#so to the typewriter we go

[a-very-fond-farewell]

fellas the grind is turning my right arm into dust and there’s no sexual innuendo in there bc

so to the keyboard we go instead!

[immortalsins]

HANNIBAL (2013-2015) — SEASON ONE

Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in God's image? Depends on who you ask. God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshipers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn. Did God feel good about that? He felt powerful.

{inspiration}

[vivacia-18]

I'm about halfway to two thirds through You Feel It Just Below the Ribs, and asdjasdlkajsadjal

The reveals, the implications, I can't even - mentally I'm rolling on the floor frothing at the mouth. I want to go back and listen to season 3 and season 1 all over again, holy shiiiiit

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Vaguely remember Stephen King in On Writing describing the pre-writing day-dreaming stage as being pregnant with the story, and that's a great metaphor because birthing the story into words is still pants-shittingly hard.

[solcarow]

.

[constantlyquestioningg]

had a 5 hour long conversation with my flatmate yesterday that was basically 'that reminds me... [infodump]' x∞ so i think we're friends now

[stardustedknuckles]

I haven't actually gotten a session yet because we're very early in the school year, but I gotta say - feels way different dicking around watching critical role while signed in for any old English student to wander across me. It feels productive because I'm waiting on work but it's still critical role. I'm never going to be able to actually start a task I care about while I'm waiting but still. This is very cool.

[fingertipsmp3]

Guess whose home office is finally (pretty much) set up how she wants it 🎉

[anotherpapercut]

my favorite things about this poll so far in no particular order:

people saying theyve seen a show 30+ times but it's a show with like 17 episodes. only person I respect is the mf who said Frasier

most of you have terrible taste in calculators

the fact that I didnt specify (character limit got me) that the tattoo wasn't actually designed FOR ME which seems to be the case for most people. it was just a meme they made that I later got tattooed on my leg. we weren't even following each other when they posted it originally, me asking if I could have their meme tattooed on me is what made us mutuals lol

more than one of the people whose hair matches their glasses said it's bc they love purple <3

people saying "finally an actually hyperspecific poll" you are making me more powerful by the minute

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[guiltyasdave]

poison either way

pairing: Dave York x f!reader x Javier Peña

word count: ~3.8k

summary: Agent Peña walks in on you and Dave taking a bit of an... unusual break.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be grabbed, no use of y/n, dom!Dave, kinda dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, rough oral (m receiving), threesome, spitroasting, dirty talk, gun play, exhibitionism, nipple play, cum eating, no man on man action and i apologise for that, the plot is three raccoons in a trenchcoat don't overthink it okay (i know i didn't)

disclaimer so that no one feels the need to get weird in my inbox: in real life, this would not be okay. while they’re all extremely into it, javi gets thrust into a situation that he had no chance to consent to, and we have no knowledge if dave and reader discussed something like this prior either. however, this is straight up porn, not a guide on how to do safe bdsm sex.  

biggest love to @sizzlingcloudmentality for beta'ing this baby and for not getting annoyed with me when i've talked about this for literal months 😭

dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

You’re hot, too fucking hot. Sweat clings to every crevice of your body, the fabric of your blouse thick and sticky against your skin. 

The room is windowless, the air heavy, stale with old cigarette smoke. Heated up further by the annoyance prickling under your skin, desperate for a way out. 

With a huff, you let the file you’ve been reading slam onto the table in front of you. More like trying to read, really. It’s a mess of crumpled pages, words hastily smashed into a typewriter, littered with typos that you’re trying to decipher. You peer at the box of files on the ground beside you, waiting for you to go through. 

“This is bullshit,” you sigh. Tired fingertips find your temples, willing the growing ache behind your forehead to disappear. “He’s probably halfway across the globe by now, and we’re here doing this—” 

Your partner looks up slowly. His brow creased with concentration, his eyes still focused and his back rigidly straight even after hours of being holed up in this poor excuse of an archive. 

The only sign to indicate any discomfort at all are the sleeves of his shirt, carefully rolled up and revealing his forearms. So he’s not completely immune to the heat at least. 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

He sounds calm, collected. Genuinely interested, even. Not an ounce of the frustration that you think might make your skin burst soon. 

“Well, no, but—”

You’re wound up tightly, like a coil just waiting to snap. You’ve been on this case for months, with no solid leads, chasing the vaguest of cues at this point. It’s how you ended up in this closet-like room of the embassy in Colombia, brooding over files, hoping against hope to uncover something you don’t already know. 

“You’re too stressed, baby.” 

Slowly, he rises to his feet and crosses the short distance to where you’re slumped in your chair. His hands land heavy on your shoulders. You lean into them, let the weight sink you down. With a quiet nod, your head falls back, connects with the broadness of his torso behind you. 

“Want me to help with that?” 

You arch an eyebrow, regard the upside down vision of his face that you look up to when you crane your neck. Temptation drips from his tone, sweet and heavy. 

