#even a still working student email doesn’t make sense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tgmsunmontue · 9 months

Text

It's all academic darlin' PART 7/10

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6

FYI - Part 7 is Explicit. And nothing else makes sense without the first six parts but you do you!

PART SEVEN

After being in different uniforms for several months pulling on denim feels weird, but he doesn’t exactly want to wear a uniform. Plus Bradley probably doesn’t think that the uniform is sexy at all if he’s Mav’s kid. And he’s pretty sure, but there is still a tiny seed of doubt that he’s maybe somehow wrong. He follows the directions that Bradley has given him and enters the Faculty of Engineering building, stopping briefly to look at the photos of faculty members and there’s still that same fucking picture of the Moana rooster so at least he knows he’s in the right place. He’ll hopefully learn what the hell is up with that.

He enters the little office and there’s two people sitting there working on computers, looking unimpressed with life in general and he doesn’t really want to interrupt them, but there is a bell that says to ring. He doesn’t actually need anything from them though, so he feels awkward, not sure whether he should just sit down or let them know he’s here to see someone.

“Can I help you?” One of them asks, taking the decision out of his hands, and he smiles politely.

“Sorry, I’m just here to meet with Professor Bradshaw?”

“Is he expecting you?”

“Yes ma’am, he directed me to come here.”

“Okay. You’re welcome to take a seat and wait.”

“I believe he’s in a lecture until three,” the other person adds.

“Yes, he did tell me. It’s fine. I’m a little early. I’m happy to wait.”

They go back to work, effectively ignoring him and he takes a seat, plays around on his phone, answers a couple of emails and then looks up when he hears approaching footsteps and someone humming.

Bradley.

His eyes travel up the heavy boots, dark jeans and that’s where the fashion sense ends because the man walking into the office is wearing a fucking awful bright printed shirt with roosters on it, sunglasses tucked into a white tank underneath and he’s grinning widely at Jake, hand reaching out and Jake just stares.

And stares.

He was right.

Bradley Mitchell is Bradley Bradshaw.

“Uh, are you okay?” Bradley asks, letting his hand drop when Jake fails to even stand up, let alone reach for his hand to return the gesture.

“Bradley Bradshaw, as I live and breathe…”

Bradley’s eyebrows go up but he’s smiling, eyes crinkling with amusement and Jake just can’t help smiling back. Pulls himself up out of the chair slowly, vacantly notes the forgotten little details. Bradley’s height. Breadth of shoulders. Little things he hadn’t really let himself pay attention to last time, and even now he’s wondering if he can control this sense of acceleration. It’s like free fall, but it’s carrying him forward rather than pulling him down.

“Why people say they can hear you coming before they see you when you wear shirts like that is a mystery…”

“Hey! One of my students got me this shirt!”

“And yet you’re the one wearing it…” Bradley smirks then, and Jake can almost hear the reply, about how he’d let Jake take it off and he flushes. “Did you know who you were talking to?” Jake asks, watches Bradley shrug and look a little confused.

“What do you mean did I know? Of course I knew, your email signature kind of gave it away.”

Jake lets out a sharp laugh, because of fucking course Bradley knew the whole time. It makes perfect sense. They’re standing close, blocking the doorway now and he could just reach out with his fingers and touch the skin on Bradley’s forearm.

“Wait, you thought I was someone different?”

“I thought your name was Bradley Mitchell.”

Bradley snorts a laugh, shakes his head and leans his body a little closer.

“That was very heteronormative of you Lieutenant. And yet you didn’t seem surprised to see me…” Bradley says, and there is something speculative in his gaze.

“Lieutenant Commander. And I mean, I kind of hoped…” He doesn’t want to mention that he only figured it out about a week ago, and while he was pretty damn sure he’d still needed to see him in person to confirm it.

“Wait. You didn’t know in the beginning? And you got promoted?”

“Uh. No. And Yes.” So much for not mentioning it.

“What?”

“No, I didn’t know who you were when we first started emailing back and forth, and yes I got promoted…”

“Congratulations. I’m sure it was well deserved. So, how did you find the article?”

“Mav gave it to me.”

“Mav gave you the article?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Of course he did… Fuck.”

“Uh. Was that not okay?”

“No. Just… he’s never going to let me live this down. He’s constantly trying to set me up with people…”

“Oh thank fuck…”

“What?”

“Oh, I just… I was trying to figure out why the fuck he gave it to me in the first place. I wondered if it was something like that, because you’re very good at answering emails. But if Mav had told me to email you that would have been weird.”

“So he just… gave you the article. And you…What? Emailed me out of the blue?”

“Yep. Pretty sure Mav will take full credit.”

“Yeah, of course he will. We could just… not tell him?” Bradley suggests, and the look on his face is mischievous and Jake doesn’t know about Bradley’s relationship with Mav other than that one phone call he heard months ago and what Bradley has just shared with him.

“You keep secrets from your dad?”

“When I get a chance to fuck with him? Of course!”

Jake is pretty sure his cheeks are going to be sore from grinning so much.

“Okay. I’m down for that… I mean. It’s you and you’re going to take the fall right? I’ve already tossed him out of the Hard Deck once. He tolerates me at best…”

Bradley frowns then, goes to say something but a cough interrupts him, which they both turn toward.

“There’s mail for you Bradley, as well as a few parcels. Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks Susan, I’ll just… grab those now. I’m taking Jake on a quick tour of the labs. Have a good weekend!” Bradley looks suitably chastened and tugs Jake out of the office, because that was a very clear dismissal and he guesses having the conversation they were having right in the middle of their office was maybe not the best first impression.

“She’s known me for over twenty years, since I was an undergrad. Have to stay on her good side. Also they close the office at half-past three on Fridays…”

Jake wonders if Bradley is aware he’s babbling a little, but he follows him into a side room, clearly a staff mail room behind a door with swipe card access and then Bradley is pulling a face.

“Okay, there’s like six parcels. Here… help me carry them.”

“Sure, it’s why I’m here right? Do unpaid work?”

“Among other things,” Bradley says, and the look he gives Jake is incendiary. There is no doubt that they’re both more than on the same page and Jake wants nothing more than to kiss him. Knowing now that Mav was trying to set Bradley up with him, that he clearly thinks that Jake is somehow worth Bradley’s time and energy.

“I really want to kiss you.”

“You want our first kiss to be in the mail room at my work?”

“You got a better idea?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Bradley breathes, eyes dark. “Come on.”

It’s no hardship to follow him, Bradley glancing over his shoulder to double-check Jake is still there. He guesses that they’re heading to Bradley’s office, because that’s private and hopefully has a lock. He’s not counting his eggs before they hatch or anything, but he’s hopeful. Very hopeful.

“This is me, just let me unlock it…”

He watches as Bradley shoulders the door open, using his foot to hold it open for Jake and he lets it swing shut behind them. Bradley unceremoniously dumps his mail and parcels on his desk (it’s a large desk Jake notes, sturdy looking), takes the parcels from Jake’s hands before giving them the same treatment. Then he’s stepping into Jake’s personal space, hand resting on Jake’s hip and yeah…

“Hi…”

“Hi… just, uh, a quick question. You never mentioned that you knew me. This whole time. Why not?”

“I thought you’d maybe forgotten meeting me,” Bradley states, and he doesn’t seem to be upset at the idea and Jake frowns.

“Forget you? You think that’s possible?”

The slow smile transforms Bradley’s face and Jake feels his skin prickle with anticipation.

“Well, when you said Mav hadn’t given you a list of tasks to do, and after you said you had to take it easy I figured you were maybe dealing with concussion… so…” Bradley shrugs, his lips making a little half-smile, half-smirk and Jake sways his hips forward, letting an arm wrap around Bradley’s waist.

“Regular Sherlock huh?”

“Better than you, you thought I was someone else for months.”

“Figured it out eventually…”

“Yeah you did… Now, you still want that kiss?”

“Yeah.”

… … …

“I’m not going to stop you,” Bradley replies, wetting his lips and he hears Jake’s breath catch. He shifts forward a little, wants to be encouraging but not overwhelming. His own chest feels heavy with anticipation. They meet half-way, and it’s soft, exploratory, slow like they have nowhere else to be in the world and don’t want to rush. He wants to taste, and lick, and take Jake apart and have Jake take him apart in turn… he rests his other hand on Jake’s hip, just holding gently, thumbs brushing over fabric every so often. He’s a little scared that it might all just… disappear.

It doesn’t. Not at all. Instead Jake’s pressing against him, his own hands on Bradley’s back, fingers grabbing fabric, pulling him close and Bradley goes, no reason not to. Lets Jake edge a thigh between his, meets the gentle roll of Jake’s hips with his own not-quite-as-gentle roll. He’s had sex in his office before, but it’s been previous partner’s ways of trying to coax him home, away from work. His life hasn’t changed at all, except for his almost daily email exchange with Jake for the last few months. This right here isn’t an attempt to make Bradley go anywhere, hell, it could have started in the fucking mail room and as Jake’s hand rubs over Bradley’s hardening cock he’s very glad that he insisted on moving to his office.

“Uhm, not that this isn’t great, but are you sure you…”

“Yeah, yes, fuck yes… just… been a while okay?”

“No judgement. This is a judgement free zone…”

“Oh my god, shut up…”

“Keep my mouth busy then…” Bradley challenges and yeah, he guesses he does like them with a little fire.

It’s bruising this time, Jake’s lips on his, teeth biting, and he responds in like, lets his own fingers dig into the flesh of Jake’s ass, pull him close. Ignores the grunt of discomfit as Jake’s hand gets caught between their bodies; he can feel fingers working on a belt and he pulls back a little to give Jake space, because Bradley sure as hell isn’t wearing a belt. If he gets to put his hands on Jake’s cock he’s all onboard for being a little more accommodating in terms of space. He flicks his own jeans open, pushes the fly down and then Jake’s hands are there instead, shoving his jeans down and Bradley switches tack easy enough, moving his hands to Jake’s pants and underwear, pushing them down.

“Okay?” Bradley asks, not really waiting for an answer as he wraps a hand around Jake’s cock and squeezes, his mind mentally categorizing anything in his office he could potentially use as lube (there is stuff, but not stuff he would want to use, nothing that won’t make less of a mess). Not that Jake seems to mind, his breath catching in a high-pitched whine which makes Bradley feel smug despite not having done much of anything yet. Jake’s hand circles Bradley’s cock, tight dry pressure and he groans, thrusts into it. Jake’s other hand runs through Bradley’s hair, brings him back to kissing and Bradley slides his tongue into Jake’s mouth.

Their hands on each other are fast and dry, he’d love to take his time, draw it out, but he doesn’t think Jake would appreciate it. Not if it has been a while, and he’d said he was on deployment for seven months. He doesn’t want to assume anything, they didn’t make any promises in any of the emails, other than whatever they’re doing now, and that wasn’t exactly a promise but a potential… something. He pulls away, thrills at Jake’s annoyance but he licks his hand, dribbles excess saliva into his hand and wraps his hand back around Jake’s cock.

“Want you to focus on coming okay? Want to use your come to jerk off…”

“Oh fuck…”

“Nope. Just this until we get to my bed…You need to tell me when you’re close okay?” He tightens his hand and speeds up, licks at Jake’s neck and sucks gently at the pulse point, feels the very faint stubble scrape over his bottom lip as he drags his mouth over Jake’s jaw. “Okay?”

“Oh fuck… okay, yeah, okay Bradley…”

He likes the sound of his name in Jake’s mouth, especially the broken breathing, like he’s struggling to get enough oxygen. Jake’s hands don’t leave Bradley’s body, but they lack decisive movement, and he takes that as a sign he’s doing a decent enough job at keeping Jake on task. He hitches forward a little, looks down at the view between their bodies, clothes askew, cocks hard and wrapped in fists, movements frantic like they’re doing this is a bathroom somewhere and could be walked in on any second.

“Going to take my time with you next time…” Bradley promises, his hips jerking without his conscious thought and Jake seems to jerk in response, his body invisibly connected.

