#is it good? whomst can say

[lincolnchristie]

I could never be a gravedigger

I can’t go to the fast food joint the one next to the old Blockbuster that is now a mattress store.

You probably won’t be there. I don’t know why you would be. But one time we ate there together.

There’s a place in St. Louis I can never eat. There’s a store in Manhattan I can never shop. There’s a beach in California I can never go.

I can’t rewatch The Mummy. I can’t reread C.S. Lewis. I can’t return to Madrid.

You haunted me in Hawaii. Your ghost sits beside me in the movie theater. Green grapes and Havarti cheese sour in my mouth.

On a Notes app on my phone is a link to a birthday present I will never buy you. There’s a list of questions about Los Angeles that I won’t ask you. There’s an essay of things I never said because even as you stabbed me I chose to choke on the blood and swallow it rather than spit it in your face.

I saw your ex the other day don’t worry, he’s still a piece of shit. He was friendly to me. I imagined playing with his intestines as payment for what he did to you.

I wore your yellow dress to meet my grandmother for lunch she said I looked lovely.

Two days ago I texted your best friend and confessed I’m not brave I care what people think about me and I miss you because you were never scared of a fight you’d know how to tell me how to live with making people hate you.

I never really got good at accepting nobody will come back for me. I never got good at understanding nobody will catch up to me. I can’t get over the echo of my footsteps.

All around me are the empty caskets of my immoderate love that once held people

maybe someday I can delete our emails I will go back to our strip mall I won’t type your name in the search bar

maybe I’ll stop discreetly checking your social media to make sure you’re okay. maybe I’ll stop sending our mutual friend money so she can Venmo you when you need twenty bucks and you won’t know it’s from me. maybe I’ll stop asking your best friend’s husband if you’re going to therapy if you got sober if you stopped cheating.

maybe I’ll plug up the holes in the shape of you I’ll fill in the caskets someday

[banana-milk-enthusiast]

Pokemon Scarlet

The Hidden Treasure of Area Zero

[aeide-thea]

die eigentliche Frage: wie viel Duolingo muss ich noch machen, bevor ich hoffen kann, hier auf Deutsch zu schreiben?

(viel mehr, bevor ich etwas Interessantes sagen kann! aber die Katze sitzt jetzt auf mir, was nicht interessant zu hören, aber ganz angenehm zu erleben ist. 😽)

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

girlies I'm losing my mind.

[snekdood]

here's the thing about writing villains-

you're never going to get ppl to stop writing villains who want to control everything, who are evil for evils sake, who are manipulative and liars or whatever. who are just bad people who seem irredeemable- most peoples idea of a villain is whatever they fear most.

and just because there might be stereotypes about certain demographics surrounding these ideas doesnt mean they are inherently bad to have in your writing in general. the reason those stereotypes exist is because people wrongfully assume that a certain demographic is a certain way either through their own fears or from propaganda/conspiracy theories they're cooking up or have consumed-- which are all built around fear.

its normal to fear someone who wants to control everything. the problem comes in on whom you're projecting that on to and whom you think wants to do that. it's prolly not a good idea to make a villain- who wants to control the world and all of its money- jewish. its probably not a good idea to make a villain- whos a controlling manipulative abusive liar who will do everything to get their way in spite of who they hurt- someone with npd. it's probably not a good idea to make a terrorist-y type villain a muslim or of middle eastern decent. it would probably be a good idea to try to avoid adding stereotypes surrounding whichever demographic you're concerned about your character being misread as to your villain if you're already worried they're gonna be misinterpreted by uncharitable people online.

in my case, im making a vampire villain who wants to control everything. it would probably be really fuckin dumb of me if i added a bunch of jewish stereotypes to him along with that, considering theres a lot of antisemitism in how a lot of vampires in different forms of media were conceptualized and a whole ass conspiracy theory that jewish people already do control everything.

i dont think "wants to control the world" or even "secretly does control the world" is necessarily a bad place to start when creating a villain, it's all about what you do after that point. and its also all about keeping in mind different stereotypes/conspiracy theories/tropes/etc. around that idea that have harmed different people. it only becomes antisemitic if you draw the character the way antisemites draw jewish people, or add a bunch of conspiracy theory fueled ideas to the character, or add a bunch of jewish iconography around the character, or just make him in some way readibly jewish or just straight up make him jewish. the more you educate yourself on stereotypes/conspiracy theories/harmful tropes/etc. surrounding whichever demographic you're trying to avoid making your villain be misread as and actually avoid trying to make that character that way, i think the better off you'll be.

remember that those stereotypes/conspiracy theories/tropes/etc. all exist because someone wanted to make whichever demographic into a villain. those fears already exist in peoples minds, they just want a place to put them, and a lot of people will find a scapegoat to place them on to. it's not that those fears at their basic level are wrong or bad to have or wrong to use as a jumping point in your writing, it's that people sometimes project those fears on to other people, typically marginalized people, and again, for propaganda's sake or bc of their own fears of other people or whatever. if you avoid projecting those fears on to demographics targeted by said fears and thus avoid making your villain of said demographic in every way that you possibly can, the better off you'll be.

people will be uncharitable and read things in bad faith no matter what you do. if you're a creative, you already know the internet spends no time (and hardly any actual critical thought) in dismantling something they've deemed problematic, likely because they dont even like the thing they're critiquing but need to make it seem like its somehow a Moral dislike of the thing. ya gotta ignore it and have faith in at least some of the people viewing what you create to actually hear what you're trying to say. you also gotta take into consideration actual constructive criticism of what you create, because you might have a blind spot in this regard. try to avoid listening to people who seem off the bat antagonistic and demanding bc they likely dont even have a justified reason to be mad at you over if they're acting that way. if they have something they want to say to you bc they actually wanna change your mind, they're not gonna approach you apathetically, dismissively, passive aggressively, as if they know everything and are above you and are the most moral person in the room- people like that dont actually care if you change whatever it is you're doing and just want a self-justified reason to be mad at you that makes them look good for critiquing you, if they did want to change your mind they would try to approach you in the least confrontational way that that particular individual can manage.

ultimately, listen to people actually effected by these things so you know what to avoid and figure out how to not hurt them.

[madebycoffee]

i’ve made 6 sims in the last 24 hours and each one is more chef kiss than the last.

hullo sir

[lady-assnali]

Damn, Gigi really did that didn’t she.

Sometimes snatch game is funny and sometimes (especially one season we all know) it really just. Doesn’t land at all.

And Gigi really said “let me remind all you bitches who really belongs here.”

[isaacathom]

someone at gamer night tested positive and im like well, shit alright, good run

[strongermonster]

see now i know my cat knows Good vs Wrong behaviours because i caught her gnawing at a plant today, and i didn't say a single thing— didn't yell, didn't use a Tone, didn't even move at all. just stood there with my hands on my hips until she noticed me, and then she jumped and bolted out of the room, and is now doing the "ohhh hello mommy!! my best friend whomst i love dearly! look at how big my eyes can go, listen to how loud i can purr! :3 i am just your special little angel who would neverrr be bad :33"

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ MAGNESIUM

tw. noncon, blood, branding/marking, some pretty egregious dirty talk and degradation, threats, mirror sex, horror elements, knife play, manipulation, murder, little bit of gore, there be a dead body in here somewhere wordcount. 6.3k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by a lovely lovely person whomst im so grateful for ♡ i reallyyy liked writing sakusa a lot so i hope you like it and it is what you hAd IN MINDDD!! this was such a fun commission thank yoUU a ton seriously! mwUah ♡♡♡ i hopeee you enjoy!!! kiSsES once again a million million kisses to everyone who helped read through it when i was struggling you're the bestest ilY

sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

It’s almost impossible to believe that everything led up to - this. You’re slumped against the car door in the back, and though you’re not knocked out, you sort of wish you were. Instead you have to feel the hard glare Kiyoomi sends you through the rear view mirror each time his eyes flick up as he reverses out of the street. There’s tension so thick that you can’t just cut it, but it’s troubling the air between you two like polluted water. Silence drags on until you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm up.

“Where are we going?” You whisper. 

The man in front smoothly turns the corner, as an almost impalpable furrow moves his brow. It takes him too long to answer for your liking, as you shuffle in the leather seat, unable to get comfortable. “I don’t like fighting with you, but you always push me.” The dry tone and answer says everything his eyes can’t. “Tonight pissed me off, you know? I’m not ever gonna let you go.”

“All this because Atsumu complimented me?” You try, and when that doesn’t get a reaction - not even a blink, your hands clamp together. “He’s like that to everyone. He was calling Hinata ‘real handsome’ all evening.” Nothing. The Kiyoomi you fell in love with was a bit sarcastic and clumsy in his words, but he wasn’t ever cruel. Wasn’t ever purposefully standoffish. What seems left of him is only the brittle, icy void. You would’ve been better off breaking up days ago.

He also would’ve given the blond the benefit of the doubt.

You can basically feel the smile shine off of your face closing the billowing curtains against the golden light, looking back at the dark-haired beauty splayed out over your bed. You clear your voice. “So what’s the deal with your teammate- that Miya guy?” Kiyoomi’s brow raises a few millimeters. “He’s serious? He’s really like that all the time?”

“The whole flirtatious act?” Your boyfriend yawns into the question, before rolling over so that his muscular shoulders, pecks, and that pretty waist are even more distracting. It’s infuriating how good he looks. But you nod, and place yourself down on the edge - where he trails a lazy hand over the back of your hand. “Oh, yeah. He has this overflowing… charisma that you can’t help but get used to, and learn to appreciate.” He chuckles when you frown. “He drives me up the wall. But he’s a good guy.”

“Hmm?” Your pout is instantly enough to have him reaching around to pull you down onto him. “You’re not worried?”

You try to blink away tears, and stare out the window instead, at every light that flashes past. More to yourself than to him, you hiccup as you brush away the wobbly lines of heat down your cheeks. “You’ve been acting so— different.” He barely glances before turning too comfortably at the next lights, speeding up enough to make your chest feel tight. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I want you to go back to how you were.” That’s the only way you can put it. It’s like there’s nothing left.

