#stared at the imaginary camera like in the office

[sejanusfan]

watching people on tiktok and twitter complain about lucy gray singing like the movie isn’t called the BALLAD of songbirds and snakes…

[cannibalchicken]

[yokaishinari]

[dilfcho]

too deep

office worker!nanami x fem!reader wc: 1.2k warnings: bff!gojo, nanami humps his hand to a pic of u, he cums in his pants, MDNI!

gojo is not someone nanami enjoyed the company of.

everyone knew this, especially gojo. aside from meetings and short, work-related texts, nanami avoided conversation with him at all times and mastered the art of tuning him out. gojo didn’t care, he would talk to a wall if he wanted to.

nanami leaned against the counter in the breakroom while gojo went off about any and everything. the weather, his lucky socks going missing, burning his toast this morning, the usual. that was until, he brought up you.

this was the first time nanami regretted not listening to his frustrating coworker, and it will probably be the last. all he caught from the jumble of words gojo was spewing was “best friend” before getting a full-brightness phone screen shoved in his face. it was a picture of you, gojo’s so-called best friend, on the beach with him. you posed in a large sweatshirt, the only bottoms being stringy bikini ones. the sun beats down on your skin while gojo shielded your eyes so you could smile properly. his other hand rested high on your torso, nearing your breast, but you didn’t seem to mind.

nanami’s face falters when his eyes finally uncross. he swallows his saliva but it goes down the wrong pipe, and gojo notices.

“what was that?” gojo pulls his phone away from his face and tilts his head in confusion.

he clears his throat, “what was what?”

“you made a face. was it about her?” gojo raises his phone again and points at you on the screen.

“you’re being annoying. no." he attempts to lean back so he was further from him, but he was already caged in.

“holy shit, it is. you think she’s pretty.” gojo laughs in his face while reaching behind him for a napkin. he pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something down.

before nanami can swat his hand away, he shoves it in his suit jacket and pats it.

“she knows about you already. she’s single.”

-

when nanami finally steps through the front door of his home, the first thing he does is slip his shoes and suit jacket off and plop himself on the couch. one person can only take so much of gojo's incessant rambling. when he shimmies off his jacket, he feels something crumple in the lining.

fishing through the pockets of his coat, nanami finds the napkin.

on it is your phone number, and unexpectedly, a username. it’s simple, it sounds like it’s just your first and last name. it’s pretty.

the coat in his hand is tossed beside him on the couch, long forgotten once he starts mentally drafting a text to you. his fingers hover over the keyboard, hitting the backspace button more than actual letters. the message he’d typed and retyped one-too-many times stared back at him as imaginary scenarios swirled in his head.

what if you don’t respond? he’ll just look desperate. he doesn’t do things like this. he doesn't know how to.

but what if you do? what if you reply, and plan a date? what if it goes well and you go on another, and another, and another? one of those dates could be to the beach, and he’ll be the one placing his hands too high (or low) on your body.

he sends a simple hello, and a clarification of who's texting you.

heat flushes his face over nothing and he takes a deep breath. he thinks back to the other thing gojo scribbled on the napkin, a username. almost on autopilot, nanami pulls up your profile and is clicking through your photos, being careful not to double tap at 2:23 a.m.

in one, you pose at dinner with a sheepish smile. your eyes aren’t focused on the camera, instead taking interest in the person holding it. he taps once to see if anyone is tagged, and thankfully, it’s only the irritating person that gave him your number. he scrolls lower and lands on a photo of you in bed.

it’s a screenshot from your laptop. you lay on your side in a loose lounge top, your head propped up by your hand. your shirt is a little lopsided, maybe from shifting around. the longer he drinks in your figure, the more he notices. he wonders if it was cold in the room, because through the thin-looking fabric your nipples poke out ever so slightly. there’s a thin sliver of your hip on the far right of the photo. did your shorts ride up? are you even wearing shorts? nanami doesn’t have time to dwell on that, he has something else to worry about.