“Close close close… oh shit…”

He manages to catch most of Jake’s come in his hand, although some of it lands on his shirt. He doesn’t care. Wraps his hand around his own cock, spreads Jake’s come around. He’s close enough now that it won’t take much, not with all his senses lit up with the sounds sights smells and taste of Jake kissing him, whispering how he’s looking forward to Bradley taking his time next time. How next time he wants to get his mouth on Bradley and that, that has him coming, hips stuttering and…

“Fucking hell…”

He rests his head on Jake’s shoulder, lays tiny little butterfly kisses on the skin close to his mouth as sucks in a few breaths. Blood is rushing in his ears, his hand is sticky, cock stickier. He glances down and yeah, there’s a mess between them but it’s mostly on him. Pulling back slightly he reaches for the box of tissues on his desk, dislodges a pile of paper and a layer of dust on top of the box. He tugs a few free and passes them over, a few more for himself, glad he’s got a couple changes of clothes available to him right there. He kisses Jake again, softly again.

“That take the edge off?”

“Yes. So fucking good.”

“We’re definitely doing that again.”

“Hmm. I could be convinced.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You know, I am actually interested in a tour though.”

Bradley laughs, throws the tissues into his trash can, making a mental note to buy the cleaning staff an amazing gift.

“Well, this is my office.”

PART 8 (be warned it's 8k long - maybe go have a drink or snack?)

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #It's all academic darlin'

43 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 1 year

Text

jump then fall (ao3)

part two of the secret lives of ketterdam's teachers. kanej edition.

She is not going to cry.

The staff room is deserted when she enters, emptied out by luck or divine intervention. Inej hurries to the corner of the room, safely tucked away from any nosy Year Ten who would glance through the window. She’s always had a strange gift for fitting into small spots. She never imagined that'd help her teaching career.

Wedged tightly between the computer desk and the wall, she wraps her arms around shoulders and wills herself to be calm. When she tries to breathe, it’s a shaky, shuddering thing, like a car engine that won’t start. It hitches in her chest, once, twice, three times, and then her eyes burn.

The promise she made to herself slowly slips away, pushed back by a lump in her throat, a tremor in her hands, a wave she can’t hold back. She pushes into the wall as if the shame is a physical thing in front of her. She’s pathetic; she hates it but she knows it. She’s crammed into a corner, sobbing harder than she has in years, all because of a child less than half her age-

“Miss Ghafa?”

Inej starts. If not for the wall behind her, she’d have jumped ten feet backwards. Heat burns in her cheeks like coals, her gut sinking heavily when she looks up and sees who’s joined her.

“Mister Brekker,” she croaks.

Kaz Brekker is in all honesty, a mystery. Inej likes to think she knows him better than some others; they co-teach personal development during the spring term and she sat beside him at the school show. They even got roped into doing the Year Seven day trip last year, although Inej wasn’t under any pretences that it’d meant anything. They’ve worked together for years and she knows as much about him as she did at the start.

Regarding the students, they either think he’s the best teacher to ever exist or they hate him with all they have. He’s not popular with the parents either; he currently (and proudly) holds the record for “most parental complains”. And as for the staff, well, there’s a running joke that they’re not sure he exists. Outside of an odd friendship with Jesper Fahey, he’s clearly not one for socialising. He appears at briefings and meetings and occasionally wanders into the canteen. Staff social events are foreign to him, and the same goes for staff email chains. Mr Brekker is seldom seen outside his classroom, the door to which if kept shut as often as possible.

Except for now, it seems. Because he’s walking slowly across the cheap carpet, looking at Inej with brown eyes that crease with… dare she say it, concern? Worry?

Saints, has she gotten the famously reclusive teacher out of his nest to come and check on her? Is that where she is right now?

“Is everything quite all right, Miss Ghafa?”

“Yes, yes everything’s fine,” she replies. With a deep breath, she turns her gaze out to the window, her cool fingers ghosting her warm cheek. She feels, rather than sees, Brekker grow still. She even senses his hands folding over his can. He always cuts quite a foreboding image in his all-black ensembles, making students and staff shrink in his presence. Here though, in this empty room, he’s a very different kind of chilling. Inej can wrap herself as tight as she can, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of Brekker seeing past her defenses, right through to the humiliation swelling inside her chest.

There’s a long, long pause, and then Brekker says quietly, “You don’t look fine.”

And that’s all it takes.

The tears come in thick, heavy gasps, burning like acid through Inej’s hands. Her shoulders shake, followed by her whole body. The events of the past hour pull back and crash into her like a car driven with a vengeance. Not even the ringing in her ears can block out that students’ words, the way his peers chuckled under their breath, the muttered comments as they left her class.

She grabs the side of the table, and she may have hit the floor, were it not for the chair pushed her way and coffee placed beside her. She takes it almost instinctively, somewhat desperately, the way one would grab a lifeboat in an ocean. Warmth seeps into her hand, and as it does, her mind clears. She feels the carpet against her boots, the chair against her spine. And she also becomes aware of the presence standing a few feet away from her, eyes trained on his own cup.

Brekker just blinks and then nods to her cup.

“Oat milk, right?”

“Right,” she answers. Under his unreadable gaze, she takes a few sips. As the heat floods her chest, her lungs expand and she can breathe. It doesn’t stop the way shame burns her cheeks, hotter now that Brekker is here witnessing it. But it does keep her where she is, and she isn’t unhappy about that.

Brekker doesn’t press, not initially. He keeps sipping his own coffee, occasionally casting her a glance or rifling through his folder.

“Rough lesson?” he asks when she’s about halfway through her cup.

“You could say that,” she mutters. She places the cup on the table and looks out the window, keeping her hand tight on the ceramic. Her eyes wander to the window again. The mid-afternoon sun turns the carpark a weak gold, and the third-floor window means she can see all the way to the canals on the other side of Ketterdam. Sights like this usually calm her, but not today. Views and cups of coffee do nothing to quiet the scenes in her head.

“Do you want to perhaps… talk about it?”

“Just… kids being kids,” she sighs bitterly. “Kids being… awful, terrible kids.” And her, apparently, caring about what those awful, terrible kids think. She leaves that part out though. Just the idea of saying it makes her cringe, let alone saying it to Mr Brekker. His icy glare has sent even the toughest lads scurrying. If she admitted to him what the words of a few obnoxious not-even-teenagers did to her?

She doesn’t know if he’d laugh. She doesn’t want to find out.

“You know how it is.”

“Indeed,” he responds. He straightens up and takes another, long sip of coffee. Inej does the same, considering returning to her classroom and hiding out in there, only for Brekker to speak again. “I saw you at the beginning of this period. You had Year Sevens, correct?”

She blinks. “Yeah.”

Brekker’s lip curls into a knowing smile. The motion reminds Inej of a snake.

“And I believe Alby Rollins is in that group, isn’t he?”

Inej stiffens. Saints only know how Brekker figured it out. Maybe he heard Alby saying something, or maybe he overheard her lesson. Maybe it was a lucky guess given the amount of teachers who’ve had issues with Rollins. Whatever it is, just the sound of his name turns Inej’s blood cold, and her mind is blaze once again.

“She won’t do anything. She’s such a useless bloody teacher and this is a stupid fucking-”

“Inej.” She jerks, just barely avoiding spilling her coffee, and suddenly Brekker is closer to her. There’s still enough space for her to breathe, but he’s close enough that she can see the light catch in his eyes and he can certainly see the tears gathering in hers.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. She clears her throat. “Yes. Yes it was Alby Rollins.” Her sigh is loud, heavy, laced with everything she so desperately wants to get off her chest. “He had some choice opinions on my lesson.” She swallows again. “And my ability to teach it.”

“Well I think the last thing Alby Rollins should be critiquing is someone’s teaching ability,” Brekker sighs. “Not when he’s near the end of Year Seven and couldn’t explain to my market research is important.” Inej frowns, confused, and when Brekker sees it he just shrugs. “I had him for business studies last term. I hated it.” She laughs at that, the sound both unfamiliar and welcome, and pulls her chair closer. “Doesn’t help, of course that his father is an absolute wanker.”

“Brekker!” she scolds. “You can’t just say that-”

“Can’t I?” he asks. His grin is wicked sharp, and his eyes light up when he asks, “Have you ever dealt with his father?” She shakes her head, and now its his turn to laugh. “Last term, after I’d given Alby a detention for disrupting my lesson again, he came in proudly saying that if I tried that again, his father would get me replaced, just like…” He snaps his gloved fingers. “That.”

“Wow,” she breathes. “So did you try it again?”

“I tried it the next lesson,” he responds. “Just had to see what the almighty Mr Rollins had in store for me.”

“And…”

“Well I’m still here, aren’t I?” She’s laughing before she realises it, her smile not disappearing as she downs her coffee. It feels good, really good, sitting and laughing like this. Even if it’s with Kaz Brekker of all people and even if it doesn’t stop the doubts crawling over her like ants.

His bitter-coffee eyes narrow then, and his gaze seems to go right through her.

“Listen, Miss Ghafa,” he tells her. “Alby Rollins is a brat. He’s a brat with a father who thinks he can do no wrong and one day is going to find himself in water so hot even Daddy’s money can’t save him.” He raises his cup. “And when that happens, I personally will be laughing and opening a 70-year-old Scotch and I would be more than happy for you to join me.”

The corners of her mouth curl and she bites back a laugh.

“One would say that’s unprofessional, Brekker.”

“I would say to hell with professionalism.” He pulls on his glove and avoids her gaze. “And I would say that you are a damn good teacher. No matter what some pithy hormonal preteen has to say about it.” He leans back then, leather fingers flexing. With a demeanor as nonchalant as this, he doesn’t look like he should be a teacher. He looks like he should be on a street corner somewhere, running a less-than-legal business venture. He should be changing the world, for better or worse.

“You teach Alina Starkov, don’t you? Year Ten?”

“Yes.”

“She’s in my form,” he tells her. “And according to her, you taught the Suli culture unit better than anyone else could.”

“I am Suli,” she reminds him. “So it’s hardly a fair competition.”

“Tamar Kir-Bataar too,” he says. “This year they said that if they didn’t have you for religionthey would, and I quote, throw themself off the top of this saints forsaken building.” He smiles then, a little bit crooked and with a fondness that doesn’t match his reputation. “I only remember that because I was legally obligated to log it as a safeguarding concern.” Inej huffs a laugh, the sound soft, delicate, like an early spring breeze. Her fingers once again drift to her face, but this time, it’s to hide the growing smile. Even though tears dry under her callouses.

“My point is…” he says. “You are a good teacher. Far too good to care about the opinion of some rotten little twat who drives half the staff here completely insane.”

And then it’s her turn to duck her head. Warmth spreads over her cheeks, but this time it’s not from shame.

“Thank you, Mr Brekker.”

There’s a long, long moment where he says nothing. She watches as he picks up his cane, rolls it between his fingers, and downs his coffee. Without a word, he heads to the door. Unease slowly creeps into her then, threatening to block out everything that’s come before. She doesn’t react as his gloved hand sets on the door handle, forcing herself to look out the window instead. And then-

“It’s Kaz.”

Her head whips around, hair falling in front of her face. He’s still standing at the door, expression unreadable, hand tight around his cane. Even his voice is restrained, tight like the laces on a corset. More like the Mr Brekker the school knows, except-

“We’ve worked together for a few years now. You can call me Kaz.” She nods. The words feel clumsy in her mouth, the syllables unfamiliar, but when she says them, she finds they’re more than welcome.

“Thank you… Kaz.”

He nods at her, the gesture charged with meaning she feels she can’t grasp, and then he’s gone. She turns the mug around on the table. A brown ring is already forming beneath it. The clock tells her she has half an hour before her dreaded lunch duty. She could go back to her classroom, open up the admin she needs to get done for the day. Make a dent in it so there’s less to keep her here after three.

She doesn’t. Instead, she tucks her legs beneath her and looks out the window, all the way to glittering canals across the city. She can almost feel what it’s like to be there, salt spray on her face and wind in her hair. Just like how she can still feel Kaz Brekker, tucked in his classroom on the other side of the corridor, somehow brand new and more of a mystery than he ever was before.