Kiyoomi’s mouth corners drop at your confession, but he doesn’t speak. You’re not sure you want him to anyway. His free hand runs through his brushed back hair, long fingers sitting still against the steering wheel when they land. And they don’t move again as you sit in the quiet cold.

“Worried?” He repeats, calm expression changing into a grin. “Please, Miya fucking wishes.” You laugh when his lips start dragging down your pulse and he softly moans against you. “You’ve got way better taste than that. In neighbors - and,” his kisses get a little more hot and needy when his large hands glide down your body to grab your ass and pull you closer, “in boyfriends- and in perfume— you smell sexy, ‘s that new?”

You giggle harder, can’t help but get flustered when he gets so touchy. “I’ll get an inflated ego if you compliment me so much.” He shrugs, and positions you better onto his broad chest. But still. “How don’t you get jealous? I’m pretty sure I would if the roles were reversed.” His dark hair is splayed out over the pillow when he drops his head back, and those pretty eyes flick over your face for a second, thinking.

“I do,” he eventually breathes, “but not because of you, and definitely not with Miya Atsumu.” When you start giggling again, he frowns. “I mean, truly- genuinely-” You snort, and he stares at you with an affronted look. “If you wanna run into the egotistical, bombastic, borderline- pathetic sunset with that guy, I might have to take a long, hard look at myself. Wonder what horrible traits you’re dating me for.” His eyes fall back to you when you take a deep breath, and he goes a little bit softer as you nuzzle up under his chin. “You wanna leave me for a shitty dye job?”

“I don’t think so,” you whisper back. He looks much too at ease in the comfort of your now shared apartment.

The silence that once felt so comfortable, now squeezes the life out of you with all it’s got. Only after a few minutes, Kiyoomi’s voice reaches out, and the shiver down your neck seems to screw the icy collar down tighter.

“Y’know, I hate how that Miya looks at you. Makes me want to carve his fucking eyes out.”

+

About a week into living in Tokyo, you decide it’s not all that bad. Hauling along the giant box of fresh veggies and two more bags of groceries, you can barely look over enough to watch the elevator open, and hasten your steps. “Hold the door, please! There’s no way I’m doing the stairs today,” you sigh, and watch as the doors ping. You slide in just in time, and a deep chuckle follows when your arms start slowly folding with the weight.

“That’s … some collection you’ve got there,” the deep voice continues, “did I miss the call on doomsday?”

You manage to turn yourself enough to see the pair of warm, obsidian eyes staring down at you - soft curly hair freshly wet from a shower. The eggplants and pumpkins in your box start rolling toward the edge, so you shift the box onto your side with a struggling smile. “No, I- I like to buy in big batches and pre-chop everything to freeze. I don’t really love cooking so… that way I save- some time while still…” You fall quiet when he keeps your gaze without any reaction, and clear your voice. Most of his face is kept behind a black surgical mask, hiding what you imagine to be the rest of a handsome face.

But no one likes being stuck in unwanted small talk, do they. He nods though, right as you arrive on your floor and the doors slide open. “That’s smart. I’ll have to try that sometime.” The box starts slipping further. The noiret’s eyes go from your face to your white-knuckled grip, and then back. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Please,” you can’t say quickly enough, afraid that one wrong move will send the entire box rolling across the floor. It’s not like you to admit defeat so easily, but currently your pride could cost you a hundred on fresh produce, and— he doesn’t seem like the type to ask if he’d mind. Your neighbor doesn’t say anything, but his eyes crinkle a little with a smile. Aside from some very brief passings in the hallway, you haven’t had the chance to meet any of your building’s occupants yet. He doesn’t bat an eye when lifting the very heavy box out of your arms, and you fluster. “Sorry for the hassle.”

“No, it’s alright. I have the afternoon off - ‘s nothing. You’re the new 3B tennant, right?” He frees one hand just to slide his mask down when you nod your face towards your door. He’s probably the prettiest guy you’ve seen to date, strong jawline, full lips and an almost perfectly straight nose; dark curls framing smart, observant eyes. So not only is he tall and charming, he’s also hot. When you mumble a soft acknowledgement, he gives you a little smile, and you can’t help but feel a bit too seen. “I’m Kiyoomi.”

You think you like Kiyoomi.

+

The heat of hands shakes you out of sleep with a slight startle, and the surprise soon makes way for a wave of rolling pleasure mixed under a heavy layer of embarrassment - at the way Kiyoomi’s toying with your body like it’s his own, and the low chuckle he lets out when you let out a pinched whimper. One of his hands is two fingers deep inside your pussy by the time you can even blink the sleep out of your eyes, feeling the warmth flood onto your face. As slick gathers between your thighs, he pushes himself up above you, and squeezes your throat between his free fingers.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby.” There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that you can’t miss even with the low light, deep from within. His hand slides down the curve of your spine to settle around your hip, pressing you further into bed as your back arches when he curls his fingers without any mercy. Though you are leaving wetness all over his hand, the sudden invasion is still a little jarring, definitely when he starts sucking at your tits and bites down. “Omi, ow,” you breathe, and he only grunts as he nudges a thigh between your knees, spreading you apart. “Right now?”

“Shhh, just bear it for a bit,” he mumbles back, as his hand trails down your ribcage and forces your body to adjust to him when he hikes your leg over his shoulder. “Woke up so hard thinking of you, and- you were so cute just sleeping here next to me without a worry in the world.” His fingers are replaced quickly by the hot head of his cock, that is slid a few inches too deep right away, and your whimpering only drives him further. “Ah, fuck, there it is. Good- fucking- girl…” By the time he bottoms out there’s silvery slivers running down your face and you’re shaking your head as the ache has you moaning with pain.

But the dark haired man above you barely gives you any time to adjust, before he starts rocking himself against your center and rubbing himself deep enough to force your mouth shut. “You trust me, don’t you, angel?” He pants, stroking the inside of your thigh a few times, before starting a punishing rhythm that rocks the bed hard. The question takes you off guard, but it doesn’t seem like Kiyoomi needs an answer to keep going anyway, and you swallow down your whimper to hide your face in the pillow. He’s so big and rough and your body can’t keep up. “Oh, your pussy’s so fucking good. So tight and- warm, agh, fuck.”

Jutting out your lip into a little pout, you let out a little noise. You’re trying not to let the way he’s basically getting himself off inside you ruin your mood. After a moment, you blink up at him with wobbly vision. “Can you kiss me?” He takes a few seconds before the words register, fucking you harder each time he bottoms out— before his dark eyes go from your eyes to your lips like he’s having to debate it. And that hurts. He decides maybe against better judgment to lean in anyway, and presses his lips to yours with a low sigh, an almost moan that you suppose you have to be content with. 

He pushes your knee up to your chest as he gets closer, and the heavy pressure of his body on yours gets even more unbearable when his free hand wraps around your neck and presses until you’re gasping out. Your boyfriend’s eyes glint as they flick all over your face, and a small grin starts to travel up his lips. “Don’t you like me better like this?” You’re too distracted by the pounding in your head to answer, and whine out his name as your back arches off the bed. And Kiyoomi pants as he forces you to take each thrust. “I like you a lot. Wanna keep you.” You throw your head back, and reach around his wide shoulders to pull him even closer, trying to lock your legs around his waist with a sigh.

“Shit, you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he pants into your mouth as he rocks himself into you, forehead to forehead as your nails dig into his skin. You feel bad, but you can’t help but pull him closer by his shoulders as the shower water trickles between you two and makes the entire room a steamy mix of pants and sweaty touches. “So-” he kisses messily, making you smile as his tongue swipes yours, “-damn pretty. I love your body so much.”

“And me?” You breathe back, letting your body tremble in his strong hands as he rocks himself so deep inside you that it’s making you breathless. Your little whine makes him stare, and nod.

“Of course I love you even more— don’t be silly- agh, fuck.” You move one hand to brush the wet tresses of hair out of his face and let yourself get moved up and down him, thighs wrapped ever so tight around his narrow waist. He breathes your name like the word itself is lovely, and you can’t help but moan a long whimper of his name when he hits the right spot so perfectly. “You feel so good, taking my cock right in there- that tight, little pussy. Drooling all over me, huh.” Another kiss as you swallow your mix of spit and rest your hand on his cheek. “You drive me crazy. I really- ugh- really love you, baby.”

Your tits brush up against his chest. “Promise?”

“Uhuh, mh-ahg. Promise. I can’t get enough of you.”

Sometimes you swear you can hear the house close in around you with heavy breaths.

+

The door to your apartment already hangs open when you notice the noise. The low thumping that is only audible when you slide the headphones off, a vaguely rhythmic noise that makes the hairs on your neck stand. You slide off the bed with a little frown, and smooth the wrinkles in your camisole as you peer into the open apartment area - which is empty. “Babe?” The door wobbles when the wind passes through, and your frown only digs deeper into your face when there’s no answer.

“Kiyoomi?”

The noise is louder when you walk towards the hall, and fist your hands into the bottom of the flimsy dress to pull it down. Only after a few moments of thought, your instinct drives you across the hall to pull open the door of the neighbors’, a young guy who moved in after you two did. Sure enough, your stomach drops as the scene splays out before you. There’s red all over the floor, Kiyoomi’s hands, and most horrifying - all over Ryouta’s nose and mouth as the barrage of fists lands over and over again— and you let out a horrified gasp. The damage has already been done, the brunet lays back with swollen eyes and is no longer fighting back, and you’re basically stunned in place as his knuckles crack on his cheek again.

When you manage the next breath, you force out a call of his name between tears. “Hck- Kiyoomi- w-what are you-,” your voice sounds too tiny to be your own, but any more volume doesn’t make it out of your throat, “please stop.” The last crack that resounds before he stops is even harder than any of the ones before— and he gets up without a word, smoothing his jersey back in place. He only quiets a moment, before turning over his shoulder to look at you. You, wobbling toward him like a baby deer.