calloused fingers run through his tousled blond hair. his face felt hot, and it was spreading down his neck. his palm falls to the back of his neck to rub it, maybe to rub away the filth he felt too. he trails lower, right below his collarbone to tug at the folded collar of his dress shirt. the hand that still held his phone scrolls a few photos down until he hits a familiar one. he hasn’t seen it before, but he recognizes something. the pattern on skimpy bikini you show off in this photo are identical to the one that peeked out from under your sweatshirt in the photo gojo showed him. it must've been taken on the same day. does he really get to see you like this all the time?

one final time, the two fingers that tugged on the sleek collar of his shirt skip over his torso and fall straight to the crotch of his slacks. the erection you’ve caused is beyond embarrassing, the outline too easy to make out. his palm rubs over his clothed bulge and he lets out a hiss. the tips of his fingers don’t near his button and zipper because in his mind it’s less pathetic if he keeps all his clothes on. in his mind, he didn’t actually touch himself to a picture of you for way too long, he didn’t wipe a dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth, and his cum definitely didn’t leak through in his pants over the thought of you.

he doesn’t even get a chance to catch his breath because a loud ding brings him out of his daze. the phone that he never let go of was still open on your photo, although this time the heart under your post was red. another ding rings out and he sees a message from an unsaved number hang over your picture.

he’s fucked.

nanami wipes his sticky palm on the fabric that stretches over his muscular thigh and sits up straight. he taps the notification and feels his heart drop to his ass.

hi nanami! i’m so happy he gave u my number

i see he gave u my @ too haha

he pinches the bridge of his nose and falls right back into his previous position, resting his head on the back of the sofa. you know. you know that he was stalking you in the middle of the night and now you’re laughing at him.

I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’ll be more careful next time.

he presses the blue arrow and wallows in his embarrassment. he wasn’t thinking straight. he should’ve replied in the morning. instead, he should be changing his pants. or maybe dreaming of you. of course, the universe doesn’t even allow him to regret his actions. his phone buzzes.

oh, there’s a next time?

-

mlist

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: It's a rarity that Armando gets sick, but when he does, he attaches himself to you/reader. --Intro to a new female reader?

: ̗̀➛𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚜:

Soft!Mando

Dove!reader

GrumpyxSunshine

The funniest thing about Armando was that although he held the rightful reputation of being cutthroat and ruthless in the streets of Mexico, he was also such a softie behind closed doors, especially when he was sick.  

Right now, he currently had the flu and was carrying himself like a toddler.  

The couple had been stationed in bed for what felt like hours. Armando because he was “knocking on death’s door” as he dramatically put it, and Dove because well, he refused to let her up. He laid on top of her, arms tucked underneath her to warp around her waist and lock her in his grip. His head was not only planted right on her chest, but he was also hiding underneath her robe. All she could truly see of him was the very top part of his short black hair. 

“Armando, baby. You know I don’t mind taking care of you, but you’re gonna get me sick being all over me like this.” Dove’s soft voice was met by the low grumbling rasp of his strained voice. “I’m not even that close.” She took a moment to look away at her imaginary office camera that was always conveniently stationed in the corner of whatever space she needed it to be. 

“If you were any closer, you’d be in my skin.” “That’s a great idea actually.” With that statement, he emerged from underneath her thick fluffy robe, leaning back to gently tug down the cup of her bra, exposing her supple breast. He stared for a moment mesmerized by the sight of her dark brown skin that always seemed to glow to him.  

That’s one of the many things he loved about Dove. She was so opposite of him. While he was rugged, she was the epitome of soft. It was like God crafted her from the finest silk he could find.  Taking his sweet and very appreciated time to craft the woman Armando would one day be madly in love with.

She was his Dove, his Paloma.  

“Eres tan suave, cariño.” He spoke softly while nuzzling his face against her breast. She gazed down at her boyfriend who did still look a bit pale. She knew he was being dramatic, but she'd still baby him anyway.

𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

Paloma - Dove

Eres tan suave, cariño - You're so soft, baby.

[akai-akai]

Mess Hall, 6:57am.

gaz: man, I slept like shite, kept hearing this banging sound like someone was trying to break down the bloody wall

soap: *chewing slowly, uncharacteristically quiet, shifting his hips every 10 seconds*

ghost, under his breath: wasn't the wall i was tryin' to break

soap: *chews faster*

price: *stares at imaginary camera like it's an episode of The Office*

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

[unknownteapot]

I feel like people aren’t talking about Spencer saying he’s a little bit in love with Shayne enough. It was so cute, I love the Alex, Spencer and Shayne dynamic

NO YES OH MY FUCK YES THANK YOU

i genuinely paused the stream at that point and stared off into an imaginary camera like in the office cause what 😭 i love em sm but also after that i think alex said 'i've got bad news for you..' or something like that and it was adorable genuinely loved the stream

[nic-coughlan]

THERES SOMETHING SO DEEPLY WRONG WITH THEM PARRIS. PUR THEM IN THE DSM5 AT THIS POINT. WHAT DO YOU MEAN NICOLA TAKING HIM TO MEET HER FAMILY??? LUKE SAYING HED DO A LONG PEACEFUL WALK ALONG THE BEACH WITH HER AS HE HOLDS HER BAG??? IVE BEEN OUT-LESBIANED BY STRAIGHT PEOPLE ON PRIDE MONTH. ( Luke About Galway hangout plans): “Welll I think that’s a secret 🤭✨” STOP. TALKING. THEYRE LOOSING AGAINST THE SPECULATORS SO BADLY I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY.

asfdgfhhgb they drive me insane like i shouldn't be jim halpert in the office staring into imaginary cameras in my living room thinking the actual fuck are you trying to do to us?????

we're only human. luke newton, rein in your colin bridgerton immediately. i'm sick of the soft eyes and lovesick attitude (im totally kidding id be the exact same with nicola id be reading our fanfics)

[apocalyptic-chaos]

While I agree with the measures everyone is taking now that they know Elias is potentially spying on their every step, making sure the recorders are turned off, only talking about plans in the tunnels and so on, I kinda wanna see them playing around with it a bit more.

Like, yes Elias is listening/watching, so what? Make him regret it!

He decides to use his magic fear powers to check on Martin, but finds him in Jon's office, T-posing on the table and reciting his poetry backwards.

Tim is in the bathroom, after a breakdown, holding a speech to an assortment of random statements.

Meanwhile, Basira and Melanie are having conversations that consist only of out-of-context Welcome to night vale and vine quotes. At one point Melanie opens the door to the Archives just to yell out "STEVE CARLSBERG" at the top of her lungs. Basira responds with "Roadwork ahead? I sure hope it does!"

At every possible occaison, Jon stops to stare at a imaginary camera like he's in the office. Freaks Elias out because he thinks Jon is watching him back. He isn't.

My point is, make the invisible fear god that is (potentially) watching you at every turn regret that it's (potentially) watching you at every turn. Elias is traumatising you? Traumatise him back!

[thatonesillyducko]

Eva: Hey, can we stay in your room tonight?

Jemíma : Why?

Eva: Hesh fiddled with an ouija board and cursed ours.

Logan: Beth doesn't know how to banish spirits, so she just throws salt at them and yells "DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A HOTEL TO YOU?!"

Why and-- WHY was Jemíma given this task to look after them? lmao.

Jemíma: Knocks on the Captain's common room, along with the 4 grown ass adults as Elias answers, opening the door Elias: "Oh hello-- You don't like in a good condition, LT.?" Henry passes by, waving in the background, (SIR WE NEED TO TALK), sipping a glass of wine with side eye because he knows what she has come here for. Jemíma: "I can't watch your chiquitos all day and night, Captain. Please take them back. I'm not even capable of working alone, so please" Elias: "I'm sorry if my boys caused you any trouble, and I understand that completely." Hesh and Logan were just staring at their father, unwilling to leave at that moment. patooties Walkers Jemíma: "No, it has nothing to do with the trouble the niños have caused. It's..." *FEW MOMENTS BACK IN HER ROOM* Logan and Eva are watching the scene from their beds, and Hesh is sighing and making a facepalm as he looks at the imaginary camera similiar to Jim from The Office. Beth is screaming at Jemíma like a middle school girl because her phone was taken away for the entire night. Jemíma doesn't care about Beth and isn't affected by her.

