literally like Ayin himself singing it to Carmen. (The ending song also feels suspicious lyrically as well, but I can’t pin that down as easily.)

The Prologue: Not as much here, but I find it extremely suspicious that they didn’t show us a damn thing of Dante until after he loses his head and his memories. And honestly, Faust and Vergilius going ‘your name is Dante’ feels very blatantly like a goddamn lie. An amnesiac is gonna accept whatever you tell him is his name, man. Not to mention that he’s explicitly someone very important (Vergilius says so in ch3), and clearly knows something the bad guys desperately want. Which ties to my next point.

The Bad Guys: First of all, they want the Golden Boughs, which as apparently ‘pieces of L Corp’s Singularity’, are a very nice way to say they’re probably literally pieces of Carmen somehow. Branches sure look like the central nervous system, huh. Second, one of the trio in the intro refers to their boss as a ‘her’, says she wants to do something that’s ‘not illegal, but has never been done before’, and IIRC, calls her the Serpent. Now, looking at that serpent reference alongside Carmen’s existing parallels to WhiteNight, as well as Adam and his constant talk of the forbidden fruit...you see what I’m getting at here? Who tempted Adam in the first place?

The Inferno: Now, you see, even if the big bad is somehow Carmen in some way -- similarly to how the Voice led Argalia in Ruina, perhaps? -- that doesn’t necessarily mean Ayin is Dante. HOWEVER! Look back at the Inferno itself, the poem we’re working off extremely heavily. What is the purpose for Dante’s trip to hell? Beatrice. Dante’s dead girlfriend who’s become a divine being. Literally, Beatrice sent Virgil to guide Dante through hell and limbo and shit to bring him to her, roughly speaking. So, uh, looks at the whole dead now divine gf thing. Hm. Yeah. And where is our own trip to hell taking us? Through the ruins of Lobcorp, grabbing what are more or less pieces of Carmen, and I can’t remember if it’s said outright or not but there is a heavy ass chance this trip is ending at the main facility. Which, coming full circle...

The Clock: I will politely resist making a Hokma joke. But you have to admit it’s funny. In all seriousness, though, the fact that Dante’s power is resetting -- something that the entire gameplay of Lobotomy Corp and a major aspect of the plot was built around, resetting and looping and bringing the dead back to life -- is a major sus factor. In fact, I’m just waiting for someone to say ‘death is meaningless’ if I’m not just blanking on dialogue and someone’s said it already. Not to mention, the aspect of Dante feeling the pain of the injuries/deaths he’s rewinding gives me a lot to say about the (fairly canon) interpretation of Ayin martyring himself using the loops to punish himself for what he did. Suffering how the people he’s tied to suffered, so to speak. In fact -- I wouldn’t be surprised if the clock is/was Ayin’s EGO like the Library is Angela’s. How else would it be immediately to hand to slap on his neck, and what else could possibly have been able to legitimately replace his goddamn head on such short notice?

Manager: LOOK, THIS ONE IS TENUOUS BUT WHEN ADDED TO THE PILE-- the simple fact that Dante is deliberately given the title of manager feels important, when looked at through the lens of the rest of the evidence. There’s a line at the beginning of Chapter 1 when the children Sinners start fighting where Dante goes “Should I step in? Is this the part where I exercise my authority as the manager with dignity and grace? A faint memory urges me to do something." and it feels significant.

Random additional note: The Mirror Dungeons Wellcheers event has Dante say it ‘feels familiar’ -- does it? Does it now, Dante? 

While I’m still going through the game myself - middle of ch2 - I’ve had the whole story told to me, so I know what’s up, and though there’s probably more small bits I’m missing, the major beats here are definitely enough to support my theory for sure. It feels very right and fitting.

I’m just sitting here with several tinfoil hats and my ConspiracyBoard.gif going GUYS I SWEAR, THIS MAKES SENSE and losing it silently. I hope I’m right. I mean if I’m not right I’m making an AU fic anyway, but I hope I’m right. What do y’all think?

[remingtonisleithal]

I just think that what mcr did at the wwwy fest is beyond words, but I'm going to try anyway.

As a self proclaimed emo, I naturally feel nostalgia towards the 2000s emo culture, with the release of three cheers and the black parade albums, with fall out boy, with paramore, all of the songs with lyrics now written in our hearts being new. I feel incredibly nostalgic, but the interesting thing is that I'm nostalgic for an era I was barely alive to see. I'm a 2000s kid, I was less than a year old when three cheers was released. But I feel nostalgic towards it, I feel like things would have been better if I was born earlier to experience it.

But what MCR have done is they have said, to the media, to nostalgia, to the corporations bringing emo back for profit, not for sub-culture, is a big, total "FUCK YOU". And I think that's beautiful.

See, what my chemical romance is, and will always be, is something that you don't understand. That you can't quite grasp. Every time you think you know them, and decide who they are, they will do something so batshit to say "No. That's not us, we are whatever the fuck we want to be and we are proud of it." They did this in each era. They eyeshadow, they kissed each other, they wore all black, they wore bright colours and sang about a comic they made. They faked their fucking death.

