#its been a month or so since i modelled that and i have gotten better so i want to try again with no time crunch + pressure

[heartorbit]

a mob of emus for an artstyle game on twt! ^_^

[lqvesoph]

Is it over now - LN4

lando norris x fem!reader

summary: your situationship with lando ended 10 months ago… or did it? based on taylor swift’s "is it over now"

warnings: toxic behavior, cheating, smut, p in v, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise (with slight degradation)

a/n: you have no idea how long it took me to finish this and idk the word count but its long and filthy. Also this gif does things to me… just the way he looked that day🤌🏻 the curls the beard the cheekbones

masterlist | taglist

You knew he was gone. He left exactly 113 minutes ago. His flight had taken off 44 minutes ago. Angrily you turned around in your bed, kicking off the blanket and staring at the blank spot next to you where only three hours ago, Lando’s curly head had laid.

Since then you slept with each other. Again. And had a terrible screaming match. Again.

You knew it was for the better to let him go, you were toxic, your relationship, if you can call it that, had been from the very start two years ago when you drunkenly slept with each other after a celebration party.

Since then it’s been one hell of a ride. Neither of you were very good at the whole relationship and communication thing, so naturally your relationship was based on an endless circle of being somehow happy, until one of you screwed up, you fought, left and ended up in each others bed minimum three days later.

Some might say this behavior exhausts but for the two of you it was what made things exciting and addicting.

His touch, his lips, his body, HE was addictive.

But since the last time you broke up, things had changed. Lando had gotten a new girlfriend, something that made you mad as hell.

He knocked on your door last night, storming in and pinning you to the wall before violently attacking your lips with his.

But that wasn’t what made you mad, this was a rather regular occurrence any time one of you got a new partner. What made you mad was that when he woke up the next morning he didn’t stay like he usually would. He jumped out of bed, calling the previous night a 'mistake' and something that 'shouldn’t have happened'. On top of that he blamed you.

Naturally that resulted in your neighbors, once again, hearing a thirty minute screaming match which ended in you kicking Lando out of your door with the words "Don‘t ever call me or knock on my door again, especially not when you realize she can’t give you what you want!!" "I promise I won’t!!" "Oh you are a lying traitor!!".

You hated that even though he was gone for good now, he still wouldn’t leave your mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Fast forward to almost 10 months later. Mason, your very nice colleague picked you up from your office. You met on one of your threehundreds of awkward blind dates your friend had arranged, finding out that you actually worked for the same company. However that didn’t make the date any less awkward, because you mostly talked about work. But at least you kind of found a good friend now. You haven’t spoken to Lando since that night. To be perfectly honest, you didn’t think he actually wouldn’t come back.

"Hey, ready for that coffee?", he smiled.

You grabbed your bag and joined Mason. Together you walked to the cafe you‘ve been going to ever since the first time. You noticed he was a bit nervous for some reason, but you didn’t dare ask why, deep down you didn’t care but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself of anyone.

"Two latte‘s to go, please", Mason placed your order. While you waited you pulled out your phone to check some new messages from your friends.

"Lando Norris spotted with yet another model", Mason read the most recent headline when he opened twitter. "Can you believe that guy, huh?", he huffed.

"I bet she’s got blue eyes", you huffed and shook your head when Mason showed you a picture of the blonde girl with blue eyes who basically looked like your clone. "Predictable." "What?", Mason asked confused. "Oh nothing, I happen to know all his girls literally look the same", you fake smiled but thankfully Mason didn’t notice. For some reason he didn’t know about Lando and you when you met and you were rather happy about keeping it that way.

Sure Lando and you never paraded each other around on Instagram, you never actually were together long enough to feel comfortable with announcing your situationship, but you have been spotted together multiple times in the paddock or at parties.

Mason didn’t need to know about the boy who still kept you up some nights.

Your coffees were placed in front of you, making you look up and hesitate for a second. "Here you go", the waiter smiled and for a few seconds you saw Lando in front of you.

The dark brown curls, the green eyes and lord that smile, it reminded you of him.

"Thanks", Mason replied on your part and grabbed the coffees. "You good?", he asked. You simply nodded, still a little in your thoughts.

"Okay good because I’ve been wanting to ask you something", he said, glancing to you. "Hmm?"

"We‘ve been going on these take out coffee dates for almost 10 months now, and I remember how beautiful our first one was, the blind date. So I’ve been wondering, would you like to be my girlfriend?", Mason asked, glancing down at you to catch your reaction.

You looked at him with a blank face and simply nodded. "Uh-hmm", you muttered, your mind still some place elsewhere, more specifically at one of yours and Lando‘s good nights, with his head between your thighs.

"That’s great!", Mason called happily and brought you into a hug.

"Uh-hmm."

"I think we should go out tonight and celebrate this!", Mason spoke excitedly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Mason told you to invite a few friends as he did the same so you decided to ask your two best friends to come. And same as you, they were never one to turn down an invitation to a night out.

"So, you’ve been acting a little weird ever since we’ve been here", Mia pointed out, taking a sip from her drink. "Mason asked me to be his girlfriend", you dryly replied, making Mia almost spit out her drink again and Laura shockingly turn her head towards you.

"What?!!", they called in unison. You nodded, taking another sip of your drink. "Well, did you say yes?", Laura pressed, both hers and Mia’s eyes staring you down intensely.

"Uh-hmm", you gave the same answer as to Mason a few hours prior. "That’s- uh great", Mia stuttered over her words for a bit. Her and Laura look each other before Mia looked away.

"Fine, if you won’t say it I will. Finally!!! I’m so damn happy you finally completely moved on from Lando and found someone who treats you better than that piece of junk", Laura started rambling and just in that moment your eyes locked with the devil Laura has been talking and you’ve been thinking about.

No fucking hell. That couldn’t be true.

How can it happen that after 10 months of not running into Lando once while clubbing, toady was the day where it happened?

"We both weren’t great in that relationship", you muttered, slightly defending Lando without even meaning to, your eyes still locked with his.

An arm wrapping around your waist pulled you out of the staring contest. "Hey babe", Mason whispered in your ear and placed a sweet kiss to your temple. You internally cringed at the nickname and the rotting sweet gesture.

Laura’s eyes sparkled at the sight of you, while Mia caught your annoyed looking gaze. She was always the one who understood you and Lando the most out of all of your friends. Maybe because she was such a sweet and genuine human that she believed both of you could change for each other or probably she simply understood how attached you grew to each other that no matter what, that bond wouldn’t break.

And judging from the fact how Lando and you captivated each other just moments ago, that bond also didn’t break in the last 10 months apart.

"We’ll go take a smoke, you wanna come?", Laura asked but you shook your head. Ever since the whole thing with Lando started you never touched a cigarette again. He didn’t like it, it was unhealthy and being with someone who doesn’t smoke made you smoke less as well, until you stopped completely.

"You should really enjoy life a little again", Laura replied, knowing your reasons to quit smoking.

"Maybe I’ve just come to the realization that I don’t need to poison my lungs to enjoy life", you simply answered, rolled your eyes and turned away.

"Can you get me something to drink?", you asked Mason who was still gently rubbing your waist, actually only wanting to bring some distance between the two of you. "Uh yeah sure, what do you want?", he asked. "Just bring me anything", you replied, stepping out of his embrace as a sign for him to get going.

He nodded and turned around but not before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You cringed internally.

"Y/n?", his voice suddenly spoke behind you, making your whole body freeze. Lando’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you in, something he did quite often when you were 'together'. "What are you doing here?", he whispered and you immediately felt your legs weakening. You had no idea why your body immediately reacted to him and you hated yourself for it.

Lando only smirked when he noticed you wobbling a little and gripped your waist tighter. "Missed me?", he muttered, placing a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, making your eyes flutter and your body lean back into his.

"300 days later and you still react to my touch like that", he smirked.

"He really can’t give it to you properly, I can see that from the way he was holding you", Lando snorted, making fun of Mason and you didn’t feel the slightest need to defend your boyfriend because you knew Lando was right.

"You shouldn’t", you warned Lando before hearing someone clear their throat behind you.

Lando dropped his hand from your waist and his gaze darkened when he saw Mason standing behind you

Said boy pulled you into a possessive hug.

"Hey, babe", he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple before handing you your drink.

You sniffed before realizing it was Vodka Coke. A smirk made its way on Lando’s face when he saw your drink and your reaction. You knew he knew that you hated Coke.

"And you are?", Mason let his eyes wander to the curly headed boy in front of you. "Lando", he muttered, ignoring Mason who held out a hand for him to shake. "Okayyy", Mason whispered. "You wanna dance?", he then turned to you. You simply nodded and accepted his hand that led you into the crowd of people.

Mason pulled you in, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Isn’t that the guy with all of those girls?", he asked, leaning closer to your ear so you’d understand his words over to loud music.

"Lando Norris, yes", you nodded, interwinding your fingers behind Mason’s head. "Do you know each other?"

Flashbacks of Lando and you floated your mind. Driving along the French Riviera in his McLaren, the occasional stop to get in a quickie, or the sneaking away from his engineers to meet in his drivers room. And finally, him peacefully sleeping next to you on that one damned night, his curls a mess on his head, his torso bare with a few red marks on his back from your activities before and his beautiful eyes shut.

"No", you simply replied before placing your lips on Mason’s to get him to stop asking questions.

Mason more than happily gave in, letting his hand wander down to your ass, gently rubbing it. You kissed him harder, wanting him to be a little bit rougher as well, to firmly grab you and not just delicately touch you.

But instead he backed off.

"Woah, what’s gotten into you today? This is totally not like you!", he stated with a confused smile, which made you even angrier. Of course this was like you, he just didn’t know you well enough.

"I’ll be in the restroom for a second", you rolled your eyes before leaving him standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

You pushed open the heavy door to the women’s restroom, being thankful that no one was there before putting your hands on the marble counter and leaving your head hanging.

Until the locking of the main door made your head shoot up. And to be perfectly honest, you half expect him to follow you in here.

"What happened to your newest toy?", Lando smirked, leaning against the now closed door. You rolled your eyes and didn’t reply.

Lando pushed himself off the door and walked closer to you until he stood directly behind you, looking at you through the mirror. "Don’t roll your eyes at me, baby", he warned.

"Now tell me what happened to that guy? Realized he couldn’t give you want you want?", Lando smirked, quoting your words from the night you last saw each other. You shook your head, not wanting to give into him.