#six of crows fanfic #six of crows #kanej fic #kanej #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #six of crows fic #the secret lives of ketterdam's teachers

19 notes · View notes

quillkiller · 7 months

Note

jen jen jen for the ask game can you spare some lilyminerva thoughts for a poor soul?? and ritaminerva thoughts?? and maybe also ritasybill?? just as a treat??

i would jump infront of a train if you asked me to so YES !!!!!! of course i can !!!!!!!

lilyminerva:

makes sense/comepls me

listen. this may be a stretch. but i think even in canon it would make sense for lily to have a onesided obsessive crush on minerva even if it never ever evolver into anything because lily was a minor obviously and i don’t think minerva ever looked twice at lily when she was her student. but like. we’ve all had crushes on teachers ??? even when we were underage ?? like i remember having a huge crush on my english teacher (i was her favorite student❤️) and i would truly gather my things sooooo slowly after class just to have a few seconds alone with her. like a normal person .

i also think minerva is the only professor that would treat lily like a person? who wouldnt treat her like a child prodigy ?? and lily respects that woman soooooo much. so so so much. she grows a little obsessive, even gets frustrated that minerva doesnt give her special treatmeant, why not, what am i doing wrong, why can’t i impress her like everyone else, im fucking lily evans

in a modern au or canon divergence. i love the idea of lily being a new professor at her old school where minerva is still working. she’s married to james, she has the perfect life, james is lovely, he wants to have a family with her. everything is perfect. everything is the way lily always wanted it to be………… or did she.. she runs into minerva on the first day and shes immediately gone. shes immediately thrown back into her obsessive tendencies. her creepy and stalkery ways (sorry i just love creepy lily 😔). she follows minerva around everywhere, puts up her best front, shes being sooooo nice, shes trying to impress her so fucking badly. but minerva is stern. shes a stubborn woman and she has never ever played favorites. lily has always been everyones favorite. its driving her insane. she shows up super early for work. she brings minerva coffee. she stays late. she volonteers for anything there is to volonteer for. she wants minervas approval so bad. shes thinking about her all the time. she cant even get off anymore when shes sleeping with james unless shes thinking about minerva.

HONESTLY ?? i don’t even know if i want it to be requited. i love lilys onesided obsessive love. she snaps one day obviouly. she stomps into minervas office. or maybe she gets drunk and goes all the way to her house. she has a whole speach prepared. she doesnt do the speach. shes just yelling and demanding to know why minerva doesnt want her. ”im so bright!!!!” ”im the brightest student you’ve ever had!!!!!” ”why don’t you love me?????” ”tell me what to do i’ll do anything!!!!!” shes drunk and sobbing at minervas house. maybe minerva is married. to poppy, maybe. AAAAAAAAAAA

ritaminerva:

doesn’t make sense/compels me

they’ve bewitched me body and sould. student/teacher relationship. rita is a uni student and minerva is her professor. rita is the biggest teachers pet in all of history. she’d fucking bring an apple for minerva im sooooo sure of it. minerva is the professor everyones been dreading. they have awful nicknames for her. shes stern and doesn’t take anyones bullshit. its love at first sight for rita. she’s so entirely gone. she gathers her things soo slowly to be alone with minerva for just a few seconds. she always sits in the front row. doesn’t take her eyes off minerva once during lectures. shes biting her pencils and minerva watches her intently as she does. rita is a fucking tease and she knows it. she gets under minervas skin. she’s always raising her hand in class. she’s always right. she always wants to debate. she’s emailing minerva after hours. minerva is responding despite knowing better. its not her fucking fault that rita is so bloody interesting. so cutthroat. shes challenging minerva and minerva loves a challenge. rita actually cares!!!!! shes not falling asleep at her desk or running out of class once its over. shes dedicated. and did i mention… a fucking tease……… shes openly flirting with minerva in the emails and at first minerva ignores it. but she doesn’t say anything. eventually she starts flirting back, just a bit. whats the harm. yeah whats the fucking harm!!!!!!! she asks herself when she finds herself with a lap full of rita, ritas back against minervas desk. rita talking academic filth in minervas ear. minervas not sure she even locked the door to the classroom. it doesnt matter she thinks when rita starts unbuttoning her shirt and says ”a little help, professor?”

ritasybill:

makes sense/compels me

THEMMMMMM. THEM THEM THEM……… they have literally changed the trajectory of my life forever and ever.

i think they’d be interesting in a canon compliant fic, but im way way way more intrigued by our little au we (mostly you!!!!!!! 🧎) created. them working for a trashy magazine together. sybill being obsessed with rita from start. bewitched body and soul. rita deciding from that that sybill is her rival and nothing else. stalkery delusional vines. sybill doing rituals and spells to get rita to fall in love with her. rita keeping a binder of every single detail of sybills life. she has to know her competition obviously. she has a picture of sybill on her ceiling above her bed just so she can glare at it. if the glaring turns into yearning then thats no ones business but her own :/

literally actually delusional. both of them. batshit insane women. they should be together❤️

#hannibal to my will #lilyminerva #ritaminerva #ritasybill

5 notes · View notes

lligkv · 2 years

Text

In the midst of writing my last post, I learned Bret Easton Ellis actually has a new novel, The Shards, coming out this month. And mere days after I published the post, as the publicity campaign for The Shards rolled on in literature's very particular corner of the internet, some people on a Discord server I'm on weighed in. The discussion was acid; the general consensus was that Ellis was a shitty writer and that anyone who thought him worthy of redemption has suspect judgment and taste. I might argue with the first part—I think it comes from rating just Ellis's subject matter and public persona and disregarding the capacities he does have for style and craft, or from weighing Less Than Zero, which is definitely juvenilia, more heavily than his later works. But I don't think the latter is unfair, thinking about the public persona and how, on a publicity tour, that's ultimately what's being redeemed... And it did make me flush a bit to think of any of the folks on that server—who are lovely people, fun to talk to, with fine taste of which I often reap the fruits; I have several books they've recommended on order as we speak—reading my defense of Glamorama, or American Psycho. (Which, I do want to be clear, has some gruesome, gratuitously violent chapters like "Tries to Cook and Eat Girl" that I would say go beyond serving the function that book’s violence is meant to serve. My endorsement of it isn’t as a perfect novel.) I’m nervous to think of them knowing of my sense that Ellis might have a moral consciousness to counterbalance his apparent compulsion to be an enfant terrible, or to align himself with the morally bankrupt, even if it's the latter he often chooses to indulge. They'd probably think I'm a clown, or depraved.

But such are the hazards of making your opinions known. You do have to stand by them and accept how suspect they might make you look.

Still, I'll also admit that Lunar Park hasn't exactly helped me put another notch in the “transcendent” column for Ellis. And it doesn't leave me with much optimism for the artistic potential that The Shards, being another of the autofictional novels, might have.

Lunar Park stars a middle-aged writer named Bret Easton Ellis, a figure who shares some details of Ellis's life—having published all the same novels up through Glamorama; come to fame in the '80s as part of a circle of writers that included Jay McInerney; had a difficult relationship with his father, who is now deceased, and with substances, which are still around; and been working in Hollywood and teaching since—and doesn't share others, being married to an actress with a son, Robby. This character, Bret, begins receiving strange emails, ones that contain videos of his father, including in the hours before his death. He's also visited by strange presences—like a student named Clayton (!) with a suspicious air and an unexplained connection to another student, Aimee Light, who's writing a thesis on Bret's work (and having an affair with him), as well as what seems to be his father's malicious ghost—all in the midst of an epidemic of strange disappearances of sons in the wealthy neighborhood in which he lives—disappearances that haunt him not least because he comes to suspect that Robby and his friends are somehow involved in them—and news of a rash of murders he's made to understand are copycats of the deaths Patrick Bateman causes in American Psycho. In fact, they may be the result of Bateman himself somehow coming to life.

As you could probably guess from that paragraph, there are just a few too many plots going on at once, with too-large gaps between them. Interesting elements do emerge, like the revelation that Bret is being haunted because he's actually created tortured entities in the course of his writing—and that these demons haunt Bret because he has antagonized them by his very creation of them. And the moment when Robby finally joins the boys who vanish, leaving only the words DISAPPEAR HERE, a leitmotif in Ellis's novels since Less Than Zero, scrawled on the wall of his bedroom. As well as the way Bret responds, ultimately writing himself into the end of Lunar Park for his vanished son, perhaps, to find—and perhaps, in the process, following both the father he tried to kill and the son he lost into whatever realm demons come from. Or else stuck firmly on earth, calling out to Robby in vain.

But the book is also pretty sloppy, compared to, say, the measured and careful pace at which Glamorama moves. Again, you have to wait a long time for the threads of Bret's father's resurrection, Patrick Bateman's apparent coming to life, and whatever's happening to Robby to come together and for the fact that Bret's being haunted to become clear. This novel doesn't have what American Psycho does, either, excitements and provocations to compensate for an uneven construction. Ellis also adopts a reliance on paragraph breaks—to slow time in the moments the plot takes a twist or to amplify the horror of certain events or realizations—that quickly becomes wearying. And far too much of the novel's action hinges on Bret's being menaced by a toy belonging to his stepdaughter, a Furby clone with a name, "Terby," that's at one point wrought into a terrible acronym ("Y, BRET?") that lands with a thud.

What’s more, while this may be a strange thing to settle on, Ellis's handling of computers and the internet is appallingly clumsy. For one, the compulsion to name brands and products—an Ellis signature that's a reliable and even entertaining marker of yuppie-era shallowness in novels previous—feels much different when the product in question is WordPerfect. I don't know if it's the result of technology evolving at a pace that the lifestyle signifiers of the late 20th century (watches, suits, glasses, restaurants) just didn't, or if this reflects the scrutiny a reader can bring to references that are contemporaneous to them rather than anachronistic—I did live through the early internet in a way I didn't 1980s or '90s New York—but they took me out of the novel practically every time I encountered them. Ellis also wrings a significant chunk of drama out of the fact that for months Bret remains unaware that the mysterious emails he's been receiving have attachments. Maybe you're meant to chalk that up to Bret's obliviousness or his staggering substance use—but I find it extremely hard to believe anyone who's emailing anyone, no matter how much they struggle to do it, wouldn't notice attachments on mysterious and otherwise empty emails long before that.

Again—and I realize I say some variation of this in practically every post, but—I do think Ellis is grappling with substantive matters in all this... The child's struggle with the primal father, and the prospect of the writer transfiguring this father into literature. The way such an attempt to control narratives through writing or to exorcise through writing may birth new demons, as people read the products of your tortured creation and become tortured themselves or swear revenge. The cruelty of sons to their cruel and inadequate fathers, as they seek to individuate; the cycle by which the cruel sons become inadequate fathers in their time; the question of when this cycle ends, if it ever does. I can see these themes. But were they done justice? The universe Ellis creates in this novel is rather cardboard compared to the vividness of the world as depicted in the entirely fictionalized works. And if your interrogation of the hazards of transmuting pain into art, trying to control narratives that can’t ever be perfectly controlled, and aestheticizing violence is also a somewhat incoherent novel with a serial-killer plot—one in which the costs of aestheticized violence are borne not by you so much as by your fictional son, who disappears while you live... if ultimately, the only cost of all this is how bad it makes you feel, to which you attest in language that only occasionally reaches true feeling or beauty... I don't know. It rids these themes of their potency.

It’s also disappointing to realize I was wrong about Paul Denton, who is referenced, at least, in Lunar Park. I'd hoped the omission was deliberate.

#literary #books #novels #bret easton ellis #held to account for my opinions

4 notes · View notes

kismetrose · 4 months

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐍𝐏𝐂 𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞: 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐌𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 (𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞) 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭! There are a number of reasons why these situations occur. If a player relishes an NPC’s presence, their GM might assume they want a romance with that character. A GM can take flirting as a sign that the player wants more in that vein. Sometimes a GM will amp up the romance to inject drama into the story. Other times, they decide that it makes sense for one or more NPCs to develop feelings for the player’s character. Much of the time their intentions aren’t bad, but if the player isn’t on board, they can quickly feel trapped.

If you’re in this situation, the fastest and best way to resolve it is to speak with your GM privately, ideally outside of game day. If a face-to-face discussion seems daunting, send a message or email. It can be helpful to assume your GM isn’t trying to annoy you but may have misread or misunderstood the situation. If they’ve given you reasons to believe they don’t care how you feel about the matter, you can still try to discuss it with them, but don’t be surprised if it doesn’t go well. Either way, the advice below can be helpful.