So they wore their Revenge era outfits to the when we were young fest. This is already tongue in cheek, wearing something from when they were young to a nostalgia trip of a festival. But then adding in the prosthetics. Bringing you back to the present. Reminding yourself that that's not where you are anymore, the past cannot come back. And that's a good thing. Because they played all their hits, none of the niche stuff the mcrmy has a passion for. They didn't talk between songs and played the band they were supposed to be, pigeon-holed into for the longest time. So much so that it was killing them, it's why they split up. Because if they didn't, if they stayed the way they were told they were supposed to be, they would have ended up dead (evident by their outfits, particularly mikey, I haven't seen a single photo of his outfit and I heard that he was covered in blood, no prosthetics, which can be read into as something bad happening to him, leaving him to die young, which would have been the harsh reality if they pushed themselves into this).

My Chemical Romance has always and will always tell you who they are, which will always be the opposite of what people tell them to be. And right now, the media is making them into some sort of glorified revival band, but that's not it. They're just them. They don't want the fucking nostalgia to take them back to a place that nearly killed them. They never wanted to be pigeon-holed into being emo, even speaking out about hating the stereotype (which changed so much from what it was when they were growing up, it shifted into some kind of store-bought ripped jeaned teens with a passion for razor blades instead of angst souls surviving through music) and yet the same stereotype--which was once protested as being anti-religious, propaganda, a suicide cult and more--is being paraded around as a nostalgic gem to be worshipped. A trend. And you bet your ass that ray toro, mikey way, frank iero and gerard way are going to shit on all of that.

It was never about the money. The hits. The costumes. The crowds. It was about saving lives by being yourself, and looking into the past, reminiscing over how things were through the rose-tinted lens of time, isn't going to save anyone. It's going to leave you without anything in the present. You have to evolve. And bullshitting yourselves into being something you're not, or believing the grass was greener is only bullshitting yourself. It's not rebellion, it's suicide. The exact thing my chem is trying to stop. The haunting prosthetics serve as a reminder that while it's fun to revisit the past, you cannot stay that way. You have to carry on.

[beautifulgirl223]

Hello all! Well this is my first time writing and posting to tumblr, but I had this idea that I could just not let go of in my head, so here we are. I wrote this with Eustass Kid in mind because I’m absolutely obsessed with him and want to do filthy things with him, but I wrote it to allow you to add any male character you’d like. I wrote the reader gender neutral, and with no descriptions of anything so anyone could enjoy. Anyways. Here’s this. I didn’t proof read : D and I have no idea how to make my posts look pretty like other writers. So let me know if I miss anything. No smut. I wish I could write it, but I’m so bad at it. I’d be willing to corporate with someone on this if they wanted to write the other half 🤷

———————————————————————

“If you don’t think you can do it, then just say that.” You desperately tried to maintain the facade of indifference as you turned your back to him.

He knew what you were doing. You were only trying to get a rise out of him. It was a stupid game that he didn’t see the point of.

And you were always good at getting a rise out of him.

“Give me the damn chocolate…” he mumbled under his breath as he popped 2 into his mouth.

“Babe! You’re only supposed to take half!” You exclaimed as you watched him swallow the aphrodisiacs. He raised his eyebrows challengingly.

“Aww sweetheart. Don’t think you can do it?” Using your exact words against you in a condescending tone.

Narrowing your eyebrows at him, you grabbed 2 from the package and ate them as you glared at him.

“Oh I know I can do it sweetheart,” you say with emphasis on the word, “It’s only a matter of time before you come pleading at my feet. Just begging to fuck me into the mattress.”

“Oh I was gonna do that anyways,” he said with a shrug as he went his own way to do whatever it was that he does during this time of day. “Only it’s gonna be you pleading me to fuck you until you forget how to breathe.”

He was out of earshot before you could even come up with a retort. You couldn’t help but lightly stop your feet like a little kid throwing a tantrum would. You were supposed to get under his skin. Not the other way around.

You were a bit worried though. Not that the chocolate was going to kill you. But you did both just take 4 servings…

*** 20 minutes later ***

This was a huge fucking mistake.

You hated to admit it. The last thing you wanted to do was prove him right. But it was impossible to focus on anything else when your brain was only concerned with you laying on your back underneath -

Holy shit you needed to focus.

You sat at the kitchen table attempting to get some work done. Your face was warm as you tried to rein in your thoughts.

Crossing your legs to try and alleviate some of the discomfort you felt in between your legs. Only to have made your arousal worse. Desperate for clarity, grabbing the biggest glass availed and poured the coldest glass of water you could handle. Hoping to lower your temperature.

You had no idea where he was at. Noting how you hadn’t seen him for the last 20 minutes, you were starting to get pissed off. It makes sense that the aphrodisiacs would respond differently between the two of you, but was he not feeling anything at all? It wasn’t fair. He had 4 servings of the shit. It was only a matter of time before you decided your pride wasn’t worth it, and ask him to take care of you.

You went to sit back down until you heard heavy breathing headed straight towards you.

Speak of the devil.

He came into the room, and he had never looked more attractive than what he does right now.

His shirt nowhere to be found. Showing off his flushed midsection and neck as he continued to breathe hard. His skin was radiating heat, and you could feel the lust rolling off of him in waves as he moved towards you.

You felt no shame as you allowed your eyes to roam down his body. His dick straining against the fabric of his pants. It looked painful. You almost felt bad.

With his presence, you remembered that you have a game to play. You forced your eyes away from your man’s crotch and just barely got away from his reach as he tried to grab you.

The growl of warning was enough to make your knees buckle for a quick second. The sound going straight to your crotch. Suppressing your urges you managed to turn and look at him.