"Come on baby, I saw your face. You didn’t like the gentle touches in the middle of a club dance floor, admit it!", he dared you.

"'Newest toy', what do you think of me? That I slept around with everyone that was in a 1 mile radius of me?", you ignored his words and stared at him through the mirror.

"Did you think I didn’t see you? There were flashing lights", you huffed. "Maybe I wanted you to see me and please baby, don’t play all innocent", he whispered, still standing behind you but coming dangerously close now.

"At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight unlike you!!", you called.

"Oh baby, don’t you think I‘ve heard the rumors? About your hips…", Lando stepped forward and let his hands trailed over your hips, "and thighs…", he let them wander further down to your thighs, gently rubbing the exposed skin. You let out a sigh at the familiar feeling and closed your eyes in pleasure, "and those whispered sighs", he smirked and quickly turned you around before lifting you up on the bathroom counter.

"Exactly rumors", you breathed, before he smashed his lips on yours.

Lando’s hands immediately grabbed your legs, opening them so he could stand between them. Then they went to your waist to pull you in closer.

Lando groaned at the feeling of you finally back in his arms.

His hands kept scanning over your body, squeezing your boobs which made you throw your head back and let out a deep moan.

"Been waiting to get my hands on you again for so long, baby," he breathed heavily, speaking into your skin as his fingers fumbled open the top of your blouse. His lips trailed over your exposed chest and stopped just under your collarbone, sucking the fragile skin between his lips.

"You’re saying you missed me?", you teased, trying hard to push the words out before another moan interrupted you. Lando grinned and ripped open the buttons of the white silk blouse, allowing your tits to spill out.

Lando swore he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes.

His lips attacked yours again while his large hand worked your bra covered boobs.

Your eyes fluttered, feeling that all too familiar ache in your core while the large size of his palm against you, made you think of those thick, veiny fingers between your thighs.

Your hips pressed against his, feeling his hard cock against you, making you smirk.

Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself against him, faster, harder. His one hand tightening around your waist and his head falling forward on your shoulder.

"Admit it, darling", you whispered into his ear. You could tell me was holding back a moan, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to break that thread.

You wanted to make him snap, an evil smirk brightening on your face as you moved your hips faster.

While he closed his eyes, you took the opportunity to fiddle with the metal belt around his hips, opening it along with the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Can’t wait, can you, you desperate little whore", Lando smirked, watching you push down his jeans and slide your hands inside his boxers to grab his cock.

Lando's head fell back with a groan as you started pumping his hard cock.

"Missed your hands, darling", he groaned, holding on to your waist tighter when you trailed your finger over his swollen tip before pulling your hand back, tracing them down his abdomen.

"Please, Lan", you begged, knowing your whispered words would make him weak. But he’s been playing this game just as long as you were.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your skirt, quickly stroking up to your clothed core. A heavy moan escaped your mouth.

Lando caressed the inside of your thighs while his lips traced down your neck, leaving a few marks here and there.

His finger pushed your laced thong to the side before lightly gracing your pussy, making your hips buckle into his hands. "Lan-", you moaned. An evil smirk spread on his face. "Now who’s desperate?", Lando whispered, repeating the action twice, pulling away way too quickly.

"I hate you", you breathed, throwing your head back before grabbing his wrist and holding it in place.

Lando shook his head but finally gave in and dipped the tip of his finger inside you. Your grip on his wrist tightening. "M-more", you slightly pleaded, trying your best not to sound too desperate but failing miserably.

"I’ve missed watching you react to me like this, still the very same as the first day", he said, pushing a second finger inside you to stretch you out. A high pitched moan left your throat and your hand let go of his wrist to grip the edge of the marble counter.

His lips were still traveling along your half exposed upper body, one hand pulling down your left bra cup, making your boob spill out before he took your nipple between his lips.

"Lando- I-", you moaned loudly, thanking heaven that he locked the door when he came in and gripping the counter tighter, your knuckles almost turning white.

He pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the feeling of emptiness, before you felt his hand trying to get your thong off. You lifted your hips a little to help him, watching as he pushed your underwear in the back pocket of his trousers.

"You should see yourself, darling", Lando smirked mockingly, his fingers being welcomed by her glistening pussy as he traced them along your slit.

"So desperate for me", he cooed, watching your eyes close and a frown forming on your forehead as you moaned.

"It’s funny how eager you are for everything I give you, baby", he chuckled humorless. "You won't call for months and now you want my cock inside of you?"

You whimpered at his words, all while he slowly inserted his finger inside you again.

"Lando- oh my- please", you continued whimpering and pleading, making Lando smirk. "What is it, baby? You're gonna have to tell me exactly what you want, you know how this works", he cooed into your ear.

He was teasing and you knew that, you have experienced it multiple times before. You didn’t want to give into him but damn his long thick fingers and how they felt inside you. You mind already playing images of him fucking you till you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

"C’mon", Lando demanded firmly. "You've always been mouthy with me, even earlier, so why are you being quiet now, huh?"

"Lan- lando please, more", you whined, while moving your hips on his finger to get some sort of relief. "I just need more, please", you begged slightly, your eyes closed and not wanting to look at the winning smirk on Lando’s face.

"But you already have a boyfriend, mylady", Lando reminded you with an evil grin. You shook your head, the mess of your hair whipping around. "N-no", you tried to deny as he added a second finger.

"Just wanna cum, please- fuck!", you muttered as Lando curled his fingers inside you.

Lando, completely ignoring you, continued with his question. "What more could you possibly want?"

"I want your cock- so bad, just fill me up- fuck, Lando- fuck me, please- I-", you begged, your eyes tired but glistening in desperation and lust. "Jus’ wanna- want you to fuck me hard and fill- uhh- I wanna be full with you please, please Lando", at this point you didn’t even care anymore that you sounded like a desperate slut.

You’ve gone 10 months without seeing Lando in person, of course you had your fair share of fucks but you couldn’t pretend that any of them came even close to pleasuring you the way Lando was able to.

"Such a needy girl", he tsked before wiping you tears away, that you didn’t even notice had started falling down your cheeks. You clenched around Lando’s fingers, loving the way his voice sounded in your ear.

"Oh you want to cum?", Lando looked at you with a devious smile. "Do you think you deserve that?" Before you could reply, you felt his lips pressing against yours, his tongue gliding between your lips without being met with a lot of resistance.

He hummed in satisfaction, tasting the alcohol from the drink you previously had on your mouth before he pulled away, only to let his tongue trail from your lips, over your neck and down to your chest as he sucked on your skin, leaving a dark purple mark on your breast. You were too far gone to realize anything until the sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your nipple shocked you out of your daydream.

"I asked you a question, baby", Lando hummed, licking over your hardened nipple. You blinked down at him, seeing a little blurry. "W-what?"

His grin was wickedly evil as he looked up at you. "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated but didn’t give you time to reply before slamming his cock inside you.

You gasped loudly, grabbing the back of his neck for leverage and letting out a strangled cry as Lando continued to fuck into you at high speed.

There was truly no one who could fill you up like he did.

The sound of his hips clashing against yours and both of your strangled moans were the only thing left to hear in the restroom. You felt your pussy clench around Lando’s cock, making him moan into your shoulder. He moved his fingers from rubbing the side of your waist to your clit, touching the already sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing it as you cried out.

"God! Fuckin- hell- ohh!"

"I think God is the last person to help you right now, darling", Lando chuckled but got interrupted by a moan as your walls clenched around him again. You felt yourself nearing your orgasm with every rock of his hips.

"Fuck, baby you’re so tight", he moaned. "You have no idea how much I missed this tight fucking hole, perfectly clenching around my cock like this- ohh", Lando spoke in a light whisper, rubbing eight figures on your clit.

Your legs shook as you felt your orgasm approaching, your walls tightening. "Fuck, Lando, I- shit, I- I’m cumming!", you let out a breathy moan once more before clenching one last time. Your vision going blurry while your pussy kept throbbing around his cock.

"Lando, please I need-", you winced at the oversensitivity when he kept pounding into you. "Time", you breathed through a moan, gripping the back of his neck tighter as you felt another orgasm approaching. All while Lando never stopped fucking into you even when you came for a second time in a row.

The overstimulation leaving you as a sobbing mess. "Lan- lando, it’s too much! I- I can’t- fuck! 'm cumming, Lando-", you cried, tears streaming down your face, you head falling forward on his chest, not having the ability to keep it upright anymore.

"Yeah? You’re cumming again?", Lando mocked you, rocking his hips a bit slower.

"But I missed you so much, haven’t you missed me?"

"I- missed you- fuck! So much- so fucking much", you cried, your walls repeatedly clenched around his cock.

"Fuck! Lando!", you called pathetically when he started to pick up his pace again and relentlessly started hammering inside you, chasing his own orgasm.

You couldn’t do anything apart from moan, cry and clench around him, feeling another orgasm approaching as well.

"Shit- I’m so close", Lando groaned as a whisper, pulling you closer to him and placing his lips on yours. "I’m cumming- baby- I’m-", he whispered against your lips. Your body already going limp against his as you felt him filling you up with his cum.

A deep and breathy moan left his lips as he slowed down his pace. You felt the sticky liquid dropping out of you and running down the inner side of your leg.

Lando whipped it up with his finger and held it in front of your mouth. Without hesitation you took his finger inside your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and closing your eyes at the taste of his cum on your lips.

Lando gently rocked his hips again, making you whine. "Not again, Lando- please I- I need a minute", you winced, feeling way too overstimulated after cumming so many times in a row.

"Shh, baby it’s okay, just tryna fuck my cum back into you, to make sure it stays there until I can go back inside you again", he reassured you, before slowly pulling out, making you gasp and wince at the feeling of emptiness.

Exhausted you placed your head on his chest and closed your eyes while he held your waist.

"So did you find something greater in all those models’ beds?", you said with a dumbfound smirk forming on your lips, your mind still hazy while trailing your fingers over his bare chest. You felt his chest vibrating as he laughed and shook his head with a smirk. "Oh baby, I think you know exactly that nothing compares to you!"

You chuckled and lifted your head as he reached over to the paper towels and started cleaning your inner leg up a little. "What do we do now?", you asked, a hint of insecurity in your voice, as the reality of your situation came crushing down on you. "Well, I for damn hope you won’t go back to that milk boy", Lando chuckled, reaching for his belt to close his trousers again after tucking his cock away.