[thefortressofscience]

If you work in a 9 to 5 office setting long enough you'll start to see all the ways employees begin to cope with the madness of working a miserable job. It starts to feel like maybe The Office as a TV show actually was a documentary.

I'm constantly staring at the imaginary camera when I hear some of the insane shit my coworkers say.

[gaysonlyocean]

return to escape from mandelatech/mandelatech lockdown me and hannahs weird improv point and click escape room roleplay bit, hannah has:

immediately told dave hes her best friend and tried to do heart hands thign with him unsuccessfully

found a like 2023 gaming laptop in the middle of the computer aisle alongside all the 2009 era computers

sniffed the gaming laptop

smoked a imaginary cigarette

said "if i was dave.... what would i do with my keys"

said "i dont think the key would be in toilet, also i dont wanna see N right now"

found a fake credit card in daves office made out of steel

tried to guess daves password

gotten into prolonged eyecontact with N via security cameras

said "IS THERE A SAFE IN HERE???" and when i said no she said "ok yeah i dont think robbing my best friend would have him still be my best friend"

turned the tv in the storage room around so six cant look at her struggling to solve this

tried to make a offering for sixs help with the three pennies by taping them to the screen

pressed her face really close to the screen and just stared

started just turning the lights in the storage room on and off again

said "HEY UGLY- wait no he wont talk to me if i say that HEY SIR QUESTION MARK I NEED HLELP"

said ".....maybe if i start crying"

ate the bad old taffy and made a disgusted face

finally figured out what to do with the card and went "HOOIUGH" out loud

just started stimming

yelled "YIPPEE!! YOU! DO YOU KNOW WHERE KEY IS? TO DO? I NEED TO LEAVE?" at six

said "DID SIX FUCKING JOIN MY PARTY???? ARE YOU A METAL DETECTOR???"

said "i walk out, small man in tow, i beeline over to the bathroom, i slam open the door"

just started sticking her hand in the toilets as N and six watched on in horror

offered N the half eaten taffy, he did not want it

said "... i will light the blunt for you if you join my party" to N

taken the blunt from N, took a fat rip and blew the smoke in N's face to see if that makes him join the party

had a coughing fit

told six to tell N that she's "friendly and trustworthy"

gotten a job at mandelatech

is now just wearing a gross wet lanyard she got out of the toilet

licked floor edibles

started unplugging sinks

turned to everyone else and said outloud "i SWEAR ive played video games before"

had a violent and visceral reaction to me saying wall was sticky and wet

said "that would make sense in this hellhole of a city"

bribed N with the floor edibles

considered sticking the pennies to the wall

sniffed the sticky wall

used the power of friendship to lift a shelf out of the way aka made dave, six and N help her lift it

found a secret evelin

said "girlie what the fuck" to evelin and left her alone

said "IGNORE THEM, LOOK AT ME IN MY EYES" when evelin was very concerned about the two fuckign alternates in the group

tried to bribe evelin with the three pennies unsuccessful

refused to look through daves email

gave up and looked through daves email

said "the cop.... is he in on this?"