“Well someone looks absolutely ruined,” you chuckled as you took another sip of water. Trying to feign any symptoms of lust. Knowing good and well that you were as bad as he was.

He ran a frustrated hand down his face in order to try and calm down.

“You’re not looking much better,” he managed to get out with a strained voice. “You were staring pretty hard at something only a moment ago.”

“What? I can’t admire how pretty my man is?”

“Why don’t you admire me from on top of my face huh? Bet you wanna take a ride.”

The whimper left your mouth involuntarily. He was gonna cost you the game with how he was talking.

He smirked. Seeing to have gained a moment of control as he reached for you once more. This time not having the strength to move, you allowed him to manhandle you. Relishing in how his hands felt as they moved across your body.

“Whatdya say sweetheart? Wanna admit that you can’t go any longer without me splitting you open with my cock? Just ask nicely and I promise to give it to you,” he whispered in your ear. His breath fanning across your neck in addition to his hands groping you everywhere he could reach made for a losing combo.

The arousal was building to the point it hurt. You could rub one out to save you the disappointment of losing to him. But the idea of pleasing yourself when you had a man that could please you so much better than you could yourself made you want to cry. You didn’t want to think about getting off any other way if it didn’t involve him over, under or behind you in someway.

He was grinding his erection against your body, and groaning at the friction. Essentially dry humping you through multiple layers of fabric.

“Just say the word sweetheart and make sure you can’t walk tomorrow,”

He was playing so dirty. Touching you and promising filthy acts in your ear. Your knees buckled under the sensations, but he was there to grab you. Like he always was.

Somehow you managed to catch your breath and steady your legs before you maneuvered out of his grip. The look of shock on his face was quickly replaced by one of annoyance. He thought he had you.

“How about some other time? I’m kinda busy working right now,” you say as you sit back down with your work.

You knew it would be impossible to finish any work right now. It was the last thing on your mind as you had someone who was ready to ravish you at the drop of a hat who stood no more than an arms reach away.

You force yourself to break his gaze by staring back at your work. Internally kicking yourself for wanting to win this stupid game when you were horny to the point of pain. You would make sure to never take that much aphrodisiac ever again.

The only noise in the room came from the heavy breathing the two of you shared before he mumbled something you didn’t quite catch.

Moments later he scooped you up in his arms and was racing towards your shared bedroom.

“Fuck this stupid game. You win alright?”

—————————————————————

Please do not take my idea or copy my writing anywhere :) all the rights here belong to me 😈

[vegasandhishedgehog]

I don't remember which one of you said it last week, but I agreed with it and episode 11 only solidified that for me:

Jeng and Pat shouldn't be together. Not even eventually after the two year time skip.

I felt a gnawing in my stomach hearing that line coming from Put saying Jeng wasn't suited for Pat, because while I don't like Put, I also don't hate him and knew he was right. Pat wasn't there to see their little passive aggressive fights over him, he didn't see how both of them wanted control over the relationship so badly. Pat being dangled like a prize instead of a person between them colored the development of things darkly early on, but when the weather is overcast for so long it's hard to tell when the storm will actually hit.

I don't need to repeat what's been said about how ultimately Jeng put his needs above Pat's just like Put did and how that led to the breakup, but it is more disappointing. He was aware of Pat's relationship with Put and had seen how being around him affected Pat's mood when they first saw each other again. Jeng should have known better. What I think a lot of age and professionalism has done is make it easy for Jeng to pass as emotionally mature when he truly isn't. Not enough to handle the consequences of the relationship he wants so badly. Since that's the case, he's allowed Pat to shoulder most of that emotional burden, and in a romantic relationship that's just not going to be sustainable. Even worse, knowing how Pat handles his feelings.

The first half of this show really seemed to set up a sort of Mr. Darcy transformation for Jeng but it chose to take a more realistic route. The way Jeng reacted to Pat's emotional outbursts in the beginning was callous and apathetic at best. Sure, both he and Pat have developed in the aspects of Pat being stronger in his emotions and Jeng having greater sympathy, but I think for Pat it isn't from Jeng's encouragement and more from the everything else he's had to handle. Jeng's sympathy seems to really only extend from his liking Pat and wanting to be seen better by Pat. I'll exclude his feeding the homeless from that because we're not given a timeline or a reason for when and why he started doing it, and I won't speculate on them either. But a majority of his generosity, whether he's aware of it or not, is an extension of his crush.

Due to Jeng being older, rewriting over old habits or filling them in with new ones is harder for the very reason of them being more practiced. This can sabotage someone trying to handle certain things in a different way than they have in the past because they have to consciously stop something that's become reflexive or follows a certain pattern. So when someone isn't consciously stopping that pattern, isn't thinking they're going to follow that pattern this time, or thinks they have no pattern to worry about, they get struck with the consequences later when things play out and they realize "oh shit, I haven't changed." And that's what we get at the end of the episode.

That isn't to say that Jeng is incapable of growth, but he needs to choose that growth for himself. Is this corporate job and remaining in the closet for the interest of everyone but himself what he truly wants over a life with more play and a loving partner? Are the consequences of choosing not to take on that responsibility equal to those of never living a fully realized life? How long will it take him to choose?