You stayed silent, your blouse still halfway open, your body too tired to move. Lando looked into your eyes before reaching to cover you up again. "You wanna come to mine?", he asked while closing the last button of your blouse.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Getting out of the club without Mason seeing you turned out easier than expected, however something you didn’t expect were people hanging around in front of the monegasque nightclub.

As soon as you opened the door, you already heard yours and Lando’s name being called and saw at least ten phones recording you.

Well, now Mason knows anyway, you thought while Lando grabbed your hand tighter and pulled you to his car quickly. Both of you waved a few times while passing the fans but stayed silent for the short walk. Lando opened the door for you before jogging around to get to the drivers side.

You snuggled into the seat of his familiar car, that wore his familiar scent and when Lando started up the car, he put his familiar hand on your thigh. You took a deep breath, you might be toxic but how damn good does this familiarity feel? It might just cancel the bad parts out.

Lando’s fingers drew circles on your thigh and he smirked when he noticed you opening your legs a little bit wider, an invitation to move his fingers up further.

His hand scooted up, pushing the material of your tight miniskirt away and gently tracing along your inner thighs.

"Baby careful or you’ll ruin the seat", he whispered sarcastically. He didn’t give a damn if you actually did and you knew that because this wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

"Lando-", you quietly whimpered when you felt his fingers come dangerously close to your core, still feeling the sensitivity of the multiple orgasms he had given you merely twenty minutes ago, but backed off just before touching you. "Shhh, baby", he spoke, keeping his eyes on the road while entering the tip of his finger.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you sunk down the seat a little. Without having to see, you knew Lando was smiling.

He pushed his finger further inside and immediately followed up with a second one. You quietly moaned at the pleasure.

"Already so fucking wet for me, baby", he spoke. "My good girl", he purred moving his finger faster inside you.

You moaned at his words and the way his fingers stretched you, making you see stars. "L-lando-", you whispered but got interrupted by another moan when he scissored his fingers. Your eyes shot open and you grabbed his arm tighter, your fingers most likely leaving marks on his skin.

You started moving your hips up to meet his fingers, chasing your own release in the passenger seat of Lando’s sports car.

But Lando suddenly slowed down and almost pulled his fingers out of you completely leaving you empty and whining. "L-lando - plea - ahh- please, baby", you couldn’t form proper sentences while his fingers traced your clit.

"Shh, no baby, you’re not coming until we’re home", he gently whispered, making you furrow your brows. He slid both fingers back inside you and picked his pace up again, making you gasp before an idea came to your head.

You let go of his arm and reached over the middle console and started palming the slight bulge in his trousers.

Now it was his turn to let out a surprised gasp. "You are playing a dangerous game, baby", he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. You simply giggled and squeezed his clothed cock through his pants.

Lando twisted his fingers inside you, making you stop your movements and close your eyes. You hectically tried opening up his belt and trousers before sliding your hand inside his boxers, stroking over his tip that was already leaking pre cum.

"Baby-, I’m driving remember", he rasped, his finger still moving inside you but your main focus now laid on his cock in your hands. "It’s not like this is the first time", you breathed and started pumping his cock.

You could see how much he was fighting to close his eyes, which made a sadistic smirk form on your lips.

Because you were too focused on him, you didn’t see that you were already in front of Lando’s apartment.

He slid his fingers out of you and pushed your hands off him as well. "Let’s go!", he sternly said, getting out of the car and walking towards the entrance of his apartment building already, his trousers still opened.

You smirked and left the car as well, hurrying behind him. As soon as you got to the elevator, Lando reached for your hips and smashed his lips on yours again.

His hands moved to your ass and squeezed it playfully.

When you heard the familiar bling of his apartment elevator, he didn’t even look. Lando just moved you backwards out of the elevator, still kissing you. You fumbled his key out of the back pocket of his jeans and opened the door as soon as you got there.

Lando grinned and pushed you against the door to open it up completely before attacking your lips once again, kicking the door shut with his foot.

"Where you wanna go?", he muttered between kisses and moans. "Here is fine", you said breathlessly and pointed to the couch. Lando smirked, remembering what had happened on this couch, remembering catching you making out with a random dude after one of your fights.

"Was it over when he unbottoned your blouse?", Lando smirked, opening your blouse button for button, before pushing it off your body.

You smirked when you realized where he was getting at. But two could play that game, you had also caught him with a random girl on his exact couch.

"Was it over when she laid down on your couch?", you replied with the same smirk, only standing in your lace underwear and walking backwards to sit down on his couch.

Lando moved closer in only his trousers. He placed his strong arms on either side of your head and leaned down so his lips were almost touching yours.

"Was it ever really over?"

taglist

@im-an-overthinker @buendiabebeta @hungryhungariann @ohthemisssery @kenopsiababe @sawendel @enjoymyloves @ricsaigaslec @ravenqueen27 @temqr1 @leclerc16s @theamazingsimplethings-blog @coldmuffinbanditshoe @hotchnisscm97 @andtheworldiscrashingdownonme @moneymasnn @justme2042 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @pleasantducktimetravel @anthonykatebridgerton @lisannehus @hannahholland1811 @lighttsoutlewis @mydutchproblem @dan3avocado @alwaysclassyeagle @cocomiracle @allthisfortommy @soleilgrec @cheeryara-blog @person2345-blog @aquamariene-me @judespoision @sbgal @teti-menchon0604 @darleneslane @flower-nymph

[foreverdolly]

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: you’re hoping to make a good impression on your new boss. there’s just one problem: he’s an asshole. a very hot asshole.

pairings: boss!austin x employee!reader

word count: 2.2k

warning/notes: you guys have begged for more fake dating, so here it is. the beginning of what will be the end. this love story is adorable, and their dynamic is my absolute favorite. can't wait to post part three in the next week.

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“Well I heard he’s quite the looker.” Sophia mumbled under her breath, practically jogging to keep up with your long strides. The last thing you wanted was to be late for the big floor meeting, especially since you were about to be introduced to your new boss. That would be the icing on the shitty cake. Still, you refused to let this morning's parking ticket ruin your good mood. 

“Who said that? Nobody aside from Jeff has seen him, and that was only to finalize his paperwork.” One of the plant's leaves slapped you in the face as you began climbing the stairs, and with a groan you tucked the pot a little closer to your side, freeing up your vision so that you wouldn’t fall forward and bust your ass. You had picked up a little welcome gift for the newbie last night during your trip to the grocery store. It was only once you had gotten home that you realized that the plant didn’t have any plastic marker that stated its “preferences”. You hoped your newfound boss wouldn’t mind doing some googling in order to take care of his new greenery. Thankfully the man would be getting one of the nicer offices, which meant he’d have window space. 

“Martha from the first floor. She greeted him last week when he ran by to sign some papers.” Sophia was already out of breath from quickly climbing the stairs, muttering a few curse words as she tried to keep up with you and your fast pace. 

Martha was also a fifty year old crazy cat lady, so her saying that the mystery man was “handsome” meant nothing to you. If anything you were even more suspect about his good looks than you had been before. You let out a breathy laugh, freeing up one of your hands to open up the door for your best friend. 

“Martha also thinks that the mail delivery guy is a “looker”, and that guy has a receding hairline and buck teeth.” You were quick to fire back. 

Sophia looked like she wanted to argue, but stopped herself, a thoughtful look befalling her face. “Yeah. . . no, you’re totally right. Why didn’t I think of that? He’s probably going to have two heads.” 

You laughed loudly at that, turning to face your best friend as you continued the familiar walk to the conference room. “He’s probably bald- oof!” You grunted as you walked into a solid chest, the potted plant nearly flying out of your grasp. 

The person that you bumped into moved lightening fast, strong arms coming to wrap around both the pot and your arms. A little bit of dirt fell on the ground, and as you stared down at it you began to feel sorry for Javie, the janitor. You loved that tiny man. Behind you Sophia sucked in a breath, though you were too embarrassed to really pay attention to anything else other than the stranger’s dirt covered sleeve. You reached out, brushing off their nice- very expensive- blazer. 

“God, I should have been paying better attention to where I was walking. I’m so sorry.” You apologized, looking up at who you thought was Jeff. 

Because this person was practically a giant compared to most of the people on this floor, and the outfit and shoes? That was at least two months worth of your pay- if not more. Designer, no doubt. When you looked up, rather than meeting Jeff’s familiar brown eyes- you were met with blue. 

And there he was, in all of his glory. Him being “quite the looker” was the understatement of the century. This man was a model. His wire rimmed glasses did nothing to make him look boyish. The stranger in front of you was all man. For a few seconds all the two of you did was stare at each other. The blonde looked just as stunned as you did, his plush lips softly parted, eyes wide as he took in your features. After a moment he cleared his throat, his jaw clenching as he must have realized that the two of you were blocking hallway traffic, his hands still firmly wrapped around you. 

“We’re about to be late for the meeting.” He took a step back, and the loss of his firm grip on your arm nearly took your breath away.

Within seconds his warm, even soft blue eyes had hardened, his outwardly caring exterior turning ice cold. You tossed a look behind you at Sophia, dropping your jaw animatedly only for her to see before moving quickly to fall in step next to your new boss. “I’m so sorry about your blazer. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning-” 

He was already unbuttoning the soiled jacket, shrugging it off of his broad shoulders so that he was only standing in his crisp button up shirt and tie. His waist was narrow, accentuated by his belt. You could tell he was fit underneath all of those clothes. You hated yourself for it, but you were practically drooling. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just work hard for me from now on and we’ll call it even. Yeah?” He cut his eyes over towards you, and though you wanted to shrink under his gaze you merely held your head high and nodded. You were above outwardly fawning over the new guy. 

You weren’t, however, above silently crushing from afar. 

The man commanded the room unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Everything about his posture, his broad shoulders, and the surety of his actions told you that he meant business. Everybody stayed mostly silent as he introduced himself. Austin Butler. He looked like an Austin, you supposed. As he spoke you tried to rearrange the dirt in the pot with your fingers, smoothing it out so that it no longer looked ruined. The card in your purse suddenly seemed like overkill. You wanted him to think that you were nice, not a kiss ass. Then again, you needed to fix the horrible impression you had no doubt left him with earlier. He breezed out of the room the second that he was finished with the meeting, seemingly in a hurry to rid himself of the crowded room. Jeff was nowhere to be seen, but he had sent you an email earlier stating that he might be late coming back from lunch. His wife was out of town and their beloved cat, Mr Samson, hadn’t been eating well over the last week. You stood up, addressing the room with a bright smile. 