Start the discussion with what you enjoy about their campaign; saying “thanks for running” also helps set a good tone. From there, express how you feel and what you want as simply and directly as possible. First, specify whether or not you wish to interact with that NPC at all. If you don’t mind having the character around, explain what kind of relationship you want to have with them moving forward (friendship, mentor/student, etc.). If you 𝑑𝑜 mind their presence, let your GM know if you want them to be complete removed or just for their “screen time” to be reduced. If you only wish to deal with one NPC romantically and avoid a love triangle, make that clear.

Before you send your message or talk with your GM, sleep on it. When the time arrives, try to stay focused on the issue at hand, even if other problems exist; you can address other things later. Assure your GM that you’re willing to work with them to make the change happen smoothly and easily, and give them a few days to respond. If they don’t reply before the next session, you may have to broach the matter before the game starts.

Your GM might ask to adjust the relationship over a few sessions for the sake of plausibility. If you don’t mind waiting, great, but if you do, it’s okay to insist on an immediate change. Something can happen between sessions - such as a major disagreement - to explain the shift. If they refuse to alter the situation at all, or if they continue to take things in the same direction despite telling you they wouldn’t, you should probably walk away from the campaign. You deserve a GM who respects you and your desires, and you can find one who will value your comfort and fun.

#ttrpg #npc #game master

0 notes

jcmarchi · 8 months

Text

Small solar sails could be the next ‘giant leap’ for interplanetary space exploration - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/small-solar-sails-could-be-the-next-giant-leap-for-interplanetary-space-exploration-technology-org/

Small solar sails could be the next ‘giant leap’ for interplanetary space exploration - Technology Org

Nearly 70 years after the launch of the first satellite, we still have more questions than answers about space. But a team of Berkeley researchers is on a mission to change this with a proposal to build a fleet of low-cost, autonomous spacecraft, each weighing only 10 grams and propelled by nothing more than the pressure of solar radiation. These miniaturized solar sails could potentially visit thousands of near-Earth asteroids and comets, capturing high-resolution images and collecting samples.

Schematic of components for the proposed femtoscale solar sail. The pressure of solar radiation against the sail will provide propulsion for the spacecraft, while cell phone-based and MEMS technologies will enable navigation, communication and image capture. Image credit: Alexander Alvara

Led by Kristofer Pister, professor of electrical engineering and computer sciences, the researchers seek to leverage advancements in micro-scale technology to make interplanetary space exploration more cost-effective and accessible — and to accelerate new discoveries about our inner solar system. They describe their work, the Berkeley Low-cost Interplanetary Solar Sail (BLISS) project, in a study published in the journal Acta Astronautica.

The BLISS project brings together researchers from the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Sciences and the Department of Mechanical Engineering, as well as the Berkeley Sensor and Actuator Center and the Space Sciences Laboratory. Their work builds on other small spacecraft projects, including CubeSats, ChipSats and the Breakthrough Starshot Initiative, while seeking to improve solar sail maneuverability and further reduce fabrication costs by using low-mass consumer electronics.

In addition to Pister, the team includes lead author and mechanical engineering doctoral student Alexander Alvara and co-authors Lydia Lee, Emmanuel Sin, Nathan Lambert and Andrew Westphal.

In a recent conversation, Pister and Alvara shared their group’s vision for this project with Berkeley Engineering.

Your latest paper focuses on fleets of small solar sails. What advantages do solar sails have over other types of spacecraft?

Alexander: Solar sails use a non-consumable propulsion force. They are propelled by sunlight, similar to how a sailboat is propelled by wind. So, unlike other spacecraft, solar sails can travel around the galaxy, or, more specifically, our solar system, without having to carry any fuel or worry about refueling.

Kris: The magic is that light, even though it doesn’t have mass, has momentum. When light bounces off a mirror, you get a force due to that change in momentum. And on a square meter sail, that force is tiny. It’s about the weight of a grain of sand, but you get it for free. And you get it for as long as you want, as long as you’re sitting in space with the sunlight striking you.

Could you tell us about the Berkeley Low-cost Interplanetary Solar Sail, or BLISS, project? What was the genesis of this project and what are its goals?

Kris: It started several years ago, when friends of mine were exchanging emails about an object, called Oumuamua, that was moving through our solar system. Some people were saying that maybe it’s an alien solar sail, and then [physicist] Dick Garwin sent around a paper that he had written in 1959 about solar sails. It said that you can use this light pressure to move out, away from the sun, which makes sense — the light pushes in that direction. But you can also use it to move in. It’s kind of like tacking against the wind in sailing. Light is much more like wind, and you can tack using solar radiation pressure.

So this lightbulb went off in my brain. All the work we do in my group is focused on miniaturizing things, and I thought we could miniaturize a solar sail spacecraft. Seeing that you can tack against light pressure made me realize that we could make spacecraft [weighing] 10 grams with almost all off-the-shelf technology. And our latest study provides evidence that this is feasible.

Our initial goal for the BLISS project was simple: capture images of all the near-Earth asteroids, starting with the biggest ones. Roughly a thousand near-Earth asteroids are bigger than a kilometer in diameter. And we have pictures, usually fuzzy pictures, of maybe 10 of them. We were excited by the idea that you could potentially take an iPhone camera, orbit around one of these things, take a thousand high-resolution color photographs from a very close distance and then beam that information down.

Speaking of miniaturizing things, why make the solar sails small in the first place?

Alexander: A smaller size allows the spacecraft to be more agile. We don’t have to worry about buckling of the sail, which is just one square meter. This is a huge issue with larger solar sails. Imagine taking a solar sail that is 50 square meters into space, then having unfolding components spreading out like origami. It’s still relatively small compared to other spacecraft, but the unfolding components add weight. And, as Kris mentioned, you’re getting the force of a grain of sand continuously on your sail, the light pressure, so you want to have a solar sail close to that mass. You don’t want something that’s huge, or it will take forever to move, and it’s going to be less easy to maneuver.

Kris: Cost is another advantage to going small. We’re proposing to start at about 10 grams for an interplanetary spacecraft. If we do everything right, the cost of the solar sails will be a thousand dollars or less. We could then put thousands of these tiny spacecraft in a little package, the size of a small satellite, and launch them into space.

Alexander: So, for the cost of a single launch, we could send out thousands of these solar sails and accomplish multiple missions.

These spacecraft will need to be highly functional yet also light. How will they not be weighed down by all of their components?

Kris: We’re leveraging all the technology, all the miniaturization and low power consumption that goes into the design of cell phones. But there are also many other instruments that MEMS [microelectromechanical systems] has managed to miniaturize.

The BLISS spacecraft uses a MEMS device called an inchworm motor. What is an inchworm motor and why is it important?

Alexander: You can think of an inchworm motor as something that takes electricity and turns into a moveable force. Almost like a piston. We use the inchworm motor to grab onto things, in this case, things that are much larger than itself, and move it back and forth.

Kris: Our little spacecraft has roughly a 1/2 meter diameter, super-lightweight mirror — maybe the size of a card table – that is connected to the body of the spacecraft by a few carbon fiber filaments. The inchworms inch their way along those filaments, pulling on the filaments and moving the sail relative to the center of mass of the spacecraft. It turns out that’s what you need to navigate — just like on a sailboat. You pull on the lines and change the attitude of the sail through the wind, and that affects direction.

How will these spacecraft navigate the inner solar system?

Alexander: The majority of the analysis is done using something called the Lost in Space [Identification] Algorithm. The idea is that you map the stars that you can see, then compare them to the pixels of the images that you can get from your on-board cell phone camera. So we can basically use smartphones to help navigate.

There are many hazards in space, including ionizing radiation and large floating particles. How do you design the tiny solar sails to withstand these potential dangers?

Alexander: A lot of work has already been done analyzing off-the-shelf parts that have endured space-like radiation. To mitigate such hazards, we can either build in redundancy and add multiple components that have the greatest likelihood of failure, or pair these BLISS spacecraft in what we call partner constellations, which basically adds redundancy for us.

Could you tell us about the concept missions that you’ve proposed for BLISS spacecraft? How long would it take to complete these missions?

Alexander: Kris had mentioned earlier sending the solar sails to explore near-Earth asteroids. One of the other main concept missions is cometary sample retrieval, so getting microdust from comet plumes. To date, there’s been only one real successful return of cometary material, and that was the Stardust mission in the early 2000s. It did a flyby of a comet called Wild 2 and collected material and brought it back to Earth. But unfortunately, the spacecraft was less maneuverable than they expected, and it caught the comet dust particles at high velocity, vaporizing any organic-rich components in the sample. Though the sample they retrieved was still vastly important, we currently have only about 300 micrograms of comet material on Earth. And by designing our tiny solar sails to be agile and highly maneuverable, we hope to capture cometary samples at low relative speeds to avoid damaging any organics.

Kris: As for the mission durations, they vary a lot. It will take us some number of months to get out of Earth’s orbit, it will take us months or years to get to the asteroid or comet that we’re interested in, and then the reverse of that coming back in. So, certainly months at the short end, and maybe a decade or so at the long end.

How far off are we from the first launch?

Alexander: We could feasibly do it in a few years. For example, CubeSat projects usually come out of high schools or community college or four-year institutions, from undergrads. And those go from zero to launch in about two years. So with grad students, post-docs or research scientists on the job, who’ve been doing this sort of thing for many years, we should be able to launch within that same timeline once we complete development.

Kris: So far, Alexander’s worked on some of the theories and some of the motors. But there are six other systems and all kinds of software still needed, so it would be an undertaking. But I’m hopeful that we can obtain funding for further research.

Source: UC Berkeley

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

0 notes

returntosaturn271995 · 11 months

Text

Thursday, October 19th: Trivial Pursuits

I redownloaded Door Dash. Don't hate me okay? I wanted sushi. Plus I decided I earned it.

Things I did to be a non-garbage person:

1). I went on a long walk to the beach (would have been a run but I'm not rushing the shin splint)

2). Made coffee at home instead of buying it

3). Did yoga, my body has truly never looked better

4). I am wearing matching cheetah PJs

5). I got a ton of work done

6). Drank a ton of water

7). Did a load of laundry and a load of dishes

8). Read two chapters (one fiction, one non-fiction)

9). Made a gourmet grilled cheese with fig and caramelized onion

10.) Supported Lexi through the Hamas crisis because some people have fucking real problems, ERIN, Jesus.

The book of love is long and boring.

But I regularly find myself happiest when I'm doing something. Even though being "get up and go" was never something I was previously all that great at. It is the only thing to build confidence.

Today in particular the little habits felt like bullshit. Trivial. Real terrorism is happening to real people. And here I am unsuccessfully executing triangle pose on my bright blue yoga mat from Amazon as if that's going to save my shallow soul from going to hell.

But the problem is if I don't stretch, then my shin splint is going to continue to be a thorn in my side. Plus exercise helps me sleep. Plus the daily meditation today was about the importance of routine. Once you have the basic bullshit down and the nitty gritty on autopilot, you can spare some mental energy for the important tasks at hand.

You know, like emailing people about Froot Loops while the world burns.

Hmmm. That seemed funny in my head but it's also grim as fuck seeing it written out like that.

Still, I deserve clean clothes and clean dishes. I want work experience to pay the bills and to travel. I like to cook, read, meditate, stretch, go outside, and write on a daily basis. I like to talk sincerely with my friends about how desensitized and scary the world can be and how important it is to stay human and love others in their own humanity.

All those things are small, and trivial. But together, over time, they sustain a peaceful life filled with growth. Even as my fiction book (Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey) very accurately pointed out: “everyone involved in adult learning was running from something.”

Yeah, well. (inhales joint) I got sick of staying in the same place and refusing to learn anything. Now I might be a single loser, but my skin is glowing and I know a fuck ton about current events.

If I lose sight of the small things, I forget how many people would kill for ordinary right now.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A conversation with someone I love:

Lexi Goldberg: You’d hope so, but people posting the lies are educated They won’t think or even engage with me It makes no sense One girl told me she wouldn’t debate with me because I “seem emotional” about it. Like lol yes I’m emotional I’ve lost people and my family and country is at risk

Erin Burks: She can go fuck herself

Lexi Goldberg: Right?! I was shooketh lol

Erin Burks: Just because someone is educated in the traditional sense doesn’t mean their not an idiot

Lexi Goldberg: Like I re-read it 3 times and then home girl blocked me

Erin Burks: Like I’m sorry, but who the fuck is Harvard letting in?