“What, here?” 

His fingers wrap around your throat, a light touch, for now, but laced with the promise of what he can do to you. 

“Yes, here.” He leans down, the breath of his low voice ghosting against your ear. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about it.” 

“Dave—”

He nips at your skin, chuckles when a shudder runs through you. 

“Honestly, I’m pretty stressed myself. Frustrated, even.” He pouts at you, one corner of his mouth twitching when you sigh. “Don’t you want to help me feel better, baby?” 

Truthfully, you really fucking do. No one unwinds you like Dave, no one knows what you need the way he does. You eye the door, the thin barrier separating you from the rest of the building, probably still bustling with people. But no one has been in here all day. Or the day before, for that matter. Fuck it. 

The small nod you give Dave isn’t enough, of course it’s not. 

“Ask nicely, then.”

You turn around, facing him where he’s standing behind you. 

“Please, let me help you feel better.” 

You’re out of breath, already. He smirks, his eyes slowly trailing over the exposed part of skin where your chest is rising and falling.

“And how would you do that, baby?” 

Your voice is growing smaller, but you welcome the change. Let go for a bit. Let him take the reins.

“I’d let you fuck me.” You look up at him through your lashes, satisfied when a muscle in his jaw twitches. “However you want.” 

Taking a step back, he leans against the desk you were working on, his arms crossing over his broad chest. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d mistake the cold mask over his face for disinterest. 

“Lock the door,” he demands. His tone is clipped, the one he uses to give commands, the one that doesn’t allow backtalk. 

Unsteadily, you rise to your feet. The lock clicks, and you turn back to where he’s watching you, still like a statue. 

“Down.” Without objection, you drop to your knees. He smirks, then snaps his fingers once, the sharp sound gathering the attention of your slowly disintegrating mind. “Come here.” 

You do, crawling over the hard floor until you’re right down at his feet, watching him tower over you. Thoughts are draining from your head, the tension in your shoulders dropping. It’s so nice to give up responsibility, to let someone else call all the shots, to let yourself fall, just for a little while. Like you can finally breathe.

“You know, I always fuck you however I want. It’s not that special of an offer.” 

The skin around his eyes crinkles as he smiles down at you. Only a little mocking, when his fingers dig into your jaw, prying your mouth open. You follow his movements obediently, opening wide for whatever he’ll give you. 

He crouches down a little, and you whine deep in your throat, your eyes pleading silently. Your spine straightens, every part of you aching to be closer to him. His smile widens. Clearly mocking now, clearly enjoying every second of your humiliation for him. 

“What, baby?” he coos, one finger trailing over your cheek gently, as if to soothe you. “Want me to spit in your mouth, hm?” 

Another sound escapes you, all needy and desperate. Yes, you really fucking want that. 

He clicks his tongue, straightens back up. “Maybe later.” 

Before you can protest, two of his thick fingers fill your mouth instead, pressing down on your tongue, invading your senses, overwhelming in the very best way. Your lips close around the digits almost instinctively, sucking obediently before he can give the command. 

He grins, sinking deeper, close to triggering your gag reflex. Your eyelids flutter shut at the sensation, a moan humming around his fingers. 

“Nuh-uh,” he growls, his fingers curling, pressing down uncomfortably. “Eyes on me, you know better than that.”

You open them back up instantly, wide blown pupils finding his. Tears leak down your cheeks and he catches some of them with his thumb, rubbing them into your skin. 

“That’s better, isn’t it?” His thumb locks under your chin instead, making you nod. “Complaining all day long, when you could use your mouth for this instead…”

Your knees already feel bruised against the unforgiving hardness of the floor. His fingertips keep hitting your throat repeatedly now, making you gag again and again. Drool is dribbling down the corner of your mouth. Still, your panties are soaked through, sticking to your skin. Your hips are humping against thin air, desperate for something, anything. You know better than to slip your fingers under your skirt without permission, and you certainly know better than to stop sucking and ask, but he must be able to read the pleading in your eyes.

Abruptly, he pulls his fingers out, unceremoniously wiping them clean on your cheek, leaving you damp with your own spit. “Up,” he barks, already roughly pulling at you before you have time to react. 

He spins you around so quickly that you’re still getting your bearings when you’re bent over, your torso pressing against the cold table, with Dave in your back. He flips your skirt up, revealing your bare ass and landing two sharp slaps there. 

You gasp out in pain, but feel your back arching, already wishing for more. Instead, he kicks your feet apart, spreading your legs further. His finger runs over your ruined panties, all teasing lightness, playing with your hole with the slightest of pressure. 

“Always so fucking wet,” he marvels, his voice gravelly with arousal. “I barely touched you, baby. You get that worked up just from sucking on my fucking fingers?”

You whine out an affirmative, your voice trailing off when he pulls the fabric to the side and slides his fingers through your folds without a barrier. 