“Alright everyone, Jeff is going to be busy for the rest of the day, meaning you’ll either report directly to me or Mr Butler. Jenna? Can you drop by my cubicle before you leave today? I’ve got that Henderson file for you.” The blonde nodded, lazily joining the crowd as they dispersed out of the room. For a second you stood at the head of the long table, your eyes nervously darting back over to Sophia. 

“Thank god I work the payroll. I’d probably have a heart attack if I had to talk to Austin every day.” She mumbled, pretending to fan herself. 

You grabbed the plant off of the table, straightening out your shoulders as you walked over towards the door. “Well- let’s just hope that I didn’t fuck it up already. The last thing I need is for the guy to hate me.” 

You waved your goodbyes before heading straight towards the once unoccupied office. There were a few boxes on the floor, but there weren’t any decorations up yet. No pictures of wives or children, which you hoped meant that he was single. Not like you wanted to date him. . . just ogle from afar. You knocked on the open door, ducking your head in to shoot him one of your dazzling smiles. It usually worked on everyone. Almost everyone. Austin didn’t smile back. 

Your heart rate began to pick up as you held the plant up, giving it a gentle shake before placing it on the edge of his spotless desk. 

“It’s a little bit ironic, but I bought this for you. Consider it a welcome gift from me and my team.” Before he could say anything else, you were already digging into your purse, handing over the card too. 

He slowly took it from you, shooting you an incredulous look before opening it. You weren’t sure why. . . but his standoffish attitude was rubbing you the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that he was outwardly perfect. You should have expected him to be rude. Pretty people are often rotten on the inside. You cleared your throat, pointing at the card. 

“Just a few words of encouragement. I thought it might make you feel a little more comfortable around all of these new faces. If you ever nee-” 

And then he did it. Did this thing. 

He sighed. He sighed like you were bothering him. Like your presence was a nuisance. Your face fell, your teeth clenched, and all at once you decided that you couldn’t stand Austin Butler. He was blowing you off. Shrugging off your kind gestures. Your unnecessarily kind gestures. Your hands balled up into fists at your sides as you tried to fight off the urge to slap the glasses right off of his pretty-boy face. 

“I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m really busy at the moment.” He was cool guying you. He was totally fucking cool guying you right now. 

“Oh,” Your voice had lowered an octave, shaking with anger. He seemed to notice, his eyes quickly flickering up to meet your face. “I can see that I came at the wrong time.”

You started to walk out of the office, flinching back slightly as you saw Jeff headed towards you with a bright smile. You were heatedly walking off in the direction of your cubicle before the older man could say anything to you. 

It was decided. Set in stone. 

You hated Austin Butler with a passion. 

“Well, what was that about?” Jeff closed the door behind him, nodding off in the direction of the female. 

Austin read over the name again and again, signed in her adorable handwriting. He let out another sigh, tossing the card down onto his desk before he covered his face with his hands. 

“I don’t know. I panicked. Shit, now she thinks I’m an asshole.” His office chair creaked as he leaned back, praying that the floor would swallow him up. 

He had been so overwhelmed in the meeting. He probably came off as cold, which was exactly what he didn’t want to do. His anxiety had gotten the best of him today, and you were proof. Because he had seen you in the hall before you bumped into him. He could have prevented all of that from happening. And how could he not see you? He had been so focused on your button up blouse and form fitting pencil skirt that he had forgotten how to function. And then he learns that not only are you working on the same floor, but working directly under him. Meaning that he would have to talk to you. Every day. Austin didn’t do crushes. He was a workaholic. He was the king of heating up leftovers and eating alone every night. He was too busy for relationships, so it shouldn’t matter that the prettiest girl he had ever seen was just a stone's throw away from him. Right? Right? 

“Well, you’re screwed now.” Jeff smiled smugly, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back against the door. 

Austin’s heart jumped up to his throat, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form a sentence. He looked like an idiot. 

“W-What do you mean? I’m screwed? Do you think she hates me? Already?” 

Jeff opened the door a crack, peeking his head out. Austin was quick to stand up from his desk, joining him by the door. And there you were, tossing your purse onto your desk like the inanimate object had personally offended you. He had the perfect view of you from his office. He was doomed. Jeff watched her for a few more seconds before clicking his tongue. 

“. . . Oh, definitely.” 

Austin tore the glasses off of his face, tossing them down onto his desk so that he could rub at his eyes exasperatedly. 

“How do I fix it? God. . . Should I go out there right now?” Austin motioned towards the door with one hand, loosening his tie with the other. It felt like it was choking him. 

“Take her out on a date.” Jeff was smiling smugly again, shaking his head in pretend disapproval. “I can’t believe you already offended the most hot headed female that I’ve ever met. I was gone for an hour.” 

Austin sucked in a breath, his knees buckling underneath him. He had to lean against the desk for support. “I’m not going to take her on a date. I’m her boss, Jeff.” The younger male practically gasped. 

Jeff opened the door, leaving the boy with some parting words.  “I wasn’t born yesterday, Butler. I give it. . . six months. You’ll see.”

@knoxvillesshoes@cosmorant@ol1viam@simply-sams-things@haim80s@gabbcabb@8hgel@slutt4him@busy-bee-angel-misska@kaitaesupremacy@dazedshoon @4rt3m1ss@cryingabtab@kittenlittle24@austinsrealgf@austinbutlersgirlfriend@clearbolts @dark-as-love@anni-secret-account-75@ab4eva@starcatchxr @julietamidala @obbsessivereader@gwuide@blurredcolour@the-little-red-haired-girl@meladollsims@poppet05@shrekstheloml@randomwriter888@idc123sworld@vane28282@mirandastuckinthe80s@girlblogger2002@rockerchick05@screechingstrawberrysong@simpforevery1@girlabirla@dre6ming@obetrolncocktails@fairyjanes@jensenswinchester@lo-bells @in-my-body-bag@fxntxsix@petrparkrslut@eliseinmemphis @lelifesaver @screaching-cookie@fantuhsise@areuirish @bcofl0ve@mslizziesblog@shynovelist@ssstrangersblog @harrysthecraic@hangmanswhore@jyvnho@mymamalife @melodydior

[flanaganfilm]

Hey Mike! Can you talk about your experience going from Absentia to Oculus? That process after Absentia went on its festival run to pitching Oculus? Would love to learn about that time in your life & career!

I moved to Los Angeles in 2003, right after I graduated college. I went to Towson University in Maryland, was an EMF major (Electronic Media & Film) and had wanted nothing more than to make movies my whole life. We were a comfortable middle class military family (my dad was in the Coast Guard) and for most of my life, making movies for a living felt like an impossible dream.

When I moved to LA I took whatever work I could find. I shot and edited those local car commercials you see on TV at 2am, I was a logger and an AE for reality TV shows, and I eventually worked my way to editing.

I said I'd give myself 5 years to make it in Hollwood. By the time we shot Absentia, I'd been here for 7 years, and in that time I hadn't gotten any closer to my dream.

I've already written at length about how Absentia came along and what it was like to make that little movie, and I've recently blogged about how the Oculus premiere changed my life and birthed my career, so I won't rehash those - but I don't often talk about what went on in between.

I finished editing Absentia just before my oldest son was born in 2010, and went back to working full-time as a reality TV editor. In fact, in the months leading up to his birth, I was working double-time - I spent my days at a company called Film Garden working on a series for DIY Network, and my nights editing packages at Nash Entertainment for those true crime clip shows. Whatever it took to keep the lights on and provide as much support as I could for my son.

While this was happening, I'd submitted Absentia to a pile of film festivals. We didn't get into any of the majors - Sundance, SXSW, and Toronto all passed on the film. Our world premiere was at the Fargo Film Festival, where Tom Brandau, one of my former professors from Towson - and one of my mentors - was teaching.

(Our original festival poster, WAY better than the weird clip art that would come later)

The movie got into a fair amount of film festivals, and we traveled with it as much as we could. I have fond memories of the Phoenix Film Festival, San Luis Obispo (where I met Greg Kinnear at a party and very awkwardly asked for a picture - you can see how thrilled he is about it) and my personal favorite: the Fantastia Film Festival in Montreal.

(At one of the screenings, I believe the San Luis Obispo Film Festival)

While this was happening, the film was picked up for a tiny VOD and DVD release through Phase 4 Films.

They were a Canadian distribution company whose claim to fame was putting out Kevin Smith's Red State under a very unusual distribution model. They acquired the movie, which led to a company holiday part in Hollywood.

There, I briefly met Kevin Smith for the first time. We've met again since, and I've now had a chance to thank him for the kindness he showed me back then - I was just some starstruck kid at a party, but he was gracious and available and inspiring. I really admire the way Kevin deals with his fans, and I've tried to emulate it over the years.

So that was kind of it for Absentia. We went to a few festivals, went to a few parties, and posed for a few pictures with some people we admired. Phase 4 designed some truly godawful cover art, dropped the movie into video stores, and that was that.

($2.99 is a pretty good deal)

So Absentia had pretty much run its course. It had a passionate following of fans, but between the crappy art design and glut of low budget horror films on the market, its moment had already come and gone. I was back at work, editing a series for DIY Network called Extra Yardage, and yearning for another chance to make a movie.

Absentia might not have broken open the industry doors like I'd wanted it to, but one thing it did yield was a meeting with an entertainment attorney named Joel VanderKloot.

I had been represented a few times over the years by various managers (to be honest, they were actually Jeff Howard's managers, and they took me on because we had a co-written project together.) But those relationships hadn't gone anywhere, I'd never sold a script or booked a job, and when I suggested making Absentia they were not supportive ("You've already tried the indie thing, haven't you?") so by the time Absentia was made, I was completely unrepped.

Joel was a family friend of Jason Poh, who was one of our Absentia Kickstarter backers. He was a guy who'd just found the project online and donated a thousand bucks. He kept up with us, and loved the final movie. He told me he knew an entertainment lawyer and offered to arrange a lunch.

I left my editing job at Film Garden for a long lunch and met Joel in Santa Monica (this was a day-killing drive for me). Joel had seen the movie and really liked it. We had a good lunch, but wasn't immediately sure about taking me on - it's a lot of work to take on a new client, and there wasn't much heat on my movie. But there was something there that he liked, and he called later that day to say he would take me on as a client.