Lexi Goldberg: So so true

Erin Burks: Lol as I misspell “they’re”

Lexi Goldberg: Like these students are chanting glory to the murders I do that all the time and then have to quickly edit my messages on work team channels Lolol Comes with texting fast 💁🏻‍♀️ But really Erin, I cannot thank you enough Daniel is also so appreciative for you

Erin Burks: You don’t need to thank me, I’m just more upset that people I love are feeling this Aw tell him I’m sending him love as well Don’t let any armchair intellectuals try and convince you otherwise. They’re idiots who need to get off Tik Tok and read a book.

Lexi Goldberg: We love you and are so appreciative More than we can put into words It means the world to us And truly truly gives us hope And we need hope so bad right now

Erin Burks: I love you and I mean it that other people feel this way Fuck anyone on social media making you feel low Your loss is real, your history is real, you are fucking real.

0 notes

eviltiddyproductions · 1 year

Text

Vincenzo : Episode 18

slow mo as if he’s not going to be alive, please!

did he get him in the heart or the shoulder though?

Damn did he actually kill the interpol people 💀

I am so confused by this brother storyline I’m so serious. stop playing with me 😭🙏 is it so bad I want him to turn around for the better???

it’s giving Itaewon class where I kept waiting for the CEO’s son to come to his senses after 800 betrayals and humiliation tactics from his dad but he just… fell off

lmao he called our lawyer queenie dumb, as he should. the audacity to roll your eyes like he’s not making points. deporting him doesn’t ensure you’ll stay alive 💀??? but these were the same people celebrating his mother’s murder with no worries in their head so why am I bothering

also everytime someone says mafia I just remember ITZY

HE DID NOT EMBARRASS ME. that’s family !!! 💗💗💗

someone save my himbo. i fear he’ll be caught

my goon guy is such a cutie, just gave him a vip hot air balloon ticket that says for you, anywhere anytime <3

why is evil CEO deadass chilling at his home like don’t you have something to do ???

I knew Babel would have some weird connection to its name. why would you name your company tower of greed omg you manifested its downfall

funny the Wusang ex director is talking about people as collateral damage when I thought he was one too by being part of the Evil CEO squad initially.

GET HIMMMMM !!! (some random people are at the CEO’s house)

this ominous music is so funny LMAO [ominous music intensifies]

is that Mr. Cho getting chased ??? noooo

HACKER GIRL SAVE YOURSELF. I cannot tolerate losing anymore people I’m so serious.

he murdered 4 fellow students when he was in school but jail is where draws the line 💀✋

GAG HIM YOUNGER BROTHER

anybody want lunch 🤣

oh so the happy soft music was for the brother thing. and they aren’t related by some familial thing (as I had once assumed seeing gifs) it’s chosen family!

my babe has suffered DEEP with that brother

I know this is TV but so much of it is real life too. the audacity to want to be a politician and top gun lawyer to serve people while threatening people’s left right centre is so infuriating to me 😭 Mr. Cho’s family’s at stake because you (the politician) and your family did disgusting things and now you want to hide them. I hate these people so bad

honestly I don’t even know what this Babel evil CEO is doing at this point like they’ve not won or done anything substantial AT ALL where you go oh you’re smart or you’re playing chess or keeping us at our toes. they just kill people. they’ll make you sad by killing people but that’s all they do. senselessly murder people or buy people and that doesn’t make you smart in any world 💀✋ all y’all have is brute force

everytime my subtitles fumble a dialogue I always wonder how much translation I’m missing out on but we move

Han Seo (junior brother) about to be tailed again OH NO MY BABY STAY ALIVE

Luca is here and everyone saying hi and he’s smiling and then our girl says hello and he’s beaming like the sun. I almost forgot all about the kissing!!! we have 2 episodes left now MOVE IT guys.

plus there’s that gold nonsense too

plus the evil politician

and now we have some news from Italy.

the acting from the Luca failing bad rn but we move

he found my HACKER GIRL NOOOOO

Mr Cho noooo, gun to the head I would’ve lied. bought some time 😭✋

also I’ve seen this blue suit in promo posters okay slay

not the kissing photo in the email 🤣 how convenient, as he has to leave. let the memories work their magic 🙏

no pigeon ???

Mr. Nam my cutie

family is here <333

awww they’re giving him things 🥹

awww he called him bro

wait he’s not gonna leave is he

are y’all gonna kiss!?! hug!!!?

damn I got nothing ?

awww she’s speaking Italian. I thought she was running to confess but still this is very sweet indeed.

also that was a jacket apparently not a suit

how to befriend a bird and the pen given by the girl we love lmao, you already miss them so bad and the flight hasn’t even left

this politician’s right hand man has been here for 2 episodes and I already want to kill him. he’s also exposed the gold already 😍 someone GET HIM.

SAVE MY GIRL

oh they moved everything, I used to pray for times like these. must’ve done it when the monks went out for alms

LOCK THEM INSIDE GIRL

Yes run !!!!

I knew he’d get off the plane and make in time for a fight lol

Also this is such a callback to the first episode. My girl was about to fight then as well and he stopped it in time.

Also before I forget I thought the way he stared at her old photos, they might’ve known each other lol. maybe we get to skip that trope here 🙏

This is the promo shot where he’s calling them

SMACK THE EVIL GUY

#Vincenzo #episode 18 #we’re so close to the finish line #written update #not a lot happened here tbh but I’m happy #Soft brother moments !

0 notes

miloucomehome · 1 year

Text

some thoughts (esp on school -- got some grades...)

I’m waiting to get my grades and got one for the visual communications course...it’s a C-. I’m not happy at all. I’ve passed the class, but we never got a copy about our grades and she’s been giving me Cs from the beginning and I do not understand why.

What’s worse is that her grading technique is to include assignment grades in the grading calculations for projects.

I’m not joking here. In my typography course with her and even this one, I would’ve probably ended up with a B- or C+ but instead since she includes the mountain-load of assignments in the grading, my grade for the first project (which includes a few assignments) is a 6/10 (about a C or C-). If you end up submitting anything late, it’ll impact your project’s grade, not the separate assignment grade.

edit: also, late assignments aren’t docked X% per week, like the other profs, but instead are docked a full letter grade.

(TL;DR here: Our assignments aren’t being weighted correctly as outlined in the syllabus and are instead combined with the project’s grades)

Add to this, she doesn’t provide a complete syllabus (PDF or printed) and refuses to. With this method of grading, she’s not even following her grading system by combining the assignment grades as part of the project’s grades. I’ll actually double check this, because if she’s not following her own syllabus’ grading system then I don’t think these evaluations can fly. I don’t want to deal with my department and I may just file something with the ombuds office anonymously.

I’ll need to copy-paste the syllabi for both courses I had with her that she copy-pasted to the moodle page menu awkwardly and save those in docs with screenshots before I lose access to the pages. (they’re in a div/table that will not print)

On another class--not typography but a 400-level course I had to submit everything late on--it looks like I’m set to fail terribly with 30-something percent (which doesn’t make sense) but I think it’s because Moodle is only calculating the numerical grades this prof inputted and is confused about the random letter grades she put in. (Or maybe it’s only taking into account the letter grades (there’s only 2; one’s an F for 10%-weighted assignment I missed bc of sickness. The other is an A- on the proposal stage of the final assignment and is the only letter grade inputted while the rest are numerical)

Otherwise maybe it’s just indicating the mean number (not points) calculated is 32.4. It makes no sense. Even the points I got make no sense. Are they percentages? or points out of the total the assignment is worth? I feel like I’ll find out this course’s grade tomorrow but I still might send an email in the morning if I wake up early enough.

In any case-- if I have to retake that 400 level course then fine. But if I have to spend another class with *that* prof (PM) then I will entertain the option of delaying my own graduation to avoid her and her bullshit killing my GPA (if I can’t find another course to substitute it with). I plan to even write a detailed warning on Rate My Prof because the typography course is one she’s always given so students will eventually get her. I just want them to not be surprised and be prepared in case if she won’t improve her teaching and grading methods from all the lengthy comments we gave her in evaluations.

EDIT forgot to add but I’m not going to lie here--my confidence in my skills is just so incredibly low. I know it’s because I got terrible profs this semester, but it’s just bad. I’m going to try and busy myself and use my UdeMy accesses and, when I get a job, try that Domestika course on wayfinding design and architecture that I’ve been eyeing and even just make my own things and print them out to rebuild my confidence. Like, it’s no joke. It’s in tatters. I don’t even want to share any work at this point on Behance.

Anyway, I have a cute story I should share and preserve here of a call I had with my aunt on Tuesday where she was excitedly trying to figure out what other possibilities there were for my profession and how I could approach my early stages of my career when I graduate. (”what else can a designer do as a job”)

#milou thoughts

0 notes

zethry · 2 years

Text

I try really hard to be patient, understanding, and nonjudgmental. When I notice myself being judgy, I actively try to reframe my thoughts. BUT THIS MATERNITY SUB HAS GOTTEN ON MY LAST NERVE.

She isn’t safe (example: escorted 3 special-ed kids from one side of the school to the other and then LEFT THEM OUTSIDE ALONE and just …left). She picks on one of the kids. She ignores her emails. And she doesn’t actually do any of the lesson planning. And she is completely tech-illiterate. I get that some people just aren’t great at computers. But she doesn’t even know that if you push the up arrow on the keyboard, it scrolls up. Or how to click on a link.

Today, I coached her during one period and made sure everything she needed was already open so she could make a lesson for tomorrow. She says “okay, that makes sense. I can do that.” By 6th period, she hadn’t touched it despite having 2 free periods. And I explained again about the lesson plan and she says “oh, you mean /I/ have to do this?!” Yeah! You! The teacher is gone. She has given you all the resources. But YOU have to put them together on the peardeck. So I took a deep breath and said, “yes. I can help you if you need.”

A third of the way through 8th period, she was just scrolling on her phone while the kids had free time it worked on homework with the other paraeducators. She still hadn’t worked on tomorrow’s lesson plan. So, i asked if she was using her computer. She said no. I asked if I could borrow it to look at the lesson. And then I just fucking made the lesson for the next 3 days. I am not a certified teacher. This is not part of my job. She makes three times more than I do. But I did it anyway because THERE NEEDS TO BE A LESSON. And then I told the head of the department that I did it for her.

And yes, you better believe that my supervisor was told about her just fucking LEAVING kids out by themselves. Another paraeducator mentioned to me that the sub smelled like alcohol. Made sure the supervisor knew that as well. I know we are short staffed, but HOW did this woman get hired?! She should NOT be allowed to be a sub, especially a long term sub, ESPECIALLY-ESPECIALLY for special education students with high-needs.

#personal dragon is personal #work #education #i am fucking agog #and livid #i want to shake her

0 notes

marinabays · 2 years

Text

[M/M] [Sex Work] [Overstim] [Dirty Talk]

Jenny is sitting back in the wicker café chair, looking every bit the relaxed retiree she is. She looks tan. She looks good. She’s squinting at Lee’s phone, because it will be a fair few years before she admits she needs reading glasses, one leg folded over the other, bouncing her foot around with such lazy enthusiasm that Lee worries she’ll kick her cappuccino off the table. Lee thinks Jenny could still be infamous, charging S1,000 for an hour of her time, if she wanted to.

Then again, youth sells was one of the first slivers of advice Lee had managed to pry out of Jenny, after he’d sworn up and down that he was going to go into this line of work no matter what, with Jenny’s blessing or without it. “A lot of these guys are looking for something new. Their lives, their wives, their first-class trans-Atlantic flights, it’s all old hat. You get to be the shiny new thing on the block.” Countless people looking to break into the industry must have solicited help from Jenny over the years. Lee still hasn’t wrapped his head around why Jenny sees potential in him in particular.

But Lee likes being shiny. Likes being appreciated, desired, noticed, scouted. This isn’t the least logical career choice he could be making.

“Your site looks good. Who’d you hire to do it?” Jenny asks, incredulous.

Lee tries not to look too pleased. He knows it looks good. It’s got SEO coming out of its ass, too, but that’s all hidden. “I did it myself, ‘s not that hard. What do you think about the photos?”

“They’re nice.” Jenny zooms in with two fingers, considering. “Tasteful. In my day you paywalled anything racier than underwear shots, but these days all bets are off.”