“Can’t keep that slutty pussy waiting then,” he grits out, and the familiar clinking of his belt buckle reaches your ears, followed by a zipper getting undone. 

You brace for the impact of him entering you. Dave never takes his time, never works you open beforehand. He likes to toy with you in other ways, likes to get you desperate before he fucks you. But you both enjoy the biting stretch of his cock spreading you open without preparation, the way it pushes the air from your lungs, always just on the right side of painful. 

His hand finds your hip, holding you steady while the other lands on your back, pushing your body flat against the rough surface. Then, he slams into you. You stifle a scream into your fist, your back arching further to accommodate him. 

He holds still for a moment, groaning at your walls fluttering around him, before he pulls back. Only his tip stays wedged inside you, before he fills you up again, over and over. His hand travels from your back to the back of your head, pushing down, smothering you under the overpowering mass of his body. 

“Fuck,” he growls behind you. His fingers dig into your hip hard, adding to the delicious pain only he can incite in you. He’s so deep, hitting all the spots no one ever seemed to be able to find before him. 

You’re shaking, your pussy pulsing around him, all wet and needy, already embarrassingly close to an orgasm. One that he won’t let you have just like that, not a doubt. 

Through the haze, the sound of a key getting crammed into the lock from the other side interrupts you. The door swings open, revealing tanned skin, dark hair and brown eyes, widened at the picture in front of him. Agent Peña, your contact at the embassy, who, rather begrudgingly, had shown you around two days ago and finally dropped you off at this archive room. You hadn’t seen him since, though he did float around your head quite a few times. 

He’d reminded you of Dave, in a way. The same strong nose, the same dark brooding eyes, the same no nonsense attitude. The same pouty lips, though his are framed by a moustache that you’d pay good money to see on Dave. Maybe you have wondered if they’d taste the same, too. Maybe you’d crushed on him, just a little.

With that being said, no part of you had envisioned having him catch you like this.

But you’re already too far gone to be embarrassed, all coherent thoughts melted away as soon as Dave put his hands on you. You hear Dave’s grin in his voice from behind you, his thrusts never faltering, still punching breathy moans from your throat, jostling your body against the table over and over. 

“Agent Peña. You wanna give her a go when I’m finished?” 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your shoulder, pulling you up against his chest. Your blouse falls open wider, baring the lace of your bra to the other agent. Dave pinches a nipple over the fabric, the breath of his chuckle hot against your neck when you mewl in reaction. 

“Best stress toy I’ve ever had.” 

“Dave—“ you protest weakly, hoping against hope that he misses the new rush of wetness that followed his words. 

He pinches harder, his teeth scraping over your neck. 

“Sorry, who?” You whine, shame tying your tongue. Dave tuts at you, his touch not letting up. “Mind your manners, baby.” 

“Sir,” you grit out, voice stuttering with his still unrelenting thrusts. 

His lips pull into another grin against your skin, one you wish that you could see. 

“That’s better.”

The other agent –Javier, you remember now– appraises you, his gaze slowly gliding over you, resting on your exposed cleavage. The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. 

“Interesting investigation that you’re conducting here, Agent York.” 

Dave chuckles, giving you another thrust that has your hips digging into the table and a moan tumbling from your lips. 

“Just taking a little break,” he purrs against your neck, pulling at your blouse again.

Javier’s smirk widens, and he steps closer. His eyes darken as he takes you in, the swell of your breasts that Dave is putting on display for him, and the pleasure-drunk expression on your face. 

His gaze is burning with hunger, his brow slightly furrowed, and God, he’s beautiful. “Is this really okay?” His fingers glide over the fabric that’s barely covering you, one eyebrow rising in question. You love the way he sounds, his voice wrapping around words softer than Dave’s does, his tone thick as honey with arousal. 

“Yes,” you nod, enthusiastically, pulling your shoulders back to show yourself off. “Please, I want it.” 

With a low groan, his fingers find your bare skin, cupping your tits, weighing them in his hands. “More,” you beg, your voice breathy and laced with desperation, and he chuckles. He pulls your breasts out of the cups, groping them, watching as the flesh spills through his fingers. His thumbs start stroking your nipples, which harden instantly under his ministrations. He starts scratching his fingernails over the sensitive tips, eliciting soft moans from you, until he gives them a sharp pinch that has you keening. 

“Do that again,” Dave rasps from behind you, thrusting into you right to the hilt and holding himself there. “Made her clench so good.” His hand rubs up your back, almost soothingly, until he reaches your hair and gives your head a harsh tug. “She likes it when it hurts, don’t you, babe?” 

“Yes, sir,” you mewl, feeling your walls tighten when Javier’s fingers torment your nipples again.

In front of you, you eye the growing bulge under the agent’s tight jeans, your mouth watering. He follows your line of sight, smugness dripping from his grin as he slowly starts undoing his pants. 