I was elated. I felt like I'd made my movie to the best of my ability, and that it had flashed in the pan and then died... no one had noticed outside of a few festival audiences and critics. But here was someone who worked in the industry and he saw something in the film that he believed in.

Joel started looking for managers while I clung to my day job. He passed the movie around and we had a few nibbles, which led to the first manager in my career who wanted to simply represent ME: Nicholas Bogner.

Bogner went about setting general meetings at production companies who specialized in horror films. There weren't a lot of takers, and not everyone was willing to watch an entire feature film in consideration of a general meeting. So it was hit or miss - I was a nobody, after all, and they get these kinds of incoming inquiries all the time.

But there were a few takers. And the very first meeting I had was with Anil Kurian at Intrepid Pictures.

Again, I took an extended lunch from my editing job and drove across town to Intrepid's offices in Santa Monica. I was beyond nervous when I sat in the waiting room. The young man working the front desk signed me in and offered me a water. And then, just before the meeting started, he leaned over and he said "I loved Absentia, by the way."

Anil was a really cool executive and we had a good general meeting. At the end of it, he introduced me to the heads of Intrepid: Marc Evans, and Trevor Macy.

We all ended up in the conference room, where posters for Intrepid's other movies - at that time, The Strangers and The Raven - were hanging. I vividly remember staring at them while I pitched all five of the ideas I had for movies.

One of them was a story about a little boy whose dreams manifested in real life, and another was a take on Stephen King's novel Gerald's Game. But at the time, none of these ideas worked. The meeting was over, and everyone was politely going about their day.

I felt a panic in me. It was my first real meeting, the door had been cracked open just an inch by Absentia, and I was about to walk away with nothing. Would my new manager want to keep me? Would my new lawyer think he was wasting his time?

I stopped in the doorway and turned back. "I've got one other thing," I said. "I made a short years ago about a haunted mirror, and I have a take for a feature."

They kind of laughed at the idea of a haunted mirror. "How do you make that scary?" Trevor asked. I said "Think of it like a portable Overlook Hotel," and the room got a little quieter.

"I'd like to see that short," Trevor said. I agreed to send it immediately.

I ran back to work, stayed a few hours late to make up the time I'd burned on my lunch hour, and went home to find a DVD copy of Oculus: The Man with the Plan.

I'd made that short in 2005. It was 20 mins long, and a lot of fun. Over the years whenever I'd get into meetings (all courtesy of Jeff Howard, who had sold scripts long before we started writing together), people would see it and ask about a feature. Every time, though, the conversation stalled because they wanted the film to be a found footage movie, or they'd balk at the idea of me directing a feature.

I sent the DVD to Intrepid and waited. About a week later, they called and asked me to come back in.

I took another long lunch (this would become quite a habit as the project advanced) and drove back down. We met again in the conference room, but this time the mood was a little different.

Trevor said "We're interested in this. How would you expand it? I know there are cameras in the room with the man and the mirror, which begs the question of found footage..."

My heart sank.

"... but we're thinking that's a mistake. It looks like all the fun is in playing with reality, and you can't do that with found footage. So how would you do it?"

And we were off.

I won't rehash the long journey between this meeting and the Oculus premiere at Toronto (scroll down to find another blog about that), but that was really the moment when things changed.

I drove back to work a little giddy. Intrepid optioned the short film, I called Jeff Howard to see if he'd still want to work on a feature with me, and we were commissioned to write the script.

It was my first Hollywood job. I was paid the bare minimum, but I was also able to join the WGA because of the deal. I still didn't quit my day job (and wouldn't for a long time, not until the movie was really shooting in Alabama the following year) but I was off to the races.

Once the script was done, Oculus would lead to my first agents (at APA, and they treated me very well) and my first "real" movie.

What's particularly neat about this time, looking back, is that I owe it all to Absentia. We'd made this tiny little movie to try to kick open the door of Hollywood and start a career. And despite the enormous pride I had in the finished film, it felt for a long time like it hadn't quite succeeded in that.

But quietly, subtly, the movie did exactly what I hoped it would. The festival screenings built up a small but confident word of mouth. The movie led directly to my attorney Joel (who still represents me to this day), which led directly to my first real representation, which led directly to Intrepid Pictures.

Trevor Macy is now my business partner and has produced every single thing I've ever made since. We run Intrepid Pictures together, and I see that same eagerness in the faces of young filmmakers who find their way to us for general meetings. I try to be as supportive and accessible to them as I possibly can, because I remember very well what it feels like to stand in their shoes.

And Trevor even ended up making those other pitches he'd rejected all those years ago - Before I Wake and Gerald's Game followed soon after Oculus was done.

Absentia did everything I could have wanted it to do, and much more. I'll always remember that period of time with great affection... but man, it was stressful. The uncertainty of those years still exists in me, I don't think it'll ever leave.

Someone told me, along the way, that there wouldn't be a moment when I realized I "made it." It would happen while I wasn't looking. That ended up being absolutely true.

[loneberry]

Interview on AI / Tech / Poetry / Labor

My writer friend Christopher Soto is interviewing me for a piece on poetry, AI, creative writing, and labor. Most of this is going to be cut, so why not post the first draft here?

*

CS: Recently we went on a hike and were talking about the intersection of literary production and artificial intelligence. You described us as part of “the last generation to experience raw human emotion,” can you elaborate on this idea?

JW: Let me clarify that remark. We’ve been cyborgs and pharmacological hybrids for a long time. I don’t think there’s something like an ideal state of authentic humanness, nor do I think that humanness is better than non-humanness. What I’m referring to is the saturation of distractions, which for me reached a crisis point during the pandemic, when my existence was almost entirely mediated by the internet. Just before the pandemic I had ditched my smartphone for almost a year, but got back on it during quarantine since I was always connected anyway. I became palpably aware of how the very rhythm of my being is regulated by technology designed—using behavioral science research—to be addictive by high-jacking the dopamine reward system. I think people dramatically overstate their “will” and “agency” in relation to technology. 

Being hyper-connected made me feel my emotional life was becoming increasingly shallow, that I was just being numbly-entertained-toward-death, and pharmacologically adjusted to serenely endure this horrific existential condition while the world literally burns. As a poet, I find it very disturbing. For me, being a poet is not necessarily about the production of poetry, but about the training of a certain kind of consciousness: the dilation of perception and emotional states, the sensitization of one’s antennae, the tuning of one’s soul for a greater awareness of the mystery of existence, its splendors and absurdities. 

CS: We have talked about literary production becoming a collaboration with artificial intelligence, so that the writers of tomorrow will essentially be prompt makers and editors, which input prompts into AI and then edit creative works based on the responses provided. What do you think this would mean for the future of literary culture and cultural production? 

JW: I think we could soon reach a point where certain types of writing (screenwriting, journalism, newsletters, web content production) and certain para-literary activities (editing, proofreading, researching) could be fully or partially automated. Some say that the new job that will be created as a result of generative AI and Large Language Models (LLMs) like ChatGPT will be “prompt writer.” There may come a day when plot-driven commercial fiction is written by AI with the help of prompt writers. 

A lot of writers economically support their literary practice through various forms of commercial writing and editing—some of those jobs might disappear. In recent decades, it’s already gotten so difficult to survive economically as a writer. At the same time, it’s gotten hard to survive in general, given how obscenely high rent is these days. You can’t just scrape by on almost nothing and hope it works out at the end of the month by frantically combing your couch cushions and the pockets of dirty jeans for loose change and cash. You need good credit to even rent a place! On a societal level, art suffers when subsistence costs are high—it becomes more commercially driven, and artists become more “professionalized.”  

CS: Do you think that AI will just stay as a mechanism that will help facilitate human writing of poetry but never become “the artist”? I anticipate there will be a shrinking in the distinctions between “the artist” and “the editor.”

JW: I’ve already heard of writers and students using AI to help edit and develop their work, or generate ideas. But I don’t really trust the aesthetic judgment of ChatGPT, ha! 

CS: I’m excited to see the mechanics of literary production transform. You are a bit more hesitant, why so? Are there any AI attempts at literature, which you’ve seen already, that feel particularly noteworthy?

JW: Maybe on some deep level I’m a basic bitch who has a sentimental attachment to the way “writing” has been done for nearly 5,500 years. From cuneiform clay tablets to computer keyboards, the writing process has actually changed very little for thousands of years. It was probably ripe for disruption. But I’m ultimately disturbed by the collective effect it will have on language use—the move toward a statistical norm and the treatment of language as purely informational. I had already started to fret about this when Gmail started autocompleting my emails. (ChatGPT is basically a sophisticated auto-complete that convincingly mimics understanding. This is why it “hallucinates” made-up citations and rattles off fake facts.)

Will the weird, jagged, irregular effusions of language gradually be purged as we drift toward the statistical average? I don’t know, maybe I think of it as something akin to language eugenics. Perhaps I’m hopelessly modernist in my view that language is not about transmitting information or even advancing a plot, but the wayward movement of a thought: the sentence as a technology of consciousness, with its serpentine twists and turns, perverse digressions, and rhythmic pulsations.

I’ve seen AI being used in the conceptual writing and art world for a while now. Some of it is cool and novel in a “party trick” kind of way (like the Twitter poetry bots I followed when I used to use Twitter), but I’ve yet to encounter AI work that I’ve been enamored with. I don’t doubt that AI will (very) soon be able to produce really impressive work,  and that’s partly because it’s parasitic on past human creativity insofar as it’s trained on vast reams of linguistic data generated by humans. 

CS: Can emotion or spontaneity ever be captured by an algorithm? Is there any way in which AI is like the subconscious (making connections between unrelated concepts, juxtaposing words in a way that pleases the ear and mind, using knowledge in unforeseen ways)?

JW: The AI can convincingly mimic emotion. Tell ChatGPT about your problems and you will feel like it really cares, like it’s really listening to you, just like you might feel when you are personally addressed—are interpolated—by the language of advertising written in a voice of concern or understanding.