I'm sad because all the way through episode 8 I was so excited to see their relationship and truly believed that it could be better than this. The messages about the BL industry, however more subtle they are later on, are really speaking here. If we get a happy ending with JengPat together it will take some really clever work for me to accept it. I honestly think it's time we got a BL that ends without the mains together because if we're going to follow a realistic thread, sometimes we have to follow it all the way. Breaking up a queer couple in queer media doesn't have to be homophobic. Sometimes these stories are made to demonstrate what could go wrong or for older queers to finally tell their story or to explore certain dynamics in ways that haven't been done before, etc. Whatever the intention, and as much as I hate the curse of episode 11, I'm glad they broke up.

[miraclesabound]

Lavender Haze

Summary: Aemond's coworker Kaela gets attacked with some kind of bioweapon, and he's the only one who can help her. Also on AO3.

Pairing: Modern!Scientist!Aemond x F!Plus Size!OC Kaela Drox

Notes: I had this idea sitting in my drafts for literal MONTHS and I only just now got it done. Many apologies to those few people that I promised this to back in ... what was it, February?

Warnings: Sex pollen and all the consent questions that go with it, corporate espionage, fingering, semi-rough PIV sex, Aemond realizing his feelings

Tags: @trelaney, @sapphire-writes

The only reason that Aemond doesn’t tackle the man running away from his biomechanics lab is the awful scream he hears that sounds like his lab partner. When he gets into the lab space, he sees Kaela Drox by the wash station, desperately trying to get something off her face.

Aemond holds back Kaela’s dark hair back so she can finish rinsing the lavender powder away from her eyes, nose, mouth and cheeks. After a few minutes, her breathing eases, and he has her sit down on one of the chairs so he can call Campus Emergency Services.

The call button crackles a moment, and then a familiar voice comes through. “CES, this is Supervisor Strong, what is your location?”

Aemond groans – he’s never cared for his sister Rhaenyra’s husband. “Harwin, this is Aemond, I need Criston Cole, where is he?”

“He’s not on duty today. I repeat – what is your location and the nature of your emergency?”

“I’m in Lab 301 of the Volantis building, Eastern campus – I think my coworker Kaela Drox was attacked or poisoned. At the very least, the lab’s compromised.”

“Is she conscious?”

“I am,” Kaela says, raising her voice so that it catches on the speaker.

Harwin’s tone was businesslike with Aemond, but he tempers his voice when he speaks with Kaela. “Walk me through what happened?”

Kaela gulps, and Aemond realizes she’s sweating. “I found the lab door unlocked, and some guy was in here rifling through my notes. I yelled at him and asked what the fuck he was doing and he threw some kind of powder in my face…” She sucks a breath in through her teeth. “Aemond helped me rinse off most of it, but I’m getting these weird spasms and flashes of fever…and my heart rate is up.”

“What color was that powder?”, Harwin asks.

“Lavender,” Aemond says.

“Shit,” Harwin mutters. “Kaela, listen, I know this is indelicate, but are the spasms purely painful, or are they more like arousal?”

“…more like arousal,” Kaela admits. Aemond puts a hand on her shoulder, but he pulls away when she winces. “What WAS that stuff?”

“I suspect it’s choking lavender – it was a party drug back when Rhae and I were in school. We have a dose of antidote here at the station, but if you got hit in the face, Kaela, you’ll need triage care immediately.”

Kaela whines from pain, and Aemond asks, “What do you mean, triage?” Is it his imagination, or did she just rub those thick, luscious thighs of hers together?

“I mean she needs to achieve orgasm at least twice, if not more,” Harwin says. “It’ll help her heartrate come down. I’m sending help as fast as I can, but with the East Campus being farther away, we can’t take any chances.”

“I can’t!” Kaela begs. “Please, there has to be another way!”

The panic in her voice is clear enough that Aemond feels it in his own heart, combined with a growing sense of rage.  “Strong,” he hisses, “I don’t care if my sister loves you – if I find out you’re making this up, you’re a dead man.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this. Help her get comfortable – I need to sign off.” The line crackles as it closes.

Kaela is shaking, but she lets Aemond help her to her feet and take off her lab coat. His heart hurts for her again – he can see the fever creating splotches and chills across her pale skin. “What do you need?” he asks.

“For you to turn around!” Aemond puts his hands up defensively, but he does as she says and turns so that she’s in his blind spot.

He hears the rustling of what he assumes to be her shirt and pants and shoes – and then a jolt goes right to his cock when he hears her moan. The powder must have acted faster than he thought; has it really only been five minutes since he came in here?

“Are you ok?”

“Maybe?” Kaela’s voice is strained. “Just…let me take care of this…” There’s another rustling, and he can hear how wet she is – she must be taking off her underwear.

Kaela’s feet almost go out from under her when she swipes a finger between her legs. She leans against one of the tables as a spasm hits her. “Oh FUCK,” she hisses. “That helps a little, but not enough…” Her legs buckle when she swipes again, and this time she collapses to the floor. “Help…”

She doesn’t have to say it twice. Aemond is already turning around and helping her up, checking her body for bruises from the fall.

“Kae, do you trust me?” She nods. “Ok, then hold on.” Aemond pulls her to him, taking a moment to feel the softness of her body. “I’m going to take care of you.”

He wraps one arm around the thickness of her waist, and she buries her face in his shoulder. His other hand reaches down, and he feels her shudder when his fingers find her clit. “Steady, honey,” he coos in her ear. “I have you.” He wonders if she can feel that he’s gotten fully hard himself.