His cock springs free, heavy and already leaking precum at the tip. You watch as if in trance, eyes trailing over the thick shaft and the dark hairs, the faint musk of him invading your senses. Nothing but want want want on your mind, you eagerly open your mouth, your tongue lapping at him as soon as he’s in reach. He tastes almost too good, only adding to the haze in your brain. 

He groans when you start sucking him, hollowing your cheeks and trying to fit as much of him as possible in your mouth. His hand sinks into your hair, holding your head steady, your lips stretched wide around his girth. You moan around him every time Dave thrusts into you particularly hard, jostling you between them, until Dave’s hand connects with your ass once more.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, shoving your whole body forward when he pistons into you again. Javier’s cock hits the back of your throat and you gag, but you’re determined to make him feel good, to suck harder, just like Dave ordered you to.

You can’t see, your eyes blurry with tears and every coherent thought gone from your brain, but Javier must’ve had some kind of reaction, because you hear Dave say, “Don’t worry, she’s fine. She’s into this shit.” 

You try to nod in response and they both laugh. “I can tell,” Javier moans, sinking even deeper. 

Slowly, you’re becoming overwhelmed, disoriented, your head dizzy with all the sensations. Your mouth filled to the brim, Dave slamming into you again and again, your nipples rubbing against the table and adding to the buzzing that’s overtaking your whole body. Feeling you growing tighter, Dave lands one more spank on your ass, and it’s like all your nerve endings light up at once.

You don’t know where you end and they begin, only endless waves of pleasure running through you, propelling you higher and higher. You’re screaming around Javier’s cock, no concern about who might hear, only more more more. 

He gets more comfortable by the second, holding your head in a tight grip now and fucking into your mouth. You’re growing limp, your body spent, but you keep sucking obediently. All you know is pleasure and the need to give it to them, your mind far away from any other thoughts. With a grunt, he presses against the back of your head and comes deep down your throat, his cock pulsing against your tongue. You swallow eagerly, savoring the taste as best as you can, until he steps back, catching his breath. 

Your face is a wet mess of tears and drool when Dave pulls back as well. The sudden unexpected movement and the loss of him make you wince, looking back at him in surprise. 

“Didn’t give you permission to come, did I?!” he snarls, grabbing at your shoulder until you’re upright, pressed against his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you try, your voice hoarse from the throatfucking you just endured. “It was all too much—” 

“You’re not sorry,” he coos sweetly, kissing your cheek, “but you will be.” 

Dave maneuvers you up onto the desk, pushing your skirt up entirely and finally pulling your panties down your legs. Javier’s hands are on you instantly, holding you up and roaming over your skin, while Dave goes to rummage through his bag.

“Sit tight baby, I got a treat for you.”

You lean into the solid chest behind you, Javier’s skin hot against yours. One arm wraps around your front, pulling you closer. His fingers dip down to circle your nipple agonizingly slow. The table’s edge digs into your thighs where you’re seated against it, but you barely feel it.

You squirm against him, earning you a breathy chuckle against the crook of your neck. His other hand finds your inner thigh, pulling your legs apart. Baring you, presenting you to the man in front of you. 

Dave’s jaw is clenched, fire burning in his dark eyes as he takes you in. Slowly stepping closer, gaze locked on where you’re dripping for the both of them. 

“Insatiable little thing. Two cocks and you still need more, huh?” 

You nod, not even sure what you’re agreeing to. But if Dave teases who about more, you want it. No question.

His cock is still hard and leaking, taunting you, feeding the needy ache inside of you. Instead, when he shows his hands, he’s carrying the gun that’s part of his daily equipment. Your eyes widen, your jaw falling open. He had teased you about this before, laughed at how wet you had gotten at the prospect. But now? 

He steps closer, caressing your cheek, achingly gentle. “Are you scared, baby?” 

“A little,” you admit, nodding, your voice timid. 

His voice loses the teasing lilt, his hand cupping your face tenderly. “Do you wanna stop?” 

You think it over, just like he taught you to. Searching what you want, not what you think he wants to hear. “No,” you decide. You give him a conspiratory little smile, one that grows with the spark it ignites in his eyes. “It’s exciting.” 

“Good girl.” A biting slap makes your head fly to the side, all tenderness drained from his demeanor in an instant. 

Javier’s hand holds your chin, turns your head forward again. You feel his hot breath against your neck, his teeth scraping against the skin. The fingers of his other hand are still tormenting your nipples, tugging and pinching, until it takes everything inside you not to squirm. Your arousal keeps flowing from your pussy, coating your thighs and probably collecting on the surface beneath you. 

Dave comes closer, his fingers curled around the weapon in his hand. Your breath hitches when it connects with your skin. He draws a trail, from your belly up to your breasts, circling one nipple and nudging it with the unforgiving steel. You jerk in Javier’s hold, already too pent up to sit still again.

Tutting at you, Dave follows the trail down again, tapping the gun against your inner thigh, making you spread your legs even wider. He slides it through your wetness, your thighs quivering at every contact.