“Did those myself too.” All it took was a secondhand DSLR, a couple of ring lights, and a bootleg copy of Lightroom.

“You’ve got a full bio, gallery, wishlist, and services page, and you haven’t even had a client yet?”

Lee crosses his arms in front of him, tucks his chin into the neck of his hoodie. “With how much you’re telling me to charge, I can’t have anyone realizing this is my first go ‘round. Everyone wants a virgin but no one wants an amateur.”

“Hey, don’t quote me at me,” Jenny warns, but he looks fond. “Please tell me you’re at least not planning on dressing like this.” She looks Lee up and down. Her evaluation of Lee’s dress sense is obvious.

“I’ve got nice clothes,” Lee protests. They’ve all still got the tags on, but he was going to make sure he tried them on before his first booking. He’d just been really busy.

Jenny is unconvinced, but she doesn’t say it. She just smiles over the lip of her coffee, looking satisfied with the execution of her mentorly duties.

“Here,” she says, and reaches under her chair. She brings out an expensive-looking shopping bag, the kind of thing Lee wouldn’t dream of touching on his student budget. “I know it’s just going to end up on the floor, but I can’t have any protegé of mine wearing something that came from Target.”

Lee wants to argue, but he’s gone all in on being cheeky, not rude. He’s already taking Jenny’s time, mentorship, advice, and gifts. He doesn’t need to try her patience as well. “Thank you.”

Jenny waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Just promise me you’ll be safe, alright? Remember the basics? You’re your own best friend when you’re out there. Just— keep your head on straight, yeah?”

Lee nods but if he’s being honest he’s thinking more about how much he’d like to be like Jenny, when he gets to be that old. Jenny’s got croissant crumbs down her blouse and doesn’t seem bothered by it. She’s embodying a kind of unselfconscious ease that has been totally alien to Lee’s twenty-one years on earth. But maybe he can be like that one day. Maybe once enough people tell him he’s beautiful in cold, hard cash.

⁂

The guy’s “name” is Andrew, and apparently he’s a cheapskate because he only books an hour-long session. Still, the message is the most exciting email Lee’s received since his college acceptance.

He tells Jenny the time and place and makes plans to check in five minutes after the session is meant to end. The check-in and a can of pepper spray in his backpack are all he has in terms of safety, a fact which only really sinks in once he exits the elevator and is finally alone in the silent, extravagantly carpeted hotel hallway.

It all feels a bit surreal. He’d asked himself a million times if he was really ready for this and made sure the answer was an emphatic yes. He’d thought about it for so long, planned it down to the millimeter. But he still has to focus on the things that remind him that this isn’t a daydream: touching the silky lining of the sharply cut blazer Jenny bought him, checking the Signal notifications on his phone, running his finger over the condom packet in his back pocket to make sure that it’s still there. There’s probably never been a more important time to think with his head and not his dick, but he’s already half-hard in these new paint-on jeans.

Eventually, he just stuffs his headphones into his bag and tries to focus instead on not obviously blushing, on not thinking too much about how good it felt to finger himself open in the shower before he left, on not accidentally knocking on the wrong room.

Andrew is wearing an oversized tie-dye t-shirt when he opens the door. The floor behind him is covered in discarded clothes, and the air is thick with herbal steam from the shower. “Hiya, Gordon?”

Lee tilts his head in a way that he hopes comes across more as an interested coquette than puzzled bird. “Hey, Andrew? Can I come in?”

Lee had expected older. A lot older. Andrew seems youthful at least. On the inquiry form he had unhelpfully listed his occupation as traveling businessman, but with his tattoos, he looks more like a lifestyle influencer. He’s got a smile big enough for YouTube, beckoning Lee into the room like they’re old friends and not strangers. “Sorry about the—er—everything. Travel lifestyle, you know how it is.”

Lee hasn’t traveled in years, but his website still has a Fly Me To You section. He glances at the dresser. There’s a heavy, expensive-looking watch laying on its side next to an unmarked envelope. Just where he asked for it. It’s odd to think that he’s set the rules of the interaction before they’re even met, but he supposes that’s the point. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen worse.”

He should really, really count the money first. Another winning piece of rookie advice from Jenny. He slips the envelope into his pocket instead.

He can feel Andrew watching him. He examines the view of the city through the picture window instead. “Are you in town for long?”

“Through the end of the week. Do you deepthroat? It didn’t say in your bio.”

Jesus Christ. It sounds like he’s asking Lee what he had for lunch. Lee doesn’t miss a beat though, just arches his eyebrow and turns to look Andrew in the eyes. “Er, yeah? Part of the job description, isn’t it?”

Andrew shrugs. “Takes all sorts.” He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing more tattoos and tan skin. He is, truth be told, very good looking. Lee goes to the gym, obviously, and the photos on his website were specifically taken to showcase it. He never expected a client to give him a run for his money. Andrew really doesn’t need to be paying for sex, but Lee won’t be running out to file a complaint. “We don’t have that much time, I figured I might as well get comfortable.”

“Yeah, of course. You, uh, you look really good.” Lee does his best to keep up. He’s meant to be the impressive one here, not the other way around.

Still, Andrew seems charmed by it, smiling as he sits on the edge of the bed. He spreads his legs wide, relaxed and lazy and completely unsubtle. It’s as wide-open an invitation as Lee will ever get. He strips off the jacket and folds it over the chair in the corner with as much care as he can. Then he shucks off the rest of his clothes onto the floor before he can second-guess himself. Andrew just stares with open appreciation, especially when he gets to the things the photos didn’t show.

“Do you mind if I—?”

“No, go ahead,” Andrew says, his voice dry. It may have been a prepared line but it works, and has Andrew leaning forward in anticipation as Lee’s underwear falls to the floor.

It’s a little embarrassing to be so hard already. Ideally, Lee would like to be a little more aloof, playing a little harder to get, a seasoned professional. Still, he strokes himself a few times, since Andrew is watching. This is all happening quicker than he’d imagined, no polite small talk, but he’s not sure he could have waited much longer anyway. Anxiety and arousal are working together to slowly swallow him whole. He can’t really believe he’s doing this.

Condom, right. Remember the basics. He snags it from his pants and sinks to his knees with as much grace as he can manage, which isn’t much. It’s familiar and strange at the same time, but he relies on his instincts and doesn’t waste any time. Andrew hardens nicely against his lips, the satisfying physical evidence of what Lee can do to guys, when he tries.

There’s no use playing coy when Andrew’s been so upfront about what he wants. Lee takes a deep breath and relaxes his throat, then takes Andrew as far down as he can manage. It’s worth it for how Andrew goes from silent to swearing in no time at all, his fingers tangling in Lee’s hair.

Just as Andrew is getting completely taut and hard on Lee’s tongue, and Lee starts letting pride drive him to suck deeper, to the edge of gagging, Andrew tugs lightly on the back of Lee’s hair, pulling him away. Lee goes, looking up at Andrew with big eyes. He knows he looks good. He keeps working Andrew’s dick with his hand, pleased by how he can make Andrew bite his lip and breathe out hard.

“Not yet,” Andrew says, stopping Lee’s hand with his own. He still squeezes hard at the base, looking down at Lee with a spark of something mischievous in his eyes. He ushers Lee to his feet and onto the bed, maneuvering him with warm, steady hands until he’s bent forward over Andrew’s lap, his ass high in the air.

Of the less-bad scenarios Lee had imagined for tonight, the worst was if he had to lead the whole thing himself and improvise a suite of suitable sex acts that would get him a good rating on PrivateDelights. Andrew, thankfully, seems more than willing to ask for what he wants. Lee tries not to feel too much like he’s slacking on the job.

“This is what I’ve been thinking about all day. I was looking at your pictures.” Lee preens a little at that, rocks back and forth on his knees. Andrew hums and runs a hand down Lee’s side, across his abs. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how I was going to get my hands all over you. I already got myself off in the shower once before you came.”

Andrew’s voice is nice. It’s low and always seems to be poised on the edge of a joke, which makes it more satisfying when he turns dead-serious and filthy. The head of his cock brushes Lee’s thigh, but Lee ignores it for now, Andrew’s attention clearly all on him. This is something he’s confident that he’s good at, taking the attention with an aw-shucks bashfulness that he’s been assured is a much more popular persona than a dirty-talking porn star.

There are two lube-slick fingers rubbing at his hole, and then they’re pushing in, slow and firm. Lee forces himself to relax and properly enjoy it. He’s been turned on for so long, he can’t stop himself sighing in relief. The stretch is delightful and so much better, thicker, than when he did it himself. He curves his back a little deeper, presents his ass with a little more flair, and moans when Andrew adds a third finger.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” Andrew breathes, his breath blowing across Lee’s lower back, sending pinprick shivers up his spine. Lee can imagine it, but he wishes he couldn’t. The thought is too much, too quick. Andrew’s hands are so big, his fingers would be stretching him obscenely wide. Lee wants more, wants a break— he needs a clear head, but his neurons are only transmitting analog fuzz, no signal.

They’ve got an hour to kill and Lee is going to come before his guy even fucks him. It’s just poor customer service.

Andrew rubs slowly, purposefully over his prostate. It’s a blast of static at the edges of Lee’s reality, slowly occluding his other thoughts. Lee moans into the duvet, a bit of precome dripping off his cock and onto Andrew’s knee. Andrew chuckles at that, bringing his other hand up to rub his palm over Lee’s balls. “That’s good for you, then?”

“Oh, you might want to— Your hand on— I might come.”

Andrew just leans in closer, so he can whisper right into Lee’s ear. “That’s so fucking hot. Do you think you can handle me inside you when you’re all sensitive?” Lee squeezes his eyes closed and nods his head. He can do anything, if he’s asked. He can be good, adaptable, impressive, worth it. “Good, I want you to try. I want to see the faces you make.”

“Anything you want, Andrew.”

“I want to see you suck your fingers, will you do that for me? That’s good, just like that, nice and full.”

It doesn’t take long after that. Andrew fingers him in time with short, quick strokes over his cock, keeps running his mouth about how he looks so pretty, baby, yeah, just let go, just let it all out. Andrew is so clearly getting off on how into it Lee is letting himself be, so Lee slips his fingers out of his mouth and yelps when he comes, rides it out and thrusts back on Andrew’s fingers until it’s too much stimulation to bear. Then he collapses across Andrew’s knee.

Andrew keeps his word and barely gives Lee a second to recover before he picks him up by the hips and flips him over so they’re face-to-face. It’s the closest they’ve been to kissing, Andrew staring down at Lee as he struggles to catch his breath. He disappears for a moment to wipe the mess off his thigh and then he’s back, pushing Lee’s knee up towards his chest and whistles when he sees how far it bends. Lee does not have the spare mental capacity to even be proud of himself anymore. “You ready?” Andrew asks, rubbing the head of his cock over the lube on Lee’s inner thigh.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, please—”

Andrew hisses as he pushes in with one slow thrust, bottoming out and sitting there as Lee spasms around him.

Lee doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He grasps at the sheets and covers his face and grasps at Andrew’s shoulders and keeps moving because all of his nerve endings are firing at once and the energy from it needs to go somewhere. Andrew only pulls out halfway before pushing back in, not relenting for a moment. “It’s, ah, it’s too much, but don’t, don’t stop—”

“You can take it darling, you’re perfect for this, come on.”

Lee anchors himself to the bed, caught between pushing back into Andrew’s thrusts and squirming away from the overstimulation. It doesn’t help that Andrew is rubbing his thumb over the come-sticky tip of Lee’s soft cock in time with his thrusts. Andrew is so focused on him — it’s nothing like he expected. He thought of himself as entering a service industry, but here he is letting Andrew do all the work. The feeling of Andrew watching his jigsaw expectations fail to fit is almost as overwhelming as the sheer physical sensation of being dragged to the limit and hauled over it without warning.

Lee wants to say something to wrestle a bit of control, a bit of dignity back, but Andrew can’t seem to stop talking. “Jesus, you’re big. I bet all the guys love that big dick, don’t they?”

Lee almost chokes on his own tongue “‘S all yours,” he bites out. He can still do this, sell the fantasy— exclusivity, for an hour.

But Andrew doesn’t seem to want to play ball. “Bet they want to see it bounce when they fuck you, huh? They want to see you come all over yourself while you ride them?”

