#labor comparison

[alwaysbewoke]

[zvaigzdelasas]

I just don't believe anyone reposting those lists about "here's 15+ different places with Problems going on (just like palestine!!)" knows or cares enough to be able to explain what's happening in more than 1/4 of them in anything approaching the depth appropriate to doing the topic justice

[standupcomedyhistorian]

Woo-hoo—I just scored two tickets to see JOHN MULANEY again in Atlantic City! 🥳

The last time I saw him perform was October of 2021, so a VERY different experience three years ago (wore masks, had to show vax cards, etc.).

I'm going to be attending with my boyfriend Jeff now instead of my ex-husband, so that's a big change as well!

Sorry that I've been neglecting posting, but I've been consumed with work and everything Childish Gambino since seeing him IN CONCERT last Wednesday (an absolutely incredible show I can't stop thinking about lol).

I'm hoping seeing John again will help fix my comedy writing block...I have so many ideas and no interest in actually posting them on my website.

Anyway, I hope you all are doing well, and let me know if you'll be attending the Atlantic City show too.

Have a great Labor Day weekend, and keep it here for more comedy fun! ✌🏼🐔

[hood-ex]

Desperately trying to read Death in the Family: Robin Lives but my brain won't let me continue with it until I listen to "Illusion" by One Direction. Which is ironic because this comic is an illusion.

[chamerionwrites]

Nothing will make you angrier about fast fashion than learning to sew. #1, people have zero appreciation for the time and labor it takes to make something ("How can you charge $35 for that?" uhhh because it took me two hours bro. Plus material costs. Trust me, I want people to be able to afford the things I make and if anything my prices are low!). #2, The shittiest cheapest material in the world does not change the calculation that those $20 pants were made with slave labor.

[orchideae]

I finally came across the name for it, thank god. Yelan is specialized in tricking! It's a form of acrobatics and martial arts movement that incorporates kicks, flips, twists, and similar. This has her auto attack sequence instantly make a whole lot of sense, and also yes, she kicks her bow and reels it back in with her line in that sequence (and yes, I had to point that out very specifically). Though certainly not an expert on this, I believe the twist towards the end of her auto sequence is called a raiz. Yelan, dear one, as an archer you must have decent strength in your core and arms, but tricking needs a lot of leg strength, jesus.

[ultravioart]

Ngl it's pretty tiring seeing people misinterpret Rammatra's character as a memed up "racist against humans/exterminator" bc one: yikes, and two: litterally every interaction he has shows that he respects human individuals, just not the collective of humanity's inaction to stop injustice, nor individual humans that are *actively murdering his kin.*

He is trying to prevent omnic extinction, and is doing it in a way he thinks will work (in his story he tried pacifist routes, and they did not work).

Ramattra is the essence of "He is bad guy, but not bad guy." because his story is about war and trauma and how the horrors of war breaks a person. You can understand how he got to where he is, even if you don't agree with the radicalized viewpoints. And I don't mean the "stand up and fight omnic genocide" viewpoint, that is not radical, that is logical.

The major pushing point from freedom fighter to "uh what are you doing" is that Ramattra is willing to hack/take control of sentient omnics and force them to fight and die in war against thier will if it means they can win the war and prevent omnic extinction. His rushed desperation and willingness to deny an omnic's free will is what lost Ramattra his dearest team mates in NullSector, isolating him even further, (isolation which may or may not lead to more radical views down the road). From what we know NullSector still only uses drone (nonsentient) omnics, but that could change, now that NullSector joined Talon.

Ram is defaulting to his R-7000s programming due to trauma. Exactly what Bastion went through in the animated short, but instead of choosing nature and connections with others, Ramattra is pushing away all interpersonal connections and defaulting to artificial base programming: which just so happens for R-7000s to be leading omnics into war against humanity. But on top of that Ramattra also has an authentic take of: Winning, no matter the cost, as soon as possible, to save as many omnics as possible. It's a desperate attempt to save his people, because at the end of the day he was never fighting for himself. He is fighting for his people's future.

TDLR; Ramattra doesn't want human extinction, he wants to prevent omnic extinction. VERY different things.