made fun of thatchers emails to dave

started highfiving everyone when she made progress

aged like 50 years when the sticky wall mysteriously disappeared

started asking the group who has the highest pain tolerance

forgot that dave would not have a smartphone

realised if this was realistic she would be 7

started sprinting with the gaming laptop to give it to evelin to recruit her to the team

became hysterical at jonny appearing for two seconds

somehow got thatchers lighter out of the wall hole

started yelling into the wall holes

said "his emails might have been a clue but i wasnt paying attention cause all of them were sad and boring"

said "arson might be the answer"

started interrogating everyone

gotten mad at point and click logic

grabbed daves shoulder and shook him

started interrogating six again

tore out a vhs tape with her teeth

grabbed six and shoved him back into a tv

made a high pitched noise in response to the lights going off

started going all lord of the flies

walked into like 7 different shelves

escaped mandelatech and just kinda put everyone in evelins car, this includes N

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Lesbians of Light and Shadow

Shirley entered the office, humming to herself. Like most mechanical structures, the construction was a cacophony of competing sounds, and she was in her own way a part of that cacophony. The frequencies and rhythms of her body joining the mix, her vocal cords vibrating along a certain fundamental, adding one more part to the harmony.

The harmony was no better understood than the rest of the noise, but then, what was there to understand? One had to learn to dance with it, or it would dance with you. Shirley had long ago decided that it was just the kind of thing you could dance with, and she liked to dance.

This time it was her turn. Her mind was a studio, her body was a ballroom floor, and her heart was the waltz. She watched the dance form, made a choice here and there, made herself a part of it.

She checked the time. "Yeah, almost eight, isn't it?" She dropped into a chair and looked at the ceiling. The white "ceiling" was actually dozens of cameras, and her gaze was in fact in contact with the ceiling directly above her, but none of this could be said.

Sitting and staring at the ceiling was, for Shirley, a favorite activity. There was so much you could do with the ceiling in your mind. At the same time as you looked at the ceiling, in your imagination you could mentally take a sledgehammer and bash it to bits, a great cloud of plaster particles suddenly engulfing the entire building, all the occupants of the building jumping up out of their seats in a panic, and then, when you decided, you could mentally open the ceiling back up again, the plaster dust everywhere now cleared out and things once again normal, as if nothing had happened.

Shirley preferred this kind of mind-games to the ones where you got lost in all the little details, that took up all your attention, and made your mind into a kind of realistic "model" of the thing you were doing, with all the mess and detritus of real-world detail, the right amount of paper in the nearest desk tray, to the left of the sharpened pencil that nobody used anymore.

Shirley lived in a world of empty things, and occupied them with her imagination. She would like to have a real cat to pet, and a real card to play solitaire with, but given that she had only one of each, and the two of them often got mixed up, that was not a problem. She didn't need to keep a catalogue of the signs of wear and tear, and the accumulated mementos that had no real history behind them, and a rash of small scratches and the ex-place of a single red ball -- no, that was not a problem.

She put a cigarette in her mouth and waited for it to catch fire, which it did a moment later, and she took her first drag. She wasn't interested in the thought that these were really artificial things, out of plastic, and no real flame burned inside. That was one of the thoughts you needed in order to believe in a world of real cats and real smokes, but here, in her little laboratory, where she was doing important work, it didn't do any harm to believe in her dreams, did it? And so she believed.

She looked at the ceiling, stared at it, for a few moments, and then -- a thought.

She took her hands, and pushed them together, like clasped hands. Then she pulled her hands apart, and pushed them together again.

In the mind of Shirley, forged on a hardy and austere artificial plane, this quickly became a situation of one hand belonging to her and one hand belonging to the imaginary Alice. She could stare at the other's hand, in a kind of transfixed horror, while a third hand reached out to pull their hands apart. She could push the two hands together, touching, for an instant, before letting them pull apart. She could stare at a gaping hole in the white ceiling, into the black sky above.

She giggled. Then she flicked an invisible piece of tobacco off the end of her tongue, because she was disgusting.

The door opened, and the head of the project appeared, smiling. She was the head of the project. She was a head, and made of plastic and nylon and metal wires, and Shirley could imagine as much or as little detail as she wanted.

She could imagine fur, and long red hair. She could imagine tattoos. But if she imagined anything more than that, some immaterial spirit was removed from the artificial shell, like an egg from its nest. Not everything could be imagined. It could be imagined with a certain minimum amount of detail. But beyond that, not much was allowed.