For nearly a century, artists have used aleatory methods to make connections and generate juxtapositions that get us beyond the limits of human consciousness, whether it’s the surrealist exquisite corpse practice, William S. Burroughs’s cut-up method, or John Cage’s use of the I Ching and other chance methods in his music compositions. AI could certainly be deployed to such ends. Yet LLMs like ChatGPT are designed to be “predictable” in the same way that autocomplete uses probabilities to predict the next word. I think unlocking a weirder side of AI might involve finding ways to break or fuck with it so it doesn’t just generate the mediocrity of the average.

CS: Do you think collaborations between literary artists with artificial intelligence will create a new economy of poetry in the English speaking United States or will it fall into and transform one of the currently existing poetry economies (academia, spoken word, insta poetry)?

JW: How many poets do you know who can support themselves on their poetry alone? I think I know zero. (Maybe Lisa Robertson could count?) Mostly, I know poets who teach in the academy, poets who do astrology, poets who work as editors at publishing houses, poets who have office day jobs, etc. I don’t think AI will change that. Maybe generative AI will create a glut of language that will make poets even more superfluous, ha!

CS: At large, poetry isn’t very lucrative but this doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact people’s livelihoods still. Why do you think it is important to think specifically about the intersection of poetry and AI?

JW: The thing I love about poetry is its uselessness, the way it is, with a few exceptions, superfluous to capital, difficult to commodify, gratuitous in its insistence on avowing that which has been marked valueless by our hyper-commercial culture. When I think of Sapphic lyrics or Homeric epics, I am reminded that poets once occupied a quite prominent social position, as keepers of history or ceremonial performers. In a culture oriented almost exclusively around lucre, there’s not really a place for poetry. At a dinner party recently I tried to explain “what I do” to entrepreneurs and realized I came across as “quaint,” that what I do will always register as doing nothing to those who use money as a metric to measure the value of a particular activity. Yet at the same time, the intense pressure to perform in our brutally competitive society has generated a hunger for poetry—poetry as a space to preserve the incalculable and restore the part of us that has been destroyed by the soul-crushing dictates of capital. 

On a conceptual level, it’s interesting that the things that make poetry so “difficult” and inaccessible to some people—it’s ambiguity, lack of clearness of meaning, context dependency, and attention to the non-semantic register of signification—is also what has made language such a tricky problem for AI developers. Language isn’t simply a system of rules, which is why the statistical approach beat the linguistic rules-based approach in the natural language processing wars.

CS: What would you consider the start of collaborations between artificial intelligence and poets? I’m thinking about Rupi Kaurs using instapoetry as a closed form that is responsive to algorithmic metrics. By responding to the algorithms that make her poetry go viral, she is in effect collaborating with AI, right? I’m also thinking of Kien Liam’s book “Extinction Theory” that was written with the help of search engine responses. Maybe this depends on our definition of artificial intelligence?

JW: I suppose we’re always collaborating with technology. Since I’ve written most of my works longhand (my first draft of Carceral Capitalism was written on index cards), I often think about how the technology of the computer actually changes the texture of my thinking. Technology can also shape the “form” of writing—think of the way that the character limit of Twitter encodes a particular form. We’ve certainly reached a point where writers are not simply “responding” to AI, but AI is directly shaping the written work.

CS: Do you think AI will influence some literary genres more than others and why? I’m thinking commercial genres like popular non-fiction might be the first to change.

JW: I think writing that is informational (popular non-fiction) or plot-driven is ripe for automation. I don’t know why, but whenever I ask ChatGPT to write poetry or imitate the style of a writer with an idiosyncratic style (Virginia Woolf, W. G. Sebald), the results are atrocious. I’m sure it will improve quickly, though. 

CS: The Writers Guild of America is currently about to strike, in part over how to renegotiate the use of AI in Hollywood. As a scholar of carceral studies, what do you think is an ethical approach to understanding intellectual property and the likeness of an artist, in the era of AI?

JW: Since I’m fundamentally against private property, I’m against intellectual property as well. Yet AI developers use the “fair use” paradigm to claim they are justified in training their systems on copyrighted works. In my ideal world, we would not need to commodify our works in order to eat, but since we live in a market society, we must pay attention to the question of how writers are going to be able to put food on the table. The fact that generative AI is parasitic on the entire archive of human creativity is fundamentally a labor problem. Should AI be allowed to imitate living writers and artists, and will the imitations be commercialized at the expense of living creators? The legal architecture undergirding generative AI hasn’t been worked out yet, but I’m ultimately in favor of enshrining strong labor protections for living creators.

CS: How is AI going to redefine certain concepts, like originality and plagiarism? I think we have already seen some examples of this in the music industry, such as the AI generated songs using the voice of musicians like Drake. In poetry might it look like someone asking AI to create poems in Shakespearean sonnets but with the vernacular of lets say, Maya Angelou?

JW: The voice imitation software trips me out. I started doing research on voice surveillance in early 2019 and tested out some voice mimicking technology then. It was terrible. Now, it can replicate someone’s voice with uncanny accuracy. The technology is evolving so rapidly. 

I don’t feel particularly attached to an idea of originality. Mixing, collaging, generating new things by constellating old things—it’s all part of the creative churn. I love it when art circulates and mixes in a way that is wild and free. But the question of how artists will support themselves when technology enables endless, free replicability is a question that needs to be addressed. 

CS: This opens up the conversation of racial appropriation (and digital Black face) via AI. The literary world has a history of racial imposters. What might this look like when intersecting with AI?

JW: Since AI is ultimately a mimicry-machine, I think this is certainly a risk. I can imagine an author asking ChatGPT to rewrite a chunk of dialogue in, say, Black Vernacular English. (Although as someone who is opposed to the ownership model of culture and in favor of hybridity, I have complicated views on the idea of cultural appropriation in general.)

CS: How do you think the literary community, specifically the awards part of the community, might react if they discover that a writer has been generating their books in collaboration with AI?

JW: I think if it’s done covertly they will treat it as plagiarism rather than collaboration. Done overtly, it becomes a way to market a book. (Though I think the “AI book” is old-hat at this point.)

CS: In closing, are there any parallels that you see between what is happening now and the industrial revolution? I am thinking about the automation of labor and whether AI can help lead us to universal basic income, a post-work economy, or at least a reduced work week?

JW: There are definitely parallels with the industrial revolution, which put our species on this path of ever-accelerating accumulation (well, some say it all began with the Agricultural Revolution, though David Wengrow and David Graeber critique the agricultural theory of social inequality in The Dawn of Everything). Without a doubt, LLMs and generative AI will profoundly reshape the economy, leading some industries to collapse completely (the education technology company Chegg was the first to crash) while others are transformed—that tendency toward creative destruction is an inherent feature of capitalism. Generative AI will make humans more “efficient” and “productive.” But what is all this efficiency for? Technology has been evolving at breakneck speed since the industrial revolution and we are still working just as long and hard. Efficiency has become our bondage. Once the logic of accumulation enters the bloodstream, it seems hard to stop, partly because accumulation is bottomless (until we hit a hard ecological limit) and feeds on itself. As the Austrian writer Robert Musil wrote in The Man Without Qualities, “We have gained reality and lost dream. No more lounging under a tree and peering at the sky between one’s big and second toes; there’s work to be done. To be efficient, one cannot be hungry and dreamy but must eat steak and keep moving. It is exactly as though the old, inefficient breed of humanity had fallen asleep on an anthill and found, when the new breed awoke, that the ants had crept into its bloodstream, making it move frantically ever since, unable to shake off that rotten feeling of antlike industry.” 

I wish writers could just sit around and be dreamy instead of having to eat steak and keep moving. I do hope we one day arrive at a post-work society. It makes me sad to think that we’ve tacitly accepted a system where we spend our lives toiling for the profit generation of the ownership class, squandering our short, precious life on this planet. 

[populationpensive]

6 of 7

Well, I just spent the last 6 of 7 days working. I honestly can't recall how I got so royally screwed on that schedule. The only good thing about it is that I now get the next 9 days off so I'll take it. I love my job, but having six 12 hour shifts in a week is just...rough.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been. We were not as swamped as I expected, particularly this weekend. Actually, we had to close down a part of the ICU because we don't have the nurse staffing to support a full unit. For the month of October this is apparently the issue around my hospital and the administrators are like "omg how can we help make this better??" and the OBVIOUS answer is A.) fair pay for nursing (as they are drastically underpaid) and B.) better staff to patient ratios. But those are NEVER things the hospital is willing to give so while they keep being douche bags, they will see more nurses leave. *sigh*

In other news, I am now on the scheduling committee for my PA/NP group in the ICU. Last spring we went to a self-scheduling model where a committee reviews the requests and makes the schedule rather than my boss who was just kinda putting people wherever. I LOVE the self scheduling but there are people who are 110% never going to be pleased with anything we offer. I haven't gotten nasty-grams about the schedule yet but I'm sure I will at some point.

Life updates: I recently got diagnosed with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) after years of being convinced that I had this and just not really talking about it with my provider about my symptoms. I'm currently attempting a low-FODMAP diet to see if I have food triggers. For more on low FODMAP go here.

I'm onto week 2 and have done surprisingly well with it. I've noticed a difference, particularly in bloating but also to some degree pain and nausea. I'm going to try to stick to it 3 weeks before starting to reintroduce foods since I've already had some symptom relief. It's not a particularly sustainable diet on its own. It cuts out a lot of things.

My volunteer gig that took up literally half my life in August has calmed down a bit. It's starting to pick up again as officer elections loom but it's at least a little less stressful.

[softgrungeprophet]

🌹 sure!

hmmm

here is a snippet from the au where harry and flash own a roller rink...

i like the idea of it a lot but i just haven't gotten anywhere with it, so i haven't really worked on it recently cause idk where to go with it

it would probably help if i read the comics where they own a roller disco as research lol

–––

"Welcome… to Perdition!"

Red lights, disco ball throwing flashes all over the floor, the booth onstage glowing as the fog machine poured out heavy billows of low-hanging clouds to drift down to the dancefloor-slash-skate rink. All that, and Harry in the DJ's seat, devil horns on his head as he adjusted the levels, wearing a red suit that almost glowed under the stage-lighting. All-too-at home both in the spotlight and yet not the focus at all.

"He's never gonna get tired of that, is he?" MJ nudged Flash, arm-in-arm with him.

Her jumpsuit glittered with sequins in the colorful shadows, and Flash grinned.

"Well, he's got the hairline for it!" Interrupted by none other than Peter Parker himself; skating backwards in a circle around them with so little effort it made Flash want to roll his eyes.