Kaela’s panic dissipates into a wave of pleasure as Aemond alternates his fingers – first brushing her clit, then slipping a finger or two inside of her, making sure to vary the pressure when he feels her shake. He obviously knows what he’s doing – Kaela’s relieved that she doesn’t have to chase her satisfaction on her own. However, she can also tell that her heart rate is pounding higher and higher, and as she groans into Aemond’s shoulder, she begs him to hurry.

Aemond would normally want to stretch this out, but with how tightly he’s holding her, he can feel that same heartbeat acceleration. With a flick of his wrist, he finds the right angle, and she falls apart in his arms with a breathy moan that almost puts him over the edge himself.

The relief is short-lived – Aemond tilts Kaela’s face up to check on her, and her expression is still manic. “Are you with me?” he asks.

“It’s not enough,” she says, and Aemond can see her eyes filling with tears. “I think…I think I need penetration… and I won’t make you do that!”

Aemond’s hand grips her chin, and he uses his other hand to pull her to him, having her cup his erection. “Kae, listen to me – does it feel like you’re making me do anything?”

Kaela gulps, the realization hitting her that Aemond is very much into this. “No, no it doesn’t…”

“You said you trust me, right? Then trust that I’m willing to take care of you.” He gives her a quick kiss. “Will you let me fuck you, honey?”

“Ok…”

Kaela looks positively dazed at this point, and Aemond knows he needs to move quickly. He has her face away from him and bend over the lab table. He then takes off his lab coat and pants, giving himself a few quick pumps to make sure he stays hard.

Aemond lies down over Kaela’s back and starts to slowly push inside of her. Once he’s all the way in, he whispers in her ear, “How hard do you want it?”

“Whatever it takes,” Kaela says with a groan. “My chest hurts…”

Aemond lifts off slightly so that she can breathe, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Just hang on and stay awake for me.” He would normally start slow, but Kaela is so wet that he can fuck her fast without causing pain. As such, he gives it to her as hard as he can, every thrust pushing her belly into the table edge.

Even with that, Aemond can still tell that Kaela’s having trouble staying conscious. “Stay with me,” he says. “Need you to tell me what you need…”

“Harder,” Kaela murmurs.

“I need specifics, honey,” Aemond says, putting an arm under her for more chest support. “Do you need me to use my fingers like I did before, or is it something different when you’re being fucked?”

“Constant…clit pressure…” she’s able to say – and Aemond is only too happy to oblige.

He reaches down and begins firmly rubbing her again. This time, she seems to wake up, and Aemond can feel her tightening around him. “Good girl,” he says, kissing her cheek. “What a good girl, telling me what you need.”

Kaela moans, and Aemond knows he’s hit on something. “You like that?” he asks. “You like me calling you my good girl?”

“Uh-huh…” Kaela’s voice is stronger now, and Aemond suspects she’s close. “I like…shit, fuck…I like being yours…”

“And you will be,” Aemond promises. “If we get this figured out, I’m taking you to dinner, the theater, anything you want…just be good and come for me, honey.”

Kaela bucks her hips against his hand, once, twice, three times – and she falls into her orgasm with a shriek that she would find indecent at any other time in her life. She’s grateful for Aemond’s strong arm and the table beneath her, or she knows her legs would be giving out.

Aemond isn’t far behind – though his sound of satisfaction is more a growl than a yell. He helps Kaela stand up, and when he turns her around, he’s relieved to see her lucid. He wants to talk – to confirm that he wasn’t just bullshitting to help her come, that he does want to take her out when she has a clean bill of health, but his own heartrate is a bit wild now too. Instead, he helps her get dressed. When Harwin and the medical team arrive, they find Aemond and Kaela with their arms wrapped tight around each other, as if they’re helping each other stay standing.

[legionofpotatoes]

For real, your take on Mando season 3 is completely on point. But I get not feeling able to say it out loud without a disclaimer before, after, and in the tags to keep from getting shouted at in the reblogs. It's just the messed up nature of being in the SW fandom on Tumblr. Speaking your mind on your own blog is an invitation for buffoonery.

If I were completely honestly, I'm not in the least shocked that's what we got. I've long held the opinion that the worst part about the fandom is the fan opinions and expectations out of a new series, and the expectation that a formula for a show won't change, or that a character will maintain one set mentality/trope while simultaneously offering new, completely different story arcs. It isn't necessarily impossible to pull off, but it takes very careful planning and execution. And, unfortunately, that has never been a strength in this franchise, even before Disney ownership.

For most shows, it's the season 5 slump. After 5 seasons, all the flavor is gone and any additional seasons are painfully rehashed at best. For all the corporate financial squeezing that's been done to Mando since the beginning of the show to wring out revenue like its a wet washcloth, it really tracks that were in this place after only 3 seasons.

IMO the only thing that's going to save Andor is the fact that the end of the story has already been told in Rogue One and its confirmed that season 2 will end at that point of the timeline. If it was going to be a 3+ season show, I suspect we'd see the same treatment.

Anyway, I'll stop flapping my gums in your ask box. Your hot take encapsulated what felt off about this season to me. I couldn't put words to it, but it just felt....meh.