Honestly, you don’t want to worry about him. But you can’t help but take his hands in yours to inspect the split knuckles, bloody and bruised— as if this is some bizarre dream. Kiyoomi’s precious about his hands. They’re his dreams, his passions, and his opportunities all in one, something to be cared for, rested gently like they mattered more than anything else. And now they’re bloodied like animals at the slaughter. When you look up at him- there’s no regret, no worry or care or concern. Just a blank sort of faux-understanding of your worry when he reaches out to brush your cheek.

You pull back away to look instead at the young man on the floor, because if you think about it too hard, you might start sobbing. Your hands drop by your thighs and feel so heavy, tears drying on your face. “Why did you-”

“Got back from my run and he said he needed your help.” There’s a cold, detached resolution in his voice. “And I told him to forget it, and then he asked me what ‘the fuck’ my problem was.” You find yourself shrinking into yourself when his dark eyes shift to you, with that unreadable look in his eye once more. His hands are slid into his pant pockets with a soft sigh, but he still raises an eyebrow your way. “Why would another guy need my girl?” Ryouta’s been nothing but nice to you since he moved in. You believed, maybe mistakenly, that that niceness had extended to your boyfriend.

But staring at the poor, battered face of the guy on the floor— something tells you that even if it did, Kiyoomi no longer cares. It feels like really, he’ll take any excuse to lash out. Your eyes flick over his face again, before swallowing. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.” For the first time since you’ve noticed this new side to him, you’re truly scared when he eyes you down. You’ve been upset, and worried, and angry before - but this is new. As the only sound between you two is the shallow rise and fall of your chest, you try to walk up and wrap your arms around his bicep. “I love you, Kiyoomi. I have only ever… loved you.”

He frees a hand to run it over your hair, before leaning down to rest his nose at your crown. “I know you do. You’re a smart little thing, that’s why I like you.” His training jacket still smells like mint and eucalyptus wash sheets, and it does absolutely nothing to soothe the aching pressure that makes its way between your ears and squeezes. And the soft kiss to your forehead doesn’t, either. “Get back inside. I’ll be right there in a bit.”

+

Your apartment is barely a shell of itself now. You realize it -truly realize it- when you toss and turn in your bed and can’t help but get stuck on little things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. The sheets are different, silkier somehow. Kiyoomi got new toothbrushes instead of the old ones with dolphins, and your entire apartment smells just different enough to make it pressing. Slightly bleachy, and too hospital-like. A blue haze is cast through the window by the moon when you softly slip out of bed, ignoring the way a soft puff comes from your boyfriend. He doesn’t stir as you move, though his empty hand seems to reach for the heat you left. Normally you’d wonder if he misses you when you go, but instead the reach just feels possessive. 

It’s like living with a brand new boyfriend all over again.

You don’t like it as much the second time, you realize, trying to choke down the bad air you’re breathing. As you wobble around in the dark, it’s hard to find your footing. The door clicks too loud for your liking when you brush it closed behind you, and slide down onto the couch as your eyes adjust to the dark. You feel like you’re hanging off the edge of falling apart as you look around the room— and try to think. That night when he came home, when he stared off into space and wouldn’t talk to you, your first thought was of another woman. Kiyoomi had never given you any reason to doubt.

He was handsome and intelligent and you were lucky to have him, but he always made it easy to trust him. If he wanted to be with you he’d be with you.

But as more and more days passed, small things got bigger. Not letting you call friends, not letting you dress how you wanted to, glaring at anyone who so much as looked up at you on the street. He’d never been so possessive when things were good. Still, you don’t want to mourn a relationship that isn’t even over yet. You cover your sniffles into your hand, and get up from the couch to go search through his jacket for his phone, or wallet. A stray bobby pin or earring, anything to make sense of the mess inside your head. You wouldn’t be proud of this in the morning - but your brain is eating itself alive. The apartment’s so quiet at night, and the old building pants and moans in the darkness.

The small closet is hotter than the rest of the apartment, more damp too. The jackets are piled high on the dryer, and though you shove your hand down every pocket, your search turns up empty. After a few seconds of turning the last pair of pockets inside out, you sink down into a crouch— and take a deep breath. Just a few weeks ago, you’d thought that you could see yourself marrying Kiyoomi. You’d spent hours by his side, convinced that no one in the world knew you better than he did.

A soft whistling noise sounds from behind the dryer, and makes you wipe your hand under your nose. There’s an old door to a bricked up stairway here, that you never got any use out of. Kiyoomi once stored some brooms there, you think. You don’t know what possesses you to slide your hands into the narrow space between the dryer and the wall and pull, but with some force- it moves. You strain to drag it aside until you jerk, scrambling up.

A track of blood.

Smeared over your normally proper linoleum, there’s a dried off-maroon that can only be blood, crusted onto the wood as a dark patch between the dryer and the door. Your chest caves. Instead of normal breaths, shallow gasps start making your entire body go solid and cold, and your throat dries up. This can’t … it isn’t real. Can’t be. Everything inside you tries to convince you that this is just a nightmare, but even as you pinch your arm hard, nothing happens.

Blood rushes to your bruised knees as you look around, trying not to panic too hard— instead put a shaky hand on the handle. It could be rusty water. A busted pipe. As you move at a glacial pace to open the door, it creaks, and you lick your lips. You can’t cry. You want nothing more than to explode into a dam of tears and unload, but it’s like your body refuses. Every second makes your body pump with adrenaline, until the door clicks open and reveals the narrow space - and in it, something that doesn’t make sense.

Blood pools on the floor, dulled, matted and a disgusting, sticky mess that has you gasping; only to hold back a gag. But in it, sits the slumped, unmoving body of your boyfriend.

The same boyfriend you were sleeping next to just a few minutes ago.

Every hair on your body rises when you choke on the smell, and sink down to press your fingers to his pulse— even when the off white pallor of his face says everything it should. “Omi?” You whisper, and when you breathe out, your throat closes up. You want to wake up. Your first coherent thought is that you can’t breathe; the next, to run. There’s no more heat in his skin, icy to the touch, and it frightens you so much that you jerk back and slam the door to the closet, stopping abruptly between the couch and the door.

It’s when the lights flick on that you do regret that.

Kiyoomi’s voice sounds deeper when you turn. As he stares at you, he brushes his messy curls out of his face. “What are you doing?” You don’t speak. Nothing but a shallow hiccup makes it out of your mouth, but you’re still holding out your hands like they’ve been burned, and maybe that’s enough for him to slide his eyes over to the closet. For a moment it stays quiet. So quiet that you can hear the blood rush beneath your skin, pumping with adrenaline you have no room for. Kiyoomi’s dead. Your Kiyoomi’s dead, isn’t he. “Ah.”

“I- I-”

“You weren’t supposed to go snooping, angel. You’re really making things difficult.” The noiret’s quiet calmness makes way for a slight smile, before he steps out of the doorway towards you. And you flatten yourself to the wall on shaky legs, but moving any more than that feels impossible. You’ve never been so scared in your life— literally frozen solid to the wall as your panicked hiccups send tears welling up in thick, childish bubbles that refuse to tip. He gives you an up and down, before pointing at you as he walks over to the closet, and sighs. “Don’t move.”

You couldn’t, even if you had the courage to. And you very much don’t. It’s so cold— you watch as he pushes into the small room only to drag the body you’d left there out of it. The heavy scraping noise of a limp body across the floor is almost enough to have you totally break. When he dumps the body in the middle of your shared living room, you manage to let out a few noises, strangled, pathetic noises, before you wring your hands together. “W-what did you do to Kiyoomi?”

“I am Kiyoomi,” he says back with enough certainty to shake you, and then smiles a little when finally the tears spill, and you shake your head left and right through your panic.

“You’re not—” is all you can squeak before he walks up to you too close and grabs your face, leaving sticky cold blood with his touch. Your cheek is almost held lovingly, but one glance up at his eyes convinces you that it’s anything but. It’s predatory, a mean glitter of amusement that plays in the darkness, and the harder you cry, the giddier it seems to get. “Let me go, p-please,” you sniffle, “let me go. I won’t tell, I just don’t wanna be- h-here.”

“Shhh, we might as well pretend I’m him still. You look so cute whining that name like it’s your fucking job.” He takes you by the hand after pressing a brief kiss on your forehead, and then sits you down onto the couch. And your chest still feels much too rattled to think about running anywhere, but when he pushes one finger into your mouth with a slight grin, you consider it. “Don’t know any better, do you?” He groans. You want to bite and run, and hide until everything stops pounding— but run where? Your boyfriend’s cold on the floor of your apartment. You can barely stop crying for long enough to take a breath, and the man above you pushes another finger down your throat. “Such a pretty little girlfriend I’ve got- look here-” 

You do - can’t help it when the pressure starts choking you, and whatever frightened look you’re giving him, is enough to make him groan long and hard. It fucks with your brain. It’s still your boyfriend- looks, smells, tastes the same- and if you stop paying attention for a few seconds, it’s almost like everything is back to normal. It’s almost like you’re safe as long as you pretend not to notice what’s going on around just you and the invasive touches that are forced onto you. “Man, you look so fucking wrecked, baby. Say my name, won’t you?” His grin is wide and cheshire-like when he leans in and starts nudging your top down your shoulders. “Say ‘please, Kiyoomi’.”

He doesn’t move his fingers out of the way to allow you. Instead you whimper around his fingers, and try not to choke as spit gets all over your chin and his hand. “Pwea-se, Kiy-oomi.”

“Hahah, you’re so fucking nasty, getting spit all over me. Drooling like a fucking dog while you’re being forced— You like whining and moaning for me?” He takes his fingers out to wipe them on your flimsy camisole and stands to start sliding down his boxers, pushing you back towards the couch. The small grin changes to a tight grimace when you try to grab at him for comfort. “Ah ah ah, don’t think so.” There’s a fistful of hair in his hand before you can apologize, as he shoves you face down towards the couch and holds you there, cheek pressed to the rough fabric. Until your face is hung just off the side, and you’re forced to face the trail of blood that ends in a familiar face.