"What happened to 'I don't know how to skate'?!" He gestured at Peter, incredulous.

MJ laughed beside him.

Peter shrugged, and put his hands behind his head, swaying his feet with the rhythm of the music. Didn't even have to look to avoid the couple behind him, smoothly curving himself around them in an arc unimpeded by the quality of the rental skates.

Then he smirked.

Showoff.

MJ poked Flash's side. "Hey, stud."

He tilted his head quizzically toward her.

"Slingshot me?" Her expression playful, false lashes glittering under the red lights.

Flash smiled at her, and obliged.

When he let her go, she zoomed after Peter, crouching low over her skates—she did this all the time, and you could tell.

If it had been anyone else, she probably would have knocked her target flat on his ass, but Peter just opened his arms and caught her. The two of them spun in a tight circle together, arms around each other…

Flash watched them a moment, skating slowly himself, then sighed.

Seemed nice, what they had.

Over the speakers, Harry spoke—lowered his voice, all drama (and maybe a hint of sultry if one could be so generous) as he said, "It's early in the night, so let's take it slow. Ladies, fellas, and everyone else…"

Flash tuned him out and headed toward the curtained doorways that led out into the front.

It was cold outside, the sun long-since set.

In the summer, when the college-goers left the city and the younger kids went on break with all those long hot days to kill and nothing better to do, Perdition opened during the day; but summer was over and the kids in school, so the hours had shortened and shifted later—8 pm to 1 am until the heat rolled around again, barring event-bookings.

Nightclub hours, as Harry liked to call it.

Maybe it was a weird business model, but it worked for them. The venue was too small for large crowds anyway, so the little pockets of college kids and aging queens and whoever else happened to wander in during the cooler months suited them just fine.

Flash leaned against the wall beside the front doors and sighed, his breath clouding the air around his face.

Someone must have been smoking out on the sidewalk recently, and the residual smell made him curl his nose.

He could just hear the music coming from inside, loud enough to escape through the flimsy front doors. Persistent driving bass, and the pavement lit up by their marquee; the big neon letters spelling out one more word for their eternal damnation.

Perdition.

A few people drifted past here and there, but for the most part the evening was quiet.

Flash almost wished something would happen.

Almost.

It was that self-destructive streak in him, trying to push its way out through his chest, mouth, hands, wherever it could get out. Looking for anything—some kind of confrontation, some kind of disaster, whatever would get him into survival mode, feed him adrenaline, keep him occupied instead of fidgeting outside under the city lights waiting for something to drop while his thoughts ate at him like Prometheus' eagle.

(And sure, maybe he needed therapy.)

Flash took a deep breath, counted to ten with his fingers tapping at his thighs for each number, one at a time… Back inside.

[system-of-a-feather]

I'm going to vague a bit about a situation solely for context, but to the people I am vaguing about, I 100% do not hate you or anything really negative because it is such a large scale thing to dismantle and most of yall are already dealing with a lot of your trauma so I don't think that processing internalized white-things should be your focus, but I am going to be honest and speak a few thoughts on this since I did learn a lot about my relationship with being Asian and how its affected my trauma and life as well as broke down a lot of denial things of me "not being affected by it"

But a month or two ago I left a server I had been in for 2+ years and had a lot of mutuals and people I had really gotten comfortable and fond with, it was like 98% white and iirc I think all active members were white passing; ie I was the token not-white passing and the only one of any asian descent and the time with those people were honestly great. They're fun and amazing people and mutuals on here who are part of that, you guys are still awesome in my books and I honestly really grew to like a lot of them.

But the situation that made me leave was that a few members forgot my number one "if you are my FRIEND please don't do that" which is to be caught by the redherring bait of "oh well Feathers are really good / inspirational / super well off / good at adulting / living well", because its immediately reminding that people who really get caught in that *Do Not See Me* and just see the flare that I was grilled into having.

On this blog, I'm a lot more okay with it because most of the followers on here, I do not know nor do I intend to know or bond with and I do see a benefit to most people of being able to be an inspirational person that gives people of similar situations to me hope. It's healing in a way to use something that was grilled into me in a positive way when I choose to but it is extremely taxing and isolating for people to use it like that when I do not intend to and when I had hoped that they understood my history enough to very deeply understand that I am NOT something you want to be.

And I had begun to really think and believe that in this sever that had become a standard for most of the main people that had been active for the majority of the 2+ years, but when it came up I noticed more than one people who were of that 2+ years group that stated they "forgot" or "would do better to remember" or "needed to keep in mind" that that was a thing and honestly, it kinda broke my heart a little bit.

Not so much that it was this big deal or that I hated it or that I think it would be worth even disliking any of them, but it was a very very very clear reality that a lot of these people I knew for 2+ years had ended up getting caught up in the web and red herring that my very specific brand of trauma had made it so that I can't really turn off. It isn't something I entirely blame any of them for, because its a really chronic and internalized thing I entirely perpetuate stemmed from my own trauma and it takes a lot of awareness of culture and genuine keen attention to our behaviors and how we talk to actually not get ensnared in it, but it was really honestly a good bit sad to see.

But again, this really isn't something that is a "first" because it's something that just ends up chronically happening because it is very very very easy for people online and irl to prop me up as an inspiration and all and fall for the false image / model image I put up so it REALLY isn't that new of a thing, but it was a bit of a sad shock to see that I still had not been able to escape that pattern that had been instilled.

This isn't all entirely bad though cause I did leave with a good few people that did seem to have a better grasp on their own culture, history and trauma to have well avoided getting ensnared in what I'd best summarize as the "Model Minority Trap" that makes it near impossible for people to actually get to know me and I am super appreciate those that I did walk away with good relationships with, but it did at this point did give me some perspective on things going forward.

And honestly, I'm kind of done sharing trauma spaces with white people until proven better because 9/10 times, traumatized white people are too busy dealing with their trauma (valid) to have had time to reflect on their whiteness enough to not fall for the Model Minority trap, and honestly, that is fair. At that point me and people who don't get it are simply just not a good fit - its not a personal thing, its just not a good match.

This is obviously on a much much more personal level than this tumblr, if you are white I'm not saying unfollow or really anything like that cause I factually do not know you nor do I intend to know you nor do I intend for you to understand my trauma and me as anything more than the blog that talks on here, but on a personal level, in my personal social circles and friend groups that have trauma as an inherent backdrop, I don't think I'm going to be putting much effort into pursuing genuine open friendships with white people who have not shown me reason to assume that they either have a close enough relationship with a non-white or have healed enough to have a genuine chance at not getting caught in said trap and snare.

If any of my mutuals and all are questioning if they are part of these people I decided are best kept at an acquaintence and mutual level of friendship, if I DM you semi-regularly, I still think working on a genuine friendship is worth it with you and I haven't seen reason to suspect that you don't understand this. To those that are part of this group, I still like you and you guys aren't horrible people for not being able to grasp this as well as others. I still love being mutuals, but I just simply am too tired to try to work past this in order to have a more genuine two-way friendship with you.

[alfredsoldmanor]

Genshin vs. Tower of Fantasy - Preliminary Thoughts

I've been on ToF for two days now, and I'm also a Genshin player since its early days. I play mostly on mobile; I have not yet been able to play ToF on PC since it came out on a weekday.  Some thoughts.

1. I have always been of the opinion that the ability to customize the main character's appearance and clothes was the number one thing that I wanted and Genshin did not have. So I was anticipating ToF a great deal. The character customization did not disappoint;  I was able to make a creepy but cute unsmiling cybernetic shota with one human eye and one very inhuman eye. Oh and hair that shades from crimson through purple to blue. He's unique and 100% me. The PC clothes are all good looking and easily customizable.  

2. The servers are bad.  Bad that I have to make sure that I'm on the same server as people from /r/GenshinGays I want to play with, bad that I have to reroll and start from the beginning on each server I join, and really really bad that I need to wait for 30 minutes before I can start playing because the server is overcrowded (the hourlong estimates are never actually true, but the actual waits are still not really acceptable long term).  Here ToF differentiated themselves from Genshin by going MMO with servers, when copying Genshin (single player worlds, with interaction taking place by jumping into one person's world) would have actually made for a much better experience. Mind you, I was not a day one player of Genshin, I started a month after launch.  So jank may have been ironed out before I started.

3. Exploration and combat really feel like Tencent looked at Genshin Impact, copied the UI, then said "how can we change this enough so that we don't infringe on MiHoYo's copyright?"  This is actually fine to me as a consumer; Genshin combat is fun, and the differences only make things more interesting.  Swimming as a male is much less frustrating in ToF then in Genshin.  That's a little thing, but it's noticeable. OTOH time gating chests is 😡🤬😡.

4. NPCs look much better in TOF than in Genshin, while gacha PCs look a little bit worse - ToF's Diluc clone is clearly inferior to the real thing.   The overall environment is essentially just as good looking in both games IMHO.  Of course, background NPCs will need to share a common model, but even very important NPCs in Genshin share the same generic models as the vendors and people walking around.  In ToF plot-important NPCs look as good as the PCs.  And even the more generic ToF NPCs are more interesting then Genshin's IMHO.  

5. On the other had the English voice acting in ToF is atrocious and often does not match the subtitles. I'm considering switching to JP voices, which I generally **never** do when English is an option.

6. The ratio of waifus to husbandos is much worse in ToF than in Genshin Impact.  But that matters a lot less when the waifus are just skins, and you can use their weapon without using them or looking at them.  90% of the time I will probably use my own PC, not the gacha skin, even when the weapon comes with a husbando.  

7. I haven’t gotten far enough in ToF to experience PVP or manditory co-op, so I can’t really speak to how those aspects make the game more or less fun for me.

All in all I am still undecided about whether I want to go over to ToF full time, drop ToF when Sumeru releases in Genshin, or try to keep playing both games.

[ladycat1]

well i decided to continue this fic with the @writersmonth prompts 😆

prompt 2: chance

read on ahead!

---

Marinette let out an impatient sigh as she sat down in her chair, glaring at the bright computer screen in front of her. She tapped on the keyboard, she made an uncommittable noise when nothing happened. God. She hated it when her computer froze on her. It made sense though–she’d had it since she was 14. Totally not cool. Leaning back in her chair, Marinette decided to let the software return to its normal fast activity on its own, and checked her watch. Looking up, her eyes drifted around her work area, and landed on a picture frame of her and Luka.