“Big stretch, baby.” 

The grin on Dave’s face is lethal, all sharp teeth and bite. The cold metal nudges at your opening, the unfamiliar shape not slipping in as easily as his cock did. 

Finally, your walls part for him, letting the gun sink inside, stretching you uncomfortably wide. He starts moving it, slower than he fucked you before, but still rough enough to have your breaths come unsteadily, laced with moans somewhere between pain and pleasure. His own hand moves over his cock, stroking in rhythm with the thrusts.

The gun’s edges are sharp, the shape hard and unyielding, forcing its way inside you over and over. Still, your blood is thrumming in your veins, the sensations from your cunt and from Javier’s hands on your nipples swirling together into a heady mix, threatening to shatter you.

Javier starts sucking at your neck while palming your tits, his nails digging into the sensitive flesh. Dave’s eyes are glued to where his gun keeps sliding into your pussy, messy and glistening with the juices of your arousal. A cruel fascination is written over his features. 

“Fucking slut, you’ll really take anything up there, huh?” 

You can only nod, holding on to the last bits of yourself before pleasure will swallow you whole. 

“Can I— please sir, can I come?” you manage to choke out, not sure if you could stop if he says no. 

“Go ahead,” he growls, giving the gun a particularly rough thrust that sends you flying to your high. Your mouth falls open, your whole body soaring with the intensity. 

Dave’s eyes roll back at the sight, and with a few more strokes, he follows you over the edge. He comes all over your spent pussy, your spread legs, his cum mixing with your wetness. His body slumps forward, his arms on either side of you, his head falling against your sternum. Holding him there, you lean back against Javier, all three of you breathing heavily, but satisfaction radiating from you. 

Finally, you untangle from each other. Both men help you off the table, all soft, supporting touches now. There’s a mess where your open thighs have been. Smirking, you lean down to connect some of it on your tongue. 

Javier is already half hard again, watching you with hooded eyes. You step up to him, pulling him in for a kiss. You let him taste the combination of Dave and you, delighted when he moans into your mouth and his hands tighten on your hip. 

“You know where we’re staying, right?” you ask, giving him a wink. “We have no plans this evening.”

thank you so much for reading!! <3 i feel kinda silly and needy writing this, but i feel like the interaction with fanfics has gotten worse again, so please: if you enjoyed this, it would absolutely make my day if you told me. it really means so much and keeps fanfic writers going. i dreamed this up for myself, but putting it into (i hope) somewhat decent writing because i thought others might enjoy it too takes a lot of time and effort and it's really fucking nice to get some acknowledgment for that.

[mistercrowbar]

What advice would you give to someone who wants to start draw comics?

Read comics. Try to absorb the layouts and lettering - there’s so many ways to tackle it! Also even in published comics you’ll see that the art is messy and scrungly and you can take that as permission to be messy and scrungly too.

Comics are about efficiency and Good Enough. If you try to make each panel a masterpiece you’ll be there forever. Reasons why I mostly do simple pencil comics.

Start small. Do a scene or gag comic at a time. Get a feel for the medium and all the steps you have. If there’s a step you hate, find a way to emphasize the steps you love. EG I hate laying down flat colours but love shading, so I make my page form comics painterly greyscale with a gradient map to spruce them up.

Thumbnail!!!!! Figure out your page or panel layout before you start pencils. It can just be chicken scratch and sticken figures but it will help make sure there’s a clean line of action carrying the viewer from panel to panel and that your lettering fits.

don’t skimp on lettering. you can have beautiful artwork but if your dialogue is time new roman on half transparent ellipses or somehow unreadable it’s gonna drag everything else down. Blambot is a great source for free and affordable comic fonts and even has guides from an industry pro.

There are a huge bajillion elements to making comics but once you’ve made like, literally 100 pages you’ll start just intrinsically knowing things like the 180 rule, how to place a speech bubble when the first speaker is on the right, and that you can draw one nice background and then have gradient colour blocks carry you through most of the page/scene. And then you’ll still keep learning. Always learning!

LOTS of example stuff under the cut, mostly for lettering and layouts:

thumbnails vs finished page. The detail is just enough to remind me who goes where. You can see I mostly played with the last part of the scene, going from three panels in one row to making each panel an entire row across three rows. Panels on the same row have less “time” between them as the eyes skips from one to the other faster, whereas there’s a little more gap skipping back to a new row (think resetting a line on a typewriter). Here, the first thumbnail may have fit the artwork more neatly, but I wanted to give Astarion more time to deliberate his decision.

You can also see that I changed the top panel from a close up on Aldiirn to a wider shot showing both. This sets the scene, and the rest of it uses simple/abstract backgrounds until the final panel, which makes a nice bookend while making the overall load easier. One good environment panel will carry you for a while, but don't leave your characters in the void for too long.