It’s horrible, and the harder you squeeze your eyes shut against the wave of fresh tears, the deeper the image seems to force itself into your brain. “Kiyoomi~” You whimper pathetically, and he hums in response. Everything’s too close, too loud, his touch is too real and too pressing and warm— burning you from the inside out as he yanks your clothing the last bit down until it hangs around your waist and he drags his fingers up and down your slit through your panties a few times. It leaves the wet fabric awfully sticky against your pussy, and your cheeks get hotter. It’s not your fault, his fingers work you in ways that always work. That thought has your eyes flicking open, but the horrific sight has yet to disappear. “Mh-hck,” you start up again, and try to roll aside as he grabs your thigh hard to hold you in place. “I wanna stop. I wanna stop.”

“Aw, poor baby. Poor angel.” The dismissive tone is cooed as a loving mockery when he pushes you down between your shoulder blades and yanks your panties the rest of the way down. “You don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” He then yanks your head up so you’re forced to stare at your reflection in the window, unable to see anything else. You can’t close your eyes to hide from it. Kiyoomi’s grabbing you tight enough to have you unable to move. “I’ll give you a hint. You lay here and you take it. You just listen nice and sweet, ugh-” He groans low when pushing the hot head of his cock against your entrance, patting it with a patient sigh— only to push in with a force that makes you jerk.

Why does it hurt so much? You wanna cry harder when he forces all the heavy girth of his cock inside you and the wetness dripping between your legs squelches loud, but your throat’s too clogged to. Instead only a pinched moan comes out, and he grunts when bottoming out deep inside you. “Girls who don’t listen make me wanna cut them open and eat their insides out. Would you like that?” The pull on your hair forcing your head up is making you lightheaded. That, and the stinging, uncomfortable tightness inside your pussy, squeezing and clenching against the intrusion - still isn’t enough to drown out the horror of those words as he whispers them.

Almost instantly you shake your head left and right, and your muffled ‘no’s melt into a childish cry. “No, nonono, Omi- ‘yoomi- I, no~ pleas-hck- stop. Wanna stop.” He pulls back his hips for long enough to really let you feel the ache of your walls as they cling to his cock, but then thrusts back in and bounces you on his cock. He drops your head back to the side of the couch, and places a hand in the middle of your spine to anchor you down under his weight. 

“You don’t? I think you’re lying. You want to be treated like a sack of meat.” His hips make a loud sound when connecting with your ass. “You don’t like this?”

“Ow, oww, Omi- ‘hurts-” You’re fighting against the caving of your chest each time you exhale, and forced to take shorter breaths each time he fucks back into you. “Ah, ow.” And your pussy hurts, but the rolling of his hips and the stubborn, deep grinding is too overwhelming. You hate that you can hear the wetness of your cunt squeezing around the pumping of him inside, you hate the way he breathes above you, how you can feel him everywhere. It makes you sick. It’s all too much, and still it feels so fucking good that you’re hot in the face. “Mhm~ ‘m sorry. I’m sorry.” You blink through the tears to stare just a second at the trail of blood that he made from the closet to the couch— but you can’t make yourself look any closer. Instead you aim your eyes back at your reflection, and meet other eyes.

“You haven’t wanted to play with me much since I got here. ‘S your own fault that I’m all pent up now, stupid girl.” The steady rhythm in and out of your needy pussy is too much. It feels so good— and you hate it. You clench your hands into the couch as best you can and try to hang on, until your knuckles turn white. The noiret’s voice is back to taunt you, this time as his other hand reaches around to grab the soft of your throat and squeeze, shaking you back to him. “If you want your nice, reliable Kiyoomi, look- he’s right here for you.” You can’t. You can’t. Your tears well over in ugly rivers that you shut behind your lids, and Kiyoomi makes a noise.

You can’t tell if it’s a pleased noise or not, you don’t care. He rolls his hips, and your cunny accepts too eagerly. But it still feels so fucking good. And you can’t stop yourself from feeling like the worst person in the world. Your hands shake, and your head feels faint. Kiyoomi’s dead. There’s nothing else to know. Kiyoomi’s dead and you’re about to cum getting fucked— your whimper gives you away. It’s faint, but he hears it. “Hm, you don’t like him either now huh?” Instead of squeezing your throat, his hand moves to grab your tit instead, pinching your puffy nipple until you can’t help but make a noise. You’re so gross. And your pussy’s still pulling him back in, clenching to the pulsing heat as it fucks right into the softest part of your walls. “I- agh, f- I like bullying my pretty little cock sleeve to tears. So- f-fucking cute like this.”

He ruts into you until your belly feels hot and tingly, and you grind back against him on instinct. You’re getting so close, the pinching, the precise way he hits the needy spot deep inside you - you don’t even want to. “No, no- Omi, I’m- agh, please stop.” You really don’t. “I’m- I’m gonna—” But before you can stop it, your eyes squeeze shut, and your entire body goes tense. The tight ball of heat that’s been expanding all over your body with each pump, each time his heavy balls slap against you, explodes into a million pieces. “Kiyoomi, I love you, I’m so- sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s— all my fault.”

As he fucks you through the blooming heat and the white and black spots that play on your lids, he groans your name low and possessive. Your clenching only slows way after you’ve grinded yourself back against him and drooled all over the couch, until your tired body drops back into the plush. And Kiyoomi lets out a little chuckle. “Yea, it’s all your fault, stupid girl. You lay here and stay— I’ll be right back.” You barely feel the heat leave until it comes back, shoving some of the wetness from your sensitive pussy right back inside with a grunt, and a harsh tap of his hand to your pussy. The sting is sharp, and you glare through your tears as you look up. Not that he cares. “Here. Look. Kiss it.”

The sharp blade that’s basically shoved in your face glints when you hesitate, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth. “Come on. Or else I’ll put it to use on him instead, and you don’t want that, do you?” Your lips press against the cold metal, but your eyes stay resolutely on his face. Dark curls framing dark eyes and long lashes — you often told him he was the most beautiful man you knew. You wonder if he remembered it in the end. You suppose it doesn’t matter though, watching his mirror click his tongue.

“Good girl, such a good baby girl under all the crying and mess, aren’t you? Almost make me think you like me better like this after all.” You can’t answer, but the tears that wobble sadly along your waterline spill over in the silence— and your lip wobbles. And Kiyoomi only brushes a thumb along your lip, before shrugging. “No? That’s a shame. Because you are mine now. Mine. All of you.” He points the knife into the top of your leg, and leaves behind a mark that immediately wells up with dotted red. The immediate pain and sting of hot blood sears through your skin. “Tell me again what name you want me to write? Say it nice and sweet, angel.”

Your voice doesn’t shake as much as you think it should. “Kiyoomi.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[proxima-writes]

along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

summary: when joel finds out tommy put out a craigslist ad to get him a date for valentine’s day, he doesn’t expect it to go as well as it does.

author’s note: i finally finished something! was it anything from my extensive wip list? no! don’t think about it too hard! anyways, if you enjoy this fic, please consider giving it a reblog, a comment, or dropping into my ask box 💕

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors dni), no use of y/n, pre-outbreak!joel miller, no mentions of sarah, little shit!tommy miller, blind date, internet safety whomst, vaginal fingering, oral sex, woman on top, p in v, dirty talk, pet names. let me know if i’ve missed any!

“I have a surprise for you,” Tommy says at dinner. Joel pauses, fork scraping against his plate.

“That can’t be good,” he sighs. “What now?”

“Why do you assume it’s somethin’ bad?”

“Last time you said you had a surprise for me, I had chickens in my backyard.”

Tommy laughs. “It’s nothin’ like that this time.”

“Well, then, spit it out,” Joel demands.

Tommy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he opens on the table, smoothing out the creases before sliding it over to Joel.

“Reservation confirmation?” Joel reads. He recognizes the name of the restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters dress in all black and the menu doesn’t have prices listed beside the items. 

“Yep. I got you your first Valentine’s Day date,” Tommy replies proudly. Joel glares at him.

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email tmill@aol.com with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

You’re half a bottle of wine deep when you stumble across the Craigslist ad. When you click on the picture, your interest is further piqued by the handsome man that appears on the screen. He’s standing in front of a black pick up truck dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his tan muscles. His brown hair is cut short, just enough length for you to notice that it’s beginning to curl across his forehead and by his neck. His beard frames a bright smile that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

Whoever he is, he’s hot. He’d be the perfect way to get over being dumped two weeks ago by your boyfriend of two years.

Your logic was lost somewhere between your second and third glasses of wine, which is why you click on the e-mail address in the ad and start typing. The reply is normal, at first, facts about yourself like your name and age and occupation, but you quickly end up derailing the message with an explanation about why this handsome guy should pick you, making sure to include that you’ve already got a reservation at a popular restaurant for the occasion. The picture you add is a recent photo from a cousin’s wedding that your aunt had e-mailed to you. 

Before you can think better of it, you click send. You take one last look at the man’s photo before shutting your laptop and stumbling off to bed to dream of brown eyes and tan skin.

Joel taps his fingers against the white tablecloth, eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. This is stupid, he thinks. Why did he agree to this? Why did he let Tommy convince him this was a good idea? He should have just told him no and been done with it but somehow he’s here, sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant and feeling like a sore thumb in the only suit he owns. 

He’s lost enough in his thoughts that he doesn’t see you when you first come in, doesn’t realize you’re here until the hostess is walking up with you close behind in a beautiful dress and he suddenly remembers exactly why he agreed to Tommy’s idiot scheme. 

“Joel?” You ask. He stands, nearly knocking the table in his haste to greet you. You lean in for a brief hug and he catches the warm vanilla scent of you before you pull away and smile at him. 

He rounds the table to pull your chair out for you and makes sure you’re settled before returning to his seat. A waiter swoops by to offer the wine menu and explain the pre fixe menu for the evening while he pours two complimentary glasses of champagne into the crystal glasses beside your plates. An awkward silence settles when he leaves, Joel’s leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table as he tries to think of something to say.

“This is weird, right?” You finally say. “This feels weird.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

"Oh, thank god." You take a long sip of your champagne. "I can't believe I actually responded to a Craigslist ad for a date."

"I can't believe my stupid brother came up with this whole thing," Joel replies. "I could'a killed him."