I just disable reblogs and try not to tag it in an inflammatory way, my gripes are genuinely like. basic semiotics and story sense, I'm not going after anyone's childhood or feel-goodness. This is all me-problems and me-expectations with a massive machine of commerce that will never give a shit lmao

I too wrote a couple of posts back in s2 days expecting something of this sort going forward after the weirdly presumptuous cameo-baiting of s2 and whatever in the goddamn hell boba fett did with its mando tie-ins, but an entire season of tirespinning sure was a surprising choice. I think writing for TV is fundamentally different than writing for film, so I didn't really see a clear parallel of incompetence within the franchise; and especially with season 1 being so solid in balancing both the overarching and the episodic stuff I felt like they had a neat ramp to milk a decently long character piece out of.

But I can't help but feel like my main problem with the disney/abrams/filoni/favreau era of star wars is its irrationally strong love for the aesthetic. it blinds them to good choices that will then make for interesting stories. gently deradicalizing, humanizing, and then literally AND figuratively getting din out of his shell so he could open up to a child's love could be such an effective, simple to parse, and wholesome core to structure the series around, but that would upend the aesthetic of their cowboy-ass romp a bit too fast and have an end and an identity and all that non-marketing friendly stuff. so they keep withholding his psyche, they keep giving then taking clear communication tools away from grogu, they keep teasing their bond but never outright stating it (I cannot believe after 3 seasons he still hasn't just looked at the baby and directly confessed he loved him), so they can keep bumping those goalposts back and forth while pretending it's progress. because they are in love with the aesthetic.

again, this is my main problem, I don't see this as a problem writ large or even something that represents a wrong way to do star wars. who the hell even knows how you treat a franchise that large at this point, what importance you assign to aesthetic vs. story, all that jazz. I don't know. they're the ones with the analytics data, so they definitely know better. and maybe that's the saddest part

[griim]

DEAD BY DAYLIGHT VERSE

Even from her birth, Gemma's father made it clear that her mother was a nobody, much like she was. Gemma had believed that her mother was dead or something worse. Through paperwork, many years later, Gemma found she was alive but knew nothing of them because of the machine used by the Rossum Corporation. Meaning that to Alexandria, Gemma did not exist, something Gemma had become used to knowing. The young girl knew that she could never have a ‘normal’ family life. But Gemma made sure that Alexandria would not know of her or her Christian's existence, even if this would be possibly the only chance at having a family she would ever have.

During one of the many nights she began stockpiling evidence against her family, Gemma found a secret file. This file contained information about her and what they had been doing to her. Opening it, Gemma was horrified to find out that they had been experimenting on her, using the chair in hopes to remake it and break her in the process. They were hoping to make her a weapon, for the highest bidder. And reading through the files, each line got worse. These things done to Gemma should never happen to anyone. Let alone a child. That was when the voice started, ‘Take revenge, you know you want to.’ A voice that seemed to come from nowhere. However, the thought did cross her mind. Having enough, she would not be their test subject anymore. Grabbing what she could, Gemma stuffed it in her backpack and ran away at seventeen. 

Years passed, and Gemma joined the military, slowly amassing kills, almost as if something else lived within her. Something dark. Some soldiers even rumored she e n j o y e d the killing. Whispers began, calling her The Reaper. During this time, she met Jordan, someone who looked past this ‘darkness’ within her. Showed her the gentle touch she had wanted all along. However, that gentleness and peace ripped from her. 

Gemma remembers it as such; 

“We were out on a typical mission, going in when no one else could or would. You know, because we are the ballsy type. As we approached a small village, things seemed fine and quiet, but we were used to that. So, in that time, we made jokes and, you know, shoot the shit, as you do with people you consider family. That didn’t last long. Nicole, our unit's dog, alerted us to something. So, in typical fashion, we started to scope out the area. But it was too late. We had been ambushed.” Her heart began to race, even when she swore she felt nothing. Gulping, she remained stone-faced, not needing to show them any emotions. 

‘Take cover’, ‘coming from the east’, ‘hold your ground.’ The commands sounded clear as day in her mind. If she had done a better job at giving commands, Jordan would still have been here, or if she had not decided to go into the town, he'd be alive. 

“So, we took cover and began to return fire, something we were used to dealing with, most of us being seasoned members. Jordan, being my partner in the front. We had been behind cover together, taking turns shooting and reloading. Covering for the other. Stuff we both had done hundreds of times before,” this was where the guilt set in, a survivor who believed it should have been t h e m. “As I reloaded, it jammed for a split second, and that second cost Jordan his life…” Pausing, she struggled internally with speaking the words. “He had been shot. Pretty badly, you get used to seeing gunshot wounds. But because it was him, it felt different… After he fell behind cover,” once again, those screamed commands echoed in her mind.

‘Man down’, ‘Man fucking down’, ‘we need a medevac.’ However, now knowing that there never was one.

“I assessed the situation and called for help, but nothing came. Jordan was dying, and I had to hold off the enemy until my unit made its way to me. I could not cry. Because that would not have done shit at that moment. I was a soldier, damn it. One of our operatives told me we needed to move a bomb was set to go, it was all a trap. And, me being me, I wanted to save him, not just because I loved him, but because he was part of our unit, we do not leave men behind.” The tears fought desperately to fall from her eyes, but Gemma held them back. "Jordan knew he would not make it, so he told the team and me to go. I fought like hell to bring him with us, and when they attempted to grab me, that voice from my childhood. When I felt so much rage returned, telling me to fight back if he meant so much to you. Then something snapped in Gemma, she turned on her men, and in what seemed like a blur, she saw nothing but red, and then, she felt p e a c e. 