[gean-grey-blog]

Workers of the world...assemble

[surpriserose]

Honestly you would think the jungle would be really bad for my contamination ocd but its not actually

[dreampearls]

hmm okay I just saw someone mention collei was abandoned as a baby and got so confused bc i thought she was handed over to the fatui as like an 8 y/o. turns out it was bc I remembered the panel on the left more than the panel on the right. but the fact that they seem to just blatantly contradict each other lol

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

"Stephen King somehow does 1000 words a day, and his drafts are what mosts people's final drafts are"

Yeah his wife is a baller editor. You should see his unedited stuff.

I'm sure if I did that much cocaine, I could do 1000 words a day too!

[witchblade]

it's really really strange coming off dishonored 1 and experiencing karnaca as this insanely beautiful locale that feels completely dead and characterless. ive been trying to put into words how it feels and where the exact differences lie but im not sure yet

[pallases]

help me

[thelegendofmrrager]

I'm about to get so annoying about eddsworld again I just caught up with the most recent episodes and holy shit, they're gold

[lovebugism]

you’re writing for carmy now omg i’m frothing at the mouth 😭 i love the trope where reader is quiet in bed and needs to be coaxed a bit but… i feel like it would be kind of hot if reader was the one coaxing carmy? 👀 no worries if you’re not feeling this one!

ty for requesting! — you teach the bear how to use his voice in the bedroom (new relationship, inexperienced!carmy, experienced!reader-ish, smut 18+)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Carmy never notices when he’s quiet. His head is always so loud in comparison — it’s easy to forget he isn’t saying anything out loud when his mind’s constantly racing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He’s just chronically observant. And painfully silent with it.

He lays on his back, pressed between unmade sheets and your warm body. The covers bunch at your bare hips as you roll in languid thrusts over his lap. A satiny summer breeze smooths over your burning skin from a cracked-open window. Every time the curtains billow, more of the moonlight peeks in. It drips in silver shades over your naked skin and your pretty face, now twisted in a look of undeniable pleasure — brows scrunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open.

Carmy’s tattooed hands rest impatiently on your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of them as he rocks you back and forth over his cock. You make pretty noises for him every time your clit brushes his coarse thatch of pubic hair, so he angles his hips just right to make sure you keep hitting that spot. 

“Carmy,” you moan in a whimsical sigh that makes his chest swell. “Just like that. ’S so good like that. Please don’t stop—”

His face, made of dark shadows and sharpened edges, is pinched in a look of acute concentration. A distant feeling of deja veux swims in his stomach. It makes him wonder if he’s seen this in a painting before. One of those Renaissance types. The kinds that are harrowingly realistic and always heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way. 

It makes him want to draw you. Just as you are now. Head tossed back, mouth gently agape, lashes fluttering over glowing cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it justice, but he tries to memorize the soft lines of your face, anyway. 

Your hips slow to a stop. Reality hits him hard.

“Woah, woah— Hey,” Carmy mumbles in protest, brows pinched in confusion when he comes down from the clouds. Through labored breaths that make his sweaty chest rise and fall, he wonders, “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

His icy blue eyes dart over your face, searching for any sign of harm. In true Carmen Berzatto fashion, he immediately thinks he’s done something wrong — that he got too far in his own head and hurt you in some way without realizing. The anxiety is fleeting, but he feels the pinch of it anyway — right where your palm rests flat on his chest, just over his pounding heart.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, similarly panicked. Your bare chest sparkles with a thin layer of sweat and catches the moonlight with every uneven inhale.

Carmy nods rapidly, chestnut curls brushing the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m great. Why?”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, growing sheepish under his unwavering gaze. You feel a bit silly for stopping now. “You just aren’t… You aren’t really, you know… saying anything,” you answer shyly.

“Am I supposed to be saying something?”

You giggle quietly to yourself until you realize he’s being genuine. Your smile ebbs as you stammer, “Well, no, it’s just— Some people usually moan, I guess— When they feel good.”

Carmy nods firmly in reassurance. “I feel good.”

“Okay…” you nod back, slower and more unsure. 

“I promise,” he tells you, tattooed hands squeezing your sides. He shifts nervously on the mattress, similarly victimized by your adoring stare. “I just… I just like watchin’ you, I guess…”

A shy smile quirks the edges of your mouth as you peer down at the boy beneath you. “You’re sweet, bear,” you coo in a honeyed murmur.