Lee can barely focus on Andrew’s words, on formulating a reply, let alone on keeping his back arched and his eyes half-lidded like a centerfold. He probably looks sweaty and half insane by now. Andrew’s cock keeps glancing off his prostate, an electric shock every time.

“You’re my first,” Lee admits, before he can stop himself. Andrew stops moving. Fuck, shit, shit. “I mean, I’m not, I have had sex before, don’t worry—”

Andrew is still very much balls deep in Lee’s ass and breathing hard. “But you’ve never done this before, sunshine?”

Lee is now very, very glad he has his eyes closed. He really looks like a fucking amateur now. He can feel the blush spreading down his neck, giving him away, but still, he smiles through it. “Someone had to be the first client, right?”

Andrew swears under his breath. “You know, I wouldn’t have guessed. You’re a natural.”

He pulls out slow and then shoves back in, knocking Lee’s breath out of him with the force of it. It takes no time to get back up to pace, even faster now, like being first really turns him on, makes him want it more. Andrew’s bracketing him with both arms, his body so close over Lee’s that Lee can smell Andrew’s eucalyptus aftershave and feel his breath on his neck. “You take my cock like you’ve had a lot of practice. You do this a lot? You figured you could get paid doing what you love, laying on your back and just taking it?”

Lee is caught out entirely. It makes his heart beat in double-time, makes him want to haul Andrew closer. “Yeah, you’re right, fuck, don’t stop.”

Andrew laughs at that, a burst of hot air against Lee’s ear that somehow feels as good as getting fucked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lee should have his guard up, should never have let it slip at all, but he’s too far gone now. If all the guys can be like Andrew, he doesn’t think he’ll ever quit. “Wish you could fuck me without the condom,” he says, which is stupid, so incredibly stupid and dangerous and goes against everything he’s told himself but he means it and the thought alone is making him hard again, fuck. He wants every guy to be like Andrew but he really, really can’t do this ever again. It’s too late to think about it or say anything different. He opens his eyes in time to see Andrew’s eyes go almost comically wide.

“Wish I could too, wish I could see my come dripping out of you. You look like an angel, baby.” Andrew’s getting wild, arrhythmic, and Lee does his best to squeeze tight and wring it out of him.

“Call me Lee.”

“Yeah? Want to give you everything, Lee. Want you to take it ‘cause you like it.” His fingers dig deep into Lee’s hips, as though it were possible for them to be any closer than they already are.

There’s $600 in cash in an envelope on the floor, and that’s reason enough to like this, but Andrew is pulling Lee back onto his dick with every thrust and Lee is throwing every carefully learned lesson about how to get fucked for money out the window, along with his higher brain function. Andrew’s hand is so good, almost painful on Lee’s cock and Lee’s name is on Andrew’s tongue, and Lee just about chokes out, “I like it, I like it,” before Andrew groans into Lee’s neck and trembles through his orgasm.

Slowly, slowly, Andrew disentangles himself from Lee’s body, lets go of his hips, slides out of him, flops to the side and stares up at the ceiling like he’s been etherized or maybe just struck over the head with a heavy object. His dumbstruck silence feels like a victory, even though Lee is similarly quiet. Lee just focuses on how Andrew’s breathing slowly goes back to normal and wonders how exactly he let himself fuck up this badly. He’s still maddeningly hard, again, and he can’t do anything about it but breathe and try to let it go like an unscratched itch.

Maybe when he gets back to his flat he can count the money and actually get himself off again, thinking about Andrew’s scent.

If he does this again, he’s going to have to prepare better. If he does this again, he’s going to have to be ready for clients like Andrew, who are hot enough and attentive enough and responsive enough to stroke his ego in just the right way to make him utterly stupid.

He rolls over and kisses Andrew for what feels like the rest of the hour, then grabs his clothes and leaves just in time to pick up Jenny’s call.

⁂

Lee gets back from his evening lecture late. Nothing would feel better than turning off his brain, eating the leftover pasta in the fridge, and falling asleep watching speedruns. Still, he checks his email as he shovels the spaghetti into his mouth, because that’s how his life is now. He’s a young businessman, of sorts. An entrepreneur. There are a few new inquiries in his inbox, but the guys don’t have any references. Apparently they can’t read the rules. He marks them read and moves on, slowly putting his fork down as he spots a familiar name.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hey Lee, I mean, Hey Gordon ;) I’m in town again this week. I was hoping to connect... i heard you’re doing overnights now?

Either way, here’s the place I’m staying. Can i reach you at the same number?

Andrew

P.s.

Do you take gifts? I was just in paris and i couldn’t stop thinking about you

Lee should really just mark it read like the others. He has plenty of regulars on his calendar, and more inquiries than he needs to fill in the gaps. He’s got a cozy, steady business going. Rookie mistakes can stay rookie mistakes. Jenny taught him that.But the idea of being thought of, longed after, by a handsome man on the streets of Paris — well, he’s only human isn’t he? It’s been a year, but he’s still got Andrew’s number in his phone. He licks a spot of tomato sauce from his lip and tries not to smile too hard when Andrew texts him back immediately.

0 notes

lookwhatilost · 2 years

Text

i’ve been trying to ply myself with as much stimulus as possible tonight, which hasn’t been great for my productivity, but i can’t see myself sleeping tonight, so i make it work.

so while i’m trying to avoid letting my brain burn, let me talk about a tweet i wasn’t fond of. to paraphrase what it said, the OP wasn’t fond of people playing devil’s advocate for the ~~gender critical~~ crowd by pointing out that they have trauma, people it ignores the trauma that they inflict through their behavior.

my main objection to this is that it’s responding to a premise that i don’t think is applicable any longer as of 2023. you have your flagship example of jkr, who’s weaponizing her baggage, but i don’t really get the sense that she’s a representative sample. in my time poking around on the darker corners on the internet, it seems to be an ideology that takes all kinds, ranging from people with philosophically bankrupt utopian ideals of gender abolition to people who don’t even have a premise outside of vitriol for the sake of it.

(side note: if we were to throw out my point and say, sure, it is all because of open wounds, this is also an extreme example of why “my trauma” is an unworkable justifying mechanism for anything. intense emotion isn’t a reliably perfect and proportional response to pain, it manifests in nonsensical areas sometimes, and the same can be said of what lingers and what doesn’t. even if you could transpose consciousness, it isn’t an argument. none of us are valid! none of us are free of sin!)

but my other one is that it seems incredibly uncommon for anyone to really dig into how this ecosystem works, that there’s an entirely separate news media ecosystem that directly feeds into this.

i’m digging out an ancient example from the annals of my memory, but around 10 years back, there was some really stupid incident that came out of a college in florida related some professor allegedly writing the word “jesus” on a piece of paper and telling the students to step on it. if you haven’t heard about it, congratulations on being young and/or not lurking in the atheist ratsphere when some meta-discussion was happening about this. predictably, it was more complicated than that, but whatever.

this didn’t get a lot of mainstream press coverage because it’s not a story, but there were christian-specific news outlets who circulated this – and reliably did the same with similar stories like that. jury’s still out on whether the stop on jesus thing inspired a whole series of christian propaganda films, or if it was that old chain email that follows this story nearly too a tee. but what i’m getting at with this tangent is that the kind of people getting a lot of news from sources like this are going to walk away of the opinion that christians are an oppressed minority in the united states, even though it’s completely ridiculous to suggest that as the case.

reduxx and 4thwavenow basically function in the same way, serving up a new pile of “stomp jesus” style shit each day, directly to your laptop. people talk about social media radicalization constantly, which of course can play a role, but this backchannel has an established history of turning people insane in the past, and it’s doing it again. sleek front-end web design and sorta kinda maybe true stories in intense concentration is the skeletal system of this whole shit.

0 notes

monstermaster13 · 2 years

Text

TftW: Fish-Man of Omega House.