Blood soaked the ground around Gemma, and the bodies of her team littered the ground at her feet. A laugh escaped her lips as a voice from the darkness beckoned her from over Jordan's body, whispering. 'It is a very mean and nasty place, the world. And it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently. But not you. You became that mean and nasty thing.' Smiling, the woman stumbled over to her lover's body, laying herself over him, blood covering her. As the final ticks of the bomb sounded, she looked up. Face met with a blast of flame. The flame consumed nearly all of her face, and as Gemma thought it was over, something engulfed her, The Red Forest. 

A surviving Unit member swears he heard a laugh, something evil coming from her, and a mask. A skull mask shrouded in a cover, then she was gone.  Who knows, maybe you will find yourself facing The Reaper. 

[ladygoofball]

Adults need to stay out of self indulgent fan spaces. Is this reactionary content for adults? Or do we want them to keep playing the soundtrack of our pains and misery for clicks and laughs.

This is Nobody’s problem Consider it a gesture of good PR when it smacks you in the face.

It should not have to be my problem right now. I am tired.

But riddle me this:

If you saw thought that Keith Harring would have put his entire fucking ass on the line to make sure Aaron Bushnell’s name did not get forgotten?

You’re not alone. I am always being told I am too inexperienced. I need to shovel someone else’s mess for no money. My cats are dying and I don’t have time.

Consider this a healing word:

I have people who are in film school right now? Who can’t fathom a world where the people in front of them can’t fucking conceptualize having the wind knocked out of you with just the power of their words. But a Director comes to fans saying they are tired. The industry is collapsing. I’ll make a whole god damned new one do not TEMPT me with magnum opus status. They do not understand the definition of the word.

That…can’t be right? Is it? You’re all letting the industry standard of VIDEO GAMES whore out your art? Your craft?

For elon fucking MUSK!!

I have had to endure THAT? For weeks. In my self indulgent spaces. Fan run shit and Corporate shit need to be separated. Grooming on the internet moves too quickly. We need to stop allowing grown ass adults to fall into grooming algorithms because Elon FUCKING Musk bought them all. The way that this video game is communicating to us sonatically without REST?!! like we can’t get the POINT?!

It’s always too late.

I have been afraid of going near a good idea for too long but my ideas? KEEP GETTING FLIRTED WITH IN CHAT ROOMS. But everyone is too tired to take my words anywhere.

Nobody gives a damn now BITCH.

Over seven excruciating fucking years i’ve had my ideas flirted with and gone nowhere. That is how groomers speak on the internet now. They never wanted me to know. I can’t say who. I was in film school. They told me I was not smart enough with my degree to redefine the word comic book. I keep having my ideas flirted with and having nothing done about it around VALENTINE’s DAy which was actually supposed to be my birthday. I was born on the 10th of February though.

I cannot put my family’s names out there in a military regime. My money? Is being used to kill kids. Already.

Algorithms are smarter than me? No, i tell THEM how THEY work. With my words.

But NOBODY cares

Tumblr was the first fucking space I had where groomers would make me fucking react to them and keep me on the line for suicide watch. You don’t think I know what crazy sounds like? When your psyche is fractured?

When they want you to have read books you can’t understand out loud and laugh in your face when you try? You need to plug in to the internet

That can’t be your only media diet. It can’t be! I have to change that.

Do you think you are going crazy right now?

That is. An algorithm at work. Bought and paid for, cheap, commercial bullshit. I promise a good idea can sound just as good on a dead platform as it can on a groomers fucking paradise. They won’t publish Jeffery Epstein list.

Nobody will.

Maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe that is intentional. I cannot fucking believe that I have to debase myself using TUMBLR to act like a fan in order for people to start getting more literary with demanding combat training and rest from your video games. I need oaths sworn on camera that I can take that team to combat training and get their fucking winds sailing. No one else seems to want to do it anymore, and I really can’t afford to wait another minute. My cats are dying i’m in tracy chapmans fast car. My cat yowls whenever I get activated now, I can’t stop hearing the day care that I worked for but I was told I was not qualified to work in. I need a FUCKIng BREAK from creating for god damned NOBODY.

I have been telling Elliot for 7 years. That it will be okay. I don’t have hopes left, I’m going to lose them because I don’t have a job.

I am tracy chapmans fast car.

I have a list of video games that you would love, if your self indulgent spaces are getting too full of Marketing getting cheap reactions out of someone for LAUGHS. They think they can take screenshots of my words to pass along and make themselves feel better without sharing?

Who the hell do you think I am? I invented overthinking on the internet motherfucker.

They think you forgot the definition of the word. They did that to you on purpose.

Please tell me you are alright. Because this word doesn’t sound right in your head it’s concerning it’s alarming. It’s going faster than I can type.