So Shirley, by virtue of her special talent, was able to imagine that the head was a head, that it was surrounded by a body that just happened to be invisible. There was no reason why it should be invisible. It just was.

"How's it going?" asked the head, in its beautifully-realized voice. "You look like you could use a little help."

"Sure," said Shirley, putting out her cigarette. "Anything comes up."

The head consulted its notebook. There was a notebook to consult, a real notebook, realistically visible on the desk in front of it. It had pages that you could open and read, and look at a bright blur of information that you had no idea what to do with. Shirley didn't need to know what it said, any more than she needed to know how the notebook was made.

"Okay, we've got this . . . emotion. . . thing. You remember the one from last week? We don't know what it is, but we know it exists. It's really important. Lots of stuff in there about feeling good and all that. The usual crap. But there's also this part, see, about love? And there's a part about lesbians, and then there's . . . this."

The head turned its attention to a page of the notebook. "Look at this line of code. You remember what an 'automatic multiplier' is?"

"Sure. It's an automatic multiplier."

"Right. When I say 'multiplier', there's some arbitrary number in there, right? But I don't know what it is. I just know it's the right number for this particular thing. If the number were bigger, it'd make a bigger thing. If it were smaller, it'd make a smaller thing. It's going to be changing all the time, to keep up with the situation. But here, right here, there's a rule for what the number's supposed to do. It doubles, right? So it goes from 1 to 2, and then it doubles again, so it goes from 2 to 4, right? And then it doubles again to 8. It goes like that forever."

"Okay, so it's a multiplier."

"I mean, that's one reason to call it a multiplier, but it could be more than that. It's got some other stuff in there as well, we think, but we're not sure what that is."

Shirley put on her headphones, and played some music. The head listened along with her, in silence. The music went on and on, and Shirley continued to listen, and thought about everything that she had done this morning, and how she was going to get a new kind of device from the hardware guy, and try to open an account with the comic book guy, who was reputed to be extremely hard to work with.

After some time, the head spoke. "It seems like it might be some kind of emotional thing. A multiplier on emotion. The multiplier goes up, and then you feel really happy, and it goes up more, and then you feel even happier. But it's linked with this thing that makes you want to be in a relationship with other women."

"Okay."

"And then the multiplier goes down. And then you start to feel really, really sad."

"And then you feel even sadder," Shirley whispered, while the music continued.

"That's right. So it seems like it's a multiplier. The number goes up, you feel more positive emotions. Then the number goes down, you feel more negative emotions. You feel awful when the number goes down."

"I remember reading something about that last week," said Shirley.

"We thought it was probably one of those things that didn't mean anything. It might be, but it might not."

"Sure, it might not."

"Okay. So it's a multiplier. Is that what you're thinking? A multiplier on emotions?"

"I can't read it."

"And it's got the ties to lesbians?"

"And lesbians," said Shirley, through the music.

"Okay. So all we

[murmurs-down-the-mississippi]

Script for 'War of Two Worlds' Opening

A follow up from this post.

The opening for an imaginary tv show on the 'Lackadaisy in OTL WW2 AU' is based on the opening for the Documentary series Five Came Back.

Opening music concept

By order of appearance (background music instrument, all have the same leitmotif and pace):

Rocky (buzzer)

Freckle (snare and trumpet)

Ivy (jazz band)

Zib (foghorn and klaxon)

Savoys (wild and rapid strings)

Mordecai (typewriter and sounds of paper ruffling)

Viktor (truck and misc vehicle noises)

Mitzi (microphone and clapping echo)

Script

FADE IN:

(BEGIN OPENING SEQUENCE)

INT. BOMBER BAY - NIGHT

We see a buzzer flashing red and slowly PULL BACK. Our point-of-view switches to look down from the ceiling of a dark bomber aircraft's bomb bay in monochrome. A feline silhouette watches from the controls in a dramatic pose as bombs stream down from above down into the light-dotted earth below.