“You’re sweeter,” Carmy insists. You think you see the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s hard to tell in the low light. “Wanna taste?” he teases a second later.

Wordlessly, you bend down for another kiss, far too chaste for his liking. He almost says something about it until you roll your hips again. The words of protest disappear when he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask him.

He nods silently, squeezing your sides in a feeble attempt to move you faster on top of him.

“Tell me.”

“Feels good,” Carmy obeys through gritted teeth.

The subtle assurance makes you moan — a pretty, breathy thing that spills accidentally from your opened mouth. All he can think about is getting you to make that sound again. 

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” he wonders aloud, very innocuously curious.

You nod, brows furrowed as you grind over his lap. The bed frame squeaks quietly when you roll your hips forward. When you roll them back again, he can hear the faint sounds of your wet pussy — the quiet schlick-ing of his cock fucking into you. The two noises play one after the other in rhythmic tandem. The sinful sounds of sex.

Carmy racks his head for something to say in the not-so-silent meanwhile. You watch him get lost in his mind and cup his cheeks between gentle palms. “Don’t think so hard about it, bear,” you say with a wavering smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

You duck down to kiss him again. The angle shifts. Carmy bends his knees and fucks up into you, mercilessly and without warning. Your mouth hangs open in another weak moan that fans across his chin. 

“That good?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whine. “Carmy— fuck— You’re so deep…”

Babbles spill from your mouth in thinkless slurs. They tumble from your swollen lips with an admirable effortlessness, which Carmy has never thought himself to possess. He tries, anyway, to talk to you with such sinful ease. 

“You’re huggin’ me so tight,” he mutters through a clenched jaw. The very first thought to come to mind as the velvet confines of your cunt pulsate around him, squelching quietly in time with his thrusts. “Can feel you throbbin’ around me, babe— Shit— It’s like a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

Your whine fills the quiet bedroom, adding to the symphony of bed squeaking and skin slapping. 

Carmy shifts his hips upward. The new angle allows his cock to reach a spongy depth inside you and pins your swollen clit against his happy trail, which now glimmers with a layer of your honey.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod wordlessly until the words catch up to you. The tip of your nose brushes the bridge of his. “Yes,” you whimper. 

His brutal thrusts pick up pace a second later, never wavering in their wicked pursuit. “Let me hit that spot,” Carmy mumbles to himself like a man crazed. “Let me hit that spot, let me hit that spot.”

Pleasure swells within you, overwhelmingly so. It’s a warm and sparkling feeling in the pit of your stomach — a tightening coil, a fraying rope, a dam about to burst. The intensity of your inevitable orgasm frightens you.

“Carmy…” you whimper.

“I know,” he nods sympathetically, right before he plants his feet on the mattress. He strengthens his thrusts, which have slowly started to lose their rhythm. “It’s okay. C’mon. Cum for me— I can feel you fuckin’ drippin’ on me, baby— C’mon.”

Your jaw clenches to fight back the scream clawing at your throat. It comes out in a pitiful whimper instead when you tense over his lap. Your orgasm washes over you in waves that leave you shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

Carmy goes accidentally silent once more as he watches you, swelling with pride as you reach the height of your pleasure. His light eyes flit over your features in a feeble attempt to memorize them — the furrow between your brows, the wrinkles beside your shut eyes, the spit-slicked sheen to your kissed lips.

You’re painting brought to life. A heavenly thing he can’t believe he gets to touch with unworthy hands.

“That’s it…” Carmy murmurs lowly. The words bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth mindlessly. He doesn’t even have to think about them now. It just feels right to praise you like this. “That’s it. There you go. So pretty… Always so pretty for me.”

As your body racks with aftershocks, you seek refuge in his arms. Your weight rests entirely upon him as your tense limbs slowly relax, but Carmy doesn’t mind. He just wraps his tattooed arms around you and holds your trembling body closer.

“I got you,” he promises through labored breaths, chapped lips brushing your temple with every word. “I got you. ’S okay. You did so good for me, baby. Thank you.”

You don’t have the words to tell him that you should be the one thanking him.