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, your brother made the post? Why?!"

"He seems to think that at thirty-six, I should have had a date for Valentine's Day by now," Joel explains. "Why did you respond to the ad?"

"I had been drinking a lot of wine and having a lot of feelings and the internet was unfortunately not helping the situation."

Joel laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he does. "We're an interestin' pair, huh?"

"Cheers to that," you reply, lifting your glass for him to tap his against with a gentle clink. 

As the dinner progresses, the conversation starts to flow with surprising ease. No topic goes untouched, from jobs to hobbies to a long list of favorites. When you’ve exhausted those topics, you move on to swapping stories about your friends and families. By the time he finishes paying a hefty check (and declining your offer to split the cost), Joel feels like he’s known you for a lifetime.

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

"Me, too," he replies. Christ, you're pretty, bright eyed as you look at him with a soft smile. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his and can wrap an arm around your waist. "This okay?"

"Mhm," you hum with a little nod. Joel's gaze drops to your mouth and he finds himself wondering what your pretty lips would feel like as he kissed you. Would he be able to taste that chocolate torte from dessert on your tongue?

“Joel?” You whisper. He didn’t even realize how close he’s gotten, a few scant inches separating you now. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

Joel kisses you, warm lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It’s chaste, until it’s not. It’s chaste, until his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip and dips inside to tangle with yours. It’s chaste, until his hands are pulling you closer with a tight grip on your hips and—

“Get a room!” 

You break apart, startled by the shout from someone passing by on the sidewalk. You can’t stop the laugh that breaks free, your shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“You wanna get out of here?” Joel asks. “I can walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab, actually.”

Joel smirks. “You want a ride, sweetheart?” 

Your face grows hot from the look in his eyes, the double meaning to his words not lost. He holds a hand out and you slip your palm against his, fingers folding together so that he can lead you to the parking lot down the street from the restaurant.

Joel opens the passenger door of the truck you recognize from the photo in the ad, helping you step up into the cab and going so far as to pull the seatbelt down, reaching across your body to fasten it. He looks up at as he pulls away, hand dragging across your stomach and making you shiver.

He shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions toward your apartment. At the first red light, he settles his broad palm on your thigh, just above your knee, giving you a little squeeze. Feeling bold, you spread your legs the tiniest bit and Joel takes the invitation for what it is, sliding his hand higher. 

The light turns green and the sudden movement presses you to the back of the seat, jostles you enough that your legs fall open further. You move to close them, but Joel’s hand moves again, high enough now that if you moved the slightest bit, you could probably get some relief from the ache that’s been building since he kissed you.

His pinky stretches, barely grazing your pussy, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, squirming in your seat from the want. At the next red light, he abandons all pretense, slipping his hand beneath the elastic of your panties and dragging his fingers through the embarrassing amount of wetness that’s already gathered there for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. You turn your head to look at him, his sharp jaw clenched tight as he circles your clit with his index and middle finger. “This wet for me already, baby?”

You moan in response, unable to form words as he touches you, alternating between soft strokes and fast circles over your sensitive clit. Your hips chase his every movement, desperate for relief from the pressure building in your core. 

“Joel,” you whimper, grabbing his forearm, digging your nails into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensations.

He turns the truck and hastily throws it in park, pulling his hand from you just as you were cresting that wave. You whine at the loss but he shushes you, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the truck with a slam of the door. It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped because you’ve reached your apartment complex.

The passenger door opens and Joel is there, gripping the door tightly. “Let’s go.”

You lead him to your door on unsteady legs. He follows you inside your apartment, pressed close to your back while you set your bag on the table by the door. 

“Where’s your room?” He asks, hands already rucking up the fabric of your dress. “I gotta finish what I started.”

You hurry down the hall to your room together and you silently thank your past self for cleaning up before your date. Joel wastes no time reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head and tossing it into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck, even prettier than I imagined,” he groans, dropping to his knees. “Soon as you walked in wearin’ that I knew I was a goner.” He eases your panties down your thighs, helps you step out of them without toppling over. “On the bed.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling across your familiar mattress and lying on your back, head on your pile of pillows. Joel removes his suit jacket, eyes dark as his gaze roams across your body and makes your skin prickle under the intensity. His shirt and pants follow in quick succession, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that highlight an impressive bulge.

Joel joins you on the bed and you’re hypnotized by the movement of muscle beneath tan skin. He urges your legs apart, calves draped over his broad shoulders to give him room to settle between your thighs. He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he takes his first taste of you with a deep groan you feel through your whole body. 

Your head drops back to your pillow with a shout, legs tensing around Joel’s head. You bury your hands in his hair, holding on tight while he devours you. His tongue circles your clit before dipping down to your dripping center to curl inside of you. A thick finger follows, pressing deep and withdrawing slowly.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Joel says. “How’s that feel, huh?”

“So good,” you moan. “More, please, Joel.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He eases another finger into you, curling them along your front wall with pointed focus. That knot of release tights again, your muscles growing tense with it the longer he moves with your body. He wraps his lips around your aching clit, alternating between sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and working it with his tongue until you’re shouting a string of curses and shatter beneath him.

Joel works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, more puddle than human. He crawls up your body, leaving kisses on what seems like every inch of you as he does and you pull him close when he’s face to face with you, kissing him deeply and chasing the earthy taste of yourself from his mouth.

His hips press against yours, grinding his length against your inner thigh. The kiss turns sloppy, his breath coming in sharp pants and thrusts growing frantic, skin dappled with sweat in the warm air of your room. You tilt your hips, pushing a hand against his shoulder to get him flat on his back with you straddling his waist, stomach flexing beneath you.

He’s deliciously disheveled beneath you with messy hair and kiss swollen lips. His hands find your thighs, sliding upward over your stomach to find your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers and making you hiss. Your hips rock over the softness of his belly and you reach behind yourself to palm his cock.

“Look real good like this,” Joel pants, flexing into your touch. 

“Well, you did ask me if I wanted a ride,” you tell him. 

You lean over towards your nightstand, tugging the top drawer open and rummaging around for a condom. Foil packet in hand, you lift off of Joel for a moment to allow him the chance to hastily shove his underwear off before settling back down on top of his thighs and taking his length in your hand with a slow stroke that makes his mouth drop open, cock pulsing against your palm. You lean forward, licking the flushed tip clean of the pre-cum gathered there. 

“You’re killin’ me,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Wanna feel you, quit teasin’.”

You decide to put you both out of your misery, ripping the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over him. You lift up and he holds his cock steady with a fist around the base as you position yourself over him on your knees and slowly take him into your tight heat, twin moans echoing in the room as you do.

When your hips are flush with his, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grow damp with your arousal as you rock above him, grinding your clit against him and clenching around his length. He holds your hips in a loose grasp, not urging your movements but feeling them as you chase your pleasure. 

“Christ,” Joel moans, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He plants his feet, thrusting up as you grind down and making you gasp. “Ain’t lastin’ much longer, baby.”

You lean forward, changing the angle and allowing him to pound inside of you, his cock pulsing as his release nears. You’re right there with him, the drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you making you tip over the edge with a shout muffled into the sweat slick skin of his neck. 

He slams himself deep, cock pulsing as he spends himself into the condom inside of you. You collapse against his chest, the two of you catching your breath in the aftermath. When you roll off of Joel and onto the mattress, he’s quick to pull you back against him, your head resting on his chest.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you interrupt breathlessly. “It was.”

After a moment, Joel quietly asks, “What now?”

“You can stay…if you want.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing along your shoulder. “I want that.”

Joel’s phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning. He struggles to find his discarded pants in the dark but when he finally unearths the obnoxious device, his greeting is a snapped, “What?”

“He lives!” Tommy cheers from the other end. “It was a fifty-fifty chance you were dead or in bed.”

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“Just checkin’ to see how the date went. Must’ve been pretty good, seein’ as how I’m at your house and you’re nowhere to be found.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. He’s about to hang up when he hears Tommy shout, “Wait!”

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

Joel snaps the phone shut, tossing it into the piles of clothes and crawling back into bed with you.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[adventure-showdown]

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

Zagreus

Synopsis

Zagreus sits inside your head

Zagreus lives among the dead

Zagreus sees you in your bed

And eats you when you're sleeping.

Propaganda

ok so, its the 40th annivercery!! its not offical as the show was off the air at the time, but still!!!! every single companion and doctor actor Big Finish managed to get they got!! but do they play their parts? ...actually not really! here we have the end of an arc that two seasons coming, Charley and 8 has been through a lot, and at this point their story comes to a starteling and rather horrid conclusion! (OR IS IT?) Charley, who has been rescued from death by the eight doctor, rescuing her when he was not supposed to, has been through a lot, and even as that got solved last episode, by saving her from becoming a portal of death to galifray (a long and better constracted story XD), the doctor and the tardis has sufferd a huge explosen of an anti time bomb! making the doctor to become infected with an anti time infection! making him concive himself as the childhood time lord rhyme known as Zagreus! so now he must distory the entire univerce hahaha, because apperently Rassilon, ie one of the og creatorss of galifray socity wants to make the doctor into Zagrues so he can use him to distroy his emenies!! by distroying him body and soul!!! but what's this??? his former selfes as random people around the time stream coming in with the steal chair????? all led by a very rightfully annoyed Charley because the doctor refused to kill her as she asked because she loves him???? what the fuck will happen next!! all led delightfuly by Romana and Leela, and K9, and a rather jealous and EVIL tardis played by the Brigadier himself!! in between this 3 HOUR LONG epic and delightful advanture, apart from the absolote chaos of the event, you will get a suprisingly beutifull speaches filled with exploration of the meaning of love, of friendship! of a love so strong that it shall forfit between dimantions and also canon, the doctor explores what it actually means to be in love with a companion! and Charley, explores what it means to love him even more strongly back! what it means to be the doctor!! and the fact that the distruction of the tardis is actuall the thing stopping him from completely losing himself to loss and grief 😭, the absolote hammering in of the fact the coraption of time lord scoaity and Rasilon's bigotry, and finally someone understands that if you corrupt the Doctor, you have the absolotle potancial to distroy the entire univerce!! Paul Mcgann screaming for amazing hours, as he has the best time playing the baddy and people who are not the doctor!! India Fisher as Charley giving it her all and being amazing at it!! (also the fact that this delightful story is the leadthrough to one of the most terrefying stories of doccy who history, Scherzo! as it explores the themes of this story in a much more detailed way! but that's a horrefying story for another day XD) (@geronimomo-spd )

The 30th anniversary special is overly long and complicated but mostly it is INSANE ! Alice in Wonderlands, giant animatronic rabbits, Vampires and an evil doctor who hAMS it up,,,,that and 4 different doctors as well as TONS of companions plus the Briggs who is actually the TARDIS. it makes no sense! Compels me tho. Everyone says it with me : Zagreus sits inside your head Zagreus lives among the dead Zagreus Sees you in your bed And eats you when you're sleeping It's the best anniversary special day of the doctor whomst ? (@gnougnouss )

Scherzo

Synopsis

Once upon a time...