Make a script before you start layouts but don’t be shocked if you need to cut things out to have them fit a page. Less is more, generally. This also goes for visual elements - what's most important to the scene? What's just extraneous detail you find fun but is creating clutter?

For the 4-panel comics I don’t put time into thumbnails unless it’s a difficult panel, but I always put the lettering and speech bubbles down first so they have enough room and nothing important gets covered. If you do this much you’re a step ahead imo.

This one I’m working on now and there’s a lot going on with four characters speaking to each other! It’s important to keep a clear line going for the dialogue. Astarion’s first line has the top left corner and clearly starts the conversation. The tail of the bubble carries over to where he whispers to Aldiirn, and we pick up Aldiirn’s lines. The rock wall on the right then draws the eye down to Shadowheart and Gale’s bubble at the bottom. I don’t think the tails on the bottom bubbles are 100% ideal, but it’s Good Enough.

There’s also slightly different points in time going on in this panel, because the art is static but it’s a long convo going on. Gale’s signature finger isn’t in response to Astarion whispering, but to his answer to Aldiirn that comes after. Think of how time works in your panels, especially when you got a big one because size = time.

You can use all sorts of things to direct the eye across a comic page, but I find the strongest things are the bubbles & tails and where characters are looking. Here, Gale’s “stop by” line breaks the panel line to help draw the viewer to him in the last panel, since otherwise the eye was likely to end up at Aldiirn.

I generally like bubbles to be tucked into their panels, either fully inside or up at the edges like “my condolences.” It looks neater than when bubbles are willy nilly over the edges which I see as a sign of poor planning. And! it means when you do break panel lines it can be more meaningful.

the 180 rule is a film/stage thing for composition to avoid confusing the audience, but the simplest way to put it is: if a character is on the left side of the scene, they should stay there until the action or whatever moves them. You can see here that Aldiirn is always on the right facing left, even when the camera is a bit behind him or a bit behind Gale. the 180 line is the front of Aldiirn’s tent, and the camera never crosses it in a way that would put Gale on the right.

I find it distracting when a conversation is happening in comic and a character breaks the 180 for no particular reason, though are times I’ve done it because a panel worked much better that way. The book Framed Ink has some great guides on composition and how to change the 180 line.

You can also see in the above comic that it’s arranged so that Gale’s always the first speaker in the panels he appears so there’s no criss cross bubble tails. Buuuut what if the first speaker is unavoidably on the right?

Stack the speech bubbles. You want the first speech bubble CLEARLY and undeniably the closest to the top left corner and then other speakers can go below.

the middle example above also has some examples of playing with the speech bubbles. Wyll’s “square-y round-y” bubble is the standard, the boxy ellipse. The tail has a slight, lanquid curve. He;s comfortable teasing the poor vampire. Aldiirn’s bubble is pointy! the tail straight! with urgency! And Astarion’s bubble and tail are burbling and grumbling through gritted teeth and pain. Varsh Ko’kuu, even though he’s speaking with a standard shaped bubble, has a sharp point in the tail that speaks to his assertiveness in protecting the egg. And Shadowheart has some hesitation with that wiggly tail.

Either hand drawing or using vector shapes for bubbles is fine, but I recommend staying away from true ellipses because they look static. Square-y round-y is where it’s at. Just make sure there’s enough space between text and edge of the bubble, usually enough to fit a capital H or W, but you can play with that spacing too.

The second panel here breaks the “first bubble goes top-left corner” rule, so it’s ambiguous if Gale or Aldiirn speaks first. However! In this case everyone is giving their responses in a jumble to Rath, so order matters less. I’m pretty sure every rule I’ve mentioned has a time and place to break it, but it’s still important to learn the basics first.

Key thing about comics typefaces: the capital I will have bars and the lower case will not. The barred I is used for I, as in, “I am not inclined to share” where the unbarred is used everywhere else.

When choosing a font, I recommend grabbing one that has Regular, Italic, and Bold/Bold Italic typefaces. I use Milk Moustache for my 4-panel comics because it’s very casual and similar weight to my own handwriting, but it doesn’t have an italic typeface and that drives me nuts sometimes. For the most flexibility, choose a font that has lower case AND uppercase type faces. I stick to upper case 90% of the time but lower case adds more options, like Aldiirn’s “really?” being so small due to his stressed state.

There are some official guides on what should be bold or italic in dialogues but they don’t matter as much unless you’re working for a big publisher with a style standard. Italics for thinking and whispering are common. I go with my gut, like Astarion’s speech is so dramatic I use italics and bold liberally, whereas for most others I may or may not just choose a key word to bold.

I think some programs will let you make text to fit a bubble instead of a square box, but tbh I just spend a lot of time manually making the text fit nicely in that bubble shape.