Clouds of flak begin bursting in streams rising closer and closer upwards in quick succession.

EXT. FOREST BATTLEFIELD - NIGHT

A explosion blows dust about; and clears to a feline soldier behind some sandbags. A snare drum beats at the rate of bullets whizzing by his position as he makes a sturdier grip on his machine gun. He unleashes a hail of fire towards the unseen enemy; the vibrations dislodges a small book from his clothes onto the ground.

The pages open to a diary with a photo of a female feline with a youthful smile.

INT. DANCE HALL - NIGHT

The photo transitions to the girl in a dancer's outfit, performing alongside human dancers and singers while cheers chant out from the audience (some are soldiers) while cameramen record the stage. The band's jazz begin to echo as camera flashes brighten into a blinding white.

EXT. ATLANTIC OCEAN - NOON

We come to a spotlight which turns away to stare at the cold, grey ocean underneath a dull ceiling of clouds. A horn announces the reveal of a destroyer riding through turbulent waves. We pass the length of the ship to the stern as it drops depth charges to the sound of wailing klaxons.

We CUT TO a rugged-looking naval officer watching the plumes of detonations from the previous ship create shockwaves in the sea. He holds onto the handrails lazily as water splashes in front of him and barely makes a difference in his already dirty-looking fur.

EXT. BRIDGE CROSSING - NIGHT

Water burst up and down like an animal flailing in pain as a bridge collapses from continuous explosions. Two figures bump into each other in celebration and dash away from the scene.

CAMERA RISES to a birds-eye view of the carnage as rapid strings ascend our view until the image turns into an aerial photograph.

INT. INTELLIGENCE PROCESSING ROOM - DAY

We rise from the image to a table of similar images, to a war room filled with drafts of codes and messages.

We focus on a black-furred intelligence officer professionally operating a typewriter with an open file with many notes stacked up next to him. We see him releasing the finished document from the typewriter and holds it up.

EXT. LOGISTICS STOP - EVENING

The same document is handed to a massive, tiger-like feline in uniform who directs away the presenting soldier with a wave of his forearm still clenching the document. His other arm is carrying a crate over his shoulder as he barks something out to his men. Vehicles begin to be loaded and moved out as chanting begins non-diegetically. Our CAMERA moves to face the unit's military insignia.

INT. CONGRESS CENTRAL HALL - DAY

We see that same insignia posted onto the speaker's podium. The speaker introduces a glamourously dressed feline to the podium. We CUT TO a wider shot of the hall showing her and her associates as the majority of the only felines in the human majority building.

[INSERT TITLE SEQUENCE]

Title Card: War Of Two Worlds

(OPENING SEQUENCE ENDS)

[cheaptadpole]

a friend who's the only one of my trio who genuinely wants kids was like 'man i'd love to know what the gender of my kid would be** bc if it's a boy i don't know if i could live with myself if i give birth to someone doesn't know how to emote'

and i had to restrain myself from doing a full office-style stare into an imaginary camera bc it's this cishet narrative that men don't have emotions instead of men /do/ have feelings and the patriarchy just teaches them to prioritise the wrong ones and like if a man has trouble connecting with his emotions its because his parents raised him incorrectly and then he got comfortable not exploring when he became an adult so if your son ends up being a dick then it'll 100% be your own fault

also the audacity to say this in front of our third friend who's nb and questioning and has stated that they feel more comfortable with a more masc gender performance than a femme one

** if/when she gets pregnant, and also india doesn't allow sex determinism tests

[brilliantreddstella]

I used to joke about the whole "The curtains are blue because *insert super deep subtext*" "THEY'RE BLUE BECAUSE THEY'RE BLUE!" thing, but media literacy needs to be better taught. I have also failed many times with it too, but I feel like so many people can probably give examples of moments where they looked into the distance like they were staring into an Office camera or because they were the reason for someone else's imaginary camera.