There were two friends, and together they travelled the cosmos. They thwarted tyrants and defeated monsters, they righted wrongs wherever they went. They explored the distant future and the distant past, new worlds and galaxies, places beyond imagining.

But every good story has to come to an end.

With no times or places left to explore, all the two friends have now are each other. But maybe that's one voyage too many. Maybe they'll discover things they'd rather have left undisturbed... hidden away in the suffocating, unfeeling, deafening brightness.

Once upon a time. Far, far away.

Propaganda

It’s a great and fucked up dissection of the Doctor and Charley’s relationship, with a healthy dose of body horror (anonymous)

you will never look at the handshake emoji the same way again (october)

Really creative concept. Puts 8 and Charley into a situation where they have to confront their relationship and what they mean to each other while dealing with an incredibly engaging creature. I can't name an audio that suits the medium better and Ive been consuming Big Finish at an alarming rate. Also noises™️ (anonymous)

Absolutely INSANE episode back when big finish was allowed to get WEIRD weird it has everything: heartfelt discussion about the doctor/companion relationship, love, cannibalism, body horror, the exploration of a very alien world. All of this while making full use of the audio medium in a story that could simply never have been done anywhere else. It's a must listen for everyone. (@gnougnouss )   

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel Thoughts : Alcohol !

Why yes I saw you click faster than lightning hits a metal kite during a thunderstorm. But I swear it's not clickbait - unlike Vox, I legit try to make things worthwhile.

Alcohol Part 2 here (Vees + Overlords)

Alcohol Part 3 here (Heaven's side)

Masterpost here

So we've had the cast with kids, with a drawing gift, with pets, the natural next stage of that particular road would be indulging in everyone's favorite poison. Ladies, gents and thanes, I present you : the cast when DRUNK.

(Might have multiple parts, as usual, so here's the Hazbin crew).

Courtesy of Husk who has spilled the tea in Ep 4, we have a good idea of how some of the Hazbin Hotel's crew looks like when at least drinking enough to the point of being drunk. Thank you, Husk, a toast to you, Mr Bartender, whomst without this post wouldn't exist.

A note before we begin : this is Hazbin Hotel. There are mentions of substance abuse (and sex) on the regular. Obviously, I personally don't condone them, but I ain't censoring squat about it : it wouldn't even make sense to do as if it was a not-R-18-rating squeaky-clean animation. If you're offended or intimidated, chances are, you shouldn't be watching the show to begin with. I mean, c'mon.

Charlie apparently gets rather emotional (I mean, more than usual, so kudos for managing that), to the point of spouting her insecurities, which allows Husk to say (and mirror what Alastor said) that she "would rather solve everyone else's problems than her own". Apparently the Daddy/Mommy/Parents Issues (TM) come out, making her somewhat an "emotional/complainer" type of drunk. While she doesn't seem against drinking in general - unlike Vaggie in the pilot - even asking Adam if he'd "never had a drink after a hard day", like everything Charlie does you can bet she sees it as a convivial, gathering event to spend time with friends and relax a bit : contrary to her general demeanor and what her puppy-dog eyes let show, she is a grown adult afterall (and over 200 years old, for the reminder).

For her alcohol resistance, well, it's unknown how many drinks she had until she got tipsy enough to let everything pour out, but it shows that, Princess of Hell or not, she's not immune. I would bet a normal threshold on her, someone that has a progressive slipping into drunkeness the more she drinks, instead of getting blackout wasted after two glasses. She'd potentially start feeling the effects after 5 shots or so, and at 15 she's probably wasted.

Vaggie seems to have a sterner relationship with alcohol in the pilot, but in the series proper, does accept drinks and to drink with friends, or if alone, to drink to the point of being drunk at the bar, turning into a self-loathing wreck (also a hint of her past at the time) according to Husk, being a "sour, pessimistic" type of drunk. All her failures and what she hates about herself come back out in the open, so there might be some kind of "sad" type too, suggesting her whole attitude becomes kind of morose and toned-down, with some of her guard dropping. This also shows that her being an ex-Exorcist and fallen angel doesn't make her immune either, though like Charlie it's unknown how many she had before slipping into the realm of drunkeness.

Potentially, given that her guard dropped somewhat (which for someone so defensive, is pretty telling), her alcohol resistance might be lower than Charlie's. Vaggie isn't the type to party recklessly and is more careful in general, so her getting drunk implies she needs fewer glasses to achieve that state. Give her around 6 or 7 shots and it would hit her like a freight train, methinks.

On the other side, Ep 6 shows that Angel can hold his alcohol (and drugs) pretty well : this is someone that's used to party like no tomorrow (see Poison), especially to escape his everyday afterlife. He's fairly functional unless extremely coked up, and the scene at the Consent nightclub shows him indulging in drinks and still have enough of a head on his shoulders to look after Niffty and recognize a bad situation when there's one. Ep 4 shows how he looks when drugged up at the bar with the sharks, where he's mostly the "ecstatic and devil-may-care" type cranked to eleven, but there enough to also notice his drink was spiked - he just chose to let it happen (thankfully, Husk was there to intervene), and the conversation he has with Husk right after shows how aware enough he is of his surroundings, feelings, and of people around him.

Addict and Poison show both how he rides the wave and chooses to let himself get lost in the feeling as a semi-conscious coping mechanism, but also show the cracks in the mask. He's like someone deciding to laugh at a joke to deliberately make the endorphin kick in and relax, taking his mind elsewhere while his body runs on another circuit. Underneath it all, he's painfully aware of what's going on, and when the rush ends, doesn't have the solace of chosing to give into the fuzz anymore, so he quickly seeks another one. When breaking out of that destructive spiral and just drinking for fun, Angel seems to be mostly himself, and being quite the "happy, audacious" type of drunk, which doesn't change much compared to his everyday (maskless) personality - note that with the right people, he doesn't play up the promiscuitous side of himself as much as usual, because he knows he doesn't need it (and that Valentino is wrong in saying he's only worth sex). As he himself says, sex isn't the only thing he's good at.

He'll need to drink quite a lot to be at least tipsy, and even more to be absolutely smashed, so expect at least 20 shots. Yup, he can and will drink you under the table.

Husk is a certified alcoholic ("Cheap Booze" scene in the pilot) and says so himself in Ep 4 : "You can't find the solution to your problems at the bottom of a bottle. I would know, been looking there for a long time." In Ep 6, he's shown being against drugs (or at least the self-destructive method Angel uses them, since he's trying to break out of it, so Husk might have more problems with Angel relapsing into his old destructive ways than getting a kick-up for fun - this is Hell afterall) but not drinking for partying : he can be seen guzzling down bottles on the regular and at the Consent club whops down two shots at the same time. People, you've found your master : that 70s grandpa can take you down anytime. Given that he is (or at least used to be) a gambling addict, one can bet that in the past, the combination of the two didn't helped in making good decisions, but despite being a semi-constant lethargic grump, Husk seems fairly functional on the day to day - and probably grumpy enough to overpower catnip by sheer force of cynism.

Chances are, Husk as we know him is more or less in a semi-permanent drunken state (given how he flops over his bar and leans on his bottles while lizard-blinking his way through the day, seems very likely) that makes him more or less very resistent to further effects : to have him blackout hammered would require unholy amounts of alcohol I don't even want to think about. Might even beat Angel on that one.

Alastor, by Mimzy's account, could even in his life "drink like a sailor and then keep up on the dancefloor" with her, so he seems to have a pretty high tolerance, or at least be physically coherent enough. At the same time though, he "turns into a kitten" with a few fingers of rye, so I'm kinda picturing him as being his dapper, elegant self... while also slurring his words more than Shirley McLain or Ozzie Osbourne. There was a Hunicast where Michael Kovak and Edward Bosco played a drunk Angel and Alastor as per an ask prompt, and Edward gave us a nice insight on what a drunk Alastor would look like : exceptionally cheery, a bit stumbling on his words, with some disjointed thoughts (from memory : "Angel did I ever tell you you were a swell - a sssswell fellow ? [Angel/Michael answering something but getting cut in the middle by a sudden : ] PASS THE COURVOISIER !"), which kinda brings up the "love everyone/finds everything swell" type of drunk, and on Alastor, it's hilarious. It doesn't mean he'll genuinely love the people themselves, but just likes being around them and as the gentleman he is, will dish out compliments to you, the local barman, that unknown person trying to climb the curtains and the coatrack in the corner. He'll turn outright jolly and cheerful at everything, but don't think that makes him any less dangerous. He'll just tear you apart while giggling like a little kid on a sugar high and with just a bit less poise than usual.

Basically, in a physical sense nobody would know he's drunk until he opens his mouth and starts praising everything to high heavens in that unimitable style of his, just less backhanded and more straightforward, and I can picture at least one conversation going as following : "Alastor is... being actually nice ?" "...Oh shit, he's balls-out wasted." Expect him to empty a whole bottle to get to that state. Here you have it, ladies, gents and thanes, Alastor of all people is a happy and funny drunk.