[gaytobymeres]

I think this was a tag game going around or something? But I wanted to do it so here we are

[see-arcane]

I have been possessed by a stronger than average craving for tinkering with Jonathan Harker's genders (Jonders). Jonathan Harker is undeniably and forever my favorite gothic heroine. But, being that there is so much to chew on regarding his potential fluidity when it comes to gender roles within the story--the classic damsel, the willingly submissive half of the couple, the vengeful berserker, etc--it's got me thinking.

Let's take the metaphor out. What would happen to the Dracula narrative if Jonathan Harker was...

First thing's first--she almost definitely gets shouldered out of the Important Solicitor's position due to reasons of Being Girl. But she still has to get to Transylvania to be menaced by Count Bat Bastard. How?

Hawkins! Johanna is working at the firm as a secretary and personal assistant to a still very paternally mushy old Peter Hawkins. When Dracula's request comes around, he can't give up such a lucrative client over his gout and there's no one he trusts to pass it to. He has to go. And it'd only be right to treat his surrogate daughter to a paid scenic vacation have his aide along on the business trip. Especially when she hunted down Carfax Abbey herself! What a lovely outing they'll have.

...or not.

True to form, Count Dracula is very much not to be trusted around pretty young things of any kind. Considering his canon habits, things aren't about to go any easier for Miss Harker. But at least she has Hawkins watching out for her in-person! It all makes for some very tense talk when discussing anything other than the estate purchase; which Hawkins seems as keen to rush as Dracula is to dawdle over. But at least they'll be out of here soon. What's a couple of awkward nights, right?

One in particular has Johanna nervous as she goes to bed. Hawkins had taken Dracula aside with a hard smile, insisting there was a 'delicate matter' he wished to speak with the Count about. The last time a 'delicate matter' was brought up was when he nearly lobbed a typewriter at one of his ex-solicitor's heads for some distinctly unseemly behavior in her direction. She hopes there isn't a storm brewing under their host's roof. She hopes harder that tomorrow they'll be heading back to the Borgo Pass.

Instead:

Oh.

Oh no.

Between this and one requisite nightmare-week in which the joys of womanhood come and go--let's leave it unspoken whether her set of bloodstained cloths stay in her possession or not--Johanna gets put through the wringer. Per usual. But eventually..!

Yeah. No shock there. Deep calming breaths, Jack. Don't let the wonderful diary concuss you.

Part of being one of two (gasp) G I R L S in the Scooby Gang, Van Helsing and company vote Johanna and Mina out of the dirt hunt. Except. Well. Johanna is still necessary to have on the ground here. She's the only one with the location intel--and a surprise willed gift of inheritance and the firm from poor Hawkins, who the Transylvanian locals all vouch for as being 'slain by wolves,' leaving Johanna free of blame--so she's still running around for the crew.

Even so, odds are high that she initially gets sidelined with Mina. Which isn't overly awful. It is good to be side-by-side in this timeline! No needless sequestering from each other! Johanna is already planning to see Mina back to their new house before they have to sleep another night in an asylum.

And then comes the 3rd of October.

Van Helsing: "Madam Harker, is it not somewhat attention-catching to wear trousers in public? We are meant to be unremarkable while we wait on th--"

Johanna, has already smoked through two cigars, kukri in her lap, playing a game of chicken with God: "Do you think I scaled a mountain in three layers of skirts, Professor? No? Then I will not do the same if the rancid bastard tries to escape out the window."

Van Helsing, aside: "Friend John, can you speak sense to her?"

Jack, melting off the side of the bench: "I think I hauve consumption"

Anyway. She very much does get to the Dracula head chopping. And there will be much rejoicing. BUT all that grimdarkness aside, there are other, more hijinks-flavored opportunities to think of with this particular set up. If only because I genuinely believe that Lucy and Art, having two spare best friends on hand and a general vibe that radiates 'ooooh what if triple wedding???', would come up with the following master plan. Some truly Shakespearean folly kind of shit:

Thankfully, Johanna and Mina nix the idea pretty quick. Case in point:

And, last but not least, my final word on the range of Jonders that exist within my very best gothic heroine friend:

ha ha I do that

[immediatebreakfast]

The most interesting, and most amazing detail within Mina's letter is how different she presents her future marriage with Jonathan, on top of having very different priorities regarding work.

Mina is very happy to marry Jonathan along with already planning what changes are going to be put in place once both say yes at the altar, and in her enthusiastic letter to Lucy she details all of her current priorities before that important moment. However, as many as you may noticed, those priorities don't really... Fall in line with what is supposed to be expected from the time.

There is not a single metion of children, housework skills, or any comment about the transition from employment to wife duties from Mina. Instead, we read of she is proudly cultivating skills like stenography, typewriting, journalism, and shorthand so she and Jonathan can share the workload that comes from a solicitor position.

I don't mean one of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries, but a sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined.

The time frame of this book lands in the 19th century, when women couldn't be both married and have a job at the same time, but Mina doesn't mourn that. She prepares for a future in which her, and Jonathan are in a partnership of equal standing where both will help eachother in a job that Jonathan has been preparing for god knows how long.