Wow .

It had been five years since the fire.

Five long years of Hawkmoth chases and akuma attacks and missing Luka and crying that things weren’t the way they were.

Because Luka was okay. He’d…gotten better. 

Slowly.

His chest had healed, and they were so close to their happy ending. 

So close. 

Once Ladybug would defeat Hawkmoth, she and Luka would build a life together. Attending université and late night sleepovers and being in love.

But Hawkmoth had only stepped up his game—the last five years had been nothing, if not hell. How could Marinette continue to date Luka–only to put his life in danger? She’d almost lost him once, and she wasn’t taking chances again. 

So she’d broken them off.

Told Luka she didn’t love him. Because he wouldn’t leave otherwise. Taken away his Miraculous. Said that he wasn’t good enough.

It was harsh, but it was the only thing that she could do. If Marinette had told Luka the truth, he would have been persistent to stay. She knew him. 

And it killed her on the inside.

For a few months after the breakup, she and Luka would indulge in small talk. Shy glances. Sometimes, Luka would stop by the bakery, and chat with Marinette. But it wasn’t the same. And Luka had noticed, as well. After a while, he went touring with Jagged, and they stopped talking. Even after he’d returned to Paris…they had become strangers once again. 

Tracing the frame slowly, Marinette wondered if there was any possible way to salvage their relationship. She let out a small breath of air, then chuckled at herself. Of course not.

Luka was a rational man, but if there was anything he disliked, it was being lied to. Her mind wandered and she spun around in her chair slowly, then grabbed her phone. There was a party that Alya had set up that night; a congratulatory party. Juleka had booked her first modeling gig, and the girls wanted to celebrate their friend’s rising success. Swiping in the password to her phone, Marinette called Alya. 

The line rang once. Twice. Thrice.

“Hey girl! What’s up!” Alya asked, brightly from the other side. Marinette smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm. 

“What time’s the party?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair in her finger. She heard the rustling of papers on the other end. “We’re starting at seven, but you can definitely pop in earlier. I might need some help with the decor,” Alya said. “I thought you were going to be busy today! I’m glad you can come,” she smiled. Marinette nodded in thought.

“I’ll come around 6:30. I had work, but my computer froze. Might as well continue it tomorrow” she shrugged. She heard Alya’s hum from the other side. “Who else is coming?” Marinette asked, knowing well already the guest list. It had been weeks since she and Alya had a proper conversation…as friends. And Marinette missed it. She just wanted to talk about something. As Alya rattled on about the guests, Marinette’s heart froze when she mentioned Luka.

“Luka? Seriously?” she asked, a flutter of annoyance in her chest. Alya sighed unapologetically.  “He’s Juleka’s brother, Marinette. I couldn’t just not invite him. He’ll be there for about half an hour, then he’ll leave. Something about…Jagged needing him later. Besides, I think you two should talk a bit. It’ll be good fo—”

“Fine, whatever” Marinette huffed, cutting her friend off. Alya frowned. 

“Seriously, Marinette?” she sighed. “You can’t keep living with this attitude forever. It’s been like this for months” 

Ouch. 

She struck a nerve there. 

Marinette inhaled, then exhaled slowly, her eyes narrowing.

“ You’re not the to be telling me this” she bit back. Marinette heard silence on the other end, and felt a fleeting moment of satisfaction. Alya mumbled an exasperated goodbye, and hung up the phone. A moment later, Marinette covered her face in her hands, upset. Why was she like this?

Couldn’t she carry on a normal conversation like before? 

How screwed up was her life, that she had become such a bitter person?

Marinette bit her lip, and fell to the ground, toying with her lucky charm bracelet tied around her wrist. She glanced at Tikki, who was sleeping softly on her desk.

Alya had a point—how long would be hidden away in her room, with this awful attitude.

Marinette was going to go to the party.

She was going to meet Luka.

And she was going to act perfectly fine.

After all, she had to take a chance, right?

[acertainmoshke]

Sip of Snips 1/21: obey

Did I write this JUST for this? Yes, maybe, but it got me into writing Peppermint's POV again so thanks for that. From To Die Among the Stars:

The sharp rap on the blank stretch of wall was distinctive and Void stopped talking mid-sentence. Peppermint straightened up from their slouch on the cushions under the window. Neither had time to do anything else before the wall shimmered into a door and slid aside to admit January. Dr. January Evans was pale and thin and wore only the most flowing and fashionable clothes under her lab coat—which itself was really a statement at this point, as it had been years since she had gotten her hands dirty with her own experiments. Her silver hair was streaked with sky blue that swirled like a whirlpool in her bun. The trendy new modpatches she wore at her temples flashed colors with her feelings and her Eye looked almost like a flesh one. Flashing and writhing tattoos were only just visible at her cuffs and collar bone. Her lips were painted red and her eyelashes a complimentary yellow. “Good morning, January.” Peppermint caught the subtle buzzing undertones that betrayed Void’s distaste, but it had been programmed to be Nice and Loyal and Good. It had no choice but to greet her like that. Peppermint was not having a good morning. They said nothing. January didn’t seem to notice. “Good morning, Void. Peppermint. I have news.” Peppermint’s stomach twisted. News was never good. When they were little, January monitored their tests herself and visited often to talk and play. But now it had been months since they had seen her and the last time she announced she had news, it had been the military test they had failed. But January smiled and her Modpatches flashed purple happiness as if she didn’t notice the uptick of Void’s cooling fan or Peppermint’s expression. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t know what they meant. “You’re being reassigned. You’re sentient, so you’re protected under the law. But your tests were also not a success. I’ve found a new lab with better use for you. No need to worry, I've done all the vetting." Peppermint’s mind bloomed with questions. Would they be a worker or an experiment? Would January still lead the lab? Was this military? Medical? Private corp? They would miss the sky if they were sent down to the underworld for product quality testing. Void, always straight forward, said simply, “When do we leave?” January’s frosted eyebrows went up. “Oh, not you. You were a success, leaps and bounds forward in artificial technology. All our newer models are based on you. We would be fools to give you up with all the prototype data you contain. Only Peppermint will be moved.” The questions shriveled and died in their mind. “Come, Peppermint.” “N-now?” The headache that had plagued them all morning pounded harder. “I’ve already had a bag packed for you. The bus is waiting.” January was halfway to the door. Void reached out a hand, stubby fingers curling in to hold Peppermint’s furry ones. Its scratched metal body hummed with warmth and life. Peppermint wanted to cling and never let go. And nearly, they nearly managed it, pulling Void closer until its entire arm was against their chest, warming them through their dress. “Come, Peppermint!” January turned around to call again. They wanted to sit there and cling to their friend forever. They stood and shuffled bare feet across cold floor, the beans on the bottom of their human-like toes chilled nearly numb. Maybe they were no more a real person than Void, they considered, despite their growing fur and rushing blood. After all, they were being taken from the only home they had ever known and they had no choice but to obey. The door made no sound as it slid closed behind them.

[creativinn]

Daz Artist Interview Series: MartinJFrost - Daz 3D Blog

If you’ve been looking to create realistic scenes with beautiful 3D plants, stones, or fabrics, you’ve probably come across Published Artist (PA) MartinJFrost in the . And if you haven’t, we’re proud to introduce you!

He’s been in the 3D scene for decades and started selling with Daz in its first years in the early 2000s, but it’s not his day job! Keep reading to learn more about MartinJFrost and his artistic journey.

The Interview

MartinJFrost, thank you for giving us a peek into your life as an artist and the products you create. Let’s start with the basics. How did you pick your artist name? 

It is literally just my name. In the real world, I’m a theatrical designer, and I usually go into programs as Martin J Frost. So it seems the sensible thing to use that for 3D as well.

Keeping it simple, I like it. How did you get into design, art, and 3D modeling? 

By accident, I discovered Vue d’Esprit and Poser and found I really enjoyed making art with them.

It sounds like a happy accident then! Where do you get your inspiration when designing a product? 

If it’s plants, my garden or travels. If it’s textures, it’s usually driven by the fact that I’ve needed a certain texture and found that there isn’t one out there that I can use.

And how would you describe your style? 

Old goth with green fingers lol.

Haha that’s awesome. Taking a deeper look into your art, what does your artistic process look like? 

It depends on the day. I tend to mess around with an idea, do a test render, and go from there. It’s pretty organic.

And what’s the most difficult thing about designing products? 

Promo renders can be difficult. It’s hard not to fall down a rabbit hole when doing them and get carried away by the art rather than remembering to showcase whatever it is the render is supposed to be promoting.

For sure! On the flip side, what’s the product you had the most fun creating and why? 

All of them in their own way. My is one I’m very fond of and proud of.

You’ve been doing this for quite some time, so how has your work changed over time? 

More detail and better textures.

What should we expect from you in the future? 

Life is getting quite hectic. In the real world, I have been doing a theatre project every month since Christmas and have spent a long time away from my computer. Over the summer, I’m at home more, so I should have more plants and textures. I’m working on a couple of collaborations with plants at the moment. It all depends on what the other career has to offer; I’m already booked up next November to January, so who knows!

Sounds busy! But we’re excited to see what you have in the works. What’s something people might not notice or don’t know about your products?

I tend to use a lot of textures and scans that I’ve gotten from my garden.

And how do you know when a product is finished? 

Usually, I have a plan of what I’d like the finished item to be like. Sometimes, it takes a few goes before I look at it and know that it will work. 

Daz caters to both beginner and advanced users alike, and many look up to our PAs. What challenges have you overcome as you developed as an artist? 

Not over-egging a project. It’s very easy to get bogged down in the minutia and forget what the end user wants, so I tend to try and keep things as simple as possible.

I think all of us have been there at one point or another. For those of us who want to follow you and your work, where else can we see your artwork, products, and other work? 

Here is my and my . 

Awesome! Now, let’s move away form work-related things. What do you like to do when you’re not making awesome products or renders? 

Read, garden, and the theatrical design day job.

What advice would you give your younger self? 

Be more confident in your abilities.

When you were younger, what did you want to be when you grew up? 

A theatre technician (and have been for over thirty years).

You’re living the dream! What’s your spirit animal? 

I’d say a cat. We share many of the same traits…

And last of all, you can choose one superpower — what is it and why? 

Time travel — Dr. Who is cool! 

Super cool! Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to share more about yourself and your products. We look forward to what you come up with next!

This content was originally published here.