Niffty has shown, in Ep 6 and all its glorious state, that she's a lightweight, to the point of even Angel commenting on it and preventing her to have more : "she's like, ten pounds soaking wet !" and he's not wrong - 4 glasses and she's absolutely gone, cycling through various stages and behaving crazy...er. She's a mix of "hyper", and "emotional", given how she starts bawling when she hearing that she's a mess (which, again... not wrong). Also a bit of "hallucinating" or "slow" type of drunk, since it takes her a while to notice she has changed locations and isn't at the Hotel anymore. While others stick more or less to one type of drunkeness, Niffty hits the whole spectrum, sometimes even all at once, and with the force of a wrecking ball hitting a matchstick jenga tower. It's like a crazy pendulum swinging on all direction axis, a screwy tailspin of half-baked thoughts dictating impulses and, well, not that much different from her habitual self, but on normal she can focus on her tasks. Drunk ? She's a spastic caffeinated squirrel in traffic that has just taken a nice long inhale of, uh, snow.

Getting her passed-out torched is very easy, and if nobody's careful, she'll accidentally do it herself : downing a glass of what she shouldn't even begin to poke at with a ten-foot pole, and keeling over stiff as a board, dead to the world for at least half a day or a full night.

Pentious getting drunk also shows in Ep 6, and exhibits traits of "slow" and "disjointed", or "zoned out" - he slurs his words or drags them ("Heeeeyy...!" to Cherri) and has problems with physical coordination (sliding and flopping down from his seat onto the floor headfirst), while being woozy and fuzzy in the head and badly aligning thoughts (mixing badly with his crush on Cherri). Pentious is somewhat Bad Ideas Incarnate when drunk, though to his own detriment only mostly ("Because... I'm buying everyone a drink/having sex with everyone !"), and again, the proximity of Cherri isn't helping. Otherwise he seems somewhat functional - if unsteady on his feet (snake tail ?) - after a while, like calibrating better after spending some time getting used to the room spinning. He's seen participating a bit in the drinking contest, and does have a few glasses to his name, so my guess is that he isn't used to drinking often and would be around Vaggie's tolerance for alcohol : 6 to 8 before starting to see double.

Cherri is a hard-drinking party girl, she seems to have good tolerance, and it would also take a lot to get her bombed (hah) out of her mind. Also a drug user, as seen, again, in Ep 6, though she's more down for a blast (heh) than anything else. With her fiery (snerk - okay I promise it's the last one) personality, her being drunk doesn't change her much, just taking it to new heights, so she's more a "personality cranked up" type of drunk. I'm already an asshole on my side, imagine if I were to drink. She's in for fun, drink contests ("competitive" type and "funny" type fit her too) and just spending a good time, letting loose and allowing snap decisions just for the hell of it, which corresponds to her general lifestyle ("In fact, I'm gonna fuck the next guy I see !"). Alongside Angel, she will drink you under the table, and will need to scarf down a lot of glasses before feeling and showing the effects. Might have trouble to stop once she gets started, but enjoys every moment of it, and even if she's an enabler (see her trying to get Angel to take drugs again, even if it's a misguided attempt to 'help' him because it's the Angel she knows, also not being against Niffty trying to drink more) probably knows her limits too : she's still aware enough to recognize and rightfully call out Valentino as a threat and a "fucking dickhead", and to check on Angel multiple times to make sure he's having fun ("you're here to relax, not playing nanny !"), showing her loyal but irresponsible side.

She might encourage others to drink and let loose even if it's counterproductive at the time, but always backs off when told "no" and respectfully accepts their choices even when already having a few drinks in her, so she's not a confrontative type of drunk either. Again, might need around 15-20 shots to start feeling it and become explosive (...I may have lied) but in a fun way.

Lucifer might be the King of Hell, but as Charlie and Vaggie demonstrate, being angelic or part-angel doesn't make anyone immune to alcohol. I can see him being incredibly hard to get wasted (even more than Husk)... or actually getting wasted sooner than anyone thinks, but he's such a goofy oddball already that it doesn't show and nobody realizes until the end of the party, where he frog-blinks into the void and the next stiff breeze knocks him over and straight on his back like a falling billboard. Even when he opens his mouth, it doesn't show, because everyone is used to his inane ramblings : one word, ducks. He'll be the "funny" and "depressed" drunk at the same time, saying the saddest and most disturbing shit with a cheerful voice and jolly demeanor, but most of all the "rambling" and "embarrassing" type of drunk : Charlie better take cover because those baby stories and pictures will leak out to everyone's except her delight. They might try to get Lucifer to drink more to squeeze more info out of him... though he has surprising bouts of lucidity in-between, and nobody knows when. He'll also deny being drunk but ask what that clown-dragon is doing on your shoulder in the same breath.

Husk might find his match (at least on the surface), and the real challenge comes to knowing when he has hit his threshold. The Hazbin crew might make a game out of it, because while Lucifer can hit a lot of the drunkeness spectrum following how he cycles through emotions (having depression doesn't help), he's the "secretely drunk" type for sure.

Next parts will be, as usual, the Vees + the Overlords, and Heaven's side. Might even do something about the following results, lemme place an evil grin here, hangovers.

Again, Masterpost here.

Edit : here's the clip with Edward Bosco playing Drunk!Alastor (with Michael Kovak as Angel Dust) at a Hunicast. While the animatic is the channel owner's entirely, the voice clips belong to the voice actors.

[callmearcturus]

okay so PC Gamer just scattered a bunch of catnip for me with an article about What If Each Fallout Game Were A Movie, Who Would Direct It and I am going to read this live and judge it

because I'm having a relapse, we all understand this

A focused, mature, pressure cooker of a movie that is short and stylishly violent? Better call the director of John Wick to take the directorial reigns. Personally, I find Leitch's movies tend to have rather underwhelming final acts, too, and also have a penchant for ending abruptly when you feel more could have followed, so he's the perfect fit for a game that's incredible until it very quickly ends without much fanfare. John Wick movies don't tend to be very wacky either, often depicting the hero's world as very serious (despite the ludicrous premise of the fiction), so again this feels a strong and apt choice for the OG Fallout. A Friday night action movie.

HMMMMMM. I feel like I disagree on the mode I would want FO1 to be in. Like, yes, you can play it that way, but FO1 is famously one of the first games to make Speech arguably the most important skill to have in a video game, so I dunno. I love Leitch and feel like while his sense of realistic-yet-stunning action is a trademark, I think the use of locations is even more of his thing, and when I think about memorable locations, I think more of FO2 than FO1.

I feel like I would give FO1 to some hyper-realistic scumbag who is more obsessed with Process than Enterta-- oh. Nolan. gdi I'd give FO1 to Chris fucking Nolan, him whomst I loathe.

Who better to direct this expansive and often wacky depiction of the Fallout universe than the director responsible for epics such as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, 12 Monkeys, Brazil, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, and The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? Gilliam loves a good road trip in his work, too, which fits with Fallout 2's Highwayman-based exploration, and his penchant for vast vistas with wacky and absurd details feels perfect. The combat scenes wouldn't be as slick as Leitch's Fallout movie, but characterisation and a more rambling, philosophical, off-beat narrative would deliver. Plus, Fallout 2 even has a Bridge Keeper encounter that directly references Monty Python and the Holy Grail, in which Gilliam starred. Watch on a Saturday night for a bit of everything.

......... I straight up cannot argue with that. No notes.

For a movie based on a game that is focussed almost entirely on squad-based combat in urban environments, combat where soldiers die in terrible ways and the horrors of war are all too apparent, I feel the director of The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow is perfect for this. Fallout: Tactics would be a war movie with a very tight focus and strong characterisation for just a handul of lead characters. Tense and at times adrenaline-inducing due to the flashes of extreme violence, but interspersed with soul-searching dialogue from its grizzled, war-scarred leads, this would be an erudite and focused Fallout war movie. Watch on a Monday or Tuesday night.

Looking at Bigelow's list of works is how I just now learned she also did Strange Days, so I think it's fair to say that this is giving her way too small of a pick. Give her FO1 and give Leitch FOT.

It would be so bad. Forget about A-bombs, everyone in the movie would drop an F-bomb every other line. Don't watch on any night.

Fucking weak-ass pick. Think about the history of how FO:BoS happened, i.e. they were trying to slap the Fallout license onto a completely different style of game without any respect for the source material. They swapped out Nuka Cola for Bawls product placement.

Give it to Zack Synder.

As the game that properly introduced V.A.T.S. system slow-mo to the Fallout universe, with kill shots shown off in glorious bullet time, there can be only one director for a film version of Fallout 3: the master himself, John Woo. Woo's stellar action movie work in titles such as Hard Boiled, Broken Arrow, Face/Off and Mission Impossible 2, among others, means the action in this game is off the charts. Slow-mo radiated doves and all! Woo handles the post-apocalypse war vibes well, too, thanks to his work on Windtalkers, while he communicates the hero's awakening into the future thanks to previous on Paycheck. A good fit for Friday night, thanks to the action, or midday during the weekend due to a longish, war movie-style runtime.

.....................

holy shit i cannot argue with that, that's genius. absolutely fucking yes. i think that's a perfect fit.

also, like, FO3 and Woo have the same "problem" for me, in that they know exactly what they are doing, it's just not my cup of tea, but there is a solid identity there.

yeah, fucking do it, give FO3 to John Woo.

SHUT THE FUCK UP

WHO WROTE THIS ARTICLE, AND DID THEY WRITE IT FROM MY FUCKING ATTIC?!

Casinos, gritty environments, extreme violence and heist movie vibes mean I think of Guy Ritchie for this film adaptation. Ritchie's also a fan of slow-mo combat shots, too, so we've got the game's V.A.T.S. system represented well, too, while the game's macho factional warfare as undertaken by factions like Caesar's Legion and the NCR, is right in keeping with Ritchie's love of gang-based conflict. There's not much romance in New Vegas, either, which is a weak spot for Ritchie, but as shown in movies like Sherlock Holmes, Snatch, The Gentleman, and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, he's good at holding together movies with various interconnecting narratives. His work on Aladdin also shows he can handle the comedic and wacky aspects of New Vegas, too. A mid-week action-comedy treat.