Salvatore Moreau tf

````````````````````

Sometimes people who are weird are vilified for a number of reasons, there was one member of Delta House which was always ridiculed and mocked for his quirky tastes, his name was Seymour Lovecraft but his nickname was ‘Pisces’ because of his recurring love of aquatic creatures, he had a part time job working at an aquarium and he would share his stories with some of the fish which had gotten him the title of ‘that weird student who talks to fish’, this was why nobody trusted him because of his appearance and he was bullied, his most common bully was Greg Marmalard of Omega House, one evening Pisces had arrived late to a get together with the other Deltas and he appeared to be in a rather rough state. ‘Sorry i’m late guys but something happened.’ ‘Was it Marmalard?’ ‘Yes, he threatened to report my mutant fish experiment to Wormer.’ ‘That bastard needs to be taught a lesson.’ ‘I know, I still have some of my mega-grow fish formula here, we’ve seen what it does on fish but what about people?’ ‘Do you think the formula could turn Marmalad into a fish-monster?’ ‘You know I definitely think it could.’

Pisces began to formulate a plan in his mind and then on paper, using a tablet he had found to describe what he wanted to pull off, he had a series of recurring nightmares about being trapped in the aquarium while it was being flooded and there were fish mutants in said nightmares, and he did a computer generated illustration of the scenario of said nightmares, vividly adding in detail like the piranha-people and designing the mutants. He got an even bigger jolt of inspiration from a Resident Evil village poster, his favorite lord was Moreau and he loved him like he was a mentor or father figure. ‘Ooh, I know what I want to do.’

A couple of hours later he sent an invitation via email to Omega House’s members for a special gathering over at the place where the aquarium was, he always had a copy of the times-tables which contained the schedule of which animals/sea-creatures were going to be taken care of by the staff. So he worked extra hard to make sure the staff weren’t going to be short staffed and he volunteered, he looked over at the piranha tank as he began to feed some of the formula to them which in turn turned them into human/piranha habits that were stout humanoid piranha-folk with sharpened teeth. Marmalard was of course there with the others to keep an eye on things, but he had his suspicions.

“Are you up to something, Lovecraft?”

“Who? Me? Of course not. I am just making sure that my friends, both my land friends and water-born ones, are safe.”

“Nice try but I know why you brought us here.”

“What? Can’t we all have a friendly get together without something going wrong?”

“Don’t play coy with me, I know what you’re up to.”

‘I’m not playing coy with you, why would I do that…I definitely wouldn’t want to poi with you either.’ ‘Another one of your fish jokes? Now doesn’t seem like the time for those.’ ‘There’s always time for my fishy jokes, my friends like them, it’s only you and your friends that don’t, but to show i’m not going to harm you, i’ve got something I want you to do with me.’ ‘It’s not a trick is it?’ ‘Oh no…it’s no trick, all I ask is for you to help me clean this tank over here, it’s getting pretty dirty and I would hate for my fishy friends to die.’ ‘Okay fine, but this better not be a trick.’ Marmalard was known for his stubbornness and arrogance but he wasn’t stupid, well not in the typical sense, he crept over to the tank with the dirty water in it and began to put in a pipe that cleaned out the water.

“Very good. See? It’s easy.”

“Now what do I do? If you say drink the water i’ll…”

He turned around, but Pisces smirked as he pushed one of the pipes, the other which spilled some of the dirty water on Greg, he chuckled as he did so. ‘Ha! How do you like being covered in my mutagenic dirt water?’ ‘You slimy fish-obsessed bastard!’ ‘Yep, I used the mutagenic water filter kit I invented in chemistry class for this little plan. Unlike most of your guys, I paid attention and followed the recipe, I just added my own touch for spice.’ ‘When I get my hands on you…’ Pisces laughed, thinking it was hilarious that he was being threatened, that’s when Greg’s skin slowly began to deform and flake off in a few places and develop a rash that give him a reddish scaled appearance. That’s when his hands slowly started to contort and deform, altering to give them a webbed appearance while his fingernails lengthened, he panicked and screamed as pieces of his skin flaked off and landed on the floor, this made the other Omegas throw up.

‘What’s happening to Greg? What are you doing to him, you sicko?’ Mandy Pepperidge shouted. ‘I am getting back at him for all the times he has bullied me for being weird..’ she gasped in horror as spots that resembled white sand, he scratched away at it only to be met with a series of lesions that developed on his skin and his body to slowly bloat up as if he had not only eaten a lot but also made it look like he had dropsy, his skin became bumpy and also turned from its normal healthy color to gray as his whole body deformed, he also gained a number of nautical tattoos which were burned into his skin. He heard a loud crunching sound as his back slowly began to hunch over.

“I will tell Wormer about this and he will not be furious.”

“I already have plans for the others, so I wouldn’t bother trying if I was you.”

Several fleshie malformed lumps popped up all over his back, some that very much resembled humps were there too, hunching his back and making him look like he was morphing into a deformed hunchback, he tried to shake the water off but to no avail…as his stomach bloated and gained some of the same lumps on the side. One of the lumps on his back had even developed some kind of eye. He panicked and demanded that Pisces turn him back to normal but Pisces was too busy enjoying the show. ‘This is like a revenge-fic only so much better, I wouldn’t even think about changing you back.’

Greg lunged at Pisces and attempted to hit him only to fall backward once his feet slowly became webbed like his hands had as he grew up a bit in height and his shoulders deformed with a crack, he started to cough as black ooze and blood dripped out of his mouth he started to feel like he needed a lot of water as his neck swelled and gills developed on it, his ears didn’t fade away but his brown hair slowly fell away only to become tangled up in style and turning from brown to black, his normally handsome features crumbling away and deforming, his face become malformed and monstrous looking as some of his teeth fell out except for a few of them, it didn’t take him long to realize he was turning into the character Salvatore Moreau, who was Pisces’s favorite lord in the game. He begged for forgiveness only to be ridiculed by Pisces who explained to him that it was for the best.

The other Omegas were horrified about what they were witnessing, they were witnessing their normally handsome house leader becoming a fish-monster and it was horrifying them and making them violently ill at the same time. Which Bluto thought was hilarious. Greg groaned as he leaned towards the tank, as he broke down in tears. ‘I’ll do anything, please..I am super duper sorry, I will never pick on you again.’ ‘I like a person who pleads but it’s too late for you.’ Pisces walked over to him, Greg groaned as his voice altered and contorted, becoming exactly like Moreau’s voice and that’s when he started getting a head-ache, he couldn’t think straight, he had trouble remembering who he was. ‘That can’t be right, i’m not Salvatore Moreau, i’m Greg Marmalard, right? Come on guys, back me up here.’

A couple of seconds later his personality and mind warped and contorted, becoming the ones that went with his new form and look, his jeans had become a pair of gray tattered pants as his transformation had finished, he was no longer the arrogant leader of Omega House, he was the misunderstood fish-man Salvatore Moreau. Pisces began to fanboy as he adjusted his wavy brown hair, his deep blue eyes fluttering a little as he did so. ‘You’re my hero, Moreau, for all my life I have been viewed as odd and it took me a while to find a hero of my on but I have found one now and it is you, I love you.’ ‘Really? You love me? Nobody has ever said that to me before.’ ‘Well of course I do, you’re a nice fish-man and I think you’re father figure material.’

“But no one has ever loved me before.”

“Well I do..and there are quite a few fans who love you too, if not more.”

Moreau hugged Pisces and that’s when he realized he had finally found love, and that to him was a wonderful feeling. ‘Say, I work at the aquarium, would you like to have a job here?’ ‘I would like that.’ The marine biologist student showed Moreau to the aquarium’s manager who liked him so much that he hired him to be a tour guide, and thus with that a new friendship was formed and Moreau learned about what being loved truly felt like, the guests all adored him and treasured his information and they thought he was fascinating and unique, as for what happened later he finally found a way to control his transformation into his more monstrous state and even gained an anthro-ish form with the attributes of his mutated form.

Thus we come to the moral of the story, revenge is often a good prize to obtain but friendship and understanding are even better, sometimes even stories that are filled with gore, guts, revenge and tragedy can have a good side to them and may this be a lesson to all of you.

0 notes

kingsofchaos · 7 years

Note

What If one of the fakes had a high school reunion or something like that and just took the crew and it somehow ended in a shoot out with the cops.

Let’s just be clear, it’s not a pride thing. Geoff has never cared what people said about him, not outside a professional sense anyway; he knew exactly who he was, what he was capable of, even before he’d taken an entire city to its knees. So it’s not that he felt the need to prove himself, it’s just that there’s something particular about high school trauma, isn’t there? Something that lingers, even when it shouldn’t, something that emerges from even the most upstanding adults when thrown back together for a reunion, the bullies and the bullied, all desperate to show what they’ve become.Geoff’s last high school was nothing like he’d ever been to before, a snobby upper-crust hellhole he was only in because his Ma’s third husband pulled some strings, and the other students were quick to point out just how much he didn’t belong. Between the tattoos and the smoking, the lazy looks and slow sneering drawl, it was always all too easy to label Geoff a loser, a drop out, trailer park trash everyone knew would be washing their cars one day. Never mind that he scored higher than most of his cohort even when skipping more or less every class, never mind that he is possibly the most well-read crime-lord in the country, back then he had an image and teenagers are relentless. Not that Geoff was all that phased even at the time, only a year or so away from the day he picked up his first gun and never looked back, but it’s the principal of the thing.So when an invite forwards through from an email so old he’d forgotten he’d even made it Geoff has to laugh. Then pause, consider, hatch an utterly ridiculous idea, and laugh some more. Because he might not care, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy ruining the night for all the pathetic stuck-up nobodies he went to school with; rubbing your success in everyone’s faces is what reunions are for, after all. The fact that it has a theme, that it is masquerade of all things, really just cements Geoff’s resolve to drag his crew halfway across the country into one of the strangest nights of their lives.Everyone knows the option to bring a guest to these events is, in reality, the offer to bring a romantic partner, singular, but it isn’t technically stated. There are no rules barring Geoff from RSVP-ing for 7, so that’s exactly what he does. Sure he receives a few increasingly less polite emails suggesting he’d been mistaken but he doesn’t even bother opening them, doesn’t try to clarify that he is bringing his friends, his family, not his entire harem. Let them talk; they’d do it anyway. Plus, it’s not like the Fake’s aren’t all entirely too pleased with the suggestion, cackling hyenas who spend the next few weeks laying it on thick, batting their eyes and blowing Geoff kisses, picking out increasingly absurd meet-cute stories to tell his scandalised classmates. Between creating new identities and playing dress up in masks and suits they couldn’t be happier.Masks or not they catch every eye in the room when they make their entrance and why wouldn’t they; Geoff and his unusual request must have been the talk of the rumour mill and identity hidden or not clearly this must be Geoff, it’s not like anyone else brought along 6 dates. As stage whispers hit a dull roar it’s obvious no one was prepared for what they were seeing, perhaps imagined instead stained tank tops and a string of strung-out baby mama’s, not expensively tailored suits and an attractively refined entourage. Paying the noise no heed Geoff swans into the room with Jack looking elegant on one arm, Gavin at his most Ken-doll glamorous tucked under the other, flanked on either side by Ryan, Michael, Jeremy and Ray, all dressed to impress.Shock and jealousy aren’t good looks on anyone, let alone rich brats turned elitist yuppies, so Geoff’s classmates behave just as poorly as he’d anticipated, years and newfound maturity doing nothing to stop the tittering laughter, the sneers and judgmental looks, fake pleasantry and condescending questions. But then, his crew didn’t exactly play nice with them either.Ray and Jeremy immediately beeline to the food table and bar, respectively, and each set themselves up and settle in for the night; loud, obnoxious and tactlessly talking about everyone around them. When asked about themselves or their relationship to Geoff they’re both frustratingly vague, Jeremy chattering away without saying much at all and Ray simply staring people down until they can’t bear the tension.Michael and Ryan set off together to explore the room but quickly separate to accommodate their vastly different methods of surveillance. Ryan skulks into the background, ducking numerous attempts to catch his interest in favour of fading into unlit corners and empty nooks, frightening the life out of anyone trying to slip away for some private time. Michael, on the other hand, seems determined to be the life of the party, cheerfully making conversation only to laugh in the face of every so-called achievement, ruffling feathers and causing major offence wherever he goes.Gavin slinks off like a man on a mission and doesn’t come back for over an hour, offering no explanation for the absence beyond a dangerously self-satisfied smirk. His work becomes obvious soon enough anyway, once the yelling starts; Geoff’s two main high-school tormentors, mentioned only in passing stories over the years, simultaneously having huge, public, relationship-ending blow ups with each of their significant others. What are the odds? Across the hall Gavin laughs, all tinkling glass and sparkling charm, smoothly working the room like Michael’s mirror opposite.Jack stays at Geoff’s side all night, hackles raised into something abnormally cold and unimpressed any time someone comes up to speak to them, protective instincts in full force no matter how often Geoff claims to be unaffected. He fills her in on all the worst gossip about those who approach, and as the night progresses and general unease begins to spread Jack mellows, sinking back into something sweet and mocking, somehow even more unsettling playing docile arm-candy than she was rabid guard dog.Throughout the night the Fake AH Crew remain a key topic of every casual conversation; they might have been regardless, even this far from Los Santos no one can get enough of their scandals, but with the huge heist pulled just last week there was no way to avoid it, everyone has their two cents, their praise and condemnation. It’s too funny, the whole crew killing themselves trying not to break character, to laugh or correct or manipulate the conversation but all their self-control is well rewarded in the end.Half the room removed their masks less than an hour into the night; too difficult to eat and talk and drink in, too vain to keep their hard earned looks covered, so it’s not at all strange when the Fake’s start to follow suit. Jeremy and Ray start it, the newest member and the one caught on camera the least often, casually dropping their masks mid-conversation. They each get a confused squint or two, a double glance, a few individuals trying to place them, remember how they’d met before, why they were so familiar.Next came Gavin and Michael, having goaded each other out onto the dance-floor they were playing as much as they were moving to the music, laughing and grappling and generally making a bit of a scene. They snatch off each other’s masks as they play and the looks double, because alone they’re each distinctive but together, together, people have seen those faces together, somewhere they’ve seen them and so often together..Last is Jack and Geoff, more graceful than their counterparts and moving with far more purpose they reveal their faces in the centre of the room and, like a party trick, they instantly catch the whole room’s attention. Out of context, in ones and twos where they don’t belong, the members of the FAHC could be mistaken but no one in the country would fail to recognise Ramsey and Patillo, the kingpin and his right hand, rulers of the most well-known gang in the US. And here they stand, casually mingling at a high school reunion.In the calm before the storm the crew gravitates back towards one another, can almost see the cogs turning around them, the lightbulbs flickering on in a slow ripple spreading out across the room, disbelief and the first hint of horror swirling together as people start unconsciously reaching for their phones. As Ryan slips back out and wanders over, the last still masked, always masked, the chatter seems to crescendo then crash into something still and almost silent as a room full of entitled trust-fund babies recognise their own terror.Finally uncovered and flanked by his family Geoff’s grin creeps across his face, slow and violent and more confirmation than anyone needed as he lets the oppressive tension sit for a long moment, arms spreading out to his sides like a magician revealing a clever trick before he breaks the silence; Surprise motherfuckers. Guns are pulled from jackets and from there it’s all running and screaming, no honour or courage, just a stampede for the exits to the sound of cackling laughter and the occasional aimless pot-shot. The Fake’s aren’t looking for lives, not worth the hassle really, and this job certainly has no monetary reward beyond the wallets Geoff’s filthy little thieves have no doubt absconded with, but the fear in the air is delightful and even the sound of incoming sirens can’t ruin the mood. If anything it only hypes them up further, all savage grins and ramping excitement as they make for doors, reloading their weapons and pumping themselves up for a whole new police force to terrorise, Geoff’s magnificent little miscreants.On the way out they pass a wall of yearbook photos, blown up large and captioned with names and all the old superlative awards. Ryan stumbles to a halt and snorts, snatching one off the wall and tucking it into his jacket to take back to the penthouse, though not before flashing the Lads a glance at that all too recognisable face, sending them into peals of screeching laughter as they pour out into the night. Geoffrey Fink; Least likely to succeed.

#FAHC #sorry you don’t actually see the shootout #thought this nonsense went on long enough #i had a real 'oh do i actually have anything to say about this?' moment #but then i started #and boy #did i ever #endless garbage #at one point this had even more of the crew #and a detailed description of their mask choices #for no reason beyond me having no self-restraint #I have literally no idea how Geoff gets that invite #even a still working student email doesn’t make sense #dude is old #*movie magic*#Loaded Guns and Sharp Teeth #Ask #Anonymous #Reunion

609 notes · View notes