[spidey-bie]

Was thinking of the differences between movie and comic hobie again, and I remembered something. In movie, the marvel spider-verse exists. 138 was the world of comic hobie, and movie is 616. Movie Miguel is the same number, but he has a b next to his universe. The worlds are canon in each other. Now, I'm imagining Moxie eventually running into Movie-hobie and the expressive change from "Oh shit, My boy, my mate, my friend!- Fucker, why the fuck are you wearing so many layers now? They've already seen your entire body already with your previous tight-ass outfit. It's kinda late to start having shame, don't you think?" to the sinking realization of "This is not someone who knows and cares about me. Fuck me, get away get away get the fuck away you shitty twit"

Like, they wouldn't say the last part out loud but the shift would be immediate. Moxie code-shifts when they're in safe places with people they're affectionate with, they have this kinda thick french accent with british dialect so it's pretty noticeable (and identifiable) when they go back to their middle-american robotic academically accurate corporate speaking voice. It's the least inviting thing ever. He wouldn't have done anything wrong, never did anything that made them not trust him, never was the issue at all. It's the cold confusing primal part of humans though that recognizes people by their faces that goes "Person I'm fond of doesn't treat me the same? What the fuck did I do wrong?" with the logical combative higher-thinking part of the brain going "THIS IS LITERALLY A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON, STOP BEING SAD." and just fighting because "THERE'S ONLY ONE OF FAVORITE PERSON, HOW THE FUCK THIS WOULD BE SOMEONE ELSE? WE MADE FRIEND SAD." "IT'S NOT YOUR FUCKING FRIEND-" Inter-dimensional relationships would be hell, because if you knew that person from your dimension, what the fuck are you supposed to do? There's only supposed to be one of your person. How do you cope with the fact they just don't remember you now, or care?

No because someone said something about this and Gwen. Almost every variant has lost their Gwen. How does it feel seeing the person who you loved or admired who 9/10 you had to watch die standing there right in front of you? How do you cope with knowing that this isn't them and it'll never be them?

That's sad to think about. This is a person you know so well and yet this is the same person. Same face name and attitude but it's not your person. It's not the same person that you've come to know and trust over time.

Man now I'm in my feelings. Every time I answer one of your asks I have a mini crisis. ARE YOU HAPPY WITH YOURSELF 🥲

[lokinightfury]

Weekend WIP

I was tagged by @justhere4thevibez to show some of the stuff I've worked on recently (I've bent the seven day rule because I've not done a lot in the last week because of some life stuff happening)

Reblog this with up to five current WIPs

after you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. you must then write 3 sentences in that file. if the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

I have two main WIPs at the moment:

This IS Music

“For someone who claims not to give a shit about what people think you can’t bear the thought of your fans finding out you’re working with me, can you? It doesn’t take much, Dustin is linked to you, and now he’s been photographed with me. Hell, this is your main studio you work from. That’s what you’re actually worried about, right?” “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” “Do I? Because that’s how it seems. God forbid that Eddie Munson is seen dead with a corporate sellout like me.” She knows she should stop, but she’s on a roll now, and the words just keep flowing. “You’ve never had to work for this, and now you do. It's killing you that good luck alone isn’t going to be enough. I bet you never had to work for anything in your life.” “Here we go again, spouting the same bullshit, thinking you know everything about me Princess. Yeah. We got lucky and got our break, but don’t think for a second we didn’t work hard to get there.”   Corroded Coffin had lived every kid's dream, their first set of gigs in the nearest big city to the middle of nowhere town they had grown up in got the attention of all the right people, and they quickly had a record deal and a platinum selling debut album. He hadn’t slogged and played to venues of five drunks, or battled for spots at open mic nights desperate to get his songs heard, to give them a chance with anybody else just to let people hear his music like she'd had to.

“You signed three months out of high school, don’t pretend you know what working hard for something looks like.” She scoffs at him, staring him down, daring him to retort. “Oh and you would? With your perfect picket fence family life? I bet you were even a cheerleader, weren’t you?”

Speak Now (which isn't published anywhere yet)

The sun slowly sets, the inky blues of the night sky chasing it down on its journey under the horizon. In a few minutes the first stars will start to show, glinting through the inky blues above the van. This is one of her favorite places to be, lying on top of Eddie’s van, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Her mom thinks she’s with Nancy, the Wheeler’s reputation giving her the easiest of alibis. Telling the truth about where she is, and more importantly who she’s with, doesn’t even come into consideration as an option.  A puff of smoke rises up above them, and she turns to look at Eddie. He’s lying on his back, already thoroughly relaxed, one palm tucked under his head while his free arm holds aloft a freshly lit joint. He offers it across to her, but she shakes her head in reply. Maybe later on, once she starts to feel the temperature drop and needs something to distract her from the cold. For now, being here, hidden away from prying eyes, free to be the person she can only be without the weight of expectation that usually crushes down on her shoulders is enough of an escape.  She sighs as she settles back, wriggling down into the blanket he laid across her half of the roof once they had climbed up here. School was winding down for the year, but the thought of the weekend ahead is still a relief. “Big plans for the weekend, Cunningham?” “Prom dress shopping.” For most other girls, this phrase would be one uttered with excitement, but for Chrissy it’s practically through gritted teeth. She doesn’t need to explain why to Eddie. He knows what her Mom can be like.  He doesn’t reply immediately, just holding the joint across to her with a tone of commiseration. This time she accepts it, pulling the acrid smoke down into her lungs and holding it before passing it back to him. She exhales deliberately, watching the smoke drift up and away from them, dissolving into the sky. The psychological warfare of trying to pick a dress that’s simultaneously acceptable for her Mom, something she would want to wear and actually in her size rather than two sizes too small for her to ‘have an incentive to get trim’ is something that can only be made to feel better with the soft buzz that Eddie’s weed brings her.

I'm going to tag (with no obligation at all) @jenniebellie @hangon-silvergirl @immortalecstasy-blog