/rubs face

I am unfortunately a massive fucking fan of Ritchie movies. this is so powerful.

i think........... Ritchie is so thoroughly uninterested in saying anything philosophically profound, you cannot give him The Most Profound Fallout Game. like, I want to love this idea, I really do, but no.

....................... You need someone with snappy dialogue that actually means something, who is willing to veer into borderline magical realism, who loves an overdressed set, and who can manage a lot of different characters with well-reasoned motivations.

I think you need Rian Johnson.

OR DO I JUST WANT RIAN JOHNSON TO MAKE A VERSION OF "DEAD MONEY" THAT DOESN'T SUCK? WHO COULD SAY.

I feel Ang Lee is a good choice for a Fallout 4 movie adaptation, having good form in handling large and sprawling fictions with plenty of characters and side-stories. Just look at films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Life of Pi as an example of this. He's got some form with action, too, thanks to his work on Hulk. There's probably more romance/relationship offering in Fallout 4 than in any other Fallout, and Ang Lee has form here too. The result, though, is a movie that ends up being a bit flabby and unfocussed at times, despite technically bringing more to the table than Fallout 3, and being funnier and lighter overall. Watch on a day off due to a chonky runtime.

what are you fucking talking about, Ang Lee's best movies are Brokeback and Sense & Sensibility, and his worst are probably Hulk and Gemini Man. Fallout 4 is the one where Bethesda just stopped pretending to give a shit about story and roleplaying, instead pivoting the game into a skinner box of tightly-honed but ultimately soulless mechanics.

I'm not even trying to mock Marvel, but I feel like the MCU's Design-By-Producer-And-Executive-Oversight is actually the answer here. It doesn't matter who directs it because the main voice will be a board room.

oh shut upppppp

Fallout Shelter would in some ways be the most obvious setup for a movie: the self-contained story of a vault-dwelling society, interspersed with the surface adventures of random dwellers. Sounds a bit like the TV show when you put it like that, which is why there's only one Nolan for the job: Christopher! Yes, fresh off Oppenheimer it is time for Oppenheimer 2, focusing on the aftermath of all-out nuclear war (hell, Cillian Murphy can even have a cameo as a brain in a jar, I'm that generous). Moody, intense, riven with twists you didn't see coming, and with all special effects done for realsies, this movie could only ever be rad. The only downside is that, like the TV show Silo, you'd spend an awful lot of time indoors.

absolutely fucking not. the thing about Nolan is that his shit is so meticulous, it like.... pitches past hyper-realism and lands in this weird uncanny valley of "he wouldn't fucking say that" but it's for a character you've only known for ten minutes.

FO: Shelter is about emergent storytelling that feels almost accidental rather than arranged or scripted. you need someone who is hands-off the script but can capture a.... good moment..............

oh god, it's JJ Abrams, isn't it? god dammit. or, frankly? Spielberg. so I'm saying no to the director i hate and offering instead two other directors i dislike, but for different reasons.

yeah. yep. that's what i'm doing.

SPITTAKE

As an MMO that takes many aspects of the Fallout universe to the extreme, it feels a movie version of Fallout 76 would be akin to a huge-budget, climatic MCU movie where it really helps if you've had previous with the series to get most enjoyment. As such, I feel the Russo brothers would take the reigns for Fallout 76. The result would be a jack-of-all-trades action-adventure that borrows bits of every previous Fallout to make something that appeals to a lot of people but, after watching, doesn't go down as something you'd rewatch for most all of them. Big, bright, wacky and action-filled, there's no doubting though that you get a spectacle and fun, though. Watch in two sittings over two nights (as the movie's runtime is 3 hours 47 minutes).

no. fuck you. i reject your premise. the Fallout game that shipped with no NPCs and expected the story to be entirely conveyed by set-pieces, environmental design, and audiologs?

resurrect Tarkovsky and give us FO76, desolate and beautiful with environmental shots that last seven minutes without a cut. because the only good thing about FO76 is the setting, the amount of effort put into building the actual space, so I want 90 minutes of film and seven pages of script.

Russo Brothers, get tf out of here

[jq37]

I just randomly thought about Mazey saying the Rat Grinders "famously" hate the Bad Kids. What does that look like do you think.

Like is it just Kipperlilly constantly complaining about Riz having an unfair advantage or have they ALL at some point, complained about them? (Or like everyone except Maryann probably). Did this predate them becoming rage people?

I have many questions

This is just such a hard question to answer because the Bad Kids just Did Not Engage with this plot as much as they could have which means we don't know anything for certain except that KP has hated Riz from the jump.

The way Mazey said it it sounds like it's a group hatred that's existed since at least Sophomore Year. And evidence that it's a full group hate could be that Ruben sneered when he saw Fig in bard class and Oisin specifically used a spell slot to Sending Adaine the snarky, "not a very good oracle" comment. But how much of that is longstanding and how much of that is new/rage induced?

And KP is the party leader and face so it's very possible that her opinion is the de facto party line and/or that she got them to hate in solidarity the way that you end up hating all your friends enemies more out of friendship than anything else.

I think it's totally plausible that there's a party of kids who absolutely hate them and have publicly hated them for a year now and the Bad Kids are like, "Whomst?" because they're pretty insular and they have bigger fish to fry than the opinions of haters. Like when Kalina--emissary of the Nightmare King--hates you, you don't have a lot of time to notice what Kipperlilly Copperkettle's opinion of you is. And we know canonically Adaine didn't recognize Oisin despite them having class together--but again she's had a busy two years. That checks out.

Anyway, this is a long way to say that you're right. Brennan can play this a bunch of different ways and I'm interested to see where he lands.

[satansindexfinger]

Can you do the Brothers and Undateables reacting to an MC who called God sky daddy?

Author's note: ahsjdjdkf this is hilarious, thank you for requesting! It feels so weird putting the fancy banners and everything for something this silly lmao

Warnings: none

Crack; gn!mc

Everyone's Reaction To You Calling God 'Sky Daddy'

Lucifer

"... Pardon?"

He knows for a fact you did not just call his father sky daddy of all things. It takes him a moment to process it.

He visably cringes and rubs his temples, annoyance evident, "Please, for the love of everything, do not refer to him that way ever again."

What would even posess you to do that? You humans really are an enigma Lucifer can't decipher.

He couldn't look more disgusted if he tried.

Mammon

"Huh? W-who are ya callin' that?!"

Relax, Mammon. God isn't their side-hoe. It's not the type of daddy you're picturing. It's a joke.

"Damn, why didn't ya just call him by his name... yer really weird, yknow that?"

Now he's jealous. Why does God get a goofy nickname and he doesn't?!

Leviathan

"LMAOOOOO"

Thinks it's hilarious. So what if it's his dad? That was a good one, MC!

Boy is well-versed in obscure internet slang so nothing can surprise him on that front. Won't dare to use it himself but... okay, maybe when it's just you two.

He really wants to fit in okay? Probably has his own fair share of memes relating to The Lord (tm) and will send you every last one.

Satan

"Thank who?"

Did he hear you right? Is this some weird type of human word play? Even his big brain needs a second to connect the dots.

"Huh, I've never heard that alias of his before. Well, he is on the upper realm, and he is technically the father of all things... I suppouse it makes sense."

Doesn't pay any mind to it after analyzing the connection. He thinks it's a weird way of saying it but you do you, MC.

I lied. He so keeps that in the back of his mind to use when Lucifer is around just to piss him off.

Asmodeous

"Oh, MC! I didn't know you had quite the mouth on you! How blasphemous!"

Gasps like the drama queen he is.

Good job, you've turned his cringy flirt mode on. Now he won't leave you alone.

You might want to reconsider your word usage around this bitch next time.

Beelzebub

Whomst? What?? Sky who?

Doesn't get it, doesn't ask about it. He thinks he didn't hear you clearly over the sound of his munching.

Will look at you like a confused dog and cock his head, hoping you'd explain. If you do he will just nod. Like it's the most normal thing he's heard all day.

"Ah, you mean Father." Whatever. Back to your guys' scheduled sixth meal of the day.

Belphegor

"Sky daddy? Really? Could you be any weirder about him?"

If you pay close attention you can hear his subtle snicker. Come off it Belphie, you think it's hilarious.

Would absolutely call his maker sky daddy if they ever met again. Shame he's probably permanently banned from the celestial realm.

Look me in the eyes and tell me he hasn't attempted to call God weird ass names to his face before.

Joins Satan in his quest to piss Lucifer off by calling their father that.

Diavolo

Congrats, you've stumped the demon lord himself! .. For a split second. Then he lets out a laugh like he's just watched the funniest stand up on Netflix.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you, MC? What an odd nickname!"

Thinks it's charming for some reason. You little humans and your interesting choice of words! How cute!

"Does that make me ground daddy?"

Diavolo please.

Barbatos

Ignores you. No reaction from this killjoy right here.

Okay, maybe he finds it just a tad amusing. Won't show it though. He might mention it in passing while he's having tea with Diavolo and chuckle a bit about the blatant disrespect you have the balls to show, but that's about it.

Or so you think. Motherfucker will drop it in conversation when you least expect it.

"It's a good thing we heard the timer on the oven this time. I suppouse we can thank Sky Daddy for this?"

It sounds illegal coming out of his mouth.

Solomon

"Daddy Jay-Z really has blessed us today."

Will play along with it. Man gives zero shits. Remember, this is the same dude who wanted to call Michael Mike.

He already knows he's going to hell shall he become mortal again so why not drag his favourite MC down with him?

"May the cloud son-in-law and holy poltergeist help us one day too."

You two are a walking menace.

Simeon

(Let me upload the banner you piece of shit site)

Look absolutely scandalized. You might as well have murdered Luke right infront of his eyes.

"M-MC!! That is highly disrespectful! Please watch your language, especially if Luke is around."

Knows you were probably trying to be funny but mans is whipped for holiness. Relax, he knows you probably didn't know any better so he isn't mad.

Just a bit dissappointed.

Won't lecture you further but will sigh and look disapprovingly if you ever did it again.