It's not an "if they can", it's a "when", and I find that very beautiful.

[jazzyoranges]

Saw you take requests!! Can you do a fluffy Wednesday x Shape shifter!Reader (no smut please) where it's Wednesday's writing time but she can't think of ideas so reader turns into a cat and curls up on Wednesday's lap? Basically helping Wednesday by making sure Wednesday can't get up until she writes a chapter. Thanks!

Orange kitty - drabble

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Words: 0.8k

A/n: i feel like we as a fandom haven’t been putting the orange cat x black cat trope in enough fics. this is me advocating for orange cat!r

“I feel your eyes on me, (Y/n).”

“I’m not allowed to look at my friend anymore?”

“It’s distracting. You’re inhibiting me from writing.” Wednesday isn’t fully lying. She just doesn’t add how you give her an odd feeling. An odd feeling she doesn’t like.

“Aww, do I make you nervous, Wens?” You laugh, deciding to ignore the glare she sends your way

“Keep talking and I’ll remove your voice box.”

“Please, I think you’d miss me too much” You roll your eyes, stretching on Wednesday’s bed

You turn into a cat as per Thing’s request, and you two start to play tag around Wednesday and Enid’s shared room. Thing happily bragged that you and him were better friends once. His hubris only resulted in Wednesday taking away his favorite lotions for an entire week.

The Addams girl huffs when she, yet again, makes a mistake on her typewriter. This was unlike her. The tiny trash can under her desk was nearing being full only after one or two hours of her failed attempts at writing. Wednesday put her hands in her lap after she realized her words only became futile

The abrupt stop of clacking keys makes you turn your head, giving Thing the perfect opportunity to tag you back on Enid’s bed. You quickly turn human again with almost a cartoon-ish pop, and ask Thing if Wednesday was allergic to cats

“She’s not, why do you ask?” He signs

“Do you think she’d kill me if I sat on her lap?” You sign back, not wanting Wednesday to hear

“As a human, most definitely. But if you were a cat maybe she’d tolerate you. No promises, though” Thing somehow shrugs using his thumb and pinkie finger as arms. God, you loved the weird appendage

“I can hear you two talking. I’d prefer if you’d leave me in silence.”

“Writers block?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of the correct words to use.”

“Maybe you should ask Enid for help. The woman can reach over the Twitter character limit in like… three seconds. Two if she’s really excited”

“Recommend such a horrid idea again and I’ll release you in my pen of hellhounds.”

“We both know I’d win” You cockily smirk, again ignoring what looks to be annoyance on Wednesday’s face. Then again, she always looked annoyed

“Your hubris is laughable. Let’s see how you suffice when your digestive system is ripped open.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather stay here with you”

You can only assume Thing listens with watchful… fingers? You execute your plan to him, and a quick pinkie-promise indicates he gets to bury you if Wednesday decides to kill you after the stunt you’re about to pull

“Hey, Wens?” The Addams doesn’t show any form of talking but you decide to keep going

“Did you know people say cats can lessen anxiety?”

The Addams hums in acknowledgement, so you continue

“Well, I don’t exactly believe it”

“And why is that.” Wednesday sighs. Sometimes she wonders why she indulges in you

“I dunno, just seems fake. I was wondering if you’d do an experiment with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Great! Thanks, Wens” You give Thing a quick wink after turning into a cat and hopping up onto her desk. Turning your head to the side as if you were asking a question, you looked at Wednesday for an answer

You were crazy, but not crazy enough to do something to make Wednesday hate you

For some reason, the Addams girl doesn’t even have a second chance to think before scooting back her chair. You’re about to jump into her lap with a paw over the edge of her desk, but you glance up to make sure Wednesday was sure. You receive a small nod

The action is enough to make you whisper a small “thank you” but it only comes out as a small meow

You circle around her lap for a good area to lay, and you quickly take your spot with a tiny smile that makes your eyes close. Wednesday scoots her chair back in, and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Only when you start to purr a shiver goes up her spine. The vibrations are light, and something about you happily laying on her lap makes you chip away at Wednesday’s walls the tiniest bit. She contemplates where to put her hands before Thing scurries on top of you to scratch behind your ear. Wednesday shoots him a deathly glare in return, but your favorite Addams (don’t tell Wednesday) stays put

As if showing Wednesday how to pet a cat, Thing gets off of your back and points a finger in your direction. Hesitantly, the Addams girl copies the actions Thing showed her

And you? You were having an amazing time. Wednesday’s fingers were cold but every stroke of her hand was calculated. She took note of which spots you purred louder, and continued her movements

Fuck you and your ability to get what you want, Wednesday thinks. Of course your smug ass knew cats lessened anxiety. Of course.

But Wednesday can’t help being addicted to your tiny purrs and vibrations

With her left hand fondling your ear and her right on her typewriter, she decides maybe a cat could be arranged in her novel.